Rain fell steadily, blocking out the weak winter setting sun, and darkening the bar area of the McCall Hotel and Saloon. The saloon was empty save for a young man who hummed quietly as he cleaned glasses behind a highly polished bar. The man, a handsome youth in his late teens, turned to place his last glass on a stack in front of the mirror that hung on the back wall of the bar. He ran his hand through his messy dark hair and sighed. He wished he could shut down for the day but he knew his father, who was always greedy for money, wouldn't allow it on the mere off chance that a customer would stop in. Scott highly doubted that anyone would. Though it was odd for the bar to be so deserted, he knew it was because the mines were closed on account of the frigid weather. No one wanted to brave the cold unless it was absolutely unavoidable.
A rush of bitterly cold air suddenly chilling the immediate area signaled the arrival of a customer, and a man stepped into the room, stomping the excess water from his boots by the door. Scott looked up, his annoyance fading as he recognized his friend.
"Stiles, it's way too cold to be out if you don't have to be," Scott said as the shivering man shrugged out of his heavy woolen coat, hanging it from a peg on the wall, and slid into a stool near the bar.
The coat was sodden, and because of that probably wasn't much help against the weather, but it was the only thing Stiles had. It had been a second hand purchase that he'd gotten cheaply because the hems were frayed and it had had several holes that he'd ended up patching himself. It was also overly large, and swallowed his slender frame, but Stiles knew he was lucky to have it and that it was better than nothing at all.
Scott and Stiles had been friends since they were seven years old. Stiles' father John, a former army soldier originally stationed in Utah territory, had left the service with an honorable discharge to care for his son after his wife Claudia succumbed to consumption. He'd eventually gotten a job with the Pony Express and had moved with his small son to the booming mining town of Beacon Hills. Scott remembered fondly the day he'd met Stiles and they had bonded over a pair of wooden toy guns that Stiles had generously shared. Scott had returned that generosity by sharing a few of his mother's freshly baked ginger snaps.
Stiles was a few inches shorter than he was, with pale skin spotted with moles. His brown hair was a few shades lighter than Scott's own and badly needed cutting, a fact that was apparent as the other man pushed the wet strands away from his face to reveal big whiskey-brown eyes.
A bruise currently surrounded one of those vivid eyes.
"Did Jackson give you that?" Scott asked in disgust, walking over to the keg rack to fill a glass with beer for his friend.
Stiles only shrugged, wrapping his hands around the glass and tipping it to take a swallow of the room temperature beer.
"What did he say you did this time?"
"Same thing he always says. Apparently I was 'leering' at Lydia," Stiles said after drinking most of the contents of his glass, propping his arm on the counter, and resting his chin on his hand closing his eyes.
"Wasn't the last time we saw Lydia at church?"
Stiles' eyes popped open, and he straightened. "Yes, of course my 'vile actions' were made worse by the fact that we were in the 'house of the Lord'."
Scott rolled his eyes. "Jackson thinks he's so fucking top notch because his Father is a lawyer and his mother's family owns the bank. He's got no business going after you like that the dirty four flusher. Going out of his way to bother you when you're working at the livery. If he knew that Lydia's not even your-"
"Quiet! You know how much shit I'd get if people knew...well you know?"
Scott was his best friend, and honestly the best person Stiles had ever known. Scott knew that Stiles didn't prefer women, and after an awkward conversation where Stiles assured him that he wasn't interested in him that way, Scott had accepted that Stiles was, in Scott's words, merely an odd stick. Scott didn't understand the preference, especially when beauteous visions like Allison Argent made a point to look so fetching as she strolled with her lacy parasols held aloft, but he did care about his friend. Something that the other man seemed to have no control over wasn't going to cost him his friend. It was merely another secret shared between the two that had brought as close together as brothers.
Scott wanted to argue more, but instead he went to the kitchen and grabbed some bread and cold chicken, placing it on a plate which he sat the on the counter in front of Stiles and watched as the other man began to eat. Scott always made a point to feed his friend. Stiles didn't make much at the livery and John, being an express rider was often away, and Stiles appreciated his friend's generosity. He had shared many meals with Scott and his family.
"Just wait," Scott finally said after a minute or so of Stiles' silence, "One day we'll have our ranch. You'll be the foreman, raise and train the horses and I'll handle the business side. Eventually I'll marry Allison, we'll have children, and you'll be their eccentric Uncle Stiles. " Scott's eyes grew dreamy as his imagination spun with visions of his and Allison's children and the empire he was sure that the M & S Ranch would become.
The ranch, an idea that Stiles and Scott had began to conceive when they were ten, was something they had worked the last several years toward. Stiles had worked at the livery since he was thirteen and Scott had worked in his families hotel in one job or another for nearly as long. Their savings, in addition to an inheritance that Scott would be receiving from his mother's family in Spain for his twentieth birthday, was going to be their startup fund. Though Stiles was young he'd made a name in the surrounding areas for his dab hand with horses and he was sure that the market for his skills was there.
Cold air rushed into the room once more breaking the men from their reveries. A man entered, his face shadowed by the brim of his hat. He shrugged out of his coat and hung it on a peg near the door. He dropped a satchel with a thump, nudging it with his foot to rest against the wall.
He removed his hat, placing it on a nearby rack revealing short black hair, piercing hazel eyes, and a chiseled, handsome face. "Do you still have rooms available? I also wouldn't mind a meal if you have something you can fix quickly..."
"Yes we have vacancies," Scott said, "They go for forty cents a night, breakfast in the morning included. We also have an indoor privy with running water, though if you want hot water it'll cost you five cents extra. The kitchen is closed for the night, but I do have some cold chicken and bread if you like Mr..."
"Hale. Derek Hale, and chicken is fine, especially if you throw a beer in with it. I'll also take a room for the night. Ordinarily I'd press on but Camaro, my horse, is exhausted. As am I," Derek said, sliding into a stool a seat down from Stiles. His eyes slid over the other man, and Scott saw a brief flicker of appreciation there. An appreciation that he was shocked to see Stiles returning. He'd never actually witnessed Stiles eying another man. If Stiles hadn't told him himself that he favored men Scott would have thought the other man was asexual.
"Your family owns Triskelion Mines and the Wolf Creek Mill over in Preserve right?," Scott heard his friend shyly ask as he prepared Derek's meal in the kitchen. When he returned he saw his friend's eyes still fixed on Derek.
He sat the plate and glass of beer in front of Derek, resisting the urge to round the counter and sit between the two mans.
Scott knew about the Hale family. All the people of Beacon Hills knew about the Hales. They were an immensely rich family that lived in a small community called Preserve around thirty miles from Beacon Hills. They owned a gold rich set of mines, collectively called Triskelion Mines, and a mill that provided lumber for all of the surrounding townships. They had a massive mansion located near the woods at the edge of Preserve.
Derek Hale was the middle child and the only son of Daniel and Talia Hale. He had an older sister called Laura, who was five years older and a younger sister called Cora who was eight years younger. Derek was known to be a bit of a ladies man, which was why Scott was greatly surprised by the flash of appreciation that he'd seen in Derek's eyes when he'd looked at Stiles.
"Do you work here?" Derek asked Stiles.
"No," Stiles said, "I work over at Finstock Livery. I'll probably be the one taking care of your horse in the morning. Camaro you said his name was?"
"Yes" Derek said, "Camaro's a fast, dependable horse but I didn't want to exhaust him any more than I had to. I'd been visiting a friend but I wanted to get back home before what those angry clouds are promising rolls in. You work in the livery? I bet you do a mighty fine job there," his voice trailed off as he focused on his meal, never realizing the impact of his words on the other man.
A flush of pleasure tinted Stiles' cheeks. "I've been there since I was just a young'un. Mr. Finstock says I have a way with the horses," he said shyly.
"Stiles and I are planning to open a ranch someday soon. Fifty Fifty partners," Scott offered.
Derek drained the rest of his beer while he studied the younger man beside him, wondering who had given him the shiner circling his eye. He shifted a bit under the weight of the Stiles' obvious admiration. The way he looked at him was making him a little uncomfortable, like he was a tall glass of icy water and Stiles was beyond dehydrated. It was flattering, but intense and a little disconcerting as well. Derek knew he was attractive, and although he was primarily interested in women, he'd also found his way into the bed of a man or two, all very discreetly of course. The blatant offer that was heavy in Stiles' eyes was very tempting. And that smell...he'd never met a human that smelled so good. Sweet, but citrusy like sun warmed oranges.
"You were saying, Derek..." Stiles said ignoring Scott's attempt to segue into the conversation. He leaned onto his propped hand sending more of that delicious smell Derek's way.
"Um...Camaro," Derek said, "I've had him for three years. Got him on seventeenth birthday. Even helped train him. You should tell me about your ranch plans. I'm beginning to feel like I'm taking over the conversation. "
"Oh, that's far off. You said you helped train Camaro who did you help?" Stiles asked, deftly turning the conversation away from himself. He was intensely interested in what Derek had to say and he wanted to know as much as he could about the other man.
"Uh, my father has a friend named Alan who knows quite a bit about animals. Everything I know about horses I learned from him."
"So you plan to work with horses too?"
Derek went on to explain that he would be expected to run his family's mining company once his parents stepped down. He would receive ownership of Triskelion Mines, while his older sister Laura would own Wolf Creek Mill, where her husband also worked. Cora would receive shares in each business.
After a time Derek pushed his empty plate away, stood, and stretched with a yawn. "I think that bed is beginning to call me." He walked over by his coat to grab his satchel.
Scott reached under the bar, grabbing the key to room twelve. "Here you go. Room Twelve. Up the stairs and to the right. The privy is four doors down the hall from your room."
Derek took the key. "Thanks for the food," he called over his shoulder to Scott as he started up the stairs.
Stiles stood to follow, his movement pausing when Scott grabbed his arm. "What are you doing?" Scott asked.
"I just...something is telling me...It feels like maybe I shouldn't let him just leave." Stiles said, an uncertain expression on his face.
"You need to go to sleep off that madness you've been suffering all night from. What the hell is wrong with you Stiles? You don't know Derek Hale. I have never heard tell that he's well...you know. In fact, I've heard the exact opposite. What do you think will happen? That he's going to whisk you away with him like Cinderella? That's not gonna happen. What's probably going to happen to you if you approach him, despite those eyes he was giving you, is a punch to the face. Or worse," Scott hissed.
"You don't know that!" Stiles said, pulling out of Scott's grip. "Something is different about him. I don't know what, but I know that I'll always wonder if I don't try to find out."
"Stiles please, don't go after him. I have a feeling that this isn't going to end well."
"Nothing bad is going to happen. I can take care of myself," Stiles said firmly before quietly mounting the stairs.
Derek was fumbling with the key to his door. He swore under his breath when the door stubbornly refused to budge. He could force it open but he'd rather not have the door handle snap under his strength.
"That door always sticks. You have to turn the key and raise up on the knob as you turn it," Stiles said softly from behind him.
Derek jumped, before slowly turning around with a frown. How had the other man stuck up behind him without him hearing?
"Here, let me help you," Stiles said. Derek felt the air grow thicker, that sweet citrus scent traveling to his nose. He stared at the other man as he drew closer. There was something about Stiles that almost scary, like the fate of his life was held in the other man's hands. Those large, doe eyes peered out from under hair that had fallen into his face, filled with an adoration that Derek hadn't earned.
"Sure," Derek finally said. He felt a zing of awareness when Stiles' hand touched his, taking the key away. He watched the shorter man open the door and move back, allowing Derek to cross the threshold of the room. Derek dropped his bag to the side of the door before turning back to the other man.
Derek stared into Stiles' eyes for a moment, reading the yearning there, before throwing caution to the wind and pulling the other man to him. He moved enough to shut the door behind them before pressing Stiles against the door and bending his head down to capture his lips.
Stiles melted against him, the door helping to prop him up on suddenly weakened legs. Derek slid his hands under the other man's thin shirt to feel the warmth of his skin, his hands tracing the smooth expanse of Stiles' back. The younger man's lips opened with a moan and Derek deepened the kiss, tasting the sweetness of oranges on his tongue. His head pushed Stiles' back, a hand burying in the man's thick hair, turning his head to better kiss his soft lips.
Derek pulled back slightly, before resting his forehead against the other man's. Stiles' eyes opened, glazed over with obvious arousal.
"You're beautiful," Derek whispered, bending his head back down to kiss Stiles once more.
Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek's neck, moaning softly at the feel of the other man's lips against his.
Derek broke away from Stiles' mouth to kiss the side of his neck, moving up to kiss gently beneath his ear. He nudged the Stiles toward the bed, pushing him to land against the soft mattress. Derek wasted no time molding his body to Stiles'.
Stiles hesitated a moment, his hands moving to brace against the other man's chest. He hadn't thought that he'd even get so much as a kiss. He'd merely wanted to spend more time with Derek, a man who'd drawn him so thoroughly that he'd let his common sense fall by the wayside. Stiles was innocent, but he wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what would happen if he let this go any further, and even as his mind told him he shouldn't, he knew in his heart that he wasn't going to deny the other man. Stiles watched as the hesitation on Derek's face faded as hands slid away from his chest.
Derek began to unbutton Stiles' shirt, and Stiles' raised himself to make the removal of both his shirt and pants easier for the other man. Finally he was naked and Derek made swift work of removing his own clothes. Stiles' ran his eyes over Derek's form in appreciation as the other man walked across the room, rustling in his bag before returning with a small stoppered bottle in his hand that he tossed on the bed next to Stiles.
Derek pressed Stiles once more against the bed, rubbing the warmth of his chest against Stiles' own, making Stiles writhe in with the urgent need thrumming through his veins.
Derek leaned down to capture the other man's mouth, kissing him gently savoring the taste that was Stiles. Stiles moaned lowly as his lips separated from Derek's. Derek kissed a soft trail down his neck before moving to lave his tongue against his left nipple, gently rubbing the other with his thumb. He moved down further, pausing to kiss Stiles' navel, before reaching where Stiles wanted him the most.
Stiles hissed as Derek wrapped a hand around his cock, looking up at him with a wicked grin before leaning down to take him into his mouth. Stiles gasped, his cry melting into a groan as Derek's tongue laved against the fat mushroom head of his cock. Derek lavished Stiles' cock with attention, the warm sucking pulls of his mouth, along with the hand softly massaging his balls was pushing him embarrassingly quickly toward coming.
"Ugh...nngh. I'm going to come if you keep doing that," Stiles' warned, surprised at his ability to form an actual coherent sentence.
Derek's mouth softly slid, with one last lick, off of his erection. "You aren't going to come until I'm inside of you," Derek growled, his voice rough with need.
Stiles moaned at the promise in his voice, writhing against the bed in excitement.
Derek grasped his thigh, "Turn over. This will be easiest if you're on your stomach."
Stiles turned over quickly, thankfully without flailing overly much. He raised his hips to allow Derek to push a pillow under them.
Stiles heard the pop of the stopper being pulled from the bottle and blushed furiously. He hid his face in the other pillow a moment before turning to rest his head against the pillow.
Derek gently rubbed a hand against the small of his back before running slick fingers against Stiles' entrance. Despite his best efforts against doing so, Stiles tensed and tried to close his legs.
"Relax," Derek said softly, leaning down to press a kiss against Stiles' right shoulder blade. Derek gently urged his legs apart, his hand sliding down to tease against Stiles' entrance once more. He rubbed a finger against the taut entrance, that finger rubbing in soft circles as Stiles shivered before finally relaxing. That finger pushed into him slowly, dipping in slightly before retreating and then finally pushing in fully. Derek curled his finger searching for that nerve filled spot that he knew would bring Stiles pleasure.
He knew he'd found it when Stiles tensed before shuddering with a guttural moan. "What the...oh God..."
Derek chuckled, flexing that finger and feeling the other man's muscles tighten. A second finger joined the first, then a third, gently stretching Stiles and making him gasp. When the fingers slowly retreated and were replaced with the blunt head of Derek's cock, Stiles could only moan.
Derek gasped at the wet heat, biting his lips against the intense, dark pleasure that thrummed through his body as he pushed inside. This was...better than anything. He stopped, letting the other man adjust to the feeling of him inside of him.
Stiles' wriggled, the burning pain of Derek's entrance fading to a satisfying fullness. "Move," he moaned, begging Derek for the friction he desperately needed. His hands balled into the bedding as Derek pulled out and pushed back in with a dirty grinding motion that unerringly bumped the head of his cock into Stiles' sweet spot.
Stiles sobbed, his hands pulling at the sheets, his body overwhelmed the pleasure the vibrated under his skin, turning into something richer, darker and deeper. Derek grasped Stiles' hips pulling him up enough so he could curl his hand under to stroke the other man's cock. Stiles mouthed at his pillow to muffle the scream that was ripped from his throat.
Derek let loose a feral sounding growl as Stiles spilled warmth all over his fist, his channel clinching rhythmically and pushing Derek into his own climax. He gasped at the sensitivity of their connection as he gently pulled out.
Stiles had just enough awareness to recognize that Derek was pulling the cover over them before he succumbed to the oblivion of sleep.