Chapter Text
They’ve made themselves at home at the Hale house, which would make Stiles laugh if he didn’t feel so close to crying. Wodan, the alpha whose claw-marks Stiles will now carry around for the rest of his life –– however long or short it may be –– bends down in front of the chair Stiles has been tied up in.
“My what big eyes you have,” Stiles says and Wodan laughs. It’s a pleasant sound, actually. He’s a good looking guy, in his late thirties, maybe early forties. From the way Freya and Wodan look so much alike, Stiles suspects they’re siblings. “So is this the bit where you eat me up?”
“Stiles,” Wodan says, his voice lilts on the l, “I’m not going to eat you. I’m not even going to hurt you.”
“Really?” Stiles sneers, his left knee bouncing up and down. No matter how hard he tries, it won’t stop. “My bleeding shoulder would beg to differ.”
Freya steps into view, carefully wiping dust off her dress. Stiles can’t really fault her there, the Hale house is a dusty place. “He could’ve done much worse,” she says, in the same accent as Wodan. He’s not about to disagree with that.
“Then why am I here?”
Wodan smiles. “Leverage,” he says.
There’s a bit of dust or ash tickling Stiles’ forehead and he desperately wishes he could scratch it. He wrinkles his nose instead, contorting his face in an attempt to get rid of the itch. “What kind of leverage.”
“To make Derek Hale more compliant. He’ll be here soon, don’t worry.”
“How?” As far as Stiles knows, he’s the only one who can break the circle, since he made it. Then again, Deaton never really went into much detail on that part of it. Scott and Jackson won’t be able to break it, but maybe Lydia or Allison could. “And what do you want him to do? Are you going to kill him?”
“We’re not here to kill Derek or you, Stiles,” Freya says and then she adds something in a language Stiles doesn’t understand but seems to be made up of consonants only. Wodan doesn’t look away from Stiles, but his mouth lifts in a smile again.
“May as well,” he says, “it might work out in our favor. I like this one.”
“I’ve heard that before,” Stiles grouches, uneasy.
“We’ve been watching Derek since we heard the news of his sister’s death,” Freya says, turning her cold blue eyes on Stiles. “We didn’t like what we saw.”
“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, his stomach churning around what feels like a brick. “Can’t blame you there.”
“The Alpha pack brings justice to werewolves across the world,” Wodan cuts in. “Since human law enforcement can’t hold us. We’ve been around for centuries, our rule is ruthless but just. We pass a judgment of freedom or death, there is no in between. It generally keeps packs in line.”
“There’s more than just the two of you?” Stiles asks, keeping his eyes wide open as if that’ll somehow hide the hopelessness caving in his chest. They’d be hard pressed overcoming these two. It’s very much to be doubted anyone will come out alive if there’s more.
“We’re just a delegation,” Wodan explains and the fear settles somewhat. Judging by the smirk on Freya’s face, it doesn’t settle quietly.
“Derek Hale was a liability,” Freya says, “and we were about to kill him and the dark haired boy when we found something interesting.”
“What?” Stiles says, intrigued despite another lurch of panic in his stomach. He doesn’t doubt for a second Scott’d be dead by now if these two wanted him to be.
“Wolves are recruited into our pack based on talent,” Wodan tells him, shifting so he sits down cross-legged in front of Stiles chair. “Most people who are born as werewolves or who are bitten, are just that. Every once in a while, something rare blooms. Something valuable.
“Wolves born of or bitten by the Hales can take pain and even heal wounds,” Wodan goes on, and Stiles thinks holy crap, just when Wodan’s smile turns wicked. “And some, like Freya, have magic. Like you.”
There’s no way they don’t notice the spike of fear but Stiles hides it as well as he can, rolls his eyes anyway. “I don’t want to be a werewolf,” he says. There’s no lie this time. He doesn’t think there was a lie last time either. Back then it’d just been the desire to be alive overcoming his desire to remain human and be dead.
“We know that,” Freya says, dipping her head once in acquiescence, “and we have very strict rules against forcing the bite upon people.”
“We just thought you might be a little more willing if we told you we plan on recruiting Derek. He will come if you do. And from what we’ve seen, we think the same goes for you. You’d be an asset, Stiles. You are a born leader.”
“This is–– weirdly flattering, but the answer’s still no. For one, you’ve got me tied to a chair and for another, what makes you think Derek would be willing to do anything for me?”
“Ah,” Freya says, and her smile turns her face into something gorgeous and ethereal, “that was the beauty of the spell I cast.” She’s looking at Stiles, eyes intent, like she’s gauging him for his response. He doesn’t get why his palms turn moist and sweat starts to bead on his top lip, but he finds himself leaning forward anyway, heart hammering.
“It wiped the slate of Derek’s mind clean,” she pauses, for dramatic effect Stiles suspects but goddamnit, it’s working. “To make him run toward that which is most precious to him.”
Stiles’ heartbeat rings hollow in his ears. “I found him minutes away from my house,” he says weakly.
“Exactly,” Wodan says.
Something else occurs to Stiles, his brain connecting dots in the background, possibly to avoid having to deal with the revelation of being precious to Derek, jesus christ. “You have Erica and Boyd,” he says.
“We do.”
“What happens to them?”
“What’s it worth to you?” Wodan asks, but his smile is mischievous. This more than anything, puts Stiles at ease, just a little. He huffs with put-upon annoyance.
“I’ll make you the world famous Stilinski peach cobbler,” Stiles says, rolling his eyes.
“If Derek accepts them back, they are at his mercy,” Freya says. “If not, they die.”
“Okay,” Stiles gulps. “But, why didn’t you just recruit them? They were bitten by a Hale.”
Wodan’s mouth tightens briefly and his eyes narrow, considering. Stiles guesses he doesn’t want to share this particular bit of information, but he has a feeling Wodan will anyway, to gain his trust.
“They renounced their alpha. Any and all unusual gifts that came with his bite vanished.”
Stiles breathes out slowly. So that means they won’t take Scott either.
He doesn’t really want to think about this part, but it’s clearly going to happen. “When Derek goes with you, what happens to the pack?”
“Derek remains their alpha,” Wodan says easily. “He’d return here every once in a while, his second will be in command when he’s gone.”
“Not Peter?” Stiles says. “The pack won’t––” He stops talking because for the first time since he was taken, Wodan’s eyes turn hard.
“Peter will die for his crimes,” he says. “That is non-negotiable. He can’t remain alive and unsupervised after all he’s done.”
Stiles’ mind is reeling, and not just with the idea of Peter being put to death (again), but with the sudden understanding that this is a negotiation.
“Will you untie me?” Stiles asks, at the exact same time Freya lifts her head and says,
“They’re here.”
The remnants of the door crashes clean of its hinges just as Wodan slices the duct tape on Stiles’s wrists in two. Stiles jumps to his feet and holds out his hands aching with pins and needles.
There’s a menacing growl, claws scraping over wood and when Stiles turns toward the door, he’s standing between the two alphas and an enormous black wolf. It’s causing Stiles physical pain not to say something along the lines of down boy, but on some instinctual level, he knows he should defer to his own alpha in this case, that Derek needs to make a good impression. So he lifts his hands higher, the sting of blood rushing back into his fingers brutal but he ignores it, and waits until Derek looks from Wodan and Freya to him. He bares his neck and looks to the side, lifting his arms away from his body a bit, showing how he’s uninjured. Derek makes a low snarling noise and calms a little.
“I was right,” Freya says behind him but Stiles doesn’t get the chance to ask what she means. Behind Derek the entire pack comes running in, Jackson, Isaac and Scott all looking fuzzy. Allison’s there, with Lydia and someone else hidden in shadow. Stiles doesn’t have time to work out who it is because then Peter wanders in, last and in no hurry, and just like that it all slots into place.
Stiles smiles and Derek’s head tilts curiously to the side. With a small nod that says trust meand a heart heavy with maybe for the last time, Stiles schools his expression before he turns to face the alphas.
“So here’s how it’s going to go,” he begins, peeling the duct tape off his wrists, which ow. “You’re gonna return Boyd and Erica in one piece and then you’re going to take Peter off our hands. As the addition to your pack, I mean.” Behind him Peter makes a noise, but Stiles doesn’t even look at him, just holds up a hand and Peter shuts up. “You’ll have your healing Hale and you can keep an eye on him without having to kill him.
“Then, you are going to leave. My buddy Derek here, promises not to bite anymore wayward teenagers, to get this house fixed up or torn down and rebuilt, we’ll need to get some contractors involved for that part.” Derek huffs through his nose and shakes his large wolf-head but Stiles ignores him too. “I will send you a report on how we’re doing in six months, and once every two years you send a delegation to check and make sure we’re holding up our end of the bargain.”
“I don’t see how this is a bargain,” Wodan says, but his eyes are glinting.
“No?” Stiles asks. He pulls off the last bit of duct tape, his wrists angry red and pitifully hairless, while his heart hammers wildly. It’s no secret to any of the super human ears in the room but Stiles hangs on to his fake confidence, thinks if he believes in it hard enough, it might become real. “I think you’re getting exactly what you wanted. You want to stay under the radar, your goal is to bring justice to werewolf-kind and at the same time strengthen your pack.
“You could’ve wiped us all out months ago, picked us off one by one when we were all divided. Instead you waited until most of the crap had passed and we’d built a careful truce amongst ourselves. You picked up Boyd and Erica so they couldn’t wreak havoc elsewhere and I’m convinced they are safe and mostly comfortable. If you take Peter, no one has to die.”
Please, he thinks, please don’t take Derek. It’s stupid in a way, because chances are he won’t even be part of this pack anymore, once Derek knows the truth. Precious or not, Stiles overstepped some serious boundaries.
Stiles does look over at Peter this time, whose eyes are wide but already calculating. He has to know he has no choice, that this is maybe even an opportunity because none of the pack will trust him, ever.
“I feel like breaking our code just this once,” Wodan muses, eyes on Stiles, “give you the bite and keep you for myself. You’d make an extraordinary wolf.”
A long, low growl reverberates through the room. Derek pads over on huge paws and leans heavily against Stiles’ legs. It’s to keep his balance, really, that Stiles grabs a handful of fur, not because it looks extremely soft and cuddly or not at all because this might be his last chance.
Wodan turns to Peter. “Make your choice, Peter Hale. Join us, or die.”
“I’ve done the dying bit,” Peter says. He’s aiming for casual but the resonance in his voice belies him even to Stiles, “and it was exactly as much fun as it sounds. I think I’ll come with you.”
“One more thing,” Stiles says, moving so he stands beside instead of behind Derek. “Scott is free to make his own choices.”
“Scott,” Wodan says, and Stiles already knows they won’t yield on this, “has two years to finish school and then join the Hale pack or leave. Beacon Hills is too small for two packs. Either he submits to Derek or he goes. If that’s a problem––”
“It’s not,” Scott says, speaking for the first time. He comes to stand by Stiles, grips his elbow briefly. A squeeze meaning, I’m sorry and thank you all in one. “It won’t be.” Scott glances at Derek and Stiles swears he can see pride and gratefulness behind Derek’s dark wolf-eyes.
“Mr Argent,” Wodan says, his smile curving around a pair of fangs and Stiles is surprised this is who the last figure at the back of the room ends up being. “I believe you’ll find something in the basement that belongs to you.”
Chris stares, staying silent for a long time, until he says, “Gerard?” Wodan says nothing, just spreads his hands. “Is he still alive?”
Wodan’s smile turns wicked. “Mostly.”
“What happened to not harming humans,” Stiles says when Chris is gone.
“I believe the key word there is human,” Freya tells him.
“Point,” Stiles allows.
“Are we done?” Freya says. “Or do you have more demands to make, Stiles Stilinski.” There’s humor in her voice but a lower edge of threat too. He’s pushing his boundaries and for once, Stiles doesn’t feel the need to overstep them.
“We’re done,” he says. The air around the two alphas shimmers, and without the awful bone-popping noises Stiles never will get used to from the others, they’re suddenly in the room with two beautiful white wolves. Their coats are thick and heavy like they belong in colder climates.
The one that is Wodan trots over to Peter, who looks around the room one last time. Stiles nearly feels a pang of regret, because Derek’s last family is about to leave, and Peter will very likely never see his old house again. But then Peter looks down, offers Wodan his wrist, and Wodan bites.
On the tail end of a memory of a blocked-out moment in a parking lot, the brief sentiment toward Peter is gone as fast as it came.
Peter changes, a full, brown and white wolf himself now, instead of the twisted creature he was before, and then they’re gone. For a small infinity, Stiles is lost, doesn’t know whether to kneel at Derek’s paws and offer his throat in submission and apology, when Derek’s ears twitch. As if some magical boundary fell away when the alpha’s left, Derek lifts his nose and sniffs, howls ear rending and mournfully and bounds away.
There’s a brief, selfish moment wherein Stiles believes this is about him, until he too hears the answering howls, coming from what sound like a dozen wolves but he guesses are only two.
“Erica and Boyd,” Stiles says.
“Yeah,” Scott answers him, taking his elbow again and holding it like Stiles is something fragile. “Let me take you home.”
“Wha––?” he’d mumbled but before he could say anything else, they’d sheepishly slunk out of his window.
With Derek ... yeah. Stiles doesn’t know who’s avoiding who, really. That’s probably what makes it so effective. Even Dad has taken to giving him looks. These sad little smiles during dinner like the one he’s wearing now. He’s got one elbow on the table and a hand in his hair and he’s clearing his throat.
“You know, son,” he hazards and Stiles instantly wants to flee. “Derek’s welcome here, anytime. Any of your friends are, obviously. I know––” he sighs, drawn-out and tired. “––I know most of them don’t have the best situations at home, including you.”
“Dad,” Stiles interrupts, because no. Just, no. “You’re great.”
“Stiles––”
“No! Listen to me, I know we don’t talk about this stuff, but just for once, let me––”
“Okay, okay,” Dad says, dropping his fork in his mashed potatoes and holding up both hands in amused surrender. “Go on.”
It’s suddenly hard to, now that he’s lost his momentum but Stiles has fucked up so much in the past year, he needs to say it. “You’re great. You really are. When Mom died it was awful. I didn’t know what I was going to do. I literally had no idea. It was like … she was half my world. Do you remember––”
Stiles blinks against the sting. Finds he can’t actually say it. He’d been five years old when he learned about death, that it meant never seeing someone ever again and he’d been terrified Mom and Dad would die and he’d be all alone. Mom had said, Yes, Stiles. Dad and I will eventually die but not until you’re much, much older. When you have kids and even grandkids of your own.
“Well, that’s okay then,” he’d said because clearly he’d be ancient when that time came. And then she’d died anyway.
“It was like everything ended, like I’d never be able to breathe enough oxygen again.” I was mad at her because she’d lied to me, he thinks but he doesn’t say it. It’s a sentiment he’s ashamed of but can’t shake even after all these years and the rationality they brought. “But you sat by me night after night until I fell asleep, Dad. You made it bearable. And all I’ve done is made your life harder.”
“Stiles––”
“No, I’m not done.” He has to get it all out now. “Every single lie I told over the past year was ... okay ninety percent stupidity, but the other ten was to make sure you wouldn’t get involved. I couldn’t lose you too. I’m sorry. You’d have every right to ground me for life, to take me out of Beacon Hills High and stick me into boarding school, to prevent me from ever seeing Scott or any of the others again. Only here you are about to tell me they can come over whenever they like.”
Stiles sighs and picks up his fork so he can look down and stab at his broccoli. “You’re the best, Dad.” It comes out all wrong and like an accusation instead of the reconciliation it’s meant to be.
It’s silent for a long time. Stiles’ potatoes are cold when he puts a forkful in his mouth for something to do.
Stiles ducks his head and grins at his plate. “Like I said. The best.” This time it sounds right.
That evening, while Stiles is busy going over his school stuff, Scott climbs through the window.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “You can totally use the door, dude,” he huffs.
“Yeah I know,” Scott says and he sounds mad, so Stiles looks up. “But this isn’t a best friend visit.”
“Then what is it,” Stiles asks, arching an eyebrow. Something he didn’t pick up from Derek. No sir.
“It’s a get your shit together visit.” Scott crosses his arms and Stiles will never admit this to anyone ever, but Scott can be pretty intimidating. His boundaries need to be pushed pretty far and apparently Stiles has reached customs. “You need to go talk to Derek.”
“No.” Stiles turns back to the books on his desk and sorts them in a random pile.
“I know you slept with him.”
Stiles turns back to Scott so fast, he hits his elbow off the desk chair. “What?” He demands around a painful wince. “I –– Does Derek –– Did he remember?”
“He didn’t have to remember, Stiles, he could smell you all over him from the moment his memories were back. We could all smell you all over each other that day. We just kept our mouths shut out of, I don’t know, politeness or whatever.”
“But.” This is beyond Stiles’ comprehension. His mind has gone an astonishing panicky blank. If he’d known Derek knew, he’d have spent the last few weeks being far more afraid for his life. “You knew? All this time? Why didn’t you say something? Why hasn’t Derek murdered me yet? What is––”
“Murder you?” Scott asks, dropping his arms. He’s looking at Stiles like he just grew a second head. “Why would he murder you?”
“Oh I don’t know?” Stiles bites out, anger his unstoppable defense. “For me taking advantage of him, maybe? For having kissed him and for sleeping with him, knowing full well Derek’d never want that if he’d had all his faculties? Scott, what I did was horrible.” The last word comes out on a desperate choke because the vague nausea that’s been eating him for weeks, hits him full on. He doubles over, clutching his stomach, mumbling, “Fuck, fuck, what have I done, how could I have done that?”
Scott’s feet are walking closer but Scott doesn’t touch him. “Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that to yourself. This is ridiculous, you guys just need to talk to each other. I’m not even supposed to be here. We’ve all been forbidden to say anything about this but I can’t stand the smell of guilt around Derek anymore. And the last person who needs more of that crap in his life, is Derek.”
“Wait,” Stiles gasps, bracing his hands on his knees like he’s been running. “Derek feels guilty?”
The look Scott gives him is stony. “Fix it, Stiles. Now.”
It’s not just glass. All the windows are empty and there are torn pieces of burnt and water-damaged drywall gathering in an even bigger pile, dust settling on that one as if it just got added to.
“Are you renovating the house?” Stiles asks, momentarily forgotten why he’s there. Derek’s jaw works, his eyes dark and foreboding when Stiles looks at him and oh. It nearly knocks him back to see Derek look at him like that again. “Never mind,” Stiles says, going cold down to his bones. He automatically takes a step toward his Jeep even though there couldn’t really be any more distance between them while still being able to hold a conversation. Not that there will be much of one.
And then Derek surprises him. “You said –– you told the alphas I’d do something about the house.”
Stiles huffs, stops it last minute from becoming a laugh. “I didn’t mean all on your own. You’re going to need contractors and electricians, I mean, some of the supporting walls are rotted through. You can’t––”
“That’s already been done. I haven’t been on my own.” It’s getting dark enough that Derek’s expression is pretty unreadable but it’s not like that makes any difference.
“Right.” Stiles wants to rub his eyes but he doesn’t. “Of course.” Of course Derek hasn’t been alone. It’s just Stiles he’s been avoiding. While Stiles avoided him back. The pack have probably all been here over the past couple of weeks, helping out. Tearing down.
Rebuilding.
“Yeah, okay,” Stiles mumbles. The urge to just get in the car and drive off is pretty overwhelming but he knows chances of coming back here anytime soon are slim, so; “I’m sorry. For –– what I did. For everything. I know it was –– that I shouldn’t have. I feel really bad and I’m sorry.” It’s weak, as far as apologies go, but his mouth feels numb and he doesn’t think he can say more.
“You’re sorry,” Derek says without any inflection. He walks off the porch like it isn’t a five step drop and the last of the daylight hits his face. “You’re sorry because what you did was shitty? Or you’re sorry that I know.” Derek advances and Stiles has never, ever felt this awful in his life. “What exactly was it, huh Stiles? Did I give you a blow job? Did you give me one? Or did we jerk each other off? Did you like it? Did I? Tell me, did I fuck you or did I let you do it to m––”
Stiles nearly chokes on his tongue, manages a, “Derek, stop,” and backs away from him until his back hits the Jeep. For a second something raw and hurt flashes across Derek’s face. “I’m sorry. I can’t say it enough, I’m––”
“Shut up,” Derek growls, breathing hard through his nose. “Shut up. You’re sorry, because it must’ve been such a hardship for me, to have sex with a sixteen year old.”
“Seventeen,” Stiles protests pathetically, feeling his eyes bulge as Derek still walks closer until there’s barely two feet between them.
“I’m the one who took advantage of you, Stiles. Maybe I didn’t remember the details of my past, but I still knew I was a lot older than you and I should’ve known better.” Derek takes a deep breath to go on but his eyes widen almost comically and he staggers back. “God and you still––” Derek breathes out before he snaps his mouth shut.
“It wasn’t like that,” Stiles says. “I wanted it.” Fuck it, he has nothing to lose. There is absolutely nothing on this earth that could make this any worse. “You were so … you but without all the pain and the anger, and I just wanted.”
“Of course you did, you’re a teenager, you’d give it up for anyone,” Derek tells him and he looks so disgusted Stiles wants to cry.
“That’s not true,” Stiles says quietly. “You know that’s not true. That’s not who I am.”
Shaking his head, Derek closes his eyes. “It doesn’t matter. This isn’t on you and you shouldn’t feel guilty about––”
“And neither should you!” Stiles bursts out. “I consented. Enthusiastically.” His face goes bright red. “While I can’t say the same for you.”
“Stiles, I should never have fucked a minor,” Derek barks out, something desperate and wild in his eyes that Stiles maybe understands but is afraid to ask about.
“You didn’t,” he whispers, knowing Derek will hear him loud and clear. There’s no way he can say this actually out loud. “You said –– you said you wouldn’t take that away from the real you. The one who’d be able to remember. After.”
Derek’s whole body goes absolutely still in that preternatural werewolf way of his. “I –– say that again?”
Stiles takes a deep breath and says it slowly, letting Derek listen for a lie that’s not there. “You didn’t fuck me.”
“But your room, it smelled so––”
“You were in my room?” Stiles demands, mouth dropping open. “When?”
Derek shifts uncomfortably, eyes darting away as if he’s been caught out. “That first night I got my memory back. I thought –– I wanted to talk to you, to fix things. If I could. But the smell in your room was overwhelming. I could barely–– And it’s still there. I can smell it on you right now,” He grits his teeth, presses his lips into a tight line before going on. “Like you’re claimed. That’s why I thought––”
“No,” Stiles murmurs, “we didn’t.” He hesitates, can’t look up from Derek’s feet. “I would’ve. I wanted to.” Stiles exhales shakily. “I still –– I still do.” There’s a silence and it takes Stiles forever to gather his courage and look at Derek. “Did anyone tell you what the spell was? How you ended up on the road to my house, I mean?”
“I’m not him,” is what Derek says after a curt nod, and yeah, Stiles expects it, but it still hurts like hell.
“I know. I don’t expect you to, to reciprocate. I really don’t, I just –– I need you to know that I don’t regret being with you other than the way it happened. And I really am sorry for giving in to––”
“That’s not what I mean, Stiles,” Derek interrupts, annoyed. “What I mean is, I’m not him. I’m not the person you––” He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t have to.
“I’ve always known who you are,” Stiles tells him quietly. “I just got to know the Derek from before, a little bit. That’s all. And he wanted me back. And it was nice, while it lasted. It just wasn’t real.”
Stiles can’t stand this anymore. His eyes are burning and he knows he’s seconds away from them spilling over. Fuck it if he’s going to humiliate himself all the way and cry in front of Derek. That’d really not help with the whole, I’m an adult I knew what I was doing thing he’s trying to spin.
He leaves.
He’s by his desk, checking his reading list one night, when a breeze hits the back of his neck and he turns around.
“Do you want it to be?” Derek asks. He looks windswept and sort of madly intense –– or intensely mad –– and Stiles blinks at him owlishly, trying to come to terms with Derek being in his room again. He has no idea what he means.
“Uh?” Stiles mumbles, watching Derek take a deliberate step closer. His hand rises and he gently fingers the skin above Stiles’ collarbone, where the love bite has long since faded. Derek must’ve seen it when he came to talk to Stiles but never woke him up.
“Do you want it to be?” Derek repeats slowly, like he’s laying something out on his sleeve for Stiles to hear.
Stiles thinks hard, about what he’d said before he left Derek standing in front of his half-rebuilt house. It just wasn’t real.
Mouth too dry to respond, Stiles tugs at Derek’s jacket, pulling himself up. His heart is hammering madly and when he puts his hand on Derek’s chest, he can feel Derek’s is too.
“Derek,” he says, quiet, desperate. He’s afraid to hope, he hasn’t allowed himself to want this anymore, but who’s he kidding? Just hearing Derek breathe so close to his skin is making Stiles feel more whole than he has in weeks. Maybe much longer than that, but he can’t bear to analyse it right now.
Bringing them closer together until their foreheads nearly touch, Stiles hears Derek inhale with purpose. He responds to it like he’s Pavlov’s dog, knowing exactly what it means. Derek’s hand moves to the back of his neck and Stiles can’t stop the full-body shudder.
It feels so good to have Derek’s hands on him again. Stiles doesn’t think he’d fully realized exactly how lost he’d been, without it.
He’d been a bit out of his depth, the first time he kissed and touched Derek but he knows now. What Derek likes and loves and what makes him feel good. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to use that. In memory of a moment he’ll tell Derek about some day, Stiles drags his thumb over Derek’s mouth, parts it until he can see the wetness shine within and kisses it. He makes it languorous and deep, Derek’s tongue wet and soft in his mouth, Stiles stepping as close as he can get, his thighs parting around Derek’s leg.
Derek breaks away and looks down, resting his forehead on Stiles’ clavicle. “Jesus,” he whispers, like he’s completely gutted and Stiles feels it all the way down to his belly. “Jesus, Stiles.”
There’s a faint flush high on his cheekbones and Stiles rubs at it with his thumb. He feels vulnerable under Stiles’ hands, breakable, and it makes Stiles’ chest clench. He’ll do anything, anything to bring that confidence to the surface. He’ll give his all to make Derek feel safe enough to touch Stiles anywhere he pleases, whenever he wants, like the Derek who hadn’t been broken, had.
Derek sighs and swallows and then presses his lips against Stiles’ ear. “I don’t …” The hand on Stiles’ back lowers so Derek’s fingertips graze the edge of Stiles’ jeans. “I don’t remember. And I don’t. Know how to do this anymore,” he mumbles.
Stiles bites down a moan and closes his eyes. He’s fisting Derek’s jacket to keep himself upright. “That’s okay,” he murmurs, “I do.” He smirks a little. “Probably.” Derek works his hand under Stiles’ t-shirt and puts it warm and broad over his back, giving him support.
Which is a good thing because the next thing Derek says, is, “I don’t want you to hold back. You can do whatever you want to me.”
Stiles makes an unidentifiable noise and clings harder. “Good,” he breathes, holding himself up and away from Derek’s mouth by sheer force of will. “Good, because there’s payback in your future.” He’s trembling, head to toe, feeling delirious with relief and anticipation and bone-deep content. “And it involves my mouth and some very sensitive places.”
Derek’s utterly still for a second, isn’t even breathing and Stiles thinks maybe he doesn’t get it, but then Derek sounds pained when he mumbles, “I did that to you?”
“Didn’t you just,” Stiles says, flushing deep and dark so he feels goosebumps trailing heat all the way down to his toes. Derek pulls back to look at Stiles, still close enough his mouth catches wet and hot on Stiles’ lips.
“You’re going to be insufferable, aren’t you?” Derek says and then he smiles, small and barely there.
One, Stiles thinks.
~end~