Why was he born with such a slim body?
Had he done something to someone important in a previous life? Was he the sniper on the grassy knoll? Did killing a president cause fate to decide that no matter how many egg white omelettes he had, and no matter how long he pumped iron; he'd be left with a sad and pathetic lack of muscle mass? Was this his life now?
Snorting as he spared his lean stomach a quick glance, Stiles only shook his head in mild irritation. It was worth it, he supposed – the assassination had gone down in history, and his boyfriend didn't seem to care much for the lack of bulk covering his form. If anything; Derek seemed to take a perverse pleasure in watching his shirts drop from slim shoulders, or his sweats slipping down slender hips.
All the more reason to seek out the alpha's clothes rather than his own. Stiles grinned, tugging at the waistband of the cotton pants he'd stolen from the drawers. All the more reason...
Speaking of alpha boyfriends...
Stiles stumbled into the kitchen, yawning behind his hand as he moved around the counter and closer to the warm body lingering by the stove. "Hey, darling puppy of mine, having trouble with something?" he questioned lazily, pressing his face between strong shoulder blades. At the answering grunt, he peeked over the tanned expanse of skin, taking in the charred pancake with a grin. "Oh dear me – the wolf has challenged the oven. This is going to end in blood and tears. Mostly blood though. Okay, only blood, I was lying about the tears."
"Your blood," Derek threatened idly, flipping the pancake onto a plate before filling the pan with more batter. "And if you want tears, I can always ensure you provide some."
As the batter sizzled, Stiles reached out to lower the heat setting with a frown. "Well then, it's only right I warn you that I've lived off energy drinks for long enough that they've turned my blood to pure sugar," he sung under his breath, pressing a soft kiss to the closer swatch of skin his lips could reach.
The muscle in Derek's shoulder twitched under his lips. "Well, we did run out of maple syrup this morning," he murmured absently, studying the pancake before flipping it with a cautious and awkward action.
"And now you're planning on using my sugar-pumped blood instead? Cannibal," Stiles goaded, nuzzling his nose against heady smelling skin. There was something strangely smug curling in his stomach when he noticed that his own scent was mixing with the alphas, and he hid his grin into tanned shoulders.
Derek corrected him in seconds, used to their banter by now; "Werewolf." His low voice boomed through the room in a dangerous baritone, but his body leant back contently as he absently continued cooking.
It was one habit of Stiles' that the alpha approved of – the constant need to touch.
Stiles made a sound in the back of his throat, moving to encircle a slim waist with his arms. "So you couldn't be happy with just having me beside you? You have to literally eat me now, so I'm a part of you?" he demanded in feigned exasperation. "Oh my god, why am I reminded of the Fox and the Hound? Why would my brain make that connection? I'm ruining my own childhood here."
A small smile tugged at the lips of the man in his arms, draining whatever frustration has been painting lines through his features. "I'm not a hound, Stiles, I'm a wolf," he grumbled. "Stop insulting me."
"Insul – Hey! You are practically a puppy!" Stiles defended with a smothered chuckle, catching the sharp glare hazel eyes shot him through thick lashes. "Don't try and kill me with your eyes, asshole, you know I'm right. If the fact that you were so adorable didn't give it away, the look you give me when I leave you would just about do it."
"I don't give you a look – "
"And – don't interrupt me – you're also kinda, like really fluffy when you change. So that's three points in my favour so far," Stiles noted with a pleased nod, skimming his lips over shifting muscles. "And, and, and, you do tricks. Observe. Derek, act pissed."
Derek growled low in his throat.
"See! I win," Stiles gloated, squeezing the hips in his grasp for a split second.
The alpha in his grip wiggled, moving from the stove to the counter beside it. "You didn't win," Derek sneered without heat, piling two plates high with pancakes, smothering one in syrup while leaving the other bare. "I'm not acting pissed – I am pissed."
"Puh-lease. You can never be mad at me."
"Correction; I'm always mad at you."
Stiles narrowed his eyes, whiskey orbs boring a hole through the expanse of skin before them. He wanted to play like that, did he? Fine, two could play at this game, but only one could win. And he knew damn well who was more likely to come out on top – of the game, at least. Whoever topped in other activities really depended on the alphas mood.
Shaking away the distracting thoughts, Stiles pointedly took his hands back. "Okay then," he allowed, making a sharp turn on his heel before storming towards the opposite side of the kitchen. He could do with some caffeine anyway.
Derek frowned over at him. "Where are you going?" he asked slowly, looking to the finished meal before him before back up with confusion in his eyes. "I made you breakfast."
"And? I thought you were mad at me," Stiles breathed out with a tight smile, adopting the perfect look of restrained anger. Inwardly he was chortling at the panic flitting through hazel orbs, but on the outside he almost appeared bored with the situation. It was the perfect recipe for a desperate to please alpha, and a good morning for him.
Derek hesitantly moved closer, studying the boy as his nostrils flared. Shit. I won't smell pissed. Thinking of every asshole to call him a name, or the certain asshole who had tried to skin him didn't do much but cause a flare of irritation in his gut, and he mentally cursed. If there was anything to give his ploy away, it would be his scent. And as the alpha's lips eased into a grin, he realised he'd lost without really even competing.
Large hands skimmed across his sides, before spreading out over the small of his back. "Maybe more mad about you, then at you," Derek drawled – and if anyone else had said it, Stiles would've snorted at the cheesy line, but now he could only gulp in air with an almost desperate edge. "I made you breakfast..." he repeated, eyes glassy as the smile stayed on his lips. "You won't let it go to waste will you?"
Stiles shook his head, swallowing back the whimper climbing up his throat. Damn it, all the man was doing was holding him and giving him a smile; why was he so weak at the knees? Was he that touch starved or was it because this was Derek? "You provided food for me," he noted slowly. "Almost like you're trying to prove to me that you can. Your wolfish side is coming out to play again."
"If this was my wolfish side, it would be a deer carcass instead of pancakes."
Stiles started to laugh, only for the sound to end on a strangled groan as lips left a heated path up the pale column of his neck. "Oh, fuck," he whispered, closing his eyes tightly against the onslaught. Grinding his teeth together to stop the next embarrassing noise from slipping past his lips, the youth bunched his hands in the material covering slim hips. "You're cheating."
The choked whisper was delivered in a hoarse tone, and the teenager almost winced at the embarrassing sound, but the male before him chuckled; sending vibrations spiralling through his throat. "Playing fair doesn't work against you," Derek pointed out in a low rumble, happy to continue with his absent ministrations. "You always give a damn good argument. I never win."
"I use logic!" Stiles spoke around the lips pecking delicately at his own. "And then you use your mouth. Rude."
"This might be the first time you've ever complained that I've used my mouth," Derek purred, nipping at the curve of the others jaw before moving to press a firm kiss against pliant lips. Continuing to speak, despite his mouth being otherwise engaged, the older male growled low in his throat. "In fact, this might be the only time you've even managed coherent words, when I'm using my mouth..."
Stiles whimpered, shivering as a hand travelled upwards to hold his shoulders in place. "Stop saying; when I'm using my mouth," he scolded weakly, unable to do anything but tremble when a thigh worked between his legs. "It, uh, it sounds, fuck, bloody pretentious when you say it."
Derek pulled back, just enough so that his captive could catch his satisfied smirk. "Say that again?" he taunted, moving back into the others space with a pointed slowness to his actions. "It was hard to hear you over the sound of your moans."
"Just because I've made a good point, you've decided to bring out the dirty talk? Are you only capable of cheating?"
Stiles had been going for an annoyed look, really he had, hopefully with a frown and everything, but his alpha shot the notion down before his lips could even twitch. Closing the distance between them with a short growl, the wolf demanded his mouth again, this time almost harsh as he bit at the full lower lip under his own. The unusually rough treatment made the youth start back, eyes already fluttering closed as fingertips dug into the ridges of his spine.
It only took a few seconds for the alpha to force him backwards, and his bare shoulders hit the fridge, eliciting a surprised yelp when the cool metal pressed against his skin. Derek didn't let the sound hit the air, devouring it as one of his hands crept around to dance along his navel before slowly dropping lower.
Stiles moaned as he slumped back, neck on display – cough, fetish, cough – as the larger hand brushed past the waistband of his stolen cotton pants. Just a little further, god, please –
"Oh nephew! You made breakfast!"
Derek leapt backwards, lower back colliding with the counter top in his desperation to get away. His eyes were wild, and still somehow glossed over with lust, as they snapped to the intruder happily trotting into the room. Peter grinned, all teeth, and wandered to strand near them both, creating a three way conversation as he relaxed by the stove.
"I can only say that now that I know where that hand of yours has been – I sincerely hoped you washed your hands first," Peter commented with the same sly air about him. "Did you make enough for all of us?"
Derek cleared his throat, shoulders slumping ever so slightly as the tension drained somewhat. "I made enough for Stiles and myself," he bit out with a short frown, eyes narrowing. "And no, I didn't wash my hands. Help yourself."
Peter clearly understood the challenge lingering, and his eyes snapped from the plates of food to the younger male slowly straightening up. With a snort, he pushed away from the stove and offered them both a wry smile. "I've suddenly decided I'm not hungry for teenage hormones. If you need me, I'll be at the diner in town. Their pancakes don't have pubic hair in them."
Stiles woke up enough from his sex haze to argue with a solid; "Hey!"
The beta had already stalked dramatically from the room, but his chuckles could be heard long after he slammed the front door closed behind him, and each rolling sound tore down the youth's pride. Stiles made a small sound of protest even though his enemy had long since evacuated the battlefield. "I'll have you know that I shave."
Derek sent him a strange look. "No, you don't."
"Yeah, but he doesn't know that!" Stiles snorted, straightening the pants on his hips with a perfected look of indignation. The cotton had travelled low, and with almost shaking fingers he tugged it up, carefully watching the man across from him to make sure the action was allowed. When no fingers stopped him, he nodded and pulled up the cotton enough to look comical. "I forgot he was here, honestly."
Derek rubbed a hand – the hand – over the back of his neck, allowing an awkward chuckle to leave his lips as he did so. "Yeah, so did I," he admitted, shooting the teenager a killer smile. "Should we eat?"
Stiles answered by happily commandeering the plate dripping with syrup, already humming in satisfaction at the sight. He could hear movement behind him and smiled, knowing the man was copying his exact actions as they both sat down at the dining table; not bothering with opposite ends of the table and instead taking up the same space.
Digging into his – holy testicle tuesday – delicious breakfast, the teenager kicked up his feet so they were splayed across the lap of his companion. Derek didn't do more than shift under the new weight, and sneak a hand under cotton so his palm was pressing against a slim and pale ankle before continuing to fork food into his mouth like his life depended on it. And usually, with the lupine members of the pack, his life did.
Snorting into his pancakes, Stiles shook his head when the man curiously perked up. "Don't worry about it," he murmured, scooping up some sugary liquid before practically drinking it from the plate. "You were kidding when you said we'd run out of maple syrup right?"
Derek rolled his eyes. "Cupboard."
Stiles grinned, taking back his legs so he could rush over to grab the well used bottle of syrup he'd somewhat laid a claim too. When he returned, the feet went back on a warm lap, and the sugar was poured back over the pancakes. The youth sighed contently – this was the life, wasn't it?
Pancakes, enough sugar to make him bounce from the walls and Derek.
Admittedly he'd happily give up the first two if it meant he could keep the grumpy wolf, and the thought made him pause for a few seconds, forkful of sopping pancakes hovering before his mouth. Those types of thoughts weren't exactly new; he was always ranting in his mind about everything he'd do for – and too – the man beside him but somehow the certainty made him falter. There was no doubt echoing after the statement. Nothing but finality.
Stiles slowly looked down to his half eaten food, and then let his eyes creep over to the dark haired man beside him. Yeah. Yeah, he could give up things like this for him, no sweat. Derek tasted better than maple syrup anyway.
Having thought that forced his mind to acknowledge something else.
Derek Hale covered in maple syrup would be everything I love in one place. No, no wait, we need curly fries. Shit.
"Would it be unsanitary to eat curly fries from someone's pants?" Stiles mused out loud, trying to find a way around his latest predicament. "Or would it suit better to have said someone eat the curly fries so you can still taste them if you kiss them thoroughly enough?"
Derek was still, lips around his fork, and eyes wide in confusion. "Do I even wanna know?" he mumbled around his mouthful. "And seriously think through that before you answer."
Stiles snorted. "Of course you wanna know; it's important. I was just thinking about how much I love me some maple syrup, but I also love you – so logically if I had you covered in maple syrup it would be everything I love in one place, right? No, not right. Because I also love curly fries. And they're not there," he pointed out; barely acknowledging that in his rant he had said a few words that had so far been unsaid between them. "Which means I need to incorporate them somehow doesn't it? So either shove him down your pants – cause you're shirtless by the way – or shove them down your throat so you taste like them? Now it's gonna be a hard choice, because you taste pretty nice right now, so too much curly would ruin it. I might have to go with shoving fries down your boxers."
Taking in a deep breath, he turned to send his companion a thoughtful look. "But that might leave crumbs, and holy shit nobody likes crumbs, let alone down their pants. Damn, this is harder than I thought...:
The boy in question looked up hopefully. "You don't mind crumbs?"
Derek's lips were slack, revealing white teeth and a currently useless tongue. "You said – you said you love..." the man stammered slightly, usually commanding and confident voice catching on words.
"I said I love a lot of things?" Stiles shrugged, still apparently not catching on to what had been rambled. "But most important would be you, maple syrup and curly fries. Why? Do you wanna know the ranking or something because it's all pretty even. I can't list it out without starting some conflict between you all."
Derek shook his head. "Me. You said you loved me."
Stiles nodded happily. "Course I do dickwad. Think I put up with the brows of doom – trademark pending – for no good reason?" he questioned, voice slowing slightly as he realised what exactly was leaving his lips. "I said I love you. Out loud. And before you said it to me." His lips snapped shut before he could start an unintelligible ramble, and almost crumpled in on himself. Fuck.
Derek, on the other hand, had almost straightened up. "You were waiting on me to say it?" he asked dumbly. "Why?"
"Too make sure I wasn't being a stupid idiot, that's why."
"You're always a stupid idiot."
"And you're really not helping," Stiles snapped back, turning to frown heavily at the dark haired man. The action froze though, when he met the dumb, a thousand watt smile lighting up hazel eyes until they almost seemed gold. "And why are you smiling like that? You look like an old lady in a cat store, what's going on with your face?"
And now they were hugging?
Okay, okay sure why not. That was better than an awkward; sorry but I don't feel that way...
"I love you too," Derek murmured into his hair, nuzzling further and rubbing his scent over the pale, mole dotted expanse of skin known as his neck. "So much. I'm sorry I waited to say it out loud."
He'd been right.
That was so much better than maple syrup. Or curly fries. Or curly fries with maple syrup as a dipping sauce.
Stiles couldn't keep his grin in check, instead moving to borrow further into the warm chest before him and the arms wrapped around him. There was something different now, lingering in the air between them, and he didn't know if he would say it was because he knew he was loved, or if it was because now he knew he wasn't going to be abandoned. If he'd learnt anything in the past year with his pack, it would be that Derek didn't love easily, but when he did; it wasn't exactly a passing fancy.
And now, hugging the man with something akin to desperate comfort, Stiles realised that strong emotion had been focused on him. The unwavering loyalty was being applied to him. The flashing grins were for him. Those moments, where Derek would give him this look, all big eyes and a ghost of a smile, were only for him.
"How much do you love me?" Stiles whispered, tucking his nose into the hollow of the man's collar bone. "Call it curiosity, but I would love to hear it on a scale of one to ten."
Derek chuckled. "A solid ten. And I love you enough to go out and grab some curly fries to shove down my pants. Crumbs be damned," he announced, pulling back to rub the tip of his nose down the youths cheek; scenting him.
"Wow," Stiles breathed. "You really do love me."
"I really do."
Stiles rubbed a hand over his brow, begging the lunch he'd scoffed down to stay down. "Okay, so let me get this straight," he started, both hands lifting to hover in the air. "The asshole had a cell phone?"
"Yeah, he did," Scott admitted with a nervous and jerky nod. "We found it in the cabin."
Stiles swallowed and held back a whimper. "And it's been ringing?" he squeaked out, looking up with a hopeful expression. All the teenager before him had to say was no, it hadn't and everything would be fine. Two letters. One word. And then his world would shatter and crumple back into fear and lies.
"All day," Scott nodded slowly. "Until a text came through..."
Stiles looked up. That was new. "What did it say?"
Scott sighed, pushing an older styled flip top phone across the table. The only text message was displayed in bold black letters, and with every passing word, the fox felt his heart drop down to the soles of his feet.
This story is done!
I'm so happy – this had been one of the best stories I've honestly ever written, and one of the most fun to write. I can't really say I hated writing this, not for a second. I hope you all loved it as much as I did, and thank you to all who have been going through this journey with me or are reading this in the future.
Love you all,