Fic: belly rubs and secrets
Author: tryslora
Title: belly rubs and secrets
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Laura
Summary: Derek doesn’t mean to start talking to the cat.
Warnings: None
Content Notes: AU (met in NYC) but canon known past death events (Hale fire, Paige).
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 3,748 words
Prompt: #351 - Lost
Author's Notes: I started with the idea of Derek being emotionally lost, needing to talk to someone. Then I added in this prompt and the whole story came together. And now, maybe, Derek is a little more found.
Derek doesn’t mean to start talking to the cat.
The thing is, it shows up every day without fail. It appears on the fire escape, rubs against the window then stretches up to show its white belly as it meows. And with werewolf hearing, there’s no way for Derek to tune out the strident sound. So he goes and lets it in, and after the first few times, he picks up some food and treats to offer.
The cat doesn’t seem interested in the food, but it does seem interested in Derek. Which isn’t the usual way of things, where werewolves are concerned. He’s used to animals giving him a wide berth, recognizing him as a predator. But this cat-grey and white, like it’s wearing a tuxedo-leaps up onto the couch next to him every day and curls in tight and close while he does his homework.
He gets used to it.
It becomes a routine. He gets home from classes, spreads out his work, makes a cup of tea. He manages to get a half hour of reading started before the cat shows up, then a half hour of petting after it curls up on the couch. Once attention has been paid, the cat purrs gently while Derek continues to read for his assignments.
In fact, the first time he starts talking, it’s working through an assignment. He talks about the factors involved in the start of a war, the way modern society ignores the warning signs laid out clearly by prior wars.
The cat sets its paws on Derek’s knee and rests its chin there, looking up at him. When he stops, the cat bats at his chin, so Derek continues while the cat listens.
Because the damned cat is listening.
And it’s a lot easier to talk to a cat than a human.
#
On the first anniversary of his family’s death, Derek almost doesn’t let the cat inside. But it howls piteously, scratching at the window until he opens it, then winds around his legs and won’t leave him alone.
Derek picks the cat up, cradles it to his chest, and sinks onto the couch. He buries his face in the fur and tries not to cry.
The cat meows querulously, nuzzling his chin. When Derek lowers his head, the cat butts his forehead, meows again softly.
“My parents are dead,” Derek whispers. “And it’s all my fault.”
The cat goes still, then it wriggles hard enough to make Derek let go. It ends up stretched across his lap, belly up, and for the first time Derek realizes that the cat is male. The cat stretches again, reaches up to pat Derek’s chin with just one paw.
Derek imagines that the cat says go on, so he does.
“I fell in love with a girl. Which is what you do when you’re in high school, right?” Derek says quietly, fingers stroking along the soft belly fur. He scritches, reveling in the throaty purr he gets in response. “I thought she was in love with me, but she wasn’t. She hated my family, and she was using me. And she killed them. Burned them alive.”
A low rumbling noise like a growl, then a soft meow.
“Why? That part’s a little complicated,” Derek admits. His hand stops, rests lightly on the cat’s furry belly. “Kate was a hunter. And my family-we’re werewolves. Laura, my sister… she’s my alpha now. We’re the only ones left. I don’t think you’ve met her yet. You usually leave before she gets home at night, because she’s working while I go to school.”
The cat rolls over, steps off of Derek’s lap and sits on the couch, head tilted.
“You don’t believe me,” Derek says, then it occurs to him what he’s doing. “You’re just a cat.” He rubs at his face, stretches out along the couch, gathering the cat to him like a stuffed animal, tucking him tight against his chest. “You don’t care what I’m saying as long as I’m paying attention to you. You’re just here for the belly rubs.”
The cat meows, head butts the bottom of Derek’s chin. It doesn’t try to get away, relaxing into his grip with a rumbling purr.
“For what it’s worth,” Derek murmurs. “I’m glad you’re here.”
#
It gets easier after that to just let the truth spill out, to whisper his secrets into the cat’s fur while he purrs in response. The cat becomes a part of his life.
“You need a name,” Derek murmurs, and the cat rumbles loudly. “You don’t have a tag. I figure you’re a stray, and this is just one stop while you go around, trying to get fed. You could stay here at night if you need a roof over your head. It gets cold out there.”
The cat hops up onto the side table, sits quietly for a moment as he considers the plastic cup sitting there. He meets Derek’s gaze, then very deliberately bats at the cup, knocking it onto the floor.
Thankfully it’s empty, so nothing spills.
Derek leans down to pick up the cup, pausing to let the cat bump his forehead, rub his cheek along Derek’s cheek. “Asshole would be a terrible name,” Derek deadpans as he sits up again.
The cat glares at him.
“Mischief,” Derek decides. The cat coughs or sneezes, several times in a row, almost as if he’s laughing. He leaps into Derek’s lap, starts kneading at his thighs. “Although honestly, Asshole is probably way more appropriate.”
The claws come out, tiny little pricks through Derek’s jeans that heal as quickly as they happen.
Derek strokes down Mischief’s back until he settles, curled up and purring, on Derek’s lap.
“Kate was the second girl I fell in love with,” Derek whispers.
Mischief rolls over, presents his belly and bats at Derek’s hand. Derek obligingly starts to rub his belly.
“The first one was Paige, and she died, too.” Derek presses his lips together, almost changes his mind until Mischief catches his hand in both paws, gently licks his fingers. Derek huffs a small, sad laugh. “Yes, that was my fault,” he says quietly. “I told her what I was, and she was scared, so I told her she could be a werewolf, too. I made the arrangements, but I couldn’t go to my mother. I knew she wouldn’t approve; we were only sixteen. We thought we were invincible, right? I thought I knew better, so I took Paige to another town where I knew another Alpha lived, and he bit her. Then I brought her home, and I held her when the bite didn’t take, and she died.”
A soft meow, and Derek bends over, presses his face into the furry belly. Mischief holds his face with gentle paws, licks his nose. Derek coughs as he feels tears leak from his eyes. “She didn’t just die,” he admits in as soft a whisper as he can manage. “She was in horrible pain, and it was taking so long. She begged me to end it, so I did.”
There’s a yell somewhere in the distance; the cat flails, rolls off of Derek’s lap and lands on his feet. Mischief sits down, licks his paw and cleans his nose as if he meant to do that. When the yell comes again, Derek could swear it almost sounds like someone yelling Mischief, and the cat races to the window, scratches to be let out onto the fire escape.
Derek follows more slowly, unlocks the window. “Maybe you do live somewhere,” he says, and it aches in his chest to think that this cat isn’t his. That it has another home to go to, and another family. “You should tell your family to get you a collar.”
The yell again, still indistinct but the irritation in the tone is evident. As soon as Derek gets the window open, Mischief leaps out and goes up several steps. He pauses there, crawls back down and leans into butt his head against Derek, meowing once before he darts away again.
Derek gets out on the fire escape just in time to see Mischief disappearing into a window two floors up.
#
“Why have you been buying cat food?” Laura asks, the bag of treats in her hand.
“I only did it once,” Derek says, talking to the papers spread out across the coffee table. “Mischief doesn’t like the food, or the treats, so I didn’t bother trying again. Why are you here instead of at work?”
Laura sinks down to sit in the chair opposite the couch, reaches out and closes his book. Derek would yell about losing his place, but he has so many tabs that he’s sure he can figure out where to start again. Or close enough.
“Because your classes ended yesterday, and you have two days off to study before your exams begin,” Laura says. “I thought we could go out to a movie. Get dinner. Spend some time together.”
They’ve been alone for a year and a half. The first part in California, while Derek finished his exams and got his high school degree. The last year since then in New York, settling in while Derek started classes at NYU. There has to be another reason.
“I’m okay,” Derek says, because Laura hanging around more usually means she thinks he isn’t. “I’m doing okay, and I promise, if you really want me to, I’ll talk to a therapist, but you need to find one I can really talk to. About everything.”
She sits back. “Actually, I’ve been thinking that you seem better lately. Like it’s not weighing you down as much,” she says. Her fingers tap along the arm of the chair, her foot wiggling with nerves.
“You can thank the cat for that.” The words just slip out, and it’s perfectly timed as Mischief scratches on the window in the other room.
“Cat.” One word, flat and quick. Laura’s up like a flash, to the window before Derek can get there. She leans on the sill, and the cat skitters backward to the edge of the landing, crouched down and tail fluffed.
Derek puts an arm in front of her, shoves her back before he gets the window open. “Stop. Mischief’s just been coming around to visit. He doesn’t even seem to mind that this place probably smells like dog to him.”
Mischief approaches slowly, one eye warily on Laura the entire time. He steps inside and bumps his head against Derek before climbing into Derek’s arms and up to his shoulder. Claws dig in to hold himself in place.
Laura closes the window, steps close with her arms crossed. Her eyes flash, and Mischief’s claws dig more deeply into Derek’s shoulder.
“That,” Laura says slowly. “Is not a cat. Not any more than you’re a dog.”
Mischief leaps from Derek’s shoulder, jumps back onto the windowsill. Laura leans on the window, smiles sharply at them both. “Show yourself,” she growls, eyes flashing.
Mischief shudders and shifts, replaced abruptly by a lanky, skinny, pale-faced young man with moles dotting his skin. Everywhere. And Derek knows that for sure, because he can see everything.
Shit.
Mischief’s mouth opens, closes. He puts his hands up, takes a step back. “I can explain,” he says, voice a little dry and husky.
“Why don’t we begin with why you’ve been lying to my brother?” Laura says.
“Well, for one, I figured he’d smell me the first time I came in,” Mischief explains, gesturing between the window and Derek. “I smelled werewolf, so I came down to investigate. Derek let me in, and well, no offense, but those aren’t my kind of treats.”
“I don’t eat kibble,” Derek mutters dryly. “No offense taken.”
“Exactly,” Mischief says.
Not Mischief, though. Derek’s brow furrows. “So what the hell is your name, anyway?”
“Actually, you got a lot closer than you’d think. It’s Mieczysław Stilinski, but you should just call me Stiles. Everyone else does.” Stiles tilts his head, gaze narrowed as he frowns at Derek. “Or you could keep calling me Mischief if you want. It’s close enough.”
“Or Asshole.”
Stiles laughs out loud at that, one hand on his chest, his shirt riding up as his head goes back. “Or asshole,” he agrees. “I probably deserve that.”
“Stiles,” Laura says quietly, and Stiles twists to look at her. She raises an eyebrow and he sighs.
“I’m in 5B, directly overhead and two floors up,” he says. “My dad’s human, my mom was a cat but she died when I was ten and we moved out here. I’m seventeen, and I’m a junior in high school. And right now, I’m going to go back out that window, and you guys can let me know if I’m ever welcome back here.”
Stiles pats his thighs like he expects to find pockets there, skin flushing as he finds nothing. He holds out his hands, curls his fingers. “Paper and pen?” he asks. He scribbles down his number as soon as Derek provides what he asks for, then hands it all back to Derek. He uses the proximity to whisper, “For what it’s worth, everything the cat hears stays locked inside the cat. I don’t go spreading stories that aren’t mine to tell.”
Derek tugs on the pad of paper, and Stiles lets it go. When Stiles reaches the window, Laura opens it. Stiles is a cat again by the time he’s outside, and with a flick of his tail, he scampers up the stairs and out of sight.
Laura closes the window, locks it with a click.
“So. You don’t need therapy because you’ve been talking to the stray cat that isn’t actually a stray cat,” she says slowly.
Derek nods, because he can’t really find a good way to spin this. “He’s a good listener.”
Laura’s expression softens. She closes the distance between them, wraps her arms around him and buries his face in his throat. She nuzzles his cheek with hers, and Derek is wrapped in her scent. Pack, family. Warmth and comfort.
When she steps back, she captures his hand, tugs him toward the door. “Come on, baby brother,” Laura says. “We’re going to that movie, and dinner, and we have something to talk about. Because I did have an ulterior motive until we were interrupted.” She pauses at the door, her smile shy and gently hopeful. “I just got news that Cora escaped the fire. She’s in South America, and I’m going to get us tickets to go get her, after your semester is done.”
#
Derek gets up early to start studying, in order to make up for not only taking the afternoon off, but the entire night. After a movie and dinner, he and Laura had skyped with the Alpha of the pack Cora was staying with, and then with Cora herself. It was a reunion that left Derek in tears, breaking down, and finally telling Laura the truth of what happened not just with Kate, but with Paige before her.
When she gets up in the morning to leave for work, she stops in to check on Derek, and they sit together, soaking in the scent of pack, for a long time. Once she’s gone, he curls up on the couch with his books and a highlighter, and gets to work.
The knock on the door comes after lunch in the middle of the afternoon. Right about the time Mischief normally shows up.
Derek opens the door slowly, stares at the guy on the other side. Stiles is dressed this time, in skinny jeans and Chucks, with a faded red plaid flannel shirt over a t-shirt that says hello, my name is Asshole.
Derek has to laugh at that.
“I thought you might appreciate it,” Stiles says. He holds up a paper bag. “It’s not kibble, I swear. Cannoli, from Mollicone’s down the street. I guess they’re apology cannoli. Mostly, though, I just wanted to visit. Properly this time. If you can take a break from your studying.”
“I can take a break.” Derek steps back, pulls the door wider to let Stiles in. “I’m probably ready for my exams. I don’t exactly go out partying like most of the rest of the freshman class. In fact, the only friend I’ve made so far this year is a cat.”
Stiles’s ears go pink. “Really. Funny thing, that. I’ve heard my new best friend is a real dog.” He pauses, mouth open. “I mean. Not that I’m making assumptions or anything about our relationship. You said-and well, I don’t want to be insulting, either. Right?”
“I already know you’re a belly rub junkie, and that you like to snuggle,” Derek says. “I’m pretty sure we’re beyond any embarrassment about our respective shapeshifting abilities.”
“Can you become a full wolf?” Stiles sets the bag down on the kitchen counter, finds the plates easily and divides up the cannoli between the two of them.
Derek shakes his head. “Laura can. It happened right after she became an Alpha, and I don’t know if it’s the power, or if I would be able to do it too. I’ll try, someday. Maybe when my head is-” He taps the side of his head, as if to say maybe when it’s screwed on straight.
Stiles walks past him, takes both plates and sets them on the coffee table, right on top of Derek’s work. He sits in the middle of the couch, making sure that Derek can’t sit without being half on top of him. “We can keep talking, y’know?” Stiles offers. “If you want me to tell you all my secrets, I can do that. Like the time I had a crush on my best friend, Scott. Which was really embarrassing when I slept over at his place. Or the way my father is an alcoholic, and it was really bad after my mom died.”
“You don’t have to,” Derek tells him, and he’s not sure which part he’s answering. He doesn’t want anyone to have to bear his burdens, and he knows firsthand how hard it can be to open up. He doesn’t want to push anyone to do that, either.
Stiles pats the couch, and Derek slowly sinks to sit next to him, their knees pressed close together.
“So, I came home from school one day,” Stiles says quietly. “And I smelled a werewolf, and salt. I followed my nose through the building, and I ended up at your door. And the salt smell was pretty bad-I knew you were miserable. But I didn’t want to be that weird stalker dude who just showed up at your doorstep.”
“So you came meowing at the window instead.”
Stiles grins, leans his shoulder into Derek’s. “Yes, exactly. And you let me in, and I was… I was surprised you didn’t realize what I was. But it seemed like you needed someone to talk to, and like you noticed, I don’t exactly mind belly rubs. So I kept coming back, and you started talking, and eventually you didn’t smell so much like salt and sorrow.”
Derek nods slowly, still trying to take it in. Because this guy is the cat. Is the same cat that he’s been talking to for months, that has helped him get his thoughts outside his head. “Why did you care?”
“You were sad, dude!” Stiles says. He leans more heavily against him, and Derek looks at him, finds Stiles so close that they’re almost nose to nose. Stiles licks his lips, looks away. “Okay, and maybe I had a tiny crush. But you told me about your girlfriends, and I get it, you’re straight, so let’s not let that part be awkward, okay? If Scotty and I can get past it, you and me can get past it, too.”
“Tell me about Scott?”
“Best friend, lives in the suburbs because his mom moved out there when his dad turned out to not just be an alcoholic, but also an abusive alcoholic,” Stiles says. “I spent a lot of time with him when I was younger, but while my dad got his head screwed on straight, Rafe never did. So Melissa moved Scott out to Westchester, and now I have a long distance best friend.” Stiles pauses, licks his lips. “And you. So. Please, can we not make this awkward?”
“It’s not awkward.” Derek reaches for a plate, takes one of the cannoli. It’s good, with a crispy shell and sweet cheese interior, and dotted with chocolate chips. He eats half of it with one bite, then offers it.
Stiles’s gaze drops from Derek’s face to the cannoli between his fingertips. He reaches for it with his hand, but Derek pulls back, shakes his head.
“Dude,” Stiles says.
Derek’s heart is racing. He offers it again, placing it close to Stiles’s mouth. When Stiles quirks his head, Derek nods. “Go ahead.”
Stiles takes it gently in his teeth, tongue flicking out to touch Derek’s fingertips. Stiles slowly raises his gaze to meet Derek’s. “You are not helping keep this not awkward.”
“It’s not awkward,” Derek says as calmly as he can manage. “I mean, I’m okay with it. With you. Being here and interested in me. If you still are.”
“You’ve had some really hellish relationships, but I don’t think giving up girls-” Stiles breaks off as Derek curls his fingers behind Stile’s head, gently holding him as Derek kisses him.
For a moment he thinks he’s made a horrible mistake, that all talk aside, Stiles isn’t really interested at all. That he doesn’t understand what Derek is trying so hard, and failing so hard, to say. Then Stile’s lips go soft and a rumbling purr surrounds them as Stiles kisses him back.
Derek growls softly, pleased. When he tugs, Stiles climbs onto his lap, straddling him. Derek cradles his head, kisses him until their lips are swollen and breath is short. He can hear their mingled heartbeats racing in the air around them, smell the thick musk.
Stiles leans in, forehead to forehead. “I like belly rubs,” he murmurs.
It makes Derek laugh, rumbling through him in ways that he hasn’t laughed in well over a year. He wraps his arms around Stiles, pulls him close to scent him. “I bet you do,” Derek whispers into the skin of his throat. “And I bet I do, too. I am all in for finding out.”
Title: belly rubs and secrets
Rating: PG-13
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Derek, Stiles, Laura
Summary: Derek doesn’t mean to start talking to the cat.
Warnings: None
Content Notes: AU (met in NYC) but canon known past death events (Hale fire, Paige).
Submission Type: Fic
Word Count: 3,748 words
Prompt: #351 - Lost
Author's Notes: I started with the idea of Derek being emotionally lost, needing to talk to someone. Then I added in this prompt and the whole story came together. And now, maybe, Derek is a little more found.
Derek doesn’t mean to start talking to the cat.
The thing is, it shows up every day without fail. It appears on the fire escape, rubs against the window then stretches up to show its white belly as it meows. And with werewolf hearing, there’s no way for Derek to tune out the strident sound. So he goes and lets it in, and after the first few times, he picks up some food and treats to offer.
The cat doesn’t seem interested in the food, but it does seem interested in Derek. Which isn’t the usual way of things, where werewolves are concerned. He’s used to animals giving him a wide berth, recognizing him as a predator. But this cat-grey and white, like it’s wearing a tuxedo-leaps up onto the couch next to him every day and curls in tight and close while he does his homework.
He gets used to it.
It becomes a routine. He gets home from classes, spreads out his work, makes a cup of tea. He manages to get a half hour of reading started before the cat shows up, then a half hour of petting after it curls up on the couch. Once attention has been paid, the cat purrs gently while Derek continues to read for his assignments.
In fact, the first time he starts talking, it’s working through an assignment. He talks about the factors involved in the start of a war, the way modern society ignores the warning signs laid out clearly by prior wars.
The cat sets its paws on Derek’s knee and rests its chin there, looking up at him. When he stops, the cat bats at his chin, so Derek continues while the cat listens.
Because the damned cat is listening.
And it’s a lot easier to talk to a cat than a human.
#
On the first anniversary of his family’s death, Derek almost doesn’t let the cat inside. But it howls piteously, scratching at the window until he opens it, then winds around his legs and won’t leave him alone.
Derek picks the cat up, cradles it to his chest, and sinks onto the couch. He buries his face in the fur and tries not to cry.
The cat meows querulously, nuzzling his chin. When Derek lowers his head, the cat butts his forehead, meows again softly.
“My parents are dead,” Derek whispers. “And it’s all my fault.”
The cat goes still, then it wriggles hard enough to make Derek let go. It ends up stretched across his lap, belly up, and for the first time Derek realizes that the cat is male. The cat stretches again, reaches up to pat Derek’s chin with just one paw.
Derek imagines that the cat says go on, so he does.
“I fell in love with a girl. Which is what you do when you’re in high school, right?” Derek says quietly, fingers stroking along the soft belly fur. He scritches, reveling in the throaty purr he gets in response. “I thought she was in love with me, but she wasn’t. She hated my family, and she was using me. And she killed them. Burned them alive.”
A low rumbling noise like a growl, then a soft meow.
“Why? That part’s a little complicated,” Derek admits. His hand stops, rests lightly on the cat’s furry belly. “Kate was a hunter. And my family-we’re werewolves. Laura, my sister… she’s my alpha now. We’re the only ones left. I don’t think you’ve met her yet. You usually leave before she gets home at night, because she’s working while I go to school.”
The cat rolls over, steps off of Derek’s lap and sits on the couch, head tilted.
“You don’t believe me,” Derek says, then it occurs to him what he’s doing. “You’re just a cat.” He rubs at his face, stretches out along the couch, gathering the cat to him like a stuffed animal, tucking him tight against his chest. “You don’t care what I’m saying as long as I’m paying attention to you. You’re just here for the belly rubs.”
The cat meows, head butts the bottom of Derek’s chin. It doesn’t try to get away, relaxing into his grip with a rumbling purr.
“For what it’s worth,” Derek murmurs. “I’m glad you’re here.”
#
It gets easier after that to just let the truth spill out, to whisper his secrets into the cat’s fur while he purrs in response. The cat becomes a part of his life.
“You need a name,” Derek murmurs, and the cat rumbles loudly. “You don’t have a tag. I figure you’re a stray, and this is just one stop while you go around, trying to get fed. You could stay here at night if you need a roof over your head. It gets cold out there.”
The cat hops up onto the side table, sits quietly for a moment as he considers the plastic cup sitting there. He meets Derek’s gaze, then very deliberately bats at the cup, knocking it onto the floor.
Thankfully it’s empty, so nothing spills.
Derek leans down to pick up the cup, pausing to let the cat bump his forehead, rub his cheek along Derek’s cheek. “Asshole would be a terrible name,” Derek deadpans as he sits up again.
The cat glares at him.
“Mischief,” Derek decides. The cat coughs or sneezes, several times in a row, almost as if he’s laughing. He leaps into Derek’s lap, starts kneading at his thighs. “Although honestly, Asshole is probably way more appropriate.”
The claws come out, tiny little pricks through Derek’s jeans that heal as quickly as they happen.
Derek strokes down Mischief’s back until he settles, curled up and purring, on Derek’s lap.
“Kate was the second girl I fell in love with,” Derek whispers.
Mischief rolls over, presents his belly and bats at Derek’s hand. Derek obligingly starts to rub his belly.
“The first one was Paige, and she died, too.” Derek presses his lips together, almost changes his mind until Mischief catches his hand in both paws, gently licks his fingers. Derek huffs a small, sad laugh. “Yes, that was my fault,” he says quietly. “I told her what I was, and she was scared, so I told her she could be a werewolf, too. I made the arrangements, but I couldn’t go to my mother. I knew she wouldn’t approve; we were only sixteen. We thought we were invincible, right? I thought I knew better, so I took Paige to another town where I knew another Alpha lived, and he bit her. Then I brought her home, and I held her when the bite didn’t take, and she died.”
A soft meow, and Derek bends over, presses his face into the furry belly. Mischief holds his face with gentle paws, licks his nose. Derek coughs as he feels tears leak from his eyes. “She didn’t just die,” he admits in as soft a whisper as he can manage. “She was in horrible pain, and it was taking so long. She begged me to end it, so I did.”
There’s a yell somewhere in the distance; the cat flails, rolls off of Derek’s lap and lands on his feet. Mischief sits down, licks his paw and cleans his nose as if he meant to do that. When the yell comes again, Derek could swear it almost sounds like someone yelling Mischief, and the cat races to the window, scratches to be let out onto the fire escape.
Derek follows more slowly, unlocks the window. “Maybe you do live somewhere,” he says, and it aches in his chest to think that this cat isn’t his. That it has another home to go to, and another family. “You should tell your family to get you a collar.”
The yell again, still indistinct but the irritation in the tone is evident. As soon as Derek gets the window open, Mischief leaps out and goes up several steps. He pauses there, crawls back down and leans into butt his head against Derek, meowing once before he darts away again.
Derek gets out on the fire escape just in time to see Mischief disappearing into a window two floors up.
#
“Why have you been buying cat food?” Laura asks, the bag of treats in her hand.
“I only did it once,” Derek says, talking to the papers spread out across the coffee table. “Mischief doesn’t like the food, or the treats, so I didn’t bother trying again. Why are you here instead of at work?”
Laura sinks down to sit in the chair opposite the couch, reaches out and closes his book. Derek would yell about losing his place, but he has so many tabs that he’s sure he can figure out where to start again. Or close enough.
“Because your classes ended yesterday, and you have two days off to study before your exams begin,” Laura says. “I thought we could go out to a movie. Get dinner. Spend some time together.”
They’ve been alone for a year and a half. The first part in California, while Derek finished his exams and got his high school degree. The last year since then in New York, settling in while Derek started classes at NYU. There has to be another reason.
“I’m okay,” Derek says, because Laura hanging around more usually means she thinks he isn’t. “I’m doing okay, and I promise, if you really want me to, I’ll talk to a therapist, but you need to find one I can really talk to. About everything.”
She sits back. “Actually, I’ve been thinking that you seem better lately. Like it’s not weighing you down as much,” she says. Her fingers tap along the arm of the chair, her foot wiggling with nerves.
“You can thank the cat for that.” The words just slip out, and it’s perfectly timed as Mischief scratches on the window in the other room.
“Cat.” One word, flat and quick. Laura’s up like a flash, to the window before Derek can get there. She leans on the sill, and the cat skitters backward to the edge of the landing, crouched down and tail fluffed.
Derek puts an arm in front of her, shoves her back before he gets the window open. “Stop. Mischief’s just been coming around to visit. He doesn’t even seem to mind that this place probably smells like dog to him.”
Mischief approaches slowly, one eye warily on Laura the entire time. He steps inside and bumps his head against Derek before climbing into Derek’s arms and up to his shoulder. Claws dig in to hold himself in place.
Laura closes the window, steps close with her arms crossed. Her eyes flash, and Mischief’s claws dig more deeply into Derek’s shoulder.
“That,” Laura says slowly. “Is not a cat. Not any more than you’re a dog.”
Mischief leaps from Derek’s shoulder, jumps back onto the windowsill. Laura leans on the window, smiles sharply at them both. “Show yourself,” she growls, eyes flashing.
Mischief shudders and shifts, replaced abruptly by a lanky, skinny, pale-faced young man with moles dotting his skin. Everywhere. And Derek knows that for sure, because he can see everything.
Shit.
Mischief’s mouth opens, closes. He puts his hands up, takes a step back. “I can explain,” he says, voice a little dry and husky.
“Why don’t we begin with why you’ve been lying to my brother?” Laura says.
“Well, for one, I figured he’d smell me the first time I came in,” Mischief explains, gesturing between the window and Derek. “I smelled werewolf, so I came down to investigate. Derek let me in, and well, no offense, but those aren’t my kind of treats.”
“I don’t eat kibble,” Derek mutters dryly. “No offense taken.”
“Exactly,” Mischief says.
Not Mischief, though. Derek’s brow furrows. “So what the hell is your name, anyway?”
“Actually, you got a lot closer than you’d think. It’s Mieczysław Stilinski, but you should just call me Stiles. Everyone else does.” Stiles tilts his head, gaze narrowed as he frowns at Derek. “Or you could keep calling me Mischief if you want. It’s close enough.”
“Or Asshole.”
Stiles laughs out loud at that, one hand on his chest, his shirt riding up as his head goes back. “Or asshole,” he agrees. “I probably deserve that.”
“Stiles,” Laura says quietly, and Stiles twists to look at her. She raises an eyebrow and he sighs.
“I’m in 5B, directly overhead and two floors up,” he says. “My dad’s human, my mom was a cat but she died when I was ten and we moved out here. I’m seventeen, and I’m a junior in high school. And right now, I’m going to go back out that window, and you guys can let me know if I’m ever welcome back here.”
Stiles pats his thighs like he expects to find pockets there, skin flushing as he finds nothing. He holds out his hands, curls his fingers. “Paper and pen?” he asks. He scribbles down his number as soon as Derek provides what he asks for, then hands it all back to Derek. He uses the proximity to whisper, “For what it’s worth, everything the cat hears stays locked inside the cat. I don’t go spreading stories that aren’t mine to tell.”
Derek tugs on the pad of paper, and Stiles lets it go. When Stiles reaches the window, Laura opens it. Stiles is a cat again by the time he’s outside, and with a flick of his tail, he scampers up the stairs and out of sight.
Laura closes the window, locks it with a click.
“So. You don’t need therapy because you’ve been talking to the stray cat that isn’t actually a stray cat,” she says slowly.
Derek nods, because he can’t really find a good way to spin this. “He’s a good listener.”
Laura’s expression softens. She closes the distance between them, wraps her arms around him and buries his face in his throat. She nuzzles his cheek with hers, and Derek is wrapped in her scent. Pack, family. Warmth and comfort.
When she steps back, she captures his hand, tugs him toward the door. “Come on, baby brother,” Laura says. “We’re going to that movie, and dinner, and we have something to talk about. Because I did have an ulterior motive until we were interrupted.” She pauses at the door, her smile shy and gently hopeful. “I just got news that Cora escaped the fire. She’s in South America, and I’m going to get us tickets to go get her, after your semester is done.”
#
Derek gets up early to start studying, in order to make up for not only taking the afternoon off, but the entire night. After a movie and dinner, he and Laura had skyped with the Alpha of the pack Cora was staying with, and then with Cora herself. It was a reunion that left Derek in tears, breaking down, and finally telling Laura the truth of what happened not just with Kate, but with Paige before her.
When she gets up in the morning to leave for work, she stops in to check on Derek, and they sit together, soaking in the scent of pack, for a long time. Once she’s gone, he curls up on the couch with his books and a highlighter, and gets to work.
The knock on the door comes after lunch in the middle of the afternoon. Right about the time Mischief normally shows up.
Derek opens the door slowly, stares at the guy on the other side. Stiles is dressed this time, in skinny jeans and Chucks, with a faded red plaid flannel shirt over a t-shirt that says hello, my name is Asshole.
Derek has to laugh at that.
“I thought you might appreciate it,” Stiles says. He holds up a paper bag. “It’s not kibble, I swear. Cannoli, from Mollicone’s down the street. I guess they’re apology cannoli. Mostly, though, I just wanted to visit. Properly this time. If you can take a break from your studying.”
“I can take a break.” Derek steps back, pulls the door wider to let Stiles in. “I’m probably ready for my exams. I don’t exactly go out partying like most of the rest of the freshman class. In fact, the only friend I’ve made so far this year is a cat.”
Stiles’s ears go pink. “Really. Funny thing, that. I’ve heard my new best friend is a real dog.” He pauses, mouth open. “I mean. Not that I’m making assumptions or anything about our relationship. You said-and well, I don’t want to be insulting, either. Right?”
“I already know you’re a belly rub junkie, and that you like to snuggle,” Derek says. “I’m pretty sure we’re beyond any embarrassment about our respective shapeshifting abilities.”
“Can you become a full wolf?” Stiles sets the bag down on the kitchen counter, finds the plates easily and divides up the cannoli between the two of them.
Derek shakes his head. “Laura can. It happened right after she became an Alpha, and I don’t know if it’s the power, or if I would be able to do it too. I’ll try, someday. Maybe when my head is-” He taps the side of his head, as if to say maybe when it’s screwed on straight.
Stiles walks past him, takes both plates and sets them on the coffee table, right on top of Derek’s work. He sits in the middle of the couch, making sure that Derek can’t sit without being half on top of him. “We can keep talking, y’know?” Stiles offers. “If you want me to tell you all my secrets, I can do that. Like the time I had a crush on my best friend, Scott. Which was really embarrassing when I slept over at his place. Or the way my father is an alcoholic, and it was really bad after my mom died.”
“You don’t have to,” Derek tells him, and he’s not sure which part he’s answering. He doesn’t want anyone to have to bear his burdens, and he knows firsthand how hard it can be to open up. He doesn’t want to push anyone to do that, either.
Stiles pats the couch, and Derek slowly sinks to sit next to him, their knees pressed close together.
“So, I came home from school one day,” Stiles says quietly. “And I smelled a werewolf, and salt. I followed my nose through the building, and I ended up at your door. And the salt smell was pretty bad-I knew you were miserable. But I didn’t want to be that weird stalker dude who just showed up at your doorstep.”
“So you came meowing at the window instead.”
Stiles grins, leans his shoulder into Derek’s. “Yes, exactly. And you let me in, and I was… I was surprised you didn’t realize what I was. But it seemed like you needed someone to talk to, and like you noticed, I don’t exactly mind belly rubs. So I kept coming back, and you started talking, and eventually you didn’t smell so much like salt and sorrow.”
Derek nods slowly, still trying to take it in. Because this guy is the cat. Is the same cat that he’s been talking to for months, that has helped him get his thoughts outside his head. “Why did you care?”
“You were sad, dude!” Stiles says. He leans more heavily against him, and Derek looks at him, finds Stiles so close that they’re almost nose to nose. Stiles licks his lips, looks away. “Okay, and maybe I had a tiny crush. But you told me about your girlfriends, and I get it, you’re straight, so let’s not let that part be awkward, okay? If Scotty and I can get past it, you and me can get past it, too.”
“Tell me about Scott?”
“Best friend, lives in the suburbs because his mom moved out there when his dad turned out to not just be an alcoholic, but also an abusive alcoholic,” Stiles says. “I spent a lot of time with him when I was younger, but while my dad got his head screwed on straight, Rafe never did. So Melissa moved Scott out to Westchester, and now I have a long distance best friend.” Stiles pauses, licks his lips. “And you. So. Please, can we not make this awkward?”
“It’s not awkward.” Derek reaches for a plate, takes one of the cannoli. It’s good, with a crispy shell and sweet cheese interior, and dotted with chocolate chips. He eats half of it with one bite, then offers it.
Stiles’s gaze drops from Derek’s face to the cannoli between his fingertips. He reaches for it with his hand, but Derek pulls back, shakes his head.
“Dude,” Stiles says.
Derek’s heart is racing. He offers it again, placing it close to Stiles’s mouth. When Stiles quirks his head, Derek nods. “Go ahead.”
Stiles takes it gently in his teeth, tongue flicking out to touch Derek’s fingertips. Stiles slowly raises his gaze to meet Derek’s. “You are not helping keep this not awkward.”
“It’s not awkward,” Derek says as calmly as he can manage. “I mean, I’m okay with it. With you. Being here and interested in me. If you still are.”
“You’ve had some really hellish relationships, but I don’t think giving up girls-” Stiles breaks off as Derek curls his fingers behind Stile’s head, gently holding him as Derek kisses him.
For a moment he thinks he’s made a horrible mistake, that all talk aside, Stiles isn’t really interested at all. That he doesn’t understand what Derek is trying so hard, and failing so hard, to say. Then Stile’s lips go soft and a rumbling purr surrounds them as Stiles kisses him back.
Derek growls softly, pleased. When he tugs, Stiles climbs onto his lap, straddling him. Derek cradles his head, kisses him until their lips are swollen and breath is short. He can hear their mingled heartbeats racing in the air around them, smell the thick musk.
Stiles leans in, forehead to forehead. “I like belly rubs,” he murmurs.
It makes Derek laugh, rumbling through him in ways that he hasn’t laughed in well over a year. He wraps his arms around Stiles, pulls him close to scent him. “I bet you do,” Derek whispers into the skin of his throat. “And I bet I do, too. I am all in for finding out.”