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Scott looks mortified and earnest, his face so obviously betraying his dismay, and all Stiles can do is just sit there as he listens, trying to be sympathetic.
Yeah, they're guys, and yeah, they talk about shit in the locker room, but there's really only so much Stiles can hear about his best friend's dick, and it really isn't because Scott's getting plenty of action, and Stiles is just getting blue balls.
"I mean, she was really into it, and I was way more into it than I expected, in that...position...and I just kinda...wolfed out a little, I guess." Scott buries his face in his hands, but Stiles still makes out the next bit, even though it's muffled. "And it got sorta...stuck. Apparently, it's called 'knotting.' I checked one of Deaton's books in the office."
Stiles tries, really, he swears he does, but he can't help cracking up. It's just...so totally Scott, and also fucking hilarious, really, when you think about it.
Scott lifts his head, looking sort of indignant. "Yeah, laugh now. See how you like it when you and Derek stop dancing around and being prudes and finally have the sex you both know you want. Tell me if it's still so funny then."
Stiles stops laughing, suddenly choking a little as his brain gives that one some thought. Oh God, that's not going to happen, is it? The sex, yes, okay, that needs to happen before Stiles ruptures something, but the other thing?
Scott huffs a little. "Not so funny anymore, is it?" he says morosely, getting up to leave, and Stiles just wonders how good his dad is at computers, and how he can explain away the Google search history he's about to amass, if his dad thinks to check out that sort of thing, and does it better than Stiles expects.
Because seriously, with everything else that's going on, this is one surprise he doesn't think he can cope with as easily.
----
Stiles is used to Derek just showing up out of nowhere, all Edward Cullen with the appearing silently through bedroom windows in the middle of the night. But it's another thing to walk into his own bedroom after school, seeing Derek already standing inside his room.
Correction: standing inside his room, at Stiles's computer, staring at the monitor with a look that's frankly concerning.
Stiles just raises his eyebrows at him when Derek turns to face him, and the look on Derek's face is...disbelieving. Embarrassed. Maybe kinda horrified. Stiles has the feeling that if he moves too suddenly, makes the wrong move or says the wrong thing, Derek might bolt out the window like he's suddenly gotta find a phone booth to change into spandex and a cape in.
And then Stiles realizes what Derek's got to be looking at on his computer to have that expression.
"Oh, shit," he breathes, feeling his stomach drop. "I, uh, I can explain that."
Or maybe no, he can't. Shit.
"Knotting," Derek manages, voice strangled. He swallows so hard Stiles can hear it from the door to his bedroom, where he's still frozen in place. "Why were you looking up knotting?"
Stiles knows Derek's already seen his tabs, and his open Google search page right on top, so he can't dismiss it with some lame joke about knitting or string friendship bracelets or anything. "I was..." he says carefully, because Derek's a damned living lie detector, "I was just trying to verify something Scott had mentioned. For research." There. Technically true.
Derek blinks for a minute. "Scott had you looking up knotting? For help?" He looks pale, and also a little disgusted, like he's having traumatizing mental images.
Well, now, so is Stiles.
"Not exactly," he hedges. "Um. He mentioned he'd, uh, had a problem. That he hadn't foreseen. And..." Nope, should have stopped after "foreseen."
"And?" Derek asks, looking around the room like a trapped animal.
"And he maybe sort of mentioned I should prepare myself, in case something like that happened to me," Stiles mumbles, though that's no good, because of course Derek can hear him.
Derek exhales in a really weird way. "But you couldn't... You're not a..."
Stiles wonders if he can die of embarrassment yet, or if he's going to have to finish this conversation before the universe lets him escape that way. "Yeah, I know."
"Then with who did he m...?" Derek trails off before that word is out, and his eyebrows do what looks like a complicated caterpillar mating dance for a moment.
Fuck. Stiles hates these moments. The ones where he has to spill some uncomfortable truths, which will make things bad, or let someone assume something else, which might be worse. "You," he finally says, spitting it out. "He meant you. That I might be on the Allison-end of that particular problem, with you."
Derek looks kind of faint, and Stiles wishes he could rewind until before he left for school, and close those tabs and clear his browser history. His dad is not the only person who's ever wandered into his bedroom, for the love of God. "But we've never. Never even."
"Yeah, I know," Stiles grits out. Never even kissed. Most of their physical contact has been Derek shoving him up against surfaces to deliver threats, and not even in the good, fun way. Though Stiles has thought about it. Boy, has he. "I get that you're not, that you wouldn't be into, but Scott's kind of..." dense he means to say, but what comes out instead is "hopelessly romantic and optimistic."
Why isn't his floor swallowing him up already?
Derek jerks like the floor's suddenly electrified. "You've wanted...?"
"Just shut up and go away already," Stiles moans into his hands. "We'll pretend we never had this conversation, that you didn't sneak up here and snoop through my computer and get into... Wait. Why did you get into my computer?"
Derek's eyes are suddenly everywhere but on Stiles, and then he clenches his hands into fists, takes a deep breath, and mutters something to himself. When Stiles just stares, confused, Derek says it again, louder. "I needed to delete an email. That I'd sent. A few hours ago."
"You sent an email? You barely know how to text. And why would you need to delete it before I saw it? It wasn't something incriminating, was it?"
"Sort of," Derek mumbles. "But...not in the way you're talking."
Stiles blinks. "What the hell are you talking about?" Then he realizes no, the way Derek's just twitched towards the keyboard means he didn't actually get to delete anything before Stiles walked in. He can't actually hope to beat Derek in a wrestling match (though there's an awkward thought, all things considered), but he does have a phone with his email enabled in his pocket, and he can get that open easily enough without even having to lift it out of his pocket. Muscle memory, man. It might be his best friend right now.
He gives it a moment, then lifts out his phone, hoping that whatever Derek's sent is the most recent thing in his inbox, and that it's not an email from Threadless or Amazon or something he's opened, or even that he's managed to hit all the right places on his screen without looking and hasn't botched unlocking the phone in the first place. Derek doesn't even notice what he's doing right away, and that gives Stiles enough time to read the first few lines before Derek's rushing toward him:
Just wondering if you wanted to come over tonight. Thought we could talk about some things. New things you might have noticed, but I want to clarify. We'll have total privacy. You don't--
That's as far as he gets before he's thrown back onto the bed, a lap full of werewolf on top of him, hot and stupidly heavy. The phone goes flying from his hand. All he can manage is an ungraceful wheeze, and then Derek's babbling, saying he was talking about new information they could use to fight, not the serious conversation it sounds like, he didn't mean it like that--
Only Stiles can feel the lie in it, even if he can't tell the same way Derek and Scott can. "Liar," he gasps, and Derek sits up, looking a little panicked.
Stiles takes a few deep breaths, intending to get Derek to admit whatever the hell he's trying to deny, because he's suddenly, irrationally hopeful it's not all that unlike what Scott meant last night.
Then Derek's eyes drop down, between them, and Stiles realizes his body was maybe more hopeful than he'd realized.
Shit.
"Uh..." Stiles says, eloquent as always. He can feel himself blush, feel his heart speed up, and when Derek shifts just a little, so that there's a bit of friction against where Stiles's jeans are getting a little tight, he doesn't manage to clamp down on the small, high noise he makes in the back of his throat.
Derek stares down at him. Only he doesn't look panicked anymore. He looks like he's just had his mind blown.
Stiles's brain tells him that he could have other things blown, and he curses internally as his jeans get even tighter.
Moving very, very slowly, as if he's trying not to frighten a deer out in the forest or something, Derek bends back down, hovering over him, and finally runs his fingertips over the bit of exposed skin where Stiles's shirt has ridden up. Stiles can feel his skin quiver there, which is a really weird sensation, but that's secondary to the way his hips come up unconsciously. He lets out a pitifully sighed "fuck," and swears he sees Derek's eyes glow. "That wasn't an invitation," he says shakily, trying for sarcastic, but his voice cracks, and yeah, okay, it kind of was, even if it was a seriously deluded one.
Derek stares down at his chest, and Stiles has a moment where he remembers "built-in lie detector," before Derek dips down again slowly, bringing his face close to Stiles's.
Tactical mistake, Hale.
Stiles lifts his head, presses their mouths together, and tries not to think that this might be the last thing he does before he's shredded by indignant, uninterested werewolf. He parts his lips and licks Derek's bottom lip before he can pull away, completely and utterly gratified to hear Derek let out a strangely strangled noise before he's got his own tongue shoved into Stiles's mouth, swirling and licking in a way that's almost frantic.
"Holy God, why haven't we been doing this already?" Stiles moans when Derek lets up a little in favor of shoving his hands up underneath Stiles's shirts.
"Shut up, shut up," Derek mutters, working on undoing the buttons on Stiles's flannel shirt. "We are now, and that's--"
"The important part," Stiles says, cutting him off and nodding frantically. "Agreed. Now sit your ass up, take off your own damn shirt, and I'll get mine off without you strangling me with it. We have ninety minutes before my dad gets home, and we are going to fix some things we've both been getting wrong for a while." His cock gives a very approving twitch, and he flushes hot all over when all Derek does is nod, his lower lip caught between his own teeth as he glances at the clock on the wall.
"We can do a lot in ninety minutes," Derek allows, flinging his shirt somewhere behind him and knocking something over on the desk.
Stiles is so on board with that, he can't even. "Just, uh, let's make sure we don't have that one problem, maybe, this first time?" he asks, glancing over at his computer, which is to blame (thank?) for this whole thing, anyway.
Derek just laughs at him before pushing Stiles back onto the bed and climbing on top. "I'm not some newly bitten wolf," he says into Stiles's neck. "That's not something you have to worry about."
Well. That's something to note in his research files later.