#*fanfic13

It was the picturesque definition of happy, young love. The anger that was beginning to build slowed as Stiles looked away and headed back towards his jeep. He sighed before letting his head fall against the steering wheel and slowly counting to ten.

Stiles blinked away the tears that had been forming and willed them to go away. There was no reason to cry. He didn’t see anything incriminating. His head told him his boyfriend was sitting next to a girl who was just resting her head on his shoulder.

“No.”

A chocked sob escaped Stiles as the tears began to form. He chewed his bottom lip as he watched the small drops fall onto his lap.

His heart told him he was being left behind.

***

How was training? Hopefully Finstock wasn’t too rough on you guys. I’ll give you ride tomorrow?

Cora mentioned you guys had a history quiz Friday. Don’t exhaust yourself, let me know if you need help.

[missed  call DEREK HALE]

Just wanted to say good night =)

***

“Stiles! Go see Derek.”

Stiles was ready to move on and not make the coffee shop incident an incident. However, the day after, watching Derek leaning beside Paige’s locker before class proved to Stiles that he wasn’t the bigger man. He could taste the bitter words that were on the tip of the tongue that morning. Stiles was ready to scream and yell, let Derek know exactly how he felt. Stiles was always better at fighting with his words. But he didn’t want to fight…not with Derek.

“He’s lost without you or something. He’s been asking for you all day. He came and asked me, Stiles.”

As popular as Derek was, it still brought a smile to his face that his werewolf boyfriend was always hesitant and somewhat afraid of the all mighty strawberry blonde girl that was Lydia Martin.

“Is he?” Stiles went for innocent. It’s been three days. Derek was bound to start asking for him.

Lydia cocked her head and looked right at Stiles. Immediately, Stiles felt the need to tighten his grip on his bag and play with his hoodie string. He held her gaze for as long as possible before finally looking away, playing it cool.

“What happened?” Huh, it didn’t work.

“Stiles!”

There are moments when Stiles refuses to talk to Scott, refuses to even acknowledge his existence, often after petty fights. However, there are also moments where Stiles could kiss Scott and happily sell his first born for his best friend. This was one of those moments.

“Scotty! My man,” Stiles yelled back immediately heading towards Scott leaving Lydia to catch up while muttering a fierce, “We’re not done here.”

Scott turned to Lydia and said a quick hello before turning to Stiles and saying, “Derek’s looking for you. He said you hadn’t replied or picked up your phone in a few days. He seems a little anxious.”

Stiles held back the urge to grind his teeth. Would it be wrong to throw a chair at your werewolf best friend? It wouldn’t hurt him and he’d heal, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“I’ll talk to him later,” Stiles assured Scott attempting to shrug of the concern.

“There’s an extra training session for the game tomorrow right now. He’s with the team,” Scott said before rushing off towards Allison.

Stiles stilled as his eyes followed Scott across the school parking lot. Scott had that same shit eating grin at every mention of Allison and Allison had that fond look every time she was reminded that Scott turned into a freaking puppy only for her.

Lydia sighed beside him, “Sort it out, Stilinski.”

***

Haven’t seen you in a while. I’ll see you at the game tomorrow right?

You ok? Lydia glared at me in the corridor today.

Night <3

***

“Stiles, it’s Saturday. Pancakes. Please,” the Sheriff said exasperated.

“What’s wrong with what you have?”

The Sheriff paused. “It’s granola, Stiles. It’s dry.”

Stiles scoffed, “That is a terrible reason. Add some yoghurt.”

The Sheriff grimaced subtly before standing and opening the fridge. Stiles: one, Father o’mine: zero.

“So, Derek came over the other morning. Said he was supposed to drive you to school.” The Sheriff paused, looking over at Stiles playing with his cereal. “You guys ok, kiddo?”

“Mhm,” Stiles muttered, briefly glancing at his father.

“Didn’t go to the game did you?” Stiles turned his focus back on his food, trying not to react. He’d spent all afternoon after school pacing his room trying to convince himself to face the music. To face Derek.

The Sheriff sighed before saying, “I’m here for you, son.”

***

“Stiles! Wait up.”

Honestly, Stiles’ first instinct was to run. He’d never live it down; the day Stiles Stilinski attempted to outrun the great Derek Hale.

Stiles turns to find Derek jogging towards him with an excited toddler in his arms.

“Hey. I’ve missed you,” Derek says as he puts his hands around Stiles and leaning in.

Stiles puts his hands on Derek’s chest and ducks out of his arms returning Derek’s smile with an uncertain one.

“Who’s this?” Stiles questions motioning towards the child resting against Derek’s hip. Stiles raises his hand prompting a hi-five.

Derek pauses and frowns before answering, “This is Isaac. I’m baby-sitting for one of our neighbours.”  Isaac eyes Stiles hand before burying his face in Derek’s neck and sniffing. Werewolf baby, Stiles notes.

“Hey Isaac. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Stiles.”

“Stiles,” Isaac giggles, fisting Derek’s shirt. Derek dips his head, rubbing his forehead against Isaac’s. Stiles looks away, feeling extremely out of place.

“Derek. Ice-cream,” Isaac softly reminds Derek.

“Oh yes, I didn’t forget,” Derek chuckles. “Stiles, come with us.”

***

Stiles finds himself seated at a booth facing a confused Derek and a blissfully ignorant Isaac. Conversation had so far been stilted and Stiles could tell Derek was getting increasingly frustrated. Stiles watched Isaac messily but happily scoop at his ice-cream.

“Stiles, we ok?” Derek finally asked after giving up on Stiles to start to the conversation. “You haven’t returned my calls or any of my texts this past week. I thought you were just tired or just needed to study. I thought it was about school.”

Stiles bit his lip and looked away. He wasn’t ready.

Stiles shared a timid smile ignoring the skip in his heartbeat. “I’m fine. I’m sorry I missed your game yesterday.”

Derek stopped and studied Stiles face. “You’re not fine.” He reached for Stiles hands on the table, turning his hands over so he could lace their fingers together.

Stiles glanced down at their fingers and wanted to cry. Does Derek know what he’s doing?

“Stiles, what’s wrong?  You’re upset. You smell like pain and your heart rate has been unsteady the entire time we’ve been together today.”

Stiles smiles and says, “Did we win yesterday?” Add another tally to ‘Stiles changes the topic’ he thinks.

“Y-yeah, we did.” Derek pauses. “Was a close game, came down to the last two minutes. Even Lydia got excited and you know how she is. She hates basketball.” Derek’s words getting softer and fingers tightening against Stiles fingers.

“Should we break up?”

“What?”

Stiles looks Derek in the eye. The words had been running through his head all morning since bumping into Derek. They came out more like a question than a statement.

Derek loosens his hold on Stiles hand.

“Are you asking me or telling me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Then no, Stiles. We’re not breaking up.”

Affronted, at Derek’s response, Stiles pulls his hands away from Derek’s.

“Have you seen yourself around Paige?”

“P-Paige? Why are you talking about Paige?”

“You look happy with her. You two look good together –“

“Stiles, stop.”

“The coffee shop scene was cute –“

“C-coffee shop?”

“Like a movie scene. Romeo and Juliet-esque –“

“Stiles –“

“It’s fine if you two really want to. I’d let you. I always thought I was in deeper than you were anyway.”

There’s silence after that, Stiles out of breath and feeling vulnerable at the admission. Derek looks taken aback and Isaac is glancing between the two of them looking like he’s about to cry.

“Derek, can we go home.”

Derek looks away from Stiles and smiles at Isaac. “Sure buddy, give me a second.” He turns to Stiles and shakes his head, “You’ve got it wrong. This conversation isn’t finished.”

Derek pats Isaac on the back before standing up and heading towards the counter to pay.

“Are you ok? You smell sad.”

Stiles looks towards Isaac and smiles. “I’m ok. You like your ice-cream?”

Isaac gives a short nod before giving Stiles a calculating stare. Stiles looks away and gets ready to leave.

“Derek’s my bodyguard. He said he could protect me from all the bad guys.” Isaac started. “He can be yours too. He’ll protect you too, Stiles.”

***

Stiles, pick up. I don’t know what you think you saw, but nothing happened, has happened, is happening or will happen between Paige and I or me and another one else.

Stiles I’m coming over.

Where are you? Are you over at Scott’s? Don’t move.

[38 missed calls DEREK HALE]

“Will you just pick up? Derek is going to freak. You know what that means? That means our basketball captain will be distracted for his games, we’ll lose and it will be your fault.”

“Erica, just –“ Boyd began.

“He needs to hear this. Stiles, Derek and Paige? Never going to happen. You know why? He has you. Get it in your thick head.”

“I know he’s not cheating.”

“Then go talk to him. What have you been doing?”

“I don’t want to break up with him.”

From the day Stiles met Derek, he knew Derek was out of his league. He was popular, the basketball captain and had every student at their knees. He was well-liked, had good grades and was breathtakingly gorgeous. Stiles loved Derek’s quiet determination as he managed all his commitments, the subtle concentration on his face during every basketball game and his unashamed sense of loyalty towards his friends.

“He’s not breaking up with you. Are you breaking up with him?” Boyd asked gently.

“You should’ve seen them. Derek looked so happy –“

“Derek always looks happy with you,” Erica interrupted.

Three months ago before a game, Derek had muttered a quiet "You're interesting. Different,” before leaning in and placing chaste kiss on Stiles lips. Stiles had been so happy then, couldn’t wipe the smile off his face the entire night. Derek hadn’t wanted to hide their relationship. Derek loved openly and Stiles loved that about him.

Stiles sighed. “I’m just worried.” He closed his eyes. “Derek is my friend. I’m Derek’s friend. His greatest quality is always protecting those around him. He’d never want to hurt me. I know that.”

Erica and Boyd, looked at him patiently and waited.

“If he finds out later that I’m not worth it, it’ll hurt more, by then I’ll be in too deep. It’s easier if it finishes earlier,” Stiles smiles softly.

Erica looked down and away, feeling bad for her harsh words earlier.

“You don’t see it do you?” Boyd says sadly. “Derek is panicking. He’d always said that if you were hurt, he’d personally see to it himself. You don’t even have to know Derek to know that you matter to him. His eyes look for you as soon as he can smell your scent, his eyes track you whenever you’re near. His still has to fist his hands to hide the claws whenever you and Scott do your weird best friend thing. He can’t control the urge hold your hand whenever Heather is nearby and he can’t see himself leaving Beacon Hills for college because he’d be leaving you here. It doesn’t take much to see you’re it for him. I know Derek. You know Derek. Wolves mate for life, you guys are still young, and there’s no saying you’ll be together forever but if he can’t see himself leaving you for college, he’s not leaving you for Paige. Follow your heart, Stiles.”

Stiles just wants to cry.

** *

When Stiles hears, the first thing out of his mouth is Derek’s name. He feels his windpipe closing and tears welling in his eyes. The Sheriff is immediately by him counting each breath they take together. His grip on his father’s sleeve doesn’t loosen.

He knew something was up when the police cruiser was waiting for him outside the school. His father had asked for him to be driven to the station and the officer in the car had been tight-lipped but nervous.

“He’s at the hospital. His uncle is there.”

“D-Dad is he-?

“He’s fine. He was on his way to school early for training. Laura’s flying down to be with him.”

“Can I see him?

His dad looked at him sadly. “They’re watching him for shock. They’ll look after him.”

** *

Stiles is driven home and attempts to call Derek the moment he reaches his room. Derek doesn’t pick up and Stiles has a second panic attack that day.

He leans against his door, head between his knees, counting his breaths.

Get some rest, Derek <3

***

Of all places, Stiles sees Derek at the park with Isaac three days later. Derek’s bundled up in a hoodie, hands in his pocket, sitting on a bench, eyes following Isaac’s every move. As Stiles approaches, Derek shifts his focus to him. Stiles can see the bags under Derek’s eyes and the weariness in the way he moves. Stiles sits and immediately takes Derek’s hands out of his pockets, covering them with his own.

Derek looks away and swallows heavily.

“You know when my mom was sick, I felt helpless. I couldn’t make it anything better for her or for my dad. It’s not the same but –“ Stiles pauses looking at Derek, “Just don’t forget them.”

Derek gasps and Stiles the Derek’s front crumble as the tears fall and pain shows in his expression. Stiles lets go of Derek’s hands to reach around his neck. Derek falls into the embrace as his breaths become laboured and uneven, head resting against the crook of Stiles neck.

Derek swallows and says quietly, “I know they were in pain. I couldn’t share any of it.”

Stiles holds onto Derek and doesn’t let go.

Stiles doesn’t hear him until he’s pulling at his arm and saying, “You made him cry. Leave him alone.” He looks down to see Isaac standing between him and Derek looking distressed and vexed.

Isaac places his hands on his hips and stands tall in front of Stiles and announces, “Derek’s hurt. I’m his bodyguard now.”

“Isaac –“ Derek starts.

“No, he’s right.” Stiles gives Isaac a fond smile and turns to Derek. Stiles gently cups Derek face with his hands.

“Great. Just great,” Stiles spited and throw empty plastic box after gingerbreads into sink. He didn’t get, why was Derek lying. Especially when Stiles saw him last night, when Derek broke into the pantry and secretly swallowed almost third of their Christmas stocks.

Stiles couth him and told him to control his appetite. Derek make it up to him later in bed, though. But this? Way over the line. There was nobody else who could eat so many gingerbreads or who might be in the house with them.

So why lies?! He didn’t care about some stupid gingerbreads, this was about principle.

Stiles completely missed knocking on the door, so his best friend’s voice startled him.

“Dude, what’s wrong?”

Stiles snorted. “Derek.”

Scott eyebrows climbed into mountain heights. “What?” And yes, this was quite unusual but there is no need for this face. “What did you do?”

“Me?! Why the hell do you think I did something?!”

“Well, Derek loves Christmas even more then you do. There is no way he would do anything to ruin the mood. You two are kind of like to Christmas Nazis.”

“Beg your pardon?” Stiles stared at his best friend in complete shock.

Scott rose his hands in apologetic gesture. “Sorry, but it’s true.”

“Well, not this time. I didn’t do anything except providing exquisite Christmas pastry and that douchebag not only ate it, but he had the courage to tell me that it wasn’t him. Who else, I’m asking? There was no one else in this house. Just me and him, and I’m pretty sure that I didn’t eat that scary amount of gingerbreads!” On the end of his speech Stiles might or might not be screaming.

Scott just watched him with bewildered expression. “Dude, I think you are overreacting little bit.”

“I’m not overreacting, Scott! He just could admit that he did it and help me make some more, but instead he lied. Why would he do that, Scott? Just… why? Did he thought that he couldn’t told me truth or something? What if- What if he’s not in love with- What if-“

Scott’s strong arms were around his shoulder in second. “Stiles, buddy, breathe. It’s bullshit, you know it. Derek loves you. He’s totally disgustingly in love with you for more than five years. No gingerbread can destroy that.”

“But- But someone else could. What if he met som-“

“No. Just no. Trust me, Stiles. No one else. Derek is totally in love with you. This is whole just result of Christmas stress.”

Stiles rose his eyes to Scott’s face. “You think?”

“Sure thing, pal. Totally stress. Why do you think I’m here? Allison is like freaking madwoman.” His face almost instantly took a paler shade. “Don’t tell her I’ve said that!”

Stiles snorted but his breathing eased and he managed a small smile. “You’re such a chicken shit, Scotty.”

“Shut up. She can be really scary! Don’t you remember how she was during pregnancy?”

Stiles swallow when memories hit him. “Yeah. Point taken. Totally scary.”

“Told ya,” Scott nodded and pulled himself a step further from Stiles. “So, wanna play video games?”

“Sure,” Stiles nodded. Maybe he’ll manage not to think about Derek reasons for lying like that. It still ate his guts, though.

“Dude!” Scott exclaimed after few steps. “What the f- Is this honey?”

Stiles frowned and take a closer look to the part of floor that made his friend upset.

“Think it is. Unbelievable. Not just he ate it, he actually mess half of the house up with it. Look, there is another spot.”

“Why would Derek took it to the hallway? Oh my God, is that a honey on the wall?”

“I’m going to kill him, I swear. That is mahogany!”

They both stopped on the spot, look at each other and started laughing.

“Dude, that was so Effie, I can’t even tell,” Scott snorted amused.

“Shut up. It’s honey on the walls. And floor. Fuck me sideway it’s even on the doorknob!”

“Basement door?” Scott asked confused.

“Yeah…” Stiles mused with scowl. This was more than just strange.

“Should we?” Scott pointed at the door.

“Hell yeah, this is my house. Honey house in this moment, but still. Wanna know why is honey house a honey house.”

Scott shook his head. “No idea what did you just said. Let’s get over with.”

They entered basement with caution. Stiles lit the light and moaned.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. What the hell happened here?”

There was honey everywhere. And gingerbreads. Lots of gingerbreads.

“Wow,” Scott exhaled.

“Go away! My sweeties!” That voice definitely didn’t belong to anyone they knew. Too high and child-like. Kind of sounded like mouse squeaking.

Stiles gave Scott his typical what-the-actual-fuck look and stepped into the space of the basement with werewolf close behind his back.

There was something… something. Creature, probably, big as a sweet potato, maybe a butter pumpkin. It looked like mouse human, kind of.

“Get out! This is mine! All mine! My honey, good honey…” That thing swallowed one whole gingerbread drowned in golden honey. Floor around him was more than just messy. More like honey apocalypse.

“Holy fuck, is this-“

“No idea, man,” Scott shook his head. But Stiles froze.

“He wasn’t lying.”

“What?”

“Derek. He wasn’t lying. I need to go!” Stiles immediately went back to the door.

“What?! You wanna let this thing here?!”

“Buddy, I’m fully counting on you. You’re the Alpha.”

“But-“

“Can’t stay. Need to find Derek! Sorry!” Stiles shouted over his shoulder and run through hallway for his boots and jacket. There were maybe no snow outside, but it was still cold.

“I hate you!” Scott’s voice came to him muffled and annoyed.

“No you don’t,” Stiles mused and smiled a little. He run outside but he had no idea where to start looking for his probably very angry and offended boyfriend. Damn. He really fucked this up. Again.

---

It wasn’t the first time Stiles really messed things up. More like hundred time. Those five years were… best in his life. Yeah. But except that also really challenging. But they manage put up with things like partners and Stiles was really proud on their relationship.

But no matter what, there were moments... And Scott was right in one thing, most of them was Stiles’ fault. He was reckless and emotional and childish. Damn… Why exactly was Derek still with him anyway?

After more than three hours Stiles was really depressed and also scared. There was no trace of his broody gloomy werewolf lover and he was just a single hair from panicing.

Somehow he found himself in front of his father’s house and in the next moment he was knocking on the door. Eyes burning, nose full and just a seconds from total mental breakdown. What if is Derek away? What if he left him? Maybe he took his car and went to Cora’s. Cora is living in fucking San Francisco!

When the door opened and he saw his father’s face and he just broke. He throw himself on his dad and squeezed him hard.

“Dad, what do I do? He left me. He’s gone. There is thing in our basement. And honey on mahogany. And he’s gone. What do I do? I did something terrible. I didn’t mean it. Well, yes I did, but I was wrong and there is that creature in basement and-“

“Stiles!” His dad interrupted him, and pull himself out from his son’s hug. Well, more like deadly boa constrictor wrapping. “Calm down. He’s here.” His dad’s voice was calm and quiet.

“What?” Stiles gasped.

“Come inside. Quietly. Derek’s sleeping.”

He was right. Derek sat in the old armchair, head tilled aside, mouth slightly apart and face completely relaxed. Stiles’ relief was overwhelming.

“Thank God. Thank God,” he mumbled frenetically.

“Come to the kitchen with me, kiddo,” his father told him. And even if stiles wanted to stay with Derek, there was something in his father’s voice that makes him obey. He sat to the table and waited until his father poured two cups of a bad coffee and sit across the table from him.

“How long is he here?” Stiles asked quietly and jerked his head in direction of the living room.

“Three hours more or less. He didn’t actually tell me what is this all about, so what about you tell me?”

“I’m an idiot.”

“I figured,” his father nodded and Stiles wasn’t even offended with this zero fighting.

“I told him he was lying to me about some stupid thing. He told me he’s not. I didn’t believe him, so he left. He was right, though. Someone else did that thing I accused him for. So I’m an idiot and I was looking for him for like four hours. I wasn’t sure, if something happened to him, or if he just left. What would I do without him, dad? I have no idea how to live without him in my life anymore.”

“That’s pretty serious,” his father mused.

“Yeah.”

“I actually never believed that you two can work things through,” he said after a while and Stiles stared at him with horror. Is this his father disapproving? After all those years? Did Derek said something to him? Did he-

“Breathe, Stiles. I wanted to say that I was wrong about it. And I’m glad I was wrong.”

“What do you mean?” Stiles panted not sure of anything anymore.

“You two? You’ll always work things through. You just meant to be, Stiles. I should have known. You are Stilinski after all, and you definitely love like one.”

“Yeah. I love him.”

“I know. And I’m pretty sure he knows that too, but apology would be good too, I think.”

Stiles smiled a little. “I’m not sure if he wants to forgive me. Again. Or maybe he will. Now. But someday he just won’t and I’ll lose him.” He was scared. Terrified really. That thought itself was almost enough for him to have panic attack.

“Maybe you should start control what goes out from that mouth of yours. That should do the trick.” His father took the sip of the coffee. “Now go. I seriously doubt that he is still sleeping. Even I could hear your heartbeat, so I don’t doubt about him hearing it.”

Stiles nervously swallowed but got up and when he was passing his father, he stopped and hugged him. “I love you, dad.”

“Love you too, kiddo.”

Derek was awake, though. Watching him from armchair with little scowl and wary eyes.

“Hi,” Stiles started carefully. Derek didn’t say anything. “You’ve been listening, right?” There was a little pause, before Derek nodded. “Good,” Stiles breathed out. “I’m really sorry. I should have believed you no matter what. I’m an idiot. Like really big idiot. The biggest idiot in this freaking Universe.”

“Let save something for the next time, kiddo. Don’t fire all your ammo now,” his father called from the kitchen and there it was. Little smile in corners of Derek’s mouth.

“Okay. The biggest idiot in this town. Is that better, dad?” he called over his shoulder.

“Much better, son!”

“I should have known that apologize here will be harder than home,” Stiles muttered and rolled his eyes.

“You’re an idiot,” Derek said slowly.

“I know. I’ve just said it. Several times, actually.”

Derek sighed and got up on his feet. “No. You’re an idiot for thinking that I could leave you. Especially for something that stupid.”

Stiles blushed. “I’m just afraid that someday you’ll say yourself that this all is too much. That there is no reason to put with my shit any longer. It’s scares me so damn much sometimes…”

Derek took one step and put his arms around Stiles’ body. Stiles automatically relaxed into his embrace.

“There is equal measure of shit in this relationship. Stop worrying, idiot.”

Stiles smiled and closed his eyes, nose buried in crook of Derek’s neck.

“I love you,” Stiles murmured into the warm skin and kissed it softly.

“I love you too.” Derek murmured quietly, this time without an idiot. Stiles hugged him tighter and then he remembered.

“Oh, come on, Stiles!” his dad protested, shaking off the sting of the slap as he grabbed his coffee. “Who’s gonna bid for an old man like me, anyway?”

Stiles made his own coffee refill with a loud snort. “Don’t front. You know just as well as I do how many… unattached - and attached, I might add - ladies are fans of ‘that handsome Sheriff Stilinski’, and I can’t believe I’m actually uttering those words about my own dad.” He shuddered a little, because really, no-one should ever have to know that that kind of thing was being said about their parent.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Besides, haven’t you got a patrol you’re supposed to be on?”

“On my way, sir,” he muttered at the Sheriff’s pointed I-am-your-boss-not-your-dad tone. “Fair warning, though, vengeance shall be mine.”

His dad only snorted as Stiles made his way towards the entrance, giving a loud heads up whistle to his partner, Laura, to tear her away from her small office flirt.

“So, ready for the big day tomorrow?” Laura asked with a grin as she got in behind the wheel of their patrol car. “I’ve got a bet with my baby sister on how high I can get my final bid, and my whole family’s gonna be there, so I can finally introduce you to the madness.”

“I’m not entirely sure if that makes me dread the whole thing less or more,” Stiles said around his first bite of tasty donut.

Laura simply laughed at him. “They’ll love you, I promise.”

“Not. Helping.”

Laura was still snickering when they got their first call.

~*~

The whole action thing got even worse when he arrived the next day, and was handed an outfit with orders to wear it or else. Loud protests that his uniform was fine, ladies love a dude in uniform fell on completely on deaf ears. And what the hell kind of deputy wore a skinny suit so tight he could feel the slacks cup his ass, that looked like it cost more than he made in three months? He wasn’t entirely sure if this was Laura or Lydia’s handiwork - or maybe even some kind of unholy combination - but he knew at least one of them were involved.

Oh well, at least he’d only have to worry about one person, this time, unlike the year they did the kissing booth, ugh. So what, Stiles tended to do romance way too serious way too fast, and making it into a cheap commodity like this creeped him out, that was a perfectly okay stance for a dude to have.

He just hoped whoever won him wouldn’t be too creepy. And that he’d get some excellent inspiration for his revenge on every single person who’d made this a thing.

~*~

Oh god.

It hadn’t really registered with Stiles that when Laura said her whole family was coming, she did actually mean her entire family, super hot recluse brother Derek included. Stiles had barely even spoken three words with the guy in his entire life, despite both of them having lived basically their entire lives in Beacon Hills, and not being that far apart in age.

Still, three words was actually more than Derek had spoken to a lot of people, and it was enough for Stiles to have managed to get a kind of pointless and creepy crush on the guy that he honestly hoped no-one knew about. Especially Laura, since she’d probably castrate him if she knew, partner or no. She was kind of protective about her family.

And Stiles hadn’t realized Derek was there until he stepped out on the stage, and how the hell was he supposed to, y’know, primp and preen and generally act like an idiot to rack up the bids with Derek Hale right there, looking at him?

Still, he tried to smile at the auctioneer and answer all silly questions meant to paint him as, well, dateable and stuff. Which was hilarious, really, since most people didn’t generally find Stiles dateable in normal circumstances, much less when they had to pay for it.

Oh god, he was gonna go for like… five bucks, and his dad would be so disappointed.

The first bid of three dollars came from a teenage girl who was disturbingly young, but nevertheless, Stiles winked at her in gratitude for starting the bidding instantaneously, and not leaving him hanging there like awkward leftovers. Four rapidfire bids later, and they were up to fifteen, and Stiles wondered what the hell just happened. He’d barely even managed to blink the surprise away before they hit fifty, and oh god, he couldn’t quite say if he was flattered or embarrassed to death by the entire thing. Either way, his face felt like it was burning.

“Thanks, guys,” he muttered into the mic, and winced at the answering coo-squeal combination from the crowd. What?

The bids kept raining in, and Stiles could feel his jaw drop as he heard the words two-hundred-and-fifty.

They’d gotten close to five hundred when suddenly, from the back, he heard somebody offer one thousand goddamn dollars in a growl, and that definitely was not a female voice. There, in the back, with his paddle raised and his expression somewhere between a smug smirk and a glare was Derek fucking Hale.

Stiles had to pinch himself.

Shocked silence spread through the crowd, and even the auctioneer was dazed enough he had to shake himself before he could announce the bid. “One thousand from the gentleman in the back, going once-...”

“One-one-fifty!” a determined lady in the front interrupted, and Stiles almost shuddered at the creepy glint in her eye. It was apparently enough to start the bidding up again, although at a slower pace, and Stiles wondered what the hell had happened that Beacon Hills was suddenly populated by this many crazy rich people.

“Five thousand,” Derek growled, sounding more annoyed this time, as if he’d expected his last bid to have been the end, or something, and didn’t have the patience for this shit. Stiles swallowed, feeling faint. He probably shouldn’t find that growl as attractive as he did.

He barely even noticed the bang of the gavel as the sale was finalized, and it took three prompts before he realized he was supposed to leave the stage. He smiled faintly and waved at the crowd, and almost fell down the stairs three times. Slowly, he managed to make his way back towards where his date was hopefully waiting for him. The flying tackle hug from Laura was sign enough that he’d arrived, and he looked over her shoulder as he hugged her back, smiling tentatively at Derek.

“Hey,” he mumbled as Laura finally let go, heading towards the stage to get ready for her own auction.

“Hey,” Derek replied with a stiff nod. Stiles shuffled a little closer.

“Five thousand dollars?!” he exclaimed, and winced at his own lack of conversation skill. Really, words was supposed to be his thing, but they had apparently deserted him completely. “I mean, I’m flattered, but why?”

“You’re worth it,” Derek replied with a shrug. “I figured, this was my chance. It’s only money, and this is the one way I knew I could win.”

“Win what, me?” Stiles asked incredulously, because that was what it sounded like, but that couldn’t possibly be right. But Derek nodded, serious. “Oh my god, you could have just asked! I would have dated you in a heartbeat, I’ve had the most ridiculous crush on you forever.”

Derek blinked, wide-eyed, before hesitantly reaching out, his fingertips barely brushing against Stiles’ cheek. Stiles just about melted, leaning into the touch as his eyes fell half-shut. Derek actually shivered, and stepped closer, until they were standing almost chest-to-chest.

“Can I… Can I kiss you?” Derek asked, and really, anyone who looked like this guy did shouldn’t sound this timid. Stiles nodded, and he didn’t even want to think about how goofy his smile probably looked.

The crackle of the locator spell is still echoing throughout his room and Stiles feels the familiar tingle which always comes with using magic coursing through his veins, but apart from that he doesn’t think anything else had happened. He certainly can’t pin point the Pack’s location or his dad’s for that matter.

Groaning in frustration, Stiles shakes his limbs to settle the itch over his skin before crouching down to take a look at the symbols he had drawn on the floor. Everything looks fine, there aren’t any misspelled words or wrongly ordered phrases so he can’t figure out what had gone wrong this time. He runs his hands through his hair as he grumbles under his breath and a second later freezes with his fingers still tangled in the messy strands. Apprehension settles heavily like a stone in his belly as he inhales slowly and lets his fingers feel around his hair tentatively.

There is something soft and fuzzy on top of his head, sensitive as well because the things twitch as soon as he touches them. Mirror, he needs a mirror to see what exactly he has done to himself with that stupid spell. Stiles dashes towards the bathroom, barely managing not to smash his shoulder on the doorframe while skidding around it and plants his hands on the sink. His eyes widen as he stares in disbelief at his reflection. He has freaking cat ears on top of his head. Something twitches behind his back and he squeezes his eyes shut for a moment. Taking a deep breath he peaks over his shoulder. And a tail. Of course he has a tail as well.

“Oh my God.”

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

“Deaton, are you sure? Why can’t I just use another spell or a potion or something to make them go away?” Stiles asks desperately as he paces around his room. His tail is swinging back and forth, in synch with his irritation over the situation he is currently in.

“I strongly advise against doing anything magic related, Stiles.” Deaton warns and the younger man sighs in frustration. “Look, you’ve become a powerful Emissary over the years, and it’s likely that you’ll become even stronger, so you’ll have to learn to control the amount of magic you use from now on. It’s possible that you’ve used too much magic for that tracker spell and this is the way to balance it out.”

“But why, cat ears and a tail?!” Stiles whines as he tugs roughly on the swishing tail and hisses in pain.

The vet chuckles lightly, “Believe me, Stiles, you’re lucky to get such harmless, let’s say ‘side effects’ from using magic. Some people are not as fortunate as you.”

Sighing heavily, the young man flops down on his bed. “Okay, thank you.”

“It’ll wear off in a few days, so you don’t have anything to worry about.” Deaton reassures and the amusement in his voice is evident.

“Yeah, nothing aside from the embarrassment and humiliation coming my way, no doubt about that.” Stiles mutters sullenly as he curls up on his side, facing away from the door.

“Goodbye, Stiles.”

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

He’s been napping for a few hours when he hears the front door closing loudly against the cold outside, denying its access in the house, and his father making his way towards the kitchen for a nice hot cup of tea.

“Stiles, you here?”

“Upstairs, Dad!” He calls back automatically.

Stiles rolls over on his back, trapping his tail between himself and the mattress and stares up at the ceiling. There is no way he’d be able to hide his new… assets from his dad, or the Pack for that matter and he can only imagine the kind of responses he will get. His dad will scold him for doing magic ‘stuff’ in the house again, Scott and the boys will laugh their asses off and make fun of him, the girls will probably think he’s cute or something, and Derek. God he has no idea how the Alpha will react, even after they finally acknowledged that there is definitely something between them, something more than annoying each other, saving each other’s lives and sexual tension. The man could still be quite unpredictable when least expected.

He doesn’t know which would be worse, the humiliation, the teasing or the embarrassment.

“Are we going to have dinner any time soon?” The sheriff shouts from downstairs again and Stiles heaves a sigh. Might as well let the cat out of the bag, he thinks wryly.

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

He calls Lydia first because he thinks she’s the least likely to burst out laughing as soon as she sees him. Phoning Derek crosses his mind, but after disconnecting the call before it even gets forwarded for the fifth time he gives up.

So yeah, he calls Lydia and sure, she stares for a few long minutes after he opens the door and makes him shift restlessly under her intense gaze.

“Oh, Stiles.” She mutters in fond exasperation before shaking her head and cuffing him on the back of the head, surprisingly careful with his second pair of ears.

They research the known side effects magic can have on Emissaries for a couple of hours and after closing the last book, Stiles sits back against the headboard, extremely grateful and relieved that he ended up with cat ears of all things. Some of the other possibilities make his skin prickle and the fur on his tail bristles.

“We should call the others.” He says absently, shuffling the papers and books on the bed to find his phone in the mess.

Lydia spins around in the desk chair and looks over to him, “You don’t have to, Stiles. Wait a day. Maybe they will be gone by tomorrow.”

“Oh, believe me, I’m not jumping with joy about letting the Pack see me like this, but I have the feeling it will take longer that a day or even two for my magic to settle.” He sighs in agitation and slumps against the headboard again, giving up no his phone for now. “I can’t avoid them forever.”

She nods in agreement and comes over to sit beside him, “If you’re right, then there’s no rush. Just give yourself some time to get used to them.”

“Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

The sound of his window opening reaches his ears a little after midnight and Stiles wants to groan annoyance, but he stifles the sound before it has even formed. Maybe if he stays calm in his cocoon of blankets and pretends to be already asleep his unwanted visitor will have mercy and won’t bother him tonight.

It’s highly unlikely, but he can hope, right?

He really should’ve known it would be nothing short of a miracle if no one from the Pack showed up to intrude upon his privacy.

“Stiles.”

Nope, no, this is not happening. He’s dreaming, this is just a dream because he’s already fallen asleep, never mind that he never goes to bed so early.

“I know you’re awake, so stop pretending.”

“Go away.” His tail is starting to thump against the sheets in distress and he sneaks his hand around his hip to stop it.

A weight dips down the mattress just beside his hand and Stiles freezes like a deer caught in the headlights, his heart racing wildly in his chest. Dread and resignation settle over him like a blanket, but he stubbornly refuses to acknowledge his visitor. Ignoring the problem until it eventually goes away is still a tactic he uses on occasion.

“Stiles.” Hearing his name said in that tone, concerned and inquiring, though makes something clench in his gut. Fuck. He pulls back a bit of his comforter, careful to keep the top of his head hidden and glares at his visitor. It’s a small relief to see that the werewolf isn’t facing him.

“What are you doing here, Derek?”

“Something felt wrong.” Derek replies warily, a slightest tinge of confusion in his voice.

“Something felt wrong?” Stiles echoes the words, one eyebrow raised in question.

“Yeah, I checked on the others, but they were okay,” He trails off for barely a second before continuing again, “So I came to see if you were alright as well.”

Stiles feels a warm tingle in his gut at that and takes a deep steadying breath. It’s not like he doesn’t appreciate the Alpha’s concern and he doesn’t really mean to push him away, but he just wants to be alone for a bit, have some time to get used to the idea that from now on he’ll be sprouting cat assets whenever he’s not careful with his magic. “Well, I’m fine, so you can go.”

“You don’t sound fine.” Derek counters with a frown as he turns around to look at him and Stiles tightens his grip on the sheets.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” He mumbles the lie and desperately hopes that his heart doesn’t give him away. Not knowing how Derek would react to his current appearance is freaking him out a little, even though a small voice mockingly whispers that he’s being stupid. The guy is a werewolf, after all. How much stranger could cat ears be in comparison to that?

Derek sighs tiredly and gets up from the bed, leaving Stiles’ personal space. He’s learned the hard way that if the Emissary doesn’t want to deal with something, nearly nothing and no one could make him. That doesn’t mean he won’t try to help, because he can be just as stubborn and it’s his responsibility as Alpha to take care of his back, but he won’t pressure the young man, “If you really want me to, I’ll leave.”

For a few long minutes there’s no response so he turns away, ready to do exactly as he’s promised, but he stops with his hands on the window.

“Don’t go.”

The words are so quiet a human would never have heard them, but in Derek’s ears they’re as loud as if shouted. Looking back towards the bed, he sees that Stiles is sitting up, the comforter bunched around his waist and hands fisted in his lap. His eyes zero in on the flattened, fuzzy ears peaking out of brown strands and then on the twitching bushy tail, but his attention is pulled towards the rapidly beating heart.

Stiles refuses to look at Derek, unwilling to see his reaction and instead hunches his shoulders up defensively, bracing himself for whatever is coming. He hears Derek approaching the bed again, his footsteps not quite silent. His weight dips down the mattress for the second time that night and Stiles glances at him furtively before averting his eyes to the side.

Derek sighs softly and reaches out to touch Stiles, but he hesitates at the last second and pulls back his hand. “Stiles, please look at me?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as a request, but does and maybe it’s better this way.

Watching Stiles square his shoulders stiffly, as if preparing for the worst thing imaginable, makes his heart clench painfully in his chest.

“What happened?”

“It’s my magic.” Stiles answers quietly and then the words just tumble one after the other, “Apparently, Emissaries who are strong enough have coping and defensive mechanisms to make sure they learn how to control the amount of magic they use.” He tugs nonchalantly on one fluffy hear and says casually, “Well, this is my way of coping.”

Derek takes in this information silently, a little surprised because he can’t recollect something like this ever happening to Deaton when the vet was his mother’s Emissary, but maybe the guy had hidden it or there were different types of these things.

“I suppose there are other possibilities to cope with this?”

“Yeah, and they’re not as harmless as spontaneously growing cat assets.” Stiles replies with a glare towards his tail and it twitches under his gaze.

The silence stretches around them for a few long minutes, but Derek shuffles a bit closer to Stiles and the young man makes a soft noise in his throat.

“Well, it does have logic.” At the quizzical look he receives, the Alpha chuckles a little and clarifies, “You getting this kind of outlet for your magic.”

“What kind of logic could there be in cat ears and a tail?” Stiles asks incredulously.

“You certainly possess the curiosity of a cat, a penchant for mischief and doing things your way even when you know you’ll get in trouble, to name a few.” Derek ticks the things off his fingers and looks pointedly at the symbols for the tracker spell still on the floor.

Stiles huffs, but doesn’t argue because he’s too busy drowning in the relief that floods his system. He’d been worried that Derek would change his attitude towards him so the gentle ribbing is appreciated at the moment.

“You still want me to leave?”

Derek’s question startles him back from his thoughts and his hand shoots out faster than his mouth can to stop the werewolf, but the words follow quickly, “No, stay, please.”

“Okay.” Derek murmurs simply and glances down at where his hand is still being clutched. “You’ve got claws.”

“What?!” Stiles squawks as he peers down and, yep, those are claws digging in through the thin fabric of Derek’s henley. It’s totally not fair that werewolves run so much hotter and don’t wear a whole freaking wardrobe just to ward off the cold during winter, Stiles thinks absently as he carefully unhooks his claws. “Sorry, I haven’t noticed them until now.”

Derek shrugs off the apology and catches his hand before he can hide it under the covers to place a tender kiss on his open palm, taking his other hand to repeat the gesture.

Heat warms his cheeks, but Stiles only smiles at Derek. His worries seem distant and irrelevant in this moment and he can’t figure out why he was even freaking out about Derek’s reaction.

Feeling a light tug on his hands prompts Stiles to lean closer to Derek until there are only a few inches separating them. There’s nothing but warmth and affection in those beautiful light eyes when he gazes in them and Stiles surges up crash his lips against Derek’s.

His arms wound around Derek’s neck, one hand tangling in the hair on the back of his neck and the other finds purchase on his shoulder. Derek growls lowly at the sensation of his claws scratching through his hair and nips on his bottom lip in retaliation, but Stiles only moans quietly.

Eventually they pull back from each other, both breathing hard as they try to regain their breath and calm their racing hearts. A yawn takes Stiles by surprise just as he starts breathing normally again and Derek chuckles fondly.

“Come on, let’s sleep.”

-8-8-8-8-8-8-8-

--

  As predicted John didn’t say anything to him in bio and Stiles didn’t even look at him. Sleeping with him was a mistake and he already regretted it.  What he didn’t predict was a sexy 30 some year old walking into their classroom and writing ‘Mr. Hale’ on the board. He was tall, dark, and handsome. Cliché but fuck it.

  “Where’s Mr. Tunny?” Stiles asked, not even waiting for the man to speak. Suddenly piercing green eyes were staring at him.

“Mr. Tunny has fallen…ill. I will be taking over his class until further notice.” His voice was just as sexy. Damn. Stiles was going to file off one-night stands after John but he could make an exception for this guy. Not only was he sexy and had an ass that looked like Beyoncé could twerk with, but the kinky part of Stiles’ ever developing Sexual brain was drawn to the idea of fucking a teacher and/or being fucked by one. It didn’t matter to him, as long as he could get that man undressed and lick every part of his body.

  He was so caught up in his thoughts that he barely heard the question asked, or even that someone was asking a question, until the man cleared his throat and sat on his desk.

“My names Derek Hale, so you guys can just call me Mr. Hale. Now, who would like to fill me in on what you’ve been doing these last 3 weeks?” And after that, Stiles was out again. Brain wrapped up in too many fantasies that involved a Mister Hale.

  ||

  It had been 6 weeks since that day and Stiles had yet to receive any kind of hints from his bio teacher on whether or not the man was open to boning on that desk of his. The good thing was that Stiles hadn’t had meaningless sex in those 6 weeks…the bad thing was that Stiles wasn’t having any kind of sex in those 6 weeks. And just dealing with your hand after having men to dispose of for two years was depressing.

  “Alright class, before I let you go and enjoy your break I want to give you a little assignment.” Stiles huffed and leaned on his desk, glaring at the man who just so happened to wear the tightest pair of jeans someone of his size could fit into.  Seriously what was up with this guy? He had to be in his early 30’s from the way he talked and grew his facial hair. Why was he dressing so provocatively? Was he trying to get Stiles to pop a boner every time he bent over? “I want you to find out the color of as many relatives eyes as you can and make a conclusion out of what you find.” Stiles huffed and took out a single piece of paper and wrote ‘My fathers eyes are brown. My eyes are brown. Stilinski’s have brown eyes.’

  Once the clock hit four everyone jumped from their seats and shuffled out of the classroom, all but Stiles. He took his time in packing up his bags because unlike most students, he was staying here for the break. His dad couldn’t afford to fly him home for a week and then fly him back up here so he was staying in the dorms. Alone. Again. “Here you go Derek.” He commented, walking over to his teacher’s desk and putting down the paper.

  Derek looked up and quirked an eyebrow. “It’s Mr. Hale. And the whole point of this assignment was to find out about your relatives not just your dad.” Stiles shrugged in response.

  “Dad was an only child and my grandparents are gone. Moms family stopped talking to use after she died so unless you want Blix the cat’s eye color then that’s all you’re getting from me.” A sort of sadness washed over Derek’s face as he nodded and accepted the paper.

  “So it’s just you and your dad for thanksgiving huh?” Stiles had to pause and think about what was happening. Derek was asking about him. Like something personal, not what the answer to number 4 was.

  “Nope. Just me this year. Can’t afford to go home so eating a KFC bowl in my dorm and calling it a night.” Derek’s eyebrows knitted in disapproval. “Guess you’re spending it with the wife..?” Stiles asked, eyes darting to the ring on Derek’s left hand. The man quickly shook his head and pulled the ring off to show Stiles something was engraved in it.

  “No, this was my grandfathers ring. I wear it so the other teachers don’t try flirting with me.” Relief flooded over Stiles and he took the chance to step a little closer to Derek, brushing their shoulders together. “Well…you should probably get going to your next class or something.” Was that a blush Stiles spied? Oh yeah. That was most certainly a blush spreading across Mr. Hale’s cheeks.

“I guess I should.” Stiles purposely nudged the older man’s shoulder as he walked back, a confident smile stretching at his lips. By the end of the semester Stiles was going to bed him. This, he was sure of.

  ||

  Unfortunately Stiles didn’t plan on coming back to his dorm that night to find every door inside locked with a little note ‘Emergency fumigating. All remaining residents go to Bradly hall before 6:30.’ “Well fuck!” Stiles walked over to his jeep and kicked the tire in frustration. It was 8pm. And the stupid ass building didn’t open back up until noon tomorrow. Well fuck a fucking duck. He was about to call his dad when a black Camaro pulled up next to him.  Stiles didn’t move an inch until the driver side door opened and Derek stepped out.

“Hey. Is everything okay?” He asked, looking over at the building then back at Stiles. Who huffed and motioned towards the building.

  “The fucking building is closed and Bradly’s already closed for the night so now I have to sleep in my fucking jeep tonight and it’s supposed to get into the teens so I’ll probably wake up with frostbite on my balls so no, nothing is okay right now.” Stiles leaned against his jeep with arms crossed.

  “Well…” Derek looked torn for a minute before unlocking his doors. “I have a guest bedroom if you want to spend the night. I’ll drive you over to Bradly in the afternoon and we can get you into a place to stay for the break.” Stiles’ eyebrows lifted up and all anger seemed to just wash away. Stay in Derek’s house. Overnight? OH hell yes. Without saying anything he grabbed his bag and yanked open the passenger side door to the teachers car. Giving him no room to take back his offer. “Guess that’s a yes then.”

  ||

  Two hours later and Stiles found himself in a borrowed pair of sweat pants and tucked happily in Derek’s warm silk sheets. So what that he made up the allergy to Egyptian cotton, and he just so happened to spill spaghetti sauce on his shirt and pants. Derek didn’t need to know the truth.

  “Alright. If you need anything else just let me know.” Derek walked out of his bathroom wearing a loose pair of pj pants and a too tight muscle tank. What Stiles wouldn’t do to hang off those arms. “I’ll be right across the hall.” Stiles looked up at him and shrugged.

  “I don’t take up the whole bed you know. You could easily fit Derek.” He motioned towards the rest of the bed with a smile.

“It’s Mr.Hale, Stiles.” He sighed and shook his head. “And no, I’ll stay in the guest room.”

“First off, I’m sleeping in your pants and in your bed. I think I can call you Derek. And secondly, why? I’m 20 Derek, not some kind of fresh high school meet. In just a few months I can legally drink.” Derek ran his hands through his still damp hair and sighed.

“Stiles. I am 12 years your senior. And your professor…” He paused as his eyes took in the form of Stiles’ naked chest but his will power won over and he stepped away from the bed. “Go to sleep.” And with that he was gone, shutting the door with a little more pressure then needed.

  Stiles groaned and rolled over onto his back. “Well fuck it.” He grumbled, pushing the covers and pants down so he could stroke his half hard cock. If Derek wasn’t going to get in bed with him then he was going to at least masturbate in his bed. His eyes fluttered shut at the feeling of being surrounded by Dereks things, it was kind of like sleeping with him. Fuck, Stiles really needed to get laid. New life goal, tomorrow was going to involve finding someone to sleep with. He was starting to obsess with his teacher and it was becoming very unhealthy.

  ||

  Derek paused outside the door when his nose caught a certain scent coming from inside. Fuck. It was getting harder and harder to avoid Stiles’ arousal, especially when his instincts were nagging at him to mate. “Fuck..” at the sound of that tiny moan his will broke and he pushed the door open again, making the boy squeak and look at him in shock. “I’m tired of this!” he growled, climbing up on the bed and pushing Stiles’ shoulders down. “You constantly have boners in my class, you never seem to listen to anything I say, and worst of all.” Derek inhaled a moan at the scent that drifted to his nose. “You smell like fucking Apple Pie.” With a deflated voice he collapsed on the younger boy and huffed. “And I love Apple Pie…”

  Stiles didn’t move for a good few minutes, not until he was sure Derek wasn’t going to leave. “I like Apple Pie too.” He grinned, running his fingers down his teachers back and attempted at pulling that shirt up.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this. Even if you’re of age, I can still get fired and have my license taken away…” Derek lifted up enough for the tank to be pulled over his head before collapsing again on Stiles’ naked chest, taking the opportunity to nuzzle the thin hairs poking up in between the boy’s breast.

“Well…let’s pretend you’re not my teacher then. If we met somewhere else...in a different environment then this wouldn’t be taboo. Right?” Derek’s throat vibrated in interest and provoked Stiles to continue. “I work at the coffee shop on 34th street. Every Tuesday and Thursday, 6-10. Same schedule that I’ve worked for over 2 years.”  Stiles leaned up a little so he could stare at the man’s features. He always looked so serious in class but right now...he seemed to remind Stiles of a puppy, curled up in it’s favorite blanket. “You come in and order a coffee. We start talking, I throw in a few shameless flirts because hey, you’re hot, older, and that scruff you have makes me think you’re some tough guy. It ends with me buying your coffee and you leaving. The next week we do the same thing…but this time you’ve brought a book. For three months you come during my shifts and sit at the exact same table with your book, always seeming to be the last one there before I close up. Eventually you start walking me to my car since yours is suspicious always parked near mine. One day it’s raining so you hold your jacket over my head and in the spur of the moment we kiss.” Stiles takes Derek’s face in his hands and brings it up so they can kiss. “Rain is running down our faces and clothes start to stick to our body but nether of us care. The kiss is perfect and as the lighting flashes so do your eyes.” Derek’s eyes fly open and sure enough they’re a light yellow. “We go home together and find ourselves tangled in your sheets...just like we are now.”

Derek smiles and hides his face against Stiles’ neck, licking and nipping at the skin. “You knew. Didn’t you? That I could smell you.” Stiles simply shrugged and went back to petting Derek’s hair.

  “My best friend back home is an Alpha. I figured once your pants started getting tighter and you stopped calling me up to the board when I had boners that you were a wolf. My little story only proved me right.” Derek huffed then paused and quickly drew his head up, eyes flashing again.

  “Who is he?” He questioned, eyebrows raised in confusion. He knew Stiles was from California and the Alphas out there were mostly all older men and some young females. Except one.

  “Scott McCall? Do you know him.” Fuck. Derek’s head fell forward and hit Stiles’ collarbone.

“You’re the McCall packs emissary aren’t you.” Stiles shifted a little, not really wanting to answer.

  “I..I will be after I graduate. Is that a problem?” Suddenly Stiles wondered if he was even allowed to date other wolves since he was already tied to a pack.

  “No it’s…” Derek sighed and went back to kissing Stiles’ neck, feeling the boys muscles relax under him. “Guess I’ll have to start looking for jobs in California.”  Stiles’ eyes lit up at that.

  “So this is happening then? You gonna fuck me?” Derek rolled his eyes and sat up so his hand could run down Stiles’ now soft length.

  “Give me your phone. Need to call your Alpha and tell him I’m mating you.” 

Derek’s only response to that was to shift and snuffle along Stiles’ jaw, which even for Derek was alarming levels of non-verbal. Not to mention this lack of personal space was an uncomfortable new development. “Right, okay, this is…” Stiles searched for the right word, “Frankly alarming, and uh, yeah, no!” he yelped, shoving at Derek when the alpha licked him almost in the ear, which no. “No licking! Bad werewolf!” And what was his life even, he demanded in his brain, slightly hysterically.

Derek backed off a couple of feet, rolling to a crouch in a disgustingly graceful movement and cocked his head to the side, giving Stiles a confused look.

“Right. Captured by hunters, locked in a tiny room with an alpha werewolf who has a licking addiction and fewer words than normal. Please don’t be feral,” he added to Derek who was giving him an only vaguely interested look. “Deaton told me about feral werewolves and how badly it winds up for the squishy humans locked up with them.”

Derek gave a harrumphing sort of sigh before clearly deciding Stiles was nuts (and wasn’t that just completely an unfair judgement) and moving back over to sit on him, which okay, it was nice and warm, but still. Even Stiles got the clue to silence when he went still and tense, shifting positions so he was coiled in front of Stiles, a deadly spring waiting for release.

The click of the door opening was startlingly loud as it grated across the floor. Derek snarled and shifted his weight from side to side, and Stiles could hear him scenting the air, waiting for the moment to attack.

“Well, well, it’s a freaking miracle the Argents have fallen to this pathetic pack,” one of the hunters they’d been chasing drawled from the doorway. Once the second and third flanked him (all guys, Stiles noticed, so just the foot soldiers of whatever family they were affiliated with), Derek leapt and Stiles rolled to the side as three guns whipped up in unison. None of them fired, though, and Derek collided with a mountain ash barrier.

As Derek paced back and forth in front of the door to the sound of the hunters gloating, Stiles edged forward and waited for them to goad the werewolf one more time. When Derek went for the one in front’s throat, Stiles lunged forward and swept his hands through the mountain ash, pouring his will and belief into one word: break. Stiles rolled and scrambled out from under Derek’s feet as the brief fight happened. In trying to get and stay out of the way and not wound up, oh, shot (seriously, his dad would kill him if that happened), he missed most of the actual fighting. He knew it was over when Derek started snuffling along his jawline again, clumsily patting him down to check on him.

With an eye roll, Stiles shoved the overly affectionate alpha off of him and got up, stealing one of the hunter asshole’s canvas jackets, even though Derek made an unhappy grumbling at that. “Well, that solves how to get out. Now, we just have to keep you out of sight, seriously, enough with the licking, man, wolf, creature, person, dude,” he flailed. “Great, I’m in the real life version of the airport game. Except the actual goal is my bed. Or the pack. Whichever comes first.” He gave Derek a Look. “You’re going to snarl at anyone who comes near us, aren’t you. Because you seriously fail at people when you have all your cognitive skills, let alone next to none of them.” Stiles sighed, trying to remember what Deaton had said about feral werewolves, because that was clearly what he was dealing with here.

Derek ignored him in favour of crowding him up against a wall and rubbing their bodies together.

“Okay, this new affectionate you is one of the creepiest fucking things I’ve seen since I met Uncle Creepsalot,” Stiles informed him. “And all of your ridiculous hotness rubbing up on me is really not helping this helpless crush I have on you and I swear to god if you remember any of this when you get your brain back, I will shoot you myself and I’m just going to figure out how to shut the fuck up now.” He pushed Derek’s face away, suddenly aware of the fact that the only reason he could budge a werewolf was that the werewolf let him, and what did that say about this whole mess? Stiles ruthlessly shoved that thought down, much like all of the arousal he didn’t leak around anymore. Ever since he realized that every single werewolf could smell that sort of thing, he’d been working on controlling it, to the point none of them even teased him about it anymore. But with Derek rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ hand like there was nothing else he’d rather be doing, it was hard to remember why he fought it so hard. Then Derek straightened up, suddenly, eyes flashing red as he growled softly at what he heard, and it hit Stiles like a ton of bricks.

He assumed whatever Derek heard wasn’t a good thing to meet in a dark alley (and really, in his life, what was?), and took off running through the back streets, Derek hot on his heels. He caught Derek’s arm and skidded to a stop, ignoring the confused noise Derek made when they hit a road with actual like traffic on it. “Dude, why did you have to lose your shirt, again? It’s December, man, this looks skeevy as shit to anyone who sees us. I mean, the view is nice, but it’s in the upper 40s, here, you’re really making it look like I broke you out of stripper prison and am going on the lam with you. Meanwhile you have me, who’s still uncomfortably past damp. All in all, we look a few degrees past sketchy. We really don’t need to add the extra attention running would draw to our pool of creeptastic we have going here.”

Stiles stopped walking and grinned. “Wait. We were kidnapped. By hunters. Who are human. This is like the easiest to erase supernatural involvement ever. We just need to find the police department and call my dad. Chances are he hasn’t even noticed we’re gone yet, but for the chance to kick hunter ass? He’ll fight Chris Argent for the pleasure. Who I’m still pissed at for ‘formally’ apologizing to my dad about the whole Gerard clusterfuck. Oh, right, you don’t know about that. Well, you still don’t know about that because you’re like the freaking Scarecrow but less with it.” He started down the sidewalk, making sure to look scared, ignoring Derek’s palpable concern. “So find the cops, find pack,” he informed Derek, lacing their fingers together for plausibility, and set off down the road, looking for a patrol car.

When they finally found one, Stiles approached from the back and side. Awesome, they were still in Sacramento, probably to the northern outskirts, especially considering he was still damp. They couldn’t have been kidnapped very far. “Officer?” Stiles asked, approaching the car, making sure to put a little warble in his voice.

The next half hour was filled with fast talking about how his dad was the sheriff in Beacon Hills and he and his friend had been kidnapped, and his friend had been drugged and there had been feral dogs ripping people apart and he just wanted to see his dad again. All while trying to hide Derek’s growling and eyes flashing. As much of a drain on his pride as it was, Derek was less on edge when Stiles was touching him, so he was curled up to Derek’s side, holding the werewolf’s wrist where his arm was draped over Stiles’ shoulder, holding him close. But hey, Cal State Sac hadn’t been on Stiles’ list of university options in any case, so he’d probably never see these cops again. Now, if they would just not tell Stiles’ dad that he and Derek had bonded through the trauma, that’d be great.

By the time his dad pulled up, lights blazing and worried as hell, Stiles was pretty sure the desk officer, Maria, shipped them, and he knew for a fact she had sent a photo to her wife, since her wife had brought them soup about twenty minutes after they had finished giving their statements. By which Stiles meant he talked a lot and Derek loomed threateningly from his seat where Stiles was sitting practically on him. By the time his dad got them released to his car and wedged into the front seat of the cruiser, Stiles in the middle, Stiles was ready to just sleep. Corralling a feral werewolf who made it clear he was only listening to Stiles’ body language because he felt like it after almost drowning and being cold was exhausting. He slumped into Derek’s side, giving up on stopping him from snuffling and rubbing his hair and glared halfheartedly at his dad’s amused look. “What?” he asked.

His dad snorted, but started driving home, flipping on the car heater warmer than he normally ever did. “Just wondering when all this started,” he commented, gesturing to Derek, who was, holy fuck, scenting Stiles and that was a thought he was studiously not thinking about. “Also, call Scott and tell him to get his butt home.”

“All of ‘this’,” Stiles said, using air quotes, “Started several hours ago after I fell in a river and woke up with the world’s heaviest heated blanket.” He was quiet for a minute. “He’s not true feral, not how Deaton explained it. A little creeptastically obsessed with snuggling, but he’s not interested in going on a violent rampage. I think he got shot, Dad. Like in the head. And it just didn’t quite heal right.”

“Well, he doesn’t seem to be upset,” his dad said. “So, let him sleep and figure it out in the morning.”

Stiles nodded and blinked a few times, falling asleep before they hit I-5, Derek’s shoulder beneath his head as Derek continued to rub the top of his head.

*~*

When Stiles woke up, the entire pack was crowded into his bedroom in various uncomfortable looking sprawls as they slept. Everyone but Derek, he amended, frowning as he looked around. None of the werewolves even cracked an eye as he crept over them to make his break.

Coffee. Coffee was totally first on his agenda. It was a surprisingly effective Derek-lure, too, so two birds, one stone, etc, etc. Once he had finished his first cup, he poured his second and a mug for Derek, wandering out into the backyard. With the entire pack in one place, it was supremely unlike Derek had gone far.

Sure enough, there was Derek skulking on the roof outside Stiles’ window. He glared when he saw Stiles, so clearly he was back to normal.

“Come on down, Sourwolf,” he said quietly, knowing Derek would hear him. “I have coffee.” He held the mug up for Derek.

Derek hesitated, before dropping down near Stiles like he was about to face a firing squad armed with wolfsbane. Stiles grinned and waved the mug at Derek until he glared and took it.

“So, you look like you’re feeling better,” he prompted.

Derek’s jaw clenched. “Not particularly,” he replied.

“Yeah, but you’re forming words and glaring at me again, I think this is a pretty good return to the status quo,” Stiles argued.

“Yeah, because remembering every time you ever fucked up is so much better,” Derek snapped and his expression immediately said he wished he could take it back.

“So you had a mental health vacation,” Stiles said. “The fact that you think getting half drowned and kidnapped by hunters is relaxing really says something, man.”

“You are confounding,” Derek retorted, leaning into Stiles’ personal space before abruptly backing away, shaking his head sharply.

“And you’re a walk in the park?” Stiles asked, lunging forward and catching Derek’s arm before he could get too far away. “Dude, I understand you’re conflicted here since your human side hates me and your wolfy instincts seems to be pretty much a cuddle monster toward me. Deaton said feral werewolves don’t rampage under one condition.”

Derek went tense under Stiles’ hand to the point Stiles was wondering how he didn’t actually break anything.

“You know what that condition is?” Stiles prompted. When Derek’s jaw just clenched harder, Stiles continued. “Their anchor is right in front of them and needs protection.”

Derek dropped the mug onto the grass and stalked off, leaving Stiles to dart after him. At the treeline, Derek snarled at Stiles, but Stiles had been running with wolves too long to miss the fact there was very little threat and a lot of fear in the gesture. In the several years they’d known each other, Derek had never really threatened Stiles. There’d been some bad jokes and a couple of warnings, but never a time Stiles was convinced he’d die from Derek. Everything else, yes. Derek, no.

“What? Do you think this is going to be the thing that scares me off? Oh woe is me, Derek actually doesn’t want to rip my throat out with his teeth? Because if you do, it’s a good thing you’re pretty,” Stiles informed him.

“None of this is a joke, Stiles,” Derek snapped. “Magic smells good to weres, it’s just how it is. You’re a spark, you have magic.”

“Yeah, the scenting was a bit of a hint there, though that’s a bit more than just magic smelling right. Please tell me you haven’t forgotten Scott being addicted to Allison, and that whole drama? I know in excruciating secondhand detail how scenting works. TMI doesn’t exist in our lexicon,” Stiles pointed out. “All I want to know is if you hate it as much as you’re trying to convince me you do, or if it’s a case of methinks the alpha doth protest too much. Because if it’s the former, I think I’m slightly insulted, because I am a catch, and if it’s the latter, goddamn you have issues, but it’s workable, especially since you have brain power and can consent now.”

There was a long pause as Derek parsed that sentence out, then Stiles was getting pressed up against the tree, bark digging into his shoulder blades, Derek kissing him carefully but with desperation. Like Stiles was a long drink of water offered in a desert. Stiles dropped his coffee mug, his hands coming up to thread through Derek’s hair, deepening the kiss. Derek moaned into his mouth and Stiles tugged on his hair to get him to shift slightly before losing himself in the kissing.

“We’re totally dating now,” Stiles informed him, breaking away for a moment.

“Yeah, sure,” Derek agreed, nipping Stiles’ jaw before licking the same spot.

He does know him to an extent. He knows how he likes his coffee, and what college courses he's taking, knows he likes sugary drinks and that he abuses straws between his lips, knows the exact crease of his brows when he's focusing on something.

Derek's kind of--

“A stalker.” Erica says, pushing him aside to get to the bagels' showcase.

Derek grunts at her.

“I'm not a stalker.” He replies.

“You are. You so are. I bet you know his schedule by heart.” Erica sing songs, and if she wasn't one of his best employers, he would fire her.

“Well,” he drawls then, and busies himself by cleaning the counter to hide his burning cheeks. “I'm pretty sure you know Boyd's schedule by heart.”

Erica punches his arm and when he looks at her, she's blushing a little.

“Shut up,” she says, “I'm working up my courage.”

“Yeah, well, so am I.”

They both know they other's lying but don't point it out because underneath it all they're friends.

*****

Derek's had Stiles' phone number programmed into his contacts for a few days already, but he can't bring himself to just text him. Thinking about doing it out of the blue makes his stomach cramp, makes him want to go and run a few miles or do pull ups or something just to work the restlessness out of his body.

Laura calls him on the third day or fourth day, sounding happier and more vibrant than when she'd given him Stiles' number (she patched up things with the girlfriend, Derek knows, that's Laura's 'I'm getting some' voice tone), and when she makes Derek fess up that he hasn't gotten himself together enough to call him she laughs at him for about a minute. And when Derek hangs up on her because that's what bully sisters deserve, she sends him a text that's just a block full of 'hahaha's and laughing emoticons.

'i need to find an appropriate occasion. stop bugging me.' He texts back, and then pointedly refuses to look at her replies for the rest of the day.

*****

“This looks a lot like 'an appropriate occasion'.” Erica tells him two days later, making finger quotes with one hand as she drops a fairly ordinary notebook in front of him on the counter and Derek kinda regrets telling Erica about that one conversation with Laura.

“What is that?” He asks, even though he knows exactly what it is, is enough of a creep to know the notebook by its barely battered cover and by the few telling marks it offers.

Erica rolls her eyes at him. “You know what it is, don't even try with me.” Derek keeps playing fool, raises his eyebrows, and Erica sighs at him, says: “this is your opportunity to stop pussy footing, and finally call your guy.”

Derek looks at the little haggard thing, heart pounding on his ears, and finally thinks fuck, i'm doing this and grabs it.

Erica smirks at him, red lipstick shining and glossy, and then smiles showing her teeth, white and menacing. Derek wishes he could be more annoyed at her, but he mostly feels fondness and pride at how far she's come since they met.

*****

That night, with the notebook (that turned out to actually be a sketchbook) sitting on his bedside table, he composes, deletes, and recomposes a text message at least fifty times. He feels completely ridiculous, but still can't bring himself to send it, keeps making drafts and discarding them, until he just settles for a neutral and almost dismissive text telling Stiles that he found the notebook on one of the tables and that he can come get it whenever.

He regrets sending it almost a second later.

“I hate you,” he tells Laura's voicemail (she's on date night with the girlfriend, like they're a forty year old married couple with an established routine, it's so domestic, Derek's expecting wedding invitations soon), “So much.”

And then he hangs up.

Stiles hasn't sent anything back yet, and maybe that's good.

He looks at the sketchbook and not for the first time since Erica gave it to him, contemplates going through it, at least skimming through it, just to get a look inside Stiles' mind, some insight. Maybe a few random pages.

He's reaching towards it when his phone beeps.

It's Stiles, thanking Derek for getting in contact with him, and telling him he'll go pick his sketchbook up the next day.

Derek can see Stiles in the text, in the misspellings and lack of capitalization and excess of exclamation points and his stomach flutters and he grunts and puts his pillow over his face and tries to smother himself.

He's fucked.

After that, he leaves the sketchbook alone, feels skeevy for even thinking about violating Stiles' privacy like that.

He tries to go to sleep with his heart still beating loudly, and firmly lodged in his throat, like a hot thumping stone, and his mind filled with scenarios and possible outcomes and just Stiles.

*****

Erica brings Isaac with her the next day and refuses let him work. On his own coffee shop.

“You're ridiculous,” he tells her, but still hands a smirking Isaac his apron.

“And you've got a hot date, so shut up and go set camp somewhere else.”

He doesn't wait long for Stiles. They hadn't really agreed on a time the night before, but Derek already knew Stiles' schedule because he's-- (a creepy stalker) he's observant, and so he just trusted that Stiles would show up at the same time he always did.

And he's right: Stiles comes through the door talking over his shoulder at someone who stays outside and he's all loose limbs and a lazy smile and a thumbs up that makes Derek's insides churn because he's just that much of a loser, and then he turns around, and looks over the place, as if searching for something.

Probably him.

He doesn't wave him over because he'll look like an eager dork and after Kate, that's kind of the last thing he wants, so he just takes the sketchbook from his bag and lifts it up so Stiles will spot it.

And he does, after a second or two, first he goes right over Derek and kind of fixates a bit on the counter (where Erica is manning the espresso machine and Isaac is taking someone's order) he starts to frown for some reason, but then it seems to compute that he'd swept right past Derek, who'd been holding up what he'd come for and his eyes go right back to him, and pin him on place.

His face goes white, fucking transparent, and taking a few distracted steps closer, he almost collides with a chair.

Derek's hands probably start sweating, he can swear he feels them going clammy and cold, and he definitely finds himself thinking shit, he knows.

But then Stiles is walking up to Derek's table with eyes still comically wide and his lips kind of pursed, and when he's within hearing range of Derek, he starts speaking, his voice clear and the tiniest bit deeper than his own, and Derek's stomach kind of flips, it's so visceral and ridiculous and really, just unfair, that when Stiles is done -standing ramrod straight in front of Derek, looking down at him with deep honey colored eyes wide as saucers- it takes a little while for Derek to actually digest what he was saying, and when he does he frowns a little, nonplussed.

“I just-- excuse me, what?”

“I said,” Stiles starts again, and his hands grip the back of the chair in front of him so tightly that his knuckles are going white and the skin there starts looking paper thin, stretched tight (and Derek should stop looking at his long, long fingers, stop being such a creep altogether), “that I swear I'm not stalking you. I mean, I know how bad this must look like, and that I'm here almost every single day, but it's because... It's just, convenient? I go to college near here, and this place is the best one to get quality coffee. Just. Dude, this is not just because you're hot? And I swear I'm not following you around, or anything creepy like that. “Anyway, I-- I can just take my sketchbook and leave? And, y'know, if you're uncomfortable with me being here after this I can totally stop coming.”

He takes one of his hands from the back of the chair and gestures at the sketchbook still in Derek's hands, and he looks sort of manic and harried and Derek knows there's something he's not aware of, something that's going over his head, but all he can croak out is, “You think I'm hot?”

Which is so embarrassing Derek can feel his ears start burning.

Stiles' body locks in surprise, and he blinks at Derek with deeply confused eyes; his face goes a deep, uneven and splotchy red, and then white again and his mortification is simply riveting to Derek, riveting enough that he can kind of forget his own.

He'd beat himself up for how gone he is on Stiles, but he can't even find it in himself because Stiles finds him hot. And though he is very aware of the way he looks and the fact that other people often find him attractive, the fact that this is Stiles saying that he does is exhilarating.

Derek's eyes are on Stiles', and maybe he's turned up the intensity level a notch too high, but he's feeling full and earnest and daring like he hasn't really been since Kate; Stiles breaks eye contact after a few seconds, sighs and nods at him, and then finally sits down across Derek, dragging the chair noisily and sort of dropping onto it heavily.

They sit together in an uncomfortable silence for a little while, Derek trying not to overtly stare at Stiles and Stiles kind of avoiding looking at Derek at all, focusing on his own tightly crossed over the table hands instead, until the guy looks up at him with a vaguely resigned determination, mouth in a tight line.

“Okay,” he says, and then stops to lick (which is nothing short of distressingly distracting) his lips and squint his eyes a little at Derek in a gesture Derek can't really comprehend, “I guess I kind of owe you some sort an explanation? For freaking out on you?”

Derek's about to say he doesn't really need one ( and quite possibly that he only needs Stiles to be actually interested in him, or for him to just stay here with him and talk like they are on an actual date), but Stiles is talking before he can even open his mouth.

“You're a better guy than I am, really.”

And that's... pretty much a non sequitur if there ever was one, so Derek starts asking, “what do you--”

But Stiles interrupts him (Derek can tell this is going to be a thing if they ever get together, and it's a testament to how fucking ridiculous he's about this guy that the idea doesn't annoy him as much as it should), says, “here.” and takes the sketchbook from Derek's limp hands and opens it right at the middle and Derek glances down with eyebrows raised, intrigued and not really knowing what to expect.

“Is that...?” He asks, tracing one of the drawings lightly with his fingers, and he feels lightheaded and strange and like his heart is gonna beat right out of his ribcage because he's looking at himself. He turns  the pages and there's... Wow, there's lots of raw and detailed and everywhere in between sketches of him in different positions, from different angles, with different expressions.

“This is...”

Gorgeous. Mind blowing.

“... Creepy?” Completes Stiles, sighing and closing the sketchbook. “I thought you'd seen it already, I assumed anyone would look inside but you didn't, which means you're probably an awesome, privacy-respecting guy, and here I am, a grade A creep with a little notebook full of shitty drawings of you. I'm sorry?”

“I know your schedule by heart,” Derek blurts out, without meaning to, eyes boring into Stiles', “I know your best friend's name, and I can tell you all about Allison's dimples and your dad's diet, and I can probably name all of your favorite bands and books.”

“Wow, that's--”

“--Creepy?”  he asks, smiling a tentatively coy smile.

“--Intense.” Supplies Stiles, smiling back at him.

“I am,” Derek agrees, “pretty intense. You might wanna back out of this while you're ahead.”

“Well,” Stiles drawls, his smile turning openly flirtatious and just this side of lecherous, “I kinda like them intense.”

Derek reciprocates the smile.

It's quite possibly the corniest situation that Derek's ever been in, with the rom-com meet cute thing and the misunderstandings; it's also definitely the most surreal one, with the whole having a moment (a bonding moment) with his (reciprocal) crush over being massive creeps with boundary issues.

It's good, though. It's really good. It's great.