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Say It With Me (Don't Assume)

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Derek Hale still can’t quite decide if Stiles Stilinski is the bane of his existence or the love of his life. Possibly both. Stiles, who’s smart as a whip, who speaks so fast it makes Derek’s head spin, who has a stupidly cute nose, and who Derek, agonizingly, is forced to work with every day. Because they’re partners. In the police sense.

“Sooooo Lieutenant Hale, wha’d’ya got for me today?” Stiles asks, leaning casually against Derek’s desk, a stupid grin plastered to his face.

God, half of the time Stiles still acts like it’s his first day on the job, despite having been promoted to inspector and transferred to the homicide squad nearly a whole year ago. The professional side of Derek finds it horribly annoying, while the… less professional side of him finds it almost endearing. Almost.

“Paperwork,” Derek says dryly, motioning to the large pile of it on his desk.

“Really? We don’t have anything more important?” Stiles complains, wrinkling his nose at the offending stack. “Seriously, no one’s pulled a body out of the bay or something?”

“Funny you should mention that. A body was pulled out of South Bay this morning,” Derek replies, annoying little butterflies fluttering around his stomach at Stiles’ excited look. “If you’d been here five minutes earlier we could have gone. I sent Erica and Boyd instead, because unlike some people, they know the value of punctuality.”

“What?” Stiles squawks, looking utterly betrayed in a way that absolutely doesn’t make Derek feel any regret. Really. “Oh, come on! I was in the building – I just needed to get some coffee!”

“I told you your first week here, you check in with me before doing anything else,” Derek says unwaveringly. “And anyway, doesn’t caffeine mess with your suppressants?”

“One cup won’t hurt,” Stiles protests, although Derek is a little leery of that claim. Maybe he’ll have to try and switch Stiles’ cup with one of decaf, just to be on the safe side.

Because yeah, he knows way too much about how omega heat suppressants work now, after having been partnered with Stiles for as long as he has. They’re probably his partner’s favorite thing to bitch about whenever they’re stuck on a stakeout. Of course, omegas on the force aren’t required to take them. Derek’s never really understood why Stiles does, if he hates them so much, especially –

– especially because he’s bonded.

Well, actually there is an explanation for why he takes suppressants despite being bonded. At the beginning, Derek had gotten his hopes up, trying to convince himself that Stiles and his alpha were separated or going through the bond-breaking process, because he doesn’t really smell very much like another alpha. Or he at least doesn’t smell like he’s having regular sex with his alpha, and while Derek abhors the idea of being a home-wreaker, Stiles – Stiles would be able to tempt him.

But, much to his disappointment (god, he’s a horrible person), that isn’t the case. In fact, going on what little he knows, Stiles is completely and utterly devoted to his alpha. It had taken Derek a couple of months to identify the other scent that always clung to Stiles and mingled with the faint alpha scent on him, but when he did, it all made sense. Antiseptic. Hospitals. Clearly Stiles’ alpha is sick enough to be hospitalized, or at least need a lot of medications. Ergo, no strenuous activity allowed. Like sex. Especially heat sex.

And fuck, now he’s thinking about sex with Stiles again. God, he’s a horrible person.

“Hey, Earth to Derek,” Stiles says, waving a hand in front of his face and breaking him from his (extremely inappropriate) thoughts. “Deeerekkkkkkkk – ”

“That’s Lieutenant Hale to you,” Derek grumbles, but there’s no heat behind it. Really, if he’d been partnered with anyone else for this long, he’d be fine with them using his first name, but with Stiles he has to find some way of maintaining his distance. Not that Stiles actually listens to him. “Now go do your paperwork.”

Stiles huffs, but doesn’t protest. He pushes off from Derek’s desk and leans over to collect the stack of papers – leans over right into Derek’s personal bubble, and it’s all Derek can do not to pull him into his lap and just breath in his scent. Stiles’ alpha’s scent is stale now, barely there, but Derek still wants to completely smother it with his own. He’s such a pervert. If Stiles knew –

And that’s probably the most effective boner killer Derek can think of, Stiles finding out about all this – finding out that his partner is lusting after his bonded omega ass. He’d be so completely freaked out.

“So I’m just gonna. You know,” Stiles says, straightening up with his armful of paperwork. “Go now.”

Derek nods, trying to focus on his work and not Stiles, still standing there being all distracting. As soon as he hears his office door close, he groans, his head thumping down on his desk. He absolutely hates those alphas who turn into useless hormonal lumps whenever they see a pretty omega, and he never in his wildest dreams imagined that he’d turn into one of them. But Stiles – Stiles is just –

Derek shakes his head and gets back to work.


Stiles stands next to him, tense and awkward as he fiddles with his uniform collar, trying to pull it up just a little, enough to hide his bond-bite. He can’t, of course. The mark’s high enough on his pale, beautiful neck that nothing short of a turtleneck is going to cover it completely, which was probably what Stiles’ alpha was going for.

“Relax,” Derek grunts, making Stiles’ hands fall away instantly, instead resting awkwardly on his belt. “You’re just drawing more attention to it.”

“I know, I know,” Stiles huffs, practically glaring a hole in their suspect’s front door. “I just don’t want the suspect dismissing me because they think I’m your omega bitch. Again.”

Derek hides a wince and tries not to take it personally. This is yet another reason the two of them would never work – Stiles’ relationship status aside. Stile is so, so fiercely independent, and every domestic daydream Derek’s ever had has turned into a nightmare where Stiles ends up resenting him for stifling that independence. Stiles must really love his alpha, to have allowed for such an obviously possessive bond-bite placement.

Derek’s about to reply when the door swings open and their suspect confronts them, hands on her hips and a truly impressive scowl on her face. Derek should know – Stiles has crowned him king of impressive scowls.

“Yes?” she snaps, looking at the two of them suspiciously, despite their police uniforms.

Neither of them miss the way her eyes linger on Stiles for an extra moment, her lips curling in an obvious display of disgust. It makes Derek want to rip her head off. But they are looking for an Alpha supremacist after all, and both Derek and Stiles have prepared themselves for this sort of disdain. Derek just wishes her expression was enough for a warrant.

“Inspector Stilinski and Lieutenant Hale, SFPD,” Stiles announces, holding up his badge and forcing a smile that looks a little too much like a grimace. Derek stifles a sigh, because of course this is how Stiles is going to react, even though they both know that Kali, as an alpha supremacist, is only going to be willing to talk to another alpha.

“What do you want?” she asks Derek, very pointedly ignoring Stiles.

“The body of a woman named Jennifer Blake was found in South Bay yesterday morning,” Derek says, eyes tracking the way Kali’s expression becomes pinched at the mention of Blake’s name. “A few witnesses claim to have seen someone matching your description arguing with her the previous night.”

“Yeah, we were arguing because she was a clingy little omega bitch who thought that just because I fucked her through one heat we were going to bond,” Kali shoots back, and out of the corner of his eye, Derek sees Stiles suppress a flinch. “But I didn’t kill her. I kicked her out of my apartment and spent the rest of the night and morning with Ennis.”

“Could you supply us with a surname so that – ” Stiles starts, only to be cut off by Kali.

“What, you want a real alpha? His knot not big enough for your slutty little ass?” Kali sneers, gesturing between the two of them and actually managing to make Derek lose control enough to let out a low growl.

“Derek,” Stiles warns, placing a hand on Derek’s arm to hold him back, even though Derek can tell he’s having a hard enough time keeping himself from lunging for her.

“And just when I thought an alpha couldn’t get any more pathetic,” Kali continues, looking back at Derek, an expression of utter disdain on her face. “Taking orders from a little cunt. Are you sure you’re actually an alpha? I’m not even sure you’d qualify as a beta at this point.”

Those words don’t bother him as much – he’s less bothered by her insulting him, although the way she calls Stiles a “cunt” makes his blood boil. Something about what she says just seems to drive Stiles over the edge, though, and before Derek can even blink, Stiles is lunging forward, fist aimed for Kali’s face. Derek’s just barely fast enough to catch him, holding him back.

“Stiles!” Derek yells, wrapping a steady arm around Stiles’ stomach and pulling him back against his chest, trying to restrain him.

Kali glares at Stiles so murderously that Derek seriously contemplates drawing his gun, but in the end she settles for spitting in Stiles’ face, the omega flinching as her saliva splatters over the bridge of his nose, dangerously close to his eyes. Satisfied for the moment, Kali slams her door closed with a bang that reverberates through the apartment hallway.

As soon as the door’s closed, Stiles pushes out of Derek’s now limp arms, reaching a hand off to try and wipe the spit off his face with his uniform sleeve. He makes a disgusted face at the wet spot on the fabric, muttering something about needing to burn the jacket now.

What the fuck were you thinking?” Derek hisses, grabbing Stiles’ shoulders and forcing him to make eye contact.

“I just – the things she was saying – ” Stiles protests, but his voice is weak, not forceful like it is in an argument he really wants to win. “She didn’t have any right to say that shit about you.”

“Oh, but the things she was saying about you were fine,” Derek says, his words positively dripping with sarcasm.

“You know that’s different,” Stiles retorts, glaring at Derek and trying to shrug his hands off.

“No. No, I don’t know how it’s different,” Derek shoots back, complying with Stiles and taking his hands off his shoulders, instead folding his arms over his chest.

“I’m an omega,” Stiles says slowly, as if talking to a small child.

“So?” Derek replies, gritting his teeth.

“So, it’s practically in the job description,” Stiles answers flippantly, rolling his eyes. “Must pass field exam. Must past written exam. Must deal with asshole alphas and their tender egos.”

“What, so you were defending my ‘tender ego’?” Derek says, and he wants to sound angry, but he’s pretty sure he just sounds pitiful and hurt.

“No! That’s not what I meant!” Stiles sputters, eyes wide. “I was talking about Kali’s ego, not yours! I just meant that I’m used to dealing with it and you’re not.”

“Stiles, I don’t give a fuck what she says about me,” Derek replies, lowering his voice and calming himself, taking a deep breath. “I does bother me when you talk about yourself like that, though. Like it’s okay if people say stupid shit about you.”

“It’s not okay,” Stiles says weakly, the defensiveness draining from him. “I’m just saying that it doesn’t bother me anymore.”

“Well, it should. It should bother you when people don’t treat you with basic human decency,” Derek sighs, and god, he’s feeling so tired now, like he just wants to go back to his apartment and take a nice long nap (preferably with Stiles curled up against his chest).

“Whatever, man,” Stiles says, finally breaking eye contact and turning to walk down the hall, towards the elevators.

“Hey,” Derek interjects, catching Stiles’ arm and holding him back, earning himself a particularly annoyed glare. “You do realize that this is going to have consequences, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” Stiles says, looking truly apologetic for the first time since trying to punch Kali. “Yeah, I know – I – ”

“You better hope that it doesn’t jeopardize our investigation,” Derek continues and a pained look flickers across Stiles’ features. “We’re lucky that you didn’t make contact, or she’d be able to press assault charges.”

“’m sorry,” Stiles mumbles, stopping Derek cold, because he doesn’t think he’s ever heard those words bypass Stiles’ lips before – at least not directed at him.

Derek just stares at him for a moment before he sighs, all the anger draining from him as he releases Stiles’ arm and reaches a hand up to run it through his dark hair.

“Well, hopefully she’ll be too embarrassed about being attacked by an omega to say anything,” Derek says, slowly starting to walk down the hallway, Stiles falling into step next to him.

Stiles still looks completely dejected and it pulls at Derek’s heartstrings, even though he was completely in the right when berating Stiles. God, he’s in deep.


Derek’s completely and totally exhausted, but he shows up at the police station at six thirty am anyway. It’s been a little over a week since Jennifer Blake’s body was pulled up from South Bay, and they have nothing. Or, well, pretty close to nothing. Oh, they have plenty of theories – very plausible ones – but no actual evidence. Derek still has a niggling feeling that Kali did it, even though Ennis Brennan had corroborated her alibi (although in way more detail than Derek would ever be comfortable with).

He sighs, shaking his head as he walks to his office. He has to be careful not to let his emotions get the better of him when it comes to this case. It’s entirely possible that he’s so wrapped up in blaming Kali because of the way she treated Stiles. Just because she’s a piece of alpha supremacist shit doesn’t mean she’s a murderer.

Once he gets to his office door, it takes him a moment to find his keys, buried somewhere in one of his many pockets. However, when he goes to insert them into the lock, he’s surprised to find it unnecessary. He frowns, suspicious. Of course, he had left his door unlocked when he’d left the station the previous night, because Stiles was still working and needed access to some of the files inside, but Stiles had promised to lock up when he was finished. Not that Stiles can’t be forgetful.

Derek cautiously pushes the door open, not really expecting to find anything unusual, but prepared nonetheless. Well, prepared to find someone snooping around. What he encounters is not something he thinks you can be prepared for.

Because the first thing that hits him as he opens the door is the intoxicating smell of an omega in heat.

And to make matters worse, it’s not just any omega in heat. Derek would be able to identify Stiles’ sweet, heady scent anywhere and even though he’s never encountered Stiles’ richer heat scent before, it’s distinctive enough. Sure enough, as he takes another cautious step into the room, his eyes are drawn to a familiar figure slumped over on his desk, dozing lightly in his swivel chair.

Well. It looks like Stiles forgot to lock up because he never actually left. Derek feels a familiar pang at this realization and he’s almost overwhelmed by the urge to sweep Stiles up into his arms and find him a proper bed. The need to take care of his mate –

But Stiles isn’t his mate, Derek reminds himself, although it’s difficult with Stiles’ heat scent clouding his senses, mingling with Derek’s own scent because Stiles is in heat in Derek’s office.

God, this is a mess. Derek can’t quite tell if it’s a wet dream or a nightmare.

“Stiles!” Derek barks, trying to rouse his partner, his voice rough. He really hopes that he doesn’t have to go over and shake Stiles awake, because actually touching him might be too much for Derek to handle.

“Ye – wha’?” Stiles mumbles, startling awake and blinking at Derek with dark, dark eyes, his pupils blown so wide his irises are almost invisible. “Mmm. What time is it?”

“Six thirty am,” Derek answers, maintaining a relatively safe distance as Stiles rubs his eyes and slowly regains full consciousness.

“Fuck. I feel like shit,” Stiles says, slumping forward on Derek’s desk and groaning in a way that sounds just a little too sexual for Derek’s sanity. “You need to get a fan in here or something. It’s way too fucking hot.”

Oh lord. Does Stiles not realize he’s in heat?

“I think I may being coming down with something,” Stiles muses, grimacing as he wipes the sweat off his forehead, making his hair stick up at even more impossible angles. “Greenburg had the flu a few weeks ago, didn’t he?”

“Uh,” Derek says, unsure what he’s supposed to do in the situation. The only reason every alpha in the station isn’t clawing at the door already is because every room is scent proofed. How can Stiles not realize what’s going on? “Stiles, have you been taking your suppressants?”

“Huh?” Stiles replies, scrunching his nose as he tries to puzzle out Derek’s question. “Well, I mean, kind of? I think I forgot last night, but that shouldn’t…”

Derek’s eyes are suddenly drawn to the trashcan next to his desk. It’s brimming with empty paper coffee cups and he’s pretty sure he even spots a couple of cans of Red Bull. Shit.

“Oh. Oh fuck,” Stiles groans, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’ve missed four doses.”

“And you’ve been overdosing on caffeine,” Derek adds, kicking the trashcan lightly, drawing Stiles’ eyes to it.

“Fuck,” Stiles says again, but it turns into more of a breathless moan than a word as his eyes fix on Derek, his nostrils flaring as he inhales Derek’s alpha scent. “Fuck.”

Stiles really needs to stop saying that or Derek’ll end up doing something that they’ll both regret when they’re back in their right minds.

“Do you, ah,” Derek starts, licking his dry lips and trying to ignore the way Stiles’ eyes track the movement. “Do you need me to call your alpha, or…?”

What?” Stiles sputters, sounding suddenly angry, and maybe a little betrayed. “You know I don’t have an alpha!”

Derek blinks. No, he didn’t know that.

“But your…” Derek says, motioning to the bond-bite on Stiles’ neck. It’s too big and too deep to have come from a beta, and the only other betas Stiles smells like are the ones who work in the station, anyway.

Stiles lets of another groan, although this one sounds much more frustrated than the previous ones.

“That’s not – ” Stiles says, flushing in shame, although it’s hard to make out because of how red his face has already become from his increased body temperature. “Look, can we not – can we discuss this later? Sometime when I’m not going into fucking heat in the middle of the fucking police station?”

“Okay. Okay, I’m just going to…” Derek announces, backing away towards the door. “Just stay here. I’ll go get some help.”

Stiles just nods, doesn’t even try to protest, which really indicates how far gone he is. If he were even a little more coherent he’d be jumping out of his chair and berating Derek for trying to be too much of a controlling alpha. He’d be insisting that he could take care of himself, thanks – no alpha necessary. Derek honestly didn’t think he’d ever find himself missing that.

Derek hightails it out of his office, closing and locking the door behind him. Stiles can unlock it from the inside, but Derek doesn’t want anyone else in the station to wander over looking for him only to find Stiles in such a vulnerable position. There are plenty of alphas around with much less control than Derek and he really doesn’t want to think about what would happen if one of them stumbled across Stiles. For the tenth time in the last fifteen minutes, Derek thanks whoever it was who decided that the station needed to be scent proofed.

Of course, a bit of the smell is still invading Derek’s senses. He was in there just long enough that it started to seep into his clothes – into his hair and skin. It’s just enough that it’ll probably haunt him for the next few hours, and he doesn’t even want to begin contemplating what it’s going to be like when he finally gets his office back. He probably won’t be able to go in there without getting a hard on for at least a few weeks.

Sighing, Derek shakes his head, trying to focus on the task at hand. He’s helped two different omegas through their heats, but both of those were one time, friend helping out a friend experiences. There’s no way he can help Stiles like that – it’s illegal for one, to have sex with an omega in heat without first receiving some sort of recorded or written permission at least twenty four hours prior.

“Has Inspector Yukimura come in yet?” Derek asks Greenburg who’s manning the front desk.

He really hopes she has, but he’s not holding out too much hope. After all, it’s still a little before seven and she typically isn’t in until seven thirty or eight. In fact, Derek typically isn’t in until seven thirty or eight – the only reason he’s here as early as he is is because of the stupid Blake case.

Greenburg doesn’t actually get a chance to answer his question, though, because the station doors open behind him and in strides Inspector Yukimura herself. Derek’s so relieved he could sweep her into a bear hug. Lieutenant McCall probably wouldn’t appreciate that, though.

“Inspector Yukimura, can I have a word with you?” Derek asks, abandoning Greenburg who just grumbles something unintelligible.

“Ah, yeah, sure,” Kira stutters surprised as she lets herself be led away from the front desk.

Kira Yukimura’s the only other omega on the force who Derek’s actually talked to before. It’s not terribly surprising considering how there aren’t really that many omegas on the force overall, due to issues of discrimination in what’s still considered an alpha dominated field.

“I need your help with something,” Derek admits, and Kira looks mildly panicked, like he’s going to ask her to help him hide a body or something.

Which, yeah, he kind of is.

“Okay,” she replies, looking around the room. Most of the officers lingering from the night shift are in the phone room, but there are a couple working at their desks in the homicide squad’s large, open office space. They’re out of hearing range, though, so Derek doesn’t bother dragging Kira into an interrogation room or anything.

“Inspector Stilinski’s in heat,” Derek says, deciding to go for blunt honesty, not bothering to dance around the issue. “He’s in my office and I don’t know what to do about it.”

Derek didn’t think that it was possible for Kira’s eyes to get any wider, but apparently he was wrong. She glances in the direction of Derek’s office, on the far side of the room. All of the blinds have been drawn over the windows and the lights are off, so it looks unoccupied. Kira then subtly takes in a breath of air, analyzing the scents in the room as the air filters through her nose.

“My office is scent proof,” Derek explains, although he can tell that she’s caught the residual heat scent clinging to Derek’s uniform.

“Okay,” she says again, but she’s not really paying attention to him, clearly analyzing the situation and trying to find the best solution. “How far along is he?”

“I’m not sure. His scent’s pretty strong and it’s obvious if you’re an alpha, but he didn’t realize what was happening until I pointed it out to him,” Derek replies, shrugging. “He looked kind of dazed, but he was mostly coherent. Then again, I haven’t been around a lot of omegas in heat before.”

Normally that isn’t the sort of thing alphas like admitting, but Derek’s secure in himself and he doesn’t want to somehow endanger Stiles just because he wanted to save face.

“I think I’m going to need to see him myself, then. I need to know if we can move him safely or if he’ll have to stay in the station,” she answers, and Derek has to suppress a shudder, thinking about what could have happened if Stiles had decided to try and stumble home on his own.

“Here,” Derek says, handing her the keys to his office. “I didn’t want to risk anyone wandering in accidentally, looking for me.”

Kira nods, giving him a tentative smile before walking over to the office, Derek trailing behind her. Derek uses the moment it takes for her to unlock the door to steel himself, prepare for the brief assault of Stiles-in-heat scent that’s going to hit him when she opens the door. When Kira finally does get the door open, a startled look crosses her face. She doesn’t waste any time slipping inside and closing the door again firmly. Across the room, the two night shift officers both look up from their work, sniffing the air, clearly having also caught a whiff.

Even Derek’s a little surprised by the thickness of the scent. It seems to have almost doubled in intensity since Derek encountered it last, which is troubling to say the least. Stiles’ heat is coming on faster than he anticipated, although hopefully that’ll make it shorter, too.

The minutes stretch on as Derek stands guard in front of the door. Kira’s been in there for a while now and the morning shift is starting to filter in. The two night shift officers have just left, both having decided to ignore what little of Stiles’ scent they had caught. Derek’s growing more agitated by the second, though, and it’s growing more and more difficult for him to refrain from barging into his office to make sure Stiles is okay. Or, well, as okay as an omega in heat can be.

“Derek!” a horribly familiar voice says, and Derek has to suppress a grimace as he turns to find Erica Reyes marching towards him, Boyd next to her.

“Erica, Boyd,” he greets, stiffening when Erica gets a strange look on her face, leaning into his personal bubble and sniffing at him unselfconsciously.

“You smell like omega,” she says, a predatory grin twisting her lips. “Omega in heat.”

“Erica,” Derek growls, scowling at her in a way that just seems to egg her on.

“So, you’ve finally decided to stop pining for Stiles?” Boyd asks, raising one eyebrow, and receiving a glare from Derek, because damn it, why’d he have to side with Erica, even if they are bonded?

Derek’s about to tell them to mind their own business and get back to work, but before he can say anything, the door behind him swings open.

“Derek, I don’t think Stiles can – ” Kira starts, cutting herself off and staring at Boyd and Erica like a deer in the headlights on an oncoming car as they both pin her with intense stares and inhale deeply.

“Damn, Der – how’d you get yourself into this mess?” Erica questions, whistling lowly and trying to peek back into the dimly lit office before Kira comes back to herself and slams it closed, locking it behind her.

“It’s not my fault,” Derek retorts, still glaring at her. “He over caffeinated and missed four doses of suppressants. He just fell asleep in my office while working late last night.”

“So you didn’t get permission?” Boyd sighs and Derek doesn’t even bother to dignify that with an answer.

“Just get to work,” Derek grumbles, his cheeks heating.

Boyd and Erica both give him looks that he can’t entirely interpret, but he can tell that they’re judging him – for not realizing what Stiles was accidentally doing to himself or for not getting permission to fuck Stiles into oblivion, he can’t tell.

“Hey, so, um,” Kira says, gathering Derek’s attention again as Boyd and Erica make themselves scarce. “I’m super sorry, but I don’t think we’re going to be able to move Stiles. Like, at all. He’s going to have to, uh,” she blushes and lowers her voice “ride it out in your office.”

Great. Just what he needs – Stiles getting his slick and cum and scent all over his office. He grimaces as he realizes that his favorite leather jacket is still in there, hanging on the back of his chair where he forgot it the previous night.

“And, um, I’m going to need you to get a few things,” Kira continues, the speed she’s muttering her words at making them hard to interpret.

“Why me?” Derek grouses, cheeks heating slightly at the thought of what she’s going to have him get.

“I mean, I suppose it doesn’t have to be you,” Kira says quickly, also turning beet red. “It’s just – his heat is coming on kind of intensely, and it’ll help if everything has alpha scent on it. You know, to help ease the urgency.”

“Okay,” Derek answers finally, nodding, although he’s pretty sure his cheeks are still bright red. “What does he need?”

Kira grabs a piece of scrap paper off a nearby desk and writes out the list.


Derek wasn’t sure whether to go to the sex shop first or last. He, being the coward he is, chickens out whenever he thinks about it, so it ends up being last. So here he is, standing in front of a huge display of knotting dildos, feeling entirely overwhelmed.

Dear god, Stiles is going to fuck himself with whichever toy Derek chooses. It’s all he can do to keep himself from passing out from embarrassment or arousal. Or a combination of both.

“Do you need any help, sir?” a chipper beta employee asks, nearly startling Derek out of his skin.

“Uh,” Derek replies, his eyes a little glazed as he stares blankly at the dildos.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she says, moving on smoothly, taking Derek’s minor freak out in stride. “First of all, who are you buying for?”

“Uh,” Derek repeats, wondering how hard she’ll judge him if he says ‘my coworker.’ She’ll probably think he’s a prostitute then. Even though he’s still in uniform. Fuck, he’s in a sex shop while still in his uniform. “My partner.”

“Alpha, beta, or omega?” she asks, eyes darting over the selection of dildos analytically.

“Omega,” Derek manages, closing his eyes for a moment and trying to calm himself.

“And is this for use in heat?” she continues, Derek nodding in response. “Will you be using this on your omega, or will they be using it for solo play? Or both?”

Derek’s brain nearly short circuits at the thought of him using one of these dildos on Stiles.

“Solo,” Derek says, his voice rough, the shop attendant next to him trying to stifle a knowing grin.

“It’s okay – you don’t have to be embarrassed,” the attendant says, surprising Derek. “You police officers probably have to work all sorts of weird hours. We’ll find your omega something to tide them over while you’re off saving the city.”

She’s got it completely wrong, but Derek figures that to get through this purchase without dying of mortification he might need to indulge in that little fantasy, pretend that he really is just buying this for Stiles to use when he can’t be there to fill –

Okay, never mind. Fantasizing = bad.


Derek somehow leaves the shop with two dildos (one knotting and one vibrating), a plug, and a bottle of expensive, organic lube. He tries not to think too much about how much money he just spent on Stiles’ sexual pleasure.


“Have either of you seen Inspector Yukimura?” Derek asks Erica and Boyd once he comes back from his shopping adventure, extremely glad that he’d had the foresight to hide the bag of sex toys inside of one of the bags of groceries.

“She left to interview a suspect in some domestic abuse case half an hour ago,” Boyd answers, Erica nodding along as she eyes the bags Derek’s carrying.

“Oh,” is really all Derek can think to say.

What’s he supposed to do now? Clearly Stiles needs these… supplies ASAP, but Derek’s not entirely sure if he wants to brave the office to bring them to him. And if Kira’s assessment was correct, Stiles is probably deep in the throes of heat right now. Derek doesn’t know any of the other omegas on the force, though – most of them are in the vice division – and he doesn’t think that Stiles would be comfortable with a stranger when he’s so vulnerable, even if that stranger was a fellow omega.


“Hey, are you going to be okay going in there?” Erica asks as he turns to head towards his office.

“I was in there earlier. I’ll be fine,” he says, rankling a bit at Erica’s implication, even though he knows it’s an entirely valid concern – for both Stiles and him.

Erica frowns, but she nods, trusting his judgment, although he can tell that she and Boyd are going to be keeping a close eye on the office, just in case. They’re good officers, and good friends.

Derek has to take a few moments, standing in front of the office door, before he unlocks it. He takes in a couple of deep breaths, breathing in the stale office air, untainted by heat scent. He almost chickens out then and wait for Kira to get back, but he can’t stand the thought of making Stiles wait when he’s probably practically burning out of his skin.

Finally he opens the door.

“Stiles?” he calls, his eyes taking a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.

“Der’k?” Stiles’ familiar voice moans and Derek’s almost dizzy from the sound combined with the thick, cloying scent permeating the atmosphere.

“Yeah. Kira wanted me to bring you – ” Derek starts, but he practically chokes on his words once he sees Stiles.

If Derek thought Stiles was flushed before, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now. He seems dazed, beads of sweat clinging to his overheated skin. His soft, pink mouth is hanging open as he pants – although really, it’s more red than pink right now. Stiles has probably been biting his lips again. It’s a habit of his, and it always drives Derek insane. The sight of Stiles’ bright red lips in this context nearly makes Derek moan.

But what Derek’s really stuck on, what really gave him pause, is the way Stiles has wrapped himself in Derek’s black leather jacket, nuzzling into the fabric. From what Derek can tell, Stiles in naked underneath it, his slick soaked uniform pants and underwear lying haphazardly on the floor a few feet away.

God, Derek’s never going to be able to wear that jacket again.

“Derek,” Stiles moans again, his voice a little clearer this time, his eyes fixed firmly on Derek who’s standing just inside the office, backed up against the door. “Derek – I need – ”

“It’s okay, Stiles. I’ve got – ” Derek starts, his voice choked as he looks away and starts unpacking the bags he’s carrying.

“Just a few fingers? Please?” Stiles whines, spreading his legs further, and Derek is tempted for all of five seconds before he breaks himself out of it, reminds himself that this is just the heat talking and that Stiles will regret it the moment he’s back in his right mind. “Please, Derek – ”

“This bag has food,” Derek interrupts, carefully avoiding meeting Stiles’ eyes as he indicates one of the bags he’s placed next to the door. “It’s mostly omega energy bars and other non-perishables, because I wasn’t sure how long you’re going to be in here for. The bag next to it has some clean clothes, wet wipes, and paper towels.”

Derek tries not to blush at the thought of what Stiles will be using those paper towels and wet wipes to clean up. He doesn’t really want to consider what has already dried on his desk in the few hours he’s been away.

“This bag has, uh,” Derek stutters, uncharacteristically flustered as he awkwardly pushes the bag of sex toys toward Stiles with his foot, not wanting to get any closer than strictly necessary, lest he fall into temptation (or be pulled into temptation), “everything else.”

He hightails it out of the office before Stiles can get out so much as a moan.


Stiles doesn’t leave Derek’s office for three full days. Derek has to tell Chief Hale (yes, his mother, which makes the whole thing all the more embarrassing) about the situation, but they manage to keep it from most of the force. If anyone asks where Stiles is, he’s on heat leave – which is technically true – and if anyone asks why Derek isn’t using his office, it’s because the air conditioning’s not working and he doesn’t want to risk heatstroke. Thankfully the office is both scent proof and mostly sound proof, so no one gets too suspicious.

Derek really doesn’t want to think about how he’s going to manage to air out the room afterward, though.

It’s around six thirty am on the fourth day when Stiles finally emerges. Derek’s in early again, mainly because he feels the need to be there for Stiles in at least some small capacity. He knows that it’s not his fault, that, really, this is all on Stiles for being so careless with his medication, but at the same time Derek feels like he should have paid closer attention to the way Stiles was overworking himself.

The door creaks when Stiles opens it – the hinges have always been a little rusty – and Derek looks up immediately, his eyes meeting Stiles’. Stiles just kind of freezes in the doorway, blushing brightly, but it’s easy to tell that it’s due to embarrassment this time, not his heat.

“Hey,” Stiles says awkwardly, clutching one of the grocery bags to his chest.

“Hey,” Derek echoes, equally unsure of what to say. What’s an acceptable conversation topic when all you can think about is how you’ve seen your coworker driven half out of his mind with heat, begging you to finger him?

“I, ah, wanna say thanks,” Stiles finally replies, shuffling his feet and tearing his eyes away from Derek’s. “For – you know. Helping me through everything.”

“Sure,” Derek says, although he can’t help the traitorous voice in the back of his mind that wants to suggest a different way he could have helped Stiles through his heat. “It was nothing.”

“No, it really wasn’t,” Stiles answers, surprising Derek. “A lot of other alphas wouldn’t have handled it as well as you did, and, I mean, I haven’t gone into heat since I was sixteen, so I really don’t think I would have been able to cope on my own. I probably would have starved to death in a puddle of my own slick.”

Derek recoils at that mental image, the very thought of it making him want to either puke or pull Stiles into his arms and protect him forever.

“Sixteen?” is what he says instead, distracting himself with that surprising fact. After all, most omegas have their first heat at eighteen. He’s met a few omegas who had presented at seventeen, but any sooner than that is rare.

“Yeah,” Stiles mumbles, somehow managing to look even more awkward than before. “It just – yeah. That happened.”

Derek just looks at him for a moment, wondering if he’s going to extrapolate, but Stiles just gives him a small, tense smile.

“I’m just gonna,” Stiles says, gesturing toward the exit. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”

Derek nods and lets him go.


True to his word, Stiles arrives back at the station a little before nine, freshly showered and in a clean uniform. Overall, he looks massively better than he did even just a few hours prior, and, really, the only way to tell that he just spent the last few days in heat is the faint smell of it clinging to his skin.

Erica smirks when she sees him, greeting him with a teasing “Nice to have you back,” while Boyd just smiles pleasantly and asks if he’s feeling okay. Stiles glares at Erica and tells Boyd he’s fine and Derek, well, Derek just tries to focus on the file he’s flipping through.

“So, what’s new?” Stiles asks, trying to get a good look at the file Derek’s reading.

“Boyd found a cold case from two years ago that’s awfully similar to ours,” Erica pipes in, grabbing a different file and spreading the crime scene photos out on her desk. “Tyler Hansen, twenty three years old, and an omega. Stabbed multiple times before his body was dumped in South Bay. The prime suspect at the time was a guy named Deucalion Grenville, but there was never enough evidence to convict him.”

“I’ve heard that name before,” Stiles says suddenly, eyes lighting up.

“He’s an outspoken alpha supremacist,” Boyd supplies, tapping away on his computer keyboard to bring up a whole slew of articles written by the guy. “Sometimes Fox News interviews him for shock value.”

“No, it’s not that,” Stiles insists as he digs through his desk drawers, clearly searching for something specific.

He searches around for a few more moments before finally letting out a little noise of triumph, holding an unfamiliar case file up like a trophy. He opens it up and scatters the documents inside over Erica’s desk and the Hansen files. The first thing that catches Derek’s eye are the autopsy photos and he snatches one up immediately, examining it carefully.

“Same MO,” he says, tracing a finger across the various stab wounds on the young omega’s body.

“Yeah,” Stiles says, nodding. “The case is from the town of Beacon Hills, which is a couple of hours north of here. Paige Walter was stabbed to death and her body was found three days later in a pond in the nearby nature preserve. And get this – the prime suspect was Ennis Brennan.”

“Kali’s alibi,” Erica growls, her mouth twisting into a scowl.

“The report also says that Ennis had printouts of every article Deucalion had ever written taped to his bedroom walls,” Stiles adds, waving around said report. “The only reason he wasn’t arrested was because the only evidence the police had was indirect and he had an alibi.”

“Kali,” Boyd infers, scowling nearly as darkly as Erica now.

“Right-o,” Stiles confirms.

“I think we need to look into Kali Sahni again,” Derek mutters, sitting back to read the Paige Walter file more thoroughly.


They’re in an unmarked car staking out Kali’s apartment building when Stiles finally restarts the conversation they’ve both been avoiding.

“Soooooo,” Stiles says, drawing out the word in a way that sets Derek on edge. “You thought I had an alpha.”

It’s not a question.

“Yeah,” Derek replies, unwilling to dig himself into a deeper hole by saying anything more than that, even though he knows Stiles is going to force a proper answer out of him some way or another.

“Why?” Stiles asks, sounding legitimately confused. “I mean, I get it with the bond-bite and all, but we’ve worked together long enough that you must’ve realized that I don’t have another alpha’s scent on me. Wait, do I have another alpha’s scent on me?”

“A little bit,” Derek admits, and he can even smell a trace of it now, lingering on Stiles. “It’s faint, and the antiseptic mostly covers it up.”

“Antiseptic?” Stiles repeats, wrinkling his nose.

“Yeah. I figured your alpha was in some sort of long term care situation, which was why you don’t smell like him that much,” Derek says, shrugging and looking straight ahead, both to focus on the stakeout and hide his embarrassed blush from Stiles.

Stiles stares blankly at him for a moment longer before his eyes go wide and his mouth hangs open in shock.

“Oh, fuck no! Ewwww,” Stiles exclaims, gagging, his over the top reaction startling Derek. “That’s just gross.”

“Care to explain?” Derek asks, trying to sound annoyed instead of completely and utterly mortified that he’d jumped to some conclusion that absolutely repulsed Stiles.

“That’s my dad,” Stiles explains and, god, Derek just wants to sink into the driver’s seat and disappear. “Or, well, my dad’s the alpha scent. I visit him a lot because he has trouble maintaining his cardiac health, and I usually stop by the hospital, too, to visit Scott’s mom, because she’s a nurse there. That’s where the antiseptic is coming from. No, but dude. My dad.”

Stiles makes another gagging sound and Derek mutters “Sorry,” so softly, he’s not entirely sure it’s audible to the human ear. They lapse into silence again, and it’s hard to tell if it’s more awkward or less awkward than before.

“So, you probably want to know what’s up with the bond-bite, then,” Stiles says, breaking the silence, and he’s right, Derek really does want to know, but not if it’s going to make everything worse between them.

“Only if you want to tell me,” Derek replies respectfully, giving Stiles a moment to think about it.

“No, it’s okay. I’m okay with telling you,” Stiles answers, and Derek’s heart just kind of wants to melt, because Stiles is trusting him with something important here. “So, you remember how I said I had my first heat when I was sixteen?”

Derek nods, already disliking the direction this story is going in.

“Well, I was over at Scott’s house when it hit – you know Scott McCall, right? Officer in Juvenile and Family Services?” Derek nods. “Anyway, he was my best bro, still is actually, and we were hanging out at his house like we always did when my heat hit,” Stiles says, trying to sound nonchalant, but mostly failing, “and my heat kinda triggered his alpha presentation. First heats are pretty much always hard, fast, and dirty, so we were both, you know, into it by the time Scott’s mom came home. It didn’t even last for a full day, but neither of us had been taught anything about controlling it yet, because we were so young, so, um, the damage was pretty much done.”

“So you just… came out of it bonded?” Derek asks, trying to sound a little less like a scandalized grandmother than he feels. Not that his shock isn’t at least a little warranted. Getting bonded is a long process with way too many government mandated counseling sessions beforehand for anyone to just get bonded on a whim. Unless, of course, you’re sixteen and don’t know jack about control.

“Pretty much,” Stiles admits, although somehow he sounds less traumatized by it than Derek does. Then again, he’s probably had a lot longer to adjust. “I’m just glad I didn’t end up on Sixteen and Pregnant, too.”

“Isn’t Scott bonded to Inspector Yukimura now?” Derek asks, subtly and selfishly trying to figure out if Stiles and Scott are still anything to each other, at least in the romantic sense.

“Yeah. Scott and I had our bond broken before it could really set,” Stiles says, but he’s smiling, like he’s genuinely happy that Scott and Kira are together. “We were never really into each other like that – it was just the hormones talking.”

Derek tries not to think too hard about how Stiles had reacted to him when he was in heat. There had been a little part of him that had wondered if Stiles really was attracted to him, at least on a physical level, because of that reaction, but well. Apparently that was just the hormones talking.

“I’m super happy for them, though,” Stiles continues, drawing Derek back into the conversation, and it takes him a minute to realize that Stiles is still talking about Scott and Kira. “It’s pretty hard to find anyone who’ll give you a second glance after seeing a bond-bite. People either think I’m cheating or defective somehow.”

“You’re not defective,” Derek blurts out, unable to stop himself.

“Well, yeah, I know that, but other people don’t,” Stiles says, giving Derek a fond smile. “They just think that my alpha broke the bond because of something I did.”

“Well, fuck them,” Derek replies, managing to draw a startled laugh out of Stiles.

“Thanks, Der,” Stiles says, the nickname making Derek’s heart skip a beat. “I wish there were more alphas like you in the world, even if you are a grumpy stick in the mud most of the time.”

“Watch it, or I’ll put you on paperwork duty for a month,” Derek grumbles, but they both know it’s an empty threat.

The silence that falls over them after that is comfortable. Even though they haven’t discussed Stiles’ actual heat or anything that happened during it, besides Derek revealing that he thought Stiles had an alpha, it doesn’t really feel like anything’s hanging over their heads. And yeah, Derek will probably spend the rest of his life jerking off to the memory of Stiles begging for his fingers, but fantasizing about Stiles is nothing new for him. Nothing’s actually changed.

Well, except for the fact that Derek now knows that Stiles is one hundred percent single. He’s just not sure about the “ready to mingle” part.

“Hey, is that – ?” Stiles says suddenly, grabbing his binoculars and peering down the street, squinting into the darkness.

Derek follows suit, grabbing his own binoculars, but he quickly discards them for a camera when he confirms Stiles’ sighting, because that’s most definitely Deucalion walking into Kali’s apartment building.


Boyd and Erica are obtaining a warrant to investigate Kali’s apartment when their most important piece of evidence comes in. Or, well, “evidence” isn’t exactly the right word. She would probably hate being called “evidence.”

“So you’re saying that your boyfriend, Aiden Hewitt, tried to stab you to death,” Derek clarifies, carefully examining the young omega in front of him who’s holding herself up like she owns the entire department, despite how scared she is under her façade.

“He’s not my boyfriend – we weren’t that serious – but yes, he did try to kill me,” Lydia Martin answers shortly, her lips pursed in displeasure. “I have video evidence.”

Now that gets Derek’s attention.

“He started acting strangely recently, so I had a friend install a security camera in the living room of my apartment,” she says primly, pushing a small flash drive across the table to him. “The footage for the entire day is there.”

Derek’s about to respond, but he’s cut off by his partner’s sudden – and loud – entrance.

“Oh my god, Lydia, are you all right?” Stiles exclaims, startling Derek as he sweeps Lydia into a tight hug. “I just heard about what happened!”

“I’m fine,” she insists, but she doesn’t try to break away from Stiles’ hug, instead leaning into his embrace. “Aiden won’t be when I get my hands on him, though.”

“Not that I don’t think you’d be entirely justified in ripping off that asshole’s balls, but you should probably leave him to us, Lyds,” Stiles replies, and Derek tries not to get stuck on the fact that apparently Stiles and Lydia are close enough for nicknames.

“You and Officer Hale,” Lydia says, putting an emphasis on Derek’s name that he can’t quite interpret. It makes Stiles turn a little pink, though, whatever that means.

“It’s Lieutenant Hale, actually,” Stiles says, before Derek can even open his mouth to say the same thing, which is more than a little surprising, because he didn’t think Stiles ever actually listened when him when he tried to remind Stiles of his title.

Lydia says something else to Stiles, but her voice is too soft for him to hear, which is probably what she’s going for. Whatever it is, though, makes Stiles turn even redder and tell her to “Shut up!” Probably nothing Derek wants to hear, then.

“I’m going to examine the video footage Dr. Martin just handed over,” Derek announces suddenly, standing up from his chair. “You can continue the interview.”

Stiles blinks at him, looking almost disappointed, but he doesn’t protest as Derek leaves the room. Derek spends the next few hours poring over the video footage, trying to glean any additional information – anything that would be helpful – but he comes up empty handed. If it was filmed in Aiden’s apartment, he’s sure that he would have a boatload of clues, but because it’s Lydia’s, it doesn’t reveal much. He has more than enough for a warrant for Aiden’s arrest, though, so getting access to his apartment should be easy.

Derek disconnects the flash drive and starts on the paperwork.


Derek sighs as he walks into his apartment later that night, throwing his keys haphazardly down on his kitchen counter before wandering into the living room and collapsing on the couch. He tries to clear his mind, tires to not think too hard about what a horrible day he’s had. Well, okay, “horrible” is a little too strong of a word to use, because thanks to Lydia they’ve had a major breakthrough in their case, but, well…

Lydia’s kind of what made his day so horrible. Not in a professional sense, but in a personal one, because all he can think about is how brightly Stiles smiled around her and how tightly he’d hugged her. It doesn’t entirely surprise him, of course, that Lydia is the sort of person Stiles is attracted to. Even though women have never really been his type, Derek can recognize that Lydia is gorgeous. It’s disappointing to find out that Stiles leans more towards fellow omegas when not consumed by his heat driven instincts. And Stiles is such an independent omega that even if he’s somewhat attracted to alphas, he’s probably into things like topping from the bottom. In fact, he might not even like bottoming at all.

And while Derek would do any of that if it meant having Stiles for his mate… well, for all of his social beliefs, in the bedroom he’s a bit more of a traditional alpha.

He bites his lip as the memory of Stiles in heat, begging for anything, even just his fingers, comes unbidden to the forefront of his mind. Now that he’s alone, he lets himself slip into the fantasy, imaging what it would be like if he’d broken down and succumbed to his desires. For a moment, Derek considers just jerking off while lying on his couch – after all, it’s not like anyone is going to walk in on him, but in the end he decides against it, hauling himself up and walking the few feet to his bedroom.

As soon as he collapses on his bed, he finds his hands reaching for the black leather jacket lying a few feet away from him. It’s the one that Stiles had clung to while in heat, the one that he’d come on and rubbed his scent into. Stiles had cleaned it as thoroughly as he could before returning it, of course, and had even sheepishly offered to buy him a new one, but Derek hadn’t taken him up on the offer. It still smells like Stiles, no matter what he uses to try and get rid of or cover the scent. It smells likes Stiles’ cum and slick and sweat.

Derek breathes it all in, reaching one hand down to palm at his cock, now heavy and full, still trapped in his uniform pants and boxers. Derek doesn’t waste too much time getting it out or teasing himself, just shoves away the offending clothing, groaning as he’s suddenly exposed to the cold air. He fumbles for the lube tucked away in the top drawer of his nightstand, a little overeager as he squeezes the tube, putting a little too much in his palm.

Of course, this just makes him thing about Stiles again – makes him wonder just how wet he is when in heat. Very, if the way he’d soaked through his uniform pants a few weeks ago was any indication and Derek groans as he strokes himself, imagining sinking into that wet heat.

God, he wants to make Stiles beg for it. Wants to see him desperate and needy as Derek holds him down, whispering all sorts of illicit promises in his ear. And when they both give in to their more primal instincts, Derek wants to pound into Stiles relentlessly, wants to dominate and mark and claim him.

Derek comes with a shout at that thought, his hand still tight around his cock as cum splatters across his chest, some of landing on his jacket, mixing with whatever traces of Stiles’ own cum that remain.

Derek closes his eyes and wants.


When they search Aiden’s apartment the next day, they find two murder weapons and Kali’s jacket. When they stumble across Aiden’s twin brother Ethan in the process, they also get something of a confession in exchange for a greatly reduced sentence.

It’s not like it was a particularly intricate scheme Deucalion had going on, after all. Join the alpha club by offing your clingy, bitchy omega. It still makes Derek feel sick.


“Well,” Stiles says as he slides into the passenger seat of Derek’s squad car. “I’m glad that’s over.”

“Over for us,” Derek corrects, glancing briefly back at the courthouse.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles replies, waving him off with one hand while rubbing his eye with the other. “Over for us. I’ll leave it to the lawyers now.”

“Is your eye alright?” Derek asks, a little concerned, grabbing Stiles’ chin and dragging him in to examine him closer.

“It’s fine,” Stiles insists, but he doesn’t fight Derek’s touch or try to pull away. “I just wish that bitch Kali would spit somewhere else, you know? Like, does she have to go for the eyes every time? Why not my cheek or something?”

“You’re unbelievable,” Derek mutters, finally releasing Stiles and moving to start the car engine.

“But you love me anyway,” Stiles replies cheekily, unaware of how his words make Derek stiffen – they’re true, after all.

“Brat,” Derek shoots back, unable to manage anything else that won’t completely give him away.

They settle into silence, Derek focusing on the road ahead while Stiles stares out the window at the city streets. Occasionally he glances over at Derek, like he wants to say something, but each time he turns away again, closing his mouth without a word.

“Okay, spit it out,” Derek orders, getting increasingly annoyed with Stiles’ indecisiveness.

“I went to see a doctor a few days ago,” Stiles says after a beat, and Derek wonders where the hell this conversation is heading. “You know, too see what I should do about messing up my suppressant cycle.”

Derek nods, trying not to let his mind automatically wander to Stiles’ last heat, spent in that office which still hasn’t entirely aired out.

“She said I need to cut down on my caffeine intake,” Stiles says idly, and Derek snorts.

“I’ve been telling you that for months,” Derek interrupts, which, yeah, is just another phrasing of ‘I told you so,’ but damn it, he did.

“She also said that I need to actually go through my next heat,” Stiles continues, and that shuts Derek up. “She said I’ve been suppressing for too long and that it’s unhealthy.”

“Oh,” Derek says, for lack of a better response.

“Yeah, ‘oh’,” Stiles grumbles, sounding horribly dejected.

“Are you – do you want me to help you find an alpha?” Derek asks, trying to be calm about it, trying to be reasonable about the situation. His partner needs help, and he’s damn well going to help Stiles in any way he needs.

Stiles mumbles something, but his words are jumbled and too soft for Derek to actually make anything out.

“What was that?” he says, glancing at Stiles for just a moment before turning his eyes back to the road.

“I said that I was wondering if maybe you’d be my – uh, if you’d be that alpha,” Stiles replies, a little louder and Derek nearly forgets to brake, the nose of the squad car half blocking the crosswalk.

Derek’s mind is racing as he considers it. It seems like everything he’s ever dreamed of. Well, minus the epic love confessions, but those –

Well, those are the most important part. He sighs.

“Stiles, I just don’t think – ” Derek starts, trying to remind himself of all the reasons jumping into bed with Stiles would be a horrible, horrible idea.

“No, that’s okay. I get it,” Stiles interrupts, casually, like Derek’s answer doesn’t really matter, but Derek doesn’t miss the way he shrinks in on himself slightly, dejected. “’s fine.”

“Let me finish,” Derek says firmly, clearly surprising Stiles. “What I was trying to say is that I don’t want to have sex if it won’t mean anything.”

“What if I want it to mean something?” Stiles asks softly, making Derek’s heart rate practically double.

“Then it depends on what you want it to mean,” Derek replies evenly, trying to stay calm.

“Do you think you’d maybe wanna discuss it over dinner tonight?” Stiles asks after a moment, sounding shyer than Derek ever thought possible for someone as reckless and bold as Stiles Stilinski. “I know a place with amazing curly fries.”

“I’d like that,” Derek answers.

Stiles’ smile alone is worth it.


“Derek,” Stiles whines, sprawled out over Derek’s bed sheets, legs spread wide and thighs already wet with his slick, even though they’re barely an hour into his heat. “Would you just get something in me already, you jerk?”

“I don’t know. You’re not asking very nicely,” Derek replies, dipping down to nibble at one of Stiles’ earlobes teasingly.

“Oh mighty alpha, will you please bend me over and fuck me until I’m screaming for your big, fat knot?” Stiles says sarcastically, although it’s undermined by the way his breath hitches at Derek’s thumb rubs over his rim.

“Mmmm. Try again when you mean it,” Derek answers, mouthing at Stiles’ neck and taking a moment to bite at the skin right above his collarbone, making Stiles groan.

“I ha – ” Stiles starts, but it quickly turns into a moan as Derek sucks one of his nipples into his mouth, scraping his teeth against it before pulling away and twisting it, enjoying the horse shout that forces itself past Stiles’ lips.

“What were you saying?” Derek asks, smirking slightly.

Stiles scowls at him and pulls him down into a kiss to avoid answering. Stiles kisses sloppily, but well, surprisingly so, considering how he’d told Derek over their dinner negotiation/date that he had very little sexual experience due to his bond-bite. Derek likes playing dirty, though, and he loves the way Stiles gasps into his mouth, surprised, as Derek works a finger into him. Just one, though – just enough to make Stiles really want.

“Oh my god, I take back everything I just said,” Stiles pants, trying to fuck himself down onto Derek’s finger. “Please, please just get in me already!”

“Do you remember what you said to me when I came in to bring you supplies when you were in heat?” Derek murmurs against Stiles’ lips, twisting his finger just so and making Stiles whimper. “Just a few fingers. You begged me for just a few fingers to fuck yourself on.”

Stiles lets out a choked gasp as Derek slides another finger in, slowly, torturously fucking them in and out of his body.

“Maybe that’s all you’re going to get,” Derek murmurs, and Stiles moans pathetically at that.

“Please, Derek,” Stiles gasps, nails digging into the skin of Derek’s back, leaving behind little crescent shaped indents as he clings. “Please, just – I’ll – ”

“You’ll what?” Derek asks, carefully slipping a third finger in and dragging them slowly across Stiles’ prostate, making his keen beautifully. “Let me fuck you however I want? Suck my cock and let me fuck your face? Let me bury my face between your cheeks and – ”

Derek pauses as Stiles lets out a cry, cum splattering all over his chest. Derek’s fingers are still brushing over his prostate, still fucking into him steadily, and Stiles would be whining from the overstimulation if he wasn’t in heat.

“You like that idea? Me eating you out?” Derek asks and Stiles nods, unable to actually form words – any coherent words, anyway.

Slowly, Derek removes his fingers, Stiles groaning at the loss, but soon enough they’re being replaced with Derek’s tongue, licking around the rim before fucking into him again. Derek revels in the taste of Stiles, the sweetness of it on his tongue. He’s imagined tasting Stiles’ slick tens, even hundreds of times, but nothing his imagination could dream up is even close to the actual thing, Stiles bucking and writing under him as he licks and sucks, bites a hickey onto Stiles’ upper thigh.

Of course, he can only ignore his erection for so long with Stiles’ open hole ready and waiting, clenching desperately around nothing as Derek removes his tongue.

“Der?” Stiles asks, opening his eyes again to look down at Derek, trying to spread his legs even wider in invitation.

“I’m trying to decide how I want to fuck you,” Derek says, nuzzling at Stiles’ inner thigh and breathing in his scent.

“You could hold me down, fuck me on my back,” Stiles suggests, breathless as Derek’s fingers slip back into him – not moving, just keeping him full. “Give me rings of bruises around my wrists.”

“You want that?” Derek asks, looking up sharply, not quite able to believe what Stiles just said, because Stiles is always independent, always in control.

“Well, I mean, if you don’t want to – ” Stiles replies, his face flushing in shame as he tries to avoid Derek’s intense gaze.

“No,” Derek says quickly, running his free hand along Stiles’ thigh soothingly and tracing little circles over his hip, trying to calm his omega. “No, I want it. Just ask properly and I’ll give it you.”

“Derek,” Stiles mumbles, flushing even brighter at the sweet humiliation of having to ask for what he wants. “Could you please hold me down and fuck me? Bruise me up a bit, too?”

“Good boy,” Derek says, a surge of possessiveness practically suffocating him as he places a light kiss on Stiles’ forehead and removes his fingers before sliding his cock in slowly, inch by inch until he bottoms out with a grunt.

“Fuck,” Stiles gasps, surprisingly tight around his cock, and Derek wonders if he’s ever felt so full before, if he’s ever gotten the same feeling from one of the toys Derek bought him or if this is something truly unique. “Fuck, Derek.”

“Yeah,” Derek murmurs, grasping Stiles’ wrists tightly and pinning them to the mattress as he starts thrusting, shallowly at first, enjoying the way Stiles whimpers and tries to fuck himself back on Derek’s cock.

“Derek,” Stiles pants, looking up at Derek with dark, glassy eyes, every spike of pleasure flashing across his face. “Derek, please, could you please – ”

“Please what?” Derek gasps, still torturing Stiles with small thrusts that only just brush against his prostate each time, giving him a little taste of the pleasure to be had.

“Please stop messing around and fuck me already,” Stiles groans, and Derek can’t hold back any longer, practically knocking the breath out of Stiles with his next thrust, pushing him further up the bed with the sheer force of it.

Neither of them try for words after that, but Derek revels in every little noise he tears from Stiles’ throat with each thrust. The headboard’s slapping against the wall now, and Derek’s neighbors are probably going to absolutely hate him now, but he can’t bring himself to give a shit. All that matters right now are Stiles and the slick slide of their bodies together, building closer and closer to climax.

“Ready?” Derek manages as he feels his knot start to swell at the base of his cock.

Stiles nods, unable to manage anything more than that and soon enough Derek’s sliding in with a particularly vicious thrust and Stiles is crying out as he comes again, Derek’s knot slipping inside him easily, tying them together. He lets Stiles adjust for another few moments, still clenching around his cock with the aftershocks and then he’s thrusting shallowly again, just a couple of times before he’s coming, too, filling Stiles up even so that Stiles is trembling from the pressure alone.

“One down, a fuckton more to go,” Stiles says cheekily, grinning up at Derek, still holding himself above his omega.

Derek laughs and promptly collapses on top of Stiles, who lets out a very unsexy squawk.