Chapter Text
“I took care of that,” Derek says, glaring across the room.
Scott’s face drops in shock. “What?”
"I said", Derek growls, which, weirdly enough, does not seem to hinder his angry enunciation. "That our problem--"
"Not our problem," Jackson rudely interrupts.
"-- has been taken care of," Derek finishes, choosing to ignore Jackson. Which, knowing Jackson's proclivity towards shady comments and highly questionable moral and other standards, is probably the smartest thing to do.
The thing is, despite Scott's shock, everybody in the room knows exactly what Derek is talking about, even Jackson - hence his objection. Because, even though it is, was (if Derek is to be trusted), Stiles' problem technically, Stiles is pack, so.
But the whole idea seemed ridiculous. Whatever Derek did, and Derek wasn't the type to solve pack's problems on his own to begin with, he definitely couldn't have killed the darach single-handedly. It was impossible, no matter how hard he wanted to stop the virgin sacrifices. Hell, they all wanted it just as badly - Stiles in particular, of course. Also, there was no way he would have gotten involved with anything even remotely related to Stiles’ case of chronic virginity. What could he have possibly done?
Scott’s eyes fly from Derek to Stiles in rapid succession.
Stiles remains stock still, leaning against the wall, arms crossed, fingers clutching around his sharp elbows. Completely out of character, he is silent and motionless, so the pack starts getting nervous. The tension is palpable and it feels like there isn’t enough air in the room.
Lydia frowns. "Stiles?"
Jackson leers at the alpha. “What, did you hire him a hooker? Wow,” he drawls lasciviously. “I must say I'm impressed. My opinion about your alphaness has just risen up a peg or two. Way to go, boss.”
Lydia smacks him across the arm. “Let’s not joke about this, thank you.”
She turns towards her alpha. “Derek, are you sure? We can’t afford the risk, as I already explained to you in great detail.”
Derek frowns at her, despising this challenge of his competence. He’s not an idiot.
“Yes!” Stiles finally peels himself off the wall, standing awkwardly and looking at no one in particular. He clears his throat. “It’s been taken care of. Virginity gone. Woohoo! A hooker, yes. Or not. It doesn’t matter. Anyway, you don’t have to worry about it anymore. One less problem for the pack, definitely. Can we just drop it now, please, and focus on our imminent and certain deaths if we don't kill the darach...” He remains in the shadier part of the loft, hoping that his face isn’t burning too much and that the pack ticks off the frantic beating of his heart as typical Stiles embarrassment.
“No, I just need to know if renting hookers is on the pack menu now. I won’t be deprived of my rights,” Jackson grins, ignoring Lydia’s nails digging into his forearm. “What, it’s not like Stilinski’s desperation can be the only reason we can afford regular sexing up. It could boost the pack morale, I'm just saying. Derek there looks like he could use some.”
Boyd and Erica roll their eyes simultaneously, used to Jackson's bullshit but refusing to be subjected to it any more than necessary, so they stand up from the couch. “If that’s all… we’re gonna go, alpha.”
Erica turns towards Stiles and smiles at him, her locks shaking as she nods her head in clear approval. “You know you could have come to me, baby, I would have gladly helped you out.”
She says it kindly and honestly, and Stiles believes her, but Derek starts growling again from his corner and that is Stiles’ cue to leave. He can’t take another pissing contest right now. “I have to go, too. My dad… I need to make dinner. Yeah.” He hurries past everyone, ignoring Jackson’s lewd whistle, and flees the loft as fast as he can, feeling Derek’s eyes burning holes into his back. He just needs to go, right this very moment, and not look at anyone for a while.
***
After a few days of some deep thinking and self-analysis at the privacy of his own home, Stiles decides he's not going to be sorry about the entire thing.
He chooses to have no regrets. Why would he be sorry? He honestly can't regret that it was Derek. He did have this epic crush on the man after all, fantasizing obsessively in both sexual and non-sexual ways about their relationship, but it wasn't like Stiles harbored some futile hopes or anything. He was fully aware that the chances of his fantasies coming to life were less than zero, but that never stopped him. He just couldn’t help it.
He used to imagine that Derek was in love with him, finding proof in Derek’s lingering glances, constant little touches and obvious stubborn determination to keep Stiles uninjured and alive at any cost. Now that he thinks about it, Stiles can’t help but laugh at his own blindness – of course Derek slept with him so that he could keep Stiles out of trouble. Of course. Derek is just that kind of guy. He would do anything. Stiles can’t believe it didn’t cross his mind once when it happened. He was completely blindsided.
In his defense, pretty weak but still, it was very difficult for Stiles - it still is - to believe that anyone would do such a thing. He takes matters of love very seriously. Just to think that someone could give themselves for reasons unrelated to emotions is unimaginable to him. Not to mention, that even though he was pretty certain he never gave anything away, Derek somehow knew. That's what Stiles thought. That it was reciprocal, in a I-like-you-and-I-know-you-like-me-so-let's-do-something-about-it kind of way.
Huge mistake.
Also, he did try to ask Derek. They came back to his place together that night, Derek and he, because Derek wanted to make sure he was fine after their night long stake out at the preserve. It had been raining constantly, with Stiles crouching in the bushes, Derek’s jacket as his only cover, trying not to complain too much since Derek spent the entire time in his t-shirt only, looming over Stiles like a protective bear that he was.
So, when Stiles stood shirtless in the middle of his room, shivering and wiping himself with a towel, and Derek planted a soft kiss onto the nape of his neck, Stiles gasped in a shock, but it was only a momentary kind of surprise. Speaking long term, which was what really mattered, Stiles' mind sent wave after wave of finally, finally, finally all through his body.
He did turn towards Derek then, in question, wondering, wanting to know, what that was about. Why then. Was it possible? Was it true? He trembled in Derek's hands, feeling stupidly hopeful and achingly vulnerable. But Derek had this longing look in his eyes, a little bit sad, a little pleading, rain droplets still clinging to his eyelashes, and Stiles thought… he thought that Derek was just as sad as him, for not doing that sooner, for pining, for not acting on this mad crush for whatever stupid reasons…
Anyway. That’s what Stiles thought.
“Derek,” he tried to say, but Derek hugged him then, breathing across Stiles’ cheek, asking Stiles to kiss him in a pleading whisper.
So Stiles did. It never even crossed Stiles’ mind to doubt Derek’s motives then. He didn’t even think about them, sure that they were the same as his. Mad, epic love - what else?
Stiles made love to Derek for the first time that night, his first time ever - his only time with Derek, as it would turn out later - and it was even better than his fantasies.
Derek stayed with him until his dad came back from his shift, holding Stiles as if he was something precious to him, and Stiles didn’t even notice the lack of words, explanations, declarations, promises… Derek simply wasn’t a talkative guy and Stiles felt like he said it all with his body. That night, Stiles really believed that Derek loved him, that the entire night was a final, inevitable conclusion to their mutually shared feelings of a romantic kind.
Well, maybe Stiles regrets that one thing. For not noticing - not expecting - a clear and unequivocal declaration of intention. What you say and what you do... it all matters. That's why he can't be mad at Derek. He never promised him anything. It was all in Stiles' delusional mind.
***
There’s a knock on his window.
Stiles stops with his typing, straightens from his slouch over the laptop, and turns in his chair to see Derek peeking behind the glass. Calm and relaxed, Stiles stands up and opens the window to let him in. He even smiles a little. “Hey.”
Derek jumps in, but remains standing near the wall, serious and a little crazy looking, if Stiles is to say.
“What’s up?” Stiles tries.
Derek sighs and looks away for a moment, brushing his hands over his jeans. Looking like he’s steeling himself for something, he finds Stiles’ eyes again. “How are you?”
Stiles nods. “I’m good, I’m good. Why?”
Derek watches him intently. “You… haven’t been to the loft in a while. Two weeks,” Derek says and looks at his fingers. “Twelve days,” he specifies.
Stiles smiles a little, huffing through his nose. “Sorry about that. I… it wasn’t fully intentional. I needed some time, I guess. It’s… not because of you, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Derek looks at him hopefully. “It isn't?”
“No,” Stiles shakes his head.
Derek clutches the wall behind himself. “You’re… you’re not mad?”
“Mad?” Stiles’ eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Why would I be mad?”
Derek blushes, squirming uncomfortably where he stands.
Frankly, Stiles is a little weirded out. He’s never seen his alpha in less than his monumental regalness.
“You have to know,” Derek starts, clumsy but determined. “I—I’m not sorry for what I have done.”
“Okay,” Stiles agrees. “I know. You shouldn’t be. Uh, thank you?”
Derek relaxes a little and nods in acceptance. He clearly expected a different reaction. He looks at Stiles curiously.
Stiles thinks this is it, that their conversation is now over. He gave Derek what he obviously came for, an assurance that Stiles is fine with what happened. An absolution. He expects Derek to leave now so that he can return to his work. The atmosphere is a little awkward, but that's their thing, they are both used to hefty amounts of awkwardness between themselves, so Stiles doesn't worry.
But Derek still stands there. “Are you?”
The question takes Stiles off guard. He understands it perfectly, but he tries to buy himself some time. “Am I what?”
“Sorry.”
Stiles wonders if he should try lying, if perhaps Derek’s too agitated to pick up on his traitorous heartbeat. But then, he decides against it. There really isn’t any reason why he should hide anything.
“Yes, but probably not about what you're expecting.”
Derek jerks a little anyways, but a flash of hurt is quickly replaced by stubborn determination. He swallows and licks his lips before squaring his shoulders, looking at Stiles defiantly. “Well. I am not going to apologize.”
Even though Derek doesn’t ask him why he is sorry, which Stiles is immensely grateful for, Stiles laughs and looks at Derek fondly. Because, although Derek did this shitty, shitty thing to him that most other people would be angry about, Stiles still thinks that he is a good man and that his intentions were good and noble. He says as much. “You’re a good man, Derek. I’m proud to be a part of your pack. Again, you have nothing to apologize for.”
At that, Derek smiles for the first time, a little tentatively, a little shocked, and comes closer to Stiles, putting his hand on Stiles’ shoulder.
Or trying to, because Stiles jerks back as if someone tasered him. “Hey! What are you doing? Don’t… don’t do that, please,” Stiles says softly but determinedly. What is this bullshit? Stiles almost regrets thinking that Derek's intentions were good now. What, did he come for another round? Stiles tries to shake off his bitterness because he doesn't like it, mentally chiding himself for thinking malicious thoughts.
Derek’s eyes blink at him, stunned and luminous. “Are you… Um. Can I – can I kiss you?”
“What?” Stiles frowns, puzzled.
Of all the things he expected Derek to want to do when he came here, that was definitely the last one. The non-existent one.
“Why would you want to do that? I’m out of danger now. Not a virgin anymore, remember? You took care of that, as you said. Your alpha duties are done. Why would you want to kiss me? Jesus,” Stiles blurts out, out of breath.
Derek sways in his place, alarmed. "What? I don't understand."
"Come on, Derek. What's not to understand? It's all clear."
Derek raises his hands in placating motion. “Stiles, I… it wasn’t a duty,” he breathes out and then blushes again. “It wasn’t just a duty,” he amends. “I – you had to know, have to know that I, that I like you.”
Stiles full on laughs at that, throwing his head backwards, his whole body shaking. He brushes his hands over his face, exasperated. “Sorry. Sorry. Derek, I can’t believe it. I don’t believe you. I mean, scratch that, I believe that you believe it, sorry for not acknowledging your feelings, by the way,” he shakes his head. “And sorry for laughing. It's just... it doesn’t matter now anyway. Whatever happened, it’s over now. I want to forget it. Believe you me, it's for the best. I'm tired.”
"What do you mean, you want to forget it? Why? I'm telling you, I'm telling you my feelings, and I know that, I think that you like me, too... I don't understand," Derek rushes his words out.
Stiles sighs. "I admit, I may have had some emotions, but... let's put it this way - after what happened, I think you're definitely not a man for me."
Derek’s eyes stare wetly at him. “Then why did you do it? Why did you sleep with me?”
Stiles feels so tired. He wants this conversation to be over, he wants Derek to leave. He really hates that he has to go through this. “I did it because I was in love with you and because I thought that you loved me back. I wanted you to be the one. To be my first. I thought you knew that. I thought you wanted me back at that time.”
“I do, I did, I – do,” Derek gasps out.
“Look… Derek… I don’t want to upset you, or make you feel bad, I honestly don’t,” Stiles tries to keep his voice calm. “But, I’ve been pining after you for years. You knew that, I know you did. But, Derek…” Stiles pauses, struggling for words. “You chose a wrong reason to approach me. A spectacularly wrong reason. Mortal peril is definitely not a good one for sleeping with someone for the first time, speaking from my standpoint… of a man in love. But,” Stiles adds hastily. “I really don’t blame you. I don’t. It’s just that… now I know that you don’t really love me. And that helps me to put things, to put my feelings into perspective. And recognize them as faulty."
Derek brushes his face with his hands.
Stiles looks at Derek, trying to will him to understand. "I'm a hearts and flowers kind of guy, Derek. I'm not ashamed to say it. I don't know if you knew that. Loving someone, it's this huge, monumental thing that you cannot hide, don't want to hide. You want to declare it from the rooftops. You want to show that person how much they mean to you, how precious they are, day after day after day. And, I'm not mad at you, I'm really not, because it's not your fault that you don't love me. It isn't anyone's. It's just like it is. And I know it, because if you did, you wouldn’t have done it like that. That would have been the least … loving way to be with me, for the first time, for any time. If you loved me, you would have said it. If you loved me, you would never have talked about that night as a problem that had been fixed in front of the entire pack.”
Derek nods. "Right."
Derek doesn’t say anything, so Stiles continues. “I lost my virginity to you, Derek. For me, it's a big deal. Frankly, I expected more from you, but it's my mistake, my fault, not yours. I deluded myself that you loved me.”
“I do,” Derek’s words are barely above whisper, but his chest is heaving in and out in rapid succession. “I didn’t want you to die. I wanted to protect you. Because I do love you.”
"I don't know what to tell you. You're being deceitful, unintentionally, because you must have lied to me, either when you slept with me, or when you said you did it to protect me, which never even crossed my mind as a possibility, or when you said you loved me. Those are mutually exclusive. They can't all be true."
Derek looks like he is about to cry, which is pretty upsetting as a thing that has never happened before, but Stiles needs to get this right.
"You make me feel bad. You made me feel bad at the loft, and you're making me feel bad right now. That's not love. That night, well, that night was lovely, but only because I suffered from a delusion at the time." Stiles really doesn't want to be cruel, he only wants to be exact and precise. His life is in question here. He wants to choose wisely. "I have to tell you, Derek, this love declaration from you tonight also isn’t what I hoped for. Had hoped for. Or dreamed about, once. It definitely sounded different in my head for the past five years. Because I used to imagine in my head what it would be like, you loving me. It went much more romantic, for one."
Derek closes his eyes and plasters himself even more firmly against the wall.
"I’m sorry.” Stiles tries to clarify. “It’s really not your fault. See, I wanted to hear it for so long, I imagined you saying it, and it was never… like this. Like an explanation, like an apology, like you’re saying it to lessen my hurt. Like you’re not saying it because you want to or need to, but because now you feel like you have to now, pressured by some outer circumstances. And I get it, you did… what you thought was best." Stiles bites his lips. "If anything, it was my fault, for having these stupid dreams. I…”
Stiles laughs a little. “I really think that Jackson was right.”
Derek raises his bent head at that, weary looking and miserable. “How?”
“You should have hired me a hooker.”
“Stiles…” Derek gasps, and closes his eyes again. He wipes at them angrily with his jacket sleeve.
They stand in silence for a while, two dark figures in a dimly lit room.
"I'm sorry, but it's true! It would be much less hurtful, if not more pleasurable. Don't be offended. You'll find someone one day who will want you to love them just like you do. And I really really want the same for me... And if it never happens, then so be it. I will never settle for less. I hope you understand."
Derek nods.
"Go home, Derek," Stiles says wearily. "Try to forget it all. Don’t worry. It’ll pass. Whatever… this is. It was clearly never meant to be. I’ll come to the next pack meeting. Just… go home.”
Derek seems to accept this, finally, because he clutches the window frame, poised to jump out. “I’m sorry,” he says one last time to Stiles over his shoulder.
Stiles smiles tiredly. “Don’t be. I’m… really not.”
When Derek looks at him questioningly, Stiles explains. “It was a really lovely night, Derek,” Stiles says softly, even though it hurts a little to remember. “Just like I dreamed. I'll never regret that part.”
Derek's face crumples, and he must have let out a sob, barely audible, muffled by the cracking of the window frame under his fingers. He jumps out and disappears into the night.
Stiles watches him go for a while, sad and melancholy.
He really thought they could have been something. Something good.
Clearly, he was wrong.
Stiles turns back towards his computer, sits back down and continues typing.