Stiles isn’t going to cry. He’s not, even though he knows his dad is going to be furious when he finds out Stiles wandered away from the other kids at the nature preserve. It’s not even his fault, because the whole point of this field trip was to get to see animals, and he hadn’t seen a single one. It just seemed like it would be easier to see animals if they went more than ten feet from the visitor center, is all.
And now he’s lost.
It hadn’t seemed so bad at first, but after yelling a few times and realizing nobody could even hear him, he started to get worried. The longer he’s out here, the colder it seems to be, and he doesn’t know what time it is, but he’s pretty sure it’s starting to get dark. He bets they’ve called his dad already, and he bites down on his lip to keep it from shaking.
Stiles keeps walking, even though his legs are starting to hurt, because he figures he’s bound to run into somebody eventually. How big can the preserve really be? The farther he goes, though, the more anxious he gets, and he talks quietly to himself to make the woods seem a little less lonely. He gets so focused on the ground in front of him that he almost misses the sound of a branch snapping behind him, but he does hear it and, when he does, he freezes.
It’s like a scary movie—Stiles turning around slowly to see who or what’s behind him—but nobody’s there, so he laughs a little at himself and his momentary fear.
“It was probably a squirrel,” he mumbles. “Maybe just a big one.” When he turns back to keep walking, though, he yelps a little in surprise. Not twenty feet in front of him, there’s a huge brown wolf watching him.
It’s a pretty wolf—its coat is reddish, and it’s looking at him with pale blue eyes—but all Stiles can think about is the way its teeth are bared a little, with just a hint of fang showing. And then it licks its lips.
“Nice wolf,” he tries, rolling his eyes at himself for sounding so dumb. It cocks its head at him, like it understands, but then it’s stalking toward him and snarling a little, and Stiles knows he’s not supposed to run but he’s about to anyway.
He takes one step backward, then another, and then his foot catches on a tree root and he’s stumbling to the ground. The wolf keeps advancing steadily even as Stiles tries to scramble away. He thinks to himself that these are the last few moments of his life, and then there’s a sharp bark, another wolf barreling into the side of the brown one. He watches wide-eyed as the wolves tumble, all claws and teeth and growling, catching glimpses now and then of the black fur of the second wolf.
Stiles wants to run away, and he doesn’t know if he’ll get another chance, but the thought of drawing attention to himself keeps him rooted where he stands.
It’s over before he knows it—the black wolf locking teeth around the brown one’s throat, and the first wolf yelps before bounding off into the the woods. Stiles holds his breath, heart thumping in his chest. The wolf turns to look at him, and he sucks in a lungful of air.
The wolf is beautiful—even prettier than the first one—although he has a feeling it’s a boy wolf, so maybe it wouldn’t like to be called pretty. Even though this wolf’s staring at Stiles, he doesn’t look like he wants to eat him. He’s pretty sure, at least. The wolf steps toward him, dragging his leg a little, and Stiles gasps when he sees the reason why. His leg is bleeding, cut up like the other wolf had bitten him. The wolf whimpers softly, and for a minute, Stiles forgets to be scared.
“It’s okay, buddy,” he whispers. “Come here, let me see.”
The wolf limps toward him, and Stiles scrambles across the ground to meet him halfway. When he tries to get a look at his paw, though, the wolf pulls it away with another quiet whine.
“My dad taught me first aid,” Stiles says assuredly. “It’s okay, wolf, just let me look at it.” The wolf just stares at him, but when Stiles reaches for its paw again, the wolf snaps lightly with his teeth. “Ugh,” Stiles huffs. “Fine. When your paw falls off, you’ll be sorry.”
The wolf huffs back before pushing at Stiles with his nose, easing himself to the ground and dropping his head into Stiles’ lap with a little sigh.
“I have to go back,” Stiles says quietly. “They’re probably looking for me.”
The wolf just growls lightly, shuffling until he’s curled all the way around Stiles’ body. Stiles strokes absently at his fur (which is way softer than he expected a wild wolf’s fur to be) and he thinks worriedly about his dad. It’s probably better to stay in one place though (since walking around didn’t work too well), and the wolf is like a big soft blanket after Stiles has been so cold for so long. Before he knows it he’s falling asleep, fingers threaded through thick fur.
When he wakes up again, it’s because he’s cold, Stiles’ teeth chattering loudly in the quiet of the woods. The wolf is still with him. He whines a little, trying to inch his way closer to Stiles. Stiles thinks it’s probably an attempt to warm him up, but it’s not really working.
Stiles forgets the cold instantly, remembering the wolf’s hurt leg. He shoots straight up, and the wolf pulls away, sitting on his haunches and looking into Stiles’ eyes. Stiles reaches forward, slowly, “Can I just look please?” he asks. “I promise I won’t hurt you.”
The wolf tilts his head knowingly and lifts his paw up. Stiles takes hold of the paw gently, suddenly very confused. He can see the copper-colored flakes of dried blood falling to the ground but there’s no bite mark, no scratch, no nothing.
“What?” Stiles looks up. The wolf looks away. “How did you do that?”
The wolf pulls his paw back, stands up before taking a few steps back away from Stiles.
“No!” Stiles yells, “Don’t leave—”
But the wolf is gone.
And then standing in the wolf's place is a boy.
A naked boy.
A naked boy with hair the same color black as the wolf’s.
Stiles can’t breathe. His wolf isn’t just a wolf. Not anymore.
When the boy reaches out to him, Stiles goes faint, collapsing.
Distantly, he feels a sharp pain where his head collides with the forest floor.
Stiles sees a flash of blue and then only darkness.
Stiles is only vaguely aware of being lifted up and being held tightly by a warm pair of arms. When he finally regains consciousness, he finds himself alone in a cave. He's not scared; he knows that his wolf brought him here to keep him safe. He doesn't know the wolf's name, and just shouting "wolf" seems silly, so he waits and talks to himself quietly, practicing the story he's going to tell his dad and everyone when he gets back (since he gets the feeling nobody is supposed to know about the wolves). He's finally settled on his story when he hears some shuffling toward the front of the cave. He shuffles backwards a bit, a little bit nervous, when he sees the familiar black fur and green eyes of his wolf. He doesn't realize when he started calling the wolf his, but he just knows the wolf's his, the same way he knew it wouldn't hurt him even though he saw how vicious it was with the other wolf.
Stiles reaches his hand out, and says, "You can be a person if you want, and we could talk," but the wolf just looks at him. "You don't have to," he adds, embarrassed, and the wolf cocks his head a little and then he just... changes, and where there was a wolf a second ago, there's an older boy standing, naked.
He's not a grown-up, but he's a lot bigger than Stiles, and Stiles bites his lip nervously. The wolf-boy takes in Stiles’ reaction, noticing how anxious he is, and takes a step closer, shifting back into the wolf. Stiles is mesmerized. It’s not at all like the movies show—it’s not painful or agonizing but rather seamless and quick, over before it’s even begun. His wolf brings his head flush to the boy's stomach and nuzzles him. Stiles takes a deep breath, winds his hands into the fur. He gasps when he feels a wet tongue skimming lightly over his fingers.
The wolf's tongue feels strange on his skin. Honestly, it’s been about six years since anyone human has licked him—last time was in preschool—and Stiles thinks maybe this tongue feels different because it’s not human—not entirely, at least. The tongue feels rough, but a good kind. Heat pools around Stiles’ stomach, and he squirms a little, blushing when he feels himself start to get hard in his pants. That's happened to him before, usually in bed at night, but never like this and definitely never around anybody else.
He jumps a little when the wolf noses roughly at his hip. "Hey, don't do that!" he squeaks, but the wolf just huffs and nips lightly at his belly. He giggles at the sensation of whiskers on his skin. His wolf steps back, cocks his head to side and Stiles thinks it looks like he could be smiling.
"Hey, come back." Stiles reaches for the wolf but it’s not necessary because the wolf is back in his space, pushing Stiles flat onto the soft leaves covering the cave floor. The wolf noses at his throat, and Stiles turns his head to the side to let him get closer. He feels a growl against his neck, but it doesn't sound mad and the wolf's licking him again, so Stiles doesn't let himself get scared.
He's getting tired of calling his wolf "the wolf," though, so he twists his head back around to where he can see him. "What's your name?" he whispers, and he almost regrets asking at all because the wolf stops and sits back on his haunches, moving to rest over Stiles’ legs and whining softly at him.
"It’s okay. Please." He brings his hand up to pet the wolf. "Come on, I told you my name." It comes out as a whisper. "Please?"
The wolf releases another soft whine, and then all Stiles sees is smooth tan skin. "Oh," he says, and the man looks kind of upset but he's still sitting on top of Stiles, so he can't be that mad.
He's not even a man, really, just kind of an older boy, and he isn't scary at all. Stiles tries to think about what the wolf likes, and he grins up at him, then turns his head to the side to show his neck. The older boy makes a noise like he's hurt, but before Stiles can look to see what's wrong, he shoves his face into Stiles' neck and starts sniffing.
It kind of tickles, and Stiles giggles so hard he almost doesn't hear the boy's muffled voice against his skin. "Derek," he's saying quietly, and Stiles smiles even wider. The sniffing turns to licking and the feel of Derek's tongue on his neck is new. Stiles likes it. He squirms trying to let Derek get closer.
"You smell," Derek’s saying.
"No, its good. You smell like... mine."
Derek continues to lick him but Stiles wants more. He grinds up and moans when he feels Derek hot and hard and heavy against him.
"Derek, I need to..." Stiles whimpers a little when Derek ruts down against him.
“Shh, little one," he says, and his voice is rough like he hasn't used it that much. "I'll take care of you."
"What about you?" Stiles asks, biting his lip. "You're not that much older than me."
Derek laughs, bright and so happy Stiles doesn't expect it, and Derek pushes down against Stiles again.
"Maybe not, but I'm bigger." He responds, a smirk flashing across his mouth before he’s lapping at Stiles’ neck again.
Stiles wiggles under Derek. He needs something. He wants something but doesn't know what. He whines low in his throat.
"Derek! Derek, help me... I need..."
"Shh. I'll take care of you. I know exactly what you need."
Derek yanks Stiles’ shirt open, buttons flying everywhere. "Shh," he whispers again, and then starts to lick his way down Stiles’ chest. Derek's tongue kind of tickles and Stiles almost wants to squirm away, but there's a tug in his belly that's even stronger now. He blushes when he can't keep from jumping up against Derek's stomach.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay, Stiles," Derek says, mouth open against Stiles' chest. "It's good. You're doing so good."
Stiles doesn't know what he's doing. He just knows that pushing his hips up into Derek's feels good. He feels something happen, a tightening and he feels so close to something when Derek pulls away.
"No! Derek! Please don’t stop!"
Derek doesn't say anything. Instead, he moves lower. His hands flick open the button on Stiles’ jeans. Stiles just watches him, eyes wide as Derek tugs his pants down and puts his mouth over Stiles where he's hard.
"Derek," he whines, tears in his eyes as Derek licks wetly over him before taking him into his mouth again. "It hurts." It doesn't, really, but he can't think of any other way to explain the burning in his belly and what he needs from Derek. Stiles pushes up and up against Derek's hands and mouth.
"What are you doing?"
"I'm sucking you. You smell good, but you taste even better." Derek pulls back, stares at him. “You’re very pretty, so smooth and no hair. Perfect.” Derek licks his lips once before swallowing Stiles down whole.
Even as he moans at the feeling of Derek's mouth, Stiles blushes again, pleased by the compliment even if he's not really sure why Derek would think he's pretty.
"You're really handsome," he gasps out, biting his lip with embarrassment as he says it, because it sounds so dumb compared to what Derek said to him. When Derek glances up at him, though, he's smiling, sharp and happy. He lowers his head again, dragging his fingers down over Stiles' butt, and that feeling is building again so fast Stiles is afraid he won't be able to stop it. Derek pulls off a bit.
"You can let go. Just let go."
"I can't." Stiles whispers.
Derek pulls his mouth off completely, but then his hand is there, stroking. Derek leans forward, looks straight into Stiles’ eyes. Derek's eyes are a weird shade of green Stiles has never seen before. They’re not just green, actually: there's this ring of color there that reminds Stiles of fire.
Derek looks at Stiles seriously and says, “It’s okay. I promise."
Derek's eyes flash blue and Stiles can't hold on any longer. He makes a noise, a hiccuping sort of cry, and a wave of something rolls over him that he's never felt before. It's amazing, between his legs and everywhere all at once. Stiles is about to squeeze his eyes shut when he feels something wet splattering his belly, and suddenly he can't look away from Derek and the way his eyes glow as he sniffs the air.
Stiles is breathing heavy, and shaking all over, and it feels like he'll never stop. So he tries to look at Derek and he almost can't believe what he's seeing. Derek has his hand around himself and he's rubbing himself fast. He's a lot bigger and a lot more hairy, but Stiles likes it, wants to touch it. He reaches a hand up to touch Derek's leg, the only thing he can reach from where he's pinned down. It's warm and all hard muscles, and it feels nice—so different from Stiles' own skin—but it's not really enough.
He thinks about the way it felt when Derek had licked him, and all the happy noises Derek had made, and he makes up his mind. Stiles pushes down his shyness and meets Derek's eyes.
"Can I taste you, too?" he asks quietly, and Derek's eyes go wide. He makes a whining sound, sharp teeth biting into his lip, and he spills in white streaks across the wetness that's already on Stiles' own stomach. Stiles gasps at the feeling and watches as Derek's hand slows and his eyes fade back to their natural color.
Derek looks relaxed now, lazy, and his eyes track all over Stiles' body in a way makes him shiver. Derek doesn't waste any time, just brings his fingers to Stiles’ chest and starts mixing both their messes together as if he's finger-painting. It’s a bit weird because it’s getting kind of cold and stiff but Stiles doesn't want to say anything, loving the look on Derek's face—sort of happy and dreamy all at once. Stiles is smiling when Derek takes his fingers away from where he’s been swirling them and puts them his mouth and makes a noise like it’s the best thing he's ever tasted. Stiles lifts himself up on his arms to get a better look.
"What are you doing?"
"I told you, you tasted good. I was right." Derek responds after scooping up more into his mouth.
"Well... can I try some?"
Derek smiles and scoops some more onto his finger. Stiles opens his mouth wide.
Stiles scrunches his face up a little when Derek first slides his fingers into his mouth; it's not gross, just weird and not like he was expecting. Derek likes it, though, and he looks like he wants Stiles to like it too, so he smoothes his face into a smile and laps cautiously at Derek's fingers. That makes Derek break out in a wide smile of his own, so Stiles keeps going, licking between them and sucking at them to get every last bit of the taste off. Derek slips his free hand up and into Stiles' short hair, and he presses up into it like a cat wanting to be pet. The thought makes him giggle a little, and Derek's smile softens as he cups Stiles' cheek carefully.
"Can I keep you?" Derek mutters into his neck. Stiles doesn't know what to say. He wants to let him. He wants to stay in the forest with his wolf and run around the trees and lie in the sun but he can't leave his dad, not now with his mom gone. "I'm going to keep you. You'll stay with me forever. Be my mate."
It’s not fair, Stiles thinks.
"No," Stiles says, stuttering a little when Derek rumbles a growl against his throat. "I can't. My... my dad, he needs me. I want to be yours, but I can't just leave him. My mom—" he chokes off, tears welling up, and he turns his head away. His face burns with embarrassment. Derek's not going to want to keep him anyway, once he realizes Stiles is just a dumb crying kid. "I'm sorry," he whispers, glad Derek can't see him crying. "Please don't be mad."
"I'm not mad. So loyal. My wolf likes it." Derek tilts Stiles’ head up. Stiles is confused about what he sees. Derek's not angry, no. He's happy and Stiles doesn't know what to think.
"But... don't you want to keep me?"
"I do, and I will, but you don't have to leave your family for that to happen. I hardly have any family left. I wouldn't ever ask you to give yours up."
"You have me," Stiles says, voice a little wobbly.
"I have you," Derek agrees, and he places a gentle kiss on Stiles' forehead. Derek pulls him up, positions them so that Stiles is sitting in Derek's lap. Stiles relaxes in his arms. It feels good to be there, and then he almost gets sad again, thinking about leaving Derek, and then he remembers Derek's promise.
"What are we going to do?" he mumbles into Derek's neck.
"I think we should talk to my uncle. He needs a mate too."
"Your uncle?" Stiles asks curiously. Derek nods.
"My uncle, Peter. You saw him earlier."
"That other wolf?" Stiles' eyes grow big with fear. "The one who hurt you?"
"He didn't mean to." Derek rubs his hands soothingly over Stiles' back. "You're just very special, and he wanted you to be his."
"But I'm yours," Stiles says quickly.
"You are," Derek says, growling a little before pressing a kiss to Stiles' temple. "But Uncle Peter is lonely, and if your father would be his, we could all be together."
"Like a family?" Stiles' voice is a whisper.
“Yes. Just like a family.”