Work Header

Almost There, Going Nowhere

Work Text:

It’s been a few months of this... whatever they are, because Stiles is pretty sure Derek is not a fan of the term “boyfriend,” but even so, they're more than that. But he's not really Derek's mate. Not officially. Which kind of sucks because it means he's not sure where he stands in terms of pack hierarchy.

Derek's a lot more tolerant of him these days, obviously; he's more likely to hide a smile at Stiles' chattering than he is to threaten him with grievous bodily harm. Which, hey, step in the right direction. But Jackson alternates between ignoring him and insulting him, and Danny doesn't seem to understand what he's doing there at all. Surprisingly enough, Lydia is the one to defend his presence, claiming he's the only one up to par with her level of intelligence. Which isn't the slightest bit true because, hello, Danny, but in the end it doesn't matter. Derek wants him in the pack, so he stays.

Stiles' sex life has never been better, which is to say that it's never actually existed before. So even though Derek stubbornly refuses to actually, you know, go all the way, he can't really complain all that much.

"Anal sex," he mutters to himself as he digs through the fridge. "Butt sex. How are you ever going to do it if you can't even think the words?"

"What did you say?" Scott calls from other room, and Stiles flushes and slams the door shut.

"Nothing, dude! We're out of Cokes."

"Get your boyfriend to pick some up on his way over," Scott teases.

"He's not my... whatever, forget it," Stiles sighs. And so it goes. He should just be more assertive. He knows this, but really, this is Derek he's talking about. Yeah, he isn't so keen to shove Stiles into walls anymore, but there's always that silent broody thing that can happen.

He texts Derek. can u stop and get some cokes? The response is almost immediate.

yeah sure. anything else?

Sure, Stiles thinks, how about some condoms for all that sex we're not having? nope.

It had seemed so promising when they first got together, with Derek losing control - self-control, not wolfy control - over Stiles of all people, but ever since then, it's like he's shut down. Stiles spends half the time tiptoeing around him, because he's not sure why Derek's acting like this, and he doesn't want to risk doing something stupid that will put Derek off for good.

This might not be the relationship that Stiles always dreamed about, but he'd rather have Derek a little weird and moody than not at all. And oh, great, now he's starting to sound like Scott.


He's not sure if it’s a subconscious thing or not, but after the rest of the pack has left and it’s just him and Derek, he realizes that he's been sort of distant tonight. Not quiet, he's never quiet, he was just distant from Derek, and even though he's not a werewolf, he can definitely sense Derek's agitation.

"What's up with you tonight?” Derek asks. “You hardly said two words to me, and it was weird. I don't like it."

"You didn't do anything," Stiles sighs.

"Then what’s the problem?"

"You didn't do anything. You don't do anything!"

"You're not making any sense, Stiles, and I'm not really in the mood to guess what you're talking about." Derek seems mad, now, more so than the situation really calls for, and that's enough to set Stiles off.

"You're not in the mood? Just like how you're never in the mood to let me in on pack stuff, or how you're never in the mood to actually be my boyfriend, or how you're, you know, never in the mood at all?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about," Derek growls, and Stiles is sure if he had hackles they'd be up right now.

"I'm sure I don't," Stiles laughs, and it sounds ugly to his own ears, "because you never tell me anything. I feel like less a part of this pack now than I ever did before. Is this what dating you is like?"


"No. I'm pack, but I have no say. I'm someone you can trade hand jobs with but ignore around the rest of the pack. I'm someone you can share a bed with but not actually sleep with and I'm tired of it. Why won't you have sex with me?" By the end of his rant, Stiles is practically shouting and he can feel his face turning bright red, and that makes him angrier. How is anyone supposed to take him seriously when his cheeks are all rosy?

Derek looks angry, kind of pained, even, eyes tracking all over Stiles' face as the silence settles between them. He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, and if this is some kind of anger management thing, Stiles is all for it. Finally, Derek looks up at him again.

"There's no way you could be this stupid, Stiles," he says, and Stiles has to hold in his instinct to flinch. Or to yell, or something, because the last thing he needs is to be insulted. "It's hard enough for me to control my instincts around you as it is."

"What instincts?" Stiles asks, because he has to be sure, but Derek just shoots him an unimpressed look.

"Don't ask questions you already know the answer to." Stiles eyes light up.

"I'm your mate."

Derek looks frustrated, his eyes on the verge of turning red, but he doesn't deny Stiles’ claim.

"If I'm your mate, why haven't you marked me?" Stiles isn't ashamed to admit he googled 'my boyfriend's a werewolf.’ Stiles knows what’s down. Derek just scowls and looks away.

"It’s complicated."

"Complicated like, 'I wish you weren't my mate' complicated?"

Derek grimaces, his lips drawn out in a thin line.

"Don't be an idiot. Complicated as in, you're a teenager. You're too young; you can't possibly know what you want. Not to mention that it's technically illegal."

"So is half the shit you do!" Stiles tosses his hands up in frustration. "And I really wish you would stop assuming you know what's going on in my head."

"No, but I do know that you're sixteen."

"So?" Great, now Stiles sounds like a whiny little kid. It can't be helping his cause.

"So, you don't know what you want. You don't know the consequences. Wolves mate for life, and werewolves do the same." Stiles walks over to Derek. They're almost the same height now, and he looks into his eyes.

"I know."

"Then you understand why I can't do this now. Maybe in a few years, if you still feel the same way, we can talk about it. But right now, I can't put that on you. And I know that if I give in, if I get inside of you..." He swallows, like his mouth is dry, and Stiles shudders. "I won't be able to help myself."


"Stiles." Derek grabs Stiles’ hips, bringing him close. "It’s not a ‘no,’ it’s just a ‘not yet.’ So, please, can we drop this?" Stiles sighs and before he can say anything, Derek is kissing him.

Cheater, Stiles thinks to himself. Derek isn't the only one that can play dirty, though, and Stiles feels suddenly bold. He pushes back against Derek's chest, shifting them both from where they've been standing in the middle of the living room over to the couch. One more light shove backward and Derek drops back into the cushions, and Stiles follows him down, straddling his thighs. He's taller than Derek like this, which is an awesome feeling, and he doesn't waste any time in pressing their mouths back together, grinding down into Derek's lap.

He starts moving his hips faster, and when Derek growls, Stiles knows this is it. He reaches down between them and struggles to unzip Derek's pants, but before he knows it he's been flipped over. Derek is above him, holding Stiles’ hands above his head.

"Stiles!" Derek stands up, zips himself up and heads for the door. "Take a cold shower and call me tomorrow," Stiles hears, and then the front door slams shut. Stiles groans. He needs help, and desperate times call for desperate measures. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts until he finds the right number.

"Hey, Lydia."


Lydia comes over that night, agreeable and accommodating enough that it sort of creeps him out. The conversation they end up having is disturbing, to say the least. She doesn't seem surprised at all about the whole 'mate' thing, although she raises an eyebrow at the realization that Derek and Stiles haven't actually fucked yet.

"That's disappointing," she says, mouth turning down in a pout, "but we'll fix it." She gives Stiles some confusing pep talk that he thinks is about pack hierarchy, until he realizes it's actually about gender roles.

"You do realize I'm not actually a girl, right? Although if you thought that, maybe it would explain your total lack of interest in me." Lydia just raises her stupid perfect eyebrow again and shrugs. "Anyway, it's not that I haven't tried to take charge! I've thrown myself at him, believe me. The guy is like a robot. A sexless, scowling robot." He slumps back into his chair and folds his arms, huffing out a sigh.

"I don't mean the sex thing, Stiles." Lydia rolls her eyes. "I mean the thing that's keeping him from sleeping with you. Who say he's the only one that can make the first move there?" For once, Stiles is at a loss. "Okay, scratch that. What is your goal here? To sleep with him, or to get him to claim you? Because those are two different things, and one of them is easier than the other."

Stiles thinks for a minute. What does Stiles want? Stiles wants Derek. Forever. End of story. He knows that Derek is it for him.

"Both. But mostly I want to be claimed."

"Okay, then. You want it, and he obviously wants it but doesn't think he should have it. So who's to say he's the only one that can do the claiming?" Stiles blinks. He hadn't really considered that. "Besides," Lydia continues, "guys like it when you take charge."

"Where'd you get that? Cosmo for Werewolves?" Stiles chuckles at his own joke, and Lydia just rolls her eyes.

"Okay, I'm bored with this conversation. You should make me something to eat. You're exhausting to deal with."

"Hey, you can't boss me around!" Stiles argues, but he's laughing.

"Can't I?" Lydia smiles innocently. "You're not the alpha female yet, sweetie."

And that’s how Stiles learns you shouldn't start a pillow fight with Lydia. She's vicious.


Stiles takes a deep breath when he hears the doorbell ringing. Calm down. Just breathe.

"Scott! What are you doing here?" Scott pushes his way into the house.

"I heard your dad was pulling a double. I was hoping we could hang out, play some video games or something."

"No! It’s just, Derek is supposed to be coming over."

"That’s cool. I wanted to ask him some stuff about the full moon, anyway."

"No, I mean... Derek is coming over."

"Oh. Oh. Eww. Dude!"

"Okay, come on, I have to listen to you waxing poetic about Allison's freaking eyelashes. The least you can do is be supportive of my mission to actually get laid before the end of the Mayan calendar."

"What are you talking about?" Scott frowns. "Anyway, no offense, but Derek is my alpha. I don't need to think about you and him... you know. Really."

"If that's the case, then you should get going, because we're probably going to do it on every surface in the house when he gets here." Stiles pauses. "Okay, everywhere but the kitchen table. My dad eats his breakfast there, you know?"

"Okay, okay! I've heard enough; I'm going." Scott gets up and heads for the door, pausing as he leaves. "I'll see you tomorrow, okay? You can tell me all about anything that doesn't involve Derek."

"You're a real friend, Scott." Stiles grins. "Now get out of here."


It’s a quarter past eight, and Derek still isn't there. Stiles checks for his phone; maybe Derek is running late. It’s not in his pocket, so he runs upstairs, hoping it’s in his room somewhere. What he finds, though, is Derek standing by his bookshelf reading the book titles.

"You're here."

"I was here ten minutes ago, but then, so was Scott."

"Oh. I'm guessing you heard everything?"

"Yup. And I admire your determination, but it’s not gonna happen tonight."

"God, you are the worst boyfriend ever." Stiles sits on the edge of his bed and flops down, throwing an arm over his eyes. Stiles feels the bed dip as Derek lies down next to him.

"That doesn't mean we can't do anything," Derek says quietly, nudging Stiles with his elbow. "I missed you."

"It's only been, like, a day since you saw me, dude."

"But still," Derek argues, "I don't like being away from you. Especially when I know you're mad at me."

Stiles raises an eyebrow in surprise and turns to look at him.

"Really? I didn't think it mattered all that much to you."

"Of course it does, idiot." Derek sighs, annoyed. "You're mine," he mumbles.

Stiles tilts his head back to give Derek more room to nuzzle his neck.

"I'm not mad at you," Stiles whispers as Derek begins to kiss his neck. "I'm just frustrated." Derek looks up and laughs.

"Yeah, me too,” he says, pointing to the thick bulge in his pants.

Stiles' eyes track down and he swallows once, because it never stops surprising him that he can affect Derek like that.

"I can help you out with that," he says, laughing a little and tugging at the hem of Derek's shirt. Derek smiles and lets him pull it up and off, and Stiles realizes that this is it. This is his opportunity to carry out his definitely-genius-but-possibly-suicidal plan. He takes a deep breath, willing himself to calm down, and pushes Derek onto his back before leaning in to kiss him.

Stiles kisses Derek softly but doesn't linger on his lips. Instead, he works his way down, peppering kisses down Derek's neck, his collarbone, his chest, his abs that are almost unreal, until he reaches Derek's pants.

"Can I?" he whispers.

Derek's eyes are turning red, but it doesn't scare Stiles. It only makes Stiles want more, makes him pray that Derek says yes. Derek doesn't answer him right away, though, just slides his hand into Stiles' hair and watches him. He smiles slightly, just a hint of teeth, and nods. Stiles lets out the breath he was holding and goes to work on Derek's pants, undoing the button and dragging the zipper down until he can see where Derek's dick is pushing out against his underwear.

He can feel his breath getting quicker, because they've gotten each other off before, but never like this. What if he's terrible at it?

"Stiles," Derek rumbles, slipping his hand down to stroke over Stiles' jaw. “It's okay. Whatever you do, it's okay." Stiles pushes into his hand and shuts his eyes, nodding. He reaches out, peels away Derek's underwear. Derek's cock is hard, flushed and pink, and any reservations Stiles had fly out the window. The tip is wet with precome, and Stiles wants to taste it. He presses his lips to the head and works his tongue against the slit.

Derek makes a noise that sounds like he's trying to swallow down a growl, and that's not going to work for Stiles at all. The whole problem here is that Derek has been trying to keep his wolf tucked away and separate from this thing they have, which is stupid, because it's part of Derek. It's who he is. Stiles figures he just needs to try a little harder, and he slides his mouth down until Derek's cock is almost in his throat. So maybe he practiced a little bit on his own - he's a teenage boy with a crazy hot boyfriend, and anyone would have done the same thing in his place.

Stiles looks up. Derek has his head thrown back, his fists are clenching the sheets on Stiles’ bed. Stiles wants to smile, but it’s kind of hard with a dick in his mouth, so he settles for humming his approval. This time Derek can't hold back.

He whines, honest-to-god whines, and jerks his head up to look at Stiles, eyes blazing red and mouth slack and open. When he sees Stiles watching him, he growls again, and his hand comes back up to curve around the nape of Stiles' neck, coaxing him back down. No way is Stiles going to ignore an invitation like that.

Stiles can feel Derek's muscles clenching under his hands. He bobs his head up and down just a little to let Derek know that it’s okay, that he can fuck Stiles’ mouth. Soon enough Derek is moving his hips and Stiles moans from the feel of it.

He darts his eyes up to see Derek watching his mouth intently, his free hand digging into the headboard with sharp claws. He groans again, a hand slipping down to provide some relief for his own aching dick, and Derek bucks up into his mouth. It's almost, almost too much, but he takes it all, flushing at the messy picture he knows he must make.

Derek moves to push Stiles off, which means he must be close. Stiles doesn't want that, he wants to taste Derek, so instead he takes him as deep as he can and fuck, Derek is coming. Stiles pulls back, trying to get the taste of it on his tongue before he swallows it down.

He pulls off once Derek's finished, smiles at the way he shivers when Stiles drops a kiss to his hip, where the skin is a little paler and almost delicate.

"I'm yours, right?" Stiles asks, voice a little muffled. When Derek nods, dazed, Stiles huffs. "Tell me," he says.

"You're mine," Derek scrapes out, petting a hand over Stiles' hair.

"Good," Stiles murmurs. "Because you're mine, too." Derek makes a soft, questioning noise, and Stiles won't have a better opportunity to do this. He kisses the same spot again, a little firmer, sucking at the skin and testing his limits. When Derek just moans quietly, Stiles forgets why he was even nervous.

"Mine," he whispers, and he sinks his teeth into the skin over Derek's hip. Derek makes a surprised noise, jerking away briefly before he seems to figure out what's happening, and then he's pressing up into Stiles' blunt, human teeth with a whimper and that is it. Stiles ruts his own hips down into the mattress once, and then again, and then he's coming, sucking a dark purple bruise into Derek's hip as he does and hoping wildly that he survives this. If he doesn't, though... it was totally worth it. While Stiles is trying to regain his breath, Derek reaches down, grabs his shirt and pulls him up so they're at eye level.

"I know what you’re trying to do." Stiles has no clue what Derek is even thinking. His face is neutral.

"Did it work?" He asks, and Derek takes a deep breath.


Stiles ducks his head and grins into Derek's shoulder.

"I get that you're not ready to claim me yet," he says, "and that's fine. But I wanted to make sure you don't have any doubts about my intentions."

"I was already yours, you know," Derek says, a little exasperated.

"Doesn't mean I don't like to see a little evidence," Stiles says thoughtfully, dragging a hand down to rub his thumb over the mark.

"That'll fade in a day or two," Derek warns him, hips shifting into Stiles' touch.

"Then I guess I'll have to keep freshening it up."

Derek laughs and pulls him closer. Stiles settles in, starting to drift to sleep, when suddenly he bolts straight up.

“Does this mean I can boss Jackson around now?”