Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"So do you think I'm a freak now?" he asks breathlessly, slumped over on himself.

Scott looks aside, mouth parted in thought. He just got back from his cousins' house in Taos tonight, and they're sitting outside on the picnic tables at the Puffy Taco, eating and staring at the flickering streetlight in the parking lot.

"No?" Scott says, consternated. "You're not a freak, Stiles. It's just...not what I expected."

"Tell me about it," Stiles mutters.

"What were you doing, walking over there alone??"

Stiles shrugs, feeling stupid. "I don't know. Last year Greenberg said his dad said there were these ruins in the woods near the town-line and I was bored, man--"

"You crossed the line because of something Greenberg said?!" Scott asks, horrified.

"Shut up, dude! I don't know! It was late and I was bored and I took too much adderall--"

"Stiles," Scott bemoans. "This is all my fault. I shouldn't have gone away all summer." He drops his face onto his crossed arm on the table.

"Oh my god, you don't need to martyr yourself with every little bad thing that happens in the world, dude. Stop."

Stiles gives him a little backrub until Scott lifts his head up again to finish his taco. They eat, Stiles' straw making slurpy noises in his empty cup.

"What're they like, the Hales?" Scott asks softly.

"Cool," Stiles shrugs. Scott gives him a skeptical look. "No really, they're pretty nice. I mean, I'm kind of pack now, so they're nice to me. But they're also nice to my dad. Alpha Hale is really laid-back. We uh. Sometimes we cook together."

"What's Derek like?" Scott pries deeper, like he expects that Stiles is hiding the awful truth underneath his praise.

"Derek is fine. Derek is...Derek is--" he can't seem to find the right words. The ones he thinks of make him blush a little.

"Oh, it's like that?" Scott says, knowing him too well.

"No! I mean. No, dude. He's just really good-looking. But he's also weird and distant and I'm pretty sure he fucking hates himself for claiming me in the first place."

Scott frowns hard. "Not cool."

"Scott--"

"--no, that's bullshit. He's lucky to have you. He should feel freaking lucky."

Stiles smiles weakly, knocks their shoulders together. "Thanks."

"So," he starts, and she turns around and grins when she sees him standing in her back yard. "Am I a freak now?"

She lowers her bow and gives him a one-armed hug, grinning wider. She'd gone to Hunter camp or something most of the summer. Scott said she'd come home with some killer new sword skills.

"No," Allison says, and then her brow has a little, concerned cut to it. "Are you ok, though? Dad said it wasn't mutual."

"Oh no, it's mutual, it's very mutual," Stiles hustles to explain. She quirks her brow. "I mean, mostly. Mostly mutual. Not at first! But things are going well. Better. I think I'm kind of growing on him."

"Growing on him?" she says, suddenly serious, unimpressed.

"--growing on each other?" he tries. "It's just...neither of us were ready. I'm pretty sure he was running on instinct when he claimed me. Like if you ever met him, you'd know he's just not the kind of guy who bites people on purpose--"

"Oh, I've met him," she says ominously, shooting an arrow. It zips across the yard, embedding in a target.

"You have?" he asks. "Nice shot."

"Mmm-hm," she hums and frowns at her aim. Goes for another arrow. "We meet with the Hales every few months. Derek comes with his sister and mum sometimes. He's..." she pauses and fiddles with her bow. "He's quiet more than anything. My aunt used to try to rile him up sometimes and he'd just stare at her, all blank and unimpressed."

Stiles frowns, tries to imagine Derek having to deal with Kate Argent's throaty jibes.

"He's a good guy, Ally," Stiles says.

She sighs, looks at him. "I'm sure he is, for a werewolf. But you have to be careful, Stiles. Learn the rules. Keep your head down. And come to us if you need protection. It's what we do."

Stiles nods. Allison smiles at him and taps his shin with her bow. "Do you want to hang out? My cousin Carson is coming over for dinner. You guys could talk lacrosse."

"Yeah right, I'm pretty sure Carson thinks I walk out of existence the second I leave the field. I just wanted to come over and see if we were good."

She smiles, rolling her eyes. "We're good, Stiles."

"Thanks, Ally," he says sweetly.

He walked out of school at the end of last year a nobody and walked back in a minor celebrity.

"Hey, how are you? I can't even imagine what your life must be like now?" a blond freshman girl he's never even seen before says with all this concern, taking his arm in hers.

"Uh, Scott?" Stiles swallows, looking back at his friend who rolls his eyes.

"Shoo, shoo," Lydia Martin says, waving her hands at the freshman. The girl makes a face and moves away, only to be replaced by Lydia herself, who draws Stiles on with her, chin tilted up defiantly as the crowded hallway parts for them.

"This is what makes you pay attention to me? This?" Stiles asks, exasperated.

"Well," she says primly, pausing to open her locker. She puts her hand flat to his chest when he tries to leave. "Lets just say you had nothing to endorse you before."

He snorts. "Oh, so being mated to a werewolf--"

"--to a Hale wolf," she says forbiddingly. She pauses, looks at him with keen eyes. "--there must be more to you than that terrible flannel and teeshirt combo."

"Nice," he mutters.

"--but that can be fixed. We can work with that."

"W-what? Fixed?" he sputters.

She links their arms and shuts her locker, drags him with her to AP English.

Everyone else is almost cool about it. The only person who openly gives him shit for it is Jackson, who gives him shit for everything anyway, and who ends up getting a "Not cool, man," from Danny when Jackson calls Stiles a wolf bitch during practice.

Jackson sighs and goes running off after Danny to apologize, so all in all, coming out as a claimed werewolf mate isn't too terrible.

There are some kids in the halls that stare, some that avoid him like he's got something communicable, but he was never the most popular kid in high school anyway, so it makes little impact on what his day is like. The only things that bother him are the questions.

He feels knuckles draw ticklishly across his bare nape and yelps.

"What was it like?" Karen Finney asks, sitting at his table in the library suddenly, eyes rapt.

He pops his collar. Makes a face. "What? It wasn't...it's not--"

"Did it hurt? God it looks like it hurt. Or did it feel good? In every book I've ever read, they're like...it hurt? But it hurts so good--"

"Oh my god," he says, shoving up out of his seat.

"Hey, I'm just curious! I won't tell anyone!" she calls after him and he gets shushed by the librarian.

At lunch the next day, Isaac Lahey tosses him an unopened bag of sun chips, sits down across from him, eating his own chips, and stares with critical eyes.

"What?" Stiles asks, uncomfortable.

"Did he hunt you? Was it like a mating run? Was it the full moon?" Isaac asks, munching.

Stiles groans.

"Was he going to kill you but then had...urges."

"Werewolves don't kill people, dude. God. Also, that's gross and highly personal, what the hell."

Isaac shrugs. "Just curious."

"Everyone's curious," Stiles mutters, but opens up his free chips and eats them anyway.

Carson Argent runs into him on the way out of Chemistry and gives Stiles a little smile that Stiles double-takes at, because the guy barely looks at him on the field, never even makes eye contact with him and here he is, grinning, eyes all warm and friendly.

"Huh," Danny says beside him and gives Stiles a raised eyebrow.

"Woah, no. No way. Carson?"

Danny shrugs, sets his books on a lab table.

"--but he's an Argent. They were all grumpy, waving guns about me all summer long. I thought Gerard Argent was going to have an aneurysm."

"You got this now--" Danny says, flicking Stiles' collar and gesturing at the pale, healed bite mark on his nape, which Stiles slaps a palm over defensively. "To a werewolf hunter, you're probably like catnip. You're a damsel in distress. You're sleeping with the enemy--"

"Stop, woah. Woah. Nope. Not ok, Daniel--" Stiles says, waving at him to shut up.

Danny grins. "And you're pretty cute now. You got all shouldery this summer."

Stiles stares at him.

"I can see the appeal," Danny says and winks, sitting back with a pen in hand, flipping open his notebook.

"What appeal?" Scott asks, sitting down next to Stiles.

"Nothing," Stiles says, blushing, remembering the yearbook photo that fell out of Derek's book.

It's been three days and he feels...not so great. Weird. Itchy or something. He actually wears Derek's dirty lacrosse shirt to bed, but he's still uncomfortable in the morning.

So that night after he finishes his homework, with his knee bouncing anxiously, he holds his phone cradled to his ear and rings the Hale house.

"Hale," comes a drawled, annoyed voice on the phone.

"Hey uh. Laura?" Stiles asks.

"Oh my god, wait--" she says quickly, voice all impatient. "Wait, Stiles don't hang up. Derek!"

Stiles swallows hard, listening as the phone fumbles and Laura laughs somewhere in the background.

"Stiles," comes a breathless voice.

"Oh god, dude. Dude," Stiles chokes out, surprised by the rush of relief he feels. His skin stops crawling and starts to warm over.

Derek makes a low, fraught sound and then they're just listening to each other breathe like a pair of weirdos until Stiles realizes that he should say something, anything.

"How is school? You have school, right? Do you...oh man, I don't even know if you go to school. I assumed you did because of the lacrosse uniform--"

"Yes," Derek interrupts. "But the pack school is small. It's not like your school. Just two rooms. A lot of us home school."

"Oh," Stiles says. Then he doesn't know what else to talk about. They don't talk. They don't ever talk, what the hell? How do they never talk? They just sit close together and scent-mark and Derek looks at him with all this banked, frustrated something and--

Derek makes a growly noise, hisses "--shut up Laura," and then softly, he asks "Are you...ok, Stiles?"

"Yeah, buddy. I'm good," Stiles says. And then they just listen to each other breathe again.

He doesn't know why he does it, but it slips out of his mouth anyway. "I wear your lacrosse shirt to bed."

Derek's breath catches sharply, a surprised sound.

The line goes strange and muffled and Stiles hears Derek shout something and then Laura's on, saying "Oookay, Stilinski, I'm gonna have to cut this conversation short. There will be no phone sex on the land-line while the kiddos are listening in."

Stiles gasps in horror.

"Laura!" Stiles hears Derek roar before the call cuts out.

He drops his own phone like its scorched him and buries his hot face in his pillow, groaning in embarrassment.

That weekend, he fidgets through several shirt changes until he puts on his baseball shirt and forces himself to walk out of his bedroom.

Then he fidgets through eating breakfast, watching his dad putter around, making coffee and whistling to himself.

"You ready to go over to the Hales or do you want to wait until after lunch?" his dad asks and he chokes out "Now is good. Uh. I mean, whatever."

Then he fidgets through the whole drive, messing with the radio station, twitching his fingers over the volume, tracking the houses they pass as they cross the town-line and head ever closer to the homestead.

"Do you want me to just drop you off or--?" his dad asks as they pull up and Stiles is already shoving out the door, giving a short "Yeah, later dad," before he charges up the front steps.

Derek crashes through the screen door, face all stricken and frantic and Stiles can't help it, he plows right into him with a little shout and gets lifted, lifted right off his feet as Derek lurches around, holding him close and making breathy, desperate noises while Stiles laughs in delight.

They stop and look at each other and Derek's heavy eyebrows are all snagged together in frustration and his mouth is all turned down but Stiles has gotten used to reading that face, he knows that face so he just coos nonsensically, leans in and strokes his soft cheek along Derek's, right alone the fine, beardy grain of that cheekbone.

Derek clings to him, holding him so close and tight Stiles has to struggle to breathe, still laughing a little, but gasping too.

He's gently put down on his feet then, and Derek drops his brow against Stiles' throat, scents there, rubs his whole face there, purring low in his chest.

The day is lazy and long, one of those hot days that feels like summer still has its teeth. He falls asleep at one point, sprawled on the slow-moving porch swing, palm to his belly. He blinks in and out a few times, finds Derek sitting nearby on the wood floor, doing homework. It makes Stiles feel all warm to see the fragile little curl of hair behind his ear, when Derek ducks to look at his writing. He sleeps deeper, knowing Derek is nearby.

He's jolted awake when one of the cubs bounces on his stomach. He flails and falls off the swing with a hard thump. The kids laugh. Cedar has his little milk teeth out, and he's hissing as Stiles pushes up with a groan. It's not often any of the Weres show their wolf when he's there, so Stiles watches in interest.

"Come on," Cora Hale mutters, dragging Stiles back onto his feet. She flashes golden eyes at Cedar, who jumps off the high porch and rolls into the grass like the drop is nothing.

Derek comes out with two cups of coffee and offers one to Stiles, who moans at the gesture, says "Oh god, you're my favorite." He sees, out of the corner of his eye, Derek shoot Cora a tiny but noticeable little smirk.

Cora snorts and disappears into the house and Stiles and him sit and drink in silence, moving back and forth on the porch swing.

They go for a walk in the field after, along the creek. Derek doesn't talk a lot, but he pauses Stiles once by reaching over and touching his hand to Stiles' hip, then ducks down to show him a rabbit warren near the creek bed. Stiles watches him tilt his head a little, listening intently. And then his face goes placid, which almost a smile for Derek and Stiles says "what is it?"

"There are four of them. They can hear us."

Stiles nods and Derek stands, turns his head back towards the homestead with this look on his face like he's listening in to his own den, mouth set in a firm line.

Then he sets off again with Stiles tripping to keep up, towards the woods where Derek picks crab apples and looks them over critically before offering Stiles the good ones.

They get back in time to wash up for a late lunch. Stiles stares at the hair on Derek's tan arm when they share the sink together. It's coarse and dark, gets smoothed under the water and then fluffs up again when Derek dries himself off roughly with a hand towel.

He blushes when he turns around and finds Laura watching them.

Talia comes in late from meeting with part of the pack, walks past them eating, ruffling Derek's hair, pulling Cora's braid and tweaking Stiles' ear. Stiles grins around a mouthful of ham sandwich. She comes back in with a plate and looks at them all with approval. She sits and says "how was your first week of school, Stiles?"

Stiles swallows, says "Good, ma'am. I've got mostly AP classes this year. They think I might be able to graduate early."

She looks impressed, congratulates him. Derek's shoulders seem to lift and spread as he listens to his mother's praise for Stiles. Stiles can see it, the way he grows taller beside him. It's somehow extra-pleasing, to have the Alpha's approval and to see Derek's pleasure in it.

After he helps Talia and Peter clean up their lunch mess, follows them into the kitchen with a stack of dishes and gets hugged suddenly, pulled into Talia's wiry arms. She pats his back soothingly while she does it and Peter winks at him and walks out of the room.

At the last moment before she pulls away, she nuzzles against his jaw and he realizes with a start that he's pack, he's really pack. The Alpha is scent-marking him.

He's at a loss for words, can only stare at her after with wide eyes as she chuckles and takes the dishes out of his hands.

"Go. See Derek. He's missed you this week."

So he does. Wanders off to where everyone is sitting on the porch with popsicles, laughing at the kids who are trying to do handstands in the grass.

Derek jumps up from the stairs when Stiles walks out, an earnest, strained expression on his face.

"Hey, uh so--" he tries for nonchalance but Derek takes his face in his eager hands and kisses him.

It's just plush, delicate lips, cold sweetness and the scratch of beard before Derek's drawing away, eyes searching Stiles' face.

Stiles can't close his mouth, it hangs open, breathing roughly. Just a little touch of lips and he's half-gone. He blinks slowly, dazed, and Derek's eyes widen.

He takes Stiles by the shoulders, drawing him towards that reddened mouth again, eyelashes dropping heavy and lush before Peter interrupts, says low "--there are children present."

Derek jerks away like it's hot and Stiles ends up tripping backwards and knocking into the porch rail hard, wincing.

"Ow, fuck," Stiles breathes out in a rush.

"Hey, it's ok. It's ok, he just tripped," Laura is saying, but Derek's already backing away, eyes wide.

"Derek?" Stiles says, confused.

But the Were jumps off the porch and runs. He runs away, off towards the woods.

"I got him," Talia says, passing through the screen door and jumping over the steps, then moving too fast for Stiles to see her go.

"What happened?" Stiles asks, laughing a little at how sudden it was.

The pack sort of sighs en masse, looking at Stiles. Peter gives Laura a little shoulder squeeze and says to Stiles "why don't you call your dad, kid. I think it might be a good idea to give Derek a little breathing room."

"Yeah, ok," Stiles mumbles and, rubbing his bruised hip.

He squints into the woods as his phone rings, wondering if Derek is out there now in his wolf skin, running, his eyes glowing bright and cold.

He looks at the small mark on his hip in the mirror. He bruises easily, his skin always mottled from lacrosse take-downs, from his own inability to walk up stairs correctly. It's a little tender, but nothing that will bother him.

He remembers how long it took the bite mark to stop smarting. How it would sting in the shower. How he could feel it when his shirt collar scraped over it. How even a month later, it still felt a little swollen sometimes. When he was hot and sweaty it would feel tight, itchy.

He wants to call Derek, tell him look, so sometimes this is going to happen. You're going to make a mistake. Or maybe I'll hurt myself. One time I tripped in the kitchen and pulled out the entire knife drawer onto my feet. It happens. It's human. Haven't you read Being Claimed? Don't freak out.

On Thursday they have practice, so he gears up and wanders out to the field with Scott, half-listening to his friend's prolonged do you think she'll go with me to the winter formal this year? monologue about Allison. (Stiles has already double-checked with her, and she'd blushed and said "oh god, yes? When is he going to ask?") He puts on his helmet just in time, because Carson Argent comes up behind him and taps him on the head twice, rattling him. The guy is huge and that meaty hand can do some damage. Carson shakes off his goalie glove as he talks.

"Hey, Stiles. You guys coming out for dinner tomorrow?"

Stiles blinks at him, turns to Scott in confusion.

Scott shrugs.

"My granddad invited your dad and a few of the deputies out for the cookout? You know, the Hunters thing? I was hoping you were coming--"

"Oh, uh. Yeah? Probably," Stiles says. He usually goes with his dad to those Argent get-togethers, if only to make sure his dad gets out of there before he has a rage blackout or something.

Carson smiles, knocks his knuckles into Stiles' helmet and then grabs him by the nape and squeezes.

It happens so suddenly, Stiles can't stop him. He's just standing there and then someone else's hot palm is closing over his mark.

He winces hard, jerks away.

"What? Does it hurt?" Carson asks, frowning.

"Yeah," Stiles lies. "I don't like being touched there."

Carson's frown gets deeper, critical. "That's not good, Stiles. Did it bite you again?"

It takes him a moment to work out what Carson means by it, and when he does, he chokes "No."

"Good," Carson says like something's been settled, and then jogs off to join Kelly Hess and coach at the goal.

"That was weird, right? Was that weird? Is he into you now?" Scott asks him.

Stiles has to reach back and stroke at the mark like he's wiping Carson's touch off

"Yeah," Stiles sighs after. " And it's maybe not good."

He shoves open the art room, looks in at Allison and asks her "Are you going to your granddad's thing tomorrow?"

She looks confused for all of two seconds before she deflates "Ohhhh--"

"Yeah, oh."

"I forgot," she sighs, and brushes her hair out of her face before picking up her pen again.

"You have to come," he says, slipping inside and grabbing a stool. "Your cousin is getting all creepy bad touch with me and I need you to run interference."

She makes a face. Then mutters "Carson," under her breath.

"Yeah. He's definitely from the overly aggressive, one-flirtation-away-from-a-restraining-order side of your family. Like Kate," Stiles agrees.

She looks at him with sympathy. "Sorry about that."

"Not your problem. Except if you leave me alone with all his cronies."

She sterns her jaw and nods once. "I wouldn't let a brother go in alone."

"Atta girl," he says and jumps up. He's five minutes late for AP Stats.

"Stiles!" she calls before he walks out.

He swings around, bag smacking his hip right on Derek's bruise. "Yeah?"

"They're going to interrogate you. About Derek," she says, eyes clear.

He thumps his forehead into the door jamb with a groan.

She gives him a what can you do? shrug.

He tries calling Derek that night, but Cora just sighs, a deep, long, disaffected sound before she says "he's not here. And even if he was, he probably wouldn't want to talk."

Stiles drops into his bed, hand in his hair "Why? What--it wasn't a big deal. Nothing happened--"

"Just give him some room to breathe," she interrupts. "A few days or something. He's not used to spending so much time with other people."

"He's with pack all the time," Stiles argues. "There's always like, a dozen people over there."

"I said other people," she says and he catches his lip in his teeth. She sighs down the line. "I gotta go. Goodnight, Stiles."

"Night," he says dryly.

He drops his phone next to his head and stares off at the wall.

The next day is all head fog and distraction, like he forgot to take his meds, though he remembers popping them dry before he even got out of bed. He keeps looking at his phone and feeling like he can't do anything to fix this, and it's all he can think about.

He rolls it in his hands over and over until Coach takes it away and stashes it in a drawer until schools over.

At lunch, he rests his face on his arm and eats listlessly while Scott and Allison give each other worried looks overhead.

"You look like shit," Lydia says out of the side of her mouth in English.

"Thanks. Awesome," he mumbles.

She sighs and takes his notebook from him. He doesn't even bother fighting her and is surprised when she passes it back after class, filled with cramped notes on Gloria Anzaldua.

"Don't you need these?"

"Not really," she says. "I wrote it down, so I'll remember it. But if I give this to you, you need to study them because no one wastes my time and nobody wastes Gloria Anzaldua's time, ok?"

"Ok," he agrees, nodding. She gives him a last, unimpressed look and grabs her bag.

"Thanks Lydia!" he calls and she waves him off.

His dad literally does breathing exercises in the car every time he's about to see Gerard Argent.

"In, deep breath," Stiles coaches. "Let it sit for a second, yeah. Slooooow exhale--"

His dad sighs hard and shoots him a dark look. "Slow exhale, dad."

"This is my least favorite part of being the sheriff, you know that, right?"

"Yes, dad. Everyone knows that. Gerard Argent knows that."

"I used to think it was a good thing but now I just--" he trails off, eyes narrowed on the road, the sun setting bright and burning. "I'd rather be over Alpha Hale's for another bonfire, to be perfectly honest."

"Yeah," Stiles says softly in agreement. He hasn't told his dad about the Derek not talking to him part. Maybe it's nothing. Maybe Derek will call and he'll go over this weekend and Derek will be his normal, restrained, uncommunicative self. Without the running away part.

They pull up to the compound and Leland Argent, in douchey mirrored aviators, peers in at them from the security booth before he buzzes them through.

His dad waves, muttering "Bonehead."

Stiles snorts.

Allison meets them at the door, gives Stiles' dad a little hug and then grabs Stiles' arm. "Come on, we're outside!"

"What, who's outside?" he asks as she drags him away and through the airy house and out onto the back patio.

"Oh thank god," Stiles says in relief, seeing Vernon Boyd sitting out on a deck chair. He looks up as Stiles plops down in the seat next to him and Ally takes the one on the other side. "I thought it was going to be just me and Allison."

"Nope," Boyd says, sounding weary. "My mom's here."

"Sorry, dude," Stiles commiserates and Boyd looks him over for a second before he lifts his head and says "I heard about you."

"Oh god," Stiles groans.

"You went and got yourself mated to a werewolf," Boyd says, smiling slowly. "Only you, Stilinski."

"Shut up," he says. "You want something? I'm gonna go grab drinks."

"Yeah, there's coke in the cooler," Boyd says.

"Ally?" he wonders. "Jack Daniels? Doesn't your dad--"

"Just a coke," she says, shoving him away. She moves to sit close to Boyd, who goes to the school district over and has lots of stories that they haven't heard yet. She's asking him about his Technical Student Association group when Stiles ducks back in the sliding door.

The cooler's in the kitchen, which he can get to easily from the back patio as long as he skates along a corner. Most everyone else is out in the side yard where the grill is. He can smell charry meat and lighter fluid, hear their voices.

In the kitchen he grabs their drinks and a bowl of barbecue chips and heads back, thinking he was pretty sneaky getting in and out of there unseen but when he draws the slider open, Carson Argent is sitting out on the edge of Allison's chair, waiting for him.

She gives him an apologetic look as he walks out.

"Hey, Stiles," Carson says, grinning.

"Heyyyyy," Stiles says weakly, not sounding very excited to see him, though Carson can't seem to take a hint. Boyd does though. His brows shoot up and he looks at Carson speculatively.

"Boyd was just telling us about his new flash bomb prototype," Ally says as Stiles settles in his own chair.

"I don't see the use of something that can't incapacitate a Were," Carson says, frowning.

Boyd shrugs. "I didn't say it was for Weres, Argent. It's for Lamia. A few friends at Caltech were having issues a month ago."

Stiles laughs. "Lamia? In Pasadena?"

"Yeah," Boyd says and smiles. "Maybe they're into technical fields. Gives me a lot to work on. The flash prototype was something we worked out long distance. I haven't seen it in action yet but it sounds like the first test went well."

Carson looks almost annoyed when Stiles keeps asking Boyd questions. Boyd ends up fishing out his phone and scrolling through a list of emails so Stiles can see some of the blueprints.

"Who is this Reyes? They're funny," Stiles says, laughing. Boyd snatches the phone away, frowning. He looks at the email in question and scrolls, his face lighting up as he reads.

"It's just...Erica--" Boyd says and looks up at Stiles and Allison, grinning at him. "Whatever."

"Just Erica," Stiles teases. "What--"

And that's when the slider door opens and Gerard Argent sticks his grumpy face out.

Allison and Boyd go quiet. "Genim, could you come in for a moment, please? It won't take long."

Stiles grimaces at his name being mangled in that sour old mouth. Boyd gives him a back pat as he gets up.

"Genim?" Carson says, confused, following him in with Allison right behind.

There are several Argent men and women standing around Gerard's office, along with Stiles' dad, who looks disgruntled about the whole thing.

"Is this even necessary??" he asks, and Gerard says "Of course it's necessary, he's mated to a goddamn werewolf, John."

It's a good thing Chris Argent is there, because he nips that old feud right in the bud, saying "All right, enough. I didn't come here to listen to you two bicker. Just get on with it, dad."

"I just thought it would be beneficial if we told Genim his options," Gerard says, owling an eye at Stiles.

"What do you mean, options?" Stiles' dad asks, skeptical.

"Well, did you know that there's actually no existing law that says you need to honor a werewolf claim?"

The room falls quiet because while Gerard is technically right, there's also a lot he's not saying. Like how the law doesn't exist because werewolves rarely claim humans. How most claimings are done with everyone consenting and happy and of age. How when an underage werewolf claims, there are more things to consider. How Stiles was the one trespassing on Hale land. How Derek was in his wolf skin and without the resources and pack he needed to resist. How Stiles ran.

How werewolves suffer when their mates reject them.

Stiles' mouth falls open, a little stunned.

"--and Stiles, if it's the loneliness of unbonding that worries you, I feel certain that there can be other, satisfying bonds to be made," Gerard says with relish, and looks at Carson, who smiles at Stiles, chest puffing out.

"Oh god," Allison whispers to herself.

Stiles makes a long, groaning noise of misery, covers his hands over his face "nooooooooooo--"

"You have got to be kidding me," John hisses. "What are you even saying??"

"Well," Gerard says, walking behind the couch. Stiles squirms to look over his shoulder, to keep an eye on him as he pauses behind Allison and ominously lays his hands on her shoulders. "I'm sure other arrangements can be made."

Stiles lets out a squeaky "What!?"

Allison's face goes wide open with shock and she says "DAD!"

And her dad says "DAD!" and Gerard Agent raises his hands, palms up in defense. "Everyone, quiet! Quiet!"

"--so you're pimping out your grandkids now?" Chris Argent growls and Gerard rolls his eyes.

"I'm just informing Mr. Stilinski of how serious we take his forced claiming. No one will be mating with any werewolves in this town, not against their will, not ever. We'll put that mongrel down before we let him--"

Stiles jumps up then, heart thumping. "Stop, enough. Just...stop." Gerard looks at him with all this open distaste and annoyance. Stiles rifles a hand through his hair and then says "I'm going through with it. I...I want to."

"Stiles--" Carson argues.

"No, it's my choice, ok? Like, thanks for...whatever that was. I can see your hearts were kind of in the right place, but lets just be honest here, that was really weird before. But yeah, thanks? I'll take the werewolf."

Gerard's mouth works, all frustrated. Chris tries to take his arm, but Gerard jerks away. "you're making a mistake. How will they learn if we just give in to their demands??"

"I don't know, man," Stiles sighs. "I don't really care."

His dad gets up, gestures him out of the room. "You'll be getting a call from me in the near future, Argent," his dad says sharply to Gerard.

As they're leaving, Stiles opens the patio door to say goodbye to Boyd. Boyd's mom is sitting out with him, so Stiles pauses to say hi and ask her how she's doing. He's always liked Boyd's mom. She smiles back at him, her smile widening when Stiles' dad ducks out and says an awkward hello to her too.

"You're leaving early," she says. "Must have gone good in there."

Stiles' dad sighs, shaking his head. "You bet."

"Gerard tried to pimp Allison out to me. So you know, time to go!" Stiles says sarcastically.

Boyd's face is all surprise for a second and then a laugh bubbles out "Jesus."

"Well, we better head out before Gerard comes up with any more numb-skull ideas. Miriam, as always, a pleasure."

"You too, Sheriff. Good seeing you," she says. "Night, Stiles."

In the car, Stiles smirks "Could you flirt harder with Boyd's mom?"

"Shut it," his dad mutters, cheeks flushed.

He wakes up Saturday morning late, closer to lunch than breakfast and mopes around in his boxers and a tee shirt, eating cereal at the sink and flipping through a Vermont Country Store catalog.

When his dad comes in, he mumbles "Why do we get this old person catalog anyway?"

His dad fills up a glass of water and looks, says "Oh your gran got me something out of there one time and now they won't stop sending it."

He takes it out of Stiles' hand and throws it in the trash. Stiles makes a noise around his cereal, says "I was looking at that!"

"When are you going to be ready to go over to Hale house? This is pretty late in the day for you, kiddo."

Stiles shrugs and puts his milky bowl in the sink. He goes to leave the room and his dad says "Stiles? Wait, do you not want to go today?"

"Nah. I think. I think I'm gonna go hang out at Scott's. I'll be back tonight."

His dad's face is all lined with confusion, but Stiles really doesn't want to have to explain so he ducks out to take a shower.

They get In-n-Out and then sit around replaying BioShock Infinite until Scott rolls over on his bed and says "Not that I don't appreciate it, but what the hell are you doing here anyway?"

Stiles rolls his eyes.

So Scott makes a face and nudges the power button with his big toe.

"Augh, Scott!" Stiles complains and throws down his controller.

"We don't have to talk about it, but. Just tell me you're ok," Scott says adamantly, face all concerned.

"Yes, I'm ok. I'm fine. We just needed a break," Stiles sighs and puts his sock foot to Scott's hip, shoves him away.

Scott doesn't seem 100% satisfied with the answer, but he lets Stiles monopolize his playstation for the rest of the day and then walks him home when the street lights come on.

At school on Monday, Allison finds him at his locker and says "Sorry about granddad. And Carson. My dad gave them a piece of his mind when you left."

Stiles smiles tiredly. "Sokay."

She hip-checks him fondly and wanders off, probably to look for Scott.

He runs into Lydia right after, groans "Oh fuck, I forgot!" about studying her notes.

She eyerolls his incompetence, says "At least look it over before the quiz."

He gapes at her as she steps away "WHAT QUIZ?!"

Lacrosse is so much better, with Carson jolting away with a pained face whenever Stiles gets too close. He practically ducks out of his goal at one point, leaving a perfect opening for him. Stiles isn't sure what Chris Argent said to him, but whatever it was, it worked.

After, he's tired and grass-stained and sweating under his gear and finds Jackson jogging to catch up to him as they walk off the field.

"So..." Jackson says, nonchalant. "What's Laura Hale like?"

"Urgh, gross," Stiles complains. "Also, Lydia is going to string you up by your balls, dude."

Jackson scoffs. "Like I'm afraid of Lydia."

"I'll just tell her then, about this conversation?" Stiles offers and Jackson's face twists into a scowl. He kicks a divot of grass at Stiles and stalks off towards Danny, who is waiting with his helmet in hand, frowning.

He's got his chem homework spread out over the entire bed when his phone rings. He doesn't even bother to look, it's either Scott of Ally this time of night so he just answers with a "What's up?"

The phone is quiet for a second too long and then he hears someone clearing their throat. It's a rush of warmth up his spine. It collects at the bite mark on his nape, makes him feel it.

"Stiles?" Derek starts, voice soft. Then he pauses like he's uncertain of what to say.

"Yeah, buddy. It's me," Stiles reassures him quickly.

Derek makes a frustrated noise, says "Are you ok?"

Stiles frowns. "Yeah? Why? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine," Derek says, annoyance obvious.

"Oh, well good. Talk to you later--" Stiles says sarcastically and Derek says "Wait, Stiles--!"

"What?"

Derek sighs, sounding petulant when he says "You didn't come over this weekend."

He imagines it, Derek waiting around all Saturday. Hovering near the door. Sitting out on the porch and frowning hard at the road. Waiting until the sun goes down and the fireflies come out.

"Jesus," Stiles mutters. "Derek. Dude. Your sister told me to give you breathing room so I stayed away. That's all. You were so upset about what happened--"

"I was fine," Derek snaps.

"Dude, you ran away. It happened so fast, you were there and then you ran off--"

Derek is quiet, painfully so, so Stiles prompts "You still there?"

"Yes," he gets back, brusque and gruff.

"Do you want me to come over tonight?"

There's a long pause and then Derek says "On a school night?"

"Yeah? I can come over for a little while."

He lets Derek stew on it, pulling on his sneakers in anticipation. And then Derek says "Yes."

Stiles grins, "be there in twenty," and hangs up.

Derek waits on the steps as dad parks the car. His face is all serious, brow-heavy and rude-looking. Stiles grins and waves.

"There he is, Grumpygus Hale," his dad mutters.

"Dad, he can hear you," Stiles chastises and throws himself out of the car. His father gets out too, says "I'm gonna go see if Jameson or Peter are watching the game. You got one hour, kiddo."

"Yes, dad," Stiles says and then yelps when Derek takes a hold of his elbow and starts dragging him towards the woods.

"One hour!" his dad calls after them.

He's backed into a tree and there's nothing but the sound of Derek panting against his neck, scenting him. Stiles lets his eyes close in bliss, rests his head back loose, neck offered.

After a while, he feels something sear his bared shoulder, inhales sharply when he realizes Derek's pressed a small, open-mouthed kiss there.

The inside of his mouth feels scorching.

"Who do you smell like?" Derek asks him quietly. "You smell like all these people I don't know. Not like pack anymore."

Stiles swallows, and the little kiss left on his neck goes cold as it dries. "They're kind of my pack. Scott McCall. He's my best friend. And then Allison, Ally, Scott's girlfriend, my kind of other best friend?"

Derek nuzzles in, listening while he rubs his jaw like he's rubbing their scent off of him.

"Then," Stiles chokes at the ticklishness of it. "Lydia. She's Ally's friend and she started hanging around a little after she heard about you."

Derek pulls back, frowning, looking him over. "She didn't think I was cool and then she found out that I was werewolf claimed so now...she thinks I'm cool?"

Derek snorts, displeased. It makes Stiles soften a little, slump against the tree. Derek ducks back in and his breath is hot and quick as he smells him again.

"Then the lacrosse team. Probably. You can probably smell Danny's aftershave because he took me down so many times yesterday--"

Derek growls in his chest, a nightmarish kind of sound in the darkening woods. Stiles huffs out a breath at it, lungs emptied.

Derek pulls away. "You smell like Argents," he says roughly.

"Ally is an Argent," Stiles admits and Derek's nostrils flare a little. "But a good one! She thinks her granddad is as fucked up as we do."

Derek looks him over for a hard moment before he faceplants into Stiles' throat again, stroking with his cheek. Stiles sighs, drifts back into the tree.

After a long while, when Derek seems to slow his motions down so they're more self-soothing than effective, he mumbles "I'm sorry I hurt you."

"You didn't really hurt me. It was worse that you ran away," Stiles tells him gently.

"I know," Derek says. "Mom told me."

Stiles rolls his eyes fondly.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I want to--" Derek looks up, and his eyes just drift down to Stiles' mouth, stare blankly, a little lost. "I want to--"

"Yeah?" Stiles breathes. "Like this?" and he puts a soft, little kiss to Derek's mouth.

Derek's eyes widen for a half-second before they slowly close in pleasure, going hazy for a second before they're lidded and he's swaying there, well after Stiles' has pulled away and is just watching him.

Then he's caging Stiles in, backing him firmly into the tree and putting their foreheads together. They breathe like that, until Derek finally gives a short sigh and kisses him again, a small kiss too, testing.

Stiles tries to open against it but Derek jerks away, catching his breath. He opens his eyes and they're all glassy and limned with gold, like the wolf is stalking the edges of his control.

Stiles slowly, carefully drapes his arms around Derek's shoulders, closes a hand over his warm nape and tries to draw him back to his mouth. He meets him with pliant lips, all parted and receptive.

The kiss is still sweet, syrup-slow, but then, like they're both working on instinct, their tongues meet, and Stiles groans into the sudden scorch of it.

He pops off the kiss with a noisy breath, runs his wrist down between his legs, wincing a little as he readjusts.

Derek follows the motion, eyebrows going soft and expressive. Then his eyes trail up and he looks at Stiles dazedly, hungry. His pupils all glassy and dark.

"Derek--" Stiles breathes and they're fumbling into another kiss, Derek whimpering low around his tongue.

Derek can't keep focused, keeps trailing his mouth down Stiles' jaw like he wants to kiss him everywhere. Stiles finds our how sensitive his ear is when Derek wraps the lobe up in his agile tongue, tugs it gently.

He ends up ripping Stiles' collar a little as he tries to taste, to suck at Stiles' shoulder, mouth hot and eager.

"Yes, oh my god," Stiles whines, hips jerking helplessly as he's bruised up in Derek's mouth.

Derek's hand gropes his hip, too rough, squeezes twice then shakily feels between his legs, finding him. Stiles fingers dig sharp in Derek's upper arm as Derek learns the length of his cock, pets it with his fingertips.

Derek pants out ragged breaths, starts rubbing at him through his clothes, making Stiles grunt, hips flexing up for more, meeting that touch.

And then Derek's lifting his head away, his hands, eyes wide.

"What is it--?" Stiles asks, and Talia Hale, way too nearby, calls "Stiles, it's time for you to go home now! Your father is waiting."

Stiles drops his face into Derek's shoulder, hand cupping himself between the legs and squeezing sharply to stave off the frustration.

Derek lets out a little whimper, snuffles at Stiles' hair, right behind his ear, drinking up the scent of him before they have to get moving.

"I want to get to know you," Stiles breathes like it's dirty talk and Derek looks pained, his fat bottom lip sucked into his mouth. They tumble out of the woods holding hands, and it's obvious what they've been doing, Stiles' shirt collar askew and ripped, Derek's mouth lush and reddened and his hair messy.

Stiles' dad rolls his eyes dramatically at their exit. Alpha Hale gives her son a look that makes Derek reach out hastily and recenter Stiles' collar.

"I'm gonna call you," Stiles says adamantly, before he lets Derek's hand go. "Ok?"

Derek's actually blushing, looking away. "Yeah? Ok," Stiles repeats, leans up quickly to put a kiss on Derek's cheek before he saunters to get into his dad's car.

His dad sighs and gets in too, looks over at him, unimpressed.

He calls Wednesday night after lacrosse practice and a shower. He tugs on some pajama bottoms and crawls into bed, dials Derek's number and waits, heart beating out of his chest.

"Hello?" Derek says.

"Hey," Stiles grins into the phone. "Can you talk for a bit?"

"Yeah?" Derek says like he's not sure, and then there's the sound of a door closing.

"Derek, I just. Uh. How was your day?" Stiles gets out, slapping his forehead with how dorky he sounds.

"Good," Derek says. Stiles pauses and waits for more but there's nothing more forthcoming so he lets out a strangled groan and says "Come on, man, give me something to work with."

"Oh," Derek says, "it uhhh--"

Stiles takes pity on him, flips over onto his back and says "I've got my first lacrosse game tomorrow."

"Against who?" Derek asks intently, sounding interested.

"La Puente. I know they've got Addison this year--"

"They're going to destroy you," Derek interrupts, laughing.

Stiles gasps. "Woah, what the hell--"

"So you've got Danny Mahealani on goal with Hess this year and Whittemore as your left attack and Argent as your 3rd, you guys are going to get creamed."

Stiles mouth hangs open and then he lets out a little defensive cry "And me and Scott, dude!"

Derek keeps chuckling warmly and though he's probably not wrong (Beacon Hills hasn't won a playoff for like, 5 years), Stiles keeps up the ruse of being offended just to hear that laugh get deeper and more relaxed.

Right before he gets off the phone, he pauses and says "I really liked that thing in the woods," then blushes.

Derek huffs out a breath, says "Me too."

"Yeah," Stiles chews at his lip. "Can we do that again sometime? Soon?"

And then Derek growls "Laura," and Stiles sighs, says "We'll talk about it later."

He says good night to Derek's growling, frustrated "Laura, stop laughing!" before he hangs up.

He enjoys the first part of a lacrosse game, when they all meet on the field. That's usually the best part for him.

When that part's over, he slaps Scott on the butt in support and then goes to sit on the bench, which he'll warm to perfection.

Waiting for him on the empty bench is Ally, who waves at Scott excitedly. And then...oh great.

"Hey gorgeous," Allison's evil Aunt Kate says, winking at him.

Allison smiles at Stiles, who groans dramatically and says "Wow, it's Aunt Kate. How's socal?"

She shrugs, eyes glittering at him. When he goes to sit down on the other side of Ally with his gatorade, Kate gets up and moves to sit next to him. "A little bird told me that you went and got yourself a werewolf plaything," she says, voice smoky and amused.

Stiles rolls his eyes and Allison looks apologetic, like she forgot what a bad idea it was to get him and Aunt Kate together.

He snorts. "It's not like that. God, do you have to make everything sound so creepy and suggestive?"

She grins at him. "What's it like, then?"

"It's...serious, ok?" he says and knows that he sounds like a petulant kid, getting annoyed with her.

"Ok, well excuse me," she says, holding up her hands. He rolls his eyes. "So who'd you lock down, little Cora Hale?"

He makes a face. "She's like, 13."

"Surely not Laura Hale?" she says in disbelief.

"No! Not...just. Derek, ok?" Stiles says, blushing helplessly. There's a loud crack of rib pads knocking together on the field and Stiles is distracted for a minute, watching Jackson take a dude from La Puente down. When he looks back, Kate's eyebrows are high, her expression all surprise. And then she barks out a laugh, has to wipe her eyes after. "Oh god, so you're the new person that kid is making eyes at? What a little lothario. Did he offer you the bite too?"

Stiles gawks at her helplessly. "What?"

"Kate," Allison says, frowning, uncomfortable.

"He offered it to me once, but of course I said no. It's not that he's a bad guy, he's just so young and earnest and probably in love with being in love. He thought he was in love with me and kept trying to get me out in the woods with him. I'm not even sure he'd have known what to do, if I let him claim me." She grins at him and Stiles reaches back, palms anxiously at his claiming mark.

The smile falls off her face, aware. "Stiles, did you let him do it??"

Stiles washes hot, feels like he can't breathe for a second.

"Oh, sweetie baby," she pats his knee. "...maybe it'll be different for you?"

Stiles moves away from her, breathing noisily, chest aching.

"Stiles?" Allison tries to stop him but he lurches to his feet. "Stiles, you're getting panicky."

He ducks his head down near his knees, tries to breathe. Can't breathe.

"Stiles??" Kate says, distantly.

He feels Allison rubbing his back, sees black spots in the field lights. He's ashamed when he comes back and finds the game paused, the away team watching with their helmets in hand, standing awkwardly around, waiting.

"Shit," he whines. It's been a while.

"You ok? Stiles?" Scott asks, concerned. "It's just a panic attack!" Scott yells at coach. Which is just loud and great.

"Come on, Stiles. Breathe," Ally whispers.

"I need you to bring me to Derek's. I need to ask him," he says hoarsely, once he can breathe. She looks grim. "Please."

"Are you sure?" she asks.

"Yes, please Ally. I can't walk there--"

She nods sharply then, starts guiding him away. Scott follows them to the edge of the field and then he has to go back, presses a quick kiss to Allison's lips before he leaves, strokes his palm down Stiles' back.

In the car, Ally turns to him nervously, says "You can't trust Kate."

"I know," he says, slumped in his seat, heart in his throat. "That's why I have to ask him."

Derek looks confused and anxious when Stiles clambers up the porch steps in his gear. His face is all twisted up and he stutters out "Stiles, w-what. What--?"

"Kate Argent," Stiles says point blank and watches the confusion fall right off his face, replaced with knowing.

It makes something lurch inside him and he feels like, yeah. That's all he needed to know.

"Fuck I'm so stupid," he grits through his teeth and turns to stumble back down the steps and away from him.

"No, wait!" Derek follows, upset. "It's not like that!"

"Did you offer her the bite? Do you just...go around wanting to bite people?" Stiles asks angrily.

Derek looks taken aback. "No, of course not!"

"Did you, though? Offer her the bite?" he tries again, jaw so tight it hurts. His hands in fists.

Derek looks away, unhappy. And then he says "Yes," like he regrets having to.

"I just..." Stiles feels so lost. And worse, his face is getting all hot and blotchy like he might cry. "Kate Argent, really?"

Derek goes to speak but Stiles interrupts "So, Kate said no and you what, found my picture and decided I was your mate now?"

Derek stares at him, eyebrows drawn together. But he doesn't say anything.

"How did you know it was me and not her? Why did you--"

Derek shakes his head slowly, confused "What picture, Stiles?"

Stiles makes a face. "You have a picture of me! From my yearbook...I saw it that night of the bonfire--"

"Cora found it at the library," Derek says quickly, "after I claimed you. She brought it home to tease me with it. So I shoved it in my book--" Eyes cast down, he looks ashamed of himself.

Stiles lets out a harsh breath, feeling all sickly hot inside, horrified that he would think he could be so special.

"Why did you bite me then?" he asks, lost.

"Because you--" Derek starts but looks uncertain, like the words won't come, like he can't think of what to say. "Because you...smelled good."

Stiles nods at that, mouth agape. "Oh."

Then he turns around and goes for the car door.

Derek's hot at his back in a heartbeat, holding his hand away from the door handle, whispering "No no no no no, please Stiles."

"Jesus get off me," Stiles grits, trying to shake him off. Derek holds on a beat too long so Stiles snarls "What are you going to do, force me?"

Derek rips away from him then, face full of horror.

Stiles swallows and slips into the car, slams the door.

"Come on, go," he whispers when Ally just sits there, goggling at him. "Please Ally."

So she starts the car and backs it up. Her headlights swing, light up Derek, whose standing there with his shoulders hunched, his hands in claws. Half-wolfed out.

Stiles slouches deep into his seat and bites his lip hard so he doesn't cry. Relaxes into it when she reaches over and smooths his hair off his forehead.

"Do you want me to come up?" she asks when she drops him off.

"No," he says, and smiles weakly. "I'm just gonna crash."

She looks worried. "Do you want me to tell Scott to come over?"

He shakes his head. "Nah, go. Have fun. I bet he's waiting up for you."

She smiles a little and says "I'll call you in the morning though?"

"Yep," he agrees. "Thanks, Ally."

"Love you," she tells him before he closes the door.

"Love you," he says back and waves as she pulls out of the drive way.

His dad is working second shift so the house is quiet and dark. He turns on the porch light so dad won't stumble when he gets home before dawn.

Then he goes right upstairs, rips off his pads and falls into bed face first.

He wakes up at one point in the night and his bite mark itches, the skin feeling tight and stinging. He wants to claw it off. He ends up punching himself awkwardly there and then laughing soundlessly at how stupid he is before he falls back asleep again.

He wakes up and calls Scott. Then he hangs up and calls Ally. They're still talking when Scott shows up with doughnuts. He kicks off his sneakers and crawls into Stiles bed and they eat doughnuts together, the phone between them, listening to Ally talk.

After a while, she hangs up so she can come over too and eat the last bear claw.

They're kind of having a thing so Lydia ends up stopping by after lunch, looking like she's been awake and productive for several hours. It's almost exhausting looking at her, so Stiles buries his face against Scott's shoulder.

He mopes the whole day away, still in his pajamas by the time his dad gets up, takes one look at him and sighs.

"I'm pretty sure this means we're getting hamburgers for dinner," he tells Stiles dryly and Stiles doesn't argue.

After a week of moping in silence, he reveals just how bad it's gotten when he asks Allison "Carson's probably a good guy, right? I mean, he's probably easygoing?"

She looks at him, openly distressed. "Oh Stiles, what the hell."

She actually misses the rest of school, drags him out to her car and drives him for ice cream cones. He just stares at his dipped chocolate cone miserably so she makes an angry noise at herself and takes it out of his hand, throws it in a trash can.

And then she drives him back to her house and breaks out the bourbon.

"Don't you dare tell my mom," she says and starts pouring shots.

After three, he gets sobby and dramatic and drapes himself over the couch, an arm flung over his eyes. "I hate him. What a big jerk. What a big, big, handsome asshole."

"Stiles," she says maternally, and then hiccups, ruining the effect. "Maybe you should talk to him."

He scoffs. "Derek doesn't talk, Ally. He just sort of represses himself at you."

"Than maybe...maybe there are things that still need to be said?" she tries. And when he lifts off his arm to scowl at her, she shrugs and drinks.

"Can we talk about Scott too, if we're doing this hang out and drink about boys thing?"

He sits up quickly, worried. "What? Yes? What is it? Is everything ok?"

She smiles. "Yeah, it's just...can I complain about one little thing, just between us?"

"Yes, of course," he tells her encouragingly "What?"

"He. He just kisses sometimes like blah," she lets her tongue rest out on her lip, loose and unresponsive.

Stiles snorts when he laughs at her. She slaps his leg.

"I don't know what to do with that? Like, does he want me to...to kiss it? Or?"

Stiles groans, laughing. "Poor Scott! Dude, you have to teach him. You're his first girlfriend! He's completely untested."

"I know, I know," she says, smiling.

He sobers up a little, suddenly thinking about kissing Derek, how good it felt. He drops his head back again, dizzy.

"Talk to him," she says softly, knowing.

He makes a face at her and rolls into the couch so she can't see his lip tremble.

Later on, they do some drunk target shooting with her dad's crossbow, which isn't their brightest plan ever. One arrow gets lodged in the exposed ceiling beam and they can't get it out by tossing throw pillows at it or waving the broom handle drunkenly. He makes sure to get the fuck out of dodge before Victoria gets home for dinner.

He's still drunk when his phone trills, drifting into his pillow and listening to it chirp at his ear.

"Stiles--" Derek says when he answers, voice fraught.

"Listen," Stiles mutters. "Just listen." But he can't think of anything to say, so he just breathes for a while and Derek is content with that. Finally he sighs and says "I feel stupid."

"Don't, don't feel stupid, Stiles. I should have explained--"

"No," Stiles moans. "I got really drunk. We shot an arrow in the ceiling and I don't think she can get it out. Chris Argent is going to be so pissed."

Derek goes quiet and just listens again. So Stiles breathes, nose congested.

"I liked you so much," Stiles whispers.

Derek lets out a low, whining sound. It's so sad and pathetic, it makes Stiles chest hurt. He rubs his nose on his sleeve and then takes his shirt off. "Will you come over?" he asks.

Derek pauses before answering, and then says "Yeah, I'll. I'll be right there."

"You need directions?"

"No, I can find you," Derek says, and hangs up.

Stiles closes his phone and falls asleep.

He wakes up a few hours later to Ally's frantic face in his face. She's shaking him.

"What? What is it?" he mutters.

"They got Derek. He crossed the town-line. Stiles, this is serious we need to go."

If she punched him in the face, it would have been less jarring. Eyes wide, he stumbles out of bed looking for a shirt.

"What, why--??" he starts and then gasps "Oh fuck, I told him to. I was drunk and told him to come and he fucking did it."

"My granddad is talking about putting him down," she says, throwing him his jacket.

"What!? He's not a threat to anyone! They can't--" Stiles argues.

"He gave you the claiming bite without your consent. And then he crossed the town-line and broke treaty. Stiles, it's not good. They've put Weres down for less."

"Shit shit shit shit," he says, shoving his feet into his shoes. "My dad--"

"He's already there. With my dad. They're keeping everyone calm. But you need to come. Deaton is on his way to pass judgment."

Stiles grimaces, jumps up and follows her down the stairs and out to the car.

"Shit Ally, I don't want to put you in a shitty position, but if we have to--"

She jerks open a bag at his feet and a small crossbow is there, several other weapon-y things he's never seen before but assumes she wields like Xena Warrior Princess when she needs to.

He sighs, relieved. "No one is taking Derek, ok?" she tells him sharply. "Not without a fight."

The compound is lit up like it's Christmas. It's basically hunter Christmas. They shove into the crowd and there are people sharing drinks, chatting, laughing. A man in a black sweater with a rifle over his back is skyping on a laptop excitedly.

With her brow raised and her bag on her shoulder, Allison makes a path through the crowd while Stiles follows.

Boyd meets them in the hall, looking morose. "I'm with you. My mom and I, we're here and we'll take your side if you need it," he tells her.

She sighs in relief and hugs him. He hugs her back loosely and a tall, ridiculously attractive blonde steps up and says "Hey, so some narc with a cobra tattoo just slapped my ass, can we kill him first?"

Boyd looks at Stiles and says "This is Erica. Reyes."

Stiles starts to light up so Boyd says "Don't even, Stilinski."

"Jesus, Stiles, get in here!" his dad hisses from behind them. He's looking out of Gerard Argent's office, face all stressed.

They shuffle in in a line and Stiles gasps when he sees Derek, slumped, tied to a big chair that Allison's always called "The torture chair" because it's made out of solid mountain ash.

Stiles goes on his knees in front of him, cupping Derek's face in his hands while the men bark at him to back up.

He sees why they're freaking out a second later, Derek's face all twisted up with the beta wolf, canines sharp in his mouth, eyes glowing. He growls low in his chest, a warning.

"Fuck, he's hurt! He's like this because he can't switch back until he's away from the ash!"

"Get up! Get him up!" Gerard says angrily, swatting at Stiles with his cane. Stiles ducks and there's a commotion as his father steps in front of Gerard with his hand perched on his holstered gun and says "You touch my son one more time--"

"He's going to get hurt, John! We let this go on long enough. We turned a blind eye after Genim was bit when we should have put the dog down for misbehaving. And now he's breaking treaty--"

"I told him to!" Stiles says, voice cracking. "I told him to come. I was drunk. Dad, it's my fault. I was drinking and I made a mistake."

His dad stares at him hard, his mouth a thin line. "I fucked up but it wasn't like he was coming to like, make mischief on the women. He was coming because I stupidly asked him to and we're mated. He can't...not come when I call him. That's what mating is."

Everyone's quiet for a moment in thought and then Chris Argent says "He's right."

"Oh not you too!" Gerard wails theatrically.

"E tu, Chris?" Stiles says impulsively and the wolf in front of him chuckles. Stiles looks up at him, surprised and Derek is fighting a smile, eyes all lined with care and humor. Stiles grins back.

"He's laughing!" Gerard wails.

"He's right, dad. If Stiles asked him to come, Derek couldn't refuse him. It's instinct. If anyone is at fault, it's us for not explaining to Stiles what our expectations were with the treaty," Chris says.

"Bullshit," Gerard growls. "We have no precedent for this, no special rule. The rule is the same for all werewolves, no matter who they're mated to."

"You know, this is basically the definition of precedent, right? This is exactly what precedent is," Stiles backtalks, which gets him a stern "Stiles," from his dad.

"Deaton will decide," Chris says finally. And he gives Stiles a little look of commiseration. "We have to wait and see."

Stiles nods but then glances at Allison, who is standing with her bag at her feet, watching, pokerfaced.

They know the moment Deaton arrives because four separate Argent cousins comes in excitedly to report it.

"Yes," Chris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose, "we know."

Deaton's followed by Scott, who works with him at the vet's office and who grins and waves at Ally when he comes in. Chris frowns at him.

Scott was never quite as popular with the rest of the other Argents as he was with Allison.

Deaton takes one look at the whole tableaux of them, hunters and tortured werewolf and says "Allison, your arsenal is unnecessary," and Stiles lets out a big whoop of relief, because that could only mean one thing.

Chris looks at his daughter, and then at the bag at her feet and says "Allison--"

She shrugs, arms crossed over her chest. And then slouches into Scott's shoulder when he, still grinning, goes to wrap his arm around her.

"This is outrageous! He crossed a boundary line! He broke treaty!" Gerard bellows.

Deaton begins to untie Derek, hands careful. "And his mate has come to claim him," he says, inspecting the knots. "Stiles? Do you claim your mate?"

Stiles groans out "Yes."

Derek whines in his throat then, squirming.

"But the treaty!" Gerard argues.

"Werewolf claiming is a much older law than your treaty," Deaton says.The ropes seem to melt off once he's got one knot untied. Stiles rushes to help draw Derek off the chair, down onto the floor away from it.

Stile soothes at Derek's head, watching the wolf come back to himself. His canines slip away, his eyes change, back to their pale green. He looks at Stiles for a long, endless moment, eyes fixed.

"Sorry," Stiles says, petting his hair. "I fucked up."

"Sokay," Derek says, voice throaty. "Me too."

"Can I take the car? I gotta get him home," Stiles asks his dad, voice low.

"Stiles--" his dad says, unimpressed.

"Please. I really need to face them after that. They're pack, dad."

His dad frowns and runs a hand over his face. "Fine, but we're still going to have words about your underage drinking, Stiles, what the hell were you thinking?"

He nods. "Yes, of course. I know."

"Are you sober?" his dad asks, serious.

"Yes, I promise. That was like, 6 hours ago."

His dad sighs "Be back before sunrise, kiddo."

"Definitely," he agrees and his dad tosses him his keys.

Derek is shaking hands with Deaton in the hallway, and then with Boyd and his mother, saying shy hellos.

"Woah, kid, you bagged a hottie," Erica tells him in approval and Derek freezes, blinking.

"Yep!" Stiles agrees, "but now it's time to get this hottie home to his mama. Who might rip my throat out with her teeth, who can know?"

Derek looks at him with a tight frown.

He makes sure to give Ally a hug before they set off. "Thank you. Thank you. You are a goddess. You are Artemis, my goddess of kickass."

She grins, showing off her dimples which makes Scott coo and snuggle into her.

"Ok, come on my werewolf mate, lets get you the fuck back to your Alpha."

They drive in silence for a while, and then Derek clears his throat, looking uncomfortable, but starts talking.

Stiles listens.

"When I was 12, I didn't know a lot of other people outside of the pack. I was in the middle, not alpha material like Laura, not the baby. Just Derek. One time I got tipsy on wolfsbane and forgot to put on my wolf skin when we went howling at the moon and everyone's always remembered that--"

"--wait, were you buckass naked, howling at the moon?"

Derek looks at him, hard.

"Yeah, ok go on."

Derek sighs.

"People kind of start having this perception of who you are. They remember stories about you. Mostly not good stories. They see who your mom is, your sister. They start to think that's all you are in the world. You feel like, that's your place in the pack. That's all you can be."

Stiles listens, frowning a little.

"When I met Kate Argent, I was 15 and lonely and she was so...confident and outspoken and she seemed important and she paid attention to me." He lets out a hard breath. "I don't know, I thought she liked me. She teased me. Not...not like that, but like a person teases a pet, or a dog. I got really attached to how she made me feel. Special, mostly."

They make eye contact across the car before Stiles has to look where he's driving again. He reaches over though, to squeeze Derek's knee.

"I asked her to take the bite from me and she laughed. She laughed and petted me and told me I was cute but that women like her needed men, not werewolf cubs."

Stiles curls his lip at that.

"I kind of...disappeared into myself for a long while. It's why I'm so, so bad at this."

He takes a deep breath.

"Then I smelled you in the woods."

Stiles snorts.

"Stiles," Derek says softly. "You smell so good to me. I never knew it would be like that. They said I'd know, that my wolf would tell me, but I didn't know how strong it would feel, how I could barely unlock my teeth from your neck because you smelled like you belonged to me."

Stiles' mouth falls open on a sharp breath.

"I want to be with you all the time. I want to rub your scent all over me. I think about you all the time. I'm not doing great in school. I am completely useless on the lacrosse field. Laura teases me because I forget to do stuff. I walk into doors when I hear your car on the road, I leave the milk out because I'm daydreaming about you napping on the porch swing, I sleep in too late and miss pack meetings because I stayed up all night worrying if you even like me, or if it's just a big obligation to you."

Stiles gapes at him, stunned.

Derek's brows are all collapsed together, frustrated. "Don't you get it? I didn't know you before that night in the woods, but the wolf brought me to you and I can't stop...every time you come over, it's hard to believe that you're coming to see me, that you're trying to be with me, even though you can't smell what I do, can't scent the way we are together."

They're almost to the house so Stiles pulls off the road and parks. Covers his hands over his eyes and groans "I'm such a dumbass, fuck, Stiles, way to almost beef it up, seriously."

They're quiet, just the breathing night around them.

Then Derek suddenly perks, listening. "They're coming," he says.

"Go," Stiles prompts. "They're probably worried sick about you. I'll be right behind you, buddy."

So Derek clatters the door open, gets out into the dark.

Stiles watches him, how he walks purposely into the field, taking off his shirt as he goes. Then his jeans, which means Stiles gets a nice look at his ripe ass in the moonlight, sighs.

And then he's bounding off in his wolf skin, towards the woods where there are howls now, long and heartbroken.

He puts the car back in drive and finishes the trip up to the homestead, parks on the grass and then goes up to wait on the porch.

Peter comes out of the house a while later, sits beside him.

"I'm going to say it once," Peter says quietly. "But if you ever hurt him, Stiles, I'll make you suffer for it."

Stiles swallows. "Hurt him like...what happened today?"

Peter snorts, lies back on the wood. "That was mostly Argent's fault. That guy is a menace."

"Tell me about it," Stiles agrees, and lies beside him.

"I mean, if you do what Kate Argent did to him," Peter clarifies.

Stiles sighs in relief. "Yeah, gotcha. No gutting him and emasculating him until he's a shadow of his former self. Not a problem."

Peter smiles then, and he's back to being the kind uncle Stiles' used to.

He falls asleep waiting for Derek, wakes up being carried upstairs like a kid, warm and close. He nuzzles in and gets beard burn on his cheek, yawns "Derek."

Derek's chest rumbles and then they're in a room that smells like Derek, like his lacrosse shirt and his sweat and his hair and Stiles wants to tell him he's wrong about Stiles not getting it, because he fucking loves that smell.

It's rich in the blankets when Derek sets him down, so Stiles rolls into them, presses his nose in and breathes deeply.

Then he moans, way too loud when he feels Derek's heavy warmth at his back.

"Shhhhhhhhhhh," Derek hushes. "Jesus."

"Feel so good though," Stiles says low, arching, thriving in it.

"They can hear you," Derek tells him quietly.

"Shhhhhh," Stiles hushes back, looking around at him. Derek huffs, going pink under his beard. It stains his cheeks, his ears. Stiles settles back into the cup of Derek's hips and they both let out held breathes at how good he fits.

He rolls his ass once to get comfortable and gets his hip fisted up.

Tongue pressed to his teeth, Stiles cats his hips in a tight circle to test him and Derek shudders and tries to still him, hand firm.

"Stiles," he whines. Then he goes sharply still and growls out "Stop listening!"

He lifts up away from Stiles, holding him down with that hand to his hip and glares at the far wall. After a second, he rolls his eyes and hisses "Well, go to bed then!"

"Are you talking to Laura?" Stiles wonders.

Suddenly Derek's eyes widen and he jerks down into bed, says "Yes, mom."

Stiles barks out a laugh and gets his mouth clapped under Derek's palm.

"Please. Go to sleep," Derek begs in his ear.

Which makes Stiles sigh, snuggle back and close his eyes.

He wakes up feeling this strange euphoria. This rested, warm belonging.

The morning is slow-moving, skin against skin, Derek's hand under his shirt, hot and holding his abdomen. Derek's cold feet tucked against his.

A drip of sweat tickles the back of his neck. He rustles the blankets and slips out from under Derek's arm, sits on the edge of the bed and just breathes them in.

There's something under his skin, wanting him to move.

He puts on his sneakers in a daze, watching Derek. The sun is just creeping fingers over the house, smoothing away the night. It's chilly still and misty when Stiles walks out onto the porch.

He takes deep lungfuls of the cool air, stretches a little. Heart strong in his chest, he takes the porch steps into the yard, ducks around the sleeping house and out into the back field.

He walks past the rocky brook and the rabbit's warren, past the high hill where the pack has their picnics. He walks until the field grass blends into thicket and then becomes the beginning of the woods.

He takes a path into the woods that he's walked with Derek before, a narrow foot-worn path that the Weres tread on full moons. He starts to jog then, heart quickening. He sucks on his bottom lip as he keeps a steady beat, listening to the morning around him.

Somewhere, far behind him, there's a single, echoing howl.

He dashes then, heart racing, pushing himself until his muscles start to burn in his legs, his chest. The green of the woods is starting to bleed into red, the trees changing colors. The impact of his feet on the ground makes the woods seem to jolt, jerk around him.

He makes it a good hunt, scrambles up a hill at one point and hears the growl behind him, the thump of feet.

He throws himself over the other side of the hill, hissing as he rolls through some brambles, prickles clawing at his arms, blood pricking on his elbow. And then he's smothered under the wolf, breath knocked right out of his chest.

Gasping, he looks up and Derek's face is in beta shift, canines bared, mouth snarled up in frustration.

They struggle against each other, Stiles squirming to shove his pants down, off, Derek trying to grab his wrists, to hold them and pin them.

Stiles gets his pants shoved halfway down his thighs and then he's caught, forced to be still, bony wrists held tight in one of Derek's fists.

He freezes when Derek ducks in, breath harsh and panting in Stiles' face, the Were scenting him, running his nose along Stiles' throat. Stiles bares it freely, makes Derek whine.

"Mate me," Stiles hisses and Derek's eyes slipt closed in pain, his hips moving helplessly at the demand, bucking.

Stiles strains against the hold on him, lifts his head and breathes "I know you need to claim me. Put your smell inside me--"

Derek's jaw clenches and his body starts to tremble like barely repressed action, pulse a frantic flutter in Derek's strained throat. Stiles can see it, tries to arch to get his mouth on it but Derek's holding him down.

Instead, he groans "Please. Fuck, Derek. Claim me--"

He ends up face-first in the dirt again, the wolf at his back and this time it's good, so good, he grinds himself into the ground, eyes flickering shut in bliss when Derek snarls and tears his loose jeans and underwear down to his ankles.

There's panting breath behind him and then teeth, fucking teeth snapping at his bitten nape and he cries out for it, reaches back to fist Derek's ear, hold him there, needing him there.

"Stiles," Derek says brokenly when he finally pulls off. "I don't want to hurt you--"

"Just a little, just a little bit," Stiles begs, lifting his ass, offering.

Derek groans, dirty and low, and there's a jangle of his belt opening, the burr of his fly being parted. And then fever-hot skin pressed against him.

His own cock twitches and drips at the feeling, his mouth gone loose and breathless. Derek starts shivering harder, hips giving these little, sharp flexes like he can't control his instinct to fuck Stiles, to mate him.

"Stroke yourself," Stiles whispers and Derek gives this throaty groan "Stiles," and puts a hand between Stiles' shoulders, pins him in place.

It's just their quick breath and this movement, this frenzied movement behind him, shaking them and then Stiles can hear the skin-slick sound, the spank of it, of Derek masturbating, and he arches against Derek's hold, lifts his ass to him.

"Oh god," Derek breathes.

"Mark me inside. Just a little--" Stiles begs, trying to get on his knees.

Derek pants noisily and Stiles feels the blunt head of his cock nudge along the seam of his ass, press right at him where he's sleek and hot and receptive.

"Please, just a little--" Stiles begs and then cries out long and wounded when Derek starts pressing his tight little ass apart, just the very rim, a wide, sharp stretch.

A hand finds his nape, clamps there, searing the mark as Stiles whines, ass just barely breached, opened up enough to hurt but not enough to make him claw away.

He goes pliant under Derek's hand, listening as Derek starts to stroke off again, the frantic beat of it catching in his ass where Derek's cockhead jolts and hardens in him, thickens.

"Yes, fuck. Mark me," Stiles breathes harshly and Derek's body steels up over him, goes still and sharp everywhere and Stiles lets out a long, relieved moan when he feels the rush of fine shivers, the muscles twitching all over Derek's body as wet warmth soothes him inside where he's sore and stretched.

The wolf makes high-pitched, short whimpers as he finishes, and Stiles' mouth opens in a soundless o of shock when Derek's cock slicks deeper, riding on the wet mess he made inside him.

And then he's tearing himself off of Stiles and Stiles is cold, hyperventilating, his ass feeling wrecked, wide open.

He gets turned over onto his back by force, barely gets to see the wild, distressed look in Derek's eyes before the Were ducks down and sheathes Stiles' cock in his mouth.

Stiles cries out, clawing at Derek's soft hair, the ground, fighting against the sudden intensity, the mind-breaking pleasure of being deep inside Derek's plush heat.

He hunches at his mouth twice and then screws up and bursts, sobbing into the dirt.

Derek's mouth purrs sweetly at his taste.

It takes him a long while to come back to himself. He lies on his back with his palm to his stomach, drifting in and out.

Then he finally sits up, finds his pants and underwear pulled inside-out at his ankles.

His ass feels...strange. Empty. Wet.

She scrambles to pull his jeans back into place, up over his ass and then he sees Derek nearby, back to him, hunched over his knees. Angsting about something.

He creeps over carefully, rests his head on Derek's shoulder and whispers "You ok?"

Derek lets on a sigh. "They're going to know that I came out here and hunted you."

"Is that bad?" Stiles wonders. Because he can't see how what they did is bad.

Derek shoots him a frustrated look, eyebrows heavy, tucked together. "Yes. It's...weird."

Stiles frowns. "How is it weird? It was consensual--"

"No, it's just," Derek sounds exasperated. "It's just kind of..." then he grimaces, struggling to say it.

"Kind of?" Stiles prompts.

So Derek whispers a low and embarrassed "Kinky," like he's saying a bad word in church.

Stiles' eyebrows lift. "Kinky," he says.

"Shhhh, yes," Derek says, annoyed.

"Oh my god," Stiles laugh and collapses onto Derek's back. He hangs there, laughing. Derek growls at him.

He lets it go when he sees how miserable Derek is, starts rubbing circles into his back. "It was something we both wanted, we both needed. And I don't feel bad about it. And honestly, if it doesn't happen again I'm going to be disappointed."

Derek shoots him a look over his shoulder, considering.

"So Laura ribs you for a few days. We're having great, mutually enjoyable sex. If she thinks that's kinky, her and Thomas are probably having some boring-ass sex."

Derek snorts, his ears blushing a little.

And then his eyes widen and he pulls Stiles onto his lap. "Are you ok?" he asks, face tight with worry.

"What?" Stiles asks, and then says "Oh, you mean...yeah. I wanted you to, dude. It was good. My ass is a little sore but you didn't push it. You gave me what I wanted."

Derek looks his face over critically, like he expects to find a lie there, a tell. When he doesn't, his face goes placid and self-pleased. He smiles a little like he's done something awesome all on his own, not like he's just had sex with Stiles.

Stiles cuffs him in the cheek. "Stop looking like the cat who got the cream, we did this together."

They walk back to the house through the sun-warm field, holding hands through swarms of lazy gnats. Derek's whole everything is different, looser, confident, relieved. His hair is also sticking up in the back and there is a leaf waving in it.

Stiles smiles to himself, squeezes the Were's hand.

"Should we wash off?" he asks at the brook and Derek holds him tighter, shakes his head.

"Dude, we have to stink," Stiles complains but Derek marches him onward. He can see someone in the kitchen, walking past the picture window.

"You smell like me. Like my mate. I want them to--" Derek stammers, looks at Stiles like Stiles can finish his thought. Stiles waits.

"--to meet you," he finally says and shrugs.

Stiles sighs, checks their hips together. And then he thinks of Ally, of Scott and Scott's doofy smile.

"Will you let me bring my friends over, to meet you? They won't be able to smell that we're mates, but they'll want to celebrate it anyway."

Derek nods, but looks worried.

"Ally was going to have a shoot-out with her crazy extended family to save you," Stiles tells him. "Anyway, I just lost my virginity in the woods and we're walking back to your Alpha mom's house while I reek of sex with you. All this after I got you nearly exterminated last night--"

Derek's eyes widen and he says "Virginity??"

Stiles ends up tipped into the grass, laughing, Derek scrambling to kiss him all over his face, to soothe him, chastising "You should have told me, Stiles!"