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It is common knowledge that Derek Hale hasn’t had an easy life.
The first person he loved died in his arms (because of him), the second turned out to be a hunter who used him so she could burn his pack alive (they died because of him) and the third was someone he could have fallen in love with but she was a Darach caught up in some crazy revenge plot (also a lying psycho). His sister, Laura, was the one good thing in his life after the fire until she was cut in half by his creepy Uncle, when they moved back to Beacon Hills. All of a sudden, Derek found himself acting mentor to some newly turned teen wolf (who always had that annoying Stiles-kid tagging along), became Alpha by killing his Uncle, formed a pack with three betas, became one of the few twenty-something year olds who still surrounded himself with teenagers, witnessed his Uncle coming back to life (which, seriously?), indirectly took Boyd’s life (discovered that his other beta, Erica, was also dead), lost his Alpha spark to save Cora’s life (apparently his sister survived the fire), got repeatedly beaten up by alphas and tried to prevent a nogitsune from wreaking havoc onto Beacon Hills through possessing the body of that, now not so annoying, Stiles-kid.
Derek could go on forever describing the degree to which his life sucks. Every time he thinks it can’t possibly get worse because of how bad it already is the universe seems to prove him wrong. The people he ends up caring for either die, leave or turn out to be hiding a cruel, ulterior motive. He is so sick of this. So, why doesn’t Derek seek therapy? Well, he did but that didn’t go well. Derek had prepared a supernatural-free account of his life troubles and after pouring his broken heart out to, what was supposedly the best psychologist in Beacon Hills, he ended his rant with a somewhat rhetorical question.
“Why do I have the worst life ever?” he huffed.
The therapist looked at him with a straight face, “Have you seen yourself? You need to be tortured otherwise everything is too sexy for you.”
Of all the answers that Derek might have expected, that certainly wasn’t it. He promptly hightailed it out of there and regretted opening up to a stranger who apparently liked disturbing pick-up lines. By the time Derek was home and had his first glass of wolfsbane-infused (guaranteed to numb your sorrows!) drink, his annoyance with the failed therapy session cooled down as a realization came to him.
Wait…
Derek starts drinking out of the bottle as he takes a trip down memory lane.
-
It all started when Derek was a preteen. As a kid he was used to people calling him cute and telling him or his parents what a handsome, strong werewolf he’ll be when he grows up. Sure, he would always blush and duck his head but they were nice compliments for a boy who was starting to think of himself as a ‘big boy.’ But that changed when his distant Aunt cornered him at a family gathering. She was going through some personal issues and was almost constantly drunk, which either resulted in her crying non-stop or talking inappropriately.
Like when she pinched his cheek, gave him a wicked grin and said, “You’re going to be a sexy werewolf when you grow up.”
Thus, began his curse.
-
When Derek was fifteen, he went to a pool party with Paige. Most of the people in his grade were there too. It was all fun until one of his friends grabbed his swim shorts and pulled them down, in front of everyone, in front of Paige who was staring at him with a shocked look on her face. As a werewolf, Derek didn’t have any issues with nudity but he easily became embarrassed when the laughter started. He pulled his shorts back up, pushed his ‘friend’ in the pool and laughed as he pretended that he needed to get a soda. He did not look at a certain girl that he liked as he entered the house where he could spend the time alone waiting for his cheeks to stop burning. It was quite hard to do when he heard those familiar footsteps.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he turned, shrugging, “just trying to pretend that most of the school didn’t see me naked.”
Paige looked down, probably to hide her blushing, and he noticed that her heartbeat quickened, “It’s not that bad.”
He gave her a raised eyebrow when her gaze shifted back to him.
“I mean…you have nothing to be ashamed of…”
His other eyebrow joined the first.
“Ugh, Derek, don’t make me say it!” she’s quite flustered for someone who didn’t get pantsed at a party, “You’re, you know…sexy.”
She says the last word so quietly that he has to thank his werewolf hearing for catching it. Then he just grins like the biggest idiot ever.
“Sexy, huh?” he waggled his eyebrows.
She rolled her eyes.
-
Derek remembered hoping that Paige could know about him, hoping that they could be together for…for the rest of their lives. He remembered that hope be brutally taken away when the bite didn’t take, when he could hear her heartbeat slowing, when he cradled her tight in his arms for the last time…only left hoping that he helped ease her pain. He may have been too young to know what real love is but it still hurt. He still feels remorse.
The mouth of the bottle finds its way to his lips and he gulps the resurfacing emotions down with the drink.
-
Derek was almost seventeen when he met her. She was so different from Paige and he didn’t ever want to be reminded of that loss. Kate was more assertive and had a certain aura of experience one would have from being through a rougher life, which just appealed to him. She paid attention to him, understood him, or was good at pretending and he actually believed that she loved him. He didn’t think he could find someone he would feel a connection with after…after Paige, but then he found Kate. He wishes he could blame his werewolf senses for not detecting that she was lying and manipulating him but when they were together her interest in him was real. At least, when he would undress and feel her heated gaze on him or her touch skimming over him or her tongue moving along his stomach, her interest always smelled and felt real. The difference is that he genuinely thought that she looked at him like that and did those things because she was also in love with him, but she was only in love with his body.
“You’re so sexy,” she would always tell him, whispering it into his ear.
The image of a burning house, accompanied by screaming (so much screaming) enters his mind.
Derek was a fool.
-
Derek was glaring at the kid with the buzz cut and moles, trying to memorize the profile of the person whose throat he was going to tear out…with his teeth. He already had to be stuck in a room that smelled too much like teenage boy which, admittedly at first, was nostalgic but rapidly made him feel dizzy, then Stiles practically whored him out to the first willing participant. A slight exaggeration, but after Kate he was sensitive when it came to people taking advantage of his looks. Especially, when they would make him sit there shirtless and give him awful fake names like ‘Miguel’. He was pleased when Danny was done and Stiles went downstairs with him to lead him out.
Derek was putting his clothes back on when his ears perked up.
“Soooo, you like Miguel?”
“Stiles,” Danny sighs.
“I could give you his number,” a pause, “I’m pretty sure he was eyeing you back.”
Dammit, Stiles!
“Well, he is kinda sexy but...”
“I’ll text you the number.”
Derek growled. He was going to murder him.
-
He didn’t.
After a while, Derek found himself enjoying being teased by Stiles. Their somewhat hateful taunts and aggressive nature towards each other developed into easy banter and the occasional comforting touch. Guess some people just grow on you, maybe even reach deep inside your soul and make you feel things you’re not ready to feel again. Things, you will never be ready to feel again. This is why, out of all evils that came to Beacon Hills, the whole nogitsune debacle scared him the most.
-
Derek comes out of his recollection of all the times he’s been called sexy and by now he is fully, delightfully drunk. He has various versions of “Right Said Fred - I`m Too Sexy” playing on full blast and he’s singing along, laughing at the irony of it all. Hey, that therapist was right after all! He’s too sexy for this. Derek snickers as he tries to dance (flail) to the beat, trying to imitate a stripper’s dance as he slowly tugs his shirt up, over his head and swings it up in the air (without losing his balance, of course). He is so focused on his routines that he doesn’t notice someone behind him until it is too late.
“Der - ek?” a voice squeaks.
Derek pauses in the middle of a twerk attempt and turns only his head to look at –
“Stiles!” he beams, turning around fully and swaying somewhat. “Stiles Stilinski!”
“Derek, what the –“
Derek comes closer, ogling Stiles’ slightly ajar mouth and the cute moles on his flushed face, “Stiles Mole-inski.” He hears a giggle so he covers Stiles’ mouth with his hand and uses his other hand to make a shushing motion. He hears another giggle. “Oops, must be me,” Derek giggles.
Stiles looks at him with eyes wide in disbelief and removes Derek’s hand from his mouth, “You really are drunk.”
“Drunk on your luuuuuuuuuurve!” he sings.
Stiles shakes his head in amusement and goes to turn off the loud music.
“Noooo,” Derek whines when a sudden silence fills his loft.
“Come on, Sourwolf. Let’s get you to bed.”
He gasps, “Sexy time?”
“No.”
Derek whines again.
“Might have sexy time later if you sleep all the crazy drunk out of you, okay?”
He smiles wide as he follows Stiles to his bed, lies down and begins trying to sleep. When he senses Stiles still sitting on the opposite side of the bed, he tugs on his wrist and pulls his back against his chest, ignoring the resulting squawk. Derek gently rubs his face on Stiles’ neck, breathes in his familiar scent and listens to the steady beats of his heart.
“Stay,” he mumbles before falling asleep.
-
Derek wakes up slowly, enjoying a blissful moment of amnesia until the events of the previous night bombard his hung-over (yet healing) brain. He shoots upwards and grasps at any of his enhanced senses that would first tell him if Stiles left or not. The delicious aroma of pancakes and eggs makes its way into his conscience instead. The bed is empty except for him so Derek gets up to go to follow the trail, only then realizing that he was still shirtless…from last night and was twerking half-naked when Stiles –
Derek groans.
That won’t happen again.
No more werewolf liquor for you, Mr. Hale.
He cleverly decides to put on a shirt before heading out to the kitchen. Derek isn’t sure if he hears Stiles humming a tune first or sees him shaking his hips while cooking but he doesn’t have time to contemplate because Stiles shifts his head towards him and gives him his fullest smile.
“Good morning, Sourwolf. Did ya sleep well?” Stiles winks at him.
Derek is so flabbergasted; he does what he usually does and just grunts.
“Based on my experience with your nonverbal cues, I’ll take that as a yes?” Stiles places the finished pancakes on a plate, “Breakfast is served! You better eat.”
They sit down at the table and for a second, Derek just stares at the abundance of pancakes, scrambled eggs, sausages…he didn’t even know he had all of that in his fridge. And it’s then that he remembers to ask, “How did you get into my apartment?”
Stiles freezes mid-chew, “I shorda..,” swallows the rest of his bite, continues, “I sorta made a copy of the key? Which I would only use for pack related purposes.” He has a sheepish grin on his face that is kind of adorable.
But Derek is still quite confused, “So why did you come over…yesterday?”
Stiles stares at him. “You don’t remember, do you?”
He shakes his head, apprehensively.
“You left a few voicemail messages on my phone but when I called back you wouldn’t answer.”
“Oh my -,” Derek has the urge to bang his head on the table, “I drunk dialed you. It was good that you weren’t there to answer. Hope I didn’t say anything too stupid.”
Stiles gives him a tiny smirk, “I’ll let you listen to them later.”
He grumbles about how kids these days don’t have the common decency to delete alcohol-induced messages.
“Why don’t you want to be sexy?” Stiles asks in all seriousness.
He stills. He might have said a lot more than he thinks he did when he tried to call him. Might as well tell him the truth. “I finally went see a therapist, as per everyone's nagging, but after expressing myself and talking about my feelings all I got was a ‘you need to be tortured otherwise everything is too sexy for you’. Therapy isn’t my thing.”
“You can be really unsexy sometimes.”
Derek tilts his head, “I can?”
“Yeah, when you’re all wolfed out,” Stiles nods, “That permanent ‘I smell a nasty fart’ expression isn’t flattering.”
He promptly adorns that look, his grin showing off his white fangs, “What, this look?”
“And you don’t deserve to be tortured,” he continues, “In life…It’s…maybe we are only dealt what we can handle. Um…that sounds a bit harsh...how about, we’re stronger than we think? After being possessed by an evil fox spirit…," Stiles chuckles dryly, "I knew what I did, I still remember everything that happened, the pain I caused…the deaths. I didn’t think I could get over that but I had the pack, my dad, you…it made it easier to believe that I could get through this.”
Derek feels the familiar ache in his heart and the tightness in his throat. He wants to comfort Stiles, ease away the smell of hurt wafting from him but –
All of sudden, Stiles is in front of him. He’s cupping his face with those hands that Derek has trouble looking away from, except now he’s forced to look at those beautiful brown eyes and hear the words coming out of those nicely-shaped lips.
“You don’t have to be alone in this, Derek. You have us, you…have me.”
Stiles leans slowly towards him and maybe they meet halfway but it doesn’t matter because their lips are touching, moving against each other in the sweetest kiss. For once he doesn’t feel the anger that is always there underneath the surface, he forgets the resentment over how his life has turned out because all he can really feel is the beginning, stirrings of joy and love. It’s been too long since it felt real and he might always be too nervous to be ready but he needs, wants this. So Derek wraps his hands around Stiles’ waist, pulls him into his lap and lets all of his bottled up feelings out into kisses and touches, knowing that Stiles will understand.
He always has.
-
1st voicemail: Stiiiiiiiiiles, I’m too sexy for your love. Too sexy for your loooove. So sexy it hurts.
2nd voicemail: It really hurts. Stiles’ going to leave me. Pleeeeeeease don’t leave me.
3rd voicemail: Stiiiiles, I don’t…I don’t wanna be a sexy, failwolf anymore. I’m tired of being sexy. So tired.