
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3422999.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Scott_McCall, Allison_Argent, Erica_Reyes,
      Isaac_Lahey, Vernon_Boyd
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Werewolf_Stiles_Stilinski, Alpha
      Stiles, Human_Scott_McCall, Angst, Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending, Derek_Needs
      To_Use_His_Words, Pining_Derek, Pining_Stiles_Stilinski, Mates, Frottage,
      Hand_Jobs, First_Time, Love_Confessions, Anchors, Tumblr_Prompt, Prompt
      Fic
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-23 Words: 7395
****** Tell Me a Lie ******
by MellytheHun
Summary
     The beautiful Rakscha sent me this Tumblr Prompt: If you'll consider
     this prompt. Peter had bitten Stiles and after his death Stiles is
     Alpha (He killed Peter or else). So. Derek and Scott are not
     automatically his pack. But he needs it. So comes to them to make the
     pack. And Derek is confused and scared. he doesn't understand how
     Stiles can be his Alpha, but being next to him feels more pack then
     Peter and Laura were.
“He wasn’t yours to kill!” Derek bellows, feeling as much guilt for fighting
with Stiles as he does rage for him.
Stiles’ shoulders hunch, every muscle in him twining tightly in anxiety. Derek
can feel the fear coming off Stiles in waves, but he’s stubborn and still
itching to fight. Stiles opens his mouth to argue, but Derek beats him to it.
“I should have avenged Laura! I explained what would happen if you killed the
Alpha and now you want my help?”
“He Bit me!” Stiles argues, his eyes flashing red and fangs poking from his
gums, “I had every right to kill him for what he’s done to me!”
“The Bite is a gift!” Derek shouts, his own eyes an electric blue.
Stiles stands uselessly in the burnt out Hale house, wondering if this was all
for naught. He’s been going back and forth with Derek for almost fifteen
minutes now and all Derek really has to say is that he hates Stiles for killing
Peter. Which he won’t even just say, only dances around.
Derek sighs, turning away from Stiles. Stiles intakes deeply, trying to ease
away the fight-or-flight coursing through him. He’s able to draw his fangs and
claws back, but his eyes still glow crimson beyond his control. He swallows his
pride and admits,
“I need your help. I… this was never supposed to happen to me. I don’t know
what happens next. I don’t know what to do or where to go. I need your help,
Derek.”
Derek’s heartbeat and tense back tell Stiles nothing. Enough silent moments
pass that Stiles thinks he ought to turn tail and go home, but just as he’s
about to, he hears Derek’s voice. It’s born low and resigned,
“When you killed Peter and became the Alpha… you took away my only chance at
making a Pack.”
Are we not Pack? Stiles thinks to himself.
Something buzzes like irritation in Derek’s head, the words feeling just a
little wrong now that they’re out in the air. He can sense that he’s hurt
Stiles, but an apology won’t seep from behind his sharp teeth.
Stiles bites his bottom lip, frustrated with himself, with the state of the
universe and wishing he’d never come into the woods at all. He feels this tie
to Derek, thrumming in him and humming like it’s alive, begging him to get
closer, to find comfort, to be family. He imagines putting his fangs in those
feelings and killing them, but it doesn’t help the instinctive pull to make
things right between himself and Derek.
“I’ll teach you what I know.”
Stiles picks his head up hesitantly as Derek turns toward him. Stiles’ throat
is tight and he feels like a livewire. He asks,
“Really?”
Derek’s expression doesn’t speak of forgiveness or even tolerance. Only tired
resignation. It pains Stiles deeply and he wonders for the first time if
perhaps he’s muddied up Derek’s life as much as Derek’s life has muddied his.
“I don’t know a lot about being an Alpha. Laura was raised being taught. I can
only teach you what I know secondhand.”
“I still need help controlling the shift,” Stiles confesses, “I need more help
than just learning how to be Alpha.”
Derek mutters, “No kidding.”
===============================================================================
 
“I want to Bite Scott,” Stiles growls menacingly around obtrusive fangs.
“Don’t Bite Scott,” Derek answers lamely.
Scott sits nervously across the room, taking a breath from his inhaler as he
looks on Stiles, chained and half-shifted. The moonlight is breaking through
the room and Stiles is vibrating with the fight for control. Scott mutters to
Derek,
“Is this really safe?”
“No.”
Scott gives Derek an incredulous look, but Derek doesn’t meet his eyes. He only
watches as Stiles pants and strains under the pull of the moonlight; at the
same time feeling he deserves to struggle for the trouble he’s given Derek and
still wanting to soothe him.
“What do you mean ‘no?’ What am I doing here if it’s not safe? Could he really
Bite me? Would he?”
“I won’t let him Bite you,” Derek tells Scott, crouching down to Stiles.
Stiles’ irises are fiery red, his pupils are drawn in to nearly a pinpoint and
Derek feels an instinctive desire to comfort him. His body wants to get closer
to Stiles, to curl around him protectively, give him the scent of Pack to keep
him grounded. He reminds himself that this is not Laura anymore and holding
Stiles through a difficult full moon will not garner the same results.
And he is not my Pack, Derek insists to himself, even though the thought feels
like the deepest kind of betrayal.
It feels like a lie he’ll never be able to make himself believe.
“He needs an anchor,” Derek tells Scott, though he’s looking in Stiles’ eyes,
“I think you’ll be what he chooses.”
“What’s an anchor?” Scott asks, looking wary.
Derek holds Stiles’ stare; Stiles’ eyes asking the same question. He answers
them both,
“An anchor can be anything. It can be a person, a feeling, a memory, a wish,
but something that calms you down. An anchor is the thing that keeps you human.
Something that makes you feel strongly, that ties you down to your humanity.”
“Like a Patronus,” Stiles mumbles around fangs.
Scott chuckles and Derek gives Stiles a dry look.
“Like a Patronus.”
“You know Harry Potter?” Stiles inquires a little incredulously, unable to
imagine Derek ever enjoying anything.
“Not personally,” Derek replies stoically, standing up again.
Before Stiles or Scott have time to appreciate that he was intentionally funny,
he starts lecturing Stiles.
“I brought Scott because you’re close to him. You care about him. He cares
about you. You both know this. I want you to focus on Scott. Focus on his
heartbeat, on the scent of him. Let it anchor you.”
Stiles nods, shutting his eyes and scenting the air. He knows Scott’s body wash
and shampoo, can even pick up the smell of the steroids in his inhaler. He
can’t tell much more than that, though an instinct in him tells him there is so
much more to know and sense.
He tries to recall memories of growing up with Scott, playing carelessly in the
dirt, frightening Melissa by bringing garden snakes into the living room. He
remembers passing notes to Scott (mostly about Lydia), trading Pokemon cards at
lunch, helping Scott find his retainer every time he misplaced it before an
orthodontist appointment.
None of these things help him keep control nearly as much as when he moves his
focus onto the way the moonlight spills over Derek’s hair and face.
===============================================================================
 
“Okay, extend them,” Derek instructs.
Stiles wills his claws out again, for what must be the fifteenth time in the
hour. Derek nods and says,
“Retract them again.”
Stiles sighs and morphs his hands back into their most human state. He glares
at Derek and insists,
“I got it already.”
Derek doesn’t look to believe him. His brow is furrowed seriously when he
mocks,
“Fine then. Flash your eyes at me without your fangs descending.”
Stiles goes to, but as soon as he feels the red creeping into his vision, his
fangs drop. He shuts his mouth tightly but he knows Derek can sense how shifted
he is. Derek sits across the table from him, somehow looking simultaneously
stoic and bothered.
Stiles hands want horribly to touch Derek’s skin, to hold one of Derek’s hands.
Everything in his body is telling him that Derek is meant to be close to him,
at his side, on his mind. That Derek doesn’t feel the same is haunting him.
There's a famine in his heart and ghosts bumping around in his soul. His bones
are rattling chains and every muscle he moves is like the sad groan of a lost
spirit. He feels Derek's rejection between every joint in his body, behind his
eyelids, under his skin, between his eyelashes. It manages to flood him up and
still leave him empty.
“The shift isn’t just one fluid transformation. It’s several transformations
happening at once. If you learn to better control each part of it individually,
you’ll have better control over your entire shift.”
Stiles sighs his defeat and ends up spending the next two hours extending and
retracting his claws and fangs, sparking his eyes to bloody life, glaring at
Derek whose stare is so cold. Stiles only wants to be made warm again. He
doesn’t remember what it was like to be comfortable in his own skin.
===============================================================================
 
"Fucking Christ," Stiles curses, clutching his broken arm.
Derek stands above him, sweaty and grim. Stiles cradles his arm close to his
chest, his knees drawn up close as he sits on the scuffed floor. He glares up
at Derek from under his long lashes.
"Was that really fucking necessary?"
"If you want to heal faster, yes," Derek answers sternly, "It's a jump start."
"Jesus fucking Christ," Stiles swears again, "Why is this werewolf bullshit
ninety four percent pain?"
Derek doesn't answer, only crosses his arms and stares down at Stiles
expectantly, waiting for his arm to heal.
Stiles can feel the marrow knitting back together inside him. The mend is quick
and eerie. He knows he'll eventually get used to this power, but it's off-
putting. Feels unnatural. 
Once he can outstretch his arm again, he wiggles his fingers experimentally and
frowns curiously as he pokes at his fully healed forearm. He feels Derek's
anxiety wash from him, like he may have been worried that the healing was
taking too long. When he looks up at Derek, though, there is no discernible
emotion in his eyes. Stiles tries not to be disappointed.
"Hey," He starts curiously, "Does this mean my foreskin will grow back?"
Derek rolls his eyes so hard it looks like it hurts.
===============================================================================
 
“I’m getting better at this!” Stiles beams.
Derek is perched lazily on a tall tree branch, looking mildly unimpressed down
at Stiles. He mutters back,
“You don’t have to shout, I can hear you. And it still took you twenty minutes
to track me.”
“Oh, come on!” Stiles complains at the same volume as before, “It was taking me
an hour! Look at how far we’ve come this week! I’m down to twenty minutes!”
Derek’s heart aches, wanting to bask in the secondhand happiness Stiles’ bond
to him offers. He doesn’t allow himself to be distracted by it, though and he
doesn’t like that Stiles is getting so chummy with him. He doesn’t understand
why his Alpha is looking to him for praise. He feels uneven and lonely, missing
Laura and wishing he had a real family, a real Pack. Something stable and
familiar, something warm and sacred.
He leaps down from his perch directly in front of Stiles, making him jump a
little. He gives Stiles a dangerous scowl and tells him,
“If I’d been attacked or being hunted, twenty minutes is more than enough time
to capture and disembowel me.”
Stiles pales with disgust at the imagery and loses his smile. Derek can tell
through their bond that Stiles wants to feel close to him, wants his approval.
He doesn’t give it.
He imagines what life may have been like if he’d had twenty more minutes at the
most important times. What if he had had twenty more minutes to save Paige
before the Alpha came? What if he had had twenty more minutes before leaving
the house for school on the day of the fire? What if he had had twenty more
minutes to try and find Laura before Peter found her?
What if he had had twenty more minutes to get to Peter before Stiles?
“Twenty minutes doesn’t save anyone.”
Stiles looks like he wants to fight Derek on that point, but he wisely bites
his tongue.
===============================================================================
“It’s a jab, stop extending your elbow,” Derek criticizes.
Stiles makes an aggravated noise, his sweat creating a powerful fog of Stiles
Stiles Stiles all over the Hale House as they spar.
“I’m not!”
“You are,” Derek corrects as he dodges another fist.
 
When Stiles goes to make another bastardized jab, Derek smacks his elbow to
prove that Stiles' form is off.
Derek remembers how close the upcoming full moon is when Stiles’ eyes go red.
Stiles growls and lets out another frustrated noise before he starts throwing
as many punches as he can. Derek dodges each one effortlessly, further
irritating Stiles. He shoves Derek in the center of his chest, making him
stumble backward and then shoves him again.
He’s hesitating, holding back so Derek growls out,
“Do it.”
“I don’t – “ Stiles starts.
“You do,” Derek bites, “Do it. Fucking do it.”
Stiles attacks him, using all the tightly wound stress and anger in him. His
claws sink deep, his heartbeat is rapid in Derek’s ears, booming and
threatening. Derek doesn’t fight back; every instinct in him telling him to
take what Stiles serves out to him. Before he knows what’s happened, he’s
bloody and sore on the decrepit wood flooring of what used to be his family
room, a teenage Alpha straddled on top of him with his hands tight around
Derek’s throat.
His red eyes are teary and his face is blotchy pink, sweaty and unhappy.
“You’re leaving me alone in this, Derek. I’m alone.”
Derek puts his hands around Stiles’ wrists, but doesn’t apply any pressure or
make any indication that he’s going to try to remove Stiles from him.
“I want – I want to be close to you. I want you to accept me,” Stiles begs.
Derek’s periphery is going fuzzy without oxygen and he’s not sure if Stiles
realizes how much weight he’s applying to his strangle. Derek moves his hands
up Stiles’ arms and cups his face. Stiles is visibly surprised by the gesture
and seems physically pained to hear how raspy and hoarse Derek’s voice is when
he says,
“I accept you.”
His hands unclasp from around Derek’s neck, tears falling from his eyes as he
grabs onto Derek’s hands that are around his face as if he’s desperate to keep
Derek’s hands there.
“Say that again, please,” Stiles pleads softly, unable to meet Derek’s eyes,
turning his face into Derek’s palms.
“I accept you,” Derek repeats.
Stiles shakes above him, a ball of nervous energy unraveling like yarn. Derek
rubs his thumbs back and forth by the corners of Stiles’ eyes, wiping the tears
away. The connection between them is alight where their hands meet. Stiles
tells him,
“I feel so alone in this. I need you. I need you on my side.”
“I’m on your side, Stiles,” Derek assures.
Stiles still won’t look him in the eyes and is continuing to shake and cry;
Derek can feel that Stiles is ashamed of attacking him. He feels all the things
Stiles isn’t saying. He’s radiating insecurity and fear and the same primal
loneliness Derek has always known.
He sits up and wraps his arms around Stiles, pulling him in close like he used
to do to Laura when the pressure of power and the memory of family tore her to
pieces on the bathroom floor.
He breathes in the scent of Stiles’ sweat and listens close to his heartbeat.
He inhales deeply at the crook of Stiles’ neck loudly enough to let Stiles know
it's okay to do the same.
He feels Stiles intake deeply at his scalp, sighing shakily, flooding the room
with a sense of relief. It’s as if there is more light in the room, as if a
curse has been lifted from them.
They move their hands along one another’s faces and arms, petting in comforting
circles. Stiles eventually wraps his arms around Derek’s shoulders and neck,
tucking Derek against his chest and curling around him possessively. His
fingers thread through Derek’s hair and the position puts Derek’s ear right
against Stiles’ heart.
“I can’t get back what you’ve lost. I can’t replace your family, I can never be
the Alpha that Laura was or your mother was… I can’t bring Peter back and give
you a chance at what should have been yours. I just want to make my own space
in your life. I don’t want to take anyone’s place. I want a seat of my own.”
Derek is soothed by the sound of Stiles’ voice and the coursing of Stiles’
blood. Stiles’ arms are lanky but strong around him, his scent is familial and
Derek loathes to admit to himself that he feels safe. He feels safe in Stiles’
arms.
“I don’t know what to do, what to change about myself to make you want that…”
Derek shakes his head against Stiles’ chest, unintentionally burrowing himself
more against the boy. Stiles seems to take it as a sign of affection and he
tightens his hold around Derek, leaning in closer. Derek fits his face against
Stiles’ upper chest and his lips move against Stiles’ exposed collarbone when
he confides,
“I feel closer to you than I’ve ever felt to anyone.”
Stiles’ heart rate jumps up and when he stays quiet, Derek continues,
“I had a pull to my mother like the moon. It was natural, instinctive. It was
strong. My bond to Laura was similar, but... not as strong. Our bond faded in
and out. She tried her best. I know she did.”
Stiles’ hands start moving, one hand carding through his hair and the other
rubbing his shoulder; Stiles’ attempt at consoling him.
“Neither bond was anything like what I have to you.”
“Why are you fighting it so much?”
Derek pulls away to look Stiles in the eye, keeping his hands firmly on Stiles’
waist. He gazes deeply into Stiles’ eyes and admits quietly,
“It’s all I know how to do.”
Stiles swallows a bit loudly, nods slowly and asks,
“What makes our bond so different?”
“I don’t know,” Derek lies.
===============================================================================
 
“Just because it’s summer break for school doesn’t mean you won’t be working
hard the next two months.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles replies flippantly, walking casually into Derek’s loft,
“End of Sophomore Year, beginning of Werewolf Bootcamp.”
Derek smirks to himself as he feels Stiles move behind him. He looks over
Derek’s shoulder, sniffing and coos,
“Oooh, is that lasagna?”
“From scratch.”
Derek can’t see him from over his shoulder, but he can sense Stiles smiling
when he asks,
“Which parts?”
“All of it,” Derek answers, “My father taught me to make and cut my own
noodles, I ground the meat myself for the meatballs and it takes two days to
make the sauce. That’s a secret recipe. I promised my dad I’d take it to the
grave.”
Stiles sounds somehow delicate,
“You made me a home-cooked lasagna?”
“It’s not done yet,” Derek brushes off, not willing to meet Stiles’ eager eyes.
He smiles to himself, though, when he hears Stiles’ stomach growl excitedly.
Stiles ignores his bodily noises and tells him,
“That’s bizarrely sweet of you.”
“Thanks,” Derek says drily.
“No,” Stiles presses, putting his hand on Derek’s shoulder, “Seriously. What is
this for?”
Derek glances at the hand on his shoulder, then back to Stiles, but Stiles
doesn’t remove his hand. He turns to face Stiles and tells him plainly,
“You survived Sophomore year against all odds.”
Stiles is smiling so broadly at him, it’s blinding. There’s a new twinkle in
Stiles’ amber eyes and through their bond Derek can feel the happiness Stiles
is feeling. It’s a little overwhelming.
Why do this mean so much to him? Derek wonders.
“Can you teach me how to scent emotions this week?” Stiles inquires gently,
looking sweet and uncharacteristically hopeful.
Derek hesitates like he’s contemplating it very seriously, withering Stiles’
hopeful eyes just a little before he shrugs and says,
“Sure.”
Stiles is grinning again, radiating glee.
Both Derek and Stiles twitch towards the door and Stiles announces,
“Looks like Scott’s arrived for the festivities.”
Derek tries not to enjoy the boys’ company over dinner, how their laughter and
easy conversation paints contentment on all the walls of his loft. He tires
hard not to act on or even acknowledge the binding he feels to Stiles, egging
him on to sit just a little closer, to stare just a moment longer.
===============================================================================
 
Scott is standing in front of Stiles in the middle of the loft, holding a few
index cards. Each one has an idea, quote or memory written out on it that’s
meant to illicit a specific emotional response from Scott. The one Scott is
currently staring at reads,
Coach Finstock in French Maid lingerie.
Scott’s been instructed by Derek not to show his reaction to whatever he reads
on his face. He struggles to keep his expression straight while being stared
down by both Derek and Stiles.
Stiles has to remain six or more feet from Scott while Derek scrutinizes from
the couch, waiting for Stiles to voice an estimate. Stiles scents the air and
pauses.
“Disgust? Grossness? Are you grossed out?”
Scott looks to Derek to make sure he’s allowed to answer the question and Derek
gestures vaguely to go ahead. Scott nods and Stiles smiles, immediately
glancing to Derek for approval. Derek doesn’t smile, but he doesn’t scowl
either. His anger feels drained out of him and staying mad at Stiles every day
of every week is too exhausting. He tells Scott,
“Go to the next one.”
Scott flips to the next card;
Your first kiss.
Stiles points at Scott with a wide grin, instantaneously announces,
“Embarrassment! You smell embarrassed!”
Scott laughs and looks to Derek when he says,
“He’s pretty good at this game.”
Before Derek can make comment, Stiles admits,
“To be fair, Scott, you smell like that a lot.”
Scott gives him a dirty look and Derek can’t help the smile that spreads shyly
on his face. He meets Stiles’ eyes and they’re sparkling in his direction,
looking taken and distracted by Derek’s smile. He lets his smile fall away and
tells Scott,
“Go to the next one.”
Scott looks down and the card reads;
Allison lying naked on your bed.
Derek is able to see the red filling up Scott’s face and to him, the scent is
familiar and easy to identify. He wonders if Stiles will be able to tell what
it is.
Stiles sniffs the air, nostrils flaring. Scott watches him and Stiles starts
conversationally,
“Well, it’s definitely not disgust.”
Scott gives a nervous chuckle and Derek shushes him. Stiles scents the air a
little more, circling around Scott from a few feet away. He hums curiously and
says,
“I’ve smelled this before.”
Derek smirks from behind his hand, trying to keep a stoic face. Stiles looks to
Derek and concedes,
“I dunno. What is it?”
Derek has to fight the itch at the corners of his mouth, unwilling to smile. He
suggests,
“Why don’t you ask Scott?”
Stiles looks to Scott expectantly and he replies,
“Sexy.”
“…you feel sexy?”
“No,” Scott laughs, “It’s a sexy smell. I’m thinking about sex.”
Stiles nods and says, “You smell kinda weird when you’re thinking about sex.”
Scott rolls his eyes and tells Stiles, “Whatever, at least you’re not saying I
smell bad like you did about my anger.”
“It’s like burnt rubber! It’s terrible!”
Scott laughs and then looks between Derek and Stiles. He eventually asks,
“Can you tell what Derek is feeling?”
Stiles snorts,
“That would imply that Derek has feelings.”
That comment stings Derek more than he is prepared for. He meets Stiles’ eyes
and can tell Stiles is contemplating him. He scents the air, but as Derek
already knows, Stiles comes up empty-handed. Stiles takes a step closer to
Derek, closing his eyes and scenting the air again. His brows turn in and when
he opens his eyes, he asks,
“Do you really not feel anything, or am I way worse at this than I thought?”
Derek stands up from the couch, collecting the index cards from Scott and
explains,
“I’ve spent years learning to mask it. Most people don’t know how to. It’s not
something you’ll have to worry about with other people.”
Scott seems all too happy to take a lunch break, but Derek works hard during
those quiet hours to ignore Stiles’ eyes on him.
===============================================================================
 
“What can I do about making a Pack?”
Derek and Stiles are out in the Preserve, sparring until the question comes out
of Stiles as if he’d been holding it in for months. The summer sun is beating
down on them, both of them sweating and a little short of breath. Derek cocks a
brow and asks,
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, how do I make a Pack?” Stiles rephrases, “I mean, your family was
huge. That’s what Packs look like, right? I need a Pack to make myself
stronger. I need to make a Pack, right?”
Derek’s uncertain at first as to why his stomach churns with jealousy. He
doesn’t really know where he stands with Stiles, almost a year having passed
from the scramble in the Hale house where he told Stiles he accepted him.
He doesn’t know if Stiles is remembering that, or maybe Stiles is just as
uncertain about whether or not Derek is part of his Pack. Maybe he doesn’t
consider Derek anything.
Maybe he only considers Scott part of his Pack, Derek wonders.
“You find people you want to Turn, then you offer them the Bite.”
Stiles looks disbelievingly at Derek and lets his arms fall to his sides, now
concerned with the conversation more than the sparring.
“Are you fucking with me? It’s that simple?”
Derek shrugs and replies, “You choose those people carefully.”
“Obviously,” Stiles remarks.
Derek stares at Stiles gravely when he says,
“Really. The Bite is a gift.”
Stiles’ eyes bore right into Derek’s, something strong and unfamiliar swimming
beneath the amber there. Derek adds,
“You don’t just give it to anyone.”
Stiles nods, wondering to himself if Derek has thought all this time that he
was never deserving of the Bite. He thinks to himself that if he were Derek,
he’d feel that way.
===============================================================================
 
Stiles is studying for his Chemistry class on Derek’s couch, occasionally
chewing on his pencil and making confused sighs, but otherwise remaining quiet.
Derek is cooking in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables and half-watching a pot
of water boil.
“I once dyed my hair blue,” Derek states.
“Lie,” Stiles answers, not looking up from his open textbook.
“This is the coldest winter I’ve experienced.”
“Lie,” Stiles replies.
Derek nods to the cutting board, trying to think up more lies or half-truths he
can give to test Stiles’ ability to read his heartbeat. Then he thinks that he
should throw a curveball with something honest. He swallows thickly and says,
“My leather jacket used to belong to my father.”
He feels Stiles pause and hears him shift slightly under his notebook paper and
textbook. He hears Stiles answer softly,
“Truth.”
“The house was passed down from my father’s side.”
“Lie.”
“I used to braid Laura’s hair.”
“Truth,” Stiles labels reverently.
“I stole the Camaro.”
“You stole the Camaro?!” Stiles exclaims.
Derek doesn’t reply, only turns to stir the pasta and then goes back to
chopping vegetables. He listens to Stiles slide off the couch and walk over to
the island in the kitchen. He’s leaning on it, watching Derek’s back when he
asks incredulously again,
“You stole the Camaro?”
Derek smiles down at the head of broccoli and admits,
“I was in a rush.”
“Dude, you stole the Camaro?”
“We lived in the city, Stiles,” Derek explains, “No one keeps a car in
Manhattan. They’re virtually useless. I took a train out of the city and the
first fast car I saw, I broke into.”
“Dude,” Stiles laughs, “You stole a Camaro!”
Derek turns around to face Stiles while he stirs the pasta and ignores Stiles’
scandalized expression to say plainly,
“So you’ve mentioned.”
Stiles eventually shuts his mouth and then runs a hand through his hair. Derek
would never admit it, but the scent of food and Stiles in the loft quells a
crying in him that he is so used to, he only notices it when it is stopped.
Stiles requests,
“Keep going.”
“I hate cooking.”
“Lie,” Stiles smiles proudly.
 
"I've never had a pet."
"Lie."
Derek turns his back to Stiles, pouring the steaming water out of the pot and
into a strainer in the sink. While the steam is billowing up in his face, he
tells Stiles,
“I don’t know, I don’t think I can come up with anymore today.”
Stiles’ energy is tightly wound behind him, making him uneasy.
“Are you part of my Pack?”
Derek stills above the sink, staring at the clouds of steam still coming up
under his chin. He answers,
“I accepted you as my Alpha.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” Stiles retorts, “Are you part of my Pack?”
“What?” Derek sneers, “You want me to tell you I’m your Beta?”
“I’m not trying to play some weird rank game, Derek,” Stiles asserts, “Why
can't you just answer the question?”
Derek lets out an aggravated sigh, slumping his shoulders and shutting his eyes
against the fading steam. He confesses lowly,
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know if you’re part of my Pack?”
“I don’t know.”
Stiles’ scent goes sour and his heartbeat does something unusual.
Derek opens his eyes only when he hears Stiles shut the loft door behind him.
===============================================================================
 
“This is pointless,” Erica complains.
“It’s not! Learning to control each part of the shift is important,” Stiles
replies.
Derek meets Scott’s stare when he walks into the Preserve; Scott looks
uncertain, almost nervous that he’s come uninvited. The thought that he is no
longer welcome in Stiles’ Pack business is a cold stake through his heart.
Erica seems to take immediate notice of Derek and her scents spike; she likes
him. Stiles follows her stare and looks alarmed to see Derek. Derek wants to
chastise Stiles for not paying close enough attention to their surroundings
that he didn’t hear or smell Derek coming. He thinks that it must not be his
place anymore.
“What are you doing here?”
Derek stalls under Stiles’ expectant glare.
“I heard a howl. I came to make sure no one was in trouble.”
Stiles goes back to giving his full attention to Erica.
“It’s her second full moon. I had to get her under control for a second.
Everything is fine.”
Derek looks to Scott. The human looks sheepish and uncomfortable, like he wants
to clear the air of the heavy tension but doesn’t know how to begin. Derek nods
mostly to himself since Stiles is refusing to look at him. He mutters,
“Alright. I’ll leave you to it.”
“Yeah, thanks,” Stiles says with no small measure of irritation.
Derek turns his back and as he’s walking away, he hears the girl ask,
“Who is that?”
“Not important,” Stiles tells her.
Not important, Derek repeats in his head for the rest of the night.
===============================================================================
 
Stiles restless nights seep into his mornings, making him late to his first
period class. He's so often late or absent that, just based on his tardies
alone, he's failing. He's too embarrassed about struggling with English
composition to tell anyone that he needs help keeping up. It's not even a lot
of work, he's just not making the time for it. He can't find any motivation
within himself. It's just more shame he wears.
His dreams are either vivid and disturbing or nonexistent. Sometimes he's awake
for three days straight and other times he comes home from school to take a nap
on the couch and wakes up ten hours later. His appetite is dead, his hair is
long and his heart is hallow.
He's always checking his phone and he gets benched at lacrosse practice for
body slamming Jackson.
Scott watches him with worried eyes and his father mentions that he's losing
weight and looks pale.
All he feels is pathetic.
===============================================================================
 
Derek is walking out of the gas station just in time to see the Jeep pull up.
Two boys Derek doesn’t know come out, one broad and dark, the other tall and
pale. The blonde girl is there again, climbing out of the backseat with the two
other boys while Scott jumps down from the passenger’s seat and Stiles shuts
the driver side door.
Stiles flashes his eyes at Derek, though Derek isn’t sure why. He’s not even
sure what it could mean.
Scott comes jogging up to Derek, despite Stiles calling after him. He greets
Derek and says,
“I don’t know what’s happening… uhm, but, could I have your number?”
Derek nods and tells him,
“I won’t be in town long.”
From behind Scott, Stiles nearly drops the gas pump, but Derek doesn’t glance
up at him. The three newly turned Betas walk by Derek and into the gas station
store, headed straight to the candy isle. Scott quirks a brow and asks,
“What do you mean?”
“I’m leaving,” Derek answers simply.
“Beacon Hills?”
“California,” Derek specifies.
Derek thinks to himself that Stiles isn’t doing a good job of controlling his
heartbeat. It’s thunderous and banging like a drum in Derek’s ears. Scott’s
brows curve sadly and he mutters,
“Oh… uhm, well, I’d still like to add you.”
Derek nods again and exchanges numbers with Scott before leaving. He doesn't
look at Stiles.
He’s home and in bed already when he gets Scott’s first text.
Scott: Something is wrong with Stiles. I think the pressure of being Alpha is
making him act weird? I can’t tell what’s going on with him. He’s been really
quick to get angry and when Erica or Isaac or Boyd ask questions he doesn’t
know the answer to, he refuses to call you. What happened?
Derek writes back,
Derek: He’ll acclimate. He always does. He knows how to reach me.
Scott replies;
Scott: But what happened between you two?
Derek: Not important.
===============================================================================
 
Derek looks around the loft, his duffle bag by his feet. He sighs to himself,
wondering how empty and ominous the New York apartment will feel when he walks
through that door three thousand miles away. Three thousand miles from the
Preserve, from the woods, from the burnt out husk of his childhood home. Three
thousand miles from Laura’s grave, from the Columbian restaurant Scott loves,
from Stiles’ cluttered bedroom.
His body is screaming at him to stay close to Stiles, to somehow get closer.
His instincts are vying for control, scratching at the bars around his heart.
The most animal part of him wants to find Stiles, hold him, take a place by his
side that will never be dispensable.
But he no longer feels welcome in Beacon Hills and moreover he feels as if
Stiles has adopted his family name and identity without adopting him alongside
it. He feels excommunicated. Estranged and alone. These feelings are not
unfamiliar to him, though.
He wants a home. He knows he won’t find it in New York, but if there's one
thing he knows he can survive, it is going without. He has mastered the art of
crawling into an empty bed, he is proficient in daytime silence and almost
finds comfort watching the hours fall away into night. None of it is home,
though. He thinks the closest he’s felt to home since he was fifteen has been
in clandestine moments when Stiles’ eyes have glistened into his. Quiet minutes
where Stiles helped him wash the dishes, where Stiles sat curled on the couch
with his laptop, researching late into the night.
He doesn’t know how to start that conversation, though.
He’s resigned to being an Omega.
Laura would weep.
Very suddenly, he hears familiar footfalls before a shout through the empty
building.
“Derek? Derek! Are you here? You’re still here, right?”
Derek turns towards the door to the loft and says softly,
“Always listen for heartbeats before coming into a building if it’s supposed to
be empty.”
Only a few seconds pass before Stiles is standing before him, slightly out of
breath. He smells like the woods and wind and guilt and fear.
“Tell me you don’t love me.”
Derek stills.
“What.”
“Tell me,” Stiles demands, “Tell me. Tell me you don’t love me. Say it.”
Derek’s brows pinch, his blood screaming and rushing around his heart, begging
him to get closer.
He scowls.
“What are you playing at, Stiles?”
Stiles’ eyes stay humanly amber when he says, “I need you to say it, Derek.”
“Why?”
“Because this has been the hardest few months of my life without you.”
Derek’s brows spring up in surprise at that.
Stiles stare turns hard and his hands shake at his sides.
“I feel like… I feel like I’ve been skirting around the edges of my sanity
without you. I keep looking for you everywhere. I keep hoping you’ll show up at
my window, or call me and tell me there’s something to research or help kill or
there’s something super important about being a werewolf that you didn’t tell
me. You accepted me as your Alpha, but you didn’t accept being my Beta. I don’t
want you to feel like an underling, Derek. I never wanted that. I wanted you to
feel like my equal, I wanted you to want me to be a part of your life. I’m
sorry I bled into your life, but you bled into mine too…”
Stiles steps more into Derek’s space, seeming broader and taller and stronger
than Derek remembers. He’s exuding desperation.
“If you leave… I feel like… I’ve already felt like…”
Stiles struggles for the words, shaking his head and stumbling over,
“I feel like I’m losing the biggest part of myself.”
“I don’t love you.”
Stiles’ eyes are round and flickering between Derek’s.
“Again.”
“I don’t love you,” Derek repeats.
“That’s a lie,” Stiles whispers, brimming with awe.
Derek tells him something honest,
“If you told me to stay, I’d stay.”
“Stay,” Stiles begs, voice sounding a little high and still a little short of
breath, “Stay. Stay forever. With me.”
Derek grabs Stiles’ face and presses their lips together finally, finally. He
pulls away, but as soon as he does, Stiles is moving forward to capture his
lips again. Stiles’ hands grab onto his upper arms, slide up to his neck and
his mouth moves like poetry against Derek’s.
“I need you – I need you so much closer,” Stiles’ gasps against Derek’s mouth.
Derek doesn’t mean to groan, but it’s as if Stiles has sunk his fangs into his
heart and ripped out his most shameful desire. He’s able to mutter back,
“You too. I need you too.”
Stiles pushes into the loft, directing them to Derek’s bed and all but ripping
his shirt off on the way. Derek throws his jacket off, letting it flutter to
the floor with his own shirt and when they make it to his bed, he falls over
Stiles, framing him with his arms. Stiles’ eyes are crimson and twinkling
excitedly. He says,
“You smell like arousal and affection.”
“Mm,” Derek agrees into Stiles’ neck, licking and biting up the column of
freckled flesh.
Stiles sighs blissfully, moving his hands against Derek’s back muscles and
bending his head back to give Derek better access. It’s such a show of
vulnerability and trust that Derek gets chills. He kisses Stiles’ cheek before
dropping and grinding his waist onto Stiles’ and eliciting a groan from him.
Stiles’ fingers scramble over his skin for better purchase, his eyes are shut
and his face is flushed beautifully.
“I’m sorry – I’m sorry I walked out. I’m sorry I – “
“It’s okay,” Derek tells him, languidly moving his hips against Stiles’, “I’m
sorry too.”
Stiles’ hands grab onto his hair and bring him down to kiss again. The taste of
Stiles’ tongue against his tongue, the scent of Stiles’ breath with his breath
feeds a hungry animal in him. He goes to unbuckle Stiles’ belt and pauses,
looking to him for approval. Stiles nods vehemently and licks his kiss-swollen
lips before urging,
“Oh, God, yes – don’t stop. Just don’t stop, Derek.”
Derek doesn’t stop removing layers between them until there are none left and
they are warm flesh against warm flesh. Derek’s heart has been a desert and
Stiles is an oasis. He wraps his arms under Stiles’ back, tucking him close.
Their kisses fall away to a lot of gasping and moaning, traveling through the
loft and beating against the walls like a heartbeat. Stiles is overwhelmed by a
sense of completion, this voice in his head chanting,
This is where you’re meant to be, this is where you’re meant to be.
“I’ve been – I’ve been in love with you – I am,” Stiles confesses, “I’m in love
with you and I’m sorry I pushed you away.”
“I love you back,” Derek murmurs gently.
He watches a tear shimmer and fall from the corner of one of Stiles’ shut eyes.
He kisses Stiles’ cheek, then his lips again.
“You’re home,” Derek says, wishing he had more words to explain what he’s
feeling.
Stiles’ brow quirks and his bedroom eyes open in slits. They’re golden and
brown again, warm like sun-beaten sand and foggy with love and lust. Derek
explains,
“You’re my home.”
Stiles reaches his hand between them, running his hand up Derek’s length.
Derek’s eyes flicker wildly from sea foam to electric blue and Stiles is
thrilled by it. He licks into Derek’s mouth and when he lets his head fall back
against the blankets, he begs breathlessly,
“Put your hands on me.”
Derek mimics Stiles’ hand, making Stiles gasp. Derek hadn't been sure before,
but now he is that this is Stiles' first sexual encounter. He tries to take it
slow for that reason, kissing him gently and moving against him languidly. Ever
the adventurist, Stiles is eager to give back and his hands brush all over
Derek's torso. His one hand keeps pumping while the other runs up Derek's abs
and over his chest.
A bead of precum drops from the head of Derek's cock and Stiles intakes
sharply. He groans, throwing his head back,
“That smells so right… this feels… this feels so right.”
Derek's free hand moves beneath Stiles, grabbing under one of his thighs and
tugging it out to further spread Stiles' legs. Stiles' want fills his senses
and comes over him like a tidal wave. He lets go of Stiles for a brief second
to pin his hands over his head. There's so much pleasure and adrenaline in
Stiles' scents and sounds that Derek can hardly process anything outside of it.
He hides his face in the crook of Stiles' neck, kissing and licking until he
finds the right spot that makes Stiles groan. While he's thrusting against
Stiles, he bites into the tender flesh of his neck and Stiles' entire body
seizes as he comes. It's almost immediate and Derek moans at the scent of it,
orgasm rushing through him before he can control it.
Stiles’ ears are ringing from the force of his orgasm and Derek’s heartbeat is
drumming throughout the room. It's blissful. 
"I never meant to leave you alone in that," Derek whispers, "I'll never abandon
you like that again."
Stiles’ round eyes move between Derek’s, looking for a lie or a single sign of
doubt. He doesn’t find any.
“Come here,” Stiles smiles sweetly, spreading his arms up and out to welcome
Derek’s weight.
As soon as Derek lays down on him, Stiles lets out a silly, “Oof,” and Derek
smiles into Stiles’ collarbone.
“You’re still hard,” Stiles comments.
“Mm,” Derek agrees, “It’s the scents.”
“It’s doing things to me too,” Stiles assures, touch of embarrassment dressing
his otherwise intoxicating scent. Stiles’ hand pets through Derek’s hair
lovingly and in the quiet contentment filling the loft, he whispers against
Derek’s ebony hair,
“I think we make a pretty good pair.”
Stiles can feel the wave of happiness roll off of Derek and onto him, their
bond like a golden harp song, strong and sweet between them. A bond Derek is
finally letting him feel.
Derek replies,
“I tend to agree.”
Stiles chuckles and wraps his arms tighter around Derek’s torso, twines their
long legs together. It helps move a piece of Derek’s soul into place and as it
falls into its slot, all Derek can hear the choirs in his head singing is,
You’re home. You’re home.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
