Work Text:
Stiles can hardly deal with Scott’s excitement right now. He’s still low-level hungover from the weekend as well as stressing about the sheer amount of work he has to get done before he can take his vacation days for Scott’s wedding.
“I can’t wait for you to see it, Stiles,” Scott says over the phone. Stiles digs his fingertips into his temples as he tries to ease the headache that’s brewing there. “Brady and Angela are so great for letting us have it for the price we’re paying.”
“I know Scott, Brady and Angela are amazing. The venue’s amazing. The surrounding land is amazing; perfectly suitable for your little ritualistic werewolf frolic through the woods after you tie the knot. Everything is amazing!”
Stiles might feel bad if he hadn’t had this conversation approximately twelve times already.
“Someone’s grumpy. Work kicking your ass again?”
Stiles sighs. “Yup. Preparing for the Triple S Symposium next month. Parrish is being supernaturally-selfish and leaving me to do the pitch and presentation for the extra funding this year.”
After Stiles had completed his internship with the FBI—Agent McCall had to convince the directors to let him back in after Gerard Argent decided to start an all-out war and Stiles had been forced to abscond with an alleged serial killer, and it had taken a lot of convincing—Stiles became a sort of ‘supernatural liaison officer’ for Beacon County. He was technically a deputy but had the added responsibility of dealing with any case or crime that had supernatural undertones.
The Sheriff had started the two-man department so that the other deputies could focus on the more normal, ‘human’ crimes. Stiles and Parrish fronted the whole operation, and while the supernatural crimes had reduced significantly since they were in high school and the subsequent few years, they still had the odd rogue creature trying to start shit in their territory.
After college, Scott and Malia took a gap year to explore California’s supernatural population as a whole, using some of Talia Hale’s old contacts courtesy of Derek. Scott had managed to forge a lot of alliances with packs around the state thanks to his true alpha status and the pack’s reputation in Beacon Hills and beyond. It was these alliances that helped form a supernatural council, of sorts, which now meet every year in Sacramento for the Arcane Alliance Symposium—or the Super-Secret-Supernatural Symposium; Triple S Symposium as nicknamed by Stiles. It had to be secret because they still had the odd psychopath hunter who had yet to be un-indoctrinated by Gerard’s twisted beliefs trying to kill them once in a while. That many supes and allies alike all in one place just invites carnage if word got out that they were gathering.
They’d still, however, come a long way in the 10 years since Scott was bitten.
“Hey look, I kinda need to run something by you,” Scott starts, sounding sheepish, “You know how I said the venue only has eight rooms?”
Stiles ‘hmm’s’ absentmindedly, half-distracted by his work phone that’s pinging with emails. “Well, my Dad has decided he wants to stay the night of the wedding now, so we’ve had to make a few changes to the sleeping arrangements.”
Stiles groans, throwing his work phone across the bed. He has a feeling he knows where this is going and he knows that Scott knows he’s got him backed into a corner.
“Really, Stiles, we couldn’t figure out how to do it another way, and I know it’s not exactly the best timing in the world—”
“Just come out with it, Scott.”
“We need you to share a room with Derek.”
And there it is.
There haven’t been many times in his life that Stiles has been speechless, but he genuinely cannot think of anything he can say which won’t upset Scott. It’s his wedding for fuck’s sake.
“We’ve jiggled things around,” Scott says when Stiles doesn’t answer, because he’s too busy trying to figure out a way he can feign an illness which won’t arouse too much suspicion. He’d met a witch a couple years ago that he still has the contact details for; maybe he could ask her to cast a spell so that his skin falls off or something—temporarily of course—and with minimal pain. Scott won’t want him in his wedding photos with no skin. That would be gross. “There’s two beds; a double and a twin, so it’s not like you have to share.”
Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes. As if, on one of the most important days of his life, the day his best friend gets married, he has to share a room with Derek Fucking Hale.
“Is this gonna be a problem? Because of the bachelor par—”
“No,” Stiles interrupts, because he’s been trying not to think about that at all. He isn’t quite ready to unpack that particular clusterfuck of epic proportions. “It’ll be fine. You’ve got enough to stress about right now other than worrying about me being a diva about bedrooms. I am A-okay with it, buddy. In fact, I am more than A-okay with it. I am A-B-C-D-E-F-G-okay with it.”
Scott huffs a laugh at Stiles’ lame attempt to lighten the mood. Stiles rubs a hand over his face, tempted to tug on his hair in frustration as he grits his teeth. Where did he put that witch’s number?
“As long as you’re sure, dude,” Scott says, “I spoke to Derek about it and he seemed fine with it. You guys should talk about what happened, if you haven’t already. He’s—I just think you need to talk to him.”
Stiles’ heart skips a beat, his mind wandering to the unread, unreplied-to text in his message inbox. Well, if Derek is okay with it then why shouldn’t he be? Maybe because Derek didn’t make an absolute drunken fool of himself that weekend.
Oh, this isn’t gonna be awkward at all.
There’s a distant-sounding commotion on the other end of the line. “Malia’s calling me; she’s having a meltdown over what colour lip gloss to wear for the wedding.”
Stiles whistles. “Lydia has had such a bad influence on her. You’d better go before she goes full Bridezilla.”
“Catch ya later, bro.”
Scott hangs up, and Stiles goes to retrieve his work phone from where it landed on the other side of the bed. He unlocks it and is welcomed by eight unread emails in a thread from some of the other council members in the Arcane Alliance.
He needs a distraction like absolutely nothing else right now so he fires off a quick reply. He hates Scott’s dad for changing his mind this late in the game. He doesn’t even want to see Derek, let alone share a fucking room with him.
Scott had said that Derek was okay with this? Why? He’s obviously trying to torture him—Scott too, actually—as well as his stupidly tall father. As if Stiles isn’t torturing himself enough.
How is this his life?
___________________
The day after, he swings by the Sheriff’s office on his lunch break. They usually eat lunch together if they’re both at the station and have a quiet half hour at the same time. Parrish is also in his Dad’s office when he drops by, which is not unusual but their conversation stops dead when he enters the room.
“Am I interrupting something?” Stiles asks. “Way to make a guy feel paranoid.”
Noah clears his throat. “Derek came by earlier, while you were out and about.”
Stiles tries hard not to react, but he can’t stop himself from pausing his movements as he’s pulling their lunches out of his bag. He looks at his father with one eyebrow raised, as if to say “and?”
“Something about getting a signature on some paperwork for his house.”
Stiles nods. A few years ago, Derek had decided that he wanted to design and build a sort-of pack house for them - somewhere for meetings, training, collective research, and the like. The burnt-out remains of the old Hale House had been demolished, but ultimately the land still belonged to the Hale family. Derek had to apply for permission to build on the land despite him technically owning it outright and they had to do all sorts of safety checks to ensure that the ground was safe enough to be built on. Derek had spent the last year or so rebuilding the house and being annoyingly secretive about it too. None of the pack was allowed to help or see the progress. They figured that they all shouldn’t push too much. It meant a lot to Derek to be able to do something positive with the land that held so many painful memories.
“That’s great,” Stiles says flatly. “There’s a few things I need to go over for the pitch later if you can spare some time.”
“He asked about you,” Parrish says, raising an eyebrow and completely ignoring what Stiles had said. “Said he hoped you were okay after what happened at—”
“I need your opinion,” Stiles says, cutting Parrish off. “I don’t know whether I should include how much our department had to spend out of our own pocket on concealment when we had the issue with the Harpies in the spring.” He shudders when he thinks back to that particular ordeal.
“You need to talk to him, son,” the Sheriff says, folding his arms sternly. Parrish is looking back and forth between father and son with wide eyes, perhaps anticipating the inevitable outburst.
Stiles feels a sudden rush of irritation. First Scott, now these two. How obvious is it that he doesn’t want to talk about it?
“I need to do a lot of things. Such as finalising this presentation so I don’t look like a total idiot at the symposium,” Stiles says through gritted teeth. “Quite frankly, I’m finding you both very unprofessional right now.”
“We’re on our break, Stiles.” Noah looks amused. “No work talk at break time.”
Stiles sits down with his food, rolling his eyes as he does so.
“Derek said something interesting while he was here,” his dad starts casually, pulling his own food towards him while deliberately not looking at Stiles. Stiles ignores the look of disdain his dad gives the tofu salad he’d thoughtfully picked up for him. “He mentioned that the two of you are sharing a room on Saturday.”
Stiles nearly chokes on his mouthful and his dad has to thump him on the back a few times while Stiles glares in his direction, reaching for his drink.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Parrish says. “Have you even spoken to him since last weekend?”
“No and no.” Stiles is seething, feeling as though the two are ganging up on him. “And I don’t really see how it’s any of your business.”
“Stiles,” Noah admonishes, “don’t be rude, we’re just looking out for you. Things got pretty heated at Scott’s bachelor party, everyone saw you two—”
“Wow!” Stiles shouts, standing up. “I don’t know what everyone thinks they saw, but everything is fine, we’re fine. Derek and I are sharing a room. We are both adults and can be civil for Scott’s sake, okay?” He looks between his father and his partner with steely eyes, daring them to say anything more on the matter. Parrish just looks sheepish and his father is holding up his hands in surrender. “Now, if you don’t mind,” he gathers up his food, “I’m going to go eat my lunch in my own office, where I won’t be interrogated. Take a goddamn hour off.”
He doesn’t even bother to glance at either of them before he makes his exit, and hearing what sounds like their stifled sniggers is enough to rile him up even more so he slams the door behind him for good measure. It’s childish, but what the fuck ever.
The whole situation is getting him rattled, or even more rattled. Why did Derek have to open his big mouth? When they first met, the guy hardly ever used to say a word, only speaking when he was ridiculing Scott’s decisions or coming back with a sarcastic retort.
Now, you can’t shut the guy up. To be fair, Derek is a very passionate person; passionate about pack and family and everything that comes with being a werewolf. Stiles has to admit that he’s been very useful on more than a few occasions when Scott was in deep with pack business, educating him on werewolf etiquette and traditions. He’s also helped Stiles and Parrish prepare for the various meetings with the Arcane Alliance multiple times. They’ve spent many a night poring over bestiaries and supernatural lore and law—too many to count in fact. Just the two of them, leaning over various tomes late into the night, their heads bowed close.
Stiles finishes his lunch in silence, brooding over the conversation he’d just had and wondering exactly what Derek said to his dad and Parrish when he’d dropped by the station. He hopes he hadn’t mentioned that Stiles is potentially ignoring him, but if he had, the Sheriff would definitely have gone off on a tangent about how Stiles is a grown adult and needs to stop being petty, rather than the gentle encouragement he’d given him when he said he needs to talk to Derek.
Damn, Derek, because Stiles is ignoring him and he is also well aware that it is petty and also childish to do so.
He sighs, shaking the mouse to wake up his computer so he can spend the afternoon frantically trying to finalise the presentation, with or without Parrish’s help. He has to concentrate for the remainder of day, trying desperately not to think about a tall, dark and handsome werewolf with beautiful green-grey eyes.
___________________
Stiles and Scott head out early on the morning of the wedding to begin the two hour trip to the venue. Stiles drives, and he doesn’t have to be a werewolf to sense the nerves flooding off Scott in waves. They slip into easy conversation; reminiscing about old times, talking about Scott’s work at the animal clinic, and Stiles’ preparations for the symposium. They try to steer clear of anything wedding related because Scott still looks like he’s going to vomit halfway through the journey. And they resolutely do not mention the fucking Bachelor Party—which for some reason is now capitalised in his head like it’s some catastrophic event.
“Dude,” Stiles turns to Scott after he’s sighed for the millionth time, rubbing his palms on his jeans, “think about all the crazy shit you’ve faced. Alpha packs, Kanimas, Dread Doctors.” The Nogitsune, Stiles thinks. There’s an unspoken rule that they resolutely don’t mention that either. “Lydia’s been so heavily involved that everything has been planned in meticulous detail, you don’t even have to wing this.”
Scott punches him softly in the arm at the insinuation. Well, as softly as a nervous werewolf can punch someone in the arm. He at least has the decency to look sheepish as Stiles squawks and rubs his bicep.
According to Google maps, they’re about twenty minutes away from the venue, and the Jeep is meandering up a long single-track road through the redwoods when Stiles’ phone pings with a text. Scott jumps to grab it from the holder stuck to the windscreen, jostling Stiles so much he nearly runs them off the road. “Dude, watch it!”
“It might be Malia,” Scott says, sounding frantic. “What if she’s having second thoughts, oh god!”
“Why would she be texting me?” Stiles looks over and Scott looks like he’s on the verge of a panic attack. “Fine, check it. You know my passcode.”
Stiles notices Scott visibly relaxing in the corner of his eye where he’s focusing on the road which seems to be getting narrower and narrower with each passing second.
“It’s Derek.” Stiles feels himself tense. “He says he’s there already. He’s checked into your room, but there’s only one key, so he’s waiting in reception. What should I say back?”
Stiles shrugs, trying to ignore the fact that his heart rate has picked up. He knows Scott can hear it, but thankfully he doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll tell him we’ll be there in fifteen,” Scott says, checking Google maps on Stiles’ phone for their ETA. “Dude, he texted you last week and you didn’t reply.”
“Wow, talk about invasion of privacy!” Stiles shouts. He’s so not ready to have this conversation. Besides, today is about Scott. They really don’t need to be hashing out Stiles’ dramas, not when he’s trying to concentrate on not crashing the Jeep into a tree.
“‘Hey, sorry about the weekend. Can we talk? I don’t want it to be awkward at the wedding,’” Scott reads aloud. “Why’d you ignore him? You promised me it wouldn’t be a problem.”
Stiles really doesn’t want to have this conversation. He’s nervous enough about seeing Derek as it is, he’s not even sure if Derek’s even gonna talk to him; what with him ignoring his texts, generally avoiding his presence, and what happened at the fucking Bachelor Party.
Not to mention the small matter of the Best Man speech he has to deliver later on in the day. His nerves are shot to hell.
“I was busy, Scott,” Stiles half-lies. He hopes it’s enough to placate Scott if he’s listening to his heartbeat. “I just forgot to reply. You know I had a mountain of work to sort out and catch up on. The station as a whole wasn’t exactly too pleased that the Sheriff, his son and his partner all managed to swing two weekends off in a row.”
“Fair enough, man.” Scott shrugs. “Wanna talk about it?”
“There’s nothing to talk about.”
Now that wasn’t strictly true, but Stiles was damned if he was going to let the embarrassment of what happened at the fucking Bachelor Party consume him anymore than it already has.
“Okay.” He doesn’t sound convinced. “Can’t have the Best Man and one of the Groomsman glaring at each other during all the photos can I?”
Stiles pales. Somehow he’d managed to forget that Derek, as well as Liam, is one of Scott’s Groomsmen. The sharing a room he’d just about got to grips with as they wouldn’t be spending much time in the room other than sleeping—although that thought doesn’t exactly calm his nerves either. Now he has to contend with standing in close proximity to Derek for the ceremony, photographs and god knows what else. He’s going to have to manhandle Liam so that he’s in between them for everything, in a way which isn’t totally obvious.
“Why do you smell even more anxious now?” Scott asks, wrinkling his nose.
“Nervous about my speech,” Stiles mumbles, chancing a look over at Scott who just frowns slightly. He can feel his palms starting to sweat again, and if Scott picks up on the lie, he doesn’t mention it. “We all know I don’t really like to talk.”
Scott snorts.
He can’t even get monumentally hammered to deal with the stress, as that’s what got him into this situation in the first place the weekend prior.
The rest of the drive passes in silence. Stiles tries not to think too much as they drive deeper into the redwood forest. Scott gets visibly antsy as they pass the sign for the venue, and Stiles’ stomach starts flipping with nervous excitement.
He parks the Jeep as far away from the Camaro as he dares, hoping Scott doesn’t notice. The venue is in the process of being decorated when they arrive, several staff members carrying chairs and a gigantic flower arch across the grounds from the main building over to a clearing of trees with strings of fairy lights hanging between them over the aisle.
Scott looks ready to burst with excitement as a petite woman and a well-built man come bounding over to them.
“Scott, so good to see you!” the woman exclaims, her shock of frizzy, ginger hair bouncing as she half-walks, half-runs over, her eyes flashing beta-gold. The man, who isn’t much taller than his companion, smiles warmly at them both, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Scott hugs them both, then turns to Stiles. “Stiles, this is Brady and Angela.”
Stiles steps forward, holding out his hand. “So good to meet you, Scott’s told me so much about—”
He gets cut off as Angela ignores his outstretched hand and pulls him down into a bone-crushing hug, and Stiles is assaulted by a mouthful of her hair. He taps her awkwardly on the back as he struggles to breathe.
“Let go of him Ange, the poor guy can barely breathe,” Brady chides her playfully, huffing out a laugh. Angela lets him go and he chuckles lightly.
“No harm done, I’m used to it!” Stiles says. Par for the course of being in a werewolf pack.
Brady offers out his hand for Stiles to shake. “She’s awfully excited about today, tends to forget her own strength.” He looks over at Angela fondly as she blushes.
“Malia and Lydia are getting ready in the Bridal Cottage with your Mom and Natalie,” Angela says, turning to Scott. “I’ll go up and let them know that you’re here so they don’t go wandering and bump into you before the ceremony. Don’t be nervous, you’ll be fine.”
Scott manages a smile that looks a little bit manic. Stiles touches his shoulder reassuringly as they grab their bags and follow the couple across the parking lot and down a pergola-covered stone path that leads to the main building.
The building should look out of place against the woodland but strangely, it just fits. It’s a modern two-storey grey brick building with a light-lined porch that juts out and goes around the perimeter. The redwoods loom over them as they walk towards the building, passing by the sign that points out reception. It’s a beautiful place, perfect for a werewolf/werecoyote wedding.
Stiles’ heart rate starts to pick up, and Scott side-eyes him as Angela starts to veer off around the side of the building towards a smaller grey bungalow set back from the trees which must be the Bridal Cottage.
Brady leads them through the front door into the small reception area where most of the pack are already there waiting for them.
A chorus of cheers erupts as Scott and Stiles walk into the reception area. Liam, Mason and Corey all descend on Scott, each pulling him into a hug and clapping him on the back. They move to stand around Scott in a circle, starting a chant of ‘Our Alpha’s getting married’ as Scott laughs good-naturedly in the middle.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I think our Alpha might be getting married.”
Stiles’ breath hitches as Derek appears next to him. He’s wearing his sunglasses on top of his head, his arms crossed over his v-neck as he looks with amusement at the scene in front of them.
Their eyes meet, and Stiles resolutely hates his life as his stomach flips.
Today is Scott’s day, he recites in his head like a mantra.
“It looks that way,” he answers after a beat, jutting his chin towards the group. “Wanna join in, or are they having too much fun for you?”
Derek smiles as he turns towards him. He hates how easy it is to slip into their usual banter as if nothing happened. Well at least it looks like Derek doesn’t hate his guts. Or if he does, he’s good at hiding it.
“Gonna have to pass,” Derek says, his smile turning wry, “I’ve already filled up my fun-quota this month.”
Stiles doesn’t even try to unpack that statement.
___________________
Strangely, it’s not as awkward as Stiles first feared. After they’re all checked in, Scott had insisted that he and the Groomsmen get ready in Stiles and Derek’s room, as he and Malia would be staying in the Bridal Cottage that night, and theirs was big enough for the four of them. It helped having Scott and Liam there, giving him other things to focus on while they got dressed in their suits, a photographer happily snapping away around them.
Scott is having a not-so-subtle meltdown in the bathroom while Stiles tries to flatten down his unruly hair.
Derek turns to him, straightening his own tie. “You want the double?”
It takes a while for Stiles to catch on to what he means. Derek eyes the beds behind them, gesturing over to them with a slight tilt of his head.
Stiles belatedly realises that he’d thrown his suitcase onto the double bed, which Liam is sitting on playing on his phone. Everyone in the pack knows that Stiles tends to flail a lot in his sleep—and also while he’s awake, actually—preferring to spread out like a starfish in the middle of his bed. His wayward limbs have been the cause of many a rapidly-healed black eye whenever he’s had to share a bed with Scott.
“You sure? I just threw my bag anywhere, that wasn’t me staking a claim on the bed, dude.”
Derek shrugs. “It’s fine. I prefer sleeping closer to the door anyway.”
Ever the protector. Stiles feels a little flattered; after the weekend before he wouldn’t be surprised if Derek wants to leave him vulnerable to being maimed by whatever monster-of-the-week may come sniffing around.
To be honest, he probably deserves the metaphorical maiming a little bit. Or a lot.
He’s just turned back to the mirror to carry on fighting with his hair when all of a sudden Liam looks up from his phone.
“Wait,” he starts, his brow furrowing, “this is your room?” He gestures between Stiles and Derek.
“Yes,” Derek says slowly, drawing out the ‘e’.
Liam’s eyebrows go up to his hairline, huffing out a breath. “After what happened at the—”
Stiles whirls round, abandoning his hair and pointing at Liam. “Finish that sentence and I will spike all of your drinks today with mountain ash.”
Liam has the gall to look amused, holding up his hands in surrender as he tries not to laugh at Stiles’ outburst. Stiles doesn’t dare risk a glance at Derek, not really knowing how he feels about the whole situation. Probably because Stiles has been avoiding both it and him for the past week.
Scott comes out of the bathroom looking like he’s about to pass out, and Stiles doesn’t need werewolf senses to tell how he’s feeling. Derek steps over to him, putting a calming hand on his shoulder.
“I need some air, I’m just gonna step outside for a sec,” Scott says as he makes his way out onto the balcony.
Stiles is having a minor freak-out of his own, Scott’s nervousness rubbing off on him. This is the most important day of his best friend’s life, and he feels the sudden pressure to do him proud. Stiles thinks about when Scott told him he was going to propose to Malia, the excitement he’d felt on behalf of his best friend and pack mate. Scott and Malia had come back from their vacation to Mexico with twin grins and the addition of a ring on Malia’s finger. It was all very touching.
He starts to think about his speech as he tries to sort out his tie, trying to calm his breathing as he does so. His dad and Parrish had looked over it, making some helpful suggestions and comments so he knows that it isn’t that bad. He gives speeches and pitches as part of his job but this is for Scott—his best friend.
“You’re freaking out.” Derek appears behind him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
He’s never seen Derek in a suit before. They’d had to go to their fittings separately due to work commitments, so Stiles is just a little bit overwhelmed at how good he looks.
He is so screwed. Chase those feelings down, Stilinski.
“Nothing gets past those werewolf senses, huh?” he quips, trying to ignore his shaking hands and the fact that he’s all of a sudden completely forgotten how to tie a fucking tie.
Derek ignores the sarcasm and manhandles Stiles around so they’re eye to eye. “Let me help.”
It isn’t a question.
Stiles just stands there, his shaking hands hanging by his sides as Derek moves closer and starts on his tie. It was just a week ago that they were this close, even closer in fact, and Stiles can’t start thinking about that right now or Derek will be able to smell the humiliation and regret.
“This is a big day for Scott,” Derek says, not looking up from Stiles’ chest as he works on his tie, “but it’s also a big day for you. It’s okay to be nervous.”
Stiles shifts his weight slightly, trying not to move too much. He doesn’t really know what to say, a little taken aback by the fact that Derek just seems to get him.
“It’s the speech. What if I say something stupid?” Derek looks up at him then, one eyebrow raised. Stiles huffs and bumps his closed fist against Derek’s arm gently, no heat in it. “Or forget everything I’ve planned to say and end up mentioning really embarrassing things? I mean, avoiding the supernatural fuckery that we’ve experienced over the past ten years is a given, but as you know, I have no filter. I might mention the fact that me, the Best Man, and the Bride not only used to date but lost our virginities to each other. That’s awkward enough as it is but I don’t think everyone will want to hear about it considering she’s marrying my best friend. Oh god, see! I’m pretty sure that isn’t an appropriate nugget of information to be shared in a Best Man speech. What if I say something in bad taste like that, or get up there and freeze? Recent events have shown that I’m apparently a fan of publicly humiliating myself so statistically, it’s not looking good.”
Curse his damn mouth.
Derek’s expression turns guarded for a split second, showing no emotion, and Stiles is reminded of how he used to be—reserved, stoic and so angry. Stiles very nearly winces, but Derek’s face slips back into soft concern before he has the chance.
“Stiles,” Derek says, his eyes twinkling with mirth, “out of every person I’ve ever met in my thirty years on this planet, you are the last person I’d expect to freeze and have nothing to say.” He laughs softly, their eyes meeting. “We’ve been trying to get you to shut up for the last ten years. Unsuccessfully.”
“Oh, haha.”
It feels like a switch has been flipped, and in that moment Stiles feels surprisingly at ease. Derek has developed a particular gift for damage control over the years with his now calming presence. It’s certainly helped them out of a few sticky situations with rival packs and various other supernaturals in the past.
“There.” Derek tightens the knot up near Stiles’ collar, smoothing the fabric down so it sits right, and he can feel Derek’s touch as it moves from his neck down his chest. He tries not to shiver but he’s pretty sure he fails. There’s no way Derek doesn’t feel it.
“Thanks,” Stiles says genuinely, trying to shake the feeling away. “Now go work your calming werewolf magic on Scott. I think he’s in need of a ‘Derek’s anti-freak-out pep talk’. I can hear him hyperventilating from here, and it’s messing with my new calm and composed mojo.”
Derek nods, smiling slightly and makes his way past Stiles out towards the balcony.
“You look good, by the way.”
Derek pauses, turning back towards Stiles. Lack of brain-to-mouth filter–1, Stiles–0.
“You too,” he says before he carries on out towards Scott.
Stiles exhales after Derek leaves the room. He startles slightly when he notices Liam still sat on the bed, looking up at him with an unreadable expression. He may have forgotten he was even there.
“Smooth.” Liam smirks.
“I’m serious about the mountain ash, don’t test me.”
___________________
The ceremony goes without a hitch. Malia looks beautiful as she walks down the aisle, flanked on both sides by her dad and Peter—and that had caused a few arguments when it had first been brought up—and Lydia also turns a few heads in her teal bridesmaid dress.
Stiles may shed a few manly tears during the vows, earning a snigger from Malia and a pat on the shoulder from Derek which Stiles more than appreciates. He’s sensitive, okay? It’s not every day that your best friend gets married.
He locks eyes with Lydia, who is looking between him and Derek with knowing interest. He narrows his eyes at her after he not-so-subtly wipes the tears away.
After the ceremony they all gather in front of the redwoods for photos. Stiles’ intention to use Liam as a werewolf-shield between him and Derek doesn’t exactly go to plan. Quite the opposite in fact, as Derek appears to be keeping annoyingly close to him, at his side for what seems like every photo.
He pointedly ignores everyone’s pointed looks in their direction whenever they’re within six feet of each other, as if they’re monitoring their interactions. It makes Stiles feel uneasy, like they don’t trust them not to get along on Scott’s wedding day. Well, fuck them, because they are getting on just fine, thank you very much.
Stiles wonders whether Derek is temporarily ignoring the whole situation for Scott and Malia’s sake only for it all to explode later on. He isn’t being overly nice or anything, he isn’t even acting any different to how he normally acts towards Stiles. That being ‘long-sufferingly fond with a side of harmless ribbing’.
Stiles should have talked to him about what happened. He’s an idiot.
He’s brought back to the present by the photographer shouting over for them all to smile and finds that the guy is pointedly looking at him. He pulls himself out of his thoughts; he’ll sort his shit out tomorrow.
Today is Scott’s day.
He smiles blindingly when the flashbulb goes off, hoping desperately that it reaches his eyes.
___________________
It seems that Stiles’ desire to publicly humiliate himself doesn’t completely extend to giving Best Man speeches. He’s kind of a wreck when he first stands up at the mike, regressing back to his gangly teenage years and nearly tripping onto the stage as he tries desperately to keep control of his limbs. It’s endearing when you’re sixteen and still growing into your body, less endearing at twenty-six in front of a hundred of your best friend’s nearest and dearest.
He manages to style it out though, making a joke about how he’s not even drunk, having sworn off alcohol in large quantities after Scott’s Bachelor Party, and admitting that usually it’s the Groom that gets wasted and makes a fool of himself rather than the Best Man. He doesn’t miss the sniggers and knowing looks shared between his pack mates at his ad-libbed admission, but he barrels on, making sure that he doesn’t look anywhere near where he knows Derek is sitting.
That is the first and last time he mentions the Bachelor Party, so tradition be damned.
After that, his nervousness dissipates. His jokes seem to land and his heartfelt retellings of their adventures throughout the years appear to pull on a few heart-strings. By the end, Melissa is dabbing underneath her eyes with her napkin and smiling at him proudly. While the area erupts in applause, Stiles is nearly taken out by Scott who pulls him into a bone-crushing hug. After nearly having his ribs broken, Malia kisses his cheek and squeezes his shoulders in thanks.
He gets a lot of handshakes and hugs from various guests when all the speeches have been wrapped up. His Dad ruffles his hair affectionately, and Stiles feels suddenly overwhelmed by the seemingly never-ending barrage of compliments and praise. He isn’t being ungrateful, he’s thankful that he’s done his best friend proud and ultimately didn’t fuck up the whole day, but the whole situation is messing with his emotions.
He decides to slope off to the bathroom, ignoring the familiar pair of eyes tracking his movement across the grassy clearing. The sun is still bright and warming, making sweat bead at his temple, and he shrugs off his suit jacket as he walks towards the main building.
After he’s splashed his face with cool water and deems himself composed enough, he goes back out towards the party.
On his way outside, he spots a small table display set out against the bushes, just off the main path between the clearing and the main building. Stiles walks over to it, noting the guestbook and box for guests to leave cards and presents. He leaves a heartfelt message in the guestbook and then flips to a random page near the back, leaving another message of the crude and sarcastic variety for Scott and Malia to find.
Laughing to himself as he turns to go back to where everyone has gathered, he sees a smaller table against the card and guestbook table littered with photo frames. Stiles moves closer, and his heart clenches. The laughter dies in his throat as he looks at Allison’s smiling face amongst other photos of late grandparents and Malia’s mother and sister.
He picks up the photo, smiling sadly and letting guilt overwhelm him yet again. He wonders whether if things had happened differently, it would be her in the wedding dress today, marrying her first love. He feels tears prick his eyes and he heaves a shuddery breath.
“It’s not your fault, you know,” Derek says, and Stiles turns, clutching the photo to his chest in surprise. He hadn’t heard him approaching.
“You know, I wonder how many times you, Scott and my dad are gonna say that before I can finally believe it,” Stiles breathes. “It’s been nine years, and I still think about it every day.”
Being possessed by a thousand year old evil fox spirit isn’t something you can just forget, not when you could see and feel everything through your own eyes. He’d only just gotten out of the habit of counting his fingers every morning after he woke up a couple of years ago.
“I know what it’s like to live with the type of guilt that sticks with you, Stiles,” Derek says, his eyes downcast and his expression guarded once again. Of course he knows what it feels like. “They say time is the greatest healer, but that’s not always the case.”
Their eyes lock, and it feels like they’re sharing a pain that no one else can possibly understand. He’s always known that deep down, Derek still blames himself for the death of his family. They’ve had many stilted conversations hinting at the subject throughout the years, Derek showing his vulnerability to Stiles through their mutual understanding of what it feels like to be a pawn in someone else’s sadistic, murderous vision.
“It does and will get easier,” Derek reassures him, moving closer and taking the picture from where Stiles still has it pressed close to his chest. He takes a look at the smiling face of the girl that was taken too soon, and the corners of his mouth turn up minutely. “I didn’t know Allison that well, really. I think she reminded me too much of Kate in the beginning; ferocious and desperate for justice, not to mention too heavily influenced by Gerard to be healthy. But I like to think I knew her enough to know that she wouldn’t blame you for a second.”
Stiles sighs, the pain receding slightly to a dull ache which he can feel in his ribcage. Scott had known Allison better than anyone, and he had said similar things to Stiles multiple times before.
“It’s not your fault either,” Stiles says softly, watching as Derek places the frame back onto the table with the rest of the display. He huffs slightly, straightening up and meeting Stiles’ firm gaze.
“We’re all damaged,” Derek says. He has a pensive look on his face which makes Stiles’ heart clench. They’ve all been through so much, but Derek more than any of them.
“We are,” Stiles agrees, “but we found each other, and that makes everything a little more bearable.”
Stiles isn’t sure whether he’s referring to the pack as a whole, or just the two of them.
Derek gives him a small smile. Despite everything they’ve been through, they’re still a pack, still a family. He knows that they are never going to replace Derek’s actual family, but every time he came back to Beacon Hills they welcomed him with open arms. Finally, that had been enough to make him stay and rebuild his life there.
“That’s what pack is all about,” Derek says, “and you’re right. No matter how dysfunctional we are. You don’t find many packs with an ADHD-riddled human with no filter as an Alpha’s second.”
Stiles snorts at that, rolling his eyes. “You’re just jealous Scott didn’t pick you. Spazzy best friend trumps emotionally-stunted-former-Alpha-with-very-little-patience.” Stiles flashes him a smile that’s all teeth.
“I’m patient enough to put up with you when you need my help with work,” Derek says, returning Stiles’ toothy smile with one of his own. “You’ve said yourself, and I quote, that I’m ‘not as emotionally constipated’ as when we first met.”
Stiles starts to laugh but sobers and the words are out of his mouth before he can stop them. “Nah, I’m pretty sure I’ve overtaken you in the Beacon Hills Annual Emotional Constipation Competition this year. Got the call yesterday, the awards ceremony is next week.”
Resulting to sarcasm means he’s on the defensive. Derek’s eyebrows start to do that thing where they try to knit themselves together as he frowns. Stiles would find it adorable if he wasn’t completely mortified with himself.
Derek moves towards him slowly, cautiously as if he’s afraid Stiles might run away.
“We should talk about it,” Derek says, and he’s so close that Stiles almost doesn’t register what he’s saying. Why is he so close? “We need to talk about it. Just not here, not today.”
Today is Scott’s day. His brain supplies helpfully for him, and he says as much out loud.
Maybe it’s the hurricane of emotions that are circling inside him or the fact that Derek’s so close he can see how dilated his pupils are and smell the woodsy scent of his cologne but Stiles wants.
But they’ve been down this road before, and before he does something stupid like jump at Derek and kiss him again, Stiles realises there is a God, and he’s sent an angel called Liam Dunbar to make sure that he doesn’t do something that can fuck up years of tentative friendship.
Stiles thought he’d managed to work on his impulse control. Obviously not.
“They’re about to cut the cake,” Liam says, suddenly standing a few feet away, not realising he’s just answered Stiles’ silent prayer. Where was he last weekend when Stiles needed him then? Stiles and Derek spring apart. “Just thought you’d like to know.”
Is he smirking?
Derek slowly turns towards Liam. “We’ll be right there.”
Liam’s already headed back to the party and Stiles hears him mutter something as he goes.
“What did he say?” he asks Derek, knowing full well he can hear him with his wolfy hearing.
Derek ducks his head as they fall in step, and Stiles swears he sees a slight flush forming high on his cheeks.
“Let’s just say you might need to make good on that threat about the mountain ash.”
He’s taking it back. Liam is not an angel, he’s a little shit.
___________________
Scott’s bachelor party was supposed to be a small, quiet affair. A meal and drinks in the city with the pack and some of Scott’s college buddies. How they had all ended up in a club at one in the morning was anyone’s guess. It probably had something to do with the amount of alcohol Stiles had been encouraging everyone to drink.
Scott had met a werewolf in college that had managed to develop a safe concentration of wolfsbane. It could be added to drinks to mimic the effects of getting drunk for anyone who was supernaturally inclined. They didn’t really use it that often, saving it for special occasions such as this one. Scott had managed to get hold of a small vial of it for each werewolf in attendance so they could add it to their own drinks throughout the night.
The effects usually came on quickly, and Parrish and the Sheriff had been tasked with monitoring everyone’s usage so there weren’t any casualties. The first time they’d tried the stuff Liam had nearly broken his neck trying to backflip off a roof, and then Scott had promptly fallen off said roof, almost impaling himself on a fence post. They’d realised then that the wolves’ healing abilities were dampened when the purple liquid was in their systems, so it was ideal that any injuries, potentially fatal or otherwise, were kept to a minimum.
Unfortunately, no one had been monitoring Stiles’ level of intoxication, so by the time they got to the aforementioned club he was moving out of the ‘comfortably drunk’ phase and into ‘marginally shitfaced’. He didn’t care, he loved everyone, and everyone seemed to be having fun. It didn’t matter that his best friend was getting fucking married and he was still depressingly single.
Once inside Stiles approached Scott at the bar where he was standing with Liam, both sipping tentatively at bottles of water. Liam pressed another bottle into Stiles’ chest when he reached them, and he staggered backwards slightly. Everything was hazy and there was a warmth in his torso steadily spreading out down his limbs. His fingers and toes also felt kinda tingly which alerted him to the fact that he was definitely in ‘shitfaced’ territory. Everyone else was tipsy at best, and he couldn’t have that.
“Whoa whoa whoa!” He shouted over the music, looking at the two werewolves incredulously. “You guys are on the water already? The night is young and so are we!” He snatched the water bottle and gave it a few deep pulls before he elbowed his way between them so that he was resting against the bar, trying to flag down the bartender.
“Stiles—” Scott started, edging on condescending and Stiles frowned.
“No Scott,” he cut him off, plastering on a bright smile, “I am celebrating, we are celebrating. You are getting married in a week,” he poked Scott clumsily in the chest, “so we are getting drunk and dancing to whatever shitty music they continue to play in here until we literally collapse.”
“Getting drunk?” Liam questioned, quirking an eyebrow. “Stiles, you’re already there.”
“Damn right I am.” Stiles grinned as the bartender placed three beer bottles in front of them. “And you fuckers need to catch up. Come on, get out those little vials of purple werewolf woozy juice so we can start this party.”
Scott and Liam looked at each other, simultaneously grabbing their respective beers and turning towards the dance floor. They followed Stiles through the throng of people packed tightly together back towards the curved set of booths located against the back wall where the rest of the pack were sitting. Scott’s college friends had bowed out before they reached the club.
It was quieter back there, the music less of an assault on the wolves’ ears despite the fact that their senses were dulled by the aconite solution. His dad, Parrish, Mason and Corey had taken the one booth and Derek sat alone in the other, his pale eyes following Stiles, a concerned expression on his face.
“Jesus, try to at least look like you’re having a good time,” Stiles slurred as they reached the booths. “Lucky for you guys there’s a tray of Jose Cuervo on its way over here right now. You’re all welcome, by the way.”
“You might wanna slow down, son,” Noah commented, eyeing Stiles and the way he was swaying ever so slightly on his feet.
“Pipe down, Daddio,” Stiles said. Behind him, Liam snorted and the Sheriff looked less than impressed. “I have beer, and water.” He held them both up, nearly smacking his father in the face with his beer bottle in the process. “I’m gonna be so hydrated you don’t even know.”
Noah plucked the beer bottle from Stiles’ limp grasp, and he whined. “Water first, then some more. If you can stand up without swaying after that, I might let you have this back.”
“Who made you the responsible one?” Stiles griped and the Sheriff laughed.
“You did, kiddo. You were the one who asked Parrish and I to make sure no one injures themselves, were you not?”
“I said to watch the wolves, Dad,” Stiles grumbled. “You’re killing my buzz, buzzkill. I am having the best time.” He turned to Scott, looking hopeful. His best friend was looking a little dazed, his eyes flaring red whenever the strobe lights passed over him. “Are you not having the best time?”
“Yeah, dude,” Scott said, plucking the vial of aconite out of his jeans pocket. Stiles noticed that only a quarter of the vial was missing and his eyes narrowed slightly. Scott poured a few drops into the open bottle, putting his mouth over the top when the aconite reacted with the beer causing purple foam to bubble up the neck of the bottle and out the top. “Best bachelor party I’ve ever had,” he added with a lopsided grin.
“See!” Stiles threw his arms in the air as he turned back towards the group, water sloshing out of the open bottle in his hand and onto the floor. “This whole vibe needs to do a full 180. Scott, we’re going to dance later, after our shots and everyone is having one when they finally get here.” He looked back over to the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention by waving his arms wildly above his head. He huffed when they didn't even spare a glance his way.
The one thing he did succeed in, however, was emptying the rest of his water bottle all over Derek’s lap in his quest for tequila. He didn’t even notice.
Liam walked over and put his hand on Stiles’ shoulder, giving Derek a pointed look. “Dude, sit down.” Liam took the now empty bottle from him and practically manhandled him into the booth next to Derek. “I’ll go get you more water, just chill for a sec.”
Stiles looks up at him, narrowing his eyes. “Ask them where my Jose is, the whole tray cost me like a hundred bucks.”
Liam huffed a laugh and patted him on the shoulder. “Sure thing, buddy.”
Stiles watched him as he walked off for a few seconds before turning to Derek, who was dabbing at his t-shirt with a napkin. “Why’re you all wet, dude?”
Derek’s head shot up, fixing him with an aspirated look. “Oh, I wonder.”
Stiles shrugged, a lazy smile spreading over his face as he noted all the places where Derek’s wet shirt clung to his torso.
“You could just take it off.” He smirked, and Derek gave him a level look, wadding up the napkins and throwing the ball into the middle of the table.
“If I did, we’d probably get thrown out,” he said. “And you’d eviscerate me for ruining Scott’s bachelor party.”
Stiles snorted, he wasn’t wrong. “There’s no way you should be sober enough to use that word. Show me your vial.”
“Really Stiles?” Derek raised an eyebrow, then tilted his head over to where Liam was coming back from the bar with the tray of tequila, thank god.
“Yeyah!” Stiles exclaimed, throwing himself out of the booth. Liam placed the tray of Jose Cuervo on the other table and collectively everyone groaned. Stiles had ordered a round of twenty shots, complete with lime and salt so they could do tequila slammers.
He started dishing out the salt shakers, lime wedges and shots around so that everyone had two each. He made sure that the three wolves, Corey and Parrish had added their aconite to both of their shots before encouraging everyone to pour a line of salt onto their hands.
He looked around the group. “Everyone know what to do? Lick, shoot, suck.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively and held up his shot, watching as everyone else followed suit. “To Scott!”
“To Scott!” they echoed. Stiles ignored his Dad muttering about how was ‘too old for this’ as he licked the salt from his hand, knocked the shot back and bit into the lime. He felt his face screw up, his lips burning around the lime wedge as he wrung his hands out dramatically.
Scott started giggling, leaning into Stiles as he slung his arm around his shoulders. Through his warm, drunken haze Stiles could tell the aconite was working as Scott’s eyes were flickering from red to brown in quick succession as if he couldn’t control it, his face relaxed and happy.
“Again?” Stiles asked him. “Come on, man. I need an anecdote for my speech about how much of a mess you were at your bachelor party, don’t leave me high and dry.”
“Fuck it,” Scott said, reaching for his second shot and holding it up like Stiles had done, “to Stiles; the only one of us that’s gonna have to deal with a killer hangover tomorrow.”
Stiles punched him lightly on the arm but rolled his eyes and picked up his own shot, swallowing it down after the group had toasted him.
A little while later, after the Sheriff had forced two bottles of water down his throat, Stiles was dancing with Scott out on the crowded dance floor to some god awful EDM track. He felt great; he was drunk, Scott was drunk and the rest of the pack had very much loosened up after the tequila Stiles had force-fed them.
He looked over at the booths. Mason and Corey were making out in the booth across from his Dad and Parrish, who both looked borderline uncomfortable with the display opposite them. Liam was out on the dance floor somewhere most likely hooking up with someone, good for him.
That left Derek.
He was still sitting in the booth on his own, nursing a beer that Stiles had got him about thirty minutes previously, and he was staring at Stiles and Scott. Stiles waved and beckoned him over with a gesture of his hand. Stiles frowned when Derek shook his head with a small smile.
“Hey, do you think Derek’s drunk?” Stiles shouted in Scott’s ear.
“Nah, not really.” Scott shook his head vigorously, sweat spraying from the strands. The movement looked so incredibly dog-like that Stiles couldn’t help but snicker. “I don’t think he really likes it. Makes him feel like he’s got less control.”
“Maybe it’s a born-wolf thing?” Stiles mused and Scott shrugged.
“I gotta pee. You should go talk to him. He hasn’t stopped staring at you all night.”
Stiles scoffed, but he didn’t miss the way his heart skipped over a beat in his chest. “No one can resist the old Stilinski-charm, not even Derek Hale.”
“Right,” Scott said and clapped Stiles on the back before making his way over to the bathroom.
Stiles liked to think that he’d sobered up a little by that point as he only tripped up once on his way over to Derek’s booth, and he could still see fairly clearly so maybe he was slipping back down into ‘comfortably drunk’. One more shot might blow that out of the water though.
He attempted to slide gracefully into the booth next to Derek. Derek straightened him up when he face-planted into Derek’s shoulder, huffing albeit fondly.
“Having fun?” Stiles asked.
Derek bumped his shoulder into Stiles’ and shrugged. “Clubbing isn't really my thing. But watching you making an ass of yourself is pretty damn fun, yeah.”
Stiles put a hand to his chest, trying to look affronted. “Tell your face you’re having fun then. And I hope you’re not referring to my mad dance skills, Derek.”
“Is that what you call it?” Derek said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Dancing? Reminds me of that time you tasered yourself.”
Stiles threw his head back and barked a laugh despite himself. It had taken him a good few years to get used to Derek making actual jokes. It was bad enough that Stiles actually found him funny, but once they’d established that they had the same dark-routed, sarcastic sense of humour Stiles allowed himself to laugh at him. It was even worse that Derek seemed to like making Stiles laugh.
“You wanna come dance?” Stiles asked, taking the plunge. The only kind of dancing that Stiles was actually any good at was the dirty kind. He could really turn on the moves if he wanted to, grinding and pulsing against another body to the beat. He shuddered when he thought about dancing like that with Derek, and he could feel his face flushing.
It certainly wasn’t the first time he’d thought about Derek like that. He had eyes, for one, that was enough. Throughout his high school years he hadn’t thought of Derek as anything more than the incredibly hot werewolf who came into their lives and subsequently turned everything upside down. Stiles spent a whole year having a perpetual rage-boner for the guy, until he got possessed by a psychotic fox demon and even more shit hit the fan. Repeatedly. For years.
Not to mention the fact that Derek kept leaving.
Now though, Derek’s edges had softened considerably. He still carried his trauma, it showed in his eyes sometimes when he thought no one was looking, but nowadays he allowed himself to laugh, to have a family, a pack. He deserved to be happy, more than anyone Stiles knew.
He was absolutely, one-hundred percent gone over the guy.
Stiles was pulled back from his thoughts by Derek answering his question with “No, Stiles. I do not want to go and flail with you on the dance floor. I’m fine here.”
“You want to flail with me here, instead?” he asked.
Derek heaved an over-dramatic sigh which Stiles barely registered over the music. Like Scott’s had been, Derek’s eyes flashed blue every time the strobe lights passed over him, highlighting the angles of his face. He was beautiful, and Stiles wanted.
To distract himself, he clapped his hands and turned around in the booth. He looked into the other booth where the others were sitting, had to move around a bit so he could see around Parrish’s head to the table where four shots of tequila still remained on the tray.
He turned back to Derek, gesturing over his shoulder. “You want another shot? There’s some left. I wanna get you buzzed enough to dance with me.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Derek held up his beer. “I’m still working on this.”
“Please yourself. You’ve been nursing that motherfucker for nearly an hour, I bet it’s all warm and gross by now.”
Derek shrugged and then took a deep draft of the beer, tipping his head back. Stiles felt his mouth go dry as he watched Derek’s throat work, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he drank. He finished the rest of the bottle in a few long pulls, placing it carefully on the table in front of him when he was done. His eyes flickered between bright blue and whatever the fuck colour his eyes actually were in quick succession as the aconite worked through his system.
Stiles grinned. “That’s what I’m talking about, Derek’s just boarded the fun-train. Next stop, Wastedville Central. All a-fucking-board.”
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek said, but his grin gave him away. “Go and get the damn shots, Stiles. But I am not dancing.”
“You are officially my favourite now, don’t tell Scott. I will never call you ‘Sourwolf’ ever again.”
“You haven’t called me that in years.” Touché.
Stiles slid out of the booth carefully, trying to act as sober as humanly possible as he leaned over his dad, putting some of the empty shot glasses back on the tray which contained the last of the tequila shots and the beer that Noah had confiscated earlier.
His dad raised an eyebrow, which Stiles pointedly ignored.
“Why the empty glasses?” Derek asked when Stiles returned, one ridiculous eyebrow raised.
Stiles didn’t answer him, just started pouring what was left of his beer into the empty shot glasses, only spilling a minimal amount onto the table. He placed five shots in front of Derek, three full of beer and two containing tequila. Derek’s eyebrow was still raised and Stiles pointed towards the vague direction of Derek’s pocket where he knew his vial of aconite was.
Derek reluctantly plucked his vial out and poured a few drops in each shot glass. “You want to do shots of beer?”
“Dude, we’re playing ‘Never Have I Ever’. First one to finish all their shots loses,” Stiles told him, a shit-eating grin appeared on his face. “If you lose, you have to dance with me.”
Derek rolled his eyes, but didn’t protest. “It’s not really a game you can fairly win or lose when there’s only two people playing,” he reminded him. “Whoever goes first is going to win.”
Stiles waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever. I’m going first.”
They were each three shots down when Derek started to slur his words ever so lightly, his movements slower and more languid as the wolfsbane started to take effect. He was nowhere near the level of drunk Stiles was but it was nice to see him loosen up.
“Never have I ever had my drink spiked by wolfsbane.”
Derek took a shot then pointed at Stiles’ remaining two. “Are you forgetting the time when Lydia went crazy trying to resurrect my uncle and you all hallucinated? Drink.”
Well fuck. He didn’t really ever want to be reminded of that, it was a bad trip if ever he’d had one. He took his last shot of, now flat, beer and glared at the remaining tequila shot in front of him.
Derek smirked. “Never have I ever slept with someone in the pack.”
“Fuck you,” Stiles groaned. He downed his last shot, jamming a lime wedge into his mouth to chase away the sharp tang of the tequila. He turned the empty shot glass upside down and put it on top of his head before he slumped back in his seat, bumping his knee against Derek’s under the table. His vision was hazy, everything soft round the edges, and he catalogued the way warmth was spreading out down his limbs making his fingers twitch unconsciously.
He looked up and Derek was grinning, shark-like. “You lose.”
“You said earlier no one can wose. Win, lose. Whatever,” he slurred, making Derek laugh. The sight of it made butterflies flutter in his stomach that had nothing to do with the alcohol. “Yaaaaaay,'' he said slowly, “you finally look like you’re having fun.”
He shifted slightly in his seat and then felt himself slipping further and further down involuntarily until suddenly he found himself sitting on the floor under the table next to Derek’s knees. It was kinda sticky down there, ew.
Derek reached down and managed to hook his hands under Stiles’ armpits, hoisting him back up onto the seat of the booth so he was sitting next to Derek.
He slumped into Derek’s side. “My hero,” he said as he patted clumsily at Derek’s chest. “The floor tried to drag me to the underworld, the meany. You saved me, you’re always doing that. Hey! If you were a superhero, who would you wanna be? I think you’d make a great Superman, would you wanna be Superman? I think I’d like to be Spiderman, because red is really my colour, ya’know?”
He was getting distracted imagining Derek’s ass squeezed into a tight, blue lycra suit before he guiltily looked up at his face. Derek was looking back at him with an unreadable expression, his eyebrows contorted into a position Stiles didn’t think he’d ever seen before, and he liked to think he knew what most of Derek’s crazy eyebrow positions meant by now. He’d spent a lot of time studying Derek’s facial expressions, okay? His face was kinda spectacular, much like the rest of him actually, and Stiles was only human.
Before he could even register what was happening, they were kissing, and Stiles was pretty sure he was the one who initiated it. It was clumsy, absolutely no finesse, just a wet slide of lips with a little too much pressure. Through his haze Stiles wasn’t entirely sure whether Derek was even kissing him back, but he wasn’t moving away either.
Fuck, it was such a bad idea.
Apparently, Stiles’ bravery—or utter stupidity—manifested when he was drunk as well as when they were fighting whatever monster-of-the-week they were up against. He wasn’t adverse to throwing himself into dangerous situations when it was called for. So it was no surprise that because he was drunk and brave/stupid that he’d decided it would be a good idea to throw himself at this potentially dangerous situation.
Quite literally. He quite literally threw himself at Derek.
Next thing he knew, he had swung his leg over Derek’s thighs as he wedged himself between Derek’s body and the table, feeling it pressing uncomfortably into the small of his back. He could feel Derek’s hands clenching and unclenching against his hips while one of his own hands was fisted in Derek’s hair, the other gripping his shoulder for balance.
He deepened the kiss, opening his mouth and running his tongue along Derek’s lower lip. It was so messy, all drunk enthusiasm. There was too much tongue and spit and Stiles vaguely registered that he was hard. His hips ground down against Derek, involuntary and lazy.
Stiles didn’t even care that they were making out like teenagers in the middle of a club where his Dad could see. He didn’t give one single god damn fuck.
Until Derek pulled away, stilling the movement of Stiles’ hips and looking up at him with glassy eyes.
Stiles looked at him, confused. Derek shook his head slightly, a mournful expression on his face. Stiles did not like that look.
“Stiles. We can’t, shouldn’t. I shouldn’t—” He stopped, frowning as if he couldn’t find the words and Stiles had a very bad feeling. “You’re so drunk. I don’t want—”
Stiles’ stomach lurched and again he was pretty sure it wasn’t because of the alcohol.
“It’s okay, I get it.” He got up off of Derek’s lap, stumbling out of the booth and barely managing to right himself. “When you look like that, why would you—” He gestured to Derek and then himself. “Why me, right?”
He didn’t give Derek a chance to answer, just turned on his heel and strode across the club to the dance floor. He brushed a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends in frustration. He was an idiot.
He went to find Scott who was standing at the very edge of the pulsing thrum of bodies, a concerned look on his face.
“What the hell just happened?” Scott asked, his eyes flickering over to the booths.
“Absolutely nothing, Scotty,” Stiles said, plastering a smile on his face which he knew Scott would know was fake, even in the state he was in.
Scott frowned, but didn’t push. And that was why he was Stiles’ best friend.
Stiles managed to find Liam, who was dancing with a petite, dark-haired girl that bore absolutely no resemblance to every single one of his ex-girlfriends. He introduced her but Stiles wasn’t really listening, more interested in being introduced to the well-built guy who was standing awkwardly next to Liam and the girl, Lena?
“This is my brother, Joel,” Lena said with a smirk. “I think he’s feeling a little lonely.”
Stiles liked distractions and this guy was shamelessly eye-fucking him. Plus, he was kinda hot.
Perfect.
“Stiles,” he held out a hand, only swaying a little. “I’m drunk, and an idiot apparently. Wanna dance?”
Joel grinned suggestively, took Stiles’ hand and pulled him close. It wasn’t long before Stiles was grinding into the long line of Joel’s body. It should’ve been good but Stiles mostly just felt numb, trying not to let the sickening feeling of humiliation wash over him. Although dancing with another guy after you’d just fucked everything up with the guy who you were actually into probably wasn’t the best idea.
Did he mention he was an idiot?
They danced until the crowd started to thin out. Scott came over and wrenched both him and Liam away from their dance partners, much to Liam’s irritation. Stiles was mostly just being held up by Joel at that point, the combination of alcohol and tiredness catching up with him and making him even more loose-limbed and dopey.
Stiles managed a weak smile and a goodbye to Joel and Lena as Scott slung his arm over his shoulders and helped him walk over to the others. His Dad was resting his head on the back of his seat, his eyes closed and his arms folded. Parrish was trying to wake him gently as they approached. Mason and Corey were waiting for them by the exit, their hands entwined and Stiles felt a twinge of jealousy for what they had cut through his exhaustion.
Stiles had another look around, but Derek was gone. And then suddenly, he found himself leaning over and puking all over his own shoes.
___________________
Stiles fucks up. He fucks up a lot. They all do. Scott had joined forces with the bad guys without consulting anyone on multiple occasions; Malia had shifted into her coyote form when she had her first job interview because she was so nervous; Liam had gotten suspended for a whole Lacrosse season for injuring every player on the opposing team within the first five minutes of his first professional game and Lydia had accidentally burst her mother’s ear drum trying to learn control over her powers.
Stiles has made a lot of mistakes, and he blames himself for a lot of things. When he was a kid he’d smashed one of his mom’s fancy ‘just for show’ dinner plates playing with his baseball inside. She’d told him not to play with it in the house for the exact reason that he would likely break something. He’d chained Scott to a radiator that full moon after he’d kissed Lydia, acting purely out of anger and betrayal. He’d let the Nogitsune in and as a result caused chaos and death because at the time he felt that he was too weak and desperate to resist. He’d killed Donovan in self-defense and carried that knowledge around on his shoulders alone until it blew up in his face.
He makes mistakes every day, small ones mostly, none that really have any influence on his life as a whole. He’d thought that kissing Derek in the club at Scott’s bachelor party was a mistake, that he’d ruined a friendship that they had taken years to tentatively build.
But maybe the biggest mistake is that he hasn’t talked to Derek about it. It’s clear that Derek wants to, and tried to over text. He really needs to just swallow his injured pride and speak to Derek about everything so that he knows where they stand; whether they are still actually friends or whether Derek is just acting normal purely because of the fact that it’s Scott’s wedding day and for once they all just want to have something nice.
Because Derek has a habit of pretending that he’s fine when he really isn’t. He’s more or less the master of it, too well practiced to do anything but.
Derek is well within his rights to just act civil at the very least, which is why that moment by the guest table, Derek fixing his tie and calming his nerves and the general ease of their interactions, is such a headfuck.
Stiles is pretty sure that Derek is trying to kill him with all this close proximity. While they’d agreed not to talk about it over at the guest book table, Derek isn’t doing Stiles any favours by sticking so close, and Stiles’ head is starting to spin with confusion and frustration. Liam is nowhere near them so the original plan of using him like a werewolf shield is out of the window once again.
Much like earlier when they had been posing for photographs, Stiles finds Derek to be sticking maddeningly close to him. They’re watching Scott and Malia cutting the cake, doing the traditional cake smash into each other’s faces. Derek is standing pressed up next to him within the group of guests crowded round to watch and take photos.
Stiles has his own phone out, snapping picture after picture, crowing and whooping in encouragement. He’s got his phone in the air so he can get some good pictures without anyone’s head getting in the shot, trying to ignore the fact that he can feel the heat from Derek’s body all the way down his left side.
Normally Stiles wouldn’t have minded. They spend plenty of time together sharing not just body heat but often bodily fluids—not the sexy kind, but the bloody kind—when fighting the month’s big bad goes awry. Stiles had to get over his fear of blood pretty quickly and he could now sew a mean suture, thankfully no longer fainting anymore when one of the wolves ends up with their insides on the outside.
But now, he’s hyper aware of Derek. His heat and the scent of his cologne just radiates off him and Stiles just wants to lean into him, let it envelop him, rub his face into Derek’s neck and breathe him in. He’s definitely been spending too much time with werewolves if he’s getting all hot over the thought of scenting Derek.
He can feel his face flushing and barely even notices when the crowd starts to disperse. Scott and Malia get herded off by the photographer to take yet more photos before the evening party begins.
“So what are we supposed to do now?” Stiles asks, to no one in particular.
Derek is still at his side, not as close as before thankfully. He shrugs. “Mingle, I suppose?”
“Now that I would like to see,” Stiles says, grinning. Derek just rolls his eyes and leads them over to the outside bar area where everyone is gathering with a hand to the small of Stiles’ back. It’s a slight pressure, but Stiles feels it like a brand to his skin through his dress shirt.
He lets himself be led over to where his Dad, Natalie, Parrish and Lydia have gathered at the bar, each holding a glass of the complimentary champagne.
“Hello boys,” his dad says, eyeing them carefully. He obviously doesn’t miss the placement of Derek’s hand as he looks down between them. Stiles feels the warmth drop away as Derek takes a glass from Lydia’s outstretched hand.
“Stiles,” she says sweetly, and he does not like that tone, or the expression on her face for that matter, “are you having a glass or have you actually sworn off alcohol after your antics last weekend?” Stiles feels his cheeks redden again. Of course Lydia had caught wind of what happened, everyone fucking knew. He’d be surprised if the whole of Beacon County didn’t know. “I noticed you barely touched your toast drink during the speeches earlier.”
Why did Lydia have to be so damn observant? It was true though. Stiles had taken the smallest of sips of it when required so as not to seem rude. A little champagne never hurt anyone. Jose Cuervo, however, was the devil.
“Give it,” Stiles says, snatching it out of her hand with a bit more force than is probably necessary. She doesn’t even flinch, just raises her eyebrow. He figures he’s out of the danger zone now, he’d become acclimatised to Derek throughout the day so he thinks he can probably let loose a little bit this late in the day without a repeat of The One Where Stiles Jumps on a Hot Werewolf.
“Champagne: good, tequila: bad. Jose and I have decided to call it a day. We’re no longer compatible and he has been proven to affect my ability to make rational decisions.”
Derek shifts what he presumes to be uncomfortably next to him and everyone kind of avoids looking at each other. His dad has an infuriatingly amused tilt to his mouth and seriously, fuck him. So he takes a long gulp of his champagne and who cares if it’s counterproductive, he just needs something to do to shut himself up.
Natalie looks between everyone and sensing the obvious awkwardness, turns to Derek. “So, Derek. I hear your house is coming along nicely.”
Stiles is more than relieved for the subject change and lack of focus on him and his stupid mouth.
“Yea, it’s getting there. The electrics and plumbing have been put in now, I just need to plaster the walls and figure out where everything needs to go.”
Stiles kind of tunes out the conversation, he’s not really interested in the benefits of plastering versus skimming. This is the most information Derek has ever offered about his house build, he doesn’t really listen to anything that’s being said specifically. He just watches the way Derek gets so animated while he talks, the way he laughs at something Stiles’ dad has said and how he looks over at Stiles occasionally like he knows he’s watching him.
Stiles really needs to talk to him.
But Today is Scott’s day.
After a while, he’s aware of Lydia’s eyes on him so he turns to look down at her. She puts her hand on his arm gently and smiles, small but heartfelt and a little bit sympathetic. He wants to roll his eyes at her but manages to refrain, because she can probably tell that he’s pining in his head right now. She’s incredibly perceptive like that.
He leans against the bar next to her, and she sighs, leaning her head on his shoulder, so he tips his own head to rest on top of hers and appreciates the comfort.
___________________
The evening party is in full swing, and Stiles’ ears are ringing from standing too close to the speakers. He’s been dancing with a bunch of people and it’s been nice to just let loose.
He’s heading over to the bar, needing to rehydrate himself after an hour of dancing—if you can call it that—when someone falls in step with him. He glances over at his new companion, groans and rolls his eyes.
“Can I buy you a drink, Stiles?” Peter asks, gesturing towards the bar which they’re fast approaching.
“Yea, you can buy me a drink,” Stiles says, “at the open bar.”
Peter smiles, flashing too many teeth. “And who do you think is paying for said open bar at my daughter’s wedding?”
“Figures,” Stiles huffs, kinda shocked but not surprised. It makes sense that Peter would have bribed Malia and Scott to be there by offering to bankroll any part of the wedding he possibly could.
Although Peter hasn't actively tried to kill any of them in the last few years, they make sure to give him a wide berth by keeping him on the very edge of pack business. He has his uses, but the fact that even Derek doesn’t trust him anymore speaks volumes.
Stiles asks for a glass of water while Peter asks for some presumably expensive liquor Stiles has never heard of. He leans back against the bar, pointedly ignoring Peter’s presence as he scans the crowd of dancing bodies before him. He tries not to think about the parallel between this moment and the week previous—out on the sidelines, drinking with a Hale and trying not to drown under the weight of his own feelings.
They’re playing something upbeat he’s never heard before. He catches sight of Scott dancing wildly with Melissa and smiles. Scott looks happier than he’s ever seen him; now married and surrounded by pack and security. Next to them Malia looks as if she’s trying to get Derek to dance, her hand around his wrist tugging him towards her. Yea, good luck with that.
He can’t see Derek’s face as he has his back to him but Malia looks concerned, her expression out of place compared to those around her.
“So, Stiles,” Peter says, and when he looks over it’s obvious he’s been following Stiles’ line of sight, “what are your intentions with my nephew?”
Stiles takes a sip of water and his eyes return to Derek and now Malia is hugging him, whispering something into his ear. Stiles knows Peter has been listening to what they’re saying. Malia looks up and meets his eyes. She frowns when she sees Peter standing next to Stiles but doesn’t make a move to come over, just cocks her head as if she’s focusing her hearing.
He hasn’t talked about his mess of feelings with anyone, so why the hell would he suddenly spill the beans to Peter of all people?
When Stiles doesn’t answer, Peter slides closer towards him and Stiles is too done with everything to even bother to be worried or make an attempt to move away. “Something in the Hale genes, right?” he says, and Stiles huffs out a bitter laugh. “First my daughter, now my nephew. Makes one wonder.”
Stiles risks a glance towards Malia and Derek. Derek still has his back turned but from the way he’s standing stock still Stiles can tell he’s also focusing his hearing on them. Great.
He turns towards Peter, trying to keep his expression and heartbeat even so Peter can’t tell he’s getting riled up. He’s not sure how successful he is.
“Yea, I forgot to mention I’m playing Hale Family Bingo.” He looks Peter right in the eyes and tries to ignore the amusement shining in them. “I’ve got my flight booked. I’m flying out to Brazil in a couple months so I can tick Cora off the list too.” He reaches up and pulls lightly on the lapel of Peter’s suit. “I’ll come find you when I get back, yea? I’m saving the best ‘till last.”
Peter’s face splits into that condescending smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not everything is a joke, Stiles. Have you considered that I might genuinely be looking out for my family?”
Stiles scoffs, stepping back slightly and in the corner of his eye he sees Malia and Derek making a beeline for them. He barely manages to resist the urge to roll his eyes—he can handle Peter Hale on his own.
“Please, enlighten me as to how me wanting to fuck Derek would possibly benefit you?” he hisses.
“We all know that’s not all you want.”
Malia appears next to Peter and touches his arm, getting his attention. “Hey Peter, wanna dance?”
Peter smirks as Derek comes to stand next to Stiles. He just looks pointedly between them as Malia steers him away and thankfully, he keeps his mouth shut.
He turns to Derek, ready to try and explain away what Derek may or may not have heard but before he can open his mouth Derek’s lips quirk up at the corners, his expression soft.
“I think it might be time for me to kill him again.”
Stiles visibly relaxes and with a relieved sigh he says, “That’s the best idea you’ve ever had. Let’s start planning right now, I have about a thousand ideas. You can choose any of them, I’m not picky.”
The small, knowing smile they share at that moment makes Stiles think that they might actually be okay.
___________________
After Scott proposed to Malia, Derek mentioned that traditional werewolf weddings aren’t really like traditional human ones. He had explained that, in a way, they’re almost like rituals.
Stiles had read an entry in a bestiary that he had loaned from a pack in Oregon which mentioned that mating ceremonies between born werewolves involved claiming bites and full on mating in front of the whole pack followed by a run under the full moon. They had all collectively agreed that they didn’t want to bear witness to the consummation of Scott and Malia’s marriage—to which Stiles had gone green at the very thought—and because Scott was a bitten wolf and therefore ultimately “human first”, they had decided to merge the werewolf and human wedding traditions; the day was for the humans, the night for the wolves.
Long after the sun sets and the evening party winds down, they bid farewell to the majority of the guests so only the pack and Brady and Angela are left. The night is dark, the stars the only brightness in the sky above the redwoods as the new moon is hidden in shadow.
Weres feel the pull of the moon all throughout the month, strongest when the moon is at its fullest obviously, but the new moon also has its own strange magnitude. Derek had explained it as being a sort of opposite to the full moon—a were is more in tune with the animal on the full moon, giving in to the more carnal urges of the wolf and making it easier to lose touch with their humanity.
It was a convention for born werewolves to have their ceremonies on a full moon as they, as a rule, are more connected to the animal side. It seemed fitting for Scott and Malia to buck the trend and start a whole new tradition, a nod to when Scott proposed on the night of a new moon.
Everyone gathers to watch as the weres get ready to depart on their run under the stars. Malia had changed out of her wedding dress to avoid it getting ripped to shreds when she shifts.
Stiles is sitting with Lydia on a swinging chair on the patio area set a little bit away from the bar where the rest of the group that aren’t running are talking and laughing. He spots Derek at the edge of the group, standing in only his underwear and folding up his suit and shirt into a neat pile at the base of one of the trees on the edge of the tree line. Their eyes meet across the clearing and Stiles tries not to choke on absolutely nothing as Derek starts to shift.
Watching Derek full shift is something he still isn’t used to. He’s seen it countless times but each time he can’t help but watch with a sick fascination as his bones crack and ripple underneath his skin, skin which is sprouting dark black fur steadily from his head down to his feet as his body gets smaller, dropping to all fours with his head bowed. When he raises it again, he’s fully transformed and still looking at Stiles with eyes that shine electric blue in the starlight.
They stare at each other for a moment before Derek stalks over and Stiles’ breath hitches, which is stupid because it’s Derek. But the way he’s walking over to Stiles is predatory and Stiles sure as hell feels like prey. When he gets closer though, hopping up onto the patio where Stiles and Lydia are sitting, Stiles can hear a low whining coming from the wolf in front of him. Derek doesn’t sound distressed and Stiles doesn’t have time to try to place what he sounds like before Derek is right in front of him and Stiles leans forward instinctively, letting Derek rub his muzzle over the side of his face.
Stiles reaches out to touch the top of Derek’s head, his fur warm and soft and Derek licks a stripe up his neck which makes Stiles chuckle and jerk away because ew.
He says as much. “Dude, I showered this morning. I don’t need a tongue bath.” Derek tilts his head to the side, staring at Stiles with amusement in his eyes, which have now turned back to their regular green-grey.
Stiles looks up when he hears Scott calling Derek’s name. “They’re ready to head off, buddy. Go enjoy your wolfy run, and don’t even think about killing any innocent bunnies while you’re at it.”
Derek huffs a breath against his cheek and Stiles swears he’s rolling his eyes. Can wolves even do that? Derek bumps his cold, wet nose against Stiles’ and then licks another long stripe up the side of Stiles’ face before he turns around and leaps off towards the others who are disappearing into the forest beyond the clearing.
Stiles makes a big show of wiping off the werewolf slobber that’s all over his face with his sleeve but he’s smiling as he does it and he’s not entirely sure why.
“I’m serious, Derek,” he calls out, “their little ears will get stuck in your teeth and it’ll be gross!”
He knows Derek’s heard him as he turns around when he reaches the line of trees, letting his eyes flash blue at Stiles. Before he heads out, he bares his teeth then nips the air playfully. Stiles watches him and the rest of the group disappear into the redwoods, a chorus of delighted howls erupting just beyond the tree line.
There’s a slight breeze, and Stiles can feel the cooling night air on his skin where he’d shucked his jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt. He relaxes back into the chair, which is rocking back and forth slightly with the rhythm that Lydia has set, her bare feet pushing at the stone patio below them.
When he looks over, she’s looking at him, and she’s been doing that a lot today. Her eyebrows are raised and Stiles would say she looks almost sympathetic, with a softness around her eyes of which she rarely lets people see.
“What?” he asks, shrugging his shoulders minutely under her gaze.
“Oh honey,” she sighs, a puff of air through her nose, “you have no idea, do you?”
Stiles looks quizzically at her. He’s been through enough emotional turmoil throughout the day that he’s really not in the mood for one of her ‘I am all knowing and I’m gonna make sure everyone is aware’ speeches. It’s astounding how much they occur as it is.
“That right there,” she sweeps her arm in a broad gesture to the space in front of Stiles, “was a clear declaration of wolf courtship.”
Stiles stutters. “But Derek isn’t actually a wolf.”
Lydia rolls her eyes. “Stiles, he’s a werewolf. He’s as much a man as he is a wolf. And he’s grown up with it, it’s instinctual behaviour. I know you read. Wolves seek affection from the one that they desire as a mate.”
Stiles did know that, but it was a ridiculous thought, in his mind anyway. “He knows I’ve been anxious all day, it was probably just a comfort thing. Things haven’t exactly been great between us because of—”
“Because of what happened at the bachelor party,” Lydia interrupts and Stiles winces. “Stiles, you need to stop beating yourself up over what happened. You haven’t talked to anyone about it, you haven’t talked to Derek about it when you really should have.”
“See, that’s what everyone’s been saying,” he starts, trying not to get irate. It’s Lydia he’s talking to. If anyone gets a free pass to talk about it, it’s her. She knows him on an emotional level probably better than anyone, better than Scott even. While they’d realised they weren’t actually romantically compatible until they’d given it a shot, the realisation had in fact brought them closer together, not to mention the fact that they’re practically step-siblings now. “Everyone wanted to talk about it and I just didn’t.”
“You’re making it out to be a bigger deal than it needs to be, Stiles,” Lydia says. “You were drunk and you guys kissed. If I’m not mistaken, it’s been a long time coming.”
Stiles rolls his eyes but he visibly deflates. “Is it really that obvious?”
Lydia’s expression turns soft again. “Honey, you wear your heart on your sleeve—you always have. You’ve never been afraid to show your feelings and that’s what we all love about you. You remember that time at the Winter Formal in Sophomore year? You told me you had a crush on me even though you knew I still had feelings for Jackson. You didn’t care that I knew, you wanted me to know even though you knew I didn’t feel the same. You weren’t afraid then so why are you so afraid now?”
“This isn’t high school anymore, Lydia.”
“You’re right,” she says and she shifts on the bench to turn to look at him, her eyes steely, “you’re an adult, Stiles, but you’re acting like an emotionally-stunted teenager. You know as well as I do that this isn’t just some crush or superficial infatuation. You have real, genuine feelings for Derek. We all see the way you look at each other, the way you gravitate towards each other. You’re the one he protects as a priority during a fight, and it’s not just because you’re human,” she says when she sees Stiles about to interrupt her to say as much. “Everyone knows you can hold your own but Derek gets oddly protective over you. Except it’s not odd, is it?”
She pauses, letting the weight of her words settle over him.
“Remember the Naiad?” Stiles snorts, because how could he forget? He remembers how soft her cold, webbed hands had been on his shoulders before she’d kissed him and tried to pull him into the stream she had been inhabiting. He also remembers how Derek had wrenched him out of the water and swiftly ripped her head off.
Oh.
“We don’t know what her intentions were, Stiles. Nymphs aren’t always hostile creatures as a rule. Don’t you think it was a bit of an adverse reaction?”
Stiles hadn’t really given it much thought at the time, too busy coughing and spluttering on the bank of the river. Scott had gone ballistic at Derek when he heard what happened; both for leaving Stiles alone in foreign territory and for killing the Naiad without trying to reason with her first. He’s still a stickler for not killing anyone or anything.
“But that was years ago, and he was just protecting a fellow pack member, right? He would have done it for any of us, that’s just what he’s like.” He looks up into the starlit sky and then over at Lydia.
She levels him with a pointed look. Stiles lets his head drop into his hands, running them through his hair in frustration.
“Derek has come a long way emotionally since we first knew him, but more often than not, he doesn’t let himself have things he doesn’t think he deserves,” Lydia says softly, her hand on his arm.
“That’s some self-deprecating bullshit, right there,” he says, going for malicious but his voice is weak. Why did he reject me when I kissed him at the Bachelor Party? is what he wants to say, but he feels a little pathetic even thinking about it. If what Lydia is hinting at is true, it would explain a lot about Derek’s earlier actions and behaviour. Stiles had boarded the hope train after they’d had their moment at the guest table, but the whole thing was a total headfuck, and Lydia is making him overthink things he’d never over thought before.
Lydia huffs and pulls on his arm so that he untangles his fingers from his hair and is forced to look at her. He can’t place the look on her face—a touch sympathetic still? And he really doesn’t want her sympathy right now because he feels like he’s just wasted years and years pining over a guy that has danced around his feelings because he won’t let himself have nice things.
“He was fucked up for so long. He doesn’t—I know you’ve probably heard this a million times now, but you need to talk to him about all of this. He was pretty cut up about it, he even came to me for advice, thinking he’d fucked up your friendship or whatever.”
It didn’t make Stiles feel any better that Derek had been thinking the same as he had been. Fuck, he wishes he’d not been such a coward and had talked to Derek about it after he’d text him the day after. Lydia has been dropping some pretty heavy hints, but Stiles needs to talk it through and hear it firsthand from the werewolf’s mouth.
Lydia had said that they gravitate towards each other and now he was starting to see that that was true. How many times had they paired up on stakeouts, research marathons, pack projects? Countless hours spent in each other’s company, blurring the lines and going from enemies, to allies, to friends, to whatever it is that they are now.
And Stiles did go to him, he always does. Stiles may have been drunk and stupid and brave in that moment in the club but to him it had been quite clear what he was laying out on the table. Years of dampened down feelings had come bursting out in that kiss so if Derek felt the same, why did he stop it?
“I kissed him, Lydia,” he starts, “and I know I was wasted, but I’m pretty sure he wasn’t really kissing me back. When he stopped it he said we shouldn’t. I mean, it’s all a bit hazy because hey, alcohol, but I’m pretty sure he said he didn’t want me.”
Lydia is quiet for a long time. “Did he actually say that though, Stiles? Do you think maybe you didn’t let him finish?”
When he doesn’t answer, she gives him a look which says she isn’t saying anymore on that subject, he’ll have to ask Derek himself.
“Derek used to have anger as his anchor, Stiles. Have you ever given any thought to what it is now?” Lydia’s voice is so quiet, but so sure. And Stiles knows he’s a smart cookie but he will never ever underestimate Lydia’s ability to be undeniably smart, strikingly beautiful and incredibly perceptive. “He came over to scent you before he went on the run. He needed to carry your scent with him because it’s familiar and calming to both him and the wolf.”
Stiles’ eyes widen, incredulous. He wants to say something, but he gets the feeling that Lydia isn’t done. He’s not sure how many more emotional bombshells he can take being dropped on him.
“Now, I don’t want you to beat yourself up over this but I think you should know.” Lydia looks down at the patio and then back up to him sheepishly. “When you started dancing with that other guy in the club, Derek kind of wolfed out.” Stiles can’t hide his surprise, he gapes at Lydia. No one had told him what happened to Derek, he’d just assumed that Derek was too humiliated by Stiles’ actions that he hadn’t wanted to face him and the inevitable awkwardness and so just left.
Lydia nods grimly. “I mean, the aconite probably didn’t help matters,” she carries on, and Stiles feels a flash of guilt over that too, “but Scott and Jordan had to hold him back from going over there and ripping the guy to pieces, Stiles. Scott had to whammy him to snap him out of it before he drew too much attention to himself.”
“Why didn’t Scott tell me?” he asks quietly, because he can’t think of anything else to say and he’s feeling the guilt weighing down on him. The worry that he’d potentially ruined Scott’s Bachelor Party with his drunken antics was increasing with every word Lydia said. Not to mention the fact that Derek was apparently the jealous type. Now that was a revelation.
“Scott didn’t tell you because he could tell you were kicking yourself about what happened as it was,” she tells him. “What with the wedding and work, he didn’t want to add on any more stress than you were already dealing with.”
Really, Scott deserves a medal. There haven’t been many times that Stiles has been able to say that with absolute integrity but this is definitely one of those times. He’s going to have to make it up to him somehow.
Lydia must read his mind. “Scott just wants you to be happy, and Derek. We all want that.”
Stiles sighs. In the distance, he can hear several long, happy howls echoing through the trees in unison. Lydia smiles at him and he smiles back despite himself because that’s their pack, their family. All they want for each other is to be happy. Lydia shuffles herself so she can lay her head in Stiles’ lap and he plays with her hair absently, staring out at the forest beyond the clearing in front of them.
Stiles is broken out of his thoughts a little while later when another round of howls erupts a little beyond the tree line, much closer than before. Stiles has no idea how long he and Lydia have been sitting there in companionable silence, he’s been too busy focusing on what the hell he’s going to say to Derek when he gets back.
Which isn’t going to be long if the proximity of the howls are anything to go by.
Stiles stiffens, straightening up a little bit and jostling Lydia’s head resting in his lap. She gives him a look, affronted, before she sits up.
“Shit Lydia, they’re coming back,” he says and the looks she gives him screams ‘No Shit Sherlock.’ “What do I do?”
“Uh, talk to him?” she says, and the obviously is unspoken but her tone says it all the same. “You’re sharing a room, Stiles. You can’t run from this anymore.”
He can feel himself panicking because this is big. They’re going to have to talk and despite Lydia waxing poetic about Derek’s Epic Love for Stiles for the past hour he can’t help but fear rejection. They all know, like Lydia said, that Derek doesn’t often let himself have nice things, but maybe now is the time. The pack is stable, they have allies all over the state and the country beyond, not to mention the fact that Derek is obviously in a good enough place to rebuild his family home, despite the ghosts that haunt the place.
Some might say you have to live with the ghosts forever, but you can’t let them haunt you, you have to turn their sorrow into the strength you need to move on.
And Stiles isn’t a ghost—he’s very, very real.
Stiles is broken out of his reverie when Lydia elbows him gently in the side. He squints towards the tree line and can make out a few figures emerging into the clearing, followed by the familiar form of a wolf. Scott and Malia are still out in the forest, probably getting ready to consummate their marriage in the traditional werewolf way—and Stiles had left the room when that part of the conversation had come up and he wasn’t entirely sure that there wasn’t some freaky sex-ritual that they had to do—so they won’t be back for a couple of hours at least.
Liam and Angela are shoving playfully at each other while Brady looks on fondly, their smiles so wide the starlight makes their teeth glint. Derek veers off towards the tree where he’d left his clothes. Stiles can feel his heart thumping in his chest as he watches the fur on Derek’s back ripple like a wave before it recedes, his two front legs changing to arms as Derek stands up straight. The change is seamless, effortless, and within the blink of an eye he’s human once more.
And very noticeably naked.
Stiles swallows and breathes in heavily. He takes in the way the muscles in Derek’s back shift and pull at the inked skin between his shoulder blades. The way he strides, so confidently and unabashed at his own nudity, the rest of the distance across the clearing. The way his eyes are ablaze with the residual feeling of the shift.
Stiles is in awe of him. He’s in awe of the fact that he’s never seen Derek look so alive, relaxed and happy in his own skin.
As if he can feel the hungry eyes on him, Derek looks over his shoulder, a small smile quirking his lips before he bends over to pick up his clothes and Stiles is done.
Just like when his feelings overwhelmed him after the kiss at the Bachelor Party, he looks for an escape.
He runs, bolting up and away from Lydia and the clearing towards the main building. He is terrified. Terrified that the fire of happiness he can see all over Derek right now might someday be extinguished. He wants to be able to do anything and everything he can to make sure that Derek experiences all the happiness he deserves—whether he thinks he deserves it or not.
He is in love with Derek Hale.
Fuck, I am in love with Derek Hale, he thinks as he opens the door to his room, their room, with shaking hands. The room is stuffy from having had the summer sun beating on it for most of the afternoon and Stiles frantically undoes the top few buttons of his shirt. He throws the balcony doors open to let some welcome fresh air into the room before he face-plants his bed, groaning.
He has got to stop running from this. He’s the type of guy to barrel headfirst into a battle with no regard for the consequences. He’s the type to bring only his quick wit and a baseball bat to fight between creatures with claws and fangs and glowing eyes. He’s been throwing himself into dangerous situations since the age of sixteen. Lives aren’t at stake here so why does he feel so fucking scared?
___________________
Stiles is lying face down on the bed feeling pathetic and trying to figure out what he’s going to say to Derek when he hears the soft thump of feet landing on the balcony outside. He doesn’t even bother moving, too busy in the midst of his freak-out, when Derek enters the room.
“I thought you’d grown out of sneaking into my room through the window?” he mumbles. “It’s awfully 2011 of you.”
Derek huffs with what could be amusement, but Stiles thinks there’s an irritated edge to it. “You forget we only have one key? I heard you open the balcony door so I thought I’d climb in to save you the trouble of getting up. I could tell you were having an existential crisis all the way out in the woods.”
“Oh how considerate of you,” he says sarcastically, risking a glance at Derek. His face is void of expression but he somehow manages to look comical considering he’s covered in dirt from the forest and there are leaves and twigs in his hair. “I appreciate the fact that you are so in tune with my emotions, I really am. How awesome it must be to know everything someone is feeling.”
“I can’t just turn it off, Stiles,” Derek says, sighing.
“Well can’t you at least try? Because sometimes I’d like to keep my feelings to myself without the whole werewolf population of California knowing them as well.”
Derek snorts and rolls his eyes before he starts unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest and stomach to be also streaked with dirt. Stiles’ mouth goes dry without his consent and Derek smirks knowingly.
“I’m going to take a shower,” he says as his shirt hits the floor and he starts on the button of his pants.
Stiles doesn’t even bother to reply, just sits there gaping like a fish and stewing in his own irritation and arousal. He feels like he’s a teenager again, the both of them being too proud and angry to be anything other than scornful and sarcastic to each other. Did Derek come back and just expect them to immediately start talking about their feelings? He must know Stiles is freaking the fuck out right now; he hasn’t has nearly enough time to gather is thoughts. He’s literally just realised about ten minutes prior that he’s in love with the guy and he feels like they’ve just taken a giant step backwards.
When he was younger, he’d been partial to low-key fantasising about what a relationship with Derek would be like. He’d always imagined lots of glaring from Derek whenever Stiles couldn’t stop himself from talking or moving, gradually wearing down Derek’s walls until he became something softer that only Stiles was allowed to see. He’d imagined getting thrown against walls a lot, which tended to end in mutual orgasms as a result of the violence instead of it ending in the threats that he’d received in reality.
He wonders now if this is what a relationship with Derek would be like—bickering little arguments every day over petty things like how Stiles leaves the tap running when he brushes his teeth, how Derek is a complete neat freak and how neither of them can ever decide what to eat for dinner.
He decides doesn’t care, he wants it all.
Stiles hears the shower start running and the squeak of Derek stepping onto the tub and he decides fuck it, no time like the present. He gets up off the bed and strides towards the bathroom, noting that Derek has left the door unlocked when he enters. He trips on the pair of pants that are in the middle of the floor and nearly brains himself on the tiled wall.
He needs to fix this.
Stiles knows that Derek knows he’s there so he puts the lid down on the toilet and sits down on it, trying to think of what to say.
“There’s no point to you being in here Stiles,” he starts, and Stiles tries very hard not to look at his shadowed outline through the shower curtain. “I can’t tell how you’re feeling over the noise of the shower and the smell of this god-awful shampoo.”
Stiles snorts. “There’s only room for one sarcastic asshole in this pack, you’re crossing the line now. How come the shampoo smells bad? This place is literally run by werewolves, you’d think they’d choose werewolf-friendly shampoo? You know, I always pegged you for an Old Spice kinda guy, so you can feel at one with nature by smelling of trees and sacred masculinity and shit all the time. But your hair always smells nice, sweet like honey most of the time but sometimes it’s a bit minty like tea-tree, maybe?”
Fucking hell, he’s rambling about soap preferences and the way Derek’s hair smells when he’s supposed to be talking about his feelings. What the fuck is wrong with him?
But Derek is laughing. He can hear it filtering out from behind the shower curtain and the sound hits him like a punch to the gut. He wants to make Derek laugh like that every day of his damn life.
All of a sudden, Derek pulls back the curtain slightly. He’s grinning and his eyes are so bright, like they were earlier when he came back from the run. His hair is flattened, sticking to his head and face with the weight of the water as droplets slide down his face and drip off the end of his nose. Stiles raises his eyebrows, unable to take his eyes off Derek’s stupidly perfect face when he looks so stupidly happy.
“Herbal Essences,” he says simply.
Stiles lets out a strangled, incredulous laugh before Derek is pulling back the shower curtain all the way and revealing him in all his naked glory once again.
Derek reaches out, and before Stiles can even register what’s going on, he’s being hauled up to standing by strong hands grabbing the front of his shirt.
Stiles’ heart jumps as he’s pulled close, noticing the water clumping on Derek’s eyelashes and the way his lips are so wet and pink and open before they’re on his and all coherent thoughts fly out the window. Derek’s lips are soft yet insistent and Stiles tries to melt into it, turning his head the same way Derek does and works quickly to right himself. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands because Derek’s naked so he just clings onto Derek’s biceps as the kiss deepens.
He’s dully aware that he’s now wet, Derek’s damp hands that were on his shirt are now on his neck, cradling his face. Beads of water drip off his hair and onto Stiles’ face and he’s jolting ever so slightly in surprise every time a droplet hits him and it’s awkward but he really doesn’t care.
Because Derek is kissing him.
Right after his mouth ran away with him about toiletries.
He pulls away, frowning and wrinkling his nose up. “Damn, that shampoo really does smell gross.”
Derek lifts one eyebrow, looking amused. Stiles just stands there, confused and trying desperately not to let his eyes stray below the waist. He’s one-hundred percent unsuccessful. Derek turns around to turn the water off and gestures towards the rack for Stiles to hand him his towel.
“That confusion you’re feeling right now,” Derek says as he takes the towel from Stiles and wraps it around his hips, “that’s exactly how I felt last week when you kissed me.”
Stiles gapes at Derek. “Did you seriously just kiss me to make a point?”
Derek sighs, looking at the floor. “It just—it took me by surprise. You were talking about fucking superheroes and then all of a sudden you were in my lap and you were drunk and I just didn’t want it to happen like that.”
“Well how did you want it to happen?” Stiles scoffs. He wants off this god damn emotional rollercoaster. One minute they’re trading sarcastic barbs and kissing and the next they’re arguing and Stiles is dying of frustration here. “Please, Derek, tell me. What was so wrong about how it happened? It was organic, spontaneous. And in that moment, I just obviously really wanted to fucking kiss you.”
“It didn’t feel like a moment for us,” Derek replies, sounding pained while looking anywhere but at Stiles. “It didn’t feel right. We were drunk and the pack was there and I just felt too exposed.” His eyes finally land on Stiles’ face, his expression completely unguarded. “It should’ve been a private moment, it should’ve been special.”
Stiles just stands there, breathing heavily and fighting the urge to roll his eyes. He doesn’t, because it’s kind of an insensitive thing to do while Derek is trying to pour his heart out to him in the bathroom of all places.
“You can’t plan out everything in life, Derek,” he adds softly. “Maybe I just got tired of waiting. I may have been drunk and I may have spent the past week regretting what I did and how I did it and now I’m just so confused because it kind of seems like you want me too but you literally pushed me away, and I spent this past week thinking that I’d fucked everything up between us.”
“I wanted to explain, Stiles,” Derek starts, moving gradually closer and Stiles can’t help but feel trapped in the tiny bathroom. He feels like he’s being backed into a corner by a wild animal, which isn’t a hundred miles away from the truth. “I figured you weren’t ready to talk about it. And I wanted you to come to me. I was always going to let you come to me, because I wanted you to be sure that I’m what you really want.”
Stiles feels his back hit the bathroom door and Derek stops moving towards him, being mindful to keep a foot of charged air between them. “Well this evening, I’ve been reliably informed that it’s obvious what I want. I might as well make myself a t-shirt that says ‘I want you, Derek Hale’, not that I apparently need to considering the old werewolf senses. Even Lydia knows and she hasn’t got a super-sniffer like you guys and oh god, I need to stop fucking talking.”
A wave of anxiety crests over him suddenly because he’s aware that he doesn’t know what he’s fucking doing here and that is causing him to run his mouth in a way that could be considered far from endearing.
He wants Derek; the whole shebang. Boyfriends, life-partners, lovers, the lot. And apparently they’ve both spent the last week in emotional what-do-I-do-about-my-feelings limbo because Stiles didn’t kiss Derek at ‘the right time’.
Well, it was never going to be easy, was it?
“Actually, if they didn’t know before, they certainly do after I drunkenly attacked you with my mouth, tried to make you jealous by dancing with some dudebro and you went all wolfman in the middle of a packed nightclub.” Stiles tries to laugh, but it comes out kind of maniacal and he curses himself inwardly.
“I mean, it’s not the most ideal start to a relationship but I’ll take it regardless,” Derek says, almost shyly.
Stiles’ heart starts to thump even more wildly in his chest. Derek probably can’t hear anything else, it’s so loud. Hell, every werewolf in a hundred mile radius can probably hear it right now.
“You want that with me?” Stiles asks as Derek starts to move closer to him. He can feel the body heat radiating from Derek’s bare chest and he feels like he’s struggling to breathe amongst the heat and the residual steam from the shower.
Derek rolls his eyes fondly, inching ever closer and until they’re pressed together from the hips down. Stiles tries so hard not to squeak embarrassingly. He is again one hundred percent unsuccessful.
“Just checking, since apparently I should’ve run it by you before, that now is a good time to kiss you? Because it sure feels like it could be a good time. You know, the intentions from both parties has now been established and—”
“You’re going to shut up now Stiles,” Derek breathes, and suddenly his mouth is against Stiles’ lips, “because I’m going to make you.”
That’s more like it.
This kiss is needy. Derek’s crowding him against the door, pressing him against it with the hard line of his body as he licks into Stiles’ mouth. Derek’s got one hand under his jaw, his thumb on Stiles’ cheek and he’s angling Stiles’ head to deepen the kiss. It makes his head spin, his knees weak and he’s making these stupid little moaning noises high in his throat.
Derek pulls away slightly, and his eyes are a little wild. He darts back in and noses against Stiles’ jaw, moving lower until his face is in Stiles’ neck. Stiles bares it for him, exposing the column of his throat and it feels almost instinctual. Derek groans into the skin and inhales deeply.
“You’ve been driving me crazy all day,” Derek breathes into Stiles’ neck, and he can sympathise because the feeling is very much mutual. He’s trying to ignore the way his skin is breaking out in goosebumps despite the heat in the room and the fact that Derek is pressed against him wearing nothing but a towel. “You smelled frustrated and sad. It’s why I’ve wanted—needed to be close to you all day. Because there’s no reason for you to be sad but I think the reason might have been me.”
Stiles feels his eyes widen. He knows that the werewolves tend to monitor the others’ chemosignals without even really realising they’re doing it. It’s so ingrained in them at this point to look out for each other in that way but he had no idea how deeply they could sense it. He hopes it’s a born-wolf thing because god knows he doesn’t want Scott to have been worrying about why his best friend smelled sad on his wedding day.
Derek pulls away until they’re eye to eye and he cradles Stiles’ face in his hands. “Did you really think that I didn’t want you?”
Stiles tries to look away because no, he doesn’t think that now.
Derek reaches down and grabs one of Stiles’ wrists gently, bringing his hand up so that he’s touching Derek’s bare chest, right over his heart. “Feel my heartbeat?” and Stiles nods, because he does. Stiles suddenly can’t look away from the intense look Derek is giving him. “I want you, I want an us. You’re beautiful and chaotic and fierce and loyal and so god damn annoying all the fucking time, but I don’t care because I’m in love with you.”
The thumping of Derek’s heart remains steady throughout, beating firmly against his palm. If his heartbeat doesn’t convey his truth, his eyes do.
He lets out a shaky breath, and his head falls back against the door. He doesn’t want to wait anymore either so he runs his hand down Derek’s body, his fingers bumping over the ridges of his abs. “You can’t say shit like that and not expect me to want to rip that towel off you.”
Derek chuckles then smirks at Stiles, looking at him through his still-wet eyelashes. He jerks his head up slightly as if he’s daring Stiles. “So do it.”
Stiles does.
The towel drops down to the floor and Stiles’ mouth goes dry—like Sahara Desert dry—because Derek is naked and within touching distance and Stiles’ brain just does not want to work right now. His hands reach out without his brain’s permission, and he pulls Derek in so he’s pressed flush against his body. They’re both getting hard now. Stiles can feel the line of Derek’s cock, and he wants so much that it’s heady, intoxicating.
They kiss and the intent now is different; more frantic and fervent. Stiles feels Derek’s hands on his chest, ripping apart his shirt so that the buttons pop off all over the tiles of the bathroom floor. Derek is licking into Stiles’ mouth so he can’t bring himself to care—he has a million white dress shirts but there’s only one Derek.
Derek pulls away and starts biting at the exposed flesh, trailing down from Stiles’ neck to his collarbone. “There’s another reason why I had to stop you last week,” he says, nipping at Stiles’ collarbone and smoothing his hands down his sides. “I could feel you hard against me and I didn’t know if I’d be able to resist. The aconite dampens my control,” he stops talking briefly to suck hard over the bone and Stiles can feel his knees buckle, “but I haven’t had any today, and I want you. So fucking bad.”
“So have me,” Stiles breathes out on a moan. Derek has moved back up to his neck now. He can feel the sharp rasp of stubble over the sensitive skin as Derek sucks more marks onto the thin skin of his throat. “I need us to move onto a horizontal surface like yesterday, preferably,” he says, as his hands trail up and down Derek’s back.
“Well,” Derek says, finally pulling away from Stiles’ neck, admiring the array of marks he’s managed to leave on Stiles’ pale skin, “we have two beds to choose from out there.”
Stiles shoves at his shoulders and herds him out into the bedroom, glad to be free of the stifling confines of their tiny en suite bathroom. He shoves Derek towards his bed, the double, and takes great satisfaction at the sight before him; Derek, spread out, naked, laid bare for him and only him to see.
His mouth was dry before but now it waters. Derek is looking at him with a predatory glint in his eyes, laying back casually on his elbows with one knee up. His cock is fully hard, straining up towards his stomach with a slight curve to the right. Stiles unconsciously starts unbuckling his belt and dropping his pants, Derek’s eyes track the movement hungrily. He slips the remains of his shirt off his shoulders and lets it slide onto the floor, along with his pants and underwear.
Stiles crawls onto the bed and knee-walks over to Derek until he’s straddling his hips. Derek pulls him down so they’re flush against each other, their cocks brushing. Stiles lets out a hiss as he looks down their bodies, Derek’s hips shifting up slightly.
“Stiles,” Derek says, his voice low and raspy. He reaches up and presses his hand lightly against Stiles’ nape. Stiles looks up at Derek’s face and he can’t resist dipping his head down to kiss Derek. For once, he can’t really think of anything to say so he puts everything into the kiss. It’s desperate and messy, but not like that first time at the Bachelor Party. This time Stiles is pretty sure that Derek isn’t going anywhere.
Stiles starts to roll his hips down and they both moan into the kiss. Derek’s hands wander down to Stiles’ ass, trying to control the rhythm of his hips. Stiles pulls away and bites his lip when Derek slips a finger between his cheeks. He looks up at Stiles questioningly, rubbing a dry fingertip lightly over his hole.
“Fuck,” Stiles says, dropping his forehead onto Derek’s shoulder. “So on board with that plan. I think I have some lube in my bag.” He reaches back and taps Derek’s arm signalling for Derek to let him up. It’s a lie, he knows he has lube in his bag and Derek’s looking at him with one eyebrow raised and Stiles realises what it looks like. “Oh god, I didn’t pack it thinking that this, or anything, would happen. I um—” he rubs the back of his neck nervously as he gets up and heads towards his overnight bag. “I keep it in there for when I have to go away for work. Week-long conferences can get a bit boring, you know?”
He manages to find the lube in the side pocket of his bag. Derek still has his eyebrow raised, looking amused and that’s when his brain catches up with him. “Oh fuck, no. I don’t go around sleeping with everyone. I don’t sleep with anyone, I mean not like ever, I’ve obviously—I just meant I like to use it when I jerk off.”
What is it about being around Derek that makes his brain go haywire? He hasn’t been like this since he was a teenager abusing his Adderall.
He risks a look at Derek, his cheeks burning and Derek is laughing. Stiles narrows his eyes at him until he stops. He erection has flagged a little bit and he’s aware of how stupid he looks standing naked and confused at the foot of the bed holding a half-full bottle of lube.
“Stiles, get over here,” Derek says, clearly not put off. He moves to sit up and props himself up against the headboard. Stiles gets on the bed and swings his leg over to straddle Derek’s thighs, still holding the lube awkwardly in one hand and Derek’s shoulder with the other. Derek gets a hand around his cock and it doesn’t take long for him to be fully hard again.
“Am I dreaming?” he breathes as Derek tightens his grip. “You still want to have sex with me even after I’ve exposed you to my verbal diarrhoea?”
Derek leans up to bite at Stiles’ earlobe. “Used to it by now. But don’t ever say the word diarrhoea again while we’re in bed together, okay?”
“Roger that,” Stiles says breathily. He reaches down to stroke Derek’s cock in time with Derek’s movements. Derek hisses and Stiles gets lost in the feeling for a while before he remembers the lube in his hand. He leans back slightly and waves it in front of Derek’s face. “I did not just humiliate myself getting this for nothing. I want you to fuck me, do you want that?”
Derek lets out a sharp breath through his nose, his eyes going dark. His eyebrows contort into the ‘Are you stupid?’ configuration, and Jesus, he’s seen that one a lot over the years. He’s so glad he’s fluent in the language of Derek’s eyebrows.
Stiles whimpers when Derek lets go of his cock, but it’s to grab the lube off his chest and coat his fingers. “Like this okay?” Derek asks, trailing his wet fingers down the cleft of Stiles’ ass.
“Umm, yea,” Stiles says, setting his hands on Derek’s shoulders for balance. “Unless you want me to do it myself?”
He feels a little smug at the noise that Derek lets out at that. “As tempting as it would be to watch you finger yourself open,” Derek grits out as his wet fingertips run down his back towards his ass, “I really want to watch you fall apart on my fingers as well as my cock.”
Stiles lets out an unintelligible noise as he tips his head back to look at the ceiling because Jesus, he might need a minute. He’s finding out a lot about Derek today; he gets jealous but not necessarily possessive, he’s a bit of a romantic and he’s apparently got a filthy mouth. Stiles is more than okay with all of the above.
Stiles gasps when he feels Derek’s fingertip brushing over his hole once again. This time it’s deliciously wet and circles the opening a few times before Derek slides it into him in one smooth push. Derek’s got one of Stiles’ thighs in his hand, rubbing his thumb gently over the skin and tensed muscle. It’s been a while since Stiles did this, even to himself.
Stiles drops his head down to rest on Derek’s shoulder when he feels Derek start to move his finger in and out. It’s not long before a second is nudging in beside the first and it’s a bit more of a stretch but it’s good.
It’s good because this is Derek and they’re really doing this.
“Fuck,” Stiles groans when Derek twists his fingers and they brush over his prostate. “I can’t believe we’re doing this. Never thought when I woke up this morning that today would end like this.”
Derek adds a third finger. It burns a little, but Stiles doesn’t care because Derek’s fingers keep dragging over his prostate, sending sparks of pleasure up and down his spine.
“We’re just getting started,” Derek says, his voice gravelly and deep in a way Stiles hasn’t heard before. Stiles moans again, overwhelmed.
Derek fingers him until he’s relaxed and loose, nearly boneless and struggling to hold himself up over Derek.
“Can we get to the fucking part now? I distinctly remember that being a thing that was mentioned.”
Derek slowly pulls his fingers free and Stiles can hear the click of the lube being opened. Derek slumps down a little against the headboard, and Stiles rearranges himself so his thighs are resting on Derek’s. He’s slowly coating the lube on his dick and looking up at Stiles through his eyelashes intently.
Stiles takes a moment to just watch, because this is something he’s been thinking about on and off since he was sixteen. He nearly picks up the lube just to make sure he can read and understand the words on the label.
He swallows thickly. “You look pretty comfy there, it seems a shame to get you to move. Want me to ride you?”
Derek’s eyes close and he lets a heavy breath expel through his nose. “Fuck, yes. Please, Stiles.”
The way Derek says his name, all breathy and desperate, has him scrabbling frantically to get in position. He grips Derek’s shoulder with one hand and his cock with the other and lines them up. He looks down at Derek, who’s looking up at him as if Stiles has his whole life in his hands. It’s such an unguarded and open expression that Stiles whines and starts to bear down.
They both moan as Stiles slides down the length of Derek’s cock slowly. It’s glacial, because it really has been a while, and Stiles appreciates how perfectly still and restrained Derek is being as he watches Stiles take his cock. His hands are doing that clenching and unclenching thing at his sides, and he vaguely remembers Derek doing that when they kissed in the club. At that moment Stiles realises that it’s because Derek is trying hard to hold himself back.
Derek’s head tips back against the headboard, his eyes closed and his mouth open when he bottoms out. Stiles pants through the burn of the intrusion, his thighs shaking. He’s got both hands back on Derek’s shoulders, digging bruises that won’t ever form into the flesh.
“Derek,” Stiles says, and reaches for one of Derek’s hands at his side and places it on his hip, “you can touch me, I want you to touch me. Just give me a minute.”
Derek opens his eyes, and his pupils are so dilated that Stiles isn’t sure what colour they are anymore. He leans down and kisses Derek on his open mouth, fucking his tongue inside. He squeezes experimentally around Derek, and Derek moans into his mouth, both hands moving to grip his thighs. He doesn’t try to get Stiles to move though.
They kiss lazily and unhurried, getting used to the feeling of each other. Stiles feels the burn start to subside, and he pulls away from Derek’s mouth to place one of his hands on the headboard.
“I’m going to move now,” he tells Derek, who nods and squeezes his thighs gently. Stiles lifts up slightly and rocks back down a few times, getting used to the feeling. Once he’s sure it’s not going to hurt too much he moves up, nearly all the way off Derek’s cock and then slams back down. “Oh god, that’s good.”
Derek looks pained, but he’s making these delicious little groaning noises every time Stiles moves. Stiles wants to burn those sounds into his memory because he’s the one drawing them out of Derek.
Stiles grips the headboard, using it as leverage as he starts to move in earnest. He throws his head back with a loud moan when Derek helps him move faster, slipping his hands to his ass to lift him up and then press him down.
“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek pants, and he sounds wrecked. “I wish you could see yourself right now. Can’t believe you would ever think I don’t want you.”
Stiles falls forward so they’re pressed chest to chest and the change in angle causes Derek’s dick to hit his prostate on pretty much every thrust. Stiles can’t stop making noise when Derek starts to shift his hips up to meet Stiles on the way down, digging his heels into the bed and thank god for werewolf strength because Stiles is realising that he really likes it hard.
The friction of Derek’s ridiculous abs rubbing against his dick is great and all, but it’s not gonna get him off. He sits up and reaches down to get a hand on himself. His strokes are clumsy but he’s still not going to last much longer with the way that Derek is nailing his prostate.
Derek’s hips continue their brutal rhythm, stuttering every couple of thrusts and Stiles is getting close. “Fuck, Derek, don’t fucking stop.”
“You gonna come?” Derek asks, digging his fingers into the flesh of Stiles’ ass so hard he’s bound to leave marks. “Please, Stiles, I wanna see. I wanna feel you come on my dick.”
“Fuck, that’s hot,” he says, stroking himself faster and grinding down on Derek’s dick every time it’s fully inside him. He feels like he’s about to vibrate out of his skin, and he can’t stop the moans escaping amongst the litany of fuck and Derek and so close, god that spills out of his mouth. Derek’s hand closes around the hand that’s stripping his cock and he looks down at Derek and he is done.
He comes with a shout, clenching down hard on Derek’s dick inside him and shooting his release up onto his stomach. He’s aware of Derek moaning beneath him, and his dick twitches as the final few spurts of come land on their joined hands and drip down onto Derek’s stomach.
Stiles is still riding the high when Derek lifts him off his dick and flips him over so he's on his back on the bed with Derek over him. He spreads his legs automatically and Derek settles between them, his cock nudging once again at Stiles' hole. "Can I?"
Stiles gets his hands on Derek’s ass and pulls him forward. "Jesus, yes. Just don't expect me to do anything but lie here and take it. You've fucking killed me."
Derek full on growls and nudges his cock back inside Stiles in one smooth push. "Not gonna last long," he says when he starts to thrust hard again.
Derek grasps Stiles' thighs and hikes them up onto his hips so he can get deeper. Stiles keens and feels his dick twitch again but he's so fucked out he can't see himself being able to get hard again. Derek grabs the headboard with one hand and Stiles feels himself getting jolted up the bed with the force. It's hard yet sensual and it's everything Stiles imagined sex with Derek would be like and more.
"I'm close, Stiles," Derek pants, kissing him sloppily before he rests his head in the crook of Stiles' neck. Stiles thinks he can hear the wood creaking above him. "Can I come inside you?"
Stiles feels a jolt of heat cut through his belly and he bares his neck, turning his head to the side. "Yes Derek, please."
It only takes a couple more thrusts before Derek's hips stutter, and Stiles gasps when he feels—thankfully human—teeth sink into the thin skin of his neck. Everything happens at once; Derek bites him, he feels the hot pulse of come deep inside him and that's definitely the sound of wood splintering above him now.
Derek goes boneless on top of him and he's fucking heavy. Stiles strokes his back as he breathes heavily into Stiles' neck.
"Hey, you okay?" Stiles says quietly.
Derek slowly raises himself up so he's no longer draped over Stiles and he pulls his cock out gently. Stiles tries not to wince, feeling strangely empty.
Derek's eyes are electric blue when they open and he's looking at something above Stiles' head. He squeezes his eyes shut and when they open again, they're no longer glowing.
Then he starts to laugh.
"What?" Stiles blurts, confused. Derek just carries on laughing and holds up a jagged piece of wood.
He broke the headboard. He came so hard he broke the headboard.
Stiles laughs incredulously and can't help but feel a little smug. "I made you come so hard you broke the headboard, wow. Better not make a habit of that. Actually, I don't really care as long as you don't break me."
Derek's eyes turn hard and he frowns, throwing the piece of wood onto the floor. "I would never hurt you."
Stiles rolls his eyes. "I know that. Fuck, Scott's gonna kill us. Pretty sure he had to pay some kind of security deposit."
"I'll pay him back." Derek moves to lay down next to where Stiles is sprawled out on the bed. "Anyway, it was so worth it."
Stiles can't help the grin that spreads across his face at that and he definitely doesn't want to when Derek curls up next to him, pressing all along his right side. He slings his arm over Stiles' waist and presses his forehead to Stiles' temple. It's so weirdly intimate that Stiles feels his face heat.
All that they just did and this is what makes him blush?
"So I'm guessing we should probably talk," Derek says softly. Stiles sobers instantly, warm fuzzy feelings abruptly served an immediate eviction notice.
"We talked earlier?" he offers, unsure of where this is going. "There were feelings shared, loads in fact."
"Relax, I just mean I think we should talk while our heads are clear and not in a lust-driven haze."
Stiles raises an eyebrow even though he knows Derek can't see him. "Dude, I'm totally fucked out right now. I was of sounder mind earlier when you were tempting me with your sarcasm, wet body and undying love for Herbal Essences shampoo. That shit is weirdly endearing and has only made me more attracted to you and your ridiculously good smelling hair. Now however, my brain has melted into goo and is slowly leaking out of my ears thanks to the power of your dick and the amazing orgasm it gave me. I'm barely coherent right now."
Derek is quiet for a while, but Stiles thinks he can feel the outline of his smile against his cheek. "You’re rarely coherent. And I dunno, maybe I should try harder next time because I really don't think you should be able to string that many words together with a brain that's been turned into goo."
Stiles swats at the arm that's draped over him gently. "Okay, you got me," he sighs. "Sorry, it’s just there's always negative connotations with the words 'we should talk'. Plus, I really need to shower because I’m kinda covered in come right now and it’s gonna get gross real fast." Derek trails a hand down to Stiles’ lower belly and rubs his fingers through the mess. Stiles screws his face up because ew and his face stays that way until it turns into a long, drawn out yawn.
“It can wait until morning,” Derek says, grabbing the sheets from where they’ve got rucked up towards the bottom of the bed. He flips Stiles onto his side and pulls the sheet over them in one swift movement, moving in close so he’s pressed all along Stiles’ back. No shower then.
“Dude, I’m gonna be all gross and crusty when I wake up. You’ll have to peel me from these here sheets,” Stiles mumbles. He can feel his body relaxing into Derek’s behind him and he’s overcome with sleepiness and contentment. He knows they still have a lot to discuss but after everything, it’s nice to just have a quiet moment of realisation that this is actually real.
Derek takes a breath against Stiles’ nape and he tangles their legs together under the sheets. “I’ll make it up to you in the shower in the morning.” His voice is low and he gives Stiles’ neck a gentle nip and yes, he’ll take that. He can’t even be bothered to be ashamed at being so easily bribed. He’s woken up in worse states before anyway. “Besides, you smell so fucking good right now I don’t think I could let you leave this bed even if you tried.”
Fucking werewolves, Stiles thinks, but he finds he can’t wipe the grin off his face.
___________________
Stiles wakes up surprisingly early considering he’s pretty sure they didn’t fall asleep until the early hours of the morning. He can feel a cool breeze filtering through the room and he realises that the balcony doors are open. The breeze is welcoming especially as it appears he has a literal furnace attached to his back.
Everything comes rushing back to him and he grins.
He tries to lay there a while longer, enjoying having Derek curled around him, his breath soft as he exhales sleepily onto Stiles’ neck. The urge to pee is what finally forces him to wriggle out from under Derek’s arm and out of bed. He looks down at himself then decides to put on yesterday’s boxers for now as it’s pretty gnarly down there and Derek had promised to make his morning shower worthwhile. And who is he to look that gift wolf in the mouth?
He pads to the bathroom as quietly as he can, not wanting to disturb Derek as he sleeps. They all know how precious it is to sleep while you can. When there’s the usual supernatural creature passing through town none of them sleep well, too alert to fully switch off.
He relieves himself and on his way out of the bathroom he catches sight of himself in the mirror. He’s covered in hickeys from his collarbone up to his neck. He reaches up to touch at the tender mark on his neck where Derek obviously bit him when he came. He can actually see the indents of Derek’s teeth and he breathes in deeply. He can feel himself getting hard and Jesus, yep, that’s a thing that apparently gets him going.
Perks of dating a werewolf.
He tears himself away from the mirror to go back into the bedroom, still poking at the bite with his fingers. He checks his phone for the time, it’s still early so he decides to let Derek sleep a little longer. They’ve got about an hour before they need to head down to have breakfast anyway.
Stiles frowns when he sees there are over thirty unread messages in the pack group chat, but he decides that can wait until he’s had his first coffee.
Stiles goes over to his bag and pulls on a T-shirt before stepping out onto the balcony. The summer sun is already quite high in the sky, cutting through the slight breeze and making him shiver slightly. He leans against the stone balustrade and looks out at the view in front of him, taking in the looming redwood forest which seems to spread for miles. It’s quiet as well, the only sounds are the birds chirping and the wind passing through the trees.
He closes his eyes, tipping his head back and breathing in deep, smelling the subtle earthy spice of the trees and the waft of cooking bacon on the breeze. He does this sometimes, focuses his sense of smell and hearing and tries to imagine how much more he could smell and hear if he were a wolf. He’s never wanted the bite but he’s always been curious about how it would feel.
“There’s a herd of deer about half a mile south-west of here.” Stiles whirls around, glaring at Derek who just looks amused. He’s wearing nothing but sweatpants, which are sitting so indecently low on his hips that Stiles has to force himself to tear his gaze away and look back up at Derek’s face. “They were just grazing but it sounds like...” he trails off, tilting his head minutely. “It sounds like Liam is now chasing them.”
Stiles snorts.
“Show off,” he grumbles, but there’s no heat in it. “How can you tell it’s Liam?”
“Because he growls like a puppy when he hunts. It’s ridiculous.”
Stiles laughs, turning back around to look out towards the trees. He feels Derek press himself against his back. He nuzzles his face in Stiles’ neck, his arms wrapping around him. Stiles turns his head and they kiss languidly. It’s delicious, sweet and unhurried and just for them.
Or so he thought.
He hears someone wolf-whistling and he and Derek break apart. Stiles looks around, rolling his eyes as he spots Liam running across the clearing towards the main building.
“Bored of hunting Bambi, little wolfie?” He doesn’t bother raising his voice, he knows Liam can hear him. Liam flips him off and Stiles salutes before he disappears from view. Derek snorts out of nowhere.
“What did he say?” Stiles asks. “That reminds me, what did he say yesterday when he came to find us?”
“Honestly, you don’t even want to know,” Derek says, and then adds fondly, “he’s a little shit.”
Stiles grins, resting his head back on Derek’s shoulder.
"So I heard you and Lydia talking while we were out on the run last night.” Stiles raises his eyebrows in surprise. Guess they’re having that talk now. He turns around so he can face Derek, leaning back against the balustrade. “I wasn’t actively listening in, and it wasn’t fair of me to listen to how much I did but my range of hearing is a whole lot bigger when I’m in full shift. She told you that you’re my anchor.”
It’s not a question, so he nods. “Not in so many words but it was heavily implied. What does it mean exactly? What made me the chosen one?”
Derek looks a little sheepish at that, and maybe Stiles shouldn’t be making jokes right now. “It’s been you for a while now. I can’t pinpoint the exact moment but having anger didn’t feel right anymore. There’s an issue with having an emotion as an anchor. If you can’t draw up a strong enough feeling in the moment you need it, it’s futile. It got to a point, when everything settled down and the pack became established and stable, when the positive emotions eclipsed the negative ones.
“But having a physical object, or a person, as an anchor has its benefits. Especially if it’s something you can keep close to you. You’re always there, Stiles, you always have been. You became a constant in my life and soon enough I started thinking about you, how you make me feel, and when I’m shifted I respond well to that.”
Stiles doesn’t respond. He’s trying to understand and get his head around all of the information that he’s been presented with over the past twenty-four hours. He’s glad they waited until now to have this conversation.
“I realised that my feelings for you had gone beyond friendship,” Derek says, looking straight into Stiles’ eyes with such open honesty. “I knew you found me attractive, anyone with supernatural senses could tell that.” Stiles snorts, because he is fully aware of that now and it’s just a little bit embarrassing. “But what I couldn’t tell was whether that was all it was.”
“It wasn’t,” Stiles says softly. “I mean, it might’ve been at the beginning but the more time we spent together the more I started seeing you differently. I started to feel like I was seeing a side of you that no one else could see. And to be honest, it scared me, it still does. It’s intense, and there have been so many times when you’ve nearly died that have put it into perspective about how much I don’t ever want to lose you.”
Derek nods, a small, wistful smile on his face. “I was having the same kind of thoughts about you. If we were in a fight and I couldn’t catch your scent or hear your heartbeat I would panic and it made me vulnerable. All I can do is imagine you getting hurt or dying or not being able to save you.”
“So you’re saying I make you weak? That is such a cliche, Derek. Isn’t it just going to just get worse if we’re together?"
"No, Stiles, you don't make me weak. I find it—it's hard for me to explain," Derek says, and his eyebrows are now in the ‘I don’t know how to explain this in a way your human mind can comprehend’ configuration. And he hasn’t seen that one for a few years now. "I told myself I could never have you like this, that everyone that's close to me gets hurt or ends up dead and it wasn’t fair to put you in that position. I couldn't stop thinking about how someday I might not be able to save you, because while you're pack, you were never mine to protect."
The way Derek says the word 'mine' sends a shiver down Stiles' spine. He knows werewolves are territorial, protective of land and pack and he knows they will do anything and everything to protect that. But Stiles is his own person, he doesn't need to be protected. He's human, but just like Lydia said, he can hold his own. In fact, he's pretty badass.
"You do know you don't have to protect me right?" Stiles says. "Whether we're together or not. I've been running with wolves long enough now to know that you guys feel some kind of obligation to protect the fragile humans of the pack, but I think I do okay. I mean, I haven’t died yet. Granted there have been a few near misses but I signed up for this, I chose this life and I continue to choose it over and over again."
"It's different for me, Stiles," Derek says softly, suddenly looking solemn. "You can leave at any time. You could leave the pack any time you wanted to. It’s not like that for me. You're it for me now.”
Stiles understands what Derek is saying. Wolves tend to feel the pack bonds more strongly than the human members of the pack, but Stiles doesn't have to be able to feel the intensity of the pack bonds to know that he’s in this for the long haul. He’s a day one, original member of the band. He’s fiercely loyal to his pack and short of him dying, nothing is ever going to be bad enough to get him to walk out. You don’t go through as much as they have and not feel that way. They’re his family.
"Why didn't you tell me before?" Stiles asks. "It seems like you've been wrestling with this for a while. Did you talk to anyone?"
Derek grimaces. "Scott and Lydia may have had an inkling." Stiles winces. He may be an Alpha, but Scott is one of the least perceptive people he's ever met, and Stiles can't help but feel a little guilty that Derek's been feeling like this because of him and he didn't even notice and nobody told him. "But they didn't bring it up until after what happened at the bachelor party when I, you know."
"Freaked out in a jealous rage?" Stiles offers. Again, now probably isn't the best time to be making offhand comments but unfortunately, that's just who he is as a person.
Luckily, Derek just rolls his eyes and flicks him hard in the centre of his chest. Stiles rubs at the spot in mock indignation.
Derek sighs. “I was angry at myself. I should’ve gone after you, I should’ve explained why I told you to stop. I just—I felt helpless and then you just went off and started dancing with that guy like it was nothing. Like you hadn't just set something in motion that I'd been trying so desperately to keep a handle on."
“Derek, I’m sorry.” He leans in to kiss Derek softly and he’s relieved when Derek returns the kiss. “I know it’s hardly an excuse but I was drunk and I thought you didn’t want me. I was hurt and embarrassed and I just wanted to forget what had just happened.”
“I’m sorry too,” Derek says. “I thought I was getting better at sharing my feelings.”
Stiles rests his forehead on Derek’s. “You deserve this, you know. You’ve punished yourself for too long. We’re doing this, okay? There’s gonna be good times and bad times, arguments and fights because we're both too sarcastic and too stubborn, but we’ll be okay. We’ll drive the pack insane and I quite frankly, cannot wait.” Derek starts to laugh and Stiles pulls back to look him in the eyes. “I'm pretty fucking in love with you, you know.”
It’s the first time he’s said it and it feels so stupidly right that he feels his heart clench uncomfortably but he doesn’t care because Derek is there, kissing the feeling away.
___________________
They're late going down for breakfast. Stiles maintains that it's entirely Derek's fault. He made good on his promise, sucking Stiles' brain out so thoroughly through his dick in the shower that he'd nearly given himself a concussion when his head had thunked back against the tiled wall.
It had been so, so worth it though when he'd returned the favour a few minutes later. He hadn't been able to see Derek's face when he came the night before and it's one of the many sights he now wants to commit to memory.
They get dressed with stupid little matching smiles on their faces, completely ignoring the mess they’ve made of the sheets and the broken bed. Stiles hopes Brady and Angela employ human housekeepers because he hates to think what the room smells like to a werewolf right now.
Stiles only packed two t-shirts—one to sleep in and one to wear the day after the wedding—and there’s no hiding the bruising bite mark high on his neck. There’s really no denying what it is or exactly who put it there, and he prepares himself for the inescapable barrage of comments that he’ll receive when they go down to meet the others.
Derek comes up behind him while he’s brushing his teeth, staring at the mark again in the bathroom mirror. Stiles smiles around his toothbrush as his stomach swoops, wondering if he’ll ever get used to the feeling of having Derek in such close proximity and being able to touch and kiss him without a second thought.
Their eyes meet in the mirror and Derek’s are dark when they look over the bite mark in the reflection.
“I like seeing my marks on you,” he says, his voice edging on gravelly-low as he starts to crowd Stiles against the counter.
Stiles flails and spits out his mouthful of toothpaste, rinsing quickly so he can turn around and face Derek. “Oh no. Back off, buddy. I know that tone, and while I am currently revelling in the quite frankly enormous ego boost with the knowledge that I turn you the fuck on, we are very much already late. And if Liam hadn’t already spread the word about our little balcony show earlier, this,”—he points to the bite—“is going to confirm suspicions one thousand percent. We can’t then also go down there smelling like we’ve been jumping each other all morning and night, despite how much I want to just lock the door and see how many other ways we can break the bed.”
He waggles his eyebrows but Derek just groans, low and long-suffering. He looks like he’s about to pout. And yes, life is unfair but they have packly duties to attend to. “We have to check out in less than two hours,” he says, matter-of-factly but his voice is still pitched low. “That wouldn’t be nearly enough time for me to do everything I want to do to you."
Stiles groans. “I am not above grabbing that showerhead and hosing you down with cold water. We’ve really gotta go, they probably think we’ve killed each other by now. I mean, I’m pretty sure parts of my brain might have died a few times over the past twelve hours. No wonder they call it la petit mort. Although I’m pretty sure that’s when you pass out after an orgasm. I mean it was a near thing, I think your mouth might literally be magic, dude.”
Derek raises his eyebrows. “Or they think you’ve talked me to death. Also, stop calling me dude.”
“Okay, dude,” Stiles says with a shit-eating grin. Derek rolls his eyes affectionately and they leave the bathroom. “Let’s go face the inevitable.”
They make their way down to a spacious room off the main reception where breakfast is being served. Stiles can hear the pack talking and laughing as they descend the stairs and reach reception. He hears someone shushing loudly and then everything falls silent as they approach the open doorway to the room.
A chorus of cheers erupt from the pack as he and Derek enter and Stiles jumps, looking behind him but it’s just Derek. He looks at everyone and they’re all looking back at the two of them with smug smiles on their faces. Everyone except his dad, all of whom he can see are his eyes up to the top of his head, poking out over the top of the largest newspaper Stiles has ever seen. Who even reads newspapers these days?
They quiet down and Stiles looks over at Derek, a little confused. “I feel like we’ve just crashed a surprise party.”
“Stiles, they’re happy for us.”
“Well, I’m happy for us too.” Stiles looks away from Derek’s sheepish grin and over at the food. “I’m also starving.” Derek herds them over to the empty table between Scott and Malia and his Dad and Natalie. Stiles sits down but Derek hovers over him expectantly.
“Coffee?” he offers.
“Oh my god, yes, please,” Stiles says. “You are my favourite.”
Derek just winks and says, “I know.” And he walks over to the coffee machine to make their drinks. Stiles knows that Derek will make it just the way he likes it without even having to remind him.
“Looks like someone had fun last night,” Malia says, leaning over to poke him straight in the neck. He hears the rustling of the newspaper and his dad’s heavy sigh from his other side. “Smells like someone had fun last night. And from what I’ve heard, it sounded like it too.”
“Mal,” Scott warns.
Liam appears next to their table suddenly. “You owe me a hundred bucks,” he tells Malia. “Cough up lady.”
Stiles looks to Scott, who merely holds his hands up. “Don’t look at me, dude.”
“We made a bet,” Liam says. “Malia bet that you were both too stupid and emotionally constipated to bite the bullet and get your shit together by the wedding.” Stiles fixes Malia with a level look, and she just shrugs.
“Are you hearing this, Derek?” Stiles says, only raising his voice slightly as he knows Derek is listening. “They’ve been placing bets on our relationship.” And Stiles isn’t at all surprised that this has become his life.
“Uh, lack of relationship,” Liam clarifies. “I thought you both just needed a little push in the right direction, so I hatched an elaborate plan.”
“It was hardly elaborate, Liam. A fucking child could have thought up a better plan,” Malia snaps.
“Scott mentioned when we were out on patrol that his dad now wanted to stay instead of travelling back to San Francisco straight after the wedding and I had a lightbulb moment!”
“First time for everything,” Stiles quips, glaring at Scott who’s sipping his coffee and not meeting Stiles’ gaze.
“Fuck off Stiles, I’m the reason you got laid last night.” Stiles flushes and he hears his dad muttering something under his breath. He looks at Derek pleadingly as he walks back over with their coffee. “I told him that he should put you in a room together, spice things up a bit!”
“Scott?!” Stiles questions, and Scott finally looks up at him.
“Sorry bro.”
“But we had to share anyway if Agent McCall stayed,” Derek says, handing Stiles his coffee and looking over to where Scott’s dad is serving himself some eggs from the breakfast buffet, “so I don’t get how that was such an elaborate plan.”
Liam gives them all a smug look. “Because I had a wonderful night's sleep last night, in my room, on my own.”
“You little shits!” Stiles says, looking between Liam, Scott and Malia a few times before settling back on Liam. “I assumed you were third-wheeling with Mason and Corey. One of us could have shared a room with you.”
Liam starts to laugh. “Yup. Bet you’re glad you didn’t though,” he says, waggling his eyebrows. “I think we all heard how glad you both are that you didn’t have to share with little old me.”
Stiles looks up at Derek, who’s standing there rolling his eyes and shaking his head before he takes a sip of his coffee.
“Holy god,” Stiles says. “I thought the rooms were soundproof!”
The sheriff clears his throat, setting his paper down and turning to look at Stiles. “Maybe next time you should close the balcony doors, kiddo. I don’t have super-hearing, but there are certain things a father never needs to hear.”
Everyone laughs as Stiles’ face burns, mortified. But he knows they’re not poking fun. Stiles catches Lydia’s eye just as Derek leans down to press a kiss to Stiles’ head and she’s beaming. He can’t help but smile back, because this bunch of meddling idiots—their pack, their family—just wanted them to be happy. And now they are.
“Now,” Stiles announces, “I’m gonna go stuff my face. I’m so hungry I could eat a werewolf.” He grins at Derek stupidly, standing up to go and get some breakfast.
“Hmm, later,” Derek says faux-seductively, and everyone groans. Yep, they’re gonna drive all of them insane. It’s the least they deserve for coaxing their respective beasts out of their cages.
“Just want to remind you that while I may not have my gun right now,” Noah says, eyes narrowing at Derek, “I have a whole variety of wolfsbane bullets kept in a rowan box in my closet.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Pipe down, Pops.” Derek opens his mouth to say something so he takes his hand and all but drags him over to the buffet so they can load up their plates. “You know you’re happy for us, I can see it written all over your face. And I also know for a fact that you’ve stress-eaten far too much bacon this morning. How many times have we talked about this? At this rate you’ll be in a saturated fat-induced coma before we get back to Beacon Hills.”
“I should be so lucky.”
___________________
One Month Later
Stiles and Derek haven’t managed to spend a great deal of time together, what with Stiles preparing for the symposium and Derek having the contractors scheduled to complete the Hale House.
Derek brings him coffee at the station, with his hands covered in plaster and paint and wallpaper paste. He’s been staying over at Stiles’ apartment a few nights a week, mostly watching him work overtime in the evenings and then helping him to de-stress long into the night. That ultimately proves to be counterproductive when Stiles is always like a zombie at work the next day.
It’s the weekend before Stiles has to travel down to Sacramento to attend the symposium and he’s begrudgingly woken up early on a Saturday to pack and triple check that all of his presentation slides and paperwork are in order. He’s hoping he can get it all done by noon so he can spend some time with Derek before he has to leave the following afternoon as it’s been a few days since they’ve seen each other.
He’s just finished packing his clothes into his weekend bag when his phone starts buzzing with an incoming call. It’s Derek.
“Hey,” he says, smiling tiredly. He feels like he’s been up since dawn, never sleeping well before a work trip. “Please tell me you are outside my apartment building with the largest, sugariest coffee you could find?”
“I’m outside your apartment building with the largest, sugariest coffee I could find.”
Stiles looks out the window which overlooks the street and sure enough, he spots Derek leaning against his cruiser, looking up towards Stiles’ window. “I don’t see it. I only see a ridiculously sexy werewolf and quite frankly, I’m only interested in the coffee.”
Derek sighs down the phone goodnaturedly. “Well, get down here and the werewolf might show you where it is.”
Stiles laughs. “An offer I could never refuse. I’ll be down in three.”
Stiles hangs up and changes into his jeans before he heads down to meet Derek, who’s leaning against his car holding a large takeout cup of coffee when Stiles exits his building.
“Gimme gimme gimme,” Stiles says in lieu of a greeting, making grabby hands at the coffee. He takes a sip while Derek just looks at him expectantly. “You’re the best, you know that right? How am I gonna survive next week without you?”
“Honestly, I have no idea,” Derek leans in to kiss Stiles, cupping his jaw gently in the way that makes Stiles melt a little bit. “Get in the car, I’m kidnapping you.”
“Oooh yay.” Stiles grins maniacally, stepping away and moving to the passenger side door. “Another thing to tick off my sexual bucket list. It would’ve been a lot sexier if you brought the Camaro though.”
Derek rolls his eyes and gets in the car, starting up the engine and waiting for Stiles to put his seatbelt on. He pulls away and drives for a few miles, heading towards the edge of town. Stiles practically inhales his coffee and they sit in comfortable silence until they reach the edge of the preserve.
Stiles can’t hold in his curiosity any longer. “Where are you taking me?” he asks. “I’m only gonna be gone for five days. I know I’m irreplaceable and you all feel like you can’t live without me, but you didn’t need to throw me a surprise going away party. I’m flattered though, truly.”
“I’m driving you into the middle of the woods and that’s your first thought?” Derek says, and he turns the car down a rough dirt track which looks as if it’s been worn into the ground by large vehicles if the tyre tracks are anything to go by. “Remind me again why I like you?”
Stiles grins. “You don’t, you love me.”
“For my sins,” Derek mutters, but Stiles can see the small upturn of his lips.
“I resent that,” Stiles says, gripping the door handle suddenly when they go over a mound of packed earth on the track. “Now I know why you didn’t bring the Camaro, not the best for off-road.” The trees start to thin out and Stiles thinks he recognises this part of the preserve. “Oh my god, you’re taking me to your house, aren’t you?”
“Maybe.”
Stiles grins, feeling a little excited. Derek had become less secretive about the house, which was to say he was still being stupidly secretive about it. Occasionally when he’d visit Stiles at work on his lunch break, he would ask for his thoughts on paint colours or wood panelling or kitchen appliances. It was sweet how much Derek values his opinion on something that is obviously so important.
“I can tell how excited you are to see it,” Derek says, keeping his eyes on the road. “I’ve been wanting to show someone for a while now. Just bear in mind, it’s not finished yet. We haven’t managed to install any of the light fittings yet, the fireplace delivery got delayed so that’s not coming until Wednesday and the only room which has anything that resembles any furniture is the master bedroom.”
“Please don’t tell me you’ve been sleeping on a mattress on the floor again.” Derek just looks over at him with one eyebrow raised. He looks kinda nervous and it causes Stiles to sober slightly. “Relax, I’m sure it looks great. I know this means a lot to you, and it’s cute that you couldn’t wait to show me.”
Derek’s cheeks go a little pink. “I just want it to be perfect.”
Stiles gets it. This has been Derek’s passion project for the better part of two years, something for him to take control and ownership of, a way to honour his family and the land they’ve lived on for centuries.
Stiles looks at the forest in front of them and the road starts to level out considerably. It’s still not quite a road but it’s clear that the gravel has been laid down to resemble a long driveway. Stiles’ eyes follow the gravel road up to a beautiful L-shaped house made predominantly of wood and stone. Stiles can’t help the gasp that leaves him as they get closer down the gravel driveway as he takes in the many gabled roof accents and large windows on the structure. It really is beautiful and he's in awe because this isn’t just Derek’s house, but a house for the pack.
Derek pulls the car to stop in front of a huge wood-panelled garage door on the left wing of the house and Stiles turns to him. “Derek, it’s gorgeous.”
“Come on,” Derek says, shutting off the engine, “I’ll give you the tour.”
Stiles gets out of the car and they approach a wooden, covered porch with beautiful stone supports on either side. The wooden front door looks understated until you get close enough to see the wolf carved into it, which has its head back, howling at the moon.
Derek opens the door and lets Stiles go in front of him. The house opens up immediately into a large living room with a high-ceiling, a floor to ceiling hearth which is made out of the same stone as on the outside of the house. The room is so light and airy and Stiles walks across the wooden floor over to the incredible grid of windows at the far end of the room which spans the whole wall. There’s also a mezzanine balcony overlooking the room and Stiles can see a few wooden doors on the upper level.
Derek continues the tour, looking at him expectantly throughout but Stiles is honestly speechless. The house has a large kitchen, again predominantly wood and stone but with the amazing granite countertop that Stiles said he preferred when Derek had asked him a few weeks ago. In fact, Stiles notices that Derek obviously took on board a lot of Stiles’ preferences—the countertop, the double rainfall shower in the main bathroom, the Ivory Palace cream paint that Stiles favoured over Derek’s choice of Sandstone.
There are five bedrooms in total including the master suite. He briefly shows Stiles three of the bedrooms and he stops them outside the door to the fourth, and turns to Stiles. “I wanted to have enough space to put the pack up if they ever needed somewhere to stay, or just wanted to crash after training or a pack meeting. This,” he taps the closed door with his knuckles, “was going to be your room.”
Stiles frowns. “Was?”
Derek smiles, and it’s sweet but he rolls his eyes all the same. “I figured you could sleep somewhere else instead.”
He takes Stiles’ hands and leads him down the corridor to another door, which has a triskelion carved into the wood. It must be the master bedroom; Derek’s bedroom. Derek opens the door and the early afternoon light spills into the room through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The only thing in the sizable room is an obscenely big, wooden four-poster bed.
Stiles whistles low. “It seems a crying shame to have a whole room that’s completely redundant but Jesus, that is one hell of a bed.” He looks at Derek and waggles his eyebrows suggestively.
“I know,” Derek says, “I’ve got lost in it a few times already. In fact, I keep getting lost in this whole house. I think I need someone to help me navigate the place.”
Stiles turns to Derek, not sure if he’s imagining things or got the wrong end of the stick but it sounds kind of like Derek is asking him to move in with him and his heart skips a beat. He fakes confusion, tapping his face with his index finger a few times as if he’s thinking deeply. “I think I might know a guy. He’s a little sarcastic, and appears to have a bit of deathwish when facing off against supernatural creatures, but he’s got an excellent sense of direction.”
“Don’t make me change my mind, Stiles,” Derek warns, but then he’s smiling so brightly that Stiles can’t help but grab him and kiss him to seal the deal because they finally get to have everything they’ve ever wanted, everything they didn’t think they deserved.
And they get to experience it together, in the house Derek built for them.