
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/246930.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(2011)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Peter_Hale, Kate_Argent
  Additional Tags:
      Violence, Consent_Issues, Alternate_Universe, Mating_Cycles/In_Heat,
      Werewolves, Alternate_Universe_-_Werewolf, Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics,
      Hurt/Comfort, First_Time, Omega_Stiles_Stilinski, Underage_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-08-30 Words: 24522
****** The Sanctuary ******
by chase_acow
Summary
     Stiles runs away during his first heat, right into the waiting and
     ambiguously scary arms of the Alpha's nephew, Derek Hale. He doesn't
     have any choice except to submit, but along the way, he digs up a
     mystery that threatens his family and even the town's safety.
Notes
     Based on a prompt from the teenwolfkink meme by darco16 @LJ. You can
     find it here if you're curious. Thanks for kick starting this! Also,
     super big thanks to oh_simone @ LJ for the beta! Remaining mistakes
     are all mine, because I tinker.
     Also on dreamwidth here including a soundtrack.

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"I know this isn't exactly how you pictured your first season going, Stiles,"
Dad said, looking out over the snow-covered backyard. He cradled his mug to his
chest, letting the steam from the coffee float around his head. "I wish there
was something I could do to make it easier for you."
Stiles finished stuffing his clothes into his duffel, and bit his tongue hard
on what he wanted to say. It wouldn't actually make him feel any better, and it
would make his dad feel worse about something neither of them could change. "No
problem," he said, making sure he had his stuff arranged the way he wanted it.
"You know I can take care of myself."
"You shouldn't have to," Dad answered, finally turning to watch Stiles finish.
He face always changed when he looked at Stiles, sorrowful, but not as full of
pain as when he was alone. The six years since Stiles' mom had died had left
marks, both in dust on the mantle and his dad's face. "I still can't fathom
what Scott was thinking."
"It's not Scott's fault." Stiles took up for his erstwhile best friend even
though he still kinda wanted to punch Scott in his face. Everyone had expected
Scott and Stiles to be together this first winter after they turned sixteen.
Everyone had been surprised when Stiles was left out of the Friday night
ceremony. "I mean, yeah, I wish he would have said something earlier, but I
knew there was something going on when Allison moved to town."
Beacon Hills was the first experiment in bringing werewolves out of the dark
ages of bloody pack battle and arbitrary pack rule. There were wolves, from
more than three dozen packs and about a hundred lone wolves, living together in
some measure of peace and safety. They had a school system, postal office, a
salon and boutique, and several restaurants all doing brisk business. And yet,
one week a year threatened to undo all their hard work.
Other places had spring break; Beacon Hills had heat week in the first part of
February. All unclaimed females regardless of dominance and any receptive males
had to accept segregation in the Sanctuary, a building with better construction
and more security than the jailhouse. In any year, that population hovered
around ten percent of the total, and no one thought much about it until a
person had been there several years in a row. There were several of Stiles'
classmates going for the first year, and it shouldn't bother him to go there
either.
But it did.
"There were offers for you after the ceremony," Dad coughed, apparently forcing
the words out despite his better judgment. "I could still make some calls."
"No, I don't want to be someone's afterthought," Stiles said, his skin crawling
at the idea of a strange dominant being the first to touch him. He and Scott
had made a pact when they started the fifth grade that they would be each
other's first. Scott had always kept the other guys from rolling Stiles over,
but when Allison's family moved in during the first week of December,
everything had changed.
"I'm proud of you, son," Dad said, grabbing Stiles in to a hug that lasted
several minutes. He wiped his eyes when he pulled away, and skated his thumb
over Stiles' cheek. "I think you're making the right decision, and your mom
would be proud of you too."
Stiles winced, but slung his bag over his shoulder before his dad could pick it
up for him. He didn't know if she'd be proud or not if she knew what he was
about to do. He didn't remember much about her anymore, but he had loved the
sound of her voice when she read to him and she always had milk and cookies
ready for him after school. Maybe she would have had better advice, but he'd
never know.
"Thanks, Dad," he said, leading them out front to the cruiser. "We'd better get
going before they lock the doors for the week."
Sanctuary sat deep in the woods in a clearing behind a massive electrified
fence. The defenses might be overkill now, but when Beacon Hills first started
protecting the unclaimed some dominants had rioted. Stiles didn't really
understand all the fuss. Werewolves could and did have sex anytime of the year,
it was just some quirk of genetics that still sent them into heat anyway. It
generally started after their sixteenth birthday, and Stiles had been checked
every month since August to see if he'd matured. It was embarrassing, and he'd
hated it; only knowing that Scott would be there for him had made it bearable.
Turned out the joke was on him.
Dad stopped the car at the gate and shifted to park. "I can't go any further,"
he said, gripping the steering wheel tight enough that he could have ripped it
off if he'd wanted. "We cut this a bit close. I want you to take care of
yourself and follow directions. They're going to make you comfortable and get
you through this."
"I will," Stiles promised, and lied. He grabbed his dad's arm and squeezed.
"You too. Take your medication and stay away from anything fried or salty."
"Yes, boss," Dad forced a grin, and watched as Stiles walked down the path and
turned to wave. Then he made a u-turn and slowly drove back to civilization.
Stiles smiled until his face hurt, and then he turned his attention to escape.
 

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Maybe escape hadn't been his best idea ever. Stiles glanced up, but between the
cloud cover and the tree limbs, he didn't have a chance of finding the sun. If
he'd managed to stay on course, then he should have already made it to the
clubhouse he and Scott used to play in. Instead, he would swear he'd never been
in this part of the woods before. His nose didn't tell him anything, and if he
didn't hurry, he would have to stumble around in the dark.
Sighing, he set his bag down and pulled out his phone. He might be able to get
a signal bounce from the tower near the lake. Surely one of his many apps could
help get him out of this. He almost wished he had stayed at Sanctuary for
dinner, but the chance to squeeze out a back window and hoof it off the
property had been irresistible. After ten minutes squeezed in with so many
other freaked out wolves, he knew he wouldn't have made it the entire week
without going insane. So, here he was, alone in the woods.
"Check out this bitch."
Stiles squeaked and dropped his phone to the ground. There wasn't as much snow
under the canopy in the forest, but he managed to lose his cell in the one bank
of the stuff in sight. He twisted quickly, adopting a defensive pose when he
caught sight of three strangers fanning out around him. Suddenly, he wished he
had paid more attention when his dad tried to teach him how to fight instead of
blowing it off to look at comic books.
Three omegas prowled toward him. He didn't think they were local; their clothes
were dirty and thin, and their body language told him they were feral, unused
to thinking about anything or anyone but themselves. As he watched, they
started to shift, gaining bulk as fur sprouted down the side of their faces.
"Didn't anybody want a turn on top of your scrawny little body?" one of them
asked, laughing around the yellowed fangs growing in his mouth. His reddish
hair lifted like hackles, and he sounded more like a hyena than a wolf.
The last omega looked the most dangerous. Scars covered his face, proving the
three of them were too violent to form even a rudimentary pack to help heal
themselves. "Maybe you thought you were too good for them?" he snarled, thick
saliva dripping down the side of his mouth. His dirty blond hair stood on end,
making him seem even bigger than his already massive frame. "A snobby little
bitch who refused to bend over."
With their words ringing in his ears, Stiles did the one thing he should have
known better than to do. He tried to run. Stiles made it maybe four steps
before one of them hit him, taking him down with a bigger body used to hunting
more than the bunnies too stupid to escape the backyard. It knocked the wind
out of him, and all he could do was gasp and jerk, trying to will his lungs to
work again.
He was so fucked. Prossibly literally.
The wolf on top of him smelled like rot, decaying flesh that sweetened the
stench of garbage and sweat. He twisted Stiles' arms together, barely stopping
short of breaking bone. The omega planted a knee in the small of his back,
shoving his face into the frozen ground. "You're a ripe one, aren't you?" he
said, sniffing and blowing hot gusts of breath over Stiles' body. "This is your
first isn't it? I enjoy it so much more when you bitches cry and bleed."
"Leave enough of him for the rest of us," another of the wolves said, crouching
in front of him and jerking Stiles' head back. He pawed at his crotch, and
Stiles smelled the arousal coming off all three of them.
Stiles whimpered, struggling to get his knees underneath him; he never been so
scared in his life, never been touched so cruelly. He couldn't even convince
his body to shift. He couldn't stop shaking, wishing he was home and warm
playing Dragon Age on his Playstation. This wasn't how it was supposed to
happen; heat week was supposed to be roses and kisses, and perfectly chosen
rising music, not strangers forcing him on the dirty ground and drowning in his
own fear.
"You're not going to touch him."
They dropped Stiles in the slush, growling at the interruption. He took the
chance to scrabble backwards, forcing dirt under his nails and mud caking down
his jeans. Everything moved so fast, it took him several seconds to locate his
rescuer. A large werewolf, well dressed and well fed, raced at the omegas,
jumping over and into trees gaining momentum until he bowled into one of the
redhead, landing again lightly on his feet.
Derek freaking Hale.
Stiles felt like he'd jumped out of the frying pan and into the fire. He tucked
his knees up under his chin, making himself as small as he could, huddled by
the tree trunk. The fight didn't last long, even at three to one. Derek was
stronger, faster, and smarter. The smallest of the omegas cut and run at the
first sign of Derek's abilities, but the others stuck it out longer.
Derek ripped a gash through the belly of one, but by then that omega was too
enraged to break off his attack. He kept leaping at Derek who either blocked
him easily or simply moved out of the way. Blood decorated the previously
scenic spot as if fed through a sprinkler system. In their cat and mouse dance,
the largest scarred one disappeared, leaving a thick trail of blood behind him.
The sound of water in the lungs had never been one of Stiles' favorites, but
actually seeing the red-flecked foam bubble out of the omega's mouth twisted
his stomach. He turned away and retched up lunch and the last bit of breakfast.
When he wiped his mouth, he looked to see Derek standing, still tensed, over a
motionless body. After a handful of moments it was obvious that the omega would
never move again, and Derek relaxed slightly.
"Are you hurt?" Derek asked, his voice deep and full of gravel. He was still
wolfed out, but slowly his hair settled and his claws retracted. His black
clothing absorbed most of the splattered blood, but his hands and neck were
both painted red. "Answer me."
Stiles shut his mouth with an audible click, and stood, brushing the worst of
the muck off his pants. "I think I'm fine," he said. Though his sides hurt from
puking, the rest of him had already rebounded from getting tackled and
manhandled into the ground. He edged around the body, making sure not to turn
his back to Derek.
"What the hell are you doing out here alone?"
Shrugging, Stiles took another couple of crab steps until he bumped into his
bag. He slung it over his shoulder and then kneeled to look for his phone.
"Taking a walk, that's not illegal," he said, hoping Derek would have something
more important to do and leave him alone. "I can take a walk if I want."
He'd never actually met Derek, but after reading his dad's files, Stiles knew a
little bit about almost everyone. Most of Derek's family had died in the fire
that finally convinced the majority faction of werewolves to sign the Treaties.
The new law had taken power from the Alpha and given it to everyone. The new
massive pack hired Stiles' dad who moved to Beacon Hills to bring more civility
into their lives. Instead of rival packs, they started a town and werewolves
started to prosper. Not everyone was happy with the new direction.
"You're in heat, and you weren't claimed on Friday," Derek advanced on him,
narrowing his gaze until Stiles abandoned his search for his phone and stood
awkwardly, taking a step backward. "Do you have a death wish?"
The few times Stiles had happened to see Derek in town, he watched the way
wolves found other places they desperately needed to be. Generally, werewolves
loved gathering together for the most random of reasons. They were physical
with each other, whether it was affectionate or violent, but he'd never seen
anyone touch Derek Hale. He seemed very careful to keep a distance between him
and everyone else.
"Don't run, kid," Derek said, his eyes continuously tracking as if he expected
sex-crazed wolves to jump out of every shadow. "The Sanctuary wouldn't open the
doors for you even if I could get you there in one piece. I'd like to tell you
that you have a choice, me or whatever omega finds you first, but you're the
sheriff's son. I can't let you go."
He was right. Even if they could miraculously get there before they locked the
gates, the caretakers would never open the gate with an unmated wolf as
dominant as Derek close by. That's if Derek would be able to let him go. Stiles
knew he needed to get out before Derek decided to get possessive.
"You're the Alpha's nephew," Stiles said, trying to retreat out of arm's reach,
not that he had a prayer of outrunning Derek. Derek was a little older, but he
was a lot bigger, and the most dominant wolf Stiles had ever sensed so close
before. Everyone whispered about him being the Alpha's hitman, but there was
never any proof when his dad went looking. "How's it going to look if you take
me against my will?"
They had an uneasy truce between the Alpha, the most powerful werewolf in the
area, and the city council's law enforcement. It was a balancing act to keep
the peace even so long after the original agreements. When they wanted to be
generous, they said the Alpha was still trying to look after them, keep their
best interests. Other times, they said the Alpha would never be satisfied until
he'd culled the weakest and the traitors to take back control.
"Better than if I let you die because you were too stupid to keep yourself
safe!" Derek's eyes flashed blue, and he growled deep in his chest. "There are
a lot more dominant males than there are willing mates. Without the ceremony to
protect you, they will pass you around, use you until you bleed and then start
all over again. It would be like before the Treaties were signed."
Stiles grimaced as Derek spelled it out. His dad never talked about what life
was like before the Treaties or even what happened in the couple of years
between that and when Beacon Hills hired him as the sheriff. He hadn't realized
how sheltered he'd been, even when he stole a police radio so he could make
sure he father was safe while he worked overnight. He knew he was lucky to have
his father instead of some of the others out there. Scott's dad wouldn't have
thought twice about beating Stiles and then selling him to the highest bidder.
"Stilinski, I will beat you repeatedly in the head and then drag you out of
here if that's what it takes," Derek said, his throat sounded like rolling
thunder and his eyes had changed from murky green to light blue. He picked up a
handful of snow and used it to clean away the worst of the blood. "Decide."
"It's Stiles, and okay. Fine. I'll go with you," Stiles said, still holding his
bag in front of him like an incredibly useless and bulky shield. He kicked a
lump of moldy leaves, scattering them faster than his thoughts. So what if
Derek was bigger, stronger, faster, and an all around better werewolf than
Stiles? Maybe he could trick Derek into letting him go, but until he figured
out how he needed to make sure he would still be in one piece when the time
came. During the claiming ceremony, pairs exchanged tokens and caresses. "Do I
need to, like, I don't know. I'll whatever, just tell me."
He didn't think Derek was the kind of wolf to push him down in the dirt and
take him fast, but he didn't really know anything about Derek at all. Derek
never claimed anyone, never stayed with anyone in town. It wouldn't be
outrageous for Derek to want a show of submission, and Stiles had no idea what
would be appropriate. Anytime Scott had 'disciplined' him for mouthing off at
the bigger, dominant douche bags, it had been a game. Stiles knew all about
pretending to be sorry, but nothing about real submission. Derek would know the
difference, and probably not be as amused as Mrs. Binks.
"Follow me. Keep your eyes open and your mouth shut," Derek said, taking one
last look aat the way the omegas had run before turning the other direction. He
walked fast, forcing Stiles to jog to keep up. After about ten minutes, he
swerved to his left and led them out of the woods. A slick black car took up
three spots by illegal parallel parking. Derek pulled the keys from his pocket
and clicked the doors unlocked. "Get in. And don't get mud everywhere."
"Why aren't you, you know," Stiles asked, scuffing his shoes on the ground to
knock anything gross off. He pulled his seatbelt across his chest as Derek
gunned the engine and pulled out of the parking lot, spitting gravel behind
them. "Like those other guys?"
In his head, it sounded more nonchalantly curious, but when he said it, he
winced at how needy he sounded. He'd always thought he didn't need the
validation of having half a dozen wolves trying to court him, but maybe he'd
just been fooling himself since he hadn't ever been interested in anyone like
that. The therapist had been so worried about Stiles' inability to focus on
looking for a dominant that she'd called his dad, who had merely seemed happy
to keep Stiles at home with him.
"Because I'm better than them," Derek answered, concentrating on the road as he
took turns Stiles had never noticed before in that forest. He shifted through
the gears like he was part of the car, anticipating every click of the engine.
After a few more miles, Stiles was completely lost; he wasn't even sure they
were still in the Beacon Hills municipal territory. That could be a problem if
Derek actually turned out to be a murdering psychopath like the kids in school
whispered. Their treaties didn't hold outside of the town's limits. As a
dominant, as the Alpha's family, Derek could do almost anything with Stiles and
he'd have no say in it.
Derek slowed as he followed a winding road that turned into a driveway to a
beautiful log cabin. Snow covered the roof and icicles hung all along the front
porch. The garage was very modern, the door barely making a sound when it slid
up so Derek could park the car. The door shut again, leaving them in the dim
light from the emergency system.
Despite the earlier attack and fear, the sudden silence made Stiles feel real,
like an actual wolf about to go into heat and be claimed by another. He smelled
Derek all around him, strength and dominance that he wouldn't even begin to
fight. He couldn't help breathing faster, feeling his heart grind through gears
as jerky as the car had been smooth. The seatbelt constricted him and he
flailed trying to hit the button to release it. A hand landed on both of his,
keeping them pressed to the seatbelt. Stiles looked up to find Derek glaring at
him.
"I'm better than those werewolves, but I'm not perfect," Derek said, his voice
barely contained violence. His hand was rough and hot enough to burn. "You need
to calm down. Now."
Stiles took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was stuck right now, and if
he wanted the chance to take control of this situation before he was mindless
in heat, he'd have to play the game. "All right," he said, carefully freeing
his hands and releasing the seatbelt. Out stubborning himself, he shoved his
fear down deep. He inched away from Derek and opened the door, "I'm fine.
Sorry."
He pulled his bag from the back seat, and decided to put a little more distance
between them. If he could just get by himself in a bedroom, he could slip out
the window and get gone before Derek figured him out. Before he'd even finished
that thought, a body hit him and slammed him into the door, holding him still
when he wanted to fight back.
"Don't kid yourself that this isn't going to happen," Derek breathed in his
ear, stroking up and down tendons on the front of Stiles' neck. The nail on his
thumb gouged under Stiles' jaw, making him lift his head or suffer a stabbed
jugular. "You're starting to smell so good, I won't be able to hold myself
back. Your body will turn against you, and you won't want me to hold back."
Derek's body set him on fire. This wasn't a teenager still rounded with baby
fat like Scott. Derek was every inch a man with hard muscles and sharp edges.
He didn't care that Stiles was young, that he was new. He was going to take
what he wanted because he could, the way all dominants did. Stiles whimpered,
trembling despite himself, and he bit his lip until he tasted blood.
"Here's a hint, Stiles," Derek said, turning him with hands on his hips until
his back was against the door. He touched Stiles' lip, pulling it down until
the blood welled and dripped onto Derek's index finger. "That's not the best
idea when you're a werewolf in heat cornered by a stranger."
Derek licked the blood off his finger, grabbed Stiles' bag and then brushed by
him into the house. Stiles closed his eyes, and counted to ten, trying the
focus trick his therapist taught him. He licked the inside of his mouth and
found the cut already healed. This might be harder than he'd thought.
He followed Derek through the laundry room and into the kitchen, where he found
Derek going through his bag and taking out all of Stiles' supplies. "Hey! I
need those!" he yelled, diving across the table to grab at the hiking boots
Derek just pulled out.
"I'll give you everything you need," Derek said, completely out of patience. He
knocked Stiles into a chair and glared at him until he stayed put. "Get it
through your thick head. You're not leaving here until after you've finished
your heat."
"I hate this, and I hate you," Stiles muttered, glaring right back.
"I don't care," Derek answered, sniffing at the protein bars Stiles had added
to the bag at the last second.
This was worse than school, worse than when Lydia had made him submit during a
game of dodge ball in gym. Derek thought he was some brainless teenager just
thrilled to death to take it up the ass. He sat in silence while Derek
separated out anything Stiles might use to escape from his clothes and
toiletries. He couldn't help making a noise when Derek pulled out the photo
album Stiles took with him everywhere.
Derek thumbed the edges of the book, and then handed it over to Stiles without
opening it. Stiles took it and held it to his cheek for a moment, breathing
deeply to try to find the phantom perfume that sometimes lingered on the
papers. He slid it back on the table, into the pile of soft clothing Derek
deemed he could keep. Refilling the bag with all of Stiles' contraband, Derek
put it back in the garage, shutting the door firmly behind him.
"Touch that again and you'll regret it," Derek threatened, crossing to the sink
and washing his hands. "Are you hungry?"
The sun had slipped away some time between when Stiles started running and when
Derek caught him. He hadn't even realized it was late, but the sun went down so
early anyway. His stomach growled right on cue. He fidgeted with the bottom of
his shirt, and shrugged, "I guess I could eat."
"I'll make dinner. You sit there and don't make any noise," Derek ordered,
splashing some water on his face. He pinched the bridge of his nose, and then
knuckled the water out of his eyes.
"Great," Stiles agreed, knowing that if he let his sarcasm out to play, it
would just be worse for him later. "That sounds awesome." Besides, he would
probably agree to just about anything at that point. At home, he did any
cooking that involved actual skill, even if he didn't have that much to begin
with. Usually, his dad held up a fistful of takeout menus and let Stiles pick
at random.
He watched Derek move confidently through the kitchen, tending both skillets
and mixing a salad on the counter. He pulled two bottles of water out and
gestured for Stiles to take whatever he wanted. Stiles ate quietly, unwilling
to prod Derek into acting on his intentions before he absolutely had to. When
they finished, Stiles cleaned up, putting most of the stuff in the dishwasher,
but scrubbing the pans.
"I need to call your dad. They'll have told him that you're not at Sanctuary
anymore."
Stiles shook his head, "I should be the one to talk to him and tell him I'm all
right." They were all each other had, and his dad would be upset enough without
having to hear about it second hand. He reached for the wireless phone on the
counter, but Derek beat him to it.
"No," Derek held the phone out of Stiles' reach. He actually looked apologetic
about it, but he still held Stiles away. "If he hears your voice, he'll want to
come protect you, and he can't right now. I don't want to kill your father,
Stiles. The peace wouldn't survive."
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Stiles nodded and retreated to the far side
of the living room. He concentrated on not listening to the phone conversation,
unwilling to hear his father's disappointment without having the chance to try
to defend himself. Most of the room was bare, white walls, no pictures, but the
TV was huge and the bookcases on either side were filled with DVDs. Stiles
poked through the collection; the guy had an unfortunate penchant for
depressing, gritty, based on true stories movies.
"He's not happy, but I think he understands this is the best choice in a bad
situation," Derek said, joining Stiles in front of shelves. He rolled his
shoulders and finally took his jacket off, flinging it at an innocent easy
chair. "I think you're in trouble once I take you back."
"Great," Stiles now had enough guilt to last him a lifetime. He grabbed a movie
at random and shoved it at Derek. "What's this one?"
"It's about a hired gun trying to save his son's life," Derek answered, taking
it before Stiles could do any real damage with it. "I'll put it in; you get
comfortable on the couch."
Stiles settled as close to the arm of the couch as he could, curling his feet
up toward the middle in an effort to make sure Derek gave him some space. It
failed utterly. Derek picked up his feet and twisted him until he leaned into
Derek's chest. It was horrible. Derek smelled nice and felt like a living
heated blanket. Before he knew it, his whole crappy day caught up with him.
 

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Stiles woke up to Derek spooned tightly behind him and slightly on top of him,
pushing him down into the couch cushions. Derek's hips jerked against Stiles'
ass, and his arm felt like a metal band locked around Stiles' stomach.
Somewhere in the house, a clock chimed and Derek buried his face in the back of
Stiles' neck.
His fear of mating for the first time made his stomach clench and heart stop.
Stiles twisted his head, trying to see if Derek had shifted, but teeth at his
neck froze him. At least the pressure was blunt; usually the first thing to
change was the sharpening of fangs. If Derek was already out of control, then
Stiles wouldn't have time to even wonder. "Derek?" he asked quietly, trying to
keep the panic out of his tone.
"Don't move, don't struggle," Derek licked across Stiles' hairline where sweat
had started prickling to the surface. "Give me a second."
Derek shifted his grip until his fingers dug into Stiles' hips, grinding his
cock into the soft underside on Stiles' ass. Even through their layers of
clothing, Stiles could feel how long, how hard, how hot it felt. His body
responded despite his desire to follow Derek's instructions for once. He didn't
struggle, he stretched, falling into Derek's gravity and rubbed backward.
The next thing he knew, the world spun around him and he hit the wood floor
hard. He rubbed his elbow, which had taken most of his weight in his fall. The
pain helped him snap out of it, but seeing Derek holding himself stiffly behind
the couch finished clearing his head.
"Go to your bedroom and lock the door," Derek said from behind the couch. He
didn't look anywhere near Stiles, and kept his forearm up, covering his nose.
"I'm going to check the perimeter in case those morons decided to follow us
here. Don't open the door to me no matter what."
He didn't scurry, Stiles definitely managed something a little more manly as he
rushed down the hallway to the spare bedroom Derek had dumped his stuff in. He
didn't breathe again until he had the door shut and the deadbolt slammed. It
was false security, nothing would stop Derek if he wanted in, but the extra few
seconds it took to break the door down might give him time to reconsider his
actions.
The room was cool and dark, as sparsely decorated as the rest of the house. The
bedspread was either blue or black, but it was soft and warm when Stiles buried
himself underneath it. Somewhere out there, Scott and Allison were curled up
together, probably talking and laughing with each other, and not thinking about
Stiles at all. The heavy blankets weighted him down and the memory of being
held by his parents made him feel a little better, but mostly he was confused.
Yesterday, he would have said that Derek was wild, uncontrollable, and a menace
to law abiding werewolves. Today, he owed Derek his life, his safety. Derek was
bending over backwards not to take advantage of Stiles' heat. Stiles didn't
know what to think. He still would rather have had Scott, or taken care of
himself, but it appeared that Derek wasn't the worst option in the world. He
wasn't nice, exactly, but he seemed fair, he was clean, and he didn't make
Stiles feel like shit.
For some reason, there weren't many people who wouldn't take every opportunity
to tweak Stiles' tail. His therapist said it was his fault, his attitude that
made dominants want to watch him squirm. He didn't fit into any of the neat
little packaged wolf roles, too mouthy and proactive to be submissive and too
meek and soft to be a dominant. Stiles didn't fit anywhere, and no one except
Scott had wanted to make a place for him.
Now, he'd even lost Scott.
Stiles curled up tight, fluffing the pillow up only to hide his head underneath
it. He was starting to feel like an idiot for ever leaving Sanctuary. At least
there he'd have had his own space and nobody breathing down his neck. He could
have saved this experience for someone who maybe even liked him a little.
He thought sleep was a thousand miles away, but apparently he managed it,
waking again when the sky outside his window had barely begun to lighten. He
had tossed and turned until the blanket wrapped around him, trapping his limbs.
Sweat stained the sheets, and something slippery seeped through his sweats.
Stiles felt like he was going crazy, needing something to make him fit in his
body again.
Going through heat was different for everyone, but they'd tried to prepare him
for what he could face. The first time usually warmed up slowly and lasted two
to three days, building up to six or seven when they reached full maturity.
Some wolves went completely insensible, unable to do anything but arch and
writhe. Others kept most of their personality, but they still had to deal with
the instinctual drive to mate with whoever took them.
At Sanctuary, they'd would lock themselves in small but comfortable rooms and
given Winter Cherry to manage their symptoms. No one would touch them, and
they'd get another year to find someone they actually wanted to spend their
heat with.
Stiles felt like his veins had been stolen, leaving him a floating, warm puddle
of goo. His heart pounded in every atom of his body. He was harder than he'd
ever been, though he woke up with his hand on his dick and at least two orgasms
coating the front of his thighs. It wasn't enough, he needed someone else,
someone to touch him, and keep him from dying alone.
He rolled off the bed, hitting the floor shoulder first, but the pain didn't
slow him down for a second. Luckily, the blanket came loose, and he did the
only think he could think of, crawled across the room to the bathroom. He felt
himself changing, his hair growing and senses climbing. It only made his body
feel worse, slick and sweat dripping from him as he hunched through the pain of
his shifting bone and muscles.
A whimper escaped his throat, but when he heard the springs creak from across
the hall, he choked the rest of his noises down. The last thing he needed was
Derek in here. Stiles turned the cold water knob all the way on and crawled
into the bathtub still wearing his clothes. The water dropped his temperature,
and eventually washed away the evidence of his heat. He lost track of how long
he laid there under the spray. Eventually, he felt his control come back and
shifted until his was all human again.
It wouldn't last; his heat would get worse until he and Derek wouldn't have a
choice besides mating, but he thought he might hold it off for another day.
Stiles lifted his head until the water hit him in the face. Derek was already
there, under his skin. He just hoped there was enough of him left over after
all this to keep going by himself.
 

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When Stiles finally pulled himself out of the bathtub and dried himself off, he
felt a little better. Like a fever passing in the night, his heat came and
went. It would be back, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, not
until Derek decided to take what he considered his. When that happened, Stiles
would lose to nature until his heat ran its course.
Speaking of Derek, Stiles didn't hear any further signs of life out of him all
morning. He had no idea what time Derek had come inside from prowling around
the perimeter. Stiles tried to watch a movie, but found he couldn't sit still,
so he went looking for his duffel only to find that Derek had hidden it
somewhere. He did find several heavy-duty lock boxes that made him sneeze
uncontrollably when he sniffed at them trying to figure out their contents.
Eventually, his stomach growled, demanding food which led him back to the
kitchen. He was half inside the fridge, pushing things around to see what his
options were, when he heard Derek get up and start the shower. Stiles didn't
think he could go through another day as confusing as the last several he'd
suffered through. His dad always talked more while he was eating, so Stiles
pulled out his choices and got to work.
He looked up at Derek's soft footfalls, freezing as he tried to look his fill.
Truthfully, Derek was probably the most handsome man he'd ever seen in his
life. Most werewolves were easy to look at, but Derek combined the darkness
inside with the animal outside. His hair curled, still damp and free of any
product. He moved like a predator, confident and incredibly graceful. He was
all pale skin and stunning eyes, the beginning of a shadow shading across his
cheeks, jaws, and neck.
"I made you breakfast, or lunch, whatever," Stiles said, holding up the skillet
to show his work. He curled his lip as he realized what this probably looked
like. At least he didn't have an apron on. "Not that I'm your bitch. I don't
care what those jackasses said; I'm not anyone's bitch. Ever."
At that, Derek's stone-cold killer mask twitched into something that was almost
a smile. He sniffed, and followed his nose until he stood behind Stiles looking
at the skillet. "That smells good, what is it?" he asked, rubbing his prickly
cheek against as much of Stiles' skin as he could reach.
"It's a mess," Stiles answered, desperately trying not to hum his contentment.
His hormones were not about to get the upper hand on him. "That's what we call
it at home. I took a bunch of random stuff out of your fridge and mixed it
together. It's kind of a hit or miss thing."
"This looks like a hit," Derek said, sniffing behind Stiles' ear and watching
as Stiles divided the food between two plates.
"You can't treat me like a child," Stiles said, holding as still as he could,
though he was sure Derek could feel him trembling. He wanted, no he needed
Derek to look at him and see him, see Stiles, not just a semi-willing body. He
needed it if he wanted to look in the mirror next week and not wince at the
sight. "You can't just send me to my room whenever you want."
Derek hooked his hands around Stiles' waist and drew their bodies together. He
slipped his hand under Stiles' shirt, lightly drawing his fingers over Stiles'
bellybutton. "Okay," Derek said, a definite hint of amusement in his voice.
"Next time, I'll fuck you raw, give you a cigarette, and then take you out to a
strip club for a whiskey."
Laughing nervously, Stiles covered Derek's hand with his own. "You spend a lot
of time at the strip club? Do you dance with the pole or on someone's lap?" he
asked, trying to imagine which one he'd like to see better. Derek shirtless
would be a worth it no matter what the rest of him was doing.
"I guess you'll have to wait until you're legal to find out," Derek said,
pressing a hard kiss against Stiles' cheek as he snatched the plate with the
larger portion and took it to the table.
Stiles touched his cheek; his imagination made his skin tingle. Nobody who
wasn't family had ever kissed him before. It was stupid; Derek hadn't kissed
him on the lips. It didn't mean anything. He shook it off and joined Derek at
the table, silently eating his food while it was still warm. Every few seconds,
he'd glance up at Derek and then back to his plate.
"What?"
"I don't get it," Stiles said, the words tripping over themselves to jump off
his tongue. He stood up and dumped his plate in the sink. He turned around and
leaned against the counter. "Yesterday, you told me I didn't have a choice, but
then you're all cool with dinner and a movie. Then you got scary and run off,
and now it's like you're nice."
"I can't be nice?" Derek asked, pushing away from the table. He splayed his
legs so the worn denim of his jeans clung to the muscles in his thighs.
Stiles shook his head, struggling to move his eyes away. He wouldn't mind
living in that space between Derek's knees, tracing his fingers along the
inseam and teasing the bulge of Derek's cock. "Not according to what everyone
says," he said, trying to shake the impulse off before he did something he
would regret.
Suddenly, Derek was all danger again, a tightly coiled spring ready to snap
closed on the unwary. "So you know all about me?" his voice was ice cold. "Is
that it?"
"I- I didn't mean-"
Derek blurred across the room and pushed Stiles back against the pantry door,
jerking his shirt up to expose his belly. "No, they were right," he said,
purposefully growing his claws out and grazing them across Stiles' vulnerable
flesh. This wasn't the caress from earlier; it was a warning. "I'm not nice.
I'm a killer, and right now, you're at my mercy."
"Please, don't," Stiles screwed his eyes tightly shut and canted his head down
and to the side, showing his throat. He would have dropped to the ground if
Derek hadn't been plastered to his side. "Please."
"Goddamn it!" Derek roared, tossing the table over as he crashed through the
backdoor, leaving the screen frame hanging by one screeching hinge.
 

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"I'm sorry I lost control."
Stiles looked up guiltily from the photo album he was flipping through. His
body tensed for fight or flight, or actually and more probably, running in
crazy eights like a headless a chicken, but Derek just rubbed tiredly at his
eyes. "You're apologizing to me?" Stiles asked, immediately looking for the
catch.
"As I understand it, that's what nice people do when they know they're being a
jackass," Derek said, holding his hands out in a gesture of peace as he walked
closer and knelt down next to Stiles. He pursed his lips while he looked over
all the stuff that Stiles had dragged out.
"I'm sorry too, then. I shouldn't have brought it up," Stiles said,
unconsciously tracing his fingers over Derek's younger face. The photo album
had been in a back closet after he'd snooped through every other accessible
place. He also found a couple of singed yearbooks and a handful of letters he
hadn't dared to read. The one place he steered clear of was Derek's room when
he discovered Derek's scent concentrated in that area. "I was just looking, I
didn't hurt anything. I wanted to get to know about you better."
Someone had taken the time to put the album together scrapbook style, with
buttons, ribbons, tiny brass plates, and pressed flowers. They looked like such
a happy family, the kind Stiles used to dream of having. Pictures, ticket
stubs, drawings, everything to remember lives that ended years ago. Stiles
smiled when he found a picture of Derek swinging in a batting cage, wearing a
purple and white uniform.
"I'm not mad," Derek said, rearranging himself until he sat cross-legged with
the bare bones of his life surrounding him.
"Good," Stiles said, steadily relaxing when Derek didn't make a move to rip his
throat out. Derek smelled like pine and earth, fresh with barely a hint of
sweat layered underneath. He was nearly sure he still would like the scent even
if his hormones weren't messing with his head. "Believe it or not, but I don't
actually set out to piss everyone off."
He flipped the page again and did a double take, recognizing a younger Argent
family mixed in with the Hales. Toddler Allison was clearly stealing the show,
but in the background, he spotted Derek watching a blonde woman with intense
concentration. He looked almost hungry and reached out to her. She was caught
her with her mouth open in laughter, but her eyes told a different story.
Stiles shivered without knowing why she bothered him so much.
Derek took the book from Stiles' lap and stared at the pictures. "I turned
fourteen right before these were taken. This was my birthday party," he said,
brushing his fingers over faces while he told Stiles who each person was. He'd
had a big family, eight people living together with several others nearby. "I
don't remember a lot about it. Someone got me a bike, my parents engraved a
watch for me, and my sisters bought me a new baseball mitt. We had chocolate
cake."
The pictures ended there despite a dozen blank pages filling in the rest of the
book. Stiles watched Derek's face, cataloged the emotions that made him more
understandable. Anger and pain, but mostly sadness, the same things Stiles felt
when he thought about his mom. He knew from experience that words, even well
intentioned, often made things worse. Sitting idly by wasn't an option he could
stomach either. Slowly, he inched closer, brushed his fingers over Derek's
wrist, and dropped his head on Derek's shoulder.
Automatically, Derek dipped his shoulder making the angle more comfortable for
Stiles' neck. "The next week, it was just me and Laura. We moved in with our
uncle and nothing was ever the same again," Derek continued, leaning into
Stiles' body and taking the comfort offered. "And now I'm alone."
A noise escaped from Stiles' throat again. Against his will, he started feeling
real empathy for Derek. He hated being alone; more than anything, he wanted
someone close to talk to and touch. Most families were like Derek's, large and
always together. Sometimes he thought that he and Scott got along so well
because they were both a little awkward and lonely from living in single parent
houses. They'd never had any sibs to lean on.
Trying not to think too hard about what he was doing, Stiles pressed his
forehead against Derek's jaw. Derek's stubble scratched him, but he kept close,
swallowing hard on all his insecurities. If Derek pushed him away, then he'd
know for sure that all Derek wanted from him was his heat. All the oxygen
sucked out of the room as he waited breathless for Derek's response.
"Stiles."
The moment stretched past the breaking point before Derek bent his head,
bringing them face to face. Their noses bumped and their breath mingled. Derek
curled his arms around Stiles and pulled them closer together. Stiles could
feel Derek's eyelashes fluttering against his cheek, and he decided then he'd
give up anything just for Derek to kiss him and mean it. Anything.
The sound of the phone ringing jarred them apart. Stiles cursed, and Derek
reluctantly pulled away. "I'll be right back," he said, rubbing his thumb over
Stiles' cheek as he stood up and walked into the kitchen. He picked up the
phone before the next ring and snarled, "What?"
Stiles flopped down on his back and decided he'd unplug the phone on his next
trip into the kitchen. Either that, or he had to be thankful to whoever was on
the other side of the line for interrupting something that had been getting a
little too hot too quickly. Stiles couldn't even begin to explain it, except
that starting his heat was messing with his mind. He'd thought he'd always
faced up to his hang-ups, knowing that when he found someone he wanted, the
chance that they'd want him back were slim to none.
Stiles knew he was a catch; he just needed someone else to see it too. Derek
was… he was complicated, but Stiles liked him, even if Derek also equally
scared the crap out of him most the time.
"I apologize," Derek said formally, his tone a complete one-eighty from the
irritation he'd displayed just a few seconds ago. Curious, Stiles scooted
closer and tried to listen in. "Give me a second."
Derek started the dishwasher, effectively blocking Stiles from hearing the
voice on the other side of the call. He looked out the window and continued,
"Yes, I found them. One died and the other two ran off."
"I know, but-"
"I need a few days. Something came up."
"I have never asked you for anything, and I've always followed orders. Please."
"Fine."
Derek's scowl was firmly in place when he came into the living room. There
might as well be a tiny storm cloud hovering over his head, raining on his
parade. His expression grew even colder when he spotted Stiles lounging on the
floor. He cracked his knuckles before he forced them to relax.
Scrambling to his feet, Stiles tugged his shirt down from where it had ridden
up. "Problems?" he asked, feeling all the good will from earlier dissolving in
a second. He knew he smelled like fear, and most likely, that would either
excite or irritate Derek further, but he couldn't help the cold lick uncurling
in his belly.
"I have to go out," Derek growled, shrugging into his jacket. Striding forward,
Derek grabbed Stiles' chin and curled his fingers under Stiles' jaw. He tugged
Stiles forward and kissed him hard on the mouth, forcing Stiles' lips apart as
he laved his tongue against the points of Stiles' teeth. He pulled away and had
to hold Stiles to keep him from following. "When I get back, we'll finish
this."
Stiles surprised himself but not the fire burning in his chest by saying,
"Hurry."
Derek kissed him again, worrying Stiles' bottom lip between his teeth. He
jerked Stiles hips into his, palming Stiles' ass and squeezing him close. It
was obvious exactly which brain they were both using. Derek quickly shoved him
away before things escalated, and walked out the door without looking back.
 

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A three-hour cold shower later and Stiles almost felt normal again. There was
still a sugar rush buzzing right beneath his skin that had nothing to do with
the pint of chocolate ice cream he scarfed down. The heater was only set for
sixty, but even that made Stiles sweat until he turned it off and stepped
outside for a minute. He smelled snow in the air and it would surprise him if
there wasn't an extra inch or two layering the ground in the morning. He
wondered why Derek lived so far away from Beacon Hills when the Alpha had
several empty properties in town.
When twilight covered the forest and Derek still wasn't back, Stiles went in to
pick through the cabinets again. Everyone liked spaghetti, so he set a pot of
water on the stove to boil and set out everything he'd need. Derek's house was
well stocked, he must be preparing for the last big snowstorm that always
managed to wipe out normal activity in town around the middle of spring. He
didn't turn around when he heard Derek's car pull into the garage.
"Hey," Stiles said, stirring the sauce so it wouldn't stick to the bottom of
the pan. "I thought you'd be back quicker, but this is about ready if you're
hungry."
"Why the hell were you outside?"
That wasn't Derek's normal voice. Stiles turned slowly, keeping his eyes
lowered. Derek was fully shifted, bigger, meaner, and acting on instinct.
Tension almost made the air crackle between them. Fur covered the sides of
Derek's face and down his hands where thick yellow claws curved out from the
tips of his fingers. His arms and legs were longer, corded with thick muscles
that bunched and trembled under pressure, barely contained.
When werewolves shifted, the eyes of most of them turned golden, flashing in
the light like their canine counterparts. Sometimes when they felt strong
emotions their eyes would change color without shifting. That was an easy way
to tell who had more control and who felt things more deeply. Stiles used it as
an early warning system for when he'd mouthed off a little too much.
Derek's eyes were a brilliant, reflective blue instead of his human combination
of brown and green flakes.
"I'm sorry," Stiles whispered, knowing he had to tiptoe over broken glass for
the next few seconds or risk deeper cuts. He kept his head down and crept so
slowly to Derek, freezing every time Derek even breathed a little heavier. As
soon as he was close enough, he stretched out and bumped his nose against
Derek's jaw. He kissed the bone and the soft part underneath, feeling Derek's
Adam apple move against his cheek. "I didn't know."
"I could smell you halfway to the main road," Derek snarled, still tense but
managing to keep his claws at his side instead of impaled halfway through
Stiles' ribs. "Anyone could have come for you and I wouldn't have been here. I
couldn't have… someone else would have touched you."
Stiles whimpered, feeling that his efforts weren't enough; Derek was working
himself up instead of calming down. A dominant's sense of possession was one of
the strongest instincts they had, and probably the most annoying for Stiles to
deal with. He didn't want his heat to be about who grabbed dibs first, and he'd
thought Derek was different. "No one else will touch me," Stiles promised,
taking a chance on Derek's instincts when he lifted Derek's hand to his neck.
He felt Derek squeeze for just a second before the claws retracted. "I'm sorry,
I won't do it again. I promise."
He'd said it before to irate wolves looking to take a piece out of his hide. It
wasn't a lie, exactly, since he always made sure to think rather loudly in his
head, until the next time I do it. It didn't matter what 'it' was, Stiles just
needed to mollify his aggressor and then get the hell out of Dodge. It felt
different this time; he wanted to mean it if it meant that Derek would feel
better. He cared what Derek thought of him.
"Go lock yourself in your room," Derek groaned, hunching in on himself. Stiles
finally noticed that Derek favored his right side and his clothes were torn and
bloody. The flesh that wasn't ripped was bruised; Derek wasn't in the right
frame of mind to take care of himself. "I'm hurt and I can't control this. Not
right now."
The smart thing would be to do what Derek said, run and hide again, but Stiles
didn't think he could leave Derek here alone in pain. Established packs were
illegal, but nothing could stop a healing bond if two wolves were both willing.
Stiles sank to his knees in front of Derek, touching, but trying not to rub in
case Derek was badly hurt in places he couldn't see. He held onto Derek's leg
and turned his head, breathing hotly at Derek's hip through the canvas material
of his pants.
He did what he couldn't do for his mom.
Stiles focused into his heart, his core, where a werewolf's power came from. He
tapped into it and drew it out, spinning the delicate energy like cotton candy
on a spindle that he passed to Derek. It wouldn't have worked unless Derek was
willing to open himself up and take it.
Derek slumped, shifting quickly until soft hands touched Stiles on his
shoulders, holding him in place. Not that he needed it; Stiles held on like a
dying man and felt his body siphon off its reserves to give to Derek. It didn't
hurt; actually it felt like that moment just before sleep when he'd either
float away into a dream or jerk back to reality. He felt Derek's flesh knit
together and his strength flow into Derek's ribs.
"That's enough," Derek's voice was his own gravelly, annoyed, sound again. His
hands pulled Stiles up and they both swayed in place, Stiles from being unused
to running on empty. Derek reached down to check his newly mended flesh, and
even his eyes were mostly back to normal. "Couch. Now."
"I have to turn off the burners first," Stiles said, taking Derek with him over
to the stovetop. Then he gladly followed the older wolf to the couch and
collapsed. Somehow, he ended up on the bottom with Derek's heavy body making
every breath an event. He felt drained but amazing, and Derek's bulk held him
together when he couldn't even try to think straight. "So, that was kinda
awesome, right? I think I'm kinda awesome."
"Yeah, you're all awesome," Derek said, propping his head up on his fist. He
narrowed his eyes down at Stiles. "You do that with all the people you hate?"
Stiles blushed, but there wasn't anywhere he could hide his eyes with Derek so
close. "I don't hate you. I never did," he sighed, and tried to find something
to do with his hands so they weren't awkwardly flopping around. He finally
tucked them under Derek's coat, feeling muscle shift beneath his fingers. "I
was just mad that nothing ended up like I wanted it to. When it was me and
Scott, my heat wasn't supposed to be a big deal. Then he gave his pocket watch
to Allison and I think I went a little crazy."
He'd probably always remember how the auditorium had hushed as Scott passed him
and offered his token to Allison. She had looked startled, but she'd quickly
put her hand in his and nuzzled his cheek. Everyone had expected Scott to take
Stiles, his shock probably showed on his face. They'd been inseparable through
thick and thin for years, their pranks tolerated and usually enjoyed on the
sly. When he left the stage, Scott avoided Stiles eyes, but Allison looked at
him briefly, confused and a little embarrassed, before trying to smile for the
crowd. The rest of the ceremony was brutal, standing there with the rest of his
age group and the older unclaimed wolves. No one offered him a token.
"I was there," Derek said suddenly, breaking Stiles memories like a sheet of
ice. His fingers skritched through the short hair at Stiles' neck. "I'm not
usually, but I… You looked sad."
"It wasn't supposed to be a big deal, but I didn't want it to be nothing,
either," Stiles searched Derek's face for any sign of understanding. He got the
feeling that most of the young wolves didn't take it as seriously as he did,
and some of the older wolves wanted a return to the chase instead of the
ceremony. Once again, Stiles was the odd one out.
Derek took a deep breath, "I don't know what your dad's told you, but claiming
doesn't have to be permanent. You don't have to be monogamous or mates."
"I know that, he made sure I'd know everything I needed," Stiles said a little
defensively. When it became obvious that not only was Stiles not dominant but
he was also receptive, his dad had brought home an armful of books and tried in
his own halting way to answer Stiles' questions. No one was going to say that
his dad hadn't done his best. "I also saw him and mom together. It was
different with them, less a battle and more a partnership."
"You've also seen how it changed him when she died."
"For a long time, I thought I'd never want to let someone that close to me. Not
when I could see how much dad wanted to eat his gun every day for months and I
was the only reason he didn't," Stiles chewed on his bottom lip until Derek
growled softly in warning. "But, Scott's parents weren't mated and it sucked
all around for them. So, it's not like there are any guarantees either way."
"I knew your mom. I mean, she ran the library, right? I liked her; she was
nice. She always smiled when she saw me. Nobody else has ever done that," Derek
trailed off, brushing his thumb over Stiles' abused bottom lip. Between one
second and the next, he changed again, shutting down. "I can't be that for you.
I don't know what you're imagining, but we're not going to be lovers or hold
hands while walking through the moonlight. I'm going to fuck you and try to
make it bearable for you. That's it."
Two steps forward and three jumps back. Stiles tried not to let his
disappointment show. He was probably suffering from some kind of Stockholm
Syndrome anyway. They should just do it; then Stiles could start the process of
repression and denial. "Fine," he said, putting his arms over the top of the
couch, closing his eyes, and stretching his head to the side. "Let's get this
over with."
He braced for whatever came next, expecting claws and pain, not Derek's
chuckle. He angrily jerked his head up and opened his eyes, knowing that they'd
flash gold at Derek, even if it wasn't the smartest thing to do in their
position. His canines grew until he had to open his mouth and snarl or risk
cutting himself.
"What are you doing?" Derek asked, completely unimpressed with Stiles' display.
Flopping down, Stiles instantly lost his anger and settled for irritated
sulking. "Assuming the position," he said, staring up into Derek's eyes and
challenging him to punish Stiles for the insult. "What does it look like?"
"I'm not going to answer that because I think you could possibly do some
damage, probably by accident, if you put your mind to it," Derek said,
immediately immobilizing Stiles arms when he started struggling. He sealed
their mouths together and urged Stiles into the kiss until he finally relaxed.
Stiles tugged until Derek let his hands go, and then he buried his fingers in
Derek's thick hair. If nothing else, this experience taught him that he really
liked kissing. He liked the slide of Derek's tongue, the heat, and losing his
breath until he thought his lungs would explode. He liked the burn of Derek's
stubble against his lips and cheeks. He loved the noises: a soft whimper, the
smack of lips, a gasp.
He choked when Derek slipped his hand between them and palmed Stiles' dick. He
froze like a deer caught in a spotlight before desperately trying to get away.
Derek sighed, his nose twitching as he cataloged Stiles' scent. He curled his
fingers under Stiles' balls for a second and then moved his hand up to Stiles'
hip. "Let's watch another movie," he said, completely uncaring that Stiles had
derailed their entire evening with his freak out.
Their relationship was going to give him whiplash. Stiles thrashed violently
until Derek's slipped to the side, almost between his body and the couch,
giving Stiles a chance to breathe and think. He felt so moronic about his
reaction; he knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later, and teasing
Derek wouldn't make it any easier. "I thought you said-" Stiles started.
"I can wait another night," Derek cut him off, flicking on the TV and changing
the channel to ESPN. "Sleep with me tonight and you'll get used to my scent, my
body. Then it won't be so frightening for you when I take you."
"I'm not frightened," Stiles said automatically, but immediately flinched when
Derek quirked an eyebrow. Of course, a werewolf could sniff out a lie that
obvious, but Stiles had to try. He didn't want to give up his man card that
easy. "Maybe I'm a little trepidatious."
Derek stretched his neck out until he rested his pointy chin against the soft
spot on Stiles' shoulder. "You made that word up," he said, taking pleasure in
making Stiles squirm underneath him.
"It's still valid," Stiles argued, touching Derek's thigh where it met Stiles'
ass. He didn't want to ask for another favor, but once his terror receded, his
body made it known that it could only handle so much in one day. "Would you
mind if we went to bed early? I'm more tired than I thought."
"Yeah. I'll go take a shower while you eat something. The pasta still smells
warm," Derek said, climbing back on top of Stiles to kiss for several minutes
before he got his feet underneath him and headed down the hallway.
Stiles waited until he heard the water turn on, and then he put one of the
couch cushions over his face and groaned. "Oh my God," he said, unsure if he
was glad to put off having sex or disappointed. On a good day, Derek scared
him, and the last two days had made him wonder if Derek was bipolar too. None
of the literature or endless lectures from the adults had covered anything like
Derek's weirdo behavior.
"I don't hear you eating!" Derek yelled over the shower, knowing Stiles would
hear him.
With a groan, Stiles rolled off the couch onto his hands and knees. He adjusted
himself as he stood, wondering how many times he could jerk off and still not
be satisfied. Because he was technically submissive, he'd eventually end up
with a dominant partner. Because he was receptive, he needed a male partner. It
was a fact of life he'd always known, but it had never meant anything bigger
picture. Now, he could feel the small part inside him that wanted to submit and
wanted to be fucked.
Derek was right about the pasta. Stiles didn't bother with a plate; he just
grabbed a fork and started eating out of the pot. Helping Derek heal had taken
a lot out of him, more than he'd noticed at first. He perked up at the idea
that maybe he'd be so exhausted that he'd sleep through Derek fucking him.
"You've got some sauce on your chin."
A split second later, he had Derek's tongue on his chin.
"Dude!" Stiles yelped, trying to jerk his head away before Derek caught him,
but he was too late. Water dripped off Derek and soaked all down Stiles' shirt
and pants. He caught Derek's hips and found him wearing only a towel slipping
dangerously low on his waist. Derek licked and kissed the corners of his mouth,
following the curve of Stiles' cheekbone to his eyelids. It was tender; Stiles
felt cared for under Derek's attention and he swayed into the larger body in
front of him. "Derek?"
Reluctantly, Derek held on to Stiles' wrist and dragged him through the house,
turning off lights as they went. "C'mon," he said, twisting Stiles in front of
him and into his bedroom first, "before I regret this more than I already do."
Derek's bedroom was barely more lived in than the rest of his house. His entire
wardrobe seemed to consist of black, gray, and white. A few knick-knacks sat on
the dresser in the corner along with a dictionary bigger than Stiles' head. A
crisp breeze curled under the cracked open window, making everything seem
sharper, more immediate. He was surprised he didn't feel the cold again, but it
looked like his heat had decided to hang around in a rather literal sense. He
could hear the snow fall on the branches of the nearest trees.
"Strip."
Stiles turned in time to see Derek drop his towel. Thankfully, or not depending
on his freaked-out-o-meter, Derek faced the bathroom, so all Stiles got was an
eyeful of Derek's strong back, his trim hips, and finally his firm ass. He
could feel his mouth hanging open, but Stiles couldn't manage to care, not with
the best porn he'd ever seen standing in front of him, live and in person.
"Stop staring and get a move on. Unless you want me to undress you."
Swallowing around his suddenly arid throat, Stiles fingered the buttons on his
shirt. Derek had moved into the bathroom, brushing his teeth, but Stiles’ eyes
skated away from him. "Are you serious?" he asked, knowing his stomach was
about to stage a revolt. Who in the world could hold a candle next to Derek's
cut abs and toned body? Not Stiles and his less than amazing pale chest.
"Would you rather I wore my boxers to bed?" Derek asked, spitting and rinsing
into the sink. "But otherwise yes, I hate sleeping hot, and your temperature is
starting to rise."
"Okay, okay," Stiles took a deep breath, already adjusting to being surrounded
by Derek's scent. "I can do that."
Luckily, Derek didn't appear to be a neat freak. A pile of his dirty clothes
crumpled in the corner, so Stiles threw his abandoned shirt and pants in that
direction too. He was glad that he'd only packed the new blue boxers his dad
had bought him. If he had to stand there with SpongeBob on his crotch, he might
not have been able to lift his head to see Derek finish shimmying into his
tight pair of boxer-briefs.
Stiles cleared his throat. "S-so," he had a hard time forcing that word out. He
felt his blush travel down his neck and chest. "How 'bout those Mets, huh?"
"Shut up and get in bed," Derek said, rolling his eyes. He made one last circle
around the room, flicking the lights off and closing the door and the window.
Stiles hurried and burrowed under the covers, actually shivering when his toes
hit the ice-cold sheets at the base. He curled into himself as close to the
edge as he could and clutched the comforter under his chin. The bed dipped as
Derek climbed in the other side and swayed as Derek settled his body.
"Sometimes I wonder how two virgins ever make it through this week alive. Don't
you have any instincts at all?"
"I have instincts!" Stiles said; they obviously weren't any good as he fell
right into Derek's trap and uncurled enough for Derek to wedge an arm between
his knees and his belly and haul him across the bed. Accepting defeat, Stiles
sighed and continued with his theory, "Survival of the fittest is totally a
lie. It's the wolf that runs away who lives to eat another day."
"I don't know where you put it all," Derek said, tapping on Stiles' ribs. He
molded his chest to Stiles' back, "Remember that you're the little spoon in
this sleeping arrangement and we'll be fine."
Derek moved one hand to the pillow under Stiles' nose, so he couldn't help
getting a lungful of his scent with every inhale. After a little while, Stiles
relaxed, fully melting into the body behind him. The skin on skin contact made
Stiles simmer in his skin, wishing for a quick second that Derek had done it
earlier. Then the waiting would be over. He yawned, restraining himself from
biting down on one of Derek's fingers in spite. It did help, smelling and
touching Derek without worrying about what came next.
"Why do your eyes turn blue?" he asked sleepily, not really expecting a
response when Derek had been silent for so long. Stiles traced one of the veins
that scrolled down Derek's forearm and toyed with Derek's loose fingers.
Exhaustion made him brave.
"Before the Treaties were signed, tradition said that wolves born with blue
eyes were destined to be Alpha. They would fight among themselves until only
one was left," Derek explained, curling his feet underneath Stiles'. "Don't
they teach you pups anything in school?"
Stiles shrugged, tugging Derek's arm until it covered Stiles better, "I don't
really pay that much attention in class. I mean, who's going to ever use that
stuff in the real world? Math. English. The basic ability to read and
comprehend small-to-complex words. Your uncle's eyes aren't blue."
"He's the Alpha," Derek tensed, his voice hard. "You should show your respect."
"I thought respect was earned?" Stiles asked, because he never did know when to
shut up. That was half the reason he had so many problems playing well with
others. "What did he do to become Alpha?"
"He survived," Derek said, and nipped the back of Stiles' neck in a gentle
rebuke, effectively closing that conversation. "Why does everyone call you
'Stiles'?"
"Maybe because it's my name?"
Derek thumbed Stiles' nose and angled them a little closer, "No it's not."
"You know what my real first name is?" Stiles asked, startled. He tried to
crane his neck around to see if Derek was messing with him. He didn't think
Scott knew what his real name was, let alone the rest of his classmates.
"Yes."
"But can you pronounce it?" Stiles asked, let a note of triumph creep into his
tone.
"No," Derek snorted, and playfully bit Stiles' shoulder with an open mouth.
Stiles smiled, and wiggled into the pillows, "That's why everyone calls me
'Stiles'. How did you get hurt?"
"I needed to relearn a lesson," Derek said so softly that even Stiles'
sensitive hearing could barely make it out. He bumped his nose against the
short hair on Stiles' neck, blowing out a long breath.
"What does-" Stiles said, until Derek's fingers pressed against his lips.
Derek intentionally pressed his groin against Stiles' ass and pushed until once
again, he was lying partly on top. "Go to sleep, Stilinski," he said, kissing
the corner of Stiles' jaw. "We've got a big day tomorrow."
"Is this like a thing?" Stiles asked, failing to keep the petulance away. "You
have to always be on top?"
"I'll show you topping tomorrow," Derek said, with another nip. "Now, shut up."
 

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"Stiles. Wake up."
Blinking awake, Stiles wondered who turned the furnace on. Dawn's light barely
crept through the window, but he felt like he'd slept away an entire week. His
body reacted slowly, stretching down to his toes until like a snapped band,
everything rebounded straight to his groin. He moaned, trying to pull his legs
up, but a heavy weight kept them down.
"Stiles, we can't wait any longer," Derek said, panting through an open mouth.
He kneeled between Stiles' legs forcing him to keep them splayed wide while he
kneaded the tense muscles in Stiles' thighs. His eyes were pale white, glowing
almost silver in the dim light. He wasn't shifted, but his back was up and
Stiles wanted to cower in front of the dominant wolf.
They were both naked; Stiles' cock pointed up his body, stiff and leaning
slightly to the left. The tip flushed bright red and leaked. Evidence that his
cock had started without him coated his belly, and he knew the slippery slide
of his heat seeped onto the sheets. There was something, something he needed to
remember, but every time he almost had it, his body pulsed, jolting him back to
his cock.
And how someone needed to touch it, right-the-fuck now.
"I'll take that as agreement," Derek said, batting Stiles hands away and
replacing them with his own.
Stiles thrust up into the heat and friction, seizing and completely out of
rhythm, but he came almost at once, his come shooting out on Derek's chest. He
didn't feel any relaxation, not like when he jerked off normally. No, he felt
like he was standing on top of a speeding train naked, heading into a tunnel
without knowing what was on the other side. The build-up in his chest made it
hard to breath; there wasn't room, not for his heart and not for his lungs.
Mostly, he really wanted Derek to be fucking him.
"God, the way you smell," Derek licked along the base of Stiles' cock, lapping
the come up while jerking Stiles hard again. He breathed deep in the short hair
under Stiles' belly button. "I can't believe I ever…"
"Derek," Stiles said, whining. He twisted his legs over Derek's back, urging
him closer. He dug his heels into Derek's spine until Derek finally put his
tongue where Stiles wanted it the most and swallowed his cock deep enough to
hit the back of Derek's throat. It took a little longer for him to come, but
Derek swallowed it all and then ducked down, sucking Stiles' balls into his
mouth.
While he didn't want to complain about the free orgasms, Stiles knew what he
needed. Just because he was a male didn't mean that he didn't have the same
drive to mate like the females. He was just lucky enough to have all the fun
without the chance of getting saddled with a baby later. Like a fever, his heat
wouldn't burn itself out until his biology was satisfied that he'd at least
tried to whelp a litter of puppies.
He planted his foot on the top of Derek's shoulder and kicked, managing to move
Derek without ripping off any of his delicate parts. Before Derek could do more
than growl a warning, Stiles twisted belly down and lifted his ass in
invitation. He didn't know what else to do besides snuggle under Derek and make
the most embarrassing sounds that had ever come out of his mouth.
He'd said some pretty embarrassing things in his time, too.
The sheets burned his knees when Derek dragged him to the foot of the bed
despite the softness of the ridiculous thread count. Stiles teetered on the
edge, but Derek quickly plastered himself over Stiles' back to steady them. His
dick pressed between Stiles' thighs, and he moaned, thrusting a time or two
before he got his control back. Hanging his head, Stiles felt Derek pull his
legs further apart and experiment with two slick fingers straight into his
hole.
"Jesus, fucking Christ," Derek cursed, twitching his fingers in Stiles' heat.
He managed to stretch the rim enough to fit three fingers, but neither one
could wait any longer.
Derek pushed his cock in, and it was amazing. Stiles shredded the sheets fisted
between his fingers, and he probably took out a good chunk of the mattress too.
Thankfully, the rest of him was too busy to shift; all that power, like
electricity, making him ache and all of it focused inside where he and Derek
connected. Derek's body boxed him in, keeping him from thrashing like he dearly
wanted to.
"Does it hurt?" Derek asked, holding completely still.
"No, no, please," Stiles gasped, trying to suck enough air into his lungs to
keep from passing out. They were both so slick, flesh gliding against each
other. He wanted so much.
"Stiles," Derek's voice had passed wrecked five minutes ago; it sounded
painful, and begged Stiles to answer.
"More, Derek," Stiles said, licking his lips. He forced one hand to relax and
reached back to urge Derek to move. "Please, I need more."
Derek didn't need any more coaxing. With both hands on Stiles' hips, he set a
punishing pace and Stiles could only barely keep up. He arched back, keeping
his arms wide to support him while he rode out their frenzy. His heat had
turned off any pain receptors and he felt like he was racing cloud nine. The
time the nurse had accidentally given him the wrong prescription and he'd spent
the afternoon watching imaginary butterflies land on his hands couldn't even
compare.
Stars exploded behind his eyelids, and Stiles grunted when his elbows gave out,
crashing chin first into the mattress. Everything happened so fast, so hard,
all he could do was hang on for dear life. It almost didn't feel like his body,
not when he didn't have any control over the way his limbs clutched and seized
or how he came again the second Derek touched his cock.
Derek bent low over Stiles' back, raking his teeth over Stiles' shoulder blade
and kissing down his spine. He had Stiles in a bear hug, working his hips to
keep fucking into Stiles' body while the rest of him smothered them both. Time
didn't really mean much, not when Stiles wasn't sure he hadn't actually
spontaneously combusted and was stuck in a heaven or hell where he burned from
the inside out.
When Derek came, Stiles roared loud enough to rattle the pane of glass in the
window.
The second time was even better.
The third time almost killed him.
 

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"Stiles, wake up."
Groaning, Stiles flopped over on his belly and covered his head with his arms
before he mumbled, "No mas."
Derek palmed Stiles ass, digging his thumbs into the trembling muscles in the
small of Stiles' back. He worked the tension out until Stiles was about ready
to fall back asleep, then Derek leaned down and bit the soft skin covering
Stiles' tailbone. "Sure you don't want to go one more time?" he asked.
"You're going to kill me," Stiles answered, struggling to get his elbows
underneath him. Sunlight reflected off the snow, painful when he turned his
head and got an eyeful through the window. "How are you even mobile?"
"Practice," Derek said, letting a fraction of his weight rest on Stiles. "I was
screwing with you anyway. You might have another cycle tonight, but otherwise
you should take it easy. Come take a shower with me."
Stiles twisted and elbowed Derek in the ribs, grinding the bone in until Derek
finally got the hint and rolled to the side. He didn't want to lose all
contact, so he followed and flopped his arm over Derek's chest. The sheets
bunched uncomfortably under his shoulder and hips, and between him and Derek,
the smell was starting to stick in his nose. "You want to shower with me?" he
asked, just to make sure he hadn't misheard.
"Did I stutter?" Derek asked, a grin spread across his face completely
transforming from the Dire Wolf he showed the rest of the world. "Do you want
me to say it in Spanish?"
"Yeah, you're hilarious," Stiles smiled back, tipping his head so he could kiss
the corner of Derek's grin. "Let's go before I start moldering or something and
I'm stuck to your mattress for the rest of my life."
He was simultaneously slimy, sticky, and gritty, but he felt so much better.
All the fear and the anticipation he had worried over was gone. The steps his
body had taken to prepare him for his heat were fulfilled, and he hadn't
realized how much physical stress he'd had to live with over the past month.
Suddenly he was free.
Derek pulled him up by both arms and herded him into the bathroom. Stiles could
barely recognize himself in the mirror. Sure, Derek had gone a little crazy
with the hickeys, but he looked so satisfied. He looked like he'd finally won
something, tripped over a log and found a million dollars. A gold ring edged
the dark brown of his eyes, making Stiles blink in surprise.
After he started the water to warm, Derek came back to Stiles and stood behind
him, watching in the mirror. Steam and moisture filled the room as Derek gently
brushed his fingers over every mark he'd left on Stiles' body, scratches on his
hip, a bite on his pec next to his nipple, and bruises sucked across his
collarbone and up his neck. Stiles almost fit entirely within the contours of
Derek's body, narrower and thinner, but nearly as tall.
"Come on," Derek said, a hushed sound barely more than a whisper that Stiles
felt it vibrate in his chest, deep and real, "before I bend you over the sink
so you can watch while I fuck you again."
Stiles let Derek take the lead, mostly because he was too tired to put up much
of a fight, but also because it did feel good to let someone take care of him.
Maybe he'd judged the other submissives too hard. He knew his dad had tried,
but he was so busy with work and missing his mom, that Stiles couldn't remember
a time he hadn't shouldered the majority of responsibilities around the house
while trying to get through school in one piece. Letting Derek touch and wash
him, angle the shower spray so it wouldn't hit him in the face was a relief.
He'd have to enjoy it while he could until his heat finished. Before, Stiles
had never thought about what he would feel like after his first time, but now,
the next year until next February stretched long and cold in front of him.
The water sluiced him clean and the warmth loosened his sore muscles. Stiles
leaned into Derek's chest, rolling his hips into Derek's thigh while Derek
gently fingered him. He wasn't as slick as before, but Derek's big fingers
slipped in and worked him up easily. Winding his arms around Derek's neck, he
grunted as Derek pulled their dicks together and jerked them both. Stiles went
up on his toes as he came into Derek's fist, biting Derek's neck.
They stayed in the shower until the water ran cold. Even that felt good, waking
Stiles up and giving him energy to get him going. When his stomach started
growling, Derek reluctantly let him out to dry off. The towel roughed his
sensitive skin, and he realized he'd have to go to the other bedroom to find
some clothes to wear. He caught Derek watching him with a gleam in his eye, and
hurried through the hallway before Derek caught him again. Heat or not, there
had to be some serious medical issues with coming so hard so often that his
brains almost turned to mush.
Lunch turned out to be a pizza barely cooked through. Stiles couldn't stop
flicking the light switch in the oven off and on to see if it was done yet, and
Derek eventually shoved him out of the way and cut the still slightly gooey
crust for them. Derek made him drink glass after glass of water until he'd
swear he sloshed every time he moved.
He flinched when Derek grabbed his wrist and led him to the bedroom. As much as
he had actually enjoyed that morning, he'd been looking forward to taking it a
little easier like Derek had promised. When they got there, Derek walked to his
closet and to Stiles' surprise, picked up a laundry basket.
"You helped make the mess, you can help clean it up," Derek said, dumping the
basket in the middle of the room and kicking his dirty clothes towards it.
"Strip the bed."
Stiles guessed that was fair, but once he yanked the top couple of layers to
the floor, he grimaced. Several large claw marks scored the fitted sheet and
bits of mattress stuck out through the holes. He vaguely remembered doing that
at some point, but he thought he had shown remarkable restraint in not taking
the whole bed completely apart. "Um, Derek?" he said, getting Derek's
attention.
"Huh," Derek looked over, saw his ruined bed, and frowned. "Throw the sheet
away. I'll flip the mattress over for now, and buy a new one later."
"I'm sorry," Stiles said, feeling awful. He knew a good bed cost money. Maybe
he could work out a payment plan or something.
Derek hooked his fingers into the waistband of Stiles jeans and yanked him
close. He caught Stiles' chin and held him in place for a filthy, tongue-driven
kiss. "Don't be," he said, dragging his thumb across Stiles' cheekbone. "Now
get your ass moving."
Unfortunately, the basket obstructed his view of Derek's backside as he once
again followed the older wolf through the house to the laundry room. He set the
basket down and caught Derek looking worried as he glanced between Stiles and
the machines. "You think you can handle this by yourself without making
anything explode?" he asked.
Rolling his eyes, Stiles answered, "I'm not a complete moron. How hard can it
be?"
Sure, the washer and dryer were a little better quality than the ancient pair
he had to wrangle back home. Okay, actually they were a lot better, but it
still wasn't like they were space-age technology. There were only so many
buttons and knobs that would fit on top, and they were all clearly labeled.
Whatever Derek saw on his face clearly didn't reassure him but he toed on an
old pair of sneakers sitting by the door and said, "Right. I'll be in the
garage if you need me."
"You're abandoning me with your dirty laundry?" Stiles frowned. Submissive did
not actually mean domestic slave regardless of what some dominant wolves
thought.
"I still have to clean out the mud you left in my car the other day," Derek
answered, snorting as if he could read Stiles' mind. "You want to trade jobs?"
Stiles shook his head. "Nope, you go right ahead," he said, opening the lid on
the washer and dumping the laundry in. The last thing he wanted to do was crawl
through a car scrubbing the leather with a toothbrush. "I'll be fine."
Derek rubbed his hand over Stiles hair, and left, shutting the door tightly
behind him.
Suddenly, it felt like the garage was a hundred miles away. Stiles shook his
head and smacked himself; he couldn't get attached to Derek after only a couple
of days, especially when he'd probably never see him again. The last counseling
session his class had attended warned them all about the strong emotions they'd
go through during heat. He hadn't paid much attention at the time, because he
and Scott had already decided no matter what they'd go back to best friend
status immediately.
Derek was definitely not Scott, but at least Stiles wouldn't have to sit behind
him in third hour and pretend he wasn't remembering what it felt like lying
underneath him.
He rifled through the cabinets, he found the soap, poured a capful on top of
the clothes, and shut the lid. Pushing the buttons on the washing machine at
random, Stiles jumped up to sit on the lid. Without Derek close by getting him
all hot and bothered, he felt normal. His normal, at least. He was glad he
hadn't lost his mind when his heat cycle started. Sure, he kinda liked Derek,
having him close, and just talking with him, but it wasn't an all consuming
need. He could hang out here while Derek was somewhere else. No problem.
He imagined Derek coming back into the laundry room, standing between Stiles'
spread thighs and kissing him again. Stiles would wrap his legs around Derek's
waist, holding him close. He'd feel the heat radiating out from Derek's groin
and flick open the fly on Derek's jeans. Derek would lick up his neck and suck
on his earlobe until Stiles whined, trying to get even closer.
Derek's big hands would be everywhere at once, pulling his legs apart, palming
his ass, supporting his back. Stiles wouldn't know what to do first, so he'd
catch Derek in a kiss, moaning as the washer underneath him kicked into a spin
cycle.
"Cut it out, Stiles!" Derek yelled through at least one door.
Guiltily, Stiles jumped off the washer. He wasn't going to crush on Derek Hale.
Not when he knew that after tonight, his scent wouldn't be such a knee-jerk
turn on to Derek. At the end of the week, he'd get a pat on the head and a ride
home where he'd watch Derek's taillights disappear. What he needed to do was
concentrate on his own reactions, if he remembered enough, maybe he could find
a better solution to next year's heat. Because there was no way he would go
through it all over again with someone who didn't particularly even like him.
The washing machine spun to a slow stop. He'd managed to waste a lot of time
without getting any closer to an answer. Stiles opened the dryer and had to
move fast to catch the mountain of clothes falling out before they hit the
floor. "There's still stuff in here from the last time you did a load," he
yelled, irritated when he realized there was lint falling out of an overstuffed
trap. "Also, this is a fire hazard."
"Then make yourself useful!" Derek yelled from somewhere further away than
before in the garage.
Muttering to himself, Stiles started folding the mix of clothing, towels, and
rags. At least Derek didn't seem fussy about throwing everything in together
and letting the washing machine gods sort it out. He tried to divide everything
into smaller piles, but he came to a couple of midsized towels covered in
stains. They smelled a little like grease, so he set them aside and stuffed the
wet laundry in the now clean and empty dryer.
"I'm half finished and no exploding yet," Stiles called loudly. He picked up
the set aside stack of towels. "I think some of these belong out there with
you."
No sooner had he put his hand on the doorknob, then it swung open, almost
smashing his nose. Derek surprised him at the door and took the bundle from
him, absently setting it on a table to the side.
"When those omegas had you cornered in the forest, why didn't you fight back?"
Derek asked, crowding Stiles back into the house. He ran a hand through his
hair and shook his head, grinning, "Or run better, I guess."
"I was waiting for my moment," Stiles answered, only slightly confused. He
poked Derek in the chest, and tried to hide the fact that the action probably
hurt his finger more than Derek's sternum. "But someone had to bust in and show
off."
The second Derek grin ticked into something a little more predatory than goofy,
Stiles knew he was in trouble. Derek sidled past him and then stood blocking
the doorway to the kitchen. "Come on, then," he said, gesturing the universal
symbol of 'get some', and taking a step back. "Show me what you've got."
"What?" Stiles asked, wondering what had gotten into Derek. Maybe he breathed
in too many fumes while hanging out in his garage.
"Tag me."
It was an undeniable fact that every wolf loved to play tag. Some would deny
it; teenagers tried to repress it to act more adult, but nothing was as fun as
chasing, catching, and running away again. Scott and Stiles would play for
hours, and Scott at least, showed the improved skill on the lacrosse field.
Stiles mostly just liked the freedom to be a little silly and running without
being afraid of what would happen when he was caught.
He didn't ask if Derek was serious; you didn't throw a bone like that if you
didn't expect it to get chewed on. Stiles pounced, but Derek had already
crossed the kitchen into the living room. With a deranged shout, he followed,
rounding the couch and leaping over a box he'd left out the day before. He
grinned happily, and let his instincts tell him when to reach, when to feint,
and when to jump. Derek teased him, looking over his shoulder and letting
Stiles almost touch him before he always slipped away.
Stiles growled and herded Derek down the hallway to the bedroom, thinking maybe
he could corner him in a dead end. Derek waited until Stiles gambled on a
diving catch and leapfrogged over his back, running back to the living room.
They went around and around until Stiles finally waved and bent over with his
hands on his knees.
"You're not quitting yet, are you?" Derek taunted, not out of breath at all.
Stiles rolled his shoulders and his eyes in one smooth move. "You're too fast
for me," he complained; half the fun was switching from chaser to chasee.
"Maybe you should try to think outside the box," Derek suggested.
Inspiration hit, and Stiles narrowed his eyes trying not to give it away. He
remembered how Derek had taken on the three omegas by never doing the expected
and using the stuff around him. Stiles feinted left, but actually jumped up
against the wall and pushed off to the left. He hit Derek in the stomach and
they both crashed down into the coffee table.
"Um, tag?" Stiles winced, glancing around the room at the overturned furniture
and splintered coffee table. "We kinda destroyed your living room."
"At least it finally got some living in it," Derek said, rolling up to pull a
chunk of table out from behind his back.
Stiles rearranged his legs until he was more comfortably straddling Derek's
stomach. He watched Derek's face relax, the first time he looked content
instead of scowling or acting like a maniac. The atmosphere shifted, and his
hands reached out, but he remembered to pause first, "Can I-"
"Yes," Derek interrupted.
"What if I were going to ask for a million dollars?" Stiles asked, lifting his
eyebrows at Derek's easy acceptance.
"I would give you a million dollars," Derek answered simply.
"Weirdo," Stiles said, shaking his head. He traced his thumbs up Derek's neck
and across his chin. He traced all the dips and planes of Derek's face, and
combed his hair away from his forehead. Derek stayed mostly still, but moved
into Stiles' touch and sucked Stiles thumb into his mouth when it got too
close.
Stiles lifted up and walked backwards on his knees until he could pull up the
bottom hem of Derek's shirt. "Take this off," he demanded, ignoring the tiny
voice in his head that said he was being too pushy and he would get in trouble.
He pulled at the offending material until Derek knocked his hands off and
yanked it over his head.
Like a kid in a candy store, Stiles didn't know where to start. He grazed
Derek's abs and smiled when the muscles jumped at the contact. "Ticklish?" he
asked, thinking that was one battle he could win. No one had ever found his one
weak spot.
"No. I like it when you touch me," Derek said, capturing Stiles hand and
pressing it down harder than his earlier feather light touches. "You can touch
me any time you want to."
"What about licking?"
"I encourage licking."
Derek's eyes faded to a sky blue, watching while Stiles leaned down and kissed
just above his belly button. He spread his fingers over Derek's ribs and
flicked his tongue out, tasting clean skin with just a hint of salt. Leaning
up, his nose bumped the muscle of Derek's pec, and he bit it for just a second,
worrying the flesh between his teeth. He let go when Derek bucked beneath him,
and licked up Derek's collarbone to his neck.
"Fuck, Stiles," Derek said, his voice hoarse. He rubbed his hands up and down
Stiles' back and under his shirt, digging his fingernails in. "Say it's okay.
Say you want me to fuck you."
"I want it," Stiles said immediately, sliding his legs down so he could stretch
out on top of Derek's body. He felt Derek's instant hardness against his belly
and knew he was probably leaking already too. It wasn't a heat cycle, but he
couldn't resist the idea of Derek wanting him again. "Please."
They kissed until Stiles' lips felt bruised and rubbery. He humped Derek's
thigh like a stray dog, and didn't feel a bit of shame about it. Derek rolled
them over, his hand on the back of Stiles' neck to make sure he didn't hit any
of the sharp bits of former table. Stiles held Derek's face between his hands
and kissed as much as he could reach.
Somehow, Derek managed to haul them back to his bedroom, get them naked, and
lay Stiles out on his bare mattress. Stiles tried to roll over on his belly,
but Derek stopped him with a hand on his hip before he lowered himself between
Stiles' thighs. "This time, we'll do it like this," he said.
"O-okay," Stiles stuttered, swallowing the sudden excess of spit in his mouth.
Derek reassured him with his eyes and soft touches before he reached into the
nightstand drawer and pulled out a tube of lube.
Derek took his time, mapping out Stiles' body and cataloging every reaction,
even Stiles' unwilling giggle when Derek grazed the back of his knee. He pushed
his fingers inside slowly, twisting and pressing until he found that spot that
made the 1812 Overture shoot off the cannons. He only sparked it for a second
each time, watching Stiles face, clearly unwilling for Stiles to come even once
before Derek wanted. He concentrated on stretching Stiles, adding another
finger and moving faster.
A cramp attacked his calf muscle making Stiles wince and hiss in pain. Derek
froze instantly, and asked, "What's wrong?"
"Charlie Horse. Keep going," Stiles said, struggling to straighten his leg out
so the pain would go away and Derek could go back to what he'd been doing.
Derek rolled his eyes, grabbed Stiles' leg with his slick hand, and massaged
with his clean hand. He rested it on his shoulder, and pressed his palm against
the thickest part of the muscle until it unknotted. Stiles rotated his foot
carefully, but smiled when the pain didn't return. Derek trailed his fingers
down Stiles' knee and thigh, and leaned over, quickly kissing the abused
muscle.
Then the bastard tickled under Stiles' knee.
Stiles squawked, and nearly bashed Derek in the nose with his other knee. Derek
laughed and pushed Stiles legs as far apart as they'd go, until he could see
everything and Stiles couldn't hide anything. After he looked his fill, Derek
leaned down to suck Stiles into his mouth. Stiles wanted desperately the thrust
up into Derek's wet tongue, but Derek wouldn't let him get any leverage. Even
the mattress was made out of something slick that made his hands slide under
his weight.
Somehow, Derek knew when Stiles got close, and pulled off before he could come.
He coated his cock with a cursory layer of lube, and pushed in one slow
torturous inch at a time. Stiles really felt it this time, not just the
incessant burn of need and now. The stretch hurt, but the second Derek bottomed
out, his hips warm and snug against the bottom of Stiles ass, it was worth it.
Derek's face closed down, smoldering and serious, and maybe a little
intimidating. His muscles bunched, and Stiles couldn't help feeling a little
inadequate about his own less than cave-man like definition. Dad called him
lanky, and he was better than average at slipping away from bigger, stronger
males. He didn't want to slip away from Derek; he wanted Derek to like him and
his body.
Almost as if he could read Stiles' mind, Derek stroked across Stiles' chest and
down his belly. Stiles breathed deeply, smelling Derek's arousal real and
undeniable. He wrapped his legs around Derek's back and covered Derek's hand
with his own. Derek started moving slowly, a gentle but firm rocking of his
hips in and out.
"Open your eyes."
He hadn't realized he'd closed them but suddenly Derek was there, leaning low
over him as he stretched Stiles' back up for a better angle. He kept his pace
slow but constant, winding Stiles up and keeping eye contact. One hand
supported Stiles' back and the other planted right by Stiles' head supporting
Derek's weight. Stiles felt covered and protected.
"Kiss me," he said, blinking sweat out of his eyes. He couldn't help squeezing
Derek's shoulders, and he arched up, begging. Derek felt so big inside him, and
his muscles simultaneously protested and accepted every move.
Derek claimed his mouth again, thrusting his tongue in with the same rhythm as
his hips. He groaned, and Stiles swore he could feel it vibrate all the way
down his body to his cock. He listened to Derek grunting with every rock of his
hips and he found a way to flex into the motion, egging Derek into finally
increasing his speed.
"Such a pushy little bottom," Derek teased, slapping his hips into Stiles' ass.
"I know what I want," Stiles defended himself, gasping to find enough air to
speak. Derek had him nearly bent in half.
"What do you want?" Derek asked, stretching down again to nip Stiles' chin.
"You."
 

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"Where do you think you're going?" Derek asked, a yawn breaking him up mid-
word. He shot his hand out, but just missed catching Stiles' wrist.
Stiles bounced off the bed and backed away, ignoring the painful stretch of his
well-used muscles. For about half an hour, he would have sworn that Derek had
broken him. He eyed the bed, watchful for any sudden movement. He'd almost
fallen asleep in Derek's arm a couple of times, but the mattress irritated his
skin, and he really wanted something to cover up with. "I'm going after the
sheets and my sweatpants," he said, wrinkling his nose as he felt Derek's come
ooze out of his ass. "I'll be right back."
The house was silent and dark, but Stiles easily found his way through the
messy living room, to the kitchen and then the laundry room. He pulled his
sweatpants on and found the sheet to take back to Derek. Light shone under the
door from the garage and managed to distract him. He'd just turn it off and
then go back to bed where he could put his cold feet on Derek's shins and make
him cry.
His sneeze ricocheted through the garage the second he opened the door.
Frowning, Stiles went down the stairs and hissed when he hit the freezing
cement floor. It took him a minute looking around; everything seemed to be in
place, but the air felt different. The car was the same, tools hanging neatly,
boxes stacked, and then he saw them. The two lock boxes he'd avoided earlier
had been pulled out and left with the lids open.
Curious, Stiles quickly knelt in front of them and looked inside. Another
sneezing fit caught him, but after that, he wiped his eyes trying to make sense
of what he was seeing. Two bundles of Coyotebrush lay in the lid, explaining
his sneezing. Most wolves were allergic to the stuff, though they could build
up their tolerance if they wanted to put up with the irritation. In the chest
was an entire stack of candid photographs, most featuring him front and center.
Pictures from school, of him walking across the street, of him and Dad doing
yard work.
As he thumbed through them, a piece of torn notebook paper fell out covered
with writing that he easily matched to Derek's neat scrawl from the grocery
list pinned to the refrigerator.
The boy's death will drive the point home.
Easiest access will be to gain the child's trust and lead him away from town.
Seems disgustingly needy so it shouldn't be a problem. Maybe I'll offer him
candy.
I plan to leave just enough of his remains in the Stilinski mailbox for
identification. The rest will never be found.
"I can explain."
Jumping to his feet, Stiles scattered paper everywhere. He glanced down to see
the rest of the chest filled with weapons, rope, and tape, making a handy
kidnap and kill kit. He picked up the closest thing he could find, a short
ball-peen hammer, and backed up around the car, watching Derek closely. "I
really don't think you can," he said, hating the tremor in his voice. He flung
the hammer at Derek's head, snarling when Derek ducked and let it crash into
the door behind him.
"Stiles, please," Derek held up his hands, but otherwise kept completely still.
"I was mad with grief when I wrote that. Look at the time stamps."
Stiles grabbed a hacksaw off the wall behind him and flung it like a frisbee.
For a second he imagined Derek's head flying off and a fountain of blood that
sprayed up like a geyser. In reality, Derek caught the saw by the safe end and
dropped it carelessly to the floor.
"That was early September when I took those," Derek continued low and evenly,
as if Stiles wasn't out to kill or be killed. "If I wanted you dead, you'd be
dead already."
"Is that supposed to reassure me?" Stiles cursed himself for getting into this
situation because he was too proud to go claimless through his heat. Now he was
stuck with a homicidal maniac and his father wouldn't have anyone who'd annoy
him into eating healthier. He grabbed a row of sockets and lobbed them one at a
time, smiling when he finally landed one hard in Derek's knee. "Because,
surprise! It's not working!"
"Would you stop and listen to me?" Derek growled, his eyes ice-white and tinged
with blue. He circled around the hood of the car, forcing Stiles back around
the trunk. He blocked a heavy wrench with his forearm and sent it skidding
cross the paint of his car.
"Why should I?" Stiles asked, calculating the distance to the door and whether
he could open it before Derek ripped his throat open. He groped down and closed
his hand over something wooden. "You planned this whole thing! You probably set
those omegas on me so you could come swooping in to the rescue. You've been
laughing at me since the beginning, and now you're going to kill me to hurt my
father for no good reason."
"I thought I had a reason!" Derek roared, the sound animalistic as it bounced
off the aluminum car door. He leaped using the roof of the car as a springboard
and yanked Stiles back against the car. "And I've never laughed at you. Let me
explain!"
"No!" Stiles whipped his arm around and clobbered Derek with the rubber end of
a toilet plunger. They stared at each other, blinking in surprise and silence.
Derek winced and brushed his hand over the spot while hysterical laughter
bubbled up Stiles' gut until tears rolled down his cheeks. He was going to die
with a plunger in his hand.
"Stiles, please," Derek dropped his voice to a whisper and he took a page out
of Stiles' book. He grabbed Stiles' hand and put it at his neck, unflinching as
Stiles immediately popped his claws out and drew blood. "I'm sorry."
Taking a deep breath, Stiles calmed himself and watched the blood run down
Derek's neck. He might even be able to take the older werewolf out from this
position. He couldn't imagine what was going through Derek's head. "Why?" he
asked, feeling drained.
"Because you're strong and smart and funny," Derek answered, breathing steadily
without any spikes in his heartbeat. "You're not going to take shit from
anyone, and I find that unbelievably sexy. You seemed to like me despite
everything everyone says about me, and I want to be better for you. So I can
deserve you. Because right now I don't."
"That's actually kind of sweet," Stiles said, retracting his claws while
keeping his hand on Derek's throat. It felt powerful, and he understood a
little better why dominants liked it, but he felt sick too. "But I meant, why
were you planning to kill me?"
"I thought your father had arranged Laura's death to send a message to the
Alpha," Derek answered slowly. He pulled each word out like it hurt his throat
to speak. "It was right before the council voted not to bring in that Texas
pack who would have shifted power back to us."
Stiles remembered that night. He'd badgered his dad into taking him on a ride
along since Beacon Hills had been so quiet. When the call came through, there
hadn't been enough time to drop him off. Dad had given him strict instructions
to sit in the car and wait, and if he'd been any other submissive he would
have.
The wreckage didn't even look like a car, caught about six feet high between
the trunks of two twisted trees. Liquid poured down from several places, and
caught fire before their eyes. There wasn't anything they could do, but
thankfully, there had been no signs of life from the metal before the blaze
flared up forcing them back. It was only later they found out it was Laura
Hale, the voice of reason in the Alpha's family.
She was supposed to chair a council meeting before the vote to accept or deny
membership to a pack out of Texas looking for asylum. They had been a little
too obvious in their infighting and bullying. Neighboring packs had put aside
their own differences to go to war. The first pack had suffered serious
casualties. The twenty of them were going to have to relocate no matter what,
but they had proved a powerful group. Supposedly, they promised to reform and
wanted to move to Beacon Hills for safety.
The Alpha pushed for their inclusion, but no one else had been convinced, not
even the Alpha's niece. After the vote, the pack was told to go elsewhere, but
without Laura there, the count had been close.
"We didn't have anything to do with that," Stiles said, angry that Derek would
believe that his family would ever go so far. "My dad would never want to claim
power by hurting other people."
"I know. I know that now," Derek said quickly, shuffling slightly closer when
Stiles made no move to hit him again. He was only wearing the black boxer-
briefs, and goosebumps lifted the hair all over his arms and legs. "I watched
you both, planning my revenge, but all I saw was a man who worked too hard for
no thanks and loved his son more than anything. I saw you struggle and never
give up even when the loneliness I felt from you choked and tried to swallow
me."
Stiles dropped his hand from Derek's throat and ducked under Derek's arm so he
could have some breathing room. He dropped the plunger and listened to it roll
along the cement. He didn't know what to think, suddenly caught up in the
almost ten year struggle between the Alpha and the town. All his memories of
Derek needed to be tempered through this new information, and Stiles didn't
know if he could stand to give them up.
"Stiles, I swear, when I found you in the woods, I thought it was my lucky day.
I wanted to take you home, protect you, show you how amazing it would be with
me. I came out here today to get rid of all this stuff so you'd never know the
real me," Derek said, visibly holding himself back from grabbing Stiles back to
him. He held Stiles' eyes at first, but then dropped his gaze to the floor. "I
heard you coming out here, and realized I forgot to hide it. I can't think
about anything but you anymore."
"I don't know what to think right now," Stiles said, and breathed deeply,
smelling Derek's fear and desperation, but that could be about anything. He
hadn't heard any obvious lies, but older wolves often got canny and learned to
work around the truth. "How can I possibly trust you?"
"After Laura's accident, I never thought I'd be happy again," Derek said,
finally putting out his hand to brush Stiles' side. The touch calmed them both
down, even if Stiles still felt twitchy at the contact. "But I'm happy with you
here. Now you know the very worst thing I've ever thought, and I don't have to
hide. Please, just give me another chance."
Something clicked in Stiles' mind, but he couldn't quite catch it. "Wait," he
said, trying to remember what Derek had just said, "What?"
"Give me another chance," Derek whispered, curling around Stiles and dropping
his head on Stiles' shoulder. "I'll be better. Don't leave me."
"No, about Laura."
Derek pulled back and quirked his head. The pain from losing his sister scored
lines across his face and in his eyes. "She died in a car crash last summer,"
he said.
"No, I know that," Stiles cut in impatiently. This was important, he could
tell, if they could just put it together, "but who told you it was an
accident?"
"What are you talking about?" Derek asked, his irritation made Stiles smile
before he remembered that he was still mad. "Peter showed me the report when he
thought I was still going to rip your throat out. He didn't know I convinced
myself that it wasn't your father."
"My dad thinks it's a homicide. I'm sure that Laura's case is still on the
active investigation board," Stiles said, chewing on his thumbnail as his mind
raced over the new information. "I've seen his files, and I know he'd never
show an open case to anyone, let alone the Alpha. That jerk never gave a
straight answer about why Laura had been driving on a full moon. Um, no
offense, of course."
Derek paced away from him, the muscles on his body tensed for a fight. "You're
asking me to believe that my uncle lied to me and covered up evidence in my
sister's murder?" Derek asked, this time keeping his voice soft, steady, and
cold. Scarier than when he shifted and growled loud enough to wake the dead.
"I'm asking you to believe me the same way you want me to believe you," Stiles
answered, caught between his own rising anger, and knowing he walked a fine
line right now. Push Derek too much and Stiles could still end up splattered on
the floor whether Derek meant to do it or not.
"Goddamn it," Derek muttered, then turned and slammed both his forearms into
the worktable, breaking it in half. His ragged breathing filled the garage, but
after a couple of seconds, he found his control.
The whole situation was over Stiles' head, and he knew his father would be
beyond annoyed that he'd been poking it with a stick. Even after everything, he
still wanted Derek. He wanted him as a friend, and he wanted Derek's body
pressing against his. He wanted to make Derek forget about every shitty thing
that had ever happened to him, because he was too busy kissing and playing tag.
It was fragile; Stiles had been hurt and laughed at too many times to shove his
heart back into Derek's hands.
"Look," Stiles said, after the silence had lasted past his point to tolerate
it. "You need to talk to my dad about this if you want to figure out the truth.
I'll tell him what's going on and he'll help you. And I need to talk to someone
who hasn't spent the last couple of days in this cabin going crazy."
Derek scrubbed a hand down his face and nodded. "Okay, if you don't go through
a cycle before tomorrow afternoon, then you're done for this year and it'll be
safe. We'll go back to town and talk to the Sheriff," he said, looking at
Stiles through his eyelashes. "Will you sleep with me for the rest of the
night?"
Stiles took an automatic step back, shaking his head in denial. "I don't think
that's a good idea right now," he said, ignoring every impulse he had that told
him to run back into Derek's arms.
"Fine," Derek said, heading into the house before Stiles could get a good look
at his face. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Looking around the empty garage and the scratched car, Stiles felt completely
deflated. He didn't know if either of them had won or lost. He kicked the
plunger. "Well, fuck," he said quietly.
 

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A noise jolted Stiles out of a restless sleep. He'd turned the heater back on
before going to sleep in his original empty bedroom. The quiet hum had given
him something to focus on besides how lonely the big bed felt when he knew
Derek was right down the hall. He froze, cataloging everything he could hear
and stretching his senses out through the house.
There was a car crunching down the driveway, going slowly, but obviously headed
to Derek's cabin. Stiles glanced at the radio clock on his nightstand and
grimaced. Nothing good ever happened during a visit after three a.m. He rose
quickly, dressing for the cold, and opened his door just as the car stopped and
turned the ignition off.
Derek brushed by, putting a hand on Stiles' chest and pushing him back, "Stay
in your room, Stiles. Don't come out no matter what."
In the complete silence, the both heard the Alpha's voice clearly: "Derek, is
that any way to treat a guest? Bring him out so I can finally meet the young
man."
Something about the voice, the tone or the physical power behind it, sent
Stiles into an immediate freak out. He clutched Derek's arm, forgetting for the
moment that he didn't know whose side the older beta would land on. While the
Alpha made frequent appearances in town, Stiles had never actually met the man.
As often as his dad dealt with the Alpha he made sure Stiles stayed away
despite his curiosity.
Stiles opened his mouth to ask a question but shut it again with a click of his
teeth when Derek shook his head. Derek didn't say anything either, but he
cupped Stiles' cheek in his palm and dropped a quick kiss on Stiles' forehead.
Then he grabbed the front of Stiles' hoodie in his fist and pulled him all the
way outside.
The lights from the car blinded him at first, but he did make out two
silhouettes standing ready for them. Stiles shrank instinctively behind Derek
when they stopped, facing the strangers. Tension filled the air, as it usually
did when two extremely dominant wolves met in one of their territory. The
taller wolf was clearly Peter, the Alpha, but the other was smaller, slimmer,
probably a female under the layers of clothing. Derek hit something on the side
of the house and floodlights spilled into yard, reflecting the snow and making
Stiles squint.
"Derek, my boy, I see you've healed up nicely," Peter said, confidently sliding
his hands into the pockets of his long coat. "Such a shame we had to beat that
lesson home to you again."
Stiles felt more than heard the growl rumble through Derek's body and he
understood. When the Alpha called, Derek had tried to put him off to spend time
with Stiles. He'd come back bruised, beaten, and on the edge. If Stiles hadn't
helped heal him, he would have been still sore at least. He wanted to be
outraged the Alpha would treat any of his wolves like that, especially his own
family, but he knew his father's gentleness wasn't the norm among dominants.
"I don't recall inviting you out, Uncle," Derek said, watching the two of them
with steady intensity. If it had been anyone but the Alpha invading and
threatening a submissive he'd claimed, he would have attacked first and never
bothered to ask questions. "But it's always a pleasure to see you. Maybe you
could come back next week and help me start the new storage building."
"Sounds great; I'll pencil you in. Unfortunately, we have some business to
clear up first," Peter said, staring Stiles down until Stiles finally dropped
his eyes like he should have the instant the Alpha stepped on the property. "I
need that boy. Give him to me and I'll send him home in style since the Sheriff
can't seem to learn his place."
Derek curled his fist back in the material of Stiles' hoodie. He narrowed his
eyes and glanced at the edge of the clearing for an instant before staring back
at Peter's shoulder, "If you wanted him dead, why didn't you let me do it last
year? Why wait?"
"It wasn't an appropriate time. Now it is. There will be no ramifications to
the death of a runaway sub in heat. Nothing legal at least," Peter said,
smiling as Stiles started to tremble under the threats. He addressed Stiles,
"It's nothing personal, of course. I need the leverage to cow some of the more
outspoken members of our community."
He was very, very glad he'd managed to avoid the Alpha before and wished the
trend had continued. He wished his dad were here with a dozen cars of shotgun-
toting deputies. He wished he'd been born dominant so he never had to worry
about going through heat or acting like dominants were gods to be worshiped.
Mostly, he wished he knew what Derek would do.
"I knew you smelled like bitch the other day," the female grinned, moonlight
flashing off her teeth. "I wondered what could possibly make you turn down my
offer. Don't you remember how good we used to be?"
"I remember what a psycho bitch you turned into, Kate," Derek said, cocking his
head to speak to Peter. "I didn't think you were going to work with the Argents
again after they proved so unreliable."
Kate Argent. That made her Allison's aunt, and the woman from the picture he'd
found. She was still beautiful, with long flowing hair that curled around her
face, and delicate hands. Derek had been in love with her, he realized, that
look on Derek's face in the picture, it had been want. Jealousy drove a spike
through his belly, and he wondered when they'd first slept together. He could
tell she flirted with the line of dominance, a bully to the meek but willing to
roll over at the first sign she could use her submission to get what she
wanted. He'd seen several of his classmates exhibit the same two-face show.
She would look good on Derek's arm, but she would sink her fangs into him the
first chance she got.
Stiles stood up straighter and pulled Derek's hand off his chest. He slipped
his hand into Derek's, their fingers tightened and curled around each other
automatically. Derek breathed easier, his mouth curling when he glanced down at
Stiles. Kate hissed, and Stiles snarled at her, staring her down. Only Peter's
chuckle drew his attention back to the Alpha.
"Our family always did like the spunky ones. Though we usually pick ones a bit
more, hmm, conventional," Peter said, cracking his neck. He pulled his gloves
off his hands and tucked them in an inside pocket of his coat. "Imagine my
surprise when we captured the omegas I had dispatched you to convert, and they
told me not only had you lied to me but were protecting the Sheriff's son. I
had to turn to someone. Even Kate."
"Convert?" Stiles asked, glancing over at Derek. He dropped Derek's hand and
put a step between them. Earlier Derek had said he'd just happened to be in the
forest when those omegas had caught him. Now he'd been there on the Alpha's
orders. Kate's laugh drifted through the air. Stiles ducked his head and took a
deep breath. He knew the chances that he'd live to see the sunrise had just
dropped to something near zero.
"Stiles-"
"Yes, explain to the boy, Derek," Peter said, walking closer with a flourish of
his coat. His boots crunched over the snow. "Tell him how you've intimidated
others into doing my will. Tell him what happened to the Weedens when they
suddenly had to leave town. Tell him what kind of man you are, and tell him who
you belong to."
Derek snarled once, his eyes clearly blue, but he bowed his head to accept the
Alpha's authority. Kate snickered, and Stiles took another hurried step back.
He stupidly thought about running for a split second until he heard a branch
crack behind him. Turning, he watched the big omega from his first blunder step
out from the tree line. There wouldn't be any escaping, though he hoped he
didn't end up in the mailbox.
"Hand him over, Derek," Peter continued, his voice dripping with persuasive
honey when it was obvious that Derek wouldn't answer. "It's time the pitiful
excuse for law and order in that town respected real power. Give me the boy;
you won't miss this poor excuse for a sub once you come to your senses. Honor
me, nephew. A bitch in heat is not more important than family."
"I've always done your dirty work, and I've never asked any questions. If you
want me to believe that family is the most important thing, then answer this
one," Derek said, grinding his teeth together. "Why is my sister dead?"
The change in the Alpha put shame to the difference of night and day. His lips
pulled back and his tongue snaked out once, licking his chops. The skin on his
face rippled, as his eyes flashed a warning red, contorting to his monstrous
other shape. He didn't look like the other werewolves when he changed. Peter
was the nighttime terror that haunted children's closets.
"She is dead because she would not obey," Peter roared, his voice caught
somewhere between human and animal. The seams on his clothes ripped as he grew,
muscles and bones caught in a meat grinder that would leave him stronger and
faster.
Stiles barely had the chance to see Derek leap on Peter before something hit
him in the stomach and sent him flying. The snow burned his bare hands, and
made his knees and feet slip as he tried to scramble up. It felt like a dream
where he knew there was something big and nasty behind him, but the ground
turned to quicksand dragging him down. His gasping breaths filled the air and
he couldn't think; nothing made sense except the all consuming need to get
away. He didn't even know which way he was pointed, which way to the house or
the fight was, he just needed to move.
The second that he almost got his balance, Kate materialized in front of him
and kicked him in the head with her massive hiking boot. He cradled his head
and tried to roll away, but she jumped over him and kicked him again in the
stomach. Stiles lost his wind, staring up at her with wide eyes even as he
heard the omega join the fight between Derek and Peter. He tried to grab her
leg, but she stomped hard on his fingers until he heard the bones crunch and he
cried out.
"Not much of a fighter, are you, baby?" Kate asked, dropping down to dig her
knee into Stiles' gut. She pursed her lips, studying him. "If only we could
give you a couple more years, you might grow up into something worth fucking."
Her eyes were vicious neon yellow with cracks of red running to her pupil. She
was mad, utterly and completely wild, but she still had control enough to grow
her claws on her first two fingers. "You have such a pretty smile. I guess I
can see why Derek wanted to play with you," she said, grinning around a
mouthful of pointed teeth. "Let's see if we can make it wider."
Trying to jerk away from her, Stiles only managed in bashing the back of his
head against a particularly hard slab of ice. He saw spots on his eyelids and
froze gasping, giving her the chance to stick her fingers in his mouth and rake
her claws through the skin of his cheek. Blood filled his mouth before he felt
any pain. Then it stampeded through his head like a herd of killer buffalo,
pricking his eyes and stealing his breath again.
His lungs burned and felt like they'd burst with the need to draw in a clear
breath. He looked up at Kate through a haze of red, but she was simply watching
him with a satisfied smirk in place. She glanced over her shoulder and the
smirk widened. Reaching down, she tilted Stiles head the direction she looked,
yanking until he felt like a rubber band just before it broke.
Derek was holding his own, but only barely, and mostly because he kept making
the omega blunder into Peter's path. His shirt was in shreds and the snow under
foot frothed with a pink slush. They moved too quickly for Stiles to focus, not
with the pounding in his own head, as he tried to heal the cut in his cheek. He
knew Derek wouldn't be able to go on much longer, and the thought stabbed him
quicker and deeper than anything Kate could do.
Kate leaned down until her hair obscured most of the sight. She put her mouth
next to Stiles' ear so her lips tickled him when she spoke. "I'll tell you a
secret," she said, sounding like she was at a slumber party not a fight to the
death. "Unlike Derek, I've always enjoyed the messy part of killing."
She flexed her hand, showing her elongated fingers and the wickedly pointed
claws at the ends. Then she pushed them slowly into Stiles' shoulder,
straddling his stomach and wiggling as she got off on his pain. Stiles tried to
throw her off, but they were evenly matched, and he couldn't concentrate enough
to change. He howled his torment and heard Derek's growl grow in response. He
had to fight this if he didn't want to distract Derek and get him killed
faster. Stiles bit his lip until it bled, struggling to control his reactions.
"I'll tell you another secret," Kate said, licking blood from the oozing wound
in his cheek. She kept her mouth close to his in a teasing mockery of a kiss.
"I'm the one who set the fire at the Hale house."
Stiles howled again, in rage this time, and slapped Kate hard enough to send
her spinning off him. He shifted and felt stronger as his wounds healed faster.
Before Kate could get her bearing, he jumped on her back and sent them both
spinning toward the other fight. He tried to close his jaws around the back of
her neck, and managed to take a chunk out but she elbowed him before he could
get a killing angle. She gained enough room to get her feet into his stomach
kicking him off.
Someone caught him in midair, and Stiles swung, desperate to connect with
something. At the last second, he saw Derek's blue eyes and managed to pull his
swing back, landing a glancing blow at Derek's chest. He struggled until Derek
let him go and then he turned, crouched at Derek's side to face the others.
The red haired omega lay in pieces off to the side. Someone had yanked his neck
completely around until his face matched up to his back. His mouth was still
open in a snarl with spit dripping from his teeth. Peter had fared much better,
even with parallel gashes marring his chest and arm. Kate had blood streaming
down her side from his bite and it looked like he'd torn a fistful of her hair
out too.
He glanced down and saw he still had several strands wrapped around his
fingers. He wiped them off on his jeans and then sneered at Kate, showing her
his healed cheek. "Who's pretty now?" he taunted, only flinching a little when
she lunged at him.
Peter caught her with an arm around her throat and flung her behind him. Fur
covered his massive shoulder and neck muscles making him seem even bigger. His
muzzle chomped furiously and his eyes darted back and forth without settling
anywhere for more than a second. The transformation had blown out most of his
clothes, but tattered remains of his expensive dress shirt and slacks still
clung to him in ribbons.
"You want me to tell him who I belong to?" Derek asked, never taking his eyes
away from Peter. "I don't belong to you. Now go, and hope that by the time I
catch up with your stench, I'm in a better mood."
Stiles didn't believe it would be that easy for a heartbeat, he'd never heard
of a fight like this ending in anything but death. He managed to contain his
shock when Peter began taking small steps away. There was a gash in his thigh,
and Stiles nearly puked when he realized a muscle had severed and flopped down
like so much dead meat. He watched, holding his breath as Kate scrambled after
him, and listened until they were too far away to track.
Derek stayed still for several more minutes, and then he too took a deep
breath. "'Who's pretty now?'" he repeated, a dopey smile curling the corners of
his mouth up as he looked at Stiles. He snorted and his eyes burned dark.
"It seemed appropriate at the time," Stiles argued, grimacing as his wolf left
him a bleeding and bruised teenager again. "I'll work on my punning for the
next time I get into a hair-pulling match with one of your insane ex-
girlfriends."
Immediately, Derek shook his head, "She was never a girlfriend. I was young and
stupid, and she used to be better at hiding her mean streak."
"I- Derek, did you hear what she told me?" Stiles asked, his voice small again.
He hated her more than he'd ever hated anyone, and he was probably just as
afraid of her. She was out there, and he knew she'd show up again, and then she
wouldn't be content to simply scratch him up.
"I was busy fighting for our lives, if you hadn't noticed," Derek gruffed,
slowly dropping out of his fighting stance. Blood dripped down his fingers from
bites on his arm, pooling in the snow. "Don't thank me or anything."
"She said she was the one who started the fire at your house," Stiles blurted
out, balling his hands into fists and Derek crumpled forward to his knees in
the mess. "Do you think he knew?"
"He knew," Derek said, clenching his eyes shut on the tears that leaked out the
corners. "He might even have told her to do it."
Derek slumped and Stiles barely managed to catch him and ease his body the rest
of the way to the ground. His breath caught when he heard the gurgle of liquid
in Derek's lung and pushed aside the bit of t-shirt on his left side. It had
luckily hidden the fact that Derek's entire ribcage had crunched down, bowing
in instead of out. If the Alpha had seen that, he would have closed for the
kill and Stiles would have been Katechow by then.
He carded his fingers through Derek's messed up hair and felt his heart kick
start itself. For better or worse, he'd chosen his side, Derek's side. All this
time, he'd thought Derek was some sort of badass grownup lone wolf, but really
he'd been just as lonely and lost as Stiles. The Alpha had manipulated him,
used him, and abused him nearly all his life. It was a miracle he hadn't turned
out as twisted as Kate.
"Stiles, I'm sorry," Derek said, tucking his cheek into Stiles' chest and
allowing himself to be vulnerable, something most dominant wolves would rather
die than show. "For everything."
"Sorry enough to let me update your movie collection with the collective works
of Michael Cera, Zach Galifianakis, and Kevin Smith?" Stiles asked, distracting
them both enough for him to start a healing bond. He didn't have a lot to give,
but he'd do what he could.
Derek's nose flared, but he settled down again and nodded.
"Sorry enough to let me borrow your car when my Jeep breaks down and I need to
drive to practice?" Stiles continued, sweating as he pushed energy into Derek's
bones, mending the shattered breaks.
"Stiles-"
"I'm just saying, you manipulated my feelings, slept with me under false
pretenses, and endangered my life," Stiles said, sighing when he felt his
energy ebb away. Derek would make it until they could call for help, at least
if they didn't freeze to death or something stupid first.
"You can have the goddamn car," Derek growled, reaching out and lacing his
fingers through Stiles in a strong grip.
Stiles grinned, cupping his other hand under Derek's chin as he leaned down for
a kiss. He nipped Derek's bottom lip, but pulled back when Derek tongued at the
cut on his cheek. "Can I sleep on top of you for once?" he teased.
"Don't push it," Derek growled, sitting up with a lot of work and stiffness
though he still managed to put Stiles over into a clean bit of snow and climb
on top of him. That's about all he had the gas for, as he collapsed the next
second. "I think it's time to call your dad."
 

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They waited together on the front steps until the flashes of red and blue were
visible reflections through the trees and snow. Derek leaned over and turned
Stiles head to him with fingers on his jawbone and kissed a line from the
outside corner of Stiles eye to the edge of his mouth. He sat there with his
nose pressed into Stiles cheek sharing their breath.
"You have to stay with your dad until you turn eighteen, and then you can
decide what you want for yourself," Derek said carefully, setting his hand on
Stiles' knee. "I hope you'll think about choosing me."
Stiles pretended to think about it. "I don't know," he said, searching the row
of cars for his dad's cruiser and smiling when he found it the third one down.
"I didn't even get a token out of this."
Derek shifted his weight heavily into Stiles, almost knocking him off the
porch. He pulled something out of his pocket and held it out on his palm to
Stiles. It was a necklace with a wheat chain strand and two stylized outlines
of wolves with their tails linked together.
The metal radiated the warmth from Derek's body when Stiles touched it. He
glanced up into Derek's face, but he couldn't read anything in Derek's stoic
expression. "It's beautiful," he said, picking up the heavy pendant locked in
the chain. "This is too much. I was kidding; I want to be with you. You don't
have to give me this."
"I want you to have it, no matter what you decide," Derek said, closing Stiles
fingers around the wolves. He watched the cars pull to a stop and sighed when
the ambulance appeared. "It's been in my family for generations, and I know
they'd want you to have it too."
"Thank you," Stiles started to say something else, but his dad pulled up right
next to them and jumped out. He flung himself up and into his dad's chest,
holding on tightly. He smelled the aftershave that had been his mother's
favorite and he wanted to curl up in his dad's lap. "Dad."
"God, Stiles, I'm so glad you're okay," Dad said, holding Stiles back so he
could get a look. He traced the scar on Stiles' cheek and the puncture marks
through his hoodie. "I could just kill you for putting me through this."
"Sorry, Dad," Stiles grinned, finally connecting why he liked Derek's grumpy
voice so much.
"Sheriff! What do you want us to do with Derek Hale?"
Stiles looked over, watching Derek in a standoff with both the EMS and the
deputies, stiffly retreating up the stairs. Immediately, he abandoned his dad,
and pushed through the crowd and put his body under Derek's shoulder. "You
shouldn't be up," he said, glaring at the encroaching wolves. They shouldn't
have gotten anywhere close to Derek in his condition unless he asked them to.
Derek growled low in his chest, and Stiles realized that he might have made
everything worse. He didn't know if he'd ever get used to someone, especially
as dominant as Derek, caring about what happened to him. Derek would hate
Stiles putting himself between Derek and danger.
He'd just have to get used to it.
"Back off, guys," Dad said, shooing everyone away and directing them to
perimeter and the omega's body. "Derek. Stiles had some interesting things to
tell me over the phone. Are we going to have a problem here?"
He could feel Derek's body losing momentum, and they slowly slid back to the
ground. Stiles was thankful when his dad crouched down as well so he wouldn't
tower over them. Derek sighed and looked off to the side where the deputies had
brought out a body bag to collect the omega before he said, "No problem. I
deserve whatever punishment you want me to have."
Stiles hadn't thought of that. If Derek had been the Alpha's enforcer, then
he'd be responsible for any of the crimes he took part in. He made a low noise
in his throat and leaned in, kissing the bare patch of skin between Derek's ear
and his sideburn. Derek turned into it and kissed him on the mouth.
The sound of a throat clearing quickly forced them apart again. Stiles felt a
blush cover his cheeks as he caught his dad in an expression somewhere between
amused and protective. He realized he still clutched the pendant in his fist,
so he unhooked the tails and slipped it over his head, reattaching it over his
collarbones. Derek smiled shyly at him, and then they both looked up.
"Given the circumstances and in exchange for your testimony against Peter Hale,
I'll consider you dealing with Stiles punishment enough," Dad said, sharing a
put-upon look with Derek as Stiles started to plot a suitable revenge against
both of them. Then he continued and dropped the bomb, "Especially since you
seem to be the new Alpha."
Stiles jerked his head to see for himself. Derek's eyes weren't greenish-brown,
or even blue. They were a dark red shaded with black around his iris. After
seeing Peter, he thought he'd always be frightened of those burning red eyes,
but on Derek it wasn't scary. With Derek, he still felt safe, like he'd finally
found his sanctuary.

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