Fic: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) (1/19)
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: 2.5k (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.
Author’s Note
HELLO FRIENDS.
At least, I hope we will soon be friends. For all I know, some of you may become my nemeses after reading this. (Can you have more than one nemesis?)
I started writing this story while 3B was still airing, in February 2014. Yes. Seeing Derek talk to his wolfy mom made me think of Derek as a wolf, and I wanted to write that story. Of course, nothing I do is ever so simple.
This is compliant up to about the middle of season 3B, because 1) Allison is mysteriously absent, since she and her dad are totally chilling in France, 2) Malia? She’s that one werecoyote chick and definitely not someone Stiles ever made out with, and 3) Kate is nowhere to be found outside of Derek’s emotional trauma (and let’s keep it that way).
Add in the failed attempt at trope bingo from the summer of ‘14, and you have a story with animal transformations, soul bonding, accidental marriage, road trips, magical hijinks, tolerant Scott, Stiles being a horny teenager, and Derek’s abs.
After a year and a half, nanowrimo, handholding from two betas, and a heck of a lot of editing, I am now ready to unveil the fabulousness that is... this...
Thing.
Yep. It’s a thing.
This is not a WIP, but I’m not going to post it all at once; feel free to wait to read until the whole thing has been posted. There are nineteen chapters, and the last chapter should be posted by the end of June, just in time for the new season of Teen Wolf-here’s hoping season five won’t dash all our hopes and dreams (this time).
Warnings for mention of past trauma (poor Derek); dubious bordering on non-consent with regards to sexy things, magic, and just in general; underage Stiles getting all up on that; and general ridiculousness.
Uncountably many thanks to percygranger and desiderii for beta’ing, re-beta’ing, listening to my ranting, helping me brainstorm, and cheering me on when I thought that I would never finish this and it would be sitting in my drafts folder FOREVER. You guys are awesome.
<3
***
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Stiles didn’t know exactly what made him stop and look deeper into the woods. The trees were cast into faint shadow by the ambient light of the afternoon thunderstorm, and the only sounds were the steady drip of rain against the foliage above and the squish-squelch of Stiles’ shoes as he trudged across the muddy ground. Maybe it was something his subconscious picked up on-a smell, something moving out of the corner of his eye, the pitter patter of a heartbeat. Whatever it was, Stiles found himself stopping mid-stride and peering into a gloomy copse of trees.
It wasn’t until he saw eyes staring back at him-glowing, blue eyes-that he yelped in surprise and stumbled back against a tree trunk.
The sight was gone as soon as it had registered, and Stiles blinked into the darkness, not really sure whether he had been imagining things.
He took a tentative step forward, not willing to write it off just yet. “You still there?” he called out, wincing when his voice broke. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Shit, that had been a stupid thing to say. Now whatever-it-was might think Stiles was prey instead of predator. Stiles was no one’s mid-afternoon snack, thank you.
“I’m part of the McCall pack,” he added.
He stayed still a few more seconds, straining to hear the sound of footsteps, anything, but nothing was forthcoming. Maybe he was hallucinating things. It wouldn’t be a first.
He turned around, ready to give up and trudge back to his car, and nearly collided with a hulking form.
“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick!” He shoved his hands against the warm, solid wall of muscle in front of him. The very familiar wall of muscle, clad in a dark grey henley and scowling at him from underneath thick black eyebrows. Oh.
“Stop yelling,” Derek growled, hands gripping Stiles’ upper arms. He looked about five seconds away from shaking Stiles into silence or head injury.
“Don’t shake the baby!” Stiles said, then snapped his mouth shut with a click as Derek’s brow creased in a familiar mixture of disgust and confusion. “I mean. Just. Hi.”
“Stay out of the woods,” Derek added, creepy as ever, before releasing his death grip on Stiles’ arms and stalking off into said woods.
“Okay, dude,” Stiles called after him. “You know I always listen to you.” Derek’s shoulders hunched inward, muscles bunching through his shirt, and Stiles smirked.
He was halfway home, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, when he realized that Derek hadn’t been wearing shoes.
***
A week later, Stiles went back to the spot in the woods where he’d seen the glowing blue eyes, but there was nothing there. No mysterious rustlings, no wolf tracks, and no creepy ex-alpha werewolves. He tried not to feel disappointed as he slid into his jeep and headed home.
As he was falling asleep that night, he could have sworn he heard howling.
***
The next day at lunch, he asked Scott about it.
“So,” he began, casual as always, “Scott. Bro. Man. Dude. Homedog. How are things?”
“Huh?” Scott shot him a startled look over his pizza slice. He chewed carefully before swallowing. “Is everything okay?”
“What? No. Of course it is,” Stiles said. He was the master of calm. A calm artist, you could say. “I was just wondering if you’ve talked to Derek lately.”
Scott seemed to deflate a little and he quirked an eyebrow. “Derek again?”
“What do you mean, again?” Stiles glared at Scott before stuffing another handful of french fries into his mouth. He continued glaring as he chewed.
“Nothing,” Scott said, a smile playing about his mouth.
Stiles did not approve of that smile. No, Siree. “I’m just asking because I ran into him a couple weeks ago.” Literally.
Scott started picking off slices of pepperoni and popping them directly into his mouth. “Did you?” he asked, sounding completely uninterested.
“You could at least pretend to care,” Stiles complained. “He threatened me. I could be legitimately terrified.”
“Since when are you terrified of Derek?” Scott asked, tearing off the corner of his pizza slice and chewing it slowly. “Besides, if it had been important, you would have told me before now.”
Stiles deflated. “Okay, fine. But maybe I think it’s important now, and that’s why I’m telling you.”
Scott quirked an eyebrow.
“Fine, it’s not important, I wanted to whine about Derek, are you happy now?”
Scott smiled beatifically in Stiles’ general direction before turning back to his plate. “You should just ask him out, already.”
“Not this again.” Stiles stood, gathering up his still half-full lunch tray. “I think I’m going to eat outside, where I can be with those who appreciate me. Like trees. Trees appreciate me. More than you do anyway.”
“See you at practice,” Scott called out to Stiles’ retreating form.
Stiles tried not to sigh as he dumped his fries and apple slices in the trash. He hadn’t been that hungry, anyway.
***
The second time Stiles saw the owner of the glowing blue eyes, he wasn’t actually looking for them. Greenberg had somehow managed to toss the practice ball into the trees, in the complete opposite direction of the goal. In between yelling at Greenberg and shooing away the other players after practice ended, Coach Finstock sent Stiles to go fetch the missing ball, since he was the one closest to that end of the field. Also because he had spent most of practice making snarky comments, and apparently Coach had felt some resentment about that. Go figure.
Stiles was muttering to himself about lacrosse balls growing legs and walking away when he saw a dark form dart out from behind a tree and melt back into the darkness. It looked like a cross between a large black lab and a wolf.
Stiles started running after it.
Now, Stiles would be the first person to admit that his curiosity was not always a good thing. It helped him out more often than not, but Stiles did not have nine lives.
The thought occurred to Stiles, mid sprint through the ever-darkening forest, that it may not have been the best idea to run after what was, at best, an actual wild animal, and at worst, an unknown werecreature. No one could hear him scream for help or come to his rescue if it turned and bit him.
The wolf-dog, though, seemed to be more concerned with fleeing than mauling Stiles, which was a point in his favor. After about a minute and a half (Stiles was tired from running suicides, okay?) Stiles lost sight of the wolf-dog through the trees. Soon after, he stood bent over with hands on his knees, panting for breath.
All things considered, he was feeling pretty okay until he was tackled to the ground by a very heavy, exceedingly muscular, human-shaped object.
“Oh my god please don’t eat me!”
“I’m not going to eat you, Stiles,” Derek growled, mashing Stiles’ face into the leaves and twigs coating the forest floor.
“Oh, you’re just going to murder me, then?” Stiles managed to gasp out. Derek’s elbow was digging into his back and his hand was cupping his skull, keeping him from twisting around to look. “Maybe some light maiming? Because our current relative position is not giving me positive vibes, dude.”
Without warning, the warm weight on top of him disappeared.
Stiles blinked into the dirt a few times before he pushed himself to his knees. He twisted to look behind him, craning his head around, but Derek was nowhere to be seen.
“I told you to stay out of the woods,” Derek said, his voice filtering out from behind one of the trees behind Stiles. Stiles scrambled to his feet and started towards the origin of his voice.
“And you should have known that I was going to do the opposite,” Stiles pointed out. “I’m contrary by nature.”
“If you get hurt, Scott and the others won’t be able to help you,” Derek growled from up ahead and to the left. “There could be rogue omegas, or witches, or who knows what else.”
Stiles crowed triumphantly when he edged around the tree where Derek was hiding, only for all the air to leave his lungs when he actually got a good look at him.
Derek was naked.
Derek was standing in the middle of the woods, arms crossed over his perfectly sculpted chest, one eyebrow raised and his lips twisted in a smirk, and he was wearing no clothing whatsoever. Stiles forgot how to breathe as all the blood in his body rerouted itself. This was karmic justice for something terrible he’d done in a past life, he just knew it.
“Stop staring,” Derek said, and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, god, he now knew what Derek Hale’s penis looked like. It was uncut, of course it was uncut-he was a werewolf, his arm would probably have grown back if Stiles had ended up cutting it off, there was no way anyone would get rid of foreskin on a born werewolf, unless it was some process like the one to get tattoos, and Stiles really didn’t want to be thinking of even more horrifying circumcision techniques, or Derek’s genitals. Both of those subjects were roads his mind did not need to be traveling down, he-
“Stiles,” Derek said, and a hand fell on Stiles’ shoulder, and all Stiles could think about was Derek Hale’s stupid penis-well, not stupid, it had actually looked very nice, a darker brown than the rest of his skin, thick even while soft, with a spray of dark curls at the base, and oh god he was getting a boner in front of Derek Hale, thinking about Derek Hale, and Derek would know, and-
“Why the fuck are you naked?” Stiles blurted, still refusing to open his eyes.
Derek’s hand fell away, and there was a faint shuffling noise, and then the sound of an aborted growl. Like, not a Derek Hale I-will-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth mock growl, but an actual dog growl.
Stiles opened his eyes, and Derek was gone. He looked down, and at his feet, sat the most annoyed looking labrador-wolf-dog that Stiles had ever seen. Unfortunately, the wolf-dog was also freaking adorable. “Oh my god, you still have eyebrows!”
The wolf tilted its head in a, ‘Really, Stiles?’ expression, then turned and started ambling away from him, back towards the high school. Stiles scrambled after him.
“Since when have you been able to turn into a wolf? Can Scott turn into a wolf? Is it only born werewolves that can, or bitten ones too? Is it an alpha thing? Because you’re not alpha anymore, but you used to be, did you learn how to do it while you were alpha or something?”
Derek ignored him, trotting ahead with his tail held high, and Stiles had the stray thought that his ass was a lot less attractive in this form. But he was probably more cuddly.
“Do you like pets? Not, like, dogs that you own, the other kind, I mean, like, the act of petting. Like, could I pet you? Would you bite my hand off if I tried?”
He kept up the stream of questions until they finally stepped out onto the school lacrosse field. Stiles blinked as he looked around at the school grounds. Derek just snagged Stiles’ jeans leg between his teeth and tugged him in the direction of the parking lot.
“Do you have clothes or are you going to streak across the lacrosse field?” Stiles asked, raising his brows in question.
Derek just huffed, pretty much the same sound as he made as a human, and trotted back into the woods.
Stiles was half tempted to follow him, but then he heard Derek shout, “Go home, Stiles!” from wherever he was lurking.
Naked.
In the woods.
Watching the lacrosse players in secret.
Okay, Derek had officially crossed to the next level of creepy. Stiles had mistakenly thought the guy had already maxed out, but apparently not.
“You’re exceptionally creepy, you know that?” Stiles shouted, before turning around and heading to his jeep.
***
The next day, Coach yelled at him for a full five minutes about forgetting the lacrosse ball. It probably didn’t help when Stiles pointed out he could buy them for five bucks on Amazon. Apparently Coach didn’t have Amazon Prime.
***
Derek was waiting for Stiles after lacrosse practice the following Wednesday. He was wearing clothes, and everything.
“Hey,” Stiles said, rummaging through his backpack for the peanut butter sandwiches he’d packed. “You hungry?”
Derek raised his eyebrows in apparent incredulity, but otherwise did not move from where he was sitting slumped against a tree with his forearms resting on his knees, wrists loosely crossed. He was barefoot, his only clothes the same dark grey henley he’d been wearing the first time Stiles had seen him, and stonewashed jeans that clung to his thighs.
Stiles wondered briefly whether Derek was going commando under the jeans to make for a more convenient wolf-human switch, and felt the back of his neck go hot. He grit his teeth and thrust the sandwich baggie at Derek.
Derek sniffed, his nostrils flaring, before taking the sandwich from Stiles and opening the bag carefully.
Stiles settled down on the ground next to Derek. The ground was damp and covered with twigs that poked into his butt, but Stiles wiggled until he was marginally more comfortable. “So,” he said.
“No.” Derek pinched the plastic bag between his index finger and thumb to open it wider and breathed in.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
Derek removed the sandwich from its bag and set it on his lap. “You were going to ask me about my wolf form.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know what I was going to ask,” Stiles protested, taking a bite of peanut butter, strawberry preserves, and wheat bread.
Derek was still watching Stiles with narrowed eyes. “It’s not poisoned,” Stiles said, the words sticking in his mouth thanks to the peanut butter. He swallowed loudly before smiling and batting his eyelashes. “See?”
Derek rolled his eyes. He took a careful bite, chewed, and swallowed before turning to raise an eyebrow at Stiles. “I’m sure whatever you were going to ask was some combination of invasive, embarrassing, and idiotic.”
“You’re a jerk,” Stiles said, frowning at Derek over his sandwich. “I brought you an offering. A food offering. You should learn to appreciate me more.”
Derek turned back to his sandwich.
Stiles decided not to push. There was something nice about sitting at the edge of the woods with Derek, eating peanut butter sandwiches. The silence was surprisingly companionable.
***
Derek didn’t thank him for the sandwich, but he didn’t give Stiles the glare of doom either, and even offered to throw out his plastic baggie for him afterwards, so Stiles counted it as a win.
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don't get drool on my pillow)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 2.5k (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.
Author’s Note
HELLO FRIENDS.
At least, I hope we will soon be friends. For all I know, some of you may become my nemeses after reading this. (Can you have more than one nemesis?)
I started writing this story while 3B was still airing, in February 2014. Yes. Seeing Derek talk to his wolfy mom made me think of Derek as a wolf, and I wanted to write that story. Of course, nothing I do is ever so simple.
This is compliant up to about the middle of season 3B, because 1) Allison is mysteriously absent, since she and her dad are totally chilling in France, 2) Malia? She’s that one werecoyote chick and definitely not someone Stiles ever made out with, and 3) Kate is nowhere to be found outside of Derek’s emotional trauma (and let’s keep it that way).
Add in the failed attempt at trope bingo from the summer of ‘14, and you have a story with animal transformations, soul bonding, accidental marriage, road trips, magical hijinks, tolerant Scott, Stiles being a horny teenager, and Derek’s abs.
After a year and a half, nanowrimo, handholding from two betas, and a heck of a lot of editing, I am now ready to unveil the fabulousness that is... this...
Thing.
Yep. It’s a thing.
This is not a WIP, but I’m not going to post it all at once; feel free to wait to read until the whole thing has been posted. There are nineteen chapters, and the last chapter should be posted by the end of June, just in time for the new season of Teen Wolf-here’s hoping season five won’t dash all our hopes and dreams (this time).
Warnings for mention of past trauma (poor Derek); dubious bordering on non-consent with regards to sexy things, magic, and just in general; underage Stiles getting all up on that; and general ridiculousness.
Uncountably many thanks to percygranger and desiderii for beta’ing, re-beta’ing, listening to my ranting, helping me brainstorm, and cheering me on when I thought that I would never finish this and it would be sitting in my drafts folder FOREVER. You guys are awesome.
<3
***
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Stiles didn’t know exactly what made him stop and look deeper into the woods. The trees were cast into faint shadow by the ambient light of the afternoon thunderstorm, and the only sounds were the steady drip of rain against the foliage above and the squish-squelch of Stiles’ shoes as he trudged across the muddy ground. Maybe it was something his subconscious picked up on-a smell, something moving out of the corner of his eye, the pitter patter of a heartbeat. Whatever it was, Stiles found himself stopping mid-stride and peering into a gloomy copse of trees.
It wasn’t until he saw eyes staring back at him-glowing, blue eyes-that he yelped in surprise and stumbled back against a tree trunk.
The sight was gone as soon as it had registered, and Stiles blinked into the darkness, not really sure whether he had been imagining things.
He took a tentative step forward, not willing to write it off just yet. “You still there?” he called out, wincing when his voice broke. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Shit, that had been a stupid thing to say. Now whatever-it-was might think Stiles was prey instead of predator. Stiles was no one’s mid-afternoon snack, thank you.
“I’m part of the McCall pack,” he added.
He stayed still a few more seconds, straining to hear the sound of footsteps, anything, but nothing was forthcoming. Maybe he was hallucinating things. It wouldn’t be a first.
He turned around, ready to give up and trudge back to his car, and nearly collided with a hulking form.
“Jesus Christ on a pogo stick!” He shoved his hands against the warm, solid wall of muscle in front of him. The very familiar wall of muscle, clad in a dark grey henley and scowling at him from underneath thick black eyebrows. Oh.
“Stop yelling,” Derek growled, hands gripping Stiles’ upper arms. He looked about five seconds away from shaking Stiles into silence or head injury.
“Don’t shake the baby!” Stiles said, then snapped his mouth shut with a click as Derek’s brow creased in a familiar mixture of disgust and confusion. “I mean. Just. Hi.”
“Stay out of the woods,” Derek added, creepy as ever, before releasing his death grip on Stiles’ arms and stalking off into said woods.
“Okay, dude,” Stiles called after him. “You know I always listen to you.” Derek’s shoulders hunched inward, muscles bunching through his shirt, and Stiles smirked.
He was halfway home, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel, when he realized that Derek hadn’t been wearing shoes.
***
A week later, Stiles went back to the spot in the woods where he’d seen the glowing blue eyes, but there was nothing there. No mysterious rustlings, no wolf tracks, and no creepy ex-alpha werewolves. He tried not to feel disappointed as he slid into his jeep and headed home.
As he was falling asleep that night, he could have sworn he heard howling.
***
The next day at lunch, he asked Scott about it.
“So,” he began, casual as always, “Scott. Bro. Man. Dude. Homedog. How are things?”
“Huh?” Scott shot him a startled look over his pizza slice. He chewed carefully before swallowing. “Is everything okay?”
“What? No. Of course it is,” Stiles said. He was the master of calm. A calm artist, you could say. “I was just wondering if you’ve talked to Derek lately.”
Scott seemed to deflate a little and he quirked an eyebrow. “Derek again?”
“What do you mean, again?” Stiles glared at Scott before stuffing another handful of french fries into his mouth. He continued glaring as he chewed.
“Nothing,” Scott said, a smile playing about his mouth.
Stiles did not approve of that smile. No, Siree. “I’m just asking because I ran into him a couple weeks ago.” Literally.
Scott started picking off slices of pepperoni and popping them directly into his mouth. “Did you?” he asked, sounding completely uninterested.
“You could at least pretend to care,” Stiles complained. “He threatened me. I could be legitimately terrified.”
“Since when are you terrified of Derek?” Scott asked, tearing off the corner of his pizza slice and chewing it slowly. “Besides, if it had been important, you would have told me before now.”
Stiles deflated. “Okay, fine. But maybe I think it’s important now, and that’s why I’m telling you.”
Scott quirked an eyebrow.
“Fine, it’s not important, I wanted to whine about Derek, are you happy now?”
Scott smiled beatifically in Stiles’ general direction before turning back to his plate. “You should just ask him out, already.”
“Not this again.” Stiles stood, gathering up his still half-full lunch tray. “I think I’m going to eat outside, where I can be with those who appreciate me. Like trees. Trees appreciate me. More than you do anyway.”
“See you at practice,” Scott called out to Stiles’ retreating form.
Stiles tried not to sigh as he dumped his fries and apple slices in the trash. He hadn’t been that hungry, anyway.
***
The second time Stiles saw the owner of the glowing blue eyes, he wasn’t actually looking for them. Greenberg had somehow managed to toss the practice ball into the trees, in the complete opposite direction of the goal. In between yelling at Greenberg and shooing away the other players after practice ended, Coach Finstock sent Stiles to go fetch the missing ball, since he was the one closest to that end of the field. Also because he had spent most of practice making snarky comments, and apparently Coach had felt some resentment about that. Go figure.
Stiles was muttering to himself about lacrosse balls growing legs and walking away when he saw a dark form dart out from behind a tree and melt back into the darkness. It looked like a cross between a large black lab and a wolf.
Stiles started running after it.
Now, Stiles would be the first person to admit that his curiosity was not always a good thing. It helped him out more often than not, but Stiles did not have nine lives.
The thought occurred to Stiles, mid sprint through the ever-darkening forest, that it may not have been the best idea to run after what was, at best, an actual wild animal, and at worst, an unknown werecreature. No one could hear him scream for help or come to his rescue if it turned and bit him.
The wolf-dog, though, seemed to be more concerned with fleeing than mauling Stiles, which was a point in his favor. After about a minute and a half (Stiles was tired from running suicides, okay?) Stiles lost sight of the wolf-dog through the trees. Soon after, he stood bent over with hands on his knees, panting for breath.
All things considered, he was feeling pretty okay until he was tackled to the ground by a very heavy, exceedingly muscular, human-shaped object.
“Oh my god please don’t eat me!”
“I’m not going to eat you, Stiles,” Derek growled, mashing Stiles’ face into the leaves and twigs coating the forest floor.
“Oh, you’re just going to murder me, then?” Stiles managed to gasp out. Derek’s elbow was digging into his back and his hand was cupping his skull, keeping him from twisting around to look. “Maybe some light maiming? Because our current relative position is not giving me positive vibes, dude.”
Without warning, the warm weight on top of him disappeared.
Stiles blinked into the dirt a few times before he pushed himself to his knees. He twisted to look behind him, craning his head around, but Derek was nowhere to be seen.
“I told you to stay out of the woods,” Derek said, his voice filtering out from behind one of the trees behind Stiles. Stiles scrambled to his feet and started towards the origin of his voice.
“And you should have known that I was going to do the opposite,” Stiles pointed out. “I’m contrary by nature.”
“If you get hurt, Scott and the others won’t be able to help you,” Derek growled from up ahead and to the left. “There could be rogue omegas, or witches, or who knows what else.”
Stiles crowed triumphantly when he edged around the tree where Derek was hiding, only for all the air to leave his lungs when he actually got a good look at him.
Derek was naked.
Derek was standing in the middle of the woods, arms crossed over his perfectly sculpted chest, one eyebrow raised and his lips twisted in a smirk, and he was wearing no clothing whatsoever. Stiles forgot how to breathe as all the blood in his body rerouted itself. This was karmic justice for something terrible he’d done in a past life, he just knew it.
“Stop staring,” Derek said, and Stiles squeezed his eyes shut. Oh, god, he now knew what Derek Hale’s penis looked like. It was uncut, of course it was uncut-he was a werewolf, his arm would probably have grown back if Stiles had ended up cutting it off, there was no way anyone would get rid of foreskin on a born werewolf, unless it was some process like the one to get tattoos, and Stiles really didn’t want to be thinking of even more horrifying circumcision techniques, or Derek’s genitals. Both of those subjects were roads his mind did not need to be traveling down, he-
“Stiles,” Derek said, and a hand fell on Stiles’ shoulder, and all Stiles could think about was Derek Hale’s stupid penis-well, not stupid, it had actually looked very nice, a darker brown than the rest of his skin, thick even while soft, with a spray of dark curls at the base, and oh god he was getting a boner in front of Derek Hale, thinking about Derek Hale, and Derek would know, and-
“Why the fuck are you naked?” Stiles blurted, still refusing to open his eyes.
Derek’s hand fell away, and there was a faint shuffling noise, and then the sound of an aborted growl. Like, not a Derek Hale I-will-rip-your-throat-out-with-my-teeth mock growl, but an actual dog growl.
Stiles opened his eyes, and Derek was gone. He looked down, and at his feet, sat the most annoyed looking labrador-wolf-dog that Stiles had ever seen. Unfortunately, the wolf-dog was also freaking adorable. “Oh my god, you still have eyebrows!”
The wolf tilted its head in a, ‘Really, Stiles?’ expression, then turned and started ambling away from him, back towards the high school. Stiles scrambled after him.
“Since when have you been able to turn into a wolf? Can Scott turn into a wolf? Is it only born werewolves that can, or bitten ones too? Is it an alpha thing? Because you’re not alpha anymore, but you used to be, did you learn how to do it while you were alpha or something?”
Derek ignored him, trotting ahead with his tail held high, and Stiles had the stray thought that his ass was a lot less attractive in this form. But he was probably more cuddly.
“Do you like pets? Not, like, dogs that you own, the other kind, I mean, like, the act of petting. Like, could I pet you? Would you bite my hand off if I tried?”
He kept up the stream of questions until they finally stepped out onto the school lacrosse field. Stiles blinked as he looked around at the school grounds. Derek just snagged Stiles’ jeans leg between his teeth and tugged him in the direction of the parking lot.
“Do you have clothes or are you going to streak across the lacrosse field?” Stiles asked, raising his brows in question.
Derek just huffed, pretty much the same sound as he made as a human, and trotted back into the woods.
Stiles was half tempted to follow him, but then he heard Derek shout, “Go home, Stiles!” from wherever he was lurking.
Naked.
In the woods.
Watching the lacrosse players in secret.
Okay, Derek had officially crossed to the next level of creepy. Stiles had mistakenly thought the guy had already maxed out, but apparently not.
“You’re exceptionally creepy, you know that?” Stiles shouted, before turning around and heading to his jeep.
***
The next day, Coach yelled at him for a full five minutes about forgetting the lacrosse ball. It probably didn’t help when Stiles pointed out he could buy them for five bucks on Amazon. Apparently Coach didn’t have Amazon Prime.
***
Derek was waiting for Stiles after lacrosse practice the following Wednesday. He was wearing clothes, and everything.
“Hey,” Stiles said, rummaging through his backpack for the peanut butter sandwiches he’d packed. “You hungry?”
Derek raised his eyebrows in apparent incredulity, but otherwise did not move from where he was sitting slumped against a tree with his forearms resting on his knees, wrists loosely crossed. He was barefoot, his only clothes the same dark grey henley he’d been wearing the first time Stiles had seen him, and stonewashed jeans that clung to his thighs.
Stiles wondered briefly whether Derek was going commando under the jeans to make for a more convenient wolf-human switch, and felt the back of his neck go hot. He grit his teeth and thrust the sandwich baggie at Derek.
Derek sniffed, his nostrils flaring, before taking the sandwich from Stiles and opening the bag carefully.
Stiles settled down on the ground next to Derek. The ground was damp and covered with twigs that poked into his butt, but Stiles wiggled until he was marginally more comfortable. “So,” he said.
“No.” Derek pinched the plastic bag between his index finger and thumb to open it wider and breathed in.
“You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
Derek removed the sandwich from its bag and set it on his lap. “You were going to ask me about my wolf form.”
“Yeah, but you don’t know what I was going to ask,” Stiles protested, taking a bite of peanut butter, strawberry preserves, and wheat bread.
Derek was still watching Stiles with narrowed eyes. “It’s not poisoned,” Stiles said, the words sticking in his mouth thanks to the peanut butter. He swallowed loudly before smiling and batting his eyelashes. “See?”
Derek rolled his eyes. He took a careful bite, chewed, and swallowed before turning to raise an eyebrow at Stiles. “I’m sure whatever you were going to ask was some combination of invasive, embarrassing, and idiotic.”
“You’re a jerk,” Stiles said, frowning at Derek over his sandwich. “I brought you an offering. A food offering. You should learn to appreciate me more.”
Derek turned back to his sandwich.
Stiles decided not to push. There was something nice about sitting at the edge of the woods with Derek, eating peanut butter sandwiches. The silence was surprisingly companionable.
***
Derek didn’t thank him for the sandwich, but he didn’t give Stiles the glare of doom either, and even offered to throw out his plastic baggie for him afterwards, so Stiles counted it as a win.
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don't get drool on my pillow)