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"Stiles," said Derek, his voice tight and controlled but also very clearly in do not fuck around right now or I will kill you myself mode, "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," said Stiles breathlessly from the forest floor, brushing a perfunctory hand over his torso and both legs, which-- huh. It came back wet, and-- he squinted-- red. "Actually, hang on, no-- I mean, I'm still fine, I think if I was dying I'd probably know it, at least I-- "
"Stiles."
"Right, right, it's just-- I may be bleeding. A bit. I think."
Derek growled and vaulted across the clearing to get to him. "Stay down," he said sharply, pushing Stiles flat onto his back with a hand on his sternum, which, ow. "That's probably going to bruise," he said to the sky as Derek examined his leg. "So, you know, not really helping with the whole not being hurt thing you've got going right now."
"Shut up," said Derek shortly. "You're bleeding."
"I told you that," said Stiles snippily. Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, it actually kind of hurt. He hissed in a breath when Derek came across a particularly sore spot.
"And I told you to stay in the car," said Derek.
"Yeah, well, maybe I'd start taking that instruction more seriously if you didn't prove every single time that I need to come and rescue your werewolfy ass."
"I do not need rescuing," growled Derek.
"Dude, you kind of do," said Stiles. "All of you, I mean, not just-- okay, seriously, don't look at me like that, I'm already injured so hurting me now would be totally redundant, right? It's just…I'm a bit invested, you know, I can't exactly sit back and watch you guys get hurt if there's something I can do to help. And there's always something I can do to help, because I'm Stiles and I'm pretty damn awesome, duh."
"That's not your job," said Derek.
"I know, I know, I'm the brains, not the brawn, whatever," said Stiles. "I'm still pretty sneaky, you've gotta give me that."
"You're the least sneaky person I've ever met," said Derek.
"Hey," said Stiles, struggling to sit up so he could turn the full force of his pout on Derek.
"Stay still, you're injured," said Derek. The you idiot went unuttered but tacked on nonetheless.
"It's just a flesh wound," mumbled Stiles, and then giggled a little hysterically.
Derek shot him a Look (yeah, capitalised and all), and didn't dignify Stiles' awesome pop-culture reference with a response.
"You know," said Stiles, letting himself settle onto his back again, "I totally thought this supernatural saving the world or whatever stuff would ease up a bit once I left for college."
"What are you talking about," said Derek. "It has. You're never here anymore."
He sounded…weird when he said that. Stiles filed that away to process later; right now his leg fucking hurt and he had other things to think about.
"I'm pretty sure that doesn't count if any time I am here I end up chasing my furry friends and their otherworldly nemeses around the woods."
Derek said nothing.
"Hey," said Stiles, "I know. Maybe you should come visit me on campus instead. You, or like-- you guys, if it doesn't work for you in the singular, or whatever. Scott comes all the time. I'm actually not that far away from his campus. And wherever Scott goes, he brings Allison with him, because he's still as sickeningly lovestruck as he was in highschool. And sometimes Allison brings Lydia, and Lydia brings Jackson, and Jackson brings Danny, et cetera et cetera, and hey, it's like one big reunion except not, because it doesn't count if you're not there with your…Alpha-ness or whatever, so you really should-- "
"Stiles," said Derek, lifting one hand from Stiles' leg to pinch the bridge of his nose. "Can you walk?"
"Huh?" said Stiles, blinking. "Oh, um. Generally? I mean, on an everyday basis yeah, I've been walking since I was, like, two years old? I'm pretty good at it, actually."
"You're really not," said Derek, which was totally unfair, it wasn't Stiles' fault he was clumsy, it was genetically coded, or something. "And that's not what I meant and you know it."
"Okay," said Stiles. "I don't know."
"Here," said Derek, standing and then bending back down to curl his hands around Stiles' biceps and haul him upright.
"Fuck," said Stiles. "Give a guy some warning, jeez."
"So?" Derek raised an eyebrow.
Stiles gingerly let his weight settle on his injured leg, and immediately buckled.
Derek caught him before he hit the ground, keeping him upright mainly by tucking him against his chest and keeping an arm tight about his waist.
That was another thing Stiles probably shouldn't think about til later though.
"So," said Stiles. "I'm guessing that's a no on the walking?"
Derek looked stony.
"I could hop?" tried Stiles.
"And break your other leg?" said Derek, shaking his head once, decisive.
Stiles felt a sudden, horrible sense of foreboding. "Wait," he said, "Wait, that's your 'I've made up my mind' face, what are you going to-- " He cut himself off with a totally manly and not at all high-pitched noise when Derek lifted him bodily and started striding from the clearing with Stiles cradled in his arms like he weighed absolutely nothing.
"Hey," said Stiles, "Hey, I am not a girl, you can't just lift me and carry me around like-- "
"What," grunted Derek. He looked about as unhappy as Stiles had ever seen him, which was actually comforting. Stiles had so many weird feelings and reactions to this whole werewolf thing and Derek in particular that it was practically par for the course, but tonight was possibly a record for weirdness in that whole department. "You have a better idea?"
"No," said Stiles. He crossed his arms uncomfortably over his chest. Derek would probably object to him slinging one around his shoulders to make this into even more of a hero carrying his heroine from the jaws of danger scenario. "I'm just voicing my general protests and grievances for the official record."
"Noted," said Derek dryly.
Stiles tipped his head back. "Why?" he moaned to the forest in general. "Why me?"
Derek made a low growling noise that Stiles took to mean he was wondering the exact same thing.
"So hey," said Stiles, making the executive decision to change the subject, "How are you, anyway? I mean, you know, generally. Without all of us here to surround you with awesome all the time."
Because the thing was…the thing was, stupid as he acted most of the time, Stiles wasn't actually, and he got it, this whole Derek thing. He knew what it was like to be lonely and scared and mired down in a fuckton of grief and memories. Derek had been so alone and angry and hostile when they'd first met, and he'd been terrifying, quite frankly; even though Stiles laughed now at the memory of being scared shitless it still happened. But then he'd gotten his pack together, and obviously he was Derek and he'd always be Derek, always somewhat hostile and closed-off, but he'd changed too, Stiles saw it in him the way he'd seen it in himself-- slowly and painfully but also sure, growing a little more every time he'd looked in the mirror in the months after his mom died.
The terrible, wound-up tightness in his shoulders had lessened til it was just normal Derek tightness, and he'd started smiling, not huge and not often but his mouth would twitch more than once every time Stiles saw him, and sometimes there'd even be teeth and like, something that could be considered an actual smile in, like, not Derek-specific terms.
So Stiles had wondered, when they'd all gone off to college, how it would settle over Derek. He'd been good about it-- Stiles knew he probably could've made Scott and Jackson and the rest of the pack stay if he wanted, but he hadn't said a word and it wasn't so bad anyway, no one had wanted to go far away. Scott had said something to him, in vague, awkwardly-worded terms, about not wanting to break up the pack, not wanting to stray too far from his Alpha, which Stiles totally understood too, because he may not be a werewolf but there was still something tying him to this, and he hadn't wanted to settle too far away either, even if it was slightly further than Scott had ended up. He wasn't completely gone with wolfy feelings-- he went to the school with the better computer science program. It felt important, though, that Derek was okay with everything. Stiles considered it a huge fucking achievement, getting to the point with the dude that he could get him to crack a smile, maybe even laugh occasionally, and something in his chest went all weird and clenched-up at the thought of Derek going back to the way he used to be, reluctant to trust and so, so guarded.
"I'm fine," said Derek, which, yeah, predictable.
Stiles rolled his eyes. "You're not pining away all alone in your house, are you?" he said.
"I have the pack here every weekend, whether I invite you all or not," said Derek (again, Stiles shoved the thrill at being included in Derek's parameters of the pack aside until later). "I couldn't get in a decent pining if I tried."
"Was that-- " Stiles feigned a swoon, bringing a dramatic hand to his forehead, "Was that a joke? I do declare, I might actually faint, I can't remember the last time you made a joke."
"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek. Stiles thought he was probably trying to make it sound threatening but his mouth was twitching, so it was a total failure.
"Oh hey," said Stiles, as they emerged from the trees to where Stiles had haphazardly parked his jeep. "We're here."
Derek grunted. "Open the door," he said, bringing them over to the passenger side.
"Right, door opening, coming right up," said Stiles, fumbling in his pocket for the keys.
Derek shoved him inside, maybe a little more gently than he'd do if Stiles wasn't injured.
"Hospital," he said, sliding into the driver's seat and gunning the engine.
"Great," groaned Stiles. "I come home to visit my dad and instead he'll be visiting me in the hospital. This is going to go well."
Derek shot him another Look. "If you didn't-- "
"No," said Stiles vehemently, "If you didn't-- "
"It's not like I asked-- "
"You don't have to ask, oh my God, I thought we were past the point of Derek Hale being emotionally obtuse enough to not expect his friends to help him out in life-threatening situations, Jesus."
Derek pursed his lips but remained gratifyingly silent.
They drove like that for a while, the jeep's tyres gliding like crashing waves on the asphalt, Stiles fidgeting in a fruitless quest to get comfortable while his leg flared with pain.
They were just rounding the depressingly familiar corner that brought the hospital into view when Derek said, grudgingly, "Thanks."
Stiles kept his smile between himself and the window. "Any time," he said firmly.
"Stiles," was the first thing he heard when he woke from his heavy painkiller-induced sleep.
"I'm fine, dad," he said automatically, blinking his eyes open to take in his dad's worried face hovering above him.
He could also see Derek's outline, lurking in the shadows at the back of the room like the total creeper he was.
"You're in the hospital," said his dad.
"Totally stupid injury, you know how coordinated I am," said Stiles.
He couldn't lie for shit, really, so it was a bit sad how easily his dad believed that. He wasn't that much of a spazz. Derek would beg to differ though, Stiles bet.
The sheriff made a face, clearly caught between wanting to tell Stiles off some more and relief.
In the end he settled on, "They're letting you out today, on the condition you don't do anything stupid. I suggested they might want to keep you here. Possibly strapped to the bed."
"Ha ha," said Stiles, rolling his eyes.
"At least I can keep an eye on you at home," said his dad. "I took the weekend off."
"Father son bonding time, sweet," said Stiles. Then he thought of something. "Hey, will I be able to drive back to college on Monday?"
Derek made an aborted movement from his place in the shadows.
"We'll see," was all his dad said.
So Stiles maybe had a bit of a thing for Derek. He'd never really freaked out about it-- to be honest, when you were into dudes and faced with someone as stupidly attractive as Derek Hale on practically a daily basis, it was pretty much inevitable. It didn't help that as far as Stiles could see Derek needed next to no reason to take his shirt off; seriously, it was worse than Twilight up in Beacon Hills sometimes.
The thing that did worry him was how much he cared, sometimes. Not about the pack, or whatever-- that was a given-- but about stupid things like, like Derek's general wellbeing, things like whether he was eating and sleeping properly, whether Stiles could get him to smile, how he was feeling.
He was pretty sure Derek knew, too-- if not all of it them something, because it wasn't like Stiles was considered subtle by anyone and Derek had his freaky werewolf senses on top of it.
Plus Stiles had always-- he didn't really know-- tried to get through to him, or something.
It was like…he felt a bit responsible, because really he probably understood Derek better than anyone, even if he wasn't a werewolf and Derek would never, ever acknowledge such a thing.
Whatever. The bottom line was that Derek was Derek, he was stupidly hot and all brooding Brontë-esque manliness, and it probably didn't matter what Stiles felt or didn't feel because he didn't have a shot.
Honestly, it was pretty fucking awesome that Derek cared as much as he already did, that he actually seemed to consider Stiles a part of his pack.
That was something. That was more than something, and Stiles was cool with all kinds of somethings. Really.
In the end it turned out he was okay to drive, so long as, "You don't get into any accidents, Stiles, seriously, I will find a way to have you arrested," his dad warned.
"That's not fair, it could totally not be my fault," said Stiles, watching his dad dump his bag into the back seat.
"It really couldn't, Stiles," said the sheriff.
"You're lucky I'm pumped to the eyeballs with self-esteem, or you'd have some serious parental failings on your hands." Stiles turned to face his dad, grinning.
"So lucky," said his dad, rolling his eyes, but he stepped forward to hug Stiles, and added, "Be careful, for the love of God," when he pulled back.
"Yes, sir," said Stiles, saluting lazily as he climbed into the jeep.
Stiles stopped by the Hale place on his way out of town.
He wasn't quite sure why, except for-- well, stupid Derek feelings and all that.
Derek didn't even say anything when he opened the door, just turned and walked back into the house, leaving it open for Stiles to follow.
"I'm not staying," Stiles called after him, shadowing him into the kitchen.
"Okay," said Derek, turning to lean against the counter and raising an eyebrow.
"Just thought I'd stop by and say thank you, you know, for the whole…" Stiles trailed off and gestured awkwardly to his leg.
Derek just looked at him.
"I know, I know, that's not how we roll or whatever, it's all manly I'll save your life, you save mine, bro, or whatever, and no talking about it except to brag, but." He shrugged and bit down on his lip before physically shaking the awkwardness off. "Okay, so, like I said, I can't stay, so I'll just…see myself out. Uh. Come say hi on campus sometime. Or…not. Whatever. Bye, dude."
He turned to leave.
He was almost at the door when Derek called out, "Stiles."
"Yeah?" Stiles glanced back over his shoulder. Derek was standing in the shadowed entrance to the kitchen.
"You're welcome."
Stiles bit down on a grin.
Derek rolled his eyes and launched something-- his leather jacket, okay-- at Stiles.
"It's going to rain," he said, rolling his eyes.
"Uh," said Stiles. "Thanks?"
"You're welcome," said Derek again.
Stiles blinked when he answered the knock on his dorm door and Derek was there. "Hey!" he said after a moment. "You came! Did you want your jacket back, or something?"
Derek growled and pushed Stiles back inside the room.
"Okay," said Stiles, "What-- "
Derek kissed him.
Stiles' roommate made a strangled noise. "I'm going to go," he said, slipping outside before Stiles could get his bearings.
Derek didn't even acknowledge it, just crowded Stiles back against the wall and kissed him some more, curling one huge, hot hand over the side of his neck and angling his head for better access.
"Derek," said Stiles, wrenching back so he could breathe, "What the hell-- "
"You're an idiot," said Derek.
"What?" said Stiles. "I mean, I know generally, yeah, but what?"
"I was waiting," said Derek, and he didn't move away from Stiles while he talked, so Stiles had to draw on every bit of Adderall in his system to listen, because seriously, he could feel Derek everywhere, his thighs slotted up between Stiles' and his stupidly sculpted chest, "For you to do something, but you're an idiot."
"Wait, what, what?" said Stiles furiously. He shoved at Derek's chest and then realised that was a kind of stupid thing to do, because he might not know what was going on but Derek was touching him with all this intent and he wasn't dead, so then he curled his fingers in Derek's t-shirt and tugged him closer. "You were waiting-- you knew? I mean, I know you knew, you have your stupid lycanthropic powers or whatever and I'm, you know, me, so-- but, I didn't know, how was I supposed to know there was anything to know? The move was totally on you, dude, that's-- "
"I'm the Alpha," said Derek.
"What the everloving fuck does that have to do with anything?" said Stiles. "I'm not a werewolf."
"You're still pack," said Derek. "I didn't want-- "
"You did though, apparently!" said Stiles shrilly. "And this is news to me, trust me, or I would've-- "
"How is it news to you, Stiles," said Derek. His voice was low and hoarse. Stiles swallowed.
"I," he said.
"You're an idiot," said Derek again.
"Okay, enough with the insulting Stiles portion," said Stiles. "Can we go back to the making out?"
"I can do you one better," said Derek, and just…rolled into him, biting at his mouth to get it open and licking inside, and Stiles…Stiles would probably be on the floor if Derek wasn't holding him up, because holy fuck, he wasn't a virgin anymore but this was-- it had never been like this. It had never been Derek.
"Fuck, fuck," he babbled, as Derek moved his mouth down to Stiles' neck and bit, teeth digging a bruise and stubble scraping over it for good measure. It felt raw and tingly and way too fucking good. "This is…I should have realised, your obvious isn't normal standards of obvious, but I-- you can't blame me for this, you were-- "
"I tried," said Derek, and it sounded broken. Stiles clenched his hands helplessly over the bunched muscles of Derek's shoulderblades. He wasn't quite sure what Derek meant; tried to hide it or tried to be obvious, whatever, he didn't really care anymore, it didn't matter anymore, they were here and Derek was kissing him and pushing a thigh up between his legs and Stiles could barely breathe, let alone think.
"Okay, okay, I'm an idiot, totally on board, just please," he said, not even sure what he was asking for except maybe more, except maybe never, ever stop.
Derek growled again, getting a hand under Stiles' shirt to scrape his blunt nails over his ribs, down to press his thumbs into the hollows beneath his hipbones.
Stiles shivered and said, "There's a bed like, two feet to your left, if you-- "
Derek bit down sharp on his collarbone and pressed him harder into the wall.
"Okay," said Stiles, "Here is good, here is great, let's fucking do this."
Derek pulled back for a heartbeat to give him a look, and it was…different to all his other looks, or maybe somehow a combination; exasperated and grudgingly fond and so fucking intense, and Stiles didn't quite know what to do with it except strain upwards to kiss him some more, so he did.
"Are you going to fuck me?" gasped Stiles, when Derek stopped kissing him to press his face into Stiles' neck and fucking…breathe him in or some wolfy shit.
Derek jerked a little bit against him and Stiles made a victory face at the opposite wall.
"Or I could blow you," said Stiles.
Derek made a noise in his throat and looked at him. His eyes were dark, completely blown to the rings of red around the edges, which, wow, that was hot.
"Everything," he said, and palmed a hand over the front of Stiles' jeans.
"Oh God," said Stiles, head thunking back against the wall. "Figures, of course, I always thought you'd just out and kill me, like, rip my throat out or something, but you're going to kill me with sex, aren't you, you're going to kill me with your penis-- "
"Shut up, Stiles," said Derek, grinding down with the heel of his hand.
"I can probably do that," agreed Stiles, "If you just-- oh. Yeah, that."
Derek smirked at him.
He undid Stiles' jeans with quick, efficient flicks of his fingers, and wow, okay, they were going ahead with this, and fast. Stiles was cool with that though, like, so super cool.
Derek lifted his hand, thumbing Stiles' mouth open, tugging on his bottom lip without breaking eye contact. It was the hottest thing that had ever happened to Stiles, hands down.
"Lick," said Derek, twisting his wrist to hold the flat of his palm against Stiles' open mouth, and okay, so maybe this was the hottest thing that'd ever happened to him.
Probably that bar would keep moving up in the next few minutes.
Stiles licked, and Derek made a muted approving noise and said, "Good," rewarding Stiles with a hard thrust of his hips.
"Oh God," said Stiles, as Derek worked his spit-slick hand into Stiles' boxers to wrap around his dick, "Are you trying to like, get some Pavlovian reward shit going? Because I'm pretty sure if anyone should be doing that it's me, you know, with the whole wolf thing and-- and, oh, yeah, okay, shutting up now, cool."
"Good," said Derek again, teeth bared but not frighteningly so, not at all, it was all just variations of hot and good and yes.
His hands were rough and calloused and felt amazing on Stiles' cock, and he wasn't gentle at all, he was fast and thoroughly determined, one hand braced on the wall next to Stiles' head while the other worked his dick, and he was alternating between biting messily at Stiles' mouth and looking down at what he was doing to Stiles, like he wanted to make sure, or-- Stiles didn't even know, it was all he could do to keep up, to kiss Derek back and jerk his hips in some kind of rhythm with Derek's hand. He wasn't going to last long at all, which, "I-- I'm not, Derek, this is going to go pretty quick, okay, I'm just warning you, not that I don't have stamina normally, I totally do, but you can't take me by surprise like this and expect me to-- oh, fuck, fuck, I'm gonna-- "
"Do it," growled Derek, and Stiles did, he came just like that, all over himself and Derek's hand, gasping for air like he was just coming up from underwater.
He was probably making really stupid fish faces at the ceiling. Whatever, he felt fucking awesome.
"Holy shit," he said, blinking to clear his vision and grin brightly at Derek, who just made an animal noise and wrenched him away from the wall, pushing him down onto the floor and straddling him, one muscle-bound thigh on either side of Stiles' hips. "Right," said Stiles, lifting his hands kind of uselessly to curl over Derek's hips, and then, well, his chest was right there so he let them wander up under his t-shirt to trace the clenched-up muscles in his stomach, "Right, we're totally not done yet, are we, fucking awesome, do you-- "
"Shut up," said Derek again, tightly, and then-- holy shit-- he was tugging Stiles' shirt off, and of course, because it was Stiles his arms got all tangled and that seemed to make Derek even more desperate or pissed or whatever he was, probably both, hissing and tearing the shirt at the seams to finally wrestle it off Stiles.
"Oh my God," said Stiles, "Did you just rip my shirt off, you total caveman?"
Derek didn't answer, probably because-- Stiles swallowed and made probably an even stupider face than the fish one a moment ago-- he was unfastening his jeans and tugging his cock out.
"Oh shit," said Stiles weakly, "Shit, shit, okay, Derek, holy fuck-- "
Derek made a noise and slapped one hand over Stiles' mouth while he kept jerking himself off with the other, arched forward over Stiles' chest.
It was…so fucking hot, Stiles couldn't even deal, his brain just kept short-circuiting uselessly, mouth working against Derek's palm.
He moved mostly unconsciously to, like, touch Derek, because that was…that was Derek's cock and he kind of wanted to get his hands on it, like, a lot, it was just-- kind of big and flushed and leaking, fluid gathering at the tip and smearing slick and shiny over Derek's fingers, and it just looked so good, but Derek grunted and lifted his hand from Stiles' mouth to slap him away.
"Okay, you total control freak," said Stiles, "But just so you know, there will be dick touching in the future, lots of it, and dick sucking too, I wanna get my mouth on you, I'd make it really good, you know I-- "
Derek cut him off again, this time with a strangled noise and two fingers in his mouth.
It was a really fucking good feeling, realising just how much he got to Derek. Like, he'd always known he did, to some extent-- all that shoving around, it was hard not to notice when Derek was pissed, and maybe even harder to miss how, very occasionally, he'd even look suspiciously fond. This, though-- he'd never thought it was like this.
He bit a shit-eating grin into Derek's knuckles and then groaned when Derek tugged his mouth open, darting his tongue out to lick.
It was just-- shit, it was so dirty, Derek's hand on his own dick, slick with Stiles' come, the stretch and flex of his muscles above Stiles; he didn't know where to look, kept darting his eyes from Derek's face to his neck to his chest to his dick and back again like a total spazz, and then Derek was coming all over Stiles' chest, eyes screwed shut and utterly silent, shaking over Stiles, and that was…there weren't even words, okay, all Stiles knew was that he was totally ready to go again, right now if he could, holy shit.
Derek didn't even roll off of him, just collapsed against Stiles, and Stiles screwed up his nose a bit, because well, gross, but also he probably couldn't care less.
"So," he said after a moment, running a tentative hand up along Derek's spine.
Derek made some kind of contented humming noise into his neck, breathing in deep.
"You like that?" said Stiles, grinning. "Does my smell right now appeal to your werewolf senses?"
"It always does," said Derek, unexpectedly bald-faced and honest.
"Oh," said Stiles, lost for a response, for once.
Derek pulled back a little, just enough to look at Stiles, and also to slide a hand down through the mess of come on his chest, rubbing it into his skin, his nails catching possibly deliberately on the moles dotting Stiles' ribs.
"Seriously?" said Stiles, raising his eyebrows. "Is this a thing?" It was actually, weirdly, totally fucking hot, but he wasn't going to say that.
"You like it," said Derek, shrugging.
"I do not," said Stiles.
"You do," said Derek. "Your heartbeat. I can tell."
"Well, fuck," said Stiles, laughing. "Is there anything about me that isn't a total giveaway?"
"No," said Derek.
"Yeah." Stiles sighed. "I figured."
"That's not a bad thing," said Derek. Stiles grinned. There was the unspoken you idiot again.
"No," he said. He could fight Derek on this, if he wanted-- or well, as much as they ever fought, with Stiles talking but Derek never talking back, and Derek shoving but Stiles never shoving back-- he could nag at him about why and what the fuck and way too fucking long, but the thing was, Derek was here now, trusting him with this, which was kind of huge, and Stiles had it figured out now, and it finally made sense, the two of them, real sense, and Stiles got Derek better than anyone, always had, and he didn't want to kill that now, so. "No, I guess not."