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Air on a G String

Chapter Text

At five thirty in the morning, Stiles was slumped face down on his steering wheel, the Jeep underneath him stuttering idly like it always did in winter, the windows fogging up. Five times Stiles had been in the crosshairs of magic. Five times and none of them pleasant but this, this topped it all.

“Ah, shoot,” he mumbled when the light in Dad’s bedroom window came on. There was no way he could delay this any further. Fumbling with his too long sleeves, Stiles dug around in his hoodie for his phone, dialed a number. “Lydia,” he said, her snapped hello barely dimmed by sleepiness, “I’m gonna need your help.”

She found him there barely half an hour later, hair undone and no make-up on her face, eyes wide. “Stiles,” she whispered, awed. “Holy crap.”

“In a nutshell,” he agreed.

To avoid Dad coming outside too soon, Stiles had turned off the ignition and now he sat, door open, shivering at Lydia, retreating even further inside his clothes. It took her maybe ten seconds longer than usual when faced with emergencies to pull herself together, but efficient as always, she shoved the large bag in her hands under one arm and held up the other to help Stiles out of the car.

“Right,” she said. “Best get it over with.”

Dad’s expression went from polite surprise to befuddlement to absolute horror in the span of a “What, Stiles, what the hell?

“Jesus christ,” he stammered and then again, louder, “jesus christ Stiles, get inside. Lydia, I’m going to turn to you for an explanation because I don’t think Stiles’ usual rants will cut it this time.”

“He was cursed,” she told Dad, matter of fact now that she had a hold of herself again. Her back was straight in the rickety chair and Stiles thought how ill she fit in their small, out of date kitchen where Dad poured them all coffee with shaking hands, giving the bottle of rum a longing look. Stiles shifted in his seat, avoiding his hands –– avoiding any of his body parts really. He’d like to avoid everything, go to sleep and not wake up until someone else resolved this shit for a change –– while he warmed them around the mug.

“Cursed,” Dad repeated sounding as disbelieving as could be expected but then he glanced at Stiles, who tried not to feel hurt when Dad looked away again quickly. “As in … witches?”

“A Maenad, actually,” Lydia offered.

“That’s greek mythology. Something about,” Dad frowned, “mad women.”

“Yes,” Lydia said, curt, “something like that. Anyway, this Maenad comes into existence every other year and seduces women into a ritual dance to honor the god Dionysus. Let’s just say it ends in bloodshed. She came for me, I refused her, we thought that was that.” She glanced at Stiles. “But obviously we were wrong.”

“Obviously,” Dad answered weakly. “So, is she coming after Stiles now?”

“I doubt it,” Stiles said and he tried to clear his throat when Dad flinched but his mouth was dry and it wouldn’t make any difference anyway. “She said it was punishment and then she just disappeared. If she was going to kill me, I’m pretty sure she would’ve done it there and then.”

“I agree,” Lydia said, knocking her knee against his under the table and Stiles gave her a weak smile. “Maenads are about intoxication and ecstasy and frenzied sexual behavior. They hunt and they sacrifice, but that’s not really the end goal. I think she just meant to mess with us.”

“Well, she managed that all right,” Dad said. “Is it … permanent?”

Stiles shuddered and blamed the burning behind his eyelids on lack of sleep. “I don’t know. I’ll have to do some research. I don’t–– I––“ He pressed his lips together and Dad looked at him then, full on for the first time since they entered the house. His eyes softened and he looked rueful, like he realized this was anything but easy on Stiles.

“Son,” he said, and then scrunched up his face. Lydia sniggered and Stiles kicked her under the table. “We’ll figure it out, okay? We’ll find a way to deal with this, whether it’s permanent or not. It makes no difference to me, do you hear?” He waited until Stiles looked up again and then put both hands on his shoulders, squeezing reassuringly. “Besides,” Dad went on and there was a small smirk lurking, so Stiles knew what was coming. “I always wanted a daughter.”

“Ha ha,” Stiles said, making a face. He tried to wriggle out of Dad’s grip but just got pulled into a hug for his efforts.

“It’ll be all right,” Dad mumbled into his hair while he patted his back awkwardly. It was weird being hugged when he was suddenly so much shorter, but it felt nice. Safe. “You’ll see.”

“Thank god,” Stiles said, as they trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom, “thank god school’s out.”

“No shit,” Lydia said, opening the bag she’d brought up. She arranged a lot of small items on the counter and looked the same as always, but still different. He didn’t get it at first, watching Lydia put her make-up on in his bathroom. She was doing something with what looked like a powder puff and it made her skin glow.

When she dabbed something on her lips, making them look pink and shiny, she cocked her hip against the sink and glanced at him. Stiles got it then; this was Lydia when there were no boys around.

“Oh no,” Stiles said, understanding what she was waiting for.

“There’s no point delaying,” she said, tapping a finger against a small pouch with unopened make-up. “If this is permanent, it’s best to bite the bullet now.”

“I could homeschool until I go to college,” Stiles said. He didn’t even get a reply to that, just a delicately arched eyebrow in the mirror. “I don’t even have anything to wear,” he tried as a last resort and that made Lydia laugh as he cringed.

“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of that.” Stiles eyed her bag with renewed apprehension. “Right,” she said, smacking her lips around her lipgloss, “your turn.”

“My––what?” Scrambling backwards, Stiles nearly tumbled into the bath he was perched on and his voice rose (another) octave. “I don’t –– you’re not putting –– Lydia I don’t want to wear––“

She gave him a small smile. “I know you don’t,” she said, “but you still look too much like, well, you. Scott and Allison will understand, but what if you run into Danny, or anyone else from school?”

“I could just stay inside until it all went away,” Stiles complained but the thought alone made his skin itch and his limbs feel jittery. Lydia pursed her lips to hide a smile. “Come on, it’s not so bad. But let’s get you into some clothes first, so we don’t ruin the make-up.”

Stiles supposed he should be grateful Lydia pulled out a pair of jeans first, considering her love for all things mini. Under her unrelenting gaze, he stripped out of his too baggy jeans, had a wrestling match over the boxers he was wearing, (Jesus Lydia! –– Well fine, but we’re going underwear shopping soon) and pulled on the tightest fitting jeans he’d ever worn.

“What the hell,” he complained, lying on his back on the bathroom floor, sucking in his stomach –– which was flat, thank you very much –– to pop the button through the hole.

“Welcome to the world of women everywhere,” Lydia said, smiling sweetly and handing him a dark red v-neck sweater. He stood up and pulled the hoodie over his head, was already wriggling his arms out of the t-shirt when it occurred to him.

“Um,” he said, feeling all the blood drain out of his face.

“Oh honey,” Lydia whispered. She paused briefly, then bent back over her bag, digging around and reemerging with a bra hanging from her hand. “Like this,” she said, wrapping it the wrong way around her middle and doing up the clasps in front of her. Then she swiveled it around. “And then you just put your arms through and pull it up. It’s the easiest way.”

“Okay,” Stiles mumbled but he didn’t take the bra off her. She put it next to the sink and then patted his shoulder.

“I’ll be right outside.”

Holy crap, Stiles thought, staring at Lydia’s bra. Two months ago he’d have been pinching himself to make sure this wasn’t a wet dream. Now he just stared at it feeling vaguely nauseated.

“I don’t mean to rush you Stiles,” Lydia’s voice came through the door. “But my mom is going to wake up soon and wonder where I am.”

“Okay,” he called back. “I’m, uh, yeah I can do this.”

Snatching the bra from the counter, Stiles turned his back to the mirror, pulled off the t-shirt and looked down. He made some sort of squeaky noise but bit the inside of his cheek and fastened the bra around his midriff like Lydia’d shown him, hands shaking. It took a couple of tries but once the two clasps were fastened, he closed his eyes, pushed the bra the right way around and stuffed his arms through the straps. Stiles didn’t open his eyes again until he was covered and didn’t look down until he’d pulled the v-neck over his head.

“Okay,” he said, “I’m dressed.”

At once the door opened and Lydia stared at him. “Not bad,” she told him. “Not bad at all. You’ll need a slightly bigger bra, but for now it’ll do. Come on,” she patted the counter, “sit down and I’ll do your make-up.”

“Do I really need––“

“Humor me,” Lydia interrupted and began unwrapping all the new stuff she brought.

“I’ll pay you back,” Stiles said weakly but Lydia waved the comment away.

“I have more make-up than I know what to do with and besides––” She didn’t go on and didn’t look up for a while. Stiles didn’t press.

After about ten minutes of; “Close your eyes. Open. Purse your lips. Open. Press them together. Hold still, Stiles. Don’t blink,” she was done.

“I’d pluck those eyebrows but I guess they’re not so bad. And there’s not much I can do about that nose,” she said and Stiles’, “Hey,” just made her smirk at him. “You make a pretty girl. Who knew?”

Putting her hands on his shoulders, Lydia tugged him down and turned him around.

“Oh,” Stiles said, reaching up to touch his mouth but Lydia slapped his hand away.

“No touching your face.” She held up a finger as Stiles looked at himself in the mirror some more. “No biting your lips, I’ve seen you Stiles don’t even give me that. No rubbing your eyes and for the love of all that’s holy, no scratching non-existent stubble. You’ll take off the foundation.”

“Being a girl is complicated,” Stiles groused and Lydia laughed.

“This is only the beginning sweetie. Show me your nails.”

Stiles held up his hands and looked at her as she studied them. He felt a fierce urge to hug the life out of her.

“Hmm. You have nice hands. We’ll get you some nailpolish later.” When she looked up again, her face was serious. “There’s nothing we can do about your hair,” she said, wavering for only a second and then she pushed on, lifting her chin a little. “People will assume you’ve had chemotherapy or something. I’d advise you to just ignore that. No one will ask you outright. I can give you a hat if you want.”

Stiles rubbed a hand over his buzz cut and swallowed. “No,” he said a little hoarsely and Lydia did her best to keep the sympathy off her face. “No hat.”

“Okay.” There was a glint of pride in her eyes. “We’re out of time, I have to go home, but I can come back later. I’ll take you shopping.”

Stiles tried to look like she wasn’t suggesting torture but he probably failed miserably. “What about shoes?” He asked. “Mine are huge now.”

Lydia squinted at his feet. “I have a pair of flats in my car.”

Dad met them at the bottom of the stairs. “So you’re Marjorie Stilinski for the duration of your stay in Beacon Hills,” he said and Stiles gaped at him. “I called in to the office that I was going to be late today because my son had the flu and his cousin arrived to stay while her parents were in Europe.”

“Well at least it’ll be believable for you to go by Stiles too,” Lydia said, laughing. “Come on, I’ll get you those shoes and I’ll pick you up for lunch. We can go to Sumo Sushi, if you bat your eyelashes at the waiter you might get free soda.”

“I don’t need to hear this,” Dad said at the same time Stiles exclaimed, “Lydia Martin, don’t tell me that’s what you’ve been doing.”

“Use your assets,” Lydia told him, reaching out and cupping his breasts through the sweater, righting them.

“Oh my god,” Dad said weakly, clapping a hand to his face and turning away. All Stiles managed was a, “Muh,” and then Lydia was out the door.

“See you later, Dad,” he said faintly and thought he heard Dad mumble, “Much, much later, please.”

Lydia handed him a pair of flats (thank fuck) and Stiles got into his car, searching the floor for his phone.

“Scott, I’m coming over,” he said, when Scott answered with a sleepy, “M’ullo?”

Turned out climbing a drainpipe was a whole lot harder with tight jeans on and Stiles had to stuff his boobs back into his top before he flung himself through Scott’s open window.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott mumbled sitting up in his bed, rubbing his eyes. He opened them, blinked and then squeaked loudly, clutching the covers to his bare chest.

“I’m pretty sure I’m the one who’s supposed to do that,” Stiles said, climbing to his feet.

“You,” Scott blurted, his eyes bulging, “have breasts.”

“Yes, well spotted,” Stiles said. “Can you get some clothes on? We need to go see Deaton.”

“He’s on vacation.” Scott stared at him and Stiles did his best not to fidget or cover himself up with a blanket or something. He had the feeling this was going to be an interesting learning experience.

“Vacation? Why the hell is he on vacation?” Stiles demanded. “And stop staring.”

“Sorry. But. The clinic closes around this time every year and, I don’t know, he’s just not around. I don’t actually know where he lives. Was this the Maenad’s doing?”

“You don’t know where he––? Uh, yeah,” Stiles said, feeling a bit ashamed of how he was always blindsided whenever Scott had a bright moment. “Yeah, it was. Guess she wasn’t happy with Lydia’s rejection and apparently I was an easy target.” Again.

“Right, then we’ll go see Derek.” Scott flung his legs out of bed and froze. “Can you, uh, turn around?”

“What?” Stiles put his hands on his hips and then quickly dropped them. “I don’t want to see Derek, and are you kidding me? I’ve seen you naked, dude. Multiple times since we were seven.”

“Yeah,” Scott said, face pinched, “but that was before you had––” he gestured vaguely, “––lady bits.”

“Unbelievable,” Stiles complained, throwing his arms in the air and then crossing them while he turned around to stare at the door. It made his cleavage pop up in his peripheral vision and Stiles screwed his eyes shut. “But if you think I’m going to see Derek Hale in this state, you’ve got another thing coming. Besides, who says he’ll want to help?”

Behind him, Scott snorted, and Stiles could hear him slip into his clothes. “Because it’s you, duh,” Scott said and Stiles didn’t know what that meant at all. “Do you want some breakfast? Mom’s already gone to work.”

“Yes,” Stiles said, turning around with a grin. “Waffles?”

Another unwelcome side effect of tight clothes apparently, was that he had to pop the button of his jeans after just three waffles. Scott only looked distressed once, when Stiles spilled cream on his chest and dragged a finger through it to lick it up again, so all in all it was pretty much a success. By the time they’d done the dishes, read through what they could on the bestiary and argued about going to Derek’s, Stiles got a text from Lydia, saying, Meet in half an hour.

“I gotta go,” Stiles said from the couch, legs splayed too wide to be decent. “Why don’t you go talk to Derek by yourself.”

“Who you meeting up with?” Scott asked, looking a bit petulant.

“None of your business,” Stiles told him primly, shoving his phone in his back pocket as he stood up. “C’mere and gimme a hug.”

Scott backed away from him as Stiles cornered him, arms wide. “No way, I do not need to feel your man-cleavage,” Scott said but he was laughing and let Stiles catch him, said, “Take care of yourself,” quiet enough to be serious.

“Are you saying that because I’m a girl?” Stiles asked him, heading for the front door. If he’d known Mrs McCall was out, he wouldn’t have bothered with the drainpipe.

“I’m saying that because we all need to be more careful,” Scott told him, and he waited until Stiles was in his car before taking off into the woods.

“I did some reading this morning,” Lydia told Stiles –– he tried, he really did, to not feel gleeful as he sucked free (diet) Coke through his straw, but he failed –– as soon as they handed over their menus to the waiter and watched him walk away. “And I think the answer will be sex.”

“With you?” Stiles yelped, dribbling Coke all over his chin. Lydia tutted and leaned over the table, dabbing at it with her napkin before Stiles could wipe it off with his sleeve.

“With yourself for starters,” she said. “Dionysus and his Maenads are all about pleasure and debauchery so I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s what it takes to break the spell. You are still a virgin I assume?”

Stiles nodded with his mouth open but there didn’t seem to be an awful lot he could do about that. Lydia rolled her eyes. “It’s not a hardship really, is it? Imagine how many men want to be in your shoes.”

“I don’t have to,” Stiles said weakly. “I’ve wanted to be in my current shoes plenty of times.” It’d just be easier if he knew it wasn’t permanent.

“So you’re going to go home, draw a bath or whatever it takes to get you nice and relaxed and … explore.” She dragged her drink closer and sucked on the straw like Stiles’ brain wasn’t about to short out.

“Um,” Stiles said but the waiter appeared with their wonton soup and he didn’t have to say anything else.

“What if it doesn’t work?” Stiles asked her, outside, where he didn’t have to look her in the eye.

She squeezed his elbow briefly. “We’ll worry about that tomorrow.” It looked like she was going to walk away and Stiles turned toward his Jeep when she said, “Oh and Stiles,” waiting until he faced her. “Do trim your nails.”

If there was one thing Stiles learnt from being a cop’s kid, it was how to ask the wrong questions to get the right information. What’s for dinner? He texted Dad, and got a Sorry kid, will be home late, you’ll have to make do, as a reply.

It was how he found himself in the bathroom, under the safe assumption he wasn’t going to be disturbed, contemplating a candle and the possible fire hazard of lighting it, since it was covered in an inch of dust. Mom had put it there five years ago and neither of them had ever moved it, apart from the perfunctory wipe underneath. He was pretty sure it smelled more of old wax and bathroom grime than vanilla by now, so he decided to leave it.

“Right,” he said to the mirror, “lets do this thing.” If this was going to be his new body, be it for a day or a year, he was going to have to learn to look at it.

The make-up from his shopping spree with Lydia was spread out over the sink and Stiles grabbed the packet of facial wipes while the bath filled behind him. He pulled one out, sniffed it, hummed at its ‘refreshingly pleasant’ cucumber scent and dragged it roughly over his face. When he resurfaced, there was mascara smeared over his forehead and his skin looked rubbed raw.

“Woops,” he said, taking more care with the second wipe. (“Always cleanse, Stiles, I don’t care how tired you are at night, no one likes blocked pores.”) The bath was nearly full so he turned it off and stripped out of his clothes before he could think about it. “Deep breath, Stilinski,” he murmured and looked up.

The mirror was starting to fog up, but he could still see the gentle curve of his hips that hadn’t been there before, the slope of his belly, and then, oh. Stiles lifted his hands to his breasts, ignoring how his fingers shook and laughed a bit pathetically when he felt the weight of them in his palms. Of course the first handful he’d get to cop would be his own.

It felt nice though, and his nipples already began to go perky. He quickly swiped at the mirror and took a step back, calves against the bath. Between his legs was a tuft of dark hair, and nothing else. “Fuck,” he said. “Fuck.” He felt lightheaded, and not in a good way, but he was going to go through with this, damnit, so he cracked the bathroom door open a bit, in case it’d get too hot in there and sank down into the hot water.

It was nice, and while it was different, it wasn’t entirely alien. He still felt aroused from touching himself in all the secret and not so secret places, it just wasn’t as overwhelmingly unstoppable as when he had his dude parts. So Stiles got out of the bath before he’d actually accomplished anything, because he really hated pruney fingers and toes.

There was a bathrobe he never used hanging from the hook on the door, and he put it on without drying himself properly. Stiles planned on maybe looking at some porn, see if that sped things up a bit, and he didn’t need to be dressed for that.

Flinging the jeans in the washing basket –– he’d have to check the bra and sweater, didn’t trust laundering those with everything else –– Stiles checked his phone on the way to his bedroom.

Derek coming over to talk to you tonight, he read, just as he opened his door.

“No way,” Stiles groaned and Derek, oddly enough, looked caught even though he was clearly waiting for Stiles. “It’s never okay to enter my bedroom uninvited, but it’s really extra not okay now, Derek. Okay?”

Derek said nothing and Stiles tried to be surreptitious about glancing down to check if his robe was cinched closed tight enough. It was.

“It’s not a joke,” Derek said eventually, when Stiles widened his eyes at him in a, Well? kind of way.

“Of course it’s not a freaking joke,” he snapped, annoyed. “Now can you help me? Or not?”

“Not,” Derek said. He swallowed and his eyes trailed down Stiles’ body, until they guiltily sprung back to his face. It’d be hilarious if Stiles wasn’t feeling so dejected. With Deaton out of town, Derek was kind of his only hope. Apart from the, uh, Lydia’s idea. “I mean, I need to, check, some things. I’ll be back later.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Derek was already straddling the windowsill. “I’ll knock, this time,” he said and then he was gone.

“Great,” Stiles mumbled, slamming the window shut. “Absolutely wonderful.”

He glanced at his computer, estimated Derek would be gone for a good while, and sat down. Clicking through his history folder, right down to 19th Century Art and Culture (a sure subject Dad wouldn’t go near), Stiles clicked on his favorite porn video and hitched up his robe. He was going to learn from this experience, he didn’t care what it took.

Chapter Text

He never knew if Derek ended up coming by and knocking because Stiles woke up the exact same way he went to sleep: in his robe, with the blankets tangled around his sweaty legs, face mushed in the pillow and hand still wedged between his legs. It wasn’t as disconcerting as it should’ve been and when his fingers twitched, his entire body followed. Still a girl then.

Stiles groaned and sat up, muscles in his butt hurting that he didn’t even know existed. Clearly three –– holy mother of god –– self-acquired orgasms hadn’t been the answer and Stiles was very much in need of a shower (where he discovered the many, many uses of a showerhead).

Dealing with the make-up was hard enough, mascara in the eye stings like a bitch, so Stiles was glad his hair was still short. Lydia had given him a bag with clothes (“They’re all last winter, Stiles, I can’t wear them again, so no, don’t try to pay me back.”) and Stiles dumped it on his unmade bed just when Dad came in his room.

“You all right?” He asked and Stiles felt his ribcage clench when he didn’t even show a single flicker of disappointment that Stiles’ towel was hitched up under his armpits instead of around his hips.

“Yeah.” Stiles gave him a small smile and indicated the pile of dresses, skirts, and even stockings. “As well as can be expected I guess.”

Dad lifted a high heeled shoe off the bed.

“I’m sure she gave me that as a joke,” Stiles hoped.

“You know I’m here if you need to talk, don’t you,” Dad said, dropping the shoe and squinting briefly at the ceiling before looking down at Stiles again. “And I meant what I said, it makes no difference to me.”

“I know, Dad,” Stiles mumbled, throat tight. “I love you.”

“Love you too so–– kid.” He smirked and closed the door behind him. “And I’ll knock, next time,” he said through the wood which made Stiles cringe.

He was going to have to see Derek today.

With that in mind, he began picking clothes out, spending far more time doing that than he ever had before. He wasn’t particularly fond of the idea of wearing dresses, but then, when was he ever going to get the chance again?

There was an orange and red and black checkered dress with short sleeves and a thick lopsided collar thing that came just above his knees, which felt very soft, so Stiles put that to the side. He found a pair of black tights to go with it and then pulled out the separate bag of new underwear Lydia had given him right before lunch the day before.

“Um,” Stiles said, looking at the g-strings, thongs and small army of bras that ranged from corsets to see through netting things. He ended up going for non-descript black underpants and felt no one needed to know if he decided to try on that flowery strapless thing that sat snug around his breasts and tight around his ribcage in a way that made him feel weirdly confident.

Getting the tights on was more of a problem, and he had to try three times to stop making them feel like they were trying to strangle his legs. The dress felt really good, no wonder girls liked wearing those, the sense of freedom was awesome. He left the high heeled shoes on the bed and instead pulled on a pair of knee-high black boots that were flat enough so Stiles didn’t worry about face planting all over the place.

Dad was just shrugging into his work jacket when Stiles came down the stairs.

“What do you think?”

“You look very … pretty,” Dad said, looking mildly baffled, like he hadn’t really considered that a possibility before.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, unable to stop the grin.

“So,” Dad began, one hand on the doorhandle. “I was thinking. Christmas next week.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, because he knew this.

“Maybe you could put up the tree.”

Stiles froze, because there hadn’t been a tree since Mom died. “Are you asking me because I’m a girl now?” Stiles smirked, because it was that or possible tears.

Dad rolled his eyes, relieved. “Yes, Stiles. And then I think you should vacuum and clean the kitchen because it’s not like those weren’t your chores before.”

“Chauvinist,” Stiles said, grinning and Dad mildly tapped the back of his head and left.

The Hale house was pretty much gone by now and the foundations for a log cabin were laid. Stiles would never have guessed Derek to be the kind to want to live in a log cabin, but Dad said he’d entered the park ranger program and it all sort of fit, really.

Derek appeared beside his temporary trailer as soon as Stiles rounded the bend, because of course he heard him coming, and since Stiles had some practice getting into the Jeep with a dress on –– managing it without flashing anything on the second try –– he climbed out of it with pretty good grace.

“Hey,” Stiles said, shrugging his slipped down winter anorak awkwardly back over his too narrow shoulders.

“Hi,” Derek said, taking in the boots, the tights and then the rest of Stiles. He didn’t say anything else, so Stiles cleared his throat.

“I don’t know if you came by last night, I think I fell asleep. So, sorry. If you did.”

Derek’s hand did this convulsive twitch thing by his side, and when Derek said, “I did, I –– I knocked. You didn’t hear me,” he blinked rapidly and broke their gaze. Stiles flushed horribly, horribly red.

It hadn’t occurred to him, that Derek might have been outside his window, might have heard him, while he was too out of it, too gone with the feel of the wetness on his fingers, the heat around them, the intoxicating sensation of getting it just right, the smell of it as it filled the room. Oh jesus, Derek might have smelled it too.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said weakly and Derek looked back up at him. He’d pretty much stopped wearing that perpetual scowl around Stiles, around everyone, a few months ago, but it was back with a vengeance now and Stiles hated that he might have put that there, so he rallied up all his courage and said, “Did you find out, anything? Is that why you, uh, came by?” His voice shook, but if Derek was willing to ignore it, then so would he.

“I, yeah,” Derek said. “Do you want,” he took a step to the side, gestured awkwardly toward the door of his trailer, “do you want to come in?”

Stiles had never been inside before, no one had, as far as he knew. Derek had loosened up a lot, but there were some things he still guarded fiercely. When the pack got together, it was at Isaac’s ratty apartment. So Stiles nodded, because he did want to go inside, look at the place Derek called home, or the closest thing to it.

Derek opened the door, held it and stepped aside enough so Stiles could squeeze past him on the small steps. “Thanks,” he said, and Derek nodded jerkily.

It was kinda nice, as far as trailers could be nice. Stiles took it in while he stood fidgeting with his sleeves. The kitchen was tiny but clean, with a small TV in the corner beside the sink. The couch equalled the dining area, with a table that was currently folded down. There was a single book on it, spine cracked in multiple places, facing down somewhere half way through. It looked familiar, and Stiles wanted to go see what it was. A beaded curtain split the trailer in half, hiding the bedroom and bathroom mostly from view. When Stiles peered through it, he nearly made a noise in surprise to see a bunch of lit fairy lights strung haphazardly above the bed.

Derek was staring at him when Stiles was done looking around. “I just made coffee,” Derek told him, “if you want some.”

“Sure, yeah,” Stiles told him quickly, even though the last thing he should be doing while he felt like this, was imbibe caffeine.


“No thanks,” Stiles said, even though he normally did take sugar, but he felt like bad things might happen if he added sugar high to the list. Derek seemed to know this, because he raised an eyebrow at Stiles. He didn’t say anything though, just turned around and fished a clean mug out of one of four cabinets.

“So,” Stiles said, when he took the mug off Derek but Derek cut him off with,

“You look nice.”

“Oh. Um. Thanks?” Stiles said. His eyes were probably wide as saucers but he had never heard Derek give anyone a compliment that didn’t involve the practicing of lethal skills.

“You do,” Derek said, like Stiles was disagreeing with him.


“Do you want to sit down? Take off your jacket, maybe?”

“Sure,” Stiles said, shrugging off his huge coat and looking around for somewhere to put it. He saw Derek’s leather jacket hanging off a hook on the door, so he reached to hang it beside it. When he turned around, Derek was looking at his arms.

“Weird, huh,” Stiles said, trying to smile, but he probably looked like he had a toothache.

“A bit,” Derek admitted, cheeks going slightly pink, “yeah.”

“It’s all right, trust me, it’s a lot weirder for me.”

“I bet.” Derek indicated the couch and Stiles took his mug off the counter and sat. Derek folded down opposite him.

“So did you find out something?” Stiles asked and Derek nodded, instantly going back to looking like he’d swallowed cold coffee by accident. Stiles was afraid he was going to have to drag it out of Derek, was afraid he already knew what it was, too, but Derek curled his hands into fists on the table.

“You have to have sex,” he blurted out, not looking Stiles in the eye.

Stiles blew at his mug, watching the steam above it curl away. “Yeah,” he mumbled, “that’s what Lydia said.”

He felt Derek’s eyes snap up to him. “Lydia wants to have sex with you?” Derek demanded and instantly seemed to regret it.

“No?” Stiles said, frowning at him. “I don’t think so? She just assumed that would be the answer, which, hah, guess I’m gonna be stuck like this forever.” It was a joke, but Derek didn’t laugh, he didn’t say anything. He held Stiles’ gaze for a little bit too long, though. They drank coffee in silence.

“So when do you think the cabin will be done?” Stiles asked when his mug was nearly empty.

“Summertime,” Derek said. His shoulders lost a bit of their tension and his face relaxed into a near smile. “I’m waiting for the wood to arrive and I can do most of it myself apart from the electricity. I’ll have to get someone in to do that for me.”

“Dad might know someone,” Stiles offered and Derek glanced at him.

“Yeah,” he said. “That could be helpful. Thanks.”


They fell silent again and when their coffee was gone, there wasn’t much reason to stick around.

“I guess I'd better go.”

“I guess,” Derek murmured, but he stood and helped Stiles slip into his jacket, which was weird and awkward because the last time anyone helped Stiles into a jacket, he was five. He might have accidentally touched Derek’s junk in an attempt to get his arms through the sleeves, but he decided it best to ignore it.

“Well,” Stiles said outside, Derek standing in the doorway and Stiles one step below him. “See you.”

“See you,” Derek said but he waited until Stiles was in the car before he closed the door.

“No, Stiles,” Lydia said, when she opened her door.

“What?” Stiles demanded. “What did I do now?”

“That coat, with that dress, actually no. That coat with anything.” She dragged him into her house. “Take it off.”

“Um,” Stiles said, but did what he was told. Lydia pursed her lips.

“Apart from that, you look very nice. Come on.”

He’d only been in her bedroom once before, and he wasn’t going to think about that now. He sat down on her bed and tugged off his boots, wriggled his toes.

“So I guess it didn’t work,” she said, rummaging through her huge walk-in wardrobe. “Or didn’t you try?”

“What?” Stiles said, looking up from a wide array of nail polish by the side of her bed.

“Did you not orgasm last night?” She asked like that was a perfectly normal question and Stiles sputtered, blushed so red he thought his make-up might melt off. “Oh please,” she said, rounding on him, holding up a nice black coat. “Here, I want it back when you’re normal again though. I like this coat. So, did you, or did you not, orgasm.”

“Lydia,” Stiles complained, scandalized.

“Stiles Stilinski,” she said, “I’ve heard you boast about the amount of times you jerk off far more than I care for, so don’t give me that.”

“Yeah but this is different,” he insisted. Lydia narrowed her eyes at him.

“Is it? Really?”

“Well, I’m a girl now,” Stiles mumbled.

“Hot from the press, Stiles: Girls masturbate. A lot, okay? In various positions, in various ways, with various aides that I’m sure haven’t even crossed your dirty, dirty mind. So tell me, since you’re clearly still missing some vital body parts, didn’t you at least try?”

“I did!” Stiles said, going a bit pink. “And I did. Three times.”

Lydia raised an appreciative eyebrow. “Really?” She said. “Nice. But I guess that’s not the answer, which I was afraid it might not be. You clearly need to have sex with another person, for this to work.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said.

“Oh, don’t look so glum,” Lydia said, sitting down beside him and patting his knee. She then took a towel off the nightstand and spread one of Stiles hands on it. She picked up a clear bottle of nail polish and began to do his nails. “At least now we know, and we’ll have you right as rain in no time.”

“How do you figure that, then?” Stiles said, because he was under no illusions to his attractiveness as a guy and while he thought he stood a marginally better chance as a girl, he still wasn’t very hopeful. There might be guys who’d want him now, but Stiles wasn’t so sure that’s what he wanted. Lydia said nothing, she just blew on his nails and gestured for the other hand.

“There’s always Scott,” she said after a while, applying a dark green color over the clear one and Stiles made a horrific noise.

“No way,” he said, “Scott’s my bro. I can’t even think of him that way. No, that’s just, no.” Stiles shuddered.

When she was done with the green, Lydia sat up and looked at him. When Stiles went to move his hands, she said, “I’m not done yet, but it has to dry a bit.” And then she just stared at him.

“What?” Stiles asked, and then, when she still said nothing, “Wait. Wait, what? Are you … are you offering?”

“I would do it,” Lydia said, gently, “if there is no one else. But you have to know that it would only be to help you out, and for no other reason, okay? You need to understand that.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said weakly and he closed his eyes. Lydia’s mouth on his, Lydia’s breasts in his hands, her hands on him. It blew his mind, but at the same time, it didn’t feel quite right.

“Exactly,” Lydia whispered, like she’d been waiting for him to reach a conclusion. “I think it needs to be with someone so it means something, don’t you? It’d still be your first time, even if it’s technically not your body. It still should be worth remembering, I think.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said and looked down while Lydia began to apply another clear layer.

“So can you think of someone?” She asked and Stiles swallowed.

“I think,” he began, voice hoarse, “I think, Derek, might want to.”

Lydia gaped at him, mouth distinctly open. “Derek?” She hissed. “Are you serious?”

“I, yeah, it’s not that far fetched, is it?”

“No, that’s not,” Lydia huffed an annoyed breath. “I know he wants you,” she said. “I just didn’t think it was like that for you.”

“What?” Stiles said, and then, “wait, because he’s a guy?”

“No,” Lydia rolled her eyes, “you’ve been pretty loud and clear about having a unisex open door policy. I just didn’t know you were into Derek.”

“Are you kidding,” Stiles said. He smiled but it was a bit miserably. “It’s been pretty much Derek ever since I figured out you and me would never happen.”

It was quiet in the room for a while, and eventually Lydia patted his hand. “All done,” she said mildly. “And I think you should talk to Derek about this.”

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbled. “I think so too.”

He went home instead, started to carry the boxes with Christmas decorations from the basement, because suddenly he wasn’t in such a hurry to have his own body back.

Stiles was still assembling the fake tree, the color markings were long gone so it was tough to figure out which bit went where and needed to be attached to what plug to get the lights to work, when Dad came home. He didn’t say anything, just began to help Stiles, unwrapping the decorations and handing them over while Stiles hung them up. This used to be something Mom did, on her own. Stiles thought she enjoyed it, because it was always done by the time he came home from school. So it wasn’t quite right, but it looked okay when he went to put the red bow on the top, realizing he wasn’t tall enough to do that now.

“Here,” Dad said, “let me.”

They stood back and admired their slightly lopsided tree, with too many ornaments on the top and not enough on the bottom, but it’d do. Dad flicked on the lights.

“I like it,” he said.

“Me too,” Stiles replied.

“Is something the matter?” Dad asked over dinner. “You’re very quiet.” Stiles took a deep breath.

“We figured out how to fix me,” he said and Dad grabbed his wrist.

“Stiles, that’s great, what is it? What do you need to do? Can I help?”

Stiles choked on a piece of broccoli. “No, oh god, no you really, really can’t.” He grabbed his glass of water and took a big gulp which only made him cough more.

“What is it then?” Dad asked, frowning. “What’s wrong?”

“I––” Stiles took a deep breath. “––need to have sex.”

“No,” Dad said, growled it nearly. “No, Stiles, you can’t. Not for something, not for, it has to be––” Dad snapped his mouth shut and glared angrily at his plate. “No,” he said again, softly this time.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Stiles told him. “I’m nearly old enough, and I know it’s not ideal, but it’s not as bad as for some kids right? I mean, there’s so many in my year who, who lost their virginity when they were drunk, and at least I, it might be with someone I really care about if, if they want to.”

“Lydia?” Dad asked, lifting his head and then his eyes narrowed again. “Wait, they?”

“Um … he. Yeah.”

“So.” Dad swallowed. “I’m sorry. Then. About what I said outside that club.”

“No, that’s fine,” Stiles hurried to tell him. “I kinda like both, so you weren’t wrong.”

“Okay,” Dad nodded at his plate, running a hand through his hair. “Who do you have in mind, then?”

“Ah, yes. Well.” Stiles rubbed his eyes and felt the mascara crumble beneath his fingers. Shit. “It’s Derek. I like Derek. A lot,” he mumbled and Dad closed his eyes and sighed.

Chapter Text

Since the mascara was all botched up anyway, Stiles wiped his face clean and changed into a pair of flannel pajamas that were way too long. He tried to watch a game of football with Dad, but he kept fidgeting, checking his phone nervously every two minutes. It was driving Dad to distraction, even though he did a good job of hiding it.

“I think I’ll just go upstairs,” Stiles told him. “Watch a movie or something.”

“You do that,” Dad said, squinting down at his hands. “And think carefully, before you decide anything, okay? You have time, a couple of weeks before school, right? So. No rush.”

“No,” Stiles mumbled, “no rush.”

He locked himself in his room, started a random movie and called Lydia.

“It’s just sex, right?” He asked her hoarsely, as soon as she answered.

“Yeah,” she said, pausing only briefly. “Yes, it is. It’s a big deal, but not as big as it seems, right now. Have you asked him?”

“No, I haven’t.” Stiles tugged his hoodie over his shoulders, suddenly feeling cold. He glanced at his window just in case, but it remained shut.

“But you’re going to.”

“I think so, yeah. I don’t see how I’ve got any choice.”

“You don’t, if you want to return to school back to normal.” Lydia sighed and it sounded a bit shaky, but Stiles chose to ignore that. “It’s not ideal, and it’s not how it’s supposed to go. It sucks, but this is how it is and you’ve got to know that Derek won’t hurt you. I mean, you know he cares about you, right?”

“I guess,” Stiles whispered. He’d called her because he’d hoped she’d make him feel better but it was just getting worse.

“Just call him, Stiles. You might be surprised what comes of this.”

He didn’t see how anything could come of this. Even if Derek was interested before, and Stiles vaguely thought that he might have been, how was he going to deal with him being a girl now? And how could it be anything but awkward after?

“Maybe he just wants me now because I’m a girl,” he said, which is something that hadn’t even occurred to him until this very minute.

“You won’t know that until you ask him,” Lydia said. “Talk to him. And if you decide he’s not, that’s not what you want … you know I’ll help out.”

“Yeah.” Stiles took a deep breath. “Yeah, all right. Thanks.”

“Don't stress too much.”

“Yeah. Good night, Lydia.”

I think we need to talk, Stiles texted to Derek, after changing his mind a dozen times. He’d ensconced himself completely in his comforter, had it pulled over his head like a cocoon as he sat cross-legged on his bed.

Okay, came the reply almost immediately. It was ten thirty and Stiles tapped his phone to his chin as he thought. No time like the present, he decided, and was about to emerge and pull on a pair of jeans when his phone went again.

Stiles bit down on the crap that sat on the tip of his tongue and stood. “Just a sec,” he said, when Derek stepped into his room and he turned toward the door, but changed his mind. “Actually, no. Can you go back out?” Derek looked hurt, so Stiles pushed on. “Give me two minutes, and then ring the doorbell.”

“You want,” Derek began, eyes flicking from Stiles to his bedroom door to the window. “You want me to come in through the front door.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. This was one, admittedly very uncomfortable, thing he wasn’t going to lie to Dad about.

“Okay,” Derek said after a short silence. His voice was gentle. “Okay. Two minutes.”

“Two minutes,” Stiles agreed and slid the window shut behind Derek.

Dad was still on the couch, nursing a drink. Stiles wasn’t going to say anything, this time. He just wished he could have one too. “Dad,” he said from the doorway. Dad turned around. “Derek is coming over.”

His face fell, and when he said, “Stiles,” he sounded so old and defeated, it made Stiles want to cry.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Stiles said, even though it kind of wasn’t. Dad nodded once and looked down at his drink.

“Do you want me out of the house?” He asked and Stiles flailed a bit.

“What? No! What? It’s not, Dad,” he lowered his voice even though it probably wouldn’t do any good. “We’re just gonna, I mean, I’m gonna talk to him. I haven’t even, I haven’t asked him … anything yet.” Dad looked relieved and sighed.

“He’s not going to turn you down, Stiles,” he said and Stiles really wanted to tell him to keep his voice down, “and if he does, he’s an idiot.”

“Okay,” Stiles squeaked and Derek apparently had a merciful side, because he rang the doorbell. “I’ll get it,” he said weakly and turned toward the front door.

“Hi,” Stiles said, trying to act like he hadn’t just seen Derek upstairs.

“Hello,” Derek said, looking grave as ever but Stiles swore there was a twinkle in his eyes.

“Um, come in.” Stiles stepped aside and closed the door when Derek was inside. “We’ll just be upstairs.”

“Sheriff,” Derek nodded and Stiles cringed when Dad nodded back, saying, “Derek,” like it was a death sentence.

“So,” Stiles cleared his throat, wondering belatedly if he should’ve offered Derek a drink. There was an open can of Coke on his desk but that was probably three days old. Derek stood awkwardly in the middle of his room, hands stuffed in his pocket. There was no point delaying this. “Do you know, um, why I said we should talk?”

“Yes,” Derek said and it looked like he wasn’t going to add anything else, but he went on. “Yeah, I do and I. Yes.”

“Yes?” Stiles repeated weakly, looking up at Derek for the first time since they entered his bedroom. “That’s it?”

“No, that’s, not it. It shouldn’t be.” Derek's shoulders slumped and he heaved a heavy breath. “I don’t know how to do this,” he said and Stiles laughed.

“That makes two of us.”

“I mean,” Derek said slowly. He took off his leather jacket and sat down on the bed beside Stiles. “I don’t want to just. I want to do this ... right.”

“Right,” Stiles repeated and bit his tongue. He was, it seemed, turning into a parrot as well as a girl.

“Go on a date with me,” Derek said, looking down at where their knees bumped together. He reached out and touched one of the stars on Stiles' pajama pants briefly, before taking his hand away again.

“You –– we don’t have to do that,” Stiles said. “I don’t think––”

“I want to,” Derek admitted quietly. “I don’t want to just,” he swallowed, “have sex. I think we should go on a date. Maybe two, or so, and see. If you still want. After that.”

“It doesn’t really matter what I want,” Stiles said, which was a mistake. Derek’s jaw clenched and he screwed his eyes shut.

“Don’t,” he whispered, “don’t say that. If that’s true, if you don’t want this, me, I won’t. I won’t.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, throat thick. “A date, then.” Derek opened his eyes.


“Yeah.” Stiles smiled at him. “Movies?”

“Okay,” Derek nodded. He didn’t smile back, but he didn’t look like he was going to pass out anymore either. “Tomorrow?”

“Okay,” Stiles said and stood up.

“I’ll pick you up.”

“I should think so.” Stiles grinned and when Derek reached his door, he put a hand on Derek’s arm. Derek turned to look at him, and Stiles rose on his tiptoes, pressed a dry kiss to Derek’s mouth. Blinking owlishly at him, Derek looked a bit silly, especially with that pink flush on his cheeks, and it made Stiles feel infinitely better.

The next day was pretty nerve wracking, so Stiles went to Scott’s in the early afternoon and played X-Box games until Allison arrived. He hadn’t bothered with makeup or dressing nice since he figured he’d have to do it all over again for his date anyway. His date. Holy crap.

“So,” Scott said when Allison began putting her stuff away. She was spending the night, it looked like, and Stiles tried not to feel morose. “Allison tells me you’ve got to have sex to get, you know, your junk back.”

“Why,” Stiles lamented, eyes rolling to the ceiling, “doesn’t anyone know anything about the supernatural crap we’ve got to deal with until it involves my junk. Then everyone’s suddenly an expert.”

“I just want you to know,” Scott went on, not listening, “that if you need to, I’ve got your back.” Stiles’ eyes widened and Scott made a face. “Not your back like that,” he amended. “Your front.” The face grew more comical. “Or the middle, since uh, Allison said she’d join too.”

“Dude, I am not.” He stopped, turned slowly toward Allison who was stuffing something under Scott’s pillow, oh god. “Allison wants to have a threesome?” He hissed.

“Only while you are a woman,” Scott said seriously. “She said you are an attractive boy, but one penis in bed is enough for her, thank you very much, while she wouldn’t object to another vagina. And a pair of breasts that aren’t her own.”

Stiles didn’t doubt for a minute that was a literal quote, and while he would probably regret this deeply in later life, since the opportunity for a threesome was probably passing him by right now, with him waving at it, never to return, this was Scott.

“That’s … very kind of you, dude. But I sort of have, um, a date.”

Like the magic word that seemed to be, Allison appeared at their side.

“A date?” Scott asked, putting his controller away to look at Stiles, now that it was safe to do so again, the possibility of sexual activities with his best friend safely out the window. “With who?”

“Um,” Stiles blushed, “with Derek. In two hours.”

Scott gaped, which was to be expected, and Allison shrieked, which was not. “What?!” She yelled, unattractively if anyone were to ask Stiles, which they weren’t.

“Hey now,” he said, “I know he isn’t your favorite person, but I thought you guys got along, and it’s not like ––” It was pointless, Allison wasn’t listening. She was pulling out her phone, and then she was dialing a number, and then she was yelling, “Lydia! Stiles has a date, yes, with Derek, in two hours.”

There was a short pause, Lydia talking, and Allison interrupting with steadily more frustrated I know's, until she tossed the phone down onto the bed and gave Stiles a quite frankly terrifying look and he’d seen her aim a crossbow at Scott. “Right,” she said and Stiles found himself already nodding because there was no way he was going to disagree with her, “Lydia is coming to your house. We are going there right now and we are going to get you ready for your date, oh my god, I don’t believe this, two hours.”

“Ow,” Stiles said, but it was more to demonstrate his surliness than he expected it to have any effect. Besides, after being waxed in some seriously sensitive places, he found he could probably take a bullet without flinching.

“Shut up,” Lydia told him. He’d never seen her so flustered. She was blotchy red, which he only noticed now because she was peeling the cucumbers off his eyes. “I can’t believe this is the time frame you gave us to work with,” she said. “You’re lucky Allison is here, or this would have been a disaster. You’re just plain lucky to have such amazing friends, Stiles.”

That kind of made him forget the burning around his crotch and in his armpits, and he felt his eyes sting ridiculously, so he said, “Yeah, I know,” and meant it. Lydia pinched him.

“Don’t you dare cry,” Lydia hissed when he said, “Ow,” again, rubbing his arm. “I can’t deal with puffy eyes on top of everything else.”

Allison hurried into the room, clutching black fabric. “I don’t think we have time to teach him how to walk on heels,” she said. “He’s clumsy at the best of times and we only have an hour left.”

“Oh shit,” Lydia said, yanking Stiles to his feet. He’d lost all dignity by the time Lydia ushered him in the shower and then hadn’t left, so he was surprisingly comfortable with being pushed around and hoisted in black underwear, a black long sleeved dress that fell mid-thigh and the same black boots he’d worn before.

“This is all very black,” he said. “I’m going on a date, not to a funeral.”

“Yes,” Allison said, grinning widely. “That’s why I have this.” She held up something red, and Stiles stared. It was a soft, thick poncho, with a hood.

“Red riding hood,” he mumbled and his knees felt weak.

“I love it,” Lydia said, “and I have just the nail polish to match that. “Allison, start on his makeup, I’ll do his nails.”

“But my nails still look fine,” Stiles started to say and quickly stopped under Lydia’s quelling look.

It did end up taking him the full two hours to get ready, the result a Stiles in black and red, with lipstick (“Lipgloss, Stiles, not lipstick.”) and nails to match his red hood.

“I’m going to die,” he said. “I am going to die of nerves before he even gets here, oh my god, I am an actual girl.”

“Would you be any less nervous if you went on a date with him as a boy?” Allison asked.

“No,” Stiles had to admit. “But I’d probably not tell anyone about it. I would take my anxiety and curl up in my closet like a man. And can you guys please go now, I really don’t want anyone here for when he picks me up, this is going to be awkward enough as it is.”

“It won’t be awkward,” Lydia assured him, wiping a thumb under his left eye. She’d done something with gentle shimmery stuff to his eyelids, and he quite liked how it made his irises pop. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks,” Stiles said, and he had a brief moment to regret he wasn’t doing this with her. Until he thought about Derek and the way his mouth had felt against Stiles’ last night, and he had to suppress a shudder of anticipation.

“Let’s go,” Allison said, and then he was alone.

Derek was maybe five minutes late, but Stiles didn’t mind. It gave his sweaty hands time to dry a bit. He knocked, and Stiles opened the door.

“Wow,” Stiles said and Derek smiled, bashful.

“Same to you,” he answered and they stood, staring at each other. “The cape Lydia’s idea?” he asked when the silence dragged on.

“Allison’s, actually,” Stiles said. That surprised Derek by the looks of it, but in a pleasant way. “You look really nice.” He did. He was wearing a pair of jeans that was possibly even tighter than usual, but he’d combined it with a dark burgundy shirt and what looked like a terribly soft, cashmere v-neck.

“I know you’re not actually a girl,” Derek chewed his bottom lip, “so I didn’t get you flowers, but I wanted to get you something. So.” He held out a small packet.

“Oh. That’s.” Stiles hadn’t thought of that. He took the present. “I didn’t get you anything.”

“No need,” Derek said.

There was tiny mechanical music box inside and when Stiles turned the little lever, he recognized the song, but couldn’t remember the name. It was something classical, something Mom would’ve loved.

“Thanks,” Stiles said, ducking his head. “I really like it.”

“Good,” Derek told him. “We should, uh, probably go. Or we’ll miss the beginning.”

“What movie are we seeing?” Stiles asked, once he managed to climb into the Camaro without flashing his underpants. (Derek had put a hand on his back as they walked down the porch, had opened the car door. Had closed it for Stiles, and he didn't quite know how to stop smiling now.)

“The Hobbit,” Derek said and Stiles gaped at him.

“That’s three hours in the movie theater with me,” Stiles told him, because he felt Derek had to be warned.

“I know.” Derek glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and smiled. Stiles felt his cheeks go pink as they pulled out of the drive.

Stiles had been too queasy all day to eat, but now that he was here on a date with Derek, he was actually really hungry. He wanted nachos, but he thought there might be kissing later –– he really hoped there would be kissing –– so when Derek asked, “Share some popcorn?” Stiles nodded and grabbed a packet of Whoppers too.

The trailers were already on when they walked in (hand in hand, Stiles' brain supplied helpfully in case Stiles missed it, hand in hand) and since the movie had been running for a while, the place was pretty empty, so they picked seats in the middle.

The Star Trek trailer came on, and Stiles stuffed his fingers in his ears and screwed his eyes shut. When he peeked them open to check if it was done, he saw Derek looking at him, amused.

Stiles made a face, chagrined, “I don’t want to spoil it.”

“I get it,” Derek said easily, shrugging. “It looks good.”

“You’ve seen the trailer before?” Stiles asked, sounding more shocked than was probably polite.

“Yeah. I like going to the movies,” Derek said, looking straight ahead, face blank.

Stiles squeezed his mouth shut, but he couldn’t not say anything. “Next time you ask me to come with you,” he rushed out and then flinched. “If you’d still want to, that is. After.”

Derek looked at him, turning in his seat and Stiles felt his heartbeat speed up. Being under Derek Hale’s full attention was quite the experience. “I’ll want to,” Derek told him. His eyes dropped to Stiles’ mouth, and Stiles was about to do something or say something quite possibly mortifying, when the lights went out and the movie started.

They shared popcorn, they shared Derek’s drink and they ended up sharing the chocolate too. If someone had been looking at the pair of them from the outside, they’d probably been quite amused, because Derek kept glancing at Stiles whenever Stiles sucked the straw, and Stiles kept staring at Derek whenever he licked butter off his fingers.

“I had a lot of fun,” Stiles said, on his porch. The light came on, Dad’s way of saying: “I am home, and I can hear you and will possibly interrupt any attempts at making out.”

“Me too,” Derek murmured, standing very close. So close in fact, Stiles was sure he was going to get a kiss. But then Derek pulled away and Stiles tried to not feel disappointed, but he did anyway. He’d really hoped there would be some kissing, some making out, maybe even for hours on end, before they had to jump to the main event.

Only Derek was back, holding up an honest to god clean handkerchief. Who still carries those, seriously. “Can you,” he cleared his throat, “can you take off your lipstick?”

“It’s lipgloss,” Stiles said weakly, taking the hankie. “Don’t you like it?”

“I do,” Derek said, stepping into Stiles' space again while Stiles dabbed at his mouth. He didn't want it to smear everywhere. “But I’d like to taste you, when I kiss you.” Which is exactly what he did.

It was all very soft, with a hand on Stiles’ jaw, thumb stroking his cheek, Derek tasting of popcorn and chocolate. It was so perfect Stiles thought his knees might give out. He felt like the heroine of a romantic movie. Not a bad feeling, if he was honest.

Derek hummed against his mouth, keeping the kiss very chaste, only nibbling on Stiles’ bottom lip right before he pulled away. Stiles was a bit dazed and tried to follow, but Derek steadied him with a hand on his hip.

“Can I see you again tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” Stiles laughed breathlessly, “of course. You really want to do this properly, don’t you?”

“Yes,” Derek said seriously. “I do.”

“Okay then,” Stiles smiled up at him, feeling high. “Tomorrow then. But something that won’t require me to dress up, I don’t want to have to go through another waxing.”

That made Derek’s eyes go wide, pupils blown and Stiles felt smug, because that was exactly what he was aiming for.

“Right,” Derek said a bit weakly.

"Your hankie," Stiles said holding it out and noticing the reddish stain on it. "I'll wash it."

"You keep it." Derek smiled, backing away, hands in his pockets. “Tomorrow, then.”

“Tomorrow,” Stiles answered and slipped inside, heart stuttering unevenly. Dad was standing in the hallway. He took one look at Stiles, said, “Oh dear,” and rolled his eyes, but Stiles didn’t miss the pleased little smile. Dad obviously thought this wasn’t ideal, but maybe he’d just been convinced it wasn’t the end of the world either.

Stiles had.

Chapter Text

It was weird waking up without his usual lazy arousal, and while not having to deal with awkward boners was definitely a plus, Stiles missed his morning wood. He hadn’t felt the need to jerk off for two mornings, a first in maybe four years. He stretched his legs, and then his arms, turned over with a, “Mmfgrl,” and remembered today would be second date day.

He might not have an erection, but when Stiles thought about Derek, about how much taller he was now, how much wider, how close he’d sat, how good he’d smelled the night before, Stiles’ body began to tingle. Derek had just been so overwhelmingly present. Stiles imagined how it would be to be in bed with him, to be covered by all that muscle, to have to trust that Derek would let him go, if he needed him to. It made him shudder and Stiles rucked up his shirt so he could touch his belly, his breasts.

Derek’s hands would be huge on him. The image of the night before came to mind, of Derek licking popcorn butter off his fingers and Stiles imaged those fingers inside him and his hand drifted down. Gingerly touching between his legs –– he was still not used to this, didn’t know what felt good, what hurt, what was needed –– Stiles noticed he was already wet. The skin there was soft now that most of the hair was gone and Stiles fondled around until he got the nub of his clit between his index and middle finger.

The images came easy: Derek’s tongue, Derek’s finger, briefly Derek’s dick but he wasn’t ready for that yet, so he steered away from it, panted at the ceiling as he rubbed and rubbed in tight little circles, until his legs forced wide without his doing, and he spasmed everywhere.

“Holy crap,” he mumbled, oversensitized so he lowered one finger, dragged it through the wetness of his vagina. It was so velvety soft, he wanted to see. There was a pocket mirror on the shelf behind him, left over from Lydia making him apply his own lipgloss, and he flicked on the light, sitting up. He took a close look, explored a bit, accidentally came again with his fingers inside him.

“Oops,” he said, grinning to himself, making his wobbly-kneed way to the shower.

What are we doing today? He texted Derek, because a girl needed to know these things, so she could dress accordingly. If they were going for milkshakes or something equally inactive, he might hazard the high heels and those skin tight jeans.

Hiking, was Derek’s reply, which Stiles hadn’t expected and probably should have. Five minutes later; Pick you up in fifteen?

Gimme thirty, Stiles replied, switching message threads and asking Lydia, What does one wear on a hiking date?

Black and pink yoga pants, she answered. Matching hoodie. T-shirt of your choosing and the bra with the front closure for easy access.

There was no smiley face, and while Lydia wasn’t a smiley face kind of texter, he knew she was perfectly serious.

“Easy access,” Stiles mumbled breathlessly. Yeah, he could work with that.

“I should’ve known,” Stiles huffed, “that going on a hike with you, was like going on a three day camping trip for normal people.” He was sweating, probably looked red and unattractive and his complaining didn’t help. Derek though, he just glanced over his shoulder, amused.

“We’ve hardly gone five miles,” he said but he slowed his pace.

“In woodlands,” Stiles felt the need to point out. “Uphill.”

“Want me to carry you?” Derek asked and Stiles honestly thought about that for a brief moment, but he didn’t think he’d hear the end of it. He just huffed, pulled off his coat and tied it around his waist.

“Where are we going anyway?”

Derek steadied him as they climbed over a fallen tree. His hand lingered on Stiles’ elbow, but it was absentminded. “There’s a riverbend up ahead,” he said, staring in the distance. “With a small beach. It’s tough to get to in the summer because the trail gets really overgrown and there’s not many hikers this far out. But we should be able to reach it now.”

Derek seemed to realize he’d said quite a lot, and that he was still holding on to Stiles’ elbow, because he squeezed it lightly and let go.

The silence was a bit strained after that. It left Stiles feeling like he should’ve said something, or asked some questions but the longer the silence stretched between them, the harder it got to snap through it.

It took maybe another half an hour, the last fifteen minutes with Derek ahead pushing through dried bushes and dead reeds. The soil under their feet grew more marshy and Derek had to slow his space down for Stiles some more. There was a faint path, an old game trail maybe, but Stiles doubted any human had come through for years.

“Whoa,” Stiles said, when they wriggled through the last of it and ended up on the small half-moon shaped beach. The river was shallow and wide, ran fast but near-silent as it tumbled from a tiny waterfall, maybe a foot high, and curved around the beach. There were deer tracks in the sand and two ducks rushed past on the current. “This is gorgeous.” Something scuttled away in a pile of driftwood on the far edge of the clearing.

“Yeah.” Stiles saw Derek take a deep breath and exhale it slowly. The backpack on his shoulder dropped to the sand and Derek pulled out a bottle of water which he handed to Stiles, and a blanket. It was old and worn and Stiles thought he might’ve seen it in the back of the Camaro at some point. He drank half the bottle, gave the rest of it back to Derek.

In the middle of the sand, Stiles saw a circle of what used to be a fire pit and he pointed at it, not thinking. “Do you want––” he began, but Derek shook his head tightly and dropped down on the blanket. Stiles cringed and ground his teeth so he wouldn’t say anything else stupid. He wandered to the edge of the river, crouched down and saw tiny black fishes shoot swiftly through the water.

When he looked over his shoulder, Derek was watching him. Catching Stiles’ eye, he inclined his head marginally to the left, offering Stiles a seat.

“I used to come here,” Derek said quietly, when Stiles went over, “to get away from my family. And now this is where I remember them best. Isn’t that weird?”

“No,” Stiles mumbled, carefully sitting down beside him, “I don’t think that’s weird at all.”

“Sorry.” Derek pulled up his knees and hooked his arms around them. “I didn’t mean to be depressing.”

“You don’t,” Stiles swallowed, “you know you don’t have to pretend with me, right? You can talk, whenever you want.”

“Yeah?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded, shivered a bit. He was cooling down now that they’d stopped moving and he wriggled the jacket from underneath his butt. Derek didn’t let him put it on though, he put his arm around Stiles' shoulders and tugged him close to his side. “Better?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, leaning into Derek’s warmth, trying not to smile, and failing.

“Would you be here if this wasn’t happening to you? If you weren’t turned into a girl, I mean?”

Stiles laughed. “Would I have followed you into the woods if you’d asked me to go for a hike? No, probably not. I would’ve suspected you of finally having enough of my craziness and taking me somewhere secluded to finally rip out my throat. With your teeth.”

Derek flinched, his shoulders hunching up. “Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Stiles snuck a hand underneath Derek’s hoodie. “But if you’d asked me to go to the movies with you, I would absolutely have said yes. And then I would’ve asked you to go and have ice cream or something equally teenagery, and then I would’ve annoyed you so much with my hyper babble, you’d have turned tail and ran. Uh, dog joke not intended.”

“I wouldn’t have,” Derek murmured. “Ripped your throat out or ran from you.” The fist in the fabric of Stiles’ sweater tightened for a second, and then Derek put his head on Stiles’ shoulder, his forehead pressing to Stiles’ neck.

“Of course now you want to snuggle,” Stiles groused, because he didn’t know how else to deal with the things he was feeling, “now that I’m all sweaty and gross.”

“You smelled a little off before. Wrong, I mean. Different.” Derek’s breath was warm against Stiles’ jaw. “It’s better now, more like you.”

“You saying I smell of sweaty teenager when I’m myself?” Stiles demanded to hide the thrill he felt at Derek preferring the smell of him.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Derek told him, his mouth pressing to Stiles jaw, to his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth.

“Mm okay then,” Stiles hummed, grabbing Derek’s shoulders and dragging him down.

“No,” Derek said, resisting, but before Stiles could feel mortified, Derek turned them around and pulled Stiles down on top of him, “you’ll get cold.”

The last thing Stiles felt was cold, but he wasn’t about to object, Derek’s chest hard under him. He hesitated so Derek lifted his head off the ground a bit, mouth parted, offering. Stiles kissed him, Derek’s hands drifting over his back, pulling him further up, so Stiles could settle on his elbows beside Derek’s head. He kept stroking Stiles, in what was probably meant to be a soothing way but it made Stiles go hotter and hotter. He shifted, restless, broke for breath and rearranged himself until he was lying on top of Derek, hips bracketed by Derek’s thighs.

Derek made a noise against Stiles’ cheek, his hands drifting lower still, not quite touching his ass.

“You can,” Stiles said, embarrassed by how wrecked he already sounded. His mouth stung from Derek’s kisses and his stomach felt all jumbled. Derek reached up again and kissed him some more, let his hands drift down and, oh, those yoga pants felt nice against his skin when Derek rubbed over them. He seemed to think the same, because he pressed down harder, began to kiss faster, breaking off to breathe in between and when Stiles sucked on his tongue, Derek moaned and lifted his hips against Stiles.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, pressing down, “I want to feel your skin.” He worked a hand under Derek’s clothes, and Derek did the same.

“Is it okay if I––” Derek asked, mouth open against Stiles’ throat when Stiles bared it for him. His fingers were grazing the edge of Stiles’ bra.

“Oh, yeah, yeah go on.” And then he let out an embarrassing noise, thighs clenching tight when Derek put a hand on his breast, rubbing the rounded weight of it with his thumb. “Oh, god, you can, there’s a clasp, you can undo it.”

“I don’t want to go too far,” Derek said, lifting Stiles up a little so he could look at him. His hand was still on Stiles’ breast, but it wasn’t moving. The other stroked his cheek, his mouth, and Derek’s eyes darkened. “Not here at least.”

“That’s fine,” Stiles said, “but I’d really like it if, if,” he blushed a bit, “if you’d touch me some more.” Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, couldn’t believe he’d just asked for that. Derek cupped the back of his neck and eased him down. He flicked his thumb over the clasp of Stiles’ bra and it came undone just like that. Stiles laughed. “You’ll have to teach me how to do that.”

“You planning on undoing lots of bras then, Stiles?” Derek murmured against Stiles’ mouth.

“No,” Stiles nibbled at Derek’s bottom lip, then took it between his own and suckled at it. “No,” he admitted, “I really don’t.”

“Good,” Derek whispered and then he took hold of Stiles’ left nipple and rolled it between his thumb and index finger.

Stiles keened, chin dropping down. “Oh my god,” he mumbled weakly. “I may have neglected those in my explorations.”

“Jesus christ,” Derek said, cupping the back of Stiles head and holding him still, like he needed a second to collect himself. “Can I ––” he rucked up Stiles’ clothes a bit further and licked his lips.

“Gnn,” Stiles said, going red. “Yeah.” He would roll over, but Derek stopped him, just hitched him higher, until Stiles was leaning over his face. Derek kissed Stiles stomach, up, up, until he was buried in the fabric of Stiles’ hoodie and t-shirt, and then his mouth closed over Stiles’ right nipple, while he played with the left.

“Fuck,” Stiles breathed, a sharp thrill shooting down from his chest to low in his belly. “Oh my god.”

“Okay?” Derek hummed, hardly moving his mouth away and Stiles felt it all the way down.

“Yes, yeah, I’m good, don’t stop.” He moaned, because Derek sucked, hard, bit gently and then eased it with his tongue. Stiles felt himself grow wet, and he hadn’t known, he hadn’t known.

Derek changed sides, lifting his face, wanting to get closer and Stiles held himself up with one hand, Derek’s head with the other, pulling him as close as he could. He was breathing harshly, but he couldn’t help it. Derek was making these noises, had lost any of the tentativeness they’d started out with, pushed up until Stiles was kneeling and Derek was sitting up, cupping both breasts with his hands, working them in time with his tongue, his teeth, his mouth.

“Derek,” Stiles pleaded, for what he had no idea, but he was a mess, thighs trembling.

“Can you come from this?” Derek asked, looking up at Stiles. His face was flushed and there was hardly any color in his eyes left, the black of the pupils blown so wide.

“Maybe. I––” Stiles exhaled roughly, lowered his head to kiss Derek’s mouth. It tasted different. Derek’s hands rested on his waist, holding him tightly, nearly spanning the entire circumference. They kissed and they kissed until they were both completely out of breath.

“Let me try,” Derek whispered, “I want to, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said. He was gripping Derek’s shoulders, and Derek eased one of Stiles’ hands off him and put it between Stiles’ legs. He could feel how damp he was even through his clothes. Derek lifted his top again, cupped both his breasts and sucked a nipple deep into his mouth. Stiles spasmed all over, held on to the back of Derek’s head and pressed his palm hard between his legs. He didn’t move it, was a bit too embarrassed but he didn’t need to. Derek’s mouth on him was enough, every time he bit or licked or squeezed, Stiles felt it zing through him and soon he was saying, no, begging, “Derek, Derek.”

Derek cupped a hand over the one between Stiles legs and pressed hard, and Stiles’ whole body jerked as he orgasmed.

After, Derek pulled him close until Stiles sat in his lap and held him until he calmed down.

“Wow,” Stiles said, feeling self-conscious, “I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Not for everyone,” Derek said. He quickly put his hands under Stiles' clothes, clasped the bra together again and straightened his t-shirt and hoodie. It made Stiles feel oddly taken care of. “You okay?”

“I’m great,” Stiles said even though it made him blush. “Do you want me to––” He touched Derek’s belt.

“No, not yet,” Derek said. He kissed Stiles’ mouth chastely. “We have plenty of time.”

“I don’t know if this counts,” Stiles mumbled, playing with Derek’s hair. “As sex I mean. I might be a dude again tomorrow.”

“Even if you are.” Derek blinked and looked down. “We’ll still have plenty of time, won’t we?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, grinning. “We will.”

They made out lazily until the light began to disappear and then Derek pulled Stiles to his feet and they hiked back.

“Tomorrow?” Stiles asked on the porch, hand on Derek’s hip. Derek was silent for maybe a beat too long and then he kissed Stiles once.

“Tomorrow,” Derek said and Stiles knew he didn’t mean just another date.

Chapter Text

The house was warm when Stiles went inside, homely. Through the hallway he could see the Christmas lights in the living room and there was a familiar smell, something that hadn’t filled the house in a long time. He needed a shower, really, but Stiles couldn’t resist the draw to the kitchen, so he kicked off his shoes and that’s where he went.

“You’re making lasagna?” He gaped at Dad, who straightened in front of the oven and shrugged at him.

“I haven’t made it since––”

“I know,” Stiles said quickly, “why now?”

“Well, I figured we could both use the comfort food, under the circumstances. And your mom would’ve––” He frowned at the floor behind Stiles. “Why are you dragging sand in?”

Stiles went red. “Uh. I went on a hike. With Derek.”

“Really.” Dad pursed his lips and he’d look forbidding if he wasn’t wearing Mom’s old ‘May The Forks Be With You’ apron. “So did –– you know what? I’m not gonna ask.”

“No, probably best,” Stiles said and he turned around, hesitating in the doorway. “I think you should know though.” Here goes nothing. “Derek might be around for, uh, some time to come.”

“Might he now.” Dad didn’t sound mad, but he didn’t sound too pleased either.

“Mm,” Stiles nodded, peering into the oven at the bubbling cheese. “You’re not going to say anything about his age or something?” The lines around Dad’s mouth softened a bit.

“You keep forgetting Mom was five years older than I am. I was more concerned about his criminal record.”

“He’s not a bad guy,” Stiles said, “and the age difference doesn’t matter when you’re older.”

Dad’s eyes crinkled mischievously at the corners. “We met when I was seventeen, Stiles. Your mother was very––”

“Ugh, ah, I don’t wanna know, excuse me while I go scrub my brain.” He made a gagging noise and ran for the stairs, but grinned all the way up.

Stiles didn’t hear from Derek again that night, or for most of the next day. He trundled downstairs in his pajamas around noon (still very much female, so it obviously didn’t count), and Dad gave him a slightly relieved look.

“I have a late shift today,” Dad told him, folding the newspaper on the kitchen table in half. “There’s leftover lasagna in the fridge for dinner if you want it.”

“Okay, thanks Dad.” Stiles yawned and reached for the coffeepot, made a face when it felt cold.

“You know we’re going to have to talk one of these days, don’t you?” Stiles froze as he poured the coffee in the sink.

“I thought we kinda already did,” he said. He rinsed the coffee pot and filled it up.

“I mean about the fact that there are things around that can curse people, that you were in no way surprised by this piece of information and that I suspect whatever’s been going on with you for over a year has everything to do with that and Derek Hale.”

“Ah,” Stiles said, turning around. “That.”

“Yes, that.” Dad took pity on him and sighed, rising to his feet. “But it can wait,” he said, “until all this,” he vaguely waved a hand, “is behind you.”

“Okay,” Stiles mumbled. Dad patted him on the shoulder, seemed to change his mind and pulled Stiles into a hug.

“Love you, kid,” he said into Stiles’ hair, and disappeared upstairs before Stiles could say it back.

When Dad had left for work, Stiles contemplated calling Lydia. He already had his phone in hand when he realized there wasn’t anything he needed to talk to her about. He was gonna go see Derek, and they might have sex tonight, or they might not. Stiles was surprisingly okay with either option. He still had a week and a half before school started anyway.

Instead of worrying about anything, Stiles slipped into a pair of jeans and went into town.

It didn’t take long at all to find what he was looking for, but after another two hours of not hearing from Derek, Stiles began to get a little nervous. There’d been no texts all day, so he was more than a little relieved to walk into his bedroom and see a note sticking to his window. He pulled it off, unfolding it with fumbling fingers. It read:

Come over tonight,


And then underneath, one line crammed in like an afterthought:

I’m sorry I missed you.

A ridiculous grin tugged at Stiles’ mouth and his stomach fluttered as he pulled his phone out of his coat pocket.

Got your note, he texted.

Okay, Derek wrote back, and before Stiles could tell him he’d be there in an hour, I’m sorry.

Stiles’ heart dropped, an awful feeling clenching around his gut. Derek had changed his mind, he was going to tell Stiles he didn’t want to do this anymore. Stiles swallowed dryly. Why sorry? He wrote.

He stood in the middle of his room for a full minute, staring at his phone like an idiot, waiting for a reply. It didn’t come, so he tugged off his coat and shoes and sat down.

I should have asked, Derek texted him.

“Asked what?” Stiles mumbled, perplexed.

Whether you wanted to come over tonight, instead of told you to.

Stiles’ head snapped up and he was at his window in two strides, sliding it open. “Derek?” He whispered, feeling silly. There was no reply and screw this texting. He dialed.

“Are you here?” He said when Derek answered.

“What? No.” Derek sounded confused and uncertain. “I’m at home. Why?”

“Oh. Uh, you just texted the answer to something I asked out loud, that’s why I thought. It doesn’t matter.” He slid the window shut and stared at his carpet. It needed vacuuming. “So, I’ll um, see you tonight, then?”

“If you want, yes,” Derek told him after a silence.

“Of course I do,” Stiles breathed, shoulders sagging in relief.

“Good,” Derek said, sounding like he’d been worried too. “That’s good. I’ll see you later then.”

“Okay,” Stiles said and Derek hung up.

One of the things Stiles picked up in town, was a new candle. It wasn’t vanilla like Mom’s, but pumpkin spice. It was, after all, nearly Christmas.

He lit it while the bath filled, and after soaking in the hot water for five minutes, he shaved his legs with unscented cream, (he loved that Derek preferred Stiles smelling like himself) and washed his hair and body with his usual stuff. Stiles didn’t put much makeup on, just a bit of mascara because he liked how it made his long eyelashes curl.

What he did do, was dress with great care, down to the black lacy bra and g-string. It wasn’t the most comfortable thing he’d ever worn, but either he wasn’t going to wear it for very long, or Derek would never know.

The pile of clothes Lydia had given him, had grown significantly smaller –– he really should work out how to wash all this stuff –– but there was a pair of red corduroy skinny pants he really liked the look of and hadn’t worn before. He pulled them on with a black tank top and this odd looking cardigan thing that reached his thighs at the back, but nearly fell to his ankles at the sides. Maybe he should tie it, or something, but when he went to look in Dad’s full length mirror, Stiles decided he like how it hung loosely around him. Finally, he tugged on his coat and boots, grabbed the bag from his bed and left.

It had started to snow when Stiles’ parked next to Derek’s trailer. It wasn’t sticking yet, but it would be pretty cool if they got a white Christmas. It wasn’t unheard of, but still pretty rare. The last Christmas with Mom, had been a snowy one.

Stiles jumped in his seat when Derek opened his car door.

“Sorry,” Derek said, smiling reluctantly. “It’s hard to remember sometimes, that you can’t hear me.”

“That’s all right,” Stiles said. He hesitated for a second, wasn’t sure what to do and then decided to hell with it. He leaned out of the car and kissed Derek. It was meant to be a short hello kind of kiss, but Derek made a surprised noise and pulled Stiles back in by his coat, kissing him two more times.

“Okay,” Stiles mumbled, pleased. He grabbed the bags from the passenger seat and accepted Derek’s hand out of the car.

“Still a girl, then,” Derek said, keeping his hand in Stiles’.

“Yeah, I guess it didn’t work yesterday.”

Derek glanced at him. There were snowflakes clinging to his eyelashes. “It worked pretty well for me,” he said and Stiles grinned a the ground.

Inside the trailer it was warm, the air having that vaguely burnt scent that came with electric heating and Stiles wondered if Derek had done that for him.

“I brought lasagna,” he said a bit stupidly. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Later,” Derek said, “if that’s okay.”

“Yeah sure, I’ll just––” Stiles moved toward Derek’s small fridge and bent down to stuff the oven dish on top of a box of Coke cans. When he straightened, Derek was right behind him, hands on Stiles’ hips, turning him around.

“I missed you,” Derek murmured, barely audible against Stiles neck. He had his hands on Stiles’ ass and with a well-timed little hop, Stiles landed on the counter, legs wrapping around Derek’s waist, pulling him close.

“I have a Christmas gift for you,” Stiles began, getting distracted nearly immediately when Derek set his teeth against Stiles throat.

“Mm do you,” Derek hummed, sliding Stiles’ coat off his shoulders, dragging his hands underneath the cardigan, up his thighs, over the tanktop, his thumbs coming to a stop below Stiles’ breasts.

“Yeah, I––” Stiles forgot what he was about to say when Derek mouthed at his jaw. Stiles lifted his chin, giving him all the access he wanted, until Derek righted him with two fingers against the back of his skull. They kissed deep and long, heat already thrumming low in Stiles’ belly. They were going to do this, oh god, they were going to do this.

Derek stepped back. “Show me, then.”

“Wha––” Stiles mumbled, tilting forward so Derek had to stop him from toppling off the counter. He’d look unbearably pleased with himself if there wasn’t a high flush settled on his ridiculous cheekbones.

“My gift,” Derek clarified. “Show me.”

“It’s in that bag,” Stiles said, pointing at where he left it by the door. Derek retrieved it and came to stand between Stiles’ legs again. He cocked an eyebrow at Stiles for permission and Stiles nodded. Derek looked into the bag, smirked and Stiles remembered why when Derek fished out a pair of clean underwear and a box of condoms.

“Oh my god,” Stiles flailed, grabbing them and stuffing them behind his back. “I was a boy scout okay?” He said, embarrassed.

“That’s not my gift?” Derek asked, flashing his teeth in a wide grin and Stiles smiled back.

“No you dork,” he said, “open the packet.”

Derek was one of those picky unwrappers, and he plucked at the tape until Stiles nearly tore the present from his hands to do it himself.

“It’s not as impersonal as it looks,” Stiles said, when Derek took out the Lord of the Rings DVDs.

“It’s not––” Derek began but Stiles talked over him.

“Dad and I always do a movie marathon on New Year’s Eve and this year we’re watching that.” He taps a finger against the box set. “So I thought, if you want to, you could join. And stay for dinner.”

It was quiet for so long, Stiles thought he might have gone too far or something. “I mean you don’t have to––” Derek gripping his wrist.

“Thank you,” he said, sounding hoarse and Stiles had to hold him tight, kiss away images of Derek alone on Christmas Eve, on New Year’s Eve, maybe sitting by the river, missing his family.

“You’re coming for Christmas too,” he said fiercely. “We’re having brisket.”

“Your dad––”

“Is fine with you. He’s fine. He knows how I –– Can we please not talk about Dad?” He fisted his hands in Derek’s hair as Derek hummed his agreement against Stiles’ lips.

“Hold on tight,” Derek murmured. He hitched Stiles up higher, tucking his hands underneath Stiles’ ass who tightened his arms and legs around Derek, to be carried through the beaded curtain.

Stiles clung to Derek like a monkey while he walked them through the narrow hallway separating the kitchen from the bedroom. He kissed Derek’s eyelids and his cheeks and his hair until Derek laughed.

“Sorry,” Stiles said sheepishly. “I guess I’m a little bit excited.”

“That’s fine,” Derek told him, pleased,“so am I.”

It was dark in the room, the only light from the fairy lights above the bed. It was a huge bed, taking up most of the space, leaving room for two bedside tables crammed against the wall.

“Okay?” Derek asked and Stiles nodded, squeezing his thighs around Derek and yelping a bit as they both went down on the bed. Sitting back on his heels, Derek rubbed his hands over Stiles’ legs until they rested on his boots, and he tugged them off. Stiles took a deep breath and then struggled out of the cardigan. The skin on his bare arms goose-pimpled and his stomach clenched in anticipation when Derek crawled back up his body. He buried his face in Stiles’ belly, dragged the fabric of the tank top up with his nose, mouthing at the soft swell of Stiles’ stomach, dipping his tongue in Stiles’ navel as he passed it.

When Derek pushed the top further up, Stiles raised his arms so he could take it all the way off.

“You too,” he said softly, when Derek palmed Stiles’ breasts through the lace of his bra. Derek sat up and tugged his henley over his head. “God, you’re so gorgeous,” Stiles said, reaching to put a hand on Derek’s stomach. “I’ve seen you, you know. Doing your push-ups and pull-ups. I’ve wanted to touch you since forever.”

“Knock yourself out,” Derek said and Stiles put his hands on the muscles of Derek’s shoulders as they bunched when he bent down again. All the breath left Stiles’ lungs in a rush when Derek sucked kisses down Stiles’ throat, until he was taking Stiles’ right nipple between his teeth through the lace. But he didn’t stop there, he mouthed his wet way down again, hands on Stiles’ pants. “Okay?”

“Okay.” Stiles felt his heart pick up speed as Derek unbuttoned his pants, lifted his ass when Derek’s hands circled around his hips to dip in the back of them and drag them down. Derek made a small, almost alarmed noise when he felt the flesh of Stiles’ ass under his palms, and looked darkly up at him. Slowly, he dragged the pants off, kissing his way back up Stiles’ legs and Stiles thought he was going to lose his mind. Derek pushed his palm against the fabric of Stiles’ underpants but didn’t linger there.

“You tell me if I’m doing something you’re not ready for,” Derek said, putting his index finger in the cup of Stiles’ bra and dragging the fabric down.

“Yeah, I will,” Stiles said, staring. He hadn’t been able to see anything the last time Derek had done this but now he looked his fill as Derek dragged his tongue over Stiles’ nipple, watched it harden into a peak and the effect that had on Derek. “Same goes for you.”

Letting go of the nipple with a soft pop, Derek looked up at him, eyes dark and hungry, mouth curved in a near-smile. “I can’t imagine there being anything you’d be willing to give me tonight, that I wouldn’t want.”

“What I really want to give you,” Stiles said, feeling his cheeks heat up but deciding to be brave, “is a blow job.” Derek made another noise, slightly high pitched, eyes squeezed shut.

“Jesus,” he mumbled, dropping his head and burying his face between Stiles’ breasts. He rubbed his forehead back and forth a few times and Stiles put a hand in his hair and petted him a bit. “The amount of times I’ve thought about that ... that mouth of yours.”

“I’d like to,” Stiles said, feeling weirdly gratified. Derek began to kiss his chest again and then reached up to kiss Stiles’ mouth while he worked a hand between his back and the mattress to unclasp the bra. He kept on kissing, slow and tortuous, while he dragged the straps down and over Stiles’ arms.

“I would really,” Derek sighed contentedly, one hand slowly moving lower, “really like to get you off first.” Stiles jolted and moaned when Derek pressed his fingers between Stiles’ legs, where the thin strap of fabric barely covered him and Stiles felt it cling wetly to his skin.

“Oh,” Stiles groaned, clenched down on nothing when Derek moved two fingers in a tiny circle. “Oh my god.”

“Is that a yes?” Derek asked and Stiles nodded, mouth already going dry. Sitting back again, Derek put his hands on the inside of Stiles’ thighs and spread them lightly. He went down on his elbows to look and Stiles flushed hot and cold at the same time. Derek was staring at him but he’d also lost his body heat. “We can get under the covers, if you want,” Derek said but Stiles could tell he preferred it like this.

“No it’s fine,” Stiles said, “I have a feeling I’ll be warm soon enough.”

“I’ll make sure you are,” Derek murmured and his breath ghosted over Stiles’ underwear. He let out a surprised moan again when Derek carefully pushed the g-string aside with his thumb, dragging his knuckles slowly through the wetness between his labia. “Good?” Derek asked and Stiles couldn’t even get a word out, just nodded at the slightly stained trailer ceiling. Derek let the panties slide back into place and then he mouthed over them once, hard, fast and hot, setting his teeth against the bone there, before dragging the lace over Stiles’ hips.

When the underwear was gone, Derek made quick work of the rest of his own clothes, and Stiles really wanted to take a closer look at Derek’s cock, but Derek was bending down again already, pushing Stiles’ legs up so they were bent. He touched Stiles with two fingers, spreading the moisture around and then he lowered his head and Stiles let out an indecent noise.

He couldn’t help it, he tensed up at the first touch of Derek’s mouth on him, knees closing. Derek didn’t do anything, or say anything, he just put his tongue underneath Stiles’ clit and held it there. He rubbed a hand over the outside of Stiles’ thigh, waiting out the hitch in Stiles’ breath until he calmed. It took maybe a minute or less for Stiles’ legs to relax, for his knees to fall open a bit and then Derek dragged his tongue over him in sure, long strokes.

It felt so good, so good, Stiles could never in his wildest dreams have imagined this and he wanted to tell Derek so, but he couldn’t get a coherent noise out.

Derek shouldered his legs open further, brought the hand on the outside of his thigh around all the way so he could spread Stiles’ labia with two fingers from above. Gently he began to rub on either side of Stiles’ clit, lowering his mouth so he could push his tongue into Stiles’ vagina.

“Oh shit,” Stiles said, clenching down, back arching to get closer to Derek’s mouth.

“Does that hurt?” Derek asked, pulling back and Stiles made a bereft sound.

“No, don’t stop, that feels so amazing.”

Derek smiled and lowered his head again, pushing his face between Stiles’ legs, only this time he entered a finger alongside his tongue. Stiles couldn’t even work out how Derek was holding himself up anymore, with one hand working on his clit, the other moving a finger steadily in and out of his vagina. He had to grab fistfuls of the comforter, tension slowly starting to build up his legs. He tried to keep his hips still, but to no avail. Derek made these noises again, like this was pure pleasure for him instead of Stiles and Stiles started to gasp, undulating against Derek’s mouth. The muscles in his ass were tensing to the point of cramping and his knees fell open as far as they’d go.

“Derek,” he moaned, desperate, “Derek!

Groaning, Derek pushed another finger in Stiles’ cunt, began to drive them into him at a steadily harder and increasing pace, moving his mouth up to suck at Stiles clit.

“Oh god,” Stiles whined, “Oh god.” He gave up on keeping his hands on the sheets and buried them in Derek’s hair, pushing his face against him as hard as he could, unable to help himself. Then Derek curled his fingers on every outward fucking stroke and Stiles threw his head back, the orgasm punching from his core like a thunderclap. His back arched, his hips pushed down on Derek’s hand and he let out a hoarse, long cry.

Derek unshakably fucked him through it, not letting up until Stiles started to make high, pained noises. Only then did he take his mouth away, leaving his fingers where they were, unmoving. He wiped his face on the comforter and gently moved up to cover Stiles and kiss his mouth.

When they’d both caught their breath, Derek slowly eased out his fingers. His cock came to nestle snugly in the crook of Stiles thigh and Stiles clenched again, weaker this time, at the feel of it. “Oh my god,” he mumbled weakly, clinging to Derek’s back like a lifeline.

“I really,” Stiles could feel Derek swallow and take a deep breath, “I really liked doing that,” he mumbled, as if he was admitting some kind of secret.

“I really liked being done,” Stiles answered, laughing like he was exhausted. “Holy shit.”

They kissed for a while, careful and slow, Derek blanketing Stiles with his warm body, making him feel coveted and safe. Stiles let his hands roam over Derek’s back as they made out, daring lower and lower until he had his palms on the round, firm swell of Derek’s ass. Derek lifted into the touch and then sank down, pressing against Stiles.

“Mm,” Stiles hummed, “yes I think now I want to––” He pushed at Derek’s shoulders until he rolled over easily, taking Stiles with him by the waist so he straddled him. Stiles let his hands wander and then sat back on Derek’s thighs, finally taking a good look.

“Oh!” Astonished, he couldn’t help his eyes widening as he looked down. “You’re not––”

“Circumcised?” Derek smiled up at him lazily. “Werewolf,” he shrugged by way of explanation. “Wouldn’t do much good.”

“No, of course not,” Stiles said. He couldn’t take his eyes off where the head of Derek’s dick peeked moistened from underneath the soft looking skin.

“Does it bother you?” Derek asked.

“Not at all, I’ve always been really curious what it would’ve been like. Not to, I mean.”

“So you are,” Derek gestured, “when you’re the normal you.”

“Yeah.” Stiles stretched his fingers toward Derek. “Can I?”

“Yes,” Derek said, inhaling short and quick in expectation.

Stiles put his thumb at the base of Derek’s cock, where shaft met balls and dragged it upward. A bead of liquid appeared at the top and Derek twitched, more of his cockhead pushing out of the foreskin. When he reached the tip, Stiles rubbed his thumb through the pearl and spread it around. Derek was so wet already, Stiles’ finger slipped easily underneath the foreskin and Derek made a keening noise, eyes fluttering shut.

“Whoa,” Stiles whispered, awed. He could only imagine what that must feel like since to him it was like sliding his finger through warm satin. He played around a little, exploring while Derek’s breaths became louder and harsher. When Derek started to worry the comforter by his sides, Stiles took a firm hold of the base of Derek’s cock and set a steady, slow rhythm. It was good and he loved watching Derek like that, but Stiles wanted to give him more. So he slid off Derek’s legs, keeping the movements of his hand as steady as possible and then bent over Derek to kiss him.

Derek grabbed Stiles’ face, held him in place as he surged up and thrust his tongue in Stiles’ mouth, making this anguished sound that made Stiles tingle all the way to his toes. He’d never had this before, never had anyone so out of his mind for him. He could tell Derek was being careful, was making sure he wasn’t holding on to Stiles too hard, and while Stiles appreciated it, it wouldn’t do.

Kissing Derek harder, cupping the back of his head with his free hand, Stiles picked up the pace of the other. He kissed and he kissed him, holding on so tight, until Derek went lax underneath him. Then, Stiles let go. “Hold on to something,” Stiles said, and Derek opened his dark, craving eyes.

Stiles straddled him, hands on Derek’s wildly rising and falling chest and kissed his way down. Derek, getting the message, buried his fists into the pillow under his head. His stomach was twitching wherever Stiles mouthed at it, like it tickled but better. By the time he settled between Derek’s spread thighs, Derek’s cock was actively leaking, a thin thread connecting it to his stomach. Stiles wet his mouth, heard Derek make another one of those delicious noises, and lowered his head to lick at Derek’s balls.

“Stiles,” Derek said hoarsely and Stiles felt a gratified flush spread over his chest. He lifted Derek’s balls with one hand so he could lick behind them while he rubbed the seam. He took first one and then the other in his mouth. By the time he looked up, Derek was a mess. There was sweat shining between the lines on his stomach and his throat was deep red.

“I’m going to go down on you now,” Stiles said, because apparently he had a cruel streak he was previously unaware of.

“Fuck,” Derek whispered, and that was it. That was what Stiles had been waiting for. Derek was clearly not very vocal and Stiles wanted to break through that.

He worked Derek’s cock with his hand until the foreskin covered him again completely and then put his mouth over it, working his tongue underneath and around. “Oh, fuck, Stiles.”

“Hmm,” Stiles hummed, sucking a bit because he wanted to taste Derek, and Derek lost it for a second, grabbing the back of Stiles’ head and holding on to him, before he got it together again and moved away. Stiles sank down, testing how deep he could comfortably go without accidentally choking himself, which was about half way. While this drew some satisfying noises from Derek, he’d gone back to not saying anything and Stiles’ jaw was aching already, so he decided to try something else.

He let go completely, using only a few fingers at the base to steady Derek’s cock. He dragged his mouth over the head, pursing his lips a bit like he would if he were applying Lydia’s lipgloss.

“Shit,” Derek breathed, “shit, Stiles what are you––” He felt Derek shift so he looked up, right into his eyes. “Oh fuck, oh god,” Derek moaned and Stiles moved his hips, belly starting to feel warm again. He opened his mouth further, still circling Derek’s cockhead in that same way, making it wet and good. “Stiles, that feels, I won’t, I won’t last like this.”

Stiles let him beg, let him moan and ask for more, occasionally taking Derek’s cock in his mouth but always coming back to drawing his taut lips over that most sensitive part of him, until he could feel Derek’s thighs shake against his sides. Derek was saying things, but they were mostly half-bitten off words, or Stiles name between gritted teeth.

It didn’t take much longer before Derek was shivering all over, nearly convulsing with the effort of holding back, so Stiles started to fist his cock, firm and fast, pushing the head in and out of his slack mouth, tongue pressing under the crown every time it hit the soft part on the roof of his mouth. Impossibly, Derek’s cock swelled even more and then he sat up so fast, he nearly knocked Stiles over, clinging to Stiles face, holding him still as he spurted, hot and bitter down his throat.

“M’sorry, I should’ve, m’sorry,” Derek was mumbling, but Stiles eased off, let him see how he swallowed and licked his lips. “Fuck,” Derek moaned, “fuck, c’mere.”

Hauling Stiles up, Derek licked over his mouth, down the side of his chin and Stiles choked on a moan, pushing Derek back into the mattress. “That really turned me on again,” he admitted and Derek’s eyes narrowed with delight.

“Really,” he hummed, hands on Stiles’ hips, shifting him so heat sparked up his spine.

“Don’t,” Stiles said, embarrassed but Derek had a finger on his clit again and he stopped caring.

“Lift a bit,” Derek murmured and when Stiles did, he slid two fingers into him easily, thumb pressing into his clit. “Go on.”

“Oh,” Stiles mumbled, letting his head fall back, spine arched. He gingerly began to ride Derek’s hand, at first just rocking back and forth a bit.

Derek thumbed a nipple. “You look so good,” he said, “feel so lovely, go on, take what you need.”

“Mm,” Stiles moaned, “yes.” He increased his speed, grinding down and Derek circled his clit, gently pressing in counterpoint to Stiles’ movements. “Oh, yes. Like that.” Stiles went faster, started to really ride Derek’s hand. He felt sweat slip down his spine, trickle between his breasts and delicious, toe-curling pleasure rolled under his skin. “I need–– oh god.”

“Tell me,” Derek murmured, “please.”

“Another finger,” Stiles begged breathlessly, “please, just.” Derek pushed at his chest a little and Stiles lifted so Derek could slide in a third finger. It burned a bit but it felt so good, so good, especially when he really started to work Stiles’ clit. Stiles just rode him, hands splayed on Derek’s chest, unashamed, too lost in it to care and then Derek let go of his nipple and pushed one dry finger against Stiles’ asshole. He cried out, curled in on himself and seized around Derek’s three fingers, squeezing hard.

“God,” Derek said, sitting up and holding him tight. “I want to fuck you so badly.”

“Mm,” Stiles agreed, exhausted and happy, nuzzling Derek’s neck. “Yes, later.”

Chapter Text

It was still dark out when Stiles woke up. He felt Derek’s mouth between his shoulderblades, kissing gently along the line of his spine as he worked his thumbs into the thick muscles beside it. Stiles hummed, pleased and relaxed, stretching himself more awake. His hands gripped the sheet beneath the pillow and his toes curled with contentment, hips pushing into the mattress and––

“Fuck, fuck.” Stiles fumbled out of bed, forgetting he was naked. When Derek flicked on the fairy lights over their heads, Stiles cupped his very present again junk like he was waiting for a penalty shot.

“What’s wrong?” Derek said, sitting back on his heels.

“I’m uh, a dude again.” Stiles swallowed and tried not to feel disappointed. He was glad he was himself again, but––

“I know,” Derek said. He was frowning, eyes searching Stiles’ face. “Is that not––” He closed his mouth and sighed, looking away. “I understand if this isn’t what you, if you don’t want to do this anymore. Or if you need some time to readjust. Or something.”

“No, I’m fine, I just thought you might not want––” Derek scooted forward on the bed until he sat at the edge. He gently moved Stiles hands out of the way and then pulled him closer.

“Of course I want.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth. “I knew you were back to normal from the moment I woke up.”

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked, gingerly putting his hands on Derek’s shoulders. “Isn’t it weird?”

“It’s a bit weird,” Derek said, smiling ruefully up at him. “But when are things not weird in our life?” He spread his fingers over Stiles’ hips, thumbs resting on either side of the hair below his navel.

“Don’t you mind that I’m not a girl anymore?” Stiles asked.

“Only if it means you don’t want me.”

“I haven’t changed,” Stiles told him and then made a face when Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, clearly I have but not––my mind. I haven’t changed my mind.”

“Good,” Derek murmured, moving his hands over Stiles’ stomach. “Because I like this too.” Pressing his face against Stiles, Derek nosed along the happy trail, cupping the back of his legs with both hands. “I lo––like the hair on your belly and I like how strong your legs are.” He moved to circle Stiles’ wrists with his index fingers and thumbs, slowly dragging his palms up. “I like how your hands are big and your forearms so broad.” Stiles’ cock began to stir –– oh hello dear friend, there you are –– and Derek softly took it in hand. “Now I just get to learn you all over again.”

Derek stood, looked a little surprised when they were nearly eye level but smiled as if he liked it. There was a definite burn from stubble this time when they kissed and Stiles realized Derek had shaved the night before so he could go down on Stiles holy shit.

“Mm,” Stiles breathed in Derek’s mouth, throwing an arm around his neck and hanging on as they kissed, past morning breath until they could only taste each other. Derek backed Stiles against the wall barely two feet away and Stiles got the hint when Derek put his hands on Stiles’ ass. He jumped, Derek lifted and then he was wedged between Derek and the wall, legs wrapped around him.

Stiles got a hand around both their cocks and began to jerk them off inelegantly, Derek holding them up and steering the kiss, his fingers every once in a while brushing over Stiles’ hole.

“I’ll wait as long as you need me to,” Derek mumbled against Stiles’ mouth, sounding wrecked and hoarse, “but I want.”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, biting at Derek’s lips. His hand was getting sticky with both their pre-come and his thighs tightened around Derek’s waist. “Soon, fuck, me too, soon.”

“Look down,” Derek said, putting a hand over Stiles’, speeding up their rhythm. Stiles watched, slack-jawed while Derek hid his face in the crook of Stiles’ neck and spasmed, spilling all over the both of them.

“Derek,” Stiles whined, when Derek went lax, only managing to hold Stiles up with the bulk of his body. Derek took a few moments, said, “Hold on, in a sec,” catching his breath and then put Stiles down, sinking to his knees.

“Oh god.” Derek kneeling in front of him, hands on Stiles’ hips, was nearly enough to make Stiles lose it, so it came (hah) as no surprise that he didn’t even last thirty seconds once Derek started to suck and lick him clean.

There was no way Stiles could wring himself back into Lydia’s jeans, so he went home in Derek’s clothes.

In hindsight, they could’ve planned it better, Stiles thought as he looked from a wild-eyed Derek to his pained father.

“Um,” Stiles said but Dad held up a hand.

“I’m very happy that you’re you again, Stiles,” Dad said, clapping the hand to his face and dragging it down slowly, “and I’m going to pretend I don’t know how it happened.”

“Okay,” Stiles squeaked, edging toward the stairs. “Oh, and Derek is staying for Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

Dad’s eyes flicked from Derek to Stiles and back again. His face was stern until the corner of his mouth quirked up. “All right,” he said, “it’ll be nice to have another actual adult in the house.”

“I resent that,” Stiles exclaimed but Derek laughed.

“Couldn’t agree more, sir,” he said and then hesitated before leaning forward and extending a hand. Dad took it.

“He’s my only son,” Dad said and Stiles made a mortified noise. “And I know him well. You have my full permission to not put up with any of his crap.”

“Hey!” Stiles protested and he tugged on Derek’s arm, dragging him away, knowing full well Derek was only letting him.

Derek laughed this full-bellied laugh, said, “Understood,” and Stiles muttered, “This was the worst, the worst idea ever. I should send you back to your forest, oh my god, ganging up on me already, I don’t believe this.”

He quickly stopped complaining when Derek closed his bedroom door and pushed him up against it, hands curling in Stiles’ sweater. “No,” he said against Stiles’ mouth, the kiss kinda ruined by his smile. “This is the best.”

“Do you think we’ll be all right?” Stiles asked, after they’d moved to the bed where they’d made out for a while until it creaked and Dad had yelled, “I am still here you know!”

“Well, the Maenad is supposed to reappear in a year or two, we could always ask her to turn me into a woman for a change,” Derek murmured, dragging his thumb over Stiles’ mouth.

“Oh my god,” Stiles said weakly, turning his head so he could bite at Derek’s nipple through his shirt. Derek made a pained noise, laughed hoarsely and pushed Stiles' face away. “I mean you and me, and all this shit we’ve been through in the last year.”

“I want to be,” Derek said, growing serious. He put a hand on Stiles’ stomach and idly played with the hem of his t-shirt. “I want to have a normal life again. Just –– work for me and college for you, and –– us. I guess. If that’s what you want. I mean, I know you’re young but––”

“I won’t change my mind,” Stiles hurried to say but Derek shook his head and lifted up on one elbow to look at him.

“You can’t promise me that and that’s fine. I’ll take what we have and sort of, enjoy the now. It’s not like anyone can predict what’ll happen. You might fall in love in college or something and that’s okay. Well it’s not, but it wouldn’t be your fault. I know you won’t hurt me on purpose.”

Stiles took Derek’s face between his hands and looked at him, really looked at him unblinking. He held his voice sure and steady, wanting Derek to understand when he murmured, “I’m not going to fall in love with anyone else.”

Derek’s eyes searched his and he swallowed hard, nodding into Stiles’ cupped hands. “Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Me neither.”

On a morning after Christmas, before New Year, Stiles woke up to an empty bed. In the last short week, he’d grown so used to Derek being either in his bed, or him in Derek’s that he couldn’t go back to sleep because of it.

On his way down the stairs, Stiles heard voices and he slowed in the hallway, watching. Derek was sitting at the kitchen table, Dad standing by the drawer where they kept the paperwork, the coffeepot sputtering merrily in the background.

“And this is Credible Electrics,” Dad was saying. “I know Sam, the owner, and he’s reliable. I could put a word in for you if you want, that when you hire him, he’ll make a priority out of your place.”

“Thank you,” Derek said, ducking his head. He must’ve known Stiles was there, but he made no indication of it. Dad fell silent for a minute, one hand resting on the open drawer.

“And if it’s not done before next winter,” he went on, clearing his throat, “you’ll stay with us. In the spare bedroom mind, don’t think I don’t know what you two get up to but Stiles is still underage and I need to at least pretend my own son abides the law. Sometimes,” he added loudly for Stiles’ benefit. So much for being unnoticed then. He walked into the kitchen, making beeline for the coffeepot. “I just don’t want you spending another winter in that trailer, son,” Dad said to Derek, and Stiles’ hand froze on his way to the cabinet with mugs.

“That’s very kind of you, sir,” Derek said, his voice sounding a little off, “but you don’t have to––”

“I’ll be in the living room reading my newspaper,” Dad talked over him, a bit too loud.

Stiles swung around and hugged his dad around the middle, like he’d always done when he was little.

“You’re awesome,” he mumbled and Dad huffed.

“It’s about time someone takes care of you kids again,” he grumbled on his way out of the kitchen.

“Stiles!” Dad yelled, “I need you to check the oven! And did you get those chocolate chips because don’t think I won’t send you to the shops!”

“Coming!” Stiles shouted back. He shifted from underneath Derek’s arm, then kneeled back on the couch and kissed him lightly. “You keep watching, I’ve seen this like, five times.”

“Okay,” Derek said easily, drawing his knee up on the couch as he leaned on the armrest.

“Can you stir the roast potatoes,” Dad asked. He was rolling green asparagus in smoked salmon. “And then check the steak on the grill.”

“Sure,” Stiles said, grabbing the oven gloves. “Oh, Lydia, Scott and Allison are coming over after dinner, is that okay?” They’d decided to wait with inviting the rest of the pack until Dad was ‘initiated’.

“Of course,” Dad said. Stiles gave the oven dish a shake and then pulled off the gloves.

“And they’re bringing Mrs McCall.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “For dessert.”

Dad rolled his eyes but Stiles could tell he was trying hard not to smile. “Just go check the––” he began and then frowned. “Are you wearing nail polish?”

“Yes, so what, I like it, don’t judge,” Stiles mumbled, looking at the soft pink on his nails and then balling his hands into fists. He’d put on some lip gloss that morning too, but Derek had laughed and kissed it off his mouth.

“Glad you’re doing okay, Stiles,” Dad said slowly, and then he glanced down at Stiles’ nails. “Doesn’t Derek mind?”

“He applied the final layer,” Stiles sniffed and marched out the door.

Inside everyone was shouting along with the TV, counting down from ten. Outside, Derek and Stiles sat on the porch, gently swinging back and forth in the rocking chair hanging off the balcony above them. Derek had his arm around Stiles’ shoulders, cheek pressed against his hair. They didn’t say anything, just stared into the darkness, Stiles’ fingers entwined with Derek’s where they rested on his shoulder.

When fireworks lit the sky, Derek lifted his free hand and tilted Stiles’ chin with one finger. “Happy New Year,” he said softly, happily, smiling like he didn’t want to be anywhere else in the world, didn’t want to share this moment with anyone but Stiles. His heart clenched nearly painfully and he closed his eyes when Derek’s mouth gently touched his, because they stung a little behind his eyelids.

“Happy New Year,” Stiles said, when they parted and Derek pulled him back against his side, holding on tightly.