Chapter Text
Stiles slammed the door of the jeep and stalked into the Hale house. He waited in the foyer for a minute, but Derek didn’t appear, so he kicked a banister and called out, “Hey, are you even in here?”
“Didn’t you tell me this place isn’t fit for people to be hanging around?” Derek leaned against the door jamb behind Stiles, covered in dust and grime. Stiles didn't know when Derek had become the person he went to when he was upset and feeling alone. Wasn’t positive about when they’d gone from growled threats and murder accusations to trust and expectations of comfort.
Perhaps it was all the times Derek had come when Stiles had needed him. Maybe it was as simple as two hours in a pool, unable to do anything but depend on each other and learn what went on under the surface. It could have been during the hours spent up in Stiles’ room, trying to keep Derek hidden while they worked to solve a puzzle.
Or maybe it was the moments of combined helplessness on the floor of a police station, their equal determination to get up and help the people they cared about. Or the shared grief of losing their loved ones, and waiting for the rest of the world to abandon them too.
Did Derek look to him for support too? After all, he was the one Derek went to when he was injured and nearly dying. If Derek trusted Stiles to help him then, why wouldn’t Stiles trust Derek with his emotional upheaval?
Stiles turned his attention back to the present moment, and Derek’s comment. “Yeah, well, that never stopped you before,” Stiles grumbled. “What are you doing?”
Derek quirked an eyebrow, then walked out the door. Stiles followed him around the back, and was surprised to see an industrial dumpster. Derek went over to a pile of charred wood and drywall and started flinging pieces into the box. Stiles listened to them clang against the sides and thump onto whatever had already been added.
“Are you tearing it down?” Stiles asked.
“Not exactly. You have to do a lot of demo before you rebuild something like this.” Derek glared at him when Stiles snorted.
“You sound like a motivational poster.” Stiles put his hands under his chin like paws and widened his eyes, “Hang in there, dude.”
“You're more of a fox than a kitten.” Derek threw the last of the pile in and brushed off his hands. “What are you doing here, Stiles?”
Stiles scuffed his shoe into the dirt. He hadn’t really thought about where he was going, he’d just taken off. “Scott left.”
Derek stilled. “What do you mean?”
“Argent decided that he has nothing more to give to Beacon Hills. Makes sense, I guess, when you consider how many of his family members have died here.” Stiles looked back at the house, then shook the memory of Kate away. “Scott went with them. To be with Allison, I guess.”
“What about his mother?”
“She’s gone, too,” Stiles confirmed.
Derek nodded, looking toward the trees. “What about you?”
“Even if I could convince my Dad to leave, Beacon Hills is my home. I’m not abandoning it. This is where I belong--” Stiles stopped, and Derek looked over at him. “Except that I don’t. Scott is gone, and now I have no idea how to fit in with these people. I need to keep them safe, but I don’t know how.”
“You can belong to the pack.”
Stiles shook his head. “I don’t want the bite. Deaton thinks I have a spark, but he won’t tell me anything more.”
Derek snorted. “Deaton gets off on being cryptic. You’re smart. You were the one to realize Scott was a werewolf, right? You can figure it out without him. And you don't have to take the bite to be part of the pack.”
Stiles smirked and flushed at the unexpected praise. He hadn’t come here with the conscious intention of joining Derek’s pack, but now that it was on the table, he wanted it more than anything. Pack sounded like family, security and strength all rolled into one. Something to replace the gaping hole left by his best friend. “How?”
Derek circled him, like a predator cornering its prey. He came to a stop behind Stiles. “I can make you mine.”
Stiles shivered. He could feel the heat of Derek just inches away from him, and the ghost of breath against his neck. “Yours? You mean, yours like…” He couldn’t bring himself to voice what he hoped Derek meant. He'd wanted Derek since he first saw him in the woods, and with all the time they’d spent together, time learning each other, his attraction had grown tenfold. He didn’t just want Derek’s body, he wanted more. But right now, he didn’t want to project his own desires onto whatever Derek was offering.
Derek curled a hand over Stiles’ hip and brushed his mouth against the side of his neck. “Mine. My partner, my lover, my mate.”
Stiles leaned back into Derek’s firm stance then stepped away from him. This wasn’t a decision to be made lightly, and he wanted to think about it with his head, not his dick. He let the words roll around his head, envisioned what they could mean, the effect they could have on his life, good and bad. “Partner?”
“Mate.”
Stile turned and wrapped his arms around Derek, exploring how they fit together. Derek let Stiles move him how he wanted, watching his face with patient intensity. Stiles hesitantly brushed their mouths together. When Derek didn’t push him away, he did it again, firmer. “I want that. I want to belong to you, and for you to belong to me.”
Derek’s eyes flashed red. “You’re sure?”
Stiles took a deep breath. “I’m sure.”
Between one breath and the next Stiles found himself upside down. It took him a moment to process that he'd been slung over Derek’s shoulder and was being whisked into the house. “Dude, what the hell? You are not a caveman!”
Derek growled in response, not hesitating as he moved through the dark rooms Stiles had never been in before.
Stiles tried to push himself up, but the only thing he could get purchase on was Derek’s butt, and he was too embarrassed to use that as a handhold. “Seriously, Derek, I already agreed to join the pack. I have legs, you could just tell me where we’re going and I’d walk there. What are we even doing?”
“Gonna claim you,” Derek rumbled.
“What?” Stiles started struggling anew. “What does that mean? Derek, put me down.”
He thought Derek was obliging when he pulled Stiles up and dropped him, but when he landed on a bed, Stiles figured they'd reached their destination. Derek crawled onto the bed over Stiles’ body, with a predatory gleam in his eye.
“Derek, words. What the heck is claiming?” Stiles demanded.
Derek braced himself on his elbows and leaned down to rub his nose along Stiles’ jaw. “Make you smell like me, so everyone knows who you belong with.” He slid his cheek down the column of Stiles’ throat, and the scrape of his stubble elicited a small moan from Stiles.
“Is it fun?” Stiles asked. It was fun so far. Very fun.
“Mmhmm.” Derek replaced his nose with his mouth and sucked. “Okay?”
“Oh, fuck, okay.” Stiles wiggled beneath him, getting harder with each pull of Derek’s mouth on his throat.
Derek pushed up to admire his handy work, then started dispensing with their clothes. Stiles tried to help, but he mostly just got in the way until Derek swatted his hands away and finished on his own.
Stiles was too distracted by his own vulnerability to really appreciate having Derek naked in front of him. He flushed in embarrassment, heat creeping over his chest as Derek looked down at his naked body. “I know I’m kinda skinny, but--”
“Perfect.” Derek traced the freckles on his stomach reverently. Stiles didn’t believe him, but if Derek wasn’t backing out, he was happy to let it go for now.
Derek followed his fingers with his mouth, leaving burning touches, wet kisses, and soft, stubbled nuzzles all over his body, seeking ways to make him shiver and moan. It left Stiles feeling a strange combination of loose-limbed and taut with anticipation.
He tensed when Derek suddenly flipped him over and pulled him up on to his hands and knees and panicked a bit at the snick of bottle opening. “Derek."
“Shh.” Derek rubbed his hands down Stiles’ legs and nuzzled his back in reassurance. “I won’t hurt you. Can you keep your thighs tight for me?”
Stiles nodded, moving his knees together and shifting his weight to balance. He let his head hang down, panting as Derek mouthed along his spine. He felt the hot brand of Derek’s cock push between his legs and retreat again. He tried to push back encouragingly, but he nearly fell over.
Derek held him in place by his hips and started thrusting rhythmically into the tight space. Occasionally, he would brush the underside of Stiles’ balls, sending sparks of pleasure through him.
“More,” Stiles moaned, digging his fingers into the sheet. Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles’ waist, locking him against his chest. He pressed searing kisses against the nape of his neck. The fingers of Derek’s other hand kneaded into his thigh, relaxing the tense muscle before wrapping around Stiles’ aching erection.
He jerked Stiles off gently, hand still slick from coating his own cock. His hand moved in counterpoint to the thrust of his hips, and Stiles felt completely surrounded by the feel of him.
Stile could feel his orgasm coiling like a spring, waiting, but he couldn’t make it release. “Derek, I need to--, please--”
Derek murmured reassurance against his skin, readjusting to put his mouth on the side of Stiles’ throat. After one light, chaste kiss, he sucked hard, and Stiles moaned as his he reached the electric bliss of orgasm, come pulsing over Derek’s hand as he milked him through it.
Stiles felt hazy and breathless when he finished, and would have collapsed on the bed if Derek’s arm wasn’t holding him close. He drifted in the bubble of pleasure, listening to Derek breathing hard as the rhythm of his hips stuttered.
Derek lowered him to the bed gently, and Stiles snuffled into the sheet. He jolted in surprise when wet heat splattered onto his lower back, then relaxed as Derek moaned above him.
When he finished coming, Derek laid down along Stiles’ side, fingers sliding through his come and rubbing it into Stiles’ skin.
Stiles thought maybe he should think that was gross, but he was too relaxed and comfortable to care. Derek must like it, so what did it matter? He wiggled over to kiss Derek, sloppy enough to only catch the corner of his mouth. “Yours now?”
“Mine,” Derek agreed. Stiles smiled and let himself drift off.
***
Stiles startled awake, unaccustomed to the presence of someone next to him and the weight of an arm around his waist. He sat up carefully, turning so he could see Derek.
Derek was asleep on his side, face relaxed. Stiles took in the smooth expanse of chest and the sheet bunched loosely around his hips. He was used to Derek being tensed, always ready to defend himself at a moments notice, not sleep soft and vulnerable.
He appreciated that Derek was willing to trust him enough to be this relaxed with Stiles in his space. It made the sticky feeling of the skin on his back worth it.
Stiles took stock of the marks on his body, the beard burn and the hickeys blooming on his pale skin. His first thought was not a virgin anymore, followed closely by gotta tell Scott. He tried not to jostle the mattress as he sat on the side of the bed. He wasn’t sure where his pants had ended up, but he was pretty sure his phone would still be in his pocket.
Reality came crashing back before he could even get up to look. He couldn’t tell Scott. His best friend was gone. Scott was miles away already, leaving Beacon Hills--and Stiles--in the dust.
Stiles sat feeling cold and empty. His heart started to pound. Scott had left. Stiles needed him and he wasn’t there. Again. He wouldn’t come riding to the rescue at the last minute. Scott had abandoned him and he was never coming back.
“Stiles?”
Stiles jumped at the soft sound. He turned around to face Derek. He was wide awake but still looked warm and comfortable. He frowned up at Stiles, but it looked more concerned and less like he was about to cause him bodily harm, like when they had first met. He reached across the bed to take Stiles’ hand.
“He’s gone,” Stiles rasped.
“I know,” Derek said. He tugged gently and Stiles let himself be pulled over into Derek’s arms, burrowing into the safety of Derek’s embrace.
Today he would let himself be sad. He would mourn the absence of the person he'd cared for like a brother.
Tomorrow, he’d get angry. Derek would help him, and they’d harden that anger and wield their fury like a weapon, striking down any threat that crossed their path.