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Growing up in a house full of werewolves, love, affection and physical contact had always been in ample supply. Since the death of his sister, those things had all been lacking. Becoming an alpha and starting his own pack, a small part of him had hoped those things would return but other than the sneak attack kiss from Erica, he was still bereft of those things he intrinsically needed.
He saw them sharing touches and brushes of the shoulder but those were never shared with him and he’d sit in the abandoned train car and stare at the blank walls through the windows imagining traveling far away to the place where he would be welcomed with open arms because that was all he really needed at that moment, a hug. Just a simple embrace would be enough to get him through the darkness in his brain as he missed his sister, his family, even his uncle.
He jumped when there was noise outside of the train car, his claws extending until a familiar scent of the forest after the rain reached his nose and he rose to his feet to find Stiles standing in the middle of the train station, one hand buried in his jean pocket, the other rubbing over the back of his neck as he rocked on his heels.
“What do you want, Stiles?” Derek growled.
Stiles looked up, his amber eyes barely visible in the shadow where he stood as they studied him. Derek could feel his eyes trace over him, almost like a physical caress and his body ached. He felt himself leaning closer and stopped himself, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down his nose at Stiles, trying not to smirk at the flare of irritation that filled his scent.
“I was doing some research,” Stiles started.
“Aren’t you always?”
“Shut up,” Stiles said to him, giving a rather impressive glare.
“That’s my line,” Derek countered.
“And sarcasm is my only defense so stop trying to bogart it,” Stiles huffed and turned to leave.
“Did you want something?” Derek said just as he reached the doorway leading towards the parking lot.
Stiles looked at him suspiciously when he turned back towards him. “You told me I could come to you with questions about my research.” Derek nodded. “I’ve been reading about wolf packs.”
“I’m not an actual wolf, Stiles,” he reminded him. He hated saying it, thinking of his mother and her full alpha shift, something he had no idea how to achieve although he truly wished sometimes that he could. “I’ve already told you that not everything about wolves applies to werewolves.” He felt the tips of his ears warming as he remembered the knotting discussion one night when he’d stumbled upon a drunk Stiles in the woods.
“I know but this one thing, it stuck out to me.” His eyes were shadowed with something and if Derek thought more of it, he would think it might be concern. “Wolves are tactile creatures. They crave closeness with their pack.”
He’d wondered for a long time, since the night Stiles manipulated mountain ash for the first time, if the boy was a bit more magic than Deaton had let on, but he was confident mind reading was not a normal gift for a Spark. There as no way he could possibly know what was going through his head earlier.
Words were stuck in his throat and the silence stretched on until Stiles gave a decisive nod and made a considering sound under his breath. Before Derek could question him, Stiles moved closer and ran a hand from Derek’s shoulder to his elbow before turning on his heels and heading out the door.
“See ya later, Derek,” he called.
That was just the beginning. Before he knew it, Stiles made sure to touch Derek in some way every time they were in a shared space. It started with the shoulder touches but it didn’t stop there. One night while they were researching fairies, Derek was leaning over Stiles’ shoulder to read the screen and Stiles leaned back so that Derek’s chest was touching his back.
Another night, after a particularly brutal battle with the monster of the week, Derek was leaning against a tree waiting for his ankle to heal. He kept his ears on the other wolves who were in their own processes of healing and he watched as Stiles moved between them, doing the shoulder touch as he checked in with each of them. Then he was standing in front of Derek, a hand reached out to touch his shoulder gently before it became a grasp and when Derek put his healed leg down, he was tugged into a hug.
It was over before he could reciprocate or even decide if he wanted to reciprocate but he could feel the warmth of Stiles’ body for the rest of the night. If he went to bed with a smile on his lips, there was no one there to tease him about it.
After that first hug, they became more commonplace and Derek soon realized it wasn’t just Stiles anymore. Erica would hip check him as she passed in the kitchen. Boyd bumped shoulders when they worked on the Camaro side by side. Even Scott initiated fist bumps. He wondered if Stiles had said something, but when he’d mentioned it to Isaac, he’d shrugged and said it just felt right.
A pack movie night was introduced one week, by Stiles of course, and he found himself in the middle of a pile of bodies on the sofa far too small for them all. Stiles was half in his lap and Derek wrapped an arm around his waist, encouraging him to lean back into him. “Thanks,” he whispered and Stiles just smirked over his shoulder and pressed a kiss to Derek’s temple.
It wasn’t the same as his family, but it was enough.