Fic: we crave a different kind || Stiles/Derek || PG-13
Author: marishna
Title: we crave a different kind
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Derek
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Laura, Malia
Summary: "Right. Your boring, safe life. Sheltered here at the den where you never have to risk anything." Derek was starting to get angry with the way Laura was talking about him, like he was some kind of shut-in who never saw the light of day but she kept talking. "I challenge you, Derek Hale. The conference is ending tomorrow and everyone will be leaving. I want you to go out tonight, to the bar around the corner I told you about. Have a drink, talk to some people."
Warnings: None
Content Notes: None
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2150-ish
Prompt: 184 - royal
Author's Notes: Inspired by the idea of "the heir and the spare". If I can roll the idea around a little bit more this could turn into something longer.
"How's the conference?" Laura asked, her voice a bit muffled over the phone.
Derek shrugged even though she couldn't see him. "Boring."
"That's why I suggested you go," Laura laughed in reply.
"Bitch," Derek sighed but he was smiling.
"Seen any of the sights? If I recall from my last visit there's a great bar around the corner from the hotel," Laura said.
Derek blinked. "But I'm here for the conference."
Laura laughed. "Derek. The whole point of the conference is inter-pack relations and to make allies. Know where a lot of those relationships are made?"
"Outside the conference," Derek sighed.
"Outside the conference," Laura repeated and Derek could tell the look she was giving him without even seeing her. "You're the spare, Der-bear. You're supposed to blow these things off and go wild."
"I don't 'go wild', Laura," Derek replied flatly. Laura's reply was a long, loud groan.
"Don't I know it. Jesus, Derek, I did worse things than you have and I'm the next alpha. Haven't you learned anything from the human royal family?"
Derek frowned. "What? I should go to Vegas and literally show my ass?"
It was Laura's turn to sigh. "No, you should go have some fun. You should be doing things that I can't anymore. You should find someone there and fuck their brains out. At least make out with someone? Get caught up in a potentially scandalous situation!"
"Mom would kill me," Derek replied, uncomfortable at the thought of bringing negative attention to his family.
"No she wouldn't, and you know it. You're the only boy in the family so she babies you and even if she'll never tell you to your face she's worried you're not actually living."
Derek stiffened. "I like my life, thank you."
"Right. Your boring, safe life. Sheltered here at the den where you never have to risk anything." Derek was starting to get angry with the way Laura was talking about him, like he was some kind of shut-in who never saw the light of day but she kept talking. "I challenge you, Derek Hale. The conference is ending tomorrow and everyone will be leaving. I want you to go out tonight, to the bar around the corner I told you about. Have a drink, talk to some people."
"You can't order me around like this Laura," Derek said in an annoyed tone.
"You're right, I can't. But you don't want to come off snobby or rude as the delegate from the Hale pack, do you?" Laura returned and this time Derek knew she was grinning. She knew he would never want to put the pack in a negative light and dug the knife in.
"Fine," he ground out between clenched teeth.
"Good!" Laura chirped. "And remember, you're having fun. Dress like it."
And just like that she hung up on Derek, leaving him with empty air to growl at.
***
Just as Laura said the bar was around the corner. It was, to Derek, obviously supernatural and so it was warded and charmed to appear unassuming to regular humans or even repel them in cases of extreme curiosity. The bouncer standing outside was a werewolf but he smelled of magic when Derek approached so he was probably glamoured to appear as a homeless person or something equally as unappealing to someone not in the know.
Derek approached the door and was fishing out his wallet, prepared to show his ID, but the were inclined his head and murmured, "Mr. Hale" respectfully before stepping aside to let him in.
"Thanks," Derek muttered back, He liked staying under the radar because of the benefit of general anonymity. At events like this everyone knew who he was and who his family was and their story.
The Hale pack was one of the oldest in werewolf history, dating back to the early days of California settlement. He was born in Beacon Hills, north of where the conference was being held in San Francisco. Just prior to his birth his family was instrumental in the signing of an accord between California packs and the official affiliation of Hunters that would become the basis of a national blanket treaty between the two warring groups.
That didn't mean there weren't rogue werewolves and hunters alike who went off script and tried to fight the law. Threats from such renegade hunters caused the Hale pack relocated to New York following negotiations with some smaller packs there. The Hale pack took over the area and absorbed the smaller packs into their family, making them one of the largest packs in the United States-which only drew a bigger target on their backs from the hunters who, to this day, fought the law.
Growing up with such a storied history surrounding his birth didn't make Derek feel any pride in what his family accomplished, contrary to what some werewolves who didn't know him thought. The Hale pack was the closest thing werewolves had to royalty in the States but instead of feeling special often times Derek just felt exhausted.
Even though he was never going to be alpha he felt a duty to his family to always be on guard, presenting the best possible face to the public because all eyes were on them. And as the only son of the family he knew how people spoke about who he'd pick as a mate and the women and men both who were eager to prove themselves capable.
Again, exhausting.
As soon as he stepped into the bar he was overwhelmed by scents, of all creature-base. He looked around and recognized some of the other pack delegates. He nodded to them as he passed their tables on his way to the bar and they acknowledged him back.
He took a seat at the bar, at the end out of direct sight from the door but so he could still see who was around him. He ordered a wolfsbane infused beer and sipped it slowly, fulfilling Laura's demand that he go out. Once he was done his drink he could leave without lying to her.
"Scott! Scotty!" Derek turned his head at the loud voice yelling over the din of the bar, trying to catch the attention of someone else. Out of the corner of his eye Derek could see some guy hanging out of what looked like a photo booth by the hall to the bathrooms.
"Scott!" The guy hollered again and stepped out of the booth. He was a tall, gangly one who was either drunk or hadn't yet learned how to use all his limbs properly because he practically fell out of the booth, stumbled over his feet and flailed knowing he was going to hit the floor. Derek was off his stool and caught him around the waist, putting him back upright before he realized he was moving.
"Whoa," the guy mumbled, shaking his head before he looked up at Derek. "Sor... ry."
"Pardon?" Derek asked stiffly.
The guy shook his head again. "Sorry, sorry! Thanks for the save, I was sure I was gonna get a bloody nose out of that one."
Derek nodded while sniffing discretely. The guy, who could have easily been a teenager in a pair or cargo pants, a t-shirt and a unbuttoned plaid shirt over it, didn't smell like a wolf but Derek couldn't place what he was.
"Emissary," the guy said, grinning widely and whiskey colored eyes practically twinkling. Derek blinked, surprised, and the guy's grin only got bigger. "Been around you guys long enough to know the routine."
"Oh," was all Derek said, then he cleared his throat. "What pack do you represent?"
"McCall, out of Beacon Hills. I'm Stiles, by the way," the guy, Stiles, stuck his hand out freely and without any of the formality that usually accompanies pack introductions, especially with an emissary.
"Derek," he replied slowly, shaking Stiles' hand. He was going to say his full name but something about the way Stiles was looking at him, as if he didn't know who Derek was, made him want to see if it was possible he didn't which seemed impossible considering where he was from.
"So... yeah," Stiles said, still with a small smile playing on his lips. He looked down and that's when Derek realized he was still holding Stiles' hand, shaking it. Derek reddened and dropped Stiles' hand hastily, apologizing. "No problem," Stiles said, brushing it off. "I never mind a hot guy holding my hand."
Derek froze and his mind went blank. Was that a come on? Was he being hit on by Stiles? Did he need to say something? What in the hell was he supposed to say to that?
Stiles nodded and shrugged. "Was worth a try. Thanks for the save, Derek. See you around!"
Stiles turned to leave, obviously interpreting Derek's silence and probably stunned look as rejection. He took two steps before Derek reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping Stiles in his tracks. He looked back with a raised eyebrow.
Go wild! Derek heard Laura shout in his head so he gave Stiles what he hoped was an easy smile and tugged his hand lightly to pull him back.
"I'm, uh, not used to people being so forward with me," Derek said by way of apology.
Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe. Maybe you just don't notice it. You do have a pretty 'fuck off' glower about you."
Derek blinked. "Are you for real?"
Stiles grinned and shrugged. "Buy you a drink?" Derek nodded to the bar where his beer was. "Okay, buy me a drink?"
"Your alpha won't mind?" Derek asked lightly, ever-aware of pack politics.
Stiles snorted and Derek took that as a no. They sat at the bar and Derek couldn't help but notice how Stiles' long legs practically wrapped around the stool and Derek's mind went -well. If Stiles were looking at him instead of trying to flag down the bartender he probably would have blushed again.
He ordered some cocktail with a straw and an umbrella and looked ridiculously pleased with himself. Derek watched Stiles pull the cherry out of his drink and half expected him to pop the whole thing in his mouth, then present him with a knotted stem but it was enough to watch his mouth move, the moles on his skin dancing as he chewed.
"Anyone tell you it's rude to stare?" Stiles asked without looking up.
Derek was taken off guard let out a loud bark of laughter that drew Stiles' eyes to him. "Sorry," Derek said. "People don't..." He wasn't sure how to finish the sentence without revealing who he was.
"I'm not like most people," Stiles replied, turning his whole body to face Derek.
"Clearly," Derek said dryly. "How are you an emissary?"
Stiles shrugged. "Natural talent."
Derek could tell there was more to it than that. This guy, this Stiles from Beacon Hills, wasn't just unlike anyone he'd ever met, but unlike any other emissary Derek knew or heard of. Usually emissaries were more like negotiators, were to guide and balance a pack. Derek couldn't imagine anything ever being calm with Stiles around. He obviously knew how to casually evade a question without lying, and that only made Derek more intrigued.
"Your pack-" Derek started but he was cut off when a girl, another werewolf, rushed up to them and grabbed Stiles' arm.
"Malia?" Stiles asked.
"Scott needs you," Malia said quickly, eyes darting to Derek but otherwise ignoring him. Derek could smell a hint of anxiety mixed in with anger and an itch to fight. Stiles nodded and she hurried off, disappearing into the crowd that seemed otherwise unaware of any danger.
"Everything okay?" Derek asked, genuinely concerned.
Stiles nodded again. "Should be." He reached for his wallet but Derek reached out and put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"On me, remember?"
Stiles spared a brilliant smile and hurried off the same direction Malia went. Derek watched him go and felt a pang of disappointment, which surprised him. He wanted to know more about Stiles the emissary from Beacon Hills.
Derek sighed and figured his attempt at being social was over and was getting ready to put money on the bar for the drinks when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Derek's head snapped up, ready to snarl at whoever was touching him, but it was Stiles.
Without saying a word Stiles leaned in and kissed Derek on the mouth, cupping his cheeks with both hands to hold him in place. As he pulled away he licked Derek's lips, almost wolf-like, and murmured, "I was gonna regret not doing that."
And then like that he was gone again, this time for good.
Title: we crave a different kind
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Stiles/Derek
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Laura, Malia
Summary: "Right. Your boring, safe life. Sheltered here at the den where you never have to risk anything." Derek was starting to get angry with the way Laura was talking about him, like he was some kind of shut-in who never saw the light of day but she kept talking. "I challenge you, Derek Hale. The conference is ending tomorrow and everyone will be leaving. I want you to go out tonight, to the bar around the corner I told you about. Have a drink, talk to some people."
Warnings: None
Content Notes: None
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 2150-ish
Prompt: 184 - royal
Author's Notes: Inspired by the idea of "the heir and the spare". If I can roll the idea around a little bit more this could turn into something longer.
"How's the conference?" Laura asked, her voice a bit muffled over the phone.
Derek shrugged even though she couldn't see him. "Boring."
"That's why I suggested you go," Laura laughed in reply.
"Bitch," Derek sighed but he was smiling.
"Seen any of the sights? If I recall from my last visit there's a great bar around the corner from the hotel," Laura said.
Derek blinked. "But I'm here for the conference."
Laura laughed. "Derek. The whole point of the conference is inter-pack relations and to make allies. Know where a lot of those relationships are made?"
"Outside the conference," Derek sighed.
"Outside the conference," Laura repeated and Derek could tell the look she was giving him without even seeing her. "You're the spare, Der-bear. You're supposed to blow these things off and go wild."
"I don't 'go wild', Laura," Derek replied flatly. Laura's reply was a long, loud groan.
"Don't I know it. Jesus, Derek, I did worse things than you have and I'm the next alpha. Haven't you learned anything from the human royal family?"
Derek frowned. "What? I should go to Vegas and literally show my ass?"
It was Laura's turn to sigh. "No, you should go have some fun. You should be doing things that I can't anymore. You should find someone there and fuck their brains out. At least make out with someone? Get caught up in a potentially scandalous situation!"
"Mom would kill me," Derek replied, uncomfortable at the thought of bringing negative attention to his family.
"No she wouldn't, and you know it. You're the only boy in the family so she babies you and even if she'll never tell you to your face she's worried you're not actually living."
Derek stiffened. "I like my life, thank you."
"Right. Your boring, safe life. Sheltered here at the den where you never have to risk anything." Derek was starting to get angry with the way Laura was talking about him, like he was some kind of shut-in who never saw the light of day but she kept talking. "I challenge you, Derek Hale. The conference is ending tomorrow and everyone will be leaving. I want you to go out tonight, to the bar around the corner I told you about. Have a drink, talk to some people."
"You can't order me around like this Laura," Derek said in an annoyed tone.
"You're right, I can't. But you don't want to come off snobby or rude as the delegate from the Hale pack, do you?" Laura returned and this time Derek knew she was grinning. She knew he would never want to put the pack in a negative light and dug the knife in.
"Fine," he ground out between clenched teeth.
"Good!" Laura chirped. "And remember, you're having fun. Dress like it."
And just like that she hung up on Derek, leaving him with empty air to growl at.
***
Just as Laura said the bar was around the corner. It was, to Derek, obviously supernatural and so it was warded and charmed to appear unassuming to regular humans or even repel them in cases of extreme curiosity. The bouncer standing outside was a werewolf but he smelled of magic when Derek approached so he was probably glamoured to appear as a homeless person or something equally as unappealing to someone not in the know.
Derek approached the door and was fishing out his wallet, prepared to show his ID, but the were inclined his head and murmured, "Mr. Hale" respectfully before stepping aside to let him in.
"Thanks," Derek muttered back, He liked staying under the radar because of the benefit of general anonymity. At events like this everyone knew who he was and who his family was and their story.
The Hale pack was one of the oldest in werewolf history, dating back to the early days of California settlement. He was born in Beacon Hills, north of where the conference was being held in San Francisco. Just prior to his birth his family was instrumental in the signing of an accord between California packs and the official affiliation of Hunters that would become the basis of a national blanket treaty between the two warring groups.
That didn't mean there weren't rogue werewolves and hunters alike who went off script and tried to fight the law. Threats from such renegade hunters caused the Hale pack relocated to New York following negotiations with some smaller packs there. The Hale pack took over the area and absorbed the smaller packs into their family, making them one of the largest packs in the United States-which only drew a bigger target on their backs from the hunters who, to this day, fought the law.
Growing up with such a storied history surrounding his birth didn't make Derek feel any pride in what his family accomplished, contrary to what some werewolves who didn't know him thought. The Hale pack was the closest thing werewolves had to royalty in the States but instead of feeling special often times Derek just felt exhausted.
Even though he was never going to be alpha he felt a duty to his family to always be on guard, presenting the best possible face to the public because all eyes were on them. And as the only son of the family he knew how people spoke about who he'd pick as a mate and the women and men both who were eager to prove themselves capable.
Again, exhausting.
As soon as he stepped into the bar he was overwhelmed by scents, of all creature-base. He looked around and recognized some of the other pack delegates. He nodded to them as he passed their tables on his way to the bar and they acknowledged him back.
He took a seat at the bar, at the end out of direct sight from the door but so he could still see who was around him. He ordered a wolfsbane infused beer and sipped it slowly, fulfilling Laura's demand that he go out. Once he was done his drink he could leave without lying to her.
"Scott! Scotty!" Derek turned his head at the loud voice yelling over the din of the bar, trying to catch the attention of someone else. Out of the corner of his eye Derek could see some guy hanging out of what looked like a photo booth by the hall to the bathrooms.
"Scott!" The guy hollered again and stepped out of the booth. He was a tall, gangly one who was either drunk or hadn't yet learned how to use all his limbs properly because he practically fell out of the booth, stumbled over his feet and flailed knowing he was going to hit the floor. Derek was off his stool and caught him around the waist, putting him back upright before he realized he was moving.
"Whoa," the guy mumbled, shaking his head before he looked up at Derek. "Sor... ry."
"Pardon?" Derek asked stiffly.
The guy shook his head again. "Sorry, sorry! Thanks for the save, I was sure I was gonna get a bloody nose out of that one."
Derek nodded while sniffing discretely. The guy, who could have easily been a teenager in a pair or cargo pants, a t-shirt and a unbuttoned plaid shirt over it, didn't smell like a wolf but Derek couldn't place what he was.
"Emissary," the guy said, grinning widely and whiskey colored eyes practically twinkling. Derek blinked, surprised, and the guy's grin only got bigger. "Been around you guys long enough to know the routine."
"Oh," was all Derek said, then he cleared his throat. "What pack do you represent?"
"McCall, out of Beacon Hills. I'm Stiles, by the way," the guy, Stiles, stuck his hand out freely and without any of the formality that usually accompanies pack introductions, especially with an emissary.
"Derek," he replied slowly, shaking Stiles' hand. He was going to say his full name but something about the way Stiles was looking at him, as if he didn't know who Derek was, made him want to see if it was possible he didn't which seemed impossible considering where he was from.
"So... yeah," Stiles said, still with a small smile playing on his lips. He looked down and that's when Derek realized he was still holding Stiles' hand, shaking it. Derek reddened and dropped Stiles' hand hastily, apologizing. "No problem," Stiles said, brushing it off. "I never mind a hot guy holding my hand."
Derek froze and his mind went blank. Was that a come on? Was he being hit on by Stiles? Did he need to say something? What in the hell was he supposed to say to that?
Stiles nodded and shrugged. "Was worth a try. Thanks for the save, Derek. See you around!"
Stiles turned to leave, obviously interpreting Derek's silence and probably stunned look as rejection. He took two steps before Derek reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping Stiles in his tracks. He looked back with a raised eyebrow.
Go wild! Derek heard Laura shout in his head so he gave Stiles what he hoped was an easy smile and tugged his hand lightly to pull him back.
"I'm, uh, not used to people being so forward with me," Derek said by way of apology.
Stiles raised an eyebrow. "I find that hard to believe. Maybe you just don't notice it. You do have a pretty 'fuck off' glower about you."
Derek blinked. "Are you for real?"
Stiles grinned and shrugged. "Buy you a drink?" Derek nodded to the bar where his beer was. "Okay, buy me a drink?"
"Your alpha won't mind?" Derek asked lightly, ever-aware of pack politics.
Stiles snorted and Derek took that as a no. They sat at the bar and Derek couldn't help but notice how Stiles' long legs practically wrapped around the stool and Derek's mind went -well. If Stiles were looking at him instead of trying to flag down the bartender he probably would have blushed again.
He ordered some cocktail with a straw and an umbrella and looked ridiculously pleased with himself. Derek watched Stiles pull the cherry out of his drink and half expected him to pop the whole thing in his mouth, then present him with a knotted stem but it was enough to watch his mouth move, the moles on his skin dancing as he chewed.
"Anyone tell you it's rude to stare?" Stiles asked without looking up.
Derek was taken off guard let out a loud bark of laughter that drew Stiles' eyes to him. "Sorry," Derek said. "People don't..." He wasn't sure how to finish the sentence without revealing who he was.
"I'm not like most people," Stiles replied, turning his whole body to face Derek.
"Clearly," Derek said dryly. "How are you an emissary?"
Stiles shrugged. "Natural talent."
Derek could tell there was more to it than that. This guy, this Stiles from Beacon Hills, wasn't just unlike anyone he'd ever met, but unlike any other emissary Derek knew or heard of. Usually emissaries were more like negotiators, were to guide and balance a pack. Derek couldn't imagine anything ever being calm with Stiles around. He obviously knew how to casually evade a question without lying, and that only made Derek more intrigued.
"Your pack-" Derek started but he was cut off when a girl, another werewolf, rushed up to them and grabbed Stiles' arm.
"Malia?" Stiles asked.
"Scott needs you," Malia said quickly, eyes darting to Derek but otherwise ignoring him. Derek could smell a hint of anxiety mixed in with anger and an itch to fight. Stiles nodded and she hurried off, disappearing into the crowd that seemed otherwise unaware of any danger.
"Everything okay?" Derek asked, genuinely concerned.
Stiles nodded again. "Should be." He reached for his wallet but Derek reached out and put a hand on his arm to stop him.
"On me, remember?"
Stiles spared a brilliant smile and hurried off the same direction Malia went. Derek watched him go and felt a pang of disappointment, which surprised him. He wanted to know more about Stiles the emissary from Beacon Hills.
Derek sighed and figured his attempt at being social was over and was getting ready to put money on the bar for the drinks when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Derek's head snapped up, ready to snarl at whoever was touching him, but it was Stiles.
Without saying a word Stiles leaned in and kissed Derek on the mouth, cupping his cheeks with both hands to hold him in place. As he pulled away he licked Derek's lips, almost wolf-like, and murmured, "I was gonna regret not doing that."
And then like that he was gone again, this time for good.