Work Text:
He approached Stiles as soon as the cameras left them alone. Well, as alone as they could be, considering the constant surveillance.
“Want some help?”
Startled, Stiles looked up from his lower back to the man’s reflection and twisted around. His back ached from the uncomfortable pose he was in for the last fifteen minutes as he tried to untangle the stupid mic.
The alpha was tall, gorgeous, and built like a marble statue at the hands of the most talented sculptors known to mankind. Black hair that fell onto his forehead in a princely swoop, a short beard, a sharp nose, and bushy eyebrows. Hazel eyes pinning him in place.
Stiles cleared his throat. “Uh, yeah.”
Uh, yeah? Goddamnit, Stilinski, real smooth.
Flushing to the roots of his hair, Stiles turned his back toward the alpha. It went against his every instinct, but he was desperate.
“Jesus,” the man chuckled, approaching him. His fingers whispered against Stiles' skin, sending thousands of shivers up his back. “How did you even get it like that?”
“I panicked,” said Stiles. He stared at their reflection, at the alpha’s big frame behind his own. “I don’t know how they did it in the first place; it was so fast. And now I look like a trussed chicken, all tied up.”
Thankfully, the man grinned at the joke. His hot breath coated Stiles’ naked shoulders like a veil.
He could not look away. Sure, this was a reality TV, they needed hot people for views, but damn. This man was something else.
“You look more like a Bambi from this angle,” muttered the man and met Stiles’ gaze in the mirror, playfully squinting his eyes.
Stiles couldn’t suppress a grin. His shoulders relaxed, perhaps, for the first time since their arrival at the main house.
“I’m Stiles,” he said.
The man’s lips twitched in an answering smile. “Derek.”
The cables fell into Derek’s hands, and he circled them around Stiles’ waist to catch them in the front. Stiles might as well have stopped breathing, his heart pounding. The touch was like a wisp of wind against his skin, yet nothing about it was cold or innocent. Perhaps it was the alpha’s gaze caressing his shoulders that nailed it in.
“They left us alone for the day,” the alpha murmured, wrapping the cable around his palm. Stiles tried not to miss his warmth when he stepped back. “Wanna join me at the pool?”
The cameras blinked at them from all the corners, yet nothing compared to the man’s gaze. Heavy and intense, but yielding all the same.
He wants to be partners, thought Stiles. There is no way this was about anything else. Stiles saw the other omegas: soft and fragile like snowdrops, with their gazes pointed demurely to the ground. Sure, some of them had some muscle, but even that was decorative.
Stiles was lean. Back in the day, he could run faster than most alphas in his track class. He could punch, growl, and kick. He may not have been the hottest omega around (he was still convinced they picked him by accident), not even close, but it did not matter, because he looked like he could win.
He lifted his chin high and smirked. “Sure, big guy. I’ll take the snacks, you take the drinks?”
Are you one of those assholes who wants everything served to them on a silver platter by omegas?
From the depths of the giant house, someone’s high-pitched bickering reached them. Ah, they found the treasure — those few rooms with a single bed.
“Wanna get wasted?” Derek grunted with a grimace.
“On national television?” Stiles laughed. “Hell yeah.”
*
Power Couple. That’s it, that’s the name of the show. Lame, but straight to the point: twelve couples, one alpha for one omega — one couple to split one million dollars and possibly destroy their reputation forever.
Considering there wasn’t a lot that omegas could do to earn money, Stiles applied to every job that his old Beacon Hills could provide. Which, again, wasn’t a lot. He was honestly in a panic mode, signing up for every ad he encountered, and was flabbergasted upon receiving an answer from the casting department. Competition reality TV? With the stakes raised after the last season with betas flopped? Sign him the fuck up.
Dad wasn’t happy, but again, Dad, with his broken hip, had no room to talk. Medical bills were high, his mother’s bills had yet to be paid in full, and a mortgage? Stiles’ rivals had no idea who they were up against. He would tear their throats out for those five hundred thousand.
Since Dad’s honorable discharge, the Stilinskis had all the time in the world to marathon the previous seasons. Stiles knew immediately that he would ace the intellectual challenges as well as psychological ones — he would confess his traumas to the entire America and eat every fried grasshopper if it meant he got the prize.
The only hinge in his grandiose plan was his partner. Whom he had to depend on. And trust.
Which… was kind of the point of the game, and possibly the hardest challenge Stiles would face. Despite some hiccups in the first season, people could pick their partners, so Stiles had some hope.
Then, he met Derek, and the rest would hopefully remain history.
After the first introductory week (the producers wanted the drama to brew between the participants), they were supposed to get to know each other and pick their partner to establish the couple. Week two is where the real competition began.
Stiles thought he’d have to pretend to be sweet and smile to have someone interested in him. He never anticipated Derek. The man walked up to him so easily that he couldn’t help but wait for another shoe to drop.
Derek was perfect. His sense of humor was crispy dry, his wit quick, and one arch of his eyebrow could send Stiles into a fit of laughter. He didn’t have much patience for others, got silent when people inserted themselves into their conversation, and his serial killer glare sent alphas scurrying. While it did mean that Stiles couldn’t get a read on them and find out their weak spots, the omega didn’t mind. It genuinely felt like they could win this shitshow regardless of others.
Because Derek was apparently built like a brick house.
Stiles even started to suspect that he was one of the supernaturals, like the werewolves that Dad often signed contracts with. Stiles saw the wolves on Dad’s patrols when he brought his old man lunch — they were always in their full shifts to preserve anonymity, which was probably the safest considering the nasty freak shit the hunters got up to. However, before he could applaud the showrunners for being progressive, he saw Derek struggle to put in his night lenses and, since werewolves had perfect vision, he dismissed the theory.
After that first night when they got ridiculously drunk, they became inseparable. In the mornings, Derek waited for him outside Stiles’ door (Erica, his omega roommate, teased him mercilessly about it) with a fresh cup of iced Americano. They went to the outdoor gym together to get ready for the challenges, where Stiles discovered that a) Derek was handsy, and b) Stiles did not mind it. He got so red that first session where Derek taught him how to do a pull up (the alpha insisted upon lifting him up each time even though the bar wasn’t that high), that Derek made him drink an entire bottle of water and sit on the bench for thirty minutes.
If they were anywhere but here, Stiles would beg to suck his dick. The man was ridiculously hot in that damn skank tank; he loved the pool and those low-hanging shorts that drove Stiles insane. If it were anywhere else, Derek would’ve never approached Stiles and married fucking Paige, for example. Or Jennifer. Or Braeden from the last season.
It was a competition show, yes, but with a large and meaningful wink. People had full-on sex, despite the cameras in the bedrooms. Hell, people have already been fucking this season, and they’ve been here for a week. It stirred the drama and brought tons of views so everything was pretty much allowed if the private parts remained private or at least partially hidden.
The thing is, Stiles didn’t think anyone would be interested in him like that. He vowed to his dad that he would become a monk for however long this show lasted and not bring shame to his name. Watching Derek shrug out of a sweaty shirt after a workout session made him regret those promises.
And Derek smelled it on him, damn it.
Every time he squeaked when Derek’s arms wound around him, every time the alpha sat close or brought a double stack of pancakes only to dump half on Stiles’ plate, the omega’s heart fucking soared. His damn skin reddened too quickly, which Derek pointed out after stroking Stiles’ cheek with his knuckle.
“It’s the sun,” Stiles told him, turning away.
But Derek only smiled and called him a liar. Stiles stopped pretending after that.
He didn’t move away when Derek rested his hands and chin on the edge of Stiles' floating mattress, his nose inches from Stiles’ face and his breath hotter than the sun. He smiled when Derek’s hands lingered and watched Derek smile in return.
The man did not look at the other omegas, even though they definitely looked at him. He remained civil with them, though often went monosyllabic. The only omega he talked to besides Stiles was Erica, and only because she was a fiancée of his roommate Boyd.
“It seems too easy,” said Stiles, sitting at the edge of the pool.
Derek handed him a slice of a peeled tangerine. “What?”
“This,” Stiles pointed at the two of them, “and this,” he waved at the house sparkling with low lights against the sunset sky. The water lapped at his thighs, stinking of chlorine and summer. “I wonder what’s the catch.”
Derek dropped the peel onto the plate and swam closer. He spread Stiles' knees apart and pressed his front to the cold blue tiles, looking up at him with a soft but amused grin. Stiles dreamt of that grin.
“You’re the catch,” he said smugly, resting his arms on either side of Stiles' thighs.
The omega snorted. “I’m serious.”
“…and a catch.” Derek’s smile widened at the sight of Stiles’ grin. “Relax. You and I are gonna be—”
“Don’t you dare.”
“—the power couple.”
“Oh, god.”
“I’m gonna help you win this thing.”
Stiles looked down at the alpha. His heart beat like a drum against his ribs. Gathering all the confidence that he had, Stiles lifted his hand and swiped the messy hair away from Derek’s forehead. And then again, and again…
“Help me?” he asked, unable to meet Derek’s gaze, despite feeling every ounce of it. “What about you? You came here for those five hundred, too.”
It was one topic they avoided. The inevitable truth was that this was all reality TV, and thousands of eyes would watch them, just like dozens of cameras did now. It left an artificial taste in Stiles’ mouth and clashed with the crisp freshness of Derek’s gaze.
Derek’s hands encased him, spreading warmth down Stiles' legs. His shoulders flexed as he bobbed in the water. “I have my reasons.” Not telling, then. Fair. “Though I have a bigger catch in sight.”
He was talking about Stiles. Right? It wasn’t even subtle.
With his cheeks flaming up, Stiles put his hand over Derek’s eyes, closing them. Derek snorted, grabbed him, and pulled him, yelling, into the pool.
*
“If you had a chance, whom would you pick?”
Stiles stared at the interviewer hidden behind the camera. Something about the question irked him, but he couldn’t concentrate, not with the bright and hot lights shoved in his powdered face.
“Uh, Derek?” he said, frowning. “I haven’t even talked to the other alphas.”
“Did you know that seven omegas out of twelve have also requested Derek?”
Something cold slipped into Stiles’ stomach. “Can’t say I blame them. You have to be completely stupid not to realize that he’s the best.”
The interviewer smiled and leaned her elbows onto her crossed legs. “Some of the alphas have requested you, too. Do you have an idea who that might be?”
“I…” Stiles shook his head. “I don’t remember who’s called what. So no.”
“Do you think Derek was one of those alphas?”
“Yes.”
The woman arched an eyebrow. Some of the crewmembers exchanged amused gazes at the speed of his reply. Stiles scowled.
“Are you sure?” the interviewer smiled.
“Yes?” Stiles insisted, looking at her like she had lost her mind. Seriously, this lady was nothing on his Sheriff of a father; she has no idea what real intimidation tactics looked like. “I am going to pick him, and he is going to pick me. End of story. Watch us win this entire thing; you can save this clip for the finale.” He leaned toward the camera and looked right in its round, soulless eye. “Derek and I are going to take that million dollars. Goodbye.”
He ripped the mic off his chest and stormed out of the room.
*
They herded everyone into the arena set for the main events. Brightly decorated and lit up like the sun, it blinded Stiles when he walked in. Now, it was empty, apart from the big stage for them to stand on, omegas opposite alphas.
The placements were assigned, and once Stiles looked up, he realized that Derek was all the way at the beginning of his alpha row against Stiles’ last place. They met gazes and smiled at each other.
Soon.
Once everything was set up, the presenter walked in with a veneer fence of teeth and a magnificent black suit, and then the ceremony started.
“This year, we are changing things up!” he announced after introductions and fanfare. “You heard it right, ladies and gentlemen! It is going to be like nothing you have ever seen before!”
Stiles and Erica exchanged glances, as did everyone else.
“In an extraordinary turn of events, this year, the couples were pre-selected! You heard that right! We picked it for you!”
Oh, no.
Stiles felt the blood rush away from his face. His gaze found Derek’s alarmed one. They stared at each other, unable to break it.
They had to put him with Derek. They haven’t talked to anyone else. They were always together, no drama, no—
No drama.
“If they put me with anyone other than Boyd…” muttered Erica under her breath.
“In fact, take a look at the person standing opposite you. Take a look a-a-and welcome your partner!”
Stupefied, Stiles glanced at the guy standing in front of him on the other end of the stage. Brown hair, blue eyes, regular build, and a smug smile.
Stiles swallowed and lowered his eyes. His fists clenched and relaxed, his jaw working. He could hear the cameras zooming on him.
For the rest of the ceremony, where they explained the rules and showed them the prizes they would get for motivation, Stiles did not look up from the floor. He didn’t want to see Derek — his Derek — smile at someone else in encouragement, trying to reassure them that everything would be okay despite the rule change. He wondered who had gotten Derek, but at the same time, did not want to know.
Well… Back to the original plan, then. He had no one to rely on anymore, no one to trust. He didn’t like his guy’s face, nor his pleased fucking smirk or the self-assured stance. It was just Stiles, then. On his own.
Only at the end of the ceremony did Stiles manage to convince himself to look up. It’s not like Derek was going to be watching him, anyway—
The alpha’s gaze singed his skin. Derek stood with his arms crossed and his jaw muscles moving, staring at him. It seemed that he’s been doing it for a while. Perhaps, the entire time.
Quickly, Stiles looked away.
Yeah. It would’ve been too easy.
*
“Stiles, I really didn’t know. I am so sorry.”
“Keep it.”
Paige winced and bit her lip. She was all red, whether from excitement or shame Stiles didn’t really care. She lowered onto the bus seat in front of him and turned away.
This entire thing was stupid. He wasn’t any different from all these omegas, getting attached to an alpha within a week. It meant nothing; it’s just a stupid TV show.
“Boyd told me Derek went to speak to the producers,” said Erica, without even lowering her voice. She was lucky enough to get Boyd as a partner; Stiles would bet that the team hoped they’d fight and cause a scene. “We’ll get some news back at the house.”
In front of them, Paige’s shoulders sloped.
*
Couples were supposed to live together, one alpha and one omega. It provided bonding and inevitably led to fucking, which the producers liked.
Stiles curled his lip as Matt took Erica’s place. His skin shriveled from the thought of having to share his space with some random alpha whose name he learned twenty minutes ago.
“Come on, I’m not so bad,” said Matt with an easy smile as he settled. The man fell onto Erica’s bed and took a deep inhale. His grin widened. “You look cute when you’re angry.”
Stiles’ fists itched for a punch.
He threw himself off the bed and stormed out of the room, stomping across the warm floors to the open patio. He couldn’t even look at the pool right now — what if Derek was there, floating around with—
“Ah!” Stiles yelped when someone caught him around the waist and dragged him into a changing room to their left. “What the—”
The door shut and locked. The lights turned on. His attacker let him go before he could kick, and Stiles quickly turned around.
“Stop avoiding me,” Derek bit out.
Stiles’ face heated. He squirmed under his glare. “I’m not avoiding you.”
“Liar.”
Stiles crossed his arms, then uncrossed them only to clench his fists. “Listen, this sucks, alright? I thought—” He pursed his lips. God, why was he so upset about this? “It doesn’t matter. Good luck with Paige.”
“Stiles—”
He turned to leave, but Derek didn’t let him. The alpha grabbed his shoulder and pinned him to the lockers, making them clang. His hand cupped Stiles’ face in a hard, unforgiving grip, but Stiles refused to lift his gaze.
“Won’t look at me? Okay, don’t. I’ll make you listen.” Derek’s heat traveled through the little space between them and seeped into Stiles. The lack of distance made his head spin, but Derek’s voice, steely and harsh, cinched his throat. “She was not my choice, and she never will be. We’re both stuck in this. They won’t let me switch, and if I fight more, they’ll kick me out. I promised to help you win, didn’t I?”
Stiles caught Derek’s wrist and tugged it to no avail — it wrapped like a snare around his chin.
“Just forget it,” he muttered. “It’s a stupid show, nothing more.”
Derek clenched his jaw, breathing harshly. “A stupid show?” he repeated in a low voice.
Stiles thought something could come out of this, that’s what was stupid. He thought maybe, maybe they would have some fun during the show before going to their respective homes and forgetting the other existed. He thought that he would have Derek to himself for even a little bit, for however much they’d last until the joke runs out.
Yeah, it was a show. Stiles just… believed in himself too much.
He shrugged.
With a frustrated grunt, Derek brought his other hand to Stiles' face to cup it properly from both sides, pulled him in, and…
And then, they were kissing.
Stiles had never been kissed quite like this before. He could taste Derek’s yearning on his tongue and lapped the frustration and desire from his lips. Derek kissed him like he wanted to do this for a while — a long while — and the man’s hands shook from barely restrained hunger.
He took everything he could from Stiles. He didn’t waste time and slipped his tongue inside Stiles' mouth as soon as his lips fell open from the gasp. His hand wrapped around Stiles’ waist, pulling him in, closer than ever before, and pressed them tightly together so that the omega could feel him, all of him. Close, safe, and real.
Derek didn’t let him go for a long time. Stiles’ lips were red and puffy when they separated, all because Derek took one look at them and kissed him more. As if he couldn’t stop.
Stiles clung to him, digging his nails into the alpha’s shoulders. His hand slipped onto the man’s neck once and sent Derek into a full-body shiver. Stiles didn’t think he’d ever have this effect on someone, and yet…
“I’m going to help you win, okay?” Derek murmured into his lips.
Stiles nodded. “Okay.”
The alpha swiped his thumb along Stiles’ cheekbone. “If that alpha bothers you, tell me.” He chuckled at Stiles’ groan. “You’re welcome into my bed any time.”
“What about—” Stiles curled his lip, “—your omega?”
“What about you?”
Stiles went red. “I meant Paige.”
Derek leaned down and kissed Stiles' neck, his lips soft and lingering. One, two, three times. His hot breath coated Stiles’ skin, sending heated sparks down his stomach. His hands settled heavily on Stiles' sides.
“I guess, she’s my roommate,” Derek said with a sigh. “I can’t kick her out.”
“Just don’t welcome her into your bed.”
Derek’s grin was too knowing. He encased Stiles’ neck between his hands and kissed him again, this time savoring it. If there were mics in this room, they would’ve certainly picked up on the noises.
Suddenly, Stiles smiled into the kiss.
“What?” asked Derek.
The omega shook his head, biting his widening grin, and pulled him in for an embrace, tucking his nose into the alpha’s neck.
Their first kiss wasn’t on the cameras. Derek’s passion was for him and him alone.
He yelped when Derek grabbed him under the thighs and settled his legs around the alpha’s waist.
“Let’s get some food in you,” said Derek, carrying him toward the exit. “I want you relaxed by the pool the entire weekend.”
*
You’re welcome in my bed.
The words swirled in Stiles' mind as he lay in his bedroom, unable to close his eyes. Every move Matt made forced him into wakefulness, and the alpha moved a lot.
Stiles closed his face with his hands and pushed it into the pillow. His only consolation was that Paige was too skittish to attempt anything with Derek. At least, she wasn’t Jennifer.
*
“Looking like shit, sweetheart.”
“Thanks, Erica.”
Stiles didn’t even startle when her hand landed on his head in a pitiful pat.
“Is he giving you trouble?” asked Boyd.
The omega rolled his head on his crossed arms and squinted at the man. The sun was too bright this morning.
“Matt? No,” he grunted. “He snores like a train, though.”
The cup clinked against the table right in front of his nose.
“Should have come to me,” grumbled Derek, settling on the bench beside Stiles. The omega immediately put his leg over Derek’s knee, making the alpha thaw a bit.
“How did you sleep?” asked Stiles. He drank some of the coffee and groaned at the delicious taste. How did Derek know how to make it just right?
“Fantastic. Dreamed of you.” Derek flicked him gently on the nose.
“Aww,” smiled Erica.
Sighing and growing red blotchy spots on his face, Stiles plastered himself over Derek with his cheek against the man’s shoulder. Derek’s hand settled on Stiles’ thigh under the table.
Maybe it will be okay.
*
“Come on!” hollered Stiles, hanging from the window and slapping the plaster wall. “Have you never climbed a rope?! Do you know where you are, you piece of shit?!”
Matt’s hands trembled. Hanging from the thick rope that came from Stiles’ window, he glared at the omega with his teeth gritting. Underneath them, the omegas muttered between themselves over Stiles' rudeness.
“Easy, Stiles,” the presenter’s voice echoed across the stadium. “It’s your partner, you should be encouraging him.”
It was the first competition. The first! And Matt was already failing. He was wholly unprepared, weak like a puppy, and so stupid that Stiles wanted to kick him in the head for his brain to slide into place.
The obstacle course wasn’t even that hard. A couple of balancing here, some weights over there, running, crawling, and right now the rope. Hell, Derek hopped from one buoy to another like a fucking bunny! How could anyone be so incompetent?!
Matt tried to pull himself up when his shoulders sagged. Sweaty and red, he hung from the rope, shaking his head.
Stiles had had enough.
Ignoring the warning shouts from the bottom, he climbed out of the window and slipped down the rope, barely missing Matt’s head with his feet.
“Give it to me! Give it!” he demanded, extending his hand.
Matt snarled at him but slapped the flag into his palm.
“Useless,” Stiles spat, knowing full well everybody could hear him. He put the flag between his teeth and climbed the rope in ten seconds. Stiles fell through the window into his ‘castle’, ran to the roof, and shoved the damn flag into the holder.
The horn blared across the stadium, announcing the end of his torture.
“And our last couple finishes second to last! Second to last!” shouted the presenter. “Unfortunately, that means that you are risking elimination alongside Brad and Angela—”
“Fuck!”
“Alright…”
Stiles stopped listening. He paced around his small room with his hands locked behind his neck, muttering to himself. He couldn’t kill the dude, he’d get eliminated, he couldn’t kill the dude…
Cursing, he leaned out of the window again and spluttered as he saw Matt still trying to climb.
“What the hell are you doing, you idiot?” he yelled.
“I’m… supposed to… get you down…” Matt looked ready to barf.
“I don’t want my brain scrambled on the ground!” Stiles took the rope and shook it, which made the crowd beneath gasp.
When Matt finally reached the floor and fell upon it, groaning, Stiles jumped out of the window right onto the rope and expertly climbed down within seconds.
He didn’t even stop when he reached the ground and stepped out of the way of Matt’s hand. He stormed past the rushing cameramen to the alpha, who had been watching him the entire time.
Derek uncrossed his arms and opened them right in time to catch Stiles as he slammed into his chest. His hands closed over Stiles' frame, hot and reassuring.
“It’s gonna be okay,” muttered Derek, nudging Stiles' temple with his nose. “Do you hear me? You didn’t take ten minutes crying on that roof.”
Behind them, Brad burst out in tears for the fifth time.
“Yeah.” Stiles cleared his throat. “Yeah, you’re right.” He took a steadying breath and leaned away, though Derek did not let him go far. “I can’t even look at him.”
Derek did it for him. His gaze narrowed and hardened as it found its target, coughing and shaking on the ground beneath the rope. “I’ll talk to him, don’t worry.”
“Leave him. He’s useless. Next time I’ll just do everything myself.” Stiles rubbed his head in a quick move, then looked at Derek and frowned. “What?”
Derek fought down a smirk. “Nothing.”
*
“Do not humiliate me like that ever again.”
Stiles lowered the book he was reading and sent Matt a disgusted glare. “That part you did all by yourself! Look at you, big boy!”
Matt grit his teeth. “You think I like being stuck with Derek’s mattress? The same Derek who is probably getting his dick sucked, by the way!”
“What did you say?” Stiles hissed.
“That he was getting—”
“I am going to kick you in the nuts so hard your knot will go up your ass.”
Suddenly, Matt’s lips shook in a smirk. “Thinking about my knot, huh?”
Stiles got up and marched out of the door before he did something his father would arrest him for. The cameras buzzed as they turned to follow him straight to the third “elite” floor.
He didn’t even stop before barging into the room.
Paige flinched. She was dressed in nothing but a lacy set of white lingerie, but all the charm was lost as she sat on her bed, flushed red with her knees tucked to her chest like a scolded kitten. Derek lay on his own bed fully dressed with a book in his hands.
Throwing Paige a disdainful smirk, Stiles walked up to Derek and climbed onto his bed right into his open arms. When the alpha’s arm settled around him, tucking him close to his side, Stiles tasted the victory at last.
*
The next challenge was all about speaking your truth — literally — and this time it was for the omegas. Tell a lie — get dunked in the ice water and risk elimination.
Stiles aced it.
“Would you consider giving the winning money to the charity?”
“No.”
“What are your feelings about Derek?”
“Inappropriate.”
“Did you want him for yourself?”
“Yes.”
“Is he your first serious relationship?”
“Yes.”
Sure, he was red like a tomato, but he grit his teeth and told the truth when other omegas stuttered and blushed at the least provocative of questions. His only competition was Erica, whose answers got saucier the more they went.
They split the first place.
*
“You’ll have to let him go eventually.”
Stiles rearranged the grapes next to the crackers and plopped the block of cheese on the board to cut it into cubes. Taking the biggest knife, he finally turned to Paige. “Did you say something?”
The girl frowned. She didn’t flinch at the knife, nor when Stiles started massacring the parmesan. She stared at him with her arms crossed and her doe eyes solemn.
“I know you’re angry,” she said. “But it’s not my fault that I got him.”
“You didn’t get him, he was assigned to you—”
“It doesn’t matter. But we are a couple now. You gotta let him go before it would hurt you.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure you didn’t hit your head when you got out of that ice?” He waved a knife around, making her step back. “We’re on the show. Nobody is forcing him into a marriage contract with you. You get him as a partner in the games? Well, congratulations, sweetheart. If he wins, I’m still gonna be the one he kisses, so…” He shrugged, dumped all the cheese cubes on the board next to the grapes, and picked it up. “Now skedaddle. Derek and I are gonna make out on the patio.”
*
“You said we would make out.”
Frowning, Stiles plopped another grape into his mouth. “You heard that?” he asked, distracted.
Derek tensed.
“You aren’t exactly quiet, sweetie,” drawled Erica from under her sun hat.
Stiles snorted, feeling Derek’s hand unfreeze and resume its caress. He turned around, climbed onto the alpha’s lap, and sealed their lips.
*
“You cannot abandon me at the last step!” Stiles picked up a handful of wet, gritty dirt and hurled it at Matt, who lay at the edge of the cliff above him. Based on the sounds, it plopped onto the ground next to the man. Growling, covered in mud and sweat, with his clothes sticking to his body, Stiles ran up the hill and extended his hand. “Get your ass here and pull me out!”
Matt’s tousled hair peeked from the edge. His face scrunched, and a moment later, he disappeared again. “I can’t!”
“Why?!”
“I— I just can’t!”
Stiles’ feet slipped. He fell onto the wet ground for the dozen time and screamed the rage out of his lungs.
No matter how quick and agile he was, no matter how lithe his body, he physically could not do this challenge alone. They started at the opposite ends and were supposed to meet in the middle in the epic ‘alpha saves the omega’ act-bullshit. He was three feet above Stiles; he could just extend his hand — maybe lean down a little… okay, lean down a lot — and grab him. Stiles could not get out of this fucking mud alone.
Breathing heavily, Stiles looked up and scowled at the black camera eye of an operator zooming on him. He stood up, backed up a few feet, and ran straight for the hill again, jumping at the last second.
His nails dug into the mud and slithered down, dragging him along. The only thing he could latch onto was his alpha’s hand. Except, his alpha was currently in the process of a meltdown.
“Is it because I’m dirty?” Stiles yelled, squinting at the sky. “Are you afraid to catch cooties or what? What the fuck is your problem, Matt? What—” Stiles choked.
With dry mud flakes peeling from his skin, angry as a bull, Derek leaned from the edge and offered his hand palm up.
Stiles let out an honest-to-god sob and ran toward him. A hot, strong hand caught his slippery one and clamped on his wrist like a vice. The alpha — his alpha — dragged him up as if he weighed no more than a couple of kittens.
Derek held him as Stiles tried to catch his breath. The omega leaned all his weight on Derek, put his cheek on his shoulder, and watched as the presenter — Steve, his name was Steve — ran toward him with a crew and guest judges behind his back.
“Derek, you cannot help him—”
“You are not his alpha—”
“Entering the risk of the disqualification…”
Derek’s hands gripped his as Stiles threw himself on them. “You can’t do that!”
Steve inclined his head. The judges murmured behind them, watching Stiles as if he were a rabid dog.
This was what it was about, right? They needed a villain because every show needs its villain, and Stiles, who had nothing sweet about him besides his scent, was the perfect candidate. Pair him up with an incompetent coward and boom! Drama!
“You cannot do that.”
Stiles looked up at Derek.
The alpha glared at the judges. “The rules were—”
“We know the rules,” said one judge, but Derek barreled on as if he hadn’t spoken.
“The rules were that an alpha and omega must meet in the middle,” argued Derek. “It was never explicitly said that Matt should pull him out. Only that they must meet.” He pointed at Matt, who struggled to get off the floor, exhausted from his own part of the challenge. “They did.”
Steve looked at the camera and back. “Well, it was not explicitly said, because it was implied.” He chuckled nervously and turned to the judges. “Right?”
“Stiles did not disobey the rules. You have no grounds to disqualify them,” threw Derek. “Make it clearer in the future, rewrite the rules, I don’t care. But now, we all need to get back to the house, don’t you think?”
Steve cringed his nose at the state of the contestant’s clothes, then swiftly turned to the judges. “I think we have matters to discuss. Now,” he clapped his hands with a sudden enthusiastic smile, “let’s look at the scoreboard!”
*
“They didn’t pair you up on purpose.”
Stiles unglued his cheek from Derek’s chest and squinted at Boyd, who lay on the deck chair next to them on Erica’s lap. The girl was knitting right above his head, but Boyd paid no attention to the square of wool slapping him in the face.
“What do you mean?” mumbled Stiles. Softened like butter, he lay on Derek as the alpha brushed the tips of his fingers along Stiles’ back.
“You saw Derek in challenges,” said Boyd without opening his eyes. “He aces them all. You, too. They probably saw you train and knew you’d kick everyone's ass and leave the show fans with no suspense.”
Stiles thought about it, then groaned, realizing he was right.
Boyd continued. “I also think they put both of you up with the weakest. Paige and Matt.”
Without moving his head, Stiles glanced to the opposite side of the pool, where Paige sat under the umbrella and pretended to read. It was Derek’s book, and she definitely did it to piss Stiles off. The least Paige could do was turn the pages, but she didn’t because she was shit at pretending.
“They did say it’s about a balance,” added Erica, clicking the knitting needles.
“How about I balance their balls in my hand before ripping them off,” muttered Stiles.
Erica guffawed, and even Boyd smiled.
“Relax,” he dragged lazily. “Erica and I will win anyway.”
The girl giggled, and Stiles squinted at him in mock warning.
“Watch it,” mumbled Derek from under his hat without any threat to his voice.
*
Stiles was ready to pick up the heaviest pan and make a crêpe out of Matt’s face.
“Leave. The batter. ALONE!” yelled Stiles, shifting from foot to foot. Matt, covered in flour, glared at him from the table. “Just chop the carrots. Can you chop the carrots? Where do you think you are going with that steak?”
“I’m an alpha here, I know my meat!”
“You don’t know shit!”
“SWITCH!” hollered Steve the presenter, jumping in place.
The omegas rushed toward the tables, switching places with their alphas. Someone slipped and fell, and others yelled at their partners, struggling to pick up what the alphas left for them to do. Matt shouldered him as he ran past, though whether on purpose or not, Stiles did not care. Muttering curses under his nose, Stiles chucked the veggies into the batter, then plopped them into a sizzling oil.
“I will kill you, I swear to fucking god…” Stiles poked at the steak. “Undercooked!” He grabbed the pan and pushed the steak into the oven, then glared at Matt, whose bulging forehead vein was close to bursting. “The only meat you know is the one swingin’ between your legs, and let me tell you, bud, it’s not gonna be swingin’ for long—”
“Watch your tongue, omega,” growled Matt.
Stiles took the chef’s knife and moved toward him.
The cameramen ran up to him, zooming in. Huffing, Stiles slammed the knife into the chopping board, burying it in the wood. His gaze shifted from one camera to another until he caught Derek’s disapproving, narrowed stare between them.
“Focus,” mouthed Derek, his arms crossed on his chest.
Stiles pursed his lips and pushed up his chin.
“Yes, alpha,” he muttered bitterly and went to puree the cauliflower.
Back at home, no one was pureeing anything for his dad. Stiles clenched his teeth together, concentrating on the task. Derek was right; he had to focus. He wasn’t doing this for himself or Matt, but for his father. His old man was unlucky enough to have an omega for a child — though Dad vehemently denied it and got angry when Stiles spoke about himself that way — so Stiles would do anything to rectify it. It was either this or spreading his legs for some old fat fuck.
Stiles glanced at Derek and quickly looked down as he caught the alpha’s gaze on himself. Red blotches spread on his already hot cheeks. Damn it.
He was getting too attached. All those cuddles, splashing in the pool, wine, and heated kisses — everything was getting into his head. Yes, they talked, deep into the night, whispering into each other’s necks or when they sneaked out to the pool in the pink hours of the morning. They didn’t know each other’s last names. Stiles didn’t know where he lived, and he did not want to know because it certainly wasn’t anywhere close to Beacon Hills.
“Stupid,” Stiles murmured. Dull ache pounded in his heart.
Yes, Derek kissed him like he wanted it to last. If Stiles was a romantic at heart, he would’ve said it tasted like yearning or desperation. For what — Stiles didn’t know. There ought to be thousands like him in Derek’s world, while Derek was one in a million.
“You better start plating!”
Stiles rushed to arrange everything into a decent dish.
This one’s for you, Pops, he thought. When the timer rang and Steve erupted in cheers, he glanced up. Derek nodded, clapping at him with a small, proud smile. And this one’s for me.
*
“So, we’re down to five couples. What can you say about Jennifer now that she’s gone?”
“It’s been easier to breathe since the shit is not coming out of her mouth anymore.”
“Don’t you think you need to have allies within omegas here? Keep your friends close…”
“I have Derek, dude.”
The interviewer suppressed a smile. “You two grew close—”
“Yes.”
“But not too close.”
“My Dad’s watching.”
“Do you think that’s why Derek hasn’t made a move?”
“Yes.”
“Did you know that others offered to take the stress off?”
“N-no.”
“Do you think he’ll take that offer?”
*
The kisses grew hotter each day. Each lick, each bite tasted of desperation.
They reminded each other about the audience, invisible but no less real. A hand on the chest, fingers grabbing the chin to stop the lips from pursuing. Stuttered breaths, simmering heat, gritted teeth. Forehead against forehead and noses rubbing together.
In the end, it was Derek who smiled at him in placation and pressed the last calming kiss to Stiles’ eager lips. As if they had all time in the world. As if they would be doing it again and again and again, after. As if something real would exist beyond this TV set.
*
“You’re gonna miss.”
Matt’s jaw bulged. He pulled the trigger, missing the red circle target in its entirety.
Stiles smirked. “Told ya.”
Matt glared at him. “Do you want to take a turn?” he snarled.
“Do you want to win half a million?”
They stared at each other in mutual hatred. Growing tired, Stiles walked up to him and hip-checked him out of the way, pulling the gun out of his hands.
“Ew, it’s all moist,” Stiles pursed his nose as he rubbed Matt’s sweat off the handle. Breathing out, Stiles took a stance, closed one eye and hit the aim center five times in a row.
“And we have a winner!” hollered Steve.
Stiles’ eyes searched for Derek’s figure instinctively. His heart stuttered at the sight of the small, proud smile until he felt someone tug on his arm.
“What are you doing? The challenge is over, you dolt, there is no more shots…”
*
Derek’s hot puffs of breath against his neck. His big, slack hand on the inside of Stiles’ thigh, unequivocally high.
Stiles raked his fingers through Derek’s hair, his touch light and careful so as not to wake him. His leg was thrown over the alpha’s torso, his dick hard. If Derek were awake, he would’ve taken care of it, Stiles knew it. They haven’t got that far yet, though each make-out session pushed the line. Gentle, but insistent, like Stiles wanted Derek to be when he—
Stiles bit his lip and exhaled. Swallowed, then opened his eyes against the dark, his lower stomach aching from heat and lust. Oh, he wanted to rut against Derek’s thigh, to feel those hands on his skin, ride him, take him, feel him…
His gaze fell on the opposite bed. He stilled under Paige’s gaze.
They stared at each other without a word until Derek mumbled something in his sleep and pulled Stiles tighter to himself.
A smile stretched Stiles’ lips, unbidden. He settled his hands around Derek’s muscly back, closed his eyes, and pressed his grin against Derek’s head.
*
“You gotta tell Derek to tone it down.”
Stiles glanced at Erica with his eyebrow high. “What does that mean?”
Erica kept slicing the strawberry and met his gaze with a smirk of her own. “Your face, honey.”
“Derek didn’t do anything.”
“Then you gotta wear sunscreen.”
“Yes, mother.”
“Do not.” Erica looked over her shoulder at the entrance to the gym. “Do not give Boyd ideas, he’s already salivating.”
Stiles smirked. “I did put sunscreen already,” he dismissed, plopping an ice cube into his parched mouth. “Hey!” He ducked out of the way, missing Erica’s hand. “What are you doing?”
“Come here.” Erica clasped his chin with her long, pointy nails and pushed the back of her hand against his forehead. She appraised him for several moments with her eyebrows furrowing before finally letting him slip away. “You’re burning.”
“I—” Stiles shut his mouth.
Two omegas watched each other.
Erica sighed and put the strawberries down. “Oh, honey…”
“I can’t.”
“Well…”
“I just… I can’t.”
A gentle hand took him by the elbow. All jokes about mothers suddenly slipped from Stiles’ feverish mind.
“Let’s find a medic, okay?”
Swallowing, Stiles looked back at the gym door. His heart raced in his temples, clouding his thoughts. God, how did he miss it? The horniness, the sweat, and Derek, who couldn’t let him go this morning.
Derek.
“Don’t tell him,” whispered Stiles, knowing full well that the mics would pick it up anyway. “Just don’t, okay?”
Erica threw him a dubious if not downright pitying look. Even if she was silent, the producers would likely lock him up for a few days. Derek would notice his absence within minutes.
“You are going into heat for him,” said Erica. “There’s nothing embarrassing about that.”
“I don’t even know his last name.”
“Thinking of hyphenating?”
“Erica.”
The girl patted him on the arm as they walked. “Now the entire country knows you want his babies. Perhaps the producers will switch you and Paige. Imagine how good it would look for their reputation.”
Yeah, it would look good. The omega finds the alpha so good he wants to mate with him and goes into heat on national television. In a fairytale setting, Derek would sweep him off his feet, and they would marry and be the best advertisement this show could only hope to have.
God, why couldn’t it be just a crush? They’ve known each other for a month. They haven’t even had sex yet!
Stiles groaned, closing off his face. No, not thinking about sex.
Fuck, and what would Derek think of him? A desperate, foolish omega he barely knows, falling for the first alpha to give him proper attention. How pathetic. He was supposed to keep it cool, to be chill about it, and then he went into a fucking heat.
“Erica?”
“Yes, honey?”
“If I come out, and he has moved on—”
“You cannot be serious.”
“— promise to tell me first before I go to him. I know I’ve signed up for humiliation, but not on this scale.”
They stopped in front of a medic’s office. Soft hands cupped his flaming face. Something about Erica’s gaze sent a pang through Stiles’ furiously beating heart.
“Self-doubt never suited anybody, not even your Bambi face. Derek had his eyes on you since we met. As if you were who he was searching for. I wouldn’t be surprised if he hunts you down to help you with this heat of yours.” Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Erica pushed at his chin to shut it. “I’ll watch him for ya. But you have nothing to worry about. Get yourself sorted, I’ll see you on the other side.”
“Alright,” Stiles took her hands off his face and squeezed them before releasing. “Let’s do this.”
With a final exhale, Stiles entered the medical office.
*
They kept him locked for three days. It would’ve been a relief, were it a proper heat, but here they pumped him with suppressants, so he was conscious through all of it. Thankfully, there wasn’t any pain or rabid humping; he did not cry out for his alpha like omegas in gothic romance novels, but it was a close thing.
Derek was the only thing Stiles could think about.
Did Derek think of him?
They probably had to delay this week’s challenge because of Stiles, and there was no way the other contestants didn’t know by now why it happened. Stiles could already hear the gossip, the whispers, and he could see the glances.
Yes, he fell in love. Yes, in two months. Yes, to the point that his body decided it was time to settle and that Derek was it. The perfect alpha whom Stiles could entrust his body and mind in the whirlwind of heat, when omegas lost all control of themselves and had to be doted on twenty-four seven.
Once, Stiles imagined how Derek would be taking care of him and spent that evening ugly crying.
By the end of it, he crawled out of the room exhausted beyond belief, with eyes puffy from late-night tears and lack of sleep, hungry and shaking. It felt like his mind was surrounded by cotton wool, and it took him a minute to understand what the producers were saying.
“The challenge is on the way, we are only waiting for you.”
*
Stiles rode to the location alone, though it felt like a funeral procession rather than VIP treatment. He drank coffee, cringing at the taste, and psyched himself up.
He was doing it for his Dad. He did not have the luxury of quitting. He could do this.
They took him from the car straight to the bus to get mic'd up, then ushered him outside. Stiles had gotten used to feeling strange hands on him, but today was the first time he winced and cringed his nose as they set him up. The warmth of the hands was wrong, their size, their touch. It was a testament to how tired he was that he didn’t kick someone.
Wind flapped his t-shirt, chilling the remaining droplets of sweat on his back. Stiles shivered and crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes against the sand flying in the air. They brought him to a sort of canyon, where the remaining contestants were already waiting on the edge, all strapped up with helmets and cameras on their heads, and…
The ropes stretched across the canyon to the other side. Oh hell nah…
Stiles’ heart rushed, his head spun. Resolutely ignoring the group of three alphas — Boyd, Derek, and Matt — Stiles marched toward Erica. Their gazes burned Stiles’ face, Derek’s hottest of them all.
Coward, thought Stiles to himself as he joined the omega row and shifted his eyes to Steve.
Erica managed only a comforting smile before the producers signaled the start of the challenge.
Despite the fog in his brain and tremor in his hands, Stiles had enough mind to realize how fucked he was. Each couple had to rope-walk to the other end, which could only be accomplished if they held hands. God, he did not want anybody touching him. Least of all…
Matt, who looked vaguely green and stared wide-eyed at the canyon.
Erica and Boyd went first. They strolled down the ropes as if it were an everyday thing for them. Next were Derek and Paige, and even thinking about them with that damn ampersand made Stiles’ chest hurt. Only when the pair stood on the rope did he manage to look up, only to regret it immediately at the sight of Derek holding Paige’s hand.
Logic and rationale went out of the window. Of course, Derek wouldn’t let Paige plummet to the canyon depths, or let her slip from the rope, of course not. He was Derek — the alpha one couldn’t help but rely on. Strong, dependable, kind.
Paige had nothing to worry about, really.
Stiles stared at Derek’s back muscles flexing and shivered from the cold.
“We can refuse.”
He turned sharply to the left, where Matt stood, swallowing a bit too often.
“What?” said Stiles.
Matt glanced at him dubiously, then tightened his jaw. The steel in his gaze looked closer to quicksilver.
“I mean,” Matt looked him up and down, “You are weak.”
“What?”
“W-weakened! I meant—”
Stiles snarled, “I have no job, a mortgage, and a shit ton of hospital bills. If you think for one second that I am not going to crawl on broken glass for that first place, then you have to look around, buddy, ‘cause you may have lost your mind…”
“…Stiles?”
He whipped around. “What?!”
The filming crew stood to the side with their faces scrunched. The bravest girl stepped forward. “You’re next. We have to strap you in.”
Leaving Matt to sweat alone, Stiles left himself in the hands of the crew. He nearly gritted his teeth to dust trying not to scream at the necessary touches. They strapped him to the harness, put a helmet on him with a small camera pointed at his face. At last, they pushed him and Matt toward the edge.
In the distance, which thankfully wasn’t a lot, Derek stood on the other side. When people came up to him to take the equipment off, he dismissed them with a shake of his head. He met Stiles’ gaze for a second before the omega looked down.
Oh, so he was definitely looking. Right.
“Ready?” yelled Steve.
“Yes.” Stiles stepped onto the rope, grabbing the one above him with his gloved hands. The ropes wobbled dangerously. All air got sucked out of Stiles’ stomach, his guts clenched.
“No.”
Everybody looked at Matt.
“I am going to push you off the edge,” growled Stiles, drilling Matt’s skull with his gaze.
Steve chuckled nervously. “It is actually impossible to fall, our team put much effort into ensuring your safety—”
“I will unclasp his safety lock with my own hands.”
“Alright.”
Watching the edge as if it were a poisonous snake, Matt walked backward, paling with every second. He kept shaking his head.
“I’m not gonna do it,” he said, looking up at Stiles. “Sorry, but I quit.”
“Coward!” Stiles spat.
“I’m—”
“Fuck you!” Stiles wobbled on the rope, then breathed out and turned toward the canyon. “I’m gonna do it myself.”
Steve gasped. Some of the crew murmured to each other, but Stiles was already moving. He didn’t know if it was against the rules, or if he could even do it on his own — he had to reach the other end.
“Stiles, please, come back,” called Steve.
“We gotta get him off…”
Their mutter was but a wind in Stiles’ ears. The camera drones swirled around him like vultures as he stepped further and further. His arms started shaking after only eight steps, his muscles aching at ten. His whole body was a tight string, his gaze focused on the rope in front of him.
“Come back!” someone yelled.
Stiles bit his lip, tasting blood. Sweat drenched his palms, back, and neck, only to be swept up by sharp gusts of cold wind.
“Shit,” Stiles muttered under his breath as his vision blackened for one second. “Shit, shit, shit…”
He leaned his head onto his stretched arm, closed his eyes, and breathed shakily.
“Stiles!” someone called, but the wind deafened the voice.
He opened his eyes and resumed walking.
It took him to get to the middle to realize that Matt was right all along. He needed another pair of hands to help him unclasp the harnesses from one rope and move them onto another, skipping the big knot in the middle.
Stiles stared at it with his eyes burning.
“Fuck,” he muttered.
His arms shook terribly. He hadn’t recovered enough for such straining activity. He needed to be in bed, sleeping it off, with an alpha nursing him back into a clear mind, feeding him, bathing him, telling him how good he’d been…
A tear slipped out of his eye, scalding his cheek. Stiles clenched his eyes shut and screamed all his frustration out until his throat hurt. The echo bounced off the canyon, tripling in anger.
On the other side, some commotion broke out, but Stiles couldn’t look, couldn’t focus on anything but the thin rope and the harnesses.
To walk back would be mortifying. Perhaps, even more than his heat. He couldn’t be reduced to his hormones, to his stupid biology, he couldn’t just stop. It wasn’t an option. His father had no one but Stiles to help him.
Stiles didn’t need anybody. He would do it all… by himself…
He glared at the rope above him and moved his hand forward, only for it to slip. He yelped as he lost his balance but managed to grab onto it. The edges of his vision darkened, his mouth dry as sand.
“Come on, Stilinski,” Stiles whispered, though the microphones undoubtedly picked it up. “Come on…”
He breathed some more, looked up, and froze with his heart leaping into his throat.
A figure was making its way to him, all but running on the rope. The hands flickered as the person tugged himself forward, a determined set to his mouth.
Derek.
An ugly sob burst out of Stiles’ throat before he could catch it. His lungs filled with air, making him feel so light, he could soar.
The rope wobbled more and more as Derek got closer. The sight of him, the faint smell of alpha that the wind caught and brought straight to Stiles’ nose, slackened his grip. His body screamed in relief, relaxing against Stiles’ wishes.
“Hanging here all by yourself, beautiful?” Derek’s smile was tense and most certainly just for Stiles’ benefit.
Swept by elation, Stiles barked a stifled laugh and couldn’t think of anything smarter than, “Yeah.”
Within seconds, Derek was by his side. In a blink, he undid Stiles' harness and clasped it on the other side of the knot. His hand wove around Stiles’ waist and gripped it hard, pressing Stiles’ body to Derek’s hot frame.
“Let go,” said Derek, frowning at his shaking arms. “It’s alright, I got you.”
It felt like his brain stopped working altogether, overwhelmed by the height, fear for his life, and pure, crisp relief of having his alpha close. Stiles unclenched his fingers from the rope and wound his arm around Derek’s shoulders.
“Good boy,” murmured Derek, making him shiver, “now the other.”
“Derek…”
“I got you.”
With another sob, Stiles let go, grasping at the alpha’s shoulders. Leaden ache flushed into his stiff arms along with blood. He groaned.
“There you go.” The praise spread across Stiles’ veins, forcing another breath out of him. “Let’s get you to the other side.”
“I don’t think I can,” croaked Stiles. “If I lift my arms, they’re gonna fall off.”
“I didn’t ask you to lift your arms. Just hold onto me, okay?”
“M’kay.”
“Wrap your legs around me.”
Stiles let out a hysterical laugh before obeying. Now he was all but hanging from Derek, clinging to him like a monkey to the tree.
“Don’t look down, look at me,” said Derek as they started to move, much faster than Stiles did on his own. “Come on, let me see those eyes.”
Stiles met his gaze, shaking like a leaf. His heart lurched, beating hard against Derek’s chest.
Derek’s lips melted into a smile. His eyes roamed around Stiles’ face as if he missed it. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
“Don’t let go, ‘kay?”
Stiles gazed at his face, instilling it into his memory.
“Okay.”
*
The arguments went over his head.
Stiles stood with his arms around Derek’s waist, his nose buried in the hollow of Derek’s neck. The wind caressed his closed lids, bringing the alpha’s smell right back at him. Derek’s chest vibrated from his voice as he bickered hotly with the producers.
Stiles knew he had lost.
It didn’t count that he reached the other end, he and Matt were supposed to do it together as a pair. But Matt was heaving and pissing himself, while Stiles would’ve never gotten back from that rope on his own. They had the rescuers on site, ready to launch when Derek pushed everyone away. Again, they let him because that made an excellent TV.
This was it, though, the end. No more Stiles and Derek. They would kick Stiles out, and Derek would move into the finale, and they would never see each other again.
These were the very last moments he had with Derek, and Stiles knew it well. That’s why he clung to the alpha like there was no tomorrow. Fuck everyone. He would take every last piece of this heaven while he could.
“You didn’t have to do that,” murmured Stiles when the producers left to deliberate. Derek was risking disqualification, and Paige was inconsolable. They took off their mics, but the cameras still glared at them from a distance, still rolling. “It was a lost cause.”
Derek’s jaw worked. His arm swung around Stiles’ shoulders, his fingers rubbing together as if he tried hard to keep himself calm.
At last, he spoke.
“You didn’t think it was a lost cause,” he said grimly. “When you went out there.”
“That’s because I was thinking about my dad. It’s what I came here for. What were you thinking?”
Derek fell silent for a while, not meeting Stiles’ gaze. His eyebrows lowered in a deep frown.
“Maybe I was thinking about why I came here, too.”
Stiles’ forehead creased in thought. “What do you mean?”
Derek exhaled loudly. He stopped drilling the producers with his gaze, looked at the ground, then lifted his eyes to Stiles’ face. Gently, he swiped the loose hair off Stiles’ forehead.
“I knew you’d do anything for the Sheriff. Even risking your life.”
They stared at each other.
Stiles’ throat clicked. “How do you know that?”
“How did I know what?”
“That my dad was the Sheriff.”
Derek’s jaw worked some more. The crew called for him, the bus for the alphas turning onto the set. It seemed that they’d announce the challenge results back in the house.
Stiles’ heart kept thudding, warmed by the heat of Derek’s body. He didn’t move away when the alpha leaned down to press his lips against Stiles’ brow, didn’t flinch when Derek’s hands slipped from his body, leaving him colder than ever before.
“I know that because I came here for you,” said Derek. When Stiles remained silent, the alpha sighed, as if resigned, pressed a soft kiss to his unresponsive lips, and walked away.
*
“Oh, honey.”
Stiles inhaled the scent of Erica’s hair pressed against his nose and closed his eyes. Hers wasn’t the embrace he craved the most, but it was nice and welcome. He would miss it.
He must have looked pretty bad because as soon as they crammed into one bus (there were too few contestants to bother with separate buses), Erica shoved him between Boyd and herself like a little child and started petting him, cooing that everything would be alright. Matt sat in the back, his head in his hands, unable to look anyone in the eyes; Paige was picking at her sleeve and didn’t talk.
“Derek is still talking to the team,” said Boyd, aiming for encouragement. “He looked pretty mad.”
“They should have delayed the challenge,” said Erica. “You haven’t recovered enough. Derek’s gonna chew them out, don’t worry.”
He shouldn’t bother, thought Stiles. Matt was never going to let him win. They paired him with the weakest alpha, and Stiles was enough to drag him through the season — until he wasn’t. Matt abandoned him at the slightest sign of weakness. He crumbled, and there was no one to catch him in time.
Well, at least he didn’t fall.
Derek didn’t come back. A girl from the team told them to drive to the house without him, as he was still in talks with the heads.
They arrived close to midnight. The house seemed deserted, its empty halls echoing their footsteps. Matt disappeared immediately, Paige went straight for the bar, while Erica and Boyd took Stiles to his room.
It was pointless to boot him out of the house when the finale was two days away, and they needed him for the audience. His clothes were hanging in the closet next to Derek’s, right where he left them. His book lay untouched on the nightstand, dog-eared and wrinkly.
In a dark, silent room, Stiles sat on the bed and buried his head in his hands.
*
The thing is, Stiles would’ve remembered a man like Derek.
The alpha was striking, a museum statue come alive. If — and Stiles couldn’t believe his own thoughts — if Derek was Beacon Hill’s resident, all talk would’ve been about him. And Stiles knows gossip, okay? The Sheriff’s department was the epicenter of it.
Derek knew his dad. He obviously knew who Stiles was before the show. He came here for Stiles.
I will help you win, he said.
Who the hell was Derek?
*
Stiles startled out of sleep. The hand that was caressing his cheek pulled away.
Derek watched him carefully from above, his face shrouded by the night.
“Come with me,” he rumbled, offering his hand.
Stiles took it without thinking.
*
“Your dad’s gonna kill me.”
Stiles put his chin on his folded knees and stared at the moon’s glimmer on the pool water. He frowned. “Why?” And then a horrid thought occurred to him. He lifted wary eyes at the alpha, his stomach in knots. “Is this some kind of revenge—”
“No, Jesus, Stiles…” Derek rubbed a hand down his face. “I work with him.”
Stiles huffed. “I am on a first-name basis with every deputy, and he hasn’t hired anyone in years.”
“I didn’t say I work for him.”
“Wh—” Stiles closed his mouth under Derek’s careful, meaningful gaze.
I work with him.
Contracts.
Werewolves.
The spark of revelation reflected on Derek’s face in a barely visible smirk. Slowly, as if he expected Stiles to bolt, Derek took his hand, interlaced their fingers, and placed them on the inside of Stiles’ thigh. Something pricked his skin without breaking it. Claws.
Derek took one look at his flushed face and grinned.
“What?” Stiles complained, squirming at the reaction.
“Nothin. You just smell really nice.”
Oh, so Derek could totally smell how horny those simple pinpricks made him. There wasn’t a way to hide from the wolf, was it?
God, the wolf.
He wiggled his fingers to feel around Derek’s claws, dying to look at them. Now was so not the time, not on national television. To think of it, Derek’s night lenses might have been something to keep the cameras from picking up the glare.
“I met you a year ago,” murmured Derek, forcing him to look up. Stiles' heart thudded at his words. “After my first contract. Your scent was all over the station, and it drove me mad that I couldn’t find the source. Then you barged in.” The alpha smiled at the memory. “I did jobs here and there, but I’ve never seen someone just barge into a police station. Then I realized what I’ve been smelling all this time. All over the town and the woods.”
“So you’ve been stalking me.”
“Only when you were in the woods.” Derek glanced at him. “You smell too good to go there on your own.”
“I don’t need a nanny,” bristled Stiles.
“Yeah, I figured that out pretty quickly. I just wanted an excuse to see you.”
Stiles rubbed their fingers together, struggling to come to terms with the thought that a wolf had been following him for a year, and he hadn’t noticed. Then, again, Derek was a born wolf — if he didn’t want to be seen, there was nothing Stiles could do.
God, something must have been wrong with Stiles, because the revelation brought relief rather than fear. Derek was there the whole time, close to him, watching over. He and dad weren’t alone.
Derek’s attention was all on him. Only him.
Stiles’ stomach jumped from a surge of giddiness. Something settled in his soul, releasing the iron hold.
“You’re right, Dad will kill you.” Derek laughed like that didn’t bother him at all. “You could’ve bumped into me in the streets like a normal person and asked me out. You know I would’ve said yes.”
The wolf didn’t answer at first. He hummed and reached out with his hand to brush away a loose strand of hair from Stiles’ forehead, then traced his fingers down Stiles’ cheek to catch his chin in a soft grip. His thumb rubbed over Stiles’ skin.
Quietly, he said, “I wanted you, not a one-night stand. But I’ve made a mistake of falling for the wrong person before. I had to figure you out first. To make sure.”
His words were layered with a years-old ache, and Stiles felt its weight in his voice, solemn like it rarely was.
“So, did you?” he asked.
Derek’s lips twitched. “Yeah. We took another case, went away, and… I realized that I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Couldn’t sleep, couldn’t focus on anything. Then I returned, ready to ask your father for permission to court you, and you weren’t there.”
The pads of Stiles’ fingers traced along the wolf’s claws, their sharp edges grazing the sensitive skin. The hot, heavy weight of Derek’s hand on his thigh kept him pinned in place and thinking of what could’ve been.
“Do you know how insane that is?” said Derek, fascinated and dangerously quiet. “That you’ve managed to run away from me? Twice?”
“I didn’t run away.” Stiles squirmed. “I was in heat.”
The alpha grinned as if it pleased him. Carefully, he leaned into Stiles’ space and pressed his nose to Stiles’ neck. His scalding breath fanned across the omega’s skin, making shivers ripple down his body right to the alpha’s hand. Derek tightened the grip just enough for Stiles to feel the danger of those claws before relaxing.
“Are you afraid?” asked Derek, his voice rough.
“Do I smell afraid?”
“You smell…” The wolf swallowed, then leaned away, shaking his head. “No.”
“There’s your answer.” Stiles put his other hand on Derek’s bicep, watching him. “What are you gonna do with me, though, if it’s not a one-night stand?” he asked quietly. “You know where I live, you know who my father is, and you know the condition he’s in.”
“I know that I don’t want another alpha’s child to have your eyes.”
“Derek.”
“If I let you go, people would fight to be the one to pick you up. You, and your father, and whomever you wish for — you just have to ask, and they’d give you anything, cover any debt, and buy you not just a house but the entire neighborhood. I’m not giving them that chance. I caught you first.”
Stiles’ throat cinched to the size of a needle’s eye. He blinked at the man sitting in front of him, his mouth dry and his stomach in knots, then shook his head and hid his face between Derek’s neck and shoulder. The alpha wrapped his arms around Stiles’ frame, hugging him tightly.
Stiles’ heart pounded in his chest like thunder. Exhaustion hit him like a train, leaving him mute for once in his life.
He wanted to say many things: how no one had ever seen him this weak except for his parents, how their instant connection scared and exhilarated him; he wanted to ask how something so grand and breathtaking could be this easy and light, and why Derek was so slow to trust, and whether he would consider taking Stiles’ dad into his pack as well. Are they gonna move or not? How big was Derek’s family, or how small? What would they think of him? What’s it like to be a human mate to the alpha wolf?
Mating, children, housing, money, families—
Derek pushed at Stiles’ chin, forcing him to come out. His lips captured Stiles’ mouth, soft at first. Stiles granted him access that he asked, letting him take, caress, and bite, tongue against tongue, slicker and hotter until the wolf couldn’t hold off his hunger any longer.
Fangs lengthened under Stiles’ tongue, making heat pool in his stomach, anticipating and thrumming. It melted him right into the alpha’s arms until he was soft and malleable.
The effects of leftover heat had yet to cool in his blood. Derek could truly do whatever he wanted with him in that moment, cameras be damned, and Stiles would let him.
The alpha placed a gentle hand on Stiles’ cheek, stopping him. When Stiles chased after him, Derek captured his lips again with a chuckle, kissed them until Stiles was a gasping mess, then leaned away, holding Stiles’ chin.
“Let’s get some food in you, then back to bed.”
“We were just getting started!” whined Stiles.
Derek sprang to his feet like a youthful gazelle, pulled Stiles up, and lifted him off his feet with one hand under his ass and another around his waist. The omega steadied himself with his hands on Derek’s shoulders and glared at him from above.
“I’m not giving everyone a free show.” He pressed a kiss to Stiles’ sternum and carried him inside.
*
The last challenge was a play on a newlywed’s game. They had to know their partner’s deepest secrets, fears, dreams. It was the ultimate finale.
Derek and Paige lost by a catastrophic margin.
Erica and Boyd won, which, in retrospect, should’ve been painfully obvious.
“We made a scene during the audition process,” Erica confessed to him later, both of them lounging on a party couch, drunk on champagne because Stiles couldn’t not celebrate their win — he loved those two too much. “Like, a plate-smashing kind of fight, all that jazz. I told you they want drama, and we gave it to them, but what were they expecting? We’re engaged, for fuck’s sake.”
“Can I be your flower girl?”
“Honey, you would never win a fight against Boyd’s nieces.”
“Man of honor?”
“Sure. I’m throwing my bouquet right at your pretty face. Hey!” Erica slapped him on the shoulder. “Let’s get pregnant together!”
Boyd choked on his drink.
*
The first rays of the sun sneaked through the closed curtains and hit the rumpled, sweat-soaked sheets. Stiles inhaled the stiff air with his mouth open and whined as the alpha’s weight settled on top of him.
“Derek…” he pleaded, clutching at the wolf’s clawed hand.
A hairy arm wrapped over his shoulder and across his chest. Derek trailed kisses from his shoulder to the nape as he fucked into him more and more, circling his hips. His stomach pressed against Stiles’ back until there wasn’t an inch of space between them.
“You can take it,” he murmured. Stiles mewled. “Here you go…”
The knot popped in, stretching Stiles to the point of sweet pain. The omega gasped for breath, shaking and sweating. His stomach clenched from exertion. He closed his eyes as Derek mouthed at his cheek, whispering praises that he soaked up like a sponge.
“You feel like heaven,” said Derek, fucking him in small thrusts. His heavy cock buried deep inside, filling the omega with come, marking, claiming. “Oh, baby…”
Stiles laughed and turned his head to the side. Lazily, he opened his eyes and gazed at Derek’s equally sweaty and elated face. The alpha’s cock twitched inside him, Derek’s hips moving almost unconsciously as he chased the orgasm. It felt good to be the cause of that, felt good to know that Derek kept coming just from looking at him right now.
“Good mornin’ to you, too,” said Stiles and sighed when Derek’s chuckle reverberated through him.
“Haven’t even said it to you, god,” groaned Derek. The wolf bit him on the jaw as if he couldn’t help himself, then kissed it in apology. “Good morning.”
“We have time before the checkout, right?” Derek hummed, then hissed as Stiles clenched on him, pushing back at his small thrusts. He was so full… “Mmm…”
“It’s at twelve. You can sleep now, this is gonna take a while.”
Stiles smirked, then laughed and squirmed as Derek bit at his cheek again. “Yes, alpha,” he teased, closing his eyes. The sweaty sheets weren’t the most delightful thing to sleep on, but he didn’t think that the heavy alpha on top of him was quite done making love. He could feel every inch of that engorged cock, settled deep inside him. “This time, wake me up before you start fucking me. You had all the fun while I slept. ‘s not fair.”
He moaned when Derek bucked into him.
“I woke up to you lying all naked and pretty against me, and you want me to not make love to you? Come on.”
Stiles smiled into the sheets as pleasure fizzled inside him, spreading warmth. He’d lie if he said that waking up to Derek fucking him wasn’t a nice way to start the day. And that’s considering he was still sore from yesterday.
They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. These kisses and this laughter got them drunk on life. Their first sex was amazing, the second one even better. Given the fat knot currently plugging him up, Stiles had a feeling it was going to be an arithmetic progression.
He closed his eyes. Satiation simmered inside him, his heart settled with an alpha on top of him and in him.
“R’ you gonna fly home with me?” muttered Stiles sleepily.
More kisses upon his cheek, his jaw, his temple. Heavy, warm weight.
“You know, maybe I should fuck you again if you keep asking questions like this.” Derek’s intense voice rumbled through his chest into Stiles’ back. “Of course, I’m gonna fly home with you. You’re mine now, get it?” His claws grazed against Stiles' chest. “No one runs away from a wolf.”
Stiles thought of the fresh forest air in his struggling lungs, of crispy leaves under his quick feet, and the wolf’s growl chasing after his laughter.
“I’ll let you catch me,” mumbled Stiles, falling deeper and deeper into a dream — all within a circle of Derek’s arms.
The alpha’s chuckle pressed like a kiss upon his cheek.
Both knew he did it long ago.