A/N: For my lovely Anna, who prompted me ages ago with the Robyn song Indestructible. I finally got it done! I tried to include the lyrics in some way throughout the story, the feelings of it at least. Hope you like it!
Eyes roaming the crowd, he tries to remember why he's here. For Stiles. Stiles invited him. He's doing this for Stiles.
It was Stiles' idea too. A night out, to celebrate the end of the latest shit storm. He was right to suggest it. Now that Jackson was back, that Boyd and Erica had survived their stint with the Alphas, that the pack was whole, safe, it was time to celebrate. Be happy, carefree, for once.
Eyes fleeting and unsure, he also tries to not remember. He didn't let any reaction show when he heard the name of the bar. When Stiles explained his idea with great enthusiasm, he controlled himself. He did the usual nose-pinching/sigh/hint of a smile combo while agreeing to chaperone them. Stiles left quickly and only then did he let his face fall.
He couldn't tell him. It's just a terrible, terrible coincidence that he has chosen the club where it all began. There's no need to burden him with this knowledge.
He nurses a beer at the bar, carefully. Designated driver duties and, werewolf or not, alcohol spends some time in his system. The rest of the group is spread out on the dance floor, all half-drunk and sloppy. Stiles is the worst, of course, doing what can barely be called dancing.
Maybe that's why he's so focused on him. Disjointed movements, no fear of ridicule, Stiles is making a spectacle of himself. Or maybe it's because watching him takes his mind off of the memories the place and music bring back.
10 years ago, this bar was here. Different décor, same name. It was the spot to go for a good time, with its great music and its lax security. It allowed Kate to bring him there for their first date. If you could call it that. It was more like a random setting for some sloppy make-out and groping, on the dance floor then in the back alley. This club was just someplace to get him riled up, make him feel great before dragging him to her car and blow him so expertly he had blacked out. Then she had switched from seductive to tender, murmuring sweet nothings (lies) while sprawled on his chest. Been so enticing that he had spilled a lot of secrets just then, the very first night, his fingers tangled in her curls and a stupid smile on his face.
So yeah, this place and the whole bar scene in general are marked in his mind, forever linked to poison, death, deception, betrayal.
He's here anyway. Alpha or not, you don't simply say no to Stiles.
He turns around and orders another beer, downing it much more rapidly than the previous one. He looks up and there he is again. Moving fast and (mostly) in sync with the music. It's the worst unsettling feeling, this one moment. Stiles is nothing like Kate but just where they are, the mob of dancers, how he's easily singled out among them… The contrast becomes a distraction and a reminder rolled up in one enigmatic and painful package.
The flashes of light, stroboscopic and irritating, only show part of him, briefly illuminating his face before hiding it in darkness every other second. Sheer joy, sometimes dampened by concentration of searching eyes, a multitude of emotions plays out on Stiles' face. Then they lock eyes.
He can smell it from here. The sweet excitement, the citrusy happiness. The musky, normally underlying lust rising to the forefront. Stiles usually fights it pretty well but here, in the liberating and mindless atmosphere, it's seeping out of his every pore. Derek tries so hard to ignore it these days, more so now. He doesn't want to deal with feelings and desires. Especially not here, with memories of Kate looming in his mind and the mass of people around.
It's out of his hands. Stiles' gaze doesn't stray and beckons him. He can't look away, his will dissolving under the intense stare Stiles is giving him. Everything fades but the guy in front of him, every detail about him clear as day and tantalizing as water to a man stranded in the desert.
Sweat, dripping slowly down Stiles' cheek. The glints of gold in his eyes when they catch the light. That fucking smile, so free. So genuine. The smile that says here I am, wanting you and you can have me. It can be that easy.
They've never been subtle about it, the pack has been cracking jokes about them for ages. How, no, why they managed to never give in, it's impossible to understand. Tonight, at least. On any other day, the list goes on and on (he's never been into guys before, Stiles is annoying, there's too much history between them, he's underage). Here, in the smoky atmosphere, every point is unclear, irrelevant.
The last drop of his beer sticks in his throat. He dumps the bottle on the bar behind him, not even bothering looking where it lands, and moves forward. Slow, measured steps, he parts the crowd like the sea, without asking for anyone to step aside. He's not even sure there are people anymore. Just Stiles attracting him with glimpses of a smile, an approbation. A gravitational pull.
"Hey." A breathy greeting, Stiles' too high voice lost in the music but not to Derek's ears.
He doesn't reply, not with words anyway. Just with his hand reaching out and his fingers scrambling for contact. Stiles' reaction is telling, being just a lack of surprise. His moves continue, his eyes never stray, as if he'd expected Derek to finally come around all this time. Which, knowing Stiles, is likely.
He grabs the hem of his shirt, pulls him in. Not all the way, just enough so that their faces are close. Enough for him to get a more precise lock on his scent, to not be disturbed by the mix of smells around them. He inhales deeply. It's getting heady.
Stiles still moves as if nothing is out of the ordinary, still dances randomly as if having Derek crowding him is the natural order. Maybe it should be.
His arm loops around Stiles' waist and brings him flush against his chest. Stiles' smile widens.
"Big bad wolf getting handsy tonight." Stiles comments with a sly look. His face goes back to seriousness in a flash, contradicting fleeting hands and playfully swaying hips.
No point in arguing, with his hand snaking up Stiles' back. Touch is how he expresses himself, mostly. His stare is another medium and his eyes bore into Stiles'.
"Oh." Stiles stands still for a second, mouth agape, although the word sounds more like a confirmation than a realization.
Derek nods, steps into his bubble more. The pack around them dissolves away, silent and compliant. It's time. They know it, can feel it. Stiles too, and Derek is starting to believe it.
It's not too late, he can try again. Hope always flourishes, even after all this time, all those hardships. Something he learned with Scott and his pack. Life gets better. Love was another matter but Stiles might just prove to him that it isn't.
He used to think love has to come in sweet, poisonous packages.
At 15 love meant a petulant girl with the softest lips and a guilty pain that shaped him into who he is.
At 17 it meant words that turned him on embarrassingly fast and a fire that spread farther than just his body, consuming his life.
At 23 it meant scared eyes that begged for protection, hands that seemed to heal but killed instead, leaving more ash around him in their wake.
Now it could mean acidic words, spit in his face at every opportunity, and a heartbeat that never stumbles when they talk. Truth, unconditional. Acceptance, reluctant maybe but reliable.
It colors Stiles' actions again tonight. In the way he's not avoiding him, allowing him to step closer. Derek's hands are wandering, exploring, palming warm clothing and the warmer skin underneath. And Stiles is not flinching away.
Not even when Derek is but an inch away from his neck, breathing him, almost tasting him. No, Stiles' hands are just following his lead, climbing up his chest, long fingers drumming on the way.
He pulls away to give him space, to let him touch more. Stiles does just that, glinting eyes and amused grin becoming more obvious.
He never learned how to provoke, approach someone with such a goal in mind, not since Paige at least. Never needed to. They always did the first move. He never had to wonder how to seduce, or just acknowledge attraction. Therefore he should be at a loss, unsure.
No. Just a quiet certainty in his moves. As if there was no hindering past that should block him.
Confidence. Because it's Stiles. It's clear. It's what was always supposed to happen. Every sense screams it, that it's right, welcomed. Stiles' scent is flooded by arousal, but it's specific, caused by Derek, aimed at Derek.
When Stiles' hand splays over his heart, thrums in time with the ragged beat of his heart, comforts with the palm pressing with intent and care, teases with the raking of blunt nails through his shirt, it secures everything.
No more dancing around each other. No more hesitance. This is right, and good.
Derek's head dips, he exhales roughly on the shimmering skin of Stiles' neck, earning a full-body shiver that reaches him as well. He spares a second to watch Stiles' Adam's apple go up and down, to listen to the stutter in the breathing, to take in the swirl of sugary elation that colors Stiles' scent. He can spare as much, now that he's decided and sure, but not one second more. He has to taste.
His lips connect with the both hot and cold skin, drag upwards, chase the goose bumps that rise at his touch. His tongue follows, lap at the sweat, feels the tremble.
Stiles tastes of relief and cinnamon, and the discovery makes him bite down slightly, try to get more of it with nibbles all along the throat Stiles offers him so freely.
His hold, already tight, gets worse with every second. Not one complaint from Stiles, just pants and groans, urgings.
"Fuck, about fucking time. Derek, more."
And he obliges, sucks on the tight flesh, abandons the shirt he's holding on and grabs Stiles' hips.
Stiles springs in motion, legs slithering around Derek's, hands moving to wrap around his neck.
Derek pulls away at once. "No," he whispers in between scattered breaths. "Keep your hand there."
He wants him to feel his heartbeat, as much as he can. Derek can feel Stiles', too well, and leveling the field in some way feels right and fair.
A quizzical look but Stiles obeys, replaces his hand over his heart but the other keeps going, higher, until it cups Derek's cheek. "Whatever you want," Stiles says, eyes softening.
Derek nods and his mouth returns to Stiles with renewed fervor, his hold becoming more urgent. It's not enough, despite how close they are, how surrounded by Stiles he is. Dragging his mouth across his neck, under his jaw, he finally captures Stiles' lips, with a whimper. Who lets it out is unclear.
Stiles kisses like he does everything else, pouring himself completely into it, all heart and no finesse. Derek's heart leaps and stills, his mind shuts off but his mouth keeps on pressing against Stiles' and his tongue explores ever further.
His eyes flicker open, long enough to catch glimpses of the people around them, enough to make him stop, detach himself from Stiles. Only an inch away yet still too far.
Stiles tips his head, tries to catch his stare. "Don't mind them," he murmurs, his grip on his neck tightening as he leads him back to his lips, to another hungry, fiery kiss. The hand on Derek's heart curls in the fabric of his shirt, pulls him with assurance towards a dark corner of the club. Towards privacy and unbridled exploration.
Derek lets him, surrenders, and his attention turns to the brilliant eyes looking at him. So much desire shining there. Love, unspoken maybe but not hidden either. He follows him without question, because he knows.
"You're a good one, right?" he says, voice thick.
"I'm the best one," Stiles replies with a smirk, a teasing answer with an undertone of reassurance.
With his backwards steps Stiles has directed them to the wall and he stops when he hits it with a soft thud. Derek cages him between his arms, savors the absence of fear, or any other negative reaction in Stiles' expression and how in return he feels energized. Stiles will keep making him stronger, more assured. He knows that as well.
"Then I'm not letting you go," Derek says.
"Don't you dare," is Stiles' defiant response.
Derek isn't the least bit afraid to lunge forward and kiss that smile away, to swallow that empty threat. Stiles holds onto him for dear life, gives it all, says it all without words, just touch and passion. And Derek gives it right back.
I'm gonna love you like I've never been hurt before
I'm gonna love you like I'm indestructible