Fic: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) (3/19)
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: 2k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
For the first time in weeks, Derek wasn’t waiting for him at their usual spot. Stiles pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time, but it wasn’t later than normal or anything. It hadn’t even rained that day, and Stiles had been looking forward to being able to run around without getting a face full of mud.
“Derek?” he called out, but there was no response. Derek didn’t even leap out from behind a tree to scare the crap out of Stiles. To be fair, Stiles wasn’t super disappointed about the lack of heart-attack-inducing surprise werewolves.
“I’m eating without you, loser,” Stiles said. “Your loss.” He sat down on the ground, cross-legged, and started to unwrap his sandwich. He kept a running commentary going, because if Derek was around, he’d be able to hear him, and if there was one thing Stiles excelled at, it was talking. Eventually Derek would get annoyed and show himself, if only to make Stiles shut up.
When Derek finally came out of hiding, Stiles was halfway into his story about the time in fifth grade when he challenged Scott to eat an entire bottle of hot sauce (spoiler alert: he threw up on Stiles’ favorite shirt). Even in human form, Derek didn’t say a word. He just walked up to Stiles, stole his backpack, rummaged through it for his sandwich, and stalked off again.
“Hey!” Stiles protested, scrambling to his feet in order to follow Derek. “Where do you think you’re going, huh?” He stooped to pick up a couple of rocks and lobbed them in Derek’s general direction as he sashayed off through the trees. Stiles spent a moment staring at the sway of his hips before he stumbled after him.
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, but if he’d really wanted to get rid of him, he could have run faster than Stiles could keep up. Then again, Derek was still holding his sandwich, so it wasn’t like he could drop to all fours and do his weird wolf-run thing.
“You were late,” Stiles said instead, stuffing his now-empty Ziploc baggie into his jeans pocket and throwing his backpack over his shoulders. He jogged to catch up so he could walk abreast with Derek. “There’s fashionably late, and then there’s making me wait for a half hour while my butt gets cold. Rude, Derek, rude.”
“We don’t have a scheduled time,” Derek said between gritted teeth, showing just a hint of fang.
“Lies,” Stiles interjected cheerfully. “I bet you were just trying to get out of answering my questions. Which, not cool.”
Derek didn’t answer, just frowned and glanced sideways to look at Stiles, so briefly that Stiles wasn’t even sure he had done it.
“Why do you need to be near pack?” Stiles asked.
Derek stopped mid-stride and turned to look at him, his eyebrows creasing and his lower lip jutting out.
“What?” Stiles asked, stopping with a jolt. His backpack thumped heavily against his lower back from the sudden movement. “You told me to ask that question next time; this totally counts as a next time, so I’m asking.”
Derek brought one hand up to rub against the nape of his neck, and he looked almost vulnerable, gaze flicking down to the ground to avoid eye contact with Stiles.
“It’s an anchor thing,” he said.
“Okay, cool.”
Derek glared at Stiles from underneath his eyebrows. “Will you leave me alone, now?”
Stiles grinned. “No way, annoying you is the highlight of my day.”
Derek’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I hate you,” he said, before turning and striding back towards the school.
Stiles just grinned and followed him. “No, you don’t.”
Derek just shot Stiles a withering glare before opening his sandwich bag and taking a large bite.
“Don’t chew so angrily,” Stiles said, feeling smug. “You’ll get indigestion.”
Derek growled. That was okay. Stiles knew Derek loved him anyway.
***
On Saturday, Stiles kept glancing at the clock, but midnight rolled around and there was still no sign of Derek. It was stupid for Stiles to expect him. He couldn’t be that much fun to hang around with, after all.
***
On Monday, at lunch, Stiles set his lunch tray across the table from Scott with a solid thunk.
“So, Derek,” he said, and Scott cocked his head with a faint smile on his face.
“Yeah?” Scott asked.
Stiles took a deep breath before sitting down. “He’s been creepin’ on us.”
Scott scrunched up his nose in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s been hiding in the woods behind the lacrosse field and spying on us!”
Scott laughed. “No, he hasn’t.”
Stiles leaned forward, his shirt nearly falling into his mashed potatoes. “He goes there every Wednesday and wolfs out. Like, super wolfs out.”
Scott’s expression cleared, but he was still sporting an amused half-smile. “Yeah, I know.”
“You know.” Stiles frowned. He had been betrayed, by his own best friend.
“Yeah, he told me.” Scott rolled his eyes and took a bite of pudding.
“Wait, what?” Stiles hissed. “You’re not going to elaborate on that?”
Scott crooked a grin. “It’s not just Wednesday.”
Stiles slumped back in his chair and blinked. “Every day?”
Scott shrugged. “That we have lacrosse practice, yeah.” He tilts his head. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know about it? Even if Derek hadn’t told me, I can still smell him.”
“My whole life is a lie,” Stiles complained.
Scott wordlessly pushed his bottle of cranberry juice across the table.
“I will not stoop to accepting bribes,” Stiles said, reaching for the juice and immediately downing half of it. Scott just smiled and continued eating his pudding.
***
Just in case he was imagining things, Stiles waited in the woods for an hour on Wednesday. Derek never showed.
***
The following day, after lacrosse practice, Stiles dragged Scott with him into the woods. Scott paused to sniff before leading them to a hollowed out tree trunk containing a neatly folded grey henley and pair of faded jeans. Stiles grinned broadly before stuffing them in his backpack and following Scott back to the locker room.
“What do you think, should I dunk them in the toilet? Or use the showers?”
Scott wrinkled his nose. “Whatever, dude. I’m not sticking around for the part where Derek chooses between nudity and wet clothing,” he said, hoisting his backpack over one shoulder.
Stiles frowned down at the clothing. Definitely shower. He didn’t want Derek’s clothes to smell weird; he just didn’t want them to smell. Otherwise, Derek could just track them down, and Stiles would lose his bargaining chip.
He glanced back up when the door clanged open. “Give my love to Kira!” Stiles called to Scott’s back, before turning towards the showers.
***
Stiles wasn’t exactly expecting to be tackled to the tile floor of the locker room by an angry black wolf, but he supposed he deserved it.
“Hey,” he said, grinning up at Derek, who was baring his very sharp teeth at Stiles.
Derek growled before getting off him and sitting back on his haunches, fur bristling.
“You gonna turn back into your grumpy self, so we can talk about this?”
Derek growled and Stiles took that for a Not without clothes.
Well, either that or just No.
Stiles sighed before walking towards the showers. He could feel the waves of anger emanating from behind him. “Look, I just wanted to get you to stop avoiding me.”
He bit his lip before stepping around the corner, looking back at Derek and gesturing at Derek’s darkened jeans, sitting neatly folded next to a shower drain. “Dude, I don’t know what I did, but whatever it is, will you just tell me? So I know not to do it again?”
Derek shoved his head against Stiles’ knees a couple of times, before Stiles finally got the hint and turned around with a sigh. He didn’t see what the big deal was. It wasn’t that he wanted to see Derek naked-no, scratch that, he definitely wanted to see Derek naked. Or wearing wet clothing that clung to his body. Either one. But still, it seemed dumb that now was the time Derek would pretend to possess modesty.
He heard Derek growl again before he turned back to human. His voice echoed against the tile walls when he finally spoke. “Are you trying to get me arrested?”
“No, I’m trying to get you to talk to me,” Stiles said, turning around.
He still wasn’t prepared to see Derek glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest, his jeans in a crumpled pile on the ground next to him.
“Turn back around,” he growled, before turning around and bending down to pick up his jeans.
Stiles was pretty sure his brain had just fried. That ass. If Derek’s abdomens were a gift from heaven above, then those thighs must be a work of the devil, or something, because damn. Really, just, Derek’s everything. But especially seeing his thigh muscles tremble and his back pull taut as he reached down-
“Stiles,” Derek said, but his voice sounded a lot less like an angry reprimand and more like fond exasperation.
“S-sorry,” Stiles said, and whirled around to face the wall. God, he needed to get it together, and fast, before Derek could smell-oh, shit, Derek could already smell his hormones going crazy, that’s probably why he’d said his name in that weird soft tone, it was because he felt bad for Stiles and his stupid crush. Stiles was going to die. Was dying of embarrassment a thing? He should look it up when he got home.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when a hand landed on his shoulder. “Stop thinking.” Derek sounded almost sad when he said it, not angry like Stiles had been expecting. Stiles turned to face him, and Derek was wearing his soaked jeans, but they weren’t zipped or buttoned. He could see Derek’s pubic hair curling above the vee of the fly.
“I’ll stop avoiding you,” Derek said, pulling his hands away, and Stiles finally remembered how to breathe as he tore his gaze back up to Derek’s face. “But you can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Stiles asked, and even though he genuinely had no idea what Derek had been talking about, because, hello, half naked supernaturally hot werewolf standing in front of him, apparently that had been the wrong thing to say because Derek’s expression closed off.
“I don’t care if you think it’s funny, Stiles,” he said, biting down on Stiles’ name as though it were an insult, “but my body is not a tool, or a toy, or a means to an end.”
Stiles blinked. “What?”
Derek’s frown deepened. “Forget it,” he said, and turned towards the locker room door.
“Derek, stop,” Stiles said, and nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get to Derek. “I didn’t. That wasn’t why-”
Derek stopped and brought his hand up to his face, his back still turned to Stiles. But at least he wasn’t running away. Stiles could work with that.
“Look, I only washed your shirt so you wouldn’t know where I’d put it,” he said, reaching into his backpack and retrieving the plastic grocery bag where he’d stashed Derek’s henley.
Derek extricated his still-soaked henley and grimaced as it started dripping onto his arm. “As much as I enjoy wearing wet clothing, I think I’ll pass,” he said, turning to leave with his shirt balled up in one fist.
“Wait!” Stiles said, stripping off his outer flannel and then pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Just. This is one of my favorite shirts, so you better not rip it or get blood on it or something.” He held it out to Derek in offering.
Derek turned to look at Stiles, and then his gaze fell to stare at the shirt clutched in his hand. Or, he was looking at something in that general vicinity. His eyes didn’t look focused.
“What?” Stiles asked, not able to hide the touch of impatience in his voice. He shook the shirt in his hand for emphasis. “Just take the damn thing.” He bit his lip. “I’d offer you my jeans, but, uh, I don’t think they’d fit.”
Derek swallowed visibly. Stiles tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up, then down.
He was contemplating taking his shirt back when Derek finally reached out and grabbed it. “Fine,” he said, and his voice sounded even more growly than normal.
Stiles sighed. “Just, come over on Saturday, okay?”
Derek froze, Stiles’ shirt pulled halfway over his head. “What?”
“Don’t make me wait up for you,” Stiles said, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes. For some reason, it felt like he was confessing something. Which was stupid. He just didn’t want to wonder if Derek was coming over, like he had last week. It was annoying to not know, that was all.
Stiles tried not to think about how his hands were shaking when he shoved his arms through his flannel and started buttoning it closed.
He was still staring at his fingers when he heard the locker room door open and then fall shut again.
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 2k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
For the first time in weeks, Derek wasn’t waiting for him at their usual spot. Stiles pulled his cell phone out of his pocket to check the time, but it wasn’t later than normal or anything. It hadn’t even rained that day, and Stiles had been looking forward to being able to run around without getting a face full of mud.
“Derek?” he called out, but there was no response. Derek didn’t even leap out from behind a tree to scare the crap out of Stiles. To be fair, Stiles wasn’t super disappointed about the lack of heart-attack-inducing surprise werewolves.
“I’m eating without you, loser,” Stiles said. “Your loss.” He sat down on the ground, cross-legged, and started to unwrap his sandwich. He kept a running commentary going, because if Derek was around, he’d be able to hear him, and if there was one thing Stiles excelled at, it was talking. Eventually Derek would get annoyed and show himself, if only to make Stiles shut up.
When Derek finally came out of hiding, Stiles was halfway into his story about the time in fifth grade when he challenged Scott to eat an entire bottle of hot sauce (spoiler alert: he threw up on Stiles’ favorite shirt). Even in human form, Derek didn’t say a word. He just walked up to Stiles, stole his backpack, rummaged through it for his sandwich, and stalked off again.
“Hey!” Stiles protested, scrambling to his feet in order to follow Derek. “Where do you think you’re going, huh?” He stooped to pick up a couple of rocks and lobbed them in Derek’s general direction as he sashayed off through the trees. Stiles spent a moment staring at the sway of his hips before he stumbled after him.
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said, but if he’d really wanted to get rid of him, he could have run faster than Stiles could keep up. Then again, Derek was still holding his sandwich, so it wasn’t like he could drop to all fours and do his weird wolf-run thing.
“You were late,” Stiles said instead, stuffing his now-empty Ziploc baggie into his jeans pocket and throwing his backpack over his shoulders. He jogged to catch up so he could walk abreast with Derek. “There’s fashionably late, and then there’s making me wait for a half hour while my butt gets cold. Rude, Derek, rude.”
“We don’t have a scheduled time,” Derek said between gritted teeth, showing just a hint of fang.
“Lies,” Stiles interjected cheerfully. “I bet you were just trying to get out of answering my questions. Which, not cool.”
Derek didn’t answer, just frowned and glanced sideways to look at Stiles, so briefly that Stiles wasn’t even sure he had done it.
“Why do you need to be near pack?” Stiles asked.
Derek stopped mid-stride and turned to look at him, his eyebrows creasing and his lower lip jutting out.
“What?” Stiles asked, stopping with a jolt. His backpack thumped heavily against his lower back from the sudden movement. “You told me to ask that question next time; this totally counts as a next time, so I’m asking.”
Derek brought one hand up to rub against the nape of his neck, and he looked almost vulnerable, gaze flicking down to the ground to avoid eye contact with Stiles.
“It’s an anchor thing,” he said.
“Okay, cool.”
Derek glared at Stiles from underneath his eyebrows. “Will you leave me alone, now?”
Stiles grinned. “No way, annoying you is the highlight of my day.”
Derek’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I hate you,” he said, before turning and striding back towards the school.
Stiles just grinned and followed him. “No, you don’t.”
Derek just shot Stiles a withering glare before opening his sandwich bag and taking a large bite.
“Don’t chew so angrily,” Stiles said, feeling smug. “You’ll get indigestion.”
Derek growled. That was okay. Stiles knew Derek loved him anyway.
***
On Saturday, Stiles kept glancing at the clock, but midnight rolled around and there was still no sign of Derek. It was stupid for Stiles to expect him. He couldn’t be that much fun to hang around with, after all.
***
On Monday, at lunch, Stiles set his lunch tray across the table from Scott with a solid thunk.
“So, Derek,” he said, and Scott cocked his head with a faint smile on his face.
“Yeah?” Scott asked.
Stiles took a deep breath before sitting down. “He’s been creepin’ on us.”
Scott scrunched up his nose in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s been hiding in the woods behind the lacrosse field and spying on us!”
Scott laughed. “No, he hasn’t.”
Stiles leaned forward, his shirt nearly falling into his mashed potatoes. “He goes there every Wednesday and wolfs out. Like, super wolfs out.”
Scott’s expression cleared, but he was still sporting an amused half-smile. “Yeah, I know.”
“You know.” Stiles frowned. He had been betrayed, by his own best friend.
“Yeah, he told me.” Scott rolled his eyes and took a bite of pudding.
“Wait, what?” Stiles hissed. “You’re not going to elaborate on that?”
Scott crooked a grin. “It’s not just Wednesday.”
Stiles slumped back in his chair and blinked. “Every day?”
Scott shrugged. “That we have lacrosse practice, yeah.” He tilts his head. “Did you really think I wouldn’t know about it? Even if Derek hadn’t told me, I can still smell him.”
“My whole life is a lie,” Stiles complained.
Scott wordlessly pushed his bottle of cranberry juice across the table.
“I will not stoop to accepting bribes,” Stiles said, reaching for the juice and immediately downing half of it. Scott just smiled and continued eating his pudding.
***
Just in case he was imagining things, Stiles waited in the woods for an hour on Wednesday. Derek never showed.
***
The following day, after lacrosse practice, Stiles dragged Scott with him into the woods. Scott paused to sniff before leading them to a hollowed out tree trunk containing a neatly folded grey henley and pair of faded jeans. Stiles grinned broadly before stuffing them in his backpack and following Scott back to the locker room.
“What do you think, should I dunk them in the toilet? Or use the showers?”
Scott wrinkled his nose. “Whatever, dude. I’m not sticking around for the part where Derek chooses between nudity and wet clothing,” he said, hoisting his backpack over one shoulder.
Stiles frowned down at the clothing. Definitely shower. He didn’t want Derek’s clothes to smell weird; he just didn’t want them to smell. Otherwise, Derek could just track them down, and Stiles would lose his bargaining chip.
He glanced back up when the door clanged open. “Give my love to Kira!” Stiles called to Scott’s back, before turning towards the showers.
***
Stiles wasn’t exactly expecting to be tackled to the tile floor of the locker room by an angry black wolf, but he supposed he deserved it.
“Hey,” he said, grinning up at Derek, who was baring his very sharp teeth at Stiles.
Derek growled before getting off him and sitting back on his haunches, fur bristling.
“You gonna turn back into your grumpy self, so we can talk about this?”
Derek growled and Stiles took that for a Not without clothes.
Well, either that or just No.
Stiles sighed before walking towards the showers. He could feel the waves of anger emanating from behind him. “Look, I just wanted to get you to stop avoiding me.”
He bit his lip before stepping around the corner, looking back at Derek and gesturing at Derek’s darkened jeans, sitting neatly folded next to a shower drain. “Dude, I don’t know what I did, but whatever it is, will you just tell me? So I know not to do it again?”
Derek shoved his head against Stiles’ knees a couple of times, before Stiles finally got the hint and turned around with a sigh. He didn’t see what the big deal was. It wasn’t that he wanted to see Derek naked-no, scratch that, he definitely wanted to see Derek naked. Or wearing wet clothing that clung to his body. Either one. But still, it seemed dumb that now was the time Derek would pretend to possess modesty.
He heard Derek growl again before he turned back to human. His voice echoed against the tile walls when he finally spoke. “Are you trying to get me arrested?”
“No, I’m trying to get you to talk to me,” Stiles said, turning around.
He still wasn’t prepared to see Derek glaring at him with his arms crossed over his chest, his jeans in a crumpled pile on the ground next to him.
“Turn back around,” he growled, before turning around and bending down to pick up his jeans.
Stiles was pretty sure his brain had just fried. That ass. If Derek’s abdomens were a gift from heaven above, then those thighs must be a work of the devil, or something, because damn. Really, just, Derek’s everything. But especially seeing his thigh muscles tremble and his back pull taut as he reached down-
“Stiles,” Derek said, but his voice sounded a lot less like an angry reprimand and more like fond exasperation.
“S-sorry,” Stiles said, and whirled around to face the wall. God, he needed to get it together, and fast, before Derek could smell-oh, shit, Derek could already smell his hormones going crazy, that’s probably why he’d said his name in that weird soft tone, it was because he felt bad for Stiles and his stupid crush. Stiles was going to die. Was dying of embarrassment a thing? He should look it up when he got home.
He was pulled out of his thoughts when a hand landed on his shoulder. “Stop thinking.” Derek sounded almost sad when he said it, not angry like Stiles had been expecting. Stiles turned to face him, and Derek was wearing his soaked jeans, but they weren’t zipped or buttoned. He could see Derek’s pubic hair curling above the vee of the fly.
“I’ll stop avoiding you,” Derek said, pulling his hands away, and Stiles finally remembered how to breathe as he tore his gaze back up to Derek’s face. “But you can’t do this.”
“Do what?” Stiles asked, and even though he genuinely had no idea what Derek had been talking about, because, hello, half naked supernaturally hot werewolf standing in front of him, apparently that had been the wrong thing to say because Derek’s expression closed off.
“I don’t care if you think it’s funny, Stiles,” he said, biting down on Stiles’ name as though it were an insult, “but my body is not a tool, or a toy, or a means to an end.”
Stiles blinked. “What?”
Derek’s frown deepened. “Forget it,” he said, and turned towards the locker room door.
“Derek, stop,” Stiles said, and nearly tripped over himself in his haste to get to Derek. “I didn’t. That wasn’t why-”
Derek stopped and brought his hand up to his face, his back still turned to Stiles. But at least he wasn’t running away. Stiles could work with that.
“Look, I only washed your shirt so you wouldn’t know where I’d put it,” he said, reaching into his backpack and retrieving the plastic grocery bag where he’d stashed Derek’s henley.
Derek extricated his still-soaked henley and grimaced as it started dripping onto his arm. “As much as I enjoy wearing wet clothing, I think I’ll pass,” he said, turning to leave with his shirt balled up in one fist.
“Wait!” Stiles said, stripping off his outer flannel and then pulling his t-shirt over his head. “Just. This is one of my favorite shirts, so you better not rip it or get blood on it or something.” He held it out to Derek in offering.
Derek turned to look at Stiles, and then his gaze fell to stare at the shirt clutched in his hand. Or, he was looking at something in that general vicinity. His eyes didn’t look focused.
“What?” Stiles asked, not able to hide the touch of impatience in his voice. He shook the shirt in his hand for emphasis. “Just take the damn thing.” He bit his lip. “I’d offer you my jeans, but, uh, I don’t think they’d fit.”
Derek swallowed visibly. Stiles tracked the movement of his Adam’s apple as it bobbed up, then down.
He was contemplating taking his shirt back when Derek finally reached out and grabbed it. “Fine,” he said, and his voice sounded even more growly than normal.
Stiles sighed. “Just, come over on Saturday, okay?”
Derek froze, Stiles’ shirt pulled halfway over his head. “What?”
“Don’t make me wait up for you,” Stiles said, refusing to meet Derek’s eyes. For some reason, it felt like he was confessing something. Which was stupid. He just didn’t want to wonder if Derek was coming over, like he had last week. It was annoying to not know, that was all.
Stiles tried not to think about how his hands were shaking when he shoved his arms through his flannel and started buttoning it closed.
He was still staring at his fingers when he heard the locker room door open and then fall shut again.
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)