Compromising Positions | Into the Black | Contact

First and Last and Always

Notes: Massive, never-ending thanks to emungere for the beta. This is the longest single work I've ever written and she went through it three times reminding me that the comma was invented for a reason.

The title comes from an old The Sisters of Mercy song. (Yes, I am that old.) Set at some point after the end of season 2, I would classify this work as a Canon AU, seeing as I'm pretty sure no matter how much they encourage us, Jeff Davis & Co. are not going to be going this route...

They split up when they enter the building –Allison and Scott down the left-hand corridor, leaving Derek and Stiles the right-hand one. Stiles tries to be quiet, but it’s sort of like asking water not to be wet, and he winces every time his sneakers squeak on the tiles. He shrugs a silent apology when Derek glares back at him. Stiles hopes they find the stupid maguffin of the week before Derek loses patience with him and tosses him out a window or something equally violent and unpleasant.

Stiles is concentrating so hard on not making any noise that he doesn’t notice when Derek stops moving, so he walks right into him, making an “Ooof,” sound. Stiles is about to ask Derek what his deal is when Derek pushes him back into the alcove they just passed. Derek covers Stiles’ mouth with one hand and glares at him before turning his head and listening down the corridor. Stiles can’t hear anything, but he knows his sense of hearing is a fraction of Derek’s, so he does his best to stay as still and quiet as possible. Once it appears that Stiles has gotten the hint to be quiet, Derek’s hand drifts away from his mouth to rest on his chest.

Stiles is trying really hard not to notice exactly how close Derek is, or how good he smells, or how it feels like the hand on his chest is burning through his layers of shirts to his skin, but he knows he’s failing spectacularly because he’s already half hard when Derek’s nostrils flare and he turns his head to look at Stiles. Who thinks it really might be possible to die of embarrassment. It’s bad enough that he’s been nursing this ridiculous crush for as long as he has, but he was hoping that this one time the universe would let him get away with his dignity intact. Fucking universe. What did he ever do to it?

“To be fair,” Stiles says quickly, the words tumbling out of his mouth, “I’m seventeen, and you’re touching me, and –” The rest of the sentence is cut off by Derek’s mouth pressed against his – hot, hard, devouring – and Stiles does the only thing he can do – he grabs Derek by the shirt, pulls him closer, and surrenders, opening his mouth to Derek’s demanding tongue.

Derek crowds even closer to him, like he’s trying to merge them into one person, pressing their bodies together from shoulder to hip, shifting so that his leg presses between Stiles’. Stiles whimpers when Derek’s thigh presses hard against his cock, giving him something to grind against. Derek growls, low and deep, and grabs Stiles by the hair, which Stiles is now incredibly glad he grew out, pulls Stiles’ head back, and rubs his entire face along Stiles’ neck a couple of times before latching onto the spot just over his pulse point and sucking hard. There’s a lot of tongue and teeth – much sharper teeth than merely human – and wow, that’s way more of a turn on than it ought to be – and Stiles’ hips are jerking uncontrollably against Derek, and he’s wrapping himself like a limpet around him, pulling him closer, about two seconds away from his first non-solo orgasm, when Derek is suddenly not there anymore.

The air fills with a deep, menacing snarl that makes the hair stand up on his arms and the back of his neck. It’s a truly dangerous sound that Stiles has never heard come from one of the pack before. The hand that draws him tightly against the solid wall of muscle of Derek’s back now has claws. Derek’s ears and jaw are elongating rapidly, and the moonlight coming through the window reveals that the grey-green-gold kaleidoscope of Derek’s eyes have fully transformed into the blood-red of the Alpha.

Stiles is about to ask what the fuck when he hears Scott.

“Hey, guys, we found the – ” Scott steps around the end of the corridor and Derek roars at him and lunges.

Stiles grabs Derek around the chest and pulls back with all of his limited strength and shouts, “Derek, it’s Scott! It’s Scott!” Stiles knows he must get through to Derek, because Derek only takes one step forward, and he knows damn well that if Derek really wanted to go rip Scott’s throat out, there’s no way Stiles could actually hold him back.

Scott’s eyes flash yellow and he stops in his tracks. His eyes flicker from Stiles to Derek, to Stiles’ neck and back to Derek, and he raises his hands and takes a step backward. “Um, yeah, uh, we’ll wait for you by the exit.” And then he basically flees back down the hallway.

Some of the tension goes out of Derek, and Stiles lets out the breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding and drops his head against Derek’s back. His hands are still curved around the firm lines of Derek’s chest and he takes the opportunity to silently admire the muscles under his palms. They stand like that for a long time, Derek’s back rising and falling against Stiles’ cheek as he calms himself.

Eventually, Derek dislodges Stiles’ hands and turns around. His features have turned back to human, but his eyes are still red. He looks completely wrecked. He reaches out and cups Stiles’ cheek. He slowly runs his thumb across the kiss-swollen curve of Stiles’ bottom lip before leaning in and kissing him, more gently than Stiles would have believed possible. Stiles closes his eyes and leans into the kiss. Between one breath and the next, Derek is gone.

Stiles slumps against the wall, adjusts himself in his jeans, and mutters, “Seriously uncool, universe. Seriously uncool.” He follows Derek’s path down the hallway and eventually finds Allison and Scott at the exit. Derek is nowhere to be seen. Stiles sighs.

“You have the thingy?” He asks Allison, avoiding making eye-contact with Scott, who is glaring at him in utter confusion – something only Scott could pull off.

“Yes, but it’s in some archaic language,” Allison replies. “I’ll have to get it to Lydia before we can do anything with it.”

“Good plan. I assume that Derek took off?” Stiles asks rhetorically because it’s obvious to anyone with eyes that Derek is not here.

“Yeah, like his ass was on fire,” Scott says, giving Stiles a searching look that Stiles avoids, by looking at his shoes. Scott turns to Allison and says, “Allison, why don’t you take that over to Lydia’s and I’ll catch a ride with Stiles.”

Stiles opens his mouth to object, and Scott glares at him and crosses his arms in his ‘We’re going to talk, and I mean it’ way. Stiles rolls his eyes and sighs, giving in to the inevitable. He doesn’t want to have this conversation in front of Allison, so the best thing to do is let Scott have his way.

“All right,” Allison replies. She gives Scott a quick kiss and glances at each of them, obviously picking up on the weird tension between them. “I’ll call you when we know anything.”

They hit the parking lot and go their separate ways. The second they’re settled in the Jeep, Scott turns to Stiles and promptly freaks out. “What the fuck, man! What the fuck was that? You and Derek?

Stiles calmly starts the Jeep and replies, “Not talking about it.”



“But, but, Derek. You can’t possibly.... He’s such a dick.” Scott’s face collapses into the pained puppy look he always gets when talking about Derek.

“Not. Talking. About. It,” Stiles replies firmly. “Also, you and a Hunter. So shut it, wolf-boy.”

“Argh. I really hate you, sometimes,” Scott responds and slumps back against the seat. He’s mostly quiet the rest of the trip to his house. Stiles shoots him down every time he tries to bring the subject up again. It’s not that Stiles doesn’t want to talk about it, but he sees no point when a) Scott still has serious trust issues about Derek, so would read negative ulterior motives into everything that happened and b) Stiles has no idea what really happened other than Derek, whom he thought was utterly indifferent to him at best, and mildly homicidal towards him at worst, practically dry humped him into an orgasm and then left him hanging. So, for once in his life, Stiles stays quiet. It nearly kills him.

Stiles drives home, trying not think about what happened, but his brain is a contrary beast at the best of times, and this is so not the best of times, so instead of not thinking about it, he can’t stop thinking about the way Derek’s mouth felt on his skin and the hard press of his body against him, so by the time he gets to his driveway, Stiles is hard again. As he’s exiting the Jeep, he catches sight of the red mark on his neck and is grateful that his father is working nights the rest of the week, because there is absolutely no mistaking it for anything other than what it is – a massive hickey. Stiles runs his fingers over it and a thrill of arousal goes through him. Stiles sighs and heads into the house.

He makes his way to his room, toes off his sneakers, and is halfway out of his plaid shirt when he realizes he’s not alone. Stiles turns around and sees Derek sitting on his windowsill. He finishes removing the shirt and tosses it onto the pile of dirty clothes in the corner before speaking.

“Well? Have anything to say for yourself? Dick move disappearing like that, Derek. Total dick move,” Stiles says, crossing his arms.

Derek looks down and away. When he meets Stiles’ eyes, his jaw is tight with determination. “That shouldn’t have happened. I was way out of line. You’re only seventeen and – ”

Stiles cuts him off. “Wait, whoa, stop. If this is the part where you tell me I’m too young, and innocent, that I don’t know what I want, and whatever other shit you’ve probably got rolling around in your stupid head, then you can just stop right now. Yeah, I’m young and completely inexperienced, but I am not innocent. I haven’t been innocent since I dragged my best friend out into the woods and he got turned into a werewolf by your asshole uncle. Do you know how many dead bodies I’ve seen in the last year? Hell, I helped kill a few of them. Did you forget that? And don’t tell me I don’t know what I want. I’ve wanted you pretty much since the day I laid eyes on you, and you, with your super-wolfy senses, fucking know that. So can the emo bullshit and either get the fuck over here and finish what you started or get the hell out so I can jerk off in peace!”

Stiles’ chest is heaving and he’s shaking with emotion. He must be crazy talking to Derek like this. He’s going to blame sexual frustration. Derek’s eyes are wide with shock. They stare at each other for what seems like endless minutes, Stiles desperately trying not to fidget, and then, suddenly Derek is across the room and kissing him like his life depends on it. Derek’s hands are all over him, pushing his t-shirt up and over his head, running down his body to the waistband of his jeans, working open the button and pulling the zipper down. All the while Derek is walking Stiles backwards until his legs hit the side of his bed and he goes down, sprawled across it. Stiles stares up at Derek, and shimmies his way out of his jeans and pulls his socks off.

Grinning, Derek works his fingers under the edge of Stiles’ boxers and, in one smooth pull, removes them. His eyes roam all over Stiles’ body, his hands following his eyes. Stiles arches into his touch, only slightly embarrassed by how needy and desperate he must seem. Because, fuck it, he is needy and desperate. Derek goes back to kissing him, and Stiles responds enthusiastically. Stiles pushes Derek’s leather jacket off his shoulders and works his hands up and under his tight shirt.

“Off, off, off,” Stiles murmurs against Derek’s lips as he starts to push and shove at the material. Derek helps, and soon Derek’s shirt lands next to his jacket on the floor.

“Fuck, you’re like some walking sex god,” Stiles says while running his hands all over Derek’s chest. “Do you work out like all the time? I didn’t even know you could have this many muscles. Oh my God, would you just kiss me again, so I’ll shut up and stop embarrassing myself?”

Derek laughs and kisses Stiles into silence. He works his way down Stiles’ neck, revisiting the hickey, sucking on it until Stiles digs his fingers into Derek’s biceps and squeaks in distress. He continues his way downward, nipping at Stiles skin with sharp teeth. Stiles gasps and arches every time Derek’s teeth scrape against him. Derek growls softly in response. Stiles knows that shouldn’t turn him on as much as it does, but every time a growl vibrates against his skin, Stiles hips jerk and his cock gets wetter. He must positively reek of arousal right now and from the way Derek seems to be getting wolfier every passing minute, it’s having an effect on him. Derek moves lower and lower, leaving random marks on his skin, the growling a nearly constant sound now. Stiles is nearly out of his mind with lust, so he shouldn’t be blamed that it’s not until Derek’s tongue slides over the head of his cock in a long, slow lick that he realizes what is about to happen.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Stiles says, gasping for breath and looking down at Derek. He’s about to get his dick sucked. By Derek Hale. Stiles’ brain may have just gone offline. He starts to wonder if he might actually be in an alternate universe.

“No, just me,” Derek replies, giving Stiles a crooked grin. And now Derek Hale is cracking jokes. Stiles must be in an alternate universe. Derek is never funny. He’s emotionally damaged, secretive, and occasionally a colossal dickhead, not funny. Stiles doesn’t get a chance to think about it anymore as the wet heat of Derek’s tongue curls around his cock again.

Stiles fists his hands in his sheets and tries desperately not to thrust while he moans his face off as Derek works his dick. Derek takes his time, lapping around the head, running the tip of his tongue around the ridge, sliding his lips up and down the shaft, while gently cupping Stiles’ balls. It’s a slow, wondrous torture that has Stiles writhing on his bed, panting, and in an embarrassingly short time, gasping out Derek’s name in warning. Derek moves his hands to Stiles’ hips and holds him down while his mouth slides down over Stiles’ cock. All it takes is one hard suck and Stiles’ hips are jerking upwards against Derek’s palms and Stiles cries out in pleasure, shaking with the force of his orgasm.

Derek stays on his cock, sucking and licking and making contented little growly sounds until Stiles is fully soft, and whimpering from overstimulation. Derek lets go of Stiles’ cock and kneels between Stiles’ legs. Stiles stares up at Derek, slightly dazed, watching as he undoes his belt and jeans to pull out his cock and start jerking off. Stiles watches, entranced by the sight of Derek’s hand working the long, hard, length. He wants to help, he really does, but he’s still too boneless from his orgasm to move. He looks up and sees Derek watching him. He licks his lips. Derek’s eyes flash red.

“Fuck,” Derek grinds out between gritted teeth as he comes all over Stiles’ belly and chest in long, hot spurts. When he finishes, he tucks himself away and then he curls down, caging Stiles in with his body, and murmurs, “Come here,” and curves a hand around Stiles’ head and pulls him into a long, slow kiss.

Derek drops down beside Stiles and they continue trading lazy, tired kisses while Derek slowly runs his hand up and down Stiles’ body.

“You know,” Stiles mutters sleepily, “I should be way more grossed out than I am right now that you’re rubbing your come into my skin.”

Derek’s hand stops moving and his face scrunches up into a look of shame and guilt. “Sorry.”

“Did I tell you to stop, Wolf-man?” Stiles says before kissing Derek lightly. “Carry on with your crazy marking behaviour. Apparently, it’s a turn-on, as I’m sure you can tell.”

“Mmmm,” Derek replies in assent as his hand resumes its slow circles on Stiles’ stomach.

It takes Stiles a couple of weeks to realize that there’s an imbalance in this thing that he and Derek have going on – Derek never asks for anything, he never pushes, and he always makes sure that Stiles comes first. Hell, most of the time, he takes care of himself because Stiles is too sated to move, let alone lend a hand. In all fairness, Stiles is pretty distracted by the seriously mind-blowing orgasms Derek is giving him on a regular basis, combined with dealing with Scott’s obvious disapproval, and the monster of the week trying to maim-kill-eat them; all while hiding everything from his father.

But enough is enough, and Stiles decides it’s time to do something about it.

When Derek slips through his window a little after ten p.m., one evening, Stiles has a plan. Things start the way they usually do, with them ending up on Stiles’ bed exchanging increasingly urgent kisses that leave Stiles shaking with desire and desperate to get off as soon as possible. But tonight, things are going to go differently.

Stiles is straddling Derek, leaning forward on his elbows, hands holding Derek’s face as they trade filthy, wet kisses. Derek uses his grip on Stiles’ hips to grind their erections slowly together. Stiles moans into Derek’s mouth at a particularly hard grind that sends a spike of pleasure through him. Derek nips at his bottom lip as his fingers move towards the waistband of Stiles’ jeans. Stiles pulls away from the kiss and grabs Derek’s hands.

“Wait,” he says, sitting up. Derek’s hands stop, and he looks up at Stiles. His eyes are completely blown – nothing but a tiny ring of colour around the pupil. Stiles squeezes his hands lightly, just to make sure Derek is paying attention. “Headboard,” he continues.

“What?” Derek asks, frowning in confusion over the apparent non-sequitur.

Stiles sighs and says, “Put your hands on the headboard.” After a short pause, he says, “Wait. Shirt off, then headboard.” Stiles tugs at the edge of Derek’s henley, and Derek shifts enough to help Stiles take off his shirt.

“What’s going on, Stiles?” Instead of putting his hands on the headboard, Derek raises himself up onto his elbows.

Stiles answers while taking off his own shirt. “Maybe I want to try something new.”

“Something new?” Derek questions, frowning.

“Yeah, something new, Derek. Like how about me getting you off for once?” Stiles replies. “You think I haven’t noticed? Well, I have. I have totally noticed that you are not getting your fair share of reciprocation here. And I assume you have some messed up, bullshit reason for not asking, probably some chivalric crap having to do with my age, and relative virginity, but I know you like my mouth, Derek, I know you like it a lot. I’ve seen the way you look at it. And what I would really like to do with it, Derek, is that I would really like to suck your cock.”

The whole time Stiles is speaking, his voice is getting rougher and quieter and he’s leaning closer and closer to Derek. By the time he finishes, his voice is a ragged whisper, and their lips are almost touching. Stiles licks his lips, slowly. Derek inhales sharply through his nose and hisses, “Yes,” before burying his hands in Stiles’ hair and pulling him into a bruising kiss.

Stiles pushes on Derek’s shoulders and instead of resisting, like Stiles half expects him to, Derek lays flat. He keeps his hands on Stiles’ thighs, fingers rubbing in light circles. Stiles decides to let him leave them there instead of insisting on the headboard again, because it feels really nice to have Derek’s hands on him. Stiles runs his fingers up and down the sculpted muscles of Derek’s chest and abdominals.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” Stiles blurts out. Before he can say anything even more horribly embarrassing, Stiles occupies his mouth with Derek’s skin. He kisses, he licks, and he bites his way down Derek’s body, using the quiet gasps and moans, and the tightening of Derek’s fingers on his legs as indication that he’s doing this right. He discovers that Derek’s nipples are incredibly sensitive, and spends a great deal of time biting and sucking on them, until Derek growls and grabs Stiles’ hips and grinds his dick up against Stiles’ ass.

Stiles grins at him and mouths the word ‘headboard’ at Derek. Derek drops his hands and twists them in the comforter. Stiles smiles and starts kissing his way down Derek’s body, while he works Derek’s belt open. It’s a matter of seconds for Stiles to pop the button on Derek’s jeans and work the zipper down. It’s so entirely not shocking that Derek has gone commando. Stiles pushes the jeans down and then he’s face-to-face with Derek’s dick. It’s nice and thick and uncut and Stiles can’t wait to find out what it tastes like. He wraps his hand around the base to keep it steady, and then glances up through his eyelashes, looks Derek right in the eyes, and then swirls his tongue around the head of Derek’s cock.

“Fuck,” Derek growls out, fingers clenching in the comforter. Stiles can actually hear the slight ‘snick’ as Derek’s claws extend and cut into the fabric.

“Hey! Put those things away! I like this comforter,” Stiles protests before licking big, wet stripes up and down Derek’s cock.

Derek makes the most amazing, whimpery sounds every time Stiles rubs his mouth on or over the tip of Derek’s cock. Encouraged, Stiles spends a lot of time there. Licking and sucking at the slit, playing with the foreskin – which is seriously awesome, he can’t believe how far he can get his tongue under it and the absolutely wrecked sounds Derek makes when he does makes him shiver with want. He varies pressure and suction until he finds the exact right combination that makes Derek squirm uncontrollably and growl and spurt pre-come onto his tongue.

Stiles starts to explore the rest of Derek’s cock, licking up and down the shaft, sucking gently on his balls, and then nibbling his way back up before finally getting up the courage to take as much of it into his mouth as he can. Derek’s breath catches and his fingers curl lightly around the back of Stiles’ neck. He can tell that Derek is fighting the urge to thrust by the tension in his thighs. Derek moans Stiles’ name when Stiles slides up and down his cock a few times, trying to find a rhythm that works. It doesn’t take long for Stiles to figure out what Derek likes – lots of pressure, lots of tongue, a little bit of teeth – and soon Derek’s hand slides from his neck and grips his shoulder, fingers digging in gently.

“Stiles,” he gasps out, in warning.

Stiles just sucks all that much harder, swirling his tongue over the tip, and scraping his teeth lightly over the sensitive spot on the underside of Derek’s cock. The next thing he knows, Derek’s cock is jerking, and his mouth is full of come, and it’s swallow or choke time, so he swallows. Come is kind of disgusting – too salty, too bitter, and entirely too viscous to go down smoothly. Stiles pulls off of Derek’s cock, coughing, and making what is likely the unsexiest ‘ew’ face ever, which apparently doesn’t matter one bit to Derek, because he’s hauling Stiles up by the arms to give him the hottest, wettest, nastiest kiss of his admittedly short life.

Derek shoves Stiles’ track pants and boxers down and gets his hand wrapped around Stiles’ cock. It doesn’t take more than a couple strokes before Stiles is spilling all over Derek’s hand – which he promptly starts licking up.

“Dude, seriously? How can you like the way that stuff tastes?” Stiles asks, staring down at Derek incredulously.

“If I say it’s a wolf thing, will you stop making that face at me?” Derek replies, before swiping his tongue over his knuckles.

“Yes, if I believed you. But I’m calling bull-shit. I think it’s just a Derek Hale being freaky thing,” Stiles says, giving Derek a poke in the chest with one finger. Derek bats the finger away lightly and then he rolls them over until he’s pressed along the whole length of Stiles’ body, his freaky werewolf heat seeping into Stiles’ skin. Derek looks down at Stiles. “Does it matter?” he asks.

“Nope, not one bit,” Stiles replies before curving his hands around Derek’s face and pulling him down for a long kiss, with lots and lots of tongue.

Stiles learns a lot about Derek over the next few months. He already knows that Derek isn’t much of a talker, and that doesn’t change after they started fooling around. But Stiles has always been able to read Derek’s expressions pretty well, and the added intimacy of their relationship just increases that. What Stiles didn’t know is that Derek is shockingly affectionate. He may not say much, but he is always touching Stiles – running a hand down his back, kissing whatever part of Stiles he happens to be near at the time, rubbing his nose down Stiles’ neck, curling an arm around him whenever they stand or sit together, and not only when they’re alone. Scott says it’s just Derek being a possessive dick. Scott might be right, but Stiles doesn’t give a shit. He and his crushing insecurity and raging hormones bask in the attention and take every chance they can to turn the touches, kisses, and nuzzling into orgasms.

He also discovers that he kind of has a thing for the tattoo on Derek’s back. He loves how the stark black ink of the triskelion pops against Derek’s skin and the way he can feel the difference under his fingers. He knows that some kind of non-lethal wolfsbane must have been used and that it must have hurt like a motherfucker. He can, and has, spent hours just tracing the interlocking spirals over and over with his fingers or tongue. He also knows that Derek really, really likes it when he does.

Not that everything is sunshine and puppies. They still disagree about a lot of things, most especially about tactics and strategy. Derek’s go-to place will always be ‘kill ‘em all’ whenever the pack is threatened. And Stiles gets it, he really does, considering the absolute hell that Derek has gone through, but sometimes, a more diplomatic approach is required. Which is where he and the other non-weres usually come in. After he’s managed to convince Derek. Which usually takes a lot of yelling. And sometimes blow jobs. Okay, just that one time. But it was awesome.

Stiles groans when he sees his father’s police cruiser in the driveway. He’s supposed to be working, but Stiles suspects he’s popped home to check on him. The last few months had been suspiciously quiet, and they all knew it was too good to be true, but they got careless anyway, and were ambushed by freaking fairies. Getting kidnapped by fairies isn’t nearly as much fun as one would think, especially when they’re the nasty, pointy-toothed variety. It took the pack 48 hours to find and rescue him. Since then, his father’s been checking in with him more often and asking more questions about his whereabouts, which means that Stiles is back to lying his face off about where he is and what he’s doing most of the time. To make things worse, Derek has been insanely possessive since the attack, to the point of forgetting that he’s not supposed to leave great big hickeys all over Stiles’ neck. Like the one he has right now.

“Fuck my life,” Stiles mutters and grabs his backpack. He heads into the house, fully intending to rush up the stairs and avoid his father altogether, but his dad is standing in the entryway when he walks in.

“Uh, hey, Dad. Lots of homework, I should – ” Stiles starts to ease around his father.

“Whoa, kiddo, I’m only home for a quick break. I thought we could – ” His father trails off as he catches sight of the mark on Stiles’ neck. He grins. “Oh, what’s this? Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend, Stiles? Is that where you’ve been disappearing to? What’s her name?”

Stiles is so epically tired of lying about everything. So, in this one thing, he decides to tell the truth.

“Uh, his, actually,” Stiles replies, rubbing the back of his neck, glancing up at his father.

“His?” His father’s eyebrows shoot straight up.

“I tried to tell you that one time and you dissed my wardrobe,” Stiles says, shrugging before stuffing his hands in his pockets.

His father frowns, crosses his arms, and then asks, “So, you’re trying to tell me if Lydia Martin walked through the door stark naked – nothing?”

Stiles has thought about this a lot lately and he already knows the answer to this question. “No, I’m not saying that. I’m saying that maybe I’m a bit more flexible when it comes to – ” and Stiles waves his hands in the air hoping to imply the word sex without actually having to say it to his father.

There’s a long pause as his father looks him in the eye. Stiles stands his ground and stares back. Then, looking more than a little uncomfortable, his father asks, “So, his name, then?”

“D – ” And now he’s back to the lies, because in a flash it all unfolds in Stiles’ mind. Him actually saying the name Derek Hale, and his father absolutely losing his shit in spectacular fashion, and arresting Derek on statutory rape charges. Or just tracking him down and shooting him in the face, or the crotch. None of these options are acceptable. After a brief pause that he really hopes his father doesn’t catch, or dismisses as nervousness, Stiles continues “ – anny. Danny Mahealani. From the lacrosse team.”

“Danny, huh?” He looks sceptical, but seems to accept it. “Did you, ah, want to talk about anything? Are you being safe?” His father winces as the words come out of his mouth.

“Oh my God, Dad! We are not having sex, and I am not having this conversation with you!” Stiles exclaims, his face heating up in a full blown blush. And the ridiculous part is that he’s not lying, exactly. He and Derek have been all over each other pretty much since day one, but they haven’t actually fucked. He’s not entirely sure why, but he thinks it might have to do with Derek’s emotional damage, so he hasn’t pushed for more.

“Okay, okay, no need to freak out on me,” his father says, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “You know I love you, right? I just, I worry.”

“Yeah, Dad, I know. I love you, too.” Stiles gives his dad a hug and makes his escape up the stairs.

And that is that, except now, Stiles has one more thing he’s lying to his father about. Seriously. Fuck his life.

The supernatural crap ramps up again and Stiles is sneaking in and out of the house at all hours, covering his ass with thinner and thinner lies, and dragging Danny’s name into it whenever he thinks he can use him as an excuse. After a few months, it becomes pretty obvious to Stiles that his father just isn’t buying any of it anymore. Not that Stiles blames him – he wouldn’t believe the shit coming out of his mouth lately, either. It’s almost as bad as when Scott was first turned and they were showing up at crime scenes on a regular basis. The constant look of disappointment on his father’s face is killing him.

A little more than halfway through the school year, they have a spectacular fight that ends with Stiles locked in his room and his Jeep in the police impound lot. Of course, nothing as simple as a locked bedroom door and no ride will stop Stiles these days, and he’s out the window and on his way to Derek’s on foot as soon as he hears his father leave for his night shift.

Stiles runs almost all the way to Derek’s and lets himself in with the key that Derek gave him at the end of the summer. He stands just inside the doorway, chest heaving for air, as Derek gets up off the couch and takes a step towards him.

“Stiles?” Derek frowns. “Stiles, what’s wrong?” He sniffs and Stiles knows he can smell the distress on him. Derek moves closer, until they’re only a few steps apart.

“Everything,” Stiles replies. “I can’t do this anymore, Derek. I can’t keep lying to my father. It’s killing me. I love him and every word that comes out of my mouth is complete bullshit. And he knows it! And I can see how much it hurts him. And I can’t do anything about it. I can’t even tell him about my boyfriend. I had to tell him I was dating Danny, because he would have an aneurysm if he found out I was seeing you.”

By the time Stiles is done talking, Derek’s face is an emotionless mask. His voice is flat when he speaks. “What do you want, Stiles? Why are you here?”

Stiles gapes at Derek when he realizes that Derek has jumped to exactly the wrong conclusion. “Oh my God, you idiot, I did not come over here to break up with you!”

Derek frowns in confusion. “Then, what do you want?”

“You, you moron, you. I want you, just in case that isn’t 100 per cent clear. But, I also want to tell my dad about werewolves. Please? I know it’s not my secret to tell, and it’s dangerous for other people to know, but my dad could help. And it might be safer for him to know that most of the crime around here isn’t committed by your average, everyday human.”

“Stiles – ”

“Please, Derek,” Stiles interrupts, and takes the last few steps separating them. “I need this.” Stiles reaches out and puts his hand on Derek’s arm. “Please.”

Derek sighs in resignation. He pulls Stiles into his arms and holds him tight. “I don’t like it, Stiles, but fine. You’re right, having the sheriff on our side might be a good idea. So, yes, you can tell your father. Bring Scott. It might help if he knows one of us.”

Stiles kisses him softly and rests their foreheads together. “Thank you.”

They stand together silently while Derek strokes his hands down Stiles’ spine. Stiles relaxes into his touch and melts against him. “You should get back,” Derek says softly.

“Nope. You’re taking me to bed,” Stiles replies.

“Stiles – ”

Stiles shuts him up with a kiss. A slow, filthy kiss, that ends with them both breathless and half-hard. “Take me to bed, Derek,” Stiles murmurs quietly against his lips. He runs his tongue up Derek’s jaw and nips sharply at his ear before saying roughly, “I want you to fuck me.”

Derek’s hands tighten on him, fingers digging into his sides. “Stiles, you’re an emotional wreck right now, you shouldn’t, we shouldn’t –”

Stiles knows all of the reasons why they shouldn’t do this. And he doesn’t care. He wants this, he wants Derek to have this last little bit of himself, it’s time to push. So, he brings out his secret weapon, he appeals to the wolf. Stiles doesn’t know why Derek nearly always wolfs out when they have any kind of sex, and Derek can’t or won’t give him an answer when he asks. To be honest, Stiles doesn’t really care. What he does know is that the wolf is extremely territorial and possessive. So he uses it to his advantage. “Take me, Derek. Mark me, make me yours,” Stiles whispers roughly into Derek’s ear.

Derek’s fingers tighten even more and he growls, low and deep in his throat, before pulling Stiles into a desperate, demanding kiss. Stiles feels his feet leave the floor as Derek lifts him effortlessly and walks him backwards into the bedroom. The kiss breaks only when Derek tosses Stiles down on the bed. Stiles actually bounces with the force of it.

Derek pushes him up the bed and crawls over him. Stiles starts tugging at Derek’s clothes while Derek starts yanking at his. It doesn’t take long before they’re both naked and pressed together, exchanging sloppy, wet kisses.

Derek bites his way along Stiles’ jaw, down his neck, pausing at his collarbone to suck a dark bruise. He works his way down Stiles’ body, leaving a meandering trail of bite marks and bruises that lead to Stiles’ cock. Derek strokes it a few times before sucking hard on the head, tongue rubbing firmly along the slit to get the precome gathered there.

Stiles writhes and grabs at Derek’s hair and tugs hard. He knows it’s very difficult to get Derek’s attention once he’s got his mouth on Stiles’ dick. “Stop, Derek. I don’t want to come yet,” he gasps out. “Not until you’re in me.”

Derek’s eyes flash red, and he releases Stiles’ cock. He licks a wet trail up Stiles’ body to his mouth. He kisses him, long, slow, and deep. With a last, long suck on Stiles’ bottom lip, Derek says roughly, “Flip over.”

Stiles groans at the desire in Derek’s voice. Derek lifts up just enough to let Stiles move, and he rolls over onto his stomach. Derek nuzzles at the back of his neck, scraping his teeth against the thin skin. Stiles can’t stop the quiet whine from escaping or the full body shudder that goes through him. Stiles can feel Derek’s smile against his skin. Derek huffs a hot breath against Stiles’ neck, then kisses and bites his way down Stiles’ back before settling between Stiles’ legs. Stiles is pretty sure he knows what’s coming, and he shivers in anticipation. Derek chuckles, spreads him open, and licks a hot, wet stripe across his hole.

Stiles whimpers. He thought he knew what he was in for, but he had no idea it was going to feel this good. As Derek starts to lick and suck and press his tongue against him and into him, Stiles falls apart. He moans, he gasps, he whines, he begs, and Derek just keeps going and going for what feels like forever – wetting him, opening him up with his tongue and then with his fingers. At some point, Derek must have grabbed the lube, because there’s no way he could have gotten three fingers palm-deep into his ass without it, but to be honest, Stiles pretty much lost track of everything the second Derek started stroking his prostate two fingers ago.

“Derek, oh my God, Derek, please,” Stiles moans. “I’m ready. Fuck me, already. Please, just get your dick in me, please.”

Stiles finds himself hauled upright onto his knees and held tightly against Derek. Derek’s fingers are still inside him, pressing steadily against his prostate. Stiles gasps loudly and leans into the pressure.

“Grab the headboard, arch your back.” Derek says, his voice dark and low and pure sin. He kisses the side of Stiles’ neck and then nips at his earlobe. Stiles turns his head to get a kiss on the mouth before doing as he’s been told. Derek’s fingers slip out of him, and Stiles whines. This time, he’s fully aware of Derek popping the cap on the lube and the sounds of Derek slicking his cock up.

Derek palms his ass, adjusts the angle of his hips, and then presses into Stiles’ body in a single long, slow push that leaves them both heaving for air. Stiles goes still with tension, trying to adjust to the intrusion into his body. It feels so wrong and yet, at the same time, it feels so incredibly, amazingly right. Derek kisses Stiles’ cheek, his neck, his shoulder and strokes his hands down his chest and across his sides, murmuring softly, until Stiles starts to relax into the sensation.

“Stiles,” Derek gasps in his ear, fingers clenching around his hips, where they’ve finally come to rest.

Stiles hears the unasked question and nods. “Yeah, you can move.” He turns his head for an awkward, badly angled kiss. Derek pulls back slowly and presses forward. Stiles arches into the thrust and gasps when Derek’s cock grazes his prostate. And then he does it again, and then again, and again.

“Oh, God, Derek,” Stiles moans. “Yes. Holy fuck. Just like that. Now I understand why you wanted to do it like this. Oh, holy God, that feels good.”

Derek growls in his ear, tightens his grip on Stiles’ hips and thrusts harder and deeper. Stiles moans even louder. “Oh, fuck, more.”

And Derek does. He gives him more. Derek fucks Stiles hard and deep, until he’s shaking, his voice cracked from gasping and moaning. Derek has gone almost completely non-verbal at this point, and is just rumbling a constant, low growl deep in his chest. Stiles manages to pry a hand off the headboard long enough to start stroking himself, only to have Derek bat his hand away with a sharp snarl and pointed teeth against his neck. Stiles is about to bitch about needing to come, but Derek’s hand curls tightly around his dick and starts to jerk him off. It doesn’t take much – a few hard pulls and Stiles is coming all over Derek’s hand, his whole body jerking with the intensity of the orgasm. Derek wipes his hand on Stiles’ belly and then holds him steady by the hips as he twitches through the aftershocks.

When Stiles goes limp in his arms, Derek resumes thrusting. He’s more erratic, and the growls are getting louder and, suddenly, Derek presses in deep and just holds himself there, clutching Stiles tightly against him, his hips jerking in tiny motions against Stiles’ ass. Derek buries his face against Stiles’ neck and gasps his name as he comes.

They both slide slowly down onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs. Derek nuzzles at the back of Stiles’ neck until he turns around for a proper kiss. It’s slow, and sweet, and has a lot more fang than usual. Stiles flicks his tongue very carefully against a sharp canine.

“What’s up, Wolf-man? These usually go away when we’re done.”

“Who says we’re done?” Derek gives him a truly evil grin. “That was just round one. Get some sleep, Squishy Human, you’re going to need it.”

Stiles isn’t entirely sure if the feeling low in the pit of his stomach is dread or desire, and right now, he’s too exhausted to care. So he kisses Derek again and then settles into the hot curve of his body, and falls asleep.

True to his word, Derek wakes Stiles up a few hours later with his mouth on his dick. Which leads to Derek trying to fuck Stiles through the mattress and Stiles coming twice in less than an hour. He doesn’t fall asleep afterwards so much as pass out.

Stiles jerks out of a deep sleep at the sound of his alarm going off. He flails and almost falls out of bed, except for the big, strong arm that catches him around the middle and hauls him back in.

“Morning,” Derek says. “Can you do something about that horrible sound before I have to break your phone?”

The arm around his waist tightens as Stiles leans out of the bed to snag his jeans. He fishes out his phone and turns off the alarm. “See, off. No need to destroy expensive electronic equipment, Mr. Way Too Grumpy Considering All the Awesome Sex We Just Had. Hmm. That’s a bit too long. Sourwolf it is!” Stiles grins at Derek, who promptly swats him on the ass.

“Hey! None of that. We haven’t negotiated our kinks yet.”

Derek snorts and then rolls Stiles under him. Stiles grins up at him, running his hands up and down the tight, muscular curve of Derek’s shoulders and biceps. Derek leans down and kisses him lightly on the lips, then starts working his way across Stiles’ face and down his neck. Stiles sighs happily and relaxes into Derek’s touch, enjoying the lazy curl of arousal growing in his belly . His phone promptly blares again.

“Fuck,” Stiles mutters. He pats Derek on the shoulder. “I hate to stop your tour of all of my many, many moles, big guy, but that was my ‘Oh shit, I only have twenty minutes to get to school’ alarm, and as much I really really want to stay here and continue this, I can’t afford to skip school today. They will call my father.”

Derek huffs in disappointment against Stiles’ shoulder, and says, “All right. I guess you’d better go.” And then continues kissing his way down Stiles’ chest.

Stiles groans and then laughs, “You fucker, stop fighting dirty. I’m serious, I’ve got to go.”

Derek gives the skin under his lips a sharp nip, then surges up and gives Stiles a lingering kiss on the mouth before rolling off him with a smirk. He makes a shooing motion with his hand and then stretches. Slowly. His body is all hard lines and tight muscle and the sunlight peeking through the window over the bed gives his already tanned skin a golden hue. And Stiles wants nothing more than to stay in this bed all day licking every square inch of it.

Stiles rubs at his face in frustration. “Sometimes, I really hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Derek replies.

Instead of answering, Stiles crawls over Derek, making sure to knee and elbow him a few times as he exits the bed. Derek just laughs and pretends to grab at him. Stiles goes to the en suite to clean up and catches sight of his reflection in the mirror and shrieks, “Oh my god, you asshole! I have lacrosse practice today. I look like I was mauled by a wild animal!”

“If you couldn’t deal with the consequences, you shouldn’t have asked an Alpha werewolf to mark you,” Derek calls back smugly.

“You are such a jerk,” Stiles calls back as he gets in the shower.

Derek laughs in reply.

Derek drops him off just out of sight of the school grounds and Stiles rushes to his locker. He’s made it with a few minutes to spare – just enough time to grab his books. Scott’s standing by his locker looking worried.

“Dude! Where the hell have – Oh my God, you had sex with Derek!” Scott exclaims.

“What? I, how did you know?” Stiles stops short. He knows he definitely smells like Derek, he kind of always does now, considering the amount of time they’ve spent together, and he did just get out of his car, but Stiles showered, quickly, but thoroughly.

“You don’t smell sweet anymore,” Scott blurts out. And then turns bright red. “We should get to class.” He starts walking away.

“Whoa, whoa there,” Stiles says and reaches out to grab Scott’s arm. “What do you mean by I don’t smell sweet anymore?”

Scott looks mortified, but he replies, “Uh, virginity kind of smells, well, um, sweet to werewolves.”

“Sweet, how?” Stiles asks, frowning.

“Kind of like burnt sugar and cinnamon,” Scott says, his forehead scrunching up in thought.

Stiles gapes at him. “So are you trying to tell me that I smelled like a freakin’ Cinnabon?”

“Sort of? But different. It’s nice.” Scott grins goofily. “Actually, it’s really nice.”

Stiles snaps his fingers in front of Scott’s face. “Focus, dude. And what do I smell like now?”

“Happy,” Scott says and gives him a congratulatory punch on the arm. “Must have been awesome. Don’t EVER tell me about it.” It had taken a long time for Scott to chill out about Stiles and Derek, but after he realized that whatever it was that they had going on was more than just screwing around, he had backed off. A bit.

“Happy? What the fuck does that smell like?” Stiles asks. And then the bell goes off before Scott can give him an answer.

As soon as Stiles walks into the cafeteria at lunch, three heads turn towards him. Stiles rolls his eyes and mutters, “Fucking werewolves,” knowing that they can hear him just as well as they can smell him.

When he gets to the table, Erica gives him the dirtiest wink he’s ever received, Isaac grins at him, and Boyd slaps him on the back.

“About time you got that V-card punched, Stilinski. The stink of desperation was getting overwhelming,” Erica teases, reaching over to steal some of his curly fries. Stiles slaps at her hand and gets a growl in response. He grins at her and shoves a fry in his mouth.

Isaac sidles up to him and sits a lot closer than necessary. Stiles can hear him sniffing.

“Oh my god, you freak, stop smelling me!” Stiles exclaims, laughing to take any sting out of his words. He gives Isaac a playful shove, Isaac shoves back, and in the minor scuffle, Erica steals a handful of fries.

“Get your own, Goldilocks!” Stiles complains, curving his arm around his tray. “Mine!”

Boyd laughs. “Dude, you’re getting more wolf-like every day.”

Stiles gives him the finger.

Scott and Allison join them a few moments later and that’s when Stiles tells the group that Derek has given him permission to tell his father about them.

“Are you all cool with my Dad knowing about all of you? I can just tell him in general that werewolves exist, although, I was hoping I could use you as a demonstration, Scott? I’m pretty sure my Dad’s going to think I’m high if I don’t have any proof. And I really don’t want to bring up Derek’s name in isolation, you know?”

“I was going to help you before, dude. It’s cool,” Scott replies.

“Awesome. Give me a ride after practice today and we can tell him then,” Stiles says, and then turns to the rest of the pack, waiting for their replies. They exchange glances, shrug, and nod.

Changing for lacrosse practice is a thing of nightmares. Stiles tries to hide behind his locker door, and change as fast as possible, but to no avail. And then the comments start.

“Oooh, looks like Stilinski likes it rough.”

“Nice hand-print, dude!”

“Are those teeth marks?”

“What’s her name, Stilinski? She must be a real beast.”

Stiles face is burning and he’s muttering, “I’m going to kill him,” under his breath, while Scott tries desperately not to laugh next to him. He tugs his jersey on over his pads and turns to the crowd.

“HIS name is none of your fucking business, assholes.” That at least shuts them up, except now he’s getting side-eye and a worried frown from Danny. Great, just great.

“Stilinski!” It figures the coach would get his name right this one time.

“Yes, Coach?” Stiles replies.

“Do you need to go to the Guidance Counsellor’s office?”

“Nope. I’m fine. Everything’s good here,” he says casually, leaning back against his locker door, and promptly flailing as it swings away from him. Scott catches his arm and holds him steady until he finds his feet.

“Good, good.” Coach looks like he might want to say more and Stiles knows it will be absolutely mortifying. He braces himself for some horrifying anecdote or advice. Coach must see the trepidation on his face, or he gets distracted by Greenberg slamming his locker door, but either way, Coach blinks and then says, “Everyone out on the field. Suicide runs. Now. First one to stop gets goal.”

Everyone groans and heads out to the field. Danny stops Stiles in the doorway with a hand on his arm. “Do we need to talk?” He asks, concern in his voice.

“Danny. I’m fine.”

“Stiles, you have teeth marks on your collarbone,” Danny says matter-of-factly. “That’s pretty intense.”

“Seriously, Danny, I’m not lying. One hundred percent consensual. He’s just a bit, hmm, territorial, and you know me, all milky white skin, I bruise easily. It looks way more dramatic than it is. I swear.”

“Stilinski! Mahealani! Stop comparing whatever you’re comparing and get your asses out on this field now!” Coach screams at them.

Stiles is the first one to drop. He blames Derek for the leg cramp that brings him down.

“Thanks for doing this,” Stiles says to Scott as they get out of the Jeep.

“I just hope your dad doesn’t freak out and try to shoot me. That would suck,” Scott replies.

Stiles gives him a friendly punch on the arm. “It’s his day off, the gun’s locked up in his bedroom. You’re safe.”

They walk into the house and Stiles stops before going into the dining room. His heart is hammering in his chest. Scott gives his arm a comforting squeeze. “It’ll be okay, dude. Your dad is made of awesome.”

“So’s your mom, and she freaked right the fuck out. She was afraid of you for weeks. Shit, Scott, what if this makes everything worse?” Stiles rubs his hand roughly through his hair and bangs his head on the door frame. “Fuck.”

Scott pats him on the back while Stiles gets his shit back together. He takes a deep breath and says, “C’mon,” and leads the way into the dining room. His father looks up from the police file he’s reading.

“Hey, boys, what’s up?” he asks, frowning as he looks back and forth between them.

Stiles just stands there like an idiot, trying to figure out where to start. Scott gives him a little shove. Stiles glares back at him. Scott makes a ‘go for it’ motion. Stiles fidgets with the string on his hoodie.

“Stiles?” his father asks, putting the book down. “You look like you have something to say, and I’m thinking I’m not going to like it. Maybe you should sit down?”

Stiles sits in the chair closest to him. Scott moves to stand next to him, but Stiles notices that he keeps a clear line to the exit.

“Scott?” Sheriff Stilinski says, gesturing to one of the other chairs set up around the table.

“I’m good, Mr. S.,” Scott replies. Sheriff Stilinski gives him a puzzled look and then turns to look at his son.

“So, you going to tell me what’s going on, Stiles?” he asks.

Stiles can’t seem to stop fidgeting – twisting the string around and around his finger, releasing it, and then starting all over again, barely stopping himself from putting it in his mouth – but he does finally start to speak. “That big secret that I’ve been keeping? The reason why I’ve been lying so much and I keep popping up at crime scenes? Yeah, there’s a reason for all that. I wanted to tell you, I really did. Lying to you is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. But technically, it’s not my secret to tell. It could cause a lot of other people serious trouble.” Stiles pauses.

“And what does Scott have to do with all of this?” Sheriff Stilinski looks at Scott and frowns. “Is it your secret he’s been keeping?”

“Sort of?” Scott says tentatively. He looks at Stiles. “Should I?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers.

And then Scott wolfs out. And Sheriff Stilinski stands up so fast he knocks his chair back about three feet. He stares in shocked disbelief, hands instinctively reaching for a weapon he’s not carrying.

“So, uh, Dad, werewolves are real. Along with a whole bunch of other supernatural shit. Don’t even get me started on the fucking fairies.”

His father finally takes his eyes off of Scott to look at Stiles. “Start talking. Now.”

Stiles starts talking. He tells his father everything. About Derek and his little pack of stray teenagers, about the Argents and the other Hunters, the reasons why he was at all those crime scenes. At some point, Scott quietly leaves. When he tells his father about how he helped firebomb Peter Hale, his father gets up and gets the Jack. By the time Stiles is finished telling him about Gerard Argent and the end of the kanima, his father is handing him a shot.

After he’s gotten through it all – the alpha pack, Jackson leaving town after a terrifying fight for dominance with Derek, Peter disappearing into the wind without a word, the month-long fight against the witches’ coven, the fucking kidnapping fairies, and all of the other mythological creatures that keep springing up all over town, week after week, month after month – Stiles is more than a little bit tipsy and his father is looking at him with a such a mix of profound sadness and pride that Stiles just starts to cry.

His father wraps his arms around him and holds him tight and tells him how much he loves him.

Tensions ease a lot between Stiles and his father in the aftermath of being told about the werewolves. Having the Sherriff around to provide assistance for some of the wilder supernatural activities comes in handy, a number of times. And as long as it doesn’t require actually breaking the law, he is willing to help them. He is, however, not at all crazy about the fact that twenty-four year old, two-time murder suspect, Derek Hale, leads the pack of underage wolves, or that Stiles spends so much time in his company because of his involvement with the pack. Which is why Stiles continues lying about who he’s dating.

Three months before his eighteenth birthday, it’s taken out of his hands. The conversation, over dinner, begins innocuously enough.

“My deputy told me something really interesting today,” says the Sherriff, mildly.

Stiles makes a ‘go on, I’m listening’ sound through a mouthful of food.

“Yeah. He tells me he saw my son pressed up against a black Camero practically getting his face eaten off by Derek Hale, around 4PM today.” Stiles’ father looks him hard in the eye and says, “But I told him, it couldn’t possibly be my son, he’s dating Danny Mahealani, not Derek Hale.”

Stiles swallows hard and starts to cough, trying really hard not to look guilty as fuck. As he’s reaching for his water, his father finishes with, “So, Stiles, tell me, exactly how long have you been seeing Derek?”

Stiles opens his mouth, then closes it, then opens his mouth again, trying to figure out what to say. For the first time in his life, words fail him.

“You never were dating Danny, were you?” asks his father, his voice thick with disappointment.

“No,” Stiles whispers, dropping his eyes.

“Get Derek here. Now.”

There is absolutely no arguing with that particular tone of voice. Stiles fishes out his phone and starts texting.

Busted. Spotted by deputy today. Dad is furious. Get here ASAP

Stiles hits send. He pauses and then types: Try not to dress like a serial killer

There is a long, uncomfortable silence that Stiles fills by shoving food around on his plate and avoiding his father’s eyes. After what feels like an eon, his phone pings. As usual, Derek’s reply is in all-caps. Everyone has told him that it just looks like he’s yelling at them all the time, but he won’t stop.


“He’ll be here in ten minutes,” Stiles tells his dad. He sits and fidgets and tries to think of anything he could say to make the situation better instead of worse, and he can’t, so he remains silent. There’s a knock on the door, and he gets up to answer it.

“Whoa, mister. Park it,” his father says sternly, pointing at his seat. Stiles sits back down reluctantly.

“Please don’t shoot him,” Stiles blurts out as his father leaves the room. He can’t really hear anything other than murmurs, but there are no raised voices or gunshots, so he breathes a little easier.

His father comes back to the dining room, trailed by Derek, looking more dejected than he ever did getting shoved into a police cruiser. Stiles’ eyes widen. He had sort of been joking when he’d told Derek not to look like a serial killer, hoping that Derek would at least leave the leather jacket in the car, but he hadn’t expected Derek to show up in a blue button-down. Stiles didn’t even think Derek knew that clothes came in colours other than black or grey.

“Stiles,” his father says, drawing his attention.

“Hmm?” Stiles replies, his eyes drifting back to Derek, who gives him a small, tight, smile.

“Kitchen. Take the dishes with you.”

“What? Are you kidding me? I – ”

“Now, Stiles,” his father replies in a tone that can’t be argued with.

Stiles heaves a huge sigh and manages to give Derek’s arm a light squeeze before resentfully clearing the table. He goes into the kitchen and presses his ear against the door. He can just make out the conversation.

“So, Derek, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t arrest you right now. Because I’m racking my brain and can’t really come up with anything that would convince me I shouldn’t. He’s seventeen for god’s sake. What the fuck were you thinking!”

Stiles winces. This is not starting well at all. His father only ever swears when he’s really angry.

“I would die for him,” Derek replies softly, just loud enough to carry through the door. “ lot for him. More than I have, more than I thought I – ” Derek stumbles to a halt. Stiles doesn’t hear his father’s reply due to the rush of blood in his ears. Derek’s admission is huge. He and Stiles don’t ever talk about their feelings, they just act on them. He can feel his heart pounding against his chest and he knows that Derek must be able to hear it. Stiles presses his forehead against the door and whispers, “Me, too.”

He tunes back into the conversation in time to hear his father heave a loud sigh of resignation and say, “No more unsupervised dates until he’s eighteen, am I clear? Now that I am aware that you’re dating, I will not be a party to any further, uh, activities.”

“Yes, sir,” comes Derek’s reply.

“Stiles, you can stop eavesdropping and come back in,” his father calls.

Stiles makes no effort to pretend that he wasn’t listening in. He walks over to where Derek is sitting in a chair and stands next to him. Knowing that he’s pushing his luck a little too hard, but unable to resist, he puts his arm over Derek’s shoulders. Surprisingly, Derek’s arm curls around his waist. Stiles’ father sighs and covers his face. “Shit, I need a drink.”

And thus begins what is not an entirely awful time of mostly-chaste cuddling on the couch in the Stilinski living room watching movies, playing Xbox, and going on old-fashioned dates with strict curfews. And masturbating. A LOT of masturbating.

Stiles sits in the passenger seat, leg jiggling uncontrollably with nervous energy. He’s been off-the-wall twitchy since he woke up and it just got worse as the seemingly never-ending-day wore on. All he wanted to do today was disappear somewhere with Derek, preferably somewhere dark and with a bed, but honestly, any semi-horizontal surface would do. Instead, his father had insisted on making a big deal out of his eighteenth birthday celebration, throwing him a huge-ass party in the back yard, and inviting all of his friends, plus Mrs. McCall.

Derek gives him the side-eye, and then the corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smile. He puts his hand on Stiles’ knee and gives it a gentle squeeze. It stops jiggling. And starts back up again when Derek removes his hand to shift gears. Stiles notices that Derek is driving somewhat faster than the speed limit and grins.

When they arrive at Derek’s, Stiles looks at Derek, smirks, and says, “Race you,” and then bolts out of the car. Stiles barely manages to get through the door before Derek is grabbing him by the hips, spinning him around, shoving him against the wall so hard that Stiles’ breath is pushed out of him with the force of it.

“Sorry, sorry,” Derek rumbles against his neck, his sharp teeth catching the skin lightly.

“Fuck sorry,” comes Stiles’ breathless reply. “Just get your hands on me.”

Derek grabs Stiles’ t-shirt in both hands and rips it in half, the pieces fluttering to the floor.

“Hey! I liked that shirt!” The protest is feeble as Stiles goes weak at the knees at the show of strength.

“I will buy you a new one,” Derek grinds out, before going back to savaging Stiles’ neck. He drops gracefully to his knees and runs his hands down Stiles body, pressing so firmly that he’s practically leaving hand prints. Stiles arches into his touch. His fingers slip under the edges of the waistband of Stiles’ jeans. He quickly unfastens them and pushes them down Stiles’ thighs. Derek rubs his face against Stiles’ underwear-clad, half-hard cock, inhaling deeply, and Stiles shivers. He truly does love it when Derek goes all instinctual and wolfy on him. Stiles is pretty sure he should be concerned about this, but he really can’t give a fuck, all he knows is that it turns him on hardcore, which in turn, drives Derek crazy.

Derek rubs his face on his dick until Stiles is fully hard, and then slides both of his hands into Stiles’ underpants and shoves them down, so that he can get his mouth on Stiles’ cock. Stiles groans and weaves his fingers through Derek’s hair. Derek holds his hips against the wall, and, with no further warning, deep throats him. Stiles jerks and gasps as Derek swallows around him, his throat muscles squeezing the head of his dick in an unforgiving rhythm that has Stiles right on the edge of orgasm faster than he thought possible.

“Oh my God, fuck, Derek, fuck. Derek, I’m going to co – ” is all Stiles has time to get out before he starts to shoot down Derek’s throat. He collapses bonelessly against the wall, gasping for air. Derek sucks and licks at his cock until he whimpers and pulls on Derek’s hair. Derek stands in one smooth motion and kisses Stiles deeply. As they trade desperate kisses, Derek manhandles Stiles towards the bedroom, and they remove their remaining clothes as they go. By the time they reach the bed they’re both naked.

Stiles pulls Derek down on top of him, murmuring, “In me, in me, God, I need you in me.”

Derek’s reply is to grab the lube out of his bedside table while kissing Stiles into silence. Before long, Derek’s got two slick fingers rubbing circles around Stiles’ hole while Stiles curses him out for being a vicious tease.

“I’m dying here, Derek. It’s been torture. Do you have any idea how difficult it was to spend the whole day with you and not jump you? My father is an evil, evil man.”

Derek pushes both fingers into Stiles gently, but firmly, and Stiles gasps and arches into it. “Torture? You thought it was torture for you? What do you think it was like being able to smell the ‘fuck me, fuck me, fuck me’ coming off you all goddamn day while standing next to your father? It took every ounce of will power I had not to throw you over the picnic table and take you right there in front of everyone.” Derek’s eyes flash red as he speaks and his voice gets rougher.

Stiles shudders as a spike of desire goes through him and his body relaxes. Derek pushes his fingers deeper and rubs against his prostate, grinning down at him as Stiles writhes in pleasure.

“Derek,” Stiles whines, pulling Derek down for a kiss, “stop teasing and fuck me.”

“Your wish is my command, birthday boy,” Derek replies, slicking up his cock and pushing into Stiles’ body.

Derek sets a punishing rhythm, fucking into Stiles with all of the strength that he can without actually hurting him. Stiles loves it. He grabs onto Derek’s arms and holds on for dear life as he arches into every single thrust. Derek attacks every inch of skin that he can reach with his mouth, leaving bruises all over Stiles’ neck and chest. Stiles is already hard again and leaking against his stomach when Derek readjusts his angle and starts hitting Stiles’ prostate dead on with every powerful thrust.

Stiles’ fingers clench into Derek’s biceps – if Derek were human, Stiles would be leaving bruises of his own behind; as it is, he can see them form and disappear and reform over and over again. Stiles gasps for air as he feels himself rushing faster and faster towards another orgasm. He’s never come untouched before, but Stiles is sure he’s about to.

“Oh fu –, Der – , oh, oh, Go – ” Stiles stutters and then his whole body jerks and his eyes kind of roll back into his head and his cock starts spurting, hot and wet all over his stomach and chest as the most powerful orgasm he’s ever had rampages through him.

Derek howls and his hips stutter against Stiles’ ass as he shudders through his own orgasm. Stiles would so totally make fun of him right now if he had any higher brain functions left, but his body is still busy twitching through violent aftershocks and dealing with Derek’s cock jerking over and over again against his already oversensitive prostate.

Derek collapses down onto his elbows and kisses Stiles softly on the mouth, then the cheek, then the jaw and slowly down his neck, until he reaches the first splash of come. Then he proceeds to follow it down Stiles’ body, with his tongue, licking up every trace of it, making satisfied hmming noises the whole time.

“Get up here, you freak,” Stiles says with a laugh, tugging on Derek’s arm. Derek flops next to him with a happy grin on his face. He leans in and gives Stiles a quick kiss before leaning back and saying with a smug grin, “Did you actually lose the power of speech back there?”

Stiles can feel his face flushing. “Maybe?” he replies and then punches Derek hard on the arm. “Stop looking so smug.”

“Hard not to,” Derek replies and grins wider. He pulls Stiles into the curve of his arms, and Stiles rests his head against Derek’s chest. “I missed this,” Derek says quietly. He rubs his cheek on the top of Stiles’ head and his hand down Stiles’ back. Stiles wraps his arm tighter around Derek’s side.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Derek Hale, secret cuddler,” Stiles says, tipping his face up for a kiss. The kiss starts chastely enough, but gets heated quickly. Stiles pulls away reluctantly. Then yawns in Derek’s face.

“Sorry, squishy human, here, remember? I need a nap before round three.”

“If you must,” Derek replies in faux disappointment before tucking Stiles against him once again. Stiles snuggles into the supernatural heat of Derek’s body and quickly falls asleep with a smile on his face.

Senior year moves pretty quickly, and the closer they get to graduation, the quieter and more distant Derek gets, even with Stiles. At first, Stiles is hurt, then annoyed, and then one day, when he’s bitching about his personal essay and the complexities of filling in scholarship applications, Derek’s expression goes completely blank, like it used to get when someone carelessly mentioned his life before the fire, and he gets it. The whole rag-tag lot of them, they’re Derek’s new family, even the humans. And they’re all more or less scattering to the four winds to go to college in a few months.

Stiles knows he could talk to Derek; explain to him that he’s not being abandoned. That pretty much all of them, except Lydia, have a vested interest in coming back to Beacon Hills, and he knows that Derek will listen, but he also knows that Derek’s abandonment issues will not let him believe it. So Stiles decides to go for the showy gesture. The only problem is that it involves lying to Derek, which Stiles has never succeeded in doing. So he pussies out and texts him.

off on school tour w scott. back in a week. try not 2 miss me 2 much.


Stiles laughs, it’s fairly typical Derek. Slightly dickish, yet at the heart of it, concerned for his safety.

Half an hour later, after he’s convinced Scott they need to go on a road trip, and he’s packing up the Jeep, his phone beeps with an incoming message.


Stiles smiles. And fires off one last text.

me 2

A week later, he’s at Derek’s door. He considers using his key, but decides to knock instead. He leans against the banister, waiting for Derek. A few minutes later, he comes to the door slightly flushed and sweaty, wearing nothing but a pair of low-riding sweats. Stiles grins at him and takes his time taking in the view. It’s a very nice view.

“Howdy, stranger. Guess who’s back in town.”

Derek grins back and gives him a hug and a kiss. Stiles hears Derek sniff and then suddenly, he’s being pulled into the house and Derek’s hands are pulling at his shirt.

“Why do you smell like old blood? Are you hurt? What happened?” Derek is shoving his shirt out of the way and running his hands over Stile’s sides, looking for injuries.

Stiles grabs his wrists. “Whoa, whoa, I’m not hurt. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to freak you out, I thought it would be healed enough by now – ”

“What, what would be healed? Stiles, what did you do?” Derek in a panic is a cross between adorable and frightening.

“If you’d stop freaking out for one second, I could tell you,” Stiles says calmly. He points at the couch. “Sit.”

Derek lets go of him reluctantly and sits on the couch. Stiles stands in front of him, fidgeting, suddenly nervous.

“Stiles,” Derek says, looking up at him. Hands clenching and unclenching, nostrils flaring.

“All right, all right. Give me a minute.” Stiles pulls his shirt off, figuring it will just be in the way of the big reveal, and undoes his jeans. He lets them drop and then lowers the waistband of his boxers to show Derek the black triskelion tattoo inked into the pale skin of his left hip. It is an exact duplicate of the one on Derek’s back. Stiles considered getting it in the same spot, but decided that it would look like they were on the same sports team or something. He then considered getting it on his chest, over his heart, but decided that was too sappy, even for him. Scott was the one that suggested it should be somewhere only Derek would see it.

Derek’s eyes widen in shock. He looks up at Stiles and then back down at the tattoo. He touches the symbol with tentative fingers.

“Stiles,” he whispers, “Do you know what this means?”

Stiles reaches down and tilts Derek’s face up so that he’s looking him right in the eyes when he speaks. “Yes, Derek. It means forever. It means that no matter where I go or how long I’m gone, I will always come back to you. Always.”

Derek’s face does something extremely complicated as it flows through far more emotions that it usually ever shows. “Stiles,” Derek says again, his voice breaking as his fingers trace the curved lines on Stiles’ skin.

Derek pulls Stiles down onto his lap and kisses him desperately. When the kiss breaks, Derek holds him tightly, face pressed into his neck, and says quietly, almost too quietly for Stiles to hear, “I love you, too.”