Stiles wasn’t sure how it started.
Okay, he was.
Stiles had been trying to get under Derek’s skin for weeks now. He was pretty sure he was doing a good job, but clearly not good enough because Derek still hadn’t done anything yet. ‘Done anything’ meaning anything other than slamming him into walls and growling a lot.
‘Done anything’ also meant finally manning up (werewolfing up?) and finally asking him out. Or maybe just kissing him. Or at least doing something other than giving him red-eyed looks that made Stiles’s stomach flip and then continuing to be grumpy for the rest of the day.
Because Stiles knew that could all happen, dammit. Erica had flat out told him Derek was harboring a crush and even Scott had admitted his scent and heartbeats changed when Stiles was around. Things could be happening, dammit. But Derek wasn’t giving Stiles any leeway.
So Stiles had decided to take matters into his own hands.
This might have involved doing everything he could to get under Derek’s skin. And not just in an irritating or annoying way, but in a tempting and alluring way. Because Stiles could be alluring, dammit! He had skills.
On day thirteen he wasn’t so sure he had skills.
Stiles had tried everything. He’d tried walking around with no shirt, then he’d started walking around in just boxers. But all that did was get him kicked out of the pack house when it was raining outside.
From there, Stiles had tried to be seductive. Lydia, with tremendous amounts of sighing and complaining, had attempted to help him. But apparently, Stiles wasn’t good at being seductive.
Lydia had told him his lips were one of his best features, so Stiles decided to walk around pushing his lips out for the next three days. When that did nothing but earn him strange looks, he went around chewing on everything in sight instead; a packet of Twizzlers he kept in his back pocket, any kind of pen he could find, the strings of his hoodie when he was desperate.
But then Derek informed him that the pen he was chewing on had been found underneath the fridge earlier and Stiles proceeded to heave his lungs out for the rest of the day.
Stiles didn’t know what else to do. Derek was a stubborn-headed asshole who refused to give him a chance and Stiles was running out of ideas.
So he tried to kick things up a notch.
The first time was when they were training. Derek had recently started telling Stiles he was now required to join in and at first, Stiles hadn’t been happy about that at all.
But then he’d gotten pinned to the floor a couple dozen times by Derek and he thought he could learn to cope. Because Stiles was a teenage boy, okay? Getting pinned to the floor by a much stronger and much sweatier shirtless man checked off all his boxes.
Things ended a little differently this time.
When Derek kicked out his feet and drove him to the mat that day, just like every other time, Stiles was out of breath and panting. Sweat ran down his forehead and soaked through his shirt and Derek crowded over him, pinning his wrists against the floor and eyes colored a little red.
But this time, Stiles grinned up at him as Derek glowered.
“You were too slow, Stiles.”
“Yup,” Stiles said, popping the p. “Guess you got me again, Sourwolf!”
Derek blinked at him and Stiles’s grinned widened.
“Good match, dude!”
And then he leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Derek’s nose. The man froze and all colors of Alpha red faded from his eyes. Across the room, Erica burst out into laughter. Stiles tilted his head and just smiled and Derek stared at him for a long moment.
Then the man shoved himself up and turned, stalking away. Stiles sat up slowly, gazing after him, and his heart stopped thudding so hard against his chest. He watched Derek splash water onto his face from the nearby sink and then stalk up the basement stairs, vanishing from sight.
“I think you broke out Alpha, Stiles,” she said. Stiles grinned triumphantly and just shrugged, pushing himself up. He’d finally gotten a reaction; and that was only the start.
Stiles had a plan.
The second time, things weren’t exactly going to plan.
Not necessarily in a bad way, but… yeah, kind of in a bad way. They’d been facing off the current monster of the week, a wendigo, and things had been going fine until Derek had been slashed all the way across the back.
Stiles had panicked.
He’d dropped his bat, abandoned the fight, and reached Derek first, dropping to his knees at the man’s side. The sound of Derek’s pained roar still echoed through his ears and he was pretty sure if Derek died, he might die too. Because that couldn’t happen. This couldn’t happen. Derek wasn’t allowed to die.
The man wasn’t dead. But he had collapsed to the ground, breathing shallowly, and his shirt was all but shredded. The wound wasn’t healing very fast. The injury itself nearly made Stiles hurl.
He heard the faint sound of Scott’s howl and then the wendigo’s roar cut off. Stiles didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know the threat had been taken care of. His fingers fluttered over Derek’s open back and panic rose in his throat.
“What do I do, Derek, what do I do?”
“Nothing,” Derek said, groaning into the dirt. “It’ll heal.”
“Dude, your entire back is literally open! That’s not going to heal!”
“It will,” Derek snarled, starting to push himself up. But then he made a pained noise and dropped back down, his eyes fluttering closed in defeat. “It’ll just take a while.”
“So what, you’re just going to lay here until things are all better?”
“Oh my god.” Stiles hated everything sometimes. He didn’t know how laying still was possibly going to fix things but… but maybe the wound didn’t look quite as bad now as it had before. Stiles still knelt at his side, looking at Derek’s face screwed up in pain, and wished there was something more he could do.
Scott and the others approached carefully. Stiles glanced over at them.
“He’ll be okay.”
Erica whined softly and Boyd wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Derek glanced at them, his breaths not quite as panting anymore. “I’ll be okay.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Scott asked, studying the wound. Derek shook his head.
“Just—” he groaned as he pushed himself up a little. Stiles wanted to yell and shove the man back down, but he was pretty sure that would only make things worse. “Just take care of the body. The rest of you head back to the loft and get cleaned up. You still have school tomorrow.”
Stiles blinked at him. The other betas nodded and started to turn away, but there was no chance Stiles was moving.
Derek glared at him. “Go, Stiles.”
“Uh, no way in hell dude. I’m not leaving you lying out here in the middle of nowhere. There could be— could be— bears!”
“Yes, or mountain lions. Or coyotes. Or something else that might like to snack on a helpless Alpha werewolf!”
“I’m not helpless,” Derek said, glaring at him. Stiles rolled his eyes and turned toward the betas, waving a hand through the air.
“Begone, pups, I know two of you haven’t done your homework yet. I’ll make sure your Alpha doesn’t get snacked on by wild animals and bring him back to the loft when he’s healed.”
Boyd nodded gratefully and led the other two back toward Derek’s Camaro. Scott hesitated a moment longer and Stiles put on his best smile.
“Go on, dude, I’m fine. I totally felt like sitting out in the middle of the preserve in the middle of the night anyway.”
Stiles ignored Derek’s growl, waving Scott off. The boy still hesitated a moment longer before Allison took his elbow and started to pull him away. Stiles sat back with a sigh, pulling his knees into his chest as he sank into a more comfortable position. Derek continued to glare at him.
Stiles only grinned. “Feeling any better yet?”
“Go home, Stiles.”
“That’s not the answer I was looking for, Sourwolf. Seriously, dude, half of your back is opened up right now. I’d find that very gross if I hadn’t spent most of my high school career seeing wounds like that. I mean, it’s still gross, but not nearly as gross as it probably would’ve been two years ago. I’m not going to faint or anything.”
“That’s cute, dude. Hey, look at you, you’re sitting up now! Props for that, Sourwolf. I was starting to think you might never walk again.”
Derek glared even harder at him. The man was sitting up now, but he winced at the movement. Stiles craned his neck and tried to get a better view, and then regretted that. Derek’s shirt was stained with blood. It ran in drying trickles all the way down his back and pooled into the grass. Stiles retched a little and pulled away.
“Oh my god, just kidding. I’m not any better than I was two years ago. That’s so gross.”
“Then don’t look.”
“Don’t tell me not to look because then I’ll want to look.”
“Stiles, just keep your eyes to yourself.”
“Great, now you sound like my mean old fifth-grade teacher, except she would’ve been talking about my hands.”
Derek leveled him with a flat look and Stiles chuckled nervously, turning his eyes down to said hands. The panic at seeing Derek collapse had subsided some, but he was still trembling a little. Derek’s gaze zeroed in on the action and his brows furrowed.
“What’s wrong with you?”
The man raised a brow and Stiles rolled his eyes.
“I was worried , Sourwolf.”
“No, about the wendigo. Yes, dude, about you! I don’t know if it’s possible for guts to come out of your back but if it were, I’d say you were pretty close, Sourwolf.”
“Yeah, turtle slow.”
Derek grumbled something Stiles didn’t catch and he sighed, glancing at the wound again. Derek wasn’t wrong; it was getting better. Slowly, but it was closing itself back up at least. The man was sitting with his arms wrapped around his knees now and his face was screwed even tighter. Stiles tried to discreetly scooch closer but was pretty sure he failed.
“Does it still hurt?”
“No, Stiles, my back is open but I can’t feel a thing.”
“I swear to god, Derek, don’t give me that attitude. Do you really want me to leave? Do you really want to sit out here all by your lonesome while your back slowly stitches itself back together?”
Derek held his gaze for a long moment before lowering his eyes. Stiles could’ve sworn he heard a soft ‘no’ but he couldn’t be sure. Still, he didn’t leave.
“I just want to be here for you,” Stiles mumbled. Derek tensed a little but didn’t say another word. Stiles glanced over and watched as he shifted uncomfortably, trying to pick at the shirt that stuck to his skin and wincing every time. Stiles sighed and moved closer. “Let me.”
“Let me, Derek.”
The man grunted and stopped shifting. Stiles picked at the ripped t-shirt with careful fingers, peeling it away from the wound. Blood covered his fingers and Stiles wrinkled his nose but didn’t stop. Soon, Derek’s back was bared and Stiles realized the wound really wasn’t as bad as he’d thought. Still bad, but not terrible.
Stiles looked it over, tracing careful fingers across the man’s shoulder. Derek shivered and leaned into his touch and Stiles’s stomach flipped.
“It could be worse,” he said softly. “You’ll be okay.”
“I know that.”
“Yeah,” Stiles murmured. Before he could let himself think, he leaned closer and pressed a gentle kiss against the man’s shoulder. Derek went impossibly tense before closing his eyes with a soft sigh. Stiles smiled slightly. “You’ll be okay.”
He was pretty sure they sat out there for another few hours, but Stiles had stopped counting the time. He only knew that when the sun touched the horizon, Stiles was trudging back into his bedroom, the exhaustion was crashing over him in waves.
Still, he didn’t regret staying. Not one bit.
Not for Derek.
The third time, Stiles was pretty sure it was a heat of the moment decision.
It was pack movie night and Lydia had picked the movie, which meant they were watching the Notebook. Stiles didn’t really mind, but he hated the ending. He didn’t do crying during movies. Especially around a bunch of werewolves.
Apparently, the rest of the pack felt the same. Because when the end of the movie started to come, more than half of them got up and wandered away. Isaac claimed he wanted more popcorn, Scott said he needed a drink, and Jackson said he just didn’t care. Soon, it was only Stiles, Derek, and the girls left.
Stiles rolled his eyes and burrowed deeper into his blanket. Derek shifted at his side, gaze never leaving the TV.
Stiles’s eyes tracked sideways and he found himself studying Derek’s face. He could’ve sworn the man’s eyes were turning a little red. Stiles stared.
“Derek,” he whispered, and the man finally looked over. Stiles smirked a bit. “Are you crying?”
“Shut up,” Derek said, flashing his red eyes. None of the others had torn their eyes off the TV except for Erica, and she was smirking at both of them. Stiles smothered some of his grin and shrugged.
“I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, Sourwolf, just that you should be careful. There might be a mutiny if the rest of the pack discovers you have emotions.”
“You’re an idiot, Stiles.”
“And you’re a little Softiewolf.”
The man rolled his eyes and refused to glance over again. Stiles snorted and glanced down; his eyes landed on Derek’s hand, which rested only a few inches from his knee. Carefully, he reached over and brushed his fingers over the tips of Derek’s. The man didn’t move a muscle.
Stiles chuckled and traced his fingers over the back of Derek’s hand. When the man still refused to move or glance over, Stiles threaded his fingers through Derek’s own.
He was half expecting to get shoved off the couch of maybe kicked out of the room. But Derek only froze for a moment and then Stiles blinked as the man squeezed his hand a little tighter. Stiles’s chest turned warm and he turned his eyes back toward the TV, watching the rest of the movie with a small smile on his face.
By the time it was over, Stiles’s hand was all gross and sweaty. But Derek still hadn’t pulled away so he didn’t either. And when the rest of the pack wandered into the kitchen, the TV screen now black, Stiles didn’t move. Erica gave them one more smirking look before following and then they were left alone.
Stiles nervously wet his lips and glanced over. Derek rolled his eyes and still didn’t look over.
“So, Sourwolf,” Stiles said coyly. “Any other movies that make you cry?”
“Let me guess. Titanic.”
“No, no, Charlotte’s Web. You’d be a monster if that didn’t make you cry.”
Derek finally gave him an incredulous look and Stiles grinned. But the man only arched an eyebrow, not looking impressed. “How is Charlotte’s Web sad?”
“The spider dies!”
“... The spider dies.”
“Yes,” Stiles said. “She dies. And that’s the saddest thing ever!”
“It’s just a spider.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, pulling his hand away. Derek’s eyes sparked a little red at that and Stiles shook his head, unable to believe he was actually having this conversation. “Derek, you soulless bastard. We’re watching that next Friday. I can’t believe you don’t think that’s sad!”
Derek only shrugged, but he was looking at his hand a little unhappily. Stiles resisted the urge to grab it again, pushing himself up instead. His stomach growled.
“I’m going to go eat away my sorrows,” Stiles said, starting by. “You can think about what you’ve done.”
Derek caught his arm before Stiles could pass him, though. The man’s fingers curled into his sleeve and Stiles gazed at them, before meeting Derek’s eyes. The man’s face was a little pink and Stiles’s heart softened.
But then Derek said “Don’t touch the ice cream” and Stiles decided that he changed his mind. He hated the Sourwolf.
“Two seconds ago, I didn’t realize there was ice cream,” Stiles said, peeling Derek’s fingers off of his sleeve and bringing his hand up to his lips. To Derek’s widening eyes, Stiles pressed a chaste kiss across the back of Derek’s hand and then grinned. “I’m going to go eat it now. Thank you!”
The man snarled his name. But Stiles was already dancing away, only thoughts of ice cream on his mind.
He ignored Erica’s smug look as he entered the kitchen.
The fourth time, Stiles was pretty sure Derek was starting to realize what was going on.
It wasn’t like Stiles was planning all of this exactly, but things were happening anyway. His plan had gone off the rails from decision one and Stiles was just rolling with it now.
They were at the nearest diner and Stiles was pretty sure the rest of the pack was supposed to have shown up. But then Derek sat down with a ‘they all canceled’ grunt and Stiles thought the universe was either rooting for him or very, very against everything he did.
It wasn’t like this was a date or anything. Even though Stiles’s heart started to beat harder against his chest and Derek had chosen to sit right next to him instead of the empty booth across the table.
Stiles was starving. So much so, he almost didn’t care that it was just him and Derek alone. So when the waitress came over, Stiles ordered a burger with extra fries and glared at Derek’s judgemental look.
“Don’t give me that, Derek, I’m a growing boy! And I’ll have you know, if the supernatural crazies in this town didn’t make me run around the forest at two in the morning on a school night, maybe I wouldn’t be so hungry all the time.”
The waitress’s eyebrows flew straight up and Derek shot him a dark look, but Stiles only grinned. The young woman chuckled nervously and turned toward Derek, pen brushing against her pad of paper. Her expression changed and her eyes sharpened as she studied his face.
“And what can I get you, sweetie?”
Stiles’s stomach clenched. He was pretty sure he hadn’t gotten called sweetie.
Derek seemed to notice, but he didn’t even react. “I’ll have the same.”
“Oh, wow,” Stiles said, elbowing the man in the side. “So you’re allowed to order a burger and extra fries just fine, but I get the judgemental eyebrows?”
Derek gave him a flat look. The waitress put on a small, slightly irritated looking smile at being so obviously ignored and hesitated for a moment longer before flitting away. Stiles tried not to feel smug about that.
“So,” Stiles said. “The rest of the pack canceled, huh?”
“All of them?”
“What are you implying, Stiles?”
“Nothing,” Stiles said, fiddling with his napkin and suppressing a smile. When Derek’s eyes turned squinty, Stiles just smiled.
The waitress came back later with their order and drinks, and Stiles’s smile melted at the look she gave Derek and the way her fingers brushed over his arm as she pulled back. Derek shifted a little tensely and Stiles stabbed his straw into his drink, keeping his eyes on her the entire time. He hoped the action was as threatening as he thought.
She didn’t pay him a second glance though, so Stiles didn’t think so.
When the woman left, Derek shot him a look. “What’s wrong with you, Stiles?”
“What do you mean?”
“Your scent is doing… things.”
“Things,” Stiles said, staring at him. Derek’s face turned a little red and he busied himself with his burger instead of answering. Stiles pointedly didn’t address the question asked, busying himself in his own food too. He found some of his smirk returning though.
When the waitress returned to refill their drinks, looking only at Derek and running a finger over the rim of his glass, Stiles noticed the man shifting uncomfortably. She continued to smile and move closer, and then Stiles reacted.
He probably should have thought before he acted, but then Stiles was pecking Derek’s cheek and he offered his best grin at the waitress. “So, Sourwolf, what do you say about these burgers?”
For a second, the man froze. Then he gave Stiles an odd look; one of fond exasperation mixed with slight relief. Derek glanced at his plate empty before looking back at the waitress. “They were good.”
The woman’s smile was small and tight and she turned away. Stiles snorted.
“I wouldn’t drink the next refill she brings back,” Derek said the moment she was out of earshot. Stiles waved a hand through the air.
“I’m not that thirsty anyway.”
“So what was that, Stiles?”
Stiles paused and glanced at the man. Derek’s expression was unreadable and suddenly, Stiles’s stomach clenched. Instead of providing an honest answer, he just shrugged. “Me saving you? She looked like she was about to start getting handsy.”
Derek nodded quietly. But Stiles could’ve sworn there was a smile tugging at the corners of his lips..
Stiles didn’t touch the next refill the waitress brought back. But Derek let him drink from some of his own.
Stiles let himself be quietly content at that.
The fifth time was not an accident at all. But it was a little bit of a mess.
Or at least, Stiles really hoped it wasn’t an accident. He paced Derek’s bedroom rambling about flying monkeys and how dead the pack was if they didn’t figure out how to reverse the current witch’s spell, while Derek nursed his newest wound and ignored him. But then one moment, the man was touching a cloth to the open gash across his chest and the next, he was looking sharply at Stiles with narrowed eyes.
Stiles stopped mid ramble and raised an eyebrow. “Uh, Derek?”
“Do you ever think about the things you say?” Derek asked. And it wasn’t like Stiles couldn’t remember the last time Derek hadn’t told him that. Still, he backtracked and thought over his previous words before blinking in confusion. He was pretty sure he hadn’t said anything totally uncalled for.
Derek growled something and pressed the rag too hard against his wound. His hissed sharply as a result and Stiles yelped as it began to bleed even more, stumbling across the room toward the man.
“Woah, woah, let me help. You’re just going to make it worse!”
Derek rolled his eyes, but let Stiles pry the washcloth from his hands. Stiles pressed his lips together and eyed the wound before glancing back up.
“You heal like a turtle.”
“You’ve told me that before.”
“Yeah, well I meant it. One day, you’re not going to heal in time and you’re going to bleed out because of it. And then how am I going to feel?”
Derek shrugged. Stiles scowled at him.
“Bad, Sourwolf. Very bad.”
“Oh my god,” Stiles said, resisting the urge to jab at Derek’s wound with the cloth himself. He moved down to his knees and dabbed about the wound carefully instead, shooting an upward glare at the man. “One of these days, you’re going to accept that people are allowed to care.”
“I never said they weren’t.”
“Yeah, well you implied it.”
Derek’s scoffed, but Stiles noticed him shift a little. He blinked at Derek’s bare chest and tried not to think about how close he suddenly was. He really hadn’t thought this through when he’d tried to get on eye level with the man’s injury.
“So,” Stiles said, chuckling nervously. “Nice weather up there?”
“I’m just saying,” Stiles said. “It’s not so bad down here. Not— oh my god, not like that. Just that you have very nice ab muscles. Seriously, I think each one has its own six-pack. I’d say that’s not even fair but you basically eat pushups for breakfast, so maybe it is.”
Derek didn’t say anything and when Stiles glanced up, the man’s face was bright red. Stiles grinned, even as he felt his own face warming.
“Did I just make things really weird?”
“You always make things weird.”
“Okay, but in a good way or in a bad way?”
“Stiles, would you just finish up?”
Stiles felt his face turn redder and he chewed on his lower lip, wiping away the last smudges of dried blood. He tilted his head at the angry-looking wound and then leaned forward, pressing a chaste kiss against the area above it.
Instantly, Derek jerked back.
Stiles startled and leaped to his feet. Derek was looking at him with red eyes and Stiles quickly backed away, throwing his hand up
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t thinking and I thought that'd be adorable, but I’m Stiles Stilinski, clearly I’m not adorable and oh my god. That was out of line. Please don’t rip my throat out of anything.”
“No,” Derek said, blinking a few times. He shook his head and then dropped his gaze, grabbing his shirt from on top of the dresser and pulling it over his head. “It’s not that, Stiles. It’s—”
“Really,” Stiles said, cutting him off. “You don't have to explain. I’m fine, totally fine. I should’ve kept myself to myself and I’ll go do that right now. Keep myself to myself, that is.”
Stiles tried to duck past Derek out of the bedroom, but Derek caught his arm before he could make his escape. Stiles froze and looked at the man quietly, and Derek kept his eyes on the floor for a moment longer. He didn’t look like he was about to commit murder, but he did look more than a little constipated. Stiles swallowed hard.
“It’s something Kate used to do,” Derek said quietly. “It just took me off guard.”
And Stiles’s stomach dropped. He deflated in Derek’s hold and guilt struck him in a wave. As if Derek could tell, his eyes instantly widened and he let go of Stiles’s arm, fingers trembling in the air only a few inches away.
“It’s okay, Stiles, really. I was just surprised.”
“I’m sorry,” Stiles said quietly. “All this time, I’ve been trying to get your attention or maybe get under your skin but I never meant— I never meant—”
Stiles forced himself to meet the man’s gaze. Derek’s face was soft and he moved forward to press a kiss against Stiles’s forehead. His lips were a little chapped and his breaths were warm against Stiles’s skin, and Stiles felt himself deflating even more. But this time, it was out of relief and not panic.
“Stiles, I know,” Derek said softly. “And I… like it.”
Stiles glanced up in surprise. Derek’s face was red as he pulled away a few inches. “What?”
“It’s different, being on the other side.”
Stiles stared at him for a long moment. Then it hit him like a punch to the face and Stiles grinned widely. “Oh my god, Sourwolf, you like being courted! Dude! Is that why you kept letting me act like an idiot? Have I been out there scrambling head over heels trying to get under your skin while I’ve already been living there rent-free?”
Derek rolled his eyes. “You’re making yourself sound like a parasite.”
“Which is absolutely not true.”
“I suppose it depends on who you ask.”
Stiles nearly jabbed in the man in the stomach just for that comment. But instead, he grinned at started to lean forward; Derek straightened, pupils dilating, and Stiles very nearly brushed his lips against the man’s own. But then he drew back at the last second with a bright grin.
“Well, Sourwolf, guess you’ll just have to wait until I’m done courting before you get a proper kiss! Because if I’m doing all the work here, then I’m doing it right.”
“Will you stop calling it courting?”
“What, is there a more proper werewolf term? Oh my god, is this some sort of mating ritual?”
Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed the bloody washcloth from Stiles’s hands, shoving it into his face as he moved out the bedroom door. Stiles squawked and then gagged, yanking it away from his face. He looked at the pink cloth, gagged one more time, and then let the bloody material drop to the floor.
“Dammit, Derek, I’m not going to court you if you're going to act like a--”
Stiles came stumbling out of the bedroom and then froze to see the entire pack looking at him in surprise. Stiles went stock-still and then looked at Derek in betrayal, but the man looked just as horrified. Grinning, Stiles backtracked back into the bedroom.
The last thing he heard before he closed the door was Erica’s roaring laughter and Scott’s confused questions. Stiles quickly locked the door before any of the pack could reach him and then leaned heavily against it.
God, he hated everything sometimes. Since when had this become about him making a fool of himself?
Stiles was never listening to his internal plans again.
Derek had known from day one what Stiles was trying to do. And in the beginning, he’d been terrified.
But as one thing led to another, Derek found himself not minding the crazy things Stiles got up to. And by the time Stiles had announced to the entire pack that he was ‘courting the local Alpha werewolf of Beacon Hills and proud of that fact’ Derek decided things could be worse. Stiles could really be trying to do it the werewolf way; and that involved a lot of dead animals, smelly clothes, and the occasional peeing on lawns.
So Derek was glad he wasn’t doing it that way.
And as the months went on, Derek found himself more than enjoying Stiles’s attention. The boy made it his personal goal to kiss Derek everywhere except the lips (other than the stomach) until his acclaimed ‘courting’ was done with. And at first, Derek thought it was the stupidest thing he’d ever heard.
Then he stopped complaining.
But when one month had turned into two and two turned into three, and Stiles was still playing coy, Derek had enough. He decided that as the local Alpha werewolf of Beacon Hills, it was his job to pull Stiles’s head out of his ass.
So one day, when Stiles came to the loft with a cocky grin on his face and his gaze zeroed in on Derek’s neck, Derek crossed the room and shoved him against the nearest wall. Stiles made a surprised noise and before the boy could react, Derek carded a hand through his hair and shoved his lips against his.
Stiles squeaked, went rigid in shock, and then melted like goo. Derek smirked despite himself and growled lowly, pulling a small keening noise from the back of Stiles’s throat. If the boy could've been rambling, Derek was pretty sure he would've been.
But he didn’t let that happen.
Because yeah, Derek wasn’t sure how all of this started. Okay, he was. Stiles decided to be an idiot and Derek decided to let him. The boy had gotten underneath his skin like a parasite and Derek found he really didn’t mind this particular passenger. Stiles was an idiot, yes. But he was Derek’s idiot.
And Derek kissed him with the intention to prove that for the rest of his life.