Disclaimers all apply, as usual, I own nothing bar a few minor OC characters. Rated M for the good stuff.

This story came about from one of my others 'Like a Breath of Spring You Came' which was inspired by the fantastic Oler et Luna, go check her out if you haven't already, she's amazing!

I was on a Stiles/Isaac kick, but eventually I shifted back to my two main loves: Stiles and Derek, so I used the general idea for LABOSYC and shifted it to accommodate my main men. It's long, and will contain multiple story arcs that eventually come together, you just have to wait for it. Everyone you know and love is here, though they may do things slightly differently, so I guess you could consider this AU-ish.

I don't have a beta, but I'm finicky about proof-reading my work, so there should be a minimum of mistakes. If you find any please let me know so I can correct them.

Enjoy, if you have any constructive criticism (or just pure word-bashing) don't be afraid to let me know.


I

Stiles

February

"Kiss me, Derek." Stiles mumbled into Derek's hair, closing his eyes as the feeling of his neck being gently sucked and bitten overcame him. They were naked, on a bed of white in a room of such blinding light it should have been painful, but it was perfect. Derek was kissing every inch of his body, running his hands over his crotch for just a second before he was gone.

"Derek..." Stiles groaned out as his hardness was enveloped in the warmth of the older man's mouth. Stubble was mixing with the hairs at the base of his crotch, his ass was being squeezed with a pair of strong hands, his legs were writhing under Derek's abs.

"Ah!" He cried out as Derek brought him to orgasm, kissing his way back up Stiles' body to linger over his lips. He needed Derek to kiss him, in all their times together the man never kissed his lips; every inch of his body was fair game save those two strips of wanting red. "Kiss me..."

"Dude, I'm not kissing you." Derek's lips weren't moving. Huh? "Stiles!"

"No, kiss me." Stiles panted out again, pulling Derek down onto him, trying to catch his head. Every time their lips were about to touch Derek moved, turning his head into Stiles' neck and kissing there instead, distracting him by running fingers over his stomach.

"Stiles! Wake up!" No! It couldn't be, not again.

"Say you want me." Stiles told Derek, catching his face between his fingers. The stubble felt nice, he wanted it on his face, wanted to get beard-burn over and over again.

"I want you – to wake up." The annoying voice that did not belong to Derek said. Something was shaking him, or the world was shaking, it was hard to be sure. He must have been having a panic attack again, Derek was just looking down at him with a smirk on his face as he thrashed about on the impossibly white sheets beneath him.

Lips were coming towards his own, lips that were so beautiful it hurt. He wanted to make love to Derek all day long, to kiss him until his bones turned to dust, to love him and make sure he was safe. They were almost there, just about to connect with his...

"What the fuck?!" Stiles screamed, feeling a torrent of ice colliding with his face, his head jolting up from the sheets. There was no Derek. Just his own dimly lit bedroom with rain streaming down the glass, and a grinning Scott leering over him.

"Dude, finally. You kept telling me to freaking kiss you." Scott guffawed, putting the empty glass of water he had used to wake Stiles onto the dresser and throwing himself down into the computer chair for a few spins.

"Wha – huh?" Stiles spluttered, praying and hoping with every fibre of his being that Scott hadn't heard him utter Derek's name. Lately he had been dreaming about the wolf every night, waking up with a mess in his pants... oh. A quick glance under the sheets and a lift of the waistband of his pyjama pants revealed it had happened again.

"You don't remember? You kept telling me to kiss you and say I wanted you. What were you dreaming about anyway?" The realisation that he could have walked in on Stiles having a little more than a regular dream seemed to hit Scott then, spinning around in his chair so Stiles didn't see the blush on his face.

Stiles used Scott's turn to bolt from the bed, hands covering his crotch as he ran so the embarrassing wet stain couldn't be revealed. The product of his own, twisted mind was washed away under the hot torrent of water that was his morning shower, trying to keep thoughts of that leather clad wolf out of his mind.

Derek Hale. Derek god damn Hale. He had been in Stiles' mind for months, invading his thoughts at the most inopportune moments and forcing the ability to so much as speak to vanish. The man was not supposed to be in his dreams. Especially in some of the scenarios he created, scenarios that made him shiver with how wrong while making him hard simultaneously. There was a particularly interesting one involving pancakes coated in maple syrup, which Derek was licking from some very intimate parts of his, while Lydia sat naked on his chest. Fuck!

There was nothing for it, he had to beat another load out. If he didn't take care of the situation going on he would be hard as a rock all day. The memories of his dreams made him so hard it hurt, furiously pumping his growth to thoughts of Derek slipping inside him while Lydia eased Stiles' inside of her, all three of them a mess of limbs in that blinding white room where his dreams always took place.

"Ah – ah – oh..." Stiles panted as he came for the second time that morning, resting his head against the tiles, panting as the juices were washed away by the torrent of water.

"Stiles! What are you doing in there?" Scott was rapping on the door, sending Stiles into a post-orgasm panic that resulted in a very broken shower curtain from him falling into it, landing with a painful thud on the tiled floor.

"Um – just a minute!" Stiles replied, removing the clinging curtain from around his body and replacing it with a towel. By the time he had brushed his teeth, flossed, applied deodorant, and made his way back to his room, Scott was tapping his feet impatiently on the floor.

"We're gonna be late." He pointed out, looking pointedly at the clock on his phone before he held it out so Stiles could gauge just how late they would be.

"I know, I know, put a sock in it will ya'?" He dressed quickly, shooting a goodbye to his dad before he and Scott bundled into his jeep and set off for school. Scott was quiet, looking lost in his thoughts, so Stiles let himself think of Derek again. No! The man was even more unattainable than Lydia was, plus he felt... strange having dreams about two people who were so different, but both sent him into a lust craze every time he thought of them.

If he was honest, Derek was the one who sent him into the lust craze. Lydia had her tricks, or at least she did in his dreams, but when he thought of her he thought about hugging her and kissing her and buying her presents. It was extremely rare that he felt those thoughts with regard to Derek, it was more like a non-stop sex marathon.

"Watch out!" Scott shoved Stiles' shoulder, his quick work the only thing that stopped the blue jeep from running down a blonde figure stood in the middle of the parking lot.

"Watch it, Isaac!" Stiles shouted out of the window as he pulled up and headed into school, jogging and holding his book above his head to stop the rain getting at him, Scott hot on his heels.


Stiles hated math class. Or more specifically, he had began hating it three weeks ago. It wasn't because he was bad at it or anything like that, equations and triangles were no problem – usually, and there no way on earth could Stiles actually be failing a class. It was because of the insistence of the substitute teacher on rearranging them into neat rows of boy/girl pairings. Her intention had been to stop the incessant chatter of the class, and, at least with Stiles, she had managed it beautifully.

She was in his dreams, and now she was next to him. The only way the situation could have been worse was if Derek was on his other side. Every movement of her hand to brush back the auburn locks, every time she widened her eyes when asked a question, every time she crossed and uncrossed her legs to try and get comfortable on the awkward stools, it all set Stiles' heart racing. He was convinced the universe knew about his thoughts, his dreams, his desires for the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, picking out Lydia Martin from the fifteen-or-so other girls in the class and planting her right there just to torture him. Right beside him, just a few inches away. He could smell her hair and her perfume, could see the little speck of lint marring the tight sweater that barely contained the swell of her breasts.

The lint was so freaking distracting that it almost sent Stiles over the edge. He'd taken his Adderall and everything, sure, but at that moment he wouldn't have said no to another fifty of the little orange capsules to try and focus his insanity-driven mind on anything other than Lydia Martin. It was such a small distance between them that it almost hurt; he was so close to her, but emotionally she was as far away as the moon. If he just broached those few inches he could lean over and pluck the lint from her sweater, could create a bond between them as she smiled and thanked him, finally noticing what an amazing guy was sitting right in front of her. They would kiss long and passionately as the classroom erupted into cheers around them, he'd swoop her off her feet and carry her away to a tower where they would make love all day long and feed each other little bits of bacon and pancakes and omelettes and an array of delicious breakfast foods. The enigma that was Derek Hale would be banished from his thoughts forever if he could just get Lydia – he needed her. But he didn't lean over to clean her sweater and make his dreams come true; the threat of sexual molestation charges was a little more important than making sure Lydia was clean.

"Stilinski?" When he finally tore his eyes from Lydia the entire class was silent, countless little eyes baring into his soul, the teacher's brown pupils being the worst of all, her hand on one hip, the other rolling a pen around in her hand. Her freaking ugly claw more like.

"Huh?" Laughter erupted around the room at his words.

"Looks like we've lost another." She grinned at her favourites, which of course included Lydia, who smiled back sweetly as the teacher pointed – with her disgusting, mangled hand – to the other student in the class who was totally out of it.

"So what is the length of the hypotenuse, Stilinski?" He hated how she called him by his last name, reminding him of Coach or Jackson or Greenberg. Everyone who wanted to show how above him they were used his last name. Assholes.

He just sat there, his mouth hanging open, looking down at his book and realising the page was totally blank save for a tiny drawing of a wolf in the corner, Fuck! Even subconsciously he was thinking of Derek, for he had no recollection of making the drawing. Had he done it while staring at Lydia? What was it with those two?! Pulling himself from those unwanted thoughts to glance at Lydia's book, he got the confirmation of just how behind he was; two pages of neat equations in black ink with perfect little triangles here and there in pencil.

He didn't have a clue, didn't even know what the lengths of the rest of the triangle were. Was that half-assed attempt at a drawing on the board behind her meant to be an accurate representation? And what were those little numbers that he could hardly make out? It would help if she actually moved so he could see, he knew he could work it out if he wasn't so distracted and this teacher wasn't such a raging bitch.

"It's eight, can we just move on already?" A few students jumped as the class zombie looked up from the folds of his arms, working out the answer with a quick glance at the board.

"Oh, Isaac. Finally decided to join us have you? I told you you could do it." The teacher told the mop of blonde curls with a smirk, nodding for everyone to continue their own work. The glare she shot from Isaac to Stiles went unnoticed by everyone but the three of them; she couldn't stand Isaac.

Stiles wondered why the guy never took part as he started to actually work, scribbling down a few triangles in black ink. Every time the teacher attacked some unsuspecting student, bringing the class to silence as said student – today that student being Stiles – squirmed in their seat, mouth opening and closing as they tried to think, Isaac would look up from the folds of whatever jacket was covering his constantly sleeping head, glance at the board, and reel off the answer. No one could punish him, Stiles guessed, because he always got perfect grades on tests and the work in his books always mysteriously appeared by the time parent-teacher night rolled around.

He ripped off a little segment from the page of squared paper and scrawled out 'thanks', shooting a glance at the teacher to make sure she wasn't looking before he threw it across the room.

"Yes!" The whisper of satisfaction at landing a hit dead-on made Lydia look up, giving him daggers before returning to her work. Stiles didn't deign to reply to her glare, he just watched as Isaac unfurled the note, looked over it with a bored expression, and returned to sleeping.

Oh well. At least he thanked the guy, even if he didn't get a response. "Psst," The words were far more conspicuous than he would have liked, looking at the teacher to make sure she hadn't heard; fortunately she was engaged in an uphill struggle with teaching Greenberg all about equilateral triangles. "Scott!" Another hurried whisper finally caught his best friends attention, turning from the desk in front to look at Stiles.

"What?!" He whispered back in an even more painfully obvious way than Stiles had.

Now that he had Scott's attention Stiles had no idea what to do with it, he hadn't actually formulated a question before he started his little escapade, it was more to kill time and see if he could use his stealth skills to avoid the teacher. "What's for lunch today?" He finally asked. A perfectly reasonable question in his books.

"Shut up." Scott grunted, shaking his head and turning back to his work.

"Will you shut up, you keep distracting me!" Only Lydia could make a furious whisper sound like honey, looking at Stiles properly for the first time all lesson, her eyes wide, a slight flush covering her cheeks from the heat of the room that kept the icy winds and endless rain outside away.

"I – uh – I -" Stiles babbled, quickly turning back to his work. Work meaning gaze at Lydia for so long that his eyes started to hurt, tongue hanging from his mouth, body splayed out awkwardly across the table. He was positive he had been racked by a mini heart attack when Lydia licked her lips, sending him into a spasm that resulted in a very painful fall from his stool.

"And on that note -" The worst-teacher-of-his-life began, gesturing to Stiles to much sniggering from the students, "- I'll let you all go five minutes early." What a dumb bitch, Stiles thought to himself as he disentangled his limbs from the stool, dragging himself from the ground and scooping up his book.


Lunch, as Stiles had so reasonably asked Scott, turned out to be a sick-looking chicken stew, which Stiles gulped down as fast as possible; he'd eat anything, even chicken sick stew. By the time he reached gym just twenty minutes after finishing lunch he was hungry again, stomach crying out for a biscuit or some chocolate that it knew Stiles could always get hold of. He always wanted a sugar fix – especially after practice... and before practice... and during practice. The other boys had came to expect it, hiding their food in case Stiles asked for some, pleading and begging for them to share if they were caught, scolding them for being so selfish, laying on the ground and mock-crying till they relented.

Jackson and his cronies were laughing and joking from the other side of the rather unpleasant smelling locker room, jabbing each other in the ribs and ruffling one anothers hair in such a homoerotic display of friendship that Stiles couldn't contain a snort. Brown eyes scanned the room, wondering who would he could beg a little food from. He noticed Danny, with an unexpected sadness in his eyes as he sat on the bench next to a raucously laughing Jackson, but ruled him out – Danny was a health nut. Greenberg would have something, he always had a locker full of snacks, but who knew where Greenberg's hands had been? Stiles really didn't want to take the risk. Isaac was sat in the corner, a note ready in his hand for when Coach came to inspect the room; Isaac never partook in gym. Stiles absently wondered if the guy had horrific scarred legs or something, he had never seen much actual flesh, he was always bound up in tight fitting jeans and sweaters that came past his hands. But those thoughts were forgotten when he saw the brown stick of heaven in between his fingers.

"Hey Isaac -" Stiles shouted across the locker room, eyeing the chocolate in his hands, "- can I have a piece?"

The flush that spread across Isaac's cheeks was so red it looked like he was on fire, "Fuck you." He mumbled into his phone, fingers suddenly losing all the dexterity they had displayed as he tapped away on the keypad a few seconds earlier.

"Hey, wait!" Stiles tripped over his own feet in his haste to catch Isaac, who had pulled up his hood to mask the blush and was stalking out of the room.

"It's not funny." Isaac growled when Stiles caught up to him out in the hall, suddenly not so shy, pushing Stiles so he stumbled slightly. "How did you know?" Stiles hardly recognised this Isaac, the guy was always so quiet and reserved, the permanently bored expression never changing.

"Know what?! I wanted some freaking chocolate. I only followed you to see why you were upset, but now I wished I hadn't. Back off a little, okay?" Isaac took a step back, his expression twisted into confusion even more than Stiles' was. Without another word he shoved the chocolate into Stiles' hands and practically ran, Stiles would later say it was a power-walk of sorts, down the hallway, flooding the narrow space with light as he pushed open an emergency door and fled into the parking lot beyond.

The glimpse of the outside almost forced Stiles into a panic attack, there, stood nonchalantly in the middle of the parking lot with no thought for the rain, was Derek. Derek Hale – there! All the efforts he had strived towards to block him out for the past few hours were forgotten, instead imagining him licking chocolate off Stiles' naked body. When he blinked he was gone, but the image of a smirk was firmly emblazoned into Stiles brain, his shorts tenting slightly as he licked his lips and tried to figure out if he was going insane.

"Fuck my life..." He finally mumbled, hoping none of the boys, who were pouring from the locker room at the sound of the fire alarm blaring through the school, noticed his crotch, all of them cheering and whooping at the thought of a fire sending them home. Stiles stood among the throng, his mouth hanging open, unfortunately not full of chocolate, the brown bar of heaven forgotten as his mind flew in all directions; wondering why Isaac was so strange; thinking how he could win Lydia over; and wondering why, of all people, he was completely and totally enamoured with Derek Hale.