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It’s four days later and Stiles is trapped in his jeep with Derek, waiting for a signal from Erica before moving in to put their plan into motion, and it’s a good plan, and it’s probably going to work, but until Erica shows up, Stiles is trapped. In his jeep. With Derek.
He’s trying really hard not to think about what Derek looks like naked, and especially what Derek looks like naked with a naked Danny underneath him, but Derek’s not making it easy, just sitting there all silent and brooding and wearing shirts that hug unfairly over his broad chest. Stiles taps his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking about anything that’s not naked-Derek-and-naked-Danny, and Derek slowly turns his head and stares at Stiles. Stiles stops tapping his fingers.
Then there are twelve long seconds of tense silence, in which Derek looks straight out the car windshield again and Stiles has to clench his hands into fists to keep his fingers still. He’s almost shaking with the effort and finally blurts out,
“Where the hell is Erica, anyway?!”
Derek doesn’t say anything, just breathes in through his nose and then out again.
“It’s been, like, ten minutes. She should have come out by now.” Stiles cranes his neck to look at the building, even though he can see it plain as day.
Derek says nothing.
“All the time in these plans I do the driving and then I do the sitting and waiting for you wolves to do your thing, but it’s okay, Stiles, you just be there feeling useless while we use our awesome strength and awesome fighting abilities to fight crazy people—if it’s not hunters it’s lizards and if it’s not lizards it’s zombie werewolves —”
Derek growls low at the mention of his uncle and Stiles veers away from that particular point of conversation.
“And it’s not like you tell me anything, and Scott doesn’t know what’s going on half the time—more than half the time—and I don’t even know why you need me here anymore, like, don’t you have a little army of beta werewolves at your beck and call, Boyd and Isaac and Erica and Scott and Danny and—and—and why—” Stiles stammers over the words, getting them out before he can stop them, “—and why did you let me watch?”
Derek tenses, sits up straight, but doesn’t look at Stiles.
Stiles waits, staring at him, and then for reasons completely unknown, tries again. “All I was doing was coming to tell you something from Scott and I walk into—into a freaking werewolf porno and you just—you just let me stand there and watch you, Derek, why—why did you do that—when you tell me to get the hell away from you every other time we see each other?”
Derek turns his head away, slightly, and Stiles starts to get mad.
“Derek. Why did you let me watch?”
“There’s Erica,” Derek says suddenly, spotting her waving an arm from the building roof, and then he’s out the door and slamming it shut in Stiles’ face.
Stiles just gapes after him, watching him disappear into the building to go fight bad guys, and then sighs and sits back in his seat. There’s very real mortal peril-type stuff going on just a couple hundred yards away from him, but all he can think about is the sweat on Danny’s brow as Derek restrained him and wouldn’t let him come and the agony of waiting for Derek to tell him when even though Stiles hadn’t had his arms tied behind his back, had just been holding off till Derek said so because—because... Well, maybe because it hadn’t felt right to let Danny suffer alone, and—and Stiles figured what Derek was doing was good for the pack (sexy pack bonding!) and—what was good for the pack was good for Stiles, right?
Especially if what was good for the pack involved nudity and sweat and glistening skin and—
Stiles isn’t proud of jerking himself off in his jeep, and he knows Derek will be able to smell it on him later, but that realization only makes him groan and twist his wrist faster, biting his lip as his come spills hot over his hand.
-
Two days after that Stiles is crouching behind a tree in the woods, trying to avoid the attention of Gerard Argent, who looks particularly menacing with a crossbow in one hand. He holds his breath and waits as Gerard takes one last look around and then heads away from Stiles. Stiles almost jumps out of his skin when someone clasps a hand on his shoulder from behind, but to his credit, he doesn’t scream.
“Stiles,” Derek hisses, and Stiles turns around and sees Derek looking agitated. There’s blood drying around a hole in his shirt, and Stiles realizes Derek must have been shot by an arrow. He puts a hand out unconsciously to touch the not-there-anymore wound, but Derek grabs his wrist.
“Are you okay?” Stiles asks, even though obviously Derek has magical werewolf healing abilities and is fine. He pulls his hand back from Derek and tries not to focus on the heat shooting down his spine in response to having Derek’s hand around his wrist.
“Obviously,” Derek says, rolling his eyes. “Have you seen Scott?”
“Nooo… been too busy hiding from Papa Argent, but—shouldn’t you know where Scott is? You know, your pack senses tingling?”
“I’m not Spider-Man, Stiles,” Derek replies, and peers around the tree. “You said Gerard Argent was just here?”
“Yeah, but he walked thattaway a few minutes ago. Where are the others?”
“I lost Danny and Boyd, but Isaac and Erica are back at the warehouse.”
“So, what, abort mission?”
“The Argents weren’t supposed to be in the woods while we were trying to trap my uncle—it complicates things. We’re leaving.”
“But we need to find Scott and Boyd and Danny first.”
Derek doesn’t bother replying, just walks off in the same direction Gerard had gone. Stiles follows after, trips over his feet, recovers and keeps pace with Derek—barely. They’re quiet for a few minutes, but the silence of the forest is getting to Stiles and he has to fill it with something so—
“Sooo… speaking of Danny,” Stiles says casually.
“No.”
“Oh, come on,” Stiles protests. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
Derek doesn’t respond, but he walks a little faster.
“But really—Derek—I mean, it’s okay, man to man, you can tell me. Why. Why you, you know. Why you let me wa—”
Derek growls low in the back of his throat.
“Were you just—caught up in the moment or—or maybe you have an exhibitionist streak, and hey that is totally fine by me, your kinks are your business—and, well, Danny’s business too I guess, so—”
Derek stops and holds up a hand to quiet Stiles, who is about to keep babbling anyway when he hears it too—footsteps in the dry leaves underfoot. Stiles flattens himself against a tree and watches as Derek crouches low to the ground, listening intently. Then Derek visibly relaxes and stands back up, the worry lines Stiles hadn’t even realized were there at first smoothing out on his face.
Scott, Danny and Boyd appear through the trees and make a beeline for them.
“Derek, thank god, we thought you might have got hit—”
“I did get hit,” Derek says, shrugging. “But you’re all okay?”
Stiles watches as the four werewolves all give each other a once-over. Ostensibly, they already know they’re all fine—but there’s something comforting for them in getting visual confirmation. Stiles wonders if they all feel like brothers, though that puts a weird spin on Derek and Danny. And Isaac and Erica. And Boyd and Erica. And Stiles wonders how many times Erica and Isaac have talked Boyd into a threesome. And if they’ve tried with Danny yet. Or Scott. Oh god, no, bad mental images , not Scott, never Scott. Stiles pinches himself, hard, on the inside of his elbow, and ignores the weird look Boyd gives him.
It must just be different for pack, Stiles figures. Derek was using sex as a way to… to make Danny submit? But more than that—it wasn’t just a power play. The way Derek looked at Danny after, the way Danny curled up against his side… there was something more to that than just an alpha showing dominance. Stiles really wants to know more.
Stiles sneaks a glance at Danny, eyeing his jaw for any bite marks. Of course, he wouldn’t have any; werewolf healing keeps any bruises, bites and scratches from staying around for people to ask about. Stiles shivers suddenly, imagining being the recipient of the types of marks Derek could put on his betas—how they wouldn’t disappear, how they would remain on Stiles’ human body as a reminder to him and to anyone looking that he belonged to someone else.
He turns awkwardly away from everyone to hide how he’s half-hard, but no one is paying attention to him. The four of them turn simultaneously and walk away, in the direction of the warehouse. Stiles hesitates, wondering if he’s needed, but then he sees Derek incline his head and tilt back to get Stiles in his sight. He doesn’t say anything, but the quirk of his mouth and look in his eye tell Stiles to come along.
Pack behavior. Wolf communication. Hierarchy. Dominance. Stiles is starting to pick up on all of it, even without the instincts granted the other werewolves. But there are pieces missing, things he still doesn’t understand. And there’s only one thing for Stiles to do when he doesn’t understand something.
-
Two hours of intensive Googling and article-reading later, Stiles pauses over the words in the Wikipedia article on dog communication and sucks in a breath.
“A wolf or dog will communicate a more intense deference through passive submissive gestures … eye contact is avoided.”
“Eye contact is avoided ,” Stiles breathes, remembering the way Derek had wanted Danny looking at him the whole time. It wasn’t just a wolf thing, wasn’t just a pack thing, it had a human element to it—so—
“So why the hell did he let me watch?!” Stiles demands out loud to himself.
-
Stiles is smart, so instead of going at Derek head-on again for his answer, he sidles up to it. He hasn’t spoken directly with Danny since—the incident —but there’s no time like the present, Stiles thinks, especially when Stiles is trying to figure out the emotional intricacies of the sexual fantasies he keeps having every night.
It’s Friday afternoon and the locker room is emptying out pretty quickly after practice. Stiles takes his time, careful not to look like he’s being purposely slow. After approximately seven minutes of wasting time standing at his locker, the door to the room shuts one last time and it’s just him and Danny.
Danny’s taking a shower because Danny always takes a shower after practice, always likes to head out into the world looking his best and smelling his best because—well, probably because he’s smart and knows what he’s doing. Danny’s consistently gotten the most ass out of almost anyone on the lacrosse team since he turned 14, grew six inches, filled out, and became incredibly attractive (it’s okay to think about, you saw him have sex with Derek, you think about him having sex with Derek, you jack off to him having sex with Derek—this is a thing, Stiles, this is a thing).
Stiles blows out a shaky breath and slams his locker door shut. He’s not sure cornering Danny in the showers is a good idea, given what he’s about to ask him, so he sits on a bench and waits.
After about twenty seconds, he hears Danny’s voice from the showers:
“Come on, Stiles, I know you want to talk to me.”
Stiles’ heart pounds once, twice, before he realizes, duh, Danny’s a werewolf. Of course he knows I’m out here.
“Dude, are you sure you’re okay with—”
“Stiles.” Danny says his name in a way Danny has never said his name, like it’s both a reprimand and a plea. Something twists deep in Stiles’ gut and he gets up and walks to the doorway to the showers.
Danny is standing unselfconsciously under the water, soaping up his arms, and Stiles’ eyes rake over his body, immediately seeking out all the places he had seen Derek press a bite or nail into the flesh. His skin is smooth and flawless, though, and Stiles can’t help it when his gaze lands on Danny’s ass before moving upward and finally meeting his eyes.
Danny rolls his eyes at Stiles but doesn’t seem very upset. He jerks his head, indicating Stiles should come over.
“Uh, I don’t really want to—get wet—”
Danny almost looks hurt, and what the fuck?
Stiles shakes his head and narrows his eyes at Danny. “Why are you acting like that?”
“Like what?”
Stiles puts his hands out in exasperation and gestures wildly between them. “This whole—this whole weird thing where you want to talk to me while you’re in the showers and you’re naked and you’re not treating me like the village leper and you know exactly what I want to talk about, don’t you, so why aren’t you being—you know—creeped out by it?”
Danny shrugs lightly but looks guilty.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“What do you want to know, Stiles?” Danny asks back, avoiding the question.
“You know what I—” Stiles stalks forward a few feet, just beyond the spray of water off Danny’s chest. “You know what I want to know, Danny,” he hisses.
Danny sighs and leans down to soap up his legs. “You want to know why Derek let you watch what—what we did the other day.”
“Yes!” Stiles explodes, then hunches his shoulders and looks around nervously.
“We’re still alone,” Danny says absently, and oh, right, super-hearing.
“Okay, so?”
Danny straightens back up, looking Stiles steadily in the eye. “All I can tell you—all I can tell you —is that Derek wanted you to watch. He—” Danny quirks his mouth to the side, considers whether to keep talking.
“He what?” Stiles prompts.
Danny looks at Stiles, and it’s almost—almost grateful , and he blurts out, “He wanted you to—to join in.”
Stiles gapes and can’t find the words to respond.
Danny shrugs again and cleans his other leg, then rinses and turns the water off. He steps around Stiles to reach for his towel, and starts drying himself. “You really need to talk to Derek. It’s—it’s complicated and kind of—hard to explain, and it’s not really my place to tell you anyway, so.”
“He wanted me to join in?” Stiles finally repeats, the words still not fully connecting in his brain.
Danny sighs. “He was disappointed. That you didn’t.”
“Is that why he told me to leave after?”
“I—”
Stiles interrupts, “Because I saw the way he was looking at you, and—I mean, you don’t just look at your werewolf buddies like that, I was thinking he was in love with you and then I—”
Danny laughs outright. “In love with—with me? Stiles, no. That’s a pack thing. Derek, uh—Derek and I bond that way. Just like how Erica—”
“Erica and Isaac, Boyd and Erica, yeah, yeah—”
“And Isaac and Boyd and Erica,” Danny says, grinning at him, and Stiles raises an eyebrow back.
“Ahah,” Stiles says softly to himself, grinning. “Confirmed.”
“It was a little—different—that time. A little more. Derek and I were—” Danny breaks off uncertainly, a weird look flashing across his face. “I really can’t tell you anything else, it’s not my place. Ask Derek.”
Danny shrugs apologetically and walks out of the showers. Stiles doesn’t mean to stand there until Danny finally leaves the locker room, but the sound of the door closing is what jars him out of his reverie. Derek wanted him to watch. Derek wanted him to join in. Danny and Derek engage in—that —as a pack thing except this time was different. Why. Why was it different. Why was it different?
Stiles shakes his head and finally heads out, somehow getting home without dying in a horrible car accident. When he accidentally runs a stop sign a few blocks away from his house, he wonders if there’s a law against Driving while Under The Influence of Really Confusing Werewolf-Related Sexy Thoughts.
-
Stiles lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, letting his conversation with Danny repeat over and over and over and over and over again in his brain, running it a million miles an hour and then in slow motion and then backwards and sideways and every way he can, analyzing words and sounds and meaning and he keeps having to start over because nothing makes sense.
So he keeps thinking and thinking and doesn’t realize he’s been ignoring his phone beeping until he hears a sharp rap at his window, someone knocking to come in. He sucks in a breath and looks up. There’s a face outlined there, still visible in the fading gray of dusk.
Derek.
Stiles is up and over to the window in seconds, pulling it open and wincing at the noise before remembering his dad is out on a call.
Derek scowls at Stiles and sticks his legs in through the window, then folds himself into Stiles’ room easily, like he’s meant to be there. Which. Maybe.
“Hey,” Stiles says.
“You didn’t answer your phone ,” Derek says by way of greeting, the usual anger in his voice tinged with—is that worry?
“Aww, were you worried about me?” Stiles teases, not able to help himself.
Derek meets his eyes abruptly and furrows his brow.
Stiles’ mouth stays open but he’s not sure what to say next. Derek is still just standing there, looking uncomfortable but also looking the usual brand of Derek-Hale-intense and there’s a sheen of sweat on his forehead and Stiles wonders how far he ran to get here. He ran to get here. Wow. Wow.
“You really were worried about me,” he says softly, and Derek doesn’t say anything, but the clenched jaw tells Stiles he’s right. “Is that—is that a common thing? Do you… worry about me a lot?”
“It’s dangerous right now,” Derek says by way of response, but it’s only a half-answer, and Stiles knows it.
“But it’s not just that,” he insists. “It’s all the time , isn’t it? That’s why I’m always with you when the pack does missions. You keep me close. Out of harm’s way. Out of the action.”
“You’re a human,” Derek says gruffly.
“No,” says Stiles. “I mean, yes. But—so what? Why do you care? You don’t even like me.”
Derek makes a face at Stiles, almost a flinch but more of an are you fucking kidding me expression and Stiles starts running over every encounter he’s had with Derek the last several months, realizing Derek doesn’t do “like”—Derek can’t do “like,” it’s just not in his repertoire.
“Were you always like that?” Stiles asks suddenly, and then claps his mouth shut, regretting the question immediately.
“Like what?”
Stiles looks away and scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uh, never mind.”
“Like what , Stiles?”
Stiles. The way he says his name. It reminds Stiles of the way Danny had said his name in the locker room—with that hint of pleading behind it. It’s weird. It’s new. It’s—Stiles likes it, he has to admit. Stiles does not want to admit to Derek what he was thinking, though, so he doesn’t say anything at all.
They stand there, awkwardly glaring at each other, for at least two full minutes, and then Derek does the unthinkable: he takes one step forward into Stiles’ space, and reaches a hand up between them. Stiles looks down at Derek’s hand, baffled, and then squeaks when Derek grabs the front of Stiles’ shirt and curls his fingers into the fabric. It pulls Stiles forward an inch, closer to Derek, and he’s made hyperaware of their height difference. Stiles licks his lips nervously, and then almost jumps when he notices Derek’s eyes drop down to look at his mouth. WHAT IS HAPPENING?? , Stiles shouts at himself inside his head, eyes wide, alert! alert! alert! Derek Hale is looking at you in a—in a weird way—what—
“Is it because of what—what happened to your family?” Stiles finally spits out, and Derek immediately lets him go and backs away several feet, almost tripping. Stiles feels a pang of guilt at bringing it up.
“What?”
“You don’t like anyone and I was just wondering if it was maybe because of that super fucking tragic thing that happened to you that made you so…” Stiles tries and fails to come up with a word that isn’t—“Sad.”
Derek blinks a few times, but can’t find anything to say.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t—I’m just trying to figure this thing out with you and Danny and—”
Derek jerks his head, a look on his face—Stiles expects to see pain or anger but instead he just sees anguish, raw anguish etched on every inch of Derek’s face.
Stiles blunders on:
“You and Danny is a pack thing, I get that, I totally get that. Sexy pack bonding. It’s cool. But the other day—the other day… Derek, you knew I was coming, you could smell me coming, and you kept going anyway. And you wanted me there. You wanted me to watch. And you—” He gulps, plunges onward. “You wanted me to join .”
Derek sighs, and his entire demeanor opens a little as he says, “You talked to Danny.”
“Of course I talked to Danny! You wouldn’t tell me anything!”
Derek folds his arms across his chest but doesn’t say anything.
“Danny’s one of your betas, so having sex with him, and especially making him submit to you, that’s all about pack hierarchy, I get that. But inviting me to watch—”
Derek stiffens but doesn’t look away from Stiles. It’s unnerving. Stiles tries to regain his mental thread by saying,
“So maybe me joining in would have made me part of the pack? Do you—maybe want me to be part of the pack? Like more than… more than I am now?” Stiles shrinks a little, embarrassed of admitting he considers himself part of Derek’s pack, but Derek isn’t looking so stiff anymore—he almost looks like he’s on the verge of smiling, so Stiles keeps talking.
“And Danny is treating me—differently now. So is that because I’m totally in the pack now? I’m not like—a beta, and I’m not one of those messed up omegas,” Stiles says, unable to keep the streak of pride out of his voice, “so maybe you can just call me a gamma wolf or something—”
“No,” says Derek.
“No what?”
Derek clenches his hands into fists and frowns. “You don’t have it right.”
“I don’t have it—so I can’t be a gamma wolf?”
“You aren’t a werewolf , Stiles.”
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Fine, so I’m a gamma human then. Or no, you know what?” He’s had a stroke of genius. “I’m the alpha human . That’s right! I’m the best human in the pack—I mean, I’m the only human in the pack—so that makes me top of the heap. Alpha human,” he repeats, liking the sound of it.
Derek takes a step toward Stiles and Stiles meets his eyes. Derek has them slightly narrowed, but he’s not upset, he’s more… scrutinizing. Like he’s trying to figure something out.
“Uh, what?” Stiles asks dumbly, because Derek looking at him like that is doing things to certain places on his body.
Derek takes another half step forward, studying Stiles’ face. Stiles stares back at him, wide-eyed and uncertain, and Derek finally huffs out a sigh and leans back slightly, turning one side of his mouth down. “You don’t get it.”
“Don’t get what?!” Stiles demands.
“The thing,” Derek says, waving a hand, and Stiles shakes his head at Derek like he’s crazy.
“The ‘thing’. Right. Very clear.”
Derek growls and it’s not quite an alpha werewolf growl, but it’s close, and the hair on the back of Stiles’ neck pricks up. “What you saw ,” Derek deigns to clarify for Stiles, and, oh yeah, that thing.
“Um, is there more to it than you wanted me to be part of sexy pack bonding? Which is what I’m calling it, by the way? Because, I mean, there was the—the thing with the looking at Danny and making him look at you and that wasn’t, uh, wolf behavior—”
“According to what? Wikipedia?” Derek asks derisively. “And I’m a werewolf , Stiles. Not a wolf. It’s not all the same stuff.”
“O-o-o-okay, so…”
Derek doesn’t offer anything else, so Stiles asks again, for what feels like the hundredth time,
“So why did you let me watch?”
There’s a quiet moment that stretches between them. Stiles feels weak at the knees, suddenly has a hard time filling his lungs completely. He needs Derek to say something, because there’s suddenly this little voice inside his head that’s filling in the gaps of the conversation for him and he abruptly, like being punched in the gut (or heart), thinks he might—might understand. Maybe. It’s impossible though. Completely impossible.
Finally, Derek asks quietly, “Why do you need to know so badly?”
Stiles’ knees do finally go weak and he lowers himself carefully onto the edge of his bed. He looks up at Derek and says, “So if you don’t like people, do you—can you—” He licks his lips again and gulps, gathering his courage to ask, “—do you love people?”
Derek suddenly breaks eye contact but doesn’t move.
But that voice in Stiles’ head is screaming louder at him, and he wishes he were anywhere but here but at the same time the idea of being anywhere but in this room with Derek in this moment is terrible because he needs to know, needs to know , because it’s too big and too terrible and too—too awesome—if it’s true, if he’s right.
“Alpha human,” Stiles says, and he feels so confident that he’s right, that’s he’s found the answer, and it’s equal parts terrifying and exhilarating, and he has to keep going until he knows he’s right. He watches as Derek slowly slides away from him. “Alpha human. The way you—the way you reacted when I said alpha , Derek. It was just a joke, but—it’s not to you, is it?”
Derek presses his lips together in a thin line and still avoids looking at Stiles, and Stiles knows he’s got it. He continues: “Two alphas—that’s not necessarily a problem… Because there was more on the Internet about wolves than pack bonding and submission… a pack of wolves has…” Stiles struggles to remember the exact wording, realizes it’s still open on his computer. He stands up and walks over quickly, then clicks to the browser tab and reads out loud, “Within each pack is an elaborate hierarchy. It may consist of a single breeding pair, the Alpha male and female…”
Derek still doesn’t move, and Stiles walks toward him, saying, “But like you said, you aren’t a wolf, you’re a werewolf. So who says the single ‘breeding’ pair has to be a male and a female… what does it matter? You don’t have to breed to expand your pack, you just bite people. So for you—” (and for me, Stiles realizes suddenly, and for me too) “—male and male is fine too.”
There’s a long pause as the words sit in the air between them, and finally Derek turns and looks at Stiles with what Stiles can only describe as longing and Stiles rubs a hand through his hair, nervous but not embarrassed, because how can you be embarrassed around—around someone you’ve not only seen naked physically but now, here, naked emotionally too. Stiles can see the feelings as clear as if they’re painted on Derek’s face in rainbow stripes, a mental image that makes Stiles grin, and he takes a careful, deliberate step, closing the gap between them.
“So the thing with Danny was—I bet you had something planned to say, didn’t you? I mean, you obviously thought surprising me with sex was the best way to get at me, which, well, you weren’t really wrong, but—but you froze up.”
Derek shifts uncomfortably. Stiles continues,
“So you kept going with Danny because what else could you do? You didn’t want me to leave—you still hoped—thought that maybe—” Stiles sighs. “But how could I know that’s what you wanted? You’ve never been… you’ve never made me think you actually, you know, liked me.”
Derek juts his jaw forward and grits his teeth, but his eyes betray his fondness when he says gruffly, “You already said I’m incapable of that.”
“I know and I’m sorry but seriously, you aren’t really great at letting people know how you feel. You just always seem angry all the time.”
“I am angry all the time,” Derek hisses, and it’s such a sore truth and Stiles gets it, he really does, because losing family is—is the worst thing that can happen, and there is no way to fill that hole inside you with anything else so it just festers and Stiles takes another half step forward and gingerly places a hand on the side of Derek’s neck, just testing.
“I get it,” Stiles says softly. “I get it.”
Derek’s lips part and he looks into Stiles’ eyes, seeking out the meaning there, but Stiles has had enough of trying to figure each other out with stares and glares and gazes and silence, it’s time for action —
He lets his hand slide around to the back of Derek’s neck and then pulls him down, leaning up and pushing his lips against Derek’s, and right away he starts thinking oh god, it’s so weird, it’s so weird, he’s not reacting, what am I doing, shit, shit, he’s gonna kill me—I’m gonna die—
And then Derek is kissing him back, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ back and pulling him in so tight, pressing their faces together and his lips are soft and rough in the same instant, and Stiles doesn’t know how to think about anything anymore. His mind is completely blank.
He feels Derek’s tongue against his lips and his mouth breaks open so they’re kissing wetly, hot breath between them as one of Derek’s hands trails down his back and then cups his ass and lifts him up. Stiles wraps his legs around Derek’s waist without even thinking about it, like it’s second nature, like he’s meant to be there, and one of his hands twines into Derek’s hair. Derek moves quickly and then Stiles’ back is being pressed up against his door, Derek pushing him and using the door for leverage so he can roll his hips into Stiles, and fuck , Stiles is hard , he didn’t even notice with how wrapped up (literally!!!) he is in Derek, and Stiles gasps, letting out a choked-off moan when Derek takes the break in kissing Stiles to nibble little love bites into the side of his neck. The idea of being marked by Derek is hitting him again in full force, and Stiles tries to get friction against Derek, but he can’t get what he needs pressed up against a door—Derek has all the power, and oh god , does that turn Stiles on even more.
But thank god , Derek pushes Stiles harder against the door and starts rutting into him, and he’s finally getting friction in exactly the right place. He wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and just hangs on, unable to come up with any words, just gasping each time Derek presses another hint of fang against his neck and oh—god—don’t—stop—
The front door slams downstairs and Derek freezes, Stiles still wrapped around him. Stiles whimpers, needing release but unable to get anything from Derek and why did his dad choose this exact moment to come home? It’s not fair. Stiles’ life has just improved +4000 awesome points tonight but his dad interrupting his first time with his new werewolf—uh, mate? shit, Stiles needs to think about this —qualifies as a full-on apocalypse-level disaster, especially because now Derek is slowly lowering Stiles down and inching away from him.
“Derek,” Stiles pleads, pressing a palm against his cock through his jeans.
But Derek just smirks at him and grabs his wrist, pulling his hand away. “You have to wait,” he murmurs.
“Why?” Stiles whispers angrily, trying to get his wrist back from Derek and failing.
“Because,” Derek says, moving his head so his lips are right against Stiles’ ear, “what you saw me do to Danny? I’m going to do that to you.”
Stiles gapes at him, wondering if dirty talk is one of his newfound kinks. Because jesus .
“Tomorrow,” Derek tells him softly, “Same place. Same time. And don’t get yourself off before then. I’ll know .”
Stiles lets out a high-pitched moan as Derek moves away from him, crossing the room, opening the window and climbing out into the night in one fluid motion. He wants to stick his hand down his jeans and jack himself off right then, right there, but he can’t , he absolutely cannot , because he doesn’t even want to imagine what Derek will do to him if he does.
Well. Maybe he wants to imagine it a little bit. Just for—just for educational purposes.
Stiles stands leaning against his door for longer than he’d like to admit, trying to get his heart to stop pounding and his breath to stop coming in a pant before he’ll be able to go downstairs and help his dad put dinner together. Oh, and his unbearable hard-on. Trying to get that to go away too would be good. But all he can think about is:
Did that really just happen?
And:
Oh my god, that really just happened.
And especially:
How the fuck is this my life?
-
Driving to the warehouse the next day is probably the most uncomfortable Stiles has been in his entire life, trying to ignore the raging hard-on he’s got as well as focus on the road while all he can think about is being in Derek’s lap, Derek touching him the way he had been touching Danny, Derek staring down into his eyes while he teased him beyond comprehension.
Stiles has to pull over twice to calm down. He’s not allowed to get himself off even though he’s positive he’d be hard again by the time he go to the warehouse, but imagining Gerard Argent naked does the trick. Unfortunately, once Stiles is on the road again driving toward—driving toward a naked, sweaty, horny Derek, basically—he starts getting shaky again.
It is, in fact, a miracle he makes it to the warehouse in one piece.
When he gets out of the car, he listens carefully, but he doesn’t hear the sounds he had heard before (Danny moaning in pleasure , his brain helpfully reminds him). Stiles blows out a quick breath and smoothes his shirt down over his stomach, then snorts at how ridiculous he’s being. If this isn’t some elaborate pack prank Derek and Danny are pulling on him, he’s going to be naked in a few minutes anyway.
He walks into the warehouse and turns a corner and—
Oh.
Danny is there, again completely naked, again nestled between an also-completely-naked Derek’s legs, but there’s none of the intensity of the first time. Derek has one arm loosely slung around Danny’s chest, and his other hand is almost lazily pumping Danny’s cock. Danny has his eyes closed, his head tilted back leaning against Derek’s shoulder, his mouth half-open in a stupor.
Stiles stands staring with his mouth open for what feels like several hours. Days, even. Then Derek catches his eye and grins crookedly.
“Hi, Stiles.”
Stiles’ mouth snaps shut, and then falls open again as he manages a weak, “Uh, hey.”
Derek slowly untangles himself from Danny and stands up. Stiles watches as Danny sits up straight and folds his legs so he’s sitting cross-legged, looking after Derek like—well, he almost looks like a puppy. Then Stiles is abruptly aware of Derek closing in on him, all naked and tall and broad and muscles on every part of him, it seemed like, and Stiles can’t help the long look he gives Derek’s cock, thick and hard, bouncing against his abdomen with every step closer to Stiles.
Stiles’ eyes jerk up to look at Derek’s face right before Derek is right up against him, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ back and leaning his head down. Stiles thinks the angle is awkward for kissing but before he can say so he realizes that’s not where Derek is aiming. He nestles his mouth against Stiles’ neck and takes several deep breaths through his nose before Stiles feels a hint of teeth pressed against his skin. He can’t help the moan he lets out—since when is biting such a thing for him?—and his hands curl around Derek’s neck, holding his face there. Derek first leaves gentle love-bites before he noses down to Stiles’ clavicle and bites hard there. Stiles gasps in pain but then Derek is licking over the bite and kissing it, and Stiles’ fingers curl into Derek’s hair to keep him close, but Derek has other ideas.
He leans back and looks down at Stiles’ shirt in obvious disgust before sliding his hands up against the soft skin of Stiles’ lower back and pulling the shirt off over his head.
“You’re wearing too much clothing,” Derek murmurs against Stiles’ cheek, then rubs his face into the side of Stiles’ head, his stubble grazing Stiles’ jaw and sending shivers across his body.
“Sorry, I—I left my guidebook on werewolf sex at home—” Stiles says shakily, but his hands are already at the button on his jeans, undoing it and the zipper before pushing them down. He toes his shoes off, almost trips but is caught by Derek’s steady hands, and then manages to kick off his jeans and socks into a heap next to him.
Derek still has his face right there against Stiles’, and Stiles is suddenly hit with the realization that he’s being scent-marked. Stiles whimpers and claws at Derek’s back, trying to get him even closer. Derek’s hands sidle down to his waist and knead into his skin a little before his fingertips slip under the waistband of Stiles’ briefs and slowly inch them down over Stiles’ ass.
He’s achingly hard and when he looks down to watch as Derek eases his briefs out and over his dick he lets out a low whine at the sight. He kicks his briefs into the pile of the rest of his clothing, and then Derek grunts once, sounding incredibly self-satisfied.
Then Derek grabs Stiles by the wrist and tugs him over to where Danny is sitting. They’re on the mats Derek sometimes uses to make the betas’ training less painful, and Stiles has a moment where he thinks: Good, I’m glad my first time will be on something comfortable , before he’s hit with: My first time is going to be with an alpha werewolf— my alpha werewolf—and Danny. Okay. This is happening. He’s giddy with anticipation, and lets Derek push him down onto his knees in front of him. Stiles looks up into Derek’s face and they lock eyes.
Derek pauses, the tips of his fingers against Stiles’ face, and Stiles sees a question in his eyes. Is this okay?
“Yes,” Stiles says, quick, eager. “Please. Come on, Derek.”
His eyes drop to Derek’s dick, bobbing in front of his face, and he catches Derek’s scent, musky and sweet at the same time. Something about it reminds Stiles of cinnamon, he thinks, before he’s leaning forward and licking a stripe up the underside of Derek’s cock. Derek gasps and then moans and Stiles feels a surge of satisfaction knowing he made Derek sound like that, made Derek feel like that.
And then—he’s not sure when or how Derek signaled him, but he knows Danny wouldn’t have done it without Derek’s permission—Danny is pressing kisses down his spine, his large hands clasped firmly on Stiles’ hips. Stiles trembles but Danny keeps him from falling over and then Stiles opens his mouth wide, looking up at Derek and pleading for it with his eyes. The idea of having Derek inside of him—and at his mercy—is doing incredible things to his dick and he thinks he might come without anyone touching him at all.
But Derek has other plans. He steps back away from Stiles and then kneels down in front of him, pushing him gently back into Danny’s arms. Stiles lets himself be handled between the two of them like a ragdoll, getting turned around so he’s suddenly between Derek’s legs, in the exact position Danny had been in before. Stiles whimpers, waiting for Derek’s hand to circle his cock and begin the long teasing he had witnessed before, but he’s surprised again when, instead, Derek looks up at Danny and nods his head once.
Danny grins up at Stiles in what almost looks like an apology, and before Stiles can begin to mouth What? at him, Danny is crawling between Stiles’ legs and sinking his mouth onto Stiles’ cock.
“Oh god,” Stiles moans, arching up into Danny’s mouth, hands scrabbling to reach for Danny’s head, but Derek grabs his wrists and pulls his arms behind his back. Stiles groans and cranes his neck to look up into Derek’s eyes to plead for more control, but he stops and stills immediately when he sees the look on Derek’s face.
His eyes are tinged with red, the alpha coming out, but there’s no anger there—his expression is one of total devotion, and Stiles’ breath catches in his throat realizing that look is for him . He can’t believe it took so little time for them to get to this place, but then he thinks for Derek it might have been a long wait, trying to let Stiles come to it on his own instead of being prompted. How frustrating, Stiles thinks. I’m frustrating . I frustrate Derek Hale .
So now Derek Hale is going to frustrate me .
Stiles shivers in Derek’s grasp and then cries out again when Danny does something with his tongue on the underside of the head of his cock. Stiles tries by reflex to pull his arms out again, but Derek’s grip is firm.
Knowing he’s totally in Derek’s power sends a bolt of pure lust straight through him and Danny is still sucking him and one of his hands is kneading gently on Stiles’ balls and then on the skin right behind them and Stiles is so close, so, so close , and he whines and twists his neck but doesn’t break eye contact with Derek, who suddenly pulls Danny off Stiles with one hand.
Danny backs off and Stiles can see out of the corner of his eyes that he’s sitting back just watching them. Derek smiles at Stiles, but it’s more predatory than kind, and Stiles can’t help but writhe a little in his grasp. Derek leans down and presses a kiss against Stiles’ cheek, then lingers and lets his teeth graze along his cheekbone. Stiles moans and tries to angle his face to kiss Derek on the lips, but he can’t reach.
Derek smiles again and this time it’s sweet and gentle and everything Stiles would never, at one point, have imagined Derek could be, and then Derek leans a little farther down and fits his mouth onto Stiles’. It’s a chaste kiss, completely out of place in the middle of what they’re doing, but Stiles feels so wanted and needed in that moment that when Derek hums against his lips and tightens his grip on Stiles’ wrists, Stiles’ hips buck up once, twice, and he’s coming so hard and unexpectedly that he blacks out for a second, just the image of Derek’s face above his imprinted onto his consciousness in the haze of orgasm that’s hit him.
His vision finally clears and he almost laughs out loud at the look on Derek’s face: disappointment, but also rueful pride.
“Sorry!” Stiles says, chuckling. Derek frees his hands and Stiles twists around immediately and presses his lips against Derek’s jaw.
Derek freezes, and before Stiles knows what he’s doing, he opens his mouth and bites onto Derek’s jaw, only one thought in his mind: mark this man because he is yours, bite his soul into you, make him your own, no one else’s —and Derek shudders under him. It’s pure instinct and animal need, and Stiles wonders if being with Derek is making him werewolfy without getting an actual, real, I-mean-it werewolf bite that will turn him too. Because although he can’t smell his scent on Derek, knowing it’s there is really doing it for him.
Stiles licks over the bite mark he left on Derek’s jaw, which is already healing slowly, and then sits back.
“I had plans,” Derek growls at him, and Stiles laughs.
“Sorry for messing that up. But hey, I’m eighteen, I think I can probably be ready again if you just give me a few minutes.”
Derek snorts. “What do you think, Danny?”
Stiles hears Danny’s light laughter behind him. “I think we can still do whatever you want.”
“Pfft, yeah we’ll do what he wants, he’s the alpha,” Stiles says, grinning at Derek fondly, fingers curling against Derek’s chest. He can already feel his dick twitching again. But hey, wow, he just had sex, didn’t he? And he’s going to have more sex. And more sex. And it’s going to be awesome.
Derek kisses the corner of Stiles’ jaw and then murmurs into his ear, “Remember I told you before not to tell anyone about what you saw?”
Stiles hums a yes. “You and Danny. Yeah.”
Derek smiles against his cheek, and a flutter whips through Stiles before he hears Derek whisper darkly, possessively, “You better tell everyone about this time.”