Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author Notes: Title is from the song 'Man! I Feel Like A Woman' by Shania Twain, and forever thanks and love go to miya-tenaka for reading this, encouraging, and supporting. This is fic is part 1 of the 'Do What I Dare' verse. Warning, contains crossdressing.
MAKE NO CONDITIONS
Stiles realized that he liked wearing girl's clothes when he was very young. Like preschool young. Whenever it was time to pick out costumes for Halloween or parades or parties, Stiles always picked a dress or a skirt. At that age he couldn't really say why, but years later he remembered feeling more comfortable in girls clothes, in the shape and fabric and he'd liked how he'd felt wearing them.
That never changed.
His parents caught on quickly. His Mom was the one who talked to him about it. She didn't make a big deal of it, she just pulled him down next to her on the couch and asked him about the skirts. He told her what he could – that he liked the feel of the fabric against his legs and that girls' clothes were pretty and that he felt pretty wearing them and he liked that a lot. His Mom smiled and hugged him and told him that he was plenty pretty. She also told him that probably not every kid at school felt the same way that he did. She made it clear that he didn't have to make it a secret, it was totally up to him and she loved him in boy and girl clothes. Stiles beamed.
His Dad sort of grew into it. When Stiles was older, his Dad admitted that he didn't understand Stiles' clothing preference but that he did know how important it was to his son and that, to him, it was just another part of Stiles that he didn't completely understand but accepted anyway – like Stiles constantly following Scott around and the way that he banned meat burgers from the house. It was Stiles and his Dad was fine with that. Stiles was pretty sure that some officers at his Dad's work didn't share that enlightened viewpoint and that his Dad probably had to speak a lot in his son's defense. He'd probably been doing that for years.
"Stiles, the department saw you wearing a floral skirt when you were four," his Dad reminded him when Stiles voiced the fact that maybe his couture choices had affected his Dad's career. "And I'm still the Sheriff."
True. But Stiles still got a few strange narrow looks when he visited his Dad at work, and he always wore boy clothes there. His Mom had been right – not everybody felt the same way that he did. Sometimes, when his Dad wasn't around, people got mean. After times like that, when the sneers and insults dug particularly deep, Stiles thought about throwing out his skirts and dresses. But then he'd think about his Mom's easy acceptance and his Dad's solid support and how good in his skin he felt in those clothes, so his closet stayed highly varied.
He learned though, to wear boy clothes most of the time. At school, he never wore a skirt or dress. In fact, he rarely ever left the house in girl clothes. Without meaning to, he made that part of himself a secret. It didn't become something he was ashamed of exactly – he was wearing girls panties everyday underneath his jeans after all - but it was something that he knew could be used to hurt him or really hurt his father, work-wise and personally. His father was lonely enough already, Stiles wasn't going to make that worse, especially now they'd had that conversation about Stiles liking boys as well as girls. It had turned out that his Dad had used his awesome detective skills and already knew because he had pamphlets and had been using the internet. And oh just kill Stiles now. He'd been tempted to wear all black for the next week in pointed mourning of his dignity.
Still, his Dad hadn't disowned him yet. He'd made the rule that anyone Stiles took up to his room more than once, male or female, would be coming for dinner at some point. Mortifying, okay, but not as mortifying as the safe sex talk that came after and wow, somewhere his Mom was laughing hard. She'd married a good man, Stiles reminded himself at night as he stared out the window. She'd married a man who accepted and loved his ADD cross-dressing bisexual son. That was completely awesome, so maybe the embarrassing conversations were worth it. Urgh, sometimes.
Scott knew, because he was Scott and Stiles was Stiles and once upon a time they'd shared everything. And once Stiles had decided that Scott was his best friend and that Scott was one of those people who wouldn't be mean about it, he'd shared the news by showing up to a playdate in a jean skirt and Transformers t-shirt. Scott had blinked and then scrunched up his face and Stiles had impatiently waited until Scott had said that the skirt was pretty and had Stiles brought over that really cool blue robot toy? And that was pretty much that.
Scott's Mom knew too – later Stiles was positive that his parents had had a talk with her to let her know the deal and since Mrs McCall was second only to Stiles' Mom in the Cool Mom list, she hadn't batted an eyelid at his outfit. She didn't patronize him either, like some adults did, cooing over how cute he was, like he was some kind of performing doll. She just treated him like another son, albeit one who turned up rocking an awesome dress more often than not. Stiles learned to think of the McCall house as a safe place like his own, a place that he could wear whatever he wanted to. He could never verbally express to Mrs McCall how huge that became to him over the years – hello another embarrassing parental-figure conversation – so he settled for buying her really good Christmas and birthday gifts.
The weird and awesome thing was how Scott's view of Stiles-in-a-skirt didn't change at all as they grew up. He never once mocked Stiles for what he wore. Stiles never asked him why, he knew enough about how Scott's mind worked to guess. To Scott, Stiles had always worn girls clothes. He'd probably get upset if Stiles stopped wearing them. Scott's world was very black and white. And in this case, Stiles was grateful. Scott viewed him in the same way that Stiles' Dad did – Stiles liked boys and girls and he wore girls clothes. Of course he did, he was Stiles.
And amid all the drama of keeping Scott from doing too much damage to himself or others, Stiles always remembered that.
Of all the girl clothing he'd tried and enjoyed, Stiles probably liked the underwear best. There was something about the soft glide of silk that made his chest stutter. He especially liked the way he looked in the mirror, those beautiful pieces of underwear straining to contain him. Yeah, he really liked that.
Because that was the thing he'd discovered from copious amounts of internet research – he didn't have any desire to actually be female. He was totally happy with his boy parts, he just really liked how they looked in female clothing. So sometimes he wore make-up and he liked to shave his legs, but he kept his hair short and never wore a wig (because that one time was enough and oh God, too itchy, too hot, and just not him). He was Stiles and he felt really fucking good in a dress.
Whilst that part of his life was totally contented, everything else blew up once Scott got bitten and Derek Hale became part of their lives and everything got swept up into the werewolf extravaganza of total chaos and calamity. Derek caused the most calamity for Stiles, even more than Scott did. Because the more time he spent with Derek, the more time Stiles spent helplessly jerking off to thoughts of the Alpha. The guy was raw and grieving and determined Not To Talk About It and yeah, Stiles owned that feeling too. Derek also had the body of very well-cut god, a piercing stare, a growl that made Stiles' pulse jump, and a core of such fucking desperation that Stiles ached sometimes just from looking at him. Suffice to say, Stiles really liked what he saw, which was complicated by Derek's clear and obvious dislike for him and his habit of bruisingly shoving Stiles up against the nearest hard surface.
Agonizingly, Derek almost certainly knew about Stiles' inconvenient feelings for him, and the fact that those feelings had definitely become more than just a crush, because he had werewolf super-senses and he was clearly not pleased about it, so Stiles deflected and babbled the whole time in his presence and tried to stay off Derek's radar. Also Derek didn't know about Stiles' wardrobe. It was probably best if that fact didn't change.
So Stiles was struggling with keeping his best friend under control as well as dealing with his own uncomfortably powerful feelings for said best friend's Alpha when Scott announced at lunch one day that Allison had been asking if the stories about Stiles in a skirt were true and wasn't it time that she actually got the truth from Stiles rather than the warped versions other people at school told? Stiles would have grimaced but Scott was right. Most people in Beacon Hills had some knowledge of Stiles' cross-dressing, but as he didn't advertise it for his father's sake, the actual truth wasn't what got talked about. And hey, if the wrong thing got back to the Argents, they might think that they had some secret they could use to blackmail Scott with for the sake of his best friend.
Scott might not have thought of that angle but his reasoning was surprisingly sound.
Scott continued. "Last night she said she'd heard about that one time at the grocery store."
Stiles closed his eyes and made a pained noise because really, that story about ten-year-old Stiles in heels and a knee-length striped skirt in the local store was still making the rounds? He'd been on his way to a classmate's party, fobbing off the outfit as a humorous costume idea which had sort of worked. But apparently it had worked too well because the story was funny enough to still retell today.
Before Stiles could reply, Allison sat down next to Scott and kissed him hello. Stiles concentrated on murdering the meatloaf in front of him. He liked Allison – she made Scott ridiculously happy and she understood the difficulty of keeping him in line. Most of the time, Stiles was glad she was around. And it'd be nice if he could wear what he liked when Allison was at the McCalls at the same time he was. Still, this conversation was going to suck.
"Stiles." Allison's voice was quiet and insistent like she'd been trying to get his attention for a while, but she didn't look pitying or curious. Of course not, her family hunted supernatural creatures. A little cross-dressing probably didn't even blip on her weirdo radar. "I was asking if you wanted to come shopping this weekend?"
Stiles' eyebrows shot up. Of all the reactions, he'd expected, that was not on his list. His best friend's girlfriend wanted to take him shopping? That was one easy way to get to the heart of the cross-dressing matter. Actually, that made a lot of sense and Stiles could really use a break from Beacon Hills. Since the werewolves and hunters had been revealed, the place had felt a little more suffocating than Stiles was comfortable with. He was almost sure that somebody was regularly watching his house, but when he'd mentioned it to Derek, the Alpha had sworn that hunters were definitely not the problem. So that left your friendly neighborhood werewolf stalkers. Stiles was so not comfortable with that. Except...the idea of Derek, out there, keeping watch over Stiles and his Dad...that made something warm stir in Stiles, something that he wanted to hold onto and wrap himself up in forever.
And Allison was still waiting for an answer. Right.
"I do my shopping two towns over, controversial I know but the last time I shopped within a mile of Beacon Hills, Mrs Milner talked to my Dad about my dress's neckline and it was a horrific experience for all involved except for Mrs Milner who is way too much of a masochist."
Allison grinned and looked pleased, and Scott looked happy too, though the expression dimmed when Allison told him that he wasn't invited. It was an idea that Stiles was firmly behind.
"You told me I looked good in peach, dude."
"But you did!"
Allison shook her head and kissed her boyfriend in consolation.
The tactile nature of Derek's pack had been a surprise and had taken some getting used to. Stiles first noticed it after Derek turned Isaac, Erica, and Boyd. For a while, they were more 'we've got leather and the douchey attitude to go with it.' But Stiles had also seen something else there. It had reminded him of what he'd seen in the bathroom mirror for months after his Mom died.
Then the amount of supernatural shit in Beacon Hills multiplied by a thousand and Scott and Derek's smaller packs merged and started spending a lot more time together. That was when Stiles first saw it. The three newest additions were like touch-starved puppies and weirdly, Derek didn't seem to mind their tactile attention. In fact, he encouraged it. Whenever the pack met up, the three of them were leaned against each other, nuzzling each other's necks or even Derek's or eagerly accepting his touch without any discomfort. And Derek's interactions with them were warmest during those times. He was still a drill sergeant when training them and extremely sharp when dictating what direction the pack was going in, but when he brushed Isaac's shoulder or accepted Erica nestled against his hip when they sat down, he looked the closest to content that Stiles had ever seen him.
Maybe Derek had always been this way with his pack and only now Stiles was seeing it. Lydia asked about it, because there were never any boundaries for Lydia Martin and it was one of many things that Stiles adored about her.
"We're pack," Derek replied simply. "The scent-marking makes sure every other creature in the area knows it."
Okay, so safety. Stiles was down with that. But he knew there had to be more to it. Like to somebody like Isaac, who clearly had literally not been hugged enough as a child, the constant touch reassured him and grounded him and made him feel like he belonged. It was very positive. Stiles had painful memories of the bruises Isaac had frequently given him before when delivering messages from Derek. That didn't happen now.
They had animal natures. Stiles had watched a lot of wolf documentary footage, because he was all about the research, and wolves were extremely tactile creatures. When the pack shifted, they were too. Maybe finally letting that bleed out into their human forms helped mesh their two natures. Maybe Derek had had that with his pack, his family, and he was finally letting himself have it again after being alone for so long. There was a pang in Stiles' chest when he thought about that. It made him want to wrap Derek up in a famous Stilinski hug, but he valued his throat uncut so that was a no-go. The longing to do it was still there though.
Slowly the members of Scott's patchwork pack became part of the tactile bonding too. At first Scott seemed to think that he couldn't do it because of his commitment to Allison but Derek had snorted and reminded Scott that this was a family, not an orgy, and that if and when Allison spent more time with the pack, she might be welcome too. Humans in packs always were. Lydia threw herself into that aspect easily, getting comfortable without even a hint of innuendo, and Stiles remembered what her parents were like and yeah, Lydia totally needed this.
Jackson was clearly uncomfortable to start with, brittle and prickly with them all except Danny until Danny hauled him between himself and Boyd, and Jackson sort of froze then leaned against Danny and didn't bitch about Boyd touching his knee and things got a lot easier after that.
Stiles kept himself back a little. It looked like fun, and Derek had made it clear that the human pack members were expected to be part of it. But still...Stiles was human and he smelled of ADD meds and sometimes of Chanel and lipliner and that had to be confusing and uncomfortable for the werewolves' senses.
Scott had made it clear that he thought Stiles should tell them – "they're pack, Stiles!" – and yeah, Stiles had lived through how bad keeping secrets was. He'd been prepared for Allison knowing, she and Scott were a package deal now, and Lydia and Jackson probably had some idea, if only because of the vague stories that people still told about Stiles' junior adventures in cross-dressing. But this was a piece of himself, a very important piece of himself, that he kept carefully hidden under half-true stories of his misspent childhood. All the better to keep his Dad safe and happy. And yes, he knew that the pack wouldn't hurt his Dad. But Stiles was used to keeping this totally private, tucked away against his chest.
Maybe they knew already and were just waiting for him to say something. Nah, that was way too polite for them.
There was also the fact that the thought of rubbing up close to Derek sent Stiles' heartrate through the roof. It'd probably make Derek scowl even more at him. But Derek wasn't exactly thrilled by Jackson's company and yet still managed to be close to him without complaint or extra frowning, and by being the only pack member not involved in the pack piling, Stiles was drawing a lot of attention to himself, attention that would bring questions. Questions that would probably bring trouble.
So to evade that, he bit the metaphorical bullet and plunked himself down next to Scott during the next meeting, pressing them knee to knee. Scott recognized the opener for what it was and quickly curled up against him. Erica scrunched down on the other side of Stiles with a brief interlude of teeth flashing before her head rested on his shoulder. She didn't comment on his smell. Stiles let out a breath and relaxed a little more. He glanced up to see Derek staring at him. The Alpha had to have noticed how Stiles' heartrate blipped a little when he looked at Derek. But Derek just gave a short nod of approval and didn't that make Stiles feel good. He smiled back and felt Isaac's fingers brush against his neck as he passed. Okay, maybe Stiles needed this too.
Derek kept their contact to a minimum. He clapped a hand to Stiles' shoulder, touched his back once, and nudged him now and then, but that was all, nothing too affectionate. Stiles tried to be relieved instead of disappointment. He was super aware of the fact that Derek's eyes were almost constantly pinned to him though, especially when he was wrapped around another pack member. It didn't mean anything of course. Stiles scrubbed at his eyes and hoped that no trace of eyeliner was giving anything away.
"Oh my God, no!" Stiles flailed at the grotesque parody of a dress that Lydia was currently holding up. From her too-smugly amused expression, that was exactly the reaction she'd been going for.
Allison laughed from a nearby clothes-rail. That first shopping trip with Allison had been enough of a not-uncomfortable-success that the trips had become a regular thing. They also regularly included Lydia. She'd unexpectedly been there for the first one, claiming that she couldn't miss out on finally overseeing Stiles out of his dorky layered shirts. When Stiles had frantically pointed out the discomfort of her being present due to...feelings, she'd snorted and looked at him like she usually looked at Scott.
("Please. You didn't love me. You loved my wardrobe."
"I could love both.")
Yeah, it had been pretty awful for Stiles. But Lydia had assessed how he'd looked in exactly the same way that she assessed Allison's sartorial choices so that didn't feel weird. Apparently he'd passed some sort of test because Lydia dragged him shopping more often than not now. Typical, his monster crush on her had simmered down just as she'd started spending more time with him. Irony, thy name is Stiles.
Lydia threw him something in dark green – huh, nice fabric choice and the length was good too. Stiles knew what he liked, a fact that had caused Lydia to pull an interesting (impressed?) face during that first trip when Stiles had railed at the shop assistant who'd tried to present him with something covered in polka dots. The stores here were used to Stiles, since he'd been a repeat customer for years, and now they were used to Lydia blazing a trail through them with her acidic retorts and scarily-loaded credit card. Both of these facts ensured that any other behavior that they showed while shopping was immediately forgiven.
"Derek'll like that on you, and off you too."
Of course, sometimes Stiles forgot just how far Lydia's 'no boundaries' policy went. His heartrate hammered quickly and he looked at Lydia with a mixture of horror and despair. Allison hissed loudly.
"I thought we weren't going to say anything about that!"
Lydia rolled her eyes. "Good plan. That's worked out so well so far."
Stiles whirled to face Allison. "You've been talking about Derek and...and there's nothing to talk about! No reason to talk, at all."
"Sure. You've totally convinced me." Lydia picked a shirt off the rack as she rolled her eyes. "We don't need to be on Animal Planet to see it - the eyefucking's a neon sign."
Stiles half-crumpled onto a shoe-rack, then uncrumpled enough to retrieve an awesome pair of peep-toe pumps in a deep caramel that would look great with a skirt he already had. He held them up in one hand, gaining twin nods from the others. He glared at them both a moment later.
"There's no eye...okay, yes, because who wouldn't? But he's Derek and I'm very much Stiles and I'm a human liability that the others have to protect and…"
"Stiles." Allison touched his arm gently and Stiles remembered to breathe. Allison smiled at him, with more than a hint of bittersweetness to it which told him that she knew exactly where he was coming from. Great. "You're not the only one looking."
Stiles shook his head. "Derek looks at me because he's glaring and he wants to tear my throat out with his teeth, because I'm talking, and I'm always talking so he's always glaring and I should not find that attractive and..."
Lydia was suddenly there on his other side, dropping a couple of interesting outfits into his flailing arms. "You're both idiots. He stares, you stare, nobody says anything, everybody's miserable. Stiles, you like to wear heels and make-up. Allison's a hunter. Jackson's a giant lizard. We're all liabilities. Own it. We're still all pack."
Stiles blinked at her. That was some flawless Lydia talk that neatly left out how she was a liability. It was also full of really, Stiles, that's your issue? Because Derek was a wolf and why would he care if Stiles liked wearing skirts? He had an Argent in his pack. That was a klaxon of obvious liability and the pack just took that in their stride and were all still alive.
"Also, he can tell when you've had tacos when you're still outside the den," Lydia pointed out carelessly as Allison headed to the changing area. "The fact that you've worn Maybelline's finest since you hit middle school is not a secret."
"Then why hasn't he said anything?" Stiles just about didn't wail, because seriously, that was the thing that had been bugging him for months.
"Because clearly you're keeping it a secret for some reason," Lydia shot back. "And for once, Derek's not demanding that every secret be shared with him. In fact, you're the only person that he's not demanding it from."
Stiles's jaw dropped and he bought the shoes and outfits in a daze that lasted the rest of the afternoon. Lydia and Allison gave him space and silence without prompting and Stiles only jerked out of his fugue once he got back to his bedroom, dropping the shopping parcels on the carpet. Derek had let him keep a deeply personal secret – despite the fact that in the recent past keeping deeply personal secrets from the pack had resulted in serious injuries, a divided pack, and too many near misses to mention. Derek had known and he hadn't said a word and he wasn't upset or disgusted or angry because it made Stiles more of a liability, one more thing that could be used as leverage or could weigh Stiles down.
Stiles had the urge to hug the Alpha even more strongly than usual. Because that was deep consideration from Derek, that was caring and meaningful and had he been staring at Stiles in an eyefucking way? And how had Stiles not noticed that? Had Derek liked the smell of foundation and perfume that he'd detected on Stiles? What did Stiles smell of exactly? The strong clinging hospital smell of medication, plus teenage boy sweat and hormones with unexpected notes of face powder and Chanel? All overwhelmed by the crushing wave of arousal that Stiles felt whenever he was anywhere near Derek? Was it all too much for the werewolf's hyper-senses to handle, hence his distance from Stiles? Or was it all too much?
And was he actually waiting for Stiles to be ready enough to tell him, to trust him with it? That thought blossomed into welcome comforting heat in his chest and yes, oh God yes, Stiles wanted that.
Stiles peeled off his jacket and t-shirt and reached for one of his new tops. He needed to think. He needed to slip into something more comfortable and really think about this. It wasn't until he went downstairs later and his Dad commented on the new top and on Stiles' expression that Stiles realized just how much he was smiling.
When the pack was next together, Stiles tried something. He was going to plant a flag, take a little step forward to see if Lydia and Allison's theory was right. Because he hadn't been able to stop thinking about that possibility, and he hadn't been able to stop jerking off thinking about it either. He needed to know, now that it was a possibility rather than just a ridiculous pipe dream. And Derek needed to at least know that there was trust on Stiles' side and that he had permission to make plenty of moves on Stiles and that there was going to be no rejection here and so Stiles was going to do it. He was. Oh God, he really was.
He tried to be casual as he sat down next to Derek on movie night. He could feel Derek's eyes on him so before he chickened out, Stiles averted his gaze and then deliberately rubbed his shoulder against Derek, like he was getting himself comfortable. Nothing big, just something he'd frequently done to other pack members before, just something he'd never done to Derek. Derek stared at him, his breathing a little heavier than usual. His eye color flickered. Stiles totally did a fist-pump inside his head, because he knew the difference between Derek starting to wolf out in anger and...something else.
Stiles tipped his chin up to meet Derek's gaze and swallowed. The intensity in Derek's face got an immediate reaction below Stiles' waist and of course Derek would be extremely aware of that. Stiles shifted anyway, trying to make it less obvious and trying to project all kinds of welcome-come-and-get-it towards Derek, when Derek suddenly dipped his head, his nose brushing first Stiles' temple then his cheek before lingering at his neck. Stiles froze for a moment, holding his breath, because Derek was scenting him. Okay, yes, Derek had done that before, but he'd done it from across the room and only when Stiles had smelled particularly strong, like when he'd run into a meeting sweaty from lacrosse practice. This was deliberate and obvious and really fucking close.
This was Derek actually making a move, a statement in response to Stiles'.
And Stiles' heart clattered loud and fast in response. Because Derek hadn't done that to any other pack members. It felt weirdly intimate and Stiles' mind was flicking super-speed through his werewolf research, zeroing in on '…werewolves mark their mates on the neck, it is a strong scent location, it demonstrates membership of a pack and an exclusive relationship, werewolves mate for...'
Stiles thoughts came to a screeching halt right there and his body went completely still. Something Derek noticed, causing him to draw back a little and eye Stiles carefully. Then he drew back even more, his face starting to shutter and no, no, no, no, no!
Stiles' hand darted out and locked around Derek's wrist. It was Derek's turn to still, questions clear in his expression, combined with something unnerved and extremely cautious and such a strong sliver of yearning that Stiles swallowed hard. This thing between them had become even more hopeful and tenuous tonight and God, if Stiles made the wrong move here then Derek probably wouldn't ever look him in the eye again and that was a lot of pressure on one person and Stiles wanted to say more than anything else that...
He needed time. He looked at Derek, his mind whirling with research again, and then drew Derek's wrist closer. A fervent chain of please let this be right, please may he not kill me rattled loudly and continuously through his head as he pressed a quick kiss with the barest hint of teeth to the inside of Derek's wrist. Please may that means intention and preference and wanting.
Derek's eyes definitely went red then and he suddenly dived closer for a scant few moments, pressing his face to Stiles' neck, breathing him in. Stiles choked on air and closed his eyes, to memorize the experience, to memorize the sensation of Derek and bare skin.
Then Derek pulled away and nodded. They'd both made themselves clear. Only their shoulders touched now. Stiles took a deep breath and completely failed to concentrate on the film that the pack was watching, hyper-aware of every movement that Derek made and exactly what it could mean.
Also Derek totally followed him home afterward. Stiles knew what to look for and those were definitely red eyes that he caught a glimpse of in the rear-view mirror. He stood at his bedroom window for longer than any normal person would, staring out at the darkness but knowing that someone was looking back. He waved, feeling more than a little bit foolish, but the howl that sounded out shortly after made him smile, and his skin heated up.
Maybe, he sleepily thought when he curled up in bed, maybe one day he'd be brave enough to stand there in his other clothes.
When they ended up in a gay club looking for Jackson after some crazy witch's spell made him crankier than usual – yes, witches now, how was this Stiles' life? - it was not Stiles' first time in a gay club. It was the first time he'd gone there in boy clothes though and thank God Cleo realized that he was 'undercover' as a newbie and behaved accordingly. The group of friends that he'd made there months beforehand winked and cooed at him and Stiles gritted out that this was not funny and he was totally not going to share later and they only had themselves to blame. Rox hipchecked him and when werewolf and kamina fights started happening, Stiles pulled the fire alarm and made it out in time to tell his Dad that yes, there were some things they needed to talk about and no, it did not involve what his Dad thought it did. Okay, yes, Dad, Derek Hale was part of it and God, there was no need to bring firearms into this conversation!
So yeah, not Stiles' first time. He'd popped his gay club cherry months ago. Back before he'd first gone shopping with Allison, just after Derek had arrived, Stiles had still been working through some things – how to wear his clothes and be a teenager and deal with school and keep his Dad healthy and his soon-raging crush on Tall, Dark, and Unfriendly. He'd spent a lot of time researching cross-dressing – thank you, internet, for being a font of all knowledge, great and terrible. He'd found out that what he liked doing had a name and that there were other guys out there who were into it too, guys that he could talk to, which he did, a lot. It was an entirely new world that he just couldn't see in Beacon Hills and a huge part of him really ached to get out there and find it and be part of it.
The first thing he'd done was talk to his Dad, because already the secrets were stacking up and Stiles had never had that between him and his Dad before and he didn't like it so he was doing what he could to knock that wall down. So one evening, they'd sat down together for family night and Stiles had voiced a little of what he'd found and maybe he could check out some of those places? His Dad, because he was awesome, didn't refuse to talk about it. He hadn't looked totally comfortable but he'd listened and said it was great that Stiles had found people to talk to about what he was going through, as long as Stiles was being sensible about which chat rooms he went into. However, most of those clubs were for legal adults so Stiles would not be going there until he was the right age.
Stiles went before he was the right age. When his Dad was away seeing relatives, Stiles told Scott where he'd be, pulled on an awesome knee-high blue skirt and fitted top along with a killer set of heels, and drove off with a printed-out map as his guide. The bouncer let him in despite his fake ID and Stiles was only at the bar for five minutes before Rox – who he'd been talking to a lot online and who'd agreed to meet up with him that night – recognized him and took him under his wing, leading him over to the rest of the gorgeous drag queens. It had been an awesome night. They'd called him Baby affectionately rather than patronizingly, and had let him talk and talk and ask questions and Felicia had laughed and said come back soon cutie, there's so much we have to teach you.
Stiles kept on going back. Coco figured out first why Stiles didn't hook up with anybody. Stiles blushed a deeper red than the cocktails that Cleo always ordered, but he didn't give any details, just that yes, there was somebody and it felt serious and no, he hadn't told the guy how much he liked wearing girl clothes.
Rox narrowed his eyes. "Why? You think he'll hate?" Stiles immediately shook his head. "You think he'll hurt you?" Another shake. "Then I outta kick your ass for not grabbing his."
Own it. It was an echo of Lydia's most constant refrain when talking to Stiles about his inability to reveal that side of himself to the pack. And he knew that she, and Rox, were right. The pack, and Derek, weren't likely to hate or hurt him or throw him out. Derek and he were...closer now. They sat together at most pack meetings. Stiles rested his head on Derek's shoulder and Derek's growls were a pleased rumble in his chest at the contact. He was being patient with Stiles. Derek was being patient. And God, Stiles really loved...
Stiles knocked back a drink. That almost-thought was not new; in fact it was pretty fucking constant. And Derek was opening himself up to the pack in small but increasingly frequent ways – movie night was a regular thing now – and he was putting himself out there for Stiles, since Stiles had nudged them both forward into demonstrating that there was something simmering between them. And pack was family, no matter what, that accepted Argents and giant lizards. Lydia, of course, was right. Stiles should do some putting himself out there of his own. He didn't just owe it to the pack; he wanted them to know, and wanted to feel the unconditional acceptance that the rest of them enjoyed. He really should do it. He was totally going to.
And if Derek wanted to be just friends after he knew, then Stiles could handle that. God, he hoped he could handle it when he was sober.
He texted Lydia when plans were made for Danny's birthday. He'd made the mistake of drunk-dialing her at the club after he'd decided that the pack was going to find out about his wardrobe and she had gleefully informed him the next day that she was holding him to that, by the balls. She'd given him a deadline and thank God that Danny's birthday was so perfectly placed. It was the ideal pack occasion for a reveal.
So Lydia and Allison would be over soon to get ready with him – 'In case you try and run, Stiles' thank you Lydia for your touching faith – and Stiles was trying not to panic in his bedroom. He was staring at his cellphone. He'd been considering for long minutes if he should text Derek. Maybe some warning so it wasn't completely out of the blue? Okay, Derek most likely knew about the make-up and perfume, so it wouldn't be a total shock, but he didn't know the whole picture. But how could you warn somebody in a text message without giving everything away?
Stile settled on We should talk tonight. Important, but good? And sent it before he could talk himself out of it. Lydia would be proud of him, or not.
His Dad was home and knew that Stiles was having guests over. They'd talked about Derek in a mortifying kind of way, wherein his Dad had emphasized the age-gap and reminded Stiles about the fact that he'd gotten Derek arrested for murder once. Yeah, thanks for that, Dad. But Stiles had been as honest as he could and had really tried to convey that he was being sensible and wasn't going to elope or anything because really, one Romeo and Juliet situation in the pack was enough and look, Dad this is...real, okay? It's serious and Derek isn't a crush or a phase and this is me tonight making a statement in heels, that's how serious it is.
His Dad had swallowed a little more whiskey and replied that since he knew locking Stiles up would only encourage him; the sleepover had better be just that, a sleepover, and that this week Derek would be coming around for dinner, at least once. They shook on it, with Stiles adding that the dinners would be 'no firearms allowed' occasions and that his Dad was not allowed to look at Derek's criminal record again.
Lydia and Allison arrived in a whirl of excitement. They didn't have long before they had to pick up Scott – Stiles suspected that that had been arranged for a reason, so that he couldn't talk himself out of going tonight. He was totally going. He could do this.
He got a reply from Derek. Good is good.
Short and to the point. And it said that Derek had been finding the waiting as difficult as Stiles had, maybe for the same reasons too. Lydia shoved his outfit at him – a particularly awesome scarlet dress that they'd found only the other weekend. Stiles pulled a face and threatened to spill apricot nail polish on her purse.
Allison squeezed his arm and kissed his cheek. Moral support. Yeah, he was doing this. Hey, Mom, I'm telling people and I think they'll get it. You'd have liked them a lot. I hope you would have. I hope you'd have liked Derek.
Stiles batted away Lydia's efforts to take charge of his make-up because he'd been doing this long enough himself, thank you. He kept a mostly steady hand and pretty much liked what he saw. He slid into his shoes and turned to the others with more nervousness than usual.
Allison beamed. "You look great, Stiles."
"That is why you're one of my favorites. After Derek and Scott. It's an elite list."
Babbling was good. Words gave him focus. Lydia looked him up and down as he talked and didn't look disgusted. "Pretty good."
Stiles rolled his eyes and brandished his keys. "Just for that, you are not driving the Stiles Mobile."
They were still arguing as they came down the stairs. His Dad had made himself scarce since they'd had their conversation, for which Stiles was profoundly grateful. Scott was waiting impatiently outside his house and happily squeezed in with Allison. Stiles drove and tried to keep his heartbeat nice and steady, because Derek would hear if he arrived with a crazy-fast heartrate and then would probably tear out of the house and therefore ruin Stiles' entrance and God, Stiles just hoped that Derek wouldn't shut down when he saw what Stiles was wearing, who Stiles really was.
"Dude, your heart's going crazy."
Scott had pulled himself away from Allison's lips for long enough to look worriedly at Stiles and Stiles managed a mangled sort of smile back, because that was his best buddy, totally in love but still sometimes hearing what was important.
And just like that, they were at the den. Scott and Allison scrambled out quickly, arms around each other again almost immediately. Lydia checked her make-up in the mirror before giving Stiles a taunting sidelong look.
"Come on, Stiles. You don't want me to tell Felicia and Rox that you backed out."
Stiles almost faceplanted the steering wheel. Taking Lydia to the club had been an epically bad idea. She'd gotten on brilliantly with the girls and kept them updated on all things Stiles-and-Derek. Stiles was pretty sure that he and Derek had become their favorite soap opera. Also Rox and Coco had threatened to punch Derek in the balls if he stepped out of line around Stiles. It was strangely sweet and had made Stiles swallow past something in his throat before answering.
Allison and Scott were waiting for them. Derek was in there. Okay. Lydia gave him a softer smile, before shoving him out of the jeep without warning. They bickered all the way to the front door. Lydia hooked her arm firmly through Stiles' and led the way. Stiles mouthed 'help me' at Allison as he passed but she just gave him a thumbs-up and indicated that they were right behind him. Blocking the exit, but also safety in numbers.
Lydia gripped his arm like she could feel like his flight response kicking in. And it was too late anyway because Danny was appearing out of the den's biggest room and Allison pushed past to hug him and hand over the birthday gifts. Danny accepted her hug and thanked them for the presents. His smile grew a little when his gaze locked onto Stiles.
"Looking good, Stiles."
Stiles' smile firmed up and he winked at Danny. "See, I always knew you found me attractive."
Danny rolled his eyes and led the way into the main room, Scott already crowing about the food he could smell. Stiles mechanically walked forward. He was doing this. He was coming out to his pack. It was a different kind of coming out, but that's what it was and he was doing it. Lydia handed him a drink and stayed close. Stiles was almost positive that she was hoping for bloodshed.
Boyd squeezed his shoulder and nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense now, the smell."
"Ah, yeah, sorry, for the confusion. I never figured that would be the problem with this."
Boyd smiled. "It looks good on you, Stiles."
Stiles grinned as Boyd left to help Danny with whatever was in the oven. He could feel Lydia radiating insufferable smugness.
"Yes, you're the Queen of Everything. I bow before your superior knowledge. Should I kiss your feet?"
"Go ahead, and see what color Derek turns."
Derek. Right. Who was stood across the room and was staring at Stiles. Stiles bit his lip and twitched as Lydia left him to grab Jackson. Abandoned. Nice. But Derek wasn't storming off, he wasn't looking disgusted or disappointed or worried. Instead his nostrils were flaring. Stiles stood up a little straighter. Because Derek was checking out his smell and wow, okay, non-angry red eyes. Apparently Derek really liked what he was smelling. Stiles was going to buy Lydia a fantastic pair of shoes for this.
Isaac whistled appreciatively as he passed and bumped fists with him. Derek walked toward him. Stiles was not going to run away. He was going to stand here and let Derek see him. Because he was pack and he wanted them to know. He wanted Derek to know most of all.
Derek stopped a hair's breadth away, his eyes roving Stiles in an extremely hungry manner. From the way his hands were clenching, there was apparently a lot more that he wanted to be doing. Oh boy.
Stiles cleared his throat. "A little privacy maybe?"
Derek managed a nod and kept very close as they quickly left for one of the spare rooms. A fantastically filthy whistle from Erica heralded their exit. So the pack acceptance was clearly a go. Awesome.
Derek stayed close, his posture getting tighter as Stiles licked his lips. Good to know. His hands smoothed his dress's skirt, and adjusted the stockings. His heels looked kickass. And the silence was still there because apparently him in girl clothes rendered Derek even more mute and that wasn't going to help them get through this so Stiles started talking.
"So, um, surprise? I know you know about the make-up, coz hello super-senses, and it's probably been screwing you up, trying to work out what was happening. But here's the thing, this has been me, like, forever and if I could, I'd wear stuff like this all the time, because it's always felt better, you know? Right. More like me. My parents knew but I figured some asshole would use it against Dad so I kept it quiet and I know, secrets in pack are bad but it was a mess to think about and then there was you and God, have you seen yourself? You've been taking up a lot of my thinking time and I really wanted you to know but then maybe you wouldn't...anyway..."
At that moment Derek stepped right into Stiles' personal space and slid his arms around him. Stiles gasped, just a little. Derek nuzzled down into his neck, resting his head there for a while and breathing Stiles in. Stiles flailed for something to steady himself against and trembled at the contented growl that Derek let out. Derek was contented, with him. Stiles ran a hand through Derek's hair and down his back and just held on.
Derek nosed against his cheek, until they were face to face and breathing hard. "Good is good."
Stiles stared wide-eyed for a second, before the air cracked with his shocked laughter. Because that was Derek's seal of approval. He liked what he saw and he wanted it and...
Stiles wrapped himself around Derek, rubbing one stocking-clad leg against the werewolf. "Damn right."
Derek halted the movement with a hand up Stiles' skirt, causing Stiles to choke on the end of his own words. The Alpha's eyes flashed when they came into contact with silk. Stiles daringly pressed his lips to Derek's jaw. It was like a spark had been lit. Derek used his free hand to grasp Stiles' face and to guide him into a hell of a kiss. Stiles moaned, melting against Derek, opening his mouth and letting Derek take whatever he wanted, as long as it felt this good. Please let it all feel this good. He got louder when Derek squeezed under his skirt. God, it wasn't going to take much.
"Derek, I'm…..ah, embarrassing. So close."
Derek's mouth briefly pressed against Stiles' again before traveling down to his neck and Stiles sharply sucked in a breath. Derek was making a mark; he was marking Stiles, on his neck. This was big; this was really longed-for-hoped-for, and really fucking good. Stiles' hips rolled and Derek's hand moved on his cock. Stiles' eyes nearly rolled back. His body pressed forward into Derek, wanting more. He could feel Derek's teeth on his skin, not quite human, not quite wolf.
He wound a leg around Derek's waist, anything to get more, and Derek growled his approval, one hand stroking Stiles' thigh. God, the feel of….. Derek's stubble against his face and neck, his stockinged legs rubbing against Derek's jeans, Derek's hands on his skin and stroking the silk of his underwear, Derek enjoying Stiles, enjoying all of him.
He was cresting a wave before he knew it and with an inarticulate warning and Derek buried in his neck, Stiles arched off the wall and came pretty fucking spectacularly. Derek made an approving nose, finally disengaging teeth and licking at the blackberry-colored mark he'd made on Stiles' neck. He didn't need to say it, his body language and expression were so obvious that he might as well have shouted it. Stiles answered him anyway.
"Yes, yours. All yours." There was still that prickle of doubt though, that he was a curiosity only, an itch to be scratched, so more words faltered out. "If that's what you want, I….."
Derek lifted his head and, giving Stiles his very best you're a moron look, raised his come-covered hand and licked it clean. Stiles gaped, his spent cock twitching. He just about managed to swallow.
They'd said goodnight a while ago. But Derek was still there, looking up, and Stiles was still there, staring down at him from the window. They hadn't been able to tear their eyes away from each other.
Finally, because his Dad was the Sheriff and would notice that somebody he'd once arrested was stood in his back yard watching his son's window, Stiles raised his hand in a wave. Derek made a noise at the signal but quickly disappeared into the darkness. Stiles stood there for a while longer, running a hand down his own body, enjoying the enthusiastic marks that decorated it. He enjoyed the cherry-colored lace he was wearing too.
A howl split the silence, in approval and want and possessiveness. Stiles grinned and melted into the shadows.