Fic: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) (13/20)
Title: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 3k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)
Chapter 10: Dubious Consent (Or: Mother fudgesicles)
Chapter 11: Hurt/Comfort (Or: A sign from above, fate, and all that jazz)
Interlude
Chapter 12: Mixed Signals (Or: The light, it burns)
“Stiles.”
Stiles groaned and burrowed further into the sheets. Why was there so much light? Light was annoying. Light had no place in Stiles’ slumbers.
“Stiles, get up.”
That was Derek’s voice, wasn’t it? It sounded annoyed. Stiles wedged his arm up against his ear, so as to better block out the noise.
“Stiles.”
Something ripped the covers away from Stiles. No. This was terrible. How could Stiles sleep without covers? He pointed this out, very logically and rationally, by uttering a low-pitched whine.
Derek shoved him. “Check out is in ten-no, make that seven-minutes. We need to leave.”
“Wait, what?” Stiles said, eyes flying open as he scrambled to a sitting position. “Shit, what time is it? Dammit, Derek, why did you let me sleep so long?”
Derek merely rolled his eyes and dumped a pile of clothes in Stiles’ lap. “Get dressed, and meet me out front. I’m going to turn in the room key.”
“Wha-hey, where’s my stuff?” He could have sworn he had at least taken his backpack in the hotel room. And the donuts. And where had the change of clothes come from, anyway? Had Derek been rummaging through his belongings?
“I put it in the car,” Derek said, already halfway out the door. He paused and tossed an apple at Stiles’ head.
Stiles flailed outwards with his arms and just barely managed to catch it. “Party foul! You almost brained me with this.”
“Hurry up,” Derek said.
“Jerk!” Stiles yelled at the now-closed door, before taking a bite. It was actually pretty good, one of those fancy multicolored pink and yellow apples, Fuji or gala or something.
Stiles kept chewing as he discarded his old, smelly t-shirt and boxers and pulled on the replacement clothing Derek had dumped on him. He tossed the apple core in the trash by the bed, and was in the middle of checking the room for anything he might have missed, when there came a knocking on the front door.
Stiles scrambled to open it, only to see Derek standing outside, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow raised in judgement.
“You’re slow,” Derek said, before immediately turning down the hall towards the stairs to the parking lot.
“Yeah, well, you’re stupid,” Stiles mumbled, letting the door shut behind him after only a moment’s hesitation and trailing after Derek to where he’d parked. He probably hadn’t forgotten anything in the room. “And lame.”
Derek just unlocked the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. Stiles scrambled in next to him, tossing his dirty clothes into the back. He fastened his seatbelt as Derek navigated his way out of the parking lot.
Which was about all the time it took for things to get awkward.
“So,” Stiles said.
Derek stared grumpily at the road ahead.
“Did you sleep okay?” Stiles asked.
“Fine,” Derek said.
“Cool, cool. The chair wasn’t too uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“So how’s your head? Like, you don’t have a migraine, or anything?”
“It’s fine.”
“Well, that’s cool. I mean, I was kind of worried, because last time we were separated you told my dad you had a migraine, and we were definitely separated for longer this time.”
Dead silence.
“I’m okay though. In case you were wondering.”
Stiles shifted in his seat as Derek stared at the road ahead.
“It might be better for me because I slept through it, though. I don’t know. Did you sleep okay? I mean, you must have been up pretty early, since you put all our stuff in the car, and you grabbed an apple, though maybe you just beat up an old lady and stole it, how would I know?”
Okay, the silence was getting creepy now.
“I mean, if you were awake, you could have woken me up, too. You didn’t need to let me sleep in so late. We could have gotten an earlier start, or something.”
Derek sighed through his nose.
“But late is good! I mean, as long as we didn’t forget anything. Nice to have a lazy morning, right? I mean, checkout time at that hotel is sort of early, since most hotels let out at eleven, and your car clock is saying ten. Oh, crap, I forgot that your clock is off by an hour. Never mind.”
Stiles cleared his throat, but Derek was still staring impassively out at the traffic.
“So how about those Mets?” Stiles tried.
Derek twitched. “I’m more of a Yankees fan.”
Stiles gaped. “You take that back.”
“Maybe if the Mets could win against them.” And that was definitely the ghost of a smile, playing over Derek’s lips. Stiles mentally patted himself on the back.
“Oh, don’t you even front! They swept the Yankees last year. It’s just a matter of time before they reclaim their winning streak.”
Derek was openly smirking now, and Stiles grinned over at him. But when Derek’s eyes flicked over to meet Stiles’, his face fell, and he quickly turned back to the road, expression a blank mask.
“Derek-” Stiles bit his lip. There was really no way to not make this weird. “You have to be able to talk to me.”
Derek swallowed.
Stiles tracked the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“I mean, at a minimum, you need to tell me when I’m doing something you don’t like.” He managed a grin, before adding, “Such as, oh, I don’t know, talking incessantly?”
Derek cracked a smile at that and Stiles mentally fist pumped.
“Though, it’s going to be a really long five hours if I can’t spend them talking. Talking is my natural state, you don’t even know.”
“You were pretty quiet when you were sleeping,” Derek pointed out, an almost wistful expression on his face.
Stiles wanted to punch himself in the face, because if things had been normal between them, it would have been said with vindictive glee.
“Burn,” Stiles said anyway, and Derek flashed a hint of a smile before fading back to a vaguely pinched expression, his eyebrows drawn.
Stiles sighed. “Look, Derek, can we just…try to be normal?”
Derek actually snorted at that. “When have we ever been normal?”
“Well, okay, you have a point there. I just…” Stiles turned to stare out at the scenery outside the passenger window, as Derek turned onto the freeway onramp. “I want to be like before. Before I freaked out and accidentally married you. I liked it when you, you know, talked to me.”
Derek sighed audibly, and Stiles tried not to wince.
“Well,” Derek said, “maybe this will make you think twice about doing something without thinking about the consequences.”
Stiles did wince at that. He kept his eyes trained on the side view mirror, which was reflecting his face in all its constipated, guilt-stricken glory. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Derek said.
Stiles closed his eyes. Derek hadn’t sounded angry, exactly, but he hadn’t sounded like he had been filled with sunshine and butterflies, either.
“Okay,” Stiles said, after a long moment, his voice sticking in his throat. “Well, I’m just gonna, uh, shut up. For a bit. Don’t want you to strangle me before we get to Spokane, or something.”
There was a long moment of silence, and Stiles glanced over.
Derek didn’t look annoyed, really. He looked more tired. Sad. Defeated.
Stiles shifted in his seat before reaching over to turn on the radio. Derek didn’t react when he started scanning for stations, so Stiles settled for a classic rock station and settled back in his seat, mouthing along with Kansas and thinking about angels and their boyfriends driving down the freeway.
***
An hour later, Stiles’ stomach growled.
“When are we gonna stop for food?” Stiles asked.
“We’re not,” Derek said. “What happened to the apple I got you?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Um, I ate it before we left. Like two hours ago.”
Derek just sighed, like the drama queen he was.
“I don’t know why you didn’t get me a bagel or something,” Stiles continued. “You know, apples are nothing but fiber, water, and fructose and they break down pretty much instantly, so of course I’m freaking hungry. I probably spent more calories chewing than I consumed.”
“Eat a donut, then.”
Stiles frowned. “Come on, that’s not proper sustenance. That’s, like, happy making food. It’s for emergencies and late night snacks.”
Derek rolled his eyes, but didn’t turn away from watching the road.
“Ugh, fine,” Stiles said. “But only because you ate the one I wanted. Which means the rest are mine.” He turned to reach into the back, but the box was just beyond the reach of his fingertips. He grunted as he craned back, extending his reach.
He was almost there, his lower lip between his teeth and his fingers grazing the edge of the cardboard, when his dick twitched in his pants.
Stiles squawked and knocked the donut box onto the floor. Either he had some heretofore unknown donut fetish, or there was something weird going on.
But then Stiles tensed, every muscle freezing, as he realized that he was feeling through the bond again.
Why the hell was Derek getting turned on? Stiles glanced towards the front seat, and sure enough, the back of Derek’s neck and the tips of his ears were flushed pink.
Stiles straightened in his seat, adjusting his shirt to pull it back down over his stomach, when it hit him.
“Oh my god, you think I’m hot!”
Derek glowered at the road ahead, his hands clenching against the steering wheel.
Stiles stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. “You totally do!”
“No,” Derek snapped, and Stiles didn’t need werewolf senses to tell that he was lying.
Derek Hale thought he was hot. Stiles was going to have to redefine his whole worldview.
Stiles cleared his throat. “So you made it pretty clear that you don’t want to have sex with me, but I’d just assumed it was because you thought I was weird looking.”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“Come on! This is blowing my mind right now. You have to give me time to process. That you,” Stiles said, waving his hands emphatically in Derek’s direction, “are actually attracted to me. Stiles Stilinski, one hundred forty pounds-well, okay, closer to one fifty five now-pale, dorky, graceless, seventeen year old-”
“Yes, Stiles,” Derek growled, his fingers tightening further on the steering wheel. If he started gripping it any harder, Stiles worried that it would snap in half. “I’m aware that you’re a minor, but thanks for the reminder.”
“Whatever, that doesn’t even matter.”
Derek snuck a glance at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrow raised and looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“It doesn’t! Look, there are plenty of states where the legal age is seventeen or even sixteen. I’m not that young. Scott and Allison were doin’ it like freaking rabbits. You can’t tell me that I’m not allowed to touch your dick just because you’ve passed the magic eighteen year barrier.”
Derek growled, low in his throat.
“No, Stiles, you’re not allowed to touch my dick because I don’t want you to.”
Stiles flinched back at the harsh edge to Derek’s words. “Um.”
“Fuck.” Derek’s shoulders slumped and his stormy expression melted into something weary and sad. “I didn’t mean.”
“Right,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice light. “No, I mean, consent is important. It’s cool, I get it.”
“Stiles-”
Stiles took a long, slow breath before he spoke.
“Look,” Stiles said. “I don’t want to fuck up again.”
Derek glanced over at Stiles, just for a split second, before turning back to the road, but that was enough.
“I just-I don’t want you to stop talking to me, because I did something shitty and didn’t realize it. I don’t want-
“I don’t want you to think that bleeding out in a coyote trap in the woods, alone, is better than this.”
Derek blew out a sharp breath and flicked his turn signal before pulling onto the shoulder.
Stiles froze. “What are you doing?”
“I’m stopping,” Derek said, before turning off the car and flinging the door open before he’d even finished unfastening his seatbelt.
The door slammed shut with a crash and Derek stalked over to the front of the car, where he turned away from Stiles, knelt onto the ground, and buried his hands in his hair.
Stiles thought, without entirely meaning to.
Derek jerked back to look at him through the windshield before stumbling to his feet, hands balled into fists.
Derek threw his head back, staring up at the overcast sky, before his hands unclenched at his sides.
he said, dropping his head down to look straight at Stiles. He didn’t look upset anymore; his eyes were searching, flicking back and forth and up and down before locking with Stiles’ gaze.
Stiles swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth, and tried not to let his undercurrent of panicked thoughts leak through the bond to Derek.
Stiles blinked back at Derek, caught off guard by the request. When was the last time Derek had asked something, instead of just commanding it?
Stiles thought, and screwed his eyes shut.
***
Just under five minutes later, Stiles heard the click of the driver’s side door open.
“Thanks,” Derek said, not looking at Stiles. He slotted the key back in the ignition and checked his blind spot before pulling back out onto the freeway.
He looked strangely zen, centered and calm. Stiles couldn’t remember ever seeing that expression on his face before. Not in his proximity, anyway.
“So,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice casual.
From the way Derek side-eyed him, he wasn’t being very successful.
Stiles pushed forward, anyway. “Did you commune with your anchor, out there? You’re all…anchored up?”
Derek turned his head briefly, pinning Stiles with his gaze, before he turned back to the road. “Yes.”
“Cool.” Stiles frowned. “Wait, I thought your anchor was the pack.”
The corner of Derek’s mouth was curled up now, in just the hint of a smile, and Stiles just hoped he wasn’t going to jinx Derek’s current good mood.
Stiles wasn’t going to ruin the fragile peace. Nope. He was going to stay quiet, for once.
He wasn’t going to break the silence.
He was going to wait for Derek to say something first.
Derek wasn’t saying anything.
“You’re not going to freak out on me again, are you?” Stiles blurted. “Like, if I look at you wrong?”
Derek’s smirk grew, and Stiles resisted the urge to shrink back in his seat. “No guarantees.”
After a few moments of silence-which Derek seemed to be enjoying just fine, but which just left Stiles feeling itchy and restless-Derek cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and Stiles snapped up to stare at him. His smirk was gone. “This bond has been…difficult. For me.”
“I know,” Stiles said, once he had recovered from the shock that was Derek Hale, apologizing. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you freak out like that before, so.”
Derek’s mouth twitched. “Probably not.”
Stiles turned to stare out the passenger-side window. “You shouldn’t have to apologize. You’re not the one who fu-messed up.”
Derek remained silent, and Stiles spent a few minutes watching the trees pass by outside.
His stomach, though, had other plans, and grumbled audibly as they passed the turnoff for Walla Walla. Stiles started in his seat, suddenly reminded of the donuts in the backseat, now knocked onto the floor behind his chair.
When he craned back to look, though, it seemed like retrieving the box would either require him to remove his seatbelt, or to contort himself into some sort of pretzel. He made a half-hearted grab around the seat back, groaning when his fingers encountered empty air.
“We can stop,” Derek said. “If you want.”
“For food?” Stiles asked, whirling around and pulling his arm back against his chest.
“No, for hookers and booze,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.
Stiles settled back in his seat. “Yeah, I’d be up for some hookers.” He smirked over at Derek.
Derek was quiet for a moment. “So are you going to look it up on your phone, or what?”
“Right!” Stiles said, scrambling to extract his phone from his pocket. His face felt hot, but he refused to look in Derek’s direction to see if he’d noticed.
***
Stiles insisted that Derek come inside the Taco Bell with him, just to see the faces he would make. To his surprise, Derek ended up ordering a caramel apple empanada.
“What happened to ‘chemicals and despair’?” Stiles asked, biting into his quesarito with gusto.
“I like the caramel filling,” Derek said, and then proceeded to glare at Stiles for the duration of their meal.
Chapter 13: Magic Spells (Or: Like the oracle, but with fruit)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 3k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)
Chapter 10: Dubious Consent (Or: Mother fudgesicles)
Chapter 11: Hurt/Comfort (Or: A sign from above, fate, and all that jazz)
Interlude
Chapter 12: Mixed Signals (Or: The light, it burns)
“Stiles.”
Stiles groaned and burrowed further into the sheets. Why was there so much light? Light was annoying. Light had no place in Stiles’ slumbers.
“Stiles, get up.”
That was Derek’s voice, wasn’t it? It sounded annoyed. Stiles wedged his arm up against his ear, so as to better block out the noise.
“Stiles.”
Something ripped the covers away from Stiles. No. This was terrible. How could Stiles sleep without covers? He pointed this out, very logically and rationally, by uttering a low-pitched whine.
Derek shoved him. “Check out is in ten-no, make that seven-minutes. We need to leave.”
“Wait, what?” Stiles said, eyes flying open as he scrambled to a sitting position. “Shit, what time is it? Dammit, Derek, why did you let me sleep so long?”
Derek merely rolled his eyes and dumped a pile of clothes in Stiles’ lap. “Get dressed, and meet me out front. I’m going to turn in the room key.”
“Wha-hey, where’s my stuff?” He could have sworn he had at least taken his backpack in the hotel room. And the donuts. And where had the change of clothes come from, anyway? Had Derek been rummaging through his belongings?
“I put it in the car,” Derek said, already halfway out the door. He paused and tossed an apple at Stiles’ head.
Stiles flailed outwards with his arms and just barely managed to catch it. “Party foul! You almost brained me with this.”
“Hurry up,” Derek said.
“Jerk!” Stiles yelled at the now-closed door, before taking a bite. It was actually pretty good, one of those fancy multicolored pink and yellow apples, Fuji or gala or something.
Stiles kept chewing as he discarded his old, smelly t-shirt and boxers and pulled on the replacement clothing Derek had dumped on him. He tossed the apple core in the trash by the bed, and was in the middle of checking the room for anything he might have missed, when there came a knocking on the front door.
Stiles scrambled to open it, only to see Derek standing outside, arms folded across his chest and one eyebrow raised in judgement.
“You’re slow,” Derek said, before immediately turning down the hall towards the stairs to the parking lot.
“Yeah, well, you’re stupid,” Stiles mumbled, letting the door shut behind him after only a moment’s hesitation and trailing after Derek to where he’d parked. He probably hadn’t forgotten anything in the room. “And lame.”
Derek just unlocked the car and slipped into the driver’s seat. Stiles scrambled in next to him, tossing his dirty clothes into the back. He fastened his seatbelt as Derek navigated his way out of the parking lot.
Which was about all the time it took for things to get awkward.
“So,” Stiles said.
Derek stared grumpily at the road ahead.
“Did you sleep okay?” Stiles asked.
“Fine,” Derek said.
“Cool, cool. The chair wasn’t too uncomfortable?”
“No.”
“So how’s your head? Like, you don’t have a migraine, or anything?”
“It’s fine.”
“Well, that’s cool. I mean, I was kind of worried, because last time we were separated you told my dad you had a migraine, and we were definitely separated for longer this time.”
Dead silence.
“I’m okay though. In case you were wondering.”
Stiles shifted in his seat as Derek stared at the road ahead.
“It might be better for me because I slept through it, though. I don’t know. Did you sleep okay? I mean, you must have been up pretty early, since you put all our stuff in the car, and you grabbed an apple, though maybe you just beat up an old lady and stole it, how would I know?”
Okay, the silence was getting creepy now.
“I mean, if you were awake, you could have woken me up, too. You didn’t need to let me sleep in so late. We could have gotten an earlier start, or something.”
Derek sighed through his nose.
“But late is good! I mean, as long as we didn’t forget anything. Nice to have a lazy morning, right? I mean, checkout time at that hotel is sort of early, since most hotels let out at eleven, and your car clock is saying ten. Oh, crap, I forgot that your clock is off by an hour. Never mind.”
Stiles cleared his throat, but Derek was still staring impassively out at the traffic.
“So how about those Mets?” Stiles tried.
Derek twitched. “I’m more of a Yankees fan.”
Stiles gaped. “You take that back.”
“Maybe if the Mets could win against them.” And that was definitely the ghost of a smile, playing over Derek’s lips. Stiles mentally patted himself on the back.
“Oh, don’t you even front! They swept the Yankees last year. It’s just a matter of time before they reclaim their winning streak.”
Derek was openly smirking now, and Stiles grinned over at him. But when Derek’s eyes flicked over to meet Stiles’, his face fell, and he quickly turned back to the road, expression a blank mask.
“Derek-” Stiles bit his lip. There was really no way to not make this weird. “You have to be able to talk to me.”
Derek swallowed.
Stiles tracked the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“I mean, at a minimum, you need to tell me when I’m doing something you don’t like.” He managed a grin, before adding, “Such as, oh, I don’t know, talking incessantly?”
Derek cracked a smile at that and Stiles mentally fist pumped.
“Though, it’s going to be a really long five hours if I can’t spend them talking. Talking is my natural state, you don’t even know.”
“You were pretty quiet when you were sleeping,” Derek pointed out, an almost wistful expression on his face.
Stiles wanted to punch himself in the face, because if things had been normal between them, it would have been said with vindictive glee.
“Burn,” Stiles said anyway, and Derek flashed a hint of a smile before fading back to a vaguely pinched expression, his eyebrows drawn.
Stiles sighed. “Look, Derek, can we just…try to be normal?”
Derek actually snorted at that. “When have we ever been normal?”
“Well, okay, you have a point there. I just…” Stiles turned to stare out at the scenery outside the passenger window, as Derek turned onto the freeway onramp. “I want to be like before. Before I freaked out and accidentally married you. I liked it when you, you know, talked to me.”
Derek sighed audibly, and Stiles tried not to wince.
“Well,” Derek said, “maybe this will make you think twice about doing something without thinking about the consequences.”
Stiles did wince at that. He kept his eyes trained on the side view mirror, which was reflecting his face in all its constipated, guilt-stricken glory. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Derek said.
Stiles closed his eyes. Derek hadn’t sounded angry, exactly, but he hadn’t sounded like he had been filled with sunshine and butterflies, either.
“Okay,” Stiles said, after a long moment, his voice sticking in his throat. “Well, I’m just gonna, uh, shut up. For a bit. Don’t want you to strangle me before we get to Spokane, or something.”
There was a long moment of silence, and Stiles glanced over.
Derek didn’t look annoyed, really. He looked more tired. Sad. Defeated.
Stiles shifted in his seat before reaching over to turn on the radio. Derek didn’t react when he started scanning for stations, so Stiles settled for a classic rock station and settled back in his seat, mouthing along with Kansas and thinking about angels and their boyfriends driving down the freeway.
***
An hour later, Stiles’ stomach growled.
“When are we gonna stop for food?” Stiles asked.
“We’re not,” Derek said. “What happened to the apple I got you?”
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Um, I ate it before we left. Like two hours ago.”
Derek just sighed, like the drama queen he was.
“I don’t know why you didn’t get me a bagel or something,” Stiles continued. “You know, apples are nothing but fiber, water, and fructose and they break down pretty much instantly, so of course I’m freaking hungry. I probably spent more calories chewing than I consumed.”
“Eat a donut, then.”
Stiles frowned. “Come on, that’s not proper sustenance. That’s, like, happy making food. It’s for emergencies and late night snacks.”
Derek rolled his eyes, but didn’t turn away from watching the road.
“Ugh, fine,” Stiles said. “But only because you ate the one I wanted. Which means the rest are mine.” He turned to reach into the back, but the box was just beyond the reach of his fingertips. He grunted as he craned back, extending his reach.
He was almost there, his lower lip between his teeth and his fingers grazing the edge of the cardboard, when his dick twitched in his pants.
Stiles squawked and knocked the donut box onto the floor. Either he had some heretofore unknown donut fetish, or there was something weird going on.
But then Stiles tensed, every muscle freezing, as he realized that he was feeling through the bond again.
Why the hell was Derek getting turned on? Stiles glanced towards the front seat, and sure enough, the back of Derek’s neck and the tips of his ears were flushed pink.
Stiles straightened in his seat, adjusting his shirt to pull it back down over his stomach, when it hit him.
“Oh my god, you think I’m hot!”
Derek glowered at the road ahead, his hands clenching against the steering wheel.
Stiles stared at him in open-mouthed amazement. “You totally do!”
“No,” Derek snapped, and Stiles didn’t need werewolf senses to tell that he was lying.
Derek Hale thought he was hot. Stiles was going to have to redefine his whole worldview.
Stiles cleared his throat. “So you made it pretty clear that you don’t want to have sex with me, but I’d just assumed it was because you thought I was weird looking.”
“We’re not having this conversation.”
“Come on! This is blowing my mind right now. You have to give me time to process. That you,” Stiles said, waving his hands emphatically in Derek’s direction, “are actually attracted to me. Stiles Stilinski, one hundred forty pounds-well, okay, closer to one fifty five now-pale, dorky, graceless, seventeen year old-”
“Yes, Stiles,” Derek growled, his fingers tightening further on the steering wheel. If he started gripping it any harder, Stiles worried that it would snap in half. “I’m aware that you’re a minor, but thanks for the reminder.”
“Whatever, that doesn’t even matter.”
Derek snuck a glance at him out of the corner of his eye, eyebrow raised and looking thoroughly unimpressed.
“It doesn’t! Look, there are plenty of states where the legal age is seventeen or even sixteen. I’m not that young. Scott and Allison were doin’ it like freaking rabbits. You can’t tell me that I’m not allowed to touch your dick just because you’ve passed the magic eighteen year barrier.”
Derek growled, low in his throat.
“No, Stiles, you’re not allowed to touch my dick because I don’t want you to.”
Stiles flinched back at the harsh edge to Derek’s words. “Um.”
“Fuck.” Derek’s shoulders slumped and his stormy expression melted into something weary and sad. “I didn’t mean.”
“Right,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice light. “No, I mean, consent is important. It’s cool, I get it.”
“Stiles-”
Stiles took a long, slow breath before he spoke.
“Look,” Stiles said. “I don’t want to fuck up again.”
Derek glanced over at Stiles, just for a split second, before turning back to the road, but that was enough.
“I just-I don’t want you to stop talking to me, because I did something shitty and didn’t realize it. I don’t want-
“I don’t want you to think that bleeding out in a coyote trap in the woods, alone, is better than this.”
Derek blew out a sharp breath and flicked his turn signal before pulling onto the shoulder.
Stiles froze. “What are you doing?”
“I’m stopping,” Derek said, before turning off the car and flinging the door open before he’d even finished unfastening his seatbelt.
The door slammed shut with a crash and Derek stalked over to the front of the car, where he turned away from Stiles, knelt onto the ground, and buried his hands in his hair.
Stiles thought, without entirely meaning to.
Derek jerked back to look at him through the windshield before stumbling to his feet, hands balled into fists.
Derek threw his head back, staring up at the overcast sky, before his hands unclenched at his sides.
he said, dropping his head down to look straight at Stiles. He didn’t look upset anymore; his eyes were searching, flicking back and forth and up and down before locking with Stiles’ gaze.
Stiles swallowed, his tongue thick in his mouth, and tried not to let his undercurrent of panicked thoughts leak through the bond to Derek.
Stiles blinked back at Derek, caught off guard by the request. When was the last time Derek had asked something, instead of just commanding it?
Stiles thought, and screwed his eyes shut.
***
Just under five minutes later, Stiles heard the click of the driver’s side door open.
“Thanks,” Derek said, not looking at Stiles. He slotted the key back in the ignition and checked his blind spot before pulling back out onto the freeway.
He looked strangely zen, centered and calm. Stiles couldn’t remember ever seeing that expression on his face before. Not in his proximity, anyway.
“So,” Stiles said, trying to keep his voice casual.
From the way Derek side-eyed him, he wasn’t being very successful.
Stiles pushed forward, anyway. “Did you commune with your anchor, out there? You’re all…anchored up?”
Derek turned his head briefly, pinning Stiles with his gaze, before he turned back to the road. “Yes.”
“Cool.” Stiles frowned. “Wait, I thought your anchor was the pack.”
The corner of Derek’s mouth was curled up now, in just the hint of a smile, and Stiles just hoped he wasn’t going to jinx Derek’s current good mood.
Stiles wasn’t going to ruin the fragile peace. Nope. He was going to stay quiet, for once.
He wasn’t going to break the silence.
He was going to wait for Derek to say something first.
Derek wasn’t saying anything.
“You’re not going to freak out on me again, are you?” Stiles blurted. “Like, if I look at you wrong?”
Derek’s smirk grew, and Stiles resisted the urge to shrink back in his seat. “No guarantees.”
After a few moments of silence-which Derek seemed to be enjoying just fine, but which just left Stiles feeling itchy and restless-Derek cleared his throat.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said, and Stiles snapped up to stare at him. His smirk was gone. “This bond has been…difficult. For me.”
“I know,” Stiles said, once he had recovered from the shock that was Derek Hale, apologizing. “I’m pretty sure I’ve never seen you freak out like that before, so.”
Derek’s mouth twitched. “Probably not.”
Stiles turned to stare out the passenger-side window. “You shouldn’t have to apologize. You’re not the one who fu-messed up.”
Derek remained silent, and Stiles spent a few minutes watching the trees pass by outside.
His stomach, though, had other plans, and grumbled audibly as they passed the turnoff for Walla Walla. Stiles started in his seat, suddenly reminded of the donuts in the backseat, now knocked onto the floor behind his chair.
When he craned back to look, though, it seemed like retrieving the box would either require him to remove his seatbelt, or to contort himself into some sort of pretzel. He made a half-hearted grab around the seat back, groaning when his fingers encountered empty air.
“We can stop,” Derek said. “If you want.”
“For food?” Stiles asked, whirling around and pulling his arm back against his chest.
“No, for hookers and booze,” Derek said, rolling his eyes.
Stiles settled back in his seat. “Yeah, I’d be up for some hookers.” He smirked over at Derek.
Derek was quiet for a moment. “So are you going to look it up on your phone, or what?”
“Right!” Stiles said, scrambling to extract his phone from his pocket. His face felt hot, but he refused to look in Derek’s direction to see if he’d noticed.
***
Stiles insisted that Derek come inside the Taco Bell with him, just to see the faces he would make. To his surprise, Derek ended up ordering a caramel apple empanada.
“What happened to ‘chemicals and despair’?” Stiles asked, biting into his quesarito with gusto.
“I like the caramel filling,” Derek said, and then proceeded to glare at Stiles for the duration of their meal.
Chapter 13: Magic Spells (Or: Like the oracle, but with fruit)