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Derek is half-asleep when Stiles jumps on his lap, lanky limbs and bony joints digging into the werewolf’s muscular frame. Grunting in surprise, Derek jerks up and and instinctually throws an arm out to catch his uncoordinated boyfriend from falling. “Hi,” Stiles greets casually, leaning heavily on Derek’s extended arm until he gets situated-- leaning on Derek’s bare chest, instead. “You look hot.” He presses a kiss to Derek’s shoulder. “I’m still mad that you get to look that hot in pink flamingo shorts. I avoided the speedo just to make sure this didn’t happen,” Stiles whines. After he won a bet with Derek, giving him the chance to pick the alpha’s outfit for their pack summer barbecue, Stiles had spent a solid hour in the mall choosing an outfit.
Derek has long since ditched the tiny green t-shirt emblazoned with a giant lion across the chest. However, the sight of his bare chest is more than enough to appease Stiles. The small white and pink straw sunhat is still perched on his head, though it’s started to tilt from Derek lying back in his lounge chair. Lastly, a pair of emoji-printed socks tucked into flower-print shoes. It’s really unfair how hot Derek still looks. He’s smiling sleepily with bunny teeth on display and looking at Stiles in a way that can only be described as adoring. Yet, the alpha still looks badass and ruggedly sexy. Well, to everyone except Stiles. In Stiles’ eyes, Derek looks like an adorable pup that deserves hugs and blankets and hair pets-- in addition to being badass and ruggedly sexy.
Stiles smacks a noisy kiss to Derek’s mouth, just because he can. The werewolf allows it with a fondly exasperated expression before gently guiding his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and pulling him in for a slow, proper kiss. “Get a room!” Erica jeers, snickering.
“It’s Derek’s house,” Stiles calls back, grinning and looking back over his shoulder at her.
“We’re outside,” Boyd reminds.
“In the yard; it’s still my property,” Derek retorts while stretching his arms around Stiles’ waist and tugging him closer. Smirking at the rest of the pack, Stiles wraps himself around his boyfriend like something out of a CW photoshoot.
“Mine,” he says with a particular mix of fond and pride that never fails to make Derek’s face flush pink, even as the werewolf rolls his eyes. Feeling ridiculously happy, Stiles slides the pads of his thumbs over Derek’s warm cheeks. Pleased by the blissful flutter of Derek’s long, dark eyelashes, Stiles traces his boyfriend’s cheekbones, down his jawline and over scratchy stubble-- trimmed shorter for the summer heat. From there, the human glides his fingertips around Derek’s lips and around his nose. Stiles smooths Derek’s eyebrows with a grin; right now, the alpha is wielding his powerful brows for good with a small, relaxed smile taking over his face.
As Stiles’ long fingers continue to explore the familiar paths of Derek’s face, he’s struck with an idea. With as much grace as he can muster, he adjusts himself until he’s seated high enough on Derek’s lap to allow easy access to the alpha’s hair. Regretfully, he has to remove the tiny sunhat, but it’s worth it when Stiles can bury his hands in Derek’s soft, fluffy tresses. Recently, Derek has let his hair grow out, long enough that it’s slightly wavy so long as he doesn’t smooth it out with hairgel. Stiles loves it.
“You’re so pretty,” he hums, running his hands through his boyfriend’s dark waves. Derek is seemingly too relaxed and content to bother voicing a complaint at the comment. Even though he’d never admit, at least not in the bright daylight surrounded by his pack, Stiles knows that Derek adores having his hair played with. Maybe it’s a wolf thing, because Scott and a few of the other pups seem to like it too-- if any of the sleepover-slash-movie nights turned accidental cuddle fests are anything to go by.
“Love you,” Derek hums sleepily, his eyes starting to slip shut as Stiles massages his scalp.
“Love you too,” Stiles replies. He melts into his boyfriend’s side, letting himself get lost in the hypnotic repetitiveness of petting his hair until he falls asleep.
What feels like roughly an hour or two later, Stiles is woken up by Isaac’s hand on his shoulder. “Wh-” Stiles manages to sputter before he’s interrupted.
“Can I borrow the Jeep?” the beta asks, putting on his sweetest smile. “I’m picking a girl up tonight to go for drinks and Scott suddenly needs his car to take Kira somewhere.” Stiles must make a face, because Isaac clasps his hands and pulls out his puppy eyes. Scott must be teaching him, Stiles thinks as he feels himself caving.
“Fine,” he grumbles, pouting. “Hurt my baby and I’ll sic my other baby on you,” he warns, gesturing suddenly with his thumb at a sleeping Derek. The alpha doesn’t stir. How he looks that attractive even while snoozing is beyond Stiles; he’s not even drooling which is just unfair. Cats rule, dogs drool and all that. Although, Stiles had been a dog person long before Scott became furry so maybe the saying doesn’t hold much water.
Isaac grins and snatches Stiles’ key as soon as it’s offered. “Thanks, Stiles,” he calls, waving behind him as he jogs away. It’s enough to wake Derek, who ruffles slightly as Stiles looks around the yard. The rest of the pack seem to have cleaned up the barbecue while Derek and Stiles slept, save for the lounge chair that the couple is curled up in.
“Mm, what was that?” Derek hums drowsily, pulling at Stiles until the younger man lies back down on top of him.
“Just takin’ care of the pups,” Stiles replies.
-
Derek lounges in the yard with Stiles until the pale human’s sunscreen wears off and a red tinge starts forming on his soft nose and legs. “C’mon, sourwolf,” Stiles says, shoving himself to his feet and holding his hands out to Derek expectantly. Feeling lethargic from the warm sun and his boyfriend’s happy presence, Derek lets Stiles pull him to his feet. “Oof,” Stiles grunts, giggling and stumbling. Smiling, Derek stabilizes them both and presses a fond kiss to his temple.
“You staying the night?” Derek asks, absently pressing his palm against his boyfriend’s neck to scent mark him. Ever since they told the rest of the pack about their relationship, the alpha can’t stop himself from wrapping Stiles in his scent. The months of unofficial weirdness, filled with pining and sudden kisses all while refusing to acknowledge it, had been excruciatingly bitter-sweet. A few weeks of dating officially but secretly had followed--fun at first, at least until the wolf in Derek had started to go insane from being unable to scent mark Stiles for fear of the pack noticing.
“Yeah I’m staying. We’re so sickeningly in the honeymoon phase,” Stiles comments, even as he nuzzles his face into Derek’s chest. “I’ll be mean to you again in, like… two weeks. Pencil that in.” With a snort, Derek hums his assent and tugs his boyfriend closer. Feeling a cheesy smile forming, the alpha buries his face in Stiles’ soft hair. “Gross,” Stiles mumbles.
“We’re sickening,” Derek agrees, voice calm. “Wanna make cupcakes and have a cute giggly food fight?” he asks, delivering the question in a flat monotone. Stiles huffs loudly, making a disgusted face.
“This is like some teen movie starring Noah Centineo,” he grumbles. “Let’s go make cupcakes.”
-
“D’you wanna go get dinner?” Stiles offers.
“You ate seven cupcakes just a few hours ago,” Derek comments, patting his boyfriend’s ass.
“Don’t tell me you’re not hungry,” Stiles retorts. He slides one hand over Derek’s abs and uses the other to trace his waistband. “Chinese?” Stiles smirks when Derek nods, looking stupidly triumphant. The werewolf is quick to kiss the look off his boyfriend’s face, just because he can.
“Let’s go, you idiot,” Derek says, feeling a dumb, adoring smile grace his features. Stiles clambers onto his back, taking a piggyback stance. Instinctually, Derek catches the younger man’s thighs and holds him firmly. It’s easy to carry him like this, far preferred to any of the times Derek had been forced to carry Stiles while the human was weak and injured.
When they reach the gate leading from the backyard to the front of the house, where Stiles’ car is parked, Derek bends at the knees so that Stiles can unlock the gate latch and let them out. As the gate swings open, Stiles mumbles something about Isaac and returning something on time. Derek dismisses it, distracted when his boyfriend suddenly starts clambering off his back. “I’m driving,” Stiles announces, stumbling a bit when his feet hit the sidewalk. Habitually, Derek stabilizes him with a hand on the human’s back. “Thanks, honey,” Stiles comments, smiling at his vaguely ironic use of the nickname.
Still grinning a bit, Stiles pulls open the passenger side door and gestures theatrically. “Milord,” he hums, voice light and teasing.
Derek barely hears him. All he can focus on is the thick scent pouring from Stiles’ car. Rather than the usual scent of Stiles, fast food, and the worn scent of the old Jeep, all Derek can smell is sex and Isaac. Before it can even register fully in his mind, the alpha spins recklessly and feels his legs carrying him down the sidewalk, away from his home and his boyfriend.
“Derek?” Stiles calls after him, sounding caught between a series of emotions. Derek can’t tell. His blood is roaring in his ears, heartbeat thrumming viciously. Everything else sounds hazy and distant. “Der, what’s up?” Behind the roar of his heart, Derek hears his boyfriend’s ratty shoes clattering against the pavement as Stiles jogs after him. “Derek?”
The alpha breaks out into a full-blown run.
Stiles cheated on him with Isaac.
Stiles cheated on him .
Derek can’t breathe. He shudders and sprints faster, running until he can’t hear anything through the wind whistling in his ears. The stupid pink flamingo shorts he let Stiles dress him in are too tight on his legs and his hair flows in the wind from Stiles running his fingers through it. Even though Derek doesn’t get winded from running, his chest aches and burns. “ Derek !” Stiles shrieks, his voice pitching up frantically. It’s a tone that the werewolf associates with nearly dying.
Shuddering, he runs faster. He runs until everything burns and hurts, runs until all he can smell is the dirty roads and bitter wind, a faint scent of weed and the smell of the woods as he gets closer to them. Derek runs until he’s deep enough in the trees to fully transform into his wolf form, howling miserably as his paws beat against the dirt.
Stiles cheated on him .
-
Just as the night has hit its peak, drowning the forest in pools of dark sky, Derek passes out. He collapses to the ground without any worry for his safety, asleep before his head hits the mossy forest floor. Tears slip past his closed eyelids, dripping down his cheeks like rain on a foggy window. As he sleeps, the night runs its course until dawn breaks over the treetops. Orange sunlight bathes the woods, rousing birds from their nests until the werewolf, emotionally and physically drained as he might be, is forced to wake. Slowly, Derek drags his legs beneath him until he’s able to stand up. Even though his were-healing should prevent sore muscles, the alpha’s movements feel stiff and everything aches.
Desolately, he peers around him in a weak, half-hearted attempt to figure out where he is. Based on the unfamiliar scent and foreign trees, Derek realizes that, in his blind misery, he must have run through the woods into a neighboring county. He considers that maybe it’s for the best. Some space between him and the pack--Stiles and Isaac, in particular--could prove to be helpful. Cowardly, maybe, but Derek can’t bring himself to care. The idea of returning to Beacon Hills and seeing Stiles makes his stomach lurch and roll. Sighing softly, Derek begins to toil through the dense greenery. Branches snap against his skin and there are far more thistle weeds than back home. The sharp, prickly plants cling to his pants and tiny barbs dig into his legs relentlessly.
By the time Derek reaches the edges of the county, he looks like he’d lost a fight to Mother Nature. Thankfully, a nearby jogger takes pity on him anyways and she rushes over. Concern is clear to be seen on her features. “Oh, my gosh! Are you okay?” she asks, one hand pressed melodramatically against her chest.
Slowly, Derek nods. His brain feels like it’s processing slower than it should, hazy with a whirlwind of emotions. “I just need a motel or something,” he manages. Thankfully, his wallet and credit card was still in his pocket.
“Oh, sure!” the jogger says, sounding like she’s forcing chipperness into her voice through a thick barricade of concern. “I’ll take you. I parked just over there.” Derek nods his thanks. “Oh, I love jogging amongst nature!” the woman continues, her blond ponytail bobbing. “I drive out here to get some exercise and peace of mind.” Derek nods again. “What brought you out here?”
“I’m backpacking,” Derek lies quickly, realizing a minute too late that he’s not carrying a backpack. Thankfully, the stranger doesn’t question him. Instead, she grins and nods exuberantly. For the half hour minutes that follows, the woman--who Derek learns to be named Denise--doesn’t stop talking. It’s painfully similar to Stiles’ way of talking endlessly, except Denise is far more irritating. By the time they reach what seems to be the only motel within the area, Derek’s head is pounding. All he wants to do is curl into a misery-induced ball and sleep until his heart stops hurting.
He misses Stiles.
When Derek finds his room and spends a minute fighting with the lock, he wants to hear Stiles snicker at him. He wants the groan of complaint at the broken coffee maker and loud squeak of the bed springs when Stiles sprawls across the mattress like it’s his territory. Desperately, Derek wants his boyfriend’s scent to fill the motel room. Even moreso, Derek wishes the faint smell of sex in the rundown motel didn’t remind him of Stiles and Isaac.
-
Stiles wakes up on Scott’s couch, his phone buzzing angrily on the carpeted floor. Blinking the dried tears and general stiffness out of his eyes, Stiles slowly manages to slap around on the floor until he locates the smartphone. Although he ends up with his shoulders on the carpet and his legs on the couch, he does manage to pull the now-silent phone into his eyeline.
Isaac: thx for letting me borrow ur car
Isaac: oh uh sorry about the smell
Stiles types a slow response with a low, miserable groan. He’s far too busy losing his mind over Derek’s sudden disappearing act to deal with Isaac this early in the morning.
You: what
Isaac: she was a bit of an exhibitionist ;)
Stiles blinks. He reads the message again and blinks once more, slower as if it could change what the message says. Of course Isaac had sex with some girl in his car, because that’s exactly what Stiles’ day needs. He doesn’t even bother to reply to Isaac, instead firing off a few more texts to Derek that merely join the stream of unanswered messages and calls.
Stiles feels like shit. He drops the phone back to the carpet and curls back onto the couch and under the thin blanket Scott had provided him with the night prior. After a desperate search for Derek had reaped no results, even after hours of adrenaline-fueled panic along with the help of Scott’s werewolf nose, Stiles had finally let himself be coaxed into sleep. Even though he only managed to rest for four hours at best, he quickly finds that catching a few more Z’s isn’t going to be an option. His head pounds mercilessly and his leg muscles are filled with a deep ache. Stress seems to have set up camp in his chest, making his stomach feel twisty and just plain wrong .
Even though he’d just dropped it, Stiles picks his phone back up and calls Derek again. The phone doesn’t even ring like it had all last night; it goes straight to voicemail. Derek blocked him. “Der,” Stiles whispers, voice weak. “Please,” he whimpers. “Just talk to me.” The phone let out a long beep followed by grating error tone.
Shaking with muffled sobs and unshed tears, Stiles weakly tosses the still-blaring phone to the floor where it bounces on the carpet. He’s miserable and confused and why won’t Derek talk to him ?
-
Features morphed to match the heavy, miserable weight in his chest, Derek stares at his phone until his vision goes blurry. At first, blocking Stiles’ number had brought glorious, much wanted silence. For a few hours, Derek had taken the opportunity to mope and brood and mourn without Stiles’ loud ringtone buzzing like particularly persistent gnat in his ear. As time went on, however, the silence started to press in on Derek until he felt claustrophobic in his large, empty motel room.
Finally, the werewolf is forced to leave his room before he loses his mind. After a few minutes of lurking in the small lobby, he manages to locate a brochure-sized map of the town. It’s even smaller than Beacon Hills, with only a small market and few family-run diners. Guided by the direction of the sun and a few haphazardly placed street signs, Derek eventually manages to stumble upon one of the diners. He pushes through the heavy glass door and a loud metal bell announces his presence.
“Hey,” a woman greets from behind the counter, grinning brightly. Not-so-subtly, she rakes bright green eyes up and down his frame. “You’re new around here. I’m Griff,” she introduces, extending her pale, freckled hand. The sleeves of a college sweatshirt are rolled up to her elbows and thick, red hair falls around her shoulders.
“I’m not staying long,” Derek says instinctually, before realizing he probably shouldn’t rudely brush off the girl from whom he wanted lunch. “Derek,” he adds, shaking her hand.
Griff snickered. “Don’t worry, love, I wasn’t trying to hit on you. I have a girlfriend,” she reassures. “Besides, you look like the poster-child for heartbreak.” Derek growls softly, though he resists to urge to drop his fangs. Griff merely snickers again. “What happened?”
“Grilled cheese sandwich, please,” Derek replies, gesturing at the daily special scrawled on a chalkboard. He pulls his leather jacket tighter around himself.
“Did they cheat?” Griff asks, tying an apron around herself as she starts making his sandwich. Something about the reckless way she moves reminds Derek of Stiles and he quickly casts his gaze away. “You look like hell,” she continues, regardless of Derek’s silence. It physically hurts how much it reminds him of the days when he and Stiles were first becoming friends. “You didn’t just skip town without letting them explain, did you? I did that to my girl once over a misunderstanding. I found some guy’s underwear in her apartment, but turns out she was housing my brother to surprise me. He lives in Ireland.”
“I know he cheated,” Derek grumbles finally. “His car…” he trails off, unsure how to explain without telling her that he had a supernatural nose.
“Used condoms?” Griff asks. She flips his sandwich on the grill and it hisses noisily.
“Yeah,” Derek lies, resisting the urge to grimace because-- ew. He doesn’t want to know what kind of life Griff leads if it was commonplace to find used condoms in a vehicle.
“Does he lend his car to friends? Maybe some asshole friend had sex in his car and left the condom,” she suggests. “Anyways, your grilled cheese is ready.” She flips it onto a plate with unnecessary flair and slides it across the counter to him. “You gonna talk to him?”
Derek doesn’t reply. He’s staring unseeingly at the wall, struggling to remember something Stiles had said. When they’d gone to his Jeep, mere minutes before Derek had taken off, the human had mumbled something about Isaac. Although Derek likes his betas, if anyone could be considered the “asshole friend” it would probably be Isaac; the kid wears scarves in twenty-degree weather. “Hey,” Griff says, snapping her fingers. “You okay, dude? Sorry I brought it up.”
Derek shakes his head silently. Had the Jeep smelled like Stiles’ syrupy scent that only came into play when he was aroused? Maybe Derek had been so blinded by the pure scent of sex and Isaac that he hadn’t stopped to really consider it. “I have to go,” he announces, pushing away from the counter. Absentmindedly, he pulls out his wallet and drops what’s probably double what he owes on the counter.
“You didn’t even eat,” Griff protests. Derek waves at her as he jogs out of the diner. He didn’t bring anything with him, so there’s nothing in the motel room that he needs but the alpha heads back anyways. Before he goes rushing back to Beacon Hills, Derek needs to sit down and think .
He could be completely wrong about all of this. He could go all the way back to wrap Stiles in his arms only to realize that the younger man actually did cheat on him. Derek isn’t sure if he can deal with the heartbreak a second time.
Instead, he starts slow by grabbing his phone and unblocking Stiles’ number. Almost immediately, a series of missed calls pop up accompanied by a stream of messages.
Derek
Derek
Please
Talk to me
What’s going on???
Derek please I don’t know what I did
Please
Talk to me
Der please I need to see you
Just tell me what’s wrong
Please
Are you safe?
Der where are you
We’re all worried
Just tell me you’re safe
Derek please
Slowly, Derek formulates a response. I’m okay, he types. No danger.
Almost as soon as the message sends, Stiles is calling him. After a few moments of deliberation, Derek answers. Stiles is speaking before he can even bring the phone to his ear. “Derek, oh my god, what’s happening? Where are you?” Stiles spouts off a few more frantic questions without waiting for an answer. Eventually, he speaks softly and asks, “Why did you run off?” His voice sounds weak and scared.
“Did you lend Isaac your car?” Derek asks instead.
“What? Yeah,” Stiles replies. He sounds like he’s bordering on hysteria. “The bitch had sex with some girl in my Jeep,” he complains, though there’s no heat behind his words.
“Okay,” Derek replies, his breath coming out in a big whoosh. “I’m in the next county over. Can you come pick me up?”
“What- why-?” Stiles stammers.
“I’ll explain when you get here,” Derek promises. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, Der. See you soon?”
“Yeah,” Derek says, smiling. “See you soon.”