Chapter Text
I. In which Stiles is confused.
The first time it happened, Stiles was pretty unsure of what happened. They were just…talking. Then not. Then talking again. It was weird. It was awkward. It was inappropriate. Not warm. Or kind of cute. Or the best half-a-second of his life. That’s what Stiles would tell anyone if they found out, anyway. Not that anyone was going to find out. It was just him and Derek. Alone. But they had been alone a million times before. They’d just never kissed before. So why now? It wasn’t some special romantic setting; it was Stiles’s bedroom. There were dirty cloths on the floor and an unmade bed against the wall. There wasn’t some long, understanding gaze between them and slow leaning-in until their lips met. They hadn’t been acting any differently. They had their familiar ‘I hate you, but in the fond way’ mutual relationship. Which was why Stiles didn’t even count it as a kiss. He wasn’t even a participant in the not-kiss, really. Because his first kiss with Derek was absolutely not that.
Why was he even so wound up about this? Derek, that’s why. It was his fault Stiles was freaking out. Why did he have to do that? Especially with the cheekbones, and the eyes that never seemed to decide on a color, and the super-strength arms, and the messy, but at the same time, neatly styled hair, and the abs, and the shadowy stubble that surrounded pink lips (lips that had been on Stiles’s). Stiles could’ve just ignored those features like he had been for the past however much time passed since he’d first laid his eyes on that stupid face; but no, Derek had to kiss him. Make it impossible to get that stupid face out of his head. That Bastard.
…
Derek slid through the window Stiles had left open for him effortlessly. His eyes locked to Stiles, who was lazily sprawled across his desk chair, tapping the arm of it with his thumb, just for something to do.
“I’m here. You said it was an emergency,” he looked and smelled, judging by the way his nostrils flared. “Can’t say I’m not surprised to see you didn’t get a sample of wolfsbane stuck around your neck again.” As he spoke, voice rough and low, he discreetly looked the teen over for injuries, which was kind of flattering. Derek had even gotten there five minutes faster than normal due to Stiles’s serious tone over the phone so, you know, double flattery there.
“Didn’t know you cared, Honey.” Stiles said with a smirk. The relaxation of muscles and unamused eye roll was all the indication Stiles needed to skip the pleasantries. Derek never really seemed to grasp the concept of small talk.
“…Alright. I’m fine, but you and Scott might not be. I think there might be a new pack in town. Judging by what Allison said, anyway.” Derek raised an eyebrow.
“Allison?” He distractedly took a seat on the edge of the bed, like he was preparing for a long, interesting chat about a plan. Stiles hated plans. Plans were boring and solid and were screwed if your opponent was unpredictable. It was much better to make things up as you went along. There was no pattern, making you the unpredictably one. Derek never saw it that way and tended to just glare when Stiles tried explaining the psychology.
“Yeah. I guess she overheard her dad saying something about an ‘arrangement’ that could be made for a pack to claim Beacon Hills.” There was silence between the two, though Derek tensed, making a, ‘I’m an idiot’ face. Leaning in, Stiles narrowed his eyes.
“What?” He asked suspiciously. “Derek, what?” The werewolf was quiet for a second and Stiles could swear he saw the gears turning in his head, like he was just putting something together. In an act of restlessness, Stiles rolled forward in his chair and kneed him gently a couple times. “Derek, do you know them?” It came out as more of a demand than a question, but it got Derek to look up, Stiles tone probably kicking in some oh-hell-you-did-not-just-challenge-my-alpha-authority instinct.
“No,” he finally said. “But I’ve smelled them the last few weeks. And heard them.” Stiles’s mouth was gaping open. Why had Derek kept this from him? No, that was fine-Derek not trusting him was fine; normal even. But he hadn’t mentioned it to Scott. Unless he had mentioned it to Scott and Scott had kept it a secret from Stiles. That couldn’t be it either. Scott was an awful liar and was physically incapable of keeping secrets from Stiles.
“Really? Seriously? I know sharing information with anyone is strictly on a need to know basis for you, but this seems likes something we--I would need to know.”
“I thought it was just a passing pack. They weren’t killing anyone or challenging me. A lot of packs migrate and it’s not uncommon for them to pass through another’s territory.” Derek spoke through gritted teeth which was good. The damn sociopath should be pissed at himself. It was said sociopath’s fault this new pack had spoken to the argents.
“Look, it’s not your fault.” Stiles’s mouth always betrayed him.
Kicking back so that his chair rolled into the wall behind him, Stiles attempted to blanket the fact that he showed even the barest amount of sympathy towards Derek Hale. “Let’s just…figure out how we’re going to deal with this.”
…
An hour later, Derek and Stiles were still considering (debating) ways to approach the new Alpha-Argent problem (which had kind of turned into the official word for the situation). Both of them stood face to face. Their tempers, to be modest, were a bit on edge from lack of progress.
“Just shove wolfsbane down their throats!”
“Yeah, because there’s no flaws in that plan! I’ll just build up immunity and take on an entire pack single handedly!” Derek was doing that thing where he wasn’t really shouting; just dictating every word and speaking like he was talking to an idiot. Stiles was shouting. And intentionally being nonproductive because he was just a little edgy from their unintentionally nonproductive work.
Clearing his head of any more flawed logic, Stiles sighed with his eyes closed. When they opened again, he tried to think.
The last time they’d had an alpha running around, the only way to stop it was to kill it. That might not be as easy for Derek to accept. He tended to keep killing lower on his list of options for solving a problem. Though he didn’t keep it too low, seeming as though he did kill that one nurse helping Peter. And then Peter. And he did threaten to kill Lydia. And Jackson. And Stiles, on more than one occasion. Maybe it wouldn’t be so tough to convince him to kill the alpha.
“Yeah, whatever, listen. We need to kill it. The alpha, I mean. That’s the only way it’ll stop. They probably have some agreement with the Argents for protection, but-”
Stiles stopped--or rather, was forced to stop, because Derek’s lips were kind of…occupying the place his words had been coming out of. The werewolf’s hands clenched fistfuls of Stiles’s shirt collar to draw him closer or possibly to hold him in place. The lips against his were warm and wet and considerably more relaxed than Stiles’s dry, tense ones. Derek’s eyes were squeezed shut, like he was terrified. Stiles was aware he was noticing all these little details without really processing any of them. In all honesty, he had no clue what was happening. Without getting a chance to put two and two together, he felt Derek push (literally push; hands shoving against the teen’s chest) away after no more than half a second. Then he stared at Stiles for about twice the length of the kiss before speaking as though nothing had happened.
“If we kill the alpha, then we’ll just have a bunch of disorderly, angry betas running around along with the hunters that have been on our tail since the beginning.”
Blinking in confusion, Stiles tried to remember what it was they were discussing before their totally random, totally awesome…encounter. It was way too short to be a kiss and way too breathtaking to be a friendly dude peck. Was there such a thing as a friendly dude peck? Maybe in Europe….
So now Stiles kind of couldn’t take his eyes off Derek’s pink lips. They were thin and lightly glazed with saliva; just enough to make it so his lips weren’t dried out. Saliva that was on Stiles’s lips now. He not quite absently ran his tongue across his own lips, trying desperately to get the feel of stubble against his chin out of his head.
At a pathetic attempt at sounding as apathetic about the amazingness that was kissing Derek Hale, Stiles said in a gravelly voice, “Um, well--well, I, uh, I think that if maybe you offer to--to be their…you know, alpha. Their new alpha…”
“They’d never turn their back on their pack leader like that. Even if he died. Wolves are loyal animals.” And damn Derek for being able to sound so relaxed and put together. It made Stiles doubt whether that half a second had even happened. Or maybe it had and Derek was experiencing some major form of short term memory loss. God, Stiles needed to get his brain under control; or at least come up with convincing explanations.
It took a few minutes for Stiles to get his cool back, but once he did, everything was pretty much normal. They debated the pros and cons of different strategies for another forty-five minutes until Derek heard the sheriff pull in the driveway. Then they quickly decided to just play the alpha situation by ear until they received more details either directly, or from Allison. Derek left in his signature style: out the window and Stiles definitely didn’t gaze after him like a Disney princess.