Waking up with a hard-on wasn't anything new for Stiles.

Waking up with a hard-on while sharing a bed with someone else also wasn't anything new either.

Waking up with a hard-on while sharing a bed with someone he wanted to take care of his hard-on for him, however, was.

Shit.

Okay, so it probably wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be. After all, the guy he was currently sharing a bed with had already agreed to help him with his heat—which apparently had recently started judging by the thin layer of sweat covering his skin, the slick leaking out his hole, and the erection tenting his boxers that was aching so bad it actually woke him up.

But said guy had also stated that he wouldn't touch Stiles until the Omega himself asked him to. Because he wouldn't actually sleep with Stiles under normal circumstances. Because he wasn't into Stiles the way Stiles was into him.

And wouldn't that be a total boner killer if it weren't for that whole annoying heat thing.

Which he should probably take care of.

Laying on his side facing the desk, Stiles could hear Derek on the other side of the bed fast asleep, breathing even, heartbeat steady. The Alpha was no longer pressed against him the way he had been when they'd fallen asleep, but he still had an arm slung over the leaner male's waist, a subconscious way to keep loose contact, to keep the physical connection. And while Stiles wanted to find it sweet and believe it was a sign of deeper feelings, he couldn't. Partially because he knew it was most likely just an Alpha protecting its Omega type of deal, but also because it was a pain in the ass.

How the hell was he supposed to handle his morning wood with a muscular arm draped over him?

Clearly he couldn't do it in bed. Was kinda rude to cover someone else's sheets with your come, especially while that person is sleeping, and sleeping right beside you to boot. Plus it'd be awkward if Derek were to wake up in the middle of Stiles jacking off, or right when he came. Yeah, the guy had agreed to help with his heat and would eventually have to see him orgasm and deal with the mess, but not like that, not for that reason.

Really his only option was to get out of bed and go to the bathroom, take care of shit in there. Or more specifically sneak out of bed, since he didn't really wanna wake Derek up and have to deal with the embarrassment of admitting he was leaving so he could jack off in private. He'd much prefer to delay the awkwardness of the whole situation for as long as possible.

Only problem was that Stiles wasn't what anyone would call "graceful" or "smooth" or "sneaky". It was why he'd always spend the whole night out after drinking at a party, so he wouldn't try to surreptitiously slip his way back into the house and be busted by his dad because he'd bumped into a side table or knocked his elbow against a picture frame and caused it to smash onto the floor.

But at that moment, it felt like Stiles didn't really have a choice other than trying to be stealthy as he got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.

Awesome.

Just. Totally awesome.

He kept his breathing steady, allowing him to regulate his heartbeat at a more normal pace, knowing any uptick in its speed would alert the Alpha behind him and make him think something was wrong, waking him up and blowing the whole thing to shit. With slow, easy movements, he lifted his head and glanced about the room, eyeing his walkway. Nothing in his way, duffel having been moved over by the desk, his clothes all piled around it. Derek kept an abnormally neat room—or at least he'd cleaned it really well before Stiles showed up in an Alpha instinctual need to provide a good environment—so there was nothing for him to trip on, no obstacles for him to stumble into.

Glancing behind himself, he found Derek laying on his stomach, head turned away. His eyes roamed the expanse of his back, taking in smooth skin and defined muscles, becoming fixated on the tattoo between his shoulder blades of three spirals all originating from the same point. A triskele, his mind supplied, before coming up with a million questions about why that symbol, why that part of his body, why get that permanently etched into his skin.

Not that it mattered—or that he could even get any answers at that point. The black lines were forever a part of him, a beacon on his flesh that drew in Stiles' eyes and tempted him to touch, to run his tongue over it and trace the edges, the lines, the swirls, the whole damn thing. He wondered how it would look scratched up, his claws having dug into his skin as Derek's cock drove into him, hips pounding relentlessly and leaving the Omega no choice but to hold on for dear life, his eyes flashing gold as the older man's turned a bright scarlet red and wow, did he need to stop that before his arousal got any worse.

Swallowing hard, he turned his head away, taking a few seconds to steady his racing heart. More slick had leaked out of him, starting to soak into his boxers, and his cock was pounding harder beneath the cotton fabric. His skin felt hot to the touch and he knew he needed to go before his scent woke Derek up and he was faced with the embarrassment of waking up aroused like a teenage boy.

Well, a younger teenage boy.

With careful motions, he moved the Alpha's arm off him, laying it gently on the bed. He slipped out from under the covers, landing silently on his feet on the short carpet. He vaguely thought of coyotes in the wild and how they'd tiptoe around sleeping wolves, sneaking past their dens as they roamed the woods. He was doing the same, barely padding on his toes as he crept over to the door, eyes glancing back and forth between the path he was taking and the still-sleeping male on the bed.

Stiles managed to grip the knob without making it rattle, the door opening without any creaks or groans. He slipped out the room, silently shutting the door behind himself, continuing to tiptoe as he made his way into the bathroom.

Where he promptly ran out of ideas of what to do next.

Jerking off while standing in the middle of the bathroom—in the middle of someone else's bathroom felt dirty and cheap and just plain rude. His eyes roamed the space, the small counter on the left, the toilet right beside it, the shower on his right with the curtain closed.

Perfect.

He shucked his boxers and stepped inside, flipping it on cold. The water felt like a thousand tiny icicles stabbing him all over, prickling his skin and making him shiver. He hated cold showers on the best of days, but with his body feeling hotter than usual, the low temperature felt almost like torture.

Derek's voice popped into his head, reminding him that he couldn't just will his erection away, that he had to take care of it the old fashioned way: masturbating. Meaning the cold shower wasn't gonna do anything except just make him shiver and freeze him. That thought in mind, Stiles flipped the water to hot, deciding that if he was gonna jerk off, then he was gonna be comfortable and at least halfway enjoy it, dammit.

He didn't bother teasing or prolonging it the way he would if he were at home and had the place to himself, simply gripping his cock and stroking. He tightened his fingers around himself, played with the slit the way he liked, making quick work of it. Because the sooner he came, the sooner he was back in bed and pretending like nothing had even happened.

Not the sexiest thought in the world, but he was so keyed up at that point that it didn't even matter.

He tilted his head back, eyes closed, teeth sinking into his bottom lip to bite back any noises. A small rush of pleasure spread throughout his body, emanating from his groin and making his skin tingle. His orgasm wasn't anything all that special, a few lazy squirts as he stroked himself, toes curling against the non-slip mat stuck to the bottom of the tub. It felt good the way coming always did, but it felt more perfunctory than anything. He wondered how many more like that he'd be experiencing over the next few days or if it got better the further into his heat he went.

God he hoped it got better. A week's worth of "meh" orgasms seemed almost like hell.

Stiles quickly washed off, cleaning the come off the tiled wall in front of him, wiping himself down with a cloth and his usual unscented body wash. He performed another quick shave if for no other reason than because he had the chance to, because unlike some Alphas and their infinite perfection, he couldn't really grow a beard since his facial hair tended to grow in patches and he looked more like he was diseased and homeless rather than a rugged, sexy lumberjack.

Score another one for Stilinski.

Shaved and washed, he cut the water off and stepped out the shower, drying off with the towel he'd used the night before. Only to then realize he'd forgotten to bring any clothes into the bathroom with him.

Shit.

He glanced down at his boxers as they lay on a heap in the middle of the floor, noticing the wet patch at the back where his slick had leaked out and soaked into the cotton. Clearly they were useless, since there was no way he was putting dirty boxers back on over a clean body. A quick glance around the room showed no hidden clothing, no stashed undies, no items left behind in a hurry and completely forgotten about, much like the bathroom he shared with his sister. And, of course, Derek kept his hamper in his closet, meaning Stiles didn't even have the option to slip on a pair of used shorts to get him from the bathroom to the bedroom.

Nope, his only choice was the towel currently hanging from his hands.

Great.

At least it was just him and Derek in the apartment and not a whole bunch of random people. He wasn't sure he'd be able to live it down if he padded through in just a towel to find Isaac on the couch lounging or Erica singing along to Frozen.

Out of options, Stiles wrapped the towel around his waist, tucking in the end and triple-checking that it wasn't gonna undo itself and fall down at an inopportune time. As shit was prone to do for him, being the universe's bitch and all.

When he was certain his towel was going nowhere, he quietly left the bathroom, tiptoeing back to the bedroom. He cracked open the door and peeked inside, finding the bed empty and the sheets pulled into place.

Well, shit.

The rustle of clothing let him know that the room itself wasn't void of life and he stepped inside, finding Derek standing in front of his bureau, adjusting yet another pair of mesh basketball shorts around his waist. Stiles absently wondered how many he actually owned before lamenting the fact that he'd been this close to catching a glimpse of naked Derek.

If only he hadn't spent so long trying to find something in the bathroom to wear. Would be nice to actually see the guy's ass, rather than just the outline of it through the mesh. Although those shorts really help his imagination out and put a whole lot on display. He thought of that stupid "do he got the booty" internet craze and had to resist the urge to howl out "he doooo!"

"Everything okay?"

Stiles' head snapped up, eyes wide, a "huh?" bursting forth from his lips before his mind caught up. Derek was staring back at him, eyebrow cocked in question, clearly awaiting an answer.

Stiles couldn't remember the question. He'd been distracted by a glorious ass.

Oh, right. Was everything okay.

Shit no it wasn't.

He cleared his throat, scratching the back of his head and feeling the water transfer from his hair to his fingers. Which just reminded him that he was still in a towel, other hand shooting down to grab hold of where the end had been tucked in as an extra measure of security to prevent it from falling. Didn't help him with that whole shirtless thing though. Yeah, he was kind of on an even playing field with Derek there, since the Alpha was sans top as well, but he was ripped, all muscle on muscle on muscle. And while Stiles wasn't the lanky, scrawny beanpole he had been in his early teenage years, he wasn't exactly built like the older man. His chest was flat with no delineation between the two pectorals, his abdomen just an outline without separated muscles forming a six-pack. If he sat, he could maybe use the fold of his body to form a two-pack.

Whatever. He'd played lacrosse and it didn't require any sort of ridged abdominal region or monstrous biceps. He was in shape and was more lean muscle than bodybuilder and it worked for him.

Still didn't stop him from being completely self-conscious around the clearly better looking man.

"Stiles?" Derek prompted, both eyebrows raised now, voice more concerned than curious. "What's going on?"

The Omega swallowed hard, wincing, face heating up as he blushed. "I, uh," he started then stalled, dropping his hand. "I started."

The worry left the werewolf's scent, a smirk turning up the corner of his lips. "So I smelled," he quipped, turning back to his drawers and pulling one open.

The joke helped distract Stiles from his self-deprecating thoughts, but only made him more embarrassed, his blush deepening. Clearing his throat again, he made his way past the older man on his way towards his duffel, eyes coming across the ink on Derek's shoulder blades again.

"I didn't know you had a tattoo," he pointed out, hoping his tone was casual rather than prying, knowing he had a habit of shoving his nose where it didn't belong. But he couldn't help his curiosity or his need to know shit, a trait he more than likely inherited from his sheriff dad. He didn't see anything wrong with it though; after all, curiosity had killed the cat, not the coyote.

Derek let out an inquisitive "hmm?" before peeking over his shoulder as though he'd actually be able to see his ink. "Oh yeah," he remembered, turning his head back. "It's kinda the symbol of my dad's family. I got it inked on my eighteenth birthday as a way to keep connected to him."

Stiles nodded from his crouch down by his duffel, inhaling the salty sadness in the Alpha's scent. It was a scent he'd smelled all too often during his teenage years, a feeling he was unfortunately too familiar with. The loss of a parent wasn't anything anyone could understand until it happened to them and the loss of one when you were still young was worse. Granted Derek was much younger when he lost his dad than Stiles had been when he lost his mom, but the knowledge of not having that part of yourself around still stung in a way that words couldn't accurately describe. It was why Derek had been there for Stiles and Malia after their mom's death, why he was more empathetic and a bigger comfort, despite Scott's incredible efforts to be there just as much and help out in his own way. Because Scott's dad was still alive—despite not really being around since they'd been about seven—and therefore he didn't really understand the enormity of everything or the depths of depression at the realization that your parent wasn't ever gonna show up again, regardless of how you felt about them.

Derek got it. Derek knew what it was like to feel like half of you was gone and be so lost and confused because you no longer had that person to help you figure out who you were and answer questions only they'd know. Derek didn't really know the Hale side of himself—aside from whatever info his uncle might have provided, which might not be all that reliable considering the guy's history of lies and manipulation—just like Stiles didn't know much about his Omega nature. The older male getting a tattoo to represent his father's side and that part of himself made sense and was an idea Stiles himself had thrown around for years, wanting a way to honor his mom and keep that connection to her even if she wasn't around.

"Is that why you hyphenated your last name after your mom married Scott's dad?" he asked, the thought of Derek remaining connected to the Hale half of his DNA weighing heavy on his mind and bringing forth more questions.

The Alpha see-sawed his head, closing his drawer as he turned around. He leaned back against his bureau, shirt in hand, lips twisted in a thoughtful grimace. "That was a compromise my mom came up with," he admitted, not sounding overly enthused about it, even eighteen years later. "I wanted to keep being 'Derek Hale', but she wanted all of us to have the same last name so we could be a real family."

Stiles nodded, thinking it made sense, frowning when another thought occurred to him. "Why didn't you drop the 'McCall after she divorced him?"

Derek shrugged, hand rubbing the back of his neck. "For Scott and my mom," he explained softly, dropping his hand and folding his arms over his bare chest. Stiles fought to keep his eyes on the guy's face rather than ogling his pecs or biceps. He'd just gotten rid of one hard-on; no need to give himself another, not when he was still feeling a low level hum of arousal just beneath his skin.

"They're my family," the Alpha continued. "Not the asshole who gave them that surname."

A small smile tugged up the corner of Stiles' lips, a warmth settling in his chest. He knew how important pack was to their animals, how important family was to their human sides. Yeah, there was the rare lone wolf or coyote or what-have-you, but for Stiles, he could never go it alone. He was a family guy, was one-hundred percent dedicated to them, and that extended to his friends. Scott and Allison, Lydia and Aiden, Danny and Ethan, Kira, even sometimes Jackson when he was being less douchy than usual. They were all his pack and he couldn't imagine what kind of cruel, cold, neglectful asshole didn't thrive on that, didn't want that.

But Derek wasn't one of those guys. Derek had his own pack with Erica, Boyd, and Isaac. He had his family with Scott and his mom, to the point where he kept the surname of a man he genuinely had loathed for as long as Stiles could remember, just so he could keep a connection to them. It was almost the same as his Hale triskele tattoo, a way to honor his family and where he came from.

Still smiling to himself, Stiles spoke softly, meaning every word. "You're a good guy, Derek Hale."

The older man grinned lightly, the tips of his ears going red. "Get dressed," he spoke through an apparent lump in his throat, pushing up from the bureau, head slightly ducked. "I'll go make breakfast."

The Omega gave him a thumbs up, deciding not to push him any more. Instead, he bowed his own head and focused on grabbing clothes out his duffel, listening as the other man pulled his shirt on and left. Stiles decided on comfort, slipping on an old Beacon Hills High lacrosse shirt he'd gotten freshman year and loose cotton shorts, things that didn't irritate his sensitive skin too much and would be easy to whip off in a rush.

His conversation with Derek replayed in his mind as he got dressed, the way Derek was dedicated to his family, both sides of it, the way he'd made his mom happy by keeping a surname he disliked for her and his brother. It inevitably led to Stiles wondering what their last name would be if they were Mated, 'Stilinski-Hale-McCall' sounding like a bit of a mouthful.

Not that they'd ever be Mated. Or even date.

Really there was no point to thinking about any of that shit. Fantasizing that they were together as they spooned in bed was one thing; fantasizing about a joined surname was another thing entirely and one that would only lead to even more heartache.

Because he was already headed there. On a bullet train.

Shit.

Clearing his mind, he made sure his scent was nothing but relaxed contentment. A total lie, but he was a coyote, a trickster. Maybe he could even fool himself into thinking he was okay with everything.

Breakfast was scrambled egg whites, turkey bacon, and whole wheat toast, Derek explaining they'll need the protein and carbs since they won't be eating real meals soon and will be participating in a lot of physical activities coming up. Stiles ignored his splotchy blushing by pointing out how it seemed like something he'd serve his dad, leading to a ramble over the diet he had for the elder Stilinski since he suffered from high blood pressure and cholesterol due to his work and being a single Alpha male raising two kids. Derek didn't stop him or judge his verbal diarrhea, simply letting him go on until he felt like he'd made enough of an ass of himself and shut himself up by shoving food in his mouth. The Alpha did, however, comment on his lack of table manners. Again.

Dishes were done together just like every other meal before the elder male handed over the remote. Stiles channel-surfed, not finding anything of interest, until he stumbled upon the familiar scene of a dark-skinned female laying in bed with a white male, both of them discussing "the incident in Bolivia".

"We missed the best part!" Stiles exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air before slamming both on the couch.

Derek cocked an eyebrow, turning to the Omega with a look of confusion. "What is this?"

His eyes went wide, disbelief coloring his scent, mouth gaping. "Have you seriously never seen The Losers?" he practically yelled dubiously, incomprehension growing as the older man shook his head. He let out a sigh, closing his eyes before speaking in a calmer voice. "Tell me you have Netflix on your PS3."

"I have Netflix on my PS3."

He reopened his whiskey orbs at the flat tone of the other male's voice, cocking his own eyebrow in a weak imitation of Derek's confused face. "For real? Or is this an Alpha placating his Omega thing?"

"For real," the older man answered in an amused tone, slipping the remote out Stiles' grasp and setting the TV up. He got up to put on the PlayStation 3, grabbed the control for it, and quickly switched it to Netflix before tossing the remote to his guest.

"Best Alpha everrrr," the teenager commented with a grin, searching for the movie and pulling it up.

"For real?" Derek questioned in a joking manner, smirk on his face as he plopped back down on his previous seat. "Or is this an Omega placating his Alpha thing?" The light in his green eyes meant he was playing around, just using Stiles' words against him, but for the Omega, it was more than that.

He quickly hid his emotions, masked his scent, played it all off by rolling his eyes and smacking the other man's arm with his remote. But he couldn't do anything to stop the way his stomach started knotting up and his skin started tingling, his coyote wagging its tail and yipping in happiness at the implication that Derek was his Alpha.

But he wasn't. He never would be.

Shoving it all aside, he focused on The Losers as it started playing, introducing the special ops team and their various skills. The distraction worked, allowing him to relax and enjoy himself, mouthing the words with the actors. Derek seemed to enjoy it, too, laughing at the witty one-liners, whistling out in an impressed way at the explosions, scowling at Max and his evil plans.

Some time into the movie, the favorite part Stiles had been referring to earlier started, Jensen—played awesomely by Chris Evans, which really, when did he ever not play a part awesomely?—dressed as a bike courier as he snuck into a fancy office building, loudly singing Journey's "Don't Stop Believing". Stiles jumped up from his seat, singing along with the character, complete with the same hand motions.

"Strangers!" he crooned, sweeping his pointed finger across the room. "Waiting! Up and down the boulevard!" Fist pump up, fist pump down, sweep hand across the air in front of him, then the song cut off as the elevator doors closed with Jensen in the cart alone.

Derek chuckled, shaking his head, amusement sparkling in his green eyes. "You do realize you're a glasses-less Jensen, right?"

Stiles knew the comment was meant to be slightly insulting, a commentary on how weird and outrageous both of them were, how awkward and dorky they were, how ridiculous and over the top. But the Omega failed to see that as a bad thing, thought Jensen was pretty kickass, his favorite character in the movie. The fact that he was played by Chris Evans certainly didn't hurt.

Adjusting his shirt around his waist, Stiles stared down at Derek, face completely serious as he remained standing in front of the couch. "That mean I'm also Steve Rogers?" he asked with a smirk, acting like a little shit and loving it.

The Alpha snorted. "Maybe a pre-serum Steve, sure."

"Oh ha ha," the younger man replied sarcastically, smacking the elder's chest with his hand as he flopped back down onto the couch. He focused on the TV, where Jensen was now being held at gun point by three armed security guards, his fingers pointed like guns at them.

"I'm warning you, I am a lethal killing machine," Jensen spoke gravely, Stiles lip-synching the words. "I was a secret government experiment—"

"He's talking about the SSR, right?" Derek asked with a smirk and Stiles feel even more in love with the guy. Because he knew about the SSR and got his Captain America reference and was making jokes about it with Jensen and Chris Evans and fucking hell, Stiles just wanted to Mate the guy already.

Turning his head to the Alpha, Stiles kept his face and tone serious as he spoke. "The fact that you know that makes me wanna jump you, just FYI."

Another snort. "You're in heat," the older man pointed out, looking at him with his brows raised. "You wanna jump damn near anything at this point."

Stiles opened his mouth to argue but the words quickly died in his throat. Because Chris Evans in a skin tight white tee had already kicked his low-level arousal up a notch and Derek knowing Avengers stuff made it worse and now the guy was licking his fucking lips and holy shit! His cock fully hardened almost immediately, hips rolling on the couch, and he had to grab on to the arm of it in order to not launch himself at the other man. Because he was an Alpha and he smelled so good and he'd take care of Stiles so well and...shit.

"Fuck, I gotta—" His voice cracked, words gone, embarrassment rendering him unable to actually state what he needed to. Because he couldn't even get through a fucking movie without needing to palm himself and didn't that make him feel like a stupid weak little Omega. And chances were Derek could smell it, smell his arousal and how his slick was trickling past his hole and wow did he need to take care of that. And now.

He pointed behind himself with his thumb, referring to the bathroom and hoping Derek got it. "You mind?"

Derek shook his head, pausing the movie, barely able to get the words "go for it" out his mouth before Stiles was shooting up off the couch and racing for the bathroom.

He locked the door out of habit more than anything, immediately dropping his shorts and boxers to the floor. His eyes came across a bottle of lube sitting on the counter that most definitely hadn't been there when he'd jacked off first thing that morning and he briefly wondered if Derek had put it there for him when he brushed his teeth earlier.

Not that it really even mattered. The stuff was there and was put out in a place of convenience, obviously meant to be used. It would be rude of him to not take what was offered, right?

He squirted some in his hand before wrapping it around his cock, stroking himself in quick motions. There was no teasing build-up, just like before, setting to work on chasing his orgasm and making it fast.

His teeth sank into his lower lip to bite back any noises he could've made, paranoidly aware of how silent the apartment was with the movie paused and the AC currently not blasting out cold air. So quiet, in fact, that he could hear Derek's heartbeat in the next room as he sat on the couch, fingers drumming on his thigh from the sounds of it.

Stiles closed his eyes and focused on the rhythm pumping of the Alpha's heart, imagined that he was in the bathroom, too, his hand stroking the Omega's. He remembered the feel of it covering his own the day before, his rougher skin, how it was the same size at Stiles' but with shorter, thicker fingers. They'd be perfect though, would wrap around his cock perfectly, would grasp him tightly and stroke him just right. And, fuck, they'd feel great in his ass, too, thick enough to stretch him wide, get him ready for his own cock. And his knot...

A box of tissues sat near the lube and he grabbed one, holding it over the head of his dick with his free hand, feeling himself getting close. He imagined Derek growling in his ear, Alpha commands to come and let him see what a good little Omega he was. It was with that mental image that he came, lips parting in a silent gasp and his eyes opening wide as he spilled himself into the Kleenex. He kept pumping, milking himself until his cock was too sensitive, tossing the soiled tissue into a nearby trashcan.

His coyote was sated, laying on its back with its tongue lolling out its mouth, completely satisfied. And the human felt mostly the same, his skin cooled down slightly, body calmed significantly. Leaning back against the door, he waited for his breathing to return to normal, his heart rate to slow down, and his mind to stop telling him that it was an empty, pointless, waste of an orgasm. Because as much as he was imagining the Alpha on the couch being with him, he wasn't. And wasn't that just depressing as fuck.

Shaking it off, Stiles cleaned himself up and made sure the bathroom was in order, than he hadn't accidentally spilled anything on any surface. Satisfied with his results, he left and headed back to the couch.

Where he felt totally awkward.

Because he totally had just run out in the middle of a movie to jack off. Wow.

Sheepish look on his face, he walked over with cautious steps, hands wringing together in front of his chest. "Sorry 'bout that," he apologized in a weak voice, feeling like a little kid who'd accidentally wet the bed in the middle of the night.

Derek cocked an eyebrow before turning his body towards the Omega, bent leg laying flat on the couch. "New ground rules," he declared, eyes hard. "No apologizing for anything that happens this week. Biology is biology and you can't help what your body needs and when."

The younger man nodded, lips pressed together in a hard line as he sank down onto the couch, fingers still tangling and untangling. "Sounds fair. What's the other?"

"No asking permission to go to the bathroom and take care of your needs. Just go. I won't think you're rude or weak or any shit like that so no need to worry, got it?"

More nodding as he swallowed hard, staring down at his hands. The older man had made a lot of good points. It wasn't like he had any sort of control over his body or the way it would be acting. That was his whole fear going into heat in the first place. So for him to feel bad about it or guilty was ridiculous. And if Derek wasn't having any problems with it, then he shouldn't either. It was all good.

"Got it."

"Good," Derek commented in a tone that said the topic was over, case closed, changing into a more concerned matter of speaking. "You okay?"

"Yeah," Stiles answered, because he was, his body satisfied, his solo session in the bathroom helping out. "For now."

A small smile tugged at the corner of the older man's lips, an apologetic one that said he understood and that he was sorry that Stiles was going through all that because he knew how bad it just flat out sucked. "Wanna finish the movie?" he asked softly, motioning to the TV with his head.

"Yeah."

One nod from the Alpha and the two of them settled into comfortable positions on the couch, Derek hitting play. Stiles shuffled in place, fidgeted, couldn't get comfy with a low tingle all over his skin, a buzzing in his brain and in his stomach, like bees. Horny bees. Horny bees that infected other people with horniness as they repeatedly stung their victim over and over and over again.

A sigh left Derek, exacerbated, annoyed. But before Stiles could question it or apologize, he was pulled in close, arm around his shoulders and hauling him over. There was more shuffling as they got comfy with their legs on the coffee table, Stiles nestled in the crook of Derek's arm, scent wafting off a muscular bicep and into his nose with every inhale. The tingling calmed, the buzzing more tolerable, allowing his mind to shut up and enjoy the movie.

He had a feeling it wouldn't last very long though.