kyrene_writes: (TW: sterek)
[personal profile] kyrene_writes
Title: Let Your Actions Do the Speaking
Author: [personal profile] kyrenekyorl
Pairings/Characters: Derek/Stiles, Lydia Martin, Sheriff Stilinski
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 12,867
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Warnings: references to previous non-con
Summary: Stiles takes his revenge on Derek, Stiles and Derek figure things out, Stiles and Lydia conspire, and then there's some sex.
Author's Note: Posted on AO3 under the name someone-who-isn't-me


"Let Your Actions Do the Speaking"
by kyrene


Stiles really wanted to blame Derek Hale for dosing him with chloroform and leaving him lying on the floor in the boys' locker room, because he could blame pretty much every other shitty thing that had happened to him lately on Derek... but he knew that whoever it had been, it had definitely not been Derek.

Nope, Derek's modus operandi was more the "hitting someone in the face so hard they were knocked unconscious" style. Even his lurking lacked subtlety. He was good at showing up out of nowhere and freaking Stiles the fuck out, but that was about the only way in which he was ever subtle.

That left the question of who had done that to Stiles. But Stiles was more focused on the Derek issue. The way he'd knocked Stiles unconscious, hadn't apologized, and was now blatantly avoiding Stiles - again, with the lack of subtlety - seemed more important to Stiles than figuring out why he'd been chloroformed and had woken up with a pounding head and cotton mouth in the hospital, being questioned by his Dad.

Go figure. Stiles knew it wasn't a normal response, but it might have something to do with the hyper-focus that was one of the effects of his ADHD.

It was just easier to put all his attention to thinking about Derek rather than asking questions without answers. His Dad was on top of the whole chloroform thing, for all there were no leads. Stiles was willing to trust the police department when it was his own safety on line and not his Dad's or Scott's.

Speaking of Scott, he'd promised to ask Deaton if there was anything supernatural about what had happened, as unlikely as Stiles found that to be. Something supernatural wouldn't have used chloroform, right?

Scott probably thought Stiles would ask Derek too, but that would require that Stiles actually speak to Derek. And if he did, he had more important things to talk about. Stiles was saving up some choice words for Derek and he intended to let loose with them, sooner rather than later.

Of course, that meant he had to get Derek cornered. And doing so wasn't going to be easy. But since when had anything involving Derek been easy? They'd practically only just met when Derek had been demanding Stiles cut his arm off with a bone saw, after all.

Stiles had thought they'd come a ways since that point, but then Derek had backhanded him and knocked him out, instead of just telling him to stay away from the battle they'd been running into.

So here he was, making plans for how to pin Derek down rather than investigating who had knocked him out with chloroform.

Well, that could wait. If his Dad didn't figure it out then maybe Stiles could ask Derek for help... after he'd gotten even with him. Derek was going to owe him into infinity, or at least for a good long time, so Stiles wouldn't feel bad about asking.

That was getting too far ahead of himself, though. First he needed to get even with Derek for what he'd done.

Once they were even, then maybe they could get back to being... whatever they had been before. Stiles wasn't sure what that was, but it didn't really matter as much as getting Derek to say he was sorry for hitting him so hard.

From the way Derek was so obviously avoiding Stiles, Stiles kind of thought that the Alpha was sorry, or at least felt guilty. But that didn't mean Stiles didn't deserve an actual, verbal, heartfelt apology. And he wasn't going to rest until he got his apology, one way or another.

Well, that, and he wanted, he needed to get even. That was part of it too.

Now Stiles just had to figure out how to accomplish this.

+++

After the fact, Stiles would discover how much like Lydia's his methods were, even if the outcome was quite a bit different, and he'd be bemused by the fact of how similarly their minds worked.

It just made sense, though, using powdered wolfsbane to incapacitate a werewolf. As a human Stiles didn't think there really was any other way he could have done it. Short of slamming into Derek with a car, and even that didn't keep a werewolf down for long.

Besides, Stiles didn't really want to do that to his Jeep for a second time. So powdered wolfsbane it was.

Getting his hands on the wolfsbane was the easier part of Stiles' plan. Deaton evidently kept it in stock. Stiles wasn't about to ask why; mostly because doing so would have meant asking permission to take some of it.

It wasn't stealing, exactly. Stiles only took a pinch, just enough to send an Alpha loopy and weaken him a bit. He doubted Deaton would even notice, because, dude, only a pinch. Despite the fact that his face was still marked and still hurting, Stiles didn't intend to do Derek any lasting damage. He just wanted to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Now, the mountain ash... that, Deaton would probably notice was missing. But Stiles needed that as much as he needed the wolfsbane. He could maybe sweep it up when he was done and give it back, right? So it was sort of like he was only borrowing it!

No, the hard part of Stiles' plan was getting Derek alone, where he could implement his revenge. Especially when Derek was so aggressively avoiding him.

It was a good thing Stiles had no shame. Well, he did, but not in this case. He got Scott to get Isaac to text Derek in order to get him to a specific place at a specific time. He didn't ask what Isaac texted, Scott didn't ask why he needed Isaac to do it, and Isaac didn't ask Stiles what he was planning, so Stiles counted the whole thing as a win overall.

Okay, maybe it would have been nice if Scott had been a little bit curious....

But it worked to Stiles' benefit that he wasn't. He didn't really feel like sharing what he had planned, even with his best friend. Mostly because he wanted to avoid utter humiliation if things didn't work out the way he planned. Just in case.

His plan did work, though. And Stiles hated to admit it, but he was actually a little surprised by this fact.

+++

Derek wasn't surprised to get a text from Isaac that Stiles was in trouble, nor was he surprised that he pretty much broke every driving law and exceeded every speed limit to get there in the shortest amount of time possible.

What did surprise him a little, when he arrived at the large, empty warehouse Isaac had directed him to, was that he found himself fielding a face-full of powdered wolfsbane, delivered to him by one not-actually-in-eminent-danger Stiles Stilinski.

But then, when he woke up, head pounding and body weak, he wasn't really surprised any longer.

He had to admit that by this point Stiles deserved whatever revenge he chose to enact. Derek had put off apologizing past the point that was reasonable and now the only way Stiles was going to get satisfaction was through some form of payback.

That didn't mean Derek wasn't pissed off that Stiles had dosed him with wolfsbane. But he knew that he'd sort of had it coming.

It was mid-afternoon and the warehouse they were in was completely empty, except for a few broken boxes and a lot of bird droppings. Derek was surrounded by open space, and as he slowly regained his senses, he recognized that there was one other person there with him.

It was Stiles, of course. Because Stiles was the one who had dosed him with wolfsbane.

Derek was resting on his side, and as he blinked and squinted his way to consciousness, he could feel that most of the powdered wolfsbane had been cleaned off of his face. That was... strangely kind of Stiles. Not what Derek would have expected.

His head was reeling, and his instincts didn't recognize Stiles as a threat, but Derek still shoved himself up onto his elbows, then into a seated position, arms braced on his knees, head hanging. Stiles might not be a threat, but that didn't mean Derek wanted to expose his weakness to him, to anyone.

"How are you feeling?" Stiles asked, and for a wonder he actually kept his voice down. Derek appreciated that fact, because his head was pounding.

"Like someone blew wolfsbane powder in my face to knock me out," Derek gritted, fighting back the urge to cough. He could admit to himself that Stiles deserved his revenge, but that didn't mean he liked being rendered unconscious and... and....

Oh.

"Not so much fun, is it?" Stiles asked, a little more loudly and a lot more scornfully, and Derek supposed he deserved that too.

Derek gritted his teeth and reached up to rub his eyes. As he had thought, his face was mostly clear, but he could still feel grains of the awful stuff sticking in the creases of his eyelids and coating his lashes.

Now would be the perfect time for him to apologize, he knew, but he was having trouble putting the words together. He wasn't sure whether he could blame the wolfsbane or his own stubborn pride more for that fact.

"Hey, Derek," Stiles said, and Derek raised his head, letting his hand drop, and that was when Stiles cracked him across the cheekbone with a baseball bat, hard enough to put Derek back on the floor, stars blasting across his eyesight.

By the time Derek's head stopped ringing and his senses came back online - the wolfsbane really had weakened him - Stiles had darted about ten feet away.

Derek blinked, shaking his head and struggling back into a seated position all over again, still hunched over because he was still recovering from being poisoned, and now he had head trauma. Which was already healing, but more slowly than usual.

"You totally deserved that," Stiles told him, his chin raised and his eyes hard where they were fixed on Derek's face. "I couldn't use my fist to hit you because I'd have broken my fingers, but I wanted you to know how I felt."

Derek nodded, knowing that the bruising was already fading away. "I did deserve that," he admitted, and then, even though it almost physically hurt him to say the words, he spat out, "I'm sorry."

Stiles stared at him blankly, and Derek noticed that he was standing inside a ring of what must be mountain ash. He squinted a little, wondered why Stiles had trapped himself instead of Derek, but he wasn't comfortable asking.

"Well, it wasn't even enough to knock you out," Stiles said, slowly lowering himself to sit crosslegged, so that his eyes were on level with Derek's. "And the bruise is already fading. I still have mine." He pointed at his cheekbone and Derek felt a stab of guilt to see that it was true. His face was still dark with stale blood and Derek knew it still hurt him.

"But the wolfsbane did knock you out," Stiles continued. "And I got to hit you back, so I guess we can consider ourselves even now."

Derek could live with that. But he wanted to make sure that Stiles knew that Derek hitting him had been sort of an accident. Not really, but....

"I didn't mean to hit you hard enough to knock you out," he offered, knowing his voice was gruff but unable to help himself.

"You shouldn't have hit me at all!" Stiles yelped, rearing up on his knees, his voice going kind of shrill. Derek winced, but it was because his head still hurt, no other reason. "Violence is not always the answer, Derek!"

"I know." Derek sighed and hung his head, still feeling the effects of the wolfsbane, still feeling weak. The feeling of weakness allowed him to admit; "It was a bad decision."

Stiles let out a little sound that might have been outrage or maybe annoyed laughter; Derek couldn't tell.

"No, Derek. Staying up all night playing online games when you have a big quiz the next day is a bad decision. Eating ice cream when you're lactose intolerant is a bad decision. What you did was just mean. Even if I was a werewolf it would have been mean, and I'm not. Just a squishable human here, okay?"

Derek scowled. Not that Stiles didn't have a good point, but he didn't get to act all high and mighty here. Not when....

"If you want to talk about bad decisions," he snapped, squinting at Stiles with eyes that he knew were still red and irritated by the wolfsbane, "How about we discuss your decision to fuck Jackson?!"

"Wha-?"

Stiles plopped over on his ass, his mouth a gaping red circle.

Derek stared right back at Stiles challengingly. After what he'd smelled on Stiles there was no way the boy could deny the accusation. He was probably just surprised that Derek had been bold enough to bring it up like this.

"Damn," Stiles huffed breathlessly, staring at Derek with a furrowed brow and an expression that was almost concerned. "I think that wolfsbane did a number on you. Are you hallucinating? Do you see three of me? Is my head attached? Are you smelling colors?"

"What?" Derek snapped, thoroughly annoyed by now. Stiles was trying to distract him and with his brain still addled with wolfsbane this was too easily accomplished.

Stiles flailed his hands in the air. "Well, I don't see how else you could possibly think that I would have sex with Jackson!" His face puckered up as though he had tasted something sour as he spat the words out. "That's just.... That's crazy, and... and gross, Derek!"

Derek snorted. "That was what I thought. But I know what I smelled. His scent was all over you." He didn't mention that he'd smelled him in the grocery store, because then Stiles would call him a creeper.

"I thought you cared too much about Lydia to do something like that," Derek added, telling himself that this was what it was about, and not at all about his own feelings on the matter.

If he was perfectly honest, Derek didn't really care that much about Lydia or her relationship with Jackson. In fact, he didn't care at all. But he'd thought better of Stiles. He really had. And he was just so disgusted by the thought of Stiles and Jackson having sex. He didn't really want to look too closely at why....

Stiles was shaking his head silently, his lips now pursed together. He was still eyeing Derek warily as he got his legs under him but remained kneeling. He looked as though he was ready to run, but doing so would require that he leave the circle of mountain ash, which he seemed unwilling to do.

"Are you smelling that right now?" Stiles asked, his voice wobbling a little, eyebrows crunched in the middle. "Because your senses have got to still be messed up from the wolfsbane, right? You're totally imagining things, dude."

"Don't call me dude," Derek snapped automatically, flexing his fingers, feeling his claws extend. He was clearly recovering from the dose of wolfsbane Stiles had given him, but his own lack of control concerned him a little.

"I'm not imagining things," he informed Stiles sharply. "It's been going on for a while now." He was angry over Stiles' failure to admit to his own wrongdoings, and completely ignoring his own reasons for feeling this anger.

Stiles let out another scoffing sound, this one most definitely not a bark of humor. "And I'm telling you that you're crazy," he shot back at Derek. "I hate Jackson and he hates me!"

Derek snorted. As if that was enough to stop them from fucking, as they had so clearly done. Derek knew all about hate sex. He wasn't going to deny that there was no love lost between Stiles and Jackson, but he also hadn't mistaken the scent of Jackson's jizz all over Stiles' warm skin.

"I know what I smelled," Derek said, stubborn because he was right. And maybe it wasn't any of his business, but Jackson was a member of his pack, and for whatever reason - the fact that Jackson was his Beta or Derek's own feelings of possessiveness over one Stiles Stilinski - he felt as though this was his business.

"You didn't just smell of Jackson's touch," Derek continued ruthlessly as Stiles continued to gape at him. "You reeked of his jizz."

Uncouth, but it got the point across.

Stiles shook his head again. "You're crazy," he repeated forcefully. "Other than seeing him at school, I haven't had any contact with Jackson. Not since he drove me home the night you hit me so hard you knocked me out!"

Derek frowned, bypassing the resentment he could hear in Stiles' tone as he spoke that last bit in order to focus on the fact that... Stiles' heartbeat was telling him clearly that the boy wasn't lying.

Stiles was telling the truth; as far as he knew, he hadn't had anything to do with Jackson since that night Derek had had Jackson take him home. So why, then, had Derek smelled Jackson all over Stiles at the grocery store...?

An inkling of the truth was only just beginning to occur to Derek when the whole truth seemed to slam abruptly into Stiles' head, his face going white, his mouth falling wide open, though not as wide as his eyes.

"Oh my God!" he squalled, falling over on his ass all over again. "Oh my God! Are you saying that Jackson fucked me while I was unconscious?!"

Derek moved from a seated position to crouched over, growling, fangs and claws at the ready, before he ever realized. He was halfway to wolfed out, ready to rend someone, only there wasn't an actual threat here. Only Stiles' words, which were hitting him like the blow to the face he'd taken from the bat less than ten minutes before.

Stiles wasn't fazed in the slightest by Derek's loss of control, all his attention turned inward. He still looked pale, sickened, and a little bit scared, even though there was no immediate threat. Not with a line of mountain ash between him and Derek.

Anyway, it was Jackson Derek wanted to kill, not Stiles. Stiles was the victim here, and it was Stiles that Derek wanted to protect. Only now it was too late.

"No, I...." Stiles shook his head, licking his lips, swallowing convulsively. "M-my ass didn't hurt when I woke up, just my face, right? So he didn't...."

Derek calmed a little at these words, but only a little. He was ready to go and tear Jackson apart, but he couldn't drag himself away from Stiles when he was in such obvious distress.

"It wasn't after that night," he ground out, speaking through his fangs. "It was later."

"Later?" Stiles swallowed tightly, looking as though he was hurt, even though he was perfectly fine, physically. Derek felt the overwhelming and irrational urge to move forward and cuddle the boy close, offer him some comfort. But they didn't have that kind of relationship. And, besides, there was still a line of mountain ash between them.

"I only smelled it later," Derek said, even though he felt like he was punching Stiles as he spoke the words. "But I wasn't near you after the night I... hit you."

"I was unconscious that night," Stiles mumbled, lowering his head, his chin tucked against his chest, and he wrapped his arms tightly around his legs, huddled in a little ball. "I was waking up by the time he took me home, but I don't know how long that was after you hit me."

Derek snarled, knowing it was highly likely that this had been the first time Jackson had touched Stiles. He was also sure that it hadn't been the only time.

"And then later I drank until I passed out," Stiles continued, quietly, as though he was speaking to himself. "And then I took sleeping pills...."

He raised his head and stared at Derek with wild eyes. "And then someone chloroformed me at school a couple of days ago."

Derek's growl ramped up to nearly a roar, and he was crouched on the balls of his feet, claws gouging the floor of the warehouse. The fires of rage were burning through his veins, blasting away the lingering effects of the wolfsbane. He felt ready to go and find Jackson and-

"I'm going to kill him!"

"What?" Stiles blinked, then jolted forward, as though he was going to grab at Derek. "No! Derek, it's my revenge to take, not yours!"

"He's my Beta," Derek gritted out in return, even though he knew that Stiles had a point. "Mine to punish."

"No!"

As Derek rose, ready to head out on the rampage, Stiles threw himself out of the circle of mountain ash - not that he had ever needed it when Derek had been perfectly wiling to admit that he'd deserved to get hit in the face - leaping on Derek and wrapping his lanky arms around Derek's neck and shoulders, clinging like a limpet.

"Derek, don't!" he yelled. He sounded forceful, not imploring, and that surprised Derek enough that he stopped moving.

"What."

It didn't come out as a question, but Derek was bristling with righteous wrath and he had a Beta to teach a lesson. And yet, here Stiles was, a "squishable" human in his own words, bringing a raging Alpha to a full halt.

"I said," Stiles spoke firmly, letting go of Derek and moving to stand in front of him, "That it's my revenge to take. I get that you feel responsible - and great job, by the way, biting the biggest raging douchebag in school - but it was me the Jackson bad-touched, okay? It's my body and so it's my revenge!"

Derek growled, angry that he couldn't refute this, that he couldn't just tear away from Stiles and go do what he wanted.

"I mean, it's nice that you want to protect my potentially sullied virtue and all, but-"

Stiles broke off, and it wasn't because Derek's growling had ramped up dangerously - though it had - but rather because his phone had gone off in his pocket.

Giving Derek a fierce glare, as though daring him to move, Stiles pulled out his phone and glanced at the screen.

"Huh," he said after a moment, his brows rising. "Lydia texted; said she has something very important to talk to me about." He looked up at Derek. "What do you think the odds are that this is unrelated?"

Derek snorted, folding his arms and plotting Jackson's evisceration in his mind.

"Yeah, why else would Lydia want to talk to me," Stiles answered his own question, and he said it completely matter-of-factly, not at all bitterly. His thumbs flew as he replied her text, and after about one minute and two more notifications, he grinned humorlessly. "Yep, Lydia knows, and wants to tell me all about it."

He raised his bright brown eyes and fixed Derek with a hard stare. "I'm going to go and talk to Lydia. This is me forbidding you to do anything to Jackson until I say. You were the one who knocked me out and sent me off with him that first time, so you owe me that."

Derek opened his mouth and then snapped it closed. A wave of cold, prickling horror swept over him as he realized Stiles was right. This was Derek's fault. He'd been the one to put Stiles in this situation-

"Hey." Stiles punched Derek in the chest, breaking him free of his spiral of self recrimination. "Don't do that. This isn't actually your fault; not any more than it is mine. Okay? This is all on Jackson. He's the one who crossed a big, fat line. I'm still a little angry that you hit me, and I'm pissed as hell that you thought I would willingly have sex with Jackson, but it's not on you that Jackson got all molesty! That's on him, and he's going to pay."

Derek nodded slowly. Not because he agreed with Stiles, but because he knew that Stiles was right; with Lydia in the know and Stiles on the warpath, Jackson was definitely going to pay for his crimes.

And then Derek would kill him.

Stiles squinted suspiciously, and Derek felt a moment of alarm before he remembered that Stiles couldn't actually read his thoughts.

"Look, just.... Could you just go to my place and wait for me?" Stiles requested, and he looked so serious and so young that Derek felt suddenly compelled to do as he'd been asked. "I promise I'll come and talk to you as soon as I'm done at Lydia's and we'll discuss what's going to happen, together. I know Jackson is your Beta, so I'll give you input. But you can't just run off and attack him before I get my chance, okay?"

Derek nodded jerkily.

"Really?" Stiles looked surprised. "You'll wait in my room? I'll come home and you'll be there?"

"Thank you," Derek jerked out, completely beside the point, but he wanted to say something before he and Stiles parted ways, "For not putting me inside a circle of mountain ash. I don't know why you didn't, but-"

Stiles flowed easily with the odd shift in subject, probably well used to it from the way his own brain worked. "I didn't, because I'd already knocked your ass out with wolfsbane and hit you," he explained, shrugging as though his next words were no big deal. "I didn't want to rob you of any more of your autonomy. It's a dick move and I'm not going to do that to you."

Derek thought of Kate chaining him up and torturing him. He thought of a possessed Lydia knocking him out and Peter temporarily stealing away his Alpha status in order to resurrect himself. He thought of Scott grabbing hold of him and using his own body as a weapon wielded against his will, forcing him to give Gerard Argent the bite.

And he also thought about how he had almost casually knocked Stiles out, leaving him bruised for days simply because it was easier than arguing with him.

He nodded, acknowledging Stiles' words, and resolved that, yes, when Stiles came home from Lydia's Derek would be waiting in his bedroom. And then they would talk about what to do to Jackson.

Stiles looked at him a little warily, but he seemed to believe him even though he couldn't hear his heartbeat, because he smiled, patted Derek's upper arm, and darted away. Derek waited until he'd heard Stiles' Jeep leave the area entirely before he exited the warehouse, headed for his own vehicle.

He'd go and wait for Stiles in his bedroom as directed. Although if the Sheriff wasn't home he was going to use Stiles' shower while he waited. He was still covered in powdered wolfsbane, and his skin itched with the need to get it off.

Luckily for Derek, he discovered when he arrived at the Stilinski home that it was empty. And so he did get to bathe and put on some clean clothing... clothing that he liberated from Stiles' drawers.

It wasn't as satisfying as making Stiles smell like Derek, but wearing Stiles' sweatpants and teeshirt went a ways toward calming Derek's rampant emotions.

Not all the way, though. Because Jackson was going to have to pay.

+++

It turned out that Lydia didn't know about the other times Jackson had bad-touched Stiles; she only knew about the chloroforming in the school locker room.

"I stopped him before he could get very far," she assured Stiles earnestly, clinging to his hands where he was sitting on her mattress beside her, and he almost didn't have the heart to tell her that this had only been the last in a line of one-sided encounters... but he knew she deserved to know what her boyfriend had done.

Well, Stiles couldn't be sure that Jackson had done nasty things every time he'd been rendered senseless lately.... But it seemed highly likely, especially since Derek had smelled Jackson's jizz on Stiles at some point after that initial ride home.

Stiles shuddered and Lydia looked at him with actual real concern in her eyes. A few months ago, Stiles would have been thrilled to see this, but right now he had other things on his mind.

He really regretted drinking until he'd passed out. He also regretted getting into his mother's sleeping pills. No matter how much his face had hurt and how upset he'd been, rendering himself unconscious had left him vulnerable and open to Jackson's bizarre urges.

Which, when Jackson had someone like Lydia, why would he want Stiles? Jackson didn't even tolerate Stiles, and Stiles definitely wasn't anywhere near as hot as Lydia was, even on his best day and her worst....

"Are you okay?" Lydia asked, sounding worried, and Stiles sucked in a deep breath. He knew he had to tell her the truth, even though he'd really rather have not.

And so he did. He couldn't say for sure, not without asking Derek for the exact date that he'd smelled Jackson's jizz on his skin, but he informed her of his guesses, and watched her grow ever more wrathful.

It was fascinating and beautiful and terrifying and he was intensely glad that she was angry at Jackson, not at him.

"I let him off lightly, then," she snapped, squeezing Stiles' hands almost painfully.

"What... what did you do?" Stiles asked, feeling trepidatious, but too curious to leave it alone.

Then Lydia told him, and he laughed so hard he actually fell off the bed.

"Seriously, though," Lydia said, once Stiles had recovered from him near-hysteria. "Telling you that I pegged Jackson and he whined for it like a bitch in heat is a start, but it isn't enough. Not now that I know he did it more than once and that he got off on it. So you go ahead and do whatever you feel is necessary to get even."

Stiles blinked, taken a bit aback. "Really? I really have your permission?"

Lydia pursed her lips at him, her gaze steady.

"Just don't maim him or permanently mentally scar him," she instructed tartly. "I've got plans for him, once you've had your revenge. I told him that fucking him was a one time thing, but that was when I thought he'd only drugged you and hadn't gotten further than sticking his hand in your pants."

Stiles shuddered at the visual, then shuddered again because he knew Jackson had done so much more than that.

"You still want him?" he asked, even though this wasn't really his business. Jackson had sort of made it his business, and Lydia seemed willing to talk to Stiles about the whole mess. "Even knowing what he... did?"

Lydia gave him a wide smile, feral and mean, white teeth flashing. "Jackson belongs to me; his ass especially, now."

Stiles nodded. If he was going to start questioning Lydia and Jackson's relationship, he would have to go back years. Jackson might love Lydia enough to come back from death for her, but that didn't mean that they weren't dysfunctional as hell.

He still thought - he still knew - that Lydia could do better, a million times better than Jackson, even if she never wanted Stiles... but he also knew how futile it was to try to change her mind about anything she was certain of.

"Make him pay, Stiles," Lydia said intensely, reaching for Stiles' hands again. "He has to know he can't get away with this. But make sure that any revenge you enact comes from you, not from Derek."

Stiles frowned. "Of course. Why would you think it would come from Derek?"

Lydia snorted. "Really, Stiles?"

Thinking back, Stiles remembered Derek's threat to kill Jackson for what he had done. He didn't think Derek had meant it literally, but....

"Well, Jackson is his Beta," he said. "But I already told Derek that this was my revenge to take."

Lydia squinted at him, and then sighed heavily and rolled her eyes.

"I swear," she huffed, sounding supremely exasperated, but she didn't follow that exclamation up with anything, and after a few moments of waiting, Stiles prodded.

"So I really do have your permission to punish Jackson?"

"You do. Just leave him physically intact," Lydia reminded. "He's a werewolf so he heals more quickly, which means you can feel free to hurt him, but don't do anything permanent."

Stiles frowned. "I was thinking more along the lines of mental torture," he confessed. "But I also think I should sic Derek on him once I'm done with whatever I decide to do."

Lydia nodded, not looking at all surprised. "Do what you feel necessary, but leave me enough to play with afterward. That's all I'm asking of you."

To be honest, Stiles didn't owe Lydia anything. She'd told him about the chloroform, but he'd already guessed. She had saved him from Jackson's bad-touches that day in the locker room, but there had been other incidents where Jackson had gotten to do whatever he'd liked to an unconscious Stiles. Jackson was her boyfriend, but he'd also molested Stiles while he'd been unconscious.

On the other hand, Lydia was smart and ruthless, and if Stiles didn't have her permission to get even then she might, in theory, help Jackson retaliate for whatever Stiles was going to do to get even, which would in turn escalate until they had a war going on in Beacon Hills. And no one wanted that.

"Do I need to vet my plan with you?" he asked, even though he didn't really have a plan yet, just some half-formed ideas.

"I absolutely don't want to know about it ahead of time," Lydia answered smoothly. "Plausible deniability. But if it's amusing enough, I might want to hear about it after."

Stiles scowled. "There's nothing amusing about what Jackson did, and I don't plan on doing anything amusing to get even."

"Oh, Stiles," Lydia gushed, squeezing one of his hands in her small fingers, her other hand going up to cup his cheek. He'd have been thrilled a month or two ago, but right now he was still reeling from the reality of what her boyfriend had done. And, besides, he kind of knew that nothing could ever happen between him and her. He still loved her, but more as a friend than a potential partner. He was strangely at peace with that realization.

"It's okay," he assured her, even though it really wasn't. "I'm going to go home now and start brainstorming with Derek. Thank you for telling me. And for giving me your permission."

Lydia's expression turned sharp and intent when he mentioned Derek, but she only nodded and looked thoughtful as Stiles pulled away from her and rose to his feet.

"Also, thank you for telling me that Jackson got off on having his ass fucked," Stiles couldn't help adding, with a sudden up-curve of his mouth.

"Without me even touching his cock," Lydia added, a similar smirk curling her pink-painted lips.

They stood for a moment, grinning at each other, and it was a good note to leave on, so Stiles left.

He was still traumatized by the knowledge of what Jackson had done. He was still confused as to the reason why Jackson had done it. And he was going to get even, somehow.

But having Lydia in his corner, and having her tell him about how Jackson had whined for it like a little bitch....

Well, that went a long way toward making his night, as upset and violated as he was feeling.

+++

Derek had paced the length of Stiles' room more times than he could count before he heard the Jeep's engine approaching the Stilinski house. It was fortunate that the Sheriff wasn't home or he'd certainly have come to investigate the constant footsteps.

Stiles slammed into the house with all the grace and silence he usually evinced, then pounded up the stairs. Derek made sure he was sitting easily in a chair by the time Stiles crashed through his bedroom door, but he doubted he was fooling anyone.

"So Lydia fucked Jackson with a strap-on and he got off on it," was the first thing Stiles said as he slammed the door behind him, the words coming out rapid-fire, as though he'd been bursting with them for hours. Well, he would have been for at least for the entirety of his drive home.

Derek blinked, a little nonplussed. This wasn't anything like he'd been expecting, and the sentence Stiles had spoken took a while to make sense in his head.

Meanwhile, Stiles was staring at him with bright eyes, practically vibrating where he stood. He was still a little pale but his cheeks were blotchy with a hard flush, and as Derek blinked again, Stiles' red lips quivered.

"What?" Derek couldn't help asking.

Stiles broke into peels of loud laughter, bending inward at the waist, clutching his belly, and at first it sounded like honest amusement, but within seconds the sound took on a wild, almost desperate quality.

Derek stood and while he was hesitant to touch Stiles after everything that had happened - the way that he'd hit Stiles hard enough to knock him out, the things Jackson had subsequently done, the fact that it had been Derek's fault Stiles had been in that situation at all - he grasped Stiles carefully by the upper arms and guided the cackling boy over to his bed, where he collapsed to sit as though he was a puppet whose strings had been cut.

Once he was seated, Stiles quieted, chest still heaving, tears bright in his eyes as he looked up at Derek.

"Sit," he requested, patting the mattress beside him. Then, to Derek's surprise, he added, "Please."

And so Derek sat. He was even more shocked when Stiles leaned toward him, but he wrapped an arm around the boy instinctively, and held him close when Stiles slumped, letting his full weight come to rest against Derek's torso.

"I'm tired," Stiles complained, reaching up and scrubbing at his face.

Derek understood. Stiles had lured an Alpha werewolf to a deserted place and hit him with a baseball bat, he'd discovered that he'd been repeatedly physically assaulted while unconscious, and he'd had what sounded like a very strange conversation with the girlfriend of the asshole who'd violated him.

"I need to come up with a way to get even with Jackson, but I'm too wiped out to think," Stiles continued, clasping his hands in his lap and leaning even more heavily into Derek.

"You could just let me kill him," Derek offered. That option wasn't off the table yet, as far as he was concerned.

"No," Stiles said, scowling up at him, even though he was at an awkward angle for it. "There will be no killing, Derek. Or maiming. Lydia specified. Besides, I want Jackson to suffer."

"I could make him suffer before he died...."

Stiles actually smiled at Derek with what looked like fondness, which confused him a little.

"Down, boy," he said, because Stiles just wouldn't be Stiles without the offensive canine jokes. "Lydia said you could beat the shit out of him, but I say that you're not doing that until after I get my revenge. Whatever it is."

"Lydia said that?" Derek asked, brows raising. Not that he was disbelieving; after all, what girl wanted a boyfriend who molested an unconscious male classmate?

"Not in as many words," Stiles admitted. "But she didn't tell me no when I said I was gonna sic you on him once I was done."

Derek was silent, thinking this over. He'd entrusted Stiles to Jackson, and Jackson had betrayed that trust. It was true that Derek should never have hit Stiles hard enough to knock him out in the first place, but that was no excuse. Jackson was Derek's Beta and he was going to be held accountable for his actions. There was no way Derek could just let this slide.

He would, however, let Stiles do whatever he needed in order to get even first. Since Derek had been the one to put Stiles in the position to be taken advantage of in the first place, he owed him that much.

He owed him that and so much more.

"What I don't understand," Stiles was saying, sounding sleepy, his words slurring a little, "Is how come Jackson wanted to... you know... touch me and stuff in the first place."

Derek growled faintly, remembering the way he'd smelled Jackson's jizz all over Stiles' skin. The fact that Stiles hadn't been awake or aware for it did nothing to reconcile him with this knowledge.

"Derek?"

"You." Derek sucked in a breath through his nose, keeping his arm clasped around Stiles, staring stoically across the room instead of meeting those bright, intelligent eyes. "You smell. Good."

"What?" He could actually hear Stiles' lashes flickering, but he kept his chin up and his gaze fixed on the blinds over Stiles' window.

"Derek, what?" Stiles struggled to sit up straighter. Derek didn't remove his arm and Stiles didn't seem inclined to try to break loose, but he levered himself out of the slump he'd fallen into, and Derek missed the warmth of Stiles' lithe body pressed all along his side.

Then there was a burning hand pressed to his chest, palm heavy and fingers spread, and all of Derek's attention was focused on that for several pulsing moments.

"What do you mean?" Stiles persisted, because of course he did. "What are you talking about? I smell good? Like... what? Like dinner or something? Like a bunny in the woods that you want to eat? Scott never said anything. Do I smell like anything to Scott?"

"How should I know that?" Derek snapped, turning his head to glare at Stiles. The glare was mostly in self defense. He couldn't believe that he'd told Stiles....

But after what Jackson had done, the boy deserved to know.

"You smell... receptive," Derek ground out, and he could feel the heat in his cheeks, at the tips of his ears, burning at the back of his neck. He wasn't about to clarify any further than this, but Stiles had to understand what he meant.

"Receptive?" Stiles' voice rose into a squeak and Derek couldn't meet his eyes any longer. Dropping his gaze to the mouth that was hanging open wasn't much better, though, because now he was imagining sliding something in there....

"What do you mean by that?" Stiles asked, and now his hand was clenching in the material of Derek's shirt. But he still didn't pull away, and the scent that Derek had just been talking about was rising off his skin in heady waves.

Despite his clear confusion, Stiles was evidently a little embarrassed right now, which soured his natural scent a little. And Derek could still detect the taint of Jackson's touch, lingering despite the fact that Stiles had bathed between now and the last time Jackson had molested him.

But Stiles was also becoming aroused, however unconsciously, and the smell of it was like a drug to Derek's nose and mind.

"Do you mean...." Stiles' cheek was close enough to Derek's shoulder that he could feel the heat of his hard blush when he evidently figured it out. "Oh my God!"

"That's not any reason for Jackson to give in to his instincts and do what he did to you," Derek growled, meaning every word. "He's still responsible for his actions and he's going to answer for them."

Stiles shifted where he was seated on the mattress next to Derek, and now Derek could smell the unmistakable tang of his mounting arousal. He did his best to ignore it, though, because unlike Jackson, Derek could control himself.

Stiles shifted again, awkward and uncomfortable, but he was still pressed up against Derek, and his hand was still curled in Derek's shirt, clinging as though for dear life.

"Do I smell good to you, Derek?" he asked, and his voice was low and a little husky.

Derek knew that he was still flushed but he hoped Stiles wouldn't notice. Faint hope. False hope. But he genuinely owed Stiles for being the one to knock him out and then send him off with Jackson, so he resolved to answer honestly.

"Yes."

He wasn't going to expand on that reply, however. Let Stiles make of it what he wanted.

Evidently what he wanted... was to sling himself across Derek's lap, the backs of his thighs hot and firm over top of Derek's thighs, both hands now clutching at Derek's teeshirt above Derek's suddenly wildly pounding heart.

"So when you say I smell receptive," Stiles murmured, leaning in close enough to kiss, but not actually kissing Derek, thank God, "Does that mean I smell like something you want to hunt down and... mount?"

Derek froze up. At least he managed not to throw himself backward away from Stiles nor did he unseat the boy and toss him on the floor. He didn't grab Stiles and pull him closer, either. He just went still and stiff and did his best to keep breathing. Even though every breath that he took filled his senses with more of the powerful scent of Stiles' arousal.

And that was getting to him, he had to admit. Having Stiles so close, so hot, straddling his lap and smelling of sex and, well, receptiveness....

Derek's cock was hard and aching in his jeans and he was terrified that he was going to lose control. He couldn't figure out why Stiles was being this forward but his instincts were screaming, "mine, mine, mine," and he was having a really hard time ignoring what his instincts were telling him.

"I'm the Alpha," he managed to grit out, letting his eyes blaze red to try and distract from the fierce flush of his cheeks. "I can control myself."

Stiles blinked, looking a little taken aback, and he actually plopped down to fully rest on the tops of Derek's thighs, though his hands were still fisted in Derek's top.

"So you don't..." Stiles' eyes were huge and dark, his mouth round, and his scent suddenly curdled as he went a little pale. "You don't really want... me. It's just my smell."

Derek remained silent because speaking would only incriminate him, and Stiles flailed, letting go of his teeshirt, making spastic movements as though he was going to tumble right off of Derek's lap in his fervor.

"Oh my God. Oh my God, I'm sorry," he blurted, and Derek had to catch him by the hips or he really would have pitched over onto the floor. He was struggling to get his gangly legs under him, but with absolutely zero success. "I'm sorry. I thought-"

"You thought right," Derek growled, tightening his grip on Stiles' waist and tugging him closer, keeping him on his lap with his werewolf strength. He was terrified of screwing this up, but he'd come so far.... And he couldn't let Stiles think he didn't want him, even though it would have been easier. Smarter. Safer.

It was all of that, and yet when he looked into those wide brown eyes something inside of him broke, and he knew he had to tell Stiles the truth.

Even if that gave Stiles the means to break Derek completely.

Stiles' mouth was open again, and he stared at Derek, his hands fisting restlessly on his shoulders. He wasn't clinging to Derek anymore, but he wasn't making any attempt to move away either.

Taking heart from this fact, Derek collected all the courage he had as an Alpha, willingly exposing himself to more emotional vulnerability than he'd done since before his family had been killed, and told Stiles;

"It's you. It's not just your scent, Stiles."

Stiles stilled, staring at Derek with open eyes and an open mouth. He was breathing, but aside from his chest moving with his inhalations and exhalations he was perfectly immobile. Much like Derek had been minutes before, in fact.

"I...." Derek cast his gaze down, hands flexing, fighting back his claws. He was the Alpha; he should have better control than this. "It's...."

"D-Derek?"

He'd just exposed himself, without any guarantee that Stiles felt anything like the same in return. Yes, Stiles had straddled his lap and leaned in close. Yes, Stiles smelled of arousal and warm invitation. But Stiles didn't like Derek. He resented him for hitting him hard enough to knock him unconscious. Which, with good cause... but still.

Derek wasn't a hopeless romantic. That had been burned out of him in more ways than one - mostly by one particular hunter - but he knew that he didn't want this to just be about sex.

He couldn't bring himself to say that he cared more about Stiles than that.... But he couldn't deny it, either. Even in the privacy of his own mind.

"Derek, are you okay?"

Stiles now smelled a little sour with anxiety. It didn't quell Derek's reaction to his natural scent of arousal and receptiveness. But it was... gratifying? That he was worried about Derek... maybe?

Hopefully.

Even just a little.

"What about you?" he asked, the words dragged out of him almost unwilled, surprising him with their honesty. "Is it just because I'm here? Is it just because you know I'm interested?"

"What?" Stiles looked offended, but then this expression melted away quickly into something thoughtful.

Derek silently waited.

"I guess it looks kinda bad, huh?" Stiles said ruefully, and he was still sitting on Derek's lap, showing no sign that he intended to vacate. "Considering the fact that I hate you and all."

Derek winced. He hadn't mean to, but it was too late to take the involuntary reaction back.

"No," Stiles hastened to blurt. "No, Derek, I didn't mean that! I mean.... I mean, I know we don't always get along, but I thought we were kind of friends? That's why I was so upset when you hit me. I'm..." he flushed a brilliant shade of red, making Derek feel a little better about his own blush. "I'm not interested in you just because..." his voice sank into a mumble and faded away.

Derek continued to wait in silence. Partially because he wanted to hear what Stiles meant, and partially because he really didn't know what to say. His hands felt like they were seared onto Stiles' bony hips and he couldn't bring himself to let go, didn't think he wanted to let go.

"I don't hate you," Stiles clarified, his face blotchy and red. "I really, really don't hate you."

Derek nodded, his hands tightening involuntarily. Guys didn't talk about their feelings - and Derek especially didn't - so he was beginning to get very uncomfortable with this conversation, but it was good to know that he was... something to Stiles... even if he wasn't completely clear on what that was.

After all, coming from someone like Stiles, "I really, really don't hate you," could mean just about anything from "I don't hate you," to "I love you."

Derek didn't feel like he needed clarification. Like everything else that happened between himself and Stiles, he could wait and watch and see how things developed. He didn't desire any grand declarations of emotion or intent. Especially not ones that might not even be true, no matter how much Stiles might mean them at the time.

Derek didn't need this to be anything special. He just needed to be sure it wasn't nothing.

"I mean, obviously you're hot like burning," Stiles was rambling, because of course he couldn't shut up and leave well enough alone. "Anyone with eyes can see that, right? But you're not just a pretty face. You're getting closer to being an actual human being all the time. Only not really human, right? But you know what I mean. You're real, and you're real to me. And I don't mind the guy you are. I mean, when you're not hitting me in the face, that is-"

"Stiles," Derek interrupted, knowing he sounded a little pained. "Shut up."

"I don't want you to think I'm just horny," Stiles persisted, because when he had ever listened to Derek's orders? Even now that he was an Alpha. "I wanted to make sure-"

Since words weren't stopping Stiles from talking, Derek yanked him forward at the same time he leaned in and shut Stiles up with his lips.

He hadn't really meant to kiss Stiles.... But as he licked his way into that hot, busy mouth, he had no regrets.

+++

Stiles let out a muffled sound of surprise, but he got over this surprise quickly and did his best to kiss Derek back.

He still wasn't clear on the whole "you smell receptive" thing, but at least he could be certain that he smelled good to Derek and that Derek wanted him. Because, miracle of miracle, Derek had used his words to tell Stiles so.

It still seemed impossible to Stiles that Derek could want him, but evidently he did. Whether it was because he smelled good or more than that.

Stiles couldn't disbelieve; not when Derek was currently thrusting his tongue deeply into his mouth to caress his own tongue. Derek wouldn't have done that if he hadn't wanted to, and he wouldn't have wanted to if he hadn't had a reason to want to, right?

Stiles still wasn't convinced that this wasn't solely because of his "receptive" scent, but right now, with Derek's hot hands sliding up from his hips underneath the hem of his shirt and clasping the bare flesh of his waist, burning into him, he really couldn't bring himself to care about the cause or the reasons behind it.

Derek wanted Stiles. So had Jackson, evidently, but Stiles didn't want Jackson the way he wanted Derek.

He was actually a little startled to find out that he had some sort of feelings for Derek. He'd thought Derek was hot as hell from the beginning, of course, but this had always been counterbalanced by his scariness, and then - once Stiles got used to that - by his assholeishness.

But he hadn't been such an asshole lately, which was why Stiles had been so hurt when Derek had hit him, like he'd already confessed to the Alpha werewolf. Stiles had gotten used to he and Derek saving one another, he'd gotten used to trading taunts that were more needling than gutting, he'd gotten used to the slightly softer side of Derek....

Derek was hard now. All hard muscles and hot skin and his hands were sure where they stroked the tense muscles of Stiles' back to either side of his spine, all the way up to his shoulderblades, then down to his ass, fingers digging in through the material of his jeans.

Stiles was a little embarrassed by the high pitched sound he let out and the way he jumped involuntarily, but this was the first time anyone had ever grabbed his ass, much less someone as gorgeous as Derek fucking Hale.

It was an impossibly amazing feeling. Just ten fingers, cupping and clasping his ass, but the shivers of sensation it sent over the entire surface of Stiles' body had goosebumps rising on his arms and his stomach twisting. Not in an unpleasant way, not at all, but he let out a little whine anyway, completely overwhelmed.

"Derek," he gasped, dragging his mouth away from Derek's and shuddering on the Alpha's lap, fingers sinking into the material of Derek's shirt over his shoulders and clinging on tightly as he tried to deal with the unfamiliar sensations washing through him.

Stiles could feel the prickling of Derek's stubble on his forehead and he was vaguely aware that he'd fallen in an undignified slump against Derek's broad chest, but his eyes were squeezed tightly closed and he was fixated on the feeling of having his ass palmed and manipulated by someone who definitely knew what he was doing.

This was the first time Stiles had been manhandled like this - or at least the first time it had happened while he'd been awake, but he wasn't thinking about Jackson right now - and it was so much more than he had ever imagined, lying alone in his bed and fantasizing with only the touch of his own hands to go off of.

Even though they'd only kissed a little and Derek had just grabbed his ass, Stiles already knew that this was so much more crazy intense than touching himself had ever been or ever could be.

"Oh my God," he gasped, pitching even further forward. His head knocked a little painfully against Derek's jaw, but then his face was buried in the line of Derek's throat, the cords flexing, the skin hot and soft underneath the stubble. Stiles wanted to put his mouth on it, but he just wasn't feeling quite that bold... even though he was pretty sure that Derek wouldn't mind.

It was hard to go from one-hundred percent a virgin to being brave and aggressive in bed, Stiles thought foggily. He'd always assumed he'd be able to do it, but he'd been wrong.

So he was going to have to let Derek take the lead here, at least until he got more of a feel for what he was doing; pun not intended. This thought made him feel irritated and aroused in equal parts.

"Is this okay?" Derek husked, hands now resting unmoving on Stiles' ass. As if he couldn't smell and feel and smell that Stiles was so okay with this! This remarkable restraint and the kind consideration Derek was showing touched Stiles in his heart, and he lifted his head, lips parted, eyes slowly opening.

"More than okay," he rasped in return, his voice coming out wobbly and lame and nothing like as sexy as Derek had sounded. "Oh my God, if you don't touch me inside my pants-"

Derek honest-to-fuck growled and suddenly Stiles felt himself moving through the air.

"Whoa!"

He grabbed at Derek's chest and did his best to hold on as the world around him whirled, but he lost his grip and the next thing he knew he was on his back on his bed and Derek was peeling Stiles' teeshirt off and tossing it aside with a flourish that seemed to be completely unintentional, so Stiles did his best not to laugh.

He was kind of gasping for breath, anyway, though Derek hadn't been ungentle. He blushed, embarrassed at being bared from the waistband up, knowing that he was nothing like as built as the werewolves he hung out with, much less Derek, who was the Alpha and also a guy who worked out an insane amount even though he had been born a werewolf.

Derek, who was now removing his own shirt.... And the sense of inferiority that had been niggling at the back of Stiles' brain flew right out of his head as his eyes rounded and he took in the magnificence that was a shirtless Derek.

"Oh my God," he choked out, eyes shifting wildly as he tried to take in everything all at once. Derek's powerful shoulders, his defined pectorals tipped with round nipples, and those incredible abdominal muscles that Stiles itched to get his hands on.

Even for a werewolf Derek was amazing.

"You look incredible," Stiles couldn't help gasping, knowing his mouth was hanging open but unable to close it.

Derek scowled, blushing a little, and was he getting self conscious now? That... shouldn't have been as adorable as it was.

Stiles opened his mouth to ask, but before he could speak Derek was suddenly on top of him, the sheer weight of his body pressing Stiles down into his mattress and driving the air out of his lungs. Their chests touched and slid together, skin burning hot and lightly dewed with perspiration already, and before he thought, Stiles threw his arms around Derek's neck and shoulders, his chin tilting up as Derek claimed his mouth again.

Kissing was good. Kissing was awesome, Stiles thought as Derek's tongue pushed its way into his mouth again, licking at his teeth and his own tongue, making a space for itself where one hadn't existed before.

Stiles shuddered, suddenly aware of the way his dick was swelling in his pants, getting hard and actually beginning to leak, as though he was already on the verge of climax. He'd known he was hard, true, but most of his focus had been on the things going on above the waistband. But now Derek's solid pelvis was pressing relentlessly against his erection, and Stiles found himself groaning, his head involuntarily jerking back, his torso bowing upward as Derek's hips humped a couple of times against his own.

"This bed smells like Jackson," Derek growled against Stiles' throat. And Stiles could hear the fangs in this declaration even though he couldn't see Derek's face, but for some reason he wasn't scared to have them so close to his jugular.

He was, however, completely grossed out by Derek's words, and it brought him back a bit from the edge of climax to think about what exactly Derek meant.

"Like Jackson's jizz?" he queried, reluctant to ask but needing to know.

Derek legit growled, a fierce and angry sound, and Stiles shivered, taking that as confirmation.

"Ugh." He clung to Derek, more for a sense of comfort and protection now than because he was turned on and wanted to get both Derek and himself off. "That's so nasty. I'm gonna have to get a new mattress."

"I'll get it for you," Derek huffed, sounding more normal, and when he raised his head to stare at Stiles with an unreadable expression, he was no longer wolfed-out. Stiles believed that Derek meant what he said, and it would certainly be less awkward than trying to explain to his Dad what was wrong with the mattress he had now.

"In the meantime," Stiles added, hands moving restlessly over the incredible muscles of Derek's arms where he was propping himself over Stiles, "You could, I don't know, try to override the smell with your own? If that's a thing you can do...."

Derek's eyes went dark and his face went suddenly predatory. The next thing Stiles knew, Derek was moving away from him, and he squawked in outrage, trying to grab for the retreating Alpha. "Derek!"

"Hold on," Derek grunted, speaking through fangs again, and Stiles went still. He wasn't afraid of Derek. He definitely wasn't following Derek's command. He just wanted to see what Derek had in mind.

And his obedience was rewarded when Derek unzipped Stiles' jeans and pulled both them and his underwear off at once, leaving him in nothing but his socks. Which wasn't very sexy, he thought, and his feet weren't the sweetest smelling things in the world, but Derek was hunching over him, nosing at his pubes and there was no way he was saying anything or taking even a moment to peel his socks off.

"Oh!" he gasped, doing his best not to hump up into Derek's face. He wasn't very successful, but Derek didn't seem to mind. Stiles gasped again and let out a throttled sound as Derek grasped his shaft in one hand, fingers firm and blazing hot and nothing whatsoever like Stiles' own hand.

"Holy-!" he choked, and he thought that this was the most perfect thing he had ever felt, then Derek bent lower and sucked the head of his straining hard-on into his hot-wet, lapping mouth, and that was the most perfect thing he had ever felt! Stiles thought he was going to come all over Derek's tongue just like that.

Somehow he didn't climax - it might have had something to do with the way Derek tightened his grip around the base of his dick and pulled his mouth away again - but it was a damned close thing.

Stiles was panting as though he'd been running suicides, and his fingers were sunk into his bedcovers underneath him, holding on for dear life. He wanted to watch as Derek dipped his head again, wanted to watch his throbbing erection disappear between Derek's soft pink lips surrounded by rough stubble, but he found himself sucking in a great breath, his eyes slamming shut, and his head arching back again when the wet-sucking heat surrounded his dick again, Derek's tongue undulating against the shaft and adding almost more stimulation than Stiles could bear.

He opened his mouth to let out some sort of exclamation, to yell something encouraging, probably obscene, but nothing emerged other than an inarticulate moaning sound, and the next thing he knew he was bowing upward at the waist, his hands moving from the bed to clench in Derek's hair, knees bending and thighs quivering as his balls tightened and his dick jumped inside Derek's mouth, his load spilling across Derek's tongue.

It wasn't unexpected, but he'd kind of hoped he wouldn't come quite so fast. Except now that he was coming, he couldn't think of anything he'd wanted more; it felt so damned good.

Stiles collapsed against the bed again, his entire body going limp and lax, his arms and legs trembling, his dick still hard but his balls spent, his face and chest radiating heat, and everything covered in sweat.

He wondered dreamily if he should apologize for not having warned Derek he was about to come, for having pulled his hair, for not having held out longer... but words.... Words were beyond him right now.

He'd just had his first blowjob. He'd just come for the first time with someone else in the bed. He'd lost his virginity, and he was going to lay there for a moment and revel in that last fact, as well as struggle to get his breathing under control.

It was probably incredibly rude not to offer to get Derek off in turn, but Stiles just couldn't right now; he was still recovering from having come so hard he'd felt like his brain had exploded.

And it didn't seem to really matter too much to Derek, considering that he reared up, on his knees between Stiles' sprawled legs, hastily fumbled his fly open, whipped his own dick out, then spit what must have been Stiles' load into his hand before fisting himself hard and violently with the messy palmful.

Stiles' eyes widened, even though he still felt incapable of moving, and he watched in fascination as Derek used Stiles' come as makeshift lube to jerk himself off with.

It probably wouldn't have worked if it had taken Derek anything more than a handful - hah, pun! - of strokes to reach his orgasm, but it didn't. His hand was a squelching blur, Stiles' come and Derek's saliva shining on his shaft and his fingers, and then Derek was hunching over with a low, savage grunt, and semen so hot it almost felt like it was searing Stiles' skin splattered all over his stomach and crotch and even up on his chest.

Stiles was a little jealous; he'd never come that copiously, not even when he'd been really pent up a few times. But he chalked it up to Derek being a werewolf, and mostly he thought it was incredibly sexy and a tiny bit gross, being covered in Derek's hot jizz like this.

He was focused on thinking about it being sexy, had forgotten about what Jackson had done, until Derek flopped down beside him and reached over to rub the come into his torso with one proprietary hand.

"Better?" Stiles managed to croak. He hadn't been the one giving a blowjob, so why was his voice so shot? He'd been making some noise, true, but he hadn't been, like, screaming or even yelling.

At least, he didn't think so. He didn't remember yelling....

"It's a start," Derek said, his own voice a husky rumble. He glanced up at Stiles almost shyly through his dark lashes, but there was a gleam in his pale, wide-set eyes that was anything but shy.

"Doe that mean we get to do this again? More?" Stiles asked delightedly, struggling up onto his elbows. "Because I'd be totally down for that."

Derek actually looked a little surprised, his hand stilling where it was resting over Stiles' heart.

"Do I still smell good?" Stiles asked, wishing he had the energy to just jump Derek. His limbs were still noodles, but he could feel a bit of interest twitching in his dick already, even though he'd come just a few minutes ago. Hey, he was sixteen years old, male, and the hottest guy he'd ever seen in real life was in bed with him, touching him.

"You smell...." Derek trailed off, but Stiles didn't take offense. He knew Derek wasn't saying he stank. He could see Derek's gaze going distant under heavy lids and his nostrils were flaring. There was a red flush all along Derek's etched cheekbones and sweat beaded at his temples. He was beautiful and Stiles ached somewhere inside to notice this.

It was both exhilarating and terrifying to know that Derek was... kind of into Stiles. All that power, that gorgeous face and body, and he wanted Stiles? It still seemed impossible, but Derek had told Stiles with his words that it was true.

And if Derek took the time to tell Stiles something, Stiles thought the odds were pretty good that he actually meant it.

"You smell like mine," Derek growled, rolling over on top of Stiles again, plastering them together with sweat and jizz and sweaty jizz, his hands cupping Stiles' shoulders and his face buried in the curve of Stiles' throat. His cheek was bony and his stubble tickled, but his lips were soft and then there was a wet tongue lashing at the cords in Stiles' neck in ways that made him tingle all over.

"I wish you could," Derek murmured into Stiles' skin, his breath hot and moist, "I wish you could smell what I smell."

Stiles couldn't help it, he had to laugh a little. "I can smell the jizz," he said, running his fingers through Derek's hair because he was pretty sure he was allowed, and because it was something he'd always wanted to do. "And I can smell my own sweat. But I don't think it's the same thing you smell, 'cause I just think that I need a shower."

"No shower," Derek growled, gripping Stiles possessively.

"Um, I'm gonna have to bathe before dinner with my Dad," Stiles pointed out, though he had to admit it was flattering that Derek wanted so badly for him to smell of them both.

Derek pulled back and glared fiercely at Stiles, but all he asked was, "When is your Dad getting home?"

Stiles glanced at the clock and did the math in his head. "About three hours from now?"

Derek looked thoughtful and nodded. "That gives me plenty of time to properly mark you and wreck your bed," he declared, and Stiles felt a shiver of arousal pass through him at the dark promise in his voice. "Then we can shower. Together."

"Okay," Stiles agreed breathlessly, because he was pretty sure he was about to be thoroughly, hopelessly debauched, and he was so looking forward to it.

Then something occurred to him, and he shoved at Derek's shoulder until the Alpha werewolf rolled over onto his back. Stiles rolled with him, ending up perched on top of Derek's rock hard abs.

"Hey," Stiles said, smiling bashfully down at Derek, ignoring the fact that his body was smeared with drying, flaking jizz and his slowly plumping dick was resting on Derek's stomach in order to ask, "How about you?"

"Me?" Derek's thick brows crunched together adorably in the middle, his hands resting warm on Stiles' thighs.

"Do you smell good with my smell on you?" Stiles wanted to know.

Derek blinked, taken aback. "Yeah," he replied, not sounding completely sure. "But...."

"No buts, big guy," Stiles said, shaking his head and spreading his hands over Derek's built chest. "This is as much about you as it is about me, and vice versa."

Derek stared at him with a furrowed brow, and in another couple of seconds Stiles was going to kiss him breathless. But while they could still talk, he had a question to ask.

"What I mean, is," he clarified, leaning down, blushing as his dick pressed against Derek's belly, "Am I gonna get the chance to jizz on you?"

Derek reached up and grabbed Stiles before Stiles could make his move, but the answer was definitely "yes."

They did wreck the bed, to the point that Stiles really hoped Derek had been serious about getting him a new mattress. Stiles assumed that Jackson's scent was pretty much obliterated, but that didn't change the fact that his mattress was never going to be the same. And Derek pretty much wrecked Stiles as well, though he was easier to clean off than his bed was.

Stiles was so very, very cool with being so completely wrecked in this manner.

Derek kissed him until his mouth was numb before he left, and Stiles found himself wishing that his Dad was working late that night.

"We didn't decide what to do about Jackson," he reminded Derek as he let him out the back door. His Dad was pulling into the driveway out front, but this was kind of important. "Don't go after him until we decide."

Derek frowned but he nodded. Stiles flushed, because Derek was standing there with his hands in his jacket pockets, looking completely normal, and Stiles could still vividly remember how it had felt to have Derek's tongue in his ass.

"I'll be back after your father is asleep tonight," Derek promised. Then he narrowed his eyes when Stiles felt his face light up. "To talk," he added firmly.

"Uh-huh," Stiles agreed, smirking, then Derek vanished as his Dad came in the front door, calling out a greeting.

Stiles shut the back door as quietly as he could and turned to go and get dinner started. His thighs were chafed, there was beard burn on his neck, he had hickeys under his shirt and jeans, and he had as much awareness of his asshole as he did of his tingling dick and balls.

He had no idea how he was going to survive sitting through a meal with his Dad, Stiles thought frantically.

"Hey, kiddo," his father said, giving him a tight hug, like he'd been doing ever since Stiles had been found drugged and unconscious in the boys' locker room. Thank God he'd taken a long, hot shower! "What did you do with your day?"

"Um, not much," Stiles said, turning bright red. His Dad gave him a funny look, but didn't ask questions.

God, there was no way he was going to survive dinner.

But at least he had a late-night visit from Derek to look forward to. And, yes, they would talk about what to do about Jackson, but Stiles would be damned if they didn't manage to sneak in a little sex as well.

Sex with Derek while Stiles' father was sleeping just down the hall... but what his Dad didn't know wouldn't hurt him right?

Stiles gave his Dad what was probably a shit-eating grin and got the gimlet eye in return, but he couldn't help being in a great mood. Yeah, Jackson had done terrible things to Stiles' unconscious body, and earlier in the day Stiles had hit Derek in the face with a baseball bat. But Derek had thoroughly despoiled Stiles' willing body and was going to be coming back for more. Later that evening, in fact. Things were looking really good, as far as Stiles was concerned.

Now, if he could just get his mind off his ass before he started squirming in his seat during dinner.

"Are you sure you're okay?" Great, now his Dad was starting to look a little worried.

"Fine!" Stiles squeaked, and he knew he was blushing again, damn it. "I'm fine!"

His Dad sighed and then asked Stiles to help him cook dinner, and Stiles cheerfully agreed to do so. He had a feeling that he was going to be doing everything pretty cheerfully for a while.

Especially punishing Jackson. He was going to be super-cheerful while punishing Jackson.

Once he figured out how he was going to do that.

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