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To say Stiles hated Derek Hale was an understatement.
They had met the first day of the new school year when moving into their dorms. Having been a mixed set up, people from all grades and genders were piled into the small spaces of housing available at BHU, and that spelled out disaster for Stiles when he came face to face with the biggest dick ever.
Derek Hale. Alpha Derek Hale. Captain of the BHU lacrosse team and biggest douche ever to douche.
Now Stiles was human— that meant he didn’t give a flying rat’s ass about pack politics or dynamics, and even though you might be the leader of whatever ramshackle pack, Stiles won’t bow down to you.
It’s not that Stiles doesn’t have any manners, nor is he prejudice against weres, it’s just that — repeat — Derek Hale is a fucking douche.
Douche as in I’m going to bump into you and knock your stuff over as your carrying it up the stairs, and I’m not even going to stop to help you pick it up. Douche as in I’m going to keep making graceful loops around you and only pause to see you struggle to get your stupid sectional couch into your room, and I won’t even offer to help lift it when you pinch your fingers on the doorframe enough to crease your nail. Even as in I’m going to sit down in my room across from yours, open a wolfsbane-infused beer, and sit back on my recliner as I watch you struggle to put together an IKEA desk that has instructions printed in what seems like hieroglyphics.
Yeah— that kind of douche.
The kind of douche that makes Stiles want to kick kittens.
Okay, maybe it’s not that infuriating, but Derek is probably the kind of douche that would kick a kitten either way. Besides, he’s a werewolf, isn’t that expected with the whole stereotypical cat versus dog hype?
Stiles is getting off topic now, but you get the point.
Derek Hale equals massive asshole. One of epic proportions. A black hole of hatred that makes all of Stiles’ joy and happiness get sucked in with no escape or hope of coming back again as long as he’s around. But most of all, as you probably already know, they’re roommates. Or hall-mates. Or dorm-mates?
Wait— Stiles shouldn’t be using mates in the situation, but still. Derek’s too close, and that means that Stiles often feels his effects from across the hall. Literally, every. damn. time. It’s like a sixth sense — a Derek Hale is nearby — sense. Like Spider-Man and his spidey sense, it’s like a twinge on the back of Stiles’ neck that makes him stiffen and groan with frustration. Whether he be studying, eating, jacking off— hell, even sleeping at one point, Stiles will just stop what he’s doing and acknowledge the fact that he’s about to endure the horror that is Derek Hale’s proximity. Think of it like a scene from a comedy movie right when a character knows they’re about to suffer for the audience’s pleasure. The only difference is that his audience is Derek, and he doesn’t like to think too much about that.
After all, he already has to deal with Scott fucking whining about him. Whining in the sense of Derek being his lacrosse team captain, while also standing tall as the alpha of the only pack Scott has ever shown an interest in joining. Stiles blames most of it on the fact that there’s another were in there — Kira — and that Scott wants to bone her harder than a femur and god, isn’t that just a sight for sore eyes? Still, it means endless drawl about conditionings, both for the lacrosse team and Scott so he can join in the merry band of dicks, and it hurts that much more to see Scott trying so hard to impress his neighbor.
In fact, there was one time, a Friday night when everyone was either out partying or studying hard for their classes, and Derek happened to be in his dorm rather than at the field or with his dick not in whichever hole he happened to charm this time. The alpha leads a relatively open life, by that, Stiles means that Derek leaves his door open pretty much ninety percent of the time, and Stiles has seen and heard too much for his liking. That night wasn’t different in that concept, and whenever Scott happened to notice his other senpai doing those push-ups where you fucking clap in between them for some reason, it was like having to pull back your puppy that pees whenever it sees other dogs.
Needless to say, Stiles gave Scott a very harsh scolding after getting a scolding glare from Derek, as if Stiles should keep his friend in better check and that they should both know better than to bother him. Scott had looked so embarrassed and defeated— so much so that, despite the offer of getting to splat the fuck out of his Spartan avatar in Forge with a tank, Scott vehemently refused and moped on home with his tail between his legs.
Like Stiles said before, Derek’s a fucking douche.
Especially since then, Stiles has been the extreme opposite of fond with Derek Hale. Hearing his name alone sets Stiles’ teeth on edge— seeing his fucking sock, embroidered with DH, on his doorknob in those rare moments when the door is closed is enough to make Stiles wish the damn articles of clothing weren’t invented. Well. . . except fuzzy socks.
Yet, Stiles has enacted his own various and sporadic methods of revenge. There was one time where he decided to let Derek have a taste of his own medicine, and that meant leaving his door creaked just enough to where the alpha got a perfect view of himself and his at-the-time boyfriend, Trevor, giving him a hickey on his neck. It got so heated between them that Stiles happened to look over to see the werewolf glaring daggers at him. To end it short, Stiles winked proudly and Derek slammed his door.
Despite that, though, Stiles hasn’t really done anything to Derek. He’s never known why the man hates him so much. Sure, he is a freshman student while Derek is a junior, but Stiles is a mature adult and it’s not like being a freshman in high school— he’s lovable despite his educational baby-ness. There’s no reason other than being born an asshole like being born a werewolf for Derek to be so uppity about him, and if anything, it makes Stiles hate him more.
So, when Scott, who is still trying to get into Derek’s pack like a little lost puppy, offers to have him go on a camping trip that Derek will be going to, it makes Stiles want to kick kittens.
“No.”
“Come on, man, please?” Scott is following Stiles through his dorm, shooting longing glances at Derek’s door, “I already know that you and Boyd are chill, and you and Isaac have Harris together." "What are you trying to say, Scott?" "There’s going to be other people there, so if I get wrapped up with Derek or Kira you won’t be left alone.”
“Nice of you to consider my options for me, buddy old pal.”
“You can thank me later,” Scott says seriously, and god— is her ever dense sometimes, “Now, can you please come with?”
Stiles laughs, and he puts his affordable delicacy of ramen into his microwave, watching as his appliance’s plate thumps with every other random revolution, “What’s the point in me even going, Scott? While I know Boyd and Isaac, that’s not a surefire guarantee for my attendance.”
“There’s alcohol and cute guys I know you’d hook up with.”
Stiles turn actually considers it, “But Derek. . .”
“Derek will be too busy with me trying to squeeze myself into his pack, or he’ll be trying to hook up with Jennifer again since she just officially became single for the nth time. He won’t pay you a bit of mind. No interaction, either. Scott’s honor.”
Stiles sighs, and relents.
The things he does for this man.
-xXx-
The party isn’t too bad, and Stiles would be lying if he wasn’t enjoying himself. He’s already got a light buzz going, and Isaac has been pretty apt on talking tonight. Sure, it’s about Harris’ class, but like Stiles expected, Isaac is about as fed up with Harris and the man's antics as he is, and they rant about it for a good minute.
Meanwhile, Boyd chuckles and listens on like he always does, but he offers some good bits about cheating and when he remembers having to deal with the teacher in question.
And, honestly, it’s looking out to not be a bad night at all.
Well. That is until Trevor shows up.
While it had been good run between them, with some pretty good sex in between Stiles night add, they’d never quite got around the fact that Trevor ended up cheating on Stiles. Or at least, Stiles never came around about it, while Trevor was more than happy to move on. So, as soon as Stiles sees Trevor from across the clearing in the woods while being attached to the waist to some new sexual conquest, Stiles has to excuse himself as his stomach rolls in an imploding fashion.
Now, it’s not like Stiles was invested. It’s not like Trevor was Stiles end-all-be-all, but fucking god, finding out that Trevor had been sneaking around with the chick Stiles had been study partners with was a low blow he didn’t see coming. More so out of a hurt pride than a broken heart, Stiles ends up weaving himself deeper into the woods where the party, and Trevor’s presence, aren’t as gravitational.
A weight is lifted then; a deep breath is taken. Away from the heat of bodies and bonfires, Stiles finds a slight chill in the September air. It makes Stiles wish he brought a jacket, his arms coming up to try and seal palm-fulls of warmth along his chilled biceps. Gently, as he paces forward, the light snap of twigs and plant debris is starker now that the party isn’t so deafening, and as Stiles walks onward, he can feel the noise and the light radiating from it fading away.
He actually walks on for a while, leaving him to bask in pale moonlight and the caressing hum of a late night wind through the branches. It’s a nice reprieve, and for a moment, Stiles wants to be stuck in it.
Yet, like always, a certain black hole has to come along and ruin it.
Out of nowhere, without any warning whatsoever, Stiles finds himself getting knocked over by a hulking mass. Beneath him, his feet get tangled up in the exposed roots below, making him cry out when he feels his hands scrape roughly against the forest floor, and his ankle getting pulled another way.
“What the—“
“Oh my fucking god,” Stiles squeaks in both shock and pain, his rush of adrenaline making him able to remove the bulk off of him in a rush, “I— I think you broke my ankle!”
There’s a hushed hiss of a curse, but Stiles can’t make it out due to his impending panic attack. His hands shakily touch about his stinging ankle, feeling the bone and making sure it’s about as okay as it can be despite what just happened to it.
“God, why in the hell were you—“
Stiles looks over, getting ready to verbally annihilate whoever in the fuck decided to ram him silly, but as a familiar face makes an appearance, Stiles ends up so mad that he can’t even word his fury right.
“You— fucking— god shit—“
Derek swallows, actually having the decency to look somewhat regretful, “I— I thought you were someone else…”
“You’re a fucking werewolf,” Stiles hisses, and he wants to thwack Derek upside his head if he didn’t want to chance messing his raw palms up even further, “How can you not sense me, or at least, not sense that I’m some other fucking person!?”
Derek doesn’t offer anything on that one, but rather, quietly, he asks, “Your ankle… Can I look at it?”
Stiles wants to demand that Derek explain the tackle situation, but the pulsing along his foot and lower calf is enough to make him think better of it.
“B-Be careful and just look at it,” Stiles warns, only to elaborate further when he sees Derek’s hand near the wounded appendage, “I swear, you better not touch—“
Stiles whines lowly as Derek presses his fingers to the tender flesh, the pressure alone searing to Stiles as the alpha maneuvers it. The joints are aggravated and sensitive, making it feel like pure agony when it moves.
“I thought I told you—“
“It’s not broken,” Derek murmurs, and his brows are pinched from something that Stiles can’t label as anger — hell, he’s never seen this emotion expressed by Derek before, and it’s like some foreign suit that Stiles can’t identify, “I think you sprained it.”
“Oh, that’s good. Well, not really— but it’s better than a broken ankle,” he lightheartedly muses for a moment, only to remember how it got sprained again, “But I’m still pretty pissed you ran me over with your beefy self. Care to explain, sourwolf?”
Ah, there’s the anger, “Sourwolf?”
“Yes, sourwolf, now don’t change the subject. I want a solid and truthful answer, buddy.”
“You can’t tell if I’m lying.”
“Wanna bet?” Stiles counters.
For a moment, tension hangs in the air, but from what exactly, Stiles isn’t sure. It seems like a mixture — both from him and Derek, but from something else entirely too. It’s like the world has sprinkled something onto this shitfest and Stiles doesn’t know exactly what it is yet.
“We need to get you back,” Derek says out of nowhere, making Stiles jolt a little at the break in silence, “I’m sure Boyd can help you since he’s studying physical therapy.”
“But Boyd hasn’t even graduated, or even been given a license yet—“
Before Stiles can finish pleading his case, Derek already has him up off the ground and in his arms. Bridal style.
“Dude!”
“I may not be taking anything related to the medical field, but I’m pretty sure walking on a sprained ankle isn't ideal,” Derek explains, not even bothering to look down at Stiles as he essentially floats over the forest floor.
It makes Stiles huff, “Even so, you didn't explain anything, buddy. I’d still really like to know how this managed to happen. I mean, I thought you were into the whole avoiding me shindig, and then suddenly you’re flattening me out like I’m a fucking pancake.”
At that, Derek rolls his eyes lightly, “To my defense, pancakes are already flat.”
“But I’m not supposed to be, smartass,” Stiles grouches, crossing his arms and pouting as best as he can, “And aren’t werewolves supposed to be like, super good about scents? How in the world could you not have noticed it was me or—“
“Do you know where the camp ground is set up at?”
Stiles’ jaw drops, “Are you— are you fucking serious? You’re an alpha werewolf and you’re asking me, a regular old human, about where we’re supposed to be set up? Is your nose broken or something?”
Derek blushes, and he looks a tad bit embarrassed, “There’s a lot going on out here tonight… It’s hard to keep scents straight right now.”
“Wait, don’t tell me— werewolves can get sinus infections. Maybe Boyd should check you out too when we get back. . . or if we get back, actually…”
“We’re not going to die out here, Stiles.”
And that's a surprise.
“You know my name!? Dude, I thought you hated me!”
If Derek weren’t busy and preoccupied with carrying Stiles, he’s sure the alpha would face palm or do something similar out of distress, “God, it’s one thing after another…”
“Hey, it’s a reasonable question! I hear from Scott all the time about how you want to throttle me, or I can just look across the hall and see it for myself! It’s perfectly rational for me to be surprised you’re even aware of my name!”
“I’ve never wanted to throttle you, per say,” he murmurs.
The human scoffs at that, “Oh, sure. I mean, there was that one time where you punched a hole in your wall after the whole Trevor incident.”
“That’s his name?” Derek growls lowly, “He’s a fucking douche.”
“Not to hurt your feelings, creampuff, but that act of labeling is a situation in which the pot calls a kettle black.”
Derek actually looks affronted at that, “I never acted like him. I never sat there and cheated on yo— anyone, and I never would. I’m not that big of an asshole, okay?”
“At least you acknowledge the fact you’re an asshole,” Stiles grins cheekily.
With a huff of resignation, Derek continues on.
They wander around like that for some time, aimlessly wondering when they’ll get back and if anyone’s noticed their absences. Stiles grows haggard at one point, closing his eyes and resting his head against Derek’s shoulder as the alpha tries to find his way back pitifully. The night grows a little colder at that point, making Stiles shiver and crowd closer to the alpha. A part of him hates how close he’s getting, but dear god, Derek is about as warm as he is assy.
“You’re snuggly.”
“I’m cold.”
Derek snorts, stepping over a root, “Well, if you have any complaints, just say something.”
“You know, if you acted like this more often, I could probably like you more.”
Derek freezes just a little, only to school it together a few seconds later and ask, “Does that imply you already like me now?”
Stiles can’t help but be a tad impressed with the alpha, “Oh, turning tables are we? I guess in a sense I tolerate you.”
“Oh wow, toleration. Let me put you on my next resume in case I need a super supportive contact.”
“Hell, as soon as they hear that it’s Stiles Stilinski on the line, you’ve got the job buddy,” proudly, Stiles adds, “Especially if it’s at the police station.”
Derek frowns, “Are you implying you’re a delinquent?”
“What? No— no, I’m not a frequent face because I kept breaking the law. It has to do more so with the fact that my dad is the sheriff in Beacon Hills.”
“Is he now?” Derek seems genuinely interested.
“Yes, he is… Wait, you’re not wanting to become a cop, are you?”
At this, Derek seems a tad bit sheepish, “My major is in criminal justice…”
Now it’s Stiles’ turn to face palm.
“I’ve always wanted to be in the law enforcement after my family was nearly murdered by hunters when I was a kid,” Derek explains, “I felt somewhat responsible for what happened, and I’ve wanted to put people like that behind bars… Do you think you could get a good word in for me?”
Stiles can’t help but grimace, “Are you being serious?”
“Yes.”
The human runs a hand over his face and sighs, “I— I suppose I could… Besides, my dad would be grateful if you offered to help out. They’ve always needed the extra help, and you being a were definitely brings in some benefits, so…”
“Thank you.”
Stiles looks up at Derek and furrows his brow, “Anything I can do to help, I guess…”
After that, the negative tension in the space alleviates, and Stiles finds himself settling back into it easily. He’s not as cold as he used to be either, thank Derek for that, so he’s more aware of how deep into the forest they are as time progresses. He counts for a moment, murmuring a number up every other minute.
“What are you doing?”
“Counting how many times we pass by this same tree.”
Derek sighs, “Stiles, there’s no way that you could know—“
“The tree has a heart carved into it,” the human explains, pointing as they start to pass it again, “See? Look. Right there.”
Derek grumbles something incoherent, stopping altogether so Stiles can finally read it.
“’O’Brien and Nuggets 2016’… Who even is O’Brien anyway? Do you know an O’Brien, at least one that loves chicken nuggets enough to carve into a tree about it?”
The alpha shakes his head and looks defeated, “No, I don’t know one… Just like how I don’t know the way back, apparently.”
“Aw, cheer up, sourwolf,” Stiles pats the man’s cheek humorously, “There’s worse things to be embarrassed about than poor tracking abilities.”
“I just can’t focus,” Derek grits out mostly to himself, his chest vibrating with a rumble, “There’s too many— too many scents…”
Stiles frowns then, “Hey, you okay?”
For a moment, Derek seems to be in a trance, but he then shakes his head, knocking himself out of it, “I’m fine…”
“Are you sure, you look a little—“
Derek growls, his fangs stark with the moonlight as his upper lip twitches like a wolf’s muzzle would— which, okay, that’s apt, “Stiles.”
“Whoa, man, no need to go all wolf on me, okay?” Stiles says, feeling the alpha’s sharpening nails dig into him, “Derek— Derek, ow—“
Instantly, as though having cold water thrown onto him, Derek snaps out of it, “Oh, uh, sorry… I don’t— don’t know what got into me there… You okay?”
“I’ve already asked the same thing and you nailed me for it, literally,” Stiles grimaces, looking to where his arm turned pink and was indented from Derek, “Say, care to explain what just happened?”
“My wolf is acting up… I guess that’s why I haven’t been able to track anything very well and have been losing control…”
“That— that isn’t bad, is it?”
Derek pauses, “I’m not one-hundred percent certain on that one.”
At that, Stiles huffs, “Of course not… So reassuring.”
“I promise that I'm not going to endanger you or anything. It's just— it's an alpha wolf thing."
“Alpha wolf thing?” Stiles questions, giving Derek an unsure look.
“You wouldn’t understand. You’re human.”
Stiles rolls his eyes and snorts, “Dude, my best friend and platonic soulmate is a werewolf, okay? I know a lot more than you think.”
“Well, you obviously don’t know what’s going on now.”
And oh— there it is again. Warning: any kittens found in the nearby vicinity, you may be kicked. Although, with Stiles’ ankle as it is, he’d probably just throw sticks at them for emphasis. “Look, Derek, isn’t it?” Stiles asks, just because, and it makes Derek glower some, which point for Stiles— ha, “In case you haven’t noticed we’re, um, well, I think the proper term for what we are is lost. Don’t you agree?”
The werewolf growls in irritation.
“Right. We’re lost. We’re lost and you’re being a dick about how you can’t find the way back, because something is going on and you don’t want to tell me what it is. You gotta understand, man, I’m truly a savant on werewolves— in fact, I should probably write a book, or I should even change my major. Do you think it’s too far into everything to do that, or am I—“
“Stiles.”
“—right right, get on with it, Stiles! Okay, here’s the brunt of it, sourwolf. I could probably help you, but you’re not letting me, for whatever reason it is.”
Derek pouts, “You make me sound like I’m a petulant child…”
“That’s because you are one— or, at least, you’re acting like one,” Stiles sighs and looks out into the expanse of the woods, “Whatever it is man, it’s cool. If it’s like, I dunno, something embarrassing I won’t judge. At least harshly or verbally.”
The werewolf sighs, “How mature of you.”
“I know. I’m such an adult right? But seriously dude, just tell me what it is that—“
“Mate.”
Stiles blinks, brows furrowed at the sudden response out of Derek, “Uh, what?”
“Mate,” Derek grits out, like this admission is paining him greatly, “You’re, uh, just—“
Stiles watches as Derek fails to word whatever it is he’s trying to say, “Dude, I’m so confused.”
“You’re my mate, okay!?” Derek shouts.
And all goes still.
Stiles looks up at Derek, eyes wide and brain practically shutting down.
Mate? Derek Hale is— he’s— Stiles is his—
What?
“You’re my mate,” Derek murmurs it this time, head hung low, and he sets Stiles down carefully, avoiding eye contact the whole time as he sits down beside Stiles on the forest floor, “You’re my mate and I can’t find our way back because all my wolf can smell is you… That’s— that’s also why I ran into you tonight… I wasn’t meaning to even confront you when you came here, but— you were alone in the middle of the woods at a college party, and I just— I didn’t want anything happening to you, especially since Trevor is here too and— . . . I should probably stop talking now… I’m only making things worse.”
“Worse?” Stiles whispers.
Derek nods, “Yeah… I mean, you hate me. You can’t stand me. And here I am, telling you about how I’ve followed you into the woods, and I probably seem like the biggest creep when really—“
“All you were doing was making sure I was okay…” Stiles murmurs, making Derek’s head jerk upward in surprise— their eyes meet, and Stiles sees all of the vulnerability in Derek then, the uncertainty, “Derek, why— I don’t hate you. Not— not really.”
“Oh sure you don’t. That’s why we have such a good track record between us.”
Stiles breathes in deep, a look of determination coming about his face, “Derek, the only reason I even acted the way I did around you was, well, don’t you remember everything that has happened between us so far? Don’t you remember when I moved in, and you never offered to help me with anything?”
“You glared at me any time I was around you,” Derek argues, “like you couldn’t even stand that I was in your proximity.”
Stiles frowns at that, “Well, I mean, I was doing it all by myself, and I thought you were leaving me to my misery.”
“Just— do you remember the Trevor thing? When you left your door open and— and—”
Looking back on it now, it’s not something Stiles is proud of anymore, and he winces with regret as Derek is unable to even finish his recollection, “Yeah, I remember it… I did it at the time because you always left socks on your door dude— those stupid embroidered socks. It was like every other day it was there, and I thought it’d be fitting.”
Derek looks dismayed at that, “I leave my socks on my doorknob because I need to study, not have sex. It’s one of the only ways I can get peace and quiet without my dorm mate bothering me.”
And— and why hadn’t Stiles thought of that? That's a great fucking idea.
Wait, no— they’re having an important discussion right now. An important, adult discussion. About adult things.
He needs to keep it together— to remind himself that Derek is a douche and— and
And that Stiles hasn’t been wrong about him all along…
With some amount of desperation, Stiles hisses, “But— but Scott! You always treat him shit!”
“That’s because I thought you were together.”
Stiles gapes, “Me? Scott? To— together?”
“Yes, alright? You two were always together, and I could hear you two all the time… I thought you were dating at first. I mean, you did call yourselves platonic soulmates a few minutes ago. It’s not that hard to accidentally misread it as something non-platonic.”
Stiles wants to truly delve into the ‘you think my best friend and I are lovers’ bit, but he shakes his head— keep it together, “You said at first,” Stiles takes a deep breath, feeling as though he’s losing it now, “That means something changed, but you still kept on treating him the same way.”
Derek grimaces, “He was always with you, and— you would always give me these looks ever since you moved in, those glares of yours. I thought, whenever he asked me to join my pack after I figured out you two weren’t together, that you were trying to do some sort of prank or you were making a declaration of war by proxy. I mean, it was like you were sending one of your own and you were going to invade, and I just—”
“Oh my god,” Stiles face palms, “We’re both fucking idiots.”
“Hey—“
“No, really, we are,” Stiles turns to Derek then with a remorseful tone in his voice, “I thought you were a douchebag when you were just misreading me and whatever I did.”
Derek sounds guilty as well, “I thought you hated me vehemently for no reason, when in reality... I should’ve helped you before tonight…”
“Just— and we’re mates? How—? . . .” Stiles trails off in some amount of disbelief, Derek remaining silent beside him.
Stiles looks up at the moon, feeling awful. He’s disliked Derek for months and it turns out that he’s been completely wrong about the guy. What— how is he supposed to necessarily be okay with this? How does he process this alongside the fact that, despite their initial hang-ups, they’re fucking mates?
Oh god— his— his Derek-sense. It’s— he should’ve fucking known. He had the biggest indicator that something was going on behind the scenes, and he was too busy loathing the alpha to not even realize he was his fucking mate—
“Derek,” Stiles starts, quiet and unsure, but it quickly turns into verbal vomit, “I— I want to say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for misjudging you. I’m sorry for the shit I did. I’m sorry for the way I acted. I’m sorry that— I’m sorry that I’m not a good mate…”
“What?” the alpha asks softly, and he’s shocked— caught off guard, “Sorry that— . . . Stiles, you didn’t know—“
“Yeah, I didn’t know you,” Stiles pivots his head towards Derek, probably being the most serious he’s ever been in a while, “I get how important mates are, alright? I don’t even want to know how much it must’ve sucked to think that your mate — the one person you’re supposed to be happy with — fucking abhors you. I— I should’ve caught on or done something to be better than that, to be better to you, and I’m so sorry that I—“
Derek’s lips press against Stiles’, warm and soft with just a hint of unsureness— as though Derek doesn’t know if Stiles would tolerate the gesture.
It lasts for a few moments, Stiles stiff and unresponsive against Derek, but as a few seconds pass by, Stiles finds himself melting into it, eyes slipping closed and sighing in a feeling of relief he didn’t know he needed. Derek’s hand slips along the bottom of his jaw until it rests around Stiles’ right ear, the alpha’s fingers burrowing into Stiles’ hair and making the human shiver. They don’t speed up, remaining at a constant, slow pace— their lips gently moving together as they just take in the sensation. The only sounds other than the hum of crickets are the soft noises their meeting mouths make, along with their breaths.
They barely break apart for a moment— remaining practically face-to-face, foreheads touching. A hum is buzzing through Stiles’ veins as he ends up getting even closer, moving himself till he’s sitting in Derek’s lap, their hardening cocks getting pressed up together with their jeans in the process.
“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek breathes out, and Stiles exhales, feeling the way Derek’s free hand runs its way down the length of his back, following the path of his spine.
“Derek, I—“ Stiles chances another peck— supposedly chaste until it lasts for another few moments, only for Stiles to break it to make sure he can breathe, “Derek, we can’t—“
The alpha kisses around his mouth to mollify, “Can’t what?”
“We need to— to— . . .” Derek distracts Stiles for a moment by pressing their hips together, and Stiles keens softly before barely pulling away, “We need to find our way back.”
“Why would I want to go back when I have all that I need right here?”
Stiles groans, partially from Derek’s words, but also partially from the way Derek begins to suck at his neck afterwards, “Oh god…”
Derek growls into the hickey that he forms, making his mouth vibrate against Stiles’ flesh. The human moans, canting his hips just barely— no doubt his dick is leaking copious amounts of precome into his poor boxers, with how turned on he is right now.
Derek’s mouth comes off with a slight pop, leaving Stiles’ abused skin pulsing in a way that mirrors his cock, making Stiles mewl a little and grip onto Derek tightly. The alpha rumbles, his eyes glowing red as he stares at the mark he made on Stiles.
“I think this’ll be good for now.”
Stiles’ brow furrows, and he looks at Derek, panting softly, “W-What?”
“Now that you’re marked,” Derek starts, voice a little gravelly but nearly normal already, “I can get us back now that I won’t be so obsessed with your scent.”
“I thought you didn’t want to go back?”
Derek snorts, “Well, would you like to get knotted in a bed of sappy pine needles during a public calling trip, or in an actual bed that also offers privacy?”
At that, Stiles nods, understanding, “Yeah, I guess— I guess the former wouldn’t be comfortable nor idealistic for our first time, considering.”
“Exactly,” Derek smirks, and he picks up Stiles, careful of his ankle, “I mean, wouldn’t you also want to finally give me a valid reason to use my precious, embroidered socks?”
Stiles’ mirrors Derek’s expression, gaze mischievous, “Hmm… How about you give me another reason why I won’t be able to walk tomorrow, while you’re at it?”
“Then do you want to save that for when I fuck you in my car or my dorm?”
“Oh, how about both?” Stiles grins and loves the way Derek looks extremely approving of that prospect, “I mean, I’ve got you to carry me now, after all.”