Archive of Our Own

In hindsight, Scott should have known it was a terrible idea. How many times had he listened to Allison warn Lydia about the consequences of meddling? “It never ends well,” she would say. “Their relationship is their business.” But when the opportunity presented itself, Scott found that he couldn’t say no. It was Stiles, after all. His best friend. The one who sat back and watched like a proud father as Scott fell in love with Allison. The one who hadn’t complained (at least not excessively) when Scott spent weeks talking about nothing but his new girlfriend. The one who had given up his nice, normal, human life to follow Scott into the underworld of Beacon Hills. It was Stiles’s turn to be happy and Scott was going to make sure that it happened.

If you really wanted to get technical (which Scott did), it was all Peter’s fault. He had been teaching Scott and Derek—albeit reluctantly—the finer points of retrieving and manipulating memories by inserting a single claw directly into someone’s brain stem. It wasn’t an easy or particularly safe skill to teach, but their lessons at Derek’s loft were overseen by Deaton and no one had been paralyzed yet. They practiced on each other, Scott trying not to kill Derek and Derek trying not to kill Scott. Derek mastered the skill easily enough and after only three attempts, he was able to unravel the intimacies of Scott’s childhood right in front of his eyes.

Scott, however, was making no progress and for the first time, it seemed that there was something werewolf-y that he simply could not do. It was during one of these sessions, after Scott had spent nearly a full five minutes with his claw buried in Derek’s neck, that he finally collapsed to the ground out of sheer annoyance and exhaustion.

“You’re not focusing hard enough,” Derek told him, not unkindly, as he massaged the back of his still bleeding neck.

“Or you just can’t do it,” Peter added. “Some people can’t.” Scott groaned loudly and Deaton crossed the room, which had grown dark without Scott realizing it, to stand next to him.

“I don’t think that’s it,” the veterinarian said, looking at Peter through furrowed brows. “I think Derek’s memories might just naturally be harder to pull to the surface. No offense, Derek, but you have a more guarded personality than, say, Scott who is—well, let’s be honest—an open book.”

Derek looked from Deaton to Scott and shrugged. “I don’t know how to change that.”

“Nor do I,” Deaton mused. “Do you think Isaac would be willing—?”

“I’m not digging around in Isaac’s head,” Scott interrupted. “Not now that he’s with Allison.” Derek, Deaton, and Scott all turned then to look across the room at Peter who was standing in front of the wall of windows and staring down into the street. He didn’t even have to turn around to know that they were looking at him.

“He’s not coming anywhere near my pretty little neck,” Peter said. “I can promise you that.” Scott sighed heavily and picked himself off of the floor.

“We’ll figure something out tomorrow,” Deaton said softly. “But for now, I think we should call it a night.” All three werewolves agreed. Deaton gave Scott one last reassuring smile before grabbing his bag and saying his goodbyes. Peter didn’t even bother with the pleasantries, just walked out of the loft, slamming the door as he went and leaving Derek and Scott alone in his wake.

“You’ll get it eventually,” Derek said as he began cleaning up after his guests. “I know it’s frustrating, and I know I make it look easy, but I grew up watching my Mom do this stuff. You’re still new to all of this.”

“But I’m an alpha,” Scott said and even to him, it sounded like a whine. Derek smiled at him sadly.

“It’s not that easy.” Scott sighed and looked around the now-empty loft. Even before Derek had run off on his sojourn with Cora, the place had been sparsely decorated. Upon his return—without his sister—there was nothing left in the loft to indicate that anyone lived there. Derek had a couch, a table, and a mattress, but little else.

“Could I stay here tonight?” Scott asked, surprising even himself. Derek paused before turning to look at him. “It’s late,” Scott elaborated helplessly. “And if I go home, I’m going to have to deal with my dad. And Isaac. I just can’t do that tonight. Please?” Derek hesitated only a second before shrugging.

“You can take the couch, but I don’t have any extra blankets.” Figuring that no blankets was better than a lecture about missing curfew, Scott settled in.

Derek was still milling about the loft doing who knows what when Scott got the text.

Stiles, 11:02 PM
Where the hell are you?

Scott, 11:02 PM
Derek’s. Why?

Stiles, 11:03 PM
Why are you at Derek’s?

Scott, 11:03 PM
Why are you looking for me?

Stiles, 11:03 PM
Because your mom’s at my place and I’m really starting to get the feeling that she wants me to be somewhere else. Why are you at Derek’s?

Scott was about to reply when he noticed Derek watching him from across the room. “It’s just Stiles,” he shrugged.

Derek didn’t react to that news and Scott got the distinct feeling that he had figured as much. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Scott said. “Just being his usual spastic self.” He turned back to his phone and shot off one last text.

Scott, 11:05 PM
I just am. Go to sleep.

Stiles, 11:05 PM
Ugh, fine! But when you wake up murdered, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Scott tried not to smile at the last text, but failed. Even after almost 17 years of friendship, Stiles’s humor still amused him. He set his phone down on the floor and rolled over so that he was facing the back of the couch. It was surprisingly comfortable considering who owned it, but sleep didn’t come easily for Scott. He kept thinking back to his failed attempt at infiltrating Derek’s memories. Surely there was something he could do differently. If Peter and Derek could both do it, then so could Scott.

As his opinion of himself continued to grow smaller, he heard Derek crawl into bed for the night. It occurred to Scott briefly that he’d never spent the night at Derek’s before. In fact, he wasn’t positive that he’d ever received definitive proof that Derek slept. Deaton had been right earlier. Derek was guarded. He didn’t let people in willingly. If Scott was ever going to be able to get inside his head, he was going to have to approach the situation differently. Derek wasn’t going to just let him take his memories.

Scott laid there for nearly an hour, thinking through various ways of getting inside Derek’s head without him noticing, when suddenly he felt the energy in the room change. It was a sensation he was familiar with. Since Scott had been bitten, his sense of smell was able to pick up the scents of different emotions: the bitter tang of jealousy, the metallic rust of anger, the burning spice of lust. As a werewolf, he was able to suppress these scents in himself—Derek had taught him and Isaac both—but not when he was sleeping.

Sharing a room with Isaac had taught Scott many things about werewolf pack dynamics, the most important of which was to never fall asleep first. The scent of a person’s dreams could tell you everything you ever wanted to know about them and more. It was intimate somehow, allowing you access to their desires and their fears all at once.

He tried to ignore the scents Derek was giving off—he really did—but the thing was that he had never really been able to get a read on Derek before and if this was the only opportunity he was going to get, then he didn’t want to waste it. Derek had said once that him and Scott were brothers. Well, brothers shared things.

Scott rolled over on the coach so that he could look at Derek. He was sleeping with his back facing Scott, curled up towards the window with a pillow clutched to his chest. He didn’t look peaceful, per se, but he definitely looked more relaxed than he did while awake.

Derek’s dreams started off as nightmares. Scott could tell because the cold, hard scent of fear was oozing out of him in a way that was almost infectious. Scott, who knew very well that he was safely curled up on a couch in Derek’s loft, felt his heart speed up and his adrenaline build, ready to fight. Soon, Derek’s fear melted into sorrow and it stayed that way for so long that Scott was about to dim his hyperolfaction and go to sleep when suddenly, the dream changed again.

The smell of lust was so strong that it permeated the room within seconds, slapping Scott across the face and erasing every productive thought from his mind. When he was finally able to recover from the raw stench of desire and draw fresh breath again, an idea occurred to him. He quickly tried to shake it off but the plan was already unfolding in his mind and there wasn’t enough blood left in his brain to change it.

Stiles had asked him once to find out if Lydia liked him. Scott had done a horrible job of carrying out that order (and ended up making out with Lydia in the process), but here was his proverbial second chance. Stiles would never admit that he had feelings for Derek, but humans were easy to read and Stiles was even easier. Scott knew him almost as well as he knew himself. If Scott could just get inside Derek’s head, find out who he was lusting over, then it would be a win-win situation. Scott would get the satisfaction of knowing that he wasn’t completely inept at being an alpha and Stiles would get answers that Scott knew he desperately wanted.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Scott was on his feet. He crossed the room, cloaked in darkness, and quietly settled himself by Derek’s back. Derek wouldn’t feel anything. Deaton had given them both an anesthetic earlier and Scott’s still hadn’t worn off. His eyes flashed red to activate his night vision and as soon as Scott found the right spot on Derek’s neck, he plunged his claw in deep.

Immediately, Scott could sense the difference. Whereas before wading through Derek’s mind had been akin to trudging through molasses, now it was like walking through water. Scott still couldn’t actually see anything, but it was progress. Carefully, he began pushing on the block in Derek’s mind, trying to open the thoughts that Derek was keeping tightly sealed. However, the more pressure he applied, the more resistance he met, and Derek was growing restless. Scott could feel his body tensing underneath him and he knew that he had to do something fast. Almost as if by instinct, Scott switched tactics. Maybe Derek wouldn’t allow Scott access to his dreams, but he could certainly change them. Dreams were pliable and easily manipulated. If Scott was ever going to make any progress at controlling thoughts, now was the time to do so.

The scene rose to his mind unbidden and before he had a chance to alter it, he felt energy flow from his claws into Derek, who immediately relaxed. That was the last thing Scott remembered before the world around him shifted.

Entering Derek’s dream was like walking through a curtain of water. The room shimmered and then things changed. They were still in Derek’s loft and it was still nighttime, but there were a few subtle differences. Even in the dark, Scott noticed that the place seemed homier. There were framed pictures around the open room and a red hoodie strewn on the floor. Derek seemed to have acquired several additional pieces of furniture and overall the place looked a lot less like a den and more like a home.

Derek was lying in bed, wearing nothing from the waist up, and reading what looked like an old history textbook. Scott walked closer and his movement didn’t seem to startle Derek, so he assumed that he was invisible. Maybe this was going to work after all.

“Now all we need,” Scott muttered. “Is a bit more Stiles…”

As soon as the thought occurred to him, he heard the shower turn on in the bathroom. Scott smirked wickedly. If he could just show Derek what he was missing…

After several long minutes, the shower shut off and the bathroom door creaked open. Scott’s heart started racing from excitement. It was like watching a movie starring your two best friends and Scott wasn’t entirely sure what was going to happen next. Stiles emerged from the bathroom in a cloud of steam, his hair soaking wet, with a towel wrapped around his middle.

“So I may have used all of your hot water,” Stiles said, shaking his head to get rid of the excess liquid as he did so. Derek looked up from his book with an indulging grin.

“That’s the third time this week.” Stiles scratched the back of his neck guiltily and sat down on the edge of the bed. Derek turned the corner down in his book and set it aside before sitting up and reaching out to massage Stiles’s shoulders. Stiles made a noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan and threw his head back in ecstasy.

“I take it this means you forgive me?” he asked, flashing a smirk that Derek couldn’t see.

“Maybe,” Derek purred (that’s the only way Scott knew how to describe it) and placed a chaste kiss on the exposed flesh of Stiles’s neck. “But now you’re going to have to entertain me until the water gets hot again.” Stiles smiled, tilting his head around to look Derek in the eyes.

“What did you have in mind?” Derek’s grin was almost devilish. Instead of answering, he bent down to Stiles’s back and took his time kissing the moles sprinkled across his shoulders.

“I love your moles,” Derek whispered and Scott heard Stiles whimper, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. That was the moment that Scott began regretting his decision to play matchmaker. Logically, he knew that what he was witnessing was a dream, but it felt too real. The dream was a creation of his own imagination superimposed into Derek’s mind, but it felt eerily tangible. Scott’s dreams were normally littered with inaccuracies, but everything Scott was seeing was in its proper place, even down to the last freckle on Stiles’s back. Despite the discomfort, however, Scott decided to push through for a few more seconds.

“Just one kiss,” he said and like puppets obeying their puppet master, Scott watched as Stiles turned around and crawled further onto the bed so that he was facing Derek. They sat there, staring at each other, and it felt almost like a competition to see who would break first. After several tense seconds, Stiles’s face broke out into a wide grin and he shook his head, almost as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.

“I hate you,” he said breathily and then lunged forward so that he could attack Derek’s lips with his own. Derek didn’t even start in surprise, just wrapped his arms around Stiles’s waist tightly, as if they’d done this a million times before. The kiss was passionate and deep and seemed more like foreplay than the innocent smooch that Scott had been imagining. He could feel the heat of it from across the room and it began to occur to him that maybe this scenario wasn’t entirely of his own creation. After all, why would Scott take the time to imagine the sounds Stiles was making—the soft hums of satisfaction and the desperate groans, begging for more? And why would Scott want to see the way that Derek’s hands began to drift lower and lower until they were firmly gripping Stiles’s ass through his still-wet towel?

And that’s when Scott felt himself lose control of the dream. Derek’s subconscious mind was fighting him and he was helpless to stop it. Before he knew what was happening, Derek had taken the reins. It was as if he knew exactly what was supposed to happen next. As if he’d done this every night of his life.

Dream Derek pulled Dream Stiles down on top of him and ripped his towel off, throwing it across the room, straight at Scott. That’s when he knew that it was over. He tried to pull out of the dream. He tried really, really hard, but there was a disconnect between the Scott that was in the dream and the Scott that was back in Derek’s loft with his claw buried in the werewolf’s neck. Derek’s pull on the dream was too strong and Scott was the creator of the dream. It didn’t seem like Scott would be going anywhere until this dream was over.

He really should have known better.

From his place at the foot of the bed, Scott had an unobstructed view of the way Derek was eagerly palming his best friend’s ass, but Dream Stiles turned out to be just as impatient as Scott imagined Real Stiles would be because he shimmied out of Derek’s grip within seconds, moving down the werewolf’s body to dig his teeth into the older man’s neck. Derek growled at that—actually growled—and Stiles chuckled, soothing each bite mark with a gentle kiss.

“There, there,” he said, nuzzling into Derek’s neck, rubbing his cheek against the rough stubble beneath his chin.

Scott tried to turn away but every time he did, it was if he hadn’t moved at all. He tried to close his eyes, but still he could see them as clear as if his eyes were open. The power that the dream had over him was refusing him release and the worst part was that Scott knew he deserved this torture. Walking into people’s dreams was a werewolf no-no—he understood that now. All he could do was make the situation more comfortable for himself and staring at Stiles’s ass was doing no one any good. Scott walked to the side of the bed and collapsed against the wall there, utterly defeated. How long did dreams usually last anyways?

From the angle he had chosen, it became very obvious that both Stiles and Derek were immensely enjoying themselves. Stiles was still biting and kissing every inch of Derek that he could reach, but Derek didn’t seem annoyed by it. His head was thrown back, neck bared, eyes closed, and he was undulating under Stiles obscenely, rocking his hips up in desperation.

“Be still,” Stiles commanded with a laugh, using his hand to push Derek’s hips back into the mattress. To Scott’s surprise, Derek actually did what he was asked despite the fact that Stiles was nowhere near strong enough to hold him down. Derek glared up at him, but if the smug smile on Stiles’s face was anything to go by, he seemed to understand that he had won. “Good boy.” He dipped down once more, kissing Derek hard on the mouth as his fingers began to trace soft patterns on his stomach.

Derek returned the kiss fervently, tangling his hands in Stiles’s hair and pulling it hard enough to make him moan. After several minutes of hard kissing and soft touching, Derek began having trouble with the whole not-moving thing and no matter how many times Stiles pressed down on his hips, he refused to still his movements. Finally, his patience seemingly at its end, Derek raised his knees and gripped Stiles tightly at the hips, obviously preparing to flip them. Before he could do so, however, Stiles swatted his knees away, pushing them down easily, meeting no resistance at all.

“I’m supposed to be entertaining you, remember?” Stiles smirked. The look on Derek’s face was almost lethal and if Scott were asked his opinion, he would have said that Derek had every right to be annoyed. Stiles was toying with him. But then again, it was Derek’s dream, so the fact that he’d envisioned Dream Stiles as an annoying little shit said more about Derek than it did about Stiles.

“Then how about you get on with it?” Derek snapped and clearly that was exactly what Stiles had been waiting for. Derek’s jeans were pulled off of him before Scott even had time to adjust to the change of pace. He wasn’t wearing underwear—because of course he wasn’t—and Scott felt his eyes roll at the sheer absurdity of the whole situation. He’d never watched gay porn, not even once. Yet here he was, staring at two naked men, kissing and grinding against each other. And God help him, but it actually looked fun. He was going to hell. Was there a circle of hell reserved for voyeuristic would-be matchmakers? Because that’s where he was going. No question about it.

The room reeked of sex and sounded even worse. Derek and Stiles were panting heavily, gasping for air between kisses and rubbing desperately against each other, the slap of skin on skin like the crack of a whip in the quiet room. Scott had to admire Real Derek’s stamina because Scott had never had a sex dream as vivid as the one he was currently residing in, but he felt sure that he would have come long before this point.

Eventually Stiles pulled away from Derek’s lips and began trailing kisses down his torso, stopping halfway to take a nipple into his mouth and bite it playfully. Derek keened at that, throwing his head back into the pillows. Stiles continued his journey lower and lower until finally he was perched between Derek’s knees, his face buried in his crotch. He breathed heavily on the skin there, teasing shamelessly. Even from a distance, Scott could tell that Derek was shaking with anticipation.

Stiles didn’t make him wait long. He ran his tongue along the underside of Derek’s shaft from root to tip and licked thirstily at the head before taking the whole length into his mouth. He bobbed up and down several times, looking very proud of himself as Derek continued voicing his pleasure with some of the most animalistic sounds Scott had ever heard.

Somehow Derek managed to lift himself up onto his elbows so that he could look down at Stiles. It seemed to take a great deal of effort because Derek’s whole body was shaking and his eyes kept rolling back in his head, as if he was about to collapse from the sensations. Stiles watched him eagerly through his eyelashes, holding the werewolf steady with an arm around his waist.

“God, Stiles,” Derek groaned, throwing his head back. “Come on. I’m so close.” Stiles hummed thoughtfully around Derek’s cock, as if he was considering it, and then sucked up the length of it, pulling off with a pop. Derek groaned in frustration, collapsing back onto the bed. “I swear to God I’m going to kill you.”

“Not before you come you’re not,” Stiles pointed out smartly, using his hand to jerk Derek off for a few strokes. Before Derek could even find the breath to reply, Stiles’s mouth was back on his dick and Derek cried out loudly, throwing his arm over his mouth to muffle the sound. Scott’s eyebrows rose at that, because who would have thought Derek would be loud in bed? Surely that wasn’t real life.

“Stop it,” Stiles said in annoyance, popping off of Derek’s cock once more to remove his arm from over his mouth. “I want to hear you.”

“Fuck you,” Derek mumbled without vehemence, but Stiles had already returned to his ministrations and didn’t seem to mind the quip. His blowjob was getting wilder and it was obvious that he knew what he was doing because he was taking Derek apart piece by piece. Derek was right on the edge of orgasm, unable to keep his hips on the bed, when Stiles began circling Derek’s hole with his thumb.

“Please,” Derek begged, his voice breaking halfway through the word as he pressed into Stiles’s hand excitedly. “Stiles, I need to—” Stiles hollowed out his cheeks and sucked on Derek’s cock hard, letting his thumb slip inside of him as he did so. And if Scott had had any doubts before about whose mind this scene was coming from, he certainly didn’t now. Because even if he had taken the time to picture Stiles and Derek doing what they were doing (which he certainly hadn’t), he never would have pictured the look of rapture on Derek’s face as he was penetrated. Within seconds, Derek came with Stiles’s name on his lips, his body shaking uncontrollably as Stiles swallowed every last drop of his seed.

Scott expected the dream to end there. The edges of it were getting fuzzy, almost as if he were watching through a television screen, but the scene didn’t break. Stiles crawled up Derek’s body, placing kisses as he went, with a smug smile on his face. “Totally better than a hot shower, right?” he asked knowingly. Derek hummed in response, rolling over and pinning Stiles beneath him, kissing the younger boy languidly. The kisses were slow and intimate and Scott began to realize that this dream relationship Derek had conjured wasn’t just about sex because the way he was handling Stiles, cupping his face in his hands as if he were something cherished—there wasn’t anything casual about that.

Derek pulled away after several long seconds and looked down at Stiles, his eyes alive in a way that Scott had never seen them. He traced the contours of Stiles’s face with the pad of his thumb and smiled a real, genuine smile. “I love you,” he sad quietly, nuzzling into Stiles’s neck playfully. Stiles laughed, petting the man’s hair.

“I love you too, Sourwolf,” he said with a grin. “But if you’ve got enough strength to scent me, then you have enough strength to jerk me off and I need some help here. Like now.” Derek pulled away and smirked down at Stiles wolfishly.

Without warning, Scott was expelled from the dream. His body was thrown away from Derek and he ended up with his ass on the ground. Derek was still sleeping, thankfully, but his hold over Scott had obviously let up. Scott didn’t need an explanation as to why. He stood, rubbing his backside gingerly, grabbed his phone, and got out of the loft before he could get himself into any more trouble.

---

It took two weeks before Scott could look Derek in the eye. He knew Derek could smell the embarrassment wafting off of him, but it was too putrid for Scott to mask so he didn’t bother trying. Derek didn’t act like anything was amiss—didn’t bring up that night at all except to ask where Scott had scurried off to so late—and eventually Scott was able to brush off the whole experience as what it really was: a bad dream.

Honestly, the hardest part to come to terms with was that it had all been for naught. Scott still couldn’t get inside Derek’s mind when he was actually conscious and even though he now knew that Derek did, in fact, have feelings for Stiles, Scott wasn’t about to tell him that. He’d considered it, sure, but how exactly was that conversation supposed to go? “Yeah, buddy, he likes you too. How do I know? Well, I took a stroll through his dreams and watched the two of you make sweet, sweet love in horrifyingly vivid detail.” He had a feeling that particular conversation wouldn’t go over well and quite frankly, he wasn’t about to willingly divulge the most embarrassing moment of his life to anyone for any reason. Especially since Derek would probably kill him for it.

Oh, who was he kidding? Derek would definitely kill him. Dead.

So he continued on with his life, pretending that he had no idea what Derek looked like when he came, and prayed that the whole sordid affair would soon be forgotten. It was working well too. Almost a month had passed since the incident and Scott was finally able to be in the same room as Derek and Stiles without blushing.

That, of course, is when it all came crashing down around him.

It was his mom’s fault. Really, it was.

Scott, Stiles, and Derek were at Derek’s loft. The boys had had a legitimate reason to come over, but Scott couldn’t remember what it was. Beacon Hills had been quiet recently and even though Derek would never ask for the company, Scott knew he needed it. Werewolves needed pack, so even though Derek would grumble and complain, he never kicked them out.

So yes, there had been a reason for their visit, but somewhere along the way, they’d ended up watching The Matrix instead. Stiles was sprawled across Derek’s loveseat while him and Scott shared the couch.

The movie was almost over when Stiles’s phone dinged from across the room. He pulled it out of his pocket and read the text message with a snort before throwing it across the room to Scott. The message was from the Sheriff and simply read, “Find somewhere else to be tonight.”

“Dude,” Scott groaned, tossing it back. “Your dad is totally having sex with my mom.”

“Yeah he is,” Stiles whooped, leaning his head back to smirk at Scott, who refused to dignify that with a response. It was only after the movie ended that Scott realized there was a problem.

“Where are we supposed to go?” Scott asked as Stiles collected their empty dinner plates and take-out containers and headed for the kitchen.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, dumping the whole load into Derek’s trashcan. “We’ll go to your house.”

“We can’t go to my house,” Scott argued, crawling off of the couch so that he could talk to Stiles in private. Logically, he knew Derek could still hear him—would have been able to hear him even if he was human—but the semblance of privacy made him feel better. “Isaac’s there,” he hissed.

“Your roommate?” Stiles laughed, not even bothering to keep his voice down. “Yeah, I figured.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Scott insisted, throwing a glance over his shoulder at Derek as he spoke. Derek was determinedly not looking at the two boys, busying himself instead with turning the TV off and stowing the DVD back in its case. “I told Isaac I was staying at your place and if my mom’s not home either…”

“Really?” Stiles deadpanned as Scott trailed off sheepishly. “You really think he’d bring Allison back to your house to do the nasty-nasty? I’m not Isaac’s number one fan or anything, but even I have to give him more credit than that.”

No, Scott did not honestly think Isaac would bring Allison back to the house, but there was always that possibility and the possibility was what scared him. “Can we please just find somewhere else?”

“Somewhere else?!” Stiles cried. “Scott, there is nowhere else! Have we seriously been sexiled by our parents? This is rock bottom—it’s got to be.” Scott looked over his shoulder at Derek once more. He was sitting on the couch with his back to them, reading a book that had appeared out of nowhere.

“No,” Derek snapped before Scott could even open his mouth.

“Oh, come on!” Stiles said with a devilish grin, making his way back into the living room so that he could glare at Derek. “We brought you Chinese food.”

“I never asked for Chinese food,” Derek pointed out, shutting his book with a thud and meeting Stiles’s glare with a smug smirk.

“Yeah, well, that didn’t stop you from eating three egg rolls and a pint of Lo Mein. And that shit ain’t cheap, so pay up.” Scott rolled his eyes and nudged Stiles out of the way so that he could negotiate a deal that might actually produce results.

“Please, Derek,” Scott asked, making full use of the puppy dog eyes that most people were unable to resist. “Just one night. We’ll be quiet.” Derek was wavering, watching the two of them expectantly as if a better offer was suddenly going to present itself.

“Dude, come on!” Stiles groaned after several tense seconds of deliberation. “What about this: you let us sleep here and we bring you a freakin’ steak dinner next movie night? That sound fair?”

“And I get to pick the movie,” Derek countered immediately, his eyes locked on Stiles because obviously he was in charge of the negotiations. A look of surprise flashed across Stiles’s face, but he quickly veiled it and smiled—a genuine smile, not a smirk.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Stiles said and if Scott wasn’t mistaken, Derek looked quite proud of himself as he stood.

“I still don’t have blankets,” he said. “And one of you is going to have to take the chair unless you want to sleep on the floor.”

Scott and Stiles exchanged a predatory look before both diving for the couch simultaneously. After a bit of a struggle, Scott was able to push Stiles to the floor and claim the vast expanse for himself.

“Not fair,” Stiles huffed as he picked himself up and dusted off his pants. Scott stuck his tongue out at him childishly and if he wasn’t mistaken, he heard Derek chuckle from across the room. Stiles ambled over to the small loveseat and looked between it and Derek several times. “So sharing your bed is out of the question, right?”

Derek turned to glower at him. “Right,” he said.

“I only ask because that baby looks like it could easily fit two people and still have room left over for activities,” Stiles continued, making his way across the room to stand next to Derek, who was looking down at him as if he had grown an extra head. “Or no activities,” he amended. “Noted.” Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles by the shoulders, turning him around.

“You,” he said. “Sleep there.” He pointed at the loveseat and Stiles heaved a great sigh.

“I’d be great at activities,” he mumbled, crossing the room to his bed for the night.

It was already late, so it didn’t take the three of them long to get settled. Derek was the first to fall asleep, followed by Stiles, but Scott couldn’t calm his mind enough to find rest. He kept thinking back to the last night he’d spent in Derek’s loft and how that had ended in permanent scarring. He must have dozed off at some point, however, because when he awoke, the room felt different.

For one thing, Stiles was no longer asleep. In fact, he wasn’t in the living room at all. Instead, Scott found him standing beside Derek’s bed, looking out of the windows into the dark night. He was about to get up and see what was wrong when Derek’s gruff voice spoke out of the darkness.

“What are you doing?” Stiles startled at his words, flailing dramatically and clutching at his heart. Scott didn’t need his night vision to know that Derek was rolling his eyes.

“Sorry,” Stiles said once he had recovered from the shock. “I couldn’t sleep. I’ll just…” He trailed off, gesturing over to the chair that had become his makeshift bed, but Derek didn’t seem to care.

“Come back to bed,” he muttered, holding his comforter up to invite Stiles in. At his words, Stiles’s heart shot into overdrive and Scott wouldn’t be surprised if his did as well. Had he somehow ended up in Derek’s dreams again?

“Back to your bed?” Stiles asked, looking over his shoulder because surely Derek was speaking to someone else. “With you?”

“Back to our bed, yes,” he corrected moodily. “Hurry up. It’s getting cold.” Stiles looked around the room for answers that he wouldn’t find, but eventually just shrugged and crawled beneath the covers next to Derek.

“Am I dreaming?” he asked, lying down on his side so that he was facing Derek. Derek turned and smiled down at him.

“No,” he said, placing a gentle kiss on the younger boy’s forehead. He paused and then continued, “I am.” Scott felt his heart clench in his chest. This wasn’t a dream at all. This was really happening. Derek just thought it was a dream. And why wouldn’t he? Scott had given him the most realistic sex dream in the history of sex dreams. Separating dream from reality after that couldn’t be easy, especially not when you were on the cusp of consciousness, just waiting to be pulled back under.

Stiles was obviously confused. His brows were furrowed and he was staring at Derek as if he expected him to announce that it was all a joke. “You’re not though,” he finally said, rolling over so that he was staring at the ceiling. “Dreaming, I mean.” He sounded dejected, defeated, but suddenly he perked up, a smug grin finding its way onto his face. “So, do you dream about me often?” Derek gave a noncommittal grunt, clearly unbothered by the implication of the question, and reached out to brush a stray strand of hair out of Stiles’s face. Stiles retreated from the gesture, eyes wide. “Oh my God,” he gasped. “You actually think you’re dreaming. Derek, you are not dreaming. Like at all.”

Scott watched as Stiles tried to climb out of the bed, throwing the covers off of himself, but before he could even sit up, Derek reached over and pushed him back down. Stiles sighed deeply, but didn’t protest further. “Fine,” he said, pulling the covers back up. “We’ll do it your way. How do these dreams usually go?”

“Well,” Derek grinned, shifting his body weight so that he was hovering just inches above Stiles. Stiles’s already racing heart galloped even faster. “They usually start like this.” He closed the distance between them without hesitation and kissed Stiles deeply, passionately, as if Stiles was his to kiss.

Scott thought Stiles might push him away—tell him to try again once he’d recovered his senses—but that didn’t happen. Instead, Stiles let out the most pitiful moan and pulled Derek closer, gripping his hair tight and refusing to let go. Derek seemed to like that and responded eagerly by rutting up against Stiles’s leg and intensifying the kiss until it was just a tangle of lips and legs and the most lewd sounds Scott had ever heard outside of a computer screen. The two of them were inhaling each other like air.

After several long minutes, Derek’s lips moved from Stiles’s mouth down to his neck and the sudden influx of oxygen must have triggered something in Stiles’s mind, because he suddenly tensed. “Derek…Derek, wait,” he said, pushing lightly on his chest to get him to move. Derek pulled away just enough so he could look Stiles in the eyes. He had one eyebrow cocked and the question on his face was obvious. Was Stiles seriously telling him to stop?

“I just…” Stiles gasped, but then trailed off. He obviously hadn’t thought his speech through any farther than that. Derek rolled his eyes and descended on his neck once more. “I just…holy shit, Derek, you’re going to have to stop that.” Derek smiled against his neck, but didn’t stop. “Seriously,” Stiles protested. “Can you hear my heart right now? Because if it starts beating any faster, I think I’m probably going to be dead.”

Derek pulled away with a soft smile and cupped Stiles face in his left hand. “You’re acting like it’s your first time.” His tone was playful, not judgmental, but Scott didn’t miss the way Stiles’s heart skipped a beat. Whether it was from arousal or fear, he couldn’t tell.

“Weird,” Stiles laughed nervously. He didn’t pull away from Derek, just kept staring up at him as if he were something rare and precious. “We do this a lot, then?” The question was hopeful and it broke Scott’s heart because none of it was real. For Stiles maybe, but not for Derek. Derek was in a dream, living out a dangerous fantasy, and Stiles was smart enough to understand that.

Derek seemed to sense the vulnerability in Stiles’s question and he leaned in to place a chaste kiss on his swollen lips. “Every night,” he replied. “I get to spend every night with you.” Stiles whined at his words, closing his eyes tight to block out the view that was becoming too much to handle. “And I was thinking that maybe tonight you’d like to ride me.” Stiles’s whine quickly turned into a moan and his hips starting rocking of their own accord.

“Not that I’m not like five million percent okay with that,” Stiles said, “but we’ve got a couple of problems here. One, I’m not going to last that long. And two, that is a really, really bad idea, Derek. This isn’t a dream, okay? This is real and I’m going to end up with some serious blue balls here.”

“I’ll ride you then,” Derek shrugged, completely ignoring the last part of his statement. Stiles groaned in frustration and finally opened his eyes so that he could look up at Derek.

“How the hell is that supposed to be any better?” he asked in disbelief. “Seriously Derek, don’t play coy. You fucking know what you’re doing to me and it’s not nice.” Derek smirked and bent down to kiss him once more, but Stiles had reached his limit.

“Derek, wait,” he said sadly, sitting up in bed and pushing Derek off of him. Derek didn’t seem aggravated, just confused, and the look on his face was so innocent, so pure, that Stiles lost his voice momentarily. He reached out and ran his hand through Derek’s hair, Derek curling into his touch, and in that moment, Scott caught a whiff of the sorrow leaking off of Stiles.

“What’s wrong?” Derek asked immediately, reaching out to comfort him, not knowing that he would only make it worse.

“Nothing,” Stiles lied, forcing a smile. “But would it be okay if we just…sleep tonight?” Derek furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but nodded nevertheless. “Rain check though. I promise.”

“Come here,” Derek said, crawling off of Stiles and laying down so that he could pull the boy to him. Stiles let out a sigh of relief and collapsed onto Derek’s chest, slowly being lured to sleep by the rise and fall of his breathing.

“Derek?” he asked after several long minutes of silence. Derek groaned a little in recognition of the words, but didn’t seem to be able to voice a coherent sentence. “Thank you.” Scott knew Derek had no idea what Stiles was thanking him for, but he pulled the boy closer to him anyway and buried his nose in his neck.

Derek fell asleep almost immediately, which wasn’t surprising considering he thought he was asleep in the first place. Stiles stayed there, lying on his chest, for almost an hour before stealthily crawling out of his embrace and back into the cold, hard chair only three feet away from Scott. The smell of sadness hadn’t been dampened and Scott felt guiltier than he had ever felt in his entire life because it was all his fault.

---

Stiles was gone when Scott woke up the next morning and Derek was acting, once again, as if nothing had happened. His scent was laced with traces of Stiles and his bed probably was too. Scott wasn’t sure if Derek was choosing to ignore that fact or if he just couldn’t smell it on himself.

For movie night the next week, Stiles sent Scott to the best steakhouse in town with a gift certificate that the Sheriff had received for his birthday. Scott picked up a steak dinner, as per their deal, and brought it to Derek, but Stiles cancelled at the last minute so the two werewolves watched the movie alone. Derek let Scott pick.

Week after week the excuses kept coming, until finally Scott was forced to admit that Stiles was avoiding Derek. Derek never asked about his absence, but sometimes Scott caught him looking at the door, as if he were waiting for someone to barge in.

Scott felt bad—he really did—because Stiles was much more melancholy than usual and Derek was getting surlier by the day. He thought several times about just telling Derek what he’d done and what had come of it, but always managed to talk himself out of it in the end. Derek had been tricked, manipulated, and lied to enough. Scott didn’t want him to associate any of those feelings with Stiles, even if it was 100% not his fault. Scott had done a bad thing, a very bad thing, and the guilt was eating him alive.

Soon, however, he was forced to push the Derek/Stiles issue to the back of his mind. Being an alpha werewolf didn’t come without a price and that price included ridding Beacon Hills of all the supernatural creatures that tried to make it home. He could run from his problems, but they always managed to catch up to him in the end.

One of these problems catching up to him is how he ended up on Derek’s couch, quite possibly bleeding to death. Or maybe not bleeding because Deaton had stitched him up, but there was a definite lack of healing going on and Scott found the whole situation to be a little troubling. It was also raining—thunder rumbling, lightening crashing—and that wasn’t helping anything because Scott had never liked storms. Not since his dad left during one and chose not to come back until his work forced him to.

Derek brought him water and food (that Scott couldn’t eat) as they waited for him to heal, but Scott didn’t want Derek. He wanted Stiles.

“Stiles,” he said, the word coming out scratchy and rough. He knew that he should elaborate, but he didn’t feel like expending the effort that it would require. Deaton had also given him a sedative and he could feel it starting to take effect.

“I know,” Derek said, glancing down at his cellphone. “I called him. He’s on his way.” Scott thought about nodding, about expressing his thanks, but he was asleep before he could do either.

He was awoken sometime later by what felt like a block of ice gripping his arm tight. “Hey, buddy,” Stiles’s voice said softly. “How’re you doing?” Scott tried to wiggle out of his reach, but he was too weak.

“He needs to rest,” Derek argued from across the room, but there was no bite to his words.

“Scott,” Stiles said, shaking him lightly. “Can you just open your eyes and tell me you’re not going to die? Please?” Reluctantly, Scott forced his eyes open. Stiles was kneeling next to him, soaked from head to toe and dripping water all over the place. Derek stood at a distance behind him with a towel slung over his shoulder.

“You’re wet,” Scott noted groggily. Stiles laughed at that and seemed to relax. He released his grip on Scott’s arm and collapsed to the floor in an ungraceful heap.

“Yeah, well, it’s raining,” he said. “Next time you decide to get yourself mortally wounded, do it when there’s not a hurricane brewing, okay?” This time Scott did nod and the look of relief on Stiles’s face made him feel warm inside despite the ice-cold handprint that he had left on his arm.

“He really does need to rest,” Derek said after a lengthy silence. Stiles finally wrenched his gaze away from Scott and nodded.

“He’s right,” Stiles said, standing. “Go back to sleep. It’ll help you heal.” He paused and then turned to Derek. “He is healing, right?”

“He’ll be fine,” Derek assured him. “Right, Scott?”

“I’ll be fine,” Scott recited dutifully. Stiles pursed his lips, but didn’t argue despite the fact that he clearly didn’t believe either of them.

“Here,” Derek said, throwing the towel to Stiles. He caught it easily, the change of subject startling the worry off of his face. “I’ll get some dry clothes for you to change into. And you,” he added, pointing at Scott, “get some sleep.”

Scott tried to do as he was told, but Stiles and Derek were both stomping around the loft and the noise kept him awake, suspended in some sort of semi-conscious state that felt more like a dream than anything else.

“How could you let this happen?” he heard Stiles hiss from across the room sometime later. He didn’t smell like Stiles though. He smelled like Derek.

“I didn’t let anything happen,” Derek snapped back. “He ran off and got hurt all by himself. That’s what happens to a lone wolf, Stiles. He should have asked his pack for help.”

“You’re turning his injury into a lesson on pack dynamics?”

“No,” Derek said and it sounded like he was speaking through his teeth. “You’re the one doing that.” Scott heard a soft thump and then pacing, as if Stiles had pushed Derek and took off across the room. His steady footsteps eventually lulled Scott back to sleep. He wasn’t sure how long he stayed there before he heard their voices again.

“Stop,” Stiles said. His voice was coming from the far wall where the windows were and Scott could smell Derek just a few feet away, probably sitting on the edge of his bed.

“Stop what?” Derek asked.

“Stop staring at me like that.”

“Like what?” Derek asked incredulously, but his heart sped up and Scott could tell that his question was a lie. Derek knew perfectly well what he was doing. Scott was curious so he pulled his eyelids open with some difficulty, the lure of sleep fighting to keep them shut. Stiles and Derek were exactly where he thought they would be. Stiles was silhouetted against the window, an almost full moon shining bright behind him, and Derek was sitting on the edge of his bed, staring up at the boy who was wearing his clothes. The sweat pants and long-sleeve shirt hung off of Stiles loosely, but he looked comfortable. That, at least, explained the scent.

“Like you’re going to eat me,” Stiles replied, taking a step closer until he was standing only inches away from Derek’s knees. His voice was laced with innuendo and Scott watched in surprise as he stepped even closer, fitting himself neatly between Derek’s thighs and raising a sleeve-covered hand to cup his face. Both of their hearts were racing wildly as they stared at each other. Scott expected them to kiss—he felt as if the last few months of his life had been building up to a kiss—but neither of them made a move to do so. Instead, Derek cleared his throat and pulled Stiles’s hand away from his face.

“Why have you been avoiding me?” he asked. Stiles startled backwards, away from the enclosure of Derek’s legs, and turned around so that he was facing the window once more. The scent coming off of him was hollow and smelled like still water and sulfur. He smelled like rejection.

“I haven’t been—” Stiles started, but Derek interrupted him.

“Yes you have,” he yelled, standing up so that he could force Stiles to look at him. If Scott hadn’t already been awake, he was sure the sound would have woken him. He managed to close his eyes seconds before the two men paused their argument, probably to make sure he was still sleeping. “Yes you have,” Derek repeated in a hushed whisper a few seconds later.

The room was silent for almost a full minute. Scott wanted more than anything to open his eyes, but he knew that if Stiles was avoiding a question, he would look for any possible distraction. Scott’s slumbering body would work just as well as anything else.

Finally, Stiles spoke. “Do you know what it’s like to be in a room with you? I’ve been watching you tonight. How you’re letting yourself get closer to me, letting me touch you. It’s almost like you can’t help it. Like I’ve become magnetized somehow.” He paused and the room was so quiet that Scott could hear the soft ticking of Derek’s clock coming from the kitchen. “It’s because I smell like you, isn’t it? Because I smell like I’m yours?” Derek growled at his words, angered by the thought of Stiles not wanting to be marked. “That’s how it is for me all the time,” he continued. “Every time I’m in a room with you, it’s like I can’t breathe. It’s like you have my heart in your hand and you’re clawing it to shreds, because I know that I can’t have you, but I want you so badly that being near you is the worst kind of torture. I can’t heal like you and Scott, Derek, and this is tearing me apart.”

He fell silent, his heavy breathing echoing through the room as his heart pounded out the rhythm of his anxiety. Scott risked opening his eyes and found the two of them standing in much the same position as they had been before. Stiles was fidgeting nervously, tugging on the sleeves of his borrowed shirt, but his gaze was steady, locked on Derek, who looked positively bewildered. The silence wasn’t comfortable and Stiles eventually succumbed to it, his gaze faltering as he looked to his feet.

“Can you say something?” he breathed. “Anything? Please?” His words must have triggered something because the look of confusion on Derek’s face was replaced with determination. He closed the space between them in two large strides, grabbed Stiles’s face between his hands, and kissed him with enough force to bruise. Stiles whimpered low and needy as he melted into the kiss and when Derek tried to pull away, he wouldn’t let him. He chased his lips, pulling the werewolf back to him, and soon Derek’s passionate peck turned into sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that had both of them gasping for air.

Derek guided Stiles to the wall behind them and pressed their bodies together tightly. It was there, with their hands roaming each other’s bodies and their hearts beating in sync, that Derek finally spoke. He pulled away from Stiles, the look of confusion returned with a vengeance, but he didn’t take his hands off and he didn’t pull away. He simply stared in wonderment at the boy in front of him. Stiles was blushing beneath his scrutiny, but he seemed to realize—for once in his life—that it wasn’t the time to start talking.

“This is real,” Derek finally decided. “This isn’t a dream.” Stiles shook his head slowly, like a doctor delivering bad news. “That night you and Scott stayed over. That wasn’t a dream either.” Once again, Stiles shook his head. Derek’s heart stopped beating at that and he tried to pull away, his scent laced with shame.

“Stop it,” Stiles said, tightening his grip on Derek’s waist. “Don’t you dare walk away from me now.” Derek didn’t fight, just let himself be held.

“My bed smelled like you,” he said, looking up at the ceiling as if he would find his answers there. “I couldn’t figure out why. God, I’m an idiot.”

“An idiot who apparently has the most vivid dreams known to man,” Stiles smirked. Derek looked back down and almost seemed surprised to find that Stiles was still there. His face softened as he looked at the younger boy and Scott watched as Stiles loosened his grip, allowing Derek to move now that he was sure he wasn’t going anywhere.

Scott could tell that Derek was still nervous, still ashamed of what he had almost done with Stiles that night, but beneath those emotions was the citrus smell of giddiness. He’d never smelled it on Derek before and the happiness radiating off of him was infectious. “I’m so sorry,” he said, cradling Stiles’s cheek in his hand.

“I’m not,” Stiles shrugged. “But if you want to make it up to me, the kissing helps.” Derek kissed him again without hesitation, their lips meeting before Stiles had even finished his sentence. They kissed each other slowly, carefully, as if they had all of the time in the world and even though Scott knew he shouldn’t watch, he couldn’t take his eyes off of them. Their euphoria was permeating the room and there was a piece of Scott that took pride in the small part he had played in getting the two of them to this moment.

Derek broke the kiss a few minutes later and pulled away from Stiles, grabbing his hand and leading the boy over to his bed. “You’re actually going to let me sleep in your bed?” Stiles teased. “Are you going to offer to ride me again too? Because I would totally be fine with that.”

“Maybe,” Derek said. “You do smell very good.” They reached the bed and Stiles crawled in without waiting for permission, taking the same spot Derek had offered to him the last time. Derek stepped out of his jeans and followed suit. They curled up next to each other comfortably and Scott thought that was it. That they could all go to sleep and wake up to a new chapter in their lives. Derek didn’t seem to be finished with the current one, however, because he kept fidgeting in bed, radiating nervous energy. Scott knew that he should close his eyes and succumb to the pull of sleep, but it was like he was watching a TV show and he didn’t want to miss the end.

“Derek, what are you doing?” Stiles finally asked from his place on Derek’s shoulder. “If you’re uncomfortable, I can move.”

“That’s not it,” he corrected hastily. “I just…here.” Rather than try to explain, Derek shifted his weight so that he was above Stiles and then buried his nose in the crook of his neck, inhaling deeply. Questions were written all across Stiles’s face, but they disappeared when Derek replaced his nose with his lips, kissing every inch of bare skin he could find.

“Derek,” he warned, breathless. “Scott is right over there.” He pointed to the couch, but didn’t bother turning to look. Derek hummed, placing kisses along Stiles’s jawline and moving upwards to breathe warm breath into his ear.

“We’re not going to do anything,” he said, lips brushing against Stiles’s temple. Stiles rolled his eyes, but let the werewolf continue. His lips became teeth and he nipped and sucked at Stiles’s neck, at his collarbone, at his ears, until Stiles was a puddle beneath him.

“Oh my God,” Stiles groaned, arching off of the bed. “You’re marking me.” Derek paused to smile up at him and he looked proud, almost. As if he had asked Stiles to solve a math equation and he’d figure it out much quicker than expected.

“Is that a problem?” he teased, dipping his tongue into the soft skin around Stiles’s clavicle.

“Absolutely not.” Derek’s hands began to work their way under Stiles’s shirt until the material was rucked up well past his stomach. Derek placed kisses there too, sucking and licking wet trails all over Stiles’s body. He finally managed to get the shirt off and asked Stiles to turn over, which he did without question.

By the dim lighting of the stars shining through the window, Scott watched Derek place gentle kisses on each of the moles littering Stiles’s back. It was so reminiscent of that first dream that Scott was not at all surprised when Derek pulled away, his brows furrowed and a question clearly on the tip of his tongue.

“They’re in the same place,” he said, tracing the pattern with his fingers. Stiles turned to see what Derek was doing and smirked.

“Pretty sure they’re not supposed to move,” he smiled, lying back down on his arms.

“I mean they’re in the same place as they were in my dreams,” Derek corrected himself. The realization seemed to tire him because he lay down next to Stiles, looking utterly exhausted. Across the room, Scott’s heart plummeted. They were going to figure it out. They were going to kill him.

“Well that’s weird.”

“Yeah,” Derek agreed. Neither of them pressed the subject and slowly Scott’s heart rate returned to normal. Stiles rolled over and burrowed his way into Derek’s shoulder once more.

“Do I smell like you now?” he asked groggily, eyes already closed. Derek smiled down at him and pulled him closer so that his hair was right under his nose.

“You smell absolutely delicious.”

And as the two of them settled, resting comfortably in the arms of each other, sleep took Scott captive once more.

---

1 Year Later

Being a Best Man was hard. Being a Co-Best Man was harder. The job had sounded easy enough when Scott and Stiles agreed to it—it was their parents’ wedding after all—but that was back when the guest list consisted of less than ten people and there were nine months to prepare. The guest list had since expanded and the date had been pushed up because there were going to be more important things for the Stilinski-McCalls to worry about in nine months. Things like a baby.

It seemed like the whole town had turned up for the ceremony, but it still felt intimate somehow. Scott and Stiles flanked their parents proudly and as the four of them stood side-by-side in the backyard of the Stilinski house, it felt like family.

That magical feeling had diminished rapidly as the wedding turned into the reception and suddenly Scott was directing the wait staff and accepting well wishes from everyone he’d ever met in his entire life. It was worth it though to see the smile on his mom’s face, the way she positively glowed with happiness, and the way the Sheriff looked at her as if she hung the stars in the sky.

Stiles, however, was nowhere to be found and the two of them were supposed to deliver a Best Men speech in less than fifteen minutes. They’d been brothers for less than an hour and already Scott wanted to strangle him.

He tried calling and texting, but got no response. Stiles’s disappearance wasn’t exactly worrisome, just annoying—Derek was gone too and it didn’t take a genius to figure out what they were doing.

The two of them had been dating since the night of Scott’s accident, but Derek had blatantly refused to have sex with Stiles until he turned eighteen, two months before. Scott hadn’t seen much of them lately, but he also hadn’t been forced to witness any of their sexual encounters, so he was counting his blessings.

Not that he thought they were currently having sex because having sex at your father’s wedding was a horrible thing to do, especially when you were expected to deliver a speech in ten minutes. Scott really couldn’t wait any longer. He made his way through the throng of guests and into the house, which was much quieter. There were half packed cardboard boxes everywhere, but Scott was used to it. His house looked much the same. They were moving into a four-bedroom next week and Scott couldn’t wait.

He was so distracted by thoughts of his new family that Scott’s super hearing didn’t pick up on the panting and the moans as he approached Stiles’s door. Somehow he missed the slap of skin-on-skin, the whispered names, the wet kisses. He also forgot to knock.

He really should have knocked.

What he saw was not an altogether unfamiliar or unexpected sight. Stiles and Derek were in various stages of undress—Stiles completely naked except for his unbuttoned dress shirt and Derek still fully clothed except for the pants around his ankles. And Stiles was riding Derek fast and hard, bent over across his chest so that he could place sloppy kisses on Derek’s neck. For his part, Derek looked completely blissed out, head thrown back with one hand tangled tightly in the sheets and the other holding Stiles steady as the boy began to whimper, his movement becoming more erratic.

The fact that Scott’s first instinct was not to turn and run was very worrisome indeed. “Oh my God!” he cried out before he could stop himself.

“Holy—” Stiles toppled off of Derek unceremoniously, pulling the covers over himself as he went. Derek must have been closer to coming than Scott realized because his fingernails became claws and he didn’t even bother covering himself, just stared at Scott as if he would very much like to kill him, thank you very much. “Scott!” Stiles yelled. “Get out!”

“Yep,” Scott agreed, turning around and closing the door behind him. He headed for the stairs, trying to tune out any conversations that might be about to take place, but it was no use. He hadn’t even made it to the first floor before they both started laughing.

“I think you made a really good first impression on your new stepbrother,” Derek said and there was a light slap, as if Stiles had shoved him playfully.

“He’s going to kill me,” Stiles replied, the laughter evident in his voice. There was another slap and then, “You were supposed to be listening! What if that had been my dad?”

“I told you this was a bad idea, remember?”

“It takes two to tango, buddy,” Stiles scoffed. “I didn’t come up here and impale myself on your dick. You did that.”

“Impale?” Derek chuckled.

“Shut up! You know what I mean.” There was silence again and then the sound of one brief kiss.

“So,” Derek asked, “are we going to finish this?”

“No,” Stiles groaned and the bedsprings squeaked in protest as someone climbed off of the bed. “I have to go give a speech. With a boner. Great.”

As Scott made his way out into the yard, the voices from the upstairs bedroom dimmed to nothing. Stiles and Derek shuffled outside a little while later, neither looking too much as if they’d just been ravished, and even though Stiles had thrown Scott’s perfect schedule off by twenty minutes, he couldn’t be mad. After all, if Derek and Stiles ever got married, he was going to have one hell of a Best Man speech.