                      Not Boring At All!   von Hoshisaki
                          (The Series as read on A3O)
================================================================================
                     Kapitel 1: Not A Boring Night Shift!
                     ------------------------------------


Not A Boring Night Shift!


*


Stiles was sort of pissed. Bored in any case. Frustrated at the very least. He
wiped the counter again, but the spot was persistent. He started scrubbing.
Oh, how he had looked forward to his last summer of high school, the final weeks
before senior year. Boy, had he been in for a disappointment!
Scott was busy with his three part-time jobs: One at the animal clinic (The only
one paying, Stiles might add!), another as Alpha to a Beta with anger management
issues and thirdly as a helplessly-in-love boyfriend.
Malia took summer classes to prepare for school. A lot of classes Lydia was
helping her studying for, unless she was at the sheriff's station, giving
supernatural private lessons for Deputy Parrish. Stiles might suspect ulterior
motives there.
His dad had a whole lot of shifts since the station was understaffed during
summer vacation.
Everybody else was on said summer vacation.
Except for Broody McSourwolf, sitting in front of him, elbows on the counter,
doing something on his phone. Of course, Stiles' luck had seen to it that Derek
of all of them was free to keep him company out here. In the little diner
contiguous to the gas station at the Interstate, a few miles outside of Beacon
Hills.
Since he was eighteen now and allowed to work night shifts, the manager had
promptly put him to work.
“Why are you here again, Derek?”
Needless to say, there were next to no customers. The last one had left two
hours ago and the night before, there had only been five of them. The entire
night!
“Patrolling the borders of the pack's territory,” Derek said dryly and
sipped on his coffee that had to be cold by now.
“Aha. Yeah. That.” Stiles tossed the rag into the sink and started on
rolling cutlery and paper napkins into neat rolls. He did a dozen of those.
“Okay, so you checked the place out. Everything is fine. Scott will be so
relieved. Why are you still here?”
Stiles refilled Derek's coffee without being asked to.
“Keeping an eye on you.” The same flat tone.
“I don't get it! It's not like I'm alone out here. There is a cook somewhere
in the back of the building.”
When Derek's expressive eyebrow rose, he added, “In the kitchen, doing... eh,
his job.”
“Does he hear you scream?”
“Geez, Derek, I don't know! Depends on how loud the stupid radio is plaing the
country music!?”
Derek threw him a pointed look.
“Argh!” Stiles groaned in frustration and grabbed the rag to wipe the tables
and seats, again.
“It's not like I'd need your help or protection, y'know?” Stiles grumbled,
rinsing the rag. He eyed the ugly, old thing with disgust. “Nothing ever
happens out here anyway. I'm sure, you're missing all the fun back in Beacon
Hills.”
Derek merely shifted his weight, letting go of the phone and reclining into the
back-rest of the stool.
“I'm sure, I don't. Your dad would call in case o-”
“My dad?!” Stiles interrupted. “Seriously, this alliance between the both
of you is kind of creepy and upsetting.”
Derek had the nerve to shrug. This new-found confidence was annoying and sexy at
the same time and Stiles needed Derek to leave, before someone else left.
Stiles' common sense and better judgement for example.
“Don't you have a mistress to please? Where is she anyways?”
“Somewhere in Texas.”
“Goodness, I-” Derek, however, shushed him with a wave of his hand.
“Nevermind then, I don't care, not my business.”
Derek looked sad for a very short moment; Stiles almost thought he'd imagined
it.
“Look, Big Guy, you can talk to me, you know that. If there's something or
someone on your mind, okay, I'm listening,” Stiles offered, but Derek kept
glaring down into the cup.
“Just saying, if you need someone to fill that huge, empty loft of yours, I
don't think Malia would mind us spending a little time together. Like old
times!”
Stiles smiled to himself, remembering the summer of two years ago and all the
things he and Derek had done and seen, all the fun they'd had.
“I'll even cuddle with you. I know, you liked that. And still do.”
Derek snorted.
“Aww, c'mon, dude. Admit it!” Chuckling, he leaned across the counter and
stroked the back of Derek's hand and wrist affectionately, finger-tips playing
with the soft, little hairs on Derek's hot skin. “Tell me what you want and
I'll see what I can do for you, 'kay?”
Derek finished his coffee.
“Don't get your hopes up,” he growled and turned, slipping off the stool.
“It's about to get rough.”
Stiles frowned, “What are you talking about?”
And as if one cue, the door exploded into smithereens.
“Ugh, you gotta be kidding me...”
The dust cleared slowly, revealing a group of guys with 'trouble' written all
over their foreheads.
“I smell wet dog,” one of them said, sneering and cracking his knuckles.
Stiles watched Derek's hackles raising.
“We'll talk about who's right to keep watch later, Stiles,” Derek said over
his shoulder and popped his claws.
“Yeah, whatever, Derek,” Stiles shrugged. Just his luck... “I wanna cuddle
later, you hear me?!” He grouched, getting the baseball bat, he had stored
beneath the sink.
The answering sound was the harsh noise of wooden furniture breaking.


*** The End ***


                     Kapitel 2: Not A Boring Movie Night!
                     ------------------------------------


Not A Boring Movie Night!

* 

So basically Stiles had gotten himself into this mess, all on his own, with no
one else to blame. On the bright side he had finally got Scott to agree to do a
Star Wars marathon night. And wasn't that long over-due?!

Yet, the brightness of that side of the bargain he had struck with Scott was
dulled by his current situation. Which is to say, the first hand full of popcorn
turned into ash in his mouth as soon as he realized, he was actually doing this.
The cinema was as good as empty. No, scratch that. It was empty but for the two
of them. It was such a lovely summer night out there. Why weren't they out in
the Preserve chasing something or doing summer homework or volunteering to clean
up after the bonfire?

On the other hand, it was his day, or rather night, off from the diner and the
territory seemed fine and Scott was free to hang out. It could have been so
perfect. If only he hadn't agreed to go to the movies with Scott. He should have
known there was a catch.

Still, he got the Star Wars marathon out of it.

That was, if he made it through this movie first. Preferably alive.

The previews were harmless enough but then the dimmed lights went completely
dark. Making Stiles slouch down in his seat with a tiny whimper.

He wasn't that squeamish, was he? And contrary to what Derek thought, he didn't
faint at the sight of blood. Well, at least not from the paper cut last week.

He should start feeling betrayed by Scott who had very deliberately dragged him
into this thing that had blood splatter all over its promotional posters. Scott
had pointed out that the movie was indeed about a lost young werewolf and it
would be interesting to see how Hollywood would solve the anchor issues. Perhaps
Stiles could think of this monstrosity of an idea as an educational experience.
Like watching sex education videos in class. With Coach breathing down his neck.
Come to think of it, he had never found out what exactly Coach was doing in Mr.
Harris' biology class that day during the last weeks of their freshman year.

A terrible scream – or was it a creaking door? – made Stiles jump and clutch
his chest.

Nope, he'd die tonight if things went on like this.

Gnawing on his fingernails he made little whiny noises as the prologue played
out on the screen.

Scott petted him on the left elbow, trying to sooth.

He supposed, it could have been worse. Imagine, Stiles would have to sit in this
theater right now with someone he liked and wanted to impress, like lovely Malia
or godly Lydia. Or much, much worse: someone who gave him the creeps in broad
daylight, like Peter or Grandpa Argent! Thank God those two were taken care of.

Exhaling harshly Stiles told himself to relax, dropping his right forearm back
onto the arm-rest.

The hard yet soft, warm, covered in a fine dust of hair, feeling like
skin-on-skin contact arm-rest?!

Stiles shrieked before he could even think of yelling something like
“WTF?!“.

“Shut up, Stiles,“ Derek shushed him, not even looking away from the
screen.

“What??“ Stiles gasped for breath, whirled around in his seat to face Scott
who had turned around, too.

“What the hell is he doing here?! Did you see or hear him come in? Did you
know about this?“ Stiles hissed at Scott who just shrugged and gave him the
helpless puppy eyes. “Oh God...“

Derek's knee brushed lightly against his, sending a shiver up and down his
spine. A couple of times.

“Calm down, Stiles. A bird told me, our Alpha might need some help with you
tonight, that's all.“

Stiles huffed in annoyance.

“Did it have nine tails or light gray fur?“

Derek raised an eyebrow at him. “Bright green and purple feathers
actually.“

“Oh, c'mon, Derek, now you're just fucking with me!“ Stiles accused, sighing
exasperated.

And then Scott hissed, “Guys! Shut it, seriously. I wanna watch this!“ at
the same time as Derek drawled, “Oh, Stiles, if I were to do something –
like fuck – with you, trust me, you'd know it.“

Stiles groaned, curled up into a ball of shivering Stilinski and tried not to
die of mortification.

 
*

 
About one and a half hour later, Stiles was escorted from the cinema by Scott
and Derek, both holding one of Stiles' hands. They sat down in the little 24/7
coffee shop, just across the street from the cinema, and Scott got up to get
loads of hot chocolate with extra whipped cream for Stiles, a mint ice tea for
himself and a cup of black coffee for Derek.

Stiles had been insisting on hearing things and whispers throughout the entire
movie and even if both werewolves had repeatedly told him, he was imaging it,
Stiles couldn't shake the feeling that they hadn't been alone in that theater.

“But, Derek, I swear, it really felt like they threw popcorn at me! I know the
feeling, believe me. And I felt it!“ He put his foot down, literally, to
emphasize his point.

“Tsk, I can't smell any popcorn on the back of head or neck.“ Derek looked
like he was about to rub his temples to relieve an upcoming headache.

“Are you sure? Maybe Scott's popcorn mislead your wolfy nose,“ Stiles said.
“Check again!“

Derek clicked his tongue, turned Stiles around by the shoulders and dragged him
across the old, comfy sofa they were sitting on until his back was flush to
Derek's chiseled chest.

Stiles, oddly enough, relaxed into the tight grip, feeling Derek's warmth and
spicy scent soaking through him. He blushed, feeling Derek bury his nose into
Stiles' hair and breathing deep and slow, like tasting him.

Those huge hands slipped lower and Stiles leaned his head back against Derek's
shoulder, letting a little noise escape his lips that would have told anyone
that Stiles was very much enjoying the way Derek's nose and stubbled chin
wandered down from the hair line behind his ear to the crook of his neck and
shoulder and back up again.

“Nope, no popcorn,“ Derek murmured against the shell of his ear. “Just
your atrocious stench of anxiety.“ And how on Earth did Derek make those words
sound like dirty talk to Stiles?

“Underlined with the hot, sticky caramel scent that's pure you, Stiles...“

Oh, maybe that was because it was... dirty talk? No, whoa, wait a minute!

“What the-??“ Stiles croaked, his throat suddenly too dry. He felt the
embrace loosen.

Stiles shook his head to clear his thoughts. Obviously they needed to change the
topic.

“So, the other day my girlfriend Malia showed me that nice postcard your
Mistress Braedon sent her from the Mississippi delta. How's she doing
anyways?“

Okay, maybe not that drastic a change.

Thankfully that was when Scott returned with their drinks and, surprisingly, the
sheepishly looking pair of Liam and Mason, tagged along.

“Hey guys, look who I ran into!“ Scott laughed, seemingly oblivious to the
tension between Stiles and Derek. “Guess what they were doing?!“

“Getting coffee?“ Stiles replied deadpan, making grabby hands for his hot
chocolate.

“Uhm, actually, we were...“ Liam started, trailed off, looked at Mason for
help.

Three minutes of explaining later Stiles stared at the younger boys across the
coffee table and said, “And you decided to throw stuff at me, in the dark I
might add, to make me 'shriek like a girl' because of some silly bet you had
going on??“

“Well,“ Mason tried, lifting his hands in a placating manner, “You do
sound more like a woman who discovers a rat in her kitchen.“

“Oh thanks, dude. I'm so glad! You know, because I was starting to think I was
getting paranoid or something.“ He glared at Scott and Derek with all his
might. Only to have all of them bursting into laughter.

They stayed at the little coffee shop until almost four in the morning, talking,
joking, chilling, Liam falling asleep at some point, snuggled up to Scott and
Mason and when Derek helped a sleepy Stiles up the stairs to his bedroom and
tugged him in, well, Stiles might be willing to admit that tonight wasn't as bad
as he had anticipated.

 
*** The End ***


                      Kapitel 3: Not A Boring Night Hike!
                      -----------------------------------


Not A Boring Night Hike!


*


Stiles was exhausted to the point of preferring Finstock's suicide runs. Why he
had thought it a good idea to accompany his friends out into woods on the night
of the full moon was beyond him. It was barely past midnight and his throat hurt
from his harsh breathing, his calves burnt like fire and, oh, how he wanted to
kick himself for ever thinking he could keep up with his friends. Who were a
couple of hundred yards ahead, merrily chasing one another, like playing wolfy
tag or something. It was kind of cute to watch, Stiles had to admit. He was even
catching up on them when the weres rolled the gentle slope back down, with
leaves and tiny twigs sticking to their hair. Which, inevitably, led Stiles to
his next question: Why was his shifted girlfriend rolling around the woods with
an equally shifted Derek Hale? Well, yeah, that had been his idea, too. Right.
Now he remembered.

He collapsed on a rock, rubbed his aching legs and observed the weres
roughhousing. Despite the growling and snarling, it was peaceful, in a Beacon
Hills twisted sort of way. Stiles leaned back and was about to call it a job
well done.

Of course, that was when Malia and Derek froze, scented the air and slowly
turned in Stiles' direction.

“Don't tell me you heard something!” Stiles demanded, pulling his zip-up
hoodie tighter around himself.

“I heard something,” Malia said with a wicked grin.

“Not funny,” Stiles pouted and frowned at Derek. “What is it?”

Derek's nose twitched a little. That was not a good sign.

“I don't know. Just that the sound was coming from behind you.” Derek
brushed passed him and carefully climbed down the short but rocky drop-off.

“I hate it when he doesn't know shit...” Stiles grumbled and followed.

 
*

 
Three minutes later they had located the source of the sound in a narrow
crevice.

“It smells like deer,” Malia commented as Stiles flashed the light of his
phone along the rocks.

“It smells like blood,” Derek corrected and crossed his arms. “The crevice
is too small for a deer anyway.”

“I can't smell nor see anything.” Stiles squinted into the shadows, but to
no avail.

“Just let me!” Malia pushed him aside and reached into the darkness, only to
pull back with a yelp. “Fuck!” She cursed and hugged her right hand to
herself. “The little shit stung me!”

“Stung you?” Stiles repeated and took a look at Malia's hand which had
already healed. Couldn't have been that bad.

“I don't know...” Malia sighed and threw a glance over Stiles' shoulder,
making him turn around.

“Derek? If you get stuck in there, I'll take a pic and show it to everyone.
Understand?”

But Derek was already giving up and stepping back from the tiny opening in the
rocks.

Stiles 'tsk'ed and pressed his phone into Derek's hands.

“Light the way, okay?” He said, crouched down and squeezed himself into the
crevice.

Surprisingly, the space widened after a few feet and Stiles was able to crawl
forward, using his sense of touch to navigate and see as best as he could.

Suddenly there was a rustle in the dry leaves.

“Stiles?” Derek called from the outside. “It moved!”

“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles mumbled to himself and carefully reached out.
There was a whimper and a snuffling noise.

“Hey there...” He whispered softly. He felt himself and the little something
in front of him shudder when his finger-tips touched smooth fur. The smoothest
fur Stiles had ever touched!

With a shaky breath he realized, the fur was sticky and wet in several spots.

“What happened to you, little guy?” He wondered and looked up to find a tiny
shimmer of moon light up above. Maybe the animal had fallen through a hole in
the ceiling of the cave?

Decision made, Stiles took off his hoodie, scooped up the small, quivering thing
with it and while making soothing noises made his way back out.

“I still say, it smells like deer,” Malia said as she helped him to his
feet.

“But it's not. It's tiny and soft and hurt,” Stiles replied and cautiously
tugged at a corner of the hoodie, revealing the shaking ball of fur to his
friends.

Derek's eyebrows did their I-can't-believe-this upwards motion.

“It looks like... a bunny? With... horns?” Stiles gasped as Derek's fingers
stroked the messy fur, veins going black at the back of his hand.

“It's a jackalope,” Derek said calmly, withdrawing his hand. “And it's in
pain.”

 
*

 
The dial tone beeped into Stiles' ear. Derek was driving to the animal clinic.
Doctor Deaton had told them to come.

“C'mon Lydia... pick up!”

“I say, we put it out of its misery,” Malia proposed from the back of the
Jeep. “And eat it,” she added.

“That's disgusting, Malia. No one's gonna eat the little fellow here.”

“But Stiles!”

Thankfully Lydia picked up right then. “This better be important or
else...”

“There's blood on my clothes, Lyds. May I continue speaking?”

There was some movement on the other end of the line. “Shit! Okay. What's
wrong?”

“I'll tell you everything later. Just meet us at Deaton's ASAP, okay? And
bring a laptop and the Bestiary. We found something in woods,” Stiles
explained in an urgent tone. “Hurry!”

“I'll be right over!”

Stiles heard Lydia's distant voice saying, “Hey, listen, I need-” before the
line disconnected.

 
*

 
About twenty minutes later, Stiles was pacing up and down in the waiting room.
Malia nibbled on a candy bar and Derek was his usual stoic self in the corner of
the room.

The door bell jingled and Stiles stumbled into the foyer where Lydia and – not
as surprisingly as Stiles would have thought – Deputy Parrish entered. Both
looking rather disheveled. Stiles had a feeling, he didn't want to know. Just
hoped, Lydia wouldn't castrate him for interrupting.

After a short exchange of greetings they sat down in the waiting room and Stiles
hurriedly retold the events up until now while skimming through the Bestiary.

Derek took the seat next to him and explained, “A jackalope looks like a hare
with horns or antlers. They are said to live in the woods of Wyoming and further
north. My mother used to read us children's stories about the Horned Hares but I
never believed they actually existed.”

“Says the werewolf,” Stiles deadpanned.

“Argh, give me that!” Without waiting for an answer Lydia grabbed the laptop
and started working. “I think, I read something like that in here...” She
flicked her gaze up to meet Stiles' eyes. “And why are you all shaky and
pale?”

He found himself at a loss of words, for once, and simply shrugged.

“It'll be all right. Calm down, Stiles.” Derek gently rubbed his hand down
Stiles' back and pulled him into an awkward hug.

Several minutes of tense silence followed and were broken by Lydia's triumphant
“Aha!”

Everyone sat up.

“The Bestiary calls them... Wolpertinger. A.k.a. the Horned Hare, Raurackel or
Rasselbock. Body of a rabbit-like creature, the head has horns, often shaped
like antlers. Some reports also mention other features, wings for example.
They're supposedly very shy and known in many a different kingdom. Tsk. Like,
the alpine regions of Bavaria and Austria, the mountain forests of Scandinavia.
Says here, it's rather harmless since the Wolpertinger is living off smaller
animals like mice, also herbs and roots. The horns or antlers are rumored to
have magical or at least medicinal properties. Which is why they were hunted and
eventually believed to be extinct.”

She paused, eyes flicking over the text.

“The Bestiary lists a number of different hunting techniques. Although, I
think, all of them are old wives' tales. Like, you can only catch them by
putting salt on their tails. Or lure them in with candle light and drive them
into a canvas sack with a spade...? Who wrote this crap? Sorry Allison!”

She inhaled slowly and read on, “This one says, Wolpertinger can only be found
by fair, young lassies who are walking around the woods with their handsome
gentleman-friend.”

She looked up and fixed Stiles with her gaze.

“During nightfall of a night of a full moon.”

Stiles nodded, swallowed and mulled it over. “Seems about right.”

Derek clicked his tongue in thought.

Stiles continued, “Hypothetically, if the Horned Hares are inhabiting mountain
forests, they were right to come here. And if their horns are indeed magical,
that also explains why they came here instead of choosing some other hill with
trees on top. But rabbits? Aren't they living in colonies, like a family in a
warren? And this one in there,” Stiles pointed at the closed doors of the
examination room. “It looked so small and fragile, like, I don't know, even
smaller than the dwarf rabbits in the pet shop! What if it's a baby
Wolper-thing?”

“Wolpertinger,” Lydia interjected.

“Right, Wolpertinger. It can't be meandering around the woods all alone, can
it? What if it fell down the stupid hole into the crevice and its family never
found it? What if they were running away from some bigger predator and got
separated?”

“Oh Stiles,” Lydia sighed in sympathy and petted his knee. “Let me guess?
You want to find the Wolpertinger family and bring back their young?”

Stiles could only nod and try to breathe through the panicky mess he had talked
himself into.

“We can do that, right?”

He looked at Derek with pleading eyes.

“Well, maybe not tonight. But we have the scent. We can get Scott and Liam and
comb the Preserve together. Maybe Argent can track their paw prints.” Derek
shrugged.

“Just don't get your hopes up, Stiles.” Malia came up and kneeled down in
front of him. “It does smell pretty delicious.”

“You are not helping,” Stiles huffed and sat up resolutely. “If we can't
find the warren, I'll just have to adopt it. Dad can't say no to an endangered
supernatural species.”

Derek snorted in amused affection. Everyone else groaned in various degrees of
exasperation.

The doors creaked and revealed the veterinarian, holding a bundle.

“You have a heart of gold, Stiles. Take care to preserve that.”

Stiles blushed and jumped from his seat. “How is the little dude? Will he make
it? Can I hold him?”

Deaton smiled benignly and placed the bundle in Stiles' waiting arms. “Our
patient has two broken legs, one big cut on the tip of the left ear and several
minor cuts and bruises. It will be fine with a few weeks of rest and plenty of
food and water.”

“Okay,” Stiles said, heart pounding in his chest. “That's a relief.” He
wrapped his hoodie around the bundle of sterile cotton and cooed at the sleeping
Wolpertinger, “You hear that, little guy? Bed rest and veggies and you'll be
as good as new!”

He stroked the fur gently, only now, in the bright light of the room,
recognizing the light brown color.

“And you need a name.”

“Stiles, don't!” Lydia interrupted. She frowned worriedly at him. “I see
what you're doing here, Stiles. It's called bonding. Don't do that to yourself.
You'll only suffer heartbreak once the Wolpertinger is back with its family.”

“Yeah, well, someone needs to nurse him back to health and protect him from
hungry predators. I can't just call him Mr. Wolpertinger all the time. That
would just be rude. You don't call babies Mister or Miss anyway. Oh, hey
Doc!”

Stiles grinned.

“Yes, Stiles?” Deaton replied in his usual manner of calm authority.

“Is he a he? I just assumed...”

Deaton folded his hands in front of him. “Well, Stiles,” he started and then
actually wrung his hands! Stiles gaped.

“I'm not sure. I had a look, yes, but I can't tell if the Wolpertinger is male
or female.”

“Wow!”

All of them shared a look and eyed the bundle in Stiles' arms.

“Quite the little mystery, huh?” Derek whispered next to Stiles and bent
down to run a hand along the Wolpertinger's back.

Stiles smiled. As surprising as it was to find Derek on his side of things, it
was also kind of warming his heart.

“Thanks,” he whispered back and the hand on his shoulder squeezed lightly.

“I'll get some straw,” Deaton declared and vanished through the creaking
doors.

Lydia put the laptop away and both she and Jordan leaned closer to have a better
look.

“It has actual miniscule antlers. How cute is that?”

Jordan chuckled at Lydia's comment.

“So, we need a unisex name. Like Kim. I don't like it,” Derek said and set
his chin down on Stiles' shoulder, eyes fixed down. Stiles felt Derek's hair and
stubble brush slightly against the side of his face.

“Are you guys serious?” Malia asked. She seemed pretty confused about the
whole affair. “You're taking it home?”

“Yes, Malia, I'm taking the Wolpertinger home. And there's no way to talk me
out of it.” He nodded and added in a not-so-subtly threatening tone, “And if
you try to eat him, I will move into Derek's loft and put up mountain ash lines.
Just so you know.”

“Okay, okay,” Malia stood up and lifted her hands in defense. “I get it.
You're in love with the furry bunny. Let's go home.”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed smiling. “Let's go home. But, names first.”

Derek chuckled low in Stiles' ear, making him shiver and goosebumps popping up
on his upper arms.

“Hazel,” he said.

Stiles stared at him for a minute.

“Like the color of his fur?” Derek elaborated and Stiles beamed.

“I love it!” And right in this moment, Stiles would have liked to kiss
Derek. Just for a second or two. Maybe longer, if he was honest with himself.

“Hey there, Hazel, on behalf of Scott McCall, our Alpha, welcome to the
pack!” He cooed and hugged the bundle a bit closer. Laughing softly, he added,
“And try not to eat all of Dad's salad, okay?”

The friends burst out into laughter and when Stiles turned to Lydia because she
had called him, a flash lit the waiting room.

Lydia sniggered as she showed him the photo.

“The two of you look like young parents cooing over their newborn,” she
pointed out, still giggling.

Stiles saw where she was coming from.

“Then we'd best wait to tell Dad until he's had his morning coffee, won't
we?”

They laughed and got up from the chairs. Deaton met them at the door with a
small bale of straw in hand and waved them off.

In the monotone rumble of the Jeep, Hazel snuffled quietly and moved a little,
curling up in Stiles' hoodie rather than Deaton's cotton sheets.

 
*

 
Unexpectedly, the Sheriff was already home when Derek parked in the Stilinski
drive way.

“Uh, Dad?! You're home?”

“Yes, kiddo. Why the surprised face? You didn't do something, did you?”
Sheriff Stilinski held the door open for the three, or rather, four of them and
regarded his son with a stern expression.

“Well, Dad,” Stiles swallowed around the lump in his throat. “There's
someone who's gonna stay with us for a while...”

 
*** The End ***


                 Kapitel 4: Not A Boring Night Time Activity!
                 --------------------------------------------


Not A Boring Night Time Activity!
 

*
 

Stiles was tired and miserable when he left the Jeep in the driveway and trudged
across the front lawn. The wet grass quickly soaked through his sneakers and
socks, chilling him to the bone and adding to his gloom.

He kicked off his sodden shoes in the hallway and heard his dad snoring in the
living room. It made him smile fondly. His first smile since... he couldn't
remember exactly. Since before the thunderstorms, that was for sure.

Sneaking up on the couch he found the Sheriff sprawled across the cushions and
deep in slumber. The TV was off but that didn't mean Mr. Stilinski hadn't fallen
asleep in front of it before the thunderstorm started last night. Only that he
still had not yet discovered the sleep timer setting Stiles had activated just
for this very scenario. He shook his head at the two empty beer bottles. Well,
better than a half empty bottle of Jack. He leaned over the backrest, intending
to pull the blanket up but stopped as he discovered the cutest thing ever. His
father wasn't alone on the couch. Hazel, the adopted Wolpertinger, was curled up
in the crook of his dad's shoulder and neck, resting its tiny head against the
human throat, antlers carefully angled away from the tender flesh. One hind leg
was comically stretched out over the throw pillow the Sheriff was sleeping on.
The sight melted Stiles' heart in an instant. The smile on his lips grew.

“Maybe it's not so bad that those thunderstorms over the last couple of nights
ruined all tracks, scent trails and hopes of finding your family, huh, little
guy?” Stiles whispered softly and refrained from stroking the silky fur lest
he woke the Wolpertinger. He pulled the blanket up to his father's chest.
“Maybe you'd like to stay? Dad certainly is all for it...” Stiles chuckled
quietly and was about to grab the beer bottles to clean up a bit – they had a
mythical baby bunny in their house after all, it wouldn't do to leave breakable
things lying around, nope, Stiles wasn't going to take that risk – when a
sleep-rough voice startled him.

“Hey Kiddo, what're you doing home?”

Stiles inhaled slowly to calm his pounding heart and turned to look at the
Sheriff who blinked sleepily.

“Look who's changed his tune about my curfew,” Stiles quipped. “It's
nearly half past 8. In the morning. I had to work overtime because Lucy was
late. Again. Evil Pablo wouldn't cook pancakes for me and turned his stupid
radio even louder because of the storm. And no guest all night long! I was bored
out of my friggin' mind!”

The Sheriff laughed warmly. “Oh Kiddo, you have my sincerest sympathies.”

Stiles grinned. “Thanks Dad!”

“You could've used the night to draft your college applications. Just a
thought,” his father prompted. “I've seen the brochures on your desk.”

“Yeah, about that...” Stiles rubbed his neck absentmindedly. “I'm on it,
but I haven't quite figured out what I wanna write in the cover letter. I want
it to be perfect, you know.”

“I know, Kiddo.”

Stiles smiled brightly, “You can proof-read the whole thing as soon as the
printer is done printing, okay?”

“That's my boy!” Mr. Stilinski nodded proudly, only to notice Hazel, a hand
coming up to pet the still sleeping creature.

“Well, Dad, I'm off to bed. See you at lunch!”

“Sure.”

They nodded at each other and Stiles went upstairs.

 
*

 
Upon entering his room, Stiles was greeted by yet another surprising sight.

“Okay,” he said, taking in the view of his bedroom, especially the bed. “I
was under the impression we were talking about another girl when we discussed
threesomes.”

However, the only response he got was a slight twitch of Derek's furry ears as
they perked up. The rest of his impressive wolf form remained perfectly still,
cuddling a sleeping, half naked Malia who, in turn, was clutching Stiles'
pillow. His special pillow. Yeah, okay, he got it. Massive olfactory kink. But
his pillow??

Damn.

Sighing he closed the door and put down his bag, started stripping. He just
wanted to go to sleep.

Changing into an old, baggy t-shirt, he eyed the pair on the bed. He wondered
why Malia hadn't woken up yet. Someone must have had a long, tiring night?

He slipped in between the wall and his girlfriend in hopes of catching at least
a corner of his pillow. He felt Derek's eyes on him as he got comfortable.

“Hey...,” he whispered. “Since you already stayed the night, stay the
morning, too?” He reached out to scratch behind Derek's ears. Derek, kind of
unsurprisingly, let it happen, even leaned a little into the touch. “One of
you guys is gonna have to clue me in on what I missed last night, okay?”

As if to answer, Derek's cold, wet nose nudged the soft inside of his forearm.

Stiles chuckled, running his fingers through the black pelt.

“I should be mad, you know, but... I think, I can understand. I guess, I'd be
lonely as hell if I were in your shoes. Or fur, whatever. But with your uncle in
the closed unit, your sister in South America and your Mistress doing
who-knows-what somewhere ten states to the north east, last time we heard...
Both of you, in fact.” He clicked his tongue in thought, trailing off. “You
could've come by the diner,” he added.

Derek leveled him with a look that seemed to tell him to “Shut up Stiles!”
in a way that was so achingly familiar and purely Derek that Stiles swallowed
and shivered lightly.

“Well,” Stiles said and hid a yawn in his pillow. Glancing back at Derek, he
whispered, “I'm beat. Good night!”

He drew his hand back slowly, petting Derek's muzzle and Malia's shoulder,
before tugging it between his cheek and the pillow. He had nearly fallen asleep
when the rustle of sheets and the movement of the mattress jostled him back into
consciousness.

Stiles blinked with irritation and frowned at Derek who had got up and was
slowly changing back into his human body. He blushed, staring unabashedly as the
triskele tattoo appeared, fur melting into skin. This wasn't by far the first
time the teen had seen Derek shirtless. Freaking hell, he could have sketched a
map of that chest and back a couple of weeks into their acquaintanceship, but
this was somehow different. Felt different when Stiles' gaze dropped to-

“Most people close their eyes when they want to sleep, Stiles.”

He startled, jerking his limbs a little in surprise, and flushed furiously as
Derek threw a cocky smirk over his shoulder, adding in a softer voice, “Then
again, you're hardly ʻmost peopleʼ, huh?”

“I, erh...” Stiles, pounding heart and burning cheeks, averted his eyes.
“Oh my God,” he whimpered and buried his face in his hands. He could feel
the prickling of Derek's gaze on him, he was sure of it. “Why'd you change
back?! I like the wolfy you! C'mon, dude, put that fur back on and come back to
bed,” Stiles complained.

“I should leave,” Derek grumbled and, from the sound of it, started
dressing. Stiles dared a peek through his fingers. Fuck, those tight, black
boxer briefs weren't much better, especially when Derek bent down to pick up his
jeans. It did things to him...

Stiles swallowed and said, well actually, sort of squeaked, “What? Why?” He
cleared his throat. “Dude, no. You don't have to, really!”

Derek pursed his lips in exasperation. “Stiles, don't call-”

“You ʻdudeʼ, yeah, I know. Sorry 'bout that.”

Derek paused, watching Stiles watch him for a minute, eventually continuing,
“I should leave before your father gets any ideas. Wrong ideas about …
this.” He gestured from himself to the bed. “I'd appreciate not getting shot
or arrested by the Sheriff.”

“Again, huh?” Stiles interjected, which, oops, resulted in Derek growling
warningly. “Chill out, Sourwolf! Dad won't arrest you, I promise. He has no
reason to anyway.”

“You sure about that? Look at the situation from your father's point of
view.”

“What?” Stiles teased, propping himself up on his left elbow, trailing the
right hand down his body. “Like, the three of us in here behind a closed
bedroom door, semi-nudity, sticky air, smell of sweat, blinds shut, clothes
strewn all over the floor? What could he possibly be thinking, hm, Derek?” A
wicked, salacious smile played on Stiles' lips. It tugged the right corner a
little higher that the left.

“Oh, I don't know, Stiles! Maybe soliciting an underage girl and his own
son?” Derek hissed, eyes narrowed in annoyance, arms crossed defiantly in
front of his chest.

“Hey,” Stiles beamed. “Sarcasm before breakfast! That's why I love you,
Derek. Now, shift or don't, I don't care. Just come back to bed, okay?” Stiles
waited a beat and added demurely, “Please?”

They stared stubbornly at each other for what felt like at least ten minutes to
Stiles.

Finally, Derek caved, flung the pants over the back of the desk chair and, with
an annoyed huff, sat down on the edge of the bed. “I'll blame any consequences
on you,” he grunted.

“Sure, “Stiles chuckled again, “You do that, big guy.”

He lay back down, ignored the way his shirt rode up and revealed his pale,
mole-dotted skin as he stretched and relaxed, arms sprawled out on the pillows
above his head. Derek lifted an eyebrow and said nothing, simply lowered himself
onto the sheets, his head coming to rest on the pillows, Stiles' bent elbow mere
inches away.

The teen smiled softly as he looked at Derek, gaze wandering up from the chin,
along the jawline, across the stubble and cheek bone to his eyes. Stiles, when
he was really honest with himself, loved the way those long, thick lashes built
dark frames around Derek's beautiful multi-colored eyes and how they looked so
fragile every now and then.

“So, mind telling me about your adventures while I was fighting insanity from
infectious boredom?”

“Was it really that bad?” Derek asked quietly.

“Like you wouldn't believe! Man, don't get me started! I scribbled notes for
my college applications on the paper napkins. I was this close,” he raised a
hand, indicating a tiny distance between his thumb and forefinger, and repeated
to emphasize, “This close to falling asleep on that fucking counter!”

Derek tried to hide his laughter in a huff but Stiles saw through it
immediately. When Derek's breathing had calmed down, he finally answered,
“Malia asked me about changing back into her coyote form. I told her, I
probably couldn't teach her since it's not a simple thing like beta-shifts but
she insisted on trying. So we tried. She can be rather stubborn, have you
noticed that?”

“Yeah,” Stiles agreed, gently stroking a stray lock of dirty blonde hair
from the sleeping girl's face. “She gets it from her father, I suppose.”

Derek cleared his throat. “Don't blame everything on the genes. I'm pretty
sure, her social environment plays an important role, too.”

“Are you implying I'm stubborn?” Stiles grinned, rolled onto his side again,
reached out and poked Derek's temple.

“Implying? Stating a fact is more like it,” Derek replied and batted Stiles'
index finger away. “Watch your mitts.”

“Or else you're gonna bite them off?” Stiles teased, his fingertips prancing
along Derek's nose.

“Don't tempt me,” Derek scowled.

“'M not buying your half-assed threats, Sourwolf!” Stiles mocked in a
provocative sing-song.

“But you should...” Derek trailed off, giving him a
you-better-listen-to-me-kid sort of eyebrow move. Stiles grinned; a giddy, fuzzy
feeling spreading from his core, warming his whole body.

“Oh, I don't think so, Derek. I feel pretty safe around you.”

He noticed the strange expression that flashed over the werewolf's face for a
second but he couldn't place it. Stiles blinked and the cocky smirk was back.

“I wouldn't if I were you.”

“Tsk, Derek, please. Whatcha gonna do? Rip my throat out?” The ʻwith your
teethʼ was implied by Stiles' fingertips brushing Derek's lips.

“How about finger-food for starters?” Derek's husky voice made Stiles
shudder for a reason he was all too familiar with, but before he could even
think about appreciating the pun or retracting his digits from Derek's personal
space two of them were trapped gently between white, sharp (and totally adorable
slightly too big) front teeth, surrounded by a triumphant smirk. A hot thrill
shot up Stiles' spine.

Despite his suddenly dry mouth he managed to croak out, “And yet again, you
show amazingly bad taste. Who'd want Stiles for breakfast anyway? I mean, except
for the present parties?” He nodded towards Malia and only later would he
become aware of his slip into the plural form. “I bet, I'm all sinewy and
leave a foul taste on your palate and make your gums itch.” He chuckled
nervously under Derek's steady gaze. Stiles was about to continue his rambling
when Derek suddenly sucked the fingers into his mouth. Stiles' breath caught in
his throat, jaw dropping, as he felt the hot, wet and velvety glide of Derek's
tongue, curling around his trembling fingers. They kept eye contact while the
warmth of arousal pooled in Stiles' groin and Derek's nostrils flared. He felt
himself flush furiously, cheek tingling with the rush of blood, heart hammering
like crazy in his chest. His lungs jumped back to life, making him gasp and
inhale sharply with quivering lips.

“Derek...”

A broken groan escaped him as Derek gave a hard suck. He whimpered softly.
Goosebumps rose on his arms and thighs and possibly on his neck, too.

Eventually, or all too soon, Derek let go of the drenched digits, but Stiles
wasn't mentally prepared to bear the weight of his hand so it dropped to Derek's
collar bones and stayed there. The index finger twitched once, but that was it.
Stiles was frozen, breathing heavily, jaw slackened, eyes blown wide, slightly
more than just half mast in his boxers.

“Tastes like bacon,” Derek whispered hoarsely. “Did you snack on Pablo's
bacon again?”

He might have needed another minute to get with the program. Stiles bit his
lower lip and said quietly. “Don't tell Dad.”

“About the bacon?” Derek deadpanned.

“... Whatever,” Stiles shrugged and smiled, blushed and rubbed the pads of
his still wet fingers along the clavicle beneath them. “Someday we'll have to
talk about...”

“Hm-hm.”

Derek's hand came up to close around his wrist, not much unlike Stiles' often
did with Derek's wrist. The strong thumb stroked the back of Stiles' hand,
slowly easing the tension from his body.

“Go to sleep Stiles,” Derek rumbled softly, a hint of affection playing in
his voice. Stiles caught on to it. He smiled lovingly as his eyelids drooped and
he fell asleep before he could register neither the tender press of Derek's lips
to the back of his hand nor Malia's arm hugging him around the waist.

 
*** The End ***


                     Kapitel 5: Not A Boring Night Class!
                     ------------------------------------


Not A Boring Night Class!
 

*
 

Stiles felt incredibly dirty and nauseated. Good thinking he did there, leaving
the last cookie for Derek. Derek who was the sole reason he was out here in the
first place. He grunted in disgust. His hands tingled weirdly even though he was
wearing rubber gloves to clean up the mess. The trash cans behind the diner
Stiles worked at were thrown over and everything in them was spilled over the
concrete floor.

“I shouldn't have asked. When will I ever learn? I must not ask if the others
heard that, too. I must not!” He half ranted, half berated himself.
“ʻSounds like the trash cans fell over,ʼ he said. ʻSmells like a bunch of
rowdy racoons,ʼ he said. ʻWant me to check it out?ʼ he said. ʻNo worries,
Big Guy, I got it!ʼ I said! Urgh!” Stiles groaned. “I'm so stupid!”

He closed the lid on the last can with a harsh shove and shuddered.

“If I catch your furry little butts in my diner's garbage again, Pocahontas
won't safe you. Be warned you menaces!” Stiles shouted into the mild summer
night air and shook his fist at the tree line. The soft breeze did nothing to
ease his agitation.

Mumbling, “You're so treating me to curly fries for this, Derek. You hear me?
Curly fries and cheese burgers,” Stiles went back inside. He threw the rubber
gloves in the wastebin by the back door, scrubbed his hands in the first sink he
came across and made his way back to his counter.

“Ah, there you are, Stiles! I was afraid the raccoons had carried you off to
their leader,” Lydia chirped from her elegant perch on the bar stool next to
Derek for whom she was pouring coffee. Wait, what?!

“Lydia?” Stiles asked flabbergasted. “What brings you here? And where'd
you get the coffee pot?”

Lydia, in all her calm grace, set down the pot and added a splash of cream to
her cup. “Interesting questions, Stiles. I brought myself here, obviously. By
car, if you need to know. And I got the coffee from there.”

She pointed her perfect nails at the ratty, old coffee machine while Stiles
groaned.

“I realize, this is not a self-service restaurant but I needed coffee and
Derek said, you'd probably be busy for a while. Apparently you were under some
sort of raccoon attack?”

Stiles pouted, “It wasn't that bad,” and glared at Derek.

Who simply sipped on his coffee.

“Okay, but isn't it your study night with our favorite deputy?”

Lydia clicked her tongue in exasperation. “Should I be worried about the fact
that you seem to know my personal schedule?”

Stiles, however, grinned. “It's what I do.”

Both Derek and Lydia huffed a quiet laughter.

“Can I get you anything from the kitchen?” Stiles asked, leaning against the
counter, scribbling on his little note pad.

“No, thanks, I'm good,” Lydia answered and eyed the piece of cheap paper
Stiles had put under her saucer. “This coffee, however, is not.”

Stiles was about to retort something sarcastic when the door bell chimed. Boy,
was the diner busy tonight! Three guests! Stiles chuckled to himself, but
quickly stopped when Jordan Parrish, dressed in his deputy's uniform, sat down
next to Lydia.

“And what're you doing here, Deputy Parrish?“ Stiles asked, surprised. Had
someone decided to have a pack meeting at the diner??

“I've been reliably informed that there are strange things to read about in
the books, here at this diner.“

“Dutiful as always. So you came to check it out?“ Stiles concluded. “I
didn't know you were a forensic accountant, too, Deputy!“

Jordan laughed and took the old, leather-bound volume which Lydia had
miraculously dug out from her purse. (Stiles swore that thing was either related
to Mary Poppins’ handbag or had a Undetectable Extension Charm on it. Or was
possibly Time Lord technology. Stiles hadn't dared to ask her yet.)

“And doing overtime, too, Parrish. Isn't the late shift at the station over by
now?”

“Nothing escapes your notice, does it, Stiles?” Jordan put another book, an
ancient looking dictionary, on the counter.

“I wouldn't go that far,” Lydia mused, twirling a lock of her strawberry
blonde hair around her index finger and – for some reason totally beyond
Stiles – looked at Derek. Huh...

 
*

 
One hour later, Stiles had finished wiping the floor, had noticed Lydia's hand
ever so slowly creeping up and lightly squeezing Jordan's thigh as she leaned in
to quietly give her lecture on different kinds of creatures that inhabited any
running water from the size of a tiny creek up to small rivers (East Hills River
– with the exception of Matt Daehler's ʻaccidentʼ– had seemed way too
peaceful to be part of Beacon Hills in Stiles' opinion, just saying.) and was
currently wondering what had happened to Derek's mood. The werewolf hadn't so
much as said one word since Parrish had arrived. Okay, so he wasn't a big talker
per se, but Stiles was under the impression that Derek had opened up to him when
they were alo- Oh. That explained a few things.

Stiles might have glared at the couple's backs for a second.

“So,” Stiles began cheerfully as he leaned over the counter and nudged
Derek's elbow. “Wanna hear about the latest trick Hazel taught himself? You're
gonna like this, I promise.”

He beamed but Derek just tilted his head to the side, an expression of mild
boredom still on his face. What, no eye brow move? Stiles was sort of
disappointed. He enjoyed the different facial expressions Derek was capable of.
Even if most of them scared Stiles to varying degrees. Or got him hot and
bothered.

“How so?” Derek asked, tone flat.

“Ah, that's because it annoys the hell out of me when he does it,” Stiles
winked and refilled the coffee cup. “You see, dear Hazel, adorable as he may
be, has discovered his love for cat toys. Which, thank you Scott, for bring
those over. Anyhow – among the toys, there's this little ball, roughly golf
ball-sized, that has a tiny but loud bell inside. And Hazel absolutely loves to
throw that bell-ball-thingy around the room with his antlers or kick it with his
paws. It's sooo cute! Yesterday though he played with the ball on my bed. With
me still in it. At, like, five-fifteen in the morning. While I certainly can
tune out things I don't wanna hear,” Derek made an aborted chuckle-like noise
here, “I find myself unable to tolerate a Wolpertinger excitedly jumping up
and down my spine when I want to sleep. So I tried to put him down on the floor,
but that only resulted in him leaping back onto the bed. And today he did it
again! He woke me up by kicking the ball in my face, can you believe it? I'm
starting to miss the days he woke me up with his little rabbity kisses...”

Stiles sighed wistfully. Derek tried to hide a smile behind the coffee cup and
Lydia commented absentmindedly, “They grow up so fast. Prada was the same,”
before she went back to translating archaic Latin.

Derek and Stiles listened for a while. Eventually Stiles felt Derek's gaze on
him and turned to look at him. Derek looked back. Those eyes were amazing.
Seriously. Stiles' mouth went dry.

A tap on his forearm brought him out of his reverie. Jordan smiled sheepishly at
him as Stiles blushed.

“Yeah?”

“I think, we could use a little snack. Can you get us something?”

“Sure,” Stiles said and passed Parrish a menu. “What'll it be?”

The deputy quickly skimmed through it. “I'll have the cheese sandwiches and a
side salad.”

Stiles enthused, “Good choice! And healthy. You should eat that in front of
your Sheriff. At some point he has to acknowledge the merits of healthy
food.”

Parrish chuckled. “I'm not getting mixed up in your fight over the contents of
the Sheriff's lunch box!”

“You'd best not,” Lydia agreed, patting Jordan on the shoulder. “A salad
for me, too, please.”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded. “Derek?”

All the response he got was a slight shake of the head.

“Right...” Stiles muttered under his breath. “Be right back.”

Over the following meal Lydia got around to explaining why tutoring had to be
moved from Lydia's room to the diner and Stiles was scandalized.

“So you're saying, your mom kicked you out for the night so she can have the
house to herself and her boy toy? Seriously? What kind of mother does that?”

“The kind that has been divorced for years, is still very attractive and has a
need for human companionship?” Lydia suggested with a dismissive hand gesture.
“And it's not like it's a school night or like I don't have friends who would
let me stay over on short notice, right?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Stiles acquiesced reluctantly and tried not to think of
his biology teacher in lingerie. Awkward! He clapped his hands once and
announced, “Okay, change of topic! How are the odds that something lethal
alights from our ostensively peaceful riverlet?”

The ensuing discussion, during which Stiles somehow wound up sitting next to
Derek on a bar stool and so close their arms and knees brushed, ended in Stiles
recounting the childhood anecdote of him and Scott, both seven years old,
playing on the riverbank after school and Scott slipping and falling into the
shallow water. (Their moms had been livid.)

After that the Bestiary told them about some really gruesome creatures of the
deep sea. Stiles would never watch The Little Mermaid without getting goosebumps
ever again.

Just before 3:30 a.m. Stiles sneaked off into the kitchen where he had stored a
surprise for Derek. He carefully took the cake out of the fridge, checked the
icing and stuck a small, delicate candle into the middle. Inhaling slowly he
gathered his courage, lit the candle and carried the cake and a sharp knife
outside.

Derek's face darkened as Stiles set the cake down in front of him.

“What is this?” He growled.

Stiles swallowed nervously. “I thought, the icing made it kinda clear?
Y'know...” He indicated at the words written across the cake.

“Wow, Stiles,” Lydia whispered. “Did you make that?”

Stiles blushed. “Yes, I baked a cake.” To Derek he added, “And I tried the
dough, so don't worry about food poisoning. Wait, can you even get that? Except
for wolfsbane or mistletoe, I mean.”

Derek scowled at him and grunted, “No.”

“Okay, so...” Stiles didn't dare touch Derek, not in that mood, so he
settled for saying, “Happy Birthday Derek!”

“I don't remember telling you when my birthday was.”

“You didn't actually”, Stiles replied, feeling the hot tingling in his
cheeks as he admitted, “Your birth certificate did. I kinda looked it up. Says
you were born exactly 3:30 a.m.” He checked the clock on the wall. “Ergo, as
I said: Happy Birthday Derek!”

Derek glared down at the cake like he had involuntarily bitten into a lemon.

“Aww, c'mon, Derek! That frowny face makes you look like you turned 30
today!” Stiles quipped but Derek kept glowering.

“It that carrot cake?” Parrish asked timidly.

“Why, yes, it is,” Stiles smiled brightly. “Did the miniature marzipan
carrots clue you in?”

Jordan and Lydia laughed and Stiles felt bold enough now to poke Derek's
biceps.

“Wanna blow out the candle and cut the cake, birthday boy?”

Derek didn't so much as glance at the knife Stiles had brought with him.

“Why carrot cake?” Lydia asked with a soft smile.

Stiles smirked, “Oh, you think, the cake is some kind of joke because of
Derek's front teeth?”

Lydia pursed her lips, “Is it?”

Derek's eye brows asked the same question.

Stiles' eyes widened and he held up his hands in defense, chuckling. “As much
as I would love to take credit for that, I didn't choose the recipe. That was
Hazel!”

“Oh, Stiles. Are you not above blaming the pet?” Lydia clicked her tongue in
disapproval. “When school starts up again, will Hazel be accused of having
eaten your homework, too?”

“What?? No!” Stiles nearly squeaked in terror. “I would never do that!”

“How did Hazel do it?”

Stiles almost overheard Derek's quietly interjected question but the intense
glare he felt on himself sort of made him notice it.

“Thank you!” He said, sighing in relief that at least one person took him
seriously. Despite Derek's continued scowling, Stiles explained, “I was
browsing Mom's old baking books and left them open on the bed when Dad called me
downstairs for a minute. When I came back, one of the books was on the floor and
Hazel was sitting on top of it like it was his throne or something. I picked him
up and there it was, the carrot cake recipe!” Stiles grinned and gestured at
the cake.

“I see,” Derek mused, slowly like he was half lost in his own thoughts.

“Cute,” Lydia said and Jordan nodded.

To Stiles' surprise Derek picked up the knife, snuffed out the candle and
started cutting the cake.

“Aren't you going to fetch plates and forks, Stiles?” He growled at him and
chuckling Stiles got up to grab the necessary tableware.

After everyone had had a wedge and another cup of coffee, Lydia and Jordan
excused themselves.

Stiles busied himself with doing the dishes to keep his mind off Derek. Although
that proofed to be a futile endeavor.

“What's wrong?” Derek asked eventually when Stiles was just thinking maybe,
if he was lucky, his rapid heartbeat would be ignored. No such luck. Of course.
“And don't say ʻnothingʼ, because I can hear it's something.”

Stiles bit his lower lip. “Did you... like the cake?”

Derek huffed, lifting an eye brow and reached for Stiles' hand. “Really
Stiles?”

Looking away, Stiles shrugged. “I guess?”

He didn't want to discuss his confusing feelings for Derek, neither now nor at
his workplace.

With an eye roll Derek got up from his stool and Stiles was about to panic but
Derek, instead of leaving, rounded the counter and wrapped his arms around
Stiles' waist, pulling him close.

Stiles, effectively stunned into silence, could hardly breathe until a quiet
“Thank you” was whispered into his ear. Inhaling shakily he hugged Derek
back, his arms around those broad shoulders, his clean shaven cheek rubbing
tentatively against the stubble.

“Sure thing, Big Guy.”

It came out shy and hoarse, but Derek seemed to appreciate the sentiment.
Judging by his tightening grip.

“Happy Birthday,” Stiles whispered, turning his head slightly. Dizzy with
Derek's warmth and scent and affection, Stiles threw caution to the wind and
kissed Derek. Just close enough so his bottom lip brushed the corner of Derek's
mouth; just far enough so it could be understood as a peck on the cheek. Derek's
sharp intake and his own quivering exhale mixed as they clung to each other.
Stiles shuddered as Derek moved to bury his face in Stiles' neck.

They hugged for several minutes, pounding hearts and holding on tight. Stiles
closed his eyes and just let himself have this. Didn't think of anyone else but
Derek.

On the counter Derek's phone buzzed with a new text message and Stiles did not
want to let go just yet. So he didn't.

And neither did Derek.

 
*** The End ***


                  Kapitel 6: Not A Boring Night Shift, Ever!
                  ------------------------------------------


Not A Boring Night Shift, Ever!


*
 

If Stiles were to put a descriptive word to his last summer of high school, he
would probably say, ʻunexpectedʼ . And not in the sense of grand journeys east
to slay mighty dragons. More in a ʻthe job sounded pretty boringʼ kind of way.
Which, granted, it was. The job. It were the things that happened during his
working hours and on his nights off that made for an unexpected adrenaline rush,
elevated heart beats and on some parts – mostly related to a specific someone
– utter confusion.

And Stiles wasn't quite sure what to think about things.

Things like arguing with Dad whose turn it was to have Hazel sleep in their beds
with them or giving Deputy Parrish advice on how to ʻcarefully interact with
Lydia when she had her periodʼ or his one and only faithful regular.

Who was sitting on his customary bar stool, sipping on his black coffee, and had
ʻconstant vigilanceʼ written all over his face. Derek would've made Mad-Eye
Moody proud, Stiles mused, wiping the empty tables in the diner. Yeah, at least
that movie reference didn't make him almost-cry like the time he had (silently,
thank God) compared Derek to Hachiko. Coz', damn...

As if sensing his inner turmoil, Derek turned on the bar stool to call across
the room, “Stiles?”

It spoke for their understanding of each other that Stiles had learned how to
decipher that into a full sentence: “Are you alright, Stiles, because your
heart beat is picking up?”

Stiles sighed, stretched his back, rolled his shoulders and returned to his
usual post behind the counter.

“Feels kinda strange, you know. After all that happened this week, I feel like
something big is about to happen. Just to fuck with me on my last night
shift.”

And it was true. It was, in fact, Stiles' last night on coffee duty. The new and
last school year would start in a few days.

It was also true that this last week on the job was more exciting than any
other. It had started out harmlessly enough with Hazel nicking his right ear
during play time with the wolves. The incident involved a wee bit of blood, a
very faint feeling Stiles and a caring Derek who gently licked off said blood
before Scott could even think about getting his vet-in-training-skills out.

The other night Stiles had the pleasure of dealing with his first (and hopefully
last) bill-dodger. To be fair, the guy didn't end up dodging any bills, because
Derek had caught up with him not a hundred yards from the diner's doors and
dragged him back to pay in full. Needless to say that the Sheriff had paid his
son a professional visit that night.

As did Deputy Parrish and his newly assigned partner the following night when
they were out looking for a lost grade schooler. Scott had called later and
reported the successful retrieval of the child from a friend's garden shed,
having a secret sleep-over. Well, the wolfy nose knows...

And than shit hit the fan. Two nights ago, Stiles was forced to deal with this
drunk bastard who had grabbed Stiles' butt one too many times before Stiles
texted Derek for help. The drunkard had totally improperly commented on ʻthat
skinny, little assʼ and ʻthat cute, pink mouthʼ and how he'd ʻfuck him real
goodʼ, but by the time the asshole had got his hands on Stiles' shirt and
slurred a ʻFuck me, lil' bitch!ʼ at him, Derek had stormed into the diner like
a hurricane and pounced on the drunken man. A couple of precise punches and the
man was out cold. Stiles had trembled in Derek's arms until his Dad and Deputy
Parrish arrived, ambulance in tow, and both their statements had been taken. The
werewolf hadn't left his side since.

Which resulted in last night's drama: Derek missing Braeden coming home. From
what Stiles could tell by the deeply furrowed eye brows and the agitated typing
on his phone, it was anything but pretty. To be honest, while Stiles was really
grateful for Derek's protection, it also confused the hell out of him, because
didn't ʻmy girlfriend comes home after weeks of absenceʼ trump ʻkeep an eye
out for the fragile human pack memberʼ?

A couple of times, Derek had taken the phone calls outside. When he came back
in, Stiles bit his lips and hardly dared to look up at Derek until the coffee
cup was pushed forward, a grumpy growl asking for a refill.

A hand on this shoulder brought him back to the present.

“Don't freak yourself out, Stiles.”

The teenager huffed and lightly squeezed the broad, warm hand with his own that
probably reeked of cheap dish soap.

“I'm not gonna promise anything.”

Derek sighed quietly, pulled his hand back from the shoulder, but reached for
his hand. Stiles watched him tracing the veins on the back of his hand with a
thumb.

“Derek?” ʻAre you alright, Derek, because you look like a big pile of man
pain?ʼ

He climbed onto the edge of the lower part on his side of the counter, so he
could lean over and into Derek's space without having to go around the whole
thing.

“Derek, answer me honestly. Are you having some kind of, I don't know,
feelings you might want to talk about?” He winced. That didn't quite sound
like the had intended. “I mean, girlfriend trouble?”

Derek just grunted and took a sip of coffee with his free hand.

“Or maybe...” Stiles chewed nervously on his bottom lip. “Does it-... Uh,
is it because of me? You know, the day before yesterday?”

Derek's shoulders tensed.

“Aha.”

The werewolf looked down into the cup.

“Derek...” Stiles said softly and cupped the stubble covered cheek gently.
“There's really no reason for you to agonize over this, okay? You rescued the
damsel in distress in time. Nothing serious happened! I'm okay. The guy is
behind bars. You should be okay, too.” Stiles' thumb pad caressed the curve of
Derek's cheekbone. “So, why aren't you?”

Silence.

“Do you even know why yourself?”

Derek pursed his lips.

“Okay, so you have an idea as to why you're being the depressed emo teen here,
but you don't wanna use your words?”

Derek growled lowly.

“I can get you pencil and paper from the back office, if you want to draw me a
diagram?” Stiles suggested, half jokingly, half earnestly. He was ready for
being loudly snarled at or even shoved off the counter, but instead Derek pulled
him in and held him close. Stiles' breath caught in surprise. The higher edge of
the counter dug uncomfortably into his side. He felt the warmth of Derek's
forehead against his throat.

“Is this about me having nightmares?” Stiles asked quietly and dragged his
fingertips through Derek's short hair, lightly massaging the back of his head.

“You scream like a banshee...” Derek finally admitted and Stiles pulled back
with a determined expression set on his face.

“Look, Derek. I've been having nightmares and trouble sleeping for years,
okay? Sometimes fewer, sometimes more often, sometimes more intense than others.
But that has nothing to do with what happened the other day, okay? And certainly
nothing to do with you.”

He waited a moment, gave it time to sink in.

“You know, I never told you, but when I dream about you, the dreams are
actually kinda funny.” Which was half of the truth, but nobody liked admitting
to having wet dreams about someone to the someone they were having the wet
dreams about. “Like that time, when I dreamed you shifted into a furry, little
puppy and Scott and I had to wolf-housebreak you and save our shoes and school
books from becoming your chew toys and stuff.”

Derek smirked.

“Tell me, you put me on a leash and I will tie you up in the basement with
your very own chains.”

“Oh, kinky. Safeword's ʻmistletoeʼ, by the way, but no. Sorry to disappoint,
but no leash or collar. We simply kept you in the back yard. There was a fairly
high, white picket fence though.”

Stiles grinned while Derek shook his head, lips curled in badly hidden
amusement.

“I know, crazy, right?” Derek just rolled his eyes and Stiles hopped off the
counter. “So, are we good?”

Derek nodded and pointed at the coffee pot on the warmer.

Stiles laughed, but stopped when Derek's expression suddenly turned hard and
cold again.

“Should I get my bat?”

“No, but come around here.”

Stiles' stomach churned. Derek slid off the bar stool. The door opened.

To reveal Malia and Braeden, both carrying helmets. Malia had a backpack thrown
over one shoulder.

“What's going on?” Stiles asked as his girlfriend hugged him tightly.

She pecked him on the cheek and said, “Stiles, remember when you told me, ʻa
girl gotta do what a girl gotta doʼ?”

“Yeah,” Stiles frowned. “We were talking about math homework.” The words
had a tiny bit of an inquiring tone to them.

“Great! Well, this is more important than stupid math!” Malia beamed, much
to Stiles' steadily growing confusion. “Braeden is going to take me with her
to look for my mother, Stiles!”

“Say what?” Stiles asked dumbfounded.

“I've got some intel as to her whereabouts,” Braeden spoke up. “I figured,
I could use Malia to finally find her.”

“Use her?” Stiles repeated, sort of appalled.

“So I'm going with her. You can't stop me. It's decided!” Malia enthused and
hugged him again, forcefully.

“But what about school and...” He could bring himself to say ʻmeʼ.

“Pff, fuck school, Stiles! I'll find my mom, my real mom!”

And who was Stiles to refuse her that? After all, mothers were kind of a soft
spot with him.

She let go of him and turned to Derek, also hugging the life out of him. “And
while I'm away, you take care of Stiles, okay, dear cousin of mine?”

Stiles felt his jaw dropping. “What? But...”

Braeden grabbed one of his flailing limbs and placed a rather big key in his
hand. “To the loft,” she said tersely and turned to leave.

“Bye bye, boys!” Malia yelled back, already halfway through the doors.

And then, they stood there. Derek with his arms mid-air from the hastily ended
surprise-hug. Stiles with a key to a flat he didn't live in.

“What the hell was that?” Stiles inquired uselessly after a minute.

Derek shrugged.

“Did our girlfriends just break up with us?” This situation was baffling, to
say the least!

“No,” Derek answered and crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Yours
did.”

“Oh yeah? And what do you call this?” The perplexed teen held out the key.

“It's called, ʻgiving back things after a break-upʼ,” Derek said, but the
tense lines around his mouth loosened up. He closed Stiles' fingers around the
key.

“When?” Stiles whispered, heart breaking slowly.

“Earlier today. That second phone call.” Derek's voice was rough and low.

“Really? What a shitty way to... No, wait, I can't deal with this without
coffee,” Stiles promptly decided and got himself the biggest coffee mug he
could find. “Fuck the Adderall!”

He filled both Derek's and his cups to the brim.

“What a shitty way to break up. Over the phone! Man, I gotta say, Derek, you
have absolutely no luck whatsoever with women.” He shook his head furiously
and drained half of the huge mug.

“Apparently.”

Stiles huffed. “But look at the bright side: at least this one didn't kill
anybody.”

Derek lifted an eye brow doubtfully.

“Except, well, putting aside the fact that she's totally a gun for hire and
the you-almost-dying-thing in Mexico that was really not her fault but I kinda
wanna blame her...?”

Derek groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“Oh God, please Derek, promise me, you'll never date a girl ever again.”
Stiles sighed, frustrated. “Maybe you should try dating boys instead?”

Derek threw him an unimpressed look over his fingertips. “Are you offering?”
He asked wryly.

Stiles choked on a mouthful of coffee, very narrowly avoiding spitting it out.
He coughed for a bit.

“I, ughm, you? … Get back to me about that in a couple of days?” Stiles
replied meekly after calming himself. “I might need a bit to process what's
happening here, okay?”

“Sure,” Derek said, just as soft. “Me, too.”

“Awesome!” Stiles clapped his hands in fake merriment. “Let's get drunk
and hyper on ice cream until six in the morning!” He didn't wait for Derek
before dashing to the freezer. “You want Chocolate Fudge Brownie or Cookie
Dough?”

He placed the containers on the counter, got up on the bar stool next to Derek
and pressed a table spoon into his hands.

“And afterwards, we'll go home and have a long, nice cuddle. Promise?” And
maybe cry some.

Derek smiled warmly and put his arm around Stiles' shoulders.

“Promise,” he whispered into Stiles' hair, pressing his lips to his temple
in a comforting, little kiss.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek, losing himself in the embrace. Just
feeling Derek's chest rise and fall relieved the pain in his own chest. After a
while, Stiles sat up, clearing his throat.

“Okay, brain-freeze, here we come!”

They actually managed not to make that much of a mess and by a quarter to six,
Derek paid an unbelievably large sum of money for bad coffee and fair-trade ice
cream.

Later, when they lay curled up in Stiles' bed, special pillow and adopted
Wolpertinger close to them, Stiles thought that, yeah, perhaps lots of
unexpected things happened this summer, but in the end, he wasn't alone. And
judging by the slight brush of lips and stubble on his neck, he didn't think
that any future nights might be spent in lonesome boredom.

 
*** The End ***


                Kapitel 7: Not A Boring Date On A School Night!
                -----------------------------------------------


Not A Boring Date On A School Night!

*
 

Derek's chest is one of the most beautiful and comfortable places to be snuggled
up against, in Stiles' humble opinion. Even if the love bites fade as soon as
Stiles' lips let go of the hot skin. Then again, Stiles bruises like a peach and
thus has more than enough marks on his body for both of them. He nips playfully
at Derek's collar bone and enjoys the salty taste of cooled sweat.

Above him, Derek chuckles, rubs his stubbled chin into Stiles' hair and turns a
page.

Stiles nuzzles the dip between Derek's pecs, making him sigh and lower the
book.

“Stiles,” Derek says in his exasperated tone of voice.

“Yes, yes, I know,” Stiles answers with a frustrated groan and lets his head
fall back on Derek's chest. “No hanky-panky until the book is finished. You
made me swear. Yes, yes. Let's get on with dear Miss Eyre. I'm ready for round
three.” He adds with a lewd grin and a feather light stroke of finger-tips
down his boyfriend's abs, nudging the waistband of the black boxer briefs.

“So I noticed.” Derek hugs Stiles tighter, kisses his forehead
apologetically and goes back to reading. After all, he has come over to help
Stiles study when he had complained that no amount of Adderall could keep him
interested in a 400 pages British classic novel, especially when he'd already
seen the movie version, for more then five minutes. And he knows about Derek's
weak spot for old books.

So Derek reads loud; his soft baritone is music in Stiles' ears and just as
Derek and Jane Eyre are telling everyone about the recent marriage, Derek stops
and perks up.

“You okay, Big Guy?” Stiles mumbles.

“Your dad just paid twenty bucks for vegan food. Did you blackmail your father
into something, Stiles?”

Stiles huffs. “Though I'm not afraid to stoop so low to save Dad's health, I
didn't do anything. This week.” He grins sheepishly. “I guess, all my
nagging him finally paid off?” Stiles shrugs and urges Derek to continue
reading.

He is shaking in anticipation as Derek starts on the very last page, can feel
himself building up to a semi by the middle of the page. Which is when Derek
stops again and furrows his eye brows.

“What now?” Stiles whines in frustration and is about to throw the poor book
out of the window.

“Why would Mrs. Martin bring wine when she's visiting here?”

“What?!”

Derek looks just as confused as Stiles feels, before he says, “Oh. That's
why.”

“What? Tell me! No one gets drunken secrets out of my dad but me!”

Derek gives him a look, then says, “Apparently they have an impromptu dinner
date in your living room.”

The gears in Stiles' head turn a mile a minute for a few seconds before Stiles
jumps out of the bed. “No way! No, no, no. Derek, put your pants on, leave the
shirt, come with me. No woman sits on my mom's favorite couch while flirting
with my dad. Except for Melissa McCall, that's
Scott-and-Stiles-are-bros-approved. Anyone else can...” He trails off and
pulls on the shirt he's grabbed randomly from the floor. Oh, turns out to be
Derek's, nice.

Derek looks like he thinks Stiles is making a big mistake, but Stiles is pulling
him into the hallway and down the stairs very noisily. He loudly chatters at
Derek about reading for class and being thirsty and hey, why don't they order
pizza as they more or less stumble into the living room and upon the Sheriff and
Mrs. Martin.

“Whoops, hey Dad. Uhm, hey Mrs. Martin. We totally didn't see you there.”
Stiles gushes in fake innocence and by the look on Dad's face, at least three of
the present parties know it's faked. “Why didn't you tell me you were
expecting company? Frankly, I figured the sexiling thing didn't start until
college, but hey, practice makes perfect, right?”

“Stiles,” Sheriff Stilinski says, half a warning, half a plea. “Since it's
my house, I thought I'd invite a friend over for dinner. Seems only fair,
considering...” He nods at Derek whom Stiles can feel tensing up behind
himself.

“Ah, I see. But Dad, there's a tiny miscalculation in that logic. Derek and I
are more that 'just friends' as you very well know.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Martin tries to hide her gasp behind her hand. “I didn't... I'm
sorry.”

Something must strike his dad, for he speaks up before Stiles can say anything.

“That's not going to be a problem, is it, Natalie? That my son is bisexual and
in a loving relationship with a nice, young man?”

Stiles is surprised by his dad's words and oddly touched. Almost enough to have
second thoughts about what he's doing.

“No, no, of course not!” Mrs. Martin reassures them hastily, gesturing
placatingly. “It's just a bit of a news for me. Last time I saw, Stiles was
holding hands with a girl.”

“Yeah, since bio class ended, a few things happened. Oh, right, bio class!
Which I sat in and you taught. Well, this evening just gets weirder and more
awkward by the minute.” Stiles claps his hands together. “Anyway, Derek and
I were gonna order meat lovers pizza, but sorry Dad, I can see, you have been
served.” He gives Mrs. Martin a double thumbs-up. “Kudos to you, Mrs.
Martin. I can never get him to eat his veggies voluntarily, but somehow you
managed that. Congratulations! Just make sure, he eats his broccoli. Dad hates
broccoli, right Dad?”

Stiles takes a step forward and pats Dad's shoulders, fingers digging in hard.

Dad is laughing nervously and tries to explain, “Stiles is very concerned
about my diet.”

“Yeah, Mom told me to. She made my ten-year-old self pinkie-promise her that I
would watch out for Dad. Me or professionally trained medical staff, if need
be.” He sighs in nostalgia that's only thirty percent faked and hugs his dad
over the back of the couch.

The Sheriff awkwardly pats Stiles' forearms. “It's okay, Kiddo.”

“If you say so,” Stiles grumbles and hugs Dad again. “But you know, you
can talk to me or Hazel anytime, right? Get cuddles from Hazel anytime you want,
right?”

Dad nods, both fondly and a little embarrassed.

“Who's Hazel?” Mrs. Martin looks sufficiently flabbergasted.

“Oh, only the creature with the most silky hair and the cutest big brown
button eyes in the world!” Stiles exclaims as he straightens up. “His words,
not mine,” he adds, pointing accusingly at his dad.

“Is she?” Mrs. Martin lifts an elegantly plucked eye brow at the Sheriff.
Objectively, Stiles has to admit, she's just as beautiful as her daughter, in a
very mature kind of way. But she's neither his mom nor Scott's and therefore...

“He is,” Dad stresses the pronoun. “He is also Stiles' pet rabbit.” He
says before Mrs. Martin can draw to wrong conclusions. Dad glares at Stiles,
“Is there anything else, son?”

“Erm,” Stiles is running out of ideas. “Melissa says hi. I ran into her at
the supermarket yesterday.” That part is true. He and Derek were getting
snacks (and a new bottle of lube) for a quiet Saturday night in. “And she
says, we should totally come over and have a barbecue in her back yard sometime
soon.” Not true. “You know, so you can go all
proud-caveman-made-fire-and-fed-the-kids on us.” That actually happened more
than once.

“Stiles,” his father groans in embarrassment. “Stop talking.”

Stiles laughs loudly and Mrs. Martin chuckles a little.

“Don't worry, Dad. You'd make a great caveman-daddy. That's why you and Derek
get along so well.”

The Sheriff snorts and Derek shoves at Stiles' shoulder with an indignant
“Hey!”

“Chill out, dude. You know what I mean.” He turns around to guide Derek in
the direction of the kitchen. “Go get the orange juice while I call the pizza
place!”

 
Twenty minutes later, Stiles still paces around his room and tries to think of
ways to make his dad see reason. Derek watches him patiently from the bed. A
knock on the door interrupts their musings.

Dad opens the door and holds out the temptingly smelling pizza box like a peace
offering.

“Look, Stiles,” he says. “I...”

Stiles is intend on not apologizing until at least tomorrow. “No, you look,
Dad. You can't go and date one of my teachers, okay? I get that you miss Mom and
that you're ready to go on with your life and get some action, but could you do
that with some nice lady who is not my teacher and does not check out your son's
boyfriend's backside? How would I pay attention in bio class ever again?”

Derek takes the pizza from Dad's hands and sets it down on the desk.

“Thanks Derek,” the Stilinski men say in unison and, startled by that,
laugh.

“Stiles, son,” the Sheriff says after a deep breath, “Of course I miss
your mom, I'll always miss her. And you will, too. And that's totally okay. So,
when you're ready to see another woman at my side, you tell me, ok? Until then,
I'll try to keep it PG-13. Deal?”

Stiles can't help but sniffle a little and pull his father in for another hug, a
really real one this time. “Okay Dad,” he mutters into the woolen cardigan.
He backs away and smirks. “Not that you could get the girl dressed like
that.” They share a glance up and down Dad's casual
I'm-40plus-years-old-and-a-single-dad clothing.

“I could indeed.” The Sheriff straightens to his full height and then sags
when he realizes, “Wait, that conversation feels somehow familiar.”

“Does it?” Stiles' smirk widens and he shoves his dad out of the room.
“Thanks Dad, have fun Dad, bye Dad.”

In the hallway Dad turns around to frown at him and whisper conspiratorially,
“Hamburger or steak for that barbecue?”

“Grilled veggies for you, that much is for sure.” Stiles laughs and gently
closes the door. Maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance he'll win that bet
with Scott, they made back in middle school about whose parent would ask the
other out first. Stiles' money and three chocolate bars still say Melissa.

With a sigh and smile he sinks into Derek's lap and embrace and they enjoy the
pizza before that turns into enjoying the aforementioned round three.

Afterwards, Stiles lazily combs his fingers through Derek's hair and wonders
aloud, “Hmm, in a worst case scenario, do you think, I could move into your
loft until I start college?”

Derek chuckles. “I don't think that will be necessary, but sure. You already
know the code for the alarm system anyway.”

“True.” Stiles leans down to capture Derek's lips in a sweet kiss. “But
why would you think that?”

“I just heard Mrs. Martin leaving without a good-bye kiss.”

Stiles grins and, later, falls asleep in Derek's arms with a happy smile.

 
*** The End ***


Hosted by Animexx e.V. (http://www.animexx.de)