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Stiles woke up alone.
And this wasn’t something that was weird. He was used to falling asleep with Derek in his room and waking up alone. What he wasn’t used to was the rutting against his wall until he came in his pants bit that came before the falling asleep on his bed.
He yawned and stretched feeling a little bit pleasant but a lot more used than anything. He stood up groaning at the slightly sticky, mostly dry mess that was inside of his underwear, and he walked over to his dresser to grab clothes to take a shower. That’s when he passed his mirror and had to stop because his mouth was bruised red and there was stubble burn covering all over his mouth, and were those claw marks around his neck? His thighs were also red probably from rubbing against Derek’s jeans, and shit, Stiles didn’t think that his appearance would scream just got laid by a werewolf! Or you know a man with a beard!
He groaned and grabbed his clothes, making sure that the shirt had a high collar to cover the claw marks.
He was glad that he didn’t bump into his dad, because they still had several conversations pending and Stiles didn’t want to add the so-I-think-I-may-be-gay one to the list.
He took a quick shower being careful not to scrub his face too much; he didn’t need to irritate the skin more. He massaged that moisturizer that his dad used after shaving into his skin and it actually felt better. It looked less irritated. His lips were another matter. But he could get away with I-accidentally-smashed-the-door-in-my-face. His dad might buy it if he didn’t look at him directly at the face.
And Scott probably wouldn’t buy it because he could probably smell Derek all over him, and that was all the incentive he needed to not go to Scott’s house this afternoon. School was still out because of the whole formal thing, which was something that Stiles really didn’t want to think about right now.
He walked back to his room and heard clanging down in the kitchen so his dad was obviously not at work yet, terrific.
“Stiles,” his dad called out, and Stiles groaned because there was no way he was getting out of this conversation. “I made pancakes.”
And those were his kryptonite. His dad’s chocolate chip pancakes that he rarely ever made. Even when his mom was still alive. He made them now whenever he had to tell Stiles bad news, or when he wanted to bribe Stiles with something, or you know force him to sit down in place and get him talking.
He groaned looked at himself in the mirror, and well his father would know that something was really wrong if he just jumped out the window, besides he would probably break his neck.
So he resigned himself to the scrutiny and the questions, and marched down the stairs being sure to keep his head down, it wasn’t like it was the first thing his dad needed to see.
His mouth started watering the second that the smell hit his nose, “You made bacon, too.” He stated half accusing, because they were supposed to be watching what they ate, not greasing up their arteries in preparation for a heart attack. He looked at his dad disapprovingly and his dad turned to smile and maybe say something about how he’d eaten all of the vegetarian meals that Stiles cooked up this week, he deserved some meat, but the fork which he was using to turn the bacon dropped on the counter with a clang and his eyes widened as he made his way over to Stiles, and dammit, he forgot about his mauled looking appearance, “Jesus, Stiles, what happened to you?”
Stiles bit his lip and winced because it was still sensitive, “Would you believe that I smashed my face on the door?”
His dad raised an eyebrow, “I would if your nose was broken, and what does smashing your face against the door have anything to do with those scrapes on your neck?”
And yeah, Stiles may need to update his wardrobe to include turtlenecks or something if this was going to become a regular occurence. He licked his lips and motioned to the stove, “Um, I think the bacon is burning.”
His dad gave him a look before motioning for him to sit at the table, “Sit. And talk.”
Stiles did as he was told, “Um, well you see the thing is that hypothetically speaking of course, I may or may not have been assaulted on the way home last night, and no I didn’t get a good look at the guy’s face, but I did manage to hit him pretty good in the balls if that’s any consolation, and it’s not like anything untoward happened. I just don’t like the fact that I got my first kiss stolen by a man who may or may not have been older than me.”
There half-truths and whole lies. He was going to hell for sure, he knew it, but at least his dad would be blissfully ignorant of the actual truths, what with the werewolves and Derek Hale wanting all up in his personal space.
“Christ kid,” his dad says setting the plates down at the table before walking over to Stiles and tilting his face back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He gently touched the scrapes on his neck and lightly smoothed his thumb along his cheeks and Stiles closed his eyes trying to remember the last time that his dad touched him like that, “I’m totally fine. It’s good to know those self-defense lessons worked though, huh?”
His dad nodded still looking grave, “Okay, but promise me that the next time something like this happens, you’ll tell me, and try to remember how he looked, so that I can book his ass and let him rot in a prison cell.”
Stiles nodded his head thinking that the guy had already been in one of those prison cells.
His dad sat down across from him and they ate breakfast in silence. He left for work after attempting to make Stiles swear that he was going to stay in the house, and Stiles gave him a look, “I’m going to the hospital to see if Lydia is awake.”
His dad shook his head, “Alright. But there and back, okay? No dallying and take your jeep this time.”
Stiles raised his fingers in the Boy Scout’s Honor symbol and his dad groaned rolling his eyes and giving him a kiss on the temple before leaving.
Stiles slumped down in the seat thanking his lucky stars that his father had believed him and that he had escaped being questioned about his part in everything that happened at formal. He got up and washed the dishes before heading out to his car.
It was too early to actually go to the hospital, but Derek’s place was on the way there. Well, the road to the hospital was where the route to go to the Hale House was, and it took him twenty minutes to actually reach the Hale House, but that was plenty of time to think about what he was going to tell Derek.
Because he needed an explanation, because whatever happened last night (whatever that was) had come out of freaking nowhere. And Stiles wasn’t going to sit around and wait for Mr. Derek-I-am-now-the-Alpha-and-think-I-can-do-whatever-I-want-Hale!
He parked his car turning it off and waited for Derek to make his appearance.
He wasn’t disappointed when Derek appeared at the door to the house leaning against the frame, and Stiles was waiting for the frame to actually give under his weight and collapse. But it didn’t. So Stiles sighed and got out of his car.
He walked over to Derek gauging his reaction, and was inordinately pleased when a flicker of something went through his eyes, and they were tinged red for a moment before Derek closed them briefly and then glared at Stiles, “What are you doing here?”
Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets and tried not to feel awkward, “Well, you see I had to lie to my dad about being assaulted by some guy last night, to cover up the fact that you fucking marked me, and that’s not mentioning of course all the shit that happened two nights ago at formal, where I helped kill someone, albeit he was a creepy pedowolf, but he was still your uncle, and then of course there is the fact that you came into my house last night and made me come in my shorts and didn’t even have the decency to stick around afterwards.”
Derek didn’t say anything. He kept looking at Stiles thoughtfully before he stepped forward.
Stiles wasn’t going to step back because he wasn’t a coward.
Derek gave him a once over looking at him from the tips of his sneakers all the way up lingering around his neck and the irritated skin around his mouth, and Stiles felt like he’d been doused with something warm, and he wanted to step back then because he really didn’t need a repeat of last night because his mouth was already sore and anymore stubble burn was probably going to actually leave behind scrapes instead of irritated skin and he was pretty sure the assault thing wasn’t going to pass the second time, but at the same time he wanted a repeat of last night so bad that he was almost aching with it.
“Do you want the bite?”
And that right there was not the way to go. He felt chills of the bad kind, and the words reverberated in his head, You may believe you’re telling me the truth, but you are lying to yourself.
Stiles stepped back, “Jesus Christ! What is up with you wolves and that question? Like do you ask everyone who passes you by if they want the bite? Have you not seen the complete fuck up that Scott’s life is right now? Did we not just nearly escape extinction via Argents because of this same reason? Do I have to get a rolled up newspaper and hit you over the nose with it so that you stop offering people that? I mean sure phenomenal cosmic powers or whatever, and blah, blah, blah, but you are not going to convince me that the good outweigh the bad! I mean come on! Your uncle offered it as a reward! A reward! And you, you’re probably, what are you doing?!”
Derek had stepped forward and was backing him into his jeep pressing in close and snarling, “The bite. Is. A. Gift.”
“Okay,” Stiles immediately agrees because he has an angry werewolf pressed up against him and not in that seductive way that he had been last night. “Gift, got it.”
“Peter offered you the bite?” his voice was still as strained but he’d stepped back enough that Stiles spine wasn’t pressed against his car like a hood ornament.
Stiles nodded, “Yeah, after I helped him find out where you were. He said he was going to kill Lydia if I didn’t do as he said. And then he grabbed my arm and almost bit me on the wrist. I told him no. Because I didn’t want to be like him.”
He neglected to mention the fact that Peter had caught him lying, but that really wasn't Derek's business. He was not going to give him more ammunition to convince him to take the bite.
He was fully expecting Derek to back down, and let him go because he had answered his question and he knew that the only reason that Derek invaded his personal space was to be threatening. What happened last night notwithstanding. It was a one time thing!
What he was not expecting was for Derek to grab his arm, the same arm that Peter had almost bitten, and to pull back his sleeve so that the wrist was exposed. He looked in shock as Derek raised his wrist to his mouth and kissed his wrist. His pulse jumped, and then Derek nipped against it, with his human teeth, before sucking the skin into his mouth, and really, really? When did wrists become a part of his erogenous zones?
He barely let out a moan before Derek was backing away licking at the mark he’d made. He stepped back letting go of Stiles arm.
“You should go to the hospital. I think your friend just woke up,” he says completely calm, like if he didn’t just leave a hickey on Stiles’ wrist.
A hickey.
On his wrist.
“How do you know that?” he demanded because that was the safest question that was running through his head. The others included some twisted versions of the words why and please don’t stop, and Stiles really did not need to add the I am a werewolf talk to the conversations he had pending with his dad.
Derek gave him a look, and Stiles sighed and stepped away from his car, “Fine, whatever. Be a cryptic asshole. Just so you know this conversation is far from over.”
Derek smirked lasciviously, and Stiles pulse jumped again before beating wildly right against the mark on his wrist.
He scrambled to get into his car, before Derek tried to do something else.
He turned on the car and drove away mumbling under his breath about pedowolves and not looking down at the mark on his wrist.
Nope, not at all.