Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He wouldn’t say he flailed exactly, but it was a close thing. He just really didn’t expect to be accosted whilst bouncing on his toes at the stoplight, waiting for the walk sign so he could resume his morning run – yes, he’d become one of those people. Perhaps the suicides and track runs Coach had sadistically inflicted upon the lacrosse team had done him some good after all.

Stiles had grown strangely fond of the feeling of exertion, like he’d earned his sweatiness fair and square, and it did help him focus at least a little. So running had become a part of his routine, no matter how much his roommate groused at him for clumsily tripping his way through their room to the bathroom early in the morning. He may be running and perhaps putting more consideration in to his physicality, but coordination still wasn’t a friend of his, and he could stumble over air in the morning.

Anyway, he didn’t flail, but he did throw his arms out and sort of, skip, into the air in surprise, perhaps letting out a very small yelp. A tiny one. After surviving his adolescence in Beacon Hills, Stiles just didn’t like surprises anymore.

And Derek didn’t even have the good grace to look surprised at seeing Stiles in all his floundering glory. He just leaned back enough to miss being struck by any of the waving limbs, and raised an eyebrow with that stupid, judgemental, mocking smirk on his face. It felt both shockingly familiar and strangely alien all at once. Seeing Derek in sunlight, in a city, wearing a white running tee and black shorts – Derek had legs! Actual legs! – and looking, for all intents and purposes, quite relaxed. With his hand still on Stiles’ shoulder.

“Derek! What the hell?!” Stiles all but shouted, gesturing aimlessly with his hands. “You scared the crap out of me! But also, what are you doing? Do you, like, live here now?”

“For the time being," Derek gave a small movement that could maybe be called a shrug. If you squinted at it and cocked your head to the side. It might have just been a particularly deep inhale, really. 

“Loquacious as always huh?”

“Not all of us need to monologue our every thought Stiles,” Derek said dryly, moving away at a slow jog as the walk sign flashed. Stiles fell in to step with him, mind still reeling over the fact he was currently jogging with Derek Hale, of all people. Having not seen the man for, what, 2 or 3 years now?

“Hey, I’ll have you know many people find my rambling charming,” Stiles huffed.

Derek made a little snorting sound that screamed scepticism, but Stiles refused to rise to the bait. For about 30 seconds.

“Are you implying I’m not a delight to be around? Because okay, my roommate would probably agree with you if you asked him that on one of the days that I accidentally wake him up, or maybe walk in on him and his girlfriend, even though it’s their own fault because I’ve explained the whole sock on the door system, so many times, but still. There are people out there who find me charming. I wear them down. I wore Lydia down. I know I started to wear you down. It’s okay, you can admit it.”

“How are you talking this much whilst you run?” Derek mused, lips quirking in to one of those very small, very mocking little smiles. It was only then that Stiles realised they’d picked up their pace considerably as he'd been talking and now he was, in fact, panting.

“Okay hold up, wait, wait,” he puffed, placing a hand on his thumping heart. “No wolf stamina here.” He braced his hands on his hips and took a few deep breaths, ignoring Derek’s stupid judgy face.

“Really Stiles? I’d like to get my run in before I’m grey,” Derek said flatly, arms crossing over his chest.

“Shut up. Asshole,” Stiles grumbled, finally moving and resuming their run at a much slower pace. “Don’t distract me again,” he scolded.

“I’m not the one with motor mouth,” Derek replied evenly, matching his footfalls with Stiles’. Stiles huffed an indignant little breath, but didn’t reply. Contrary to popular opinion, he was actually capable of being quiet and quite comfortable with silence when it suited him. And right now he found the sound of their feet pounding against the pavement to be quite soothing, as they rounded the block, so silence was fine and dandy, in spite of the million questions he had.

Derek eventually slowed as they approached one of the street corners where a little independent coffee shop sat, with round tables outside on the sidewalk. “Coffee?” he asked, motioning to the shop with a nod of his head.

“Sure, sounds good dude,” Stiles collapsed in to one of the chairs, tilting his head back and basking in the warm sunshine as his limbs just sort of splayed all about.

“Yeah of course Stiles, no worries, I’ll buy you your coffee,” Derek snarked, earning himself a big shit-eating grin from Stiles before he turned and walked in to the shop, without even asking Stiles what he wanted. Rude. 

And that’s how morning coffee with Derek Hale became a part of Stiles' daily routine.
 

*****************

“So who is it then?” Amber asked as she threw herself down on to Stiles’ bed, knocking at least two textbooks and four paper hand-outs on to the floor.

“Who’s who?” Stiles asked around a mouthful of highlighter cap, reading through the papers in his hand.

“Adam says you come back from your suddenly notably longer runs every morning with a stupid smile on your face. Even more suspiciously, he says he’s even caught you looking happy and smiley before you even leave, so that means you’re meeting someone in the morning, and it’s someone you like,” she deducted, arranging her legs in a full lotus position and sitting so upright that Stiles immediately felt the need to correct his own posture, feeling like some kind of hunchback in her presence.

“It’s just an old friend, from back home. He left before I did, and I didn’t know he lived around here. We’ve been catching up,” Stiles shrugged, aiming for nonchalant, and hitting his mark pretty well he thought.

“Just an old friend?” Her smooth English accent somehow made her sound even more judgemental, and Stiles thanked his lucky stars none of his other friends had that accent. Lydia would be devastating if she spoke like that.

“Honestly, that might even be overstating it a bit. Maybe acquaintance is a better fit. Ex-nemesis? That would work too. Ex-nemesis-turned-barely-tolerable-acquaintance-turned-begrudging-friend maybe. I think that covers all bases well enough. I’m sure he’d insist we’re still barely tolerable acquaintances though.” 

Amber levelled a flat look at him, her dark eyes boring in to his soul. Or so it felt. “I smell bullshit Stilinski,” she stated. 

“It’s not coming from me Khoo,” he replied blandly, gazing across at her. She held his gaze unwaveringly, knowing he would crumble sooner or later, and Stiles didn’t disappoint. He soon felt squirmy and had to duck his head, conceding dominance to her. He always did. 

“Good boy,” Amber grinned at him, reaching over to ruffle his hair like he was a dog. He grumbled and swatted her away, running his fingers through his admittedly unruly hair.

“I feel sorry for Adam you know,” Stiles offered, shooting a look of pity at the guy lying on his back on his own bed, reading with his book held aloft.

“Adam likes it when I take control,” Amber said with a smirk. 

“She’s not wrong,” Adam agreed, turning the page of his book. He didn’t notice Stiles gaping. 

“Kinky sex fun? Really? Adam I’m shocked and scandalised,” Stiles said, holding a hand to his chest. “

“You’d jump at the chance to have some kinky sex fun Stilinski, and we all know it.”

“Hey, my right hand looks after me very well. It knows what I like," Stiles replied primly, ignoring the little flicker of curiosity in his chest. He knew if he even so much as acknowledged it, he'd be down the rabbit hole of obsessive research and he'd kindle that flame in to a fucking forest fire. 

“You know, you’d be such a brat of a sub, but banning you from masturbation would be the most satisfying punishment,” Amber said with a thoughtful but amused expression on her face. It made Stiles want to squirm again.

“I’m not a brat,” Stiles insisted, near pouting.

“Such a brat,” Adam agreed, nodding but not bothering to look over at them.

“Even now, you can help but try and get in the last word,” Amber smiled indulgently at Stiles, as though he were something adorable.

“I hate you both, and don’t try and drag me in to your kinky sex fun. I’ll have no part of it!” he declared, waving his highlighter for emphasis.

“I give it a fortnight.”

“I give it a fortnight,” Stiles mimicked childishly. “A fortnight. What even is that? Just say two weeks, which, by the way, you are wrong.”

“Two weeks,” Adam agreed with another nod.

“Assholes,” Stiles hissed.

*****************

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt so out of place,” Stiles murmured, sticking to Amber’s side like white on rice. “How did I not know you guys did this? It’s like I’ve been living a lie.”

“Calm down Stiles,” Amber said smoothly, slipping an arm through his. Adam was walking on her other side, just a half-step behind her, as they walked down the dark hallway. He could hear thumping beats coming from the past the doors at the end, and he had to brace himself as Amber pushed them open, the last stand between him and whatever lay on the other side. An assault of strobing lights and quite aggressively bassy, pounding electro music it seemed. The walls, from what Stiles could see, looked like poured concrete decorated with graffiti tags, and the ceiling had exposed steel beams and light rigging. The whole place was very industrial chic, and Stiles, well, he was not.

The dance floor was pretty full, and it seemed everyone was sticking to the dress codes they'd filled him in on earlier in the evening. Mainly no nudity in the communal club area (“What?” Stiles had yelped, earning him a pitying smile from Amber. “Nudity is like, a thing? Oh my God.”). And no ‘street wear’, roughly translating to no plaid, according to Adam, as he disdainfully held one of Stiles’ beloved shirts between a thumb and forefinger. It was all a little too goth for him, truth be told, but he’d been undeniably curious, and once Stiles was curious he pretty much had to see it through.

They’d dressed him in skinny black jeans and a tight red tee with a deep V, finished off with a pair of black boots and a thin leather band around his wrist. Amber said his forearms and hands were surprisingly attractive and manly, and the band just emphasised that without looking out of place. It also served the double purpose of letting people know he was being considered, apparently. So he wouldn’t be walking about as an unattached submissive like a sheep in a wolf den. 

Stiles thought he might actually feel more comfortable in a wolf den, all things considered. 

His hair was artfully tousled, but he’d drawn the line firmly at guyliner. It wasn’t his thing, at all, and he was sticking to it. He already felt self-conscious enough with his little patch of chest hair basically on display and his shirt clinging with every breath. If there was so much as a breeze, his nipples were going to be poking out and demanding attention, which he wasn’t entirely comfortable with. 

Amber was wearing a pair of ripped black pants that were like a second skin, with ridiculously high-heeled boots and a shiny looking corset that was embellished with buckles and straps. Her long dark hair was pin straight, and her eyes were smokey and dark, emphasising the subtle almond shape to her eyes. She looked fierce and confident in a way Stiles had never seen before, more used to seeing her in yoga pants and slouchy sweaters. Adam was dressed similarly to Stiles, but he shed his shirt when they arrived, handing it in to the cloakroom. His skin wasn’t as pale as Stiles’ and he was overall slimmer and slinkier. The collar he wore around his neck marked him as owned. Stiles had learned that much at least.

The plan was for him to stick with Amber tonight, and if he did see anything or anyone he found interesting, she would go with him to vet them. She’d repeated the Safe, Sane, Consensual mantra to Stiles until it was drilled in to his skull, and told him about safe-words and green/yellow/red for explaining how he was feeling. She’d told him about subspace and subdrop and the importance of aftercare, but made him promise to not actually take part in any scenes until he understood more. This trip was like reconnaissance only, which suited Stiles fine because he wasn’t even sure if he was in to the whole submission thing.

Amber told him he basically screamed submissive, which he’d bristled at for a moment before realising that yeah, he probably did. Adam had explained how it didn’t make him less strong or brave or masculine, obviously seeing right through Stiles’ concerns. But it was all still very new, and Stiles was very much a fish out of water.

She steered them around the dance floor to the bar, and ordered three bottles of water. “Don’t drink alcohol until you’re absolutely sure you’d not going to play,” Amber said in to his ear, her breath warm. “Never play when you’re anything but 100% sober and in control of yourself. Keep yourself safe, always. It’s always better to be nervous and aware, than drunk and potentially reckless with yourself,” she explained, handing him the bottle. “Stay hydrated, before and after any potential scenes.”

She passed a bottle to Adam, who dutifully drank it down and placed the empty bottle back on the bar. “Adam and I aren’t going to do any scenes because we don’t want to scar you for life,” Amber said, bumping her hip in to Stiles’, “we’ll just show you around.” 

They flanked Stiles, and Amber took them around the perimeter of the room, just letting him soak in the atmosphere of the main clubroom. “This is the general floor, where people just dance, mingle, drink, whatever. Not everyone in here will be in to scenes and play, some just like the music. Why don’t you go and dance with Adam,” she suggested. "I'll watch," she added with a playfully leering wink.  

Adam grinned and took Stiles’ hand, leading him out to the dance floor. “Don’t be nervous dude, this won’t make things awkward at home,” Adam said in to his ear.

“Speak for yourself,” Stiles snarked back, rolling his shoulders try and loosen all the tension there. He did a little awkward sidestep dance for a few seconds, searching for some kind of beat, and then just danced, moving his hips and shoulders, lifting his arms to keep his flailing under control or at least up in the air. Adam put his hands on Stiles’ waist, his palms almost pushing against Stiles’ obliques as they both moved together, but with a respectable amount of space between them. They were roomies after all, and Adam was, as far as Stiles' knew, straight. Adam’s blond hair was glinting blue and purple and silver under the lighting, and he almost stomped his feet to the aggressive music, which Stiles’ mimicked but with more hip movement, and he seemed entirely contented to be dancing with a guy. 

Stiles began to just enjoy the dancing, and didn’t even mind when a body pressed against his from behind, new hands holding his hips just below Adam’s on his waist. He leaned his shoulders back against a strong chest and moved with the music, moving one hand to hold on to Adam’s just to keep him near. Stiles’ may not mind dancing with a faceless stranger, but he felt safer with Adam there too, considering the speciality of this place.

“You smell amazing,” a honeyed voice rumbled in his ear. He felt the man behind him inhaling against his neck, in a movement he could only describe now as wolfish, thanks to his long running association with Weres. Curiosity piqued, Stiles turned to face the man, pleased when Adam placed a hand on his back between his shoulder blades and kept it there, a silent gesture to let Stiles know he wasn’t being abandoned.

The other man was tall, probably pushing 6’3, and had styled ash brown hair, kind of longish and pushed back from his face. His eyes were dark and Stiles could imagine them flashing yellow or red without even remotely stretching his imagination. He cocked his head in a slightly canine way, smile dancing around his lips as Stiles looked up at him, refusing to bare any part of his neck to the man because he might be dipping a toe in the waters of submission, but submitting to an unknown wolf from a different pack definitely wasn’t a smart move. And he was absolutely sure this man was a werewolf.

They danced for a few more songs, before Adam and Stiles both stepped back in unison. The wolf was eying Stiles in a distinctly predatory way, but he just offered a small smirk and watched as Stiles said his goodbyes and walked away with Adam, heading back towards Amber.

“Looks like you could have pulled there Stilinski,” Amber curled her hand around his elbow. “Not your type?”

 “Nope,” Stiles said, popping the P. “He didn’t feel right.” Stiles definitely wasn’t about to get involved with any Weres. He loved the pack, but he didn’t want to actually deal with dating a shifter again, and hooking up with one just didn’t feel right to him. Plus, crazy pack politics and weirdly possessive behaviour just wasn't something he felt up to dealing with.

“Good. Trust your gut when it comes to this stuff,” Amber nodded. “Wanna see the playrooms? It’s intense, I’m warning you now.”

“We can leave whenever you want though,” Adam added.

Stiles nodded, pretty much sure he could handle it, whatever it was that was going on beyond the heavy wooden doors. He’d faced down the Kanima, Dread Doctors, genetic mutant monsters and Alpha werewolves, just to name a few. A little spanking was going to be a cake-walk.

Chapter Text

“Holy crap,” Stiles hissed, his mouth falling open and his emotions written across his face, plain as day. He winced when the whip came down, his whole body flinching as the leather snapped against the woman’s bare thighs. Her skin was blushing a deep pink from what looked like general blunt impact, and a couple of brighter, raw marks littered her skin where the leather whip struck. She cried out, hoarse and desperate, tears running down her face. The Dom paused, running a broad hand over her reddened skin and she moaned, such a genuine and heartfelt sound that Stiles’ almost had to look away.

“Color?” the man asked, still stroking a hand down her skin.

“Green,” she gasped, arching under his touch. He paused and dropped a kiss to her temple, murmuring something that made her smile, and then he stepped back to resume his careful whipping of her.

It was jarring for Stiles to see, the juxtaposition of how carefully he touched her and attended to her, then how precisely he whipped her, making her body jolt in pain. He decided then and there he absolutely did not have a pain kink, no desire for impact play, and that he really wasn’t that kind of submissive.

Masochism wasn’t something that appealed to him, because it skirted the edges of martyrdom and self-punishment for him. It was a dangerous place to let himself go, and he knew that immediately upon seeing it played out in front of him. Masochism scared him.

Plus, he’d been hurt enough to last a lifetime, and he didn’t need that being inflicted on him in his spare time.

Amber placed a hand on his lower back, and guided them away from that scene, likely sensing Stiles’ tension. “It can be overwhelming, but just remember, everything here is consensual. She wants that pain,” Amber said quietly, holding Stiles wrist.

“I know, it’s just… It’s a lot,” Stiles said, swallowing thickly. “Definitely not for me.”

“Okay, so lets go watch something else. Pain isn’t my thing either,” she smiled.

They made their way over to another small area, where a man was strapped down, partially reclined, on an intimidating looking chair. He wearing a plain, featureless mask, and completely naked otherwise. Another masked, fully dressed man sat at his side on a rolling stool, and had a small table of toys set up.

The naked guy was hard, almost painfully so, by the looks of things.

He was oozing precome on to his stomach, veiny and flushed red, with a metal ring strapped around the base of his genitals. The dressed man - the Dominant, Stiles supposed - was holding a vibrating wand to the underside of the man’s dick, just keeping it steady and watching the other man twitch and yelp, until he panted that he was close, his voice hoarse and breathy all at once. As they watched, the Dom relented, removing the toy. Stiles’ attention was rapt as the man’s cock twitched and jumped, even as the man held himself taut as though he could stop himself from orgasming by sheer will alone.

After his body relaxed, the Dominant man slicked a fist over his erection, jerking him fast and hard, fully focusing on the head of his cock, until the man was begging and twitching once more, and so it continued, the Dom backing off each time the sub came too close to orgasm.

Stiles couldn’t tear his eyes away, and his skin felt hot and tight as he watched, realising this could definitely be his kind of kink. The way the Dom played the submissive’s body as though it were an instrument, wringing sounds and involuntary movement for him, was such a beautiful thing to witness, and Stiles was undeniably interested in feeling whatever it was the strapped down man was feeling.

It wasn’t even the idea of how cathartic the eventual orgasm would be, but the sheer intensity of what the man’s body must be feeling in the lead up; the all-consuming physical sensations that Stiles was willing to bet wiped the man’s mind clear of everything but how it all felt in that moment.

“Bingo,” Amber said in his ear, jolting him back to reality. Stiles’ flushed red and ducked his head, suddenly shy. He felt transparent and far too exposed.

“It’s one of Adam’s favourites too,” Amber confided kindly, sharing a little of themselves before cupping Adam’s jaw and bringing him in for a chaste peck on the lips.

“What else is there?” Stiles asked, a little choked.

“Don’t want to stay for the finale?”

“No, I’m good.” He didn’t need to see it, because it wasn’t the thing that mattered. The orgasm wasn’t the important bit for him. For once.

Amber smirked and led them to an area with plenty of seating. “This is just an area for Dom’s to watch and chat, and subs to play together if they like. These are the people who are in to pet play,” she said, motioning to an area of padded floor where there were men and woman all crawling around, some with leather paws and masks, even some with tails that had to be attached in some creative way or another because Stiles couldn’t see any straps holding them in place.

Others were just wearing collars and fluffy ears. There were chew toys and bowls of water scattered about, and balls with bells in them, or scratching posts for the cats, Stiles presumed. Some of the pets sat by their Masters, Owners, Handlers, whatever, but others were playing about. Those with their Masters were generally being petted, shoving their faces in their Master’s laps and receiving head scratches in return.

Maybe he’d been hanging out with werewolves too long, but that whole dynamic really appealed to Stiles. In fact, he felt an intense longing. Not so much the animal outfits or anything, but the way the Masters were petting their pets and plying them with affection… A big part of Stiles wanted that too.

“Sometimes the Dom’s are called Masters, Owners, Handlers, or Alphas,” Amber said, recognising Stiles’ interest. “It depends on their dynamic and preferences.”

“Alphas?” Stiles repeated with raised eyebrows, trying very hard not to think of Scott in this moment, because that was just too weird. Way too weird, and no thank you. Please.

“Yeah. I guess that’s for the more canine oriented of them though,” Amber shrugged, wrapping an arm around Adam as they leaned in to each other, both obviously not so much in to this kind of kink. “Puppy play tends to be a guy thing. Girls seem to end up as kittens.”

“See something you like Stilinski?” Adam asked with a nudge. “It works out nicely for any potential Doms I guess, because you can always muzzle your pet,” he joked.

“Shut up jerkface,” Stiles replied with a roll of his eyes and a half-forced smile. He turned away from the pet play area, and promptly bumped right in to a hard chest, stumbling back and looking up in to familiar dark eyes. The werewolf he’d danced with was now looking down at him with amusement and interest, and next to no concept of personal space.

“Interested in being a pup?” he asked with a grin.

“Uh,” Stiles replied eloquently. “Not really in the market for an Alpha right now buddy,” he said carefully, trying to imbue his words with meaning. He maintained eye contact throughout, bobbing his head as he spoke.

“Huh,” replied the wolf, looking Stiles over with renewed interest, eyes narrowing as he sniffed. “Stiles?” he asked face creased in confusion.

Stiles did a double-take, opening his mouth wordlessly, before nodding dumbly. “Uh yeah. Stiles is me. I’m Stiles. How-?”

“We have a mutual friend. He mentioned you were in town.” The wolf leaned closer and said quietly in his ear, “you smell like him. I couldn’t place it before, but you smell like Hale.”

Stiles’ did a full body blush, along with a surprised arm twitch, and jerked his head. He opened his mouth to let loose one of a million excuses, feeling wrong-footed. “We run together,” he finally blurted out, waving his hands a little.

“I’m surprised he hasn’t smelled you in here yet,” the wolf said with a smirk.

“He’s here?!” Stiles yelped, eyes going wide. “Derek is in a sex club?!”

“Yes, Derek Hale in a sex club. He comes in with me sometimes, but spends most of his time glowering in the corner and fending off unwanted attention.”

“Sounds about right,” Stiles grinned, entirely unsurprised. “Hold on, most of his time? What’s he doing the rest of the time?”

The man smirked, but refrained from answering, obviously aware of the myriad thoughts flashing through Stiles’ brain like lightening. He probably smelled all kinds of crazy right now.

“Shall I take you to him? I’d love to see his face when he sees you in here,” the wolf grinned, leering as he looked Stiles over.

“Uh, I don’t know. It’ll be weird and awkward. I don’t do so well with weird and awkward. Makes me talk even more.” Stiles shuffled his feet, part of him wanting to see Derek because the idea of seeing him in this kind of place was almost too weird to pass up on, but also because the idea of seeing him in this kind of place was almost too weird to have happen.

“Won’t it be weirder if I don’t take you to him? Like you’re avoiding him? He’ll smell you on me after all.”

Stiles glanced back at Amber and Adam, who were murmuring to each other as Amber looped a finger through the O-ring on Adam’s collar. He suspected they would be okay with having some playtime, as long as they knew Stiles was okay and safe. And he knew without a doubt he’d be safe with Derek. He’d probably snarl at anyone who came too close to Stiles and smelled of interest.

The dude was going to be a major cockblock, but that mightn’t be a bad thing tonight. Stiles was already a little overwhelmed.

“Sure. Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stiles agreed, turning back. “It’s totally not weird to chat to your buddy in a weird kinky sex club. Heh, probably all the collars make him feel at home. Shit. No. That wasn’t a wolfy dog joke. Oops. What’s your name by the way?” Stiles rambled, distantly aware of the bemused look on the wolf’s face.

“Alex,” he eventually offered, holding out a hand. Stiles shook it, and dipped his head in deference for a moment, not to the man’s obvious Dom status, but acknowledging his wolf.

“Guys. I’m going to go with Alex here, to see a friend. Do you wanna come with or…?”

“Sure, we’ll come along,” Amber replied easily, pulling Adam along as she walked over. Alex led them through different play scenes, barely seeming to notice the varying degrees of nudity and, oh wow, there was actual penetration going on around them. It must smell insanely, cloyingly, overwhelmingly of sex and body fluids to a wolf with heightened senses in here.

He wasn’t sure why, but thinking of Derek breathing in the smell of other people’s arousal made Stiles feel oddly protective.

“Hale doesn’t talk much about life before he got here,” Alex said lowly, placing a hand on Stiles’ lower back. “You’re the first time he’s mentioned it, really.”

“Well he’s kind of a closed book, taciturn type of dude,” Stiles shrugged, feeling his nerves growing in his stomach. He knew Alex could smell it, could hear his heartbeat kicking up as they drew nearer their destination.

Stiles spotted Derek first, leaning against a wall in shadow, drinking from a bottle of water. His breath caught, and he was unwittingly bombarded with the idea of pressing close to Derek and having Derek run his fingers through Stiles’ hair and call him a good boy. He could just imagine this older, calmer Derek as a perfect Master, strong and steady, quiet in his affections. Alex chuckled, making Stiles blush, and they both watched as Derek caught his scent, back going straighter, muscles drawing tight with tension, and an even deeper frown etched on his face.

“Is that your running friend by any chance?” Amber asked, hooking her chin over Stiles’ shoulder.

“Yeah.”

“Oh wow. Maybe I should take up running,” she laughed, earning herself a little disgruntled sound from Adam.

Derek turned his head unerringly in their direction, eyes zeroing in on them and narrowing slightly. His nostrils flared, and his mouth tightened as he noticed Alex’s hand on Stiles.

“You know, you both might not realise it yet, but he considers you his,” Alex said conversationally in Stiles’ ear. “His wolf is practically clawing its way out because I’m touching you. Interesting. Hale never usually reacts to anything.”

Stiles opened his mouth to let out a pithy retort, but actually did nothing but gape slightly because Derek strode over, his movements a little more aggressive than usual, reminding Stiles of when they’d first met. The crowd parted for him easily. He wouldn’t have been surprised if Derek shoved either him or Alex against a wall with how he approached, but he stopped a decent distance from them, casting a meaningful glance at Alex.

Alex removed his hand from Stiles slowly, as thought not wanting to startle, and inclined his head to Derek. Which was interesting, and implied Derek ranked higher than him, assuming they were in a pack together. Or was a Derek a visiting Omega? Stiles hadn’t actually thought to ask, though if history was any indicator Derek wouldn’t be forthcoming with the information even if he had asked.

“What are you doing here?” Derek asked flatly, in lieu of greeting.

“Hi Derek, nice to see you too, I’m fine, thanks for asking, always so courteous, huh big guy? Oh, these are my friends, they’re regulars here, Amber and Adam meet Derek Hale,” Stiles said pointedly, the weird feelings in his stomach making him extra snarky.

Amber and Adam both said hi, tentatively, obviously picking up on whatever it was thrumming between Stiles and Derek right now. “Um. Stiles, if you’ll be okay, we’re just going to –“ Adam hooked a thumb over his shoulder, presumably indicated they were going to play. Or, you know, escape.

“Where will you be? So I can avoid it and never have to see you guys mid-whatever-you’ll-be-doing?”

“Down the hall there’s a series of smaller rooms. Named by colour. I’ll text you the name of whichever we end up in, so you can avoid. Or knock. Either one. Will you be okay?”

“Sure. Derek might be a grouch, but he’s safe,” Stiles said, stepping a little closer to Derek, who had yet to lose the scowl. “Go play. Have fun,” he waved them away.

“So Der, Sourwolf, Oh-Buddy-Oh-Pal. I did not expect to find you here,” Stiles said, turning his attention back to Derek with a mocking little smile.

“Sourwolf?”

“Go away Alex,” Derek said, without taking his eyes off of Stiles. Stiles gave Alex an exaggerated apologetic expression, gesturing at Derek as though to say what can you do eh?

“What are you doing here Stiles?” Derek repeated, still speaking without inflection, not acknowledging Alex’s departure. Stiles waved him off, because he had manners and wasn’t basically a caveman wrapped in leather.

“Curiosity?” Stiles shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck to try and fight off the rising blush. He shifted his weight and refused to think about all the sexy-times Derek was seeing, smelling, as he looked around the space behind Stiles.

Something about looking at Derek whilst he was looking at people enjoying their kinks made Stiles feel strangely overheated and hyper-aware of the sounds around them. He was suddenly very aware that he and Derek were, for all intents and purposes, alone with each other in a sex club. He’d have counted his fingers or pinched himself if he weren’t already intensely uncomfortable enough to know this just had to be reality.

“You were curious,” Derek repeated, flatly.

“Well yeah. I mean my roommate and his girlfriend are apparently pretty involved kinksters, and they suggested I come along, just to have a look, to see if I like anything. So I did. But I was sticking with them and not, um. Partaking. In anything.”

Derek nodded, turning his face slightly away from Stiles’. “Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked, an innocuous question leaden with so much weight.

Stiles mouth dried out and he found himself nodding slowly. “Maybe? I don’t know.”

“Show me?”

“Why are you here Derek?” Stiles asked, wanting an answer before he laid anymore of himself bare before Derek. He needed some kind of equal footing for this, because he felt too shaken to be able to joke this night off as him being curious about some kinky sex.

“I don’t want to feel empty anymore,” Derek replied simply, as though that wasn’t the single most heart breaking answer he could have possibly given. Stiles just blinked at him, aware his eyes were probably betraying a million different thoughts and emotions, but not wanting to hide any of it right now, not in the face of such honesty from Derek. He couldn’t have given a more perfect answer to assuage Stiles’ fears.

Derek reached out and placed his hand on the nape of Stiles’ neck, gently turning him and stepping closer behind him, until Stiles felt a wall of heat at his back but no actual physical contact. “Show me,” Derek repeated in Stiles’ ear, warm breath skating over his skin and making him jolt.

Stiles nodded dumbly, and walked forward, tracing back his steps to the play area where the guys were doing the orgasm denial thing. Showing Derek the pet play area felt too real, but showing him the straight up sex act felt safe enough.

It was something he’d probably expect from Stiles, who let’s face it, hadn’t hidden his frequent masturbatory habits so well as a teenager. And things hadn’t changed that much.

So he led him there, where a new man was bound to that chair, with the same Dom working him over, this time massaging the man’s testicles and perineum with sure hands. They stood together as the man was edged, a variety of touches and toys used throughout. Derek’s grip felt hot like a brand on Stiles’ neck and was all he could focus on, in spite of the man writhing in front of him. The grip gradually got firmer and firmer, until Derek leant in and said, “you’d want that? To feel like that?”

Stiles practically chewed through his lip to hold in the shaky breath he wanted to sigh out, and nodded. He didn’t trust his voice right now, and he shifted his weight, stuffing his hands in to his pockets. His jeans were so damn tight that the outline of his half-hard dick was obvious, and he was thankful Derek stayed behind him with respectable distance.

“I think you’d look perfect like that,” Derek exhaled quietly against Stiles’ neck, his mouth barely grazing skin. Stiles’ wasn’t even sure if the touch was real or just wishful thinking, but he groaned anyway, too slow to swallow down the noise.

“Is there anything else?” Derek asked, back to sounding flat. It felt forced this time though.

Stiles nodded, body tense. This part scared him, because it might mean too much, and he didn’t know how Derek would respond. He’d had no time to process any of it himself, beyond a feeling of yearning, but he had the feeling he’d explain it all away with logic if given half the chance, so part of him knew he needed to go ahead, right now, and just be honest with what he was feeling. Derek brushed his thumb against the side of Stiles’ neck, and gave it a little squeeze. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” Stiles replied without hesitation. Because it was true, and Derek deserved nothing less than absolute truth right now. He followed patiently as Stiles walked to the pet-play area, and stood quietly letting Derek watch and understand what was going on.

“Is this some kind of joke?” Derek finally asked, a little harsh, voice edging towards anger. “Another Stilinksi dog joke?”

“No!” Stiles yelped, turning in Derek’s grip, finally looking up at him. “I’m not, I wouldn’t- It’s not a joke,” he said, closing his eyes and succumbing to the flush of heat on his cheeks and throat. “I want –“ he tried, cutting himself off.

“What do you want?” Derek asked carefully, evenly. He took Stiles wrist and stroked across his pulse point. “Tell me what you want Stiles?” he asked, sounding slightly confused.

“I want… I want to be good,” Stiles said quietly as he closed his eyes, his heart lurching in to his throat. It’d been such a long time since he’d felt like he was a good person, a good son, a good friend. He felt tainted inside, stained with oil-slick darkness and haunted by the ghosts of way too many dead loved ones.

“Stiles,” Derek breathed out. Stiles flinched when Derek touched the back of his neck again, this time drawing him forward. Stiles kept his eyes screwed shut, even when his face was pressed to the warm skin of Derek’s throat. “Stiles, you are good. You’re the best person I know,” Derek said, his throat vibrating slightly against Stiles’ face.

Stiles could feel the sincerity in Derek’s words, and he sagged forward, letting Derek take his weight. “You’re – You are good,” Derek said, only faltering slightly. He brushed his fingers through Stiles’ hair, cradling his head in one strong hand, and tilted his chin slightly so Stiles’ could nuzzle closer.

They stood together, Stiles leaning in to Derek and letting his mind race. “Can I be this for you? What you need?” Derek finally asked, after what felt like an eternity but may have just been seconds. He sounded unsure and hesitant.

“I don’t think I’d believe anyone else,” Stiles mumbled, fingers clenching in the material of Derek’s shirt. He knew Derek wouldn’t lie to him; he’d always give him his truth, even when it hurt to hear. That’s just what Derek did.

He felt some of the tension leave Derek’s body, and the arms around him tightened for a moment. “Can I kiss you?” Derek asked quietly.

“Yes. 100% yes,” Stiles nodded, fingers gripping Derek tighter in anticipation. Derek used the hand in Stiles’ hair to tug Stiles’ face up, out of the crook of his neck. He didn’t hesitate before bringing his mouth down on Stiles’, pressing their lips together. Stiles moaned and pushed closer, opening his mouth for Derek to slide his tongue in, rolling it across Stiles’ own for a quick taste before he pulled back.

“How did I never realise how much I wanted that?” Stiles asked, pressing his mouth to the rasping stubble of Derek’s jaw.

“You’re an idiot?” Derek suggested.

Stiles huffed out a surprised little laugh, and nipped at Derek’s jaw.

“We’re going to have to really talk about this Stiles. We need to keep this safe,” Derek said sternly, stroking his thumb against the base of Stiles’ neck. He sounded like his old Alpha-self for a moment.

“I know,” Stiles nodded, forehead dropping to rest on the ball of Derek’s shoulder.

“Meet me tomorrow. For coffee. No running. We’ll go over some things, okay? I don’t think we should try to talk it through tonight. We should take some time.”

Stiles nodded, finally looking up. His eyes were drinking Derek in, seeing him as something so utterly familiar and thrillingly new. This wasn’t how he’d expected his evening to go.

“Go home now Stiles, and rest up. Think about what you want from me, and what you think you can accept. I… I understand it’ll be weird. And if you don’t – if you change your mind. You can tell me. Please, tell me.”

“I won’t keep anything from you Derek,” Stiles replied, sincerely. “I’ve seen you take on too much and come out the other side to try to protect you from this. It’s only me. You’ll survive me. You’re the big bad wolf,” Stiles smiled.

Derek huffed out a vaguely amused sound, and stepped back. “I’ll walk you out,” he offered. Stiles fired off a text to Adam, and let Derek guide him out to the cooling night air. Stiles was half afraid that whatever was going on between them would dissipate in the real would, outside of the thrall of the club, but Derek kept Stiles close as he hailed a cab for him. He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ temple, brushing a hand down his spine as he held the door open.

“Tomorrow okay?”

Stiles nodded, watching as Derek smiled at him slightly and stepped away from the cab, watching as it drove away. Stiles stared as Derek shrank in the distance, and settled back against the seat. If Derek believed he was good, then maybe he could try and believe it too.

Chapter Text

Stiles hadn’t exactly had the most restful of nights, even after spending far too long partaking in a mammoth jerk off session. Because he was wound way too tight after everything in the club, and Adam was staying with Amber, so he had the room to himself, and it would be ridiculous not to take advantage. All that aside, Derek Hale had kissed him. Had licked in to his mouth and implied all sorts of fun things, and Stiles was both apprehensive and excited, but either way his dick was fully on board.

So Stiles had jerked it.

He was woken up early by his dad calling to check in, just letting him know that things were all okay and that he was still having weekly meetings with Chris Argent and Melissa McCall to catch up, or share information if anything odd was going on.

He felt weird about not being at home, scared that something supernatural would crop up and he wouldn’t be able to help, but since the whole situation with the Beast of Gevaudan most of the deputies had realised there was something a little extra going on in Beacon Hills. His dad had filled some of them in and they all knew enough to know to be careful, and maintain contact at all times. It did take a bit of the weight of Stiles’ mind, to know his dad wasn’t working alone, but he still felt anxious if he thought about it too much, and he appreciated the updates, along with policy of honesty he had going on with his dad now.

But to be honest, he often felt like a little ball of anxiety; it was an ever-present sensation that he’d learned to function around.

That and the guilt.

After hanging up on his dad, Stiles spend longer than usual selecting his clothes, showering, and brushing his teeth, and styling his hair so he looked good, but not like he’d made extra effort. It was ridiculous, but it kept him from pacing and second-guessing himself too much, though he did keep up a steady stream of muttered self-chastisements under his breath.

He was sitting at one of the outdoor tables, with a pot of peppermint tea in front of him, and a large coffee with a shot of vanilla in it for Derek waiting opposite him. He was lost in thought, plucking at the little paper tag at the end of his teabag, flicking it against his thumbnail. He was jittery today and didn’t want caffeine wreaking havoc on his nerves, and his Adderall should be enough to help him focus, so peppermint tea it was.

He didn’t notice Derek approaching, startling a little when the chair opposite him scraped on pavement, and Derek sat down with a frown.

“Stiles? Are you okay?”

He hummed a sound of assent and forced himself to stop playing with the label. “Yeah, yep, sure. I’m okay. A-okay.”

Derek hiked one eyebrow, and Stiles folded like a cheap suit. “Okay, I didn’t sleep well. It happens sometimes. And I spoke to my dad this morning, and I just feel guilty that he’s there dealing with Beacon Hills and I’m not. He meets with Chris every week, and Melissa, so they can keep each other updated on any strange goings on. He shouldn’t have to do that Derek. They shouldn’t have to be on the defensive for a bunch of supernatural crap that they didn’t sign up for.”

“Neither did you,” Derek said simply.

“I was the dumb kid who dragged his best friend in to the woods at night and got him bitten. If not for me, Scott would have been at home that night, playing video games and getting ready for school. No matter how I look at it, that’s on me.”

“Stiles, it’s on Peter. Not you. Not Scott.” Derek sat back and took a sip of his drink.

“But I-”

“No. Don’t argue with me on this one. I’ll never agree that you both were anything but victims of Peter. In different ways, yes, but your lives changed, irrevocably, because of his vendetta. I mean if you want to be pedantic about it, you can trace it all back to me Stiles. Me and Kate. If you go down that road, you’ll have to take it a lot further than you being a 15 year old idiot kid.”

Stiles quietened and chewed on his lip, nodding his head. “Okay. I get it, I do. It’s just hard not to feel bad sometimes.”

“I know. As long as it isn’t all the time,” he said pointedly.

Stiles shrugged at him evasively, and sat forward in his seat, elbows on the table. “So what now?” he asked, cutting through to the point, wanting a new topic. At the very least he could always be blunt with Derek.

“Now we talk about what you want from me,” Derek replied, again with the eyebrow. This time less judgemental but still expectant. Stiles may have been anthropomorphising the eyebrows, but damn it they made up a big chunk of Derek’s non-verbal communication, and that seemed to be his preferred method of communicating.

“I, um. What I want. What do you want?” Stiles deflected, back to fidgeting with the label.

Derek gave him a small smile, and sipped his coffee, drawing out the moment. “I want you to trust me. I want you to tell me what you want, and to trust me to make it happen. I want to make sure you know you’re safe with me. I don’t want you to be embarrassed about what you need when you’re with me.” Derek paused and looked at the tabletop as he spoke next. “Because everything that you need? I need it too Stiles. This isn’t me being selfless or some shit. I’m not that guy, never have been, never will be.”

“What do you mean? If you don’t know what I need, how can you know it’ll be what you want?”

“Because I need to feel needed,” Derek replied quietly. “I want to feel powerful and… strong. I need to be in control, Stiles. I’ve spent so long with no clue what I’m doing, that I need something I am sure of. I haven’t had stability in a long time, and I’ve only been needed for brute strength and hard decisions. As soon as that’s done, I’m put away.” Derek looked down at his coffee, and took a sip, as Stiles gaped at him. “No one needs me, Stiles. No one trusts me. Not really. And I don’t blame them. I’ve made so many bad decisions, but – those bad calls, they aren’t all I am. And I think I forgot that. When I was in Beacon Hills, I forgot that.”

“Fuck, Derek –“ Stiles gaped wordlessly, startled not only by the sheer volume of words Derek had spoken, but the weight of them.

“It’s all right. You don’t need to reassure me Stiles. I’m under no illusions of how things went. I remember it all perfectly. But I want things to be different now.”

“I trust you,” Stiles blurted out, clasping his hands between his knees. “I don’t know if that means anything, but I do. I didn’t, for a long time. Because yeah, you made shitty decisions, and you made them for yourself. You were selfish, and you know it. I never hid the fact I sometimes maybe thought we shouldn’t save your ass, but at some point down the line, I started to trust you. And then suddenly I trusted you more than anyone.”

“What about Scott?” Derek asked with a wry twist to his lips. He thought Stiles was spouting hyperbole.

“I love Scott. He’s my brother. But he decides what he thinks is right and best, and he goes for that outcome, without thinking about the bigger picture. Did you know Gerard came back? To Beacon Hills? Deucalion too. Everyone was double crossing everyone, and Scott got lucky that no one decided to double cross him. But that luck is going to run out one day. Kira left, Lydia got hurt really badly and left, my dad nearly died again. Scott and I… it’s not the same. I love him, but it’s not the same. I don’t trust him to ever put me first.” Stiles drummed his fingers against the table, hating the words he was saying. Hating that he meant them with every fibre of his being.

“When did you last feel safe, Stiles?” Derek asked quietly, eyes intent on Stiles’.

“I don’t know. I don’t really remember anymore.”

Derek reached across the table, and took Stiles’ hand, lacing their fingers together and giving them a squeeze. “Tell me what you want,” he finally said, letting go and settling back to drink his coffee.

Stiles took a breath, and steeled himself. “I want monogamy. If we do this, it’s just us, in it for as long as it lasts. I can’t deal with the idea of you being with anyone else; I’m not that comfortable or that secure, so just no. Okay?”

Derek nodded and signalled for Stiles to continue.

“I want us to have sex. I mean obviously. But I mean I don’t want it to just be about kink. I’m not going to use that as a way of defining myself, and so I don’t want it to define us. It’s important you know that, because if you just want a BDSM kind of thing, than I don’t see us working. I get attached, Derek, like really attached. I loved Lydia for years. Malia means the world to me, whether we’re together or not. Detached is just not who I am.”

“So you want a relationship? With me?” Derek asked carefully.

“Um. Yeah. I do.” Stiles flushed and continued tapping his fingers on the table, erratically drumming out a beat.

“What else?”

“Uh. The kink stuff. I don’t want pain. At all. I don’t want to hurt, or be hurt. I just can’t do that,” Derek was nodding along, so Stiles continued, “no impact play, no knife play. I’ll admit to being interested in wax, but I understand if you don’t want to do that.”

“Okay. So maybe to wax. I’ll think on that one. What else?”

“Nothing extreme, or, you know, gross. I don’t think I have it in me to be hard-core or anything. I want to just… not be in control. But I don’t want to be tied up or blindfolded. I don’t like the dark anymore,” Stiles paused, frowning at his hands. He was a walking mess of traumas, and this whole thing could end so very badly, but he wanted to try anyway. He just had to be honest. “I want to prove I can control myself.”

“It’s good that your limits Stiles. It’s really good. And I’m guessing the control is why edging appeals to you.”

“Yeah, I think so too. Plus, it’s just hot as hell.”

“Agreed. And the pet play?”

“Um. I guess I want the affection and praise? The reassurance. But I don’t know how well I’ll do with the headspace. I think I’m going to feel really self conscious, and it might be horrible.”

“We can try it out. Start small. It doesn’t have to be all or nothing.”

“I’m not calling you Alpha,” Stiles stated outright.

“Yeah, I’d really rather you didn’t. It has too many connotations and just… how about we stick with Derek and Stiles for now.”

“Okay, that sounds kind of perfect actually.”

“Anything else?”

“I don’t know yet. I need to read more and see how well things sit with me. What about you?”

“Well firstly. Yes to everything you’ve mentioned. Down to the monogamy. I agree to all of that, and I want that too. I think anything else will be typical wolf behaviours. Scenting, ownership, possession, providing, protecting. Letting my instincts have more of a free reign than might be socially acceptable normally. You’ll need to tell me if I push too far though Stiles.”

“Obviously. I’m not going to let you start getting away with your dominant wolfy crap too much.”

Derek’s mouth quirked up in to a smile, and he finished the dregs of his coffee, tucking a few bills under the cup. “Come on then,” he said, holding out a hand for Stiles as he stood.

“We going somewhere?” Stiles asked, tentatively taking Derek’s hand and letting himself be pulled up.

“Yep.”

“Wow. Informative.”

“Shut up Stiles.”

*****************


Derek pushed through the doorway to the fancy looking pet store, setting off the little jingling bell. They’d decided to shop here, in the hopes it would help Stiles to feel more comfortable in the pet headspace.

Derek guided Stiles to step in front of him with a hand on his lower back, and walked him towards a display wall with multiple collars, of differing sizes, shapes, designs, and materials. Stiles froze in front of the display, heart suddenly thumping in his chest.

This could be potentially humiliating, he thought, crawling around for Derek in a dog collar. Derek stepped in close behind him and placed his hands on Stiles’ hips, brushing his thumb against the soft material of Stiles’ shirt. His tee was thin enough that Stiles could feel the heat of Derek’s fingers on his skin.

“Want my opinion?” Derek asked lowly, as if sensing Stiles’ second thoughts. “I think you look best in red. You had this one hoodie, and the little red riding hood jokes aside, it always made your skin look amazing.” He lowered his head so his breath tickled against Stiles’ skin, making him breakout in gooseflesh. “I can just picture how you’d look, naked for me, wearing just a red collar.”

“Fuck Derek,” Stiles breathed out, reaching a hand towards the collars, tracing his fingers over a lightly padded leather one, black inside and a beautiful red outside, just a few shades too dark to be called scarlet. He shivered when Derek let out a quiet growl, watching as Stiles’ fingers skated over the leather. “This one?” he asked, needlessly.

“Go on, pick it out,” Derek said quietly, encouraging Stiles to pick through the different sizes with slightly trembling fingers. “You want a matching leash?”

Stiles nodded, fingers tight around his collar, and followed Derek to the hanging leashes. He picked one that would match his collar, and looked to Derek for assurance that he’d picked right.

“Perfect, Stiles. You’re going to look amazing.”

Stiles half wanted to preen under the praise, and half wanted to hide away. He settled for blushing bodily, and willed himself to not get hard standing in a pet store because he’d basically been told he did good. By Derek Hale.

“Okay, so here’s where we decide how far we go to begin with. Do you want your own bowl and toys, or do you want to wait for now?” Derek asked, facing Stiles squarely.

“I, don’t - Um. No toys. Yet. But a bowl?” He felt like he couldn’t speak without stumbling over his words, but this was all so much more than he’d ever expected, and he felt entirely in over his head, but that was kind of okay.

“I think a metal one would work best,” Derek said, picking up a shiny bowl, relatively deep. “You know, maybe we could share it,” he said offhandedly, startling Stiles to a stop.

“Huh?”

“Sometimes when I shift, I get thirsty. So we could share, if you don’t mind. Or this can just be yours.”

“I forgot you could do that,” Stiles said with a frown. He felt silly now, like he was playing puppy when Derek could actually become a wolf. It made him feel strangely childish.

“I don’t do it often, but sometimes it’s nice. To just run, mostly. My wolf would love to take care of you Stiles,” he said, brushing his thumb over Stiles’ jaw. “No matter what form, you’ll be my good boy,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to Stiles’ temple. It soothed Stiles, and he flexed his fingers around his collar and leash, eyes closed. “Let’s go buy these for now, okay?”

Stiles followed Derek to the counter, and they had their purchases bagged. Derek added a small bottle of leather protector, to keep everything soft and supple, and paid without a second look at the total. Next they went to a CVS, where Derek bought condoms and a big family pack of A&W Twizzlers, because he said all good boys need treats. And Stiles loved Twizzlers, and root beer ones were his absolute favourite.

“You want to pick out some toys?” Derek suggested, unlocking his car and dropping the bags in the trunk.

“I thought we were going to wait on those?” Stiles asked, leaning back against the side of the car. He missed the Camaro; it’d just fit Derek so well.

“I don’t mean chew toys, Stiles,” Derek said dryly. He waited a beat, until Stiles caught on.

“Oh!” Stiles bolted upright, and made a strange little fluttering gesture with his hands. “Oh. Okay. Sure, yeah. We can do that,” he answered, trying for casual and missing by a mile.

Derek patted him on the hip and walked around the car. “Get in then.”

Stiles fidgeted on his phone, looking up local sex shops and the directions to the nearest one, unable to process that he was about to go with Derek Hale to buy sex toys. Sex toys that they would then use on him, Stiles Stilinksi. Long limbed, hyperactive, slightly annoying, and perfectly average human Stiles.

He felt conflicted about the fact Derek had explained he didn’t want Stiles to have to use any toys that weren’t new and specially brought for him, implying Derek had some in his house that he’d used with other people, Stiles supposed. Not that he thought Derek was celibate or anything, but it did make him feel a kernel of jealousy.

“Any idea what you’d like to try?” Derek asked, glancing over when they’d parked.

“I’m a teenage boy with a bit of a Google obsession and a very healthy libido Derek. Of course I have ideas,” Stiles scoffed.

Derek gave him that wide grin, tempered with a dangerous edge. “Get out of the car Stiles,” he all but growled, making Stiles’ heart speed up. He fumbled out of the car and slammed the door closed, getting his shirt stuck. He ignored Derek’s laughter as he extricated himself from the door, and strode towards the store with his head held high, refusing to even looking at Derek. Derek caught him before he made it though, and splayed a hand over Stiles’ belly, leaning in to rub his stubbled jaw and cheek against Stiles’ neck. Stiles melted back against his chest, and let himself be walked in to the store like a ragdoll, pressing himself against Derek.

They selected an easily removable red leather cockring, to match Stiles’ current hardware, and a small selection of plugs in varying sizes, one of which vibrated. A sleek red bullet vibrator and a supply of batteries also went in the basket, and a bottle of lubricant and toy cleaner. Finally Derek added in some black candles, specifically intended for wax play, just in case they decided to go down that route.

Walking around and selecting toys with Derek, knowing they were both picturing them being used on Stiles, had Stiles walking a fine edge. He was kind of floating along feeling comfortably horny, an understated arousal that he knew could spike in to something desperate, very easily. And he knew Derek could smell it on him, which made the feelings even more intense.

So Stiles could have happily punched Derek when the man drove him back to his dorm and dropped him off, leaning over the centre console and pulling Stiles in to a ravenous kiss, searching his mouth with his hot tongue and biting on Stiles’ lips, his hands gripping just this side of painfully. When Derek let out a broken sounding moan, Stiles’ hips twitched and he was seriously wondering what the likelihood of them getting caught fucking in the backseat would be, and more importantly, how much he would care if they did. But Derek drew back, rested his head against Stiles’ and was silent until their breath had calmed.

“You’re not going to touch yourself,” Derek said quietly in to the space between their mouths, kissing Stiles’ bottom lip where it hung open with disbelief.

“Huh?”

“I don’t want you to jerk off, Stiles. Not until I say it’s okay. No slipping in to the shower and taking off the edge.  I want you to save it all for me. Think of it as a taster,” he smirked. “Show me you can control yourself.” Stiles took that as a challenge and promised he wouldn’t masturbate, until he was given express permission, even though he was currently straining against his pants and wanted to rub himself all over Derek. Still, he thought he could manage it. He was a paragon of self-control. Sort of. 

...That night in the shower was when Stiles realised exactly what he’d just signed up for.

Chapter Text

Stiles stood outside the door, fidgeting and entirely unsure of what to expect. He’d had essentially twitched his way through classes, going off on a tangent during the discussion group section of his Criminology class that had everyone giving him that bewildered but vaguely impressed stare because whenever he went on a tangent it would be about something he had a lot of knowledge on. Unreasonable and often obsessive levels of knowledge.

He knew Derek could hear him, from the other side of the door. Could probably smell him too. He appreciated that Derek was letting him choose whether to knock and walk in to what would be their first scene, or turn around and walk away to try another day.

He gave himself an internal pep talk, bouncing lightly on his toes and rolling his neck, stretching out his torso with little twisty movements. Finally, finally, he rapped his knuckles on the door in a little beat, over and over until Derek opened the door and levelled Stiles with one of those flat looks that he used to think meant Derek hated him. Or was barely tolerating him. He was choosing to view it as being secretly fond now though.

“Hey big guy,” he said, pulling out the finger guns and then patting Derek on the chest awkwardly.

“Really Stiles?” Derek asked, sounding a little incredulous. “That’s the greeting you’re going with?”

“That’s a patented Stilinski greeting I’ll have you know,” Stiles rambled, leaning casually against the doorframe with his arm resting over his head as he forced his body to look relaxed.

“Let’s try that again, yeah? A little less Stilinski this time,” Derek said, pulling Stiles closer with a fistful of his shirt. “Hi, Stiles,” he said with a hint of humor in his tone, pushing the door closed and slipping a hand around Stiles’ waist. He pressed forward, until Stiles backed up against the door, and suddenly Stiles felt 16 all over again, albeit a little less afraid of having his throat ripped out.

“Oh my God. Hi Derek,” he squeaked out, blinking rapidly.

Derek sighed obnoxiously, all exaggerated sound and pinched mouth.

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles said, reaching his arms tentatively up and around Derek’s neck. “Is this okay?” he asked.

“Stiles, you can touch me. I don’t mind.” Derek gave him a searching look, and then dipped his head down to kiss Stiles softly and slowly, just learning his mouth and which touches made Stiles hold him a little tighter.

He wanted Stiles to relax, to forget about being nervous and awkward. This wouldn’t work if Stiles couldn’t be comfortable with him.

Derek eventually pulled back, leading Stiles towards the sofa. He’d set out a bowl with little cut up pieces of Twizzler, and Stiles bowl was filled with water and set out by the bar in the kitchen. His collar and leash were on the coffee table, in full view though neither made a move for them yet.

“What do I do?” Stiles asked, sounding nervous. Derek gave him a glass of water, and sat on the sofa next to Stiles. They’d talked this through on the phone, but the reality of everything was blanking Stiles’ mind out.

“Are you ready?” Derek asked.

Stiles nodded, placing his glass on the table.

“Okay. The ground rules. We’ll use the standard color system. Red means stop, yellow means give me a moment, green means go. Did you decide on if you want another safe-word, just in case?”

“Wolfsbane,” Stiles nodded decisively. He figured no way would he ever accidentally blurt that out, though he was admittedly worried he would say it just because he knew he shouldn’t.

“Okay, good. Remember to tell me if you need anything, even if it means breaking character in the scene. This is all about you Stiles, so let me know what you need. For the most part, I’ll be in control, but if you don’t like anything, let me know. I expect you to be well behaved, or as well behaved as you’re capable of being,” Derek smirked, outright smiling when Stiles huffed indignantly.

“When you put the collar and leash on, that lets me know you want pet play. You can be non-verbal then, if you’d like. We’ll have to learn, through body language, but I think we can do that okay. We agreed it isn’t necessarily going to be sexual, so you need to let me know if you want sexual contact when you’re in that headspace, but I expect you won’t know for sure until you’ve tried it. So we can discuss that afterwards, if you’d like. Is this all sounding okay to you?”

Stiles nodded, trying to think it all over. “Yeah, it all sounds about right.”

“Okay. I know vulnerability it a big deal for you, so I want you to go ahead and remove your clothing, but keep your underwear on please.”

Stiles choked a little and coughed, blinking at Derek. Who sat motionless, and expectant.

Fuck.

Stiles stood slowly, and shuffled his weight back and forth, finally shrugging out of his hoody and over-shirt. He held them in his hand, unsure of what to with them, until Derek took them and draped them over the arm of the sofa. Stiles was flushed pink when he pulled off his shirt, having successfully avoided being shirtless around Derek for the past 4 years, and it made him want to cover himself, being under Derek’s scrutiny.

But he supposed that was the point.

Derek sat back and spread his legs slightly, in a move that could have looked relaxed, but instead looked obscene when paired with the heat in his eyes. Stiles forcibly stopped himself from talking, wanting to ramble through the discomfort of the situation, but refusing to let himself. He fumbled open the button on his jeans, before remembering to kick off his shoes and toe off his socks, with a minimum of awkward hopping. He nudged them by the sofa, and inhaled deeply as he unzipped his jeans and shoved them down without ceremony.

Stiles had never been accused of being sexy before, so he didn’t even try.

Derek cleared his throat, but still sounded hoarser than usual when he told Stiles to go ahead and put on the collar when he was ready. Stiles knelt down where he stood, because it made him feel less vulnerable, and stared at his fingers curled up in his lap. He winced when Derek touched his nape, but soon relaxed in to the touch.

“You know,” Derek said almost conversationally, bar the throatiness of his tone, “I used to wonder, when I let myself, what your skin would look like. How many freckles and moles you’d have under your shirt.” He brushed his thumb over a mark that was just in the dip of Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles shuddered at the ticklish touch, glancing up at Derek through his lowered lashes.

“Fuck Stiles,” Derek said quietly, slipping his hand around to cup Stiles’ neck, pulling him forward in to a slow kiss. Derek’s pupils were blown wide when he sat back and let go of Stiles.

“Can you put it on me?” Stiles asked quietly, shuffling forward so he knelt between Derek’s legs. “Even if it’s just this first time, I want you to do it.”

“Of course,” Derek replied, taking the collar when Stiles offered it over.

“This feels really weird dude,” Stiles said with a frown, fidgeting as he knelt.

Derek used a finger to push up Stiles’ chin, and dropped a soft kiss to his lips. “It’s only as weird as we let it be,” he said, mouth brushing Stiles’ as he spoke.

He brought up the collar and settled it against the base of Stiles neck, lightly kissing along Stiles’ mouth, a kiss planted in each corner, lips dragging lightly along Stiles’ lower lip, mouthing lightly against his cupids bow, as his fingers nimbly buckled the collar.

Derek turned it and took a hold of the O-ring on the collar and clipped on the leash. He wound it around his hand and pulled Stiles in to a hot, dirty kiss, all tongues and wet heat. Stiles swayed towards him when he pulled back, his eyes closed and mouth open, lips dampening further as Stiles swiped his tongue along them.

Derek cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, swiping his thumbs lightly across Stiles’ cheekbones, and pressed a kiss to his closed eyelids. “You look beautiful,” he murmured against his skin, moving his hands to Stiles’ hair, lightly scratching his nails against his scalp. Stiles whimpered and dropped his forehead to Derek’s knee, so Derek stroked one hand down his neck and shoulder blades in a firm movement, whilst the other resumed scratching in Stiles’ messy hair. There was no product in it, so it was soft and fluffy.

Stiles pushed his head further up and on to Derek’s thigh, so Derek opened his legs a little further, letting Stiles get shuffle closer. His shoulder blades were pronounced under his pale skin, shifting as he moved closer and they looked so fragile as Derek traced them with his fingertips. Finally Stiles stilled, with his upper body between Derek’s legs and his face pushing against Derek’s stomach. He nuzzled there, letting Derek stroke his fingers through his hair.

“You’re being such a good boy Stiles,” Derek praised, earning himself a happy little sound from Stiles. “You don’t want to talk when you’re like this huh?”

Stiles paused for a good few minutes, thinking the whole thing over. Did he want to speak? So much of his personality was based around words, that it felt wildly intimidating to even think about being silent.

Still, he eventually shook his head, and on a whim, closed his teeth around Derek’s shirt, tentatively tugging on it, experimenting with communicating without speech.

“You want me to take it off?”

Stiles nodded, and sat back on his haunches as Derek stripped his shirt, then immediately nuzzled in to his warm skin, pressing as close as he could. Derek wrapped him up in his arms, and pressed his face in to Stiles’ neck, inhaling his scent. “You’re my good boy Stiles, and you smell amazing. I never want my skin to smell of anything else.”

Stiles preened a little at that, and shoved his face against Derek’s chest, rubbing his cheek there.

“You want to try having a drink?”

Stiles sat back and looked over at the bowl, wondering if he could really crawl over there and lap from it. He glanced at Derek, who was watching him with curiosity, but no judgement. Stiles shook his head though, not ready to try that out yet. He was content to just sit like this, to experience the silence, having Derek touch him, in what turned out to be a strangely grounding experience. He didn’t feel like he needed to speak right now. All he needed was Derek’s hands on his skin, his touch a reassuring weight.

And yet, in spite of how soothing the contact was, Stiles couldn’t help but react. He found himself nosing along Derek’s skin, grinning when his muscles jumped a little, and closed his teeth around the belt loops of Derek’s jeans, pulling on them lightly without clear intention. He just chewed, making Derek laugh.

Stiles crawled up on the sofa, and put Derek’s hand on the clip, before throwing his leg over so he was straddling Derek’s hips, resting back on his thighs.

Stiles was hard and his underwear was doing nothing to conceal that fact.

“Want this off?” Derek asked, resting a hand on Stiles’ lower back. Stiles nodded emphatically, so Derek unclipped the leash, and in doing so, Stiles shed the pet persona, and leaned down to bite at Derek’s jaw, groaning as Derek cupped his ass in his warm hands and encouraged Stiles to roll his hips, sitting up and catching friction against Derek’s stomach. Derek sat straight, wrapping his arms around Stiles’ waist and licked and kissed as Stiles’ chest, mouthing down the line of hair that ran under his belly button, biting along his obliques and ribs.

“So that’s going to be your signal huh?” he asked, taking Stiles’ nipple in to his mouth and laving it with his tongue, teeth lightly clasped around it as it hardened in his mouth. Stiles nodded vigorously, gripping Derek’s hair in his hands.

Derek gave Stiles free reign to move and grind, letting him use his grip in Derek’s hair to angle his head for a wet kiss. Stiles was so caught up in it that he didn’t notice Derek holding his hips, until he couldn’t move them anymore, held aloft with no more friction. It made him want to shout, but instead he just whined.

“Nuh uh, Stiles. Stay still,” Derek ordered, letting go of Stiles’ hips. He made a tiny aborted movement, but caught himself and stayed still, knees on either side of Derek’s thighs. He moaned when Derek pulled his underwear down, leaving the band just under his balls so that there was the pressure of the elastic against his perineum. “Color?”

“Green. So fucking green it’s unreal,” Stiles answered immediately. “Super Green,” he added with a snicker.

Derek gave him an unimpressed look, but scooted way down on the sofa and sucked one of Stiles’ balls in to his mouth without warming, engulfing him in scorching heat. Stiles’ hips jerked, causing Derek to pull back and look up at him with reprimand written all over his face.

“Sorry,” Stiles panted, “I won’t- I’ll stay still,” he whined, wanting Derek’s mouth again.

“Stay. Still.”

Stiles gritted his teeth and tensed every damn muscle in his torso and legs as Derek licked a warm line up his inner thigh and sucked Stiles back in. He yelped, a broken sound bursting from his throat, because if he couldn’t move he was sure as hell going to be heard. Derek hummed and wrapped a hand around Stiles’ straining cock, almost too dry with too much friction, but it kept Stiles just shy of the edge.

Any slicker and he’d have cum as soon as Derek started stroking.

Derek pulled back with a pop, and rubbed his hand up Stiles side, moving up and pressing kisses in to his ribs. “You’re doing such a good job Stiles, I’m impressed,” he said, leaning down to lick across the head of Stiles’ dick, tongue lapping at the slit to taste his precum.

“Derek,” Stiles whined.

“Stand up,” Derek ordered, using his hands on Stiles’ hips to lift him. Stiles got his legs under him, and Derek shoved his underwear down, leaving Stiles naked and very, very, erect in front of him. Derek sat back and looked him over, reaching down to casually adjust himself in his jeans, and Stiles’ cock kicked as he watched. He knew he’d pop with even the slightest touch right now, so he almost curled in on himself protectively.

“Go and lay down on my bed,” Derek told him, watching as Stiles stepped away, walking carefully. He let himself in to Derek’s room and sat on the edge of the bed, looking around the space before scooting back and laying flat. One leg was bent at the knee and cocked to the side, just because his groin felt obscenely hot right now.

Derek stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and watched Stiles with dark eyes.

His stomach muscles moved as he prowled closer to the bed, grabbing a black leather Dopp kit en route. He unzipped the case, and pulled out the red cock ring they’d purchased the day prior. Stiles’ abdomen contracted and he panted out a breath, as Derek placed the leather on his stomach.

“Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Stiles chose, nodding furiously. Derek grinned, that beautifully predatory smile, and unsnapped the ring, trailing it down Stiles’ hips to his inner thighs, and up until he could feel the skin warmed leather wrapping around him, snug under his balls and around his dick. His erection kicked again, but he knew within seconds that the ring was going to do its job, and do it well.

Derek took out the bottle of lubricant next, and pumped some in to his hands, rubbing them together to slick his grip up nicely, warming the lube. He gripped Stiles in one hand, firm enough to keep him upright, and wrapped his other hand firm around the head, his hands hot, hotter than a human’s would be. Stiles hissed and bucked upwards, his head thrown back, as Derek began stroking the head of his cock with quick, unrelenting strokes.

“Fucking. Oh my God. Der- Ah, ah,” Stiles panted, losing the end of his words.

“You’re doing perfectly Stiles. You look fucking amazing,” Derek hummed, hand working at Stiles without pause until Stiles cried out and arched his back. Derek backed off entirely, leaving Stiles bereft of touch for a moment, as he whined and panted loudly, trying to breathe through the sensations that had his body twitching.

Derek petted his thighs and hushed him with murmured nonsense. He slicked one hand loosely up the length of Stiles, feather light contact, and again with the other hand, alternating hands but keeping it loose, giving Stiles time to relax a little, come back off the edge. Stiles was flushing pink, and his muscles were twitching without rhyme or reason as Derek worked him over. He pushed him to the edge with his firm grip once more, and then evidently decided to switch things up.

He shoved Stiles’ legs up and apart, so his feet were flat on the bed and his knees wide. He felt shockingly exposed like this. Derek slid his thumb down, and massaged Stiles’ perineum, knowing it would feel good, but nowhere near enough.

“Fuck Derek, please, please,” Stiles begged, his long fingers flexing against the covers.

“What do you need Stiles?”

“I want, please. I want to cum, I need it, Derek. I need you to let me.”

Derek dropped a kiss to the inside of Stiles’ knee, and used his middle finger to lightly massage Stiles’ hole, drawing a keening sound from him. Stiles began moving his hips, trying to urge Derek to push his fingers in, chasing the sensation of being filled rather than the sensation of orgasm now.

“Do you know how many nerve endings you have here?” Derek asked huskily, watching his finger circle Stiles’ hole, just enough pressure to spark those myriad nerve endings.

“Please, Derek,” he breathed, body clenching around nothing as Derek applied just a touch more pressure. “Oh fuck, please,” he nearly sobbed, sucking in a harsh breath as Derek finally pushed his finger in, giving him a taste of fullness. He crooked his finger immediately to stroke over Stiles’ prostate, bringing his thumb to massage Stiles’ perineum again.

Stiles practically yelled and tried to jerk away from the overwhelming sensation, shoving his hips forward to recapture it just a moment later, and Derek let him, watching rapt as Stiles rolled his hips and fucked himself on Derek’s finger, his cock an angry red and leaking prettily, stomach contracting and releasing with his movements. He was entirely unselfconscious, chasing release, but being denied. It was so fucking stunning.

“Jesus Stiles,” Derek breathed out, his voice catching in his throat. He pressed the palm of his free hand against his own dick, trying to just relieve some of the ache, but nothing short of rutting against Stiles was going to be enough.

He wanted to paint Stiles’ perfect pale skin with hot stripes of both their cum, and he decided enough was enough. Derek opened his flies and pulled himself out, giving himself a few strokes with his still slick hand, and manoeuvred himself to kneel beside Stiles. “Color?”

Stiles mewled when he saw Derek, cock in hand, stroking himself over Stiles’ stomach, two fingers now buried deep in Stiles and both his forearms flexing with motion. “Green, Derek, please, green,” Stiles gasped, rolling his hips up. Derek squeezed his eyes closed for a moment, his hand moving furiously fast on himself, and came with a loud grunt, hips stuttering and his come splattering across Stiles’ stomach, hips, and cock as he angled his release to coat his beautiful boy.

Derek barely paused, unsnapping the cockring with one hand and using his own hot-slick come to jerk Stiles off, setting an unforgiving pace in conjunction with his relentless fingers, until Stiles came with a gritty cry, his body arching and spasming. He tried to pull away from Derek, but Derek followed his movements, massaging against his prostate until Stiles cried out, and swatted at him, begging incoherently. Derek stepped back and wiped his hands on a damp cloth he’d brought in to the room with him, looking down at Stiles.

Stiles lay limp on his bed with his eyes closed, a mess of sweat and spunk, and he smelled almost as good as he looked. Derek leaned down and suckled Stiles’ softening cock in to his mouth, gently cleaning it off with his tongue and listened to Stiles breathy moans.

“Fuck Derek, how are you real?” he mumbled, come-dumb and stumbling over his words.

“I could ask you the same thing,” Derek said, as he pulled back, pressing a kiss to Stiles' hip bone. He gently wiped Stiles clean and tossed the cloth on the floor, scooting up and pulling Stiles against his chest, smiling as Stiles flopped against him limply. He touched the collar around Stiles’ neck, and nuzzled against his sweaty temple. “You were amazing Stiles. You are amazing. Such a good boy, holding on for me like that.”

Stiles made a contented little sound, and stretched against Derek, lacing their fingers together.

“You can nap, if you’d like. Just let me take the collar off, so you’ll be more comfortable.”

Derek placed the leather on his bedside table, rubbing his fingers against Stiles' skin where the collar had sat, and helped him to drink some of his water. He leaned back against the headboard and draped a blanket over them, arranging them both so they'd be comfortable. Stiles settled back between his legs and into his arms, head lolling on Derek’s chest.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, yawning wide. He was sweaty and gross, and perhaps little numb, but so so tired.

He didn’t even hear if Derek replied, because in the next breath he was out like a light, feeling safe and sated.

Chapter Text

Derek had turned out to be a surprisingly patient handler and Dom, and no matter how needy or bratty Stiles behaved, Derek took it in stride. His stoic nature lent itself to keeping Stiles calm, and his desire to mark and scent Stiles meant he was a pro at the aftercare.

When Stiles was feeling shaky and exhausted, but unable to quieten his mind, running through the scene and how he felt, insecure that he’d gone too far, Derek would sit with him and hold him, letting him tremble. He’d press his face to Stiles’ skin, inhaling the scent of them together, and he’d keep Stiles from shaking apart. He told Stiles how good he’d been, how happy he made Derek, how grateful he was that Stiles trusted him, let him see him like this. He soothed the jagged edges of Stiles’ thoughts, bringing him back to neutral.

Stiles always slept amazingly well on those nights. Derek was like a furnace, but something about his heat made Stiles’ unconscious mind feel safer, and he never had nightmares when he slept beside Derek. And he rarely felt more contented than when he was laying in Derek’s apartment, aimlessly and thoughtlessly chomping on one of his toys, specially selected and purchased by Derek, then thoroughly cleaned before Stiles was allowed to play. The rubber chew ring was his favourite, along with the one squeaky toy they'd purchased before Derek realised what a colossal mistake that had been, and now only permitted Stiles to play with it on occasion.

It was definitely a little strange, but it worked for them both right now, so Stiles was trying not to question it too much.

They’d branched out a little further in to the dynamic, and now Stiles was the proud owner of a specific puppy outfit, ready and waiting for when he felt brave enough to go out and meet other pups. It was daunting to say the least, but he did want to try interacting with other pups; he admitted to harbouring concerns about how well Derek would manage to interact with the other handlers and owners, but he figured Derek could take care of Derek, and Stiles could see how he took to being a puppy in a pack. He’d decided on a long sleeved tight black running top, and matching running tights. It looked a bit like a cat suit, really, but he wasn’t comfortable being naked or undressed in public. The form-fitting outfit was risqué enough for him right now. He had squishy knee pads to protect himself from bruising, but had decided against paws, because Derek liked his hands really quite a lot, and didn't want them hidden. They’d been looking at masks and muzzles together, trying to pick the best option for Stiles and his needs, and Derek had gifted him with a custom made leather harness – Stiles didn’t want to think about how much it must have cost.

It was flat down the centre of his chest and had thick straps around the tops of his shoulders and under his armpits. It felt a little like how he’d imagine wearing a bulletproof vest would feel, actually, but the leather was buttery and soft against his skin, and was surprisingly light. Where it ended at the bottom of his sternum, another black strap wound around his ribs, keeping the harness snug and in place, so he could pull and move without it riding up.

“It’s because you never sit still,” Derek explained, winding the straps around Stiles’ bare ribs and buckling them at the back. He clipped Stiles’ lead to the O-ring on the back of the harness, and wrapped the other end around his hand. He turned Stiles on the spot and brushed his fingers lightly down the leather at the centre of his chest. He didn’t say a word, but let out a little whuff of breath, his eyes zeroing in on Stiles’ shoulders and chest with intent.

Stiles smiled a little sly smile, and butted his head under Derek’s jaw, nudging his head back to expose his throat. Stiles licked a hot stripe up Derek’s throat, and nipped his jaw, stepping back with an innocent smile as Derek rumbled out a growling sound. Stiles shivered and dropped to his knees, keeping his head down. Derek slid his fingers through Stiles’ hair, and held a loose handful as Stiles leaned in an butted his nose high up on Derek’s thigh, pushing his face against the denim of Derek’s groin, making a playful little growling sound. He could feel the plush softness of Derek's dick against his nose. He liked touching Derek when he was soft; it was comforting and made him feel trusted.

Derek huffed out a laugh, and Stiles felt the lead attached at his back go taut, holding him in place even as Derek stepped back. “Be a good boy,” Derek warned playfully, looking ridiculously tall and imposing to Stiles from his vantage point on his knees. Stiles whined, his lips pulling in to a little pout. Derek smiled and leaned down, taking hold of Stiles’ chin and lifting his face up, dropping a kiss on his nose. “Good boy,” he hummed, stepping back. “Go play and get used to the harness,” he ordered, making his way over to the sofa; Pup Stiles wasn’t allowed on that without permission from Derek.

Stiles crawled over on all fours to his little play area, and snuffled around in his blankets, nosing for his ring chew toy. He picked it up between his teeth and shook his head, growling and chewing on the toy with his back teeth. It felt really good, actually, how the rubbery toy gave just slightly beneath his molars, working his jaw muscles. He padded over to the plushiest pillow he had, and dropped on his stomach, elbows keeping his chest off the ground in a parody of the upward dog yoga pose, with his naked legs splayed out behind him.

He wiggled around a little to get used to the weight of the harness, and tried rolling on his back, figuring the clips wouldn’t dig in too much if he was on a padded surface, and he was right. He could feel the bump of solidity in between his shoulder blades, but it didn’t hurt. He wiggled on his back, the ring hanging from his mouth and could feel the moment Derek began watching him.

Turning his head slowly, he locked his eyes on Dereks for a moment, then dropped them to look at his mouth, because eye contact felt too much like a power play, and let out a plaintive whine, not sure what he was after, but wanting Derek to fix it for him nonetheless.

“What’s up pup?” Derek asked lowly, walking over and hunkering down beside Stiles. He ran the flat of his hand over Stiles’ stomach, then traced the outline of the harness. Stiles whined again and bobbed his head, trying to indicate the ring.

“Oh, feeling playful huh?” Derek asked, lifting one end of the ring with his forefinger. He hooked it around the toy and gave a little tug. Stiles held it tight and snarled. “Don’t want to share?” Derek asked with a raised eyebrow.

Stiles snarled again and jerked the toy back, taking it from Derek’s light hold and tossed his head again, making the ring move against the underside of his chin. “Greedy puppy,” Derek chastised, taking hold of the toy and tugging again. He kept it light in deference to Stiles’ human teeth, but there was a hair more force behind this tug. Stiles had to pull a little harder keep it, feeling oddly possessive, and he made eye contact now, staring Derek down from his spot on the floor and skinning his lips back a little in to a snarl.

Derek frowned down at him, and pulled the toy in a downward motion, forcing Stiles mouth open. He pulled the toy from Stiles without any difficulty and placed it behind himself on the coffee table. “Bad pups don’t get to play,” he stated, keeping his eyes on Stiles’. Stiles didn’t know why he was pushing this, pushing his behaviour, but he wanted to see what Derek would do. Maybe, he thought, he wanted to see if Derek was going to be capable of handling him when he was bad, because how else could he trust it when Derek said he was good? Even though it made his insides squirm to have Derek frowning down at him, he pushed at the boundaries, testing them. Testing Derek.

Derek placed a hand firmly on Stiles chest and pinned him down, ignoring Stiles’ wiggling and whining. “No, no. If you want to be a bad little puppy, then you have to put up with being taught your place,” Derek said calmly, keeping Stiles down. Stiles reared up his head and snapped his teeth at Derek. Derek raised his eyebrows and leaned in, his nose almost touching Stiles’ and his eyes suddenly startlingly close. “No,” he said in a firm voice. “No playing, no treats. You’re going to stay put until I tell you that you can move, and we will discuss this behaviour later,” he warned. Stiles let out a little unhappy sound and scowled up at Derek, who sat back a little. Stiles tried to push upright, tried to not be pinned on his back, but it was a useless endeavour, as he’d known it would be. Derek pushed Stiles' chin back exposing the long line of his neck, stilling him for a moment. Stiles' body tensed, as he waited for Derek's next move.

“Bad pup,” Derek half growled, leaning down and ghosting a breath over Stiles' throat, stubble scratching at soft skin. He opened his mouth and laid his teeth wide on either side of Stiles’ throat, laving his tongue hotly over Stiles’ Adams Apple. Stiles went limp, now baring his own throat for this bite, letting Derek pin him down with teeth at his vulnerable throat and hot breath skating over dampened skin. Derek kept the pressure light enough, just barely pressing his teeth in to Stiles’ skin, but the bite pressure increased just a touch before Derek pulled back, just enough to make Stiles yelp.

Derek stood and looked down at Stiles, laid out limp on his back at Derek’s feet. “Going to behave now?” he asked rhetorically. Stiles blinked up at him, and rolled on to his knees, pressing his face tentatively against Derek’s thigh and nuzzling in apology. “You’re a good pup, Stiles,” Derek said softly, brushing a hand lightly down Stiles’ jaw. “But no play time for you. Go and take a time out. Go on, time out,” Derek reiterated, pointing at the blanket pile expectantly. Stiles tilted his head and blinked up at Derek, giving him one more fond nudge to the thigh before padding off to the blankets and sitting on his knees. Derek held a hand over the crown of Stiles’ head for a moment, keeping him in position, then stepped away, heading to the sofa to read.

Stiles understood ‘time out’, ‘sit’, and ‘stop’. Those were his main commands, but mostly Derek allowed him free reign when he was in pup-space, letting him play and nose around. He liked curling up on Derek’s bed and rooting around under the blankets where it smelled most like Derek, but Derek allowed this only if Stiles cleaned up the mess later.

They didn’t actually talk about much outside of their relationship, sharing bits and pieces of information about their lives, what movies they’d seen or books they’d read, but Stiles didn’t actually know anything about Derek’s current werewolf status, or his day job – assuming he even had one. Stiles didn’t talk about life in Beacon Hills, and Derek didn’t ask. And yet he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that if he needed to talk to Derek, Derek would listen. For now, that was enough for him, and made him feel a little less alone in the dark.

He’d not mentioned to Scotty or his dad that he’d been spending time with Derek, beyond their morning runs, though they’d dialled them back to biweekly runs now. When he was with Derek, it felt like they existed within a little bubble of safety, and the space and time they shared was theirs and theirs alone.

Bringing their life from before felt like crossing a line, and Stiles didn’t want to. He loved that Derek knew the dark little recesses of his past, as it meant Derek understood what Stiles needed in a way that no one else would be able to. He understood without words that Stiles would never be able to wear a full pup hood, nor would be ever be comfortable with anything wolf-related. Which was a pity, as there were some awesome wolf masks out there, but they were a no-go for Stiles.

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there in time out; it felt like time meant less when he was a pup, like he didn’t need to think about it, because Derek would think about it for him, but he was more than ready to trot over to Derek when he was given permission, just a click of the fingers from Derek, and a “Come on, come here,” that had Stiles scurrying forward and shoving his head against Derek’s waiting hand.

“You want to come up and rest like that?” Derek asked, his fingers massaging Stiles’ scalp lightly. Stiles nuzzled against Derek’s hand once more and crawled up beside him on the sofa, leaning his chest against one of Derek’s thighs and resting his head high up on Derek’s belly as he sprawled out to accommodate Stiles.

“Feeling better?” Derek asked, smoothing a hand down Stiles’ side, curling his fingers around his hip and rubbing his thumb there gently. Stiles leaned up and nipped at Derek’s jaw, letting him know he was happy, and settled back down, feeling Derek breathe beneath him. Derek was a taciturn man, and Stiles had long since come to accept this, so he’d come to learn that the best way to know Derek was happy with him, was by how Derek held him and touched him. And whilst Stiles loved it when Derek called him a good boy, being permitted to lay with Derek like this, to be petted, and kept close, was probably the best reward he could ask for.

Chapter Text

Stiles was convinced he was going to become one with his desk chair. He felt like his every waking hour was spent hunched over in that stupid chair, reading through books and notes, clicking through slides, and trying to cram as much information in to his brain as he could manage. His neck felt permanently out of alignment, and his butt was more or less numb.

At least Adam was suffering with him though, sprawled across his dishevelled bed and occasionally bemoaning their stupidity for thinking higher education was a good idea. Because what kind of idiots were they?

Amber would at least stop by with sustenance and caffeine laced drinks, and tried to remind them both to sleep, or at least take breaks, but mostly they both would just grunt in response around heaping mouthfuls of oh-so-nutritious instant ramen. They were living clichés, but they were in it together.

Stiles hadn’t seen Derek in over a week now, and hadn’t spoken to him for at least five days. Stiles was grateful Derek could give him space, and was looking forward to handing in his final papers, taking his final exams, and decompressing with Derek in whatever interesting little ways he may have cooked up in their time apart.

He was jolted out of a super interesting passage about the seductions of crime by his phone trilling obnoxiously, over on the bedside table where he’d left it plugged in to charge. Stiles tripped his way over to it, ignoring Adam’s pointed scowl at the noisy interruption, and answered without checking the number, grateful for any reprieve he could get.

“Yo,” Stiles said, laying back on his bed and scrubbing a hand over his face and in to his greasy hair. Personal hygiene hadn’t necessarily been an utmost priority of late.

“Stiles? It’s Alex, from uh. From the club. Derek’s friend.”

“Hey Alex, how’s it going?” Stiles said through a yawn, scratching at his belly absently. His brain wasn’t really fully functioning, so it didn’t occur to him to find it strange that Alex was calling him.

“Uh, yeah. Fine. Look, Stiles, you’ve been hanging out with Derek a lot lately huh?”

“Depends on what you mean by lately. Haven’t seen him since early last week. Also depends on your definition of ‘a lot.’ I mean I probably spend more time with him than anyone else, but Derek doesn’t really hang so-”

“Stiles. I just mean, you’re close. Friends, or whatever.”

“Yep. Yup. Stiles and Derek, friends extraordinaire,” Stiles rolled on to his stomach and tried not to give in to the temptation of his pillow. “Wait, why are you asking me this? Isn’t he part of your little um. Group,” Stiles amended, glancing at Adam. Not that he was paying even the slightest bit of attention.

“Derek isn’t a part of my pack Stiles,” Alex said, sounding hesitant. “He won’t – it doesn’t matter. Stiles, he’s here, but he’s injured. Unconscious. I just, I thought you should know.”

Stiles brain was still half fixated on his upcoming Criminology exam, so the words took a moment to penetrate.

“Wait what? He’s hurt? Why didn’t you open with that!? God! Is he okay? Where is he? I’m coming there. Where am I coming?” Stiles wriggled upright and kicked his shoes out from half-under the bed, shoving his feet in.

“He’s going to be okay, but Stiles… you can’t just waltz in here. He’s with my Alpha, there are rules-”

“I’m not a – I’m just a, a human,” Stiles hissed with a wince, surreptitiously looking at Adam, who was finally paying attention and looking worriedly at Stiles.

“You’re part of another pack Stiles, you can’t just show up at the heart of his territory.”

“Well I can, and I’m gonna,” Stiles snorted, twisting around in to his comfiest zip up hoodie. “An address, Alex. Text me an address.”

“Stiles, at least wait for me to clear it-”

“Nope. Not happening. I’m about to get in the car, right now, so I need an address Alex.”

“Jesus Christ,” Alex huffed. “Fine. You’re relentless you know that?”

“Yep. One of my many fantastic qualities, thank you.”

“I’m hanging up on you now.”

“All the better to text me,” Stiles replied primly, ending the call. He hummed and stared down at his phone, willing it to buzz with a new text. “Oh shit,” Stiles yelped, turning on the spot and chewing on the end of his sleeve in aggravation. “Adam, dude. Buddy. Do me a favour?”

“Keys are in my pocket, back of the door,” Adam replied instantly.

“I love you dude,” Stiles breathed out gratefully, digging in Adam’s pocket. He pulled out the keys to Adam’s sedan, and jingled them impatiently. “I don’t know if I’m going to be back tonight or not. It’s Der, he’s been hurt, which, okay, not exactly new for him, but I just want to make sure…” Stiles trailed off, stilling and biting his lip.

“I get it. You want to be there with him. I’ll tell Carter you won’t be making the study session tomorrow, and explain,” Adam offered. Stiles nodded at him absently, mauling his bottom lip. His phone finally buzzed with a text, and Stiles was out the door and halfway down the hall before he’d even opened it. He programmed it in to his phones GPS, not well acquainted with the outskirts of the city so well, and jogged to find Adam’s car.

He was assaulted with some kind of loud industrial rock music as he turned the key in the ignition that made him yelp, clueing him in on just how tense he was, and jabbed his finger angrily at the stereo, shutting it off. He was feeling frayed already, and needed no distractions as he navigated the car out of the city and towards the forest that became part of the nearby National Park.

He turned off down a road that barely looked usable, winding and mud slicked, almost too narrow for the sedan. If a car approached from the opposite direction, they’d both be screwed. Stiles was driving perhaps a little too fast for such a road, but he was nervous. Derek had come to mean a lot to Stiles, more than he’d maybe even realised, and he just wanted to lay eyes on him, and see he really was okay.

Alex was waiting for him when his car broke past the tree line into a clearing of sorts, a house in the centre much like the old Hale house, but this was a modern looking build with a lot of clean lines and glass, so at odds with the forest surrounding it. He parked haphazardly and grumbled as Alex gripped his upper arm and tugged him close.

“You’ve already pissed off my Alpha with this, so tread lightly Stiles. He’s in charge here, and I don’t know how your pack do things, but we follow rules here,” Alex hissed lowly.

“I get it, I understand. I’m just worried,” Stiles tried to placate.

“That’s another thing. Derek didn’t mention you to them. He doesn’t share much, and… they don’t know. Whatever it is, they aren’t going to understand why you care so much.”

Stiles opened his mouth silently a couple of times, trying to muster up some outrage, but he’d probably be far more surprised if Derek had mentioned anything. It was far more in keeping with his broody and moody character to be closed-lipped about everything. “Well, I used to be sort of part of the same pack as him? Kind of?” Stiles tried. “It would make sense I’d be, you know, concerned.”

“Yeah, like, ‘call me with an update,’ not ‘I’m on my way and I’ll shoot you full of wolfsbane if you don’t comply.’”

“I never made a threat.”

“You didn’t need to.”

Stiles huffed out a loud sigh and pulled a face at Alex.

“Fine, fine. I’ll take you in. Just… try not to piss everyone off even more okay? One of our own died, and it’s just a bad time,” Alex said quietly, placing a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut,” Stiles offered, mimicking the motion of zipping up his lips. Alex gave him a flat look and steered him towards the house, opening one of the big front doors to a spacious atrium, flooded with light. He paused and listened for a moment, then guided Stiles around to the stairwell at the side of the space, and up to the first floor. They paused there, and a young blond woman appeared from an open door to their left, her eyes reddened and wet. Her skin was blotchy and she was making snorting, snuffling sounds. She walked past them in a daze, her hands clenched into tight fists.

In the same doorway, a man now stood. Tall and slim, his hair was a rich dark brown and cut neatly, swept back off his face to better display the planes of his cheekbones and jaw. All angular and strangely beautiful, but the man himself wasn’t attractive as a whole. He was staring at Stiles with barely concealed disdain, and his mouth was set in a thin line.

“Alpha Sinclair,” Alex said politely, dipping his head in deference. “This is Stiles, of the McCall pack.”

“Uh yeah, hi,” Stiles blurted, once Alex nudged him slightly. He didn’t bow his head so much as give a bobbing nod.

“The human who insisted on seeing Mr Hale. Didn’t you think we could look after him adequately?” Sinclair asked, narrowing his eyes at Stiles.

“Didn’t even cross my mind,” Stiles replied, honestly. “But Derek was a packmate of mine once, and we’ve kept in touch. He’s a friend, and I care about him a lot.”

Sinclair studied Stiles for a beat, and pursed his lips. “A friend. One he never thought to mention.”

“He’s a taciturn kind of guy,” Stiles shrugged. “So, nice as this little chat is, can I see Derek now?”

He’d never been known for his patience. Alex was tense beside him, and had quite possibly actually stopped breathing.

“Remain with him at all times,” Sinclair said to Alex. “Keep him in line,” Sinclair warned. He stepped back into what Stiles guessed was his office or something, and closed the door on them.

Alex’s breath whooshed out of him, and he grabbed Stiles’ biceps again, and tugged him up the next set of stairs, muttering to himself under his breath. “You are so fucking lucky you just got away with that,” he snarled quietly. “What happened to you understanding huh?”

“Well he was a douche!” Stiles whispered, well aware of the fact many werewolf ears could be listening in.

“Shut up,” Alex whispered back, giving Stiles a shake. “Come on,” he sighed, pulling Stiles down the hallway. He pushed open one of the doors that lined the wall, the other side being a railing that overlooked the atrium, and let go of Stiles’ arm.

Stiles paused, just taking in the at once all too familiar and yet strangely alien sight of Derek injured, before shuffling closer to the bed. Derek was ashy and pallid, lying against pale sheets that he nearly blended in with. It made his eyebrows and hair seem even darker in comparison, stark against his skin. His slightly damp, sweaty skin, littered with what would probably more accurately be described as a beard than his usual stubble. He had dark circles under his eyes, a slight purplish blue showing through the delicate skin there, and his lips were nearly white. He didn’t have any obvious injuries, his wounds all healed and so his skin was unmarred and smooth across his torso.

“What was it?” Stiles asked quietly, his voice sounding far away to his own ears.

“A strain of wolfsbane. He was rambling when we found him, and hooked up to a voltage machine. I guess so he couldn’t heal or something.”

“You’ve never been captured have you Alex?” Stiles asked, thinking of seeing Erica and Boyd strung up like that.

“No. I haven’t. I’ve never even seen hunters before.”

“You’re really damn lucky then,” Stiles replied, ghosting his fingertips over the back of Derek’s wrist. “What else?”

“He was cut up. Bruised, internally and externally as best we could guess. And he was poisoned. We purged it as best we could, bled a lot of it out. And now his body is doing the rest. Our doctor has been in with him a lot, says he needs rest from here on out.”

“When did you find him?” Stiles asked, wrapping his hand around Derek’s wrist and feeling for his pulse, pausing to count as it fluttered against his fingertips.

“About three days ago. He had a standing meeting, with Nina, every Wednesday. They’d get lunch, and then she’d stop by here. But she didn’t, and when we called her she never replied. Nor did he. Richard – Alpha Sinclair – he had hoped that… he wanted them to mate, to bring Derek into the pack. The Hale name is an important one, and he wanted that in our pack. He hoped maybe they’d finally decided to… you know. Give in to it, or whatever. But yeah, we didn’t hear from them, and a couple of days passed and I went by Derek’s…”

“So you tracked them to wherever they’d been taken?” Stiles asked, appreciating how awkward this must be for Alex. Derek hadn’t ever mentioned Nina, at all. Because fucking Derek Hale.

“Yeah. She didn’t make it. The poison was too much. I don’t know how he did.”

“It’s not the first time he’s been fucked up like this. It definitely won’t be the last. He’s a magnet for this kind of thing,” Stiles explained, brushing Derek’s limp hair off of his sticky forehead. “I’m sorry about Nina,” Stiles added.

“Me too,” Alex sighed. “She was a good person.”

“So I’m like even more of an interloper here then huh?” Stiles sighed. “Not only am I the human from a different pack, but he was earmarked for someone else. The fact he was with me… I’m not going to be making any friends here, am I?”

“Nope. Not at all.”

“Perfect,” Stiles huffed. He smoothed a thumb over Derek’s collarbone, noting how he was tacky with sweat, as well as decidedly unkempt overall. And he figured, maybe it was time for him to take care of Derek for once.

Chapter Text

Stiles was in the en suite, filling a basin with warm water, and absently staring around the room. It was obviously the product of a lot of money, but nothing was too ostentatious. It spoke of wealth, but not excess. He quite liked it, which childishly annoyed him, because he didn’t want to like anything about Alpha Sinclair’s home.

Because the man (wolf?) himself was a douche.

He dug around underneath the sink in the cupboards, and found a basket full of essentials, such as packaged toothbrushes, razors, shampoos and so on. All well and good, but not what he was looking for.

“Hey Alex,” he called out, swilling his hand in the water to test the temperature. “I need a favour dude.”

He could practically feel Alex rolling his eyes from the other room, before he appeared in the doorway, one brow raised expectantly.

“I need a trimmer. He’s looking kind of… bushy,” Stiles gesticulated around his own face for emphasis.

“I’m not supposed to leave you unattended,” Alex said flatly, crossing his arms over his chest. Quite a nice chest, Stiles noted.

“Yeah, I’m well aware of that, thank you,” Stiles snarked, weaving his head a little. “But what’s a few minutes? I’m not going to steal anything, or snoop, or do anything but be here. In a room, in a house full of werewolves, who have super hearing and could chase me down before I even make it down the stairs… What’s the big deal?”

Alex huffed and threw his hands up in exasperation. “You,” he stated, jabbing a finger in Stiles direction, “are a pain in the ass. I don’t know how Derek deals with you.”

“Shut up, I’m lovable,” Stiles retorted, pushing past Alex with his basin and a few small handtowels thrown over his shoulder. “And endearing,” he added, just because.

Alex muttered something under his breath that Stiles didn’t catch, and walked to the door, pausing with his hand on the door knob. “Stay here,” he ordered, yanking the door open. Stiles gave him a sloppy sarcastic salute, and ignored Alex’s little rumbling growl, turning back to where Derek lay unconscious and still. He dipped one of the handtowels in the water, soaking a corner of it through, and squeezing the excess out. He ran it along Derek’s brow, dabbing away the sweat, and repeated the dipping and wringing. He carefully smoothed the wet towel under Derek’s eyes, pressing the cloth to the delicate skin there, and down over the hairless areas of his face, hoping it would make Derek feel fresher, or at least less uncomfortable.

When Alex returned, he proffered a fully charged trimmer that Stiles put to good use, trimming down Derek’s facial hair with careful swipes. He’d never paid such close attention to the planes of Derek’s face before, and he noticed the dusting of grey in his beard that made his chest ache for some reason. There was something so strangely endearing about it, and he ran his fingertips over Derek’s chin, then softly over his lower lip, touching him with a tenderness he’d never allowed himself when Derek was awake and aware. He’d never exactly felt the need to touch Derek tenderly before, to be honest, but something about seeing him like this was making Stiles’ chest and stomach ache, and his hands twitched with the need to touch.

He finished up with the trimmer, and Derek looked better, less dishevelled, more like himself. Stiles used the wet towel to clean up the stray hairs that had scattered over Derek’s chest and shoulders, in the dips and valleys of his collarbones.

He’d tucked a couple of the towels around Derek, to catch water drips or hairs, but he left those in place for now and rinsed out the basin for fresh water, adding just a little of the unscented soap as well this time. He wiggled his hand in it, making little splashing sounds that echoed in the bathroom, to mix the soap in fully, and to make sure the water wouldn’t be too hot.

Once satisfied, he slid the wet, slightly soapy, cloth over Derek’s skin, taking his chin between his fingers and tipping his head back and side to side, baring his throat and wiping it clean. Down over his powerful shoulders, and arms that screamed strength even when he was completely relaxed. He took Derek’s hand in his, and ran the cloth over his forearms and wrists, dusted with dark hair that smoothed down, damp due to Stiles ministrations. He slipped the cloth between Derek’s fingers, massaging the muscles of his hands as he cleaned him, taking note of the parts of Derek he’d maybe ignored before, in favour of the more obviously attractive parts. Watched as his hands roamed over Derek’s lax body, watched Derek’s nipples tighten as he washed Derek’s chest and the cool air hit damp skin.

He paid more attention and care to Derek’s body than he ever had before, and was stuck with a sudden bolt of overwhelming anxiety that caught in his throat, because what if he’d never gotten this chance? What if this time the hunters had decided to just take him out rather than test his limits? What if Derek had died and Stiles had never taken the time to truly appreciate what he had in Derek?

He stood abruptly, dropping the towel in the water and sloshing a little of it on to the bedside table, and strode to the bathroom, ostensibly to get rid of the water, but he really just needed a moment alone, without Alex watching, to choke his way through the fear clogging his throat.

He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, and paused, then brought his other hand up to his neck. He ran them over his neck and up under his t-shirt, over his stomach, feeling like an idiot and grateful Alex wasn’t too nosy. He walked back out, ignoring Alex, and stood beside Derek, staring down at him.

Reaching out a hand, Stiles dragged his fingertips over Derek’s jaw, and down his throat. He cupped his face between his warm hands, hopefully now saturated with his own scent, and smoothed them down to cup Derek’s neck, feeling the rough brush of prickly stubble against his palms. He moved his hands over Derek’s entire torso, not entirely comfortable with his own actions, but feeing oddly compelled to do it nonetheless. He could feel Alex watching him, but he ignored the eyes on his back and lifted Derek’s hands again, this time pressing kissed to his inner wrists and fingertips, using Derek’s hands to touch his own neck.

He was scent-marking Derek, as best he could. Because he wanted him to wake up, surrounded by Stiles’ scent, something to replace the scent of pain and terror, of everything Derek must have been feeling when he’d fallen unconscious.

The bitter scent of the wolfs bane, and the blood he’d no doubt been slicked with.

Stiles never wanted Derek to have to smell those things again, wanted to shelter him, but he couldn’t do that. The best he could do was make it so Derek woke up with Stiles’ scent in his nostrils.

It also served as a declaration, that Derek was with Stiles, and Stiles was with Derek, but it made him feel uncomfortable and squirmy inside to think of that, so he forcibly ignored the fact he was probably making one hell of a wolfy declaration by doing this. Marking his… friend? Lover? Boyfriend? Handler? They’d never discussed terms, but whatever Derek was to Stiles, Stiles was making it known. He may as well have peed in a circle around Derek, but who the hell cared. In a house full of werewolves, who had earmarked Derek to mate someone else, Stiles was feeling unsteady and possessive. A new feeling for him, when it came to Derek, but one he was giving in to.

“Making a statement there aren’t you,” Alex finally said, sounding amused. Stiles had the childish impulse to stick his tongue out at him, but reined it in. He shrugged, and turned to face Alex, digging his feet in to the carpet to keep his butt perched precariously on the bed by Derek’s hip.

“It’s not that. I mean, I know that’s a by product, but I just… I want him to wake up to something familiar? I guess?”

“And your scent is something he is used to waking up with?” Alex asked, looking curious.

“Well, yeah. I mean I’ve slept over enough that it won’t be weird for him,” Stiles said, frowning a little.

“I just mean... he doesn’t share much. Anything, really. So I didn’t know if you guys were just doing scenes, or if it went beyond that or whatever. I’m guessing it went beyond though, if he let you sleep over. Share his home and his bed.”

“We never exactly talked it out,” Stiles shrugged, interlacing his fingers and stretching his hands out, feeling the satisfying pop of his knuckles.

“If he were just a friend, would you have come running like you did? Been as insistent?” Alex asked.

Stiles frowned up at him, genuinely perplexed. “Well duh. Of course. Who the hell wouldn’t?”

“I mean, not your pack. But a friend.”

“And I repeat, of course. Who the hell wouldn’t?”

Alex’s face gave a little twitch, an expression flitting across it that Stiles couldn’t interpret, before settling on neutral again. “You’d be surprised,” he said, sounding a little wry, a little sad.

“My dad’s the Sheriff,” Stiles said, seemingly out of nowhere. “It’s his job to come running when people need him, but he’s the kind of guy who’d do it anyway, because he cares. Too much, sometimes. And… well my dad’s my hero, you know?”

“I envy you that,” Alex said with a slightly melancholy smile. He blinked quickly and stood straighter a moment later, and jutted his chin out towards Derek. “He’s waking up.”

“Wha-? How do you know?” Stiles asked, standing and twisting around to face Derek.

“His breathing changed,” Alex replied simply, coming to stand shoulder to shoulder with Stiles.

They watched as Derek’s mouth gave a little twist, pursing a little into a tiny moue, then evening out, even as his brow creased as though his feeling of displeasure had to be conveyed one way or another. His nostrils flared and he swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing under his stubbled skin. Stiles couldn’t help but smile a little, overcome with affection at Derek’s face, grumpy even in sleep. His eyelashes fluttered, before his eyes finally dragged open, slow and wearily, his first few blinks so sluggish that it seemed like there was a great weight dragging them back down.

He made a little smacking sound as he opened his mouth, tongue dry against the roof of his mouth no doubt, and licked at his bottom lip, his nostrils still flaring as he blinked and reached out slowly, fingertips twitching as he brushed a hand down Stiles’ arm.

“What’chu doin’ here?” Derek slurred, sounding hoarse.

“Looking after your wolfy ass,” Stiles said lightly. “Can’t seem but help but keep getting it kicked, can you?”

Derek made a subdued little snorting sound, and reached up to rasp his hand over his jaw tiredly. “How-long-was-I-out?” he asked, words dragging in to each other.

“We found you a few days ago,” Alex said quietly. “I don’t know how long before…”

“Nina?”

“Didn’t make it,” Alex said softly, closing his eyes. Derek sighed, and Stiles almost visibly saw the weight of another death settle on his shoulders. He squeezed Derek’s hand and wondered how he could help him with that unnecessary burden. Telling Derek it wasn’t his fault would never work; words would never work.

He brushed his hand through Derek’s hair, and felt him press lightly up in to the touch. “You should rest Sourwolf,” Stiles said gently, brushing his thumb over Derek’s temple.

“I smell like you,” Derek stated, blinking up at Stiles.

“Yeah well, you know how I am. Stinky Stiles,” he joked lamely, not wanting to be honest about any of it right now.

Derek’s lips twitched in to a small smile and he nodded, closing his eyes. “Stay?” he asked, mouth barely moving. He didn’t stay awake long enough for Stiles to actually reply though, and something deep in Stiles chest was gratified that Derek trusted Stiles enough to know that he would stay, of course he would stay, just because Derek had asked him too.

Chapter Text

It didn’t take too much longer for Derek to rouse himself again, this time stretching out and clicking the bones of his neck and shoulders in a sinuous motion that really shouldn’t have been as hot as it was, all things considered. Stiles was sitting on the bed next to Derek, with his legs splayed out in front of him, playing on his phone to pass the time. Alex was sitting on the floor with his knees propping up a pad that he was scribbling in. Or sketching in. Stiles hadn’t asked, but the rasp of pencil over paper was oddly soothing.

He’d never done so well with silence though.

Derek grunted and shoved at the sheets around his waist, stilling when Stiles carded his fingers through his dark fluffed up hair. The tension went from Derek’s muscles, and he melted back into the mattress with a sigh, closing his eyes. His dark lashes were long against his cheek, skin no longer off-puttingly pale. He simply lay and breathed for a moment, still but for the rise and fall of his chest, the expansions of his ribcage with each inhale.

“How’re you feeling?” Alex asked from the floor, glancing up from his paper to skim his eyes over both Derek and Stiles.

“Less like I’ve been run over by a Mack truck,” Derek half grunted, bringing a hand up to run over his face. He pushed himself upright and swung his legs over the edge of the bed in one smooth motion, his stomach muscles flexing under his skin. He sat with his palms braced at his sides, back slightly hunched as he hung his head.

“I’m sorry about your friend,” Stiles said quietly, placing his palm between Derek’s shoulder blades, over the triskele inked into his skin. Derek just shook his head, seemingly not wanting to hear it.

“How’s Ann doing?” he asked, his voice a little hoarse from disuse. His throat made a little clicking sound as he swallowed.

“She’s holding up as best she can,” Alex replied, standing and holding his pad loosely in one hand, pencil curled in his other. “We um. We buried Nina,” he said haltingly. “Out in one of the clearings. It’s where her parents are, so we figured… Anyway, yeah. It’s there, and I can take you, if you want. I know you guys were close…” he trailed off, frowning.

Derek slumped a little more and his muscles tensed under Stiles’ palm. “It wasn’t like that Alex, you know that.” He turned his head just a little, offering a glimpse of his profile to Stiles. He looked like he both wanted to crawl in Stiles’ lap and spring away to put his back against a wall. Stiles tapped his fingers against the bones of Derek’s spine and dropped his hand away, giving Derek space.

He stood as soon as Stiles removed his hand and walked over to the dresser, pulling it open and extracting a t-shirt, shaking it out and holding it up to check the size. There was a familiarity to his movements that made Stiles realise Derek had probably spent a fair amount of time in this house, with this pack. Maybe with Nina. He ignored the little ugly and squirmy worm of jealousy that threaded through his stomach, and shuffled his way off of the bed, scrubbing a hand through his hair awkwardly. He felt oddly out of place, like an intruder now. Everything that he’d been feeling, from the panicked need to get to Derek, to the odd tenderness he’d felt as he took care of him, all felt wrong and overblown now. Like he’d overreacted and overstepped his bounds when Derek wasn't around to draw the line.

Derek shoved the shirt back in the drawer and dug out another, slipping into the grey tee with slightly stiff movements. The room was silent but for the found of fabric, and it made Stiles want to explode into motion and sound, but instead he just curled his fingers up, nails pressing lightly into his palms.

“I’m surprised Richard let you through the door,” Derek said abruptly, turning to look at Stiles with a frown marring his brow.

Alex made a little scoffing sound, and Stiles grimaced. Derek audibly sighed, his shoulders moving with the exaggerated huff of breath. “What did you do Stiles?” he asked, sounding exasperated, weary, and fond, all at once. It settled Stiles’ nerves like nothing else could.

“Wha-? I didn’t – I’m a delight,” Stiles sputtered, waving his hand for emphasis. Derek levelled a flat look at him, and Alex arched a brow, looking so judgemental that Stiles had to wonder if ridiculously expressive brows were some weird requirement of being a werewolf. “Okay, no need for you guys to make faces at me,” Stiles stated, pulling a face in return at them both.

“He was pushy,” Alex chimed in, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Derek raised his brows, silently asking for an elaboration. Alex just shrugged at him.

“Well I wouldn’t have had to be such a pushy freakin’ pain in the ass if someone had maybe thought to mention me. You know, in passing, ‘oh hey a dude I used to be in a pack with is in town, we’ve been hanging out,’ so I wasn’t just some random human making demands,” Stiles huffed, shooting Derek an exaggerated glare. He didn’t look in the least abashed, he just stared at Stiles, as though waiting for him to be done with his little rant.

“Yeah, Richard didn’t like him,” Alex drawled, crossing his arms.

“I’m both shocked and amazed,” Derek replied dryly. Stiles made a little outraged face and seriously contemplated poking his tongue out at them both, but reined in the impulse.

“I’m a delight,” Stiles reiterated.

“You have your moments,” Derek finally said, a small smile curling his lips. He walked over to Stiles and took him by the nape of the neck, pulling him in to a sort of embrace, scenting the curve where shoulder met neck. Stiles’ fingers caught the loose hem of Derek’s shirt, and he made little fists, bunching the material. A shudder went through him as he breathed Derek in, and he dropped his forehead to Derek’s shoulder, feeling suddenly weak. “Hey, I’m okay Stiles,” Derek said softly, brushing his thumb against Stiles’ skin.

“Dude, I swear to God, you need to stop getting your ass kidnapped and beaten up,” Stiles mumbled, hands spasming slightly around the cloth her still clutched.

“Maybe I just need you around to keep me out of trouble,” Derek replied, stepping back a little and giving Stiles a small shake.

Stiles gave a tight little blink, squeezing his eyes closed for a second, and pulled it together. “Okay so, can we blow this joint now?” he asked.

“You can go at any time you want, but I need to talk to Richard,” Derek said, then glanced to Alex. “I’d like to see where Nina is too.”

“Sure thing,” Alex nodded. “I think Ann wanted to know when you were awake too.”

The door opened then, and Alpha Richard Sinclair stepped through. “She’s not the only one,” he said lightly, hesitating - though it was barely noticeable - as he took in the sight of Derek and Stiles, stood closer than perhaps was normal for two platonic friends. Even for packmates. He raised a brow and cocked his head a little, an obvious enquiry that had Derek tightening his grip on Stiles and edging him a little closer.

“Alpha Sinclair,” he said carefully, just on the cusp of deferential but without obvious submission. Derek wasn’t a part of this man’s pack, and didn’t intend to be. That much was startlingly obvious to Stiles.

“Derek. I’m glad to see you are well again. We were concerned,” Sinclair said, not insincerely. “Your friend here showed up in quite a state,” he added, pausing only slightly before the word friend. Stiles wanted to scoff, because he had not been a state. Concerned, yes, but not a state. He’d been privy to far too many wolfy shenanigans to be that easily overwrought.

Derek’s expression didn’t shift, stayed blank and unmoving, but he did incline his head a little. “Stiles means a lot to me,” he said, without further explanation. “I was grateful he was here when I woke.”

Alpha Sinclair’s eye gave the very slightest twitch, narrowing almost imperceptibly. He was being subtly outmanoeuvred, and it obviously didn’t sit well with him. It did make Stiles wonder if the Hale name really meant so much in wolfy circles, that Derek could get away with such slights.

“Alpha, I was going to take Derek out to the clearing,” Alex interjected, stepping forward. He did have his head lowered, in a gesture of submission. Stiles hadn’t really seen a pack like this interact before, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to start walking around with a lowered head and all that for Scott. He’d have a permanent crick in his neck, and Scott would never get to appreciate the full extent of his eye rolls and glares. He'd be totally missing out on the full Stiles Stilinski experience.

“Yes, that’s a good idea. We’ll arrange for that, but for now, Derek we’d like to hear what happened if you feel up to discussing it.”

Derek nodded, and curled his hand around Stiles’ hip, pressing the pads of his fingers in around the slight protrusion of his hipbone. “That will be fine, I’ll tell you what I can remember. It’s fuzzy in places though,” he admitted.

“Undoubtedly. You were dosed quite highly with wolfsbane,” Sinclair said.

“I’m surprised you haven’t built up some kind of tolerance at this point,” Stiles murmured. He felt Derek’s fingers twitch on him. “I’m just saying,” he added quietly, rolling his eyes. Derek gave another of those huffy little sighs, so Stiles decided to keep his mouth shut, but he could tell Derek was at least a little amused. The set to his shoulders had relaxed.

“Yes, well. Marla will bring you food,” Sinclair said, stepping back.

"That's not necessary," Derek countered, responding to the little elbow nudge Stiles had given him. Stiles didn't want to hang around for dinner in this place, at all. "We wouldn't want to outstay our welcome."

“Of course," Sinclair said with a coldly polite smile. "Alex, with me a moment,” he turned and led the way out of the room, closing the door behind him with a decisive click.

“I’m guessing we’re not supposed to leave the room,” Stiles said, frowning at the door.

“Guess not,” Derek agreed, turning to face Stiles and holding his hips. “You’re a brat, you know that?” Derek smirked, brushing his nose lightly against Stiles’ jaw.

“I’m an acquired taste,” Stiles muttered back, tilting his head slightly. Derek took advantage and snuffled under Stiles’ jaw, scratching his stubble along the sensitive skin of his neck. Derek made a little sound of what Stiles’ decided to take as agreement, and nipped lightly at Stiles’ neck.

“You really can go if you’d prefer. You don’t have to stay and listen.”

“Oh like I’m some delicate flower,” Stiles scoffed. “Dude, I want to know what happened too. I’m just bummed I don’t get to kick some hunter ass.”

“Bloodthirsty,” Derek chastised lightly.

“Bitches hurt my wolfman,” Stiles huffed jokingly, only not really. Derek stilled for a beat, and then let out a small laugh.

“You know, you’ve made quite a statement to the rest of the pack here,” Derek said, stepping back and moving to sit on the edge of bed.

“Yeah uh, Alex might have mentioned that.”

“You marked me as yours. I reek of you.”

Stiles gave a little shrug and pulled a face. “Oops?” he offered, unapologetically.

“Yeah oops,” Derek deadpanned. “I think we dashed Richard’s plans for me to mate in to his pack,” Derek said, leaning his weight back on his palms.

“You were never going to be part of his pack Der,” Stiles said, walking forward and sitting beside him. “He couldn’t ever be your Alpha, and it’s obvious. That’s why he needed you to mate in. Because otherwise you’d never submit to him.”

“That’s true,” Derek agreed.

“I guess maybe you’ve been through too much to follow someone who doesn’t understand what it’s like to have to fight for everything.” He bumped his shoulder into Derek’s congenially, and stared at the toes of his sneakers. “Are you happy being an omega though?” he finally asked.

“No,” Derek replied without hesitation. “I’m not. I feel… bereft. It’s just hard to find a pack that fits.”

“Once an Alpha, always an Alpha?” Stiles teased.

“Something like that,” Derek replied wryly.

Stiles turned, and bit lightly at the ball of Derek’s shoulder, not really sure why he was doing it, but doing it anyway. “You know you’re always welcome in our pack,” he said carefully, moderating his tone and inflection. Derek gave him a small smile, but didn’t actually reply. Stiles supposed it was the best he could ask for. Derek was never really comfortable in the Beacon Hills pack either, as Alpha or as a Beta to Scott. Stiles couldn’t really blame him.

“Hey guys?” Alex rapped on the door, and poked his head through. “Alpha wants to see you.”

Derek took a deep breath, and stood. He held his hand out for Stiles to take, and pulled him upright. “Just one more thing,” he said, and pressed his mouth to Stiles’ in a slow, deep kiss. His hands were cupping Stiles’ jaw, roamed down his neck. “Just so there’s no confusion as to who belongs to whom,” he smirked, pressing a few final kisses to Stiles’ jaw. “Okay, let’s go do this.”

Chapter Text

Stiles felt strangely reassured at having Derek’s hand firmly on the back of his neck as they made their way down the stairs. His palm was warm and dry, his grip just tight enough to make a claim of ownership; something Stiles would baulk at and mock under most circumstances - playtime not included - but at the moment it made him feel grounded and like he belonged. He belonged at Derek’s side right now, he wasn’t just some stray human from some far away pack, sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong.

He really could have done with some of this reassurance in high school. Back then he’d felt ill fitting in his own skin. But there was something about Derek touching him that made all those little pieces of himself settle down.

“Derek,” Alpha Sinclair said in a too-smooth tone, standing in the doorway to his office. He didn’t acknowledge Stiles beyond an absent look and a slight curl to his lip at how Derek was touching him. “Accompany me downstairs?”

Derek nodded his assent and followed the Alpha down the stairs, and through the atrium to a sitting room of sorts. A lot of people, wolves, were gathered, most with their eyes downcast as their Alpha entered the room. The young blonde woman who Alex and Stiles had passed by crying in the hallway when Stiles first arrived, came running forward and flung her arms around Derek’s neck. His body absorbed the impact without moving, and he let go of Stiles to curl his arms around the girl, slowly rocking her from side to side as she sobbed against his shoulder. He smoothed a hand down her hair, a gentling motion, and let her cry. Not shushing her, not trying to cajole her or placate her, just letting her have her moment to get lost in her grief. 

Stiles watched with wide eyes, and noticed that Sinclair was narrowing his own eyes in slight impatience. That was when Stiles had one of those moments of epiphany where he realised just how much Derek had changed. Here he stood, as an Omega, caring for a wolf from another pack as though she were his own, gentling her and letting her grieve in ways her own Alpha likely hadn’t and obviously didn't care to. Gone were the days of anger and pain as anchors, of using violence and threats to get his own way.

He’d known this, of course, having been the subject of Derek’s careful and patient affections, but witnessing it like this just made something in his chest ache. For what could have been, back in Beacon Hills. For the lives they could have had, if Derek had ever been this kind of Alpha.

He’d never stood a chance though. The cards were stacked from the moment he set foot back on Beacon Hill’s soil, and things had never swung in his favour. He was, it sometimes seemed, the town’s favoured whipping boy.

“She loved you, you know,” the young blonde finally choked out, her voice thick and wet. Stiles tensed, the feeling of intrusion crashing in on him like a ten ton hammer all over again. He must have been exuding tension, because Derek’s eyes flickered over to him instantly, keeping them on Stiles even as he kept up the soft rocking.

“Yeah?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah. You were her favourite. She didn’t want to marry you or anything, I mean, she said it would be like marrying her brother, but she loved you.”

Derek’s eyes closed at those words, a flicker of pain washing over his face as he did so, before he reined it in. “Nina reminded me of my big sister, Laura,” he said softly, opening his eyes to look back to Stiles again.

Stiles felt like his heart was in his throat.

“It hurts,” the girl croaked, pulling back a little and making an awful snotty sound.

“I know,” Derek said, cupping her cheeks in his hands. “I know it hurts, and I really wish you didn’t have to know that too. I wish I could take some of your burden, but just... know you aren't alone in it.” He released her face, and Alex stepped forward, slinging an arm around her shoulder and steering her away, pressing his cheek to the top of her head in a nuzzle.

She paused though, and turned to Derek once again. “I’m really glad you’re okay Derek. Thank you for trying to help her.” She began to turn again, but stuttered to a stop, staring at Stiles with a frown creasing between her eyebrows. Her nostrils flared, but she was probably too stuffed up to actually smell much of anything. “Who’re you?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. Her brown eyes were red and watery. “We aren’t allowed humans here.”

“I, uh-“

“He’s Derek’s. They reek of each other,” piped in an entirely average man. Thus disproving Stiles’ vaguely formed theory that all werewolves were preternaturally attractive, or exceptional in some way. This guy was average height, maybe 5’10, brown hair, brown eyes, and entirely forgettable.He'd be an awesome serial killer, or like, super agent, Stiles thought, because he was that unmemorable, aside from the snide tone he’d used, instantly making Stiles want to snark back. 

“Yes, Stiles is with me,” Derek interjected, just as Stiles opened his mouth. He gave Stiles a look from under slightly lowered lashes, an amused little look, that went to show Derek knew exactly what Stiles had been thinking.

“You brought a human to our den?” the man queried, slightly challenging in his tone.

“No, Robert. I was unconscious,” Derek said flatly. He’d fallen back into that carefully neutral expression that actually made Stiles shift his weight onto the balls of his feet.

“Alex brought me here, at my request,” Stiles said, ignoring the little chuffing sound Alex made. “Because he knew I’m, I’m friends, with Derek. And I wanted to see him, to make sure he was okay.”

“And your Alpha just lets you traipse around with other wolves, encroach on other pack lands?” the guy, Robert, asked, somehow managing to look down his nose at Stiles even from a shorter height. It was impressively haughty.

“Oh yeah of course, I’m his good little pet human and since I’ve proven housetrained he even lets me go out by myself now,” Stiles said with rolling eyes. “No, my Alpha doesn’t let me do anything.”

“So you all just run amok, doing whatever you want? Well he sounds like a great Alpha.”

“Hey, now, just because Scotty doesn’t have a stick up his-”

“Stiles,” Derek barked out, giving him a look loaded with warning and promising repercussions if he kept on speaking. Stiles pursed his lips and nodded his head, licking his upper teeth. “Alpha McCall is a good Alpha. He takes care of his pack, but they’re non-traditional. He’s their friend first,” Derek explained, sounding a little bored. “Alpha Sinclair, why did you bring us in here?” Derek asked, settling his weight back a little.

Alpha Sinclair had been standing back and watching, watching how his pack looked at Stiles with varying expressions ranging from distaste, to curiosity, to something that almost looked like envy. It confused him and made him feel like an experiment or an example to be made of, which he wasn’t okay with. “Yeah, just a little round of show and tell with the human?” Stiles muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Sinclair cast a slightly satisfied look at Stiles then, and stepped further into the room, all eyes on him. “You’re not entirely wrong, human. I don’t allow humans in my pack-house, in my den, it’s true. The humans we interact with, they’re best kept to casual acquaintances, I feel, and you are exemplary. Unruly, undisciplined, and unused to listening to your betters,” Sinclair said, the words rolling off his tongue and dropping like stones, each one infuriating Stiles more. He felt himself bristling, puffing up a little in preparation to unleash his own onslaught of scathing retorts, when once again, Derek intervened.

His voice was hard, unyielding, and steady.

“You’re wrong, and you’re out of line,” he said, stepping up behind Stiles. “Stiles is exemplary of what a pack mate should be, human or wolf. He’s loyal, he’s brave, he constantly puts himself in the path of danger if it could even possibly spare someone else. He’s intelligent, and has a brilliant mind for details and patterns. He doesn’t follow blindly; he questions things, he stands for what he believes to be right, even when it’s the hard call, when it’s not what would be right on paper. He understands the world isn’t black and white, and that not everyone can be saved. Or is even worth saving. And if you don’t earn and deserve his respect? You’ll never get it, regardless of your standing.” He had slid his hand back up to Stiles neck as he spoke, his fingers curling around to touch the side of Stiles’ neck, touching where his pulse was beating beneath his skin. “I’ll ask again, why did you bring us in here? Was this it? To make an ill-proven point about your own superiority, when your pack is grieving? When we are supposed to go and pay respects to where your Beta is buried, amongst her family? Was that really the point?” he asked, voice not once rising or wavering, staying steady and only just tipping into incredulity at the end.

Stiles could feel the collective inhale amongst the pack, the shifting of weight, the brushing of clothing sounding far too loud. He looked around, noticing that almost half the pack were looking to Derek with something like awe, whilst the others either sneered or stared at the floor.

There was discord in this pack, and Stiles thought maybe the only thing keeping them as they were was the fact no one else wanted the responsibility of the Alpha role. The ties here really might be that tenuous. 

“You could have been an asset to us Derek,” Sinclair said, seemingly an absolute non-sequitur. “Your mother would have been happy, that you’d found a home with an established pack. Not running around with pups and humans.”

“I think my mother would have been quite fond of Stiles,” Derek said casually, leaning close and running his nose along Stiles’ temple, a little display of affection that made Stiles’ stomach flip, even without the words he’d just said. He thought his mom would have liked Derek too.

“No Alpha wants their child to mate with a human,” Sinclair scoffed.

“My mom liked Jason,” the young blonde, Nina’s sister, stepped forward. “She used to encourage me and Nina to play with him and his sister. She laughed when they said they’d get married, and promised Nina she’d bake her a beautiful wedding cake for their big day,” she said shakily. “My mom would have been happy if Nina had stayed with Jason. You said she couldn’t. You said she’d have to be an omega to be with a human, that she’s be a disgrace to the pack, to werewolves. But Derek isn’t a disgrace.”

“He is an omega,” Sinclair pointed out, arching an eyebrow.

“By choice. You want him in this pack. You offered up Nina on a plate as if she was… yours. Something you owned,” she said haltingly, as though surprised and a little afraid of the words coming from her own mouth. “And he turned you down. He doesn't want you as his Alpha.”

Sinclair roared at that, a loud snarl that burst through the room, rebounding abrasively, making the wolves shudder and hunch in on themselves, ducking their chins and cowering. Stiles hadn’t ever seen wolves behave like this, an Alpha so domineering he’d prefer his Betas fear him than question him. All but Stiles and Derek would have been scraping their bellies on the floor, and even then, Stiles’ every muscle locked up tight, fight or flight instance kicking in hard and oh, how he longed for his baseball bat.

Derek gave Sinclair a dismissive look and stepped around Stiles. “Can we go and see Nina now, if you’d done with your Alpha display?” he asked, voice dripping with insubordination and disgust, and honestly, it turned Stiles on a little bit. Seeing Derek, so sure of himself, putting someone in their place with words and intonation rather than responding with snarling and violence. He felt for the Sinclair pack, having to see their Alpha make such an ass of himself, and knowing Derek would be a million times better at the role, but would never shoulder that weight again. There was little part of Stiles that, selfishly, was glad of that. The other part of him, the bigger part, wanted Derek to thrive. To be happy and whole, to have a pack at his back.

“I’ll take you and Stiles,” the blonde offered, straightening up to her full height, her eyes steady though still bloodshot from her tears. “I’m Ann, by the way,” she offered her hand to Stiles. He shook it and gave her a small smile and a little squeeze.

“Mind yourself Ann,” Sinclair said coldly, his hands twitching at his sides. Stiles could just feel how badly he was itching to lash out, either at Stiles or Derek. He figured either one would do, but that he’d probably be preferable because no way could he beat Sinclair. Whereas Derek… Derek could likely kick his ass, even with his predilection for losing almost every fight he’d ever been in. But it seemed like his brain was finally catching up to his brawn, and Stiles didn’t doubt that Derek would now be a formidable opponent.

She gave Sinclair an angry glare, tears brimming in her eyes, and walked past him, giving him a wide berth. Stiles followed suit with Derek on his heels, and a group of the others breaking off and trailing after them. Stiles was gratified to see Alex walking out with them, stepping out of the oppressively thick tension in the house to the front yard. Stiles inhaled the fresh air, inflating his lungs with the cool air, and let the discomfort leech out of him as they walked towards the tree line.

Ann kept her pace slow, possibly in deference to Stiles, and led them down a winding path, over roots and under low boughs, through to a clearing that was dappled with sunlight and shadow, moving as the branches shifting and dancing around on the grass. There were small plaques or what looked like pale granite, each with a paw print carved into the surface, along with a name and date. Derek drifted closer to the newest one, the ground still slightly mounded and unsettled. He knelt by the earth, and reached out to touch the plaque, a frown on his face. Stiles reached out and gripped his shoulder, just reminding Derek he wasn’t alone. Not anymore. Derek’s palm landed on Stiles', and he gave it a squeeze, a silent gesture of thanks, though his eyes remained on the paw print. Stiles wondered if he was thinking of his own family, of Laura, who never got this kind of memorial.

“Will you challenge him?” Ann asked abruptly, taking a step forward and then stopping, her hands clenched in fists.

Derek hung his head, and rested his hand on his thigh, open and loose. “I can’t do that Ann,” he said, straightening his back. He turned his head to look up at her, an apology written across his face.

“Why not?” Alex asked, sounding genuinely curious. “You’d be a good Alpha Derek.”

Derek scoffed and stood up, turning to face them. “I’ve tried that one already, and it didn’t go so well,” he said wryly, reaching out an interlacing his fingers with Stiles’, seeking comfort through contact.

“Uh, dude,” Stiles said slowly, scrunching his face up a little. “They kind of maybe sort of have a bit of a point. Ish.”

Derek rolled his eyes in what Stiles liked to think of as a fond way. “You were there, remember? That absolute clusterfuck of a situation?”

“Yeah okay, so you basically sucked at being an Alpha. Sure, but you know, it might be different now. You don’t need to run around being a bite-happy creeper-wolf, because hey, ready made pack.”

“A creeper-wolf,” Derek repeated, his eyebrows both raising almost impossibly high up his forehead.

“Yes, Derek, a creeper wolf. Find me a better description, I dare you.”

Derek scowled at him, and sighed, one of those extra-huffy sighs. Stiles couldn’t help the soft smile he responded with, and lifted his hand to touch his fingertips to Derek’s scruffy jaw, raking his fingers over it with an audible rasp. Derek looked back at him with a steady gaze, and Stiles saw the mix of longing and fear that was swirling behind his hazel eyes, warring for dominance. “You aren’t happy being an Omega Derek,” Stiles said quietly, even though he knew the rest of the wolves would hear him. Derek clenched his jaw, eyes flitting over the clearing, at the 10 or so wolves gathered there and looking at him with varying degrees of hope in their eyes. Alex and Ann stood together, both watching Derek steadily, without judgement, as he fought an internal battle that none of them would ever understand.

Stiles barely understood it, and he’d watched the way Derek had crashed and burned in a hail of violence and pain, finally giving it all up to save his sister, letting the mantle that he’d fought for go without a backwards glance. Maybe with a feeling of relief.

And now he had a pack, or the potential for one, standing and looking to him to bear that burden again, to pick that weight back up, made even heavier from his past mistakes, and fight for them. And no matter which choice he made, in the end Stiles would be standing at his side, ready to catch him if he fell.

Chapter Text

Derek was quiet as they made their way back towards the house, his mind obviously racing over the idea of being an Alpha again. Stiles expected that Derek was probably taken aback by the way in which the wolves at the clearing had expressed their support, albeit quietly, with steadfast eyes and a kind of yearning for something different. Something better.

It was that, the possibility of helping these wolves, that would likely be the deciding factor for Derek. Stiles knew it, as soon as Ann had opened her mouth. Had suspected it since the moment he’d seen Sinclair posturing and proverbially beating at his chest. He wondered if maybe this is why Derek had stayed in the area so long, having never really settled down and established ties before this place, transient and just recalibrating himself until he arrived here.

“Hey,” Stiles said, nudging Derek with his shoulder. “Thinking big thoughts?”

Derek made a small hum of acknowledgement, nudging Stiles back.

“I can practically hear the rusty cogs turning Derek,” Stiles said dryly, reaching out to stop Derek, before they reached the sprawling lawn that made up the front of the house.

“I have to do this,” Derek said without preamble, clenching and flexing one hand by his hip, shaking it out.

Stiles reached out and grabbed at the restless hand, squeezing it briefly before skimming his hand up to grip Derek’s wrist. “You don’t have to do anything. This isn’t your responsibility if you don’t want it to be.”

Derek looked at him slightly askance at that. “They asked for my help Stiles,” he said, a frown appearing on his brow.

“Yeah, they did. But they don’t understand the cost of it Derek. They aren’t the ones who will have to upend their whole damn lives, and suddenly have a troop of new pups chasing their tails and chewing up the furniture. Metaphorically speaking.”

Derek looked at him flatly, but they both ignored the little snort from Ann.

“Okay, fine, I concede that wasn’t perhaps the best way to make my point, but you get what I’m saying. I know you do. Don’t do this because you feel obliged. That way leads to resentment and frustration, and you being a giant jackass, all over again. You know I’m right.”

“I’m not a jackass,” Derek grumbled, crossing his arms defensively.

“No, you aren’t. Right now. Right now you’re actually kind of awesome, and I think you could be an amazing Alpha. But you have to want it, Big Guy. It can’t be because you feel backed into a corner. Like you have no other choice. There’s always other choices. Stay an Omega, come back to Beacon Hills… You have options.”

Derek sighed and glanced out in the direction of the house, cocking his head slightly as he listened. The wolves around them had paused when they’d stopped, standing in tense clusters. “Sinclair is an old school traditionalist, you know?” Derek said rhetorically, eyes still averted. “He’s one of those Were’s who believe that because we're stronger, faster, have better senses… That we are better. Better than humans, higher on the food chain, an evolutionary step forward. And Alphas are a step further than that. Like an apex predator. My Mom… she hated that way of thinking. Said it set up an ‘us’ and ‘them’ mentality, that never came to anything good in the long run. The Sinclair pack have ruled this land for generations, Stiles,” he turned and looked at Stiles then, quietly letting his eyes roam over Stiles’ face.

“Like the Hale’s in Beacon Hills?”

“Longer, maybe. This land is tied to them, and to take it… to lay down a challenge. It means a lot. Not just to these guys, but in the grander scheme of things. It’ll make a hell of a statement,” Derek shrugged, and rolled his neck. “His father was the same way. He was Alpha before Richard. Richard killed off his older sister, or so the rumour goes, so that he’d be next in line.” Derek reached out then, and cupped the back of Stiles’ neck. “What’s it like? Being in his pack?” he asked, confusing Stiles. His face automatically realigned into a look of confusion and he opened his mouth, as Alex spoke.

“It’s… I mean, you’ve seen a lot of it Derek, even as a guest here. It’s hard-line, speciesist. There’s a pack hierarchy, and I guess we’re the lower classes man,” Alex sighed, leaning his shoulder up against a tree as Derek and Stiles both looked over at him. “The reason most of us don’t have parents anymore? They spoke up when Richard became the Alpha. It got them hurt, ejected, or killed. The rest of us, we learned to just… stay in line. It’s safer, easier, if we just sneak around, live off site, or keep our lives away from the pack as best we can. Alpha Sinclair is arrogant, and prideful, and he can be cruel. When we were younger, he used to have an enforcer. Some guy who never hesitated to rip out a throat, and he’d do it with a smile. He did the dirty work, until I guess he got sick of being the right hand man. I heard he left to try and seek out Deucalion and the Alpha pack. He’s dead though as far as we know, and man, good fucking riddance.” 

“So there’s a lot of conjecture, but not actual fact, is what I’m hearing right now,” Stiles said, frowning. "Do you actually remember the enforcer dude? Do any of you?”

The remaining wolves were by and large shaking their heads. None of them could be over the age of 30, and most looked barely over 25.

“He wouldn’t have been looking for Deucalion and the Alpha pack… They didn’t exists then. Deucalion wasn’t a revenge-crazed nutjob yet,” he continued, looking to Derek. Derek nodded his agreement, lips slightly pursed. “So that rumour is out. I don’t doubt he killed off your parents, he seems like just that brand of asshole. But the rest doesn’t add up, I’m just saying.” Stiles shrugged, and turned to Derek. “Does it matter though?” he asked.

Derek had his arms crossed and his head hanging slightly, looking down to the floor. He stood still for a pause, then glanced up at Stiles. “No. It doesn’t matter. If I challenge him and win, then I become Alpha of this territory. The wolves here can fall in line, or they can become Omega, find new packs. And to be blunt, I don’t want half of this pack. Any that follow his way of thinking? I don’t want them. It goes both ways; they need to accept me, and I need to accept them. I’m not just going to blindly take them on, but I won’t run them out either,” Derek explained, perhaps not even realising he was talking as if this were going to happen. He’d made up his mind, it seemed, and probably without realising. Maybe he was just following his instincts, and his rational brain had yet to catch up, but Stiles knew. He could see it playing out, and he didn’t doubt that by the end of the day, Derek would have laid down the challenge.

Alex straightened, a look of worry crossing his expression. This pack was probably like family to him, and all he knew. Stiles figured it was hitting him now, what a big change this would be, for them all.

“Just don’t send them our way,” Stiles joked with a grin, even as his own words felt ashen and wrong in his mouth.  “We have more than enough shit to deal with. I mean, resurrected beasts and crazy scientists dude, tip of the iceberg," he shook his head, trying to keep his concerns from Derek. He thought Derek would win the challenge, but he also figured Sinclair would have something up his sleeve.

Derek gave him an absent little smile, and went back to his stoic staring competition with the floor, but now he was frowning at it like he expected it to give him the answer to all of life’s questions.

“Doesn’t your Alpha want Derek though? If he’s your mate?” one of the wolves asked, a hipster looking guy with glasses that were entirely for appearances sake - hello, wolves have enhanced vision - and a denim jacket with carefully worn patches. He was cute though, Stiles would give him that. If he’d run into him on campus, pre-Derek, he probably would have struck up a conversation, hoping the guy at least marginally swung his way.

“Um. Derek and I, we uh, we haven’t uh, you know. Had that talk, so uh. Yeah. Thanks for that buddy” Stiles said, eloquently. With plenty of hand waving for emphasis, ending with a sarcastic thumbs up. Possibly also with some added bonus pinkening of his cheeks, if the heat he felt in his face was anything to go by. By and large, Stiles didn’t get embarrassed much. He just rolled with it, made it into a joke. Sometimes though, he couldn’t hide it. When it mattered.

Derek chuffed a small laugh, and moved so his shoulder was pressed against Stiles’. “Scott is a non-traditional Alpha, like I said. Stiles is his best friend. He wouldn’t begrudge him happiness over werewolf politics and territorial games. But I don’t want to be part of the McCall pack either. It’s in my past, and I don’t want to take backwards steps anymore,” Derek said, shocking Stiles a little with the ease with which he spoke. He was being open and honest, and already he was earning the respect and trust of the wolves around them. He laced his fingers with Stiles’, and squeezed. Stiles had experienced more hand-holding with Derek today than at any other point in their relationship, and he had to admit, he quite liked the grounding feeling of it. And the united front they presented to the world when their fingers were wound together, hands palm to palm. 

“I’ll do it,” Derek said, voice steady and soft. He was gazing off at nothing, but blinked himself back to reality after a second, looking to Stiles. “I’m going to challenge him.”

“I know you are,” Stiles said softly. He took a moment to gather his thoughts, then reached out and prodded Derek in the chest with his index finger and narrowed his eyes. “If you die, I swear to God I will find some way to bring you back so I can kill you myself, you got it? I’ll draft in Lydia, and you know if anyone can do it it’s her. I’m warning you, so just... consider yourself warned. You better win this Derek. Failure is not an option that’s available to you. Because Stiles? Stiles will make you suffer.”

“Stiles is already making me suffer, so Stiles needs to stop talking about himself in third person,” Derek said dryly with a slight smirk. Stiles pulled a little face at him, narrowing his eyes further and bobbing his head about. It probably came off looking like a squinting chicken, but he assumed Derek got the gist of it. He placed a palm high up on Stiles’ chest, and slid it up to the curve of neck and shoulder, his thumb brushing against Stiles’ collarbone. “I’ll be okay. I can do this. I promise you, I’ll be okay.”

“Because your track record Derek…” Stiles hummed, gripping Derek’s wrist.

“I’m still standing here aren’t I? In one piece?”

“Against all odds,” Stiles mumbled. “Okay, fine. I’m not freaking out, I promise. I’m not. Totally calm, and cool, and chill, and just all kinds of not freaking out.”

Derek smiled a soft smile and pressed his mouth to Stiles’, stopping his rambling. “I’ll be okay,” he reiterated, his lips brushing against Stiles’, before pressing another firm kiss to his mouth. “All of you. Stay with Stiles,” Derek ordered, eyes rapt on Stiles’. “And you," he added, now glaring at Stiles, as though that would make him behave. "Stay behind them. I don’t trust Sinclair, I don’t trust him not to go for you. I’d try and send you home if I didn’t know it would be like talking to a stubborn, sarcastic, brick wall.”

“I’ll show you sarcastic brick wall,” Stiles retorted, ignoring the fact it made zero sense. He was scared, it was allowed.

“Promise me,” Derek said seriously. “Stay behind them.”

“I will,” Stiles agreed. “You need to focus on wolfy ass-kicking, not on me. So I’ll stay put. I’ll be good,” Stiles gave Derek a private little smile, and nuzzled under his jaw for a moment, brushing his lips over his neck. Derek gripped Stiles’ hair for a moment, holding him close, and then stepped back, putting space between them and drawing himself up to full height. He was tired, that much was obvious, but he was healed, and he was ready to throw down the gauntlet, so to speak. He looked around at the wolves, who all stared steadily back, already trusting him to win, and locked eyes with Stiles.

“Let’s do this Wolf-boy,” Stiles said with a decisive nod.

“Wolf-man.”

*******

Derek led them back towards the house, and was unsurprised that Sinclair met them at the front door, looking down the porch steps at the rag-tag group of wolves, led by an Omega, partnered with a human. His sneer showed just what he thought of them all.

“Predictable, Derek. Your mother would be disappointed, to see you turning your back on tradition. On our heritage.”

“So you know what I want.”

“To challenge me? To take my pack, my land, my life?”

“That about sums it up,” Derek replied steadily, planting his feet in a slightly widened stance.

“And you’re all willing to follow this Omega? The wolf who lies with the human?”

Stiles rolled his eyes and mumbled under his breath about 'ewww, gross, bestiality', and stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets.

“We’ll follow Derek no matter who he sleeps with,” Ann replied, hooking her arm through hipster dude’s. They were a tactile pack, Stiles had noticed. Far more so than either of the Beacon Hills packs had been. “It isn’t even a consideration,” she scoffed.

The remainder of the pack had built up in the atrium behind Sinclair now, some looking out with the same disdain, others looking slightly fearful. They were the most damaged ones, who probably wouldn’t end up part of the pack, and all in the number behind Sinclair probably equalled the number that now stood behind Derek.

“So what made you change your mind Hale? You spent months here, as an Omega. Why now are you reaching for my crown?” Stiles rolled his eyes at the arrogance of that, and noticed one of the wolves, a short girl with frizzy brown hair, stepping closer on his left side. 

“Because you don’t deserve the responsibility. And I want a pack, Sinclair. I have for a long time now, but not under you. Never under you.”

Stiles’ chest felt all weirdly swelling with pride at Derek, and he had to school himself to not grin or fist pump, or just otherwise draw attention to himself.  This was Derek’s moment, and he was owning it. All cool and calm and steady and seriously fucking sexy.

“Well then. I think we both know how this goes,” Sinclair drawled. He walked down the steps lazily, eyeballing Derek as he did so, eyes sweeping over him and his expression making it clear he found Derek lacking. “Your name holds weight. But you, Derek, you are the last resort for the Hale name. The short-lived Alpha, usurped by a child. By McCall, a wolf for all of 5 minutes before he took what had been yours, made a Beta of you.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes and swallowed down a volley of retorts, clenching his fists. Sinclair must have smelled it on him though, because he let out a laugh and looked to Stiles. “And the human. Ready to jump in and protect the wolf, lest his poor feelings get hurt.”

Stiles licked his lips, and glared at the Alpha who now smirked at him, watching Stiles' try not to react.

“That really all you got?” Derek asked, “bitchy comments and dragging up my past? I’m already aware of the many mistakes I’ve made, Sinclair. Well aware. Now are we doing th-” 

Sinclair lunged at Derek then, without warning beyond the subtle bunching of his thighs beneath his pressed  slacks. He hit Derek full force, making him stagger back a few steps but  he kept himself upright, and used Sinclair’s forward momentum to twist their bodies and throw Sinclair down to the ground. He followed suit without hesitation, hunkering over Sinclair's laid out form, one fist cracking across Sinclair’s jaw in a tight right hook. The sound of cracking bone echoed through the yard like the sound of a baseball being hit out the park.

Stiles flinched, and sidled a little closer to Hipster-wolf.

Sinclair sank his claws into Derek's thigh, ripping into the denim-clad muscle there, and Derek growled and pulled away. He rolled away from Sinclair’s kicking legs, and fell to a crouch with one hand braced on the ground. His eyes flashed blue, and his fangs dropped, but he was ready to catch Sinclair when he scrabbled up and lunged again. It showed in his attacks that Sinclair wasn't used to fighting, throwing his all into forward lunges again, and again. Derek’s claws embedded themselves in the soft flesh of Sinclair’s stomach, blood instantly coating his hand and wrist, dripping down his forearm. Sinclair roared and snapped his teeth, getting his own claws into Derek’s shoulder and dragging them down, ripping up the skin and muscle through his shirt. Derek snarled and threw him away, leaping forward to land over Sinclair, pinning him down with a clawed hand to the throat. It was an easy win for Derek, as they’d expected. Sinclair was strong, but he wasn’t a fighter. Hadn’t had to be one.

Stiles' attention was rapt on Derek and Sinclair, watching as the Alpha bucked his hips to try and dislodge Derek, but Derek had the weight advantage, and shifted with the movement, increasing the pressure on Sinclair’s windpipe. All of this was within the space of moments, and Stiles found himself stepping forward from the pack, drawn closer to where Derek fought. His heart was inexplicably in his throat; Derek, blue-eyed and snarling, looking so familiar like this that it made Stiles’ breath catch and his heart race.

His situational awareness wasn’t always the best, he could admit that, but even he probably should have noticed the body stepping up behind him, preferably before the claws had a chance to encircle his throat, sharp tips pressing in to the soft skin of his neck.

“It’s you isn’t it. You’re the one that handles the wet-work. The enforcer,” Stiles said carefully, eyes closed, avoiding swallowing just in case he nicked himself on one of the sharp claws.

“I’ve always excelled at it,” Robert replied, having to lean up slightly to speak in Stiles’ ear. His strength showed in the grip he had on Stiles, bruising in it's intensity, and his sadism leaked through in the little excited rasping breaths he gave as he pressed his claws infinitesimally deeper into Stiles' neck, making Stiles' breath catch slightly. 

Stiles opened his eyes, and saw Derek now standing, but crouched down and ready to spring if he got so much as an opening, eyes riveted on Stiles and perfectly-average-Robert. Sinclair was standing up slowly, the bruising on his throat fading at Stiles looked on, his stomach bloodied but only shallowly marked now. His wiggled his jaw and pressed a palm to it, huffing in annoyance as he looked down at his ruined shirt. “Always have a well-trusted right hand man, Derek. That’s the first rule of being an Alpha,” he said smugly. “Kneel,” he ordered, standing behind Derek. Derek kept his eyes on Stiles, and did as he was told, dropping to his knees. He was bloody and beautiful, chest heaving as he held his hands loosely curled into fists at his side. Even on his knees, he looked proud. 

Richard leaned in and inhaled Stiles’ scent, stopping with his nose just under Stiles’ jaw, his grip tightening just a touch, enough for the claws to rip his skin and draw dribbles of blood. Stiles watched Derek’s nostrils flare, his eyes flicker, his body fighting not to strain forward. It looked like it took more out of him to stay still than the entire bloody fight had. 

Stiles held his breath, trying to ignore the tickling sensation of blood down his neck, and pulled his chin in a little, drawing his neck back by scant millimetres. He realised it wasn't doing much to help, but it was better than nothing.

He felt the exact moment when Robert went frozen and still behind him, so Stiles shoved at the hand at his throat before the fast-encroaching paralysis fully took hold of Robert, locking the claws in place in his skin. Stiles pushed the clawed hand back just enough to duck out from under, breath punching out of him in adrenaline driven gasps. He spun on the spot and punched the now-paralysed wolf in the face, before yelling out and shaking his hand, gripping at his wrist with his good hand and curling over his now-throbbing hand, tucking it in near his stomach in a profoundly loud and dramatic display.

At least Robert dropped to the floor, but that was undoubtedly due to the Kanima venom he now had sluggishly working it’s way through his system, thanks to Alex being an incredibly fast runner, and Derek being paranoid enough to have kept a supply of the venom with him in his things, just like Deaton had. Stiles chose to believe his awesome punch had contributed at least a little though.

Meanwhile, Derek had used Sinclair’s grip on his shoulder to throw Sinclair bodily over his shoulder using both brute strength and momentum, so now he had the Alpha on his back once more. Derek was kneeling at his side, weight pressing Sinclair down, even as he began to struggle violently.

“I do,” Derek said simply, using his claws to slash Sinclair’s throat, digging them in and yanking his hand back, shredding the soft tissue. The sound of Sinclair’s gurgling last breaths would probably give Stiles nightmares, wet and gasping as they were. Derek sat back on his heels, and sought out Stiles in the crowd, as he stood surrounded by wolves, still holding his aching hand protectively close. Hipster-wolf had his hand on Stiles' arm, drawing the pain from him in little drags.

Derek’s eyes flashed red then, and he gasped, a deep inhale and a coughing exhale, falling forward a little and bracing his hand on his thigh. His wounds were visibly healing, no longer sluggish because of his Omega status, or because they’d been inflicted by an Alpha.

Stiles stumbled over to him, and carded his good hand through Derek’s sweat-damp hair, cradling his head as Derek pressed his forehead into Stiles’ stomach, inhaling deeply and nuzzling. “I hurt my hand,” Stiles said simply, pouting a little as he held Derek close. He felt Derek laugh against his stomach.

“I saw. Your punch is terrible,” Derek said, pulling back and looking up at Stiles, his eyes now their usual indescribable hazel colour.

“Well excuse me for not having supernatural punching abilities,” Stiles grinned, hunching down and kissing Derek soundly. He pulled back and gave Derek room to stand, watched him as he walked over to where Robert lay unmoving, watched as he leaned over.

“Did you kill their parents?” he asked. “Did you kill their parent’s for speaking out against Sinclair?”

Robert glared at Derek. “Yes,” he said simply. Stiles thought he probably would have shrugged if he could have.

“Why? Because you were doing right by your Alpha? Or because you liked it?”

Robert grinned, “which do you think it is? I bet your pretty little human has it figured out. He smells delicious, Hale, I can see why you want him.”

Derek’s face remained impassive, but he looked up to Stiles. “Well we already know werewolves aren’t immune to psychopathy,” Stiles shrugged. “He’s a murderer. He gets off on it.”

“Are you going to put me down Alpha?” Robert asked, sounding oddly amused.

“I’m a predator. But I’m not a killer,” Derek replied, stepping back and nodding to Stiles. “Make the call.”

Stiles dialled and watched as Alex and one of the other wolves moved to restrain the still-paralysed Robert, procuring rope from somewhere. “Hey Yo, Mr Argent,” Stiles greeted, turning his back on the wolves and pacing towards the cars. “Yeah, yeah it’s good. College is good. I'm just wondering if you know any of the hunters around this area? Yeah? Awesome. Because Derek and I have this wolf in our custody, and he’s admitted to multiple murders…”

Chapter Text

Derek arrived home late, kicking the door shut behind him and dropping his keys on the counter. He was tired, and sorting through the old Sinclair pack was taking it’s toll on him. Some had left, outright. Just packed their things and left. The ten or so who had been in the clearing, had each spoken with Derek, or been vouched for by Alex or Ann, and were staying. The other 6 or so who were left in the house, adrift,had been the ones too afraid of Sinclair, and who were now afraid and wary of Derek. He’d left them in the house, with Alex in charge when he wasn’t around, though Derek didn’t exactly want to move into the place. It was too sleek and modern, with too many open spaces. It felt, in ways, like a corporate headquarters or a chain hotel, rather than a home. Derek very much wanted a home.

He smiled to himself at the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat, signalling he was somewhere in the apartment, and walked through to his bedroom, assuming he’d find him in there.

Stiles was sprawled out, as he so often was, across the foot of Derek’s bed. He had a pillow askew, his head propped on one corner and his arm curled under it, hugging it to himself as he slept on his stomach. He had his collar on, even though Derek had told him not to sleep in it, just incase it chafed his skin, and the leash and halter were both out, though not yet worn.

Derek stripped out of his shirt and jeans, tugging on a pair of comfy sweats and a tank top, then ran his palm over Stiles’ unruly hair. He made a little mewling sound, then smacked his lips, looking like he was chewing on air as he rolled onto his back, face scrunching up.

“Wakey, wakey, sleeping beauty,” Derek murmured, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ lower lip. Stiles made a little mumbling sound and sought Derek’s thumb with his mouth, closing his teeth lightly around it and rubbing the flat of his tongue over the pad. Stiles opened one eye, peering up at Derek, then slowly opened the other. They looked dark and rich with sleep, strangely guileless as he blinked slowly, his brain coming back online in increments.

“How long have you been napping for?” Derek asked, smoothing a hand down Stiles’ torso when Stiles released his thumb from his ridiculously obscene mouth.

“S’time?”

“8.40.”

“‘Bout n’hour,” Stiles slurred, stretching with a groan, “class was long, n’I hate studying. I decided.” He looped his arms around Derek’s neck, half hanging from him, and went limp as Derek sat and pulled him into his lap, arranging Stiles so he was slumped against him, face buried in Derek’s chest with his arm’s still tight around him.

“Come on sleepy pup, have you even eaten?”

“Was waitin’ for you.”

Derek grinned, and sat still as Stiles clambered over him, sitting fully in his lap and wrapping his legs around Derek’s waist, his arms draped over his shoulders. “Hi,” he said, not even trying to hide the smile on his face.

“Hi,” Stiles hummed back, dropping his forehead to press against Derek’s jaw. He seemed to be fond of the roughness of Derek’s stubble against his face; jaw, cheek, forehead, it didn’t matter much.

“Hungry?” Derek asked, looping his arms loosely around Stiles’ lower back. He felt Stiles nod against his jaw, so he tightened his hold and stood up. Stiles yelped a little, limbs tightening, and clung tight as Derek walked through to the front room.

“Strong-wolfy,” Stiles said sleepily, draping himself over Derek’s upper body when Derek sat on the sofa. He thought Stiles might actually be drooling on him right now. He called for a pizza, because cooking had no appeal to him right now, and contented himself with having Stiles pressed entirely against him, wrapping him up and holding tight like a very sleepy limpet. Or koala. Probably koala was the better descriptor in this case.

“You should do me like that sometime you know,” Stiles mumbled against Derek’s neck. “All standy-uppy. S’good.”

“Sure, we’ll get right on that,” Derek smiled, tipping his head back to rest on the back of the sofa, closing his eyes. He was running his fingers over the soft skin of Stiles’ lower back, under the rucked up Henley he wore, which Derek was somewhat satisfied to note was his own. It eased something in him, to have Stiles wearing his clothes for comfort.

Stiles let out a little whining sound and burrowed closer, trying to rearrange himself so he could get even comfier, Derek assumed. He wasn’t entirely surprised though, when Stiles sat back with a huff, glaring at Derek who just held his hands up innocently. He’d done nothing wrong here. Stiles pushed Derek’s top up to his armpits, then sat back glowering some more. Derek grinned, and pulled his shirt off, dropping it beside him on the sofa. Stiles clumsily followed suit, almost elbowing Derek in the face as he tugged his own off, and then slumped forward, mouthing at Derek’s skin and making a little snuffly sound. He finally settled down with his teeth lightly clamped on the meat of Derek's shoulder, not biting down, but seemingly just resting his mouth. Derek assumed Stiles was somewhere between his usual tired self, and his puppy self, and he found it ridiculously adorable, if he was being honest with himself.

Stiles grumped loudly when Derek had to dislodge him, tipping him to the side so he could go and get the pizza when the buzzer rang. He ignored the way the delivery boy gawked at him, because yes, being an Alpha invariably meant being bulkier for Derek, and grabbed paper towels from the holder in the kitchen, because Stiles always needed paper towels.

He was propped upright with his shoulder leaning against the back of the sofa, one leg curled under himself, eyes big and full of longing as he made grabby hands for the pizza. Derek held a slice aloft, the tip of the pizza sagging down, and laughed when Stiles stretched his neck up to take a bite, sinking his teeth into it and keeping it in his mouth as Derek handed it off to him. He ate his pizza quietly, watching Stiles licking stray smears of sauce off his fingers, or pinching the dangling trails of cheese and slurping them into his mouth. He darted forward at one point, and licked a little bit of sauce off of the corner of Derek’s mouth, sitting back and smirking.

Derek rolled his eyes, and finished his food, dropping the now empty box onto the floor. He shifted around and lay on the sofa, his head propped on the arm, his legs open around Stiles. Of course, Stiles took this as an invitation to lay on Derek, not giving a second thought to either of their full stomachs and blanketing Derek with his body, resting his head on Derek’s shoulder. He whined until Derek lifted his hand, scratching at his scalp and the back of his neck, wanting to be touched and petted. Derek was more than happy to oblige, grateful Stiles was choosing to do this now, when Derek was tired of words and communication, of dealing with wolves he wasn’t trusting of yet. Who didn’t trust him yet either. It meant his days were spent in a state of careful tension, thinking through his every word and move, hyper-aware of the way he was presenting himself to his possible pack. It was, in a word, exhausting, but his residual tension was melting away as he petted Stiles, dropping kisses to his temple and hair, belly full, and eventually he drifted off to sleep.

He jolted awake when Stiles clambered off of him, and brushed his fingers over Derek’s jaw. After blinking rapidly, just to try and get himself somewhere resembling alert, he looked at Stiles, who was standing beside the sofa, holding out his hand. Derek grabbed for it, and heaved himself upright, using Stiles as leverage. Stiles stumbled into him, and rubbed his forehead on Derek’s shoulder, before pulling away, holding Derek’s hand.

Cracking a yawn, Derek followed Stiles, letting himself be led through the dark apartment, through to the bed. Stiles was yanking pillows around and threw back the covers. He knelt and tugged down Derek’s sweatpants, blinking when he was met with a face full of nudity and pressed a smear of a kiss to Derek’s upper thigh, patting him on the knee at the same time. Derek sat back when Stiles pushed him, and swung his legs up to lie down, watching as Stiles kicked off his own pants and crawled over him. He curled up next to Derek, their fingers loosely linked, and yawned in his face before falling back asleep.

*********

Stiles had left, presumably for school when he woke up the next morning, and had cleared up the stray pizza box though the stale scent of it lingered in the air, and had left hot coffee in the pot for Derek. Though it was more lukewarm now, because he’d slept in far later than he had expected, and the sun was quite high in the sky as ambled back to his bed with a cup of coffee,  kicking the sheets down and stretching out with his back against the headboard. He checked his phone and found a text from Alex, saying another of the wolves had left, which relived Derek, actually. He didn’t want a big pack; the fewer who stuck around for now, the better. Even 10 was pushing it. 11 if he included himself. He was waiting for the time being though, until the stragglers had left of their own accord, so as to show the wolves he wasn’t unreasonable, nor a tyrant, but also not a push over who would coddle them. The stragglers would leave, and weren’t welcome. They all knew it. But until they found ways of being re-homed, he wouldn’t leave them stranded.

He text Alex back, telling him that was fine. Alpha or not, Derek was a laconic kind of guy at the best of times. He made plans to meet Alex later that evening, along with Joseph and Raina, two of the other wolves Derek had accepted as part of his pack for now, to talk through plans for the housing arrangements of the pack. But for now, he was just going to relax and drink his coffee, try and recalibrate his mind a little so as not to overwhelm himself.

It was 11.20, so he was surprised to hear Stiles approaching outside, feet slapping the pavement as he walked up to the door, then jogging up the stairs with a sound akin to a herd of elephants stampeding. For such a slight guy, he definitely made an entrance.

Stiles let himself in - having copied Derek’s key a long time ago, not that he’d minded - and dropped something off on the kitchen counter, kicked off his shoes, and padded to the coffee pot. Derek could track his movements through the apartment from the sounds he made, filling up a mug with coffee, and rustling bags as he walked towards the bedroom.

“Morning sunshine,” Stiles said, lifting a white paper bag. “I come bearing tasty pastries.” He clambered onto the bed holding his coffee aloft, and sat crossed legged by Derek, only briefly distracted by Derek’s total nudity as he shifted around. Derek took the bag and pulled out a croissant, biting into it and ignoring the shower of pastry flakes that fell. All-butter croissants were his favourite, and this was fluffy and still warm. He licked his fingers clean of stray bits of pastry, and finished his coffee, before reaching into his bedside drawer.

“I have something for you,” he said, digging around a little.

“If it involves lubricant and doing something with your current naked state, then I am totally on board with that,” Stiles replied, peeling a layer of his pecan danish away and sticking it in his mouth, nodding enthusiastically all the while.

“That will come next. But first, I got you this,” Derek said, plopping a little folded up paper bag on Stiles’ lap. Stiles shoved his half full mug into Derek’s hands, sloshing a little of the liquid over the rim of the cup, and carefully unfolded the bag, using a surprising amount of dexterity and delicacy. He upended the bag over his palm, and tipped out a small triskelion shaped silver tag, strung through with a silver loop at the top. Across the bulk of the tag, ‘Stiles’ was carved into the metal. He picked up the tag, and turned it over slowly with care, and brushed his fingers over his name, staring down at it.

“Dude,” he said quietly, putting his index finger through the loop and letting the tag dangle. He lifted it up to eye height, and blinked at it, his eyes bright in the sunlight. “You got me a triskelion tag Derek.”

“I’m aware of that,” Derek replied, a smile pulling at his mouth.

“I am strangely touched by this, and don’t know what to do with that, so I’m just gonna,” he gestured towards Derek’s face, “kiss you,” he finished.

Derek put aside the coffee mug, and reached out to steady Stiles by holding his hips as he settled himself on Derek’s lap, peppering his face with noisy kisses, holding the tag in his palm. “Thank you, Derek,” he said against Derek’s lips, “thoughtful-wolf,” he added on, deepening the kiss, tasting like sugar and coffee. His lips tasted like the maple glaze of the pastry he’d eaten, and Derek hummed appreciatively, chasing the sweetness with his tongue. Stiles caught Derek’s lower lip and grazed it with his teeth, pulling back to carefully place the tag on the nightstand, and brushing his fingers over it again, his smile soft.

It made Derek smile in return, feeling a swell of contentedness inside at how pleased Stiles was with the gift. It would look beautiful hanging from his collar, and Derek hoped he’d want to try it on soon. For now though, Stiles was mouthing a trail of kisses down Derek’s torso, swiping his tongue over each nipple, rasping his teeth against them and sucking gently, just enough to make Derek gasp and a shiver to run down his spine, and to have his attention entirely focused on Stiles and his clear intentions. Derek was very much on board. He was hardening quite rapidly, and by the time Stiles took him in his mouth, he was aching and fighting not to shove up into the heat of Stiles’ mouth.

Stiles gave sloppy head; it was wet and dripping and just so fucking perfect. He was so eager to please, to take Derek down as deep as he could, though he hadn’t yet mastered deep-throating and Derek didn’t think he ever would, but he loved Stiles’ enthusiasm anyway, his groaning and moaning sending vibrating zings of pleasure through Derek’s groin. He paid attention to the places that made Derek’s muscles twitch and jolt, and lavished them with attention until Derek had to pull him away, trails of saliva cooling in the air. “Let me ride you?” Stiles asked, already reaching for the lube and drizzling it on Derek’s dick, laughing happily when Derek yelped at the cold slick hitting his hot skin. Stiles covered him in lube, wrapping a hand around him and jacking him a few times, mouthing at Derek’s neck where his head was tilted back.

He was really quite happy to sit there and let Stiles work him over, to just appreciate it all.

Stiles positioned himself, but didn’t sink down, instead reaching a hand behind himself. From the way his eyelids drooped and his mouth hung open, Derek knew he was sliding those long fingers inside himself, though likely not getting anywhere near enough stimulation thanks to the angle of it all. Stiles gave a frustrated little grunt, and Derek decided being an active participant sounded good after all, reaching between Stiles’ legs to feel where Stiles’ fingers were disappearing inside of himself. It wrenched a groan from them both. Stiles had used enough lube that Derek could push one of his own fingers inside, able to reach in deeper than Stiles.

There was something indescribably sexy about feeling Stiles’ own fingers inside of himself, pressing and sliding alongside Derek’s as they worked in unison to stretch him open and make him writhe.

Eventually Derek pulled back, and yanked Stiles closer, biting down on one side of his chest, his hips jerking up a little with how much he wanted to bury himself in Stiles.

Stiles huffed out a hot breath over Derek’s hair, reaching up to grip a handful of the messy dark strands and pulling Derek’s head back so he could hunch over and lick his way into Derek’s mouth. They were panting openmouthed against each other as Stiles slowly lowered himself, pausing as the head of Derek’s cock breached him and giving his hips a slow roll, muscles almost too-tight around Derek and the motion creating a crushing wave of sensation around just the head of his dick. Derek groaned, a hoarse sound from deep in his chest, and gripped Stiles’ thighs, knowing he’d be leaving bruises but he couldn’t stop the way his hands spasmed tighter.

Stiles gave him a self-satisfied grin, catching Derek’s mouth in a bruising kiss, moaning loudly as he sank down fully and ground his hips again, making Derek feel like he was as deep within Stiles as he could possibly get. Stiles seemed to enjoy that just as much as Derek, clutching at his shoulders and choking out a moan, nodding his head at nothing, eyes at half mast. Derek slid his hands around to hold Stiles’ hips, gazing up at him with eyes he knew were now red, as Stiles slowly lifted himself, the slow drag of tight muscle making it impossible for Derek to not slide Stiles back down, his own hips thrusting up.

It broke whatever teasing plans Stiles had, and he began riding Derek with intent, linking his hands around Derek’s neck and leaning back, letting Derek anchor his weight, rolling his hips and thrusting in time with Derek’s movements. Their bodies were moving in sync, a push and pull, invade and retreat, that left them both sheened in sweat and breathless. Stiles found himself a good angle, soft grunts being released each time Derek bottomed out, and chased his orgasm with vigour, eyes closed and head thrown back. Derek hissed as Stiles tightened around him, his body going taut as he got closer and closer, but not quite close enough.

Derek slid his hand up Stiles’ spine, bracing him, and reached for Stiles’ weeping cock where it bounced between them, catching occasionally on Derek’s skin and leaving little slick smears of pre-cum. He pressed his thumb against the slit, circling through the beads of slick that leaked out, massaging the underside of the head until Stiles’ hips stuttered and his balls drew up close to his groin.

Derek had watched Stiles cum, so many times. Knew how his muscles spasmed, watched how his cock kicked, the whole shaft twitching and tightening as he expelled spurts of cum to splatter himself, thick and white. He could close his eyes and picture the red flush of Stiles chest and neck perfectly, how his hands fisted and his toes curled in then stretched out, heels digging in so he could push his hips up higher, his thighs going impossibly taut. Derek knew exactly what Stiles looked like as he orgasmed, and yet he never grew tired of it. Each time was just as enthralling as the first, and Stiles’ lax mouth, his half-formed groans, his muscles clamping down on bones, gripping around Derek buried deep inside of him, never failed to rip the orgasm from Derek too. He pushed as deep as he could get, and buried his face in Stiles’ neck, holding him close and and panting, eyes squeezed shut.

Stiles went limp first, in the cradle of Derek’s arms. His cum was smeared all over them, not yet cooling and uncomfortable because their skin was hot and damp already. Derek could feel his own cum starting to leak out of Stiles, dripping back down around his groin as he softened, but he was in no rush to get out of Stiles. He kept him close, listened to his heartbeat calm, his breathing even out, and thanked the universe that somewhere down the line, he’d met this infuriating mess of limbs and sarcasm, and found within that a mate who kept him together and who, in spite of bearing witness to his many failures, believed in him. It gave Derek the courage to believe in himself a little more too. 

Chapter Text

This definitely ranked up there as being one of his favourite things to do, ever. Sprawling on a sofa, game controller in hand, a bowl of chips and a pack of Twizzlers within easy reach - one currently dangling from his mouth - and his best bro at his side, scowling with his face scrunched up in intense concentration as Stiles inevitably kicked his ass. Enhanced wolf speed couldn’t even help Scotty when it came to losing to Stiles at video games. Stiles was King.

Bow down to Stiles, King of the video game.

There were boxes scattered around the room, discarded where they lay in favour of some gaming time; the Siren’s call of the console was just too much for them to resist. Better men had succumbed to it, so who was Stiles to try and fight it? Liam and Mason were sitting on the floor, digging through a box of books on werewolf mythology that Stiles had collected over time, making little giggling sounds at the wild inaccuracies, or occasionally asking questions that Scott and Stiles half-heartedly answered, not wanting to lose focus.

“Hey, so, it says here that there the Alpha can control his Betas with his voice, even against their will? Is that true?” Liam asked, his blue eyes big and worried.

“Sure kid, Scott’s gonna have you all as his brainwashed minions,” Stiles replied absently, mashing his thumbs into the buttons, his whole body tilting along with the little character on the screen.

“I don’t think it is,” Scott replied sensibly, ignoring Stiles. “I mean, Peter tried to call me out, make me kill with him, but he couldn’t actually control me, so I think it’s more like a strong influence than anything?”

“Ask Derek?” Stiles suggested, landing the K.O. blow on Scott’s character and dropping his controller to raise his arms in victory. He didn’t even need to crow about it, he just sat silently in his victory stance with a grin on his face.

Scott grabbed a throw pillow and hit Stiles in the face with it, laughing at Stiles’ subsequent outraged spluttering and crunching loudly on a handful of chips.

“Looks like you’ve made a lot of progress,” Derek said dryly, pausing in the doorway he’d just walked through, with his keys dangling from his hand. He looked pointedly around at the boxes and idiots scattered around his living room. Alex was peering over his shoulder, amusement written all over his face.

“Hey Der-bear, buddy, my hunnybunny,” Stiles singsonged, grinning at Derek and fluttering his eyelashes in what he hoped was a look of innocence.

“Derek,” Scott greeted, voice deepening a little. It was kind of adorable. He stood, and proceeded to shower chip crumbs on the floor from his lap. Derek looked down at them and then back at Scott with a raised eyebrow. “Um. I’ll clean that up,” Scott winced, voice returning to it’s normal pitch, brushing down his shirt. Liam and Mason had both stilled, probably feeling a little unsure about how to behave with two Alphas in the room.

Derek just let out an amused huff and walked over, reaching a hand out for Scott to shake, then leaned down to kiss Stiles lightly, “you’re a pain in the ass,” he accused fondly, pulling back.

Stiles grabbed his shirt and pulled him back in, pressing another smiling kiss to Derek’s mouth. They both ignored Scott’s little grunt of dismay, and bumped foreheads before Derek stood up to introduce Alex to the present members of the McCall pack.

“Hey Derek,” Liam asked, craning his head back to look up at Derek where he stood, looking like a small child. “Can Alphas mind control their Betas?”

Derek frowned and looked at Scott and Stiles. Stiles was nodding enthusiastically, mouthing yes, where Scott was looking genuinely curious and concerned. “No,” Derek said flatly, shaking his head at the little moue of displeasure from Stiles.

“We could have had so much fun with that,” he pouted.

“Why don’t you have fun with clearing up the mess and moving boxes like you promised instead?” Derek asked lightly, stepping over a box to reach the fridge. He opened a beer and handed it to Alex, who genuinely liked the taste of craft beers even if he couldn’t get drunk, and got himself a water. Derek had numerous drinks and snacks stored in their kitchen now, to cater to the differing tastes of his new, burgeoning pack. And Stiles. Lots of Stiles-friendly snack foods.

“I could do that, but I’m actually the only human present in the room right now, and it seems a little unfair to ask the human - the only one without superhuman strength, I should also crucially add - to lift the heavy boxes,” Stiles reasoned.

“Perhaps, but the contents of those boxes? All yours. Your stuff Stiles,” Derek replied, leaning back against the counter, looking smug.

“Oh my God, why do I even love you?” Stiles asked, hands flailing up in a gesture of exasperation. They sort of twitched back down as Stiles went stiff in his seat, blinking rapidly, mouth hanging open gormlessly. “So yeah. I uh. That,” he said, nodding his head slowly, bobbing it awkwardly, swallowing thickly. He could feel the blush spreading and intensifying on his face, and his heart kicked up a notch. At least Liam, Mason, and Alex had the decency to look elsewhere. Scott just gaped at him, and Derek had lost the smug expression, instead something intense and vulnerable taking it’s place.

“Yeah?” Derek asked almost tentatively, fingers tightening on the water bottle in his hand.

Stiles nodded at him, a sheepish little smile on his face. “Not exactly how I meant to say it, but yeah.”

Derek gave him a blinding smile, one that lit up his whole face and made his eyes scrunch. “Me too,” he said when he’d finally controlled the grin, even though it still visibly tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Even your declarations of love are taciturn dude,” Stiles laughed, standing and walking over to throw his arms around Derek’s neck. He settled into the circle of Derek’s arms, resting his head against Derek’s neck, his mind racing to catch up with the fact that Derek freaking Hale was in love with him. And that he loved Derek, the grumpy werewolf who’d snarled, and threatened him, saved him, fought for him, and by him, and finally, who had collared him, given him a home. It was mind-blowing, and Stiles just needed a moment.

“That was kind of adorable dude,” Scott said from the sofa, sounding begrudging and amused, all at once.

“Right?” Stiles mumbled, pulling back and looking over his shoulder. “We’re adorable.”

Scott scoffed, and reached out for the bag of Twizzlers, but Stiles was having none of that. He pulled away from Derek and half tripped his way to the sofa to wrench the Twizzler from Scott’s hands, shoving it in his own mouth instead. “Mine,” he glared, poking his stained red tongue out.

Scott retaliated by using his super speed to snatch the bag and jump over the back of the sofa, cramming Twizzlers into his mouth and taunting Stiles through the mouthfuls.

“That’s the Alpha?” Alex said quietly, leaning against Derek’s side. He looked half-horrified and half-entertained.

“I told you he was non-traditional,” Derek countered, smirking.

“I don’t know why I’m surprised having, you know, actually met Stiles. Of course his Alpha is like a big kid too,” Alex smiled, watching Scott and Stiles roughhouse. “So we’ll be allies?” Alex asked, finally bringing them round to the topic they were all actually here to discuss.

“Yeah. We’ll help them when they need it and they’ll help us. McCall pack members can move freely in this territory, but we’ll need to ask Scott about us visiting Beacon Hills-”

“You’re all welcome dude!” Scott yelled out, pushing the palm of his hand in Stiles face, as Stiles made a slight gurgling-squawking sound.

“Well that settles that then,” Alex grinned. “And Stiles?”

“Stiles is a member of the McCall pack, but he’s also part of our pack. He’s human, so he doesn’t have the same bonds, the same ties to an Alpha. He doesn’t make either of us physically stronger, or anything like that. But I don’t think either of us would be willing to let him go.”

“Nope, he’s mine, not giving him up,” Scott replied, now possibly sitting on Stiles, looking smug.

“I’m not property!” Stiles cried, raising a hand up over the back of the sofa. “I object!”

“Object all you want dude, you’re staying part of my pack.”

“I wouldn’t even consider leaving it man, you know that. You’re my bro. Scott and Stiles, bro’s for life. You just need to learn to share. There’s enough Stiles to go around. Believe me,” he leered.

“Eww Stiles!” Scott yelped and jumped up, moving to go stand with Derek and Alex, grimacing. “Okay so, Stiles is a free agent, part of both our packs. We have open channels between us, share information, and can rely on each other for help.”

“But with no obligation or expectation. I can’t order you here, you can’t order us there.”

“Yeah of course dude,” Scott said, watching Stiles clamber up and dust himself off. “Stiles can be like an intermediary,” he said.

“It’s a sad day when I’m the one chosen to be mediator,” Stiles joked, sitting back on the arm of the sofa, clasping his hands between his knees.

“Chris said he’d come down and sit in if you wanted to formally meet with the hunters here,” Scott offered.

“We’ve already kind of done that dude. Psycho-killer right hand of the last Alpha, we handed him over to the Listers and updated them on the situation. They said they’d contact Chris, just to vet us I guess,” Stiles said.

Scott nodded, and his eye flickered down to the small scabs that marred Stiles’ neck, and he got that intensely unhappy look on his face that made his crooked jaw even more crooked.

“Okay, enough wolf politics,” Stiles said, standing with a clap, trying to dispel the sudden tension in the room. “We have all weekend for that stuff. Scotty, help me carry these boxes to the bedroom, and start sorting in there. Liam, Mason, you guys can start putting the books on the shelves and stuff. Ask Derek if you’re not sure where things should go. Alex, keep Derek occupied. He’s going to grumble incessantly at us all touching his stuff, and as cute as his grumpy face is, it’s not going to help us get this done any faster,” Stiles grinned.

“I’m not going to be able to find anything,” Derek groused.

“You’ll sniff if out,” Stiles retorted, picking up one of the boxes and proceeding to pile them into Scott’s arms. He pushed Scott towards the bedroom, steering him around any obstacles because no way would he be able to see past the boxes. He had a bag of clothes dangling from his own shoulder, and his pillow clasped under one arm, just to be helpful.

“Okay, where am I putting all this?” Scott asked, carefully putting the boxes down and opening up the top one. It was also full of clothes. Because apparently, Stiles had a lot of clothes. Who knew.

Stiles pointed at the dresser, and knelt on the floor pulling a box over in front of him, sorting through all the miscellany. Chargers and hard drives, little boxes with knick knacks, just the odds and ends that he had accumulated over time. He was frowning as he poked through a box of old buttons, most of them rusting on the back, and with band logos emblazoned on the front, though some had superhero logos. He used to pin them to his backpack in school, way back in eighth grade, when he went through his wannabe skater stage. Minus the skating. No way was his dad letting his shockingly clumsy son who could fall over his own feet and often walked into doorways, roll around on a board with wheels.

“Uh, Stiles?” Scott asked, pulling Stiles from his reverie. His voice sounded tentative, nervous, and instantly got Stiles’ full attention.

“What is it?” he asked, knee-walking over to Scott.

Scott was peering into an open drawer, his brown eyes wide. “What’s that?” he asked, eyes sliding to Stiles as he knelt beside him.

“Oh shit. That uh, that’s yeah.” Tucked in one half of the drawer, was Stiles’ recently cleaned and oiled harness and collar, the leash curled up beside them. The triskelion tag, emblazoned with Stiles’ name, was just right there in full view. “So you remember that one time, when you said I was worse than a dog with how much I chewed my straws and pens and stuff? And you said you’d get me a chew toy from Deaton’s, and I swore never to make you another Stilinski sandwich ever again?”

Scott nodded at him dumbly, his face all creased up in pained concern, like he already knew he didn’t want to hear the rest of it.

“So yeah. Turns out I like chew toys,” Stiles joked weakly. Scott blinked dumbly and stared at him, so Stiles turned his attention back to the drawer, and stroked his fingertip over the surface of the triskelion.

“With Derek?” Scott blurted out.

“Yeah buddy. I like chew toys with Derek.”

“Oh my God,” Scott wailed.

“It’s how he practices at being Alpha,” Stiles grinned, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh God, I hate you!”

“Love you too bro.”