Chapter Text
Do you
want the orange sweetness?
Do you
want the tales out loud?
I’ll blow up the constellations
that disturb your sleep1
Have fun, Danny said. You’re allowed to, it’s your first time.
Whether he was allowed or not, was not the point. Fun was also optional, but the main goal was to feed the clan. He was given a generous amount of time since their stomachs were full with Lydia’s catch and therefore would not require feeding for the next three months. He had the time to explore himself and the world.
He was, again, as Danny said with a cheeky smirk, allowed to.
Stiles caught the edges of his sleeves and pulled them over his palms, scrunching the fabric in a damp grip. It was a tight black mesh top, which bared his slim toned body and broad shoulders, complete with tight black pants that made his ass look phenomenal. All of his outfits were meticulously picked by Danny and Lydia, both of them throwing disdained glares at him for daring to mention a graphic T-shirt.
“A fashion crime,” huffed Lydia.
“You have to be attractive to gay guys, Stiles,” agreed Danny. “Your shirts are for squealing girls and I’ve had enough of vegans for a lifetime.”
Lydia immediately puffed her cheeks and pinned him with a burning stare. “She was healthy!”
“I did not agree to a diet,” Danny hissed back. “You’re banned from hunting for a year, Lyds. No more leanies, only big juicy fucking bulls, do you hear me?” he looked at Stiles.
“Got you, dude,” Stiles winked.
Danny sighed. “You’re lucky you’re pretty.”
And Stiles knew he was pretty. His long thick lashes, his mouth, the sultry look he practiced so many times in the mirror; his long legs and a great ass and his slim waist. He knew exactly the type of guys he would attract — the ones that would make the clan’s stomachs stop churning from hunger.
The only thing left to do was to “turn on” his charms.
Stiles swallowed and took a couple of calming breaths, which did nothing to his excitedly fluttering heart. Bright neon blue and pink lights of the Jungle club’s sign bounced off his skin; people around chattered and laughed as they walked inside. Stiles was left behind, a lone figure in the sea of partygoers, though already gaining some attention and curious gazes.
Stiles bit his lips, which he knew would make some people stumble on the spot. His whole body buzzed in an anticipation of a hunt, of catching a—
Someone bumped into Stiles from behind, but caught him in time so he wouldn’t fall. Large strong hot hands slid from behind his waist and around. Stiles lifted his head, as the person let him go, to look at the—
Holy…
“Sorry, sweetheart.”
That face, that beard and bright hazel eyes. The devilish smug smirk. The black leather jacket that stretched and creaked over the big muscled frame.
Stiles’ mouth flooded with saliva.
The man walked backward, away from him, but his gaze was stroking Stiles’ body up and down with rising interest.
He was so tall.
The Greek god’s eyes slid up to Stiles’ parted lips and glinted with sultry hunger. His grin widened. The man reached the club’s entrance and visibly forced himself to stop staring. With one last interested glance at Stiles’ frozen figure, the man winked and disappeared into the flashing room.
Stiles swallowed, blinking out of a stupor.
Fucking focus. This man was just one of the firsts, foreplay of the taste of what was to come. Stiles didn’t even have his charm on, for fuck’s sake. He couldn’t just jump on the first man he saw (even though he was… yeah, so fucking hot), he had to find someone with money.
Stiles carefully peeled off the translucent sticker covering his scent glands at the base of his neck and threw it in the bin. Nodding to himself, Stiles took a deep breath, straightened his shoulders and sauntered inside with his chin lifted high and the sultry sheen glazing over his whiskey-colored eyes.
People turned at the simple brush of Stiles’ hand, their gazes stuck on his appealing body like flies on a sticky tape — there was no escape, no matter how much they trashed. Stiles met gazes, smirking at some and fluttering his eyelashes at others. Everybody wanted something different, and Stiles could provide it all. For the small price of their life, of course.
A trap. A saber-toothed snare. A hunter and a predator. Stiles was all of it.
He watched the humans squirm and blush under his gaze, gulp and breath out slowly, trying not to jump on him. They licked their lips, as their hearts stuttered over Stiles’ attention, and readjusted themselves.
The scent of their lust was sweet, really. It was their luck Stiles wasn’t hungry.
“Wanna dance?”
Stiles glanced at the first man brave enough to approach him. Too much hair gel, stinky cheap deodorant, a tiny hole on the collar of his T-shirt.
“Maybe later,” Stiles smiled politely and walked past.
And thus, the floodgates opened. Stiles’ charming scent, detected only by human instinctive subconsciousness, did its job, misting the eyes of the poor salivating idiots. He rejected a couple of more guys — an obvious addict and another poor one — before escaping onto the dancefloor.
The music was nice, and Stiles had to stop himself from his usual flailing and instead remember the moves Danny taught him.
“Slide your palms across your body, make them want to repeat the gesture, let them be jealous of your own hands. Arch your back, bare your neck. Bite your lip and if someone comes up to you…”
Stiles smiled as he felt a heat of someone’s body slide up behind him.
“… grind on those fuckers.”
“What’s such a handsome boy doing here all alone?” a low voice blew into his ear.
Being a bait.
Stiles turned around and was just about to swing his arms around the neck of a quite handsome blue-eyed chestnut-haired man, before someone rudely shouldered their way between them.
What the—
Stiles frowned and opened his mouth to complain, but then saw who was in front of him. The Greek god from the parking lot. Holy fuck.
The man glared at the blue-eyed one with his jaw clenched tight and his nostrils flaring. He looked ready to strangle someone. Stiles shivered, glancing between the two.
“Hale,” said the blue-eyed man with an unveiled frustration and a subtle threat in his voice.
“Get lost, Parrish,” answered ‘Hale’.
“I got him first.”
It was Stiles’ turn to lift his eyebrow. First of all, what the fuck? Second of all, it was Stiles who got him on a hook, not the other way around.
“I don’t fucking care,” Hale straight up growled in his face and turned away, clearly done with the conversation. His face lightened, as his eyes settled on Stiles’ pout. “Don’t mind this fucking dickhead, sweetheart. Let me buy you something nice.”
He liked where this was going. It wasn’t the first time someone flirted with him this evening, however, something in the guy’s smile and his mischievous eyes made goosebumps run down Stiles’ half-naked body. Stiles inclined his head and ran his eyes over the man, not even trying to hide it.
The black leather of his jacket looked expensive, and the silver zips glimmered in the bouncing lights. The blue V-neck he had on was ironed and the color suited him surprisingly well. Based on the build of his body, anything would suit this dude. Better if he had no clothes on, actually.
His black thick stubble was neatly trimmed and taken care of, as was his hair. He smelled nice. Stiles’ eyes met Hale’s as if tugged by a magnetic force; the man’s amused smirk made Stiles’ cheeks tingle.
“You’re sure you can treat me better?” he asked in a deliberately soft voice, looking Hale in the eyes from under his eyelashes.
Hale chuckled, looked down and shook his head. Stiles could practically see the challenge rising in him and smiled a little. So easy.
The man lifted the gaze of his mesmerizing hazel eyes upon him again. “I’m sure.”
His voice was nice, too.
Stiles’ smirk was immediately mirrored by Hale.
“Then prove it.”
Stiles refused to acknowledge how Hale’s wide pleased grin made his breath catch.
Ignoring the cursing blue-eyed guy and multiple pairs of seething jealous eyes, Hale led Stiles away to the bar. His hand was positively scorching on Stiles’ waist, the mesh doing nothing to prevent the heat from seeping into his skin. His grip was unassuming but firm all the same. Confident.
When they came up to the bar, Hale actually helped Stiles to get on the high chair and remained standing with his hand lightly caressing Stiles’ lower back. He nodded at the plastic sheet of the bar menu.
“Whatever you like.”
Whatever he liked, huh?
Stiles put his chin on his palm and skipped over the list. He didn’t even look at the names of the drinks, since he couldn’t get drunk, and instead focused on the prices. He just wished the man’s hand wasn’t so distracting.
“This one.” Stiles poked at the most expensive drink and turned to look at the man, fully expecting his handsome face to sour.
Hale didn’t even look at the menu. He just smiled back at Stiles as if he was the most amusing sight he’d ever encountered, and called for the barman.
Stiles couldn’t help but glance back at the price, which was in the third digits, then back at the man.
Okay, then.
“Can I have your name, beautiful?”
“Stiles.”
“Stiles,” said Hale, as if tasting it. “Haven’t heard that before.”
“I bet.” Stiles lifted the corner of his lips and reached out to trace the collar of the man’s t-shirt. His finger barely touched the fabric, yet he knew the gesture ought to make Hale feral.
“I’m Derek.”
“Derek,” Stiles said in a low voice, as he lifted his gaze slowly from the patch of dark chest hair up the fast-beating vein on the neck before setting it on the man’s eyes. “Are you here to save me from douchebags or is there another reason?”
“I’m, uh,” Derek cleared his throat. Stiles barely managed to keep in his smug smile at how distracted the man was with him. “I’m here with friends,” he nodded at someone behind Stiles.
Turning around, Stiles saw a pair in a low-lit corner of the club; a big muscular black guy and a blonde white girl passionately sucked faces. Stiles chuckled. “Not so keen on being a third wheel?”
“Not really. They’re always like that.”
“Doesn’t it get lonely?”
“Not this time, I hope.”
“Why?” Stiles pretended to be dumb. He thanked the barman who offered him a drink and watched the poor guy stumble back from his attention with a red face.
When he turned back, Derek was watching him with an arched eyebrow.
“Hard to feel lonely when I have such a pretty thing like you smiling at me.”
Damn him, now Stiles was actually smiling. He wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t feel nice to receive compliments, especially from someone so gorgeous.
This man thought he had him already. If he wanted easy, Stiles could give him easy.
He took a delicate sip and licked his lips, aware of Derek’s eyes soaking in each of his moves.
“I’m just here to have fun,” he shrugged his shoulders and looked up. Both of them knew Stiles’ innocence was put on, but that only teased the man more.
“Can I have fun with you?”
So. Easy.
“Well, you’ve already bought me a drink, so—”
But Derek interrupted him. “No,” he said firmly, making Stiles look up at him, “not like that. This is just a little treat for you.”
Stiles hummed, put the heels of his palms on the leather seat between his spread legs and leaned forward, closer to Derek’s face, looking up at him with the smallest of grins. “For what?”
Derek’s face didn’t falter, however, Stiles knew, he fucking knew the man’s patience was slipping more and more with every passing second.
“Because you let me.”
Indeed, Derek was the first, apart from that blue-eyed guy, who got his hands on Stiles.
“Were you watching me?” Stiles inclined his head playfully and traced a finger down Derek’s torso. He could feel the ridges of his abs and almost shivered in anticipation.
Derek’s hand slid around Stiles’ waist as he stepped closer, making Stiles almost share a breath with him. The heat of his body traveled down Stiles’, pooling in his lower abdomen. He was one deep inhale from tasting Derek’s lust and precome on his tongue.
“Kind of hard to keep eyes off you, baby.”
Stiles grinned, as his cheeks tingled more.
Derek Hale turned out to be fun. Also unbelievably hot and charming as fuck. His flirting was almost on par with Danny’s, and Danny could charm a rock. He left Stiles with giggles and genuine smiles, which was a relief since all he expected to do this evening was simulate. Interest, smiles, maybe orgasms.
With Derek, it all came naturally.
Another delightful thing is that he had money. Derek was brief in his job description, saying that he owned an auto shop. What he didn’t know was that Stiles heard the name of it quite often, since his clan’s old Jeep always demanded repairs, and the Hale auto shop was practically everywhere, at least in their state.
Fucking bingo.
Stiles shared the tale they always told people — that he worked in HR in a small firm, and had trouble looking for the right kind of people. Technically the truth, except it was a clan instead of a firm, and they were looking for… tasty ones.
From what Stiles was able to peek at, Derek had either very small or no family at all. Also a plus in Stiles’ opinion. They needed people whose disappearance wouldn’t make a lot of noise. Stiles didn’t spot a ring, nor an indentation or a tan line of one.
Not that it would’ve mattered, with Stiles’ astounding indifference, Derek’s overt interest and his gaze constantly slipping to Stiles’ lips.
Derek was obviously older than Stiles, not too much, maybe in his early thirties; the random little specks of grey in his beard made Stiles go insane the first time he noticed them. His smile was handsome, and his bunny teeth were adorable.
Derek didn’t insist on Stiles finishing his expensive drink and didn’t even blink when paying full price for it. As a reward for such un-creepy behavior, Stiles tugged him onto the dancefloor and proceeded to bestow him his full attention, with his seductive smiles and hands tracing his chest, shoulders and arms. Neither of them hid their attraction to the other’s body. Their hands slid over each other’s bodies, their chests constantly bumping together with such little space between them. When Stiles turned around, he made sure to push his ass against Derek and was ridiculously proud to feel the big hard bulge grinding back into him. He gladly welcomed Derek’s arms around his torso, putting his own hands over his, mesmerized by their size.
Stiles couldn’t help the small sigh that escaped him when Derek’s lips inevitably landed on his bared neck. His eyes closed on their own.
“Do you still want to have fun?” he felt a low rumble caressing his ear and shivered.
Stiles leaned the back of his head on Derek’s shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Just the two of us?”
Stiles bit his lips widened in a smile. “Yes, please.”
A gasp flew past his lips as Derek bit him gently on the lobe, before snatching his hand and dragging him out of the salivating crowd. People turned and stared, some of them purposefully stepping into Derek’s way, just for a chance to touch Stiles as they went through.
They didn’t make it to the exit with Derek’s patience intact.
Stiles heard a faint grunt of “can’t wait that long” and in the next second, he was turned around and nearly slammed into the wall. He didn’t even manage a squeak before strong hands gripped his waist and hot lips covered his.
Stiles gasped out of surprise, and Derek snatched the chance as if it was his lifeline. Both of them moaned at the tongues sliding against each other. Derek crowded him into the wall, pushing him back, even though there was nowhere to go. His insistent thick thigh parted Stiles’ legs and Stiles nearly bit Derek’s lip through when he felt pressure against his straining cock. Instead, he whimpered and grabbed at Derek’s shoulders, digging his fingers into them before sliding up into his hair.
His first kiss was fucking fantastic.
Stiles didn’t fumble (much). Danny was right saying that he should’ve never worried about this in the first place. He was born for this. Nature itself whispered into his ear where he should put his hands, how to twirl his tongue just right and when to bite. Stiles knew well enough that his saliva was currently working its magic on this unfortunate man, making him hungry, lustful and insatiable. Soon, all his thoughts would be consumed by Stiles.
And, just this once, Stiles would allow Derek to consume him.
*
Stiles’ thighs were spread apart, pinned to the bed by Derek’s heavy weight on top of him. The air was hot, saturated with the musky smell of sex, grunts and moans.
Safe to say, Stiles’ first time was ready to be called mind-breaking.
Derek pounded into him with relentless force, deeper and harder every time. His hands were wrapped around Stiles’ waist so firmly, he was certainly going to leave marks. No matter how much Stiles squirmed, Derek kept him right where he wanted him.
“Uuuhhhh,” Stiles whined at the particularly hard thrust and scrambled to clutch at the sheets. His thighs shook around Derek’s; he was already close to his second orgasm, with his straining dick trapped between his stomach and the bed.
He barely heard Derek’s chuckle above him. All he felt was his fucking cock, hard and big, thrusting into him again and again in an insane rhythm, edging him on. Both of them were drenched in sweat, which somehow made the lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin sound dirtier and louder.
Derek leaned over him, changing the angle and Stiles whimpered pitifully. The man took the corner of the sheet out of Stiles’ mouth and grunted into his ear. “None of that, princess. I want everyone to hear how good you feel.”
Stiles blushed from the moan that slipped out of his mouth followed by a punched-out squeak at another hard thrust.
“You make such beautiful sounds.” Derek kissed him gently on his red cheek, slipped his arms around Stiles’ chest and waist and all but trapped him in his embrace. His hips never stopped working.
It was so, so hot, with their bodies so fucking close, sliding against each other.
“Derek—” Stiles whined, as the man started gyrating his hips.
“You feel so good, baby.”
“Mmm…” Every ridge, every vein. Stiles felt it all, sliding inside him.
One of Derek’s hands slipped down his stomach and grabbed a hold of Stiles’ cock, making him nearly wail from overstimulation. He clenched on Derek, going mad from the pressure of his hand and from the groan in his ear.
“Fuck.”
Stiles couldn’t move his hips at all, couldn’t do anything, but surrender to Derek’s control. The man was so heavy, and it was so sexy. Who fucking thought Stiles would like to lose his breath like this?
He didn’t feel trapped, even though he was. He felt used but in a weirdly good way, like he made someone feel amazing. Stiles did it. He made Derek speed up, he made his cock hard in fucking seconds.
“Come on, baby, let it go,” Derek breathed out, as Stiles mewled under him. “Be a good boy and let go.”
With his final swipe of a thumb against Stiles’ leaking slit, Stiles had no choice but to obey.
He shuddered and let out a pitiful moan, coming onto the sheets. He nearly cried when Derek didn’t let go of him, still stroking, milking every drop out of him.
“Please…”
“See, I knew you’d be perfect.” Derek finally let him go after a second tug.
Stiles lay trembling and breathing hard, pliant and mellow, unable to lift a fucking finger. He gasped at the feeling of Derek’s hand sliding up his chest and settling on his long neck. He didn’t choke him, just applied the smallest amount of pressure to keep him in place. His second hand gripped onto Stiles’ thigh, digging the thumb into the dip on his lower spine.
And that’s when it was Derek’s turn to let go.
Stiles scrambled to inhale, as the man fucked into him, hard and fast, but couldn’t even scream, instead letting out small “uh, uh, uh”.
He was nothing but a fuckdoll now. A loose hole to fuck into. Derek didn’t let him be anything more than a body, lying underneath him to just fucking take it. His hands and weight trapped Stiles, leaving him at the complete mercy of Derek.
They were past words. Stiles was a whimpering drooling mess, and Derek…
Derek was the fucking beast.
It didn’t take him long. The man was gone, lost in the slick tightness of Stiles’ body. He shoved his hips one, two, three times, before thrusting one last final time and coming with a groan.
Stiles should’ve stolen the condom from him, really, ‘cause this man deserved to see his cum leaking out of Stiles’ body after all the work he had done.
Stiles let out a punched-out groan as Derek relaxed on top of him. Both of them were struggling to catch their breaths. Stiles felt like he was sinking further and deeper into the damp sheets and was honestly ready to lie there and milk the jizz out of Derek’s dick for as long as the man liked.
However, the pressure was soon eased off his back. He whined as the cock left his body, then jumped in surprise as he felt Derek leaving a quick biting kiss on his buttcheek.
Stiles turned around, letting his arms fall above his head.
Derek threw out the condom and disappeared into the bathroom, unaware of Stiles unashamedly staring at his phenomenal butt.
That’s it. The show was over.
Stiles closed his eyes as his heart slowed down. Listening to the water running in the sink, he thought about what would happen next.
Derek would thank him for the night, tell him how amazing he was, maybe schedule for the next time, and call an Uber. Stiles would gather his clothes strewn around the room’s floor, get dressed in awkward silence and do his first walk of shame down the hotel’s fancy halls, avoiding everyone’s gazes. How many of these people were listening to his slutty moans? Were they jealous? Did they jerk off?
Stiles sighed. It was really a pity he would never see Derek again. The sex was… Holy shit, the sex. Derek had probably ruined it for him, because how the fuck would anyone top that?
He knew how it ended. Danny was adamant about bringing him down to earth before Stiles had even the slightest chance to ascend. It was just sex. Do the deed and begone. They probably had other things to do, like go home to a wife and kids.
Derek was his fun. Insanely hot and sexy. And, hey, Stiles even got to come not once, but twice!
He squeaked as something warm and wet landed on his stomach. Opening his eyes, Stiles saw Derek sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling at him in bemusement. He had a warm towel in his hand and was gently wiping the cum off Stiles’ stomach.
What a gentleman.
Whatever, Stiles deserved to be a pillow princess after tonight. He smiled back and didn’t lift a finger.
He watched as Derek methodically wiped him clean, threw the towel on the floor, then leaned to the nightstand and grabbed the bottle of water.
“Come here.”
Stiles obediently lifted himself up on his elbows, but Derek didn’t let him take the water. Something warm spread through Stiles’ chest as the man opened the bottle and put it against Stiles’ lips, allowing him to drink.
It felt weirdly intimate, considering what they’d just done. Especially because they didn’t look away from each other.
Satisfied, Derek took a gulp himself, turned off the light and returned to the bed. Stiles didn’t expect him to let him stay or to lie next to him again. The arms that tugged him into a warm muscled body were also unexpected.
The next thing he knew he was being kissed. It was unlike anything they’d done before. The urgency was gone, leaving a place for surprising gentleness and quiet desire. Perhaps, it was a thank you. Maybe even a plea to stay.
Stiles wasn’t strong enough to refuse.
He pushed his fingers into Derek’s hair, gently tugging at it, before setting his arms around Derek’s broad shoulders.
It was nice, being kissed this way. Derek was sweet with him, tugging on his puffy lips with unhurried softness, sliding his tongue inside and licking against his. It made Stiles melt even more.
His heart picked up from all this intimacy. This kiss was meant for the darkness of the night, for a quiet closeness between a pair sharing the warmth of their bodies. It wasn’t meant to be seen.
Stiles felt like he was stealing something. He’d already decided to leave Derek alone and find another person to feed on. He knew his clan’s members had people like this all over the country — the ones that were just too good to succumb to the usual treatment. They were left alive because they were fun.
Derek had just unknowingly become one of those people for Stiles.
With one final kiss on the lips, Derek pressed another one on his cheek and one below his ear, before laying down with his head on Stiles’ chest. He cuddled Stiles up like he was his personal teddy bear.
“G’night, baby,” he mumbled with a smile in his voice.
What.
Stunned, Stiles slowly pushed his hand into Derek’s hair, leaving another one on Derek’s shoulder.
“Goodnight, Derek,” he whispered, afraid to ruin whatever illusion Derek created in this hotel room.
They weren’t lovers. Stiles didn’t mean to experience it like this.
But it was nice. Too nice. Despite their passion and lust, Derek was gentle with him, at least in the beginning. For fuck’s sake, he made Stiles come while fingering him. He used a lot of lube and praised Stiles at every turn, making sure he was comfortable and satisfied.
It was as if he knew it was Stiles’ first time, which was impossible, of course. Right?
Right. Stiles just got extremely fucking lucky with his choice.
A small pleased smile tugged the corners of his lips up. He fell asleep with his hand still in Derek’s hair.
*
Stiles woke up with a jolt. Opening his bleary eyes, he licked his lips and looked around, thoroughly confused as to where he was.
Then his gaze fell onto Derek.
The man was fully dressed. He was currently putting on his watch but kept his eyes on Stiles. A small amused smile lightened his face, and Stiles immediately wanted to hide from it.
“Good morning, beautiful,” said Derek.
Stiles blinked at him.
Derek chuckled, walked up to the bed and sat down beside him. He cupped Stiles’ face and gave him a light kiss on the lips, before letting him go with a small flick on his chin.
“Sleep well?”
“Mhm,” Stiles raked a hand through his hair and sat up. The covers fell to his lap, and Derek’s eyes immediately slipped down his body.
Stiles didn’t try to cover himself, though his gaze did make him want to squirm.
“I’ve booked this room till three,” said Derek, watching him. “It’s all yours. The mini-bar is paid for, and there’s a nice jacuzzi.”
Stiles’ gaze slid down Derek’s clothes. “And you?”
“As much as I would like to spend time in your company, I have to go.”
Oh.
That’s how it ends, then.
“Okay,” said Stiles, because what else could he say. They were nobody to each other. He could’ve demanded his attention and put on more charm to keep him close, but Stiles was too worn out from yesterday to do anything.
Some of the disappointment must’ve slipped through, though, because Derek smiled again. He caressed Stiles’ cheek with a finger, watching his own movements.
“I had a lot of fun last night,” he said.
Stiles stared at him.
What did that mean? Was there supposed to be a “but”?
“Me, too,” Stiles croaked, unsure of what was happening.
Derek seemed pleased. His hand traveled down Stiles’ neck with his thumb tracing the prominent veins and eventually fell down on Stiles’ covered thigh. The man seemed to have trouble keeping his hands off him.
“Want more?” he asked eventually and arched an eyebrow.
Hell, yeah.
Stiles squeezed his lips together to keep a smile in but wasn’t sure he was successful. A fiercely warm jolt of excitement sent shivers down his body.
“Yeah,” he said, keeping what he really wanted to say (fuck yes, please, please, please I have to get my mouth on your dick and feel a beard burn on my thighs) to himself.
Stiles had to be normal, had to play his part as a simple not-too-boring human. And Derek, now that Stiles decided to let him live, was the perfect opportunity to hone his skills on, from acting to seducing to sex.
Derek’s pleased and somewhat relieved grin was beautiful. He caught Stiles’ hand and kissed the back of it.
“I’m taking you out to dinner tonight, then.” The man was literally glowing. Stiles fought a laugh at how easy all of it was. Poor humans. He knew it was mostly the charming pheromones in his scent, but couldn’t help but feel a little bit of pride in himself.
“Awesome,” came out of Stiles’ mouth and he quickly shut it, but Derek, thankfully, laughed.
“I gotta go.” He kissed Stiles in the corner of his lips and stood up. “I’ll text you. Take your time and relax, okay, baby?”
And all these fucking nicknames… Stiles had never been called that before, but he found himself liking it.
“I will.”
Derek left after tearing his gaze away from Stiles’ body and saying goodbye one more time. Stiles fell back on the bed with the silliest grin and stretched, sighing in pleasure.
He was going to have so much fucking fun.
*
“…what?”
“I said, let me cook for you.”
“Derek, I’ve known you for two months already and I’ve never seen you touch the stove.”
He snored sometimes, he despised being late, he took his coffee with a ton of sugar and his showers scorching hot. Stiles was a witness to all those things but cooking?
Derek rolled his eyes. “You say it like I’m going to poison you.”
“Well,” Stiles waved his hand around, “maybe you’ve become tired of my youthful body and decided to get rid of me, what do I know?”
“I like your ‘youthful body’.” Derek walked up to Stiles who swirled around on the bar chair to face him and ended up trapped between Derek’s arms. “I have many plans for it.”
“Like what?” Stiles smirked, then screeched when Derek quickly leaned forward and bit him on the neck. Soon, the bites turned into sucking kisses and Stiles’ giggles quietened to breathy moans.
“Many plans,” Derek murmured into his mouth, before pecking it for the final time.
If Stiles wasn’t already red and hot from Derek’s manhandling and their evening sex, he would certainly become so just from the way Derek was smirking at him.
“I’m not fit for ritual sacrifices,” Stiles arched his eyebrows.
“Oh, so you’re not a virgin?” Derek inclined his head and frowned. His lips, however, trembled from a poorly hidden smile.
Stiles groaned. “Stop bringing that up!”
“Is there something else I should bring up then?”
Stiles whined.
Derek was so… different. Or, maybe he wasn’t; either way, Stiles had never thought humans would make him blush so hard. The painful sex talk from his father, on the other hand? Yup. Lydia and Danny’s graphic retelling of their sexual adventures? Oh, hell yes.
Stiles was supposed to be the one to make others blush. And he did; the baristas nearly dropped his coffee when he smiled at them, Derek’s friend Isaac found an excuse to drop out of their meeting a bit too quickly after Stiles walked past as they FaceTimed. That might have been because of Derek’s scowl rather than Stiles’ naked torso, although Derek did hiss at him to stop giving accidental heart attacks to his friends.
Don’t get him wrong, he made Derek blush, too. In fact, it was his favorite fucking thing to do these days because of how hard it was to accomplish. Derek didn’t blush as easily as Stiles did; most of the time he gave Stiles a glare or a smirk and then jumped on him.
Sometimes, though, Stiles would blurt the most random compliments about him, and the tips of Derek’s ears would grow pink. It was so adorable.
The point was, Stiles didn’t expect to be charmed so much. Not in a “I’m so amazing and everyone’s in love with me” way, but in a “his small smile makes my heart do a somersault” way. And he liked it.
Stiles refused to think about the consequences of such acrobatics.
“But really, what’s with the sudden cooking thing?” he said. “Am I not a good enough snack for you?”
“Five-course meal, you mean,” Derek flicked him on the nose, then sighed. “I just… want to do it.”
What was lacking in speech, the voice had in abundance.
There weren’t any secret wives or children in Derek’s life. No happy pictures on the walls, and Derek’s apartment was big. The calls he received were from work mostly, and his friends seemed as busy as he was for them to meet often.
Derek simply didn’t have anyone to cook for.
Stiles’ smile was light. “I’m not chopping onions.”
“If you think I’m going to give you knives, think again.”
“Hey! I’m quite skillful, thank you very much!”
Derek deliberately slid his gaze down on Stiles’ mouth, then up. “You sure are.”
“Oh, fuck off!” Stiles jumped down from the chair and shouldered past smug-looking Derek to the giant double-doored fridge in the kitchen and opened it up. “What kind of establishment is this? You’re not getting any tips, that’s for sure.”
He squeaked as strong hands picked him up from behind and carried him back to the table.
“I’m the one cooking,” Derek rumbled. “You’re staying here.”
“Yes, chef.”
Stiles watched in amusement as Derek took out the ingredients and arranged them in a neat row on the counter. The man was definitely out to make him lose his mind though, because he also took out a fucking apron and put it right over his glorious naked abs.
Stiles was not sitting it out in the mezzanine.
He quietly stood up and tiptoed back to Derek, before jumping up on the counter with his legs dangling below. He smiled sweetly at Derek so he wouldn’t get mad about the mess he made. Derek sighed.
Then Stiles’ gaze fell on the meat Derek was busy cleaning on the board.
It was soaked in blood.
Stiles immediately swallowed the spit that gathered in his mouth at the sight of it. He had to lick his tickling gums with a closed mouth to soothe them enough for the fangs to stay hidden.
Derek glanced at him weirdly. “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of blood.”
Oh, buddy…
“Nah, just… What kind of meat is this? It’s so… dark.”
Derek was quiet for a while. “Elk,” he muttered.
“Posh.”
“You’re a meat expert now?
“On your meat, duh.”
Derek’s facial expression made him lose it.
Stiles was so fucking glad Derek got his humor, otherwise their… whatever it was wouldn’t last a day.
He was about to put his hand on the counter beside him, but Derek caught his hand. It was so quick, that Stiles’ laughter died in an instant.
“Careful,” Derek frowned at him, releasing his hand, “I have sharp knives here.”
He took the butcher’s knife, turned the giant piece of meat to his liking and took a swing.
The loud thump, Derek’s bulging biceps, and his frown of concentration sent shivers down Stiles’ body. The pink hue returned to his cheeks.
Stiles swallowed.
“So, uh,” he tore his eyes away from the bloody board. “Why elk?”
“It’s lean meat.” Another chop. “Local. Deer don’t go near roads here, they feed deep in the forest, all natural, so you get the best.”
Stiles stared at him.
“So you’re saying you went frolicking in the woods and casually caught me a deer?”
He didn’t expect the tips of Derek’s ears to go pink.
“You did?” Stiles gasped in awe-filled disbelief.
Derek stayed focused on the meat.
It was probably for the best because the reaction this realization evoked in Stiles’ body would have been rather difficult to explain. Stiles felt as hot as a cookie in the oven, with a gooey center instead of a heart.
Derek went out and hunted himself (and Stiles) a deer. Did he go out by himself? If so, it meant he wasn’t afraid of the forest or its inhabitants, which included mountain lions, by the way. He had to know his way around the land and probably knew how to handle carcasses. Derek was willing to share his catch with him.
Stiles pinned him with a long stare. Each day Derek managed to prove that something more was hidden in the depths of his being. Not necessarily something other people might approve of or encourage, like hunting for example, but to him… To Stiles, who was a hunter himself, those small displays of predation were akin to specks of gold in countless sand.
Stiles swallowed against a dry throat and desperately tried to gather his thoughts to think of a human-appropriate response. Derek was frowning a bit too much and wasn’t looking at him, which he wasn’t allowed to do after Stiles found out another delightful thing about him.
“That’s kind of hot.”
Stiles cringed his nose even before Derek sent him a dubious gaze.
“Sure.”
“I’m serious!”
Done with the meat, Derek shoved it angrily into the pot and then started to viciously dismember the onion.
Stiles sighed and reached out a hand to trace the prominent ridge of Derek’s bicep.
“I am,” he insisted, sighing in relief as Derek finally peeked at him out of the corner of his eyes. “I know hunting isn’t bad when done right. It’s healthy for the environment. Take wolves for example—” Derek glanced at him weirdly, and Stiles hurried to continue. “No, hear me out. Wolves are good, we love wolves! They watch over the population of artiodactyls in their area, because if they don’t, those fuckers would eat all the grass and plants, and then where would rodents hide, and how would insects survive, and don’t let me get started on birds…”
“Stiles —”
“But, sure, let’s villainize the natural predators, that’s easy! Nobody thinks about the overpopulation and —”
“Baby.”
“— and that if creatures didn’t have a purpose they would have never existed in the first place!”
A heavy hand landed on his thigh and shook him out of his anger.
The unexplainable warmth of Derek’s gaze seeped into Stiles’ heart and wrapped around his chest like a long-awaited hug, like a warm blanket on a winter night, and the crackling heat from the fireplace.
“I know all that,” said Derek, studying his face with a soft gaze. “I get it. You don’t have to prove it to me.”
Weirdly, it calmed Stiles down. He felt like Derek really understood him. Maybe… maybe if he knew, then he wouldn’t be so appalled. Maybe, he would understand it then, too.
Stiles pursed his lips.
Not likely.
Fuck, of course not, what was he even thinking?
They were considered atrocities even amongst the supernatural folk, let alone fucking hunters. Those ones were stinking pieces of shit, not Stiles’ clan.
Stiles watched as Derek returned to cooking. The silence was comfortable and light — the complete opposite of the state of Stiles’ heart.
No, Derek wouldn’t understand. No one did, aside from those like himself. The clan was everything. The family was everything.
They were murderers. Predators. And there was no happy ending for predators. No one proclaimed their love for them.
There would be none for Stiles, either. This thing with Derek, it was artificial. Fun, yes, but it was plastic fun. Unnatural and fragile. It was bound to end as soon as Stiles taped his neck shut.
He didn’t like to think about it, because no one liked to admit in lying to themselves. Ignore the problem, until it goes away.
Stiles cleared his throat. “So… How did you get into hunting?”
Ignore, deflect, forget.
Derek’s smile made Stiles’ heart skip a beat. That’s what he was talking about — gold.
“My family, actually. Mom taught each of us how to hunt. We would go out sometimes to the preserve, and just…” Derek shrugged, his gaze far away. “Frolic.”
Both of them huffed a laugh at that.
They didn’t discuss family beyond that. Stiles received just a droplet of what seemed like a waterfall of Derek’s life story. He loved his mom, and there was apparently a “we”, which suggested siblings.
Whatever happened to them or to Derek was obviously too much for the man to share. Stiles didn’t deserve that knowledge. Not yet. Maybe, not ever.
But, again, he didn’t like to think about that.
*
Danny:
so you’re not bringing him?
you:
no
Danny:
need help?
you:
no you just won’t like him
Danny:
you told me he’s jacked
you:
you won’t like him
Danny:
is he that good
you:
?
Danny:
you know what I mean Stiles don’t even
you:
if I told you I’d bring someone then I’ll bring someone
Danny:
ok chill
Danny:
we have all been there
Danny:
have fun
Danny:
btw your dad says not to drag it out
you:
ok
*
Stiles’ back collided with the loft’s entrance door, and in the next second, Derek was already biting his neck. But even that couldn’t quell Stiles’ giggles.
“Will you… stop…” Derek muttered into his skin, catching it between his teeth.
Stiles pushed his fingers into Derek’s hair, leaned back and laughed harder.
“Stiles.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles snorted as the tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. “It’s just… your face…” he started laughing again, more so when Derek lifted his face to scowl at him.
“He shot you in your fucking ass.”
“That’s the point of the game, you know.”
“In the ass, Stiles! And the way he looked at you…”
“You shot him in the nuts, Der, I think he got the point.”
Derek would probably never take him to a paintball game again. Both of them liked being active and it didn’t take long to realize that if they didn’t expel their energies they’d end up fucking all the time. Which… Stiles wasn’t against it at all, but Derek insisted they needed to do something else together.
Of course, it ended in near disaster.
As Stiles expected, he managed to attract most of the players. Some of them forgot where they were and stared at him with their mouths half-opened when he ran past; others gave chase. Well, duh. Stiles debated whether to patch his scent glands or not but in the end decided it wasn’t worth the risk of losing Derek. Plus, he figured the protective gear would be enough.
It wasn’t. Derek was so mad.
He scowled at everybody, snarled at his own teammates (which was weird and funny) and shot nearly half of the members of opposite teams himself. When some of them did manage to get to Stiles, Derek went feral. Stiles ended up bending in half from laughter at the sight of his bushy eyebrows and his pursed sharp nose.
One poor dude nearly wailed after Derek shot him right in his dick.
Obviously, the attention irked Derek big time. He tried not to show how jealous and angry he was, probably because he didn’t want to seem like a possessive freak, but Stiles saw through him anyway. What Derek didn’t know was that this possessive shit was right up Stiles’ alley.
Not that he would tell Derek that. He might show him, though.
Irritated and most likely self-conscious, Derek hurried to shut him up with a hard kiss. Stiles barely fought down a smile and answered with passion, sliding his tongue against Derek’s. He purposefully allowed moans to escape, knowing it would tease the man and drive him even more mad, this time with want.
Stiles squeaked when Derek grabbed him and lifted him up, but quickly wrapped his thighs around Derek’s strong torso. Derek’s hands slid under them, supporting his weight, massaging and squeezing his ass. Stiles gasped as his hands reached the bruise from the shot, and grasped at the hair on the back of Derek’s head.
They broke apart, their breathing hard and heavy. Nothing seemed to be enough for Derek. He refused to wait and dove for Stiles’ neck, nibbling and sucking and licking his broad wet tongue all over it.
He knew it was an unconscious hunger on Derek’s part. Stiles’ scent glands were on his neck, which was probably what made Derek so obsessed with it.
He quickly nipped that thought, grabbed Derek by the hair and pulled him up into the needy kiss.
His whole body swayed as they stepped away from the door, but Derek didn’t let him fall. He never did. One of his hands ended up under Stiles’ buttocks, the other slid up his back, scrunching the t-shirt.
Stiles was so distracted by his hands and mouth that he didn’t notice when they reached the living room and fell onto the couch. Grabbing the bottom of Stiles’ t-shirt, Derek racked it up to his armpits and immediately went back to biting.
Stiles bit his lower lip and moaned, arching his back to meet Derek’s mouth. He kept his thighs wrapped firmly around Derek. As the man slid lower and lower with a clear and vicious intent, Stiles grabbed him by the hair.
“No, don’t,” he whined, even though he wanted nothing more than to let him continue.
Derek dropped kisses down his happy trail, glancing up at him. “What’s the matter, kitten?”
Fuck, his voice, husky from the lust but soft with attention. It drove Stiles insane; his tone, the sweet nickname that painted his face cherry red, and, most of all, the care behind the question. It was wild that Derek stopped at all, because, in Stiles’ world, people just took what they wanted, drunk on the pheromones.
Stiles felt his heart in his throat, stuttering and stumbling. He swallowed.
“I’m all sweaty, Der,” Stiles pouted theatrically, suddenly unable to look him in the eyes. “I probably stink like a fucking—”
“Is that all?” Derek arched his eyebrow. His hands were poised on the edge of Stiles’ jeans with his thumbs stroking the skin lightly.
“Y-yeah?”
Derek smirked and pulled down the zipper.
Oh. Someone wasn’t against nasty, then.
Stiles bit his lip as the smile fought its way out, and watched as Derek tugged his jeans and undergarments halfway down his thighs. Once freed, Stiles’ dick popped right up, hard and begging for attention, which Derek seemed glad to provide.
He didn’t waste time and dove right in. Stiles nearly burst out of laughter again as Derek put his face against his pelvis and inhaled deeply. His beard scratched Stiles’ sensitive skin, leaving redness behind.
“Dere-e-ek.”
“You smell so good, baby,” Derek sucked a hickey onto Stiles’ thigh then leaned away to admire his mark. There wasn’t even an ounce of embarrassment in his voice. “No need to be shy with me.”
And then Stiles’ cock was engulfed in a wet heat.
He forgot how to be self-conscious, forgot his surprise at Derek’s acceptance of him not being cute and pristine; thoughts left his brain as they often did when Derek got his way with him.
The back of Stiles’ head hit the couch pillows. He groaned at the feeling of Derek’s mouth. It seemed like the man decided to skip the foreplay, too aroused and wild. His head bobbed up and down, cheeks hollowed and tongue so wet and broad.
Stiles felt as if he was being worshipped. Derek wasn’t touching himself, utterly focused on bringing pleasure to him first. Unable to lay still, Stiles pushed one leg over Derek’s shoulder, gasping at the teasing roughness of the beard in contrast with the slick soft tongue tracing the veins on his dick.
“Nnnghh, Derek…”
With a filthy loud pop Derek’s mouth left his dick, and Stiles hissed at the cold air hitting it. Derek didn’t let him suffer for long though, taking his cock in a tight grip and jerking it.
“Der— ahh!”
Broad tongue lapped at his tight balls, making Stiles jerk from the sensation with a whine. Right as Derek sucked them in his mouth, Stiles slapped his hands over his face, overwhelmed and so fucking aroused from how dirty it was, from Derek’s eagerness and desire, and the fucking intimacy.
“Let me see your face, sweetheart.” Derek’s breath was so hot on his balls, it was fucking insane.
With his face completely red and the droplets of sweat pressing his hair down to his forehead, Stiles bit his lower lip and pushed his hands away. He nearly moaned at the hunger in Derek’s eyes. The man was probably watching him the whole time.
“There you go, so good for me.” Derek caressed his thigh in a calming gesture while continuing to stroke his dick.
Stiles was going to fucking explode.
His hands squeezed the upholstery at first, knuckles white and straining, before Stiles finally gave in and grabbed at Derek’s hair right as the man took him in his mouth again. He couldn’t resist. Couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.
He wasn’t pushing, he just wanted to hold onto Derek. Based on the vibrating rumble coming from his mouth, Derek enjoyed it, too, even encouraged it.
Stiles couldn’t take it anymore. He was flat-out whimpering, having lost all sense of grace and dignity. His gasps filled the air; Derek sped up, swirling his tongue up and around and going inside his slit, scooping up the precome as if it was the tastiest thing on Earth.
His eyes, his gaze, the pure fiery lust behind it. His fingers dug into Stiles’ thighs, pinning them in place. Stiles’ gasps and moans grew louder, and after another torturous lap, he gave in.
No matter how hard Stiles tugged in a warning, Derek didn’t let go, taking his cock so deep, his nose ended up being pressed to the skin.
Tears sprung from Stiles’ eyes, this time from overstimulation. He came right down Derek’s throat, trapped under his hands.
Only when he started whimpering, did Derek pull himself off. He looked debauched; his hair was all over the place, and his beard was glistening from the saliva. He actually had the audacity to lick his lips before gracing Stiles with a soft but smug smirk.
“Told you there’s no need to hide from me,” said Derek and laid gentle kisses up his stomach, over his chest and neck, until he reached Stiles’ panting mouth. This kiss wasn’t urgent at all, but sweet and languid like the warmth Stiles felt inside.
Stiles refused to let his brain turn back on. Not now, not ever, please, let him have this dream.
This warm and now painfully familiar tugging feeling, which Stiles refused to acknowledge in any way or at any time, settled over him like a safety blanket. This feeling was there when he tugged Derek’s pants down and wrapped his spit-covered hand over his cock. It was there when Derek groaned into his neck while coming all over his chest and stomach. It was there when they lost track of time and the amount of kisses exchanged.
It was always there when Derek was close.
Tugging and tugging.
*
“Baby?”
The layer of sleep was so thick and hard to tear apart, that it took Stiles several attempts to realize something was amiss.
Someone chuckled very quietly.
“Stiles?”
“Mmm?” Stiles hummed into the pillow he was hugging.
“I need to go.”
Hold the fuck up.
As soon as the meaning of the words reached Stiles’ half-sleeping brain, he rose quickly from the bed and then promptly smashed his forehead into Derek’s chin.
“Easy, easy.”
“Ouch,” Stiles complained. He could barely see Derek’s silhouette against the closed curtains. The only source of light was the early budding sunshine that managed to trickle between them.
Hands cupped his jaw, and Derek kissed his forehead. “You alright?”
Maybe it was Stiles’ imagination, or Derek became his placebo for everything, but the pain had toned down almost immediately.
“Mm-yeah,” said Stiles. “What d’you mean you’re goin’?”
Derek sighed. “Someone vandalized my property, I need to go look into it.”
Stiles yawned. “Th’ flat? Is it safe to be here? Do we need to go?”
“No, I meant my other property. You’re safe here, don’t worry.” Derek rubbed Stiles’ chin with his fingers. “I just didn’t want you to wake up alone and question where I am.”
Stiles smiled lazily, nuzzling his cheek into Derek’s palm like a cat. “You’re so nice to me.”
Derek didn’t answer for some time. Stiles was so bummed he couldn’t see his face. He hadn’t said anything wrong, right? It was a perfectly fine thing to say, completely normal—
“I don’t know how long I’ll be gone,” said Derek at last, in a husky voice. “Sorry.”
“S’alright.”
“Go back to your beauty sleep.”
“Mmm.”
Stiles followed him with his gaze and fell back onto the pillows when Derek disappeared into the bathroom. He lay on the bed with his eyes closed and listened to Derek’s puttering. The shower turned on.
Stiles sighed and got up.
On unsteady legs and with a puckered face, Stiles shuffled into the kitchen, turned on the light and hissed at it, blinking the black spots out of his eyes. He cursed when the pan landed too loudly on the stove, then started to prepare the mixture.
He was on his sixth pancake (Derek ate a ton, which was to be expected for a beefcake like him), blinking sleepily at the merrily bubbling batter when arms slid around his waist.
Stiles leaned back automatically, not bothering to look away from the pan, and flipped the pancake. Derek pressed him tightly to his front and put his cheek against Stiles’. He smelled fresh; his hair was just a tiny bit wet.
Stiles vaguely noticed Derek’s heart beating a bit too fast against his back, but shrugged it off.
“I think I told you to sleep,” Derek murmured into his cheek.
“And I think you probably wouldn’t have time to eat today, maybe not even until dinner,” said Stiles. “Ergo, pancakes.”
“Ergo.”
“Oh, fuck off. Go make us coffee.”
“I'm fine here, thanks.”
Stiles sighed and bit down a smile, as the heat settled inside his chest. Derek stayed glued to him until Stiles slapped his hands away with the spatula to get him moving to the coffee machine. He received a slap on the ass in return, which… yeah, fair.
They had a quiet breakfast with Stiles watching in amusement as Derek scarfed down his stack of pancakes with an almost wolfish hunger. He ate his own much slower, though he knew he should hurry for Derek to close up after him.
Just as he put away the dishes, Derek flew back into the kitchen, already dressed. Stiles cringed his nose.
“I’ll be quick,” he mumbled, but Derek stopped him with his hand on the elbow.
There was a strange intensity to his gaze. Stiles noticed it sometimes, mainly when he accidentally caught this gaze on himself, or as a first thing in the morning when he woke up to Derek watching him like a creep. Stiles didn’t mind, he found it very funny, actually, and teased him for it.
Still, it was weird. Not bad weird, but more like… Stiles couldn’t understand what was going on inside Derek’s head in those moments. He longed to crawl inside him, to terrorize him with questions until he told the truth but then had to remind himself over and over again that he didn’t have the right to do that.
They were having fun, as both of them established in the beginning. Stiles had already crossed the boundary he didn’t have any right to cross, by human standards.
Then again, he was a monster.
Derek took his hand, pulling him out of his pathetic thoughts, and put something in it, closing his hand over something with a ridged edge.
“I want you to stay here, okay?” Derek’s smile was light, while his voice was anything but. “It’s Sunday. You don’t have work today, do you?”
Stiles shook his head, his forehead tensing in confusion.
“Then stay,” said Derek. “Relax. Do what you want, you know where everything is. I’m likely not going to pick up when you call today, but I will as soon as I’m free. Okay?”
“…Okay?”
Derek smiled a little in relief. He quickly kissed Stiles on the lips and was gone in a blink.
Stiles stood in the middle of the kitchen with the dishwasher humming in the background and his heart going off in his chest. He already knew what was in his hand, he just had to gather his thoughts and remember how to breathe before—
Stiles opened his fist and stared down at the shiny key to Derek’s loft.
*
Derek was being weird.
Ever since he came back from dealing with his vandalized property a couple of weeks ago, he looked shifty and tense like a guilty puppy. He was the same sweet, hot and attentive, wonderful and handso— the same guy. It was when he thought Stiles wasn’t looking when the tension came to the surface.
And Stiles would have lost his mind from the secrecy and not knowing, would’ve bitten all his nails off from anxiety of everything being over, were it not for… his hunger.
It’s been too long. For himself and for his clan, and Stiles knew it. This hunger wasn’t going to be quelled by anything other than human flesh, no matter how much food he gorged on. And, once it started, it usually only got worse. It tended to consume every thought he had, like a background noise or a tinnitus, ever-present and disturbing.
It wasn’t long before Stiles snapped.
“What’s got your knickers in a twist?” Stiles blurted out one day, tired of Derek spacing out all day and not getting any attention from him. Well, he was given attention, just not to the usual degree, and Stiles fucking hated it.
Derek sighed and raked fingers through his hair, as he always did when he was anxious or nervous.
“It’s…” he paused.
“Don’t tell me “it’s nothing”, it’s something, okay? Spit it out.”
Derek glanced at him, then down, and rubbed his face. Without any further explanation, he walked out of the room.
Stiles was ready to storm out of the loft from such disrespect but luckily for them, Derek returned rather quickly, fiddling with something in his hands.
The man sat on the couch right beside him and grabbed Stiles’ hand. Stiles didn’t know who needed more support right now.
“Just don’t… Promise me you won’t freak out,” Derek pleaded.
Stiles stared at him. What on Earth was going on? It wasn’t a “haha, don’t freak out lol”, the man was begging Stiles to listen to him.
If someone was going to freak the other out in this relationship, it was Stiles, so…
“I won’t.” Because what a human could possibly spook him with?
Derek looked at him, his gaze running all over Stiles’ face. He licked his lips.
“I’m going to warn you: this is not what you think it is. I swear. And it’s not a joke, either, I would never joke about this.”
Derek seemed almost… afraid of what Stiles’ reaction would be. Of what it would mean for them.
“I believe you,” Stiles tried to reassure him.
Derek stared at him some more before presenting him with a small black box.
“It’s not what you think,” Derek insisted seeing Stiles’ eyebrows crawl upwards. “It’s…”
Derek tugged on his own hair and breathed out slowly. Stiles had never seen him like this.
“The property I visited was my old family house.”
Oh.
“I walked around there for a bit, inspecting everything, you know. And I found this.” He opened the little box.
A ring lay inside. A rather simple one at first glance, wide and silver with a round flat surface on top with scratches here and there that spoke of its age or, maybe, its unlucky fate. The round surface was blank, but when Stiles turned the ring around he saw an engraving on the inside of the circle, depicting a strange symbol with three spirals coming out of the center. It looked like a family crest.
“And you’re… giving it to me?” Stiles asked with caution, glancing back at Derek.
“I would like you to have it. I know it’s old and plain, and doesn’t mean anything to you, but umm… yeah.”
Derek wasn’t saying a lot, and it was so painfully obvious.
To Derek, this ring meant a lot, which was weird to witness because this man wasn’t obsessed over material things much. This ring was obviously linked to his family, probably through several generations.
Stiles couldn’t for the life of him figure out what the meaning of all this was. He was touched and honored and would probably shed a tear over it sometime in the future, but there was obviously something missing. Derek wasn’t telling him everything.
Did that really matter, though?
Stiles smiled a little, trying to ignore the quick pulse in his temples, and slid the ring on the middle finger of his left hand.
“I like it,” said Stiles, knowing full well that Derek was watching him like a hawk. “Thank you.”
Seeing Derek’s frown still holding his face hostage, Stiles rolled his eyes and crawled on his lap, pushing Derek to lean back. He was pleased to feel the steady warmth of Derek’s hands, which quickly circled his waist. Not giving Derek any time to overthink, Stiles pulled him into a hot kiss.
Slowly but surely Derek started to relax. The tension ebbed away from his shoulders, and he started getting more involved in the kiss, slowly taking control of it. Stiles let him.
Fuck knows what was going on in Derek’s head all this time. He was obviously worried that Stiles was going to call him a clingy weirdo or, perhaps, reject the old ring and demand a newer, more expensive one. He probably had those requests before, considering how rich he was and how much he got off on showering Stiles with attention. His secretive satisfied smile at Stiles’ simple “thank you”-s made Stiles want to jump on him, it was so adorable.
Fuck all those people who made him equal his worth to money. Derek was so much more than that — caring, passionate, attentive, confident, lov—
Nope, back up, back up!
Stiles clutched at Derek’s shirt, biting his lips and jaw. He needed to not think, to ignore and forget. Ironically, he knew exactly what would make his brain turn off.
“I want to suck your dick,” Stiles rasped into Derek’s mouth, laying needy frantic kisses over it.
Derek started to tense up again. “Baby,” he caught Stiles’ chin and leaned away to give him a studying gaze, “you don’t need to—”
“Please,” Stiles begged. He was going to start shaking if he didn’t get what he wanted. “Please, Der, let me put my mouth on you. I know you want it,” he rolled his hips into Derek’s, rubbing against his erection, and was exhilarated to see Derek’s jaw clench. “I’m going to make you feel so good…”
“I know you will,” Derek’s thumb traced over Stiles’ lips and slid into his wet mouth. This was the perfect opportunity to give him a sneak peek into what he would get; Stiles swirled his tongue around it, gentle and soft, sucking on it. Derek swallowed. His gaze was fixed on Stiles’ lips as if he was being hypnotized. Once Derek noticed the beginnings of his cheeky smirk, he pulled the thumb out and traced his fingers down Stiles’ bared neck, gently circling around it without any pressure.
Stiles was ready to fucking explode from Derek’s gaze.
“You always feel incredible, sweetheart,” he rumbled. “No matter how I fuck you, you always feel so fucking good.”
With a blush spreading on his cheeks, Stiles got down on his knees and reached for Derek’s zipper. It felt insane to be under Derek’s undivided scrutiny at moments like these, to have his rapt attention and penetrative gaze warm up his face like sunshine.
At the first broad wet lick on his straining veiny hot cock, Derek closed his eyes. The shadow of his eyelashes fell on his cheeks. He opened his mouth halfway from the sheer pleasure and raked fingers through Stiles’ hair, resting his hand on the side of Stiles’ head.
As the thoughts slowly mellowed out of his head, one remained.
Derek was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen.
*
“Say whatever you want, Van Helsing is hot.”
“He’s a hunter.” Derek grunted out with annoyance.
“So what? I personally think he did a lot for the werewolf community.”
Stiles ignored Derek’s probably disgusted gaze and continued to lay with his cheek on Derek’s chest, focused on the TV.
“Doubt it,” said Derek.
“You’re, what, an expert on werewolves now?” Stiles chuckled but perked up when Derek tensed up. “Don’t tell me you’re a—”
Stiles was rudely interrupted by his phone ringing. He leaned over Derek, grabbed it from the coffee table and accepted the call, still talking to Derek.
“Don’t tell me you’re a furry,” he finished his thought, laid back down and focused on the call. “Hel—”
“Lydia’s having an episode.”
Stiles felt as if he was dowsed in ice-cold water. He quickly sat upright, his gaze unfocused and heart picking up the speed.
“What?” he breathed out.
Danny was obviously trying to keep calm, but the fact that his efforts were noticeable at all made Stiles want to vomit.
“It’s… fine for now. We have her safe, but I need you to come here.”
It wasn’t fine. Nothing about Danny’s voice was fine. If they had Lydia safe, it meant she was detained, but who the fuck knows what will happen. She was a smart cookie, and if she wanted, she would get out.
Especially if she was having a hunger spike.
“Okay.”
“Can you meet me halfway?” Danny asked. “I don’t… I don’t think we have much time.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Derek sit up as well, but he couldn’t look at him now.
“Yeah, sure.”
Danny hung up.
Stiles scrambled out of the blanket that was tangled around his legs and stumbled onto the floor.
“I need to go,” he said, barely able to focus on anything in front of him. He pulled up his phone with shaking hands and swiped through his apps, trying to find Uber, but icons were mixing together. “Can you, um... Can you, please, call me an Uber, I have to—” he looked down at his pajamas.
Suddenly, hands cupped his face and lifted it. Stiles stared at Derek’s frowning serious face.
“Listen to me,” his voice was firm and demanding. “Everything’s going to be okay. Let’s go change. I’ll drive you.”
Stiles swallowed around a tight lodge in his throat and nodded. Derek’s firm directions didn’t give him any choice and it was the slap in the face he needed to pull himself together.
Derek went with him. He was the one to shove clothes into Stiles’ hands, he was the one to lead him down into the garage.
“Do we need to go fast?” Derek asked matter-of-factly.
“Yeah.” He and Danny needed to find food for Lyds as quickly as possible and remain under the radar at the same time. They didn’t have time to play games and seduce. It would have to be the vilest men, the ones who were ready to have a go right then and there.
“Seatbelt, baby,” Derek reminded him.
The Camaro’s tires squealed loudly over the asphalt, as he drove out onto the road. Stiles had to clutch at the handle so as not to bang his head on the window.
“Where are we going?” asked Derek.
“The, um, the college. Danny will pick me up there.”
Damn it, why did he always allow Derek to drive him? His old Jeep would’ve been helpful right now. He didn’t want Derek to have anything to do with this stuff. He couldn’t. It was bad enough that he witnessed Stiles’ meltdown, not to mention driving him somewhere at almost midnight.
“I’m sorry, this is so out of nowhere,” Stiles blurted out, clutching his phone and looking into the dark forest blurring outside. “You didn’t have to do this.”
Derek quickly interrupted him. “Baby, don’t tell me you actually thought I’d kick you out and leave you alone with your mess.”
It was almost too much.
Stiles swallowed, trying to get rid of the tightness in his throat, and glanced at Derek. He didn’t expect to meet his gaze.
Derek looked back on the road, leaving Stiles to stare at him. His face was tense, with the corners of his lips turned slightly down and a frown decorating his eyebrows.
Stiles shifted his gaze down to his hands.
“I just wanted to say thank you.”
“Anything for you, kitten.”
Fuck.
They stayed quiet for some time. The tension in the car wasn’t thick, but it was there. Stiles didn’t have the capacity to look into it now, all his thoughts on Lydia, on how much time they had until she tried to escape the cage to satiate the cruel hunger.
It was a long time since one of them had one of these episodes. The prolonged lack of food is what usually caused it, but there were supposed to be signs before it peaked that hard. Damn it. If there was somebody who was able to hide the signs, it would be Lydia. That, or she ignored it.
Either way, it was Stiles’ fault.
It’s been too long, he felt it himself. He got lost in the game, in this act. That was all it was. None of this was real.
He was just that good at lying to himself.
“Who’s Lydia?” Derek asked. His voice was neutral and even slightly interested, however, his knuckles were starting to turn white.
“My friend. We’ve always been together, the three of us. Me, Danny and Lydia. Grew up together. They’re a bit older than me, so they’re always thick as thieves. I just inserted myself into their conversations and trailed after them like a lost puppy, so eventually I grew on them.”
“Bet you were fun.”
Stiles chuckled a bit. “Yeah…” he trailed off. “It was Danny who called me. Something happened to Lyds and I just… I have to be there.”
A big hand wrapped around his and squeezed. “I get it.”
The painful truth was that Derek probably didn’t give a fuck. Not if he got off Stiles’ influence for a while.
Would the charms fade when Stiles comes back to him? Would Derek even let him inside the loft? Would he remember Stiles at all?
Stiles didn’t know how long it would take them to get Lydia fully under control. Sometimes, one feeding wasn’t enough. Or even two.
The icy spikes of sharp fear plunged Stiles’ heart clear through. For Lydia, for his clan. For Derek.
Stiles clutched at Derek’s hand harder and didn’t say a word.
*
Danny was already there when Derek pulled up. He looked good, because all of them did, always. Stiles immediately knew he got dressed in a hurry, though, because Danny would never wear an outfit this bland, not for the hunt. A dark brown V-neck and jeans. Not a single touch of make-up.
Him and Derek meeting gazes was the most surreal thing for Stiles to witness. His worlds collided, and the impact would certainly have its consequences on Stiles when the sound wave eventually hits him.
Shit, Danny probably wasn’t wearing his patch tonight…
The heavy fiery feeling flared up inside Stiles. It threatened to squelch his heart under its weight. All of a sudden, he wanted Danny and Derek to never cross paths ever again.
“Baby.”
Stiles’ heart jumped. He turned to look at Derek and was uncomfortably relieved to see the man’s attention directed at him.
“Huh?” Stiles said like a dumbass, his mind a mess.
Derek’s lips jerked, as if in the beginning of a smile, though he squashed it quickly. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
Oh, he was fucking impossible.
Stiles nodded at him, unable to speak because of the lodge in his throat.
Derek gently rubbed Stiles’ cheek and smiled with forced lightness. “Call me if you need something. Anything. I mean it, Stiles.”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Derek’s eyes were impossible to look away from. He worked his jaw a bit. “Let me know when you’re done, I’ll pick you up.” He looked up and down at Stiles’ frozen figure. The corners of his mouth lifted a tiny bit. “Go, kitten.”
Never fucking say this to me ever again, Stiles wanted to yell at him but kept his mouth shut.
“Right.”
He scrambled out of the seatbelt, opened the door and got out.
Fuck.
Not even a second later, Stiles dived back in, crawled across the seat and smashed his lips into Derek’s in a short-lived kiss.
He purposefully ignored Derek’s pleased smile against his lips and got back out without saying anything. He already did enough.
He felt Derek’s eyes on him the entire time it took him to reach Danny.
Stiles absolutely refused to meet his friend’s gaze.
“Chop-chop, Buttercup,” he barked when he noticed Danny looking curiously at the Camaro. “Move your ass if you don’t want someone to take a chunk out of it.”
“Pot, kettle.”
“Fuck off.”
Both of them climbed into Danny’s boring grey car and sped off.
The Camaro didn’t move from its place. Stiles stared at its reflection in the side mirror with a pounding heart and a buzzing mind until they turned the corner.
“So…” said Danny casually.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “How’s Lyds?” Knowing Danny, it was better to cut this conversation right in the bud.
“She’s fine,” Danny waved him off. “If you think you can escape the talk, I’m going to have to disappoint you there.”
“So, Jungle?” Stiles fiddled with the AC button and hissed when Danny slapped his hands away.
“Did you find him there?”
“Should we take two or one?”
Danny sighed. “You’re so fucking annoying, Stilinski.”
“You’re welcome.”
Stiles decided he would never ever talk about Derek with Danny. Reasons unspecified and unknown to the world, sealed in a vacuum and dropped into the ocean Rose-style.
Danny glanced at his jiggling leg. “He’s hot,” he said.
Stiles inhaled through his nose. “I’m going to strangle you in your sleep if you don’t stop talking.”
“Just sayin’,” Danny shrugged, smiling a little despite the stress. “By the way, that exchange was interesting to watch.”
“I don’t want to know about your kinks.”
“Oh, please—”
“What’s the plan?”
Danny shook his head and gave in.
*
The hand around Stiles’ waist, gripping and pushing him closer to the aroused body; the breath, uncomfortably hot and smelling of who-knows-what substances; the fucking smirk.
Stiles was gritting his teeth so hard he was afraid they’d crumble. If only Danny stopped fucking looking at him every couple of seconds…
Both of them caught a man each. Of course, they did — no human could resist the temptation. They found the easy ones; a couple of dumb creeps, one older than the other, sweating from the arousal and high on drugs. They leered and stared and grabbed at people randomly, boys and girls both, to sway them to take a drink that they previously drugged. It wasn’t a hard catch, not at all.
The hardest part, which Stiles didn’t expect at all, was to bear it.
Danny’s man was the younger of the two, one could say the handsome one, who was flirting and smiling despite having his claws in Danny the minute he got close. Stiles got the ultimate old douchebag.
Stiles smiled back, of course. He was good at acting. He fluttered his eyelashes and turned his face away the moment the douche got close. He played it off as shyness while trying his best not to vomit.
The old man’s hand kept sliding onto Stiles’ butt and squeezing hard enough to make him wince. He was high, or drunk, or both, and was leaning heavily on Stiles as the four of them walked to Danny’s car.
“Come on, doll,” he grunted into Stiles’ ear, forcing him to fight a shudder. “Don’t act all innocent. You’ve teased me enough already, don’t make me angry.”
Doll. As if Stiles was an inanimate object, a toy without feelings or opinions created to be used and discarded. He wasn’t a fucking doll.
Stiles bit his lip and smiled a little. “Don’t be mad, ple-e-ease,” he traced a finger down the man’s chest. “I’m just… I don’t do this often, I guess.”
You’re my first ever proper victim and I can’t wait to tear your hands off my body. And off yours, too.
“He’s not teasing,” Danny interrupted, leaning forward to glance at both of them. His smile was truly disarming. “He is actually that shy, I promise.”
“Oh, are you?” the man asked, capturing Stiles’ chin in a too-painful grip.
“Yeah, I’m sorry,” Stiles pouted, all while imagining how he would gouge those dark eyes out of his sockets to stop them from staring at Stiles’ lips.
“You’ll have to make it up to me, doll,” said the man, spreading his putrid breath all over Stiles’ face. “If you do good, then I’ll think about forgiving you.”
You fucking disgusting piece of shit.
“Okay.”
He wanted Derek. He wanted to go back, to crawl into his embrace, to plaster himself over his gorgeous body, so warm and comforting. Stiles wanted his hands, soft and caring; hands that knew how much pressure should be applied and how to handle Stiles to both of their liking. Stiles wanted Derek’s eyes on him, full of…
Fuck, he wanted Derek so fucking much. How did everybody do this? How did Lydia enjoy hunting so much? Stiles was ready to hurl, to scream and run away just to get those stranger’s hands off him and go back to—
They got into the car, with Danny in the driver’s seat. His legs were spread, which his man took immediate advantage of and started groping him, unashamed of the audience.
However, Stiles’ catch didn’t appear to pay them any mind.
Fuck, why, why, why…
The stranger’s hand slid over Stiles’ thigh, higher than Stiles was comfortable with (if he was ever comfortable at all).
“So, uhh, what do you do?” Stiles squeaked hoping that his high and trembling voice would allude to his shyness.
He caught Danny’s gaze in the mirror. The car slowly increased its speed.
“What do I do?” The stranger chuckled. His hand spread higher and groped Stiles’ limp dick through the denim. “Don’t you have better things to do with that mouth than ask questions?”
Just as the man’s wet disgusting mouth landed on his neck, Stiles clenched his eyes shut and tried to play his part as a quiet and compliant young man.
They only had to get out of the town. Just enough to not have witnesses. Just enough…
Someone chuckled.
“Maybe I’ll have a piece of you later, too,” said the second stranger.
Stiles opened his eyes and was faced with an interested and somewhat hungry look from the man. His blue gaze was traveling down Stiles’ body to where the douchebag was trying his hardest to stroke him.
Stiles didn’t want this. These strangers had no right to gawk at him like that, to touch him at all. It was repugnant, horrendous and atrocious.
He wanted Derek.
“Are you trying to make me jealous?” Danny laughed lightly and glanced at the second man.
Stiles caught Danny looking at the side mirrors. The road was void of life, trapped between two sides of the thick and dark forest. It was late, too late for the passerby to have a casual stroll. It was too late, and, more importantly, far enough.
Stiles nearly wept when the car finally stopped on the side of the road.
“I can’t wait anymore,” Danny whined and turned to wink at Stiles. “Can we?”
“Mmm, yeah,” Stiles gasped theatrically and grabbed the man’s hand to tug him towards the door. “Will you come with me?”
The two men glanced at each other; one of them barked an incredulous laugh.
“Sure.”
Getting out of the car felt freeing in some way, but mostly scarier.
Stiles was on his own now. This was it. This decrepit man was his first. Not Derek, never Derek, because… because of a shit load of reasons actually.
Oh, fuck.
Stiles’ back scraped against the tree, as the man pinned him to it. His hands slid down the back of Stiles’ pants, against his fucking bare skin. The man’s lips were everywhere, tracking and lapping, and fuck, Stiles was going to vomit all over him.
“W-wait.”
The man ignored him.
Stiles bit down a growl and pushed at the man’s shoulders. Almost instantly his hands were trapped in a bruising hold above him.
“Be a good boy, or you won’t like what I’ll do to you.”
Stiles didn’t have time to let out even a squeak, because in the next second the man was kissing him.
It wasn’t a kiss. It was a brutal attack that Stiles didn’t consent to and wasn’t able to prevent or escape. It was a nightmare blooming right in front of his eyes.
The man seemed to only get riled up from Stiles’ muffled protesting whimpers and his attempts to get free. He tried hard to make Stiles open his lips, and his tongue slathered all over Stiles’ mouth like a slimy slug.
Stiles knew he had no physical advantage over this boar. He had a weapon, though.
This urge, this desire was akin to a constant painful itch. He hid it for a couple of months already, swallowing human pills to alleviate the pain only for them not to fucking work on him. He dreamed about this moment when he would finally let his fangs slide free, full to the brim with venom.
Never in his life did he imagine not getting any pleasure from it.
Stiles’ fangs lengthened and sharpened along with other teeth next to them. He unclenched his jaw and bit into the man’s lips.
The man shouted and flinched back from him, putting a hand over his bleeding mouth. “What the—”
Stiles’ thoughts went quiet, his gaze focused. He lapped up the blood from his lower lip and sucked it into his mouth, closing his eyes from the taste.
He didn’t realize how hungry he was.
The man’s face paled. His eyes widened at the sight of what he thought was his victim.
Stiles knew what he looked like. Dilated pupils, red sclera, almost deadly pale skin, thick capillaries crawling down his cheeks, thickened and claret. His fangs, sharp and serpentine thin with their points digging softly into the pillows of Stiles’ puffed lips.
Enough of the play. The spectacle was over. It was time to let the curtains drop.
“Stop it, you freak! I’ll kill you!” the man spluttered. He tried to walk backward and fumbled with something in his back pocket but Stiles was approaching fast.
Freak? Stiles would show him a freak.
An inhumanly fast jump. A muffled scream. Gurgling.
Silence.
*
“Easy, tiger.”
Stiles flinched away from the hand on his back and spit out the last of his bile mixed with the streaks of blood. He was shaking, likely the aftermath of the adrenaline boost. He didn’t want to know what he looked like, he just wanted a thorough, scalding-hot shower.
“You alright?” asked Danny.
Stiles straightened up, leaning on the tree with one hand. “No,” he croaked and wiped the sweat from his forehead.
“I wanted to congratulate you, but…”
“Don’t bother.”
“Okay, yep.”
Stiles tugged the bottom of his shirt up and wiped his face with clean parts of it. The sweat started to cool on his skin, making him shiver more. It was like he was drenched in it, covered in a thin nasty film of the events.
Upon glancing at Danny, Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The man looked pristine and unbothered, as usual. Only his shirt was stained red in a few places as if he just splattered a few drops of tomato sauce over himself. He was watching Stiles with concern written all over his face.
“Listen, man, I would love to let you have a breather but we have two corpses and a hungry Lyds,” Danny insisted, and Stiles knew it cost him a lot to say this. “That fucker is heavy, I need your help.”
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut until the dark dots became white. “Yeah. Yeah, I get it.”
They had a clan to feed. They had to take care of Lydia. Stiles had to suck up and do it, even if he would rather chop his own arm off than touch that man again.
He couldn’t, though. He had to provide for his family, just as his family provided for him. No one would blink an eye if he had an episode and went feral, they would get their asses up and bring him food. Now that Stiles was of legal age, he was expected to do the same.
No matter how much it repulsed him to do so.
*
“You’re quiet.”
“Leave him alone.”
Lydia arched an eyebrow at Danny, then glanced back at Stiles, who was sitting right next to her in a cage right on the floor.
It wasn’t clear who looked worse, him or Lydia. Stiles was aware of his own stink and the various liquids ingrained forever into his clothes; he was chewing without any particular interest and only because he knew he had to eat.
Lydia looked… bad. Dark circles under her eyes, blood smeared over her face from her ferocious eating; her pupils had only just started to return to their normal size. She was wearing her yellow dress, now matted with blood and dirt from the basement’s floor, and her hair resembled a nest. The nightmarish look didn’t prevent her from acting like a queen, though (now that she satiated her hunger).
She carefully swung her leg over the other, took the bottom of her skirt in her dainty fingers and smoothed it out.
“Baby’s first kill wasn’t as clean as he liked?” she asked innocently, pinning Stiles with her sharp gaze.
“Lyds…”
“Shut it, Danny, I’m asking him.”
Danny threw his hands.
“It was just bad,” Stiles huffed, tired and frustrated. “That’s all.”
“Did you think it would be flowers and rainbows?” Lydia pressed.
Stiles put the piece of raw meat back on his plate and wiped his mouth. He was careful not to look at anyone and stared at the wall.
“No.”
Put off by his lack of attention, Lydia bristled. “Do I have to pry the information out of you or what?”
Before Stiles could snap at her, Danny interrupted both of them. “Lydia, it was bad. That’s it. He caught a grade-A douchebag. A fucking rapist, okay? Satisfied?”
“No, actually,” Lydia smiled coldly and pointed at Stiles, who remained passive. “We told him numerous times how it would go. In detail. His father gives lectures on this stuff. Do you remember how excited he was to go on his first hunt?”
“I’m here,” Stiles muttered.
Lydia ignored him. “He jumped up to the ceiling when John cleared him. Talked my ear off about how he would destroy all the bad guys and be Batman. This,” she stuck her thumb in Stiles’ direction, “is not normal.”
“I think, he might have expected some clueless fool to drool over him, not to fucking deal with the worst of the worst!” said Danny.
“Stiles, honey, tell me you’re not that naïve,” Lydia turned to him, folding her hands on her knees. Her forehead was all creased with worry and disbelief. “You know whom we hunt.”
Stiles leaned the back of his head on the cold wall and looked back at her dirty, but still beautiful face.
He knew, that’s the thing. His father’s honesty was as brutal as it was necessary. Not he, nor his friends had ever painted a false picture for him.
They were who they were, and that’s the life they were given. They couldn’t turn away from their nature, because if you did it hit you back twice as hard. Lydia’s episode was the proof.
The only way for them to deal with the moral horror of their entire existence was to get close and comfortable with their predator side. They had no choice but to accept it, otherwise, the hunger would drive them mad.
Thus, they hunted the so-called bad seeds. Murderers, rapists, the scum of the earth. They preyed upon those who preyed on others. And some might say they were the scum here — Stiles and his clan — but… that’s too damn bad.
Lydia was snappy and frustrated, but Stiles saw right through her mask and saw a scared girl. She was worried about him because of course she fucking was. She was scared about what the consequences such horrific first experience might bring. Stiles had to feed at least himself in the end. He must continue hunting, or not survive.
“Lydia,” Stiles said quietly, “the fire of my life. I will be fine. I’ll figure it out. I have zero delusions about our life. I just wasn’t prepared to be nearly assaulted in the middle of the week.”
“Don’t you make it my—”
“It’s not your fault, did I say it was?” Stiles spoke over her, meeting her glare. “We all go through it. It’s fine. I didn’t think I wouldn’t have the upper hand all the time, end of story. You’re okay and that’s what matters.”
Lydia turned back to her plate and picked up a slice. Her fangs glistened in the dim light of the basement’s headlamp, as the meat disappeared into her mouth. Some would think she was eating a hundred-dollar sashimi or something.
“Well,” she wiped the corners of her mouth with a fingertip despite how pointless it was, considering the state of the rest of her, “at least you’re with us again. We’ll give you some time to recover and then show you how it’s really done, right, Danny?”
“I’m not staying.”
Both of his friends turned toward him with equally flabbergasted expressions.
“What.”
“I said what I said,” Stiles pushed fingers through his dirty sweaty hair. “I’m… I need to go back.”
“Uh, no you don’t,” Lydia huffed.
“We’re laying low, Stiles,” Danny said slowly as if questioning his sanity.
“I can lay low in town,” Stiles snapped.
“Are you sure he doesn’t have a concussion?” Lydia grabbed his chin and turned his face up to the light. She leaned over to stare at his pupils, but Stiles slapped her hands away.
“Stop it—”
“Is it because of that guy?” Danny asked suddenly.
Lydia’s head snapped to Danny. “A guy? What guy?”
Oh, fuck.
“Traitor,” Stiles grumbled under his breath. Danny shrugged.
“Tell me everything,” demanded Lydia.
“I’m not—”
“He’s met someone,” Danny spoke over him. Stiles’ glares were rudely ignored. “You know how he arrived to meet me? Some guy drove him in the middle of the night on a fucking Camaro,” Danny nodded at Lydia’s half-opened mouth. “Yeah, and they got real chummy saying goodbye, let me tell you.”
“What the—”
“Danny, if you don’t shut up, I’m feeding you your own socks.”
“Danny, continue.”
“And this dolt refused to bring him,” Danny finished with a smirk.
“Oh my fucking god, you’re dating,” Lydia looked horrified and excited. “Our little baby is— Wait,” she turned back to Danny with wide eyes. “It’s not Ja—”
“No, it’s not Jackson, I checked,” Danny calmed her instantly, but his body tensed a bit.
Lydia all but slumped back on the wall, and, honestly, Stiles was right there with her. This Jackson dude broke the hearts of not one, but two of his friends and deserved to be castrated in Stiles’ humble opinion. If Stiles got entangled with that dude as well, it would’ve been a total disaster.
“You’re being careful, right?” Lydia got serious all of a sudden. “There’s no feelings involved?”
“N-no.”
“Stiles,” Danny whined and rubbed his face.
“There are no feelings,” Stiles lied, praying to everything and everyone that his face was dirty enough to hide redness. “None, zilch, zero—”
“You had him drive you,” Danny begged, “in the middle of the night in his car. You have him wrapped around your fingers, dude.”
“Did he give this to you?” Lydia grabbed Stiles’ hand. It was obvious she wanted to do it for the longest time but the curiosity became too big to suppress.
Stiles yanked the hand out of hers and hid it under his armpit to not let her see the ring.
“Are you fucking engaged—”
Stiles exploded.
“I’m not fucking engaged, are you crazy?!” he jumped up on his feet despite the exhaustion. His chest was going wild, as he glared at his friends and their mouths opened in shock. “He’s just a guy. I just spend time with him.”
“You’re fucking…” Lydia couldn’t help but specify.
“Yes!” Stiles smiled sarcastically. “Yes, we are. Not that it’s any of your fucking business.”
“… and he gives you jewelry,” Danny finished Lydia’s thought.
Stiles clenched his jaw as the fight left him. His friends stared at him in total silence, trying to digest the facts that Stiles had been dealing with for the past two months.
Finally, Lydia broke the heavy silence with a serious and quiet voice.
“Stiles, you do know how it’ll end, if—”
“I’m aware, thank you.” He shifted his gaze to the floor and started gathering the plates and the random bits of meat off the floor and walls.
Lydia had her gaze narrowed at him, but it was Danny who spoke this time.
“Both of us went through that,” he reminded gently, but Stiles continued his frantic tidying. “We’re not laughing or judging, we just really don’t want you to experience the same.”
Stiles bit down a snort.
“Stiles.” It was Lydia.
“I know, I fucking know,” he stopped and sighed. “I love you guys, too. Just… give me time. Okay? And don’t tell dad. I’m going to shower.”
None of his friends answered, but Stiles almost felt them exchange glances. They’ll be talking about him all night and probably morning, he was sure of it. He just needed to be sure he wouldn’t be there for this talk.
“I’m glad you’re okay, Lyds,” Stiles softened his voice because that was the only good thing to come out of this disaster of the evening.
Derek’s soft embrace and Van Helsing’s naked chest seemed to be so far away, they might as well have happened last century.
*
Stiles lay on his old bed on the side with his back to the door and stared at the screen of his phone. His thumb had been hovering over Derek’s name in his contacts for a solid fifteen minutes, or maybe even longer.
Stiles missed him. So fucking bad.
It was ridiculous. He’s been gone for a fucking day and already felt ready to suffocate from the heartache. He needed Derek’s arms around him, needed to feel the warmth of his body.
Holy fuck, why was it so difficult?
He was a fucking idiot. A needy, clingy fool. Derek probably sighed in relief for the first time in months after waking up without his chatter.
Stiles glanced at the ring. Derek was so nervous that day, and the relief on his face when Stiles accepted the gift… Ugh.
Stiles got him bad. Now that they were living together, the man was soaking in Stiles’ charming pheromones. It probably had the accumulative effect, since Derek seemed to obsess over him more and more.
He touched Stiles as much as he could; Derek hugged him randomly, wrapped hands around his waist when Stiles was cooking, put an arm around his shoulders when they were walking. Innocent strokes of fingers down Stiles’ neck, painfully tender kisses after a tiring day. Sex, sex, sex.
Each time Stiles caught his small smile or an inquisitive, intense gaze on himself, his heart jumped just a touch more.
It took his breath away and then forced him to get down to earth real quick.
Because how much of it was real? Probably not an ounce. That’s why Stiles dreaded coming back. He wanted it, oh, so fucking much, but at the same time he was so painfully afraid.
“Son?”
Stiles flinched and dropped the phone. Lifting himself up, he turned around and saw his father standing in the doorway.
“Hey.”
Dad inclined his head. His icy blue eyes that somehow never lost their warmth pierced through him, and Stiles squirmed like a child.
“Everything’s alright?”
“Yeah, why?”
Dad arched an eyebrow. “I thought I’d have to drag you out of the basement, like usual. Are the three of you fighting or something?”
Stiles rolled his eyes and sat up straighter. “No,” he sighed. “They’re just being annoying.”
“They’re probably just worried. Considering what happened.”
Stiles couldn’t hold his gaze anymore and looked down, picking at the loose thread on his blanket. “That’s not— They’re just being little shits.”
“Language.”
Stiles huffed, smiling despite himself. He always found it ironic that his dad was admonishing them for bad words while they ate people for a living.
“It’s really fine. I just got a real douche, that’s it.”
Dad sighed heavily. He walked up to Stiles’ bed, sat on the edge and patted Stiles’ blanket-covered thigh. “I’m sorry that’s how it went your first time.”
“It’s al—”
“No, it’s not alright. It was probably scary and uncomfortable,” said Dad. “I just need you to know that Danny wouldn’t have allowed it to go far. You know that, right?”
Stiles nodded.
“You always have us. If you need time, then you have it. You know we’ll look after you—”
Stiles’ heart clenched. He reached out to pat his dad on the back of his hand and pushed out a wry smile. “I know. Our clan is the best.”
They stayed silent for a while. Stiles tried not to think, and his dad watched him closely, obviously worried. His kind had to learn how to provide for themselves, and if Stiles wouldn’t… There could be problems.
At last, Dad sighed. “Everything’s going to be okay, kiddo.” He smiled back a little. “You going back?”
“Yeah, in the evening.”
“Okay.” His dad’s gaze was searching for something in his face, digging and digging. “You’re being careful?”
Stiles rolled his eyes again, and couldn’t help but smile, this time genuinely. “Da-a-ad.”
“Okay, okay.”
*
you:
hey
you:
Im gonna come back tonight
Derek:
Tell me where to pick you up.
you:
dw babe I can catch a bus
Derek:
Don’t start this. When and where
you:
omg
you:
fine there’s a bus stop at the north lane where the laundromat is
you:
I should be there at 7
you:
but like you really don’t have to
Derek:
I’ll meet you at 7
*
It was 6.35 pm and Derek was already there.
Stiles’ whole body seized up at the sight of him leaning on the side of the Camaro, all dark, sexy and mysterious. He would probably be busy beating people off with a bat and spraying them with a hose to stop them from climbing him, but instead he was here. Waiting for Stiles.
Stiles gripped the handrail with a sweaty hand, and gulped. His stomach turned into a giant weirdly warm knot and his heart was pounding in his temples so hard it was making him dizzy.
The bus slowed down and stopped. With a dry mouth, Stiles stumbled out of it the minute the doors opened, barely keeping himself from falling down, and met Derek’s gaze.
Act normal, don’t run, don’t do anything weird…
Oh, Derek looked stunning. He straightened his shoulders as soon as he saw Stiles, but kept frowning. His eyes ran over Stiles’ body as if he was looking for something.
Stiles clenched his fists to keep himself from running, even though it hurt not to. He couldn’t stop himself from speeding up, though, and pushed out a weak smile instead of tears building up behind his eyelids.
“Hey,” he said, when he was close. “Have you been—”
Stiles yelped as Derek swept him in a tight embrace and lifted him off the ground. The man buried his nose in Stiles’ neck and inhaled as if starving for oxygen.
Stiles closed his burning eyes and clung to him with all his might. To feel his strong arms around the waist, the heat of his body, even though it was clad in a “bad boy” leather jacket, was heaven. Heaven!
It seemed like Stiles hadn’t seen him in centuries. So much had happened in such a small frame of time, things so despicable and vile… Stiles didn’t want to remember, didn’t want to think. And Derek’s embrace was one of those things that made him forget who he was.
Derek tensed suddenly. He nuzzled Stiles’ throat again, then gently put him down, but didn’t release from the circle of his arms.
“Everything okay?” Derek asked in a tense voice, studying Stiles’ face.
Stiles swallowed. “Yeah.” He smiled again, this time a tiny bit more genuine. “I just… missed you.”
Stupid, clingy idiot—
The corners of Derek’s mouth lifted. “I missed you, too.” He cupped Stiles’ face, stroking his thumb under one eye. “Now, breathe.”
“What?”
“Breathe, baby, come on.”
Stiles didn’t even notice how shaky his breathing become. He swallowed again and closed his eyes for a moment in an attempt to get rid of black spots that had the audacity to obscure the handsome face.
As if his eagerness wasn’t embarrassing enough.
Blinking rapidly, Stiles chuckled. “It’s okay, I just couldn’t miss the opportunity to faint into your arms.”
Derek didn’t laugh. He inhaled deeply, maybe trying to subconsciously balance Stiles’ rapid breathing out, and deepened his frown.
“Something happened.” It wasn’t even a question. How the fuck did he know?
Stiles was speechless for a couple of seconds too long, but then smiled despite his heart going a mile a minute.
“Yeah, I lost my breath at the sight of you.”
“Stiles.”
“And it’s your fault for making my head spin, like whoa, dude.”
Stiles pretended to smooth out Derek’s jacket to hide his slightly shaking cold hands. Based on Derek’s unrelenting grip, the man wasn’t buying it. In fact, both of them were well aware that Derek was the only one keeping Stiles standing.
Stiles didn’t know what exactly overwhelmed him that much. Either way, it was nice to be welcomed in Derek’s embrace again.
Guess, Derek didn’t forget him after all.
Staring at Stiles’ face with gloomy suspicion, Derek, however, let the subject go. He huffed in frustration, leaned down to give Stiles a light kiss.
“Let’s go treat you to something nice,” he mumbled into his lips, kissed him once again and then lifted him in the air to carry over to the car. Stiles squeaked at such manhandling, but was secretly glad because he wasn’t really sure he wasn’t going to faint and crack his head open.
Derek lowered him down on the seat, closed the door, then hurried to his side.
Stiles took the moment to close his eyes and breathe. The familiar smell of Derek and the leather of the interior actually helped him calm down somewhat. He clenched and unclenched his fists to try warm them up, when Derek climbed inside as well.
“Seatbelt, baby.”
*
He woke up sharply, with a racing, sleepy heart. The crawling, slimy hands that held his body in a stifling embrace disappeared, leaving heavy breathing in their wake.
Stiles closed his face with his palms and swallowed his breaths. One, two, three, four; exhale.
It’s just a dream. That bastard mattered no more. He never did. He served his purpose and his punishment.
He was gone.
With the last gulp, Stiles turned to the side with full intention to plaster himself all over his gorgeous bedmate.
His hand landed on a cold sheet, instead.
Blinking into the darkness, Stiles lifted his head, and nearly jumped at the dark silhouette at the edge of the bed.
“Derek?”
Derek didn’t answer.
Frowning, Stiles sat up, scooted over across the king-size bed to the silent man, and draped himself over his back. With his chin digging into Derek’s shoulder, Stiles peeked at his face.
Derek was staring at the floor, yet his mind was far away. His bushy eyebrows longed to meet; the muscles on his cheek showed their tension only to disappear again.
Stiles swallowed, lowered his eyes, and turned his head to rest his cheek on the warm skin.
Somehow, this felt like his fault.
But who was he to ask? Just a warm body, maybe, to share the bed with. What right did he have to be graced with the secrets behind Derek’s frown, to lift his spirits and soothe, and calm…
But oh, he wanted it so much.
Stiles sneaked his hand around Derek’s forearm and watched as his fingers traced the veins that wrapped around it. Ridiculous how one could feel jealous of veins. But Stiles was. He needed to be the one sliding underneath Derek’s skin, needed to be the one to make his heart pump, and become the blood that passes through the tender organ.
He held hearts in his hands before. Warm or cold, wriggling or still; he was fascinated and hungry for all. Stiles wanted to hold Derek’s, too. Though, for the first time, he wanted to leave it inside at the same time.
Derek inhaled a couple of times, clearly wanting to say something, yet nothing came out. After a while, when Stiles was ready to fall asleep again, he finally gathered his thoughts.
“Maybe, I didn’t make myself clear,” he muttered, “but I thought we were exclusive.”
Stiles’ skin was instantly covered in frost. He let go of Derek’s hand, and sat straight, staring at the man with his eyes wide and heart at his throat.
Derek didn’t look at him, only clenched his jaw tight.
Licking his suddenly dry lips, Stiles swallowed. His head spun.
“We… are.” He struggled not to make it a question, because… Fuck, if Derek was fucking other people all this time, Stiles was going to shatter—
Derek frowned slightly. Frustratingly slowly, he turned his head and slid his eyes to Stiles’ chest. As if he could somehow see through his opaque hollow chest to see the painfully beating heart.
Derek looked at him.
His gaze was heavy, frustrated, and… confused. Stiles felt like a bug pinned to the cardboard, like a frog ready to bare his insides after the nick of a scalpel.
“You…” Stiles cleared his throat. “You don’t wanna be?”
He was ready to scream. It couldn’t end this fast, no, please, he thought he had time before… Before the inevitable, before it swallows him whole and breaks him apart.
He needed to have Derek, for the man to be his and only his.
Derek looked at his chest, then up again, making Stiles squirm.
“No, I do. Do y—”
“Yes,” Stiles answered just a bit too quickly and felt heat cover his cheeks.
Yet, Derek didn’t react like he normally would. No chuckling or eye-rolling; just this never-ending predatory stare.
“What happened?” he asked quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“When you went away. Something happened there.”
Oh, god.
“Are you saying that I—” Stiles wrenched his hands away from Derek. “That I— Listen, I know we’re whatever but—”
“Stiles.”
“— but I’m not… I don’t want to— You think I’m gonna hop into someone’s bed the minute you’re out of sight?!”
Stiles scrambled away from him, blinking bitterness out of his eyes, but Derek caught his arm in a tight grip.
“No, you don’t,” he almost growled, tugging yelping Stiles back to himself. Wrapping his strong arms around Stiles’ wiggling body, Derek pressed him tight to his front and trapped his hands. “Tell me.”
“Tell you what?” Stiles bit out, staring stubbornly at the pillows, struggling to snake out of Derek’s hold.
“Did someone touch you?”
Stiles froze, and Derek immediately tensed.
“Who was it?”
Stiles swallowed. “How did you know?”
“Who was it?”
Don’t fucking cry.
“We’ve stumbled into a couple of douches on the way home.” Fuck, his voice shook. Stiles cleared his throat. “It’s nothing.”
“What did they do?” Derek’s voice should’ve sent chills down anyone’s skin, but Stiles only sagged back into him.
“Nothing.” Derek tried to say something, but Stiles didn’t let him. “My dad met us. He… dealt with them.”
Dad would’ve loved to kill them himself, Stiles was sure of it. Instead, he slammed his butcher knife just a bit too hard on the bodies and grit his teeth.
“No one did anything to me,” Stiles said quietly. “Just a little handling. And I’m not a wilting flower—” I know how to drain all the blood from the body “— and I’m definitely not… sleeping around.”
Despite relaxing his grip, Derek still did not let him go. He fell silent for a while, then placed a quiet kiss on Stiles’ bare shoulder.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said, rubbing his cheek on the side of Stiles’ face. “I never thought that you would, and it just shocked me. I can’t let anyone…” he stopped. “You’re mine, you know?”
Fucking hell.
Barely able to hold in a blooming smile, Stiles turned in Derek’s arms and pulled him in for a kiss. Small and gentle, grateful and longing, just a caress of lips so dear to him.
He was starving, and Derek was nothing short of a feast. Forbiddingly sweet. Poisonous but irresistible.
And Derek held him like he knew exactly what Stiles felt.
“Is everything really okay?” Derek murmured into his lips after what seemed like a gargantuan effort to lean away.
“Yeah.” Because you have your arms around me. “By the way, how did you—”
“I just know your body very well.” Derek bit him suddenly on the jaw, then pushed him to lie down.
Stiles huffed when Derek spread his giant body across his, wrapping his beefy arms around Stiles’ torso and laying his head right next to the heart.
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. His hands found their way into Derek’s hair and stroked his cheeks, his prickly stubble, and down to his neck.
The number of days left with him by Derek’s side kept dwindling with every day, yet Stiles couldn’t get enough. He held Derek tighter, clung to him longer, and stared at him like a creep for it wasn’t a forever kind of sight.
Why the fuck did he have to fall in love?
*
“You’re doing it again,” said Stiles. He tried to squirm away from Derek’s ticklish huffs of breath on his neck, but the man only gripped him tighter. Stiles laughed. “Stop sniffing me, you weirdo.”
Actually, it wasn’t weird that Derek liked his scent. Everything in Stiles’ body had a single purpose — to attract, be it his looks, his taste, or his scent. Even a human meek sense of smell would be able to pick up Stiles’ pheromones and go crazy.
So, yeah, Derek seemed to have discovered the sweet spot between Stiles’ neck and shoulder. The first thing he did after coming home was to pick Stiles up in an embrace, tuck his sharp nose into Stiles’ neck, and just breathe.
It was cute, and at the same time so fucking sad. Ignoring his tight throat, Stiles shut his eyes and hugged Derek back, as tight as he could. He laughed, and he teased Derek about it, because how confusing and embarrassing it must’ve been for a poor human to suddenly be attracted to someone’s scent? It was cringey and weird for them. Stiles had to laugh.
The chuckling quickly died, though, as Derek suddenly bit him.
“Hey!”
“M’ not weird,” Derek mumbled into his neck, kissed the rapidly reddening skin in apology, then put Stiles down. His arms stayed firmly wrapped around Stiles’ waist.
They stared at each other with silly grins and heavy gazes.
“Hi,” said Derek in a low voice.
“Hi.” It was embarrassing just how little it took for Stiles to turn into a puddle. “Did you have a good day?”
Derek rubbed his thumbs along Stiles’ lower back. “The only good thing about it is that I get to come home to you at the end of it.”
Right for the heart, then.
Sliding his arms around Derek’s neck, Stiles stood up on his toes and pulled the man into a well-deserved kiss. As they stood in a poorly lit hallway, pressed close to each other, the world faded away. All that was left was the heat of their lips and the slick slide of their tongues.
Stiles wanted this moment to never end.
With their passion mellowed out, Derek pressed his forehead against Stiles’, keeping him close.
“I thought maybe I could take you out to dinner,” he murmured.
“No.”
“… no?”
Stiles swallowed. He couldn’t help but recoil from thought about what would inevitably happen.
Everyone would stare at him. Waiters would fumble and smile too widely; the sommelier would bring him (yes, him, not them) their best bottle of wine and would lean too close to pour it into the glass. Derek would get tense again and grind his teeth while sending death glares left and right.
Stiles didn’t want him upset. A man like him wasn’t allowed to be.
“I want it to be just us tonight,” said Stiles at last. “Just you. We can order in if you don’t feel like cooking. I kind of… Don’t want to see other people.”
Want to have you all to myself, every bit of you. To have you look at me and only me.
Derek’s studying gaze dragged across his face. “Okay.”
“Yeah?” A relieved smile bloomed on Stiles’ lips.
“Yeah.” Derek kissed him once more and released him. “Go order something — anything you want. I’ll hop into the shower.”
“Alright.”
Stiles watched his back as Derek went away, his shoulders flexing when he shrugged out of the suit coat. His gaze slipped lower and lower, to the hot piece of gorgeous—
“Food, baby.”
Stiles jumped, lifted his eyes, and immediately went red under Derek’s amused gaze.
Whatever. Not like Derek wasn’t staring at his ass sometimes, which… Yeah, Stiles couldn’t really point it out, ‘cause it wasn’t Derek’s fault, nor his intention.
Great, now he was getting sad again.
Huffing, Stiles went into the kitchen, grabbed his phone, and tried to distract himself by figuring out which of Derek’s favorite restaurants offered delivery.
Derek loved going out. It seemed like he abhorred being locked inside four walls, always dragging Stiles out for a meal, for a walk, to the clubs, and even to the cute local open-air cinema. Perhaps, the big part of it was Derek’s desire to please and spoil him.
Listen, Derek wasn’t rich rich, but he was well-off. He could afford all the spoiling and the fancy restaurants, and his presents that he so desperately tried to hide for some reason. Like, that one time when Stiles’ laptop broke, and he nearly chewed through his lip because not like his clan could afford a replacement, and now he couldn’t do his “HR job” anymore. Derek took one look at his jiggling leg and then returned with a brand new laptop the very same day. He tried to tell Stiles that it was his laptop he just didn’t have any use for; however, later that day Stiles saw the peeled film from the monitor and some Styrofoam in the bin.
Oh, man.
And then there was a coffee machine because Stiles got whiny about his coffee always spilling over the Turkman and stinking up the apartment for an entire day. A toaster. A grill, because Stiles made some fantastic steaks (duh). A small golden earring, the sight of which drove Derek insane for some ungodly reason; he went so still when Stiles inclined his neck to give Derek better access to put it on. When he gathered himself enough to put it on Stiles’ ear, his hands shook a little, which was so fucking adorable! There was nothing adorable in the way Derek fucked him later, but that’s another story.
And it was really really heartbreaking that Stiles, with his measly amount of money stolen from their prey, couldn’t offer Derek anything of the same value in return. All he could offer was his body, whether for sex or closeness. He made it available at all times, allowing Derek to take, and grab, and fuck, and kiss. After all, Stiles was taking so, so much more from him.
They ate on the couch with Stiles sitting sideways next to Derek with his legs thrown over Derek’s thighs. Stiles complained loudly and probably too much about the Mets losing for the third time in a row. He went on a weird tangent about the possibility of the corrupt judges and the density of the field’s soil, but Derek only nodded and looked at him with a small smile playing on his lips.
It probably wasn’t attractive for Stiles to go on tangents, or wave his chopsticks around in a move so hard and passionate that he flicked a piece of rice on Derek’s bare chest. It also didn’t look good when Stiles immediately licked it off his skin, smacked his lips, and went right back to his tirade. But Derek’s shoulders shook from silent laughter.
He always had this wondrous ability to make Stiles forget. Where he was, with whom, or for how long; Stiles forgot that he shouldn’t behave like this, that he should always be pristine and attractive.
He forgot.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?”
Derek put the last utensil into the dishwasher, shut the door, and straightened out. Only then did he look at Stiles.
His voice was tilted with apprehension. “I have to leave for a couple of days.”
Stiles froze with a damp hand towel still clutched in his hands.
What? Leave? For that long?
Quickly gathering himself, Stiles folded the towel and put it at the edge of the sink.
“Why?” he asked as nonchalantly as possible. His throat grew tight.
“Have to clear out some of my family’s vaults,” said Derek, watching him. “The company has gone broke, and notified me about the vault that I didn’t even know existed.”
Stiles took the towel again, refolded it, and put it back in its place. “So, no visiting secret wife and kids?”
The silence that followed made goosebumps travel down his arms. Yikes. It seemed like his joking tone was too pathetic to sound close to an actual joke.
All of a sudden, Derek grabbed him by the elbow and leaned forward. “Look at me,” he almost bit out. When no reaction followed, Derek huffed, grabbed his chin, and forced him to meet his eyes. “Stiles.”
“Hmm?”
Derek released his chin, yet his gaze remained unusually stern, his eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t like it when you make jokes like that. There is no wife or kids, or, or… There is no one. All I have is you.” He shut his mouth with a clash of teeth.
Why the fuck did Stiles have to choose this man out of the crowd of others that night? Why? Derek didn’t deserve this — any of this, and Stiles definitely didn’t deserve him.
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbled, his mouth as dry as a desert.
“I’m not saying this to make you feel bad. I just want you to get those thoughts out of your fucking head. So, did you?”
It was the first time Derek used this tone with him, this heavy, dominant, authoritative tone that made Stiles want to bow his head and never upset him again. He never wanted to hear it.
“Yeah.”
Don’t joke about side flings. Else, Derek would get mad. Got it, already fed up with it.
“Good.”
Derek backed him fully into the counter, then grabbed his thighs, picked him up, and plopped him right on the marble surface. Stiles didn’t even have time to orient himself before being kissed to oblivion.
The touch was rough, demanding, almost like the man wanted to take him by the shoulders and shake all doubts out of him but… couldn’t. Derek never handled him without care. If they fucked hard, Derek held his hand; if Stiles cried, he kissed his tears away.
Stiles sighed into the kiss. He melted like butter on a sizzling pan, quick and bubbling from the inside. Derek’s hands grabbed his waist, digging fingers into the soft flesh; he tugged on Stiles’ hair just a touch more tightly than usual but enough for Stiles to bare his neck for an attack.
Derek kissed his neck, bit into it, and sucked his mark, spurred on by Stiles’ breathy moans caressing the shell of his ear.
Stiles hissed as the hand sneaked into his pants and wrapped around his cock. He was trapped. Willingly and irreparably, caught.
Pumping his hand, Derek put his lips next to Stiles’ ear. “Look at you.”
Stiles grasped at his shoulders, shut his eyes, and panted. He buckled up into the hard, pumping fist, seeking the relief of the tightness.
“So beautiful. Why would I need anyone else—”
Stiles hissed, bit his lower lip, and pushed his forehead against Derek’s naked muscly shoulder.
“— when I have you?”
Stiles couldn’t last long, not with Derek twisting his hand just right, thumbing the leaking slit and mouthing at his neck, saying the sweetest words. Derek held him through an orgasm, grasped at his shuddering body, capturing his half-open lips.
Only when the whimpers from the overstimulation grew too high-pitched, did Derek release him. The man tucked him away, laying gentle kisses on the red patches on Stiles’ cheeks.
“I want you to stay here,” he muttered.
Stiles looked up at him from half-lidded eyes. “Hmm?” Now it was definitely the orgasm making him stupid.
Derek chuckled, put a lingering kiss on Stiles’ forehead, then gathered him into his arms. Stiles closed his eyes, putting his cheek against the naked hot skin.
“Don’t go back to your apartment,” said Derek. “Stay here.”
It felt more like an order than a request but Stiles didn’t give a fuck.
“’kay.”
He would do everything Derek asked him to do.
*
Danny:
stop ignoring me
Danny:
I know you’re reading my messages
Danny:
dipshit
The clock was too loud and needed to shut the fuck up like half an hour ago. Every noise, every creak felt immense — a reminder of the absence of one’s presence.
Stiles had never felt this alone in his entire life.
He always had someone present with him — first, it was the clan, and later Derek, but now…
The void was heavy.
Danny:
Stiles
Stiles swiped the notification away with his nose pursed in irritation. He put the phone down, pushed Derek’s bathrobe tighter around himself, and put his chin on his knees.
Silence, absence.
The fridge purred into life; Stiles jumped, then cursed under his breath.
God, he was so fucking pathetic.
Pressed against the tall cold window, Stiles looked up into the sky. He was unable to bear the sight of couples huddling on the streets below and hurrying home to have fucking sex probably. Shit.
Stiles wanted to have sex. Yet, here he was, stuck inside staring at the bright cheese wheel of a moon.
And yes, without Derek the full moon was just a block of camembert, and the clear sky with the canopy of fucking stars looked like an empty black charcuterie board with bitter salt sprinkled all over it.
Stiles’ forehead made a dull thump as it pressed against the glass. Someone’s car honked in the distance, followed by another even more annoying honking. The fridge fell asleep again.
It was two fucking a.m. and he couldn’t sleep without pressing his nose against Derek’s shoulder or raking his fingers through his chest hair. He couldn’t exist without his kisses.
Is this what he should expect from his future? When Derek inevitably—
No. He couldn’t think about that.
Stiles swallowed and closed his eyes. His heart galloped in frantic attempts to chase after its rightful owner and got heavier with every second it didn’t find him.
He grabbed his phone without looking, then blinked his eyes open only to squint at the bright screen.
He swiped the notifications of Danny’s messages away, opened the chat, and typed.
you:
miss u
Stiles stared at the blinking cursor.
Would Derek even notice at such a late hour? If he did, would he care?
He would if the charms didn’t fade. They shouldn’t, not yet, not fully.
Though Derek wasn’t a loser like Stiles, he was probably seeing his seventh dream by this point.
Stiles hit send.
What a clingy loser. Obsessive and needy. Can’t even let his man have a breather for one night.
The phone let out a gentle ping.
Stiles scrambled to unlock it, and then…
Derek:
Miss you too
Derek:
Can’t sleep
Stiles’ hands shook a little.
you:
why? are u tired
Derek:
Don’t have you with me
Stiles shoved the phone on the floor and slapped his palms over his rapidly heating face. He listened to his own thumping heart for a bit, then put the hands away from his face, and picked up the phone again.
He was barely able to bite down a silly giddy smile.
you:
I stole your shirt
you:
and your bathrobe
Derek:
Are you trying to get me to tell you to take it off
Stiles huffed out a laugh.
you:
I can take everything off
you:
if you tell me to
Derek seemed to type and then immediately erase something several times. It led Stiles to a silent giggle fit, only for him to choke when the message finally came.
Derek:
I would tell you to finger yourself while thinking of me but I want to be present for that so
you:
!!!
Derek:
Go to sleep kitten
Stiles lay down on the floor with one of his feet propped on the window and the other resting on the floor. He watched the shadows travel across the ceiling akin to northern lights. A light smile played on his lips.
you:
going
Derek:
Sweet dreams
you:
you too
*
“I’m not here for your entertainme-e-ent,” Stiles sang on top of his lungs. “You don’t really wanna mess with me tonight…”
Nodding to the beat with his new headphones on, Stiles took another clean dry t-shirt, folded it, and put it on top of other shirts stacked neatly into a pile. Hoodies, sweats, Derek’s fancy bossy shirts; it was laundry day.
Laundry day, because if Stiles sat in silence doing nothing for a minute more, he would explode. Or cry.
He had already cleaned out Derek’s fridge and cupboards, which, on any other day, would’ve been an extremely tedious task. He had a small incident where he had a hard time putting down two fresh blood-oozing steaks that he ordered for dinner.
It hadn’t even been that long since he’d last eaten…
To keep the weirdly timed urges away, Stiles shoved the steaks to the back of the fridge and slammed the door, quickly retreating to the laundry room.
He puttered all morning, blasting the music into the headphones and singing his lungs out. It’s not like he had many opportunities to do that before — first of all, Lydia would’ve smothered him in his sleep, and secondly, he couldn’t embarrass himself in front of Derek. He’d been getting really comfortable around the man — too comfortable — and there was a risk that Derek’s rational mind would fight through the blinding veil of charms and see just how weird Stiles was.
He put elbows on the table, stole Derek’s shirts and sweats (just like today), and flicked his utensils around pointing at everything and nothing during dinner. Given Stiles’ nature, he had almost no sense of boundaries, and there was one time when he got bored and rearranged Derek’s bookshelves to his liking. The look Derek gave him afterward was really weird and intense, and Stiles saw him silently tracing the spines of the books with his fingers while breathing deeply. Perhaps, he was trying to calm himself in order not to snap at Stiles.
So, yeah. Since that incident, Stiles was really trying to keep his weirdness to himself. Trying.
It wasn’t his fault Derek made it so easy. He made everything easy.
“Cause you know it’s ove-e-er… Before it bega-a-AH!”
Stiles jumped nearly up to the ceiling. He hurriedly pushed the headphones off himself and put a hand on chest above his rapidly beating heart, then glared at the entrance to the bedroom door.
Derek’s shoulders kept shaking. He took a finger away from his lips, pushed away from the door, and slowly came up to Stiles.
“Hi, kitten.”
His voice. His fucking voice.
Swallowing, Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, falling into his open hands.
“You scared me!” he groaned, hoping his shaky voice would be attributed to the jumpscare and not to the head-spinning elation at the sight of Derek.
Oh, his body was so warm and sturdy, and he was so tall, and he smelled so fucking good, and his arms held Stiles just right—
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut and clutched at him tighter.
“Sorry.” The fucker sounded smug.
“How long have you been standing there?”
Derek hummed, rubbing his hands down Stiles’ back and kissing his neck. “Since the sweater.”
Oh, fuck, the sweater. He forgot that it had to be hand-washed, and now it wouldn’t fit even Lydia.
“I’m so—”
“Come here.” Derek didn’t let him apologize, didn’t let him lean away. He grabbed Stiles’ face in his hands and kissed him like a thirsting man worshipping the first droplet.
Oh.
His kisses had never been sweeter. And Stiles had been kissed by him a lot.
It felt tender, welcoming, yearning. The amusement kept tugging the corners of Derek’s lips up, and it should’ve been frustrating to kiss him when the man kept on fucking smiling, yet Stiles couldn’t help but press closer to him.
“Stop— mmm… Stop laughing…” Stiles murmured between the kisses.
Tearing himself away from Stiles’ lips, Derek grabbed his waist, put his face against Stiles’ neck, and laughed. His breath traveled down Stiles’ chest, warming his heart that fluttered in welcoming cheer.
He didn’t say anything, just chuckled to himself for a bit like a madman on a euphoric wave, then pressed a small kiss on Stiles’ shoulder.
“Is this my shirt?” he asked.
“Uhh,” Stiles cleared his throat, still reeling from the sudden arrival, from the kiss, and from… well, from Derek. “Busted? Yeah, sorry, I’ll… I’ll throw it in with the next load—”
“Don’t you dare.”
“…but you’re going home alone, aren’t ya?...”
“Shit, sorry,” Stiles snatched the headphones off the bed and scrambled to turn them off.
Derek watched his hurried moves, then smirked. “Are these the ones I gave you?”
Stiles gave him a deadpan stare. “You know they are.”
“I do.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “I was just making sure.”
“Of what?”
“Nothing,” Derek dismissed quickly with the smuggest grin on his face. Then, he grabbed Stiles around his waist and thighs and, ignoring the yelling, made them both fall onto the bed.
Every pile of clothes was obliterated. Stiles was too busy laughing from the tickling of Derek’s beard all over his neck and chest to care.
He wrapped his legs around Derek’s torso and hummed from the kisses Derek was sucking into his neck. He scratched the man’s shoulders, frustrated to feel leather instead of his warm skin.
Stiles bit his lip as Derek caught the edge of his jaw.
“Missed you,” he rumbled.
Stiles melted into a smile. “Missed you, too.” He slid his hand into Derek’s hair and tugged him up for a kiss.
Kissing him was heaven.
Their tongues lapped at each other in lazy languid caresses, full of unhurried tenderness. Derek’s hands roamed all over Stiles’ body, raking the shirt to his armpits and scratching the skin oh so lightly.
Stiles shivered and bucked his hips up.
Derek huffed into his mouth. Stiles expected a joke or a teasing remark, yet the man just recaptured his lips, fucking his mouth with his tongue.
A moment later, Stiles’ pants were lowered halfway down his thighs.
Oh god.
Stiles swallowed a moan and gasped with his mouth open as Derek circled his thumb around his hole. The man quickly claimed his lips once again, licking and sucking, in a futile attempt to distract him from what he was doing.
Stiles pushed at Derek’s lower back with his heels, insistent and impatient. His dick was weeping at this point, and he struggled to find something to grind it into.
“Shh,” Derek huffed. His face was so annoyingly smug and pleased that Stiles would’ve bit it if it wasn’t so sexy. “Let me…”
Stiles shut his eyes and hissed at the chilly slickness of the lube but Derek was already thrusting his fingers inside. He kissed Stiles’ neck in apology, murmuring nonsense.
Stiles wanted him so fucking much.
“Der…” he breathed, looking up at him. “Please…”
Derek met his gaze, his fingers still pumping. He didn’t say anything, just smirked at him.
Fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing, what Stiles was thinking. He got Stiles exactly where he wanted him, pinned under him, squirming and fucking himself on his fingers like an impatient sex-obsessed freak. He even let Stiles tug on his cock, watching the show with his eyes gleaming from hunger and desire.
At last, Derek’s patience ran out. With no care about his lube-slicked fingers, he shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, unbuckled his jeans and took out his hard cock.
He wasted no time and slid into Stiles’ loosened hole with a punched-out grunt.
Stiles lost his breath and grasped at Derek’s shoulders as he bottomed out in first go. His heavy hips pinned Stiles down, forcing the thick pulsing cock deeper inside. The zipper pressed sharply into his skin.
Stiles’ hole was stretches so wide that he couldn’t even blame the tear that slid down his temple.
“That’s it, kitten.” Derek kissed the tear away, pressing into him more and more. He pulled out and thrust back inside. Stiles whimpered. “Shh…”
He kissed away Stiles’ desperate breathless noises as he started fucking. It wasn’t slow but not quick either, just torturous enough for Stiles to want to scream. Derek held his thighs, sucked at his bared neck and pumped inside, again and again and again…
Stiles moaned into the sweaty skin of his shoulder, probably scratching his back to hell. He couldn’t help but open his legs wider.
His face heated when he felt Derek’s pleased smirk.
“AH!” Stiles shouted as the man snapped his hips.
Once again, Derek remained silent. His thrusts grew harder, his grip tighter, and Stiles’ moans more breathless.
He missed Derek so fucking much.
Stiles whined as Derek fell into him, trapping him against the mattress. He grabbed Stiles’ hair, making him bare his neck and sucked bruises into the thin skin, all while fucking him harder.
The bed creaked under the force of Derek’s movements. All Stiles could do was lay there gasping and clutch at Derek as the man took what he wanted.
Derek snapped his hips one, two, three times before slamming in the final time with an orgasmic groan. He buried his cock deep inside, filling him with cum, gyrating his hips in a way that made Stiles mewl.
The tears were streaming freely down Stiles’ temples, his flaming cheeks and soaking into the strewn fresh clothes.
Whether it was from the forbidden feeling expanding in his chest, or the orgasmic euphoria…
Derek didn’t need to know.
*
The TV rambled on. Derek was breathing slowly but wasn’t yet asleep — he kept stroking Stiles’ sides and hummed in appreciation as Stiles’ fingers raked through his hair.
Stiles was getting hungry.
Not humanly hungry, but… Yeah.
Even now, lying on the couch pinned under Derek’s weight with his head on Stiles’ stomach, his mind returned to those fucking steaks in the back of the fridge.
They were so juicy… And the way blood bubbled under the package, so fatty and close…
Fuck, stop. He shouldn’t be hungry, it was too early. Besides, Derek was right there, and Stiles didn’t feel any urge to chomp on him.
So why—
Suddenly, Derek’s shoulders went tense. He pushed away from Stiles and quickly rose on his elbows.
Startled, Stiles turned to look at him.
Derek’s eyes were wide as plates. The man was staring straight at him.
Stiles’ heart started to double in speed.
“What?” he asked.
Derek didn’t answer. He opened his mouth, then shut it. His skin was the palest Stiles had ever seen it be. He stared at Stiles as if—
No.
As if he had never seen him before.
“Derek?” Stiles asked again, quiet and scared.
No, please, no, not now, it was too soon—
Derek flinched, then quickly lay back on Stiles' stomach.
Stiles didn’t understand a thing. Cold and clammy, he lay pinned to the couch with Derek’s hands now digging into his sides almost painfully so. His head was lying on its side — Stiles couldn’t see his face, just the top of his head, and feel him get more and more tense.
He was afraid to touch him.
Soon (too soon) Derek startled out of his weird state. With pale lips and wide unseeing eyes, he jumped up from the couch and stormed out of the living room into the hallway, nearly crashing into the coffee table on his way out.
After a couple of shocked seconds, Stiles hurried after him.
“Derek!”
The man had already gotten into his boots and was shoving his arms into the leather jacket.
Stiles felt like he was going to throw his heart up at the sight. His world wavered, and he sagged against the wall, trying to speak past the tightness of his throat.
“What happened?” No answer. “Derek, you’re scaring me.”
The man froze. He turned to look at Stiles with those vacant eyes of his.
“Don’t—” his voice was hoarse. “It’s nothing. I have to… to go.”
“Der—”
“I’ll come back.” With these words, he ran out of the front door, slamming it after himself.
Stiles stared at the door with all warmth draining out of him.
The silence was ringing, making the blood rushing to his temples even more deafening. He stumbled back to the couch on weak legs, then fell upon it as all strength left him.
It has started.
The charms were losing their power. It was the beginning of the end.
No matter how harsh Stiles’ inhales were, he couldn’t gather enough air into his lungs. He didn’t notice when tears began to stream down his face. He just sat there gulping, clutching at the pillow he was lying on so peacefully and unaware just mere minutes ago.
Funny, how easy and quick it all crumbled.
But, then, how else would it end? It was all fake from the beginning. Plastic, cheap, fragile “love”; a bright vibrant packaging with dust inside.
Stiles created it all with his own hands. No one else was to blame but him. He deserved this. All this ache and slamming of the doors and that look Derek gave him. Strange, confused, and scared.
Stiles did it to him.
Lifelessly, he sank on the couch. The pillow soaked up his tears in an instant.
It smelled like Derek.
*
A touch upon his cheek, softer than breath, warmer than sunshine. Back and forth, hesitant and tender.
Stiles scrunched his nose and frowned. When the touch didn’t cease, he blinked open his eyes and stiffened.
Derek’s eyes were red and tired, with shadows settled upon the thin skin. The man was sitting on the floor next to the couch. He looked rugged and absolutely drained, but at the same time… he was smiling.
“Hey, kitten.”
Stiles blinked at him, though didn’t move, afraid to scare him off again.
Derek swallowed. His voice was deep, raspy, and shaky when he finally gathered enough strength to speak.
“Sorry, I ran out like that.” Derek’s gaze traveled across Stiles’ face, almost greedily taking it in. “I freaked you out, didn’t I?”
Stiles’ throat clicked. “Yeah.”
“Yeah… I’m sorry.”
“You’ve already said that.”
“I know. I just… want you to know that it’s never going to happen again. I’m going to be here, do you hear me?” Derek’s smile bloomed on his lips unbidden. He huffed and leaned down to lay a trembling kiss on Stiles’ cheek. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he blinked them away down to his cheeks. “I’m going to be here, with you. Never going to leave. Whatever happens, I’m staying.”
Stiles couldn’t bear the sight of Derek crying. His heart resonated with its rightful owner, tightening and bleeding.
“You’re scaring me again,” Stiles whispered. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”
Derek smiled. His eyes glistened.
“Yeah,” he breathed out, almost in awe. He leaned forward, pressed his forehead to Stiles’, and closed his eyes. Derek’s hand found his and clutched it in painful desperation. “I can’t believe I get to have this.”
“Have what?”
Derek pressed his lips to the corner of Stiles’ mouth and breathed deep as if savoring his scent. “Just this.” He smiled again, while Stiles got more and more confused and worried. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.”
Stiles barely had time to grasp at Derek’s shoulders before the man lifted him in his arms. He always lifted him so easily despite Stiles actually having some muscle definition to his frame (thanks, Danny).
He sneaked glances at Derek’s face as he walked through the darkness with easy grace, and stared at the smile that refused to leave his lips.
Stiles didn’t understand.
Maybe, the pheromones struck Derek again as soon as he entered the flat, and now he was riding high. Maybe, it had nothing to do with Stiles in the first place, and Derek was just weird like that.
One thought persisted, however. When Derek lowered him on the bed, when he shed his clothes and crawled after Stiles to settle with his ear against his stomach, Stiles thought about one thing.
He should leave.
He couldn’t do this to Derek anymore.
He loved him too much.
*
Cold blood slithered down his forearms to his elbows and dripped on the floor. His hands were slick with it, oily with all the fat that saturated the flesh.
His sharpened teeth dug into the meat and tore chunks of it out. He swallowed it almost without chewing, so hungry he was. The sounds felt too loud in the silence of the night, the whirring of the fridge the only accompaniment to his long-awaited feast.
It didn’t matter that he was used to the hot flesh. No, this was good, too, even with the faint notes of grass throughout—
“Stiles?”
Stiles froze.
Suddenly, he saw everything — the opened fridge, the dim light from inside; he felt the cold kitchen tiles under his bare feet, the chill that stuck to his skin. Something cold and soft and slick in his hands.
Stiles let it go.
The half-eaten steak smacked onto the floor right between his feet.
No. No, no, no.
Stiles didn’t want to turn, deathly afraid of what might happen after. He just stood there, staring at the meat, waiting for Derek to shout, to yell, to call him insane and kick him out—
Strong hands grabbed him by the shoulders and turned his body away from the fridge. Familiar hands cupped his undoubtedly pale and bloody face and turned up.
Derek’s wide eyes were full to the brim with concern.
He will leave, he will leave, he will leave.
“Baby, listen to me, it’s okay.”
Stiles opened his mouth to talk, but the taste chose this exact moment to remind him about what he had just done. Everything tasted like meat, like blood.
Whatever expression he had on his face made Derek frown even harder. The man shook him a little.
“Focus on me, Stiles. It’s okay. It’s fine. I’m here. It was probably a dream, that’s all.”
That was no dream.
Stiles didn’t remember waking up or walking to the kitchen. If Derek didn’t snap him out of it, he could’ve… could’ve…
“Come here, sweetheart.” Gently, oh so gently, Derek took his wrists and led him to the sink. He washed Stiles’ hands himself, holding them as if they were more fragile and thinner than crystal.
Stiles watched his hands move and barely had any feeling in his own. He was only vaguely aware of the wall of heat that was Derek’s body in front of him, of his muscles flexing under his movements, of the edge of his clenched jaw.
What had he done?
“That’s it,” said Derek, turning off the water. He dried his hands, then led him to the bar stool, helping him up. “Come on, arms up.”
Stiles lifted his arms as if in a trance. He didn’t understand why Derek asked him that at first, but then felt the cold seep into his skin as the man took off his shirt.
Oh. Right. It was probably covered in blood, too.
Derek’s shadow disappeared then returned a couple of seconds later. Something warm and wet touched his face — his own t-shirt, Stiles realized. Derek was cleaning his face. From chunks of meat, fat, and blood.
Stiles lifted his eyes.
Derek met his gaze for a fraction of a second, then returned to cleaning.
“Derek.”
“Shh.”
Stiles shut up. His eyes stung, and his whole body was breaking out in shivers.
Derek noticed, of course, always weirdly attuned to Stiles’ body. Putting the t-shirt aside, he hopped over into the living room and came back with a blanket in his hands, which he then promptly put around Stiles.
God, he probably thought Stiles was such a fucking freak. Derek was probably in shock himself.
“On a scale of one to ten,” said Stiles in a shaking voice, “how much do you want me to leave and never come back?”
He was probably going to be told to pack his things in three, two—
Stiles didn’t expect Derek to step between his spread legs and sweep him into a tight hug.
Fuck, he didn’t need to add tears to the horror scene, not now.
“Never joke about it,” said Derek into his ear, grabbing his waist harder. “Never.”
“But—”
“I swear to god, if I have to lock you inside, I would.”
Stiles wanted to curl into himself from the heaviness of his voice. He dug his fingers into Derek’s shoulders and sagged against him with his chin against the man’s shoulder.
“So we’re going to, like, pretend nothing happened? Is that what you mean?” he asked.
“No. No, of course, not. Look at yourself, you’re trembling like a leaf.” Derek rubbed his back as if it would help. As if anything would help. “I told you, it’s okay. You’ve just had a very intense dream and sleepwalked.”
Oh, Derek. Stiles was honestly flattered and a little bit horrified by the lengths Derek was willing to go to delude himself into thinking Stiles was normal.
Fuck, Derek was such a naive human. Stiles couldn’t let him think that. It was simply dangerous.
“Derek, sleepwalking or not, you cannot tell me it wasn’t freaky.”
“It’s not.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake—”
“And it’s my fault anyway.”
“How the fuck was that—”
“How are you feeling?” Not listening to a word he said, Derek put his palm against Stiles’ stomach, rubbing the skin with his thumb. “Nausea? Pain?”
“N-no?”
“Do you still want to eat?”
Now Stiles really looked at him. What was he supposed to say? Wasn’t that kind of a strange question? Stiles was, like, fifty percent sure that when humans got food poisoning they were put on a diet of chicken broth and crackers. Did Derek think he had just got poisoned?
What was he supposed to say?
“Uhh,” Stiles blinked at him. Well, maybe if he went for the truth… Derek was human after all, he had to know what to do. “Kind of?”
“Okay, that is fine.” Derek nodded at him as if talking to an idiot. “Sit here, baby, okay? Just relax. I’m going to cook something for you.”
After pressing a light apologetic kiss on Stiles’ forehead, Derek left him sitting alone. Stiles watched in confusion (mixed with something shaking, warm, and aching) as he marched to the fridge, took something out, then plopped the pan right on the stove.
He always loved watching Derek cook. He did it with a strange grace, his movements quick but precise. The muscles on his back and shoulders played delicately in the low warm light; his grey pants rode low on his hips. Derek was cooking for him.
For him.
Stiles crossed his arms on the table and laid his forehead on his hands.
Breathing, listening. Trying not to fall apart completely.
He didn’t deserve this man. Never did and never will.
Something hissed and sizzled. Fat or oil bubbled on the hot surface, sputtering droplets everywhere. Soon, the kitchen filled with a delicious smell of…
Grilled meat?
Stiles looked up.
Derek stood by the stove, leaning with one hand on the counter, and holding the steak with tongs in another. He remained silent as he cooked, turning the meat and pressing it on all sides. Shoved it in the oven, then stared with a blank faraway gaze at the stove as it cooked. Took it out after a few minutes, back into the pan, basting it with butter, garlic, and some herbs.
Not a single word, until…
“Here.”
…a plate with a perfectly grilled juicy rare steak was put in front of him.
Stiles stared at the bronzed buttered surface of the meat, then swallowed the spit that instantly filled his mouth.
He licked his lips, cleared his throat, then turned a hesitant gaze up at Derek, who was watching him like a hawk.
“I can eat it?”
Derek’s eyes drilled into his.
“I cooked it for you.”
Stiles wiggled in his seat. “Yeah, no, I meant…” he had to keep his act as a human so Derek would have to bear stupid questions. “Can I eat it so soon after?..”
Derek was… yep, still staring. “Kitten,” he started with a strange smile on his lips that didn’t match his wild gaze, “you bet your pretty ass you can eat anything I put in front of you. I’ll always give you the best. That steak you ate? “Premium” doesn’t begin to cover it. I’m also quite sure that your stomach can handle it. You’re human, yes, but you’re still a predator.”
Stiles’ whole body went still as a statue.
Does he kn—
No. No, stupid, how would he fucking know? If Derek knew what kind of predator Stiles really was, he would run away instead of trying to soothe him with a treat.
“I know what you need, Stiles,” Derek added, a touch softer than before. “Eat.”
Derek had no idea what Stiles needed. However, this time, he guessed right.
Stiles licked his lips discreetly, pushed the plate towards himself, and began eating.
He ate the whole thing under Derek’s heavy stare. When Stiles offered him the bite, he only stretched his lips in this secretive smile of his, this time full of… pride? Satisfaction? Pleasure? Whatever it was, Derek refused.
If only Stiles allowed himself to dream, it would be of this. Of Derek accepting him for who he was. A predator.
Yet, usually, the human-eating predators didn’t have the same respect as others. And no matter how much it was romanticized, Stiles did not want to die from his lover’s hand.
*
“Stiles! Shit— Stiles, wait!”
A breathless laugh burst out of Stiles. He jumped on the fallen log and off within seconds — it didn’t even have time to fall apart underneath his feet. Trees, grass, the wet spider web of sunlight cheering from above — only now did Stiles realize how much he longed for them.
Hearing Derek’s harrumphs only made him snicker.
“You were the one to take all the baggage from me! So don’t complain now, big guy.”
“I can’t let you carry them,” Derek grunted.
Stiles rolled his eyes, catching himself on the trunk of the tree and spinning around it. “I can, actually.”
Derek didn’t answer.
Whatever. Derek was — still, for an unknown reason — trying to impress him. Stiles would be lying if he said it didn’t work, though.
Smiling to himself, Stiles sneaked a glance at the man behind him. Derek — oh, what a dork — was watching him instead of looking, you know, under his feet. He had the same tense line on his forehead whenever he stared at Stiles for a long time, and he was just… a mother hen.
“Don’t touch the pan, it’s hot.” — like, really?
“I’ve read that coffee causes heart attacks. No, I’ve lost the link. No, we don’t have coffee anymore.” — come on, man!
“Let me carry this. And this. And this.” — that one became a classic really quickly.
Perhaps, Stiles was slowly driving him insane.
Shit, no, today was a good day, he couldn’t allow those thoughts to take over.
Let him forget just for a moment, an hour, a day.
Shaking his head, Stiles breathed in and started running.
His feet barely touched the ground. He jumped over the fallen logs and flew through the bushes, evading the trees that longed to capture him with their long arms.
He felt free.
Stiles’ mind quietened, surrendered to the true grace of the body of a running predator. His muscles moved the way they were created to do, his legs burned, the blood surged filling him with life.
The forest had never been louder. A lone raccoon tottering to his burrow, a flock of birds gossiping bright and cheerful, a doe and her curious calf miles away frozen at the sound of him.
Well, him and…
Stiles turned his head around and grinned.
His foot caught on something right at that moment, and he yelped as the ground got suddenly closer.
He didn’t get to touch it.
“You’re going to be the fucking death of me.”
Stiles couldn’t help it. He laughed. Even as his lungs burned and his throat gone dry from the sharpness of his breath, he sagged into Derek’s arms that had so conveniently caught him.
He was still giggling when Derek put him upright and back into his own chest. His strong hairy arms wound across his chest and stomach, his palm splayed against the center of it. Derek’s body was all but a sturdy wall behind him; Stiles leaned back knowing the man would hold him.
Derek’s face was a storm of emotions but still funny though.
“How do you run so fast?” he asked, completely bewildered and… in awe?
Stiles shrugged. “That’s just something I do.”
“You could’ve broken your fucking neck.” Oh, boy, he was getting really scowly. Stiles inclined his head and lifted his eyebrows at him, but Derek was on his ass. “And… and… there are so many predators out here!”
Oh, are there?
Licking his lips stretched out in a smile, Stiles lifted one hand and tapped his palm against Derek’s cheek.
“You’ve caught me, Der,” he groaned. “It’s fine.”
“Of course, I caught you,” said Derek as if the alternative would be so-o ridiculous. “I’ll always catch you, no matter how far you run.”
Stiles snorted. “You know,” he said, taking Derek’s hand off his stomach and interlacing their fingers, before turning to face him with his head inclined, “one creepy sentence more, and I’m gonna start thinking you dragged me into this forest to kill me.”
Derek stared at him.
Uh oh.
“Too far?” Stiles’ face soured.
Watching as Derek closed his eyes for a second, then looked up to the sky as if asking for patience, Stiles felt a prick of guilt upon his heart.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted out, shuffling from foot to foot, then startled as Derek started walking tugging him after himself. “I mean, that would be awkward if you were trying to kill me, like…” Stiles let out an awkward laugh, “I thought my body was enough for you to keep me around for a long time—”
“I like your body,” Derek grumbled not looking at him. Stiles’ eyes drilled the back of his head and the straps of the rucksack that dug into Derek’s shoulders. “That’s kind of the point of, you know…”
“Know what?”
“Trying to keep you alive.”
Oh.
“I grew up in this forest,” Derek continued, his voice softening a bit. “I know every fucking crevice of it so I know what I’m talking about.”
“Alright, alright, you’re the king of the jungle, I get it. Don’t hiss at me, kitty.”
Derek choked. “Me?” he swerved his head to give Stiles the most incredulous look. “Aren’t you the one who mewls in the bedroom?”
Stiles’ face grew hot.
“I’m not complaining, baby, far from it,” Derek added quickly in a much softer voice, likely sensing something in the Stiles’ silence. “I’m just saying you’re more of a kitten than I am.”
Stiles cleared his throat. “What are you, then?” Jesus Christ, his cheeks were still aflame.
“A vampire.”
Stiles slapped Derek’s shoulder, as the man snorted at his own joke.
“Okay, not a vampire, but also definitely not a lion. Think of something more local.”
“Like?”
“A wolf.”
Huffing, Stiles jumped up to Derek’s side, put his other hand on the inside of the man’s elbow, and pinned him with a stare. “There are no wolves in California. You’re just a furry, c’mon, admi— Oh my god, Derek, look!”
The sight that had just opened before their very eyes was startling and… funereal.
The meadow lay wide and luscious surrounded by the whispery embrace of the trees. Once, long ago, it was well cared for, yet it was clear that the one who cared had vanished. In the middle of it, was the house.
Or, rather, its crumbling ruins.
Decrepit, dark, dead; its grandeur was now smeared with soot. Nature had already put her fingers into every crevice, with vines, grass, and wildflowers peeking out of the floorboards.
Yet, it still had the echo, the shadow of violence. Even the motherly tenderness of nature couldn’t quite soothe the screams of the tragedy. The house was burnt to emaciation, with bare metal trussing rusting away in the wind. Void and abandoned by life, it stood silent as a grave.
Perhaps, it was just that.
And then, Derek spoke.
“This was my home.”
When Stiles turned to look at him, his heart bled.
Derek, however, wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were glued to the destroyed house and filled with such tenderness and raw ache… It looked like he had wept all the tears out of himself, and all that was left was just this… tenderness.
“Derek…”
The man blinked and shifted his gaze on Stiles. He sighed.
“Come on,” he walked up to Stiles, took his hand, and led him further into the meadow, “I want to tell you something.”
Stiles didn’t want to hear it. He was deathly afraid of what Derek was going to tell him, he could see right there, in front of his eyes, how much pain was in Derek’s life. He didn’t want to hear it, because he didn’t want it to be true. Didn’t want for Derek to have gone through this.
Stiles watched him with wide stinging eyes and a firmly shut mouth, as Derek spread out the blanket, as he put the basket with Stiles’ sandwiches and lemonade on it, as he took Stiles’ hand, and guided him to sit down.
Stiles’ throat got tighter and tighter with every minute.
When they were settled, a stranger and a native, side by side, Derek started talking.
“I was late. It was a family gathering, the whole bunch of them, you know? When all the aunts finally get to bother you with questions like ‘When are you going to get married?’ or ‘When are we going to hear the pitter-patter of small feet?’” Derek’s smile was bitter, his voice quiet. “But it was a big day for my elder sister. Everyone had to be there.” His voice broke.
Stiles turned to look at him.
Derek’s jaw was clenched tight. He rubbed his wrists and swallowed a couple of times, before clearing his throat.
“I had to stay late in New York. Failed some exams. Laura refused to let it stay a secret, threatened me that she would tattle to Mom when she got home. Dumbass,” he chuckled, his gaze far away. “I dragged my feet more because of this. And then, my little cousin, you know. Bought him a Lego set that he wanted even though it cost too much for me back then. Stood in that stupid store forever wondering whether I would be able to afford the present at all.”
At least one sister, multiple aunts, a cousin. His mother.
Stiles was counting, against his own will. He was afraid to turn back to look at the house.
“Should’ve just been here instead.” Derek’s voice went so hoarse now, it almost broke into a whisper. “I would give everything to just come back in time and tell myself to hurry home. To lift Cora in my arms again and let her kick me for it. To have a taste of my mom’s apple pie — Do you know how many pies I’ve tasted since? None have the same taste. Don’t know what the fuck she put into it. Maybe it was just a bad pie but it was her pie, you know?”
Blinking the saltiness out of his eyes, Stiles crawled to Derek, plastering himself to Derek’s side and hugging him as best as he could. It felt like he would break into sobbing if he started talking right now. So, after a couple of controlled breaths and hard swallows, Stiles managed to squeeze out a pitiful and croaky—
“I’m sorry.”
Yeah, that wasn’t even covering it.
How did Derek live after that? How much true strength was hiding behind this body? Not in his muscles, but buried deep in that soul?
Stiles thought back to all the times when Derek bought him something ridiculously expensive with the straightest face on, even when Stiles was clearly joking. How Derek always answered his calls right away and warned him when he wouldn’t be able to so Stiles wouldn’t worry. How he was always home on time.
Stiles sneaked his hand into Derek’s and held it tight.
“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said. “And I’m so sorry it did.”
Derek glanced at him.
“Please, don’t cry,” he said softly, lifted his hand, and wiped the wetness from Stiles’ cheeks.
Stiles stared at him and didn’t quite have the heart to tell him the same. He just leaned forward and kissed him right in the corner of his mouth, before settling back on his big shoulder.
“Is there… no one?” he dared to ask.
Derek stroked his cheek for a minute, then turned back with a small sigh. “My uncle Peter survived for a couple of weeks in a coma. But his heart didn’t—” he swallowed again. “Couldn’t handle all the… injuries. Sometimes, I think that if someone survived besides me — one person, just one — he would’ve known and he would’ve lived.”
Stiles hummed, ignoring how irrational this thought was. If there was one person who was allowed to soothe himself with fairytales and dreams, it was Derek.
“Do you know what happened?” he asked quietly.
“No. I mean, fire, obviously, but… Why didn’t they escape? Why? There were so many of them; they should’ve heard, should’ve run or, or… something.”
“Should’ve heard what?”
“Not ‘what’. Whom.”
Everything in Stiles turned into ice. Slowly, he lifted his head and stared at the side of Derek’s dark face.
“You think it was intentional.” He wasn’t asking. Stiles knew clear as day that Derek believed this with his whole heart, and that nothing would ever sway his opinion.
“Yeah.” Derek clearly wasn’t happy about his own conviction.
And who was Stiles to tell him, even with the gentlest of intentions, that things like this just happen sometimes? Yes, even to good people, to Derek’s family who had years to live and generations to care for? If Derek needed something to hold on to, then… Then let it be so.
“I know I sound delusional,” said Derek all of a sudden, as if reading Stiles’ thoughts, “and it doesn’t help that I don’t have any evidence, but I know this isn’t just a case of a faulty wire.”
“Okay.”
“I just have this bad feeling, every time I come here it’s just… a bad feeling. They should’ve escaped. They should’ve heard if something happened, they would’ve noticed. And I don’t know why they didn’t.”
“Maybe, it was done from far away.”
Derek inclined his head, then turned to pin Stiles with a stare.
Stiles fidgeted and licked his lips. “Well, you know, like, fire arrows in Lord of the Rings?”
Derek watched him for a couple of moments before turning back to stare at the house.
Yikes, Stiles. Ruining everything again with your nerd shit.
“D’you think someone would use those?” asked Derek.
His voice didn’t hold even an ounce of sarcasm.
Breathing out, Stiles settled more comfortably against Derek’s back, leaning into him with his weight. “If they’re a freak that can… harm an entire family with kids, with innocent people inside, then yeah, they can do some real evil crazy shit.”
Derek gripped his hand and then relaxed the hold. They went silent for a while, each lost in their thoughts.
Stiles had no desire to dwell in the dark pit that his mind had turned into these past few days, yet it sucked him in nonetheless. One thing became clearer each day, however.
He had no right to keep this man to himself. Stiles had to let him live a normal life, like an ordinary human being. It had to be enough.
“Tell me about them?” Stiles murmured.
And Derek did.
The day went by, full of Derek’s warm quiet voice, the murmurs of the leaves, and the wind kissing their faces. There was Talia — Derek’s mother — with her hearty laugh and stern gaze; Laura with her sharp jokes and Cora with her annoyed huffs and spindly teenage arms; Peter’s smirks and Marianne’s heartfelt hugs. Members of the Hale family were present, they were there that day in the ashes ingrained in the house, in Derek’s gentle words and in his eyes that rarely strayed away from his late home.
Stiles didn’t interrupt, too entranced by Derek’s… everything. He leaned back with his palms slipping from the blanket onto the cool grass and his legs nestled between Derek’s. Despite the topic, Stiles got pretty hungry as the day went by, and wasn’t really that surprised when Derek gave him almost all the food.
“… is that why you know Twilight?” Stiles huffed, scratching his palms from the ticklish grass.
Derek laughed along with him. “Yeah. Those two dolts pinned me to the seat. Laura held my head turned to the TV—”
“What, like in Matilda?”
“Exactly, yeah. Cora was insufferable. She quoted the movie as it went on, and Laura cackled like a hyena. But you know, it’s actually a pretty good comedy.”
“If you put it like that—”
“What are you doing?”
“…huh?”
Suddenly, Derek caught his wrists and pulled them up for both of them to see.
The skin on the palms was red and irritated, covered in angry pink dots. And it was really itchy, now that Stiles thought of that. Which… strange. Mountain ash? Here?
Stiles sat up and chuckled in good nature, rubbing his palms together. “It’s nothing, don’t worry. I’m just a bit allergic to, uh… rowan tree.” He studied his hands for a couple of moments, then looked up at Derek with an easy smile.
It died down as soon as he saw the expression on Derek’s face.
“What?” Stiles asked, suddenly feeling sick.
Derek’s gaze was locked on his face. His eyes were open wide, and it seemed like he wasn’t breathing at all.
Just like that day, on the couch.
Derek moved, making Stiles flinch. He reached out with his hand as if he wanted to touch the grass himself, but froze. His fingers were shaking. Derek threw a quick glance at Stiles, took the hand back, and jumped on his feet.
“Let’s go.”
Stiles craned his neck. Why was Derek so pale?
“Der, it’s nothing, it’s just an allergy,” Stiles said softly. His heart beat faster and faster at the sight of Derek’s sharp movements as the man shoved their things back into the rucksack. “I know it’s ugly but it’ll pass…”
Derek stopped and shifted his gaze once more on Stiles’ hands.
“Are you okay?” he said. “Does it hurt?”
“N-no. I told you—”
“Then... Just, please, Stiles, let’s go.”
*
“…and then he just,” Stiles waved his hand, “left me here!”
“He left you in the woods?!”
“Wh— No, Danny, for fuck’s sake, I’m at his house. He just dropped me off and he’s gone, Danny, gone.”
“He’ll come back.”
“What if he knows?” Stiles chewed on his lip. He was getting dizzy from his fast pacing and nearly crashed into the couch, unable to focus. His hands were still a bit oily from the ointment — useless for supernatural folk, but Derek told him to do it so there wasn’t any choice, really. One could say, Derek gave him an order, and Stiles was utterly unable to do anything but shut up and obey that sharp voice.
“He doesn’t know.” Fuck, he wanted to punch Danny in the face! “If he did, he would’ve left you back there or hit you to get away.”
“Derek would never hit me!” Stiles exclaimed, raking his fingers through his hair and tugging on it.
“He’s human,” Danny reminded, even though it clearly pained him to do so. “You’d be lucky if he didn’t do worse.”
The concept of Derek bringing him any sort of harm was so fucking wild. Unacceptable, strange. Completely unrealistic.
But… It happened before. Not to him, but there were thousands of these cases of single-minded scared-to-death humans attacking supernaturals, sometimes unprovoked. Not to mention hunters.
Stiles sat heavily on the couch. His leg started jiggling. He bit on the skin around his thumb, staring at the smooth black gloss of the TV.
“You know what I’m gonna tell you.”
“Yeah.”
“You have to leave.”
“I know.”
“If he’s starting to gain consciousness—”
“You don’t need to tell me all this.”
“— then shit is gonna hit the fan real quick,” Danny spoke over him.
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut to the point of pain. The lodge in his throat echoed the ache.
“I don’t want to,” he whispered.
Danny didn’t say anything. Nothing he or anyone else could say would make Stiles feel better. Nothing would. This pain that was coiling its venomous pikes around his throbbing heart was there to stay.
He didn’t want to leave Derek.
“I’ll be there,” said Danny quietly.
It was probably more to make sure Stiles would actually leave and not drag it out — not like Danny himself did — but Stiles appreciated the support. No one was there for Danny, and Lydia held everything secret until the very breaking point but Stiles had both of them.
He would need them a lot in the near future.
“Give me a week.”
“Stiles, that’s too much.”
How could it fucking be too much if forever was not enough?
“I have to make sure he’s gonna be okay.”
“You’re stalling.”
“Let me say goodbye.”
Danny cursed. “Fuck you, Stiles. Five days.”
So little.
“I’ll take it.”
“Come to our flat when you’re ready.”
They hung up after goodbyes.
Empty and bone-tired, Stiles put his face in his palms.
He breathed. Tried to, at least. The pain kept coming in waves, bringing salty bitterness to his throat and setting a burning weight in his stomach.
Slowly, oh so slowly, as the panicked fog settled in his mind, the decision became clear. Stiles couldn’t ignore the inevitableness of it anymore, for it was too sharp like a spike, like a snare, crushing and screaming.
Stiles had no right to remain in Derek’s life. That man had suffered too much for a human to bear and Stiles was only adding to the flames. He was a parasite, a filthy and unnatural blood-sucking monster.
Stiles had to leave.
How many times did he repeat that to himself but now… Now it stuck.
A weird calmness settled over him. He was detached and isolated, floating in the sensory deprivation tank that his existence had become.
This time, he didn’t flinch when the door slammed open. Stiles blinked a couple of times and realized he was sitting in the pitch darkness for probably a couple of hours.
Derek’s heavy breathing. The thump of his boots on the floor. The sudden trickle of light from the hallway barely illuminated the living room.
Derek burst into the room. Disheveled hair, reddened eyes, and—
Stiles jumped up. “Derek, your hands!”
In the next second, he was lifted off his feet in a sweeping embrace.
Stunned into silence, Stiles put his arms around Derek’s shoulders and only then realized how badly the man was trembling. His hot stuttery breath fanned against Stiles’ ear.
“You’re so fucking…” Derek’s voice broke. He shoved his face into Stiles’ neck, taking deep greedy inhales, clearly trying and failing to gather breath. His embrace was so strong on Stiles’ body that the latter squeaked from the sheer force. Derek quickly lightened the grip, kissing his neck in apology. “Thank you.”
Completely out of his mind and with stinging eyes, Stiles stroked the back of Derek’s head. “What happened?” he asked in a shaky voice. “Where were you?”
“At the house. I’m so fucking stupid, Stiles,” he huffed. “I’ve been there so many times and not once did I… And it took you less than a day to fucking solve my family’s murder.”
Stiles’ mouth opened and snapped close.
He did it. He drove Derek to the point of insanity.
“I had an allergic reaction,” Stiles shook his head, squirming out of Derek’s hold.
He let Stiles go but the dazed look in his eyes stayed. “I cannot believe you’re real.”
Stiles shifted his eyes away from him and swallowed. “Come on.” He pushed Derek in the direction of the bathroom.
Once inside, he made Derek sit on the edge of the bathtub, then washed his hands, opened one of the cabinets, and started digging through in search of the medication. For a member of the human species that were infamous for constantly being down with some illness or another, Derek’s cabinet was scarce. The zip on the first aid kit bag was tough and seemed to never have been opened; all the ointment tubes, plasters, and pill casings were sealed and undisturbed.
Stiles took out the petroleum jelly, a box of bandages, and some ibuprofen, and set them on the sink counter.
“I don’t need—”
“Shut it,” said Stiles. “Give me your hands.”
Derek surprisingly obeyed.
His hands were in a horrible state. Red swollen skin with two glistening blisters on one palm and one on the other; his fingers were trembling a little whether from stress or pain — Stiles didn’t know.
After filling the sink with cool water, Stiles submerged Derek’s hands inside. As gently as he could he began washing the palms with soap with the tips of his fingers, clenching his jaw at the thought of causing more pain.
He didn’t speak when Derek pressed his forehead against his back. Derek’s breathing remained loud in the quiet room, interrupted only by the occasional ripple of the water.
Finally, after cleaning the skin Stiles patted it dry and grabbed the petroleum jelly.
“You don’t have to do this,” said Derek with his voice almost painfully soft.
Stiles didn’t look him in the eyes. Couldn’t, even if he wanted to. His own throat remained tight, his chest heavy with the dawning realization of the sheer amount of his wrongdoings.
He didn’t know what exactly he did or said to drive Derek to his wild conclusion. No matter how he looked at it, his allergy couldn’t have solved the decade-old murder. If it even was that.
How? Why? Where’s the logic?
No point in looking closely at the things that weren’t there.
Stiles had messed with Derek’s brain. Delusion, that’s what it was. And now Derek had gone and fucked up his fucking hands. He hurt himself because of Stiles.
If there was one thing Stiles refused to do, it was to repeat his father’s mistakes. He won’t allow Derek to fall to the depths that Stiles’ mother was driven into.
He glanced briefly at Derek’s face when covering his palms with jelly, but looked down almost instantly when he saw the tender awe in the man’s eyes. It made his heart clench and his teeth grind and, fuck, he did nothing to deserve Derek’s gratitude.
Stiles focused on his hands. Covered them with jelly, then with bandages, before taping down the dressing so it wouldn’t unravel. He put the cap on the petroleum jelly, put everything back into the cabinet, then pulled the plug out of the sink to let the water out.
At last, there was nothing else to keep him from looking at Derek.
He felt a thousand times worse when he did so.
Tears were streaming down Derek’s cheeks. Quiet, somber, full of grief and breath-hitching relief. It seemed like Derek was staring at him the entire time. His eyes were impossible; the hazel green of his irises stood out against the broken capillaries of the whites. He was almost smiling.
“Stiles…”
“Shh.” He took Derek’s face in his hands and wiped the tears with his thumbs. “It’s okay.”
Unable to bear his gaze, Stiles weaved his arms around his shoulders and pulled him into the embrace. Derek leaned into him. He put a kiss on Stiles’ covered stomach, then pushed his cheek against it, closing his eyes.
“You have no fucking idea what you have given me,” he whispered.
Stiles stared at the bathroom tiles without really seeing anything.
“Shh,” he said again, stroking through the hair on the back of Derek’s head.
The man’s breathing warmed his stomach, and the t-shirt now had a wet patch from the fresh tear that escaped.
Stiles was the worst person in the entire world.
Eventually, as Derek’s body sagged against his more and more, Stiles pulled him up and led him to the bedroom. Shutting down Derek’s attempts at speaking, he helped him get out of the clothes and under the covers. Stiles was painfully aware of the same intense gaze as before trained at him, even low-lidded as it was now.
He brought Derek a glass of water and forced him to take ibuprofen. Whatever comfort he found in the simple task of taking care of Derek went away as soon as the man opened his mouth.
“Thank you.”
God, this was unbearable to live through.
I did nothing, Stiles wanted to say, I did worse. But that would only provoke Derek to more conversation, and Stiles didn’t want him stressed.
“Go to sleep,” Stiles said, standing up from the bed. When he took the empty glass to bring it back, however, Derek caught his wrist in the gentlest of grips.
“I’ll wait for you.”
Stiles nodded, extracted his wrist from Derek’s bandaged hands, and went out of the room.
He took a couple of measured breaths on his way to the kitchen and back. Shook his hands out so they wouldn’t shake. Tried not to hate himself more for going back into the bedroom and sliding into the bed he had no right to be in.
Derek grabbed him as soon as he settled. With his hands curled to his chest, he pressed his ear against Stiles’ stomach, like he got used to doing, and relaxed at last.
He went asleep almost immediately, leaving Stiles one on one with his thoughts.
Stiles soaked the heat of Derek’s body, the weight of him, the liveliness of his soft breath. His hands rested on Derek’s wide shoulders, and Stiles revered the ability to touch his skin.
He stared at the ceiling. The shadows moved across the surface until the darkness of the sleep dragged him into the blissful relieving unconsciousness.
*
“Got anything particular for dinner?” Stiles murmured watching Derek tie his shoes. “I can make lasagna.”
At this point, he would make anything Derek wanted. Stiles wanted to treat him in these last couple of days. See him happy.
“You know I love your lasagna.” Derek stood up with ease. He tried to smile but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Oh, what now? “But I don’t think I can make it to dinner tonight.”
Stiles gazed at him.
Why? Where are you going to be? What are you going to do? With whom? You hate being alone so whose company are you going to enjoy tonight?
“Okay,” said Stiles.
Derek’s eyebrows went up just a bit. “Okay?” he asked. He probably expected a direct confrontation, maybe even a scandal or some shouting.
But Stiles kept the jealousy inside and hid the poisonous flare of possessiveness. First of all, because none of this was Derek’s fault — the man couldn’t help but exhibit the first signs of withdrawal — and secondly, Stiles really had to begin to let him go.
So, yes, it was okay, no matter how much Stiles wanted to scream at him in hysterics, lock the door, and crawl all over him.
He smiled and hoped that the weakness of it would be attributed to the early morning hour. “Yeah.” He wanted to add a pleading “call me” but bit his tongue before it could come out.
Derek continued to stare at him with concern slowly clouding his face. He licked his lips, traced Stiles’ tense features, then stretched his lips in a smile. “It’s… I have to investigate more. The arson, I mean. I’m meeting with some experts this evening — they’re flying in late from another state and have to leave tomorrow so—”
Stiles shook his head. “You really don’t have to explain, Der. It’s your family. I understand.”
Why aren’t you inviting me? he wanted to yell but he already knew why.
As the charms fade, Derek would want to see him less and less. He would question why Stiles was there at all and why he suddenly didn’t need Stiles’ company as much as before. Slowly, Derek would fade from his grasp until… Until he forgets Stiles’ name.
Suddenly, Derek cupped his face. “I’ll tell you everything,” he said with a strange quiet ardor. “I promise, whatever questions you have — I know you have them — I’ll give you answers. I just... I have to—”
“Derek,” Stiles called softly. He took Derek’s hands off his face, checking the fresh bandages. “You’re gonna be late.”
Something akin to hurt and guilt flickered in Derek’s eyes. As the seconds passed, those gave way to determination; Derek clenched his jaw, breathed out, and then gave Stiles a hard kiss on his closed lips with just a bit of desperation trickling through.
“Have a good day,” he murmured, tracing Stiles’ bottom lip with his thumb.
“You, too.” God, when would he leave so Stiles can break apart in peace?
Derek opened his mouth and then quickly shut it. The man swallowed, grabbed his suitcase, and almost ran out of the door.
Stiles closed it, quiet and slow. Fighting some nausea — likely from the stress — he shuffled his way into the living room and fell on the couch. He took the edges of Derek’s robe and wrapped it tighter around himself, then turned on the TV, clicking through the channels until he found some old cartoons.
He felt tired, disproportionally exhausted, and completely unwilling to think. He blinked sluggishly at the TV until the voices blended into the background, and the sleep relieved him of reality.
*
Everything was hell when he woke up.
He didn’t understand where the pain was coming from — it seemed like it consumed his entire body, from his head to his…
Oh, no.
Barely avoiding falling down the couch, Stiles scrambled on his feet and ran to the bathroom. His stomach felt like it was being roasted alive on acid fire, the flames of it licking his throat.
All breakfast went down the drain in a matter of minutes.
What the fuck.
Shaking, sweaty, and a whole lot dizzy, Stiles spit the last of the bile into the toilet before flushing it down. He had to close his eyes for a bit after he straightened out because the world felt a bit too… woozy and white.
He stumbled to the sink, leaned his whole weight down on it, and thoroughly rinsed his mouth without opening his eyes. His stomach settled a bit, thankfully.
And why did he suddenly feel like eating a whole-ass human entirely by himself?..
Something wasn’t right. Something…
Stiles froze. His body went hot, then cold as he shivered. His knuckles went white and red from how hard he was gripping the edges of the sink.
Slowly, he stood upright and looked at his pale face in the mirror, at his bloodless lips open and moist. He swallowed.
Turned around, went out of the bathroom. Shoved his phone and wallet inside his pocket, his feet into his sneakers.
The door slammed loudly this time. He almost forgot to lock it.
*
“Stiles?”
“Hey.” Stiles stretched his lips in a wobbly parody of a smile. “Can I?..”
“Oh, fuck you, dude, come here.” Danny didn’t wait for him to react, instead, he grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him the tightest hug.
Stiles pushed his face against the familiar shoulder and sniffled. He didn’t feel like he had any energy to cry, and he still felt shaky from what happened.
Danny’s embrace was strong and sure, familiar, and almost exactly what Stiles needed. His scent reminded him of home, his clan, and everything he left behind.
He still had them. Even though it felt like it, he wasn’t alone.
“Want me to make you something?” Danny murmured. “Coffee?”
“No.” Stiles sniffled again and leaned away, giving him another one of those fake smiles. “Not coffee. Do we have something with ginger? Tea, maybe?”
Danny frowned. “Y-yeah, I can go look.” His eyes traveled across Stiles’ pale face. “What happened?”
Stiles shook his head. “Give me a minute, okay?” he pointed his thumb in the direction of the bathroom.
“’Kay.” Danny glanced at him with concern once more and went to their kitchen.
And, god, Stiles forgot how tiny it was, especially now when he had been living for months in Derek’s giant-ass apartment. He would have to forget the luxury, too, the convenience of having money and a person who was willing to spend it all on him.
Fuck, he was the worst.
Cringing his nose, Stiles went into the bathroom.
Right.
Okay.
Breathe.
With shaking hands, he took out the long crumpled box from his pocket and tore it open with his nails.
Why was the instruction text so small?
Okay, fuck.
Stiles did everything, every step.
He emerged from the bathroom nearly ten minutes later, went right to the kitchen, and fell down the chair, slamming something on the table.
Danny, who jumped upon his arrival and nearly spilled all tea upon himself, took one look at the table before freezing on the spot.
“Oh, fuck,” he muttered under his breath.
“I’m pregnant,” said Stiles.
*
It was late. The windows were painted with indigo darkness with occasional strobes of light bursting through across the ceiling. Their small flat was bathed in warm orange lights and smelled like ginger, mint, and Chinese take-out.
Stiles blinked at the small square of the TV, listening to the sitcom audience lose themselves in laughter. He didn’t know what the joke was. His eyes kept closing on their own as Danny kept stroking his hair, again and again.
“How did that even happen?” he murmured absentmindedly.
Stiles scoffed into the pillow, then turned his head to give Danny above him a withering stare. “Do you want details?”
“No! You dickhead, you know what I mean!”
Stiles lay back on the pillow on Danny’s lap. “I do know what you mean. He’s human.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yeah.” The audience laughed once more. “Probably some dormant gene flared up. Could be his great-great-grandma, you know how it is.”
“Mhm.” They stayed silent for some time. “How far do you think are you?”
“A month, probably. I’m not showing yet, I don’t think.”
Danny cleared his throat. “Are you… are you keeping it?”
Stiles stared at the TV. “I don’t know.” He swallowed. “I need to go back.”
“Wh— To him?!”
“No, I meant back home. I need to talk to Dad.”
Danny sighed and resumed stroking Stiles’ hair. “He’d be a dope Grandpa.”
Stiles smiled despite himself. “Yeah.”
“You’d be a dope Dad, too.”
“Too soon.”
“Yikes, sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
One sitcom ended, followed by another. At some point, Danny threw the blanket over both of them. Stiles was almost half-asleep when a muffled noise from the hallway reached them.
“Are you going to take that?” mumbled Danny.
“No.”
He wasn’t in the mood to talk. Or exist. Or—
The phone pinged a couple of times, then rang again after five minutes.
“Stiles.”
“No.”
Danny huffed. “What if it’s John?”
Stiles moaned. He picked himself up and shivered as the blanket slid off his shoulders. “Are you trying to make me feel like the worst son?” He narrowed his eyes at him, before shuffling to stand up.
“No, it’s just annoying.”
“You’re annoying.”
“Pot, kettle.”
Stiles huffed something close to a laugh. It felt good to spend time with Danny again. His family was… great.
Sighing, Stiles dove inside the pocket of the jacket and took out the phone, squinting at the bright screen in the darkness of the hallway.
Oh, no.
Stiles closed his eyes and cursed under his breath.
If there was one evening when Stiles could get away, he thought it would be today. But, perhaps, Derek was just curious about how he was doing.
As soon as he swiped open the message bar, the phone vibrated in his hands.
Derek.
Stiles sighed, trying to ignore his thundering heart.
“He-ey—”
“Where are you?”
Stiles snapped his mouth shut. What was that tone?
“Home?” Stiles answered after a slight pause.
“I’m the one who’s home.” Derek sounded pissed off for some reason, while clearly trying to push it down. “So I’ll ask you again: where are you?”
It felt like he swallowed an icepick, which was slowly sliding down to his stomach and freezing everything on its way. Stiles swallowed and rubbed his neck, trying to calm his heart.
Derek wasn’t supposed to be home tonight. He told Stiles he wouldn’t be, so why the fuck was he talking to him like that?
“I am home,” he insisted hotly. “At my flat.”
“What the fuck are you doing there?”
“You left me!” Stiles’ voice trembled against his will. “Alone! Again! Or, what, you expect me to just sit in your flat like a pet waiting for you to come back?”
“I expect you to let me know when you’re going somewhere.”
“Why would you care?”
It hurt. Like a slap in the face, even if Stiles was the one delivering it. He breathed harshly for a minute, as the silence dragged on, and leaned his back on the door.
He felt like he would vomit again.
“Are you seriously asking me that?” Derek said in a suddenly quiet voice.
Fuck, maybe some of the charms were still there, affecting him. And now Stiles went and hurt him more. As if Stiles wasn’t the worst person in the world already.
“I mean,” Stiles swallowed the lodge in his throat, “you said you’d be gone tonight. You don’t need me. So why would I distract you from whatever it is that you’re doing to tell you useless shit?”
“That’s not what you meant.”
Stiles clenched his jaw and closed his eyes.
He wanted so hard to keep their last days together easy and lighthearted. He wanted to see Derek smile and give him kisses because Derek deserved to be kissed every day and deserved to be cared for. Stiles wanted to make himself the least bothersome version of himself. And look where it led him.
He just wasn’t right for Derek. It was time to admit that. He was never right for this amazing, selfless, caring, absolutely stunning human being.
Stiles didn’t know what to say or how to make it right. Maybe he’d offer sex as an apology. Let Derek take it out on him in bed.
“I’m not going to discuss this with you on the phone,” said Derek after a long silence.
The hard broken hollow edge in his voice made Stiles want to beg for forgiveness. He lifted his eyes to the ceiling to stop the tears from sliding out, and prepared himself to hear the inevitable “I need you to pack your things and go” or “I’m tired of you” or even better “I have finally realized that everything I felt towards you was a fucking joke”.
“I’ll come pick you up.”
What?
Stiles opened his eyes and noticed Danny standing at the entrance to the hallway with his arms crossed and a concerned expression on his face. They stared at each other.
“I can stay here,” said Stiles almost as a question.
“I’m coming to get you whether you want it or not.”
Derek hung up.
Stiles pulled the phone away from his ear and stared at it.
He still wants me! joyfully screeched an annoying voice in the back of his head, which Stiles smothered right in the bud.
“You going?”
Stiles glanced at Danny. “Yeah.” He pushed away from the door and went to the coat rack to gather his things.
Danny went away for a minute, then came back offering something in his hand. “Here.”
Stiles threw him another look but took the plaster. It wasn't their usual clear one, but one that humans used for cuts. Still, it should be enough to at least somewhat stop his pheromones from leaking.
“Why?” he asked, pushing his feet into the sneakers.
“It’ll be faster.”
Faster. Cleaner. The lack of pheromones would clear Derek’s head, that’s what Danny was trying to remind him about.
Just as Stiles went to tear the package open, though, Danny stopped him with a hand on his wrist.
His face was somber for some reason. “Put it later.”
“Why?”
Danny hesitated a bit then sighed.
“You’re fighting. I don’t want him to get violent with you. Not when you're carrying.”
Stiles pushed his hand away, sending him another glare. “He’s not gonna beat me!”
He can’t. Stiles refused to believe Derek could do that to him, angry or not. He just… he can’t. It was Derek.
“I don’t know if he’s going to do that, but, to be honest, I don’t wanna find out,” Danny raised his voice. He seemed to gather himself, though, because he was much softer when he added, “Stiles, I know you can fight for yourself but don’t risk it. Whether you’re keeping the kid or not, right now it’s more important to me than what he truly feels.”
Stiles sniffed refusing to meet his gaze. “I don’t know how much I affect him anymore,” he confessed.
“Are you that far gone?”
“For fuck’s sake, Danny, I love him!” Stiles snapped his mouth shut, but it was too late.
Too late to keep it inside, for his soul was screaming it at him for months. It burst out.
Stiles should be glad it happened in front of Danny.
Putting his face in his palms, Stiles stood there for a minute, just breathing. He felt Danny’s arms sneak around him and his chin digging into his shoulder.
It only made the lodge in his throat more bitter.
Danny was the only one who understood in full what he was going through. Well, Lydia too, but she wasn’t here. Stiles wanted her to be. To think of it, he really wanted to go home.
“I’ll be waiting for your call,” said Danny and let him go.
*
It was too soon for Derek to arrive yet, but Stiles felt the vicious need to snatch just a minute to himself.
While Danny handled his shock like a real brother and a friend, Stiles had yet to process today’s revelation. He doubted he would, not in the immediate future.
But holy fuck, he was going to have a kid.
A kid.
Standing under the orange street light in the middle of a cold creepy street, with dogs barking in the background, Stiles put a hand on his stomach. Then another.
He spread his fingers and just… stood there, with his eyes shut.
Should he? Or should he not?
He didn’t know. It didn’t feel real, perhaps because he wasn’t showing yet and the only proof he had was lying in the rubbish bin in their dingy flat.
Did people always feel this… weird after finding out? This kid that he was having… Right now it was only in his head. If Stiles was to have it, then this child would be his. Only his. Not Derek’s.
Telling Derek was never in question. Easier to dismiss it from the start. It was just something you did when you were someone like Stiles, especially if the other parent was human. Those were unbelievably freaked out by male pregnancies, like, to a ridiculous degree.
Derek would never know. Even though…
Stiles smiled despite himself.
Even though he would’ve been a great dad. Stiles would even go on and say Derek needs it. A kid, a family.
Yeah, Derek needs a kid.
“Wouldn’t you happen to have a lighter?”
Startled, Stiles opened his eyes and immediately took a step back.
In front of him was a man — average build, white-skinned, with a light stubble and pale eyes. He had his hands in a pocket and an easy-going smile on his face.
Why was he smiling?
“No, man, sorry,” Stiles muttered, not looking away.
The man nodded and… stepped closer.
“You were at the club, right?” he pointed a finger at Stiles with the same friendly smile and lifted his eyebrows.
“No, sorry.”
Where was Derek? Stiles glanced around but the street road was empty, given the late hour. Stiles and this weirdo were the only people outside.
“You were, though,” the man nodded to himself again and stared at Stiles with his head inclined a little. What the fuck was his problem? He should’ve stuck that plaster on, after all… “Last… month? Remember?” he chuckled. “Two of my buddies went with you.”
Everything in Stiles dropped.
The man’s smile widened. “You do remember.”
“You’re mistaking me for someone.”
“No, I don’t think so.” The man glanced at the ground, then stepped closer. Stiles took an immediate step back. “Where are they?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, dude. Fuck off.”
“You’re one of the freaks, aren’t you?” the man’s eyes were so cold and pale. “They went looking for you. And didn’t come back. Do you have any idea whom you walked away with?”
“Dude, if your buddies ghosted you, don’t trauma dump that shit on every stranger…”
“You won’t sweet-talk me, freak,” said the man. With dawning horror, Stiles watched as he took out a gun, pulled the safety off, and waved it right at him. “What did you do to them?”
But Stiles stared right at the gun.
At the man’s slightly shaking hands and his eyes that did not match his smile.
He was going to die.
Stiles was going to die, right here, far from home without seeing his father for so long, and Danny was right there…
Suddenly, a fury flamed inside him.
Slowly, Stiles lifted his eyes at the man. Pathetic, tiny human. He meant nothing. His nails were dull and his teeth useless, his tongue had never savored the living flesh of a recent kill.
The street was empty. Stiles and this man were the only people outside.
Stiles watched as the man’s smile trembled. He felt the stinging fill his eyes, as the focus sharpened and his teeth lengthened inside his mouth. If he didn’t look like a freak before, he certainly did so now.
The man lifted his gun. “I knew it!” His voice shook, and his skin paled making his freckles stand out more. “Stay back!”
Stiles was going to kill him. He heard the blood rushing inside his pitiful body, filling the air around him with the scent of fresh meat—
Something rumbled, followed by a violent screech of the tires.
Derek.
Stiles didn’t know how he knew, but he did. It was his scent — his and his car’s — so familiar and—
Gunshot.
Stiles flinched away with an involuntary scream, closing hands over his head. Someone screamed and another let out an angry shout that sounded closer to a roar.
It was only because of his enhanced vision that he saw Derek rushing past him, his speed fueled by adrenaline.
In the next moment, the stranger went to the ground. His gun clattered loudly on the asphalt, sliding far from his reach but none of the men cared about the gun.
Derek was lost in rage. With mouth agape, Stiles watched as he took the groaning man by his collar and pummeled his face. Again and again, vicious and merciless. It seemed like the punches weren’t affecting him at all, only spurred him on, as did the man’s broken pleas and grunts.
It looked personal.
Stiles couldn’t turn away. He could watch Derek forever, his fast hard movements and the open collar of his shirt; he could listen to his grunts and his heavy breathing for it was such a sweet song to him…
Somewhere to his right, the light turned on in one of the houses.
Fuck.
Stiles slapped palms over his face, breathing harshly in and out. He had to calm down. Rein himself in, or risk being discovered.
His teeth were still too big for his mouth. And his eyes, or god, his eyes.
Stiles pushed the tips of his fingers on his closed eyelids, then blinked his eyes open only to see it all still in the predatory focus.
Fuck, he looked like a monster.
Come on, come on, come on.
But the smell of blood running on the asphalt…
Stiles couldn’t help but choke.
He wanted to eat. Wanted to push Derek aside and tear into that flesh to satiate himself and… and his child…
“Stiles?”
Oh, no.
Big hands grabbed his shoulders and shook a little. Stiles only closed his face tighter. Derek couldn’t see him like this, it would be the end, the end…
“Sweetheart?” Oh, this softness was such a drastic change from the call. Derek’s hands traveled down his body, as the man looked for the signs of injury. “Baby, it’s okay, you’re okay. I’m here.”
He tried to push Stiles’ hands away from his face, but Stiles whimpered from fear and panic, curling into himself.
Derek couldn’t see him like that.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” Derek pleaded. Did he think?.. Oh, Der… “I’m never… Please, come here.”
Taking his opportunity, Stiles pushed himself, face closed and all, into Derek’s shaking embrace, hiding into his shoulder.
Now he just had to breathe.
Derek locked arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “Don’t cry, please. I’m here, Stiles, I’m here. He’s not going to touch you anymore, I swear.”
Oh, god, Derek thought he was scared of him. He thought Stiles was crying.
Well, it was better than Derek seeing his hideous face.
They stood like that for what felt like a solid minute. Derek held him like one would hold a captured butterfly in a palm; yet Stiles felt his body heat, his breath on the side of his head, heard the sweet nonsense he was trying to soothe him with.
The scent of him, sweaty and desperate, cleaned Stiles’ lungs of the traces of tantalizing blood. Hesitantly, Stiles opened his stinging eyes and breathed out in relief when the world appeared normal.
His teeth were still too sharp, though.
“Can we go?” Stiles asked in a hoarse voice.
“Of course, yeah, let me—” Derek wrapped a hand around his waist and all but dragged him to the car. Stiles stared at the ground just to be safe.
Derek opened the door for him and even handed him the seatbelt, pressing it into Stiles’ shaking hands. As soon as the door closed, Stiles shoved open the mirror at the roof of the car.
The usual honey browns stared back at him.
“Thank fuck,” Stiles mouthed to himself, snapping the mirror shut.
He probed the tips of his teeth with his tongue and at the same time looked outside, trying to figure out what was going on.
He froze as he saw his assailant lying motionless on the pavement.
What did Derek do to him?
The driver’s door opened, and Derek climbed inside. Without wasting any time, he pushed the gas. Stiles let out a shout and grabbed the handle with both of his hands to avoid smashing into the door, but Derek was unstoppable. They took a wild one-eighty and sped down the road, away from the scene.
The silence settled. Stiles supposed he should’ve been glad to have a little time to settle his breath, yet no relief appeared.
Derek was breathing harshly. He looked relaxed but Stiles now knew his body well; his thighs were spread, one elbow on the windowsill, another hand clutching the wheel. Stiles traced his gaze down his arm and stared at the white-knuckled grip for a little before lowering his gaze.
His thoughts were a mess. His heart had yet to calm down, beating and slamming against his ribcage like a snake in a net.
“What did he ask you?”
Stiles couldn’t help but throw a weary glance at Derek, which the latter didn’t meet.
“Are you making it my fault?” he bit out turning back to the window.
“Stop putting words in my mouth,” Derek nearly growled — and who the fuck did that? “I need to know what that fucker told you.”
Stiles turned to face Derek fully and stared at him with confused suspicion. “Are you, like, in a secret gang or something? Was that your enemy? Why—”
“Just. Tell. Me,” Derek snapped. The leather wheel creaked under his grip.
Stiles turned away and swallowed. He didn’t like when Derek talked to him that way, but more than that it sucked to acknowledge that this is what Derek would really be like with him. If there were no charms, and Stiles was just another human being without this heavenly pheromone appeal, this is how Derek would treat him.
Was there even a point in pretending?
“He called me a freak,” Stiles spoke, defeated. “Tried to convince me he saw me in some club. Asked about his buddies, I— I…” he shook his head. “He was just fucking weird.”
“Did he mention any names?” Derek pushed.
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. Stop interrogating me!” Stiles bristled, now definitely not looking at him.
“I’m not— Fucking hell,” Derek breathed out harshly, rubbing his chin. “I want to keep you safe, Stiles. Safe.”
“I am safe as anyone can be in this shithole. He’s just a douche with a gun who happened to stumble upon me.”
“He’s not just a douche.”
Oh, fuck no.
Stiles glanced at Derek from the corner of his eyes.
“What do you mean?” he asked carefully. When Derek didn’t answer, Stiles pushed more. “Is this about the arson?”
Derek rubbed his chin again. Not once did he look away from the road. “Yeah.”
Stiles leaned back into his seat with a weary sigh.
To be honest, he didn’t know how to feel about the arson. Undeniably, it was a heinous and cruel tragedy, and Stiles’ heart bled for Derek. However, he was afraid that his charms had messed with Derek’s head too much. What if the man wasn’t thinking clearly? Well, in regards to Stiles, he certainly wasn’t. Would it really be a stretch if Derek was… exaggerating?
He didn’t know nearly enough about the fire and its circumstances. Derek was tight-lipped. Stiles had no right to dig into his past. And this dude — he was out specifically for Stiles. Derek had nothing to do with it.
The answer was already known to Stiles. It was the same as before. He had to go.
They arrived at Derek’s house in silence.
As soon as Derek opened his mouth, though, Stiles blurted out, “I’m gonna go shower,” and escaped into the bathroom.
“I’ll wait for you,” Derek said after him.
Ugh, where was the ignoring part when Stiles needed it?
Locking the door after himself, Stiles allowed himself to breathe out. He leaned onto the sink, clasping at its edges with a white-knuckled grip and staring into the white surface.
He kept staring with glassy eyes until, at last, his heart calmed a bit. With another weary sigh, he undressed and stepped into the shower.
It felt good to wash off the remnants of sweat and panic. The suds sleuthed down his body along with the events of the day.
God, how tired he was.
Stiles moved mechanically, lost in thoughts. Once out of the shower, he wiped the steam off the mirror and meticulously studied his face. The fangs were gone, his eyes bloodless but still red in a humanly tired way.
Stiles’ gaze slid down onto his stomach but quickly snapped back.
Shaking his head, he shoved away from the sink, hurriedly put on the pajamas, and went out.
Derek wasn’t sleeping, not like Stiles hoped.
“Stiles…”
“No.” Under Derek’s intense gaze, Stiles marched to the nightstand, plopped on it, and unzipped the first aid kit that he had brought with him.
“We need to talk.”
“Derek.” Stiles looked at him with pleading eyes. “It’s late. I had a shit day — I’ve been shot at, for fuck’s sake. Can we please talk it out tomorrow? You can scream and scold me for as long as you like but… tomorrow, okay?”
“I wasn’t gonna scream at you.”
“Great.”
“I’m not going to.”
“Excellent.” Stiles ripped the new set of bandages out of the kit. “Give me your hands.”
“I cleaned them already.” Derek showed him the freshly bandaged hands.
Oh.
Stiles’ shoulders sagged as he breathed out. “Okay.” He swallowed. “Is it bad?”
Derek’s gaze had yet to move from Stiles’ defeated figure. He looked just as tired as Stiles, if not even more.
“It’s fine.”
Stiles hesitated. “You did a number on him…” Did Derek disinfect his cuts? Did he break any bones? What if his skin was badly split? What if Derek got an infection — god, the humans were so fragile!
“I’m okay, Stiles,” said Derek.
Shut the fuck up, you clingy weirdo, that’s what he meant.
Stiles couldn’t cry. That would be just another fucking humiliation on top of all others.
Instead, he nodded, zipped the kit, and put it on the table behind him. Without meeting Derek’s gaze — if the man even cared to look at him — Stiles turned off the main light and went to his side of the bed.
“Stiles?”
“Mm?” He put his phone on the nightstand and turned off the light on his side.
“Come here.”
Stiles stopped with one knee on the bed and threw a confused glance at Derek.
He looked beautiful even with the dim light hiding his tired features; the tantalizing silhouette of his strong shoulders stood out sharply against the glow.
“You want to have sex?” Stiles asked, hesitating.
It seemed like he had said something wrong, because Derek’s face closed off immediately. Still, a wisp of some raw feeling managed to slip through.
“No,” he muttered, looking away.
Stiles should’ve expected a “no”, should’ve been prepared for it, yet hearing it hurt so fucking much, as if someone was tearing his heart fiber by fiber.
No.
No need for his comfort or his offers of care. Derek didn’t even need his body anymore.
Stiles nodded and got under the covers with his back turned to Derek. He didn’t close his eyes, not until Derek moved. After a few minutes of dense silence, Derek turned off the light and lay down as well.
Stiles was surprised, however, when an arm slithered around his waist and settled on his stomach.
He didn’t understand. Why was Derek getting close? Did he really have to press his body to Stiles like that—
“You know you’re here not just for sex, right?”
No, Derek keeping him for sex would’ve been too easy. The problem wasn’t the sex, it was the lack of fucking consent.
What Derek probably didn’t understand was that Stiles would’ve stayed with him on any conditions — as a friend, a roommate, or a sex toy — if only it came from Derek himself.
“I know,” he said, closing his hand over Derek’s. “I understand. Let’s sleep.”
Derek pressed a light kiss to his neck, then stopped as his lips encountered something and leaned back.
“What’s this?” he asked.
Stiles didn’t open his eyes, didn’t turn, didn’t move. “A plaster. Scratched myself accidentally.”
Derek hummed and settled against him for the final time.
*
They overslept.
Stiles woke up to Derek cursing up a storm, running around with his hair tousled, half-dressed in a baby-blue shirt and boxers. He watched in languid apathy as the man put on his pants, forgot the tie completely, and went straight for the suit coat.
The fate was such a bitch.
Listless, Stiles sat up and rubbed his face. He watched blinking lazily, as Derek ran out of the room, then came back a minute later, clasping the watch onto his wrist.
“Sorry,” he said. “I… don’t have time for a breakfast with you. Go on without me, okay? Fuck, I’m so late—” he ran out again.
Stiles blinked.
This? Sucked ass.
Stiles wanted to make him waffles in that new waffle maker Derek bought. It only took him one date in some shabby café which they ran inside to hide from the sudden rain. The interior needed some serious upgrade, but the waffles were to die for. Stiles’ moans of delight seemed to stir something in Derek because he came back two days later with the new addition to their kitchen.
Stiles would never get to use it now.
Derek whirled inside the room again right for the bed. Stiles jumped as the man cupped his face and smacked a kiss on his lips, before letting go just as fast.
“Have a good day, okay?” Derek looked into his eyes. “We’ll discuss everything in the evening. I will tell you everything.”
And with that, he was gone.
Stiles stared at the empty doorway he disappeared through. Flinched at the loud slam of the front door.
From that moment, he was alone.
With alien indolence, Stiles slithered out of the bed despite the desire to sleep for another couple of hours. After sending a quick message, he went through his morning routine. For the first time in months, he left Derek’s bathrobe untouched.
He bypassed the kitchen, heading straight to the living room, but stopped halfway. He couldn’t ignore the food now, no matter his lack of hunger. Ugh.
Turning on his heels, Stiles went back and begrudgingly cooked himself some eggs and bacon. He made sure to leave the kitchen spotless after that. No, he wasn’t procrastinating.
His heart went through his throat when the doorbell rang. Stiles quickly remembered, however, that if Derek returned, he would’ve used the key, and scoffed at himself.
Derek wouldn’t have returned.
The sight of Danny was welcome, though. He went for an immediate hug without even greeting Stiles first — probably because of everything written on Stiles’ face.
Stiles’ breath trembled on the exhale.
“What do you from me?” Danny asked.
He was the best.
“Can you wipe everything from the laptop?”
“Sure.”
“I’ll go… pack.”
“Of course.”
*
His ear felt uncomfortably naked without the earring. Same as his finger void of the old ring.
Stiles decided to leave everything. It wasn’t his to own or to receive, for that matter. Derek didn’t really mean to give them to him.
He gathered all his things, every sock, and even dirty laundry. He and Danny spent hours making sure the traces of him were gone. Choking on the bleach fumes wasn’t a nice experience but necessary. It was familiar. They did it every time they moved, just to be sure.
It was at the front door when Stiles stopped.
Danny took one look at him and bent down to grab his bags. “I’ll go drop everything to the Jeep.”
Stiles nodded, thankful that he didn’t say more. He didn’t need his pity.
With a lodge in his throat and a void in his chest, Stiles looked around. He might have grown fond of this apartment. Everything screamed of Derek: from the prickly but warm woolen blanket on the couch to the knick-knacks he bought for Stiles because he was convinced that he cared; the fire extinguisher in the closet, the sprinklers in every room, the lack of family photos.
In another life, Stiles would’ve loved to dive deep into some archives or do some stalking on the internet just to find Derek some photos of his loved ones for him to hang on the wall. He needed Derek to know he was loved.
Because he was. Stiles loved him so fucking much.
And how dare he fall in love with a man like that? What right did he, a monster, have to love Derek Hale? Stiles would forever be guilty of imposing himself on him.
He desperately hoped Derek would forget him soon. For his own peace of mind, for him to be set free.
Stiles lowered his gaze, clutching at the door handle.
He shouldn’t be here.
Without another glance, Stiles walked out of Derek’s flat and out of his life.
As soon as the door lock clicked, though, he froze.
Go, he told himself while staring wide-eyed at the key in his hand. Go right now and stop poisoning his life.
He couldn’t. How? How was he supposed to live without him? Without his kisses, and his warmth, and the heat of their sex, without—
Dull, measured thuds suddenly reached his ears. Someone was walking up the stairs.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Stiles shoved the now spare key under the doormat and hurried downstairs. He glanced at the stranger on his way — a bulky black dude with a frown on his face who glanced at Stiles with suspicion — and fled outside.
Danny was fiddling with the music box — a lost cause, in Stiles’ opinion, — and didn’t even flinch when Stiles shoved himself inside the car.
“Want to grab a snack?” asked Danny.
“If you want me to hurl all over the car, then sure.”
He got an annoyed look for that. And, honestly, thank fuck Danny wasn’t acting weird. Or acknowledging anything.
“I meant, like, some ice cream.” Danny revved up the engine and pulled away from the curb.
“Not hungry.”
“Actually, you know what, I don’t care.” Danny shrugged. “I want an ice cream. Humans got that shit figured out. Damn!” He shook his head and turned to give Stiles a lighthearted grin.
That tugged the corners of Stiles’ lips up despite his heart sitting in his chest like a boulder.
He turned to look out of the window at the familiar places rushing by. His hand slipped onto his stomach, unbidden.
Stiles closed his eyes.
*
The door squeaked as it opened. Someone walked into the room and stopped.
As much as Stiles longed to continue laying and staring at the wall, he did as the proper adult should — sat up begrudgingly and turned to the newcomer.
“Hey, Dad.” Stiles’ smile was wry.
And there it was, the stare that always put Stiles into his rightful place as a child to a father. Blue-grey eyes, light hair, and wrinkles, wrinkles… How many of those wrinkles were a direct cause of Stiles’ antics? Probably a lot.
His dad looked at him with a slight crease on his forehead and the most genuine but tired concern in his gaze.
“Hey, kid.”
And, just like that, Stiles was crying.
He didn’t even know why he was crying, but after seeing his dad whom he hadn’t talked to in a while… Stiles felt like a little kid again coming to his dad to complain about an ouchie. Except now “ouchie” didn’t even begin to cover it.
His dad sighed, shut the door, and walked up to Stiles’ old bed. The springs cracked and groaned under the added weight. The most familiar hands in the world took his face, his shoulders, and tugged him into a warm embrace.
“I know, kid,” he said. “I know. It’s okay.”
“I fucked up, dad.”
“You didn’t.” Dad stroked the back of his disheveled head, rocking them a little. “You walked away. You did good.”
‘Unlike me’ was unsaid but heard nonetheless. And, yeah, compared to John, Stiles was an angel for what he did. He let go — later than needed, but still. He didn’t stay with his lover for years amplifying the charms in every way possible just to keep his love beside him, which in turn caused a horrific case of frontotemporal dementia. It was only when Claudia fought through the charms just to attack her own son because she “didn’t remember him” that John took Stiles away and never came back.
Stiles never hated his dad. He didn’t want to add to the amount of hatred John was already experiencing towards himself — something that would stay with him for the rest of his life; besides, he only had his dad left. He chose not to lose him, too.
After some sniffing and soothing words, Stiles leaned away from his dad’s shoulder. He stared at the loose thread at the bottom of his sweats and tugged at it.
“Dad?”
“Mm?”
Stiles swallowed. “I’m pregnant.”
He looked up, anticipating gasps or shouts, but… Dad met his gaze, and then just… smiled.
He put a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, tapping at it in a calming manner.
“Are you keeping it?”
Stiles lowered his gaze. He didn’t answer.
“We’ll support you either way,” his dad said lightly, stroking and stroking. “If you won’t, it’s your decision. If you end up keeping it, well… You know, we’re going to make that kid the happiest they could be.”
Both of them huffed a laugh. Stiles wiped his wet cheek on his shoulder, and really thought about it.
He could go back to his previous life, grieve the past for a while, but ultimately come back to how it was. Or, he could have a kid. His kid. Theirs.
He knew his clan would welcome the child. It’s how their kind repopulated, how the clans worked, consisting mostly of a bunch of single parents. Look at John, at Danny or Lydia, who chose to stay with John as their own parents traveled to hunt or hide from their misdeeds. And Heather — oh my god, Heather — a certified single mother hen with a bunch of little munchkins running around.
Stiles’ smile was small, almost unnoticeable on his lips. “I think…” He bit his lower lip and looked up. “I think, I’m gonna keep it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It was nice to see his father’s smile. It was even nicer to hug him again.
For the first time in forever, it felt like everything was going to be okay.