Fic: UST (An Unfortunate Series of Tropes) (8/19)
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: 3k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Twenty minutes and a clothed werewolf later, Derek was seated at the Stilinski’s kitchen table, an empty glass of orange juice next to him.
“My parents did the bonding ritual,” Derek said. “I’m telling you, it’s part of a marriage ceremony.”
“No, no, no,” Stiles said, “we’re not married, you can’t get married without both parties being there, I’m pretty sure this is a thing. Person one and person two get together and say stuff and sign legal documents and bam, married.” He halted in his pacing and stared at Derek, who was now slumped over the table, face buried in his arms. “Plus, you know, there’s usually kissing. I would definitely remember kissing you.”
If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think Derek’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed sobs. But this was Derek. He was totally laughing. “Shut up.”
Derek lifted his face just enough to raise his eyebrows at Stiles, in a silent I didn’t say anything. The corner of his mouth was curled upwards in a sarcastic smirk, though. Asshole.
“Oh my god, I hate you,” Stiles said, and Derek dropped his head back onto the table. “Anyway, Deaton said it was temporary, so we just go find him tomorrow, and get a werewolf annulment. Easy peasy.”
“Stiles,” Derek muttered, slightly muffled by his arms.
“What?”
He was silent for a long time before lifting his head and flicking his eyes over Stiles’ face. He opened his mouth, only to shut it again. After a moment, he pushed his chair out and stood, looking at Stiles silently in the quiet warmth of the overhead kitchen lights.
“What?” Stiles repeated.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Derek said, averting his gaze.
Stiles knew that wasn’t what he had been planning to say. He huffed, annoyed, before circling the table and tugging on the hem of Derek’s shirt, fingers bunching in the stretchy fabric above his hip. “Don’t be dumb,” he said, and turned towards the stairs. He didn’t look back, because he didn’t want to break this weird mood that had descended over both of them, a quiet tension that made every step away from Derek a little harder. Stiles didn’t stop until he was at the door to his bedroom. Taking a stuttering breath, he pushed open the door and stepped towards the bed. He could feel Derek standing close behind him, could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “C’mon,” he said, finally turning around.
Derek wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at the bed. There was something odd in his expression that Stiles couldn’t quite put a name to-a stiffness in his shoulders and an intensity in his gaze.
“I don’t want to change,” Derek said, almost too quiet to hear.
“What?” Stiles gaped at him. “What are you even talking about? I mean, do you want to sleep in those clothes? Or, like, is this a more existential thing about your grumpy personality and how you’d like to preserve it? You’ve lost me, dude.”
Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles tamped down the warm feeling that bubbled up in his chest at the sight.
“I don’t want to change to wolf form,” Derek qualified, licking his lips and ducking his head. He looked up at Stiles from underneath long eyelashes, and-holy god, Stiles was going to spend the night in bed with Derek Hale. As a human.
“You’re sleeping with me looking like that?” Stiles asked, voice squeaking only a little, as he flailed his arms in the direction of Derek’s everything.
Derek raised an eyebrow.
It took Stiles a few seconds to catch on. “Oh, my god, no. Literally sleeping, dude, not the fun kind, you know what I meant.”
“Fine,” Derek said, turning away. “I’ll sleep on the floor, then.”
“Oh, no way.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and proceeded to drag him onto the bed. Derek didn’t even offer token resistance, and Stiles felt oddly smug. “I know how you sleep, dude, you’re a cuddler.” He could feel his cheeks heating up, but he ignored it and strode over to the light switch in a few jerky movements. It was still early, maybe eight or nine, but Stiles could feel weariness seeping into his bones.
He skirted around the edge of the bed, eyes quickly adjusting to the twilight filtering through the curtains. He navigated around Derek’s legs, and settled himself onto the far side of the bed, next to the wall.
He wriggled into the blankets to get as comfortable as possible while still wearing jeans-because he was not waking up next to Derek without at least three layers of clothing between Derek and Stiles’ morning wood, thank you-and glanced over to where Derek was still sitting propped up against the headboard, hands folded in his lap, and looking somewhat constipated.
“Dude, relax,” Stiles said, even though it made him sort of a hypocrite. “Just sleep, and we’ll figure it out in the morning. Okay?”
Derek sighed, the long line of his shoulders drooping a fraction. “Okay.”
Stiles closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable, but he was hyper aware of the body next to him, radiating heat and tension. He could feel the blankets shift as Derek slid down the bed. If he concentrated, he could feel the cotton sliding against Derek’s skin, in tandem with the way it felt against his own.
“Stop,” Derek said, and Stiles jerked, hitting Derek in the arm.
He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to ignore the burn of embarrassment, before turning his head to glare at Derek directly. “I wasn’t doing anything!”
“You were strengthening the bond,” Derek growled.
“How was I even-”
“I could feel it!” Derek rolled onto his side, facing Stiles. “Whatever you were doing just now, don’t.”
Stiles swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Their faces were so close now, only a few inches apart. Stiles could see the individual eyelashes on Derek’s eyelids, the shifting brown-blue-green streaks in his irises, his expanding pupils. He felt a soft puff of breath against his lips as Derek exhaled sharply. Derek’s lips were slightly parted, pink and soft looking, and Stiles found himself drifting closer.
Derek shifted backwards on the bed, his face twisted in a grimace, and Stiles felt his insides clench.
“Shit,” Stiles said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”
“It’s fine,” Derek said, his voice strained, as he flipped onto his other side, facing away from Stiles. “Go to sleep.”
Stiles curled his hands up into fists, so he wouldn’t be tempted to smooth out the taut lines of the muscles in Derek’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and flopped onto his back, turning his face to the wall before opening his eyes again, staring at the shadows on the wall. He brought his thumb up to smooth over the stucco texture that had been there as long as he could remember.
“Stiles,” Derek said.
Stiles dropped his hand and froze, all his muscles tensing. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Stiles turned his head, readying his bitchface, but all he could see was the black mess of Derek’s hair falling onto the pillow, and the round curve of his ear. “Nothing?” He huffed out an irritated sigh. “You’re going to stick with that, really?”
After a long moment of silence, he rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and curled up into the fetal position, tucking his hands in his armpits.
It felt like hours before he finally drifted off.
***
He woke up sprawled onto his stomach, a warm, heavy weight on his back, and his right arm folded up at an awkward angle between his mattress and his pillow. He wriggled backwards, closer to the source of the warmth, and flexed his fingers to get the circulation flowing once more. His waist and legs were sort of itchy, but Stiles wasn’t awake enough to try to fix it.
He cracked open the eye that wasn’t currently smashed into his pillow. Judging from the orange tinge splashed onto the wall, it was just after sunrise. Way too early for a Saturday morning. He was just about to roll over and go back to sleep when the warm mass on top of him shifted.
“Oh my god,” Stiles shouted, flailing his arms and legs. “What are you-”
Derek uttered a sound halfway between a grunt and a growl, and snaked his arm around Stiles’ waist. “Too early.”
Stiles froze, all of his muscles tensing. On the one hand, Derek had a perfectly good point. It was early, and Stiles had been planning on going back to sleep. On the other hand, Stiles was currently sporting an erection the size of Ohio, and Derek could smell boners.
“Derek, get off, I gotta pee,” he blurted.
Derek sighed and rolled away, and Stiles scrambled off the bed, heart pounding.
From his new position standing at the foot of the bed, Stiles could see Derek’s mussed hair and the profile of his soft, sleepy face. His shirt was rucked halfway up his stomach, revealing the curve of his back and the dimples above his ass. His legs were splayed out and tangled with the blankets, his jeans pushed halfway up one leg, revealing a tanned, perfectly muscled calf covered sparsely in dark hair.
Stiles pressed a hand to the front of his jeans and tried not to groan out loud.
Derek let out an obscene sounding moan and his hips twitched ever-so-slightly. Stiles bolted for the bathroom and shoved a hand down his pants. He let his mind replay the scene from this morning: Derek’s skin glowing softly in the sunlight leaking through the blinds; the taut stretch of back muscle and the raised tendons in his neck; how young he looked without his perpetual frown. It was that last one, weirdly enough, that had Stiles pulsing into his fist within a dozen strokes. He could feel his cheeks flaming as he wiped up the mess with a handful of toilet paper.
When he got back to the bedroom, Derek was sitting curled up against the headboard, hunched over and with his legs drawn up to his chest. His face was a splotchy pink and he refused to meet Stiles’ eyes.
Stiles shut his eyes as he tried to stave off the wave of mortification that rushed through him.
“Where’s your trash,” Derek bit out, and when Stiles opened his eyes, he saw a wad of kleenex clenched in Derek’s fist.
Which meant-
“Oh, fuck, you could feel that too?”
Derek’s face scrunched up like he had been eating lemons, or something. “Just tell me where the damn trash can is, Stiles.”
Cheeks on fire, Stiles leaned over to grab the trashcan from underneath his desk and thrust it at Derek, before storming out of the bedroom.
***
His dad was sitting at the kitchen table when he got downstairs. Stiles froze. “Dad.”
His father raised an eyebrow at him from over his newspaper. “Stiles.”
“So, how was work?” Stiles tried, but his dad just stared in the direction of the stairs. “Dad?”
“Morning,” Derek said from behind him, his voice rough. Whether it was from the embarrassment of having to ask Stiles for the trashcan for his used tissues, fear of his dad’s wrath, or just his normal post-waking up voice, Stiles couldn’t tell.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Dad said, sounding a little bit shell-shocked.
“Sorry,” Derek said.
“It’s fine,” Dad said, flashing a strained smile in Derek’s direction. “Sit down, son.” He turned towards Stiles and his smile turned sharp. “Explain,” he said.
“Uh, we sort of got werewolf married,” Stiles blurted, and shit. That was not the right way to start this conversation.
“Your son is an idiot,” Derek said, folding himself into the chair across from Stiles’ father, the same spot he’d been sitting yesterday afternoon.
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles’ dad said, lowering his newspaper, “I must have misheard you. I could have sworn I heard you say that the two of you got married?”
“This is all Deaton’s fault!” Stiles said, as Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know it would be permanent!”
“It’s not permanent,” Derek interrupted, nostrils flaring. “Yet.”
“Back up a second. You never even told me you two were dating,” Dad said, frowning between Derek and Stiles.
“Oh my god, we’re not!” Stiles said, flailing his hands for emphasis. His dad gave him an incredulous look. “We’re not dating!”
“Son,” Dad said, a guilty expression flashing across his face, “you know I don’t care who you’re with, as long as they make you happy, right?” The guilt dropped away, replaced by a stern frown. “That being said, I don’t think I need to remind you that the age of consent in California is eighteen.”
Derek let out a pained sound and covered his face in his hands.
“Oh, my god, Dad! It’s not even an issue! I mean, come on,” Stiles said, waving with both hands in Derek’s direction. He seemed to be attempting to sink into the floor. “Does he look like he wants to date me?”
Derek dropped his hands on the table and grit his teeth. “We aren’t discussing this,” he said, glaring at Stiles, before turning back to Stiles’ father. “We need to get Deaton to reverse the spell. Immediately.”
“Hey,” Stiles said, frowning at Derek, “I was just trying to make sure you were safe. Besides, Deaton said the spell was temporary. Why are you in such a hurry to detach yourself, anyway?”
Derek glared down at the table like he was trying to burn a hole in the wood, but still didn’t say anything.
“Let me get this straight,” Stiles’ father said, and Stiles jerked around to face him. “You,” he said, pointing at Stiles, “asked Deaton to cast some sort of spell in order to help Derek.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, toying with the hem of his shirt. Even though he was the one standing, he still felt at a disadvantage, somehow.
“Without asking Derek’s permission, or knowing what the effects of the spell would be, or how to remove it?” His dad smiled at Derek, soft and sort of rueful. Probably thinking about how horrible his son was, and how it must be all his fault since, you know, he was the one who raised him wrong.
Stiles bit his lip. “Okay, yeah, when you put it that way, it sounds a little sketchy.”
Dad turned and directed his patented Sheriff stare at Stiles. “It’s perfectly reasonable for Derek to want this thing removed. It’s not as though he had a choice in the matter.”
Stiles swallowed, setting his jaw even as he ducked his head. It didn’t matter that he liked having a connection to Derek. It wasn’t his call to make.
He heard his dad sigh. “So how exactly does this spell make you werewolf married?”
Stiles winced. He’d hoped his dad had missed that part.
It was Derek who spoke, though. “It’s a bonding ritual, the same as Deaton used on my parents after Laura was born.”
Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek. His face was blank, a carefully guarded mask, but Stiles could sense that he was anxious. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the bond or just because he knew Derek, knew how much it hurt to talk about his family.
Derek cleared his throat before continuing. “It lets the bonded pair sense each other from long distances, and feel what the other is feeling. Physically,” he added. “Mostly it’s so that if one of the pair is wounded, the other can help them manage the pain.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. The tips of Derek’s ears were pink. He was totally hiding something. The whole sharing physical sensations thing had to be more than just a protective thing, right? His mind flashed back to this morning, when he came into the bedroom to see Derek clutching a handful of tissues, looking ashamed and aroused.
“Oh,” Stiles said, because duh. Long distance sex would be so much better with a bond.
Derek glared at Stiles, as though daring him to say something. Stiles felt his dick twitch, and for once he had no idea if it was his own interest or Derek’s.
“Yes, oh,” Derek said, carrying on as though Stiles hadn’t just had an epiphany about werewolf intercourse. “I’m guessing Stiles used it to find me, which was completely unnecessary and idiotic.”
“Hey!” Stiles said, glaring at Derek. “You had been missing for a week, and apparently you were caught in a trap and not planning on getting out of it anytime soon. You could have been eaten by bears!”
“Bears?” Dad asked, trying-and failing-to keep the amusement off his face.
Derek ignored him, eyes locked on Stiles’. “And if I hadn’t gotten out of the trap, you would still be feeling like you had a broken leg!”
“Oh, my god!” Stiles said, mouth dropping open. “Are you seriously that masochistic that the only reason you escaped from a coyote trap was because I could feel it too?”
Derek stilled.
Dad leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat. “Well, as fun as this has been, I was hoping to actually enjoy my Saturday, and I don’t want to be worried about my idiot son and his not-boyfriend.” He shot Derek a look, as if challenging him to correct his wording.
Derek hunched his shoulders and looked vaguely guilty.
“I hate you both,” Stiles said, and was summarily ignored.
Dad eyed Derek speculatively. “Any side effects I need to know about?”
Derek’s eyes darted back and forth before he said, “We’ll start feeling a tug if we’re too far apart. Since the bond is new, we’re supposed to be in proximity until it strengthens.”
“This tug painful?” Stiles’ dad asked, his eyes flicking over to Stiles, mouth pursed in a frown.
Derek nodded once, curt, his eyes flicking to a point next to Dad’s shoulder.
“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Stiles said, snorting.
“For you,” Derek said, twisting to glare at Stiles from underneath his eyebrows.
“Oh.”
Dad smiled, that weird half-quirk of his mouth that Stiles had inherited, that meant he was trying really hard not to laugh. “Stiles, you find Deaton and figure out how to reverse this thing.” He pushed his chair out and got to his feet.
“No stalling,” he added, with a knowing look.
“Dad!” Stiles whined. “Why does no one trust me?”
Derek snorted, and Stiles’ dad sighed loudly.
“Fine,” Stiles conceded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll call Deaton, see if he can meet us at the office.”
His dad nodded, apparently satisfied, before walking over to Derek. “And you,” he said, clapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “are going to stay in our guest bedroom. Let’s get you settled in.”
Stiles blinked. “Wait, what? Why is he staying at our house?”
“Did you not hear him say that he has to stay close?” His dad raised an eyebrow. “I’m certainly not letting him sleep in your bed again.”
“Uh. What do you mean, again?” Stiles felt his stomach drop out.
“I’m not stupid,” Dad said, and Derek winced.
“Right,” Stiles said, wondering how far he could get if he attempted to flee the state. Probably not very far. “I’m just gonna call Deaton, then.”
“You do that,” Stiles’ dad said, his trying-not-to-laugh face solidly in place. “Derek, after me.”
“Yes, sir,” Derek said, following him meekly upstairs, and Stiles let out a groan of frustration.
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)
Rating: NC-17
Genres: Humor, Angst
Setting: Post Season 3B, slightly AU from mid-season 3B
Pairings: Stiles/Derek, background Scott/Kira
Wordcount: 3k (this chapter); ~50k total
Betas: percygranger and desiderii
Stiles and Derek sitting in a tree, M-A-R-R-I-E-D.
Wait, what?
Or: Stiles thought he and Derek were finally getting to be bros, and then Deaton had to go and ruin everything with his stupid spell.
Chapter 1: Animal Transformation (Or: Lack of self-preservation instinct)
Chapter 2: Bed Sharing (Or: Don’t get drool on my pillow)
Chapter 3: Clothes Stealing (Or: My whole life is a lie)
Chapter 4: Unexpected Nerd References (Or: Carry on with your bad self)
Chapter 5: Gone Missing (Or: Scott is the worst)
Chapter 6: Sleep Deprivation (Or: Give my love to Rosebud)
Chapter 7: Bonding Ritual (Or: Zero of ten, would not recommend)
Chapter 8: Accidental Marriage (Or: Why does no one trust me?)
Twenty minutes and a clothed werewolf later, Derek was seated at the Stilinski’s kitchen table, an empty glass of orange juice next to him.
“My parents did the bonding ritual,” Derek said. “I’m telling you, it’s part of a marriage ceremony.”
“No, no, no,” Stiles said, “we’re not married, you can’t get married without both parties being there, I’m pretty sure this is a thing. Person one and person two get together and say stuff and sign legal documents and bam, married.” He halted in his pacing and stared at Derek, who was now slumped over the table, face buried in his arms. “Plus, you know, there’s usually kissing. I would definitely remember kissing you.”
If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think Derek’s shoulders were shaking with suppressed sobs. But this was Derek. He was totally laughing. “Shut up.”
Derek lifted his face just enough to raise his eyebrows at Stiles, in a silent I didn’t say anything. The corner of his mouth was curled upwards in a sarcastic smirk, though. Asshole.
“Oh my god, I hate you,” Stiles said, and Derek dropped his head back onto the table. “Anyway, Deaton said it was temporary, so we just go find him tomorrow, and get a werewolf annulment. Easy peasy.”
“Stiles,” Derek muttered, slightly muffled by his arms.
“What?”
He was silent for a long time before lifting his head and flicking his eyes over Stiles’ face. He opened his mouth, only to shut it again. After a moment, he pushed his chair out and stood, looking at Stiles silently in the quiet warmth of the overhead kitchen lights.
“What?” Stiles repeated.
“I’ll sleep on the couch,” Derek said, averting his gaze.
Stiles knew that wasn’t what he had been planning to say. He huffed, annoyed, before circling the table and tugging on the hem of Derek’s shirt, fingers bunching in the stretchy fabric above his hip. “Don’t be dumb,” he said, and turned towards the stairs. He didn’t look back, because he didn’t want to break this weird mood that had descended over both of them, a quiet tension that made every step away from Derek a little harder. Stiles didn’t stop until he was at the door to his bedroom. Taking a stuttering breath, he pushed open the door and stepped towards the bed. He could feel Derek standing close behind him, could almost feel the heat radiating from his body. “C’mon,” he said, finally turning around.
Derek wasn’t looking at him; he was looking at the bed. There was something odd in his expression that Stiles couldn’t quite put a name to-a stiffness in his shoulders and an intensity in his gaze.
“I don’t want to change,” Derek said, almost too quiet to hear.
“What?” Stiles gaped at him. “What are you even talking about? I mean, do you want to sleep in those clothes? Or, like, is this a more existential thing about your grumpy personality and how you’d like to preserve it? You’ve lost me, dude.”
Derek rolled his eyes. Stiles tamped down the warm feeling that bubbled up in his chest at the sight.
“I don’t want to change to wolf form,” Derek qualified, licking his lips and ducking his head. He looked up at Stiles from underneath long eyelashes, and-holy god, Stiles was going to spend the night in bed with Derek Hale. As a human.
“You’re sleeping with me looking like that?” Stiles asked, voice squeaking only a little, as he flailed his arms in the direction of Derek’s everything.
Derek raised an eyebrow.
It took Stiles a few seconds to catch on. “Oh, my god, no. Literally sleeping, dude, not the fun kind, you know what I meant.”
“Fine,” Derek said, turning away. “I’ll sleep on the floor, then.”
“Oh, no way.” Stiles grabbed Derek’s arm and proceeded to drag him onto the bed. Derek didn’t even offer token resistance, and Stiles felt oddly smug. “I know how you sleep, dude, you’re a cuddler.” He could feel his cheeks heating up, but he ignored it and strode over to the light switch in a few jerky movements. It was still early, maybe eight or nine, but Stiles could feel weariness seeping into his bones.
He skirted around the edge of the bed, eyes quickly adjusting to the twilight filtering through the curtains. He navigated around Derek’s legs, and settled himself onto the far side of the bed, next to the wall.
He wriggled into the blankets to get as comfortable as possible while still wearing jeans-because he was not waking up next to Derek without at least three layers of clothing between Derek and Stiles’ morning wood, thank you-and glanced over to where Derek was still sitting propped up against the headboard, hands folded in his lap, and looking somewhat constipated.
“Dude, relax,” Stiles said, even though it made him sort of a hypocrite. “Just sleep, and we’ll figure it out in the morning. Okay?”
Derek sighed, the long line of his shoulders drooping a fraction. “Okay.”
Stiles closed his eyes and tried to get comfortable, but he was hyper aware of the body next to him, radiating heat and tension. He could feel the blankets shift as Derek slid down the bed. If he concentrated, he could feel the cotton sliding against Derek’s skin, in tandem with the way it felt against his own.
“Stop,” Derek said, and Stiles jerked, hitting Derek in the arm.
He wrapped his arms around his chest, trying to ignore the burn of embarrassment, before turning his head to glare at Derek directly. “I wasn’t doing anything!”
“You were strengthening the bond,” Derek growled.
“How was I even-”
“I could feel it!” Derek rolled onto his side, facing Stiles. “Whatever you were doing just now, don’t.”
Stiles swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. Their faces were so close now, only a few inches apart. Stiles could see the individual eyelashes on Derek’s eyelids, the shifting brown-blue-green streaks in his irises, his expanding pupils. He felt a soft puff of breath against his lips as Derek exhaled sharply. Derek’s lips were slightly parted, pink and soft looking, and Stiles found himself drifting closer.
Derek shifted backwards on the bed, his face twisted in a grimace, and Stiles felt his insides clench.
“Shit,” Stiles said. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t-”
“It’s fine,” Derek said, his voice strained, as he flipped onto his other side, facing away from Stiles. “Go to sleep.”
Stiles curled his hands up into fists, so he wouldn’t be tempted to smooth out the taut lines of the muscles in Derek’s shoulders. He closed his eyes and flopped onto his back, turning his face to the wall before opening his eyes again, staring at the shadows on the wall. He brought his thumb up to smooth over the stucco texture that had been there as long as he could remember.
“Stiles,” Derek said.
Stiles dropped his hand and froze, all his muscles tensing. “What?”
“Nothing.”
Stiles turned his head, readying his bitchface, but all he could see was the black mess of Derek’s hair falling onto the pillow, and the round curve of his ear. “Nothing?” He huffed out an irritated sigh. “You’re going to stick with that, really?”
After a long moment of silence, he rolled onto his side, facing the wall, and curled up into the fetal position, tucking his hands in his armpits.
It felt like hours before he finally drifted off.
***
He woke up sprawled onto his stomach, a warm, heavy weight on his back, and his right arm folded up at an awkward angle between his mattress and his pillow. He wriggled backwards, closer to the source of the warmth, and flexed his fingers to get the circulation flowing once more. His waist and legs were sort of itchy, but Stiles wasn’t awake enough to try to fix it.
He cracked open the eye that wasn’t currently smashed into his pillow. Judging from the orange tinge splashed onto the wall, it was just after sunrise. Way too early for a Saturday morning. He was just about to roll over and go back to sleep when the warm mass on top of him shifted.
“Oh my god,” Stiles shouted, flailing his arms and legs. “What are you-”
Derek uttered a sound halfway between a grunt and a growl, and snaked his arm around Stiles’ waist. “Too early.”
Stiles froze, all of his muscles tensing. On the one hand, Derek had a perfectly good point. It was early, and Stiles had been planning on going back to sleep. On the other hand, Stiles was currently sporting an erection the size of Ohio, and Derek could smell boners.
“Derek, get off, I gotta pee,” he blurted.
Derek sighed and rolled away, and Stiles scrambled off the bed, heart pounding.
From his new position standing at the foot of the bed, Stiles could see Derek’s mussed hair and the profile of his soft, sleepy face. His shirt was rucked halfway up his stomach, revealing the curve of his back and the dimples above his ass. His legs were splayed out and tangled with the blankets, his jeans pushed halfway up one leg, revealing a tanned, perfectly muscled calf covered sparsely in dark hair.
Stiles pressed a hand to the front of his jeans and tried not to groan out loud.
Derek let out an obscene sounding moan and his hips twitched ever-so-slightly. Stiles bolted for the bathroom and shoved a hand down his pants. He let his mind replay the scene from this morning: Derek’s skin glowing softly in the sunlight leaking through the blinds; the taut stretch of back muscle and the raised tendons in his neck; how young he looked without his perpetual frown. It was that last one, weirdly enough, that had Stiles pulsing into his fist within a dozen strokes. He could feel his cheeks flaming as he wiped up the mess with a handful of toilet paper.
When he got back to the bedroom, Derek was sitting curled up against the headboard, hunched over and with his legs drawn up to his chest. His face was a splotchy pink and he refused to meet Stiles’ eyes.
Stiles shut his eyes as he tried to stave off the wave of mortification that rushed through him.
“Where’s your trash,” Derek bit out, and when Stiles opened his eyes, he saw a wad of kleenex clenched in Derek’s fist.
Which meant-
“Oh, fuck, you could feel that too?”
Derek’s face scrunched up like he had been eating lemons, or something. “Just tell me where the damn trash can is, Stiles.”
Cheeks on fire, Stiles leaned over to grab the trashcan from underneath his desk and thrust it at Derek, before storming out of the bedroom.
***
His dad was sitting at the kitchen table when he got downstairs. Stiles froze. “Dad.”
His father raised an eyebrow at him from over his newspaper. “Stiles.”
“So, how was work?” Stiles tried, but his dad just stared in the direction of the stairs. “Dad?”
“Morning,” Derek said from behind him, his voice rough. Whether it was from the embarrassment of having to ask Stiles for the trashcan for his used tissues, fear of his dad’s wrath, or just his normal post-waking up voice, Stiles couldn’t tell.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” Dad said, sounding a little bit shell-shocked.
“Sorry,” Derek said.
“It’s fine,” Dad said, flashing a strained smile in Derek’s direction. “Sit down, son.” He turned towards Stiles and his smile turned sharp. “Explain,” he said.
“Uh, we sort of got werewolf married,” Stiles blurted, and shit. That was not the right way to start this conversation.
“Your son is an idiot,” Derek said, folding himself into the chair across from Stiles’ father, the same spot he’d been sitting yesterday afternoon.
“Hey!”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles’ dad said, lowering his newspaper, “I must have misheard you. I could have sworn I heard you say that the two of you got married?”
“This is all Deaton’s fault!” Stiles said, as Derek pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t know it would be permanent!”
“It’s not permanent,” Derek interrupted, nostrils flaring. “Yet.”
“Back up a second. You never even told me you two were dating,” Dad said, frowning between Derek and Stiles.
“Oh my god, we’re not!” Stiles said, flailing his hands for emphasis. His dad gave him an incredulous look. “We’re not dating!”
“Son,” Dad said, a guilty expression flashing across his face, “you know I don’t care who you’re with, as long as they make you happy, right?” The guilt dropped away, replaced by a stern frown. “That being said, I don’t think I need to remind you that the age of consent in California is eighteen.”
Derek let out a pained sound and covered his face in his hands.
“Oh, my god, Dad! It’s not even an issue! I mean, come on,” Stiles said, waving with both hands in Derek’s direction. He seemed to be attempting to sink into the floor. “Does he look like he wants to date me?”
Derek dropped his hands on the table and grit his teeth. “We aren’t discussing this,” he said, glaring at Stiles, before turning back to Stiles’ father. “We need to get Deaton to reverse the spell. Immediately.”
“Hey,” Stiles said, frowning at Derek, “I was just trying to make sure you were safe. Besides, Deaton said the spell was temporary. Why are you in such a hurry to detach yourself, anyway?”
Derek glared down at the table like he was trying to burn a hole in the wood, but still didn’t say anything.
“Let me get this straight,” Stiles’ father said, and Stiles jerked around to face him. “You,” he said, pointing at Stiles, “asked Deaton to cast some sort of spell in order to help Derek.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, toying with the hem of his shirt. Even though he was the one standing, he still felt at a disadvantage, somehow.
“Without asking Derek’s permission, or knowing what the effects of the spell would be, or how to remove it?” His dad smiled at Derek, soft and sort of rueful. Probably thinking about how horrible his son was, and how it must be all his fault since, you know, he was the one who raised him wrong.
Stiles bit his lip. “Okay, yeah, when you put it that way, it sounds a little sketchy.”
Dad turned and directed his patented Sheriff stare at Stiles. “It’s perfectly reasonable for Derek to want this thing removed. It’s not as though he had a choice in the matter.”
Stiles swallowed, setting his jaw even as he ducked his head. It didn’t matter that he liked having a connection to Derek. It wasn’t his call to make.
He heard his dad sigh. “So how exactly does this spell make you werewolf married?”
Stiles winced. He’d hoped his dad had missed that part.
It was Derek who spoke, though. “It’s a bonding ritual, the same as Deaton used on my parents after Laura was born.”
Stiles lifted his head to look at Derek. His face was blank, a carefully guarded mask, but Stiles could sense that he was anxious. He couldn’t tell if it was because of the bond or just because he knew Derek, knew how much it hurt to talk about his family.
Derek cleared his throat before continuing. “It lets the bonded pair sense each other from long distances, and feel what the other is feeling. Physically,” he added. “Mostly it’s so that if one of the pair is wounded, the other can help them manage the pain.”
Stiles narrowed his eyes. The tips of Derek’s ears were pink. He was totally hiding something. The whole sharing physical sensations thing had to be more than just a protective thing, right? His mind flashed back to this morning, when he came into the bedroom to see Derek clutching a handful of tissues, looking ashamed and aroused.
“Oh,” Stiles said, because duh. Long distance sex would be so much better with a bond.
Derek glared at Stiles, as though daring him to say something. Stiles felt his dick twitch, and for once he had no idea if it was his own interest or Derek’s.
“Yes, oh,” Derek said, carrying on as though Stiles hadn’t just had an epiphany about werewolf intercourse. “I’m guessing Stiles used it to find me, which was completely unnecessary and idiotic.”
“Hey!” Stiles said, glaring at Derek. “You had been missing for a week, and apparently you were caught in a trap and not planning on getting out of it anytime soon. You could have been eaten by bears!”
“Bears?” Dad asked, trying-and failing-to keep the amusement off his face.
Derek ignored him, eyes locked on Stiles’. “And if I hadn’t gotten out of the trap, you would still be feeling like you had a broken leg!”
“Oh, my god!” Stiles said, mouth dropping open. “Are you seriously that masochistic that the only reason you escaped from a coyote trap was because I could feel it too?”
Derek stilled.
Dad leaned back in his chair, clearing his throat. “Well, as fun as this has been, I was hoping to actually enjoy my Saturday, and I don’t want to be worried about my idiot son and his not-boyfriend.” He shot Derek a look, as if challenging him to correct his wording.
Derek hunched his shoulders and looked vaguely guilty.
“I hate you both,” Stiles said, and was summarily ignored.
Dad eyed Derek speculatively. “Any side effects I need to know about?”
Derek’s eyes darted back and forth before he said, “We’ll start feeling a tug if we’re too far apart. Since the bond is new, we’re supposed to be in proximity until it strengthens.”
“This tug painful?” Stiles’ dad asked, his eyes flicking over to Stiles, mouth pursed in a frown.
Derek nodded once, curt, his eyes flicking to a point next to Dad’s shoulder.
“Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad,” Stiles said, snorting.
“For you,” Derek said, twisting to glare at Stiles from underneath his eyebrows.
“Oh.”
Dad smiled, that weird half-quirk of his mouth that Stiles had inherited, that meant he was trying really hard not to laugh. “Stiles, you find Deaton and figure out how to reverse this thing.” He pushed his chair out and got to his feet.
“No stalling,” he added, with a knowing look.
“Dad!” Stiles whined. “Why does no one trust me?”
Derek snorted, and Stiles’ dad sighed loudly.
“Fine,” Stiles conceded, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “I’ll call Deaton, see if he can meet us at the office.”
His dad nodded, apparently satisfied, before walking over to Derek. “And you,” he said, clapping a hand on Derek’s shoulder, “are going to stay in our guest bedroom. Let’s get you settled in.”
Stiles blinked. “Wait, what? Why is he staying at our house?”
“Did you not hear him say that he has to stay close?” His dad raised an eyebrow. “I’m certainly not letting him sleep in your bed again.”
“Uh. What do you mean, again?” Stiles felt his stomach drop out.
“I’m not stupid,” Dad said, and Derek winced.
“Right,” Stiles said, wondering how far he could get if he attempted to flee the state. Probably not very far. “I’m just gonna call Deaton, then.”
“You do that,” Stiles’ dad said, his trying-not-to-laugh face solidly in place. “Derek, after me.”
“Yes, sir,” Derek said, following him meekly upstairs, and Stiles let out a groan of frustration.
Chapter 9: Road Trip (Or: Screwed, and not in the good way)