Dinner that night went by awkwardly. And, as usual, it was because of Stiles.

He just had a knack for awkwarding things up. Special talent, a gift really. Or a curse, depending on who was asked.

His dad had simply asked if he was worried about his upcoming heat, which really, had been a perfect opening for Stiles to confess that yeah, he was a little bit, but now that he had a heat sex partner, he was feeling a little better. Instead, Stiles had flailed his hands and launched into a tirade about how the sheriff hadn't asked Malia that and why does he even need to go into heat in the first place. He's a dude and Omega heats are all about breeding and he lacked the anatomy to bear anyone's pups or kits or what-the-fuck-ever, didn't matter, it was just pointless for him to have to suffer like that.

The older Stilinski looked sorry he asked, hands held up in innocence, changing the subject completely and turning his focus on his other kid, asking Malia what time she was headed to the Yukimuras' on Sunday. Stiles had felt a little guilty for his blow-up, but mostly was just relieved the focus was no longer on him. Other than his sister's smirks and the new ammo she had for picking on him.

A doodle of Stiles with a pregnant belly taped to the bathroom mirror that morning was the least offensive thing she did.

Sisters were the actual worst.

Which was why he simply flipped her off she demanded to know where he was heading when he left that evening, making kissy faces and telling him to give Derek her love.

His nerves weren't as bad as they had been the first time he parked outside Derek's apartment building, his coyote settled with the knowledge that the Alpha was gonna help with their heat. The human part of him was still anxious, the dinner feeling too much like a date and his experience in that department feeling extremely lacking. Not to mention the fact that they'd be discussing the specifics of his heat, laying down guidelines and ironing out all the details. Talking about that topic in particular still wasn't something he was entirely cool with just yet.

At least he didn't feel like puking.

Stiles managed to knock on the door this time, hearing the soft padding of bare feet on a short carpet on the other side. The door was opened, revealing Derek in all his chiseled, whiskered glory, and Stiles had to bite back any embarrassing noises he was suddenly tempted to make. The Alpha wore a a dark green Henley top, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, the fabric tight and hugging just about every muscle on his torso. Black jeans covered his legs, the denim practically painted on, and he wondered just how much wiggling around it took to get those things pulled up.

And what exactly he'd have to do in order to watch that happen.

"Hey, come on in," Derek greeted him, stepping back and to the side, allowing Stiles to enter.

The apartment was filled the scents of tomato sauce, garlic, and various other Italian herbs, making his stomach grumble as he toed off his shoes. Add in the Alpha's own cinnamon based scent and Stiles was practically drooling onto the beige carpet.

The fact that he actually wasn't drooling was kind of a miracle really. Maybe the universe was being nice and not causing him to look like a complete and total idiot.

For once.

"Smells good," he commented, following the older man into the kitchen directly across from the front door.

Derek smiled proudly as he opened the over door to peek inside, checking on their meal. "Organic pizza made from scratch. Isaac and I like eating healthy." Oven door closed, he turned away from Stiles and headed to the fridge, opening it up and peering inside.

The Omega nodded out of lack of anything else to do, feeling his coyote whimper a bit as he remembered that Isaac actually lived there, too. Lived with Derek, cooked with Derek, maybe even did more with Derek.

Closing the fridge door, the older man handed over a bottle of water, Stiles taking it with a small smile and a "thanks". He took a long sip before screwing the cap back on and putting it on the counter.

"So," he began, watching as Derek leaned a hip against a counter, ankles crossed, arms folded over his chest in a relaxed manner. "Are you and Isaac..." he trailed off, not entirely sure about how to finish that question without sounding like a jealous moron.

Which he totally wasn't.

At all.

"Together?" Derek finished for him, the Omega nodding. "No. And before you ask, I'm not with anyone, haven't been in a relationship for years. Otherwise, I wouldn't have agreed to help you."

Stiles hid the relief he felt at the other man being single, glad that he'd been misinformed—or just not kept up to date—about the whole Braeden situation. "Years, huh?"

"Yeah. About two."

Really, he should've just let it go at that, should've been satisfied with that information. But he wouldn't be Stiles if he did, needed more than that, needed to keep poking and prodding and nagging and needling until the other person was annoyed and exasperated and he finally had run out of info to squeeze outta that person.

"What about that Braeden," he started then paused, not entirely sure what gender Braeden had been and therefore having no clue what pronoun to use. "Person?"

Derek shrugged a shoulder as though his entire relationship had been nothing. "Just sex," he commented flippantly. Then again, it was probably easy for a guy like him to just be so blasé about sex. He could get it from anyone he wanted just by walking in a room and flashing a smile. Hell, he probably didn't need to smile. He could probably scowl and the women would drop their panties for the brooding bad boy.

Basically it was easy for the guy to treat sex as if it was no big deal because it was easy for him to get it. And when things come easy to you, then you tended not to really cherish it or appreciate it the way you should.

Stiles, on the other hand, in all his virginal not-so-glory, he was practically dying to get laid. Metaphorically of course. Although in a few days, it would probably turn into more a literal thing. At least feel like it was literal.

"Was it heat sex?" he questioned, not entirely sure why he was pushing the subject. But for some reason, he had this insatiable desire to find out all about Derek's dating history, to find out what he would inevitable be compared to and lumped in with, if he even stood a chance to halfway live up to them.

Doubtful really, considering the fact that the exes Stiles did know about and had seen—totally not through FaceBook stalking at all—were all beautiful women. He was neither. And considering Derek's own genetic gifts in the physical department, he was kinda slumming it hooking up with Stiles.

The Alpha cocked an eyebrow, lips twisting to the side. "This turning into an inquiry about my relationship history?"

Busted.

Stiles ducked his head, fingers drumming against his fist, sheepish wince on his face. "Maybe," he murmured, eyes more focused on his socks than the man he was conversing with. Then there was his ratty khaki pants, his black tee surprisingly free of any ridiculous pun, his red flannel shirt. He was completely under-dressed compared to Derek. He was under-everything when compared to Derek really.

The older man let out a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck before refolding his arms. "I lost my virginity to an Omega named Paige at age seventeen," he began, talking in a matter-of-fact voice, back to the impassive tone that didn't betray how he felt about anything.

Stiles remembered her though, remembered the sweet, demure Paige who sometimes hung around when Derek was watching over him, Scott, and Malia. He always felt a little annoyed with her for some reason he didn't understand then, hating himself for feeling that way because she was so nice and sweet and made Derek smile all the time. It wasn't until he was older that Stiles realized he didn't like her because he was jealous, because she had what he wanted, because he'd never be a sweet, demure little Omega like she was and therefore Derek would never be interested in him. It should've been his first sign to get over his crush, but he didn't.

He wouldn't be Stiles if he did really. Unrequited love seemed to be his thing, just like making things awkward.

"At nineteen, I dated Kate and we both know what a bitch she was," the Alpha continued, eyes flashing red in anger for a brief moment before he reined himself in and went on. "Then there was a Beta named Jennifer at age twenty, then Braeden, who I haven't seen or talked to since I graduated last year."

Stiles nodded as he took all of that in, lips pressed together in a hard line. His coyote was unhappy, the other male obviously highly experienced while he...wasn't. He felt even more lacking, felt even more like he just didn't live up to Derek in any way and really, he was just fooling himself into thinking that anything would work between them, even heat sex.

"Any questions? Comments? Concerns?" Derek prompted, voice soft, not sounding annoyed at having to discuss his previous relationships or having his personal life discussed.

"They're all female," he murmured without even being aware of his lips moving, the realization of that fact coming to him as he spoke it. Because they were. And here Stiles was, most definitely not female, and expecting Derek to service him and even be interested in him at all.

"I'm bi," the Alpha clarified in the same way he might say "I have black hair" or "I'm half-Mexican" or "I'm a big brother". It was just a statement of fact that wasn't really a big deal, just another facet of who he was. The younger man envied him on that front, too, remembering how worked up he'd gotten when he realized he was as into men as he was into women and it turned out everyone kinda already knew, if for no other reason than "male Omega".

That plus, according to Lydia, he spent a bit too long staring at Han Solo's ass. But really, with those pants, he couldn't be blamed for staring, no matter his sexuality.

He might have started picturing Derek in that very outfit, thinking Solo's pants weren't any tighter than the jeans the Alpha seemed to have magically slipped into that day. Might have. Maybe. There was no real proof either way.

"And I've had sex with guys," Derek continued, still in that same tone. "No serious relationships with a guy though, mainly just one night stands." He shrugged a shoulder, dismissing the whole thing. "Anything else?"

Stiles shook his head, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. The other man had been more than generous with the info he'd given, the way he'd allowed his personal life to be invaded and put on display, even if it was just between the two of them. It was more than the Omega would've provided, that was for sure. He hated having his own private stuff being dug into, hated dealing with personal questions, yet he was being a total hypocritical asshole by asking Derek all these invasive questions, all because of some ridiculous sense of jealousy and an idiotic belief that he was entitled to that stuff.

He was a prick.

Wincing slightly, he inhaled on a hiss, exhaling on an extended "yeaaaah". "Sorry for being nosy and invasive," he apologized, shoving his hands in the pockets of his khakis.

Derek simply shrugged again, genuinely not seeming bothered by it. His scent was one of contentment and Stiles didn't note any signs of wolfing out or feel any need to submit before the Alpha's anger. "It's good that you asked," he stated, surprising the younger man. "You need to know who you're sleeping with and what you're getting yourself into."

Stiles' eyebrows went up, head rearing back slightly. Totally not how he expected the older man to react, especially given how private he seemed to be, how quiet. Getting any info outta him was like pulling teeth out of a chicken's mouth, so for him to not only be forthcoming with it, but also okay with doing so, was definitely a surprise. A pleasant one, but one nonetheless.

But what he said was true, was wise really, good advice. It seemed like something Derek would've told Scott, advice to be careful and know what he was doing before he became sexually active himself. Obviously that would be coming from a more big-brotherly kind of place, which hopefully wasn't where it came from when he said it to Stiles. He really hoped there weren't any sibling-like feelings aimed at him from the Alpha. Would make next week awkward as fuck.

Not that it wouldn't already be.

The guy had a point though and Stiles honestly did feel somewhat better after learning about Derek's sexual experience—seething jealousy aside. It put him at ease knowing that the person he asked to help him through his heat—and in turn, lose his virginity to—would actually know what he was doing, would make sure the Omega got through it all right and would even enjoy it maybe, possibly, kinda sorta.

But...Derek was experienced. And Stiles clearly wasn't.

It always seemed to come back to that.

"Should I, uh," he started then paused, grimacing again as he rubbed the back of his head. "I mean." Jesus, what did he mean? What the hell was he trying to even say? "You obviously have a lot of experience and my lone sexual partners are my hands and—" He stopped again, feeling about twenty different kinds of lame for what he was saying and how he was saying it.

Shoot him full of wolfsbane and put him outta his misery already.

"Should I, ya know?" He waved his hand around in a circle, hoping the other man got the gist of what he was saying. Not that Stiles even knew what he was saying, not really. He was pretty sure he was suggesting he go out there and gain some experience, get a few notches in his bedpost—which, where did that saying even come from in the first place?—so he could maybe be on a more even playing field with Derek. Or at least feel like he'd eventually make it to a close level.

A small smirk pulled up the corner of Derek's lips, amusement sparkling in his eyes and dancing in his scent. "Stiles," he said softly and wow, could he say his name forever, because wow. "It's okay to be a virgin."

Ugh. That word.

Wrapping his arms around his torso, he tried to go for nonchalant, but knew he was coming across as insecure and pathetic as he felt he was. "I just feel really lame compared to you," he admitted lowly, finally getting the truth out there and not really feeling all the better for it. "The truth shall set you free" is bullshit, end of.

The Alpha's face grew hard, eyes narrowed as he pushed away from the counter. He jabbed a finger in Stiles' direction, muscles tensed, and the Omega barely stopped himself from sinking to his knees and baring his throat. "Never compare yourself to someone else," he commanded, words nearly a growl. "It'll just lead to a life of depression and self-hatred."

And wasn't that the truth, one the younger man was all too aware of.

He swallowed hard at the command, the words more of an order despite having the big-brotherly-advice feel of before. "Got it," he rasped out, forcing a smile on his face, knowing it was as shaky as he was feeling.

Derek nodded once, seeming appeased, a buzzer going off in the background. Dropping his hand, he grabbed an oven mitt and opened the appliance door, taking the pizza out.

Conversation ceased, aside from the occasional direction from the Alpha, the two more focused on the pizza being sliced and dished out. It wasn't long before they were seated on the couch, two slices each, a roll of paper towels set on the coffee table as a substitute for napkins. A baseball game was on the TV, sound muted, and Stiles smiled as he noted the team names on the boxscore in the corner.

"Mets and Dodgers, huh?" he smirked, taking a big bite of a pizza, getting a mouthful of thin crust, tomato sauce, pepperoni, and cheese melted so perfectly it was hanging from his lips to the rest of the slice.

A sad smile formed on Derek's face as he swallowed his own bite, eyes faraway as he glanced at the TV. "Yeah. The Mets were my dad's team."

"Mine, too," Stiles replied, mouth still full, swallowing before he continued. "Well, still are really." He clarified with a shrug. Not that the other man needed to be reminded or informed of that, but whatever. Conversation was being made.

And then stopped, the two of them more focused on filling their stomachs and watching the game.

Had to be Kershaw pitching. Mets were gonna get killed.

Stiles was halfway through his second slice when Derek decided to break the silence.

"We should make a plan for your heat."

The Omega dropped his half-slice onto the plate on his lap, slamming back against the couch, head tilted, eyes closed, groaning. He knew it was necessary, that they needed to do that. Malia had had a plan for nearly three months now, knew exactly what was gonna happen and when. Not that Stiles knew any of it—or even wanted to know—other than the fact that she was heading to Kira's on Sunday, her dad was staying out of town for the week, and she'd be back the following one. Stiles had nothing planned beyond "sex with Derek. Repeatedly", meaning there was still obviously a lot of details they needed to hash out.

Didn't mean he wanted to do it. Because then they'd have to talk. About his heat. Not his favorite conversation topic.

"If it starts Monday," Derek went on, ignoring the younger man's reaction entirely. He was back to the impassive voice again and Stiles wasn't entirely sure if he was glad the Alpha was keeping such a level head about it all so he'd be better taken care of, or if he was pissed because he wanted the guy to show some emotion regarding how he felt about it all. Almost made Stiles feel like he was gonna be sharing his heat with a robot.

A sexy, sexy robot.

"Then you should come over Saturday, spend a day and a couple nights with a clear head getting used to this place and the smells, make you more comfortable with it."

The Omega nodded—as much as he could with his neck arched weirdly, back of his skull on the back of the couch—before Derek's suggestion fully set in and his head popped up. "Wait," he requested, head turning to the older man. "I'd be spending heat here?" he double-checked, pointing down.

"Yeah. Figured it'd be better than going through it under the same roof as your dad." He gave the younger man a pointed look before biting into his pizza, eyebrows arched in a "you know I'm right" way.

The thought of his dad hearing any sort of sex noises—whether solo or with a partner—coming from him was a terrifyingly embarrassing one, making him shudder all over. "Good point," he admitted, picking his slice back up. "But what about Isaac?"

The Alpha finished chewing and swallowed before speaking, leaning over to grab his water bottle off the coffee table. "I already talked to him and he's gonna see if he can stay with Boyd and Erica, which I'm sure they'll be fine with."

Stiles wanted to ask how he could be so sure, only to think of his own friends. Scott would have no issues letting Stiles crash with him, already had done that very thing after a few too many at a couple parties. Lydia would probably make him sleep on the floor. Kira had a guest room he'd spent the night in after her birthday party, Danny having a similar space. He wouldn't bother asking Jackson if for no other reason that Jackson was a douche and no way would Stiles even want to crash there under any circumstances.

Reaching forward, he grabbed his own drink, trying not to drop his plate as he got distracted by the adorable sight of Derek drinking with his pinky raised. "Yeah, staying here is definitely better than at home with Dad," he agreed, uncapping his own bottle and raising it to his lips.

"All right," the older man nodded, screwing his cap on. "And I'll get some toys in case you don't want me to knot you."

Derek really needed to learn how to time shit.

Stiles choked on his water, not nearly as bad as he had on his Chillatta the day before, but still enough to make him cough and sputter out a "Jesus, dude."

"This stuff needs to be talked about," the Alpha pointed out, eyes grave, tone brokering no argument. Stiles could do nothing but sink back into the couch, scratching the side of his neck rather than baring it. "We need to come up with a game plan so we're on the same page and you enjoy your heat."

The teenager snorted, rolling his eyes and tapping his crust against the plate. "Can heat even be enjoyed?" he questioned skeptically.

"If you spend it with the right person, it can, yeah." Derek's voice was soft, the harshness gone from his tone and his body language, corner of his lips slightly turned up.

Stiles kept his focus on his plate, swallowing a hard lump of jealousy. The way the older man spoke, it was like the words were coming from a place of personal experience, like he'd had wonderful, incredible heat experiences with someone—or someones—before and so he knew firsthand how awesome and enjoyable it could be. Their earlier conversation over Derek's sexual experiences and the implication that he'd shared heats with other women before came back, smacking him upside the head. Of course he'd thought it was great. He'd been with gorgeous females who catered to his every Alpha need. They weren't whiny, needy little Omegas who were kinda "meh" in the looks department and flailed about as often as they breathed.

But maybe Derek had a point when it came to Stiles. Maybe sharing it with the right person would make everything okay, make heat an enjoyable thing. And maybe Derek was that right person.

At least for this heat. Because if Stiles had realized anything over the past two days, it was that Derek didn't see him that way and that they definitely weren't meant to be, no matter how badly he wanted them to be.

Taking a deep breath, he steadied his nerves and pulled himself together, nodding. "Okay," he breathed out. "Toys."

"Toys," Derek repeated flatly.

An uneasy smirk formed on Stiles' lips as he tried to lighten the mood. "I'm assuming you aren't talking about action figures."

The Alpha's face grew serious, brow drawn into a hard line. "No, I already have those."

Stiles stared at him blankly, noting the grave expression in his eyes, the completely earnest way he'd spoken. His heartbeat was even, no blips or upticks, and his scent spoke of no guilt. But still...

"I honestly can't tell if you're joking or not."

Derek's response was to smirk and take a bite of his pizza.

Rolling his eyes, Stiles surprised himself by being the one to return to the more serious side of their conversation. "So what else do we need?"

"Other than action figures?" the Alpha questioned, still smirking. Stiles threw a used paper towel at his face, hating how it was batted away with a chuckle. "Any special requests?"

"What? Like, candlelight, rose petals on the bed, romantic music playing in the background?" the Omega joked, throwing out every cheesy cliché he could think of when it came to sex, wrapping up the lovey-dovey stereotypes by tearing off a piece of his crust with his teeth. Because nothing said "romance" like ripping your food apart caveman style.

Derek just stared at him with an eyebrow cocked, wordlessly asking if he was serious.

"Joke," he clarified, mouth full of half-chewed food.

"Aren't jokes usually funny?"

The younger man just stuck his tongue out, reaching over and smacking a muscular arm when he got a smirk in return.

"Seriously though," Derek sobered up, scratching his whisker-covered jaw. "There anything in particular that you need?"

Stiles drank deeply, mulling it over. Honestly, he had no clue what the hell he'd need. From everything he'd learned, his passage would leak more than usual, so there was no need for any sort of lube. Condoms weren't necessary either, since he couldn't get pregnant and Derek wasn't likely to have anything disease-wise, being a werewolf and all. His lack of experience with sex and heats meant he had no mistakes to look back on, no "next time, I need to remember to get that thing" for him to recall. Just a big black void of information.

And a whole lotta nerves, which were coming back, and no way was he throwing up that delicious pizza.

Shaking his head, he swallowed. "Not that I can think of," he admitted, peering up at the larger man. "Just whatever you think we'll need."

"All right," Derek replied, nodding solemnly, like he'd been given a task of utmost important and it was vital to the fate of the world for him to not fail. Reaching over, he put his hand on Stiles' forearm, gripping lightly. Even through a layer of flannel, Stiles could still feel the heat of his palm, AP Anatomy lessons flashing through his mind about how werewolves ran the hottest out of all the were-creatures. He wondered if Derek would still feel warmer to him when he was going through heat, or if they'd level out, or if he'd end up feeling hot to the Alpha.

Guess it was just something he'd have to find out when it happened.

His gaze flicked from the hand on his arm to the older man's face, taking in the serious expression he still wore and the heavy light in his eyes.

"I promise I'll take care of you," he vowed and the Omega completely believed it.

"I know," Stiles replied, small smile on his face. "That's why I asked you, 'cause I trust you."

"Good." The Alpha wore a small grin of his own before he sat up straight, pulling his hand back. Stiles' coyote whimpered at the loss, wanting the hand back, touching everywhere, petting the Omega and seeing what a good boy he was. "You want another slice?"

It took Stiles a moment to catch up, eyes darting down to his plate and the one bite of crust he still had. Popping it in his mouth, he nodded, holding his plate out when Derek reached for it.

The older man carried both to the kitchen, telling Stiles he could unmute the game if he wanted to, which he did. As Derek gave into Alpha instincts to gather more food for his Omega, Stiles settled into the couch, the even tones of Vin Scully's commentary calming him even further. He had a heat partner. He had a plan for his heat. He had it all figured out now.

He just had to tell his dad about it.

Shit.


His opportunity to talk his dad came sooner than he'd hoped. Although realistically, he should've just gone right up to his dad as soon as he got home from Derek's and told him everything. It was three days before his heat was set to start and he didn't exactly have time to fuck about and delay things.

Didn't mean he wasn't gonna procrastinate though. It was another talent he had, putting things off until the last minute then downing four energy drinks, upping his Addaral intake, and typing up a fifteen page paper the night before it was due. He should know better than to do that really—since it lead to papers on circumcision for econ—but old habits die hard and he was putting off breaking the habit of putting things off.

But as much as he wanted to procrastinate, the universe once again decided to be a little shit and do the opposite of what Stiles wanted. Meaning the morning after he'd had dinner at Derek's, as he was eating breakfast at the kitchen table, his dad entered the room in full sheriff regalia.

Crap.

His dad headed straight for the coffee maker, grabbing his travel mug from the cupboard above it and setting about making himself a drink. Okay, so he wasn't caffeinated yet. Stiles had a chance to quickly finish then sneak out and totally avoid this whole thing.

Or not, he realized when he looked down and noted he still had half a stack of waffles and three-quarters of his own cup of joe left. He wasn't crafty enough to slip out unnoticed with his hands full. Coyote or not, he wasn't all that great at the whole tricking and being sneaky thing. The accumulative two years of groundings was proof of that.

"Hey, Kid," his dad greeted him, opening the fridge to grab the milk. "Where were ya last night?"

His chewing slowed, using his full mouth as an excuse to not answer. Not that it ever stopped him from yammering on before. And judging from the way his dad had turned his head as he poured milk into his mug, eyebrows raised in expectation, he was obviously waiting on an answer at some point. Really, chewing slower was just buying him time to think up a lie.

Okay, terrible idea. It wasn't that he didn't think he'd get away with lying, because he had, several times; he just knew he needed to talk to his old man eventually. And considering the fact that he was leaving to stay at Derek's for about a week starting the next day, he was pretty much outta time. He needed to be straightforward, tell the truth, just get it all out there.

Easier thought than done, of course.

Swallowing, he waited until his dad's back was turned, focus more on returning the milk to its rightful spot. "Derek's," he answered flatly, hoping to mimic the Alpha and not give away anything with his tone of speech.

"Derek?" the sheriff questioned dubiously as he straightened up, fridge door closing on its own. "Melissa's son Derek?" He turned around and faced his son, brow creased in skepticism, arms folding over his khaki shirt. "Scott's older brother Derek? Your old babysitter Derek?"

"They're all the same guy, Dad," the Omega pointed out, forever the little shit. Spearing a triangle of waffle, he held it up as he spoke. "We had dinner and watched the game. Mets beat the Dodgers by the way." He added on the last part in the hopes that it would be distraction enough so his dad wouldn't really hear the rest of what he'd said, popping the syrup drenched waffles in his mouth.

His luck was never that good.

"Good," the older Stilinski nodded, grabbing the carafe out the coffee maker. "But you know I gotta ask—" He trailed off, giving the younger one a pointed look that said he knew Stiles was aware of what exactly would be asked and he wouldn't tolerate any of his shit when he pretended otherwise.

"Why was I having dinner with Derek?"

A scoffed out "yeah" was the sheriff's response before he began pouring coffee into his travel mug.

Stiles laid his fork on his plate, taking a long drink of coffee as he mulled things over. Because seriously, how was he supposed to tell his dad that he was hanging out with the guy who agreed to possibly take his v-card and possibly repeatedly fuck him?

No, not possibly. Definitely. After thinking it over for all of five minutes the night before, he realized there was no fucking way he was passing up the opportunity to have sex with Derek Hale-McCall.

"Son," his dad prompted, face both worried and afraid, features scrunched up and making those stress lines he had stand out even more. "Are you and Derek. Together?"

"No," Stiles answered honestly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not really anyway."

The older Stilinski turned towards his son, leaning back against the counter, arms folded over his chest. "How is that a 'not really'?" he demanded to know in his sheriff voice before wincing again. "Or is it something I don't wanna know?"

Gripping his fork, the teenager began tapping the tines against his plate, lips pressed together, leg shaking beneath the table. "Honestly? Probably not," he admitted, grimacing briefly himself. "But you need to."

His dad nodded slowly once, a million things flashing in his blue eyes, probably recalling all the times Stiles had called him at work and fessed up to whatever idiotic stunt he, Scott, and Malia had performed that afternoon and which item in the house was broken or who was in the emergency room. Derek usually got the shit end of those lectures since he was usually the one left in charge of them and was supposed to be keeping an eye on them. Poor guy had his hands full. Stiles should send him a muffin basket as a thanks and an apology all in one.

Or maybe he could just give the guy his v-card.

Yeah. Way cheaper that way.

The sheriff's scent changed to something a little more embarrassed, still grimacing as though he really didn't want to say what he was thinking, but having no other choice. "Does this have anything to do with—" He paused, swirling a hand around in Stiles' direction as though gesturing to something. The Omega looked down at his jeans and "Han Shot First" tee, wondering what exactly he was referring to. Clearly it wasn't his choice in shirts, because this one was awesome. "Your heat?"

Oh. Right.

Oh god, his dad was right to feel awkward. Because that's how it felt for Stiles every time it was brought up. He figured it had to be as bad for Malia, since she was a girl and getting the heat talk from a parental figure of the opposite gender was clearly painful. For Stiles, it was godawful because his dad was an Alpha and therefore just didn't get what it was like being an Omega. With stereotypes being what they were, an Omega son was pretty much the equivalent of having any sort of daughter, just with different equipment. There was no way an Alpha male could relate to that on any level. So heat talks just didn't work out all that well between them and left both Stilinski men embarrassed and awkward, avoiding each other for several hours—if not days—after.

Good thing Stiles was leaving the next night then.

"Yeah," he replied, swirling a piece of waffle in a puddle of syrup that had dripped down off the stack. "I asked him to service me during it." He winced slightly, tensing up and bracing himself for his dad's reaction.

The non-committal "huh" he huffed out wasn't what he expected, but he'd take it. "And he agreed?"

Stiles nodded, still staring at where he was playing with his food. "He wants me to go over there tomorrow night to get comfortable before my heat officially starts, get used to the scents of my new environment and all that."

His dad looked impressed, nodding himself in a more thoughtful manner. "And you're okay with this plan?"

He snorted. "Better than spending heat here alone and making things really awkward between us."

The sheriff winced more, inhaling on a slight hiss. "I think it's a bit late for that."

The Omega see-sawed his head, conceding the point. "Okay, more awkward," he clarified, somewhat bitterly. Not that it was his dad's fault that he was an Omega in a house of Alphas and that no one around him seemed to get it. The only other Omega he knew was Danny, but he didn't know the guy well enough to actually talk to him about everything. Plus the guy had found his own mate, had hooked up with Lydia's mate's twin bro at her eighteenth birthday and boom, that was it, fate sealed forever.

Yeah, he was a bit jealous that literally everyone he was friends with—and that didn't include Jackson, because he wasn't a friend, he was an acquaintance that showed up during group hangs—had paired up and he was stuck being the lone single person—again, excluding Jackson—but he couldn't hate Danny for it. The guy was literal sunshine and rainbows, even smelled like a fucking tropical beach. Ethan's ocean scent just made them a walking vacation and Stiles might've maybe been a bit bitter about that.

Seriously. What the hell kinda scent went with plain old boring vanilla anyway? Who even liked vanilla? Vanilla was the part of Neapolitan ice cream that got left behind because everyone wanted the parts with actual flavor. It was the way to describe boring sex, something safe and average and mundane. It was the air freshener that stopped working after an hour because it just wasn't strong enough to make your car smell nice for an extended period of time.

Basically, no one liked vanilla. Not even the elderly, who'd rather gum down tapioca than vanilla ice cream. There was a reason why it was always drenched in hot fudge or paired with bananas and cherries. There was a reason why Nilla Wafers were always dipped into pudding rather than eating alone. Because no one liked vanilla.

Just like how no one liked Stiles. At least not as anything more than a friend.

"So is this you two starting a relationship?"

He resisted the urge to snort, to scoff, to laugh maniacally at the insane suggestion that someone, let alone Derek Hale-McCall, would enter a relationship with him. The guy might've been slumming it to help the Omega with his heat, but not enough to actually date him.

"Nope," he answered, popping the 'p'. "Just heat."

The sheriff did scoff, disbelief flooding his scent. "Really? You're fine with it just being heat sex and not progressing into something more?"

"Yup." Another pop of the 'p', another swirl in his syrup.

"You're a terrible liar, kid," his dad commented with a laugh.

Stiles dropped his fork, raising his eyes to take in the amused sparkle in his dad's blue eyes, the curve of his smirk, the fond shake of the head that said he thought his kid was crazy but gosh, did he love that adorable insanity. Kids say the darndest things and all that.

It was kind of a little infuriating, especially since it meant he wasn't being taken seriously when he spoke.

For a change.

"Dad," he started calmly, rationally, sitting up straight and leaning over the table with his hands held out to indicate how incredibly fucking serious he was at that moment. "Me and Derek will never be like that. This week is all that will ever happen between us and I've accepted that. I'm fine with it."

The sheriff let out a very undignified snort, his entire body rocking with it. "You're still lying your ass off," he pointed out, finger stretched out in his son's direction before refolding his arms. "But I know there's no talking you out of any plan, no matter how crazy. Just know that I'll be here for you when you end up heartbroken."

Stiles honestly wasn't sure how to take that. He was pissed he wasn't believed, upset his plan was implicated to be crazy, flabbergasted that his dad had already decided it would all end in heartbreak. Kinda kicked a guy in the self-esteem when spoken to like that.

Deciding to just shove aside any and all reactions, he slumped back in his seat, leg shaking beneath the table, thumb tracing a line in the wood. "Not gonna happen 'cause my heart's not involved." Not totally a lie, since he was planning on not having his heart involved. He'd had several discussion with said organ over the past day or so that it needed to sit on the bench for this one and just keep its feelings to itself. Nobody had time for its bullshit.

"Uh huh," his dad placated, his tone completely sarcastic as he clearly still didn't believe a word he was saying. Not really anything new though. The older Stilinski had once commented that he hadn't believed a single word his son had said since he began speaking. Being a coyote just added to the mistrust really. "Sure. Well," he began then paused, straightening up. His entire stance changed, his facial expression closing up, eyes hardening, and Stiles immediately recognized the shift into Sheriff Mode. "If you wanna spend the week at Derek's, then he's coming over here for dinner tomorrow night before you leave."

Oh. Oh no.

No no no.

No way. Not happening. No, sir, not in this lifetime, absolutely not.

But, fuck, he didn't have a choice. Because his dad had wolfsbane bullets and handcuffs and could so very easily physical restrain his son and prevent him from leaving. Hell, even a well spoken command in a tough Alpha voice would be enough to keep Stiles from sneaking out and despite his dad's promise to never do that to his kids—regardless of their ABO orientation—there was always that chance that he'd change his mind if the situation warranted it. Desperate times and all that.

Stopping his son from getting laid by an Alpha was one of them.

Still, the thought of Derek being grilled by his dad—which would inevitably happen, no matter how close their families were and how well his dad already knew him—had his nerves making a loud return, one that was impossible to ignore. His heart started pounding and his stomach twisted and he just knew his scent was laced with anxiety.

Terrific.

"Dinner wi-with,with, with you?" Stiles stuttered, pointing at his dad, brows raised. There was nothing good about that plan at all. Because dinner with his dad meant dinner with the sheriff, his guns, his threats, and his tour of his gun cabinet, complete with a flourishing hand sweep as he showed off his wolfsbane ammo in a very Vanna White-like manner.

There was a reason why Stiles always met his date at the place they were having their...date. What few dates he actually managed to get, of course. Hell, even his friends were well familiar with his dad's favorite guns and his interrogation techniques and there was zero romantic interest there.

Bringing the guy who was gonna be knotting him for a week over was just asking for trouble.

His dad nodded. "And your sister. And I'll think I'll have her invite Kira, too."

Stiles did give in to the urge to snort at that one, the idea going from terrifying to somewhat ridiculous. "So the sheriff," he ticked off with his fingers. "His two kids, and the people who'll be helping them through their heats all sitting down to dinner," he summed up, shaking his head at the lunacy of it all. It sounded even crazier now that he'd spoken it out loud.

Grin on his face, his dad strode over, wrapping an arm around his son's shoulders and sighing happily. "Gotta love this family," he said dreamily, Stiles twisting his lips, not entirely sure he'd agree with that at times. Yeah, his family fucking rocked and was pretty much the best family in the history of ever, but it wasn't because of their dinner plans for the next night.

Which was still fucking ridiculous and insane.

But Stiles had inherited his stubborn refusal to back down from stupid plans from someone and at that moment, he wasn't entirely sure he'd gotten it from his mom.

His dad slapped his shoulder twice before letting go and heading over to the coffee maker and his mug that he'd left there earlier. "Tell Derek about dinner," he ordered in a dad voice rather than an Alpha one, taking hold of his travel cup and turning to face his son. He continued on as he crossed the kitchen towards the door that led to the living room. "And don't 'accidentally' forget," he stated, using emphasis for air-quotes, something else Stiles clearly got from his old man. "Or tell me that you asked but he couldn't come or just tell him to refuse. Otherwise I will show up at his place and drag him here myself. In cuffs."

Okay, the old man knew him too well if he had all of Stiles' tricks down. That, or the younger Stilinski was getting predictable.

He held his hands up in innocence, in a surrendering manner, leaning back in his chair with his head slightly tilted to the side, neck somewhat put on display. Instincts were a pain at times.

"Don't believe that either," the sheriff commented from his place by the kitchen door, pointing at the teenager with the hand still holding his mug. "Dinner, tomorrow, Derek. I mean it."

"I know," Stiles nodded, giving him a thumbs up and a wink.

A fond but exacerbated sigh left his dad, blue eyes rolling upward for a brief moment before focusing on him once again. "I'll see you after work. Behave until then. Love you, kid."

"Love you, too, Dad."

The older Stilinski paused in the doorway, eyes fixated on his son for a long time, brow creased in concentration. Stiles opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out, confused about his dad's actions at that moment. Self-consciousness crept in and he began worrying that something was wrong, especially as his dad's scent turned into something much sadder. Without saying a thing, the sheriff turned away and left, boots heavy on the hardwood floor as he strode to the front door.

Stiles stayed put for a while, trying to figure out what the hell exactly had gotten into his dad before finally just shrugging it all off. If it was important, it would've been said or would come up later on. Until then, there wasn't really anything he could do.

Done with breakfast, he downed the rest of his coffee before gathering his dirty dishes. His uneaten waffles were dumped in the trash, plate rinsed then put in the dishwasher. He knew he should get started on his chores, but the conversation he'd just had was still plaguing his mind, still a buzzing irritating noise that he couldn't drown out.

Mainly the part about dinner.

He decided he'd just rip the band-aid off, quick and easy, drawing his phone out his pocket. Calling was an idea he quickly shoved aside, not entirely confident that he wouldn't chicken out, so he shot Derek a text instead.

Pussy way out, but whatever. It was done and his dad should be happy.

Stiles wouldn't be until that dinner was over. Nothing he could really do about that though except hope for the best and suffer through it all when the universe inevitably lets him down for the umpteenth time.

He rubbed at his stomach through his shirt, anxiety making him nauseous and his food not sit right. He was really dreading that upcoming meal just like he was dreading his heat. The next ten days or so were gonna be his own personal brand of Hell.

Awesomesauce.