Phase five…well, phase five wasn't even really a phase. Mostly because Stiles doesn't need phases anymore since he's totally bagged the guy. Wolf? Guy-Wolf? Whatever.
Stiles wakes up the following morning feeling a bit sore and far more exhausted than he's felt in a long time. His muscles ache and his backside feels a little funny. All in the best ways, of course.
What he doesn't quite appreciate is upon opening his eyes, he quickly realizes that he's alone in his bed. He's not sure what to make of this. Where the fuck is Derek? Did he hit it and quit it? Did his Dad scare him off? Maybe the beta's called and needed something?
Or maybe Stiles…was an awful lay.
Holy fuck. What if Derek regrets it? Maybe he thought that Stiles was the worst thing to happen since…since…crocs?
Oh fuck. Now Stiles is freaking out; breathing fast and short looking around for any remnants of the Alpha. He gets out of his bed and heads to his desk where his phone is laying. Stiles immediately notices the note underneath the device. Derek's horrible, scratchy, all-capital writing shining like a beacon of light and hope and love and everything else in the world that is wonderful and perfect and amazing. Stiles instantly deflates.
He forgets about the phone and reads the note:
MEET ME AT THE HOUSE
Short and sweet and so…so bland and bossy and Derek. Stiles is smiling though, so that means he's totally feeling lots of bubbly emotions that he doesn't want to over analyze at the moment. He's quick to get ready, brushing his teeth, slapping on some deodorant and grabbing his red hoody by default. He's out of the house and well on his way to Derek's in no time.
Stiles doesn't speed, he just stretches the laws to the point it feels thin. Like it'll maybe snap and come hurtling in his direction to slap him in the face. Thankfully, he makes it to Derek's in due time without a car crash or being pulled over. The sight he's met with has him gaping.
He's out of his jeep and slamming the door with far more force than necessary.
"What the actually fucking, fuck, Derek!" he yells. He's grabbing at his head, clearly in a fit and not quite understanding why he's looking at the shredded remnants of ALL his hoodies. They're scattered all across the property, littering the ground, the porch and branches. Stiles is about to start bitching when he's abruptly slammed into the side of his jeep. Derek is nosing at his neck.
"No. No, you don't get to be all touchy with me. This shit is expensive Derek. Hoodies aren't free!" but he's ignored. Derek is already nipping at his jaw and licking at his neck.
"You smell like me. Like mine" Derek says and the rough reverberations of his voice make Stiles shudder.
"Possessive much?" he tries to tease, but his head is already falling back to give Derek more room to ravish his skin. A heady moan escapes his lips before he can stop it. His resolve is crumbling. Derek, that manipulative bastard, is using his irresistible body against Stiles' already fragile teenage hormones. What an evil genius.
Derek growls playfully in response, biting down onto the same spot that he's all but tore through yesterday and then again last night. Stiles knows its a wolf thing. Something about forcing submission and whatnot, and it works. Oh holy fuck, it works. But Stiles has always been insubordinate, so he tries to wriggle free. He wants to at least give the illusion that he's trying to keep his masculinity intact. Derek is quick to stomp his feeble attempts, clamping down harder and rolling his hips into Stiles' throbbing erection. Stiles whimpers, bites his lips, and decides that he's going to give up. Mostly because this is benefiting him and he's not about to jeopardize that.
"I'm— Fuck. I'm still mad at you. You- You can't just destroy my shit and think its okay" but it doesn't sound very convincing even to himself. Fuck it all, Derek can do whatever he likes as long as he keeps doing exactly what he's doing right now.
Except…that's when Derek stops and Stiles tries really hard not to whine. Derek pulls back to look at Stiles, his knee between the younger's thighs, pushing up a little; a tease. Stiles bites his lips and groans.
"You don't need them. Only this one" he says as his fingers brush along the red fabric hugging Stiles' body. Stiles smirks because he knows. Oh man, how he knows. It's so obvious that red is Derek's favorite color. It even becomes a weakness, it seems, when Stiles is donning it. But Stiles, ever the delinquent, opens his mouth to argue. He doesn't get too though, mostly because Derek captures his lips in a heated kiss that makes his knees wobble and his mind numb. His arms curl around Derek's neck as one hand finds Derek's hair and holds on to him for dear life. Derek grabs onto one of Stiles' thighs, hoisting it up and around his waist.
It's all heat and tongues and slick saliva. Moans and groans and needy hands; begging for more touch, more skin, more anything. By the time they pull back, Stiles is breathless, panting in lungfuls of air as his hands stroke through Derek's scalp. The Alpha finds his neck, breathing him in and settling his nose into the crook.
Stiles smiles, he hasn't felt this happy in a long time. He didn't think he'd have something like this, what with pining over a girl who he knew realistically would never notice him, at least not in the way he wanted her to. And even if she did, the constant promise of danger would eventually take its toll. In retrospect, he knows the implications of running with a pack of wolves. He's human, he knows this. He even takes pride in it. He's comfortable with who he is, despite the overwhelming fact that he can't do what they can do. No incredible strength, enhanced speed or healing. No claws or fangs to bear and defend with. But he's here, with Derek, a man he'd never thought he'd be with it, and that's okay. Because he knows he needs Derek just as much as Derek needs him. They know they're good for each other in this strange and unexplainable way. Things feel easier when they're together and it's not just that Stiles feels this way. He can see it in the way that Derek's posture relaxes when he touches him. How he lets himself be vulnerable. He lets himself rest and that's all that Stiles wants. He wants to be help. He wants to make Derek the best he can be. He wants him to feel…loved.
"What are you thinking about" Derek asks. Stiles just keeps smiling, thinking about his life. How everything changed with a morbid curiosity for a girl cut in half. How now, despite how fucked up every day seems to be, that it all works out in the end.
They're safe. They're pack.
Stiles tugs at Derek's hair, bringing his head up to face him. A wry smile is resting on his lips.
"I'm thinking…you owe me about sixty bucks or a really, really good fucking." Derek grins, his lips upturning to reveal the faintest bit of fang.
"I think we can work something out" he says.
He picks Stiles up, throwing him over his shoulder as Stiles attempts, half-heartedly to protest. They make it halfway to Derek's room when Stiles is being particularly bitchy.
"I'm not a fucking girl, Derek. I can walk myself up the damn steps and it's not like I don't know where your room is, I've watched you go into that weird-ass wolf cave a million fucking times when—"
The loud sound of Derek's palm crashing against Stiles' ass has him gaping, staring wide-eyed at the wall he's forced to look at thanks to his current position.
"Stiles, shut up" Derek says.
He knows he shouldn't. Stiles so knows he shouldn't say it. But it's there…and it's right on the tip of his tongue. It feels like he's going to throw it up. Like a weight in his mouth and it's falling. He feels his lips moving and before he can stop himself—
Yeah…that wasn't supposed to come out.
Derek kicks the door to his room open and literally fucking throws Stiles into his bed. When Stiles looks up, Derek is more wolf than man. He suggestively runs his tongue over his teeth, his claws at his side; twitching. A pang of…of…anticipation runs through Stiles. And maybe he's a little surprised, because usually the sight would have Stiles shitting himself, but watching Derek's tongue slide across the sharp points of his teeth is making Stiles feel all fucking funny in his pants.
"What was that?" the Alpha asks. Low and dangerous.
Stiles gulps, mind frantically trying to corroborate an appropriate response, but his mouth is already moving.
"I said make me" and damn, Stiles really needs to stop letting his mouth run the show.
Derek growls, eyes flashing red as he stalks, fucking stalks over to the bed that Stiles is spread out on. Like Derek is on the prowl; found his prey and is making his way in for the kill. He crawls up on the bed, showing more claw that Stiles thinks is necessary, then his body hovers over Stiles.
"I think I will" and Oh. Stiles likes the way that sounds. He very much likes the way that sounds. Stiles grins, looking up at a still shifted Derek. A werewolf. A fucking Alpha Werewolf. Seriously, how did this even happen? Oh yeah, Scott got bit and then they accused Derek of murder and Stiles found ways to pointedly annoy him as much as he could. Kinda hard to ignore someone who is practically the bane of your existence.
But then Derek does. He shuts Stiles up so quick, it practically makes his head spin. With a heated kiss so brutal it has Stiles keening for Derek's touch.
Later, when they're both sweaty and sore and basking in postcoital bliss, Derek will pull Stiles close, his form human now after he had released himself in Stiles, and he'll inhale his scent and grin, smug and satisfied that he can smell himself permeating through the boy's skin. Stiles will sigh in sleepy contemptment.
"So…is this like a thing? Are we a thing? Not that we need to be…a thing. But I think that it'd be cool…to be a thing? Maybe?"
Derek sighs, rolling his eyes. "Yes. Stiles. This is a thing".
Stiles' heart pounds; excited and happy. He smiles to himself, feeling Derek's chest on his back. Derek's arm around his waist.
"Cool" he says as he lets himself be lulled to sleep by the calming breaths of his boyfriend; the steady rhythm of his heart and the warmth of his skin.