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Derek and Stiles, sitting in a tree…house.

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The Mall

Stiles is pretty confident in saying that his life is ordinarily set firmly in the movie genre of ‘thriller’.

He’s a self-proclaimed badass FBI agent and his life is generally freaking awesome, if he does say so himself.

Except tonight apparently his life isn’t a thriller.

No Sir, it is not, because tonight he’s found himself costarring in a quirky new romcom slash creature feature, with none other than Derek Sasspants Hale.

One minute he’s standing in the middle of Beacon Hills’ main shopping Mall wielding a giant, magical, medieval axe, covered pretty much from the waist down in neon green goop, laughing hysterically in abundant relief as the giant body of the latest monster of the week hits the ground with a wet schlop and the next minute, well… The next minute, Derek is grabbing hold of him roughly by his collar and kissing him frantically in a somewhat berating manner.

Stiles didn’t even know you could kiss someone in a berating manner, but Derek’s managing it. Boy is he managing it. It feels like Derek’s telling him off, but he’s doing it with his tongue and it’s awesome.

Derek shoves him away just as quickly as he’d pounced on him, which Stiles thinks is a giant fucking tragedy frankly because he didn’t even get a chance to kiss him back, not even a little bit.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles exhales breathily, eyes wide in shock, fingers coming up to touch his tingling mouth in a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

He quickly pulls his hand away from his lips because he realises he’s still covered in green goop and he has no desire to taste it, if the stench is anything to go by.

Never in his wildest dreams - Ok... sometimes in his wildest dreams... Ok! Frequently in his regular dreams - would Derek ever be kissing him period, let alone at midnight in the middle of the mall just after they’d violently offed a slime monster.

Derek’s breathing hard and he’s got his fingers clenched tightly into fists at his sides, blood running merrily down one arm from a deep gash near his elbow and his nostrils are flaring wildly, eyes blazing ruby red, backlit by the moon shining through the glass roof.

He’s such a goddamned stereotype.

Stiles gulps and he takes a tentative step toward him, to do god knows what. Maybe kiss him back or something else equally as insane, but Derek steps back as he approaches and Stiles flinches.

Derek suddenly looks like he’s swallowed something rotten, which is actually potentially accurate judging by the smell coming from the prone body of the slime monster; Derek had gotten a few good wolfy chomps into the thing’s flesh before Stiles had intervened and lopped its head right off, just as it had been about to rip Derek’s arm out of its socket.

“I had it,” Derek snarls, voice low and dangerous. “You shouldn’t have...”

Stiles’ feels himself flush in righteous indignation.

“Oh here we go. Yeah, looked like you had it,” Stiles shrugs and tilts his head up defiantly. “How’s that wonky arm working out for you then?”

Derek snarls and stalks threateningly toward him, backing him up until Stiles’ back hits a hot dog stand and he oomphs, breath knocked out of him.

Derek leans in close and Stiles swallows, steeling his gaze.

“Fuck you Derek Hale,” Stiles tells him, refusing to look away from Derek’s eyes. “I thought we were past this macho ‘I’m the Alpha now’ bullshit. You need me as much as I need you bucko.”

Derek’s brow furrows and his chest heaves as he visibly tries to contain his rage but not once does he touch Stiles, unfortunately.

Instead, his gaze tracks down to Stiles’ mouth and Stiles feels super hot and bothered now, but for an entirely different reason other than his simmering anger.

“You kissed me you fucking asshat!” Stiles tells him.

He kind of feels better having said it out loud.

He feels like he needs Derek to acknowledge that it even happened, that it wasn’t just in his head.

“Adrenaline,” Derek grunts and he averts his eyes, apparently finding the nearby indoor fountain suddenly fascinating.

“Absolute bullshit,” Stiles declares cheerily.

“Stop putting yourself in danger,” Derek growls and pokes him in the chest.

“Right back atcha big fella,” Stiles says and pokes him right back. His finger bends painfully, against all that stupid muscle.

“I’m being serious Stiles. I heal. You don’t,” Derek runs a hand through his own hair frustratedly.

“Don’t I know it,” Stiles absently rubs at his left shoulder at the reminder, the barely mended flesh of his recently sustained but mostly healed bullet wound itching under his fingers.

Derek’s face goes dark as he watches him rub over the area and he steps out of Stiles’ space.

“You’re meant to be back here to take some time off to heal up. Not to get yourself killed,” Derek’s voice is cold now, shut down. “I’m meant to keep you... we’re all supposed to be keeping you safe.”

Stiles sighs and he rolls his eyes and he pisses himself off even more, because eye rolling is supposed to be Derek’s thing, not his. Bone dry sarcasm is his thing. Fuck Derek, throwing him all out of sync with the random surprise kissing.

“You’ve changed a lot,” Stiles tells him thoughtfully.

Derek’s gaze drags over him and it’s slow, so painfully, blood sizzlingly slow, in the very best way, but then he turns abruptly away and heads for his car without so much as a backwards glance.

Stiles hears a barely there mumble from him as he walks away, just loud enough for him to catch it.

“So have you.”

What the hell is he supposed to do with that?


Just keep swimming

“Scott! What the hell is Derek doing here?” Stiles hisses at his best friend, his inflatable pizza slice wobbling precariously from the speed at which he’d sat up at hearing Derek’s voice talking to Lydia by the backyard gate, as he floats around in Lydia's pool.

“I invited him,” Scott stage whispers from his neighbouring floating unicorn, kicking his hanging leg in the water to steer himself closer to Stiles.

Stiles lays back down as Derek walks into the yard and joins Lydia by the grill, his heart thumping and he re-adjusts his sunglasses while trying to find his centre of balance.

Why did you invite him?” Stiles says through his gritted teeth, reaching out and grabbing the unicorn’s tail to pull Scott closer and taking a hopefully casual looking sip of his beer. “I thought it was just going to be the three of us.”

“I thought I was doing you a favour. Cos of you know, what happened the other week at the mall...” Scott makes exaggerated kissy faces at Stiles and grins crookedly.

“Ohmygod,” Stiles exclaims with a groan. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you about that. You’re the worst best friend ever. Oh holy shit, shut up now, he’s coming over. Be cool.”

“It’s the hottest day of the year,” Scott offers.

“I didn’t mean literally you dork. I meant… ohhhhh hey Derek, what’s up. With you, what’s up witchoo, Derek magoo?” Stiles peers over the tips of his sunglasses and he looks up to greet Derek, who’s now standing by the side of the pool in just swim shorts.

Oh holy mother of god.

It’s a genuine fight to keep his eyes on Derek’s face and not his firm torso, his dark happy trail, his strong hairy thighs, his bulging...

“Gross,” Scott snorts loudly, so Stiles kicks the unicorn violently away and Scott floats off into the distance (Well, the other side of the pool anyway) seemingly unbothered.

“You know I could hear everything you were saying from the minute I got out of my car right?” Derek frowns down at him, hands perched on his defined hips.

Fuck Stiles’ life.

“You should work on that. Stalker,” Stiles closes his eyes and he lays back, deciding that ignoring Derek entirely will be the best course of action here. If he looks at the dude’s abs any longer he’ll probably go blind anyway.

He floats tensely for a minute with his eyes closed and rightly so, because he finds himself knocked right off his pizza slice as Derek dives into the pool and he comes up spluttering with his sunglasses askew and hanging off one ear.

He watches his beer float away with dismay.

“You’re such an asshole,” Stiles splutters but Derek’s too busy grinning triumphantly from where he’s now perched atop Stiles’ pizza slice and Stiles realises in that moment that he will never not want to argue with his stupid face.

It’s a sobering thought.

He’s not doing this, not when Derek kissed him and acted like a dick about it. He doesn’t get to be all flirty and playful and then walk away when he changes his mind.

“You know what Derek,” Stiles bites out. “You enjoy yourself.”

He swims to the pool steps passing Scott and he gets out of the pool, chances a glance back and he’s surprised to see what appears to be a flash of disappointment on Derek’s face.

He’s already decided that he’s not dealing with him today, so it’s irrelevant.

He came over to have a few chilled beers and some BBQ food with his two best friends and he’s not got room for guy drama, especially if that guy is Derek. He’s meant to be taking a break from work (forced break, but whatevs) and relaxing while he recuperates, so that’s exactly what he plans to do.

Scott gets out of the pool after him and he makes his way over to the grill to light it as Stiles takes up residence on a sun lounger on the grass.

As he unfolds his towel and dries his hair off roughly, he watches as Scott and Lydia make their way inside, presumably to start to fetch and prep the food.

He’d help, but Lydia had strictly informed him on arrival he was supposed to be relaxing.

He feels totally fine but Lydia’s not buying it and it’s easier not to argue with her.

He flops down on his front on the towel and wriggles around to yank his swim shorts as low as they can go on his hips and he rolls the bottom of them up his thighs as far as they’ll go, so he can make the most of the sun.

He settles with his cheek pillowed on his hands and he tries to relax but he can see Derek now doing lengths in the pool from the corner of his eye and he can’t help but watch him.

He turns his head to the other side and it’s long moments but eventually he starts to doze, sun beating down on him and warming his skin.

Just as he’s dropping off the conscious plane he feels a cold, firm finger poke at the bottom of his foot.

“Go away Scott. Wake me up when the food is done,” Stiles mumbles, kicking out.

“Your back is burning,” Derek replies, voice unhappy.

To Stiles’ credit he doesn’t react.

He hears springs creak as Derek sits on the spare lounger next to him.

“It puts the lotion on it’s skin when it gots here,” Stiles doesn’t open his eyes.

“Yes, but you’ve been in the pool since,” Derek grits out.

“What are you, the suncream police?” Stiles huffs.

“Fine. Get skin cancer and leave your dad all alone then,” Derek says flatly.

“Oh my god, you’re such a buzzkill. Fine. Hand me my bag,” Stiles goes to sit up but he lets out a little surprised ooof when Derek places a hand on his lower back and pushes him back down.

“I’ve got it,” Derek offers quietly but it sort of sounds like a question.

Stiles is weak.

Weak and sleepy and full of sun induced endorphins, which is the only reason he can think of for why the next words comes out of his mouth.

“Yeah ok. Have at it,” he’s not proud that he sounds kind of breathless.

The Derek Hale effect.

He tries not to mourn the loss of Derek’s hand when he removes it from his lower back to rustle around in Stiles’ bag.

Derek squirts sun lotion straight on his back without preamble and Stiles shudders.

“Asshole, that’s cold!” he says.

Then he can’t really think or say anything else because Derek leans over him and starts massaging the cool, white cream into his skin.

He says massaging because there is nothing practical or efficient about the way that Derek starts digging his fingers into the tight muscles of Stiles’ shoulders, working the same areas over and over with his large, strong hands.

Derek’s hands linger around Stiles’ scar on the back of his left shoulder, the bullet exit wound tissue newly healed and uneven compared to the rest of his skin, something that Stiles is a little self conscious about. Derek seems to know somehow because his fingers are gentler there. He strokes over it softly with one finger, an additional two times compared to his other shoulder and Stiles hides his smile into his arm.

When Derek moves down his back, that’s where Stiles’ problems really start.

Derek sweeps his hands slowly down his sides and Stiles squirms, ticklish. Then he sweeps back into the middle, thumbs working the flesh just above his swim shorts and Stiles lets out an involuntary groan of pleasure because it just feels so fucking good.

He nearly bites through his lip trying to keep it in but it definitely doesn’t work, so he settles for burying his now burning face into his forearms, hands clenched.

“You’re really tense,” Derek comments, voice lower that Stiles has ever heard it.

“I’m getting a fucking back massage from an Alpha Werewolf, what do you expect?” Stiles retorts, voice muffled, but it lacks any bite.

Derek honest to god chuckles and he lets him go and Stiles thinks that’s a crying shame, except then Derek’s squirting cream onto the backs of his thighs.

“That’s not why you’re tense,” Derek says right behind his ear, breath ticking his skin.

Stiles honest to god whimpers at the feel of the cream hitting the warm skin at the top of his thighs and he can’t help but make comparisons with the heat of Derek leaning over his back like this.

Filthy, filthy comparisons.

He’s going to fucking die here, after all the shit he’s been through, he’s going to die pressing his boner into Lydia's sun lounger.

Derek starts to massage him again, except this time it’s easy to relax into his touch because he seems to have gone boneless (except for his dick-ha) and Derek’s hands work him over, fingers and thumbs pressing into the backs of his thighs, then moving down to his ankles.

Derek sweeps over his lower legs much more quickly and that’s Stiles’ first clue that maybe Derek’s motives in this aren’t entirely pure because when he moves back to his upper thighs on a long upward sweep, this time his finger tips graze up under where Stiles has rolled up his swim shorts.

He expects Derek to pull back just as quickly but his fingers just push up under the material, rubbing along the line of where Stiles’ ass cheeks meet the tops of his thighs and Derek lets out this little groan, all vibration and slightly dangerous and Stiles is just done.

“Holy fuck,” Stiles whimpers, unable to keep up the charade much longer.

He’s about to roll over and just outright beg for Derek to fuck him right there when Derek all of a sudden jerks away from him.

Stiles props up on his arm in disbelief to look at Derek, where he’s now laying on his front, eyes closed on the other sun lounger, picture of innocence.

Stiles is about to chew him out when he hears Lydia and Scott slide back the patio doors to the kitchen and emerge with heaped plates of food.

Stiles flops back down with a sigh, then winces as he tries to subtly adjust himself in his swim shorts. He looks over when he’s done and Derek’s watching him, eyes red.

Stiles swallows roughly.

“Happy now? I don’t think I’ll be getting sunburnt. Anyplace on my body,” Stiles grumbles.

Derek smirks and his teeth are a little more sharp than usual, Stiles notes with some satisfaction.

“There’s always your front,” Derek shrugs and he leans over and steals his sunglasses.

“You’re still an ass,” Stiles wraps his towel around his waist, praying his dick will go down before he has to go eat.

“Yeah. I know. But so are you,” Derek points out.

He’s not wrong.

Stiles hits a low point when he’s forced to jerk off in Lydia’s bathroom while the food is grilling.

The shit eating grin on Derek’s face when he comes back, cheeks ruddy, suggests Derek knows exactly where he’s been.


Living la Vida loca


“THIS PLACE IS FREAKING INSANE!” Stiles shouts over the pulsing music, leaning in close so that Danny can hear him.

“I KNOW RIGHT!” Danny shouts back, clinking his beer against Stiles’.

Danny manoeuvres them away from the speakers and off the dance floor a little, where they can talk better over the music.

Stiles gets lost in the rhythm, or lack of it in his case, and he’s surprised to realise he’s actually having fun.

Stiles has got to admit that his friends are doing an awesome job of keeping him entertained on his little recuperation/vacation.

Danny had called him to see if he wanted to go out clubbing just as he was about to give in and go and see Derek. It was probably for the best, Stiles nods to himself and drains his beer, throwing his head back.

Yeah it’s a sign. He and Derek are not meant to be.

He mimes getting a drink to Danny, heads off to the bar, motions to the bartender for two more beers and dances his way back to him all within a minute. This place really is awesome.

But now he’s started thinking about Derek, which was the exact thing he’d been trying not to do.

He hasn’t heard shit from Derek and it’s been three days since the pool incident. It’s really pissing him off.

When he thought his stupid Derek feelings were one sided it was easy to bury them down. But knowing Derek wants him too but he’s just to emotionally constipated to do anything real about it, now that shit is really getting to him.

He’s been tempted so many times this week to push him into having that conversation but he won’t do that to him. Derek’s had so many choices taken away from him, Stiles vows not to be another, so he’s leaving it up to him.

But he doesn’t have to run around after him like a little lapdog either, begging for his attention, so it’s a nothing lost nothing gained situation. Except for the fact that every second he’s not around Derek he’s wondering what he’s doing and missing him. He’s a mess.

“Hey cutie,” a tall, blond guy with biceps the size of Stiles’ thighs approaches them, tight jeans straining against his muscly legs.

Stiles’ brain supplies the irrelevant information that the dude isn’t his type, too smiley, not enough angry eyebrow going on.

“Hi yourself,” Danny smiles easily, dancing up into the guy’s space.

“Oh sorry! I meant your friend there,” the dude says over the music, pointing, and Stiles promptly chokes on his beer.

“Me?!” Stiles doesn’t mean to sound so shocked, but alas.

Sure, he gets hit on plenty, by girls and guys alike but never when it’s a choice between him and Danny. Hell he would pick Danny over himself.

Danny just looks amused and he steps back, palms up in defeat and he kisses Stiles on the cheek and dances off toward a hopeful looking emo guy in a black, fishnet vest with a nipple piercing, and if that’s not the most stereotypical thing Stiles has ever seen he doesn’t know what is.

“Thighs for arms” eyes Stiles up appreciatively and Stiles feels... nothing. He feels nothing. Not uncomfortable, not nice, not appreciated, not anything.

Goddamned Derek.

“So, can I buy you a drink then?” The guy leans in to talk into his ear.

“I’ve just grabbed one,” Stiles shrugs, holding up his beer and taking a little step back just to keep his own personal space.

Despite his tactile nature, he’s not great with strangers getting all up in his grill.

“Cool,” new guy says, undeterred. “Do you want to dance then? My name’s Ricky.”

Stiles glances around, not really entirely sure what he’s looking for. He sees Danny already back on the main dance floor with fishnet vest, apparently on a mission to find the guy’s tonsils with his tongue and Stiles can’t help but chuckle.

Danny had warned him that they were going out to have a good time, let loose a little, probably try to get some. Stiles owes himself this and blond dude looks like he might know how to dance. Maybe.

“I’m Stiles. Sure Ricky. Let’s dance,” Stiles shrugs, gesturing with his hand for the guy to lead the way.

Ricky grins, grabs his hand and steers them back toward the dance floor and he wastes no time diving straight into a series of dance moves that would put Lady Gaga to shame.

Somewhere during the second song, Danny taps him on the shoulder, lips swollen and pink and offers him a tequila shot in a test tube and Stiles throws it back, then Danny gives him another and Stiles starts to feel a little more relaxed.

Danny and fishnet join him and Ricky and the second the DJ starts blasting a sped up medley of Beyoncé songs, it turns into some sort of dance off between the four of them and it’s ridiculous, freeing and funny.

Stiles finds himself having a great time, trying and failing spectacularly to keep up with Danny and Ricky and before long he’s sweaty and flushed. He notices Ricky’s a lot closer to him than when they’d started dancing originally.

Stiles spins around and smacks straight into Ricky’s chest, the big guy’s arms going around his waist and he tenses a little.

Ricky lets him go immediately, hands up in defence, easy grin on his face.

“Hey it’s cool,” Ricky shouts. “You got a boyfriend or something?”

Stiles grimaces involuntarily. He really fucking doesn’t and isn’t that the hard truth of it.

“No,” Stiles shakes his head.

“Just not into me then?” Ricky’s still not lost his easy smile.

Stiles could be. Maybe. Ricky is clearly the fun loving type. Maybe he’s not what Stiles would usually go for but maybe Ricky is exactly what he needs right now.

Stiles dances in close and he grips Ricky by the collar, ignoring Danny’s look of triumph out of his peripheral and he closes his eyes and lands one, right on Ricky’s lips.

“Let’s go outside,” Stiles shouts into his ear and doesn’t wait, just turns and heads for the fire exit, feeling Ricky’s strangely comforting bulk following him.

When they get into the alleyway, Ricky presses him up against the wall and kisses him and this time, he gets his tongue in Stiles’ mouth. Stiles tries, he really does.

Ricky’s not a bad kisser, it’s just that Stiles is elsewhere, with someone else.

Stiles thumps his head back onto the cool brick with a frustrated groan and Ricky pulls his head back.

“Still not feeling it huh?” Ricky chuckles, not at all annoyed.

“God, I’m so sorry. It’s really not you,” Stiles mumbles and he plants his forehead onto Ricky’s shoulder. The tequila is kicking in, in a major way.

“Hey, honestly it’s cool. I didn’t think you looked much like the hookup type anyway to be honest but you were just real cute, so I thought I’d try my luck. You want me to walk you home or something?” Ricky offers.

“Nah, I better go back and find Danny,” Stiles sighs. “Man, you’re so cool and nice. Where were you when I was in high school?”

“Probably in the closet,” Ricky says, deadly seriously and Stiles cracks up laughing, Ricky along with him, until Stiles sways on his feet. Ricky pulls him in, arm tucked tight around his waist.“Come on Bambi, I’ll take you back to find your friend.”

Then Stiles hears the growl, familiar and furious.

“Oh shiitake mushrooms,” Stiles groans, turning around. “Heeeeey Derek. Isn’t it a little past your bedtime?”

Derek looks as pissed as Stiles has ever seen him and it kind of gives him a little bit of satisfaction, so he snuggles closer to Ricky. Derek bares his teeth at them, thankfully still human and his nostrils flare wildly.

“You’re drunk,” Derek accuses him flatly.

You’re drunk,” Stiles tells Derek nonsensically.

“This is the ‘not boyfriend’ I’m guessing?” Ricky looks down at Stiles, eyebrow cocked.

Derek full on snarls at that and for the first time in forever, Stiles starts to worry he might lose control of the shift.

“Ah, hell. Ricky just ignore him, he’s just one of my dad’s Deputies,” Stiles says and he tries not to wince at the look of hurt that flashes on Derek’s face.

Ricky lets him go at that and Stiles stumbles a little.

Derek moves toward him but Stiles holds up a hand to stop him and balances himself against the wall instead.

“I was taking him back to his friend Officer,” Ricky offers, sounding unsure now.

“Right, of course you were,” Derek growls.

“This is such an abuse of power,” Stiles admonishes. “God, I love tequila, I feel fucking great.”

Danny takes that moment to come stumbling into the alley through the exit, mouth firmly attached to fishnet again and he freezes when he sees them all standing there.

“Ah,” he says knowingly, looking between Ricky, Derek and Stiles, eyes finally landing back on Derek to greet him with an eyebrow waggle, “Hey Miguel.”

Derek nods amicably at Danny. Everyone loves Danny.

Danny pulls back from Fishnet with a grin and he winks at Ricky.

“Ricky wasn’t it? Me and Garth here are going back to his place. You wanna come party with us? You’re not getting between this,” Danny waves a hand between the space between Derek and Stiles. “Trust me on this one. I’ll try not to be offended that you picked Stiles first. Garth?”

“I’ve got a spare couch and a karaoke machine,” Garth shrugs easily.

“Of course you do,” Stiles thumps his forehead onto the cool wall.

“Well... I suppose I could come with... Stiles, you really sure you don’t want to come?” Ricky, god bless him, isn’t giving up.

Derek looks like someone threw his favourite book in the garbage, face pinched, silently fuming.

Stiles sighs.

“Yeah man, I’m good here. Thanks for the offer. You guys have fun. You’re in good hands with Danny. Danny, call me tomorrow though yeah?” Stiles says, rubbing his temples, headache kicking in.

Danny links arms with Gary and Ricky and Stiles waits until it’s just him and Derek left in the alley.

Derek sags a little, shoulders hunched, as if bracing himself for Stiles to give him hell.

Stiles steels himself and wobbles up to him, looking him straight in the eye.

Derek hangs his head breaking eye contact, lips pursed together, hands shoved in his pockets.

“I want fried chicken from the drive through. And two lots of curly fries,” Stiles demands. “And a jumbo slushy. Mixed.”

Derek looks up at him eyes wide in surprise but he recovers well. His mouth quirks up in a little, barely there, relieved smile.

“Ok,” Derek nods quickly. “I can do that.”

“Then you can take me home to my dad’s house,” Stiles adds.

“That’s fine,” Derek agrees easily.

“You can also give me a piggy back, all the way to wherever your car is parked,” Stiles pushes his luck.

“I didn’t go home for my car. I changed clothes at the station. I came over here straight from work and left the cruiser with your dad,” Derek shrugs, then he honest to god blushes.

Why?” Stiles cocks a confused eyebrow.

“Scott may have text Parrish and said you and Danny were out trying to get laid or something,” Derek mutters.

“So what?” Stiles says, wondering when Derek’s going to get to the point, if ever.

“So. I came.” Derek grits his teeth.

“So.... you came. Here. Because you thought I was out trying to get laid?” Stiles says slowly, realisation dawning.

“Yes,” Derek looks him dead in the eye, face red and teeth sharp and honestly, Stiles thinks he’s never looked so beautiful.

“Oh,” Stiles feels a warmth in his gut that has nothing to do with the tequila.

“Yeah. Oh,” Derek rumbles and Stiles licks his lips nervously.

Derek turns around and Stiles thinks he’s about to just leave him there to think on that, like the asshole he is, except Derek bends his knees a little and holds his arms out.

“Get on then,” Derek demands.

“Are you joking?” Stiles asks incredulously.

“You’ve got three seconds to get on, or I’m going to change my mOOMPH....” Derek stumbles forward when Stiles jumps up on him, arms thrown around Derek’s neck, but he doesn’t drop him to his credit. He just wraps large, strong hands around Stiles’ legs and hoists him further up his back, so Stiles is straddling his hips.

“To the Chicken Shack. Mush Balto,” Stiles spurs Derek on with his heels as best he can.

“I hate you,” Derek grumbles but he starts walking regardless.

“No, you don’t,” Stiles says cheerily.

Derek doesn’t reply to that but he does carry him all the way to get his fried chicken as promised.

To Stiles’ glee, he actually walks them through the drive through that way and Derek has to flash his Deputy badge to get served when they try to refuse them, you know, due to the lack of a vehicle.

Derek lets him eat his chicken, then carries him all the way home to his dads, including up the stairs.

When Derek dumps him on the bed, Stiles already nearly asleep (leave him be, it’s been an emotional couple of weeks and he’s full of tequila and chicken), Stiles feels Derek drag his sneakers off and throw the duvet over him.

He feels compelled to say something before Derek leaves and they go back to pretending that none of this, whatever this is, is real.

He sits up sleepily as Derek’s got one leg over his window frame.

“Der,” Stiles says on a yawn.

“Mmm?” Derek says, pausing.

“I was never going to do anything with Ricky. Whether you showed up or not. I know what it looked like but... I’d already told him I wasn’t into it, because of... well. You know,” Stiles offers softly into the dark and he flops back down into his pillow.

“Yeah. I know,” Derek says quietly back and Stiles might be imagining it because his eyes are already closed again but he thinks Derek sounds kind of pleased.

He knows he doesn’t imagine Derek’s footsteps coming back toward him and the press of Derek’s warm lips on his forehead but he’s too tired to do anything but grin into his pillow as his window closes.

He dreams that he and Derek enter a dance competition and they win because they do a stunning, gyrating, homoerotic masterpiece of movement to “When she bangs” by Ricky Martin.

Stiles thinks it’s a sign.


C'est la vie.

“Holy mother fucking shit balls,” Stiles shrieks, running full pelt through the preserve, half moon barely lighting the way enough to see a metre in front of him.

A stray, thin branch thwacks him in the face and with a yelp he stumbles over a thick tree root and he just manages to get his hands up to brace his inevitable tumble to the floor when a hand grips the back of his t-shirt and yanks him back upright.

“Don’t fall over idiot. Go! Stiles, move,” Derek growls and nudges him to keep running.

“Oh yeah, because I totally meant to fall on my face Der, didn’t I?” Stiles gripes but he does put on a burst of speed that even leaves Derek behind for a second.

A deep, super loud, grunting, howling snort noise from somewhere behind them spurs Stiles on even faster and he just about dares to let himself hope they’re going to outrun whatever the fuck this thing is when a matching, similar, but definitely not the same grunt snort sounds from up ahead.

At least two then.

Derek grabs him and stops them dead, both of them panting. Derek cocks his head, hand still clasped around Stiles’ wrist and he cocks his head.

Both creatures call out at the same time, boxing them in and Derek’s eyes go wide and he nods.

He drags Stiles off the path, treading more carefully this time but still making haste and Stiles tries to follow as silently as he can, which is to say, not very, because he’s you know, himself.

Derek pushes thick branches and brambles out of the way and Stiles winces because they must be tearing his bare arms to shreds.

Derek points toward a clearing and Stiles nods, not knowing how making them open targets is going to help anything but he trusts Derek, so he follows.

They get to the tree line and Derek stops and puts a finger to his lips, pointing upward.

Stiles looks up and his mouth drops open in surprise.

It’s a mother fucking tree house. Of all things. Covered by the canopy of the trees but Stiles can just make out the bottom of it.

Derek jerks his head upward expectantly and Stiles shoots him a glare. It doesn’t even have a freaking ladder, what does Derek want him to do, climb the tree.

Derek shoves him. Of course. Derek wants him to climb the tree.

With a huff he gets a foot up on a big knot and grabs a higher branch, hoisting himself up.

He climbs again, then again because this shit is high as hell.

He makes the mistake of looking down and he must be up about twenty metres at least. His newly healed shoulder is protesting at the work out but the sight that greets him below makes him go cold.

Derek’s crouched at the bottom of the tree, standing stock still, facing the forest and Stiles just knows whatever it was that was chasing them is there. The idiot is guarding Stiles as he climbs.

“Derek come on!” Stiles hisses.

Stiles reaches up and he pushes on a little door, dust and dead leaves falling on his face.

He loses his grip on his handhold, wood a little rotten and he yelps loudly and that’s what seems to break Derek’s concentration.

Derek turns around fast and gets a foot up on the tree. He makes it halfway up before Stiles hears snapping and snarling at the base. That was close.

Stiles hauls himself up through the door just in time to offer a hand down to Derek, who surprisingly takes it.

Stiles yanks him up, putting his weight into it but it pulls on his bad shoulder and he falls back on his ass with a grunt, pulling Derek with him.

Derek slams the door shut and sits on it, just for good measure.

Stiles rubs at his shoulder.

“Well shit,” Stiles breathes. “So they were actually Minotaurs right? I haven’t finally gone insane? They can’t climb right?!”

“You’re not insane,” Derek rubs his hands over his bloody face, cuts from the branches already healed. “Unless I am too. And no… they won’t be able to climb up here.”

“You’ve got... more. Everywhere,” Stiles gestures his good arm at Derek’s face to indicate he’s missed a spot or ten.

Derek rolls his eyes and to Stiles immense pleasure and great dismay he yanks up the bottom of his T-shirt and wipes his face, leaving Stiles to just talk to his abs.

“What is my life,” Stiles groans.

Derek drops his shirt.

“Same as mine by the looks of it,” Derek frowns. “Sorry about this.”

“What? Why are you sorry?” Stiles asks him with a frown.

“I shouldn’t have asked you to help me tonight,” Derek shrugs.

“Well you’re lucky you did. I hit that first one with the mountain ash and that’s the only reason we got as far as we did,” Stiles points out.

“Yeah. True,” Derek nods.

“Are they still below us?” Stiles asks.

“Yeah. We’ll give it ten and I’ll howl for back up if they don’t leave,” Derek offers.

“I’ve just text Scott and he’s bringing Argent,” Stiles holds up his phone, eyebrows raised.

“Oh. Yeah, that works too,” Derek shrugs.

“Hey. We were lucky this old thing was here,” Stiles looks around him. “How did you know where to go?”

Derek shifts his weight a little and the old wood groans dangerously.

“Yeah maybe don’t move too much,” Stiles says with a grimace.

“It won’t collapse,” Derek offers.

“How would you know?” Stiles shuffles on his butt a little closer to Derek for good measure.

If the thing does fall out of the tree or the wood goes through, maybe he can land on Derek and save a few broken bones.

Derek points at one of the walls.

“What?” Stiles follows his finger.

“It won’t fall,” Derek says softly. “It was built to last.”

Stiles’ face goes slack with realisation as he reads the words etched into the wood by the little window frame.

Laura Hale
Derek Hale
Cora Hale

“Oh,” he says, a little stunned and he turns around to face Derek, who’s reached over to open a little, rusted box hidden in the corner.

Derek takes out some matches and a half burned candle and it gives off a dim flame meaning that Stiles can just about make out his silhouette in the semi-darkness.

“Yeah. Oh,” Derek says, voice still quiet, head dipped.

“This... this place is amazing,” Stiles huffs and he means it, now that he can see a little.

Aside from the creaking, he can see how this would have been a great hideaway for the Hale kids and he gets the impression that Derek would have had tons of fun here with his sisters.

“Yeah?” Derek looks up at him and when Derek’s crazy coloured eyes meet Stiles’ his heart thumps hard in his chest and his mouth goes dry.

He’d better get that looked at.

“Is your shoulder doing alright?” Derek points at it.

“Huh?” Stiles says dumbly, still a little lost in Derek’s gaze.

“Is. Your. Arm. Alright,” Derek repeats slowly, like Stiles might have a head injury or something.

“Oh! Yeah. Totally dude. Just a little sore. Couple of aspirin when I get home and I’ll be gravy,” Stiles nods and rolls his shoulder, then promptly whimpers when it shoots pain straight through his bullet wound, muscle still healing. “Ow, fuckit.”

Derek shuffles up to him so they’re face to face now and he reaches out to grip Stiles’ bare wrist.

“Wait man, you need to save your strengthohmygoddontstop,” Stiles slumps forward with relief when Derek starts to take his pain and he rests his forehead on Derek’s shoulder, so that’s how he knows he’s chuckling quietly at him.

“S’not funny,” Stiles mumbles into Derek’s t-shirt.

“No. It’s not,” Derek says softly into the top of his head. “You were in agony, you should have said something.”

“It really wasn’t that bad,” Stiles sighs, starting to pull back. “I can take it.”

Stiles freezes when Derek’s other hand comes up to grip the back of his neck, keeping him in place.

“You shouldn’t have to,” Derek grumbles.

“Ok. I’m good now,” Stiles rubs his face back and forth on Derek’s shoulder. He takes a long inhale, because Derek’s so close and he smells so fucking good and holy shit... he’s high. Derek’s roofied him on pain drain.

Derek freezes but does stop taking his pain and Stiles sobers immediately. Fucking werewolves.

“Did you just... scent me?” Derek asks, voice a little rough.

Stiles blinks up at him, slowly taking his head off his shoulder, brain fog rapidly dispersing.

“Erm... I’m sorry?” Stiles tries. “Don’t rip my throat out.”

“You’re lying,” Derek frowns at him and he’s still so fucking close that Stiles could count his eyelashes.

“I’m sorry, what now?” Stiles frowns back.

“You said you were sorry. For scenting me. But your heart tripped. You’re lying. You’re not sorry,” Derek growls.

“That’s very invasive you know,” Stiles huffs and decides he’s fucked either way, so he may as well front it out. “Fine. I’m not sorry. You smell fucking great Der. I want to rub my face all fucking over you, quite frankly.”

Derek’s mouth drops open in surprise and Stiles gets all of half a second to enjoy the fact that he’s made Derek Hale’s face do something other than frown before Derek lurches forward and kisses him.

It’s not like the Mall.

For starters, Stiles recovers quicker from the shock of being Derek kissed (He’s been training himself, just in case Derek surprise jumped him again) and he clambers into Derek’s lap, legs straddling Derek’s hips. He sits on him, hands finding Derek’s stubble, mouth never leaving his.

He needn’t have worried about kissing back fast enough though because Derek seems intent on being very thorough this time and he licks into Stiles’ mouth, hot and dirty and his hands grab onto Stiles’ ass, keeping him in place.

Stiles moans as Derek proceeds to bite and kiss down the line of his neck and he outright whimpers when Derek sucks his skin hard enough to mark.

“Holy shit,” Stiles pants and he rocks his ass down into Derek’s lap, ass grinding on Derek’s dick.

Derek pulls off his neck with a little growl and Stiles is pleased to note his eyes are blazing red.

He’s so fucking hot, Stiles thinks he might just come looking at the guy. His brains screams that he should say that to him, tell him he’s sexier than his leather jacket and that’s saying something.

“God you’re beautiful,” Stiles says earnestly instead and he fights the urge to punch himself in the face.

Derek seems to like it though because he does this bizarre smile that Stiles has never seen before, bunny teeth on show, cheeks blazing red and Stiles just stares gobsmacked.

“Oh my god, are you shy right now?” Stiles asks him, and he’s beginning to think somewhere, somehow, he’s seriously misjudged Derek Hale.

“Shut up,” Derek grumbles, but it’s too late, Stiles knows it’s too late, cos he did that, he put that look there.

“I can’t! You’re blowing my mind here,” Stiles laughs.

“Oh, I’ll blow your mind,” Derek growls and kisses him again, this time pressing a large hand to the front of Stiles’ jeans, feeling his hard cock through the denim.

“Holy fuck, yes,” Stiles grips his shoulders and rocks down into his hand and Derek groans into his mouth.

“Do you want to…” Derek starts.

“YES.” Stiles yells right into his face on a particularly well placed stroke of Derek’s hand.

“Ok, first of all ow, I think I’m now deaf,” Derek grumbles but he toys with the zipper on Stiles’ jeans, so Stiles thinks maybe he’s not that bothered. “Second… you don’t even know what I was going to say…”

“I figured you were going to ask me if I wanted to rub my dick against yours until we both come to a very mutual happy ending?” Stiles says seriously.

“Oh my god,” Derek plants his forehead against Stiles chest. “No. I was going to ask you if you maybe wanted to go for dinner sometime… with me.”

“Oh. Fuck. Sorry. Well, yes. That sounds really nice, I’d like that,” Stiles cringes and tries to get off him.

Derek digs his fingers into his ass, halting his retreat.

“Where are you going?” Derek growls, eyes flashing red again and Stiles shudders, because he looks all predatory and shit and Stiles apparently has a thing for that.

“Well I thought you wanted to take it slow? Go on a date?” Stiles says, frowning.

Derek flicks the button on Stiles’ jeans and slowly drags down his zipper. Stiles gulps.

“Is the dick rubbing thing still on the table?” Derek’s pupils are blown wide, then clarifies, “First, obviously. I still want the date thing too.”

“I’m really into you,” Stiles blurts.

“I’m hoping you’ll be really into me soon. Maybe in a bed,” Derek grins and he tugs Stiles’ jeans down enough that he has access to his boxers.

Stiles hips buck up.

“I don’t know what’s sexier, the thought of you wanting me to fuck you or the fact that you’re funny and you’re making dick jokes,” Stiles groans like he’s dying.

Maybe he is but hey, what a way to go.

“It’s the funny thing,” Derek brings his mouth back to his and starts working on his own jeans.

Stiles scrambles to help him and he gets impatient when he gets Derek’s zipper down, so he shoves his hand straight inside to feel his dick. Derek isn’t wearing anything underneath which is just helpful as hell and Stiles tells him so.

Derek groans into his mouth and it goes from sixty to a hundred when Stiles gets his hand around his bare length. Or tries to anyway, his fingers won’t quite meet around his girth.

Derek yanks Stiles’ jeans apart so hard that a rip echoes in the small space, his boxers go the same way and his cock slaps against his own stomach, hard and aching, glistening at the tip with pre-come.

Derek looks down between them and snarls and before Stiles can beg “touch me Sourwolf” Derek’s large hand is on his dick. Stiles’ eyes roll back and his hand slips out of Derek’s jeans.

Derek encourages him to sit up a little and he’s like king of co-ordinating straddled lap hand jobs or something because when Stiles opens his eyes he looks down again, Derek’s managed to push his own jeans to his ankles, they’re now trapped on the tops his boots.

He’s also now sitting bare assed underneath Stiles and Stiles’ jeans are ruined and his dick is out.

It’s all a little mind blowing.

Derek brings his knees up to give Stiles something to lean back against and the angle brings them dick to dick.

Derek wraps a hand around them both and begins to pump their naked cocks together.

Stiles is mesmerised, watching his own dick, long and cut sliding against Derek’s ridiculously thick one, Derek’s foreskin pulling back and forth on every stroke, exposing his tip.

It’s just this side of too dry with only pre-come easing the way, so Stiles, without really thinking leans down and spits liberally onto their dicks, watching it dribble down their lengths.

He’s never been a spitter in the sack but needs must and Derek clearly fucking loves it because he kisses him open mouthed and hard.

Stiles humps against him and helps him out by wrapping his hand around Derek’s and tightening their grip it and it’s suddenly a race.

“Come for me,” Derek bites out. “Come on my dick.”

“Oh fuck, are you into dirty talk? You’re killing me,” Stiles complains. “Nearly… fuck nearly there, say something else. Call me something.”

“What do you want me to call… fuck… call you…” Derek pants into his mouth. “You want me to call you baby?”

“Ahhh… fuck, just like that, faster, do it… Jesus, yeah… No baby doesn’t do it for me, something else…” Stiles whimpers, feels a delicious heat in his lower stomach building.

Derek bites his lower lip and soothes it with his tongue and slows his hand down, the opposite of what Stiles wants, torturing him.

“I don’t want to go faster. I’m enjoying myself,” Derek growls. “Not baby then. What about stud… Stiles, you stud… you like that?”

“Jesus you feel so good… no… I don’t like stud, it sounds weird…” Stiles feels like crying he wants to come so bad.

He leans forward and rucks Derek’s shirt up. Time to fight dirty if he wants Derek to come first.

Stiles leans down and licks over his nipple, rubs his face in his hairy chest.

Derek snarls and takes his hand off them both to grip Stiles’ hair lightly, thumbs over his lower lip.

Stiles seizes his opportunity and he spits in his own hand and grips them both tight.

Derek throws his head back, neck muscles taught and he fucks up into Stiles’ hand, dick to dick friction maddening.

“Yeah that’s it. Come all over me Der. I fucking want it, paint me up. Mark me. Make me yours,” Stiles takes one of his perky little nipples between his teeth, rolls his tongue over it and sucks hard and he feels Derek tense and that’s how he knows he’s got him.

He moves to the other nipple and Derek tugs on his hair so he looks up and him, and he’s pleased to see Derek’s eyes are like fire as he looks at him, in awe almost.

Stiles still works their cocks frantically but he uses his free hand to reach lower and he fondles Derek’s heavy balls, tugging down as he pumps them.

“I’m going to… fuck…” Derek’s dick jerks against his, fattening and pulsing as he comes all over Stiles’ fist and dick.

Stiles lets him go when he’s jerked him clean and he uses his cum soaked hand to work himself over, noise obscene in the little tree house.

Derek looks wrecked.

“Gonna come,” Stiles bites out. “Can I come on you?”

“Do it…” Derek sounds half destroyed but he keeps talking. “You don’t like stud then… ok… Jesus, keep doing that, you look fucking good Stiles… fuck… what if I called you my boyfriend?”

Stiles comes so sudden and hard that he hits himself in the chin with it, comes all over Derek’s softening dick and his happy trail and he slumps forward onto him, spent dick in his hand.

Derek’s arms come around him and he can feel Derek shaking.

“Are you laughing at me right now?” Stiles complains from where his face is smooshed
in Derek’s neck.

“Yeah,” Derek chuckles, stroking his back, fingers stroking gently over his scar. “God, that was so good.”

“You can say that again,” Stiles pulls back to look at him.

Derek smiles softly at him, kisses him gently on the lips.

“I really like you,” Stiles frowns.

Derek smoothes over his eyebrows.

“I really like you too. I’m sorry it took me so long to make a move,” Derek says quietly.

“I thought you didn’t want anything from me after the initial kiss in the Mall,” Stiles shrugs.

“I want everything from you. That’s the problem. I’m so scared you’re going to get hurt. That you might get hurt because of me one day,” Derek tells him honestly.

“I got shot when I was in DC. If I’m going to get hurt, it’s not on you Der,” Stiles strokes his cheek and Derek leans into the touch.

“I know. It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t stay away from you anymore. I don’t want to,” Derek whispers, like it’s a secret.

“Good. Cos you totally meant that boyfriend thing right?” Stiles checks.

“Yeah. I did. If that’s ok with you,” Derek nods shyly, then he adds reluctantly, “We should probably start back, I think the Minotaurs have moved on and we probably need to make a plan. I can’t hear anything down there. Sorry about your jeans.”

“I’m not. Totally worth it,” Stiles laughs easily and he stands up on wobbly legs. His jeans just flop apart, ripped beyond repair.

Which is of course the same exact moment that Stiles looks up to see Scott’s poor, innocent face smushed against the window of the tree house, trying to peer in.

He can’t cover himself fast enough to spare Scott though, so he gets to see the exact moment the young werewolf clears the glass enough to see his best friend standing half naked over Derek Hale sitting prone on the floor, both of their dick’s out loud and proud.

“Oh god no, my eyes! Gross! Dudes, not cool!” Is the muffled and shocked rant they hear from Scott as he realises what he’s seeing by candlelight and he throws himself backward away from the window, followed by a loud cracking noise.

Scott hits a lot of branches when he falls out of the tree.

Derek’s face as he doubles up with laughter is almost worth it for Stiles.

He pulls Derek up and Derek kisses him, still chuckling, arms coming around him.

“You’re a pain in the ass Derek Hale,” Stiles shakes his head.

“I could be a pain in your ass…” Derek smirks.

“Oh my god. Just stop,” Stiles slaps a hand over his eyes.

“You won’t be saying that when…” Derek starts but Stiles slaps a hand over his mouth.

Stiles grins at him. He always knew that they would be awesome together.

The way that Derek’s looking at him would suggest he maybe thinks so too.

He’s looking forward to every damned minute.