“You smell different.”
Stiles glanced up at Scott, cocking one eyebrow. “What d’you mean?” he asked, continuing to stir the pot of macaroni on the stove. Somehow, it was his turn to make dinner for the pack. Again.
“Well… how do I put this?” Scott frowned deeply as he tried to think of a way to explain to Stiles his scent. “Derek explained it to me like this. Everyone has a base scent and a “pack” scent. Your base scent still smells like you, but your pack scent is different.”
“How so?” Stiles asked, reaching for the colander so he could drain the water from the pasta.
“Well typically… umm… Isaac, you wanna’ give this a try?” Scott looked helplessly at Isaac, who’d been chopping carrots obediently.
Isaac sighed, pausing in his work to face Stiles. “Members of the pack all carry the pack’s scent,” he said as Stiles siphoned off the water from the pasta over the sink. “But when a member of the pack selects a mate, their scent changes to resemble that of their mate.”
“What’s that got to do with me?” Stiles asked carefully. Surely they couldn’t tell what had happened between him and Derek purely by smell?
“Your scent’s changed,” Scott jumped in helpfully. Isaac rolled his eyes and resumed his task of making a salad. “You smell… Derek-y.”
“God damn it.” Stiles pulled his hands away from the sink as fast as he could to avoid splashing himself with boiling water. The macaroni pot landed in the sink, dumping a third of its contents down the drain while the rest of it was safe in the colander, which had—by some miracle—managed to stay upright. Stiles shook his hand, swearing like a demon as a welt started to form on his hand. “Do you have to launch stuff like that at me while I’m performing dangerous activities?” he yelped at Scott.
“I got it,” Isaac said, snatching Stiles’ throbbing hand. Stiles felt the pain recede slightly. He could barely begin to understand why Isaac was always the first one to use his healing abilities on someone else. Maybe it was partially the fact that his father had abused him for years, but Isaac was also just a caring person. He’d been the one who’d benefitted from pack life more than any of the other members. Stiles could feel the roughness of Isaac’s skin from where he’d been cut and burned and bruised as the wolf siphoned away some of his pain. “Better?”
Stiles nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” He waited until Isaac released him before going to retrieve the surviving pasta. Scott still stood dumbly in the corner of the kitchen, his mouth hanging open slightly in surprise. “Hey, dumbass,” Stiles called to him, waving a hand in front of Scott’s face. “Go get milk and butter from the fridge.”
Scott’s eyes focused slightly. “Right. Yeah, I got it.” He retrieved the items Stiles had requested from the refrigerator and put them on the counter next to Stiles. “But you didn’t answer the question.”
“You didn’t ask me a question, idiot,” Stiles reminded him, being careful to keep his eyes averted while he poured milk onto the pasta he’d returned to the pot. He was relieved—not for the first time—that the pack wasn’t picky about what they ate. Pasta that had touched the sink was just as edible as pasta that hadn’t. “And is now really the time?”
“You smell like Derek,” Scott said as if it was the most scandalous thing he’d ever heard. “I think now’s a great time for that one to be answered.”
“Go get the others for dinner,” Stiles snapped at him. He was a little surprised when Scott obeyed him, practically dragging himself from the kitchen and out of the Hale’s house. He glared over at Isaac. “You going to interrogate me too?” he demanded, but Isaac didn’t look up from tossing the salad.
“Wouldn’t even dream of it,” he said, and Stiles could see the corner of Isaac’s mouth twisting up in a thin-lipped smile. The bastard. “I’m gonna’ take this out to the table.” He carried the salad bowl out to the livingroom, which had become the room where anything of importance—meetings, meals, and movie nights—happened.
“You’re an ass,” Stiles grumbled under his breath, knowing very well that Isaac would hear him. The wolf snorted in laughter from the other room. Stiles grinned.
He’d just finished stirring the milk, butter, and powdered cheese into the macaroni when he heard footsteps behind him. “Scott, I’m not answering your question,” he said as he turned to face the newcomer. His face nearly collided with Derek’s chest. “Woah, hello,” he said, stumbling back into the counter. “Someone still doesn’t understand personal space.”
Derek jerked his head towards the livingroom. “Feed the pack,” he said, taking a step closer to Stiles so he was pinning him against the counter. “Then we need to talk.”
Stiles swallowed hard. His mouth was dry. “Alright.”
Derek’s line of a mouth twitched upward as he took a step back, allowing Stiles to snatch the macaroni pot off the counter and flee to the other room. “Dinner’s served, my lovelies,” he said, practically slamming the pot onto the table.
Erica made a gagging noise. “Oh my god, Stiles,” she gasped as the others dived for the macaroni. “You smell like Scott when he’s around Allison.”
“Hey!” Scott protested weakly. “I do not—“ But the rest of the conversation was lost as Stiles dashed back to the kitchen, shouting something incoherent about leaving the milk out.
Derek wrinkled his nose as Stiles returned to the kitchen. “Erica’s right, Stiles,” he said, taking a step closer. “You do smell like Scott when he’s around Allison.”
“Oh whatever,” Stiles breathed, practically slamming himself into Derek. Derek responded by pushing him back, ramming his willing prey into the wall with slightly more force than was really necessary. “They’re going to hear us,” Stiles warned meekly as he slid down the wall. “You okay with that?”
Derek’s hand was already halfway up Stiles’ shirt, raking the tender skin of his back with his nails. “They can already smell it on us,” he growled, his lips and teeth tracing their way down Stiles’ neck to his collarbone. “Stop squirming.”
“Trying not to… do you have to fffff… do that again.” Stiles closed his eyes against the harsh glare of the ceiling lights. Someone was going to walk in on them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Derek’s face was buried in the nape of his neck as Stiles quivered beneath him, his shirt riding up inch by inch every time Derek moved.
“Oh my god, you two.” Erica’s high heels clicked against the floor as she strutted to the fridge. Mood killer. “We make food in here.”
“Erica…” Derek snarled, lifting his head from Stiles’ neck to glare at her. “What the hell are you even doing in here?”
“I’m getting the soda,” she said. “If you two want to have uninterrupted… whatever the hell it is you’re doing… you really ought to make sure you don’t forget anything next time you use dinner as a cover.”
Stiles let his head drop back to the floor. “Erica, couldn’t you have just waited?” he asked in exasperation.
She smirked at him, closing the fridge. The soda was clutched firmly in her taloned hands as she snatched the stack of plastic cups from the counter. “Hell no,” she said. “I got here early. If I came in here in ten minutes, you two might’ve been completely naked. You two are both cute, but I don’t want to see that. I’d never be able to come back in this kitchen again.” She winked at them, baring her glimmering teeth in a smile. “Have fun.” She trotted back out of the kitchen, leaving the two of them alone once again.
Stiles closed his eyes. “Well that killed the mood,” he said as Derek rolled off of him. “Though I guess I should’ve suspected she would so something like that.” He pulled his shirt back down and glanced at Derek. “Well I guess we don’t have to worry about telling the pack anymore,” he joked, but Derek was still frowning at the ceiling. “Derek?”
Derek sat for another moment glaring at the ceiling before letting out a barking snort of laughter. Stiles couldn’t help it—Derek’s laugh was infectious. They both remained sprawled across the floor laughing for what seemed like a century before they finally regained some of their composure.
“I bet Scott still hasn’t figured it out, though,” Derek wheezed as Stiles wiped at his streaming eyes. They erupted into another fit of laughter, Stiles burying his face into Derek’s chest in an attempt to stop himself.
It was still a while until they both settled down. Stiles’ stomach ached from laughing so much. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent laugh. He didn’t think Derek had ever had one. “Are you staying over tonight?” Derek asked quietly, his breath tickling Stiles’ cheek.
“I can if you want me to,” Stiles replied in a whisper. “If you want me to.”
Derek nodded slowly. Stiles couldn’t tell if it was because he wanted him to stay over or if was just because he was processing Stiles’ answer. The tendon in his neck twitch as he smiled briefly at some thought only he was privy to. “What?”
Derek grinned wolfishly. “I was just thinking about how furious Erica would get if we locked ourselves in her room for an hour or two,” he said fiendishly. “And if she moves out of that room, that would free that room up for—“ He stopped in a very un-Derek like manner, scrunching his face up and looking away from Stiles.
“Free that room up for what?” Stiles asked quietly. His mouth had gone very dry again.
“Demolition,” Derek said smoothly. “I want to make my room bigger—add some more closet space and stuff like that.”
Stiles nudged him, propping his chin on Derek’s chest. “Your collection of black leather jackets not fitting in your closet anymore?” he teased, grinning devilishly at the Alpha.
“My jackets fit fine,” Derek half-snarled. “It’s your collection of t-shirts that’s cramping up my space.” He pushed Stiles off of him and stood. “C’mon, we’ve been in here long enough,” he said, offering Stiles his hand.
Stiles accepted his hand for a change, his mind reeling with the off-handed bombshell Derek had just dropped on him. It hadn’t really sunk in that he’d practically been living with Derek these past couple of weeks. Now that he thought of it, at least a third of his clothes were jammed in every bit of spare space he’d been able to find in Derek’s room. He’d been going out with Derek for less than three months, and they were already moving in together. Wow…
“Stiles, are you even listening to me?”
“Hmm?” Stiles looked dumbly at Derek. “Sorry, just totally zoned out. What’d you say?”
Derek rolled his eyes, jamming his hands into his pockets. “It’s not important,” he growled, leading the way into the livingroom. The others had started up the never-ending game of Mario Kart again, shouting eagerly at each other as the tiny animated cars zoomed along on the screen.
“Hey, you didn’t wait for us!” Stiles cried indignantly, jumping onto the couch behind where Scott was crouched on the floor, controller in hand. “It was my turn!”
“You and Derek were doing God knows what in the kitchen,” Erica argued, running her car into Scott’s aggressively. “It’s not like I was going to go in there again. Ha!” She slammed her hand on the controller as her tiny Princess Peach car flew across the checkered finish line to victory.
“You kinda’ killed the mood when you walked in the first time,” Stiles argued. “How would you feel if I walked in on you and Boyd making out?”
Erica stuck out her tongue. “I’m shameless, Stiles,” she said solemnly. “This bitch does as she pleases.”
“I demand a rematch!” Scott insisted as his car puttered over the finish line.
“You’re on!” They let themselves sink into the game again, tuning Stiles out altogether as he and Isaac shouted encouragement.
Stiles felt more than saw Derek looming behind him. He turned to find the Alpha watching him with the faintest of smiles on his face. Stiles wanted to make that smile grow into an all-out wolf grin.
“C’mon, sourwolf,” he said, sliding off the back of the couch and grabbing Derek by the collar of his leather jacket. “We’re going to have fun.”
“Stay,” Derek urged him, planting his feet to the ground. “You were having fun.”
“Yeah, but not everyone likes to watch Mario Kart,” Stiles argued. The smile was gone. Where the heck had the smile gone? “And now’s our chance. Let’s go, while everyone’s occupied.”
The smile returned. Success. Derek allowed himself to be dragged upstairs to his room, where he immediately stripped Stiles of his shirt. “Hello, cold hands,” Stiles yelped as Derek’s hands raked over his bare chest. “What’s up with your obsession with me shirtless? If anyone should be shirtless, it’s you.”
“Yeah, but I see my body every day,” Derek said as Stiles yanked his leather jacket from his broad shoulders. “I don’t see you naked that much.”
“Dude, you crash my shower time like every day,” Stiles said, pulling Derek’s t-shirt over his head. The muscles in Derek’s chest bulged. Stiles’ mouth went dry. He wanted to touch Derek; run his hands over every part of his body that he could reach. He started with Derek’s face, tracing his thick brows and proud cheekbones as Derek busied himself with undressing Stiles. Stiles was completely naked by the time he reached Derek’s taunt neck muscles.
Derek didn’t let him get any further. He practically dragged Stiles to his bed, tossing him down with a little more force than was necessary. Stiles felt the air pushed out of his lungs as a very heavy, very horny werewolf landed on top of him. “Ow, claws in, claws in.”
Derek grunted, realizing for the first time that his wolf claws had started digging into the tender flesh of Stiles’ hips. He was in a haze. Something about Stiles just made him lose control. That’s how they’d gotten together in the first place. He yanked his own pants off, ravaging Stiles’ mouth with his own in a scrambled frenzy. It had to be something about Stiles’ scent. It was sweet like honey, but something in it just made Derek want to tear his clothes off…
Stiles cried out, arching his back beneath Derek. Derek growled with pleasure, dragging his teeth along Stiles’ neck. He wanted Stiles to make that sound again.
“Derek,” Stiles gasped, digging his nails into Derek’s back. “Derek, ffff… Claws, claws…. Ah…”
Derek did not stop—he could not stop—until Stiles cracked and made that sound again. He was rewarded for his roughness as Stiles’ lips parted and he cried out. Only then did Derek’s body fall limp. He collapsed on the bed beside Stiles, his body shaking as he gasped. Stiles trembled beside him, his eyes closed and his face screwed up in pain. He finally sat up, examining the series of neat little claw marks that covered his body. “I’m gonna’ go wash up.” He disappeared into the bathroom, shutting the door partway behind him. Derek sighed and rolled over. He could see a sliver of the bathroom through the small gap the door had left. Stiles’ leg rested on the countertop as Stiles carefully washed out the U-shaped claw marks Derek had left on his thigh.
He went to join Stiles, pushing the door open a fraction of an inch more. “Does it hurt?” he asked quietly as Stiles secured a bandage over the cuts.
Stiles shook his head, moving to the next set of claw marks. “Not really,” he said, dabbing them with a towel. “To be honest, I don’t really feel it anymore.”
Derek felt a wave of guilt. How many times had he lost control with Stiles now? “Do you want to stop?” he asked Stiles, leaning against the counter. Stiles’ scent washed over him. His mouth watered—he wanted to do it again. “If I’m hurting you—“
“I’m fine, Derek,” Stiles said, cutting him off before he could say any more. “I just need you to stop being so… aggressive. We’re not wrestling.”
Derek nodded slowly. “It’s something about your scent,” he said after a minute. “I get close to you and it’s just… intoxicating.”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “What is it with everyone and my scent?” he asked. “I’ll stop wearing cologne if that’s what’s causing the problem.”
“No, no, it’s not your cologne,” Derek said quickly. “It’s your mate scent.”
Stiles tossed the towel into the sink. “You wolves and your scents,” he said in exasperation. “What the hell’s a mate scent?”
“It’s the scent that attracts mates,” Derek explained. “Everyone has a scent for themselves, for their pack, and for their mate. Your mate scent is something that tells potential mates if you’re available, I guess.”
“So what do I smell like?”
Derek shook his head. “I can’t describe it,” he said. “But it makes me want to just tear your clothes off every time I smell it. Maybe it’s just because we’re in this thing together now, but either way it’s addicting.”
“You’re making me sound like a drug,” Stiles whined, leading the way to the bed again. When they’d settled down beneath the covers, Stiles propped himself up beside Derek. “What do you smell like?”
Derek shrugged. “No idea,” he said. “I can’t smell my own scent.”
Stiles buried his nose in Derek’s hair and inhaled. “You smell like sweat right now,” he said, sliding back down into the crook of Derek’s arm. “And kind of… tangy, like cinnamon or something.”
“Great,” Derek grumbled. “Because every guy wants to smell like cinnamon and sweat.”
Stiles stuck his tongue out. “It’s better than becoming some sort of werewolf aphrodisiac,” he replied curtly, wrapping his legs around Derek’s until there was nothing but a jumble of limbs. “Kinda’ kills the romance if you’re horny all the time.”
“It’s your fault,” Derek retaliated. “All I know is that you did not smell like this when we first met.”
Stiles grinned. “It would’ve been beyond awkward if I had,” he replied. “Somehow I don’t think that would’ve gone over well, since I’m underage and you’re a psychotic criminal.”
“I’m not a criminal!”
“You get my point, though.” He let his eyelids close, blocking out everything except the sound of Derek breathing. It was peaceful here for once. He was asleep long before Derek, his mouth hanging open slightly as he pressed himself against Derek’s chest. He would hurt in the morning, but it was alright. Isaac would take away the sting from his cuts, and the rest would heal in no time. It would be alright.
Stiles always hated the full moon. It was the one night he was forbidden to come over to the Hale house, no matter what. But this night was different. Derek was taking the pack out to “patrol the territory”, so the house was all Stiles’ for once. His dad was working all night again, and it was a weekend. All in all, it was the perfect time to spend the night cleaning the house. If there’s one thing the pack was not, it was tidy.
He was also using this opportunity to snoop around. He was eager to find out more about his pack, and past experience had taught him that the bathroom and the bedroom were the two best places to search.
He started with Boyd’s room, since it was the emptiest of the rooms. Boyd rarely used his room due to the fact that he still lived at home. Only a few small boxes of things and a mattress lined the wall—the rest was furniture that had been in the house for years.
Erica’s room was terrifying. She’d decorated the walls with posters of her favorite movie stars and little glow-in-the-dark stars wherever there was a spare inch available. He didn’t find anything exciting in her room other than a half full box of condoms.
He skipped Isaac’s room. There was a certain amount of fun in digging through the pack’s rooms, but Isaac was an entirely different case for some reason. He was Stiles’ closest friend in the pack besides Scott—Isaac was smarter than Scott, if nothing else.
He’d been in Derek’s room a hundred times, but he’d never been able to snoop around without the Alpha peeking suspiciously over his shoulder. Derek loved to keep secrets from Stiles—it was like a game to him.
“What are you hiding from me this time?” Stiles muttered, rummaging through the drawers in Derek’s plain black nightstand. There was nothing exciting—a few pages of bills Derek had jammed in there and an empty notebook. The only thing of true interest in there was the ancient laptop that held the pack’s beastiary—a record of all the known creatures that could possibly show up and kill them all. Stiles lifted up the laptop to peer underneath, and found to his surprise a small box wrapped carefully in velvety cloth. Stiles pulled it from the drawer and unwrapped it, draping the cloth over the side of the bed.
The photo album looked like it had been around for centuries. The cover was worn from years of being passed down to the next generation. Stiles opened it and found small portraits and photographs with neatly written labels under each one. It was the Hale family dating back to the early 1800s. Stiles flipped to near the end of the photo album to see if there were any pictures of Derek in there. A kid photo of Derek was something he’d been looking for since he’d been allowed in the house.
But there were no pictures of Derek at all. Instead—and much to Stiles’ surprise—there were pictures of the pack. There were candid shots of Erica and Boyd, and a handsome shot of Isaac bouncing down from the rafters and smiling like a child. There were even pictures of Scott and Jackson that had been cut from the newspaper. All the photos surrounded the middle photograph of them all standing together, grinning with their wolfish teeth at the camera. Stiles remembered this picture with particular fondness—he’d taken that photo himself. He’d also made them wear sunglasses so their eyes wouldn’t reflect and ruin the picture.
But it was one particular shot that drew Stiles’ attention. It was of him and Derek curled up on the couch, their arms and legs tangled in an almost comical jumble. Derek’s hand was brushing the tender skin of Stiles’ side while Stiles’ head nestled into the groove between Derek’s shoulder and chest. Their eyes were closed as if they were sleeping. When had this picture been taken? It was fairly recent based on the length of Derek’s hair and the bags under Stiles’ eyes—the photo must’ve been taken shortly after he and Derek had gotten together.
Stiles slid the picture from the plastic covering that held it in place and flipped it over. This had been the only picture that hadn’t had a date in the little description at the bottom. He flipped it over and let his mouth drop open slightly as he read the caption on the back:
Derek Hale (Alpha) and Stiles Stilinski (mate) at the Hale house. Taken 8/24/12
Mate. Mate? Stiles clutched the picture to his chest, staring dumbly at the wall. The picture had been taken a couple of weeks ago, but why did it identify him as Derek’s mate? Was it really that certain they were going to end up together?
“You’re in way deeper than you should be, Stilinski,” Stiles murmured, running a hand over his short hair. “Way too deep.” He replaced the picture in its plastic pocket and wrapped the photo album up again. Once it was secured beneath the laptop again, Stiles retreated to the downstairs. Derek hadn’t even told him that he loved him yet, but they were already mates in the photo album? Hell no.
Stiles planted himself on the couch and reached for his cellphone. He didn’t know who to call until he saw her name on his list of contacts. He jammed his thumb into Lydia’s name and waited as his phone dialed her number. The phone rang twice before she answered in her bright, perky voice. “Hello?”
“Lydia, it’s Stiles,” Stiles said, but of course she would know that already. His name had popped up on her caller ID. “Can I talk to you about a personal issue?”
He could hear Lydia shifting on the other end of the line. “What’s up?”
Stiles didn’t know where to begin. “What do you do if someone you love does something… extreme before you’re ready to put that kind of label on it?”
“We’re not talking about sex, are we?” Lydia asked. Stiles could hear the amused concern in her voice. “What’s going on with you, Stiles? I need details.”
Stiles rubbed his face with his hand before speaking again. “Is it wrong to want a proclamation of love before committing to a serious relationship?” he asked. “Am I being ridiculous for wanting that?”
There was a long pause before Lydia answered. “I’m going to come over, okay?” she said. Stiles could hear her moving around on the other end of the line. “Where are you?”
“I’m at the Hale house,” Stiles said before he could catch himself. Lydia was aware of pretty much everything that was going on, but bringing her here might be too much. “But I can drive to—“
“No, no, don’t worry about it,” Lydia said hurriedly. “I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.” The line went dead. Stiles sighed and tossed his phone to the other end of the couch. There wasn’t much to do until Lydia arrived except wait.
She was at the house in less than ten minutes. Stiles shuddered when he thought of how many speed records she must’ve broken to get there—it should’ve taken her at least twenty minutes to get to the house. Stiles let her in without complaint, leading her to the kitchen where the lights were best. “D’you want coffee?”
“Sure.” Lydia perched herself on one of the spindly stools lined up along one side of the island in the kitchen, lacing her hands in front of her and scrutinizing him. “Did you get beat up again?”
Stiles thought of Derek ripping his clothes off and pinning him down. “Something like that,” he said, pouring her a cup of coffee out of the pot he’d brewed a couple of hours ago. It was still warm, defying all laws of nature as it steamed lazily. Stiles passed her the mug and smiled humorlessly. There had been a time when all he’d wanted was to have coffee with Lydia Martin. Now it was just like having coffee with anyone else. That was one thing his relationship with Derek had fixed—Lydia was never going to go out with him anyway, so why bother chasing after her anymore? “How’s life going?”
Lydia smiled thinly. “Don’t try to change the subject,” she warned. “I didn’t drive through six traffic lights and break the speed limit so you could ask me how my life is. Now what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting weird lately and you always look like you’re going to snap at any second. What happened?”
Stiles opened his mouth to lie and simply say “Nothing”. But Lydia’s sympathetic eyes seemed to pull all his secrets from him. He was telling her everything before he could stop himself—starting at the full moon Derek had jumped him all the way up to finding the photo album upstairs. Tears had started streaming down his face by the time he reached the end of the story. He sat across from her, sniffling like a child and staring desperately into those sympathetic eyes.
Lydia reached out and squeezed his hand. “Stiles,” she said quietly, but with a tone that was matter-of-fact and firm. “Are you happy?”
“No,” Stiles breathed in a bit of a whine. “I’ve never been more miserable. I just want something real, Lydia. I can’t deal with this whole crazed back-and-forth thing—I’m just a regular guy. I just want him to accept the fact that I’m in love with him. He’s never told me that he loves me. Ever. I tell him pretty much all the time, and he never responds to me. But the stupid freaking photo album says I’m his goddamn mate. What the fuck does that even mean?” He was ashamed by the tears streaming down his face, and of the bruises and claw marks running up and down his body. He was ashamed that people could see him when he was like this more than anything—sniveling, weak, and completely lost.
Lydia frowned at him. “You said he’s worst around the full moon,” she said slowly, like she was soothing a rabid animal. “What’s he like otherwise?”
Stiles thought back to the times when it wasn’t the full moon. “It’s perfect,” he whispered. “But I can’t deal with his freaky wolf mood swings. There’s only so much of it I can take.”
“Have you talked to him about it?”
Stiles nodded. “He seemed genuinely sorry for hurting me,” Stiles said, feeling the claw marks on his abdomen and legs sting unpleasantly. “But he can’t seem to… control himself. He almost snapped me in half this morning. He’s been a wolf since he was a kid, though. He should be able to control this kind of stuff by now.”
Lydia shrugged. “You mentioned him saying that your scent was interesting to him,” she said. Her voice was hypnotic. “Would it make it better at all if he wasn’t near your scent for a while? You said he was much better at controlling himself for a while after you got back from vacation with your dad. Maybe the smell’s so attractive because you’ve been living here more than you’ve been living at home lately. If you act like you’re his property, that’s exactly what you will be. Where do you sleep when you’re here?”
Stiles was taken aback by the question. “Derek’s room,” he blurted.
Lydia’s eyes narrowed. “How much of his closet space holds your clothes?” she asked. “Has he cleared out a drawer for you to put your stuff in?”
“I-I have a system,” Stiles stammered, completely blindsided by this line of questioning. “I just jam my stuff wherever there’s room.”
Lydia shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. Stiles’ ears turned red. “You’re acting like one of his Betas, Stiles,” she said. “You’re supposed to be his equal, not his bitch. You know how I keep Jackson in line?”
Stiles didn’t really want to know the specifics, but he nodded anyway.
Lydia smiled. “I control what he wants,” she said, watching him out of the slits that were her eyes. “If I don’t get my way, he doesn’t get what he wants. If I want more closet space and I don’t get it, then he can say goodbye to midnight booty calls.”
“God, Lydia,” Stiles squawked. “I don’t need to know about your midnight booty calls with Jackson.” He shook his head at her as she smiled thinly at him.
“I’m just trying to say that if you want him to do what you want, you have to set the boundaries yourself. He’s not going to limit himself if you’re not asking him to. Why should he?”
Stiles smiled faintly at her, squeezing her hand. “Thanks, Lydia,” he said earnestly. “I really appreciate it.”
Lydia smiled broadly at him for the first time since she’d arrived. “I like this,” she said, leaning back in her seat to observe him better. “Us being friends. It’s different.”
Stiles grinned back at her. “I like it too,” he agreed. “I wish you were with the pack more. We could really use someone like you.”
Lydia shrugged. “Your boy-toy doesn’t really like me that much,” she said. “And besides, I’m not really cut out to run with wolves. Not like you.”
Stiles shook with laughter. “Yeah, that’s me,” he snorted. “The boy who ran with wolves. I sound like a friggin’ documentary.”
Lydia raised her eyebrows. “I think you’re thinking of Dances with Wolves,” she said. “I don’t think anyone’s run with wolves yet.”
Stiles’ mouth twitched as he grinned at her. “Maybe they will someday.”
“Stiles, open up!”
Stiles kept his head bent stubbornly over his math textbook. He could hear Derek tossing pebbles at his window like the love interest in a cheesy romantic comedy, but he didn’t care. It had been almost a month since he’d gone to the Hale house with Scott and the others. Derek had visited him, of course, but Stiles refused to communicate with him unless it was by text or email. But tonight was the night before the full moon, and Stiles was unwilling to risk another round of pulverizing sexy time with the Alpha.
“Stiles, c’mon! I need to talk to you! Quit making me beg!”
“But it’s so much fun!” Stiles shouted back, shutting his textbook. He’d had enough of actually doing his homework. He moved to the window and opened it, sticking his head out into the cool night air.
Derek had parked himself in the tree that grew right outside Stiles’ window. Stiles had never seen him look as childish as he did with his feet hanging limply from the branch. “Where have you been?” Derek asked a little accusingly. “I haven’t seen you in a month.”
“Yeah well I needed some time to get some stuff done,” Stiles lied. Lydia’s words burned in his mind. This was what he wanted, wasn’t it? Lydia had never mentioned the likelihood that Derek would decide he didn’t need him anyway. Then where would he be? “What’s up?”
Derek climbed onto the roof like a hulking praying mantis in a skintight grey shirt that showed off all his chest muscles. Stiles’ mouth went dry. He kept moving until they were nose-to-nose. “Do you want this to end? I’ll let you go if that’s what you want.” The words sounded artificial in Derek’s voice. What kind of Alpha lets the Betas choose their fate?
But Stiles wasn’t a Beta. Or an Alpha, or an Omega. He was just Stiles—the human who knew far too much about werewolves and things that shouldn’t exist. He was the boy who ran with wolves and never surrendered. Wasn’t he? “I need to know that you’re going to be able to keep a lid on things,” he finally said. “You were born a wolf—you should be able to control things like this by now. I’m out if you can’t keep it together.”
Derek nodded. “Fine,” he said. “Is that why you left?”
Stiles nodded. “I’m tired of being your punching bag,” he said. “I’m not your sexy times play toy.”
Something flickered across Derek’s face that was almost a smile. “I never said you were.” He moved closer by an inch. “May I come in?”
Stiles backed up and let Derek slip through his window. His legs carried him all the way across his room until he hit the door. Derek wasn’t far behind, pressing himself against Stiles and burying his face in Stiles’ neck. “Don’t leave again,” Derek murmured into Stiles’ skin. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” Stiles whispered into Derek’s hair, clinging to Derek like he was the last thing holding him to the earth. “I promise.” He kissed Derek long and hard on the lips, feeling the Alpha quiver beneath his touch. “I’ll come to the house the day after tomorrow,” he promised when they stopped to breath. “You’re gonna’ be too wolfy tomorrow.”
“I can handle it,” Derek nearly whined with anticipation. His hand was already sliding up Stiles’ back, pulling his shirt with it. Stiles let him, partially because it felt good to be with someone again and partially because he was lifting Derek’s shirt as well. They’d stripped each other down to nothing but briefs in less than a minute after that, pressing up against the wall eagerly.
Until the door opened. Stiles practically threw himself across the room as Sheriff Stilinski’s head popped through the door. Derek slid into the corner of the room with exceptional speed—even for a werewolf. “Dad!”
Sheriff Stilinski looked around suspiciously. “What the Hell are you doing?” he asked finally. “Something was thumping around.”
“I dropped my textbooks,” Stiles invented wildly, praying that his dad wouldn’t notice the shirt, pants, and shoes that definitely weren’t his flung across the room.
Sheriff Stilinski frowned. “Why aren’t you wearing clothes?”
Stiles glanced down at himself. “So that’s why it was so cold in here,” he said. “I was beginning to wonder—“
“Where’d those shoes come from?”
Stiles was out of ideas. Completely. “Okay, please don’t get angry—“
“Is there someone else in here?” Sheriff Stilinski took another step into the room, his eyebrows pushing together aggressively. “I’m gone for an hour, and you—“
“He just sort of night-crawlered in!” Stiles protested.
The Sheriff’s head snapped to Stiles at once. “He?”
Stiles slapped himself on the forehead. “Dad, it’s not what—“
“Is it Danny?” he demanded. “I could deal with this if it’s Danny. Danny’s at least a decent guy. Though based on the state you’re in when you get home some nights, I highly doubt it—“
“Dad, just calm down!” Stiles had pulled a pair of jeans on that were definitely not his in an attempt to feel less exposed. “Nothing happened!”
“You’re practically naked!” Sheriff Stilinski argued. “I’d say that’s something!”
“Dad, you need to calm down,” Stiles protested. “We’ve had the talk before and everything. I’m an adult—I know how to take care of myself. I’m being safe, I promise.”
Sheriff Stilinski was silent for a moment. “Where’d he run off to?” he finally asked, glancing around the room. Derek was nowhere to be found.
“He jumped out the window,” Stiles lied, relieved that his dad had calmed down for a few minutes at least. “You’ve really got the scary dad thing down to a science.”
Sheriff Stilinski smiled. “I’m going to go start dinner,” he said. “We’ll talk more about this later.” He was just about to close the door behind him when a thought popped into his head. “This is not an invitation to continue what you were doing,” he warned before closing the door.
Stiles let out a sigh of relief and sunk to the ground. Derek emerged from the closet after a moment, glancing at the door suspiciously. “You don’t think he’ll come back up, do you?” he asked warily, crouching beside Stiles.
Stiles shook his head. “I doubt it,” he said. “But you should probably go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” He lifted his chin so he could plant a hasty kiss on Derek’s lips before the Alpha collected his clothes and retreated out the window.
He paused on the windowsill, perched absurdly in the small space. “Stiles?”
“Hm?”
“I love you.”
Stiles’ head shot up abruptly. “You—“ But Derek was already gone. Stiles let his head drop to the floor, running his hand over his short hair in an attempt to quell the overwhelmingly strong elation that was filling him up like brandy.
The feeling lasted until he came downstairs for dinner, when a thorough and irritating interrogation of his romantic life took place, hosted by Sheriff Stilinski. If anything was to be said about it, it was that all of the Sheriff’s years of interrogating criminals paid off more than he expected it would. Stiles went to bed feeling thoroughly worn out and rather brain dead. But the giddiness was back the second his head hit the pillow.
His dreams were full of wolves.
His greeting at the Hale house a couple days later was exactly what he’d expected. Sort of. He’d expected the excited yips of the wolves as he parked his Jeep in the drive, and the eager jostling as he was wrapped in the arms of Isaac, Scott, Boyd, and Erica. Derek didn’t move from the porch, but his eyes said enough. Stiles ruffled Scott’s hair and grinned at Isaac, who had his dumb-kid smile on again.
“I’m so glad you’re back,” Erica breathed, practically sticking her tongue down Stiles’ throat as she gave him an awkwardly long welcome back kiss. Stiles was unfamiliar to the plush lips and heavy scent of make-up that came with kissing Erica, but it was over as soon as it had begun. She winked at him as Derek made a guttural growling sound from the porch at her. “Well you weren’t going to do it,” she tossed at him.
“Is that a dare?” Stiles joked, bumping Erica in the shoulder affectionately.
She bared her teeth at him in a frightening grin. She licked her lips. “It’s an invitation.” Stiles felt Derek’s hand slip into the back pocket of his jeans. When had he even left the porch?
“Hands off, Erica,” Derek warned in a voice so smooth it made Stiles shiver. “He’s mine.”
Erica pressed herself too close to them. Stiles shivered again. “Is that an invitation to a threesome?” she asked sweetly.
“Jesus, Erica,” Boyd exclaimed, pulling her away from Derek with one large hand around her waist. “You’re worse than Derek around full moon.”
Erica winked at him and whispered something in his ear. His eyes widened and he looked very embarrassed. The rest of the pack cleared their throats loudly and looked away. Stiles grinned. Maybe there were perks to being human after all.
“Let’s head inside,” Derek said loudly. “It’s pizza night. Scott, is everyone here?”
Scott shook his head. “Still waiting for Lydia, Jackson, and Allison.”
Derek frowned slightly. “Then how about you all go get the pizza,” he said, his hand tightening its grip on Stiles. Stiles’ mouth was painfully dry. “I need to talk to Stiles about something.” He didn’t wait for the response of his Betas before practically charging to the house, a grinning Stiles in tow.
“Oh god I’ve missed this,” Stiles breathed as the door swung shut behind them. Derek’s mouth was already ravaging his skin, giving him goose bumps along the back of his neck. “I’m so glad I don’t have to avoid your place anymore.”
Derek yanked Stiles’ shirt over his head and tossed it across the room. He dragged Stiles to the floor, pressing him against the hardwood floor with the weight of his body. After being apart for a month, Derek’s body felt surreal to Stiles. Everything was slightly different than it had been—he was leaner than he had been before. His muscles quivered beneath Stiles’ touch like he was being shocked with electricity. Stiles loved it.
The others didn’t come back with the pizza for another two hours. By the time they did, Stiles and Derek had passed out in their underwear on the couch, hands intertwined in a complex knot and legs wrapped around each other. The pack elected to eat outside, leaving the Alpha and his mate alone in the still night air. It was a long time before either of them woke, and a longer time still before Stiles moved into the Hale house with the rest of the pack. But, just like everything else did eventually, it all worked out in the end.