Warnings: Dirty dreams, masturbation
Summary: With the full moon inching it's way closer, a lesson in communication has Derek being… Affectionate?
Stiles gets taken by a dream that night. His sheets still smell of Derek and the memory of his first two lessons are still fresh in his mind. He tosses and turns, gripping at the sheets while his mind runs a muck.
Derek's over him again, pinning him. His arms are above his head and the smell of Derek was everywhere, the heat of his body, weight pressing Stiles to the ground. He has his mouth on Stiles' neck, suckling marks into his pale flesh and nipping softly at his jaw.
Derek's marking him, showing him he's owned by someone. His dick is hard and Derek knows it, lowering his own hips down for him to grind against. He's whimpering and moaning shamelessly and Derek's laughing lowly, almost darkly into his ear. It's turning him on more than he would like to admit and when Derek starts to groan, it just makes it that much better, pushing him closer and closer to—
"O-Oh, fuck." He wakes with a jolt and whimpers immediately, length hard and throbbing, so close to coming it's crazy. He pushes the blankets away and shoves a hand into his boxers, taking himself out. He hikes up his shirt with his free hand and strokes himself, laying his head back and breathing unevenly. It doesn't take him long, just a few more pumps and an accidental inhale of the pillow Derek slept on. He tries to get away from the guilt by getting up and heading for a shower right away.
—
When Stiles comes downstairs he sees that his father is already awake. Maybe he hasn't even gone to bed even though he had told him to. He lazily makes himself a bowl of cereal and sits at the table, "Did you even sleep?"
"No." His father responds, looking up at him wiped out and tired. Stiles sighs and his father waves a hand hand at him. "Don't start, it's fine. Couldn't sleep if I wanted to. Where's uh, that guy?"
"Um, Tyler?"
"Yep. He went to his uncle's, right?"
"Yes." Stiles says begrudgingly, the embarrassment of that day coming back to him, the hard look on Derek's face when he told him he wasn't actually Tyler. It was really just a show and he doesn't want to admit he kind of liked the behavior that the Tyler persona provided. But Derek is Derek and there's no changing that. The guy will always partly hate him whether Stiles helps him or not.
The Sheriff sighs, "I'm sorry, kid. I was rough on you about him. You gotta understand, though… I mean, I found you in his lap, ready to do God knows what and—"
"Dad, I'm sorry." He apologizes even if he doesn't know what for. He stabs at a marshmallow rainbow with his spoon, drowning it under the milk before letting it pop back up.
"I know, just—You know I don't have a lot of rules." His father rubs at his forehead like he's trying to diffuse a headache.
Stiles stands and goes over to the cupboard, grabbing a tea bag from the box and coffee cup from one shelf up. He fills the cup with water then pops it in the microwave. "You… You don't have rules for, y'know. Whatever that was."
"I feel like I should now."
"No one likes me, Dad. You won't have any use for the rule."
"He does."
Stiles looks up at his father, hearing the echo of how genuine the statement sounds, the look on his face confirming it. The teen fixes his father a cup of tea before retreating back to his room without his cereal, feeling like he's been hit by a bus.
Derek's full of unwanted energy. His leg jiggles while he tries to read and his fingers shake, tap on the counter top in his kitchen. He's tried taking a walk in the woods, idly following a path which he didn't realize he'd done until he was standing right where he'd almost sunken his teeth into Stiles' neck. He tells himself it's just the wolf wanting him to look for that kill again, but it's really because Stiles' dulling scent on the place is drawing him in.
He wanted to give Stiles the bite.
He hadn't because Stiles is still this delicate, innocent thing. Only thing in his life that is.
He hadn't wanted Stiles' help when he was bleeding in the last lesson. For the one reason that he didn't want to see Stiles with blood on his hands.
And last night, he'd had the desire to slip into the kid's bed and just lay there with him. He really thought about giving himself a black eye so he could show up on the Sheriff's doorstep and play Tyler, just to be back there, an inch away from being arrested if he touched Stiles the wrong way. But then Stiles would ask where he got it and he'd get mad because he wouldn't have a good explanation. But it doesn't matter, he didn't go.
He keeps his jacket and shoes on just in case he has another nightmare, though. And he does, but it isn't about Stiles. It's about Laura. She'd been at the edge of the woods and he ran out to see her. Then she started to scream. He could feel heat on his back and turned to see the house on fire, distant shouts of his mother, his father, his brothers. He saw Peter staggering from the wreckage and it infuriated him.
He wakes in a cold sweat and lifts himself from the bed, seeking refuge. He ducks into Laura's room and curls up in the closet again, whispering that he's sorry he made such a mess of her room before.
—
The next day, Stiles trudges up to Derek's house, knocking before showing himself in, "Derek?" He has some deep embarrassment about seeing the wolf today but it isn't enough to keep him from helping. When Derek doesn't suddenly appear and jump down the stairs or whatever he does to intimidate him, he feels worry strike and twist in his stomach. He checks the sitting room and kitchen, what's left of the dining room first.
Then he starts up the stairs. Checks the rooms he checked before in a row, cringing at the claw marred wood as he enters the room he'd first found Derek in. It looks the same as before and he's about to leave. Before he hears something shift. He momentarily shields himself but when there's no one pushing or attacking, he lowers his arms. The room is quiet and everything is visible. There's no where to hide, accept for the closet. He wishes to not find the almost overdosed lump of werewolf he found before and peers in.
It's completely different, despite the jump of his gut at seeing Derek. The older teen's asleep this time and he knows it by just the way he looks. Stiles kneels down and sets a hand on his arm, "Hey. Derek, wake up."
Derek shifts and sighs, rubs at one of his eyes and Stiles bites his lip. His eyes open, a tired blue-green and the younger teen smiles softly. "Hey. It's um, afternoon."
The wolf looks around for a moment and then back to Stiles. He nods stiffly, "Yeah. Thanks."
"N-No problem." He moves his hand from Derek's arm, accidentally bumping his knuckles on his inner thigh and watches him react, whole body going still for a moment. Blush fills out his cheeks and he backs away. He coughs softly, "I, uh. Lesson time."
Derek nods and pulls himself together, memories of dreaming in blood and rage swirling in his head. When Stiles moves toward the door, he grabs his arm and moves them towards Laura's clawed up bed. He sits himself down and looks up when Stiles doesn't follow suit. "I wanna stay in here."
"Oh. Well, alright. Sure." Stiles sits cautiously, rubbing his sweaty palms on his jeans. He either tends to wear too many layers around Derek, or Derek just makes him hot. He grimaces to himself, thinking about how that sounds. When he looks up, Derek's staring at him; deep, thoughtful, intense. He swallows and does the only thing he can think of. He opens his mouth. "Okay so the next lesson…" Derek's gaze lightens a bit. "Communication. You gotta tell me what happens when you start to change. We can figure out triggers and keep you more safe on full moons."
Derek manages not to roll his eyes, "Stiles, you can't put it down to a science, it's—"
"But I can try." The quirky teen cuts in instantly, doing an odd fidgeting thing that makes Derek want to hold him down. He sighs.
"Fine. Just… What do you want to know?"
Stiles leans back a little and digs his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small pad of paper and a pen. He takes the cap between his teeth and pulls, then sets the pen point to the paper. There's already writing on the page, which means Stiles has already thought about this. Derek reaches over and grabs the pen cap from the kid's mouth, dragging it slowly across his bottom lip as he pulls it away, just watching the give his lip makes, the fullness. Stiles stares up at him for a few moments before shaking himself out of it.
"U-Uh, okay… Yeah, um… What do you feel just before you shift?"
Derek makes the decision to be honest. He thinks about it for a moment before answering, "Usually agitation. Anger. Really strong emotions or feelings."
Stiles writes down every word and nods as he does so. His back is hunched uncomfortably and Derek sets a hand there, pressing against his spinal cord until he sits up correctly, little cracking noises being heard. Stiles grimaces at it but carries on.
"How do you feel when you shift?"
"It's painful… But a good pain. Almost like relief and pain. The-The wolf and the human… I can't really explain it that well." His hand is starting to feel along the fabric of Stiles' shirt. The kid always has to wear plaid, doesn't he? But it works for him, so it's fine. He wonders though, what he looks like in just t-shirts.
The younger teen nods regardless and writes the answer down, putting in parenthesis that it's like cracking your back, since that's the first thing his mind offers. Derek nods in agreement. Stiles relaxes a bit against his hand and asks the next question with a blush.
"Does it happen when you, uh… Y-You're in like, um… very close, to another person, n-naked situations?" He stammers and hates himself for it, but at least he gets it out. He doesn't dare peek up at Derek but he has a feeling what his expression will be. Hard, judging, maybe annoyed that he stuttered.
Derek truthfully doesn't look like that at all. He wonders if Stiles was actually still that innocent. "Stiles…"
He answers too quick. "Yeah?"
"Are you still a—"
"What? No. Of course not. What are you talking about? …Huh?" He answers way too loud to be convincing, blush filling out his cheeks, getting deeper in color and his leg starting to jiggle nervously.
Derek chuckles. Actually, honestly, chuckles. He finds it amusing. Stiles wants to crawl in a hole and Derek feels it. So, instead of calling him out on it, he answers the question, "Yes, it can happen then, but I can control myself… Although, I haven't really screwed anyone since the upgrade."
Stiles shakily writes the answer down and turns the page on the pad, "D-Do you" He realizes Derek's rubbing his back; his palm slow and warm as it moves and it presses down a little ever so often, like it's guessing how many layers to skin there is. He manages not to shudder, "Do you think I'm helping with this?"
"Yes." The wolf tells him with a short nod. He lets his fingers slip down, to the edge of Stiles' plaid over shirt, lifting it up just slightly to touch to the t-shirt underneath. Stiles doesn't seem to notice. "With all of it."
The quirky teen nods, with a smile, and the pen scribbles across the paper again. Since Derek seems to be in a good mood, Stiles tries to be funny. He covers the next question on the paper and says instead, "Do you find me attractive?"
Derek's hand slips onto skin and Stiles' eyes widen. Derek's voice is laid back but serious, a tinge different, "You're cute. In a goofy way."
"You think I'm goofy?" Stiles squeaks, selective hearing grabbing only that part. He looks up at Derek defensively but tingles run up his spine from Derek's fingers gliding across his skin.
"A little. You have like, crazy legs and make odd noises." He shrugs, letting his thumb rub across a bit of Stiles' spinal cord, then his fingers trail up it slowly.
Stiles' leg starts jiggling again but he notices this time, and blushes when he realizes Derek's right. "Y-Yeah, okay."
The older teen smiles and leans in, "You gonna write that down?"
He nods, writing down 'goofy' at the top of the page. Derek's voice is a whisper, "But cute."
The color deepens on Stiles' cheeks and, for a moment, everything is wonderful. Derek feels wonderful, feels it himself and feels it rolling off Stiles in waves. The kid doesn't write the word down but he keeps letting Derek touch him, and the wolf counts that as a win.
"I, uh… T-There's a full moon coming up. We have to decide what to do with you."
"I'll stay here. I'll be fine." Stiles looks skeptical, of course, and he sighs, "No, seriously… No drugs, no passing out. Just… staying here."
"But, what if—"
"No, don't start in on the what if's. It'll be okay." He rubs his back, watching how easily he relaxes into it, "It'll be okay."
Stiles takes a moment or two, feeling Derek's hand gliding up and down his back before he nods, flippin his pad of paper closed. He smiles and reaches for the pen cap, which Derek has wrapped in his hand, settled on his thigh. "We'll just, I don't know, make sure you're calm and stuff."
"I feel pretty good now." He tells him, letting Stiles' fingers uncurl his own and grab the pen cap, swipe his palm with his fingertips.
"That's good." The younger teen says as he pops the cap back on the pen, feeling Derek's hand tracing the lower part of his spine. He bites his lip, "Y'know, it's gonna get cold tonight. You can… Come to dinner tonight. Sleep over."
"Stiles—"
"I know my Dad's not a fan, but it's gonna be cold tonight. You can even sleep on the couch if you want, you don't have to be in bed with me." He stutters out, then bites his lip again, harder this time, "Unless you want you lay in bed with me, then you can. I-I, you can, my blankets are really soft—Wait, you know that. Don't you? It's—"
"I could eat, yeah." Derek accepts his invitation. He wants to be around Stiles and even if he has to play a part, it's better than isolating himself in Laura's closet.
Stiles smiles and hops up, grabbing Derek's hand that was just up his shirt, "Then come on. I get to cook this awesome thing I found a recipe to in the back of the cupboard."
—
When they get to Stiles' house, the kid pulls him through the door, lets him sit in a chair at the kitchen table, "Dad, I'm back! I'm gonna make dinner!"
"Okay. Is it gonna be chicken again? Please don't say it's—" Sheriff Stilinski stops with his foot about to touch the floor to the kitchen, hand still on the rail of the stairs. Derek looks over at him from his place at the table. "Oh."
Stiles turns around from the cupboard, pot in his hand, "Um… I invited Tyler over." He gives a soft smile and then goes back to work, setting the pot in the sink and filling it up with water.
The Sheriff nods, steps into the kitchen, "Tyler."
"Sheriff Stilinski." Derek greets in the same way, sitting up straighter from where he's slouching. He watches Stiles' father go over and look over what his son's doing.
"What are you gonna make, kid?" He asks and Stiles taps the counter with his elbow before going back to washing his hands. The Sheriff picks up the card laying there, "…You're making your mom's recipe?"
Stiles freezes, looks tense. He looks over at the card in his father's hand. He gapes for a moment and then shakes himself out of it, "Uh, yeah. I-I guess."
Derek feels like he's intruding but both Stilinskis bury it away, Stiles' father setting the card back on the counter before heading into the living room, quiet "okay, good" being said. Stiles sighs and continues to prepare the meal, shedding his flannel and setting it on the back of a chair.
Oh, so that's what he looks like in just a t-shirt.
And oh, he has a sudden extreme urge to touch.
His fingers twitch and he just wants to so badly. He gets up, can feel the sadness radiating from the kid's body. It hits him in his chest and he connects his hands with Stiles' back. He watches him jump a little - he's really quiet on these floors - but relax into it after a moment.
Derek slowly rubs his hands down his back, shoulder blades to the beginning of his jeans, before moving back up, thumb of his right hand gliding up his spine. Stiles' muscles move under his skin, under the fabric when he reaches up and grabs things from shelves. A sliver of skin gets exposed when he reaches for an ingredient on the top shelf and he moves his other hand to pull his shirt back down, but Derek's hand is already there, coming around so he can rest his hand on it. It momentarily stills him, thinking maybe this is Derek playing Tyler, so he can't let it seem weird.
He lets him touch. When he steps, Derek steps. When he moves, Derek touches. Soon, Stiles knows his father's eyes are on them and he's close to a panic attack, emotions of the day mixing up his stomach to create something so unsettling. Derek gently pulls him back into him, arm wrapping around his middle while the hand on his skin stays firm, holds him.
The spoon he's holding drops and it's one of those moments he can't hold in. He remembers that his mother's made this before now. He can smell everything cooking and it's like a knife to the chest because it's so familiar. He's half expecting for his mother to come down the stairs singing and smelling of her favorite perfume - they've even still got it in the house, didn't dare get rid of the elegant little bottle.
He needs to sit down but doesn't think he'll make it to the chairs. This was supposed to be a good night, Derek here again and him making a nice dinner for all three of them. He sets his hands against the counter and takes in a breath. Derek holds him tighter - keeps him upright - and leans into his ear, "It's okay."
Oh. Oh, no. Stiles has the urge to turn into him, press his face against his chest and cry. But he won't. He nods, packs another box of feelings and tapes it up, pushes it into the far, dimly lit corners of his heart and hopes it'll fade away.
He's surprised but welcomes it when Derek nuzzles his neck, distracts him a bit. He didn't know the older teen could be so touchy-feely with anyone but today's proven it. It's mildly inappropriate, he knows that, and Derek must know that, too. "You want me to go sit down?"
He nods again, gets out a small "Yeah" and Derek nods as well. He feels lips press to his neck and then it's all being taken away; the hands, the warmth, the support. It's okay, he tells himself, glances over to see his father looking at him with tired eyes. Everything's okay. He forces a small smile and then goes back to cooking. He will make this taste good for them.
—
He pushes himself to make he night better, talking up a storm while he sets up the plates, puts them on the table. While they eat, he makes his father talk about work and when that's done with, Derek - bless him please because really - offers up some cute, fake stories about hishusky mix dog named Derek. It takes a lot of smiling - and some pasta falling in his lap - to make his Dad actually smile. Derek holds Stiles' hand under the table.
When dinner's done with, Stiles puts the plates in the sink and promises he'll do them tomorrow. He feels a little wiped out and says goodnight to his Dad, who looks up from case files and beckons him over for a hug. They both cling a little and the Sheriff doesn't say anything about "Tyler" being back in the house, which Stiles is thankful for.
Derek leads him up the stairs, pushes him toward the bathroom, "Go take a shower."
Stiles doesn't fight with him. He goes in, takes a shower, lets a few tears fall. He makes sure he's washed and calm by the time he gets out, brushes his teeth and then heads into his room with a towel around his hips.
He peeks his head in first and Derek isn't looking at him, so he slips in and goes over to his drawers, just grabs something out and gets it on quick. He wonders if he should wear shorts, along with his underwear and shirt to bed, but decides against it. He wants to be cool and comfortable. Derek's already laying in his bed and he goes over, switches off the lamp so only the dim hallway light is what they have.
Maybe it's a little awkward but he climbs in, gets under the blankets he's sharing and Derek turns on his side, looks at him. He pulls the blankets up to his chest and looks over, "What?"
"Dinner was really good. Thank you." He says and then he's scooting closer, arm slipping around Stiles' middle, moving his shirt out of the way so he's touching skin again.
Stiles bites his lip and nods, lets Derek nuzzle in by his throat and finds he really, really likes it. The wolf's breath is warm against him and so is his body. He can hear his Dad coming up the stairs and doesn't think twice before he puts an arm around Derek, fingers going into his hair.
"And you were right, the blankets are comfortable." The older teen says quietly, shifts closer and Christ, Stiles thinks, is that his leg bumping mine? Derek's not wearing pants, either. He moves his leg so it's overlapping one of the quirky teen's, smiles the way he does when using Tyler as some of the light from the hall gets blocked by the Sheriff's head. Real stealthy, Sheriff Stilinski. "It's really nice that you'd do this for me again. So caring."
"Well, thanks." Stiles doesn't know how to play this after all. He probably looks so uncomfortable and inexperienced, Derek playing loving… whatever, and he's just… Awkward. He's not used to it. Derek chuckles, pretends like he doesn't see or hear or smell Stiles' father and leans up, presses a kiss to the kid's jaw.
Goosebumps rise to Stiles' skin and he lets out a soft laugh, turns into him a little so his face is by Derek's hair. He can feel the wolf breathing on his collarbone. His Dad's not-so-spy-like footsteps pad off into his own room and Stiles sighs, relaxes.
"You really gotta play up that we're together, don't you?" He says when his father's door shuts. He can feel Derek shrug but other than that, he doesn't move. "…And you're not gonna move, are you?"
"You want me to?" He asks, inhales the other teen's scent and lets his thumb glide against his skin. There's some kind of emotion brewing just under the surface and Derek grins, because no, he doesn't want me to.
"Don't let me catch you putting your hand down my pants because you thought my Dad was suspicious of me liking you." Stiles whispers and closes his eyes. He makes a noise and his hand flies down when the older teen's starts to slip to the waistband of his boxers. Derek stifles a laugh against his skin. He huffs, "Night, Derek."
He gets no more words, just Derek's hand sliding back up to where it was, fingers trapping Stiles' thumb into staying with him.
Derek doesn't have any nightmares.
Neither does Stiles.
