Derek: Dinner tonight, perhaps a movie is in the cards?

Stiles: Food?

Derek: Typically the staple of Dinner, yes Stiles. :P

Stiles: Jackass. What kind of food?

Derek: Oh I think mom is making Italian. Something loaded with cream sauces and herbs.

Derek: At six.

Stiles: Movie of the night?

Derek: We can decide later. My uncle is giving me mean looks.

"Derek, put your phone away. No games in my classroom."

"Sorry Uncle Peter. Tetris is addictive."

"So is cocaine, but I highly advise you refrain from partaking in that as well."

Derek catches Stiles smirking out of the corner of his eyes. The bastard…

It's been three days since Danny attacked him, and things have calmed down to reasonable levels. Jennifer Blake is still attempting to win stalker of the year award; Erica is still a fundamentalist twat; Danny has backed off, if only because he's confused and scared of the consequences that will come from doing something so brash again.

And Stiles has remained distant but concerned. Derek hopes to correct the former tonight.


Dinner is delicious (Who is Derek kidding; his mother could be a domestic goddess if she wanted to. Even her self-proclaimed misfires are heavenly) and the talk around the table is light hearted and without controversy.

Derek doesn't miss the little displays Stiles shows. A fleeting touch when passing the breadbasket; The foot nestled next to his own; a reassuring hand occasionally stroking his thigh. Derek is afraid of passing out due to disproportionate blood flow away from his vital organs and straight to his dick.

Derek also doesn't miss the little looks Susan and Martin cast towards each other throughout dinner.

After dinner the two retreat away from the table and upstairs to the movie room. As soon as Stiles closes the door Derek flings himself at him.

He wraps his arms around Stiles neck and smashes their mouths together, the two of them devouring each other's lips.

Stiles grabs Derek's ass and lifts him up as though he weighed nothing, not once breaking mouth-to-mouth contact. With Derek's legs wrapped around Stiles' waist, Stiles gently presses Derek up against the wall adjacent to the door and grinds against the younger man.

Derek moans through Stiles' mouth, forcing the burly Hockey Player to growl and push harder against Derek. Over and over again, the rhythmic undulations of Stiles as he thrusts against Derek's ass, both boys lost in utter bliss.

Suddenly Stiles picks up tempo, grinding with greater speed, with heightened urgency even. Again and again until-

"Mmmmmfffummmmphhhh." Stiles moans into Derek's mouth, back arched and body taut against the slim nerd as his mind clears away the haze of teenage orgasm. Derek is still against the wall, dick straining against the inside of his jeans.

Stiles gently places Derek down, suddenly very aware of the boy's bruises and looking mortified.

"Oh fuck, Derek I didn't mean to…" Stiles stumbles as he tries to locate his lost composure. Derek suppresses a smirk and instead runs his hand through Stiles' buzz cut.

"They don't ache as much, so no need for the sympathy Stiles."

Stiles face hardens a little bit, but he laughs nonetheless, eyes darting to the rather obvious hard on in Derek's jeans. His eyes lazily travel back up the geography of Derek's torso until they meet with his eyes. With a wide grin he places his hands underneath Derek's shirt, hands memorizing the smooth skin. As he passes over the pectorals he lets his thumbs brush over Derek's nipples. Derek's back goes concave as he tries to prevent himself from coming too soon.

Stiles smirks again, and Derek realizes that he has never seen Stiles smirk that way in class, or around the school. Even when they were working together at Monk's did he notice Stiles unguarded smirks.

He feels… privileged to a degree. He also finds himself yanked away from the theoretical as Stiles traces fingers down Derek's shoulder blades and along the contour of his back. Simultaneously, Stiles moves besides Derek's left ear and licks along the earlobe and up towards the tragus. Derek's hands are moving all over Stiles' chest, admiring the tight, dense musculature and scolding body temperature.

Stiles hands drifted further south, reaching under the waistband of his jeans, past his briefs and over his ass, squeezing firmly while husking in Derek's ears. "All. Mine." He accentuates each word with a squeeze before returning to turning the whole of Derek's ear into a swamp.

The sensations however, are a little too much to bear.

"Fuck!" Derek hisses as he explodes inside his jeans, pulsing come until he slumps against Stiles, thoroughly tired and ready to rest.

Stiles chuckles and lifts Derek in his arms, Bridal style, as he carries him to the couch. Derek mumbles against Stiles tightly fitted shirt.

"Yeah Der? What movie?"

Sleepily, Derek grins back and replies. "There will be blood."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Because you couldn't just cheat and go with something less intense."

Derek scoffs against Stiles' shirt. "Watching The Princess Bride will not get you past Peter's class."

Stiles looks down at Derek, ruffles his hair and whispers. "Inconceivable."


It's late when Stiles leaves. Derek is passed out on the couch, and while he considers the risks he eventually decides to move Derek into his bedroom. Stiles finds himself having to use intense discipline when he shucks off Derek's shirt and jeans. He's a thin kid, sure. But he's a hot, thin kid.

While he's still figuring out the dynamics of their relationship, he sure as hell doesn't feel uncomfortable stripping Derek naked and putting him in fresh clothes. But he decides not to chance it and instead just slides him under the covers of his bed. With a light kiss on the top of his head, Stiles says goodnight to Derek and departs.

He steps outside and onto the front porch of the Hale household, a massive wraparound deal that is filled with chairs and small tables and Wind Chimes when he catches a figure out of the corner of his eye.

"You know, my wife absolutely hates cigarette smoke. She despises it with a vehemence seen only in fundamentalists and starving men. Truly, I can't step foot inside of the house with one of these lit or she will skin me alive." Martin Hale chuckles, a half used cigarette sticking out of his mouth.

Stiles doesn't move, because for the first time in his life he feels threatened by a man who isn't his father, and for the first time in the weeks since he formally met Derek has he felt intimidated by Martin.

"But I like them nonetheless, and I listen to Susie because I hate it when we squabble about the stupid things in our lives. The inane bullshit that colors other people's lives is a little too trite for the both of us. So we mature past our equals and put up with the bullshit so we can get on with our lives." He plucks the cigarette from his mouth and exhales, a plume of smoke issuing from his lips. Martin fixes his eyes on Stiles, and for the first time Stiles realizes the sharpness of his eyes. Typically when he has seen Martin the man looks adrift in another world, listening to conversations with one ear while focusing on something else entirely with the other.

The glazed over look is gone completely, but the eyes remain just as brilliant and cutting as they did during the several dinners they have shared.

"Nothing, and I mean nothing gets past my wife. She's got the eyes of a Raptor and the ears of a fox. For the record, nothing gets past me either."

"Mister Hale I-"

"Quiet Stilinski, you can defend yourself when I'm finished." The tone is visceral, and Stiles recoils.

"A little fear, a little deference even. Good. So many young men like you are cocky, arrogant, afraid of nothing and eager to take on everything. It's a policy that does well in some aspects of life but falls unceremoniously flat in others."

Stiles bites his tongue and watches Martin intently.

"I've never cared if Derek was into boys or girls or even… both?" Martin raises an eyebrow at Stiles, as if looking for validation.

Stiles nods his head to the side. Derek doesn't strike him as a ladies' man.

Martin shrugs. "Regardless, I don't care who he loves, so long as they treat him right. Susie has always been there to clean up my messes, and I've always been there to shield her from the words of her family. We look after each other, and we've built a life on it. On compromises." Martin idly flicks the ash off of his cigarette before placing it back in his mouth and taking a no-handed drag.

"I don't think you two will end up getting married, but the point stands Genim Stilinski. You will respect my son, you will treat him with care and concern, and if I hear a whisper of you mistreating him in any way whatsoever…" Martin takes two small, even steps towards Stiles.

"I won't. I don't know what I feel for him, and I didn't even realize I was… into Derek. Not for a long while. I've been with girls. I've fucked around. But I can't ever admit to mistreating anyone that way. I'm not like the others." Stiles surges back, engulfed by raw feeling.

"You seem like a good kid, but I hear things, boy, from coworkers and friends alike. The Iceman cometh and lay the frosty can of whoop-ass upon his foes."

"If you ever, and I mean ever lay a hand on my son like you've done to some of these other boys, I will end you. Not intimidated Mister Stilinski? I wrote my thesis on toxicity of commonplace plants. Don't fuck with the son of the man whose Doctorate was built upon the ability to procure and subject patients to a cornucopia of toxic materials." Martin exhales the smoke right into Stiles area.

Stiles doesn't know what to say, but he feels utterly terrified. The Hales aren't bad people but he can understand the fear behind the rest of Beacon Hills: Intensity does not a gentleman make.

"I understand Mr. Hale. I… need to be going now." With some base instincts kicking in, Stiles moves off the porch and towards his Camaro.

Martin nods and takes another drag of his cigarette.

'Let's see if the boy is anything like his dear old dad.'


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