Fic: Foreign Sounds, Derek/Stiles
Author: calrissian18
Title: Foreign Sounds
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Scott McCall, Sheriff Stilinski
Summary: “He’s decided living out the plot to Balto is more important than dealing with reality. We’re getting him a sled any day now.”
Warnings: None
Content Notes: Wolf!Derek, Canon Smash
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2,530
Prompt: Regress
Author's Notes: This takes all of canon and blends it together, there's some early season and some of three and four and it's just... smishy-smashed. Title from Joywave's, 'Tongues.' And, as always, this is rough as all get out.
Stiles looked up at Scott as he swung his leg off his bike. He removed his ragged thumbnail from his mouth to offer a flat, “Hey, man.”
Scott gave him a squinty, uncertain smile back, watching him where he was reclined on the Hale house steps. A book as large as Stiles’ torso was open in his lap and Derek was sitting at his side on the porch above him, snout resting in the crook of his elbow.
Stiles had tried shaking Derek off more than once that afternoon only to have him wait until Stiles was stationary again, bump his nose into his skin with little huffing breaths, tap his forepaw against his arm or stomach or thigh as though to make sure whatever body part of Stiles’ could support him and then laid his head or nose down again wherever he’d tested. Stiles had given up trying to get rid of him after the third go round.
“Derek,” Scott added with a nod that was almost deferential.
Stiles snorted, dismissively waved the arm that wasn’t weighted down by Derek’s nose. “He’s regressed to pre-verbal. Don’t even bother, dude.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and brazenly flicked him in the ear. Derek’s eyes snapped open and his ear twitched. Once he saw it was Stiles, he snuffled and lolled his head further against Stiles’ arm, flopping over contentedly onto his side. “A little help from an educated werewolf might go a long way, Walter Wolf,” Stiles tried. Derek’s closed eyes didn’t even flutter. Stiles shrugged, unsurprised, glancing back up at Scott. “Nothing. He’s finally found a state of being that fits the level of his social skills.”
Scott frowned, sitting down across from him and picking up one of the books in Stiles’ pile. The sun was strong and the shelter above the porch was only half-finished. Derek had decided to wolf it early in the construction so the house still looked just as ruinous as before. There was a skeleton that belied there was a plan being followed but it was easy to mistake it for nothing more than remnants of tragedy from a distance.
Stiles supposed if Derek never turned back, that’s all it would be. Again.
The day seemed to grow warmer and Stiles’ eyes grew heavy-lidded along with the stuporing heat, back slumping more heavily into the beam behind him. He was afraid he might’ve been dozing when Derek’s head jerked off his arm in one sharp movement and he sat up, ears pointed and eyes unblinking at the distance.
Scott stared in the same direction he seemed to be and inhaled deeply. Derek’s lips curled back so his fangs were visible and he was giving off a snarl that rumbled through Stiles’ insides. Scott offered Stiles a bemused look and a shrug of his shoulders before Derek was up on his feet and vaulting over Stiles’ stomach to take off after something neither of them could see.
“Where’s he off to?” Scott wondered aloud.
Stiles scoffed, said bitingly, “Who cares?” He meant that.
Scott closed his eyes and leaned back against his side of the stairs. “Maybe he’ll get the thing for us?”
Stiles laughed bitterly, said with heavy sarcasm, “Yeah right.”
Stiles woke up to a dead rabbit an inch or so away from his right hand. He scrambled upright and knocked his head against the railing of the Hale stairs in his haste to back away from it. His gaze jerked up to the wolf standing above it, tongue wagging out of his mouth as he looked between the bloody fur and Stiles’ disgusted face.
Stiles confirmed, “Really, really gross, man.” Derek whuffed and pointed his nose at it, head bobbing down almost like he was going to push it forward before looking up at him again. Stiles almost thought he saw exasperation in his eyes. He offered uncertainly, “Thanks.” Wolf-Derek’s expression cleared and he went back to looking pleased with himself, if slightly impatient.
Stiles made a dismissive gesture with his hand, like he was actively brushing it away and said, “You know I’m not going to eat this, right?” Derek yipped and Stiles glowered at him. “I don’t know what that means but I’m choosing to decipher it at as: ‘Yes, Stiles, of course I understand you and everything you say is always right forever. Since I’ve decided to live my life as a wolf, I must bow to your opposable thumbs and complex sentence structures.’” Derek’s head cocked to the side and Stiles decided to take that as confirmation rather than confusion. “Thought so.” Derek still seemed to be waiting for something and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Seriously, dude, go for it. I prefer my dinners a little less bloody.”
Derek practically grinned at him and tore into the poor, grotesque and doomed little rabbit. Stiles cringed, making a wide berth around the feast as he got to his feet. He contemplated petting Derek’s fur as he left but this wasn’t his pet, this was a grown man who was eating a dead bunny. Stiles absolutely did not want to encourage that.
“Later, man,” he said, ignoring the sloppy sounds of Derek eating.
Scott hovered over the lip of Stiles’ book and asked with a hint of anxiousness, eyebrows up, “Find anything?”
Stiles tapped the page he was on thoughtfully. “Apparently basilisks exist outside of the Chamber of Secrets.” He glanced up at Scott’s drawn face and said, “Oh. Did you mean anything helpful? Because no.”
Derek chose that moment to stop chasing bugs and bound up to them, tail wagging. Scott’s mouth tugged to the side like he was about to be overtaken by a smile against his will. He nodded his head towards Derek, who was bouncing back and forth between them, lowering himself onto his front paws and looking for all the world like he wanted to play. “He looks happy,” Scott noted, biting his lip to keep from mirroring that.
Stiles didn’t bother looking over at Derek and noisily turned the page. “Yeah, good for him,” he said sourly, trying not to let on how angry he really was.
“Uh, Stiles?”
Stiles glanced up at Scott, mouth pursed, only to find him looking at something next to him. Stiles turned too.
Derek was laying next to the bottom stair, having rolled over onto his back. His front paws were drawn into his body and he was stretching out his neck, looking up eagerly, anticipatorily, at Stiles with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Stiles glared at him, voice shaky. “You can’t be serious with this? People are getting their insides slurped out and you want a rub down? Fuck off, Derek.” He turned away angrily, fingers clenching harder around the edges of his book and looked up only a few minutes later to find Scott picking up a branch and throwing it for him. Derek took off after it like a shot, sprinting away happily while Stiles scowled and reprimanded, “Scott!”
“What?” Scott turned to look at him guiltily before bemoaning, “He just looked so sad.”
Ugh. Pushover.
“I thought I heard Derek howling last night,” is what Scott greeted him with the next afternoon.
Stiles sighed and briefly remembered a time when his summers were full of video games, sleeping until one and eating pizza rolls rather than secretly meeting at the Hale house to research what evil beastie was liquefying people’s insides. “He does that now, Scott,” Stiles told him with a bored wave of his hand. “Part of the whole, ‘I’m a wolf forever, grr,’ thing he’s got going on.”
“Wolves don’t howl for no reason,” Scott informed him.
Stiles glanced over at Derek. He was sleeping restively on the porch, legs kicking, and said coldly, “Yeah, well, if he wants us involved he’s going to have to use a language we all speak.”
“This really bothers you,” Scott said thoughtfully, looking between them.
“It’s cheating,” Stiles snarled out, voice vibrating with how unfair, how infuriating that was.
“‘Cheating?’” Scott parrotted back in confusion.
“You think I don’t want to hide in plain sight rather than deal with-” He cut himself off. They didn’t really talk about the nogitsune, about what he’d done. Stiles didn’t know if it was because Scott didn’t think about it or because he couldn’t talk about it. Either way, he didn’t want to push it. All Stiles knew for sure was that he thought about it. He thought about it all the time. “He’s a coward,” he got out through gritted teeth, “and a useless one at that.”
He looked up at Derek and Derek looked back at him, alert, as though sleep was the farthest thing from his mind.
Stiles stared into his eyes, said mordantly, “Hey Derek, any chance the Hale library is still intact somewhere? Seen Peter’s Macbook lately? Did Timmy fall down a well?” Derek’s ears lowered to lay flat on his head and he seemed to almost lean away, whining quietly under his breath. Stiles shrugged unrepentantly. “See, fucking useless.”
Derek looked, well, pretty fucking pissed the next time Stiles saw him. Not to mention more intimidating, as man or wolf, than he’d ever managed. He seemed bigger somehow, ears thrust forward almost and his fur in constant movement as it seemed to be perpetually bristling. His lips were pulled back from his fangs and he was letting off a continuous snarl.
He looked legitimately dangerous and Stiles almost would’ve been cowed. Except the person he was snarling at was Stiles’ dad. And that was so not fucking okay.
“What’s your damage, Derek?” Stiles snapped at him, physically moving into Derek’s eye line because his gaze was locked on his dad.
His dad seemed steadier than he’d been a second ago but he still swallowed heavily as he said, “That’s Derek?”
Stiles shook his head, glaring at Derek, who, shockingly, backed up at step with his ears down flat again, almost in repentance. “It doesn’t matter.” Stiles tried to inject some levity into his tone. “He’s decided living out the plot to Balto is more important than dealing with reality. We’re getting him a sled any day now.” His dad was looking between the two of them like he was puzzling something out, like some grand understanding was settling over him and Stiles felt the need to clue him into what was actually happening. Because he was starting to look like maybe he thought having a sentient wolf at his side was a brilliant thing. And it really was not. “There are more dead animals involved than you’d think. Brought me an actual deer the other day.”
That had been epically gross. Way worse than the rabbit because watching him drag it with his teeth sunk into its haunches had been-yeah, better for Stiles’ stomach if he didn’t think of that. Ever again.
His dad’s eyebrows rose in shock. “He brought it to you?”
That felt almost like an accusation and he jutted out his chin defiantly. “Yeah, so?”
His dad watched Derek carefully from the other side of the car and said thoughtfully, “He’s calm around you.” He pointed at Derek with his key. “See the way his tail is pointing straight down. But if I-” he started to step around the car, towards Derek, as he spoke and immediately a sharp, booming bark that made Stiles’ ribs rattle in his chest broke free from him.
“Derek, cut it out.” Derek did, instantly, tail dropping to between his legs and ears flattening again. His dad stared wide-eyed at the both of them. Unquestionably shocked. “What?” Stiles demanded.
“He thinks you’re his…” his dad gestured between them, “Alpha.” He scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail, wondered, “That’s what they call it, isn’t it?”
Stiles was having a hard time swallowing. “I’m not even-”
His dad pointed back to Derek, who had lowered his body closer to the ground, back arched and tail tucked even further between his legs. “That, right there, is a submission position,” he said smartly. “And he’s been bringing you his kills because traditionally the top dog is meant to eat first. He thinks you’re the leader of his pack.”
Stiles made a spluttering noise, whirled on Derek and pointed a furious finger in his face. “I am not in charge of you, okay?” he said firmly, voice foreboding but not raised. “Get that thought out of your head right now. You’re in charge of you and you’re doing a pretty asstastic job of looking after yourself. I’m here, okay, not going anywhere either but I’m not going to take responsibility for you, Derek. I’ve barely got my own crap figured out and you know that. You want to be in this together? Fine. But this? This isn’t happening.” His hand was shaking in front of him and he lowered it down to his side, fingers tightening into a fist and then flaring out loosely over and over again.
His dad was gazing at him, almost curiously, expression thoughtful. When Stiles finally looked back at him it was to find a small, approving smile on his face.
Stiles wasn’t sure how the wolf scaled the tree next to his bedroom to jump from the branch through his window, nor did he particularly care. He barely turned around, even as the wolf paced the floor behind him while he clicked through unhelpful webpages, skin feeling tight.
He wasn’t sure how he knew, because Derek did nothing to give himself away, maybe it was a hitch in his breathing or the sound of him swallowing, but Stiles knew what he was going to find when he turned around. Derek was settling a pair of Stiles’ boxer shorts around his waist, sitting on the edge of Stiles’ bed. His eyes were still fixed on Stiles though, waiting for his acknowledgment, his gaze luminous in the dark between them.
“You can only stay if you are going to stay,” Stiles told him blandly. “Otherwise I don’t want you here.”
Derek seemed to consider that. His head tilted to the side and there was still so much animal left in the man in front of him. He licked his lip. “We’re pack then?” he asked uncertainly.
Stiles turned the chair rather than just his head and watched Derek steadily. “As equals, yeah.”
Derek nodded once and decided, “Okay.” He stood, walked almost guardedly over to Stiles like he thought the offer was a trick of some sort and dropped to his knees. Strong hands with long nails curled over his neck, dragged him close to Derek and he rubbed their cheeks together, stubble meeting smooth while he growled, “Together,” deep in his chest.
Derek was still in Stiles’ boxers when Stiles woke him up the next morning. His body had been warm and slack throughout the night and Stiles had curled into it instinctively, opened his eyes and known this was a going to become a familiar sight to him.
Derek blinked at him groggily and Stiles told him, feeling warmth creep back into him after so long being cold, “My dad says you should use the front door next time.”
Title: Foreign Sounds
Rating: PG
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Scott McCall, Sheriff Stilinski
Summary: “He’s decided living out the plot to Balto is more important than dealing with reality. We’re getting him a sled any day now.”
Warnings: None
Content Notes: Wolf!Derek, Canon Smash
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2,530
Prompt: Regress
Author's Notes: This takes all of canon and blends it together, there's some early season and some of three and four and it's just... smishy-smashed. Title from Joywave's, 'Tongues.' And, as always, this is rough as all get out.
Stiles looked up at Scott as he swung his leg off his bike. He removed his ragged thumbnail from his mouth to offer a flat, “Hey, man.”
Scott gave him a squinty, uncertain smile back, watching him where he was reclined on the Hale house steps. A book as large as Stiles’ torso was open in his lap and Derek was sitting at his side on the porch above him, snout resting in the crook of his elbow.
Stiles had tried shaking Derek off more than once that afternoon only to have him wait until Stiles was stationary again, bump his nose into his skin with little huffing breaths, tap his forepaw against his arm or stomach or thigh as though to make sure whatever body part of Stiles’ could support him and then laid his head or nose down again wherever he’d tested. Stiles had given up trying to get rid of him after the third go round.
“Derek,” Scott added with a nod that was almost deferential.
Stiles snorted, dismissively waved the arm that wasn’t weighted down by Derek’s nose. “He’s regressed to pre-verbal. Don’t even bother, dude.” Stiles narrowed his eyes at him and brazenly flicked him in the ear. Derek’s eyes snapped open and his ear twitched. Once he saw it was Stiles, he snuffled and lolled his head further against Stiles’ arm, flopping over contentedly onto his side. “A little help from an educated werewolf might go a long way, Walter Wolf,” Stiles tried. Derek’s closed eyes didn’t even flutter. Stiles shrugged, unsurprised, glancing back up at Scott. “Nothing. He’s finally found a state of being that fits the level of his social skills.”
Scott frowned, sitting down across from him and picking up one of the books in Stiles’ pile. The sun was strong and the shelter above the porch was only half-finished. Derek had decided to wolf it early in the construction so the house still looked just as ruinous as before. There was a skeleton that belied there was a plan being followed but it was easy to mistake it for nothing more than remnants of tragedy from a distance.
Stiles supposed if Derek never turned back, that’s all it would be. Again.
The day seemed to grow warmer and Stiles’ eyes grew heavy-lidded along with the stuporing heat, back slumping more heavily into the beam behind him. He was afraid he might’ve been dozing when Derek’s head jerked off his arm in one sharp movement and he sat up, ears pointed and eyes unblinking at the distance.
Scott stared in the same direction he seemed to be and inhaled deeply. Derek’s lips curled back so his fangs were visible and he was giving off a snarl that rumbled through Stiles’ insides. Scott offered Stiles a bemused look and a shrug of his shoulders before Derek was up on his feet and vaulting over Stiles’ stomach to take off after something neither of them could see.
“Where’s he off to?” Scott wondered aloud.
Stiles scoffed, said bitingly, “Who cares?” He meant that.
Scott closed his eyes and leaned back against his side of the stairs. “Maybe he’ll get the thing for us?”
Stiles laughed bitterly, said with heavy sarcasm, “Yeah right.”
Stiles woke up to a dead rabbit an inch or so away from his right hand. He scrambled upright and knocked his head against the railing of the Hale stairs in his haste to back away from it. His gaze jerked up to the wolf standing above it, tongue wagging out of his mouth as he looked between the bloody fur and Stiles’ disgusted face.
Stiles confirmed, “Really, really gross, man.” Derek whuffed and pointed his nose at it, head bobbing down almost like he was going to push it forward before looking up at him again. Stiles almost thought he saw exasperation in his eyes. He offered uncertainly, “Thanks.” Wolf-Derek’s expression cleared and he went back to looking pleased with himself, if slightly impatient.
Stiles made a dismissive gesture with his hand, like he was actively brushing it away and said, “You know I’m not going to eat this, right?” Derek yipped and Stiles glowered at him. “I don’t know what that means but I’m choosing to decipher it at as: ‘Yes, Stiles, of course I understand you and everything you say is always right forever. Since I’ve decided to live my life as a wolf, I must bow to your opposable thumbs and complex sentence structures.’” Derek’s head cocked to the side and Stiles decided to take that as confirmation rather than confusion. “Thought so.” Derek still seemed to be waiting for something and Stiles rolled his eyes. “Seriously, dude, go for it. I prefer my dinners a little less bloody.”
Derek practically grinned at him and tore into the poor, grotesque and doomed little rabbit. Stiles cringed, making a wide berth around the feast as he got to his feet. He contemplated petting Derek’s fur as he left but this wasn’t his pet, this was a grown man who was eating a dead bunny. Stiles absolutely did not want to encourage that.
“Later, man,” he said, ignoring the sloppy sounds of Derek eating.
Scott hovered over the lip of Stiles’ book and asked with a hint of anxiousness, eyebrows up, “Find anything?”
Stiles tapped the page he was on thoughtfully. “Apparently basilisks exist outside of the Chamber of Secrets.” He glanced up at Scott’s drawn face and said, “Oh. Did you mean anything helpful? Because no.”
Derek chose that moment to stop chasing bugs and bound up to them, tail wagging. Scott’s mouth tugged to the side like he was about to be overtaken by a smile against his will. He nodded his head towards Derek, who was bouncing back and forth between them, lowering himself onto his front paws and looking for all the world like he wanted to play. “He looks happy,” Scott noted, biting his lip to keep from mirroring that.
Stiles didn’t bother looking over at Derek and noisily turned the page. “Yeah, good for him,” he said sourly, trying not to let on how angry he really was.
“Uh, Stiles?”
Stiles glanced up at Scott, mouth pursed, only to find him looking at something next to him. Stiles turned too.
Derek was laying next to the bottom stair, having rolled over onto his back. His front paws were drawn into his body and he was stretching out his neck, looking up eagerly, anticipatorily, at Stiles with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.
Stiles glared at him, voice shaky. “You can’t be serious with this? People are getting their insides slurped out and you want a rub down? Fuck off, Derek.” He turned away angrily, fingers clenching harder around the edges of his book and looked up only a few minutes later to find Scott picking up a branch and throwing it for him. Derek took off after it like a shot, sprinting away happily while Stiles scowled and reprimanded, “Scott!”
“What?” Scott turned to look at him guiltily before bemoaning, “He just looked so sad.”
Ugh. Pushover.
“I thought I heard Derek howling last night,” is what Scott greeted him with the next afternoon.
Stiles sighed and briefly remembered a time when his summers were full of video games, sleeping until one and eating pizza rolls rather than secretly meeting at the Hale house to research what evil beastie was liquefying people’s insides. “He does that now, Scott,” Stiles told him with a bored wave of his hand. “Part of the whole, ‘I’m a wolf forever, grr,’ thing he’s got going on.”
“Wolves don’t howl for no reason,” Scott informed him.
Stiles glanced over at Derek. He was sleeping restively on the porch, legs kicking, and said coldly, “Yeah, well, if he wants us involved he’s going to have to use a language we all speak.”
“This really bothers you,” Scott said thoughtfully, looking between them.
“It’s cheating,” Stiles snarled out, voice vibrating with how unfair, how infuriating that was.
“‘Cheating?’” Scott parrotted back in confusion.
“You think I don’t want to hide in plain sight rather than deal with-” He cut himself off. They didn’t really talk about the nogitsune, about what he’d done. Stiles didn’t know if it was because Scott didn’t think about it or because he couldn’t talk about it. Either way, he didn’t want to push it. All Stiles knew for sure was that he thought about it. He thought about it all the time. “He’s a coward,” he got out through gritted teeth, “and a useless one at that.”
He looked up at Derek and Derek looked back at him, alert, as though sleep was the farthest thing from his mind.
Stiles stared into his eyes, said mordantly, “Hey Derek, any chance the Hale library is still intact somewhere? Seen Peter’s Macbook lately? Did Timmy fall down a well?” Derek’s ears lowered to lay flat on his head and he seemed to almost lean away, whining quietly under his breath. Stiles shrugged unrepentantly. “See, fucking useless.”
Derek looked, well, pretty fucking pissed the next time Stiles saw him. Not to mention more intimidating, as man or wolf, than he’d ever managed. He seemed bigger somehow, ears thrust forward almost and his fur in constant movement as it seemed to be perpetually bristling. His lips were pulled back from his fangs and he was letting off a continuous snarl.
He looked legitimately dangerous and Stiles almost would’ve been cowed. Except the person he was snarling at was Stiles’ dad. And that was so not fucking okay.
“What’s your damage, Derek?” Stiles snapped at him, physically moving into Derek’s eye line because his gaze was locked on his dad.
His dad seemed steadier than he’d been a second ago but he still swallowed heavily as he said, “That’s Derek?”
Stiles shook his head, glaring at Derek, who, shockingly, backed up at step with his ears down flat again, almost in repentance. “It doesn’t matter.” Stiles tried to inject some levity into his tone. “He’s decided living out the plot to Balto is more important than dealing with reality. We’re getting him a sled any day now.” His dad was looking between the two of them like he was puzzling something out, like some grand understanding was settling over him and Stiles felt the need to clue him into what was actually happening. Because he was starting to look like maybe he thought having a sentient wolf at his side was a brilliant thing. And it really was not. “There are more dead animals involved than you’d think. Brought me an actual deer the other day.”
That had been epically gross. Way worse than the rabbit because watching him drag it with his teeth sunk into its haunches had been-yeah, better for Stiles’ stomach if he didn’t think of that. Ever again.
His dad’s eyebrows rose in shock. “He brought it to you?”
That felt almost like an accusation and he jutted out his chin defiantly. “Yeah, so?”
His dad watched Derek carefully from the other side of the car and said thoughtfully, “He’s calm around you.” He pointed at Derek with his key. “See the way his tail is pointing straight down. But if I-” he started to step around the car, towards Derek, as he spoke and immediately a sharp, booming bark that made Stiles’ ribs rattle in his chest broke free from him.
“Derek, cut it out.” Derek did, instantly, tail dropping to between his legs and ears flattening again. His dad stared wide-eyed at the both of them. Unquestionably shocked. “What?” Stiles demanded.
“He thinks you’re his…” his dad gestured between them, “Alpha.” He scratched his eyebrow with his thumbnail, wondered, “That’s what they call it, isn’t it?”
Stiles was having a hard time swallowing. “I’m not even-”
His dad pointed back to Derek, who had lowered his body closer to the ground, back arched and tail tucked even further between his legs. “That, right there, is a submission position,” he said smartly. “And he’s been bringing you his kills because traditionally the top dog is meant to eat first. He thinks you’re the leader of his pack.”
Stiles made a spluttering noise, whirled on Derek and pointed a furious finger in his face. “I am not in charge of you, okay?” he said firmly, voice foreboding but not raised. “Get that thought out of your head right now. You’re in charge of you and you’re doing a pretty asstastic job of looking after yourself. I’m here, okay, not going anywhere either but I’m not going to take responsibility for you, Derek. I’ve barely got my own crap figured out and you know that. You want to be in this together? Fine. But this? This isn’t happening.” His hand was shaking in front of him and he lowered it down to his side, fingers tightening into a fist and then flaring out loosely over and over again.
His dad was gazing at him, almost curiously, expression thoughtful. When Stiles finally looked back at him it was to find a small, approving smile on his face.
Stiles wasn’t sure how the wolf scaled the tree next to his bedroom to jump from the branch through his window, nor did he particularly care. He barely turned around, even as the wolf paced the floor behind him while he clicked through unhelpful webpages, skin feeling tight.
He wasn’t sure how he knew, because Derek did nothing to give himself away, maybe it was a hitch in his breathing or the sound of him swallowing, but Stiles knew what he was going to find when he turned around. Derek was settling a pair of Stiles’ boxer shorts around his waist, sitting on the edge of Stiles’ bed. His eyes were still fixed on Stiles though, waiting for his acknowledgment, his gaze luminous in the dark between them.
“You can only stay if you are going to stay,” Stiles told him blandly. “Otherwise I don’t want you here.”
Derek seemed to consider that. His head tilted to the side and there was still so much animal left in the man in front of him. He licked his lip. “We’re pack then?” he asked uncertainly.
Stiles turned the chair rather than just his head and watched Derek steadily. “As equals, yeah.”
Derek nodded once and decided, “Okay.” He stood, walked almost guardedly over to Stiles like he thought the offer was a trick of some sort and dropped to his knees. Strong hands with long nails curled over his neck, dragged him close to Derek and he rubbed their cheeks together, stubble meeting smooth while he growled, “Together,” deep in his chest.
Derek was still in Stiles’ boxers when Stiles woke him up the next morning. His body had been warm and slack throughout the night and Stiles had curled into it instinctively, opened his eyes and known this was a going to become a familiar sight to him.
Derek blinked at him groggily and Stiles told him, feeling warmth creep back into him after so long being cold, “My dad says you should use the front door next time.”