Only Fools Do What I Do

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/7275820.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Vernon Boyd/Erica Reyes (background), Past
Derek Hale/ Jennifer Blake, Mentions of past Derek/Paige, Mentions of
past Derek/Braeden - Relationship, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Laura Hale, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd,
Isaac Lahey, Jennifer Blake, Talia Hale, Sheriff Stilinski, Cora Hale,
Minor Characters
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, alternate universe-everyone's a werewolf,
Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha!Derek Hale - Freeform,
omega!stiles stilinski, Top Derek Hale, Bottom Stiles Stilinski, Mates,
soul mates, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Scent
Kink, Scent Marking, Alive Hale Family, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is
John, No mpreg, Non-Evil Jennifer Blake, some de-aged characters,
Explicit Sex, partially shifted sex, Knotting, Rimming, Anal Fingering,
references to masturbation, References to sex toys, Discrimination,
references to the dub-con of mates, references to the dub-con in ABO
society, oblivious boys, Domestic, domestic sterek - Freeform, Derek
can't talk about feelings, gratuitous Archer references, Alpha Derek Hale,
Omega Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Collections: TeenWolfBigBang, Teen wolf, sterek
Stats: Published: 2016-06-28 Words: 110,423 Chapters: 16/16
 Only Fools Do What I Do
by CharWright5

Summary

It had seemed like a simple plan, a way for everyone to get what they want: pretend to be
Bond-Mates so Derek could get the teaching job he wanted, while Stiles didn't have to face
living with a total stranger at college and have it be known that he was suffering from night-
terrors. Only things weren't that simple. Because they were Mates, a fact Derek was hiding
due to Stiles' determination not to have one and his need for independence, as well as his
Alpha-aimed anger at his lack of freedom. But the longer they live together, the more Derek
finds himself falling for the Omega, and the harder it is for the Alpha to resist the alluring
scent of his Mate.

Notes

This is an ABO Dynamics fic with ZERO MPREG (mpreg isn't a possibility in this 'verse) so
with it comes the usual blanket dub-con warnings in regards to mentions of Omegas being
accosted and molested by Alphas, as well as heat consent issues being raised. There's also
discussion of the dub-con surrounding Mates/ Soul Mates. Also features alive Hale family,
everyone as a werewolf, some de-aged characters (mainly the young'uns), and Jennifer Blake
as a non-psycho bitch. Written for the 2015/16 round of teenwolfbigbang. I own nothing from
Teen Wolf except a mad love for it. Title from FOOLS by Troye Sivan.

First of all, I have to give a HUGE shout out to my girl, Mathilde, without whom, I literally
would not have finished this fic. Thank you so so so so so much for being on my ass about
writing every day and keeping me motivated with your awesome cheerleading. Wouldn't have
been able to do this without you.

Secondly, big thanks to Celeste for stepping up when my artist went MIA from the get-go and
making me some kickass work. Like always ;)

Third, a shout out to the mods for all their hard work in the bang and giving me another
excuse to write more porn featuring my OTP and indulge in my fave trope. Again.

Anything referenced within this fic was used with love. And sorry not sorry about all the
Archer references. I fell in a deep unabiding love with that show while working on this fic
and I make no apologies for it. \(^u^)/

Art located here

 One

Derek Hale was nervous.

Which was weird, because usually, he wasn't. As an Alpha, he was used to being confident,
self-assured, at times cocky. He wasn't sure if it was a personality quirk that came with his
orientation or a result of things coming easy to him—athleticism, good grades, dates—but no
matter the case, he'd managed to get through the first twenty-four years of his life with his
head held high and the belief that he was gonna handle any and all situations he was involved
in.

Until that moment.

Part of him figured it was due to the fact that he hadn't ever found himself in that situation,
sitting in a principal's office, the principal herself—an Alpha named Ms Finch—behind the
desk as he silently sat in an uncomfortable vinyl and metal chair across from her, waiting. He
hadn't ever been called to the office when he'd actually attended high school, having gotten a
good grasp on his Alpha nature, making him less prone to fights with others, typical
posturing over self-proclaimed territory or claims on Omegas, a need to prove oneself as the
better, tougher Alpha, out of control hormones and emotions making them more aggressive
and antagonistic. He'd spent more time rolling his eyes at those who battled it out over who
had the right to court an Omega than actually fighting for one himself—which was to say,
he'd only ever dated one and he was calling bullshit on the belief that an Omega's scent drove
an Alpha into a frenzy, because he'd been calm and rational throughout their entire two year
relationship. Really, his only transgression was talking smack about any Alpha who pinned
an Omega to anything and scented them, but that was usually kept to conversations with his
friends, his girlfriend at the time, Paige, or his older sister, Laura.

So he'd managed to fly under the radar during his time at Beacon Hills High, managed to not
let his Alpha-nature take over, had never wolfed out for any reason, so he'd never been called
to the principal's office for any sort of reprimand. If anything, his self-control had caused the
guidance counselor Ms Morrell to raise her eyebrow and worry he was bottling it up and
letting it out in unhealthy ways at home. But a few sessions with her and a couple home visits
to meet with his parents proved that he was perfectly, psychologically okay and just better at
keeping a rein on his inner-animal than his classmates.

'Course he had a few worries himself about it, mainly thanks to jibes from Laura who called
him a freak for not wolfing out or rubbing himself all over Paige in an obvious method of
staking his claim on her, not going crazy over her scent or whining when she wasn't around.
He never voiced those to Morrell but his mom had coaxed it out of him and she'd assured him
it was perfectly okay. He was just advanced in his control, an old soul that skipped past the
more aggressive stage of puberty and growing up, maturing faster than his classmates.

His firm grasp of his Alpha nature and his lack of experience being in the principal's office
was clearly a cause for his nerves, not to mention the fact that he was there for a job
interview, something that would make even the most confident person feel a little less assured
in themselves. But he kept reminding himself that everything was okay, that he had this in the
bag. A recent graduate of Stanford with a Masters in Education, experience student teaching,
a job in high school at a daycare center as an assistant in the room that catered towards more
middle school aged kids, and had babysat his younger sister, Cora, his cousin Malia, as well
as the kids of a couple family friends, Scott McCall and Stiles Stilinski. Not to mention the
fact that as an Alpha, he was a natural born leader with more assertive tendencies and an
ability to have others follow him—not that he'd ever Alpha commanded anyone to do
anything, despite how tempted he'd been during the aforementioned babysitting, but he still
had the power to do so. He was perfectly qualified for the job he was after and should've been
feeling every confidence in the world.

But he wasn't.

Ms. Finch's scent wasn't helping, the dread and worry coloring it, the way her lips were
twisted to the side as she read over his resume for the third time. She'd already asked him the
usual requisite questions, asked about his daycare job and what that entailed, asked about his
student teaching stints, made jokes about the babysitting and dealing with young kids,
commented on the praise of the teachers whose classes he'd shadowed. She'd seemed
incredibly impressed and Derek had truly believed that he had the whole thing on lock.

Up until that moment when the dread and worry had leaked into her scent and she'd sighed in
a way that spoke more of regret than anything, placing his resume back on her desk.

He sat up straighter, resisting the urge to adjust his black skinny tie or smooth down his vest
once more, knowing they were still immaculate and that nothing could've changed that in the
five minutes since he'd last fiddled with his clothing. He wondered if maybe he should've
gone more casual, given her own wardrobe of khaki capris and gray sleeveless blouse—
acceptable teacher wear given it was the start of summer vacation and most teachers were
there only to pack up their classrooms and submit final grades—but decided against that,
knowing it was better to look professional and slightly overdressed than not. He then
wondered if maybe he should've shaved rather than just trimmed his beard, but Laura had
constantly called him out for his baby-face and the last thing he wanted was to be mistaken
for a wayward student trespassing on school property when there were no classes.

No, his appearance was fine. It was something else that seemed to be bothering the principal.

She let out another sigh, hand running through straight brown hair before she folded both on
top of his resume. An apologetic smile was on her face and he braced himself for the worst,
chin slightly tipping up as he held eye contact in a manner that spoke of confidence and not
intimidation, not wanting to seem as though he was challenging another Alpha.

“Your resume is very impressive,” she commented, the dread and worry in her scent giving
way to remorse and regret and he swallowed hard against it. “But unfortunately, there's one
problem with it.”

He mentally swore, tongue darting out to lick his lips as he leaned forward, resting his
forearms on the edge of her desk. “I know I don't have a lot of experience. I just graduated
and this is my first real teaching job, but I assure you—”
“That's not the issue,” she interrupted, tone hard, and he shut his mouth with an audible click,
leaning back so that he was sitting upright once more.

He was sure that would be the only problem, everything else was perfect. His grades, his
GPA, his recommendations, his other experience dealing with kids. Maybe his age was an
issue, but he wasn't entirely sure that was it. Having a birthday so late in the year meant he'd
actually started school late, so he was always older than his classmates. The extra year for his
Masters degree put him yet another year above the age of those he'd be teaching, so he didn't
really think it was any sort of problem.

“Any new teacher with no real experience beyond that of student teaching, such as yourself,”
she gestured to him before refolding her hands and continuing. “We'd start them off on a part-
time basis as a substitute for a year or so, depending on how well they do and if there's a
position available in whatever department they wanted to teach in.”

Derek slowly nodded once, thinking that made sense, give a new educator a trial run of sorts
and if they didn't work out, they could always be let go. Wasn't like you could get tenure as a
part-time sub.

“And while I'd love to give you that opportunity with your stellar record and excellent
resume, I'm afraid I can't.” The apologetic smile made its way back to her face and she folded
her forearms neatly on her desk before leaning forward. “California regulations state that any
un-Mated and un-Bonded Alpha may not teach at any school where underaged and un-
Bonded Omegas attend. If we were an Alpha only institute, it wouldn't be a problem, but
Beacon Hills High is a mixed dynamic school, meaning that law applies to us.”

He sat there stunned, staring, mouth hanging open for a long moment before he finally
barked out a disbelieving laugh and a “what?”

Ms. Finch lifted her hands in a helpless gesture as she nodded. “It's been proven that an un-
Bonded Alpha is more susceptible to an un-Bonded Omega's scent and therefore more likely
to be sent into a frenzy, especially when the Omega is hormonal and-or close to their Heat,
which we have a lot of here at Beacon Hills High. We can't have older Alphas coming in and
trying to claim minor Omegas solely because they smell good.”

He huffed in disbelief once more, shaking his head, unable to buy what he was hearing. It
was fucking ridiculous and so full of stereotypes and bullshit that he couldn't figure out
where to begin to argue. “But you have un-Bonded Alphas in your student populace that are
just as likely, if not more, to try and claim an Omega, given the fact that their own hormones
are just as out of whack and their control is weaker than a fully matured Alpha like myself.”

“True,” she conceded with a bob of the head. “But they're on the same level as those Omegas
and therefore can't use a position of power and authority to bend an Omega's whims to their
own or blackmail them into servicing an Alpha.”

“No, they're just more likely to get caught up in a fight between two teenage Alphas and get
bruised and beat up,” he spat out, mind thinking of his Omega best friend Isaac Lahey and
the time two Alphas had fought over him during gym when they were juniors, both of them
too caught up in their own Alpha bullshit that when the claws came out, Isaac had gotten
scratched up as well.

“Look, Mr Hale,” Ms. Finch sighed in exasperation, hand rubbing at her forehead, eyes
closed. “I don't make the laws, I just follow them. And until you have a Bond-Mate at the
very least, I can't hire you.” She dropped her hand to the desk, staring him down with a hard
look she probably used on the delinquents that came to her office rather than those looking
for a job. “I'll keep your resume on file, but that's all I can do. I'm sorry.”

He opened his mouth to argue, to point out his perfect control and inform her of the fact that
he'd never, not once, felt the compulsion to claim an Omega against their will, how he
thought the thrall that an Omega's scent held over an Alpha was bullshit since he'd never
experienced it, how even his own siblings thought he was actually a Beta since he'd never
been driven to follow an Omega's scent or been put into a frenzy because of it. But it was no
use. The law was the law, something he'd repeatedly told Isaac when he lamented restrictions
on Omegas, when he'd fought hard to get out of his father's control and away from his abuse,
only to be met with roadblock after roadblock because he was an Omega and his father was
an Alpha and therefore had rights over him. It wasn't until Derek had stepped in and agreed to
become legally responsible for him that Isaac was allowed to sever all ties to his dad.

So yeah, Derek was aware of restrictions placed on dynamics. He just didn't think there were
any placed on Alphas.

Price to pay for equality, he figured, hating it for selfish reasons yet glad they were there,
glad the law was catching up to the times.

Licking his lips, he nodded, forcing a smile on his face as he rose to his feet. “Thank you for
your time,” he murmured to her, adjusting his vest and grabbing his leather satchel where
he'd left it on the floor.

Ms. Finch gave him that same apologetic smile from before as she stood up herself, holding
her right hand out. “I'm sorry it couldn't work out at this time.”

He nodded dumbly as he shook it, strap of his satchel now over his shoulder, before he
walked out the room in a daze. The Omega secretary still seated at her own station gave him
a cheery goodbye, grinning wide as she waved flirtatiously, eyes drifting down to check out
his crotch and his ass in a not-so-subtle maneuver he was honestly used to at that point in his
life. He didn't acknowledge the stare or her words, just continued on his way out the office,
down the hall, out the school itself.

Laura had called him crazy for wanting to be a teacher, especially a high school one,
wondering why the fuck he would willingly sign himself up for a lifetime of Hell comprised
of essays, exams, and hormones. He always shoved her away in a playful manner, calling her
the crazy one for wanting to put up with late nights of reviewing court cases and dealing with
asshole clients as well as all the stress of being a lawyer, unable to explain his drive to be a
teacher to her, something she used to further argue he was just fucking nuts.

As he walked down the steps towards the parking lot where his Camaro sat waiting for him,
he was beginning to wonder if maybe she was right.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~

“I'll sue.”

Derek snorted from his seat at the breakfast bar in the Hale kitchen, rolling his eyes at Laura
as she stood on the opposite side. Her hand was on her hip, lips pursed, eyes narrowed in the
determination that colored her scent. Her dark wavy hair was pulled back in a simple
ponytail, gray slacks and black sleeveless blouse adorning her tall frame, and as Derek stared
up at her, he could make out the light freckles that adorned the bridge of her nose and the
apples of her cheeks that she claimed she hated yet never covered up.

“I'm serious,” she proclaimed, putting her beer bottle on the counter before folding her arms
over her chest, eyebrows raising. “I'll do it. It's discrimination against the un-Bonded and
violates the Equal Opportunity Employment Act.”

He bobbed his own eyebrows in concession, knowing she had a point, but also knowing she
was technically wrong, having researched any and all acts and legislature regarding his
denied employment.

After his interview had ended, he'd headed back to his loft to change, ditching the tie, vest,
and button down for a v-neck tee before lazing around his place in what he'd admit was a
mopey fashion. He'd briefly considered skipping the Weekly Hale Family Dinner, only to
realize he couldn't, that his mom had already postponed it a day so everyone could attend—
apparently Cora had gotten a little too into her high school graduation celebration and spent
the day in bed lamenting alcohol and life in general—and there was no way he could get out
of skipping it, not when he'd missed the last two with the excuses of moving and getting
settled into his new place.

So he'd shown up at his parents' house, being greeted by Laura who immediately declared
that he reeked and needed a beer to help him out, tugging him into the kitchen and getting
him a cold one before he'd regaled her with the tale of his interview only hours before.

Which she promptly decided to sue the school for.

“As much as I appreciate the sentiment,” he started, grabbing hold of his bottle and lifting it
to his lips. “Pretty sure the California Omega Safety in Education Act and the laws against
statutory rape as well as the school rules forbidding student-teacher relationships trump all
that.” He tipped his bottle at her before drinking deep, relishing the cold suds and the harsh
bite of wolfsbane in the brew that would allow him to feel the affects of the alcohol.

She scoffed, rolling her green eyes before moving to shove her hand through hair that was
already pulled back. “It's still discrimination. It's basically saying all un-Bonded Alphas are
animals who can't keep it in their pants the moment they smell an Omega, which is wholly
untrue.” She shrugged a shoulder and shook her head like it wasn't a big deal, playing the
whole thing off, and he stared at her dubiously. “Just because a few assholes out there have
taken advantage of and raped Omegas with the bullshit excuse of being unable to resist their
smell doesn't mean all of us are like that. Some of us can handle this shit and can rein in that
side of us that needs to claim and possess and mark, ya know?”
“Yeah, I know,” he muttered, scratching at his jaw, whiskers rasping against his fingers. “I
guess they just worry over accidentally hiring one of the assholes or someone with weak
control who'll smell an Omega close to their Heat and won't hold back on trying to claim.
Last thing they want is to get sued because a teacher smelled a ripe Omega and pounced, so
to speak.”

She seesawed her head as she considered his point, bobbing her eyebrows in a wordless way
of admitting he was right. “True. Did you try telling her that you're a freak who's apparently
immune to Omegas?”

He glared at her, the angry stare intensifying as she giggled around the lip of her bottle.

“Laura, stop calling your brother a freak,” their mom chastised, making her way into the
kitchen dressed in a burgundy wrap dress, feet bare of any shoes as was her usual habit when
at home. She paused by her son, wrapping her arm around his shoulders and jostling him
affectionately. “He's special.”

Derek shot a smug grin at his older sister, barely withholding the urge to stick his tongue out
at her.

“Yeah. 'Specially weird,” Laura muttered into her bottle before drinking, their mom's
disapproval at her words coloring her scent.

Talia let go of Derek and walked around to the opposite side of the breakfast bar, waiting for
Laura to place her beer back on the counter before smacking her upside the head. “Be nice,”
she warned, pointing a finger at her eldest child before making her way to the oven to check
on dinner.

“Oh, c'mon, Mom,” Laura groaned, turning to face her, arms folding over her chest once
more. “You gotta admit it's a little weird that Derek hasn't ever felt the pull of an Omega's
scent like that. Even Cora admits she has and she wants nothing to do with Mates or courting
or any of that.”

Their mom shrugged a shoulder from where she was leaning down to glance into the open
oven, closing it with a sigh before she straightened up. “It's a little strange, yes,” she
admitted, peering around her daughter to look at her son. “I'm sorry, sweetie, but it is
unusual. It's not really heard of all that much. If ever.”

Derek frowned at his bottle, picking at the edge of the label as his shoulders slumped. Okay,
so he knew it was rare for an Alpha to not be totally enraptured by an Omega's scent, but the
way he understood it, it was generally just their instincts telling them a suitable breeding
partner was near and to procreate with them ASAP so the species and the family line could
continue on—not that that was even possible with same sex pairs, but the wolf smelled
“fertile Omega” and all logic went out the window. Maybe Derek's instincts knew he wasn't
ready to be a dad. Maybe Derek just wasn't suited to sire any pups or raise them. Maybe he
was defective in some way like Laura was always jokingly saying he was.

Maybe...
“Exactly,” Laura agreed, seemingly unaware of her little brother's internal worries and his
self-conscious beliefs over his inabilities to be a father. “While the rest of us have
embarrassing memories of being so caught up in an Omega's scent that we lost track of space,
time, and everything else, Derek has been freakishly normal and in control of himself, even
while dating an Omega.”

Derek's frown deepened and he began wringing the back of his neck, remembering his time
in high school with Paige. Yes, she smelled good, in that sweet way that all Omegas did, but
he'd always been perfectly content with a whiff here and there of it, while most other Alphas
in relationships were constantly plastering their noses to their partner and inhaling deeply,
letting out rumbling growls of pleasure at it and acting almost high. He remembered
watching Alphas following Omegas around, blissfully unaware they were even doing it, eyes
almost glazed over from it. He remembered seeing an Alpha once tear apart a locker to get to
the scent of an Omega on a jacket they'd hung up before running around the school trying to
track it down, campus security having to be called in to sedate him.

He remembered Laura telling about how she'd once followed an Omega from class to class in
high school because she'd smelled so good, how she'd followed one home from a bar at
college only to remember her apartment was on the other side of town. He remembered Cora
sheepishly admitting that her mortified scent came from the fact that she'd gotten detention
for entering the boys locker room just to find the source of a sweet Omega scent that was
driving her mad.

He remembered how he'd never experienced any of that.

He remembered asking Laura about it and she'd simply shrugged and said “I dunno, maybe
you're defective.”

He remembered asking his mom and she'd kissed his cheek and said he was a late bloomer
and that he was special.

He remembered questioning his own dynamic and how maybe the doctors had gotten it
wrong when he was a kid, only to be disproven by the knots he'd pop during wet dreams and
the Rut he'd go into every year.

And it wasn't that he wasn't attracted to Omegas, because he was. He knew they smelled
good in the same objective way he knew models were attractive or that sports cars were just
plain sexy. He'd loved the way Paige had smelled and helping her through her Heats in high
school had been some of the greatest moments of his life. Yet he'd never been completely
enthralled or enraptured by a scent the way other Alphas had.

Which made his rejection of a job sting that much more, because the reasons for it didn't
really seem to apply to him.

“As great as this whole conversation is,” Derek butted in, waving his hand around to
encompass the whole thing. “None of it really seems to matter in the eyes of the law, meaning
I'm not getting the job until I get a Bond-Mate.”
His mom gave him a sad smile from her position by the stove where she was stirring a pot of
mashed potatoes. The scent of her empathy overpowered that of the roast she had cooking in
the oven and he swallowed hard at it. His intention had never been to get any sort of pity or
have his mom look at him so sad, helpless to do anything for her son. Because she was
helpless, they all were. There was absolutely nothing any of them could do to change
anything.

The law was the law.

“What if we argue it?” Laura suggested, straightening up from where she'd been slumped
against the counter. Her green eyes were lit up with a dangerous spark Derek recognized as
her having an idea, determination in her scent, and he braced himself for whatever craziness
was about to come out her mouth. “We can gather some witnesses, get them to sign sworn
affidavits saying that Derek has not once gone after an Omega for any reason nor has he ever
suffered the dazed effects caused by an Omega's scent.”

Their mom sighed, tapping her wooden spoon on the edge of the pot before placing it on a
holder to the side. “You know that won't work, hun,” she argued, turning to face her two kids,
arms folding over her chest. “The law states that any un—”

“Fuck the law, Mother. Honestly.”

“That's great to hear, coming from a lawyer.”

He tuned their discussion out, attention grabbed by the front door opening and voices drifting
in, his younger sister getting up from her position on the couch to greet their new guests. He
sorted through all the voices and scents, trying to piece together who had arrived. He
recognized his cousin Malia, exchanging pleasantries with Cora. The scent of puppy-covered
Alpha was clearly Scott, fresh from a shift at the animal clinic Derek's mom said he worked
at now, voice deeper than Derek remembered it being as he said his hellos.

The third arrival however...

Derek's nose lifted in the air, scenting, trying to figure out what exactly it was he was
smelling. Omega, clearly, male given the hint of testosterone, but...But there was more to it
than that.

Before he knew what he was doing, Derek had risen up from his stool and was heading
straight for the living room, his nose guiding the way. The rest of the world melted away, his
mom's curious calling of his name unheard, the conversations around him not registering, his
vision barely keeping him from walking into anything. As it was, he bumped the corner of
the couch, instincts telling him to take one step to the left before continuing on, letting that
scent pull him in, draw him closer, closer, closer...

A tall lean male turned out to be the source, tawny hair messily styled up, musical laughter
trilling out his smiling mouth. Not that Derek paid much to attention to what he was seeing,
his brain shutting down any and all systems that didn't have to do with his legs walking and
his nose smelling as he continued on his way to the Omega. Because his every breath in drew
more of that scent into his lungs, a head-spinning mix of sweet and sugary, maple syrup and
powdered sugar, along with a sense of home, of pack, of mine.

Yeah, his, this was Derek's, this was all his. And as he inhaled more of what he knew to be
his Omega, he felt his cock harden inside his jeans, twitching with the need to be buried
within this male, to tie him to his knot and never let him go. His wolf was rumbling in his
head, the noise damn close to a purr, practically showing its belly in pleasure and delight.
Yeah, this was good, this was right, this was...

Malia reached over and punched the Omega in the arm and Derek reacted without a single
thought in his head. Without even really being conscious of moving, he stood between his
cousin and their guest, holding on to the Omega's wrist as he moved the young man further
behind him. He got right in Malia's face, snarling through fangs, red eyes burning bright,
wolf feeling triumphant as she stumbled back a pace or two with wide eyes, surprise and a
hint of fear in her scent. A gasp sounded out behind him, and he made sure to keep his claws
free of the Omega's skin, to make sure he wasn't hurt. Because Derek wasn't after the Omega,
oh no. He needed to make this other Alpha aware of what she did, make sure she knew who
she'd hurt, whose property she was messing with, whose territory she was encroaching upon.

“Derek!”

He froze at the scandalized note in his mother's scent, the fog over his mind clearing up and
he suddenly realized what the fuck he'd done. Oh Christ, Finch had been right not to hire him
because the second he'd smelled available Omega, he'd dropped everything and blindly gone
after it in a daze, had threatened another Alpha for daring to touch what he stupidly believed
was his.

Shit.

Carefully releasing the wrist he was grasping, he stepped to the side and ducked his head,
unable to look the Omega in the eye. Instead, he took in a blue graphic tee with a neon green
8-bit robot on it and khaki pants, Adidas sneakers completing the look. Long fingers were
curling and uncurling at his sides, like he was unsure if he was supposed to clench his fists
and hold back or not. And at the front of his pants was a barely there bulge of someone who
was most definitely soft and not at all turned on by recent events, definitely not impressed by
the Alpha pissing contest Derek had just gotten into.

Double shit.

Clearing his throat, he stepped back, chancing a look up at who he'd just been drawn to, eyes
widening and jaw dropping when he recognized them. Granted it wasn't exactly the Stiles he
remembered. No, that Stiles had been a few inches shorter with long limbs he couldn't quite
control yet, buzzed hair making him look even younger than his thirteen years, brown eyes
impossibly wide as he looked at everything Derek did with the awe of a child. But this Stiles
before him was now the same height as himself, his hair grown out and soft looking, baby fat
gone from his face and revealing sharp cheekbones and a strong jawline. Granted those
brown eyes of his were still wide and doe-like and the moles that had been scattered over his
barely tanned flesh were still there in their same patterns, but it was almost like looking at an
entirely different person.
Almost.

Although in all honesty, Derek kinda wished it had been an entirely different person, one he
didn't know and his family didn't know and he hadn't once babysat. The humiliation of what
he'd just done would be a whole lot easier to handle if it'd just been a total stranger he'd gone
after and he could just walked away, never to see that person again. But no, this was a family
friend who spent just as much time at the Hale house as he did his own, who used to
sleepwalk his way through the Preserve to get here when he'd had nightmares and his dad
was on the night shift, who had as many memories of playing in these woods as he did his
own front yard.

Triple shit.

“You know, most people just say 'hi' when they meet up with someone they'd barely seen the
past five years,” Stiles commented, shit-eating grin on his face that brought to Derek's mind
similar looks when the Omega thought he'd gotten away with sneaking extra cookies or had
convinced Scott to jump off of something, or was about to jump off something himself.

The tips of his ears were burning in embarrassment, wolf covering its face with his paws as it
whimpered in mortification, the emotion more than likely flooding his scent. Fuck, what a
stupid move. What a truly thoughtless, boneheaded move. What a fucking Alpha move, to
just grab hold of an Omega and manhandle them away from another Alpha, all because of his
smell, not even caring who it was or how they may have felt about it.

Ducking his head once more, he stepped back even further, wringing his neck as he shuffled
away from Stiles. Not that it helped anything. The damage had been done, witnessed by his
entire family—plus Scott, who was practically an outlier Hale at that point—and there was
no way this would ever be let go or forgotten about. No, he was gonna hear about this shit for
a long, long time.

Worst of all, was that despite the distance he put between himself and Stiles, every inhale still
brought in that delicious scent, as though his brain—and more than likely his wolf—were
both trying to specifically sort it out from all the other smells in the air, focusing solely on
sugarsweethomepackmine.

“Well then,” Laura commented from the side and Derek closed his eyes tight as though that
could prevent him from hearing the next words that would come out her mouth. “Guess we
were wrong about Derek being a freak.”

He lifted his head and turned it to find his mom giving her a chastising look from their spot
just inside the hallway, Laura's expression more feigned innocence as she shrugged with her
mouth hanging open, like she couldn't understand why the matriarch was looking at her like
that. With a sigh, their mom shook her head, thick black hair swishing on her shoulders,
before she turned and headed back to the kitchen to finish up dinner.

The scent of confusion hit Derek's nose, Stiles stepping closer to the remaining female,
pointing at where the other had just disappeared. “What do you mean? How is Derek being a
freak?” he questioned in genuine curiosity, brow furrowed. The expression only changed
when Scott not so subtly made his way to stand between him and Derek, a subconscious need
for the Alpha to protect his Omega friend from another Alpha who may pose a threat of some
form.

Which he was probably right to. Because Derek was having trouble focusing on anything for
more than two seconds before his mind was switching back to Stiles' scent and how he could
get more of it. The Scott-buffer helped though, not only preventing him from reaching the
Omega—a fact that his wolf wasn't happy about, but the human part of him was thankful for
—but covering up the sugar-sweet smell in the air with his own muskier Alpha scent.

His wolf whimpered in his head and he ignored it, roughing his hands over his face as though
he could erase the smell of Stiles from his nose, from his mind, but it was too late. It was
seared in there, branding him as...well, he wasn't sure as what, just that he was now forever
scarred by that scent and there was no way he'd ever forget it.

For better or worse.

“How is Derek not a freak?” Cora said with a snort and he dropped his hand to scowl at her.
Their mom yelled her name in chastisement from the kitchen and she rolled her brown eyes,
folding her arms over her chest as she cocked a hip out in sass that seemed to be a Hale trait
at times.

Not that Derek was sassy. More like snarky. The Hale females on the other hand, total sass.

Stiles frowned from his place on the other side of Scott, scent flooding with more confusion,
mouth opening to speak only to get cut off by Laura.

“C'mon, Buns. Let's go set the table or something,” she suggested to her brother, looping her
arm around his, ignoring how his scowl shifted so it was now aimed at her. Fuck, he hated
that nickname.

A chuckle sounded out from behind and Derek pretended he didn't hear it, pretended like it
didn't affect him and that his heart didn't skip a beat and that his stomach didn't do this weird
swooping thing and that he didn't wanna turn around and do a whole bunch of stupid shit to
keep that sound going forever.

But Laura knew anyway, could always tell, smirk forming on her face that he spied out the
corner of his eyes. “Dinner's sure gonna be an interesting one tonight,” she commented, his
scowl deepening as he stared straight ahead.

He always hated when she was right.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dinner turned out to be okay.

Mostly.

Until the plates were cleared and his mom brought out pie and Malia asked the the worst
question one could ask at that moment.
“Hey, Der? How'd your job interview go today?”

Silence descended over the table, Laura and his mom pausing their ongoing debate over the
proper way to make a crust for the top of an apple pie, Stiles stopping what he was telling
Cora about the latest Marvel movie trailer, Scott freezing with a forkful of pie halfway to his
mouth. Normally a question like that wouldn't warrant such a reaction, but considering how
Derek, Laura, and their mom had gone tense all over, their scents reluctant and worried and
upset and pissed—the last one mainly coming from Derek—it had sparked a certain amount
of curiosity from the rest of the dinner party, every eye at the table flipping over to him.

Shit.

He carefully placed his fork on the edge of his plate, not wanting to be on the receiving end
of his mother's disapproving tone by slamming the silverware down the way he wanted to.
Clearing his throat, he laid his forearm on the table parallel to his body, free hand smoothing
down his hair at the back of his head. “I didn't get the job,” he stated flatly, ending it with a
shrug, like that was that and there was nothing that could be done.

Which was the truth really.

Stiles yelled out a disbelieving “what?!”, Scott joining in with a “no way” of his own, Cora
following with a “no shit?”

Which promptly got her scolded for the bad language.

Derek shrugged again, folding his arms. “Yeah, some bull about un-Bonded Alphas not being
allowed to teach un-Bonded, underaged Omegas.”

“It's discrimination and it's stupid and unfair,” Laura chimed in, stabbing a forkful of pie in
the air at nothing before putting it in her mouth.

“Agreed,” he added.

A snort came from the other end of the table and he peered down to see Stiles rolling not just
his eyes, but his entire head. “Check your fu-reaking Alpha privilege, man,” he stated
harshly, a verbal middle finger aimed in Derek's direction. He leaned over the table, eyes
hard, hand practically vibrating with the unkempt anger that was flooding his scent. “At least
you got a damn interview. You know how many jobs I had to apply for in high school before
that crap-ass grocery store called me in for an interview? And even then my freaking dad had
to come in with me to vouch for me as my Alpha and make sure I had permission to even
work in the first place.”

The table full of Alphas all felt thoroughly chastised, every one of them ducking their heads
or looking away, the Hale matriarch giving Stiles a sad smile that every parent gave when
they wished there was something they to do to fix whatever was bothering their kid. But
Derek on the other hand, he was still feeling pretty fucking bitter over the insinuation that he
was so out of control of himself and his wolf that he wasn't allowed to be around any Omegas
out of the ridiculous belief that he'd scent-mark them without permission—or worse. So he
didn't duck his head or look away, just kept staring at Stiles with his own angry expression,
with his own narrowed eyes and tense jaw and flat brow.

“Well, I apologize to you if losing out on my dream job isn't as big a deal to you as it is to
me,” he snarked, sarcastic smile on his face that was met with another eye roll.

“At least you could study for it, could even apply in the first place,” Stiles snipped right back.
“My criminal justice degree from BHU is gonna be nothing more than a desk ornament
because Omegas aren't allowed to be on the streets.” His tone became more mocking towards
the end as he let it be known how he felt about the policy of law enforcement divisions across
the country.

Derek knew he should've backed down, knew that as an Alpha he was afforded more
privileges and granted more freedom than Stiles was as an Omega, but the sting from his job
rejection was still fresh, the burn from it back tenfold after being reminded about it. So he
lashed out, so he argued, so he kept running his mouth despite knowing in the back of his
mind that it was stupid and pointless. “At least you can even get hired by the sheriff's
department. No school will touch me unless I'm Bonded to someone out of some archaic BS
belief that Alphas can't control themselves when around an un-Claimed Omega and we're just
gonna try and jump all of them because we're nothing but animals with no manners or social
grace.”

The younger man huffed out a disbelieving laugh, rolling his eyes for the third time in as
many minutes. “Yeah, well, not every Alpha is as in control as the great and powerful Derek
Hale,” he replied, waving his hands around in a derisive fashion. “Seriously. Just get the fu-
udge over it and move on. Things could be a whole lot worse for you, ya know?” At that, he
slumped in his seat, jaw now working in upset as he stared unseeing at where his fork was
picking at pie crust. The fight was gone from him, replaced by a sad acceptance of his lot in
life and upset over the fact that he couldn't change a damn thing about it, no matter how
badly he wanted to.

And while Derek did feel bad for him and did wish things weren't like that for Stiles and
Omegas nationwide, he still couldn't help but be pissed about his own situation and how the
Omega at the table had reacted to it. “Just because things suck for you, doesn't mean they
don't suck for me,” he pointed out through a tense jaw and narrowed eyes. “Don't dismiss
someone else's problems just because yours may be worse or try to outdo someone's anger or
sadness. It just makes you look like an insensitive asshole.” Having said his piece, he rose to
his feet, tossing his napkin on top of his plate and the half-eaten slice of pie that still sat on it.

His mom immediately straightened up in her seat, lips parting as she watched him step away
from the table, obviously figuring out what he was doing. “You're leaving?” she asked in a
mix of surprise and melancholy, not wanting him to leave.

“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her cheek. “Thanks for dinner. It was delicious.”
He waved to the table at large, meeting everyone's eyes—except Stiles', who were still
focused on his own dessert as he stubbornly refused to admit he was peeking up at Derek—as
he said a general goodbye to the group.
Really, he should've known that his day would end on a shitty note, considering how it started
on one. He needed to stop being so damn optimistic. But sometimes it couldn't be helped.
Maybe it was an Alpha thing, to think he deserved good things in life and that everything was
just gonna be sunshine and roses. So much other shit came easy to him: sports, schoolwork,
sex—if he ever even attempted to actually get laid. Now that he was thinking about it, his
only real hardship had come when his dad was killed in a freak wrong place-wrong time
shoot-out at Beacon Hills First National Bank. The law of averages said he was due for some
bad shit.

Sitting in the front seat of his Camaro, he sighed long and hard. In the back of his mind, his
paranoid thought made sense, and he knew this. Things couldn't always been all good; the
pendulum had to swing the other way. But why did it have to happen right when he was
starting his real adult life? Getting turned down for a job, that freak thing with Stiles' scent.
Fuck knew what else was gonna happen.

He shoved the negative thoughts away and started up his car, determined to salvage the rest
of his day with a good book. And maybe a pint of ice cream. He'd fucking earned it at that
point.
 Two

The banging on the door to his loft hadn't been expected.

The faint smell of Omega that seeped under the metal behemoth, however, was.

Because only Stiles would show up pounding his fist on a door in a wordless demand to be
let in after he'd been the one to fuck up.

Okay, maybe they'd both fucked up in their own ways, but Derek was still adamant that
Stiles' part in the whole thing was bigger than his own. At least he hadn't tried to belittle
anyone's upset or invalidate their feelings about something. He hadn't tried to one-up anyone
on the pain scale or out-do them on how much their life sucked due to dynamic restrictions.
He hadn't tried to make himself seem like a bigger victim and to get all the attention on
himself because wah wah wah, his life sucked.

So really, all that being said, he was the better person and therefore the majority of the
fucking up had been on Stiles' end.

As usual.

The banging sounded out again, but Derek didn't move from his spot on the couch, simply
stared straight ahead at the rest of his loft, taking in the bed in the corner, the giant hole in the
wall his buddy Isaac had given him shit for, the bathroom on the other side of it. The place
wasn't perfect, had its faults, but he'd loved it the moment he'd set foot in it, loved it for its
faults and flaws and the giant hole that led to a huge unused space on the other side. Maybe
one day he'd figured out what the hell he was gonna do with that extra room, but for the time
being, he was happy with what he had where he had it.

“C'mon, Derek, open the door!” Stiles yelled through the metal, banging his fist against it
once more, and he turned to glare at it. “I know you're home, I can feel you angsting all the
way out here!”

His glare deepened as he continued staring at the still closed door. He wasn't angsting—even
if that was a word. He'd been enjoying a peaceful, quiet evening alone, following through on
his plans to try and salvage his day, trying to forget all the bad shit that'd happened by
escaping into another world with a novel. And considering he'd apparently read a hundred
pages already, he'd clearly been pretty damn successful at it.

Until a certain stubborn Omega had shown up.

“In case it's escaped your memory,” Stiles went on, and he kept up his scowl. “I can be a
persistent little shit and I refuse to leave until you talk to me.” At that, he began pounding at
the door once more, not letting up, not stopping, a steady rhythm of bang bang bang bang
that seemed to have no end.
Derek muttered a few choice swears under his breath as he dogeared his book to hold his spot
then placed it on the coffee table before him. He stalked his way over to the door, throwing
the latch and sliding it open with a jerk, revealing Stiles with his fist raised, ready to bang
once more. He opened his mouth to snarl out a “what?” but was beaten to the punch by the
pain in his ass standing in front of him.

“I have a proposal for you.”

He stood there still scowling, brain short circuiting as he struggled to catch up, as he
struggled to...to do anything really. Because opening that door had not only revealed Stiles,
but Stiles' scent, and once more he was having issues trying to keep his wolf reined in when
all it wanted was to pull the Omega close and bury his head in the crook of his neck to get a
better whiff of it straight from the source.

Not gonna happen.

But fuck, if his wolf didn't want it to.

He mentally shook it all off, forcing himself to think past the intoxicating blend of
sugarsweetpackhomemine, and focus on the conversation at hand, on what Stiles' had just
said. Not that he could even think clearly about that, given the randomness of what had been
said and how he'd said it and when.

A snort left him as he rolled his eyes, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other on the
door itself, both in an attempt to keep Stiles out and to keep himself from latching on to the
Omega. “Most people say 'hi' when someone opens their door to them,” he deadpanned,
recalling Stiles' earlier statement that had been aimed in his direction.

The younger man rolled his own brown eyes right back, head moving with it. “Fine, hi,
happy?” he rushed out before clapping his hands together in front of his chest and pointing at
the Alpha. “Now. Proposal. Mind if I come in so we can talk it over?”

Elbow on the doorframe, Derek wrung the back of his neck, thinking it over and not entirely
sure if it was a good idea. An Alpha's home was their territory and they were known to get
possessive over it and he was admittedly no different. Granted Isaac, Boyd, and Erica had
been over plenty times, had even helped him move in, and their scents permeated the brick
walls and his furniture, but that was different. The three of them had almost become a pack of
sorts to him so it made sense that they'd be able to come over.

Stiles on the other hand...

Yes, he was almost a sort of Hale outlier, much the way Scott was, and maybe five or ten
years ago, Derek might have considered both of them pack. But now things were different.
Now he barely knew this version of Stiles, only that his scent drove him crazy and turned him
into the thoughtless, drunken mess he'd always heard about when it came to Alphas and
Omegas.

Yet part of him relished the idea of having that scent in his home, in his den, to be able to
smell traces of it lingering about, his wolf practically drooling and wagging its tail at the
thought of it. On the other hand, he already felt unmoored and lost when around that smell
and having it hanging around his loft would be sure to drive him crazy in a not-so-fun way.
Chances were as the scent faded, he'd become more and more determined to go after the
source of it, just so he wouldn't lose it.

He'd heard of it happening before, of Alphas practically stalking Omegas because they found
a faint trace of their scent in a restaurant or at the gym or where-ever, of Alphas going after
their exes because their scent had faded from their sheets or other pieces of furniture. Used to
be the Alpha would get away with it, only being subjected to a firm lecture from some law
enforcement official and a fine, maybe even community service. The Omega would have to
have been injured or harmed before any real punishment would come. But now, just the
stalking was enough to throw an Alpha in jail, along with a detoxing-like program where they
were weened off the scent of that Omega in order to prevent future incidences.

Derek wasn't about to get thrown in jail because the kid he used to babysit had grown up to
be objectively attractive and smell like a candy buzz.

But his mom was in his head talking about manners and his sister was blabbering about him
being a freak and his own thoughts about his control were following them up. He hadn't
stalked an Omega before, hadn't followed them around, hadn't done anything even remotely
like that. Sure, he'd been compelled to follow the scent earlier in the evening, but that
could've been out of a curiosity to figure out who the scent belonged to. Didn't mean he was
gonna constantly try to follow it or run after it when Stiles left.

He caught sight of his white knuckles gripping the edge of his door out the corner of his eye
and the way his entire body was tense as he fought to remain in place.

Didn't mean anything. Just meant he had incredible control really. It was a good thing.

Decision made, he stepped aside, arm falling from the doorframe to allow Stiles to enter. The
Omega did so with a smile, scent smug yet with a hint of nerves and the anxiety that had
always been another note pretty much since his mom had gotten sick when he was seven.
Derek was unable to help himself, inhaling deeply as the younger man passed, sorting
through all those chemosignals to get to the heart of his scent, barely managing to hold back
the growl that was tingling at the back of his throat, closing his eyes as he felt them go red.

Stiles seemed completely oblivious as he went down the steps into the loft proper, taking a
look around and letting out a whistle. “Nice digs. Very, uh.” He paused when his eyes came
across the hole in the wall. “Fixer-upper-y.”

Derek glared at the back of his head as he slid the door shut, unable to decide if he was
offended at the comment on his den or upset because he wanted the other man's approval and
was now frantically trying to figure out how to fix the so-called “fixer-upper” in order to
make Stiles happy.

Which he promptly shut the fuck down, because it was his place, not his and Stiles' place and
therefore Stiles' opinion didn't fucking manner.
His wolf grumbled its disagreement, but he ignored it, taking his time going down the steps,
socked feet barely making a sound against the cement floor. “Want a drink?” he found
himself asking as he padded over to the kitchen area to his left.

Stiles pointed at the wall, turning his head to the Alpha with his lips parted in confusion. “I
want you to explain the giant ass hole in your wall.”

“Came with the place. Drink or not?” Rounding the breakfast bar, he stood in front of his
fridge, a plain black french-door thing with an ice machine in the front, raising an eyebrow at
his guest.

Sensing he wasn't gonna get a real answer regarding the hole, Stiles dropped his hand and
turned fully to the other man, shrugging. “Whatcha got?”

“Water.”

He waited a long moment before sputtering in disbelief. “Seriously? That's it? You have, like,
six pieces of furniture total and water? What are you, a fucking monk?”

“Ten pieces,” Derek replied with a smirk, figuring if Stiles could be an argumentative shit at
times, then so could he.

An over-exaggerated eye roll was the younger man's response, followed by a middle finger.

A long middle finger.

Jesus Christ, how had Derek not noticed how big Stiles' hands had gotten before that
moment? Then again, the way he seemed to talk just as much with them as he did with his
mouth—which was a lot—it made sense that Derek hadn't noticed it yet because they were
never still long enough for him to actually get a good look at 'em. And now that he was able
to, all he could think about was those hands and fingers wrapping around his cock, threading
through his hair, grabbing hold of him as he pounded away into the Omega and knotted them
together.

Stiles' eyes flashed gold and his head tilted to the right in submission and it was only then
that Derek realized he was growling under his breath. He cut off the sound, shut off the
explicit thoughts he'd been having, smearing a hand down his face as though he could wipe it
all away.

“I have coffee, too,” he found himself saying, glad he was able to speak at all, although he
wasn't too thrilled with the rasp in his voice. He cleared his throat and pointed his thumb over
his shoulder at the counter behind himself, mainly gesturing at the kettle there. “Instant. But
no milk to go in it.”

The topic seemed to bring the brown back to Stiles' eyes, brow furrowing in confusion as he
raised his head back to its normal position. “You drink black coffee? No wonder Laura called
you a freak.”
The glare made a triumphant return, jaw working in anger as he folded his arms over his
chest. “Was there a point to you coming over here? Aside from insulting both my loft and
myself?” he demanded to know, head cocking to the side in curiosity.

“Hmm?” was the initial response he got, Stiles looking genuinely confused before he snapped
out of it and pointed at Derek with both hands. “Right. The proposal.” With a bounce, he
turned on his heels and headed straight for the couch, plopping down on the place where the
Alpha had previously been sitting.

Which left Derek standing in the kitchen, stunned as he tried to figure out what the fuck was
going on, if he was pissed that Stiles was making himself at home by stealing his spot on the
couch—because despite living alone, it was his spot, going back to the whole territorial
Alpha thing—or pleased that Stiles found it comfortable, judging by the wiggle he was doing
and the happy “ooh, niiiice” he was letting out.

He also had no idea what the fuck Stiles was talking about when it came to “the proposal”.
Really, the only idea that came to mind involved the words “will you Mate me?” and more
than likely, that wasn't what was about to happen.

He hoped to god that Sandra Bullock movie wasn't involved. Sure, it wasn't as bad as some of
the other rom-coms he'd been forced to sit through as a result of having sisters and a female
best friend, but it was still a rom-com nonetheless.

“Yo. Der?”

Snapping out of it, Derek walked over to the couch, sitting on the other end of it with his
elbows on his knees, staring at his guest with a cocked eyebrow. His nose was assaulted with
the scent of Stiles, of himself where it had soaked into the fabric of the couch, the two of
them swirling together in a combination that made his wolf practically purr. But he ignored it,
mentally shoving it aside, scratching at his whisker-covered jaw. “Sorry,” he muttered out,
clasping his hands together between his spread knees and focusing on the other man. “What
was it you wanted to talk about?”

Stiles fidgeted about, turning so he was facing Derek, right ankle laying across the opposite
knee. He held his hands up shoulder length apart, serious expression on his face, tone grave
as he said, "the proposal."

The Alpha rolled his eyes once again. "Yeah, so you've said. Three times now," he
deadpanned, giving the younger man a pointed look.

That middle finger went up for a second time, Stiles looking entirely unamused as he dropped
his hands onto his lap. "I did some research on teacher hiring practices and regulations and it
turns out, Finch was right about un-Bonded Alphas not being hired."

He didn't bother asking how the Omega had known it had been Finch who'd told him or that
he'd tried to get a job at Beacon Hills High. It was Stiles. There was no telling how he'd
managed to get the info he did on several different occasions for several different things.
Instead he just leaned back, body angled to his guest, arms folded over his chest.
"But if you already had a job and had tenure—which for Beacon County Schools is only
three years—you can't be fired if you become un-Bonded for any reason." He wiggled his
eyebrows and smirked proudly at the info he'd found, at the loophole, at the fact that he'd
discovered a way to dupe the system.

Only there was a giant hole in his logic.

"Except I can't get tenure if I can't even get the job in the first place," Derek pointed out with
a raised brow, getting a hand wave of dismissal in response.

"I already thought of that," Stiles stated in a "duh" fashion. "Hence my proposal."

"Which you have now said four times yet still haven't explain what this proposal is or what it
has to do with my lack of job."

The younger man gave a thoroughly unimpressed look before fidgeting in his seat once more.
A slight hint of nerves had crept into his scent, the anxiety more potent than usual, and Derek
felt the overwhelming urge to cup the back of his neck in a form of comfort that was
supposed to help calm Omegas.

It'd helped Stiles when he was a kid, when he got too worked up after his mom's death. Derek
remembered one particularly bad day when he'd literally walked around with Stiles clinging
to his back, the boy refusing to let go, his tactile nature seeking the comfort he could only get
through physically touching an Alpha.

But the hugs and the cuddles and the piggyback rides and the hand on the neck, all of that had
happened when Stiles was a kid, when Derek was technically a child of sorts himself. Now
they were both adults, both over eighteen, both mature as wolves and as a dynamic. Things
were different now, touches having different meanings and intents behind them, and Derek
wasn't entirely sure it would be welcome.

As much as he was dying inside to touch Stiles, to see if he was just as soft as he had been, to
see if the difference in their skin temperatures was still there, to see if the physical contact
would make him just as dizzy and off-balance as his scent.

The reminder of said scent had him taking a deep inhale, breathing in that
sugarsweethomepackmine he'd been trying to ignore since Stiles had shown up at his door
and he closed his eyes as though it would fight off any physical reaction from him, grinding
his teeth to bite back a growl.

Stiles shuffled his upper body about, fidgeting and flexing, before settling back into his
previous slumping position, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. "You and I fake a Bond," he
suggested with all the false bravado he could muster, gesturing to Derek with a small smile.

The Alpha just stared at him with a blank look, mind struggling to sort through what had just
been said, how it'd been said. There was no way... He had to be kidding.

Of course he was kidding. It was Stiles, for fuck's sakes. The only things he took serious were
his comic book collection, his World of Warcraft account, and whatever plans for whatever
prank he was working on at that moment.

Which was probably what this was: an elaborate prank most likely to further humiliate
Derek. Because the debate they'd had at dinner wasn't enough, oh no, not for Stiles. He had to
drive his point home and make Derek feel even more pathetic and mortified than he already
was by jokingly suggesting they do one of those pretend relationship schemes that appear in
half the shows that have ever existed.

What a fucking cliche. And what a fucking shit prank.

And yet...

Yet Stiles' scent was completely sincere, face earnest. His heart rate was elevated, sure, but
still even, no blips or skips or dips, no lies. Derek thought back to the shit Stiles pulled as a
kid, his reaction and behavior when he was caught or trying to scam someone, the way his
pupils would dilate and his heartbeat would jump and his left eyebrow would twitch ever so
slightly.

But none of that was happening.

"Holy shit," he breathed out. "You're serious."

Stiles looked genuinely puzzled for half a second before putting on a smile and shaking his
head, letting out a small laugh in disbelief. "Well, yeah. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Because that's insane," he pointed out, leaning back on the couch and covered his face with
his hands. "How the hell is that even a good idea?"

"Look," the Omega began, fabric shuffling as he moved closed, scent stronger and causing
Derek to shift his hands to cover his nose more before he did something dumb. Like jump his
guest. "I have my own selfish motives for coming up with this idea."

"And there it is," he muttered, dropping his hands with a slap on his thighs, keeping his eyes
trained on the distant ceiling.

"I'm eighteen now and ready to move out of my dad's place, but being an un-Bonded Omega
means my only option is to share a dorm with some guy I don't know, which considering my
anxieties and night-terrors, it doesn't exactly sound like a fun idea."

Derek lifted his head at that, turning to inspect the man next to him with his brow furrowed.
His heartbeat was still even, his pupils normal, eyebrow not twitching. He was being
completely sincere once more, his words making Derek's wolf whimper with upset and
anxiety.

Shit.

"You still get night-terrors?" he asked lowly, hating the rasp in his voice that betrayed his
own emotional state, that gave away the fact that he was just as disturbed by that fact as his
wolf seemed to be.
Stiles winced slightly and scratched at his forehead with a finger before gesturing to the other
man with his palm up. "You're missing the point," he stated, not admitting, not denying—
which was pretty much the Stiles way of admitting something. "I don't wanna live in a dorm
and my dad has more than earned the house to himself, but the law says I can't get my own
place. You can't get a job because of the same reason, so faking a Bond is a mutually
beneficial deal."

He slowly nodded as he took it in, mulling the words over, taking it as seriously as Stiles
seemed to be. A Bond really did seem like the only way they both could get what they
wanted and part of him—mainly his wolf—was excited over the prospect of doing something
to help an Omega in need. Plus if the two of then really were to do this, really did agree to
fake a Bond, Stiles would be moving in, his scent would be everywhere.

Oh shit. His scent would be everywhere.

As it was, Derek was having trouble staying in place, trying not to bury his nose in the crook
of the other man's neck to inhale it straight from the source, his mind getting a little fuzzy
around the edges from the sugary-sweet smell of Omega. Having it constantly around would
in no way do him any favors, would most likely cause him to amble around drunk and brain-
dead, in a stupor that most Alphas seem to be in after catching a whiff of Omega.

Then again...

Then again, maybe having it around all the time would help. Maybe he could build up a
tolerance through exposure, could lessen the effect that scent had on him so he could function
normally around Stiles and not continuously battle the need to rub all over him so he could
get that scent on him and his scent on Stiles.

Not that he felt like he needed to gain a tolerance. He still maintained that Finch and those
lawmakers were totally wrong, that not all Alphas were mindless beasts who acted without
care. Maybe he was the exception to the rule, his perfect control putting him on one end of
the spectrum, on one downturn of the bell curve. For every law of nature, there was someone
who bucked the trend and when it came to an Alpha's inability to resist an Omega's scent,
Derek was it.

But then again, couldn't the same thing be implied about Stiles? Because for twenty-four
years of his life, Derek had been able to remain completely unaffected by an Omega's scent—
save for a few hormonal rushes and possessive growls when Paige neared her Heat while
they were together—until Stiles had shown up earlier that evening. Stiles seemed to be the
one scent that made Derek dizzy, that had drawn him in like a tractor beam before he knew
what was happening, that the Alpha wanted to breathe in with every inhale and hold in his
lungs forever.

Derek's control was the exception to every Alpha's behavior.

Stiles' scent was the exception to Derek's control.

He got up off the couch, scrubbing hard at his face with his hands as he stepped to the other
side of the coffee table, hoping the extra three feet of space would clear his head some. He
paced back and forth, ignoring the way Stiles had turned to face him, ignoring how his leg
was bouncing up and down, ignoring the nervous drumming of his fingers on his fist. Instead
he focused on the proposition that had been made, on whether or not it was a good idea to
subject himself to Stiles' scent for...

Well, he didn't really know for how long.

Folding his arms, he kept his eyes glued to the cement floor, still pacing at a subdued speed,
feet scuffing the ground every once in a while. "How long would we have to do this?" he
questioned, making sure his voice didn't make it seem like he was leaning one way or
another. Because in all honesty, he still had no idea where he stood on the whole idea.

"'Bout four years," Stiles answered with a nonchalant shrug of the shoulder.

"Four yea—Stiles!" Derek sputtered out, pausing across from the guest and gawking at him.
"You can't be fucking serious."

Stiles gave him the same wide eyed look couple with open palms and a shake of the head,
like he had when he was a kid, as though he didn't see the big deal in what he'd done or said.
And he probably didn't, not really, because he was eighteen and four years was nothing to
him.

But to Derek, it was huge. Four years would make him twenty-eight, far beyond the usual age
most people settled down into Bonds and Matings. Hell, he was already past that age, even in
his mid-twenties, nearly all his friends having settled down already. His Facebook feed was
full of people changing their romantic statuses to declare their new Bonds, photos of happy
couples, Mating announcements, ultrasounds and newborns and tiny fucking shoes that look
like they'd barely fit Derek's big toe much less a newborn's foot.

And okay, yeah, so Derek wasn't quite ready for tiny sneakers or late night feedings or being
up to his elbows in used diapers, but who the hell knew how he'd feel a few months from
now? Four years was a long time and a lot could happen. Just because he hadn't Bonded yet
didn't mean he wouldn't any time soon. Who the hell knew? Maybe his Mate was close by,
maybe he'd find them over the next few months and he'd be ready to settle down and get a
real house and a bunch of kids with a bunch of tiny sneakers.

Maybe he wouldn't be able to do any of that because he's busy faking a Bond with a kid he
used to babysit who was now a legal adult that was staring up at him in expectation and hope.

Derek let out a sigh as he hung his head, not entirely sure what to do. Because he would be
put in a serious fucking predicament should he agree and then find his Mate. He'd be stuck
choosing between love and duty and it wasn't a decision he wanted to make.

"What if one of us finds out Mates?" he questioned, raising his head to look at the other man.
"Four years is a long time, anything can happen."

Stiles shrugged that "no big deal" shrug of his, leaning forward so his elbows were on his
spread knees, fingers tangling between them. "You find your Mate, I'll step aside. I won't
stand in the way." His voice was steady, sure, but his heartbeat had sped up and his scent was
all over the place, anxious and upset yet strangely secure in his decision.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at it briefly before shoving it aside, deciding there were more
important things to think about than his guest's chemosignals and what they could mean.
"And I'd do the same for you," he stated, wolf rumbling in his head in agitation, a strange
possessiveness hitting him.

Because suddenly he was inundated with images of Stiles curled up with some other Alpha,
rubbing together as they mingled their scents. He imagined a bite mark on Stiles' neck that fit
someone else's teeth, him keening at someone else's knot, his claws digging in to someone
else during the throes of passion.

And he didn't fucking like it.

He chalked his disapproval up to the fact that he'd known Stiles pretty much since he was
born and therefore, he was gonna have some overprotective big brother type of feelings.
After all, it was pretty close to the reaction he'd had when Cora told about a guy in her
freshman lit class who had a crush on her or when he'd first met Malia's Mate, Kira, or
whenever Laura mentioned whatever flavor of the week she was dating—despite her being
older, but Derek couldn't help the disapproving glares as much as Cora couldn't stop her own
aimed in the same direction.

Really, Derek not liking this imaginary Alpha all over Stiles was perfectly normal and
logical. This was an Omega he'd helped take care of and watch over, had held while he was
upset, had taken the pain of skinned knees and broken bones. It stood to reason that Derek
would be cautious over Stiles getting hurt in some other way.

He couldn't leech the pain of a broken heart away.

But for all his reasoning, it just didn't feel... right. It didn't feel like that was why the idea of
Stiles dating, Bonding, or Mating someone made Derek and his wolf agitated and upset.

Tamping down his feelings, he shoved it all aside as something to explore another time,
focusing instead in the way Stiles was waving his hand in dismissal before leaning back on
the couch.

"Don't worry about it," he brushed aside, leg wagging back and forth, arms folded over his
chest casually. "I have zero intentions of finding my Mate anytime soon."

That had Derek raising an eyebrow. Most kids Stiles' age were actively tracking down their
Mates, if they hadn't already found them. Scott had found his in Allison, their friend Lydia
had found hers in a deputy named Parrish, Malia and Kira, Danny and Ethan. Derek had
gotten a blow by blow account from Cora via text as she complained about being surrounded
by sickening couples and how glad she was that she wasn't interested in relationships. He
figured with the way Stiles had pined after Lydia for years and his not-so-secret love of
romantic subplots in comic book movies, he'd be one of those out searching for his Mate.

Apparently not.
"Really now?" he asked dubiously, his own arms refolding over his chest, eyebrow still raised
in question.

Stiles' brow shifted into a hard line, jaw tense, knee now bouncing in agitation rather than
wagging in a need to constantly be in motion. "Yeah, really," he stated, a harsh bite to his
words that Derek was sure hadn't been aimed at him. "Alphas are possessive, growly, snarly,
territorial bastards and I'm not about to let one of them come into my life and take control and
tell me what I can or cannot do. I'm not gonna change my life around just 'cause some knot-
head thinks he's the boss of me solely 'cause he's an Alpha. He can kiss my ass."

Both eyebrows went up at that, at the angry spice in Stiles' scent and the conviction behind
those words. Derek had no idea the other man felt so strongly about that, or that he believed
all Alphas were controlling. He liked to think he was pretty easy-going himself, that if and
when he'd find his Omega, he'd grant them the freedom he had, let them have the career they
wanted—within reason, since he didn't want a prostitute or an assassin or a drug lord for a
Mate—if they even wanted a career. He'd wait on kids if it was what they wanted,
compromise on moving, make sure all major decisions were discussed thoroughly before
they reached an agreement. He'd be supportive and treat his Mate as an equal, because that's
how he'd been raised, that's what he believed to be the right thing.

And he knew that his way of thinking was still considered new and progressive, despite his
parents having thought the same way he did. But older generations were more likely to
follow the "traditional" route, believing that an Omega's place was in the home raising the
kids, cooking the meals and keeping things clean. And chances were some of them raised
their kids to believe the same way, pushing their old-fashioned way of life on them so that
when they met their Omega, they kept a firm hand and a controlling grip on them, some even
going as far as becoming violent to make sure their Omega stayed in "their place".

Clearly Stiles was afraid that he'd be one of those victims, that his Alpha wouldn't be
supportive of him or his goals and Derek felt himself growing pissed off at the imaginary
person all over again.

"So yeah, no Mate for me, at least not yet," Stiles went on, shrugging a shoulder and sniffing.
"I don't want some Alpha asshole coming in and telling me to keep my mouth shut and my
legs spread and forcing me to quit school so I can be nothing more than a cum-dumpster,
solely 'cause he's got a knot for a brain."

Derek actually felt slightly offended, head rearing back slightly. Not all Alphas were like that
and he was proof. Hell, so was Laura and Cora and Malia and his mom and Scott and Stiles'
dad and Lydia, and any of the other countless Alphas in Stiles' life.

"You realize you're saying this while constantly being surrounded by Alpha friends, not to
mention in the living room of an Alpha, right?" he pointed out, eyebrow cocked once more.

The Omega snorted so hard his head bobbed with it. "Dude, you hardly count as an Alpha,
not the way you act. You're practically a Beta. Laura says you're making the Alpha thing up
so you don't feel left out in a family full of 'em."
He scowled at that, wolf rumbling in his head angrily. "Laura needs to keep her fucking
mouth shut," he muttered, arms folding even tighter.

A huff of a laugh left Stiles and he bobbed his eyebrows as he seesawed his head. "Probably,
but I'll let you be the one to tell her that."

That wasn't about to happen.

He scratched at his jaw, whiskers rasping in the otherwise quiet loft. "I know you aren't gonna
go looking for them, you've made that incredibly clear," he stated, gesturing to the other man,
who bowed his head in acknowledgment and appreciation. "But what if you happen to run
into your Mate somewhere? Fate doesn't really let you decide when to meet them and it
certainly doesn't give a shit about convenience or benefiting you or any other shit."

He might've been speaking from experience, reminded once again of his Facebook feed and
his own lack of partner, his mom's voice in his head talking about late bloomers and having
patience and his Mate showing when the time was right.

Bullshit, basically.

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly for the five hundredth time that evening, still not seeming all
that put out. "Then I'll just tell them I'm already in a relationship and that I made a
commitment to you that I intend to honor so they better back off and respect that. And if not,
you can defend my honor and kick their ass." He said the last part with a smirk, winking at
the other man, and Derek rolled his eyes at it.

"Dude, I've pretty much thought up any issue you'd have with this plan as well as a solution
to it," Stiles stated, giving him a serious look. "So. Any other questions or concerns I can
resolve while we're talking about it?"

Derek started pacing back and forth once more, wringing the back of his neck as he
considered every angle of Stiles' idea. Really it was the length of the fake Bond that was
making him reluctant to accept, his mind unable to wrap itself around a scheme that went on
for four years. It wasn't that he wasn't sure he could handle being around Stiles for that long
or that he didn't like having to wait to actively seek out his Mate—because he was strangely
okay with it, which just worried him over the fact that he wasn't feeling that overwhelming
urge to mate and breed the way his friends all were. No, he was fine with those things.

It was the fact that he'd have to lie to his family for four years.

Okay, so it wasn't like he had never or wasn't currently keeping anything from them, like
drinking in high school or how he'd snuck out to participate in Senior Scribe despite
promising his mom he wouldn't deface school property or the time he'd snuck into Paige's
room the night after her Heat died down just to make sure she was okay.

Although he had a feeling his mom knew about all that crap anyway.

But those—plus the few little white lies like Laura's terrible decision to chop her hair off
freshman year of college or Cora's disastrous attempt at baking or his mom's taste in music—
they were all minor and insignificant, the kind of lies everyone tells family. But this? This
was Bonding. This was a step away from Mating, practically an engagement, being engaged
to become engaged as his friend Erica had once confusingly put it. This was a major step in
every wolf's life and he was treating it like it was nothing, like it didn't matter, and lying to
his family about it.

It just didn't sit well with him. At all.

Stiles had always been a little morally gray when it came to dishonesty, having no issues
hiding the truth or telling fibs if he thought his reasons for it were good. And while their
intentions behind this scheme were noble—at least he thought they were noble—Derek still
wasn't entirely sure he could be entirely on board with it.

With a sigh, he paused in front of Stiles once more, frown on his face. "We're gonna be lying
to everyone. I'm not sure I'm okay with that."

Stiles nodded as he pressed his lips into a hard line, straightening up his seat.
"Understandable," he agreed. "But if it's any help, I'm pretty sure your family would
understand when it's all explained and they won't be too pissed."

Derek sighed again, rubbing his hands over his face. "I just don't know," he murmured then
refolded his arms. "Can I think about it?"

"Sure." An easygoing smile formed on Stiles' face and he pushed himself up to his feet,
adjusting his shirts around his waist. "Just call or text or whatever when you reach a
decision."

He nodded, mimicking the other man's grin as he murmured a "sure", wondering if the
number he had in his phone for Stiles was still the right one. Worse case scenario, he'd have
to come up with a convincing lie in order to get it from Cora.

Terrific.

The Omega gave him a smirk and a wink and a thumbs-up, the anxiety having lessened in his
scent and bringing back the usual carefree Stiles. With a bounce in his step, he made his way
out, yelling out a "later, Der" as he bounded up the steps.

When the door had slid shut and Stiles' heartbeat—and humming and jangling keys spinning
around his finger—had disappeared down the hall, Derek breathed out a sigh of relief, body
slumping from where he'd been holding himself back in an attempt to not jump Stiles. He
rounded the coffee table and flopped back on the couch, causing the Omega's scent to waft up
around him.

Shit.

He let out a rumbling growl before he knew what he was doing, curling his upper body
around so he could bury his nose in the cushion and get a better whiff. The sugar-sweet scent
went straight to his head, making him feel dizzy despite sitting still, his cock twitching within
his jeans.
He was in serious trouble.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek woke up on the couch, still in his jeans and henley, nose shoved into the back cushions
as he laid along the length of the sofa, overhead lights still on. He let out a groan as he rolled
onto his back, stretching cramped shoulders and legs. He could practically feel the imprint of
the fabric on his cheek and he rubbed at his nose, both to try and ease the stinging soreness of
it having been pressed into the cushion and to get rid of the scent that seemed to be ingrained
within it now.

Shit, he hadn't been kidding when he'd thought he was in trouble.

He slapped at the coffee table blindly, not bothering to actually look for his phone, fingers
now digging into his eyes to rub the sleep away and wake himself up more. With a quick
glance, he discovered it was just after four in the morning and he let out another, much longer
groan, this one out of aggravation. Alright, so he had plenty time to keep sleeping. Just. Not
on the fucking couch.

With a grunt and another groan, he got on his feet, scratching absently at his belly as he
shuffled around his coffee table to head to his bed, only to pause when a strange noise hit his
ears. He felt his wolf prick its own ears up and he focused his hearing, cringing at the
metallic screech, like nails on a chalkboard or...

Or claws on a metal door.

His head snapped to the entrance, his hackles raising, senses on full alert. Something wasn't
right, very fucking obviously. No one should be at his place that late-slash-early and no one
should be scratching at his fucking door.

Tossing his phone onto the couch, he let his claws slide out as he slowly made his way to the
front door, bare feet silent on the cement floor. It wasn't until he got to the steps that he
smelled it, that sugary-sweet scent that made him growl in pleasure, the same one that had
accompanied the last person to knock at his door.

Derek cut off the growls, brow furrowing as he took the steps two a time, listening to the
sounds on the other side of the door. He heard the steady rhythm of Stiles' heart, the in and
out of air, only it was all going too fast, much too fast, like he'd been exerting himself
somehow. Not quite panting like he'd been running but Derek somehow doubted he'd driven
there.

Curious and worried, he unlocked the door and slid it open, revealing Stiles on the other side.
Stiles, with sleep-mussed hair and a baggy gray tee and blue flannel pants. Stiles, who looked
soft and vulnerable, lips parted as he breathed in and out through them. Stiles, who was most
definitely still asleep.

“Stiles?” Derek asked lowly, cautiously, waving his hand in front of the younger man's face.
“Stiles.”
Nothing.

He was out.

He breathed out a swear, remembering how Stiles used to do that very thing when he was a
kid, trying to remember what exactly he was supposed to do. Only he never really got a
chance to think of it before the Omega practically fell on him, letting out a whimper as he
clutched tightly to his henley.

The sudden move took Derek by surprise and he had to put a foot back to prevent them both
from falling, arms flying out by his sides. “Whoa! Okay. Okay, I got you,” he murmured,
wrapping his arms around Stiles as he straightened them both up. He tried not to think about
how natural it felt to have Stiles up against him like that, how perfectly he fit in his arms,
how he was just the right height for them to line up perfectly and for Stiles to bury his nose in
the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply before whimpering once again. Instead, he focused on
Stiles himself, sniffing out his chemosignals, wolf grumbling at the notes of distress and fear
and terror, as well as...

Derek sniffed again, peering over Stiles' shoulder, switching to his wolf eyes so he could get
a better look in the darkened hallway. Sure enough, he could see a trace amount of blood on
the cement, making his heart pound and his stomach clench.

“Shit,” he muttered out, pulling the younger man away from him so he could get a better look
at him, hands resting on his upper arms now. Stiles whined, tugging at the henley he still
gripped in order to bring them both back together, but Derek's Alpha strength was too much
for him to overcome. “Stiles? Stiles, c'mon, I need you to wake up.” He gave him a light
jostle, only resulting in another whine, the Omega still out for the count. “Stiles!” he tried
again, another shake, voice loud in the hallway. Fuck, if he kept that up, he'd wake his
neighbors as well. Not something he wanted.

He gave the Omega a quick once-over, not seeing any wounds or serious injuries. But just
because he couldn't see them, didn't mean they weren't there. The blood on the floor and in
Derek's nose were proof of that.

Derek tried to think of everything he knew about sleepwalking, about how to handle someone
who did it, whether they should be woken up or left alone or what. But he just kept drawing a
blank, mind too distracted by the scent of blood to really be able to focus on anything else.

That he knew how to handle.

With great care, he leaned Stiles against the doorframe, fighting stiff fingers to untangle them
from his shirt. The Omega whined more and reached for him before finally slumping where
Derek wanted him to, allowing the older man to rush into his apartment. He quickly scooped
up his phone and keys, slipped his feet into some sneakers, then raced back to Stiles. He
lifted the teen in a fireman's carry then stepped out his apartment, sliding the door closed
behind them before heading down the hall to the elevator. Determination fueled his every
motion, made his mind settle as he came up with the quickest route to Beacon Memorial
Hospital. He might not have any clue how to help Stiles at that moment, but they sure as hell
would.
 Three

Luckily for Derek, Scott's mom Melissa was on shift when he arrived, bridal carrying a still
sleeping Stiles and explaining what happened.

Unluckily for Derek, no one would fucking tell him anything because he wasn't family,
official Pack, or his Bonded.

Which left him standing in the waiting room, texting both Stiles' dad and his own mom to let
them know what was going on.

The sheriff arrived less than ten minutes later in full uniform and Derek had no doubt he'd hit
the siren in order to arrive sooner. A nurse immediately pulled John aside to update him on
his son's condition and try as he might, Derek couldn't hear a damn word of the conversation.
He was left behind once again, watching them disappear behind a door as the Alpha was led
to where his son was being treated.

His mom showed up a few minutes later, dressed in loose black cotton pants and a gray
hoodie, hair thrown up in a messy ponytail and her face make-up free. He winced as he
remembered the time, realizing that he'd most definitely woken his mom up and had her race
down to the hospital for what he was hoping was a non-emergency.

Whoops.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she greeted him with a tired smile, not hesitating to open her arms and
pull him into a hug, one he returned. He drew comfort from her scent, from the smell of Mom
and Pack, feeling some of the tension leaving him. “You okay?”

He nodded where he had his chin hooked on her shoulder. “Fine,” he mumbled. “Just
worried.”

She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, her hand smoothing down his hair at the
back of his head in a comforting and maternal manner. “I'm sure he's okay. This is Stiles. He
used to do this all the time, remember?” she pointed out with a small amused grin, before her
face grew serious. “Although I must admit, I'm surprised he showed up at the loft rather than
our house.”

“Same here,” he muttered absently, the door to the triage opening and pulling his attention
away from her. He turned his head to see the sheriff walk over, hands on his hips as he blew
out a long relieved breath. Derek felt himself relax further, knowing there was no way in hell
John would look so at ease if something was seriously wrong.

The two Hales parted as the family friend joined them, bottom lip pulled down so his teeth
were on display, wrinkles around his blue eyes as he narrowed them in concentration.

“Stiles is gonna be fine, just a few minor abrasions to the bottom of his feet since he wasn't
wearing any shoes, but they're already healing,” he informed them. “Dr Geyer and Melissa
were able to wake him up, but he doesn't remember much of what happened or why he
sleepwalked across town.” At that, he raised his eye and looked at Derek, confused
expression on his face as his arms folded over his chest. It was no longer a family friend
standing there, but the sheriff, his nice interrogation face on, his “take no shit” body language
backing it up.

Well, fuck.

Derek swallowed, wolf hiding behind its paws. A strange sense of guilt hit him, although he
had no clue why. It wasn't like he'd done anything wrong really. He'd been just as asleep as
Stiles had been, minus the somnambulism. Wasn't like he'd called Stiles and had him come
over for a booty call while the sheriff was at the station, wasn't like he'd been the one to
proposition the barely legal Omega into a fake Mating.

Oh shit. What if the sheriff knew?

Nah. There was no way Stiles would come up with a plan like that and then talk to his dad—
or anyone really—about it. He'd be running the risk of someone trying to talk him out of it or
stopping him.

Not that there ever really was such a thing as talking Stiles out of something.

“We were actually just discussing that,” Derek's mom interrupted his runaway train of
thought, friendly smile on her face as she played peacemaker. “Strange he'd show up at
Derek's rather than the family house. I do believe we're closer.”

His eyes went wide at that as he stared at another generic print of a Monet—or was it Manet?
—flower painting hanging in the background. Derek hadn't even thought of that at all. His
main focus had been making sure Stiles was okay, that he got treatment, that his dad was told
where his son was and what had happened to him, that he went ahead and told his mom
before she found out through some other source and acted like she was fine not being told
about it when she was actually really upset and just playing up the guilt even more.

But it was true. His loft technically was further away from the Stilinski house, not to mention
in another direction. So it wasn't like Stiles had gotten lost or had given up partway there and
went for the easier location. No, he'd completely changed up his routine, had headed off
another way, had walked even further through roads, past cars and countless houses, up the
stairs—since his building's elevator was broken again—all to get to Derek's loft for some
unknown reason.

The sheriff nodded in agreement, scent thoughtful, eyes distant as he gazed at nothing over
Derek's shoulder. “As far as I can recall, Stiles hasn't sleepwalked in about three years,” he
stated, giving Derek's mom a pointed look.

He looked at his mom, seeing recognition in her green eyes as she slowly nodded once.
“Since Derek was here for spring break his sophomore year.”

He frowned at that as he thought back, remembering sitting in the backyard with Isaac and
Laura, drinking wolfsbane brews she'd swiped for them when Stiles had stumbled out of the
woods, fast asleep as always. They managed to wake him up before he toppled into the fire
they'd made in the pit and Laura had driven him home, dialing the sheriff as she went. When
they told their mom about it the next day, she'd commented that she thought Stiles had grown
out of it considering it hadn't happened since the previous summer.

When Derek had been home from college.

He rubbed at his forehead as he pieced it all together. Apparently he was a Stiles-magnet. A

sleeping Stiles-magnet.

Great.

“Sweetie?” his mom gently prompted and he dropped his hand to his side, humming to show
he was listening as he focus on her. “What does Stiles smell like to you?”

His eyebrows raised and he glanced back and forth between both parents, trying to figure out
where the hell that question had come from and how the hell he was supposed to answer it.
Because, what the actual fuck?

He gaped for a minute, made a few choked off noises that were almost an attempt at words,
blew out a flustered breath. “Is that a trick question?” he asked back, peeking at the sheriff
out the corner of his eye.

His mom shrugged and shook her head, turning her body to face him, arms folded over her
chest in a manner that was both authoritative and casual that only she could pull off. “Just
curious,” she dismissed, voice acting as though there really was nothing to it. “I just
remembered how we had a discussion earlier today about how Omega scents don't seem to
affect you, yet you stumbled through the house in a daze when Stiles had shown up.”

A wave of surprise came from the sheriff's direction, his own blue eyes going wide as he
looked at Derek before returning his attention to the female Alpha. Derek pretended not to
acknowledge the curious glance or the implication behind it, swallowing hard as
embarrassment had the tips of his ears burning.

“And now,” his mom went on, “Stiles was stumbling through town trying to find you, not our
house or Pack. Seems like a pretty big coincidence if you ask me.”

Derek's eyes went wide once more, mouth hanging open as he struggled to get his mind and
his thoughts straight. He glanced between both parents, the sheriff looking stern and
contemplative, his mom looking thoughtful and expectant. Although what it was she was
expecting, Derek had no clue. Apparently there was something there he was supposed to pick
up on, something he wasn't quite seeing despite the picture she'd been trying to paint.

“I don't get it,” he admitted, head moving back and forth between them, shrugging helplessly.

His mom sighed, shaking her head in disappointment, while John winced. The two had a
wordless conversation comprised of eyebrows and head bobs, ending with the sheriff putting
his hand on Derek's shoulder and giving a gruff “son” before pausing.
Oh shit.

Derek swallowed hard, fighting the urge to bare his neck under the weight of that blue stare
from an authoritative Alpha, determined to keep his cool. He hadn't done anything wrong, he
knew he hadn't, so there was no reason for him to be so nervous or worried or anything like
that.

Except he was nervous and worried and a million other things.

The sheriff took a deep breath, narrowed his eyes in concentration, bottom teeth on display
once again. “You and Stiles. Are Mates.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek had no clue how he got home. Not really. He figured he must have driven himself
because when he looked out the giant windows, he could see his Camaro in its usual spot.

Collapsing on his back on his bed, he stared up at his ceiling with his hands clasped on his
forehead, thinking back to the rest of his time in the hospital.

He remembered his mom telling him that he and Stiles being Mates—which was so
fucking...it was something he couldn't quite figure out at that moment—explained why Stiles
was drawn to him during night-terrors when his dad was working, seeking the safety and
security of his Alpha, and not an Alpha parental figure like they'd all figured it'd been while
he was growing up. She also went on to say that it explained why Derek had never felt drawn
to any other Omega's scents, because deep down, his wolf knew they'd already found the one
that belonged to him. But Stiles having been underage and his body not fully matured yet
meant that Derek hadn't really felt any sort of attraction beyond a need to protect. It wasn't
until Derek had seen a grown up Stiles, now two years after having had his first Heat, that the
Alpha was experiencing that sort of reaction.

The words had been a strange sort of relief, confirming that he wasn't actually a freak—or a
Beta pretending to be an Alpha like his sister claimed—just that his body—and his wolf—
had been waiting for their Mate to be ready. And now that he was and that Stiles' scent no
longer carried that innocent note of adolescence but the spicier, muskier one of an adult who
experienced regular Heats, Derek had experienced that dazed sort of feeling of wanting to
blindly follow a scent around, like every other Alpha he'd ever known.

But while it had made him feel better that he was actually normal and that he'd managed to
find his Mate without ever really looking, it also created a new sort of anxiety for him deep
down. Because this was Stiles. This was a kid he used to watch as he got his diaper changed.
This was a kid who kicked his shins and yelled about hating him because he enforced their
parents' rule of homework before playing. This was a kid who threw up in his shoes after
jumping on the trampoline too soon after lunch, despite Derek's warnings not to.

This was a kid who'd grown into an adult with a scent that made Derek's brain fuzzy and his
instincts try to take over. This was a kid who'd grown into an adult that had propositioned
him with a fake Bonding idea that would stretch out over four years. This was a kid who'd
grown into an adult who didn't want a Mate—or at least didn't want them yet—out of his
beliefs that all Alphas were controlling assholes who thought only of their knots and forced
Omegas to be cum-dumpsters and homemakers.

Fuck, fuck, double fuck.

He'd honestly never seen the appeal or the point of the phrase “Fuck my life”, but now he
was getting it. Because seriously, fuck his life. He'd woken up so happy, so optimistic, with
the world at his feet and an endless road of possibilities before him. Only to get turned down
for his dream job, propositioned into a fake Bonding, then find out the propositioner was his
actual Mate.

When the hell did things get so fucked up for him? Seriously.

Derek let out a groan that turned into a growl, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes,
mind drifting back to the hospital. He'd made both his mom and the sheriff promise not to say
anything to Stiles, both agreeing that it was Derek's place to break the news, that it would be
best coming from him.

But in all honesty, he was just scared of how Stiles would react. Derek didn't wanna seem
like he was pushing anything on Stiles, like he was one of the Alphas he'd bitched about
earlier and that he was forcing them into a real Bond because what Stiles wanted didn't
matter. And yeah, part of him was scared of rejection, scared that Stiles would tell him to
fuck off and never return, yell a reminder that he wasn't interested in finding his Mate, flip
Derek off as he told him he wasn't funny, the Bond was meant to be fake. But mostly, Derek
was afraid of making Stiles uncomfortable or afraid in any way.

Which was how he knew he was in deep shit.

Sure, he'd cared about that when they were kids, always made sure Stiles was safe and happy
and comfortable. But this was a whole 'nother level. This was Derek ready and willing to
hold back on his own feelings and wants in order to make sure Stiles knew his came first.
This was Derek ready and willing to give up damn near anything—his loft, his car, his future
career—if it made Stiles happy. This was Derek ready and willing to actually enter a fake
Bond if it was what Stiles wanted, even if it made himself miserable.

He dropped his hands onto his stomach, sighing, eyes still fixated on the ceiling. He hadn't
been given a chance to talk to Stiles at the hospital. Melissa had come out to tell them that
Stiles was resting peacefully and they were gonna hold him overnight for observation,
effectively sending them home since it was technically way past/ way too early for visiting
hours. Derek's mom had given him a hug and a kiss and made him promise to call her later
before heading out to her car, but the sheriff had hung back, clapping Derek on the shoulder
once more then telling him it was okay and that he couldn't imagine a better partner for his
son.

He still blamed the shock at the statement for the weak way he'd stuttered out a thanks and
the shaky smile he gave the older man, not nerves or fear or pride at the approval of his future
father-in-law before he'd even told his Mate of their connection.

“Shit,” he breathed out into the still air of his loft, smearing his hand down his face.
Okay, plan. Stiles was expecting a call or text anyway, so maybe Derek would just stop by
the Stilinskis to talk to him face to face—since that convo shouldn't be handled via
technological device, plus it would give him a chance to see for himself that Stiles was okay.
He'd break the news of their being Mates to Stiles, then leave the rest up to the Omega, offer
him an out, that if he didn't want to date him, that was fine. If he still wanted to go through
with the fake Bonding charade to help him with his housing problem, Derek was fine with
that, too.

Any way he could get Stiles, he thought, feeling incredibly selfish because of it.

He breathed out another swear before shucking his jeans and henley and shimmying his way
under his blanket. There was too much shit in his head to handle at that moment and honestly,
sleep sounded beyond tempting. Everything would still be waiting for him later on.

Having a plan made him feel somewhat settled, his wolf placated with the knowledge that
they'd see their Mate later on, and it didn't take long for Derek to drift off to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The sheriff's SUV was missing from the driveway when Derek pulled up to the Stilinski
house around two. A text he'd sent Derek earlier let the younger man know he was working a
double that day, as well as a bit of overtime to make up for the time he'd spent at the hospital
earlier that morning. He also informed Derek that Scott had brought Stiles home around ten,
medically cleared and good to go, before heading off to his own job at the animal clinic.

Derek parked the Camaro behind a familiar powder blue Jeep that had once belonged to the
late Claudia Stilinski, but had apparently been passed down to their lone child. Engine killed,
he took a couple deep breaths to calm his nerves—and his wolf—not wanting to dally too
long so he wouldn't look like some creeper stalker Alpha sitting in his car outside an Omega's
house. But he also didn't wanna seem too overeager, his wolf yipping excitedly in his head as
it bounced around with its tail wagging wildly. Chances were it had known before Derek had
been made aware that Stiles was their Mate and was thrilled the human had finally caught on,
was hoping that this was it, they were gonna claim him. And as much as Derek himself
wanted to do that, he couldn't. Stiles' wants came first, no matter how much it would go
against Derek's.

With one last calming breath, he reminded himself that it was just Stiles. Nothing had to
change between them, nothing probably had changed. It was still the same kid who used large
sticks and wrapping paper rolls as lightsabers and made Derek be the Darth Vader to his Luke
Skywalker, the same kid who debated Avengers vs Justice League all by himself and made
Derek listen, the same kid who went through a nudist phase and Derek had to chase him
around the house—and, on a couple eventful occasions, through the woods—to catch and
dress him.

The same kid who'd shown up at his loft the night before proclaiming he didn't want a Mate
because Alphas were egotistical controlling douchebags.

And there Derek was, an Alpha about to tell him they were Mates.
Yeah. That convo was gonna go over real well.

He muttered out a few choice swears, checking his appearance in the rear view mirror,
fussing over hair that had too much product as a result of a nervous fit that'd led to him
panicking over how it looked. Shit, he hadn't even put as much effort into his job interview
the day before, had picked out that outfit in about two minutes. Yet he'd agonized over his
clothing for a good half hour before settling on a blue v-neck his best friend Erica had said
made his eyes pop and dark wash jeans she'd claimed made his ass look phenomenal. He
wasn't dumb and knew exactly what he'd been doing as he squeezed into the tight denim,
knew he'd been primping and trying to make himself look appealing Stiles, to make himself a
more attractive choice for a Mate. It was basic instincts really and while he hated himself for
it, he still gave in and groomed himself as close to perfection as he could.

Deeming himself ready, he finally got out the car, locking it with the key fob before heading
to the door. He felt eyes on him as he made his way up the sidewalk and wondered if Stiles
had been watching him from the window, wondering why he was there and waiting for his
sorry ass to get out.

He wasn't sure if that thought excited him over having his Mate's attention or embarrassed the
shit out of him for being so lamely nervous that he couldn't even get out the car.

He strangely felt both.

The door opened as he made his way up the front steps, revealing Stiles in his sleep-mussed
glory once more. Gray sweats covered his legs, black tee with the SHIELD eagle logo on his
torso, hair sticking in every direction but the right one, like he hadn't bothered doing anything
with it. Dark circles were under his eyes, lids at half-mast as whiskey orbs looked Derek up
and down and the Alpha felt his chest puff out in a typical posturing move he'd ridiculed
others of his dynamic for.

A lazy grin spread across Stiles' face, eyes twinkling in amusement as he hit back a laugh,
arms wrapping around his torso. "Are you seriously sauntering right now?" he asked
dubiously, a small chuckle blowing out his nose.

Derek paused at the top of the steps, ears burning at having been caught, and he shrugged it
all away. "Maybe I felt like putting on a show for your neighbors."

"Oh yeah, I'm sure you made Ms Adams' day," he replied with a hint of sarcasm, shaking his
head before dropping his arms and stepping back. "Come on in, man. Unless you wanna start
tearing off your clothes and do a Magic Mike impression on the front lawn."

"That's for private audiences only," he deadpanned, voice dropping an octave or two at the
thought of doing that for Stiles, of Stiles doing that for him. He entered the house, passing a
gaping Stiles who apparently was having trouble trying to figure out if that was a joke, a
sharp spicy note added to his scent. Derek felt his eyes go red and he closed then rubbed at
them with his thumb and forefinger, blindly making his way into the house proper.

The TV was paused where Stiles had been streaming Archer on Netflix, blue plaid comforter
haphazardly shoved to the back of the couch, pillow laying on one arm of it, complete with
dent where Stiles' head had been laying. A plate with the remnants of ketchup was on the
table, half full glass of soda next to it, the scents of chicken nuggets and fries still hanging in
the air. Derek briefly wondered if Stiles had convinced Scott to stop by a fast food place on
the way home before dismissing it. Stiles wouldn't have used a plate for that; he'd eat it
straight out the carton.

The front door closed and bare feet shuffled into the room as Stiles seemed to recover from
whatever gasket Derek had blown in his brain, scent now missing that spicy note, instead
tinged with the sour smell of embarrassment. "Yeah, I, uh," he began then paused, clearing
his throat as he winced and scratched at his forehead. "I wasn't expecting anyone."

Derek shrugged it off like the no biggie it was, watching as the Omega shoved the comforter
to the end of the couch with the pillow before gathering up the plate, tossing a couple used
napkins on top.

"Want a drink or anything?” he asked as he headed to the kitchen and Derek had a hard time
keeping his eyes of the younger man's ass.

Those pants were doing everything for him. He couldn't be blamed.

He swallowed hard as he thought back to what the question was, trying in vain to figure out
an answer. Because he wasn't entirely sure if he actually did want a drink, but at the same
time, having one might come in handy for awkward pauses or when he couldn't figure out
what to do with his hands.

“Yeah. Water'd be great,” he called through, rubbing his hands on his thighs to get rid of the
clamminess that had appeared. Fuck, he hadn't been this nervous since he'd tried asking Paige
out sophomore year, and even then she'd beat him to the punch and asked him first.

“Fuckin' boring ass mother—” Stiles murmured to himself as he puttered around in the
kitchen, putting dishes up and grabbing a glass out the cabinet.

Rolling his eyes, he stepped over to the couch and lowered himself down onto it on the end
opposite Stiles' mess of bedding. He eyed the heap, telling himself it was a terrible fucking
idea to give in to the overwhelming urge to just bury his face in it and inhale, to wrap himself
up in that blanket so Stiles' scent was surrounding him, to roll around in it so that scent was
rubbed into his own clothes and skin and hair. Definitely not normal behavior. And definitely
not something that he should be caught doing when Stiles inevitably returned from the
kitchen. So he stayed put. Like a good boy.

His wolf preened at the internal praise and he suppressed a groan at its behavior of late.

Stiles scuffed his way back in, handing Derek the glass of water and giving a small smile at
the thanks he got in return. He dropped down onto the opposite end of the couch, pulling his
left leg up to his chest, arms wrapping around it and chin resting in his knee.

"So," he began then sniffed. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this random visit?"
The Alpha stared down at the water he'd been given, tamping down his wolf and reminding it
that Stiles was just being a polite host, it didn't mean anything. He took a sip before placing it
on a coaster on the coffee table then settling back on the couch, arm resting across the back of
it, ankle laying on the opposite knee. "Just. Wanted to stop by and see how you were after last
night." Not entirely the truth, but not entirely a lie either. His dreams had been plagued with
everything that could've happened to the younger man as he sleepwalked through town,
getting hit by car or getting lost or getting attacked by an Alpha because he smelled so good,
kidnapped and held hostage as he was forced into being a sex slave.

The sour scent of embarrassment hit his nose and he looked to see Stiles wrapping the
comforter around himself, over the top of his head, an he recognized it as the Omega need to
nest when upset.

Shit.

The comforter moved where Derek figured a shoulder should be and he assumed Stiles had
shrugged.

"I'm okay," the younger man answered honestly, tugging the comforter close. "More
embarrassed than anything. Sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night."

Derek shrugged this time, dismissing it. "It's fine. I'm glad you came to me."

And he definitely hadn't meant to admit that out loud. Fuck.

Stiles cocked an eyebrow at him, face and tone dubious. "Really?"

He cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat, making like he was adjusting the way his jeans
were laying and that his tee had ridden up at the back. "Yeah," he admitted lowly. "Better me
than some stranger, right?" A shaky smile formed on his face and he hated himself for not
telling the truth, for not taking the opportunity to say "well, yeah, I'm your Mate, of course I
want you to come to me when you're upset or hurt or happy or anything at all really."

He opened his mouth to say it as an add-on, but never got the chance to say anything, Stiles
speaking up first.

"Well I'm still sorry. And mortified." He smiled uneasily, scratching at his forehead with a
finger. "But I guess you can see what I was saying about not wanting to live with some
stranger. It's humiliating enough having people I know be aware of my sleepwalking habit. I
don't want someone I don't know being made aware and judging me for it." Misery joined his
scent and he slipped his other leg under the comforter, tucking it to his chest, too.

Derek's wolf whined in his head, demanding he comfort their Mate. But he had no idea what
to do for this Stiles. The kid version he was used to was soothed by cuddles and tickles and
neither of those things seemed appropriate for an adult version, especially not when they'd
barely been in contact over the past five years.

Which meant words would have to do the job.

Only words weren't exactly Derek's forte.

Shit.

"I'm sure your roomie would understand once you explained it to him," he stated gently,
scratching at his jaw. "Just like your dad understands and I understand and Scott and my
family."

Stiles snorted, wordlessly saying what he thought of the older man's comment. "I just thought
I'd grown out of it, ya know? It hadn't happened for, like, three or four years now. I figured it
was over and done with and I'd never have to worry about it again, but nope. I'm forever
gonna be the freak who wanders around town while fast asleep for fuck knows what reason."

"You're not a freak," Derek argued, raising an eyebrow at the younger man that dared him to
argue.

And while Stiles didn't disagree with words, he did roll his eyes in a typical Stiles-ian
fashion. "Whatever," he mumbled, wrapping the comforter tighter around himself. "I think
I'm a freak. And chances are whatever Alpha is unfortunate to be stuck with me is gonna
think I'm a freak, too, and they'll, like, tie me to the bed at night or some shit in order to keep
me under control."

The Alpha currently in the room curled his fingers into fists, muscle in his jaw ticking as he
clenched it to bite back everything he was dying to say. Because his wolf was howling in his
head, snarling, pissed that their Mate saw himself in such a poor manner, pissed at the
implication that he was meant to be with some other nameless, faceless Alpha. It was on the
tip of Derek's tongue to say how he knew for a fact that Stiles was wrong about that, that his
Mate would be supportive and understanding and not tie him to the bed because Derek was
his Mate.

Clearing his throat, he relaxed his jaw and unclenched his fists, trying to formulate the words
in his head, trying to find the perfect way to broach the subject without just blurting it all out
and spooking the Omega, who didn't even want a Mate—at least not at that time.

But he took too long trying to think it up and Stiles went on without giving him a chance.

"Don't get me wrong, I know all Alphas aren't bad or controlling or whatever," he amended in
a rush, comforter moving where he was most likely gesturing with a hand. "But it's me and
knowing my shit luck, I'll be stuck with a controlling Alpha for a Mate and I'll end up
handcuffed to the bed every night like a girl in the Black Widow program."

The reference went completely over Derek's head and he stared at the other man in confusion,
the expression going unnoticed as Stiles barreled on.

"Which is another reason why I don't want a Mate right now, so maybe I can get this
somnambulism under control—again—before they put me under their control."

"Is this paranoid belief that your Mate will be a controlling asshole the only thing you have
against finding a Mate?" Derek asked with more venom than he meant to. Because the more
Stiles went on about his hypothetical future Mate dominating him in every manner, the more
he was starting to feel offended, not just as an Alpha, but as Stiles' actual Mate. There was no
way in hell he'd ever do any of the things the Omega was talking about, regardless of whether
or not Stiles was his Mate. He knew better than that, was raised better than that, and it stung
to think that Stiles believed him to be a hard-handed asshole who'd immediately take away
his freedom and his choices.

And yes, Derek knew that Stiles wasn't aware that all these comments about his future Alpha
were being aimed at the one sitting on the couch with him, that if Stiles knew the truth, he
wouldn't be saying this shit. But it was hard to rationalize things and get his head—and his
wolf—to see that. All it could focus on was how displeased their Omega was with their Mate
and that his Mate was them. They'd failed before they'd even been given a chance to begin.

The other man swallowed, turning away, eyes flitting about the room as his scent shifted to
something more reluctant, more nervous. “I just,” he started then paused, hand snaking its
way up to wrap around the back of his neck and squeeze. “I don't want a Mate. Like. Ever.”

Derek's eyebrows went up at that. Sure, it wasn't entirely unheard of for someone to not be
interested in finding a Mate. His sister Cora felt that way and while Derek had immediately
understood and supported her, it had taken a few weeks—and more than a few yells of “You
just don't fuckin' get it!”—for their mom to. But now Cora was happier for it, no longer
feeling the pressure to find the right partner, able to just go through life how she wanted to.

So while he knew that people did in fact feel that way, Derek was just...surprised to hear it
from Stiles. Because as a kid, Stiles had stared at his parents—and Derek's—with stars in his
eyes and a dreamy look on his face, telling everyone who listened—and even those who
weren't paying attention—how he was gonna grow up to get a super awesome Mate like his
mom and dad and they were gonna have three kids and a dog and a big house with a pool that
had a slide. He'd told Derek about his childhood crush on Lydia and how he'd love to have
her Bite on his neck. He constantly daydreamed out loud about Mated life and who he'd end
up with, male or female, taller or shorter, dark hair or light. It just seemed like a huge change
to Derek that Stiles was saying he no longer wanted any of that.

He wondered if all that talk had been a cover up for his true feelings. He wondered if
something bad had happened to Stiles over the past few years to change his mind. He
wondered if Stiles had believed it as a kid, because all kids had fun playing house, but as he
got older, he realized his wants and his desires were totally different.

He kept his mouth shut though, waiting for the younger man to go on, to explain, practically
seeing the wheels spinning in his head as his eyes moved about.

“And it's not just paranoia about being abused or anything,” Stiles went on, hand now
moving up to ruffle over his hair, knees dropping and legs folding in front of him on the
couch. “Society has these fucked up standards of living, ya know? Like, I had to take special
Omega courses in high school and it was all about cooking and cleaning and how to take care
of kids, because as Omegas, that's our jobs, our roles, to be the homemakers and the one who
raises the family.” He paused, licking his lips and swallowing before continuing once more.
“I got a bad grade on a chem test once and I asked Harris if I could get extra credit, help
bring up my grade. He told me it didn't matter, wasn't like I was going to college anyway
since I'm an Omega.” He snorted, eyes rolling, anger and agitation rolling off him.

Derek felt his own lip curling back in disgust and anger, wolf growling in his head. Omegist
assholes like him where a major part of what was wrong with the world and why it had taken
so long for Omegas to get the small amount of rights that they had. And the fact that their
attitude was now preventing Stiles from being happy and living life how he wanted, it was
pissing Derek off in a way he'd never really felt before.

He shoved the feeling aside, focusing as Stiles continued his speech.

“See, we're expected to get good grades, go to college, then get Mated and have kids—if we
haven't already,” he spat out, leaning forward so his elbows were on his knees, gesturing to
Derek with a hand, comforter hanging loosely from his head. “And if we're not, we get
punished for it, like you not being able to get that job yesterday.”

It was the older man's turn to roll his eyes, aimed more at Ms Finch and the law that
prevented his hiring than at the guy across from him. Because it was true, it was like he was
being punished for not having found someone to Bond with yet. Not that it was even his fault
—well, not entirely anyway. He hadn't been aware that his Mate had been right beside him
for almost two decades, but it wasn't like he could really do anything about that, not when his
Mate was underage. And while he had dated around a bit after the break-up with Paige, he
hadn't ever found anyone he was interested enough in getting serious with—not Bond serious
anyway.

Not until he'd been reunited with Stiles.

Who apparently didn't want a Mate of any form.

Fuck you, universe.

“And when you really think about it,” Stiles went on, gaining momentum the more he spoke,
pushing the comforter off his head and letting it pool around his body and lap. “The whole
Mate thing is dub-con at best. I mean, shouldn't we get a choice in who we spend the rest of
our life with? Shouldn't we get a say in who our soul mate is? But no, it's all hormones and
weird instincts telling us that this one particular person is it for us and we need to just shut up
and get to boning already.”

Derek's eyes went to the ceiling for help at that last part. He'd temporarily forgotten that his
Mate was essentially a tall child.

“Get to boning.” Jesus fucking Christ.

“And we're just expected to trust that our wolves know what they're doing and just go along
with it, even though sometimes people get stuck with abusive knot-heads?” Stiles scoffed,
rolling his entire head with his eyes then shaking it. “No way, man. Fuck that. I think we
should get a choice in who we Mate and who we spend all of eternity with, or whatever. I'd
rather spend every single one of my Heats alone for the rest of my life than spend it with
some Alpha fate has decided is right for me, but I didn't pick out myself.”
And wasn't that just a kick in the balls?

Turning, Derek put his other foot on the ground, resting his elbows on his knees as he cleared
his throat. He knew Stiles had a point. It wasn't like Derek had chosen him as a Mate, not
really. Hell, he hadn't even realized it until his mom pointed it out only a few hours ago. And
he knew that if he did have a choice, he'd probably pick Paige. She was good, kind, smart,
kept him on his toes, fun to hang out with, and supportive. She would make a great partner, a
great Mate, would be wonderful with kids, not to mention able to actually have them with
Derek. He'd cared a great deal about her and while their break-up had been mutual, it'd still
hurt and he still felt the sting of it when he thought about her.

He considered the man on the couch with him, wondered if Stiles would be the same for him
—minus the ability to get pregnant—if he could be caring and supportive and a good partner,
only to realize that he would be. And that it didn't matter. Because in all technicality, he
hadn't picked Stiles; Stiles had been picked for him.

He wondered if in a world free of Mates and predestined partners, if he'd still pick Stiles and
he honestly had no idea.

Part of him felt like he would, but he wasn't sure if he was to trust that part, if it was really
him believing that or his wolf, those instincts that Stiles had just called out. Fuck, he was
confused. Just an hour before, he was so sure Stiles was it for him and now... now he had no
clue if there even was an it.

Of course there was. Despite his current questioning of his instincts, Derek still believed in
Mates. His parents had been proof of it. Stiles' parents had been proof. His friends Boyd and
Erica were proof. Okay, so fate got one wrong every once in a while, but that wasn't anything
to worry about or a reason to write off Mates as a whole.

Or maybe it wasn't fate's fault. Maybe it was the people themselves. Mates didn't always
mean it was easy and that you just had to sit back and relax. Relationships still took work. All
those aforementioned couples were proof of that as well. And sometimes people were Mated
to folks they weren't supposed to be with. From what he'd found out a short time ago, Scott's
parents had only gotten Mated because Melissa had become pregnant with him. Lydia's
parents had apparently Mated out of some sort of power deal.

Maybe instincts were right. Maybe they were to be trusted. Maybe it was other people that
were to blame and weren't to be believed.

Maybe. But who fucking knew really?

He peeked over at Stiles, noting how he was now hunched over, head hanging, hand wringing
the back of his neck. His scent was still laced with notes of agitation and righteous anger as it
had been during his spiel, but now there was a hint of remorse, like he regretted what he'd
said. The sad sigh he let out added to that theory.

“I kinda ruined the afternoon, huh?” he questioned lowly, lifting his head and giving a self-
deprecating smile to Derek, trying to hide the wince that was threatening to take over his
features.
“No,” the older man answered quickly and honestly, shaking his head. “I'm just surprised you
felt that way and that you said all that considering—”

“Considering I'm your Mate,” he finished in his head, unable to admit it out loud.

Because it was the absolute wrong thing to say at that moment. Stiles would get pissed all
over again, would start yelling that Derek was just making shit up to make him change his
mind about it, that the other man had clearly not listened to a word he'd said, that his instincts
were wrong and he needed to get his head out his ass.

That it didn't matter and Derek needed to just fucking leave because Stiles wanted nothing to
do with him or being Mated to him.

The younger man frowned in confusion, leaning closer, head tilted to the side in curiosity.
“Considering what?” he asked, licking his lips.

“Considering,” Derek struggled, gesturing to him with an open palm. “how you asked me to
enter a Bond with you less than twenty-four hours ago. Kinda goes against everything you
were just saying.”

He mentally patted himself on the back for the smooth cover-up.

Stiles seesawed his head in concession, seeing the point. “Right, but that's a fake Bond. It
won't actually mean anything.”

And there was another kick in the balls.

“Besides, you're the only person I've ever actually told how I feel about the whole Mating
thing.” He waved a hand around in a circle in the air as though encompassing Mates and
everything that came with it before resting his hand on top of his head and fiddling with his
wayward hair. “So it's not like I'll be making this totally suspicious one-eighty.”

Derek nodded, knowing he'd made a good point, too. The only issue really would be Stiles'
dad. The man knew that Derek was now aware of their status of Mates and was under the
impression that the Alpha was going to their house to tell Stiles. Except now he wasn't. He
was questioning if he ever actually would and what the point would be. Really, it would just
end with Stiles kicking Derek out of his life on a permanent basis, making things totally
awkward at holidays and Pack events when the Stilinskis showed and Stiles was conversing
and having fun with everyone who wasn't Derek.

Definitely not a life he wanted for himself or for Stiles.

“Have you—” the Omega started then stopped, clearing his throat. “This mean you thought
about it?”

Derek looked at him, really looked at him, at the way his eyes seemed to sparkle with hope,
at the wrinkle in his brow over the worry at his answer, at the twitch at the corner of his lips
as he tried to figure out whether a smile would be appropriate or not. At his lightly tan flesh
and those chocolate moles and the mussed up hair and upturned nose. His heart began
pounding in his chest, his stomach doing a weird swooping sort of feeling, his chest getting
tighter. His wolf was rolling onto its back, tail wagging lazily yet happily, tongue lolling out
its mouth as it gave its own version of a smile.

How the fuck could he have doubted that Stiles was his Mate? Honestly.

All right, so maybe he'd experienced things like that before, but never to that intensity, and
never had his wolf seemed so happy and at ease just being around someone. This was beyond
any crush he'd had before, any attraction to anyone, any sort of affectionate feelings that went
beyond friendship. It wasn't love, but it was maybe the start of something.

And he knew right then and there, there was no fucking way he was letting Stiles out of his
life.

Which meant there was no fucking way he was admitting to the Mate thing.

And there was no fucking way he was saying “no” to the fake Bond idea.

Because if he did, Stiles would just find someone else to fake it with, something that had his
skin crawling and his wolf grumbling at just the thought of. And having Stiles in a fake
relationship was better than no relationship with Stiles at all. He was being selfish, he knew
that, but part of him reconciled that with the fact that it was Stiles' idea, not his, that it would
make the other man happy and give him what he wanted, just as much as Derek would be
able to get what he wanted, too. There'd been a reason why Stiles had chosen him, because it
would be mutually beneficial and they'd both get something out of it.

Only at the time of the idea's proposal, neither of them had had any clue that Derek would
also be getting Stiles out of it.

Ducking his head, he nodded as he stared at his feet, letting out a craggly “yeah” before
clearing his throat. He gave the younger man a smile, relishing the hopeful one he got in
response. “I'm in.”
 Four

They made plans to have dinner the next night at Derek's, partly to begin their plan and make
it seem like they were starting to date, but mostly so they could discuss rules and boundaries
that needed to be set for the next four years. Stiles had been the one to suggest putting off the
discussion so they could think things through and make lists, that way nothing would be
forgotten or missed.

The reality of the situation didn't fully set in until he'd made it back to his loft, on the couch
with Stiles' scent still faintly in the cushion. He'd gone to the Stilinski house with every
intention of telling Stiles that they didn't have to fake it, that they could enter a real Bond, and
maybe even one day a full Mating, because they were actual Mates, only to wind up agreeing
to faking it anyway. He felt like a total pussy, only to realize that wasn't the case. No, he'd
just given in to those Alpha instincts he kept hearing about and had taken Stiles' lead, had
agreed to whatever would make the Omega happy, regardless of how detrimental it was
towards his own peace and joy.

Shit.

He honestly started to wish he was more like Cora, that he didn't feel the drive to Mate or
Bond. He started to wish that he was back to his old self, getting made fun of by Laura for
not being dazed by Omega scents, being a Beta with a knot. He started to wish that he hadn't
reunited with Stiles and hadn't caught a whiff of that fully developed Omega pheromone.

The last one felt like a total lie.

There was no way he could bring himself to regret running back into Stiles, to be upset about
getting a whiff of him. As much as the Omega's scent drove him nuts, it also brought a
strange sort of peace to his wolf. Really, the only issue with his feelings about the situation
was the human part of him, the part that had taken Stiles' words in and were analyzing them
at a deep level, churning them over and over and wondering if there was any real truth to
them. It left him questioning everything about Mates, about his instincts, about his reaction to
Stiles.

Maybe his mom was right when she said he was a late bloomer. Maybe it was just latent
Alpha instincts finally kicking in and it had nothing to do with Stiles himself, just that he was
an Omega.

But that didn't explain why the teenager had trekked all the way across town to his loft after a
night-terror, while still fast asleep. It didn't explain Derek's need to protect and look out for
him, more than he wanted to look out for his own younger sister and cousin or his Omega
best friend. It didn't explain the overwhelming need to claim and breed—despite the inability
to even breed a male Omega at all—when he'd never felt an urge like that before, not even
when he was with Paige.

Although that last one could just be the fact that he was now in his mid-twenties and all his
friends were settling down and having kids, triggering some sort of breeding instinct.
Fuck, he was confused. And part of him still couldn't believe that he'd agreed to such a
hairbrained scheme, and one that would last so damn long. But like he'd thought earlier,
chances were that was his only opportunity to be with Stiles in more than a friend sort of way
and he'd be dumb to let it pass him by.

Yet he also felt dumb for agreeing to this.

What he needed was someone to talk to, someone to sort his thoughts out with and give it to
him straight, let him know if he'd made a mistake or if he was overanalyzing shit.

Lifting his hips, Derek slipped his phone out his back pocket, pulling up the text conversation
with Laura and typing up a message.

'Emotional Emergency.' he wrote, using the term she always did when she text him for help.

He just never thought he'd have to use that phrase for himself.

She probably didn't think he would either.

'Not a drill.' he added, hitting send, before typing up a third part. 'Or a joke. It's not April.'

A sigh escaped him as he slumped down on the couch, legs wagging back and forth in
impatience. He knew Laura was at work and it would take her a moment or two to check her
phone and reply, but he was desperate for some advice, desperate for an ear to talk to. Isaac
wouldn't understand, being an Omega. Boyd would just silently judge in his own special way.
Erica would cackle and use it as fodder to pick on him. Cora wouldn't understand either as an
asexual. And there was no way in hell he could ever tell his mom, not when she'd been so
adamant to tell Stiles they were Mates.

But Laura would understand. She wouldn't cackle—laugh, yes, but not cackle—nor judge—
harshly—and, as reluctant as he was to admit it, Laura always gave good advice. It was easy
to go to her when his parents weren't an option, the six year difference in their ages making it
less awkward to ask her embarrassing things yet old enough to have been there, done that,
learn from her mistakes.

Assuming she ever replied and he was able to actually talk to her at all.

His phone buzzed in his hand and he immediately swiped to unlock, not bothering to check
the preview of it. Several variations of shocked emoji faces greeted him and he glared down
at them, knowing his sister was fully aware of his dislike of the stupid yellow smiley faces.

She probably did it on purpose.

No, it was Laura. She definitely did it on purpose.

'didnt think id see the day and as much as id love to help, im up to my ass in depos rn.
Raincheck?'

He muttered out a swear, rubbing at the bottom of his face, whiskers rasping on his palm. Not
what he wanted to be told, but better than nothing. And it was definitely something he could
work with at least.

'Think you can stop by after work? And bring beer. Lots of it.'

Derek had never really been much of a drinker, never really saw the appeal. Glass of wine on
special occasions, sure. Couple beers hanging out with friends, yeah. But getting wasted to
forget problems or just for the fun of it was never really something that actually seemed fun.
The morning after definitely wasn't and he highly doubted the few hours of drunken
enjoyment was worth it.

And while he'd had moments where drinking til he blacked out and forget all the bullshit
weighing him down had sounded like a good idea at times, he'd never really been tempted
enough to actually do it.

Until then.

'that bad huh?' Laura's text read and he snorted, typing up a response.

'Worse.'

'shit'

He snorted again, thumbs ready to tell her she had no idea, only for a bubble of ellipses to
show up under her last message.

'i should be done by five and ill head straight to yours. order pizza'

'Deal.' he agreed easily before locking his phone, knowing that would be it as far as
conversation went. He checked the time, seeing it was only a little after three and he'd have
some time to kill.

With a shrug, he set his phone on the coffee table, grabbing the book he'd left there the night
before to read. Only he couldn't concentrate on the words and after reading the same sentence
eight times with no clue what the hell it even said, he gave up on that idea. Switching back to
his phone, he checked his email, the latest news on the Mets, scrolled through headlines that
held no interest to him. He wasn't much of a social media guy, only really having Facebook
because Laura had created one for him and had threatened to catfish people with it so he took
it over for the sake of the internet at large. But after way too many happy couple status
updates and Mating announcements and ultrasound pictures from old high school and college
friends alike, the site had lost what little appeal it originally had.

Sighing, Derek gently tossed the phone on top of his book before glancing around his loft.
The place was clean, not a hint of dust or dirt. All the dishes were clean and put away,
laundry done, sheets changed the day before and bed made after he'd gotten up a few hours
ago.

No other ideas in mind, he got up and headed over to his bureau in the back corner of the loft
that served as his bedroom, grabbing a pair of basketball shorts and an old sleeveless tee.
Running always helped clear his mind and would definitely kill some time. An hour or so
would work to get rid of excess energy and the weird tingling under his skin, leaving him
plenty time to shower, change, and order the pizza.

Plan in mind, he set it into motion, hoping like hell time would go fast and Laura would show
soon.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Five o'clock came and went with no Laura. So did six. But seven-fifteen found her inviting
herself in, thankfully brandishing Bane Brews and an apology—along with several
unflattering things to say about interns.

Derek rolled his eyes at her, cutting the oven on to warm the pizza back up as she put the
twelve-pack in the fridge, taking two out before she shut it. “You're just lucky I'm so
desperate for your help,” he stated, giving her a hard look as he took the bottle she offered
him.

“Uh oh,” she commented as she rounded the island, slipping her blazer off as she went,
revealing her sleeveless white silk blouse. Jacket now laying over a stool, she sat on the one
next to it, twisting open her bottle and focusing on her younger brother. “This wouldn't
happen to have anything to do with Stiles, would it?”

His eyes went wide at that, wondering how in the hell she could have possibly known that his
Emotional Emergency—capitalized by her, of course—had anything to do with the Omega.
He briefly considered Stiles' scent being on him, but he'd been on a run and had showered
since his brief visit to the Stilinskis'. And aside from a brief pat on the back when Derek had
walked out the front door, he and Stiles hadn't even touched during the half hour or so he was
there.

He subtly sniffed the air, finding a trace of sugary-sweet Omega, but he wasn't sure if it was
just because no one else had been over to the loft recently so it was bound to be more
apparent against Derek's, or because he was actively seeking it out.

Laura took a long pull of her beer, swallowing and setting the bottle down before speaking.
“Mom told me he showed up here last night sleepwalking, but they don't know why.”

Derek slowly nodded with his head ducked, muscles relaxing when he'd had no clue they'd
even tensed up in the first place. He should've really known that the rest of his family would
find out about Stiles' nighttime stroll and his eventual destination. The guy was unofficially
Hale Pack, even without the fact that he was Derek's Mate, so it was obvious that news about
one of their own would get passed around the rest of them.

“I heard he was fine though,” Laura continued, manicured eyebrows pulled in a confused
expression above bright blue eyes. “So why do you smell so frea—”

“He's my Mate,” he blurted out, unable to keep the words back, the tips of his ears burning
hot in embarrassment. Stepping back, he leaned against the counter, setting his unopened beer
next to him and smearing his hands over his face.
But still the scent of his sister's surprise hit his nose, accompanied by the sound of her lips
smacking apart as her jaw dropped. Clearly she hadn't expected the conversation to take that
turn, but it had, and now she was left trying to catch up. “Jesus Christ, Buns. You sure?” she
questioned, eyebrow cocked in typical Hale fashion.

“Yeah,” he murmured, arms folding over his t-shirt covered chest, slight wince pulling at the
corner of his lips. It was surreal to talk about it, strange, and he almost felt like it shouldn't be
happening. But he needed to get the words out, needed her to completely understand what
was going on with him so she could better help him out. Yet there was part of him that
thought it was a bad idea, that didn't feel right telling her about his relationship—to a degree
—with Stiles when Stiles himself was completely clueless.

However, he still really fucking needed her advice and maybe at the end of it all, she'd order
him to man up, take hold of his knot and tell Stiles.

“I figured it out last night,” he went on, swallowing. “When he showed up and I got a whiff
of him. It was like I suddenly understood what every other Alpha had been saying about an
Omega's scent and why they could be put into such a stupor following it around.”

Laura's face morphed into an impressed pout before she removed it with a wag of her
eyebrows. “Gotta say,” she began, reaching up to take the clip out of her hair and finger comb
it loose. “I'm kind of surprised. Not surprised that it's Stiles, in all honesty, but that you feel
like this at all. I've been waiting for you to come out and say you were ace like Cora, or
something.”

He bobbed his head in concession at that, reaching over to grab his beer and twisting it open.
“I actually considered that after she first came out,” he admitted, pausing to take a few sips
before he continued. “I did a whole lotta research like she had, trying to figure out if any of it
fit with me. And you know how she told us that when she found that term it just felt right,
that it settled her wolf?” He paused, Laura nodding. “I didn't get that, so I figured it was just
me being a late bloomer or something like Mom kept saying.”

He didn't admit that he'd actually believed himself to just be defective. Because unlike any of
the definitions he'd found for the entire spectrum of asexuality, he wasn't averse to
intercourse. Hell, he loved it and was looking forward to the day when he was Mated, helping
his partner through their Heats, them helping him through his Ruts, and all the days
inbetween of making love and fucking all over their house. And he was a romantic at heart,
had fallen in love, had fallen out of love, had his heartbroken, had emotional attachments to
people in a more-than-friends way, so he wasn't aromantic.

Nope, it was just the Alpha part of him, or at least some of it. No posturing, no fighting for
dominance, no overbearing personality, no being dazed by an Omega's scent. Really, the only
things that seemed to mark him as an Alpha—aside from the obvious knot he popped every
now and then—were his Ruts and the slight territoriality he felt over his loft.

Although that being said, he'd had a slight moment of wanting to give it all up when it
seemed as though Stiles disapproved.

Or at least hadn't approved of the giant hole in the wall and the unused room behind it.
“Because you hadn't found the right scent yet,” Laura added on for him, pressing her lips
together to smear around the scant amount of gloss she still had on there after a long day of
work and half a beer.

He nodded, saluting her with his own bottle, giving her an “exactly” before drinking.

“That's why I broke up with Landon,” she explained, staring at her drink, picking at the edge
of the label with a black painted nail.

Derek lowered his bottle as he sensed the shift in mood, his sister's sadness a salty scent in
the air. Landon and Laura had been together for three years, the picture of the perfect Alpha-
Omega couple, living together in Bonded bliss. Talk had turned to when they would get
Mated, not if, joke bets being made, not-so-subtle hints dropped at family events he was a
part of. He was the stereotypical docile Omega, happy to stand on the sidelines as his Alpha
partner took control of a situation, but he was still able to put Laura in her place when needed
and rein her back in. Hell, even their names had been perfect together, Laura and Landon,
Derek's mom constantly swooning over it and how great it would look on their stationary.

Only for the two of them to break up seemingly out of nowhere, even though Laura insisted it
was mutual and had been coming for a while. According to her, the two of them had realized
it wasn't really as meant to be as everyone believed it to be yet both put off that inevitable
ending conversation, relishing the comfort and safety of their relationship.

Their mom had been more distraught over the break-up than Laura, insisting they give it
another try, that maybe she had been wrong, but Laura had been adamant that it was over and
done with forever. The fact that the younger female had been single in the two years since
was apparently proof to the elder that she'd made a mistake.

“Don't get me wrong,” Laura went on, wistful smile on her face, blue eyes still locked onto
her bottle. “I loved him, a lot, and I cared about him deeply. Still do really. And he definitely
smelled good, like really good.” Her smile grew and she ran a hand through her curly hair,
letting out a nostalgic sigh. “But there was just something about it, something that.” She
paused, face twisting as she struggled to think up the right words, finally looking up at Derek.
“It's hard to explain. I just felt like something wasn't quite there with it, with us.”

Derek nodded, licking his lips, strangely understanding what she was saying. It was like what
he'd had with Paige, love and affection and a deep caring for someone, but it just not feeling
like enough. And he never really understood why, because she seemed so perfect on paper,
their whole relationship did.

And then he'd been reunited with Stiles, had gotten a good whiff of his scent, and now he got
it.

“Stiles smells like pack and home mixed together and rolled in sugar with a hint of alcohol
that makes my head spin,” he admitted, unable to prevent the way his lips curled up in a hint
of a smile and feeling like a dork for it. Because it was just a scent and he was seriously
harping on how Stiles smelled too fucking much, but fuck, it was all he could think about at
times.
Sugar. Home. Pack. Sweet. Mine.

Laura smiled fondly up at him, her own scent warm and happy, lifting away the sadness that
discussing Landon had brought about. “Yeah, that sounds like what I've heard before,” she
stated softly, straightening up in her seat with her forearms folded on the counter. “And while
I'm thrilled for you that you've found your Mate—and your Alpha instincts—” she added
with a smirk and he flipped her off. “I'm not entirely sure how that constitutes an Emotional
Emergency, Buns.” At that, she picked her bottle up and drank deep, cocking an eyebrow in
question at him.

He winced at that, feeling that earlier reluctance to say anything coming back. Because Laura
wasn't one for holding back and she'd let him know exactly how dumb he was to agree to that
stupid fucking deal, how idiotic it was to not tell Stiles the truth, how badly he'd fucked the
whole thing up.

But really, he needed to hear that. And he knew that, deep down, and knew that that very
reason was why he'd text Laura about his Emotional Emergency and why he'd gone to her for
advice and an ear to listen.

Chugging the rest of his beer, he left the empty on the side before grabbing another and
lifting himself up onto the counter. His sister didn't say anything, just watched him with idle
curiosity, eyebrow still cocked, waiting for him to finally speak. And after taking a deep
breath to brace himself, he did.

He told her about Stiles showing up at his house with his proposal, then when he was
sleepwalking. He told her about the conversation he'd had with their mom and the sheriff at
the hospital. He told her about his later conversation with Stiles, the Omega's stance on Mates
and society's need to devalue the un-Bonded, then Derek's agreement with their scheme. He
told her about his own confusion regarding his feelings and his belief that the Mating instinct
was right yet his worry it was all out of his control.

Laura was silent throughout the whole thing, even during his pauses to gather his thoughts or
to wet his lips with a sip of his beer. But her scent was contemplative and attentive, eyes
narrowed in focus. She didn't say anything for a few long moments when he wrapped it up,
taking everything he'd said in and gathering her own thoughts, figuring out her own feelings
about it.

“Buns,” she breathed harshly. “You're an idiot.”

He let out a sigh. “I know,” he admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose and grimacing. He'd
known that was coming, had believed it about himself, but having it said out loud was still
harsh.

“I mean, I get it,” she clarified, straightening in her seat, shuffling to get comfy. “It's in an
Alpha's nature to make sure their Omega is completely happy at all times and when they
aren't, to do everything and anything to change that fact. So naturally, you'd wanna go along
with this crazy idea, because it's what Stiles wants, not what you want, and the Alpha in you
is choosing your own discomfort and upset over his.”
He nodded in agreement, knowing that was exactly the case for him, that it was exactly why
he'd gone along with it, glad his sister understood where he was coming from.

She sighed softly, cupping the back of her neck with her elbow on the counter. “I'm just
worried though,” she informed him softly, concerned eyes peering up at him, scent full of the
emotion. “In every movie and every TV show and every book where there's a fake
relationship like this, someone always ends up falling in love and getting hurt.”

“I know,” he repeated a little harsher, roughing at his face before letting his hands drop onto
his lap and continued on in a gentler tone. “I know, okay? I really truly do. But I also know
that it's the only way I can get to be with Stiles. And if it's with a time limit and with the risk
of me getting hurt, then I'm okay with it.”

“Because you're an idiot,” Laura stated bluntly, eyebrow cocked in a dare to argue with her.

He didn't.

He couldn't.

She was right.

She shoved her hair back from her face, holding her head, letting out another sigh. “I think
this is a horrible idea, I just want that to be put on the record,” she stated, strangely judgment
free, dropping her hands to fold her forearms on the table, thick hair framing her face once
more. “I think you should tell Stiles the truth about you two being Mates and I thi—”

“I tell Stiles the truth, chances are he'll run,” Derek interrupted. He turned his head away, jaw
working, tears strangely pricking the back of his eyes as he thought about losing the other
man. The idea made his chest ache and his wolf howl in a loss he hadn't suffered yet and he
knew if it were to truly happened, he'd experience a pain he'd never felt before.

But he was gonna suffer it anyway. Four years from that moment, when their plan was over
and they had no more reason to lie, he'd end up losing Stiles and hurting because of it.

At least then he'd have the happy memories of having had Stiles for a while there. Better to
have loved and lost, or so that old cliché went. Guess he'd find out first hand later on.

Laura seesawed her head and bobbed her eyebrows in concession, pressing her lips together
as she glanced around the kitchen area of the open-concept loft. “Sounds like he's gonna run
anyway,” she pointed out gently, turning back to her brother. “An Omega like Stiles doesn't
wanna be tied down. He wants freedom, the chance to be himself and live his life the way he
wants and a Mating just feels like a leash or a cage. When he's done with school,he's gonna
break out and fly away and then what'll happen?”

Ducking his head, Derek stared down at the cement floor between his hanging feet, hands
gripping the edge of the counter on either side of his thighs. His chest felt tight again, skin
tingling unpleasantly, like he'd been submerged in ice water, only without the painful
goosebumps pricking at him. He swallowed the lump in his throat and sniffed, shrugging
broad shoulders before peering up at his sister with watery eyes and a weak smile. “I have no
idea,” he admitted lowly, voice rough, and he hated the way her face and scent became
pitying and sad.

“You honestly think a job at a high school is worth all the heartache you're inevitably gonna
endure?”

“I think being with Stiles would be worth it, yeah.”

It felt like the truth.

And it felt terrifying as hell.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek spent the next day cleaning the entirety of his loft.

From top to bottom.

Twice.

He was even tempted to do something about the hole in the wall, only to realize it would only
make a big mess that he'd have to clean again and his place needed to be absolutely spotless.

It wasn't until after three when he was scrubbing his counters for the fourth time that he
realized what he was doing. He was trying to prove to his Omega Mate that he could provide
a suitable den for them, one that was clean and safe and would pass even the strictest health
inspector's standards.

Oh fuck, he was in trouble.

He rinsed out the sponge and put it back where it belonged, dragging his hand down his face
as he seriously thought about what was happening with him. It was like scenting Stiles had
triggered every Alpha instinct he'd had, even latent ones that he'd thought he were missing.
He felt completely out of control of his mind, his body, his life, just a slave to urges he wasn't
even aware he had.

Glancing around his apartment, he felt a strange mix of pride at a job well done and worry
that he was never gonna be able to have a handle on himself again. It was gonna be worse
when Stiles was around, he could already tell, he would be constantly on his toes trying to
impress the Omega and prove what a good Alpha he was, what a good Mate he'd be,
desperate for approval and acceptance. It wouldn't matter that their entire relationship wasn't
real. His wolf would only care that their Mate was in the vicinity and that they had to court
him, protect and provide for him, make him happy and sated and comfortable and never
wanna leave.

Derek wasn't just in trouble; he was fucking screwed.

Laura had been right. He was making a terrible mistake and he really should be honest with
Stiles, tell him about their Mate-Bond and try to convince him to give them a real shot. She'd
said as much as they'd eaten reheated pizza the night before, even gave him conversation
openers and phrases to use, lines that would seem like he's making a friendly suggestion and
not trying to Alpha Stiles into getting his own way.

But all Derek could think about—both then and at that moment—was Stiles' reaction, how
he'd yell about Derek going back on their deal and that wasn't what he wanted and he was
pissed that he wasn't taking the Omega's feelings into account.

Telling Stiles wasn't an option.

And neither was not doing this, letting the younger man find someone else to fake it with.

So screwed Derek would remain—figuratively at least—and he'd just have to deal with it.

He shoved his internal crisis aside, deciding to focus on getting things ready for dinner
instead—despite having three hours until Stiles would show up. But still, he wanted that meal
to go off perfectly, since there was a lot riding on it.

No there wasn't, he mentally corrected. He technically already had Stiles; this was more like
a dinner meeting than anything, the two of them laying ground rules for the next four years.
Yet he was treating it like a date, like they were thinking of seriously taking whatever scant
amount of friendship they already had to the next level.

Fuck his instincts.

Okay, he needed to slow down, take it easy. Dinner could and would wait. But the longer he
stood there, the more antsy his wolf got as it was reminded of what was happening that
evening, how their Mate would coming over to eat food they provided in the den they would
be sharing. Soon the animal was yowling and jumping around in his head, tail wagging
wildly and driving him nuts. And the human part of him felt restless, too, itchy with a need to
do something to fill the time, something to do somewhere.

It was just like the day before when he was waiting on Laura to show, when he had all this
time to kill and nothing to fill it with. His mind was unable to focus on reading or trawling
the internet or anything else that required him to sit still and relax.

He turned to his fridge, remembering how he'd cleaned it out earlier—not that there was
much to clean out, save for a few condiments past their expiration dates and a hunk of
cheddar cheese that was growing mold. Grocery shopping seemed like a good idea, and
maybe then he'd be able to find something to make for dinner.

Oh shit. He had no clue what to make for dinner.

Right, he was fine, he was okay. Nothing to worry about. Grocery shopping would take care
of that. He could easily find something there to take home and cook, not a problem.

Ending the panic before it began, he grabbed his wallet, phone, and keys then headed out.

~*~*~*~*~*~
He decided to make pasta, because it was quick and easy and he highly doubted his nerves
would let him fuck it up in any way. So he picked up a box of fettuccine noodles and a jar of
alfredo sauce, remembering how it was Stiles' favorite kind of pasta when he was a kid and
hoping it was still true.

Groceries put up, Derek swept the loft again, paranoid of invisible dirt being tracked in,
stopping himself from dragging out the mop for the third time. Instead, he forced himself into
the shower, scrubbing away any trace of anything on him until his skin was red and raw and
the hot water was turning cold. Stepping out and drying off, he headed to his bedroom area
and stood in front of his bureau where he completely froze.

Because what the fuck was he supposed to wear?

He'd reminded himself time and time again that it wasn't a date, so there was no need to get
super dressed up. But he also wanted to make a good impression and prove himself to Stiles
through showing off the body he'd worked hard for at the gym, to put himself on Stiles' level
of attractiveness.

Shit.

He snatched up his phone where he'd left it on his bed, immediately pulling up the text thread
he had with Laura.

'What the fuck am I supposed to wear tonight?!' he hurriedly typed, hitting send before
shoving a hand through his wet hair.

Okay, he was freaking out, he could admit this. Although he really, truly didn't need to. But
there was no telling that to his pounding heart or tingling skin or whining wolf or churning
stomach. Definitely freaking out, definitely very much freaking out.

His phone buzzed in his hand and he jumped from the surprise of it, unlocking the device
without hesitation.

'ur an idiot'

Right. Laura was an asshole. He'd forgotten for a moment.

Scowling at his phone, he typed up his reply.

'I don't have any “An Idiots”. What am I supposed to wear?'

'o go fuck urself buns'

He smirked, proud that he'd annoyed her as much as she'd annoyed him, enjoying the glare
that was probably on her face as she typed up her next message.

'just wear wat u normally wear wen w/ stiles'

A snort left him at that, eyes rolling on their own. What he used to normally wear when with
Stiles was old jeans he didn't mind getting covered in grass stains and mud and t-shirts he
didn't mind getting ripped by tiny claws whenever the Omega was freaked out about
something and clinging to him like a limpet. Not exactly an appropriate outfit for their dinner
—regardless of the implications behind it—or for whatever message he may be trying to
convey with it.

Messages like “look at me, look how well I clean up, I want you to be proud when we walk
hand in hand around town and let you show me off to all your friends”.

Or “I know I'm not as good looking as you, but I put forth a good effort and I like to think I'm
at least worthy of being in your presence looking like this”.

Or “Okay, but imagine me out of these clothes. How fucking fantastic would that be?”

Shit.

Scowling again, he pressed his thumbs harder than necessary as he replied.

'Not fucking helping.'

He could practically hear the sigh and see the eye roll Laura was more than likely giving his
response, her own face pulled into an agitated expressed as she typed, those ellipses in the
bubble appearing once more.

'ur srsly makin this n2 a bigger deal than u nd 2. relax. jus wear jeans & a nice vneck. cant
go wrong w/ blak'

A small, grateful smile formed on his face at that, glad to finally have an answer. And he'd
already washed those jeans that apparently gave him a great ass and he did have a nice black
v-neck. Paired with his boots and he was good to go.

His thumbs were poised to type up a thanks when a new message from Laura appeared and
he held off on tapping the screen to read it.

'also i am givin u sooooooo much shit 4 this l8r on!!!'

Five laughing emojis with tears followed.

Sisters were the fucking worst.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles showed up at six on the dot, right when Derek was pulling the garlic bread out the oven
and placing the pan on the cool rings of the stove located on the island counter. And by
“showed up”, he pounded on the door repeatedly, until Derek yelled at him that it was
unlocked and to just enter already before his neighbors complained.

The Omega sauntered down the stairs with a smirk on his face, dressed in dark blue jeans, a
blue tee, and a red plaid overshirt that had Derek raising an eyebrow in question and serious
judgment.
“What?” Stiles questioned as he drew to a stop on the opposite side of the breakfast bar from
the main part of the kitchen, the counter raised higher than where the stove was. Two places
had already been set with disposal napkins, forks, and empty plates, the Alpha having held
himself back from putting out anything fancy, candle-holders still collecting dust in the
cabinet above the fridge.

Derek let his eyes roam what he could see of the younger man, ignoring how his shoulders
seemed broader now that he was grown and his arms were longer, trying not to get distracted
by the hint of flat pecs he could see through the tee or how large Stiles' hands were as they
stuck out from his sleeves. “You get dressed in the dark?” he asked in rebuttal, alluding to his
mix-matched outfit, bobbing his head towards him in a hint.

He peered down at himself, arms held out as he inspected his outfit. “I think I look fine,” he
argued, raising his head to smirk smugly at the older man.

“I think you look like you're headed to a Fourth of July party after you're done here,” Derek
deadpanned as he began transferring the garlic bread slices to a basket with a disposal napkin
already spread out and waiting.

“Maybe I am.”

“It's June eighth.”

Stiles shrugged, playing it off as he seated himself on one of his stools. “I refuse to play by
the calendar's rules.”

“Apparently you also refuse to play by the rules of common fashion sense,” Derek
commented with a smirk as he finished up with the garlic bread. The other man's response
was a middle finger that only made his grin grow as he grabbed the handles of the pot and
carried it to the sink where a strainer was already waiting.

It wasn't until the noodles had been drained and dumped back into the pot that the scents of
uncertainty and upset hit his nose. He turned to find Stiles staring at his hands, fingers
fiddling together on top of the counter, brow creased in a frown. His shoulders were hunched,
head ducked self-consciously, and he seemed so much smaller than his five-foot-ten height
would suggest. It was a meek, shy Omega, one unsure of their place, worried they'd upset
their Alpha in some way. It wasn't Stiles.

Turning to face him, Derek gently said his name, watching as a brow raised in
acknowledgment. "You know I was just fucking with you, right?"

"Hmm?" the younger man questioned, raising his head, pensive look replaced by a small,
disingenuous smile. "Yeah, no, totally. I get it." The false smile grew, scent a little more
relaxed and placated yet still apprehensive and upset. "I just." He paused, rubbing at the back
of his neck. "Do you seriously not like what I wear?"

Derek put the pot on the cooled pan from the garlic bread, his own brow knitting together in
confusion. He'd honestly just been messing around—although the blue shirt-red flannel
combination did seem a bit patriotic—had been engaging in some of the back and forth
banter they always had. Plus in his family, picking on one another was a way to show
affection, all of it in jest and never to be taken seriously.

He figured Stiles knew all that, that he was aware Derek was playing around and that his
words weren't meant in an insulting manner. But the way Stiles looked, so insecure and
genuinely worried about the older man's negative opinion of his outfit, it didn't seem like he
was taking it as the joke it was all meant to be. He seemed like he actually valued Derek's
opinion to such a degree that if the Alpha said he hated it, he'd stop wearing it.

Which... it just didn't make sense. They weren't like that, never had been, never would be.
And if they were in an actual serious Bond, Derek highly doubted Stiles would change his
wardrobe just because the Alpha asked him to. He'd be more likely to tell Derek to go fuck
himself and wear it more often, just to piss him off.

The Stiles sitting across the counter from him wasn't a Stiles he was used to dealing with and
it left Derek even more confused than ever.

Swallowing, he shrugged a shoulder and played it all off. "Why does it matter if I like it or
not?" he questioned, keeping his voice level and not giving away any hint of his own
thoughts or opinions. Last thing he wanted to do was take advantage of any instincts and
sway Stiles' own opinion one way or another.

The younger man shrugged and shook his head, thumb nail tracing a scratch on the counter.
"Just wonderin'," he mumbled, shoulders still hunched as he stared at his hand. "I mean, we're
gonna be spending the next four years together. I'd hate to have to spend every day of it with
you criticizing my outfit choices."

There was more to it than that, Derek could just tell, but he was too distracted by his wolf
going wild at the thought of them spending four years together, along with his human part
lamenting the expiration date. He hadn't felt such a strange combination of excitement and
dread since he'd left for college and even then, it hadn't been that intense.

Gripping the edge of the counter, he leaned closer to the other man, mindful of the still warm
stove plates, the sauce still steaming in a pot. "I have zero issues with the t-shirt and flannel
combos you like," he stated honestly, seesawing his head after a brief moment of
consideration. "Maybe not blue and red together, but other than that, it's fine. Besides," he
began, straightening up. "You should wear whatever makes you happy. Fuck everyone else's
opinion."

The smile that formed on Stiles' face at that was much more genuine, his scent lighting up
with joy and happiness. He lifted his head, chest puffing up slightly, brown eyes sparkling as
they locked into Derek's green ones. "Fine. I will," he stated firmly, then pointed a finger at
the other man. "But not because you said so or because I suddenly have an Alpha's
permission or some other bullshit."

"Good," he replied honestly, small grin of his own on his face.

The matter settled, he got back to work fixing dinner, pouring the warm sauce into the pot of
noodles and stirring.
“Anything I can do to help?” Stiles offered, sitting up straighter, shoulders back now that he
was over his self-conscious worries regarding his outfit.

Derek glanced along the counter, knowing he pretty much had it all under control. Aside
from serving—which he was about to do—there wasn't much else left. “Get us some drinks?”
he suggested, turning to toss the spoon he'd been using into the sink, the metal clanging
against metal.

The younger man gave a wink and a thumbs up before sliding off the stool and bounding over
to the stainless fridge, opening it with a flourish. “Oh sweet! Bane Brews!”

“No!” Derek stopped that train before it left the station, pointing his serving spoon at the
other man in warning. “Not for you.”

Stiles looked offended as he turned to him, mouth hanging open as he let out a noise of
disbelief. “Why the fuck not?”

“Because you're underage and your dad's the sheriff,” he reminded, turning back to dinner,
scooping up some of the noodles and transferring it to a plate.

A snort was his initial response, head bobbing with the action, the movement caught out the
corner of Derek's eye. “You say that like it's supposed to deter me.”

“That's because it is. No alcohol for you.”

“Buuuullshiiiiit,” Stiles singsonged, reaching into the fridge and grabbing two waters before
pushing the door shut. “I can get Mated, get laid, vote for president, win the lottery, pick a
career I want for the rest of my life, join the military, but I can't get drunk.” He scuffed his
way around the counter, plopping back down on the stool he'd been using with a huff.

“Precisely,” Derek replied with a smirk, finishing dishing up the food. The grin grew with
Stiles' unamused glare and he carried the pans to the sink, running water to let them soak for
a while. Once they were filled, he cut the water off and headed around the counter, sitting
down on Stiles' left where the other setting had been placed. The two exchanged small smiles
before digging in, more preoccupied with eating than the impending conversation. Besides,
sometimes putting things off was actually a good idea.
 Five

Several bites and a compliment later and the inevitable finally happened. Stiles wiped at his
mouth with his napkin before grabbing his water bottle, scent shifting to something more
reluctant yet determined.

“I've come up with a loose sorta timeline for things,” he announced, twisting open the cap
and drinking.

Derek slowed down where he was chewing a bite of garlic bread, not all that eager to discuss
the terms of a fake relationship. He'd much rather let his mind wander, to delve into a fantasy
where they were eating dinner together as the start of a real relationship. Not exactly healthy
or a good idea, but so much more appealing.

“So I was thinking,” Stiles went on, recapping his bottle and putting it back where it had
been. “We have a couple more public dates this week, maybe head out to dinner somewhere
not too fancy, see a movie on Friday. Then on Sunday we tell the fams at the weekly Hale
dinner that we've decided to Bond and that I'll be moving in soon. My dad'll get pissed that
we're rushing things, but ultimately he'll approve 'cause he's always liked you.” Picking up
his fork, he gave Derek a wink and a smirk before twirling the utensil in his food.

Derek swallowed his own food, relishing the scent of amusement that overpowered that of
the garlic and alfredo in their meal. Clearly he thought he was being a clever little shit, but
he'd forgotten one major fact. “You realize they'll all find out there's something going on
between us after those two public dates, right?”

“I'm counting on it to be honest,” he replied, shoveling food in his mouth and holding up a
finger to show he wasn't finished. “The way our families are with gossip and snooping,
especially when it involves someone's romantic life, they won't be able to stop themselves
from prying into our so-called relationship and it'll give us the perfect in.”

He bobbed his eyebrows, seeing the point. “You know they're gonna ask us why we're
suddenly together after all this time,” he reminded with an eyebrow cocked to make a point.

Stiles shrugged it off. “We just tell them that something clicked for us when we ran back into
each other at the previous dinner,” he suggested almost flippantly, like it was nothing. “And
then we started talking when you showed up at my house after I got out the hospital, one
thing lead to another, then we realized we had a connection as more than friends that we
never really felt before because I was underaged.”

Holy shit.

Derek's mouth hung open as his eyebrows raised and his hand paused halfway to his mouth,
fork covered in fettuccine noodles. But Stiles was just as oblivious about his reaction as he
had been about his own words, about how fucking accurate they were that it was hard to
believe he didn't know it was the truth.
And maybe he did know it, Derek contemplated, watching as the younger man broke off a
piece of garlic bread and used it to soak up some excess sauce on his plate. Stiles was an
intelligent guy, always had been, incredibly astute where his best friend Scott had been pretty
incognizant, the two balancing each other out. As the son of a deputy—and then the sheriff—
Stiles was always about the details and the little hints and clues. Nothing could ever get by
him, especially when it was something big or important—which Derek liked to believe this
was—so he highly doubted that Stiles wasn't at least a little bit aware that there was
something between them.

Surely he was aware of what a big deal it was that he'd sleepwalked to Derek's place, rather
than the Hale house.

Surely his wolf was telling him this was a good match, getting excited at the prospect of
seeing Derek then settling when they were around one another.

Surely his stomach was filling with butterflies and his skin was tingling the way Derek's was,
just sitting beside the Omega.

Derek strained his hearing, focusing it on Stiles' heart, listening to the steady rhythm of it. To
the normal cadence that spoke of calm and relaxation and not excitement of being around
someone you had feelings for.

Shit.

Oh fuck. Was Derek's heart pounding? Was he making it obvious?

Well, it definitely was now that he was freaking out about whether or not it was pounding or
out of rhythm. Ironic really.

Stiles turned his head, eyebrow cocked, noodle hanging out his mouth that he slurped up,
white sauce staining the corner of his lips. The sight of it caused other more x-rated images to
pop into Derek's head, Stiles' sucking something entirely different—and much bigger—the
white at the corner of his mouth come rather than alfredo sauce.

And now not only was his heart pounding, but his cock was starting to twitch inside jeans
that were too tight as it was.

Fucking terrific.

The Omega's other eyebrow went up, nostrils flaring as he scented the air, and Derek quickly
switched mental topics, focusing on the food still hanging halfway to his mouth. Stiles' brow
furrowed in confusion before he shook his head minutely, shaking the thought away and
turning to his own plate. “Was that a bad idea or—?” he trailed off, glancing at the other man
in curiosity.

“No, no. That works, it's perfect,” he answered a little too quickly, clearing his throat and
reaching for his water. “Sounds believable.”

Really believable.
Which meant his mom and Stiles' dad were not only gonna believe the lie, but also believe
that Derek had told Stiles about them being Mates. Fuck, that was gonna complicate things.
He was gonna have to come up with another lie to cover that up, make it seem like he was
waiting to drop that bomb later on down the road after Stiles was more settled in school, then
keep putting it off, acting like it wasn't the right time, before the eventual split they would
have.

Oh, fuck. They were gonna break up. His mom was gonna take it worse than she had Laura's
split. She was gonna be on his ass twenty-four/seven to get back with Stiles and this time,
she'd have the ammo of knowing they were Mates to back her up.

Right, that was a problem for another day, one four years down the road. And he wasn't
gonna spend any time moping about it or acknowledging the pain in his chest that began
when he thought about it.

After taking a drink, he returned the bottle and picked his fork back up, glancing at the other
man. “So what happens next on the timeline?”

“Hmm? Oh right.” Stiles finished chewing then swallowed before speaking again—this time
more clearly. “Well, I move in, obviously. Helps for scent transferring and mingling and shit
and makes our Bond seem more real and solid and not like it'll implode soon or whatever.
Then in about a month or so, I get in contact with student housing and tell them my situation
has changed and to give my spot to someone else. Then after that, you get back in contact
with BH High and tell them you're Bonded and can you re-interview.” He wrapped it up with
a shrug, grabbing a slice of garlic bread and tearing a piece off.

Derek stared at him impressed. It made a lot of sense to wait before changing things. To be
denied a job for being un-Bonded one day then tell them you're Bonded now a day or two
later was highly suspicious. If they wanted this to seem real, they'd have to be careful with it,
watch their every move, including their timing.

After swallowing his bite of bread, Stiles went on. “Then four years from now, you should
have your tenure and I'll have a degree. We'll wait until after I get a job and get settled,
maybe give it a couple months before we announce that we've mutually agreed to part ways
since our lives are in two different places and we want two different things, but we're still
gonna remain good friends to avoid any awkwardness at family events.”

Holy shit, he really had thought of everything, even down to keeping everything okay and
not weird after the plan ended. And even the reason for splitting seemed logical. It was why
Landon and Laura had broken up—or what Laura had told everyone was the reason for it. It
was why he and Paige had broken up upon high school graduation. It was why he and Jen
never made it past a year in college or he and Braeden a month. Heading in different
directions, wanting different things.

Paige had headed off to Julliard.

Jen had wanted a Mating and babies immediately.

Braeden had never wanted a Mating and babies.

He was eventually gonna want a Mating and babies, while Stiles was gonna want to be un-
Mated and free.

It was perfect. And it hurt like hell.

But he still put a smile on his face and nodded in agreement, still said it sounded good, still
agreed to it all.

Still felt like he signed up for a death sentence, still felt like he was starting a countdown
clock of doom, still ignored the sinking feeling in his gut.

They discussed the parameters of their fake relationship as they finished eating, what they
were okay with and what they weren't. Both agreed to bed-sharing—“we're adults, Der, it'll
be fine, not to mention help with the whole scent thing”—and cuddling—“Another scent
thing?” “That, plus I'm a cuddler. Very tactile, you remember.” “Fine, but I refuse to be little
spoon.” “Boooo!”—and a scant amount of PDA—“Hand-holding, arm around the shoulder
or waist, shit like that is fine. Kisses on cheek and quick pecks on the lips are totally okay,
too, but no kisses on the forehead. Too close to what my mom did to me. Just. No.”. They also
agreed to try and go out on a date at least once a month if possible, just to keep the gossip
mongers of their small town from spreading rumors they weren't together and still discussing
how the sheriff's kid was seen out with that Hale boy again.

Stiles' words, of course.

The two seemed to agree on everything, Stiles because that was where his boundaries lay,
Derek mostly because he wanted to make Stiles comfortable, but also because he knew if he
didn't, he'd end up trying for more. With the small amount they'd agreed to, it felt like enough
to keep his wolf satisfied, but also keep his heart from getting broken by feelings that had
gotten out of his control and weren't reciprocated. As it was, he already felt the beginning of
a crush forming—if not more. He didn't need to let it get any further and limiting their
physical interactions would help, would prevent any mixed signals or misunderstandings,
especially when his wolf got involved.

The one area that they differed on was their respective Heats, Stiles' insisting he could handle
his quarterly ones alone and Derek... well, Derek wanted nothing more than to help him out,
to be the one satisfying his every need, whether it was sex or food or clean sheets. He wanted
to drive his cock into the Omega, to make him come and knot him, to hold him close as he
trembled and keened and moaned. He wanted to eat him out, taste his slick straight from the
source, to finger him until he cried, to listen to him beg for Derek to fill him up. He wanted to
keep them both in bed for three days, to be at Stiles' beck and call for anything he wanted or
needed, to get closer to him than anyone else as he fulfilled those carnal desires.

And he wanted the same thing to happen for his yearly Rut.

But Stiles didn't, and Derek needed to be respectful of that above all else.

He still offered though, suggested that they could maybe—if Stiles wanted—share their Heats
and Ruts, that it didn't have to mean anything other than just heat sex. Friends fucked friends
all the time and that could be all it was, just some no strings attached sex, two buddies
helping each other out with their baser instincts and animalistic wants.

Stiles rejected the idea though with a swift “thanks but no thanks” and an entirely
unnecessary “I got toys, I got it handled” that was gonna put ideas and images in Derek's
head for years to come.

Which he would probably wind up needing, since it seemed as though he wasn't gonna be
getting laid for the next four years.

Fuck.

He was starting to seriously question this whole thing.

Probably not starting, really. He'd been questioning it since before he'd agreed to it. He was
just being reminded of why he'd thought it was a terrible plan.

But then Stiles smiled at him, wide and genuine, brown eyes sparkling with excitement and
his scent lit up with joy and Derek realized why he'd agreed to it. Because he was a total
sucker, an Alpha whipped by an Omega they didn't even technically have, and he knew he'd
go along with damn near anything Stiles suggested, do anything to make him happy.

He was in for a long four years.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next day found Derek at the local Target, dragged there by his mom at her insistence that
he help her pick out dorm necessities for Cora's upcoming birthday. She claimed it was
tradition at that point, that her kids get bedding, towels, lamps, shower caddies, and countless
other essentials as gifts for their last birthday before they left for college, and since Laura had
helped pick out things for Derek—which explained the Hulk nightlight she'd cackled at upon
opening—he now had to help decide what to get Cora.

But standing in an aisle discussing whether Cora would want bedding with owls or polka dots
wasn't his idea of time well spent, nor was it something he was even able to focus on. No, he
was too busy thinking about Stiles, about the text he'd gotten from the Omega earlier saying
he was hanging out with his dad that day then spending the night at Scott's, but if Derek
wanted, he could still message him. The Alpha was worried that Stiles would wind up
sleepwalking again and that Scott would snore right through it, allowing Stiles to just waltz
right out unnoticed, vulnerable to attack or at risk of getting hit by a car or a million other
things that could go wrong.

Yeah, he was being completely paranoid, but it couldn't be helped. Recently ignited Alpha
instincts were going haywire, his wolf whining and howling, all of him worried now that his
Mate was out of his sight and therefore out of his protection. He'd just have to keep
reminding himself that he was gonna be with an Alpha all day and night—Alphas who were
related to him both by blood and, most likely, through marriage one day, considering how
close both John and Melissa had gotten over the years. Stiles was fine, everything was fine,
Derek should be fine.
“Derek!”

His head snapped to his mom as she stood a few feet to his left, brows raised and eyes wide
in expectation as she stared him down. Clearly she'd asked him something and it had gone
completely unheard by him, his head totally somewhere else. Like ten miles southwest
somewhere else, where the Stilinski house was located.

“I asked what you thought,” his mom stated, eyebrows still raised, hands shaking one of
those bed-in-a-bag kits with a comforter, sheet, and pillowcases.

The tips of his ears burned as he flushed over being busted zoning out and he cleared his
throat, dipping his eyes to check out her find. The comforter pattern that showed through the
plastic wasn't that bad in all honesty, a warm chocolate brown comforter with teal and lime
green silhouettes of palm fronds. Very tasteful and adult like, perfect for a college student.
Except...

“Cora would hate that,” he commented, pointing at it with a finger before folding his arms
over his magenta tee. “She's not one for plants or flowers.”

His mom sighed and put the bedding back, putting her hands on her hips as she surveyed the
options once more. “Cora is damn near impossible to shop for,” she stated. “Laura loves all
things purple and girly. You love blue and masculine. But Cora? It's hard to tell what's she's
into and it's hard to figure out what to get her. She's not one for things really and she's
practically allergic to anything feminine.”

Derek just shrugged, not entirely sure how to react to that except to agree. Gift buying for
Cora was easy to a degree, just a gift card to the local hobby shop at the mall so she could get
whatever paint supplies she wanted and/or needed. But when it came to specific things,
things where there were options—like bedding or cubby sets or lamps—it was a little harder.

“Just buy her all black,” he suggested with a shrug, checking his phone for missed messages
and seeing none. Disappointment had his face falling and his wolf whimpering, but he wiped
it all away as fast as he could, thumb hovering as he debated sending a text himself. But what
would be the point? What the hell would he even say? 'At Target, thinking about you, can't
wait to see you soon.'? No way, not gonna happen. Things weren't like that with them and a
message saying those things held a different connotation.

One regarding Mates and actually dating, one of which Stiles was unaware of, the other he
was insisting they fake.

No text would be sent then. At least not one saying that.

“I am not sending my daughter off to college with all black. She's not a fucking goth,” his
mom stated firmly, turning to him with an astute look on her face. “What's wrong?”

“Hmm?” he questioned, lifting his head to look at her as he slipped his phone back in his
pocket. “Fine. Why?”
She cocked an eyebrow at him, reminding him of who he and his siblings had inherited that
move from and he refused to back down from his half-truth, even when she turned to face
him fully with narrowed eyes and folded arms. “You've been quiet today,” she pointed out,
lips twisting in thought. “More quiet than usual, and your scent is telling me that you aren't
fine.”

Well shit. Moms and their all-knowing powers. Fucking annoying at times.

He shrugged and shook his head as he tried to play it off. “Just thinking about Sti—stuff.
Thinking about stuff.” He tried to cover it up but knew he'd completely failed, that he was
totally busted even further by the way his mom's eyebrows raised in an “oh really” manner.
His ears burned hotter and he cleared his throat as he turned away, pretending to scan the
selection of comforters when really, he was avoiding her gaze.

Which she probably already knew. Not much got by Talia Hale.

A ghost of a smile played on the corners of her lips and she stepped closer, the heels of her
boots clicking on the tile floor, finger tapping her arm nonchalantly, scent amused and
curious at the same time. “I take it you talked to him then,” she stated almost flippantly, like
she didn't care for the answer, when she already knew what it was and just wanted him to
admit it. She stopped next to him, turning to face the same sets he was pretending to look at,
eyebrow cocked as she peered at him out the corner of her eye.

He winced, knowing she was referring to the Big Mates Talk she and the sheriff told him he
should have and that he most definitely didn't follow through on. But if he told her “no”, only
for he and Stiles to announce their Bond on Sunday—three days from then—he'd get a
lecture on lying and hiding shit.

Not that he didn't already deserve said lecture, considering the fact that he was lying and
hiding shit and would continue to do so.

But really, it was kind of a perfect conversation starter. He'd already needed to talk to her, to
let her know that he hadn't told Stiles they were Mates and to not mention it to him after their
big announcement, and this would be a perfect way to. It would also plant the seed to get her
thinking, to try and get her to bring it up on Sunday so he and Stiles would have that good
segue they wanted. A little manipulative, sure, but really, it was for the good of everyone.

“Not. Exactly,” he reluctantly stated, scratching at his jaw and wincing more.

His mom fully turned her head to him, that eyebrow arching up higher. “So you didn't tell
him you were Mates,” she correctly deduced, disbelief—and a hint of disapproval—coloring
her scent and making him want to bare his neck to her.

Instead, he ducked his head and folded his arms around himself, holding on to the fabric of
his tee at his sides. “I asked him out,” he lied easily, smoothly, swallowing hard as he hid his
guilt and truly believed it all to be the truth so he didn't arouse any suspicions.

And if the way his mom's lips parted in surprise and her scent changed to shock, he was
successful.
“We agreed to get to know each other better and give a relationship a try, since we haven't
seen each other in so long,” he went on, thinking it sounded completely plausible and that it
went with Stiles' own lie regarding why they decided to enter a Bond. “So I'm holding off on
the Mate thing until we're settled more with each other and we're both settled in our lives and
it's the right time.” He bobbed his head in a “there you have it” motion, proud of himself for
not only getting one lie started in regards to the soon-to-be-announced Bond, but a second in
regards to why he hadn't yet told Stiles about their Mate connection.

His mom pursed her lips thoughtfully, taking it all in, brown eyes roaming his face for signs
of anything out of place with what he was saying. “And you're okay with this?”

“I'm okay with whatever makes Stiles happy and comfortable,” he answered, glad that at least
one thing out of his mouth during this conversation had been honest.

A small proud smile formed on her face and she wrapped an arm around his shoulder before
gripping his bicep with her free hand. “I'm happy for you, sweetie,” she stated softly, rubbing
his outer arm. “I'm glad things are finally coming together for you.”

He wanted to point out how wrong she was, that he still didn't have the job he wanted—or
any job for that matter—and that he didn't have Stiles the way he wanted either, but he
couldn't. His mom smelled so happy and warm, just like she had when he'd graduated with
his Masters and he just couldn't bring himself to dampen that, to be the cloud over her
sunshiny moment. So he put on a small grin of his own and gave her a low “thanks, Mom”.

She kissed his temple and rubbed his arm some more, but didn't let go, the two of them
staring at the comforters before them.

“You know you're gonna wind up getting her the camo one, don't you?” he asked
unnecessarily, his mom sighing.

“I know,” she breathed out with resignation. “I was just hoping to trick her into something
girly.”

“You do that and she won't talk to you for four years, except to lecture you on gender norms
and stereotyping.”

She actually winced at that, smelling slightly ashamed, like she didn't mean to come across as
so close-minded and regretted it. He patted her hand before grabbing the camo bed-in-a-bag,
tossing it in the cart behind him. His mom pulled away, taking hold of the cart's handle and
pushing it out the aisle and around to the next one.

He followed at a more subdued pace, slipping his phone out his pocket and pulling up a text
to Stiles, thankful he actually had an excuse to take him up on his offer. 'Kinda told Mom
about us. Said I asked you out and that we're getting to know each other once again. Hope
that's okay.'

The message went on its way as he rejoined his mom in an aisle full of dorm accessories,
steering her away from the black and white floral décor and pointing out plain black ones that
she scoffed at.
“It's for Cora,” he reminded her and she waved him off, picking up a desk organizer in hunter
green. He nodded, thinking it was a good compromise, and she placed it in the cart before
turning her attention back to the items for sale. His phone buzzed and he immediately peered
down at where it was still in his hand, sliding to unlock and view it.

'tot ok. Wan go 2 movies 2moro nite?'

What the hell was it with the people in his life and their inability to text actual words?

A back and forth conversation started, both agreeing to the new Marvel movie then a seven
o'clock show time, Derek already having plans to help Boyd and Erica move into their new
house. Meanwhile, he'd managed to take out the pink lamp with a flower shade his mom had
snuck in, giving her a pointed look as she shrugged innocently and put a green one in the cart
instead. He let her put in the silver pencil cup with wire bent to look like flowers decorating
it, thinking if he had to be given a Hulk nightlight, Cora was getting something she wouldn't
like, too.

“Tell Stiles I said 'hi' and that I'm looking forward to seeing him on Sunday,” his mom told
him with a smirk, not even needing to be told that that was who he'd been texting with in
order to know for sure.

His ears burned once more as he relayed the message, scratching the back of his neck
awkwardly. Fuck, it was high school all over again, blushing and stammering whenever Paige
was brought up, his mom smiling as she good-naturedly ribbed him for it, Laura picking on
him for being a “love-struck loser”, Cora whining about cooties—then again, she'd been
much younger, so he doubted she'd still whine about that now.

The rest would most likely still happen.

Was already starting to happen.

His phone buzzed in his hand with a response, his mom chuckling under her breath as
Derek's flush spread to his cheeks and he ducked his head to read the new message he'd just
received.

'we're in 4 1 helluva lecture on sun huh'

'Definitely going to be interesting.' he replied before hurrying off to follow his mom to the
towels, stomach filling with a mix of dread at the upcoming meal and excitement over being
able to see Stiles at it and tell everyone that the Omega was his, and he belonged to Stiles.

Even if it wasn't real.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Boyd had been Derek's best friend since kindergarten, the two gravitating towards one
another due to similar subdued personalities. While the rest of their classmates were
screaming and running around and generally wreaking havoc on the place, Boyd had always
been a silent presence to the side, happy to play by himself with blocks or sand or whatever
toy was at the station he was currently placed in. Derek himself tended to lean more towards
the quiet side, preferring to sit with picture books or creating his own crayon drawings
without being disturbed, more independent and self-sufficient at a young age than his fellow
peers.

It wasn't long before the two silent boys were sitting side by side at lunch, during story time
and nap time and play time, recess spent exploring the grassy area around the playground
rather than fighting to be king of the jungle gym or waiting in line for the slide or screaming
about who's turn it was for the swing.

Their friendship grew stronger as they got older, strengthened when Isaac came in to the fold
their freshman year, smelling scared and ashamed. In a rare Alpha moment, Derek had taken
the young boy under his wing, Boyd accepting him immediately, and Derek had been the one
to tell Sheriff Stilinski what Mr Lahey was doing to his Omega child. Erica invited herself
into their group when she moved to town their sophomore year, a boisterous loud-mouth wild
child who balanced them out and brought out the snarky asshole side of Isaac that they all
came to know and love. And while his family would always be his main Pack, Derek
considered his ragtag group of friends to be a second Pack of sorts to him.

Which was why he found himself waking up at ass o'clock on a Friday to help Boyd and
Erica move into their new house.

It wasn't anything fancy, a four-room square bungalow with a living room, kitchen/dining
room, and two bedrooms with a small bathroom in the middle. But it was perfect for a young
couple of twenty-three who'd gotten Mated as soon as they'd graduated high school and were
now expecting their first little one.

Tiny fucking shoes again.

But Derek couldn't bring himself to be mad about it, not when his friends smelled so happy
and Boyd actually smiled a wide genuine smile rather than the small smirk he gave when he
was amused and Erica was practically beaming and glowing with her barely there bulge,
chattering a mile a minute about baby names and those tiny fucking shoes.

Besides, it wasn't like he had anything against kids, not after having worked with them for so
many years and wanting a fucking job as an educator, not to mention the fact that he
eventually wanted a few pups of his own. And he was excited about being an uncle, excited
to spoil his future niece or nephew with toys and gifts, excited to take them to the playground
and be the one to catch them going down the slide or push them on the swing, excited to give
horsy rides and swing them around and bounce them on his knee.

He just...

He was maybe a little jealous, that was all.

Especially now that he was realizing that his future most likely wasn't gonna include kids.

Unless he adopted and raised them as a single dad, a prospect that was only partially
appealing at the best of times.
He sounded completely fucking baby crazy at the moment, but he wasn't. Not yet anyway.
There was no biological clock ticking in his head and his wolf wasn't demanding pups now,
but he knew it was something he wanted in the future. Until recently, it had only been an
abstract concept, playing catch with a faceless son and tea party with a faceless daughter and
vice versa.

Yet having found his Mate had him thinking of settling down, his eyes lingering too long on a
'For Sale' sign on a house down the street, only to decide it wasn't good enough for his Mate.
It had him imagining finding the perfect one and moving in, having kids, playing catch and
tea party and whatever other games his pups wanted. It had him thinking of picking them up
after they were both done with school, helping with homework and making sure chores were
done, Stiles coming home and the two of them cooking dinner together, smiling as their kids
laughed in the other room.

He wanted it, eventually, one day, when Stiles was settled into his career and they both felt
ready for that step.

Only it wasn't gonna happen.

Because when Stiles had his job and was secure in his position, he was leaving Derek to live
the rest of his days alone and Mate-less.

So while Derek could still conceivably have the house and the kids and the games and the
dinners, he'd be doing it all alone.

Depressing as fuck.

He shoved all that shit aside, focusing on moving furniture and helping Boyd with the heavy
lifting, growing increasingly frustrated with Erica's endless indecision and her fluctuating
mood swings.

“Something to look forward to,” Boyd said with a smirk after Erica had yelled at them both
for putting the couch on the side wall as requested, only to decide she wanted it on the wall
under the windows, then apologizing profusely with a plethora of kisses on their cheeks.

Derek snorted at his friend's comment, rolling his eyes, the statement a reminder of the fact
that he wouldn't actually have to deal with a hormonal pregnant women because he wouldn't
ever have a hormonal pregnant Mate. His was male and decidedly not interested in
exchanging Bites and having kids in any form or fashion.

Isaac glanced up from where he was moving the coffee table to its new location in front of
the couch's original location, brow furrowing over blue eyes. “You not interested in having
kids?”

“No!” Erica objected, stomping over before cupping his chin and wagging his face about,
fingers digging in to his cheeks. “These genetics need to be passed on to the next generation.”

He scowled down at her, letting out a low rumble of a growl in order to get her to let go,
rubbing at his face unnecessarily to prove a point to her about her claw-like grip and her
overzealous manhandling. “I don't know if I want kids yet,” he halfway lied. “And if I do, I
don't want them any time soon. Not everyone is as baby crazy as you are right now.” He shot
her a pointed look, Erica simply shrugging it off, causing the wide neck of the oversized tee
she was wearing—that he was ninety-nine percent sure was actually Boyd's—to shift further
and reveal more of her shoulder, strap of her sports bra on display.

“Besides,” Isaac added, wiping his hands on his sweat pants as he straightened up from
where he'd been adjusting the table's positioning. “Derek's Mate might be male and he won't
be able to have kids with him.”

“Surrogates. Duh,” Erica pointed out in a tone that implied they were morons, rolling her
eyes and huffing before pointing a finger at Derek in warning. “But I meant what I said about
passing on those genetics. Those eyes need to be staring up at Auntie Erica from a small
child, got it?”

“I'll keep that in mind,” he replied flatly, turning to head out the front door in order to grab
more stuff from the U-Haul truck, anxious to get away from talk of babies and surrogates and
whether or not his future included them.

Heavy footsteps followed him down the porch steps and the cracked sidewalk, Boyd's rich
mahogany scent following him up into the back of the truck. “It's okay to not want kids,” the
Beta pointed out, voice low yet still echoing against the metal walls of the space.

Derek huffed out a small laugh through his nose, nodding as he stood facing the mattress and
box spring leaning against the wall, one of the few items left to bring in. “Yeah, I know. I
just.” He paused, trying to collect his thoughts, wringing the back of his neck. “I do want
them. One day, eventually. I just don't think it's a possibility for me anymore.” He mumbled
the last part, head hanging, shoulders slumping, wolf whining in his head.

And it wasn't that kids weren't in his future, but the person he wanted to raise them with
wasn't.

And seriously, why the fuck was he so fucking mopey about this right now? He should be
happy, should be celebrating. He was going out with Stiles in a matter of hours, they were
gonna announce their Bond—fake, but still—to their families in two days. It should've been a
joyous time for him, but instead he was growing morose over kids and Matings.

He needed to get it the fuck together.

“Unless some doc has told you that your little swimmers ain't swimming, there's no reason
for you to say shit like that, all right, man?” Boyd stated, folding his arms over his chest, bare
biceps further on display, the muscles about as big as his head. “And even then, there's
adoption so it's not totally out of the question. Where's all this shit coming from anyway?”

Derek shrugged and shook his head, not really in the mood to answer. And he knew that if he
said that, Boyd would let it go. Because unlike certain other members of his Pack and his
family, he wasn't one to pry, was annoyed by it just as much as Derek and out of respect,
wouldn't do it to someone else.
But Boyd would also tell Erica that Derek had been acting weird and mopey and then Derek
would get a million texts and phone calls from her demanding to know what was going on
and using her pregnancy as an argument that he had to tell her or risk upsetting her and
harming the baby.

With a sigh, he put on a sad smile and faced his friend, taking in the quirked eyebrow and the
serious expression Boyd always seemed to wear. “Guess seeing you and Erica just put babies
on my brain,” he replied flippantly, thinking it sounded as reasonable as anything else. And it
made sense. He hadn't been having any sort of depressing thoughts about kids or no kids until
that day when he'd been around his Mated and expecting friends. Made sense it would bring
up his own feelings regarding parenthood.

The Beta came closer, clapping a hand down on his shoulder and giving it a small jiggle. “It'll
happen for you one day, man. Would help if you actually dated though. There hasn't really
been anyone since Braeden.”

The mention of dating brought a smile back to his face, wolf yipping excitedly at the
knowledge that he was going on one that evening with Stiles. Granted it wasn't a real date,
but it was still time he'd be spending with his Mate and he couldn't be upset about that.

“Please tell me that smile isn't about Braeden,” Boyd said with a groan, head lolling back as
he stepped away from his best friend. “You two just—”

“It's not,” Derek interrupted gruffly, smile disappearing, not in the mood to hear yet another
lecture or long ass commentary on how little sense he and Braeden made and how his friends
just didn't understand how the hell they'd managed to get together in the first place.

Tequila shots had played a huge role in that one.

The two made their ways to opposite ends of the mattress, lifting it away from the box spring
and the wall, Boyd giving him a dubious and confused look. “Then what the hell's got you so
smiley?” he questioned, walking backwards to the door.

Derek wanted to be pissed, wanted to scowl, wanted to tell his friend to mind his own
business and end the conversation. But his wolf was yipping once again and his mind was
inundated with images of moles and too full cupid's bow lips and sparkling brown eyes and
he was grinning like an idiot once more.

“Seriously.”

He looked up to see Boyd's unamused look and he shrugged, not bothering to hide the smile.
“I'm kinda seeing someone right now.”

“Who?!”

Leaning to the side, he caught sight of Erica still on the ground outside the end of the truck,
mouth hanging in shock and joy, eyes wide, blonde ponytail swinging back and forth as she
bounced in place with utter delight. “Tell me, tell me, tell me,” she demanded, banging her
hands on the floor of the truck bed, giving the Alpha a hard stare. “I want fucking details, you
ass. Let's go.” Her face changed to a huge grin once more, practically beaming as she giggled
and radiated sheer delight in both expression and scent.

Derek's day had just gotten a lot longer.

 Six

Derek ended up being right about a long day.

Erica—when not dictating where things should go and bossing the men around—was
constantly on Derek's ass about who it was he recently started dating. He finally caved when
he got back from making a lunch run to the local diner—a job he volunteered from mostly to
get away from her incessant questions—and told her it was a male Omega that was younger
than them and that was all she was getting out of him.

Didn't stop her from asking more questions though, if she knew him, how they met, is it
serious. He gave short curt answers that didn't give too much away—"I don't know", "mutual
acquaintances", "not right now"—just to appease her and get her off his back, as well as
bring Boyd some sanity, knowing he'd be subjected to a million inquiries about how much the
Beta himself knew.

Lunch turned into Erica asking which paint sample the guys liked better for the nursery
—"they're literally both yellow and exactly the same." "Bullshit, Lahey. This one is 'daffodil'
and this one is 'custard'." "Both yellow."—and a warning not to make any definitive plans
since she was gonna make them paint it for her, something both Derek and Isaac didn't
entirely agree to. Painting? Sure not a problem. Not making plans? Not gonna happen.

After lunch, Derek helped Boyd put the bed together as Isaac and Erica unpacked the boxes
in the kitchen. This then turned into helping put their recently purchased Ikea furniture
together—"Good practice for when you put the baby's furniture together." “You're talking to
just Boyd when you say that shit, right?” “I'm talking to both of you, Hale. Fucking deal with
it.”—and moving those pieces around to Erica's specifications.

As the minutes and hours ticked by, Derek grew more and more anxious, excited to see Stiles
but worried he was gonna be late for their movie. By the time Erica kicked him out with
claims of reeking so bad of nerves it was bad for the baby—something he wasn't entirely sure
was true but didn't want to argue since it was a good excuse to leave—he was already running
behind.

He took a quick but efficient shower, glad he'd had his pre-date "what the fuck am I supposed
to wear?" freak out the night before, clothes already picked up and waiting, folded up in his
bathroom. He dried off as best he could before pulling on the black jeans and blue v-neck,
feet quickly covered with socks and his usual black boots. He snatched up his keys, wallet,
phone, and leather jacket—not that it was needed given it was June, but movie theaters could
be cold and he wanted it in case Stiles...in case either of one of them got chilly—before
rushing out his loft.

He raced to the theater, breaking the speed limit and thankfully not getting caught, stuck
parking around the side of the building due to the full Friday night lot. Jacket in hand, he
made his way up the sidewalk, hoping like hell he wasn't too late, only to stop short when he
caught a whiff of sugary-sweet laced with the rancid note of anxiety.
Stiles stood in front of the building, apart from the crowd at the ticket windows, facing the
parking lot. His eyes were scanning the place, one arm wrapped around himself, the other
with his hand near his mouth, thumb nail between his teeth, leg shaking. But for all his
nerves, he looked good. Really good. A blue and black checkered shirt hugged his torso, just
tight enough to give a hint at muscles underneath yet loose enough that it went along with his
usual baggy style, biceps filling out the sleeves and shoulders stretching the top. Black jeans
covered his long legs, ending in well-worn Adidas sneakers, and he looked casual and
relaxed but somehow disarmingly sexy at the same time. His hair was just the right amount
of tousled that made Derek want to run his fingers through it, as well as gave him x-rated
thoughts about recreating that style—or making it more mussed up.

And as Derek stood there completely enraptured by the beauty that was Stiles, he wondered
how in the hell he was supposed to survive the next four years knowing this was his Mate,
but he didn't even have him.

A lean male walked over to Stiles and Derek quickly recognized the thick dark hair of Scott.
Derek's eyes narrowed and he bit back a growl, wondering what the hell he was doing there,
why he was getting close to Stiles, what the fuck was going on exactly.

The younger Alpha put his hand on Stiles' shoulder, removing it when the other man jumped
in surprise, amused smile on his face as he held his hands up in innocence. Derek's scowl
deepened at his Mate getting spooked and his wolf demanded he go over and teach Scott a
lesson.

With his claws.

Which wasn't gonna happen because he liked Scott and it was an honest mistake, completely
unintentional, no harm done. At least Derek was pretty sure it was unintentional. He focused
his hearing on the two friends, eavesdropping and not feeling a damn bit of shame about it.

A sheepish grin formed on Stiles' face as he looked at his best friend and he scratched the
back of his neck awkwardly. "Sorry, man. Kinda spaced out there."

"It's cool," Scott dismissed it with a lopsided grin and a shrug. "Ready to go in?"

The wince on Stiles' face gave way to a worried frown and he scanned the parking lot once
more, fingers drumming against his thigh in nerves. "I'm waiting on someone," he admitted
almost reluctantly, turning to give his friend a pointed look. "Remember?"

Recognition lit up Scott's face and he nodded before growing serious. "You gonna tell me
who this mystery Alpha is so I can look for him, too?"

A gust of wind blew by Derek and he focused his hearing more, trying to hear past the rush
of air to find out Stiles' response. The Omega opened his mouth, only to snap it shut soon
after, nostrils flaring as the wind reached him.

As Derek's scent reached him.

Stiles' eyes seemed to flash gold—although that could've just been the way the sun hit them
as he turned his head—before they finally found Derek. A wide grin formed on his face, the
tension leaving his shoulders, his face lighting up from the inside. The sight of it pulled the
very breath from Derek's lungs and he struggled to get his legs to work, to not look like he'd
just been standing there like an idiot, not wanting Stiles to think he was avoiding him or their
date. But he managed, one leg in front of the other, making his way to where Stiles was
beaming at him and Scott was staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

"Sorry I'm late," Derek apologized as he pulled to a stop in front of them. "Erica's even more
demanding now that she's pregnant." Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around Stiles'
waist and pulled him into his side, kissing the side of his head in greeting and as a show of
territorialism, letting the other Alpha know this Omega was his.

It was a move completely made by his instincts, but he didn't fight it. Having Stiles in his
arms, pressing along him, it just felt right and he felt something in him settle. The stress of
the day, the frustration at Erica and her demands and questions, the anxiety at the hour
growing late, the worry and sadness over any future kids, it all melted away, his mind and
wolf both eased by the scent and feel of his Mate.

The scent of Scott's shock grew stronger and more potent, before shifting to befuddlement
and possessiveness, seemingly not sure how to react to Derek's display. And while there was
an undercurrent of confusion in Stiles' scent as well, there was also a lot of pleasant surprise
and the warm smell of happiness, clearly okay with current proceedings. Derek took it as an
okay to go, gripping the fabric of the Omega's shirt at his hip, feeling a long arm snake
around his own torso as Stiles returned the embrace.

"No problem," he answered genuinely, heart thudding against Derek's side at a fast rate. "We
still got about fifteen minutes 'til the start of the previews anyway."

The Alpha frowned at that, remembering how the clock on his Camaro's dash read ten after
seven and he was sure he was late. "But you told me to be here at seven," he pointed out,
puzzled frown on his face.

Stiles shrugged against him, scent slightly sheepish yet unrepentant. "I like being early for
shit, especially when Marvel is involved."

He should've fucking known.

Scott shook his head with an amused smile, stating he was gonna go tell the others everyone
was now there before bounding off to the front door and heading in. Derek's confusion grew
as he peered through the glass, catching sight of Allison and Lydia chatting, Kira and Malia
nearby cuddling as they looked at the concession menu, Cora punching Jackson in the arm
and him wincing at it.

Not exactly what he'd expected when Stiles had asked him to the movies.

A sigh escaped him before he even knew he wanted to do it, disappointment washing over
him. He knew it was stupid, that it wasn't a real date that was being crashed, but he couldn't
help the way he felt. And what he was feeling was that the quality time with his Mate that
he'd been looking forward to wasn't happening. He was gonna have to share Stiles, deal with
the Omega splitting his time between everyone, not getting his full attention. And it sucked.

Alright so he was probably being selfish and unreasonable. It had to be the Alpha in him, the
need to whisk Stiles away and hide him from everyone else, to keep him all to himself and
not share him in any way. Not to mention the fact that Derek had only just recently
discovered their Mate Bond and that it was a pivotal moment in their relationship. Back in
cave days, they'd be in their den for days, maybe even weeks, having sex and connecting on a
baser level. They'd be scent-marking the shit out of one another, laying their claim so that
when they finally re-emerged into the community, all would know to back off and not touch.

And given the fact that they were surrounded by so many people, his wolf was demanding
Derek scent-mark him right then and there, fake Bond or not.

Totally not okay.

Then again, maybe it was. After all, what kind of Bond would they have if they hadn't scent-
marked one another? The fact that they'd smell so little of the other person would raise
suspicions and was why they both agreed to moving in together and that cuddling and bed-
sharing was acceptable within the parameters of their deal.

But was it too early in their pseudo-relationship? He knew people who began dating casually
—the way he supposed they were pretending—and didn't scent-mark until they'd been
together for a while. But he also knew people who'd realized who their Mates was before
they started dating and immediately scent-marked one another—Boyd and Erica a big
example of this—so maybe it was okay for him to do it to Stiles.

Fuck. Shit was still confusing as hell and he didn't see it getting any clearer any time soon.

Sensing something was up, Stiles turned his head to him, concern in his scent and furrowing
his brow, eyes narrowed as they analyzed Derek's face. "Everything okay?"

He put a fake smile on, only to wipe it away. There was no point in trying to hide the fact that
something was wrong, but he could hide what exactly had been on his mind. "Fine. Just.
Didn't know this was gonna be a group thing," he admitted, nodding his head to the glass
door where Stiles' gang of friends were waiting

"Yeeeeah," the Omega dragged the word out, wincing. "See, Scott wanted to hang out tonight
but I told him I had plans to go to the movies and he kind of invited himself along as a
double-date thing. Then Allison told Lydia and she joined in, then somehow that led to Malia
finding out and inviting herself, Kira, and Cora and somehow Jackson got involved, I dunno."
He shrugged and scratched at his chin with his free hand. "We can leave if you want, go
somewhere else, see this movie some other time."

The offer was tempting and Derek seriously considered it, eyes sliding back to the glass
doors, where Scott was waving them in enthusiastically, Allison staring with a confused
frown while Lydia inspected them with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. A smooth getaway
wasn't gonna happen and would end up with Stiles getting grilled further by his friends than
he originally would.
He shook his head. "No, it's fine. Gotta hang with the friends and let them know eventually,
right?" he pointed out, lips curling up at the corners to show he wasn't pissed or upset and
really was okay with it.

The words put Stiles at ease, features relaxing and a grin forming on his face. "Right," he
agreed. "One less convo to have. Now we just gotta worry about your friends."

"I told 'em earlier I was seeing someone," Derek admitted, clearing his throat and speaking
the next part with more reluctance. "And, uh. Laura knows."

"You told Laura we're dating?"

"I told Laura everything," he clarified with a pointed look, watching the recognition flaring in
Stiles' eyes.

"Ohhh," he drew out with a long head nod, features flat, scent not giving away how he felt
about that piece of info.

"I just needed to talk it over with someone, make sure I was making the right decision,"
Derek explained, wringing the back of his neck, jacket hanging in the crook of his elbow. He
wasn't entirely sure why he was so desperate for Stiles to understand, why he needed
approval for what he'd done. Maybe he just wanted to make sure they didn't start their fake
Bond off on the wrong foot. Maybe he didn't want his Mate to be pissed at him. Maybe it was
both.

“Yeah, no, it's cool, I get it,” Stiles assured, smiling before his brow furrowed thoughtfully
and he glanced at his friends. “I've been thinking about telling Scott anyway. Lying to him is
like taking a kid to the beach and telling them they can't build a sandcastle or something. You
just feel like a giant asshole and the worst person ever for it.”

Derek snorted, nodding in agreement. Despite now being eighteen and an adult in the eyes of
the law, there was still a sort of child-like exuberance about Scott, a sweet sort of disposition
and an almost naïve kind of trust that he put in people, especially friends and family. To keep
such a major thing from him would wind up with a whole lotta disappointed looks, complete
with puppy eyes and pouting lips and a scent so sad it would make anyone feel like the
Grinch stealing Christmas.

“Alright,” he replied, shrugging the shoulder that wasn't against Stiles. “If you trust Scott and
wanna let him know, then do it.”

“I trust Scott with everything,” Stiles stated, low but harsher than his usual buoyant tone, an
undercurrent of something in those words.

But Derek didn't question it, knew the two of them were thick as thieves, practically
inseparable, brothers with other mothers. To see the two of them interact was something else
and it almost seemed as though they really were blood-kin and not just the offspring of a
couple old high school friends named Melissa and Claudia.
"We should probably head inside before Lydia comes out and forcibly drags us in by our ears
or something," Stiles suggested, motioning to his friend with a bob of the head while
completely changing the subject.

Derek followed his line of sight, finding the red-head still staring at them with an analytical
and slightly suspicious look, finger tapping where her arms were folded. With her narrowed
eyes and twisted lips, she was clearly unhappy with them and really did look ready to drag
them inside, although claws would probably be involved somehow.

"Yeah," he agreed, clearing his throat. "Lemme just get my ticket."

"Already taken care of, big guy," Stiles announced with a smirk, holding up two tickets and
winking. "You can pay for the snacks. And just a warning, I want a bucket of popcorn."

A snort left the Alpha and he rolled his eyes. "Doesn't surprise me," he muttered,
remembering Stiles penchant for scarfing down snacks and constantly stuffing his face with
food as a kid. It was a miracle he was as lean as he was. Then again, all that frenetic
movement and spastic gestures, he probably burned it all off one flail at a time.

Stiles simply grinned before pulling away from Derek, dragging his hand across the Alpha's
lower back as he went. A shiver raced up Derek's spine at the gesture, his wolf yipping in joy
at it. Because if he didn't know any better, he'd swear the younger man had just subtly scent-
marked him.

But he did know better so there was no way that had just happened.

Then again, they were supposed to act like they were on their way to forming a Bond, which
meant they'd be pulling that sort of stuff all the time. Had this been real, then Stiles most
definitely would've tried to leave his scent on Derek to warn everyone else away, to let
everyone know Derek was taken and by him.

And Derek would be doing the same right back.

It was with that excuse—making it seem believable and real—that had Derek cupping his
hand on the back of Stiles' neck as the Omega headed to the door, as he followed close
behind. Stiles grinned at him over his shoulder, cheeks a little more flushed than they had
been, his sugary-sweet scent blossoming and making Derek's head spin and his mouth water.
Fuck, he'd forgotten how good Stiles smelled and now he wanted nothing more than to push
him against the wall and inhale it. He wanted a dark corner in the back row of the theater
where he could breathe his fill, where he could rub against the Omega and mingle their
scents, mark one another. He wanted to drag Stiles back to his place so he could get him off,
cover himself in that sugary goodness, cover Stiles in his come and rub it in.

The Omega's head snapped around to him as they entered the lobby, brow furrowing, scent
gaining an added spice to it that had his wolf rumbling and his human half trying desperately
not to make the same noise.

He wiped away any and all indecent thoughts, mentally reminding himself it wasn't like that
with him and Stiles, nor would it ever be, so there was no use in thinking about it. At least, no
use thinking about it in public. Maybe later that night in the shower or his bed, sure, but not
at that moment.

Fantasies were fine, as long as he didn't act on them or make Stiles uncomfortable with the
unrequited sexual attraction he was experiencing.

So he put on an easygoing smile and acted like nothing was up, squeezing the back of Stiles'
neck in a reassuring manner that had the Omega damn near melting into the carpeted floor,
sneakers stumbling on their way to his friends.

Greetings were exchanged among the group, a reminder to those he hadn't seen in a while—
mainly Allison, Lydia, and Jackson—that this was Derek and Stiles had initially invited him
to the movies before it turned into a group thing. Scott, Allison, and Kira actually looked
repentant. Malia seemed like she didn't understand the big deal over her crashing. Lydia
rolled her eyes. Jackson and Cora looked like they'd rather be anywhere else, although
Derek's sister did have a curious look on her face, brown eyes drawn to where his hand was
still on Stiles' neck. He immediately dropped it, bobbing his head at her and getting a quirked
eyebrow in response.

He was in for a lot of questions later on.

The group scattered themselves amongst the four snack lines, Derek and Stiles standing
behind Lydia as she typed away on her phone, stuck behind a harried woman trying to
wrangle a group of young kids.

Definitely put a stop to all Derek's baby thoughts earlier. He had zero problems waiting on
that particular aspect of fatherhood.

"How'd the move go?" Stiles asked, head turned to Derek, curious note to his scent.

"Good. Got all the furniture together and set up. All that's left is to unpack the boxes." He
paused, turning to the younger man. "They're gonna have a small get-together when it's all
done, probably next weekend. Wanna come with me?"

Stiles lit up as he grinned widely, brown eyes sparkling. "It's a date," he agreed, nudging
Derek with his elbow.

Lydia cast a curious glance over her shoulder, eyebrow quirked and lips twisted. "I'm
assuming this isn't supposed to be some sort of secret relationship, otherwise you're both
terrible at hiding everything." She gave them both a pointed look before turning to the front
and stepping forward, now able to place her smack order.

Derek felt the tip of his ears burning, mortified that he'd been caught. Fuck, he probably
reeked of how much he wanted Stiles, of those not-so-pure thoughts he'd had moments
before. Totally busted.

Stiles snorted beside him, eyes rolling. "Please," he muttered once Lydia had ordered her
water and small popcorn. "Why the hell would I hide the fact that I get to tap this?" He
nudged Derek with his elbow again, smug smirk on his face, scent laced with pride and
happiness and a little bit of mischief.

Because it was Stiles.

"You aren't tapping this," Derek pointed out, albeit a little petulantly. He wasn't sure why he
felt the need to let that fact be known, maybe he felt the need to clarify that he hadn't slept
with someone he'd technically only just gotten together with—even though he'd done that
very thing in the past, each relationship ending on not the best terms. Maybe it was a strange
need to protect Stiles' virtue in some way, save his reputation. Maybe he needed to remind
himself that sex between them had never happened not would it.

Stiles rolled his eyes. "Fine. He's tapping me," he amended with a high level of snark that
wasn't necessary. At all.

"No one's tapping anyone," Derek corrected with a stern tone, giving the younger man a look
that said not to fuck with him.

But it was Stiles, so of course he smirked, foot tapping with an excess of energy. "Yet," he
said with an eyebrow wiggle and a determined tone that had Derek believing for a moment
that he was telling the truth, that one day they actually would be having sex.

His mind went back to thoughts of dark theaters and the cliche of making out in the back row,
of taking Stiles back to his place after, of ending their first official—and public—date with a
bang. His wolf was fully on board, howling and rumbling, practically salivating at the
thought of claiming Stiles in such a carnal manner.

Except none of that was gonna happen. Stiles was playing a role, and playing it well, to the
point where even Derek had been fooled into thinking it was real.

Damn.

Recovering, Derek shoved at Stiles' head and scowled, the expression deepening when the
omega smirked and chuckled. Lydia sighed in exasperation in front of them, shaking her head
in disapproval as she turned, snacks in hand.

"You're both idiots," she declared, saccharine smile on her face, then strode off to join those
in their group that had already gotten their purchases.

"I'm gonna have fun driving her nuts," Stiles decided, still smirking. "Revenge for all those
years I had to put up with her and Jackson being all perfect and sickening together."

"Glad I'm here to help amuse," Derek deadpanned, stepping forward to place his own order,
motioning to the cashier with his head to get Stiles to add in his own requests.

Once they had Stiles' bucket of popcorn, three boxes of candy, and his large soda—"your dad
would be so pissed if he saw all the junk you're eating but he can't." "I have a teenage
metabolism, he doesn't, and he's never gonna find out about all this."—and Derek's small
coke and chocolate covered peanuts—"That's not even real candy. What the hell's the point?"
"Guess I don't have to worry about you stealing any then." "You underestimate my power."
"Don't quote Star Wars at me to defend your asshole tendencies."—they headed into the
theater with the rest of the group. The back row was free and they settled in, Derek
sandwiched between Stiles and his sister, who gave him another curious—and slightly
judgmental—look before Malia called for her attention on her other side.

Stiles put the popcorn bucket on his lap, angled towards Derek and shaking it slightly, a silent
invitation to help himself. He took up the offer, grabbing a handful and popping the kernels in
his mouth one at a time, a stark contrast to the way the Omega shoved as much as he could at
one time.

Conversations tapered off when the theater grew dark and the ads began, ceasing entirely
when the previews started up. Except for Stiles, who leaned closer to Derek's ear and
whispered a running commentary on each one, what looked good, what looked like shit, who
was a terrible actor and was only hired because they were hot, who was considered hot but
Stiles just did not see it. Derek found himself joining in, giving a few snarky comments of his
own, even making Stiles laugh so loud that people around them turned to glare in disapproval
and annoyance.

Once the movie started, even Stiles shut up, fully engrossed in the story unfolding on screen.
Which left Derek feeling like an awkward teenager, flashing back to dates with Paige when
he wasn't sure what to do or how to act. Because Stiles was sitting on his left, smelling so
good and in the dark theater, the Alpha was hyperaware of everything related to Stiles: his
heart beat, his chemosignals, his body language, his fidgeting, his laughing.

His scent.

And the fact that there was now a slight hint of Derek on him from the embrace they'd shared
outside.

Along with the fact that there was another Alpha on the opposite side of Stiles.

Derek knew it was just Scott and therefore not a threat, but the irrational side of him, the
Alpha part that had only recently had fully developed, saw him as a challenger, especially
when Stiles leaned over to whisper something in Scott's ear. The beds of his nails itched from
his claws wanting to unsheath, his gums tingled from his fangs wanting to descend, and he
fought for control against his wolf, reminding both it and himself that Scott was okay, was
fine, wasn't trying to encroach on his territory.

Not that Stiles was territory. Or even really his.

But still, Derek felt the urge to somehow put his mark, his claim on Stiles in some way. He
briefly considered the cheesy cliche move of pretending to yawn and stretch as an excuse to
lay his arm along the back of the Omega's chair or his shoulders, hand on his neck again.

But he never made a move, unsure if it would be welcome or flat out rejected. So he sat in
brooding silence, turning down popcorn he was offered, forgetting his candy as it sat between
his thigh and the side of his seat, hand wrapped around his cup in the holder between him and
Stiles.
It wasn't until halfway through the flick, when the Omega put the near empty bucket on the
floor between his feet and wiped his hand off on several napkins that any contact was made,
initiated by Stiles himself. He wrapped his fingers around Derek's wrist, tugging it away from
the drink before cupping their hands together.

Derek inhaled sharply at the sensation, warmth spreading throughout him, originating at their
point of contact and pooling in his stomach, where butterflies formed and began fluttering
about. His heart began pounding in his chest, his wolf's tail wagging wildly, and he was
brought back to high school once more, feeling like a dork with a crush.

The Omega turned his head to gaze at him with a curious frown, mouthing "this okay?" with
hesitation and worry in his scent. Derek didn't say anything back, simply moved so their
fingers were laced together as he smiled softly. Stiles grinned before turning his focus back to
the screen, free hand lifting to cover his mouth, barely concealing the happy expression. The
Alpha felt his heart thud harder at the sight, wolf puffing its chest out in pride at the
knowledge that they'd made their Mate happy.

Only to remember once more that it was all for show, that Stiles was a helluva actor, that he
was working hard to fool everyone. And he was doing a damn good job of it.

But Derek couldn't bring himself to be too upset by it, not when Stiles' hand was in his, warm
and soft, long fingers entwined with his thicker ones. It wasn't the most ideal situation given
it was fake, but it was good enough to bring him a small sense of joy and contentment and
that would have to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek had no clue what the movie was about it what had happened in it, but given Stiles' wild
gesticulating and loud commentary when it was over, it had been a good one.

Bathroom breaks were taken, the group then reconvening in the lobby once again. Allison
was the one to bring up the next part of their plans, suggesting a meet-up at the dinner for a
late dinner, everyone immediately—and simultaneously—voicing their ascent. Minus Stiles,
who turned to Derek with a raised brow, wordlessly asking if he was interested. The Alpha
shrugged then nodded, taking Stiles up on an offer for a ride.

The group split into their various carpool arrangements, Stiles and Derek alone in the
Omega's death trap of a Jeep, Stiles rambling about hidden Easter eggs and how the movie
compared to the comic. Derek managed to throw his own opinion in every now and then,
surprising Stiles into silence each time before he recovered and excitedly added on or argued.

The conversation continued when they joined the others at the diner in the giant corner booth,
shifting to MCU in general and a heated discussion of Daredevil versus Jessica Jones versus
Agents of SHIELD for best TV show in the Universe. Stiles stole some of Derek's fries, Derek
stole one of Stiles' chicken tenders, and both paid zero attention to any of the numerous
conversations that were happening around them.

It wasn't until Derek was cornered outside the bathroom by Cora that he realized his behavior
was out of the ordinary for him, but made sense for two guys who'd just started dating and
were soon to enter a Bond. Her lips were twisted and her eyes were narrowed, arms folded
and hip cocked out, scent full of determination, confusion, and a slight hint of irritation. He
kept forgetting how Cora was the more intimidating of the three Hale siblings, despite being
the youngest and the smallest.

"What the hell is going on between you and Stiles?" she demanded to know, standing in front
of the bathroom door he'd just exited, blocking the way back to the table.

Derek thought of his earlier conversation with Stiles, how they both agreed that their friends
were gonna have to be told eventually. "We're dating," he stated plainly, shrugging.

Her eyes narrowed further, suspicion growing and she shifted her weight evenly between
both feet. "Mom know?"

"Yes," he answered plainly, honestly. "And so does Laura, before you go calling her and
bragging about how you know something she doesn't."

Cora rolled her eyes but didn't deny that she'd do that very thing and had in the past. "Is it
serious?"

He shrugged, not entirely sure how to answer that, how to be honest. Because for him, there
was a definite possibility of it becoming serious. But for Stiles, it was fake. And as far as
everyone was concerned, as of Sunday, they would be serious.

"Maybe one day," he murmured, thinking it was close to what he and Stiles wanted people to
think to pass as an honest answer.

He just hated that it wasn't the truth.

But Cora bought it, nodding slowly once before curling his lip on disgust. "Are you sure? I
mean, don't get me wrong, Stiles is a decent guy, but he's best handled in small doses."

Derek felt an overwhelming urge to defend his Mate's honor, to snarl for the insult and
threaten her into an apology. But that would be a step too far, too close to his true feelings
and there'd be no way to undo that four years from then when they inevitably broke up.

So he put his sister in a headlock and gave her a noogie, messing up her ponytail. Cora
punched and hit him, demanding to be let go, threatening sensitive body parts unless he
released her immediately. He did so with a laugh, chuckling more when she kicked his shin,
glaring at him hotly before storming into the ladies room to fix her hair.

Derek's chuckles died down and he turned to head to the table, his eyes immediately coming
across Stiles as he laughed loud and heartily at something, hand on his chest while his head
tipped back, long neck exposed. It struck Derek just how attractive Stiles had become, how
he was gonna be able to spend the next four years waking up to that, showing him off, proud
to say they belonged to one another, even if it was false and with an end in sight. It would be
worth it.
Stiles turned his head and quickly found Derek, waving him over with a small grin. The
Alpha was powerless to resist, legs moving without him commanding them to move, every
part of him eager to give whatever his Omega wanted. He slid back into the booth, arm along
the back of it right behind Stiles' shoulders, the younger man cupping his hand over Derek's
knee as he kept talking to Scott about who the hell knew what. The interaction between
Derek and Stiles was easy, natural, further proof that they belonged together. And he was
gonna milk every moment of those while he could.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The group spent about two hours at the diner before deciding to call it a night and Stiles
drove Derek back to the theater and his Camaro. He parked alongside the sports car and cut
off the engine, silence descending over the pair for the first time all night. Derek unbuckled
his belt, not entirely sure what to say but not wanting to leave without speaking another word.
Hell, he flat out just didn't wanna leave, had thoughts of inviting Stiles over to his place with
the comment of not wanting the night to end. Totally cliche, but no less true.

The Omega cleared his throat and shuffled in his seat, tongue darting out to lick his lips. "So
tonight wasn't a total disaster," he summed up with a shrug and a slight pout before smirking
at Derek.

Derek snorted, small grin of his own forming. "It was all right."

"Do you maybe wanna go out again tomorrow night? Without the entourage crashing, of
course."

He focused on the younger man, hope sparkling in his brown eyes, visible in the dim light
created by the street lamp they were parked under. For a moment, it looked like he was
wishing for a yes for himself, not for the facade or the show, but because he genuinely
wanted to go out with him once more.

And for the moment, Derek let himself give in to the illusion.

"Sure," he agreed with a smile before his face grew serious. "But I'm driving. I'm not risking
my life in this thing again."

"Hey! Don't insult Roscoe," Stiles ordered, pointing a finger at Derek in warning.

The Alpha rolled his eyes as he grabbed the door handle and shoved it open. "Yeah, yeah," he
muttered as he slid out. "I'm still driving."

"Fine, but I pick where we're going. You aren't gonna Alpha all over me and control the
whole date," Stiles stated, still pointing, finger now jabbing in Derek's direction.

The Alpha in question just saluted in a mock fashion before slamming the door shut, grinning
at the middle finger he got in response. He got in his own car, taking his time putting the key
in the ignition, waiting for Stiles to start the Jeep back up and drive off. He might not have
been allowed to "Alpha all over" Stiles and their upcoming date, but he was still gonna make
sure his beater of an SUV started up.
His hand froze before he turned the key, wide grin forming on his face. He had a date with
Stiles the next night.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek was bombarded by texts the next day. Threats from Scott to treat his best friend right,
questions from Malia about why he was there the night before, all caps rants from Erica
about how she had to find out from Laura that he was dating Stiles, followed by emoji laced
apologies blaming it on her hormones, remarks from Lydia regarding how it was about time
the two of them for together.

He kept his answers short and succinct, not really bothering with any of it but feeling like he
had to out of politeness and social obligations. Lydia's message threw him through a loop and
it took him a moment to figure out what the hell to say before finally settling on a 'thanks'. He
just had no fucking clue how to respond or what she even meant, deciding to just shove it
aside.

He also spent the day texting Stiles, making plans to go out to dinner like they'd agreed on, as
well as talking about whatever random thing came to their minds. It helped kill the time and
before he knew it, it was time to get ready for their date.

He dressed in a maroon v-neck and black jeans then headed out to pick up Stiles, who
jokingly asked if all Derek owned was v-necks and jeans—"Says the guy wearing yet another
plaid and graphic tee combo." "It's called a trademark look, Der. Get used to it."—before
they made their way to the TGIFridays inside the Beacon Hills Mall.

Conversation was easy, talk of Stiles' plans for college and beyond, his desire to be a deputy
like his dad and the current bill being discussed by the state senate that would allow Omegas
to participate in active duty. Derek wasn't entirely sure how he felt about Stiles being out
there chasing bad guys and getting shot, possibly even killed but he bit his tongue, not
wanting to seem like a disapproving Alpha trying to control his Omega's life and pick his job
for him. And being a deputy had been Stiles' dream since he was a kid and Derek refused to
be the one to deny him the chance to reach it.

Especially since he knew how that felt.

They also talked about Derek's plan of becoming a teacher, Stiles picking jokes on why he'd
wanna sign up for a lifetime of school and Derek pointing out how he'd still get summer
vacations, a fact that had the Omega glaring and sticking out his tongue.

They kept their topics light, catching one another up on the past five years, discussing
favorite movies and TV shows and music. It was like any other first date, complete with
tangled feet under the table and hands held on top of it. The only thing missing was plans for
the future beyond their occupation, no discussions on Matings or kids or anything of the like.
They both knew where their relationship was going and what their future together held. There
was no need to theorize on any other possibilities.

And like any other first date, Derek hesitated on the goodbye in the Stilinski driveway,
debating if a kiss was okay or not. And just like the night before, Stiles misinterpreted his
behavior, fingers of his right hand drumming nervously on his thigh, left thumbnail between
his teeth, the scent of his anxiety filling the car.

"We don't have to do this," he pointed out around the nail he was chewing. "We can end it,
just tell people we went on a couple dates and realized we're better as friends. It's not too
late."

Derek's heart stopped in his chest, fear causing his skin to go numb all over. His wolf began
pacing around in his head, whining in worry and a need for the human part to get his head out
his ass and make sure their Mate doesn't leave them. Ever.

And while Derek knew there was no way to stop Stiles from eventually leaving, there was
something he could do to prevent the Omega from walking away at that moment.

"It's fine," he answered honestly, easygoing smile on his face as he met brown doe eyes. "I
wanna do this." Stiles opened his mouth to speak but Derek held up his hand. "I'm not having
second thoughts, I'm not second guessing, I'm not unsure, and I'm not thinking of backing out
for any reason."

"I just don't want you to feel like you're being pressured—" He shoved his hands in front of
him for emphasis. "—into this just for me 'cause it's what I want." The look in his eyes was
completely earnest, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as though he was genuinely worried that
he was forcing Derek into something he didn't wanna do.

The Alpha put his hand on his shoulder, same easygoing smile back on his face. "I'm doing
this because I want to. Don't worry."

And it was true. He really did want to do it, but not for the entirely selfish reasons he was
insinuating.

But it was enough of the truth to have Stiles blowing out a relieved puff of breath and
grinning, body relaxing as the anxiety left him. "Awesome," he breathed, nodding to himself.
"So you're ready for tomorrow night?"

"Nope," he answered plainly, honestly, and with a smirk, making Stiles chuckle.

"Same. But everyone knows we're dating so announcing our Bond shouldn't be, like, this
huge shocker or anything. It's not gonna be a big deal."

The Alpha nodded, agreeing. It was the break-up announcement that was gonna be the big
deal. That was the conversation he was dreading.

Stiles licked his lips, nodding more, scratching at his forehead with a finger. "Guess I'll see
you at your mom's tomorrow then."

"I'll give you a ride," he volunteered, hand absently rubbing at the steering wheel. "It'll look
good if we show together."

Not to mention it would make himself and his wolf feel better knowing he was taking care of
their Omega and not letting him in that death trap Jeep. When he got the chance, he was
taking it to a mechanic to get it fixed up.

And then some.

"Sounds good," Stiles replied with a small smile as he reached for the door handle, pausing
when Derek called his name.

"I just," the Alpha paused, not entirely sure where he'd been going with that train of thought.
But something wasn't sitting right with letting Stiles leave, his instincts screaming at him to
keep the Omega in sight at all times, to protect him and watch over him. He knew it wasn't
possible, that Stiles wouldn't stand it, but the Alpha in him didn't care, was only concerned
with making sure the younger man was safe.

Other than locking Stiles up or following him around twenty-four/seven—neither of which

was an option—there wasn't really anything Derek could do to guarantee his security.

Except...

Maybe...

"Can I—" he began then paused, holding his hand up near his neck. He was dying to get his
scent on Stiles, hating how the small amount that had transferred the night before was mostly
gone. But if the younger man had some of his scent on him, then others would know he was
spoken for and that if anyone fucked with him in any way, shape, or form, Derek would be on
their ass immediately.

But he couldn't say that to the guy, not without coming across as a territorial Alpha asshole or
giving away their Mate connection. So he had to figure out a good cover story, something
that would let him do what he felt he needed to without seeming like a creep or pissing Stiles
off.

"It'd be good for the cover," he lied easily, shrugging a shoulder. "No way would a Bonded
pair like we're pretending to be would walk around without the hint of a scent on one
another."

Stiles' eyebrows bobbed, seeing his point, thoughtful pout on his face. "True. Alright, go for
it." With that, he tilted his head to the side, putting his long neck on display.

Derek's wolf howled in his head and he found himself salivating at the sight of all that pale
skin, at the moles standing out against it. It took every ounce of control he had to not dive
across the console and bury his face in his neck, to not sink his teeth into it and leave his
claim behind. Instead, he moved his suddenly trembling hand to cup the side of his neck,
relishing the warmth of it, rubbing his thumb along the underside of his jaw.

Stiles shuddered slightly, eyes drifting closed and he swallowed hard, Derek feeling his throat
flex and move from the action. His next breath was shaky, his heart pounding loudly in the
older man's ear, chest rising and falling in measured movements.
As much as he wanted to linger and caress the skin, the Alpha made sure not to take
advantage, to not overstay his welcome. Because Stiles' scent was cut off and his thudding
heart could be fear and discomfort just as easily as any other emotion. So with great
reluctance, he slid his hand back, making sure to graze his skin and leave as much of his
scent behind as possible.

Brown eyes slowly opened, looking slightly dazed, before Stiles shook himself out of it. He
cleared his throat and squirmed in his seat, rubbing at his eyebrow. "Right. Yeah. So, uh.
Thanks."

Derek nodded once dumbly, curling up the corner of his lips to make the situation less
awkward. "Sure," he replied, voice a little rough, refusing to acknowledge it by clearing his
throat.

Stiles did some more nodding of his own as he opened the door, moving to get out. Only to
turn back on a whim and smear his hand down Derek's face. "Now you're marked, too," he
stated with a smirk, scent light before he slipped out the sports car.

"Not fucking cute," Derek pointed out gruffly, scowling at a cotton covered torso.

Stiles ducked his head back in the open doorway, still smirking like the little shit he was. "I'm
fucking adorable and you know it," he declared with a wink, shutting the door before Derek
got the chance to respond.

Little shit.

He remained in the driveway, watching Stiles go up the sidewalk, unlock the door, and give a
final wave, not pulling away until he was safely inside with the door closed behind him. And
if Derek happened to sneak a whiff of Stiles on his hand as he drove down the road, no one
else had to know.
 Seven

They only exchanged a few texts the next day, since Stiles was mainly having a Bro Day—
capital letters insisted upon by the Omega—with Scott, but they still needed to go over the
plan for that night. Which Stiles had already completely thought out, of course, giving pros
and cons regarding when exactly to drop the Bond Bomb—capital letters by him again—to
their families.

Derek wound up arriving early in picking Stiles up, the younger man answering the door in a
red plaid that he'd actually buttoned up and black skinny jeans, but no shoes, and once again
it struck the Alpha just how grown up and attractive he was now. His jaw actually dropped
some and he inhaled sharply, taking in that sugary-sweet scent and feeling his head spin, the
smell sticking to his tongue.

Stiles frowned in confusion, stepping away from the door in a wordless invite for his guest to
enter, forcing out a laugh. "You okay, Big Guy?" he asked, trying to keep it light and friendly.

The few feet of space Stiles out between them helped clear Derek's head and allowed him to
snap out of it, shutting his mouth with a click. He glanced around the street behind him, at the
yard, taking a few last breaths of fresh air before he headed into a house that had the Omega's
scent saturated in every inch of it. Feeling ready and strangely unprepared at the same time,
he stepped inside, shutting the door behind himself.

"Yeah, fine," he finally answered, clearing his throat of the roughness it now held and
ignoring his wolf's demands to go over and wrap his arms around the Omega, to cover the
younger man in his scent, to get that scent on himself, to hold him close and never let go.

"You look nice," he stated awkwardly, wringing the back of his neck and wincing, glad Stiles
was busy checking between couch cushions for something and couldn't see his face.

The Omega's scent bloomed at that, smile curling up at the corners of his lips as he focused
on his task. "Thanks." He pulled out a set of keys from where he'd apparently lost them
between the couch arm and a pillow, raising his head to take in the other man. "You, too."

Derek looked down at his outfit of a burgundy Henley and his own black jeans, thinking it
wasn't anything too fancy but nice enough for a family dinner. Yet the compliment had his
chest puffing out in pride and his wolf preening in his head, both parts of him glad his Mate
found him aesthetically pleasing.

"Thanks," he croaked out, clearing his throat again. "You almost ready?"

"Yeah, I just gotta grab my shoes from my room. I'll be right back." He held up a finger to
signify "one moment", heading back around the couch and past Derek to the stairs, pausing
after the first couple. "Oh, I told Scott the whole truth about—" He wagged a finger back and
forth between them before moving it in wide circles to encompass everything. "—all of this
so he knows what's happening tonight." He walked up a few more steps before pausing
halfway. "And my dad's gonna meet us there. He's heading straight over from his shift." With
that, he disappeared up the stairs, floorboards creaking as he made his way to his room.

Derek's eyes went wide as he stood in the middle of the living room. He was gonna have to
tell the sheriff, in full uniform, gun and handcuffs and all, that he was in a Bond with his
Omega son. Shit.

Then again, John had told Derek at the hospital that he approved of them and he was glad it
was Derek who was his son's Mate.

On the other hand, John was under the impression that they would enter a real Bond followed
by an actual Mating. When it came time for the break-up, he was gonna be sorely
disappointed and incredibly confused.

Hopefully by then Derek would not only figure out a good lie to explain it all away to his
mom and to a man who'd believed he was gonna be his father-in-law.

Shit again.

"Body spray or no?" Stiles called from his bedroom, snapping Derek out of his thoughts.

"No. Bonded pairs don't wear shit like that," he replied, remembering how Boyd had quit
wearing his favorite cologne after he'd gotten together with Erica because she preferred the
pure scent of him, plus. "They like smelling like each other."

"Oh shit, that's right. Okay!" he unnecessarily yelled the last part like the Alpha couldn't hear
him, like Derek wasn't now completely attuned to every move Stiles was making in his room,
tossing shoes around in order to find the pair he wanted. He let out an "aha!" once he located
them, rushing around his room to grab whatever other essentials he needed before he
bounded down the hall and the stairs. "Do I still smell like you, by the way? I took a shower
so I'm not sure." He paused in front of Derek, head titled back and to the side, displaying the
side of his neck that the Alpha had pressed his hand to the night before.

Derek swallowed hard at the sight, biting back a growl as his wolf rumbled. He was never
gonna get over seeing that, seeing Stiles in such a trusting and submissive position, seeing all
that pale flesh just begging to be marked up and bitten, seeing the place where his Claiming
Bite would go when they were Mated.

If they were Mated.

Which wasn't likely to happen.

Damn.

His entire body was trembling as he leaned forward ever so slightly, head just barely ducked
down, Stiles now at the perfect height for him. He scented the Omega, lids fluttering closed
at the sugary-sweetness and he ground his teeth to hold back a moan at it. Searching, he
sifted through Stiles' natural scent, that of his body wash, of the laundry detergent and cotton
on his clothing, finding just a hint of himself amongst all of it. And fuck if it didn't smell
good, smell right to have his own woodsy musk mixed in there.

Clearing his throat, he lifted his head, swiping a finger under his nose. "It's still kinda there,"
he answered, not pointing out how much he loved it or how badly he craved to add more to it.
His mind supplied him with images of the two of them writhing together on the couch, Stiles'
shirt unbuttoned, his own rucked up, hips rolling as Derek nuzzled the Omega's neck, kissed
it, licked it, bit it, the younger man's head lolling back against the arm of the sofa as moans
escaped him and he begged for more.

He quickly shut it off and stored it for later, tips of his ears growing hot.

Stiles seemed oblivious to the x-rated revery he'd just had, nodding thoughtfully as he licked
his lips and pressed them together before finally meeting Derek's eyes with a contemplative
frown on his face. "Recently Bonded pairs would smell a lot like each other though, right?
Like, they'd constantly be scent-marking the crap outta each other."

The Alpha snorted, thinking that was putting it lightly. Boyd and Erica had constantly been
nuzzling one another when they were together, public or not, and when they were alone, they
both carried a heavy dose of the other's scent, like they'd bottled it up and poured it all over
themselves.

But now that Derek had found his own Mate, he honestly couldn't be pissed or annoyed at
them for their behavior anymore. Because he got it, understood that need and desire to wear
their Mate's scent proudly and to mark their Mate up, because that's all he wanted to do now.
He was beyond tempted to call his mom and say they couldn't make it to dinner, to drag Stiles
up to his bed so they could scent-mingle for hours, with or without clothes, it didn't matter.
He just wanted that sugar-sweet all over him, wanted his woodsy musk all over Stiles, wanted
his friends to wrinkle their noses and comment over how much he reeked of the younger
man, wanted them to wear each others scent with pride and joy.

Wanted this to be real.

"Yeah," he answered, voice holding a rasp to it that wasn't there before, cock twitching in his
jeans at the dirty routes his mind was traveling in.

Stiles shifted his weight from foot to foot, muttering out a "thought so", chewing on his
bottom lip. "Scott and Allison pretty much stank of each other when they first got together, to
the point where I could barely stand being around them at times. Same with Jackson and
Lydia, although there were other reasons for that. She fucking reeks of Parrish these days
though. Malia and Kira were bad in the beginning, too."

"I remember that," the Alpha agreed, perfectly recalling how his cousin had shown up one
day all smiles, her own natural scent smothered in cherry blossoms and sugar, which he later
learned was Kira's.

The younger man nodded, fingers drumming on his thigh as his leg shook in nerves. "So I
was thinking, clearly we can't go announcing some Bond when we barely smell like each
other. And just the swipe of a hand isn't gonna be enough."
Derek's eyebrow raised at the implication, wolf yipping in excitement and bouncing around,
cock twitching once again. Because there was really only one thing Stiles could be
suggesting with those words and it sounded eerily—and arousingly—like what he'd just been
fantasizing about only moments before.

“Sooo,” Stiles went on, stretching the word out, clearing his throat and licking his lips. “I
dunno why this is awkward. We already agreed to it, basically. I mean, it can't be all that
different from cuddling or whatever, right?” He winced slightly as he rubbed the hair at the
back of his head, looking awkward and unsure and probably feeling a million times more
than that.

The Alpha thought back to times when he'd scent-marked Paige, comparing it to when he just
held her on the couch watching TV or a movie. He thought of witnessing Boyd and Erica's
love-fest taking place in front of him and how it differed from him and Paige, knowing his
friends were Mates and that everything was much more intense for them. He thought he
knew, but he honestly had no clue.

He shrugged and gestured helplessly, stammering a bit before finally sputtering out a “I guess
so, yeah.”

The unease seemed to leave Stiles at that, carefree grin forming on his face as he shook the
nerves off. “Cool. Do me first,” he stated jovially, tilting his head back and to the side again.

Derek's eyes went wide, tips of his ears burning hot as his mind went straight in the gutter
with that request. Not that he had any issue following through with the more explicit version
of those words. Hell, if it was up to him, that would've been exactly what Stiles had meant
and exactly what Derek would do.

But it wasn't. Meaning he wasn't going to.

Although there was no telling his wolf that, the animal letting out a victorious howl and
slobbering all over the place.

His hands trembled by his sides and he curled his fingers into fists, trying to steady himself,
trying to calm his racing heart and shaky breaths. He was back in high school once more, a
nerd with a crush on the super hot popular guy, having no clue how to act, what to say, what
to do with his hands, his mouth, his body.

No. He was fine, he was cool, he was calm. He was a fucking Alpha and could handle any
situation that life threw his way.

Any situation except one involving Stiles in a submissive position, apparently.

Derek took a deep breath to steady his nerves, mentally reminding himself that he was an
adult, a Hale, an Alpha, that he could do this with no problems and it wasn't an issue.
Stepping forward, he got right in Stiles' space, their bodies barely an inch apart, just one deep
breath and there'd be contact made. His head ducked, he gingerly placed his fingertips on the
Omega's hips, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips.
“This okay?” he murmured, not wanting to touch when it wasn't welcome, not wanting to
overstep his bounds.

Stiles swallowed audibly, nodding, breath leaving his lips shakily. “Yeah. It's fine.”

Knowing he had the go-ahead, Derek cupped the younger man's hips with the flat of his
palms, thumbs finding the jut of the bone just over the top of his low-slung jeans and rubbing
through the cotton of his plaid. He dipped his head lower, nose trailing up along the side of
his neck, from his shoulder to the crook of his jaw where it met his ear, nuzzling a mole he
found there and making the Omega shiver against him. Inhaling deeply, he took in that sugar-
sweet scent, eyes closing in pleasure as he held it in his lungs.

'Mine,' his mind declared, his wolf rumbling its ascent and he couldn't find it in himself to
disagree.

Stiles stepped closer still, pressing their torsos together, one of his feet slipping between both
of Derek's. His hands slid up the Alpha's arms, settling on the round of his triceps, spine
stiffening as he fought to remain still.

The older man nuzzled into the crook of his neck, rubbing his cheek against the sensitive
skin, whiskers rasping. Stiles let out a hiss and he pulled back immediately, lifting his head to
look at him in concern and worry.

“Wasn't expecting the beard for some dumb reason,” the Omega admitted with a sheepish
grin. “Was kinda scratchy.”

“I'll shave before next time,” he promised, not wanting to cause any discomfort or harm or—

“It's cool. I like it.”

His eyebrows went up at that before a smirk pulled at his lips. “I won't shave then,” he
corrected before leaning back down and rubbing his cheek along the same place, this time
with more purpose, with a bit more pressure behind it.

The Omega shuddered, fingers gripping onto the sleeves of Derek's shirt as his lips parted
and he exhaled loud and long. His heart was pounding in Derek's ear, fast and out of control,
but his chemosignals weren't giving away any fear or trepidation. No, he was enjoying it, was
practically melting against the Alpha at his actions, scent lit up with joy and a dark spice
Derek couldn't quite place at that moment.

He nuzzled against his neck more, trailed his nose along the sensitive shell of his ear,
followed by his lips in a barely there graze, coaxing another shuddering breath out of the
younger man. His grip on his hips tightened, holding him close, relishing the gasp he got
when the whiskers on his chin rubbed the soft flesh just below his ear. Fuck, he should've
known Stiles would be so responsive, should've known he wouldn't be silent or still during
this. It was just who he was, and the Omega part of him was—

The Omega part of him was what was causing all those reactions. It wasn't because it was
Derek marking Stiles, it was because it was an Alpha marking an Omega. His reactions were
pure biology, a natural thing, and had Derek been any other Alpha in the world, Stiles would
be behaving exactly the same way—assuming of course said Alpha had consent the way
Derek did, otherwise he had no doubt Stiles would be trying to kick their balls up into their
body as he yelled about perverted knotheads and their inability to understand the word “no”.

But the knowledge that it wasn't him getting those reactions, but his Alpha part, was like a
bucket of cold water on Derek. He didn't freeze, not wanting to cause any sort of alarm, but
he knew he had to pull away, knew he had to end it. Already he was too interested in it, mind
already five steps ahead to the two of them naked in bed doing this very thing, but with
Derek's cock driving into his Omega—into Stiles, he mentally corrected. And since that
wasn't gonna happen, he needed to cool off, needed to step away, needed to regain control of
his head and his wolf and his everything before he fucked the whole thing up by pushing
things too far.

Swallowing, he lifted his head, taking in Stiles to make sure he was okay. His eyes were
closed, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, and when his lids finally lifted, he almost looked a little
dazed and it took him a moment to focus. The younger man cleared his throat, cheeks going
red, his neck already a deep shade of crimson from Derek's beard and the Alpha thought it
was a damn good look on him. Add in a couple bite marks and sex-rumpled hair and—

And that thought was ending right fucking there.

“My turn?” Stiles croaked, clearing his throat again, shaky smile on his face.

Derek could only nod, not trusting his tongue or his words, scared to open his mouth lest
something pop out that he didn't want to.

Safer to be silent.

The Omega nodded back before leaning in, snuffling at the older man's neck, making him
shiver when a harsh exhale ghosted over his skin. A small groan left Stiles, so low it could
almost be mistaken for something else, almost be an accident, like he hadn't even realized he
made the noise. Derek ignored it, tried to remain still as he felt the smooth skin of Stiles'
cheek rub against his whisker-roughened flesh, fingers digging into the younger man's hips in
an almost bruising manner.

Stiles exhaled shakily, breath sliding over Derek's neck and collarbone and making him
shiver. The fingers on his arms dug in deeper, nails biting at his skin through his sleeves,
pressing in deep and hopefully leaving marks behind, proof that Stiles had been there and that
this had really happened. Hips rolled against his, a groin pressing into his thigh and he closed
his eyes and grit his jaw, somehow finding the strength not to move right along with them,
not to move so he could create some sort of friction to bring them off.

His wolf was howling in his head and his cock was hardening in his pants and he backed his
hips away to prevent the half-chub he was sporting from being discovered. But Stiles just
pressed right up against him again, moving insistently. A whine escaped the younger man,
body arching and lifting, feet now on his tiptoes as he practically tried to climb up Derek. His
movements were desperate, almost frantic, a wildness to his scent that Derek had never
picked up on before, not from Stiles or anyone else.
Things were beginning to go too far, he knew it, knew he should stop it before it went all the
way and Stiles wound up resenting him for letting it happen. Because he was the older one,
the Alpha, the one who was supposed to be in control. But he felt so very out of it at that
moment, like he was losing his grip on the situation, on Stiles, on everything and it was only
a matter of time before he completely lost it.

He shifted the grip he hand on Stiles' hips, used it to push him back with care, used a bit more
force when the Omega fought it. “Stiles,” he prodded, gently, moving his own body back. But
the Omega followed him, dug his nails in more, tried to haul him back in close.

“Stiles,” he repeated, with more force, moving back and pushing the younger man at the
same time. “I think I'm marked enough.” His voice was rough, gravelly, and he almost didn't
recognize it.

Stiles froze against him, embarrassment flooding his scent, and he immediately released his
hold on Derek's arms. With his head still ducked, he stepped back once, twice, three times,
put a good foot of space between them, wringing the back of his neck and clearing his throat
awkwardly. “Sorry,” he murmured, tongue darting out to lick his lips, chancing a peek up at
the older man.

Derek shrugged and shook his head, dismissed it with a quick “it's okay” and a small smile,
even though it wasn't entirely true. Because they had stopped, had to put an end to it, had to
extricate themselves from one another.

But there was nothing for either of them to be ashamed of or embarrassed about. All right, so
they'd gotten a tiny bit carried away and maybe it was a half-step beyond what their
agreement covered, but it couldn't have been helped. They'd been with their Mates, had their
Mate's scent in their nose and body against them. Instincts were running wild, wolves were
being terrible instigators, and shit happened. But still. Derek truly felt there was nothing to
apologize about, other than it ending, which he was only sorry that there was even a need to
stop it and that the fakeness of the whole situation existed.

Placated by his words, Stiles gave a small smile, still not entirely assured or back to himself.
“All right,” he agreed too easily to actually fully agree, nodding as he glanced around. “Yeah,
I'm just, uh. I'll.” He pointed at the stairs behind him with a thumb over his shoulder. “Be
right back,” he announced before quickly turning and racing up them, stumbling on one near
the top.

Derek leaned back against the couch, letting out a long breath and roughing his hands over
his face. He was still half-hard in his jeans and he tried thinking of every gross, disgusting
thing he could to get rid of it, having to settle for his mom's Anchor trick of chanting “Alpha,
Beta, Omega” in his head. Chances were he was gonna be using that a lot over the next four
years.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The plan was to wait until someone asked Stiles or Derek during dinner what was going on
between them. They figured out of politeness the questions would be held off until about
halfway through the meal, if not after while waiting on dessert, no one wanting to seem too
eager or invasive or rude.

They hadn't counted on Malia.

The food had just been dished out and the first compliments made on a fine meatloaf before
she'd blurted out what had apparently been on everyone's minds.

“You reek of Stiles. What the hell is going on?”

All side conversations stopped, all eating, chewing, slicing, scooping, everything. All eyes
completely focused on Derek who'd been at the receiving end of her bluntness, Stiles getting
the occasional quick glance or two, and he felt himself shrink under the weight of all their
stares, uncomfortable and anxious because of it.

A hand cupped his knee under the table and he knew it was Stiles, seated on his right,
offering his silent reassurance. After a sip of water, he focused on his cousin sitting across
from him, giving her a dubious expression. “You saw us at the movies two nights ago,” he
reminded her. “What do you think is going on?”

His mom raised an eyebrow from the left end of the table, the sheriff mirroring the look on
the opposite end, the two parents having a wordless conversation made of lip quirks and
eyebrow bobs and head nods. Guilt was a heavy ball in Derek's stomach, knowing that they
were both under the impression that the movie date was the start of a future Mating, when it
was just the start of a scheme and a trick they were playing on everyone.

Well, everyone except Laura and Scott, who were both perfectly playing the curious and
confused roles the rest of the table was.

“Right, but you two didn't stink of each other so bad then,” Malia pointed out, brown eyes
hard as they stared Derek down, expression serious and earnest and just a slight bit naïve in a
way that only she could pull off. “So what the hell is going on?”

Kira hesitantly raised her hand, glancing around at everyone else sitting at the table, nervous
smile on her face. “I'd like to know, too,” she stated lowly, teeth sinking into a painted red lip.

“Pretty sure we'd all like to know,” Cora clarified, eyebrow cocked as she glared at her older
brother, not liking being on the outs, despite already having gotten info out of him two nights
ago at the diner.

Derek turned to Stiles for support, the Omega shrugging a shoulder and squeezing his knee
under the table, silently stating that he'd back Derek up no matter what he wanted to do.
Which meant he was giving Derek yet another out, allowing him to make the decision as to
whether or not they follow through with the plan or if they just pretend its casual and break it
off in a few days like Stiles had suggested previously.

No fucking way.
Reaching under the table, he removed Stiles' hand from his knee, entwining their fingers
before putting them both on top of the wood. “Soooo, we have an announcement to make,”
he began, stating the obvious, noting how the Omega was smiling out the corner of his eye.

“The two of you are dating,” Laura stated monotonously, raising her wine glass. “We know,
Buns. You couldn't have made it more obvious if you tried.”

The irony of her statement had him narrowing his eyes at her but she just shrugged a shoulder
in dismissal before drinking deep.

“Actually, there's more to it than that,” Stiles spoke up, turning his head to Derek and giving
him a smile so warm and genuine, even the Alpha thought it was real. “We've decided to
enter a Bond and I'll be moving in with Derek within the next week.” His smile grew, brown
eyes sparkling, and the older man was helpless to return the expression, feeling a thumb
absently rubbing along his knuckles.

The table grew silent once more as everyone absorbed the news, the scents of surprise and
pleasant confusion filling the air and overpowering that of the meal. Derek felt Stiles' fingers
tighten around his, heard him swallow hard, his knee beginning to bounce under the table as
his anxiety grew, as he became more and more worried that maybe they'd made a mistake,
that maybe their families wouldn't be as accepting as they believed they would be. But Derek
wasn't worried, wasn't nervous, remained steady and sure enough for both of them, butting
his head against Stiles' shoulder in support and coaxing a small smirk out of him.

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Cora! Language!”

Cora didn't look the slightest bit admonished by her mom's chastisement—probably because
she heard it every other day of her life from the time she was twelve—throwing her arms in
the air before gesturing to Derek and Stiles. “Are you seeing this, Mom? And you're okay
with it?”

“When you know you know, dear,” the elder female stated, toasting her wine glass in her
daughter's direction before drinking.

She rolled her eyes, turning to the sheriff, gesturing at his son with a hand. “And you're okay
with this? Your eighteen year old son who just recently graduated high school is moving in
with someone he only just started dating.”

John shrugged, hands spread out in front of him helplessly. “When you know you know,” he
parroted with a smirk, the expression growing when his son pointed at him and winked.

“Why are you fighting this so much?” Derek questioned, scowling at his sister as he leaned
across the table to where she was seated on Malia's right, across from Laura. “Why can't you
just be happy that we're happy and not be an ass about it or try to prevent it from happening?
Pretty messed up, Core.”
She actually had the decency to look a little repentant, the fire in her eyes gone as she
slumped down in her seat ever so slightly. “Sorry,” she muttered halfheartedly, like she was
forced to apologize when she didn't want to. “I just feel like you guys are rushing things. You
only just started dating and now you're moving in together and entering a Bond and I swear
to god if you tell me 'when you know you know' I will jump across this table and claw your
face off.”

“You will do no such thing and you know it,” their mother warned, arched eyebrow just
daring her daughter to defy her.

“I meant metaphorically.”

“No, you didn't,” their mom, Laura, and Derek all said at the same time. Stiles, Malia and
Scott each nodded in agreement. Kira sank down in her chair and poked at her meatloaf with
her fork, sheepish smile on her face that said she agreed but didn't wanna say it out loud. John
just grinned in amusement, wrinkle-framed blue eyes sparkling.

Cora huffed as she slammed back against her seat, bottom lip stuck out in a pout. “Fine,” she
ground out petulantly, brown eyes focusing on her brother once again. “I still think you guys
are rushing things, but it's your lives so go for it.” She turned her attention to Stiles, eyes
narrowing further, knife pointed at him in warning. “But just know that if you break his heart
—”

“Lemme guess,” Stiles interrupted with a smirk. “You'll claw my face off.”

She grinned evilly back at him, eyes filled with a dark sort of delight that never came with
anything good. “No. I'll claw your balls off and feed them to you.”

“Cora Jean, I did not raise you that way,” their mom sighed, hand covering her eyes in
embarrassment and disbelief.

Scott jumped in to defend Stiles' honor, setting off a debate between him and Cora, with
Malia adding in how they were both idiots and therefore just as likely as each other to screw
the whole thing up. The sheriff asked Kira how her parents were doing as a way of distracting
himself, while Laura and their mom began a heated discussion over Laura's break-up with
Landon. Again.

All the while Derek sat back and watched with wide eyes, not having expected that reaction
to their news. Stiles seemed just as shell-shocked, yet strangely amused and clearly relieved it
was over. Leaning over, the Alpha got close to his ear and whispered if he was still sure about
wanting to do all this. Stiles simply turned his head and grinned at him, eyes almost whiskey
with the way the light shone on them.

“Hell yeah. It'll totally be worth it,” he stated happily, squeezing Derek's fingers where their
hands were still entwined on top of the table.

The older man returned the smile with a smaller one of his own, pretending that Stiles had
been referring to being with him as the thing that would be worth all the hassle and trouble,
and not the benefits of being Bonded that he was actually in it for.
 ~*~*~*~*~*~

The sheriff managed to get Derek alone after Stiles had headed to the bathroom, leaving the
Alpha to do drying and putting dishes up duty by himself. John had left his utility belt—and
his weapons—in the department SUV parked outside, but he was no less intimidating without
them. He'd always carried an air of authority, even before he'd been elected to his position,
and Derek knew it was only partly due to his status as an Alpha. Knowing that the man was
now his possible—hopeful—father-in-law put him in a position of even greater power in the
younger man's life. He could so very easily tell Derek to never see his son again and that
would be it. No plan or scheme or Mate-Bond could change that.

But John was approaching in a friendly manner, feet almost scuffing at the floor as he walked
closer, casually leaning back against the breakfast bar, arms folding over his chest in a
relaxed way. His face was more contemplative than anything, scent curious and reflective,
and Derek felt the tension leave him at it, no longer worried he was about to get a stern
talking to or a warning or a threat.

“Your mother told me that you weren't gonna tell Stiles about the Mate thing just yet, that
you wanted to wait until the right moment,” he stated plainly, without judgment or
disapproval, just stating the facts.

Derek put away the last glass before closing the cupboard, drying his own hands on the
dishtowel. “Yeah,” he affirmed, licking his lips before folding the towel up. “I'm gonna wait
'til we're both more settled in our lives and Stiles is in a good place before I spring something
like that on him.” He put the towel to the side and slid his hands in his back pockets, trying to
maintain a casual position and not come across as defensive or aggressive.

John's brow furrowed into a hard line, eyes narrowing, bottom teeth on display, and Derek
knew without a doubt he'd just slipped into Sheriff Mode. “So your main concern is Stiles?”
he gestured with his hand at the other Alpha. “You're not worried about yourself or getting
hurt by being rejected or your image, nothing like that?”

“No, sir,” he answered honestly, head held high, looking the sheriff right in the eye. “Stiles'
happiness and his well-being come before my own. At the risk of sounding crude, I'd sooner
let Cora claw off my balls than upset your son in any way.”

A gust of laughter huffed out of John's nose, and he put a hand over his eyes to hide the
amusement in them, grin still showing. “You can definitely handle my son then,” he stated,
lowering his hand and holding it out to Derek as if putting him on display. “Not that I had any
doubts about it, considering your experience wrangling the little shit over the years. But I'm
glad to hear that your head and your heart are in the right place.”

Derek ducked his head and frowned at the floor, unable to maintain eye contact with the
sheriff. Because he wasn't entirely sure if that was true, if those things were in the right place.
Maybe when it came to Stiles they were, putting his needs and wants before his own. But
with his family, his friends? That he wasn't sure about. He was lying to them, all of them, and
about something so incredibly fucking major. And everyone was so happy and accepting of
this lie and it made a ball of guilt appear in his stomach, one that was only gonna get bigger
as the years went on.
Then, in four years time, when the plan was over and they split, Derek would still be lying.
Lying about the break-up, lying about the relationship he'd been in, lying about god knows
what else.

And with the lie and the end of his fake relationship, he would be breaking his mom's heart,
upsetting his friends and family who'd all been supportive and happy for them being together.

God, he was an asshole.

The sounds of footsteps getting closer hit his ears but he kept his head down, watching as the
tips of the sheriff's shoes entered his line of sight. A hand clapped down on his shoulder,
jostling him slightly and affectionately, his scent warm and full of love. He closed his eyes
against the caring he was being shown, feeling like he didn't entirely deserve it. But John had
been the closest thing to a father that Derek had had after his own was killed and the affection
he felt for the older man couldn't be ignored or denied, especially not now that he had a
relationship of sorts with his kid.

“You're gonna be fine, son,” John reassured him, voice steady and firm with just enough
warmth to be caring. “Don't worry so much.” He gave his shoulder a few pats before
removing it and heading to the door, only to stop and turn halfway there. “Oh, and Derek?”
he began, waiting until the mentioned man lifted his head to show he was listening, eyes
twinkling as he smirked. “You and Stiles are on your own for the move. I think I might
conveniently have a sore back that day.”
 Eight

Stiles moved in that Thursday, after a group bowling date with Scott, Allison, Kira, Malia,
Boyd, and Erica, then a date playing mini-golf and raiding the arcade, where Derek gave up
his tickets so Stiles could get the stuffed Iron Man he'd been eying since they walked in.

The rest of their time in the days leading up to the move had been spent sorting out the
Omega's things, deciding what to take with him, what could be put in storage in the Stilinski
attic, what could just be thrown out. They probably would have been done a lot faster, but
Stiles had a habit of getting distracted by whatever cool thing he found hidden wherever that
he totally forgot he had, or with showing Derek something of his life from the past five years.
Yearbooks were looked through, stories of concerts were shared, playlists were listened to as
Stiles described whatever had been happening to him at that time to prompt the creation of
said playlist.

The move itself went a whole lot smoother and easier, not to mention shorter, than it had with
Boyd and Erica, mainly due to the fact that there was no furniture and way less boxes. Scott
and Allison volunteered to help, the Alpha jokingly explaining it was so Stiles would owe
them one when it came time to move into their own place, something that somewhat
surprised Derek. He figured they'd already have their own apartment and be living in
domestic Mated bliss, but Stiles explained later that evening that Scott was still working his
ass off to save up for a nice place, believing Allison deserved better than what they could
currently afford. Derek thought it made sense, an Alpha's instincts telling them to provide the
best den possible for their Mate.

Allison borrowed her dad's SUV so between that and the Jeep and a few things they stashed
in Derek's Camaro, it only took one trip across town to move all his stuff. The giant freight
elevator was thankfully working that day, making things even easier, and by the time Derek
ordered pizza for lunch—"No, it will not be an everyday thing." "Boo!" "Scott, why are you
booing?" "Solidarity for my bro, Alli."—all the boxes were scattered around Derek's
apartment in some semblance of organization.

After the other couple left with pizza-stuffed bellies and half a dozen thank yous, Stiles set
about unpacking what he could. Drawers had already been cleaned out of Derek's bureau, but
it was clear there wasn't enough room in the armoire for both of their clothing. Not much of a
surprise. The Alpha had bought furniture for a single guy back when he shared a house with
his three friends while attending Stanford and then again when he moved into the loft. He'd
figured at the time that when he found his Mate and they moved in together they'd either
combine their furniture or buy new pieces of whatever was needed.

Clearly the time had come.

"How do you feel about Ikea?" Stiles asked, lips curled like he already knew the answer.

Which was why, several hours later, Derek found himself lugging in boxes of furniture
pieces, with Stiles' help of course, both of them carrying an end of a particularly large one.
"Is this thing even gonna fit in the elevator?" Derek questioned as he hit the button with his
elbow, waiting for the giant cart to trundle down.

"We'll fucking make it fit," Stiles grunted, adjusting his grip and puffing out a breath.

"I know you're not making that poor Omega carry things," came a sweet female voice and
Derek turned to find one of the elderly residents of the building—Ms McCormick, if he
remembered right—shuffling towards them, eyes focused on Derek. "You know they're weak
and can't carry a whole lot."

The sharp spice of anger hit Derek's nose and he turned his head to find Stiles scowling at
her, muscle in his jaw ticking as he ground his teeth. The heat in his eyes only got worse
when Ms McCormick turned to him with a patronizing smile that she probably thought was
sweet, tone tooth-rottingly saccharine.

"It's okay, dear. Your Alpha should really know better than to think you can handle this," she
said, patting his upper arm.

"I can handle it just fine," Stiles ground out and Derek had a feeling he was one stupid
statement away from baring his fangs and snarling.

Ms McCormick looked scandalized at an Omega speaking out of turn, and with such disdain.
She turned her shocked face to Derek, hand clutching invisible pearls at the hollow of her
throat, eyes wide and jaw dropped. "Did you hear what he said to me?" she demanded to
know, clearly referring to his speaking without permission, to the fact that he was arguing
with an Alpha—elderly or not—to the rude tone in which he spoke.

Derek shrugged a shoulder as best he could while still holding on to the box, the elevator
buzzing its arrival behind him. "Yeah, he said he could handle it and he's been handling it all
day," he pointed out in a light manner, showing that he had no issues with any of this, turning
to Stiles. "Mind holding this while I get the door?"

They both knew it was more than just a request, one the Alpha had already made, that it was
also a middle finger of sorts to Ms McCormick and her discriminating ways. So Stiles shook
his head as if to say "no problem" as he fought off a smile, some of the anger in his scent
giving way to amusement.

Derek slowly lowered his end of the box to the ground, Stiles hitching his higher to rest it on
his shoulder, then crouched down to grab the elevator door and lift it up. Once it was open, he
turned to the elderly Alpha and gestured for her to enter. "Ladies first," he said sweetly,
phony smile on his face that had Stiles chortling behind the box.

Ms McCormick glanced back and forth between the two men before plastering on her own
fake grin, shaking her head. "No thank you. I'll wait for the next one." At that, she narrowed
her eyes at where Stiles' head would be if the box wasn't blocking her view, judgment rolling
off her in waves.

Derek shrugged to say it was her loss before picking his end of the box back up and carrying
it into the large elevator. Stiles held the weight of it on his shoulder once more so the Alpha
could close the door behind them, giving the old lady a wave and his trademark shit-eating
grin, amusement growing at the indignant huff she let out in response.

The ride up was silent, as was the walk down the hall to Derek's—to their loft, Stiles'
agitation coming back as he was left alone to think about it and obsess over her words. Once
the box had been laid on the floor with the others, he was back in a foul mood, scowling at
their wares with his hands on his hips and his jaw clenched.

Derek started wringing the back of his neck as he took in the sight of his angered Mate, as he
inhaled his aggravation and annoyance. He knew discrimination against Omegas still existed,
especially within the older generations, those who'd been raised under the "traditional" beliefs
that Omegas were weak, fragile, pathetic things who were only capable of raising kids and
taking care of the house—minus the tough yardwork of course, because a lawnmower was
too much for an Omega to handle. But knowing it existed and seeing it in front of his eyes
were two totally different things. And knowing that it affected his Mate so negatively had his
wolf snarling in his head to do something about it, to change things, to make sure no one ever
said another bad thing about Omegas in front of Stiles ever again.

Of course that wasn't possible, but that fact didn't stop him from wishing for it.

Really the only thing he could actually do was make sure Stiles was alright, check his mental
status, reassure him that what she'd said was bullshit and they both knew it. So he did just
that, asked if he was okay, getting a nonchalant shrug in response.

"I'm used to it," Stiles played it off, still scowling down at the boxes. "It sucks, yeah, and it
pisses me off, but there isn't shit I can do about it." A resigned sigh escaped him, hands
falling to his sides and his shoulder slumping, features somewhat relaxing but still carrying a
harshness to them that ordinarily wasn't there.

Derek nodded from his spot a few feet away, folding his arms over his chest as his wolf
whined in his head. "You want me to talk to her?" he volunteered, knowing he couldn't
change the world at large, but figuring he could at least change her and make Stiles' stay in
the loft a little better. It couldn't be easy or fun or enjoyable knowing that every time you
walked into your own building, you ran the risk of bumping into a little old lady who thought
you were below her solely for your dynamic.

Stiles shook his head, smearing a hand across his mouth. "Don't bother. It'll make things
worse. I'll just become the weak li'l Omega who can't handle anything bad being said around
him and needs his Alpha to handle shit for him."

Fair point, and one Derek hadn't thought of. "Alright," he conceded. "But just so you know,
you ever need back up in clawing someone open—" He trailed off, extending his claws and
holding them up on display, giving the younger man a pointed look.

A small grin formed in Stiles' face and the anger seemed to wash away from his face and
scent. "You'll be the first I'll call," he agreed before seesawing his head. "If Scott's
unavailable."
"Hey!" Derek called out in offense, glaring at the Omega as he turned and headed back
toward the door. "I'm supposed to be the Bond-Mate here, not fucking Scott," he pointed out,
jogging slightly to join up with Stiles at the steps that led to the landing at the door.

"Yeah, but Scott's got some nice claws. Have you seen 'em?" the Omega questioned as they
stepped into the hall and headed down to the elevator.

"Okay, but I'm bigger and I can hold them down better." He mimicked doing just that, arms
locked as he pushed the invisible person onto their back.

"Alright, alright, you can be choice number one. Scott'll be back up. Happy?" Stiles hit the
button for the elevator and turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow, amused smirk playing
at the corner of his lips.

"Yeah," Derek murmured, wolf wagging its tail. Strangely enough, he was happy.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After the last of the Ikea boxes were brought up and Stiles' Jeep was locked, they decided to
call it a night. Derek offered the younger man first shower but was waved off, Stiles
explaining he preferred to shower in the mornings.

"Helps wake me up and get me going. Plus it's good for a li'l Stiles time before I have to deal
with the day," he added with a smirk and a wag of the eyebrows, making Derek's climb up his
forehead.

If the Alpha spent a little longer in the shower than he normally would've thanks to that
mental image, then Stiles didn't say anything. Honestly, Derek had been jacking off more
than usual over recent days, constantly being surrounded by the Omega's scent and imagining
exactly what those long fingers and large hands would be capable of. And the scent-marking
they'd exchange every time Derek left for the night just made it worse, his body keyed up and
wolf salivating, dying to take it to the next step but knowing he couldn't for several reasons,
both starting and ending with the fact that Stiles didn't want to.

But it didn't stop his imagination from running wild and his fantasies playing out in his head
in a constant loop as he washed off at the end of the day, remembering the sugary-sweet scent
of the Omega and how he looked with his neck bared in submission and his eyes glazed over
and his teeth sunk into his bottom lip. And now Derek was able to add in the memory of
sweat dripping down the side of Stiles' neck and the way he grunted and panted as they
moved countless boxes, making it all the better.

Body cleaned and evidence of his self-love washed away, Derek dried off and slipped on the
pair of black pajama pants he'd grabbed before his shower. He rubbed the towel over his head
to get rid of the worst of the water then brushed his teeth and used the facilities. Finished, he
stepped out of the room to find Stiles already dressed in his own PJs and sitting in the bed,
comforter over his legs, finger sliding across his phone screen as he played some game with
the sounds off.
The Omega lifted his head at the sound of Derek walking over, pausing his game without
looking. "Hope you don't mind I took this side," he stated with an easy smile and a shrug. "I
usually sleep in the middle but there's two of us so. But yeah, I just figured you'd want the
side closest to the door, being the protective Alpha and all." He gave jazz hands by his head
in a mocking manner, sarcastic impressed expression on his face.

The protective Alpha in question snorted, rolling his eyes, before flipping the comforter back.
"It's fine. I usually sleep in the middle, too."

Stiles nodded thoughtfully, tapping his phone on his legs, and Derek caught a glimpse of Star
Wars Angry Pigs on the screen. "Makes for good spooning, right? I mean, we already agreed
to bed sharing and cuddling so spooning should be okay." He scratched at his forehead,
looking expectantly at the older man, like he should know better than him.

And in a way, Derek figured he should. Because Stiles was eighteen and despite having been
in relationships before, there'd been no spending the night or bed sharing beyond fooling
around or sex. But Derek had done all that, had spent the night with someone, had spooned,
had shared a bed past hooking up. He was the experienced one in that area and Stiles was
looking to him for guidance.

And permission, he realized, knowing that sleeping in the same bed and cuddling had both
been agreed upon as individual topics, but not as two things happening simultaneously.

Derek was completely on board though, as was his wolf. Any sort of physical contact with
their Mate was more than welcome and something he was actually looking forward to.
Desperately.

But he played it cool, shrugging a shoulder as he put one knee on the bed and climbed on. "I
call being big spoon."

Stiles' face morphed to one of completely unamusement and he shoved at the older man's
arm, the Alpha letting himself be pushed over as he laughed. "Fuck you, Der," the teenager
said without venom. "You can't be it all the time."

"Fine, we'll split," he suggested as he settled in a reclining position, arms folded behind his
head. "Eighty-twenty me as big spoon."

The Omega scowled hard as he shoved the comforter off his legs and onto Derek's face,
making him chuckle again. Until a pillow to the stomach made him grunt out an "oomf", but
even still his amusement remained.

"Laugh it up, fuzzball," Stiles snarked as he got out the bed and headed to the bathroom to
brush his teeth, leaving Derek to dig himself out from under the blankets and pillows.

The bed was straightened back out by the time Stiles finished in the bathroom and returned to
the bed, plugging his phone in and setting it on the floor next to the bed. "First thing
tomorrow, we're setting up the nightstand. Not fair you're the only one who's got one," he
pointed out as he got in bed and laid down, settling the comforter over his chest with his arms
out of it.
"Yes, dear," Derek replied with a smirk, getting a light smack to the chest for it.

"Mind getting the light, honey?" Stiles requested, turning his head to give the older man a
shit-eating grin, and Derek just knew a battle was forming.

One he wasn't about to lose.

"Not a problem, pumpkin." Reaching up, he found the switch and flipped it off, dousing the
bedroom area in as much darkness as possible with giant windows only a few feet past the
end of the bed.

"Thanks, sweetie."

"Not a problem, pookie."

Stiles groaned in annoyance as he turned onto his side, back to Derek, settling in. "That's
enough of that shit. I'm getting diabetes."

The Alpha laughed through his nose before shuffling closer, draping an arm over the younger
man's waist and pressing his bare chest to Stiles' t-shirt covered back. He felt the Omega
freeze against him, scent lighting up with a million emotions he couldn't sift through or
decipher, and his wolf whined in his head, worried they'd made a wrong move.

"Uhhh."

"Thought we said spooning was okay?" Derek questioned as well as explained his actions,
slowly moving away.

"Yeah, no, it's cool, it's fine, this is totally fine and cool." Stiles nodded emphatically against
his pillow, licking his lips then pressing them into a hard line.

"You sure?"

"Mmhmm," he squeaked through still closed lips, nodding again, then relaxing his body.

Derek cocked an eyebrow momentarily before bobbing both in dismissal, figuring he'd been
given a definite go-ahead. With that, he moved closer once again, nuzzling his forehead at the
base of Stiles' neck as they both got comfy. His every inhale brought in the Omega's scent,
the sugary-sweet smell mixed with the warmth of contentment and a fuzzy pure smell of
fresh laundry, Stiles falling asleep. With those scents in his nose, Derek drifted off to a more
restful sleep than he could remember having before.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The next day was spent putting their new furniture together, nightstands first, the two of them
making a surprisingly good team—when they weren't debating what to listen to. Derek had a
soft spot for '80s arena rock—"hair bands, Derek. Those are fucking hair bands."—while
Stiles' tastes leaned more towards newer pop-punk and indie rock, as well as whatever the
hell Halsey was—"she's the chosen one, that's what the fuck she is." "They said the same
thing about Anakin and look how that turned out."
Lunch was sandwiches and chips, the two easily moving around one another as though they'd
been doing it for years, not minutes, eating at the breakfast bar since they'd yet to put together
the new stools for the large steel table he had by his windows—"There is literally no point to
that table if there's no chairs." "It came with the loft." "Hope that wasn't the selling point for
you." "Nah. That was the giant hole in the wall." Erica called halfway through their meal,
Derek putting her on speaker, as she invited them both to her and Boyd's house the following
night for their small housewarming get-together. The alpha deferred to the younger man with
a tilt of the head, Stiles shrugging a shoulder then nodding.

By the time dinner rolled around, they'd put together an armoire and nightstand for Stiles,
four stools for the table, and an entertainment center for the living room—"Now all we need
is a TV for me to actually plug my gaming consoles into." "Yes, dear." "I'm gonna punch you
so hard." "Yes, dear." "Oh my God!". Dinner was chicken with corn and mashed potatoes,
eaten at the breakfast bar once more, and they cleaned up together before taking turns in the
shower, Derek letting Stiles go first.

The evening was spent vegging on the couch in their pajamas watching Archer on Stiles'
laptop, complete with the Omega's comments over how much better it would be on a bigger
screen and Derek pointedly ignoring him.

They headed to bed near midnight at the Alpha's insistence, despite many protests and
countless pleas of "dude, just one more episode" from the younger man. Teeth brushed, faces
washed, and bladders emptied, they laid down in the same positions as they had the night
before, Stiles falling asleep soon after.

Derek had a brief thought about the day, about how it should've been weird to go from being
by himself to having someone in his space, in his bed, in his arms. But it felt completely
natural, from waking up to Stiles' face to cuddling him at night amongst complaints of being
little spoon again and everything in between, it all just felt... right.

He nuzzled his nose along the Omega's hairline, inhaling his scent as his eyes drifted shut.
One day down, fourteen-hundred fifty-nine to go until he was suddenly alone again.

~*~*~*~*~*~

"What the hell am I supposed to wear?"

Derek looked up from his spot lazing across the couch, dropping his book onto his chest,
keeping it open on the right page. Stiles was across the loft in the bedroom area, standing in
front of his armoire with his thumbnail between his teeth and his leg shaking, dressed in the
same ragged khakis and Beacon Hills High Lacrosse tee he'd been wearing since that
morning.

The day had been spent with Stiles unpacking the rest of his stuff, having felt too lazy the
night before after all the furniture had been built. His books lined half of Derek's shelves,
some even resting on top. His movies and games were organized in the drawers of the
entertainment unit, game consoles on their appropriate shelves, waiting for the TV he'd
hinted at a second time. His clothes were neatly hung in his armoire, shoes stacked within it,
socks, undies, and PJs already in the bureau from the first day.
Derek had offered to help but had been shooed away with an angry frown, Stiles insisting on
doing it himself and that he'd ask if he needed assistance. So the Alpha had taken up rez on
the couch, out of the way, with a book he halfway read in between bouts of watching Stiles
flit about, touching as many things in the loft as possible and not seeming to realize he'd done
it. The older man's wolf yipped happily at the sight, knowing the Omega was purposely
leaving his scent behind and marking the place as his, causing a strange sort of pride in Derek
that his den was being accepted by his Mate.

He made them both lunch, since Stiles had cooked breakfast, and tossed the younger man a
granola bar halfway through the afternoon when he said he was hungry. But other than that,
putting his own meager DVD collection in the entertainment unit, and the occasional
bathroom trip, he'd stayed on the couch, feeling lazier than he had in a long time.

He slid his phone out his pocket, checking the time and noting he should probably get ready,
too. He hadn't done anything so he could put off the shower, but he couldn't show up in jeans
with a worn knee and hemlines and a faded Star Wars tee, even if it was just his Pack.

But he wasn't about to fret over it the way Stiles seemed to be.

Stretching as much as he could while still laying down, he let out a grunt, then slumped back
down. "Clothes," he deadpanned, fighting off a smirk.

The Omega peered at him over his shoulder, glaring and folding his arms over his chest. "I'm
serious, Der."

"So am I," he stated, putting his finger in his book to hold his place and sitting up. "It's just
my friends hanging out at their house. Wear what you normally wear."

Stiles nodded as he turned back to his clothes, scratching his jaw.

Derek dogeared his book and tossed it on the coffee table before cracking his neck, thinking
the situation was resolved. Resting his elbows on his knees, he shoved his fingers through his
hair as his mind went through his own closet, settling on his usual dark jeans and probably
just a black v-neck. Easy enough, and yeah, he'd have to deal with Erica's comment of how
he's wearing what amounts to the same outfit he always wears but whatever. It was simple
and he didn't have to freak out like Stiles was.

Those first couple dates with Stiles aside, of course.

"Should we match?"

That had Derek's head rearing back before he lifted it to gape at the other man in surprise and
confusion. "What?"

Stiles was halfway twisted around to face Derek, one arm wrapped around his waist, the
other with his hands near his mouth, gesturing to some invisible point. "Some couples match
outfits," he stated matter-of-factly, shrugging a shoulder in nonchalance. "Just wanted to
know if we should."
His brow pulled down into a scowl as he clasped his hands together between his knees. He
honestly hated couples like that, all matchy-matchy like they thought it was a cute way to
express their love when it was just as nauseatingly annoying as baby talk and cutesy
nicknames like "baby cakes" or "pudding" or "sweetums". "We are not matching. Ever," he
stated firmly, leaving no room for debate or argument. That was it, end of discussion, final
answer.

"Okay, not matching matching," the Omega amended with a roll of the head. "But, like,
coordinating. Like, wearing something of the same color or something."

The clarification brought to mind that time Justin Timberlake and Britney Spears went to
some award show in all denim outfits and he scowled further. "Not happening."

Stiles fully turned to him, eyebrow cocked, wagging a finger back and forth between them
with a pointed look.

Derek peered down at the gray tee he had on, then glanced at the similar one the younger man
was wearing, immediately seeing the point he was making. "Coincidence," he dismissed with
a roll of the eyes, getting a head shake in response.

"Noooo," he stretched the word out, smirk forming on his face that said he was about to
prove someone wrong and he was gonna fucking enjoy it. "A coincidence would be the fact
that at our movie date, I wore a blue plaid, you wore a blue shirt. Then a pattern was
established during our bowling date when I had on a gray graphic tee and you had on a gray
Henley. The pattern was further solidified at dinner with the family when—"

"No," Derek interrupted, sitting up straight and pointing a finger at the other man, knowing
exactly what he was about to say and refusing to let him have this point. "My shirt was
burgundy, yours was red."

Stiles rolled his eyes and threw his arms in the air, body doing a weird wiggling slump thing
that wordlessly said he was annoyed by the argument and wanted the Alpha to just shut up
and agree. "Same color family. Point still stands," he decided, folding his arms over his chest.

He studied the younger man, taking in the firm set of his shoulders, the hard look in his eyes,
the way he held his chin high. The Omega was clearly steadfast in his belief of this, not
wavering or backing down on his argument that they'd been color coordinated before.

But those had been genuine coincidences, the two of them just happening to wear similar
colors when they'd shown up. It wasn't like they'd called one another beforehand and decided
they were both gonna wear blue that evening. It just worked out that way.

But from the argument Stiles was currently making, it seemed like he wanted to do just that.

"You seriously want us to purposely coordinate outfits?" Derek asked with a curious quirk of
the brow, not entirely sure if he was reading into things right.

Stiles dropped his arms, putting one hand on his hip as he held the other out, palm up, in the
older man's direction. "I'm just saying that sometimes Bonded pairs do it."
He snorted. "Yeah, super annoying ones."

"I've put up with three years of Scott and Allison, two years of Lydia and Jackson, a year of
Malia and Kira, and now six months of Lydia and Parrish," the Omega pointed out, hand on
his chest before putting it on his hip. "I've earned the right to be one of those annoying
couples."

Fucking eh, he was serious. He really wanted to do it.

And Derek... He really fucking didn't. His wolf was grumbling at him, telling him to shut up
and just do what their Omega wanted, make him happy, but there had to be a line somewhere.

All denim outfits came to mind again and he mentally shuddered.

"Then next time we hang out with them, we'll do it," he suggested as a compromise, sitting
up straight. "But we're hanging out with Erica and she'll give us hell for it for the rest of our
relationship. If not our lives."

Stiles shrugged nonchalantly. "I am willing to risk it."

"Yeah, well, you don't have to put up with her when all this is over," he muttered, roughing
his hand down his face.

Silence descended over them, making Derek drop his hands between his legs and peer up at
the younger man. Stiles was standing there stiffly, arms wrapped around his torso, brow
furrowed and lips pressed in a hard line, his scent a pensive sort of melancholy. He wiped all
of it away as soon as he noticed Derek looking at him, plastering a phony smile on his face
and wringing the back of his neck.

"Right, yeah. You're right," he agreed, turning to his armoire and giving his back to the older
man.

The Alpha frowned in confusion, feeling like he'd fucked up in some way and had upset his
Mate, though he couldn't quite figure out how or why. He said the younger man's name in a
cautious question, Stiles waving a hand in dismissal behind his back.

"It's cool, I'm cool," he insisted, shrugging a shoulder and shaking his head before rubbing at
his jaw as he continued. "I just." He paused again, sighing, head hanging momentarily then
peering over his shoulder at Derek. "I guess I just thought that you and I being friends when
this is over meant I'd still be friends with your friends." He seesawed his head in a "but
whatever, no biggie" manner and turned back to his clothes, shoulders hunched defensively.

Shit. Definitely fucked up.

Derek winced as he began wringing the back of his neck, thinking about what had just been
said. For some reason, he figured their eventual break-up would include breaking up their
friends—at least as much as possible considering Derek still saw Scott and Kira on a weekly
basis and Stiles was friends with members of Derek's family. He'd temporarily forgotten that
their split was gonna be a mutual one with an agreement to remain friends, meaning they'd
stay on a chummy basis with everyone else. He'd figured a clean break all around would be
for the best, but he wasn't sure if he was thinking that for their buds or just for himself and his
wolf.

"You can be friends with whoever you wanna be friends with," Derek murmured, elbows on
his knees and hands clasped. "I'm sorry if I made you think otherwise."

Stiles nodded before giving him a grateful smile. "Apology accepted," he assured then turned
back and grabbed some clothes off his hangers, draping them over his arm. "I'm gonna get
cleaned up and changed," he informed, facing Derek and pointing at the bathroom, the Alpha
getting a glimpse of the green and white plaid, black jeans, and black undershirt he'd picked
out.

Derek nodded once to show he got it, watching as the younger man entered the en suite and
locked the door behind himself. Their second full day of living together and they'd yet to
actually change in front of one another. He wondered if this was how it was gonna be for the
next four years, hiding behind doors, not letting the other person see them sans clothes. Derek
had seen his teammates and classmates naked in high school more than he'd seen his Mate
nude.

There was something seriously wrong with that.

But he wasn't about to make Stiles uncomfortable and do something he didn't want to. Not to
mention that chances were it was beyond what they'd agreed to and in all honesty, Derek
sometimes had issues keeping his hands to himself with a fully clothed Stiles. Seeing a naked
one in front of him would be pushing it.

Rising to his feet, he meandered his way over to his own armoire, yanking his black jeans off
the hanger, hesitating with his hand by his shirts. He looked them over, not finding what he
was looking for, deciding to steal the one he wanted from Stiles' stuff. The guy always bought
his clothes a size too big—a couple plaids and a sweatshirt or two being the exception—so it
would fit the Alpha's bigger frame no problem.

A smile on his face, he closed both armoires and got changed, heart pounding in anticipation
of Stiles' reaction to his outfit.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles didn't stop staring was his reaction. From the second he left the bathroom, stopping
short with his head rearing back in surprise before trying to fight back a smile, to halfway
through their trip to Erica and Boyd's when Derek finally decided he'd had enough and let out
a "what?" that was half-gruff, half-amused.

Stiles shook his head vehemently, snapping it back to the front where he was sitting in the
passenger seat after a five minute debate on who should drive—"You know where we're
going." "I can give directions." "You hate my Jeep." "I don't hate it. I just don't trust that
rattling noise it makes. Sounds like a death groan."
Derek let out a sigh, focusing on the road, adjusting his grip where his hand was on top of the
steering wheel. Any second the Omega would break, would give in and blurt out what he was
obsessively thinking over. He just had to wait.

"That is my shirt, right?"

Bingo.

"I'm not going crazy, right?" Stiles went on, shifting in his seat so he was angled towards
Derek. "That's my shirt. You go for the v-necks and that's a round neck, so it's mine. Smells
like mine, too."

Amusement pulled up the corner of the Alpha's lips and he hid it by rubbing his hand over his
mouth, elbow resting on the door. "Yes, Stiles. It's your shirt."

He did a small fist pump at being right, grinning momentarily before his face grew serious
again. "But why are you wearing it?"

And wasn't that the question of the night?

He shrugged a shoulder to play it off, feigning nonchalance about the whole thing. "Figured
it'd help with the scent. Bonded pairs tend to wear one another's clothes." Which was part of
it, yeah, but not the whole thing.

Stiles nodded gravely, brow pulled in a serious expression, lips pressed into a thoughtful line.
"I know, which is why I'm actually wearing one of yours."

Derek did a double-take at that, finally noticing how Stiles' shirt was, in fact, a v-neck,
hanging low enough to reveal the hollow of his throat and the curve of his collarbone. He
imagined nibbling along it, dipping his tongue in that hollow, sucking marks and leaving
impressions of his teeth.

He snapped his head back to the windshield, mentally shaking it all off, focusing on what was
happening in the moment and not what he wanted to happen in the future.

"But why that shirt?" Stiles questioned, eyebrows raised like he already knew the answer and
just wanted Derek to admit it.

He glanced at the Omega a few times, letting out a sigh before responding. "You know why."

"'Cause you wanted coordinate," he grinned, smacking the back of his hand on Derek's bicep,
scent lit up with joy.

He wanted to correct him, to say that he did it to make Stiles happy, to make his scent warm
and happy and to fill his car and loft and life with not just his smell, but the positive
chemosignals in it, too. It was built into an Alpha's programming and instincts to take care of
an Omega in every way, including pleasing them and making them happy, and when Mates
were involved, that drive grew stronger and harder to ignore.
Which meant purposely coordinating outfits when you hate doing it, solely because your
Mate wants to.

Stiles laughed, playfully hitting Derek's arm repeatedly, the Alpha swatting at him in
response.

"I'm tryna drive here," he pointed out, fighting a losing battle with the grin trying to form on
his face at the other man's infectious amusement.

"Dude, you purposely matched me. You're such a dork!" the Omega said through a laugh,
hand on his chest.

Derek scowled at him, glancing back and forth between his passenger and the road. "Oh fuck
you, like you have room to talk. I saw that World of Warcraft box."

"I proudly embrace my dorkiness though," he argued, chuckles dying down. "You keep yours
buried deep like a bone a dog hid in the rose garden, whereas I make mine completely
obvious and hard to ignore, like that giant hole in the wall."

"What is it with you and the hole in the wall?" Derek asked in a mix of entertainment and
annoyance that he only ever felt around Stiles. He pulled alongside Boyd and Erica's yard and
put the car in park, leveling a hard look and a raised eyebrow at the younger man.

"There's no point to it and I'm gonna do something about it before I move out, I swear to
god," Stiles vowed, finger pointed at Derek as he unbuckled his seat belt.

He ignored the mention of the Omega's eventual leaving, choosing instead to take the
opportunity to be an asshole. "Yes, dear."

The punch in the arm was worth it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Boyd and Erica's housewarming get-together was a small Pack only affair, meaning Isaac was
the only other person who'd been invited. The place was a lot warmer and homier than it had
felt when Derek was helping move boxes and furniture in. Framed photos were on the wall of
the living room, a collage of Mating photos and Pack along one side. The dining room held a
framed map of California forests and several wolf photos. The bedroom had been painted a
lilac color, offsetting the mint green bedding and curtains, all clearly Erica's choice, yet still
strangely indicative of both of them.

The nursery was the only still unfinished room, crib put together but away from the still
unpainted walls, giant plastic tubs of clothes and toys in the middle of the space. Two
unopened cardboard boxes of furniture were against a wall, the square samples still exactly
the same as they had been and still indistinguishable from each other.

"I like the daffodil," Stiles commented after a long moment of contemplation, head tilted to
the side.
Derek went wide eyed as he turned to his Mate, head shaking in shock and disbelief. "How
the hell can you even tell those apart?"

"And how do you know their names?" Isaac added on with a hint of snark, standing
somewhere behind them.

"I was thinking the same thing," Erica replied to Stiles, ignoring the other two men as she
stepped over to the painted squares, touching the one on the left that, if Derek squinted, was
maybe a shade darker.

"Yeah, it just seems warmer and more welcoming. Better for a baby," Stiles stated, shoving
his hands in his back pockets.

Derek kept staring at him in awe, brow furrowing. "Seriously. How?"

The younger man turned his head to him and shrugged, shaking his head to say he had no
clue. "Guess it's an Omega thing."

"No. It's not," Isaac argued, appearing on Derek's left.

"Who gives a shit how he knows? He's right," Erica decided, striding over then between her
two Packmates on her way out the room. "Boyd! We're going with daffodil!"

"Sounds great," the Beta deadpanned from the kitchen where he was finishing up dinner,
most likely glad a decision was reached and that he didn't have to listen to his Mate
constantly hemming and hawing over it.

Isaac rolled his eyes then his head and torso before leaving the room, scuffing his feet along
the way. Derek continued to give Stiles a surprised look regarding his knowledge of the paint,
the Omega just flailing his arms around to say he didn't know either.

"Quit sucking face and come eat!" Erica ordered from the dining room, the sounds of ceramic
plates being laid on the wood table following her voice.

The tips of Derek's ears went red and Stiles smirked before he spun on a heel and left the
room, announcing how good everything smelled in a louder than necessary volume. The
Alpha ran a hand down his face and sighed then joined his Pack, backing up the sentiment.

Dinner was tacos, everyone with meat-filled shells in their plates, all the fixings in bowls on a
lazy Susan in the middle of the round table. Conversation flowed easy, laughs shared, and
there was hardly a quiet moment. Stiles asked about Erica's pregnancy and how far along she
was—"I'm coming up on five months. I'm due October eighteenth, which I'm kinda bummed
about 'cause I always wanted to paint my big ol' pregnant stomach like a pumpkin." "There's
always next time." "Hear that, babe? Stilinski wants us to have another kid."—baby talk
dominating most of the conversation.

Derek only half listened, having already heard all of her complaints and her excitement over
impending motherhood, plus he didn't wanna delve back into his depressed thoughts over
whether or not he'd be a parent himself. So he sat back with his arm around the back of Stiles'
chair and let them talk, his mind more preoccupied with whether he could put his hand on the
Omega's shoulder or not.

Dinner gave way to Texas Hold 'Em poker and homemade brownies, extra chocolate chips
and chocolate frosting on top. Stiles declared his undying love for whoever made them, Boyd
responding with a flat "I'm happily Mated already" and a smirk.

"Besides, pretty sure Derek would kick my ass if I tried to take you from him."

Derek gestured with his palm up, not denying it, glad it was said amongst friends so it was
interpreted by Stiles as just part of the show.

More laughs were shared, at the expense of practically everyone at the table, as they drank
sparkling grape juice in solidarity with the pregnant Beta and underage Omega—who kept
his objections to a minimum solely due to the aforementioned pregnant Beta. Erica stated that
it was Isaac's turn to find someone and they all went through their lists of friends and
coworkers who were available, weighing options and discussing pros and cons, deciding who
would be a good fit.

"I'm perfectly capable of finding my own dates," Isaac scowled, tapping his cards against the
table angrily.

"Then get on it," Erica requested, slapping his thigh. "Your genetics need to be passed on just
as much as Derek's. And I want this little one to have some playmates around their age." She
peered down at her small baby bump and rubbed it during the last part, soft smile on her face
that had only shown up during her Mating ceremony and when talking pregnancy and
motherhood. It was a good look on her and the Pack Alpha part of Derek made him feel
overjoyed and proud, grin of his own forming.

"Stop tryna knock us up, Erica," Isaac told her, giving her an annoyed look that she waved a
hand of dismissal at.

"You're the only one having kids right now," Derek backed him up. "Deal with it."

"Speaking of dealing," Stiles chimed in, leaning forward on the table with a smirk. "Mind
laying down the river cards already? I'm dying to kick everyone's asses some more."

Isaac rolled his eyes and Erica grinned wickedly back, Boyd shaking his head in amusement.
Derek huffed out a small laugh through his nose, lips quirked up at the corner, thinking about
how well Stiles fit in with his small group and how fucking bad it was gonna suck when this
was over.
 Nine

Saturday and Sunday were both lazy days again, neither in the mood to actually do anything
or go anywhere. Well, anywhere except the weekly Hale Family Dinner, where they were
bombarded with questions regarding what it was like living together—"It's only been four
days."—and if they were sick of each other yet—"Again, it's only been four days." "Yeah, but
it's been four days with Stiles. He's annoying enough to make it seem at least ten times that
long." "Thanks, Cora. Love you, too."

Monday morning found them waking up at a reasonable hour so Stiles could get ready for a
job interview at a periodicals store that sold magazines, newspapers, and—according to the
Omega—a pretty decent amount of comic books. It wasn't anything fancy, mainly being a
cashier, answering the phones, and making sure the stacks were straight and nothing had been
put back in the wrong place, but it was better than most jobs available to Omegas and still
paid pretty damn decently. Derek had told him he didn't need to work, but Stiles insisted upon
it, not wanting to mooch and pointing out how he had gas to pay for—"Gas guzzler. Another
point for the Jeep." "I will knock your teeth out if you say one more bad thing about Roscoe."
"Yes, dear."—not to mention needed cash to pay for his own entertainment and goodies.

"Plus I gotta pay for the dates every once in a while," he'd explained as they'd gotten in bed.
"Don't get me wrong, I appreciate the chivalry of the Alpha paying my way every time. But
it's the twenty-first century and if we're gonna be on even footing, I gotta cover the bill on
occasion."

Derek didn't argue after that, thinking the younger man had made a lot of valid points. Plus he
didn't wanna come across as one of those controlling knothead Alphas Stiles hated, didn't
wanna make it seem like he was telling the Omega he wasn't allowed to work or go out into
the real world. If a job would make him happy, a job he would get.

So Derek made sure alarms were set and in the morning, shoved a half-asleep, fully
protesting—albeit protests comprised of incoherent groans and mumbles—towards the
bathroom to do his business while he cooked breakfast.

Food eaten and shower taken, Stiles emerged from the bathroom perfectly coiffed and freshly
shaven, dressed in a pair of khakis, a white tee, and a blue plaid. He held his arms out at his
sides, turning a full three-sixty as Derek sat on his side of the bed facing the bathroom and
taking him in.

"Well? How do I look?" the Omega asked once he'd stopped. "Do I look hire-able?"

He tilted his head to the side, regarding him, lips twisting in thought. "I think the plaid with
no undershirt would be better."

"You want me to go around flashing my nips to everyone," Stiles asked in a serious voice,
smirk playing on his lips.
Derek lobbed a pillow at him, the younger man defending himself with flailing arms and
demands to "watch the fucking hair, man."

"Don't be an ass."

"Don't be a sourwolf."

"I have another pillow and I won't hesitate to whack you in the face with it."

"Yeah, yeah," Stiles placated, tossing the pillow he'd already been hit with where it belonged
as he stepped closer to the bed. He slipped the plaid off, holding it up and turning to the older
man with a questioning look on his face. "Is this one okay to wear? Or should I pick
another?"

"Once you button it up, it'll be fine," Derek assured, laying back on the bed with his arms
folded under his head.

"Cool." He flashed a smile before grabbing the back of his tee and pulling it over his head,
laying it next to his previously dropped plaid.

Leaving him shirtless.

Holy shit.

Derek had seen countless men—and women—shirtless in various situations, people of all
shapes and sizes and musculature. And yeah, some had caught his attention, had made him do
a double-take, kept his focus, even turned him on a tiny bit. But none ever compared to
Stiles.

He was built lean, torso long, a patch of dark hair between his pecs and a triangle of it
starting at his belly button and disappearing under the waistband of his boxer-briefs as they
poked out over the top of his pants. There were barely there indents of abdominal muscles
and obliques, that deep V that ran between a man's torso and his legs, collarbone standing out
temptingly. A large mole was located an inch or so above his right nipple, another below the
left one, other smaller ones scattered all over and Derek's eyes bounced around, wanting to
memorize and categorize them all.

Derek found himself drooling a little, imagining running his hands over the lightly tanned
flesh, his tongue over the delineations of his muscles, his teeth over every mole and freckle.
He imagined that flesh covered in sweat, Derek's saliva, both of their come. He imagined that
flat chest heaving from panting, muscles tightening from pleasure, all of it arched up as the
Omega threw his head back.

His wolf rumble in his head, fully on board with making all that happen. And his cock
seemed to have no issues with it either, judging by the way it was twitching in his sleep pants.
In all honesty, the human part of him was cool with it, too, was dying to make it happen.

But it wasn't going to.

Because Stiles didn't want it.

So he settled for watching the stretch and play of muscles as the younger man put his plaid
shirt back on, mourned the loss of bare skin as he buttoned it up, hoped like hell Stiles didn't
notice him staring.

"Now how do I look?" the younger man asked, arms out to the side again, brows raised in
expectation.

An impressed pout formed on Derek's face at the sight, at the fact that he looked just as good
with the shirt on as he had with it off. He figured he was a little biased, but his Mate was
fucking attractive, brown eyes twinkling and full lips pulled in a smile. And for the time
being, he was Derek's.

"Very hire-able," he commented, using the younger man's made up word and feeling his
stomach flip at the blinding smile he got in response.

"Thanks, hun," Stiles quipped with a wink before heading around the end of the bed to get to
his nightstand on the other side. "So. This what you're gonna do all day when I'm gone?"

"Yep," Derek deadpanned, popping the "p".

"I come home and you're not in that exact spot, I'll be very disappointed." After grabbing his
phone and wallet, the Omega headed out the bedroom area, down the one step that put it
above the main part of the loft, and went straight for the breakfast bar.

"Wouldn't want that," the older man grunted as he hauled himself up and joined his Mate,
wanting to see him out.

Stiles snorted as he grabbed a bottle of water out the fridge then looked around the loft to
make sure he had everything. Satisfied, he walked side by side to the door with Derek, the
two occasionally bumping shoulders with each other.

"Good luck," the older man told him as they ascended the stairs and came to a stop on the
landing. "You'll do great."

Stiles gave him another smile before leaning in to rub their cheeks together, their standard
goodbye action for the past week or so, and Derek felt his eyes drift closed at the close
proximity. His fingers ached to grab hold of the Omega and haul him in close, to scent-mark
him properly, the way he had the first time, to get their scents so embedded in one another it
was hard to tell them apart anymore, just a whole new smell of StilesAndDerek.

He inhaled the Omega's scent deeply and held it in his lungs, savoring the sugary-sweetness
for as long as possible, knowing it would be a while before he'd be able to smell it again. And
if Stiles got this job, chances were this would be their every day.

Ouch.

At least he'd be coming home at the end of it, he reasoned, choosing to focus on that instead.

Stiles pulled away and slid the door open, walking backwards into the hall. "I'll text you
when it's over to tell you how it went. Think I'm gonna go bug Scott when I'm done though,
hang with him for a while, if that's cool."

"Go for it," Derek told him, leaning against the door.

The younger man gave him another wide smile and blew him a kiss before turning and
walking down the hall. "Later, sweetheart."

"Have a good day, pumpkin!" he called after him, waiting until Stiles had disappeared around
the corner to slide the door closed.

He shuffled back to the bed and flopped onto his back on it, in the exact same place he'd
previously been. He wasn't gonna spend all day there, he knew that, but it wouldn't hurt to
just lay there for a while before motivating himself to go actually do something—although he
had no clue what, since he had zero plans for the entirety of the day. He spread his arms out
on either side of himself, fingers of his left hand coming across soft cotton that wasn't part of
the still unmade bed. Grabbing hold of it, he dragged it over and up so he could see it for
himself, realizing it was Stiles' white tee he'd taken off.

Unable to help himself, Derek dropped it onto his face, inhaling deeply, the Omega's scent
embedded on the cotton. The smell made his blood rush and his cock jerk and his head spin
and before he knew it, his hand was wrapped around his half-hard dick through his pajama
pants. His mind hit him with the memory of Stiles' shirtless form in front of him, the muscles
moving and shifting, the cute moles and the sexy hair.

Okay, first thing he was doing that morning was jerking off, he soon realized, cock fully hard
within his grip. The rest of his day was up in the air.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles wound up getting the job and they celebrated with take-out that evening, amidst jokes
over the younger man's disappointment that Derek hadn't actually laid in bed all day—"This
place isn't gonna clean itself Stiles." He started his first shift the next morning so once again,
Derek woke up early with him—five am, which was met with countless grumbling
complaints from Stiles—making him breakfast while he showered and dressed, and they ate
together at the breakfast bar.

"You realize this is a complete reversal of dynamics here, right?" the teenager asked, cutting a
piece of waffle and swirling it in the syrup he'd drowned his food in. "The Alpha making
breakfast and staying home while the Omega goes off to work and earns a paycheck."

Derek shrugged, not bothered by it, spearing his own waffle with a tiny dose of the sugary
stuff. "I know. Don't see anything wrong with it though."

Stiles smiled at him around his food and nudged him with his shoulder, scent lit up with joy.

After scent-marking and watching the Jeep pull off, Derek cleaned up the breakfast mess,
dishes washed and dried and put up, counters wiped down, syrup bottle cleaned off and put
back in fridge. The bed was made in a few minutes, although it would've been faster had
Derek not been so distracted by the scent of Stiles' pillow and the fact that his own scent was
sneaking in on it.

Place tidied up, he glanced around the loft, wondering what exactly else he could do. Most of
the cleaning had been done the day before, Derek having scrubbed the bathroom in a fit of
nervousness over Stiles getting hired, the floors swept and mopped out of boredom, spiral
stairs still shining from his cleaning freak-out two weeks prior.

Really the only thing that needed cleaning was his giant set of windows but that would
require a ladder and he wasn't that bored.

Looking down at himself, he realize it'd been a while since he'd gone to the gym, too
preoccupied with Stiles moving in then spending time around him and keeping the den clean
in a primal need to prove he was a good Alpha. A good run and a work-out would kill time,
as well as silence his wolf's howling over their Omega not being around.

New Bonds were annoying.

Even if it wasn't real on Stiles' end.

Shit.

His eyes went wide at that, wondering when in the hell he'd actually formed any sort of Bond
with the Omega and coming up blank. It wasn't like he'd consciously decided to do it, hadn't
even realized he had until that moment.

But maybe he didn't need to. Maybe it was all instincts and subconscious bullshit. Maybe it
was his wolf that had formed the Bond and the human part of him was only just now
realizing it.

Yeah, this was gonna be a problem.

No. It wouldn't. Because he won't let it. If Stiles didn't find out then it wouldn't be an issue. It
would just be Derek's burden to bear and his problem to deal with in four years when they
called it off and Stiles went back to being a friend—if they were ever really friends in the
first place.

He roughed his hands over his face and let out a groan that turned into a growl. The idea of a
mindless monotonous work-out was sounding more and more appealing, a chance to get out
of his head and forget his recent epiphany.

Mind made up, he grabbed a sleeveless tee, a pair of old basketball shorts, and some boxer-
briefs out of his drawers and got changed. Somewhere in the back of his head, the Alpha part
of him was happy about this, that they were gonna get in shape and remain strong for their
Omega, prove what a good Mate they were with muscles and physical attractiveness. He
ignored it. He was doing this for himself.

And maybe a tiny bit for Stiles.

~*~*~*~*~*~
They ended up establishing a sort of routine after that.

Stiles' shifts were never the same, sometimes working afternoons, but never at nights since it
was against the law for Omegas to work after dark—"It's an insult, dude. Like we're so weak
and fragile, we can't protect ourselves at night or some shit." "It's also an insult to Alphas
saying we can't resist an Omega and will attack any that we see." "Basically it's rude and it's
bullshit all around."—but they still woke up at the same early hour to keep up their sleep
patterns. If Stiles wasn't on the morning shift, he'd skip the shower and join Derek on a run
around the neighborhood, saving his shower and their breakfast for after, helping with the
housework when they were done. On those days, Derek would hit the gym after saying
goodbye, then come home to try and kill time before he had to make dinner, always sure to
have it hot and ready when Stiles' shift was over.

On the days of his morning shifts, Stiles would skip the run and head straight to work after
eating, coming home to a late lunch and doing his share of the chores. He'd work on his
summer reading assignment until he made dinner for both of them, taking breaks to talk with
Derek about their days or any other random topic that came to mind as his focus on the book
waned.

That first Saturday was spent with friends, Stiles having a Bro Day with Scott and first-
person shooter games, Derek going out with Isaac to surprise Stiles with a new HDTV as a
congrats for his first week of employment, the older Omega gladly joining in as an excuse to
get out of helping paint Boyd and Erica's nursery—"She's bossy enough without all the
hormones, all right? Hanging with Prego-zilla is not my idea of a fun Saturday.". It was when
they were rearranging the furniture back at the loft that Isaac mentioned his upcoming Heat
and asked if Derek and Stiles had discussed a plan for the younger man's.

Which, no, they hadn't.

He admitted that much, not going into further detail over how their only plan was basically
Stiles handling it himself. Although how that was gonna work was beyond Derek, since his
loft was one giant room—minus the side room that was connected through the enormous hole
in the wall. The Alpha couldn't be around when Stiles was in his Heat, the teen clearly would
want privacy, and honestly, Derek wasn't entirely sure he'd be able to resist the scent of ripe
and needy Omega.

But it wasn't like he could go stay with friends or his family during that time. It would raise
too many eyebrows, too many questions, a fact he was pretty sure he'd already thought of. He
needed to ask Stiles when his Heat was coming up so he knew when to have a plan ready to
go.

"Can I make a suggestion?" Isaac asked, as they moved the entertainment unit against the
wall, where a plug and cables were set up, ready to be used.

Derek nodded as they set the furniture down then retrieved the gaming consoles they'd taken
off out of fear of them being dropped. "I'm open to anything at this point," he answered
honestly. Because Stiles' Heat had him feeling lost as fuck, a sensation he wasn't used to, and
he knew it was because he had no clue what the fuck he was supposed to do.
Paige's Heat had been easy to handle. He went to her parents' house, they spent three days in
a Heat room in her basement, and he was sent home as she recovered. His other relationships
had been with Betas and his own Ruts were mainly spent alone, minus one he'd spent with
Jen sophomore year of college. But that had taken place in his own apartment off-campus, so
there hadn't really been much to deal with or take care of—besides getting enough sheets and
food and cleaning up the mess after.

Isaac scuffed his feet, carrying an X-Box over to the entertainment unit and putting it on the
shelf it had lived on, ducking behind to plug it into the surge bar. "Omegas are nesters, right?
Even the most modern of us can't deny that instinct or fight the comfort that comes with
burrowing in a blanket."

Derek nodded in agreement, remembering days after the passing of Claudia Stilinski and how
Stiles walked around with a blanket wrapped around himself and his head, curled up on the
couch more often than not. A habit he'd clearly kept up, the Alpha realized, further
remembering how Stiles had covered himself in his comforter when Derek had dropped by
the Stilinski place the day after his last sleepwalking incident.

"And most of us prefer having our Heat in a place that isn't our bed," Isaac went on, rising to
his full lanky height. "Just something about sleeping in the place where we were just writhing
around and moaning, I dunno. It just doesn't sit right." He shrugged with his hands on his
hips and turned to look at Derek, watching him plug in the Playstation. "It's another reason
why we have separate Heat rooms."

"So you think I should set up a place for Stiles to have his Heat," he concluded, peering up at
his Packmate, getting a nod in response.

"Like I said, just a suggestion. But he'd probably appreciate the gesture." With that, he turned
and headed back over to grab one of the drawers they'd pulled out after learning the hard way
that they won't stay put when the unit was being moved.

Derek remained seated, arms hanging off his bent knees as he glanced around the loft,
coming across the big hole in the opposite wall. Rising to his feet, he told Isaac to come with
him, the two heading into the separate room.

It wasn't anything too major, roughly half the width of the loft with its own bathroom. Derek
figured it was supposed to be a master bedroom, until someone had knocked the door down
and made the uneven opening, for whatever reason. But the water still worked and the place
was still clean and well-kept—partially in thanks to Derek's neat habits and his recently
developed Alpha need to provide a nice, tidy den.

His eyes roamed the space before settling on the hole, gesturing to it before putting his hands
on his hips. "Think we can put a door there?"

The Omega cocked an eyebrow over blue eyes, before looking at it and giving a shrug.
"Better question for Boyd, really, but I don't see why not." He turned back to Derek, brows
meeting in the middle in a curious manner. "Why? Gonna make a Heat room for Stiles."
"Thinkin' about it," he admitted, scratching his jaw as he looked around the room, mentally
noting all the things he'd had to get and change and do. "He might not wanna spend his first
Heat with me since this—” He waved a hand around in the air to encompass their
relationship, their Bond, them living together, all of it “—is still new, so he's gonna need a
place to be alone during it, ya know?"

Isaac nodded, hand scratching through dirty blond curls. “I get it,” he stated, dropping his
hand to smack Derek on the bicep in a friendly manner. “You're a good Mate.”

He smiled at the compliment, his wolf preening and puffing out its chest inside his head,
glancing around the space once more. He just hoped Stiles would agree with that sentiment.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles loved the TV.

Which Derek had no doubt about, but to actually see his reaction, smell how excited and
happy he was about it, it was a whole 'nother thing entirely. A smile of his own formed on his
face, chest puffing out in pride, wolf wagging its tail happily, because they'd pleased their
Mate, had made them happy, had provided for them. He was a good Alpha and was
practically preening under the thought.

“There's no actual cable or channels yet,” he reluctantly admitted, scratching the back of his
head with a slight wince. “But I already called to have a guy come out and install it first thing
on Monday. And our own WiFi.”

Stiles smirked, cocking an eyebrow at him. “So I can stop stealing the neighbor's?”

“Yep.”

“Good, 'cause one day they'll figure it out and actually lock it.” He strode over and checked
out the back of the TV, most likely checking if his consoles were hooked up—which they
weren't because only one could be plugged in at a time and Derek wasn't about to guess
which one it should be out of fear he'd choose wrong. With a satisfied nod, he straightened
back up and turned to the Alpha with a happy smile, scent filling the air and making the older
man's stomach flip. “Seriously though. Thanks.”

Derek shrugged a shoulder, playing it off. “Glad you like it.”

“Love it.” Stiles grinned widely before making his way over and hugging the other man,
arms wrapping around his shoulders. “Thank you.”

He froze for half a second, not expecting the embrace, before returning it, his arms around a
lean waist. Stiles fit perfectly against him, Derek easily able to hook his chin on the younger
man's shoulder, and it would take practically no effort to just turn his head and kiss his cheek
—or even his lips. But he held back, satisfying himself with the feeling of a heart pounding
against his chest and that sugary-sweet scent invading his nose with every inhale.

~*~*~*~*~*~
Stiles decided that every Sunday should be a Lazy Day—with capital letters, naturally—and
insisted that they stay in their PJs all day. They had frozen waffles for breakfast, microwave
burritos for lunch, and ordered pizza for dinner—“Cooking dinner isn't lazy, Der. That takes
actual work and effort.”—while spending the rest of the day binge-watching Daredevil via
the Netflix app on Stiles' Playstation after he hooked it up to the TV— “See? Isn't this better
than watching it on my laptop?” “Yes, dear.” “Every time you say that, I wanna punch you in
your perfect bunny teeth.” “Don't paraphrase Iron Man to threaten me.”—snuggled up
together on the couch.

Monday was back to a five am wake up call and Stiles going to work on an early shift. Derek
managed to get his run and work-out in before the cable guy showed around nine and was
gone by ten, leaving the Alpha alone to try and fill his day once again. He tried to remember
what he used to do during the summer, only to remember that they were usually filled with
part-time jobs and hanging out with his friends.

Only now his friends all had full-time jobs and were unavailable.

Downside of trying to be a teacher, he figured.

His boredom reached its apex around eleven and he shoved his boots onto his feet before
leaving the loft. If nothing else, he could go for a drive.

Or...

Getting in the Camaro, he headed straight for the highway, driving to Beacon City, a larger
town about thirty minutes away that had an actual downtown area and tall skyscrapers.

As well as the law offices of Deucalion and Valack, where his older sister worked as a junior
associate.

He grabbed lunch from a restaurant down the street before heading up to her floor, knocking
on the glass wall that separated her office from the rest. Laura peered up from where she was
huddled over paperwork, quirking an eyebrow at him, eyes flicking to where he lifted up the
white paper bag of food and waving him in.

“That better be a chicken wrap, Buns,” she warned as he stepped inside, scribbling a note on
something before closing the file she'd had opened and adding it to a stack on the side.

“With extra lettuce, no mayo, tub of thousand island on the side,” he informed her, knowing
her order by heart, closing the door behind himself then walking over. “I'm not an idiot.”

She smiled as he sat down opposite her and handed over her wrap and a bottle of water.
“Glad to see you're a fast learner,” she quipped, unwrapping the foil and spreading it out over
her desk calendar, before opening the wrap and drizzling the thousand island dressing over it.
“Now, as lovely as it is to see you and lunch, I get the feeling you didn't drive all the way out
here just to catch-up, not when you saw me last night.” She raised an eyebrow at him
pointedly as she rewrapped the tortilla, lifted it, then took a bite.
Derek tore the top of his foil wrapper from around his own lunch, shrugging. “I maybe kinda
need your help.”

The eyebrow went up again as she chewed then swallowed. “And you couldn't just call later
tonight or something?”

He shook his head. “Stiles would hear and it kinda involves him.” Her teeth sunk into her
wrap, she circled her hand in the air to signal him to go on. “You know that second room I
have in the loft? The one through the hole in the wall?” She nodded. “I'm gonna turn it into a
Heat room for him, just some place for him to go and. Deal with everything by himself.”

She held up a hand and swallowed. “Wait, you're not helping?”

“He wants to do it alone.”

Laura's eyebrows climbed her forehead. “Wow. I figured you guys would have like a friends
with Heat benefits arrangement going on, you know?” she commented, wiping her hands on a
napkin. “Made sense considering everything else you're doing in this charade.”

He seesawed his head as he swallowed. “Well, apparently, that charade covers everything
except sex.”

Her eyes bugged out of her skull at that and she practically choked on her water. “You're
telling me you're gonna be spending the next four years with your Mate, who doesn't even
know he's your Mate, without having sex with him or anyone else?” she stated dubiously,
hand held out towards him.

Derek winced as he scratched at his cheek and nodded. “Yep.”

“You've lost your fucking mind.”

“I know, but that's not what I need help with.”

“Glad you admit it, Buns,” she said with a smirk, picking her wrap back up. “So how may I
assist?”

“I just need to know what kinda things to put in it. Other than 'bed' and 'spare sheets',” he let
her know before biting into his own wrap.

She bobbed her eyebrows, shrugging a bare shoulder under her black silk blouse. “Well, a
door would be a good first step.” He rolled his eyes and flipped her off. “Mattress, soft,
memory foam preferably. Lots and lots of sheets and blankets and pillows in case he wants to
wrap himself up or snuggle something. Oh! Body pillows, the super long ones? Landon had
one, loved it. When I didn't feel like cuddling, he'd latch onto it. It'll help your boy out if he's
doing this alone.”

Derek nodded as he one-handedly typed it all into the notes app on his phone, taking in her
suggestions of a mini-fridge stocked full of drinks—“Water and Gatorade, mostly. If you can
find out his favorite flavor, you'd win everything.”—and popsicles—“The sugar helps with
energy and metabolism and is a good substitute for food. No ice cream or ice cream
sandwiches or things like that. Dairy products are too heavy on the stomach during that time.
Learned that the hard way. Not a fun weekend, trust me.”—as well as carpeted floors—“The
softer things are, the better. Their skin will be super sensitive and their pain receptors are
gone, so try to eliminate anything and everything he could get hurt on.” “It's Stiles. He can
get hurt in a bubble wrap suit in a room with padded walls.” “Time to pad the walls then,
Buns.”—and a plastic storage bin to keep toys and lube—“Water-based is always best and
won't mess with his slick production. And make sure you get lots of it. You can never have too
much, Buns.” “Please don't call me cutesy nicknames while discussing lube.”

“So, you gonna do all this while he's at work for some sort of surprise?” she concluded,
taking one final bite of her wrap before dropping the sliver of plain tortilla she had left onto
the foil.

Derek nodded, his own wrapper having been balled up and tossed into the trash some time
ago. “Figured he'd appreciate the gesture and it'd be mutually beneficial to both of us.” He
stretched over the back of the chair, grunting. “Plus it'll give me something to do during the
day.”

“You could always get a job,” Laura suggested, wiping her fingers on a napkin before
gathering her trash. “You keep saying you don't wanna be Uncle Peter and spend the rest of
your life living off your trust fund. Not to mention the fact that there's always the chance your
plan doesn't work and Beacon Hills High still won't hire you.”

His face fell and he slumped in the seat, turning his head away from her as he rubbed at his
mouth. She had a point, as reluctant as he was to admit it, and it was a good one. One he and
Stiles hadn't even thought about.

Which he felt kinda dumb for.

They had plan upon plan for every single thing during this relationship, every single facet of
it thought out—especially now that Derek was planning on fixing up the side room and
letting Stiles use it for his Heat. Yet neither one of them had thought about what would
happen if Ms Finch still said “thanks but no thanks”, which could still possibly happen. She
could tell him that he hadn't been Bonded long enough to be trusted and to wait until the next
year. She could see it for the ruse it was, telling him to come back when he was Bonded for
real. She could turn him away on a permanent basis, deciding she didn't want to hire a liar or
a con artist.

So yeah, he needed a back-up plan.

“I'll look for a job when I'm done with the Heat room,” he decided, prioritizing things and
deciding Stiles' needs came first.

“Or you get a job and work on the Heat room in your spare time, like most other adults in the
world,” Laura argued, giving him a pointed look. “Unless Stiles is going into Heat next week,
you'll be okay.”

He nodded, not wanting to get into it with her, but still disagreeing wholeheartedly. Rising to
his feet, he watched her do the same and round her desk, pulling him into a hug.
“You realize building him a Heat room is very Alpha-like behavior, right?” she asked as she
pressed their cheeks together in a familial way.

He snorted. “Well, I am an Alpha.”

She smacked the back of his head, pulling back enough to let him see the scowl she wore.
“You know what I mean,” she stated in a hard tone that just dared him to fucking argue.
“You're better off just telling him.”

Shaking his head, he pulled out of the embrace, stepping back. “I tell him, I lose him and I'm
not ready to lose him.”

“Der,” she said softly, sad look on her face and pitying notes in her scent. “You're gonna lose
him no matter what.”

He swallowed hard against the harsh truth spoken in a kind manner, giving her a wave and a
goodbye, refusing to talk about it, think about it, acknowledge it in any way. Denial wasn't
the best coping mechanism in the world, neither was putting this off, but it was all he had at
that moment. He only had four years with Stiles and he wasn't gonna spend it moping about
how it was only four years.

Back in his Camaro in the parking deck at the bottom of the skyscraper Laura's law office
was located in, Derek slipped his cell out of his pocket, dialing a number he knew by heart
and hoping there was an answer.

“'Lo?”

“Boyd, it's Derek,” he greeted, shuffling in his seat to get comfy.

A snort sounded down the line and he could picture the Beta's stoic “no shit” face he'd be
giving right then. “Yeah, so my caller ID said. So what's up?”

He slipped the keys into the ignition but didn't turn, just sat there in silence, looking around
the parking lot and seeing no other souls. “I need your help and advice turning my side room
into a Heat room.”

A long moment of quiet followed and Derek refused to be one of those cliché idiots checking
to make sure the call hadn't dropped. Only to go ahead and do it anyway, seeing the timer still
running.

“On two conditions,” Boyd finally responded, deep voice just as hard and as firm as always.
“One: I never hear about anything that happens in that room. I respect you as a man, an
Alpha, and my Alpha, but I don't need to know what goes on between you and Stilinski when
the door's shut.”

“Not a problem,” he easily agreed, knowing there'd be nothing to tell. And even if there was,
Derek didn't think he'd wanna tell it anyway. Certain things about a relationship should stay
between those in it, he'd always believed that. And the Alpha part of him was feeling very
protective and territorial over all that, wanting to keep certain things about Stiles to himself,
their sex life included.

Not that they had a sex life. Not together anyway.

Or would.

Shit.

“And two,” Boyd continued on, voice growing smug. “You have to help me set up the nursery
to Erica's specifications.”

Derek slammed his head back against the seat, eyes shutting tight as he grimaced. He was
screwed.
 Ten

Derek made no mention of his Heat room plans to Stiles, determined to keep it a surprise
until it was finished. He did tell about his trip up to see Laura at work, claiming he was just
bored and needed a change of scenery.

“Maybe you should get a hobby,” Stiles suggested, sliding a lasagna in the oven and setting
the timer. “Get a new book, learn your five-hundredth language, fix the hole in the wall.”

“That would be my five-hundred-and-eighth language,” he corrected with a smirk from his

seat at the breakfast bar, chuckling when a dishtowel was lobbed at his head.

The Omega flopped onto the couch with a huff, grabbing his summer reading book off the
coffee table where he'd left it and opening it up to the page he needed. There was five
minutes of silence where he read and Derek scrolled through his Facebook feed on his phone,
rolling his eyes at the inanity of some people's complaints. There was seriously more
important shit in the world, but god forbid no one pay attention when a manicure is done the
wrong color or some bitch took the last cookie in the office kitchen.

The temptation to delete his page was too much sometimes.

A notification popped up telling him he'd been tagged in a photo and he clicked on it with a
puzzled frown, finding the group selfie Allison had taken of her, Scott, Stiles, and himself
when they all went bowling a week or so ago. He smiled at the shot, loving Stiles' beaming
face and sparkling eyes in the dim light of the arcade they'd raided once they were done
bowling, remembering the Omega's joy at beating him in air hockey.

Twice.

He scrolled through more of her photos, finding quite a few of himself, sneaky shots, some
including Stiles, a couple where he had his arm wrapped around the younger man or was
leaning in close. The two of them certainly looked the part of a happily Bonded couple, but
both of their statuses said “single”. Not exactly what they should be when trying to fool the
world into believing they were an item.

Lifting his head, he turned it to Stiles, ready to ask him a question regarding “Facebook
Official” that he honestly never thought he'd ask, only to get cut off.

“I've decided Theo Raeken is the worst person to ever exist.”

The random comment caught him off guard and it took Derek a moment to catch up. “Pretty
sure people would argue over that title belonging to Hitler,” he deadpanned, spinning in his
stool to fully face the other man.

Stiles seesawed his head where he was laying across the couch, head on the arm furthest from
Derek. “Okay, correction. Theo Raeken is the worst person to ever be in my life or around me
or anything.” He gestured with a hand on his head as though silently asking if that was better.
The Alpha nodded, locking his phone before getting comfy, ankles crossed on the bar of the
stool, arms folded over his chest. If this was shaping up to be any of the other rants Stiles had
come home with about his supervisor, it was gonna be a long one.

Because it wasn't bad enough in the younger man's opinion that he even needed a supervisor
in the first place—“Apparently it's 'in case something happens', which is bullshit. I'm the son
of the goddamn sheriff, I know what to do 'in case something happens'. It's bullshit. Omegist
bullshit.”—no, he was stuck with an Alpha prick asshole who lived up to every stereotype
surrounding the dynamic: cocky, rude, condescending, egotistical with delusions of grandeur
and a belief that he was the best Alpha to ever Alpha—“Sounds like my uncle.” “I'd rather
deal with your uncle to be honest, 'cause at least I can kick him in the nuts and not lose my
job.”

So every day Stiles would rant and flail about it, and Derek would listen to him rant and flail,
offering silent reassurance and offers to kick his ass, which were repeatedly turned down.

“Although, honestly, sometimes, I feel like just letting you,” Stiles stated, shoving his hair
back. “Like, if you ever wanna do some sorta cave-wolf primal Alpha defend my honor type
bullshit, do it against Theo. Just let me get a good seat and some popcorn and maybe set up
my phone to record it so I can watch it over and over again.”

A small smile formed on Derek's face, chest puffing out, pleased he'd made his Omega
happy. Already his scent was less agitated and aggressive, more relaxed and relieved now
that he'd gotten it out of his system.

“Say when and where and I'll do it,” the Alpha offered with a smirk. “I'll even bring the
popcorn for you.”

“My hero,” Stiles quipped, hands folded on his chest as he batted his eyelashes sarcastically
before laughing. He rose to his feet, adjusting his baseball tee around his waist then headed
over. “It's all good though. Nothing I haven't dealt with before. Thanks for letting me rant.”
He patted the older man on the back as he passed to head into the kitchen, letting his fingers
graze along his neck as he went.

Derek shivered at the accidental contact, cock twitching from the barely there sensation that
had happened on a weak spot on his neck. Because it had been way too long since he'd gotten
laid and now he was living with someone whose scent drove him up the walls in every
possible way. He felt like he was slowly losing control of his trigger, fingers slipping on the
grip, and it was only a matter of time before he was coming over the littlest and stupidest shit.

Like an unintentional scent-marking.

He roughed his hands over his face repeatedly, scrubbed away the thoughts and repeated his
mom's fucking mantra in his head until he got a grip on everything. By then Stiles had
checked on his lasagna and was working on getting plates out, oblivious to the whole thing,
humming some tune to himself that Derek didn't recognize.

Probably for the best.

Dropping his hands, he felt them hit something hard and slender and definitely not the
counter, peering down to find his phone. The sight of it reminded him of what he wanted to
ask before Stiles had gone off on another Theo-fueled rant and he lifted up the device,
unlocking it.

“Think we should become Facebook official?” he asked nonchalantly, finding a new friend
request from Allison. He hesitated briefly before hitting “accept” figuring it would look good
for the image. Plus, in all honesty, he just like the girl.

Stiles snorted in amusement, grabbing disposable napkins out their designated drawer.
“Considering everything Cora tells me you feel about social media, I seriously didn't think I'd
ever hear you say that.” He smirked, focusing on grabbing cutlery, then shrugged a shoulder.
“But sure. If you want to, go for it.”

Derek held back from telling him that what he wanted was to make them Facebook official as
well as real life official, for this all to be real and not as a means to an end. He could hear
Laura chastising him in his head and he tuned her out, focusing on his screen. By the time
Stiles had set the table and had poured them drinks, it was done.

“Derek Hale is in a Bond with Stiles Stilinski.”

At the end of the day, the status had over twenty likes and Derek had seven new friend
requests, all from Stiles' ragtag group of pals. He hadn't felt that popular since his high school
basketball team won state when he was a senior.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The universe shone on Derek the next day.

Stiles had an early shift—which sucked—and was planning on spending time with Scott after
—which also sucked—but also meant that Derek would have all day to figure out plans for
the Heat room. Boyd had the day off as well and was over by nine, sans Erica who was busy
at her own job at a hair salon.

The Alpha explained what he wanted to do and the dark-skinned man threw in his advice on
how to make it all happen, summers working construction coming in handy. They took
measurements, then again, and a third time, playing it beyond safe to make sure it was all
accurate. Next was a list of supplies they'd need, right down to the kind of tacks, Derek
keeping track on his phone.

“You realize this shit is gonna get expensive, right?” Boyd double-checked, eyebrow raised
where he peered down at his Alpha, the two standing side by side in the empty room.

Derek just gave him a pointed look, not saying a word, making the Beta sigh long and hard.

“Fuckin' rich people,” he muttered, pointing a finger in warning at the older man. “I'm
expecting a damn nice gift for the baby, that's all I'm saying.” He slashed a hand in front of
himself before turning and leaving the room.
They took Boyd's pick-up to their local Home Depot, the Beta knowing exactly where to go
in order to find everything, the twosome loading up two carts with countless supplies. The
pallet of bricks, a metal soundproof door, the carpet—some fancy brand that promised to
remain soft and was really fucking nice to rub a hand over—and the foam padding that would
go underneath were taken to a side entrance where an employee in an orange apron waited to
help them load up.

The utility elevator was still—thankfully—working when they got back to the loft and they
made several trips hauling it all up—luckily without any commentary from Ms McCormick
—and stashing it in the side room.

Deciding the first job should be installing the door in the giant hole, they cleaned and
prepped the area, measuring out where the door would go and marking it. Mortar was mixed
in giant plastic buckets and the two set to work laying bricks, ESPN playing in the
background, discussing the upcoming NFL season despite it being three months away and
analyzing basketball like it was the greatest thing to ever exist.

Derek had once listened to Stiles rant about SportsCenter and its blatant bias towards certain
sports while baseball was hardly acknowledged and hockey was practically nonexistent and
the Alpha didn't disagree.

They made quick work of brick laying, enjoying companionable silence that he only ever
found with Boyd, not feeling like it was necessary to always be talking. Not that they were
silent the entire time. Derek asked how Erica and the pregnancy was going, asked how their
families were handling everything. Boyd asked how Stiles was liking living in the loft, asked
if Derek liked sharing his place with someone.

Asked how serious it was and if Derek was gonna put a Bite on it.

“Erica told you to ask that one, didn't she?” the Alpha surmised, wiping sweat off his
forehead.

Boyd nodded and rolled his eyes. “Told me to use those exact words, too.”

Figured.

Reaching for another brick, he laid it on the mortal and put his miniature level on it to make
sure it was even. “Tell her it's undetermined at this point,” he placated, knowing he wouldn't
get away with not having an answer and trying to save Boyd from an evening of annoyed
hormonal Mate.

By the time lunch rolled around, they had one side of the hole bricked up. The other side was
completed after sandwiches and chips—and a few texts from Stiles saying he was leaving
work and on his way to Scott's, followed by an announcement that he'd made it to Scott's, and
a couple long winded and emoji laced rants regarding Theo...again—and they decided to say
fuck the rules and install the door anyway before filling in the top.

Through some miracle, they managed to finish and get everything cleaned up right as Stiles
slid open the door, his Adidases slapping against the concrete as he dragged himself down the
front steps. Boyd gave Derek a look that wished him luck before voicing his goodbyes and
leaving, nodding at Stiles in acknowledgment as he passed on his way out. The Omega
pointed at the departing male with a thumb over his shoulder, opening his mouth to speak
only to get distracted by something over Derek's head and to his left.

“Uhhh,” he stretched the word out as the door closed behind him, moving his hand so it was
now pointing where his eyes were focused. “There's no hole.”

“You said you wanted the hole gone.” He shrugged it off, heading for the kitchen to grab a
drink. “You hungry?”

“Ate at Scott's. Seriously though? You just woke up this morning and decided to install a
door? And bricks? You added bricks. What the hell is going on?” Stiles questioned further,
following Derek over and dropping down onto a stool.

Another shrug as the Alpha opened the fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, holding it out to
his Mate in silent offer, rejected with a shake of the head. He closed the fridge door and
leaned back against it and he twisted open the bottle. “More or less.”

“Okay.” He slowly nodded once, scent alight with confusion and curiosity and a sharp sense
of wonder that meant Stiles was about to pry and stick his nose where it didn't need to go. As
usual. “But why? What's the plan with that room?”

Derek smirked, fully enjoying this. He had forgotten how Stiles couldn't stand not knowing
shit. The surprise of the TV had been an instinct gratification sort of thing as far as seeing the
Omega's reaction to it. This was gonna be a long drawn out thing and would make him
absolutely crazy.

“It's a surprise,” he gave that much, lifting his bottle to his lips to drink deep, thirstier than he
thought he was.

“A surprise,” the younger man repeated flatly. “Like the TV?”

“Better.”

“A bigger TV?” he asked hopefully. “A movie theater?”

Derek gave him a look that told him to get real and Stiles threw his arms in the air in
exasperation. “I'm not building you a fucking theater.”

“Play room? Complete with a pool table, air hockey, maybe a few classic arcade games and
pinball machines. Wet bar.” Stiles bit his lip as he grinned widely and nodded, like it would
get the older man to agree.

Fat fucking chance.

The Alpha rolled his eyes, capping his bottle after downing half of it and stepping forward to
put it on the counter just below the breakfast bar. “You realize the whole point of a surprise is
that you don't know what it is until someone shows you, right?” he deadpanned, eyebrows
raised expectantly.
Stiles' grin grew as he slapped his hands in a happy rhythm on the bar. “That's not a no.”

“It's a no,” he corrected. “I'm not creating a play room and I'm definitely not putting in a wet
bar when only one of us can drink.”

“Legally,” the Omega emphasized, pointing at him. “Only one of us can drink legally. I can
technically drink alcohol. Not like I'll burst into flames or melt or get poisoned or whatever.”

Derek put on a false grin of his own, leaning forward over the counter. “You're still not
drinking alcohol. And I'm still not telling you what's in that room.” He patted the younger
man's head before straightening up and snatching up his bottle. “I'm taking a shower. And
don't bother trying to get in that room. It's locked and I will know if you picked it and I will
be pissed.”

The teenager held his hands up in innocence but Derek didn't believe it for a fucking second.
He knew Stiles, knew the lengths he'd go to in order to find something out. Breaking into
school attendance office, copying RFID cards for the sheriff department evidence lock-up,
stealing police scanners, there was no stopping him.

With a sigh, he rubbed his forehead, trying a different tactic. “This is really important to me
and I've been working my ass off all day and it would mean a lot to me if you'd stay out until
I'm ready to show you.”

Stiles' sobered at that, face growing serious, scent losing the mischievous edge to it. “All
right. I'll wait,” he agreed lowly before practically slamming his elbow on the counter in
order to point at Derek once more, brow drawn in a hard line. “But just know you're a terrible
fake Mate for making me wait. It's gonna be killing me.”

Derek smirked, a laugh gusting out his nose. “I know,” he stated with a wink before stepping
around the edge of the counter, shoving Stiles' head playfully as he made his way across the
loft to the bathroom.

It was gonna be fun.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles had the afternoon shift the next day so after their usual routine, Derek sat at the
breakfast bar shopping online for some of the things he still needed for the Heat room. The
Omega tried to peek and see why he was doing but a gruff "it's for the surprise" had him
backing off to the couch, where he started fucking around on the internet under the guise of
research for his summer reading project, all the while literally singing the praises of them
having their own secure WiFi network.

He also questioned whether or not Derek was even allowed to reconstruct anything in the
apartment or if he'd get in trouble with the landlord, to which the Alpha pointed out his uncle
owned the building.

"He'd probably be glad I'm taking care of that hole for him," he stated, scrolling through a list
of mattress options. "Hell, I could probably burn the whole building down and he'd thank for
me for getting rid of it so he didn't have to bother with it anymore, then give me a cut of the
insurance money."

"I sometimes have serious issues believing your uncle is a Hale," Stiles commented from his
spot on the couch, socked feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Mom says he was switched at birth. We're still trying to figure out if she's joking or not."

Stiles left for work right after lunch and Isaac came over a few minutes later. He and Derek
managed to lay down the tack boards around the edges of the room, followed by the padding
and carpet, while Derek laid out his plan for what he was putting in and where it would go.
Isaac added a few ideas of his own from his own experiences: softer lighting, covers for the
lights, baby proofing outlets—"No offense, but it's Stiles we're talking about. I've heard
stories."—and a sturdy lock on the inside of the door—"If he's spending his first one alone in
here, he'll want the safety and security. It'll put his mind at ease and make his Heat more
bearable. When you guys spend it together, it'll make your wolf happy knowing that nothing
will get in to interrupt or harm your Omega while he's vulnerable."

Derek didn't point out that they won't ever be sharing a Heat, but the lock was a damn good
idea. He'd started waking up hard every morning, almost rutting subconsciously, and that was
just from Stiles' normal everyday smell. Fuck only knew what would happen if Derek got a
whiff of his Heat scent and he wasn't about to force himself on someone. He liked to think he
had enough control to hold himself back, but with Stiles, everything felt increased a
thousandfold and Derek felt like he no longer had such a sure grip on his wolf. Or himself.

The carpet was laid out in only a couple hours, and while Isaac still hung out for a few
talking about a guy that had recently become a regular at the coffee shop with "perfect
cheekbones and bright blue eyes and these lashes and this jaw that can cut fucking
diamonds". Derek smiled at the joy rolling off his Beta, at the way his heart raced as he
talked about his crush.

"Just don't let Erica know," he warned with a smirk, popping some peanuts in his mouth as a
mid-afternoon snack. "She'd go straight into Matchmaker Mode and use her unborn pup as an
excuse to get you to go along with it. 'You wouldn't wanna upset a pregnant woman, would
ya, Lahey?'" he intoned, watching as the younger man dropped his head onto the counter with
a thud.

Isaac left not long after and Derek got to work on dinner prep, tenderizing pork chops, setting
out dishware, getting the kettle ready for instant mashed potatoes.

Which took all of about thirty minutes and then he was left with about three hours before he
needed to start cooking.

Shit.

He meandered about, doing a couple things here and there—updating the shopping list,
straightening up his already neat armoire, washing out the kitchen sink—but still was left
with time to kill.
Fuck. Maybe Laura had been right about getting a job. He clearly had the time for it, the
majority of the work in the Heat room was done and he was mainly waiting on deliveries in
order to start the next step. He didn't have kids or a pet to take care of and use up his time. He
and Stiles had agreed to split the errands and chores so.

He was stuck.

Bored.

With a sigh, he sat at the breakfast counter, pulling up job listings on his laptop, Laura's
words about their plan possibly not working ringing in his ears.

Which he promptly hated Laura for. She could eat a dick at that point, honestly.

There wasn't really much, most positions either filled by students needing a summer job or
went beyond his skills. He considered calling Boyd to see if there was an opening at his dad's
garage where he worked, only to decide he didn't know enough about cars to work there. He
considered asking Isaac about the cafe he worked at, only to scratch that, too, not wanting to
deal with arrogant assholes and their demands all day. Asking Erica wasn't an option at all.

The daycare he'd worked at while in high school was hiring, always needing more caregivers
in summer months when kids were out of school but parents were still at work. He sent an
email to the requested address with a copy of his résumé attached—after making sure he'd
changed his relationship status to Bonded and hating that he even had to put that on a résumé
in the first place—thinking it was better than nothing.

He started on dinner after that and by the time he was moving the frypan off the hot ring and
onto a cool one, Stiles was home, slowly clomping his way down the stairs. His shoulders
were slumped, head hanging, chemosignals full of misery and defeat and upset.

Derek's wolf began yowling in his head, his own face falling at the sight of his Mate looking
so downtrodden. He dropped everything and raced over, not thinking about whether it was
welcome or within the parameters of their deal or any other bullshit. He just wanted to make
sure the Omega was okay.

"Stiles?" he prompted gently, hands on the younger man's upper arms, thumbs rubbing at
biceps through a layer of plaid flannel and gray cotton. "What's wrong? What happened?"

The Omega shook his still ducked head, sniffed once, then promptly let himself fall forward
so the crown of his head was against Derek's chest. His hands gripped the older man's shirt
by his sides, clinging to him in a way, and he let out a shaky breath.

Derek stood frozen for all of two seconds before wrapping an arm around his waist, the other
hand cupping the back of his neck. The younger man shuddered as the tension left him and he
practically melted, long exhale gusting from between his parted lips.

"Wanna tell me what's going on?" Derek asked lowly, lips pressed against tawny hair, hand
smoothing up and down his back.
Stiles shook his head against him, sniffed again, swallowed hard. "Remember how I told you
that if you ever wanted to go all Alpha and have some sorta stupid Alpha fight to, like, prove
your worth or whatever?"

He inhaled sharply and went tense all over, wolf baying in his head out of happiness over
getting to do just that and anger because both it and his human side knew who exactly Stiles
would choose for him to go up against.

He was gonna kill Theo.

And he said as much out loud, the words slipping out past his lips before he could even think
about, a slight growl to them. It was probably beyond what they'd agreed to and his reaction
was probably beyond that of just a friend but if the younger man noticed or cared, he didn't
comment on it.

A wet laugh left Stiles and he sniffed, wiping his eyes and nose with the back of his hand
before gripping Derek's tee again. The statement had lightened him up some, but the misery
was still in his scent, the salty smell of upset hanging around the air.

"What'd the prick do this time?" the Alpha asked softly, proud that he was able to keep the
snarl out of his words, despite his hackles still being raised.

"The usual elitist bullshit," the teenager explained, clearing his throat. "Combined with his
statements that I was defective since I'm not the passive, demure, meek little Omega bitch
like the rest of them and my dad clearly fucked up raising me so he's a failure as an Alpha for
not putting me in my place and my entire family is just fucked up." He sniffed again, fingers
tightening to a white knuckle grip on the older man's shirt, body almost trembling with upset.

Derek glared at nothing, teeth grinding, nail beds and gums tingling as he fought off the shift.
He knew Stiles had gotten used to comments over his place as an Omega, the discrimination
that came with it, the belief of older people and "traditionalists" that he was too loud and
abrasive and unruly as an Omega, and that ninety-nine-point-nine percent of the time, he just
let it roll off his back with a mental middle finger—or sometimes an actual one—aimed at
whoever had spoken such stupidity.

But when it came to his dad, Stiles was incredibly defensive and his own hackles would stand
up. After his mom died, it was just the two of them and despite a rough patch in the
beginning where they adjusted to their new life and how their roles had changed because of
it, they worked together as a perfect team, taking care of one another and thriving despite
countless opinions that they'd collapse without an Omega parent running the house. Yet
they'd beaten the odds and Stiles had grown into an outstanding young man that Claudia
would've been incredibly proud of. And because it had been just the two Stilinski men
together, they were closer than any parent and child Derek knew of.

Which meant that Stiles was more affected by insults to his father than derogatory comments
aimed at himself.

A fact that Derek knew and Theo was gonna learn, even if it meant Derek had to beat it into
him.
His arm around the Omega's waist, he tightened his grip just enough to pull him closer, Stiles
burying his face in Derek's neck as their torsos pressed together. The Alpha kept his hold on
the younger man's neck, massaging at his pulse points, feeling him slowly go limp against
him. He rested his head against the Omega's, lips by his ear as he spoke gently.

"You and I both know that's bullshit, alright? And your dad knows it's bullshit, too. So does
most of this town. And if you want me to, I will punch Theo in his face for every syllable he
said against your dad and tear his larynx out so he can never speak again." He put every
ounce of conviction he had into those words, his heartbeat steady, even, sure, all to let the
man in his arms know he was one-hundred percent fucking serious about this.

He'd heard about the lengths Alphas would go to in order to protect and take care of and
defend their Mate but had always figured it was another one of those overly exaggerated
things that had gotten blown out of proportion over the years. He'd thought it was some
macho posturing bullshit Alphas played into in order to seem better, bigger, tougher, and win
over the Omega of their choice. He'd thought it was a bunch of crap made up for trashy
romance novels, the masculine Alpha with the big muscles and square jaw swooping in to
rescue and defend the Omega in distress from an abusive partner or a stalker Alpha
threatening them.

He'd never felt so wrong in his life.

Because at that moment, Derek was willing to slaughter the whole town if it meant Stiles was
happy and safe.

The Omega laughed then sniffed, nuzzling into his neck. "Tempting," he admitted, the words
muffled somewhat. "But I'd prefer if you didn't go to jail."

"I know a good lawyer," he pointed out with a smirk, rubbing his whisker-covered cheek
against the side of Stiles' head. "We'd argue I was just defending my Omega and I'd get off
scott free."

The younger man's scent blossomed at that, heart pounding erratically against Derek's chest,
and he moved his arms so they were wrapped around the older man, holding on tightly as his
fingers gripped his tee once more.

"Just say the word and I'll do it," the Alpha murmured, fingers still massaging his pulse
points in soothing circles.

Stiles simply nodded, but didn't give explicit permission to do so. Yet he also didn't say no,
meaning there was a chance that one day, Derek might actually get to tear Theo apart.

They stood holding on to one another in the middle of the loft for several long moments
before Stiles finally relaxed and calmed down, pulling away from the embrace with one last
sniff. He looked at the Alpha for the first time since he'd come home, his eyes red and puffy,
his smile watery and still with a slightly forced edge.

"Thanks," he muttered, voice garbled slightly and he cleared his throat. "I'm gonna wash up
real quick then we can eat. If that's cool?"
Derek nodded, rubbing a hand up and down the younger man's arm, soft smile on his face.
"'Course," he reassured, voice low and careful. "Go ahead and get changed, too. We'll eat on
the couch and you can pick something to watch."

His eyebrows raised at that, pleasant surprise coloring his scent. "Really?" he asked
dubiously.

Not that Derek could blame him for being skeptical. The Alpha insisted meals be eaten at a
table and there be no TV during dinner, rules he'd grown up with, his mom fostering
conversations and quality family time while eating. Stiles had admitted to not being used to
it, usually eating by himself due to his dad's varying shifts at the sheriffs station, and when
they were able to get a meal together, it was usually eaten on the couch as a game played or
they watched some sort of procedural drama.

But after the day Stiles'd had, Derek figured a break in his stringent rules was called for and
that the Omega needed the comfort more than anything.

So he nodded and gave a warm "yep", smiling as a grin formed on the teenager's face and the
light returned to his eyes.

The two parted ways, Derek to the kitchen to put the pan back on the still warm ring to heat
up the pork chops and finish putting dinner together, Stiles to the bedroom area, grabbing his
PJs from under his pillow and taking them into the bathroom to clean himself up. He emerged
right as the Alpha put the plates on the coffee table and went back for drinks, Stiles snatching
an oversized black and gray striped hoodie from his closet and putting it on. Hood over his
head, he curled up on one end of the couch, giving Derek a grateful smile and a thanks for the
food and soda he was handed, digging in with the plate on his lap.

A Law and Order marathon was on so they watched that, Derek distracting Stiles and getting
him out of his head by asking him questions over who he think did it. Soon enough, the
Omega was spouting theories and poking holes in the logic of the show, explaining how a
criminal investigation like that would really work, his hood being shoved back emphatically
as he railed about police procedure.

Derek tidied up the kitchen and washed all the dishes and cookware, despite their agreement
that the chef doesn't clean, and brought over two bowls of ice cream—extra chocolate sauce
on Stiles'—as he returned to the couch. Conversation turned to how the older man's day went,
the Alpha vaguely telling him that he got some more work done in the other room and giving
a warning that Stiles wasn't to open any packages that arrived in the mail, especially if they
weren't address to him.

"For the surprise?" he asked, shoveling more mint chocolate chip in his mouth with a grin,
brown eyes twinkling. "Is it a bowling alley?"

Derek gave him a dubious look. "Why the fuck would I make you a bowling alley?"

The younger man shrugged a shoulder, poking his spoon into his ice cream. "I dunno, man.
You're the one building it."
He kept staring at him, flat and unamused. "Not a bowling alley."

He also told Stiles about how he'd applied for a job, explaining that it was more for
something to do while the teen was at work, refusing to bring up Laura's warning of their
plan possibly not working. The Omega was mostly in a good mood and he wasn't about to
ruin that.

Ice creams finished and bowls deposited on the table, Stiles scooted along the couch until he
was curled up against Derek, the Alpha automatically lifting his arm to let him lay his head
on his chest, wrapping it around his shoulders. It wasn't the first time he'd had his arm around
the Omega as they watched TV, but it was the first time in years that Stiles was so completely
wrapped around him, legs over Derek's lap, arm around his waist, tight grip on his shirt once
more. The Alpha nuzzled his nose in his brow hair in a move that was more wolf than man,
his fingers absently scratched at the side of the younger man's bicep, and he could feel the
teen relax more and more before finally falling asleep. Refusing to disturb him for any
reason, Derek leaned his head against the back of the couch, closing his eyes and falling
asleep with his Mate in his arms.

As it should be.

~*~*~*~*~*~

An email from Oak Creek Day Center was waiting for him when he woke up, an excited
response from the woman who owned it, Mrs Fleming, who remembered Derek and would be
happy to meet with him at eleven. He worked it out in his head, figuring he had plenty time
to hit the gym, shower, change, and make his interview with some time to spare in between.

Perfect.

He sent a reply saying he'd be there before putting his plan in motion.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Beacon Periodicals was located at the end of a strip mall near the outskirts of town, joined by
a chain grocery store, a pharmacy, a Mexican restaurant, and a tobacco store that proudly
informed potential customers they now sold vapors and ecigs. Stiles' Jeep was parked
halfway down an aisle in front of the store he worked at, under a street lamp—ever the cop's
kid—and Derek pulled into the spot next to it, killing the Camaro's engine before getting out.

The store itself was small but long, with yellow walls and countless wooden shelves lining
both sides and bisecting the store. Stacks of newspapers were to the right, the counter to the
left, past a metal rotating rack full of trade paperback novels. Stiles was sitting behind the
counter, most likely on a stool given how high he was, lifting his head from where it'd been
hanging, smile forming on his face as his eyes met Derek's.

The Alpha couldn't help but smile back, although the expression faded when he scented the
air, catching a whiff of upset and defeat coming from the younger man. His eyes narrowed as
he searched for the source of it, coming across a blond male with light scruff, dressed in
black skinny jeans and a pink sweatshirt—for whatever stupid reason—brows drawn into a
hard line above blue eyes as he scowled at Stiles. Derek had a half-second of worry that this
was the guy Isaac had mentioned coming in to the cafe he worked at and he was gaining a
crush on, only to get distracted by the way the asshole was barking his Mate's name.

“Didn't anyone ever tell you to pay attention when an Alpha is speaking to you?”

“Didn't anyone ever tell you to pay attention when you have a customer?” Derek butted in as
he strode over, hard eyes focused on the blond—Theo, he presumed—and the way his head
snapped to him. He walked with his head held high and his jaw locked and his chest puffed
out and he knew he was posturing, but he didn't give a fuck. His wolf was snarling in his
head, demanding he kick the guy's ass, demanding they make him back the fuck away from
their Omega, demanding they defend Stiles and let this douchebag know that they'd fucked
with the wrong Alpha.

Theo just glared back, straightening up and stiffening his spine, but still coming up short by a
good five inches. The aggression in his scent kicked up a notch, the spicy smell of anger
joining in, his own wolf recognizing another Alpha, and one who wasn't coming over under
friendly terms. His blue eyes roamed the taller man, judging, assessing, and Derek wanted
nothing more than to punch him right in his classically good looking face.

Seemed like there was no shortage of blond Abercrombie model assholes in Beacon Hills.

“Who the hell are you?” Theo demanded to know, fingers curling into fists as his sides,
taking a step forward.

But Derek didn't give a shit about him, tearing his gaze away to focus on Stiles instead.
Stiles, who'd risen to his feet and was staring at him confused and a little worriedly. Stiles,
who was glancing back and forth between the two Alphas with his brow furrowed and his
lips parted. Stiles, who was bracing himself to move in case a fight broke out and he needed
to jump in and separate them.

Not that Derek thought he actually would separate them. Not unless Theo had gotten the
upper-hand through some fucking miracle.

A smile formed on Derek's face, trying his best to reassure the Omega, to let him know it was
all good and he wasn't gonna start shit and get him fired, wordlessly telling him he had
nothing to worry about and should relax.

But he didn't, because it was Stiles, and he just tilted his head slightly in question, lips parting
to speak, barely uttering out a syllable before Derek put a stop to it.

By kissing him.

The Alpha leaned over the counter, hand wrapping around the back of the teen's neck and
hauling him in close, pressing their lips together in a firm kiss. Stiles let out a surprised noise
that was muffled by their mouths, shock freezing him before he relaxed into it, pursing his
lips to return the kiss, body slumping in relief.
It didn't last long, a second or two, just enough to get the point across and for Derek's wolf to
lose its ever-loving mind. Just enough for him to know that Stiles' lips were surprisingly
plush, but a tiny bit chapped, that they fit perfectly against his, that there was a tiny sore spot
on them from where the Omega had clearly been chewing on the bottom one.

That he wanted to do it again. A lot. More. Further. With teeth and tongues and harsh pants
and less clothing and in his bed for hours at a time.

But since they were in public...

Derek pulled back but remained leaning close so that the only thing in his vision was Stiles.
He watched Omega gold fade into whiskey brown, confusion dancing with delight in the
warm orbs, the irises moving as his focus flitted back and forth between Derek's two green
eyes. A smile formed on the Alpha's face, proud of himself for actually stunning Stiles silent,
happy that he'd finally been able to kiss his Mate, preening that he'd established dominance
over another Alpha and had marked his territory in a way.

Although he really needed to have a talk with his instincts, because if Stiles found out he'd
even thought that, he'd be in the shit for sure.

“Sorry I didn't tell you I was dropping by,” he stated, thumb rubbing the short strands at his
Mate's hairline, licking his lips as though he could taste Stiles and instead getting the wax and
artificial flavor of his lip balm. “Wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Well, I'm definitely surprised,” the younger man admitted, voice a little rough.

A small gust of laughter left Derek's nose before he pecked the Omega's and he pulled back.
Dropping his hand, he turned his full attention on Theo, putting a false smile on his face as he
took the two steps needed to get closer to him. “You must be Theo,” he stated, extending a
hand, the blond sliding his into it, and he tightened his grip beyond a bruising one. The
younger Alpha let out a pained gasp, free hand wrapping around his own wrist as though that
would help stave off the pain. “I've heard a lot about you. I'm Derek Hale.”

The blond's eyes went wide and he stopped fighting the hold Derek had on him, blue orbs
flipping up to meet narrowed green ones. “Hale? As in—”

“Talia Hale's son, yes.” He gave the asshole a saccharine smile that he'd seen his sister wear
to threaten lesser men into submission, using their still joined hands to yank Theo closer. The
smile disappeared, giving way to extended fangs and narrowed eyes as he tightened his grip
further. Bones cracked and the other Alpha's knees started to give out, Theo slightly
crouching in pain. “I ever hear that you were rude to my Bond-Mate or talked shit about his
father ever again, I'll do more than just break your hand. Understood?”

Theo panted, nodding, trying to pull his hand away. “Understood,” he grunted, letting out a
whimper as Derek gave one final squeeze before throwing the man's arm at him.

“Good.” He gave another saccharine smirk and put his hands under the dickwad's armpits,
hauling him up to his feet. Theo glared, clutching his broken hand to his chest, giving one
final disgusted look at Stiles before turning and heading down the aisle to a room in the back
of the store.

As soon as the door shut, Stiles let out a low chuckle, grinning wide, Derek returning it as he
switched his focus to the Omega.

“Sorry,” the older man apologized, his wolf back in its mental cage and his instincts back
under his control. “I know you hate Alpha posturing bullshit but—”

“Dude, don't apologize. That was awesome,” the Omega insisted, reaching over and punching
Derek in the arm. “Feel free to do that any time you want, man.”

The Alpha felt himself relax at those words, glad his Mate wasn't pissed about that.
However...

“And sorry about the, uh.” He waved a finger back and forth between their mouths, wincing
at how awkward the whole thing felt. Because he shouldn't be apologizing for kissing his
Mate, should be kissing him as often as possible, at every given opportunity. Hell, he should
be kissing him at that fucking moment now that they were alone in the store. Granted a more
PG kind of kiss than the one he'd been fantasizing about earlier, but a kiss nonetheless.

Stiles waved a hand at him in dismissal, picking up a pen that was laying nearby and twirling
it around in his fingers. “Don't worry about it. Part of the deal, right? Kid-friendly PDA in
public is allowable.”

The Alpha swallowed hard, ducking his head to hide his fallen face as he nodded, hating the
reminder that this was all part of the show for Stiles. Hell, any Alpha in Derek's shoes
would've done what they just had. If he wasn't with Stiles, then chances were the Omega
would've complained to Scott and Scott would've been the one to threaten Theo.

Albeit without the added bonus of the Hale name.

Although he could claim they were protected by the Hale Pack—which they were—and that
would carry a whole lotta weight as well.

“You hanging out?” Stiles questioned, voice a mix of curiosity and a tiny bit of hope, head
down and eyes focused on where he was now tapping the pen on the wooden counter, irises
peeking up at his through his lashes.

He was dying to say yes, to give the younger man anything and everything he wanted. But a
glance at the clock on the wall behind Stiles showed that he really couldn't and he felt as
disappointed as his wolf sounded. “Can't. Got a job interview to get to.”

The Omega lifted his head at that, brow furrowed before realization dawned on his face. “Oh,
the day care center, right?”

Derek nodded. “Oak Creek Day Center. It's just down the road from here.” He pointed behind
Stiles in the direction he'd be heading to get there before shoving his hands in the pockets of
his jeans.
Stiles leaned over the counter, arms folded on it, looking the older man up and down, taking
in his black jeans and matching button down, casual, yet nice enough to exude some
professionalism. “Very hire-able,” he stated with a smirk, straightening up once more.

“Glad you approve,” Derek deadpanned.

He winked and gave a thumbs up. “Not that you'll need it, but good luck. Guess I'll just see
you at home when it's over.”

The Alpha's heart skipped a beat and his stomach began flipping at Stiles referring to the loft
as “home”. His wolf was excitedly barking, proud that their Mate approved of their den and
considered it his, and the human part of him fought off a ridiculous smile at it.

“Yeah. I'll see you there.” At that, he leaned over and rubbed his cheek against Stiles', scent-
marking it before giving it a quick kiss. He turned away before he could see the Omega's
reaction, heading straight for the door with a “see ya” and a wave over his shoulder.
 Eleven

Mrs Fleming was exactly as Derek remembered, thin face, long nose, tan skin, dark unruly
curls for hair. The interview was more of a catch-up chat, the female Alpha asking him about
college and his degrees, how his life had been for the past five years. When he told her he'd
recently become Bonded to a childhood friend, her face broke out in a huge grin, all stretched
thin lips below large brown eyes.

He was hired on the spot and asked to start the next morning at seven, something he agreed
to. It was early, but he'd be up anyway with Stiles and it still gave them time to eat breakfast
together. He could just postpone his run to later on in the evening—assuming he wouldn't be
too tired.

Stiles was stoked for him when he shared the news later that afternoon, insisting they order
take-out for dinner to celebrate—“Plus I'm craving pad thai like you wouldn't fucking
believe, dude.” “So it's nothing to do with me, just your stomach.” “Sixty-forty you.” They ate
out the cartons at the breakfast bar, swapping and switching boxes, turned towards one
another with their knees interlocked, Stiles' foot on the bar of Derek's stool. Conversation
was easy and full of laughs and there was absolutely zero talk about what a dick Theo was, so
the Alpha chalked the day up to a total success.

Their routine remained exactly the same when they woke up the next day, minus the run
they'd normally go on during Stiles' late shifts. Surprisingly the Omega was open to joining
him if and when he went in the evenings, although it was up in the air if that would include
days he was on late. Not for the first time, Derek wished Stiles had a more fixed schedule,
mainly one that had him working in the mornings then coming home in the afternoon so they
could spend the rest of the day together, but it wasn't exactly up to the teen. For the time
being, they'd just have to make do.

He arrived right on schedule, before the doors opened to the kids, meeting up with Mrs
Fleming in her office as instructed. He updated his paperwork, changing his address and his
emergency contact from his mom to Stiles—since it seemed like something a Bonded person
would do—and handed over a voided check so she could set up direct deposit for his pay.

Business taken care of, he was led down the hall, introduced to the other caregivers as he
passed, ogled by more than one of them. He'd completely forgotten that most of the
employees here were Omegas, that the dynamic leaned more towards caretakers and
babysitters than the others, making them ideal day care workers.

Having been an Alpha had made him stand out when he worked there in high school, parents
cooing over how sweet he was, taking care of the kids rather than being out partying with his
friends and causing a ruckus. Explaining to them that he was used to babysitting for his sister,
cousin, and family friends just endeared him to them even more, something that embarrassed
him to no end, but paid off when overly flirtations moms brought him cookies and brownies
and cupcakes when they'd “accidentally” made too much, the scent of arousal and hope
rolling off them as they all longed for their own Desperate Housewives moment of sleeping
with the hot teenager who was good with young children.

Some days it got to the point where he wanted to yell about how their fantasy would cause
them to wind up in jail rather than anyone's bed, with him being underage—not to mention
not interested.

But he couldn't do any of that, especially not when those comments were aimed at his new
co-workers and would result in him getting fired. Better to just shut his mouth and take it.

He was led to one of the larger rooms near the back of the building, away from where the
babies and toddlers would be napping near the front, where the older kids were, those aged
seven to ten, too old for pre-schooler and kindergartener activities, but too young to be
allowed to stay home by themselves. Mrs Fleming led him in with a smile, explaining he'd be
an assistant to one of their full time employees, a woman named...

“Jen?”

Mrs Fleming's words died in her throat and she snapped her mouth shut before plastering a
smile on her face. “I take it you two know one another?” she surmised, tone light, scent
unsure.

And to be honest, Derek's scent was probably smelling about the same.

His ex from college strode over in a pair of khaki capris and baby blue tank, slip on sneakers
of the same color covering her feet, the hue making her eyes stand out. Her long brown hair
was pulled back by two barrettes, the ends curling, laying soft over her bare shoulders. A
smile was on her face, friendly and wistful, and she let out a small laugh before saying his
name.

“Wow. Didn't expect to see you here,” she commented lightly, still grinning.

Derek swallowed hard, not entirely sure what to expect, considering their last interaction
hadn't gone well—to put it lightly—and his wolf began whining in his head, demanding they
leave. “Could say the same to you,” he replied, chuckling uneasily, shoving his hands in the
pockets of his jeans and plastering a smile on his face. He tried to appear relaxed and at ease
as she stepped closer, stopping a couple feet away, arms folding over her chest, but his legs
were tensed and ready to run at the drop of a hat. His memories of her were still fresh and he
knew that she could flip in a second and start railing at him.

Hell hath no fury, he figured.

“My Mate works in Beacon City and this seemed like a nice town to settle down in and raise
our family,” Jen explained, pressing her pink painted lips together as her eyes gave him an up
and down, more assessing than lecherous. “You look good.”

The compliment stunned him for a moment and he dumbly gave a “thanks”, giving her a
measuring look as well. “You, too,” he added on, meaning it.
Whatever had happened in the past three years since their disastrous break-up, it had been
kind to her, had done wonders. She looked a lot softer, not just in appearance, but in her
personality and the way she carried herself. She was no longer hard planes and frayed edges,
no longer sharp spikes and razor wire that could cut him. It was almost hard to correlate this
Jen before him with the one he'd known, remembering the last time he'd seen her. Her hair
wild, tangled and gnarled, mascara tracks running down her face, snot and spit and venomous
words as she hurled anything and everything she could find at him, screaming about what a
giant Alpha bastard he was for trying to control her life and tell her what she could or
couldn't do.

All because he'd told her he wasn't ready for kids yet.

Mrs. Fleming cleared her throat, snapping their attention to her and she gestured between
them with a hand. “Is this gonna be okay? Because I can put Derek elsewhere,” she stated in
a take-no-shit manner and he was instantly taken back to the time he snuck some of the icing
for the cookies the older kids were gonna decorate around Christmas time, earning him a long
reprimand and put on job probation for a month.

Hadn't been worth it. That icing had been terrible.

He turned to Jen with both eyebrows raised in question, not entirely sure. But she was still
smiling softly and looking at their boss, giving a nod.

“Not a problem for me,” she assured and Derek backed her up.

“Good,” Mrs Fleming declared, turning to her new employee with a grave expression.
“Despite what your instincts may tell you, Jen is in charge and I expect you to follow her
orders. If you find you can't handle that, let me know and I'll move you to another room.”

“This is fine,” he told her with a small smile, already feeling at ease with his position.

She gave one long nod, glancing back and forth between them before leaving and wishing
them luck.

Which felt like a jinx more than anything.

“So,” Jen began, catching his attention, and he turned to watch her walk back to the other
side of the room and a table against the wall. Not knowing what else to do, he meandered his
way over to stand on her left, looking down at where she was reading over what appeared to
be paperwork for a couple of the kids. “Thought you wanted to teach high school,” she
pointed out with an amused smirk.

“School's out for the summer,” he reminder her, smirk of his own on his face. “Plus I was
turned down for a position. Un-Bonded.”

Her head turned to him at that, brow furrowed in confusion, nostrils flaring as she scented
him. “Really?” she questioned dubiously. “Because you reek of Omega.”
The tips of his ears turned red, but his smile returned as his wolf puffed out its chest in pride.
“At the time,” he amended, rubbing his hand over the back of his head. “I was un-Bonded at
the time.”

“Huh,” Jen stated flatly, stepping away and heading back to the other side of the room, two
sets of sneakers racing towards their room. “You'll have to tell me about him later.”

His grin became more genuine and he ducked his head to hide it, wringing the back of his
neck, as two boys came barreling into the room. He took a deep breath and braced himself for
the crazy, watching as Jen instructed them to put their backpacks on the table in the back as
always, the pair yelling and charging the table before the shorter of the two dove on top, his
darker-skinned friend laughing and encouraging the behavior. Jen gave Derek a wide-eyed
look across the room then sighed and strode over, reminding them the table wasn't a beast
they needed to conquer, still.

Maybe Mrs Fleming had been on to something when she'd wished them luck.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Their group was small, but eclectic and loud. Liam and Mason were the initial boys who'd
shown up, apparently best bros who were joined at the hip, reminding Derek a lot of Stiles
and Scott. Garrett was next, a blond boy who turned his nose up at all of Jen's suggestions of
activities, not really saying anything until a cocoa skinned girl named Violet showed, the two
of them sticking close together and not interacting with the others. Brett and his younger
sister Amy—who was technically too young for their room, but Brett refused to let her out of
his sight—were next to arrive, joining Liam and Mason as they made paper swords to battle
the “beast” with. The final arrival was a girl named Hayden that Liam wound up following
around like a puppy with stars in his eyes.

Halfway through the morning, they took the kids outside to the basketball court, Garrett and
Violet playing on one hoop, Brett, Liam, and Mason the other, with Hayden and Amy sitting
in the grass making daisy chains and wearing them as crowns.

Jen and Derek sat on a nearby bench and chatted, catching each other up on their lives. She
apologized profusely for her behavior the last time they'd seen one another, explaining that
she'd been in a terrible place and had been to therapy since—“I found out that it wasn't you
that I was in love with, but the idea of what you could offer as far as Matings and kids, and
when you wanted to leave, I had a breakdown because I thought I was losing all that forever.”
“And here I thought you just couldn't bear to let a gorgeous guy like me out of your sight.”
“Wow. Nice ego, Hale.” “It's a Star Wars quote. Stiles would've appreciated it”.

She also went on to tell about how she found her Mate a year later, a high end defense
attorney Alpha who worked at Deucalion and Valack in Beacon City— “Oh shit. It's not my
sister, is it?” “No, her name is Kali. Why? Would me being with your sister be that bad?”
“Honestly? Kinda, yeah.” “Ouch, Derek.” “You just told me you were more upset over losing
my sperm than me. You deserve the burn.”—and that they were currently going through the
adoption process.
Derek congratulated her, unable to help the way his wolf whimpered as he realized it was yet
another person he knew who was moving on to the next stage in their life, getting what he
one day wanted for himself.

Granted a lot could change in four years. Hell, it had only been three since he'd last seen Jen
and she was a totally different person with a totally different mindset in a totally different
place in life. There was always a chance that things between himself and Stiles would shift
and change, too, that maybe they'd fall in love and decide to do this Bonding thing for real,
leading to an eventual Mating, then the big house with the white fence and the kids and the
dog...

Or maybe things would stay exactly as they were and in four years time, Stiles would be gone
and Derek would get a dog all by himself.

Jen asked him about his Bonded and Derek smiled, telling her about how their families were
friends and he used to babysit him, then when they ran back into each other a couple weeks
ago and the Alpha scented him he just...knew. She grinned the entire time, letting him ramble
about how they were living together, Stiles' plans for college then becoming a deputy, how
smart he was and funny and vibrant and easy to talk to and chatty yet a good listener when he
needed to be.

“You sound like a man in love,” she commented a little dreamily, eyes sparkling at him,
knowing exactly what that felt like.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, staring at the grass between his sneakers and trying to figure out if
he was agreeing for the facade of their arrangement or because he actually meant it.

~*~*~*~*~*~

His day went fairly smoothly, considering he spent most of it surrounded by adolescents, and
at five-ten pm, he was on his way home.

Several large boxes were waiting for him outside his loft door when he got home and he
hauled them inside one at a time, taking them straight to the Heat room to unpack later on. He
took a shower and changed into a pair of sweats and an old tee before getting dinner together
in time for Stiles to walk in.

“Okay, no fair you're in sweats and I'm not,” the Omega complained, dumping his keys and
wallet on the end of the breakfast bar, scowling at Derek.

“No one told you you weren't allowed,” he pointed out, carrying the pot of pasta he'd cooked
over to the sink and giving a pointed look over his shoulder.

Stiles flailed his arms then waved one at him in dismissal. “Not the point,” he grumbled
before tromping his way over to the bedroom area, tossing his phone on the bed and kicking
off his sneakers.

Derek shook his head and smirked in amusement, draining the pasta as the sounds of rustling
fabric hit his ears, most likely the Omega grabbing a change of clothes before he headed to
the bathroom to change. Turning, he carried the pot back to the stove, putting it on a cool
ring, movement catching his eye. He looked up to see what was going on, only for his jaw to
drop and his eyes to go wide.

Because Stiles wasn't changing in the bathroom.

He'd dropped trou right there in the open.

And not just his pants, but his underwear, too. Shirt, socks, all of it was gone. Just a naked
Stiles with his back to Derek, totally unaware that he was being gawked at.

Because the Alpha was gawking, there was no other word to describe it. He was
unashamedly staring, mouth hanging open, eyebrows raised, breath frozen in his chest as he
took in the lean frame across the loft from him. He briefly lamented the fact that he was so
far away and that he couldn't get a good look, but what he could see had his dick twitching
and his wolf rumbling in pleasure.

Stiles was all long lines and smooth skin—from what he could tell at that distance, he was
sure there were countless moles and freckles speckled across his skin—a lean torso and nice
legs. His ass was perfectly rounded, not too big, but enough that Derek imagined would fill
his hand as he grabbed onto it, as he held those cheeks apart and delved between them. The
shape of it got better when Stiles bent over to pull his gray sweats up his legs and the Alpha
felt a drop of saliva at the corner of his mouth but made no move to wipe it away. His cock
twitched in his pants, plumping up and he subconsciously reached down, cupping it through
black cotton.

Fuck what he wouldn't give to just walk across the apartment, to shuck his own sweats and
slide his dick between those cheeks as the Omega bent over, to get him nice and wet before
slipping his fingers in, finding that special button that made him cry out. He'd turn Stiles into
a panting, whining, begging mess, only letting his cock slide inside when he was mumbling
nonsense, when the only words he was capable of were “please” and “Derek.”

The younger man straightened up, pants now around his waist, head moving around the air
before turning sideways and Derek could see that he was scenting the air.

Shit.

Busted.

He quickly snapped his head down, staring at what was on the counter and trying to figure
out what the hell he was doing. But his mind was gone, every synapse burst at the sight of
Stiles' bare ass, all the blood in the wrong head.

'Alpha Beta Omega,' he mentally reminded himself. 'Alpha Beta Omega. Alpha Beta Omega.
Alpha Beta Omega.'

“You okay?”
His head jerked to the left to find Stiles entering the kitchenette, eyebrow quirked in question
as he opened the fridge door, concern rolling off him in waves. But not arousal. Meaning that
if he had scented it off Derek, it hadn't affected him in any way.

Which was a definite boner killer.

Derek ducked his head, clearing his throat and nodding. “Long day,” he lied easily, wringing
the back of his neck as he looked along the counter in a second attempt to figure out what the
fuck was going on. Dinner. He knew that much.

A large hand rested gently between his shoulder blades and he turned once again to look at
Stiles, taking in the black tee and gray sweats he had on. He raised an eyebrow of his own
before glancing down at his own black sweats and gray tee, before giving Stiles a pointed
look. The Omega took the hint, looking at both their outfits then snorting.

“That one wasn't me,” the older man stated.

Stiles shrugged, not seeming bothered by it, patting the Alpha's back. “Go sit. I'll dish it up,”
he instructed before shoving him out the way. “Tell me how your first day went.”

Derek rounded the counter then dropped down onto one of the stools, proceeding to do just
that, even telling Stiles about how he was now working side by side with his ex—“Wait,.Jen?
Crazy Jen? The one who threw a lamp at your head?” “In the direction of my head, yeah.”
“Hope the furniture in that place is attached to the ground.”

They ate side by side with interlocked knees again, both discussing their days, coming up
with plans for the weekend—“I gotta help Boyd paint the nursery. I owe him.” “You gotta
owe him huge if you're putting up with Prego-Zilla for it.” “There's no longer a hole in my
wall. I owe him huge.”—and Stiles volunteered to go with.

After dinner, they crashed on the couch to watch TV, where Stiles proceeded to throw his legs
over Derek's lap and put the Alpha's arm around his shoulders to use his bicep as a neck
pillow while he channel surfed. Part of the older man wanted to complain solely out of
principal, but found he couldn't. Not when he and his wolf were both so damn happy.

He wondered if Jen had been right about him being in love and he suddenly got very fucking
scared.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Their usual routine changed once Derek got a job.

They still woke up at five am and Stiles still dragged ass to the shower while Derek made
breakfast, the two eating together before they both cleaned up the kitchen and made the bed
as a team. Only now the Alpha was leaving at six-forty every day for work, whereas the
younger man left at six-thirty on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Derek got home at
five-thirty or so every day and when Stiles was home, they'd head off on a run together
before the Omega made them dinner.
Saturday mornings became grocery shopping days, both of them doing it together. During
their first time, an elderly woman—an Omega by the scent of her—commented on Stiles'
ability to drag his Alpha out to help with errands, the teen confused because it had been
Derek's idea that they go together, something that had surprised her further. Derek gruffly
pointed out that Stiles' dynamic wasn't the only one that faced discrimination and stereotypes
and they left it at that, heading to the next aisle.

The rest of the day was usually spent with friends, either alone or together, neither one
wanting to become that guy who got in a relationship and their entire world shrank down to
just their partner and they lost contact with everyone else. They helped Boyd paint the
nursery—or rather Derek helped, while Stiles hung out with Erica, sorting out baby clothes
and discussing gender neutral name ideas—spent time with Scott and Allison as they looked
for a place of their own, helped the sheriff host a barbecue when he announced that Melissa
would soon be moving in with him—right after Scott moved out, of course.

Sundays were still Lazy Sundays though, the two of them slobbing around in their pajamas
before having to get dressed to have dinner at the Hale house. The questions about their
living situation tapered off, the novelty of their relationship gone, and everyone acted with a
quiet acceptance towards them. Every now and then, Derek would catch Laura watching
them with a curious stare, but he ignored it, refusing to think too much about it.

The Heat room slowly came together as everything arrived. Isaac helped him out—Derek
figuring it was safe to have another Omega's scent in the room, but put a couple scent
neutralizing air fresheners in there just in case—filming as Derek unrolled the mattress that
had arrived in the mail—"Why am I filming this again?" "Because Stiles would wanna see it."
"You are so totally slick-whipped, man.". The Alpha also got reassurance that the blond Isaac
was interested in wasn't Theo, but Jackson, something that still had him groaning but not
nearly as bad as it would've been had it been the dick Stiles worked with.

Stiles proved to be a great roommate and partner, picking up on the housework when Derek
was at work and the Omega was at home. He took over laundry duties—a job the Alpha
hated with a passion—heading down to the building's laundromat every Thursday like
clockwork and soon, Derek's clothes began to smell more like StilesAndDerek, a fact that had
him wolf practically purring.

His job was going great, things between him and Jennifer cordial and respectful, and he soon
found himself becoming friends with her. The only issues that ever seemed to arise was his
jealousy when she updated him on her and Kali's adoption process, but he never let it show,
always happy she was happy and in a good place. He bonded with the kids he worked with,
mainly Liam, Mason, and Brett, playing basketball and soccer and baseball outside with
them. He was pretty sure Amy gained a crush on him, frequently giving him dandelions she'd
picked or drawings she'd made. Stiles thought it was adorable and hung the pictures on the
fridge, commenting on how they were gonna need more magnets soon.

Derek sent an email to Ms Finch at the beginning of July, updating her on his Bonded status
and she replied with a promise to meet again in August. Laura's warning about possibly not
getting the job came back to him, a small paranoid part of him worried that she'd be right,
that he won't get hired just because he was Bonded, but he didn't show it or voice any of it to
Stiles. He just relished the Omega's excitement over their plan coming together and mentally
assured himself that it would be okay, he already had a back-up job in place and there was
always next year.

He found himself hoping he wouldn't get hired, that Ms Finch would tell him to come back
next semester or next school year, that she needed him to be more established in his Bond
before she could give him a position. A year's delay in being hired would mean a year's delay
in getting tenure and would hopefully extend their scheme another year, too, and give him
more time with Stiles.

Because the more he was around the Omega, the more he realized he didn't want to let him
go. They moved around one another too perfectly, fit together too perfectly, proof they were
made for one another. He had no clue how he was supposed to wake up every morning and
not be greeted by a litany of swears as he woke Stiles up. He had no clue how he was
supposed to eat his meals without a rambling commentary on every damn thing, hands flying
around nearly sending cutlery soaring. He had no clue how he was supposed to watch TV in
the evenings without his Omega curled around him, legs draped over his lap and arm
wrapped around Stiles' shoulders.

He had no clue, and he didn't want to find out.

~*~*~*~*~*~

At the end of his second full week of employment, Derek surprised Stiles by having them
cook dinner together, deciding to add a new facet to their routine.

“Stir Fry-days?” the Omega questioned with a smirk, obviously having gotten the reference
Derek was making when he pointed at a packet of steaks he'd bought and told Stiles to cut
them up while he chopped up a couple bell peppers.

“Yep,” the older man smiled back, making sure he didn't slice a finger. “Figured with all the
Archer you watch, you'd appreciate it.”

“That show is fucking hilarious and highly under-appreciated,” the teen insisted, setting to
work.

They prepped the food side-by-side, discussing favorite moments on the show, then debating
Pam vs Cheryl in a game of Who'd You Rather—“Pam kinda scares me with all that freaky
shit she's into.” “Cheryl likes being choked. How's that not freaky?” “Honestly, I'm kinda
curious about what it'd be like to choke someone.” “That's fucked up, Stiles.”—which shifted
into who was hotter: Lana or Katya—“Lana. And only partially because I feel like Katya
could and would do more damage to me during sex.” “Okaaaay, but Der. It vibrates. Total
sploosh” “Doesn't matter. I still feel like she'd somehow manage to literally squeeze my dick
off.”—followed by Who's More Annoying: Ray vs Cyril—“Cyril. How is this a debate?”
“Ray keeps getting crippled though.” “Not entirely his fault for one. And two, it's Cyril,
Derek.” “Point taken.”.

Talk soon shifted to who was cooler: Han Solo or Sterling Archer—neither of them even sure
whose side they were on since neither could make up their own mind—which further turned
into a dinner discussion over what they believed the dynamics of the three main characters in
the original Star Wars trilogy were, since it was never flat out said.

“Fuck you, man. There is no fucking way Luke Skywalker is anything less than a Beta,”
Stiles stated firmly, pointing a fork-speared piece of beef at Derek as they sat at the breakfast
bar, having given up on meals at the table for good a week ago.

“Swear to god, he's an Omega,” Derek argued, pausing to take a drink of his water. “And
shouldn't the Omega be the one arguing that and not the Alpha?”

“He's not an Omega,” Stiles insisted before swallowing. “No leading man in an action film is,
especially not back in the seventies and eighties. The producers wouldn't have let it happen.”
He shrugged a shoulder, scent a sad sort of resignation.

Which honestly just pissed the older man off. He knew society fucking sucked and knew that
Omegas had it the worst, but it shouldn't be to the point where an Omega just accepted his lot
in life, especially not Stiles. That guy would argue that a zebra had spots and not stripes, just
to debate it and be a pain in the ass.

The Alpha shook his head, determined to prove him wrong, determined to prove that being
the lead hero didn't mean you weren't an Omega. “That's exactly why I think he is one,” he
began, turning more in his seat to face Stiles, food forgotten about. “George Lucas is an
Omega, we know that, right? And let's face it, Luke Skywalker is a huge fucking self-
insertion solely due to the guy's fucking name. I truly believe that George Lucas was sick of
all these action stars being Alphas, or Betas at the least, and not only set out to change the
face of science-fiction and space movies, but also how people viewed Omegas. He wanted to
prove that they could be the heroes and the victors, the ones with the magical powers to move
shit with their minds. He wanted to show that Omegas could be more than just the damsel in
distress who needed saving by the heroic Alpha. But that wouldn't have gone over well back
in the day so he made no mention of their dynamics. I mean, let's face it, how many movies
have you seen where the hero actually goes out of his way to say he's an Alpha?”

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes. “Too fucking many,” he muttered, stabbing some peppers
onto his fork. “But that argument makes sense. It's why I think Steve Rogers is an Omega,
too. Because of what Erskine said in the movie, ya know? A strong man who is used to
strength doesn't appreciate it. Steve being an Omega means he's used to being shoved around
and forced to submit, so he has a greater appreciation for these muscles and powers and
doesn't take advantage of his new found leadership. Whereas most stereotypical Alphas are
used to being in charge and followed without question.”

“And people followed Steve because of what he stood for and his values, rather than the fact
that he Alpha Commanded them into it,” Derek added on, impressed pout forming on his
head. “Stark is definitely an Alpha though.”

“Oh hands fucking down. An ego like that?” He made a “pfft” noise, head rearing back. “Has
to be an Alpha.”

A discussion on the dynamics of all the Avengers started, expanding to the comic Avengers,
to Marvel in general, Deadpool proving to be a highly controversial one that neither of them
were willing to back down on. Before Derek knew it, his ass was numb and Stiles was
stifling his third yawn in the past five minutes. A quick glance at his phone showed it was
past eleven, and that they'd been talking for over four hours about nonsense.

And he wouldn't trade a fucking minute of it.

“We should head to bed,” he suggested, Stiles whining as he tipped his head back and
slumped in his seat.

“But we're having fuuuun,” the Omega pointed out, pouting and flashing puppy dog eyes at
Derek, nudging his shin with a sock-covered toe.

“I don't caaaaare,” he mimicked, rising to his feet and collecting his dishes. “I'm exhausted
and so are you and we both need sleep.”

Stiles blew a raspberry and gave a thumbs down. “Not like we have work tomorrow.”

“No, we just have groceries to get and you have to help your dad clean out the attic and I
have shit to do around here.” He gave the younger man a pointed look as he headed to the
sink, carefully setting them in the steel basin and flipping on the water.

“Shit for my surprise? Which I may or may not see sometime this year?” the Omega quipped,
stool scrapping along the concrete floor as he rose to his feet, silverware clattering against the
ceramic plate as he gathered his own things.

“You might never see it at all with that attitude.”

“Pfft!” the teen responded, soon joining him at the sink and laying his plates in the soapy
water, grabbing the dishtowel to dry them off as Derek washed. “You wouldn't be able to
stand not letting me see it.”

He was right, but that didn't mean the Alpha had to admit it.

Although judging by the smirk that formed on Stiles' face when Derek didn't respond, he
clearly didn't need to admit it since the Omega figured it out for himself.

Damn.

Dishes done and put up, they both headed to the bedroom area, where Stiles gathered up his
pajamas from under his pillow and started heading to the bathroom.

Again.

Because he still wasn't changing in front of Derek, for whatever fucked up reason, and it was
beginning to almost seem offensive in a way. Did he not trust the Alpha? Did he not believe
that Derek wouldn't look or jump him? Did he not feel comfortable in their home, even a
month after living there?

Was it something Derek had done or said, or hadn't done or said?

Stiles stepped around the end of the bed, pausing when the older man called his name,
eyebrows raised in expectation at he turned his head to him.

“Why do you do that?” the Alpha questioned, his own brows furrowed into a confused line,
wolf whimpering in his head. “Why do you always change in the bathroom? Not like you've
never been naked in front of anyone before. And you've changed in front of other guys in
locker rooms so why do—?”

“Right, but that's a locker room,” he interrupted, turning to fully face him, arms folded over
his chest, PJs draped over them, face grave as though he was preparing for a heated debate
and not just a simple conversation. “There's kind of an unspoken rule that you keep your eyes
above someone's waist. Unless you're a douchebag who wants to, like, compare sizes. Or a
perv.”

Well, okay...

Derek seesawed his head, somewhat seeing the point. “Then I promise I won't look below
your waist. How 'bout that?”

He didn't bother pointing out how he'd already broken that rule technically, having peeked
below Stiles' waist and getting a nice view of his naked ass. Because it didn't count. That
happened before this discussion and was therefore inadmissible.

He was watching too many procedural dramas with Stiles if he was throwing that around in
his own mental vernacular.

The Omega licked his lips then pressed them into a hard line, leg shaking as he turned away,
not making eye contact. His scent was nervous, unsure, and Derek worried that he'd maybe
pushed too far, that he'd struck a raw nerve and was making the other man completely
uncomfortable.

“I didn't,” the Alpha began, huffing when he couldn't think of the right words. “It wasn't
meant to be an accusation or me insisting you change out here. I was just wondering. I
thought maybe it was something about me.”

Stiles' head snapped to him with wide eyes but he didn't say a word, scent growing curious as
he narrowed his eyes and parted his lips in an action he probably didn't even realize he was
doing.

The older man shrugged, rubbing at the back of his head before gesturing to him with an
open palm. “You know I'm not gonna jump you or anything. You can trust me. I can keep my
hands to myself.” He put on a reassuring smile and an innocent expression, keeping his scent
neutral and light.

The Omega looked around the room once more, leg still shaking, not saying anything.

Still.

Shit.
Derek's wolf began whining in his head, feeling as though he'd fucked up, and the human part
of him completely agreed. It wasn't that Stiles wasn't ever silent, it just happened so rarely
that it would catch the Alpha off-guard. Usually the speechlessness was due to being so
overwhelmed by something that it took a minute for him to sift through his racing thoughts
and figure out a reaction—at least that's how the teen had explained it. And judging by the
lack of words and the fact that his scent was turning slightly salty with upset, clearly Derek
had said something that pushed him past his boundaries and he was scrambling to get back in
them.

“I'm sorry,” he murmured, swallowing. “I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. If you
wanna keep changing in the bathroom, you can, I'm not gonna make you do anything.” With
that, he snatched up his own pajamas, laying them on the bed in a heap before grabbing the
back of his shirt to lift it over his head.

The sound of fabric rustling caught his attention and once he had his tee all the way off, he
looked to find that Stiles had dropped his own PJs on the bed, too, and was working on
unbuckling his belt. A small smile formed on Derek's face, more glad that the younger man
was comfortable enough around him to do that rather than pleased that he was about to—
possibly—see his Mate naked.

Stiles caught the look and shrugged a shoulder in a phony sense of nonchalance, forcing the
corner of his lips up in a semblance of a smile. The older man nodded once then ducked his
head, keeping his eyes on his clothes and what he was doing.

But if he happened to peek up to catch a glimpse of bare belly and a happy trail he wanted to
nuzzle his nose in and follow south, then he couldn't entirely be blamed. The best way to get
rid of temptation was to give in to it. It was a cliché for a reason.
 Twelve

It was bound to happen eventually, and Derek honestly was surprised it had taken as long as
it had.

He was woken up in the middle of the night by a shuffling body, the lean male he was
spooning slowly slipping out from under his arm, sliding to the edge of the bed before getting
up. It took him a moment for his sleepy brain to catch up, his instincts kicking in and his wolf
howling at him to get the fuck with it.

Sleepwalking.

He shot up to a sitting position, opening his mouth to try and call for the Omega's attention,
only for Stiles to flail his arms around as he turned to face him, eyes wide and his heart
pounding.

“Dude! You scared the shit outta me!” he chastised, hand now clutching at his chest and he
slumped slightly in relief. “What the fuck?”

It took Derek half a second to realize that Stiles wasn't sleepwalking, that he was awake, that
he was growing pissed at the Alpha for spooking him, and he felt a scowl form on his face.
“No. What the fuck to you, alright? I thought you were sleepwalking.”

The teen snorted, shoving a hand through his messy hair, free hand on his hip as he looked at
the ceiling as though calling for strength. “I'm going to the bathroom,” he explained,
gesturing to the door with both hands. “All this fucking water you have me drinking lately
makes me need to go, like, constantly.”

Derek just sat there dumbfounded, not entirely sure how to react, other than relief that Stiles
was okay—aside from an apparent full bladder—and not off to roam the streets while
unconscious. So he just nodded and scratched at his head. “Your body will thank you.”

“My body is currently pissed off that I held it too long and is screaming at me to go so—” He
trailed off, doing a strange sort of bow before going to the bathroom as originally planned,
shutting the door behind himself.

Crisis averted.

The Alpha flopped back onto the bed, digging the heel of his palms into his eyes and sighing.
Grabbing his phone off his nightstand, he saw it was a little after three, putting the device
back with a yawn. It took him a moment, but he soon realized there weren't any sounds
coming from the bathroom, other than the toilet seat that had been lifted a minute or so ago.

“Stiles?” he called through cautiously, suddenly paranoid that someone had been hiding out
in his shower and had attacked the Omega. Or that the teen had fallen asleep standing up. Or
that he'd tripped on something and bashed his skull and was now lying unconscious and
bleeding out.
No. He would've heard the flails on the way down.

“Dude, I can't go. It's too quiet.”

Fucking hell.

Over the past month, Derek had learned—and adjusted to—all of Stiles' little quirks and
foibles, including the fact that he couldn't go when it was silent—“What if someone's
listening in or something?” “And what? Judging the sound of your piss? Just fucking go,
Stiles.” “I caaaaan't.”—or when someone was talking to him—“Seriously, just shut the fuck
up. This is weird.” “You're the one who never shuts up.” “I can't piss with you standing
outside the door talking to me, alright? So just fuck off and let me pee.”—or when someone
was in the shower—“I have a head full of shampoo, I'm not gonna look at you as you piss.”
“Not the fucking point! I'll just pee in the kitchen sink.” “You pee in the kitchen sink, I will
literally kill you.” He'd practically had a seizure when Derek had come in while the Omega
was showering, unable to hold it any longer, screaming at him that it was weird and they
weren't that kind of fake couple and even if they were an actual couple, it was still weird.

So rather than arguing any further, Derek just snatched his phone back up and played
whatever song had been queued up, rolling his eyes at the groaned out “thank god” that came
from the other room.

He waited a few seconds before hitting pause, laughing loud and evilly at the “oh my fucking
god!” that came soon after, hitting play again immediately.

The pillow he repeatedly got the face was worth it.

And so was Stiles snuggling up to him as he insisted that he be big spoon to make up for it,
snuffling his nose between Derek's shoulder blades, legs tangled together under the
comforter.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles left around ten to help his dad clean out his attic, grumbling about how tired he was
and how physical labor wasn't his thing. Derek resisted the urge to point out how he'd told
him the night before he'd be tired, instead choosing to mention how he was feeding into
Omega stereotypes by acting like he couldn't do manual labor. It had been the right thing to
say, the younger man leaving with a sense of self-righteous vengeance and a need to prove
Derek wrong.

The Alpha had volunteered to help but was ultimately turned down, Stiles stating it was more
of a Stilinski family thing since there was bound to be a ton of his mom's stuff up there.
Derek hid his upset at that fact, mentally reminding himself that despite the Mate connection,
he wasn't a Stilinski and chances were, he never would be. Instead, he took the opportunity
for what it was, heading to Wal-Mart to grab the last few things he needed to finish up Stiles'
Heat room.

Texts were exchanged throughout the day, pictures of random things Stiles found: old photos
of the two of them or just of Derek; a stuffed bunny Stiles used to haul around everywhere
and had cried when the ear he held it by fell off, still with the terrible uneven stitches the
Alpha had used to fix it despite not actually knowing how to sew; the sheriff's tux he'd worn
to prom, complete with ruffled shirt, followed by a selfie of Stiles actually wearing the shirt
and unable to hold back a smirk.

Derek didn't send as many photos, but he did send a bunch of the random weirdos he found at
Wal-Mart, knowing how much Stiles loved that sort of thing. There was also an unfortunately
spelled sign stating they were out of “cock” and he couldn't resist a “feel like putting some
meat in your mouth?” joke when he passed a restaurant called Dickey's Barbecue.

Things tapered off as they both got more involved in what they were doing so when his
phone buzzed in his pocket with an incoming message, Derek damn near jumped. Sliding the
device out, he was surprised to find it was nearly eight, but a glance around the room proved
that he'd had a productive day and was damn near done with everything. A few finishing
touches and it was ready to go.

Unlocking his phone, he found a text from Stiles saying he was headed home and picking up
pizza on the way.

'I EARNED THIS FUCKIN THING BTW SO U CAN KEEP UR COMPLAINTS 2 URSELF!!!'

'Stellar argument. Well thought out and worded. I have no doubts it would hold up in court.'

'eat a dick
also who the fuck uses punctuation & spells shit out in a txt u dork'

Derek rolled his eyes and didn't bother responding, locking his phone and slipping it back
into his pocket. There was no point in trying to reply to that. They'd already had that
conversation about five times.

Stiles arrived home about thirty minutes later, just as Derek was tying up the black plastic
trash bag—because he wouldn't put it past the Omega to try and peek through the thinner
white ones to find out what the older man had bought so he could figure out what the surprise
was—and setting it to the side, deciding to just take it to the dumpster outside later.

The younger man's shoulders were slightly slumped as he dragged his feet, dumping two
boxes of what smelled like meat lovers pizza onto the breakfast bar. His eyes were red-
rimmed, nose a shade of crimson, and it was clear he'd spent part of the afternoon crying.
Derek didn't hesitate to walk over and pull him in a hug, wrapping his arms around his
shoulders and hauling him in close, pressing his lips to the Omega's head as arms slid around
his torso. He knew what it was like, to lose a parent you were incredibly close to, to find
reminders of them and their life, to head down that trail of What Ifs, imagining what life
would be like if they were still alive.

Would they be proud? Would they like the person you'd become? Would they approve of your
career choices, life choices, partner? Would they still play ball with you or fix that stuffed
bunny better or teach you to drive? Would they be the one you went to when you suffered
your first heartbreak, then your second, and third? Would they be the first one you told when
you found your Mate? Would you be a different person, a better person?
“I'm okay,” Stiles stated, though he made no move to pull away, just snuffled his face into the
crook of Derek's neck and inhaled deeply. “Just tired and emotionally drained.”

The Alpha nodded, knowing how that felt, scratching his fingers through tawny brown hair
before pulling back. “I think I have something that might cheer you up,” he announced with a
soft smile, watching the confusion form on Stiles' face.

“Is it an ass massage? 'Cause sitting on a wooden attic floor is no bueno on the buttocks.”

Derek was pretty sure his brain shorted out at “ass massage”, mind automatically flooding
with images of him actually doing just that. His hands grabbing hold of that plump flesh,
squeezing, rolling, kneading. He'd bring lube into it, turn it into a rim massage, then his inner-
walls, then his prostate, not stopping until the Omega was crying for a whole other reason,
overstimulated and covered in come.

“Wait!” Stiles interrupted his mental tangent, huge grin forming on his face as he completely
pulled away from the embrace. “Is it my surprise?” he asked, bouncing in place, teeth sinking
into his lower lip as his hands came together in a pleading motion.

His excitement was infectious and the Alpha smiled, nodding his head. “Yeah, it's ready.”

The younger man fist pumped so hard Derek was surprised he hadn't hurt himself, then took
off running for the recently built door. Surprise had given him a head start, but Derek soon
caught up to him, clamping a hand down on his shoulder as he reached for the knob.

“Whoa! Nope.”

Stiles looked back at him, petulant, confused, annoyed. “But—”

“Close your eyes.” When all he got was a “get fucking real” look, he huffed and folded his
arms, staring down at him hard. “Close. Your. Eyes.”

The Omega let out a huff of his own, rolling his eyes before closing them. “Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” he deadpanned, opening the door then putting his hands on the younger man's
shoulders to lead him inside.

“Why's the floor suddenly squishy?” Stiles asked as Derek moved him to the center of the
room. “And why is there no scent in here? Oh my god, is this a murder room? Is this where
you murder people?”

“It will be if you don't stop with the questions,” he threatened through gritted teeth, glancing
around to double-check they were in the perfect spot. “All right, open 'em.”

The Omega did as suggested, a gasp escaping him as he took in the room and its new décor.

A giant California king memory foam mattress sat on the floor against the far wall, countless
giant Euro pillows and king size extra long pillows laying along the top, a body pillow along
each side. A fluffy comforter covered the top of it, hiding the white Egyptian cotton sheets,
another duvet rolled up at the end just in case. On either side was a small lamp, fabric shades
containing cut-outs that threw star shaped light against the walls and ceiling.

On the far right were two fabric shelf sets, all but two shelves filled with spare sheets and
pillowcases of varying sizes. On the left were two sets of three plastic drawers, one set with a
drawer of various lubes and condoms, the other holding a few random goodies, a mini-fridge
sitting in between them. From the ceiling hung glow in the dark stars and moons, like a
mobile, all of it directed over the bed but not too low to interfere with anything.

White shag carpeting covered the floor, matching all the furniture and linens on the bed,
contrasting the red brick walls and given the place a soft feel to it with its low lighting and
fluffy furnishings.

Stiles did a full three-sixty, ending on Derek, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. His
scent was a mix of awe, delight, confusion, nerves, and gratefulness and the Alpha had no
idea what to address first.

So luckily—and naturally—the younger man did it for him.

“Is this--?” he began, trailing off, finger wagging as he collected his thoughts and tried to
figure out what he wanted to say. “Is this a. A.”

“A Heat room, yes,” Derek saved him the pain, folding his arms self-consciously, suddenly
not so sure if his plan had been a good idea. “I know we didn't talk about it beyond you
saying you wanted to take care of it yourself, but Isaac suggested that maybe you'd want a
space just for Heat, away from where you sleep, and I figured converting this space into that
would be something you'd like. You can handle everything on your own and not have to feel
awkward or uncomfortable because I'm hanging around or whatever. Plus it'd put up the
pretense that we're spending it together.” He wrapped it up with a shrug and a scratch at his
whisker-covered jaw, internally wincing. He'd been practicing his speech for weeks as he
worked on the room, trying to get it just right in order to explain things, only for it to
completely leave his head the second Stiles' wide brown eyes zeroed in on him.

The Omega slowly nodded, turning to look at the room once more, still not actually
commenting on it or saying what he thought.

So naturally Derek felt like he'd fucked up somehow, that he'd done something wrong, that he
hadn't done a good enough job, and he immediately hopped over—almost literally—to the
drawers, starting a tour and an explanation of things. “I thought you could put all your toys
and whatever in here. And there's condoms if you need to use 'em for easy clean-up, and lube
just in case,” he informed him, stepping past the fridge to the second one. “I put a portable
DVD player in here so you have something to do between rounds or whatever. And there's
some comic books, too, in case you wanna read them.” He leaned down and opened the
fridge. “You said you liked the blue Gatorade and it's good for making sure you don't get
dehydrated. I also put in those ice pops you liked as a kid, the long ones in the plastic, ya
know? You can't eat, but you gotta have something in your stomach.”

Stiles just nodded, still stunned silent, watching as Derek headed across the room, explaining
the sheets and pillowcases, pointing out the star lamps and glow in the dark pieces—“Like
when you were little and wanted to go camping but hated sleeping anywhere that wasn't your
bed, so we put those stickers on your ceiling and made a sheet tent on your bed instead,
remember?”. He strode over to the door, closing it over to show off the three deadbolts and
two security bars he'd installed, saying it was for Stiles' comfort, so he could be assured that
no one was gonna break in. Then he headed over to the bathroom, telling about how he'd
stocked it with the Omega's brand of shampoo and body wash, how he'd spent five minutes at
Wal-Mart trying to find the softest loofahs—“I got a really judgmental look from an
employee there. I think she thought I was molesting it. You would've pissed yourself laughing
at her face. I should've gotten a picture.”

There was another long moment of silence, during which Derek shuffled his feet, folded his
arms, unfolded them, put them in his pockets, hooked them on his belt loops, dropped them
to his sides, clasped his hands in front of him, dropped them again, before finally blurting out
an impatient “well?”

The Omega jerked, snapped out of his thoughts, glancing at Derek, then the bed, then the
door. “How'd you get that mattress in here?”

Seriously?

Derek had clearly forgotten who the hell his Mate was for a moment there.

He frowned for a second, head shaking in confusion before he bobbed his eyebrows in
dismissal. “It came rolled up in a box.”

“Oh my god!” He flailed his arms, finally reacting to something. And not what Derek wanted
him to react to. “Dude, that's so awesome. Wish I could've seen it.”

The Alpha just stared at him dumbly, murmuring “I had Isaac film it.”

“Oh we are watching that. We are so fucking watching that. After I try out the bed.” With
that, he ran and dove onto it, flipping before he landed so he wound up on his back, grunting
upon impact. A huge grin was on his face as he clasped his hands on his t-shirt covered chest,
staring up at the hanging stars. “Yeah, I'm never leaving this bed,” he declared, kicking his
shoes off and sending them flying then reaching down and tugging the spare duvet up over
his head as he laid back once more.

Derek rolled his eyes, turning and heading to the door. “Fine. I'm eating all the pizza then.”

“Fuck that, no, you're not!” Stiles yelled, bursting out from under the covers and sending it
flying, running over and jumping on Derek's back, legs around his waist and arms around his
neck.

The older man's arms automatically moved to support him, hitching him up higher so he
wouldn't fall, and he had flashes of doing this very thing with a much smaller Stiles.
Although with his Alpha strength, carrying a fully grown Stiles was the same as carrying
practically nothing, and he easily moved out the room and across the loft to the kitchenette.
“Seriously though,” the Omega murmured, lips near his ear, tone and scent both grave.
“Thanks for that. It means a lot.”

Derek's chest puff out, his wolf preening, tail wagging wildly. Stiles' scent was light with joy
and appreciation, his arms wrapping tighter around the older man's shoulders as he rubbed
their cheeks together in a grateful hug. He'd done well, was a good Alpha, had provided for
his Mate.

It was just a shame that Stiles thought it was all for a ruse.

~*~*~*~*~*~

After their pizzas had practically been demolished, Stiles grabbed a plastic green and gray tub
about two feet long and one foot wide from where it'd been sitting at the bottom of his
armoire, face flushing when he caught Derek watching from his seat on the stool. Clearing
his throat, he gave a shrug, acting like his scent wasn't full of embarrassment and he wasn't
looking completely awkward and out of place.

“I, uh, you said I could put my stuff in there,” he pointed out, licking his lips.

Derek slowly nodded once, eyes still locked on the tub, curiosity causing his head to tilt to
the side. “Lotta stuff,” he commented, noting how Stiles' face got redder and he found the
whole thing completely endearing. “What all's in there?”

The Omega snorted, head rocking with the action, and he rolled his eyes at the older man.
“Yeah fucking right. I'm not telling you shit.”

Because he was embarrassed. Because he, for some reason, was almost ashamed that he
enjoyed the sexual gratification that came with toys. Because his collection was presumably
large, given the size of the tub, and knowing Stiles, it was most likely varied as hell.

Because he was afraid that Derek would judge him for it.

Rising to his feet, the Alpha made his way across the loft, opening his own armoire and
tossing aside a duffel bag before pulling out a shoebox he kept hidden in their. Granted it was
a big shoebox. Not quite the size of what Stiles' had, but he liked to think it was a little on the
bigger size of things.

“You aren't the only one with a collection, Stiles,” he stated plainly, shrugging a shoulder,
making the contents of his box rattle. “You've got nothing to be embarrassed about. I won't
judge.”

The younger man just stared at it, at the logo for the boots that had come in the box, his own
head tilted to the side. “You have toys?” he asked dubiously, confused. “You're an Alpha
though.”

“Alphas have needs, too. And when you're in a Rut, knotting your own hand doesn't always
cut it.”
Stiles' eyebrows shot up at that, lips parting, his scent growing stronger, thicker, a thousand
chemosignals in them and more. “Wow. I. Yeah, wow.” He propped his tub on his hip and
scratched his forehead with a finger then gestured to Derek with it. “Guess I never really
thought about it. So, uh. What? You have, like. What do you have?”

“Fleshlights,” he stated bluntly, not embarrassed the way Stiles was. Besides, there shouldn't
be secrets between Mates, not when it came to sex, and if sharing this side of him with the
younger man made him more at ease with everything, he'd do it.

Another wave of shock filled the air, Stiles' head rearing back slightly. “So, fake vaginas
basically?”

Another shrug as he put the box back. “Some, yeah. Some are designed to be a like a male
Omega's hole, but it's not quite the same.” His hand trembled slightly as he put the duffel
back on top, remembering how it felt to fuck into it compared to a real Omega, wondering if
Stiles would feel any better than the guy he'd hooked up with one night at a party, or that
other Omega he'd been with a few times over spring break one year, both of them knowing it
was a “What happens in Cancun, stays in Cancun” situation.

Physically they'd feel the same, but Stiles would still be different, better, because that was his
Mate, the person created to be with Derek in all ways, shapes, and forms.

It was just too bad he'd never experience it and find out for sure.

Stiles cleared his throat, tub back in both hands as he held it in front of himself, shifting from
foot to foot as he stared down at the green lid. “I have dildos,” he admitted lowly, the dam
bursting and the rest of his words pouring out in a flood. “A small-ish one, then a couple
bigger ones, and a couple with knots on 'em. Also have a vibrator and one of those egg
shaped ones, never used it though. Used a vibrating plug though.”

Derek's brain burst. It just exploded.

His wolf was rumbling in his head as his mind was inundated with images of Stiles using
those toys on himself, plunging a dildo in and out of his wet hole, slick making the rubber
shine more and more each time he pulled it out. He pictured the Omega on his back in bed,
head tilted back, cock twitching against his stomach, legs spread wide as he thrust the toy
repeatedly. He wondered if Stiles was more inclined to play with his dick or his nipples, if
he'd switch back and forth, maybe roll his balls in his hands. He wondered if Stiles talked just
as much in bed as he did out of it, what kind of sounds he'd be making. He wondered if Stiles
fantasized about a nameless, faceless Alpha filling him up, or if he was picturing someone in
particular.

He wondered if he ever crossed Stiles' mind while he slid a fake knot inside himself and held
it there.

He wondered if he'd ever gotten so hard so fast in his life.

The answer was no.

The Omega coughed in his throat, shifted on his feet again, rocked back on his heels. “Yeah.
So.”

“Sounds great,” Derek blurted out, having no idea why he said that or what the fuck he was
referring to or anything.

Stiles looked confused before a smirk formed on his face, scent full of mirth and amusement.
“Right. I'm just gonna.” He gestured to the Heat room door with his tub and Derek stepped
out of his way, watching as he passed.

“Have fun.”

He needed to stop talking.

The Omega laughed, turning to walk backwards. “Oh, I plan on it,” he stated, winking then
turning back and going right into the room.

Derek slap his hand to his forehead, feeling like a giant moron, before his mind went back to
more x-rated thoughts. Because the Heat room door was shut now, one of the deadbolts slid
into place, and Stiles was in there with a box full of toys.

There was a possibility that he was already testing out the bed for Heat purposes, that he was
planning on filling himself with one of those dildos he'd just mentioned, that he was going to
be having fun right at that moment.

Derek practically ran to the bathroom, shutting and locking the door before slamming on the
shower. He wasn't gonna be able to use a toy of his own at that moment, but he sure as shit
was gonna get off.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Stiles became surprisingly more tactile after that night. Not that Derek had ever thought it
was possible but...

But soon Stiles was randomly ruffling Derek's hair as he passed or smoothing a hand across
his back, his shoulders, down his arm. He was hugging him around his waist from behind
when he entered the kitchen every morning after his shower, jumping on his back during the
last mile or so of their run for a piggy back ride, bumping shoulders and touching hands and
snuggling up more than usual.

Derek chalked it up to a barrier having been brought down in their weird pseudo-relationship,
that the frank discussion of sex toys meant they no longer had anything to hide. He chalked it
up to Stiles being more comfortable living at the loft and no longer feeling as though he had
to put on some sort of act, that he could be more of himself. He chalked it up to Stiles being
grateful for the Heat room and showing it in the way an Omega's instincts told him to, with
hugs and touches and snuggles.

No matter the reason, Derek was perfectly okay with it, returning the embraces, patting hands
that had wrapped around his waist, reaching up at the last second to try and ruffle Stiles' hair
back—because it seemed to bother him more than the Alpha in all honesty and part of Derek
was enjoying being a shit to Stiles. His only issue with it came when he actually started
thinking about it, believing it was just an Omega reacting to a nearby Alpha, that it wasn't
Stiles himself, just his instincts recognizing a suitable partner of sorts solely due to the way
their dynamics worked. After all, the younger man had been the one to insist that they only
be just friends, that he didn't want a relationship or a real Bond or a Mate or any of that shit.

So he shut his mind up and drowned himself in Stiles' scent, focused on the feel of that lithe
frame against his own, refusing to think of the reasons why it was there in the first place or
how long it would still be there.

It wasn't until that Monday that things really changed, although it'd seemed innocuous
enough.

Work was normal, a bright sunny day, and he and Jen took the kids outside to run around and
get their energy out. Garrett and Violet hogged the swings, giving everyone judgmental looks
that no eight year old should really be capable of for at least another five years. Amy and Jen
played patty-cake, sitting on the grass, both of them with their shoes off. Derek joined the
remaining boys—plus Hayden—as they played touch football, playing quarterback for both
teams.

Until Liam decided the best way to get the ball was to grab it out of Derek's arms when he
was still holding it.

After yelling a “hike!” and having the ball snapped to him by Brett, Derek suddenly found
himself with a dirty blond Omega boy hanging off his left arm, letting out a “roar” as he tried
to pull his arm down to his level to get the ball. Except it didn't work, Derek laughing as he
raised his arm and Liam hung off it like a monkey, still trying in vain to tug him down.

Mason jumped on his back at that moment, a war cry of his own spilling from his lips,
followed by Brett trying to climb up Derek's free right side to get the ball. Hayden let out a
huff, stomping her way over to Jen and Amy, complaining about stupid, idiots boys and their
dumb stupid stuff they did.

Derek laughed as he was forcibly turned into a human jungle gym, three boys climbing on
him, hanging on, letting out tiny growls as they each tried to grab the football still in his
hand. The scent of amusement filled the summer air, a light breeze flowing and carrying with
it another scent that he immediately recognized.

Snapping his head to the right, he found Stiles standing by the four-foot tall chain link fence
that surrounded the day care's playground, an indecipherable look on his face as he gave a
small wave. A huge grin formed on Derek's face and he quickly disentangled himself from
the boys, the three of them all falling onto their backs.

“Here you go, guys,” he murmured absently, tossing the football away in the opposite
direction from where Stiles was and the three boys all yelled before clambering over one
another to chase after it in a mess of limbs and energy, a bunch of puppies playing fetch.
He glanced at Jen to make sure it was okay, she giving him a nod without missing a beat in
her patty-cake game, then jogged over to the fence. Stiles had his hands carefully placed on
top of it, using it to prop himself up as he rocked onto the very back of his heels, barely
balanced in his sneakers. His head was ducked, scent all over the place, and Derek couldn't
get a read on him as he slowed to a stop.

“Hey,” he greeted him softly, placing his own hands on either side of the Omega's.
“Everything okay?”

Stiles nodded without lifting his head, a squeaking “mmhmm” coming out before he cleared
his throat. “Yeah, fine,” he stated, heart blipping with a lie.

Shit.

Shit, shit, shit.

Derek swallowed hard, glancing around nervously, noting Jen's curious stare as she kept
playing, noting Garrett and Violet watching from quite some distance with matching looks of
disdain, noting that Hayden had rejoined the boys and was chasing Liam around as he ran
with the ball, Mason and Brett hot on her heels. Turning back to Stiles, he frowned, unable to
help feeling like everything was completely messed up somehow.

“You sure? Because—”

“You forgot your wallet,” the younger man interrupted, suddenly lifting his head, forced
smile on his face. Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out the leather bifold and held it
out to him. “Just thought you might need it. You're lucky you weren't pulled over or didn't
need gas or something.”

The Alpha slowly nodded, taking the wallet and slipping it into the back pocket of his worn
khaki shorts. He had a maroon v-neck on with it and couldn't help but notice that Stiles was
matching him again, wearing his own khaki pants and burgundy tee.

Taking a chance, he moved his hands over so they were covering the Omega's, a small smile
forming on Stiles' face, a genuine one this time, his scent morphing into a less complicated—
yet still hard to figure out—one.

“Nice flower crown by the way,” Stiles commented, delight dancing in his eyes.

Derek looked up as though he could see the chain of daisy and dandelions that had been
made for him, the tips of his ears burning. “Gift from Amy.”

A laugh gusted out Stiles' nose. “Never thought I'd have to compete with a six year old for
my Bonded's affections.”

The Alpha's heart began racing at that, his stomach filling with butterflies, but he quickly
wiped it all away, reminding himself that Stiles had only said that because they had an
audience, that there was a chance Jen was listening in.
“There's no competition,” he replied, acting like it was for the show, knowing that it was
completely genuine. Leaning closer, he kissed the Omega's cheek, loving the way Stiles'
smile seemed to grow. “Thanks for bringing my wallet.”

“No problem, flower-wolf,” the younger man replied with a grin and a wink, pecking his
cheek before walking away backwards, turning after a few feet.

Derek remained in his spot, listening for the sounds of the Jeep's door slamming, the engine
starting up, the wheels carrying Stiles away, barely noticing when Jen joined him, leaning
back against the fence.

“You realize you are completely lovesick and it's almost nauseating,” she said with a smirk.

He simply nodded, staring at the place where he'd last seen his Omega. “Yeah,” he breathed
out. He was truly starting to believe he was.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The first sign that something wasn't quite right was when Derek got home and found Stiles
already there—his schedule having been screwed up that week and he was on late that day
rather than early—flopped on the couch, an arm and leg thrown across the back of it, his
other leg with its foot on the floor. The scent of him was overwhelming, the sugary-sweetness
filling every molecule of air in the giant space and he felt his eyes flash red in response.
Closing them tight, he tried to will it away, biting back a growl as his gums and nail beds
tingled, fighting the shift.

That was new.

Sure, he'd had a pretty... unusual response to Stiles' scent since meeting back up with him at
his mom's house a month or so ago, but it had never been to that extreme. Save for the fact
that he'd been drawn to the guy in a daze that first night, but other than that...

Yeah, not entirely true. Waking up with that scent in his nose caused more morning wood that
he'd had during all of puberty and he practically craved it when it wasn't around. He once
found himself with his face stuffed in Stiles' armoire, nose pressed up against a collection of
flannels, all because Stiles had been gone for a morning shift then went to hang with Scott.

But he'd still never been so close to wolfing out before, still never felt the animal part of him
so close to the surface. He almost felt like he was about to go into a Rut, quickly shoving that
aside, knowing that he wasn't due for another six months. Yet he had no other way to explain
it, no other reason for reacting the way he had to just Stiles' scent, the strength of it so great it
felt like a punch to the face when he opened the door and he had to grab onto the frame of it
to keep himself from being bowled over by just a smell.

Granted it was a really fucking good one. But still.

He repeated his mom's mantra in his head, slowly closed the door and locked it, checking it
twice, biding his time. He breathed through his mouth, hoping it would help, instead causing
the scent to linger on his tongue, so strong he could practically taste it. It was like the warm
maple syrup Stiles practically drowned his waffles in, the powdered sugar he covered his
french toast with like a blizzard had hit, the extra chocolate chips he always dumped in
pancake mix. It created a buzz in Derek's head, like the rock candy he and Jen had helped the
kids make as a project on a rainy day or the energy drinks he used to chug during college as
he crammed for exams and the mocha frappaccinos he pounded back the next day to stay
awake during the test itself.

He was in fucking trouble, he just knew it, red lights flashing and alarms blaring in his head.
But still, he made his way down the stairs, one at a time, keeping his footsteps cautious, even,
slow.

“Stiles?” he questioned lowly, voice rough and gravelly for some unknown reason and he
cleared it, swallowed hard, the taste of Stiles' scent dripping down his throat. “Everything
okay?”

“Hmm?” the Omega replied, tilting his head back over the arm of the couch, staring at Derek
upside down. “Yeah, cool, fine. I got sent home from work, but it's whatever.” He shrugged,
playing it off as his head returned to its normal position, an air of nonchalance around him
and feeling oddly out of place.

“Why were you sent home?” Derek further questioned, stopping at the breakfast bar and
emptying his pockets one item at a time. Keys. Cell phone. Wallet. Drawing from Amy. A
card stating he was now a member of the “Super Cool Bros Club” that Liam had given to
him, Mason standing beside him looking just as serious.

Another shrug and Stiles found sudden interest in his bitten nails, picking at a loose edge of
one. “Dunno. Boss just showed, took one look at me, then demanded I leave. Said I wasn't
fired or anything but told me not to come back 'til it was over.”

Derek frowned, keeping his eyes locked on his things, lining them up perfectly straight just to
have something to do, just to hide the tremble in his hands. “'Til what was over?”

“Dun—” the younger man stopped mid-word, mid-shrug, sitting up and turning so both his
feet were on the ground.

The Alpha chanced a look at him, brow furrowing further, hands pausing where he'd been
laying his keys out flat. Stiles was staring straight ahead at the TV that was currently off,
distant look in his eyes, lips parted. His heartbeat was erratic, breathing shaky, and Derek
fought to stay in place, somehow knowing that it would be a mistake to get any closer.

“Stiles?” he prompted, laying his hands flat on the counter, swallowing hard. “You okay?”

The teen didn't say anything, just burst up onto his feet and strode straight into the kitchenette
area, heading right for the calendar fixed to the side of the fridge. Flipping the page up, his
finger ran across the squares designating each day, tapping on one in particular. “Shit, shit,
shit,” he muttered, dropping the page then shoving both hands in his hair.

Derek felt his stomach drop in worry, his wolf whimpering in his head as the scent of distress
hit him, overwhelming and more powerful than he'd smelled on the Omega since his mom
was sick.

Not. Fucking. Good.

“This isn't supposed to be happening,” Stiles continued, pacing back and forth, clutching at
his head. “Not right now, not yet. It's too fucking early.”

“Too early for—?” Derek began, only to stop himself. Because the Omega passed in front of
him on the opposite side of the counter, his cloying scent filling his nose and making him
growl, making his eyes flash red, making his cock twitch within his jeans before it started
fattening up.

Stiles turned to him when he was at the opposite side of the room, irises flashing gold in
response. His brow was pulled in a worried frown, eyes turned down at the corners, lips
parted and revealing the tips of small fangs as he spoke the three most damning words either
one of them could've said given their current situation. “My Heat's early.”
 Thirteen

Derek stood there stunned, hands gripping the edge of the counter, claws digging in to the
formica. His wolf was going nuts in his head, baying and howling and demanding he go over
there, that he carry their Omega to the Heat room and help take care of it, of him for the next
three days.

But he couldn't. Because Stiles had stated he wanted to take care of it by himself, that he
didn't need or want any help. It was why Derek had made him that Heat room, so he could
handle the situation in privacy and without worry over things getting awkward or weird or
having to fight off an Alpha.

And, selfishly, it was so Derek wasn't subjected to the sweet smell of ripe Omega, so he could
spend those three days in relative peace, not trying to get on or in Stiles and knot him up the
way he was dying to on a regular basis. Add in the smell of Heat and it was impossible to
resist.

Hence him tearing into his counter.

He swallowed hard, breathing through his mouth, chest heaving, body trembling and tense as
he held himself in place. It wouldn't help either one of them if he moved, if he did anything
that seemed like he was reaching for the Omega, even if it was some sort of comfort or...

No, he needed to just stay put. That was all.

A pained groan left Stiles, one hand shooting out to brace himself on the counter, the other
wrapping around his midsection as he doubled over in pain. His face screwed up, eyes shut
tight, nose wrinkled, lips pulled back to revealed gritted fangs, and his breath came out in
harsh gasps.

Derek's wolf snarled in his head, pissed and distressed over its Mate being hurt, wanting to do
something about it. But there was nothing to be done, not by them. Stiles' pain was caused by
his Heat, was his body getting him ready for it, a natural occurrence and the Alpha wasn't
allowed to try and take that pain either through leeching or solving it with his knot.

“You should go,” he ground out, his own fangs descending, his own breath harsh pants.
“Your Heat room. It's why I made it for you.” He forced a smile on his face, trying to ease the
situation, the Omega peering up at him as the pain left his features but his chest still heaved
with the way he was breathing hard. “Good thing I finished it this weekend, huh?”

The younger man snorted, rolling his eyes, licking his lips as he straightened up, only to fall
back against the fridge. “Yeah,” he agreed roughly, arm still around his midsection, the other
shakily sliding through his hair. His cheeks were flushed, getting redder by the second, his
scent even stronger with an added spice that Derek finally recognized as arousal. His own
body responded in kind before he reminded it that the smell of desire was caused only by his
Heat and had nothing to do with the Alpha he was around.
That thought did nothing to stop his cock from hardening or his wolf from growling.

He tightened his grip on the counter, hanging his head, digging his claws in as he heard the
sounds of Stiles pushing away from the wall, his feet shuffling across the loft, the metal door
closing over and the locks engaging.

“Fuck,” he breathed out, falling so that he was bent over the counter, gasping for breath like
he'd run a marathon. Even with the door shut, the smell of Stiles hung thick in the air, and his
hand automatically reached down to grip himself through his jeans. The denim was rough
against his sensitive flesh but he didn't care, only able to focus on the fact that it wasn't the
tightness he wanted to feel around the length.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he murmured, wrapping the fingers of his free hand around the opposite
side of the counter. A whine escaped him, followed by a disbelieving laugh that this was his
fucking life, that his fucking Mate had chosen to lock himself in another room to deal with
his Heat alone rather than letting Derek help.

Fucking wonderful.

The door opened back up and he tensed all over, refusing to let himself look, refusing to let
go of the counter for fear he'd rush over and take Stiles, to claim him and knot him regardless
of whether he wanted it or not. But he wasn't that kind of Alpha, refused to fucking be,
refused to do anything to anyone against their will, especially his Mate.

“Der?” the Omega requested, voice tremulous, rough, and the older man whimpered at how
pathetic it was. “Do me a favor?”

He grabbed hold of the counter with both hands, raising his torso and turning his head
around. Stiles was peeking through a crack in the door, both security bars in place, his hands
wrapped around the edge of the metal in a white knuckle grip. His eyes were a steady gold,
cheeks red, and Derek could see a glimpse of bare collarbone and chest, his mind
automatically supplying him with images of his naked torso, wondering if his pants were
gone, too.

“Top of the fridge? There's a folder. Can you read it for me?”

The Alpha raised an eyebrow, finding the request odd, but unable to deny him. With shaky
legs, he took even measured steps around the counter, trembling hands patting around until he
found the manila folder. Laying it on the counter, he flipped it over, finding a paper full of “In
Case of Emergency” protocols, numbers to contact, allergies, medical history, his wants
should certain occasions arise. But on top of it was a sealed envelope, Stiles' all-caps scrawl
declaring it was “Heat Procedures”.

His hands shook further as he lifted it up, waving it in Stiles' direction and getting a nod in
response before he ducked into a crouch and gasped in pain. Spurred on by the sight, Derek
slit it open with a claw, slipping out the sheet of paper contained within, eyes going wide as
he read it.
'If you're reading this, Der, it's because I finally told you that I changed my mind and want
you to help take care of me.'

It was dated a week after he'd moved in.

His head snapped up, mouth hanging open, staring at the Omega in shock. Stiles nodded
again, weak smile on his face, still slightly crouched in pain.

“Please,” he breathed out, gasping as another wave of pain hit him.

Derek didn't hesitate, dropping the paper before launching himself over the counter and
rushing for the Heat room. Stiles only just managed to shut the door and remove the bars
when the Alpha reached it, inviting himself in. The Omega headed straight for his nest of a
bed, both comforters shoved back, pillows scattered about, laying back on it with his legs
spread in wanton invitation.

The older man held back long enough to engage all the locks, kicking off his shoes after.
When he turned back around, Stiles had two fingers inside of himself, head tilted back, neck
bared, spine arched as he whined.

“Der. Please.”

He breathed out a swear, yanking his shirt over his head, unbuckling his belt with shaky
hands and popping all the buttons of his fly. The younger man turned to look at him, groaning
when his jeans were shucked and his cock was revealed, bobbing in the open air.

“Of course you don't wear fucking underwear. You're ridiculous,” the Omega muttered, hand
stilling where his fingers were inside him.

There was his Mate, the snarky little shit he'd come to know and appreciate and adore the
fuck out of.

“Pants are too tight,” Derek stated matter-of-factly, kicking off his jeans before striding over,
eyes roaming the form before him, feeling every inch the predator he was.

The Omega was fucking beautiful, the lamps casting soft light over him, throwing odd
shadows and highlighting his body. Derek stood at the end of the bed, taking in the light
indentations of his abdominal muscles, the long curve of his neck, the jut of his collarbone.
He had a line separating his torso from his legs that the Alpha was dying to trace his tongue
over, hip bones he wanted to nip and nibble on, thick pubes he wanted to nuzzle his nose into.
His cock was long, probably the same length as Derek's, but not as thick, laying stiff and
proud against his lower stomach, and Derek wanted to put his mouth on it first.

No. Not first. Maybe second.

The first was currently hidden by the Omega's hand.

Kneeling at the end of the bed, Derek slid his hands up long legs, smoothing along the inside
of firm thighs, spreading the limbs even further. He bent down, nudging at the hand covering
him with his nose, nipping at it with blunt teeth.
“Lemme see, baby,” he rumbled, no idea where the sound had come from or the nickname.

Stiles' teeth sank into his lower lip and he slowly slid his hand away, legs trying to close in a
sudden wave of self-consciousness. But the older man was having none of it, utilizing just a
little bit more of his strength to hold them apart before using his grip to push his legs back to
his chest, rolling him slightly so his ass was in the air.

“Lemme see,” he repeated, kissing one cheek then the other.

A small whimper left the Omega and his hands moved to grab hold of his ass, spreading his
cheeks and putting his hole on display. Derek groaned at the sight, taking in the pucker and
feeling his mouth fill with saliva. It was already shiny, red, opening up ever so slightly, like it
was winking at him, a tease, just like the rest of him.

Putting both legs together, Derek held them back with one hand, the other moving to stroke a
finger along the tight ring, spreading the wetness around. Stiles let out a muffled whine,
fingers tightening their grip on his cheeks, hips bucking up to get more contact. But the
Alpha held back, simply massaging and rubbing, amazed at the slick coming out, the scent of
it filling the air.

Unable to help himself, he lifted his fingertip to his mouth, sucking the slick off and moaning
at the taste, eyes rolling to the back of his head. Because he tasted just as good as he smelled,
his head buzzing and his body warming up, like after a good drink or a couple Bane Brews.
Fuck, this was better than drunk, because this was Stiles, his Mate, and the sugary-sweet taste
of him was better than alcohol.

“Can I?” he garbled, swallowing hard, hand shaky as he put his finger back on the pucker,
rubbing at the rim.

“Please,” Stiles pleaded, raising his ass once more, and Derek was helpless to resist.

Lowering his head, he swiped his tongue over the pucker, the taste exploding in his mouth
and making him growl lightly. Another long lick, then another, before he fixed his mouth
over the ring and sucked hard.

Stiles gasped, a laugh leaving him that turned into a groan. The Alpha peeked up to see his
head tilted back, eyes closed, smile on his face that disappeared as he sank his teeth into his
bottom lip again.

Well, that wouldn't fucking do.

Mouth back on his hole, he sucked again, pulling out that slick directly from the source and
making his Omega keen. He speared his tongue, slipping it past that tight pucker, trying to
loosen it up as well as get more of his taste, eyes rolling to the back of his head at it. He
licked what he could reach, lapping at his walls, slipping a finger up to massage his rim and
get him to loosen up further.

Swears rolled off the younger man's tongue, his hand slipping off his ass and onto Derek's
head, fingers threading through black locks. His hips began rocking, trying to push more of
Derek into him—despite there not really being much to put more in—trying to control the
actions. Part of the older man—the Alpha part, he knew—was growling in disapproval at
that, wanted to be in charge, wanted to set the pace. But he shoved it aside, ignored it, let
Stiles create the tempo and lead the way, given it was their first time together.

Hopefully the two of them doing this together now meant that every Heat for the next four
years or so would be spent together and Derek would have plenty other opportunities to be in
charge the way his instincts demanded he be.

“Der,” Stiles whined, fingers tightening their grip on his hair. “More. Please. Empty.”

The older man pulled his head back just enough to allow his finger to slip inside, his way
eased by a mix of his saliva and the Omega's slick, meeting no resistance thanks to his body
naturally opening up for him during his Heat. He lapped at his rim as he tugged at it,
stretching, finger sliding in and out without much effort and soon a second was joining in.

The teen hissed out a “yessss”, head tipping back again, mouth hanging open with a smile.
He gasped when the fingers scissored, panting out in pleasure, and Derek kept a close eye—
or nose really—on his chemosignals, checking for any signs of pain or discomfort.

Not that he thought he'd get any, not with the way an Omega's pain receptors shut down and
rerouted everything to the pleasure center of their brains. He remembered that much from
Heat Ed back in school, had been reminded of it by both Laura and Isaac. So it was up to him
to make sure things went slow, steady, that they didn't rush into anything and that Stiles didn't
hurt himself by moving too fast or too carelessly, more concerned with being filled than
safety.

Easier said than done though, considering how Derek's own head was already swimming with
the scent of Stiles and his arousal, his slick and his Heat.

Shit.

He shook his head rapidly to snap out of it, focusing on what he was doing, on opening Stiles
up for...

Well, he wasn't entirely sure what for.

Sure the paper had asked Derek to help but it hadn't been explicit permission to knot him.
“Help” during Heat covered a multitude of sins, ranging from just fingering and opening him,
to using toys on him, to actual penile penetration and tying them together. And Stiles hadn't
clarified which one, just that the Alpha join him in the room. And sometimes that was enough
for an Omega, just an Alpha's scent and presence and body could temper the more extreme
aspects of Heat. He remembered the first time he'd helped Paige with hers, how they didn't
have sex, how he just let her rut against him, ride his fingers and his face, how she was sated
with just that.

Granted they were sixteen and it was still early in her development. And that hadn't contained
the added factor of “Mates”.
His ring finger played with the Omega's rim as his middle and index thrust in and out of him
in slow even motions. Soon, he was loose and wet enough for the third finger to slide inside,
Stiles' hand slipping off his ass and slamming against the mattress. Derek knew from
experience that three fingers would be enough for his cock, that his knot would require a
fourth—and even then it would still be a stretch—and that chances were it was big enough
for a toy.

He just had no idea what direction Stiles wanted to take things in.

Wiping his mouth on the back of his hand, he stilled his fingers inside the younger man,
carefully sliding his hand away from his legs and letting them fall open. He gently lowered
the Omega's back onto the mattress, mindful of his fingers and the way they moved and
pulled at him, watching his face for any signs of pain or discomfort. But he found none, just
closed eyes and parted lips, red cheeks and sweat sheened skin. The lamps highlighted the
slope of Stiles' nose and the cute upturn at the end, cast shadows along his cheeks, drew
attention to his strong jawline and long neck. His moles stood out in stark contrast of his skin,
begging to be kissed and licked, and his lashes were fanned out along his cheekbones, long
and curled and out of place on a male face.

His Mate was beautiful.

Sure, he'd found Stiles attractive, had since they'd run back into each other. But it never
struck Derek to think of him as anything more than just good looking. But seeing him laying
there, with his chest rising and falling and his full lips pulled into an open mouth grin, it
struck him just how gorgeous the younger man was and how incredibly lucky he was to wake
up to that face every morning, to fall asleep with that as the last thing he saw every night.

He'd be damned if he was letting him go at the end of four years.

“Stiles?” he prompted softly, letting his lower lip drag along the side of a knee as his leg sat
propped up, foot flat on the bed. The Omega groaned a “huh?” to show he was listening, not
making any effort to move or speak more. “Open your eyes.”

He did just that, the irises a dull gold that had Derek's forgotten cock twitching where it hung
between his legs, hard and pissed that it had been ignored so far. Stiles licked his lips and
swallowed, before letting them hang open again, shaky breaths sliding in and out between
them, chest shuddering.

“I need you to tell me what you want,” the Alpha stated quietly, voice rumbling, rasping,
husky. Because his throat was practically coated with Stiles' scent and his slick, making it
hard to get words past them, but he couldn't find it within himself to be upset about that.

“You,” he murmured, soft smile on his face, eyes half lidded as his fingers scratched at the
back of Derek's head.

His wolf practically purred at both the declaration and the touch but the human half forced
him to focus, to get explicit details and consent over what was about to happen. He wasn't
sure if it would still hold up when his Heat was over, if he was a little too far gone to really
give permission, but he said it anyway, asked it anyway, thinking it was better than making
assumptions and truly picking the wrong thing.

“What do you want me to do to you?” he clarified, shifting his weight between his knees,
keeping his hand motionless where three of his fingers were still buried inside his Mate. “You
want me to use a toy on you?”

Stiles shook his head emphatically, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he whined, hands
clutching at bare shoulders and trying to drag him closer, unable to get purchase on smooth
skin. “No, no, no. Want you. Want your knot.”

Fuck if that wasn't the greatest thing Derek had ever heard in his life.

“You sure?” he double-checked, muscles tense as he kept himself in place.

He nodded, swallowing. “Been thinking about it forever. Want it. Bad.” His hips gave a jerk,
the fingers moving inside and rubbing against his walls and he let out a whine-tinged groan,
head tilting back.

Derek surged up then, laying his body over the younger man's, no longer holding back or
resisting. He gave in to the need to trail his tongue up that long throat. He gave in to the need
to thrust his hips, his cock nestled in that line between Stiles' hip and torso, precome staining
his skin. He gave in to the need to press their bare chests together, rubbing, mingling their
scents and marking one another as taken.

Fingers threaded through his hair and Stiles used the grip to direct his head where he wanted
it, lifting his own in order to connect their lips. The kiss was frenzied, hard, unlike what
they'd shared at the periodicals store, unlike the sweet pecks they'd left on one another's
cheeks. This was a claiming with mouths and Derek let out a rumbling growl at it, fighting
for control, fighting for dominance.

But his Omega wasn't a sweet, docile thing who was just gonna roll over and let the Alpha
have his way. No, he pushed back and fought just as hard, tongue pushing, demanding
entrance, trying to get the upper-hand. Lips were sucked, teeth nipped, and Derek was pretty
sure his tongue was bitten at one point, although he wasn't entirely sure who'd done it. He
hissed at the pain and Stiles had seized the opportunity, licking inside the Alpha's mouth and
mapping it out, finding every spot that made him twitch.

But Derek gave just as good as he got, exploiting every weakness he could find, relishing
each jerk and spasm he pulled from the younger man, every whine and moan that he
swallowed and tasted.

A hand wrapped around his wrist, Stiles moving his fingers in and out and Derek felt his
chest rumble in a mix of warning and arousal. He found himself torn between taking control
to bring Stiles off and wanting to lay back and let the Omega use him, nothing but a six-foot
sex toy. He curled his fingers, petting along his walls, feeling the soft slickness of them.
Fuck, he couldn't wait to get his cock in there, to feel that velvety smoothness along his
length, to feel those muscles squeezing him as he got them both off.
Stiles gasped as he pulled away from the kiss, panting hard, head slamming back against a
pillow. He released his grip on Derek's wrist, grabbing hold of his own thigh and holding his
leg back instead, stretching and spreading his cheeks for easier access, for easier movement.
His hips bucked in rhythm with the fingers moving in and out, rim clenching to keep them
inside each time they retreated then opening up to welcome them back inside.

The Alpha propped himself up on an elbow, watching the Omega's face, the way he could
barely keep his eyes open, the fluttering of his lashes, the short jerky breaths he panted out
between his parted lips. His cock was weeping between his legs, hard to the point of pain, but
he was refusing to stop, refusing to do anything but get his Mate off, to make him come, to
please him in every way.

“Oh fuck, Der,” he gasped out, groaning, head tilting back before straightening up again. “I'm
gonna come. Oh shit, I'm gonna come. Oh fuck, fuck, fuck.” His eyes opened, the gold in
them getting brighter the closer he got and he let out a whimper. He lifted his head but
couldn't kiss the older man, simply let their lips graze as he whined. “Oh fuck, please, Der.
Please, please, please, need to come so bad.” He was begging, pleading, body so keyed up it
was almost painful to look at.

Derek let their lips drag together, pressing their bodies together so Stiles had something to
rub his cock against, squeezing his fingers together in order to let his pinky slide inside. The
Omega screamed out a swear, head slamming back against a pillow again, countless
obscenities leaving him in a stream of filth and blasphemy.

“Holy shit-snacks! There! There, there, there!” He demanded when a crook of the digits
grazed against a soft nub inside of him, his entire body jerking at it. “Oh god, you do
anything but milk my prostate and I will literally kill you.”

A laugh gusted out the Alpha's mouth and he did what he was told, playing with that bundle
of nerves, massaging and rubbing at a fast pace. The younger man's face pulled into a mix of
pained pleasure, brow furrowed, mouth hanging open, harsh whines panted out with every
sharp exhale.

Until finally, he seized up all over, rim squeezing the fingers inside him, and he came with a
shouted swear.

Derek kept his fingers moving, milking it, milking him, prolonging it as much as he could
until Stiles went boneless and jellied. He left the digits inside, but moved the tips away from
his prostate, figuring he'd be too sensitive for it to be touched yet too far in his Heat to be
empty.

The Omega said nothing as he laid there recovering, chest heaving, heart pounding, eyes
closed as his limbs spread out across the bed. And Derek didn't prompt any conversation, let
him come down on his own, pressing gentle kisses along his neck, his throat, his chest, his
shoulders.

“Fuck,” the younger man slurred a few minutes later, hand dragging over his face. “That was
way better than when I do it.”
Derek laughed, running his nose along the edge of Stiles' pit, inhaling his scent from the
source and biting back a growl. “Told you so.”

“Yeah, yeah. You win this round, asshole.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to make a “You are what you eat” joke, but the Omega let out a
groan, face screwing up in pain again.

“Not already,” he whined, draping his arm over his eyes. “Normally I have a longer reprieve
than that.”

“You weren't knotted,” Derek pointed out, wiggling his fingers for emphasis. “Plus your body
and wolf probably recognize the fact that there's an Alpha in the room who could easily fill
you up and take care of you.”

“Explains why my wolf feels like it's drooling,” he muttered, dropping his arm to his side and
peering up at the older man. His eyes looked a lot clearer, still a dull shade of gold, but no
longer fuzzed out with Heat. “I meant what I said by the way. About you knotting me.” His
hands slid up Derek's arms, cupping over round shoulders, one curling around the back of his
neck. “I want you to do it, not some stupid fucking toy.”

The Alpha let out a hungry growl before descending on him, kissing him until they were both
breathless. Stiles' hips started bucking beneath him, whines leaving him, his skin growing hot
and feverish.

“Please,” he breathed when they parted, grazing his nose against the other man's in an eskimo
kiss. “Der, please.”

Derek nodded, carefully sliding his fingers out the Omega. “On your stomach. Easier to knot
you.”

An eager nod was the teen's response and he flipped over as soon as the Alpha lifted himself
up onto his knees. He presented himself perfectly, on his knees, head on his folded forearms,
back arched to push his ass out further. Derek hid a growl by sucking his fingers clean, eyes
rolling back once more at the taste, thumb of his free hand rubbing over his stretched hole
and making the Omega moan.

“Fuck, Derek,” he whined, hand reaching back to pull at his cheek and put himself on further
display. “Please. So empty. Hurts.”

The Alpha moved so he was kneeling behind him, slapping his cock against the open hole,
the action wetter each time he did it. Stiles let out a few laughing gasps with each one, back
arching even more, to the point that Derek was surprised his spine didn't snap in two. Hand
gripping his cock, he pressed down on the crown, until it slipped inside of Stiles with a light
pop.

Stiles keened, hand moving from his ass to above his ducked head, fingers scratching at red
brick as he struggled to find a grip on something, settling for laying his palm flat against the
wall. A gasp left him as Derek slid further in, air gusting out of him in sharp inhales with
every inch, like there was no more room for oxygen with the Alpha filling him up. He paused
when he was fully seated inside, when his own trimmed thatch of hair was pressed against
Stiles' ass, and the Omega let out a laugh.

“Oh fuck,” he slurred, sounding almost drunk, lifting his head as his hand slipped from the
wall. “So much fucking better than a goddamn dildo.”

Derek snorted. “Thanks for the compliment,” he deadpanned.

“Thanks for your cock. It's fucking amazing.” As if to prove it, he squeezed his inner-
muscles, the wet walls of his passage rippling around Derek's length and making him groan.

Because it wasn't enough that the Omega was so fucking wet and hot and smooth and by the
far that greatest thing Derek had ever put his dick in. No, he also had amazing muscle control
and was practically massaging him, sending him zooming towards climax.

No. Not yet. He needed Stiles to get off again first.

Alpha. Beta. Omega.

Hands on lean hips, he slowly pulled back until he felt the younger man's rim pulling around
the head of his cock, pushing back inside just as slowly. Stiles let out a long groan, head
falling once again, body shuddering under Derek's ministrations.

“Shit,” the younger man swore, voice thick, hand moving down to wrap around his cock. But
he didn't stroke himself, just held it, forearms flexing as he staved off his orgasm, even after
only a few thrusts.

And fuck if that wasn't an ego boost, that Derek was filling him up so well he was about to
come just from these slow motions and a couple strokes along his inner-walls.

Although the more he thought about that, the closer he got to orgasm himself.

Alpha. Beta. Omega.

He gradually increased the pace, adjusting his stance, hand sliding up to run over the knobs
of Stiles' spine then back down again, thumb rubbing tenderly at his tail bone. The Omega
pushed himself up, hands flat against the bed, elbows locked, back arched up this time and
his head tilting back.

“Fuck, you feel good,” the younger man praised, hand reaching back to grab hold of
whatever part of Derek he could get, settling for wrapping around his wrist. “Oh shit and I
get three days of this. Fuck yes!”

The Alpha smiled at the praise, chest puffing out in pride, and he gave a thank you in the
form of a rough thrust in, jerking the other man forward some and making him grunt.

“Yesssss,” he stretched out the word, head falling down, back arching the opposite way, ass
thrust up. “More. Like that. Please.”
Derek was dying to do just that, to pound into him, to claim, to make it so Stiles couldn't sit
for weeks after without thinking of what had happened in that Heat room and who it was he
belonged to.

But his Omega was too independent for that, too self-sufficient, and instead, he paused his
motions, loosening his grip on his hips. “Work for it,” he gently ordered, grinning, the
expression growing at Stiles' protesting whine and the way he fell onto his forearms.

“Fuck you.”

“That's the point,” he quipped, smacking a hand on the younger man's bare cheek. “C'mon,
Omega. Show your Alpha what you can do.”

Stiles moaned before rocking forward, sliding Derek out of him, then pushing him back in.
His hips moved as though he was thrusting into something, ass flexing, rim clenching around
the length inside him. Gasps left him at his own movements, muffled when he bit his bottom
lip, shifting as he began circling his ass around for a moment, testing it out.

The Alpha's mouth was hanging open and he fought to keep his eyes open, to watch as the
younger man took his pleasure from him. He was milking his cock perfectly, the sweetest
pressure around him, squeezing him just right to get him closer.

Alpha Beta Omega.

Alpha Beta Omega.

The younger man couldn't seem to make up his mind if he wanted his back arched up or
down, forearms flat or raised up on his hands, and soon his moans turned to frustrated whines
as his pleasure seemed to plateau.

“Derek. Please,” he pleaded, peeking over his shoulder with half-lidded gold eyes and blunt
teeth digging into his lower lip.

Derek nodded, swallowing hard, knowing exactly what his Mate was asking for and how to
give it to him. He tightened his hold on his hips, pulling back until only the head was inside
then slamming forward, the sound of their skin slapping together filling the cavernous room.

Stiles let out a groan-tinged laugh, head falling as he dropped onto his forearms again, his
arched back allowing the older man to slide in even deeper. “Oh fuck, yes please,” he
moaned, head turning to the side, hand sliding out to grab hold of a pillow in a white knuckle
grip.

Refusing to disappoint his Mate, the Alpha repeated the action again and again and again,
forcing the air out of the younger man with each hard thrust in. Choked off sobs were
escaping Stiles and he rolled his forehead against his arm, muttering nonsense, the only
intelligible words being “please” and “fuck” and “so good” and Derek's name, along with a
few cries of “Alpha”.
The acknowledgment of his dominant position had him growling, his eyes glowing a steady
red, bringing everything into sharp contrast. He could see the beads of sweat forming along
Stiles' hairline, watching as they rolled down his face, his neck, his throat. He could see each
tiny hair as it stood on end, see the faint delineation of the Omega's barely noticeable tan
lines, see the subtle difference in the shades of his flesh. Each mole stood out starkly along
his back, his arms, his neck, and he bent over to mouth at each one, hips still thrusting as he
rutted into his Mate like the animal he slowly felt like he was becoming.

Because his fingers were pressing claws into Stiles' hips and his breath was panting past
fangs and he was letting out a growl with each grunt he made for every thrust. His wolf was
baying in his head, howling, proud, pleased, eager, glad they were finally claiming their Mate
and demanding Derek knot him, sink his fangs into the vulnerable pulse point of his neck and
leave a permanent mark for all to see.

He retained enough of his cognizance to know that last part wasn't gonna happen—probably
ever—and that it was too early to knot. But the tingle at the base of his spine and the throb at
the root of his cock were both arguing that fact, telling him he wasn't gonna have much of a
choice soon.

Alpha Beta Omega. Alpha Beta Omega.

Stiles moaned, catching his attention, reminding him why he was refusing pop his knot just
yet. Because the Omega's pleasure came before his own, his everything came before Derek's
own, and he wasn't gonna tie them together until the younger man had come at least once
more.

Lifting himself back up, he shuffled his knees, angled himself better, thrusts becoming more
exploratory than forceful as he searched for—

“Ah, fuck!”

Found it.

A wolfish grin formed on Derek's face, fangs on display, watching as Stiles pressed the
crown of his head onto the bed, hands smacking the mattress. His back arched and retreated
in exaggerated motions, his breathing nothing more than panted sobs and his scent was
practically overwhelming at that point.

“Oh fuck, I'm so close,” he breathed out, hips rolling in circles before rocking back and forth
to meet Derek's thrusts. “I'm so close, I'm so close, I'm so close.”

And so was Derek, knot throbbing as it began to plump up, and he tilted his head to the sky,
swallowing hard, squeezing his eyes shut tight.

AlphaBetaOmega, AlphaBetaOmega, AlphaBetaOmega.

A sharp cry came from Stiles, hand slamming against the wall, swears leaving him at a high
volume. His inner-walls squeezed against Derek, trying desperately to keep him inside.
AlphaBetaOmegaAlphaBetaOmega.

“Oh shit, fuck, fucking knot me,” Stiles demanded, hand falling from the wall and punching
the mattress. “Fucking knot me right the fuck now.” His words ended in a growl, fangs
distorting the syllables, but their meaning still coming across.

His body completely stopped listening to him, following his Mate's commands, knot filling
even faster. His every thrust in became more difficult and it took more pressure and force to
slip past the tight ring and fill up his Omega the way he was demanding to be. Soon enough,
he was too big to pull out without hurting either of them, and he gave an aborted thrust in, the
younger man gasping.

“Thank you,” he breathed out, letting out a soft cry. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Derek draped himself over his back, arms wrapping around his waist, crown of his head
pressed to the nape of his neck. He circled his hips, shifting his knees to find the right angle,
the right place, feeling Stiles' gasp as much as he heard it, scent sparking with pleasure as his
prostate was found once more.

“I'm gonna come. Just like this. Fuck, gonna come.”

The Alpha wanted to point out that he didn't really have a choice, that it wasn't like he could
come without a knot inside him since they were stuck together now—a thought that had his
wolf rumbling in approval—but the words never made it to his mouth. Instead he cupped the
younger man's chin and lifted his head, rubbing their cheeks together and growling in
satisfaction at the beard burn and scent he left behind.

“C'mon then,” he murmured, nuzzling his Mate, hips still rolling and flexing. “Come for me,
baby. Lemme feel it around my knot.”

Stiles nodded, teeth sunk into his bottom lip, eyes shut tight, and a long low whine left him.
His own hips moved in circles, inner-walls massaging and rippling around Derek's cock and
knot, selfishly taking pleasure from it. Soon enough, he was tensing all over, eyes bursting
open as his mouth opened wide. “Der, shit, fuck, Alpha,” he yelled, passage seizing around
the knot held within him as thick ropes of come spurted out from his dick, hitting the pillow,
his chest, the older man's forearm, the sheet below him.

Derek groaned, the scent of Stiles growing even stronger, thicker, now with the added scent
of his come and his pleasure. His knot fully expanded, now roughly the size of his fist and he
shot off inside of his Mate, painting his walls and filling him up. His mind was inundated
with thoughts of Stiles being Claimed, Marked as his, filled with his seed and saturated with
his scent in such a way that no one would be able to wash it away or get rid of it. The Omega
was officially his in every way and now, the entire world knew it.

Only it wasn't real.

He shoved that thought aside, focusing on the limp male in his arms, on the way he was
shuddering against him with after-shocks. He slowly maneuvered them so they were laying
side by side, one of his legs slipped between both of Stiles, the Omega using his bicep as a
pillow as his other arm draped over his stomach. Derek's fingers absently stroked the skin of
the younger man's lower abdomen, tickling the course hair there, strangely thinking about
how his come was filling him up in there.

“Is it gonna be like that every time?” Stiles asked, voice rough from yelling, breathing back
to normal but heart rate still elevated. But the sweet smell of satisfaction was lingering in the
air, covering his skin, and Derek pressed his lips to his bare shoulder to taste it for himself,
buying time.

Because he had no idea. Because it had never been that intense for him before. Because
another smaller orgasm was wracking his body and making him shudder all over as he
spurted another load inside his Mate, further marking him with his scent.

Because he knew it would never be that good with anyone ever again because they weren't
Stiles.

“I dunno,” he murmured honestly against his skin, moving when Stiles shifted to peer up at
him, sleepy grin on his face.

“I'm willing to find out first hand,” he volunteered with a wink, chocolate brown eyes
dancing with mirth.

The Alpha breathed out a laugh, nodding. “Sounds good to me,” he replied, leaning down to
press their lips together.

Anything involving Stiles sounded good to him.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Derek left the Heat room once in three days, right after their first round and Stiles was asleep,
his knot deflating enough for him to pull out. He padded naked across the loft floor, double-
checking the locks on the front door were done up before snatching his phone off the kitchen
counter and shooting a quick text to both Mrs Fleming and Jen saying that Stiles had gone
into early Heat and he was helping him through it, along with an apology at the beyond last-
minute nature of the message. He shut the device down and returned it where it had been,
before slipping back into the Heat room, locking up, then locating Stiles' phone.

The Omega woke up while he was in the middle of sending a mass text to their friends and
family explaining that they shouldn't be bothered for the next three days, having already sent
one to Stiles' boss requesting time off work, demanding a popsicle and Gatorade, both of
which Derek immediately supplied for him. Rehydrated, the younger man practically climbed
on the Alpha's lap, kissing him hard and initiating round two.

It was at the end of the third day, when Stiles had ridden himself to completion on Derek's
cock before crashing out on his chest from exhaustion, the Alpha still wide awake with mini-
orgasms, that the thought occurred to him. Stiles was sleeping soundly, curled up against the
broader man, a hand tucked in near his parted lips as he snuffled in his sleep. Derek ran his
fingertips up and down his spine, stroked along his face, ran them through his soft—and
admittedly sweaty—hair, thinking once again about how beautiful his Mate was, how much
his life had changed since they'd run back into one another, how much better and richer and
fun.

How he couldn't possibly imagine no longer having Stiles living with him.

How he couldn't possibly imagine no longer introducing Stiles as his Bonded or his Mate.

How he couldn't possibly imagine no longer falling asleep and waking up next to him,
sharing meals and laughs, grocery shopping and watching TV together.

How the thought of not having all that made his chest feel like Thor had taken Mjolnir to it
and his wolf howled in a heartbroken manner he hadn't heard since he'd learned of his dad's
death.

Brushing Stiles' hair back from his forehead, he played with the soft strands, taking in his
Mate, his long lashes and upturned nose and plump lips. “I've fallen in love with you,” he
murmured, the heart beat against his chest remaining steady as the Omega slept on.
 Fourteen

Going back to work that Friday was like a slap in the face on both cheeks at the same time.

At least that's how it felt for Derek.

Stiles' still technically had time off to recover and was planning on spending it in bed. So
when their alarm went off at 5 am and he let out a groan as he snuffled about, Derek just
kissed his forehead, stroked his hair, and told him to go back to sleep. The Omega was out in
seconds.

The older man went on a run to fill the time, ignoring how his wolf was whining and how his
Alpha instincts were demanding he go back and take care of his Mate, make sure he was
okay and didn't need anything. But Stiles had let it be known that he was fine and didn't need
any assistance from practically the second his Heat broke, locking himself in the en suite of
the Heat room to shower on his own. Derek had taken the hint that his time for caretaking
was over, gathering the dirty sheets off the bed and adding them to the pile to the side of the
door, sniffing pillowcases to see if any of them needed to be changed, too.

Texts from Mrs Fleming and Jen had been waiting for him when he turned his phone back on
while waiting for his own shower, his boss letting him know it was no problem and she'd see
him when he returned to work, Jen telling him to have fun with several winking and kissy
faced emojis. There was also a lewd message from Erica that he ignored, one from Boyd
telling him to ignore her, and a variety of emojis from Laura that he was sure was meant to
convey something but was totally lost on him.

Why a bunny was involved...

Okay, the bunny he understood.

His sister was a menace.

He shuffled into Oak Creek Day Center sore and exhausted, dressed in a raggedy pair of
khaki shorts and a white tee he wasn't entirely sure was his—it smelled more like Stiles when
he really focused and he figured that was why he'd put it on in the first place, feet shoved into
sneakers and socks he was glad to say actually matched. The first thing he did when he
entered the older kids room was slump down in a chair, pillowing his head in his arms and
closing his eyes. A little nap before the kids showed wouldn't hurt.

Much.

Maybe.

The scent of confusion and surprise hit him and he heard the soft sound of Jen's slip-on
sneakers as she padded over, metal scraping against tile floor as she pulled out the chair
opposite him and sat down. “Gotta say,” she began, fingernail tapping against the table. “I'm
pretty surprised to see you here.”
Derek grunted, words taking too much energy. Stiles had completely drained him of it, along
with countless other bodily fluids, and he'd found himself wondering once again if Paige had
been as restless and needy as his current partner.

No, she hadn't. Paige was always more calm and laid back, with a quick wit and a sharp
tongue. But Stiles with his boundless energy and short attention span—which apparently led
to a short refractory period—was insatiable and Derek had found himself letting the Omega
ride his cock—and sometimes his face—just so he could get a reprieve and some rest.

Hence him feeling half-dead at work.

“Figured you'd be at home helping your Omega recover.”

Another grunt then Derek lifted his head, arms sliding along the table as he slumped back in
his seat. “He made it pretty clear he doesn't need me to help him out,” he mumbled, unable to
keep the venom out of his voice or hide how annoyed that made him. His wolf grumbled in
his head, backing him up, and he was glad the two of them were on the same page for once.

Jen tilted her head to the side, manicured brows pulled together over blue eyes, dubious
expression on her face. “You guys get in a fight?”

“No. We.” He cut himself off just in time, his sleep-deprived brain making shit more difficult
to hold his tongue and hide what was meant to be hidden. “We're good,” he saved it, roughing
a hand over his face to help wake himself up. “He's just.” He sighed, dropping his hand onto
the table. “Not a typical Omega. He's more independent, likes to handle his own shit and
prove he doesn't need an Alpha to take care of him.”

His co-worker nodded, lips pressed together in thought before forming a smile. “You're a
good Alpha for letting him be independent. A lot of them would try to break their Omega of
that, force them into their supposed roles and stupid cookie cutter molds.” She slid a hand
across the table, laying it on top of one of Derek's. “He's lucky to have you.”

A sleepy smile formed on Derek's face, staring unseeing at where the Beta's hand was on his.
“I'm the lucky one.”

“Now that I don't know,” Jen argued, sliding her hand away before rising to her feet. “You
look like absolute hell. There's bags under your eyes that could hold back a hurricane, your
beard is a mess and clearly hasn't been trimmed, your hair is all over the place and lacking its
usual product, and your shirt is not only on backwards, but inside out.”

Looking down, he pulled his shirt away from his chest, seeing the fine print all Hanes tag-less
tees sported. “Shit.”

“You certainly do look it,” she quipped with a smirk, heading over to a side table where her
oversized quilt purse sat. “If you wanna head home, I completely understand. Me and Mrs
Fleming honestly didn't expect you 'til Monday.”

“Nah,” he turned down the offer, pulling his shirt over his head and flipping it the right way
around, double-checking the print before putting it on. “I'm fine being here.”
“And is Stiles fine with that?” she questioned, spinning around to face him, resting her ass on
the edge of the table and folding her arms. “Because it doesn't matter how independent
someone is, you still want your Mate around. Kali refuses to ask for help with anything and
will even snarl if someone offers it, but around her Rut, she's as cuddly as a kitten and refuses
to let me out of her sight the entire week.”

Derek felt a pang of jealousy, wishing he had that kind of relationship, wishing things were
like that for him and Stiles. But all they were and all they ever would be was those three days
spent in a Heat room, possibly to be repeated four times a year—five, if Stiles agreed to help
Derek with his own Rut.

“Yeah,” he murmured, staring down at his hands, finger tapping softly against the table. “Our
relationship is, uh. Unconventional.”

She snorted, head rocking with the action, the sounds of Mason and Liam yelling down the
hall reaching their room. “That's one way to put it,” she muttered before putting on a friendly
smile as the boys charged into the room, eyes immediately setting on Derek and rushing over
to him. Both of them began climbing on him, speaking over one another as they demanded to
know where he'd been, talking about how they were worried he wasn't coming back and how
uncool that was, especially after they'd let him into their Super Cool Bros Club.

Jen chuckled from the side, walking over to greet Violet as she came in, leaving Derek to deal
with the boys alone. He stifled a yawn as he prepared himself for a long and tiring day,
remembering how kids didn't care how sleepy you were, they wanted to play. And now.

Guess it was a good thing he wouldn't be having any of his own in the near or distant future.

~*~*~*~*~*~

He came home to find Stiles curled up in bed, dressed in a pair of boxers and a v-neck tee
that was definitely Derek's, lips parted as he breathed softly, eyes fluttering behind his closed
lids. Derek felt his heart constrict at the sight, felt it pounding, felt his stomach swoop and his
skin tingle and fuck, he'd forgotten just how bad he had it for this guy. Because it was bad, to
the point where he hadn't been able to focus all day, constantly worrying over Stiles and if he
was okay. He'd pulled his phone out of his pocket countless times to shoot him a text, to call
him, to check in or just say hi.

But he didn't.

He just let himself worry and fret and space out, repeatedly getting hit by balls he wasn't
paying attention to, the boys deciding to make a game out of it, coming up with a points
system based on what body part they'd gotten.

Head shots were fifty.

And eight-year-olds had surprisingly good aim.

Even Garrett and Violet had gotten involved, lured by the prospect of violence and he
genuinely worried for the future of everything if they were gonna be in charge one day.
But now that he was home and could see for himself that Stiles was okay and in one piece
and not suffering any side effects of his Heat, he felt himself relax, only to start freaking out
again. Because eventually there was gonna come a day when Stiles was off handling his Heat
by himself or using someone else to help him take care of it. Because eventually, Derek was
gonna come home and not find Stiles in his bed, waking up and going to sleep alone. Because
eventually, Stiles would be gone, happy with his career and his single-dom and Derek was
gonna be heartbroken and despondent, unable to take solace in the fact that he had his dream
job.

If Stiles left.

But it wasn't like Derek could make him stay. It went against everything he believed in and
everything Stiles stood for. But he could always convince—not coerce or command—him to
stay, try his best to get him to agree to it.

He could court him.

His wolf perked its head up at that, tail wagging hopefully, apparently on board with the plan.
And so was the human part of him in all honesty.

Although...

Stiles didn't want that.

Stiles didn't want a relationship or a Mate or any sort of shit like that.

Or was it that he just didn't want an Alpha who would tell him what to do and try to run his
life?

Fuck, it was hard to remember. That conversation felt like it'd happened a lifetime ago, when
it was maybe a month and a half. But either way, a lot had happened since then and it was
difficult to recall the exact details of that conversation.

And a lot having happened meant that maybe Stiles' stance on things had changed. Maybe
he'd realized that Derek wasn't the kind of Mate who would control his Omega or tell him
what he could or couldn't do, that he saw relationships as partnerships and that they were on
equal footing. Maybe he'd realized that Derek was worth changing his mind on things and
worth taking a chance on.

Maybe.

Smearing a hand over his face, Derek realized that he was fucking lost on what to do or say
or think or act. Looking around the loft wasn't helping anything, just pointing out dirty dishes
in the sink and that the place could probably use a good sweeping after having gone four days
without it.

Five, actually.

Not that they even really went anywhere during most of that time.
He was getting off track.

Stepping out of the bedroom area, he put his hands on his hips, fingers grazing the smooth
plastic of his cell phone and bringing an idea to his head. But it wasn't like he could call his
sister while in the loft, not with Stiles asleep. The last thing he wanted to do was wake him
up, not to mention it wasn't really a conversation he wanted heard by the Omega.

He looked around the loft once more, trying to find an excuse, remembering the messy sheets
still piled in the Heat room. He grabbed a giant black trash bag from the kitchen and shoved
them all inside, tossing it by the front door before grabbing a scrap sheet of paper and a pen
out the junk drawer, scribbling a note.

'Stiles,
Went to wash sheets in basement. Be back soon. Text me what you want for dinner and I'll
order it, no arguments. You earned it.'

His hand paused, wondering how to end it, what sort of closing would be appropriate,
resisting the urge to put a cheesy stupid heart before finally settling on '-Der'.

Fucking lame.

He put the note on the pillow next to Stiles' head so he'd find it upon waking, kissing his hair
before quietly slipping out of the loft.

The building boasted its own laundromat in the basement, three large washers and three giant
dryers, and he split the sheets and pillowcases—and one large duvet—between two
machines. Once they were going, he peered around outside the room, checking up and down
the hallway to make sure he was well and truly alone, checked inside the last washer and in
the dryers to make sure no one would be coming back to get their things, finding nothing
anywhere.

Satisfied, he dialed his sister's number by heart, pacing the small room and repeatedly
shoving his hand through his messy hair as he listened to the rings.

“Laura Ha—”

“I'm in love with him,” Derek blurted out, stunning his sister silent for a long moment,
wincing at his actions.

“You know, Buns,” she began, a strange mix of amused and chastising. “Most people just say
'hey' or 'what's up' when someone answers their call.”

Crap.

He roughed his hand over his face, flopping down onto one of the hard plastic chairs to the
side, elbows on his knees and face buried in his hand. “I know, sorry,” he murmured, sighing
as he dropped his hand to let it hang between his legs. “I just—”

“Love him?” Laura questioned, already knowing the answer. “Pretty sure I warned you this
was gonna happen.”
Shit. She was gonna add this to her long list of “I Told You So” moments, which she was
gonna recite in three, two, one...

“But you don't seem to sound too ecstatic about it.”

Or not.

He opened his mouth to speak, nothing coming out, then slammed it shut once more. Because
he honestly wasn't sure if he was ecstatic, although part of him truly was, and he was having
a hard time trying to figure out whether to agree or argue with her. So he let out a sigh, letting
it speak for him, staring at the dirty concrete floor between his feet.

“Talk to me, Buns,” she prodded, chair squeaking in the background as she began rocking it,
apparently still at work after five on a Friday. Fucking workaholic. “What's going on?”

So he told her. About how Stiles didn't want a Mate or a Bond-Mate or any shit like that.
About how Stiles had gotten increasingly affectionate and tactile over the past couple weeks.
About how Derek had built him a Heat room then had spent the past three days in it servicing
the Omega before finally realizing he was well and truly gone on him and how fucking
screwed he felt because of it.

“Have you talked to Stiles about any of this?” she questioned, more curious than judgmental,
but he could still picture the raised eyebrow she was most likely sporting.

“No,” he admitted, playing with the plastic end of his shoelace. An egglet, he randomly
thought, a useless fact Stiles had learned from fuck knew where and had shared with Derek.
“He stayed asleep when I headed off to work and was still passed out when I came home a
few minutes ago.”

A surprised “huh” came down the line, followed by her murmur of “kind of amazed you went
to work to be honest.”

“So were Jen and Mrs Fleming, but Stiles told me to go.”

“Did he actually say that? Or did you just assume it after he told you he didn't need help
when his Heat was over?”

Well, shit.

He sat there dumbfounded, gaping at the bank of dryers across the room from him. Because
as far as he could recall, the younger man actually hadn't told him that. Derek had just
assumed that was what he'd wanted.

But on the other hand...

“He didn't tell me to stay either,” he replied, a little petulantly, frowning. “He didn't tell me to
come back to bed when I said goodbye or argue when I set the alarm last night.”

His sister sighed long and hard. “Oh, Buns, Buns, Buns,” she murmured exasperatedly and he
could practically see the disappointed head shake she was giving him. “What am I gonna do
with you?”

“Help me out?” he asked, letting the hope leak into his voice. “Because there really is no
fucking way I'm okay with letting Stiles walk after this is all over but I have no idea what to
do or say in order to convince him to stay.”

“Well, the fucking truth would help.”

He scowled at the dryers, imagining his sister was standing there and that his heated glare
had any affect on her whatsoever.

Basically, he was fucking dreaming because that was never gonna happen and he knew it.

“Laure,” he sighed, rubbing at his eyes. “Not an option.”

“It is, actually. You're just refusing to see it as one because you're a hard-headed fuckwit who
refuses to get his head out of his ass long enough to see that.”

Sisters were the worst and he regretted the day he was born into the family with one already
there and waiting for him.

She sighed again, this time more annoyed than anything. “Just. Do what you would do if this
stupid deal wasn't in place,” she suggested. “Woo him. Candlelit dinners, his favorite candy,
presents, flowers. Do guys even buy flowers for other guys? I don't know how that works.”

“I don't see why not,” Derek replied, arm folded over his torso, wagging a leg back and forth.

“Romance the crap out of him,” Laura went on as though he hadn't spoken—typical—her
voice growing more firm and final as she went on. “Show him that the two of you could work
well as partners and in a relationship that goes beyond pretending you're Bonded. Because
the rest of us believe that you can and you do. Everyone seems to see it but you two idiots.”

“I see it,” he grumbled, pouting, scowling once more.

“Yeah, now. But can you honestly tell me you saw it before you helped him with his Heat?”

He thought about it, about Stir Fry-days and sharing chores and grocery shopping and putting
furniture together and kicking ass at laser tag and...

“Yeah. I can.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Buns, why haven't you told him already?” she sighed, hand slapping as
she palmed her forehead.

“Because according to my bossy sister, I'm a hard-headed fuckwit who's got his head in his
ass,” he replied with a smirk, laughing at the growl he got in response.

His phone beeped with an incoming text and he pulled it away from his ear, smiling further at
the sight of Stiles' name.
“I gotta go. Stiles just text.”

“Alright, Buns. Remember what I said and give me an update on Operation: Woo the Pants
Off Stiles.”

“I already had them off, without woo-ing, too,” he reminded her proudly, chest puffed out
and wolf preening.

“Derek James Hale, I swear to go—”

He hung up before she could finish her threat, knowing he was gonna get a long, curse-laden
voicemail and not caring, switching his focus to the text he'd just received.

'want u 2 cum make me soup' followed by several sad faced emojis.

God those yellow faced bastards were annoying.

He sent a quick reply that he was on his way, the washers buzzing at the end of their cycles.
The linens now going on in two dryers, he left the laundry room and quickly made his way
upstairs, finding Stiles in a corner of the couch, knees tucked up to his chest, “Law and
Order: SVU” playing on the TV.

Because Stiles' idea of comfort was shows about murder and rape.

The Omega peered over to see who was entering, immediately opening his arms wide and
making a whiny noise. “Need cuddlllllles,” he demanded, the word stretched out, hands
making grabby motions where they hung in the air.

“Thought you needed soup,” Derek replied, dropping his keys on the breakfast bar then
looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

Stiles simply pouted. “Need both.”

He shook his head in amusement, rounding the counter and heading into the kitchenette.
“Can't do both at the same time,” he pointed out, reaching into a lower cabinet to grab a pot.

“Fuck you, yes you can.” At that, Stiles got up and padded over, still pouting. Derek was in
front of the stove by the time he reached him and he wrapped his arms around the Alpha's
waist and latched on, face buried between his shoulder blades. “See?”

“Doesn't make for good range of motion though,” he stated, leaning from side to side to
prove his point. “Gotta be able to move.”

The younger man groaned like he was the one being hindered and Derek spun in his arms,
unhooking them.

“Sit on the counter. You can make like a monkey when I get your food going.”

Stiles blew a raspberry but did as suggested, heaving himself up onto the counter to the right
of the stove, far enough away that he wouldn't get hurt or splattered. Derek gave in to the
urge to kiss his cheek, heart skipping a beat at the sleepy smile he got in response, then set to
work getting the Omega's soup together—“Chicken noodle, tomato, cream of broccoli—?”
“Got any chicken and stars?” “Stiles, you're eighteen not eight.” “Luckily for you, but that
doesn't answer my question.” “Yes.” “Boom! That one.” Soup emptied out the can, water
added, pepper stirred in for extra flavor, and the stove turned on, Stiles made grabby hands in
Derek's direction once more, arms spread wide.

“Now can you fucking cuddle me, asshole?”

Derek rolled his eyes but stepped between the Omega's splayed legs, wrapping his arms
around a lean torso as long limbs wrapped around his shoulders. Stiles nuzzled his face in the
crook of Derek's neck, scent turning soft and satisfied and warm with happiness, washing
away the stale smells of worry and distress and upset.

Shit.

The Alpha winced, knowing he was the cause of those scents, that he'd upset the Omega by
not being around while he was recuperating. Lesson learned, he figured, and a mistake he
was never gonna make again.

“Missed you,” the younger man mumbled, sniffing, rubbing his cheek against the side of
Derek's neck.

He tightened his hold on his Mate, fingers gripping the t-shirt he wore, Derek's t-shirt that he
wore. “Sorry,” he apologized sincerely, lowly, swallowing. “Thought you wanted me gone.”

“Never. Want you around always.”

It would've been so easy, so perfect, to just tell the teen that he wasn't going anywhere, that
he could keep Derek as long as he wanted, forever in fact. But it felt too heavy, the words
weighing on his mind and holding his tongue down, too much for this fragile place they were
in as Stiles recovered from his Heat and Derek made up for his absence.

So instead, he kissed the side of his Mate's head and pressed a smirk into his hair, giving a
light “yes, dear”, knowing it would be taken as a joke, but also knowing he was fucking
serious.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The weekend was spent with just the two of them, their PJs, and a binge-watch of Bob's
Burgers on Netflix—at Stiles' insistence, who believed that Derek needed to watch it not only
because it was awesome, but so he could appreciate the season four premiere episode of
Archer even more and understand why it was one of his favorites, as well as understand the
Omega's cackles at the final two episodes of that same season. Stiles was still feeling touch-
starved and overly tactile, something that had been exacerbated by Derek's absence on
Friday, literally clinging on to the Alpha in a way he hadn't since he was an upset kid still
mourning his mom's death.
By the time Monday rolled around, Stiles was back to himself, although he remained just as
cuddly and free with the physical affection as he had in the days leading up to his Heat—if
not more. Derek chalked it up to that final barrier having been lowered between them and that
it was hard to not snuggle up to someone who'd literally been inside you and tied to you for
thirty minutes at a time, but he didn't argue or put a stop to it. He just accepted it for what it
was and snuggled back just as much.

But if his touches were more desperate and needy than the Omega's, then neither one of them
acknowledged it.

At least not out loud.

The week past by uneventfully, the only change being Stiles mentioning Theo's name with
disdain over dinner on Monday night, the Alpha apparently having been less than pleased
over the Omega missing the previous week and getting off without reprimand or a pay dock,
which had led to a heated debate over Omega Rights and the Heat and Rut Leave Act of
1984, along with its subsequent revisions in '92, '97, and 2012.

Work remained the same as well. Amy had made Derek a welcome back card that she handed
him on Monday with a huge grin and a twirl in her dress. Liam had gotten his hair cut to
mirror Derek's and Mason was growing his out to do the same. Garrett and Violet remained
as distant as ever, getting in trouble for throwing rocks at birds, something that greatly
disturbed him and brought to mind the early warning signs of psychopathy.

He told Jen about it and she made a note to talk to their guardians at the first opportunity she
got.

It seemed he wasn't the only one worried about their behavior.

Saturday found him and Stiles back at the grocery store, loading up on things they'd run
dangerously low on, having skipped the weekly errand the previous weekend, and the Omega
managed to sneak countless sauces into their cart, innocently shrugging—“The lady scanned
'em. We might as well buy 'em and use 'em for Stir Fry-days.” “You're lucky you're cute.” “I
get that a lot.”

The afternoon was spent apart, Stiles called to an emergency Bros Only Meeting—capital
letters implied—with Scott and Derek got caught up on housework, changing the sheets on
their bed and sorting out his closet.

Half of which was missing.

And soon found in Stiles' armoire.

Shirt thief.

But he couldn't bring himself to be pissed, not with something like this. Because Stiles
wearing his clothes meant Stiles was wearing his scent, for really not reason at all. The
spooning at night, the cuddling on the couch every evening, the hug Derek always got when
he first saw Stiles' at the end of the day and the cheek rub they'd give one another before they
parted for work, all of that was sufficient enough to scent-mark one another.

This? This was something else entirely. This was his scent being enjoyed by the Omega. This
was his scent bringing comfort to him. This was his scent making him happy.

Because Stiles' scent had the same damn effect on Derek.

He slowly sank down on his side of the bed, gray henley in his hands from where he'd pulled
it down out of the younger man's armoire, feeling stunned. It was one thing to know that they
were Mates and there was a possibility of feelings being developed. But it was another thing
to see it unfolding, to see that it was happening and his own affections were being returned.

He thought back to when he'd initially been told what he was to Stiles, how the sheriff and his
mom had figured it out before him, and his surprise, his reluctance. Because Mates weren't a
choice and he honestly had no idea if he would actually choose to be with Stiles if it were up
to him.

But now he knew.

Mates or not, he'd choose Stiles.

He'd choose the boy who made him laugh so hard his stomach hurt and tears sprang to his
eyes. He'd choose the boy who could have serious conversations with him in the dead of
night when they couldn't sleep. He'd choose the boy who enjoyed popcorn throwing contests
and celebrated wholeheartedly when he tossed one that landed in Derek's mouth. He'd choose
the boy who talked with his whole body, face contorting and hands spinning and arms flailing
as he told his story. He'd choose the boy who challenged him, who argued with his opinion
rather than just accepting it when it differed from his own. He'd choose the boy who wasn't a
traditional Omega in mindset or behavior but something much better.

He'd choose the boy he used to carry around when he was upset and now snuggled up to him,
those monkey limbs still wrapping around him in a way that was completely different yet
exactly the same.

He'd choose him. Over and over and over again. And at the end of his days, when the light
was fading from his eyes and his soul was drifting off to wherever souls go, he wouldn't
regret his decision, just the fact that he didn't have more time to spend with him.

Stiles was his Mate, by both Fate and by Derek's own decision.

And he'd fallen for him.

And now, it seemed like maybe, just maybe, Stiles was returning at least some of that
affection.

Or so he was hoping.

Lifting his head, he stared straight ahead, unseeing, mind whirring at a million miles an hour.
Laura had been right. He needed to tell Stiles the truth, about what they were to each other,
about the fact that Derek was in love with him, about how he'd only been pretending to
pretend when in fact, he wanted nothing more than to be Bonded to Stiles and eventually
Mated with the big house and the white fence and the kids and the dog and, fuck, he'd even
be the one to drive the stupid minivan if that's what the Omega wanted.

Because all he wanted was Stiles, for the rest of his life, in any way he could get him. Which
was why he'd agreed to this stupid fucking charade in the first place.

“Woo him,” Laura's words from a week ago echoed in his head and his features set in a look
of determination, fingers clenching around the shirt he'd forgotten was in his hand.

Oh, he was gonna woo him. He was gonna romance him, court him, make him see how good
they were together. And he was gonna make damn sure that Stiles would choose him right
back.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Romantic cliches were cliches for a reason: because they fucking worked. A lot. Repeatedly
for many people over many years.

And Derek was gonna fucking use them.

He shot a text to Stiles asking if he was having dinner with Scott, getting a 'nah he's eatin w/
al's fam & gpa hence the freak out' soon after. Feeling a whole lot more secured, Derek set
his plan in motion, heading out to Wal-Mart when he realized he didn't have everything he
needed.

'Course he had another run in with the employee who'd thought he'd been molesting loofahs
and he'd had to awkwardly explain it was date night for him and his Omega, her slow nod
letting him know she really didn't wanna know.

He frantically rushed around the loft trying to get everything ready, his heart pounding and
his chest clenching when he got a text from Stiles saying he was on his way home, anxiety
making his hands shake as he hurried to get everything together. But it was completely worth
it when the Omega walked through the front door and everything was in place, watching his
face morph into one of surprise, jaw dropping, eyes widening, scent lighting up with shock
and delight—and a tiny bit of confusion—as he drew to a stop by the breakfast bar.

“Uhhhh,” he started eloquently, hand shaking as he pointed at the Alpha, at the table directly
behind him, at what he'd done. “Derek, you set the table. The actual table.”

The older man peeked behind himself at the large table that sat beneath his giant windows,
once again taking in his work. A deep red cloth covered it, a candelabra with five lit candles
providing most of the light, with other smaller candles lined along the breakfast counter and
on every other step on the spiral metal staircase that led up to the skylight, casting the loft in
a soft glow. He'd prepared Stiles' favorite meal, fettuccine alfredo, two heaping plates of it
already set at either end of the table, glasses of chardonnay at either place, Derek having
figured it was a special occasion and he could loosen his usual stringent rule over no alcohol
for the underage Omega.
Turning back to his Mate, he smiled, acting as though his stomach wasn't filled with a
thousand nervous butterflies, as though his heart wasn't pounding in his too tight chest out of
worry, as though he wasn't about to vibrate right out of his skin in a demand to know what
Stiles really thought of it all. “Yeah,” he replied simply, licking his lips. “I did.”

Stiles nodded slowly, shoving his hand through his hair then gesturing to him. “And you
dressed up.”

He glanced down at his simple outfit of black jeans, black button down, and black boots,
thinking it was nice, but not too nice. Maybe he'd been wrong. Lifting his head, he shrugged
and played it all off. “Wanted to look nice.”

The Omega frowned in confusion, head shaking rapidly as he breathed out a “wha?”, clearly
lost. He shoved his hands through his hair, clutching at his head as he remained by the
breakfast bar, not moving closer but also not leaving. “Ohhhkay,” he stretched the word out,
dubious laugh leaving him before he folded his arms over his chest. “But why? What the hell
is all this? Because this seems like something Mates would do, not just.” He paused, moving
his hand back and forth between them. “Whatever we are.”

Derek swallowed as the nerves in his stomach multiplied, a lump of anxiety forming in his
throat. He took a shaky breath, steeling himself, looking the younger man dead in the eye.
He'd practiced his speech all afternoon, just like he had when he'd presented the Heat room,
and like then, it completely left him.

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

He opened his mouth, nothing coming out, then closed it with a click. Glancing around the
cavernous loft offered no help and Stiles just stood there with his arms crossed and his
eyebrows raised, waiting, expectant, still very fucking confused.

Right. Time to just. Say it.

“Stiles,” he began, grimacing at how awkward and out of place he felt, how very fucking lost
he was. Physically, he was in the loft. But with Stiles? Who the fuck knew.

Another deep breath and he went on, blurting out whatever came to mind. “I've been lying to
you.”

Not what he wanted to say.

And clearly not what the Omega expected to hear, given the way his eyes widened and his
head reared back in surprise.

Off to a marvelous start.

“Wow,” the younger man commented, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I meant,” Derek quickly tried to clarify, to redirect, to explain, to fix what he'd fucked up.
“Shit, I dunno what I meant,” he admitted, tugging at his hair and sighing.

“Well, maybe you could explain what you've been lying about,” Stiles suggested with a shrug
and a pouting bottom lip. “Just an idea. Would be nice to know what the fuck you're talking
about.”

The Alpha seesawed his head, turning to the side, staring at the flickering candles on the
metal staircase. Because there was—unfortunately—more than one thing he'd been lying to
Stiles about, all of it connected, and he tried to get it all straightened out in his head before he
screwed it up once more.

“About us,” he summed up, turning back to watch the return of the surprise on his Mate's
face. “This whole fake Bond thing, this plan of yours? It's not fake to me.”

Stiles' face fell at that, expression shuttered and closed off, and Derek worried that he'd
messed up anyway. Because his scent grew pissed and his eyes darted around the loft, not
focusing on any solitary thing for longer than half a second, and the Alpha could practically
hear the wheels turning in his head.

“I—”

“So, what?” the Omega interrupted, jaw clenched, hands curled into fists, noticeable through
the strained veins on the back of them as his arms remained folded. His leg was shaking in
anger and he turned to Derek with a heated glare, nostrils flaring in aggression. “You think
just 'cause you fucked me you have some right to, to, to.” He paused, throwing his arms in
the air and letting them fall with a slap to his thighs. “To just fucking act like you suddenly
care or some shit? My ass really that nice? Was it really that good to where you're gonna
stand there and fucking act like everything you've been pretending over the past month and a
half was real?”

Derek's brow furrowed in anger and upset and confusion, wondering what the fuck Stiles was
even saying. Because it was all bullshit, every last syllable. “No!” he objected, frowning,
hand between his pecs. “Stiles, I've felt this way since the fucking beginning. I just didn't
realize how deep my feelings were until recently.”

“Until we fucked, you mean,” he spat out, eyebrows raised as though daring the older man to
argue, to deny, to prove him wrong.

Which he couldn't.

Because while he had a feeling that he was maybe falling in love, it wasn't until their time in
the Heat room that it really sank in how he was already there, how he'd already fallen.

“Fucking thought so.”

Derek sighed in exasperation, clutching at his temples, feeling his own frustration mounting.
This wasn't how he pictured the evening going. He'd thought Stiles would be charmed by the
gesture, that they'd sit at the table and discuss their days as they ate, just like they always did,
and when the moment was right, Derek would drop those three little words, letting Stiles
know there was no pressure to reciprocate.

The younger man glanced over at the table, throwing a hand in the direction of it. “And what?
You thought you could get me drunk and loosen me up to what? Fuck me again?”

“I don't wanna fuck you,” he replied without thinking, knowing his mistake even without
seeing the way Stiles' eyes went wide and his jaw dropped, disbelieving amusement
spreading across his features. “That's not what I meant. I do wanna fuck you, I just wasn't
planning on doing it tonight or any other night unless you wanted to.”

The Omega snorted, rolling his eyes. “And what if I never wanted to?” He shrugged and
shook his head, arms crossed once more. “Hmm? Then what?”

His agitation grew at the way he was being played, his wolf growling in his head at the
challenge, his Alpha nature pissed at the way he was being talked to and treated by an
Omega. “I was already committed to four years of celibacy with you anyway,” he pointed
out, once again fucking up.

Only this time, it was strike three.

Stiles worked his jaw in anger, eyes growing shiny in the candlelight as he looked at
everything except the man standing before him. His scent was full of upset, of rage, of
embarrassment, of heartbreak. He barked out a humorless laugh, head ducking as he shook it,
hand rubbing at his mouth. “Wow,” he muttered out flatly. “Fucking wow.” Lifting his head,
he glared at Derek with eyes full of tears and anger, muscle in his jaw ticking as he clenched
it. “Sorry I was such a fucking inconvenience to you, but I'm glad I was able to help you get
your rocks off at least once.” He turned away, heading to the door.

Leaving.

“Stiles, wait,” Derek pleaded, stepping towards him, arm reaching out in an aborted
movement despite not being able to actually touch him.

The Omega spun around and walked backwards, shaking his head. “Don't worry, Derek. I
won't stand in your way anymore. You can get laid or don't get laid, whatever. And I won't
force you to lie to anyone anymore. Especially not to fucking me.” With that, he turned back
and made his way up the stairs, leaving the loft, slamming the metal door with a bang that
seemed more like an auditory middle finger.

Derek stood there stunned, helpless, barely noticing when a tear spilled down his cheek and
landed on the toe of his leather boot, just staring at the door and trying to mentally catch up
with what the fuck just happened.

“But I love you.”

There was no response.

 Fifteen

He slept on the floor.

Which was hell on his back, but nothing less than what he deserved.

The bed smelled like Stiles, as did the couch, and he was refusing to even entertain the idea
of the bed in the Heat room because that was Stiles' space. And for some idiotic reason, he
believed Stiles was coming back. They just needed time to cool off, to clear their heads, to
think about what was said and realized they were mistaken and had overreacted. They'd come
back together, talk it out, resolve everything and make it as good as new, if not better.

But Stiles didn't come back on Sunday.

Or Monday.

Or Tuesday.

And when Derek got home from work Wednesday to the scent of Scott, he knew Stiles wasn't
gonna be coming back for a while.

If ever.

A check of the Omega's armoire showed that his duffel was gone, along with some of his
clothes, his drawers messy and disorganized, like someone had just reached out and grabbed
an armful of things before stuffing it in the bag. But Derek didn't focus on what was missing,
choosing to see what was still there.

It had to mean Stiles would be back, if for no other reason than to just get the rest of his
things.

Any and all calls were ignored before they started going straight to voicemail and Derek gave
up leaving messages he wasn't even sure were listened to. Texts were read but not responded
to, until a miracle on Thursday when one showed up, only for his heart to plummet when he
read what it said.

'dude its scott. jus give him sum time.'

And he did.

Work dragged on, Derek lethargic and uninterested in everything, sitting to the side by
himself in stony silence. Mason and Liam both tried to coax him into playing ball, Amy made
him flower crowns and pictures of smiling sunshines, and Brett started offering him his
snack, despite the Alpha not eating the one he'd been given. Jen tried to get him to talk about
it, but after he gave a husky “he left me” she dropped it, trying to compensate for an
unhelpful assistant by distracting the kids with new games she made up.
By the end of the week, Mrs Fleming had called him into her office and told him to take a
week to get his shit together or find another job. He almost quit right then and there, but
nodded instead before heading home, his shift over.

An email from Ms Finch at Beacon Hills High on Friday afternoon was like a punch in the
nuts, especially when he read how she'd gone over his situation and would be glad to meet
with both him and his Bonded at their earliest convenience. He thanked her and said he'd get
back to her, not truly believing that his Bonded would come back, much less that he'd get the
job.

The best he could do was try to keep the one he already had.

Dinner with his family that Sunday was hell, his mom fussing over him for missing the last
two only for her face to fall when she realized how melancholic he was. How alone he was.
He cried into her arms like a baby, never able to say the actual words, but the lack of Stiles'
presence spoke volumes that he never could.

Monday morning found him with a fake smile and a phony disposition, smiling and playing
with the kids, avoiding Jen's curious—and disbelieving—glances as he let himself be chased
around and hit with paper swords, going into his beta shift as he pretended to be the beast
Liam and Mason were always chasing, kidnapping Amy and bringing Brett into the game.

That evening, he received a phone call from the sheriff and he was ashamed to admit he let it
ring until it went to voicemail, no message left. A text came through soon after and try as he
might, he couldn't ignore that, too, worried that it was bad news about Stiles.

'You two will work it out. The Universe doesn't bring Mates together just to have them not
work and fall apart.'

He sent a short 'thx', not bothering with grammar or punctuation, not bothering to voice his
thought over how the Universe could eat an entire buffet of dicks.

Derek knew he wasn't living, not really, just going through the motions of being alive. But he
knew that's all he was capable of, had seen John act like that, strange and not quite himself
after the death of Claudia, had witnessed his mom walking around like a zombie with her hair
a mess and no make up and wearing nothing but the same set of flannel pajamas he was
pretty sure had been his dad's. And while Stiles wasn't dead, the Alpha still felt like part of
him was.

His wolf didn't communicate with him anymore, just laid there with its ears flopped and its
head on its paws, only ever letting out a pitiful whimper whenever the human part of him
thought about their lost Mate—which was very fucking often. His Alpha instincts had
initially roared at him to go after the Omega and bring him back, demand they talk it over
right then and there, but soon gave up, falling into a deep depression that seemed to take over
all of him.

When he wasn't at work, he was on the couch in his PJs, snuggling one of the body pillows
from the Heat room in a poor substitute for the one he wanted in his arms, rewatching the
same five episodes of Archer that Stiles' had called his favorite. Meals were mostly forgotten
about until his nausea grew too strong to ignore and he forced something down, more
annoyed at chewing and swallowing than enjoying the taste.

The candles, candelabra, and tablecloth had all been chucked out the window that night in a
fit of rage and while he was sometimes tempted to trash other items in the apartment—like
the TV he'd surprised Stiles with or the armoire bought for his clothes or the entertainment
unit with its missing Xbox and still sitting there Playstation—he couldn't bring himself to do
it, a small part of him still feeling like Stiles would come back and be upset over the broken
items.

Because he was coming back, Derek had to keep believing that. It was the only thing that got
him out of bed in the morning, the only thing that got him to actually eat on the rare
occasions that he did, the only thing that made still being alive bearable. His mom and John
both continued on after their Mates had died, so surely Derek could get his shit together and
keeping going when his was alive and possibly returning.

Because he would.

One day.

Only it turned out to be a night.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Falling asleep with the TV on wasn't anything new for Derek over the past two and a half
weeks, his mind craving the sound of someone else, needing to cover up the fact that his was
the only heartbeat in the loft now. He wasn't sleeping on the floor anymore, but the couch.
Still terrible for his back and he woke up with a crick in his neck more often than not, but it
was a lot softer.

A clap of thunder woke him up, making him jerk at how loud it was, sounding like it was
right outside his window. Smearing a hand down his face, he stared at the screen, the only
light in the dark loft—when a bolt of lightning wasn't flashing outside anyway—an
informercial for a Shark steam mop playing. He reached for the remote, knowing it was best
to change the channel, having talked himself out of buying whatever crap they peddled on too
many occasions, sleep-deprived and misery-stricken mind too vulnerable for promises of “but
wait! There's more!” Snatching the remote off the coffee table, he heard a distant banging and
he frowned in confusion, wondering what the fuck that was.

And who the fuck was banging at his door at Who the Fuck Knew O'Clock.

Flipping the TV off, he strained his hearing, focusing outside his front door. A soft snuffling
noise sounded out, joined by the too-fast rhythm of a heartbeat he'd fallen asleep to for nearly
a month and a half.

Stiles.

He jumped up to his feet, getting dizzy with the sudden movement and lack of food in his
system, racing to the door. Because it was Stiles, he was there, he was back, he was...
Fast asleep.

And drenched.

Shit.

“Fucking hell, Stiles,” he muttered, racing over to the couch to grab the blanket he'd been
using and rushing back—after a quick side-trip to grab his keys off the breakfast bar—
wrapping it around the Omega and rubbing his arms. “You picked a helluva night for a
stroll.”

The younger man smacked his lips, leaning forward and collapsing on Derek, nuzzling his
cold nose in the crook of his neck. “Alpha,” he sleepily murmured, letting out a pleased sigh.
“Mine.”

His heart skipped a beat then started up double time at the sentiment, wolf wagging its tail.
Because Stiles had acknowledged what they were to one another, that Derek belonged to him
and only him and always would.

But he was asleep.

And freezing and wet and needed help.

But still.

“Yeah,” he breathed out, kissing the top of his head. “I'm yours.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

It was a strange sort of deja vu, standing in the hospital waiting room as Stiles was checked
out, glancing out the windows to see if the sheriff or his mom had arrived yet. Only now he
was more worried than ever, the knowledge of who Stiles was to him ramping his anxiety up
about a thousand times and he was pretty sure he wasn't gonna have any sort of fingernails
left when the night was over.

He turned at the sound of his name being called down the hall, dropping his hand to his side
from where he'd been gnawing on his pinky nail, swallowing hard at the approaching doctor.

But a friendly smile was on his face, head cleaning shaven, skin cocoa colored, dark goatee
on his face. “You Derek Hale?” he double-checked, eyebrow raised.

He nodded, shaking the hand that was stretched out towards him. “That's me.”

The smile grew, teeth showing, as he clasped a clipboard with both hands in front of him.
“I'm Dr Geyer. My step-son Liam attends your day care. I think you're one of his caretakers?
He speaks very highly of you.”

The tips of his ears grew hot and he shuffled in his place. “He's a good kid,” he replied, not
knowing what else to say.
The doc nodded with a proud smile before raising his clipboard and opening the file he had
on top. “It says here you're one of Mr Stilinski's emergency contacts. He has you listed under
his Bonded?” he ended it on a questioned, peeking up with his head still ducked, questioning
tilt to his eyebrows.

Derek nodded, confirming it, thinking it wasn't true but not saying it out loud. Chances were
Stiles just hadn't had the opportunity or had even thought about changing his information.
Hell, Derek sure hadn't, all his paperwork still listing the Omega as his primary “In Case of
Emergency” number.

Dr Geyer nodded more, eyes focused on the paperwork once more. “Well, I'm glad to say Mr
Stilinski will be just fine. Few abrasions on the bottom of his feet that.” He scanned the file,
eyebrows lifting and head bobbing to the side in an “alrighty then” manner. “Apparently
seem to be pretty usual for him.”

“Somnambulism,” Derek explained, biting back a growl at the perceived insult thrown his
Mate's way.

“So I see. Since this isn't his first rodeo, I'm sure you know how to handle things.” He flipped
the file closed and held the clipboard in front of himself once more. “He was chilled but not
alarmingly so, body temp still normal. We've got him wrapped up right now and we'll be
keeping him overnight for observation. You're welcome to spend it with him.”

The sheriff burst through the door at that moment, exchanging handshakes with Dr Geyer
before the information was relayed to him. A relieved sigh left John, hands on his hips above
the utility belt of his uniform, head ducked as he shook it.

“He's been having night-terrors again,” he admitted, lifting his head and gesturing down the
hall where he presumed Stiles lay. “I should've seen this coming.”

Dr Geyer frowned at the information. “How often?”

“Every night for the past two and a half weeks.”

Every night since the break up.

Derek breathed out a swear, smearing his hand over his mouth as he turned away and sank
down on a nearby chair, zoning out as the other two men talked. He'd done this. He'd caused
this. Stiles had been sleeping peacefully, not a bad dream to be seen or heard or anything.
Then he'd fucked up, caused Stiles to leave, and now he was back to night-terrors and
sleepwalking, all because he couldn't get his damn words right.

A hand gently lay on his shoulder and he peered up to see John giving him a sympathetic
smile. It was then that he realized he was trembling, that his hands were shaking where he
held them cupped in front of his mouth, that he felt rattled right down to his core.

“Go see him, son,” the sheriff urged. “It'll be okay.”

He opened his mouth, nothing coming out, glancing at Dr Geyer as he stood off to the side,
talking with a nurse he didn't know. “What about you?” he asked, focus returned to the man
before him. “He's your son, you should—”

“You should see him, talk to him, get all this shit straightened out. I think it'd mean more to
him that he wake up to your face rather than this old wrinkled one.” He smirked, the
mentioned wrinkles creasing around his eyes in mirth, blue irises sparkling under fluorescent
lights.

Derek nodded, taking a deep breath, John squeezing his shoulder and rubbing his thumb on it
in reassurance. Rising to his feet, he gave the older man a hug, surprising him momentarily
before the embrace was returned. “Thank you.”

“Just tell him everything. For god's sake, tell the kid.”

He let out a small laugh and agreed, the two parting just before Dr Geyer approached and
asked Derek if he was ready. With another glance at John, he nodded, following the
physician's lead as he headed down the hall.

Stiles had a room to himself, surprising given the storm that had been wreaking havoc on the
town but had thankfully died down since, the lights turned off so he could sleep. Dr Geyer
gestured for Derek to enter, closing the door behind the Alpha when he did so, leaving them
alone. He stared behind him, through the small glass window, wondering what the hell to do
at that moment before realizing... he was an idiot.

Switching to his wolf vision, he focused on the young man on the bed, on the way he was
laying on his back, head turned to the side, lips parted as he breathed through them. He'd
changed into a pair of hospital sweats, the Beacon Hills Memorial Hospital logo on the left
pectoral of the gray tee he now wore, and Derek had the absent thought over how happy
Stiles would've been to not have to wear one of those stupid johnnies.

Not that Derek would've minded it. Easier access.

And that wasn't the fucking place for those kind of thoughts.

He roughed his hands over his face repeatedly, clearing it all away, stepping closer to the
sleeping figure on the bed. A cot had been set up on the other side under the window,
obviously placed there for him to use, and he honestly wasn't sure if he wanted to. Every inch
of him craved getting in the bed with Stiles, wanted to lay down next to him, to hold him
close, to listen to him whine about being little spoon only to complain about how being big
spoon was putting his arm to sleep and he wasn't comfy and then settle into the little spoon
position once more.

But he wasn't allowed, wasn't welcome. Stiles had broken up with him—without really
saying the words, but the gesture spoke it for him—had left him. He wasn't about to let his
technical, kinda sorta ex climb into bed with him, even if it was just to sleep.

The whole thing seemed kinda of non-con to Derek anyway, what with the Omega being out
like the lights above them.
So with quiet cautious steps, he made his way around to the cot and laid down, covering
himself with the flimsy itchy blanket he'd been given, shuffling to get comfy.

Stiles made a snuffling noise above him and he froze all over, watching as the younger man
shifted in his sleep, head turning towards him, body shuffling closer to that side of the bed,
the rail preventing him from falling off. Derek waited for a long moment after the Omega
stilled, listening to his even breaths, his steady heart rate, tuning out the sounds of the
hospital outside the room.

And it was with that heartbeat that he'd missed to the point of pain that he feel asleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~

“You're in my room.”

The words woke Derek from the most restful sleep he'd had in weeks, inhaling sharply as he
was suddenly thrust into the waking world.

Boo.

Squinting at the bright lights overhead, he rubbed at his eyes, scenting the air, trying to figure
out where he was and what was going on. Disinfectant, scent-neutralized everything, sugar-
sweet Omega...

Hospital.

Right.

“Yo!” the voice—Stiles repeated, kicking at the cot. “You. Are in. My room.”

“This isn't your room,” he grumbled in response, swatting the leg that was still nudging at his
borrowed bed before sitting. He drew his knees up, hooking his elbows around them and
clasping his hands before focusing his still somewhat sleep-blurred eyes on the other man.

Stiles was seated at the edge of the hospital bed, scowl on his face as he glared down at
Derek. His scent was pissed, upset, agitated, irritated, all of the negative emotions associated
with being around someone you just couldn't stand. And it was all aimed at him.

The Omega crossed his arms, trying to look tough and intimidating, despite the fact that he'd
gone to sleep with wet hair and it was now sticking up all over the place, making him look
absolutely ridiculous and adorable. “You've got some fucking nerve being—”

“I'm in love with you,” Derek interrupted, afraid he'd never get a chance to say it, afraid he'd
fuck up again and would say it wrong.

The younger man froze all over, eyes wide and mouth hanging open, not saying a damn
thing. So the Alpha took the opportunity he was given and went with it, saying everything
that was on his mind and hoping for the best.
“I am. I'm totally in love with you.” He licked his lips, swallowed hard, and plowed ahead,
staring at his toes as they flexed beneath the blanket. “And you're right, I didn't notice it until
after we spent your Heat together, but it wasn't because I'm in love with your ass or how well
you fuck and I'm not slick-whipped or any other shit like that.”

With all the strength he could muster, he raised his head and looked Stiles right in the eye.
“I'm in love with the way you laugh with your whole body,” he stated, turning so he was
facing the younger man, feet planted firmly on the floor. “I'm in love with the way you
challenge me at every turn and don't do something because I told you to. I'm in love with the
way you glare every time I say 'yes, dear'. I'm in love with your voice, whether it's moaning
in ecstasy or rambling about Marvel or ranting about Omega Rights or threatening whatever
part of Theo's anatomy comes to mind. I'm in love with the way you feel in my arms and the
warmth it brings to my chest and the fact that I never wanna let you go. I'm in love with your
complaints of big spoon versus little spoon. I'm in love with your scent and the fact that every
time I smell it, I feel like I'm home.”

Stiles turned away, eyes shiny with unshed tears, lips pressed together in a hard line, not able
to make eye contact. His arms had fallen slack, no longer folded but at his sides, gripping the
edge of the mattress, ankles crossed where they hung.

Derek took a chance, reaching out to take hold of one of Stiles' hands, the Omega letting him,
allowing their fingers to entwine, fighting the way his lips curled up at the corner. “But most
of all,” he went on, clearing his throat. “Most of all, I'm in love with the fact that you're my
Mate and the fact that I know that even if we weren't, I'd still fall in love with you anyway.”

He watched at the younger man's adam's apple bobbed, swallowing audibly, and he let out a
wet laugh. “You're a dick,” he stated, words lacking any heat, turning to face him as a tear
rolled down his cheek.

The Alpha slid onto his knees on the floor, wiping the wetness away with his thumb. “I
know,” he murmured, smile playing on his lips as the teen leaned down and pressed their
foreheads together. “But I'm your dick. You said so last night.”

Pulling back, Stiles grimaced, scent turning embarrassed and self-conscious. “I sleepwalked
to your house again, huh?”

“Yup,” he replied, jostling their still joined hands. “Apparently every time you did it, you
were looking for me.”

“Which was why there was that three year break,” the younger man surmised, head slowly
nodding once in realization then seesawing as his eyebrows bobbed. “Scott said you triggered
my early Heat by the way. Something about my wolf recognizing you as a suitable Alpha
after you built me that Heat room and I saw you with those kids.” He was the one to shake
their hands then, speaking the next part lowly. “You're gonna be an awesome dad.”

“Maybe one day,” Derek partially agreed, resting his chin on the Omega's knee. “Depends on
if my Mate wants kids and when.”

“And if I don't want any?”

He shrugged. “No way Erica's gonna stop at one kid. Laura's gonna eventually settle down
and have a few tiny terrors of her own, and I'm sure Kira and Malia will, too, and Scott and
Allison. I'm gonna be surrounded by a ton of kids I can spoil and be cool Uncle Derek to.”

Stiles nodded, impressed pout on his face. “I was just testing you by the way. I totally want
kids at some point way in the future.” He threw his arms to one side, Derek's moving with it,
their hands remaining joined. “Besides, Erica would kill us if we didn't quote 'pass on our
genetics' or whatever.”

He snorted and rolled his eyes. Knowing Erica, she'd figure out a way to coerce them into
procreating despite their own feelings regarding it.

“So,” Derek began, swallowing nervously. “How about it? Wanna try a real Bond this time?”

The Omega's scent lit up with joy, so strong it would've knocked the older man on his ass had
he not already been on his knees, yet he still pretended to think it over, twisting his lips this
way and that, humming and hawing, until Derek used their joined hands to hit him in the
stomach gently.

“I read this thing on Tumblr once that said that love isn't a feeling, but a choice, that you
choose to keep your relationship going or choose to leave, whatever.” He waved his free hand
around before shoving it in his hair. “And maybe that's true, 'cause I chose to leave that night
and chose not to answer your calls, and you chose to stay here and chose to tell me how you
felt. And honestly, if it were up to me, I'd choose you as my Mate, too, because I don't see
myself falling for anyone as much as I've fallen in love with you.”

Derek's smile practically hurt his face, his wolf howling in glee, tail thumping wildly. His
heart was pounding in his chest and his stomach swooped, and he raised up on his knees to
kiss his Mate, his Bonded, the love of his life, only to get a finger pressed to his lips.

“But,” Stiles interjected. “Only if you don't act like a total dickcheese and hide shit like that
from me again. Deal?”

“Yes, dear.”

Getting shoved to the ground was worth it.

And so was Melissa's face and her yells when she walked in on Stiles' straddling him on the
floor twenty minutes later, lips locked, hair messy, clothes rumpled, and come painting the
inside of both their pants.
 Epilogue

~*~Ten Years Later~*~

Derek figured teaching was like any other job out there. There were good days, bad days,
days that just were. But at no point did he regret his decision to become a high school
American History teacher.

He didn't get the job the fall after he and Stiles got together and wound up spending the year
working at Oak Creek Day Center. Then it was two years substitute teaching at Beacon Hills
High, filling in wherever he was needed, slowly gaining the respect of both students and
other teachers alike.

But now he'd been employed for nearly seven school years, which meant he'd honed in his
skills and was able to tell when a student was breaking the rules or not paying attention, even
with his back turned to the class as he wrote down key inventions of the Industrial Revolution
on the chalkboard.

"Garrett," he called out, dotting his i's and putting the piece of chalk on the rack then turning
around, smug smile on his face. "That text better be an apology you're sending Violet
explaining how you'll be unable to hang out after school as you'll be busy in detention." He
swiped his hands together to get rid of the chalk dust, not wanting to get it on his vest or
khakis, before folding his arms over his chest and giving the student a pointed look.

Garrett wore a look of innocence, the "who, me?" as plain on his face as his blue eyes or the
smug grin he usually wore. Not much had changed in the Alpha over the past decade or so
since Derek had watched over him at Oak Creek Day Center. Sure, he was taller now,
reaching about five-foot-eight or so, and his blond hair was longer, styled with a side-swipe
straight out of the fifties, but he still kept to himself, still wore an air of superiority that gave
Alphas a bad name, his general disdain for those around him now hidden behind charismatic
smiles and saccharine words that would easily fool those who didn't know him well.

But Derek knew him, and therefore knew it was an act, knew that deep down, Garrett was
just as disgusted and annoyed with everyone as his girlfriend Violet, only she wore it on her
face on a daily basis.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Mr Hale," the young Alpha replied with a smarmy
smile, forearms draped across his open text book.

That was currently displaying the wrong page and had obviously just been opened in order to
hide a cell beneath it.

"Uh huh," Derek deadpanned with a dubious expression on his face, arms crossed as he made
his way down the aisle between two rows of desks. "And it's Mr Stilinski-Hale," he reminded
him.
Unnecessarily reminded him anyway, considering the fact that Garrett had known him as
"Derek" during his day care days and the older Alpha had been going by that name since his
Mating nearly six years ago.

He drew to a stop by Garrett's desk in the back row and held out his hand, fingers repeatedly
curling in a "gimme" fashion. "Hand over the phone."

That wiped the cocky grin off the kid's face, features falling, lips parting in disbelief. "You
can't be serious."

"Can and am. Hand it over."

Garrett glanced at Violet for back-up and when he got nothing in return, he shuffled in his
seat, rising up from his previously slumped position. "I'm pretty sure you aren't allowed to
take my personal belongings."

This time, it was the teacher's turn to smirk in a smug fashion, arms folded up, biceps on
display despite the button down covering his arms. "Actually it says in the teacher's
handbook that I'm allowed to confiscate anything and everything that I believe to be
disruptive in the classroom environment. It's also up to my discretion whether or not to allow
cell phones for calculators or research purposes and I say no. So," he paused, holding out his
hand once more. "Hand it over."

The student's scent was full of anger and resentment, his eyes narrowed and his jaw working,
and he begrudgingly flipped his textbook closed, revealing a still lit smartphone. The fool
hadn't even bothered to lock the damn thing to cover his tracks. He slapped it into Derek's
palm, the older man sarcastically thanking him with an even smugger grin, turning on a
booted heel to head back to the chalkboard.

"Mason, unless you feel like joining your friend this afternoon, I suggest you get your goo-
goo eyes off Corey and onto the board," he commented, his own green orbs fixed on the
phone he was currently switching off, not bothering to look at the mentioned student until he
was at the front of the room.

Mason had grown, too, and his sunny outlook and eternal optimism was still just as strong as
it had been when he was a kid. He sat there gaping at Derek, the kid next to him flushing
wildly beneath brown eyes and messy brown hair, hiding a smirk behind his hand.

"Me and Garrett aren't friends," Mason muttered almost absently, pointing behind him at the
blond boy.

Derek cocked an eyebrow as he stashed the confiscated phone in his desk and locked the
drawer. "Funny how that's the part you choose to correct me on and not the flirtatious eye
contact.”

Liam snickered as Mason floundered once more, Hayden reaching across the aisle to smack
his shoulder and give him a disapproving look. The young Omega immediately sobered up
under his Alpha's chastising head shake and Derek watched the exchange with care, making
sure no one was being coerced into anything against their will.
Not that he thought Hayden would pull anything like that. Hell, she was the reason why Liam
was as well-behaved and as calm as he was. Halfway through his freshman year, he'd gotten
kicked out of his previous school Devenford Prep for behavioral issues that had culminated in
a physical altercation with his friend Brett. Apparently the young Omega hadn't appreciated
his efforts to calm him down, screaming that Brett wasn't his Alpha as he clawed and bit at
him.

When Derek heard about the incident, he immediately went to Liam to offer him someone to
talk to should he need it, adding in that Stiles would be more than willing to give advice as
another Omega, one not as keen as others when it came to being controlled by an Alpha.
Liam had thanked him and had even called Stiles a few times for help with "Omega issues"—
something Derek didn't even want to know what it meant—but reconnecting with Hayden—
who turned out to actually be his Alpha—had gone a long way in leveling the kid out.

Derek gave another long look at his students, all of them with serious, focused faces—minus
Violet who was grinding her jaw and glaring like she was plotting the teacher's murder in her
head, and Garrett who was staring at where he was aggressively tapping his pen on his
textbook like he was stabbing something. Satisfied, he gave a quick nod and turned back to
the board.

Really not how he'd wanted his Friday to start.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Detention was always an hour, no more, no less, and Garrett showed up to his bitching and
complaining—"I had plans, you know?" "And I didn't? It's Friday for me, too, now wash
those desks."—but a threat to discuss this with Principal Finch quickly shut him up.

Derek's desks had never looked shinier.

At four-thirty-five, he was finally climbing into his Toyota FJ Cruiser, the car a purchase five
years ago when he and Stiles had become more safety-conscious and it was clear the Jeep
was going nowhere. They still had the Camaro, of course, but it mainly stayed in the garage,
only coming out on monthly date nights or when going to the school by himself on parent-
teacher conference nights.

"Aw hell," he muttered as he pulled out the parking lot, realizing that night was coming up
soon.

He got stuck in Friday traffic and barely made it to his destination before five, struggling to
find a parking spot amongst all the other cars rushing to get home to start their own weekend.
Vest abandoned on his passenger seat, he only just remembered to lock the car in his haste to
get inside, running down the hall to the right room in order to find—

"Daddy!"

A huge grin broke out in his face at the sight of his four year old daughter, the reason for the
safety-conscious car and the debate over minivans—"Death first." "Tell me how you really
feel, Der."—and why he was at Oak Creek Day Center in the first place.
Claudia rushed over, bright pink tulle skirt fluttering and bouncing above her black leggings,
thick brown curls flying above her blue tee with the Captain America shield on it, purple rain
boots completing the look. A wide smile was on her face, freckles across her cheekbones and
nose, three moles forming a perfect triangle near her left temple, and with her button nose, it
was no surprise whose biological kid she was.

And that was before factoring in the love of comic book superheroes and the endless amount
of energy and sass she contained.

Derek scooped her up in his arms in a well-practiced maneuver, swinging her up high before
putting her on his hip, rubbing their cheeks together to scent-mark her and making her giggle.
"Hey, Princess," he replied when his wolf believed she was sufficiently marked, raising his
head to smile at her. "I see Papa let you pick out your own clothes again."

"Yup!" she yelled proudly, rubbing her hands down her torso, grin still on display.

It was something new that had apparently been going on, something Derek had no control
over. Their morning routines consisted of him making breakfast as Stiles showered, the
family all eating together before the Alpha had to head to work, leaving Stiles to get the kids
dressed and taking them to day care. And since his shifts were all over the place, Derek was
the one who picked them up on the way home.

And with Stiles being the "Fun Parent"—not Derek's words, of course—that meant Claudia
got away with a mishmosh of a crazy outfit that she chose for herself.

Derek wondered if she wasn't a little bit colorblind. Or if she just didn't care, like her Papa.

Jennifer walked over with a smile on her face, hands on her hips as her own twins made a
loud ruckus in the background. "You gonna show your daddy what you found today?" she
asked Claudia with a wink, causing Derek's eyebrow to quirk up in confusion before turning
to his daughter.

She gasped excitedly, eyes going wide and hands flailing about, her dad missing getting
smacked in the face solely due to his faster reflexes as an adult Alpha. "Daddy, look!" she
instructed, showing off her teeth and pushing her tongue against them repeatedly.

Making one of the top ones wiggle ever so slightly.

Oh fuck, his little girl was getting her first loose tooth. She was growing up.

Shit shit shit.

He smiled widely, hiding his upset from his face and scent despite her not knowing how to
decipher chemosignals just yet, but knowing when someone smelled "funny" with negative
emotions. "That's great, Princess," he stated, bouncing her slightly and making her giggle
again. "Why don't you get your stuff so we can get your brother and go home? Then you can
show Papa."
"Papa Papa Papa!" she began chanting, wiggling before sliding down her dad's leg and racing
to the back table to grab her Iron Man backpack.

Derek turned wide eyes on Jen, knowing she'd be able to decipher his terrified expression and
relate to the fear of one's kids getting older. Over the years, she and Kali had adopted four
pups of their own, two boys and two girls, their oldest just turning twelve the previous month
and their youngest—the fraternal twins—coming up on turning five. The family had joined in
with Derek's and Stiles' brood, as well as those of all their friends, for parties and play dates,
almost always leaving a disaster area in their wake.

Was a lot of kids though.

Twenty-two to be exact.

With more on the way.

Stiles liked to joke that it was a good thing Derek's trust fund was so huge; they were gonna
need it for all the toys for all the birthdays they had to go to.

Derek joked back that they could always move to a remote island and not deal with their
Pack and the many, many pups that came with it.

Sometimes it wasn't a joke.

The slap to his chest was always worth it, no matter what.

Jen put a commiserating hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze, sympathetic smile on
her face. "It happens to all of them," she reassured him, hand now rubbing the round of his
shoulder. "First they lose teeth, then start school, then high school, then learn to drive, prom,
boyfriends, girlfriends, graduation, college—"

"Not helping," he ground out, feeling overwhelmed by it all.

Feeling pissed that at some point, some kid was gonna come along and date his daughter.

He was gonna have to borrow one of his father-in-law's guns when that happened. No way
his Mate gets to be the only one with a firearm when interrogating the prospective suitor.

Jen let out a small laugh, patting his shoulder before dropping her hand away completely. "I
get it, trust me," she said with a sigh, folding her arms and peering at her kids, wistful smile
on her face. "Both a pro and a con of parenthood."

He hummed in agreement, watching as his four-year-old waddled over, hauling her backpack
with her.

"I ready!" she declared as she drew to a stop, grinning wide, beaming up at Derek with a look
that was pure Stiles.

He couldn't help but smile back, helping her put her bag on and reminding her to say goodbye
to Miss Jennifer—or Miss Dennifer, as Claudia called her. The adults exchanged farewells
before Derek led his daughter out the room, hand on the back of her head, going for a door
halfway down the hall on the opposite side.

The toddler room was less of a disaster than it usually was when Derek showed and he
peeked over the half-door to make sure no pups were hiding behind it before he and Claudia
entered. About half a dozen kids were still in the room awaiting parents and Derek quickly
found his two-year-old son Aaron sitting amongst them, fabric picture book on his lap as he
pat his hand on it like it was a pet. The Alpha made his way over, Claudia on his heels
yammering about the Tooth Fairy, and scooped his son up, earning an excited squeal.

"Dada!" Aaron yelled in his ear, squidgy arms wrapping around his neck and hugging him
tightly.

"Hey, buddy," Derek replied with a smile, rubbing his back with a hand and his cheek on his
baby boy's black hair.

A year after Claudia had been born, Stiles and Derek decided to go through the process of
surrogacy once more, this time with Derek's sperm. And luckily for them, the female who'd
donated before was glad to help them a second time and a few months later, she was pregnant
with a boy they named after Derek's late father, keeping with the theme they'd set by naming
Stiles' biological daughter after his deceased mom.

Aaron lifted his head, wide grin of baby teeth on display, showing off his dimples that Stiles
fawned over, set below a sharp nose that he'd inherited from his grandma and bright blue eyes
that he got from his namesake. He peered down when he felt a tugging at his foot, giggling
again and letting out an excited "sissy!", unable to pronounce "Claudia" just yet.

Derek set Aaron on the floor and let Claudia tell him about her loose tooth and the Tooth
Fairy and the money she'll get from her, turning his attention to his son's belongings. Aaron's
caretaker, an Omega named Lisa who made no attempts to hide her ogling of Derek when
he'd worked there, approached him, updating him on his pup's potty training, eyes not so
subtly slipping to the Claiming Bite high and proud on the left side of his neck—"So all those
bitches at the PTA meetings fucking know to back off." "Sounds good to me 'cause I'm putting
yours where anyone who has any illicit ideas about a man in uniform can see and know not to
touch." "Possessive you is beyond a turn on and you need to fucking stop before I orgasm to
death without you inside me."

Satisfied that Aaron had ruined only one Pull-Up—and making a mental note to check the
grocery list had them on there—he gathered up his kids, Claudia insisting on a piggy back
ride and Aaron cradled against his chest, a bag hanging off each elbow as he made his way
out the day care center and to his SUV. His daughter blathered about how the shark Tooth
Fairy must be broke because they keep growing teeth forever while he buckled them in the
car seats, double-checking they were secured and nothing was going anywhere. Behind the
wheel once more, Claudia yelled a demand for "Bon Dobi!", causing Aaron to chant "Dobi
Dobi Dobi" as he shook his stuffed octopus and nearly sent it flying.

"Okay, okay," he placated with a smile, telling Siri to pull up "Claudia's Bon Jovi Playlist".
Matching cries of joy sounded out from the backseat, his son's more out of copying his sister
than knowing what was going on, both wiggling and dancing as Livin' On a Prayer started
up.

Derek smiled proudly as he pulled out the parking lot and headed home. He didn't give a rat's
ass what Stiles thought; eighties hair metal was at least fifty times better for their kids than
any of that crap played on Nick Jr.

~*~*~*~*~*~

The Stilinski-Hale house sat in the middle of a cul-de-sac that was practically filled by the
entire Pack. On their right was Boyd and Erica with their three kids, the left was Scott and
Allison with their own three pups—with one of the way. On the other side of them was Laura
and Chris Argent in a surprise that shocked everyone and now Allison was the oldest of five
kids—which was apparently gonna be it thanks to Laura's lack of boundaries when wine was
involved and her drunken confession to Derek that Chris had gotten a vasectomy because he
was "too old for all this shit", a declaration that had come after the birth of their second set of
twins.

Malia and Kira were next to Boyd and Erica with their daughter, then Lydia and Parrish with
theirs. Danny and Ethan had two boys of their own and Isaac and Jackson were raising one of
each.

A lot of kids.

Derek unlocked the front door and let the kids run inside, reminding them that Papa wasn't
home yet so they needed to stop yelling for him.

The house was an open concept that had reminded the Mated pair of their loft, only instead of
exposed brick, it was painted white walls and wood floors. The dining room was on the
immediate right upon entering, the chairs pushed back against the wall due to Aaron's recent
habit of climbing up furniture. Neither Stiles nor Derek wanted to wake up to find him sitting
on the table again.

The living room was in the back, filled with a fluffy u-shaped black couch the kids loved
jumping on—despite repeated instructions not to—TV fixed to the wall, blu-ray player and
gaming stations hidden behind locked doors of the entertainment unit below. Windows made
up the back wall, giving a view of the open backyard and jungle gym, complete with slide
and swings

The kitchen was set back between the living and dining rooms, all white cabinets, white
subway tile on the walls, stainless appliances and gray marble counters. A giant square island
was in the middle, stools tucked under the side by the rest of the house where breakfast was
usually eaten and the kids did arts and crafts. A mud-room with washer and dryer was to the
side of the kitchen by the back of the house, office on the other side where Stiles and Derek
both had desks for working on cases or grading papers.

A staircase—with baby gate on each end—on the opposite side of the house from the kitchen
led to the three bedrooms, the kids on either side of the hall, the parents at the end. The attic
had been fixed up by the Alpha, half for storage, the other half turned into a Heat Room. Not
as big as the one Stiles'd had back in the loft, but he didn't care, too in love with the rest of
the house to say "no" to it.

Derek turned the TV on to Noggin and let the kids enjoy another mind-numbing episode of
Dora the Explorer while playing with the toys that had been left scattered across the white
shag rug. He really needed to talk to Stiles about that.

He was in the kitchen for a total for five minutes when Claudia joined, wanting to help with
dinner, and Derek gave her instructions on what to grab from the fridge.

"Stir Fi-Day?!" she asked excitedly, bouncing in place and grinning, hope flooding her scent.

"You know it, princess," he replied with a smile of his own, ruffling her hair. "Get me the
bottle with the blue sticker, okay?"

"Okay!" she yelled, literally hopping to the fridge to get the right sauce out the bottom tray
on the door.

The colored stickers had been Stiles' idea, Claudia wanting to help with dinner, but unable to
read the labels. So circle stickers were used instead, not only allowing her to assist, but
giving sneaky practice of her colors.

She cradle the bottle in her arms, knowing to be careful as she carried it over and gave it to
her daddy. "Wish one is it?"

"Szechuan," he informed her, pulling the wok out the cabinet below the stove on the island.

Her arms flailed in excitement. "Sess-wan!"

He laughed, ears pricking at the sound of a familiar rumbling engine. "I think I hear someone
coming," he singsonged, making his daughter gasp, the sound catching his son's attention.

"Papa!" she squealed, running to the front window and the two chairs purposely placed there
for just this reason, Aaron rising to his feet and toddling over to join her. Banging on the
window started immediately after, Derek chastising and telling them to cut it out while filling
the rice cooker.

He supposed there were worse things than kids being excited over their parents coming
home.

Not that Derek was any less excited. His heart was pounding, stomach flipping, wolf yipping
and wagging its tail. More than ten years after making it official with Stiles and he still got
butterflies and grinned stupidly over his impending arrival.

The front door opened and Claudia damn near fell off the chair in her haste to get down.
Aaron was more careful, sliding down instead, losing to his older sister in the race to their
papa. Stiles crouched down and pulled them both in for a hug, an arm around each kid,
smiling wide as he kissed their heads and scent-marked them in turns.
Derek got the rice going then made his way over, Stiles rising to his feet, still grinning wide
as his whiskey eyes met the Alpha's green ones.

"Hey, Professor Hot Stuff," the younger man smirked, making his Mate roll his eyes, refusing
to take the bait and point out—again—that he wasn't a professor, choosing instead to
envelope him in a hug.

"Evenin', Deputy Gorgeous," he replied, nuzzling into the crook of his neck to sort through
all the smells of the day and get to the pure scent of his Omega.

Stiles snorted, but returned the nuzzle, scent-marking and mingling, neither ready or willing
to let the other go.

Until a tugging at his work slacks pulled the Omega's attention down south where Claudia
was beaming up at him.

"Papa! I gots a loose toof!"

Derek went wide eyed at the reminder of his little girl growing up, his grip tightening on
Stiles, and his Mate turned to him with a raised eyebrow before realization dawned on him.

"You can have your freak-out later," he murmured against the older man's lips before pecking
them quickly and pulling away. He picked Claudia up, holding her against his chest, careful
of his utility belt. "C'mon, munchkin. You can tell me all about it while I get changed, all
right?"

Claudia didn't wait until they reached the stairs, immediately launching into her rambling
spiel about discovering the loose tooth and discussing sharks once more.

Derek glanced at Aaron, finding him in the living room surrounded by blocks, his attention
occupied by them, then turned back to watch Stiles head up the stairs, eyes glued to his
Mate's ass in his work slacks.

Hate to see him leave...

~*~*~*~*~*~

Later that night, with his Mate on his lap and his knot held within him—because they were
chancing it with the knot that Derek usually tried to hold back but Stiles had decided the
Alpha needed it—he felt more clear-headed and relaxed. His mini-orgasms had died off,
leaving him relaxed and sated, with an armful of pliant Omega.

And a whole lotta sweat. And come. They were gonna have to shower as soon as his knot
went down.

Shit, he hoped the kids stayed asleep for the next twenty minutes. Thank fuck there was no
thunderstorm coming anytime soon or they'd have a bed full of pups.

Stiles lifted his head where he'd had it buried in the crook of Derek's neck, sleepy smile on
his face, eyes half-lidded. His fingers were absently playing with the hair at the back of the
older man's head, the marks Derek had sucked and bitten onto his skin disappearing, but the
pleasure was still there, etched onto every line of his face and filling his scent.

"Wanna talk about it now?" he murmured, rubbing their noses together.

Derek let out a confused hum, distracted by the feel of his Mate's naked skin against his, how
nice his fingers felt against his scalp, how fucking good he smelled. Fuck, he'd never get over
that scent, wanted it in his nose, his lungs, his—

"Claudia's tooth."

Oh. Right. They were talking.

He put a muzzle on his wolf's practical purring, focused on the conversation, his mind still
fuzzy with pleasure and making it difficult.

"You were freaking out about it earlier," Stiles went on, voice still low, tone still gentle,
fingers still scratching. "Wanna talk about it?"

He let out a sigh, head falling back against the wall. "She's growing up," he muttered almost
petulantly, lifting a hand to smear it down his face, palm rasping against the whiskers his
Mate insisted he always keep. "And I know it's gonna happen eventually, but when I pictured
my life and being a dad, I just. Didn't imagine these milestones, didn't think it'd be such a slap
in the face that my little girl was getting bigger."

"I get it," the Omega admitted, corner of his lips tugging up in a sympathetic smile. "Life isn't
how I imagined it at times either, but I like to think it's better than I ever thought it would be."

Derek grinned, heart thudding loudly and wolf barking happily at that. "Yeah. It's definitely
better," he agreed, hands on Stiles' hips, thumbs rubbing at the protrusion of bone. "In the
beginning, I didn't think I'd have this at all. Or at least not have you with me, given your anti-
Mate rants."

Stiles' scent grew sad and he pressed their foreheads together. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "In
all honesty, I said all that anti-Mate shit because I thought I wasn't gonna get to have the one
person I wanted."

Derek smirked, poking his Mate in his side and making him squirm. "Better be talking about
me, you li'l shit."

The Omega smacked his chest. "Of course I am, you giant asshole," he replied, no heat
behind the words, fond smile on his face before he sobered up, hands absently stroking
Derek's chest now, eyes focused on them. "Thanks for choosing me."

The Alpha was instantly reminded of their fateful conversation in that hospital room over a
decade ago, of Stiles paraphrasing something he'd read on the Internet about how love was a
choice rather than a feeling. He thought about how he chose to tell Stiles he was in love with
him, chose to form a Bond with him, chose to Mate him, chose to start a life with him. He
thought about how he continued to choose to stay, choose to go home to Stiles, choose to
wake up next to him. He thought about how they both chose to stay together, chose to go to
bed together, chose to work out any problems or issues they had.

He thought about how it almost didn't feel like a choice because he couldn't see himself being
with anyone, living with anyone, raising a family with anyone. Even being alone didn't feel
like an option, not when he knew how great things were with his Mate by his side.

"I love you," Derek stated, arms sliding around the Omega's waist. "The choice was easy."

Stiles beamed at him, eyes sparkling, scent lit up with joy and happiness. "I love you, too, big
guy."

With that, they kissed and Derek knew for a fact his life was better than any dream or fantasy
or imagined revery he could ever come up with.
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