Things changed after the fight. Things changed drastically. Of course the biggest and most immediate change came from Mark. The very next day following the fight, Stiles—still a bit black and blue but otherwise unbothered—had run into Mark on his way to breakfast.
Derek was beside him since the worry-wart-wolf had decided he need to play nurse and stayed with Stiles the whole night in his human form to make sure he was okay and he didn't feel a lick of pain. So, the younger boy inevitably became tense and growly when he caught sight of Mark, but Stiles ignored him.
Mark had healed over the course of the night, so Stiles was the only one left with bruises, but the older man had also never looked so calm around Stiles. Mark didn't approach him and apologize for attacking him—something Derek was decidedly sour about—but Stiles hadn't expected him to. All Mark did when he saw him was dip his head in an acknowledging nod that was more amiable than any of their previous interactions over the last month and a half. Mark didn't suddenly turn into a ray of chatty sunshine, but for people like him and Stiles, silently cohabitating was certainly an olive branch for them.
Needless to say, Stiles would no longer have a warden.
The other change came from the rest of the pack. Before, Stiles had felt himself be slowly integrated into the pack. They had accepted him, but accepting him was a very different thing from respecting him. He had been right to believe that Mark held significant rank in the pack, but even beyond that, the fact the Stiles was human and had fought and won against a wolf did a lot in garnering the others' admiration.
It also helped his character that the way he fought confirmed he wasn't a hunter trying to sneak into the pack. He didn't fight like a human trained by humans to take down wolves. He had known quite well the way Allison fought—the way Chris had fought. They used martial arts, fighting techniques that had been learned over the course of years. Stiles didn't have formal training except for a few self-defense classes his dad had allowed him to take back when the worlds monsters for him were all human. He learned to fight by fighting hands on with wolves. It was clear in how he had handled Mark.
So, not only did the pack trust him more, but he had undoubtedly proved himself.
He was included in conversations more; even if they didn't expect him to input anything, they knew he was listening. The older wolves also seemed to finally be comfortable enough with Stiles to treat him as they would any other pack member and strengthen pack bonds with small, casual touches in passing. It wasn't nearly as much as they did with the other wolves, Stiles felt that it was more out of consideration for him and what he was comfortable with than them not wanting to. Stiles was grateful, physical contact sometimes made him uneasy and tense, so he was glad it wouldn't be a constant onslaught.
The pups weren't immediately ushered out of the room when he walked by and a few of them even sought him out, tugging on his shirt and hanging off of his limbs like he was a tree—a grumpy but ultimately harmless tree they wanted to play with. Cora hadn't been happy to see the other kids vying for his attention and had resorted to petty pranks, little scuffles that the girl always won, and growls any time another wolf came near when she was with Stiles. It was endearing in a way, to see how protective she was of him and how little she tolerated 'sharing Stiles' with anyone.
Anyone except Derek, that is. Oddly enough, the only person she didn't get territorial around was her older brother. She'd even tried to bite Laura when the girl had apparently taken an interest in Stiles after seeing him fight Mark and had placed a hand on his arm and gave him a look that was neither casual nor platonic. Cora had nearly taken said hand off when she saw what was happening and how uncomfortable Stiles was. Stiles may or may not have seen Derek slipping the girl a few brownies later that day for it.
Derek had also started to act differently towards Stiles after the fight. Not in the sense that he treated Stiles differently, really. More like he was a bit more physical—which Stiles attributed to the other pack members warming up to him—and was less like a lost puppy and more like a guard dog. Also, Derek still visited Stiles at night in full-shift, but some nights he came in his human form to comfort Stiles or keep him company. It was surprisingly more . . . intimate when he was in human form. Instead of a hulking mass of fur to hold onto as he came down from a night terror, he was pulled into Derek's lap and cradled close, with a hand on the back of his head pressing his face in a broad shoulder as the other soothed down his back and comforting words were rambled mindlessly into his ear.
In his wolf form, Derek couldn't talk or hold him. In his wolf form, apart from his eyes and the occasional noise, Stiles couldn't see how much his state effected Derek. In his wolf form, Stiles was pulled so close he could feel the other's heart thumping against his chest.
When Stiles had calmed down enough, Derek would hoist him up into his arms and carry the older boy back over to his bed. And each time, Derek would slide in between the sheets with him and pull him close again. Sometimes Stiles fell asleep like that—heavy, warm, and dreamless—and sometimes he startled awake, staring into the darkness and soaking in Derek's presence.
In the light of day, Derek always let Stiles go back to his usual strong self without a word or excessive coddling. Derek understood that what happened in the night was not who he was all the time.
He didn't understand it. How a boy who was younger than him and hadn't lived through a fraction of the horrors he had, could know so intuitively what Stiles needed—even better than Stiles himself knew sometimes. After only two months with the Hales and with Derek, Stiles could feel himself healing. There was still scar tissue everywhere, but the still bleeding wounds were beginning to clot each time he woke up scared but not alone, each time he opened his eyes to morning light, a heavy arm thrown over his shoulders, and stale but warm breath in his face.
Stiles held no illusions about it just being the slowly growing pack bonds that were making him better. Without Derek, without his constant chatter and too-bright disposition, Stiles wouldn't have come nearly as far. Stiles wouldn't be biting back smiles as Derek found him immediately after school and was already launching into every little thing that had happened since the moment he'd left before he'd even slid his backpack off. He wouldn't be pulling out his mom's beloved chocolate-chip cookie recipe that he hadn't dared try to make since her passing, just so he could reward Cora for doing amazing on her math test. He wouldn't be able to handle flicking through the photos saved on his phone of him and his old pack, of his dad. And he certainly wouldn't be considering approaching Talia and telling her he'd like to officially join the pack.
Because of Derek, Stiles could sleep again—despite the nightmares—because he knew someone would be there to bring him back when he woke up. Because of him he could breathe again! Because of Derek, Stiles could finally see past tomorrow and envision a future for himself; with the pack.
... ... ...
Sometimes, Stiles was reminded of how little he really knew about werewolves and the super natural world in general. With his old pack, they didn't celebrate the new moon, full moons were spent trying to contain their inner beasts, and their lessons on the supernatural consisted of 'here's how you kill this' and 'pack is important.' So, one could imagine Stiles' confusion and surprise when he was informed of the Spring Union. A pretty and vague title for what was essentially speed-dating for werewolves.
Everybody around the pack seemed to have a different definition for what it was.
Talia explained to him that once a year, multiple packs would come together to promote "peace, unity, and the betterment and prosperity of were-creatures everywhere" which just happened to include the attendance of single, unmated pack members in attendance in the hopes that they might find a mate from another pack and keep packs from stagnating or having to always find a human mate and reveal their true nature in the hopes that they'll stay. Packs couldn't grow without either pups or people being added to the pack. Also, when a person moved from one pack to another, it helped build relationships and good faith between packs. Talia assured him that no one was made to do anything they didn't want to and sometimes nothing came out of the gatherings except a few days of good food and nice conversation.
Laura told him it was just guise for hookups.
Mark gruffly stated it was necessary to build a pack's numbers and make it even stronger.
A few of the older woman in the pack found it romantic and exciting.
Gloria saw it as an opportunity for a power play by showing the other packs how stable and self-sufficient they were. Stiles was fairly sure he heard her mumble something about proving no pack eats better than they do.
Derek thought that they were ridiculous, boring, too riddled with etiquette and pack politics. Apparently, the young wolf had been pestered relentlessly during the Spring Union in the past. Derek might not be next in line for Alpha, but he was the Alpha's only son and the next Alpha's brother, no matter what he would hold a lot of power and rank in the future. He also seemed to be something of a favorite amongst the younger, female population of other packs. Stiles pitied the wolf. Each year, as Derek got older and was now—by custom—allowed to choose a mate, his 'suitors' would only grow more persistent.
Stiles wasn't really interested in the happenings of the Spring Union, he was far more concerned with preparations. Because, that year the Union would be held on the Hale territory and they would be expected to host several packs. Gloria may no longer despise him, but she still put him to work, especially now that she had seen his work over the past two months and knew he was capable and competent. He didn't doubt that he and Gloria would be at the forefront of all preparations and the whole thing was sounding more and more like a headache as he listened.
Thankfully, they wouldn't be staying in the house with them. The packs would all camp out on in the preserve. Surprisingly, it was Gloria that had given him the full comprehensive break down of the Spring Union. The packs would arrive—a few that were closest to the Hale territory and one or two from much further away—and they would welcome the packs with a supper before they went and set up their camps. The entire packs wouldn't be coming, just the Alpha, any members who were unmated and of a reasonable age (after puberty, since it was good for the younger ones to mingle, but they of course weren't allowed to mate until they had reached maturity), and a selected few to protect and watch over them.
Then, the following day would consist of everyone being left to their own devices, either staying with their pack or getting to know someone new. Then, that night was the official start of the Spring Union. They would go out to the clearing where they usually held the new moon gatherings, and like the gatherings, there would be a fire, food, music, entertainment, and a whole lot of mingling. The first day of the Union was reserved for getting to know everyone, seeing who you connected with and who you didn't. Then, on the second night, they would gather once more in the clearing and it would be set up much the same—food, drink, music, talking—but at some point during the evening, unmated pack members had the opportunity to approach someone they wanted to have as their mate and make their offering.
Now, if that didn't sound old-fashioned and primitive enough there was also, the offering itself. Apparently, instead of just asking a person if they were interested in dating or courting or whatever, the pack members would show their interest in someone by giving them a pelt. Yeah, a pelt. As in the fur from an animal it had hunted down and killed. Stiles wasn't sure if all of the pack members did that, considering packs didn't only consist of wolves and sometimes had humans or even other creatures—though rare. It seemed much more of a wolf kind of thing to do.
Anyways, the one offered the pelt could either accept it and wear it—Gloria assured him that the pelts were incorporated into clothing and usually weren't just folded lengths of fur—or politely decline. If accepted, then those two would become Prospected-Mates and arrangements would be made to ensure they could develop their relationship if they were from different packs.
Stiles didn't really care for the logistics of it all. Though the traditions were interesting to learn about, his immediate focus was on the fact that he would have to help prepare food for several packs for three straight nights. He suddenly wished Cora was old enough to attend the Union so she could do what she usually did with her own pack and growl to keep anyone from trying to rope Stiles into small talk. Stiles felt like he was about to be the underpaid waiter at an event where everyone was drunk and wanted to tell him their 'summer in Guam.'
After a week under Gloria's thumb to make sure everything was perfect, the packs were due to arrive. Five packs in total, three within a few hours' drive, and two from out of state. Stiles was busy with his duties, so he didn't really see them when they arrived, just occasionally caught a glimpse of an Alpha entering the house to greet Talia before returning to their packs to wait until dinner.
Although most of the pack was excited to have the other packs visiting, some were on edge with the newcomers. Unsurprisingly, Mark was one of them. Stiles supposed he was too, though he was thoroughly distracted by his duties. For the past two months—and maybe even a bit longer than that—his life had revolved around the pack and for many reasons, they were important to him. He would not tolerate any sort of threat towards the pack and not just because of what it might lead to in the future, but because he was—slowly—beginning to care about them. They were no longer obituaries in the local paper or ghost stories told by the few people who they left behind. They were flesh and blood, they had personalities, children, annoying quirks and a tendency to steal bits of the food he was trying to cook.
Stiles had always protected his own. It's just, the definition of 'his own' had shifted—expanded.
Which is why, when it was finally time for dinner, Stiles chose to sit with those he felt needed to be protected first. They couldn't eat dinner in the dining room as they usually did, since there were so many people. Instead, they set up a bunch of tables in the back-yard with plenty of warm, outdoor lights situated around them. Stiles had helped bring out the food while people were beginning to sit down. As soon as he was done, though, Stiles made his way over to the table where all of the rowdy pups were and sat down right next to Cora.
The wolf who usually sat with the kids—Darla, who was also taught the younger ones—sent him a strange look but said nothing as he positioned himself at the end of the table, between the children and all the other wolves. Cora just looked slightly pleased to have him sitting with her. A moment later, his other side was taken up by Derek, who didn't look curious at all about Stiles' choice of seating. Actually, he looked . . . amused, and proud? Stiles shook his head, knowing it was a futile effort trying to figure out what motivated Derek to do any of the things he did.
Stiles' seat made it so that his back was to everyone else, since the kids' table was all the way at the back, but he didn't care. Unlike a certain Alpha-to-be and several other eligible wolves in their pack, Stiles wasn't eyeing up every new face to determine who was the best catch. Stiles was just the human who cooked, cleaned, gardened, sometimes fixed cars, and was ready at the drop of a hat to take down any wolf that looked at the pups wrong. Otherwise, he was just another fly on the wall. Besides, Derek didn't seem too curious either, so Stiles didn't over think it.
Talia was sat at a table with the other Alphas and their spouses. Once everyone had taken a seat, she stood up and made a grand speech about unity cooperation and all that junk. It was a rousing speech, truly, but Stiles was more concerned with the pup a few seats down that was trying to see how many biscuits he could shove into his pudgy little cheeks like a hamster. Stiles heard a small cough from the boy and glared the kid down as he continued to press another into his mouth. He was going to end up choking himself. Darla had yet to notice.
Heaving a put-upon sigh, Stiles stood from his seat and walked around to loom over the pup. As if on que, a moment later, a piece of biscuit got lodged in his throat and he made a choking sound a second later. Firmly, but not so hard as to hurt the kid, Stiles gave him a good whap on the back and a gooey, but almost completely intact biscuit came tumbling out of his mouth. Once he could breathe, Stiles crouched down next to him as he looked over with glimmering wide blue eyes.
"One at a time, okay?" Stiles asserted, voice steely. The pup nodded vigorously and started chewing what was left in his mouth. Stiles huffed in a shadow of a laugh and ruffled the boy's hair as he stood. "Brat." He muttered under his breath as he moved back to his seat.
Derek was fighting a grin when Stiles sat back down and so he pointedly ignored him. The rest of the dinner went off without a hitch and soon, the other packs were getting up, thanking Talia for the wonderful meal, and retreating to the woods. Stiles cleaned up with the others and prepared himself for the two days on festivity to come.
... ... ...
Stiles adjusted his grip on the long axe in his hand, the grip having slipped in his hand a bit from the sweat that was steadily drawn to the surface by both the beaming sun above and the stacks of fire wood he'd already chopped. He'd wished he had been warned before-hand that five packs out in the woods would burn through so much wood so quickly. Bringing the axe back, Stiles heaved it over his head and brought it down hard on the wood, cleaving it in half and causing the pieces to tumble to the sides.
He cut five more pieces in succession before sweat started to sting his eyes and he had to stop for a moment. Breathing still roughly from exertion. Stiles lifted the hem of his shirt up to wipe his eyes with the part of the fabric that wasn't damp yet. As his face disappeared behind the white fabric of his T-shirt, Stiles heard the shocked and appreciative murmur and tittering from not far off. Stiles dropped his shirt and looked up to find a group of unfamiliar wolves roughly his age—some older, some younger—crowded at the edge of the forest, some half hidden behind trees and all of them were looking right at Stiles.
A pair of girls with red and brown hair turned to each other when he looked at them and began to mutter something frantically to the other with excited grins on their faces. Frowning, looked around him to see if maybe something else had caught their attention, but . . . no, there was nothing else around him. Unless they were all weirdly fascinated by firewood?
Shaking his head, Stiles ignored them and continued with his duties.
Whack. Whack. Whack. Whack. Stiles split wood. A drop of sweat journeyed down through the valley of his spine. Each breath of humid air curled in vapors and settled heavily in his lungs. The heat of the sun pressed down on the back of his neck like a firm hand and damp material dragged against his skin.
A piece of wood gave too easily and his axe imbedded itself in to the flat surface of the sawed-off stump below. Stiles frowned and lifted one leg to settled his foot against the stump to gain leverage. He tuned out the sharp exhale and breathless giggle in the distance as he gave one, two hard pulls before the axe head came free.
He only had a few quarter cuts of wood left to cut through when he heard the back door open and turned to see Derek walking out. Was it already time for him to be back from school? Stiles could see the boy was making his way right for him so he turned around to keep chopping while the other approached.
He heard Derek's footsteps stop behind him but he didn't say anything so Stiles paused to give the younger his attention. For a long while, Derek didn't say anything, just kept staring at him. Did he smell or something? Probably.
There was a faint murmur of voices behind Stiles and he saw Derek's gaze flick over his shoulder and a deep frown settled on his angular features, making him look a lot more like the Derek Stiles knew in his own time (though, he probably knew the younger Derek far better than that one).
"I think Gloria wanted you to help her out with something in the kitchen." Derek muttered without looking away from over his shoulder. Glancing back at the small bit he had left to chop, he shrugged inwardly. He'd have time to finish it later. Stiles nodded and headed for the back door, Derek looming behind him like a shadow, or a shield.
... ... ...
Stiles had attended two new moon gathering out in the woods so far, which was his only frame of reference for what the Spring Union might be like. However, it really didn't hold a candle to the Union. The bonfire was roaring loud and tall, but additional light had been brought out to the clearing. All around were tall, portable outdoor lights (many more than were used for dinner the previous night) and more lights were strung overhead, tied to the tops of the outdoor lights to hang over them like a ceiling with thick ribbons of rich, velvety black night draped between them.
A long row of tables brimming with food and drinks on the other side of the bon fire. And instead of a few wolves with instruments to fill the silence, there was now a couple of speakers and constant stream of music with low base and entrancing melodies that coaxed the listener in to dance with soft, seductive fingers. The base hummed in his veins and burned low behind his navel like alcohol, making his bones feel loose and his eyes heavy.
Out in the middle of the woods with dim lighting and the intoxicating music made it feel less like an event with etiquette and rules and more like a call to shed your skin and sink your teeth deep into temptation. Stiles could see now why Laura saw it as something that encouraged them to 'hook up' as she put it.
The ones who were there to watch over everyone, keep the peace, and stop anyone from doing something stupid were gathered by the tables of food, separating themselves and giving the unmated distance and a bit of privacy. Stiles carried the last jug of juice over to the table and set it down amongst the others. Then, crossing his arms over his chest, Stiles took up a spot on the other side of the drink table, watching the crowd for any misconduct.
Though there weren't that many in the Hale pack that were both unmated and under eighteen, Stiles would still keep a sharp eye on everyone from the pack out there. He didn't know how often things got out of hand at these types of events, but he wouldn't let anything slip by him.
Stiles was eyeing—perhaps glowering was a better descriptor—a group of attractive young wolves that Laura had surrounded herself with like some sort of entourage, when he heard someone step up beside him. He glanced over and found himself stood next to Deaton, of all people. The man had an unassuming smile on his lips.
"You know, technically this is for you as well." Deaton stated pointedly, not looking at him. Stiles' brow clinched and he looked out at the festivities around him.
"I'm not an official member of the Hale Pack yet, though." It came out more as a question than a statement. A puff of mirth bubbled from the older man's lips.
"You've been with us for over two months now, Stiles. You've established yourself here, you have our respect, our trust. You know we would gladly take you into the pack officially if you let us. Even if you don't join us officially, we have faith in you enough to vouch for you here as if you were one of our own. Plus," Deaton added with a growing smirk as he turned to look at him, "You're young, unmated, and have garnered yourself quite a reputation amongst our pack by working diligently and taking down one our best fighters. Word has spread, you have become a very anticipated attendant to the other packs." Deaton nodded his head towards the crowd before them.
Stiles turned to look and sure enough, now that he was searching for it, he found quite a few intrigued and heavy gazes trained on him. With all the times he's spent on preparing for the event, it hadn't crossed his mind once that he would be expected to participate. Though, he'd already been assured that nothing had to come of the Spring Union, so if anything, it would just be a nuisance but ultimately over in two days and things would return to normal. With a sigh that dripped weightily from his lips like syrup, Stiles donned a glare that practically had fangs and claws of its own, and reluctantly wandered out into the crowd—but not before taking the liberty to pour himself a drink, nothing strong, just something to keep near his mouth so he didn't have to talk to anyone.
Several people pounced on him the moment he left the safety of the drink table, pulling him into introductions that he curtly mumbled his way through. Perhaps a few years ago, it would have been Stiles' wet-dream-come-true to have attractive young people eyeing him like their gazes could be a physical touch that glided enticingly down his body. Maybe he would have reveled in being the center of attention and have it been because he was desirable and not because he was the outlier in a sea of his peers.
Now, however, he was stepping through the circle of people around him while they were speaking mid-sentence to made a straight line for Derek, who had just walked through the trees. Derek had also looked immensely relieved the moment he saw Stiles. And so, the two stuck together like magnets as the night wore on, consumed in their own world that kept them in a bubble, warding off any who felt the urge to approach.
Stiles felt himself relax for the first time that night while in Derek's presence, his hulking frame like a brick wall between him and everyone else. They talked and joked and quietly made humorous but probably rude comments about the others that were there. At one-point Stiles slipped casually over to the table and made Derek and himself drinks—though, he's sure Talia noticed but didn't say anything because Stiles might indulge Derek more than anyone else, but he would never let her son get out of control or get hurt. In that situation, Stiles was sort of like the parent that allowed their kid to have a flute of champagne at a wedding, but nothing more.
Stiles returned with their drinks and watched with unrestrained amusement as the wolf took a tentative sip of his and promptly grimaced, snorting as the wolf made a noise and looked like he had sucked on a lemon. Chuckling, Stiles lifted his own drink to his lips—one that was safe for a human like himself and wouldn't burn a hole through his esophagus—took a sip without so much as a flicker of distaste and ran his smooth tongue over his lips to catch the taste of something sweet and dangerously rich. He saw Derek's eyes follow the path of his tongue and something hot curled in his gut that had nothing to do with his drink.
Derek then brazenly took another large gulp of his drink and swallowed it quickly. He was rather obviously trying to mask his dislike for the contents of his cup and look as smooth as Stiles while drinking. Stiles couldn't help the fondness filling his chest at the sight.
Stood off to the side, they continued to soak in each other's company and every once in a while, Stiles would sneak them more drinks until their limbs were loose, their bellies full of warmth, and their coordination a little skewed. Stiles allowed himself to drink, but his tolerance was much higher than Derek's, so he was content to know he could keep an eye on the boy and take care of him when it came time to leave.
As a silent apology and thank-you to Talia for letting him be a slightly bad influence on her son for the night, Stiles took Derek back to the house pretty early. The inebriated teen hung off Stiles like a sack of potatoes as they navigated the dark house. Since Stiles was responsible for Derek's state and he wanted to keep an eye on him, Stiles forewent trying to wrestle the clingy drunk teen into his own room and just dragged the over-grown pup up to the attic. Especially since Derek slept more in Stiles' bed than his own, so what really was the point.
As Stiles was climbing into bed with the already passed out Derek, that he realized that—even though he hadn't done what was necessarily intended of him by Deaton—he'd actually had a pleasant and amusing night.
One down, one to go.
... ... ...
With the turn of events the night before, Stiles didn't feel as bothered and tense about the last night of the Spring Union. The preparations were exactly the same as the night before, only now it was Saturday so Derek didn't have school and he could help him out with moving things. Which, aside from the obvious advantage of having a werewolf around when moving heavy objects, also had the added bonus of being highly amusing to Stiles.
Derek was convinced he had a hangover, Stiles believed the other was just showing his true colors and that he wasn't actually a morning person as he liked everyone to believe.
Stiles wasn't worried about the possible offerings later that night, since he hadn't exactly endeared himself to anyone the previous night, and Derek hadn't spared anyone else a glance the night before. He figured he and Derek could once again enjoy themselves apart from everyone else and maybe watch embarrassing attempts at offering and harsh rejections. Laura had assured him it could be pretty painful to watch.
And that had been the plan he stuck to as the last Union night commenced. That is, until about an hour into watching a young wolf pleadingly offer his soft-looking fur gloves to a woman that was clearly older than him, Derek received a text. He pulled it out of his pocket quickly, read it with a growing excitement and anxiety in his eyes before shoving his flip-phone back into his pocket and hurriedly excusing himself, jogging off into the trees before Stiles could so much as blink.
Stiles was half concerned about what had Derek running off to quickly, and half worried about the eyes he caught following Derek's retreat when he turned back around. Some gazes turned away, but others shifted to Stiles hopefully and he suddenly wished he'd followed the wolf back into the trees.
Stiles turned to take refuge over behind the drinks table like before, but he found his path blocked by a wolf. A man how couldn't have been more than a year or two older than him. Tall, fit, attractive, and apparently confident enough in himself to pounce on Stiles even after he had made it rather clear he wasn't interested in scoping out a new pack along with a date.
"Hello there, beautiful." The wolf practically purred as his lips stretched back to reveal nice white teeth. Dark eyes slid down his form and slowly back up with purpose. Before the other had even given him a name or even tried to start a proper conversation with Stiles, he was holding out a fur coat to Stiles as if he expected him to take it, no questions asked. The furs were only inches from his face and he wrinkled his nose at the musty and stale scent the clung to them. The pelt itself was thick and a grey color, but it also looked coarse and definitely uncomfortable.
"No thanks." He deadpanned, trying to be 'polite' but there was only so much Stiles could offer in terms of social courtesy. The wolf practically shoving his furs in Stiles' face certainly needed a few lessons in it.
"Don't play coy, sweetheart. We'd be a good match. I've heard some promising things about you, and I'm next in line for my pack. I can promise you'd be comfortable if you chose me. Besides," his smile twisted into something darker and more lecherous, "It's not an official mating, we can just have some fun and then back out. What do you say, don't I look like fun?" He asked, arms spreading out as if to prove just how good he looked.
Something cold and mean clenched in his stomach at just the thought of touching the furs still being offered to him. Stiles had the sudden urge to see how attractive this immature wolf would think he was with a broken nose and scarlet ribbons spilling down his chin. The wilder and less familiar part of him urged him to snarl and drag his nails down the impertinent wolf's cheek. The same kind of urge that almost had him sinking his teeth into Derek after his fight with Mark.
Although, that had been full of playful and mischievous intent. What he felt right then, with the unfamiliar wolf, was indignant and hostile. The same texture of emotions he felt when protecting something or someone. Except, he wasn't really sure what he was trying to protect.
Either way, he was feeling almost irrationally upset and angered by the man's offer. Stiles clenched his teeth hard enough to make his jaw ache. His fingers curled into fists, but just as he was about to open his mouth and something—he didn't know what yet—the back of his neck prickled and a small shiver wormed its way down his spine just as he faintly caught the sound of someone entering the clearing over the music. He didn't know if it was his irritation or the strange spike in his instincts due to budding pack bonds that led Stiles to actually feeling Derek approaching at his back, even though he couldn't hear his footsteps in the plush grass of the clearing.
"Mieczyslaw." Stiles mind went blank, hearing his name rolling thickly over Derek's tongue.
Turning, Derek was stood just a few feet away, captivating green eyes cooling the breath in his lungs, he absently wondered if it would come out in vaporous clouds of white. Derek's full attention was on him, looking calm and more serious than usual. Stiles forgot about the wolf he'd been ready to physically maim because Derek was in front of him, practically glowing in the low outdoor lights, with stars dancing in his eyes, lips a flushed pink from biting them nervously, longer dark hair a tangled mess from large hands running through them, and a plume of glossy black furs clutched in his hand.
Oh.
Stiles looked back at Derek, who's lips had curved slightly into the barest smile and his stern dark eyebrows were tilted up a little bit and it made him look open and gentle and hopeful. Oh. A flurry of humming birds were released inside his gut, wiggling their way into his heart and making it flutter and pound in his chest. Oh. His mind ceased thought and instead he was hit by memories, of a wolf pawing at his door and curling up with him in the corner of the attic and sleeping on the hard floor next to his bed so he could wrap his hand in its fur. Memories of blinding grins and endless stories, of sunlit days quietly listing off ways to care for raspberry bushes, and of a large warm hand wrapping around his underneath the dinner table. Memories of feather-like touches over his bruised stomach and the flutter of warmth it had brought him.
Derek was bright like the sun and beautiful and kind and protective and Stiles wouldn't have survived the last few months without him and he had forced it all to the back of his mind because Stiles was too jagged and too course and Derek shouldn't want him but here he was. Looking like home and a future and sunlit mornings where night was just a memory and it was okay because day had broken and he had made it through. And oh, because Stiles had become so good at ignoring himself that he hadn't even realized how much he wanted this until it was right there and he felt like he'd just broken the surface of the icy water he'd been held under in for so long he'd forgotten he was drowning.
Even though pelts were stupid and Derek was ridiculous and sometimes he snorted obnoxiously when he laughed and snored like a thunder storm when he slept on his side, even though Stiles felt like an idiot kid getting offered to a dance at prom, he wanted it. He wanted Derek. He wanted all of his horrible jokes and weird hobbies and constant pestering. He wanted it like he wanted to see the next sunrise.
His eyes burned and welled and he probably looked ridiculous but he didn't really give a damn. Stiles stepped forward, grabbed the front of Derek's sweatshirt and pulled the taller teen down until their lips met in a summer storm of colliding thunder between their chests and rain on their tongues. It probably wasn't how these things were meant to go—etiquette and all—but Stiles was nothing if not unorthodox.
Derek tasted like raspberries and smelled of sweet grass and dew. His lips were soft and tender and he desperately didn't want to pull away. When he finally did, it was only far enough to press their foreheads together, both of them breathing heavily, throats full of soft white clouds. Stiles tilted his chin in order to nudge Derek's nose with his and the other released a breathless laugh.
"Yes." Stiles whispered his answer to the silent question against Derek's lips and the younger broke into a beaming smile. There was the gentle brush of a thump over his cheek before it disappeared and he felt a warm weight settling over his shoulders. Derek pulled his face away but intertwined their fingers together not a moment later, intent on leading Stiles away from the clearing and back towards the house so they could be alone and just maybe kiss again, but without an audience.
Speaking of, before they entered the line of trees, Stiles sought out the Alpha's gaze and found her stationed over by the food table, watching them both with such an illuminous warmth in her gaze that it was overwhelming.
Walking in a daze, Stiles lifted his free hand and soothed it over the soft, glossy black fur of the coat that had been draped over his shoulders. It was beautiful. It also smelt only of Derek and that caused a smile to pull at his lips from where Derek couldn't see as he led Stiles—at least, he wouldn't have seen if the wolf hadn't kept looking back at him over his shoulder every few seconds.
At the house, they went straight up to Stiles' room again, kicked off their shoes and climbed onto the bed. They both laid on their sides, facing each other and mapping out every bit other each other's face. Stiles, with Derek's coat settled over his top half like a blanket, reach out across the short distance between them and traced his fingertips over the planes of Derek's face, occasionally leaning forward to press his kiss to Derek's cheek or forehead or nose or mouth. There was nothing rushed or heated about it, and they were both more than okay with that.
They fell asleep tucked around each other and with the taste of the other on their lips.
