[ 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. ]
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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.