Chapter Text
Stiles got out of the shower and went back to scribbling down notes from an article about werewolves as usual, little things to ask Scott or test out at some point.
For example, while wolfsbane really was a poison to werewolves, silver did not stop their healing abilities—Stiles had pricked Scott with the tip of a silver knife to test it out, and it’d healed just as quickly as usual.
After the whole fiasco with Kate and Peter, Erica had driven him to the hospital along with Isaac, Scott, and Boyd and filled him in along the way on the reason they’d been late to the scene.
Peter had attacked and bitten Lydia while she’d been in the car with Jackson.
It seemed he’d planned on using her as a way to blackmail Scott into joining his pack, but had immediately left for the Hale house after hearing Derek’s roar, (though Stiles wasn’t completely sold on that theory).
So back to his hospital bed Stiles went for a good week and a half, much to the great worry of his dad—“how the hell do you keep getting caught up in these life or death situations?!” his dad had near shouted—who was still looking into the murders.
Specifically, Kate’s murder.
Allison’s dad had set everything up nice and neat for the police to find after that whole fiasco of Kate getting murdered, then Peter. Derek apparently buried Peter somewhere around the Hale House while Allison’s dad left Kate’s body in the house for the police to find, with the necklace she’d given Allison around her neck and a phone with a few calls to Harrison—“he said something about not wanting a suspicious coward teaching his daughter,” Scott told Stiles.
Understandable.
Thus, while the case wasn’t completely closed, Stiles’ dad charged Harris as an accessory to Kate’s crime of murdering the Hale family along with probable cause that he helped her commit these recent murders.
All in all, the mess had finally ended, which led to now, the night of the winter formal, that Stiles was spending alone in his bedroom.
He might’ve been discharged, but his wounds hadn’t completely healed yet, not to mention he suffered from lack of sleep these days.
And Derek….
Stiles hadn’t seen him since that night with Kate and Peter.
A part of him had known that Derek wouldn’t visit him again, whether in the hospital or here in his room, now that Derek had gotten his revenge and their deal had ended.
Another part of him had hoped that maybe….
Well, it didn’t matter.
Maybe Derek had considered them friends, but Stiles had crossed the line bringing up his past with Kate. Maybe Derek thought he’d snooped around behind his back.
He hadn’t meant to eavesdrop on Derek and Kate’s conversation.
Or torture session, or whatever it was.
Realistically, though, it was probably simply because Derek had gotten his revenge and was thinking about leaving Beacon Hills soon—the only reason Stiles knew he hadn’t left yet was because he’d heard from Scott that Erica had been getting werewolf tips from Derek recently.
Stiles sighed. He knew he probably wouldn’t see Derek again, but for some reason, he couldn’t stop thinking about him.
The werewolf researching was just an excuse to try to take his mind off Derek. Scott had asked him multiple times if he really didn’t want to go to the winter formal, and every time, he’d said no since he knew he wouldn’t enjoy it anyway, not to mention his wounds would probably ache after a bit.
So here he sat in his dim room, zoning out at his desk while chewing on his favorite filled marshmallow candies.
“Not going to the formal?”
Stiles startled so hard he would’ve fallen out of his chair if Derek hadn’t righted him in time.
“That’s self explanatory, isn’t it?” muttered Stiles after he’d caught his breath.
His heart couldn’t stop racing, though—he’d about accepted that he’d never see Derek again, so he couldn’t quite manage to calm himself down.
“How’re your injuries?” asked Derek.
Stiles bit into another soft marshmallow. “They’re fine. Are yours healed?”
“Of course.”
“Right,” said Stiles with a little snort. “So…”—he finally looked over at Derek—“do you need help with something?”
He hoped Derek needed help with something, because that was better than Derek saying he was leaving Beacon Hills.
Derek stepped a little closer into the light of Stiles’ desk lamp. “No.”
“Oh.” Stiles’ heart sank. “Well, what’s up, then?”
“You owe me, remember?”
Stiles stared blankly at Derek. “Uh….”
“The study session?”
“…Right. The thing with Jackson.” Stiles’ spirits lifted once again. “So you do need help with something!”
He cleared his throat, a little embarrassed at his overenthusiasm.
What he didn’t expect for Derek to say was, “Close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes,” repeated Derek, his expression giving nothing away.
Stiles did as Derek said, albeit with much confusion, and jolted when he felt a hand cup the side of his neck.
“Easy.” Derek’s deep, silky voice murmured much too close. When his lips brushed against Stiles’ ear, Stiles not only jolted, his eyes shot open.
Derek kissed and nipped Stiles’ earlobe while trailing his hand down Stiles’ neck to his chest, and the smallest, neediest squeak of whimper escaped Stiles—
Stiles covered his face in utter embarrassment. “Oh god. What noise did I just make?”
And Derek… laughed.
“That’s what happens when you feel good.”
“I— I don’t know what’s happening,” stammered Stiles. He didn’t think his face and neck could flame any hotter, and he squirmed in his chair—he could feel the heat from Derek’s hand feeling up his torso through his thin shirt. “This is— I mean— It’s kind of random. Aren’t there better options if you— if you want to, y’know?”
Derek didn’t stop. “Better options like what?”
“Um, I dunno!” Stiles bit back another squeak when Derek sucked a hickey on the side of his neck. “I’m not a hot chick or a hot guy—”
“And this isn’t random, either,” said Derek.
“…It’s not?”
Derek finally paused for a second to tug Stiles’ hands away from his face. “It’s self-explanatory. Are you really going to make me say it?”
His hazel eyes gleamed in the dim, desk light, always a silvery green that Stiles never got tired of looking at, and Stiles burst out, “Yes?! I’m not telepathic! How the hell am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?”
Derek had the nerve to sigh and pinch the bridge of his nose. “God, you’re such an idiot. Why do I even like you?”
“Hey, I’m not—!”
Stiles cut off, mind shortcircuiting.
‘Like’?
‘Like’?
Derek just said he liked him?
Stiles gaped and self-combusted even more, if that was possible.
“You’re so red,” teased Derek as he went back to pressing kisses on Stiles’ flushed scarlet neck. “And so sensitive.”
He sucked another hickey to prove his point, which earned him a little whimper from the still shocked Stiles.
“Wait, stop that—!” Stiles’ voice cracked, much to his even further embarrassed dismay, but his traitorous hands gripped Derek’s shirt closer. “I can’t think with you doing that!”
“Then don’t.” Derek paused for a moment, then lifted Stiles up out of the chair and onto the edge of the desk so he didn’t need to crane over to kiss Stiles anymore. He stood between Stiles’ legs and trailed barely-there kisses along Stiles’ jaw.
Stiles’ breath hitched. “But—”
Derek looked him in the eyes, mere centimeters away as his breath ghosted hot against Stiles’ skin. “Do you want this or not?”
Stiles held his breath, eyes wide. His lips trembled under the soft brush of Derek’s thumb across them and his heart beat like hummingbird wings and his mind all but stopped working and—
He leaned forward to kiss Derek, but instead, his nose crashed into Derek’s.
It was a disaster.
“Just kill me now,” muttered Stiles as he cradled his nose but was really just covering his whole face.
Derek laughed again. The rich, velvet sound sent tingling shivers down Stiles’ spine—no wonder he didn’t usually laugh, Stiles thought, or no one around him would ever get any work done.
“I think that’s just you.”
Stiles froze, and— Oh god, he’d said that out loud—
Derek yanked Stiles’ hands away from his face again, pulling him even closer in the process, and kissed him in one smooth move.
Soft. Hot.
Slick.
Everything Stiles had ever imagined his first kiss to be and more, though he’d definitely never imagined it to be with a man, much less Derek Hale.
Derek didn’t taste of much. Clean, slightly smoky-sweet.
But something about their lips moving against each other and their tongues licking inside each other’s mouths just made Stiles want more and more, and he pressed himself as close as he could to Derek—the hard press of Derek’s crotch against his had butterflies swarming his gut.
Derek grinded against him, slow and sensual, and a startled moan escaped Stiles’ lips. He chased Derek’s lips as Derek’s hands began roaming up under his shirt, but had to break away with a gasp when Derek’s fingers reached his nipples.
“Mm, you’re so reactive, too,” said Derek between kisses, swallowing Stiles’ moans with each rub and pinch of Stiles’ nipples.
A few papers fell to the ground. Stiles reached out to run his hands over Derek’s chest and abdomen, but even in his somewhat dazed state of mind, he could feel Derek freeze under his touch despite not saying anything or moving away.
So Stiles immediately withdrew his hands.
“It’s okay,” said Derek, even though his voice sounded somewhat strained—his gaze flitted towards Stiles and away. “Sorry, just—”
“It’s fine, my fault, I should’ve asked,” said Stiles in a rush. He returned his hands to Derek’s shoulders, then paused. “Is this okay?” Panic rose in his stomach at the thought that he’d just been making Derek uncomfortable this whole time, what with his hugging and pressing against him.
And disappointment rose in him as well, that this didn’t feel as amazing for Derek as it did him. He, of course, knew why—it was most likely because of Kate.
God, he didn’t think he’d ever hated anyone more than Kate.
“More than fine,” Derek assured him. “And you just took me by surprise—you don’t have to stop.”
Stiles smiled and nodded, and Derek kissed him until he melted into a puddle, and he didn’t move his hands down again.
He might not be a werewolf, but he could at least tell Derek had lied in this one moment.
Thankfully, Derek seemed to enjoy kissing and touching him, though. Stiles kissed him back as much as he could, albeit much sloppier and ragged from moaning, until Derek abruptly drew back.
“What is it?” panted Stiles. He searched Derek’s face for an explanation. “Did I do something?”
Derek’s breaths came out fast as well. “No, just— We should stop here.”
“Why?” Stiles groaned—his cock had leaked so much precum that his soaked briefs stuck to his skin.
“This is your first time,” said Derek. “I want to do it right. Go slow.”
“But this is perfect.” Stiles tightened his arms, still looped around Derek’s neck, in an attempt to pull Derek closer. “I don’t want slow, I just want you—”
His words must’ve flipped a switch, because the next thing he knew, Derek scooped him up and set him down on the bed, lips crashing hard on Stiles’ as he stripped off both of their clothes.
Lips, tongue, and hands mapped the contours of Stiles’ body, and when the wet heat of Derek’s mouth surrounded Stiles’ cock, he arched off the bed with a loud whimper as he came down Derek’s throat just from that.
Derek sucked lazy kisses on Stiles’ inner thighs before rummaging through Stiles’ nightstand for a bottle of lube.
Stiles held his breath in anticipation.
Slippery fingers gently pressed against the tight furl of his hole, but what he didn’t expect was for lips and tongue to accompany them.
“Oh god,” moaned Stiles over and over again along with Derek’s name—he nearly screamed when Derek began tongue fucking him while slowly scissoring fingers inside him.
Derek brushed against a spot that had Stiles arching off the bed, but avoided it after that, instead methodically driving Stiles up the wall with his mouth and fingers.
Stiles, at some point, began begging him to put in already. It was torturous how amazing it felt, but Stiles’ need for more was even more torturous, and when Derek finally pulled away and ripped open a condom packet with his teeth, Stiles took the opportunity to eye Derek’s cock.
His breath caught in his throat.
Derek….
Well.
He was very well-endowed, to say the least.
Thick and huge, if he were to say more.
And then Derek leaned over and kissed him, cock brushing against Stiles’ hole, and then—
“Wait, this is illegal.”
Stiles about lost his shit. “Are you fucking serious right now?!”
Derek groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Fuck, I completely forgot that you’re a minor after all the shit that’s happened.”
“We’re literally three years apart, okay? You’re barely a major!”
“A ‘major’—” Derek let out a snort. “But it’s still illegal.”
“Yeah, and so is attacking people and torturing them and trying to kill them, but apparently that’s normal and we have to deal with it, so I really don’t give a flying fuck!” Stiles burst out. “Will you just fuck me?! I swear, I’ll ride you if I have to— I’ll kill you if you fucking stop here, and anyway, you’d just get a fine!”
Derek blinked. “What?”
“If for some stupid, insane fucking reason we get in legal trouble for this, it’s a misdemeanor. Y’know, a fine and, like, probation,” said Stiles. “‘Cause we’re similar in age. I’ll help you pay the damn fine if it happens, okay? I mean, you’d have that on your record, but you werewolves are living some shitty survival life or death scenario half the fucking time, so does it really matter? Plus you murdered your uncle! Now that’s a crime, and I didn’t see you worrying about how ‘illegal’ that is!”
Derek stared at him for a long moment, then began chuckling, and then Stiles was laughing and he didn’t even know why, and they shared small kisses that were mostly teeth from smiling than anything.
“You have a point,” admitted Derek at last after his amusement faded into intimate kisses down Stiles’ neck. “I just…. I want to do this right.”
“Then can you please fuck me already?!”
Derek did as he asked, finally.
Stiles gasped for air. By the time Derek slid in all the way, making sure to kiss Stiles and stroke his cock and play with his nipples all the while, Stiles felt so perfectly stuffed to the brim that he’d probably come from the slightest trigger.
And he did.
The palpable shock and amplified lust that flashed across Derek’s expression when Stiles came with a cry just from hearing Derek say his name in that sinfully velvet voice of his made it all worth it, because then Derek finally stopped holding back and railed Stiles into the bed, through his orgasm and into the next one. Every other thrust hit Stiles’ prostate, a fact Stiles knew Derek was doing on purpose, and the embarrassingly debauched noises that streamed out of Stiles’ throat were nothing compared to the overwhelming bliss of getting fucked so good by Derek.
His Derek.
His Derek who looked like a godly wet dream come true, staring down at him like he was the only thing that mattered.
And the filthy praises that fell from Derek’s lips like air—they only drove Stiles even crazier.
Derek didn’t say much—he never said much—but what he did say had Stiles clenching tight around him every time. Praises about how perfect Stiles looked like this, about how good he was being for him, about how tight he was and how amazing he sounded—they all shot straight through him like lightning.
To make matters worse, Derek knew.
Stiles knew Derek knew how much he loved Derek’s voice and praises, because when Derek’s thrusts began to grow jerky, he whispered in Stiles’ ear, “Be good and come for me.”
Hot pulses of cum filled the condom, warming Stiles’ hole, and Stiles’ mouth dropped open on a silent scream.
His hole clamped down on Derek’s cock and milked every last drop as his own cum painted his chest, until the pleasure that wracked his body had him whiting out for a moment.
When he came to, Derek was cleaning him up with a warm, wet cloth.
Stiles watched him. The silent, almost graceful way he naturally moved, the gleam of the moonlight on his skin, the slight ripples of his muscles as they flexed—
He liked Derek.
The realization finally set in.
It didn’t feel like much of a realization because the feelings had long been there and growing—he was simply putting them into words at last.
But still, he couldn’t quite believe that this had happened.
It felt like a dream.
“What?” asked Derek as he climbed into bed beside Stiles. “Stop staring at me like that.”
Stiles watched him for a moment longer, then reached a hand out to trace Derek’s cheekbone. “I like you,” he whispered.
And Derek pulled him snug against his body, laying a soft, fervent kiss on Stiles’ lips.
“I know.”
Stiles blinked. “But I only just realized.”
“Because you’re an idiot.”
“Well, how did you know, then?” huffed Stiles.
“How could I not? Werewolves can sense emotions, you know that right?”
Stiles raised his head, gaping at him. “What the fuck? So it doesn’t even matter if I hide my emotions, because you can still sense them?!”
“If I focus on your chemosignals.”
“Oh, so it’s not all the time, then.” Stiles breathed a sigh of relief.
A short-lived relief.
“I focus on you all the time,” said Derek.
Stiles groaned. “That’s so embarrassing. Why the heck would you even do that?”
“Even if I couldn’t sense your emotions, you’re still obvious, Stiles,” muttered Derek. “I was trying to ignore it, but it’s impossible to with all the times you’ve nearly died trying to protect me with your tiny, frail human body. And when you nearly beat Kate to death.”
“Oh. You saw that?”
Derek looked at him like he was stupid. “I was two feet away.”
“Then you should know I’m not tiny or frail!” retorted Stiles.
“You are compared to me.”
Stiles paused. “Wait, then, the past week and a half, were you still trying to ignore it?”
“Yeah.”
Stiles bit his lip as doubts began to swirl within his heart, and Derek must’ve sensed it, because he added, “Clearly, I’m not ignoring it anymore.”
“Oh, it’s not that,” said Stiles with a small laugh. “It’s just, well”—he pulled the covers up a little further—“we don’t, um— we don’t need to, y’know, be in a relationship or anything if you don’t want to.” He swallowed, and unsuccessfully tried to make his dejection go away. “It’s fine if you want to ignore it, I mean, it’s probably a hass—”
“Stiles, it’s dangerous,” interrupted Derek before Stiles could spiral down any further.
Confusion wrinkled Stiles’ brow. “Uh, what?”
“It’s dangerous for you to be with me.” Derek sighed and rubbed his face. “I have enemies. And the Argents’ reinforcements will probably arrive soon. That’s partly why I killed Peter. I need power. If people know what you mean to me, you’ll have a huge target painted on your back…. But, well, you’re a trouble magnet either way, so it’ll be easier to make sure you’re safe if I keep you close.”
Stiles couldn’t help but grin despite the various concerning statements Derek had just made.
“Did you hear anything I just said?” demanded Derek.
“I heard, I heard,” Stiles assured him with a wide, goofy smile. “I’m just happy I misunderstood is all.”
And then Derek pounced on him in a series of long, hard kisses that had Stiles breathless and giggling, and he left more love bites down Stiles’ neck in his wake.
“This is exactly why I can’t stay away,” he muttered.