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They said stop singing Wonderwall. I said maybe...

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Derek Hale is frozen to the spot, his body refusing to move any further forward. Anger and fear barrel through his veins at the sight ahead of him, blood on fire in a way he wasn’t expecting. It’s a fight to stay in control of his shift, the wolf rippling below his skin, begging to be let out to challenge, to destroy, to defend.

The humid night air is doing nothing to alleviate the burning rage he feels.

His feet are like lead weights in his boots, holding him firmly in place; he feels his teeth lengthen so fast that they snag on his lower lip and he keeps his mouth firmly clamped shut, so as not to give off the appearance that this situation is affecting him at all.

He takes his hands off the piece of wood that he’s now got a death grip on, unwelcome claws digging in deep and he struggles to compose himself before he can address the devastating scene in front of him.

Yes, he can get through this if he can just convince himself, and the two pairs of eyes that are on him, that he’s completely unaffected. Except he totally is affected.

In a bad, bad way.

“Erm... Heeeey Derek...” Stiles singsongs, eyebrows high on his forehead in surprise.

His big, brown eyes dart left and right in the way that Derek knows they do when Stiles tries to lie quickly; he knows he’s looking at his surroundings for inspiration.

Derek growls dangerously low from where he’s balanced on the very familiar window frame in Stiles’ bedroom, feet planted on the roof outside, hands on the sill, ready to hoist himself through.

Stiles’ eyes light up excitedly when they catch on his tv playing on mute in the background. Derek vaguely recognises the character as Dwight Schrute, jumping enthusiastically around and running across the screen.

Derek curses the reason why he recognises it so easily; it involves a world affirming amount of Stiles, many late nights of laughter from both of them, with Stiles’ laptop and Stiles’ body pressed tightly into Derek’s side, huddled together on the couch in Derek’s loft.

“Ooh,” Stiles exclaims, and in a moment of unparalleled genius, Derek really has to give it to him, he follows it up with, “Derek, this is Simon. He’s in my class at the Academy. He lives in Beacon Hills too, and he’s back for the same two weeks of vacation as I am, isn’t that a funny coincidence? He wanted to borrow some of my notes from a case we were studying last week. Simon, this is my friend Derek... Derek’s trying out amateur parkour... which is obviously why he’s using the window instead of my front door, like any normal, mentally undamaged person would do. Isn’t that right Derek?”

Stiles pins Derek with a steely look that screams Agree with me, or die a horrible death.

“Oh, sure. That makes sense. Parkour. Cool... Nice to meet you Derek,” Simon gives him a little two fingered salute, shaggy blond hair falling into his eyes as he looks up from the notebook he’s writing in.

Derek eyes Simon suspiciously and he decides he doesn’t like him instantly.

He doesn’t like Simon’s shaggy blond hair, he doesn’t like his stupid smiley face and he especially doesn’t like the way that he’s sitting on Stiles’ bed, with his stupid slimy hand casually resting on Stiles’ arm.

Also, if he actually believes Derek’s into parkour, he’s probably not going to make a very good FBI agent. Derek huffs at him.

Derek scents the air before he can stop himself and he’s hit with a strong wave of arousal from the new kid. He feels his skin ripple again dangerously, the need to yank Stiles towards him growing rapidly with every second that he watches them.

Derek closes his eyes because he can feel everything taking on a red hue and when he blinks them open again Stiles is looking at him in alarm, mouth gaping open, as if Derek’s lack of social skills have truly and finally rendered him speechless.

“Yes,” Derek forces out and he’s not proud of how gritty his voice is when he says dryly, “Sure. Parkour. Obviously. It’s... my thing.”

“Awesome sauce, guy. Don’t you get too hot running around town in a leather jacket and jeans though? I don’t mean to explain a mans own craft to him fella, but I have to say, it doesn’t seem the most sensible clothing choice for extreme sports. You should probably invest in some proper gear. Maybe some gloves, something with a good grip,” Simon says sincerely, eyes going back down to the documents in his lap. Dismissing Derek.

Derek curls his lip up on a snarl. What a great idea, he’d love to get a good grip. On Simon’s throat. With his teeth. Where did Stiles find this moron?

Stiles blanches at the murderous look on Derek’s face, probably because Derek pushes himself upward and takes a menacing step inside the window.

Derek tries to tell Stiles with just his facial expressions that he’s seriously unimpressed with his choice of company but Stiles just frantically gestures toward the open window, arms flailing.

Stiles mouths “Please go away” and he sighs bodily when Derek furrows his brow in return.

Derek’s frustrated that he smells annoyed, when Derek mouths a firm “No” back at him.

Stiles mimes choking Derek and when that has no effect he slashes his finger across his throat, glancing at Simon to make sure he’s not looking up at them.

Derek says I don’t like this guy on your bed but he says it with his eyebrows, confident Stiles can interpret. Stiles has proven himself fairly fluent in Derek eyebrow speak lately.

Stiles rolls his eyes dramatically, so Derek guesses that he’s got the message and Derek preens, pleased.

Now, when Stiles gets rid of this interloper, Derek and Stiles can resume with a nice relaxed evening of...

“Oh my god! Ok, well thanks for calling in Derek. Even though I said I’d see you on Monday night, not Saturday night, which this is. Silly goose. I’ll have to buy you a calendar, what a complete dumbass you are. Lovely to see you, as always. Sorry you can’t stay and all. Buh bye now,” Stiles interrupts Derek’s inner monologue and Derek bares his fangs at him, clamping his mouth shut with a snap as Simon looks up at him.

“Oh you’re heading out already? No worries my man. Happy parkouring Derek! Nice to meet you. Actually, before you go... you do look sort of familiar. Have I seen you around Beacon Hills before? Oh no, wait, I’ve got it! Stiles, remember that video they showed us ages ago at initiation, there was a guy running through the woods? Doesn’t your friend Derek look like him a bit?” Simon chuckles as if it’s all a big coincidence and he looks down again at his notebook.

Derek really, really, really doesn’t like him.

Thick as shit” Derek mouths at Stiles, jabbing his finger pointedly at Simon.

Then Simon actually scoots over to where Stiles is sitting and he plasterers himself to his side, back against the headboard as he readjusts his books on his lap.

“Oh hahahahahahahaha,” Stiles laughs wildly and theatrically, promptly chokes on air and says, “Derek gets that all the time, mistaken for murderers. It’s all the leather and the smouldering eyebrows.”

Stiles, to Derek’s immense relief and very fortunately for Simon, moves himself off his bed (now Derek doesn’t have to pull Simon’s arms off at the sockets like he did to Laura’s Barbie that one time- although it was strangely satisfying hearing them pop off - maybe it would still be satisfying) and Stiles jumps to his feet, fingers flexing at his sides.

Simon just shrugs and continues making some notes, leaning over and grabbing Stiles’ laptop.

Derek waits for the world to right itself, for Stiles to put a stop to this overly casual little scene and stop making Derek feel like Stiles is yanking his heart right out of his chest. But he doesn’t.

Stiles approaches the window with a frown on his face, runs a hand down the length of Derek’s arm, thumbing over the hammering pulse in his wrist, marking him. Stiles knows enough about werewolves to know it will soothe him but maybe not quite why his specific touch affects Derek so, but it works.

God it works.

Derek feels everything shift into place, Stiles in front of him and he just knows in a way he hasn’t realised before, that he’s in big trouble.

He’s let him get far too close over the past few years.

Then Stiles frowns at him and pulls his arm away and Derek feels the loss of his touch, cold in his bones.

“Now, feel free to throw yourself back out of the window Derek,” Stiles says nonchalantly and he sits down in his desk chair, picking up a book and propping his feet up on his bed.

Derek does throw himself back out the window, because he’s shifting in barely contained rage, even though he knows he has no right to be annoyed. He has no right to feel the way he does.

Stiles isn’t his. He isn’t anyone’s.

Except possibly Simon’s, Derek’s unhelpful brain supplies.

Derek hits the ground with a snarl and he tucks and rolls dramatically, before coming up into a crouch. He’s even more annoyed that he can clearly picture Stiles’ face and what he’d say if he witnessed his showy gymnastics.

Derek breaks and he looks back up as he reaches his car and he see’s Stiles has come back to the window and he’s watching him walk away.

Derek picks up the pace and he runs and slides over the hood of the car on his ass, landing neatly on the drivers side.

He looks up at the window and deadpans.

“Parkour, parkour,” Derek says dryly.

Stiles’ raucous real laugh is almost worth it, Derek grinning back, until it’s drowned out by Simon’s voice, asking him what’s so funny.

Stiles turns away from the window.

Derek slams the door so hard on the Camaro, his side mirror falls off.




Stiles had buried his way into Derek’s world back when he was just sixteen and Derek had been twenty, starting with the not so casual but repetitive saving of Derek’s life from various bad guys of the week.

That had then changed into something else more recently, morphing into something of a tentative friendship that they’ve now got going on.

Derek sometimes has trouble equating him with the skinny, buzz cut teenager he’d met in the woods over four long years ago. Stiles had become... more. In Derek’s mind anyway.

Derek hadn’t really expected him to even keep in touch when he left for his internship at the academy a year ago, so he’d been pleasantly surprised to receive a Skype call from him less than a week after he’d left.

Derek had balked when the first call had come through and Stiles’ picture had popped up on his phone screen. Derek had never been good at communicating and he was sure a video chat wasn’t going to be much different, no matter who it was with.

Derek had felt so awkward when he’d seen Stiles’ pleased grin flick on the screen as he’d answered. He remembers he had silently stared at Stiles’ stupid beautiful face for a heartbeat too long, framed by a red pillow that brought out the brown in his eyes. He was clearly in bed, speaking low as he’d begun catching Derek up on his first week and Derek had panicked at the thought he’d have nothing to say to him when Stiles finally stopped talking.

Panicked that Stiles would realise just how non-entertaining he is and he might not ever call him again. He’d worried that he would give up on him because he’s so hopeless.

He’d worried for all of about five seconds because Stiles had managed to draw him into a lengthy debate about who played the best Superman of all time; he insisted they do TV vs Movie vs Comic book.

Derek had actually felt shocked when he’d checked the time and realised they’d been on the call for four hours. Derek had fallen into an easy and heated argument with him, Stiles pressing every single button of Derek’s he knew, and this, this bickering with Stiles, Derek knew how to do.

And so it continued, Stiles texting and calling him almost daily, rambling on about everything from traffic cones, to underage drinking and how blind the FBI academy was to supernatural happenings that were really obvious to Stiles.

Derek had told him he’d moved back officially into the loft and he’d even let Stiles pick out his new couch. Derek hadn’t had much of a choice in that one. He’d woken up to his phone beeping rapidly, links and pictures from Stiles for sixty seven different couches, the day after he’d told him he might be getting a new one.

Then, when Stiles had come home to Beacon Hills for Christmas vacation, Derek had been even more perplexed when Stiles had arrived at his loft, laptop tucked snugly under one arm, pizza box balanced precariously in the other.

He’d breezed past Derek, who was just standing in his open doorway and made himself at home, helping himself to soda, unloading snacks from his backpack and setting up Netflix on his laptop.

“What? I wanted to see my new couch,” Stiles had shrugged, red vine hanging loosely from his lips.

They went on like that, Derek getting more and more used to having him around, to the point where Derek felt really disappointed that he’d had to go back after Christmas.

But Stiles kept calling and texting and he came back again and again, always showing up at Derek’s doorstep, always making him feel wanted, less alone.

Derek had been counting down the days until Stiles’ next vacation time, heart thumping painfully in his chest when Stiles had told him he’d be back for two whole weeks in the summer for his birthday and asking did Derek want to ‘hang’.

Derek did want to hang. Very much so.

They’d made plans for Stiles to come over on the Monday night but Derek had bumped into the Sheriff in the grocery store a few days ago. John had told him that he was picking Stiles up late on the Saturday night instead, as he’d managed to get an earlier flight.

“I can be very useful if you want information on my son, Derek. You want me on your side, oh yes,” The Sheriff had whispered mysteriously in the store, backing away from him slowly with his cart, “but see this meaty old steak right here? This crate of beer? This full deep dish pizza? You didn’t see me did you?... No, you didn’t. I’m a meat free mirage...”

And the Sheriff had left Derek sort of perplexed, just standing in the toilet paper aisle wondering what the hell had just happened.

As much as Derek had tried to put Stiles coming back out of his mind, it hadn’t worked. As soon as he knew he’d be home early, it was like it became all he could think about.

By the Saturday night he’d been crawling out of his skin, but he didn’t want to seem too pushy when they’d already made plans for the Monday night. But he really wanted to see him.

He’d made a big mistake heading over there, clearly. Stiles obviously had other plans to keep him occupied, plans that didn’t include Derek.

A part of Derek knows he’s going to have to tell him how he’s feeling sooner rather than later because he’s not sure he’s going to be able to stop himself from jumping him the minute he’s alone with him.

He barely reined it in when Simon was there and the thought of Stiles with someone else... just no.

He’s hopelessly gone on him.

Derek wants him. Worse. He needs him. He anchors him.


“What the hell was that?” Stiles calls out, letting himself into Derek’s loft on the Monday night, with Derek’s spare key; the spare key that Derek had shyly given him, under the guise that he couldn’t be bothered getting up to let him in all the time.

Stiles had blushed really deeply and Derek had grinned really widely, thumb lingering over his palm where he’d pressed the metal.

Derek’s chest constricts at the memory. Good times.

“What.” Derek offers calmly, without looking up from his book, one leg slung over the arm of his favourite chair.

“What, what, what. What do you mean, what? You know ‘what’. Poor Simon thinks that all my friends are total weirdos now,” Stiles stops in front of him and he points at Derek accusingly.

“I am a total weirdo,” Derek shrugs, finally meeting his eyes and bookmarking his page.

Derek’s ridiculously glad to see him. A part of him thought he might not show up after Saturday’s debacle.

Stiles’ cheeks are flushed and he’s only wearing a t-shirt, sans his usual plaid over shirt. It’s been hot as hell this summer and Derek can smell clean sweat on him and his hair is a little wild, longer than it was last time he saw him, sticking up in places from the humidity.

Derek tries to scent the air as subtly as he can but Stiles’ eyes darken in response. He smells good.

His warm brown eyes narrow, clever gaze scrutinising Derek and his lips are pursed, but he doesn’t actually look angry anymore.

He looks confused. Exasperated even.

“Correct. You are a weirdo. And I like that about you, for the record. Usually. But Saturday... you were way more weird than normal. What’s going on Derek?” Stiles jabs a finger at him as he toes off his sneakers.

Derek tries not to show that he’s overly pleased when Stiles throws his backpack down on the couch and gets comfy, pulling his feet up underneath him and getting his laptop out.

“Nothing’s going on.” Derek shrugs.

“Nothing. That’s your response. Right. Well I have news for you sour-wolf, I don’t have to be a werewolf lie detector to know that is grade A bullshit. I haven’t seen you that angry in years. Is it because I didn’t tell you I was back early on Saturday? I was tired and I was going to call you after Simon left. I didn’t want to see anyone at all until I’d had a chance to catch up on sleep, but I bumped into Simon at the airport and we got talking. Then Dad offered him a ride back with us, so... ” Stiles calls him out on his behaviour, totally blasé, as he taps in his password.

Derek balks. He hadn’t quite expected him to just address it so blatantly, but then again, it’s Stiles.

Filterless, fearless, Stiles.

“It wasn’t that you didn’t tell me. I don’t... you don’t have to tell me stuff. Obviously. I was going to... surprise you, that’s all. Your Dad told me you were going to be home on Saturday when I bumped into him last week. So I knew you were back. I just... Didn’t expect you to have company, that’s all...” Derek stands up, clenching his hands together.

This isn’t at all how he wants to have this conversation with him. He grits his teeth in frustration.

“Oh. Well that’s actually very nice. I was happy to see you. Until you nearly outed yourself to a human FBI agent... you’re usually so in control,” Stiles muses, “at least I was there to save the day huh.”

He’s offering Derek an out.

Derek can take it. Or he can man up and tell him that he’s got feelings for him.

So many feelings. All of the feelings.

The silence drags on, Stiles’ eyes on his and Derek realises he’s softly growling, so he turns away.

How is he supposed to just come out and say he’d been jealous? That he’d wanted to rip Simon’s head off for even daring to be in the same bed as his Stiles.

But that’s not right. He isn’t his. He probably doesn’t even want to be.

Stiles’ gaze drops after a minute, knowing the conversation is over and his mouth tugs sideways in a small, sad and resigned smile.

Derek thinks he might leave, he smells so strongly of confusion and disappointment.

“Ok Der. Have it your way. Don’t just stand there. Make the popcorn then. We’ve got over six hours of the Hobbit trilogy to get through, I figure we can watch the last one next weekend. You know. Only if you want to,” Stiles’ words are very casual but his heartbeat is erratic, almost as if he’s afraid Derek’s going to say no.

Derek won’t ever say no.

“Ok. I do... I do want to,” Derek says quietly. That’s all he can offer right now. That’s all he’s got for him. And it’s not enough. No where near enough.

Stiles’ bright answering smile feels like he’s stuck his hand right into Derek’s chest and given his heart a squeeze.

It seems that maybe it is enough for Stiles.

Derek makes the popcorn.


Derek wakes blearily the next morning, still on his couch.

Stiles is gone, along with his laptop and Derek notices he’s cleaned up too.

He also must have thrown the throw over Derek because he’s snuggled under it and it kind of smells like Stiles.

Derek rubs his eyes and smiles at the memory of the night before.

After their initial awkwardness, Stiles had quickly settled into Derek’s side on the couch, sharing the laptop with him. They’d watched both an Unexpected journey and the Desolation of Smaug but it had taken more like eight hours rather than Stiles’ predicted six. Mainly because Stiles insisted on stopping the movies every five minutes; he’d talk Derek through exactly what was going to happen, why it was so brilliant and what Derek should watch out for. He was especially flaily every time a new face came onto screen, pausing to google who it was and what they’d been in.

“Dude I know his face, what’s his name, oh god, it’s going to bug me. Shit. Sorry, I’m stopping it, I have to look. No, Derek, don’t take the laptop, noooo,” was pretty much what Derek had heard constantly for the entire evening.

Derek stretches and he sits up, throw falling away from his legs. He plucks at his t-shirt and inhales and all he gets is a whiff of Stiles, combined with himself. It smells fantastic.

He gets up with a cheery smile and he notices Stiles has put the coffee pot on a timer before he’d left. Derek makes himself a cup, humming and planning on just how he can run into Stiles before Saturday.

Maybe he could just ask him to dinner or something.

He’s feeling kind of brave today, more sure of Stiles after spending the night wrapped around him. A lot more sure of him than when he’d been in his room on Saturday, watching a strange guy on his bed.

His phone pings and saves him from torturing himself with thoughts of Simon.

He opens up a text from Stiles.

Dude! Just arrived at Scott’s. He just told me something that should have been the first thing out of your damn mouth when you saw me!

Derek blanches. Scott couldn’t possibly know.

He hasn’t seen Scott for about three weeks, but he sees Malia every Tuesday and Thursday. They go running, full shift and Derek’s really come to appreciate her company, even if she is blunt as hell.

Derek shudders at the memory of when she’d pinned him with her icey blue gaze the previous week, as they’d walked back from the woods.

“Do you want to have sex with Stiles or something?” She’d asked, as if she was asking him what he was going to be having for dinner that evening.

“Stiles?! Skinny, defenceless Stiles? Ha, no. Why would you even...” Derek had begun stammering out his defence, totally nonplussed before realising she’d heard his lie and she’d grinned devilishly at him.

Well fuck a duck. Two ducks. A pond of ducks.

“Malia...” he’d growled, eyes flashing red, warning.

“What? He’s probably going to know. You haven’t shut up about him for weeks now and he’s really smart,” Malia shrugs matter of factly, “and for the record Derek, under all the layers, he is not that skinny.”

Derek had snarled at the reminder that Malia and Stiles used to be a thing, setting her off chuckling.

“He’d be stupid not to want to have sex with you back,” Malia had tried, her own brand of creepy reassurance, “You know, if he likes stubble and leather you’ll be fine... well then again... you’re kind of mean actually, maybe he won’t want to have sex with you...”

“Great. Well, thank you for that Mal,” Derek had shrugged off the shift and shoved her straight into a bush, “don’t tell him or I’ll tell Scott that you ate that baby squirrel. And you know how he feels about you eating the little ones...”

She’d come out of the foliage snarling and snapping her jaws at him.

“It wasn’t a baby! It was just small,” She’d growled, but Derek knew she’d want to avoid a fight with the overly sensitive Scott, “and I couldn’t help it, it was a full moon!”

Derek had thought he’d had her over a barrel but now with Stiles’ text, he’s not so sure. Maybe she had told Scott.

Derek frowns at the phone as he contemplates his reply and he decides to play it the only way he knows. Constipated.

What. Derek types and presses send.

Here you go again with the what. Derek Severus Hale, there is a Karaoke bar in Beacon Hills and you didn’t tell me! You know I love Karaoke. Stiles’ reply comes fast.

Derek lets out a relieved breath. His secret is safe. For now.

Karaoke is devil worship. And my middle name is actually Sidney. Derek replies, smirking.

You can’t distract me. I’m sorry you feel that way because, Karaoke! Friday night baby. Come on Sid... you know you want to. Stiles replies.

I’d rather resurrect Gerard Argent and let him adopt me. Derek types back.

Fucking dark man. You have to come. Please? It’s my birthday...I’m twenty one, I can drink dude! Legally! Stiles types back.

Shit. Derek’s weakness is a pleading Stiles. Actually, it was Stiles doing anything, but hey ho.

Fine. I’m not singing. Derek sighs and types back, resigned.

Yay! Btw if my Dad asks, you and I, we aren’t boning. He thinks I slept over yours last night for a night of hot beef injection. He genuinely thought “watching the Hobbit” was a euphemism. Stiles text comes back fast.

Derek chokes on his coffee and he drops his phone, snatching it back up off the floor to reply.

I’m actually traumatised by the entire content of that message. Mainly the use of hot beef injection. Why would I say anything different if your father asks me? We aren’t ‘boning’, unless you ‘bad touched’ me in my sleep? Derek types, hand shaky and pulse racing.

He can’t wipe the ridiculous grin off his face.

It’s so much easier to flirt with Stiles over text, when he hasn’t got to worry about him rejecting him to his face.

I know we’re not : ( Stiles replies and Derek doesn’t really know what to do with that.

Should I expect a visit from your Dad and his shotgun then? Derek asks, to stop himself from saying what he really wants to say.

To stop himself from saying We could be boning... If you want...

Nah. He actually looked a little disappointed when I protested my innocence. He loves you man. Stiles’ text pings.

Derek doesn’t know what to do with that either. He’s pretty sure no-ones ever deliberately wanted him to be dating their son or daughter before. It’s unsettling.

He watches the little bubbles that indicate Stiles is typing when he gets another message, but disappointingly, this one isn’t from him.

Dude! Stop texting Stiles, you hogged him all last night and I haven’t seen him for months! He was my friend first ffs. Scott’s cheery little face pops up on the message screen.

Derek can almost picture him stomping his feet.

Derek rolls his eyes but nothing can burst his bubble this morning. He’s ridiculously happy at the thought of Stiles messaging him, even though he’d only left him a couple of hours ago.

Not my fault I’m more interesting that you. He shoots back to Scott and throws his phone down.

He ignores the incoming onslaught of beeps in favour of taking a shower.

The smell of Stiles clings to his skin as he strips off his clothes, boxers hitting the floor and he steps naked into the spray, half hard already.

Stiles is on Derek’s mind as he wraps a hand around his dick and he groans.

It takes less than a few firm strokes before he’s coming hard, the scent of Stiles in his nostrils and his smiling face and brown eyes on his mind.

“Fuck,” he pants fighting to get his breath back, one hand braced on the cool tile.

Friday feels like a really long way off.


Derek manages to avoid Stiles until the end of the week but it’s only because he’d gone away fishing with his Dad for a few days.

By the time Friday rolls around, Derek knows they’re back and he’s half out of his mind with the need to see him. Stiles texts him about meeting for pre-drinks at the Sheriff’s house but Derek declines.

He could do with the extra hour to get himself together.

He dresses in a tight black t-shirt and his tightest blue jeans; Stiles had declared them “a gift from the ass gods” under his breath once, when Derek had been wearing them in front of him. Since then, they’re Derek’s favourite pair.

Derek decides to walk as the night’s quite warm and he arrives at the address that Stiles had text him around 10pm.

Big neon lights announce that he’s found ‘The Karaoke Cavern’ and Derek can hear it’s busy inside. He takes a deep breath to steady his nerves and he pushes the door open, nodding to the doorman.

As he passes the bar, he’s immediately assaulted by Scott’s dissonant tones. He looks to the stage where sure enough, his reluctant prodigy is warbling out a shaky rendition of Coolio’s Gangsta’s paradise and Derek could have happily gone his entire life without knowing how bad Scott was at rapping.

Derek’s eyes catch on Stiles in the distance, in a little booth. He’s cheering his best friend on loudly, hands cupped around his mouth for volume as he whoops.

Derek signals the bartender for a beer and he orders the most ridiculous looking blue cocktail on the menu for Stiles. It comes with an umbrella and a sparkler, so Derek feels like he’s probably chosen correctly.

Derek slides up to the booth, drinks in hand. Stiles is kneeling on one of the chairs, back to him clapping loudly as Scott finishes his last verse.

Derek nods a greeting to Lydia and Malia.

Lydia’s got her fingers in her ears but Malia’s singing along with Scott and performing some of the worst dance moves Derek’s ever seen, while she nurses what smells like a large whiskey sour.

Derek can’t help his snort of laughter.

Stiles turns at the noise, sensing him there, even over Scott’s singing and he lights up even more when he sees Derek.

Stiles gets up and leans in to his ear to talk to him. Derek doesn’t need him to be close to hear him over the noise in the bar, but it gives him a chance to scent him, so he doesn’t move away.

He doesn’t smell drunk, but maybe just a little buzzed.

“Knew you’d come! Looking good Hale,” Stiles runs his eyes over him and when he brings his eyes back to Derek’s face, he’s biting his lip.

Derek feels his dick twitch in his pants. This is going to be one hell of an exercise in his self control.

Stiles looks good. He’s a little tan, probably from being outdoors fishing all week and he’s wearing a tight maroon t-shirt, which is showing exactly how much gym time he’s clearly been putting in at the academy. The dark hair on his arms stands out against his tan skin and Derek can’t stop looking. Was he always that hairy?

Derek kind of wants to lick his arms. He shakes his head, as if that will help clear his thoughts.

Derek pops the drinks down on the table and he tries to appear normal as he smiles back.

“Hey. Happy birthday. I got you a Blue Lagoon. It’s got a sparkler,” Derek points out the obvious, hating how gravelly his voice has gone.

Stiles doesn’t move back, he just licks his lips and Derek can feel Lydia and Malia staring at them from across the table.

“My favourite,” Stiles chews his lower lip and he doesn’t look at the drink, eyes on Derek.

Scott grabbing Stiles from behind and picking him up ruins the moment.

“Derek! Derek’s here! Dude, what did you think of my song?” Scott shouts excitedly, eyes looking a little glazed.

Derek can smell a hint of wolfsbane coming off him and Malia too, now he focuses, and he knows they’ve spiked their drinks.

“Coolio would be turning in his grave,” Derek says honestly.

Stiles barks out a laugh.

“Hey! Karaoke isn’t about being any good man, it’s about being bad but with friends! Plus, I’m pretty sure Coolio is alive and well,” Stiles chuckles and he pushes Derek down into his empty seat.

Scott boxes him in and Stiles picks up his drink when the sparkler fizzles out, draining half of it in one go.

Derek’s never wished he was a straw before, but seeing Stiles’ lips wrapped around his, he’s suddenly never wished he was one more in his entire life.

Scott gives him a funny look but he looks a little too spaced to call him out.

“Hello Derek,” Lydia singsongs and Derek’s good mood bubble is burst.

She doesn’t look drunk at all, even though there’s an empty bottle of wine in a bucket in front of her and less than a centimetre left in the glass she’s holding.

She gives him a feral grin.

“Lydia,” Derek says.

“Derek...” Lydia says.

“Lydia...” Derek frowns.

“Stiles!” Stiles points at himself, interrupting them both “Now stop it, no death glares at each other tonight please, it’s my birthday.”

Derek huffs his assent, Lydia shrugging but she still looks like she could be onto him, calculating gaze flitting between Stiles and Derek.

With a smirk she drains her wine and she heads for the bar.

“Fine. But I’m still not singing,” she calls over her shoulder.

Derek lets out a breath he didn’t know he’s been holding.

“Alright,” the Karaoke host announces from his booth, “Now we’ve got a Miekel... er... Mieschel... no... erm... Mikleschew... Screw it, we’ve got an M Stillinski up next!”

Stiles looks at Scott laughing.

“Dick! You put me down!” Stiles points at him and tips his neck back and throws his cocktail down his throat.

Derek tries and fails not to stare at the long, strong line of his throat.

He wants to put his mouth on him so badly.

“Yeah, think I spelt your name wrong though! I put the song you wanted to do. You did say when Derek got here you’d...” Scott begins but Stiles cuts him off.

“Shut up dude! I’m going, I’m going,” Stiles runs up toward the stage, moving people out of the way.

Derek settles back, sipping his beer and he realises he’s never actually heard Stiles sing. Not properly. He’s witnessed many of his “jeep concerts” but nothing without music already blasting in the background and drowning him out.

The intro music starts and Derek vaguely tries to place it as Stiles trips on the top step to the stage, flails upright and grabs the microphone stand.

He grins and shuffles from foot to foot and Derek notices he doesn’t even glance at the screen to see the words come up, or to see where his cue is.

The reason why becomes apparent when Stiles belts out, “Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really really want,” bang on time.

Derek watches his rendition of the Spice Girl’s hit with a horrified fascination. Stiles knows every single word, he knows a ridiculous amount of dance moves (some of which Derek knows are improvised- Cora and Laura made him watch the Spiceworld movie around one hundred times) and he’s absolutely captivating.

Derek finds himself on his feet along with half of the bar as Stiles jumps off the stage and winds through the crowd. Derek doesn’t realise until he’s too late to escape, that he’s heading for him, the bar patrons cheering him on.

Derek tries to get out of the booth, climbing over Scott but Stiles grabs him and shoves him into a chair instead.

Derek feels his cheeks flush as Stiles balances one knee at the side of his hip and his eyes are sparkling with mischief as he launches into a flawless rap.

Derek doesn’t hear the rest of the song aside from the last line, his ears ringing, mesmerised by the weird half lap dance Stiles is giving him. It’s more cheesy then sexy, but it’s somehow still doing it for Derek.

“If you wanna be my lover!” Stiles finishes on, mouth inches from Derek’s and the music cuts.

Everyone’s cheering and screaming as Stiles clambers off him, cheeks flushed beautifully red and shiny, manic grin on his face.

He runs back to the stage, leaving Derek plastered to the chair, bereft and he shoves the mic back in the stand, bowing ridiculously before coming back.

“Dude, what the fuck was that? You... Stiles... Derek, seriously are my eyes bleeding? Are my eyes bleeding!? I feel like my eyes are bleeding...” Scott mumbles to Derek, rubbing at his face.

Derek’s still paralysed so he can’t answer. He feels like he’s become one with the chair.

Malia grabs a still whining Scott and she crushes his head into her boobs and she pats his head until he shuts up.

Stiles mimes he’s heading to the bar to get a drink, winking at Derek as he goes past them.

Derek nods dumbly when Stiles shouts “Beer?” at him.


Malia makes her way up to the stage right around the time Derek’s brain is finally rebooting.

He manages a chuckle and he sits up when he hears her song choice, unmistakable intro to ‘Tequila’ kicking in. It’s so her to pick a song with one word in it, just repeated.

Derek glances around to see Stiles leaning over the bar waiting to get served and he’s shaking his ass in time to the music.

With a gulp Derek looks away and he notices Lydia’s staring at him.

“What?” He frowns.

“He likes you, you know,” She tips her wine glass at him, “I’m not sure why... he complains about you constantly. It’s “Derek didn’t text me back for four hours” this, and “Derek hasn’t ever watched Game of thrones, can you believe it?” that... but he talks about you. All the damn time.”

Derek tries to fight the smile bubbling up at her words, but it’s no use. He’s beginning to entertain the idea that maybe, just maybe, Stiles could like him back. Maybe a little bit.

Something that feels a lot like hope uncurls in his stomach.

“TEQUILA!” The whole bar shouts out in time to the song, led by Malia.

Derek glances up and notices she’s standing stock still, staring at the screen waiting for the next TEQUILA, microphone clutched in a death grip in both hands but for some reason, everyone seems to be loving it.

“Tell him Derek. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” Lydia calls, dragging his attention back and she rearranges Scott, who’s fallen asleep on the cushions in the booth, so his head is propped up.

Derek looks over his shoulder and he sees Stiles looking at them, one elbow on the bar keeping his place. His face blooms into a beautiful grin when Derek catches his eye and then he ducks his head shyly when Derek smiles back.

Derek knows he can’t go another day without telling him. He can’t do this anymore.

But he’s just no good with words.

Derek’s on his feet before he knows what he’s doing and before he can stop himself. He necks Malia’s whisky sour for a bit of Dutch courage.

Later, if anyone asked him what came over him, he’d probably say he’d been possessed.

His feet carry him to the Karaoke host’s booth and he grabs a song chart, eyes scanning it wildly. He finds what he’s looking for and points at a song, the host nodding, looking at him sceptically.

Derek can tell he’s not expecting much out of him and that’s just fine. Derek’s not doing this for anyone apart from Stiles.

Malia finishes and is clapped off stage, handing Derek the microphone as she passes and he gets up, taking her place. She doesn’t look entirely surprised to see him there.

Derek doesn’t look down at the crowd, doesn’t look at any of their faces.

If he sees Stiles, he’s going to bottle it completely.

Derek swallows nervously and he closes his eyes for a second against the harsh lights of the stage.

He gathers his nerve, stares down at his boots and settles the mic in its cradle, adjusting the height and a deathly quiet comes over the bar.

He hears a wolf whistle that he just knows comes from Malia and he steels himself, clearing his throat.

The intro to his song choice kicks in and Derek jams his eyes closed, but a calm washes over him as he listens for his cue.

Like Stiles, he also won’t need to watch the screen for the lyrics.

This was his Mom’s favourite song.

She used to sing it to his Dad in the kitchen, turning their little CD player up loud until Derek and his sisters would come running, dancing and singing along.

He could sing it backwards, under ten feet of water, blindfolded and shot up with wolfsbane if he needed to, he knows it so well.

And he knows he can sing well too, he just hasn’t had a reason to. Not for a long time.

“I’m... i’m so in love with you... Whatever you want to do... is alright with me... Cause you... make me feel, so brand new... and I, want to spend my life with you,” Derek sings, flawless and smooth and he can almost feel the awed hush come over the bar.

By the last verse, he feels confident enough to open his eyes and he scans the crowd, searching for Stiles and his eyes find him quickly.

He’s standing a few metres from the stage, propped up against their booth, staring up at Derek, swaying side to side, mouth hanging prettily open, eyes wide, stunned.

Derek finishes the song, putting everything he feels about Stiles into it.

He makes sure to look at him when he goes through his last few lines, mouth forming around “Let’s stay, let’s stay together...” as the song rings out and Stiles is looking at him so intently, Derek feels like it’s just the two of them in the room, as everything else fades out.

The song ends and the Karaoke host’s praise is drowned out by the loud catcalls and cheering from the crowd as Derek tries to get through them, to get to Stiles, but people keep stopping him.

One girl makes him sign her beer mat, which he does just to get away from her.

Stiles. He needs to get to Stiles.

This is it. He knows, it’s all been leading to this.

When he finally gets back to him, the last of the people parting, he feels like someone’s stuck their claws into his gut.

Stiles’ back is up against the booth and he’s not alone. He sees blond hair and hands on Stiles’ hips, far too close to him and Derek shifts, eyes blazing red.

He bolts for the thankfully very near fire exit, pushing out into the cool night air, taking deep calming breaths.

He can hear Stiles shouting his name after him, but he runs.

Fucking Simon.


Derek doesn’t go to the loft. For some reason he doesn’t want to be alone, so he heads for Stiles’ house instead. The Sheriff is watching baseball downstairs and Derek feels comforted by that somehow.

He sits on the roof next to Stiles’ window and he just waits, letting the night calm him.

He hears when the Sheriff leaves for his night shift, front door slamming and Derek feels for his phone in his pocket to check the time, but the battery is dead.

He guessed he’d left the bar around eleven and that felt like at least a couple of hours ago.

“Derek?” The Sheriff’s voice, sure and strong, floats up from below and startles him.

“Yes sir?” Derek answers hurriedly and drops down to peer over the edge of the roof.

John clearly knows he’s there, he can’t exactly ignore him. The man owns a shotgun.

“Stiles just called me to say he’s on his way home. And to tell me to eat a salad for breakfast. For breakfast Derek. The kid’s unreal. Between you and me, I’m having pancakes. So many pancakes...” John says, nodding up at him.

“Right... how did you know I was here?” Derek’s genuinely curious.

He’d thought he’d been really quiet.

“Ah. I didn’t. Stiles just sounded a little upset when I asked how his night had gone, so I took a guess... I know it’s your usual modus operandi, lurking on the roof. I thought I’d better check, ” The Sheriff smiles and it’s kind.

Derek can see where Stiles gets that from.

“I’m sorry sir. I think I’ve upset him on his birthday,” Derek says quietly.

“Well... that’s life son. You won’t please everyone all the time. You can only try,” John says softly.

“I don’t think I please anyone any of the time,” Derek replies and his voice is a little broken, “I’m not... I’m not good for him. I don’t think I can do any of this without hurting him. What if he doesn’t forgive me?”

“I’m going to tell you something Derek... I know my son. And that kid talks about you like you hung the moon. If you want to pass that up, then more fool you. And if he wants to pass up the grovelling apology I’m sure you’re about to make tonight, then more fool him. You’re a good person son. Don’t be afraid to be happy. Life’s for the living,” The Sheriff checks his watch.

“Thank you,” Derek says softly.

He doesn’t know what he’s done to deserve the Sheriff’s loyalty but he’ll take it.

“Right, I’m going to be late. You can wait in the house if you want,” John offers.

“I’m good sir. I’ll wait out here,” Derek says settling back against the house.

“Stop calling me sir, it makes me sound old. Call me John. Right. Last thing Derek...” John calls, opening the door to his cruiser.

“Mmm?” Derek answers.

“The pancakes... our little secret yes?” John points up and gets in his car.

Derek chuckles.

“Of course sir. I mean John,” Derek waves him off.


Derek hears a car drop Stiles off around fifteen minutes later and he climbs in his window to wait for him, leaving the lights off. Derek really hopes he’s caught a cab home and it’s not Simon dropping him off.

Stiles opens the door, thankfully alone and he flails when he sees Derek standing there on his rug, illuminated by the moon.

“Fuck,” he clutches at his chest, “you asshole. You’re like a creeping Jesus. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Stiles flicks his lamp on.

“Sorry,” Derek whispers quietly, clenching his fingers into his palms.

“Just... just talk to me dude... please,” Stiles sighs and rubs his forehead tiredly.

“Sorry... I wanted to say that I’m really sorry. For running off tonight. For everything...” Derek says softly, looking down at his shoes, “I’ll go. I just wanted to apologise.”

“God. I don’t want you to go. I went to the loft. That’s where I’ve been. You weren’t there. Obviously. Because you’re here. It wasn’t what it looked like with Simon. Well it kind of was, he tried to lay one on me but you know... I was waiting for... do you know what, actually, this isn’t any of your business, even if I was kissing him you know,” Stiles kicks his sneakers off frustrated and he walks right up to Derek, pushing into his space.

Derek’s heart hammers when Stiles takes both of his hands, thumbs rubbing over his pulse points. Derek lets out a grunt of approval at his touch.

“I know. I know it’s not my business,” Derek growls and the reminder of Simon that close to Stiles makes him reverberate with leftover anger.

“I’m going to ask you once more Derek,” Stiles speaks slowly and tilts Derek’s chin up with his finger, “What the hell was all that about? And you can say nothing, and that’s fine... I’ll let it go once and for all, but god, that fucking song you sang. You can’t tell me what this is between us is noth- mmmmph!” Derek takes his face in both his hands and he presses his lips firmly to Stiles’, just a hard and desperate pressure, mouth slightly parted, before he pulls back, eyes wide.

He leaves his hands where they are, mainly to ground himself, as he waits for Stiles to push him away.

Which he doesn’t.

Stiles’ mouth is open in shock, lips pink and a little shiny where Derek’s kissed him. Derek’s eyes flick between his mouth and his eyes, his pupils blown. Derek’s not faring much better, chest heaving with the effort of holding back, nostrils flaring greedily for his scent. Which is getting sweeter by the second.

He smells so fucking good but he tastes even better.

“I wasn’t sure... I didn’t know if you wanted... wanted... me.” Derek breathes out weakly.

“Dude... I couldn’t have been more obvious. I told you what I want! What I really, really want! Then you totally told me you loved me, well me and a whole room of other people, but it kind of felt like you meant me! I thought I’d be ninety before you admitted you even liked me and you’d still be doing a secret death stare at any random guy that touched me when we’re old and grey. I thought you wouldn’t ever have the balls to...” Stiles groans when Derek plants his face in his neck, mouth open against his skin.

Derek nudges him back with his body, until he’s pressed against his bedroom door and Stiles gets his hands in Derek’s hair.

Derek growls as he scents him, dragging his nose up the vein in Stiles’ neck and he licks him up to his ear.

Stiles tugs him up and this time, when their mouths meet, its messy and a little more frantic. It’s absolutely perfect. Stiles is warm and wet and his tongue pushes into Derek’s and Derek fucks into his mouth.

Derek licks into him and he opens up, moaning and rolling his hips into Derek’s until Derek is scrambling between them desperately, fumbling open buttons and yanking down Stiles’ zipper.

“Wait, wait,” Stiles pants and he pulls away with a sharp tug on Derek’s hair that goes straight to Derek’s dick.

“I love you too. For the record. I have for ages. I was just going to wait for you, I know you have a little trouble expressing it, but that’s ok. I don’t mind. Just don’t run away. Or text me about it, if you can’t say it,” Stiles punctuates his words by cupping Derek’s dick with one hand, his balls with the other through the material of his boxers.

Derek’s eyes flash red and he sets about sucking a mark into Stiles’ neck as he presses into him, hand moving down his back and slipping down into his underwear. He palms his ass cheeks, one in each hand, fingers digging in, eliciting a guttural moan from Stiles.

Derek rubs his stubble back and forth over his neck, watching his perfect skin colour up.

Derek likes it a lot. Let everyone see he’s taken.

Fuck, he loves him so much.

“I was wrong,” Stiles groans like he’s dying as his hand slips beneath the material of Derek’s underwear, hand moving over Derek’s cock, “You do have the balls. And a dick. Oh wow, you definitely, definitely have a dick. Fuck...”

Derek snorts into his neck.

Stiles makes him ridiculously happy, he makes everything so easy.

“Want to see it?” Derek deadpans.

“Does a one legged duck swim in a circle?” Stiles replies deadly serious and he does that stupid grin again, the one that makes Derek feel like someone’s squeezing his heart.

Derek takes him in, all beautiful and flushed and he realises that he’s a hundred times better with Stiles in his life.

He never wants to give him up. Now he’s got him, he knows he won’t.

Stiles challenges him, pushes him and best of all, he understands him.

“I love you...” Derek tells him honestly, voice raw and the words just come out, sure.

Like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said.

“You’re ruining it... Sing it for me instead?” Stiles whispers seductively and bites his ear, “then put your beautiful dick in me?”

Derek kisses him again just to shut him up.


The next day, they watch The battle of the five Armies cuddled up in Stiles’ bed. Derek tucks him under his arm and every time he presses his nose into Stiles’ temple and inhales, the scent of them both together makes his chest rumble contentedly.

Stiles’ heartbeat jumps delightedly every time Derek presses his lips to his head.

Derek has to hide his smiles in Stiles’ hair.