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Through the Breaks in the Foliage

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It’s officially breeding season now, and that means Stiles has been fusing about his den for the past few weeks in preparation for the biggest event of his lupine life. Beforehand, his den was nothing much — just a small hole in the ground surrounded by a tiny clearing covered in decaying foliage, and littered with the bones of rabbits and mice. It was shameful at first — practically embarrassing — with how Stiles had kept it, but now, with the first day of the mating season beginning, Stiles’ den area was something to marvel at.

The rotten twigs and various animal remains are no longer adorning the space in front of Stiles’ home, leaving it looking approachable and not like a dug up graveyard for scavengers. The uncut grass has been matted down as best as Stiles could manage without shifting to do it — because if there was anything more taboo than having a untidy den, it was fixing it in human form. Still, it’s all coming together now, and Stiles huffs proudly as he takes in the improvements he made to his humble abode.

The den itself is bigger now, and it protrudes more into the inner section of the hillside it’s carved out into. The entrance has been widened and made taller without having the ground crumble away or give under its own weight, and even from here, Stiles can smell the zesty scent of the fresh pine needles he lined his den with this morning. It’s all fit and ready to go for this season and to impress any alpha that comes along, and Stiles couldn’t be any more ready than he is currently for it. It was going to be his first mating season this year now that he’s officially old enough for it, and he couldn’t be happier that his time has finally come.

After all, he had a bet with his “separated” littermate. Scott, who was situated a couple of miles away from Stiles’ own den, dared say that the omega would end up using an alpha to get through the heat of the mating season, but that he wouldn’t be able to snag them down to bond and become actual life mates. Of course, Stiles is fiercely competitive and supremely stubborn, meaning that he rose to the challenge. He had gone out of his way to make his den top of the notch for any alpha, so that even the pickiest like Jackson couldn’t resist checking it out.

He was out to find his life mate, god dammit, and yeah— maybe five rabbits, too.

(Stiles would tell you to sue him, but court doesn’t really exist here in the Preserve, so deal with it.)

Night hasn’t fallen yet, but it’s late in the evening now, meaning that it’s not too far off. The sun has already begun to sink behind the jagged line of mountain tops in the distance, and a few wolves in the area — be it alphas or omegas — howl in excitement and for fraternization. Stiles is already twitching himself, his tail sweeping up some loose dirt as it wags with eagerness as he waits.

After all, it’s the alphas that are supposed to find him. He only had to make his den ready for them and, inevitably, for their pack, if that’s what they were looking for.

With a whine, Stiles feels his heat begin to pick up some speed. It probably has to do with the fact that the moon has finally started to peak over the mountain range, but still, the burning ache becomes apparent either way. To keep himself busy and somewhat sane, Stiles begins to lick at his coat viciously, making sure that there’s no dirt or leaf bits left in his fur so he looks as presentable as his den. It thankfully works well enough, and it doesn’t cause Stiles to go manic in his waiting.

At first. . .

Five minutes later finds Stiles pacing the small clearing in front of his den, and he’s growling a little at the persistent burn along the base of his spine that’s worsening by the second. He wants to curl up in a pathetic ball — maybe even shift to human form to take care of his heat before it hurts any worse — when he hears a slight rustling in the foliage off to his left.

Instantly, his ears prick towards the noise, and he barks in curiosity at the passerby, his heat temporarily forgotten.

In response, a large, pitch-colored alpha comes forward as his scent — rich, masculine — follows suit. His reddened irises — ones that will be present during the entirety of the mating season, just like Stiles’ gold ones — gleam in the soft moonlight as he approaches Stiles. The omega whines and instantly shows his submission to the larger, dominant wolf. He bares his neck and bends his back a little, arching it enough to where he’s exposed for the alpha to scent so he can decide if Stiles will be his partner for this mating season, and maybe even be the omega that will give him his pack.

The alpha’s muzzle twitches with interest, and he comes forward to close the distance between himself and Stiles to begin scenting the smaller, apparently younger wolf. The alpha nuzzles at Stiles’ throat, rumbling as he breathes in the omega’s heat pheromones, making Stiles whine again and stretch out further to ease the alpha’s desires more. His consideration is appreciated, and the alpha nips Stiles’ neck in response.

It makes Stiles flip over onto his belly to expose his most vulnerable part of his body. If the alpha wanted to, he could go as far as to kill Stiles right now with a slashing of claws or a ripping with teeth — but he doesn’t. Instead, he growls in appreciation, and begins to nose and even lick at Stiles’ middle with varying noises of approval.

Okay— it’s going good so far. Stiles hasn’t been denied or fucked up yet. Chances for the alpha to stay and pick Stiles as his omega, at least for the season itself, are growing exponentially by the minute, and it makes Stiles wiggle excitedly underneath the alpha at the thought of it.

After all, this alpha above him, he’s obviously the epitome of lupine perfection. He’s built and sturdy, and his coat shines in a way that promises good health and strong genes. He’s obviously older than Stiles by at least two mating seasons or so, because there’s a few scars along his flanks from where he must have fought with other alphas or even omegas, if a pairing wasn’t right as it was first thought to be. Yet, despite his flaws and battle scars from attempts at past matings, Stiles doesn’t care. He’s too interested in the alpha that smells of pine tree sap and rain leaning over him to shun him away. His excitement must show in his scent, because the wolf above seems to have picked up on Stiles’ eagerness.

The alpha pins Stiles to the forest floor with a growl — the sound vibrating against the flesh of Stiles’ throat as teeth pinch it promisingly — before he lets go to look at Stiles.

It’s a proposition — a question, asking: Well? Are we going to mate or not?

To answer it, Stiles shifts into his human form below. It’s a part of the age-old mating ritual — to show your potential life mate all of your forms, so they know you entirely in every shape that you can take. Not only that, it’s also only for serious requests to be life partners, not just for the season. Because, despite being a wolf ninety-percent of the time, being humanoid when bonding with one’s life mate makes it more special and tactile than if they were to just go at it like animals who only wanted to get through the mating season.

It’s probably why the wolf seems so shocked. It’s rational, considering that he probably only came here to mollify his own urges, not to bond for life. Everything is at a tipping point right now. The wolf could even attack Stiles still, but chances are leaning more towards him finding another omega with a clean den.

But— he’s not turning Stiles away? . . .

The alpha stares long and hard at Stiles, his lurid eyes tracing over the naked planes and lines of Stiles’ human body instead of him flashing teeth or turning tail. In fact, his staring catches Stiles off guard a little.

Even though Stiles has never really looked at it much himself, he knows that his human form is definitely appealing and something to shake a certain “stick” at. His mother didn’t go on about his moles and button nose for nothing, after all.

Stiles just hopes it’s enough for this alpha to consider something more than just a single season with him.

It takes the alpha a few moments of analyzing Stiles’ other form for him to shift into his own himself, and it leaves Stiles gaping in surprise and awe alike as the alpha reciprocates.

His once potential mate for the season — and by this point, maybe even life, dear god, yes — is absolutely gorgeous. As a human, he’s just as built as he is as a wolf, except this time, there’s no fur to block the definition of his muscles or the angles of his body from Stiles’ heated gaze. His hair is as black as his coat is, and his strong jawline is darkened by a dusting of stubble that makes Stiles swoon instantly. It only worsens when Stiles’ notices the scars from his previous attempts at getting other mates, because — if anything — they make him look so badass and hot that Stiles wouldn’t need the mating moon or the beginnings of his heat to feel hot and bothered.

So his alpha looks as good as he smells all around. Fucking. Score.

Stiles grins at the alpha, and by the way the alpha grins back, he has a strong vote of confidence that this alpha is here to stay — for now, at least.

“H-Hi,” Stiles blurts before he can think about it, and he has to clear his voice a little because of how scratchy disuse has made it, but the alpha doesn’t seem to mind, “I’m— . . . I’m Stiles.”

“Derek,” the alpha purrs out, and his name is said so easily that Stiles is almost jealous of his alpha’s apparent ability to not sound like he just deep throated a small cactus.

Stiles licks his lips and drops his gaze down towards his chest for a second, “So, uh— you’re interested in me, right?”

“I thought my intentions were clear,” Derek says, and for a second, Stiles thinks he’s annoyed with him until he finds the alpha suddenly draped over his body completely — a heated smirk stretching his lips around his words, “Unless you want me to clear up any confusion you have, of course.”

God— flirtatious, eloquent, sarcastic… It’s everything Stiles had ever hoped for since his first adolescent heat.

Stiles blushes, he’s sure, and parts his lips for a millisecond while Derek hungrily eyes his mouth, “I— I— That’d be nice, yeah…”

“Okay,” Derek chuckles, and he kisses Stiles gently.

Stiles’ eyes flutter shut at the gentle peck of Derek’s lips. It surprises him, considering that he’s been told from the age of “adult awareness”, as he likes to call it, that alphas are always demanding during a mating heat. Derek isn’t supposed to be going soft — he’s supposed to be claiming Stiles — but he’s not. No, the alpha slowly works his tongue into Stiles’ mouth to taste what the omega has to offer, like he’s savoring and enjoying this for reasons more than just the instinctual ones. After all, sex in human form was supposed to be used for “better conception” and some other fertility nonsense, but Stiles knew that it had a whole lot to do with it feeling so much better when working on two feet instead of four.

He knew, but he still wasn’t prepared for this.

The sensations bombard him, making him pliant and drunk off feeling and hormones as Derek works his way into Stiles’ mouth. The alpha’s tongue runs along Stiles’ teeth and slips in every time Stiles exhales, teasing almost to the omega as he’s left limp underneath the older werewolf. Derek doesn’t seem so bothered, but rather, quite content with making Stiles squirm and moan softly beneath him.

“I like it when you’re flushed,” Derek admits to Stiles as he kisses along the omega’s jawline and down onto his neck, “Blush tints your pale skin so nicely.”

Stiles jerks as he feels Derek’s tongue lave at his pulse point, “T-Thanks…”

The alpha carries on with his exploration of Stiles’ body, his large hands widening to cup parts of Stiles — like his hips, and occasionally, an ass cheek — while he keeps mouthing at Stiles’ neck, making the omega feel his heat grow in strength in response to the alpha propositioning him.

“D-Derek, do— do you want—“ Stiles is cut off by his own moan for a second, and he’s only able to speak again after Derek stopped curiously pinching his left nipple, “Do you want to be together for more than j-just this mating season with me?”

Derek puts space between them instantly, and Stiles shrivels up against himself. He shouldn’t have asked — it’s too soon, it’s—

“Stiles, look at me.”

The omega manages to avert his gaze upwards from where he had looked away in shame and fear alike, “Y-Yes?”

Derek’s gaze is soft, like he doesn’t know quite what to do with Stiles just yet, but he has an inclination, “This is your first time experiencing a season, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Stiles repeats sulkily, only to defend himself with some ire in his words, “but that doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want!”

Derek frowns softly, “Stiles, it’s not that I don’t think you know what you want, it’s just that I think you’re making this decision too fast—“

Stiles pouts, “So it’s my first mating season and I’m not allowed to say that I think I’ve found my mate?”

The question catches Derek off guard, and Stiles huffs as he pulls himself out from underneath the alpha, and he pulls his legs up to his chest.

“I get it. I’m a young wolf who’s going through their first mating season, but does that really change the fact that I’m an of-age omega and that I cleaned out my den for this? No,” Stiles growls and looks away from where Derek hasn’t stopped staring at him in shock, “I’m also not latching onto you because you’re the first alpha’s that’s ever given me attention, okay? You smell right, you feel right. So what if this is not your first mating season when it’s mine? Does that really change the fact I think we’re life mates in the slightest? No.”

“You— you really think we’re life mate material?”

“Yeah,” Stiles answers truthfully, “I mean, we might’ve spent the season together or whatever just to get through it so we could find the right one next time, but nah, dude. You feel like the right one. So I’m going to ask you again, do you want to spend more than just this mating season in particular together?”

Derek grins fondly, “I’ve been waiting so long to hear someone ask that.”

Stiles reciprocates the gesture, “It’s a mystery as to why, but yeah, dude. Is that a yes?”

Yes—“ Derek hisses as he launches himself at Stiles, pinning the omega down to the forest floor again to where the bent stalks of grass are plastered to Stiles’ bare and sweaty back, “a thousand times yes.

Stiles laughs, and pulls his now soon-to-be-life mate close to his chest as the moon hangs heavy and full above them.




Derek knots Stiles a thousand times over through the course of the mating season. He’s apt on the idea that, since they are both on board for the idea, to start their pack as quickly as possible. Not a single day of Stiles’ heat during the season is wasted, even if either of them were tired or sore from the day before. Derek takes good care of Stiles — he keeps the den clean when the omega rests after a thorough knotting, and even brings back fresh kills to him since his legs are too shaky to hold his weight just yet. The alpha is dead set on making Stiles’ life one of luxury as it seems, and Stiles holds no complaints after the Hell he went to so his den would be ready.

Stiles is already in love with the alpha for giving him a break, and he’s glad that Derek was impressed with his den and preparations for the season. The alpha always gives him high compliments and kudos for Stiles’ efforts, and it makes Stiles preen proudly as he settles on the pine needles that Derek makes sure to switch out daily. His first, and now only, unbonded mating season was a complete success.

Scott owes him five rabbits.