Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf (3/5)
Title: Mating Habits of the Domesticated North American Werewolf (3/5)
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,472 (This part)
A.N.: Millions and millions of hugs and kisses to my beta, queenitsy. You have no idea how much hand holding and cheer leading she provided. Love you, bb! :*
Chapter Summary: Sometimes Stiles really just wishes he had a rewind button. If he did, he could rewind his life, get back to the point where things fell apart and make it all make sense.
Part 1
Part 2
Life rolls on. Day in and day out. And Stiles rolls along with it. He starts grad school in the fall and marvels at how different the switch from undergrad to grad is. But maybe it’s not really that different. Maybe he’s just different. He feels different, anyway. More adult, though not more grown up. Kinda just like the shine of being a kid has finally worn off.
Anyway, life moves on. Stiles makes new friends, finds a new social scene. He dates. Men, women, sometimes both at the same time, though he always makes sure that everyone is kosher with that arrangement first. And he tries, he really tries, to let the past go. But... he can’t.
Derek is just... always on his mind. More so than Robert ever is, which really says something about their relationship. Because, honestly? Stiles being more hung up on a failed friendship then on his one and only long term relationship? That’s just not right.
But, right or not, it’s the truth. A truth driven home by potential love interest after potential love interest mistakenly thinking that Derek is Stiles’s ex and not even remembering who Robert is at all.
And, okay, maybe Stiles talks about Derek a lot. But that is a pretty basic mistake for people to make. Lots of people. People who are supposed to be auditioning to fill the role that Robert just vacated. Not Derek.
So, yeah. Maybe Stiles isn’t moving on at all. Maybe it’s just the rest of the world that’s moving while he’s standing perfectly still.
*
Being the Alpha means making hard choices and it doesn’t get much harder than this. Derek is up to his elbows in trouble right now, and all because of Erica, goddamn that Erica. Giving her the bite was the best possible choice at the time, but it sure has come back to kick him in the ass a time or two.
And right now? It’s one of those times.
Because Erica has decided that she’s in love with some other werewolf’s mate. Stupid, stupid girl.
In love with, she says, with her eyes all big and shiny from unshed tears. Like being in love has anything at all to do with mating.
Yes, you love your mate. Yes, you want to be with them always. But you don’t fucking fall in love with them. They just... are your mate. And Erica knows this. You don’t mess around with someone else’s mate. Even if said mate is unhappy for whatever drummed up reason. It just doesn’t end well.
All of which Erica should know, because, once again, she has fucking witnessed first hand what a wolf goes through when someone else is with your mate.
But instead of learning the really, really obvious lesson from all this, what Erica picked up was that just because you’re mates doesn’t mean you are meant to be or will have some storybook romance. So here she is, on her knees, begging Derek to help her free her lady love from the vile clutches of her hapless mate. The poor fucking bastard.
Derek, of course, tells her she is made of crazy and growls at her until she backs down. She grumbles and glares and makes all kinds of unhappy noises about it, but she backs the fuck down.
But, because she’s Erica, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t toss out a parting shot, doesn’t make a pointed comment about how Derek’s own mate doesn’t want him-- how Derek’s mate never wanted him. And she even manages to throw in a line about how just because Derek will be alone and miserable for the rest of his life, doesn't mean that he has to makes everyone around him be miserable too.
Which, look. Derek’s not in denial about what his future looks like. It’s long and empty and Stiles is nowhere in sight. He’s reconciled himself to it. But that doesn't mean that he likes to have it thrown in his fucking face by the lowest ranking member of his pack. Especially not when said member of his pack has managed to royally piss off one of the biggest, most aggressive packs on the West Coast.
But, hey, at least now Derek’s too goddamn busy with pack politics to bother with being mopey about how very much his future is going to suck.
*
Sometimes Stiles really just wishes he had a rewind button. If he did, he could rewind his life, get back to the point where things fell apart and make it all make sense. Because it’s one thing to turn his back on Derek and whatever potential there was for the two of them because he is in a relationship with the man he wants to marry, and a whole other thing to turn his back on Derek for a relationship that doesn’t make it past college graduation. Especially when he knows that with Derek, he would have been playing for keeps.
And, well, if he could rewind things, then there wouldn’t be all this hurt to get over. If he went back to that summer between freshman and sophomore year, that summer he spent lazing around Derek’s house playing video games and eating BBQ and, you know, just kissed Derek then. In the woods behind his house. Or in the hallway pressed up against the wall. Or in the grass as they watched the stars come out. If he could just have kissed Derek then, before he even met Robert, before things went to shit between them, then maybe they would be together right now.
Maybe Derek would be cooking something in the kitchen or laughing at one of Stiles’s lame jokes. Maybe he would rub Stiles’s shoulders and tell him not to worry, that he has this Masters degree in the bag. Maybe he would bring Stiles a cup of coffee and sit down next to him on the couch, tangle his hands in Stiles’s hair and distract him from his schoolwork with delicious open mouth kisses.
But Stiles doesn’t have a rewind button. The past happened the way it happened and there is too much pain and bitterness for Stiles to be able to pick up the phone, to dial that old familiar number and hear that gravelly voice grit out a begrudging hello. Even if he did, there is no guarantee that Derek would even want to talk to him. It’s been little over a year now since he sent back Derek’s peace offerings. And in all that time he hasn’t ever so much as a peep from his sourwolf.
Although he does hear tale that Derek’s not such a sourwolf anymore. He’s content in his life. Happy with his job and his pack. And totally and completely wrapped around the finger of a particular, sweet little amazon princess.
The thought of which really shouldn’t warm Stiles’s heart as much as it does.
God, who knows? Derek might even be in a relationship with someone. Might be happy as a clam. Sure, they wouldn’t be his mate, but Stiles is his mate and Stiles has yet make Derek happy in any way, shape, or form.
Stiles can’t seem to make anyone happy, actually. Which is why he’s alone in his apartment, wishing for a rewind button. Because maybe if he had one maybe then he could get things right the second time round.
*
Even though it is nowhere near the case, sometimes it really feels like Derek is a man living a post-divorce life, complete with child timesharing and all. Because he’s Bethany’s grandalpha and Stiles is Bethany’s god-daddy and sometimes when she comes over fresh from seeing her god-daddy it’s all Derek can do not to howl.
Because she smells like him, damnit. She smells like Stiles and baby girl, and it makes Derek want to punch things. And she babbles about him all the time. Bethany loves her god-daddy Stiles. She loves him with all her little four year old heart. He’s so funny and fun and he feeds her apple slices with honey and calls her his little amazon princess and tickles her belly and takes her to see the ducks and god fucking damnit. Of course Stiles is amazing with her. Of course he is.
God, he’s going to be a great father. An absolutely amazing father. And a wonderful person to co-parent with, as well. Some lucky bastard is going to get to share that with him, share the joys of raising a child together, share the smiles and tears and have Stiles there to help shape a little person.
Derek hates them, this person who doesn’t even exist in Stiles’s life yet. Hates them so fucking much.
*
Scott is Stiles’s oldest friend in the world. His closest friend, too. He’s been there through every major part of Stiles’s life and a whole hell of a lot of the minor ones. And, yes, with recent events what being what they are, perhaps Stiles and Scott aren’t as close as they use to be. But that’s not on Scott. It’s not Scott’s fault that his alpha is crazy obsessed with Stiles and that Stiles has taken to avoiding his hometown because of it.
But it is sorta Stiles’s fault.
Which is why he is pausing his work on his thesis to deal with Scott’s quarter life crisis, even though he’s less than two months out from defending the stupid thing and has a meeting with his Chair tomorrow afternoon. Because that’s what friends, real friends do. They are there for each other. So Stiles is putting his own personal freak out on pause, because Scott is his best friend in the whole wide world and he needs Stiles now.
Or, at least, he needs a shoulder to cry on.
Because that’s what he does.
Cry.
On Stiles’s shoulder.
It’s all Stiles can do not to shake him and give him a serious what-the-fuck talk. Because, really, how can Stiles help if all he gets from Scott is an endless stream of sob Allison sob Bethany sob mate sob with a couple of whimpers tossed in for good measure. But Stiles is a good friend, so he doesn’t shake Scott. He just offers Scott a box of tissues and orders some Chinese food, because nothing cures heartbreak like sweet and sour pork over fried rice.
Scott keeps on crying until the food arrives, then is too busy stuffing his face to have any further breakdowns and Stiles counts his Chinese strategy as a success. He also counts the long, often times uncomfortable conversation that follows as a success too, even though he would have rather not have that level of insight into Scott and Allison’s relationship.
But then, Scott has always been the king of oversharing and Stiles knowing ridiculously intimate details about Allison has sort of been his default state since she burst onto the scene.
So... yeah. Scott and Allison. Not doing so well at the mo’. Because Allison is a big and important copy-editor now. And that means that she goes away for conferences. And at the conferences she meets people, or rather, a person. A male person. Who Allison swears is just a friend, a really good friend, but still just a friend. But, anyway, she comes home from said conferences reeking of said male friend and Scott wolfs out and it's just not a good scene. Not a good scene at all. To the point where Allison is talking about the possibility of needing space. And everyone knows that your significant other needing space is sort of a major red flag.
And Scott? He's freaking out. Saying crazy things about hunting this friend down and tearing his mate-stealing-stomach open with his teeth. Which... how his stomach is stealing Scott's mate is sort of not clear to Stiles, but he gets that this is really, really bad. So he does what he does best: he talks. He talks and talks and talks until the sun rises and his throat is raw. The end result of all his talking is a Scott who looks human and isn't about to go eviscerate some poor fool who happened to befriend his mate.
Thank you, Scott says before he leaves, tugging Stiles into a hug that is so tight it hurts. You don't know what's it's like, thinking you might lose your mate. It makes your wolf go wild. No wonder Derek is such a dick all the time.
And then he's out of the house before Stiles can tell him that, hey, guess what? Scott's a fucking dick too.
*
Derek doesn’t plan on becoming a writer. He has no interest in it at all. But his pack happens to have some of the wiliest women known to man in it, and when they put their heads together, there is no stopping them. Which is how Derek somehow manages becomes a published writer without ever submitting a single manuscript himself. Lydia and Allison do it. On his behalf. As his agent and his copy-editor respectively.
It all comes together fairly organically. It starts with a book, of course it does, a book he wrote himself, but never meant to share. Or at least not share with anyone outside of his pack. It was supposed to just be a little bit of fun, something for Derek to read to Bethany before putting her down for her nap. Because Bethany is a quick, bright little thing, as well as a bit of a bloodthirsty one, and the books on the market for girls her age just weren’t cutting it from Derek’s perspective.
So he wrote her something fun and rockling with a plucky brunette as the lead character and a silly but endearing blond boy as her sidekick. He called it The Adventures of Pirate Jane and printed and bound it himself. He hand illustrated it, filling the bottom half of the pages with bright, sunny depictions of the Brave Girl Pirate and her Hapless Crew. Derek put twice the effort into the picture than he did the plot, because everyone knows that the pictures are the best part, but he was pretty pleased with how the plot turned out as well.
And so was Bethany, which is the point.
Thing is, so were Bethany’s mommy and Auntie Lydia. Before Derek even knows what is happening, his book is in production and then out on shelves. And, boy, does it ever sell. It sells so well that publishers come looking for him, with big bags of money on offer and really, who says no to that?
So Derek quits his job at the autobody shop and starts writing children’s books full time. And, thing is, he loves is. Loves it more than he could have possibly imagined. The only way he could love it more is if Stiles were there by his side, sharing in his happiness with him.
*
Teaching is something Stiles has always wanted to do. Teaching and getting paid to play video games. And he did that second one all throughout his college education, beta testing for the win. So now that he’s got his education all wrapped up and that lovely little teaching credential in hand, he’s ready to take on what the youth of America is able to dish out.
He doesn’t really tell anyone back home, but he’s only applied to jobs within as fifty mile radius of Beacon Hills. Because he wants to be near home. And, yeah, his drama with Derek blah blah blah, but he’s not going to not live where he wants to live because Derek’s got issues. So, yeah. That’s his game plan. Interview like a boss, get offered a sweet ass position and be able to visit his dad whenever he wants.
And, um, he’s also applied at Beacon Hills High.
But the odds of him getting that one are very, very low. People teaching there still remember when Stiles was a student, after all.
*
Sometimes Derek can't help but dwell on the past. He doesn't do it often, only once or twice a year, but still. When he does, he flat out wallows in it. Drags out all of the things that reminds him of Stiles: the birthday cards Stiles sent him, the pictures of the two of them together, the stuffed wolf Stiles won at the fair and then promptly named Sourwolf and gifted to Derek because he's Stiles and that's the way he works. Little things, like movie ticket stubs and books Stiles recommended and the few precious letters Stiles actually wrote to him. Derek pulls it all out of hiding, spreads it around his room and fucking mourns. Same as he would if his mate was dead.
Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how good his life might otherwise be, there is always a part of him that wants more. Wants Stiles.
And nothing will ever be able to change that.
*
When Lydia texts him, Stiles just rolls his eyes. Because what else do you do when you get sent a random address, a date, and a time and no other information except be there, loser, or else? But he goes. Because it’s Lydia.
The address turns out to be a bookstore, which makes perfect sense, as Lydia is an agent and as such is at bookstores all the time. The only problem is, it isn’t just Lydia who is there. It’s Lydia and Derek who looks... God. Like Derek.
It’s been years, fucking years, since he’s seen Derek in person, and seeing him again is like a punch in the fucking stomach.
What the fuck. Seriously, Lydia, what the fuck.
He waits until Derek is distracted by some of the bookstore employees before scurrying over to Lydia and then dragging her off into a far corner of the store, away from any-- read Derek's-- prying eyes.
Stiles wants to shout at her, wants to call her a cold-hearted bitch and rant about stupid ideas and fucking lack of basic common sense, but before he can do any of that, Lydia is up in his face, growling at him about stupidity and wasted years and being sick to death of watching two people she cares about suffer for no reason at all which... is balls. There is plenty of reason.
Plenty.
Thing is... It's kind of hard to remember that when Derek is in the same store as him, squatting down to listen to the most adorable little boy in the history of the world who is talking a mile a minute and holding up a plushie version of Pirate Jane and god. That is, like, the exact opposite of fair. Because... Derek. And children. And there goes his heart, clenching like crazy at the thought of Derek smiling like that at their little boy. And god fucking damn it. Really, brain? Really? Did we have to go there?
Not that it is any surprise that the Derek and family are linked in his mind. Not after all the years of sharing Bethany with him. Derek, who Bethany talks about constantly and who showers that sweet little girl with love and affection and is second in her heart only to her mommy and daddy. Which Stiles isn’t even resentful of because of course she’s closer to Derek. He’s the head of her pack and sees her pretty much daily and is her grandalpha
Grandalpha. The word alone is enough to make Stiles go all soft and gooey inside.
God, Derek’s grown into such a wonderful, strong leader. He’s amazing with his pack. And it sucks that Stiles isn’t there to witness it first hand. That Stiles can’t even shoot Derek an email, let alone text him or call him on the phone.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
This is exactly why Stiles has been avoiding the shit outta Derek.
Because...
No. He is not going there. He is not doing this right now. It’s stupid and pointless and he's canvassed all of this a million times before. There is no going back. There is no do-over. There is only moving the fuck on, which Stiles is completely incapable of doing.
Fucking Lydia.
He crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at her, hating her so much right then that he can't even respond to anything she's saying.
But... But he can't help but hear when she sighs and gives him that sad look of hers and tells him to just trust her on this.
So he doesn't leave, the way he really, really ought to.
No, he stays put where he is, which means he also stays hidden. Because he's not stupid enough to think that Derek is going to be in any way pleased to see him.
*
Soccer moms are scary. You’d think Derek wouldn’t be easily intimidated, what with being an Alpha werewolf and all, but those soccer moms. They take danger to a whole new level. Mix them in with trophy wives and you’ve got the deadliest combination known to man.
Now, in his normal life, Derek doesn’t run into either of those groups. But in his award winning author of a popular series of children’s book life, he’s got both in spades. Because you know who is looking for something free and entertaining to do with their precious little rugrats at ten a.m. on a weekday morning?
Soccer moms and trophy wives, that’s who.
They sit there with their grande double foam vanilla soy lattes and simper at him, lust pouring off them like sweat in the summertime, fidgeting with their hair and touching up their make up, clearly preparing to proposition him like they aren't there with their children, for Christ’s sake.
But this isn’t Derek’s first time at the rodeo. Derek's played this game before. He knows what they think, those soccer moms and trophy wives, that he's there for their pleasure, there to be had. The way they look at him, like he's something they want to rub up against, smear their scent all over, turns his stomach, makes his skin crawl. His wolf snarls, wanting to come out and show these women just what they are dreaming about toying with, but Derek forces it down. He's got a tried and true method to make all those stupid thoughts fly right out of their Desperate Housewives heads. That will have this whole group cooing at him in ten minutes flat.
He just needs to lead them into it, needs someone to ask the right question, let him play the happily-devoted-to-his-partner card's he's got stashed up his sleeve. Not that Derek has a partner. But that's not the point. And Derek is pretty damn good at faking it, at using what he does have: a mate who isn't interested in him and hasn't talked to him in years, but who he has enough knowledge of via shared friends to be able answer any awkward questions thrown his way.
Because the awkward questions? They never stop coming at these events.
Never mind that Derek is here to read to a bunch of children, not be grilled by middle aged women who are bored with their privileged lives and looking for a thrill.
Derek sighs as he climbs up the stairs of the stage set up for the event. He ignores the table and chair set up for him, he’ll deal with that later, when it’s question and answer time, and instead plops down on the floor. He gestures for the children crowding around the floor in front of the stage to come up and join him, like he always does for his storytime sessions.
Derek lets the kiddos crawl all over him to their hearts’ content-- just because their moms are wackjobs doesn't mean the kids aren't adorable-- and doesn't say anything when one of them jabs him in the hip, hard. He catches hold of an adventurous boy who was trying to climb the side of the small stage and sets him safely back on the ground. He chucks a waifish looking girl under the chin, making her blush and giggle. And he doesn't interrupt the hyper little redheaded boy who stumbles over his words in his hurry to get them all out. Truth be told, Derek's particularly indulgent of that one. Because the child remind him of someone else whose thoughts run too fast for his mouth to keep up.
All too soon, storytime is over and the mothers are chomping at the bit to get in on the action. Derek watches the kiddies get herded down from the stage with a regretful look, then makes his way to the table and chair, taps at the microphone once to make sure it is working and then glances out at the crowd as he sits down, palms resting flat on the table.
They raise their hands and look at him eagerly, each one confident that she will be the one he calls on first. Derek doesn't sigh, just forces a smile and picks the dumpy looking lady towards the back because she doesn't smell like any other than happiness and slightly sour milk.
She asks about his favorite book as a child, a lovely change from the questions about his possible wife and children and love life he normally gets blasted with. Derek gives her a genuine smile in return and answers her with as much detail as he can provide.
He breathes deep when he finishes speaking, trying to find another mom with an innocuous scent to call on, but there is none to be found. He does smell something curiously familiar though, something that makes him think of warmth and, oddly enough, home. But whatever it is, it's quickly masked by the sex stink coming at him from the crowd.
Derek shakes his head to clear it, then selects someone at random. The bottle blonde he points to preens like he's given her the keys to his room as she coyly asks about the identity of the mysterious-- her word, not his-- Bethany his books are dedicated to. And that earns her a genuine smile as well, because that, right there, is his in.
Bethany, he informs them, is the special lady in his life. She's five and a half, with the biggest, brightest eyes you've ever seen and a smile that would melt even the Grinch's heart. And she's his partner’s goddaughter.
The women in the crowd somehow manage to pout and coo at the same time. They want to know more, of course they do, about both Bethany and his partner, and Derek is more than willing to answer them.
He's been going on for more than ten minutes about how good his partner is with Bethany, how much he adores her, how he calls her is little amazon princess, how he bought her a child’s bow and arrow set for her last birthday, how much Derek loves the pair of them, when that comforting scent from before resurfaces. He takes another deep breath, rolling the scent on his tongue to try and finagle out the identity of its owner.
It barely takes a second for him to register where he's smelled that delicious scent before.
And, god fucking damn it.
Of course this would happen. Of fucking course. Stiles would be here, listening in as Derek rabbits on about him. No doubt cringing to himself at the reminder that Derek still hasn't moved on. Will never be able to move on, no matter how unwanted his affections might be. God, he must have heard Derek claim his as his partner when he has no right to, heard him tell everyone in the room how ridiculously besotted he still is.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
*
Stiles can pinpoint the exact moment that Derek realizes he’s there. Derek’s words stop mid-sentence, the soft smile fades from his face, and he mumbles something about how no one really wants to hear him babble, which, dude. Don’t be dumb. Derek could be talking about subatomic particle physics and this group would just smile and nod along.
Because this crowd is made up of middle aged moms. And Derek is Derek, with his rugged bad boy air and his gorgeous face and that body of his. He looks like a fucking Greek statue in a leather jacket. Who wouldn’t want that? No one, that’s who. Add to that the fact that not twenty minutes ago he was at the dead center of a puppy pile composed of the cutest toddlers to ever cute, handling them like a boss, and you pretty much have a middle aged mom wet dream come to life.
So, yeah, no surprise that the whole audience practically falls over itself telling him how very, very much they want to hear about him and his partner and his partner’s goddaughter, and, honestly, Stiles wants to hear more too.
God, does he ever want to hear more. Derek could pretty much keep on keeping on till Stiles died and he would be happy.
Derek doesn’t, though, instead he takes another question from the crowd and blushes whenever the word “partner” is mentioned and Stiles gets it. He does. Derek is awkward with him being there. It’s throwing him off his game in the most obvious ways. But Stiles can’t leave. Hasn’t been able to leave since he walked into the place and saw Derek. And if he couldn’t leave then, there is no way he can leave now. Not after hearing what he heard. Although, really, he sort of thinks that maybe he’s slipped into some alternate reality or something because it’s like Derek is just reading lines out of one of Stiles’s more pathetic fantasies.
Except how he’s not, he’s actually here, Derek actually said those things. About him. So yeah. Leaving is so not an option.
Instead he just stands there and stares like a fucking creeper.
Stiles shifts from foot to foot, ignoring the smug looks that Lydia is throwing in his direction. Of course she is, because she’s the whole reason he’s even here. Her and her clever ways. God, she must have known this would happen. She must have known. Otherwise why even invite him? And why give him that leave-and-die speech when he got there?
Oh god, this must be something that Derek does all the time. That’s the only explanation that makes any kind of sense at all. But... why? Why does he babble about Stiles? Why does he call Stiles his partner? Bethany being a part of his book tour makes sense, because he wrote them for her. But what does Stiles have to do with anything? What reason does Derek have to be taking about him, him, like he’s the most precious, wonderful thing on the planet?
God, Stiles is torn between wanting to rush up to the stage right this very minute and demand answers and wanting to rush up to the stage and grab his sourwolf by the ears and kiss that constipated, embarrassed look right off his gorgeous face.
He takes half a step forward, then another before losing his nerve and scurries back to where Lydia is sitting, thumbs flying as she texts. She looks up long enough to give him a knowing smirk, then drops her eyes back to her phone. Stiles gives her the stinkiest eye to ever stink, because even if she is the reason he’s there, she’s still insufferable.
Good lord, how long do these stupid question and answer sessions drag on? Derek writes picture books, for the love. What even is there for them to still to be asking about? No, really. That last question was totally a come on. Didn’t they even hear him when he said he had a partner? That typically means dude is gay. And not only gay, but taken, because partner is pretty much the PC way of saying “not-married to my gay lover.” So maybe they should stop trying to fall all over him, huh?
Not that Stiles is jealous or anything. Just, you know, concerned about the mental power of the women in the room.
Oh! Did one of them just ask to see a picture of Derek’s partner with his goddaughter? Because Stiles is totally on that. Stiles is so on that. In fact, Stiles is moving quick like a bunny, up onto the stage with his phone held out in front of him like a golden ticket before Derek even manages to finish fumbling on about him not being sure that his partner would be comfortable with that, which. Hi. Stiles so totally is.
God, Stiles doesn’t even know what the story is with this whole partner thing, but he’s down with it. So fucking down with it. And if it all turns out to be some sort of ploy... well... he’s down with that too because at least he got to hear it once. And, yeah, that’s probably super sad and super needy and probably says terrible things about him and his self-worth issues. But it’s Derek.
Derek, who is staring at him with wide, wide eyes and this massively unhappy look on his face and. Fuck. Whatever. Stiles is committed now. And they can just figure all this out between them later.
It’s okay, Stiles wants to tell him when he reaches his side, but instead he just announces loudly that Derek’s partner-- which is him, ladies, so back the fuck off already-- is more than willing to show a few pictures of himself with his lovely little amazon princess of a goddaughter. And then he’s asking if anyone has an HDMI cable and hooking things up and there is his precious little girl, up there on the wall with her chubby little cheeks and her mischievous smile.
Stiles starts flipping through his gallery on his phone, projecting image after image of the monster, occasionally leaning over Derek’s shoulder to answer questions in the mic set up in front of him. And every time he does, every single time, his chest brushes against Derek’s back and his arm rubs against Derek’s shoulder and who the fuck needs foreplay when Derek’s body is that close, smelling so damn good that Stiles’s mouth is practically watering.
And then... And then reality of what’s going on comes crashing down on him. Because there, on the big fucking screen, is the picture he loves and hates the most in this world, the one and only picture he keeps of Derek.
He didn’t take it and he never would have asked for it to be sent to him, because, hi. He sort of has a history there. And looking at pictures of Derek sort of hurts like balls, which, by the way, pretty much everyone in his life knows, and so they make a point of, you know, not sending him them. But Scott is a certain type of special and never, ever thinks about how his action might affect others and so Scott sent it to Stiles because... he’s Scott. And once it was on Stiles’s phone, he couldn’t erase it. No way, no how. Because Derek looks so damn happy in that picture. The happiest Stiles has ever seen him. He’s got this soft, besotted look on his face and Bethany up on his shoulders. She’s got her chubby baby fingers wrapped in his hair and a smile so wide that her eyes are squinched shut and god. It’s like porn for the lovelorn.
And, um, middle aged moms, if the amount of cooing going on in the room is any indication.
And, well, fuck.
Kind of hard to play like he’s not still totally hung up on Derek when he’s got that picture saved to his phone.
Not that he really wants to play like he’s not into Derek. Kind of the opposite of that, actually, but he’s still not sure what the deal is with the whole “partners” thing. Did Derek mean it? Or was it just some sort of ploy he was using on the group for... reasons that Stiles can’t figure out but probably still exist.
But... maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it did mean something. The way Derek looked when he was talking...
Fuck it.
Why not go for broke? Stiles might as well put his cards on the table. After all, holding feelings inside has never worked out well for them in the past.
So he takes a deep breath and gives the room a sheepish grin. That’s my favorite, he says into the mic, his chest tight against Derek’s back and his arm brushing gently against Derek’s shoulder. He hears a swift intake of breath from Derek, and he half-turns towards him, not sure what to expect.
Derek’s eyes flash red for a moment, then he’s sliding his hand behind Stiles’s neck, tugging his head further down for a kiss.
It’s hot and tender and over way too fucking fast and Stiles can’t do anything but stand there, mouth hanging open in what is probably a terribly unflattering fashion. There is a smattering of giggles from the audience, and a very loud whisper about how much someone would pay to be meat in that sandwich, and then Derek’s pushing back from the table, standing up, and telling the room how very sorry he is, but he’s fresh out of time.
The giggles? They just grow louder at that. But Derek doesn't crack a smile. And when Stiles tries to talk to him, he just shakes his head and walks purposefully away.
And, well, what the fuck is Stiles supposed to do with that?
*
Derek panics. Plain and simple. He panics.
He turns his back on Stiles and his stunned expression and half-opened mouth, and power walks himself out of the store, never once looking back, even though he can hear Stiles calling after him because no. He can’t handle that right now. Can’t deal with whatever repercussions are coming his way.
Because there are definitely going to be some repercussions. Even without everything that went down between them, kissing Stiles would have been a bad idea. You don’t just do something like that. And... well... fuck.
There is that history. There’s years and years of unhappiness and outright dislike between them. There’s Stiles asking people to come visit him so that he doesn’t ever have to step a foot in Beacon Hills. So that there is zero chance of him running into Derek at all.
And doesn’t that just eat at him, the fact that Stiles doesn’t even want to be in the same area code as him. Even now, going on five years later, Stiles still hates him that much. And, fuck it all, Stiles was right to avoid him. Because what did Derek do the first time Stiles came within an arm’s length of him? He fucking kissed him. Like Derek had any right.
He didn’t mean to. That wasn’t the plan. God, how could it have been? Derek knew that Stiles was somewhere in the the city, but San Francisco is pretty damn large. He should have been able to come visit for a few hours and not run into the one person in the world who didn’t want to see him.
Should have, but then... Lydia. It’s the only explanation. Oh god, that bitch. She knew his speil. Knew that he would go on and on about Stiles. It’s what he does every single time. She must have lured Stiles there with her fucking magic ways. God, Stiles never could resist Lydia. And then she...
But...
Even if she did lure him, why did Stiles stay? Why did Stiles come up onto that stage?
God, what does it even matter? Derek kissed him. Kissed him. When he knew damn well that Stiles didn’t want anything to do with him.
Fuck his fucking life.
*
Stiles doesn’t run after Derek because Stiles has some pride. And because Stiles has to unhook his phone from the HDMI cable and by the time he is done doing that he is surrounded on all sides by cooing middle aged women who want to talk to him about his precious godbaby and his sexy, sexy partner. God lord, middle aged women have no shame. None. The questions they ask him about Derek have Stiles blushing like it is going out of style.
So yeah. He doesn’t run after Derek because he has pride, and because he by the time he fights his way free of Derek’s creepy ass fans, the other man is nowhere in sight.
Derek’s gone. Long gone. And there is nothing Stiles can do about it.
And.. well... fuck.
Stiles feels his shoulders slumping, an ache blooming to life in his chest because wow. That makes things pretty damn clear, doesn’t it? Derek might have been going on and on about how great and wonderful and perfect his partner is, and he might have said things that heavily implied that Stiles was the inspiration for said partner, but...
But that doesn’t mean that he actually wanted to see Stiles.
And, sure, Derek did kiss him, but dude. It’s fucking clear as day that he regretted that shit. Jesus, the look he gave Stiles before he turned and walked away... like he would rather cut his arm off than stay there a second longer.
Stiles bows his head, his hands balling into fists at his sides, feeling absolutely gutted.
A warm hand lands on his shoulder and he looks up, his eyes fucking swimming with tears, and sees Lydia’s concerned face. She makes a tsking sound in her throat and says something disparaging about Derek’s parentage, then she’s wrapping Stiles in her arms, holding him tight as she croons in his ear.
And Stiles... Stiles just loses it, sobbing into her shoulder like a mother fucking baby.
Because he was right all along. It’s too damn late. There’s too much history there. Too much for them to ever overcome it. Which, really, isn’t a surprise.
It just... it really fucking hurts to have it confirmed once and for all.
*
Derek doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He thought there was be some sort of a blow up, that Stiles call him up and chew him out. Or write him a scathing email. Or text him. That Stiles would some new and inventive way to rip him to shreds.
But that’s not what’s happened. Hell, nothing’s happened. There’s been zero reaction at all.
And somehow that’s worse than any angry phone call or email ever could have been. Because... fuck. Stiles not the type to hold it in. If he was pissed, he would have made it known.
So Stiles not saying something, not bothering to do anything, can only mean one thing: that Derek has sunk so low he doesn’t even rate a response.
Which... fuck.
Part of him desperately once to call Stiles, to harass some response out of him. Because while Derek had thought it was terrible, knowing that his mate was out there in the world hating him; knowing that his mate is out there and completely indifferent to him is ten thousand times worse.
But Derek has managed to get a better hold on his self-control since the last time he fucked his life to hell and back. This time he doesn’t barrage Stiles with even more unwanted contact, this time he forces himself to stay away, to give Stiles the space he so obviously wants.
Derek clamps down on his wolf as well, refusing to let himself rage or scream or destroy his house, no matter how much his wolf wants to, because he’s in his thirties now and that sort of shit just doesn’t appeal to him anymore.
He can’t completely ignore sublimate it, he can only repress his wolf for so long, but he can chose how he deals with his emotions. And this time he chose let them out in a much more rational-- if personally humiliating-- way: he fucking breaks down and cries like he hasn’t done since he realized just what it was Kate wanted from him. Disgusting wet sobs that seem to be wrenched out of his fucking soul. Then he retreats into himself, locks himself away in his room and fills page after page with bitterness and regret. He writes it all down, every ache and hurt and pain that is in him. He drags out his Stiles momentos, runs his fingers over the words Stiles once wrote him, buries his face in the shirt he borrowed for Stiles and never gave back. He fucking sleeps with that stupid stuffed wolf. Because he has no fucking dignity left at all.
God, all he has is an empty, hollow feeling in his center and the knowledge that nothing will ever, ever make it right again.
He spends a week in his room, coming out only to eat and piss. He doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t even look at Lydia. It’s not her fault that he did what he did, no, the blame for that rests solely on his head, but he wouldn’t have been put in the position where he could make an ass of himself if she hadn’t arranged it in the first place.
Lydia doesn’t do herself any favors, though. No, she spends the whole of the week stomping around and muttering under her breath about idiots who can’t see what’s right in front of their faces. She sulks and she sighs and she calls Stiles no less than five times in Derek’s presences, for what purpose, Derek doesn’t know. Probably just to torture him. Because Stiles doesn’t sound broken up about anything at all. Just natters on to her about his job search and friends and even some person he met in some bar. He sounds happy. So damn happy. And why shouldn’t he be?
Derek doesn’t matter to Stiles any more.
Fuck, Derek never really mattered to Stiles. Even back in the day, Derek was just a friend. Someone Stiles liked to hang around with, someone who laughed at his stupid jokes. He was never someone Stiles wanted to be with. Never someone Stiles daydreamed about. Just a fucking friend.
A friend who abandoned Stiles, who ignored him and hurt and him and treated him like shit. Derek lost all rights to be called Stiles’s friend a good five years ago. Since then he’s just been someone that Stiles didn’t really care for, someone from Stiles’s history he’d rather forget. Someone Stiles went out of his way to avoid.
And now...
Derek doesn’t even want to think about what he is to Stiles now.
*
Lydia tells Stiles not to freak out about this, to give Derek time. She says all is not lost, that Stiles just needs to let Derek get himself out of whatever funk he’s in. She promises it will all work out in the end and that Stiles just needs to have a little faith.
Stiles thinks she full of shit, but Stiles is a nice enough person not to say so to her face.
*
Derek’s not typically an overly emotional person. He is good at compartmentalizing, good at being logical about things, about taking shit in stride.
But now, when he it needs it most, none of those facts hold true.
Instead he’s moody and brooding and surly as shit. And it’s over something so fucking stupid, so utterly pointless, that he can’t help but hate himself a little for it.
Because...
Look. You can never get a first kiss back.
And, stupid and pointless as it may be, Derek had plans for their first kiss. It’s not that Derek is super romantic or anything. He’s not. But. Stiles is super romantic, he’s into that long walks on the beach, sharing your feelings sort of thing. He’s the only man Derek has met who actually enjoys Nicholas Sparks. And Derek had wanted to do right by him.
So... yeah. Derek had plans for their first kiss. What, exactly, those plans entailed had changed dramatically over the years, because nine years is an awfully long time to think about something and there were bound to be changes, but there has always been a First Kiss Plan of some form or another. Even right at the start.
The current version starts at an upscale restaurant and features a very nice dinner, the sort with multiple courses and paired wines, followed by a dessert just covered in chocolate, because Stiles loves chocolate. Derek would say it was to share, but really he’d just drink a coffee and watch as Stiles licked his plate clean. There would be conversation and laughter and then, as they were leaving the restaurant, Derek would pause, turn towards Stiles, and take the other man’s face in his hands. He’d move in slowly, giving Stiles time to say no, but Stiles wouldn’t. Stiles would lick his lips and stare into his eyes and the kiss, when it came, would be perfect. It would be meaningful. Because Stiles would know what was behind it and Stiles would be accepting it, Stiles would moan into his mouth and taste like wine and meat and overly chocolatey dessert, and damn it all to fucking hell because that’s never going to happen now.
Of course, it was never going to happen to begin with, what with Stiles having long since decided that his life was better without Derek in it, but... but at least he had the dream. At least he had the fantasy about how it would happen, if it ever happened. And now he doesn’t even have that.
Instead he has Stiles’s heart beating so fast and his eyes clouded with confusion. He has Stiles’s breath catching in his throat and the way his whole body jerked when Derek’s lips touched his. He has Stiles standing perfectly still, not moving a muscle, while Derek licked and nipped at his mouth. And he has the sinking, terrible feeling in his gut, the ache that won’t go away. The feeling that comes from knowing that that was his one chance. That was it. And Stiles... didn’t even kiss him back.
And, yes, he’s knows it ridiculous for him to be in funk because his First Kiss Plan was bupkis and that the kiss he did get was... well... pretty par of the course, given the state of his relationship with Stiles, but still.
He’s allowed to be.
Because you can never get a first kiss back. And even though he ought to be focused on a thousand other things that are horrible and bad and wrong in his life, that’s the one that seems to matter the most.
Part 4
Part 5
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Rating: R
Word Count: 8,472 (This part)
A.N.: Millions and millions of hugs and kisses to my beta, queenitsy. You have no idea how much hand holding and cheer leading she provided. Love you, bb! :*
Chapter Summary: Sometimes Stiles really just wishes he had a rewind button. If he did, he could rewind his life, get back to the point where things fell apart and make it all make sense.
Part 1
Part 2
Life rolls on. Day in and day out. And Stiles rolls along with it. He starts grad school in the fall and marvels at how different the switch from undergrad to grad is. But maybe it’s not really that different. Maybe he’s just different. He feels different, anyway. More adult, though not more grown up. Kinda just like the shine of being a kid has finally worn off.
Anyway, life moves on. Stiles makes new friends, finds a new social scene. He dates. Men, women, sometimes both at the same time, though he always makes sure that everyone is kosher with that arrangement first. And he tries, he really tries, to let the past go. But... he can’t.
Derek is just... always on his mind. More so than Robert ever is, which really says something about their relationship. Because, honestly? Stiles being more hung up on a failed friendship then on his one and only long term relationship? That’s just not right.
But, right or not, it’s the truth. A truth driven home by potential love interest after potential love interest mistakenly thinking that Derek is Stiles’s ex and not even remembering who Robert is at all.
And, okay, maybe Stiles talks about Derek a lot. But that is a pretty basic mistake for people to make. Lots of people. People who are supposed to be auditioning to fill the role that Robert just vacated. Not Derek.
So, yeah. Maybe Stiles isn’t moving on at all. Maybe it’s just the rest of the world that’s moving while he’s standing perfectly still.
*
Being the Alpha means making hard choices and it doesn’t get much harder than this. Derek is up to his elbows in trouble right now, and all because of Erica, goddamn that Erica. Giving her the bite was the best possible choice at the time, but it sure has come back to kick him in the ass a time or two.
And right now? It’s one of those times.
Because Erica has decided that she’s in love with some other werewolf’s mate. Stupid, stupid girl.
In love with, she says, with her eyes all big and shiny from unshed tears. Like being in love has anything at all to do with mating.
Yes, you love your mate. Yes, you want to be with them always. But you don’t fucking fall in love with them. They just... are your mate. And Erica knows this. You don’t mess around with someone else’s mate. Even if said mate is unhappy for whatever drummed up reason. It just doesn’t end well.
All of which Erica should know, because, once again, she has fucking witnessed first hand what a wolf goes through when someone else is with your mate.
But instead of learning the really, really obvious lesson from all this, what Erica picked up was that just because you’re mates doesn’t mean you are meant to be or will have some storybook romance. So here she is, on her knees, begging Derek to help her free her lady love from the vile clutches of her hapless mate. The poor fucking bastard.
Derek, of course, tells her she is made of crazy and growls at her until she backs down. She grumbles and glares and makes all kinds of unhappy noises about it, but she backs the fuck down.
But, because she’s Erica, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t toss out a parting shot, doesn’t make a pointed comment about how Derek’s own mate doesn’t want him-- how Derek’s mate never wanted him. And she even manages to throw in a line about how just because Derek will be alone and miserable for the rest of his life, doesn't mean that he has to makes everyone around him be miserable too.
Which, look. Derek’s not in denial about what his future looks like. It’s long and empty and Stiles is nowhere in sight. He’s reconciled himself to it. But that doesn't mean that he likes to have it thrown in his fucking face by the lowest ranking member of his pack. Especially not when said member of his pack has managed to royally piss off one of the biggest, most aggressive packs on the West Coast.
But, hey, at least now Derek’s too goddamn busy with pack politics to bother with being mopey about how very much his future is going to suck.
*
Sometimes Stiles really just wishes he had a rewind button. If he did, he could rewind his life, get back to the point where things fell apart and make it all make sense. Because it’s one thing to turn his back on Derek and whatever potential there was for the two of them because he is in a relationship with the man he wants to marry, and a whole other thing to turn his back on Derek for a relationship that doesn’t make it past college graduation. Especially when he knows that with Derek, he would have been playing for keeps.
And, well, if he could rewind things, then there wouldn’t be all this hurt to get over. If he went back to that summer between freshman and sophomore year, that summer he spent lazing around Derek’s house playing video games and eating BBQ and, you know, just kissed Derek then. In the woods behind his house. Or in the hallway pressed up against the wall. Or in the grass as they watched the stars come out. If he could just have kissed Derek then, before he even met Robert, before things went to shit between them, then maybe they would be together right now.
Maybe Derek would be cooking something in the kitchen or laughing at one of Stiles’s lame jokes. Maybe he would rub Stiles’s shoulders and tell him not to worry, that he has this Masters degree in the bag. Maybe he would bring Stiles a cup of coffee and sit down next to him on the couch, tangle his hands in Stiles’s hair and distract him from his schoolwork with delicious open mouth kisses.
But Stiles doesn’t have a rewind button. The past happened the way it happened and there is too much pain and bitterness for Stiles to be able to pick up the phone, to dial that old familiar number and hear that gravelly voice grit out a begrudging hello. Even if he did, there is no guarantee that Derek would even want to talk to him. It’s been little over a year now since he sent back Derek’s peace offerings. And in all that time he hasn’t ever so much as a peep from his sourwolf.
Although he does hear tale that Derek’s not such a sourwolf anymore. He’s content in his life. Happy with his job and his pack. And totally and completely wrapped around the finger of a particular, sweet little amazon princess.
The thought of which really shouldn’t warm Stiles’s heart as much as it does.
God, who knows? Derek might even be in a relationship with someone. Might be happy as a clam. Sure, they wouldn’t be his mate, but Stiles is his mate and Stiles has yet make Derek happy in any way, shape, or form.
Stiles can’t seem to make anyone happy, actually. Which is why he’s alone in his apartment, wishing for a rewind button. Because maybe if he had one maybe then he could get things right the second time round.
*
Even though it is nowhere near the case, sometimes it really feels like Derek is a man living a post-divorce life, complete with child timesharing and all. Because he’s Bethany’s grandalpha and Stiles is Bethany’s god-daddy and sometimes when she comes over fresh from seeing her god-daddy it’s all Derek can do not to howl.
Because she smells like him, damnit. She smells like Stiles and baby girl, and it makes Derek want to punch things. And she babbles about him all the time. Bethany loves her god-daddy Stiles. She loves him with all her little four year old heart. He’s so funny and fun and he feeds her apple slices with honey and calls her his little amazon princess and tickles her belly and takes her to see the ducks and god fucking damnit. Of course Stiles is amazing with her. Of course he is.
God, he’s going to be a great father. An absolutely amazing father. And a wonderful person to co-parent with, as well. Some lucky bastard is going to get to share that with him, share the joys of raising a child together, share the smiles and tears and have Stiles there to help shape a little person.
Derek hates them, this person who doesn’t even exist in Stiles’s life yet. Hates them so fucking much.
*
Scott is Stiles’s oldest friend in the world. His closest friend, too. He’s been there through every major part of Stiles’s life and a whole hell of a lot of the minor ones. And, yes, with recent events what being what they are, perhaps Stiles and Scott aren’t as close as they use to be. But that’s not on Scott. It’s not Scott’s fault that his alpha is crazy obsessed with Stiles and that Stiles has taken to avoiding his hometown because of it.
But it is sorta Stiles’s fault.
Which is why he is pausing his work on his thesis to deal with Scott’s quarter life crisis, even though he’s less than two months out from defending the stupid thing and has a meeting with his Chair tomorrow afternoon. Because that’s what friends, real friends do. They are there for each other. So Stiles is putting his own personal freak out on pause, because Scott is his best friend in the whole wide world and he needs Stiles now.
Or, at least, he needs a shoulder to cry on.
Because that’s what he does.
Cry.
On Stiles’s shoulder.
It’s all Stiles can do not to shake him and give him a serious what-the-fuck talk. Because, really, how can Stiles help if all he gets from Scott is an endless stream of sob Allison sob Bethany sob mate sob with a couple of whimpers tossed in for good measure. But Stiles is a good friend, so he doesn’t shake Scott. He just offers Scott a box of tissues and orders some Chinese food, because nothing cures heartbreak like sweet and sour pork over fried rice.
Scott keeps on crying until the food arrives, then is too busy stuffing his face to have any further breakdowns and Stiles counts his Chinese strategy as a success. He also counts the long, often times uncomfortable conversation that follows as a success too, even though he would have rather not have that level of insight into Scott and Allison’s relationship.
But then, Scott has always been the king of oversharing and Stiles knowing ridiculously intimate details about Allison has sort of been his default state since she burst onto the scene.
So... yeah. Scott and Allison. Not doing so well at the mo’. Because Allison is a big and important copy-editor now. And that means that she goes away for conferences. And at the conferences she meets people, or rather, a person. A male person. Who Allison swears is just a friend, a really good friend, but still just a friend. But, anyway, she comes home from said conferences reeking of said male friend and Scott wolfs out and it's just not a good scene. Not a good scene at all. To the point where Allison is talking about the possibility of needing space. And everyone knows that your significant other needing space is sort of a major red flag.
And Scott? He's freaking out. Saying crazy things about hunting this friend down and tearing his mate-stealing-stomach open with his teeth. Which... how his stomach is stealing Scott's mate is sort of not clear to Stiles, but he gets that this is really, really bad. So he does what he does best: he talks. He talks and talks and talks until the sun rises and his throat is raw. The end result of all his talking is a Scott who looks human and isn't about to go eviscerate some poor fool who happened to befriend his mate.
Thank you, Scott says before he leaves, tugging Stiles into a hug that is so tight it hurts. You don't know what's it's like, thinking you might lose your mate. It makes your wolf go wild. No wonder Derek is such a dick all the time.
And then he's out of the house before Stiles can tell him that, hey, guess what? Scott's a fucking dick too.
*
Derek doesn’t plan on becoming a writer. He has no interest in it at all. But his pack happens to have some of the wiliest women known to man in it, and when they put their heads together, there is no stopping them. Which is how Derek somehow manages becomes a published writer without ever submitting a single manuscript himself. Lydia and Allison do it. On his behalf. As his agent and his copy-editor respectively.
It all comes together fairly organically. It starts with a book, of course it does, a book he wrote himself, but never meant to share. Or at least not share with anyone outside of his pack. It was supposed to just be a little bit of fun, something for Derek to read to Bethany before putting her down for her nap. Because Bethany is a quick, bright little thing, as well as a bit of a bloodthirsty one, and the books on the market for girls her age just weren’t cutting it from Derek’s perspective.
So he wrote her something fun and rockling with a plucky brunette as the lead character and a silly but endearing blond boy as her sidekick. He called it The Adventures of Pirate Jane and printed and bound it himself. He hand illustrated it, filling the bottom half of the pages with bright, sunny depictions of the Brave Girl Pirate and her Hapless Crew. Derek put twice the effort into the picture than he did the plot, because everyone knows that the pictures are the best part, but he was pretty pleased with how the plot turned out as well.
And so was Bethany, which is the point.
Thing is, so were Bethany’s mommy and Auntie Lydia. Before Derek even knows what is happening, his book is in production and then out on shelves. And, boy, does it ever sell. It sells so well that publishers come looking for him, with big bags of money on offer and really, who says no to that?
So Derek quits his job at the autobody shop and starts writing children’s books full time. And, thing is, he loves is. Loves it more than he could have possibly imagined. The only way he could love it more is if Stiles were there by his side, sharing in his happiness with him.
*
Teaching is something Stiles has always wanted to do. Teaching and getting paid to play video games. And he did that second one all throughout his college education, beta testing for the win. So now that he’s got his education all wrapped up and that lovely little teaching credential in hand, he’s ready to take on what the youth of America is able to dish out.
He doesn’t really tell anyone back home, but he’s only applied to jobs within as fifty mile radius of Beacon Hills. Because he wants to be near home. And, yeah, his drama with Derek blah blah blah, but he’s not going to not live where he wants to live because Derek’s got issues. So, yeah. That’s his game plan. Interview like a boss, get offered a sweet ass position and be able to visit his dad whenever he wants.
And, um, he’s also applied at Beacon Hills High.
But the odds of him getting that one are very, very low. People teaching there still remember when Stiles was a student, after all.
*
Sometimes Derek can't help but dwell on the past. He doesn't do it often, only once or twice a year, but still. When he does, he flat out wallows in it. Drags out all of the things that reminds him of Stiles: the birthday cards Stiles sent him, the pictures of the two of them together, the stuffed wolf Stiles won at the fair and then promptly named Sourwolf and gifted to Derek because he's Stiles and that's the way he works. Little things, like movie ticket stubs and books Stiles recommended and the few precious letters Stiles actually wrote to him. Derek pulls it all out of hiding, spreads it around his room and fucking mourns. Same as he would if his mate was dead.
Because no matter how much time passes, no matter how good his life might otherwise be, there is always a part of him that wants more. Wants Stiles.
And nothing will ever be able to change that.
*
When Lydia texts him, Stiles just rolls his eyes. Because what else do you do when you get sent a random address, a date, and a time and no other information except be there, loser, or else? But he goes. Because it’s Lydia.
The address turns out to be a bookstore, which makes perfect sense, as Lydia is an agent and as such is at bookstores all the time. The only problem is, it isn’t just Lydia who is there. It’s Lydia and Derek who looks... God. Like Derek.
It’s been years, fucking years, since he’s seen Derek in person, and seeing him again is like a punch in the fucking stomach.
What the fuck. Seriously, Lydia, what the fuck.
He waits until Derek is distracted by some of the bookstore employees before scurrying over to Lydia and then dragging her off into a far corner of the store, away from any-- read Derek's-- prying eyes.
Stiles wants to shout at her, wants to call her a cold-hearted bitch and rant about stupid ideas and fucking lack of basic common sense, but before he can do any of that, Lydia is up in his face, growling at him about stupidity and wasted years and being sick to death of watching two people she cares about suffer for no reason at all which... is balls. There is plenty of reason.
Plenty.
Thing is... It's kind of hard to remember that when Derek is in the same store as him, squatting down to listen to the most adorable little boy in the history of the world who is talking a mile a minute and holding up a plushie version of Pirate Jane and god. That is, like, the exact opposite of fair. Because... Derek. And children. And there goes his heart, clenching like crazy at the thought of Derek smiling like that at their little boy. And god fucking damn it. Really, brain? Really? Did we have to go there?
Not that it is any surprise that the Derek and family are linked in his mind. Not after all the years of sharing Bethany with him. Derek, who Bethany talks about constantly and who showers that sweet little girl with love and affection and is second in her heart only to her mommy and daddy. Which Stiles isn’t even resentful of because of course she’s closer to Derek. He’s the head of her pack and sees her pretty much daily and is her grandalpha
Grandalpha. The word alone is enough to make Stiles go all soft and gooey inside.
God, Derek’s grown into such a wonderful, strong leader. He’s amazing with his pack. And it sucks that Stiles isn’t there to witness it first hand. That Stiles can’t even shoot Derek an email, let alone text him or call him on the phone.
Damn. Damn. Damn.
This is exactly why Stiles has been avoiding the shit outta Derek.
Because...
No. He is not going there. He is not doing this right now. It’s stupid and pointless and he's canvassed all of this a million times before. There is no going back. There is no do-over. There is only moving the fuck on, which Stiles is completely incapable of doing.
Fucking Lydia.
He crosses his arms over his chest and glowers at her, hating her so much right then that he can't even respond to anything she's saying.
But... But he can't help but hear when she sighs and gives him that sad look of hers and tells him to just trust her on this.
So he doesn't leave, the way he really, really ought to.
No, he stays put where he is, which means he also stays hidden. Because he's not stupid enough to think that Derek is going to be in any way pleased to see him.
*
Soccer moms are scary. You’d think Derek wouldn’t be easily intimidated, what with being an Alpha werewolf and all, but those soccer moms. They take danger to a whole new level. Mix them in with trophy wives and you’ve got the deadliest combination known to man.
Now, in his normal life, Derek doesn’t run into either of those groups. But in his award winning author of a popular series of children’s book life, he’s got both in spades. Because you know who is looking for something free and entertaining to do with their precious little rugrats at ten a.m. on a weekday morning?
Soccer moms and trophy wives, that’s who.
They sit there with their grande double foam vanilla soy lattes and simper at him, lust pouring off them like sweat in the summertime, fidgeting with their hair and touching up their make up, clearly preparing to proposition him like they aren't there with their children, for Christ’s sake.
But this isn’t Derek’s first time at the rodeo. Derek's played this game before. He knows what they think, those soccer moms and trophy wives, that he's there for their pleasure, there to be had. The way they look at him, like he's something they want to rub up against, smear their scent all over, turns his stomach, makes his skin crawl. His wolf snarls, wanting to come out and show these women just what they are dreaming about toying with, but Derek forces it down. He's got a tried and true method to make all those stupid thoughts fly right out of their Desperate Housewives heads. That will have this whole group cooing at him in ten minutes flat.
He just needs to lead them into it, needs someone to ask the right question, let him play the happily-devoted-to-his-partner card's he's got stashed up his sleeve. Not that Derek has a partner. But that's not the point. And Derek is pretty damn good at faking it, at using what he does have: a mate who isn't interested in him and hasn't talked to him in years, but who he has enough knowledge of via shared friends to be able answer any awkward questions thrown his way.
Because the awkward questions? They never stop coming at these events.
Never mind that Derek is here to read to a bunch of children, not be grilled by middle aged women who are bored with their privileged lives and looking for a thrill.
Derek sighs as he climbs up the stairs of the stage set up for the event. He ignores the table and chair set up for him, he’ll deal with that later, when it’s question and answer time, and instead plops down on the floor. He gestures for the children crowding around the floor in front of the stage to come up and join him, like he always does for his storytime sessions.
Derek lets the kiddos crawl all over him to their hearts’ content-- just because their moms are wackjobs doesn't mean the kids aren't adorable-- and doesn't say anything when one of them jabs him in the hip, hard. He catches hold of an adventurous boy who was trying to climb the side of the small stage and sets him safely back on the ground. He chucks a waifish looking girl under the chin, making her blush and giggle. And he doesn't interrupt the hyper little redheaded boy who stumbles over his words in his hurry to get them all out. Truth be told, Derek's particularly indulgent of that one. Because the child remind him of someone else whose thoughts run too fast for his mouth to keep up.
All too soon, storytime is over and the mothers are chomping at the bit to get in on the action. Derek watches the kiddies get herded down from the stage with a regretful look, then makes his way to the table and chair, taps at the microphone once to make sure it is working and then glances out at the crowd as he sits down, palms resting flat on the table.
They raise their hands and look at him eagerly, each one confident that she will be the one he calls on first. Derek doesn't sigh, just forces a smile and picks the dumpy looking lady towards the back because she doesn't smell like any other than happiness and slightly sour milk.
She asks about his favorite book as a child, a lovely change from the questions about his possible wife and children and love life he normally gets blasted with. Derek gives her a genuine smile in return and answers her with as much detail as he can provide.
He breathes deep when he finishes speaking, trying to find another mom with an innocuous scent to call on, but there is none to be found. He does smell something curiously familiar though, something that makes him think of warmth and, oddly enough, home. But whatever it is, it's quickly masked by the sex stink coming at him from the crowd.
Derek shakes his head to clear it, then selects someone at random. The bottle blonde he points to preens like he's given her the keys to his room as she coyly asks about the identity of the mysterious-- her word, not his-- Bethany his books are dedicated to. And that earns her a genuine smile as well, because that, right there, is his in.
Bethany, he informs them, is the special lady in his life. She's five and a half, with the biggest, brightest eyes you've ever seen and a smile that would melt even the Grinch's heart. And she's his partner’s goddaughter.
The women in the crowd somehow manage to pout and coo at the same time. They want to know more, of course they do, about both Bethany and his partner, and Derek is more than willing to answer them.
He's been going on for more than ten minutes about how good his partner is with Bethany, how much he adores her, how he calls her is little amazon princess, how he bought her a child’s bow and arrow set for her last birthday, how much Derek loves the pair of them, when that comforting scent from before resurfaces. He takes another deep breath, rolling the scent on his tongue to try and finagle out the identity of its owner.
It barely takes a second for him to register where he's smelled that delicious scent before.
And, god fucking damn it.
Of course this would happen. Of fucking course. Stiles would be here, listening in as Derek rabbits on about him. No doubt cringing to himself at the reminder that Derek still hasn't moved on. Will never be able to move on, no matter how unwanted his affections might be. God, he must have heard Derek claim his as his partner when he has no right to, heard him tell everyone in the room how ridiculously besotted he still is.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
*
Stiles can pinpoint the exact moment that Derek realizes he’s there. Derek’s words stop mid-sentence, the soft smile fades from his face, and he mumbles something about how no one really wants to hear him babble, which, dude. Don’t be dumb. Derek could be talking about subatomic particle physics and this group would just smile and nod along.
Because this crowd is made up of middle aged moms. And Derek is Derek, with his rugged bad boy air and his gorgeous face and that body of his. He looks like a fucking Greek statue in a leather jacket. Who wouldn’t want that? No one, that’s who. Add to that the fact that not twenty minutes ago he was at the dead center of a puppy pile composed of the cutest toddlers to ever cute, handling them like a boss, and you pretty much have a middle aged mom wet dream come to life.
So, yeah, no surprise that the whole audience practically falls over itself telling him how very, very much they want to hear about him and his partner and his partner’s goddaughter, and, honestly, Stiles wants to hear more too.
God, does he ever want to hear more. Derek could pretty much keep on keeping on till Stiles died and he would be happy.
Derek doesn’t, though, instead he takes another question from the crowd and blushes whenever the word “partner” is mentioned and Stiles gets it. He does. Derek is awkward with him being there. It’s throwing him off his game in the most obvious ways. But Stiles can’t leave. Hasn’t been able to leave since he walked into the place and saw Derek. And if he couldn’t leave then, there is no way he can leave now. Not after hearing what he heard. Although, really, he sort of thinks that maybe he’s slipped into some alternate reality or something because it’s like Derek is just reading lines out of one of Stiles’s more pathetic fantasies.
Except how he’s not, he’s actually here, Derek actually said those things. About him. So yeah. Leaving is so not an option.
Instead he just stands there and stares like a fucking creeper.
Stiles shifts from foot to foot, ignoring the smug looks that Lydia is throwing in his direction. Of course she is, because she’s the whole reason he’s even here. Her and her clever ways. God, she must have known this would happen. She must have known. Otherwise why even invite him? And why give him that leave-and-die speech when he got there?
Oh god, this must be something that Derek does all the time. That’s the only explanation that makes any kind of sense at all. But... why? Why does he babble about Stiles? Why does he call Stiles his partner? Bethany being a part of his book tour makes sense, because he wrote them for her. But what does Stiles have to do with anything? What reason does Derek have to be taking about him, him, like he’s the most precious, wonderful thing on the planet?
God, Stiles is torn between wanting to rush up to the stage right this very minute and demand answers and wanting to rush up to the stage and grab his sourwolf by the ears and kiss that constipated, embarrassed look right off his gorgeous face.
He takes half a step forward, then another before losing his nerve and scurries back to where Lydia is sitting, thumbs flying as she texts. She looks up long enough to give him a knowing smirk, then drops her eyes back to her phone. Stiles gives her the stinkiest eye to ever stink, because even if she is the reason he’s there, she’s still insufferable.
Good lord, how long do these stupid question and answer sessions drag on? Derek writes picture books, for the love. What even is there for them to still to be asking about? No, really. That last question was totally a come on. Didn’t they even hear him when he said he had a partner? That typically means dude is gay. And not only gay, but taken, because partner is pretty much the PC way of saying “not-married to my gay lover.” So maybe they should stop trying to fall all over him, huh?
Not that Stiles is jealous or anything. Just, you know, concerned about the mental power of the women in the room.
Oh! Did one of them just ask to see a picture of Derek’s partner with his goddaughter? Because Stiles is totally on that. Stiles is so on that. In fact, Stiles is moving quick like a bunny, up onto the stage with his phone held out in front of him like a golden ticket before Derek even manages to finish fumbling on about him not being sure that his partner would be comfortable with that, which. Hi. Stiles so totally is.
God, Stiles doesn’t even know what the story is with this whole partner thing, but he’s down with it. So fucking down with it. And if it all turns out to be some sort of ploy... well... he’s down with that too because at least he got to hear it once. And, yeah, that’s probably super sad and super needy and probably says terrible things about him and his self-worth issues. But it’s Derek.
Derek, who is staring at him with wide, wide eyes and this massively unhappy look on his face and. Fuck. Whatever. Stiles is committed now. And they can just figure all this out between them later.
It’s okay, Stiles wants to tell him when he reaches his side, but instead he just announces loudly that Derek’s partner-- which is him, ladies, so back the fuck off already-- is more than willing to show a few pictures of himself with his lovely little amazon princess of a goddaughter. And then he’s asking if anyone has an HDMI cable and hooking things up and there is his precious little girl, up there on the wall with her chubby little cheeks and her mischievous smile.
Stiles starts flipping through his gallery on his phone, projecting image after image of the monster, occasionally leaning over Derek’s shoulder to answer questions in the mic set up in front of him. And every time he does, every single time, his chest brushes against Derek’s back and his arm rubs against Derek’s shoulder and who the fuck needs foreplay when Derek’s body is that close, smelling so damn good that Stiles’s mouth is practically watering.
And then... And then reality of what’s going on comes crashing down on him. Because there, on the big fucking screen, is the picture he loves and hates the most in this world, the one and only picture he keeps of Derek.
He didn’t take it and he never would have asked for it to be sent to him, because, hi. He sort of has a history there. And looking at pictures of Derek sort of hurts like balls, which, by the way, pretty much everyone in his life knows, and so they make a point of, you know, not sending him them. But Scott is a certain type of special and never, ever thinks about how his action might affect others and so Scott sent it to Stiles because... he’s Scott. And once it was on Stiles’s phone, he couldn’t erase it. No way, no how. Because Derek looks so damn happy in that picture. The happiest Stiles has ever seen him. He’s got this soft, besotted look on his face and Bethany up on his shoulders. She’s got her chubby baby fingers wrapped in his hair and a smile so wide that her eyes are squinched shut and god. It’s like porn for the lovelorn.
And, um, middle aged moms, if the amount of cooing going on in the room is any indication.
And, well, fuck.
Kind of hard to play like he’s not still totally hung up on Derek when he’s got that picture saved to his phone.
Not that he really wants to play like he’s not into Derek. Kind of the opposite of that, actually, but he’s still not sure what the deal is with the whole “partners” thing. Did Derek mean it? Or was it just some sort of ploy he was using on the group for... reasons that Stiles can’t figure out but probably still exist.
But... maybe it’s more than that. Maybe it did mean something. The way Derek looked when he was talking...
Fuck it.
Why not go for broke? Stiles might as well put his cards on the table. After all, holding feelings inside has never worked out well for them in the past.
So he takes a deep breath and gives the room a sheepish grin. That’s my favorite, he says into the mic, his chest tight against Derek’s back and his arm brushing gently against Derek’s shoulder. He hears a swift intake of breath from Derek, and he half-turns towards him, not sure what to expect.
Derek’s eyes flash red for a moment, then he’s sliding his hand behind Stiles’s neck, tugging his head further down for a kiss.
It’s hot and tender and over way too fucking fast and Stiles can’t do anything but stand there, mouth hanging open in what is probably a terribly unflattering fashion. There is a smattering of giggles from the audience, and a very loud whisper about how much someone would pay to be meat in that sandwich, and then Derek’s pushing back from the table, standing up, and telling the room how very sorry he is, but he’s fresh out of time.
The giggles? They just grow louder at that. But Derek doesn't crack a smile. And when Stiles tries to talk to him, he just shakes his head and walks purposefully away.
And, well, what the fuck is Stiles supposed to do with that?
*
Derek panics. Plain and simple. He panics.
He turns his back on Stiles and his stunned expression and half-opened mouth, and power walks himself out of the store, never once looking back, even though he can hear Stiles calling after him because no. He can’t handle that right now. Can’t deal with whatever repercussions are coming his way.
Because there are definitely going to be some repercussions. Even without everything that went down between them, kissing Stiles would have been a bad idea. You don’t just do something like that. And... well... fuck.
There is that history. There’s years and years of unhappiness and outright dislike between them. There’s Stiles asking people to come visit him so that he doesn’t ever have to step a foot in Beacon Hills. So that there is zero chance of him running into Derek at all.
And doesn’t that just eat at him, the fact that Stiles doesn’t even want to be in the same area code as him. Even now, going on five years later, Stiles still hates him that much. And, fuck it all, Stiles was right to avoid him. Because what did Derek do the first time Stiles came within an arm’s length of him? He fucking kissed him. Like Derek had any right.
He didn’t mean to. That wasn’t the plan. God, how could it have been? Derek knew that Stiles was somewhere in the the city, but San Francisco is pretty damn large. He should have been able to come visit for a few hours and not run into the one person in the world who didn’t want to see him.
Should have, but then... Lydia. It’s the only explanation. Oh god, that bitch. She knew his speil. Knew that he would go on and on about Stiles. It’s what he does every single time. She must have lured Stiles there with her fucking magic ways. God, Stiles never could resist Lydia. And then she...
But...
Even if she did lure him, why did Stiles stay? Why did Stiles come up onto that stage?
God, what does it even matter? Derek kissed him. Kissed him. When he knew damn well that Stiles didn’t want anything to do with him.
Fuck his fucking life.
*
Stiles doesn’t run after Derek because Stiles has some pride. And because Stiles has to unhook his phone from the HDMI cable and by the time he is done doing that he is surrounded on all sides by cooing middle aged women who want to talk to him about his precious godbaby and his sexy, sexy partner. God lord, middle aged women have no shame. None. The questions they ask him about Derek have Stiles blushing like it is going out of style.
So yeah. He doesn’t run after Derek because he has pride, and because he by the time he fights his way free of Derek’s creepy ass fans, the other man is nowhere in sight.
Derek’s gone. Long gone. And there is nothing Stiles can do about it.
And.. well... fuck.
Stiles feels his shoulders slumping, an ache blooming to life in his chest because wow. That makes things pretty damn clear, doesn’t it? Derek might have been going on and on about how great and wonderful and perfect his partner is, and he might have said things that heavily implied that Stiles was the inspiration for said partner, but...
But that doesn’t mean that he actually wanted to see Stiles.
And, sure, Derek did kiss him, but dude. It’s fucking clear as day that he regretted that shit. Jesus, the look he gave Stiles before he turned and walked away... like he would rather cut his arm off than stay there a second longer.
Stiles bows his head, his hands balling into fists at his sides, feeling absolutely gutted.
A warm hand lands on his shoulder and he looks up, his eyes fucking swimming with tears, and sees Lydia’s concerned face. She makes a tsking sound in her throat and says something disparaging about Derek’s parentage, then she’s wrapping Stiles in her arms, holding him tight as she croons in his ear.
And Stiles... Stiles just loses it, sobbing into her shoulder like a mother fucking baby.
Because he was right all along. It’s too damn late. There’s too much history there. Too much for them to ever overcome it. Which, really, isn’t a surprise.
It just... it really fucking hurts to have it confirmed once and for all.
*
Derek doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this. He thought there was be some sort of a blow up, that Stiles call him up and chew him out. Or write him a scathing email. Or text him. That Stiles would some new and inventive way to rip him to shreds.
But that’s not what’s happened. Hell, nothing’s happened. There’s been zero reaction at all.
And somehow that’s worse than any angry phone call or email ever could have been. Because... fuck. Stiles not the type to hold it in. If he was pissed, he would have made it known.
So Stiles not saying something, not bothering to do anything, can only mean one thing: that Derek has sunk so low he doesn’t even rate a response.
Which... fuck.
Part of him desperately once to call Stiles, to harass some response out of him. Because while Derek had thought it was terrible, knowing that his mate was out there in the world hating him; knowing that his mate is out there and completely indifferent to him is ten thousand times worse.
But Derek has managed to get a better hold on his self-control since the last time he fucked his life to hell and back. This time he doesn’t barrage Stiles with even more unwanted contact, this time he forces himself to stay away, to give Stiles the space he so obviously wants.
Derek clamps down on his wolf as well, refusing to let himself rage or scream or destroy his house, no matter how much his wolf wants to, because he’s in his thirties now and that sort of shit just doesn’t appeal to him anymore.
He can’t completely ignore sublimate it, he can only repress his wolf for so long, but he can chose how he deals with his emotions. And this time he chose let them out in a much more rational-- if personally humiliating-- way: he fucking breaks down and cries like he hasn’t done since he realized just what it was Kate wanted from him. Disgusting wet sobs that seem to be wrenched out of his fucking soul. Then he retreats into himself, locks himself away in his room and fills page after page with bitterness and regret. He writes it all down, every ache and hurt and pain that is in him. He drags out his Stiles momentos, runs his fingers over the words Stiles once wrote him, buries his face in the shirt he borrowed for Stiles and never gave back. He fucking sleeps with that stupid stuffed wolf. Because he has no fucking dignity left at all.
God, all he has is an empty, hollow feeling in his center and the knowledge that nothing will ever, ever make it right again.
He spends a week in his room, coming out only to eat and piss. He doesn’t talk to anyone, doesn’t even look at Lydia. It’s not her fault that he did what he did, no, the blame for that rests solely on his head, but he wouldn’t have been put in the position where he could make an ass of himself if she hadn’t arranged it in the first place.
Lydia doesn’t do herself any favors, though. No, she spends the whole of the week stomping around and muttering under her breath about idiots who can’t see what’s right in front of their faces. She sulks and she sighs and she calls Stiles no less than five times in Derek’s presences, for what purpose, Derek doesn’t know. Probably just to torture him. Because Stiles doesn’t sound broken up about anything at all. Just natters on to her about his job search and friends and even some person he met in some bar. He sounds happy. So damn happy. And why shouldn’t he be?
Derek doesn’t matter to Stiles any more.
Fuck, Derek never really mattered to Stiles. Even back in the day, Derek was just a friend. Someone Stiles liked to hang around with, someone who laughed at his stupid jokes. He was never someone Stiles wanted to be with. Never someone Stiles daydreamed about. Just a fucking friend.
A friend who abandoned Stiles, who ignored him and hurt and him and treated him like shit. Derek lost all rights to be called Stiles’s friend a good five years ago. Since then he’s just been someone that Stiles didn’t really care for, someone from Stiles’s history he’d rather forget. Someone Stiles went out of his way to avoid.
And now...
Derek doesn’t even want to think about what he is to Stiles now.
*
Lydia tells Stiles not to freak out about this, to give Derek time. She says all is not lost, that Stiles just needs to let Derek get himself out of whatever funk he’s in. She promises it will all work out in the end and that Stiles just needs to have a little faith.
Stiles thinks she full of shit, but Stiles is a nice enough person not to say so to her face.
*
Derek’s not typically an overly emotional person. He is good at compartmentalizing, good at being logical about things, about taking shit in stride.
But now, when he it needs it most, none of those facts hold true.
Instead he’s moody and brooding and surly as shit. And it’s over something so fucking stupid, so utterly pointless, that he can’t help but hate himself a little for it.
Because...
Look. You can never get a first kiss back.
And, stupid and pointless as it may be, Derek had plans for their first kiss. It’s not that Derek is super romantic or anything. He’s not. But. Stiles is super romantic, he’s into that long walks on the beach, sharing your feelings sort of thing. He’s the only man Derek has met who actually enjoys Nicholas Sparks. And Derek had wanted to do right by him.
So... yeah. Derek had plans for their first kiss. What, exactly, those plans entailed had changed dramatically over the years, because nine years is an awfully long time to think about something and there were bound to be changes, but there has always been a First Kiss Plan of some form or another. Even right at the start.
The current version starts at an upscale restaurant and features a very nice dinner, the sort with multiple courses and paired wines, followed by a dessert just covered in chocolate, because Stiles loves chocolate. Derek would say it was to share, but really he’d just drink a coffee and watch as Stiles licked his plate clean. There would be conversation and laughter and then, as they were leaving the restaurant, Derek would pause, turn towards Stiles, and take the other man’s face in his hands. He’d move in slowly, giving Stiles time to say no, but Stiles wouldn’t. Stiles would lick his lips and stare into his eyes and the kiss, when it came, would be perfect. It would be meaningful. Because Stiles would know what was behind it and Stiles would be accepting it, Stiles would moan into his mouth and taste like wine and meat and overly chocolatey dessert, and damn it all to fucking hell because that’s never going to happen now.
Of course, it was never going to happen to begin with, what with Stiles having long since decided that his life was better without Derek in it, but... but at least he had the dream. At least he had the fantasy about how it would happen, if it ever happened. And now he doesn’t even have that.
Instead he has Stiles’s heart beating so fast and his eyes clouded with confusion. He has Stiles’s breath catching in his throat and the way his whole body jerked when Derek’s lips touched his. He has Stiles standing perfectly still, not moving a muscle, while Derek licked and nipped at his mouth. And he has the sinking, terrible feeling in his gut, the ache that won’t go away. The feeling that comes from knowing that that was his one chance. That was it. And Stiles... didn’t even kiss him back.
And, yes, he’s knows it ridiculous for him to be in funk because his First Kiss Plan was bupkis and that the kiss he did get was... well... pretty par of the course, given the state of his relationship with Stiles, but still.
He’s allowed to be.
Because you can never get a first kiss back. And even though he ought to be focused on a thousand other things that are horrible and bad and wrong in his life, that’s the one that seems to matter the most.
Part 4
Part 5