Archive of Our Own

Derek was late. He hated being late – he’d rather just not show up at all – but Cora had bullied him into this and glared at him as he’d scrabbled to find his long abandoned sketch pad, his pencils. He wasn’t even paying that much attention as he skidded into the room where the class was being held, barely keeping his werewolf speed in check. It wouldn’t do to draw attention to himself. They were so close to feeling safe here, hidden in the city just like he and Laura had been in New York. San Francisco was maybe not as big and not quite as anonymous, but the woman in the grocery market and the old guys in the bar where he’d picked up work to keep himself busy didn’t do much beyond nod at him.

He hadn’t smelled wolfsbane or bullets in months.

The door banged closed behind him as everyone in the class looked up from their easels. Derek raised his free hand to wave before clenching it down by his waist. None of them had put pencil to paper yet. All their sketchbooks were blank and the teacher looked like she was running through the rules. Derek could probably recite the rules. Don’t bother the model. Don’t talk to the model. If you run into the model outside of class, respect them and don’t act like you’ve seen them naked.

“I’m Derek Hale.” Derek waited to be kicked out or something but the teacher just gestured to a spare space and Derek slid into it. A low chatter started up while he got settled and the teacher made a note on a piece of paper resting beside her. Then she began her welcome, slightly hurried now. Halfway through Derek stopped listening as the life model came in and all his attention was sudden swallowed by him.

Derek looked down at his blank sheet and thought about just packing up and leaving. Then he thought about sliding under the desk and hiding in order to not draw too much attention to himself. In the end, all he did was raise his head and look Stiles right in the eyes. Stiles’ eyes widened even further and then he shuffled over to the bench beside the stool set up for him. He kicked off the battered white slippers he was wearing and shrugged the robe off and dumped it in a pile. Then he settled on the stool, his back to Derek, his head resting in his hands, bent over. It did nothing to distract Derek from the curve of his back, the broad shoulders, the narrow waist, the scattering of dark moles making his skin seem to glow.

The scratch of pencil on paper made Derek aware that he was staring. He rolled his pencil in his hand and wondered what to draw. He was tempted to sketch all of Stiles, suddenly aware that it was unlikely he would ever get the chance to see him like this ever again. He wanted to draw it all, keep it for himself, not let anyone else see it. He also wanted to make Stiles cover up, to chase everyone else from the room with his teeth and claws and keep Stiles safe. Almost a year later and Derek could feel the thing that he and Stiles had danced around during his last few months in Beacon Hills rising to the surface, a weird possessive want.

In the end, he started drawing the nape of Stiles’ neck, his profile, the way his eyelashes lay on his cheekbones, dark and full and long. Derek could recall the very shade of Stiles’ eyes, honey and chestnut. Amber that trapped you. He knew the shape of the moles on the far side of his mouth, the way his grin widened when he managed to get a reaction from Derek. Derek couldn’t put any of that into the drawing, focusing on what was in front of him, cataloguing the changes.

It was with a shock that he realized how much time had passed. He had been so focused on Stiles and not looking where he wasn’t supposed to that when the teacher called for a break, letting Stiles stand and stretch and warm up in his robe for five minutes, Derek was unsettled. He let out a slow breath and wondered if he should get up and try and talk to Stiles. His courage deserted him. Instead he looked critically at his page, shading in a few of the strokes with a soft pencil. The other students were making soft conversation. They obviously knew each other, comparing sketch pad pages and getting some feedback from the teacher and each other. Derek wasn’t brave enough to do that yet, even though the teacher nodded approvingly over his shoulder. He was glad when she summoned them back to work and Stiles took another position on the chair that had replaced his stool, facing Derek’s side of the room.

Derek waited for Stiles to look at him, waited for some other acknowledgement of his presence, but instead Stiles fixed his eyes on the wall behind his row of tables, accepted a gauzy scarf across his hips and leaned back, arms dangling over the back of the chair. He looked debauched, like he’d just been fucked and was recovering. Derek got lost in watching Stiles’ chest rise and fall slowly, traced the path of hair leading down into the shadows under the scarf. He noted the slenderness of his hips, the way his ribs were apparent. His thighs were still lean and muscled, an artist’s dream. Stiles wasn’t emaciated but he definitely didn’t have a spare ounce of fat on his bones. Derek could also see the faint tracery of silver scars, scars he’d known as wounds – a knife cut, a swipe of claws, an awkwardly landing branch.

He was surprised into action by the teacher tapping his paper. “Only got twenty minutes. Don’t want to waste any more time.” Derek grimaced but obediently started drawing. He focused on the fall of Stiles’ hand, the length of his fingers. He knew they could fire a gun, weave a spell. Derek found himself wanting to know exactly what else Stiles could do with his fingers. He was still trying to work in the calluses from what Derek knew to be firing a bow and everyone else would think were from plucking at guitar strings when a soft chime signaled the end of the session.

Stiles was gone by the time the teacher dismissed them, a pointed reminder to be on time for next time directed in Derek’s general direction. He waited at the bottom of the steps, watching the other art students go in and out for a good half hour before heading for home. He kept walking past his bus stop, unable to think about being cooped up with a hot and sweaty load of commuters and tourists. The walk would do him good, stop his thoughts from whirling around.

“You’re late.” Cora was fucking around on her laptop, books open and ignored on the coffee table, reruns of Buffy playing in the background.

“Shouldn’t you be in class?” They both knew each other’s schedules to within the moment, another unacknowledged testimony to so many years apart.

“Canceled. Prof was sick, apparently. I think he was hungover.” Cora rolled her eyes, as short in patience with human foibles as she’d ever been. “So, let’s see.”

“What?” Derek pretended not to know what she was talking about but he tightened his grip on his sketchbook anyway. It was unlikely Cora would know who he’d been drawing but Derek didn’t want to show her just in case. He didn’t want to talk about it, for all that Cora was pretty good at ignoring him most of the time anyway. They were alike that way. It had always taken Laura or their dad to make them actually apologize when they’d fallen out.

“You used to prance around after class and show off. You telling me you don’t do that anymore? I’ve seen you make an entrance.” Cora stuck her tongue out when Derek flatly stared at her and it was that as much as anything that made him hand over the book.

The first few pages held sketches of people and things long burnt to dust and Cora skipped through those as fast as she could without tearing the paper. She paused on the profile of Stiles. They’d known each other – there had been a time when Derek had thought Stiles might be in danger of becoming one of Cora’s string of one night stands or even a boyfriend – but she didn’t seem to recognize him as she drew her fingertips across the pencil marks. She flipped to the next page and smiled, a little shyly. Then she wiped it off her face and thrust the sketchpad back at him. “These aren’t entirely awful.”

“Thank you,” Derek muttered before sticking the sketchpad back into his bag. “Pizza?”

“You buying? Then sure.” Cora had picked up her laptop again and was typing determinedly. “Extra pepperoni.”

“Extra cheese,” Derek muttered as he went to call in the order.

Later that night, after they’d watched some crap movie and consumed their regular excessive amount of food, Derek found himself thinking about Stiles again. It wasn’t like he hadn’t thought about him over dinner, a sudden flash of the flex of his arm, the curve of his nose intruding into Derek’s thoughts before he could stifle them. But now he wasn’t thinking about drawing him. He was thinking about talking to Stiles, about touching him. Barely aware of what he was doing, he wrapped his hand around his dick and brought the pillow over his face to muffle his gasps, his moans, his short cut off shouts of Stiles’ name.

He felt unable to look Cora and anyone else in the eyes the next morning.

He was early to the next class, waiting outside the room while the previous class emptied out. The teacher nodded at him, a smile dancing around her mouth and Derek had his pick of the desks, finding a place where the light made the shadows around the stool deep. His heart was thudding in his throat and he was glad none of the other students were werewolves, able to hear and smell how anxious he was. There was probably a strong undercurrent of lust there too.

He had rehearsed what he was going to say to Stiles. He was going to ask him for coffee, like old friends, acquaintances do. He was going to behave himself and be interested in what Stiles was doing and – he should be in college now – maybe, studying. He wasn’t going to ask why Stiles was posing naked for a bunch of people paying to draw him. Not at all.

The shock of seeing Stiles in his scruffy slippers, his old worn robe, made all thoughts of this vanish from Derek’s brain. He had to look down at his blank page, wait until the urge to push up, to tear everyone else in the room apart and take Stiles and just go dissipated, diminished. When he looked back up, Stiles had shoved the robe to one side and slumped down on the stool. He was still not looking at Derek, watching the bare floor boards at his feet instead.

The teacher clapped her hands and everyone fell silent, ready to get started. Derek found himself unable to focus on some innocuous part this week. Instead he started with the span of Stiles’ shoulders and moved down his long, strong arms. He spent time on the clench of Stiles’ jaw and shaded in his groin, his dick, carefully. He worked fast, knowing that Stiles would move, would change pose halfway through and he was filled with the urge to preserve this moment, preserve Stiles as Derek saw him now. He clamped his lips together when he realized he was snarling, softly and inaudible as yet. He wanted this to be just him and Stiles and the page and his pencils. Maybe charcoal. He should try that, shade in the tangle of Stiles’ hair, the moist part of his mouth.

The break came as much of a shock to Derek as it had last week, lost as he was in trying to make Stiles’ scars look like the natural part of his strength that they were rather than random scratches on the page. He sat back while Stiles shrugged his robe back on, rolling his shoulders more out of habit than out of any real stiffness. He stood up, determined to go speak to Stiles but caught sight of his frown, the shake of his head, almost imperceptible. Derek felt himself go stiff, frozen halfway between his seat and standing, but Stiles turned away. Then, softly, only audible to his more sensitive hearing, “Later, Derek. Wait for me outside?”

Derek sat back down and shuffled his pages while Stiles took a drink and settled back into a pose, standing this time. He caught Derek’s eyes before he went into whatever headspace Stiles went into when he was posing and Derek nodded, deliberately, not looking away.

As he worked this time, he thought about the Stiles he used to know, the Stiles who had struggled to stay still whenever they’d met, chewing on his fingers, his sleeve, the cord of his hoodie, drumming his fingers, tapping his foot, rocking back and forwards. Stiles even seemed like he was moving in his sleep, rolling from side to side, mouth wide open and breathing noisily. This stillness was utterly unnatural, Derek thought, as he drew the taut curve of Stiles’ ass, trying not to image his hands all over it, leaving bruises, his mouth chasing the tiny moles that dotted across Stiles’ back. He bet himself that they tasted good. That Stiles would taste good.

He was once more glad that no one else in the class was a werewolf and would be able to smell his overwhelming lust. He felt like some ridiculous romance novel dandy – the cad, not the hero. His intentions (and fuck, this made Stiles out to be the girl and he definitely wasn’t a girl. Derek had proof right in front of him) were anything but pure. He wanted to wreck Stiles until everyone could smell Derek all over him, werewolf or not. He also wanted, strongly, to smell of Stiles in return, to not be alone without him.

Derek’s pencil snapped but the crack was lost in the teacher calling time and the bustle of packing up. He watched Stiles slip out of the room towards wherever his clothes were and he let everyone clatter out of the room before he slowly followed.

“Do you show?” The teacher was leaning against the wall beside the door. He should have seen her there, should have sensed her. But his head was wrapped in cotton wool, senses extended to try and grab the slightest hint of Stiles’ presence. “Your art?”

Derek wondered if she was asking in a professional capacity or if her enquiry was motivated by some more personal drive. “I don’t know. It’s been a while.”

“You’re good. Student show is a sure bet. Or I’ve got a friend if you wanted to try something more commercial.” She shrugged, then pushed her way up off the wall. “I’ll see you next week. Have a think about it.”

Derek did – he dismissed it – as he hovered on the sidewalk. He half wished he smoked, giving him something to do with his hands. He watched people until it became too uncomfortable. He tried to persuade himself that Stiles wasn’t making him wait here unnecessarily in some kind of test. Derek was…over that kind of manipulation. He tried to be, anyway. Tried not to tell people one thing and go ahead and do another. That kind of thing led to Cora kicking his ass and a whole lot of apology shopping.

Stiles was unremarkable to anyone else when he skipped down the steps. He seemed to have his old energy back, bouncing a little in his typical student garb of hoodie and shirt and t-shirt and lurid colored pants. He looked smaller too, shorter and thinner. Scrawny. No one passing by gave him a second glance. Derek couldn’t take his eyes off him.

“Hi.” Stiles ground to a halt in front of him and Derek just kept looking at him. There were words he wanted to say but they were suddenly all stuck in his throat.

He finally managed to get “Coffee?” out before it became any more awkward. “Or lunch?” Stiles’ eyes brightened but his fingers twitched towards his pocket, almost imperceptibly. “My, uh, treat.”

“Not a date.” Stiles held up his hands. “Not that I need to tell you that. But, yeah, you can pay. Call it repayment for some of the mental trauma you’ve given me over the years? Or you can totally be paying me back for all the times I saved your life.”

“You didn’t save my life that often,” Derek grumbled, before stepping to the curb and waving down a cab. He wanted to get Stiles off the street and away from other people, just enough that sharing a bus or a street car would be hellish. “Where do you live?”

“Berkeley. Where I go. To college.” Stiles wrinkled his nose. “Anywhere near the BART is great, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

Derek nodded but gave an address near the Bay. It was a little touristy but he had a thing for his intended destination’s crab cakes. And they did these avocado wedge things he thought Stiles would like. And he wanted to make it really his treat. “How much ramen do you eat anyway?”

“I’m a college student and it’s an acceptable food group. Beer and ramen and Intro to Organic Chem.” Stiles rolled his shoulders against the cracked vinyl of the cab’s seat. Traffic wasn’t too heavy and they were moving at a fair pace. Stiles divided his attention between the passing view and Derek, not focusing on anything in particular.

“Cora’s studying.” Derek put in. Cora wasn’t quite at Berkeley though.

“And so are you, apparently. So, art? What’s that all about?” Stiles’ hands tightened on his thighs, wrinkling his pants. He was looking sideways at Derek now.

“I like to draw.” Derek didn’t want to explain. “I wanted to get back into it.” That was close to how he felt. A not complete out and out lie. It was hard to explain to Stiles that he wanted to draw to recreate the family photos that he’d lost in the fire and then again when he’d come back to Beacon Hills to find Laura dead. He could leave Peter out, for all that he probably shouldn’t. Peter was part of the family, part of what had brought him here, made him who he was.

And he’d be a warning to be careful about who he trusted.

Cora knew he was up to something but Derek didn’t want to sit and practice the same faces over and over until he got them perfect. He knew he was rusty but it felt wrong to practice on his memories. The classes were a compromise, one Cora had suggested and nagged about when she’d seen something telling flicker across Derek’s face. “You used to draw, when no one was watching. You should do that.”

“Okay then.” Stiles scooted down in his seat. The material of his pants stretched tight across his thighs and it was almost obscene. It was almost hotter than when he was standing completely naked and posing and on display.

The cab pulled up and Derek passed the fare to the driver before following Stiles out. Stiles was looking dubiously at the neat white façade, the trimmed box hedge that sat neatly either side of the door.

“You sure? I mean, I’m just me. Remember, not a date. You don’t have to impress me. Burgers, right? Pizza would be great. Something less--” Stiles waved his hands to try and describe something smaller and less snowy white tablecloths and folded napkins perhaps.

“They serve burgers.” Derek hooked his hand around Stiles’ elbow and used his unfair werewolf advantage to haul him through the doors. The maître d’ didn’t even bat an eyelid, just leading them through the bar, filled with dressed up suits having some kind of meeting with a meal to the quieter glass room overlooking the water and the bridges. Derek waved away the wine list and just asked for water. Stiles nodded dumbly.

“This is just weird, right? I mean, I’m wearing sneakers and this place is…” Stiles squirmed in his chair as the waiter tucked his napkin over his lap.

“They don’t care.” Derek huffed out a laugh. “It’s not like they have a dress code.”

“You are enjoying this way too much.” Stiles obviously decided to just get this all over with. “Will you still feed me if I don’t let you yell at me about the modeling?”

“I’m not going to yell at you.” Derek checked over the menu. “The steak’s good.”

“And costs half my weekly food budget. If I budgeted.” Stiles shrugged. “And it’s weird again, dude.”

“Don’t call me that,” Derek shot back. The waiter took their order while Stiles grinned inanely at him before leaving them all alone. Stiles ordered the steak and Derek asked for two starters. He could eat them both if Stiles didn’t want.

“That’s the Derek I know and lo—Don’t hate.” Stiles grinned. “So the modeling is sans clothes but it pays good enough and my dad doesn’t need to know. Scott doesn’t need to know either.” Stiles went back to fiddling with his cutlery.

“I haven’t told anyone. Cora recognized you but she hasn’t said anything. I don’t talk much about stuff unless she brings it up. I don’t talk much--” Derek sipped his water to stop the nervous flow of words that were making a liar of him.

“I could have told you that.” Derek threw Stiles a baleful glance but at least Stiles was smiling again.

“To people in Beacon Hills, I mean.” Derek straightened his fork, even though it hadn’t been disturbed.

Stiles nodded at him. “So, this is going to sound strange, again, but you’re used to that. I want to see.”

“See what?”

“What you’ve drawn. I never get to see. Everyone shows each other and the teacher and not me. It’s cool, like, because it means they see me as a subject and not as me and that’s art. But.”

“You want to see.”

“Yeah.” Stiles was closer to his usual self – his old self. Whatever. He was prodding at Derek until he gave in, words running over themselves, Stiles not pausing to weigh everything before he spoke.

Derek still hesitated before pulling out his sketchbook. In some odd way, he felt like he owed Stiles this. He flicked past the rougher pieces, the older ones at the start of the book, and passed it over. Stiles looked at it silently for a long moment before turning the page, and then the next one. There were five drawings altogether. Derek didn’t tell Stiles he’d drawn more. He’d drawn one he was so ashamed of that he’d torn it out and thought about throwing it away. The sketch was folded between the books at the side of his bed.

“You’re… okay. You’re not that good. These don’t even look like me. I mean, they sort of do and then they don’t. I’m not all that.” Stiles made a face, tracing along one of the lines. It wasn’t a displeased face though.

Derek waited for Stiles to finish his sentence but that was obviously all he had to say. Stiles flicked back and forth a few more times before handing the book back when the food arrived. He didn’t exactly know how to explain that Stiles did look like ‘that’, at least to him.

“I never really took lessons, that much. Some stuff at high school and then the odd class when we could.” Derek shrugged and picked up his fork. He shoved the plates between him and Stiles and gestured at them. “Try it.”

Stiles waited until Derek had started nibbling before he even started to select something.

The mood shifted as they ate, good food obviously relaxing Stiles enough to have him start to open up. He talked about his classes, his room mate. Random facts about what was happening in the mess that was and continued to be Scott, Isaac and Allison. Derek made a face at Stiles’ over the top exaggeration of their weird love triangle but he was looking forward to telling Cora about it later. She’d enjoy the news. Although she probably knew it all. She was on Facebook.

Stiles hovered by the street car stop that would take him to the nearest station back to Berkeley, rocking back and forth. Derek wondered if he should offer to get another taxi, make sure Stiles was safe there. He wanted to make sure Stiles was safe, look after him. It settled like a lead weight under his breastbone, an ache that made it hard to speak.

"See you next week?" Stiles seemed unsure that Derek would when Derek knew he would move heaven and earth to make sure he didn't miss it. If that was all of Stiles he could have, he'd take it. He imagined what Cora would say when he admitted that he'd actually spoken to Stiles and swallowed.

"Yeah. Do you have plans?"

"Plans? I have class. And possibly a video game marathon. And ramen. My plans are basically that." Stiles shrugged but he didn't move from where he was standing, even though Derek could see the F street car in the distance.

"Saturday. We should do something. Catch up more." Derek couldn't believe what he was saying.

"It's a date. Or you know, not." They exchanged numbers, Derek's fingers clumsy as Stiles rapped out his number before sprinting to push his way onto the street car. "See you then!"

Derek wished he could have told Stiles that it could be a date. A proper one. With a real possibility of some romantic action at the end, if Stiles wanted. Because Derek sure as hell wanted and talking with Stiles had only made it clearer to him.

Stiles hovered on the street outside their front door for a good ten minutes before pushing the bell. Derek took his time answering it, trying not to show that he’d basically been waiting behind the neatly painted paneled wood from the moment Stiles turned into the street.

“Hey, wasn’t sure I’d got the right place.” Stiles sounded a little out of breath, like he’d just ran here. Derek didn’t know what that was all about. “It’s nice.”

“No holes in the floor, walls or ceiling,” Derek replied. He enjoyed the way Stiles choked off a laugh – he had guessed correctly what Stiles had been thinking. “A separate kitchen, a fridge and running water. I know. Not like me at all.”

Stiles was full on grinning now, the tight line of his shoulders loosened. “I want a tour. I need proof.”

Derek shrugged, leading him through to the living room. Cora waved from the window seat and promptly ignored them for her book. She was very into Dickens this semester. Stiles waved and looked around as Derek led him through the arch into the kitchen, pulling a soda out of the refrigerator and offering it over. Stiles didn’t open it, but held it as he followed Derek up to the second floor, peered into Derek’s bedroom, the bathroom, avoided Cora’s door and then followed him up into the roof space. Some previous inhabitant had floored it and shelved it and it was Derek’s favorite room in the place. The light shone in through wide windows sunk into the roof – daylight, sunlight or moonlight, depending on the time of day and year. Before the roof came down to meet the floor and it became too difficult to walk, there had been shelves installed. Derek had spent a lot of time replacing books, buying new ones, until the space was three quarters full.

“Lots of books,” Stiles remarked, running his knuckles along a few of the spines. Derek could understand that urge. He liked the books better than the e-reader Peter had foisted on him one birthday, a backhanded gift about how out-of-date and antiquated Derek was. Books smelled right, most of the time. They smelled like the people who had made them, owned them and loved them.

“I like to read.” Derek shrugged. “But I think I promised you food, first.”

“Feed the poor starving college student. Oh yes.” Stiles brightened up again, coming away from the old leather-bound books Derek had taken from Deaton. The line between taken and inherited was more blurred than Derek liked, but he hadn’t wanted the books to fall into the wrong hands. He also didn’t want Stiles to take them, for all there had been discussion about Stiles becoming the Emissary for the McCall pack. Maybe in the future. Stiles should be concentrating on his studies.

Cora’s eyes were still a little glazed when she joined them in the kitchen, perched on the tall stools around the breakfast bar. It was ridiculous and domestic but Stiles rambled on with Derek asking the odd question until Cora came out of whatever daze David Copperfield had induced in her and began to chat back and forth with Stiles. They talked about their friends, their schools, their professors and then moved into a whole discussion about Star Wars that Derek only half-understood.

Their plates had been empty a long time before Derek took them and stuck them in the sink, waving the others through to the living room. The TV had been installed by the store he’d bought it from but the new games console was little more than a tangle of intimidating wires on top of the coffee table.

“You said you were going to play,” Derek said. “So you can. After you…”

“Deal with your complete technical inadequacy.” Stiles didn’t sound angry. He sounded gleeful as he flicked through the games Derek had picked up. “I need to see you play this.”

Derek remembered Stiles’ cruel streak as he crowed his victory long and loud. But he forgave all the taunting about Derek having to suck it because werewolfiness meant shit when video gaming because of the way Stiles’ smile went all the way up to his eyes this time. He also wasn’t objecting to the way Stiles was soft and warm, pressed up against them as they battled for supremacy. Stiles was bony, more angles than Derek would have expected. He didn’t look this skinny when Derek was sketching him, naked.

Lost in thought, he jumped when Cora leaned over him to snag another bit of pizza and sprayed his water over his shirt. He laughed to himself a little as he pulled the wet t-shirt over his head, trying not to get his face soaked. He flung it to the floor then untangled himself from the sofa as he swore at the mess. Stiles made a choking sound beside him.

Derek bent to pick up the wet shirt while Cora maneuvered around him to grab another slice, unrepentant and unapologetic. Derek looked at Stiles under his eyelashes and noted the flush on Stiles’ cheek, the way he bit at his bottom lip. He could the uptick in Stiles’ heartbeat. And he could smell a warm, familiar smell. It was only now he put together all the clues. Stiles wasn’t just reacting to him much like Derek had started to react to Stiles. Stiles had always reacted to him like this. Derek used to think it was fear – and there was normally a real chance of that in whatever time they spent together – and maybe Stiles covered up everything with a thick veneer of sarcasm. But there was no mistaking this. Stiles was relaxed and comfortable and well-fed and apparently this led to him revealing more than he meant to.

Derek waved the shirt at them. Cora ignored them but Stiles nodded, eyes drifting down Derek’s chest, before jerking back up to his face. Derek spun on his heels and pounded up to his bedroom. He leaned against the door and tried to calm his own heartbeat. The idle fantasies he’d been entertaining of him and Stiles naked and in all sorts of compromising positions seemed impossible to suppress.

Derek’s control should be better than this but he’d gotten soft too. He still had the ever present pain at the core of his soul, his heart. All the many ways he’d fucked up over the years kept feeding it. But that seemed softened by what he and Cora had built here. And the fact he’d spent the day feeding Stiles and keeping Stiles warm and… showing Stiles he was a good provider. Derek slammed his head back against the door before stumbling over to the dresser and pulling out a clean shirt. He was still smoothing it down his chest as he clattered back down the steps.

Stiles was hovering in the hallway at the bottom of the staircase. “I should get going. Got an essay to get started on.” His heart skipped a beat. The essay was a lie.

Derek shrugged. “You don’t have to. We could order some movies or something. You could stay the night.”

“You don’t have a spare room, dude.” Stiles grinned at Derek’s automatic scowl. “It’s cool.”

“You could sleep in my bed. I sleep on the sofa all the time.” Derek smirked. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“I know that.” Stiles hesitated. “No, I’m going to go. I’ll see you in class and you can maybe buy me coffee after again. Not a full on meal though. Or let me buy you coffee.”

“I’m not posing as a life model in a cold room, Stiles. Coffee on me.” Derek swayed closer, unable to stop himself. He managed to satisfy his urge to press against Stiles with a hand on his shoulder. That slid into a quick hug and then Derek forced himself back and shoved his hands in his pockets while he watched Stiles smile awkwardly and walk out of the door in something of a daze.

Cora had her book set aside when Derek came back in. “So that was possibly the most inept thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

“Sorry.” Derek shrugged. He kept his hands in his pockets. He was afraid what he might reveal if they were free. Maybe they’d tremble? Maybe they would wave just like Stiles’. Derek nodded at her. “I’m going upstairs.”

“Yeah, go hang upside down from the rafters and brood.” Cora turned back to her book and muttered under her breath. Derek knew her well enough by now to predict what she’d be saying and he ignored it as he ran up the stairs. He didn’t stop at his bedroom but kept going until he came out into the roof space.

His sketchbook was on a shelf at the far end of the room, under one of the windows. So he settled himself against the shelves, opened it and started to draw.

It was only when the light got bad enough that he had to stop that he drew back and looked at what he’d done. It wasn’t an exact replica of the picture he’d been remembering – he’d smoothed Laura’s hair and made his smile just a little less toothy. He brushed away the final pieces of graphite, shook the page and closed his sketchbook, sliding it back onto the shelf.

Stiles waited for him outside this time. Derek hadn’t meant to keep him waiting but the teacher had caught him while he was packing up and asked about him applying to actual art college or entering in the student end of year show again. He was flattered, of course, but that was something he had no intention of doing. He was less flattered by the way she kept touching her hair, tilting her hips towards him and reeking of interest.

Stiles was rocking back and forth on his heels and seemed ready to head for the street car stop at the end of the block. Derek took the steps as quickly as he dared and caught Stiles around an elbow. “Sorry.”

“Hey, I was wondering if you were going to take her up on her offer.” Stiles rolled his eyes. Then he dropped his eyes to the sidewalk and seemed to be counting cracks.

“No.” Derek wanted to explain, to say more. He wanted to tell Stiles that all he could think about, all he wanted to think about, was the miles of smooth skin scattered with moles that covered Stiles’ ass, the way Stiles’ nose tilted upwards and the way his hair seemed always in need of a comb. He wanted to tell him he worried about the amount he was eating and the way he seemed to be too quiet nowadays. He wanted to tell Stiles he missed hearing him chatter randomly and he even missed the way Stiles thought he was the worst and tried to tease him into a smile or a laugh. Now it was Derek’s turn to try and get a genuine response from Stiles. “I want a sandwich.”

“Sounds good. I can just about afford that.” Stiles pointed the opposite way from the way Derek usually went. “We could get them to go and eat in the Park.”

Stiles was more silent than usual as they meandered, dipping into a busy sandwich shop. A good sign for the quality of the food, almost as good as the smell which made Derek’s mouth water. He was hungry. Derek knocked Stiles’ hand out of the way and handed over enough cash to cover both of their orders and a couple of giant cookies as well. If they were picnicking, they should have dessert as well. Stiles shrugged as Derek lowered his eyebrows at Stiles’ first protest.

“Hey, now you know I was brought up right. My dad would have a fit if he thought I wasn’t at least trying.” Stiles barked out a humorless laugh. “Although you probably just solved me having to wash my underwear in the sink again. Laundry day comes with all too often regularity.”

“Use the tub at our house,” Derek offered. It seemed the most sensible solution. “I should just get you a key.”

Stiles stumbled over his own feet and it took a moment for him to balance his lunch and his messenger bag and himself. Derek tried to help with a hand at the base of Stiles’ spine, but Stiles shook him off. “I’m good. Why?”

“Why what?” Derek spotted a likely spot in the sun, frowned at the grass and realized he really had no real reason to worry about the grass considering some of the stains he’d washed out of his clothes in the past. He settled down, slotting his sunglasses back into place.

“Why would you give me a key? It’s not like we’re-“ Stiles cut off whatever he was about to say.

Derek fiddled with his sandwich wrapper while Stiles sprawled beside him. “You’re Stiles. And that means you’re pack. If you want. You’re definitely more than a stranger and I didn’t really think about why I was offering you a key. I just want you to have one. To use if you need it. Call it instinct. I don’t know.”

“What does pack mean, Derek?” Stiles wasn’t eating either, playing with the wrapper off his juice box straw. Derek knew he might get himself in trouble when Stiles started drinking from said straw but that was something he – and his tight jeans - would deal with later.

“Friendship. Support. Family.” Derek turned to Stiles. “It means we look out for each other. And you used to look out for me a whole lot. And this is my way of saying thank you, I guess.”

Stiles goggled at him. “Look at you talking like a grown up. With feelings and everything.”

Derek knew the tips of his ears were burning. “Cora suggested therapy.”

Stiles stared a bit longer as Derek started eating. It stopped the flow of words from his mouth. Stiles ate too for a moment and then stopped.

“So my dad made me go after Mom died and it wasn’t a pleasant experience and it only helped a little. And then there was the whole Morrell as a counselor thing in high school. But if it worked for you, dude.” Stiles grinned at the turn of Derek’s head, obviously guessing at the flat look behind the shades. “And, yeah. A key would be cool. I could raid your fridge.”

“Anytime. Just don’t eat the yoghurt,” Derek warned seriously.

Stiles made a disgusted expression. “Why would I eat yoghurt?”

“Because that all belongs to Cora.” Derek smiled at his sandwich before taking a normal bite and the conversation stuttered to a halt until the food was gone, only the extra warmth of Stiles along his side and the occasional comment about the people walking by filling the gap. They didn’t need any more than that, for now.

Friday night and Cora had gone out with some of the people from her classes. Derek had worked that afternoon and was enjoying the peace, quiet and control of the remote, a random documentary on salmon fishing playing low. He was near dozing, slipping into a trance where nothing was bothering him. His phone buzzed and he thought about getting it. Then it buzzed again and it sounded more insistent. Derek grabbed it as the vibrations started up again.

He didn’t recognize the number. “Hale.”

“Derek?” It was Stiles. “Can I- Look, I know you said anytime but can I come over?”

“Where are you?” Derek was already on his feet, searching for his keys and his boots.

“I’m on the train.” Now he was concentrating, Derek could hear the low murmur of the wheels against the track, the rattle of the carriages. “I know it’s late.”

“I’ll get you at the Embarcadero. Wait for me?” Stiles muttered an affirmative, sniffing as he did so. Derek wondered if he was crying. “You need anything else?”

“Can I explain later?” Stiles sounded like he was muffling his conversation with his hand.

“Sure.” Derek repeated his instructions until Stiles agreed again and he grabbed his coat and locked up behind him. He’d thought about taking a cab – or even dragging his car out of the parking garage he had it locked up in – but it was faster to just run. It was dark enough that keeping to back alleys and yards meant he wasn’t seen. Derek realized he hadn’t really run like this in a while as he pounded the sidewalk. He made a promise to take himself and Cora up into the mountains soon. But right now, he needed to get to Stiles.

He had to slow to more of a jog as he got closer to the Bay, the Friday night crowds thickening. He still got to the station before Stiles’ train pulled in, and he loitered, glaring at anyone who came too close.

“Nice to see some things don’t change,” Stiles said from behind him. He was carrying a bag of what smelled like dirty laundry, his messenger bag and another backpack that seemed overly weighed down. “You ran here, didn’t you?”

“How do you know?” Derek looked down at himself.

“Your glow.” Stiles looked Derek up and down. “It makes your t-shirt cling to you. And also makes it a little see-through.” Stiles was blushing a little now, hard to see in the darkness, perfectly apparent to all of Derek’s focused senses.

Derek waved down a cab, rather pointedly, and then grabbed Stiles’ laundry to help get them into it quickly.

“You’re not sleeping on the sofa,” Derek said, pointing Stiles towards his bedroom. “I was brought up properly as well, you know.”

Stiles hesitated for a moment before nodding. “I’ve got nothing clean to change into. You sure?”

Derek tugged the laundry bag from Stiles and tossed it in the direction of the steps down to the basement. “You can borrow from me.”

“But that’s-“ Stiles looked like he was going to argue, and then all the fight went out of him. “I’m just being shitty dumping myself on you like this. What if you were out? Or had a date?”

“I don’t…date.” Derek spoke into the awkward silence. “I worked earlier. I’m going to take a shower. Do you want anything else? Or just-“ Derek waved his hands around, trying to explain that Stiles should just make himself at home. “Whatever you want.”

“Thanks, man.” Stiles still sounded wearied. Tired out. Exhausted. He slumped onto the sofa and looked at Derek. “You mind if I just sit here for a bit?”

Stiles was right – Derek felt his clothes cold and clammy as he peeled them off. He rushed through his shower, scrubbing himself dry half-heartedly before tugging on sweats as quickly as he could. His hair was still dripping wet down his back as he trotted back down the stairs. Stiles hadn’t said anything in the taxi, hadn’t said much as Derek had settled him and Derek made a promise to himself not to push. Stiles would tell him what was troubling him, why he’d been wandering around with a bag of dirty laundry. Stiles would tell him why he was posing naked in front of strangers. But Stiles would only tell him everything if Derek let him learn to trust him all over again.

Stiles was curled up on the sofa, barely spilling over one cushion, fast asleep. Derek had a flash of memory, of pushing his way into Stiles’ room to find him sleeping, sprawled out on his bed, his shoes still on, almost as if he’d dropped into unconsciousness between one breath and the next. This Stiles wasn’t even breathing easily and freely.

Derek drew the blanket folded in Cora’s window seat over Stiles as carefully as he could. Then he switched off most of the lights and settled in the armchair. He had his book open in his lap, but he spent most of his time watching Stiles slowly unfurl and make himself comfortable.

Stiles rolled over, nearly falling off the sofa, and woke up. “Wha’?”

“You should go to bed, Stiles,” Derek suggested. He would carry Stiles up there himself if it wasn’t entirely emasculating.

Stiles stumbled up and Derek gave in to the urge to help him, taking Stiles by the shoulder and leading him up to his bedroom. Stiles wasn’t protesting any more, not even when Derek unfastened his belt, took off the worn plaid over-shirt, the t-shirt, let Stiles lean against his chest as he wriggled out of his pants. When he was in his underwear, Derek just leaned over the bed while Stiles fell face forward into his pillows. He stripped off Stiles’ socks and tucked the comforter around him. He should probably make a noise about the bathroom but when Stiles let out a soft snore, Derek crept around his room, pulling out towels and spare clothes and a toothbrush he hadn’t got round to using yet. He left it on the chair in the corner, hopefully obvious, and headed back down to the living room.

Cora came in when he was halfway through his second load of Stiles’ laundry.

“Are you just totally domesticated now? Am I getting you a collar and leash and taking you for walkies?” Cora caught the pair of socks Derek threw at her head and tossed them back. Derek unrolled them and stuck them in the machine.

“No dog jokes in this family.” Derek measured the powder out and listened as the machine started up smoothly. “Stiles is in my bed.”

“Good.” Cora stopped and looked at him. “You don’t look like you got laid.”

“I didn’t. He called for help.” Derek brushed past her. Then he stopped. “That’s not what I mean. He called. And he asked to stay. And I said he could. I’ll be on the sofa.”

Cora just shook her head at him.

Derek rolled off the sofa when the sun hit his eyes and into a dozen push-ups before he even really woke up properly. The exercise loosened his back from where it had stiffened during the night enough to feel good so he kept going. He counted fifty in his head before rolling back into one of the yoga poses Laura used to make him do. He liked the way his body felt in those – pushed to the point of stretching, to almost pain but no quite. It was like the moments before someone went down on him, when his dick was ready but not there yet. A strangled cough brought him out of his pose.

Stiles was standing on the bottom of the steps in Derek’s too loose sweat pants and a t-shirt that was actually a little too short. Derek rolled to his feet, trying to tamp down the smugness of seeing Stiles in his clothes.

“I hope you left this for me because world of awkward otherwise.” Stiles picked at his hem. “Sorry for crashing on you last night. And for crashing your house. And for being, generally, here.”

“Stiles.” Derek wondered how to explain what he was thinking. He didn’t want Stiles to get the idea that this was no big deal – it was. It was a fantastic and awesome and halfway scary thing – but it wasn’t like it was putting Derek out at all. “What do you want for breakfast?”

“Anything. I didn’t get a chance to eat last night.” Derek tried not to scowl but he knew it was pretty much a lost cause. “Whatever.”

“You fell asleep. Must have been tired.” Derek aimed for neutral but knew he was miles off from the way Stiles’ face froze. “I think I have bacon.”

Derek took the time to grab the bacon and some eggs, getting the pan hot and grabbing plates to try and work out what to say next. In the end, he needn’t have worried whether ‘how’s your dad?’ or ‘how ‘bout them Giants?’ was going to get a worse reaction.

“My roommate has a girlfriend. And they seem to always be in my room. Our room. And they fuck a lot. And smoke. Not just cigarettes. And drink. And it’s awful. But she had a pile of her friends round and one of them knows someone in your art class and they had pictures and –“ Stiles let out a sigh. “I know it’s part of the college experience, having shitty roommates. And I know drinking and partying and everything is awesome. But just not all the time.”

“And I bet they’re not holding down a job? And taking classes like you?” Derek slid the bacon onto two plates, leaving none in the pan. Cora wouldn’t be down for hours yet. “Juice?”

“Sure.” Stiles’ mouth was already half-full and he made huffing noises as the hot food overwhelmed him for a moment. Derek slid the cool juice over to him before settling at the table. “So. Your roommate is loud and a dick. What else?”

“Dad’s still running around clearing up Scott’s mess back home. And he had a few scary doctor appointments.” Stiles chewed his eggs thoughtfully. “He told me not to come home. Which is not what you want to hear. And classes… I coasted high school. I know I did. I never really had to work at anything. And college isn’t like that.”

“And you want to do well?” Derek watched Stiles as he heaved his shoulders.

“Between work and not having enough time or a place to study and just worrying, I feel like pizza dough that’s being stretched and spun. Kinda think there’s holes appearing.” Stiles mimed the action that a baker might make, tossing dough in the air. “All I wanted to do was my laundry. And they were just laughing at me.” Stiles made a face like he thought he was being ridiculous or silly or something.

“What does you RA say?” Stiles shrugged at that and leveled a ‘are you kidding me?’ look at Derek. “Okay.” Derek ate the rest of his breakfast deep in thought. It was while he was loading the dishwasher that he came to his decision.

Stiles had wandered through to the living room and was looking rather disconsolately at his backpack.

“You’re going to stay here, this weekend. Catch up on sleep. Get some studying done.” Derek concentrated on holding his hands by his side. “I’m going to grab groceries at some point. I’d like if you came because then I’d not get hit on by overfriendly sales boys.”

“Your fault for choosing San Francisco, Derek.” Stiles was smiling – genuinely – as Derek just shook his head. But he wasn’t hearing no. He left Stiles on the sofa after handing over the WiFi code and headed down to the basement. Most of Stiles’ clothes were dry and he busied himself with folding them up and replacing them carefully in a clean bag. He felt a little weird packing up Stiles’ underwear but he’d washed Laura’s frilly knickers in the past. He couldn’t really complain.

Stiles was flicking between pages on his laptop and some books and typing quicker than even Derek’s werewolf reflexes could manage. He was fairly sure Stiles wasn’t even thinking of words before he started typing them. Derek slung the bag down and headed around the house, clearing up a little. He had a cleaning service come in on Tuesdays while he was at class to deal with the heavy lifting, but maybe living in a series of hovels while he was trying to sort out the shit that was his life in Beacon Hills had made him a little houseproud. That and Cora’s nagging.

Stiles surfaced around eleven and Derek made him drink some more juice before ordering him to put on some of his own clothes. Stiles looked shocked to see the clean clothes but Derek forestalled any more conversation by ducking into the bathroom and leaving Stiles to it.

When he came out, Stiles was wearing his own jeans, worn and battered. He was wearing one of his typical plaid shirts. But underneath it all he was still wearing Derek’s t-shirt, worn soft red warming Stiles’ pale skin. Derek didn’t say anything but instead pointed out some the sights in his neighborhood as they walked through the crisp morning air. The fog seemed confined to the fringes of the bay and Derek relaxed as he nodded towards the good coffee place and the local bakery. He ducked in to pick up a couple of their warm cinnamon rolls when Stiles brightened a little at the smell.

The grocery store was a little on the busy side but Derek took his time navigating the aisles, systematic as ever. Stiles darted off to look at things, especially when Derek stopped to read the back of packages. Derek wasn’t used to shopping with anyone so he didn’t really notice, using the times Stiles vanished to slip extra into the cart. Stiles might take it, he might not; but Derek had to try.

It was during one of Stiles’ sojourns that Derek was faced with one of the bolder guys who had two apples and a bottle of diet organic juice in his basket. His hair was immaculately styled.

“Hey.” The guy ran his eyes over Derek. Derek knew he should be flattered but he really wasn’t interested. Especially not in someone who reminded him of Jackson, with his highlights and designer jeans. He wasn’t really interested in anyone other than Stiles and knew he hadn’t been for quite a long time.

Derek was polite. He nodded and turned back to the cereal. He remembered Stiles liking some of the sugary stuff but maybe he’d grown out of it. Derek pulled off one of the brightly colored boxes anyway.

The guy still hovered. “So, this your neighborhood? Don’t think I’ve seen you in here before.” His tone was definitely hovering near flirtatious.

Derek opened his mouth to say something. He wasn’t sure what. But luckily he was saved from stumbling through any more awkward interactions but Stiles coming up behind him. He expected Stiles to stop but Stiles pressed right up against his back, firm and close, arms wrapping tight around his waist. “Hey, babe. Not the healthy ones.”

“This isn’t healthy,” Derek said. Then he deliberately relaxed back into Stiles’ embrace and shot the guy an unfriendly look. The guy just shrugged and moved on. Stiles didn’t let go.

“It’s got, like, oats in it. You want the green box. It’s more just pure sugar.” Stiles dropped his chin on Derek’s shoulder. “Sugarrrrrr,” he drawled out. Derek obeyed, switching out the boxes. Stiles laughed, bright and low. “Best fake boyfriend ever.”

“Yes, you are,” Derek acknowledged, turning his head slightly. The angle was awkward but he and Stiles were almost mouth to mouth. He only had to push forward a little bit more.

He felt it when Stiles tensed and broke away. “What else do you need?”

Werewolf strength made carrying the bags more cumbersome than heavy as he and Stiles headed back to the house. It took no time to put the groceries away and then they were hovering in each other’s space.

“So, um. What now?” Stiles scrubbed his palms on his pants.

“You got a paper to write?” Derek cast around the room. “I should work on some of my sketches.”

Stiles nodded and retrieved his backpack. He hauled out a few books and settled gingerly on the sofa. Derek trotted up to the attic and grabbed his sketchpad. Stiles was more relaxed by the time he got back to the living room, a highlighter clenched between his teeth and his laptop open on the coffee table. Derek laid his pad down and detoured into the kitchen, making coffee and playing host. Stiles murmured his thanks when Derek came back.

In the past, Derek remembered Stiles listening to endless music when researching. Even when they’d ended up studying for finals in the loft, Stiles had one ear plugged in almost constantly, the tinny buzz from the other a constant annoyance. Derek never really listened to music outside of the car. Not even live music, where the feedback hurt his ears. But this newer, unknown Stiles seemed perfectly happy to work in the silence of the house, the odd rattle of traffic on the street outside the only real background noise that rose above the hum of the city.

Derek fell into the place he went to and started drawing. He knew this time he wasn’t drawing a photograph but more of a composite from his memory. Back, just after he became the Alpha for that short time, he’d been heady on the rush. It felt amazing having that power and just using it. Isaac was happier with Scott than he had really ever been with Derek and Boyd and Erica were gone. But there had been that brief moment where he’d had his pack and they’d trained and he had started to feel like it was possible for him to have a family again.

Derek started to draw them, remembering them as they’d been then, flush with their new powers.

Stiles stretching startled him out of his daze. “Looking good,” Stiles said, when Derek flipped the book over to show him. “Nice to remember them.”

Derek nodded around the solid lump in his throat. “You want anything?”

“I kinda want a nap.” Stiles was a little shamefaced. “But you’re being all good host and it would be a shitty thing to do.”

“Go the fuck to sleep, Stiles,” Derek said, laughing. “You want to head up to bed?”

“I’m good here,” Stiles said, settling his books on the table and closing his laptop. Derek stood up and stretched the kink out of his own back, taking the opportunity to grab the blanket from the window seat again. Stiles smiled his thanks but didn’t say much else, his breathing slowing into a soft, even rhythm sooner than Derek would ever have thought possible.

He kept drawing.

Cora didn’t make much noise when she came in. Exaggeratedly so, in fact. She closed the door softly and tiptoed excessively across the rugs. Derek scowled and gave her the finger.

“We ordering in?” she asked, voice barely audible to human ears. “Or did you and Stiles get the groceries?”

Derek was sure Cora was going to call Stiles something else. “We did. I was going to start the grill in a bit.”

Stiles stirred on the sofa, blinked his eyes open and grinned up at Cora. “Food?” he said, mock-plaintive.

Derek snorted but he headed to the kitchen anyway. Stiles grinned and ducked upstairs to use the bathroom.

“Go you something,” Cora said, when they were alone. “Passed a pop up selling hammocks. Thought you could use it for the attic.”

Derek stabbed the potatoes a few more times before sticking them into the oven. “Sounds like you think Stiles is going to be a frequent visitor.”

“You telling me he isn’t?” Cora let Derek’s silence answer her question. “And until you take the stick out of your ass, you’re not going to just be using your bed.”

“Stiles…isn’t interested. Not like that. We’re friends.” Derek could feel his ears heating up. He hated that they did that. “I like that we’re friends.”

“You’re never friends, Derek.” Cora didn’t elaborate on the cliché, wrapping the corn in foil. The tiny porch that ran along the back of the house had just enough space for a small grill. Derek even sometimes talked to their neighbors when he manned it, although Cora tended to be the one manning it, desperate to not let the meat overcook for a single instant.

Derek watched her go out, parsing what she meant. He and Stiles had been reluctant allies but they’d got to a pretty good place where they mostly trusted each other. Now, Derek realized, that trust was automatic. He didn’t worry about Stiles suddenly pulling out a gun loaded with wolfsbane bullets or casting a mountain ash circle or anything. He just wanted Stiles here, in his space, with him. It wasn’t that he wanted to bite Stiles but there was definitely something in him that knew Stiles to be pack.

Stiles looked brighter when he came into the kitchen, a look that redoubled when he saw the array of food being prepared. “I can contribute, you know.”

“Yeah, you could get the salad ready.” Derek focused on seasoning the steak.

“No. I meant, I can give you some cash. Pay my way.” Stiles reached into his pocket for his wallet.

“We’re friends, right?” Derek scooted around the kitchen to forestall it. He ended up half holding Stiles’ hand but he didn’t let him go. “And friends get dinner for their friends.”

“Friends tend to go more Dutch than we’ve been going, Derek. I feel kinda bad.” Stiles laughed, a little cruelly. “And it’s like we’re dating but I’m the only naked one.”

“Is it-“ Derek shuffled back a little. “Is it weird that I’ve seen you naked?”

“A little.” Stiles shrugged. “But there’s no orgasms involved so we’re probably okay.”

Derek looked at Stiles for a moment. “Cora, don’t come in here for a bit,” he said, pitching his voice to carry through the half open door. He heard Cora mutter her agreement while he was pulling his shirt over his head.

“Wait. What?” Stiles was frozen in place, eyes widening by the minute, as Derek kicked his shoes off. “What are you doing?”

“Evening up the playing field.” Derek shoved his jeans down, taking his socks off while he was bent over. Stiles’ breathing became harsher as he stood up again. Then he was standing in his kitchen in his underwear wondering what the hell he was doing. Stiles wasn’t looking away, even though he wasn’t saying anything either. “I know I should be doing this in front of strangers, but I’ve already had enough people eye me up that I didn’t want and this is just for you.” Derek tried not to worry what that sounded like as the words just tumbled out of his mouth to break his self-conscious silence.

Stiles gulped as Derek shoved his underwear down and kicked it off. Derek had no idea what to do with his hands. He didn’t know whether he should go for a pose or just stand there or even, tempting beyond belief, reach out for Stiles and feel him against his naked skin. Luckily, the fact he was in his kitchen and his sister was barely twenty feet away made the chance of any reaction to the thought of that unlikely.

Although if it was just him and Stiles in the kitchen, the counter looked the perfect height to bend over…

Derek slowly turned around, keeping his hands loose by his sides. Stiles had one hand over his mouth when Derek completed the circuit. The other was tucked tight into his pocket. “Okay?”

Stiles nodded while Derek bent to grab his underwear again. He felt strange dressing in silence – almost as strange as the least sexy striptease Stiles had probably ever seen had felt – but he couldn’t think of anything else to say. He left his socks and shoes off, tossing them towards the bottom of the stairs before he turned back to the steaks. Stiles was poking at the salad greens when he picked them up.

Cora opened the door and the draft made Derek shiver a little. The light breeze also brushed across Stiles and Derek was overwhelmed by the scent of Stiles’ lust. It was stronger than he’d ever smelled it. Cora reached out, grabbed the plate and shut the door firmly behind her.

Derek had talked this through with his therapist, slowly and painfully. She’d talked about using his words in a way he’d almost been accustomed to hearing from Stiles in the past. Derek’s natural instinct was to ignore everything, stifle his words down and rely on his glares. But Stiles didn’t have werewolf senses to give him the extra hints that Derek could take advantage of. Stiles couldn’t smell that everything he was feeling, Derek was feeling too. Derek had thought it an advantage in the art classroom but he wished Stiles would pick up something here too. So Derek took in a shaky breath.

“Would you – and I’m not saying that you should say anything or do anything – but – maybe – if…” Derek wished he had something to do with his hands. Instead he put them on the counter in front of Stiles who immediately covered one of Derek’s hands with his own. It gave Derek enough courage to continue. “If orgasms were on the table, so to speak. Not on the actual table. Well, they could be if Cora wasn’t in. But bed would be better for your back. Or the sofa. But-“

“Yes.” Stiles squeezed Derek’s hand and went back to prepping the salad. He had his head down so Derek couldn’t see his face.

“Yes what?” Derek wanted to make sure.

“If- You’re not just talking orgasms though, are you? You’re talking about dating in the proper sense. You’re talking about me and you being not just friends.” Stiles glanced up. He was serious, his mouth a tight line but his shoulders were relaxed and he met Derek’s eyes squarely.

“Cora says we’ve never been friends.” Derek glanced down and then dragged his eyes back. “I can’t tell you how long I’ve… You were a kid and it wasn’t- No. I wasn’t right.”

“Don’t be stupid.” Stiles reached out again and grabbed Derek’s arm, making him stop. “Anyway, she knows, about me I mean. I told her all about it and swore her to secrecy back in senior year. It’s not like she’s got some super instinct.” Stiles shouted the last words and Derek heard a muffled “fuck you” from the other side of the door. Stiles laughed a little, his mouth twisting up in a grin. “I am in a shitty situation and I hate my roommate, college is kicking my ass and my job is posing naked for a bunch of strangers. And here I am, about to make out with the guy who has been my go-to fantasy since high school.”

“We’re going to make out?” Derek couldn’t stop the words. He also couldn’t stop himself licking his lips.

“Well, Derek. That’s how the whole orgasms thing tends to start.” Stiles was still a sarcastic shit, which, weirdly, caused a bright burn behind Derek’s eyes. It was as if something had slotted back into place. Derek bit down on the growl that wanted to escape and shoved himself around the counter. Stiles met him halfway, hands already reaching to haul Derek’s face close. It was the opposite of delicate – too immovable objects finally colliding was more like it – but Derek persisted until the hard urgency of that first kiss softened into something slow and wanting.

They jumped apart when Cora pushed through the back door. “The steak is done,” she announced, as blunt as ever. Derek used the fact she was setting things down to hide the fact he needed to adjust himself. He cursed his jeans and his sister and her timing and the world, for good measure, right about then.

Stiles had a flush to either side of his mouth, his lips looked wet and slick and his eyes were mischievous. “You hungry, Derek?”

Cora held up her hand. “Don’t.”

They ended up having a weird three way gaming tournament where Derek came so far last that he ended up just running into gunfire or driving off the road the first opportunity he could and handing the controller over. He spent a lot of his therefore free time watching Stiles. And, when Cora was playing, Stiles spent some of his time watching Derek.

Cora finally threw the controller down when her phone buzzed yet again. “I’m at Sorcha’s tonight.”

“Okay,” Derek said absently, taking a moment to understand. “Wait. You don’t-“

“Trust me. I do. The soundproofing is good and all, but just no.” Cora leaned over the back of the sofa and ruffled Stiles’ hair before ducking close to Derek’s ear. “Don’t fuck this up. I want Stiles around too. And you deserve it.”

Derek didn’t want to ask what Cora thought he deserved and she was gone, grabbing her bag and keys and leaving Stiles and Derek all alone, the menu screen running on repeat. Stiles and he were frozen, watching each other, as they listened to Cora lock the door behind her, walk down the street, hail a cab and drive away. Or, more probably, Derek listened to all that while he catalogued everything about Stiles all over again.

Then Stiles cracked out an enormous yawn.

“Bed.” Derek rose to his feet and held out a hand for Stiles. “You chose. I can stay here.”

“No!” Stiles’ negative was vehement. “I mean. If you want. But it’d be cool to make out until I fall asleep.”

Derek wasn’t about to turn that down.

They walked up the stairs together, kicked off their clothes, took turns in the bathroom and then slid into bed, feet bumping against each other.

“I think I imagined getting into bed with you to involve more sexy times.” Stiles curled up on his side, pillowing his head on his hand.

“It’s-“ Derek rolled his eyes. “I kinda like us taking things a little slow.”

“Not too slow.” Stiles kicked him gently in the shin. “But I don’t want to screw this up.”

“And the last time I jumped into bed with someone, she turned out to be a dark druid. So there’s always that.”

“Last time?”

“I wasn’t joking about how long I’ve been…enamored of you.” Derek made a face while Stiles laughed at him.

“Please tell me you’ve jerked off. Because otherwise you’re going to, like, blow a hole in me with your freaky sperm overload.” Derek didn’t dignify that with an answer. It didn’t matter because Stiles had been shifting closer and they fell into a lazy kiss, mouths in sync, heartbeats in sync, and bodies shifting together. Stiles yawned into the kiss and Derek laughed at him before rolling over and drawing Stiles’ arm around his waist.

“I went back to art classes so I could get better.” Stiles and he were still in loose sweats and socks. This time they weren’t sitting in separate chairs because both of them were on the sofa, Stiles with his feet under Derek’s thighs as he typed. He made little noises as he typed, umms and ahhs and exhalations of triumph. Derek liked to listen to them. It felt like another bit of the old Stiles coming back to him.

Stiles’ typing continued for another couple of moments before he stuttered to a stop. “Yeah? For what?”

“I don’t have photographs. So I want to draw them all.” Derek turned the book around and let Stiles flick through all the pages. “I miss them.”

Stiles was quiet, his face hidden again as he looked. He took a long while over each page. “You should talk about them too.”

Derek watched as Stiles’ face shifted through sadness to a kind of embarrassment as he came across the sketches of himself again. “I still don’t think these look like me. They look like someone else. Someone hot.”

“You’re hot.” Derek said, after a beat. He felt ridiculous saying it but it was only half of what Stiles was to him. He wanted to tell Stiles exactly how he saw him but he knew he’d never get the words right. Derek was done waiting. Fuck slow. “Can I show you?”

Stiles’ eyes darkened as he looked up and his face became intent. “Yeah?” His voice was husky, low. Intimate. He slid his laptop back onto the coffee table and just waited.

Derek started with Stiles’ fingers, stroking along them, then his palm and his wrist with his own hand. Then he drew Stiles’ arm closer, kissing where his hands had been. Stiles shivered all over when Derek kissed his pulse point, involuntary and sudden. Derek was swept by another wave of that lust-arousal scent as he shifted forward, leaning over Stiles. “We need to move upstairs.”

“Yeah?” Stiles looked a little dazed as he nosed along Derek’s temple, hands clutched in Derek’s shirt to hold him close. Derek debated a moment with himself before sliding his hands under Stiles’ ass and holding him close. Stiles didn’t weigh much and he didn’t wriggle around or try to break free. Instead he clung to Derek and tried his best to leave a permanent mark in Derek’s constantly healing skin. The sensation was distracting to say the least. Derek didn’t stumble as he carried Stiles up the stairs, through to his bedroom and kicked the door shut behind them, even though it was a close run thing as he mouthed at Stiles’ neck in turn.

They were both breathing heavily as Derek let Stiles bounce back onto the pillows. “Okay, advantage one of werewolf boyfriend.” Derek laughed as he peeled off his shirt and heard Stiles mutter, “And there’s two.”

Derek pushed at Stiles’ shirt wrangling it off over his head and throwing it clear to the other side of the room. He started kissing his way down Stiles’ chest, paying attention to every spot that made Stiles hiss and moan and catch his breath. “No marks,” Stiles warned when Derek lightly scraped his teeth over a nipple.

Derek leaned up, resting his hands on his legs spread over Stiles’ thighs. He looked down to check and Stiles was obviously hard. “Can’t I…give you money?”

“I’m not going to do that, Derek. Not even as a loan.” Stiles grabbed for Derek’s arm, running his hands over the skin, entwining their fingers when he got that far. “I’m tempted but it’s not pride or anything. You’re jealous that other people get to see this.”

“A little.” Derek pressed a soft kiss against Stiles and his hands. Derek wondered if he shouldn’t offer again but he had to. “You’re pack. You know that?”

Stiles nodded, slowly, a little wonderingly. He really didn’t get it.

“What belongs to the pack belongs to everyone in the pack. There’s that.” Derek took in a breath. “I just don’t want you to have to do something that makes you unhappy.” Another breath. “Because I…care about you.”

Stiles stared at him for a long moment, “What would my dad say?”

“About? Me giving you the money? Me being your boyfriend?” Derek was glad the room was shadowy. Maybe Stiles wouldn’t see the blush he could feel on his cheeks. He didn’t suggest Stiles kept it a secret. He’d asked Stiles to keep too many secrets in the past.

Stiles pulled the sheets up to cover his chest and Derek slid into the bed beside him. This probably wasn’t the conversation he’d wanted to have while they were having sex, but it was the conversation they needed to have.

“When you say care, what do you mean?” Stiles was picking at the sheets, smoothing and wrinkling them then smoothing again.

Derek let his hand rest on Stiles’ arm, the touch making him feel stronger. “I guess I’m trying to talk about love.” He expected Stiles to laugh. Or punch him. He definitely expected Stiles to leave. Stiles said nothing – although Derek could hear his heart rabbiting in his chest – and he didn’t make a move either. Eventually he turned so he was lying close to Derek again, Derek’s arm across his shoulders.

“Me too.” Stiles was serious, utterly, rather solemn as he pressed a kiss to Derek’s cheek. Then he rolled forward until he was pressed against Derek as tightly as he could be. “Me too,” he whispered, in between kisses that turned harder and harder as they moved together. Derek felt Stiles’ hard cock rubbing against his thigh and worked his way free to kiss down Stiles’ body again and finally get rid of his boxers.

Derek framed Stiles’ cock with his hands, his thumbs stroking the crease of Stiles’ thigh. Stiles was telling him to move, to get on with it, to do something. His commentary was taking on a more desperate pitch when Derek finally gave in and swallowed Stiles down, the bitter sweet salt taste making him want more and more of Stiles. He hadn’t done this that often – New York was a long time ago – but he remembered the basics and, from the noises Stiles was making, it didn’t sound like he objected to Derek’s rusty skills.

Much as he was enjoying the sounds Stiles was making, Derek found that grinding his cock against the sheets just wasn’t good enough. He let his thumbs glide down, stroking over Stiles’ balls, feeling the soft skin just give, before he slid even lower. “Can I?” Derek was astonished at how rough, low and deep his voice was. He wasn’t growling but it was a close run thing.

Stiles leaned up on his elbows and looked down the length of his body, disbelievingly. “Yes. Yes and, just in case you didn’t get it, fuck yes.” Derek found himself smiling rather helplessly at Stiles who tried to widen his legs even with Derek kneeling over him. There was a couple of moments of awkward readjustment until Stiles was spread out in front of Derek, all ready for the taking. “You just going to look or are you-“ Derek cut off Stiles’ complaining with a hard kiss. He grabbed the lube and slicked up his fingers, his dick and set to work.

Stiles hissed and whined and grumbled when Derek didn’t go hard enough. He nagged for another finger. He moaned about how slow Derek was going. Derek had never, ever been in bed with someone who was so unwilling to put on a show for him. For some reason, it felt even better when Stiles shut up as Derek was sliding in, his eyes meeting Derek’s, wide and shocked and happy. It made Derek feel like a bubbling, effervescent heat had replaced his breath, much like he imagined getting drunk on champagne must feel like.

Stiles wasn’t really one for giving him much time for introspection. Derek found his hair grabbed, his head hauled closer and Stiles wanted him to go harder and there and kiss him, goddammit.

Then Derek was lost in the taste and feel and sound and smell and everything of Stiles, trying desperately to keep his eyes open to see the smile on Stiles’ face as he came.

Derek went with Stiles back to his dorm room. They sexiled his roommate, just for a couple of hours.

Stiles had texted Derek, inconsequential things, over the next few days but Derek was still not sure whether he was going to see Stiles in class or not. They hadn’t talked about it again – about Derek’s offer or Stiles giving up the job or really anything that mattered. Derek was impatient but he also wanted Stiles to make the choice. The decision. And Derek would deal with whatever Stiles wanted as long as he figured in that equation somehow. He wasn’t going to let Stiles go again without a bit of a fight.

Stiles was in his bathrobe when Derek came into the room, running a little late. He was blaming the traffic this time, not the fact he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to show up. He’d have to rearrange classes, he decided, so Stiles didn’t feel uncomfortable.

Stiles smiled in his direction before turning back to the teacher who was nodding. Derek knew he was breaking all the rules but he tuned his hearing and watched as covertly as he could as he unpacked his materials.

“I’m spending too long commuting,” Stiles explained. “Got something closer to campus. But I didn’t want to leave you without anyone.”

“Thanks for that. Two weeks? This one and next? And then I can give you a decent reference.” She was already looking away, reaching for her Blackberry and typing away. “I think we have a couple of people who were looking for something so if they can come in next week…”

“That’d be awesome.” Stiles grinned at her before dropping his robe and leaning against the fake pillar in the middle of the platform. He eyes sought out Derek’s before he found the spot on the wall he liked and slipped into the daze he used to maintain his stillness.

“Okay. So this might be Stiles’ last week with us, so if you were working on anything long term with this model, I suggest you get the sketches you need this week.” She clapped her hands, looked around the room and left them to it, starting to hover behind some of the beginners.

Derek knew he should be drawing the long line of Stiles’ back, the curve of the ass he’d held open and kissed and licked and sucked. But he knew that he wouldn’t be able to hide the fact that he’d done more than look and draw. A memory floated through his head, of a night his pack and Scott’s pack had taken over the living room and the flat screen Cora had made him buy and settled down to watch some movie for class.

He’d stayed out of the way, lurked in the kitchen, feeling old all of a sudden. Too old to have anything to do with – to want to do anything with – these kids. Stiles had glared at him over the top of the sofa, annoyed at something, until Derek had grabbed one of the bags of chips he’d purposefully bought and tossed it at his head. Derek had carried the rest of the chips around more decorously and left them on the coffee table. Everyone had smiled up at him and said thanks before Lydia had ordered him out of the way.

Derek fixed their smiles in his head and started to draw. He could sketch the rest of the memories, the ones that always hurt, later. But, for now, he could start with Stiles and work towards everything else.

Bonus Not-Ficlet - I was asked in comments for the next bit of Stiles moving in.

Stiles doesn't move in. Sure he starts keeping clothes at the house and there's a toothbrush and a mug that's definitely his. He still stays on campus - there was a definite coolness for a while - but it's not worth it commuting. Especially with the way Stiles get closer and closer to finals.

Derek spends time there. He doesn't like it. It's loud. People in the corridors, in the shower, even in their own rooms listening to music through earphones he can hear. He has to close himself down, draw his senses in tighter and tighter. Stiles understands. He likes to whisper in Derek's ears when he gets withdrawn and snappy.

They spend weekends at the house. There is a weekend they spend in bed, barely leaving for food and showers. Cora made herself very, very scarce for that.

Stiles goes back to Beacon Hills for Winter Break. He doesn't not invite Derek but equally Derek doesn't want to go. He admits to himself that he's not ready. He misses Stiles, something more tangible than the vague emptiness he'd felt before. Cora mocks him for ten minutes and then leaves him alone with Skype when Stiles calls. It's the closest he'd going to get to her approval.

Stiles ends up with two internship offers and an actual paying job over the summer. They're all in the city. And even though Stiles will be going back to housing after the break and he still calls Beacon Hills home, Derek doesn't say anything when Stiles' books end up on his shelves, Stiles' clothes take over most of the closet and it stops being just his toothbrush in the bathroom.