Drunk pack shenanigans, my beloved.
Stiles found a super old recipe for werewolf booze, so everyone can get black out drunk together.
Stiles usually wakes up in Derek's bed, which was kind of awkward the first time—none of them could remember a thing from the night before—but they shrugged it off and just agreed not to talk about it. But then it becomes a regular thing. And they are, apparently, having sex—Derek didn't really need to use his super senses to figure that one out for them. It's pretty darn obvious from the beard burns on Stiles' neck and the dried flaky messes on their skin, because between the two of them in their state, even a quick little wipe down simply isn't manageable. Glorious.
Stiles is kind of bummed that his drunk self has managed to woo Derek Hale this many times without being able to remember any of it. He has to live with the knowledge, without being able to reap any of the benefits that should follow. He has zero recollection of what Derek might feel like, and alas, zero jerk-off material. Of course, Stiles is good with his imagination, but the whole thing kind of just bums him out now.
When he finally asks Derek if he would maybe like to try doing it sober, Derek isn't hard to convince, practically climbing into Stiles' lap the second the humble request is uttered. It's so very hot, and Derek feels so very good pressed up against him. It's perfect. Stiles really thinks it couldn't get any better than this.
It's weird when he wakes up in Derek's bed one Saturday morning, head spinning, and Lydia is also there. She's still drunk, and she gives him a dopey smile when he carefully nudges her awake.
"Hey, Stiles," she says, blinking at him sluggishly. "What're you doin' here?"
His head throbs when he, less carefully, shakes Derek awake.
Derek stirs and grumbles something before his eyes widen, and he sits up to look over Stiles at Lydia.
"Huh," he says, unintelligently.
Stiles pulls the covers up over Lydia's body a little, feeling like he's seen something he wasn't supposed to.
"Did we..." he whispers to Derek, who looks just as confused.
"I don't...I don't know. My senses are all weird right now."
"Yeah," Derek says, sounding concerned, while Lydia burrows closer. Everything feels weird now.
"Thank god it's not Malia," Stiles breathes, earning himself a scowl from Derek.
"I don't know about you," Derek says sharply, "but booze doesn't really make me wanna bang my relatives."
"Can you guys keep it down," Lydia's muffled voice chimes in, where her face is smushed against Stiles' chest. "You're so loud."
They let Lydia sleep it off in Derek's bed, while they try to busy themselves with other stuff.
Stiles feels restless and anxious, worried that they had crossed some boundaries here that weren't okay to cross. He used to have the biggest crush in the world on Lydia and he feels almost ashamed now. He knows that he would never do anything to take advantage of her, of course he knows that. But he doesn’t remember anything from the night before, and the not knowing makes his insides crawl, and the more he thinks about it the more he spirals.
When Lydia eventually steps into the kitchen, Derek and Stiles look at each other anxiously.
"Hey, Lyds," Stiles says, and his throat feels tight like he's about to cry. "How're you feeling?"
Derek leans against the kitchen island and his voice is soft when he asks “Lydia, do you remember anything from last night?”
Lydia cocks her head. “Yeah. Don’t you?”
“Not really, no.” Stiles swallows. “But you were kinda naked back there, so we figured that…Um. You know.”
Lydia looks between them for a moment, before sucking her lips in between her teeth.
“Wait,” Stiles says, eyes narrowing. “Are you laughing? Why are you laughing?”
“Did you think I had sex with you?” Lydia asks between chuckles. “Like really drunk, with the both of you?”
“That’s kinda what it looked like,” Derek mumbles.
“Oh my gentle boys,” Lydia says. “No. You just let me stay over because I was sad, don’t you remember that? I was sad about Aiden and me breaking up, and then you let me cry and fall asleep in your bed.”
“Naked, though,” Stiles says, not entirely convinced yet.
“It got too warm,” Lydia says, nonchalantly. “Two humans plus a werewolfy furnace will do that.”
Stiles feels his shoulders relax significantly, happy to not feel like a creepy perv anymore.
Derek makes eggs and toast, and Lydia has almost cleared her plate when she says “Oh yeah. And you guys made out a little.”
Stiles whips his head up. She looks at him with her eyebrows raised.
“What? No need to make a big fuss about it. It was hot. You also happily proclaimed yourself a bottom, Derek Hale."
Derek chokes on his toast.
Stiles is still feeling relieved, if only a little bit exposed.
It takes a while before either of them drinks that much again, and it's only half as weird for Stiles when he wakes up with Scott plastered against his back. More weird for Derek, who goes quite pale and swears off booze entirely for a month.
