Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Stiles is walking down a long hallway of closed doors that looks like something out of the freaking Shining and he just wants a hotdog. Yeah, a hotdog.

Wait, what is he doing?

He shakes his head and looks around. I’m dreaming, he thinks. He hears a loud cackle and sees a flash of green eyes, and it hits him, The mare’s here. She’s here.

“Oh shit, oh shit,” he repeats manically, desperately wracking his brain for what to do. “Why didn’t I prepare for this a little more?” He runs to the first door and tries to open it, but it’s locked. He goes to the next, and it’s locked, too. Where’s the pack? he wonders.

“HEY!” he yells. “I’M DREAMING AND THE FUCKING MARE IS HERE – “ She cackles somewhere deeper inside the house – or what he assumes is a house – “SO YOU BETTER GET YOUR FUCKING WEREWOLF ASSES IN MY HEAD RIGHT THIS INSTANT.”

Stiles leans against the wall and waits. He scans the hallway, tells himself to jump and sing. He does both, and he’s pretty sure this potion thing is working. He notices for the first time a window at the end of the hallway, and he’s walking towards it when he hears knocking. He halts and listens as the knocking gets louder.

“Stiles!”

Stiles almost collapses with relief when he hears Scott’s voice. He finds the correct door and yanks it open, and Scott, Erica, Jackson, and Boyd all tumble into the hallway.

“Bracelets,” Stiles asks, and each of them hold out their arms. Wound around each wrist is a bracelet made from African dream root and some other plants that Deaton had said would stay with them and help Stiles distinguish them from their projections from his subconscious. “Where are Derek and Isaac?” He glances at the doorway behind them, but it’s now covered over with bricks.

“They drank the tea Lydia made, too,” Scott says. “Maybe it didn’t work for them.”

“Derek’s going to be furious,” Boyd says.

Stiles sighs. “Well, it’s the five of us. Now what?”

They look around at each other, unsure. “Did you see the mare?” Jackson asks.

“Yeah. I heard her laughing. I think she’s somewhere deeper in this house.”

“Why are we here?” Scott asks, looking down both sides of the hallway.

“It’s like his mind palace,” Boyd says. “Not in a Sherlock Holmes sort of way, but the compartments of Stiles’ brain. I bet each door takes us somewhere different in his subconscious.”

“This is gonna get weird, isn’t it?” Erica asks.

“We’re in Stilinski’s head,” Jackson says. “How much fucking weirder can this get?”

The mare cackles again, and they all jump, Erica clinging to Boyd and Scott and Jackson leaping behind Stiles. “Welcome to my personal fucking nightmare,” Stiles mutters, rolling his eyes. “Let’s go.”

Stiles opens the door closest to him, and the doorknob turns and they step across the threshold. They’re in Stiles’ room, and Stiles is at his computer.

“Boring,” Jackson says and heads straight for the bedroom door. The next room is large and empty, with multiple doors leading off it. Jackson walks to the first on the right, and the others follow.

They’re on a sidewalk, and two little boys pedal past, yelling at each other.

“Hold on,” Scott says, staring at the two boys. “That’s us!”

“Ohmigod!” Erica exclaims. “Baby Stiles and Scott. You are so cute!”

“This is so weird,” Scott says as he approaches his seven year old self, now sitting on the curb sharing fruit snacks with seven year old Stiles.

They return to the empty room and take the next door. They find Stiles’ mom, healthy and singing as she cooks in the kitchen, and they physically have to drag Stiles out of the room. It’s starting to mess with his head, stumbling through his subconscious, viewing dream memories. The next room contains Lydia, and Jackson growls at him and chases him back into the main room.

“Dude, you know I was like in love with her for like ten years,” Stiles yells from behind Scott. Boyd’s holding Jackson, his yellow eyes glowing as he growls.

“You were fucking her!” Jackson snaps.

“It’s a dream!” Stiles yells. “That’s an old dream. I haven’t had that dream since – “

“Since you met Derek,” Erica finishes. Stiles nods, and Jackson seems to calm down.

“Get it together, Jackson,” Boyd says quietly, gripping Jackson’s shoulder.

“It’s the mare,” Scott says suddenly. “She’s messing with our heads. Stiles’ mom, showing Jackson Lydia…” They all share a nervous look.

“Be aware,” Stiles tells them all as he opens the next door. Inside, Erica and Boyd are being tortured by the Alpha pack. “Fuck,” Stiles mutters as he hears Erica whimper behind him. “Out, out!” he cries as he turns around and runs for the door.

Erica’s shaking and Boyd’s holding her when the door closes behind them. “It wasn’t like that,” Boyd says.

“It’s how I dreamed it,” Stiles says, “that summer you were missing.”

The next few doors are pretty mundane, and then they open the last one. Stiles is bent over a table, Derek pounding into him from behind.

“Oh holy fuck,” Scott exclaims, rushing out, followed closely by Jackson and Boyd. Stiles grabs Erica’s hand and has to drag her away.

“Aww, couldn’t I have watched just a few more minutes?”

“My eyes are burnt out,” Jackson mutters. “I will never unsee that.”

“Shut up,” Stiles snaps as he scans the room. He realizes that they’ve been in every door, so he turns back to the original door. He opens it and they all step onto a busy street. When Stiles turns around, the door is gone. “Fuck.”

“What now?” Boyd asks. Stiles looks around and sees his jeep.

“Come on.” They run and jump in the jeep, and Stiles cranks her without any problem. They start driving down the street, looking around for some clue, until the jeep starts going slower and slower, and then it morphs into a small pedal car.

“What the fuck is this shit?” Jackson asks, and Stiles looks around helplessly, at them all crammed inside as they all pedal the tiny car forward.

The road becomes narrower and narrower until suddenly the ground beneath them disappears and they’re pedaling on an undulating road surrounded by open water. Stiles glances to the side, sees him holding up Derek, sees the kanima stalking along the side of the pool.

“Stiles!” Jackson yells, sounding panicked.

“I’m trying!” Stiles says. He closes his eyes, wills them somewhere different. Anywhere, he thinks to himself.

They all land with a thump on the forest floor. The mare cackles, and it’s closer this time. “We’re gaining on her,” Stiles mutters, taking off at a run towards the sound.

He hears a scream beside him, and he stumbles as he sees himself being impaled by the arm of an indecipherable monster. He skids to a halt, Scott and Boyd crashing into the back of him.

“That was my first nightmare,” Stiles says as he points to his dead body, the arm holding his intestines in his hand above it.

“Maybe we’re getting close,” Erica says. Stiles nods and takes off running again and spies a door just ahead.

He throws it open and he’s on the lacrosse field. “My other dream,” he says, and just then, he notices that he and Scott are on the field. Then, just like before, Stiles stabs Scott with the crosse, and Stiles winces.

“You never told me,” Scott says quietly.

“I went to Derek’s that night,” he replies, seeing a door appear nearby. “I didn’t want you to know.”

They run through Stiles’ nightmares from the last few months – his dad dead in the police station, the corpse of his mother, Derek eating his father, Stiles eating his dad – until Stiles is weary and emotionally strung out.

The last door holds Derek being tortured, then Stiles on the floor surrounded by the decimated bodies of everyone he loves.

“Jesus Christ, Stiles,” Erica says as they run past.

They run through another door and end up in the same warehouse they’d been in a few times before, but this time it’s empty. They stop, and Stiles thinks it’s weird he’s not winded at all. Dream running, huh.

“What do we do now?” Scott asks, turning in a circle.

“You’re going to die,” Derek says as he appears from the edge of the room. His eyes are red, his fangs extended. “You’re going to die, Stiles. It may not be today, but you’ll die and leave him alone just like everyone else in his life.” Derek grins, vacant and cruel, lacking the radiance Stiles fell in love with. “It would have been better if he’d never have met you.”

Stiles chokes out a sob, the last straw after running through his most terrifying nightmares. He feels the terror and anguish threatening to crash down over him.

“Stiles,” Erica says, arm hooked through his. Scott’s on his other side, Jackson and Boyd pressed against his back. “It’s not real. It’s just the mare.”

“How do you know, Stiles?” another voice calls out. His mother steps from the shadows, beautiful like he remembers her.

“Oh fuck,” Scott says. “Close your eyes, Stiles. Think of something else.”

Stiles clamps his eyes shut, thinks of puppies, lots of puppies. When he opens his eyes, three snarling wolf cubs are aimed at him, but they quickly vanish. He breathes a sigh of relief until his dad appears.

“What if you’re crazy now, Stiles?” the sheriff says. “What if this is all a hallucination you conjured after the mare drove you insane?”

“Stiles!” Boyd yells. “Ignore it!”

“You’re insane,” his dad says. “And I’ve lost everything. You drove me to the bottle again, you ruined my life. You’ve always ruined my life.”

Stiles’ eyes are damp, and he breaks free from the pack’s grasp and steps forward.

“SHOW YOURSELF, YOU FUCKING BITCH!” he screams at the top of his lungs. With an ear piercing cackle, the mare flickers into sight, and the others gasp. She opens her mouth, and they’re all face to face with a nightmare.

Jackson faces zombies, Boyd and Erica Alpha wolf forms, Scott two hunters, and Stiles stares at a feral Derek. The pack launches themselves at the manifestations while Stiles runs from Derek. He tries to think of something, and crouches behind a crate and squeezes his eyes shut. He feels Derek grab his shoulder, claws piercing into his skin, his hot breath against his neck. He thinks of Derek holding him, Derek touching him, Derek smiling at him. When he opens his eyes, dream Derek is gone. He sighs in relief and scrambles to his feet.

The pack has defeated the monsters, but they look worse for wear. Scott’s pulling three arrows from his torso, Jackson’s got part of his arm and leg bitten off, and Erica is scratched. But they’re standing. Boyd, however, is on the ground, a large hole in his chest.

“Why aren’t they pulling him out?” Erica screams, and Jackson draws her close to him, his arm and leg already healing. “They’re supposed to pull us out if we get too hurt!”

“Give her time,” Jackson mutters into her hair. “Lydia will get him out.”

“Boyd,” Stiles yells. Boyd glances at him with heavy eyes. “Tell Derek not to pull me out unless I’m dying. I have to kill the mare tonight.”

“Okay.” Boyd nods and then fades away. Erica sobs into Jackson’s shoulder for a moment before she calms down.

Stiles takes a breath, alert for whatever the mare has planned next. But she doesn’t send anymore dreams. She appears before him, her face obscured by dark hair. She leaps at him and knocks him onto the ground. The air is knocked from his lungs, and she wraps her fingers around his throat. He struggles for breath until Scott, Jackson, and Erica come up behind her and pull her back.

“Kill her!” Jackson yells.

“How?”

“I don’t know! Just do it!” Erica says.

Stiles tries to think of a solution, but it takes too long and the mare gets out of the others’ grasp. They take off after it, and Stiles thinks of ways to kill her.

“Think of a weapon!” Scott yells. “Make one appear!”

Stiles wants to kiss Scott because that’s genius, and why didn’t he think of that? “What weapon?”

“Gun!” Erica suggests.

Stiles closes his eyes and thinks about a gun, and when he opens his eyes, there’s one lying beside him. “It worked!”

“Shoot her!” they exclaim. Stiles picks up the gun, aims at the mare, and pulls the trigger. The bullet hits Jackson instead.

“Not me, you fucking idiot!” Jackson lets go of the mare and holds his arm. Instead of blood, black starts oozing from the wound, and Jackson goes pale. “Wolfsbane!”

“Fuck!” Stiles tosses the gun to the ground. “Give me another weapon.”

“A katana,” Jackson suggests, and Stiles is about to tell him that’s a terrible idea when Jackson fades away.

“Fuck, it’s just us,” Stiles shouts.

“A baseball bat,” Scott yells, and a baseball bat appears in his hands.

“Got it.” He runs towards the mare, and she throws her arms wide, sending Scott and Erica to either side of the room. They hit the walls with a loud crash.

He doesn’t have time to react. The mare is on him in a second, crushing his ribs with her knees. He feels one snap, but he ignores the pain. This is his chance; this is his only chance.

Holding the bat tightly, he lifts it with both hands, but the mare grabs his arm and squeezes. Stiles screams in pain as he hears bone snap. His arm hurts more than just about anything he’s ever felt before, and he can’t even focus the pain is so consuming.

“Stiles!” Scott yells, and his voice penetrates the haze of pain. He blinks and sees Erica and Scott, bloodied and bruised, holding the mare above him.

“Do it now!” Erica screams.

Ignoring the searing pain in his arm, he lifts the bat. You can do this, Stiles, he repeats to himself. You’ve just got to believe. Stiles moves his arms, shoving the pain out of his mind as he focuses on swinging the bat. Slowly, like slow motion in a movie, the bat arches through the air and connects with the mare’s head. She screams, so loudly all their ears start to bleed, but she starts to flicker, then explodes in blast of green dust.

Stiles drops the bat and sighs.

*

He jerks awake and immediately feels something heavy on him. When he looks down, he yelps in fear. Black hair.

“Stiles?” Derek exclaims, immediately grabbing the mare. When he lifts it, though, they realize it’s dead.

“I killed it,” Stiles says, stunned. “I did it. She’s dead.” He smiles and drops back onto his bed. It’s then that he feels the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Derek, Scott, and Boyd dealing with the mare’s body, but he’s not worried about that; let them do something. He killed her, he’s done.

Instead, he looks down at his arm, which is dark blue. He tries to move his hand, and pain shoots up his arm, but not as severe as he expected. The same for his ribs when he moves.

“Are you okay?” Derek asks, back by his side. He touches Stiles’ face, his chest, his arms as Stiles struggles to sit up.

“My arm and ribs hurt. The mare crushed them in my dream.” Stiles hears Boyd, Scott, and Jackson going downstairs. “It’s really dead?”

Derek’s face softens. “It’s dead. You did it.”

“Thank fucking god,” Stiles exclaims. “Where’s my dad? I need to tell him.”

“He’s at work,” Allison says.

“We need to get you to Deaton’s. Boyd and Jackson could use a quick once over, too. Especially since you shot Jackson with a wolfsbane bullet?” Derek raises an eyebrow.

“It was an accident.”

Lydia, Allison, and Erica go downstairs, leaving Derek and Stiles alone. Derek touches him again, his hands smoothing over every inch of exposed skin he can find. Stiles finally stills Derek’s hand. “I’m fine, Derek.” He waits for Derek to meet his eyes.

“I just had to watch you lying there, and you were jumping, and then Boyd was bleeding, and Jackson, and I couldn’t do a fucking thing.”

“Hey, hey,” Stiles says, pushing himself up with his uninjured arm and only wincing slightly at the pain in his ribs. He cups Derek’s face with his good hand. “It’s okay. I’m okay.”

“You’re not okay,” Derek says. “You’re in pain.”

“But the mare is gone. Focus on the relief, on the triumph.”

Derek places one hand on Stiles’ arm, the other on his rib. He looks down with a look of concentration, and then Stiles feels a weird, tingling sensation in his body, black lines going up both Derek’s arms. The pain lessens, and Stiles feels a bit lightheaded. “You did the pain sucky thing,” Stiles says breathlessly. Derek removes his hands, closes his eyes for a few moments until the black lines disappear. He inhales deeply before opening his eyes again. “You’ve never done that to me before.”

“Let’s hope I don’t have to again.” Derek’s mouth is a hard line, so Stiles leans closer (easier now that he’s pain free) and kisses him.

*

Deaton and Derek dispose of the mare’s body while Melissa (who Scott had called on the way to the clinic) puts Stiles’ sprained arm in a brace and wraps his bruised ribs. She says he should be fine in a few days.

Stiles calls his dad, who threatens to get off work and come straight home, but Stiles tells him that they’ll talk tomorrow because he’s just going to go home and pass out, and he’s not going to school in a few hours anyway, and that Derek is staying with him tonight. His dad surprises him by saying he thinks that’s a good idea.

Stiles crawls into bed around four a.m. The rest of the pack went home, and they were all skipping school the next day, too. Everyone is pretty wrecked, emotionally and physically. “I’ve already aced my AP tests and have a perfect GPA,” Lydia had said, “They don’t want to mess with us.”

He’s so tired that he can barely move, and Derek carefully arranges them so he’s holding Stiles close, but not so tight as to hurt him.

“What if this is just a dream?” Stiles murmurs, half asleep. “What if I wake up and it’s some evil trick from the mare? What if my dad was right and I really am insane and laying here with you is just a hallucination. What if – “

Derek covers his mouth with his fingers. “Stiles, stop talking. This is real. Me holding you is real.”

“But – “

“No buts.”

“But I’m still scared.”

Derek sighs and kisses Stiles’ hair. “Get some sleep. Nothing will hurt you. I’m right here.”

*

When Stiles wakes up the next morning, Derek is beside him, hogging all the covers, his face smushed into the pillow. Stiles smiles.

He quietly and carefully gets out of bed, and in the bathroom when he’s brushing his teeth, he remembers that he dreamed he was on a cruise with the entire cast of Star Wars, fighting battle droids, but his light saber wouldn’t work.

He smiles, because it was a good dream.

*

Stiles watches TV for a few hours alone before Derek wakes up and pads downstairs, rubbing his eyes. Stiles is caught so off-guard by Derek sleepily walking barefoot towards the kitchen in low-hanging pajama pants and a sleep-stretched wife beater that his heart jackhammers in his chest. Derek stops in the doorway to the kitchen and turns around, peering at Stiles curiously, one fist still pressed against his eye.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Stiles squeaks, because he’s not even sure he can verbalize the overwhelming thoughts spinning through his brain. Derek studies him for a few more breaths before disappearing in the kitchen.

Even though it’s midday, they’re still in their pajamas, cuddling on the couch when the sheriff walks into the living room, recently woken and freshly showered. Stiles waves to his dad with his braced arm, and the sheriff looks at it painfully.

“It’s not that bad, Dad,” Stiles says as he tries to extricate himself from Derek’s arms without hurting his ribs. He lets Derek help him into a sitting position, but only because he’s injured. “It’s just a sprain and some bruises. Mrs. McCall said I’ll be good as new in no time.”

The sheriff drops into his recliner, rubbing a hand across his face and settling his elbows on his knees as he leans forward. “Tell me everything.”

So, Stiles tells his dad what happened, and when he’s finished, the sheriff looks both horrified and relieved. “I should have been there. You should have called me.”

“What could you have done?” Stiles asks, though gently. “All you would have done is stand around with the others and watch Derek flipping out. Allison told me he was snarling and frothing at the mouth and yelling at Lydia because he thought she somehow messed up his potion. Apparently, Lydia got in angry, Alpha Derek’s face and told him off.” Stiles smiles proudly and looks over at Derek. “I wish I could have seen her tell you off.”

“It wasn’t quite that bad,” Derek mutters.

“Um, three against one, dude. And I tend to believe the others. They’re more reliable.”

“Stiles, you could have died,” his father says sadly.

“But I didn’t. I’m fine. How many times do I have to tell you that?”

The sheriff turns to Derek. “Is he really okay?”

“Oh, is this how it’s going to be now? You two ganging up on me like I’m not here?”

Derek laughs quietly. “He’s fine, sir. I promise.”

The sheriff sighs in relief and invites Derek to stay for dinner.

*

Derek sneaks back into Stiles’ room after the sheriff goes to bed. He’s being ridiculously clingy and overprotective, and Stiles wouldn’t admit it, but he’s still a little nervous about the mare coming back. So he doesn’t mind Derek staying with him at all.

They’re only in bed a few minutes before Derek gets handsy. “Still checking to make sure I’m not broken, or do you have nefarious things planned for those hands?” Stiles waggles his eyebrows, and Derek tries to look annoyed.

“You just smell off,” Derek says, running his hands along the sides of Stiles’ neck. “Like pain and blood and the mare.” He shakes his head. “I don’t like it.”

“Well, in all fairness, it’s been less than twenty-four hours, so…” Stiles watches Derek as he trails his eyes after his hands over Stiles’ chest. “So, what you’re saying is this doesn’t have anything to do with the fact that we haven’t had sex in like two weeks.” Derek’s eyes flick up to his, and he looks both irritated and turned on. “I’ve barely been able to jack off. Do you know how hard it is to find Stiles fun time when I only have a few hours to myself a day? Most of my prime jerk off time – before bed and when I wake up – has been filled with werewolves. Who aren’t you. I’m glad I’ll be alone now. I’m going to do nothing but watch porn and jack off for like three days.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’ve spent most of my time at the loft and in the car alone.” Derek grins slyly, and Stiles groans into his shoulder.

“You can’t just say things like that, because the images.” He waves his hand at his head as he lifts it from Derek’s shoulder and looks at him again. “I’m sex starved, Derek. That was the mare’s real plan to drive me insane. Starve me sexually. I couldn’t even subsist on self-pleasure. She was an evil, torturous bitch. And now, my handsy boyfriend won’t even help me out. That’s why I have to watch porn and jack off for three days. Because you’re the worst boyfriend ever.”

Derek laughs. “Are you suggesting that I do something about that for you?” he asks, voice low and playful, and Stiles just wants to wrap himself around Derek and never leave the bed if it’ll keep him like this.

“No,” Stiles says. “I’m demanding.” He puts on his serious face, and Derek smiles.

Derek maneuvers them onto Stiles’ good side, his sprained arm resting on his hip. “Is this okay? I want to make sure you’re comfortable.”

Stiles doesn’t feel any pain, though it’s probably due to the mixture of painkillers and Derek’s werewolf thing from earlier. He moves his good hand experimentally, and it’s at an odd angle and he can barely move without a twinge in his ribs. “I’m an invalid, Derek. The mare is dead, and she’s still ruining my sex life.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “If you calm down, I have an idea. Do you have any lube?” Stiles’ eyes grow wide and his heart starts beating nervously. Derek shakes his head. “I told you, when that happens, we’ll be in the loft, with plenty of time, and you won’t be hyped up on painkillers.”

Stiles nods and motions his head behind him. “Lube’s in the nightstand drawer.” Derek reaches over him carefully and searches in the drawer. He drops back onto the mattress with a bottle in hand. “What are we doing?”

Derek glances at Stiles. “Trust me, you’ll love it.” That sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine and he nearly vibrates with anticipation as he watches Derek push the blankets down and remove his underwear. As he stares hungrily at Derek’s half-hard cock, Stiles tries to tug off his boxers with his hand, but he ends up rolling onto his back and jostling his sprained arm.

“Ow, ow,” Stiles whines, “I’m an invalid, help.” Derek chuckles as he finishes pulling off Stiles’ boxers and helps Stiles get settled on his side again. Then, Stiles watches as Derek pops open the bottle and squeezes lube into his palm before wrapping his fingers around his shaft to coat it. “Hey!” Stiles exclaims, “I thought I was supposed to get in on the action, and this is most definitely action sans Stiles.”

Derek drops his head to the side, eyes wide and irritated. “Stop being impatient. Besides,” Derek says, slowing his wrist down significantly, “You like watching, don’t you?” Stiles wants to glare, but he just can’t stop staring at Derek’s fingers wrapping around his cock. Derek smirks. “See?”

“Cocky isn’t a good look on you,” Stiles murmurs.

“Oh, I think you like my cocky look quite a bit.”

Stiles drags his eyes up to Derek’s face. “You just made a lame dick joke,” Stiles says. Derek looks unaffected. “Derek Hale, I don’t think I’ve loved you as much as I do right in this moment.” Derek barks out a quiet laugh and then rolls to his side. He shifts closer until he’s pressed flush against Stiles’ body.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” Derek says seriously. “I mean it.” Stiles nods, and then Derek urges Stiles’ leg up before angling his cock into the space between his thighs. “Oh!” Stiles exclaims as Derek’s cock slides under his balls and perineum, sending a jolt of desire through his body. “Oh…”

Stiles pushes his legs tight as Derek curls his fingers around his neck and kisses him deeply. It’s an entirely new sensation as Derek thrusts against him, his cock brushing along the sensitive flesh between his thighs, pushed against the underside of his balls. Carefully, Stiles drapes his arm around Derek’s hip, sliding his other arm under Derek’s body so he can hold him tightly.

Derek moves at a slow rhythm, in no rush, and Stiles realizes this isn’t about getting off. Holding each other like this is intimate, more intimate than a lot of the things they’d done. And it is exactly what he needs. After everything that has happened, after the mare and the stress and his senior year, he just wants to feel Derek against him, his lips kissing him deeply and fully, his body hot and solid against his own. And the feel of Stiles’ cock trapped between their bodies as Derek’s cock slides between his thighs is almost too much. The unexpected pleasure is slowly unraveling him.

They stay pressed together like that for a long time, clutching on to one another as they kiss, Derek thrusting almost lazily between Stiles’ thighs. The build is slow, coiling tightly low in Stiles’ belly, deeper and more intense than anything Stiles has felt before. With each shallow thrust, he feels Derek’s hot shaft slide against his sensitive skin, press against his balls, pushing him close, but not there yet.

Derek is gentle with him, touching him almost reverently, as he slides his hands along Stiles’ back, back and forth like a ritual. His tongue is demanding, but soft, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s going to come apart completely before this is finished.

The pop of the bottle top is loud to Stiles’ overly aware senses, and he opens his eyes in time to see Derek’s face scrunched in concentration as he does something with his hands behind Stiles’ back. He’s about to ask Derek what he’s doing when Derek drags a finger between Stiles’ cheeks. Stiles’ eyes go extremely wide as the implications bombard his brain. Derek’s brow furrows.

“Is this okay?”

Stiles swallows and shakes his head so quickly he feels like a bobble head. “This is the definitely the definition of okay. So good I need to petition to change it in the dictionary. Maybe get on – “ His ramble is cut short by Derek pressing his finger into his hole. If all his brain power wasn’t focused solely on the tip of the finger moving shallowly in and out of him, he might feel embarrassed for the sounds he is making.

Derek kisses him again as he pushes the finger deeper, as far as he can from the awkward angle. It’s enough, though, for Stiles to start rutting as much as he can against Derek’s stomach and hips. Derek adds a second finger and lazily fucks him with his fingers, the sensations teasing enough to make Stiles want more, but just enough to make him feel even more connected to Derek as he clings to him and breathes hotly against his neck.

He kisses along Derek’s stubbled jaw, licks behind his ear as Derek growls quietly, his chest vibrating against Stiles’ ribcage. Derek moans into Stiles’ mouth as he comes hotly between his legs, holding his fingers deep inside Stiles as Stiles kisses Derek’s slack mouth, his hips thrusting faster as he clings to Stiles until he stills. He rests his head under Stiles’ chin, licking at the base of his throat, Stiles not worried about his own erection trapped between them as he holds Derek in his arms.

Inhaling deeply, Derek slides down in the bed and wraps his lips around Stiles’ cock, sucking and causing Stiles to muffle a moan against his forearm. He reinserts his fingers, pushing them deeper, and Derek’s mouth feels so good around him, his tongue swirling around just the right spots, that Stiles comes after only moments. Derek continues sucking and licking and sliding his fingers in and out, Stiles’ hips jerking awkwardly as he rides out his orgasm. After Derek swallows, he kisses and licks all around Stiles’ cock, balls, and between his thighs, making Stiles’ now soft cock twitch. Stiles is a big pile of mush on the bed, body thrumming contently, and then Derek licks behind his balls, along his overly sensitive perineum, and then drags his wet tongue once, twice over Stiles’ slightly tender hole. Stiles jerks in surprise and moans, and then Derek kisses his way across his thighs and over his hip and torso while Stiles hopes that they haven’t woken his father.

When Derek finally covers Stiles’ mouth again, Stiles wishes he could crawl inside him just to be closer. He isn’t sure what just happened, but he’s never felt such a desperate need to be close to Derek as he does right then. And Derek seems to feel the same way.

After Derek grabs a discarded t-shirt from the floor and cleans himself and Stiles, they lay with their arms wrapped around one another, Derek’s face pushed against Stiles’ neck, lips against his throat.

*

Graduation comes and goes, Derek sitting between the sheriff and Mrs. McCall in the audience. Lydia and Stiles tie for valedictorian, and so they both give vastly different speeches, Lydia going for serious and quoting Winston Churchill, while Stiles makes his light-hearted with a slightly maudlin ending that Scott teases him about afterwards.

That night, they decide to go to Jungle to celebrate.

“I don’t understand why we’re going to a gay club when we’re not even gay,” Scott says while they’re getting ready at the loft. “Well, except Stiles, of course.”

“I’m bi, dude,” Stiles calls from the other side of the room where he’s working on a bedhead spikey look with gel that’s only being halfway cooperative.

“None of us are looking to hook up,” Allison explains as she pulls on a pair of boots over pants that Stiles is pretty sure were painted on.

“And they play the best music in town,” Lydia says.

“Plus, all the guys are smokin hot,” Erica adds, beside Stiles at the mirror applying even more black eyeliner.

Stiles doesn’t hear the rest of the pack’s bickering because at that moment he catches Derek coming down the spiral staircase, and everything else in the room fades away.

Derek’s wearing black jeans that may be tighter than Allison’s pants, and a plain white v-neck t-shirt, his hair tousled perfectly. If Stiles wasn’t so turned on, he would be pissed because he’d been working on his own hair for like ten minutes and it still looked terrible.

Derek catches his eyes and indicates his clothes. “Is this okay? It’s simple, and I’m not sure about what to wear to a club.” He looks almost self-conscious.

Stiles tries to form words, but Erica beats him to it. She spins around, red lipstick in her fingers. “Derek, ohmigod. If every guy in that club doesn’t want to fuck you, it’s the end of the world.”

Stiles notices Derek’s ears burn pink. “You’re perfect,” he blurts.

“Way to keep him guessing, Stiles,” Erica mutters, patting Stiles on the shoulder as she turns back to her reflection.

“You’re coming with us?” Scott asks.

“I didn’t know you knew how to have fun,” Jackson says as he enters from the bathroom looking like he just stepped off a runway. Stiles really hates that guy sometimes.

“If that’s okay,” Derek says, “that I come along.”

“Please, if you don’t Stiles will just get drunk and whine about you not being there all night, so he’ll sit in the corner and text you and you’ll show up anyway,” Lydia says. “So we just assumed it.”

“You can hang out with us, Derek,” Boyd says, hand landing on Derek’s shoulder.

Stiles finally gets his wits about him and crosses over to where Derek is standing. He rakes his eyes over Derek, lingering a moment at his crotch in those jeans that Stiles is pretty sure came straight from heaven. His eyes meander over Derek’s chest and shoulders in the thin t-shirt before finally meeting his eyes. Derek’s eyes are shining, his expression looking as hungry as Stiles’, and Stiles doesn’t know why because jeans and a graphic tee? Not the sexiest look ever, but he has no misconceptions about being a sex god. He’s just apparently dating one.

“You can’t leave my side,” Stiles says, “because some gorgeous chiseled dude is going to try and take you away from me, and I’d at least like to try to put up a fight before someone steals you away.”

Derek reaches out and grabs Stiles’ hip, pulling him close. “Pretty sure I’ve got to watch you, too,” Derek says against his lips.

“We need to leave before Stiles and Derek start fucking on the floor,” Jackson says as he heads for the door. They ignore him and keep kissing.

*

The lights flash overhead, bright lasers of green and blue and purple, and Stiles’ eyes follow them as they cascade over the throng of people dancing to the deep dubstep beats radiating underneath his feet. Scott is saying something in his ear, but he can’t hear it over the vibration, the vibration that he feels in his toes all the way up to his throat.

Being drunk just makes it all more intense.

He’s dancing in a group with Scott, Isaac, Allison, Danny, two guys he doesn’t know, and Erica. He’s already kissed Erica and Danny, and after Scott finishes talking, Isaac loops an arm around his neck and kisses Stiles. Isaac’s lips are wet and taste weird – Peter’s special werewolf alcohol, he’s guessing – and then Isaac kisses Allison before Allison turns and then kisses him. She tastes of whiskey like Stiles does, and it occurs to him that he just kissed his best friend’s girlfriend, and his best friend’s pseudo-boyfriend? – and really Stiles is way too drunk to try to think about that. He thinks maybe he should just kiss Scott too, for symmetry and all that, because Stiles is the kind of guy who likes symmetry even if that means kissing Scott. Stiles looks at Scott, but they just start laughing, and then Scott kisses one of Danny’s friends, and the other kisses Stiles.

He’s kissed a lot of people tonight. If the music wasn’t so loud, he’d ask Erica if she put something in his drink because the pack got drunk pretty fast and has been hanging all over each other and kissing and groping in different combinations for the past hour. Erica may have put a spell on them – a pack flirting spell where they all kiss and grope, so he asks her. She throws her head back and laughs before pulling him to her and kissing him again, with a little more tongue than she used last time.

“No, Stiles. We’re just drunk, young, hot as fuck, and just graduated.” She grins wolfishly, and Stiles stares at her wondering how no one just figures out they’re all werewolves when they grin like that, because he can definitely see the wolf there. It’s probably a sex wolf, just waiting to pounce on something and fuck it. Which means he probably needs to move away before he either ends up with her sex wolf goo on him when she explodes on someone else or gets caught himself in her sex wolf claws. Hey, he doesn’t know what kind of sex life Boyd and Erica has; and if Scott, Mr. Allison-is-the-only-person-I’ll-ever-talk-about-again-we’ve-already-named-our-ridiculously-cute-gradchildren, can end up in a threeway, there’s no fucking telling what Erica would do. That bitch is cray-cray, Stiles knows this first hand. And while kissing her was fun in a “hey-I’m-drunk-and-obviously-a-bit-horny” kinda way, and he likes staring at her cleavage – like, a lot – he has no desire to like have sex with her or anything.

“Stiles?” Allison snaps her fingers in front of his face. “You still with us?” She giggles and stumbles into Isaac.

Stiles blinks, and tries to remember what he was thinking about. And hey, where’s Derek? He kinda needs to run his hands over those massive biceps right now. It should be his new routine. Once an hour he just runs his hands over them. And maybe licks them. It could be like eating. Except hotter. And with Derek. Well, he eats with Derek, because Derek is a nice boyfriend and takes him to dinner – but not nearly enough, and that is so gonna change because Stiles ain’t giving it up for free, and yes, he probably would because Derek, hello, but still, he deserves to go to a fucking Applebees and have his boyfriend (with no job, his dad’s voice echoes in his head) pay for him some mozzarella sticks –
sometimes they order in, though, Stiles’ subconscious reminds him in defense of Derek.

Wait – what is happening? The music was changing and someone grabs him around the waist and he starts dancing. He notices it’s Danny’s friend from earlier, the one who kissed him, and his hands were moving all around him, and he’s pretty sure that Derek is not going to be happy. And so he probably won’t take him to get mozzarella sticks, which he so wants right now. His eyes scan the crowd, and he zeros in on Lydia, who currently is sandwiched between Boyd and Jackson, and that was definitely Boyd and Lydia kissing. And Stiles is nothing if not a masochist, and it’s graduation, Carpe Diem or some other maudlin shit.

He’s gonna seize the day. So to speak.

Stiles pulls away from the guy who still had his arms around him (and what the fuck was up with that? What would Captain No Shirt with the perfect blonde curls want with him anyway?) and stalks over to Lydia. Boyd and Jackson look at him as Lydia lifts her face, and he motions her closer with his finger. Her eyes are a bit glassy because she’d shared shots straight from the bottle of Jack with Stiles and Allison earlier. When she takes a couple steps away from Jackson and Boyd, Stiles grabs her arm and pulls her close to him, and kisses her.

When they part, she looks at him, shocked. He leans close to her ear and says, “I’ve wanted to do that since the third grade. And now I have.” He pulls back, grinning at her, and she rolls her eyes and tugs him close.

“I would have kissed you way before graduation night, you idiot.” She pecks his cheek and pulls back with a drunken smile before stumbling back to Jackson.

Stiles wants to find Derek. He wants to tell him he kissed Lydia and about Erica’s sex wolf and hell, it’d been way too long since he’d seen him, and damn him, he was probably off somewhere screwing some hot guy like Captain No Shirt and buying him mozzarella sticks because Derek was perfect and this was a gay club and Derek was kinda gay (at least Stiles-gay, which Stiles still hadn’t quite figured out yet because he’s like the last person anyone would want regardless of sexual orientation) and Stiles shouldn’t have let him out of his sight but there’d been alcohol and a song he really liked and his friends and then they were all kissing and dancing together and it was just so fun. And Stiles had had a really bad year and he needed some fun.

Man, he was drunk. His rambling was getting even him confused.

He pushes through the dense crowd, ignoring a few guys who try to talk to him, and finally spies Derek along the far wall. He’s leaning against the counter, looking so fuckable Stiles feels his cock start to stir, until he catches sight of the guy chatting Derek up. He knew he should have never left Derek alone.

Derek catches his gaze and holds it until Stiles stops right in front of him. He reaches out and slides his hand up Derek’s chest, and then, because he can, leans forward and licks the skin visible above the deep V of Derek’s t-shirt.

“Hey!” the guy says, “I was here first.” He turns his nose up at Stiles like he’s not worth breathing the same air.

Stiles turns as Derek glares at the guy and says, “I’ve already told you to get lost.” He puts a possessive arm around Stiles’ hips.

Stiles gets an idea, holds up a finger, and leaves Derek for a moment. He returns with Danny in tow. “Danny, this is Derek. Derek, Danny.” Derek doesn’t look murderous, and instead, nods politely, and Stiles is proud of him. Then Stiles turns to the guy, who’s looking at him like Stiles stole Derek from him. “Danny, this is Derek’s friend…” He looks at Derek and Derek shrugs.

“Mark,” the guy (apparently Mark) answers.

“Danny, Mark.” Danny glances at him, and Stiles winks. He leans close and whispers, “You said if Derek had any friends…” Danny grins and turns to the guy.

As they walk away, Derek leans close and says to Danny, “Apparently, he likes to be tied up.” Danny glances at Derek with wide eyes as Derek steps onto the dance floor and pulls Stiles impossibly close to him. Stiles rests his hands on Derek’s hips while Derek’s arms go around his neck, hands immediately in Stiles’ hair.

“How did you know that?” Stiles asks.

“He told me. You know he’s not my friend,” Derek says against Stiles’ cheek, his breath hot and slightly sweet.

“Are you drunk?” Stiles asks, trying to get a better look at Derek’s eyes.

“A little.” Stiles stares at him, and his eyes are indeed a bit glassy and unfocused. Derek’s eyebrows furrow with his typical pinched irritation. “You’re all drunk.”

“And if we all jumped off a bridge…”

“Shut up.” Derek kisses him then, sloppy and open-mouthed and mostly tongue. Stiles doesn’t mind. “You taste like everyone else.”

“I kissed Lydia!” Stiles exclaims.

“I saw.” Derek’s dropping kisses all over Stiles’ cheeks and neck, wiping his hands all over Stiles’ shirt, and Stiles likes that Derek’s trying to make him smell more like himself even though no one but the pack can smell it. It’s kinda turning him on.

“It wasn’t how I always imagined it,” Stiles continues without missing a beat, Derek’s hands now underneath his shirt and rubbing along his skin. He feels the tempo shift as the song changes, and he moves his hips closer to Derek’s. “You’re not mad, are you? Cause I kissed like, everyone. Will you buy me mozzarella sticks anyway?” Derek pulls back and looks at Stiles like he’s spoken in Russian or something.

“I know,” Derek says finally, nipping at Stiles’ chin. “I’ve only watched you since we got here. I saw everything.”

“That’s both hot and creepy, Derek. You know, you’re kind of a creepster.”

“Really?” Derek asks, licking the sweat from the side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles loses all thought and rubs himself with a little more intent against Derek’s crotch. “I saw those guys hitting on you.” He bites the side of Stiles’ neck.

“Oh, Captain No Shirt. Yeah, he was weird. He was all arms around me like we were actually dancing or something. It was weird,” he says again.

“He wanted to fuck you,” Derek says, pulling away so Stiles can see his eyes flash red for a moment. “I could smell the arousal oozing from him across the room. Actually,” Derek says, glancing around with normal eyes, “you could fuck just about half this room if you wanted to.”

“Well,” Stiles says, hands sliding low to grip Derek’s ass, “there’s only one guy in here I want to fuck. I just don’t know if he’ll want to fuck me since the whole room wants to fuck him, too.”

Derek grins, eyes red again. “All mine,” he growls, burying his face against Stiles’ neck. Stiles moves his sprained hand – not sprained any more, but still a bit tender – up so he can wiggle a few fingers inside the top of Derek’s jeans (which is pretty impossible since his jeans are so tight) and then moves the other hand between their bodies to cup Derek’s cock. Derek bites the chord in his neck and they move like that to the music for a moment, Stiles massaging Derek through his jeans and Derek licking and sucking his neck.

“We need to go,” Derek says against his ear, voice so husky it should be illegal.

“Sure,” Stiles says, pulling back just enough to look at Derek. “But first.” Stiles pops the button on Derek’s jeans through the hole and shoves his hand inside. Derek’s eyes go wide as Stiles grabs his cock and starts jacking him off awkwardly, but apparently enough that Derek’s eyes start to droop. “You’re so fucking hot,” Stiles whispers as he watches Derek’s face contort in desire.

“You know there are people all around us,” Derek says, trying to be reasonable.

Stiles glances around at the large group of bodies around them. “No one can see us, the crowd’s too thick. Plus, there’s no way we’re the only ones doing this.” Stiles slides his other hand underneath the front of Derek’s shirt and tweaks a nipple at the same time he swipes his thumb across the head of Derek’s cock. Derek’s eyes close and his face goes slack, and Stiles kisses his mouth but then pulls back to watch as he circles a few more swirls around the crown and then Derek comes over his hand.

Stiles wipes his hand on Derek’s shirt, but Derek grabs his hand and holds it up to Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles lick a bit of the remaining come from his fingers before Derek kisses him as he rebuttons his jeans.

“We’re getting out of here now,” Derek says against his mouth, and grabs his hand to lead him through the crowd. He contemplates telling the others bye, but he sees Isaac, Allison, and Scott pressed together and making out, Jackson and Lydia dancing together in the crowd, and doesn’t see Boyd and Erica anywhere. Oh well, he thinks. Peter offered to come pick them up if they needed him (since Derek blamed him for supporting their drunken behavior anyway by providing the betas with alcohol) and the club had a large taxi line outside, so he figures they’d be pretty safe.

Derek tugs him to the Camaro, parked in the lot beside the club, and pushes him up against the side. He kisses him fiercely, hungry and demanding, and Stiles forgets they’re standing outside until they hear someone whistle. Stiles pulls away, embarrassed.

“You’re not driving home, mister. You are drunk.”

“Thanks, officer,” Derek drawls.

“Sheriff’s son. It’s embedded into my DNA.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “I’m not an idiot, Stiles. I just need to grab my cell phone. I accidentally left it in there. It must have fallen out of my pocket.”

“I don’t think it was ever in your pocket. There’s no way it could fit.” Stiles grins, and Derek kisses him again. His hands are underneath Stiles’ shirt, playing along his skin, when Stiles hears the loud sound of someone clearing their throat. He ignores it, as does Derek if his further exploration of Stiles’ torso and mouth is any indication, until a deep voice says, “Break it up, boys.”

He moves away from Derek, who latches his mouth to Stiles’ neck, and is horrified when over Derek’s shoulder he sees his dad standing beside the cruiser. He’s dressed in his uniform, which means he’s dealing with Sheriff Stilinski, not Dad, while drunk, underage, and with a drunk, extremely handsy, extremely horny werewolf molesting him in the parking lot of a gay club. Oh yeah, he also has a hard on, great.

“Dad!” Stiles squeaks, and Derek glances over his shoulder and just bursts into laughter as he collapses against Stiles. Both Stiles and his dad stare at him, which seems to make Derek laugh even harder. “You. Are. Not. Helping!” Stiles hisses. Derek just keeps laughing.

“I’ve never seen him laugh before,” the sheriff says thoughtfully. “I didn’t think he could.”

“Um, what are you doing here?” Stiles asks as Derek slumps against him, laughs dying but by no means stopping.

“Get in the cruiser, Stiles,” he sighs. “You too, Derek. You’re obviously in no state to drive home.”

Derek stands up, seeming to gain control of himself, and says, “Yes sir. Stiles has already given me the speech. I’m glad you’re doing your job by keeping Beacon Hills safe.” When Derek walks by the sheriff, he claps him on the shoulder. Stiles stares after him, shaking his head. Was Derek rambling drunkenly to his dad? This would be awesome if he wasn’t about to be arrested.

“Come on, Stiles.” His dad motions with his head. “Now.”

Stiles sighs in defeat and climbs into the back of the cruiser, trying desperately to ignore the group of people watching and snickering. This just better not end up on the internet. When he drops into the backseat, Derek looks at him and stifles a laugh.

“You’re the worst drunk ever,” Stiles says, and Derek just keeps laughing.

“You know, I imagined he’d be a mean drunk,” the sheriff says as he closes the door and buckles himself.

“Dad, what are you doing here?” Stiles asks again, rubbing his eyes as Derek starts nosing his neck. He tries to push him away, but two-hundred pounds of drunken werewolf strength makes it futile. Stiles just sighs and lets Derek do what he wants.

“Deputy Barker called me and told me I might want to get over to Jungle since my underage son was obviously drunk and being mauled on the side of a black Camaro.” The sheriff glances over his shoulder, looking disapprovingly at Derek who was humming contently against Stiles’ neck. He wasn’t doing anything except pressing his face against the skin, and Stiles thanked the stars for small miracles.

“Um, sorry?” Stiles offers as Derek growls quietly in the back of his throat, his hand going underneath Stiles’ shirt. “It’s graduation, Dad.” He shrugs.

The sheriff sighs. “I’m aware of that, as is Deputy Barker, which is why he called me to take you home instead of arresting you and Derek. Which I should do, just on principle.” He turns around and starts the car. “Derek, I would really appreciate it if you wouldn’t molest my son in the backseat of my cruiser.”

Derek sits up suddenly, looking around confused. “What’s going on?”

Stiles rolls his eyes, his drunken buzz quickly being killed. “How drunk are you, Derek?”

Derek rubs his head and drop back against the seat. “I don’t get drunk often.”

“You don’t say,” the sheriff pipes up from the front. Derek cracks an eye open.

“Are you going to arrest me again?” Derek asks.

The sheriff actually laughs. Stiles figures he’s not in too much trouble if his dad is laughing. “No, not this time. Consider it a graduation gift.”

“You’re the best, sir,” Derek slurs, snuggling back against Stiles. “Stiles is also the best. You’ve raised the best son ever. He obviously gets it from you because he’s the best. He has the best everything. The best heart, the best eyes, the best lips, the best hands – oh Stiles, I love your hands – and – “

“Derek!” Stiles interrupts manically, afraid what Derek might say in his current state. His dad’s looking at them in the rearview mirror with pinched disapproval. “Might want to shut the hell up.”

“But I love your hands, especially when they’re on me.”

“That’s nice to know.” In an attempt to distract Derek, Stiles waves his fingers in front of Derek’s face, and Derek grabs them and presses them against his face. The rest of the ride is quiet, Derek content to sit curled against Stiles, Stiles nervous his dad is going to throw him out of the house.

They pull up in front of Derek’s loft a few moments later. “Derek, hey, get up. You’re home.”

The sheriff puts the car into park and turns around. “Go with him.”

Stiles stares at him in shock. “But…you’re not mad at me? You don’t hate me for getting drunk in public even though I’m nineteen?”

“No. Consider it another graduation present.”

Stiles smiles and pushes Derek out of the cruiser. Derek stumbles towards the loft, but the sheriff rolls down the window and calls for Stiles.

“Be safe, yeah?” He looks at Stiles meaningfully, and Stiles groans.

“Dad! We’re so not there and that’s so not happening tonight.”

The sheriff looks at him incredulously. “Son, I wasn’t born yesterday. Those jeans Derek’s wearing don’t hide much, and I don’t think he’s been let in on the ‘so not happening’ part.” Stiles wants the earth to open up and swallow him, right here, in this spot. “Besides, I’m pretty sure something’s already happened. You have a little…” he waves his hand around, “on your shirt.” Stiles glances down at his shirt, and sure enough, there’s a bit of dried come on his shirt. Great. The sheriff looks at Stiles uncomfortably before laughing as he rolls up the window.

Stiles tries not to dwell on the burning embarrassment as he walks up the stairs to the loft. The door’s unlocked, and when Stiles closes it and locks it, he finds himself pushed against it by a very large body.

“I missed you,” Derek growls against his mouth.

“I was out there for like three seconds,” Stiles mumbles as Derek’s hands seem to be everywhere at once, and Stiles decides that’s okay.

“I’m drunk,” Derek murmurs, teeth dragging against Stiles’ Adam’s apple. “Your dad is going to hate me.”

“Pretty sure he thought you were funny. Though, he may be giving you the evil eye whenever he sees you touch me from now until we’re a hundred.”

Derek’s hands move under Stiles’ shirt, pulling it off as he latches his mouth onto one of Stiles’ nipples. Stiles sags back against the door, eyes falling shut as Derek sucks on the tiny bud. When he opens his eyes, he starts clawing at Derek’s shirt, deciding it needs to be off, too. Then, he pushes Derek’s shoulders down. Derek looks up at him through impossibly dark lashes, his face confused, lips red and swollen.

“On your knees,” Stiles croaks, his mouth dry. He doesn’t even care how ridiculous he sounds. “I want you to blow me.”

Derek complies quickly, on his knees with his hands on Stiles’ pants before Stiles can blink. Then his mouth is around his cock, and Stiles threads his fingers into Derek’s sweaty hair. Derek’s sucking him sloppily, lots of spit and tongue and lacking his usual control and finesse, but Stiles doesn’t care. He presses himself back against the door, glad it’s there to help hold him up, because otherwise he’d already be flat on his ass.

“Up,” Stiles demands a few minutes later, and Derek obeys, standing so Stiles can step around him and push him face first against the door. “God, you’re so fucking sexy,” Stiles murmurs, sinking his teeth into the back of Derek’s neck as he reaches around his body to unbutton his jeans. Dropping down, he tugs the jeans to Derek’s knees and then stands back up. He wedges his fingers between Derek’s thighs, where it’s hot and still damp from earlier, and so Stiles slips his cock into the tight space there.

“Fuck, Stiles,” Derek moans, forehead pressed against the door and Stiles fucks him, cock sliding into the friction of Derek’s legs. Stiles can feel his cock moving against the underside of Derek’s body, bumping against his balls and it’s so hot, so tight, and piercing through the edge of his hazy mind. Stiles grips Derek’s hips tightly and starts pumping his hips quickly, feeling the head of his cock move beyond the squeeze of Derek’s legs and then back between them. He leans his head forward and licks the line of Derek’s tattoo, the sweat salty on his tongue, as he feels his orgasm building deep in his belly. Derek starts moving his hips the opposite way of Stiles, and after a few more thrusts Stiles comes messily between Derek’s thighs.

Derek spins around and Stiles drops to his knees, taking Derek’s hard cock into his mouth. Derek grabs his head, his hips pistoning into Stiles’ mouth, and with a few rough thrusts, Derek comes over his tongue. Stiles swallows, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stands. Derek is dazed, slumped against the door, naked except for the jeans tangled below his knees.

“I expected to at least make it to the bedroom before we started fucking,” Stiles says, laughing slightly. Derek looks sleepy, so Stiles bends down to tug his jeans up around his hips. “Let’s get some anti-hangover precaution and go to bed.”

*

They wake up, slightly hungover and tired. Stiles makes Derek lay in bed for a few hours after they wake up and do nothing but watch bad TV and talk. Then, they take a shower and manage to make it through with only quick handjobs before getting out and getting dressed. Stiles hadn’t planned on sleeping over, so he pulls on his jeans from the night before (thankfully unsoiled) and borrows one of Derek’s t-shirts, which makes Derek happier than it should, honestly. It takes a whole ten minutes for Derek to stop nuzzling him so they can make it downstairs.

There’s a note on the kitchen island from Peter saying that he drove Erica and Boyd home, Lydia and Jackson took a cab, and that Isaac, Scott, and Allison were in Isaac’s room. And when Stiles gets nosy and goes to peek inside, he does in fact find Scott and Allison sleeping with Isaac in his bed. When they walk outside, they find the Camaro parked in the parking lot.

Stiles insists that they take the Jeep to the diner down the street and eat greasy food that seems to help with the hangover enough that by the time they exit, they feel like human beings again. Back in the Jeep, Stiles hesitates.

“What?” Derek asks.

Stiles looks over at him and says, “I need to run an errand. You can come with me, or I can drop you back off at the loft.”

Derek shrugs as he slides on his sunglasses. “No sense in going back home when we’re already out. I don’t have any plans today.” Stiles nods, happy Derek is coming with him even though he doesn’t know where they’re going.

Stiles drives the familiar roads to the county cemetery. When he pulls into the narrow lane and stops his car, he looks over at Derek nervously. He’d wanted Derek to come with him so badly he hadn’t thought what it might be like for Derek to be here.

“We can leave if this makes you uncomfortable,” Stiles mutters quietly, hands flexing and unflexing on the steering wheel. Stiles stops when Derek places a hand over his.

“I’m fine, Stiles,” Derek says just as quietly, and Stiles looks up through his lashes. Derek’s looking at him with such affection and understanding that Stiles feels a bit breathless. He nods and gets out of the jeep.

He takes the new flower arrangement out of the back of the jeep and walks the well-worn path from the lane to his mother’s grave. It’s shaded by the large trees nearby, one in a long line of other similarly shaped stones.

When they get there, Stiles drops to his knees, and with great care, replaces the slightly faded flowers he and his dad had put on at the beginning of spring. Stiles opted for something summery this time, so he arranges the fake, silk sunflowers in the marble vase.

“Hey, Mom,” Stiles says, his voice heavy with emotion. He reaches forward and brushes some debris from her headstone and pulls up some of the longer grass growing right against the stone. His fingers trail over her name. “Sorry I missed Mother’s Day. It’s been a crazy few months. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.” Stiles laughs and starts rambling about the hag and the mare and the nightmares and school and falling in love with Derek. He forgets he’s not alone as he talks to her like usual, filling her in on everything that’s happened since the last time he’d come to talk to her.

“I graduated,” Stiles says as he stands up. “You’d have been really proud.” He feels his eyes dampen, but doesn’t care. “Dad was really proud. He cried, the big softie, couldn’t believe his son was valedictorian. He also cried when I went to prom. You probably would have, too. You’ll be happy to know that Dad wasn’t alone in the stands. He’s still not dating, but there are people who’ll be around to take care of him when I go to college.” Stiles glances over his shoulder then, and sees Derek standing about fifty feet away against a tree, giving him the space he thinks Stiles needs even though he can hear every word Stiles says. Stiles motions him over with his head, and when Derek reaches him, he laces his fingers with Stiles’.

“I bet you think this is stupid, don’t you?” Stiles asks, wiping at his eyes. “Talking to her like she’s listening or some shit.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid at all.” Derek squeezes Stiles’ hand. “I think it’s good that you come regularly. I’ve been to our family cemetery once since the fire, and that was only recently.”

“We come every few months,” Stiles explains. “Change the flowers. Dad usually just stands and doesn’t say anything, and then he goes home and drinks too much. When I started to drive, I came by myself to talk to her. I used to talk to her when I was smaller, but it made Dad too sad, so I stopped.” Stiles bends down and arranges a flower that wasn’t quite right. “I know she can’t hear me, but it makes me feel better. Like she’s somehow still part of my life.”

“You told her about werewolves, I see,” Derek says, smiling slightly. “Did she found out before your father?”

“Oh, I told her as soon as Scott was bitten,” Stiles grins.

“You just told her about me,” Derek says more quietly. Stiles looks over at him. “It felt like something I shouldn’t have heard.”

Stiles slides an arm around Derek’s waist and settles his head on his shoulder. “I wanted you to hear all of it. I’ve never shared this with anyone. No one, not Dad, Scott, no one knows that I do this. I wanted to share this with you.”

Derek turns his head and kisses the top of Stiles’ lightly. “Thank you,” he whispers.

*

A few days later, Stiles shows up at Derek’s loft early in the day. He brought his overnight bag, because even though Derek hadn’t said it point blank, the “hey Peter and Isaac are gone until tomorrow” text was pretty obvious.

Derek smiles at him almost shyly when he opens the door, and Stiles feels as awkward as Derek seems to look. Derek takes Stiles’ bag and carries it up to his room, and Stiles drops onto the couch.

When Derek comes back downstairs, he hovers at the foot of the staircase and Stiles says, “This is really awkward.”

“Yeah,” Derek laughs and sits beside Stiles on the couch. “Maybe we’re trying too hard? Or put too much pressure on it?”

“It’s not like we haven’t pretty much fucked in every other way,” Stiles says, messing with the hem of his shirt. “But still. It just feels weird.”

“Here,” Derek grabs the remote from the coffee table and turns on the TV. “Let’s just hang out. With no expectations. We’ll do what feels comfortable, no matter what that is.” He glances down at Stiles. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

They watch TV for a few hours, and slowly, the tension starts to leave Stiles’ body. As he’s leaning against Derek with Derek’s arm around his shoulders, he starts to laugh.

“What?”

Stiles turns his face into Derek’s armpit and keeps laughing. “It just struck me how ridiculous we’re being.” Stiles crawls into Derek’s lap, his knees planted on either side of his hips. “Like, why am I nervous about anything with you? It’s not like you haven’t seen everything this hot, irresistible body has to offer.” Derek rolls his eyes as Stiles grins. “And not like your fingers and tongue haven’t been everywhere already. What makes your dick any different?”

Derek settles his hands on Stiles’ hips and looks amused. “I’m content to do whatever with you, even just sitting on the couch.”

“Oh god, we’re sounding like Scott and Allison.” Stiles shakes his head. “We have to like have a drag out fight soon and then fuck to make up for it.”

“Stiles, you stormed out of the loft and didn’t talk to me for three hours yesterday because we couldn’t agree on what to order for dinner. I’m pretty sure fighting is our natural state.”

“Just because you’re always wrong,” Stiles says, which earns him a glare. “Plus, it’s more fun that way.” Stiles absently plays with the buttons on Derek’s Henley. “Do you think the long distance thing will work out? I mean, Berkley’s not that far, but it’s not like we’ll be seeing each other every weekend, let alone every day, and – “

“Hey!” Derek interrupts. Stiles glances up at him. “We’ll make it work. I can come see you when you’re busy.”

“Because you don’t have a job,” Stiles teases. Derek rolls his eyes.

“Plus, you’ll be rooming with Isaac, so I can see him, which will make us both feel better, and it’s not like Scott won’t be there every other day anyway since you, Isaac, and Allison will all be there.”

“Yeah,” Stiles says. “He’ll probably be there more than at UCLA.”

“And we can take road trips down there when you have time to see him, Erica, and Boyd.” Derek pecks him on the lips lightly. “It will work out. I promise.”

“I’m going to miss you,” Stiles says, fingers curling into the front of Derek’s shirt. “What if you meet someone else?”

“In Beacon Hills?” Derek asks incredulously, eyebrows inching up his forehead.

“Someone could move in. Or, since you’re working with that new pack and are going to be meeting with others throughout the fall, you might meet some stunning werewolf.”

“Stiles,” Derek huffs out in exasperation. “How many times do I have to tell you I’m not interested in anyone but you? Besides,” Derek says, fingers disappearing under Stiles’ shirt, “you’re going to be surrounded by all sorts of attractive, smart co-eds. Who says you’re the one who has to worry?”

Stiles grins a lopsided grin. “Are you jealous?”

“No, I’m practical.”

“You’re jealous,” Stiles whispers as he leans closer. “Derek,” he says seriously, foreheads together, “even if you didn’t look like you do, like perfection walking, I wouldn’t want anyone else. I thought you were hot the moment I met you, but I didn’t fall in love with you until much later.” He presses his hand against Derek’s chest. “And believe me, it had nothing to do with the way you look.”

Derek smiles in what looks like relief and kisses Stiles. When they part, Stiles says, “You’ll keep an eye on my dad, right? Make sure he’s not working too much and goes out of the house occasionally?”

“Of course,” Derek says.

“You could always start working for him, you know,” Stiles suggests with a sly grin. “I mean, you two basically work together now. You could be their supernatural consultant, and you could get paid. It’d make him happy since you’d have a job, and you’d have something to look forward to instead of just sitting around in a lonely house.”

“Peter will still be around.”

Stiles purses his lips. “You need more company than Uncle Creepy.” Stiles starts playing with the hem of Derek’s shirt. “You and my dad could look after each other, and Scott’s mom too, and that way I won’t worry so much.”

“You’ll do that anyway,” Derek says against his mouth before he kisses him. They’re done talking then, and they kiss like that on the couch for awhile. When they break apart, Derek looks up at Stiles questioningly, and Stiles nods.

They kiss all the way to the bathroom, and take their time removing each other’s clothes before stepping into the shower. They wash each other, never more than a few teasing touches, saving all the good stuff for later. Stiles washes Derek’s hair, and Derek washes Stiles everywhere, from under his arms to behind his balls and between his cheeks. Then Stiles does the same to Derek, but they get slightly sidetracked when Derek pushes Stiles against the shower wall and they kiss and rut until they’re breathless and pull away reluctantly.

On the bed, they kiss for awhile more, Stiles stretched out on top of Derek, as their hands lazily spread over each other’s body.

“Are we doing this?” Stiles asks as he lifts his head and looks down into Derek’s face, so open and honest as he looks up at him. Stiles pats his flat hair, soft under his palm.

“We’re doing this.”

“Can I do something first?”

Derek’s brows knit in confusion but definite interest as he nods. Stiles gently nudges Derek’s shoulders, and Derek turns over onto his stomach, his head cradled on his arms. Stiles kisses all along his neck, his shoulders, then drags his tongue methodically over the tattoo on Derek’s back. Derek sighs in contentment as Stiles works over his skin, mapping the curves and ink with his tongue.

Stiles then drops kisses down his back and hips, places a couple on the round globes of Derek’s ass, then kisses his thighs before licking behind each of his knees. “Stiles,” Derek moans. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good,” Stiles replies before dragging his tongue up the inside of one of his thighs and then licking his balls lying between his legs. Nervously, Stiles drags a tentative finger between Derek’s cheeks. Derek muffles a sound against his arm. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Derek croaks out. “You can do anything you want, Stiles.”

Stiles drops a kiss to the back of Derek’s leg before hooking his fingers between Derek’s asscheeks and spreading him wide. Derek makes a low growl in the back of his throat, and Stiles just stares at Derek exposed before him. It‘s odd, staring at Derek like this, and Stiles’ brain has to catch up with itself before he leans down and swipes his tongue across his hole. Derek moans loudly, maybe louder than Stiles has ever heard him moan before, so he does it again just to hear the sound. But then Stiles is licking because he likes it, because he likes being this close to Derek, likes feeling him contracting against his tongue, likes tasting him. He experiments, uses just the tip of his tongue to trace the tight ring of muscle, then presses the flat of his tongue against all of it. He licks back and forth from Derek’s balls to his hole, and only seems to come out of his focused attention when he hears Derek, and he’s whining.

“Is this okay?” Stiles asks suddenly, afraid his one-track ideas maybe weren’t okay, but Derek cranes his head over his shoulder, eyes burning bright red, fangs peeking from between his lips.

“Yes,” Derek says, voice animalistic and desperate.

Stiles tries not to feel too pleased with himself as he goes back to licking and kissing Derek’s asshole, which is relaxing just enough for Stiles to poke his tongue in just a bit. Derek makes a sound above him somewhere between a growl and a whine, and then Stiles pulls away because his tongue is starting to tire and he grabs the bottle of lube lying beside Derek’s foot and pours some on his finger. Carefully, he slides the digit inside, and Derek is so tight around him, contracting around the intrusion, his toes curling into the comforter beside Stiles. Derek’s muttering nonsense above him, half-growls and endearments and filthy things he promises to do to Stiles as Stiles slowly slides his finger in and out.

“I want you to come,” Stiles says. Derek glances back over his shoulder, eyes still red as he looks at him questioningly. “We have all day and night. I want to make you come with my finger inside you.”

“Fuck,” Derek growls, dropping his head back to the bed as Stiles fucks him a little faster, licking Derek’s opening around his finger as he works it. Stiles adds another finger, stretching Derek gently, and twists his wrists to try and find Derek’s prostate. He’s pretty sure he finds it when Derek moans loudly again, so Stiles concentrates on that, as he slides his body up Derek’s back, tongue licking from the top of his crack all the way up his spine. His other hand slides along Derek’s side and then Stiles presses himself flush against Derek’s back, fingers still fucking deep inside him. Stiles wiggles his hand between Derek’s body and the bed, and wraps his other hand around Derek’s cock. He can’t move his hand because of Derek’s weight, but it doesn’t matter because Derek comes immediately with a shout, contracting almost painfully around Stiles’ fingers.

When he’s finished, Stiles remains draped on his back, hands sliding in Derek’s damp hair as he drops light kisses across his shoulder, neck, side of his face.

Ten minutes pass before Derek cracks open one eye. “What was that?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Me, rocking your world.” Stiles grins smugly and angles his head over his shoulder to kiss Derek’s mouth. The kiss is lazy and sloppy, Derek barely moving his mouth. “I think I broke you.”

“Just maybe,” Derek says. “This was supposed to be your first time. It was supposed to be all about you.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Stiles responds, toes dragging along the back of Derek’s calf. “This is all about me. And that’s exactly what I wanted to do. Sometimes, I like to do things to you, too, you know. Like to make you moan, like to please you. It’s a two-way relationship that way.” He kisses between Derek’s shoulder blades. “Lucky for you.”

“Absolutely fucking lucky for me,” Derek says, voice starting to return to normal. “I have the greatest boyfriend in the world. You should do that all the time.”

“Really?”

Derek cracks his eye open again. “I thought I made it pretty clear how much I enjoyed it.”

Stiles stares thoughtfully at Derek’s arm as he drags his fingers along the rounded muscles of his biceps and triceps. “I wasn’t sure if that was okay,” he admits. “I mean, we never discussed things like tops and bottoms, and you’re an Alpha, and – “

Stiles is cut off when Derek rolls over, come dried on his stomach. But he ignores that for now, and instead pulls Stiles on top of him before clasping his hands together on the small of Stiles’ back.

“Stiles,” Derek starts seriously, and Stiles is momentarily distracted by how content and well-fucked he looks, and it’s the sexiest thing he’s ever seen, and he did that. He put that look on his face. Derek seems to sense his distraction because he waits until Stiles focuses on the conversation again. “I love you, and I want you. Was I planning on topping you today? Yes. But that’s negotiable. I want to be inside you so bad I can barely stand it.” Stiles blushes furiously at that, and Derek drags the back of his fingers against his heated cheeks. “But I want to feel you buried deep inside me, too. I want to connect with you in every way possible. But if you only want to do one or the other, I’ll do that, too.” He trails his thumb over Stiles’ bottom lip. “Yes, I’m the Alpha, but having sex with you? With my mate? That’s something different.” Derek drops his head to the side, exposing his neck. Stiles stares down at it wide-eyed. “I trust you with my life, Stiles. I love you.”

Stiles leans down and kisses the taut line of Derek’s neck, then bites it gently. Derek growls, his arms around Stiles tightening. Stiles licks the spot, and then looks up at Derek in a panic. “We’re not, like, werewolf married now, or anything, right?”

Derek chuckles. “No. It just means I’m yours as long as you’ll have me.”

“Or until you tire of my annoying charm.”

Derek flips them so Stiles is on his back. “Never gonna happen.” They start kissing again then, and soon they’re rutting against each other. “You sure about this?” Derek asks, and Stiles glares at him.

“Stop asking me.” Stiles holds Derek’s face between his hands. “All that stuff you just said to me? I feel the same. I want you, Derek, inside me, outside me, in my jeep, in my bed, sitting beside me on the couch, eating dinner with my father, answering my drunk texts when I go to frat parties and drink too much, sending me sad ‘I miss you’ texts every day, happy reunion kisses, fights about stupid shit, getting moody for no reason, helping you through the bad nights, waiting for you to come back from a run on the full moon, standing by your side the next time some big bad rolls through town – I want all of it with you.”

Something shifts on Derek’s face, like for the first time he’s getting what Stiles has been trying to tell him for like ever. Derek kisses him again, his fingers fumbling blindly with the lube as he coats his fingers. Stiles feels a finger touch his opening, and his cock twitches in response, and Derek slides the first finger inside, then the second and third. He’s twisting his fingers, scissoring them open as he prepares Stiles, and now that this was happening, Stiles aches with anticipation. But he’s also nervous; he’s watched a lot of porn in his life, but he’s not exactly sure what to expect.

Derek is patient, probably too patient, and Stiles is rutting against him and moaning, and he wants to feel anything, and he claws at Derek’s back and tries not to sound too needy when he mumbles, “Derek, please” around his tongue, trying desperately to talk without losing contact with Derek’s mouth.

Derek lifts himself up and takes one of Stiles’ legs and hooks it over his shoulder. He looks down at Stiles, his eyes bright with desire. Stiles curls his fingers around Derek’s bicep and notices Derek looks as nervous as he feels. “This is your first time, too, isn’t it?” Stiles asks. “With a guy, I mean,” he adds.

Derek nods as he swallows, and Stiles follows the bob of his Adam’s apple with his eyes. Stiles meets Derek’s eyes again, and he smiles softly. “I kinda like the idea of that.” He feels his cheeks flush, and Derek leans down and kisses him.

“Remember to breathe,” Derek instructs, and Stiles nods his head. Derek moves his hips, and Stiles feels the tip of his cock against his entrance, and he’s suddenly nervous again. But then he catches Derek’s eyes, and everything but his desire and need for Derek melts away.

Derek pushes forward, slowly pushing against the ring of muscle, and Stiles’ eyes begin to water. He blinks and breathes, just like Derek said, and some of the pain subsides. And then Derek is inside him, and sliding deeper with every second, and it burns as Derek stretches him, and he wants to pull away, but he doesn’t want Derek out of him. He breathes and Derek pauses, his thumb brushing tenderly against Stiles’ cheek, and Stiles can see the same excited anticipation he feels reflected on Derek’s face. For some reason, the thought that Derek is as excited about this as he is makes him happy.

Derek slowly and deliberately finishes pushing inside Stiles, his entire body shaking as he waits for Stiles to adjust. It looks like it’s taking a lot of restraint for Derek to hold back as Derek slides his hand across Stiles’ shoulder, down his arm, and picks up Stiles’ hand, threading their fingers together.

“You okay there?” Stiles asks, going for joking and light-hearted, but it comes out more serious than he intended.

Derek nods, body hovering above his, face mere inches from his own, and Stiles lifts up to close the distance between their mouths. Stiles feels like he is going to explode from the inside out. Derek fills him completely, and although it’s painful, it’s also giving way to pleasure. When they break the kiss, Derek’s brows crease in question, and Stiles nods, and so Derek slides out and back into him, setting up a slow rhythm. The longer Derek fucks him, the more used to the feeling his body gets, and he finds himself moving with him.

After a few minutes, Derek’s thrusts begin to come faster, and soft moans escape Stiles’ lips. Every pore in his body explodes with pleasure each time Derek thrusts into him. His leg slides off Derek’s slick shoulder, and he braces his heels on the bed, while Derek leans closer and kisses him. He moves their still entwined fingers above Stiles’ head, holding himself up. The angle of Derek’s movements feels different, and Stiles’ cock is trapped between their bodies. His hand goes to grab it, but Derek swats his hand away and wraps the fingers of his free hand around it. Derek’s hand is unable to move much between their bellies, his fingers uncoordinated on Stiles’ cock, but the sensation combined with Derek inside him is too much. Stiles comes, his entire body tensing and releasing as it is consumed by Derek. He keens, not paying attention to the noises that come out of his mouth as he rides out his orgasm, Derek’s cock sliding in and out of him like a constant, soothing tempo. Stiles’ body sags into the bed as he begins coming down from his orgasm, his breathing quick and body covered in sweat.

Derek whispers, “turn over” as he helps Stiles flip over onto his knees. Stiles’ entire body is trembling, and Derek holds onto Stiles with an arm around his waist. Although he’s just come, it feels good when Derek thrusts his cock back inside. Stiles likes the feel of Derek inside him, and never wants it to end. Derek places a kiss to the back of Stiles’ neck and grips Stiles’ hip roughly, fingers digging deeply into his flesh, as his thrusts come fast and erratic. Then he halts as he comes, buried deep inside Stiles’, moaning lowly before they both collapse on the bed.

They remain like that for a few moments, their breathing slowly returning to normal. Derek places kisses across Stiles’ neck and shoulders, and Stiles smiles against the pillow. Derek lifts himself just a bit, enough to kiss and lick his way down Stiles’ back, placing kisses everywhere his mouth can reach. Stiles hums happily, his entire consciousness trained on where Derek’s mouth brushes against him next. He is content, warm, sated, and exhausted.

Stiles whines when Derek makes him stand up, but Derek kisses him as he cleans him with a towel, wiping both their stomachs and cocks before gently cleaning between Stiles’ cheeks. Stiles leans against Derek’s solid body, a little sore as Derek cleans him, legs still a bit shaky and his body drained. Derek kisses him again before telling him to lean against the dresser as he fits the bed with clean sheets. Stiles doesn’t even wait for him to finish putting on the top sheet before he collapses face first on the bed.

After Derek finishes the bed, he curls against Stiles’ side. “How was that?” Derek asks.

Stiles opens his eyes, lying face to face with Derek, Derek’s bright hazel eyes staring at him so close. “It was amazing,” Stiles says. “You’re amazing, but you knew that.” Derek smiles, and from this close, Stiles can only tell from the crinkles in the corner of his eyes.

“It was pretty great.” Derek leans forward and noses his neck happily as Stiles runs his fingers through his damp hair.

“I have a question.” Derek hums his response against his skin. “Did you, like, google stuff to do? Because – I’m not questioning your sexual prowess or anything – but some of the things we’ve been doing seem a little creative.”

Derek moves his head back, and Stiles brushes his fingers against the hair pushed flat against his forehead. “Are you complaining?”

“Fuck no,” Stiles answers, “I just think it’s hilarious and cute that you googled gay sex tips.” Derek’s ears turn pink, and Stiles grabs his head and smashes their lips into a kiss. “It’s kinda sweet,” Stiles says when he lets go. “Maybe I’ll do some googling of my own. Or, better yet, there’s a lot of porn I’ve watched, and there are a few things I’ve always wanted to try…”

Derek shakes his head. “Can’t you be happy with what we just did?”

Stiles nods emphatically. “Oh, I’m very happy. Actually, I plan to keep being very happy. Multiple times before we go to bed. And hopefully a few times tomorrow.”

Derek laughs. “I may need to make a protein shake.”

“I didn’t think I’d have to worry about your werewolf stamina,” Stiles pokes his shoulder.

Derek grabs him around the waist and rolls them onto Stiles’ back and rocks their hips together. Stiles moans when he feels Derek’s half-hard cock. “Oh, I meant for you.”

“Asshole.” Derek grins. “I’m definitely up for another round, but maybe after a short nap.” Stiles closes his eyes and Derek settles his weight comfortably on Stiles, face nuzzled into the crook of his neck.

*

“I’m going to miss this,” Stiles says as he scoops up a ball and whips the crosse through the air. Scott easily catches the ball before it sails into the goal.

“What? Losing?” Scott grins and sends the ball back to Stiles.

“No, this. Lacrosse. Me and you.” Stiles shrugs. “Everything’s changing, man. It’s kinda weird.”

“Things aren’t changing that much,” Scott says, leaning on his crosse. “You’re not going that far away. No one is. You’ll be at Berkley with Isaac and Allison, I’ll be at UCLA with Erica and Boyd, Jackson’s going to Stanford, and Lydia’s going to CalTech. We’ll all be really close.”

“I know.” Stiles kicks the ball with his foot. “It’s just…this year sucked. I mean, yeah, we did some fun stuff, and I got with Derek and all, but I feel like I missed out on my senior year, and now we’re all going away, and what if I break up with Derek because our long distance relationship won’t work, or you break up with Allison or Isaac, or Jackson and Lydia break up, or Boyd gets drafted to the NFL and ends up playing for a team in like Asia, or someone joins a new pack or – “

“Stiles!” Scott cuts in, and Stiles looks up and is surprised to see that Scott has come out of the goal and is now standing right in front of him. “Chill, dude. The summer’s just begun and you’re already emo and written us all off.”

Stiles grins. “When did you get so smart, huh? Must have been some time while I was preoccupied by the mare, must have been.”

Scott pretends to be mad and tackles Stiles to the ground. They roll around on the ground wrestling for a few moments before just lying flat on their backs, laughing and staring up at the sky.

“I’ve missed you, man,” Stiles says.

“You’re the one who spends all his time with Derek.”

“Need I remind you of the last few years. One word: Allison.”

“Now you know how I feel,” Scott says, grinning as he looks over at Stiles. “It’s kinda awesome, isn’t it?”

Stiles laughs and nods. “Yeah, it really is.” He pauses, then says, “We had sex finally. Me and Derek.”

“I figured you didn’t mean someone else.”

“Shut up, dick.”

“How was it?”

“Fantastic.”

Scott lifts up on his elbows and looks over at Stiles. “I’m happy for you, dude.”

“You’re not gonna give me shit for it?”

Scott shrugs. “I still don’t know how comfortable I will ever be thinking about Derek’s dick,” he shudders, “but as long as you’re happy, I’m happy. You two make a good pair.”

“Thanks,” Stiles says. “I did it first, right? Have a sex with a dude? You and Isaac haven’t, because I’ll be really pissed if my best friend in the weird wolfy three way went all the way with a dude before me…”

Scott rolls his eyes. “No.”

Stiles fistpumps the air. “All right! I win.” Scott rolls his eyes again and kicks Stiles in the shins.

“We have to have weekly gaming nights,” Scott says as he gets up. He extends a hand and helps Stiles to his feet.

“And carve out at least a bit of Scott/Stiles time when you come visit Allison and Isaac.”

“Or when we go home and you see Derek.”

“Right.” Stiles nods and looks at Scott seriously. “Dude, we’re going to college. It’s fucking insane.”

“I know.” Scott’s pocket vibrates then and he pulls it out. “It’s Allison. We’re late for the bar-b-queue.”

They throw their lacrosse gear in the back of the jeep and go across town to Scott’s house, where the pack and some of their family are gathered for a celebratory cookout. When Stiles enters the backyard, he sees his dad manning the grill while Melissa talks to Lydia and Erica’s mom. Lydia, Allison, Boyd, and Isaac are playing cards on a picnic table, Derek’s drinking a beer and talking to Boyd’s grandmother, and Jackson and Erica are playing badminton, but keep hitting the birdies too hard. Chris Argent joins them a few minutes later, carrying a bowl of macaroni salad and looking slightly uncomfortable. Allison jumps up and gives him a kiss on the cheek.

“You okay?” Derek asks when he comes up to Stiles a few minutes later. He slides his arm around Stiles’ waist and kisses his temple.

“Yeah,” Stiles answers, looking around the scene with a smile. His dad and Chris are at the grill, arguing about something, and Melissa steps between them and settles whatever dispute they had. “Yeah, I’m great.”

*

Derek opened his eyes and looked around the familiar sight of Stiles’ room. He thought it was an odd place to start dreamwalking. When he sat up, he saw Lydia and Allison sitting anxiously on the floor.

“It didn’t work,” Derek barked, standing up and glancing at the bed where Stiles, Scott, and Erica were laid out, and the floor where Boyd, Jackson, and Isaac were. Wait, no. Isaac was blinking up at him. It didn’t work for him either. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Lydia said, glancing at the prostrate bodies. “Maybe it doesn’t work for everyone.”

Stiles jerked then as he mumbled something, and some of the Betas did the same. Derek rounded on Lydia, eyes red and fangs extended.

“You messed up the potion,” he roared. “You need to fix it right this fucking second! I have got to get in there!”

Erica and Jackson growled in their sleep, and everyone’s attention turned to that. “Lydia,” Derek growled again.

“Look!” Lydia yelled, getting right against Derek’s chest and looking up at him, finger pointed. He bared his teeth, but it didn’t faze her. “You’re not the only one with their boyfriend in there, fighting that mare. I’m just as fucking scared as you. And you’re also not the only one who cares about Stiles! So, I get that you’re the Alpha and freaking the fuck out because you can’t be there to protect your boyfriend and your pack, but you really need to calm the fuck down!” she yelled, her voice at screeching volume by the time she finished.

Derek glared at her and growled, but took a deep breath and went to stand beside Isaac. “Dude, she told you,” Isaac said.

“Shut up,” Derek barked.

They saw the blood on Boyd, oozing from under his shirt, and Allison yelled at Lydia to wake him up. Boyd opened his eyes and looked around disoriented.

“What’s happening?” Derek yelled, and Boyd touched his chest, lifted his shirt to see the already healing wound.

“They’re fighting the mare.”

Derek paced back and forth, every scenario scrolling through his mind as he waited for something. He could feel the fear and anxiety emanating from the sleeping forms, but he felt helpless. He wasn’t sure if the mare could kill Stiles in his sleep, but he was terrified it would happen.

And then Lydia woke up Jackson when black sludge started pouring from his shoulder, and he came to shouting, “That fucker shot me! He shot me with a fucking wolfsbane bullet!” And Derek laughed then, because Jackson was okay, the wound not transferring as badly into consciousness, and because Stiles was still okay.

But then Stiles was struggling in his sleep, then he screamed, his arm moving oddly. “Wake him up!” Derek yelled.

“He said not to wake him up unless he was dying,” Boyd said.

“I don’t care!”

“Derek, he made me promise.” Derek huffed out a frantic breath and watched as Stiles twitched, the fear and panic rising.

And then Stiles jerked awake, a disfigured body with tangled black hair appearing on top of him. Derek grabbed what he guessed was the mare, and when he got a good look at it, realized it was dead.

“I killed it,” Stiles said. “I did it, she’s dead.” The relief came off Stiles in waves, and after Derek dealt with the mare, Derek dropped by his side.

“Are you okay?” Derek touched every part of Stiles he could – his face, his chest, his arms – just to make sure he was alive and okay. The conversation he had with Stiles after that was a blur, his mind repeating He’s alive. Stiles is alive.

Then Derek placed his hands on Stiles and pulled the pain from his body. It hurt as it transferred into his own veins, and Derek didn’t want to think about Stiles feeling that much pain.

But as Derek kissed Stiles, he realized that pain meant Stiles was alive, and Stiles was alive because he killed the mare. Stiles was alive. He was warm against him, squirming on the bed, talkative on the way to Deaton’s, and solid later that night in Derek’s arms.

Derek hadn’t been there to protect Stiles, but the pack had been there, and ultimately, Stiles had taken care of himself. And although his wolf whined because he wanted to protect Stiles, something inside him felt relieved because he knew that Stiles could take care of himself.

*

EPILOGUE

Stiles jerks awake, his body broken out in a cold sweat as his heart pounds loudly in his ears. The terror grips him, leaving him paralyzed for a few moments before the images leave his head and he starts to recover.

With a shaking hand, he turns on the lamp and grabs the iPad from the nightstand so he can skype Derek. He waits impatiently for Derek to connect on the other end. After a few moments, Derek’s face comes on screen, eyes half-closed with sleep and hair messy like he had his face pressed into the pillow.

“Hey,” Stiles says as Derek seems to get his iPad situated where he was sitting in bed. Stiles gets a lot of video of the camera spinning around the room as Derek moves.

“You haven’t had a nightmare in awhile,” Derek says, yawning as he rubs his eyes.

“I know,” Stiles replies. “I’m sorry I called so late.”

“How many times have I told you not to apologize?” Stiles can see Derek’s disapproving glare even through the screen. “What did you dream this time?”

Stiles shrugs. “I don’t remember much.”

“You’re rubbing your wrist again,” Derek says softly. Stiles looks down to where he is, indeed, rubbing his wrist absently. “Were you tied up?”

“Yeah. Being tortured. Same old mare shit.” Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his messy hair. “It’s been a year, and I’m still having nightmares.”

“But they’re coming less frequently,” Derek points out. “You haven’t called me like this since right after you got back from winter break.”

“Still.”

“Deaton said it was nothing to worry about, just normal nightmares because of what you went through. No mares, no hags, nothing but plain old dreams.

“I know,” Stiles says, staring at Derek and missing him like crazy. He never thought it would be so hard being away from him, even though they usually see each other at least every other weekend. “How’re things in Beacon Hills?”

“Since I talked to you two days ago?” Derek laughs.

“Shut up, it’s late and I don’t want to hang up yet.”

“You know how I texted you about that house I was looking at?” Stiles nods. “I’m going back to look at it again. I want your opinion next time you’re home. I think it’s big enough for all the pack whenever they want to stay over, and it’s in the woods so we can run on the full moon.”

“Sounds awesome. I can’t wait to see it.”

“It’s a bit of a fixer upper, and really cheap. But I thought it could give me something to do. Your dad told me he could help me with some of the labor if I needed it.”

“You told my dad about this house before you told me?” Stiles asks, half-jealous and half-affectionate.

“We had lunch yesterday. I had just gotten finished looking at it.”

“I think it’d be good for Dad to help you.” Stiles nods his head for emphasis. “I wish you’d been at Boyd’s game last night.”

“I felt like I was. You, Isaac, and Erica texted me through the entire thing,” Derek grumps, though Stiles can tell he loves it.

“He’s pretty badass. There’s all sort of buzz around him. Erica tried to explain college football and NFL drafts to me, but I don’t like football. Lacrosse all the way, baby.”

“And baseball,” Derek adds.

“Mets all the way!”

“Idiot.”

“Shut up.”

“Are you okay?” Derek asks seriously.

“Yeah, I think so. Talking to you helped.” He smiles. “Scott’s spending the night tonight, so I think I’m going to go crawl into bed with him, Isaac, and Allison after I hang up with you.”

“Good, I’m glad you’re not alone.”

“Have you heard if Jackson is coming home next weekend?” Stiles asks. “Lydia texted me and said she was coming.”

“He said he’s trying. I think he may just skip whatever commitments he has. He hasn’t been home since Christmas break, and he’s feeling a bit edgy,” Derek explains.

“We’ve been too busy this semester,” Stiles sighs. “It’ll be nice to have the whole pack together. Scott and Isaac have been spending more and more time together the last few weeks.”

“The full moon’s next weekend, too, so I think it’ll be good for him to go running with us,” Derek says. “It’ll be good for all of us.”

“Are you saying you miss us?” Stiles grins.

“That’s a dumb question. You know I miss all of you when you’re not around.”

“An Beta-less Alpha. Who do you boss around? Little old ladies at the grocery store?”

“You’re a dick,” Derek says.

“I miss you, too.” Stiles sighs. “I miss you a lot.”

“Seeing you every two weeks isn’t enough,” Derek says. “You always come home smelling like other people.”

“I know,” Stiles rolls his eyes. “We spend the first twenty minutes with you scenting me again.”

“Shut up, you love it.”

“Guilty, I guess.” Derek smiles, and Stiles glances at the clock.

“I should try and get some sleep. I have an eleven o’clock class in the morning, but I’d still not like to stay up all night.”

“You sure you’re okay?” Derek asks again.

Stiles nods. “Talking to you always makes me feel better.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Stiles signs off, then slips out of bed and walks down the hall to Isaac’s room. When he opens the door, he sees Scott sprawled on his back, his hand on Allison’s hip, who’s in the middle of the bed facing him, and Isaac wrapped around her back. Stiles pads over to the side of the bed and taps Scott on the shoulder.

“Scoot over, bed hog,” he mumbles.

Allison stirs awake and sits up, and she shakes Scott. “Scott, wake up. Stiles can’t get in.”

“What’s going on?” Isaac sits up, gold eyes scanning the room. “Another nightmare?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, crawling in bed beside Scott. Allison and Isaac reach over and touch Stiles as Scott noses his hair.

“Okay, buddy?” Scott asks sleepily.

Stiles curls onto his side, Scott’s arm and leg pressing against his back, Allison’s hand resting on his arm, Isaac’s soft snores already filling the room, and Derek’s voice still in his head. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

-fin