A/N: So there's this Sterek video on youtube made by TheNerjaveika with Lana Del Rey's Dark Paradise as a bgm which pretty much inspired me to start writing for this fandom so I have him/her to thank for that.

No beta, all mistakes are my own. Reviews are greatly appreciated.

The temperature of the water pouring down his back now was a stark contrast to that of the pool, Stiles heaves a sigh of relief as he stands completely under the shower. His breathing evens out, fingers stop trembling, he realizes then that the cold of the pool had never left him until now. He clenches his right fist, buries it into the wall in front of him, teeth barred, almost growling, perhaps hanging around all those werewolves has been rubbing off on him.

"Fuck," he curses aloud, pulls his wounded hand back and covers his face. The coldness wasn't just due to the temperature; it's that feeling, that shiver of your spine when you experience true fear. Stiles finds himself wondering if Derek could smell fear, he probably could, and that thought makes Stiles ground his teeth together even harder.

"Would you just trust me this once?"

He shouldn't have said that, he really shouldn't have. Trust was one thing that Derek could never do, he should have realized that. After Kate, after his uncle – and Stiles just had to make it worse. He shouldn't have pushed it.

"You don't trust me, I don't trust you. But you need me to survive which is why you're not letting me go."

It was the adrenaline rush at that time; Stiles couldn't comprehend that sentence fully. But now when the storm has calmed and he has the time to think, he gets hit with a wave of questions that he doesn't have the answers to. Why exactly did he keep Derek alive?

"Fuck!" He yells, and this time, his eyes snap open when pain surges through his fist. Staring at his shaking arm that he'd unknowingly used to punch the toilet wall again, he draws it back and cradles it, turns off the water and steps out of the room covered in steam. He hadn't even noticed how hot the water really was, his skin had an angry pink tint to it, and pain surged through when he tried to dry himself off.

He flops down on his bed immediately after trailing back to his room, the grey sheets soaking in droplets of water that he'd failed to rid himself of, but he can't bring himself to care. Rolling around, Stiles buries his face in the pillow, the towel which he'd tied around his waist slips off and he's hit with a chill of wind. Funny, he could have sworn he'd closed the window.

"Stiles."

Now that didn't sound right, that wasn't his dad's voice. In fact, his dad was working late today, no one was supposed to be home. And that voice sounded oddly familiar.

"Oh, god, Derek!" Glad that his voice doesn't betray him this once, instead of shrieking he managed to come off as sort of pissed, he grabs the towel that had slid off to cover himself up. "Can't any of you werewolves act like a normal person for once and use the god damned door?"

Derek shoots him an amused look and he pouts, "Scott does it all the time too. Scares the shit out of me." He pauses, then mutters under his breath, "I hate you guys."

It hits him then that he's fully naked in his room with Derek standing by his bedside looking at him with that stupid mischievously sexy glint in his eyes and oh, god, he did not just think that Derek was sexy.

After deeming this the most awkward of all awkward moments, he coughs nervously, pulls the towel higher because he's that self conscious and scoots to his drawer to grab some clothes. When he turns around to make sure that Derek had the decency to turn around and give him some privacy while he changes, he mentally slaps himself in the face because, of course, he shouldn't have expected creepy-appearing-everywhere-from-out-of-fucking-nowhere Derek to actually do that.

"Uhm," he starts, coughs again and clears his throat after - he's suddenly aware that he really, really needs to drink something, anything, to clear the lump in his throat - makes a turning motion with his finger and says, "Could you, just, god has no one ever thought you that it's rude to stare?"

And he swears that Derek's smirking. The fucking bastard.

"Fine, if you're going to- fine, be that way." It sounded like it would be fine in his head, sounded like a good idea to just change and get it over with but once he'd let go of the towel and hears it drop on the floor, he feels exposed and god, it shouldn't even matter because Derek was a guy and- and why would he think that Derek wants to look at him anyway.

But it does matter, it sends a shiver down his spine - that smirk, those eyes, staring at his back, hungry - his heart is racing and he knows that Derek can hear it too, his face flushes red, pulls up a pair of boxers and jeans to boot. Once he has a black shirt on as well he turns around to see that Derek has made himself comfortable, sitting on the computer chair, clicking away on Stiles's macbook.

If the wolf has heard the rapid beating of Stiles's heart he doesn't comment about it.

Stiles takes in a deep breath, calms himself and once he's sure that his voice won't waver, he asks, "What are you doing here anyway?"

Derek shrugs, seemingly more amused at what he's reading on the computer and Stiles stumbles over, remembering the last tab that he'd left open. "Werewolf mating? Seriously?" Too late.

"Shut up," he snatches the mouse from Derek, their fingers brushing momentarily, closes the firefox window. Derek turns around then, with Stiles leaning over his sitting frame they're way too close and Stiles's mind, still flustered from before, points out to him how deliciously kissable the other's lips are.

He feels his body leaning in on its own accord and he jerks away, blaming it on teenage hormones but he knows that its not it, doesn't know how to justify what he's done. Derek either doesn't realize or chooses not to comment, which is odd, because Derek always realizes when something goes wrong and always says things that he knows will make Stiles uncomfortable.

"The site's wrong, by the way. Don't believe everything you read," Derek isn't letting anything slip, that's just so like him and Stiles doesn't know exactly how to feel about that.

"Well it's not like I could ask, oh, I don't know, you for instance, about it." And then he realizes how wrong that came out so he's waving his arms in front of him, "God, no, I didn't mean it like that."

Except maybe he sort of, kind of, did.

Derek just gives him a face that says, 'like what?' and Stiles just can't believe his fucking luck. "Never mind, what do you want? Why are you here? You don't find me unless its important."

This time, its Derek's turn to get fidgety, which is something that doesn't happen, ever. Derek doesn't get nervous. "Well, at the pool-"

Stiles cuts him off, "No, we agreed to never speak about it, remember?"

After Scott had finally found them, dragged them out of the pool and chased the Kanima away, Stiles had rushed to one of the nearby cabinets to grab a towel to cover his own shivering body. He got another towel for Derek and since the poison was still in effect, it was fading but it was still there, he'd wrapped it around Derek's frame. He jumped slightly when Derek grabbed his hand, afraid that the wolf might throw him back in the pool or something. Knowing Derek, he'd be sore about the fact that Stiles had saved his life, again.

But Derek didn't do it, didn't do anything but give Stiles a look that he wouldn't mind interpreting as a word of thanks. The touch wasn't what made his stomach clench up in knots though, it was that look in Derek's eyes that makes Stiles just want to wrap his arms around the other and tell him that he's safe. That they are safe. They had agreed after Derek lets go, teeth clenched, eyes downcast, that they'd never speak of this again.

"I need to know why," Derek's voice snapped him out of his daze and he blurts out, "Why what?"

Why do you trust me? Why do you care about me? Why do you like me? "Why did you save me?"

"Because," Stiles knows that he should have thought it through but he's started speaking too fast and his mind screeches to a halt, he answers stupidly, "Because."

Derek has him slammed against the closed door in an instant, knocking the wind out of his lungs. "Because of what?" Derek's growling, snarling, all sharp teeth and glowing werewolf eyes but all Stiles can think of is how close they are to each other. The way that he can see his own reflection from Derek's eyes, the way that he could almost feel the rough stubbles on Derek's chin, the way that he could shove his hands in Derek's hair and tug at it, pull him in and kiss his lips - Stiles gets a shock when he's thrown on the floor.

"I can smell that you know," Derek says, backs off until he hits the foot of the bed and slumps down on it.

"S-smell?" Stiles stutters, pushes himself off the floor, fiddles with the material of his jeans awkwardly because god, Derek couldn't possibly mean…

"Yes, Stiles. Smell. You. Your intent, your-" Derek cuts himself off, scowls, angry. His claws are out and he hadn't even realized it until he's digging it into the flesh of his own leg. They say animals have a fight or fright instinct, well, Derek gets up and leaps out of the window so fast that Stiles couldn't even bring himself to formulate a reply.

Stiles finally tears his gaze away from the window and manages to drag himself to the bed, buries his face into the pillow again, and curses under his breath. Derek knows then. Maybe the wolf had known all along, maybe Derek was just fucking with him - and god damn it, he shouldn't have used the words 'Derek' and 'fucking' in the same sentence.

He wants to sleep forever and die, because that'd be better than facing Derek again. But alas, life was cruel.

That night, he jerks off in his bed and he doesn't get that same satisfaction.