Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It's not actually very hard to figure out. Even Stiles has limits on how much in denial he can feasibly be before he needs to admit things to himself. It doesn't make it any less bizarre, though.

Stiles gets about seventy minutes worth of sleep that night. The fact that he now feels guilty about hurting Derek Hale's feelings, that he's apparently in a position to do that now, robs him of all sleep. He tosses and turns, trying to will the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach to go away, until it's almost 6 A.M. and he can't take it anymore.

So he calls Scott.

Never mind that he's apparently turning into a thirteen year old girl over this (although he's pretty sure even thirteen year old girls are cooler about this stuff than he is), he just needs to talk about it and Scott is obviously the best choice for that. Well, Scott is his only choice, because who else could he call at six in the morning? No one, so it's good that Scott seems to get this kind of thing.

"Stiles?" Scott mumbles into the phone when he finally answers it. "What's wrong?"

"You like Derek, right?" Stiles asks.

"Uh... I guess? He's pretty okay nowadays," Scott slurs, relaxing again now that he knows Stiles isn't in trouble and just being, well, Stiles. Normally Stiles would understand but even though he's not in actual mortal danger, this is still important. Also, he sat bravely through the dozen or so late night or early morning calls from Scott that came when he and Allison broke up the first time. Scott owes him, damn it. "He's still not my favorite person or anything. Dude's not exactly likable." And that's obviously a completely incorrect statement, but just proves that Stiles knows Derek better than Scott does. Or, well, it's possible that Stiles might be a little biased.

Stiles takes a deep breath. It'll be better if he just lets it all come out, right? "And if I said that I think he's more than okay and that I like him? Maybe more than... You know? You'd tell me you understand and wouldn't disown me or anything?"

"Uh..."

"I've been really stupid," Stiles says. "Like I can't even believe myself right now. It's just that I thought no way that's possible and then just dismissed all subsequent evidence because the situation is just that impossible to comprehend."

"Uh?"

"Fuck," Stiles groans and buries his face in his pillow. "I need to talk to Derek about this, don't I? I'm going to die. I need to actually face him and figure things out and try not to let him distract me with mortal danger or fairies or something. Oh my god, I can't believe this. I'm going to die."

"Uh," Scott says, sleepy and obviously just on the verge of dropping back into dreamland. "Good luck."

Then he hangs up on Stiles.

"This wasn't supposed to happen," Stiles groans into his pillow. "This was definitely not in my ten year plan." And then he's laughing at himself, and the situation, and everything's hilarious because it's 6 A.M and he hasn't slept at all. And maybe he feels the slightest bit relieved and at ease with the world again.

And then he falls asleep.

 

Going to school with one hour of sleep is awesome. The first couple of hours are actually all right but then the clock hits ten thirty and suddenly every noise is too loud in Stiles's ears and things like desks and walls and other students are there only to trip him up or slam into him. He drops his backpack twice on his way to English. It just slips right through his fingers like he can't quite manage the complicated task of holding on to things.

"So did you call me this morning or did I dream it?" Scott asks from him at lunch, while Stiles is valiantly trying not to fall asleep in his fries.

"Yeah," Stiles sighs and stares at his plate. "I freaked out."

"Want to talk about it?" Scott asks, glancing over Stiles's shoulder at the table where Stiles knows Erica, Isaac and Boyd are sitting. "Later?"

"Yeah, maybe after I've gotten some sleep and can think straight again," Stiles says and gnaws on a fry.

Scott groans. "That was a weak attempt at a joke, dude."

"Yeah, I know," Stiles sighs, even though he has to go over his words again to spot the joke, and drops his fry back onto his plate. He can't eat. It's not because he's nervous, he's just not that hungry, he decides. "I really need some sleep. Even my jokes are tired."

"That was slightly better," Scott says and offers his fist for Stiles to bump. "There's hope for you yet, young padawan."

"Didn't we already establish our roles in this movie franchise?" Stiles asks, but bumps Scott's fist anyway. "You can't just mix your Star Wars references like this. It's disgraceful."

"I thought that you once said that the more Star Wars references you can cram into a conversation, the better," Scott says.

Stiles has to admit that Scott has a point. "You are a wise man, Scott McCall," he intones and pops another fry into his mouth. "At least when you're quoting me."

 

"Why is it that if I want to have any secrets nowadays, I have to meet you clandestinely in empty classrooms? This is the shadiest thing ever," Stiles whispers to Scott in the deserted Chemistry lab.

"How do you think I feel?" Scott asks. "Me and Allison made out in this room too." Scott sighs and looks like a sad puppy.

"I hope you aren't using me as your rebound girlfriend," Stiles says and narrows his eyes. Scott isn't allowed to start mooning over Allison right now.

"There's no rebounding from Allison," Scott says gravely. "It's impossible to get over her."

"Dumbass," Stiles says fondly.

"Anyway," Scott says and his expression goes serious. "I was pretty much asleep for most of your phone call, but I have a memory of being really confused and you saying that you like Derek? That part wasn't a dream, right? Because I'm pretty sure you also said something about unicorns and zombies working together to take over the Beacon Hills police department."

"Dude," Stiles says. "I've said this before, but I really want to be in your head and watch your dreams like movies. Your brain has the best stuff."

"Stiles," Scott whines. "Focus."

Stiles sighs and rubs a hand over his face. "Yes, right. I said that I liked Derek. That's exactly the questionable life choice that I was freaking out over."

"But why? I mean, I get that he's pretty good looking, I guess, but he's Derek." Scott looks confused, like he honestly can't see the appeal at all. Which he probably doesn't, because this is Scott and Scott likes sweet, nice people like Allison. Stiles sighs again.

"Look, you're better at this stuff than I am, can't you give me any tips? Like, what did you do to make Allison date you?"

"Uh, I asked her out? On a date?" Scott says.

Stiles hates Scott a little. "Yeah... That's not going to work with Derek. This isn't helpful at all."

"So... do you think Derek likes you back?" Scott asks and then lets out a frustrated groan. "Oh, man, I can't believe I'm having this conversation."

"I'm, uh, pretty sure?" Stiles says. Last night, in the dark, when Derek practically fled his room, he had been so sure, but the longer he spends thinking about it in the daylight, the more unsure he feels. "I don't know? This whole thing is so weird!" he says when Scott pulls a frustrated face at him.

Scott sighs like he's in pain, but he sets his jaw and gets a determined look on his face. "Okay, so my mom gave me this advice and it's about girls, but I think it works for your situation too," Scott says and squares his shoulders like he's about to go on a stage to give a speech. "Just tell him how you feel," he starts, face so earnest and open that Stiles wants to pinch his cheeks. "He doesn't know how you feel and he needs to know, so... You know. You need to tell him."

Well, Scott had a solid beginning, at least. "Wow, how did I not think of that?" Stiles rolls his eyes.

Scott huffs, exasperated. "No, you don't get it. There's no other way around it. You can't just, I don't know, buy them presents and hope that they'll get it from that. You need to actually tell them. With words."

"Well, that's easier said than done," he says. These are the two things he knows about himself: he's a coward and a liar. And Scott is the opposite of him. Stiles has always known that. It's one of the reasons why he loves him so much. Scott can go for what he wants directly, without circling endlessly around it.

He tries to imagine it, standing in front of Derek and just telling him, to his face. It's almost impossible.

"It's pretty simple, actually," Scott says, apparently reading Stiles's expression correctly. "Either you can live with not telling him or you can't. If you can just let it go and move on, you probably should do that. But if you can't... You know."

Stiles takes a deep breath and nods. "Yeah, I know. Feelings suck."

"Tell me about it," Scott says and wraps his arm around Stiles's shoulders. "Well, you could just jump him and hope for the best, but that doesn't really work out in real life. Like, there's this thing called consent and everything."

Stiles kicks Scott in the shin and enjoys his outraged yelp of pain.

 

Derek doesn't answer his phone. Of course he doesn't, why would he make it any easier for Stiles? No, Derek's MO is coming in through windows completely unexpected and making Stiles's life hard. He isn't at the warehouse like Stiles had thought he would be. He only meets a slightly puzzled Boyd there, who tells him that he hasn't seen Derek all day. So he drives to the Hale house, because that is the only other place Derek could be hiding at, at least as far as Stiles knows. It is disconcerting to realize that even after all this time, he really doesn't know what Derek does all day.

"Derek! Are you home?" Stiles calls from where he is lurking at the Hale house front door. The house looks just as deserted and haunted as it always does, but something feels a bit off, like Stiles has somehow developed a sense just for knowing when Derek is lurking in the shadows instead of just not being there. The house feels Derek-less, but he still steps inside. His gut is telling him something isn't right, and he tends to listen to his gut nowadays. You have to start trusting something that is literally never wrong.

"Derek?" he tries again and steps into the wrecked living room. Someone has tried to prop a table up on its wobbly legs and a chair or two have been straightened from the last time Stiles saw the place, but it's still a total mess. "Peter?" he calls next, a lot more cautiously, because it would be just like Peter to stay silent until he's in the optimal position to scare the crap out of Stiles.

He really wishes Peter isn't around. He doesn't particularly want to meet the guy alone ever again.

He hears a creak of the floorboards from behind him, from the direction of the stairs, but he can't even turn around before someone is grabbing him.

"I don't want my last thoughts to be about Peter," he thinks and then someone hits him on the head and everything goes black.

 

When Stiles wakes up, he's still alive. He's also tied to a chair and his head hurts so the situation isn't as ideal as it could be. If it had been, he'd have woken up with his head in Lydia's lap, her staring down at him with a concerned look while Derek pummeled the person that had hit him into dust in the background. Now that would have been ideal. But when does he ever get what he wants?

"Ugh," Stiles groans. "Getting knocked unconscious really sucks. I know, because that happens to me so much that it's actually starting to worry me. All I'm saying is that this is better be worth the potential brain damage." His words come out slurred and it feels like his mouth is filled with cotton, but he hopes the message was still received properly. He makes a quick wish that it won't be hunters this time. Then he opens his eyes.

"Uh," a thin, unassuming man in a sweater vest says. The only remarkable thing about him is his messy, thick, dark brown hair that puffs up from his head like the rules of gravity don't apply to it. "I'm sorry?" It sounds like a question.

This is definitely not what Stiles had been expecting.

There are two other people in the room, both of them women. The older one has long, silver hair in a thick braid and a face that was probably stunning when she had been young, still is, in an old lady way. Now she's at least seventy years old, but her body still looks strong and her eyes shine in the darkness of the room. She's also clearly a werewolf. There's no doubt about it. It's not just the eyes, though Stiles doesn't exactly know what it is that made him so sure. Maybe it's also the way she's holding herself; powerful and slightly predatory. Stiles is starting to recognize that particular way of standing, even Scott sometimes looks like that. The other woman is younger, Stiles guesses around thirty years old, with hair as dark and thick as the man's. Her stance is fake-casual, her arms crossed in front of her. Their features are all similar enough that Stiles thinks they are all related. Which probably means that they are all werewolves, even though he struggles to understand what kind of werewolf wants to dress in a sweater vest. The other two are wearing a more traditional werewolf getup, with lots of leather.

"Do you need anything? Food? The bathroom? Tea?" the werewolf in the sweater vest asks with a look on his face that is earnest enough to hurt Stiles's soul. These people definitely aren't professional kidnappers. They can't even pull off threatening when he's tied to a chair and outnumbered. Not even when they are werewolves. Mostly they just look uncomfortable and nervous.

"This is the least intimidating kidnapping ever," Stiles says. He's not particularly scared anymore. "Or the most aggressive way to try to make friends, I'm not sure."

The man visibly wilts under his judgment. "I'm really sorry I hit you on the head," he says, like that will make Stiles rethink his opinion. "I didn't expect you there but then you were there and we had a chance. And I took it and I'm really sorry."

Stiles tries not to feel stupid about getting knocked out by a guy that looks more like a cliché of a computer programmer than a dangerous werewolf, but it's difficult. He hopes Derek and the others never hear about this.

"You know who I am," Stiles says, because obviously. "So you know about my pack and that you're trespassing in our territory. So what the hell?"

"We need your help," the younger woman says, stepping up to stand next to the man.

That's the second thing Stiles hadn't been expecting. It baffles him enough that he falls silent and just stares at the trio for a while. "What?" he asks. "Why?"

"Because we're in trouble," the man says.

Stiles stops to think for a second. "Wait. Are you the ones that are chewing up innocent woodland creatures and scaring joggers?" he asks. "Because if you are, I have to tell you, you really picked the wrong place for it. Hunters have noticed and are very interested. Is that it? You know who the resident hunter family here is, right?"

The werewolves cast nervous looks at each other, which is pretty much as good as an answer for Stiles.

"It's just..." the woman starts and then sighs, her fingers flexing where she's holding her biceps. Her nails are painted bright red, but the polish is chipped, shineless. "Jacques. He's five and going through his feral phase. It's been difficult. It's better if we let him hunt and... chew on things once in a while." She looks tired. It's the kind of tired that Stiles recognizes. Too little sleep and too much worry, tired like she hasn't quite managed to take charge of the things in her life. Like it's all a little too much. Stiles is very familiar with that look.

"You have a kid with you?" Stiles asks, equal amounts of intrigued and horrified. He's not an expert - how could he be when no one tells him anything, ever - but he suspects coming to another pack's territory with a little kid in tow is not something werewolves usually do. "Feral phase? What's that?" He adds, but he can read in the tightening expression of the older lady (Stiles is pretty sure she's their alpha), that he has too many questions. It's hard to force himself to quiet down.

"Can you help us or not?" the alpha asks. Her voice is raspy, something that could belong to an aging cabaret star with too much whiskey and cigarettes in her past, if that was a thing outside of old movies, that is. "Can you talk to Hale?"

"Sure, I can talk to him," Stiles nods, partly because he'll agree to anything so that these people will let him go and partly because if they really have a freaking kid with them, he doesn't want anyone to end up gutted and dying on the floor when Scott and the others inevitably manage to come to his rescue. "I'm pretty sure that he'll be pissed about the kidnapping and violence that took place while you tried to ask for help, though," he can't help but add.

"You don't understand," the sweater vest guy says, swiping a hand through his hair and making it stick up even more. "I don't know how much you know about the history, but the Hales are an old family and they've always been very territorial. And then there were the rumors about them..." He shudders. "The Hales are intense. We needed something to bargain with. Or someone else to talk to first. You're human and his second-in-command, so you were the logical choice."

"Wait, wait, wait, what?" Stiles says. He would be waving his hands too, but they are still tied behind his back, making it difficult to express the whole force of his incredulity. He tries anyway. "I'm not his second-in-command or anything. I don't even know how you got that idea. That doesn't make any sense!" He laughs a little nervously. Maybe these people are actually delusional and possibly completely insane. Maybe he should be worried about his life after all.

The man gives him a dubious stare. The alpha lady bursts out laughing.

"Oh, this pack is amusing," she giggles. Actually giggles. "And very weird."

"You're the weird one, lady," Stiles mutters.

"How does the Hale boy rule his pack?" the alpha smiles, still amused. At least she isn't giggling anymore, it was creeping Stiles out.

"With the power of his glares," Stiles grits out. He's starting to get irritated with these people. It's none of their business how Derek does things. They don't know. "Hey, could you maybe untie me so we can get this done and over with?"

The man steps forward, but the alpha makes a sound of warning and he stops. "We need protection," she says and steps closer. "We need a permission to stay inside Hale territory. We need an asylum and we need amnesty," she says, stressing every point, like it's important that Stiles remembers the exact words. "We let you go in good faith," she finishes and rips her claw through the ropes around Stiles's wrists.

"Please," the younger woman whispers when Stiles stands up. The alpha steps in between her pack and Stiles, facing him, and puts her hands on his shoulders. She presses down firmly but carefully, sliding her palms over his shoulders and down his arms, and then steps back.

Stiles isn't sure what happened there, but he knows it's something, some kind of werewolf ritual, maybe. It leaves him feeling uneasy and jittery.

"Derek will want to talk to you before making a decision," he says and takes one more step away from the werewolves. "How can we get in touch?"

The man moves forward and reaches out, handing a small piece of paper to Stiles. Stiles takes it, mostly on instinct, and is once again surprised when he finds out he's holding a business card. There's a phone number and a weird swirly symbol printed on it. It's more intricate than Derek's triskelion, but Stiles recognizes the similar pattern.

"A phone number?" he asks, incredulous. "You're telling me we can just call you, instead of doing some kind of mystical mumbo-jumbo or howling in the woods?"

The man eyes him with clear confusion. "Well. Yes," he says. "Wouldn't that just be overly complicated?"

"Oh my god," Stiles mutters. "I'm reconsidering my life choices right now. I can't even tell you how this makes me feel."

 

When he steps outside, he finds out that he's been held in one of the leisure cabins that sit near the preserve border. He's three or four miles away from Derek's house and there's no sign of his Jeep anywhere. For a second, he considers going back into the cabin to ask for a ride, but then thinks better of it. Even if this pack hadn't been very threatening, they still make Stiles feel uneasy. He can walk back.

When he finally, finally, gets back to the Hale house, he finds Isaac sitting on the front porch, frowning at Stiles's Jeep. The moment he senses Stiles there, his head snaps to him and he gets up, throws his head back and lets out a long howl.

"Stiles!" he calls. "You're okay!"

"Yes," Stiles says, unable to keep all the frustration out of his voice. He just had to walk miles and miles, he's a little tired. "What's up?"

"Everyone's out looking for you," Isaac says. "Derek got here and there were traces of you and two strangers. We thought you had been kidnapped or something. Derek kind of went crazy."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "So that howl was to call them back?" he asks.

Isaac nods. "We just got here, they can't be very far yet," he says and then Scott is trashing through the forest towards them.

It only takes about ten minutes before the whole pack - except for Derek - is there, panting and staring at Stiles like he's responsible of making them run around for nothing. Stiles's head aches. There's a bump on the back of his head. It had felt tender when Stiles had poked at it while he was walking back, but he isn't bleeding. He doesn't think the others have noticed it yet, so he keeps his hands away from it and tries not to show them that he's actually in pain.

"What happened?" Scott asks for the sixth time. He's the only one asking questions. The others are clearly waiting for Derek. Stiles waits for him too, because he doesn't want to explain this twice, not while his head is killing him.

And then Scott asks: "Is that rope burn on your wrists?"

The expressions on everyone's faces instantly go from mildly irritated to concerned.

Stiles is saved from answering when Derek finally appears."Stiles!" he barks and strides towards them. Then he suddenly stops, still a few feet away from their group, and frowns. He takes two more steps towards them and Stiles can actually see his nose twitching. His frown deepens and turns into a full blown glare and then he takes another two steps towards them. Then suddenly he's so far in Stiles's personal space that their noses are almost touching and Stiles is treated to an extreme closeup of Derek's furious eyes. His heart makes an uncomfortable lurch in his chest.

"What the hell, dude?" he asks and tries to take a step back.

Derek's hands land on Stiles's shoulders, his fingertips digging into Stiles's skin. "What. Happened," he grinds out.

"Totally not my fault, you can ease up on the righteous fury," Stiles says and tries to shake Derek's hands off him. The movement jostles his head and he can't hide the wince.

"You're hurt," Derek says and lets him go.

"Just a bump on the head," Stiles says. "You need to chill out, though. I'll tell you what happened, but I need you to stop glaring at me. I have a headache and you're not making it better."

Derek lifts one hand like he's about to brush it over Stiles's head, but backs down when Stiles glares at him. "So we kind of have a situation," he says and then tells them everything.

"You're sure they used those words exactly?" Derek says after he has finished. "Protection, permission, asylum and amnesty?"

"Yeah," Stiles nods and winces when his head throbs. "It sounded weirdly formal."

"That's because it is," Derek sighs and runs one hand through his hair.

Stiles waits for a while but Derek doesn't say anything else. "Care to elaborate?" he finally says.

Derek shakes his head. "Take off your hoodie."

"What?"

"Ugh, just do it, Stiles," Derek says and holds out a hand.

Stiles rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. It's not worth fighting over, not when Derek has got that mulish expression on his face. He hands it to Derek, who yanks it away from him, stalks to Stiles's car, pulls a door open and throws the hoodie inside with so much force that it slams against the passenger side window.

"What did my poor hoodie ever do to you?" Stiles asks when Derek gets back. "Such mistreatment!"

"Okay," Derek sighs, still ignoring Stiles. "Let's get inside. We need to figure this out."

The others all start walking towards the house, but Stiles heads for his jeep. His backpack is there and he is pretty sure he has some painkillers there somewhere. He rummages around until he finds the pack of pills. He pops two into his mouth and swallows them down dry. By the time he's done, the others have all went inside. Except for Derek.

When Stiles crawls back out of the car and straightens up again, slamming the door behind him, he sees Derek standing on the porch, watching him like he's afraid to let him out of his sight. It makes something swoopy wake up in Stiles's gut, but he ignores it because, well, so not the time right now. He stuffs his hands in his pockets and walks to Derek.

"So..." he says, keeping his voice low so that the others inside the house have a lesser chance of overhearing. "Are you ever going to tell me anything or are you just going to make me guess everything on my own?"

"It doesn't matter," Derek says after a small pause and Stiles isn't sure if he's talking about the other pack or not. Or if it's more of a general answer. Or... Well. This might be the vaguest little conversation Stiles has ever had and it's making his headache worse.

"I'm choosing not to take offense at that answer," Stiles says firmly. He's sure Derek didn't mean to imply that Stiles doesn't matter. Well... pretty sure. "One problem at a time," he says and grins, going for reassuring but not entirely certain that it works because Derek's frown just deepens. He turns away from Derek and goes inside.

"It's an ancient pact," Derek says once they are all gathered in the living room. "A weaker pack can seek a stronger pack's protection temporarily, if they are being threatened. It goes back centuries ago to when the packs were smaller and not as established as nowadays." He shrugs. "It's a survival thing."

"What's in it for the stronger pack?" Boyd asks, frowning.

"The payment could be anything the two packs agreed on. Territory, magical items, even pack members," Derek says. "They don't really have much to offer us."

"But we're going to help anyway?" Stiles asks. "They have a kid with them, we can't just kick them out of Beacon Hills."

"It's not our problem," Derek says but then hesitates. "But.."

"But?" Stiles prompts. He's getting tired of having to pull every little morsel of information out of Derek by force.

"But they got to you. Their alpha left her scent on you," Derek says.

"So?" Stiles asks.

Erica huffs. "They want our help but then they keep threatening us? They are practically begging for us to hand their asses to them."

Which... yeah. The way the alpha lady had gotten handsy and the way Derek had made Stiles take off his hoodie like it had personally offended him suddenly make a lot more sense. Stiles is starting to get a little annoyed with them. There's also something a little unsettling in the way they are doing things, making it hard for him to think of them as helpless as they seem to appear.

"They're desperate," Scott mutters. He looks at Stiles like he's ashamed that he's pointing that out, like he thinks he should be screaming revenge over the fact they hit Stiles on the head.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Yup, definitely desperate. And probably not very bright. But I think they're just trying to protect their kid."

"From what, though?" Boyd asks.

"Exactly," Derek nods. He flashes a small, proud grin at Boyd, wide-eyed and open, like he still gets surprised about Boyd's awesomeness, and Stiles has to look away before he's overwhelmed by it. He rubs a hand over his head just to have something to do with his hands and flinches when he hits his bump. He hopes he doesn't have a concussion.

His concentration is shot to all hell, although he isn't sure if that's the fault of the injury or just Derek.

"Well, that's not ominous at all," Erica says.

"Before anyone gets really paranoid, I have to say that it's probably just hunters," Stiles says and doesn't think much about how that is nowadays almost a relief, some kind of normal after giant snakes and fairies.

"We'll find out when I talk to them," Derek says.

"Oh, right!" Stiles says and gets up. He gets a head rush from standing up too quickly and sways a little when he goes to Derek.

Derek eyes him warily when he digs out the card Sweater Vest Guy gave him. "Here, their phone number. I think the symbol is their mark, you know, like your swirly thing."

Derek frowns down at the card before taking it. Their fingers brush and Stiles has to actually stop himself from letting out a nervous giggle. He is going to be completely useless until this thing has been resolved. He kind of misses denial.

"Scott. Take Stiles to the hospital to get checked out," Derek says and continues to frown down at the card.

"No, hey, you haven't told me your plan yet," Stiles protests when Scott gets up and grabs Stiles's arm, ready to haul him out of there right away. Stiles flops his arm around, trying to get rid of Scott's hand, but it's no use.

Derek raises his eyebrows. "I'll talk to them."

"That's not a plan, Derek," Stiles says sternly.

Derek rolls his eyes. "I'll talk to them, hear them out. Then I'll come to tell you what they said and we'll discuss what to do."

"We'll talk about it, right?" Stiles presses. "You're not just saying that and then going off and deciding on your own, right?"

Derek's face does the pinched, completely put upon, bitchy face of doom that Stiles secretly thinks is adorable, and then he sighs. "Right."

"Pinky promise?" Stiles says just to be obnoxious, holding up his pinky. Derek huffs and pushes him away from him, towards the door.

Stiles lets Scott drag him out.

They don't go to the hospital, though. Scott drives him to his house, where Melissa checks him for concussion while Stiles tells her that he was chasing Scott and fell down the stairs. He's not sure if she buys it. She doesn't say anything or even glare more than is appropriate for that story, but it's hard to tell with her sometimes.

"One day you'll learn how to control your limbs," she says. "And on that day, I'll organize a parade down main street for it."

"It's good to always have hope," Stiles tells her cheerily.

He doesn't have a concussion, so that's something at least. His head still hurts and he commandeers Scott's bed for a nap. He has school tomorrow, the clock is nearing seven and he hasn't even thought about his homework yet, but Stiles doesn't really care. His dad is on the evening shift that week, so he won't be back before midnight, at the earliest. So he just stays at the McCall's, and it's not because he's worried about going home to an empty house, it's just nicer to be with people. It has nothing to do with kidnappings and strange werewolf packs. Absolutely nothing.

"You can stay over," Scott says when Stiles finally gets up and starts fishing around for his backpack.

"Yeah, like your mom will let me stay on a school night," Stiles snorts.

"She knows something's going on. She'd let you stay if we asked," Scott whines. "I don't like the idea of you being alone right now."

"I can take care of myself," Stiles mutters. He can. He has set up traps all over his house in case Peter comes knocking again and he has stuff there, things he can use.

"But..." Scott says.

"I just want to go home and get some sleep. In my own bed." His headache is mostly gone, but he still feels tired. Too many things have been keeping him awake lately. It doesn't help that he barely slept the night before. Actually, he's pretty surprised he hasn't just keeled over from exhaustion yet.

"I'll drive you home," Scott says and Stiles lets him, because, yeah. Sleep deprivation.

They are halfway to his house when Scott clears his throat and Stiles immediately has a bad feeling about everything. "So... did you talk to him?" Scott asks.

"What? No. I didn't exactly have time," Stiles snorts. "And there are more important things going on right now."

"But you are going to? You're not just using this thing with the other pack as... I don't know. An excuse to get out of it?"

"No, I will. I'll talk to him," Stiles says firmly, trying to make himself believe it too. Because this is so totally his MO that it's kind of depressing.

Scott eyes him like he knows exactly what he's thinking. "I think you should," he says. "I think you really, really should."

Stiles bites down on his lip and doesn't answer, tries not to think about it.

"I just..." Scott says softly. "I think you might be surprised."

Stiles groans and closes his eyes, like that somehow would stop Scott talking about it. Miraculously, Scott drops the subject.

Scott makes him surround his room with mountain ash before he agrees to leave Stiles alone. It's going to be a hell of a thing to explain to his dad if he sees it before Stiles has a chance to clean it up in the morning, but he's so past the point of caring. When he's finished, he stumbles onto his bed still fully clothed and decides to just give up on homework altogether.

 

His incredibly obnoxious Big Bad Wolf ringtone wakes him up a little before midnight. It's a struggle to get his phone out of his jeans pocket, mostly because he refuses to roll over from his stomach.

"What?" he croaks half into the phone and half into his pillow. His voice is raspy and lower than usual. He sounds exhausted even to himself.

There's a long pause before Derek answers him. "I talked to them."

"Yeah, and?" Stiles says and rubs his face on his pillow, trying to wake up enough for the conversation.

"...Did I wake you?" Derek asks instead of answering, because of course he does.

Stiles sighs. "Yes, Derek. Yes you did. I didn't get any sleep last night and in case you didn't notice, today was a bit rough on me. So I was asleep. In fact, I think I might still be asleep. So will you tell me what happened or do I have to come there and beat it out of you?"

"You couldn't beat me even if you had werewolf powers," Derek says. It sounds like he's actually amused by the conversation, and isn't that a novelty?

Stiles snorts, because it's somehow incredibly funny that the words 'werewolf powers' came out of Derek's mouth. "I bet I could, even without any powers. I fight dirty," he says and grins into his pillow. He's totally flirting with Derek Hale. He's completely ridiculous.

There's another long pause before Derek speaks again. "Are you okay?"

"Yup. Mrs. McCall said I didn't have a concussion. Just a big bump on the head and a killer headache. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. I'm peachy. I'm just really tired."

"Okay. Good. I'll talk to you tomorrow," Derek says and hangs up without as much as a 'bye, Stiles'.

"...Were you just checking up on me?" Stiles asks from his silent phone.

The screen blinks out without providing any answers.

 

Stiles sleeps through his alarm (actually, he's not sure if he even set it before going to sleep) and would have probably missed most of the school day if his father wouldn't have dragged him out of bed.

At least he feels somewhat refreshed now. There's no papers due that day at school and Stiles can bullshit his way through unfinished math assignments like a pro. School he can handle. Now that he can stay awake through it, at least.

What he can't handle, is the sight of Derek Hale leaning against his Jeep when he stumbles out of the school at the end of the day. He is staring at the school doors, frowning. The line of his body, the way he leans on Stiles's car, is honestly pretty suggestive, though Stiles is almost positive Derek doesn't realize it. People give him looks as they pass him, varying from alarmed to appreciative. Seriously, Stiles is pretty sure he actually sees one or two sexual epiphanies there too. Derek, of course, doesn't pay any attention to any of it. If he even notices.

It's really kind of awkward to walk the distance between them when Derek refuses to look away from him. Stiles gives him an awkward wave when he's about half way there and then just hurries his steps so that he doesn't do anything more embarrassing than that.

"Heyyy, Derek... What's up?" he asks and bounces a little on his feet when he finally gets to Derek.

"What are you doing here? You need to stop ambushing us at school!" Scott says from next to Stiles, his voice gone high and whiny which is a sure sign of annoyance, and oh yeah, Scott is there too. Stiles had actually forgotten about him. Which tells how well he's dealing with everything related to Derek right now. God, he really needs to just say something to the dude and get given a list of reasons why it's a bad idea and maybe then he could move on.

Not the important issue right now.

"Go home, Scott," Derek says.

"Like hell!" Scott . "I--"

"Oh, whatever," Stiles sighs, interrupting the glaring match before it even has a chance to get properly underway. "I'm assuming you're here to talk about the newcomers, right? And whatever you refused to tell me on the phone last night."

"Yes, Stiles," Derek says, his tone snappy. "Now, can we go somewhere else to have this conversation?"

Stiles looks around himself, and, yup, people are still staring. He takes a deep breath and rolls his shoulders. He doesn't have the energy to argue. "Go home, Scott," he says.

Scott makes a noise of protest and Derek just looks at him, practically oozing smugness. Stiles is so irritated with both of them, he doesn't even have the words. "You," he says, turning to Scott. "I'll talk to you later. And you," he turns to Derek and pokes a finger at his chest. "Get in the goddamn car."

"We'll take my car," Derek says and pushes himself off of Stiles's Jeep, heading for the Camaro parked a few spaces further down. He doesn't even check if Stiles follows.

"Oh for the..." Stiles mutters and shoves his car keys at Scott, which at least makes Scott frown a little less at him. "Don't scratch her!" he warns and then hurries after Derek.

"Like I would!" Scott calls after him.

Stiles climbs into Derek's car, which, he has noted, always seems to be spotless and impressively shiny. (Maybe that's what Derek does all day!) His heart blips from excitement when he settles on the passenger seat. Derek frowns at him like he heard it, but Stiles just grins back. He isn't embarrassed to admit that he has a crush on the car. Him and the Camaro are meant to be.

"Someday I will get to drive this car," Stiles tells Derek, patting the dashboard in front of him. "It's my destiny."

"In your dreams," Derek says. "I'm not insane enough to let you behind the wheel."

"Give it time," Stiles says. “Stiles induced insanity is a thing that creeps on you slowly.”

"Seatbelt," Derek says and then he pulls out of the parking lot.

Stiles remains quiet until they are turning away from the school. "So where are we going?"

"I arranged a meeting," Derek says. "I need to see the cub."

Stiles turns his head so that he can more effectively stare at Derek, because, really? "The cub? Seriously?" he asks.

Derek just rolls his eyes and doesn't answer. "You need to be there because you've already met them and it's kind of a delicate situation, so..."

"You're bringing me? Into a delicate situation?" Stiles laughs. He doesn't really know how he could contribute, apart from just possibly accidentally offending everyone. "I don't know anything about werewolf politics!" Maybe he's there to even out the odds. The other pack has a five year old and their pack has a Stiles. It's not a very flattering thought.

"You're good at... dissolving tension," Derek says. His mouth twitches like he is trying very hard not to grin.

Stiles honestly doesn't know how to react. Was that innuendo? Or just a comment about his inability to shut up? Both? Something else? Stiles has no idea, so he decides to just ignore Derek, turning to look out the window. "So it's us two against their whole pack if things go sour? What if they don't even have a kid with them and this whole thing was some kind of weird plot?" he says to the buildings flashing by. They are heading to downtown Beacon Hills. Huh.

"I don't trust them either," Derek says. "But they can't do anything to hurt us." Then he slows down and pulls to a stop in front of a local family restaurant.

"We're meeting them at Lisa's?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah."

Stiles narrows his eyes. "It was their idea, wasn't it? You were completely prepared to meet them in an abandoned warehouse or a parking garage, weren't you?"

Derek huffs and gets out of the car, but he isn't denying anything either.

"Dude, everyone in the world is better socially adjusted than you!" Stiles calls after him and then hurries to catch up. Derek holds the door open for him. Stiles suspects it's just to be contrary, but he pretends not to notice. He waves at the waiter and they are shown to a table.

"Hey," Stiles says when he sits down. "Can we order something and eat while we're waiting for them to show up? I'm starving."

Derek sighs, like it's a great personal tragedy that he has to deal with Stiles, but takes the menu the waiter is offering him.

"Thanks, Nina," Stiles says when she tries to give a menu to him. "I'll just take the special, please."

She grins. "Sure thing, Stiles. What about your friend?"

Stiles glances up at Derek and finds him scowling at him over the top of his menu. It's not an angry expression, though. It's more confused than anything else.

"Dude, I come here all the time with my dad. This is basically cop central, especially during lunch." The realization comes while he's still speaking. "Huh." The diner is probably the safest place to do this thing in the whole town that isn't the actual police station or within a circle of mountain ash. Stiles narrows his eyes at Derek. Maybe it wasn't the other pack's idea to meet there after all.

"Coffee. And the turkey sandwich, please," Derek says and gives the menu to Nina without taking his eyes off of Stiles, not breaking their impromptu staring contest.

"Coming right up!" Nina says cheerfully but Stiles doesn't miss her sly glance between him and Derek. Suddenly he's pretty sure that his dad will hear about this. Damn it.

"So when are the others supposed to be here?" he asks.

Derek blinks and loses the staring contest. "We're early. You have time to eat." Then he falls quiet again.

It doesn't take long for their food to arrive. Stiles digs into his huge bacon-and-vegetables omelette and tries to ignore Derek's stare. Because Derek seems to be content in ignoring his sandwich in favor of watching Stiles eat. The intense scrutiny is making him feel self-conscious. Thankfully he has perfected the strategy of grossing people out, he has had a lot of practice with Scott. He glares at Derek and then proceeds to chew with his mouth open until Derek's forced to look away in disgust.

"That's right," Stiles says, his mouth still half-full. "You just eat your damn sandwich." He finds Derek's leg under the table and kicks at it.

Derek sighs and takes a sip from his coffee. Then he touches his foot against Stiles's. Stiles would think of it as retaliation, but it's too gentle for that. It’s almost a caress and there is a distinct possibility that Stiles has accidentally slipped into playing some sort of tentative, stilted form of footsie with Derek. It makes his heart jump and speed up. He gets about two seconds of hope that Derek didn't notice before Derek gives him a strange look. Stiles looks away and wishes that at least Derek won't comment on it.

He has almost finished eating when he hears the door open. He looks up and sees the alpha lady with the girl and a kid that looks too much like the girl to be anything else than her son. He's holding her hand and when he spots Stiles and Derek his huge brown eyes get even wider. It's hard to not find him completely adorable. Damn little kids, it’s like they’re Stiles’s kryptonite.

They pause at the door until Derek gives them a small nod. Only then they make their way to them.

"Take a seat," Derek tells them, but frowns when the alpha lady sits down next to Stiles. Stiles kind of shares the sentiment. He'd rather be sitting next to Derek and not across from him right about now. He bumps his foot against Derek's boot again.

"Hello, Stiles," the alpha lady says. She sounds friendly enough, but Derek's frown just deepens.

"Hi to you too, uh," Stiles says. "I don't actually know your names."

"I'm sorry," the alpha says, still all amiable and honestly creeping Stiles out a lot. "My name is Marie and this is my daughter Jeanne and her son Jacques."

"Okay, yes. Nice to meet you, Marie, Jeanne. Jacques." He gives the boy a small smile, without showing teeth, because the boy looks spooked enough already without Stiles possibly threatening his wolfy side or whatever. He doesn't actually know if it matters, but better safe than sorry. When he hears his name, the boy turns his wide-eyed stare from Derek to Stiles. The effect of his stare is devastating. Stiles resists reaching out and ruffling his hair, but only barely and mostly because he'd have to lean over Marie-the-alpha-lady to get to him.

"Why are you here?" Derek says. His voice is low and deeper than usual and everyone's attention immediately snaps from Stiles to him.

The smile drops from Marie's face. "We are being hunted," she says.

Hey, score one for Stiles.

"Any kind of help you can give us," Jeanne says. There's a definite note of desperation in her voice. "Any kind. Would be appreciated."

"So you ask for help by kidnapping my... one of my pack?" Derek says.

"A mistake," Marie says. "I'm very sorry for that." She turns to look at Stiles, raising one of her hands to touch him on the arm, but stops immediately when Derek makes a noise in his throat. It could almost be called a growl. "I'm sorry, Stiles."

Stiles shrugs. He can't say anything or do anything, not when he has to concentrate on not letting everyone know how confused he is right at that moment. Or how much Derek's growl affected him. Or showing anything at all. Derek's leg touches his under the table again, and Stiles knows Derek's trying to reassure him, but it's not exactly working. He's Derek's... what? What did Derek almost call him?

The alpha lady is too close to him. He wants out of there so badly. "Hey, dude," he says to Jacques and clears his throat. "Do you want some ice cream? Because I want some." He glances from Derek to Marie and then to Jeanne, seeking permission. "Maybe we could go talk to Nina and see if she'll give us some?"

There's a pause in the conversation. Derek and Jeanne frown, but Marie gives a small nod and Jacques's face clears into a wide smile. "Come on, buddy," Stiles says and gets up. "If we both give her the puppy eyes, we're definitely getting ice cream." After another glance at Marie, he holds out his hand for Jacques to take. Jacques hesitates for a second, but then takes it and lets Stiles steer him towards the counter.

Jacques doesn't talk much, and his voice is quiet when he tells Stiles that his favorite ice cream flavor is strawberry. Mostly Stiles is just glad he doesn't have to sit at the table with three werewolves anymore. He has a hard time thinking of the little boy as someone who goes furry once in a while and is apparently going through his 'feral phase' right now. They sit at the counter and eat their ice creams in silence. Stiles keeps one eye on Derek, just in case he needs help, but he's deep in hushed conversation with the two women. He glances up at Stiles from time to time, but doesn't give him any kind of sign that he should get back.

When they finish their ice cream, Stiles offers his hand to Jacques again, and the kid takes it, doesn't even hesitate this time. They walk back to the table. Derek is still frowning, but the atmosphere isn't as suffocating anymore. Stiles grabs his chair and pulls it closer to Derek before sitting down. He doesn't even care if he's being rude. He's close enough now that their elbows bump together and it calms him down a little. "That was some good ice cream," he says and grins. "What's up?"

"Your alpha has graciously given us permission to stay in his territory," Marie says.

"And we will offer assistance if the hunters find you," Derek says. "But you stay away from my pack and keep a low profile."

"Of course," Marie says, nodding. Her eyes flicker to Stiles, but quickly return to Derek.

"Awesome," Stiles says. "Just, one question."

"Yes?" Marie says, raising an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"How many hunters are after you? I need specifics, I don't want to get any nasty surprises when they eventually sniff you out."

Marie blinks. "Five," she says. "A party of five hunters. They have been on our tail all the way from Louisiana."

"Okay," Stiles nods. "How likely is it that they will go to the Argents for help?"

Marie's expression darkens. "Very," she growls.

"Oh, that's good," Stiles says and grins. "We’re used to dealing with the Argents." Then he gets up. "It's been... Well, not fun, but you know how it is." He turns to look at Derek and keeps the grin on his face. "You're totally paying for the food, by the way. Bye Jacques." He waves at the little boy, who, to his surprise, waves back at him.

Stiles doesn't relax before they are back in Derek's car and at least five blocks from the restaurant. "Well, fuck," he says and leans back against the car seat. "That was weird, right? Everything about that was weird. This is not good."

"What?" Derek asks. He's still frowning, has been frowning all the way from the restaurant.

"You know what I'm talking about," Stiles says. "If the hunters are willing to go to Chris Argent for help, it probably means they follow the code."

"...Yeah," Derek says. Stiles can see his jaw tightening when he grinds his teeth together.

"Or, hey, look at the bright side. Maybe they are planning to lie to Chris and nothing has actually happened."

Derek just gives him a quick, dark look.

"...Yeah, this is bad," Stiles sighs and closes his eyes. "What did they say when you asked them about the reason they were hunted?" he asks, although he's pretty sure it doesn't really matter. At least not to Derek, who he's certain would always take the side of the werewolves over the hunters anyway, whatever they had done.

"They said that the boy had lost control on a full moon," Derek grinds out. "That they had got to him in time and nothing had happened but it had exposed them."

"Oh. Okay." Blaming it on the kid. Classy. "What are we going to do next?"

Derek shrugs. "We wait."

Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes. "We need to prepare. You offered them our help, so we're going to help them, at least until we are sure that they are lying to us, right?"

"Yes," Derek says. He looks less than thrilled about it, which is understandable. Even Stiles feels uneasy with other werewolves in town, and he's not even one himself. He can't imagine how much it bothers Derek.

"Our pack is bigger and better prepared to fight than them. I'm pretty sure we could kick their asses," Stiles says. "You could have just said no to them and driven them out of town."

"No, I couldn't. I really couldn't," Derek says from under his breath, but doesn't elaborate. And that's just bullshit. Stiles doesn't have the patience for this.

"No," Stiles says firmly. "I'm not doing this cryptic bullshit with you again." He straightens in his seat so that he can properly glare at Derek. "What is it? Spit it out. You know I'm just going to bug you until you do."

"They would have sought revenge," Derek says and doesn’t look at Stiles. "Maybe even before anything happened to them. They could have..."

"What? What could they possibly do to make you agree?"

Derek lets out a long breath and glances at Stiles from the corner of his eyes. But he doesn't say anything.

"What? Oh..." Stiles breathes out when the meaning behind Derek’s look hits him. "Seriously? Me?"

"You," Derek says and doesn't say another word until they are in front of Scott's house, with Stiles's Jeep in the driveway.

Stiles grabs his backpack from the backseat and then slips out of the Camaro. He leans back in to talk to Derek, but then doesn’t actually know what to say. “Uh, I,” Stiles says and pauses, trying to find out what he wanted to say. “Thanks for the food, I guess?” He feels a little uneasy about letting Derek out of his sight, possibly because he doesn’t want him to run off to do something stupid that Stiles can’t prevent. So he lingers a bit. “And, you know, taking me with you.” He licks his lips nervously and lets out a short laugh at his own awkwardness. “I guess I see you later?”

Derek nods and then, just as Stiles is about to straighten up and head for the McCall front door, he mutters: “You need to be careful while they’re in town, Stiles. They might be weak right now, but that doesn’t mean they won’t try something.”

“Dude, I’m always careful,” Stiles says and laughs when Derek gives him a dubious look. “Okay, maybe not, but I get it. I do.”

Derek doesn’t look reassured or particularly happy, but there’s nothing Stiles can do about it. “There’s an alpha werewolf I don’t actually trust here now. It’s not like I haven’t spent last twenty four hours thinking about how that could affect me,” Stiles says and pulls away from the car before he has time to register the expression on Derek’s face. He jogs to Scott’s front door and waves at Derek before going in.

 

They don't even have to wait a full 24 hours before things go wrong. The only consolation is that at least this way Stiles doesn't have the time to worry himself to death.

He's still at the McCall’s, dividing his attention between his Econ homework and Scott's Young Avengers comics while Scott despairs over his chemistry book. Scott's phone pings and he dives for it like a man desperate for anything else to do than homework.

Stiles knows it's Allison just from the way Scott's whole face transforms like someone had suddenly pulled the curtains open to reveal green meadows and rainbows, cartoon bunnies hopping and bluebirds singing. But then the happy look melts away and Scott's eyebrows pinch together.

"Allison says there's trouble," he says and that's the moment when Stiles hears the howl.

Both of their heads snap towards the window at the same time. The howl continues for a long time, ripping through Stiles and sending his heart pounding. "Was that?" he asks and Scott nods.

"Derek's calling the pack."

Stiles can feel the howl tugging at something just below his rib cage, making him want to move. The feeling is extremely unsettling, and if it's even a fraction of what the werewolves feel when their alpha calls them, he's suddenly a lot more impressed with Scott's control from when he had been just turned. "Yeah," he says and he sounds strained and embarrassingly eager, even to his own ears. "Let's go."

They get up and hurriedly pull on shoes and jackets. It's not until they're already sitting in Stiles's Jeep when Stiles pauses. "Oh, dude, I need to swing by home first, all my crap is there."

"Stiles," Scott whines. "We don't know what's going on, we need to move quickly."

Stiles groans, frustrated, and starts the car. "That's exactly why I need my stuff, I can't just magically pop out claws and fangs. You can run ahead of me if you need to, I can't--"

"No," Scott says, grim and decisive. "I'm coming with you."

"Okay," Stiles breathes out, trying not to show how relieved he is that Scott’s sticking with him. "Okay. Good."

He drives as quickly as he dares, parks the Jeep sideways in front of his house and then runs into his room, grabs little pouches of wolfsbane, mountain ash and hex bags he has prepared for situations like this. He almost doesn't take his newest creation, not sure if it will actually work, but then changes his mind and grabs the small vial from his sock drawer, stuffing it in the front pocket of his hoodie. It's as good a time as any to test it.

"You might want this too," Scott says when he gets back to the car, and shoves a baseball bat into Stiles's arms. Stiles recognizes it from all the times when someone with the name McCall has tried to hit him with it.

"What? Dude, are you insane? What use this is going to be against werewolves?" he asks and puts the bat in the back seat with his bag of goodies.

"Well, I'm just saying, you might want to hit a hunter instead," Scott shrugs. "I don't think a bag of wolfsbane would do much against them." He's trying to seem nonchalant, even if Stiles can see straight through that. There's a hint of hurt there, and now that Stiles thinks about it, he has been a little bit too preoccupied with worrying about werewolves when humans are the ones usually doing the most damage.

"Okay, yeah, you’re right. Thanks. Team werewolf, go!" He says and nudges Scott with his shoulder as an apology before climbing back into the car.

“How are we going to get to their exact location, though?” Stiles asks when they are halfway out of town. He’s been following Scott’s vague directions to head towards the preserve, because that’s where Scott told him the howl had come from. He doesn’t have more than the general direction and Stiles really hopes Scott has some kind of a plan to find Derek other than just driving aimlessly around until they get lucky.

When he asks Scott, he just rolls his eyes and sticks his head out of the window.

“Really?” Stiles asks, incredulous. “You’re going to sniff them out?”

“Shut up, my nose is awesome,” Scott says.

Scott’s nose is awesome and they find everyone in the parking lot where Stiles had been with Derek only a couple of days before, for the Hale territory check. It’s deserted, apart from two black SUVs that obviously belong to the hunters and Derek’s Camaro. It’s also really hard to miss the six hunters and a bunch of werewolves taunting each other in the middle of the lot. At least Stiles doesn’t see Jacques, which is good because there are guns trained to heads and extended claws and eyes flashing. He can sense the tension in the air, thinks it’s almost at its snapping point. No one really pays any attention to them, at least not until Scott marches right in the middle of the two groups, raises his arms like he’s trying to push both groups back, and yells: “Stop!” from the top of his lungs. “Stop right now!” As plans go, it’s pretty bad, but at least it confuses everyone and diverts their attention from the brewing fight.

“No, Scott,” Derek growls, but Scott doesn’t even acknowledge him.

And, damn everything, Stiles knows he has to follow Scott into this, he has to, there’s no way he can let Scott try to diffuse the situation by himself. He takes a long breath, squares his shoulders and marches right in the middle of it all, stopping only when he’s standing next to Scott. “Yeah, seriously,” he drawls, giving the hunters an unimpressed look, tapping the end of the bat against the ground near his sneaker. He spots Chris Argent towards the back of the group and recognizes two of the men as the ones he met in the forest. "We have got to stop meeting like this," he says when he catches the eye of one of the hunters who seems to recognize him too. He doesn’t see any of Chris’s men, though, which probably should reassure him, but it just makes him more nervous.

“He’s human,” Argent says, loud enough that everyone hears him, “lower your weapons.”

“Yeah, that’s me. Completely, one hundred percent human,” Stiles nods and lifts the bat to rest on his shoulder, twirls it like it’s an umbrella and they're in the middle of a musical number.

“Stiles,” Derek says from somewhere behind him. “Get out of the way.”

“So, here’s the thing,” Stiles says, ignoring Derek. “This pack is under our protection. You are trespassing, and, also, outmatched. Who thinks any of this is a good idea? Raise your hand.”

No one raises their hand and now everyone is glaring at him. Stiles can almost feel Derek’s eyes burning holes in the back of his neck.

“Really,” Scott says and Stiles knows without even looking that he has his pleading puppy dog face on. “Everyone needs to calm down before something bad happens.”

One of the hunters, a man with a closely cropped grey hair and a beard to match, snorts. “Something bad has already happened. One pack, two packs, it doesn’t matter to us. Get out of the way, boy,” he says to Stiles. There’s steel in his eyes when he looks at Stiles, giving him the distinct impression that he wouldn’t be very broken up about one werewolf-friendly human getting killed in the crossfire.

“I feel like there needs to be more communication here,” Stiles says. “More talking, less violence. Let’s all try to be civilized people here.”

That gets him a laugh from few of the hunters, though Stiles doesn’t really count it as a positive thing.

“I don’t see any civilized people here,” one of the hunters smirks. “These beasts are not even people.”

“Hey, that’s just hurtful,” Stiles says.

“Enough!” Derek cuts in before Stiles can say anything more. There’s a hint of the alpha voice there, and Stiles tries not to shiver from how it echoes in him.

“Finally,” he hears Marie mutter. “I was beginning to think your alpha would let a human boy do all the talking for him.” She sounds unimpressed and on edge, making Stiles wish he wasn’t forced to keep his back to her.Then there’s a warm hand on his shoulder and he’s being showed back, behind Derek, just like last time. And just like last time, he places his hand flat against Derek’s back in the vague hope that it'll keep him from doing something colossally stupid.

“Do you follow the code?” Derek asks from the hunters.

“Yes,” the same hunter that had talked to Stiles says. Stiles knows Derek’s listening to the lie, but he feels Derek’s shoulders tense even more under his hand and he knows the hunter is telling the truth.

“Tell me,” Derek says and takes a step forward, so that now Scott too is standing behind him. Stiles lets his hand fall back down and doesn’t move with Derek.

"She killed someone," the hunter says to Derek, gesturing towards Jeanne with the hand that isn’t wrapped around a gun. "We have a right to hunt her."

"Shit," Stiles thinks. He knew there was something. There's always something. He slips his hand inside the front pocket of his hoodie and closes his fingers around the small vial there. He has a feeling he is going to need it soon.

"No!" Jeanne yells and grabs Stiles before he can even react to the shouting. But, honestly, he isn’t even surprised. It’s like he has ‘fragile human pack member, feel free to maim!’ written on the back of his hoodie. She drags him back, away from everyone and towards her pack, like Stiles is wide enough to shield them all. "I can't leave him! I can't just leave my son!" One of her arms is squeezing around Stiles’s chest like a vice, making it hard for him to draw full breaths. "I will kill this one if you try to come any closer!"

Stiles can see everyone stiffening, the hunters pulling their weapons closer, standing ready to react immediately when something happens. Scott is crouching low, ready to jump at someone's throat and Derek's almost vibrating, his eyes shining red. Someone is growling.

Stiles has the insane urge to warn Scott and Derek that they've turned their backs to the hunters, like they think him being in danger is a valid reason to suddenly turn stupid.

"Jeanne," Marie says, a growl of command coming into her voice, but it doesn't seem to affect her at all.

"The hunter threatened Jacques," Jeanne sobs against the side of Stiles's face. "I had to do something. I had to kill him. He was going to kill my baby." Stiles can feel her sharp nails even through his hoodie, slowly digging through the fabric and into his skin. Her right hand is right over his heart. Maybe she’ll try to rip out his heart, that would be new.

Someone lets out a deep growl. Stiles thumbs the stopper off the vial and replaces it with his thumb before letting his hand drop from the pocket, the vial hidden in his palm.

"I can't leave him," Jeanne says and she's crying now. Stiles can feel wet tears where their cheeks are pressed together. "He needs his mom. Help me. Help me, Hale, or I will kill this one."

Stiles meets Derek's eyes and gives him a shaky grin. Derek's now completely wolfed out and Stiles realizes that the steady, threatening growl he can hear is coming from Derek. He has to act quickly before anyone tries to attack Jeanne and get him killed in the process. He closes his eyes, holds his breath, waits for Jeanne to let out another sob and dumps the contents of the vial over his shoulder, straight at her face, right when she's drawing a breath.

She screams and her nails dig into Stiles's chest and his left bicep. Pain flares, immediate and sharp. It makes his head spin and his eyesight go blurry for a second. Stiles drops to his knees, feeling his flesh tearing even further before Jeanne finally lets him go, staggering backwards. She howls and Stiles rolls away from her, staying low. He can't stop the whimper from escaping when he presses his hand over his heart.

"The deal is off," Derek growls and it's in his alpha voice, the full force of it going straight through Stiles, vibrating in his rib cage.

Everything explodes into chaos.

Someone lets an arrow fly and Jeanne screams again. There are shouts and growls. Stiles can't see what's happening because his whole vision is filled with Derek who is suddenly there next to him, his arms going around Stiles. He shoves Stiles down and wraps around him like he's trying to bodily shield him from everything going on around them. Stiles feels a sticky dampness trickling down his arm and chest.

"I think I'm bleeding," he mutters against Derek's leather jacket.

"Stay down," Derek says, his mouth right over Stiles's ear. It makes a shiver run down Stiles's sides and he presses closer to Derek.

"They're running!" one of the hunters shouts. Stiles tries to twist so that he can see, but Derek tightens his hold on him, making it impossible for him to move at all. Stiles hears the hunters shouting, car doors slamming shut and engines roaring. Derek doesn't react when the hunters go after the other pack. He allows himself one breath, just a second of silence, before he speaks.

"They aren't bad people, Derek," Stiles says quietly, even if he isn't actually sure about that.

"I don't care," Derek says and doesn’t move.

"They're just scared."

"I don't care."

"They have a little kid with them," Stiles says.

"I don't care," Derek repeats again. Stiles can feel Derek's fingers curling against his back.

Stiles knows what Derek means. It’s not like he agrees with the other pack, or approves of their way of doing things. He doesn’t even like them, he has too many bruises from them for that, but.

"He's going to lose his mom," Stiles says. He doesn't really care about what happens to Jeanne, but the thought of the quiet little boy curls something cold in the bottom of his stomach.

It's hard to breathe.

He can feel Derek lift his head to look at their pack, who have been very quiet the whole time, so quiet that Stiles had almost forgotten they were there. "Make sure they get away," he says to them. "And make sure they leave our territory."

"Stiles?" he hears Scott ask. He sounds unsure, ready to ignore Derek's order to... what? Hover worriedly over Stiles and Derek until he's sure Stiles is going to be okay? Probably.

"I'm fine," Stiles says to Derek's chest. His nose is pressed into Derek's jacket and he can smell leather and rain. He doesn't really want to move. "Go make sure no one kills anyone."

There's a pause and then Stiles hears running footsteps going away. Everything goes so quiet that he can hear his ears ringing. He curls his fingers in Derek's jacket lapels. "We're alone," he says. "You can probably let go now."

"Yes," Derek says and doesn't move at all.

"I'm still bleeding, you know," Stiles points out, which seem to be the magic words for getting Derek to snap out of it. He lets Stiles go and pulls the sleeve of Stiles's hoodie gently away from the claw marks on his bicep. The fabric sticks to the blood, making Stiles hiss when it yanks at his wounds.

"They're not that deep," Derek says, relieved. Then he's pushing Stiles's shirt up to check on his chest. "These are even shallower," he says and pulls the shirt back down before Stiles even has a chance to blush.

"They still hurt like a bitch, though," Stiles mutters, trying to distract himself from the feeling of Derek's fingers on his skin. It's easier than it could be: he just got clawed all to hell and it hurts, no matter what Derek says.

"They need to be cleaned up and dressed, but I don't think they'll even scar that much. I have a first aid kit in my car," Derek says. He gets up and pulls Stiles to his feet. He's being surprisingly gentle, very carefully trying not to disturb the wounds. Then he lets go of Stiles and turns towards his car, and it feels too much like a loss. Stiles can’t take it.

"Derek," Stiles says. Derek stops and turns back to look at him.

Stiles hadn't known he was going to do it before he actually goes for the hug. He just sways into Derek, wrapping his arms around Derek's neck, even if it pulls at his wounds. His whole body gives an involuntary shudder and he buries his nose in Derek's collar. There's a moment of hesitation and then Derek puts his hands tentatively on Stiles's waist.

Stiles lets out a long breath. When he inhales again, he can smell blood and leather and Derek. "Oh my god. I hate life or death situations," he mutters against Derek's skin.

"You might want to stop putting yourself into them, then," Derek says.

"That's victim blaming," Stiles says and lets his lips brush against Derek's neck on purpose. They are pressed so tightly together that Stiles can feel the hitch in Derek's breathing. "This 'grab the squishy human' routine is getting old really fast. Good thing I'm at least fifty percent self-rescuing, I guess."

"Too bad you're also hundred percent trouble magnet," Derek says.

Stiles laughs and clings to Derek for a little while longer. It's surprisingly comforting, even though Derek is a lousy hugger, all stiff and unyielding and lacking in soft parts. Then again, maybe it's all the muscle that is making Stiles feel ridiculously safe. Or maybe it's just Derek in general.

It probably is just Derek.

"You're still bleeding," Derek says after a moment.

"Yeah, probably should... Yeah," Stiles says and steps away from him. They walk to the Camaro and Stiles goes to sit sideways on the driver's side so that his legs are stretched outside the car, while Derek goes through the trunk to find the first aid kit. "Aren't you supposed to be out there, being the alpha right now?" Stiles asks when Derek resurfaces. "You know, making sure that the kids don't accidentally kill anyone?"

Derek shrugs. "They can handle it on their own. Scott's in charge." He walks to Stiles and shoves Stiles's knees apart so that he can kneel in between them. And, okay, that's another thing for Stiles to ignore right now. He looks at Derek's face instead. He has a look of complete concentration when he cleans Stiles's wounds. The antiseptic stings, but Stiles can't help but grin. He's probably still high on adrenaline because he feels kind of giddy, almost too happy, considering the situation.

"What?" Derek says when he notices Stiles's grin.

"You don't need a first aid kit," Stiles grins happily at him. He wants to tell Derek everything now. Derek shielded him with his own body, he stayed behind to look after him when he didn't have to, when it would have made a lot more sense for someone else to stay. It's starting to become pretty obvious that this isn't just in Stiles's head. "You're secretly sweet and cuddly. And kind of bitchy, but that's not a secret. You nap in my bed when I'm not there and steal all my clothes because you suck at normal interaction. And it's completely useless for you to have a first aid kit in your trunk."

"And?" Derek says, raising his eyebrows like he wants Stiles to get to the point already. "Did you also hit your head?"

"Nope," Stiles grins and leans forward, pressing his mouth against Derek's.

Before this, he's kissed three people in his whole life. Although one of them was when he was four years old, so it doesn't really count. The second and third ones were Jessica Graham and Lauren Cox, last year, during a game of Spin the Bottle, so they don't exactly count either, even if Lauren had totally slipped some tongue in there. So it's not like the feeling of someone's mouth on his is a completely new experience to him. But none of the other times were even close to this.

Derek doesn't pull away instantly, which is the first surprise. He answers the kiss hesitantly at first, like he's not sure what's happening. Stiles lifts one hand to Derek's cheek so that he can rub his thumb over the stubble there. It's rough under his fingertips, but Derek's mouth is soft, softer than he had ever imagined. He drags his tongue tentatively over Derek's lower lip and Derek makes a small sound of surprise and opens his mouth for him, deepening the kiss. Stiles lets Derek take over.

It takes him a few moments to figure it out, to how to kiss Derek. It helps that Derek kisses him slowly, with deep concentration. He’s frowning, but his eyes are closed when Stiles sneaks a look at him. Stiles worries about where his hands are and about the sluggish trickle of blood still leaking from his wounds. He gets sidetracked when there's a hand suddenly pressing down high on his thigh. And then he just... suddenly gets it, what to do to make it better. He lets his thumbs rest on the curve of Derek's jaw and tilts his head a little and forgets about everything else than the kiss.

Stiles doesn't know how long they keep at it, and he really doesn't care. But eventually Derek pulls away, looking a little dazed and Stiles realizes that both of his hands are now somehow fisted in Derek's hair. He let's go.

"Um," he says but doesn't know how to continue.

Derek just stares at him for a moment and then pulls Stiles back to him and buries his face in Stiles's neck, one hand gripping the back of Stiles's head and one at his waist, effectively keeping him right where he is. Derek brushes his nose along Stiles’s neck and then presses it in the soft place just below his ear and Stiles can hear him sniffing there. "Oookay," he squeaks. Derek's hand moves from the back of his head to his neck, fingers splaying against his cheek and all the points of contact where skin touches skin are buzzing. Then Derek's moving back down but instead of his nose he now presses his lips on Stiles's neck. "Oh my god," Stiles says faintly and melts against Derek. It feels like his spine has suddenly liquefied and every touch of Derek's lips flows through him, pooling in the pit of his stomach. Derek pushes Stiles's head back gently, so that he is blinking up at the Camaro's ceiling, and presses kisses on the underside of Stiles's jaw. Then he presses his mouth on Stiles's Adam's apple and the dip between his collar bones and Stiles can't stop shivering.

His fingers are tangled in Derek's hair again and he has officially lost all control of the situation. Then Derek bites down on the thin skin right over his collar bone and Stiles lets out an actual, honest-to-god moan and tightens his fingers, pulls at Derek's hair.

After a moment of that, after Stiles has found at least three new kinks for himself, Derek looks up and their eyes meet and lock. Stiles gives a whole body shiver and he knows he's blushing, but he can't look away.

"What," Stiles whines. "Don't stop."

"Still. Bleeding," Derek says.

"Oh, right," Stiles mutters. He grins at Derek sheepishly, hating the way Derek still seems to be capable of rational thought while he's unable to think about anything else than getting Derek's mouth on him again. His cheeks are burning, but he's not sure if it's just embarrassment or also stubble burn. "Oh my god," he groans.

Derek's lips twitch like he's suppressing a grin, but he doesn't say anything, just goes back to cleaning Stiles's wounds. Stiles's right hand has dropped on his shoulder, fingers twisted in Derek's jacket, but since Derek's not objecting to it he just leaves it there.

"I was supposed to talk to you about this," Stiles mumbles when Derek is dressing the wounds. "Like actually say things instead of just... uh."

"Kiss me?" Derek says. His head is bowed so that Stiles can't see his face and he's suddenly paying even more attention to Stiles's wounds.

"Well. Yeah. I mean I was going to demand answers too."

"Too?" Derek asks, sounding way too amused about it, but - for once - Stiles lets it go.

"Uh, the main thing I was going to say was that. Um, that..." Stiles flounders and stares at his hand on Derek's shoulder mournfully. It isn't supposed to be this hard, especially after all that kissing and licking and teeth, oh god. Then inspiration strikes. "You're totally my favorite. It isn't even a competition, not really. I mean, Scott who?"

Derek huffs and it's totally a laughing huff. Stiles narrows his eyes. "Are you laughing at me?"

"No," Derek says and finishes fiddling with the bandages. "Not at you."

"Liar," Stiles says, but he can't put much indignation into it. It comes out kind of fond, actually.

Derek stands up and steps away from Stiles. "Come on," he says. "I'll drive you home."

"What about the others?" Stiles asks, but climbs out of the car and circles to the passenger side. He glances down at himself, at his shredded shirt and the blood stains and all his gory glory. "Oh, dude. Finally I can be the one bleeding all over your car. Now we can see how much you like that."

"Not much at all," Derek mutters and Stiles is pretty sure he wasn't supposed to hear that so he doesn't comment on it. Derek clears his throat and continues at normal volume: "The others will be fine. And they'll call if something goes wrong."

"Or howl, more likely," Stiles says.

"Probably," Derek says and starts the car.

 

Stiles's house, when they get to it, is dark and empty. "Crap," Stiles mutters. He glances at his watch. It's not even nine yet. "Dad has the evening shift this week. He won't be back home until midnight." Normally it wouldn't be a problem, but Stiles kind of hates the idea of being alone in an empty house right now.

"Okay," Derek says and gets out of the car. Then he follows Stiles all the way into the house.

"Wait a minute," Stiles says when Derek closes the front door behind himself. "You don't have to stay and watch over me until my dad comes home." Not even if Stiles kind of wants him to. "You have to be itching to get back out there and check up on everyone else. I know you want to."

"Not particularly," Derek says, shrugging like he isn't at all worried about his pack.

"Wow," Stiles breathes out. "Either you suddenly have a lot more faith in your pack than you usually do or I'm actually having the Allison effect on you. Either way, I'm kind of impressed. And worried. Worriedly impressed."

Derek rolls his eyes, but doesn't deny anything. "You're crazy if you think I'm going to let you out of my sight tonight."

He says it like it's a completely normal thing to say. Stiles... isn't sure how to react to it. His feelings answer with some sort of confusing swirl between relief, panic and nervous expectation with some actual joy thrown in there. He feels the whole jumbled mess of it all in his whole body.

"I, um, yes. I'm going to get a drink?" Stiles says. It comes out as a question and he cringes, flapping his hand towards the kitchen. "Uh, you?"

Derek's lips twist into another almost-smile. Or possibly it's more of a smirk this time. Then he shakes his head and turns away and goes to sit on the living room couch.

Stiles goes to the kitchen and takes an almost desperate drink straight from the milk jug. He doesn't know what to do.

Stiles fishes his phone out of his pocket and sends a quick text message to Scott.

Derek took me home. I'm ok. He's going to keep me company until my dad gets home. Don't worry.

Scott is still probably chasing the hunters and the other pack, so he doesn't wait for an answer before putting his phone away and heading to the living room.

Derek is sitting on the couch, his eyes closed and his head tipped back. He doesn't stir when Stiles enters the room. Stiles fidgets a little in the doorway and then he's suddenly angry with himself. He's an idiot. It's just Derek. There's no reason to get so uncomfortable now. He steels himself, straightens his shoulders and goes to sit on the couch. He's so busy trying not to be uncomfortable that he doesn't pay attention and ends up sitting too close to Derek, way too close. Their legs are pressing together. It makes Stiles nervous all over again.

Then Derek lifts his hand and pushes his knuckles lightly against the back of Stiles's head. When Stiles relaxes into the touch, Derek's fist uncurls and his fingers slide down until they are splayed against the base of Stiles's neck. Stiles bows his head a little and doesn't say anything.

"What was the powder you threw at her face?" Derek asks, breaking the silence.

"Huh?" Stiles is startled out of counting his breaths and wondering at the way they were synching with Derek's thumb stroking his skin. "Oh. Just some peppers and chilies and a little bit of ground and dried wolfsbane just to give it some extra kick. Nothing lethal, but annoying as hell."

Derek's hand on his neck stills. "You..." he chokes out. "You pepper sprayed her?"

"It's not like I was actually trying to kill anyone. So, yeah, kind of."

"Stiles," Derek says. His voice sounds strained and when Stiles lifts his head to glance at him, he's laughing.

It's mostly silent laughter, but Stiles can see his stomach jumping under his shirt and the corners of his eyes are crinkling and he's covering his mouth with his free hand.

Stiles grins. "It's not that funny."

"She screamed like she was melting," Derek says.

"She probably inhaled a lot of it," Stiles says, watching Derek in fascination. He has never seen him like this before. "I mean, I timed it so she would, so..."

"I can't believe you," Derek says, slowly getting himself back under control. "Stiles, you have no idea." He uses the hand still on Stiles's neck to haul him closer and Stiles goes easily. He's still mostly distracted by the laughter lines in the corners of Derek's eyes. It's kind of a pity that he's never noticed them there before. They are a concrete proof that Derek's face works just like any other person's, so they instantly go to the list of Stiles's favorite things about Derek's face. Second place, right after the eyebrows.

"I'm pretty unbelievable," he says.

And then they are kissing again.

It's easier now. So much easier. Derek's lips feel familiar already and it makes him feel surer of himself. Derek lets his hand drop from Stiles's neck, but Stiles keeps going and just climbs into his lap. There’s a startled little oomph from Derek when he accidentally knees him in the side in his hurry, but Derek’s pulling him closer before he has time to pause and apologize. So he just kisses him again instead.

"So..." Stiles says, pulling away from Derek, but only far enough so that he can speak. Derek hums and dips his head to lick at Stiles's throat. "Are you going to tell me about all the weird shit you've been doing lately? I kind of want some answers."

"Like what?" Derek mutters against Stiles's throat. Stiles feels teeth scraping against his skin. And, yeah, he can see that becoming a problem very quickly. He's already half hard from the idea of more teeth.

“Derek,” he practically whines. He rolls his hips forward, can't stop himself. He clutches at Derek's shoulders and just breathes for a while. "Like why?" he finally manages to say.

“I don’t,” Derek says, takes a long breath and then pushes it out like he’s steeling himself for something. “I couldn't... I get a little crazy when there's someone... Stiles," he whispers against Stiles's collarbone. Stiles tightens his hold around Derek's shoulders and keeps him close. The way Derek's words come out jumbled and incomplete and the way he's breathing, heavily against Stiles's neck, somehow give him a little more confidence. It's not just him that's overwhelmed. It's easier to admit now that he really wants this. So of course Derek drags his hands down Stiles's sides and sighs. "I didn't want to do this."

"You can stop sweet talking me any time now," Stiles mutters into Derek's hair. "This is making me feel so good about myself, you don't even know."

"You're so young," Derek says and his lips move on Stiles's skin, making him shiver.

"Yeah, there's not much I can do about that," he says. He hopes that Derek isn't succeeding in talking himself out of this, though. "But I say that if I'm old enough to be in mortal danger on a weekly basis, I get to be old enough for this. Things need to balance out somehow, you know."

Derek huffs a small laugh against Stiles's neck and his fingers tighten on Stiles's hips."Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's not how that works." He doesn't move away or let go or do anything else stupid, though.

Stiles wants to wrap himself all around Derek. He wants to keep him there forever, warm and solid and laughing, and not let anyone else touch him ever again. Which, yeah, is edging towards worrisome behavior, so he loosens his grip on him and pulls back, but just enough so he doesn't go cross eyed when he looks Derek in the eye. "So, are we going to make out some more now?" he asks. The urge to joke his way to a lighter mood is too much to resist. "Maybe there could even be some groping involved? I'd be down with that too. And I'm not exactly sure how far these things should go right away, but I'm just saying that a handjob isn't out of the realm of possibility here. Although, to tell the truth, it will probably be kind of crappy for you, since I have never done anything like this before."

Stiles thinks he can see honest-to-god panic flash in Derek's eyes. "Oh god, you're a..." Derek chokes out.

"Yeah, totally a virgin!" Stiles grins, because watching Derek's reactions is suddenly the funniest thing in the world and a little bit of personal embarrassment doesn't deter him from making Derek pull faces like that. Then the thought that it might be a deal breaker hits. "I mean, I thought you knew that," he says, suddenly insecure. "I thought pretty much everyone knew that."

"Yes, I... Just. Oh god," Derek groans and closes his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. "I'm going to hell. Your dad is going to kill me and I'm going to hell."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Don't worry, I will protect you from my dad. At least my dad doesn't know to use wolfsbane bullets when he goes after you." Then another realization hits him. This one is even more horrifying than the idea of Derek backing out. Damn it, he hates sudden realizations. "Oh my god, you're coming to dinner next weekend! My dad is going to kill you if he finds out! And oh god, he's going to find out because you are kind of obvious."

"Fooled you," Derek mutters into Stiles's neck. "You didn't catch on until a few days ago."

"Yeah, but I'm obviously stupid about things like this. But my dad isn't," Stiles says. "He notices things. It's his freaking job! You better not even look at me funny or we're screwed. I don't even want to think about this."

"Stiles..." Derek says, but Stiles has had enough of that. He grabs Derek's head with both hands and pulls him into a kiss. "So we're just going to ignore all that?" he mutters against Stiles's mouth.

"Yup," Stiles says. He's banning thinking for a while. It hasn't done them any favors so far.

 

Sadly, there are no handjobs that night. They just make out forever, slowly sliding down until they are lying on the couch, Stiles leaning over Derek. And it's awesome. Especially after he gets his hands under Derek's shirt and Derek makes a noise.

He tries to get his hand into Derek's pants once, but Derek grabs his wrist and pulls it away from his fly. "No, Stiles," he says, but it's not unkindly.

"Sorry," Stiles says, because, yeah, he's actually kind of relieved Derek stopped him, now that he thinks about it.

"No, don’t apologize. Just," Derek says, shaking his head. Then he sighs and pushes Stiles off of him.

"Whaaat?" Stiles whines. "I promise I won't try that again, seriously."

Derek rolls his eyes. "It's almost midnight. I need to go before your dad gets back."

Stiles blinks at Derek and then reaches for his phone that he left lying on the coffee table. "Yes," he says. It's twenty to twelve, which comes as a bit of a shock. "Yes, you should really go now. You should definitely go. I'll see you tomorrow, though?"

Derek nods and then just looks at Stiles. Stiles kind of hopes he doesn't look as wrecked as Derek does. Derek's hair is standing in weird angles because Stiles could not stop pulling at it and his mouth is red and kind of swollen.

Who is Stiles kidding, though? He probably looks worse. He doesn't have any hair to mess up but, unlike Derek, the hickeys on him won't magically disappear right away. Nor does the stubble burn. Most of Stiles's face and neck feel tender to touch. It's awesome, but it will definitely be horrible if his dad catches sight of him like this. "You were going," Stiles says. "Your car is in front of the house."

"Yes, I'm going," Derek says and leans in for another kiss.

"Oh my god, we're that couple," Stiles jokes into the kiss, even though it's definitely too early for couple-jokes, and ruins it even further by grinning and making it impossible for Derek to kiss him properly.

Derek nips at his lower lip and then retreats. "I'm going," he says again and then actually goes.

Stiles stays to listen to the sound of the Camaro driving away and then scrambles upstairs. He goes to the bathroom to dab some shaving lotion on his face and hopes for the best. Then he goes into his room, gets a hand on his dick and comes in about two seconds. By the time he hears his dad come in, fifteen past twelve, he's cleaned up and is sitting in front of his computer, doing the homework he has been ignoring for two days. It's the most productive thirty minutes he has ever had.

"Stiles?" his dad calls, because of course he knows Stiles is still up.

"Yeah, dad!" Stiles shouts through the door. "I'm going to sleep now, just waited until you got home!"

"Goodnight," his dad answers.

"Goodnight!" Stiles shouts back and is very glad his dad doesn't feel the need to open the door and take a look at him.

 

"WHAT ARE THOSE?" Scott says and looks horrified. He points a finger at Stiles's throat and just opens and closes his mouth a couple of times.

"Good morning to you too," Stiles says cheerfully and hunches his shoulders higher, in an attempt to hide the bruises on his neck. It's not very effective. He tried wearing a scarf, but it just looked way too douchey on him. He was even more embarrassed to get out of the house wearing it than he was about all the hickeys being on display. And he didn't own any turtlenecks because of his personal vendetta against them, so he just avoided his dad until it was time to go to school and then walked around with his hood up over his head, so that his neck wasn't in full display. But of course Scott noticed.

Scott narrows his eyes. "So Derek was keeping you company last night, huh?" he says. Then he leans closer and very unsubtly sniffs at Stiles.

"Oh my god, keep your nose away from my business. Literally," Stiles groans and slaps his hand over Scott's face, pushing him away.

"You reek of him," Scott says and then licks Stiles's palm.

Stiles snatches his hand away, fast. "Dude! Gross!"

Scott just grins at him. "You told him," he says, sounding suspiciously happy about it.

"Well, kind of, yeah," Stiles says. If Scott found out what had actually happened, he would laugh and laugh and Stiles would never hear the end of it.

"And it obviously went well."

Stiles is pretty sure that's the understatement of the century. "Yeah," he says and grins back at Scott.

"Awesome," Scott says and this is why Stiles loves him.

"Totally."

"Although it's unfair how you two got to spend the night making out while we did all the work," Scott says and throws an arm over Stiles's shoulders.

"So now you know how I felt every time it was the other way around," Stiles points out, jabbing a finger at Scott's ribs. "And Derek can do whatever he wants. If he wants to spend his time making out with me, you can't tell him to stop. He's the alpha, you know," Stiles grins.

"Oh yeah," Scott says, rolling his eyes. "I really, really do know."

At lunch, Erica appears, flanked with Boyd and Isaac. They had obviously waited until Lydia and Jackson left so that they could corner Stiles with only Scott as his backup. Erica sits down opposite of Stiles, lays her arms on the table and rests her chin on her hands. "So," she says and grins up at Stiles. "Are you my mummy?"

Stiles groans and wonders how it's possible to both love her and hate her so much at the same time. She takes a very obvious, very long breath through her nose and her grin widens.

"You made Derek nervous," Isaac says and sits down next to Erica. His eyes are wide and his grin is crooked. It's the most delighted Stiles has ever seen him. Stiles looks from Erica to Isaac and then to Boyd, who is also smiling at him. It's creepy.

"You're making me nervous now," he says.

"He couldn't stay still at all last night," Erica tells him, sounding absolutely gleeful. "He kept pacing around like he wanted to drive back to your place and climb through your window. He almost left twice before he stopped himself." Erica cackles. "I think you broke him."

"He accidentally ate a slice of Boyd's pizza. With the chilies," Isaac grins. "It was hilarious."

Stiles knows he's beet red. "Oh my god, shut up and go away," he groans and resists the urge to bury his face in his hands.

They don't move and just keep grinning at him.

"Okay," Stiles sighs and tries to shrug the embarrassment away. It's definitely time for a change of subject. "If you're staying, at least tell me how it went last night."

Erica shrugs, even if the move is pretty difficult to pull off when she's still sprawled all over the table. "We caught up with the hunters and there was some violence, but nothing major. No one was really gunning for us anyway. I got shot with an arrow, which sucked. We stopped them from following and then we made sure that Marie's pack got out of Beacon Hills. I got to hit that bitch that clawed you, so that was good," she says and her smile turns satisfied.

“Good riddance,” Boyd mutters.

Stiles knows the hunters are just going to follow the wolves, even if they were slowed down. But at least there's a chance that they find another pack and do better at asking for help. They still have a chance of surviving and that's all Stiles really wanted to give to them. Mainly he just wanted them out of Derek's territory and out of their lives. They have enough problems of their own without adding another pack full of unstable werewolves to their mountain of suck, no matter how much of a loose end it feels like.

The claw marks on his arm and chest itch.

 

After the school day that left him jittery and unable to concentrate and lacrosse practice that was on the painful side because of Stiles’s inattention, he gets home, trudges up to his room and finds Derek in his bed. He's lying on his stomach, his hands shoved under Stiles's pillow, and he's out cold. Stiles freezes at the door with a strong sense of deja vu and too much giddy nervousness to handle. He places his school bag quietly on the floor and toes his shoes off. Then he shrugs off his jacket and tiptoes to the bed.

Derek doesn't stir, but he lets out a sleepy grunt, so Stiles climbs over his legs and slips on the bed next to him. It's a tight fit, his bed isn't very wide, but it's not like Stiles will complain about being forced this close to Derek. He's still mostly in awe that Derek actually allows him there.

"Is this going to be a thing now?" Stiles asks when Derek finally cracks one eye open. "Me finding you here just taking a nap like I actually invited you?"

Derek sighs and closes his eyes for a second more before opening them both. "I can go," he says and moves to get up.

"No!" Stiles blurts out and grabs Derek's shoulder, pushes him back down. He leaves his hand there just in case Derek is going to try to get up again. And also because it feels nice. Derek is only wearing a soft t-shirt and when Stiles slides his hand down a little, he can touch sleep warm skin. "Are you an idiot? Finding you here just made my whole day worth it. You." He points a finger at Derek's face. "Stay."

Derek gives him the unimpressed eyebrows. "You're so funny. No, really, the dog jokes are my favorite, Stiles," he deadpans, but the way he says Stiles's name sends something warm and crackling traveling down Stiles's spine. Then he leans forward and kisses the finger Stiles is still pointing at him.

Stiles stares. His mouth is hanging open, he knows, but he can't gather enough brain power to close it. And then Derek slips the finger into his mouth and suddenly Stiles's pulse is racing. He can feel Derek's teeth scraping along the side of his finger and his tongue pressing against the tip. "Oh my god," he says.

Derek lets his finger go and hides his smile inside Stiles's palm. It's stupidly adorable. "Did you just come here to sexually frustrate me some more?" Stiles squeaks.

"No," Derek says and sits up, letting go of Stiles's hand. "I came here to talk."

"Talk, yeah. Talk is good," Stiles nods and sits up too. "We kind of skipped a lot of stuff yesterday."

Derek just nods and doesn't say anything.

"Are we doing this? This... whatever it is," Stiles asks, gesturing between him and Derek. "Because if we are, you know things can't stay like they are now," Stiles says and wraps his arms around his knees. "This thing where you don't tell me anything and I have to figure it out by myself and then do all the work and then wait for your yes or no. You have to make an effort too."

"I know," Derek says.

"And you have to share things with me. I know trust isn't exactly your thing, but--"

"I trust you," Derek says, cutting him off. Stiles looks at him, surprised, but he's glaring at his feet instead of looking at Stiles.

"Since when?"

There's a pause while Derek apparently contemplates the poster near Stiles's bedroom door. "Since, maybe, after the night at the pool. At least that's where it started," he finally says, still not looking at Stiles.

"Why?"

"Because you let me go but then you came back."

Stiles snorts. "Of course I did. It wasn't like I was going to let you drown."

"Stiles... Just, that makes you pretty much the exception to the general rule," Derek says to the poster. "You keep coming back."

"So..." Stiles starts and pretends that Derek's words haven't left him reeling. He knows it's true, how even most of the people that Derek now considers friends have at some point let him down, but he has never really thought about what it actually means. The implications suck. He needs to stop thinking about it before he punches something. "How long have you felt like this... about me?" Stiles asks. It's hard to force himself say these things out loud, but he soldiers on in the name of full disclosure.

Derek groans. "Do we have to talk about this?"

"Yes," Stiles says firmly. "We are practicing the sharing thing and I really want to know. But, okay, let's start with something easier.... uh, how long have you been taking naps in my bed while I wasn't home? Because I caught you once. Which basically means that you had been doing it a lot, because you are a sneaky person with superhuman senses and won't be caught easily."

Derek groans again and wipes one hand over his face. "It wasn't like I was doing it all the time," he mumbles. "Just sometimes."

"Since when?" Stiles presses. He can see that Derek's horribly embarrassed and uncomfortable with the conversation and he almost lets it go when Derek finally looks at him again.

"Since the pool, basically," he answers. "Rarely at first, but then more and more. Not since you caught me, though."

"Okay," Stiles says and takes a deep breath. His chest feels like it's hollowing out, like there's a hole somewhere and he's leaking feelings all over the place. "Wow, there's really no hope for me," he breathes out. "Not when your creepy stalkerish behavior is actually making me happy. It's kind of worrying, actually. For the record, though? You have my permission to come over and sleep in my bed whenever you want. And that permission is retroactive, so you don't have to feel bad about it anymore."

Derek smirks at him. "I wasn't feeling bad about it."

"Of course not. Because you're a creeper," Stiles sighs. "And this is not the kind of supernatural romance where this is okay," he adds. Except it kind of is because apparently he finds Derek's creeperdom endearing. "When we're old and have become the kind of people who go to dinner parties where people ask us how we met I can't tell any of these stories to anyone," Stiles says and despairs a little. But then Derek's right there and kissing him, without any kind of reason for it at all, and Stiles stops despairing about their highly hypothetical, strange future since his whole brain has gone offline. He grabs Derek's head with both hands and kisses back, because no way he's going to refuse himself this, even if he's mildly confused about how he got it. It's open mouthed and sloppy and amazing, leaving Stiles panting into it.

"I think I'll never get tired of kissing you," Stiles gasps. "I thought I'd tell you, you know, since we're sharing things and all. Just so you know that it'll probably be a pain to try to get rid of me later."

"Sure," Derek says. Stiles tries not to make too much out of it, the way Derek goes with it so easily.

"Your turn," Stiles says. "Are we dating? This doesn't feel like dating, though. So far it's been just a lot of making out and confusion and hiding in my room. I kind of want dating. Um. If you want to."

"You want to go on dates. With me," Derek says. He sounds a bit disbelieving, like that hadn't even really entered his mind.

"Yeah!" Stiles nods and flails a little to cover up his embarrassment. "Of course I do."

"Dates. Like what?"

"I don't know. Normal stuff. I want to do normal stuff with you, in addition to all the death and mayhem. Movies. Pizza. I don't know." Stiles shrugs. "You like hiking. We could go hiking. Again. But without the magical werewolf territory element. Or the hunters. I'm also totally counting that time as a date, even though there were magical werewolf stuff and hunters, just so you know. It felt kind of like a date. Hey, you can even press me against a tree again, it'll be fun."

Derek just stares at him for a while, looking a bit like the proverbial deer in the headlights. Wolf in the headlights. Well, whatever. "I've... I've never been on a date," he finally says.

Stiles can't help the grin spreading on his face. He's surprised, but also secretly pleased. But there's also something in Derek's voice that tells him that maybe he shouldn't poke at this too much. At least not right now. "Amazing. Totally amazing. But hey, neither have I, so I guess we can do whatever and call them dates, since neither of us apparently knows anything about dating."

"I guess." Derek still sounds a little hesitant.

"I just want to flaunt you a little. All over town," Stiles says to that, because shock tactics seem to be effective when it comes to Derek.

Derek cocks an eyebrow at him. "I don't think that's a very good idea," he says.

It's not, if Stiles starts to think about his dad or one of his deputies seeing them. Or someone else who knows him or Derek. He was mostly joking anyway. But, still. "Your hotness is going to waste," he sighs, mock disappointed. "What's the use if I can't show you off to people and then tell them that you're mine and not theirs?"

Derek just gives him an unimpressed stare.

"Fine," Stiles laughs. "Apparently only you are allowed to be creepy in this relationship. No more joking about your incredible hotness. Got it." Then he sobers up. "Hey, you didn't actually say. Do you want to? Date me?"

Derek sighs and rolls his eyes, but he's blushing, just a little bit, over his cheeks and nose. The sight of it makes Stiles's heart beat faster. Something warm and exhilarating is humming through his veins, he can almost feel it at the pulse points of his wrists.

"Yes," Derek says. "Yes, I want to. Isn't it obvious by now?"

"I don't know," Stiles says and grins. "You might have just wanted to use me for sex."

Derek groans and buries his face in his hands. "I regret this," he mumbles. "I regret everything."

Stiles laughs. "Too late. You're stuck with me now." He nudges Derek with his elbow and then slides off the bed to dig through his backpack, just to have something to do.

Derek is quiet for a long time, watching while Stiles pulls out his homework and puts it down next to his computer.

"This is dangerous," Derek finally says, just when Stiles is trying to find something else to do. "I'm putting you in danger."

Stiles sighs and turns to look at Derek, who, despite his words, is suddenly standing right there in Stiles's space, like he can't keep away at all. He lifts a tentative hand to tug at Derek's collar. "It's nothing I haven't been already handling. I don't really care," Stiles says and finds out that he means it. He lets his thumb slide over Derek's collarbone. Then he slips his fingers under the shirt collar and moves it over to Derek's neck. His skin is warm and Stiles wants to press his mouth on it, to warm the tip of his nose against it. So he does just that.

"I just... I wish you didn't have to worry about me. Because you do. I know you do. I just wish that I wasn't so weak," he mutters into Derek's skin. Since they are sharing now, he might as well say it.

"You're not weak, Stiles," Derek says. It comes out harsh and so sudden that it completely wrong-foots Stiles. He takes one tiny step back so that he can look at Derek's face. And, yeah, Derek's scowling at him. He opens his mouth to point out the obvious: he's human and lacking in supernatural powers, when Derek's glare gets sharper. "Shut up, Stiles. I'm trying to say something important."

So Stiles closes his mouth and waits.

"It's instinct," Derek stars after a short pause. He's still frowning like he's having difficulties in finding the right words. "You're human so the predator instinctively sees you as the easiest prey, but... But the flaw in that is that instincts aren't intelligent. There's no real control over them." Derek falls silent and stares at Stiles, like he's trying to will him into understanding.

"So..." Stiles says. But he can't continue, because he doesn't get it. "I still don't get it."

Derek lets out a frustrated breath. "It's harder for us. For werewolves, to ignore our instincts. If she had grabbed any of us, our first instinct would have been either lash out at her or submit. But if you had done either of those... you'd probably be dead now. But you didn't. You had a plan."

"So you're saying that makes me... not weak?"

Derek rolls his eyes. "All of us have weaknesses, Stiles. All of us have huge weaknesses."

Stiles rolls his eyes right back at Derek. "Oh, great. Excuse me if I don't jump up and down in joy. I still don't see how sarcasm and brains are any use against claws and superpowers."

"Worked last night," Derek says, shrugging, and Stiles absolutely hates it when he's right like that, like it's completely obvious to him. Then Derek’s eyes go soft. "The point is that you are not the weakest member of this pack. You can outthink all of us," he mutters, glancing away from Stiles. Stiles tracks the movement of his Adam's apple when he swallows. He wants to put his mouth on it, scrape his teeth across Derek's throat, but he's not sure if Derek will let him. "You're the strongest person I know," Derek says then, not looking at Stiles, and Stiles can see a blush creeping up his neck and cheeks for the second time that day. It's almost hidden under the stubble but Stiles is too close not to notice.

And... yeah. That's pretty much it. The realization of it hits him hard, and he absolutely hates, hates it when they are so sudden, like Stiles is stupid and can't notice things before hit on the head with them. But it's there and it isn't going to go away. He's stupidly, impossibly in love. "I'm going to kiss you now," Stiles says and presses his whole body against Derek. Derek's arms go around him, but he bypasses Stiles's mouth and presses his nose against Stiles's temple, taking a deep breath.

"That's not a kiss," Stiles mutters into Derek's shoulder. "And, hey, are you sniffing me?"

"Yes," Derek says.

Stiles pauses for a while, listening to the small snuffling sounds Derek is making. It's kind of cute, actually. "Well, at least this time you're admitting it," he says.

"That night in the woods... with the snake," Derek says into Stiles's hair. "I heard you. I smelled you. All the way from your car, the moment you stepped out, even if that should have been impossible. That's what snapped me out of the trance. I called out for you and that's what saved my life. That's how you affect me."

And that... that isn't something Stiles had expected to hear. It feels huge, so huge that he can't quite wrap his mind around it. "Oh," he says and his voice sounds tiny to his own ears. He can feel his heart rate picking up.

Derek doesn't say anything else, but his hold on Stiles tightens.

"I hate that monstrous killer snakes know us better than we do," Stiles mutters.

"We?" Derek asks, sounding amused. "At that point I was well aware of what was happening. You were the only one who didn't know."

"Ha ha. Let's all make fun of Stiles for being emotionally stupid," Stiles says dryly, but it's hard to keep a hold on his irritation when Derek's hands slide down over his back until he is slipping his fingers underneath Stiles's shirt and pressing his palms against Stiles's skin. He tilts his hips forward until he's flush against Derek and drags his mouth over Derek's cheek until he can press their lips together. Derek sighs into the kiss and crowds Stiles against his desk. One of his hands is splayed against Stiles's back, his fingertips rubbing against the skin just beneath the waistband of his jeans. And... and, holy shit, Stiles might know where this is heading. There's a real possibility that he's going to have sex. In the afternoon. It's still light outside. There's absolutely no chance of fumbling in the dark for this. There will be nowhere to hide.

He makes a small, embarrassingly needy sound and grabs at Derek. His shoulders, his hair, anything he can reach. He wants to wrap his legs around Derek but he's not sure his desk would last under his weight. There's a clatter when something rolls off the desk and onto the floor. Derek is still under his hands, but yielding, allowing Stiles to touch where ever he wants. His heart is hammering in his chest like he's afraid, but all he feels is relief and a huge wave of affection that threatens to drown him.

It's a while before Derek breaks away from the kiss. The hand he doesn't have half way down Stiles's pants is resting over his heart. "Are you sure?" he asks.

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Do you want it in writing? Because I will write it down if you want. I, Stiles Stilinski, give my full consent to Derek Hale so we can have sex, lots of sex, so much sex that--" Derek huffs and silences him with his mouth. Which is awesome and Stiles completely approves of this method of making him stop talking. Not that it's completely effective. "So. Much. Sex," he mutters against Derek's mouth and feels it when Derek smiles. He's not sure if he's disappointed or happy that the smile gets lost in the kiss, that he can't see it.

Then Derek is backing up, dragging Stiles with him with a fist in his shirt. Stiles grins and goes easily, unable to look away from Derek's eyes and the intensity there. He's looking at Stiles like he's something desirable, like Derek's the one who can't believe his luck. Derek backs up until his shins hit the bed and then he sits down, pulling Stiles with him and into his lap. He presses his face into Stiles's throat, rubbing against him. Stiles can't stop a laugh escaping when he gets what it's about.

"This is some kind of scent thing, isn't it?" he asks. "Oh my god, like the clothes stealing! You fed me some bullshit about it, I can't even remember what it was right now."

"Most of what I said was true," Derek protests. "I just... left some things out. The scent thing, me wearing your clothes, us smelling like each other... It's not just a red flag and neither it is just for protection. I didn't do it just for that. If I had, it would have worked better if you smelled more like me than the other way around anyway."

"Yeah, I was wondering about that," Stiles says, even if he really hadn't been. Because he's an idiot.

"I did it because I needed to. I needed that link, even though you didn't seem to want it."

"Whoah," Stiles says, arching into Derek's touch. The idea of Derek needing that - Derek needing anything from Stiles - is coiling inside his stomach, winding him tighter and tighter. "That should not be as hot as I apparently think it is."

"This? What we're doing right now? It will only mix our scents even more," Derek continues. "And if we continue doing this, our scents will become indistinguishable from each other."

"It's like you're marking your territory," Stiles gasps. He should probably find the mental image of Derek rubbing himself all over everything in Stiles's life more amusing than he actually does. Mostly it's just hot, because everything about Derek is hot to him right now, it seems.

"I've been doing it longer than I've known that that's what it was." He licks a stripe down Stiles's neck. "The thing about my uncle is that he keeps crossing into my territory. I don't like it. He keeps leaving traces of himself on you. He was even in your room. It's unbearable."

"Jesus Christ, Derek."

"If I could, I would keep you away from everyone until you would only smell like me, until none of the other scents would take. And I know it sounds horrible, so I keep letting you go. But you keep coming back."

"I think there's a saying about that," Stiles mutters, but lets Derek shut him up with another kiss, this one a lot more frantic than any of the previous ones. Derek's biting at his lips and sucking on his tongue, and Stiles can't really do anything else than just let him. He groans into the kiss and grabs at Derek's neck, twisting his fingers in the short hairs there.

And then... And then. Derek grabs Stiles's shoulders and flips them over, pressing him down on the mattress, pinning him there with his weight. Stiles gets his wind knocked out of him and it startles another laugh from him. He gasps and giggles and tries to get himself back in control, but then Derek is kissing him and grinding their hips together, and Stiles is going to come without actually getting out of his pants or without Derek putting his hand anywhere near his dick. Or... Derek licks Stiles's earlobe and it should be ridiculous and tickly but it somehow really, really isn't. Stiles likes Derek's mouth on him, and his tongue...

"Oh god," Stiles breathes out.

"What?" Derek asks, his breath trailing hot over Stiles's cheek and neck.

"I'm thinking about you, oh god," Stiles gasps and arches up into Derek's body, seeking more friction. "Of you sucking me off. It's, nngh, it's a very vivid image."

"Stiles," Derek breathes out and it sounds a little bit desperate to Stiles's ears, like Derek wants to do it, is thinking about it right now.

His brain stutters at that and changes tracks completely. He starts cataloging what Derek likes, what Derek wants, like underneath the pleasure of Derek's mouth and hands on him, Stiles is trying to learn him. He tugs at Derek's hair gently and Derek moans against his neck, sending shivers down his spine, so he tugs again, harder. Derek presses his body down, all over Stiles and brings his mouth back up to kiss him again. It's a rush, a powerful, new kind of thing, and Stiles smiles against Derek's lips. "Move over," he mutters and pushes Derek off him and over, using the hold he has in his hair as leverage. Derek doesn't protest, just goes and lets Stiles push him down, climb on top of him. He leans down and props his elbows on each side of Derek's head, pressing their chests together, and smiles down at him. This is definitely a position he likes, pressing down against Derek, feeling all that muscle give into him. He kisses Derek lightly once, twice, three times and then slides his mouth along Derek's jawline, the stubble prickling against the sensitized skin of his lips.

Derek takes a deep breath through his nose and turns his head into Stiles's pillow, giving Stiles better access to his throat. "Oh my god," Stiles says, amazed and suddenly even more turned on, when he had thought that was already impossible. He trails his mouth down, tries to bite experimentally at the strong muscle on the side of Derek’s neck. Derek lets out another small sound, almost like a whine, so Stiles bites down harder and Derek's whole body trembles. "Oh my god," Stiles says again and goes back to kissing Derek, because he can't not. He's now completely hard and he hasn't even managed to get Derek out of his shirt, which has to be some kind of a new record because it really isn't difficult to get Derek topless. So he tries to keep kissing him while his fingers find their way to the hem of Derek's shirt, tugging at it. It doesn't really work. It's kind of hard to get a shirt off someone who is pinned to a bed. He pulls away to laugh and Derek follows him, sits up and kisses Stiles again and, yeah, this is better. Stiles pulls Derek's shirt up and over his head, tossing it aside.

As soon as Derek is free of the shirt, his hands go on Stiles's neck and his mouth follows them. Stiles slides his hands down Derek's chest and stomach while Derek is busy scraping his teeth along Stiles's throat, sucking another mark there. He has absolutely no idea how he's going to cover them all tomorrow, but right now he couldn't care less. "How are you even real?" he sighs against the side of Derek's head. "Even your muscles have muscles, dude."

"Stiles..." Derek breathes against Stiles's neck. He doesn't know if it's an order to shut the hell up or to get the hell on with it, so he does both. He pushes Derek back down and skates his hands over Derek's chest again, rubbing his thumb over a nipple, looking for the places that make Derek's breath stutter. Derek's hands are on Stiles's back, gripping fistfuls of his shirt.

Stiles wants to explore, map every inch of Derek with his hands and his mouth. He leans down and back and oh yeah, Derek's definitely hard. Stiles can't decide if he wants to hurry or go slowly. He doesn't even know if he has gathered enough courage to wander below the waistband of Derek's jeans yet. He pauses and licks his lips and watches Derek watch him.

"Stiles, it's okay. Whatever you--" Derek says and his voice is rougher than usual. He clears his throat. "Whatever is okay."

"It's kind of exactly my issue here," Stiles says. "I can't really decide what I want to try first."

Derek snorts. His hands smooth over Stiles's back and then up and down his thighs until they settle on his hips. "Anything you want, Stiles," he says.

"Oh my god," Stiles mutters because Derek's not just saying that to repeat some kind of a line, he really means it, that he's willing to let Stiles do anything. "Take off my shirt. It's ridiculous that I'm still fully clothed."

Derek obviously agrees with him because he almost rips it off Stiles. The shirt goes up and over his head in two seconds. It catches painfully on one of Stiles's ears as it goes, and he can't stop the laughter spilling out. The full realization of how incredibly nervous he is hits him then. He leans back down and presses himself against all the warm, bare skin. He giggles against Derek's neck and then goes back to kissing him because that's the part he's starting to get pretty confident in. He tries rocking his hips down against Derek's experimentally and Derek moans, which is so incredibly hot that the last bits of laughter die a swift death in his throat.

Derek's hands move from his hips to squeeze his ass, which makes him forget everything ever. He even forgets how to breathe properly and just gasps and presses his hips down again. Derek tries to force him into a rhythm but he resists and manages to shake his head and say: "No," into Derek's mouth. "No, I don't want you to come like this, let me touch you, oh my god, let me taste you," he babbles. Yep, he has definitely gathered enough courage to stick his hand into Derek's pants now. He brings one hand between them and rubs it over the front of Derek's jeans, where he is warm and hard. He moves to pop the button and just keeps talking. "I want to do all kinds of things to you and I want to let you do whatever you want to me. I want you to fuck me and I really, really want to fuck you and I bet your stubble would feel awesome on the insides of my thighs. And I want to lick you all over, which is totally weird, right? Like all over. Even your arm pits and belly button and..." He gets a hand into Derek's pants then and manages to wrap his fingers around Derek's cock, and yeah. He forgets what he was about to say next and does a couple of strokes, but it's awkward. The angle is weird and new. He stops and pushes Derek's jeans and underwear out of the way and it's a bit better when he can actually see. (Okay, a lot better. Because: erection! That Stiles made happen! Everything is awesome.) "Okay then, I'm definitely going to try this blowjob thing now," he tells Derek. "Say if I'm doing something that you don't like or just think is weird or something."

"At this point," Derek grinds out, "it might be impossible for you to do something that I wouldn't like. Unless you're going to just keep talking and not--"

Stiles rubs a thumb over the tip of Derek's cock, smearing precome all over it, which cuts Derek off. "Yeah, that's better. No bitching when I'm about to suck your cock, okay."

Derek just groans and lets his head drop down against the pillows.

Stiles just goes for it. He has absolutely no idea what he's doing, but at least he grabs the basic idea of mouth on dick. So he licks up the shaft and listens to Derek's reactions, which are helpfully very audible. A heavy hand falls on the back of his head when he takes the tip of Derek's cock into his mouth, and he looks up to see Derek watching him again. Derek's hand is just resting on his neck, not trying to make him move or push him down, which is good because Stiles probably couldn’t handle that. At least he thinks he couldn't. Maybe after he has practiced a few times, though.

From all the things he's done (or doing right now), Derek watching him really shouldn't be the thing that makes him blush. He can feel the heat on his cheeks, so he drops his gaze from Derek's eyes and goes back to what he was doing. He can't really take Derek too deep in his mouth, but he does what he can, tries licking and sucking and tries to be really, really careful with his teeth. He goes with it, finds out he actually likes it, likes to have Derek in his mouth, warm and heavy on his tongue, until his jaw starts to hurt and then he pulls away. Derek makes a disappointed noise at that, but pulls Stiles up and kisses him. "That okay?" Stiles asks into Derek's mouth.

Derek doesn't answer. He grabs Stiles hand and brings it on his cock, guides him to stroke once, twice, and then Stiles feels him coming, all over them both. "Wow, okay then," Stiles says and strokes him through it, with Derek's hand guiding him.

"God, Stiles, just let me..." Derek says after he's caught his breath again.

"Yeah, yeah, just," Stiles sighs and tries to rub against Derek’s thigh. It’s not really working, he still has his pants on, even. Derek pushes him away, off of him, and Stiles has a brief flash of panic, that Derek’s just going to leave now. But then Derek’s hands are on his knees, spreading his legs so that he can lean between them. Stiles watches Derek run his hands up his thighs, leaving trails of warmth behind, until his fingers find his fly and he’s pulling Stiles out. "Oh my god," Stiles says and leans back on his elbows and spreads his legs as far as they can go. His dick is sticking out of his pants and Derek’s watching him and it’s ridiculous and obscene and Stiles can’t remember ever being this hard. "What are you gonna--" he starts asking but then Derek takes him into his mouth and Stiles is reduced to one syllable exhales that aren't even real words. He can't do anything else than stare at the top of Derek's head and grasp at the sheets. And then Derek sucks and Stiles has to squeeze his eyes shut and slap one sweaty palm over them so that he can't see Derek's cheeks hollow out, because he will come, he will come in two seconds if he sees that.

"I really, really..." Stiles gasps and drops his hand from his eyes, pushes it gently through Derek's hair instead. "You are," he tries next, but complete sentences just won't come to him. Derek doesn't look up, but he pushes into Stiles's touch. "So much," Stiles says.

Derek's mouth is warm and wet and firm around him and Stiles wants to simultaneously push into it and squirm away. He doesn't know if he can handle all this, the way Derek's tongue presses against the tip of his cock, the concentrated frown of his eyebrows, the dark, long eyelashes against Derek's cheeks. He's getting a blow job from Derek Hale and he's choking on feelings. He can't even laugh at himself, because he can't do anything else than gasp and moan and pet Derek's stupid hair. Then Derek hums around Stiles's cock and Stiles just... tips over that edge, as easy as anything, and comes without much of a warning. He's almost surprised by it, both the suddenness and the force of it. Derek chokes a little and then pulls away, replacing his mouth with his hand and stroking Stiles through it.

Stiles just collapses on the bed and lets it happen. His head is hanging over the edge at the foot of the bed and he blinks at his upside down computer chair and tries to get his breathing under control again. Then Derek drags him fully on the bed again, hands gripping his waist, lips nuzzling at his neck.

"Was that okay?" Derek asks and makes Stiles laugh breathlessly.

"Oh wow," Stiles laughs and wraps his arms around Derek's shoulders, enjoying the warmth of him. "I wanna do that again. But maybe also try different things, like a sex buffet! A buffet of sex. I want to try everything. I want to do everything with you," he says and doesn't just mean sex.

Derek is laughing and Stiles can feel the vibrations of it all over his body. "Me too," Derek mumbles into Stiles's skin, and maybe Derek's getting it now. "Everything."

It's the most perfect thing ever.

 

Afterwards, long after Derek has fallen asleep, Stiles digs up his phone and texts Scott:

Dude, Derek Hale is asleep in my bed.

He doesn't wait for an answer, just turns his phone off, throws an arm and a leg over Derek and goes to sleep.

 

 

(The next weekend, half an hour into an awkward dinner, Stiles's dad totally calls it.)