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“No, I know, but I’m just saying that if it was possible, it would be sick, no?” Stiles Stilinski whispered to his best friend, leaning closer to his desk across the aisle. “Like, think of the possibilities, right? And let’s be real, neither of us know enough about you know what to accurately say it isn’t possible. I’m sure I can convince Derek to tell me.”
“You’d have to let him come up for air first,” Scott McCall muttered as he dutifully ignored the teacher, doodling his crush’s name in the corner of his notes with little hearts.
Because Scott was a sap that way. Stiles wouldn’t be caught dead doodling his boyfriend’s name with little hearts.
Operative word being caught, because he absolutely had done that before they’d started dating, but nobody knew about it. Why? Because Stiles knew how to keep a low profile. Low profile. Super low. So low, he could win a limbo contest. That was him, the lowest of all low profiles.
“Rude, but not inaccurate. But also, if I suck his soul out of his dick, he might be incoherent enough to actually tell me whether or not h—”
“Bilinski!”
Stiles’ head whipped towards the front of the class, where Coach Finstock was eying him with a mix of pride and disapproval. Pride because he loved Stiles, but disapproval because the student he loved the most should be paying attention.
“Care to share your thoughts with the class?” Finstock asked, motioning the rest of the students with the whiteboard marker he was holding.
“Absolutely, Coach!” Stiles beamed at him, and then proceeded to answer the question he’d asked in detail, watching as the Coach’s face continued to shift between pride and disapproval.
Most days, Stiles’ ADHD was the absolute worst thing in the world, but it did have its advantages when situations like this came up. He’d been half-listening to Finstock with one part of his brain, so even if he didn’t look like he was paying attention, he’d heard every word and knew exactly what he’d asked.
And Stiles knew the entire catalogue of possible answers because his Adderall made him research dumb shit obsessively, especially when he couldn’t sleep.
And especially especially when he was researching monsters trying to kill him and all his friends.
Nothing was more soothing between books about pixies that killed people by crawling up someone’s urethra than going down a rabbit hole of Karl Marx’s entire life. Really put the urethra pixies into perspective.
When he was finished boring half the class with his knowledge, he offered Coach a winning smile. The guy was back to looking proud of him, but also marginally annoyed, like he’d truly thought that this time! This time he would catch Stiles off-guard.
He was so wired on coffee and quality time with his hot boyfriend no one could catch him off-guard for the rest of his damn life.
“Well played, Bilinski,” Finstock said slowly, eying him. “Well played.”
“Thank you Coach.” Stiles took a small bow, still seated, and grinned across the classroom at the man.
Finstock snorted and threw his marker at him. Stiles ducked, and didn’t feel bad when it hit Greenberg in the face behind him. Guy was mouth-breathing against his neck, so here was hoping he’d stop for a few minutes.
“Always such a smartass,” Finstock insisted, shaking his head. “What, you want a gold star for your mediocre performance?”
“If you’ve got any, I’d love one,” Stiles informed him.
“You’re too old for a gold star, Bilinski.”
“Hey, hey,” Stiles argued, holding one hand out towards the man as he headed back for the board—evidently forgetting Greenberg now had his marker. “Sometimes adults need gold stars, too.” When Coach turned back to give him a look, Stiles just shrug-flailed. “We’re all just little gremlins starving for attention! Do you know how satisfying a gold star would be? Right here?” Stiles motioned his right pectoral up near his shoulder. “Just a cute little star right there. ‘Good Job!’ or ‘I’m proud of you!’ or even just ‘Well done!’ So satisfying. Or what about like, a hero biscuit?” Stiles mimed nibbling on a cookie. “Cute little bone-shaped cookie made for heroes? Wouldn’t that just brighten your day?”
“Stop talking or I’ll bench you.”
“I’m always benched,” Stiles argued.
“I’ll bench you harder. Shut up, Bilinski.”
Stiles just smirked when Finstock turned back to the board, paused, and faced the class again, snapping at Greenberg to throw him his marker back. The teen did, and it hit Coach in the face.
He’d probably done it on purpose as payback, even though Finstock had been aiming for Stiles.
Well, allegedly. He’d honestly probably actually been aiming for Greenberg.
Just as he turned to write something on the board, the bell rang. He tossed the marker down without a word, saluted the class, and was the first one out the door as the students packed up. Stiles grinned at Scott while shoving his books into his messenger bag.
This was why he loved Finstock. The guy was more excited to leave class than the students were. Most of the time he used Lacrosse practice as a reason to book it, but seeing as he didn’t have Lacrosse today and half the team was in the class he’d just finished teaching, he didn’t waste time coming up with a lie.
And honestly? Good for him. Stiles felt like he had every right to high-tail it out of the place without a word to anyone. Was he going to get laid? Was he going to murder someone? Was he going to make a million tiny little star stickers with words of encouragement on them?
Who knew? But good for him.
“I still don’t understand how you can have a full-on conversation with me and still answer Coach’s questions, and yet be paying one-hundred percent attention to Harris and have no idea what language he’s speaking,” Scott said as he zipped his bag shut and threw the strap over his shoulder.
“Well first of all, I never listen to Harris, that’s a dirty lie, so jot that down.” Stiles didn’t bother zipping up his messenger bag, he just threw the flap over the top of it and yanked the strap over his head so it was across his chest. “Second, Harris has no fucking idea what he’s saying half the time, so the words get jumbled from his mouth to my brain. He sounds like all the adults in Charlie Brown to me. No real words actually formulate.”
Scott just shook his head, but didn’t argue as they made their way out of the classroom. Stiles obediently followed Scott to his locker, like a good bro, and waited while he changed out his books. Then he walked out towards the parking lot with him.
They were delayed momentarily by Scott making moon eyes at Allison Argent, as he was wont to do at any given moment, but Stiles checked his watch impatiently and then snapped his fingers in Scott’s face when he started drooling.
Good bros didn’t let their bros drool over girls who wouldn’t give them the time of day.
“She’s a Hunter man, she made her stance clear. Let it go.”
“She’s been coming around slowly,” Scott argued on a sigh, but obediently turned to follow Stiles.
If he wanted a ride to work, he had to follow now, or else Stiles would leave him behind.
Good bros may not let their bros drool over girls who wouldn’t give them the time of day, but they definitely ditched them if they caused too much of a delay between the good bro and his own very sexy future husband.
“What are you and Derek even going to do today?” Scott muttered as they walked down the front steps of the school and detoured to the Jeep at the far end of the lot.
“Did you seriously just ask me that?” Stiles demanded, eyebrows shooting up. “Scott. Listen. I know you’re a little bummed about Allison, and trying to live vicariously through me, but trust me when I tell you that you cannot handle the level of intimacy Derek and I have. You would absolutely die. Straight up, the shit we get up to—”
“I get it, thanks,” Scott hastened to say, clearly uninterested in hearing more.
“Smart man.” Stiles slapped him in the shoulder and motioned him into the Jeep before climbing in on his side. It took Scott two tries to get the door open, and Stiles considered revoking his Werewolf card for that embarrassing display. He knew it was Scott trying hard not to accidentally tear his door off, but still.
Embarrassing.
Turning out of the lot once he’d made it through the crowds attempting to leave the property, he drove Scott to the vet clinic so he could start his shift. Scott thanked him as he climbed out, and told Stiles to keep him posted on anything he needed to know.
Saluting him, Stiles waited for Scott to enter the clinic, and then pulled out of the lot to head to Derek’s. He whistled excitedly to himself as he drove down the road, looking forward to the night in the two of them had planned.
Scott was working, Boyd and Erica were going on a date, Isaac had plans with a friend, and Peter was probably dead in a ditch somewhere. All the Betas were going to be gone, and that meant alone time, which they hadn’t had in months.
There was always something going on, or someone in the Pack who needed their Alpha, and it made it hard for the two of them to spend any quality time together.
Oh, but not today! Oh no, today, they were set! No Betas, no murderous urethra destroying pixies, no nothing. Just him, and Derek, and the empty loft.
Letting out a ridiculous cackle as he parked the Jeep in the large lot in front of Derek’s creepy as fuck home, he kicked the door open, and then tripped over apologies as he carefully shut it again behind himself. He’d gotten over-excited and hurt his poor baby, he hoped she forgave him enough to let him at least drive home tomorrow morning.
Moving to the front door of the abandoned train station, he tried it and found it locked. Good call, Betas couldn’t come by if it was locked, and Stiles had the only spare. He hastily unlocked it and hurried inside. Rushing up the stairs, he skid in front of the sliding door at the landing and threw it open dramatically.
“Honey, I’m home!”
“Not your house,” Derek informed him from the couch, eyes downcast and one hand shifting to turn the page of the book he was reading. Stiles almost always found Derek like this on slow days. The guy was a massive bookworm, and he honestly found it fucking adorable.
Imagine having a face like that, and being a nerd. Unbelievable. Stiles loved him so much.
“Might as well be,” Stiles insisted as he kicked off his shoes and pulled his bag off over his head. He left the loft door wide open, knowing he didn’t have to worry about unwanted guests today, and practically bunny hopped his way to the couch, stopping beside Derek.
His boyfriend feigned not to notice, but Stiles knew he was paying attention, because his head had tilted ever so slightly in his direction, though his eyes were still on the book he had in his hands.
“No kiss hello?”
Derek sighed, like Stiles was the most aggravating thing in the world—he wasn’t—and turned to look up at him. Stiles grinned, and leaned down, pressing his lips against Derek’s in a slow, lingering kiss. One of Derek’s hands left the book to come up and cradle his cheek, following the kiss as Stiles started to pull away. He managed to break free without too much trouble, and grinned at Derek, who was staring back at him with the softest look on his face.
“Hi,” Stiles said.
“Hi,” Derek responded, kissing him again before pulling back completely, hand sliding off Stiles’ face. “Ready for tonight?”
“Man, I am so ready!” Stiles insisted, and turned to grab at the blanket hanging off the back of the couch. Without another word, he dropped onto the couch beside Derek, fell over sideways just as Derek raised both arms off his lap, and then wiggled around until he was comfortable with his head in Derek’s lap, the blanket draped over him comfortably so he wouldn’t get cold.
Not that he was at risk of being cold while using a Werewolf for a pillow, but still.
Closing his eyes, Stiles got comfortable, face buried in Derek’s jeans as he twisted slightly so he was on his side, facing away from the man and over towards the TV. The blanket was pulled all the way up to his chin, and he sighed again, feeling more comfortable than he had in days.
One of Derek’s hands lowered and buried itself into his hair, scratching idly at his scalp as he returned to reading his book.
At least, Stiles assumed he did. Sometimes Derek stared at him for a while until he fell asleep, but most of the time he went back to his book like the bookworm he was.
Derek knew him so well, sometimes it was almost scary. Stiles had spent the past two years of his life horrifically sleep-deprived because of all this Werewolf shit, so whenever he had the opportunity to take a nap, it was always with Derek. He felt safe and loved when he was with him, and Derek enjoyed his company no matter what they were doing.
Even if Stiles was just sleeping while using his pillow as a lap. His boyfriend loved it. Stiles knew he did, because he’d admitted to it the first time Stiles had ever passed out drooling into his jeans.
It was crazy how peaceful this all felt, and yet Stiles knew it was so unbearably intimate for everyone else who knew them that he couldn’t help but play up the action. Scott absolutely thought he and Derek had a disgusting amount of sex when they were alone, and while they had fucked once or twice, Stiles actually preferred these calm, quiet moments with Derek.
Moments where he could just breathe and listen to Derek do the same. Listen to his heart beating against his skin. Derek didn’t often get peaceful moments like this, not when he had to be the adult to a pack of teenagers only one year younger than him, but whenever he did, he always, always invited Stiles into his space.
Derek’s space was comfort, and safety, and love, and Stiles wouldn’t want to be anywhere else. It was that comfort that made it so intimate, because Derek didn’t let anyone else see this side of him, and Stiles didn’t let his own walls down so easily in front of anyone but Derek.
He was in that comfortable space between dozing and being fully asleep when he heard a noise from downstairs. It wasn’t enough to fully wake him, but the way Derek tensed was. He was too comfortable to shift around to look at him, and Derek wasn’t shaking him awake, so he knew they weren’t in danger. He just buried his face further into Derek’s lap and tried to find the threads of sleep once more.
“Hey Derek, I didn’t know you were h—”
“Walk away. Right now. Or I will rip your throat out with my teeth.”
The hand in Stiles’ hair tightened. Not to a painful degree, but enough that it brought Stiles a bit further out of his snoozing. Enough for him to recognize Isaac’s voice as he hastily whispered apologies and frantic pleas for mercy before disappearing back down the stairs.
Stiles heard the door open, and then shut, and realized with a loud groan that, in his excitement, he’d forgotten to lock the door downstairs.
He knew Derek wanted to get up to go do that, but it would mean displacing Stiles, and Stiles would not be displaced. He was comfy, he was warm, he was getting head scratches from his boyfriend, this was the dream. He refused to let a door ruin this for him.
When Derek shifted, clearly contemplating it, Stiles gripped his jeans more tightly in one fist and let out a pathetic groan. “Don’t you dare,” he muttered, voice thick with sleep. Well, at least if he sounded like that, he was likely to fall back asleep relatively quickly.
“He won’t be the only idiot to show up tonight.”
“Comfy,” Stiles insisted. “Stay.”
“I’m not a dog, Stiles.”
“Kind of a dog. My dog.” He managed to shift around enough that Derek’s hand slid from his hair, and he pressed a kiss into his palm before repositioning himself. The sun was in his face now, so he buried his own into Derek’s stomach, back to the door so he could block out as much light as possible.
Derek let out a puff of a laugh that Stiles knew he’d insist later was an aggrieved sound—Derek was a liar that way, but Stiles knew better!—and then buried his free hand into Stiles’ hair again.
He groaned loudly at the feel of Derek’s blunt nails dragging across his scalp, and was pretty sure he was going to turn into a blob of Jell-o in a hot minute, he was so relaxed. Stiles was too young to die, but God, what a way to go if this was his last moment on Earth.
For a long while, nothing happened.
At least, Stiles assumed nothing happened, because he fell into a deep sleep again. It was the most amazing dream, of him being in a pie eating contest and winning the sweet, sweet prize of a whipped-cream covered Derek to lick all over.
He’d just gotten to the good bits when a loud bang jarred him awake. He jumped, half-sitting up with a slurred inquiry, but Derek just gently pushed his head back down with the hand in his hair.
“Go back to sleep.”
“Mkay,” Stiles agreed easily, snuggling back into Derek’s stomach. He shifted one arm out from under himself, the action difficult since it was more asleep than he was—pins and needles were the worst—and wrapped it around Derek’s middle, using it to help him pull himself closer.
He was still more asleep than awake, but his brain was conscious enough to recognize what the noise had been a second later, because he heard someone laughing on the stairs as they headed up to the loft.
More Betas had shown up uninvited, assuming Derek would have time for them, because usually, he always did.
Except when he didn’t. Because of Stiles.
“Derek! You are not going to believe the night we just ha—”
“I am going to bite your entire face off if you don’t exit the room right now,” Derek hissed, voice low and growly, like he’d put some Alpha power into it. “Right. Now.”
Stiles heard shuffling footsteps as the visitors beat a hasty retreat back towards the stairs, their voices carrying despite the whispered tones.
“Sorry, sorry,” Erica insisted hastily. “Our mistake. We’ll come back lat—”
“Never,” Boyd cut in. “We’ll come back never.”
“Leave,” Derek repeated frostily, and Stiles heard them rushing back down the stairs. They were remarkably loud for predators, but he supposed even panicked predators made noise.
“Someone’s grumpy,” Stiles mumbled into Derek’s stomach.
“Someone’s boyfriend is trying to sleep,” Derek countered. “They were supposed to leave us alone today.”
“They love their Alpha,” he argued.
“I love my boyfriend more,” was Derek’s quiet reply.
Stiles smiled, hugging Derek’s middle tighter, eyes still closed as he attempted to drift back off. He was almost there when another relatively loud bang sounded and he heard Derek let out a low string of profanities as footsteps climbed up towards the loft.
“Are you guys decent?” Scott’s voice asked from somewhere halfway down the stairs. If Erica and Boyd were done date night, and Scott had come around, Stiles had definitely gotten at least a few hours of sleep. Not enough, but a few. “The door’s wide open, so I hope you’re decent. I need a ride home from Stiles, mom’s shift ran late and—”
“If you still want legs by the end of your sentence, and not me gnawing agonizingly slowly through all the muscle, bone, tendons, ligaments, nerves and blood vessels in said legs, I suggest you rethink finishing what you were going to say and walk away while you still have the ability to.”
Scott was silent for a long moment, and then Stiles heard him slowly start back down the stairs, much quieter than Erica and Boyd’s hasty retreats.
“Tell the Pack that if one more person shows up here today when it’s our day, you will all become acquainted with my very sharp teeth.”
Stiles didn’t hear Scott’s response, but could only assume he confirmed he’d pass the message along, because Derek’s somewhat painful grip on his skull relaxed ever so slightly and he went back to scratching at his scalp a few seconds later.
When he was more awake, Stiles would feel bad about Scott not having a ride home, but that was a problem for later Stiles. Besides, Scott had other friends, he was sure he could find himself a ride instead of coming to ask Stiles for one.
Yes, this was not his problem. His one and only focus right now was the warm lap beneath his cheek, the toned stomach his nose was pressed against, and the God-like fingers raking through his hair.
“Sleep,” Derek said softly.
“Trying,” Stiles mumbled, but even as he said it, he knew it was a lie. Derek’s fingers were working magic, and with the knowledge that no more uninvited guests would be visiting tonight, Stiles drifted off into slumber.
When he woke an indeterminate amount of time later, the room was dark, and Derek was playing a puzzle game on his phone instead of reading. He hadn’t been able to get up to turn on the light without moving Stiles, and Stiles knew he’d never have done that. While Derek could see in the dark, it didn’t really translate into being able to easily read black words on a dark page.
Rolling onto his back as he inhaled deeply, he scrubbed his hands over his face, letting his breath out slowly once he’d abused his face enough. When his hands slid off his face, he stared up at Derek, who was staring back at him with Alpha red eyes. He couldn’t help the goofy smile that slid over his face, because he knew Derek only went into his Beta shift like this when he wanted to improve his night vision.
Derek as a human had excellent night vision. Derek in his Beta shift basically saw no difference between night and day, which meant he was doing it to stare at Stiles.
“Sap,” Stiles insisted, reaching up to poke at Derek’s forehead. His boyfriend didn’t react to the poke, but he shifted his face slightly so he could turn and press a kiss to Stiles’ palm. “You love me,” Stiles teased.
“I do,” Derek agreed.
“Sap,” Stiles repeated.
“You love me, too.”
“Obviously,” Stiles agreed in return.
Derek kissed his palm again, then said, “Hungry?”
“Starving.”
“I’ll make dinner.”
Stiles was so comfy, he didn’t want to sit up, but he knew he had to if he wanted food. Sighing in defeat, he forced himself to grab the back of the couch with his closest hand and then hauled himself up into a seated position, turning so he could throw his legs over the side of the couch.
Derek stood then, shifting and stretching to loosen up his muscles after being motionless for so long. He was used to it, being a Werewolf and all, but Stiles still felt guilty every time he saw him stretch himself out.
As if he could read his mind, Derek turned to flick him in the forehead, ignoring the affronted noise Stiles made, and padded across the living room towards the loft door. He slid it shut with a horrible scratching sound, and then warned, “Lights.”
Stiles let out a dismayed sound before falling over sideways and burying his face in the couch cushion, throwing the blanket over his head for good measure. The lights were turned on a second later, and even burying himself deep like this, it didn’t save his eyeballs from the brightness.
He whined pathetically for a good two minutes as Derek went to start their dinner in the kitchen. Derek ignored him, because he was used to this kind of behaviour by now, and Stiles eventually stopped acting like the sky had fallen and sat up, throwing his blanket off himself.
Looking around the apartment with bleary eyes, he contemplated what to do while he waited. Derek didn’t like him in the kitchen with him, he said Stiles was a disaster waiting to happen.
Stiles knew it was that Derek got so distracted watching him that he didn’t pay attention to what he was doing. It was how he’d burned at least five of their meals the first few months they’d been together, though he wouldn’t admit it was because Stiles was distracting.
Finally huffing and getting to his feet, Stiles stretched loudly, both hands reaching for the ceiling, then let them fall back to his sides. Shuffling forward, he bent down in front of the TV and started perusing the small pile of movies Derek had stacked in the space beneath the shelving unit that held the TV and Blu-Ray player.
He was kind of feeling The Princess Bride today, which probably worked out since it was Derek’s all-time favourite movie. An oldie but a goodie.
He got to work queuing it up but didn’t start the movie yet. Straightening from his crouched position, he stretched again while heading for Derek’s kitchen to bother him—distraction or not, he still preferred being close to him when they had alone time like this—when he paused halfway to it, eyes on the small table Derek had near the window.
It was primarily used when Derek was by himself and wanted to eat with something to support whatever book he was reading, but right now it had a map with a whole bunch of pins in it and notes written in various places.
That wasn’t what caught his eye, though.
What caught his eye was the stack of large yellow Post-It Notes on the edge of the table. His mind returned to earlier in the day, and his conversation with Finstock about positive reinforcement—or something, he didn’t really remember, he was too busy thinking about stickers.
Post-Its weren’t stickers, but they did stick to things. And Derek had been good today, because he hadn’t murdered any of his Betas a single time, despite threatening to quite aggressively.
Grinning to himself, Stiles rushed back to his bag and dug through it for a Sharpie, brandishing it with a sound of triumph. Derek ignored him, which would’ve been rude if Stiles didn’t know the guy was so used to him by now, he barely reacted to anything anymore.
Digging through the rest of his things, he finally found some scissors and then cackled internally as he hurried back over to the table. Sitting in Derek’s usual chair, he pulled the Post-Its closer and peeled the top one off.
Before doing anything else, he stuck his tongue between his teeth and very carefully used his scissors to cut the Post-It into the best star he could manage. It wasn’t pretty, and it definitely wasn’t perfect, but it was a recognizable star.
Grinning to himself, he uncapped the Sharpie, wrote four words on it, and then recapped it. Leaving his Sharpie and scissors behind, he pulled the note free from the table where it had stuck down on the adhesive side, and then hurried towards the kitchen.
Derek looked to be making some kind of pasta dish, but Stiles moved right up behind him, tapped him on the shoulder, and waited. As soon as Derek turned towards him, he slapped the hand with the star in it against his boyfriend’s very toned chest, and then beamed up at him.
“Gold star for my gold star student!” he informed him with a cackle.
His boyfriend just stared at him for a few seconds, and then reached up with the hand not holding a wooden spoon to peel the star off his shirt so he could read it.
“‘Didn’t bite anyone today.’” Derek stared for a moment, then looked up at Stiles.
“Proud of you. Adults deserve gold stars, too.” Stiles nodded his own agreement to the statement, and let out an indignant sound when Derek crumbled the star in one hand and dropped it onto the floor. “Hey! That’s rude!”
“It’s a lie.”
Stiles blinked at him. “What?”
“It’s a lie. I haven’t bitten anyone yet, but someone is definitely going to get a lot of bites before the end of the night.”
It took a second for Stiles to clue in, and then he turned to bolt from the kitchen, but Derek anticipated that and grabbed him around the middle, pulling him back into his chest and immediately latching onto the left side of Stiles’ throat, right over his pulse.
“Shi—Derek! No! I have—fuck! I have Lacrosse tomorrow! People are gonna see!”
“Good,” Derek breathed against the dark mark he undoubtedly left on Stiles’ skin, tongue coming out to lick at it and sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine. “Need to remind people you’re taken.”
“They already know!” he argued, even as his knees buckled. If Derek was good with his hands in Stiles’ hair, it was nothing compared to his tongue and teeth against his neck. “I hate you.”
“You wish you did.”
No, Stiles really didn’t.
Though he did get blamed for burning their dinner when Derek finally got back to it over an hour later.
Worth it.
Derek deserved another gold star for actively biting someone.
As long as the someone was just Stiles.
END.