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Honestly, who wouldn’t want to be an alpha?
The evolution of alpha-beta-omega dynamics from taboo to an accepted, openly-discussed subject has been the result of countless theses, documentaries, social activism and - in recent years, though most academics are loathe to admit it - even reality shows. Derek still remembers being a kid and having it explained to him, sitting in the back seat of his mother’s car on the way to some practice or recital or other, talk radio bravely broaching the subject with a guest therapist. He was nine and oblivious, but he’d been at least observant enough to know that Laura’s recent presentation as alpha had been cause for celebration.
Alpha: good, everything else: disappointing.
“But when do we know?” Derek had frowned, scuffing his feet off the back of the passenger seat. His mom was stopped at some traffic lights, the rhythmic swish of her windshield wipers ticking her thoughts over. Derek thinks now through age and hindsight, she must have been picking the right words
“You’ve been learning about your body changing in school, right?”
He’d nodded, sitting straighter. One of her dark eyebrows arched in the rear-view mirror.
“Well around the time that happens - when you’re Laura’s age - you’ll find out. And-” She turned in her seat, emphasising the next part - “-your dad and I will love you no matter what, okay?”
“Okay,” he’d replied trustingly, shrugging back at his mother. What did he have to worry about? It was years away, and besides...
No-one ever thought he’d end up also presenting as an alpha.
__
Moving away wasn’t so bad. Lots of people did it for a whole host of reasons - a job, a change of scene.
Love.
See, when you’re a werewolf, and someone in your family, from your generation, presents as an alpha... it creates a power flux. Laura still loved him as her baby brother and he would literally die for her if she asked - but their baser instincts were always going to be at war, telling that wild part of their brains to fight and to dominate and to rule. It mostly went unnoticed to humans. Maybe siblings would be a little more competitive or scrappy; maybe they’d feel an uncanny desire to be away from each other. For werewolves, it could literally rip packs apart.
He presented while Laura was off at college. It was bittersweet, especially for their mom, who thrived at big family gatherings and wanted everyone close. It couldn’t be like that as often as she would have wanted now.
Derek made the decision to be the one to relocate while looking at college applications. He’d never really felt an affinity with their family’s territory like Laura did, and it had always been understood that she’d inherit their mother’s mantle. Derek had been trained as a beta - an advisor. That job was Cora’s now.
“You could always try the suppressors,” Cora had told him, her voice defeated like she knew the answer already - results were patchy at best, and for a werewolf to try and screw with his own nature was just a recipe for disaster.
“You’ll have somewhere to come visit? Might help when you hit your teen angst phase and decide you hate Mom and Dad,” he’d joked, prompting the desired eye-roll. He’d probably miss her the most.
It really wasn’t so bad, in the end. He got himself a great degree from a decent school and an even better job. He visited for the holidays and he and Laura figured out a balance for the few days they’d spend together; it was a testament to their love for each other that they were able to do that.
Moving gave him an opportunity to learn about himself, and about what being a ‘free alpha’ meant when he didn’t have to concern himself with bloodlines or territorial allegiances.There were troves of information - academic and, ahem, pornographic - for him to delve into. Studies into ABO dynamics were becoming more widely talked about, recorded and curated instead of being a quick, awkward conversation with a parent or friend, or some grainy footage from experiments in the 20th century.
Derek learned what he liked (exercises in control; scentmarking everything he owned; omegas with non-stereotypical dispositions), and what he didn’t (being domineering to the point of cruelty; heat-sex with strangers) both in and out of the bedroom. He found that, for all of his cliche alpha tendencies, he had others that weren’t so easily categorized.
He was bisexual, for a start - most alphas had their one preferred gender and that was it - and he preferred to keep indoors during Heat Week. He also struggled with anxiety and insomnia, and even saw a therapist about it when a crucial work deadline pushed him close to breaking.
That’s where SSOmega24 came in.
During one of Derek’s more frantic searches for sleep aids in the wee hours of a morning, he discovered the world of Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response, or ASMR. It seemed to be a lot of weird videos where people whispered nonsense and turned pages or lightly tapped stuff, meant for relaxation... but it kind of worked. He’d never known there was a name for the phenomenon, but the description of a tingling response radiating down the neck and seeping tension out of the body, triggered by certain sounds, was incredibly accurate. He was asleep within minutes.
After, Derek became more familiar with the genre. He didn’t need it every night - his job kept him busy enough and he tried to keep active and fit, so sleep wasn’t always a problem - but nights when his brain wouldn’t turn off and his eyes hurt from reading countless reports, it was useful to call upon. He found, even the sound of another person’s voice speaking nonsense was a comfort at those difficult times when his hormones betrayed him and the ache for contact got just a little too sharp.
There were ‘artists’ with followings who seemed to be experts, but the trouble was that lots of the video seemed to lose their effect after a certain amount of views, and he had to go deeper. He learned that this was a common side effect depending on how ASMR sensitive someone was - he was at the less-sensitive end of the spectrum, and needed outside, specific stimuli to elicit the sensation. There were only so many white noise playlists he could stand before they took a toll on his hearing.
Then, he found roleplays. Videos with a purpose or a scenario acted out by the ASMR artists. Some were even alphas who used calm, authoritative tones to trigger the Subdue response in others. Derek soon learned that the letter in square brackets after a title denoted the artist’s status. There were ‘consultations’, ‘haircuts’, lessons and story times. On a whim - and out of his own curiosity - he searched for something...else.
There were a host of omega ASMR artists online, which made sense. Typically, they were classed as coy, precious darlings, deserving of protection from their alphas. Most seemed to be playing characters, even dressing up for the purposes of their videos in the battle for views, and they all had relaxing scenes like spa days or massages. Derek tried a few, but couldn’t seem to buy into their roleplay - until one.
The thumbnail seemed to call out to him; a young man’s clavicle and chest in grayscale, the simple title Omega Roleplay [O] announcing the subject. The guy’s skin was pale and smooth, lit by daylight and speckled with moles here and there with a particularly inviting little cluster right under the collar bone, just above a patch of chest hair that was both endearing and sensuously masculine at the same time. In the subconscious hope that he’d get a guilty little peek at the long, graceful curve of neck promised in the pose, Derek clicked in.
The video itself was quite confined - dark, in focus, not all that much to see - but the audio was fantastic. The guy never showed his face and never stepped away from extreme closeup. It seemed to be the norm for his videos, if the suggestions at the side were any indication. Probably why he only had a few hundred subscribers. He had some generic videos of unboxing products, building models, playing with shaving cream - all with a really mesmerising set of hands in shot, yet not all that unique- but the series that caught Derek’s attention was the Omega series.
“Hey,” the Omega said, “missed you.”
Every taut muscle in Derek’s body relaxed. That voice.
The video went on, with the omega uttering sweet reassurances interspersed with breathy laughter and soothing white noise. Derek found himself fighting sleep instead of welcoming it; the low, almost drowsy voice crooning in his ears, telling him it was okay to relax, that he deserved it - that it wasn’t easy being an alpha, that he wasn’t alone.
It was the best sleep he’d had in years.
___
Stilinski was the worst thing to happen to Derek in years.
Hired right out of college, he’d interned for three summers in Tech and out of Derek’s life, where he couldn’t snort at Derek’s questions in meetings and refuse to sit properly in chairs. Now that he’s an actual salaried member of staff, he’s supposed to liaise with Derek’s Marketing department and be included in most of the major strategies ahead of launch. Derek isn’t an uptight person - seriously, for an alpha, he’s downright laid-back - but something about Stilinski makes him want to bare his teeth and grasp him by the scruff and bite.
No, not bite. That would be incredibly inappropriate, of course - and Derek plus the legal department are aware of that. Anyway, the point is, Stilinski needs to be kept in line.
The first time he was introduced to Derek, he’d looked him up and down and muttered, ‘might as well be wearing an Alpha and Proud pin’. Derek still isn’t entirely sure what was meant by that.
He seems to walk around like he doesn’t ever have anywhere particularly pressing to be. He ‘visits’ coworkers and 'charmingly' pokes around in their stuff. He knows personal details about the doormen and the janitors, probably just to make himself look good. Derek isn’t even sure where his office is anymore since he’s moved so many times citing ‘noise pollution’ and ‘it was too far for Lydia to walk from the elevator at lunch’. He follows the company dress code, barely: Derek wasn’t aware that a button-down shirt could stay wrinkled for an entire day if someone was wearing it, and that plaid came in so many variations that were oddly complementary to pale skin.
The Board don’t seem particularly fond of him either, but Derek suspects that has more to do with Stilinski’s biological status - coupled inversely with his devil-may-care disposition - than anything else; the guy is good at what he does, and he’s averted more disasters than even Derek suspects he knows about. For an omega to vice-head a department within a year of recruitment and negotiate a rumoured raise was no mean feat. Stilinski seems to be a whole host of contradictions - usually something Derek found pretty irresistible, if it wasn’t so damn irritating on the guy.
It’s his smugness. His stupid technical jargon that Derek has to highlight and google right out of his emails. His hands. They’re never still - what is that about?
He’s an omega, fine, but Derek isn’t opposed to seeing him in a power position - and he isn’t an animal. He’s met literally hundreds of Omegas in his lifetime, and despite the old adage of unattached alphas and omegas of a certain age radius being inexorably attracted to one another, he can safely say the only blood boiling going on is when Stilinski seems to always be right on hand to steal the last croissant in their Friday morning department status updates.
Today, said stealing literally out of Derek’s hand. With his mouth.
Somehow, they’re the only ones in the room to notice - no small feat considering Boyd and Reyes are huddled together around a tablet and Chris Argent is pacing on the phone.
Stilinski seems to realise the implications of what he’s done the second he bites down on the pastry, Derek’s grip tightens; neither of them breathes.
Hand-feeding an omega is an incredibly intimate act - usually only in the throes of a heat-match or among long-paired couples. It’s not something that happens between barely-tolerated coworkers. It’s definitely not something that happens when you don’t even know someone’s first name (it’s not Stiles, despite all of Stilinski’s protestations and Derek refuses to accept it).
Stilinski straightens up urgently, his hand delicately cupping his mouth to catch any falling crumbs and blinks at Derek with a mixture of shame and confusion. Shit, his eyes are ... really something.
And then Derek scents it. It’s still subtle, probably barely beginning, but the sweet tang mingles on the back of his tongue, cutting through the strong coffee and automatically sparking a deeper inhale: omega.
An omega in heat.
Derek clenches his jaw, knowing that Stilinski is coming to the same realization at the same time. It’s a common, normal bi-monthly (or monthly, if they’re a werewolf) occurrence, though usually an omega will have taken leave or at least scheduled to work from the comfort of home. Derek is mannered enough - and still attentive enough - to take a quick step back, eyes averted above Stilinski’s soft, tousled hair.
“Wow, I’m really--”
“It’s okay,” Derek brushes off. He can’t deny that the scent is addicting; all sweetness and bite, and he keeps his breaths to a minimum. It’s not like Stilinski needs him adding to the embarrassment of an early Heat by having a superior huffing his hormones like he’s some cheap candle.
But Jesus. There’s a very, very primal part of Derek’s brain that’s wondering if it would be so bad to just press his nose to the shorn hairs at the omega’s temple, or trace down to that dip under his jaw - but that part of Derek’s brain hasn’t won since he first presented, and he musters up a commiserating nod.
“We can take the meeting from here. You wanna leave your notes?”
Stilinski’s throat bobs in a swallow, and he fusses at his hair a little while he composes himself.
“I was supposed to present huge developments to- To Mr, uh-” Stilinski bites his lip.
“I got it,” Derek assures, flicking his eyes to meet the omega’s, hoping he’s coming across calm and in-control instead of as hyper-aware their proximity has made him. Derek’s never held the guy in much esteem, and he wouldn’t class him as more than a co-worker - but heat isn’t something anyone should have sprung on them unexpectedly, and he shouldn’t be in an office full of alphas.
His stare is becoming wide-eyed and glassy, meaning the heat is quick-onset - probably stress-induced - but he probably has a few hours before it really becomes an issue. Enough time to get home and get comfortable; notify a partner, if he has one (Derek’s brain supplies that he’s never scented another alpha on Stilinski, and he wonders how he’d never noticed himself noticing).
“Sure. Uh, yeah. I’m sorry again. I’ll just--”
And then he’s gone, and Derek can breathe. But the scent lingers a little in that corner of the room - so he does, too.
He’s not an animal. But he is an alpha.
___
He doesn’t have to use the videos a lot. Most nights, just some late-night television playing in the background is enough to let his brain clear.
Tonight, he’s not finding it so easy. Wolves are pack animals, and Derek is viscerally aware that he’s alone, and that despite the love and acceptance of his family, he’s not spending the next full moon - or his next quarterly heat - with anyone else.
He wonders obliquely if it has anything to do with being exposed to such strong pre-heat hormones earlier in the day, this unease. It’s not like his situation has changed much otherwise. He’s been alone for a while now. Eating alone, sleeping alone.
Getting off alone.
He even tries it now, hoping the afterglow will be enough to send him off to sleep since he feels so worked-up. He closes his eyes and works himself slowly, trying to savour the self-indulgence like the self-help articles he’s read instructed. Yet, as release washes over him, he just feels breathless and alert instead of the intended outcome. It feels a little indecent, if anything; Derek is pretty sure the last tipping point of his orgasm is the scent memory from earlier and the mental image of the heated flush along the flesh of a certain co-worker’s jaw.
Rolling over once his breath comes back, he closes the private tab on his browser and opens up a more innocent video site. SSOmega24 has uploaded a stargazing video since the last time Derek checked his subscriptions.
‘Just some goofy whisper talk - please don’t use for educational purposes :)’ the description reads.
Derek tries not to feel too disappointed that this one doesn’t seem to have any shots of the artist, just some animated stars. He hits play and stares out the window to the real sprawling, light-polluted sky, looking for stars of his own.
“Lie down, okay?” the narration starts. “Look, this is cheesy as hell but I’m gonna show you... The world. Take you wonder by--” he lets out a soft laugh. “Nah, it’s not a magic carpet ride, but you do need to relax, so hush up and let me talk....”
The effect this faceless person has on his body is instantaneous. Where he was fraught before just unwinds at the atmosphere created by the video. Derek listens with a smile on his face until his eyes grow heavy, imagining how it would be to have a warm weight in the bed next to him, talking with such palpable affection that it spreads in ripples down his spine, making his toes curl in on his feet in pleasure.
___
In the next meeting, Stilinski has dark circles under his eyes and only speaks when directly addressed. The heat must have been a bad one, and in the middle of a huge project, it’s not like he could take any more time off than was strictly necessary. It must be hell. Usually after his own heats, Derek needs to take an extra day just to recuperate and re-hydrate. He feels disproportionately concerned; a major facet of his and Stilinski’s working relationship was characterized from the outset by arguing across the room at each other and rolling their eyes while the other talked.
Stilinski apologizes for his absence at the last meeting to the board and thanks Derek in front of everyone for picking up the slack. It feels wrong.
(And now Derek feels twice as guilty for his little solo session the other night.)
It’s when they’re leaving to go back to their respective departments, though, that the world rights itself.
“No, no - it’s still in beta testing. Did Hale tell you that?”
Mr Argent has an expectant look on his face, and Derek pauses while lifting his messenger bag. Stilinski had hand-written his presentation notes. How was Derek to be blamed for wrongfully decoding the disjointed scrawl?
“This is why you don’t send Marketing to do Tech’s job,” Stilinski sighs, shaking his head. When he catches Derek’s eye, he smirks. “Forward me the client’s email, Mr Argent. I’ll fix it.”
Derek grits his teeth and pushes on the door. It’s like a cold rush of water right down on his burgeoning attraction. Any time Stilinski seems to display a vaguely endearing quality, he wastes no time in quashing it with his real personality. And Derek had felt bad. Hah.
What a lucky escape.
___
The video is simple black and white with hand-written cards propped against the guy’s chest. The ASMR sounds are generated by turning the page to tell a story, and whispering along. Derek is mesmerized - it’s just a dumb nonsense anecdote; not interesting enough to hold attention but not boring enough to lose it. Perfect for its purpose.
At the end, though, is a message.
I am now taking requests!
I can’t promise to fill them all,
but if you comment something here that
catches my eye...
You might just get lucky. SSO24.
Derek, who had been on the precipice of sleep only seconds ago, sits up. Requests? His mind and heart race to think of all the things he could ask of his favorite - and he’s long since accepted that this is his favorite - ASMR account.
He’s never so much as favorited a video before, let alone posted a comment directly addressing someone who creates content. What would he say? He lies back down, deciding that it’s stupid to even entertain the idea. Other people probably have more pressing needs to be met, and it’d just be indulging this fascination he’s developed.
___
There’s something about the change of seasons that always sparks this sense of missing-out in Derek. When summer starts to fade, he can’t help but look around at all the people who seem to have someone: Boyd and Reyes, the Argents, strangers in the street, in the elevator of his apartment building... It’s not even a lupine urge causing the longing ache inside him - it’s a human one.
Derek is lonely.
He knows he’s not the kind of person who can be alone forever. His independence is fine - sometimes he’s even thankful he doesn’t have anyone to consult before he makes a big decision, and it’s nice to be able to be a slob if he feels like it - but it’s not the life he envisioned for himself. It’d be better to have some noise around that isn’t just a TV through a wall or the couple across the street arguing in their apartment (he also needs better soundproofing).
Being free to choose his own way and being happy should not be mutually exclusive. And it’s not like he’s all that good at putting himself out there. He’s hyper-aware that he’s supposed to be all commanding and confident, that there are certain expectations of him. He doesn’t feel like it’s an accurate representation of himself and coupled with his lycanthropy, it all forms a package about twice as intimidating as he actually is. Even if he sees someone he might like to get to know a little better, half the battle is not getting them to freeze up from the expression on his face or whatever pheromones he happens to be giving out that day. Which..are embarrassingly more than usual, because of his state of mind.
Even Stilinski has commented on it. It was humiliating. They’d been in the fourth floor break room, fuelling up for a conference call at six with the east coast division.
“Quit showering after the gym, dude?”
Derek had been skimming the sports pages, hoping to quietly snag the last danish and trying to forget that Stilinski had finally made use of the company tailor, so the comment took him a second.
“Excuse me?”
“Look, I know the natural musk movement is in full swing,” he said, chin tilted away from Derek and with a pained expression, “and I one hundred percent support that, but these offices aren’t so well-ventilated, you know. If they’re as strong as yours, maybe tone it down.”
Derek swallowed. Was Stilinski talking about his pheromones? Christ, the nerve.
“I’m sorry to offend your delicate sensibilities with my physiology,” Derek snapped, automatically shrinking in on himself. Stilinski threw out a nonchalant shrug.
“Who’s offended? Just being a bro.” The look on his face suggested forced indifference, but Derek was too pissed to examine it further.
“I’ll keep my distance then, bro,” Derek shot back, picking up his mug and leaving.
Damn, and he’d left Stilinski the danish.
___
Self pity is a powerful thing. Between how he’s been feeling and the weird conflict of attraction and annoyance he has going with a certain work colleague, Derek thinks that might be what drives him to finally leave the comment he’d spent the last week constructing in his head.
“Long-time viewer here. I don’t know if this is what you’re looking for, but here goes. Your speech in roleplays is so realistic compared to other artists. You don’t come off like a self-help CD and it doesn’t take me out of the scenario. If it’s not too much to ask (and not wholly inappropriate) could you do a long-term relationship roleplay? Nothing sexual, just companionship, personal attention...you know?”
He takes a second to skim through the comments, most of which are really gross demands for the artist to show his face or...certain other body parts. But Derek doesn’t need that. If anything, seeing the guy’s face might ruin the illusion of it all, and make it difficult to let his imagination take over (not like that, thanks).
He swallows, and adds,
“I think sometimes people forget that alphas have emotional needs just like betas and omegas do - and you seem to get that. I might be missing the point judging by the other comments...but I like that you don’t show your face. I like that you could be anyone, and the way you address the ‘alpha’s in your videos is a breath of fresh air (I really like looking at your hands anyway). You don’t have to honor my request, but I would like you to know you have a fan.”
Before he can re-think the entire thing, he hits ‘post’ and pushes the tablet away.
____
His own heat hits hard that quarter. Though he’s always been pretty good at allowing himself time to wind down and prepare, it’s still a shock to the system when he wakes up sweating at 2am just before his scheduled leave. The rut hasn’t set in yet, but Derek’s always found the moon pull and the seclusion hardest to bear. Being unpaired means he doesn’t have a partner to help him through it emotionally and he knows from experience that the false bond of a contracted heat agreement messes with his head too much. When in the middle of it, the baser need to get off usually overshadows any and all introspection. If only it wasn’t bookended by this - this wanton, desperate air of abandonment.
After a cold shower and tiredly laying towels out on the bed, he goes online, hoping to maybe distract himself enough to get some sleep before the worst part hits.
There’s a link to a brand new video in his email inbox.
Unconventional Boyfriend Roleplay - comfort, reassurance, trigger sounds [O]
‘This one is for AlphaD89 - whom I don’t think realize how their screen name sounds judging by their respectful, insightful request. Thanks for the idea, and I hope this helps when you really need it - I know it helped me to make it.’
SSO is filmed prone, on his side, wrapped in crisp white sheets that are folded strategically over his lower half. He’s naked otherwise, lit softly by what is either a window or an intense lamp. The display of his body decorated by moles and neat, dark body hair makes it inherently provocative, sexy - but innocently intimate. Derek wonders if anyone else helps him set up the shots; his heat brain hates the idea.
When he talks, there’s a smile in his voice.
“You wanna know a secret?” he says, stroking his distracting hands over the sheets in a soft rhythm that mimics the sound of waves. “I kinda like how you’re not like everyone else. That you let me be strong.”
Derek breathes deeply through the rising temperature of his blood, focusing on the words, letting them bleed into him. His clenched fists loosen; his chest rises and falls deeply. The crooning sounds pierce through the haze, the voice’s low timbre reaching past the discomfort to the deepest, most vulnerable parts of him.
“I always thought if I’d end up with an alpha, I’d have to compromise something. Give up a little of what makes me... me. You’re more than I could have hoped for.”
He’s sweating, but the words fill him with a cautious hope. On some level, this is exactly what he wants and needs to hear. The artist turns over on his belly, and there’s a little flurry of movement (and a teeny peek of a pert little butt, sadly covered in briefs) before a thick book is produced from the direction of under the pillows.
“Full disclosure,” he confesses shyly, “when I miss you, I look at pictures of us.” The book is a photo album, Derek realizes. Each page-turn radiates tinges through Derek’s nervous system that seem to work towards regulating his heartbeat. “Of you, mainly - you know how I hate my dumb open-mouth smile.” -a laugh- “Shut up. I love seeing how far we’ve come-- hey, don’t get all shy on me...”
Derek aches, inside and out, and settles in for the storm. For once, it feels like he can get through it.
___
Derek’s desperate for some air when the thunderstorm hits.
At this point, he’s been in the office for eleven hours, trying to perfect what is supposed to be the launch of the decade as far as the company is concerned (or at least according to Mr Argent and his assistant). Marketing has been working their asses of - he can’t fault his department even a little - but Derek has always had trouble delegating. It’s just too public and important to let go of.
Since he’s assigned himself a break, he’s re-reading the comment he left on SSO24’s video for the hundredth time, hoping like hell it isn’t creepy.
‘You seemed to grasp exactly what I meant from the vague request. If it’s not too forward to say - if you have a real alpha that you spoil like this, they’re a lucky, lucky person. I think we’re expected to be so strong and unfeeling that we almost feel guilty for taking care of ourselves. I’m glad there are people like you out there who can see past that. Thank you.’
His break spot was once an old smokers’ hangout until the city kicked them to 30 feet away from all entrances. Since then, when the pressure gets too much, Derek likes to come outside and take a breath where nobody can see him. Today, however, the stairwell isn’t empty.
“Jesus, you’re still here?” Stilinski says, looking up briefly from his phone. His eyes are tired, his shoulder leaning against the rain-beaten door, but his mouth is lifted mischievously on one side. “I thought only I was dumb enough to put in unpaid overtime. Got something to prove too?”
“Your Persecuted Omega complex is old,” Derek sighs. He doesn’t have the energy for this back-and-forth right now, now after just getting off the most intense heat of his life and a full day here. “Everyone knows you’re the best at what you do.”
“That’s what an alpha would say.” Stilinski winks after a beat.
Derek’s about to question whether he means the compliment or the denial of discrimination, when his proverbial - and possibly literal - hackles rise.
A pathetic howl follows seconds later, punctuated by a grumble of thunder that seems to shake the very foundations of the building.
Stilinski frowns, “What the--” But Derek is already pushing on the exit bar and stealing out into the night. The rain pelts at him and the wind is brutal, essentially making the narrow space a wind tunnel, but he can feel the energy making his eyes flare red as he scans the alley.
Behind the dumpster.
It’s a puppy. Scared, soaking wet, probably less than three months old and completely separated from its family. Derek falls to his knees in front of the thing, its filthy fur almost camouflaged against the sodden box that someone obviously - incorrectly - thought served as an adequate shelter. Its terrified little squeaking yelps stab at Derek, full of fear and confusion.
Stilinski is there too, then, standing at Derek’s shoulder.
“Holy shit!”
“Your jacket!” Derek barks. He’d left his own in the office and would prefer not to have to walk through the building without a shirt on. Stilinski immediately rips it off and hands it to him, but the puppy scurries away, hitting the brick wall of the building in its blind panic. Derek grabs it by the scruff, lifts it to eye level and lets his eyes burn red once again, instantly calming the struggle.
Stilinski is silent when he takes the pup and wraps it in his jacket. The rain runs in thick channels down his face, dripping from the ski-slope of his nose and past his lips. He blinks, pulls the puppy closer and makes for the safety and warmth of the stairwell.
“I almost forgot you were a werewolf,”Stiles says, eyes still trained on the writhing little body in the jacket. The pup pokes its head out then, big brown eyes blinking up at him curiously. Stilinski sits.
“Lucky you,” Derek snarks, letting himself slump down on the nearest step, strategically allowing space between them. He nods at the puppy. “He’s shivering.”
“Hey,” Stiles croons down at the dog. Something about that - that hey - wakes Derek right up again. “‘S okay little guy. Oh, sorry. Girl.”
Derek stares. Could it really...?
“How long were you out there, huh? You look like I could ring your ears out.” Stilinski looks up with a soft smile which melts into confusion, and Derek’s heart pounds. “Wh--”
“Open your shirt.”
Derek’s never given a command in his life. When he was sixteen, they tried to make him captain of his basketball team, but his new-found alpha status made him reluctant to assume any leadership roles. Even his marketing team gets circular emails and ‘group decisions’ rather than orders.
But this, he needs to see.
“Um, excuse you but--”
“Your shirt. I--I need to see. Please?”
Stilinski doesn’t say anything.
Derek reaches out cautiously, expecting a flinch or a swipe, anything. He meets Stilinski’s eyes, his own pleading, and their curiosity seems to outshine any degree of hesitance.
His shirt is damp when Derek touches the collar, though heated from the contact with his skin. He makes eye contact once more for any sign of objection, and when seeing none of it, gently tugs aside the opening, revealing a sweep of pale, almost translucent skin.
And right under the clavicle, the little cluster of beautiful unique, perfect moles. Stilinski’s throat bobs.
They’re not in such stark contrast without the grayscale color and lighting, but Derek has fallen asleep at night dreaming about that sight, about those beauty marks. They’ve got a place in his memory as real as anything he’s seen in real life, and he can barely seem to believe the image is right there in front of him.
“SS.” he breathes, “It’s you.”
Stilinski - Stiles - stiffens. “What?”
The puppy has fallen asleep.
“You know,” Derek says, taking his hand back. It crackles with energy. He lets out a maniacal snort. “When I requested that video, I think I was picturing you anyway - this you.”
Stiles blinks. He catches up after a second and splutters, “You’re... holy shit.”
As it sinks in, he leans back against the wall, looking up the stairwell - for strength, hidden camera crews or what, Derek isn’t sure.
“Of course it is. Mr Perfect.”
Derek frowns “What--”
Stiles kisses him like he’s been thinking about kissing him since he found out about kissing.
There’s deep, hitching inhales and a hand in Derek’s shirt pulling him closer. He tastes like thunder and rain and that infuriating, intoxicating scent Derek formed an addiction to all those months ago, He is all contradictions - soft with hard, controlled but frantic. He guides Derek and yields to him until he’s kissing back. Willing himself to make it good, he senses this base, animal need to posture and impress firing up within him until he pushes back, crowds Stiles back against the wall and slaps a hand against the cold concrete for purchase.
It’s world-ending.
When he pulls back, mouth numb, the puppy - momentarily forgotten - looks up at them from the folds of the jacket on the floor. Stiles is beautifully ravaged, pink and pale and shining. There’s water on his lashes, but he looks strong enough to ruin Derek’s life. He smirks.
“Fuck you. I was an independent O who didn’t need no A,” he pants.
Derek says, “Date me,” because he can’t say keep me.
Stiles looks to the puppy then back, from Derek’s chest to his eyes to his mouth. He says, “Sure, if you want,” and... it’s everything.
___
When Stiles makes videos now, they’re authentic and personal - but no longer vital. He doesn’t have to create something calm every time he’s anxious; sometimes he can call Derek and that’s enough. He’s not the shell of a person he thought he’d be if he settled down, and the thought of some abstract sacrifice doesn’t keep him awake at night, weighing up his loneliness against his sense of self.
He doesn’t have to imagine how good his life could be if he he shared it with someone. To imagine what it’s like to have a giant family and people who want to include him in their lives and are just happy he loves someone they love too. He knows for sure.
And Derek?
He’s slept like their puppy ever since.