Another year, another fandom, more writing, more fics! My word count for the year isn’t ~as~ accurate this time around because I didn’t keep a word count log this year. But even with just my published works, I beat 2016! 9 Star Wars fics, and 7 Teen Wolf fics updated or completed! The list of all of them are beneath the cut! (Followed by the yearly queue!)
In 2018 my goal is to finish more WIPs! Haha, especially some that have been hanging around for way too long.
Star Wars
|| Gen ||
Bodhi adopts Finn oneshot | T | 1,314 words | Complete |
| 1 |
|| RebelCaptainPilot ||
untitled angst ficlet | T | 1,813 words | WIP |
| 1 |
|| RogueCaptainJedi ||
A New Hope AU notfic | G | 477 words |
| 1 |
|| SniperPilot ||
Bodhi Rook’s Guide to Love | G | 2,521 words | Complete |
| 1 |
Hearts in atrophy | M | 8,560 words | WIP |
| 1 | 2 |
My Heart is Calling | G | 3,063 words | Complete |
| 1 |
Something so magic about you | G | 6,746 words | Complete |
| 1 |
Spy notfic | G | 325 words |
| 1 |
Standing Invitation | G | 2,617 words | Complete |
| 1 |
Teen Wolf
|| McHaleinski ||
My Head is an Animal - Side A | T | 14,782 words | WIP |
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 |
My Head is an Animal - Side B | T | 19,151 words | WIP |
| 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |
You don’t have to love me | E | 27,973 words | Complete |
| 1 | 2 | 3 |
|| Scerek ||
I’m giving you all | M | 10,021 words | Complete |
| 1 |
|| Sterek ||
All of me uncharted | E | 13,351 words | Complete |
| 1 | 2 |
Anything you say can and will be held against you (so only say my name) | M | 60,242 | WIP |
“I’d much rather be planning our first Valentine’s Day,” Scott laughs nervously. “If I promise to make it super romantic, will you let me slip out the back and escape into the Preserve?”
Derek leans over his shoulder, his smile teasing. “What if I wanted to be the one to give the big romantic surprise?”
“I could be convinced if you let me run out of this meeting?”
“Mm. Nice try.” Derek leans in again, pressing a sweet kiss to his temple. Scott’s insides promptly go, well, gooey. “You’ll do great. I promise.”
In which a last minute inter-Pack meeting goes, predictably, horribly wrong and forces Scott to consider the werewolf dos and don’ts of relationship traditions.
This story includes Pack dynamics, werewolf traditions, misunderstandings, one cliche visiting Pack asshole, werewolf proposals, fluff, talks about the consent issues of werewolf romance tropes (mating/claiming bites), and blowjobs.
This story is NSFW.
So this was supposed to be for the Scerek Valentine Event for Feb 13th, the Proposal prompt. AND I HAD IT DONE. But then... I realized one scene needed serious work. And then I fell into the editing hole and just slowly grew more frustrated by the fic the more I tried to fix it. So I’m putting it out now before I get so angry at its small mistakes that I just delete the whole thing.
Tagging @queerlyalex, @dydia, @sleepy-skittles, and @hobrien who I very much hope enjoy this fic!!! Hope you guys had awesome Valentine’s Days!
Swallow my breath and take what is mine.
(I’m giving you all, I’m giving you all)
——————–1———————
There’s a scared boy looking at Scott in the mirror. Oh, he may be a man, technically - twenty-years-old and more world weary than any man his age has right to be. But despite that, all Scott sees is the same scared boy that thought going into the woods at night was a great idea. “Okay,” Scott tells his reflection. “You can do this. You’ve got this.”
His reflection doesn’t seem too sure about that.
“You can do this,” he repeats. As if maybe saying it enough times will make it come true.
There’s a soft tap against the bathroom door. “Scott?” Derek’s voice calls gently from the other side.
Scott flinches, cringing at his reflection in the mirror. “Yeah, I’m coming,” he answers. He takes one last deep breath, one last chance to shake the jitters out of his hands, and finger-combs his hair back into perfect order. When he opens the bathroom door, Derek’s expression is sympathetic. “Hey,” Scott mumbles. The sight of his boyfriend usually has the effect of chasing Scott’s worries away. But today it’s just too much, and all he wants to do is curl up against the man and hide.
“Hey. You ready? Alpha Ortega will be here soon.”
‘No,’ Scott wants to say. He’s not ready for this. He’s supposed to be a college student, only worried about money and putting his life together and making sure he’s caught up on classwork so he can take the week of Valentine’s Day off to suitably woo his boyfriend. (He’s gone through at least a dozen ideas at this point. All of them range from falling too short to being, well, too much. Especially the gift he really wants to give Derek.) He shouldn’t have to fret about life and death and starting a supernatural turf war at a last minute Pack delegation. But he’s the Alpha, and so he sucks it up and lies through his teeth. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
It’s a blatant lie, but Derek only hums in response. He steps easily into Scott’s space, doesn’t even hesitate to lift a hand to Scott’s shoulder. It’s the simplest touch and yet it sends has the tight vice around his heart easing just a bit. It makes Scott think of all the years they’ve missed out on, on how many years he’d thought about being this close to older ‘wolf. “It’s okay to be nervous,” Derek reminds him softly.
Scott winces. “You can smell that? Is it that bad?”
Derek looks like he’s fighting not to roll his eyes. “Scott, I don’t need to smell anything to see that you’re nervous.”
That’s even worse. This is going to be a disaster. Why did Scott ever agree to meet with the neighboring Pack? Life was hard enough when their ragtag group was just fighting to survive. Now they have to add negotiating and politics to it. “This isn’t going to work,” he says in a rush of breath, panic overtaking him for a terrifying instant. “We should call this off. Alpha Ortega is going to see how awful I am at this and she’s going to wipe the floor with me…”
His face is tipped up by a firm hand at his chin before he has a chance to finish. A warm, soft mouth covers his own, smothering the self-deprecating words and even the thoughts. He sways when Derek pulls away, trying to chase after him. The other man grins. “You’re going to do fine,” he says, leaving no room for argument, and takes Scott’s hand to lead him out into the front room. “You’ve gone over this with Satomi a hundred times. And at least half that much with me.”
He guides Scott to down into the armchair facing the door. Scott’s never paid much attention to the purposeful layout of the room or the floorplanning of the Pack house, but now that he really looks, it’s increasingly obvious that this room was always meant to be for meetings like this. The sitting room is almost formal in comparison to the rest of the house, and it’s impossible to get to other rooms without going through this one first - impossible to see into the Pack’s private space without making it past this room.
When Derek had designed his new home - the Pack’s home, he’d done it this in mind. Scott can see that now. And realizing that sends the anxiety spiraling faster through him. It’s one more unspoken thing about being a Pack - about being an Alpha - that Scott doesn’t know. That he doesn’t have the background for, no matter how much training he’s had since high school. He could train for this one meeting for years and he’d still be going in blind. Which is why agreeing to this meeting was a terrible idea.
It’s not like he had much of a choice. The Ortegas are now the most powerful Pack on the west coast, given the tragedies that befell both the Hale and Ito Packs in the last decade. Their Pack is old and prestigious, apparently; their territory encompassing most of southern California and south-west Arizona. Given that the Ortega Pack and the Hale Pack were neighbors, and that Scott has inherited the territory (Alpha Ortega’s words, which make something bitter turn over in Scott’s chest), he couldn’t exactly refuse when Beatriz Ortega asked to reestablish communications.
It was Derek who suggested that the meeting take place at the Pack house, in their territory rather than Alpha Ortega’s. It would be a show of good faith to welcome an old ally into a new territory, especially after they worked so hard to rebuild it. And that is why Scott asked, no, begged, Derek to be there with him. Not just because this is Derek’s house, but because he has a background with this Pack and with werewolf customs in general. And he’s slightly less likely than Stiles to open his mouth and cause offense, even if he is equally as suspicious.
And…
A warm hand settles at the back of his neck with a gentle squeeze. Scott’s been so caught up in his thoughts that he hasn’t noticed Derek stepping up behind him. Scott lets himself lean into the touch. They may have been dating for only a little over seven months, but Scott is away at school so often that everything feels so new. He’s hypersensitive to every touch, and every look. The amazement that these are things he’s allowed to have now is still so fresh. So not only does he need Derek here, he wants him here. Having Derek stand by him satisfies something primal in him that Scott isn’t sure how to name, but he takes solace in it nonetheless.
“I’d much rather be planning our first Valentine’s Day,” Scott laughs nervously. “If I promise to make it super romantic, will you let me slip out the back and escape into the Preserve?”
Derek leans over his shoulder, his smile teasing. “What if I wanted to be the one to give the big romantic surprise?”
“I could be convinced if you let me run out of this meeting?”
“Mm. Nice try.” Derek leans in again, pressing a sweet kiss to his temple. Scott’s insides promptly go, well, gooey. “You’ll do great. I promise.”
They hear the Ortega Pack long before they reach the house. The two of them sit in stilted silence, straining to listen as Alpha Ortega’s car winds up the forest road towards the house. Scott takes one last steadying breath. “Okay,” he murmurs. Derek nods and goes out the door to wait for their guests’ arrival. A car pulls to a stop in front of the house a few minutes later. Even if he couldn’t hear the three heartbeats under the rumbling of the engine, the tug of a foreign Alpha in his territory is unmistakable. Scott clenches his hands around the arms of the chair, willing his heartbeat to remain steady.
But something shifts as Alpha Ortega and her three Betas exit the car. There’s the barest stutter of a heartbeat - quickly smothered into silence. “Welcome, Alpha Ortega--” Derek starts to greet, but before he can finish, a woman’s sharp voice interrupts him.
“Derek Hale?”
“...Yes, Alpha.”
There’s a conspicuous silence that has Scott all but jittering in his seat. There’s several seconds where Scott imagines horrible possibilities of a brewing fight right on their front porch. But eventually Derek steps back inside, leading Beatriz Ortega and her two Betas in with him.
Alpha Ortega an imposing woman. She’s tall and solid and walks with a ornate cane due to an injury from a wolfsbane bullet that never quite healed. He’s met her only briefly before, when he visited San Diego to help settle Lori Talbot in for college last year. Satomi had acted as a buffer, then, and had done most of the formal introduction work to cover the fact that Scott had no idea what he was doing. Still, Alpha Ortega had been gracious. Even kind. And interested, which is what led to this.
But now something is… different. As Beatriz Ortega enters the Pack house, she’s wearing a stony frown. It’s as close to tightly concealed anger as Scott has ever seen on her ageless face, and there’s something like disappointment flashing behind her eyes. Worried, Scott climbs to his feet. “Alpha Ortega, it’s an honor to have you here,” he greets, his words coming out only slightly rehearsed. “Did you have any trouble?”
“Everything is in order, Alpha McCall,” she returns, but her voice is a measured coldness. Her gesture towards her Betas is almost dismissive. “My guests: August, my son and heir; Vanessa, our vanguard.” Scott nods to each of them in turn, growing more ill at ease with each cold greeting.
“It’s great to meet you,” he attempts, gesturing towards Derek in kind. “This is--”
“Yes, I remember Derek. His mother met with us often.” His mouth clicks shut, choking back the rise of irritation. Alpha Ortega doesn’t even glance Derek’s way, but the others peer in his direction. The vanguard’s expression is almost stoic, but August watches with something akin to a sneer on his face.
The meeting goes rapidly downhill from there.
Alpha Ortega is never hostile in her words, but the brittle civility is as subtle as a knife to the ribs. Something has angered her. It’s evident in every masked compliment about their territory and his Pack’s progress and in every suggestion that both Packs should meet soon. It’s all hollow words and steely eyes, and it makes Scott want to sink into his chair. He finds himself running through every possible misstep, and in the end can only deduce that Derek seems to be the problem.
While Alpha Ortega seems to pretend Derek doesn’t exist, her Betas are not as careful. Every word Derek speaks, or any advice whispered into Scott’s ear is met with judgment or outright disgust. When Derek’s last suggestion is met with a quiet scoff, Scott actually grips the arm of his chair hard enough for it to creak. Derek isn’t blind to it. His shoulders are growing tighter with every passing minute; his jaw clenching tighter with every near-silent jeer.
“Why don’t you run along and get us something to drink?” August finally sighs with a shooing motion. It’s said flippantly, not with hostility. But it turns the room several degrees colder all the same.
“August,” Alpha Ortega growls, at the same time Scott bares his teeth, halfway to a shout. But before he can let loose the roar that’s been building in his chest all through this meeting, Derek lays a hand on his shoulder.
“Of course,” he says stiffly. “I’ll be back in a moment.” Scott watches with disbelief as the older ‘wolf simply turns and walks from the room, as if the other Pack hadn’t spent the last ten minutes either silently belittling him or ignoring his existence.
“My apologies, Alpha McCall,” August amends sweetly, “is that not what you use him for?”
“Excuse me…?” Scott trails off, aghast. He’s keenly aware of all the eyes in the room have turned to him, Alpha Ortega’s most of all. She’s watching him closely now, waiting, not reprimanding her son for speaking of Scott’s Pack that way.
August’s sneer sharpens, a righteous flicker in his eyes. “You made him to be your servant, yes? Let’s not be coy about it, pretending that you wanted him here for his advice. Then again, given how much you smell of each other, maybe you keep him around for something else. It would be easy. I could smell the pining from here.”
Scott realizes he’s on his feet a second too late. “Get OUT!” The pictures on the wall rattle with the force of his roar. The Betas flinch as if struck. Vanessa leaps to her feet, grasping the Ortega heir by the shoulder as if to drag him behind her at a moment’s notice. Their Alpha doesn’t move. She’s still watching him. “You’re no longer welcome in our home,” Scott continues at a quieter, but no less furious register. “Leave.”
Beatriz Ortega rises sedately from her chair and folds her hands neatly over the head of her cane, unfazed by the sudden outburst. “As you wish, Alpha McCall. Do you wish us to leave the territory immediately, of may we prepare for the trip home first?”
The request catches Scott off guard. She doesn’t appear at all worried by how things have turned out. Her eyes are calculating, uncaring of his anger. It makes the burst of rage fizzle out. “I… Take as much time as you need,” he replies weakly.
Alpha Ortega nods, and shows herself and her Betas to the door without waiting for an escort. Scott follows them at a distance anyway, the fury icing over in his chest, joining the dread and the anxiety that had settled there long before this. Even after the door is closed behind them, Scott stands and listens to the group get silently back into their car, and drive the long path back to the road.
His hands are shaking.
“Why did you do that?”
Scott can’t help but flinch. Derek’s come back into the room, his expression guarded. “Why? Derek you heard what they said. It was--”
“He was just running his mouth, Scott. Trying to get a rise out of you. You didn’t have to kick them out for that. I can handle a little name calling.”
He sputters. “A little-- Derek. He said horrible things! I don’t care if it was just to piss me off. I’m not going to sit there and let them talk about people I love that way!”
Derek’s eyes widen, mouth dropping open enough to reveal the bottom edge of his - frankly adorable - front teeth. It’s not going to distract Scott from what happened. He’s just ruined their relationship with a neighboring Pack, but Scott doesn’t care about that when it was either that or let them say hurtful things about his boyfriend, about his Pack.
“Why would he say those things?” A horrible idea strikes him before Derek can come up with an answer. “Did they always act like this? Did you just go along with us meeting them even if they treat you like that?”
“What? No.” Derek steps forward, grasping his arms in firm hands. “No. It’s nothing like that.” There’s no stutter in his heartbeat, but no, no, Scott is intimately familiar with what Derek looks like when he’s not telling him something. He knows the careful way in which the older man can’t fully meet his eyes, for fear that Scott will notice. “The Ortega Pack is just… traditional. Don’t let it bother you.”
“...Okay,” Scott relents after a moment.
--------------------2---------------------
It’s a lie.
It bothers him. A lot.
It bothers him more every time Derek brushes it off, which happens with increasing frequency over the next few days. He refuses to talk about it, going so far as to ask Scott not to tell the Pack why exactly the meeting went wrong. Or even that it went so badly wrong. It only proves that there’s more to this than Derek will admit.
But the more worried Scott becomes, the more cagey Derek gets about the whole thing. Until by the end of the week, his boyfriend is all but avoiding him. That’s…
No. Scott can’t handle that.
“You guys having a fight?” Stiles asks through a mouthful of cheetos. As if he isn’t aware that Scott asked him to hang out, not entirely subtly, to ask for advice.
“No?”
His best friend crunches slowly. “Uh-huh. That didn’t sound to sure.” There’s silence between them until Stiles swallows his bite, and then pauses Daredevil. “You guys are fighting right before Valentine’s Day. That’s rough, man. It was something that happened at that meeting with the Ortega Pack, right?” At Scott’s wince, he rolls his eyes. “Please, like you could hide that. I dunno what’s more insulting: that you chose your grumpy werewolf boyfriend to be at the meeting instead of me--”
“Well, he does know about negotiating with--”
“--Details, Scotty. Or the fact that you thought you could hide that something happened during the meeting that’s causing you and Werebunny to get into a lover’s spat. Sloppy, man,” Stiles admonishes. “Just sloppy.”
It only takes that and a single, prolonged stare from Stiles for Scott to break his word, and tell him everything. Every out of place word from Alpha Ortega and every veiled barb that had been sent their way. It’s vindicating for Stiles to make outraged sounds as he’s retelling it, and even interject with “What a dick!” at appropriate intervals. At the end of it, though, he’s frowning thoughtfully.
“He said you made Derek to be your servant,” he says. “Why?”
“I… I don’t know,” Scott admits. It’s one of the many things about the entire encounter that confuses him. “I mean, he can’t be. Derek’s always been one of us. We’re all equal, right?”
“For sure, dude. But that’s still significant. Why would they consider Derek the Pack servant?”
That, Scott doesn’t have an answer for. And the fact that he can’t worries him - the fact that he doesn’t have the knowledge to answer worries him. “I think I need to ask Deaton…”
Stiles scoffs into his soda. “Good luck with that. Tell me if he gives you a straight answer for once.”
“He’s helped us through a lot, Stiles.”
“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he has to be so coy about it. Sometimes I just want to know how to kill something. Not a metaphor for balance in the universe.”
Scott rolls his eyes, and elects to unpause the episode rather than dignify that with an answer. They don’t get more than a few minutes into Matt Murdock laying into a group of mobsters before Stiles speaks again.
“So… was that the first time you told him you loved him?”
Scott freezes, soda can just barely touching his lips, and then slowly, carefully, sets it back down. “....What?”
“Derek,” Stiles clarifies, brows arching. “Was that the first time you told him you loved him?”
He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. It takes two more tries for his exact words to Derek to resurface. And then he grabs his pillow and brings it to his face. And lets out a low, pained moan.
“You didn’t even realize you said it, did you?”
“Nooooooo.”
Stiles pats him on the back, his voice pitying. “Hang in there, buddy.”
@queerlyalex brought this onto my dash, so in honor of that, here’s an excerpt from the Scerek fic I’m working on for V-Day. (I hope you like it when it’s finished, Alex!)
The news reaches the Pack quickly, because apparently werewolf inter-Pack gossip goes around as fast as small town gossip does. He’s trying to enjoy a relaxing soak with his boyfriend (Fiance? Mate??) the morning after Valentine’s when his phone nearly buzzes itself off towel cabinet with the influx of texts and five very insistent phone calls from Stiles.
Scott doesn’t even get the chance to read Stiles’ wall of text before his best friend is calling him again.
“Ignore him,” Derek huffs, mouth hot against his shoulder. Scott shivers despite the warmth of the bath and Derek’s body pressed all along his side.
Scott almost considers it. But then again, he’s known Stiles for most of his life. The man is his brother, both in spirit and (hopefully) in name soon. He knows exactly how effective ignoring Stiles Stilinski is going to be. “If I do, he’s just going to show up here,” Scott warns, smirking as Derek smothers a laugh against his skin. He accepts the call.
“Hey, Stiles--”
“You WEREWOLF PROPOSED to him?!”
Derek’s entire body shakes, the sharp ridge of teeth at his shoulder now in an effort to keep from laughing.
“Sorta. How’re you? Did you guys have a good Valentine’s?”
“Fine. Fine. You know ‘Lia doesn’t do the whole Valentine’s Day thing. So we invited Kira over and hung out all night. Don’t try to distract me. What do you mean ‘sorta’? There’s no sorta proposing, Scott! Either you propose or you don’t.”
Scott bites the inside of his cheek, and elbows Derek gently in the ribs. His mate’s laughter isn’t helping. “Technically you don’t start planning the wedding until after the moonflowers bloom, so it’s not really a proposal. More like a… courtship?”
There’s a beat of silence, and then Stiles makes a sound rather like he’s been stabbed. Scott’s been stabbed before, he knows what that sounds like. “Why, Scott McCall,” Stiles coos, and there’s an honest to god piss poor attempt at mimicking a Southern belle in his voice. What. “I do declare you are the most gentlemanly Alpha I ever did see--”
“Stop!” Scott giggles.
“Seriously, you are the most god awful, cheesy, romantic sap. It would be funny if it weren’t so tragically corny.”
“Like you would pass up the chance to obsessively woo someone for months.”
“Goddamned right I wouldn’t!” Stiles shouts vehemently. “I’m seething with jealousy over here.”
“I can tell--” Scott is thwarted from teasing Stiles any further, because Derek snatches the phone from his hands.
“Stiles,” he grouses.
“Sourwolf, sweet sourwolf! Are feeling suitably wooed today?”
“I was until you called.”
“Ooohh was I interrupting something?”
“Don’t be a dick, you know you were. I’m hanging up. If you call back, I’ll make you regret it.”
“Like I haven’t heard that before--”
Derek hangs up with a growl, and tosses the phone back onto the shelf. “Careful!” Scott yelps as it clatters around.
I really need to stop waiting until the last minute to finish these.
This is for the Scerek Holiday Special! Saturday’s theme is Mistletoe, and this is a... well, a vague attempt.
Title: That’s not how you use mistletoe
Word Count: 1,513 words
It’s a week before Christmas, and Scott McCall is having an asthma attack.
An asthma attack. Of all things. He would laugh if it didn’t feel like his lungs were trying to squeeze themselves up through his throat. One of the only good things about becoming a werewolf had been that this wouldn’t happen anymore. And yet here Scott is, having a goddamned asthma attack.
As of this morning the most Scott had been concerned with was whether or not hiding fake mistletoe around Derek’s loft would be a step over the romantic line into cheesy and lame. It’s their first Christmas together and Scott wants it to be perfect and free of supernatural crisis.
But instead they get sirens. Not cute Disney-esque sirens. No, instead they get “we’re going to nest in Beacon Lake and sing to lure men out into the Preserve where they’ll die from exposure” sirens.
He lets out a wet cough, the taste of something foul on his lips. Scott reaches blindly up to wipe his mouth, trying to concentrate on his breathing.
His hand comes away smeared with black.
Great.
“Scott?” Deaton’s voice flickers into his awareness. “Alright, Scott, I want you to try and take deep breaths. I know that’s difficult right now, but this will help get the mistletoe out of your lungs. Don’t try to swallow any of the discharge. Spit it into this pan.” A mask is carefully fitted over his face, but Deaton is kind enough to let him work through another bout of coughing before he fastens it on securely. Almost immediately Scott can taste the chemical mist flowing through it. It’s almost exactly like the nebulizers he’d be fitted with at the hospital when he had particularly bad asthma attacks as a kid.
Even as a werewolf, apparently, the more things change the more they stay the same.
Whatever Deaton has loaded into the nebulizer starts going to work within seconds, at least letting him focus on something other than how it feels like he’s drowning on dry land. Stiles is the only other member of the Pack in Deaton’s exam room with him. A few others he can hear in the waiting room - Mason, Liam, and Lydia’s voices filter through the walls. The rest, he assumes, are still clearing out the siren den.
“Yeah, yeah, he’ll be okay. He’s an idiot, but he’ll be okay,” Stiles is saying. Scott squints at him, chest bubbling around another brewing cough. His best friend is on the phone, he realizes. On the phone with--
The voice on the other end registers far later than it should. Scott’s eyes go wide, and his emphatic “NO” gets lost as his lungs spasm. He ends up curing into a fetal position and cough until his feels like it’s on fire. Something foul fills his mouth, making him fight not to choke.
Stiles is at his side in seconds, pinning his phone between his cheek and his shoulder. A bowl is shoved under Scott’s nose, Stiles’ other hand tugging the mask away from his face. “Spit,” he orders.
Scott does, and watches as a truly disgusting gob of black phlegm goes splattering into the dish.
Ugh.
Stiles holds the bowl there until the coughing subsides again. “He’s giving me the ‘please don’t tell my boyfriend I did something stupid’ look.”
Scott glares mutinously at him. He is not.
His best friend grins at him. “Too late,” he tells Scott gleefully, before focusing back on the phone. “Uh-huh. Yeah, man, he’s fine as long as he takes his medicine like a good boy. ...Uh-huh. Yeah, sure, whatever. See ya.” He hangs up, tossing the phone gently onto the exam table so he can get Scott’s mask back into place. “Well, Scotty boy, your wolfy knight in shining armor will be here any second to scold and cuddle you or whatever it is he does. Probably both.”
Scott lets out a raspy huff at him. It takes a few tries before he can pant the words: “You… suck.”
“Love you too, Scott. Now rest up, okay?”
Stiles retreats to the door, but doesn’t leave entirely - presumably so someone can still keep an eye on Scott. Which is fine, really. Scott tries to relax and breathe as deep as his struggling lungs will let him. The attack has all but exhausted him anyway, so it’s easy to drift a little in the dim light and the relative quiet.
He gets lost in focusing on his breathing, so it seems like no time at all before the service bell at the clinic’s door rings. There are low voices in the waiting room, and gentle footsteps, and then Stiles says: “He’s all yours.”
The exam room door shuts.
Scott’s eyes flutter open as footsteps approach, and finds Derek standing in front of him. Scott smiles. “Hi,” he mumbles through the mask. But Derek has that frown on his face, the one that’s simultaneously disgruntled and worried and just a little bit tortured - like he’s subtly trying to make sure Scott is still there. He sighs, and it gets caught on a small hiccuping cough. “I’m in trouble, huh?”
Derek holds his glare for another half a second, before he takes a long breath and lowers himself into the seat next to Scott. “Big trouble,” he agrees. But Derek still lets Scott rest his head on his shoulder, so maybe not too much trouble. The older man tucks an arm around Scott’s back, pulling him closer, and turning his face into Scott’s hair.
“You okay?” Derek asks him softly.
Scott shrugs one shoulder and tries very hard not to make his breathing sound labored. “Not too bad. I’ve had worse asthma attacks.”
He doesn’t so much see his boyfriend’s disapproving scowl as he does feel it. “What in the hell made you think it was a good idea to run towards that siren before Lydia threw the mistletoe?”
Oh boy. Scott really wishes he could go back to this morning, when they were curled in Derek’s bed and it was soft and warm and siren-free and Scott could breathe properly. “Uh,” he croaks, “She wasn’t going to slow down? She was charging us.”
“The mistletoe would have slowed her down, Scott.”
“But not--” His lungs spasm, threatening another fit, and he ruthlessly suppresses it. Now is not the time. “Not before she would’ve gotten hold of one of us!” he argues. His voice wheezes around the words. “I’m the Alpha, I’m supposed to protect--”
And that’s the moment he breaks off into another bout of coughing. Damnit.
Derek holds him through it, even holding up the bowl without flinching while his lungs spew up noxious black discharge. There’s comforting kisses being pressed into his hair; a hand rubbing his back as he shakes.
Best boyfriend.
“As someone who used to pull that ‘I’m the Alpha’ thing,” Derek says when Scott goes quiet again, slumping into his chest, “that’s complete bullshit.”
“Derek…” Scott whines.
“No. You’re the Alpha and the strongest, but you’re also the one of us who’s most vulnerable to airborne toxins. Especially when you run straight into a fight when Lydia throws a mistletoe smoke bomb.”
Scott barely stops himself from squirming under that gently scolding tone. “If you were there, you would’ve done the same thing,” he grumbles. He peers up at his boyfriend, utterly unsurprised when Derek actually looks ready to argue with him. “You so would. And then you’d be sitting here gagging on this--” he moves the mask out of the way, and spits a tiny bit of phlegm into the pan, “--shit.
But Derek doesn’t seem to be too impressed by his reasoning. He leans back so Scott can see him better. So Scott doesn’t miss the sad eyes that Derek is currently giving him. Shit. “I just want you to be safe,” his boyfriend says.
“Don’t guilt trip me,” Scott pleads, putting an extra pathetic whine in his voice. It’s not hard to do when it’s muffled by the mask and wheezy. “You can’t guilt trip me when I’m injured.”
“Watch me, Scott.”
He’s infuriating. And Scott loves him.
“You’re mean,” Scott groans with absolutely no heat. “I was going to spare you my lame attempt at Christmas romance, but not when you’re being mean.”
“Oh…? And what horrible fate were you saving me from, huh?”
“I was gonna hang mistletoe up in your apartment and make you kiss me under it.”
“Make me, huh.” A small smile tugs at Derek’s lips. Something in Scott’s chest, that isn’t the lingering effect of mistletoe, loosens.
“Yeah. I thought it might be too cheesy, so I wasn’t going to go through with it. But now? I’m going to hang it up right over the bed. 100% the lamest attempt at Christmas romance you’ve ever seen.”
Derek hums, and leans in. A kiss, sweet and warm, is pressed to his forehead. “If you promise not to inhale it, I’ll kiss you under the mistletoe as many times as you want.”
Here’s the LAST of these Thanksgiving ficlets, and this time it’s SCEREK - for @queerlyalex and @elfysparkles88, since I understand they’ve been missing Scerek recently. :D
Title: One to remember
Word Count: 2,042 words
Rafael McCall shifts uncomfortably in the armchair - Melissa’s armchair - that he’s commandeered.
‘This is the best Thanksgiving ever,’ Scott thinks with truly unholy glee.
“So you’re Scott’s… boyfriend.”
Derek leans back into the couch, throwing an arm over the back of it behind Scott like he’s done it a thousand times. He hasn’t, in fact he’s never done it before, ever, but you’d never tell that by the casual, faintly smug grin on his face. “That’s me.” Scott truly envies the way Derek can speak in a tone so simultaneously polite and menacing.
“I… I didn’t know you were gay, son.” There’s a distinct, gut-squirming discomfort in his father’s tone. “You always had girlfriends. That Argent girl and… your girlfriend from junior year. Uh, Kita?”
“Kira,” Scott corrects. “And I’m not. Gay, I mean. I’m bisexual, and so is Derek.”
Rafael looks faintly ill.
From the kitchen, Scott’s keen ears can easily pick up his mother’s muffled laughter.
Best Thanksgiving ever.
Scott had never expected Derek to agree to this so readily - hell, he’d never expected Derek to agree at all. When he’d come to the Pack with his idea to… well, saying “ruin his father’s Thanksgiving” sounds a lot more mean than what Scott actually intended with this. But there’s something implicitly rude about his dad inviting himself to Thanksgiving in the spirit of “reconnecting,” so Scott can’t be blamed for wanting payback. When he’d voiced his idea to everyone, he’d expected Stiles, certainly. Probably Isaac and maybe Boyd.
“If he thinks he can just walk right back into our lives as if nothing happened,” Scott had told them, “he’s wrong. Who wants to help me make him work for it?”
Erica had suggested Derek - the “older man,” the “bad boy,” the “felon.”
‘The ridiculously handsome, leather-wearing softie that can throw sass at a moment’s notice and has an ass that won’t quit,’ Scott mentally added at the time.
What he hadn’t counted on was Derek nodding along with Erica and saying, “Sure, I’ll do it. So how did you romantically declare your intentions, huh?”
And now… here they are. On Scott’s living room sofa. Curled comfortably together as if they do this everyday.
Scott wishes they did this everyday.
“And how old are you… Derek, right?”
“Twenty-four, sir.”
If Scott imagines hard enough, he can actually see the steam coming out of his father’s ears. Perfect. “Is that so,” Rafael grunts. “How’d you two meet?”
Scott anticipates Derek going through their manufactured love story, maybe. It’s a rather simple one: that they met because he’s Cora’s older brother and after a lot of pining and friendly meddling, Scott worked up the courage to ask him out on a date. But what Derek says is: “Scott accused me of murder when he was sixteen. Twice.”
He nearly inhales his drink. “I did not!” he coughs. “That was Stiles!” The side-eyed glance Derek gives him is enough to make him rethink his words. “Uh… well, okay, I might have done that.”
“You totally did that,” Derek agrees. Scott nudges him reproachfully, ignoring the way Derek’s smile makes his heart flutter. “No convictions, of course,” he adds to Scott’s father. “But for some reason he just kept coming around.”
“Of course…” his dad’s voice is growing more and more brittle with every answer.
But Derek makes no indication that he hears the threat brewing, or that he cares. He flashes a smirk. “It was annoying at first. But then it was kind of cute.”
Oh no.
Oh no, this jerk. This adorable, conniving jerk, he’s purposefully making this as embarrassing as possible.
“Cute,” his father chokes on the word. “At sixteen.”
“No, the sixteen-year-old was annoying. It wasn’t cute until… what, the end of your junior year?” He’s terrifyingly good at this act, Scott decides. There’s not a blip in his heart rate. He even makes the blushing look genuine. “And then I tried to ignore it. I didn’t want to be creepy.”
It’s said so lightly, like Derek is trying to make a joke, but something in that last statement just sticks into Scott’s brain. He watches for the slightest twitch in Derek’s expression, mentally cataloguing everything he knows of Derek’s struggles in the past with that one seemingly flippant sentence - there’s a touch of truth there, Scott realizes. Exactly how much of the truth, he doesn’t dare think on. But…
He swoops in, heart in his throat, and presses a quick kiss to Derek’s mouth. They’d agreed to chaste kisses beforehand, no need to go overboard with the whole ruse. So Scott isn’t ashamed of not warning Derek first, especially not when the other man leans into the kiss with only the slightest hesitation.
He pointedly doesn’t think about how soft Derek’s lips are. If he does, he’s going to kiss Derek again and never stop.
“You weren’t creepy. You know… after I stopped thinking you were a serial killer or whatever.”
“Or whatever,” Derek snorts, but his smile is fond.
Scott pats his knee, and moves to stand. “I’m gonna go see if Mom needs help with dinner. You two can… chat. Have fun, okay?”
He slides past them both towards the doorway, and is just out of the room when he hears Derek ask: “So you like baseball?”
He makes it all the way to the kitchen before he breaks. All he has to do is share a wide-eyed look with his mother and they burst into breathless giggles. “Shhh,” Melissa hisses through her laughter. “S-Shhh, shh! He’ll hear.” It takes them a few minutes to get back under control. The stilted conversation coming from the living room doesn’t help. “You sure he’ll be alright out there?” Melissa asks when the laughter has finally subsided.
“Who?” Scott teases. “Dad or Derek?” He threatens to fall into a fit of giggles all over again, but manages to stop himself. “Derek’ll be fine. He’s playing along really well.”
“Oh, very well. You two looked pretty comfortable out there,” his mother observes.
“I--” Scott flushes. “Well, y’know.”
“You sure this wasn’t an excuse for you two to get all nice and cuddly?”
There’s a sputter from the living room, a wet cough as Derek chokes on his drink.
“Mom!” Scott hisses.
“Right, sorry,” his mother concedes, not looking sorry at all. “Silly me.”
Dinner is awkward and spectacular on all accounts. They manage to make everything look natural, like Derek hanging out with Scott and Melissa is something that happens all the time. (It’s not exactly hard when Derek is over for dinner at least once a week when Scott is home between semesters, or when he brings Melissa dinner during her shift sometimes when Scott is away.) Scott’s sure he nearly ruins the whole charade, though, when his dad tries to ask what Derek does for a living. Hearing that his “boyfriend” doesn’t have a “real job” but is wealthy enough to buy up and flip entire buildings nearly makes the man’s head explodes.
It’s the most wonderful thing that Scott has ever witnessed. A true masterpiece. Scott’s going to cherish the memory of his father’s face as Derek offered to give him real estate advice forever.
They’re cleaning up after dinner when Rafael pulls him aside. He can’t say he hasn’t been expecting it.
“What’s up?” he asks as his dad leads him out onto the porch. “You taking off?”
“In a minute, yeah. But I wanted to talk to you first.”
Right, sure, what else is new? Scott shrugs. “Okay, shoot.”
He patiently lets the man stew over his next words, crossing his arms. “I know I don’t have much right to tell you who not to date,” Rafael begins.
Scott barely holds back a snort. “You’re right, you don’t.”
“But you’ve got to stop seeing that man,” he steamrolls on. “That man is trouble waiting to happen, already trouble if him actually being arrested is anything to go by.”
“Arrested but never convicted,” Scott says blandly. “Innocent.”
“Oh please, that asshole has probably never been innocent a day in his life. Scott, you’re smarter than this. You know this guy is nothing but bad news.”
Scott had expected some pushback from his father tonight. That had been the entire point of this little ruse - to make his father uncomfortable and indignant.
He just didn’t anticipate how angry it would make him.
“You don’t know him,” Scott spits. “You have no idea what kind of person Derek is. He’s a good man, Dad. And he deserves a chance just like anyone else. He deserves to be loved just like anyone else. You don’t get to decide that. He does. I do. I love him, and I’m the only one that gets to decide that!” When the words trail off, Scott’s breathing a little heavier. His heart pounds against his ribs, his throat tight.
It’s enough to make Rafael back down. “I don’t want to fight,” he attempts to soothe, raising his hands in a show of peace. “I just wanted to warn you.” He’s already stepping back down the front steps. Not just verbally retreating, but physically. Running. Just like always.
“Well, warning heard. But not accepted,” Scott informs bitterly.
“Alright. I think I’ve worn out my welcome.” The particularly spiteful part of Scott wants to tell him that he did that a long time ago, but Scott manages to keep his mouth shut. “Goodbye, Scott.”
“Bye, Dad.”
He watches Rafael all but slink away with his tail between his legs, for all that his dad makes it look like a casual stroll back to his car. He watches the entire departure with hands clenched around the porch railings, even as his father is starting to drive away down the street.
But arms sliding around him from behind cause him to jump, nearly out of his skin.
“Sorry,” Derek murmurs, right in his ear. He’s so close, pressed all along Scott’s back. There’s no way he can miss the full-body shiver that races through him. And Scott would be worried about that if he wasn’t so focused on the feel of Derek wrapped around him, smelling of warmth and home. Or on the fact that Derek’s face is pressed into the crook of the shoulder and Scott can feel every breath on his skin.
“It’s okay,” he yelps. His voice cracks on the words, and he quickly clears his throat. “Uh, dad’s gone, so you don’t have to...” He tries to move, but only gasps when Derek’s arms tighten around him. “...Derek?”
“You weren’t lying.”
“Uh?”
“Earlier. What you said. Your heart didn’t…” If Scott were braver he’d say Derek snuggles into him then. But no, that’s not what this is. Right? “Say it again?”
“Say what? That uh, that you’re a good man? Because you know you are--”
“Scott. Please.”
Yeah, Scott should have known this was coming. “I…” He sighs. “I said… that I love you.”
If he fears Derek’s reaction, it’s gone in the next moment because the man relaxes against Scott, pressing his weight into him and sighing in what sounds like relief. Scott can hear Derek’s racing heart as easily as if it were his own. “I love you too,” Derek says.
Scott leans back into him, feeling as if the world has been pulled out from under his feet. “Really?” he nearly squeaks. It must come out so disbelieving, so ecstatic, because Derek lets out a breathless laugh against his shoulder. “Hey. Hey,” Scott urges, grasping Derek’s hand where it’s clenched in his shirt and nudging him until Derek lifts his head. His eyes sparkle in the darkness, soft and sweet. It takes Scott’s breath away. “I love you,” he repeats.
Derek’s smile is so tender, so warm that Scott can’t help but lean into his space again. He can’t help but turn in his arms just enough to kiss him, deeper than their staged kiss in the living room. Their kiss lingers, neither of them wanting to let go of this moment.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” Derek admits, breathing the words against his lips.
“You can now,” Scott says, and laughs when Derek gathers him close again, as if he plans to do just that.
I’m so excited! This was my first Scerek fic, and I’m so proud of it. Thank you guys so much for the love that was showed to it! Hopefully I’ll get to add another Scerek fic to my repertoire this week. (I’m trying to get it done before Scerek week is over!) This one doesn’t deserve to be lonely. :D
A Scerek fic, rated T. For @queerleighyours. Happy birthday, lovely! :D
7,274 words | Complete
“So how’s operation ‘Give Scott McCall a blowjob and a day off from Beacon Hills’ going?”
OR, Derek Hale shows up on Scott’s doorstep with no warning and tells him they’re going on a vacation. Away from Beacon Hills and all of its chaos.
This story includes hurt/comfort, so much pining, Scott feels, referenced open relationships (Draeden), and a sad lack of actual blowjobs. Whoops.
Unbeta’d. All mistake are mine.
Where we are
--------------------1---------------------
Scott knows something’s happened when he comes home from the clinic to find his mother crying. She’s sitting at the table, in front of their ever growing stacks of bills, just like she always seems to be now. Melissa often adds up their debts when he’s not home, especially now that she knows about the supernatural. Now that she knows he can sense her anxiety. But still, it’s rare for him to come home to her in tears. And terrifying.
“Mom?” he stands just inside the door, unsure if he should be rushing to her side or searching the house for threats.
But when Melissa raises her head, there’s a smile on her face. It’s out of place, with everything that’s happened in the past two years. Her face flushes a deeper pink at the sight of him, her smile sheepish. She wipes her eyes with a watery laugh. “Hi, sweetheart,” she sniffs.
“Is everything okay?” Scott is hesitant to ask.
“Oh, sweetheart.” Her smile is positively beaming. Melissa stands and goes to him, taking his face in her hands and kissing his forehead. “Sweetheart, yes. Everything’s okay. I’m just… I’m so proud of you.” Her voice is wavering again, doing horrible things to Scott’s nerves. “I love you so much, baby.”
“Um. I… love you too, Mom.”
It doesn’t get any less weird from there. Not that his mother telling him she loves him is weird. But the sudden emotional outburst worries him. A lot of things worry him now.
But his mother seems to worry… less? In the days that follow, the tension eases from Melissa’s shoulders, bit by bit. Her smiles are more relaxed, even when she’s tired after a shift. And she’s texting someone now. At first Scott doesn’t think anything of it. But the musical jingle of her text alerts become a common sound in the house.
She’s met someone. That has to be it. Or she’s finally started dating Sheriff Stilinski?
He musters up the courage to ask Stiles about it, pushing past the tension that’s been hanging over them for months.
Things… haven’t been the same since they overcame the Dread Doctors, La Bete, and Theo’s Pack. The asthma attacks, brought on by the Pathologist and wolfsbane, have finally stopped. But other things - they aren’t fixing themselves with time. His healing, especially. It doesn’t work as it should anymore. He’s healing, but he’s not healing right. The flesh knits back together, the muscles and bone realign, but the pain never goes away. Scott can feel them with every breath, every movement. Like his body has been pulled taut, like he’s stretched too thin.
It’s like sophomore year all over again - feeling wrong inside his own skin, like his new life is trying to drag him under. He worries about everything. About new threats to the territory. About his grades. About getting into UC Davis, about how to pay for UC Davis. About his Pack, if they’ll ever really be Pack again.
Scott and the others; things are never going to be the same between them ever again. They came together to defeat the Dread Doctors, but it didn’t magically fix their problems, or the fact that Scott failed them as an Alpha. Liam still radiates guilt and hurt, no matter what Scott tells him. Malia is still unsure of where she stands with him. Lydia’s distanced herself, though no one blames her for it at all.
He and Kira - well, they called it “taking a break to put their lives back together” but it plays out a lot like being broken up. Scott still loves her. But the past six months (the past two years) have taught him the difference between loving someone and being in a place where a relationship can be healthy.
Stiles… they’ve worked out their differences in the short term, but things aren’t the same. Scott doubts they’ll ever be the same. They’ve found themselves in the stage where they’re walking on eggshells, tiptoeing around things that - Scott knows - they need to talk about. Both of them, it seems, are too afraid of losing each other again.But Scott’s beginning to see hope with them; that maybe they’ve come out of this with a new understanding of one another that will make them stronger in the end.
Now if only they can get past the awkward part of their reconciliation.
--------------------2---------------------
About a month after coming home to his mother crying (and a few weeks after realizing it wasn’t the Sheriff she’s been texting) everyone starts acting… odd.
Look, the Pack has never been subtle. Around day two into conversations being hastily cut off when he’s in earshot and the Pack steadfastly avoiding his gaze, Scott knows something’s up. It doesn’t help his constantly growing anxiety any.
What happens is that Scott pushes it out of his mind in favor of other things - his schoolwork and his ever-present worry that the next threat is just around the corner and hiding the fact that every move he makes is a lesson in low, radiating pain.
What happens is that they make it to spring break without being attacked.
What happens is that Scott doesn’t even smell the ‘wolf ringing his doorbell until he’s opening it, and finds Derek Hale standing on his front porch.
And Scott feels weightless, like the floor has opened up beneath him and he’s suddenly in freefall. His expression must be ridiculous, because Derek smiles at him. He looks good. He looks happy, and not just in his smile. The flinty ice that had always been behind his eyes is gone. The tension he always carried with him is gone. He’s content, happy, softer. And Scott finds himself launching forward before the thought even finishes, flinging his arms around him before he can think better of it.
But he doesn’t have to worry about the hug being unwelcome. Because Derek only makes a soft, surprised sound and then hugs back, wrapping arms around him in a squeeze that makes his body ache. The momentary pain is worth it. Derek smells amazing, warm and welcoming, and Scott’s ashamed to say he presses his nose into his shoulder and breathes it in. His mind whispers, ‘Beta. My Beta. Mineminemine.’ It’s like all of his more traitorous thoughts come true - no, it’s even better in reality.
“What are you doing here?” he asks in an excited rush, pulling away before he can do something stupid.
“I’m here for you.”
And, what.
There’s no hiding the flutter of his heart. Derek’s smile edges into predatory, because he’s evil.
“Go pack your stuff.”
“What?” he blurts.
“You’re going on vacation. Go pack for a week. Hiking, beach, and swimming.” Derek’s brows arch when he doesn’t move a muscle. “Go on.”
“I can’t--huh?” There are two more heartbeats in the foyer. Stiles has come downstairs and Melissa has wandered in from the office at some point. The sly smiles on both of their faces makes him pause. “You… this is what you were planning?” he asks incredulously, pointing at Derek. “This is who you’ve been texting for months?”
“This,” Derek interjects, “is waiting for you to get going.”
Scott ignores him in favor of gesturing at his mother. “I thought you were dating someone! You’re… you’re not, right? I mean, if you were dating that’d be… but not Derek right?”
“What? No!” Melissa exclaims, and then cringes sheepishly at the man in the doorway. “No offense, Derek.”
“None taken. Scott, go get your stuff.”
But when Scott balks, and tries to protest, Stiles steps forward to grab his arm. “Yup, he’s on it,” he says before Scott even has the chance to speak, “I started pulling some stuff down already.”
“Stiles--” He wants to stop him, but it’s the first time in so long that Stiles has touched him without reservation - without visibly stopping to weigh the chances. And he’s wanted that, he’s wanted that since before everything went wrong. So he lets Stiles pull him up the stairs and into his room. His duffle has already been thrown onto the bed, along with his swim trunks and some of his favorite pairs of jeans. Just seeing them makes something cold and sick turn over in his stomach. “I can’t leave.”
Stiles stops listing all the things Scott will need to pack with an exaggerated sway. “What now?”
“I can’t leave, Stiles. What if something happens? It’s been like eight months since everything happened, and--”
“No. Nope. Don’t go talking ‘regression to the mean’ again, Scott. Not this time. Of all of us, you need a break from this place.”
Scott wonders if he should be offended by that. “What do you mean ‘of all of us’?”
“Okay fair, I mean none of us are exactly winning any prizes when it comes to dealing with trauma, but at least we’re finding ways to deal with it. You, buddy? You’ve been doing this internalizing, self-sacrificing thing since sophomore year. And don’t think we haven’t noticed. So you’re going to go off away from our lovely little Hellmouth for a week. We’ll call you if anything happens.”
Scott huffs. “I don’t even need to listen to your heartbeat to know that’s a lie.”
“Touche,” Stiles admits, pointing at him. “But you’re still going--”
“You’re going or I’m coming up there and dragging you out!” Derek calls from downstairs. Actually shouts it instead of just speaking at a normal volume, so he means it to be heard by everyone.
“--or Derek’s going to manhandle you out into his soccer dad car.” He waits for Scott to relent, and when Scott doesn’t say anything for a few moments, he sighs. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this yet, but while you’re gone, Lydia, Deaton, Mason, and I are going to research a way to control everyone’s favorite sentient tree stump. So that when we go off to college we won’t have to worry about a supernatural disaster every other month. Okay? You can go and relax for a week. You’ve been trying to carry all the weight since this whole thing started. Let someone else have a turn for a while. We’ve got this.”
“I… okay.”
The admission seems to surprise his best friend, who was already gearing up for another argument. He blinks, and then grimaces. “Aw, no, buddy don’t give me The Eyes.”
Scott flushes. “Huh?”
“The Eyes. The sweet, ‘I don’t know why I’m getting nice things’ eyes. I can’t handle that. Come on.” He turns in a whirlwind of motion, a disgruntled sound coming out of his mouth. The back of his neck has flushed pink. Scott smiles gently, which doesn’t seem to soothe Stiles any. “Oh, stop smiling and come help me pack for you! Just because this is a pamper Scott week does not mean you’re getting out of packing.”
So Scott does, even though he’s not quite sure what to think about this violent shift in his routine. He helps gather up his clothes and essentials, everything that can fit in his duffle bag. And as the minutes tick by, his anxiety shifts. It doesn’t fade, no, not really. But it feels lighter. A happy kind of anxiety, almost excitement.
“Here, just in case.”
Scott catches the item Stiles tosses without thinking. And then nearly drops it when he realizes Stiles has just thrown him his box of condoms. “Stiles!”
“What?” he asks cheekily. “That’s still a thing, right?”
Scott regrets ever admitting that he finds Derek attractive. He contemplates throwing the box at Stiles’ head when the other boy stashes his bottle of lube in the side pocket.
“Just in case~,” Stiles repeats.
“Not gonna happen,” Scott mutters. And this conversation needs to end now, before Derek can hear them. He zips up his bag and slings it over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes at Stiles in warning before he leaves. He knows Stiles will follow him, and so he doesn’t wait to trudge back downstairs. He gets there just in time to hear Derek ask: “So have things been better?”
HIs mother’s heart skips a beat. “Oh god, you have no idea,” she sighs happily. “Derek, I can’t thank you enough - no, really. Things have been getting worse for a long time and… and now it’s like I can breathe again. And, well, having normal shifts is always nice. You’ve done so much for us, and now this with Scott--”
“It’s the least I could do,” Derek tells her. There’s a waver in his voice that sounds suspiciously flustered. “After everything--” And then he stops, his heart rate ticking up for an instant. “Scott, you ready to go?”
“...Yeah,” Scott answers slowly. He turns into the foyer to see Derek and his mother waiting for him. Melissa has her “I have no idea what you’re talking about” face on, even though Scott hasn’t asked yet. And Derek…
The tips of his ears are pink. It is… hell, Scott didn’t even know what to do with the Derek that was all teeth and hard edges. How can he be expected to know how to handle this new, softer Derek, who wears soft looking henleys and lets his beard grow out until it’s soft and frames his jaw and blushes adorably?
This is a disaster.
Scott hugs his mother goodbye, and avoids Stiles’ pointed smirks on the way out. He follows Derek out to the car, questions on the tip of his tongue as they pile in. He waits, at least, until they’re on the road to… wherever they’re going, to speak up.
“What were you and my mom talking about?”
Derek is suspiciously silent, only tightening his grip around the steering wheel. Scott doesn’t even let him come up with an evasion. He’s seen enough of Derek’s “I don’t want to tell you” expression by this point.
“Really, dude? All of this and we’re back to keeping secrets?”
The older man’s eyes widen in genuine distress, and Scott almost feels bad about the accusation. “No!” Derek insists. “No, it’s not a secret. I just don’t know how to tell you without freaking you out.”
“Derek… is someone dead?”
“...No.”
“Is there some ancient evil headed for Beacon Hills?”
“No, Scott. Christ.”
Scott gestures pointedly between them. “So tell me. No one’s dying and no one’s coming to kill us. I can’t be that bad.”
Derek heaves a sigh, and Scott watches the rise and fall of his chest closely. “I…” There’s a pause that does nothing to help Scott’s nerves. “I gave your mom the money to pay off your house.”
And Scott promptly chokes on his own breath. “What--”
“And set up a college fund for you. Your tuition for Davis is paid for, all four years.”
“WHAT?”
Derek is starting to look unsure now, which, good, he should be. Because what the hell? “If you want it, I mean. It’s there for you - you and all of the Pack. I offered it to Malia, Kira, Lydia, and Stiles too. Stiles is taking his,” he hastens to say. As if that’s going to make any of this better. “Malia doesn’t want to go to college right now, but it’ll be there if she ever decides to. Kira isn’t sure about it. And Lydia told me no. So…”
“Good!” he yelps. “Good, she shouldn’t-- you shouldn’t be spending all of your money on us like that, Derek!”
“It’s… Peter’s money, actually.”
The rant that had been forming in Scott’s head abruptly vanishes. “Peter’s?” he parrots.
“Yeah. After he was put in Eichen House, I was put in charge of his assets. All of them, even the money he was getting from… some really nasty businesses, Scott. So I gave the rest of his 117 million to people he’s hurt. You, the Pack, Isaac, Jackson, Argent, Satomi. Anything that was left, I invested. Anything that gets made off of that money will be put into an account for the Pack’s use. So when Liam and Mason - and Hayden, if she wants to stay - graduate, they’ll have money for college too.”
“So you stole all of Peter’s money for us.” And Scott shouldn’t feel as warm as he does at the idea. He really shouldn’t.
Derek shifts in the driver’s seat. “Not all of it. Just his 117 million that he kept in the vault. Anything he was getting from elsewhere has been reinvested in more legal markets. So he’ll have money to live off of that when he gets out of Eichen. If he gets out of Eichen.” He glances at over at Scott, hesitant. Oddly… soft. Vulnerable. “Will you use the money for school?”
Affection swells in his chest, so strong and sudden that Scott nearly leans over and kisses Derek right there. He has to clench his hands into fists, let his nails bite into his palms to stop himself, and hope that the older werewolf doesn’t notice the spike in his pulse or in his scent. “Yeah, I’ll use it,” he answers. His voice comes out strange. He hopes Derek doesn’t notice that either. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that. Or this - this… vacation, thing.”
“Yes, I did,” Derek says earnestly. “For you, I did.”
Oh god.
Fuck everything. Scott can’t handle this. He can’t spend a week with this man.
He’s going to die.
--------------------3---------------------
Their destination turns out to be four hours south of Beacon Hills, and along the coast. They spend a good hour just driving along Route 1 with the shoreline on their right. It makes for amazing scenery, at least. But otherwise, Derek is frustratingly silent about where they’re going, until they turn off into a town that’s not even half the size of Beacon Hills in the early afternoon. In fact, it appears to be five intersections, a main commercial and business district, and a two neighborhoods on either side of said district. Scott peers at the town as Derek drives through it, passing the more populated town center and heading towards the shore.
They pass through a densely wooded lane, and exit right into a hill, on which stands an old Victorian manor. It had to have been breathtaking, once. It’s still a beautiful home, with its spires and sprawling veranda. Scott can see a balcony along the steep edge of the hill, and stairs leading to the beach below But the house old, worn, and in clear need of repairs.
There’s a Hale Triskele on one of the gate markers.
“Derek…”
“This was something like a summer home to my family,” he replies, before Scott can even ask. “A place to be away from Beacon Hills. There’s nothing supernaturally remarkable about this place at all. There’s nothing to be protected, here. It’s just a town.” Scott’s heart is in his throat as they pull to a stop in front of the house. He climbs out of the car, wincing as his muscles protest his long hours in Derek’s SUV. He stares up at the old house, and finds it oddly welcoming.
“Sorry, it’s not…” Derek shrugs uselessly. “I had someone from the town come and clean out a few rooms, so it’s livable. Enough for us for a week.”
“No, no, it’s fine. It’s wonderful. Really!” He shoulders his bag and follows Derek up the front steps. “I’m just… wondering why you wanted to take me out here, is all? I mean, what are we going to do out here?”
The manor’s foyer is clean, even if the house does smell faintly stale and moldy. The light from the window above fills the room with sunbeams. But Derek, Derek actually looks embarrassed. His shoulders have hunched up, and he’s having a hard time looking at Scott and… and he can’t handle this. Seriously. “I didn’t plan anything past getting you out of Beacon Hills,” Derek admits. His pulse, however, flutters just a bit. Not exactly a lie, but hiding something. “My family used to enjoy the forest and the beach. So you could, too? I can give you space if you’d rather--”
“No! I want you here with me.” He doesn’t register just how that sounds until the words are out of his mouth, and then he wants to shrink into the floor in horror. His face heats.
“Oh,” Derek says softly. And just kill Scott now, because Derek ducks his head just slightly, as if that’s going to hide the pleased little smile on his face. “Alright. Uh, I’ll show you where your room is.” He beckons Scott up the stairs, saving Scott from making an even bigger fool of himself. “His room” turns out to be the master bedroom. He wants to protest, but the Beta makes it clear that he’s going to hear none of that, and leaves to go unpack in his own room before Scott has the chance.
Derek’s footsteps pad down the hall a ways, to the next bedroom. But after the door creaks open, there’s a pause, and a displeased hum. It makes Scott pause in unpacking (in stashing the damning box of condoms and the lube in the back of a drawer) to listen to him walk from room to room, opening doors as he goes.
When Scott is finished putting his things away, he finds Derek in the sitting room on the second floor landing. “You didn’t pick a room?” he asks, pointing at Derek’s bag on the sofa. He worries, for a moment, that the memories of the house were too much for him. But Derek looks more embarrassed than distraught.
“Uh, I think there was a misunderstanding with the woman I hired to clean out rooms,” he says slowly. “It looks like yours is the only bedroom that was cleaned out.” He sighs, gesturing to the sofa. “I can clean out one for myself, but that will have to wait until tomorrow. Looks like I’ll be sleeping out here tonight.”
“You don’t have to do that,” Scott pleads. “It’s your house. I can sleep out here for a night.”
“You’re my guest, Scott. I can’t let you sleep on the couch. I’ll be comfortable out here.” He doesn’t have to listen for the lie. The couch looks anything but comfortable. It’s clean, thanks to whoever Derek had prepping the house for them. But it looks like something out of the late 90s. High class late 90s furniture, but still something that’s over a decade old and has seen better days. And Scott doesn’t even have to ask to know that it’ll be too small for Derek’s frame.
“Look…” The words die in his throat, however. What is he going to suggest? That they share the master bedroom? Probably, and oh, that makes his heart race. No, he can’t suggest that. No, this vacation so far has been one humiliating slip up after another.
This was supposed to be a crush. One that‘s been fading in and out of Scott’s existence for years. One that Scott was supposed to let fade back into friendship, which is something that seemed like a dream in those early days. Scott wasn’t supposed to miss Derek this much. To want to drink him in and never let go now that he’s suddenly back. For only this week, probably.
“Just in case,” Stiles had teased. But now in Scott’s memory it sounds like “Take your chance before it’s too late.”
But Derek is watching him with a perplexed frown, and Scott loses all courage. “We’ll talk about it later?” he finishes his thought weakly.
Smooth, Scott. Very smooth.
--------------------4---------------------
They end up going into town for groceries instead of arguing, so Scott is saved from making a fool out of himself again. The little town has exactly two grocery stores - a Wal-Mart just outside of town, and a little grocer that’s probably been there as long as the town has. He isn’t surprised at all when Derek takes him to the latter, with only a mumbled explanation that his family always went to this store when they visited.
The bored looking 20-something behind the counter perks up when they walk in, peering unashamedly at them. “Welcome to Rife’s Market,” they chirp. And even after Scott waves back, they don’t turn away. Their eyes track his and Derek’s movement across the store.
“Um,” he mutters to Derek once they duck down an aisle.
Derek sighs, but says nothing. He doesn’t really need to when they both can clearly hear the cashier slipping into the back room and announcing “I think Derek Hale just got here! And his friend is with him,” in a pseudo whisper.
Derek tips his head towards the ceiling, as if asking it for strength. Scott bites his lip to keep from laughing at him. “You can’t go anywhere, can you?” he teases.
“We’re from Beacon Hills. You know how it is. The whole town will know in half an hour.”
“Are you like a celebrity here to get recognized so fast?”
“No, this is just--”
“Derek Hale, is that you?” There’s an older, dark-skinned woman bearing down on them from other end of the aisle, bounding towards them with surprising grace. She heads straight for Derek, enveloping him in a bear hug without hesitation. Scott’s mouth falls open in shock as he watches. Barring the single, impulsive embrace they’d shared just this morning, Scott’s never even considered other people showing Derek casual affection. But Derek doesn’t shy away, though he looks a bit uncomfortable.
“Missus Rife,” Derek greets.
The woman tsks and interrupts him. “Shonda, sweetheart. No Missus Rife from you.” And Derek somehow manages to give off an air of squirming even as he stays still. “How are you? Did you just get in?”
“We stopped up at the house to drop off our things. Thanks for clearing out the rooms for us,” Derek replies, a little stiffly.
“Oh, it was no trouble. I had Lonna and Harley to help us. Put their young legs to work! It was worth it, too, to see you back in my store. We never thought we’d see you again after what happened.” She seems to know when she’s hit a tender subject, at least, because instead of letting it descend into awkward silence she refocuses. On Scott. “Is this your friend, Derek?”
Scott… really isn’t sure about the inflection in that. And oh, oh god, this is why only one bedroom was cleaned out. “Um.”
“Shonda, this is Scott McCall…”
She offers her hand, which Scott hesitantly takes. It’s hard not to feel meek when she’s practically leering at him. “It’s good to meet you, Scott McCall,” she says smoothly, but there’s a sly knowing to her words that makes his face heat. “I’ve been so excited to meet the young man who’s snared Derek’s heart. The way he went on--”
“We’re not--” both Derek and Scott blurt simultaneously. Derek shoots him a panicked look.
“Shonda, Scott has a--”
“And Derek has--”
“Boys,” the older woman placates, “it’s alright. There’s no need to panic, now. We’re all very happy for you. And you seem like a lovely young man, Scott.”
“Um. Thank you?” Scott glances timidly at Derek, who’s staring resolutely at the shelves behind Shonda, his face growing steadily redder.
From there they are properly escorted around the store for their shopping list by the bustling woman, intent on seeing that their every need is met. They don’t make any further attempts to correct her misconception. The doting, knowing looks she keeps giving them squashes any desire to speak up.
It’s not until they’re packing the groceries into the car that Scott dares to say something. “You know…” he pipes up, “I’m not actually with… Kira and I split up?”
Derek freezes, grocery bag in hand. “You did?” he asks softly.
“Yeah. After everything that happened, we just… we wanted to get our lives back together. So we agreed to split up. Take some time. Maybe see other people, if we wanted?”
“Oh.” The other man frowns thoughtfully. “And you’re happy with it?”
“Yeah, I guess. I love her still. But things weren’t great, and I didn’t want to end up hurting her with my bullshit. She has enough on her plate already.”
Derek looks at him sharply as he says it, his lips pursing as if he wants to say something. “Braeden and I aren’t exclusive either,” he admits after a few moments, which makes Scott’s heart leap in a way it shouldn’t. “She’s still going after the Desert Wolf, and she’s not going to stop until it’s over. It might never be over. And I’m… I’m ready to settle down.”
“Settle down? Like getting married and having kids settling down?”
That brings a smile to the Beta’s face. Scott’s eyes drop down to his mouth and quickly away, before he’s noticed. “Maybe not that far yet. But a home is a good place to start. And maybe someone to share it with.”
“That’s… that’s good, man. I’m happy for you.”
Derek’s eyes catch his, soft and grateful, and Scott tries not to think about just how much he wants to be that person in that instant.
--------------------5---------------------
The use the rest of the day as best they can. Derek takes him out into the forest, far off any beaten path. They can’t sense anyone for miles, so Derek strips down (while Scott resolutely does not look), stuffs his clothes into a drawstring bag, and shifts into the wolf. Scott hooks the bag over his shoulders and relaxes into his his own shift, with Derek gently wagging his tail at his side.
They go running through the woods, Derek a dark, fast shape zipping between the trees ahead of him. They take turns chasing each other, challenging one another in low growls. And one they catch one another they go sliding along the forest floor, snapping playfully and wrestling. Derek ends up grabbing him by the waistband of his jeans and shaking him off balance, before Scott pounces on him. It hurts - just like everything hurts for Scott nowadays. But he won’t stand for Derek’s concerned whines whenever a movement makes his entire body throb painfully, and only redoubles his efforts.
They don’t stop until they no longer have the energy to move. Until they’re sprawled in the dirt with Derek’s head resting on Scott’s stomach. God, it’s sweet. It’s too sweet and everything hurts, but Scott wouldn’t exchange this for anything. He throws caution to the wind and cards his fingers through Derek’s soft, dark fur. And Derek… lets him. Even relaxes into him.
The sun is setting by the time Derek finally moves. He leaves Scott prone on the ground, padding over to their bag, which had been tossed carelessly away during their playfighting. Scott listens to him walk out of view and shift back, and tries not to think too hard about what Derek looks like naked. (Not that he has to imagine much. He’s already seen him naked once, after Mexico. It… It may have featured in some of his more exciting fantasies since then.)
(...That isn’t something Scott should be thinking about right now.)
His phone saves him from his thoughts, buzzing in his back pocket. They must’ve gone close enough to the town, if he still has signal. He drags it from his pocket with a wince, his body protesting every twist.
So how’s operation “Give Scott McCall a blowjob and a day off from Beacon Hills” going?
Sore body be damned, Scott shoots upright, reading Stiles’ message over and over again as if it will somehow magically turn into something different.
UM.
The pause before Stiles responds might as well be an eternity with how fast his heart is suddenly racing.
SHIT WRONG PERSON FUCK FORGET YOU SAW ANYTHING.
He’s three words into his reply when Derek comes dashing back into sight. “Scott?” his question comes out panicked, voice raised as if he were expecting a threat. But when he sees Scott sitting on the ground, his brows furrow. Scott doesn’t want to think about what he looks like. His face feels like it’s on fire. “What happened?”
Words fail him, so instead of a proper explanation he just gestures dumbly at his phone, eyes wide. “Stiles,” he says. “O-Operation ‘Give Scott Mc--’” Thankfully, he doesn’t have to actually say it. That’s all it takes for Derek’s face to go bright red.
Neither of them speaks for while.
“Stiles, he… he’s being a little shit,” Derek mutters. “Making bad jokes. He’s been doing it for weeks.”
“...Oh.” His heart sinks. Stupid. Stupid. He shouldn’t be disappointed over something as silly as this. Of course it’s Stiles making off color jokes. “He does that, yeah.” Derek’s looking at him funny again, and Scott clears his throat to make up for the silence. “So are you ready to head back?” He pulls himself to his feet so fast that the pain is like a lightning strike down his spine. He sways, only to have Derek steady him with hand to his elbow.
The other werewolf has better control than Scott does to not reflexively take his pain right there. He’s always had better control.
The walk back to the house is… awkward, to say the least. Dinner isn’t much better, even if they both pretend everything’s fine.
By the time they’re getting ready for bed, Scott despairs that he’s ruined the entire vacation with his stupidity.
‘What else is new?’
Derek still insists on attempting to sleep on the couch. Scott peers at him from the hall as he arranges a pillow and blanket on the too small, too cramped sofa. No matter what Scott has tried, Derek refuses to take the bed.
Which, really, leaves Scott with one other option - one that makes his palms go sweaty and his body shake with nerves. But Derek senses him before he can gather the courage to approach, cocking his head back. Scott knows he’s listening to his heartbeat. Maybe gauging his mood through his scent. “Scott?” he asks softly, turning to look at him. “There something you want to ask?”
Fuck, he’s so dead. Derek knows, he has to. “Uh, I… just…” Miserable and frustrated and far too sore to deal with this, Scott just goes for it. “We can share the bed, Derek. You don’t have to-- I’m-- I’d like if you did.”
And now he’s being stared at in disbelief, Derek’s brows drawn low over his eyes and his mouth dropping open. As if that hadn’t been what Derek was expecting him to ask and Scott wants to crawl into a hole and die. It would be less mortifying than this. He’s just contemplating an escape when something passes over Derek’s face. His head tilts, eyes drifting over him, intent. There’s something… Scott can’t name it, but it makes his body tingle all over. His mouth goes dry.
“Okay,” Derek murmurs. He raises a finger. “On one condition.”
Scott’s throat clicks as he swallows around the lump in his throat. “Yeah?”
The other ‘wolf holds out a hand. Scott stares at it until Derek’s fingers twitch, beckoning. “Give me your hand,” Derek tells him. His stomach sinks, and his elation goes with it as surely as a balloon stuck with a pin. He reflexively tries to hide his hands, which doesn’t make him look innocent in the slightest. Derek raises a knowing brow at him. “Come on, Scott.”
He’s been caught, and outright refusing or denying it will just start a fight. Another pointless fight in the long string of them in their friendship and Scott is so tired. So he sighs, eyes downcast, and shuffles forward to reluctantly place his hand in Derek’s. Whatever joy he’d have at holding Derek’s hand is overcast by the guilt, the dread, when Derek’s veins flow black, and the pain ebbs with it.
Derek’s eyes widen, and Scott jerks his hand away. “Sorry,” he mutters quickly.
“Scott…” Derek breathes harshly. He can practically hear the clench of his jaw around his name. “Are you…” Scott fights not to flinch away when Derek steps closer. “How long has it been like this?”
He shrugs. “A while. It’s not that bad.”
“Not that--” The man takes a slow breath, like he’s gathering his strength. “Scott, you shouldn’t be in pain. Is it all the time?”
His silence is damning enough.
“Okay… okay. Come on.” A hand grasps Scott’s arm, but the pain isn’t taken from him again. He’s guided into the master bedroom and Scott tries not to let the more traitorous thoughts take hold. About how good it feels for Derek to touch him. Or about them sleeping in the same bed. Derek climbs right in, movements purposeful, and he stares Scott down until he follows suit. Even hiding his wince as he climbs in doesn’t seem to do any good.
What’s left is them awkwardly sitting up in bed for a few moments. The only thing in the silence is the steady, sure beat of Derek’s heart and (Scott’s sure) the nervous flutter of his own.
And then Derek is pulling him down, keeping a hand on Scott’s shoulder as he fluffs the pillows and arranges the covers. All Scott can do is watch him, dreading what’s going to come. Are they going to have a Talk? Oh god, Scott doesn’t think they can handle that. He can’t take Derek being earnest and concerned at him.
The slow fade of pain makes him want to struggle again. “No,” he pleads, pulling his arm away from Derek’s black-veined hand.
Derek huffs in reproach. “Scott.”
“I don’t need that, okay?” But he does. He does, he does. Those few brief moments of painless existence were like heaven. Scott had almost forgotten what that was like, to not hurt every minute of the fucking day. “You don’t need to take my pain, Derek.”
“You’re hurting.”
“I’m the Alpha,” Scott exclaims, “I can handle a little pain! I can take more than you can--”
“Do not tell me how much pain I can take, Scott.” The edge in Derek’s voice has his mouth snapping shut; has his heart withering in his chest. “You know better than that.” An apology springs to Scott’s lips, but Derek’s expression softens before he can say it. The hand at his arm rubs in gentle circles. “You don’t have to take all this,” he amends, “Alpha or not. You could’ve asked.”
But he couldn’t have. He can’t, Scott wants to say. He can’t. Even now the words lodge in his throat. He can’t give someone his pain. It’s his fault, his to bear, his to carry. He can’t shove that onto anyone. It builds in him, these words, until it feels like they’re suffocating him. Until it’s hard to breathe.
“Let me help,” Derek says, practically begs.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Scott whispers.
“You won’t. I won’t take it all.” He waits, at least, until Scott relents, hand unmoving on Scott’s arm. And when Scott forces himself to let out the breath he’s been holding and nods, Derek scoots closer. Close enough that he has to move his legs to give Derek room. The touches start slow, working soothing circles up his bicep to his shoulder. Over his back, down his spine and back up. It should feel awkward. It’s not quite a massage, and not quite cuddling, but it’s intimate and every few seconds Derek saps away some of the pain. At first, Scott watches him closely, ready to pull away at the slightest flinch. But the Beta’s expression stays soft, attentive.
They’re drifting closer, Scott realizes with a belated jolt. And in the second before his heart skips a beat, he’s being pulled into Derek’s arms completely. He’s being cradled up against that warm, firm body with a hand securely around his waist and another drifting up the back of his neck and into his hair. Scott’s face is pressed in the crook of Derek’s neck and all he can smell is the warm, earthy scent of his Beta around him and he melts. Just lets go and relaxes in Derek’s embrace as he cards fingers through his hair.
The pain’s fading faster than Scott knows how to deal with. It feels foreign. Like he can finally breathe again and it’s too sharp, too much. “Derek,” he calls, voice wavering. The other ‘wolf is taking too much. He has to be taking too much.
“It’s alright,” Derek comforts. “That’s not me. That’s you. You’re healing, a little.”
Scott squirms, unsure what to do now that every movement doesn’t throb. “H-Huh?”
“Touch helps. Physical comfort can help the healing process, if it’s someone we trust,” Derek explains. Scott wants to call him on it, remembers saying something similar to an injured woman - what seems like eons ago. But Derek isn’t lying. His voice, so close in Scott’s ear, is steady, and so is his heartbeat. Fuck, he can feel Derek’s pulse against his face, they’re so close. “You’ve been keeping everyone at a distance, not letting yourself heal properly. You don’t have to.”
How can Scott protest that, when he’s wrapped up in warmth and comfort? When this is all he’s wanted since seeing Derek again? Since before Derek left. (For years, if he’s honest with himself.) His hands don't know what to do with themselves, fingers flexing in the fabric of Derek’s tank top, reveling in how painless it is. There’s a new tension building, and Scott doesn’t realize what it is until Derek stills.
Oh.
The warm, shivery tingling sensation isn't just from affection and warmth. And there’s no way Derek can't smell the gently burning arousal coming off him, not this close. And Scott isn't sure if he wants to curl closer, to hide, to act, or to run as far as his legs will carry him.
“Sorry,” he mumbles.
But he’s not pushed away. Derek’s hold shifts, handing settling at the curve of his jaw, holding him still as he leans back enough and oh, oh, kissing him so gently. Scott trembles, unable to do anything but gasp and clench his hands in Derek’s shirt, as if Derek will just disappear if he lets go. The kiss is gentle but it’s anything but chaste, the slick slide of lips and the mingling of breaths between them. It’s only when Derek’s pulling away that Scott thinks to do something, to press forward and get one good open-mouthed kiss in before he loses his chance.
They just gaze at one another once the kiss is broken. Derek looks… patient. Like he knows that this has just turned Scott’s world on its head.
“That wasn't....” He pauses to wet lips. They tingle, feel swollen. “That wasn't a part of the uh… physical comfort thing, right?” He does feel better after the kiss - he feels great. But that has less to do with pain and more to do with the elation rushing through his veins.
Derek stares flatly at him, but it loses its effect when his eyes are sparkling and his mouth is shiny and pink.
“I had to ask?” He placates. The urge to kiss him again is too much, and Scott leans closer, hesitating just enough to give Derek a chance to change his mind, before kissing him. Slower, sweeter this time. It feels like he’s flying. The next gaze they share is broken by Scott’s soft laughter. “So… about operation ‘Give Scott McCall a blowjob and a day off?” he jokes.
Derek’s grin is lazy, predatory. “Ask me again in the morning.”
