Note: I twisted the timeline a little, so don't be mad! I just wanted it to work for the story. I HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYS. Feel free to critique.
Summery: Derek goes into Heat.
The Wild Ones
If you're going through hell, keep going.
Derek doesn’t fight it. Honestly he doesn’t even really try. He might, on the odd occasion it becomes a public issue, but mostly he’s able to smother it beneath a stony glare or a soft growl.
It’s a tugging, aching, gnawing feeling, burning deep within his gut. His stomach erupts at the sound of the brown eyed boys subtle exhale, and even, sometimes, when the boy is tired and rubs at his eyes after long hours sitting in front of the computer screen, Derek has the urge to carry him off to bed and force him to sleep—to watch over and protect him. Something bubbles deep within his chest at the boy’s laugh, and sometimes, most of the time—actually all of the time—his heart beats so quickly against his ribcage when the boy walks into the room that he fears he’ll almost give himself away again and again—and worries that he’ll wake up with bruises on his bones.
He releases a breath he didn’t even know he was holding as Stiles takes a seat next to him and throws him a crooked, easy smile. How could this be so simple for him? Derek wonders, even as he’s shaking in his seat beside the boy. He’s cool, he’s got a grip, it’s all right, everything’s under control; Derek thinks.
Except it’s not. Not really. Scott knows already. He knows in the way Derek’s heart stutters when Stiles passes him, or in the way that his face becomes something similar to a wounded animals wince when they’re up in Stiles’ room researching, and all Derek wants to do is touch Stiles. He wants to reach out and stroke his pouty lips and his child-like puffy cheeks and it takes everything in his power to keep his hands to himself.
Scott smiles knowingly, and Derek glares at him until he leaves the room with Allison in tow.
“You okay, man?” Scott asks one afternoon, sitting beside him as Stiles and Lydia toppled into the lake together. It’s a nice mid-summer day, and the sun is a brilliant, dark orange on the horizon. Derek feels a jealous tug as he sees Stiles’ arms around the strawberry-blondes waist, but he smothers the feelings once more. Lydia smacks Stiles’ shoulder, screaming something about getting her hair wet and gross, weird lake water. Stiles just laughs too loudly, smiles too widely and tosses his head back in amusement, and again, Derek’s chest erupts into traitorous, angry beats.
A sledgehammer hits Derek square in the ribcage, and the wolf beneath the surface of his skin laughs manically at his torment.
“Dude.” Scott calls again, waving a hand in front of Derek’s line of vision—but his thoughts are far away, thinking of Stiles’ wide smile and plump, pale lips. “You kinda look, you know, constipated.” Scott chuckles as Derek finally rips his vision away from Stiles and gives Scott an almost disbelieving look.
“I—what?” Derek growls, turning his eyes back towards his feet. He can feel the heat spreading from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, and as much as he tries to repress the crimson spread, it doesn’t stop the embarrassment of Scott already knowing his stupid little secret.
“You’ve been acting strange lately.” Scott’s beating around the bushes again, teasing Derek, even though he has no right now. “I was just wondering if mister all-mighty Alpha is gunna make it through this little crush he’s got on my bestie out there.” Scott smiles tauntingly, his tone condescending, his lips a fine line with repressed laughter as he nods his chin towards the lake, and of course, Stiles.
The grin on the teenagers face is nearly priceless, and Derek runs a hand through his dark, dark hair as he tried to ignore Scott’s presence. Stiles laughs at something Lydia says, and the sledgehammer hit Derek square in the ribs again, causing his heartbeat to skip and sputter for a moment too long before following a knowing rhythm once more. He winces; the wolf howls longingly; Scott grins.
“I knew it!” Scott all but screams. Stiles, Lydia, Erica and the rest of the pack turn to look over at the pair and Derek turns to give Scott the glare of his life. Scott raises his hands apologetically in his defense, and hisses lowly; “I fucking knew it!” with a victorious sneer plastered across his face and a finger pointed straight at Derek’s chest. He fist pumps the air in excitement and then turns his attention back towards the Alpha. “Well, you know—“
“Shut up, Scott.” Derek seethes through clenched teeth. “Just—shut up.” The wolf’s steady hum of a growl almost sounds like a taunting laugh, and Derek wishes it would stop teasing him about this. It almost feels like the wolf likes the fact that Derek suddenly feels such a strong draw to the little-boy-genius.
But that doesn’t stop Derek from wanting Stiles—wanting every minute of those jumbled sentences, every brilliant scheming plans, every laugh, every smile, every second of those pouty, pale lips.
“You should tell him.” Scott tries again when he realizes Derek’s thoughts are far away.
“No.” Derek speaks so quickly that Scott wonders if he even considers his statement at all.
Scott pauses for a moment in all seriousness and sighs. “No, I mean really. You’d be surprised at—“
But Derek is walking away now, his hands shoved so far down into his pockets that his fingers are crammed and his knuckles are bunching up against his outer thighs in an almost painful position.
Derek walks off into the forest and disappearing amongst the tall, tall trees and the slowly darkening skies.
Scott sighs and goes to fetch Stiles before the sun sets, and besides, they all still have to set up their tents anyways.
“Hey Derek!” Stiles calls worriedly.
The Alpha had vanished into the woods without telling anyone, or so Scott says. Stiles figures it’s probably to mope. Scott begged Stiles to go find him, so he could spend time with Allison, and the rest of the pack could spend time with their girlfriend/boyfriend.
That was kinda shitty, Stiles thinks bitterly, way to point out that I’m the only single person here, Scott. Dickweed. He rolls his eyes, calling for Derek once more, and yet again, the sourwolf says nothing back.
“Where the hell are you?” Stiles asks under his breath to no one in particular. He runs a hand over his face and sighs heavily. “Alright, whatever dude, fine, stay out here all night then.” He goes to turn around and comes face to face with Derek’s statuesque body and hard, defiant glare.
Stiles jumps back out of fear and Derek tries not to smirk at the display of terror and guilt reigning over the younger man’s expression. Stiles straightens himself up and shakes his head, trying to play it off as if he’d never been terrified—never noticed how beautiful Derek’s eyes really were, or how wonderful he smelled when he was so close.
“Your heart’s beating fast.” Derek deadpans, walking closer to the younger man.
Stiles holds his ground, puffing out his chest slightly and squaring his shoulders, “you ran off,” he’s trying really hard to ignore Derek’s previous statement, “Scott sent me out to find you. I found you. I’m leaving now. Let’s go, big bad wolf.” Stiles teases with the hint of a smile as he turns to walk around Derek. But the Alpha grabs the boys’ arm and spins him back around so they’re face to face once more. His eyes flared red for a mere moment, and Stiles felt his heart skip a beat as his mouth went suddenly dry. Derek’s skin was abnormally warm, even for his blossoming wolf form. It was like being grabbed by someone who’d just come off the surface of the sun, or someone being smothered by layer after layer of lava coming straight off a burning volcano.
“D-Derek?” Stiles stuttered, his muscles tensing automatically at the pressure being applied to his biceps.
But Derek isn’t there anymore. It’s the wolf, his wolf, slowly emerging to consume and cloud Derek’s mind and body. “I think you need to know something, Stiles Stilinski.”
Stiles stills. Derek’s fingertips had sharpened into claws, and they were digging into the skin at his elbows, and Derek’s immensely warm chest is pressed against Stiles’ breath bone, trapping his back against a thick tree trunk. His breath is moist against Stile’s face, warm against his neck and chest and enticing in some animalistic way. The thick, black hair sprouting up his forearms and neck crawl up Derek’s finely stubble jaw, and his teeth grow too large for his mouth and push and peak above his lips.
“W-what?” The boy asks breathlessly, a slight tremble erupting from his unwilling body.
“A secret Derek and I share.”
The distorted voice calls to a memory hidden within Derek’s mind, from where his thought are centered solely around Stiles—and he’d tried for so long to bury these feelings so deep, or had tries to at least. Until Derek’s wolf emerged and pulled and tugged and gnawed at the edges and corners of these memories, these feelings, these thoughts—and brought them forward with such ease it was almost sickening.
“D-Derek, come on, man.” Stiles tries to plead in a strong voice, but it falls on cleverly deaf ears.
Derek grips Stiles by the elbows tighter, pulling him forward and pressing his chiseled chest against the smaller man’s boy until Stiles has a considerably harder time inhaling. Stiles can feel the muscles in Derek’s shoulders rolling, like water tumbling over rounded, smooth river rocks. A soft hum vibrates between them with every single breath Derek takes, and Derek’s breastbone rumbles in a sort of purring motion.
But Derek is fighting for control over his own body, trying to evade the wolf’s persistence to touch and bite the boy mere inches away from those sharp, wolf-life teeth.
“Derek, dude, let go. You’re hurting me.” Stiles sputters, looking away from Derek’s glowering red eyes to his bruising grip on Stiles’ arms. Small, miniscule puncture marks begin to form at the sensitive skin inside his elbows, being rubbed raw with irritation and pressure.
The wolf gets a clean, full view of Stiles lovely pale neck when he turns his head, and it’s mouth waters with lustful intentions. Derek is screaming within his own body, fighting to get the wolf back in its cage, fighting to regain control before he unintentionally hurts Stiles. The wolf is growling at the teenager and for just a moment, and something akin to horrifying fear flashes across the boys face.
Do you see it, Derek? The wolf asks thickly, and it’s growl vibrates within Derek’s chest. Do you see how much he cares for you? It hums with a laughter that sounds almost menacing, but Derek feels no malice—only pain. It physically pains him to see you like this. Just wait, Derek. Just wait and see.
But then the wolf is sliding back into place, his grip on Stiles’ arm loosens, and Derek gains control of his body once more. Stiles watches as the red bleeds out from Derek’s eyes, gaining that pretty grey-green color within two or three confusing blinks.
“Derek?” He asks hesitantly, reaching up with a free hand to touch the roughness along the older man’s jaw.
Derek pushes him away, staring at him with new eyes—eyes that are full of regret—and that’s something Stiles has never really seen on Derek before. “I—“ but Derek merely stumbles over his words, stepping back, mostly out of fear of the wolf coming back and claiming Stiles in way’s Derek’s not ready to handle. “I don’t— I’m sorry—I didn’t,” but then Derek is turning away from Stiles, jogging away far too quickly, leaving the teenager very frightened, and very confused.
Stiles scratches the back of his head and rubs at the inside of his elbows. They’re sore, and slightly red, and Stiles knows they’ll be little painful bruises in the morning. He sighs heavily, looking towards the direction Derek ran longingly before he turns to opposite direction and heads back towards the lake.
He has to finish setting up his tent anyways, and if Derek comes back during the night, he’s going to need somewhere to sleep anyways.
Days past without any unwelcomed incidents.
Though, Derek does receive a text from Scott that says; ‘What the hell did you do to Stiles? He won’t talk to anyone.’
He chooses not to respond back to it.
Derek had left the little campout and the rest of his pack and ran back to the remains of the Hale house to sulk.
The wolf still hums eagerly under Derek’s skin, waiting for the scent of Stiles to wafts back into the air. But Stiles’ scent is everywhere in the house—it’s everywhere in Beacon Hills. His skin crawls.
Maybe dreams of Stiles running around his house stark naked and hallucinations of the boy whispering in his ear at night are the reason he’s waking up so sore lately. And dear God, if his muscles don’t stop aching he’s going to lose his fucking mind—literally.
So on one particularly cloudy day, Scott walks into Hale house while Derek reads a book on an oddly fashionable couch that is severely out of place in the burnt down ruins. Of course, there are claw marks all over it, with stuffing bleeding out in various places.
"What's that smell?" Scott asks, setting his bag down to the side. Allison walked in behind him, holding the door in place with her foot. She smiles softly, almost hesitantly and waves to Derek after an awkward moment.
Derek wants to ask why they're suddenly hanging out again, and if they're dating or not, but he decides against it without much thought. But Derek tries to be as gentlemanly of a host as he can be and looks over at the two of them from the couch, massaging his oddly sore pecks. Allison gives him an odd look, cocking her head to the side as she watches him grope at his pectorals. Derek stiffens; you know what, scratch that, he's not up for chivalry at the moment.
"What smell?" He barely manages to grumble out nicely, thinking maybe his senses are dulled or disrupted by the remaining smells of smoke within the burnt wood of his family’s house.
Scott walks towards Derek curiously, sniffing the air in the house. He follows the scent towards Derek and stops, looking around curiously. He sniffs the air around the strangely still Alpha and backs away quickly, holding his hand over his mouth and nose and making an unpleasant sound in the back of his throat. "My God, Derek!" He screeches, running behind Allison as if she could deter the scent. She gives him a questionable look, and Scott just looks pained and plugs his nose, burying his face in her long, wavy, ebony hair and breathing in the scent of her vanilla-y shampoo. "What have you been rolling in?!"
Derek looks at him and stops rubbing his breast muscles, a brow cocked with questions. "What do I smell like? I don't smell anything." He glares at the first two teenagers when Stiles walks in behind Scott and Allison. The girl turns to smile at him and moves her foot as he closes the door quietly. He takes in the scene unfolding before him and sighs heavily, dropping his bags and rubbing his forehead.
"Jesus, what's happening now? Come on guys, can't we just have one day off, I mean really, it's the beginning of summer, we've only been out of school for like, a week, tops. Just, just give me another week of peace and we can get back into the swing of kicking ass. Just one week guys, one week, that's all I'm aski—"
"You smell like a bitch, Derek." Scott pulls his head away from Allison's sweet smelling hair, keeps his nose plugged and grimaces like the scent could wound him physically.
"Whoa. Okay." Stiles blinks unknowingly as he sucks in a sharp breath and looks between the two werewolves.
Derek drops the book he'd been reading in his hand and glares pointedly, his jaw flexing with anger. "What did you—"
"No, as in, you smell like a female dog, you know, in heat." Scott says awkwardly as he unplugs his nose and sniffs the air again, cringes and plugs his nose once more. "I can almost taste you on my tongue, like, in the air." Then Scott realizes something and stares at Stiles then back at Derek. "Is that why you—" but Scott doesn't finish his sentence, staring at Derek with an almost pained expression.
"Do male werewolves even go into heat? Is that a thing? Like, is that possible?" Stiles asks, almost dumbfounded. He's turns and gently rummages through his backpack down on the ground before pulling out his laptop—as if this would be something that you could actually read about on the internet.
But, then, something jars Derek’s memory, something about his father and his mother, and his older brother, and then, finally, Peter. "Oh, God." Derek rubs his forehead as he feels a sudden migraine coming on and his stomach turns. "No, no this can't be happening." Derek digs for his phone in his pocket, pulling it out and dialing a number on speed dial. It picks up after two rings.
Derek, how good to hear from you—
"Do Alpha's go into heat?" Derek asks quickly.
Peter is stunned on the other line, then bursts into a quick, loud fit of laughter that can even be heard across the room, causing Stiles to pause and turn around. He knows that laugh and physically stiffens when he hears it. Derek squirms when the boys’ eyes fall on his.
Yes, Derek, yes they can. Derek can feel Peter grinning on the other end of the phone. Would you like me to come over and explain?
Derek growls lowly into the phone and Stiles puts his computer away, standing and leaning against the banister of the staircase with a question hanging in his brow. He doesn’t look happy, and it physically makes Derek ill to have the boy look at him like he’d just kicked the boy’s puppy square in the face.
"Yeah." Derek says quickly before hanging up.
Scott gives Derek a knowing smile before glancing over once more at a slightly confused Stiles. The boy flails, throwing his arms in the air. "Great." He mutters venomously under his breath, "just great. More fucking werewolves." He shakes his head and breaths slowly—inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth—that’s what his father always taught him, right? That helps quiet the panic attacks.
Derek can taste the quickening of Stiles’ heartbeat in the air, and it makes his faint migraine blossom slowly.
"How would you know what that even smells like?" Stiles asked, gesturing to, well, all of Derek. Perhaps its another weird, werewolfe-y thing.
Scott gives him a shocked look, then laughs, and it grates against Derek’s ears like nails on a chalkboard. “Dude, I work in a vet’s office. Ring any bells?”
Something clicks in Stiles’ brain and it’s read easily across his expression. He laughs lightheartedly, and turns to look at Derek. His laughing dies down when he sees the pained expression on the Alpha’s face. “So, like, when’s Peter gunna be here?”
Derek feels the faint tingling of sore muscles pinpricking at his skin and he wants to just curl up in a ball and sleep for hours and hours. “Soon.” He says.
“Yep, you’re definitely in heat. I can smell you from down the road.” Peter busts into the Hale house without so much as a knock or a hello and walks straight up to Derek with a shit-eating grin plastered across his carefree face.
Derek groans something awful and rubs his hands against his face in something close to desperation, and Stiles can’t help but laugh as loud as he possibly can. “This is great. Really. This is so awesome,” he looks to Scott and the other teenage boy can’t even find words to express himself. Typical Scott.
“How did you get here so fast?” Allison asks hesitantly. She’s standing behind Scott, across the room, but only because he refuses to let her go any closer to Peter than that.
Peter turns towards her slowly, cocking his head in a way that’s either hungry or interested. “Well, actually, I was in the next town over. Doesn’t take long to sprint over here and—Stiles! Dear me,” Peter says gently, lovingly, “how good it is to see you again.” Stiles grows stiff, looking from Derek to Peter to Scott. “Still wanting to remain human, boy?” The past Alpha’s brow arches in question and his lips grow into a faint, fine line.
Suddenly, Peter bursts into laughter and has somehow teleported to Stile’s side and clasped him on the shoulder. Stiles jumps nervously and sputters, Scott stalks forward but Derek beat him to it. He grabs Peter by the shoulders and hoists him into the air, his eyes growing a venomous shade of red. “Just tell me about my situation.”
Peter doesn’t look amused in the slightest, but his lips are pulled back into a coy smile. “Fine, fine.” He sighs. Derek slowly lowers him till his toes are barely gracing the surface of the burnt wood. He stands between the past Alpha and Stiles, and Peter picks up the over-protectiveness and chuckles. He swats a hand over his suit top, straightening the crinkles Derek’s massive hands created.
“Every Alpha goes through a series of what we refer to as ‘heats’ until they meet their mates. Each heat lasts about two weeks but you’ll see, it can be very catastrophic.” He smirks and Stiles looks like he’s about to run out the door. “You remember your older brother, when he went through his heat? Nearly took half the forest with him when he got angry.” Derek flinches, Peter continues. “You’ll experience emotional trauma, migraines, muscles soreness, temperature fluctuations—“
“You’re saying Derek will basically be, what, PSMing?” Allison looks at each of the boys and scoffs. “For two weeks?” She rolls her eyes and shakes her head.
Peter shrugs as he heads back to the burnt down remains of a door. “I believe I’ve over stayed my welcome.” He looks straight at Stiles for a moment before flashing a devilish smile. “I’d advice you to stay inside for fourteen to twenty one days, Derek.” Peter says nonchalantly, opening and closing the door behind him.
He’s gone before anyone can stop him.
Derek looks at the three teenagers dumbfounded, his mouth opening and closing before he realizes how much he must look like a fish out of water and he stands completely still.
“I liked him better when he was dead.” Stiles says softly form behind Derek, and Derek can’t agree more.