Behind the barracks. Trying to see how far into the woods I can go before I run into a fence. Or another guard with a fucking tranquilizer gun. Thought I could find somewhere quiet. You know - away from people who might want to talk to me.
[ which is actually kind of nostalgic? d/s aesthetics aside, this whole camp is starting to give him "my family just died and i don't want to play basketball or talk to any of my friends at school anymore so i'm going to start spending my recesses hiding out behind the library"-themed flashbacks. ]
[ he's probably going to laugh. but like, sadly. it's not nice to laugh at idiots. ]
Look, I just need like two minutes And then you can go back to playing hide and go seek with the guards or whatever. I can come to you Or there's this like Landscaping equipment storage building between the tennis courts and the theater. Not sure if we're allowed inside considering it was locked when I found it. But it's not anymore.
[ ah yes. breaking into places he doesn't belong, classic stiles. ]
Ugh, Stiles. I'm obviously going to meet you in the storage shed. Stiles.
[ there better be a new lock on that door when they get there. there better be a new fucking lock on that door. derek wants so, so badly to break a lock. he stops walking, looks away from his phone, and he finds a pretty decently sized rock hidden among the dead leaves in the ground around him. he doesn't have werewolf strength anymore, ssso.
he picks it up. holds it with one hand. gonna bash that fucking door in if they've locked it again. ]
I'll meet you there. Two minutes. Hurry up, already. Christ.
Will you relax? The basketball court isn't going anywhere And neither are the electric fences They'll still be there for you to touch like a dumbass.
[ he's scrambling up off the floor, though, like maybe if he just gets a head start he can beat derek there. for bragging rights or something, who the hell knows. derek can't possibly be there already, right? he's not that quick anymore with that half of him shut down.
stiles doesn't run, but he does walk with purpose, faster than usual, but not at a pace quick enough to draw any unwanted attention. by whatever miracle, he makes it there before derek, maybe only by about thirty seconds, but stiles counts it as a victory even though he never would have beat derek if he were at full capacity.
it's not locked. stiles was never caught yesterday, when he was skipping the latter half of the lunch hour, snooping around while almost everyone else was busy begging for table scraps or passing them off. the building is actual empty, save for a single leaf blower and coiled garden hose, but it still smells of cut grass and gasoline.
stiles is standing outside, chewing on the edge of his thumbnail when derek shows up. he's very slightly paranoid (though when is he not) about having to explain why he's loitering outside of an off-limits building should a guard happen to stumble across him. his hair is still a little damp from the shower he took just a little bit before he texted derek, spiked up a little bit in the front with his fingers, but not stiff with product. he looks tired, like he hasn't slept, because he hasn't.
derek has a fucking rock in his hand, and stiles just furrows his eyebrows at him. ]
What's with the rock? This isn't Battle Royale, you weirdo.
Extravagant way to typo the word badass, but okay.
[ he locks his phone, hides it in the pocket of his uniform, ignores any potential message from stiles that might come in exclusively so he can convince himself he got the last word in. it's not too far a walk, so... he gets to it.
it's hard not to consider racing stiles to the storage building, but the thought of running is kind of intimidating to derek right now; his legs are still sore from the falls they've taken, he's still so quick to lose his breath in comparison to how he should be. he doesn't want to look... weak, when he meets up with stiles, all sweaty and tired from pushing himself past limits he's already so consistently pushed himself past since his arrival to fort harm. he needs to give off the illusion of control, because the illusion of control is all he has. even more than usual.
so he takes his time, enjoys the clean air as much as he can ever enjoy anything, and he shows up a little late. only a little. stiles calls him out on the rock, and derek looks down at it like he'd forgotten he'd carried it halfway across the campgrounds, and when he peeks over stiles' shoulder to the slightly ajar door of the storage building, he figures there's no need for it. disappointed, he abandons the rock, dropping it carelessly onto the dirt. ]
You're a weirdo. Stop chewing your nails. You look suspicious as fuck.
[ he steps forward, places his hand on the door. it swings inward and derek doesn't look over his shoulder when he heads inside. it's dark inside - well, dark-ish, at least - but there's some light filtering in from windows by the ceiling, and after ushering stiles inside and closing the door behind him, it feels like the quiet place he's been looking for. he could hide out here, he thinks. share the space with the spiders and cockroaches, if they'll have him.
stiles wanted to talk to him. derek's concerned. he's tried very, very hard not to show it, but now they're here, in the crisp, morning sorta-dark, and they're alone. he can't keep the trace of worry out of his voice. ]
[ stiles drops his hand from his mouth the second derek tells him to, which is slightly foreshadow-y of the conversation to come. he's not worried about looking suspicious, especially now that derek is here and they can duck inside where, presumably, no one will see them, but he doesn't really like being called out on his anxious ticks, at least not right now.
he follows derek inside, lets him close the door while he turns slowly on his heel to look around as if he hasn't already been here once before. it's not a large space by any means - about the size of a small garage, big enough to have housed a riding lawnmower or two, some edgers, another leaf blower in addition to the one that's chilling in the corner - but it's... private. nothing else feels private here.
stiles tears his eyes away from the empty rack bolted to the far wall, probably where someone use to hang things like rakes and shovels and shit. he looks at derek, almost seems a little lost for a second, like he forgot what the hell they're even here for. he blinks, nods his head a little, rubs his fingers across his forehead. he shifts his weight back and forth between his feet, just a subtle tilt back and forth and then back again.
he's anxious, but derek probably doesn't need the chemosignals to be able to tell. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I'm - fine. [ always fine. ] I just.
[ stiles wets his lips, dropping his hand from his forehead at the same time that he breathes out. this shouldn't be a big deal, isn't even that serious, but at the same time, it is, for stiles anyway. stiles looks at derek, takes a breath. ]
I need to ask you something, and you just need to say yes or no. That's it.
[ of course derek doesn't need the chemosignals to be able to tell. stiles looks like a fucking wreck.
... no, okay, he doesn't, but. look, derek's pretty tightly coiled right now, he has been since the kidnapping; he'd already made the decision to try to do what he can to make stiles' life easier, to pay him back for the pool and the sweater and the bullet, and seeing stiles worry when he's not supposed to worry, not while derek's here, it's just - it's disappointing. he's disappointed in himself.
his stomach twists and he stands taller, arms crossed over his chest, weight centered in his heels. there's just enough of a change in his expression to show that he's expecting something way worse than what stiles is actually planning on asking him. his eyebrows are up, eyes are open, jaw is set. shouldn't have said "i'm fine", stiles. "i'm fine" never means "i'm fine". ]
That's...
[ derek's not going to just promise a quick yes or no when he might need to ask for more context, more details, for whatever this is. he's ready to say as much, but at the last second, he frowns, closes his mouth again. cuts himself off.
now that he thinks about it, stiles is coming into this conversation with the same energy he brought to the meal they had together. the one with grapes and scraps of bread, not saltines and jurassic park. there's an unspoken "don't make this more humiliating for me than it already is" caveat that derek can sense thickly in the air but doesn't know what to do with, there's a plea for derek to just trust him and help him.
and, well. derek trusts him. he hasn't said as much, but he trusts him. there's a few tense seconds of silence while derek exhales and brushes his fingers through his hair, but eventually he caves. he nods, willing to hear stiles out. ]
[ stiles has spent nearly four months resisting. from the very start, he refused to comply. never once considered forming a contract while he was a dom, which was difficult in that it's in his nature to want to help people, but forming a contract would only be enabling a system he did not and does not agree with, and nothing ever changes if nobody points out that something is wrong.
the closest he came to a contract with a brief burst of panic, close to the end of his first deadline, was when he thought about asking scott to pair up with him, but that was more out of concern that scott could end up contracted to someone else, someone who might not take well to scott being a werewolf, if they ever found out. it was more about protecting scott than it was about protecting his own ass.
and then scott disappeared, taken back home, presumably, which was both a nightmare and a relief, because then stiles was alone, but at least scott wasn't here anymore in a city that had him under its thumb, made a mockery of his strength and his power by marking him as a submissive. so stiles resisted some more, refused to play, and he was punished for it.
the last month or so as a submissive has been... hard. moreso than stiles initially expected, but he's nothing if not resilient. he's managed so far, kept his head under the radar. he's done whatever he's had to to get by, save for chaining himself to someone else and handing over his agency. it's not even an even balance of power - a submissive provides exactly nothing for a dominant, other than the opportunity for control, the potential to be cruel because what choice does one have other than to crawl back to the hand that feeds them? stiles doesn't want that - he doesn't know how anyone could.
and then he found derek - or rather, derek's shoulder found him - angry and freezing in the middle of the sidewalk, and things - shifted. he wasn't alone anymore. out of all of his friends that could have turned up after scott, derek is probably the one stiles trusts the most. and so he suddenly had a different sense of purpose. stiles took derek home home and he gave him clothes and he gave him a place to rest where no one would come looking for him. had his back, like he always has, even if derek hadn't really need his protection.
the same can't really be said for now, here in this bullshit fort, where they've robbed derek of his strength, his stamina. his fangs, his claws, his everything, really. stiles isn't naive enough to think that this makes him stronger than derek now, that they're anywhere close to equals even now, that he can protect derek from the guards if he decides to lash out again, but.
there has to be some give, somewhere. derek is going to get himself killed if he keeps lashing out, if he keeps fighting and pushing the limits that he's not used to having, and stiles doesn't really know what to do, but he has to do something. he has to do something. he has to keep a better eye on derek, make sure he doesn't do something neither one of them will be able to fix. derek spent five hours chained to a fucking table, and stiles didn't know shit about it because he was too busy skipping the lunch hour so he wouldn't have to watch people eat while he refused to kneel.
five hours chained to a table, and stiles let it happen. not intentionally, but maybe he could have done something, maybe he could have convinced derek to calm the fuck down, or at the very least, put himself between him and the guards. it likely would have done nothing other than earn him a black eye to match the bruises under derek's chin, but it would have been something.
stiles' fingers flex anxiously by his side, his middle and ring finger stuttering against his leg. he trusts derek. right now, he trusts derek more than anyone else, and if he's going to do this, if he's going to trust anyone not to take advantage, especially someone he wants to help, it has to be derek.
stiles swallows thickly. he has to force himself not to look away, to hide whatever shame he's feeling for caving after putting up a fight for so long. the words come spilling out, like he's been holding them hostage behind the cage of his teeth. ]
stiles trusts him, but derek doesn't understand why. he's come close to understanding, he thinks, and whenever he's had a moment alone in the darkness of the barracks or in the already distant safety of his assigned housing, his thoughts have so often drifted back to stiles in an effort to examine and re-examine what they are to each other.
but he doesn't understand. he doesn't understand how in two short years, he managed to trick stiles into thinking of him as a better man than he is. he doesn't understand what he possibly could have done to make stiles ever believe he was worth relying on. there's so much he doesn't understand.
subconsciously, stiles has been making derek feel as if there's hope for him. if he can grow - genuinely grow - into a person worth trusting, worth relying on, then it wouldn't be a hard leap to say that he succeeds as an alpha. that in stiles' timeline, he's worked his fingers to the bone to protect himself and his pack, he's latched onto the security and the safety he found in them, he's trained his betas to learn how to fight, and it's all just - worked. he's made himself a better man than his uncle ever was, and he has a pack full of people who respect him as much as stiles seems to now. there's a grain of hope in him, built on nothing but vague justifications and theorizing on why stiles is so okay with him, that his pack is healthy and happy and stable. that erica's alive, thriving. that boyd's confident and outgoing, like he always wanted to be. that isaac's strong. that scott is a part of it, having realized that derek only wants the best for him.
evidence, history, circumstance. stiles has been showing derek, over these past couple of weeks, that he's better in 2013 than he is in 2011. succeeding as an alpha is the only way that derek believes he can be better. his pack is supposed to be his redemption for what he did to his family, after all.
but. ]
Stiles.
[ but he doesn't understand, and he doesn't believe that things could ever go that well for him, and his fingers still feel so warm sometimes, coated in the phantom red of his uncle's blood. he wants to be a good alpha - he wants to be a great alpha - but he knows, genuinely knows, that that's not who he is. he can't lead, he can't think. he feels like he's constantly drowning, trying to be better than he is, trying to fight against rising tides. it was almost poetically literal that he would end up paralyzed in twelve feet of water the second he tried to solve a problem he himself created. he doesn't know how to do this. ]
Stiles - I'm still an Alpha.
[ and if he's not going to be a good alpha, then he's going to be a bad one. ]
I don't know what happens in these next two years. I don't know how you and I get... better. But...
[ but peter killed people. peter would have killed everyone connected to the fire, and then he would have killed more. that's the alpha that derek is afraid of becoming, and even if he trusted himself not to one day turn into that - he started that fire. he broke his family's trust, and if he doesn't even understand how he earned stiles', how can he believe that he won't break his, too? ]
I just killed Peter. I slashed his throat, and I stole his power, all while Scott begged me not to. Now, Scott hates me. He thinks I'm just... that I'm using Boyd and Erica and Isaac the exact same way Peter tried to use him. And you - you saw what Peter was like. He was a fucking monster. He trapped you in your school in the middle of the night, he terrorized you, he-- mauled that bus driver, he tore Laura in half.
[ derek shakes his head. his mouth is dry, his throat is sore. he's not... saying no, it's just... he doesn't believe stiles fully understands what he's asking for. he takes a few steps, closer to stiles, and when he raises his hand, ready to set it on stiles' shoulder, it occurs to him for the hundredth time what a surreal experience this really is. trying to protect stiles, of all people. trusting him as much as he is, even though he knows that he shouldn't and refuses to accept that he does. ]
I'm not a good person. I'm an Alpha, just like my uncle. That makes me dangerous, especially to humans. If you give me this much power over you, how can you possibly be sure that I won't abuse it?
it's like a punch in the face, a kick to the stomach, and it shouldn't be because derek doesn't owe him anything. it's not even about stiles, it's about derek, and stiles' burning need to make sure someone has derek's back, always. it's an old instinct, one he hasn't really felt in a while, not since stiles almost, almost forgot about scott in favor of staying with derek. when derek was bleeding out, because he hopped out of the van first, instead of stiles. an instinct that kicked back in the moment derek nearly sent him sprawling face first into an icy sidewalk.
but derek says "but" and stiles has to work to not drown out the rest because he doesn't want to hear it, cutting his eyes away sharply and rolling his head subtly with all the disappointment he's trying to hold back. yes or no, he said. no excuses, no explanations for why or why not, no buts. stiles doesn't want to know all the reasons he isn't good enough for derek to even consider it, all the places he's failed.
stiles just wants to - walk out. he wants to pretend this didn't happen at all, that he didn't just put everything he's been fighting against aside, just have it be meaningless. he wants to just turn around and walk out and find somewhere derek isn't and won't be.
but derek is still talking, and as much as stiles doesn't want to hear his excuses, he's still too curious for his own good. he's still unwilling to walk away, because he did that to derek once already, even if the circumstances then were gravely different from now.
it's not anything stiles is expecting to hear, and it's clear by the look on his face, the more and more derek goes on. he's already shaking his head before derek's even halfway through his reasoning, small and subtle, but in obvious disagreement with everything derek's said so far. he wants to interrupt, but he bites his tongue, lets him finish.
... derek doesn't trust himself. he still thinks of himself as this awful person, that in becoming alpha, he's also destined to become the same person peter was. derek thinks he's going to end up hurting stiles, regardless of whether or not he actually wants to. stiles should have realized this sooner.
stiles doesn't move away when derek steps closer, doesn't flinch when he raises his hand, even though derek has just reminded him that he killed peter, that he clawed out his throat for power. he just stands there, looking right at derek again, nearly eye-level, but not quite. derek is trying to get him to believe that he's someone stiles should fear, someone he shouldn't trust, and stiles?
stiles takes a step toward him instead, just one single step toward a man who's just painted himself as some kind of monster, because stiles doesn't believe any of that to be true. he knows it's not. he knows the type of person derek is, the person he becomes. he understands, in hindsight, all the things derek was trying to do, his motivations, the fears that drove him.
he shakes his head, starts to lift his hand like he's about to grab onto derek's forearm, but he just lets it hover. ]
Because I know who you are. Because you've always had some kind of power over me and I don't think you've ever used it to your advantage the way you could have. [ because stiles is human and derek is more, and while stiles isn't someone derek can just alpha into obeying, he's had plenty of opportunity to cut him down. he's stronger than stiles will probably ever be, faster too, and he could have done whatever he wanted to stiles to keep him out of his way for good.
stiles curls his fingers around derek's forearm, right between his wrist and his elbow, slow, careful, like derek is still a werewolf, still an alpha and not nearly-human. he's not afraid of him, hasn't been for a long time now. ] Derek, Peter bit Scott because he was out-of-his-mind insane and he wanted a murder-pack. It didn't matter who he bit. You chose people who would benefit from the bite.
Erica was epileptic. She had seizures, she almost fell to her death in the gym at school because she just wanted to prove that she could climb the stupid - fucking rock wall, without her disorder getting in the way. You made her stronger. You made her confident.
Isaac was - jesus, his dad was beating him and nobody knew it. Nobody saw it, but you did. You gave him courage, you gave him support. You made him stronger.
Boyd needed friends. He needed leadership, he needed family. To feel like he belonged somewhere. You gave him Erica, you gave him Isaac. You made him pack. You gave him that.
Scott didn't need to be bitten. He had - asthma, but he had that under control. He has a mother who loves him and looks after him, he has friends, he has courage. He didn't want to be bitten. Peter didn't give him a choice.
[ he lets that hang for a minute, shifts his eyes back and forth between both of derek's. this somehow feels less about a contract, and more about making sure derek understands something, though stiles isn't sure entirely what. ]
You're an Alpha, but you're not Peter. You're dangerous - but not because you're an Alpha. The two don't have to be congruous. You protect people - Derek, you turned and you shoved me backwards away from the Kanima. You put yourself between me and an actual monster and told me to run. I was human then. I'm still human now. You didn't even like me, had no reason have my back - but you did.
[ stiles lets this hang too, uncurls his fingers, lets his hand fall away. it thumps quietly against his thigh. he takes a slow breath, lips pressed together loosely, has to look away for just a second. ]
I'm not - saying all of this to convince you to sign with me. If you don't want to, that's fine, seriously. I'm not interested in forcing you. This isn't some kind of - weird guilt trip or reverse psychology or whatever. ... I just want you to understand that you're not Peter. You never will be.
[ derek notices the shake of stiles' head, the bare hint of an interruption that doesn't come. he keeps talking through the signs that he should shut up and let stiles speak, pushing ahead until he's said everything he needs to say. the fear of who he could be if given enough time to change, the underlying regret he feels for killing him the way he did, the pain of laura's death he still carries around with him.
he's afraid of being damaging, he's afraid of being bad for people, and he's afraid of being hurt. he's trying to touch on those issues, through veiled hints and quiet, vague explanations. he's expecting stiles to read his mind, and maybe that isn't fair, but he doesn't know how to be more explicit.
it would be so, so easy to argue with the defences stiles makes for him. to use the way he bullied stiles in the earliest days of their relationship as proof that he's used his power over him, to argue that any goodness he brought to his beta's lives could be purely incidental. maybe he was just motivated by a need to surround himself with people who could fight for him, maybe he was being selfish. maybe the three of them were easy prey.
but people don't talk to him like this, people don't think about him like this. it's disarming. stiles has been nothing but disarming since derek arrived, and there's a minute here where he's actually speechless; he's never speechless, not really, there's always something cutting to say that he keeps to himself, always something small and petty sitting silently on the edge of his tongue. now, he's just...
he stays quiet through all of it. there are times here and there where he looks like he wants to say something, but those times come fewer and further apart the more stiles defends him. derek watches him talk, he watches his hand come close to his own, he watches... everything. he watches someone care about him, he watches someone know him. he watches someone like him, he watches someone slowly touch his arm in silent solidarity, a peaceful expression of trust. stiles is telling him in every possible way that he doesn't believe derek to be the monster he makes himself out to be, and derek does his best to listen.
he never really... thought he'd ever have this again. this much kindness, all for him. ]
It's not that I don't want to. You're just... you're giving me a lot of free passes, and I don't know if I deserve them.
[ stiles' hand drifts away, and derek lets it go. his arm drops limply to his side, and he only realizes when his chest is starting to hurt that he hasn't been breathing. it's still so hard for derek to say to himself that he trusts stiles, but he does, and for the first time in his life - a year too early, at least - he's starting to think that maybe it isn't fair to expect the worst from someone who only wants the best for you.
derek reaches out, and he takes a hold of stiles' hand, the same one stiles just pulled away. he's always preferred skin to skin contact, however deprived of it he's been since the fire. when he curls his fingers around stiles' wrist, it's just... comforting, to be able to hold onto someone solid, to know that they're really there. grounding. anchoring, almost, but not quite. not yet. ]
I'm not saying no. I just don't...
[ derek's eyes are on stiles' hand. the long, thin reach of his fingers. a freckle he'd never seen before. there's no way to argue against saving stiles from the kanima when he did. the kanima is his responsibility, he's supposed to face it alone - but if that was his only priority, he could have used stiles as bait, he could have let him die, he could have told him to run without exposing his back to a monster and shoving him away. he just...
he wanted stiles to be safe. he was scared he wouldn't be able to keep him safe, if he stayed.
it all boils down to one feelng, in the end. that constant fear of not being enough, that insecure worry that under all the effort and all the work, he hasn't changed at all since he was a kid. he's afraid he'll trust the wrong people, he's afraid he'll get more people killed. he's scared of making mistakes, and without the threat of the kanima and the distant rumblings of the alpha pack to fuel him on, derek doesn't feel the pressure to blindly rush into action while he's here.
which is the only reason they're talking in the first place. he could have just said yes or no, like stiles asked. instead - he thought. and he found reasons to worry. ]
I don't want to screw up. I don't want to make things harder for you by being a bad Dom. I don't want to... [ he hesitates. ] I don't want to lose what we have here. I like... talking to you.
[ he's scared of what he'll do to stiles. derek might want to keep stiles safe, but it goes without saying at this point that he doesn't trust himself enough to be able to pull it off. ]
But if... if you...
[ his thumb rests lightly against stiles' wrist. he doesn't know why he hasn't let go yet, and he finally raises his eyes to look at stiles. he takes another breath, keeping his voice almost clinically steady. ]
If there's nobody here you trust more than me - of course I'll...
[ he slowly, slowly pries his hand away, though he looks at stiles' wrist like he regrets it the second they're not touching. ]
[ again, there are moments when stiles wants to interject, to interrupt and tell derek that he's wrong, but stiles stays quiet. it's not necessarily fair for him to think derek is wrong, because derek is just voicing his own feelings, his fears about what could happen, what he doesn't want to change, the things he doesn't want to lose if he does something wrong. stiles isn't interested in invalidating derek's feelings, he's not interested in trivializing his insecurities.
derek reaches for stiles hand almost as soon as stiles takes it away and it confuses him for a half a second, but he doesn't pull away. he doesn't shake derek off or stiffen up, he just - lets him do it, his eyes flitting down to the circle of fingers around his wrist. derek's hand is warm, he notes, though he doesn't know why he makes note of it.
when stiles cuts his eyes back up to look at derek, derek isn't looking at him, but stiles continues to look at him anyway, listening as he continues. derek's looking at stiles' hand, and slowly, stiles begins to twist his wrist in derek's grip. so, so slowly, so it doesn't seem like he's trying to pull away or free himself. he turns his hand just enough to touch the underside of derek's wrist with his fingertips, letting them rest there without purpose. when derek finally lets him go, stiles hand hovers in the space between them for an extra beat before he lets it ease back to his side.
for whatever reason, he's reminded of the loft. of derek on his knees in six inches of water, blood on his hands, tears in his eyes, heartbreak written all over him. he remembers cora splashing through the water, running not to derek, but to boyd, and stiles doesn't blame her for that. but derek was there too, frozen with grief and guilt for something that wasn't his fault, was never his fault. stiles remembers the feeling of cold water seeping into his shoes, and he remembers placing his hand on derek's shoulder.
he doesn't know why he's remembering these things here, right now.
stiles doesn't say anything for a minute after derek tapers off. he takes a few long seconds to just - process, to let everything derek's just confessed settle in the quiet. he wets his lips, sucks in a breath through his nose.
okay. he nods his head okay. derek still isn't looking at him but stiles nods anyway. he hears derek. he understands the concerns, acknowledges that they are valid even if stiles doesn't think something like this could make them fall apart. one of them would have to fuck up monumentally, he thinks, to send them their separate ways, and stiles has seen so much fucked up shit in his short life that he's not necessarily desensitized, but it takes a lot to permanently ruffle his feathers.
stiles reaches forward, then, with his opposite hand this time, and he claps it gently over derek's shoulder, palm resting on the slope of his neck, thumb at the ridge of his collar bone under his stupid uniform shirt. ]
Hey, listen to me. [ he says this quietly, softly, but with seriousness in his tone. ducks his head an inch to try and catch derek's gaze with his own and hold it. ] This wouldn't change anything. We'll still be exactly as we are now. I'm not - I'm not expecting you to be my, my savior or anything, all right? I just -
[ he adjusts his grip a little, breathes out through his nose. ]
I feel... better. Around you. Safer. Even now, even without all the fangs and the claws and the weird eyebrows. [ he smiles faintly, just a quick little thing in a fleeting moment of lightness, before his expression eases back into something more serious, but genuine. ] I do trust you. More than I trust a lot of people, more than I trust anyone here.
[ even allison, which doesn't need to be said, even if it is true. ]
If - if you do something I don't like, something that rubs me wrong. If I feel like you're taking advantage - I'll let you know. Believe me.
[ "ssh. be quiet!" [ ... ] "are you telling me what to do?" ]
When have I ever not told you what I think?
[ derek doesn't have the same history that stiles has to look back on, to understand that stiles has almost always been honest with him, has never been afraid to stand up and tell him when he's being an insufferable fuck or just... you know, stupid. so it's not a question that really holds any weight, but stiles is just trying to make a point here.
stiles flexes his thumb, lifts it, sets it back down. he looks at his own hand on derek's shoulder for a moment, focuses there. ]
It doesn't even— it doesn't even have to be about this dominant-submissive bullshit. It's just. Derek and Stiles. I got your back, you got mine. [ he shifts his eyes, the corner of his mouth upturns slightly. his eyes soften. ] And occasionally, you can feed me grapes.
[ derek's not reminded of anything. this all feels so new.
in so many ways, it's hard to marry the stiles he's used to with the stiles in front of him. stiles is taller, more confident. has a head full of hair. the trust, the reassurance, the maturity, the adulthood, it's all - disarming again, and as derek watches stiles touch his wrist the same way that derek is touching his, he feels like he himself is a little newer, too. he feels almost younger than he should, like a part of him remembers what it feels like to care more about the joy another person can bring him than the hardened sorrow he buries himself in so deeply and so often. there's a stirring, right in the corner of his lips, this minute, careful start of a smile. it lasts until they let go of each other.
derek's eyes are soft, almost docile. tamed. carefully, he slides his hands into his pockets, and he takes a few steps back, extending the distance between them again. he'll spoil himself, if he wants for too much of a good thing. it felt nice, touching stiles. the warmth of another body against his own, the light, feather-soft touches that made his stomach roll with affection and joy. it's too much, but he could get used to it, he thinks. he's missed being liked. he still can't believe he's someone's hero.
if only he were brave enough to let himself touch stiles like that again.
when have i ever not told you what i think, stiles adds, and the smile twitches back to life again. ]
Mm.
[ that's the hardest he can react, right now. a nice, monosyllabic mm, really asserting himself as the greatest speaker of his generation. he's always needed conversations like these, emotionally supportive and borderline affectionate, but he's never been good at reciprocating them, he thinks. at the very least, he's never been good at processing them. he's the alpha, but taking all of this kindness without offering enough in turn feels off-balanced, too representative of what a dom and a sub could have together. derek wants to make stiles more comfortable, too.
maybe it's no surprise, really, that a conversation so steeped in thoughts of security and dependability would circle back to derek's problems. he... gets it, but that's what makes him annoyed, following that mm up with a sharp shake of his head. stiles was the one who came to him with this, and derek needs to straighten out his shoulders and act better. ]
Derek and Stiles.
[ this is good. "derek and stiles". he doesn't have to question "derek and stiles", he doesn't have to worry about the gravity attached to inwardly and outwardly declaring with conviction that the two of them are friends. derek just has to be derek, stiles just has to be stiles. ]
I like that. We should set some ground rules. Before we make this official.
[ taking charge on this, making decisive action - that's what's going to put him in control again. derek takes a quick breath, situates himself, then pushes ahead. word by word, his eyes harden, his muscles tense, his posture straightens. he doesn't want to be the derek that needs to be told this is okay, he wants to be the derek that makes stiles feel safe. the derek that has his back, the derek that's worth trusting. the derek that would actually be okay with being stiles' savior, if stiles were ever weak enough to need one. ]
If you need something - if you want something - you tell me. Right away. I don't want you moping around, acting all whiny and depressed because you think you're just... playing into the system every time you want a packet of twinkies. That's not how it works.
[ derek brings back his hand, marking things off his fingers like a checklist. ]
I'll keep a room for you in my apartment. Just in case you ever need it. As temporary or as permanent as you want.
[ a pause. he looks at stiles, expression incredibly serious. ]
[ derek separates himself from stiles, widens the gap between them a little, and stiles decides that he's not up for standing in one place anymore now that things feel like they've shifted. he starts to pace slowly, dragging one hand down his forearm to his wrist, twisting his palm over the bone there like he's wiping something away, but he's not. he can still kind of feel the phantom loop of derek's fingers there. it's not a bad thing, just - something he notices subconsciously, enough that he touches the same place without realizing, as if to check that it's just a lingering sensation and that derek doesn't still have a hold on him.
he doesn't. stiles can see both of derek's hands.
he wanders kind of aimlessly as derek speaks, just lazy passes back and forth, his shoes scraping quietly against the dusty concrete floor every time he turns on his heel or his toes to start back the other way. he's listening, his attention on derek the entire time because they're discussing something serious, even if the tone has shifted to something a little bit lighter, which stiles is a little grateful for.
there's a moment where he wants to push back against a stipulation — that if he wants anything, he needs to ask derek immediately. it's a reasonable ground rule, it makes sense, but stiles has been rebelling for months, and it's almost instinct to throw out a yeah, fuck that in the face of it. instead, he just wrinkles his nose a little, huffs a quiet, irritated sigh, and says nothing. he steps out with one foot, doesn't put it down, turns on the ball of the foot bearing his weight. paces slowly back in the other direction.
and then derek mentions keeping a room for him, and stiles slows to a stop in front of him, his body in profile, but his head turned to look at him. he turns the rest of himself around after a moment, though he seems to have nothing to say to this.
perhaps it's that derek isn't demanding he move out his shitty room in the down that strikes him, but offers a place to go if he wants it, when he wants it. stiles isn't going to pretend he actually likes where he lives, but it's nice to have that choice. it's always about having a choice, for stiles. one that isn't forced by unbalanced circumstances.
he's still standing in front of derek when he drops the blowjob bomb, and for a handful of very silent, very still seconds, stiles actually contemplates whether or not he's being serious. they are in bonertown fucksville shagcity. well, no, they're currently in a weird-ass fort that looks like its purpose used to be for fun shit and not some creepy prison version of the real world. anyway, not the point.
stiles' eyebrows tuck in a little, eyes narrowing near the edges. his mouth opens slightly, like he might say something, might not. probably gonna say something because stiles talks too much. suddenly, his expression changes entirely, morphing into something nonchalant. he lifts one of his hands, like derek did, listing off of his fingers, crosses his other arm over his chest. ]
All right. First: twinkies are actually kinda gross, but nice attempt. Second: I'm gonna leave a tooth brush at your place - don't do anything weird to it. I will kill you. [ he pauses here, extends a third finger for just a moment, and then stops counting things off so he can cross this arm over his chest as well. his eyebrows inch up, the corners of his mouth curl, one side more than the other, and he tilts his head. ] Third: ... If you want to blow me that badly, that often? I'm not gonna fight you.
[ boom, nailed that. turned that shit around. suck it. literally suck it booiiiieeee. ]
[ there's something familiar and comforting in watching stiles pace. listlessly wandering, burning off excess energy. stiles paces when he's bored, he paces when he needs to think, and he paces when he's figuring things out, and for how much he's grown since derek's known him, stiles has so many of the same tics and habits that derek hadn't realized he'd gotten used to. this dingy little storage building that reeks of stale grass and old fuel feels more like home than anywhere else.
derek's eyes are set on stiles' arm, watching the way he touches himself, smoothing fingers over skin. for a second, he assumes the worst. he figures stiles hated the way derek found comfort in touching him, figured he felt like derek's soft but calloused hands on his wrist were a violation if his space. derek folds his arms, looks down at his feet. when he looks up again, stiles is still touching his wrist, but derek forces himself to see the moment for what it is.
it's just - a touch. the world isn't ending, stiles isn't angry with him, derek doesn't need to think that he is. they're both okay. they're better than okay, actually, because they have a plan to get through their time here. derek hates the idea of forging a contract as much as stiles does, but they're going to have each other's backs, and they're going to abuse the system however they can. they're still going to rebel, they're still going to value themselves over a society that treats them like commodities to be stripped of their agency and fucked over. they're going to survive. derek will make sure of it.
stiles came to him because he trusts him. stiles apologized for laura, and stiles has worried about him and had his back since... man, when at least 2011, for sure. it took losing his lycanthropy, meeting someone two years ahead of his timeline and being forced to follow the rules in a sexy, alternate universe to get there, but derek has the perspective now to see that stiles really isn't half as bad as he thought he was.
he's trustworthy.
stiles wrinkles his nose and, okay, even if derek is begrudgingly starting to admit to himself - and to stiles, ugh - that he likes what they have here together, there's still that knee-jerk, quickfire reaction in derek to shove him or pop his eyebrows up, to silently call him an idiot without having to use the word. getting to a point where he can pay stiles back and give him anything he needs is his primary motivation for signing a contract, and if stiles is just going to keep living in squalor and going hungry, what's the point?
but stiles' expression changes, and it's such a rapid shift into nonchalance that derek doesn't buy it for a second. he raises his eyebrows! he raises his fucking eyebrows, because it's derek, and when he doesn't believe someone and wants them to know that he doesn't believe them, his eyebrows go way the fuck up. he's not going to let stiles just smooth on over that nose-wrinkling by acting casual and making jokes. ]
I'll blow you as often as you blow me.
[ because that's equality, and equality is how they're going to fight the man. equality is the most important thing here. derek's not sure if making half-hearted jokes lampshading the innate sexual expectations hinted at around dom/sub contracts is really the best way to jump into his point, but that's what he's doing. his face is so tense and annoyed that it... maybe... doesn't... actually sound like a joke at all, actually. he looks, briefly, like he's seriously suggesting adding blowjobs to their contracts, and he's not, he's just...
he's trying to make a point. which is this: ]
You won't owe me anything by asking for it. Food, shelter. I can do and get things in this creepy fucking city that you just can't anymore, and you need to be comfortable telling me what you want.
[ he fixes stiles with A Look™, standing still and heavy, rooted to the floor. he doesn't want stiles to feel like he's being intimidated into accepting his help, but he doesn't even want this to feel like help in the first place. derek is just... metaphorically, derek is tall enough to grab things from a shelf stiles can't reach. if stiles asked him to get something down for him, he wouldn't owe derek anything, he'd just say thanks and they'd both forget about it. that's the approach derek wants to take here - he can do things, so he wants to just... do them.
derek sighs, sinking back on his heels, softening. if stiles is going to keep a tooth brush at his place, then - he shouldn't be such a hardass about everything else. the food, the hypothetical equality of their nonexistant blowjob arrangement. the thought of living with stiles at all kind of makes his insides itch, because living with his betas has felt kind of suffocating and none of them had adhd, but.
whatever, he's still committed to this. derek raises his hand, hesitates, then puts it on stiles's shoulder, lightly squeezing. he holds his grip for as long as he can before pulling his arm back, meeting stiles' eyes, refusing to look away. he lowers his voice, not because he's afraid of being overheard, but because he's afraid his anger and his attitude are making him sound like he's giving orders, and he really, really doesn't want stiles to think that's what this is. ]
We need to do what we can for each other. You and I have to be in this together.
[ i'll blow you as often as you blow me. derek raises his eyebrows at stiles and stiles raises his eyebrows right the fuck back, though this is mostly involuntary. if it weren't for how fucking serious derek looks, stiles probably would have dismissed the comeback with a small roll of his eyes and a huff of breath through his nose. but derek is standing there, looking like he kind of wants to murder someone in that way that he almost always looks like he wants to murder someone - well, not so much anymore in stiles' timeline, but the expression isn't at all unfamiliar - and stiles opens his mouth slightly, shifts his jaw minutely, drags his tongue across the back of his bottom teeth.
he doesn't get to ask anything, though, doesn't have the chance to get some clarification. derek pushes forward and stiles tries to put the whole blowjob-murder-eyes thing on the backburner for a second so he can focus on what derek is saying, but it's obvious that he's struggling to not jump in and interrupt and demand that derek throw the brakes and back up. a muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort.
right. right, okay. stiles needs to be comfortable with this. as much as he hates the system in place, as much as he's been resisting a contract for all that it is humiliating and unfair and unbalanced, he needs to be comfortable with trusting derek. which he is. if there's one thing stiles is absolutely certain of, standing here in this dusty little storage space, it's that he trusts derek explicitly. maybe more than he should, given the difference in time, but that doesn't matter. bottom line, he trusts derek, and it's easier, when put in this perspective, to feel more like they're equals.
derek pins him with a look. stiles uncrosses one of his arms and shifts his hand up to his face, thumb tucked under his chin and the second knuckle of his index finger resting in the dip between his nose and upper lip, the rest of his fingers relaxed into a loose curl. he stares back at derek, presses his mouth into a thin line behind the cup of his hand.
all right. all right, okay, this is good. this feels... far less stressful than stiles anticipated it would be. he still has a faint (but easily fading) impulsive desire to take the whole deal off the table, still has the itch to dig his heels in, but. he came to derek for a reason. he put his stupid pride aside for something more important: looking after derek. protecting derek. stiles may not be able to offer him anything as far as anything tangible goes, but he can sure as hell have his back. he can make sure the same thing that happened to him doesn't happen to derek for not forging a contract.
derek's hand settles against his shoulder and stiles feels an odd sort of relief under the light pressure of his fingers when he squeezes. he lowers his hand away from his mouth and exhales quietly through his nose, smiles faintly, tiredly. stiles nods, small and slow, but there's a quiet sort of determination in the way he looks back at derek, like he's set on doing this right. derek's hand lifts up and off, and for maybe half a second, perhaps too brief for anyone to even notice, stiles looks disappointed by the loss. ]
Yeah. [ he says this quietly, but with confidence. he's on the same page, wants derek to know that. ] Yeah, okay. All right.
[ and then he forms a loose fist and makes the world's most laziest, half-assed attempt at a fist pump. ]
Go Wildcats.
[ because we're... all... in this... together. or some shit. stiles doesn't even look like he knows what the hell he's talking about, just saying random shit in the moment that makes sense to him and probably nobody else.
his weak little fist turns slightly and he gently knocks his knuckles against the edge of his jaw, eyes squinting, eyebrows furrowing. he seems just a tad more serious all of the sudden. ]
Real quick though. You're not - serious about the, uh. [ christ. ] Blowjobs. Right? [ his knuckles slide against his face as he moves to gesture at derek, palm open and out as he waves his hand around in front of him. he looks like he's polishing a full-length mirror, very poorly. his eyebrows shoot up, his neck colors a little near the v of his collar. he sounds just the tiniest, tiniest bit frantic. ] I mean, not that you're— I'm not— you just had like— so I wasn't sure—?
[ jesus christ, shut up. stiles clicks his mouth shut, mouth pinching a little. he lets his hand drop and quietly clears his throat, takes a second to just - recover from that. okay. let's just. try that again. ]
[ truthfully, derek's not sure how willing he is to stick to his own rule. having each other's backs is all well and good, and he's obviously willing to take a chance on trusting stiles, even if he can't see himself ever letting go of the underlying fear in the back of his mind that one of them could very easily screw the other over... but.
but he owes stiles so much already. he doesn't want to owe him anything else. somewhere, derek knows he wouldn't have been so quick to pledge himself to stiles if he were still a dom and derek had been brought into this city as a sub. this position of power gives him comfort; he'll be able to give stiles the things he needs without having to worry about asking for help in turn, and even if, outwardly, they're promising to take care of each other, derek's not going to let himself need that. he's going to be the caretaker, he's going to be the provider. he's going to make stiles' life easier, even if he has to make his own harder in the process.
it hasn't occurred to him that stiles already has his own plans to watch derek's back and stop him from getting killed. it hasn't occurred to him just how much derek's going to rely on him in the days or weeks or months to come.
still, this works. derek drew a line in the sand here, whether he meant to or not; he's not going to treat himself as stiles' alpha, he's not going to delude himself into thinking they're pack. stiles isn't a replacement for the betas he's lost. they're just... derek and stiles. just like stiles said. derek watches stiles, barely moving, as stiles circles through expressions and takes way too fucking long to get to that "yeah, all right". when he does, derek breathes the breath he'd been holding, nodding and sucking the tip of his tongue against his upper gums. okay. good.
good.
derek sets his hands on his hips, attempting, however subconsciously, to look authoritative and in control. he looks away, lost in thought, already making plans in his mind about how to ease into this transition as seamlessly as possible; they'll have to write up a real contract, something that won't make it obvious they're just two friends(-ish) getting through this. he's already expecting to get some shit from vrenille, who he'd forgotten, until now, had been convinced that he pretty badly wants to fuck stiles. there are hurdles to jump, but as far as he can tell, they don't seem to be too high. contracting with each other is the best possible outcome for both of them, if they really do have to play by this system's rules.
when derek zones in on himself again, stiles has his fist out, ready to be bumped. derek doesn't react. derek doesn't participate. there's another bump of his eyebrows, and he drags his eyes as painfully slowly up to stiles', openly judgmental in his silence. he's not... bumping that. go wildcats.
stiles keeps going and derek just sort of leans on his other foot, sighing like he'd hoped this conversation would be over and is visibly disappointed to find that stiles still wants to talk to him. he folds his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms, and it takes a second or two for his brain to catch up and realize what stiles is going on about. when the fuck did they talk about blowjobs?
oh, right. like literally three seconds ago.
he rolls his eyes, tilting his head to the side. it would be easy enough, he thinks, to just say that he was obviously screwing around, and that stiles is an idiot, and then also maybe smack him a little, just for old times' sake. he doesn't, because this at least feels like a bit of levity to a conversation that stiles had to set a lot of pride aside to get into, and maybe it would be kinder to keep the joke going until the air between them thins a little. ]
You know, most guys would be pretty thrilled if I offered to suck their dick.
[ you know, because of how good looking he is. derek sort of lazily unfolds one of his arms, pointing his finger up at his face, doing a little circle motion with his hand. like, look at this. think of that police officer. think of danny. derek is self-aware of the strengths he has, and this is just one of them. ]
[ whatever, stiles can support the wildcats all by himself. he's not bothered by derek's lack of team spirit in this particular instance, mostly because he had zero expectations for derek to come through on that, so it's fine. he lets it go easily, will probably think about this exact moment later and wonder why the actual hell he felt the need to make a shitty reference from a disney channel movie he's only seen maybe fifteen non-consecutive minutes of.
anyway. stiles stands there with this look on his face that's half expectant, half unsure as he waits for derek to say something to the blowjob clause. the blowjob addendum. theee blowjob ban, in direct association with this contract they're going to draw up at some point. later today, probably, if stiles has anything to say about it, because he's like 15 hours late with this offer as it is. or however long it's been since derek was first cuffed to a table.
( another thing he'll think about later, probably in the midst of trying to shut his brain down so he can maybe get some actual sleep: no blowjobs in the contract. in the contract. as if that clarification was actually at all necessary. as if the rules are different outside of the contract. he'll wonder what the hell he even meant by that, if he even meant anything at all, or if he was just - making sure he's not obligated to suck someone's dick every hour just because a piece of paper says he has to. and then he probably won't sleep. so that's cool, that's great. excellent. )
derek jokes, though, or at least stiles decides to take it as joking after he circles his own face with his finger like, here, do you see this? have you seen this? do you understand the importance of this? this is art. stiles wants to laugh at him - so he does. it's quiet. a soft chuckle under his breath that crinkles the corners of his eyes, offers a quick flash of his teeth. derek. what a fucking idiot.
stiles holds both of his hands up, palm out, pulses them an inch or two towards derek. hold on. ]
Okay, relax. You're not that pretty. [ said a lying liar who lies. anyway. stiles, by this point, is fairly convinced that the blowjob thing is not at all a serious thing derek is considering putting in the contract, and if he tries it, stiles will just. not sign. or cross that part out half a second before scribbling his name. you know, whatever.
he drops one of his hands, raises the other to rub his palm up his forehead and into his hair, brushing it up so it'll finish drying less... flat. if there are hair products in the showers/bathrooms, he completely overlooked them. which is fair. he hasn't actually slept yet since 5AM the day before, wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders when he dragged himself into the shower. ] All right. All right, let's. Revisit this in a couple hours? Do it for real?
[ stiles experiences a brief spike of anxiety, chases it away with a subtle flail of his hand by his side, kind of like he's trying to shake out pins and needles, but otherwise, he seems fine. with this. he pauses, maybe for a beat too long, because he's thinking about - kneeling, and how much he hates it, but. ]
... Have you eaten yet?
[ obviously not, because the breakfast hour isn't for another twenty or so minutes by stiles' guess, but this is his way of like. asking. for stuff. from derek. like he said he would. like they agreed he would. so. ]
[ stiles laughs. derek doesn't show the relief that floods through him, hands still tight on his hips and posture unflinchingly rigid, but it's there, clearing away so much of the tension that had been building in on itself since he was first called out to the storage shed. all that nervous stumbling, the way stiles tripped over himself when they were verbally shitposting about blowjobs, it... doesn't really stand out to derek as important, and the "no blowjobs in the contract" shoe won't drop until he's had enough time to second guess everything-fucking-else he has to second guess, but.
stiles' smile? that matters. that's all he cares about. well, he cares about zac efron, too. go wildcats.
revisiting this in a couple of hours is fine, listening to a liar lie about how not pretty he is is fine, that's all fine. derek gets through everything stiles says with quiet, affirming nods, and before too long, he's actually ready to leave. he... doesn't think to tell stiles this before he starts to move, nodding again like he's dismissing stiles before taking a short stride towards the front door, but he doesn't get very far. he tries to make his exit the second stiles asks about food, and derek stops, leaning back on his heels.
he frowns. he frowns, and maybe that's not a good sign. derek backtracks, and he moves to stand closer to stiles than he had been before; he stands close enough to really see the softness of his hair, to notice how much better it looks like this than it does when it's been abused by three metric tons of hairgel. he notices the way stiles' skin looks a little pale, the way he looks a little gaunt, the way his uniform sits a little loosely on his body, and these are all things derek had already noticed, but it's - new, now that stiles is someone who is (almost) officially in his care. now that stiles is someone who genuinely asked him for help to survive.
derek senses the spike of anxiety in stiles, though he's not sure if that's because he's starting to understand which Awkward Stiles Flail correlates to which Awkward Stiles Emotion or if he's just feeling anxious himself and projecting a little. his frown tightens.
is that how we're doing this? "have you eaten yet". derek can't decide if this counts as assertive or not, so he's not sure if he should make a big deal of this. should he give stiles shit for not just - saying hey, can we go grab something to eat? should he be happy that stiles isn't just letting himself go hungry? derek makes a noise. hard to say if it's a thoughtful hum or a displeased grunt. somewhere in the middle, maybe. ]
I... could eat.
[ his voice is stiff and even, like he's trying very, very hard to pick his words carefully. his tone is... neutral, and slow, and when derek brings his hand up to his mouth to scratch at his stubble and think his next move through, it doesn't deviate from that. ]
If you could eat.
[ it's not like he wants to pressure stiles to just-- outwardly and explicitly say "i'm starving let me fucking eat you stupid dog", but he wants stiles to at least realize that that's an option. ]
[ derek starts to move and stiles' first instinct is to reach out to stop him, not because he doesn't want him to leave or because he has more to add to this conversation, but. derek has stirred up a lot of shit with who knows how many of the guards in the past twenty-four hours, and they're not exactly supposed to be in this shed if the (now-broken) lock on the door is anything to go by.
if anyone should leave first, it's probably stiles. he's gotten into far less trouble since they were dumped out of the transport vans and into the fort. it's not that he's been complying, but the guards seem far less concerned about a handful of submissives refusing to eat than they do about those who resist and retaliate via more... physical methods. if there are guards around outside, stiles is far less likely to strike a chord as negative as derek probably would, and this way, stiles could at least give derek a little warning.
stiles' hand never makes contact though, because derek stops and then he's stepping back into stiles' space. his hand just hovers there for a moment, still outstretched in the direction derek just moved from. derek is... really close, and though they're practically the same height, derek's close enough that those two inches make a different and stiles actually has to look up at him. the tiny sound he makes is hard to decipher. stiles gets the vague feeling he may have messed up somewhere between telling derek to chill with the self-love and asking if he's hungry.
he's not stupid. he knows that phrasing his wants as a question is skirting around the very thing they just talked about - stiles telling derek, stiles not fucking around when he wants or needs something, but it's not as easy as just flipping a switch. maybe it should be, but it's not. stiles' gaze shift slightly, following the movement of derek's hand as he brings it up to his face, nails scraping quietly through his stubble.
okay. okay, this is only going to work if they're straight forward, and stiles is. hungry. he's really fucking hungry because the only thing he ate yesterday was a handful of grapes and some squished bread and if he doesn't tell derek he's not up for skipping breakfast this time, then he's not going to eat. which ssssucks, but.
stiles breathes in through his nose, slow and deep. he sighs, lowers his gaze just slightly so he's looking more at derek's collar bones than anything else. he nods, absently lifting one hand to drag blunt fingernails through his hair, down the back of his skull. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I could— I'm... starving.
[ there it is. stiles let's that sit there between them for a beat, and then decides that he doesn't really want to just stand there anymore so he glances up briefly, offers a tight, tense little smile, then steps away from derek and toward the door leading out of their little safe space. very carefully, he eases the door open, and that's all he does at first. he stops and he listens. waits. eases the door open a little bit more, far enough so that he can peek his head out.
they're in the clear, and stiles breathes out quietly before stepping out, keeping one hand on the door as he turns to usher derek out with a wave of his other hand. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Subspace.
[ ha. okay, no, all headassery aside - he's sitting on his stupid bed roll, where derek has zero clearance to be. ]
Where are you?
no subject
Behind the barracks. Trying to see how far into the woods I can go before I run into a fence. Or another guard with a fucking tranquilizer gun.
Thought I could find somewhere quiet. You know - away from people who might want to talk to me.
[ which is actually kind of nostalgic? d/s aesthetics aside, this whole camp is starting to give him "my family just died and i don't want to play basketball or talk to any of my friends at school anymore so i'm going to start spending my recesses hiding out behind the library"-themed flashbacks. ]
no subject
I swear to god, if you get your ass tased.
[ he's probably going to laugh. but like, sadly. it's not nice to laugh at idiots. ]
Look, I just need like two minutes
And then you can go back to playing hide and go seek with the guards or whatever.
I can come to you
Or there's this like
Landscaping equipment storage building between the tennis courts and the theater.
Not sure if we're allowed inside considering it was locked when I found it.
But it's not anymore.
[ ah yes. breaking into places he doesn't belong, classic stiles. ]
no subject
I'm obviously going to meet you in the storage shed.
Stiles.
[ there better be a new lock on that door when they get there. there better be a new fucking lock on that door. derek wants so, so badly to break a lock. he stops walking, looks away from his phone, and he finds a pretty decently sized rock hidden among the dead leaves in the ground around him. he doesn't have werewolf strength anymore, ssso.
he picks it up. holds it with one hand. gonna bash that fucking door in if they've locked it again. ]
I'll meet you there. Two minutes.
Hurry up, already. Christ.
no subject
The basketball court isn't going anywhere
And neither are the electric fences
They'll still be there for you to touch like a dumbass.
[ he's scrambling up off the floor, though, like maybe if he just gets a head start he can beat derek there. for bragging rights or something, who the hell knows. derek can't possibly be there already, right? he's not that quick anymore with that half of him shut down.
stiles doesn't run, but he does walk with purpose, faster than usual, but not at a pace quick enough to draw any unwanted attention. by whatever miracle, he makes it there before derek, maybe only by about thirty seconds, but stiles counts it as a victory even though he never would have beat derek if he were at full capacity.
it's not locked. stiles was never caught yesterday, when he was skipping the latter half of the lunch hour, snooping around while almost everyone else was busy begging for table scraps or passing them off. the building is actual empty, save for a single leaf blower and coiled garden hose, but it still smells of cut grass and gasoline.
stiles is standing outside, chewing on the edge of his thumbnail when derek shows up. he's very slightly paranoid (though when is he not) about having to explain why he's loitering outside of an off-limits building should a guard happen to stumble across him. his hair is still a little damp from the shower he took just a little bit before he texted derek, spiked up a little bit in the front with his fingers, but not stiff with product. he looks tired, like he hasn't slept, because he hasn't.
derek has a fucking rock in his hand, and stiles just furrows his eyebrows at him. ]
What's with the rock? This isn't Battle Royale, you weirdo.
no subject
[ he locks his phone, hides it in the pocket of his uniform, ignores any potential message from stiles that might come in exclusively so he can convince himself he got the last word in. it's not too far a walk, so... he gets to it.
it's hard not to consider racing stiles to the storage building, but the thought of running is kind of intimidating to derek right now; his legs are still sore from the falls they've taken, he's still so quick to lose his breath in comparison to how he should be. he doesn't want to look... weak, when he meets up with stiles, all sweaty and tired from pushing himself past limits he's already so consistently pushed himself past since his arrival to fort harm. he needs to give off the illusion of control, because the illusion of control is all he has. even more than usual.
so he takes his time, enjoys the clean air as much as he can ever enjoy anything, and he shows up a little late. only a little. stiles calls him out on the rock, and derek looks down at it like he'd forgotten he'd carried it halfway across the campgrounds, and when he peeks over stiles' shoulder to the slightly ajar door of the storage building, he figures there's no need for it. disappointed, he abandons the rock, dropping it carelessly onto the dirt. ]
You're a weirdo. Stop chewing your nails. You look suspicious as fuck.
[ he steps forward, places his hand on the door. it swings inward and derek doesn't look over his shoulder when he heads inside. it's dark inside - well, dark-ish, at least - but there's some light filtering in from windows by the ceiling, and after ushering stiles inside and closing the door behind him, it feels like the quiet place he's been looking for. he could hide out here, he thinks. share the space with the spiders and cockroaches, if they'll have him.
stiles wanted to talk to him. derek's concerned. he's tried very, very hard not to show it, but now they're here, in the crisp, morning sorta-dark, and they're alone. he can't keep the trace of worry out of his voice. ]
You okay?
no subject
he follows derek inside, lets him close the door while he turns slowly on his heel to look around as if he hasn't already been here once before. it's not a large space by any means - about the size of a small garage, big enough to have housed a riding lawnmower or two, some edgers, another leaf blower in addition to the one that's chilling in the corner - but it's... private. nothing else feels private here.
stiles tears his eyes away from the empty rack bolted to the far wall, probably where someone use to hang things like rakes and shovels and shit. he looks at derek, almost seems a little lost for a second, like he forgot what the hell they're even here for. he blinks, nods his head a little, rubs his fingers across his forehead. he shifts his weight back and forth between his feet, just a subtle tilt back and forth and then back again.
he's anxious, but derek probably doesn't need the chemosignals to be able to tell. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I'm - fine. [ always fine. ] I just.
[ stiles wets his lips, dropping his hand from his forehead at the same time that he breathes out. this shouldn't be a big deal, isn't even that serious, but at the same time, it is, for stiles anyway. stiles looks at derek, takes a breath. ]
I need to ask you something, and you just need to say yes or no. That's it.
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... no, okay, he doesn't, but. look, derek's pretty tightly coiled right now, he has been since the kidnapping; he'd already made the decision to try to do what he can to make stiles' life easier, to pay him back for the pool and the sweater and the bullet, and seeing stiles worry when he's not supposed to worry, not while derek's here, it's just - it's disappointing. he's disappointed in himself.
his stomach twists and he stands taller, arms crossed over his chest, weight centered in his heels. there's just enough of a change in his expression to show that he's expecting something way worse than what stiles is actually planning on asking him. his eyebrows are up, eyes are open, jaw is set. shouldn't have said "i'm fine", stiles. "i'm fine" never means "i'm fine". ]
That's...
[ derek's not going to just promise a quick yes or no when he might need to ask for more context, more details, for whatever this is. he's ready to say as much, but at the last second, he frowns, closes his mouth again. cuts himself off.
now that he thinks about it, stiles is coming into this conversation with the same energy he brought to the meal they had together. the one with grapes and scraps of bread, not saltines and jurassic park. there's an unspoken "don't make this more humiliating for me than it already is" caveat that derek can sense thickly in the air but doesn't know what to do with, there's a plea for derek to just trust him and help him.
and, well. derek trusts him. he hasn't said as much, but he trusts him. there's a few tense seconds of silence while derek exhales and brushes his fingers through his hair, but eventually he caves. he nods, willing to hear stiles out. ]
Okay. Okay, go on. Ask.
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the closest he came to a contract with a brief burst of panic, close to the end of his first deadline, was when he thought about asking scott to pair up with him, but that was more out of concern that scott could end up contracted to someone else, someone who might not take well to scott being a werewolf, if they ever found out. it was more about protecting scott than it was about protecting his own ass.
and then scott disappeared, taken back home, presumably, which was both a nightmare and a relief, because then stiles was alone, but at least scott wasn't here anymore in a city that had him under its thumb, made a mockery of his strength and his power by marking him as a submissive. so stiles resisted some more, refused to play, and he was punished for it.
the last month or so as a submissive has been... hard. moreso than stiles initially expected, but he's nothing if not resilient. he's managed so far, kept his head under the radar. he's done whatever he's had to to get by, save for chaining himself to someone else and handing over his agency. it's not even an even balance of power - a submissive provides exactly nothing for a dominant, other than the opportunity for control, the potential to be cruel because what choice does one have other than to crawl back to the hand that feeds them? stiles doesn't want that - he doesn't know how anyone could.
and then he found derek - or rather, derek's shoulder found him - angry and freezing in the middle of the sidewalk, and things - shifted. he wasn't alone anymore. out of all of his friends that could have turned up after scott, derek is probably the one stiles trusts the most. and so he suddenly had a different sense of purpose. stiles took derek home home and he gave him clothes and he gave him a place to rest where no one would come looking for him. had his back, like he always has, even if derek hadn't really need his protection.
the same can't really be said for now, here in this bullshit fort, where they've robbed derek of his strength, his stamina. his fangs, his claws, his everything, really. stiles isn't naive enough to think that this makes him stronger than derek now, that they're anywhere close to equals even now, that he can protect derek from the guards if he decides to lash out again, but.
there has to be some give, somewhere. derek is going to get himself killed if he keeps lashing out, if he keeps fighting and pushing the limits that he's not used to having, and stiles doesn't really know what to do, but he has to do something. he has to do something. he has to keep a better eye on derek, make sure he doesn't do something neither one of them will be able to fix. derek spent five hours chained to a fucking table, and stiles didn't know shit about it because he was too busy skipping the lunch hour so he wouldn't have to watch people eat while he refused to kneel.
five hours chained to a table, and stiles let it happen. not intentionally, but maybe he could have done something, maybe he could have convinced derek to calm the fuck down, or at the very least, put himself between him and the guards. it likely would have done nothing other than earn him a black eye to match the bruises under derek's chin, but it would have been something.
stiles' fingers flex anxiously by his side, his middle and ring finger stuttering against his leg. he trusts derek. right now, he trusts derek more than anyone else, and if he's going to do this, if he's going to trust anyone not to take advantage, especially someone he wants to help, it has to be derek.
stiles swallows thickly. he has to force himself not to look away, to hide whatever shame he's feeling for caving after putting up a fight for so long. the words come spilling out, like he's been holding them hostage behind the cage of his teeth. ]
Sign a contract with me.
no subject
stiles trusts him, but derek doesn't understand why. he's come close to understanding, he thinks, and whenever he's had a moment alone in the darkness of the barracks or in the already distant safety of his assigned housing, his thoughts have so often drifted back to stiles in an effort to examine and re-examine what they are to each other.
but he doesn't understand. he doesn't understand how in two short years, he managed to trick stiles into thinking of him as a better man than he is. he doesn't understand what he possibly could have done to make stiles ever believe he was worth relying on. there's so much he doesn't understand.
subconsciously, stiles has been making derek feel as if there's hope for him. if he can grow - genuinely grow - into a person worth trusting, worth relying on, then it wouldn't be a hard leap to say that he succeeds as an alpha. that in stiles' timeline, he's worked his fingers to the bone to protect himself and his pack, he's latched onto the security and the safety he found in them, he's trained his betas to learn how to fight, and it's all just - worked. he's made himself a better man than his uncle ever was, and he has a pack full of people who respect him as much as stiles seems to now. there's a grain of hope in him, built on nothing but vague justifications and theorizing on why stiles is so okay with him, that his pack is healthy and happy and stable. that erica's alive, thriving. that boyd's confident and outgoing, like he always wanted to be. that isaac's strong. that scott is a part of it, having realized that derek only wants the best for him.
evidence, history, circumstance. stiles has been showing derek, over these past couple of weeks, that he's better in 2013 than he is in 2011. succeeding as an alpha is the only way that derek believes he can be better. his pack is supposed to be his redemption for what he did to his family, after all.
but. ]
Stiles.
[ but he doesn't understand, and he doesn't believe that things could ever go that well for him, and his fingers still feel so warm sometimes, coated in the phantom red of his uncle's blood. he wants to be a good alpha - he wants to be a great alpha - but he knows, genuinely knows, that that's not who he is. he can't lead, he can't think. he feels like he's constantly drowning, trying to be better than he is, trying to fight against rising tides. it was almost poetically literal that he would end up paralyzed in twelve feet of water the second he tried to solve a problem he himself created. he doesn't know how to do this. ]
Stiles - I'm still an Alpha.
[ and if he's not going to be a good alpha, then he's going to be a bad one. ]
I don't know what happens in these next two years. I don't know how you and I get... better. But...
[ but peter killed people. peter would have killed everyone connected to the fire, and then he would have killed more. that's the alpha that derek is afraid of becoming, and even if he trusted himself not to one day turn into that - he started that fire. he broke his family's trust, and if he doesn't even understand how he earned stiles', how can he believe that he won't break his, too? ]
I just killed Peter. I slashed his throat, and I stole his power, all while Scott begged me not to. Now, Scott hates me. He thinks I'm just... that I'm using Boyd and Erica and Isaac the exact same way Peter tried to use him. And you - you saw what Peter was like. He was a fucking monster. He trapped you in your school in the middle of the night, he terrorized you, he-- mauled that bus driver, he tore Laura in half.
[ derek shakes his head. his mouth is dry, his throat is sore. he's not... saying no, it's just... he doesn't believe stiles fully understands what he's asking for. he takes a few steps, closer to stiles, and when he raises his hand, ready to set it on stiles' shoulder, it occurs to him for the hundredth time what a surreal experience this really is. trying to protect stiles, of all people. trusting him as much as he is, even though he knows that he shouldn't and refuses to accept that he does. ]
I'm not a good person. I'm an Alpha, just like my uncle. That makes me dangerous, especially to humans. If you give me this much power over you, how can you possibly be sure that I won't abuse it?
no subject
it's like a punch in the face, a kick to the stomach, and it shouldn't be because derek doesn't owe him anything. it's not even about stiles, it's about derek, and stiles' burning need to make sure someone has derek's back, always. it's an old instinct, one he hasn't really felt in a while, not since stiles almost, almost forgot about scott in favor of staying with derek. when derek was bleeding out, because he hopped out of the van first, instead of stiles. an instinct that kicked back in the moment derek nearly sent him sprawling face first into an icy sidewalk.
but derek says "but" and stiles has to work to not drown out the rest because he doesn't want to hear it, cutting his eyes away sharply and rolling his head subtly with all the disappointment he's trying to hold back. yes or no, he said. no excuses, no explanations for why or why not, no buts. stiles doesn't want to know all the reasons he isn't good enough for derek to even consider it, all the places he's failed.
stiles just wants to - walk out. he wants to pretend this didn't happen at all, that he didn't just put everything he's been fighting against aside, just have it be meaningless. he wants to just turn around and walk out and find somewhere derek isn't and won't be.
but derek is still talking, and as much as stiles doesn't want to hear his excuses, he's still too curious for his own good. he's still unwilling to walk away, because he did that to derek once already, even if the circumstances then were gravely different from now.
it's not anything stiles is expecting to hear, and it's clear by the look on his face, the more and more derek goes on. he's already shaking his head before derek's even halfway through his reasoning, small and subtle, but in obvious disagreement with everything derek's said so far. he wants to interrupt, but he bites his tongue, lets him finish.
... derek doesn't trust himself. he still thinks of himself as this awful person, that in becoming alpha, he's also destined to become the same person peter was. derek thinks he's going to end up hurting stiles, regardless of whether or not he actually wants to. stiles should have realized this sooner.
stiles doesn't move away when derek steps closer, doesn't flinch when he raises his hand, even though derek has just reminded him that he killed peter, that he clawed out his throat for power. he just stands there, looking right at derek again, nearly eye-level, but not quite. derek is trying to get him to believe that he's someone stiles should fear, someone he shouldn't trust, and stiles?
stiles takes a step toward him instead, just one single step toward a man who's just painted himself as some kind of monster, because stiles doesn't believe any of that to be true. he knows it's not. he knows the type of person derek is, the person he becomes. he understands, in hindsight, all the things derek was trying to do, his motivations, the fears that drove him.
he shakes his head, starts to lift his hand like he's about to grab onto derek's forearm, but he just lets it hover. ]
Because I know who you are. Because you've always had some kind of power over me and I don't think you've ever used it to your advantage the way you could have. [ because stiles is human and derek is more, and while stiles isn't someone derek can just alpha into obeying, he's had plenty of opportunity to cut him down. he's stronger than stiles will probably ever be, faster too, and he could have done whatever he wanted to stiles to keep him out of his way for good.
stiles curls his fingers around derek's forearm, right between his wrist and his elbow, slow, careful, like derek is still a werewolf, still an alpha and not nearly-human. he's not afraid of him, hasn't been for a long time now. ] Derek, Peter bit Scott because he was out-of-his-mind insane and he wanted a murder-pack. It didn't matter who he bit. You chose people who would benefit from the bite.
Erica was epileptic. She had seizures, she almost fell to her death in the gym at school because she just wanted to prove that she could climb the stupid - fucking rock wall, without her disorder getting in the way. You made her stronger. You made her confident.
Isaac was - jesus, his dad was beating him and nobody knew it. Nobody saw it, but you did. You gave him courage, you gave him support. You made him stronger.
Boyd needed friends. He needed leadership, he needed family. To feel like he belonged somewhere. You gave him Erica, you gave him Isaac. You made him pack. You gave him that.
Scott didn't need to be bitten. He had - asthma, but he had that under control. He has a mother who loves him and looks after him, he has friends, he has courage. He didn't want to be bitten. Peter didn't give him a choice.
[ he lets that hang for a minute, shifts his eyes back and forth between both of derek's. this somehow feels less about a contract, and more about making sure derek understands something, though stiles isn't sure entirely what. ]
You're an Alpha, but you're not Peter. You're dangerous - but not because you're an Alpha. The two don't have to be congruous. You protect people - Derek, you turned and you shoved me backwards away from the Kanima. You put yourself between me and an actual monster and told me to run. I was human then. I'm still human now. You didn't even like me, had no reason have my back - but you did.
[ stiles lets this hang too, uncurls his fingers, lets his hand fall away. it thumps quietly against his thigh. he takes a slow breath, lips pressed together loosely, has to look away for just a second. ]
I'm not - saying all of this to convince you to sign with me. If you don't want to, that's fine, seriously. I'm not interested in forcing you. This isn't some kind of - weird guilt trip or reverse psychology or whatever. ... I just want you to understand that you're not Peter. You never will be.
no subject
he's afraid of being damaging, he's afraid of being bad for people, and he's afraid of being hurt. he's trying to touch on those issues, through veiled hints and quiet, vague explanations. he's expecting stiles to read his mind, and maybe that isn't fair, but he doesn't know how to be more explicit.
it would be so, so easy to argue with the defences stiles makes for him. to use the way he bullied stiles in the earliest days of their relationship as proof that he's used his power over him, to argue that any goodness he brought to his beta's lives could be purely incidental. maybe he was just motivated by a need to surround himself with people who could fight for him, maybe he was being selfish. maybe the three of them were easy prey.
but people don't talk to him like this, people don't think about him like this. it's disarming. stiles has been nothing but disarming since derek arrived, and there's a minute here where he's actually speechless; he's never speechless, not really, there's always something cutting to say that he keeps to himself, always something small and petty sitting silently on the edge of his tongue. now, he's just...
he stays quiet through all of it. there are times here and there where he looks like he wants to say something, but those times come fewer and further apart the more stiles defends him. derek watches him talk, he watches his hand come close to his own, he watches... everything. he watches someone care about him, he watches someone know him. he watches someone like him, he watches someone slowly touch his arm in silent solidarity, a peaceful expression of trust. stiles is telling him in every possible way that he doesn't believe derek to be the monster he makes himself out to be, and derek does his best to listen.
he never really... thought he'd ever have this again. this much kindness, all for him. ]
It's not that I don't want to. You're just... you're giving me a lot of free passes, and I don't know if I deserve them.
[ stiles' hand drifts away, and derek lets it go. his arm drops limply to his side, and he only realizes when his chest is starting to hurt that he hasn't been breathing. it's still so hard for derek to say to himself that he trusts stiles, but he does, and for the first time in his life - a year too early, at least - he's starting to think that maybe it isn't fair to expect the worst from someone who only wants the best for you.
derek reaches out, and he takes a hold of stiles' hand, the same one stiles just pulled away. he's always preferred skin to skin contact, however deprived of it he's been since the fire. when he curls his fingers around stiles' wrist, it's just... comforting, to be able to hold onto someone solid, to know that they're really there. grounding. anchoring, almost, but not quite. not yet. ]
I'm not saying no. I just don't...
[ derek's eyes are on stiles' hand. the long, thin reach of his fingers. a freckle he'd never seen before. there's no way to argue against saving stiles from the kanima when he did. the kanima is his responsibility, he's supposed to face it alone - but if that was his only priority, he could have used stiles as bait, he could have let him die, he could have told him to run without exposing his back to a monster and shoving him away. he just...
he wanted stiles to be safe. he was scared he wouldn't be able to keep him safe, if he stayed.
it all boils down to one feelng, in the end. that constant fear of not being enough, that insecure worry that under all the effort and all the work, he hasn't changed at all since he was a kid. he's afraid he'll trust the wrong people, he's afraid he'll get more people killed. he's scared of making mistakes, and without the threat of the kanima and the distant rumblings of the alpha pack to fuel him on, derek doesn't feel the pressure to blindly rush into action while he's here.
which is the only reason they're talking in the first place. he could have just said yes or no, like stiles asked. instead - he thought. and he found reasons to worry. ]
I don't want to screw up. I don't want to make things harder for you by being a bad Dom. I don't want to... [ he hesitates. ] I don't want to lose what we have here. I like... talking to you.
[ he's scared of what he'll do to stiles. derek might want to keep stiles safe, but it goes without saying at this point that he doesn't trust himself enough to be able to pull it off. ]
But if... if you...
[ his thumb rests lightly against stiles' wrist. he doesn't know why he hasn't let go yet, and he finally raises his eyes to look at stiles. he takes another breath, keeping his voice almost clinically steady. ]
If there's nobody here you trust more than me - of course I'll...
[ he slowly, slowly pries his hand away, though he looks at stiles' wrist like he regrets it the second they're not touching. ]
I want to. If you want to. I just...
[ need you to be careful. ]
no subject
derek reaches for stiles hand almost as soon as stiles takes it away and it confuses him for a half a second, but he doesn't pull away. he doesn't shake derek off or stiffen up, he just - lets him do it, his eyes flitting down to the circle of fingers around his wrist. derek's hand is warm, he notes, though he doesn't know why he makes note of it.
when stiles cuts his eyes back up to look at derek, derek isn't looking at him, but stiles continues to look at him anyway, listening as he continues. derek's looking at stiles' hand, and slowly, stiles begins to twist his wrist in derek's grip. so, so slowly, so it doesn't seem like he's trying to pull away or free himself. he turns his hand just enough to touch the underside of derek's wrist with his fingertips, letting them rest there without purpose. when derek finally lets him go, stiles hand hovers in the space between them for an extra beat before he lets it ease back to his side.
for whatever reason, he's reminded of the loft. of derek on his knees in six inches of water, blood on his hands, tears in his eyes, heartbreak written all over him. he remembers cora splashing through the water, running not to derek, but to boyd, and stiles doesn't blame her for that. but derek was there too, frozen with grief and guilt for something that wasn't his fault, was never his fault. stiles remembers the feeling of cold water seeping into his shoes, and he remembers placing his hand on derek's shoulder.
he doesn't know why he's remembering these things here, right now.
stiles doesn't say anything for a minute after derek tapers off. he takes a few long seconds to just - process, to let everything derek's just confessed settle in the quiet. he wets his lips, sucks in a breath through his nose.
okay. he nods his head okay. derek still isn't looking at him but stiles nods anyway. he hears derek. he understands the concerns, acknowledges that they are valid even if stiles doesn't think something like this could make them fall apart. one of them would have to fuck up monumentally, he thinks, to send them their separate ways, and stiles has seen so much fucked up shit in his short life that he's not necessarily desensitized, but it takes a lot to permanently ruffle his feathers.
stiles reaches forward, then, with his opposite hand this time, and he claps it gently over derek's shoulder, palm resting on the slope of his neck, thumb at the ridge of his collar bone under his stupid uniform shirt. ]
Hey, listen to me. [ he says this quietly, softly, but with seriousness in his tone. ducks his head an inch to try and catch derek's gaze with his own and hold it. ] This wouldn't change anything. We'll still be exactly as we are now. I'm not - I'm not expecting you to be my, my savior or anything, all right? I just -
[ he adjusts his grip a little, breathes out through his nose. ]
I feel... better. Around you. Safer. Even now, even without all the fangs and the claws and the weird eyebrows. [ he smiles faintly, just a quick little thing in a fleeting moment of lightness, before his expression eases back into something more serious, but genuine. ] I do trust you. More than I trust a lot of people, more than I trust anyone here.
[ even allison, which doesn't need to be said, even if it is true. ]
If - if you do something I don't like, something that rubs me wrong. If I feel like you're taking advantage - I'll let you know. Believe me.
[ "ssh. be quiet!" [ ... ] "are you telling me what to do?" ]
When have I ever not told you what I think?
[ derek doesn't have the same history that stiles has to look back on, to understand that stiles has almost always been honest with him, has never been afraid to stand up and tell him when he's being an insufferable fuck or just... you know, stupid. so it's not a question that really holds any weight, but stiles is just trying to make a point here.
stiles flexes his thumb, lifts it, sets it back down. he looks at his own hand on derek's shoulder for a moment, focuses there. ]
It doesn't even— it doesn't even have to be about this dominant-submissive bullshit. It's just. Derek and Stiles. I got your back, you got mine. [ he shifts his eyes, the corner of his mouth upturns slightly. his eyes soften. ] And occasionally, you can feed me grapes.
no subject
in so many ways, it's hard to marry the stiles he's used to with the stiles in front of him. stiles is taller, more confident. has a head full of hair. the trust, the reassurance, the maturity, the adulthood, it's all - disarming again, and as derek watches stiles touch his wrist the same way that derek is touching his, he feels like he himself is a little newer, too. he feels almost younger than he should, like a part of him remembers what it feels like to care more about the joy another person can bring him than the hardened sorrow he buries himself in so deeply and so often. there's a stirring, right in the corner of his lips, this minute, careful start of a smile. it lasts until they let go of each other.
derek's eyes are soft, almost docile. tamed. carefully, he slides his hands into his pockets, and he takes a few steps back, extending the distance between them again. he'll spoil himself, if he wants for too much of a good thing. it felt nice, touching stiles. the warmth of another body against his own, the light, feather-soft touches that made his stomach roll with affection and joy. it's too much, but he could get used to it, he thinks. he's missed being liked. he still can't believe he's someone's hero.
if only he were brave enough to let himself touch stiles like that again.
when have i ever not told you what i think, stiles adds, and the smile twitches back to life again. ]
Mm.
[ that's the hardest he can react, right now. a nice, monosyllabic mm, really asserting himself as the greatest speaker of his generation. he's always needed conversations like these, emotionally supportive and borderline affectionate, but he's never been good at reciprocating them, he thinks. at the very least, he's never been good at processing them. he's the alpha, but taking all of this kindness without offering enough in turn feels off-balanced, too representative of what a dom and a sub could have together. derek wants to make stiles more comfortable, too.
maybe it's no surprise, really, that a conversation so steeped in thoughts of security and dependability would circle back to derek's problems. he... gets it, but that's what makes him annoyed, following that mm up with a sharp shake of his head. stiles was the one who came to him with this, and derek needs to straighten out his shoulders and act better. ]
Derek and Stiles.
[ this is good. "derek and stiles". he doesn't have to question "derek and stiles", he doesn't have to worry about the gravity attached to inwardly and outwardly declaring with conviction that the two of them are friends. derek just has to be derek, stiles just has to be stiles. ]
I like that. We should set some ground rules. Before we make this official.
[ taking charge on this, making decisive action - that's what's going to put him in control again. derek takes a quick breath, situates himself, then pushes ahead. word by word, his eyes harden, his muscles tense, his posture straightens. he doesn't want to be the derek that needs to be told this is okay, he wants to be the derek that makes stiles feel safe. the derek that has his back, the derek that's worth trusting. the derek that would actually be okay with being stiles' savior, if stiles were ever weak enough to need one. ]
If you need something - if you want something - you tell me. Right away. I don't want you moping around, acting all whiny and depressed because you think you're just... playing into the system every time you want a packet of twinkies. That's not how it works.
[ derek brings back his hand, marking things off his fingers like a checklist. ]
I'll keep a room for you in my apartment. Just in case you ever need it. As temporary or as permanent as you want.
[ a pause. he looks at stiles, expression incredibly serious. ]
Daily blowjobs. Hourly blowjobs. Non-negotiable.
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he doesn't. stiles can see both of derek's hands.
he wanders kind of aimlessly as derek speaks, just lazy passes back and forth, his shoes scraping quietly against the dusty concrete floor every time he turns on his heel or his toes to start back the other way. he's listening, his attention on derek the entire time because they're discussing something serious, even if the tone has shifted to something a little bit lighter, which stiles is a little grateful for.
there's a moment where he wants to push back against a stipulation — that if he wants anything, he needs to ask derek immediately. it's a reasonable ground rule, it makes sense, but stiles has been rebelling for months, and it's almost instinct to throw out a yeah, fuck that in the face of it. instead, he just wrinkles his nose a little, huffs a quiet, irritated sigh, and says nothing. he steps out with one foot, doesn't put it down, turns on the ball of the foot bearing his weight. paces slowly back in the other direction.
and then derek mentions keeping a room for him, and stiles slows to a stop in front of him, his body in profile, but his head turned to look at him. he turns the rest of himself around after a moment, though he seems to have nothing to say to this.
perhaps it's that derek isn't demanding he move out his shitty room in the down that strikes him, but offers a place to go if he wants it, when he wants it. stiles isn't going to pretend he actually likes where he lives, but it's nice to have that choice. it's always about having a choice, for stiles. one that isn't forced by unbalanced circumstances.
he's still standing in front of derek when he drops the blowjob bomb, and for a handful of very silent, very still seconds, stiles actually contemplates whether or not he's being serious. they are in bonertown fucksville shagcity. well, no, they're currently in a weird-ass fort that looks like its purpose used to be for fun shit and not some creepy prison version of the real world. anyway, not the point.
stiles' eyebrows tuck in a little, eyes narrowing near the edges. his mouth opens slightly, like he might say something, might not. probably gonna say something because stiles talks too much. suddenly, his expression changes entirely, morphing into something nonchalant. he lifts one of his hands, like derek did, listing off of his fingers, crosses his other arm over his chest. ]
All right. First: twinkies are actually kinda gross, but nice attempt. Second: I'm gonna leave a tooth brush at your place - don't do anything weird to it. I will kill you. [ he pauses here, extends a third finger for just a moment, and then stops counting things off so he can cross this arm over his chest as well. his eyebrows inch up, the corners of his mouth curl, one side more than the other, and he tilts his head. ] Third: ... If you want to blow me that badly, that often? I'm not gonna fight you.
[ boom, nailed that. turned that shit around. suck it. literally suck it booiiiieeee. ]
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derek's eyes are set on stiles' arm, watching the way he touches himself, smoothing fingers over skin. for a second, he assumes the worst. he figures stiles hated the way derek found comfort in touching him, figured he felt like derek's soft but calloused hands on his wrist were a violation if his space. derek folds his arms, looks down at his feet. when he looks up again, stiles is still touching his wrist, but derek forces himself to see the moment for what it is.
it's just - a touch. the world isn't ending, stiles isn't angry with him, derek doesn't need to think that he is. they're both okay. they're better than okay, actually, because they have a plan to get through their time here. derek hates the idea of forging a contract as much as stiles does, but they're going to have each other's backs, and they're going to abuse the system however they can. they're still going to rebel, they're still going to value themselves over a society that treats them like commodities to be stripped of their agency and fucked over. they're going to survive. derek will make sure of it.
stiles came to him because he trusts him. stiles apologized for laura, and stiles has worried about him and had his back since... man, when at least 2011, for sure. it took losing his lycanthropy, meeting someone two years ahead of his timeline and being forced to follow the rules in a sexy, alternate universe to get there, but derek has the perspective now to see that stiles really isn't half as bad as he thought he was.
he's trustworthy.
stiles wrinkles his nose and, okay, even if derek is begrudgingly starting to admit to himself - and to stiles, ugh - that he likes what they have here together, there's still that knee-jerk, quickfire reaction in derek to shove him or pop his eyebrows up, to silently call him an idiot without having to use the word. getting to a point where he can pay stiles back and give him anything he needs is his primary motivation for signing a contract, and if stiles is just going to keep living in squalor and going hungry, what's the point?
but stiles' expression changes, and it's such a rapid shift into nonchalance that derek doesn't buy it for a second. he raises his eyebrows! he raises his fucking eyebrows, because it's derek, and when he doesn't believe someone and wants them to know that he doesn't believe them, his eyebrows go way the fuck up. he's not going to let stiles just smooth on over that nose-wrinkling by acting casual and making jokes. ]
I'll blow you as often as you blow me.
[ because that's equality, and equality is how they're going to fight the man. equality is the most important thing here. derek's not sure if making half-hearted jokes lampshading the innate sexual expectations hinted at around dom/sub contracts is really the best way to jump into his point, but that's what he's doing. his face is so tense and annoyed that it... maybe... doesn't... actually sound like a joke at all, actually. he looks, briefly, like he's seriously suggesting adding blowjobs to their contracts, and he's not, he's just...
he's trying to make a point. which is this: ]
You won't owe me anything by asking for it. Food, shelter. I can do and get things in this creepy fucking city that you just can't anymore, and you need to be comfortable telling me what you want.
[ he fixes stiles with A Look™, standing still and heavy, rooted to the floor. he doesn't want stiles to feel like he's being intimidated into accepting his help, but he doesn't even want this to feel like help in the first place. derek is just... metaphorically, derek is tall enough to grab things from a shelf stiles can't reach. if stiles asked him to get something down for him, he wouldn't owe derek anything, he'd just say thanks and they'd both forget about it. that's the approach derek wants to take here - he can do things, so he wants to just... do them.
derek sighs, sinking back on his heels, softening. if stiles is going to keep a tooth brush at his place, then - he shouldn't be such a hardass about everything else. the food, the hypothetical equality of their nonexistant blowjob arrangement. the thought of living with stiles at all kind of makes his insides itch, because living with his betas has felt kind of suffocating and none of them had adhd, but.
whatever, he's still committed to this. derek raises his hand, hesitates, then puts it on stiles's shoulder, lightly squeezing. he holds his grip for as long as he can before pulling his arm back, meeting stiles' eyes, refusing to look away. he lowers his voice, not because he's afraid of being overheard, but because he's afraid his anger and his attitude are making him sound like he's giving orders, and he really, really doesn't want stiles to think that's what this is. ]
We need to do what we can for each other. You and I have to be in this together.
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he doesn't get to ask anything, though, doesn't have the chance to get some clarification. derek pushes forward and stiles tries to put the whole blowjob-murder-eyes thing on the backburner for a second so he can focus on what derek is saying, but it's obvious that he's struggling to not jump in and interrupt and demand that derek throw the brakes and back up. a muscle in his jaw ticks with the effort.
right. right, okay. stiles needs to be comfortable with this. as much as he hates the system in place, as much as he's been resisting a contract for all that it is humiliating and unfair and unbalanced, he needs to be comfortable with trusting derek. which he is. if there's one thing stiles is absolutely certain of, standing here in this dusty little storage space, it's that he trusts derek explicitly. maybe more than he should, given the difference in time, but that doesn't matter. bottom line, he trusts derek, and it's easier, when put in this perspective, to feel more like they're equals.
derek pins him with a look. stiles uncrosses one of his arms and shifts his hand up to his face, thumb tucked under his chin and the second knuckle of his index finger resting in the dip between his nose and upper lip, the rest of his fingers relaxed into a loose curl. he stares back at derek, presses his mouth into a thin line behind the cup of his hand.
all right. all right, okay, this is good. this feels... far less stressful than stiles anticipated it would be. he still has a faint (but easily fading) impulsive desire to take the whole deal off the table, still has the itch to dig his heels in, but. he came to derek for a reason. he put his stupid pride aside for something more important: looking after derek. protecting derek. stiles may not be able to offer him anything as far as anything tangible goes, but he can sure as hell have his back. he can make sure the same thing that happened to him doesn't happen to derek for not forging a contract.
derek's hand settles against his shoulder and stiles feels an odd sort of relief under the light pressure of his fingers when he squeezes. he lowers his hand away from his mouth and exhales quietly through his nose, smiles faintly, tiredly. stiles nods, small and slow, but there's a quiet sort of determination in the way he looks back at derek, like he's set on doing this right. derek's hand lifts up and off, and for maybe half a second, perhaps too brief for anyone to even notice, stiles looks disappointed by the loss. ]
Yeah. [ he says this quietly, but with confidence. he's on the same page, wants derek to know that. ] Yeah, okay. All right.
[ and then he forms a loose fist and makes the world's most laziest, half-assed attempt at a fist pump. ]
Go Wildcats.
[ because we're... all... in this... together. or some shit. stiles doesn't even look like he knows what the hell he's talking about, just saying random shit in the moment that makes sense to him and probably nobody else.
his weak little fist turns slightly and he gently knocks his knuckles against the edge of his jaw, eyes squinting, eyebrows furrowing. he seems just a tad more serious all of the sudden. ]
Real quick though. You're not - serious about the, uh. [ christ. ] Blowjobs. Right? [ his knuckles slide against his face as he moves to gesture at derek, palm open and out as he waves his hand around in front of him. he looks like he's polishing a full-length mirror, very poorly. his eyebrows shoot up, his neck colors a little near the v of his collar. he sounds just the tiniest, tiniest bit frantic. ] I mean, not that you're— I'm not— you just had like— so I wasn't sure—?
[ jesus christ, shut up. stiles clicks his mouth shut, mouth pinching a little. he lets his hand drop and quietly clears his throat, takes a second to just - recover from that. okay. let's just. try that again. ]
No blowjobs. In, in the contract.
SWEATS
but he owes stiles so much already. he doesn't want to owe him anything else. somewhere, derek knows he wouldn't have been so quick to pledge himself to stiles if he were still a dom and derek had been brought into this city as a sub. this position of power gives him comfort; he'll be able to give stiles the things he needs without having to worry about asking for help in turn, and even if, outwardly, they're promising to take care of each other, derek's not going to let himself need that. he's going to be the caretaker, he's going to be the provider. he's going to make stiles' life easier, even if he has to make his own harder in the process.
it hasn't occurred to him that stiles already has his own plans to watch derek's back and stop him from getting killed. it hasn't occurred to him just how much derek's going to rely on him in the days or weeks or months to come.
still, this works. derek drew a line in the sand here, whether he meant to or not; he's not going to treat himself as stiles' alpha, he's not going to delude himself into thinking they're pack. stiles isn't a replacement for the betas he's lost. they're just... derek and stiles. just like stiles said. derek watches stiles, barely moving, as stiles circles through expressions and takes way too fucking long to get to that "yeah, all right". when he does, derek breathes the breath he'd been holding, nodding and sucking the tip of his tongue against his upper gums. okay. good.
good.
derek sets his hands on his hips, attempting, however subconsciously, to look authoritative and in control. he looks away, lost in thought, already making plans in his mind about how to ease into this transition as seamlessly as possible; they'll have to write up a real contract, something that won't make it obvious they're just two friends(-ish) getting through this. he's already expecting to get some shit from vrenille, who he'd forgotten, until now, had been convinced that he pretty badly wants to fuck stiles. there are hurdles to jump, but as far as he can tell, they don't seem to be too high. contracting with each other is the best possible outcome for both of them, if they really do have to play by this system's rules.
when derek zones in on himself again, stiles has his fist out, ready to be bumped. derek doesn't react. derek doesn't participate. there's another bump of his eyebrows, and he drags his eyes as painfully slowly up to stiles', openly judgmental in his silence. he's not... bumping that. go wildcats.
stiles keeps going and derek just sort of leans on his other foot, sighing like he'd hoped this conversation would be over and is visibly disappointed to find that stiles still wants to talk to him. he folds his arms over his chest, tucking his hands under his arms, and it takes a second or two for his brain to catch up and realize what stiles is going on about. when the fuck did they talk about blowjobs?
oh, right. like literally three seconds ago.
he rolls his eyes, tilting his head to the side. it would be easy enough, he thinks, to just say that he was obviously screwing around, and that stiles is an idiot, and then also maybe smack him a little, just for old times' sake. he doesn't, because this at least feels like a bit of levity to a conversation that stiles had to set a lot of pride aside to get into, and maybe it would be kinder to keep the joke going until the air between them thins a little. ]
You know, most guys would be pretty thrilled if I offered to suck their dick.
[ you know, because of how good looking he is. derek sort of lazily unfolds one of his arms, pointing his finger up at his face, doing a little circle motion with his hand. like, look at this. think of that police officer. think of danny. derek is self-aware of the strengths he has, and this is just one of them. ]
But fine. Your call.
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anyway. stiles stands there with this look on his face that's half expectant, half unsure as he waits for derek to say something to the blowjob clause. the blowjob addendum. theee blowjob ban, in direct association with this contract they're going to draw up at some point. later today, probably, if stiles has anything to say about it, because he's like 15 hours late with this offer as it is. or however long it's been since derek was first cuffed to a table.
( another thing he'll think about later, probably in the midst of trying to shut his brain down so he can maybe get some actual sleep: no blowjobs in the contract. in the contract. as if that clarification was actually at all necessary. as if the rules are different outside of the contract. he'll wonder what the hell he even meant by that, if he even meant anything at all, or if he was just - making sure he's not obligated to suck someone's dick every hour just because a piece of paper says he has to. and then he probably won't sleep. so that's cool, that's great. excellent. )
derek jokes, though, or at least stiles decides to take it as joking after he circles his own face with his finger like, here, do you see this? have you seen this? do you understand the importance of this? this is art. stiles wants to laugh at him - so he does. it's quiet. a soft chuckle under his breath that crinkles the corners of his eyes, offers a quick flash of his teeth. derek. what a fucking idiot.
stiles holds both of his hands up, palm out, pulses them an inch or two towards derek. hold on. ]
Okay, relax. You're not that pretty. [ said a lying liar who lies. anyway. stiles, by this point, is fairly convinced that the blowjob thing is not at all a serious thing derek is considering putting in the contract, and if he tries it, stiles will just. not sign. or cross that part out half a second before scribbling his name. you know, whatever.
he drops one of his hands, raises the other to rub his palm up his forehead and into his hair, brushing it up so it'll finish drying less... flat. if there are hair products in the showers/bathrooms, he completely overlooked them. which is fair. he hasn't actually slept yet since 5AM the day before, wasn't exactly firing on all cylinders when he dragged himself into the shower. ] All right. All right, let's. Revisit this in a couple hours? Do it for real?
[ stiles experiences a brief spike of anxiety, chases it away with a subtle flail of his hand by his side, kind of like he's trying to shake out pins and needles, but otherwise, he seems fine. with this. he pauses, maybe for a beat too long, because he's thinking about - kneeling, and how much he hates it, but. ]
... Have you eaten yet?
[ obviously not, because the breakfast hour isn't for another twenty or so minutes by stiles' guess, but this is his way of like. asking. for stuff. from derek. like he said he would. like they agreed he would. so. ]
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stiles' smile? that matters. that's all he cares about. well, he cares about zac efron, too. go wildcats.
revisiting this in a couple of hours is fine, listening to a liar lie about how not pretty he is is fine, that's all fine. derek gets through everything stiles says with quiet, affirming nods, and before too long, he's actually ready to leave. he... doesn't think to tell stiles this before he starts to move, nodding again like he's dismissing stiles before taking a short stride towards the front door, but he doesn't get very far. he tries to make his exit the second stiles asks about food, and derek stops, leaning back on his heels.
he frowns. he frowns, and maybe that's not a good sign. derek backtracks, and he moves to stand closer to stiles than he had been before; he stands close enough to really see the softness of his hair, to notice how much better it looks like this than it does when it's been abused by three metric tons of hairgel. he notices the way stiles' skin looks a little pale, the way he looks a little gaunt, the way his uniform sits a little loosely on his body, and these are all things derek had already noticed, but it's - new, now that stiles is someone who is (almost) officially in his care. now that stiles is someone who genuinely asked him for help to survive.
derek senses the spike of anxiety in stiles, though he's not sure if that's because he's starting to understand which Awkward Stiles Flail correlates to which Awkward Stiles Emotion or if he's just feeling anxious himself and projecting a little. his frown tightens.
is that how we're doing this? "have you eaten yet". derek can't decide if this counts as assertive or not, so he's not sure if he should make a big deal of this. should he give stiles shit for not just - saying hey, can we go grab something to eat? should he be happy that stiles isn't just letting himself go hungry? derek makes a noise. hard to say if it's a thoughtful hum or a displeased grunt. somewhere in the middle, maybe. ]
I... could eat.
[ his voice is stiff and even, like he's trying very, very hard to pick his words carefully. his tone is... neutral, and slow, and when derek brings his hand up to his mouth to scratch at his stubble and think his next move through, it doesn't deviate from that. ]
If you could eat.
[ it's not like he wants to pressure stiles to just-- outwardly and explicitly say "i'm starving let me fucking eat you stupid dog", but he wants stiles to at least realize that that's an option. ]
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if anyone should leave first, it's probably stiles. he's gotten into far less trouble since they were dumped out of the transport vans and into the fort. it's not that he's been complying, but the guards seem far less concerned about a handful of submissives refusing to eat than they do about those who resist and retaliate via more... physical methods. if there are guards around outside, stiles is far less likely to strike a chord as negative as derek probably would, and this way, stiles could at least give derek a little warning.
stiles' hand never makes contact though, because derek stops and then he's stepping back into stiles' space. his hand just hovers there for a moment, still outstretched in the direction derek just moved from. derek is... really close, and though they're practically the same height, derek's close enough that those two inches make a different and stiles actually has to look up at him. the tiny sound he makes is hard to decipher. stiles gets the vague feeling he may have messed up somewhere between telling derek to chill with the self-love and asking if he's hungry.
he's not stupid. he knows that phrasing his wants as a question is skirting around the very thing they just talked about - stiles telling derek, stiles not fucking around when he wants or needs something, but it's not as easy as just flipping a switch. maybe it should be, but it's not. stiles' gaze shift slightly, following the movement of derek's hand as he brings it up to his face, nails scraping quietly through his stubble.
okay. okay, this is only going to work if they're straight forward, and stiles is. hungry. he's really fucking hungry because the only thing he ate yesterday was a handful of grapes and some squished bread and if he doesn't tell derek he's not up for skipping breakfast this time, then he's not going to eat. which ssssucks, but.
stiles breathes in through his nose, slow and deep. he sighs, lowers his gaze just slightly so he's looking more at derek's collar bones than anything else. he nods, absently lifting one hand to drag blunt fingernails through his hair, down the back of his skull. ]
Yeah. Yeah, I could— I'm... starving.
[ there it is. stiles let's that sit there between them for a beat, and then decides that he doesn't really want to just stand there anymore so he glances up briefly, offers a tight, tense little smile, then steps away from derek and toward the door leading out of their little safe space. very carefully, he eases the door open, and that's all he does at first. he stops and he listens. waits. eases the door open a little bit more, far enough so that he can peek his head out.
they're in the clear, and stiles breathes out quietly before stepping out, keeping one hand on the door as he turns to usher derek out with a wave of his other hand. ]
C'mon, we're good.