A/N: *insert excuses about lateness for this chapter which are totally justified but lame and yeah. Sorry* Apologies to George Lucas and the "Star Wars" franchise at large over the terrible WiFi puns. I keep forgetting I'm not funny. Song Credit: "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" by the Smiths.
Also...Happy Mother's Day! Have some gay werewolves because why not?
Derek woke up at 4:30. And while he was glad it wasn't as early as before and that his body was getting closer to being on the right time, he was still irritated at the sooner than necessary wake up call. He thought of the old belief that it took a day for every hour before you got used to the new time and felt a small amount of relief that he should be on the right wavelength the next day.
He went on his usual two hour run around the neighborhood, showered, and dressed for the day. Afterward, he sat at his desk, setting the wifi up on his laptop, rolling his eyes at the names: 'HelpMeWifiKenobi', 'LukeIAmYourWifi', 'WarningThisIsTheSheriff'. He had a feeling he knew who had dubbed all of them.
He spent an hour or so researching places in Beacon Hills to shift during the full moon, repeatedly seeing The Preserve as an option. He looked it up on Google Maps, studied satellite images of it and the city as a whole. And as he made notes of places to check out, he mentally stewed over the fact that he wouldn't have to do any of that if he hadn't been forced to move.
Beating a dead horse probably, but it was still a valid point.
Not in the mood to deal with anyone, he ate breakfast by himself before taking his Camaro out, driving to the Preserve and exploring. The satellite images he'd checked out showed that the forested area was huge, covering several acres of land and that a good majority of it was open to the public. Trekking around brought up the scents of countless other wolves and he struggled to find a place that wasn't as well used. Turning with other wolves was something usually reserved for families or packs and since he didn't have either, he wasn't about to shift with strangers in the off-chance they'd ask him to join.
He wished he had his dad there.
Derek felt a small pang in his chest, soon followed by a grumbling in his stomach. A quick check of his cell phone informed him that it was past two and that he'd been roaming around the forest for nearly five hours. Part of him wanted to keep searching, keep looking for a more secluded area, but he knew it wasn't a possibility, at least not that day. Besides, the full moon wasn't for another week and a half; he had plenty time to look.
Calling it a day, he headed back home. Melissa's car was gone when he arrived, but he still parked alongside the lawn, figuring it was now his designated space. Walking to the front door, he heard three heartbeats inside the house and his mind whirred as he tried to figure out who each one belonged to. There was the slow, slightly sluggish one he now associated with Maria, the steady rhythmic one of Scott, and a faster, more frenetic one that he wasn't as familiar with.
Although judging by the way his wolf's head perked up and its tail started wagging, he had a damn good theory about who it most likely was.
And as he opened the front door and was assaulted by that scent, he mentally winced at the fact that he was right.
Shit.
Part of him wanted to turn around and run, wanted to get back in his Camaro and just grab some lunch from a drive-thru somewhere. It would be a hell of a whole lot easier to just avoid Stiles and his scent and his... everything than to actually go in there and try to hold back, try to deal with it all. But running was cowardice and he wasn't a coward. He was a fucking Alpha and needed to start fucking acting like one.
Stiffening his spine, Derek closed the door behind himself and walked with sure steps toward the kitchen, Scott's voice reaching his ears.
"And her skin is so soft and so nice and so smooth," he yammered, voice dreamy and distant. It wasn't a tone Derek had ever heard the younger McHale use before and while part of him was curious, the other part just wasn't in the mood to be dragged into whatever teenage revery Scott was currently lost in. "And her hair is so soft, too. And she smells sooo good. I just wanna roll around in it and breathe it in all day every day for the rest of forever."
Derek rolled his eyes as he stepped into the kitchen, slightly annoyed by the younger's musings but more agitated at the fact that he could totally fucking relate. Especially when he inhaled and was hit square in the chest by Stiles' intoxicating aroma.
Fuck.
The two friends were seated at the table, plates of grilled cheese and potato chips in front of them both. Scott was staring off dreamily at the empty chair across from him, most likely imagining whoever the hell it was that he was describing, food seemingly untouched. Stiles, meanwhile, was rolling his own eyes, cheeks puffed out as he took a bigger bite of his sandwich than should be possible.
His wolf rumbled inside his mind, irritated. Something deep down on a more basic level was aggravated at the fact that someone else had provided for Stiles, that someone else had fed his Omega, that someone else was taking care of what was rightfully his to take care of. He knew it was just pure Alpha instincts, that need to make sure those he cared about were all right and safe and fed. More than once he'd seen his dad hand-feeding his mom—something that was especially common after his dad's heats—and knew it was just an ingrained habit from centuries long gone. It was the Alpha's job to take care of his or her mate, to give them everything they could possibly need and/or want, and to keep them one-hundred percent safe and happy.
And someone else was doing Derek's job for him.
Except they weren't really. Because Stiles wasn't Derek's Omega, wasn't Derek's anything really. The two weren't even acquaintances, much less mates, so it wasn't up to the Alpha to do anything for the Omega in any way. Besides, in today's contemporary society, it was more common for an Omega to do whatever they wanted, to supply themselves with their own food or shelter or what-have-you, especially with an Omega from a younger generation. They were more independent thinking, less likely to wanna be coddled or babied by an Alpha. Some were even offended when offered anything by an Alpha, the provided items seen as an insult, a way of calling the Omega weak.
But they were instincts, thoughts that couldn't be shut off, a habit that was as automatic and as unthinking as breathing. Which was the excuse Derek's brain came up with in order to explain why he was so irritated by someone else making food for Stiles. It had nothing to do with the Omega himself and everything to do with the fact that he was an Omega at all.
His wolf snorted. Derek ignored it. It was becoming a habit lately.
"Querido," Maria cut into his thoughts, his head snapping over to where she stood by the stove, flipping another grilled cheese over in a frying pan. "You're just in time to hear your brother mooning over a girl named Allison."
Scott made an offended noise in the back of his throat that was too high-pitched to be considered masculine. Derek turned his head, eyebrow cocked, watching the younger Alpha flap his mouth open and shut repeatedly.
"I'm not mooning," he argued, causing Stiles to scoff.
"Dude," the Omega snorted, his entire head rocking with the sound. "You totally are."
Maria turned around, pointing her spatula at her youngest grandson, seriously expression on her face. "Mijo, English may be my second language, but I still know for a fact that you're mooning."
"And pining," Stiles added in with a smirk, shoving more food in his face. It really wasn't the most polite or attractive way to eat but Derek still found his eyes fixated on his mouth, on his full lips, on the way his tongue peeked out to lick up crumbs from the corner of them. His mind automatically provided him with unwanted images of that tongue on his own set of lips, his stubbled jaw, his neck. He imagined his own wet muscle tracing the various moles on Stiles' face, his neck, seeking out more of the marks until he'd licked and sucked and nibbled on every single one all over his body. He perfectly pictured making the Omega fall apart under the ministrations of his tongue, licking his cock, his balls, his hole, driving him to orgasm without touching him with anything else.
"Derek!"
His head snapped to the left at the sound of Maria speaking his name, noticing the way her eyebrows were raised in expectation. He cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his head awkwardly, tried to ignore the fact that he was half-hard and his jeans had very little—if any—room for his cock. Out the corner of his eye, he could see the two teenagers at the table staring at him, Scott with his brow furrowed the way it usually did when doing algebra homework, Stiles with his lips parted, his cheeks flushed, and his pupils blown. He ignored them, too.
The way Stiles' scent had gotten stronger with that special spice note, however, had his wolf scratching and clawing to be let out, whining and demanding Derek walk over there and inhale it, rub himself all over the Omega to combine their scents, to make the other male's stronger by arousing him further.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck again.
Dropping his hand, Derek focused solely on Maria, pretending he didn't notice Scott's confused glare or Stiles' obvious arousal, cocking an eyebrow at her. "Yeah?"
"I asked if you wanted one sandwich or two."
"Oh."
He heard the sound of Scott snorting, could practically picture the younger Alpha's eyes rolling, soon followed by the crunching of potato chips. Someone's shin was kicked, Stiles', judging by the yelp he let out and the scratching of the chair legs on the floor. More things for Derek to act like he hadn't noticed.
"Two," he answered, voice rough, clearing his throat again.
Maria nodded slowly once before turning back to the stove, focusing on making lunch.
Derek nodded repeatedly, realizing that he needed to grab a drink. And that Stiles was in the seat closest to the fridge. The seat Derek always used.
Godfuckingdammit.
All right, he could handle this, no big deal. Gritting his teeth, he inhaled once, holding his breath as he marched around the table. He heard the sharp inhale of breath, saw the way Stiles stiffened, his head automatically tilting to the left, exposing his neck. Pausing behind the Omega, Derek thought about how easy it would be to just lean down, to breathe that tempting scent in, to sink his teeth in and mark him so all the world knew the Omega belonged to him.
'Mine.'
But he didn't give in, didn't allow instincts or his wolf to dictate his actions. Instead, he clenched his fists, feeling his claws dig into his palms, holding himself back as he turned away and faced the fridge.
"Aaanyway," Scott began, stretching the first syllable in a way to get his friend's attention. It was a tactic Derek had gotten used to hearing over the past couple years, when the topic of conversation got away from whatever he wanted it to be and Scott tried to shift things back. Chances were Scott could feel the tension in the air as well as Derek could, could smell the arousal—although the elder Alpha wasn't sure if the younger actually knew what it was. It was probably weird as hell for him to be scenting that on his best friend, made him feel awkward.
Derek scented the air quickly, taking apart the various notes and noting a lack of aroused smell from his brother. And while it struck him as a little strange that the Omega's aroma wasn't affecting the younger Alpha the way it was driving him fucking nuts, part of him was relieved. It meant less competition, decreased the chance of a fight breaking out between the brothers. And, yeah, those were rare in recent times, but not entirely nonexistent. After all, they were all still animals deep down inside.
And his animal wanted the Omega at the table.
His mind conjured up images of bending Stiles over said table and driving into him, the Omega clawing at the wood as he begged for release and Derek granting it with a bite to his soft neck.
A thud sounded out as someone's head hit the table and he refused to turn around to check out who had done it, instead opening the fridge and inspecting the contents.
Another shin was kicked, Stiles' again from the sound of the muffled grunt, before Scott continued with his through. "You have no room to talk about anyone mooning or pining," he declared smugly. "The name 'Lydia' ring any bells?"
Derek felt his entire body tense up, a low growl rumbling from somewhere in his chest. His wolf raised its hackles, teeth bared as it let out a long snarl of its own. He had no clue who the hell Lydia was, but the insinuation that his Stiles had some sort of feelings for her beyond friendship struck a possessive nerve inside of him. He felt the overwhelming urge to track this female down, to slam her against a wall and growl in her face until she couldn't even think about going near Stiles without becoming paralyzed with fear.
The scents of other people on Stiles—including two females, one of whom he was assuming was this Allison girl who had apparently mesmerized Scott—weren't helping ease him or his wolf. Most likely they were just the scents of his packmates, his friends that he was in contact with so much that their smells became ingrained with his, but it still ruffed his fur the wrong way.
He cut the growls off a second or two after they started, as soon as he realized he was doing it and why. 'Course it wasn't quick enough for anyone to not noticed that he'd made the sounds, but he once again acted like nothing was out of the norm.
He was getting damn good at swimming in Da Nile.
Grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, he closed the fridge door and stepped over to where Maria was still by the stove, ignoring the sensation of being watched.
"Dude, I'm over Lydia," Stiles muttered, picking up a potato chip and dropping it back on top of the pile, repeating the action, playing with his food. Derek could almost picture the pout he was undoubtedly wearing and had to fight to remain in place, to not walk over and kiss him until he was smiling again.
Fuck, what was wrong with him?
Scott snorted in disbelief. "Suuure," he stated dubiously, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, you're totally over her and not acting all moody and depressed because of her at all."
The chips were thrown onto the plate, a choked sound coming from the back of the Omega's throat. Derek had to place his bottle on the counter and dig his claws into his palms once again, focusing on the pain to prevent himself from shifting into his hybrid form. His wolf was growling at someone upsetting his Omega, someone arguing with him, and wanted to make sure it wouldn't happen anymore. He had to remind himself that it was just bickering between friends, that it didn't mean anything, that there was no reason to get involved. It would just bring more unwanted attention and more confused looks his way.
Better to just remain silent and in the background and let the two idiots at the table deal with their bullshit.
"I'm not acting like that," Stiles argued, heart skipping a beat on the lie.
"Yes, you are," Scott argued right back, taking a bite of his grilled cheese. "Just admit it."
Derek had no idea who the hell raised that guy sometimes, because Melissa and Andrew McHale didn't bring anyone up to talk with their mouth full.
"Only if you admit that you're mooning over Allison."
Things got really silent after that and the elder Alpha had to stifle a laugh, corner of his lips twitching up in a proud smirk at the Omega getting the best of the younger Alpha.
A plate was held out in front of him, two grilled cheese sandwiches sitting on top, a huge pile of regular potato chips stacked next to them. Grabbing his bottle, he took hold of the plate and muttered a thanks, nodding at Maria in acknowledgment. The motion was returned, a smile and a wink added in.
Derek refused to think about the meaning behind that final action, deciding it wasn't worth wasting the brain energy. Instead, he just turned around, doing his best to avoid looking at the table, striding towards the kitchen exit.
Only he never made it.
"Hey, Der!"
His feet stopped on their own three steps from the archway that led to the living room, his entire being freezing in place. His body was no longer under his control as he spun around on a heel to face the Omega who'd called for his attention, instincts telling him to do anything and everything the younger male wanted him to do, no matter what it was or whether or not he wanted to do it himself.
And he most definitely hadn't wanted to see the hopeful expression on Stiles' face, the easygoing grin, the sparkle in whiskey colored eyes. His scent was light and airy with the slightest hint of apprehension, as though he was afraid of some sort of negative reaction to what he was about to say.
"Me and Scott were about to play 'C.O.D.'," he stated, the carefree manner of his smirk leaking into his tone. "Wanna join?"
Scott's head snapped to his friend, eyes wide, jaw tense as he silently conveyed what a terrible idea that was and was he out of his fucking mind?
Derek was inclined to agree, cocking an eyebrow in a wordless "are you serious?" manner. "No," he replied curtly, brokering no argument.
Which, for whatever reason, translated into Stiles trying to argue with him anyway. "You sure? Cause we—"
"I said 'no', Stiles," he snapped, growl leaking into his voice. "Let it go."
The Omega snapped his mouth shut, swallowing hard against the force of the Alpha's words, head tilting to the left again. Derek once again fought the urge to walk over and ease him, to do something to fix the hurt he'd caused and make sure it didn't happen again.
Conversation over, he turned around and successfully managed to leave the kitchen, hearing Scott muttering to Stiles.
"Dude, I keep telling you my bro's a douchebag. When are you gonna get that?"
"Jackson's a douchebag, too, but he still hangs with us," the Omega argued in the same murmured tone. "I just thought maybe Derek would wanna join us for once."
"Why would you think that?" Scott's voice was as confused as ever, a slight hint of disgust joining it, as Derek paused on the stairs, wondering the same thing.
Stiles let out a sigh, the sound heavy and full of so much emotion it was a wonder it was able to leave so easily. "I dunno, man. Let's just finish lunch and forget I said anything, okay?"
"Yeah. Sure."
Derek felt his wolf lay on its belly, head on its paws as it let out a sad whimper. Disappointment weighed him down, making his steps heavy as he continued on his way up the stairs and down the hall. The need to go to Stiles and hold him until that sad tone left his voice and scent was nearly crippling. So was the guilt as he realized he was a major reason why it was there in the first place.
It was like his own personal brand of Hell.
Okay, maybe not, but still. It was fucking torturous.
Because Stiles' voice carried really fucking well and he was loud as fuck and fuck, his laugh. Just every sound he made seemed to be amplified, floating up to the attic despite the closed door, ramming into Derek's ears and catching his full attention, regardless of how much he tried to block it out.
And of fucking course his iPod was dead.
And of fucking course his laptop wasn't cooperating and everything he tried to play paused and that stupid 'Not Responding' spinning blue circle was mocking him, he just fucking knew it was.
"Call of Duty" apparently couldn't be played quietly. Sure the actual game itself was at a reasonable volume, but the two teenagers playing it weren't. There were loud insults, smack talk, countless "dude, what the fuck?!"s and endless "stop fuckin' shooting me, dickhead!"s. Scott, apparently, needed to get his head out his ass, while Stiles needed to hop off Scott's dick.
Which was a mental image that had Derek growling and damn near breaking another plate.
Once the dishware was safely deposited on the desk and out of his clawed reach, he paced his half of the attic, roughly rubbing at his face as he tried desperately to get rid of the image Scott's unfortunate phrasing had conjured up. But that only resulted in a replacement vision of Stiles on Derek's dick, those full lips stretched around it, that obscene tongue licking the hard length, his wet hole squeezing around it as he rode the Alpha, head bent back and baring his throat so he could be marked for all the world to see.
Yeah. Tortured.
Clearly Derek needed a distraction, needed something else to focus on. Working on finding a new place to shift was just a different kind of frustration and given his current aggravation at his laptop, it was probably best to stay away from the device. There was no way he could concentrate on reading, not with the x-rated images plaguing his mind, and he'd already tried to read the same chapter five times. He needed a breather before attempt number six.
His pacing brought him to his bureau, to the box of books sitting to the side, reminding him he'd yet to really find a place for them. Seemed like a pretty good distraction really, hunting down some sorta furniture piece to put his books in.
With a shrug and a mental "fuck it", he turned and walked over to the other side of the attic, stepping around boxes and lamps, trunks and dress forms, nose wrinkling at the scents of dust and old things. He flipped back a dropcloth, causing dust to fly into the air and make him sneeze.
The "gesundheit" from Stiles seemed louder than before, but Derek figured it was just because the Omega was projecting his voice more in order to be heard better.
Didn't explain why he heard Scott's snort so much easier, but he shoved that aside.
The dropcloth had been covering an old end table, not something Derek needed, so he covered it back up, continuing on his search. He carefully made his way around various objects and furniture pieces, moving soundlessly on the hardwood floor. He peeked under various dropcloths, behind countless boxes, around old paintings and artwork.
Nothing.
Pausing at the other side of the junk, he stared at it, hands on his hips, trying to figure out what his next move would be. That was when he heard the voices of the two teenagers again.
"Dude, you're totally lying about not being hung up on Lydia." It was Scott, his insistent voice louder than it had been before.
Derek stared at the wood planks between his boot covered feet, head tilted to the side to help focus his hearing, brow furrowed in concentration.
"Dude," Stiles mocked before his tone became more serious. "No, I'm not."
The sounds of gunfire on a TV reached the Alpha's ears and it didn't take him long to realize that he was standing directly above Scott's room.
There was a pause in the convo between the younger two werewolves before Scott started it back up. "Okay, fine,but you're still totally hung up on someone. You're totally mooning."
Derek knew he should leave, should walk away, should quit eavesdropping. The discussion had nothing to do with him, he had absolutely zero part in it, so there was no reason for him to keep listening the way he was.
"Whatever you say, Scotty," Stiles sated his friend, tone defeated and worn down, like he was saying it just to have the topic be dropped so he wouldn't have to talk about it any more.
The kid clearly didn't know Scott as well as he thought he did.
"That's not a 'no'."
Derek cocked an eyebrow at that, head see-sawing as he mentally gave points to the younger Alpha on a point well made.
The conversation paused for a long moment, the sounds of the video game ending as someone—most likely Scott—paused it. The elder Alpha waited, his own breathing stopped, anticipating the Omega's response. He waited for an argument, a denial, a game-related sound effect. He waited for the truth, wondering if he'd be able to tell if it was a lie with the floor between himself and the two boys in the middle of a discussion. He waited with the hope that maybe, just maybe, Stiles would admit to Scott that he had feelings for Derek, that Derek was the one he was mooning over.
He quickly shoved that thought down as soon as it surfaced, knowing it was stupid to hope for that. Besides, he didn't even want that. He wanted Stiles gone. Forever. Never to come back and tease Derek with his scent and his lips and his... his everything
He wanted to actually get what he wanted for the first time ever, hating how he felt like that Smiths song.
"Please, please, please, let me get what I want. Lord knows it would be the first time," his mind supplied, the tune now stuck in his head.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
"All right," Stiles' voice cut into the song, so low that Derek wasn't entirely sure he'd heard it so much as made it up. "Yeah, I admit I'm hung up on somebody," he added louder. "Can we get back to the game now?"
"No," Scott answered curtly, the sound of plastic on hardwood floors soon following, most likely him tossing his controller across the room. "Who is it?"
Derek felt his back hit the wall, sliding down into a crouching position, head tilted so his ear was closer. There was no way he was missing this, his wolf silent and listening, too. He mentally damned his curiosity, hated himself for setting himself up for disappointment. Shit never worked out well for him and this was gonna be another one of those things, he just knew it.
"No one you know."
The Alpha felt his chest get tight and his heart fuck up its rhythm. No one Scott knew, meaning there was no chance it was his older brother, no chance it was Derek.
He should've fucking known really. All of Stiles' reactions, his going limp when pinned by Derek, his arousal, it was solely due to the fact that Derek was an Alpha, an adult one, fully matured and capable of taking care of an Omega. It was just nature making the teenager behave that way, not any sort of feelings or desires towards the elder guy himself.
His heart faltered again, sinking down lower than it had been, a wave of disappointment and sadness washing over him and threatening to drown him.
Derek forced himself to his feet, striding through all the junk, back the way he came. He was being a fucking idiot, actually getting upset. It was so fucking stupid of him to react that way. Stiles not being into him was what he wanted, his end goal when it came to his own behavior towards the Omega. And hadn't he been convincing himself that all of Stiles' reactions were solely because of their genetic make-ups, that it was just instinctual for them to feel any sort of attraction. Derek didn't want Stiles because of Stiles; he wanted him because of his slick ass and sweet scent and unyielding nature. Sure, he could have a relationship with a Beta—and had in the past—and sometimes ones between two Alphas could work—although he wasn't entirely sure if he and Kate fell into that category—but he was designed to wanna be with an Omega, to actually be with one. And Omegas were created to help temper Alphas, to be able to take the more animalistic natures of them, the rough and unrelenting way they behaved—especially during heats. Derek hadn't really wanted Stiles, he'd just wanted someone to handle him.
The words felt like a lie to himself and he ignored the dull ache in the center of his chest, forcing himself to focus on his previous task.
Which had been...
Fuck, what the hell had he been doing?
He stood on his side of the attic, hands on his hips as he scanned his surroundings. The boxes by the bureau. Books. He'd been looking for bookshelves.
He suddenly remembered that Maria had mentioned having more things in the basement and he figured it wouldn't hurt to check it out. Would certainly help him get away from the discussion he could still dully hear happening a floor below him.
Mind made up, Derek made his way down towards the basement in fast strides, ignoring his wolf and its pitiful cries to go in Scott's room. It clearly wanted him to talk to Stiles, to see if he'd been honest when he said the younger Alpha didn't know who he had feelings for, to find out if he was just lying because he didn't wanna admit he had a thing for his best friend's older brother.
His older brother that his best friend kept insisting was a douchebag.
Even if Stiles had lied, Derek couldn't blame him. Derek probably would've given Scott shit if he found out he had a thing for someone with an asshole complex back in New York. As it was, the younger Alpha had a thing for some chick Derek didn't know and had no interest in discovering if she was some sorta female version of douchebag.
Whatever. Shit was getting confusing and complicated and seriously, why the fuck did they have to leave New York? Yeah, things weren't all that great with Kate, but at least he knew where he stood with her.
Not that he cared about where he stood with Stiles or anything.
There he was swimming in Da Nile again.
He shoved every thought aside, concentrating solely on the task of finding bookshelves, opening the door to the basement located under the main staircase. The light switch was on the wall just inside and he flipped it on, making his way down creaky wooden stairs.
The basement was a stereotype in damn near every way. Dark gray cement blocks made up the walls, dust and spiderwebs littering the place and making him sneeze. Two light bulbs hung from the ceiling on thick wires, dirt marks on the glass, humming lowly to his werewolf hearing. Various items were piled to the back, scattered pieces of furniture that were stored and forgotten, stashed away unused and unwanted.
Derek's eyes roamed the large open space, pausing on strange shapes to the far right. Stepping over, he got a closer look, seeing two large rings attached to the wall with heavy bolts, a few chain links still attached to one.
His eyebrows raised in surprise at that before they dropped in a confused frown. Funny really. Why would a woman who had a thing against werewolves have places to chain them up?
Then again, did he really even want to know the answer to that? Probably not.
He grabbed hold of one, yanking it hard a few times, the ring remaining steadfast despite its age. He halfway considered using them during the full moon only to dismiss the idea. Chances were Maria would enjoy that too much, or would even veto that plan, fearing for the safety of her disposed junk.
Seemed like the Preserve was still his only option.
He could worry about that another day. At the moment he needed to focus again—and learn how to not be so easily sidetracked—and find what he'd come down to the basement for. The sooner he got out all that dust the better.
A sneeze left him at just the thought of the old dirt covering everything, another "gesundheit" sounding out, this time at the door behind him.
Derek quickly spun on a heel, claws automatically sliding out in a defensive move. But the subconscious action wasn't necessary since the word hadn't been spoken by an invader, but by Stiles again.
Although really, he pondered, was Stiles not an invader of sorts?
Mental debate for another day, he decided, sheathing his claws and straightening from the defensive crouch he'd been in. "What do you two want?" he demanded gruffly, turning back the way he'd been facing and stepping over to the pile of junk on the far side of the basement. Countless items were stacked up, from desks to chairs to end tables and Derek wondered what furniture store Maria had been trying to run given all the items she possessed.
"Mom's at a job interview," Scott replied while slapping his feet down the steps, scent bitter, most likely at his brother's attitude towards him. "Abuela's at a bridge club, whatever that is."
Derek turned his head and raised an eyebrow at him in disbelief. Did he seriously not know what that meant?
"I tried explaining it to him," Stiles supplied, following Scott down the stairs and stepping to the side, arms folded over his chest in a casual manner. "But apparently he can't quite grasp the concept of 'it's a card game'."
"No, I understand that," the younger Alpha argued, narrowing his eyes at his friend. "I just don't understand how to play."
"That's 'cause you're not an eighty year old woman." He clapped a hand on his best friend's shoulder, giving him a sympathetic smile that silently told him not to worry about it.
Scott's eyebrows bobbed in a way to push the conversation aside and end the topic, going back to the original subject. "Anyway, Mom left us money for pizza and I was just about to order."
"Meat lovers," Derek stated without prompting, turning fully to the two teenagers.
"Dude, do you have any idea what that shit does to your heart?" Stiles gaped at him, arms dropping to his sides. His scent changed to a more concerned one, eyes wide as though he couldn't believe Derek would harm himself through meat and meat byproducts.
Which really...
"Werewolf," was the Alpha's only argument.
"Okay, but—"
He ignored whatever the hell kinda bullshit Stiles was about to spout off, switching his attention to the other teenager. "Meat lovers."
Scott shrugged in a carefree manner, not putting up an argument. Then again, it happened to be his favorite, too, so it wasn't like he was gonna go against his brother's choice. Although Derek wouldn't have been surprised if he had, if for no other reason than to just be spiteful.
But Scott was too nice to pull any of that shit, simply stating he was off to order before bounding up the stairs.
Leaving Derek with Stiles.
Who wasn't leaving.
What the fuck?
Derek folded his arms over his chest, glowering at the other male, muscle beneath his scruff-covered jaw ticking as he clenched his teeth. "Why are you here?"
Stiles shoved his hands in his pockets, shrugging much like Scott previously had, small happy-go-lucky smirk on his face. "Came to tell you 'bout the pizza thing."
"And you did," the Alpha pointed out tersely, head motioning to the stairs. "Now go."
"Nah. I think I'll stay and keep you company." The smirk grew, brown eyes sparkling in delight and Derek fought to not convince himself that his heart wasn't thumping just a little faster at the belief that he was the one making Stiles' face light up like that.
Because he wasn't the reason for that look. And he sure as fuck wouldn't be happy if that was the truth.
"I don't need company," he grouched before turning away and inspecting the furniture junk pile, looking around for a bookshelf. There was no way Maria could have all that crap and not have shelves. It was impossible.
"I think you do."
"I think you need your brain checked."
"I think you aren't the first person to tell me that."
Derek glared over his shoulder, rolling his eyes at the shit-eating grin Stiles was sporting. Ignorance really had to be bliss.
"So," the Omega began, meandering his way closer. "Why are you down here?"
Turning away for the thousandth time, the Alpha answered absently, more focused on the task at hand. "Looking for bookshelves."
"I'll help."
"No thanks."
"Well fuck you, 'cause I'm doing it anyway."
Derek's head snapped over, seeing Stiles on his left a few feet away, looking through the pile much like the elder male had been. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, shocked that an Omega had stood up to an Alpha that way, knowing that stereotypes had Omegas behaving meekly and automatically following an Alpha's commands.
Not that Derek had commanded Stiles to not help him, but still. It wasn't like an Omega to say "fuck you" to an Alpha as a response to... well, to anything really.
"If this is some sorta anti-Omega bullshit, you can go fuck yourself."
It took Derek a moment to realize Stiles had spoken and what exactly he'd said. He shook his head to snap out of it, letting the words sink in before his brow furrowed in confusion. "Huh?"
"Not letting me help," the younger male clarified, shoving a chair up to check behind it. "Just 'cause I'm an Omega doesn't mean I can't lift heavy shit or that I'm a frail li'l porcelain doll who needs protecting in case something falls on me."
"I never said you were." The words quietly slipped out before the Alpha could even think, wondering where the rant had come from.
Stiles turned to him, arms folded, eyes narrowed in a glare. His scent had a sharp bite to it, anger tainting the usual sweet notes it held. "Then why don't you want me helping?"
Derek mimicked his aggressive body language, meeting him glare for glare. "Because I don't want you around."
His wolf howled in anger, clawing at him in a demand to take it back, take it all back. Because they both knew it wasn't true, both knew that Derek wanted Stiles around always. Preferably naked and in his bed, moaning and writhing beneath his larger frame, covered in Derek's scent and sweat and come.
Which was something he needed to not think about.
"Bullshit," Stiles argued, clearing the raspiness from his throat, scent shifting to something sweeter and more potent. The anger was still there, but was joined soon by arousal.
Definitely didn't help temper the Alpha's own desires, but he was able to prevent himself from doing anything about it.
Maybe. He was pretty sure. He hoped anyway.
Derek resorted to his default reaction: rolling his eyes. He turned away from the Omega, pretended like he hadn't just been called on his shit, like the younger man hadn't been right. It was easier than facing the truth, than actually admitting to himself that he liked having Stiles around, liked his incessant chatter and how he talked with his whole body, liked his scent and the reactions it caused in his own body, liked his pale skin and his moles and his brown eyes.
Shit. He liked Stiles. And that was a major fucking problem.
"Well, it's a good thing I decided to stay and help you anyway," the younger man started, smugness clear in his voice and his scent. "'Cause I just found a set of shelves."
Derek marched over, grabbing hold of Stiles' shoulder and pulling him out the way so he could get a better look. And sure enough, behind a large desk, was a set of pine shelves that would work perfectly for what he needed.
"You're welcome," the Omega commented sarcastically, getting a grunt in response.
"Move back," the Alpha ordered, dropping his hand from the other male's shoulder, barely even aware that he'd been holding onto him until he felt the cool air hit his palm.
Stiles folded his arms over his chest, the angry note returning to his scent as he geared himself up for another argument. "Look, Alpha Asshole, just because—"
Derek turned and glared, eyes flashing red. "Move"
The teenager got the hint, hands held out to the side in surrender as he moved several steps back and to the side, head tilted towards the left again. With him out the way, Derek was able to grab hold of the desk and lift it, removing it from his pathway and setting it against the side wall.
Stiles' scent spiked once again, that sweet, citrusy, spicy scent that was all him, that note of arousal thick as it weaved around the usual smells that the Omega emitted. His breath hitched, lips parting as his jaw hung loose, a high-pitched noise squeaking out his throat.
"You just—you—fuck." He stumbled over his words, shoving a hand through his spiked brown hair. "You just lifted that all by yourself."
Derek just gave him a hard look, wondering why it was so hard to believe. Alpha werewolf was explanation enough really.
"Jesus," the younger male breathed out, tongue wetting his lips, pupils blown. His desire was as obvious as the moles on his cheeks and the cheesy joke on his graphic tee, a visual representation of the thoughts racing through his head. The elder male didn't lower his gaze any further than the teen's heaving chest and pounding heart, but he had a feeling he'd find a prominent bulge on the front of his jeans.
His wolf was losing its everloving mind, pacing about restlessly, scratching to get out, howling out demands. But Derek refused to cave, refused to give into his animal instincts, the human-half of him remembering the conversation he'd overheard. The one about Stiles having feelings for someone else.
Someone who wasn't Derek.
Meaning any arousal Stiles was feeling was solely due to genetics. Just like all the other times.
"You should leave," the Alpha suggested in a gruff tone, striding back to the furniture pile and putting his back to the other occupant in the basement.
"Wha—why? I thought—"
"Whatever you're thinking, you're wrong," he interrupted, trying to figure out how best to grab the shelves in order to get them out without knocking anything else down or breaking the shelves themselves. "And whatever you think you're feeling, you aren't. Not really."
The anger was back and Derek wondered if this was how things would be between them, the Omega's scent constantly fluctuating back and forth between outrage and desire.
Then he wondered why he was actually wondering about that and why he wasn't actually hoping to never have to deal with constantly changing aromas because the little shit wouldn't be around to be smelled in the first place.
Stiles glared with a tense jaw, foot tapping on the ground, fingers drumming on a folded arm. "Fuck you for thinking you know how I feel."
"No, I know how you feel," Derek corrected, pleased at himself for keeping his voice level and not giving away the shakiness he was feeling inside or the tension he was feeling in fighting to keep himself in place and not just mount the younger male right then and there. "You think you're attracted to me, but you're not. It's just your basic instincts telling you there's a mature Alpha in the room and that you need to spread your legs like a good little Omega."
Stiles snorted, shaking his head vehemently. "Not true."
"Oh yeah? Then tell me: what was Lydia? Another Omega like you? Maybe a beta? Or was she an Alpha like me?"
The teenager turned his head away, eyes darting around the room but never looking at the older man standing across from him. The angry note in his scent kicked up a notch and Derek knew he'd made a good point. Not that he himself fully believed what he'd said, but it didn't matter. He just needed Stiles to believe it and think it was the truth. Because if he did, he'd get over his attraction and stay away from the Alpha, allowing him to carry on in peace with his new-found desire to not form attachments.
His wolf fucking hated him in that moment.
"What's going on?" Scott questioned, pausing three steps down, eyes flicking back and forth between his best friend and his brother. His own curious scent joined the mix in the basement, joined the anger and humiliation and desire and dust and wood and Derek couldn't breathe anymore. His chest was too tight and his lungs too weak and he needed to get away from the Omega before he fully drowned.
But he didn't move, didn't say a word, just simply kept his narrowed eyes focused on the teenager across from him, daring him to say something.
Stiles scoffed, shaking his head before scuffing his way over to the stairs. "You were right, Scotty," he started as he began his ascent. "Your brother really is a douchebag."
The two of them disappeared, but not before they both glared at the older male.
Not before Derek's wolf howled longer and more pitifully than it ever had.