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Stiles woke in the morning, sore and bruised but thankfully alive. Not everyone gets to say that they faced down an angry and possibly horny alpha werewolf on a full moon and they’re still around to tell the story. He sighed and stretched.
He stood and made his way to the bathroom where he took a moment to examine himself. He had four large bruises on his chest from where Derek had held him pinned against the wall for so long. There was a good sized purple splotch on his right cheek from where he’d hit the floor when Derek threw him. Correction: The wolf threw him.
Stiles checked himself all over for more bruises and found nothing. For a beating, he was relatively unscathed. For once.
He was still determined to get Derek to talk about this. There was no way he was letting it go. You don’t kiss someone, say ‘mate’ at them twice and then have your wolf almost deflower them violently if there’s nothing to talk about. Stiles knew what it was about. He doubted Derek wanted to talk about it.
Too damn bad.
Stiles tracked Derek down after breakfast. He was in the train car that he’d decided to use as his bedroom.
“What the actual fuck, dude?” Stiles asked.
Derek sighed a heaving, heavy sigh.
“Hello to you too, Stiles,” he said.
“No. No. You don’t get to avoid questions or not talk. Suck it up,” Stiles said.
Derek wasn’t looking at him. Again. This pissed him off more than anything.
“Derek! Why won’t you look at me?!” Stiles asked.
“Because I can’t.”
“Why the hell not? Is this about last night?”
Derek growled, low and deep in his chest. A warning.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” Derek said.
“That shouldn’t have happened,” Stiles repeated incredulously, “That shouldn’t have happened. Just like you shouldn’t have kissed me. Just like werewolves shouldn’t even be a thing. Just like, what the hell, man?” Stiles asked.
Derek patted the mattress he was sitting on, motioning for Stiles to sit. Stiles plopped down into the spot.
He turned his gaze toward Stiles after what felt like an eternity.
“It’s hard to look at you, Stiles,” he said.
“Ouch. I know I’m not the most attractive person in the world, but damn. Rude,” Stiles said.
“You’re misunderstanding.”
“Then explain.”
Derek sighed again.
“When a wolf gets to a certain point in his or her life, they start looking for another to spend their life with. Even bitten wolves do it. There’s a push to find the other half, find a mate,” Derek said, “My wolf chose a while ago. I’ve had to keep it in check all this time. Last night, you provoked it.”
Stiles took a moment to digest what he’d just heard.
“What does it mean?” he asked finally.
“It means that my instinct is to claim you, mate you, breed you, mark you, make you mine.”
“Breed me? What does that even mean?” Stiles asked.
“Babies, Stiles. Babies.”
“Oh,” Stiles paused for a moment and then, “But I’m a guy. Can’t happen.”
Derek looked away for a moment before he spoke again.
“It’s hard to look at you because I have to fight that urge every time I look at you,” he said.
“Oh,” Stiles said again.
They sat quietly for a moment. Stiles reached for Derek’s hand and was surprised when the werewolf didn’t pull back. Stiles laced their fingers together and just held Derek’s hand for a moment.
“What if I don’t want you to?” he asked.
“You’re playing with fire, Stiles,” Derek told him.
“Is it just the wolf? Or do I get to have you too?”
Derek’s head snapped around to look at Stiles again.
“Both,” Derek said, “Though I don’t know why you’d want either.”
“Shut up, Derek.”
Stiles surprised them both when he turned his head and brushed his lips lightly over Derek’s.
“You don’t think about what other people want. Ever. Do you?” Stiles asked.
“All the time, actually. It’s what gets in the way. I’m never right,” Derek responded.
Stiles found himself climbing into Derek’s lap before he really knew what he was doing. With his mouth locked onto Derek’s, his arms snaking around his neck and his legs winding their way around his waist, he vowed that Derek would never question what Stiles wanted ever again.