Untouched

by heldor

Summary:

Stiles loses his virginity sophomore year of college to a girl with a tiny chip in her front tooth and a wide, laughing mouth.

He loses his heart much earlier. To a wolf with a mouth full of sharp teeth.
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Stiles comes home from college "a man". It's the final straw for Derek.
"It made me realise. I have to be selfish, Stiles. I hope you can forgive that.”

Notes:

(kind of ignores some canon and accepts other: there's Cora, but Derek is still an alpha. Erica and Boyd are still alive, because GOD DAMN IT ERICA AND BOYD ARE STILL ALIVE.)

Also, this was written way before The Winter Soldier came out and before the plot was known- the fact that they're watching it as an old DVD was supposed to indicate it was ~*in the future*~ so the plot I off-handedly describe for it isn't what the movie actually ended up as- I'm not just being dumb, hahaha

Chapter 1

Stiles loses his virginity sophomore year of college to a girl with a tiny chip in her front tooth and a wide, laughing mouth. She has freckles on her nose and they count the marks on each others’ faces with kisses. Her name is Holly. The act is a little embarrassing, that’s inevitable, but the awkwardness is dispersed by shared laughter and panting breath. She’s a virgin too, and they both work to get the condom on and collapse in fits of relieved laughter once he’s in. Her roommate is home for the weekend and they’re both a little drunk, and it’s perfect. 

She comes; he’s more than a little proud of that, and when they’re both done and lying splayed out in her top bunk, staring up at the ceiling and catching their breath, she tells him she’s pretty sure she’s a lesbian, but that this was a lot of fun and that he’s really pretty, and he laughs and she laughs and they kiss and pull their underwear on. They watch some crappy Hugh Jackman movie on her laptop, cuddled up against each other; far too hot, carding his fingers through her sweaty hair, her hand resting on his stomach, tapping out Morse code on the moles above his belly button, until they fall asleep. In the morning, the small of his back is sweaty against her tangled sheets, and she’s gone, with a post-it stuck to the wall beside his head, letting him know she has a meeting for the student paper, and thanking him for a fun night. She doesn’t leave her number and neither does he, but he has a trig class with her so he knows that if they want to make anything of it it’ll happen. From what she said, he doubts they will.

                It doesn’t mean anything; he sees her under the arm of a girl at a party a couple of weeks later and she gives him a wide smile and a small wave. He motions at the girl she’s with and offers a thumbs-up and a mime-ishly overblown nod, expressing his approval of her looks, and she laughs into the other girl’s neck and mutters something to her. Her date; a pretty, thick girl with huge eyes and a messy bun, listens and then gives Stiles a look of mock-aggression before smiling at him and they all share a few drinks and get a little bit high together before Stiles goes back to his dorm, to finish up some research he promised Deaton he’d look into in the folklore section of the library.

 

Sitting there, buzzed and floating as he reads about faeries, it occurs to him that he should maybe feel a little heartbroken, but instead he feels... good.

 

 

 

He comes home for Christmas break, and Scott and the other betas fall about laughing their asses off about how Stiles turned a girl gay—his first time! But he just rolls his eyes and smirks.

“Sophomore year, though- I really thought you were going to graduate still a-“

“Yeah yeah Scott— some of us have scholarships to keep; do you have any idea how much work I had Freshman year? College is hard, bro- I’m not takin’ freakin’ Intro to Anthro 101 here; it’s all AP all the time, baby.”

“I’m just saying; I’m glad you got through sex ed. 101 at last.”

“Oh no way,” says Erica, dropping across Boyd’s lap, “it’s 102 at least, right? I’m pretty sure Stiles here’s been a pro at the old- personal study for a long time--” she makes a crude gesture with her hand and Stiles throws a cushion at her face. Derek, sat in the huge armchair which none of the betas would ever dream of sitting in, rolls his eyes and frisbees the DVD case at Isaac’s head.

“Start the movie, I can’t bear to hear any more of the gory details of Stiles’ love life.” His voice is a little strained, and Stiles instantly straightens up from where he’d been getting wrestled by Erica and Boyd, embarrassment lighting his cheeks. It’s clear Derek is horrified at the very thought of what they’d been discussing, and Stiles feels instantly shame-faced about the whole conversation. He feels four sets of eyes roll around to latch onto him, and he realises his heart is pounding, the blood high in his cheeks. Sometimes, having werewolves for friends really sucks.

They settle in to watching Winter Soldier, Stiles sat bolt-upright and awkward in his seat on the corner of the sofa, close enough to Derek that he could reach out and touch his knee. He has a stupid urge to apologise for bringing up the whole thing with Holly; the Alpha’s hand is balled up tightly in his lap, his body language tense, and Stiles knows that anything he says will only be more embarrassing and make Derek even more grossed out. He watches the movie in silence instead, never totally relaxing.

An hour and a half later, he’s is sitting on the very edge of his seat, Isaac asleep on the sofa; slouched onto the cushion behind Stiles where he’s slipped down from resting his head on Stiles’ shoulder- one hand gripping the edge of his old red hoodie as Bucky Barnes finally comes face to face with Captain America again. He’s not quite snoring but he’s making little snuffling noises and it’s clear he’s dead to the world for the foreseeable future. Isaac’s been interning as well as finishing up a degree in social work, shadowing a social services agent half the week, and it’s taking it out of him emotionally as well as physically. Stiles thinks he deserves to sleep, especially since he seems to rest easier with his pack around him, so he doesn’t have the heart to unlatch the beta’s fingers or try to convince him to give Stiles back his couch space. Everyone else is into the film, and Stiles hardly notices when Derek stands up and stretches, his back popping, until he gestures with his head to his seat.

“Sit there.” It’s been a while since Stiles has had to converse with monosyllable-Derek, and it takes him a moment to realise it’s him who’s being addressed.

“Huh?”

“My seat- you can take it. I don’t think he’ll-“ he motions at Isaac, “be letting you have yours back any time soon. I just remembered I gotta call up the guy who’s supposed to be fixing my car next week about some parts.” Stiles nods vaguely, but Derek doesn’t move, and he realises it’s because he’s waiting for Stiles to take the chair. He does so more than a little hesitantly, and is aware of all the other wolves looking at him.

Daddy’s chair, he finds himself thinking, and then immediately regrets it as Derek tilts his head slightly to the side, picking up the little tick in Stiles’ heartbeat when he allows himself to think of Derek and “daddy” in the same sentence, but it does feel like sitting in his dad’s chair used to as a kid, weekends when it was just him and mom and he was the man of the house; a slight thrill of doing what was always forbidden mixed with a sort of warm pride at being allowed to. The chair’s warm from Derek’s stupid werewolf body heat, and he sinks back into the soft cushions, not realising how tense his muscles have been throughout the entirety of the film.

“Thanks,” he says, his voice a little rough, but all he receives in reply is a little grunt as Derek leaves, already pulling out his phone. Stiles tries to turn back to the movie, but Scott is staring directly at him, quirking an eyebrow. “Dude. It’s just a chair.” He tries to keep his voice as a mutter, but he knows that, only a room away, there’s no way to avoid Derek hearing any conversation they might have.

“Mmmmmmhmm,” Lydia hasn’t appeared to take her eyes off the screen during the whole exchange, but she’s got a little half-smile on her lips now. “Whatever you say, Stilinski.” She may not be a wolf, but they all know the deal with Derek’s chair. They get to puppy pile on the sofa and the little loveseat, Derek sits alone, back to the window, facing the door, so if anyone should ever dare to intrude on his pack’s den he’ll be there to face the interloper and defend his pups, or whatever the protective wolf-dad-thing is that Derek has going on. Stiles simply shakes his head, turning stoically back as Bucky and Steve finish their broment and agree to kick Nazi butt together, or- communists or whatever; Stiles hasn’t really been following the plot all that well, if he’s honest.

 

 

“Hey! Hey, I know you! You’re in my trig class! Wheatley, 12 on a Thursday!”  Stiles looks up at the smirking girl above him and smiles back, a pleasant buzz going.

“Damn straight! That’s me.” He recognises her vaguely; she sits in the back of the class; she loaned him a pen once. She never takes notes and seems to spend most of her time looking out the window.

“You borrowed my pen and never gave it back.” She narrows her eyes, and Stiles raises an eyebrow as he slips his phone back into his pocket.

“I can only apologise for this severe breach of conduct. A gentleman never consciously steals a pen. I’ll be sure to give you one back- at 12 on Thursday.” He grins, and she laughs, dropping down on the sofa next to him. They’re a little away from the main room of the party here, and the music is at a level where they can actually talk; Stiles likes parties, but he still feels a little weird getting drunk with people he doesn’t know that well; back home, surrounded by werewolves who can only get drunk if you spike the booze with wolfsbane, and who he’s known since he was a kid, alcohol doesn’t feel like making yourself vulnerable. A thousand miles from home, he likes to take a minute after having a few drinks, to gauge where he’s at before going over his limits. It’s not that he doesn’t trust his roommate not to let him make an ass of himself, it’s that he’s not Scott, who he’s known since they were both in diapers, and who knows to steal the keys to his jeep and stop him from requesting whoever’s in charge of the music plays “Endless Love” over and over again.

“You could always get me a drink,” she says, and her smile is friendly and confident, and it makes Stiles feel confident in return, the first time since he’s been at college that he’s at ease with a girl right away, and he reaches down to his backpack, where he has a bottle of Jack tucked into the main compartment. She grins, and holds up a bottle of mountgay rum. “let’s trade.”

~*~

                “So, like- my parents danced to it at their wedding, y’know? And so it was always like- this big, great epic love song, y’know? And like- I just- I always thought—that’s love! Endless; non-judgemental. Perfect! I wanted that. Love! I loved the idea, y’know?” Holly is nodding, leant forwards like Stiles is giving the most insightful introspective of Endless Love that she’s ever heard. “And so I used to think like- someone else is gonna get it—one day, it’ll be playing, and our eyes’ll meet, and they’ll get it- they’ll know what it means. And that’ll be it—“

“Your Endless Love!” He nods, and she nods, and they both laugh, because they get it, man. Stiles feels awesome. This is one of those really good drunks, where your mind just works so clearly and it lets you talk so freely- from the heart, man. He’s pretty sure he’s breaking some serious grounds of his own understanding of himself, here. “So, who was your endless love? Who did you want to lock eyes with?” Holly’s cheek is resting in her hand, Stiles leaning forwards so that they’re only inches apart as they talk. At some point in the evening they linked fingers without either of them really realising- some kind of wild gesture-grab and then they just kept holding on.

“Well, when I was a teenager, it was this girl- Lydia Martin. I was kind of always crazy for her; she had all this- masses of-” he gestures at his head, and she laughs.

“Hair?”

“Yes! Red- no no, no- what do you call it when; like red, but not so- not ginger, kind of-“

“Strawberry Blonde.” There’s a twinkle of laughter in her voice, and he nods viciously,

“Yes! Yes! Strawberry blonde, all curly, and- like, my mom, she had that colour hair, and I always thought it was just the most beautiful- kind of- like, it’s like- the end of Summer.” When you’re drunk, that’s a perfectly acceptable explanation, and Holly nods, “you know, how- in summer, it’s like. The sky? The sun. It’s really crisp and like... blue-bright, and then when it starts getting into autumn the sky in the evening kind of glows? And the trees start turning, but it’s still warm and you can go out wearing a hoodie and it feels really, just- comfortable- like you could be in that moment forever and nothing would ever have to change, like you’re a kid and you’re riding your bike down a hill, freewheeling, and the air smells really good, and the sky’s just- orange. That was Lydia. And she was really smart; she always got better grades than me.”

“You like smart girls?” she sounds happy at that, and Stiles nods.

“Oh yeah. I had a crush on this pretty but dumb girl as a kid; she was my first kiss, but we broke up after summer because she asked me how to spell orange-“ Holly giggles into her hand, and Stiles continues on with his Endless Love discussion.

“So, up until I was like... 16? 17? It was all Lydia, but then... some stuff happened. I guess I kind of stopped hero-worshipping her.... She stopped being this kind of abstract ideal, I actually got to know her.”

“She became a person.”

“Yeah.”

“And you didn’t like her?”

“No, no- that’s not it. I guess just like- I realised there was a lot more to her than just summer-hair and good grades. She was like- she was a lot more. I felt like.... how I’d been over her, it kind of lessen- less- lessened- “ he stumbles, slurring a little, over all the esses, “it lessened her- as a person. Limited her. And. Then some stuff happened, with my best friend, and everything kind of went up in the air for a while. And I met this other- uhm-“ he suddenly realises he’s been babbling when he comes up to a truth he’s never spoken out loud before, never actually allowed himself to consciously think. Holly gives him a shrewd look.

“Someone else.”

“Yeah.”

“Someone not Lydia Martin~.” She says the name like it’s an enchantment, like Lydia Martin is the epitome of all women everywhere, and Stiles smiles bashfully.

“Yeah.”

“Someone not the same gender as Lydia Martin.” Her voice is almost cunning, now, and Stiles feels himself taking a deep breath.

“...yeah.”

“Your best friend?”

“...no. Not Scott, no way. He’s like my brother.” She’s giving him a coy little smile.

“So who?”

“Just- this guy. He’s- from back home. Kind of... big, brooding. Not my type at all, I mean- Lydia was kind of, little, sweet but made of daggers, pretty but all bright lights, y’know? Derek, he’s just- Broody. A total raincloud, but just- sometimes it’s like- it’s such bullshit, you know? I can tell. It’s such an act, because he has to be grumpy, and serious- and his sister totally ruined it for him, because she told me he was a total dork as a teenager, like he played video games and he used to let his sisters give him makeovers and shit. I fucking knew it.” Holly laughs and Stiles rubs his eyes.

“...so?”

“So. He’s... yeah.”

“You liked Lydia.”

“Well, yeah.”

“You love this guy.” Stiles is stunned into silence.

“I don’t know about that-“

“Yeah. You really do. Endless Love, cutie.” He’s silent for a second. It’s a rare thing, with Stiles.

“....Yeah. I... I really do.” She nods.

“It’s ok. I’m kind of in love with someone too.”

“Oh yeah?” She nods.

“Mmm hmm. I don’t know if it’s like Endless Love love, but- my editor on the paper. She’s got this really pretty face; like, angelic, but she fuckin’ power lifts. I’ve never met anyone who manages to be two things so perfectly. Like, she’s really feminine and pretty and she wears little dresses, but then she can like- lift up a couch to clean under it or whatever.” Stiles smiles.

“She sounds nice.” He can’t even be mad that he’s not going to get any action; he feels like a load has been lifted off his shoulders, just for admitting to himself- to somebody else- what he’s been sitting on for months.

“She is,” Holly leans forward, and Stiles is confused, given what she’s just said, but he doesn’t move away as she leans closer, “really nice.” Her breath is ghosting over his lips, now.

“I- uhm- I don’t mean to say I don’t like it, but- I’m uh- kind of confused, right now.” She’s almost in his lap, but Stiles doesn’t want to jump forward until he knows for sure that he’s not misreading the- fairly obvious- signals.

“The world’s not black and white, right? You liked Lydia, then you liked Derek. Are you gay?”

“I- wow. Ok, big question, I guess, if I like dudes?”

“There’s a third option, right?”

“....ah.” he never stopped finding Lydia attractive; he never stopped keeping a playboy under his mattress, his mind just kind of... developed legs and walked vaguely towards thoughts of stubbled jaws and strong hands, occasionally intertwined with thoughts of long blonde hair and round hips.

“Wanna try the third option?”

“....I would very much like to try the third option.” She grins, and they kiss, and it feels- light and fun and awesome and her hand is in his lap, gently squeezing, and his hand is up her shirt, questing, and she’s crawled into his lap, and- wow.

It takes a long time for them to break apart, and when they do both of their lips are kiss-plump and red, and she’s laughing breathlessly as she slides off him, pulling him by the hand and whispering-

“My roommate’s out of town.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice.

 

 

It’s almost midnight, and somehow Stiles is still at Derek’s loft. Isaac is splayed out on the couch in deep sleep, and Stiles is almost dozing too as the rest of the pack says their goodbyes and make decisions about who’s giving rides to whom. He has his jeep; it’s old and clanky, but it’s fine to get around in during vacations. He only comes awake when the hall light clicks off, and he sees Derek outlined in the doorway.

“Oh, hey,” he says, stretching, “sorry, I’ll be out of here soon.” Derek doesn’t say anything, just pulls a blanket out from the battered trunk behind the sofa which acts as a sort of coffee table and drapes it over Isaac. He reaches out to turn off the lamp on the end table, and Stiles is only a little surprised to see that his rests his hand just for a second in Isaac’s curls, the beta settling down deeper into sleep as he does. He’d almost forgotten that the loft had been Isaac’s home too for years, and though the touch is intimate it doesn’t elicit any jealousy in him; it’s a familial touch. Isaac needs a positive family role model in his life.

He pats around behind him for his hoodie, finding it lodged underneath the cushions of the chair and shrugging into it as he stands, but rather than saying goodbye, Derek just jerks his head at the empty glasses on the table- Lydia’s is stained with cinnamon lipstick, Scott’s with greasy finger-prints.

“Grab them, would you?” his hands are already full of take out boxes, and Stiles follows him through to the kitchen via the dark hallway, the only light coming from the streetlight outside the living room window. In the kitchen, it’s pitch black, the silence broken by the hum of the refrigerator and the clank of the freezer refilling the ice.

“You want me to fill the washer?” Stiles asks, “or should I do ‘em by hand, my dad hates it when I put glasses in the dishwasher, he says it makes ‘em strea- What?” he stops, because even in the darkness he can tell Derek is staring at him. He’s so close Stiles can feel his body heat, and he takes a shaking half step backwards, the glasses slipping. Derek catches it before it hits the floor and helps him put them onto the counter. “O- kay. You’re kind of- all up in my business, Der. What’s up with you.” He pauses for a second when there’s no reply. “Is there not a light in here, geez, not all of us have werewolf vision-“ Derek’s hand grabs his wrist as he reaches for the switch, and all at once he’s being pressed up against the door of the fridge. He finds himself thinking back to being a teenager, slammed against his bedroom door, and he swallows hard. “Derek-“

The older man is breathing hard against his neck. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s getting the scent of him or trying to hold back anger, and so he speaks quietly, “what is it.”

“Do you have any idea,” Derek’s voice is rough, “how hard it is to hear you talking about fucking some random girl?” Stiles swallows.

“I’m sorry the idea of me having a sex life is so disgusting!” He tries to keep his voice light, though his throat feels like it’s squeezing shut, “I know I’m not the best looking guy, but I guess even the worst batter can get a home run if they swing enough, right?” Derek’s hand loosens a little on the front of his t-shirt, and Stiles is amazed to feel it lay flat on his chest.

“It’s not- Stiles. Stop it. You know what I mean.”

“What?”

“You know. How I- everyone always- You know. You know what I’m talking about. It’s not... kind, Stiles. You know.”

“I know you’re freaking me out, Derek.” His heart is pounding, he knows Derek can hear it, but he can’t slow his breathing enough to get it under control. Derek releases a slow breath.

“You’re so god damn annoying,” he says, and the breath becomes a sharp laugh through his nose as his fingers briefly grip again, “it’s like- you never shut up, and half of what you say is absolute garbage. You know that, right? You talk so much crap.”

“Well, thank you-“

“No, shut up, I mean- no, don’t shut up. God damn it, Stiles- I’m trying to tell you I like it. And it fucking- it mystifies me that that’s the case, but somewhere around you saving my life a dozen times and being so stupidly fucking loyal I kind of started to find it- charming. Your babbling... You.” The last word is gritted out, like it pains Derek to say it.

“.... Charming. Me.”

“Yes, you, you little shit.” Stiles grins. That’s him alright. He bites his lip, and is taken aback when Derek reaches forward and grinds a kiss against his teeth. It’s awkward and uncomfortable and a fucking terrible first kiss no matter how you look at it, and yet Stiles finds his hands reaching up and grabbing at Derek’s hair- too hard, he hears Derek grunt and loosens his grip- and Derek reaches up under his shirt- gets his pinkie stuck in Stiles’ belt loop and swears, and Stiles is laughing into his mouth, because this is terrible, and in a thousand different daydreams of what kissing Derek Hale would be like, this never featured once. They pull apart, catch their breath, and Stiles’ eyes are adjusting to the darkness now, because he can make out Derek’s face and it’s mortified. He can understand why; he’s confessed in the most round-about way and the kiss was just... messy and out of sync; it’s easy to read it as a bad sign, and so Stiles forces himself to take a breath, calm his nerves, and lean forwards.

He presses a kiss onto Derek’s cheek. High up, just under the corner of his eye, making the werewolf blink. Then another, right at the corner of his lips; he loves that part of Derek’s face; the very edge of his mouth. It’s the place where, when he’s frowning but not really mad you can always see the edge of the smile that’s trying desperately to peak through. He goes lower, kisses the very edge of Derek’s jaw, just under his ear, and he feels him start to go still. Instinct makes him take a deep breath, and he snuffles his face lower, nose tickling the light stubble on his throat as he ghosts his lips lower and presses a kiss- lips open for just a second, tongue darting out to lick, over Derek’s pulse-point, just for a second, but he feels the minute movement as Derek slightly, just slightly, tilts his head back, and he’s been around wolves long enough that Stiles knows what that means, so he smiles as he continues, tilting his head forward to kiss the curve of his clavicle, tongue dipping down, his hand pushing aside the collar of his Henley before he faces back up again, and this time when their lips kiss it’s unhurried, slow and confident, and Stiles realises just what it means to kiss someone you’ve known for years; not just any years, but the years where you’re becoming a grown up, where you’re deciding who you’ll be for the rest of your life, because the kiss is deep, but it’s also perfect.

In Derek’s soft movements are every fact he’s learned about Stiles; he doesn’t flinch when Stiles suddenly pushes forward; he knows too well already that he has a tendency to suddenly dart into movement; it had taken Stiles a while to realise why Derek was wary around him- constantly on edge, until he realised; it was like sitting next to a sleepy dog and suddenly shouting; the sudden movements told Derek they needed to be alert, and every line of his body was alert now, pressed against Stiles’ body, holding him against the cool metal of the fridge, caught by his body heat. He didn’t flinch when Stiles’ teeth caught at his bottom lip and pulled; he’d seen Stiles’ oral fixation in play for years, lacrosse gloves, thumbnail, pens and shirt sleeves; all got the same treatment, and Derek just growled, low in his throat and returned the favour, his tongue curving over Stiles’ before he pulled back, tugging on Stiles’ bottom lip in a way which made the younger man whine, pushing forward, leaning into him, hands grabbing onto Derek’s belt, pulling them close enough that as they ground against one another the only thing separating them was the friction in their jeans.

It’s Derek who finally pulls away, and that too is classic. It’s always Derek who draws the lines, who tells Stiles when he’s gone too far, who puts a hand on his chest and pushes him, tells him to go home, who rolls his eyes and grabs him by the collar, jerks him back into his chair. Now, he pulls back and the two of them stare at each other, panting for breath. He sees Derek’s tongue dart out over his lips, as though he’s tasting Stiles again, and he’s aware too that he’s watching Stiles watch the move, and so he reaches out to kiss that tongue- give him another taste, and Derek accepts it, but only briefly, before he rests his forehead against Stiles’, the two of them almost pulsing together to place a few more quick, tongueless, kisses as they catch their breath.

It’s Derek who speaks first.

“Liked you a long time.” The sentence is clipped, quiet, and Stiles knows how much it takes him to say even that- because he knows Derek, too. Knows what it takes for him to trust- knows how vulnerable it makes him. Knows how much it terrifies him to care about anyone, and even worse to let them know it. He’s seen him reach out and grab the back of Cora’s head to kiss her hair, only to pull away when he realises anyone else has seen it. He doesn’t like for other people to know who he cares about, because he’s too used to having that information used against him. Having those people surgically removed from his life. Stiles takes the gift he’s been given and a smile curves on his lips.

“Me too,” he says, and his voice is quiet, so Derek will know the sincerity with which he’s speaking. Stiles doesn’t do quiet- never has, but he’s almost whispering now, so that Isaac, with his wolf sleeping, still asleep in the other room, will not hear; so that Derek knows it’s not for show. So that Derek knows his love- and he can accept that word for it now- is only for him. He feels Derek release a tight breath and realises the wolf must have been holding it. Stiles screw his eyes shut, his fingers too, gripping handfuls of Derek’s shirt in his hands. He has to say it, because Derek needs to hear it. “I.” He swallows, licks his lips. Turns out he doesn’t like to trust all that much either. “I think I actually- probably- Yeah. I think I probably love you a little.”Derek kisses him again at that- fiercer, more hungry- softer. Gentle. His own love is in the words, and when he pulls away again they’re both breathing hard, and Derek is the one who laughs, pulling away completely. He turns away, rubs his hands over his face like he’s exhausted. Stiles balls his hands into fists, feeling his whole body thrumming with the symphonic chime of a thousand beats a second. The orchestra racing toward a crescendo because Derek hasn’t said it back, he hasn’t said it and Stiles feels like an idiot and of course not of course he shouldn’t have rushed into that on a first kiss, should have used the filter he never read the manual for.

“Sorry.” He settles on saying that, instead. “I guess- a little much. Just. Shit, how many years have I known you, of course I love you, you know? I love a lot of people-“ he wants to make it clear that he wasn’t being some kind of psycho- they’re... pack. To use the wolfy word for it. A word he doesn’t, still, understand the full connotations of, though he has a good idea. Family, but different; Family is someone you share a home with, or time. With pack, you share body heat. You live in silent acceptance, lean on a shoulder in the rain; let the other person have shelter from the rain because they need it more. You understand in silence, because there’s no word that could change your feelings. He understands, he thinks, why Derek needed it so much; why he changed the betas when he did. Derek is nodding. Accepting.

“It’s ok, Stiles. I just- you know-” he laughs, shakes his head, raises his eyebrows and takes a deep breath, becoming Derek again, and not this giddy kid. “I guess you don’t. It’s just- you’re kind of... you’re it for me. I did not, as a kid, imagine that what it would take to make me feel like this would be a freckly, loud-mouthed brat with no verbal filter. But- you throw yourself in the way of danger if it means someone else misses an iota of pain, you have no sense of your own frailty, and because of that you’re so- strong. You’re the perfect wolf, but you have all this grounded, steady patience that can only be human.” Stiles is the one holding his breath now. “You talk a mile a second, and then you spend sixteen hours hunched over a book because you know someone else needs you to. You look at me sometimes, and- shit. Stiles, do you even realise what your fucking lips look like when you’re chewing on your god damned thumb.” Stiles has a feeling that wasn’t the ending Derek had intended for that sentence, but he goes with it anyway, smiling and shrugging, not sure how to respond. “I’m not being clear,” Derek says, and Stiles shrugs.

“I think you’re being pretty clear. Enough, anyway.” Derek shakes his head and takes one wide step, grabbing Stiles’ hands.

“I’m not. I’m obviously not, because if I was you’d either be out the door or I’d be-“ he stops, not blushing, but his face making Stiles sure that if he were still a teenager he would be.

“You’d be what?” Stiles’ voice is slow, surprisingly wily. There was sex in that unfinished sentence, he just knows it and Derek gives him an eyebrow-heavy bitchface.

“Later,” is all he says, and he takes a deep breath as he grips Stiles’ hands. It all feels very real, very serious, and Stiles looks him in the eye, even though Derek seems to be intent on looking down at their feet. “I’m saying- that. Not at first- at first, you were Scott’s friend. You were this dumb kid, too damn tenacious for your own good, but then... over time. I realised that tenacity was because you had such a defined sense of what was good, and you actually- you actually acted on that sense. Doing the right thing wasn’t just a hobby for you, it was your passion; your whole being- you’re actually shaking your head, Stiles. That’s how I know I’m right, because you don’t even see that there’s an option. And my mother, she always- she always told me. She said, ‘you’re a good boy, Derek. You just do bad things.’” He sounds disappointed in himself, but he continues. “When I started- when-“ Stiles doesn’t want to force him to continue, so he supplies the word he knows Derek is choking over.

“Kate.” Derek nods, his face grateful.

“She told me then, before- the fire. She said that my mate would be someone who made goodness look like sleeping. Who helped me be the good man she knew I’d grow into. Said that I’d know them because they’d make me want to be that man, rather than someone who let me take the easy route. She said you’d be a challenge, and drive me crazy, and that was what I needed, because I take things too seriously- I think too much; I don’t act. I always did, but I realise now that she was right. And I need to act.”

“Derek.” Derek is looking up, now.

“I didn’t say I loved you.”

“I know, it’s fine, you don’t need to-“

“It’s not because I don’t, Stiles. It’s because I wanted to make sure you knew- before I said it. I don’t... just love you. I look at you, and I feel like... home. Like before the fire. I feel like I’m not the fuck up who got his whole family killed. I feel like I could be a good person. Because you are. And I don’t want to just say I love you. Born wolves, we don’t just- I can date, but it’s not something I do easily. When I find someone, I intend it to be.... a life thing.” Stiles licks his lips, “that’s why I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want you to think you had to do anything or be pressured; I wanted you to have a life, and then, maybe- after wards, if you were still around... I’d let you know. About that.” Stiles is staring at him now, and he swallows shakily.

“You were just going to wait. Pining.”

“I wasn’t pining.” Derek sounds grumpy, and Stiles grins.

“Totally pining. And what changed? Someone else got a piece of this hot ass?”

“Yes,” Derek growls, pulling Stiles forwards by his belt loops. Stiles laughs, but Derek’s face remains stoic. “It made me realise I couldn’t do that. The idea of someone else touching you- you should have been my mate already. It made me realise. I have to be selfish, Stiles. I hope you can forgive that.”

“Jesus Christ, Derek, are you fucking crazy. Yes. I can fucking forgive that. Are you honestly serious right now. You want to tell me I’m this super awesome fuckable dude you get all grabby-hands over when someone else plays with your toys? I’m not a freakin’ idiot. I know what that means, Derek. I am totally cool with being selfish, ok? Because- same. Alright? Same.” He’s not good at spooling out the words; Derek works best in the dark, but Stiles needs a visual distraction. Derek shakes his head, but he’s smiling.

“So. You get it- what I’m asking. What I’m saying, how I want to be able to think of you.”

“You gonna ask?”

“Does it need saying?”

“Woah- no fuckin’ way, don’t you dare Tenth-Doctor me. Yes, it needs fucking saying.” Derek throws his head back like he can’t believe the universe has made this the man he’s ended up loving, but he’s grinning, too, and when he brings his face back down to look at Stiles he’s still smiling.

“Alright, fine. Stiles. I love  you. And I would be... honoured. And happy- although I’m sure you consider it to be an emotion I am unfamiliar with- to consider you my mate.”

“Alright, geez, fine- don’t get so fuckin’ mushy on me.”

“Shut up. Jesus-“ but Derek is grinning.

“Fuckin’ kiss me already then, Christ Derek. Don’t you know anyth-“ he’s silenced by Derek picking him bodily up and throwing him over his shoulder, spanking his ass as he hoists him up to a position where his spleen isn’t being crushed.

“I know plenty.” He’s already carrying him away, Stiles is entirely in his hands.

“Oh grandmamma, this big bad wolf looks awful frightening.” He can’t help the playful drawl, and he feels, more than hears, Derek chuckling.

“You’re going to get eaten up if you keep talking like that, little red.” Stiles slithers out of his arms as they reach Derek’s door, presses up against his chest and places his fingers on his ribs.

He purrs. He may have only had sex once, but he feels like maybe he’s a quick study after all. The low, sultry, voice he speaks in certainly seems to work at least.

“Is that a promise?”

 

Chapter 2

Summary:

Yeah, I know what you want to see.

Derek’s bed is wide, the charcoal-grey sheets tangled up from sleep. He doesn’t know why, but Stiles has always imagined him as the make-your-bed regimented type. He supposes that living in the burnt-out husk of a house, and then an abandoned train carriage, was not an upbringing to make one fastidious about tidiness. The room is painted dark green, with dark wood furnishings; it’s peaceful. Cosy. It makes Stiles think of the forest, and he imagines Derek lying here in the morning sun, maybe thinking of him, his hand travelling down his body-

He presses forward as Derek’s mouth finds his. Consumes him and feels himself consumed in return. Their kisses in the kitchen were nervous and frantic, but these are ravenous. Derek is pushing the red hoodie off Stiles’ shoulders, his hands travelling up, exploring every inch of his creamy skin, the blunt tips of fingers skittering over his belly until they finally find their natural place, hooked around his waist, thumb rubbing firmly as he pushes Stiles back. He falls onto his elbows and looks up at Derek stood above him, hardly breathing as he pulls his Henley off and drops it on the floor. Derek is the only person he’s ever seen in real life who actually has a body like an Abercrombie model, and for a second he feels self conscious, until the wolf straddles his thighs and pulls at his t-shirt, still kissing him until the travels of the fabric inhibit the touch, and then he sits back and stares down at Stiles, and he’s seen him shirtless before; of course he has. It’s almost impossible to live in California in Summer and not see your friends without half their clothes, but he’s never seen Derek look at him like this, like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, like he owns him and can’t believe his luck. And Stiles feels his own uncertainty melt, because how can he be self-conscious when someone is looking at him like that.

 

Derek hooks his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, thumb hooked in front of his ear as he takes him in a deep kiss, and now it’s Stiles tilting his chin up, showing his throat, as Derek runs a hand down, from his chin, to his throat, one finger trailing as the others spread out, not quite wrapping around his throat, but close to it, before going further, stroking down over Stiles’ chest as he kisses him, reaching down to squeeze a nipple, with just enough of a twist to make Stiles gasp, and leave Derek grinning at him.

“Asshole,” he mutters, but there’s no venom in it, and Derek can tell he’s bluffing more than a little.

“Let me make it up to you.” His voice is sarcastic, but Stiles still goes with it when Derek pushes him backwards onto the bed and moves off his lap, unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans, making him suck in a tight breath as his fingers trail down, over his stomach- Stiles can’t believe it doesn’t tickle- and down, under the edge of his underwear, and Derek’s face is intent on his own hand as he takes Stiles’ length in his fingers, squeezes gently, but certainly.

“Fuck,” Stiles says, because he can’t believe this is actually happening, and Derek finally brings his eyes up to his and grins.

“Eventually.” Shit shit shit. Derek has always been a sarcastic little shit when he thinks no one is paying attention, but he definitely has Stiles’ now. Full and complete. He’s amazed he has the sense to think when Derek is staring him straight in the eyes as he lowers his face and- fuck- puts out his tongue and pulls the flat of it slowly from the base of Stiles’ dick to the tip, never breaking that eye contact before he drops forward and sucks it into his mouth, swirling his tongue in a way which makes Stiles think he’s practiced this, and simultaneously makes him so glad he has.

 

Watching his dick disappear between those soft lips gets him fully hard, and Derek actually fucking smiles as Stiles lengthens in his hand, and he lowers his face, eyes fluttering closed in concentration as he starts to bob, his tongue dancing swirling patterns on the underside of Stiles’ cock as he hums, a picture of fucking contentment around the cock in his mouth, the act making delicious vibrations run through his mouth straight into Stiles’ dick, and he grips his fingers into the comforter as he pulls in a sharp breath through his nose before releasing it as a desperate moan, holding tightly on to himself as Derek works his entire length, bobbing on the tip as his hand fists the base, rolling and gently squeezing his balls. Stiles is literally curling his toes, the feeling is so good. Derek has always had cheekbones you could hurt yourself on, but now his cheeks are hollowed as he increases his suction, pulling up sharply enough that he comes off the tip of Stiles’ cock with an audible -pop- and Stiles drops his head back onto the pillow, even though he doesn’t want to miss a second of Derek blowing him, because he needs to try and centre himself a little before he comes embarrassingly quickly. Derek responds to that by actually letting out a single little “hm!” that can only be described as the very beginning of a god-damn giggle, and Stiles groans, bucking up against his mouth, even as he tries to hold himself back. Far from pulling away, though, Derek moans around his cock, lapping at him as Stiles thrusts upwards a little, only gently laying a hand on his stomach after Stiles is holding his breath, letting out an occasional needy moan, stroking in slow circles and moaning himself, as though he has never enjoyed anything more than the feel of Stiles’ cock in his hand, weeping pre-come onto his tongue as he swirls over the tip. He flashes dark eyes up at Stiles, and thumbs his own jeans open at the same time.

Stiles is splayed out, gorgeous, panting for breath, the colour high in his cheeks as his chest rises and falls, fingers curled so tightly into the sheets that his knuckles are white, and Derek pulls out his cock, pumping it lazily- not enough to come, but enough to make it twitch with more than a little interest. Stiles is panting, moaning, barely coherent and it’s such a beautiful image he can’t resist. Derek smirks up at him and quirks up an eyebrow questioningly. Before Stiles is able to formulate any notion of what the question might be, however, Derek has dropped down, sliding over the length of his cock, until Stiles reaches the back of his mouth, his lips touching the fingers of his fist, and then- then- he- he swallows, and pushes forwards, taking Stiles down his throat. He doesn’t gag, but he has a look of intense concentration on his throat, and now his hand is curled on Stiles’ stomach, stopping him from moving as he repeats the gesture a few more times, slurping on the tip as he comes almost all the way off him and then slips down to the base. Stiles can’t help it, and he’s a writhing, panting, mess on the bed as he tries to scream out- “fuck, fuck- fuck-“ but lacks the breath to do so, instead coming out as more of a hoarse whisper. “Derek- shit- god, please-“ Derek opens his eyes, clearly aware of what Stiles is trying to say, but instead of pulling off, he closes his lips and moves his jaw, suckling as he bobs his head and swallows. As he pulls off, a dribble of cum slips from his mouth down the side of Stiles’ still-hard cock, and he licks it off greedily, as though trying to clean every drop.

Stiles stares up, boneless, as his cock softens gently, and Derek nuzzles against his throat, sucking gently, and then a little more insistently, until Stiles puts up his chin, showing his pulse-point, at which point he merely places kisses over the visible beat of his heart. He straddles Stiles’ waist, bent in half and licking kisses over him as Stiles comes down from his orgasm enough to reciprocate and their tongues meet. Long, slow, messy kisses. He can taste himself on Derek’s tongue; salty and bitter, and it’s not long before he can feel his cock stirring again, and he becomes aware of Derek’s own erection, and the fabric still bunched around their hips.
His kisses become a little more insistent, purposeful, and they’re soon kicking out of the last of their clothes until there’s only skin between them, and they take a long moment just revelling in the act of seeing each other.

Derek is skinny in the waist, but wide in the hips, his ass a dimpled thing of beauty. His tanned chest has a scattering of dark hairs, he has a thick trail of curls above his cock, which is thick and uncut. Stiles finds himself even marvelling at his thighs; strong and toned, squeezed tight around him, and his hands; their fingers square-tipped and callous but amazingly gentle. In his turn, Derek is using his mouth to kiss praises of admiration over Stiles’ chest; his skin comparatively milky pale, almost entirely hairless, his fingers, long and darting and clever- he kisses a scratchy kiss in his palm which makes Stiles squirm, down to his round, pert, ass, two dimples in his lower back that he can’t help but lean down to bite, making the shivering, back-arching Stiles still suddenly, and as he kisses a path up his spine, Stiles seems to suddenly realise where this is going; Derek can hear it in the suddenly slowing of his breath, in direct contrast to the quickening of his heart rate. He slides his left hand up where his lips have just traced a line, his right gripping around Stiles’ hip, pulling him up until his back meets Derek’s chest. He wraps the left around his chest, kissing him on the lips- just kissing, for a long moment, until he feels Stiles’ heartbeat go back to something nearer to what he expects to hear.

“Okay?” he asks. Stiles nods, and there’s a moment where they settle, Stiles on his back, reaching forward, gently squeezing, stroking, Derek’s cock with a fluid grace that has him finally reaching out, breathing hard, to stop him.

“Stiles,” he whispers, voice rough, “-wanna fuck you.” He’d hinted as much earlier, but now Stiles opens his eyes, pupils blown dark and wide.

“Fuck, Derek- yes, yes- please, fuck- need-“

“I know- I know what you need.” His voice is a growl, and he hears Stiles’ heartbeat flutter, but this time without nerves. He’s reacting to the dominant tone in Derek’s voice, and the alpha in him approves. “I’ll give it to you.” He promises, and it’s only moments before Stiles’ legs are open, and Derek is pouring lube into his hand, warming it up to skin-temperature before he spreads it over his fingers.

“Okay?” Stiles nods, and Derek nods in return as he presses one finger to his entrance, pushing slowly forward as he feels the tight ring of muscle spasm around the intrusion, tightening maddeningly as he slips the first finger all the way in, and he rubs the thumb of his other hand against Stiles’ leg, making soothing noises as he leans down to kiss his shoulder, as he pulls the finger out, presses forward a few more times until he adds a second finger, crooking them slightly to squeeze the both of them in as Stiles grips onto his shoulder, breathing hard. It doesn’t hurt, but the intrusion is new, and everywhere- he feels like he’s swimming in it. Derek can smell the arousal coming off him as he thrusts the two fingers into Stiles’ hole, pumping gently before scissoring them open as he pulls out, then closes them as he pushes in, taking note of every whimper and gasp Stiles makes as he fingers him open, so slow- so incredibly slow. It’s his first time, and he intends to make sure it’s good for him. He curls his fingers up, and feels Stiles buck up against his touch, crying out with an open innocence to his tone.

“Oh god, god, Derek- please-”
Derek obliges, searching out that spot again, brushing his fingers over his prostate and rubbing gently, Stiles’ cock coming to full hardness again as he does so. He pulls his fingers out, adds a little more lube as he adds a third-
“Derek, please- please- fuck- just- I need- please-“ Stiles is lost, panting, curling his hips up, trying to force Derek deeper inside of him, and he pulls out his fingers, making Stiles whimper at the loss.

“Okay,” he says, soothing, “okay-“ he rubs his lubed hand over his own length, just a couple of smooth strokes, before lining himself up to Stiles’ entrance. His cheeks are flushed pink, and when he opens his eyes to look up at Derek he sees everything there- everything Stiles couldn’t say in the dark when Derek was telling him how he felt, and he can’t help but lean forward to kiss him, rather than issuing any kind of warning; they both already know what’s going to happen as Derek pushes his hips forward slowly, sinuously, filling Stiles up with the full length of his cock, making him half-sob, not in pain but pleasure as he feels himself stretch and then hold around Derek’s length inside him, and for his own part Derek can barely resist the urge to pull out and then slam forwards, fuck Stiles into the mattress right away; his hole is so tight and if it were anyone else he’s sure he’d want to use him, fuck himself to satiation. But instead he pulls out slow, curls his hips up as he slides back in, so he finds that spot that made Stiles cry out, and he keeps his strokes shallow until Stiles is lying with his arm thrown out, licking his lips, moaning.

“Derek, please- fuck, just fuck me- harder, please- I wanna feel it-” and he opens his eyes, looks up at Derek and makes eye contact, his voice hoarse from his heavy breathing,

“I wanna feel your cock in me for a week, Derek. I wanna sit down and know you’ve been in me. I want to feel every inch of your thick cock. I want to flinch and have everyone know why.”

“Fuck.” It shouldn’t surprise Derek that Stiles has a dirty mouth, considering how much he likes to talk, and he obliges, pulling out and slamming forwards, pulling Stiles’ knees up as he thrusts, the younger man curling his hips up to meet his moves; a natural, working to pull his leg up over Derek’s shoulder as the older man fucks into him, rocking into the perfect roundness of his ass, the steady smack of slick skin on skin the only sound for a moment other than their mingled breathing, until Stiles drops his leg and, as if on cue, Derek pulls him up, so he’s straddling Derek’s lap, fucking himself on his cock, grabbing onto the back of his neck as Derek sucks bite-marks onto the perfect, markable, skin of his throat; painting his ownership in red marks as Stiles throws his head back, writhing on his cock, impossibly deep at this angle.

“I’m going to come, Derek,” he gasps, “I wanna feel you come- I want to feel you come in me.”

“Jesus Christ, Stiles-” Derek pushes him backward again, and starts to fuck him in earnest, making Stiles moan harder, scratching his blunt fingernails down Derek’s sides.

“Yes, yes, fuck- god, Derek- that’s it- yes- fill me up, that’s it.”

“Yes, Stiles, god, fuck, gonna fill you up with my come. You like that, huh? That’s what you want.” Stiles opens his eyes now, his look challenging as he licks his lips, swallows hard before speaking.

“I wanna feel it dripping out of me, Derek. I wanna feel you own me.” That’s all it takes to push him over the edge, and Derek obliges- slamming deep into Stiles, coming in hot spurts in his tightness, reaching down to grip a hold of Stiles, squeezing him to his own climax, and he stays inside him as his cock softens, trailing his fingers down Stiles’ chest to his stomach where the boy’s own come has splashed over them both. He kisses him, hard, before pulling out slowly- Stiles moans; it feels like a part of his stomach is being pulled out- and licks up the mess with apparent relish before nuzzling against Stiles’ cheeks as they both come down.

“That. Was. Fuck.” Derek nods as Stiles; ever-talking-Stiles, is left without words. It feels more than a little like a victory.

“Yeah.” They grin at each other, lost for a moment in the sensuous repletion of a moment which precludes any speech.

 

“NEXT TIME FUCKING JUST WAKE ME UP TO LEAVE, CHRIST.” Isaac’s voice is clear from the living room, and Stiles breaks out laughing. He’d thought his first experience of sex had been good, but this- this was perfection.

Notes:

I can leave it here.... orrrrrrr-

Comment if you're at all interested in reading a continuation!