A/N: Written for the Teen Wolf Big Bang on LiveJournal...
First off, a huge ta goes to my bestie Nath for agreeing to beta this before it turned into a 109K beast of a fic and still doing it anyway. Stiles loves her Scott very much. Secondly, big shout-out to my wonder artist mangacrack and a giant thank you for the incredible art that I love. Beautiful.
All characters within this fic are property of Teen Wolf, Jeff Davis, and MTV. I just borrowed them, rearranged them, and made them do other things. Fic Title from "Still" by Daughter. Anything else used or referenced to is property of whoever owns them. I used it all with love 3
"It's honestly not even that big a deal."
Stiles loved his twin sister. He really truly did. She was kind of a badass, could hang with the guys or girls and fit right in, took shit from no one, and was blunt as hell—because filters tended not to be things Stilinskis possessed. But at times, he just really couldn't stand Malia.
Like at that moment, when she was sitting on the kitchen counter, legs swinging back and forth as she pulled grapes off the bunch and popped them in her mouth, smile on her face. She was dressed in a three-quarter sleeve baseball style tee with The Mighty Thor logo on it and cut-off jean shorts, white socks reaching her knees, Stiles biting back sarcastic questions about her thighs and wrists being hot. Not the point really and definitely didn't go along with the topic at hand.
Which, contrary to her comments, was a very big fucking deal.
Because heat.
Stiles snorted, scratching his own bare forearm, skin exposed from his ringer tee. Malia hadn't bothered holding back jokes about the lack of stupid graphic design on his shirt before noting the serious look on his face, the lack of smirk, the turned down corners of his eyes, the glare she received rather than a responding jab. Not to mention the fact that his scent was probably colored with countless notes of anxiety and despair, all adding to the overall effect of "Stiles is Freaking Out" that he had going on. She had immediately switched from Annoying Younger Twin Mode to Concerned And Worried Twin Mode, asking what was wrong and if he wanted to talk.
He had at the time, but now he was regretting taking her up on the offer.
Because after he'd sunk down at the kitchen table and confessed he was nervous about their upcoming heats—downside of being a twin really was that theirs matched up and made for some awkward realizations at knowing when your sibling was about to get laid/ masturbate more than usual—she'd rolled her eyes and called him a moron and a wuss.
Sibling love was a grand thing.
"It's a very big deal, Mal," he argued back, glaring up at her, eyes narrowing further at yet another roll of hers. "It's five days of our bodies being totally out of our control and being completely overrun by our hormones and all we'll be able to think about is getting something inside us by any means possible."
Malia tilted her head down, "you can't be serious" written all over her face, another grape being popped into her mouth. Stiles returned it with a "yes I can and yes I am" expression, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned back in his seat.
She let out a sigh, sliding down off the counter and joining him at the table, hands folded on top of the wooden furniture. Flipping brown hair over her shoulder, she schooled her features into a serious expression, locking chocolate eyes onto her twin brother, eyes similar in color to his, eyes they'd both gotten from their mother, which made it hard for their dad to look at them in the time after her death. It'd taken him a while to warm back up to Malia especially, seeing too much of Claudia in their lone daughter, which Stiles attributed to his sister's tough exterior and ability to not let things bother her so much.
He envied that in her at times. Especially at moments like that, when their first heat was coming up soon and he was constantly on the verge of a panic attack over it, his inner-coyote constantly pacing and whining from its own anxiety, while she remained the cool, calm, and collected Alpha Malia she always seemed to be.
"Okay," she began, pausing to take a deep breath and slip back into Concerned and Worried Younger Twin Mode. "I get that you're freaking out, but I honestly just don't get why. I mean, we learned all about this at school and through really embarrassing and awkward conversations with Dad—"
Stiles shuddered at the memory, unfolding his arms and laying his hands lax on the table. The memory of the Sheriff—still in full uniform, of course—trying to tell his kids about heat and sex and Alpha-Beta-Omega dynamics, stammering and blushing all the way through, was something Stiles had spent a long time trying to suppress. He was pretty successful until someone brought it up.
Like at that moment.
Thanks, Malia.
"And we both know you've researched the crap out of it, because that's what you do," she continued, raising an eyebrow as though daring him to deny the point so she could argue him into the ground about how much he's bullshitting her and they both know it.
Stiles kept his mouth shut, staring down at his hands as he picked at a hangnail. The lack of denial was as good as an agreement and they both knew it.
"So what could possibly be freaking you out about it?" Malia questioned, hands laying palms up as though waiting for him to put the answer in them.
Stiles sighed, frowning slightly. Not for the first time he wished their mom was around. She'd get it. Because she was an Omega, just like Stiles, meaning she'd know all about how out of control their bodies became, how desperate and needy and pathetic, how they'd spend the entirety of their heat week groaning and begging and pleading to just be filled and knotted and kept that way. And while Stiles wasn't afraid of sex itself and was looking forward to maybe, possibly, finally getting laid, it was the out of control part he wasn't too thrilled about. He already had issues with his body doing its own thing, his spastic movements and flailing limbs and klutzy behavior all signs that he wasn't always in charge of what his physical being did. And his mind was hardly ever on his side either, ADHD making it hard for him to focus at times, his concentration all over the map and causing insane results, like a paper on the history of male circumcision for a class about economics. To have his problems with controlling himself further exacerbated and brought to an extreme he'd never before imagined was kind of his own personal hell.
"I'm not gonna be in control," he stated, still staring at his hands, still picking at that hangnail. "I'm not gonna be able to think rationally or even at all. All I'm gonna be able to think about is sex and getting filled." He looked up at that, meeting her eyes and pleading for her to understand, to think like an Omega and not the Alpha that she was. "We've heard the horror stories, Omegas so out of their minds with heat that they actually get inanimate objects stuck inside them in a desperate attempt to get off or rip themselves open without realizing it 'cause our pain receptors are dimmed down and then they get an infection or bleed out and die. I don't want that to happen." Stiles swallowed hard, lump of fear coalescing in his throat as everything he was afraid of finally managed to form words and leave his mouth.
Malia nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought as she took in what he'd said. "Okay," she began, tone placating but still managing to build up to another argument. "But that's kind of a rare thing. And there are ways to avoid it. Like having someone with you."
The snort left Stiles before he was aware of the desire to make the noise, his entire head bobbing with the action. Suggesting a shared heat was obviously easy for her, having already found her mate in a werefox named Kira, the two having plans for Malia's upcoming heat. But for the constantly single Stiles, it wasn't that easy. Not when the one person he wouldn't mind helping him through his heats had barely spoken to him since he'd left for college a little over five years ago and more than likely still believed him to be a scrawny little thirteen year old geek.
Not to mention was also his best friend's older brother.
Awkward didn't begin to cover it, especially when said best friend was a werewolf with a damn good nose that could sniff out random boners that could only partially be blamed on puberty.
Yeah, Scotty just had to go and be the younger bro of what could only be described as a Greek god stuck inside an Alpha werewolf's body, trapped on Earth, doomed to spend eternity torturing mere mortals like Stiles with his stupid handsome face and ridiculously toned body and his untouchable... everything, really. Because no freaking way would Derek Hale-McCall ever want to have anything to do with Stiles Stilinski.
"You should just ask him."
It took Stiles a few seconds to come out of his head and realize his sister said something, then a few more seconds to figure out what she even said at all. And even then his response is a highly intelligent "huh?"
"Derek," she stated in a "duh" manner. "You should just ask him to help you through your heat."
He's not sure if it's a twin thing or a scent thing or what that allowed Malia to figure out his crush on Derek or realize that it hadn't quite gone away—because "absence makes the heart grow fonder" was apparently a thing that's true for Stiles and his impeccable luck in the romance department—but no matter the case, it kinda sucked. Because he was left sputtering and gaping and basically behaving like a moron. His face heated up and he knew he was blushing—if it could even be called "blushing" because unlike his genetically gifted twin, Stiles didn't get an adorable red glow on his cheeks; he got splotchy and his appearance more closely resembled hives than anything. He hated his pale complexion and his sister's tan one and how ridiculously unfair it is that she had perfect skin and dimples while he'd been stuck with countless moles and the ability to go from zero to sunburnt in the time it takes to get from the car to the ocean during family trips to the beach.
Not that they'd had any of those trips since their mom died, but that was totally beside the point.
No, the point was his sister was annoying and dumb and seriously, what had he been thinking when he'd decided to talk to her about this?
Right. Thoughtless act of desperation in an overwhelming need to get this off his chest and have someone actually understand what he was going through and reassure him that it was totally normal to be freaking the fuck out over going into heat.
Clearly talking to Malia Perfect-Pants Stilinski was a terrible fucking idea.
He finally managed to recover from the shock of her blunt suggestion and outing of his crush, scoffing at her in a totally undignified manner. "Yeah right," he snorted, rolling his eyes before shoving a hand through his brown hair, making the strands stand up straighter than they already were. "No offense, Mal, but that's gotta be the worst idea you've ever had."
"No, the worst idea I ever had was allowing you to pick what car we got for our sixteenth birthday."
"Hey!"
"This idea is brilliant." She steamrolled right ahead as though he hadn't just objected or slapped his hand on the table. Typical of her really. "Because it alleviates your fears over heat and also allows you to finally get in Derek's pants. Or him in your pants," she corrected with a confused frown before shaking her head and flattening her features. "Whatever."
Stiles clasped his heads on top of his head, slouching further in his seat, legs splayed as far as his khakis would allow them to go. "Not happening, sis. For several reasons. First," he began, holding up a finger in front of his torso. "He's Derek Hale-McCall. He can have any-fucking-body he wanted. Second, he's supposedly with someone named Braeden—"
"Guy or girl?" Malia interrupted, perking up in her seat.
"Dunno," Stiles answered honestly with a shrug, left hand falling onto his lap as his right kept displaying two fingers. "Doesn't matter. Three." He popped up a third finger. "I'm me. I'm a loser and a geek and a spazz and you can stop me at any point here."
She gave a shrug of a shoulder, arms folded loosely over her torso. "Why? All of it's true so far."
"Love you, too, Mal," he dead-panned before continuing. "Derek agreeing to help me through heat would be settling for someone so far below him, he can't even see me anymore."
Malia rolled her eyes, as close to a disagreement as she was gonna voice. It wasn't that she wasn't complimentary, because she was. More than once she'd smacked Stiles upside the head when he'd called himself dumb and ranted about how smart he was, told him that he was actually a good looking guy and not the goofy looking weirdo he believed himself to be, insisted that he was a really awesome brother and friend and person and that anyone, guy or girl, would be lucky to call him theirs.
She still called him a loser and a geek and a spazz, but that was just siblings for ya really. Wasn't like Stiles hadn't accused her of the similar things really, retorting with how she was a weirdo and a nerd and a jerk. Neither of them took the jabs seriously though because ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, they were meant in jest and just to rile the other person up. Their dad had long since given up trying to cut into their name calling battles, just demanding they keep it PG around authoritative figures or take it in another room so he could actually hear the game.
"That all your stupid reasons," Malia inquired, eyebrow cocked. "Or is there more?"
"Well, yeah," he responded, the "obviously" going unsaid. "Four, he's Scott's older brother."
"Half-brother."
"A brother is a brother is a brother," Stiles argued, dropping his hand onto the table. "Doesn't matter if they don't share a dad, 'cause they share a mom and were raised together and I don't think Scott would be too stoked if I had heat sex with Derek. Or any kinda sex with him really."
"Did he actually say that?"
"No, but he didn't really need to. The grimace of disgust whenever I was caught lusting after Derek was kind of an obvious 'ew, no way, dude, that's my bro, back off'."
Malia cocked another eyebrow, this time in a wordless way of saying that she genuinely had no clue what went through her brother's head or how they were even related in the first place. He'd seen that look a lot growing up. Would probably continued to see it until one or both of them were six-feet under and even then, it'd probably haunt his afterlife.
She let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through her tawny hair before pushing herself up into a standing position. "Just talk to Scott. Then talk to Derek. Then you'll have super awesome heat sex with the guy you've wanted to be fucked by pretty much since you learned what sex was and you can quit being so worried over something that isn't even worth worrying over." Her tone was completely done, face full of "over it", and she gave him a blank stare that dared him to keep the subject going so she could break his trachea and shut him up that way.
Despite being the younger one—and despite countless arguments that it was only three minutes and therefore didn't even count—Malia was definitely the scarier one. Stiles wasn't sure if it was just her personality or part of her being an Alpha, but either way, she wasn't one to fuck with. It had taken him four broken bones, two dislocated shoulders, and a total of eighteen stitches over the years to learn when to back down and let shit go. Didn't mean he didn't still rile her up and argue when he felt it was worth it.
That moment wasn't one of them though.
The doorbell rang, Malia's face brightening up, smile causing her dimples to make an appearance. Didn't take a genius to figure out who was at the door, especially considering the way she practically bounced out the kitchen on her way to answer.
Stiles sighed as he remained seated at the table, thumb tracing a line on the wood, mind elsewhere. Talking to Scott was a possibility, but he didn't see any situation where that wouldn't be awkward as fuck and not end with him not being able to look his best friend straight in the eye ever again. Both of them were aware of Scott's own heat having past over the fall and how he'd spent the five days with Allison, but they never talked about it, other than the Alpha's moony eyed soliloquies over how magical and special and incredible it was and how close to her he felt and how perfect everything had gone. Stiles had spent most of that time focusing on the posters on the guy's wall and trying desperately not to picture his best friend knotting a girl who was best friends with his sister.
Some shit was just too weird, even for him.
And he had a feeling that asking Scott if it was cool to see if Derek would help him during his heat would run along those same lines.
Then again, when compared to the other option of going through heat all alone and running the huge risk of doing permanent damage to himself—permanent damage including death—an incredibly awkward conversation over his own sex life and the possibility of his best bud's older half-bro helping him actually have a sex life didn't seem so bad.
"Fuck it," he muttered to himself, rising to his feet and heading out the kitchen.
Malia and Kira were on the couch, his twin having flopped down on it, her girlfriend snuggled up close, the two with their arms wrapped around each other. He inhaled their tangled scents, the familiar whipped cream smell that belonged to Malia, the strawberry one that came from Kira, remembering what his dad said about mates having complimentary scents that when combined, created a whole new one. Scott smelled like peanut butter, Allison like chocolate, and hanging out with them always gave Stiles a huge craving for Reese's. He could barely remember his mom's scent anymore, but his dad said she'd smelled like fresh milk. Made sense since his old man smelled like coffee, even when he hadn't had a cup.
Stiles smelled like vanilla. He chalked that up as more proof that everything about him just wasn't all that appealing, at least not on a grand scale, and not when compared to his twin.
"Hey, Stiles," Kira spoke up from where her head was buried in the crook of Malia's arm, usual grin on her face. He often wondered if anything ever got her down and decided that no, it didn't. She and Scott both seemed to have a constant sun shining on them, the world all puppy dogs and rainbows to them. And considering the actual rainbow knee socks she wore, maybe it was.
He then wondered what the hell was up with the Kira and Malia and wearing knee socks with shorts before deciding that trying to figure that out would require him to figure out females in general and that wasn't happening.
He gave her a wave, grinning at the Loki shirt she was wearing and wondering if it was coincidence or pre-planned. Turning away, he headed towards the front door, pausing with his hand on the knob when his sister spoke.
"Where you going?"
Twisting his head around, he caught her peeking at him over the back of the couch, inquisitive look on her face, eyes narrow and lips pursed. "Scott's," he answered, deciding to leave it at that and not admit that maybe she'd kinda had a good idea earlier.
The smirk on her face told him that he didn't actually need to speak the words in order for her to hear them. "Don't forget to talk to him. And Derek. And stop being such a pussy."
His response was to flip her off as he walked out the door, ignoring her giggles while he went.
Scott was at work because the universe hated Stiles and wanted to make him suffer as much as possible.
Or maybe it was a sign that he really should just not have this conversation and pretend he'd never considered having it or having Derek help him during heat.
But then again, the universe had given him Malia as a sister and Lydia as a friend and the two of them separate were terrifying, but together, were an unstoppable force of nature that were better to just give in to than try to fight. Superstorm Madia. Or Lylia. Either way, he knew that it was in his best interest to just do as his sister suggested rather than face her inquisition and not chance having the two of them team up and threaten him into talking to Derek and/or Scott. Once they'd decided on something, it was impossible to get them to back down and Stiles knew he'd never hear the end of it from Malia if he didn't just man up and do it.
God help him.
Beacon Hills Animal Clinic was thankfully slow at the moment, no one in the waiting room, Scott immediately appearing at the front counter when Stiles had entered the building.
"Hey, man!" the Alpha greeted him cheerfully, bright sunshine smile plastered on his face, seeming off-center by his lopsided jaw. His dimples were on full display, dark eyes twinkling in delight, and he seemed genuinely stoked that his best friend had stopped by to visit him at work.
If only he knew the reason for the unexpected drop in.
"Come on back," Scott offered, gesturing with his hand for the other guy to join him on the other side of the counter and in the back room where he did most of his work. "We're just finishing up with this li'l guy."
Stiles nodded, hands shoved in the pockets of his khakis as he scuffed his way through the open gate and past the front counter. He followed his best friend to the back room, ignoring his coyote's whines and whimpers at the human side's anxiety, feeling thankful for his ability to mask his emotions in his scent.
Plus side of being a trickster animal.
Unlike the bright, airy waiting area of the clinic, the back room was dark, made up of red brick and cherry wood. Stiles deliberately didn't look around, not wanting to run the risk of seeing a needle somewhere or some doctoral instrument that he had no clue how it worked and just flat out looked scary. He'd fainted once in that very room, eyes having come across a syringe Scott had accidentally left out, the needle long and huge and nightmare inducing. It wasn't something Stiles was looking to repeat.
Instead, he focused on the vet himself, Deaton standing by the stainless steel table, a small beagle laying on its side as its foreleg was being wrapped.
"Hello, Stiles," Deaton greeted him with a smile, before lower his eyes to examine his work. His dark skin shone under the overhead light, bald head covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The latex gloves on his hands had trace spatters of blood and Stiles forced his head away, his coyote whimpering once again. He didn't do well with blood, just like with needles.
Fuck, why had he decided this was a good idea? Why couldn't this conversation have just waited until later, much later, like when Scott wasn't at work or a vet assistant or related to Derek?
Oh, yeah. Because Malia was his sister and the universe hated him. Right.
"You feeling all right?"
Stiles' head turned at Scott's voice, noticing the concerned furrow of his brow, the worry pulling down the corner of his eyes. Stiles always thought it was funny that Scott was a werewolf, joking that his best friend should've been a were-puppy. He had the looks for it really.
"Yeah, yep, fine. Totally fine, perfectly fine. That's me, fine as can be. Fine, fine, fine." He was rambling, it was clear to everyone with ears, even the beagle who was giving him a total judgy look. And the rambles just made it more obvious that he was, in fact, not fine and totally lying his ass off.
The skeptical look Scott was giving him meant that the Alpha knew that and wasn't buying what he was selling. Jerk.
"Didn't you recently turn eighteen?" Deaton questioned, cutting the bandage he'd been wrapping the dog's arm with and carefully pressing the sticky edge down.
Stiles' twisted his lips, nodding, knowing exactly what the vet was implying. Because turning eighteen for a were-creature of any description meant reaching maturity. And with maturity came more strength, stamina, heightened abilities.
And heat.
Scott's eyebrows raised, head slowly nodding once, arms folding over his chest as he seemed to actually understand what was being implied for once. It wasn't that he was a moron or anything, but at times, he could be a little oblivious and not really understand the subtle undertones of what someone was saying.
"Your heat's starting soon," he surmised, pointing at Stiles, gaping.
Stiles grimaced, hunching his shoulders and staring at the ground, willing it to open up and swallow him down. When that didn't happen, he started rocking back and forth on his heels, inhaling on a hiss as he tried to gather the strength to push forward and just say what he came to say.
"Yeeeah," he stretched the word out, words difficult to get past his lips and into his friend's ears. "That's kinda what I needed to talk to you about."
Tension filled the air, awkwardness hanging heavy over them. Deaton excused himself with the explanation that he needed to get the beagle back in its cage and make some calls, essentially giving the two friends some privacy and allowing himself to get out of what was sure to be an uncomfortable conversation.
Scott remained frozen and silent for a long moment, eyebrows still hanging out with his hairline, hand still pointing at the other man. Stiles didn't say a word, afraid that he'd finally broken his best friend. Which was a damn shame, 'cause a friendship like theirs wasn't easy to come by and had been created over thirteen years when one of them had knocked down the others sandcastle at the beach and a brawl had broken out, ending with hugs and promises to be best friends forever.
It was still a huge debate over who was the sandcastle-wrecker, but the point was they'd kept their promise and Stiles didn't see anything ever changing that.
Well, until that moment anyway.
The Alpha finally shook his head and snapped out of it, holding both hands out in front of himself in a move that looked more defensive than anything. "Okay, dude, I love you, but not like that," he sputtered out, backing up a step or two.
Stiles frowned in confusion and offense, wondering what the hell he'd done in order to make his best friend actually back away from him. Only to realize what Scott had been implying and for his own eyes to widen to comical sizes.
"Whoa!" he objected, slashing his arms in front of himself. "No! No, no, no. Dude, no. Just, no way. That's not what I meant."
Scott visibly relaxed, arms dropping, shoulders slumping, air rushing out his mouth in a relieved sigh. "Oh thank god."
"Yeah, I don't need you helping me through my heat."
They both shuddered at the same time, making similar noises of disgust. Because having sex with Scott would be a lot like having sex with Malia, in terms of how gross and incestuous it would be. Last time he checked, he hadn't been locked in an attic by a crazy grandparent, so his life had not become Flowers in the Attic and he had more options for getting laid than a sibling or sibling-like figure.
Hell, even then, he'd join a monastery and/or become a eunuch. No dick sounded better than having his anywhere near their genitalia.
Having recovered, Scott rubbed at the back of his head, lazy grin on his face. "So what's up then? Whatcha need to talk about?"
Shit. Despite having gotten past the weirdness of Scott thinking Stiles wanted him to service him during heat, he was now having to face the also possible weirdness of him confessing he actually wanted Scott's brother to service him.
Yeah, there was no easy segue in that convo and no way to suggest it without bringing back that previous uneasiness and frankly freakishness that had just left them.
Stepping over, Stiles hefted himself up onto the steel table, drumming the fingers of one hand against the clenched fist of the other as they sat between his knees. "This is gonna sound weird," he warned, watching as Scott walked over and leaned against a side table opposite him.
A lopsided grin formed on the Alpha's face, a dimple appearing on one cheek. "Any weirder than me thinking you wanted to sleep with me?"
Grimacing, Stiles gripped the back of his neck, legs swinging freely. "Maybe?"
That had the grin on his best friend's face disappearing, Scott frowning, scent shifting through so many emotions Stiles couldn't keep up or figure them out. "What is it?"
The Omega took a deep breath, then another, then a third, all in a vain attempt to build up some sorta courage or help locate his balls or something that would help him actually just fucking say what he needed to say. But, of course, none of it helped and he was stuck sitting there like a chicken while his best friend grew more and more anxious, afraid that something serious was happening that would be a huge cause for alarm.
"Stiles?" Scott prompted, voice low and dripping with concern. The middle of his brows raised, eyes turned down, worry leaking into his expression, and Stiles felt like a dick for putting his pseudo-brother through that.
"It's not bad," Stiles reassured, holding his hands out towards him and waving them about. "Like, it's not life-threatening or way out there. Not really anyway." He tilted his head to the side, thinking about it. "Maybe."
The concern on his best friend's face shifted to something more confused. "Okay, dude, just tell me, 'cause I'm freaking out here."
Another deep breath, the Omega gripping the edge of the table he was seated on, head down as he watched his legs swing back and forth. He knew he needed to just go with what his friend was saying and just come out with it, but... easier thought than done.
Really, he just needed a good segue, an easy way to break it to Scott, a way to slowly ease him into things nice and gently.
He just needed to think of one.
Shit.
Swallowing hard, he kept his eyes down as he spoke, keeping his voice light and easy, like he was just making conversation about the weather rather than building up to a possibly life-altering discussion involving the guy's brother and his heat sex. And his virginity really.
"So, uh," he began, pausing to clear his throat of the awkwardness that was currently choking him. "How's your brother?"
The puzzlement on Scott's face grew, eyebrow raising, lips twisting in a befuddled manner. "What does Derek have to do with anything?"
Stiles shrugged, trying to act nonchalant about the whole thing. "Just wondering. He moved back into town after graduation last year, right?" He asked awkwardly, internally wincing and rubbing at the back of his neck.
He didn't think it was possible, but Scott looked even more lost, his confused scent soon being joined by a hint of agitation as he tried to figure out what the hell was going and what part of this Derek played.
Until it finally clicked.
Realization dawned on the Alpha's face, uneven jaw dropping, dark eyes widening in a mix of shock and horror. "Oh my god!"
Yeah, that was the reaction Stiles had figured he'd get.
"Oh my god!"
He nodded, face contorted in a mix of a grimace and an apologetic smile. "Yeah."
"Oh my god!"
"Scott, man, can you say something other than 'oh my god'?"
Scott froze, staring at the Omega with his jaw dropped and his facial features arranged in an expression of disgust. Another long, silent moment descended over them, tension a thick cloud weighing them down and making it hard to breathe. At least it was hard for Stiles anyway, but that could be the guilt at grossing his friend out, at keeping such a huge secret like that bringing him down.
But hey, he'd gotten it out there. And now Malia can no longer call him a pussy.
Sorta. He still had to talk to Derek about it.
And not die of embarrassment and awkwardness from it.
He needed a miracle basically.
"Dude," the Alpha scoffed out, shaking his head in disbelief, face still showing how completely bewildered he was. "Oh my god."
"Not helping, Scotty!" Stiles snapped, before relaxing his tense body, exhaling long and hard. Yelling at his best friend obviously wasn't helping either, but it was too late to take it back.
"Sorry, man," Scott apologized, looking sheepish as he scratched at the two bands tattoo adorning his left arm. "I just. I don't get it. I mean, it's Derek. Why would you want him to help you through your heat?"
Really, it was the perfect chance for him to admit that his feelings for the older Alpha hadn't gone away and that, if anything, they'd just grown, until Stiles had created this entire fantasy in his head about Derek coming home on break and seeing the Omega and instantly falling for him—hard. He'd see how grown up and mature Stiles had become, how well he'd filled out, what a good little Omega he'd become and instantly become wrapped up in him, much like Scott and Allison or Malia and Kira or any of the five thousand other couples Stiles seemed to constantly be surrounded by. He imagined Derek being totally enraptured with him, following him to Stanford when Stiles started in the fall despite having recently graduated himself, the two getting an apartment together and a dog and then a house and kids and the whole thing and...
Yeah, he was in way deeper with Derek than just "Wow, your face is beautiful, can I sit on your dick forever?"
Although the guy's face was beautiful and he honestly wouldn't mind sitting on his dick forever.
But he couldn't say any of that really, not to the guy's younger bro. Partially 'cause he was the pussy his sister accused him of being, but mostly because there was no way Scott would understand or be cool with it. Hell, the guy was freaking over Stiles simply suggesting having Derek help him during his heat week. No way would be alright with anything beyond that happening.
So he played it cool, shrugging, hiding his true feelings and emotions and making sure his scent wasn't giving anything away. "Why not?" he asked back, playing nonchalant still. "I know the guy, I trust him, and it's better than some random Alpha asshole who'd use my weakened state to do whatever the hell he wanted to me, ya know?"
Something flashed in Scott's eyes, his scent briefly holding a note of understanding, loss, and worry before flattening out to nothing, the werewolf obviously keeping his own emotions in check. "Okay, I get that," he reluctantly admitted, still grimacing at the the thought of his best friend and his brother having sex for any reason. "But why do you even need an Alpha at all? Can't you go solo?"
Now it was Stiles' turn to wince again, really not wanting to fully go into specifics the way he'd had to with his sister. He wasn't really one for repeating himself, especially when it was an uncomfortable topic such as this. Honestly, he'd kinda like to just avoid talking about it at all, but that wasn't an option, not when his heat was set to start in a week and his sister was now on his ass about just getting shit out there.
He was in a lose-lose situation. Bad.
Or maybe not, he realized as his brain supplied him with info that would hopefully help him not have to get into specifics.
Assuming Scott was less oblivious than usual that day.
"Dude, your mom works the ER," Stiles reminded his best friend, giving him a pointed look. "Surely you've heard the horror stories of what can happen to Omegas when left to their own devices during their heats."
Scott's eyes widened, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. Clearly he got what Stiles was hinting at.
"I just don't want that to be me. So better safe than sorry and have someone help me during heat and make it less shitty than it could possibly be." A sheepish look spread across his face, lean shoulders shrugging, fingers drumming his fist once more. "I mean, I have no idea what to expect, so it wouldn't hurt to have an Alpha there who knew what he was doing in order to make the whole thing a little less scary."
"And you think my brother is the Alpha to do that?"
Stiles just shrugged again, having already listed the reasons why. Or at least the reasons he was willing to admit out loud anyway.
Running a hand through his dark hair, Scott sighed heavily, entire body heaving with the action. His body language was still tense, shoulders tight, frown on his face, and it was clear he wasn't totally okay with this plan. Yet like the best friend and almost brother that he was, he was gonna go along with it and support Stiles and his outrageous idea. And when it more than likely blew up in the Omega's face, he'd be there with a shoulder to cry on and a hug to give, the words "told you so" nowhere to be found.
Stiles kinda loved the guy. In a totally platonic way, of course.
"Alright, man," he sighed, folding his arms over his chest and meeting Stiles in the eye. "If this is what you wanna do, I'll back you up. Just," he paused, grimacing in disgust once more. "Don't give me any details, okay? I really don't need to know what it's like having sex with my brother, ya know?"
Holding his hands up, Stiles assumed a look of innocence, not having any issues with that. "So you're really cool with me asking Derek to help me out with this?"
"Honestly? I dunno," he answered with a shrug. "Still seems kinda weird to me, but I guess that's just 'cause I share a mom with the guy. But I know there's no way to talk you outta this, so I'm just gonna stand aside and let things play out."
The Omega bobbed his head to the side, figured that was good enough to just deal with and really, asking for anything more would be too much. He could live with Scott not being totally cool with it but accepting.
Sliding off the table, he stepped over to his best friend, hand outstretched. "Thanks, man."
Scott ignored the proffered limb, instead wrapping his arms around the other guy and pulling him into a hug, slapping his back repeatedly. "Good luck," he murmured, holding the Omega close. "And make sure he treats you right, otherwise I'll kick his ass."
Stiles laughed, the sound muffled by his friend's shirt. Hopefully it wouldn't have to come to that, but really, there was no way to guarantee anything. Heat did some crazy shit to people.