Inamorato IV
Stiles is a dreamer. It seems that it's one of the few ways he's able to keep his ADHD under control. But something soon starts to make his dreams restless, make them more vivid and panicked. Little does he know that his mate is looking for him. He's caused the leather-clad werewolf out of hiding and would stop at nothing for his inamorato.
Reminding everyone, THIS IS MY FIRST TEEN WOLF FIC.
Thank you to all my reviewers:
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Chapter 4: Unleashed
"Why are you staying again?"
Stiles was less than thrilled that Derek had decided to pick tonight to have a fucking little red riding hood sourwolf sleepover.
"Because I said so. That's why." 'Must you question everything?'
"Well guess what, buddy? My house, my rules. Because I said so doesn't cut it. So tell me wh—"
"I'm trying to protect you, okay? Now shut up about it and go to bed."
Stiles's confounded gaze rests on the musing crinkles of Derek's forehead. "I'm a big boy, Derek."
"Yeah, well, that thing in your backyard had red fucking eyes, Stiles! Are you planning on going at the half bull-half man abhorrence with your can of pepper spray?"
Stiles opens and closes his mouth in contemplation but instead chooses to answer, "...no."
"Then I'm staying," Derek plops into Stiles's desk chair and yawns, "to keep watch. Now go to bed."
Derek sighs and yawns again, his body feeling weak and exhausted from the past few days. He angles his body toward the locked window in Stiles's room watching the waxing luminary float in the starry sky. He remembers when he was younger, his family used to go for runs in the woods. The whole family, no matter what they were doing, would drop everything and they'd all shift and run through the woods and it felt so good to just escape from everything.
"You're not seriously going to stay up all night."
Derek rolls his neck and takes a deep breath, smelling the scent of rain and cinnamon sugar. "Yep. If I can get a look at this thing—"
"Derek, you look like you're going to drop from debilitation any second. Take my bed, I'll take the floor."
"You're not sleeping on the floor," Derek stands to snatch the blanket out of Stiles's hands before he lays it on the floor beside his bed, "Besides, if I can get a good look at this thing, maybe—"
Stiles grabs the blanket back and stands in front of Derek in nothing but the boxers he's sleeping in. "You saying Sourwolf doesn't need his sleep?"
Derek swipes the blanket back and involuntarily rakes his eyes up Stiles's lean, slightly defined body only to clench his jaw and refrain from knocking the kid's teeth out. "I'm saying, I can't keep you alive if I'm sleeping."
"And I'M saying," Stiles attempts to yank the blanket from Derek's grip but it appears futile as the werewolf had it in a vice, "your senses of werewolf-itude will kick in if something attemptes to break through my window." Stiles wants to reach out and rub his thumb across Derek's cheek because the poor thing looks like he hasn't slept in years. "You need to rest."
Throwing in the towel, Derek rolls his eyes. "Fine," he stands and pulls the blanket from Stiles's hands, "but I'm not sleeping in your bed. It's your bed. I'll take the couch—"
"No! I, uh—you can't..." Stiles paces, thinking up a solution. "You have to stay in here. If my dad sees you, well...he may or may not shoot you."
'Lovely.' Derek pinches the bridge of his nose out of irritation.
Stiles grimaces in thought. 'I can't say that...I wouldn't be able to fucking survive with him next to me...' He turns to Derek and knows the older's either going to punch him in the face or quietly murder him in his sleep. "We could share...my bed? It's big enough...I mean, it's better than getting shot, right?" Stiles winces and waits for the punch that never comes.
Derek's in complete shock from what just came from Stiles's mouth. Is he nuts? "Whatever. Just stay on your side of the bed." Yep, Derek knows he's fucked. He knows he's gonna slip somehow. He knows something's gonna go wrong and all of a sudden Stiles will be fully aware of Derek's unkindled love for him. Well, fuck.
Ten minutes later, Stiles attempts not to ogle Derek as the werewolf has no shame in stripping down to a wifebeater and his boxers. Derek's grumbling the entire time he's getting ready for bed, something about teenagers being too fucking annoying for their own good.
Stiles goes downstairs to make sure everything's locked just in case this monster thing tries to break in and kill him. Like a locked door is gonna stop it. Stiles gulps as he turns to look out the sliding glass door into the woods. He locks it, and starts to pull the blinds when he hears a low rumble. Squinting, he searches in his backyard, his mind running a constant stream of "OHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT" as his heart starts to pound in his ears. The rumble comes again, sounding a bit closer this time, Stiles unlocking the door and sliding it open to step into the frigid night air. He squints in the shadows, noticing a dark figure in the trees.
A thundering roar extravasates inches from Stiles's ear and the figure retreats into the woods while Stiles is held in place by Derek's vice on his shoulder. Stiles's breathing is coming in fast, shaky pants as his head turns to fixate on Derek's claws that are trying hard not to dig into his flesh. Stiles can hear the growls coming from Derek each time he exhales. Stiles slowly turns and puts a hand on Derek's chest in an attempt to calm the older.
"Derek," Stiles examines Derek's face, his blazing scarlet eyes, his fierce canines, the way his nose is scrunched in a snarl, "calm down. Relax." He feels Derek's heartbeat slow some under his fingers as the crimson eyes focus on him. It seems that Derek's staring at each of Stiles's honey brown eyes individually because his gaze keeps wavering back and forth. His canines retract and his eyes fade back to their pale green color.
"I think we should sleep, yeah?" Stiles sees Derek nod in agreement before he has to push the older man away from where he's still staring into the backyard. Stiles locks the door and draws the blinds while he encourages Derek to go upstairs.
By the time Stiles gets upstairs, Derek is as close to the edge of the bed as possible, his back pressed against the headboard. He's wearing a bemused expression as his stare is focused on Stiles's lacrosse gear in the corner of his bedroom. Stiles takes the empty spot next to Derek and pulls the chain on his bedside lamp, lying on his back as he traces the pattern on the ceiling with his eyes.
"Hey, Derek?"
"Go to sleep, Stiles."
"Lay the fuck down and get some rest, sourwolf."
Derek grumbles and does as he's told, trying so hard not to touch any part of Stiles with his body because he knows if he does, he's fucked himself over twice. He's already drowning in the scent of fresh rain and leaves and nature because he's surrounded by Stiles so much so at the moment, he can even smell the kid's laundry detergent that smells like cinnamon sugar.
"Can I ask you something?"
'What the fuck does he want now?' Derek knows if he doesn't sleep soon he's either going to kick Stiles in the balls or fuck him into tomorrow. "What?" he grits through clenched teeth.
"Why are your eyes red? Like, I know Scott has like, these gold ones and—"
"I'm an alpha, that's why. Scott's a beta. Now, good night. "
—
Derek is up first, being woken up at around 6:30 by Stiles's arm wrapping around his body. Derek notices that he's in the middle of the queen size bed and he rolls over to face the teen that's pressed against him. Stiles is sweating badly and his cheeks are rosy from exertion. His eyebrows are furrowed, like he's in deep thought. Derek catches the scent he'd smelled the night before, the scent he recognizes as the Baku. Growling defensively, he skims the room, using his heat signature tracking to see if he can spot the spirit in the darkness. He sees nothing but growls in the back of his throat again, the scent vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared.
Stiles moans something in his sleep, kicking his feet. Derek sits up, his back against the headboard as Stiles starts to get panicky. His lean fingers clench in their place on Derek's side and grasp the fabric of his wifebeater, "N-No..." He writhes around a bit, gasping, "Der-Derek..."
Derek places his hand gently on Stiles's cheek, rubbing his thumb over the flushed skin. In the same moment, he closes his eyes and clenches his jaw, doing his best to take some of the teenager's pain away, albeit it's only a dream. His veins turn black for a moment before fading back to normal and Derek's heart hurts, feeling the pain, hearing the struggle. His eyes focus on Stiles's lips, parted ever so slightly. He wants to lean down and press a light kiss upon those full lips, to revel in their softness.
But he's afraid. He's afraid to let himself succumb to the way his heart languishes for Stiles. He's afraid of what could happen if he lets himself yield to the ache in his soul. Here, lying next to the adolescent that drives him crazy in more ways than one, he feels as if it's intrinsic. It feels right, meant to be. He can sense in his bones that Stiles is his mate, and that he's going to do whatever it takes to keep him safe, even if it means risking his own life. He won't be like Peter. He's going to be the Alpha that Peter liked to think he was.
But he's terrified. He's terrified because the last time he became close to someone, she literally set his whole world ablaze. She tore him apart, she chained him up in her basement and electrocuted him. She destroyed life as he knew it and she loved every minute of it. He loved her and he was so sure he knew what he was getting into. But now, Derek is in a constant state of paranoia. He never opens up, never gets close to anyone, because everyone close to him gets hurt, and he can't lose Stiles too.
Derek watches as Stiles's chest rises and falls rapidly because he'd unknowingly removed his hand in the process of his thought. He replaces it though, Stiles unconsciously grasping Derek's wrist to keep it there. Derek sighs and lightly brushes his thumb over Stiles's cheek, waiting, and slowly, the teen's breaths start to even out again.
When Derek knows Stiles is deep in sleep, he scrunches back down under the blankets and rolls on his side to face Stiles. The light of the waxing moon casts a glow on Stiles's face through the foggy window. Derek reaches up to place a hand flat over Stiles's heart, immediately feeling the pulse jump a bit. Stiles's arm is still wrapped around Derek, but his hand shifts, snaking under the tank top and resting level on Derek's delineate abdomen, right above the waistband of his boxers.
Derek feels a low rumble in his throat and clenches his jaw as he tries to will himself under control. He can smell the arousal rolling off of Stiles in waves and he glances over at the teenager who mumbles incoherently, "You're dirty." Derek growls deep in his throat again and he can sense the points of his canines growing sharper, but he wills himself to stop, managing by a miracle to keep himself under control. He huffs and closes his eyes, hand still on Stiles's chest, letting himself fall back into sleep to the rhythm of his love's heartbeat.
—
The next time Derek wakes up, it's later that Saturday morning. He can't make out the scarlet numbers past Stiles's body tucked against his own back. He doesn't mind it, being wrapped up in Stiles. It smells like the old days with his family when he used to wake up and his room smelled like the woods, the forest, right after the rain poured down the night prior.
He takes a deep breath and focuses on his surroundings. He can feel Stiles's hot breath against his ear and the teenager's lanky arms wrapped around his chest. Their legs are interlaced with one another and it feels...nice. And Derek actually feels...refreshed. He almost never gets a good night's sleep back at his place—maybe because of the fact that his bed's half charred and he hasn't gotten around to getting a real comforter for it yet—and if he does happen to rest, it's maybe for a few moments in his car at a traffic light or something.
Derek tries to lie still as he feels Stiles shift around a bit, a yawn erupting from the younger boy's mouth. Stiles blinks a few times before he realizes—holy fuckballs, he's spooning Derek fucking Hale. Shit. Fuck. 'Holy Christ, he's gonna fucking kill me and chop my arms off.'
"Stiles," Derek grits out, "get off me."
"Really, Derek?" Stiles snuggles into Derek's back, noting the back dimples that are showing from where the wifebeater had ridden up. "I think this is nice."
"Get off me now." Derek tries moving but it only causes Stiles to flail around more. He pauses, "Stiles, shut up for a second." Stiles abruptly stops thrashing and listens.
Stiles hears footsteps.
"Shit, my dad's coming!"
"Where do I hide?"
"I don't know! Find somewhere!"
"Stiles—"
The doorknob turns and Stiles pushes Derek off the bed and—although he isn't prepared—Derek lands quietly on the floor as the sheriff walks in. Derek smirks as he listens to Stiles's heart racing as he spews out lie after lie to the basic parental questions.
As soon as the sheriff leaves, announcing that he's leaving for work, Derek is pinning Stiles down to the mattress,straddling the teen's waist, hands pushing his shoulders into the bed. "What the fuck was that?" He's baring his teeth, snarling in Stiles's face.
"Oh, Grandma, what big teeth you have."
"For Christ's sake! Can't you ever be serious about anything?"
Stiles points at Derek's chest. "Maybe if you weren't on top of me in your underwear. Although," he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively, "it does seem little Derek may be happy to see me."
Derek clenches his jaw and wills his face not to turn red as he gets off of Stiles and walks around to the opposite side of the mattress, gripping the edge and lifting it so that Stiles slide off of it and onto the floor. "Take a look in the mirror, asshole, because it looks like you may be just as happy to see me."
And with that, Derek stalks off to the bathroom.
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—A
