Work Text:
Werewolf fan fiction was scary.
Stiles sat back in his chair and gaped at the laptop screen. He really wanted to know what these girls read in their spare time that they came up with this shit. Knotting for fucks sake!
“What are you doing?” Derek’s voice did not make him flail.
“Oh my god, Creeperwolf!” Stiles glared at Derek, willing his heart back into his chest.
Derek loomed at the window sill and Stiles waited. Waiting for Derek to use his words had become quite an art. Stiles was the arty sort.
“I have a problem,” Derek said.
Stiles bit his tongue. There were so very, very many responses to that statement and most of them would get him killed.
“I’m only back for Christmas and New Year,” he said instead. “Not staying longer.” Leaving Beacon Hills had been hard, but necessary. He’d had enough supernatural shit happening to him to last a few hundred lifetimes.
“It’s important,” Derek said, levelling a stare at him.
Stiles raised an eyebrow. “So you decided to go the old B&E route?” He waved at the window. “I’d have opened the front door, man, just saying.”
Derek frowned. “Scott misses you,” he said, out of the blue.
Stiles boggled at him. “What the fuck?” He shook his head. “One day I’ll understand the way your brain works, dude, but not this day.” He grinned at his Independence Day reference. A self-high-five would not be cool though.
“Scott hasn’t been himself,” Derek said, and slid a little further into the room, resting his ass on the windowsill and folding his arms across his chest. Stiles didn’t notice the stretch of fabric across muscle. At all.
“Allison isn’t coming home for Christmas,” Stiles said. “Of course he’s going to be a baby about it.” It was their second year at college. Scott had stayed on in Beacon Hills, studying to be a veterinarian, while Stiles and Allison had headed to Stanford. They’d finally become real friends at Stanford, clinging to each other in an increasingly crazy world of classes and lectures and parties.
“No,” Derek said. “It’s not that.” He puffed out an impatient breath. “He’s not coping with being on his own.”
Stiles stared at him. “Scott is the Alpha of Beacon Hills,” he reminded Derek. “He has a pack.”
“Isaac is the only one who is ever around him,” Derek said.
“And you,” Stiles pointed out.
“I’m not in Scott’s pack,” Derek shook his head.
“Since when?” Stiles tried to remember what Scott had told him about the weird that was Scerek. Heh. Scerek.
“Stiles.” Derek’s mouth was a tight line. “Scott can’t be an Alpha without a supportive pack.”
“You didn’t seem to do too badly,” Stiles quipped and felt his stomach churn when Derek’s eyes went even flatter.
“Nice,” Derek said, tone mild. Stiles knew better though. He’d learned to read the micro-expressions that slipped across Derek’s face.
“No man, that was a low blow,” he put a hand up. “Not cool of me.”
Derek just nodded slightly. “Spend some time with Scott,” he ordered. “Help him.”
Stiles looked at Derek. “Dude,” he said. “You know that Scott isn’t my Alpha.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek corrected, but he was frowning. “What do you mean, Scott isn’t your Alpha? Of course he is.”
Stiles shook his head. “No he isn’t,” he said. “Scott is my best friend, but he’s never been my Alpha.”
Derek looked poleaxed. “I don’t understand.”
Stiles shrugged. “You were always my Alpha, man. Just because Scott got the mojo, didn’t make him the dude for the job.”
Derek opened his mouth a couple of times and Stiles amused himself imagining bubbles floating out of it like a guppy. “But….”
“Scott is my bro,” Stiles explained, wondering just when Derek had missed the memo. “He’s never been anything more.”
“But I’m not an Alpha anymore,” Derek said. “Scott got the Alpha powers.”
Stiles nodded. “Still doesn’t make him the boss of me,” he told Derek.
Derek’s eyes were wide and Stiles sort of missed the flash of blood-red in them that usually meant he was going to get slammed up against the nearest surface. Those were good times, he mused.
“I’m not an Alpha,” Derek repeated.
“It doesn’t matter,” Stiles said. “Did you get hit on the head a lot lately or have you maybe got some hearing loss from all the beatings you’ve taken?”
The growl that rumbled out of Derek’s chest made Stiles grin. “Hey, there you are!” he exclaimed. “Growly McGrumpypants Hale in the house.”
“You’re an idiot,” Derek told him but there was a small tic at the side of his mouth that told Stiles he was grinning on the inside.
“So, to recap this scintillating conversation, Scott being a baby because his girlfriend isn’t coming home for the holidays isn’t my problem, okay?” Stiles thought he’d better spell it out to Derek. Possibly a huge neon sign hanging over his house would work better.
“He’s still your friend,” Derek pointed out.
“I have put in more than enough emo hours listening to Scott whining about the state or non-state of his Allison situation,” Stiles said with a scowl. “The bro-code only extends so far.”
Derek sat on Stiles’ bed and stared at him. “You’re not going to help?” he asked.
“Nothing I can do unless I grow a pair of breasts and call myself Allison Argent,” Stiles said. He shook his head. “Also, eww.”
Derek went pale. “You haven’t learned how to do that, have you?”
Stiles boggled at him. “I’m a spark, dude, not a fucking Harry Potter!”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek told him again, still watching him suspiciously. “I don’t know what crap they’ve been teaching you at Stanford.”
“Uh, history, English, criminology,” Stiles said. “You know the courses I signed up for?”
Derek snorted. “It’s probably like Hogwarts,” he mused.
Stiles fell off his chair. “Dude!” he staggered to his feet. “Did you just make a pop culture reference?” He raced to his window. “Is it going to snow tonight? My ex-Alpha all grown up and a real boy at last.”
Derek scowled at him and Stiles grinned. “You are extremely annoying.”
Stiles bowed. “Thank you, oh Alpha, my Alpha.”
Derek sighed. “You don’t need to call me that,” he said and there was something small and pained in his voice. “You shouldn’t. I’m okay being an omega.”
Stiles went to sit next to Derek on the bed and bumped his shoulder gently. “I’m a one-Alpha kinda guy, man.” He peered at Derek. “You’re it for this Stilinski.”
“Completely ridiculous,” Derek huffed, but his mouth curved a little and Stiles totally wanted to do a fist pump. Derek smiles were like little happy-making diamonds for Stiles’ stupid heart.
“So are you going to stop shoving my awesomeness at Scott?” Stiles asked.
“Fine,” Derek said. “But just remember it’s not my fault if he starts getting even more pathetic because you’re ignoring him.”
Stiles nodded. “It’s a tough thing, but there’s only so much of this amazing to go around,” he indicated his body with waving hands. And then went hot and then cold when Derek’s eyes followed the movement.
“Uh,” Stiles said, mentally flailing at the brief heat he totally knew he’d seen. “Derek?”
“If I’m still your Alpha, then what are you of mine?” Derek asked and his voice had gone deep and growly and Stiles’ dick was making happy dances in his pants.
“Your…friend?” Stiles suggested. His dick said some bad words and his stomach swooped a little at the expression on Derek’s face.
“Huh,” Derek said and flexed his hand on his knee. Stiles glanced down to see the wolf claws being sheathed.
“What’s that about?” he asked, voice high and shaky. “Are you thinking about showing me my insides on the outside again?”
Derek’s frown was deep and dark. “I have never shown you your insides…” he stopped and Stiles could see that he was offended.
“I meant that when I see the claws and you get all wolfy it usually ends up with me running and screaming and bleeding,” Stiles hastened to amend. That had sounded a lot better in his head.
“All wolfy?” Derek was looking alarmingly annoyed and Stiles knew that he was ruining the moment. Well, it was almost a moment and Stiles was determined to get it back.
“I should just shut up, right?” Stiles said, and made a motion to zip his lip.
Derek’s mouth quirked again and for Stiles it was a personal triumph. Four, count ‘em, four Derek almost-smiles in one night was a record.
“Stiles,” Derek said and it was admonition, reprimand and fond statement all at the same time.
“Shutting up,” Stiles grinned at Derek and nudged him again with his shoulder. “I’ve learned how.”
Derek snorted. “I’d pay real money to see that.”
“Look at you, all snappy with the comebacks and humour,” Stiles marvelled, relaxed beside Derek in a way he couldn’t ever recall being. “Somebody give you a personality transplant?”
And just like that Derek stiffened again and Stiles wanted to give himself a head butt. He kept forgetting all the ways that Derek was still a damaged kid.
“No, man,” Stiles protested. “You know my brain to mouth filter is sketchy at best. Don’t take that like a personal insult.”
Derek nodded but the line of his body was all wounded puppy.
Stiles sighed and got off the bed, crouching in front of Derek. He cautiously put his hands on Derek’s knees. “I’m an idiot, okay?” He looked up into Derek’s face. “You’re like my go-to guy when shit hits the fan.”
Derek met his gaze warily. “Are you sure you’re not talking about Scott?” he asked.
Stiles shook his head. “Are you kidding me?” He grinned. “Scotty McHottie is an awesome best friend, but let’s face it, dude, his focus is for shit.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said but the fifth smile of the night was definitely ghosting across his face.
“Eh,” Stiles waved a hand and nearly toppled back over onto his ass. Derek grabbed his wrist and held him steady.
Everything in Stiles went still. He knew that Derek could pick up on his accelerated heartbeat and wanted to run. This thing had been his to deal with for years now. He’d been okay with having a giant-ass crush on Derek Hale as long as the guy never knew about it. That way lay crying and death.
“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was low and it made Stiles shiver.
“No,” Stiles said, shaking his head. “No, you don’t get to know this.” He pulled on his arm but Derek held him there.
“Know what?” Derek asked.
Stiles just kept shaking his head. “Nothing, no, let me go.” He tried to sound firm but his voice was shaking as hard as the rest of him.
Derek tugged his arm and Stiles couldn’t stop the forward momentum as he fell against Derek’s legs. Derek hauled him to his feet, standing up with him. “Stiles.”
Stiles realised that he was actually taller than Derek now, although the sheer bulk of Derek’s body made him seem way bigger than he was. “Please…” he begged, not sure what he was asking for.
“Tell me what you want,” Derek ordered and there was no mistaking the tone this time. It resonated somewhere deep inside Stiles and he had to force himself not to step forward into Derek’s space.
“I’m not doing this,” he gritted out, willing his stupid, over-excited heart to calm down.
“You’re not doing anything right now except freaking out,” Derek pointed out and Stiles glared at him.
“You are not allowed to be snarky and funny when I’m having an out-of-body experience,” he said.
Derek’s mouth quirked again and fuck, it was so fucking unfair at how ridiculously hot he was. Stiles groaned. “I hate you,” he muttered and dropped his head to rest against Derek’s chest.
“If that were true then I’d say your body hasn’t got the memo.”
Stiles almost hit Derek in the chin when he jerked his head up again. “You are such an asshole,” he growled and tried to get away again.
“What do you want?” Derek asked again and he crowded closer. Stiles took a few steps back until he felt the wall against him.
“Well, at least this is familiar territory,” he said, trying desperately not to react as Derek moved into his space. This was normally when there was slamming and pain.
“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek leaned down and breathed into the skin of Stiles’ neck. Stiles couldn’t stop the shudder that shook his body.
“Hate you so fucking much,” he whispered and dropped his head back against the wall. Derek moved nearer and Stiles felt warm, soft lips against his neck.
“Tell me,” Derek ordered.
Stiles’ hands were suddenly free and they disobediently made their way to Derek’s head, helpfully pressing his mouth and face further into the curve of Stiles’ shoulder. “Nothing,” Stiles told him and shook as Derek’s hands slipped under his t-shirt and stroked the skin of his belly. “Still hate you.”
Derek’s laugh was a puff of air against Stiles’ neck and then he lifted his head and pressed his mouth against Stiles’.
“Liar,” he whispered against Stiles’ lips. “Come on, little piggy, let me in.”
Stiles opened his mouth and was surrounded by the taste and scent and feel of Derek. He could literally feel his knees buckle and he knew he was only still standing because Derek and his stupid muscles were holding him upright.
Derek kissed like he did everything else, focused and intensely. Stiles didn’t stand a chance. He just held on as every last brain cell migrated south to his dick until he thought he was going to come in his pants.
“Don’t,” Derek muttered against his mouth. “I want to see you, watch you lose it with my hands on you.”
So of course, Stiles came so hard that he saw stars for several seconds. “Fuck,” he collapsed against Derek. “I really, really hate you, Sourwolf.”
Derek grunted and gave a small laugh. “Sure have an interesting way of showing it, Stilinski.” His thumbs made slow circles over the soft skin over Stiles’ hipbones.
Stiles wasn’t going to be the only one with a mess in his underwear so he reached down and unzipped Derek’s ridiculously tight jeans. “Fuck’s sake,” he grumbled, “any reason you buy clothes you need to be poured into?”
Derek made another noise, this time almost a gasp, as Stiles’ fingers wrapped around his cock. “Stiles,” he warned.
Stiles ignored the warning and looked down to where his hand moved on Derek’s skin. “Holy shit,” he breathed. “I have your dick in my hand.”
Derek gave a little snorting laugh and his fingers tightened on Stiles’ hips. “Not going to last,” he said.
Stiles didn’t care. He had exactly what he wanted in his grasp. Literally. He moved his thumb over the tip of Derek’s cock, wiping the come that leaked out. “God, even your dick is gorgeous,” Stiles complained. “That’s seriously not fair, dude.”
“Don’t call me dude,” Derek told him and his hips jerked and he came over Stiles’ hand with a groan.
Somehow, with Derek draped over him like a lazy Shar-pei, Stiles managed to stagger them both over to the bed where they collapsed into a boneless heap. Derek arranged them so that Stiles was curled back to Derek’s front.
“I am so not the little spoon,” Stiles told Derek, poking the arm that wrapped around him.
“Shut up,” Derek said, breath warm against the back of Stiles’ neck. “Need to sleep.”
Stiles sighed. “Can I at least take my pants off?” he asked, wincing at the feel of cooling come squelching in his boxers.
“No,” Derek said. “I’m going to lick it off you when I wake up.”
Stiles shuddered. “Oh my God, you are going to fucking break me, aren’t you?” The mental image Derek’s words had conjured made Stiles’ dick get happy again.
“Only if you ask nicely,” Derek told him and nipped the nape of his neck. “I’m going to make you beg.”
Stiles lay there, heart pounding and brain on overload. “Too soon to start with the begging already?” he asked.
Derek snuffled into his neck. The fucker was already asleep.
Stiles wanted to hit him with something. He was not good with deferred gratification.
But this was Derek.
Stiles could wait.