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Climbing onto the roof of the Hale mansion is the most difficult part of the entire ordeal. Driving out to the preserve, parking his car a little further away and following the path to the grand, wooden house was a piece of cake.
Stiles crawls across the roof, checking over his shoulder every now and then to make sure that neither Peter Hale is lurking outside, the hunter never misses when he fires, nor Kate Argent. He knows the mad woman lied to Allison when she explained how she gained her Alpha powers.
Allison believes everything her aunt says, of course, Kate is the only surviving member of her family after Peter decimated the Argent pack. Chris Argent never expected his own sister to turn against him after he received the alpha spark from Gerard Argent.
It’s only a matter of time before she comes after Stiles to join her pack.
Kate already tried to compel Stiles to hunt with her, but Stiles can’t trust this beast of a woman, a monstrous wolf under the silver light of the moon. She turned him without his consent, and now she wants to get back at the Hales, but how could Stiles do anything to hurt the most handsome, and the softest boy to ever be born in Beacon Hills?
Derek Hale is everything and more.
Said boy comes upstairs after having diner with his family, and Stiles listens intently for Peter Hale’s voice as the hunter argues with his sister. Stiles doesn’t care much for the recurrent argument, but it’s particularly convenient on nights like this one. Derek’s father supervises as Laura and Cora wash the dishes, and so far, no sign of Kate.
Now certain that Derek is alone in his bedroom, Stiles scrambles through the window and lands in a heap of flailing limbs and half torn clothes at Derek’s feet. He peers up at the other boy, smiling broadly at the sight of Derek’s olive Henley, the buttons undone to reveal some of Derek’s sun-tanned chest. Derek always smells of musk and the piney scent of the preserve, and Stiles sits up to breathe him in properly.
“You know for a werewolf, I expected you to be less clumsy,” Derek comments.
“You know, for someone who comes from a hunter’s family, you’re awfully bubbly.”
Derek makes a face at that, but holds out his hand to help Stiles to his feet. Stiles grabs the offered hand enthusiastically, stumbling a little even with Derek’s help. He leans in, nuzzling his nose with Derek’s and grinning when Derek scrunches up his nose but doesn’t back away, stepping closer instead. A moment later, Stiles yelps as Derek plucks twigs, leaking sap, out of his buzzcut.
“That hurt!”
Stiles rubs at his head to soothe the ache, but he’s not too worried. Since becoming a werewolf, he has learned to trim his hair himself. It grows out way faster than it used to, but Stiles can’t say the rest of his body benefited from the change. Except for the super-senses and a brighter golden glow around his eyes, he’s mostly the same old Stiles.
At least this way, his father can’t find out about the supernatural.
No one would suspect Stiles to be a werewolf, not even Peter Hale. Scott, on the other hand, attracted plenty of unwanted attention since he made first line in the lacrosse team… Stiles shakes his head. He’ll worry about this later, and follows Derek further into the bedroom instead. A bookshelf threatens to fall over with the sheer amount of books piled up on every surface available, and Derek’s hastily made bed calls to Stiles in ways he could not possibly resist.
He sprawls over the comforter with a deep sigh, breathing in the concentrated scent of Derek emanating from it. Derek sits down next to Stiles, folding a shirt neatly and dropping it between them. Stiles perks up instantly, peering at the jersey with interest. It stinks, if he’s honest, but the back reads “Hale” and Stiles wants to slip it on so badly.
“I saved it for you,” Derek smiles, pushing the jersey against Stiles’ side.
Stiles pounces on him in reply, crashing their lips together, and Derek’s arms come up around him. They tumble off the bed, of course, and Stiles cushions the other boy’s head with his arms, but Derek is laughing.
That’s when Stiles hears the footsteps coming up the stairs.
He leaps to his feet and disappears into Derek’s closet with a string of curses, clutching the jersey to his chest, and watches as Derek sits down at his desk, turning around to greet his uncle. Peter swaggers into the room, wearing a cream Henley — that inspired Derek’s outfit, Stiles assumes — and a smirk that Stiles knows for a fact Scott’s mother is not immune to.
“Hello there Derek,” Peter drawls. “You were awfully quick to get back to your room tonight.”
“So what if I was?” Derek replies evenly, grinning.
“Anything you forgot to mention to your mother? That your sisters would be dying to know?”
Peter sits on the edge of the bed, the very picture of the cool uncle, and if Stiles didn’t know how unhinged the man really is, he would be trying his damn best to get in the man’s good graces. Peter sounds like the kind of guy who would drive them to the theater and leave them to enjoy their date in peace.
“Maybe,” Derek ducks his head. “Promise you won’t tell them?”
“Of course.”
“There is this guy I like at school,” Derek says, and Stiles stops breathing, clutching the jersey tighter. “I think you’d like him too.”
“Are you two boyfriends?”
Derek nods, beaming, and Peter claps his hands on his thighs before reaching out to ruffle Derek’s hair. Derek’s uncle stands up then, but glances back when he reaches the door, and winks.
“Condoms are in the nightstand, by the way. I’ll pretend I don’t notice if some go missing.”