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Stiles was not a virgin. Everyone thought he was, and he could understand why. He was all awkward limbs and too fast words and pale skin and fragile bone and Stiles had never, ever, stated otherwise. But that didn’t change the fact that he was not a virgin.

He was thirteen, and his mom had been dead for six months. Scott, good-natured friend that he was, thought that surely Stiles just needed to get out, be around people, be social. Surely dragging the eighth grader to sneak into a high school party was just what he needed to get back in the game. The house they arrived at (walking because they couldn’t exactly ask their parents to drive them) looked like every stereotypical teenaged party you see on tv, with loud music and kids carrying red solo cups and laughing at God knows what. Grinning at each other, the two boys entered, none of the older students paying them any mind. They both grabbed a cup of something foul smelling, but they felt so rebellious, so grown-up, they drank it anyway. It burned their throats and they laughed at the faces they each made, but still smiled and milled around the room.

Eventually, they landed in a corner with two seniors, brother and sister, both blond and tall and coated in lean muscle. The boy was the lacrosse captain and struck up a conversation with Scott, while Stiles chatted with his sister about the horrible selection of books in English classes. The night went on, and Scott was looking up to his new friend with awe as he told him how he scored the winning goal in the last game, and Stiles and the girl were laughing amicably. Eventually, the girl looked Stiles up and down, laughed, and asked him if he wanted to go someplace quieter.

She was the cliché hot girl, golden hair curling around her shoulders, a light tan, about a inch or two taller than Stiles, and clothes that left little to the imagination. Scott had been handing Stiles drinks all night, enjoying the way his friend seemed to relax and laugh more freely than he had in a long time. But now Scott wasn’t paying attention and Stiles was just a little past buzzed and the girl was leading him away by the hand. She steered him up the stairs and into an empty bedroom, closing the door behind her.

Stiles stood uncertainly in the center of the room, and he was about to ask what she wanted to talk about now when she suddenly sticks her tongue in his mouth. For a moment he freezes, but he would be lying if he said he wasn’t excited. No one had ever shown interest in him before, and now a hot older girl was kissing him, his first kiss, and he eagerly returned the affection. It was messy, and dirty, and they both tasted like alcohol. Then, she began pushing Stiles backwards until his legs hit the bed and he fell back onto the mattress with her on top of him.

The alcohol creates a haze in his mind, and it takes him a minute to process that she is tugging at his jeans, fumbling with his belt until it finally comes loose. Stiles felt himself blush because yeah, he’s a teenage boy so he was pretty resigned to not getting out of this situation without his body reacting in the most obvious way, but now she was on top of him and her fingers were getting a bit too close for comfort and he wasn’t so drunk that he didn’t realize that things were going farther and faster than he was really comfortable with.

His hands were uncoordinated and clumsy as they tried to slap her’s away, “Wait”, he said, “wait.

She only laughed, “Come on, baby, I’ll make you feel so good.

He shook his head, “Stop.”

But she didn’t. Straddling his hips, she held him down, pulling at his clothes and whispering, It’ll feel good, promise, and You’re a guy, all guys want this, and Don’t be such a pussy.

Stiles struggled, trying to sit up, to stand, to run, to something, because this isn’t what he wanted, this is too much, too soon, and this isn’t what he wanted. But he notices her muscle more than ever, volleyball, he thinks she said, and she holds his wrists and only laughs when he tries to push her off, crying “Stop, stop, stop.

Even with his eyes clenched shut Stiles remembers her lifting her skirt, and lowering herself, and he remembers the sound of moans, and pleads, and muffled rock music drifting through the wall and the way his body reacted exactly the way he didn’t want it to.

When it’s over, she sighs and rolls off of him, straightens her clothing, and blows him a kiss as she leaves. Stiles lies on the bed for almost ten minutes before finally lifting himself up. He goes into the bathroom down the hall and cleans himself up as best he can. He throws up twice before he manages to look himself in the mirror and remain composed enough to go back downstairs.

When he finally tracks down Scott, the other boy frowns at him and tell him he looks pale. Stiles shakes his head, and stuffs his trembling hands into his pockets and says he feels sick, that’s all, just a little bug or something. Regardless, it’s enough to get Scott to agree to leave and they both walk home, only parting ways the last few blocks to reach their respective houses.

The sheriff has been working extra hours the last few weeks, something about an arson case that Stiles was sure he’d snoop on later, but for now he was happy to be alone for once. He walked inside and locked the door behind him, then he went to his room and locked the door, and went into the bathroom and locked the door and turned the shower as hot as it could go and stayed there until the water turned ice cold and he stopped shivering.

~

Stiles never told anyone. Because he was a boy, and boys don’t get… And besides, what kind of boy complains about sex with a hot girl? So he kept it to himself and maybe blamed the nightmares and panic attacks on his mother’s death, and maybe that filled him with guilt and only made him feel worse but no one knew and for some reason that mattered more than anything.

For awhile, it was fine. Stiles went on his way and things were normal, minus his mother and his virginity, but all in all everything was fine. But then he got to high school and suddenly sex was important because apparently everyone wanted it and all he could think of was whiskey whispers of every boy wants this and what, you’re not some freak, are you?.

Scott teased him about getting a girlfriend, and Stiles looked at Lydia, who he’d had a crush on since he learned how smart she was, and he decided he loved her. He told anyone who would listen and most who wouldn’t about how in love he was with Lydia, how she was the girl for him, the only girl. Lydia, beautiful Lydia, who turned her nose up at him every chance she got and who he knew with dead certainty would never, ever touch him.

So maybe he showered more than strictly necessary, and maybe he took a few too many Adderall every now and then, but he was talking again and he could handle affection again, hugs from his dad and slaps on the back from Scott and he barely even flinched. Then Scott met Allison, and the two teens didn’t even try to hide the status of their physical relationship, and Stiles felt his gut clench with anxiety, and he vaguely heard himself ramble about Lydia and yeah, of course he wants her, of course he wants that, he’s a healthy teenage boy so it’s no question, right?

And okay, maybe his heart was hammering for a good twenty minutes the first time Derek Hale slammed him against the wall and all he could feel was hands holding him down, but even that got better over time.

Actually, it got a lot better. Because when Stiles looked at Derek, saw the werewolf’s eyes glow with protection for his pack, saw him smile when he thought no one was looking, saw his face go tense when he thought of his family, Stiles' heart did a funny flutter and his body felt a little warm. Derek saved his life, saved Scott’s and Jackson’s and Lydia’s and Allison’s and for whatever reason let Stiles hang around even when all the danger was gone.

For awhile, Stiles is the one awkwardly courting Derek, showing up at the mansion randomly with food or clothes, or a couple times even furniture under the pretense that yeah, they're friends, friends totally go out of their way to make each other more comfortable in their half burned down homes. At first, the werewolf tolerates it, grunting and scowling and standing stiffly while Stiles flitted around the house, putting things away or moving things and generally just trying to put off the time when he would have to leave. But as time goes on, the alpha starts giving Stiles a little half-smile when he comes over, or offering to let him stay for dinner, or asking his opinion on the layout of the new furniture in the living room. At pack meetings, Derek will move and sit next to Stiles, sitting far enough away that no one takes any notice, but close enough that when he turns to glance around the room their shoulders brush, just a little.

Stiles thinks it’s a good thing Derek is older, and more mature, and downright sneaky because otherwise they probably would never have gotten anywhere, just stayed best friends forever while both punching pillows behind closed doors because it just wasn’t enough. As it was, one Saturday afternoon Derek texts Stiles and asks if he wants to join him for lunch at the diner that had just opened up downtown and had gotten good reviews. Stiles said sure, and probably would have worked himself into a frenzy convincing himself it didn’t mean anything, but Derek responded with a curt “It’s a date. Pick you up at one” leaving no room for arguments.

So they rode together in Derek’s Camero, and they had a very pleasant lunch, and maybe Stiles chattered a bit more out of nervousness, but Derek only rolled his eyes and smiled. It felt a lot like all the other times they had spent time together, except this time there was an undercurrent of excitement, of knowledge that this could actually turn into something more.

Derek doesn’t kiss him until the second date, when he is dropping Stiles off at home after seeing some action movie that they both enjoyed mocking because of the lack of plot and low-budget special effects. Stiles can’t even remember what he said that night, but he remembers Derek laughing, actually laughing, and Stiles staring at him in awe because damn he was gorgeous when he laughed and then before he knew it the werewolf was kissing him.

It wasn’t like he imagined, it wasn’t aggressive or hungry or forceful. It was firm, and sure, and quick, over almost before Stiles could process it. The human couldn’t contain his smile, especially when Derek noticed and his cheeks tinged ever so slightly pink.

He shoved Stiles playfully, “Get out of here. I’ll see you at the meeting tomorrow.”

Stiles laughed, “Can’t wait.” And as he closed the car door behind him he could see the smirk that Derek was trying to hide.

The next day their cover is blown, which really was not that much of a surprise, considering they were surrounded by teenagers. Who were werewolves. Stiles walked into the Hale house only to be greeted by Scott laughing and Lydia grinning smugly as she collected a wad of cash from Jackson. At first Stiles frowned in confusion, but then Allison smiled at him. “Apparently Derek reeks of you.”

The human blushed and looked at Lydia and Jackson indignantly, “You guys were betting on us?!”

“Of course.” Lydia smirked, “And might I express my gratitude that you guys took it slow. Jackson here thought for sure you’d get together months ago, what with all the unresolved sexual tension between you two.”

Stiles loses some color in his face, because oh, he had conveniently forgotten about that part of a relationship.

Luckily, Derek enters the room before he can ruminate too much, growling out a quick “Shut up, Lydia” before looked at Stiles and shrugging helplessly in a ‘what can you do?’ kind of way that makes Stiles laugh because, yeah, this is his life.

After that they both don’t bother trying to deny that they are officially a couple. Derek is still Derek, who growls and frowns and likes to grow fangs when things don’t go his way. Stiles is still Stiles, whose natural response to pretty much anything is to talk until the problem goes away and can’t sit still for longer than five seconds. And Derek and Stiles are still Derek and Stiles, who bicker and argue and push each other around when they’re feeling defensive which is always. But now they apologize, and kiss, and talk about their families and sometimes when no one is around they even hold hands and smile at just that little bit of contact. Sometimes they need more, and then they have some epic make-out sessions that Stiles still can’t believe he is privy to. There are still insecurities, and Stiles can’t help but feel like he’s running against a timer, but everything is fine and Stiles is happier than he has been in a long time.

They have been together about a month when it happens. They are at the Hale house, Stiles having stayed behind after their most recent pack meeting, and while it started out as the human helping to clean up after the messy teenagers it somehow turned into the two boys falling onto Derek’s bed together.

It is nice. Stiles knows this, feels it even. He likes the way that Derek’s lips feel on his, the way they move across his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. He likes it when the older man runs his hands across the back of Stiles’ head, gently grasping the short hair. He even likes the warm weight of Derek’s body lying over his like a breathing blanket wrapped around him.

But then Derek’s hands move lower, one gliding under his shirt while the other tugged at his belt, and Stiles is suddenly acutely aware of how strong Derek is, how heavy and confining his body is, how far away the door is. The alpha has his face buried in his neck, kissing and sucking at the base of his throat when he finally manages to get his belt undone. Stiles feels him push his jeans lower on his hips and his breath catches in his chest. He wants this, he does. He wants this.

Stop.

Despite his best efforts to hold it in, the word is released against his will on a shallow exhale, his voice nothing more than a breathy whisper, and if it weren’t for the werewolf’s enhanced hearing he might not have even heard it. But he did hear it, and then Derek did the strangest thing.

He stopped.

Suddenly there are no hands touching him, no lips on him, no body trapping him as Derek leans back. Yes he is still straddling the younger boy, and yes his eyes are still clouded with lust, but there is space between them and Stiles manages to take a few breaths that actually reach his lungs.

The two stare at each other. Derek’s eyes are slowly clearing, filled with less lust and more concern, while Stiles’ are simply incredulous.

"Stiles?"

He blinks a few times before finally asking,

“Why did you stop?”

Derek cocks his head to the side, his face scrunched in confusion. “Because you asked me to.

And Stiles honestly doesn’t know what to make of that. He is still trying to work it out even as his eyes widen and he rolls off the bed and runs. The words are still echoing in his mind as he stumbles down the stairs, hastily fixing his belt and bolting out the door. It takes him three tries before his shaking hands manage to get his key in the ignition and start the jeep. He doesn’t bother with the seatbelt, even as he floors it and drives mindlessly deeper into the woods.

He drives until the forest trail begins to turn, curving back towards the main road. Then he pulls over and spends a good ten minutes with his head resting on the steering wheel, trying to slow his breathing and calm his churning stomach.

Tears sting his eyes but he forces them back, punching the steering wheel in sheer frustration because this is just so stupid. He’s surprised enough that anyone would want him, yet Derek had been there, quite clearly wanting him and damn it Stiles wants it too, he’s supposed to want it, but instead he’s sitting in his car alone in the middle of the woods while Derek is probably back in his house wondering why he ever wasted his time on someone like Stiles.

He remembers during sex ed class in middle school how the girls had always sneered at the boys, rattling some statistic about men thinking of sex every three seconds. Stiles laughs when he realizes that he probably does think about sex every three seconds, just not in the way those statistics probably meant.

The passenger side door opens and Stiles jumps abruptly, pressing back into the corner of his seat in surprise. Derek sits and closes the door, leaning back and staring out the windshield, focusing his gaze away from the human next to him. Stiles blinks a few times and tries to slow his heart, before turning and mimicking the werewolf, keeping his eyes lowered so that he can stare at the speedometer. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Stiles feeling himself grow more tense with each passing moment, before Derek finally turns to him.

“It’s okay, you know.” Stiles flicks his eyes towards the alpha, but does not turn to face him. “We don’t have to rush.”

Stiles lets out a huff of what could have been laughter had it held any amount of humor in it. “We weren’t rushing, we were going at a perfectly acceptable speed.” He runs his hand through his hair once. Twice. His body is buzzing with anxious energy. “I’m sorry.” Stiles blurts out, eyes darting everywhere but next to him. “About before, I mean. I didn’t mean to… I know it was stupid, and it wont happened again, honest, I don’t even know why I…” He is tapping his fingers franticly against the steering wheel when Derek reaches over and covers his hand with his own, stilling the nervous rhythm.

They stay like that for a minute, Derek studying Stiles’ features, hand warm and steady over his while Stiles tries to remember the breathing exercises he hasn’t had to use for years. Eventually Derek shifts in his seat, looking just a little awkward, but keeping his face calm and steady, just like always. “Stiles, it’s normal to be nervous your first time-“

But it’s not my first time!

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Stiles feels like kicking himself. Or crying. Because why, why would he admit that? He should have taken the out, yes, of course he was only anxious because he had never done this before, that’s completely normal. But now Derek is looking at him, his expression surprised and curious and clearly waiting for answers. More than anything, Stiles does not want to elaborate. How could he explain that he had had sex before and didn’t like it, not the way he was supposed to? How could he admit to Derek, perfect Derek, that Stiles was apparently broken in some intimate way which separated him from the rest of the male species? How could he expect Derek to stick around once he found out?

Stiles lets his head fall forward onto the steering wheel and closes his eyes. Part of him hopes Derek will just leave, put the pieces together himself and just go, like ripping off a band aide. Another part wants to savor the sound of Derek’s deep, even breathing for as long as he can. A large, calloused hand loosely grips the back of his neck, not holding him, just resting there comfortingly.

“Hey.” Stiles glances over at the sound of the alpha’s gruff voice, “Talk to me.”

It’s not a question, but it’s not a command either. More like Derek had just opened a door and then stood to the side, leaving it there should Stiles choose to enter.

He does. Stiles closes his eyes again and he talks. He talks and talks because these are words that he has never said before. Words like I had sex when I was thirteen and I didn’t want it. He tells Derek all the things whispered in his ear and how there’s obviously something wrong with him, right? All boys like sex, right? Then Stiles opens his eyes wide and looks at the older man and tells him that he wants it, he knows he does, but he also doesn’t and what is he supposed to do, Derek, what the Hell is wrong with him?

Derek looks like the slightest touch could shatter him. Every muscle is tense, his jaw clamped shut, his breaths slow and deliberate as he forces himself to keep eye contact with the boy beside him. But eventually, he must slowly turn away. It is in vain, because Stiles can see the red glow reflected in the passenger window, can see the way his lips curl and his teeth sharpen.

Stiles reaches for the door, fully prepared to ditch his jeep and just run until his feet bleed and no one can see him, but before he can Derek’s hand shoots out to capture his wrist in a vice-like grip. It is almost painful, and Stiles can see the claws extending from his fingers, but then Derek takes a deep breath and he loosens his hold, claws retracting and red eyes fading from his reflection.

When he finally looks back at Stiles, he still looks a bit angry, but also a little ashamed, and very, very sad. “Sorry,” his voice is low and gravely, “I didn’t mean to lose control like that.”

Stiles nods, because he honestly doesn’t know what else to do, so yeah, he nods and maybe forgets to blink or breathe but Derek hasn’t let go yet. Not yet. The werewolf’s thumb strokes the inside of his wrist, just over his pulse, in a gentle, soothing pattern.

“There’s nothing wrong with you.” For a moment, Stiles thinks he heard him wrong. “It’s okay to not want to have sex. That girl…” The alpha’s eyes tinge red and he has to shake his head, mentally deciding to save that part of the conversation for another time. “There is nothing wrong with you,” He reiterates, “and we do not have to have sex unless we both want to.”

All Stiles can do is stare at him, eyes wide with shock. He didn’t expect this, not at all, in any way, shape, or form, and he still can’t really believe it. “But…” He swallows thickly, “that’s not fair to you. I mean, don’t you… want…”

Derek narrows his eyes. “Stiles,” his grip tightens, not enough to hurt, but enough to let Stiles know that Derek expects his full attention because damn it he is making a point here, “I want you more than I want sex.”

And oh, doesn’t that make so much sense when Derek says it like that. Like it’s the simplest thing in the world and Stiles nods because he thinks he gets it and he doesn’t want to question because Derek still hasn’t let go, is still holding on like he thinks it’s worth it.

Nodding back, Derek lets his face soften. “Are you ready to go back now?”

Stiles thinks for a moment, “Can we stay here a little longer?”

“Of course.”

They both turn in their seats, staring out the window and not making a sound. Eventually, Derek moves his hand from Stiles’ wrist, but only slightly, sliding down to entwine their fingers together.

Later, back at the house, Derek will sit Stiles down and talk to him about what happened all those years ago, and use words like rape and trauma and consent and Stiles will clap his hands over his ears like a child and Derek will hold him, just hold him, and use words like it wasn't your fault and I love you, I love you until the sobs subside and Stiles can breathe, finally, really breathe again, for the first time in over three years.