Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at

http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/511532.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Character: Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Derek Hale, Jackson
Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Allison Argent, Danny Mahealani, Vernon
Boyd, Isaac Lahey, Matt Daehler
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe -
College/University, Humor, Prank Wars, Underage Drinking, Minor
Angst, Additional Warnings Apply
Series: Part 1 of The Noble Tie That Binds
Stats: Published: 2012-09-14 Completed: 2012-10-11 Chapters: 3/3 Words:
21004

There is a Brotherhood
by minusoneday

Summary

So far, college has taught Stiles three things:

1) Eight am classes are cruel and unusual and should be avoided at all costs, even if it
means having to enroll in something truly hideous instead, like Econ 101.

2) Dorm security is just as tight as Stiles orientation leader had promised it would be, and
the dude guarding Scotts dorm in particular does not respond well to bribes.

3) Mrs. McCall clearly had no clue what she was talking about when shed insisted that
Scott and Stiles needed to branch out and room with strangers, so its all her fault that Scott
ended up with a total dick of a roommate and Stiles got stuck all the way across campus
with some guy who has a girlfriend two towns over and is thus never around.

Or, the one where pledge brothers Stiles and Scott start a prank war with Derek Hale's
fraternity.

Notes
(Please see the note at the end of chapter one for additional warnings.)

Okay, first things first - the overall idea for this fic does not belong to me! I saw this post
(http://affectingly.tumblr.com/post/30245332788 ) on twitter and got bunnied HARD.
Soooo, hope that's cool! Second, this is not nearly as fleshed out as it could be, so
someone should still totally write the 120K version. Because I would like to read it. Third,
all my knowledge of the inner workings of fraternities comes from bad movies and
wikipedia, ie, if something is blatantly wrong, feel free to point it out to me, and I will do
my best to correct it! Unless that proves terribly complicated, in which case I will probably
hand wave it and claim that this is my house, my rules.

The first part of this is a definite T rating; the second part will be higher. Also, everyone is
of age.

The title is from How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying. Some dialogue in
part 1 is lifted from the pilot episode of Teen Wolf.
 Chapter 1
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

So far, college has taught Stiles three things:

1) Eight am classes are cruel and unusual and should be avoided at all costs, even if it means
having to enroll in something truly hideous instead, like Econ 101.

2) Dorm security is just as tight as Stiles orientation leader had promised it would be, and the
dude guarding Scotts dorm in particular does not respond well to bribes.

3) Mrs. McCall clearly had no clue what she was talking about when shed insisted that Scott and
Stiles needed to branch out and room with strangers, so its all her fault that Scott ended up with a
total dick of a roommate and Stiles got stuck all the way across campus with some guy who has a
girlfriend two towns over and is thus never around.

Which means it is also her fault that Stiles has resorted to climbing his way up the back of Scotts
dorm building in order to knock on his window.

Hes on his third round of taps when the window suddenly flies open and theres Scott, wielding a
baseball bat. Stiles yelps, lets go of the window sill, and plummets.

Granted, its only ten feet, give or take, but still. Ow.

Stiles! Scott hisses, leaning out of the window to frown down at him. What are you doing?

You werent answering your phone! Stiles says, wincing as he sets up. God damn it, ow, ow,
that is going to leave a bruise. Its 11:30, why the hell are you in your pajamas? And why do you
have a bat?

I was tired, Scott says defensively, totally ignoring the question of the baseball bat. And...
Jackson wanted an early lights out.

Stiles snorts. You mean he was worried about getting his beauty sleep, he mutters. Scott has no
response for that, either, which means Stiles is totally right.

Okay, come on, he says, getting to his feet and dusting himself off. Get dressed, meet me out
front in five minutes.

For what? Scott asks, trying and mostly failing to keep his voice to a whisper.

Frat party, Stiles grins. Totally informal rush thing, I hear - its in the middle of the woods.
How cool is that?

Its a Tuesday night, Scott protests. I have class!

Stiles shuts him down with a look. Were going, he says, then offers Scott a jaunty wave before
taking off for the front of the dorm.

When Scott appears, hes got a clearly pissed off Jackson in tow, and Stiles groans.
Are you kidding me? he asks. Tell me Im seeing things, Scott, tell me Im hallucinating here.

He woke up when I tripped over my shoes, Scott says sheepishly. And then he wanted to
come.

How did you even hear about this? Jackson asks, shooting Stiles a look filled with that special
brand of disdain only he seems able to manage. You sure some upperclassman isnt sending you
on a snipe hunt?

Hilarious, Stiles snaps. A guy on my floor has an older brother in one of the frats, and he
passed the invite along to the rest of us. Its legit, okay? A chance for everyone to scope each
other out.

Well see about that, Jackson mutters, then pulls out his phone and starts texting, a clear
demonstration of his intent to ignore Stiles and Scott the rest of the way to the party, which is just
fine by Stiles.

Scott still looks vaguely sheepish and apologetic, but Stiles just bumps his shoulder with his own.

Thisll be fun, yeah? he says cheerfully. Get excited, Scott, this is step one in our pursuit of the
true college experience!

I have a nine am lecture tomorrow, Scott says mournfully.

Stiles slings an arm around his shoulder and marches him determinedly in the direction of the
woods that surround campus. Guys in fraternities? he says. Get invited to the parties that the
sorority girls throw.

Well, Scott says, obviously perking up. I dont think my professor really takes attendance,
anyway.

Thats my boy, Stiles says, giving his shoulder a squeeze. Now lets go get irresponsibly drunk
on a school night!

The partys a good one. Stiles had spent maybe five minutes worried that it was all some epic
hazing ritual in disguise, but all it turns out to be is a few kegs, and a bunch of frat brothers milling
around, mingling with the mostly freshmen and sophomores who are interested in rushing. Its
chill, and its fun, and strangely enough, Stiles feels kind of grown up about the whole thing.

Talked to anyone good yet? Stiles asks as Scott meanders back over to him, a silly grin plastered
on his face. Scotts already four solo cups in, and Stiles would be worried about him making a
terrible impression, except that Scott tends to get exponentially more adorable with each drink he
has. The dude is fucking charming, so Stiles has been letting him roam free, in the hopes that some
frat brother will decide he wants to take him home to keep. Like a puppy.

Most of em sound kinda lame, Scott sighs, flopping down next to Stiles, his beer sloshing
dangerously close to the edge of his cup. The two main ones though - those sound better. I was
talkin to Boyd - hes the President of Omega Delta Pi? Hes nice. And I met Isaac, too, whos the
VP - he says theyre supposed to call themselves the Omegas, like, the lone wolves, I think? But
he personally prefers Order of Megatron. Get it? Cause Order starts with O, and then Megatron
-

Megatron is evil, Stiles says, sounding horrified. Oh my God, are you trying to get us to rush a
fraternity of future supervillains-in-training?
Scott chuckles, the sound slow and slurry with alcohol. Dude, no, he says. Isaacs totally cool,
you should meet him! An Boyd, too. Anyway, theyre better than Derek. Dereks a dick.

Whos Derek? Stiles asks, looking around curiously. Scott leans way into his personal space,
like hes trying to get a feel for Stiles exact line of vision before he lifts his arm and points an
obvious finger toward the guy who appears to be overseeing the kegs. Stiles squints, trying to get
a better look at him, which is easier said than done considering hes standing at the very edge of
the admittedly not-very-good lighting the frat brothers have managed to hook up in the middle of
the freakin woods.

Hes tall, though by the looks of it, he only has an inch or two on Stiles. Its just that hes broad
and built enough to make himself appear larger. Hes frowning, too, which probably doesnt help,
and his arms - God, Stiles can see the muscle definition from here, even through the henley hes
wearing - are crossed imposingly in front of his chest, mimicking the pose of a bouncer. Hes
stupidly good-looking, even with the frown, and Stiles is pretty sure the only word for his stubble
is unfair. Or maybe its perfect. Its a toss up.

Hes President of the Alphas, Scott supplies helpfully. Swhat Jackson said. I think thats the
frat hes going for.

Okay, well, then we are definitely doing the opposite of that, Stiles says immediately. Its bad
enough I have to deal with Jackson every time I come over to your room, no way in hell am I
getting stuck with him for the next four years. The Omegas it is.

Order of Megatron! Scott crows, falling into Stiles side with a silly grin. Stiles returns it with
one of his own and makes a mental note to introduce himself to Boyd before they head out.

Somehow, he ends up talking to Derek instead. Well, its not like its a mystery how that goes
down; Stiles wants another drink, and Derek is still brooding over by the kegs.

So, are you standing guard? Stiles asks as he approaches the keg.

Derek shoots him a look that seems to imply that Stiles is barely worthy of his notice, which, rude.

Or - hey, are you trying to be one of those British guards? Stiles asks, suddenly struck by the
thought. Not that hes ever seen a picture of a British guard who looks quite so dashing and
stubble-y, but hey, you never know.

No, Derek says, the word clipped.

Are you sure? Stiles presses. Because youre actually doing a stellar impression of one. Like, I
havent seen you crack a smile all night.

Youve been watching me all night? Derek asks, and this time he lifts a single eyebrow, and
wow, his eyebrows are kind of magnificent. Stiles resists the urge to reach out and touch one, if
only because he thinks Derek might actually bite his fingers off if he gets too close.

Not in a creepy stalker way! Stiles says. But my Dads a sheriff, Ive been taught to be aware
of threatening-looking people who hide out in shadows.

Im not hiding out anywhere, Derek says with an eye roll. Im making sure no stupid freshmen
get plastered and wander off to do dangerous things that would get us all into trouble.

But does that require the shadows? Stiles asks, scrunching up his face, because Derek is not the
only one who can make skeptical expressions, hah. Really?
Do you want a drink or not? Derek snaps.

Stiles just grins this time and holds out his cup, which Derek fills with a huffy sigh.

Cheerio, Stiles chirps in a terrible British accent, lifting his cup in a salute. Thanks, mate!

Hes pretty sure the look Derek gives him could actually bore through solid metal, and he kind of
hates the way it makes him feel flush and hot, the way his stomach gives a horrible, interested
lurch.

He makes his way back to Scott, glancing quickly over his shoulder once, only to find that Derek
isnt even looking at him anymore.

Well, fine. Its not like he and Scott want to be Alphas anyway. But somebody who is not Stiles
should really tell Derek that he needs to work on his recruitment skills.

The rush process goes by quickly. There are a few more formal events, during which Scott and
Stiles make the rounds with various Omegas, doing their best to seem like perfect candidates for
recruitment. Theyre both hanging out in the student union when Isaac shows up with their bids, a
big grin on his face.

Yessss, Scott says gleefully, signing his name with a flourish. This is awesome!

Totally, Stiles agrees, scribbling down his own signature and kind of beaming up at Isaac.
Whatever, hes happy, he is allowed.

Congratulations to the both of you, Isaac says as he collects their bids. Hes still grinning, warm
and genuine. Well be in touch soon. Glad to have you guys pledging.

Stiles settles back into his chair once Isaac leaves, humming happily to himself. Theyre not in
quite yet, but this is step one, and Stiles is determined to make it through whatever else is coming
their way.

The first thing you have to know, Isaac says conspiratorially, is that the Alphas are dicks.

Oh, we already knew that, Stiles replies. Seriously, they gave Scotts roommate a bid, and he is
king of the dicks. Well, no, Dereks the king of the dicks, Im pretty sure. Jackson can be the
queen. Of the dicks.

Hes not that bad, Scott says.

He is exactly that bad, and as soon as I dig up some good dirt on him, I am blackmailing him
until he agrees to switch roommates with me, Stiles says.

Anyway, Isaac breaks in, Alphas. Dicks. Theres a longstanding rivalry between the Alphas
and the Omegas. It is this rivalry which dictates our initiation rituals.

The pause he takes lasts way too long for Stiles attention span, so he prompts Isaac with a,
...rituals?

Essentially, youre tasked with pranking the hell out of them, Isaac says cheerfully.
Stiles and Scott exchange a look.

...Thats it? Scott asks. Just... pranks?

Thats it, Isaac agrees.

No stupid, dangerous drinking games? Stiles asks, like he just needs to clarify. No torturous
demonstrations of physical fitness? No totally disgusting, demeaning, humiliating demands made
by the brothers?

Nope, Isaac says. The university cracked down on hazing, like, fifteen years ago. And
everyones pretty much stuck to it, so. Make their lives as miserable as possible, so long as theres
nothing dangerous or dehumanizing involved.

That we can do, Stiles says, a slow grin spreading across his face.

They start with Derek.

More specifically, they start with Dereks car.

It seems like a good idea to aim high, to start off with a bang, and Derek drives the flashiest
Camaro Stiles has ever seen. Which, as far as Stiles is concerned, makes it the perfect target.

You sure this is a good idea? Scott asks.

Im sure this is a great idea, Stiles assures him.

Five rolls of saran wrap later, Dereks car is tightly wrapped up in dozens of layers. Nothing
permanently damaging, but its going to take some serious patience to rip away all of the plastic
without scratching the paint job.

Scott snaps a few pictures on his camera phone, while Stiles places a miniature Megatron on the
windshield, which he thinks makes for a nice personal touch.

All right, Jackson spits out as he storms into his and Scotts room the next morning, looking
furious. Which one of you shitheads did it?

Did what? Scott asks, and man, Stiles will forever be appreciative of his best friends ability to
play dumb.

Wrapped Dereks car in saran wrap! Jackson explodes. He had me and three other pledges out
there for two hours unwrapping it!

I have literally no idea what youre talking about, Stiles says, even though he is dying of
laughter on the inside.

There was a megatron on the windshield! Jackson says. His eyes are going a little bit bulging,
even, and Stiles wonders if hes about to pop, which would most definitely be an added bonus to
their prank.

Probably some kids, then, Scott says with a shrug.

Thats a good one though, Stiles adds. Saran wrap. Ill have to remember that.
Jackson growls, practically gnashes his teeth before he stomps right back out, the door slamming
behind him, which leaves Stiles and Scott free to fall all over each other, shaking with silent
laughter.

They get an actual standing ovation at that nights frat meeting.

College is fucking awesome.

In retrospect, Stiles thinks Isaac probably could have done more to warn them about the swift and
terrible retribution they should have expected.

Its been five days since they plastic-wrapped Dereks car, and Stiles is starting to think retaliation
just isnt coming.

Its suspicious though, he muses to Scott. The Saran Wrap - there was nothing really epic
about it. Like - thats pretty clearly an opening salvo in a prank war. They should be getting us
back with something by now.

Dude, youre going to jinx us! Scott explains.

Stiles scoffs, but thats when his phone buzzes in his pocket, and he slides it open to a text from
Isaac.

might wanna check ur car bro :(

Oh no, Stiles says, his heart leaping into his throat. Ohhhhh no, shit, if they did anything to my
Jeep, I swear to God -

He doesnt finish the thought before hes taking off for the campus parking lot, where his Jeeps
been sitting for the past three days. Most people dont use their cars during the week that much,
since campus isnt really that big, and Stiles stupidly hasnt thought to check on it. He has visions
of dented hoods, smashed in windows, of slashed tires and keyed paint jobs, and it spurs him on
even faster, running flat out until hes gasping for air.

Scotts right on his heels, and the two of them skid to a stop once they reach Stiles parking spot.
His Jeep looks... fine. It looks perfectly normal, and Stiles frowns, then digs his phone out again.

Check my car, he mutters, stepping forward to he can tug the door open. What the hell was he
- oh my God -

He nearly retches as hes hit by the most overwhelmingly godawful stench he has ever had the
misfortune to sniff. Scott actually does gag, stumbling away with a choked cry of, Holy shit,
whatd they do?

I dont know, Stiles gasps; the stench is so awful his eyes are almost watering, and he might
actually be sick.

His phone buzzes vibrates again, and he opens the new message from Isaac immediately.

fish under the drivers seat it reads. they got almost all of us
That is low, Stiles says, eyes flashing as he shows the text to Scott. Oh, this is war - THIS IS
WAR, he shouts, uncaring of the stares he gets for it.

Scotts too busy gagging to join in the war cry, but Stiles is pissed enough for both of them, so
thats okay.

Sneaking into the Alpha house (the Den, the Alphas call it, which is the most ludicrous thing
Stiles has ever heard) turns out to be ridiculously easy. They do it in the middle of the night -
Scott, Stiles, and the rest of their pledge class - easing silently in through a downstairs window that
someone neglected to close, each of them armed with a tub of butter, plastic gloves, and a jar of
vaseline.

They send Matt on ahead to make sure everyone in the frat is at sleep, or at the very least, tucked
away in their rooms, and as soon as Matt gives them the okay, they get to work.

The downstairs of the Alpha house (Stiles refuses to call it the Den) is like a freaking rabbit
warren - a maze of hallways and doors. Its a rabbit warren for the rich, however, because every
inch of it is comprised of hardwood floors.

Nice hardwood floors. Slick and shiny hardwood floors that get even slicker when youve rubbed
them down with butter.

They start at the edges and work their way in, making sure to leave an escape path to the window,
which they can fill in as they go. While they work, Stiles goes around and slathers the vaseline
onto every door and cabinet handle he can find; he makes sure to hit the faucets, too.

Their initial plan is to stick to the ground floor, but its going quicker than Stiles thought, like
maybe theyre going to be out of here in under half an hour, as opposed to the original hour they
had allotted.

A half an hour is a blip, their odds of getting caught are way down if theyre going to be in and
out that quickly, which makes Stiles think that maybe they can take this a little further. He motions
to Scott to keep everyone quiet, then carefully picks his way up the stairs - which have
thoughtfully not been buttered, as they are not in the business of attempted maiming.

Hes faced with more hallways, lined with doorways, and he quickly gets to work, buttering a
splotch of floor in front of each, then adding the vaseline as a finishing touch. He works quickly
and silently, resisting the urge to hum along to the rhythm of his work.

He has two more doors to hit when the handle hes currently vaselining yanks him forward as the
door its attached to is opened wide. Stiles flails for a moment, fighting for his balance, and when
he finally looks up, its into the eyes of a sleep-mussed, deeply grumpy Derek Hale.

Stiles gapes for a beat, then calls out, WEVE BEEN COMPROMISED. RUN FOR YOUR
LIVES. SAVE YOURSELVES.

What the hell? Derek growls, and he grabs Stiles shirt, yanks him up off the floor. Its three
thirty in the morning, what are you -

He never gets to finish that question though, because he takes a step forward, right into his buttery
welcome mat, and completely wipes out. He goes down like a ton of bricks, dragging Stiles with
him, and Stiles ends up sprawled on his chest, which sort of feels like a goddamn brick well,
Jesus, and Stiles shifts away hurriedly, just in case his body decides to have an inappropriate
reaction while hes on top of the hottest, grumpiest guy on campus.
Surprise! Stiles says cheerfully, while Derek is still blinking dazedly, the wind clearly knocked
out of him. Stiles takes advantage of his momentary confusion to scramble off him and take off for
the stairs.

Go, go, go! he yelps when he sees a few guys lurking near the window, clearly waiting to see
whether Stiles is coming or not.

They get out with just seconds to spare; Stiles can already hear thuds and shouts coming from
upstairs, ranging from surprised to pissed.

They race across campus, aiming for the safety of the Omega house, but theres no one behind
them; the Alphas are probably sprawled in various states of dishevelment all over the hallways,
and theyre in for another nasty surprise once they make it downstairs.

Scott reaches the Omega house first, and he pulls the door open, ushers everyone in.

Dude, what happened? he asks, grabbing Stiles by the arm. Did you get caught?

Derek must have, like, ninja hearing, Stiles says. I guess I woke him up or something, I dont
know, but I was greasing up his doorknob when the door flies open and there he is, glaring at
me.

Scotts face goes all funny for a second, like hes holding in a hysterical burst of laughter, and
Stiles frowns. What, he demands. Whats so funny?

You were greasing his knob? Scott chokes out. Really?

For that, Stiles is forced to grab him in a headlock and give him a noogie, but theyre both
laughing as they stumble inside.

Man, Stiles hears Danny sigh. It just sucks that we cant watch them fall all over themselves.
Isnt that kind of the whole point of a prank?

Oh, Ive got that covered, Matt grins, and he pulls out his laptop, explains how he left a small
camera on the mantel, located conveniently across from the staircase. A camera that has been
transmitting video to his laptop, which they can now rewind and play again at their convenience.

It is, hands down, the best video Stiles has ever seen.

Scott is panicking. Like, the kind of panicking that leads to hyperventilating, that leads to
hysterics, and Stiles has been trying to calm him down for the past ten minutes.

Hey, we'll fix it, we'll dye it back - and anyway, it could be worse! Stiles soothes.

How could this be worse, Scott moans, staring at his bright pink hair. Stiles still isnt sure how
the Alphas even did it, except that he knows Scott is the worlds deepest sleeper, and Jackson is a
rotten snake of a roommate.

Well, it could be me, too? Stiles supplies, and Scott tackles him, yelling all sorts of abuse.

The best thing about stinkbombs, Stiles thinks, is that theyre so very easy to lob through windows
that have been carelessly left open, while carefully maintaining a safe distance.
Youd think certain fraternities would have learned their lesson by now about the importance of
keeping windows shut and locked.

You would, however, be wrong, and the shouting, gagging, and Oh Gods are music to Stiles
ears.

Its mid-October, and theyre about six weeks into the pledge process, when two beautiful girls
show up at the Omegas front door.

Its just Scott and Stiles holding down the fort; the full-fledged brothers are all tailgating, and the
rest of the pledge class all seems to be pre-med and are thus at an exam review session their TA is
leading, even though its a Saturday morning. It had been agreed upon at the last pledge meeting
that leaving the Omega house unattended was just asking for trouble. Theyve successfully
attacked the Alpha house twice now, after all, and Stiles can practically smell Jacksons
rampaging desire for revenge every time he comes within ten feet of the guy.

So Scott and Stiles are on Alpha duty. Its not terrible; theyve got a wealth of snacks at their
fingertips, and theyve been playing Call of Duty for something like three hours now. Theres
homework to be done, sure, but thats what Sunday is for, as far as Stiles is concerned.

Stiles has just blown Scott up (yet again, because Call of Duty is not Scotts game) when a knock
at the door interrupts them. Scott exchanges a glance with Stiles, before getting up to look out
through the peephole. Stiles gets to his feet, too, just in case, but Scott doesnt bother to confer
before hes grinning hugely and flinging the door open.

Hello! he says enthusiastically, his beaming, puppy dog smile blinding on his face. Stiles peeks
over his shoulder and sees two girls - a tall, leggy brunette, standing with a gorgeous strawberry-
blonde with sparkling brown eyes and a wickedly superior expression on her face.

Stiles thinks he might be a little bit smitten.

Hi, were so sorry to bother you, the brunette says. Im Allison, and this is Lydia. Is there any
chance we could come in and raid your refrigerator? Were supposed to be putting on this dinner
tonight, and were out of some major staples.

We hear you might have some butter to spare, Lydia chimes in, and Stiles and Scott share the
smuggest of smug looks, because yeah, their butter-tastic prank is gaining some serious
recognition. It totally helps that they posted Matts video on youtube, where it racked up four
thousand hits in, like, three days.

Totally, yeah, come on in, Scott says, his gaze still locked on Allison. If Stiles might be a little
bit smitten with Lydia, well, Scott looks like somebody dropped an entire pile of bricks on his
head.

Dude, close your mouth, youre drooling, Stiles mutters as the girls step in past them. Scott shuts
his mouth so hard it clicks, then swipes his sleeve across his chin.

Oh my - figuratively, Scott, Stiles says, clapping him on the back. Figuratively.

Scott shoots him a look before following the girls into the kitchen.

Soooo, Stiles says, leaning one hand casually against the banister. The Omega house might not
be quite so fancy as the Alpha house, but its got this wicked wrought-iron staircase that curls its
way through the center of the house, ending near the kitchen. Its pretty impressive, and Stiles
actually kind of feels like a real frat brother while hes propped up against it. Whatre you guys
throwing a dinner for?

A sorority thing, Lydia says, inspecting her nails as Allison digs through the fridge. Weve got
to make some, like, five-course meal for the sisters.

Oh, youre pledging a sorority? Scott asks, his ears practically perking up. Allison smiles at him
though, looking charmed, which earns her a bonus point. Stiles hates it when people dont
recognize the fact that Scott is basically pure sunshine wrapped up in a puppy exterior. I havent
seen you guys before - which one?

Delta Alpha Kappa, Allison replies, and in the moment it takes for that name to sink in - the
name of the Alphas freaking sister sorority - Lydia already has Stiles wrist handcuffed to the
staircase, while Allisons pulled some sort of freaking ninja move and done the same to Scott, only
hes cuffed to the radiator on the opposite wall.

Hey! Stiles splutters, yanking at his cuffs, completely ineffectually. Hey! Are you - what - you
liars!

Well, we didnt lie about the dinner, Lydia grins, twirling a key between her red-lacquered nails.

We did lie about being out of the staples though, Allison adds thoughtfully.

Scott isnt even trying to escape, hes just staring at Allison slackjawed. He doesnt even look mad
- just awed. Impressed. Stiles is seriously thinking about investing in a new best friend, sunshine
and puppies be damned.

Okay, so what is the point of this, exactly? Stiles asks, rattling his handcuff.

A favor, Allison says.

For Derek, adds Lydia.

Thank you, ladies, a voice from around the corner says, and Stiles groans as Derek steps into
view.

You are an actual caricature of a real human being, do you know that? Stiles asks. Seriously,
dude, youre like the big bad British wolf or something, always lurking in corners and glowering -

Derek chooses that moment to send Stiles a grin full of glittering, white teeth, and Stiles swallows
back a noise. Not always, glowering then, but that smile isnt any less intimidating.

My, what big canines you have, he mutters, because he cant help himself, and no one has ever
claimed that his sense of self-preservation is as honed as it should be.

Allison, Lydia, Derek says, his gaze still sharply fixed on Stiles, if you would be so kind as to
show the pledges in?

Lydia hands Derek the key, then flounces off to do just that; Allison offers Scott a waggle of her
fingers, and Scott grins the dopiest smile Stiles has ever seen in return.

Quit fraternizing with the enemy, Stiles hisses. She handcuffed you to a radiator!

Im surprisingly okay with that, Scott sighs happily.

Derek examines the key for a moment, then moves forward and, much to Stiles astonishment,
abruptly unlocks the handcuff thats wrapped around the banister.

Is this a joke? Stiles asks.

Nope, Derek says, then promptly clicks the handcuff back into place, albeit this time much
higher up - enough that Stiles has to stand on his toes so as not to yank his arm out of place.

Oh, dude, he protests. This is just mean. This constitutes bodily harm, Im pretty sure - I could
dislocate my shoulder here! Easily!

Dont worry, Derek says, with a grin that is downright wolfish, and Stiles hates everything.
You wont be like that for long.

He disappears again, and Stiles and Scott have to spend the next two hours watching all of the
Alpha pledges carefully covering the kitchen floor with plastic cups that are filled to their brims
with water. The cups are perfectly in line; its a huge mess just waiting to happen. The placing of
the cups is generously interspersed with much mocking, and the next time Jackson gets too close,
Stiles is going to bite him, dislocated shoulder or not.

Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Derek sighs, coming to stand next to him. Hes holding a roll of duct tape,
which Stiles is eyeing very warily.

How do you know my name? Stiles demands, and Derek rolls his eyes like hes being stupid.

You dont think Id take the time to find out exactly whos been masterminding all these
ridiculous pranks?

Masterminding! Stiles exclaims. That is false - completely off base - I dont have any idea what
youre talking about -

Oh, I know an instigator when I see one, Derek says.

He starts to unroll the duct tape. Its shockingly threatening.

Okay, seriously, man, what is that for? Stiles asks.

Dereks eyes gleam. Why dont I just show you? he says.

Thirty minutes later, Stiles is completely duct taped to the banister. It is highly uncomfortable,
made worse by the fact that the entire time Derek had been manhandling him, hed been fighting
off a hard on.

His life is terrible, everything is terrible, and now he is stuck here, gazing out across an expanse of
filled-to-the-brim plastic cups.

I hate everything, he mutters.

God, Allisons beautiful, Scott sighs.

I hate you, too.

Do you think she likes me?

 Loathe.

I think maybe she likes me - she waved to me, when she left!

Abhor.

I think Im going to try to get her number.

You disgust me.

Scott and Stiles try to call out when they hear voices on the other side of the door, but its too late;
the door swings open, cutting a swathe through the cups nearest to the entryway and creating a
mini tidal wave across the living room floor.

What the hell - Stiles hears Boyd exclaim, and he winces. Ugh, this is so not going to be good.
He desperately hopes the Alphas dont have a technological genius on their side who captured
Scott and Stiles miserable humiliation on video.

Hey, guys? Stiles calls out, straining against the banister. He supposes it was nice of Derek to
not hang him upside down or something, but hes getting a definite crick in his neck. Little help
here?

It takes them all day to get rid of all the cups and to cut Stiles out of his duct tape prison.

And an hour later, of course, theres a youtube video making the rounds.

Thats pretty much when Stiles decide its his mission to take Derek Hale down.

Chapter End Notes

One of the pranks involves the use of restraints, though in a non-sexual manner;
Allison and Lydia handcuff Scott and Stiles to a radiator and staircase, and Derek
then duct tapes Stiles to the bannister.
 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

Please note, the rating on this fic has changed! Also, I am a lying liar who LIES,
because there is going to be a third chapter of this, hah, so hopefully nobody minds
that too terribly much.

Thanks so much for all of your lovely comments! 'Tis much appreciated, and I do
apologize for the wait for part two. My life's been crazy this past week, and this is the
first chance I've had to update. I'm hoping to have part three up within the week,
though I can't make any promises. (And for those of you reading Blood is Pounding
in Our Veins, I'll be updating that one first, it's just a matter of when I can get the next
chapter finished!) Thanks again for reading, and I hope you enjoy!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

Operation: Make Derek Hales Head Spectacularly Explode begins with waiting. Its important,
Stiles knows, to build up the anticipation, to keep Derek and all of his little Alphas-in-training in
suspense. Theyll know something epic is coming, but they wont have any idea as to when, and
Stiles will be able to wait until theyre going out of their minds with anticipation before he
unleashes his mad genius.

Of course, he still has to come up with a new prank, one that is acceptable levels of awesome. Its
already been a week, and he hasnt been able to think of anything good enough.

What about TPing their frat house? Scott suggests, for the third time in an hour. Nobodys tried
that yet.

Yeah, Stiles says, because its lame. Im starting to think that the word epic doesnt mean
what you think it means, Scott. I need grandiose, unparalleled, a fucking masterpiece of a prank.

So... gluing a quarter to their front porch is out?

Stiles groans, letting his head drop to his arms. Its over, he says dramatically. Im all tapped
out, I cant think of anything big enough. Its all been done before, Scott. All of it.

Okay, well... how about instead of doing one big prank, you do a bunch of smaller ones?

Blitz em, Stiles says abruptly, snapping back up to a sitting position. One every day - maybe
even two - they wont be expecting that. Not after all this waiting.

See, there you go! Scott says, sounding a lot more cheerful than he did a minute ago, when
Stiles was mid-despair. Probably because now he thinks Stiles will let him go back to waxing
poetic about Alison. Problem solved!

You, I love, Stiles says, giving Scott a clap on the back, before turning to his laptop to compile
the most comprehensive list of classic pranks to ever exist.

*
Opportunity the first falls into Stiles lap when he shows up at Scotts dorm to pick him up for
dinner. Scotts door isnt usually locked (unless, of course, Jacksons having one of his hissy fits,
but Jacksons been at the Alpha house more and more recently), so Stiles just throws it open like
he usually does, except that the door refuses to open more than three inches.

Scott? he calls through the crack, trying to peek through to see whats going on.

Oh, one second! Scott calls, and Stiles hears the sounds of scrambling, a few muffled thuds, and
finally Scott grabs whatevers blocking the door and shoves it out of the way, allowing Stiles to
step inside.

Holy shit, Stiles breathes, once he gets a look at the inside of the room. It looks like a Gap
exploded in here, what the hell, man?

Scott shrugs his shoulders, glancing around at the mounds of clothes that are covering every
available surface, and the laundry baskets that are lined up edge-to-edge on the floor. I guess the
pledges have to do the Alphas laundry during the pledge process, he explains, and Jacksons
been, uh... avoiding his turn.

So... this laundry belongs to Derek and the other brothers, Stiles says slowly.

Yup, Scott nods. Everything in the baskets is clean, the stuff on the beds and on the floor still
needs washed.

Oh my God, Stiles says. Oh my God, how could you not tell me about this? Scott!

Scott looks at him in bewilderment, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

Come on, he says, grabbing Scott by the hand and yanking him toward the door. Emergency
shopping trip, lets go.

It takes some searching, but Stiles finally manages to track down a couple bottles of itching
powder at a local party store. Their timing is perfect, because just as theyre coming back into the
lobby of Scotts dorm, Stiles spots Jackson carrying yet another basket of clothes toward the
staircase that leads down to the laundry room.

That gives us, what, at least five minutes? Stiles asks as he and Scott head back to Scotts room,
taking the stairs two at a time.

At least ten, Scott replies. He has to sort the loads into lights and darks and everything - he was
complaining about it earlier.

Stiles resists the urge to cackle, but its a near thing. Perfect, he says. Perfect.

Theyve been gone long enough that nearly all of the laundry is neatly folded into the laundry
baskets. Stiles sends Scott to stand guard at the end of the hallway and sets to work liberally
applying the itching powder to every article of clothing he can get his hands on. Its trickier than
he thought it would be, making sure hes got enough that itll be felt, but not so much that itll be
noticed before the brothers actually get dressed.

Stiles has a feeling, though, that most of this stuff wont be looked at too carefully before its
thrown on.

Hes just folding the last t-shirt back into place on top of the final laundry basket when Scott bursts
in.

You done? he asks. I heard a door slam down the hall - its got to be him.

All set, Stiles grins. I think Ill just head out the window. Dudes way more suspicious of me
than he is of you.

He offers Scott a fist bump, but as hes heading for the window, something catches his eye.

Is that... Jacksons phone? he asks, eyes going wide.

Uh... yeah? says Scott.

Stiles doesnt take the time to scold him on withholding this information in addition to the laundry
tip, but he does scoop up the cell (an iphone, of course, though stupidly left unlocked) then pulls
up the contacts list.

Bingo, he mutters, whipping out his own phone to snap a picture of Dereks contact info - his
phone number, his email address, even his mailing address. He doesnt know exactly what he
wants to do with all that yet, but hes sure something will come to him.

He sets Jacksons phone back exactly where it was, then carefully crawls out of Scotts window.
The drop to the ground hurts way less when hes anticipating it, it turns out. He waves to Scott,
then heads to the on campus store to pick up a sandwich or something for dinner.

A day later, Stiles gets a series of texts from Scott.

jacksons getting yelled at over the phone - can hear it all the way across the room

he keeps looking at me

oh shit

im spending the night in your room

You didnt bring anything? Stiles asks when Scott walks in, without even a change of clothes or
a toothbrush.

I had to run for my life, Scott says. He growled and then lunged at me; I barely made it out!

Stiles falls all over himself laughing at that particular mental image. Well, hes not entirely
stupid, he finally wheezes. All evidence to the contrary.

Still, Scott says, no way am I going back there tonight. I think he might try to kill me in my
sleep.

Yeah, yeah, you can sleep in Mikes bed. He is, once again, at his girlfriends, Stiles says. Ill
even loan you a pair of sweatpants to sleep in.

Thanks, dude, Scott says.

Its a good night. They play video games, eat some chips and salsa, and then sack out sometime
around midnight.

Wish every night was like this, Stiles mumbles. Shouldve been roommates, no matter what
your mom said.

Yeah, Scott agrees. Next year though, right?

Next year, Stiles says, and its not long after Scott begins to snore softly that he falls asleep, too.

Stiles knows he needs to hit hard and fast with another prank. Luckily, when he wakes up the next
morning, hes got the perfect idea already in mind.

Are you sure this is legal? Scott asks, sounding worried. I mean... it feels like it might not be
totally legal.

Have you seen their frat house? Stiles demands. Or, for that matter, Jacksons car? Dereks
car? They can afford it. And I can follow up with the restaurants tomorrow; if the Alphas decide
to be dicks and refuse to pay, Ill figure out a way to cover the costs. But Im betting on them not
being total dicks.

I thought that was rule one of our initiation - the Alphas are dicks, Scott mutters.

Dude, shut up and give me that list, Stiles says, and Scott obediently hands him the list of local
delivery places theyd decided on. Theyd tracked down the number of pretty much every delivery
place in town, then narrowed it down to twenty from there. Most of the restaurants have a ten
dollar delivery minimum, which only amounts to two hundred dollars. Thats a crapload of money
if its just you, but with as many brothers as there are in Dereks frat, Stiles knows they could
easily have everyone pony up five bucks and be covered. Really, trying to force them to pay for
the food isnt even the point of the prank; what Stiles is way more excited about is the prospect of
a new delivery person showing up every ten minutes for a straight three hours. Its a Sunday
afternoon, too, which means everyone is probably either sleeping off a hangover or trying to finish
their homework.

Its the perfect sort of day, really, to annoy the hell out of everyone and wreak general havoc.
Stiles is looking forward to it.

He and Scott are camped out at a payphone around the side of the library, while Danny and Matt
are holed up in the coffee shop across the street from the Alpha house, where they can relay the
houses reaction to the never-ending deliveries.

Thanks for calling Petes Pizza, what can we do for you? a bored-sounding guy rattles off after
Stiles has dialed the first number.

Hey, my names Derek Hale, Stiles says, pitching his voice deeper than it normally is, and Id
like to order a large pepperoni pizza.

He rattles off Dereks address and phone number, and the guy promises the pizza will be there in
fifteen minutes.

Stiles is beaming by the time he hangs up. This is going to be so good, he promises, already
digging out another quarter to make their next call. Danny was the one whod suggested the
payphone, since a call from Stiles cell phone might show up on the caller ID.

If you say so, Scott says, though he still sounds wary.

 *

Its good. Its so good.

Matt calls an hour later in near hysterics.

Delivery guy number five just got here, Matt wheezes through his laughter, but delivery guy
six showed up right after him, so Dereks yelling at both of them at the same time. But hes - oh
shit, yes, hes reaching for his wallet! Good call, Stilinski, I think he feels too bad to send them
away without paying them.

Stiles does a little victory pump, looking at Scott smugly. Told you, he says. Damn it, I wish I
could be there to see it. Youre taking a video, right?

Yup, Danny says, in that steady drawl of his that never really gives anything away, but Stiles is
99.9% sure he can detect some amusement there. Got a perfect angle, the Omegas are gonna love
it.

Perfect, Stiles says. Were gonna make another call, let me know if anything changes.

You wanna try a Chinese place this time? Scott asks. Maybe they could swing by here after - I
could go for some egg rolls.

Stiles gives him an exasperated look. Dude, no, he says. We cant give them our location - they
might tell Derek! Well get something after were finished with this.

But Im hungry now, Scott whines.

Oh, for - fine, Stiles says. Go get some food, but youll have to bring it back here. Im not
risking getting anything delivered.

Yesss, Scott says, leaping to his feet and already jogging toward the front gates.

Get me some General Tsos chicken! Stiles yells after him, then turns back to his list to make
call number eight.

Hes on call number twelve, and Scott still isnt back, when his phone rings.

Hlo? he says, crossing off number eleven, so he doesnt make the mistake of calling them a
second time.

Hey, Danny says. You should know - Derek just threw on his jacket and stormed off. It looks
like hes headed towards campus.

Hmmm, Stiles says. He probably just wanted to get away from the delivery guys for awhile.

I dont know, Danny says. He sounds wary. He looked kind of like a man on a mission.

You really think hes figured us out? Stiles asks. Danny doesnt answer, but his silence speaks
volumes. Okay. Im gonna make one more call while Im here, then Ill maybe head off campus
and find a different payphone.

Hes halfway through said call when he glances up and sees Derek marching purposefully toward
him.
Oh, shit, he breathes and doesnt even pause to hang the phone up, just grabs his jacket and
runs.

Stiles! he hears Derek bark behind him, but theres no way hes stopping for anything right
now, because Derek might actually kill him, and that would be terrible. In retrospect, the
payphone by the library was way too obvious. He definitely shouldve opted for the one up by the
freaking observatory - nobody ever thinks to go there.

Stiles can hear Derek gaining on him, and hes cursing his decision to quit cross country back in
high school. Still, even with Derek closing in, he cant resist yelling back over his shoulder, You
should be thanking me! I very thoughtfully provided your whole frat with lunch!

Its a mistake. Derek practically snarls and puts on a burst of speed that brings him close enough
to Stiles that he can lunge forward and tackle him, right down into the dirt. Stiles makes a
surprised noise, already scrabbling through the patchy grass in an attempt to get away, but Dereks
a solid weight on his back, pressing him inexorably down.

Ow, fuck, get off, Stiles gasps. You weigh a metric fuckton, God, do you eat bricks for
breakfast?

Now, why would I do that, when I have five pizzas, three orders of lo mein, two subs, and a
huge-ass order of chicken wings filling up my fridge back at the frat house, Derek growls. How
did you even get my number, Stilinski?

How do you think? Stiles snipes right back, but Derek knees him rudely in the kidney, so Stiles
decides to go with that self-preservation instinct for once and bites out, Jackson, obviously.

He gave it to you? Derek demands, like he honestly thinks Jackson might be a freaking mole or
something. Stiles cant even help it, he snorts again, and this time he gets a flick to the back of his
head.

Of course he didnt give it to me, Stiles says. He left his phone on his desk while I was visiting
Scott. Just like he left your laundry all over the place.

That was you, too? Derek asks, and then hes moving off Stiles, just long enough to flip him
over. We thought everyone was just having an allergic reaction to whatever cheap, shitty
detergent he bought!

Stiles stares at him for a few long moments, then bursts into laughter.

Oh my God, he gasps. You didnt even know? Holy crap, dude, thats - I mean, it was obvious
-

Shut up, Derek says, pressing his shoulders down even harder. You - you are the biggest pain
in my ass, Stilinski.

Hey, now, Stiles says, beaming up at Derek. If you want to go ahead and make a public
declaration of the Omegas victory of your crappy Alphas, feel free. That might be enough to
convince me to call a cease fire.

Not on your life, Derek snaps. He looks furious, but unfortunately, furious works for him, and
Stiles shifts uncomfortably beneath him, determinedly holding his grin in place. He is most
certainly not noticing the sharp angle of Dereks jaw, or the way his stubble is so perfect it looks
almost painted on.
Well, in that case, I cant wait for you to see my next trick, Stiles says. Its a doozy.

Derek stares at him for long enough that Stiles starts to get fidgety again, trying and failing once
more to wriggle out from underneath Dereks hold.

Okay, Stiles finally bursts out. Are you just going to keep me here? Because as far as pranks
go, I dont think that ranks even one star, man.

Jacksons going to switch rooms with you, Derek says. I dont care how you clear it with
housing, just do it.

Stiles tries hard not to let Derek know that this is basically the best news hes ever heard, but hes
pretty sure his expression gives him away, because Dereks eyes narrow.

I can do that, Stiles says. Is that it? Are we done here?

Give me your pants, Derek orders.

Stiles blinks up at him, fairly certain hes heard Derek incorrectly over the sudden buzzing in his
ears. I... what? he asks.

Take off your pants, Derek says again, and give them to me.

Uh, no? Stiles says, ignoring the heat thats coiling low in his stomach.

And your shirt, Derek continues. Socks and shoes, too.

Dude, no way, Stiles splutters, renewing his struggles to get Derek the hell off of him, but its
useless. Dereks too big, and too strong, and at this rate, Stiles is just going to embarrass himself.

Stiles, Derek says, and this time he sounds wicked. Hes smiling, even, a devilish curve to his
mouth, and Stiles hates that there is a part of him - a large part, at least a 75% part - that kind of
wants to lean up and kiss it. Either you take off your clothes, or Ill do it for you.

Stiles knows that Derek is perfectly capable of manhandling everything hes wearing off of him, is
the thing. And not only is he pretty sure hed die of shame forever if he let that happen, hes
thinking his body will probably react in a completely mortifying way if he actually lets Derek put
his stupid, huge hands all over him.

You suck, Stiles mutters, but this time when he shoves at Dereks chest, Derek actually moves
off of him. Probably because he knows hes already won. Stiles briefly considers running for it
again, but he knows Derek would just catch him, and if he makes Derek chase after him, no way
is Derek allowing him the dignity of doing this himself.

He gets to his feet and starts to peel off his clothes. For the first time ever, maybe, hes regretting
his penchant for layers, because it feels like it takes him an eternity to get everything off, and
Derek watches him the whole time. He makes a pile of his hoodie, his flannel overshirt, and the t-
shirt he was wearing, shivering once the afternoons cool breeze finally makes contact with his
bare skin.

The pants, too, Derek says smugly, scooping up the pile of clothes and holding them securely
against his broad, muscled chest.

Just so you know, thats my favorite hoodie, Stiles warns, fighting to keep a blush off his face as
he unbuckles his belt and undoes the zip of his jeans. If anything happens to it - all bets are off,
dude.
Derek just rolls his eyes and makes a motion for Stiles to hurry up. Stiles kicks off his shoes, peels
off his socks, then finally shucks his jeans off, leaving him in nothing but his boxer briefs.

In retrospect, today would have been a good day for boxers. Something less... clingy than what
hes currently wearing.

There, happy? he asks, crossing his arms in front of his chest, another shiver working its way
through him.

Ecstatic, Derek drawls, grabbing the rest of the clothes, as well as his shoes. His gaze takes a
long, meandering look down the line of Stiles body, and Stiles chokes, because that almost
looked like Derek was checking him out. Which is absurd, obviously, in no universe is that ever
going to be the case.

Enjoy your walk across campus, Derek adds, then turns to leave, and Stiles sticks his tongue out
at Dereks retreating figure.

Yeah, well, enjoy the bill for your super-size order of moo goo gai pan, he calls after him.
Derek just ignores him, because hes a dick, but even though Stiles is the one standing here in
nothing but his underwear, with a fifteen-minute walk back to the dorms ahead of him, hes pretty
sure hes still the winner here.

Mostly pretty sure.

To make himself feel better later that night, he signs Dereks email address up for every newsletter
he can think of.

Hold it - dude, hold it!

I am holding it! Drill faster!

I cant actually make the drill go any faster, Scott, and the screw isnt going to stay anyway if
you dont hold the freaking thing still!

Do you even realize how heavy this is, Stiles? I thought you said Danny was supposed to come
help!

Stiles glares at his best friend, who, admittedly, is looking a little bit red in the face. He had a
study group thing, he says. Last minute. Chill out, hell be here in time to help with the bed.

Id rather have him here now to help with this stupid desk, Scott says with a grunt.

Stiles finishes drilling the first leg into the ceiling, then quickly moves on to the second one. Once
thats finished, he signals Scott, who should be able to ease up a little bit, now that two heavy-duty
screws are holding the desk in place.

You know, Scott says, panting as he speaks, I recognize your genius and all, but why is it
always me who has to help you with these things?

Because youre my best friend! Stiles exclaims, stepping over onto Mikes desk so he can start
on leg number three. My partner in crime! The Watson to my Sherlock Holmes, the Robin to my
Batman!
Scott snorts. On no planet are you Batman, he says.

I could be Batman, Stiles says, working some ire into his voice. Scott just scoffs again, so Stiles
ignores him until hes finished with the desk. He hops back down to the floor to admire his
handiwork, feeling mightily pleased with himself as he takes in the sight of the nightstand, the
desk, and the trashcan, all currently hanging upside down from the ceiling. They did the closet this
morning, and Stiles found a couple thrift store t-shirts to stick in it, just to add to the illusion. All
thats left now is the bed and the dresser, but theyll need an extra pair of hands for those.

Cmon, admit it, Stiles grins, nudging Scott with his elbow. This is awesome. Jacksons gonna
flip.

He is gonna flip, Scott says, but hes smiling as he looks around the room. I just wish youd
find some additional muscle to do all your grunt work.

Ill make it up to you, buddy, Stiles says. Burgers are on me.

Scott turns to him suddenly though, his eyes all lit up. I know how you can make it up to me, he
says, and Stiles falters, looks at him a little warily.

Yeah? he asks. And hows that?

By sneaking in with me to the Delta Alpha Kappa Halloween party, Scott says promptly.

No, Stiles says. No way. Thats a party they throw with the Alphas, were just asking to get
our asses kicked!

Its a Halloween party, well be in disguise! Scott says. And Allison will be there - I need to
see her again!

Dude! Stiles says. He loves Scott and everything, but sometimes, Scott is the worst. She lied to
us - she handcuffed you to a radiator!

Shes amazing, Scott says dreamily. Come on Stiles, Ive been helping you with these pranks
all semester, the least you could do is help me get in to see her!

Stiles groans, mostly because he knows Scott has a point. Damn it. If we get caught, its all your
fault, he grumbles, but he cant stay irritated, not when Scott lets out a whoop and tackles him
with a hug.

Its gonna be awesome, Scott says, eyes still bright and happy. Its this Friday, okay? Ten
oclock.

Soooo gonna get our asses kicked, Stiles mutters, but he reaches for his drill again instead of
arguing anymore with Scott, because thats a losing battle if hes ever seen one.

When Stiles climbs into his bed that night, formerly Jacksons bed, he feels the entire frame sway
dangerously.

Scott? he says, the instant before the thing breaks apart, sending him to the floor with a thump.

Huh, Scott says, then adds, Yours was better.

Stiles goes to sleep smiling smugly; a mattress on the floor is still better than one on the ceiling,
after all.

By the time Friday rolls around, Stiles has spent at least two hours of his life trying to talk Scott
out of this party, but Scott has remained stubborn as hell. The last time Stiles saw him dig his feet
in like this was when they were nine years old, and Scott refused to go on the monster roller
coaster at Six Flags. That was probably for the best though, because Stiles did go on it, and as it
turns out, cotton candy, soda, and roller coasters might actually be the worlds worst combination
of anything.

What are you even supposed to be? Stiles asks, eyeing Scotts bare torso and the ridiculous,
plastic-y wolf mask hes pulled on.

A werewolf, Scott says. Allison likes them - I heard her tell Lydia shes Team Edward.

Are you actually stalking her now? Stiles asks, aghast. And, dude - Edward is the sparkly
vampire!

What? No! Are you sure? Scott demands. How do you even know that?

Uh, because its common knowledge? Oh my God, I cant believe you backed out of going as a
superhero with me to go as a furry wolfman, and you dont even know who the wolf is.

Well, at least Im not wearing tights, Scott grumbles, but when he pushes his mask up, hes
looking decidedly self-conscious. Stiles sighs, a small measure of remorse stealing over him.

Shell be too distracted by your general shirtlessness to even pay attention to the mask, Stiles
predicts. I mean, thats why youve been doing sit ups for a year, right? Its totally paid off,
dude.

That gets him a smile, and then Scott drops the mask back over his face. Its a horrible, cheap
thing, from the childrens section of a department store, but the masks were kind of non-
negotiable. If an Alpha catches wind of either of them being at the party, theyre dead, and Stiles
has no interest in being dead. Scotts mask is a ridiculous, plastic abomination, but it does the trick.
Besides, Stiles is pretty sure that most of the party goers looking Scotts way will be too distracted
by his abs to wonder much about his face.

Not that Stiles costume is much better. Hes not half-naked, but his Spider-Man suit is from a
couple years ago, and its tight. Its spandex, though, so hes making it work, and he even
sometimes works out now, so hes pretty sure that the picture he presents is not altogether
unappealing.

That fact that hes thinking about that at all is just another reminder that he hasnt gotten laid once
since hes been at college. Hell, he hasnt gotten laid since the guy Danny had kindly hooked him
up with last June, after things with his first (and, to date, only) boyfriend had imploded in
spectacular fashion.

Hes been so obsessed with planning pranks, he muses, that he really hasnt had time for anything
else. Itd be good to just have some fun, and if hes going to get dragged along to this Halloween
party, well, maybe its just as good a place to have fun as anywhere else, even if he and Scott do
run the risk of being tarred and feathered if anyone realizes who they are.

You ready to go? Scott asks, and Stiles nods as he pulls on his mask.

*
The party is at the Delta Alpha Kappa house. Its loud and crowded and the entire place reeks of
beer. Its basically every college stereotype Stiles has ever seen rolled into a seething mass of
horny twenty-somethings, and its kind of stupidly awesome.

The Spider-Man mask Stiles is wearing isnt ideal for drinking, and its not like hes going to take
it off, so hes mainly been sticking to downing quick shots with Scott at the makeshift bar thats
been set up in the kitchen.

As a result, he is well on his way to pretty freaking drunk. Its a life decision he feels decidedly
awesome about.

Scott, on the other hand, is moping, because they have yet to see Allison.

Where is she? he whines, leaning into Stiles side. Shes supposed to be here!

First off, its only, like, eleven thirty, Stiles reassures him. Second, its a costume party. Maybe
you just havent recognized her yet.

And she cant recognize me, Scott says, like the thought has just occurred to him. Maybe I
should take off my mask -

No, Stiles breaks in, grabbing Scotts hands away from where theyre already creeping up
toward the mask in question. No, you should under no circumstances remove your mask. The
mask stays on.

But I need to find her, Scott says miserably. I dont think you understand, Stiles. I think - I
think she might be my soul mate. My soul mate, Stiles.

Stiles resists the urge to roll his eyes, then remembers that Scott cant see him, and does it anyway.
Come on, big guy, he says, patting Scott on the chest. Lets take another look - its been awhile
since we passed through the living room.

Theyre barely three steps in when Stiles spots Allison, chatting happily with a group of girls, a
drink in her hand. Shes dressed as a truly adorable Robin Hood, complete with a short skirt and a
quiver of arrows. Stiles elbows Scott to catch his attention, and he can feel the moment Scott spots
her in the way Scotts whole body perks up; its like actual delight is rolling off of him.

Go get her, Tiger, Stiles instructs, and Scott offers him a shoulder punch in place of a grin
before making a beeline for her.

Stiles lingers for a moment, watching as Scott reaches her, then leans in to whisper something in
her ear. Her whole face lights up, and she wraps him up in the biggest hug.

Stiles is happy for Scott, he is, and he lets himself smile, even as his stomach sinks a little. Without
Scott, he doesnt have anyone to talk to, but he doesnt want to leave quite yet.

With that thought foremost in his mind, he heads back to the kitchen for another drink.

Stiles and Scott probably should have had some sort of discussion about what their plan was for
leaving the party. Stiles is thinking its probably time to go, but he doesnt want to just ditch Scott.
He hasnt seen him in over thirty minutes though, and Scott isnt answering his phone.

Hes checked everywhere downstairs, but then it hits him that Scott and Allison might have
disappeared upstairs.

If theyre upstairs, theyre probably in a bedroom somewhere, and Stiles should probably keep his
nose out of it and just go home, except that it seems like it wouldnt hurt to check. Just real quick,
he can poke his head up and see if Scotts anywhere to be seen, and if hes not, then hell leave.

Lydia started a mosh pit in the living room ten minutes ago, and thats where the majority of the
party has moved. Luckily, the bottom of the staircase is in the kitchen, so Stiles squeezes his way
back there, shrugging off the reaching, groping hands he encounters along the way. As his hand
settles on the railing, he feels someone grab his shoulder and yank him back.

Hey! he splutters, arms wheeling wildly, because that yank was not only rude, but it was
forceful enough to knock him off balance.

Nobodys allowed upstairs, a gruff voice says, and Stiles turns to find himself looking at a guy
in a mask, jeans, and a leather jacket.

Who are you even supposed to be? Stiles frowns.

The guy smirks, and with a flick of his wrist, three long knives come shooting out of his hands,
stopping just inches from Stiles face.

Stiles, of course, yells and stumbles back onto the staircase, going down with a hard thump.

Holy shit! he exclaims, point a shaking finger at the guy - Wolverine, he guesses, although
Stiles would have way more respect for him if he were wearing Wolverines actual uniform, as
opposed to the Hugh Jackman version, which is a total cop-out. You couldve taken my eye out.

The guys wearing a mask, but Stiles can just tell hes rolling his eyes. Theyre plastic, he says.
Calm down.

Oh, Stiles says, glad for the fact that the mask hides his blush. He pushes himself to his feet,
sways a little bit closer to Wolverine and says, in that case, then flicks his own wrist, triggering
the can of silly string hed rigged up underneath his sleeve.

It catches Wolverine right in his chest, and Stiles bursts out laughing at the horrified sound he
makes. His laughter dies abruptly when Wolverine surges forward, pinning him to the banister.

No ones allowed upstairs, he repeats sternly, and Stiles catches his breath at the feel of his body
pressed against his own. The guy has to be made of pure muscle; Stiles can feel how solid he is,
how much strength is coiled underneath that jacket.

Mjust looking for a friend, Stiles says. Seriously, dude, Ill be in and out, thats all.

No.

Its such a sharp refusal, and Stiles feels a frown forming. What are you, the unofficial bouncer?
he asks. Itll take me two seconds!

Not without an escort, the guy says. Either one of the sorority sisters, or an Alpha.

Stiles makes the worst face, even though the guy cant see it. So why dont you escort me
upstairs? he asks.

That makes the guy grin, a devastating, wolfish smiles that leaves Stiles shivering. I dont sneak
upstairs at parties unless Im going to be putting one of the beds up there to good use.
Its not precisely a come-on; Stiles doesnt even think the guy is speaking with him in mind,
necessarily, but the fact of the matter is, Stiles is half-hard already, with a clearly gorgeous guy
pressed up against him.

I, uh, Stiles says, licking his lips, his mouth feeling suddenly dry. I could be persuaded.

It takes a minute for that to sink in, and then the guy goes very, very still. Stiles wishes he could
see his whole face, his eyes, but it feels like it would be presumptuous to pull off his mask.
Besides, then he might want to take Stiles mask off, but the odds are pretty good this guy is an
Alpha, and theres no way that ends well for Stiles.

You want to? Stiles croaks, fidgeting slightly. For an answer, the guy grabs him by the wrist
and practically drags him up the staircase, Stiles almost jogging to keep up with him.

There are a few doors on the first landing, including one thats still open, but the guy bypasses
those and heads up the second flight of stairs. Its so much quieter up here on the third floor, and
they head for a room at the end of the hall, one thats empty except for a bed and a dresser.

Ericas studying abroad this semester, the guy murmurs, closing the door behind them, then
flipping the lock. Nobodyll come kick us out here.

Good thinking, Stiles says, falling back against the door with a thump. His head feels like its
spinning; hes not entirely sure how he got here, but as the guys hands settle on his hips, he cant
say he has any real complaints.

You gonna take that mask off? the guy asks, and Stiles freezes for a moment, before finally
reaching up and peeling just enough of the mask up to reveal his mouth and his nose.

No way in hell Im hot enough for you, he jokes. Besides - I feel like it would be terrible of us
to squander this opportunity to do it as Spider-Man and Wolverine.

The guy actually grins, which Stiles is going to take as a good sign. If you say so, he says,
raising his hand to cup Stiles jaw, his thumb pressing at his bottom lip.

Im, uh, Im gonna call you Logan, Stiles murmurs. Because its weird if I keep calling you
that guy in my head.

Sure thing, Parker, Logan says, and Stiles laugh is cut off by Logans mouth pressing to his
own.

Its a good kiss, hot and slow and all the dirtier for it. Stiles moans, his hands curling into that
leather jacket, tugging him even closer. He makes a sound thats embarrassingly like a squeak
when Logan palms his ass, then picks him up, as if Stiles weighs nothing. Stiles legs wrap around
him automatically, and Logan goes straight for the bed, kissing Stiles all the while. They tumble
down onto it together, and Stiles makes another muffled sound as Logan finds the line of his
costume, shoving the top up with one hand, while his other slides into the leggings, tugging them
down as well.

Its so fast its dizzying, but Stiles isnt complaining. Instead of thinking about how hes quite
suddenly half-naked, he gets to work tugging the leather jacket off of Logan, grabbing the t-shirt,
too, for good measure. Hes only derailed when Logan wraps a hand around his dick, giving it a
few experimental tugs.

Oh, fuck, Stiles gasps. Fuck, wait - I want - not yet, okay? Mgonna come too fast if you touch
me right now.
Could just make you come again, later, Logan says, and Stiles basically turns into a shivery
puddle at just the thought of that, of this going more than one round.

Logan seems to take it for permission, because he ducks down to suck Stiles dick into his mouth,
and Stiles keens. His hips would no doubt be thrusting up, if not for the arm that Logan throws
across his hips, holding him in place.

Its a fast, sloppy blowjob, but Stiles doesnt need finesse, not with how close he already is. He
comes with a shout, the only warning he manages a quick tug to Logans hair, but Logan seems
content to swallow it all down, finally pulling off with an obscene-sounding pop.

Holy shit, Stiles breathes. Logan smirks, looking terribly pleased with himself, then shifts back
up Stiles body to bite as his neck.

Would you let me fuck you? he murmurs, sucking hard on the spot right below Stiles ear.
Sfine if you dont want it, thats totally okay. Just - your ass in that costume -

Yeah, Stiles bursts out. Yes, totally, you can fuck me. Absolutely, yes.

Logan just grins that wolfish grin again, like he wants to eat Stiles up, but Stiles doesnt feel
anything but turned on at the sight of it. He hasnt gotten laid in months, and theres no way hes
going to pass up the chance to get it on with some guy who is ridiculously out of his league.

He props himself up on his elbows, watching as Logan slips a condom and a small bottle of lube
out of his pocket, before standing up to shove his jeans down.

Came prepared, I see, Stiles drawls, taking this opportunity to peel the top of his costume the
rest of the way off, carefully maneuvering it over his head so as to keep his mask in place, then
fiddling with his silly string contraption until that drops to the floor, too..

With good reason, Logan shoots back, and when he crawls back on the bed, hes fully naked,
and Stiles thinks he could spend forever and a day just looking at him. Hes perfectly ripped,
every muscle defined and rock solid, and his dick is hard and flushed between his legs.

You want fingers first? he asks, dropping his mouth to Stiles chest, starting in on whats sure to
be another mark.

Yeah, Stiles says, spreading his legs so Logan can get between them. A couple. Its been
awhile, so... yeah.

Logan makes an agreeable noise, and he doesnt even take his mouth off of Stiles as he reaches
for the lube and gets his fingers wet.

The first one slides in easily enough, that blunt pressure that Stiles remembers from his boyfriend,
from the one other guy hes slept with. Logan knows what hes doing, sliding back in with two
fingers after a moment, curling them deftly in a way that makes Stiles whole body shake.

He keeps at it for a few more long minutes, until Stiles dick starts to harden once more.

Ready? he asks, and Stiles nods frantically. Logan doesnt ask again, like he trusts that Stiles is
telling him the truth, and Stiles likes that, likes the confidence there, the mutual respect that Stiles is
into this, that he isnt having second thoughts. Because God, Stiles isnt, he is more than ready for
that second round, and his breathing gets shallower as he watches Logan roll the condom on, slick
up, and press forward.

He slides in slow, but steady, and Stiles eyes roll up at the feel of all that fantastic pressure. Hes
tight, and the press of Logans dick is just a little bit achy, but its the good kind of hurt, the kind
thats going to turn into something pretty spectacular soon.

Logan finally stills once hes all the way inside, pressing down to kiss and bite at Stiles slack
mouth.

You can move, Stiles finally says, one leg curling tighter around Logans waist, urging him
forward. Cmon, fuck me.

Shit, you feel good, Logan grits out as his hips start to work. I noticed you, when you first
came in - dont think you have any idea how that costume looks on you.

So goin all scary bouncer on me - was that part of your master plan to get into my tights? Stiles
asks, managing a grin that disappears in his subsequent gasp when Logan finds a particularly good
angle.

No, Logan grins, leaning down to bite at the corner of Stiles jaw. Hes going to have hickeys
everywhere. Youre really not sposed to be upstairs. But I guess you could say you made me an
offer I couldnt refuse.

See, I wouldve been more impressed if it were all a master plan, Stiles grins.

Oh, I think I can still impress you, Logan says. Its a promise, and when he thrusts forward,
Stiles has every confidence that hell deliver.

Stiles is panting by the time theyve both come, feeling completely and utterly wrung out. I
should go, he mumbles, groaning when Logan rolls them over, so that Stiles is pressed on top of
him. Gotta - should find my friend, head back home...

Not yet, Logan murmurs, his fingers tracing idle circles along Stiles back. It feels good, the
kind of comforting touch that could easily lull Stiles to sleep. Stay. Just fr now.

For a little bit, Stiles says with a sigh, nuzzling into Logans neck. Just a little.

He doesnt remember falling asleep, but he must have, because the next thing he registers is
sunlight spilling into the room, and the feeling of the body next to him shifting. The sunshines still
weak, so it's probably early, though its just strong enough that it has him squeezing his eyes shut
once again. He cant have been asleep too long, because his mouth still tastes like tequila. His
head isnt even pounding too badly, which means his hangover must be a ways off yet.

Mmmph, he groans, letting his eyes blink open slowly, squinting into the early morning light.
Theres a broad, naked back facing him, and Stiles drags in a sharp breath as he remembers how
last night ended. Thats - God, thats right, hed had sex with - with Wolverine, and then hed
fallen asleep, which he is 95% sure is not appropriate hook up behavior.

In his defense though, it had been really good sex. The kind that short circuits your brain a little,
and makes you do things like fall asleep with a complete and utter stranger.

Stiles winces as he sits up, yawns, and runs a hand through his hair. His hair... shit, his mask must
have come off during the night. He casts around for it a little bit wildly, because there is no way
hes walking through this house without his face covered, even if it is really early.
His movement must wake the guy sleeping next to him though, because suddenly hes rolling over
onto his back, and his eyes are fluttering open, and Stiles finds himself face-to-face with Derek
Hale, who has also lost his mask during the night.

Stiles gives an actual yell and jerks away from him so hard he falls right out of the bed, reaching
frantically for his Spider-Man costume to cover himself up.

Dereks eyes are wide, too, but that could just be the fact that he essentially woke up to a shout.

You! Stiles exclaims, and hes starting to feel what hes pretty sure is a panic attack creeping up
on him. You were Wolverine?

Stiles, Derek says, shifting closer to the edge of the bed, and thats when a horrible thought
occurs to Stiles.

Was this a prank? he asks, his voice hoarse, and Derek goes perfectly still. Was this - is this
some completely fucked up plan where you get back at me by - by fucking me -

Stiles -

Shit, did you film this? Is everyone in on it - am I gonna open the door and find your whole frat
out there, waiting -

Stiles! Derek snaps, and Stiles shuts up, even though he cant get his breathing to slow, not even
a little. He watches with wide eyes as Derek gets out of bed and crosses over to him, seemingly
uncaring that hes totally naked.

I didnt know it was you, Derek says, almost sternly, but its a tone that Stiles kind of needs to
hear right now, if hes going to believe him. Id never do something that shitty, okay?

I mean, I put itching powder in your underwear, Stiles says. I buttered your whole house -

Yeah, youve been an annoying little shit, Derek agrees; it almost looks like theres a smile
playing at the corner of his mouth, but Stiles cant quite tell. But there isnt anything you could
do that would make me pull something like what youre thinking, all right? I had no idea who you
were until I woke up to you screaming like a girl.

Wasnt screaming like a girl, Stiles mutters, but hes already feeling a little less tense, and that
panic that was threatening to overwhelm him just a moment ago is slowly receding. Sorry. I
didnt - its not that I think you would do something like that, just - it kind of seemed like the only
explanation.

The only explanation? Derek asks, his glorious eyebrows pulled together in a frown.

For, uh. Sleeping with me, Stiles supplies. I mean, youre you, and Im, um. He gestures half-
heartedly to himself.

Derek makes a sound, almost like a growl, that has Stiles jerking to attention. I think you
underestimate just how well you filled out that costume, he says roughly, and unless Stiles is
much mistaken, his gaze is lingering over Stiles chest and throat, traveling slowly up to his jaw,
his mouth, and finally his eyes.

Stiles takes a deep, shaky breath, and thats when Derek reaches out and presses his thumb to the
curve of his neck; the spot he touches hurts, a sharp burst of blooming pain, and Stiles gasps.

Sorry, Derek murmurs. Hickeys. I kind of have a thing.

I dont mind hickeys, Stiles says unthinkingly, and before he knows whats even happening,
Dereks mouth is on his own, pressing him back down to the carpet.

They dont fuck again, because Derek doesnt have another condom, but he does get three fingers
into Stiles, then brings him off with his mouth. Stiles offers to reciprocate, but Derek just puts him
on his back and rubs off against his hip, some extra lube slicking the way.

Stiles is a mess afterward, but he isnt tired this time; his head is buzzing, heart rabbiting, and he
grabs for the sheet, wiping himself off as best he can. The panics back, although he doesnt really
have an explanation for it. Its just there, lurking underneath his skin, and with it comes a
desperate need to get out, to escape from this room that reeks of sex and the two of them, to get
back to the safety of his own room.

I - I should go, he mumbles. Its just too much to take in, the fact that he and Derek Hale have
now had sex twice. Stiles doesnt even know where to start with that.

Derek politely turns away as Stiles gets dressed, no doubt pulling his own clothes on. Stiles is kind
of ridiculously jealous of the fact that he gets to put on jeans and a real shirt, as opposed to the
Spider-Man costume Stiles is going to have to wear home. If hes lucky though, he wont actually
run into anyone out and about quite this early.

So, uh, I guess Ill see you around, he says awkwardly, once theyre both fully clothed. Derek
just kind of nods, his mouth tight in a way it wasnt just ten minutes ago, but Stiles doesnt know
what to do about that, either. He has a sinking suspicion its probably a tightness composed of
regrets and second thoughts, and that makes him feel kind of sick to his own stomach.

He doesnt hang around, on the off chance things find a way to get even more awkward. He just
pulls his mask on - one layer of extra protection against the outside world - and flees.

Its noon by the time Scott bursts in, face wreathed in smiles, looking positively ecstatic.

We fell asleep on the back porch, looking at stars, he announces. And she let me take her to
breakfast this morning.

Stiles stares back at him, mouth dropping open a little. You - you didnt go upstairs? he asks.

What? No, Scott says. We spent the whole night talking. It was amazing, shes amazing.

Oh, Stiles says, a little bit dully. Thats... thats great, man. Thats awesome.

Yeah, Scott says happily, flopping down onto his own bed. Was your night okay? Sorry I kind
of ditched you.

No problem, Stiles says quickly. My night - yeah, my night was fine, good. Nothing exciting
to report. All very ordinary, boring.

His response isnt at all up to his usual standard of lying, but Scotts too happily oblivious to even
suspect a lie.

Its for the best. Stiles wont tell anyone, and hes pretty sure Derek wont tell anyone, and then
they can just forget this ever happened and go back to being members of rival frats and nothing
more.

Its a good plan, its a great plan. But as he listens to Scott going on and on about how great
 Allisons hair smells, he only wishes his stomach didnt feel quite so twisted up in knots over it.

Chapter End Notes

Inspiration for the upside-down-ification of Jackson's new dorm room comes from
here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8HQFUbjJ_gM

Also, I in no way shape or form condone pranking some via deliveries, because that
is a total jerk move! So don't do that!
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

The response to this fic has been incredible and I'm so glad people have been
enjoying it! I've had a TON of fun writing it, and I hope this final chapter doesn't
disappoint!

Disclaimer: I have never taken an economics class in my life, so the passage Stiles is
reading is heavily paraphrased from the Wikipedia article on the Coase theorem.
Hopefully it still makes sense/is true!

The Coase theorem, first formulated by Ronald Coase, gives us a lens by which to examine the
economic efficiency of an outcome when externalities are at play. The theorem maintains that
bargaining will produce an efficient outcome provided the situation contains an externality and is
without transaction costs.

Econ 101 is, without a doubt, the worst thing to ever happen to Stiles. Hes been staring at the
same paragraph for what feels like half an hour now, but its slipping through his brain as easily as
sand slips through fingers.

Scott isnt helping.

The Coase theorem, first formulated by Ronald Coase, gives us a lens by which...

Stiles! Scott says, for the sixth time in less than a minute, and that is it, Stiles is at a breaking
point, because it would appear that Scott actively wants him to fail Economics.

What? he snaps, glaring at Scott from over the top of his brick of a textbook.

You werent answering me! Scott says. Hes wearing his bewildered puppy dog face, which
isnt even playing fair. I said your name like five times!

Six, Stiles corrects. And did it not occur to you that maybe I was ignoring you on purpose?

Scotts expression collapses even further. Why? he asks, voice plaintive. Are you mad at me?

No, Stiles says, scrubbing a hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. He huffs a
sigh, then slams his book shut and flops back onto his bed. No, of course Im not mad at you. Im
not ignoring you specifically. I am just... shutting out the world for today, okay?

He doesnt have to be looking at Scott to know exactly what his best friend looks like right now;
still bewildered, but that expression will be layered with genuine concern.

Okay, seriously, man, whats going on? Youve been weird lately.

Nothings going on, Im fine, Stiles says automatically, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply.
Maybe he should try a nap. A nap might help him focus.

Scott makes a disdainful noise - which, rude - then says, Youve been acting funny since the day
after that Halloween party. Did something happen?
Stiles cant help the way he goes tense. Its not that hes upset or regretful or anything like that. He
doesnt, precisely, feel shitty. He just...

Okay, no, he feels kind of shitty. And weird. The whole situation is both shitty and weird, and
Stiles doesnt know how to make himself feel better about any of it. He hasnt seen Derek since
that morning, although hes mostly grateful for that, because hes pretty sure seeing Derek would
just make everything ten times more awkward. Hes been failing both at planning pranks and
getting homework done, too distracted for the focus either one would require.

Mostly, hes been jerking off a lot. Like, a lot. Like, whenever Scott disappears to go see Allison,
which has basically been all the time, Stiles ends up jerking off and thinking about how things
might have gone if hed stayed, if hed gotten back into bed with Derek. If maybe they would
have gone again, if maybe this time Stiles could have gotten his mouth on Derek, gotten a chance
to see what he tasted like.

Hes also been moping. There has been a fairly unreasonable amount of moping, which, now that
he thinks about it, was a side effect the last time he had a one night stand. Hes not very good at
them, apparently.

Its a problem, but its not one hes about to share with anyone - not even Scott.

Nothing happened, Stiles mumbles, keeping his eyes firmly shut. Im just not... I need a little
break from the pranks, all right? And also, I have done more than my share, the other pledges
need to step it up. Really, Im doing, like, community service for them. Giving em a chance to
shine.

Uh huh, Scott says, unconvinced. Stiles has heard that tone before; its the one Scott uses when
hes going to be a stubborn ass and not let something go.

Except then Scotts phone goes off, and Elvis Costellos Alison fills their room. Stiles contents
himself with one quiet gagging noise, but hes mostly grateful for the way Scott lunges for his cell,
sliding it open with a gleeful, Allison, hey!

Five minutes later, Stiles hears him hang up and grab his backpack off the floor.

Im meeting Allison to study, he announces happily. But you are not off the hook yet,
understand? Were talking when I get back.

Stiles gives him a thumbs up - its meant to be sarcastic, but hes thinking its probably completely
lost on Scott - then flops over onto his stomach as soon as he hears the door slam shut. It is, most
definitely, one hundred percent naptime.

Maybe everything will suck less when he wakes up.

Stiles never thought he would be grateful for someone taking up every minute of Scotts time, but
at this particular moment, he is totally cool with it. Its been a full five days since the Halloween
party, and through a combination of dates with Allison and Stiles own (excellent) decision to
camp out in various campus coffee shops, Scott has yet to instigate that conversation hes been
threatening Stiles with.

Theres been an added bonus to Stiles avoidance tactics, even; hes actually starting to make a
dent in his coursework. Hes plowed through the novel his English professor assigned, outlined
his history paper, and hes currently making some flashcards for his upcoming Econ test.
Hes halfway through writing out the definition of the Gini coeefficient when someone sets down
a mug of coffee and a steaming scone in front of him.

Oh, I didnt order that, Stiles starts to say, except when he looks up, theres Derek Hale,
standing right in front of him. Uh, he adds blankly, his brain stalling as he takes in Dereks...
everything. The broad shoulders and the perfect stubble and the way his gaze is fixed directly on
Stiles.

Obviously, Derek says, sounding just as impressed as he ever does, which is to say, not at all. I
ordered it. For you.

Okay, Stiles says slowly. His hearts pounding in his own ears, loud enough that it feels like
Derek should be able to hear it. Can I ask why?

Derek, of course, simply ignores him and drops into the armchair beside him, propping his feet up
on the coffee table where Stiles has his many textbooks spread out, dropping a beat-up messenger
bag to the floor.

There havent been any pranks for awhile, Derek says lightly.

Uh, yeah, I guess not, Stiles says. Hes not sure whats happening here. Why Dereks bringing
up pranks, when the last time Stiles saw him, they were having sex. Ive been - weve been -
busy. I guess.

Derek smiles at that response, and while Stiles is pretty sure its supposed to be something
approaching friendly, he stills finds it vaguely terrifying. And hot. And damn it, its not even a
little bit fair how confusing his life has become.

Its been a nice break, Derek says. So thanks.

Uh, sure, Stiles says slowly. No problem. So... thats what the coffees for?

Hes pretty sure Derek hesitates for just a moment in his reply: a barely noticeable hitch in his
breathing before he says, Yeah. Its a thank you. And just... you looked like you could use it.
Stiles isnt going to think too hard about the tiny blip though, or what it might mean. He just nods
toward Derek and manages a small, wan smile.

Cool, he says. And , uh, good instincts, I guess. Ive got an Econ test coming up... Im
contemplating heading over to the library and just setting up camp for the next three days.

Econ, Derek says, then fixes Stiles with a casual look. Finstock?

Yeah, Stiles says, surprise coloring his voice. He reaches for the mug Derek set down in front of
him, his fingers curving around the warm ceramic. Oh God, have you taken him before? Hes... I
dont even know, man. Is his exam impossible? Ive heard... terrible, terrible things.

Youll do fine, Derek says, digging into his messenger bag for what turns out to be a book.
Youre smart.

Stiles freezes, his coffee, which smells heavenly, halfway to his mouth. Im sorry, what? he says
blankly. How are you qualified to make that statement? You dont even know me.

Derek rolls his eyes, and Stiles would like the record to show that it is also unfair how he can
make an action that irritating look attractive. Derek Hale is just one big collection of injustices.
I dont have to know you to know something that obvious, Derek says.

Stiles sends him a narrow-eyed look, full of suspicion, but Derek completely ignores him in favor
of opening his book; its a physics textbook, and it looks awful, but Dereks as relaxed as if he
were reading for pleasure. Hell, maybe he is reading for pleasure, the gigantic weirdo. Stiles
would not be surprised; its not like anything else about the past five minutes has made actual
sense.

He goes to finally take a sip of his coffee, but stills once more, the rim almost to his lip. Did you
put something in this? he asks, though its a half-hearted question at best. Salt? Hot sauce?
Ants?

Dereks face does a funny waver when Stiles says ants, and Stiles cant tell if its a look that says
what the hell is wrong with you or one of amusement. Regardless, Derek keeps his eyes on his
book and says, Shut up and drink your coffee, Stiles.

Stiles does, and its every bit as delicious as it smelled. Its got pumpkin in it, and Stiles sighs
happily as he takes a slightly bigger sip. Its even the perfect temperature: warm and almost hot,
but not enough to burn his tongue.

When he glances over, he can see that Dereks mouth is curled up in the barest hint of a smile. Its
not at all noticeable unless youre looking for it.

Stiles drinks his coffee, eats his scone, and gets back to work on his flashcards. The whole time,
Derek sits in the armchair next to him, silently reading his book. When Stiles comes to the end of
his stack of notecards, he gathers up all of his things, gets to his feet, then hovers awkwardly.

So, thanks, he says, after its been a few seconds, and Derek still hasnt acknowledged the fact
that hes now standing. For the coffee and the scone. They were really good. Im, uh... heading
out. To the library, I think.

Derek does glance up from his book, then; if Stiles had to assign a name to his expression, he
would probably say smug, except its the nicest smug expression Stiles has ever seen. Theres
something warm in it, something that sends a shiver up his spine.

Youre welcome, Derek says, then adds, You should check out the fourth floor of the library.
There are some really nice chairs in the back left corner - nice and quiet.

And thats that. Derek goes back to his book, and Stiles heads over to the library, where hes far
more successful at overanalyzing the past hour than he is at learning any Econ.

The Econ Test of Doom, as Stiles has taken to calling it in his head, is two days after his
awkward, but wonderfully-coffee-filled afternoon with Derek. He wakes up in plenty of time
(since Econ isnt until ten thirty, as opposed to the horror that is Scotts 8am biology lab), but hes
too jittery to eat, so instead of stopping by the cafeteria he just heads straight to the Econ building
to get in some last-minute cramming.

Its a little after nine, so the quad is still fairly empty - devoid of students, but full of heavy, cool
air, the kind that holds the promise of a truly miserable rainstorm later. Autumn rainstorms are the
worst, Stiles thinks. Rain shouldnt even be allowed after September. October should be sunny
and clear, and from November on, it needs to be snow or nothing.

Still, it isnt raining yet, and it should hold off long enough for Stiles to finish his exam and
hightail it back to his dorm room, where he might even opt for a nap to make up for all of the sleep
he hasnt been getting this week.

Theres a coffee stand in the lobby of the Econ building, and Stiles decides to treat himself. Its
early, hes been a model student these past few days, and as far as hes concerned, he deserves a
nice, steaming latte. Also, he might even require it, so as to avoid falling asleep mid-exam.

As he approaches the stand, he spots a familiar figure in line, and his steps begin to slow. Leather
jacket, artfully mussed hair, and - yes, a flash of stubble when he turns his head...

Derek? Stiles hears himself ask, the name falling out of his mouth without his permission. Derek
turns, and when he sees Stiles, he actually cracks a smile. Stiles feet carry him closer, also without
permission, finally coming to a stop right in front of him.

Morning, Derek says calmly, even though Stiles, personally, feels like his own eyes might be
close to bugging out of his head.

Are you following me? he demands.

Well, seeing as I was here first, no, Derek says, raising a dark, imperious eyebrow. And
second - paranoid much?

I dont think I can be blamed for that! Stiles exclaims. Youre, like, everywhere lately, what is
up with that?

Next, the barista calls out, and Stiles watches, speechless, as Derek orders two medium coffees -
one black, one pumpkin - and then hands the latter to Stiles.

You - what - Stiles splutters, and then chokes a little when Derek says, You want a bagel or
something?

No, he manages. No thank you. I - no. No bagels.

Derek shrugs, then hands over a five, telling the barista to keep the change. You should eat
something, he tells Stiles as he starts to walk away. Stiles, for reasons unknown even to himself,
stumbles after him. You have that Econ test today, right?

Okay, creepy, Stiles says. How do you even know that?

Greenberg has that class with you, hes been studying for that exam all week, Derek says. Stiles
just stares at him blankly, and Derek rolls his eyes. Greenberg? Hes one of our pledges. He says
he sits behind you nearly every class.

That, of course, just begs a thousand more questions, because why the hell does Derek know any
of this, but Stiles cant quite seem to voice any of them.

I... have to go, Stiles says faintly, turning abruptly away from Derek and heading for the second
floor.

Good luck! Derek calls after him.

Stiles is pretty sure he aces his exam, even though he spends most of the period pointedly not
sneaking looks at the kid sitting behind him - the one who must be Greenberg. Now that hes
gotten a look at him, he recognizes him as the guy Professor Finstock is always harping at. Still,
he has no idea why Derek, of all people, knows that they share a class. He cant help but wonder
if the guys actually some sort of spy for Derek, keeping an eye out for any possibility of a new
prank from Stiles.

Except his epic prank war has sort of fallen by the wayside. Which... could have been Dereks
purpose in sleeping with him, Stiles supposes. Hed definitely seemed pleased when he mentioned
the lack of recent pranks. But that would have taken planning, and he doesnt think the sex was
premeditated; Derek had been just as shocked to find out hed been fucking Stiles as Stiles had
been upon seeing who was behind that Wolverine mask.

If he could just figure out what the hell Dereks angle is, he would feel so much better about how
nice hes being. Up until now, Stiles has been pretty confident in his knowledge that Derek is a
Dick. The way Dereks behaving now is seriously throwing that into question, not to mention
making everything weird.

Not that the weirdness is keeping him from drinking the pumpkin lattes Derek keeps giving to
him. Those are too freaking delicious to even think about letting go to waste.

Stiles hands his exam in just after Greenberg, and after about thirty seconds of deliberation, he
jogs forward a few steps to catch up with the guy.

Hey, Stiles says, coming to a stop directly beside him. Greenberg visibly startles. Hes not a
bad-looking kid, with sandy blonde hair and brown eyes. Hes average height and an average
weight, nothing really striking about him: nondescript might actually be the best word.

Uh, hi, Greenberg says warily. His voice is deeper than Stiles would have expected.

Greenberg, right? Stiles asks, just to make sure. The guy nods, and Stiles clears his throat.
Stiles Stilinski, he says.

Yeah, I know, Greenberg says. He winces a little when Stiles fixes him with a very stern look.

Oh, I know you know, Stiles says. Greenberg looks trapped; it gives Stiles a heady rush of
power, and if this is how Derek feels on a daily basis, well, Stiles isnt totally sure he can blame
the guy for all the vaguely threatening looming he does.

So, Stiles continues, yes or no - have you been spying on me for the benefit of one Derek
Hale?

Greenberg makes a strangled noise, and his expression goes vaguely embarrassed. Spying is...
too strong a word, he finally says. Derek just... wanted to know about you. Partly in the hopes
of hearing about your next prank before it actually happened, I think? He was... I dont know...
kind of obsessed with you, for awhile.

Well, thats... just as creepy as I thought it would be, Stiles mutters.

No - creepys also too strong a word, Greenberg says. He wasnt obsessed like some sort of
stalker. He was just interested. He sighs, looking resigned, in a way that would just look grumpy
on someone else. Jackson even heard him complaining to his sister how the Omegas scooped up
the best freshman our class had to offer, right under his nose. I think he wouldve been trying to
recruit you if you werent so devoted to the Omegas.

Yeah, well, the Omegas are awesome, Stiles says staunchly, ignoring the way his whole body
flushes warm at that thought, of Derek speaking so highly of him. Of course, theres an obvious
enough reason for that - something a thousand times more likely than the idea that Derek might be
kind of into him. Recruitment.
It actually sort of makes sense. Dereks behaviors of late have had a very definite wooing vibe,
but the idea that Dereks just trying to get him to switch fraternities makes a whole lot more sense
than. You know. Actual wooing.

Well, Stiles says after thats had a moment to sink in. This has been... enlightening, Greenberg,
thank you.

Were done with the pranking now, right? Greenberg asks hopefully. Because those stink
bombs were foul, man.

No promises, Stiles says immediately, but its mostly to keep the guy on his toes. Serves him
right for reporting back to Derek on all of Stiles movements. Not that Stiles was making any
moves in Econ class, but still. That is annoying and invasive on so many levels.

Greenberg looks like he figured as much though, and he even lifts a hand in goodbye as Stiles
peels away from him, heading in the opposite direction.

The skys darker than it was earlier, and the coffee Derek had bought for him is entirely worn off.
Stiles can feel exhaustion creeping over him, settling on his shoulders, and by the time he gets
back to his dorm, he doesnt have any brain power left to think any more thoughts about the
Derek situation. All he wants is to crawl into bed and sleep the afternoon away.

He meets Scott halfway down the staircase; hes yanking a sweatshirt on, clearly in a hurry, and
he almost bowls Stiles over before he realizes who it is.

Oh, sorry - hey! he says happily. Stiles! Ive been texting you, dude, you werent answering!

My phone was off, I had an exam, Stiles says, fighting a yawn.

Oh, right, that Econ one, yeah? Did it go okay? You can tell me later. Listen, I just heard from
Danny, and the guys in the frat -

No, Stiles says firmly, cutting Scott off before he can get any further. No, no frat stuff right
now. The only thing I am interested in at the moment is my mattress.

But, Scott protests, fixing Stiles with pleading eyes, were all going to -

No, Stiles says again, resuming his trek up the stairs. Dude, I got all of three hours of sleep last
night, my pillow is calling to me. Ill shoot you a text when I get up, okay?

Okay, Scott grumbles, looking as pouty as a kindergartener whos being denied a cookie, but
Stiles refuses to be swayed.

Once he gets into his room, he doesnt even stop to change into pajamas, just tosses his bag and
coat on the floor, strips to his boxers and snuggles down deep into his covers, shutting his eyes
with a content sigh.

Outside, thunder rumbles across the sky, a promise that rain is on its way.

His room is dark when a loud slam jolts him out of sleep some indeterminate amount of time later.
Its not nighttime dark - he hasnt slept that long - but middle-of-the-afternoon-storm dark, where
everything in the room ends up taking on a shadowy appearance. Now that hes (mostly) awake,
he can hear the steady drumming of rain against his window.
Whassat? Stiles croaks, and he presses up onto his elbows, blinking blearily into the dim light. It
takes him a good five seconds to zero in on the cause of the slam.

Standing just inside his room, arms crossed in front of his chest and leaning up against his closed
door, is Derek.

Thhell? Stiles manages, rubbing firmly at his eyes, because there is every possibility that hes
hallucinating right now. Theres really no other explanation for why Derek seems to be in his
actual room, glowering at him.

I thought we were done with the pranks, Derek says, and his voice is doing that growly thing
again, where he sounds inordinately pissed off - at Stiles, specifically.

Pranks? Stiles echoes, forcing himself to sit up. After a moment, he thinks better of it and stands,
because lounging in bed seems like a stupid idea in the face of an angry intruder. What are you
even talking about? I havent done anything in over a week.

Then why dont you explain to me, Derek says, and his voice is still dangerous, why the Alpha
house is currently covered in soggy, mostly disintegrated toilet paper.

Stiles blinks at him, and then out of the corner of his eye, he notices his phone blinking. He grabs
for it, and theres a notification - a new picture from Scott. He opens it to find a snapshot of the
Alpha house, absolutely covered in toilet paper.

Oh, youve gotta be kidding me, he groans, realization hitting him all at once. This,
undoubtedly, is what Scott had wanted to discuss on the staircase. They went with the TPing?
Really? Really?

What do you mean, they? Derek demands.

You think I had anything to do with this? Stiles asks. Hes almost offended, really - Derek
should be giving him more credit than this. Come on, this isnt even any good. TPing someones
place is totally lame!

Dereks glaring at him, eyes narrowed, but Stiles catches the moment his gaze shifts, dropping
down to Stiles chest - which, it suddenly occurs to Stiles, is decidedly lacking a shirt. He shuffles
his feet, resisting the urge to cross his arms, which would be way too obvious an attempt to cover
himself up.

Seriously, that was not me, Stiles says. That was the other members of my pledge class finally
taking some initiative. Lame, unoriginal initiative, but still.

Fine, Derek mutters, still looking grumpy, but not nearly as grumpy as before. Which seems
kind of unfair, if you ask Stiles. Because why is it so much worse if Stiles is the one behind the
prank?

How are you even here? Stiles asks. Our doors lock automatically, and the window is closed!
And the wall outside is not particularly conducive to climbing - believe me, I have tried.

I have a key, Derek says, holding it up.

You - what? Stiles splutters. How?

Jackson kept it, Derek says with a shrug. He claimed he lost his copy, and then just paid for a
replacement.
Okay, that is ridiculously against the rules! Stiles says, although hes mostly just irritated he
didnt think of that himself. Oh, the possibilities of unlimited access to Jacksons dorm room.

Derek smirks, like he knows exactly why Stiles is upset about that, then slides the key back into
his own pocket. His gaze catches on Stiles chest again, then wanders slowly down to his boxers.

Stiles can feel his cheeks heating up, and he notices for the first time that Dereks wet - not
soaked, but damp, like maybe he got caught in some of the rain just before he made it to Stiles
building, where he then apparently ninjad his way up to the second floor.

Its a good look for him, Stiles decides, mostly against his will.

Okay, Stiles says quickly, before Derek can catch him looking. Well, now that weve cleared
that up, feel free to be on your way.

Derek ignores him; in fact, he does just the opposite, taking a few steps closer, his heavy black
boots muffled against the carpet.

You still have a mark, he murmurs, and hes just near enough to reach out and brush his
fingertips against the remnants of one of the hickeys he left, low on Stiles neck.

Yeah, well, Stiles says, shivering. Dereks hands are cold, is all. You are a vampire,
congratulations.

Hes half-expecting one of Dereks wolfish grins in response to that, but Dereks entire focus is
narrowed to Stiles neck, to the hint of a bruise, the only mark thats lingered. Stiles had passed it
off as a burn from a tragic encounter with the panini machine in the cafeteria. Scott, bless his heart,
hadnt questioned it.

Derek? Stiles manages, once Dereks touch turns more deliberate, his fingers smoothing over
the mark, his thumb coming to rest against Stiles pulse. Stiles swallows, and his heartbeat kicks
up a notch. Whats... what is this? What are we doing here?

I dont know, Derek mutters. You - youre interesting. He sounds almost frustrated by it.
You interest me, and people usually dont.

It sounds like it should be a compliment of the backhanded variety, but Stiles cant muster up any
indignation. Of course he cant, not when Derek interests him in the same way. From this side of
that hook up, after all, Stiles cant help but wonder if the incessant pranking reads more as a
juvenile display of affection, a college-age version of pigtail-pulling.

I interest you, Stiles repeats. That is... shocking, frankly. I wouldve gone with irritating or
infuriating way before interesting.

Oh, youre those, too, Derek says, and, possibly to keep Stiles from demonstrating the truth of
that statement, he closes the rest of the distance between them and seals his mouth over Stiles in a
searing kiss.

Stiles is pretty sure his mouth is sleep-stale, but Dereks tastes overwhelmingly of coffee, and
Stiles lets out a soft moan, surging forward to get closer to him. Dereks mouth might be warm
and heady, but the rest of him isnt, and Stiles lets out an undignified yelp when Dereks other
hand settles on the small of his back, his ice-cold fingers digging into Stiles skin.

Jesus, fuck, Stiles hisses. Youre cold.

Clothesre wet, cant help it, Derek says, his voice a rumble so low in his chest that Stiles can
feel the vibrations of it. He breaks away from Stiles though, just long enough to shrug out of his
leather jacket and peel off his clinging, wet t-shirt.

Stiles makes a quiet noise, eyes glued to the play of Dereks muscles as he starts undoing his
jeans. It still goes against all reason, the apparent fact that Derek wants to do this with him - that
hes choosing to get naked with Stiles, of all people. And Stiles still isnt sure what this part of it -
the sex part - has to do with Derek wanting to recruit him, but he knows now isnt the time for
thinking about such complicated matters. Now is definitely not that time.

Its a matter of a few seconds before Dereks kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxer
briefs, and then he goes right back to kissing Stiles. His skin is still cool and clammy, but its a lot
better than wet clothes, and Stiles has a feeling it wont be long before he warms up.

Here, cmon, he mumbles into Dereks mouth, walking backwards toward his bed, tugging
Derek along with him. My beds warm - an I have an excellent comforter.

Sold, Derek grins, taking a moment to tug down their respective boxers before tumbling the
both of them down to the mattress. Stiles tugs the blanket up over Dereks back, and then its just
the feel of skin on and skin as Derek stretches out on top of him. He moves his mouth down to
Stiles neck, starts sucking whats sure to be a horrendously visible hickey just below his ear, but
Stiles cant find it in himself to complain, especially when Derek curves his palm to Stiles thigh
and nudges his leg up around Dereks waist. Stiles takes the hint and curls his leg tighter, until
theyre grinding together, dicks rubbing against each other in a tantalizing drag.

Have you got anything? Derek asks, apparently deciding hes had enough of that particular
patch of skin for now, ducking down to one of Stiles nipples instead. The not-so-gentle scrape of
his teeth is enough to make Stiles arch, a sharp gasp spilling out of him as he flings a hand out and
fumbles for his bedside drawer.

I - here, he says, flicking open the lid on the small bottle of lotion he keeps there, then squeezing
some into the hand Derek holds out. Its another shock of cold when Derek wraps his hand
around the both of them, but it fades away quickly.

I was - I wanted to blow you, Stiles mumbles, wrapping his arms tight around Dereks broad
shoulders. Derek thrusts down harder, and Stiles own hips jerk up in return. I mean, dont get
me wrong, this is good, too, just, Stiles continues. I - I just -

Next time, Derek says roughly. Next time, okay?

Stiles groans as Derek gives an expert flick of his wrist, his thumb sliding teasingly over the head
of Stiles cock. He might not know what this is, what theyre doing, but this feels fantastic. In this
moment, its amazing, even if he might feel shitty about it afterward, and he drags Derek down
into another kiss instead of worrying about it.

They rock together, their movements growing a little less coordinated as the seconds tick past. The
room is quiet, and Stiles ears are filled with nothing but the ragged pant of Dereks breaths, the
slick slide of his hand as he strokes them to completion.

Fuck, cmon, Stiles moans, his fingers digging in hard against Dereks shoulder muscles.
Almost - so close -

Derek makes a noise a lot like a growl, and he tightens his fist, strokes him harder and faster until
Stiles body tips over the edge, a muffled groan escaping past his lips. Dereks right after him, his
come spilling right onto Stiles stomach, leaving him wet and sticky and gross.
Stiles doesnt care - not even when Derek slumps down on top of him, not making any move
whatsoever to clean either of them up. Stiles breathing starts to even out after a few moments, and
as nice as it feels to have Derek sprawled on top of him, it occurs to Stiles that hes also heavy.

Okay, enough smushing, Stiles says, nudging Derek off to the side. Theyre still squeezed
tightly together - Stiles bed might be an extra-long twin, but it doesnt have any extra width - but
Derek just wraps an arm around Stiles waist and pulls him close.

Its kind of nice, actually, and while the whole situation remains deeply strange and unexpected,
Stiles isnt panicking like he was last time. Hes not sure why - maybe its just that this feels
almost familiar now. He does catch a glimpse of his stomach though, which is still covered in
tacky, drying come, and he makes a face.

Ugh, God, this was stupid, he mutters, and Derek stiffens against him, his arm going rigid.
When Stiles cranes his head up to look at him, he sees that Dereks mouth is that same, tight line it
had been when Stiles ran out on him after the second time they had sex.

I - I just mean, Stiles fumbles, that I dont have a bathroom or anything? To wash up. Its
communal - theres one down the hall, but thats it.

Oh, Derek says, and Stiles can feel his body relax, just that easily. Derek reaches an arm behind
him to the floor, then, grabs Stiles discarded shirt and starts to wipe the both of them up.

Hey! Stiles says. Dude - thats my - ugh, forget it, you asshole. The insult comes out kind of
disgustingly fond, and Derek just bares his teeth in a grin before he tosses the shirt back down to
the floor and leans in for another kiss.

They make out for just long enough that Stiles starts thinking longingly of a second round, when
Derek breaks away from his mouth, nosing against Stiles cheek instead.

You going to let me feed you this time? he murmurs, one hand smoothing possessively down
Stiles chest, coming to settle at his hip.

Uh, feed me? Stiles echoes dumbly. Wait, what do you mean, this time?

Well, last time we did this - I was going to ask if you wanted to get breakfast. But you ran
away, Derek says. His thumb is rubbing circles against Stiles skin, a slow, teasing touch thats
proving to be hellishly distracting. Stiles brain is mostly firing on all cylinders again, though not
in panic this time, just confusion.

You... wanted to get me breakfast, Stiles says blankly. Derek makes an assenting noise, pressing
his mouth to Stiles throat, and nope, no, Derek isnt allowed to say things like that and then
distract Stiles with his mouth, so Stiles wiggles away from him, fixing Derek with a stern look.

Are you trying to recruit me? he says.

What? Derek asks, looking just as confused as Stiles feels.

With the - you know, the coffee! Stiles exclaims. And the scones, and the stalking me, and -
okay, I mean, sex would be an extreme measure, I dont see how you could want me in your frat
that badly -

I dont want you in my frat, Derek says bluntly, and Stiles gapes at him.

Well, geez, thanks -

Derek cuts him off with an annoyed clearing of his throat. That isnt - thats not what I meant. I -
He makes another annoyed sound, this one more of a growl, and then he rolls over on top of
Stiles again, looming, a little.

Youre a menace, he mutters, his head dipping just low enough to catch Stiles mouth in a brief
kiss. And youve been driving me and my entire frat crazy all semester. But youre smart, and
fascinating and so fucking sharp, and if you ever decided to switch your pledge, Id take you up
on it in a heartbeat.

He takes Stiles mouth again, in short, almost aggressive kisses, and in the space between one and
the next, Stiles manages to prompt, But? because he knows theres one lurking nearby, hiding
somewhere underneath all of Dereks relatively complimentary words.

But, Derek says, thats not what the coffee was for. Or the bagels. Or the sex. I told you - you
interest me. And I want to take you out for breakfast. Or... dinner now, I guess, he adds, glancing
at the window, making note of the time.

So, Stiles says, very slowly, you mean, like, a date? You want to take me out on a date.

Derek gives him a look that heavily implies he thinks Stiles is being an idiot, but also yes, that is
exactly what he wants to do.

Holy shit, Stiles breathes. You - what? Really?

Are you seriously going to make me keep repeating it? Derek demands, and Stiles laughs, a
happy, bright sound that just spills out of him, before he drags him down into another kiss.

You need to learn to use your words, he mumbles against Dereks mouth.

I didnt have time, you ran away, Derek retorts, sliding his hand down to palm Stiles ass,
giving it a friendly sort of grope.

Its a fair enough statement, but Stiles ignores it in favor of rolling Derek over, so that Stiles can
straddle his hips.

I know where Scott keeps his condoms, he says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively. You
wanna?

Dereks eyes go dark, and his hands tighten possessively on Stiles hips. I want, he agrees,
although its another ten minutes before he lets go of Stiles long enough to actually get the
condoms.

Its okay though; Stiles doesnt mind.

Hey, Stiles says, after, from where hes sprawled on top of Derek; its better this way, far less
smushing involved.

Mmm? Derek hums, more of a sigh, really. His eyes are closed, and Stiles thinks it might be the
most relaxed hes ever seen him.

Is this going to be a thing we tell people about? Stiles asks quietly. Derek makes another sleepy
noise and skates his hand up Stiles back. I mean, its not like this is serious yet, we could go on
that date and it might be awful, and, okay, I am not at all trying to have the labels conversation yet,
because it is way too soon for that -
Are the Omegas going to kick you out if they find out we're dating? Derek murmurs.

Uh, no, I dont think so, Stiles says after a moment. I mean, Im not officially in yet, but thatd
be a pretty dick move on their part, right? And theyre not dicks. The Alphas, on the other hand -

Derek cuts him off with a sharp smack to his ass, all noise and no hurt, though Stiles lets out a
muffled yelp anyway. You should tell anyone you want, Derek says.Everyone, I dont care.
Im not planning on keeping you a secret.

He says it so easily, like it never even occurred to him to tuck Stiles away in the shadows
somewhere, and Stiles pretty much has to kiss him then, sweet and slow.

Mtexting Scott, he says, as he pulls away. Right now.

Derek doesnt protest, just winds his arms securely around his waist as Stiles reaches for his
phone.

dont come back to the room for at least 2 hrs he writes. ive got a gentleman caller

He presses send, but immediately fires off a second text.

the gentleman caller is derek hale. srsly dont come back. u will see his ass and probably be
traumatized.

also, were dating now, but dont freak out. its awesome. and im not joking

There, done, Stiles says smugly, turning his phone off because if he doesnt, it will no doubt be
blowing up with a constant stream of increasingly hysterical texts from Scott, and Stiles is not in
the mood. He settles more comfortably against Derek, liking the way their bodies fit so well
together. He sneaks a peek at Derek, noting the way his face is still so open and relaxed, how his
eyes have stayed shut this entire time.

Sleep? Stiles asks, and Derek hums.

Sleep, he agrees.

Scott, predictably, bursts into their room just as Stiles and Derek have woken up from their doze
and are getting started on round three. He makes a terribly undignified noise, then immediately
shuts his eyes and proceeds to trip all over himself on his way back out.

I warned you! Stiles shouts after him.

I hate you! Scott calls back, the instant before he slams the door.

He loves me, Stiles tells Derek, grinning widely. I keep his life exciting.

Derek rolls his eyes, but his smile is fond, and he immediately sets to work on kissing Stiles until
hes nothing more than a puddle on top of him.

Lets not go out, Stiles murmurs. Lets stay in, order something instead. Chinese.

Kay, Derek agrees easily, then sets about kissing his way down Stiles neck.

Stiles smiles, containing as best he can the way it wants to sunburst out of him. Great, because I
know some really excellent delivery places -

Thats as far as he gets before Derek lets out a growl and flips him, pinning him to the mattress.
Stiles just throws his head back and laughs, happy and free.

Please drop by the archive and comment to let the author know if you enjoyed their work!
 Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at
http://download.archiveofourown.org/works/689090.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: Choose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV)
Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Character: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Scott McCall, Vernon Boyd, Jackson
Whittemore, Lydia Martin, Laura Hale
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Alternate Universe -
College/University, Humor, Prank Wars, Derek POV, Additional
Warnings Apply
Series: Part 2 of The Noble Tie That Binds
Stats: Published: 2013-02-18 Completed: 2013-08-09 Chapters: 3/3 Words:
28544

Your Lifelong Membership is Free

by minusoneday

Summary

Uncle Peters spent years regaling Derek with tales of his time as President of the Alphas.
Dereks paid close attention, because Peters stint as President is a pretty comprehensive
guide on How to Successfully Run a Fraternity into the Ground, so Derek plans to do the
opposite of what Peter did.

***

A Derek POV to There is a Brotherhood. In which Derek's life is hard.

Notes

This is a sort of companion piece to There is a Brotherhood. I noticed the other day that
TiaB had reached 70,000 hits, which is mind-blowing and AMAZING, and alksjdfad you
guys, I still can't believe all of the love I have gotten for that fic. Seriously, you are all
awesome, and I really wanted to write something in this verse as a thank you. So here is
some Derek POV for you all!

I've tried very hard to keep Derek's side of things fresh and new, without too much
rehashing of scenes from the original, so hopefully I've at least managed that most of the
time. I'm not sure when the next parts of this will be posted, though I'm hoping to make it
sometime this week. (For those of you following Blood Pounding in Our Veins, I will be
updating that one soon, too! Sorry x a billion for the wait.)

ANYWAY, I very much hope you guys enjoy this, and thank you again for all of the
lovely comments and kudos and compliments you've given to me. It gives me a serious
case of the warm fuzzies, you have no idea.

***

A couple quick story notes! The Alphas' VP is Cal as in Deucalion, because obvs the
Alpha Pack would be in the Alpha frat. Also, all of the Hales are alive and well! Derek's
angst is generally of his own devising in this one. Please see the end notes for a few
additional warnings!
 Chapter One
Chapter Notes

See the end of the chapter for notes

I just think its time the fraternity grew up a little bit, Derek says, lifting a shoulder to keep his
phone pressed against his ear, while he reaches out to grab a box of quinoa off the shelf.

Uh huh, time to grow up, gotcha. Lauras voice sounds tinny through the phone; Derek doesnt
know if its the connection, or the fact that shes so many miles and towns and states away.

Im serious, Derek says, rescuing his phone from its precarious position, his fingers curling
around it carefully. Its brand-new, shiny and fragile-seeming, and hes still not entirely convinced
hes going to get through the first week of owning it without accidentally crushing it.

Laura sighs; Derek can so easily picture her rolling her eyes. Everyones going to hate you if you
start the year off by taking away everything fun.

They had plenty of fun last year, I assure you, Derek argues. And Im not talking about taking
away everything fun! Im not some monster.

Not a monster, just a fun-sucker, Laura says agreeably, and Derek makes another frustrated
noise. He doesnt know what the hell it is about big sisters, because none of his other siblings are
nearly as annoying as Laura is.

I just think our reputation could be better, he grits out. I dont want my being President of the
Alphas to be something that actually hurts me when Im no longer in the college bubble.

Derek, Laura says, and her voice finally gentles a little, youre going to be fine. The Alphas
have bounced back pretty well from Peters dubious leadership, right?

Yes, Derek says, trying not to sound too petulant. But that was fifteen years ago, thats not
even the point. I just - I want this to be a good year.

Youre gonna be fine, Laura says, her tone that perfect mix of warmth and irritation, the one that
speaks of a big sisters particular kind of affection. Now stop freaking out and finish your grocery
shopping. You know when youre stressed you end up buying all of that health-food crap that you
never actually eat.

Derek guiltily sets down the box of shredded wheat hes been debating and plucks a thing of
Frosted Mini-Wheats off the shelf instead. Shut up, he mutters as he drops it into his basket, and
Lauras laugh rings through the phone, bright and clear despite the distance.

Youll be fine, she says again. Ill talk to you later. Dont forget to have fun, okay? College is
supposed to be fun.

Yeah, yeah, Derek says, and he says goodbye before hanging up, sighing as he looks down at
his grocery cart. Sometimes he really misses having a meal plan. True, the food was often pretty
terrible, but at least it meant he didnt have to deal with the grocery store.

Besides, hes not sure hell have enough time to bother with cooking this year. Hes got a lot on
his plate, between his full course load and fraternity stuff, to the point where hes spent the
summer second-guessing whether or not accepting a role as Alpha Nu Alphas president was
actually the right decision. Its a heady responsibility on its own, even without factoring in the
additional pressure he feels as the infamous Peter Hales nephew. Being Peter Hales nephew
means he cant screw up; itll be worse for him than it would be for anyone else.

Dereks spent the past few months preparing though, and as far as he can tell, hes about as ready
as its possible to be. He just hopes the semester goes smoothly, no unpleasant surprises lying in
wait for him.

He eyes the grocery shelves one more time, before putting a second box of Frosted Mini-Wheats
into his cart. Itll be his reward, he tells himself, as he makes his way toward the checkout lanes,
for getting through Rush Week in one, hopefully sane, piece.

Because theyre not fun, theyre stupid, Derek snaps, his eyebrows pulling down into a
formidable frown. Across from him, Boyd huffs a quiet laugh and takes a sip of his americano.

Some people think theyre fun, Boyd says easily. And Derek, I love you, man, but you are not
my go-to-guy for what qualifies as fun.

I dont want to do the pranks again, Derek says. Theyre a pain in the ass, theyre distracting,
and someone always goes for my car.

Theyre tradition, Boyd says. And maybe you need to face up to the fact that your car is so
damn ostentatious that its basically asking to be defaced.

Derek scowls at him, then takes a gulp of his too-hot coffee, wincing a little as he swallows. I
dont see why youre so attached to this, he adds. Its the same-old pranks every single year,
nobody ever does anything clever or original.

Well, maybe this years the year, Boyd says. Besides, Isaac loves the pranks, and I like him
better than I like you. The pranks stay.

Fine, Derek says, because when Boyd decides to be stubborn about something, arguing is about
as useful as kicking at a brick wall. Well do the pranks for the pledging process, but I get to pick
our first event.

Boyds eyes look decided to amused, peeking at Derek over the rim of his cup as he takes another
sip. You still want to do that whole thing in the woods, dont you, he says. Where we, what,
bond with all the prospective freshies and howl at the moon or some shit?

Shut up, Derek says, fighting to keep a frown off his face. Hes pretty sure he doesnt succeed,
if the way Boyd laughs is any indication. I dont want to do any howling, I just think itd be
better than the usual drunken shitshow the fraternities throw.

Being out in the woods isnt going to make the guys drink less, Derek, Boyd says reasonably,
but then he shrugs, and Derek knows hes won. But, fine, Im in. Ill check with the other frats,
but I dont think theyll have an issue with it.

Good, Derek says, taking another swig of his coffee. Ive got a spot picked out and
everything.

Of course you do, Boyd says, in the same fond voice Laura uses when she thinks Derek is
being ridiculous. Derek isnt going to let it bother him though, because kicking off rush week with
a casual thing in the woods is so much better than the usual boozy mess that starts the process. No
guarantees it wont turn into a little bit of a boozy mess, but Derek does at least intend to stand
guard over the beer. Not only will it be a good opportunity to scope out this years crop of
freshman, but hes more than happy to refuse a refill to anyone whos obviously past their limit.

If Laura wants to tell him hes no fun, fine, but Uncle Peters spent years regaling Derek with tales
of his time as President of the Alphas. Dereks paid close attention, because Peters stint as
President is a pretty comprehensive guide on How to Successfully Run a Fraternity into the
Ground, so Derek plans to do the opposite of what Peter did.

Keeping at least an eye on the drinks and the freshman is absolutely step one.

All right, I admit it, Boyd says, hands in his pockets as he surveys the scene before them, the
party in the woods was an awesome idea.

My awesome idea, Derek says, unable to keep the pleased note out of his voice. Just like all
my ideas are awesome. Which is why we should get rid of -

Were not getting rid of the pranks, Boyd says cheerfully. Nice try though.

Dereks still scowling at him when a tipsy freshman wanders up, his smile sweet and a little goofy.
Any chance I could get a refill? he asks, holding his cup out to Derek. Derek gives him a hard
look, trying to gauge just how drunk he is.

How many have you had? he demands, taking the cup with some reluctance.

The kid blinks, looking kind of startled. Um - I think, just three? Not that many.

Yeah, but how quickly did you drink them? Derek continues. I couldve sworn you were just
up here -

Give the man another drink, Boyd interrupts. Who are you, the keeper of the kegs? He steals
the cup from Derek and fills it up himself, smiling as he hands it over to the kid, who beams back
at him.

Whats your name? Boyd asks, filling another cup for himself.

Scott, the kid says, lifting his cup to his mouth, then stealing a glance at Derek and apparently
thinking better of it. Scott McCall.

Well, Scott, Boyd says, curling his arms around his shoulders and guiding him away from
Derek, let me tell you about Omega Delta Pi, and why its widely agreed to be the best frat on
campus.

The grin Boyd shoots over his shoulder manages to be the smuggest thing Dereks seen all day.
Derek rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to the kegs just in time for another freshman to pop
up in front of him. Derek knows a freshman when he sees one, but this guy doesnt seem nearly as
young as Scott McCall. Hes got sharp cheekbones and short, neat hair, and hes wearing the kind
of preppy clothes that speak of both money and high school popularity.

Derek Hale? he asks, extending a hand. Jackson Whittemore. Im interested in pledging the
Alphas.

Derek keeps his poker face on as he reaches out to shake Jacksons hand. Handsome, rich jocks
are basically the bread and butter of the Alphas. Its not that its a bad thing, precisely, and there
are plenty of decent guys in the fraternity, but the predictability of it all sometimes grates on
Derek. Hes really hoping to leave his own mark on the fraternity, he wants this year to be
different, and so far, its been the same steady stream of crew-cuts and polos seeking him out.

Still, people can surprise you, so Derek hands Jackson a drink and clears his throat. Why dont
you tell me a little bit about yourself, he says, and Jackson doesnt hesitate before launching into
a laundry list of his many accomplishments, ranging from a lacrosse captainship to an apparently
stellar academic record and an appreciation for fancy vehicles.

Its nothing Derek hasnt heard before, and despite his plan to stay sober for the evening, he fills a
solo cup to the brim for himself, thinking hell need it if Jackson keeps talking for longer than the
next two minutes.

Jackson Whittemore goes on about himself for a full quarter of an hour, finally leaving when
Derek promises to be in touch with him about the Alphas next rush event. A handful of guys
quickly take his place, and Derek spends the next half hour or so holding court by the kegs.

The stream of prospective pledges finally dies down, and Derek takes the opportunity to do a
quick check on the current state of things. The partys getting to the point where it might start
winding down soon, but there are still plenty of people hanging around. It doesnt look like
anybodys too wasted, which is good.

He sees a guy he was talking to not ten minutes ago laughing with Boyd and Isaac, and he
frowns, his mouth tightening. What was his name - Danny? Danny, whom hed liked, and who
hed figured would definitely accept a bid from the Alphas, considering Jackson had been the one
to drag him over, introducing Danny as his best friend from high school. Derek had just assumed
that where Jackson went, Danny would follow.

Instead, hes huddled up with Boyd and Isaac, looking infinitely more relaxed than hed been
when he was talking to Derek. Isaac glances up, catches Dereks eye and grins, even gives him a
little wave.

Dereks scowl deepens, and hes already trying to think of a way to steal Danny back when a
voice interrupts his thoughts.

So, are you standing guard?

Derek turns around to find a guy he hasnt spoken to yet, hell, one he hasnt even seen until now.
The kids got a crooked smile on his face, like he thinks hes being funny, and this is not the kind
of nonsense Derek has time for, not when Boyd and Isaac are busily stealing all of his best pledge
prospects.

Or - hey, are you trying to be one of those British guards? the kid asks.

No, Derek says.

Are you sure? Because youre actually doing a stellar impression of one. Like, I havent seen you
crack a smile all night.

Youve been watching me all night? Derek asks, lifting a single eyebrow before he can think
better of it. The kid flushes, his smooth, clear skin turning a delicate pink, and Derek feels
suddenly, uncomfortably warm, despite the fact that the night has turned cool and crisp.

Not in a creepy stalker way, the kid protests. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, a quick,
nervous tic. But my Dads a sheriff, and Ive been taught to be aware of threatening-looking
people who hide out in shadows.

Im not hiding out anywhere, Derek says. Im making sure no stupid freshmen get plastered
and wander off to do dangerous things that would get us all into trouble.

But does that require the shadows? the kid asks. Really? He scrunches his nose, and Derek
hates that he finds it kind of - no. Derek isnt even going to think about words like cute or
adorable or sweet. Those words shouldnt even be in his vocabulary.

Do you want a drink or not? he says gruffly, because the sooner this guy leaves, the better.

Most people, provided they are not Boyd or Isaac, turn tail and run when Derek gets snappy, but
this kid just grins and holds out his solo cup, which Derek quickly fills.

Cheerio, the kid says, going so far as to put on a shitty accent, and he lifts his cup in a mock
salute as he leaves. Derek just stares, because this is by far the strangest interaction hes had all
night.

Also the most interesting, in a way that leaves Derek feeling distinctly unsettled and more than a
little warm and wanting.

He pointedly doesnt watch the kid leave, turns instead back to Boyd, Isaac and Danny, who look
to be getting along swimmingly. This time, its Boyd who grins at him, and Derek glares back
with every fiber of his being.

It might, he admits to himself, be time to find Jackson and stage an intervention.

By the end of the night, Derek knows that Danny is a lost cause, but hes made his peace with it.
There are at least twenty other guys who seemed interested, and Derek knows theyll pick up
more over the course of the next week. He signals a few Alphas over to come help with the clean
up, leaving Cal, Ethan and Aiden to take care of the kegs.

To his left, he sees the guy from earlier, the one who did the terrible British accent, hanging all
over someone else - Scott, he thinks, the kid hed hesitated on giving another drink to. Theyre
clearly good friends, probably roommates, and as Derek watches, Scott dissolves into a fit of
giggles, slumping against his friend, who has his own head thrown back in laughter.

Derek cant help but notice the pale stretch of his throat, the unexpectedly long, lean lines of his
body. Even from here he notices his mouth, how red and inviting it looks.

The kid is kind of ridiculously Dereks type, provided Dereks willing to overlook the irritating
personality and lame jokes. Which Dereks not willing to do, actually, because he has shit to do
this year - a fraternity to run, a thesis to write, and a job to secure before graduation - and he
doesnt need the distraction he can already tell Scott McCalls friend would be.

That thought in mind, he forces himself to turn away, calling out to Cal, Make sure you get those
kegs loaded up in Aidens truck, we can get ten bucks apiece if we turn them back in!

The rush events for the rest of the week split much more firmly down fraternity lines, and as
predicted, Derek doesnt see Danny once. Neither does he encounter Scott McCall or Scotts
mysterious friend, which Derek firmly tells himself is not a disappointment so much as a blessing.
Like most years, the Alphas have a surplus of want-to-be pledges, so Derek and Cal put their
heads together and, with the rest of the brothers, whittle their list down to twenty-five.

At their first meeting post-bid acceptances, Derek counts no fewer than twenty-two polo shirts
among their prospective members.

Six of those polo shirts come with upturned collars.

Laura laughs long and loud when Derek tells her about it later that night, in pained, unhappy
tones, keeping his voice quiet so none of his fraternity brothers overhear him. Aiden still insists the
popped collar is the height of fashion, and if he had even an inkling of Dereks true feelings on the
matter, there would be passive aggressive pouting for days.

By his watch, Derek has exactly four minutes to make it all the way to the far side of campus
before hes late to his nine am lecture. He should be fine, provided he doesnt catch the damn light
on Elm St, but nonetheless, hes outright jogging toward his car, unwilling to waste any precious
extra seconds on walking.

His Camaro looks odd in the early morning sun, and Derek spends a brief moment panicking
about scratches or paint before he realizes its Saran Wrap.

Somebody has fucking Saran Wrapped his entire car, and Derek has a pretty good idea which
organization is responsible.

You have gotta be fucking kidding me, he grumbles to himself as he approaches, his jaw
clenching as he realizes just how many layers deep the plastic wrap goes. Its airtight, too, and
theres no way in hell hes going to risk scratching his paint job in order to tear it off. He doesnt
have time for this.

He scrubs a hand through his hair and looks up just in time to see Jackson crossing the street.

Whittemore! he shouts, and Jackson startles badly, almost tripping off the curb. When he sees
that its Derek though, he perks up and trots right over.

Whats - oh man, what happened to your car? he asks, eyes widening as he takes in the plastic
wrap.

Someones idea of a hilarious joke, Derek grits out. Are you on your way to class?

Just breakfast, Jackson says, leaning forward to get a closer look, letting out a low whistle when
he sees just how tightly the car is wrapped.

Fantastic, Derek says. Grab three other pledges and get this cleared off - I need it done by the
time I get out of class.

What - really? Jackson asks, sounding immensely put out. Derek glares at him.

Consider it part of your initiation, he says. And so help you, if I find a single scratch on my
car...

Right, got it, Jackson says glumly. Derek gives him one more stern look before he hoists his
backpack more securely onto his shoulder and moves off in a fast walk. Two minutes, then, to get
all the way across campus; hes not going to make it, not even if he was moving at a flat-out run,
but hopefully he wont be more than ten minutes late.
As hes crossing the East Quad, he digs out his phone and sends Boyd a terse message.

the hell he writes. did you sic them on my car on purpose?

Boyd texts back just as Dereks reached his building, and he checks the message before heading
in.

nah, the text reads. just got a good crop this year - good instincts. better watch out, hale, i
think weve got some geniuses on our hands

Which, perfect, Derek thinks, giving his professor the most apologetic look he can muster as he
slips into a seat near the door. A pranking mastermind is the very last thing he needs, especially if
thats going to mean waking up to nasty surprises like a Saran Wrapped car every morning.

I bet you anything it was Stilinski, Jacksons saying as Derek enters the Alpha house later that
afternoon. Hes already holding court with some of the other pledges, something Derek finds not
at all surprising.

It was obviously an Omega, Jackson continues, and Danny wouldnt give anything up, but my
roommates been going on about how Laheys dubbed their frat the Order of Megatron, like its
the funniest thing in the world and not actually utterly idiotic. And if he thinks its hilarious, then
Stilinski definitely thinks it is. And how else do you explain the Megatron toy stuck on the
windshield?

Is my car cleaned off? Derek interrupts, raising his eyebrows at the cluster of pledges. Jackson
goes silent, looking vaguely mutinous, and a boy to his left pipes up.

Good as new, the kid says, and Derek squints at him, trying to remember his name. Greenhut,
Steinberg, something like that.

Thank you, he says, then, after a moments deliberation, heaves a sigh and heads over to the
group. Theres an aspect of your initiation that I may have neglected to mention.

Jackson raises an eyebrow. Does it have anything to do with us having to unwrap your car this
morning? he asks, a snotty edge to his voice, though he subsides once Derek shoots him a look.

There is no hazing on this campus, Derek says, voice serious. Nothing dangerous or
demeaning - we take that very seriously. I take it very seriously.

Wasnt there some shit that went down, like, twenty years ago? Greenburb breaks in, and Derek
makes an irritated noise.

Yes, Derek says, forcing the acknowledgement out, which is why we dont mess around with
anything that might hurt someone, destroy anything, or otherwise damage this fraternitys
reputation. He gives each of the pledges a hard look, but theyre all nodding along agreeably; a
few of them even look relieved, like maybe this whole time theyve been waiting for the other
shoe to drop as regards initiation rituals.

After the crackdown on hazing, Derek says, the Omegas and the Alphas started an annual
prank war with each other. I was hoping to not have to deal with it this year, but the Omegas
President and VP are, in fact, toddlers, so were stuck with playing along.

Oh, I can work with this, Jackson says, a glint already in his eye.
Dont embarrass the fraternity, Derek says as he starts to make his exit. And the first person to
suggest TPing gets thrown out on principle.

He notices Greemblurb hastily shutting his mouth and at least manages to resist rolling his eyes
until hes actually left the room.

Derek has to admit, hes proud of his pledges for the fish retaliation. He has a feeling Ethan and
Aiden might have planted the idea, but still, hes impressed. Enough so that he shells out for pizza
that night, and he and the brothers spend the evening hanging out with the pledges, relaxed and
casual, just shooting the shit. This is what Derek likes best about the Alphas, this sense of
camaraderie, the feeling of belonging to something greater than yourself.

Granted, he usually has to sit through one too many I was a star high school athlete stories for
his tastes, but on nights like this, he cant even mind that too much.

It takes awhile for the Omegas to make their next move, long enough that Derek almost starts to
wonder if this might be it, if luck has fallen on his side, for once.

He should know better than to get his hopes up by now.

Something shocks him out of a sound sleep in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning. When he
blinks blearily at his alarm clock, the neon green numbers read 3:27. His rooms pitch black, his
door is still closed, and for a moment, Derek has no idea whats woken him so suddenly.

Then he hears a thump from downstairs.

He sits straight up, tilting his head as if to hear better. This time, its a sound right outside his door
that catches his attention. A swish, a crinkle of paper, and Derek slowly pushes his covers down
and slides out of his bed, padding over to the door. He briefly debates grabbing for some sort of
weapon, just in case theres an intruder in the hallway, but its honestly more likely that Aidens
snuck in another stray animal of some kind.

Still, Derek opens the door quickly, figuring it cant hurt to have surprise on his side, just in case,
and to his astonishment, he finds a person crouched in front of his door, dragged partially in by the
grip he has on Derek's doorknob. The guy's head snaps up, mouth open, and Derek glares at him.

And thats when the guy lets out a terrific shout.

WEVE BEEN COMPROMISED. RUN FOR YOUR LIVES. SAVE YOURSELVES!

What the hell? Derek growls, and he grabs the kids shirt, yanks him straight up. Its three
thirty in the morning, what are you -

He breaks off abruptly as he realizes who, exactly, hes staring at. Scott McCalls friend, the
stupidly attractive one, the one Derek doesnt even have a name for yet. He stumbles forward, the
kids weight pulling at him, only to have his heel slide sharply across the wood of the hallway,
like its been greased with something.

Derek goes down hard, dragging the kid with him. He connects sharply enough that it knocks the
wind out of him, and he gasps, uselessly trying to suck in some air.
The kid takes the opportunity to shove away from him, and even in the gloom of the hall, Derek
can tell how smugly pleased with himself he is. Surprise! he chirps, then gets to his feet and
takes off down the stairs.

All up and down the hallway, bedroom doors are flying open, and Derek sits up just in time to see
nearly every one of his brothers fall victim to their slip-n-slide of a hallway. Only Ethan and Cal,
down at the very end of the hall, escape, and Derek jerks his head toward the staircase.

Get em, he says hoarsely, his breath not entirely returned to him yet, and both Ethan and Cal
take off. Derek can hear the mystery kids voice at the bottom of the stairs, urging whoever else
hes working with to Go, go, go! though its nearly drowned out by the shouts and yelps from
his current floor.

He struggles to his feet, then heads downstairs at a quick pace, only to find Ethan and Cal
sprawled in a groaning heap at the bottom. Derek reaches for a nearby lamp, and he groans once
light floods the room, and he can see the oily sheen of the entire floor.

As if that werent enough of a tip off, the entire room reeks of butter.

Youve gotta be kidding me, he grumbles, stepping gingerly onto the floor so he can help Cal
up. Its a mistake; Cal grabs onto his hand harder than Dereks expecting, and his feet slide out
from underneath him again, sending both of them down in a tumble.

I thought the pledges were supposed to be pranking each other! Ethan groans. Holy shit, I hate
everything, its three thirty in the fucking morning!

I may have broken my ass, Cal says pathetically. Is that a thing thats possible? A broken ass?

Dont talk, Derek orders, gritting his teeth. He pushes himself up, wincing, and doesnt make
the mistake of trying to help Ethan or Cal again. Just - nobody say anything.

Theyve all managed to stand upright, taking refuge on the blessedly non-buttered staircase, when
Derek hears the basement door fly open, and Ennis, the only brother who was actually willing to
take the downstairs bedroom, strolls out.

Derek? he says. I heard -

He goes down before any of them can call out a warning, and Derek groans, runs a hand through
his hair only to realize it's fucking covered in butter.

Much like Ethan, he hates everything.

Get everyone up, he grumbles. Were not waiting to clean this shit up, who knows what itll do
to the wood.

But three thirty in the morning, Ethan whines, only stopping when Derek shoots him a look.

It takes them hours, the process made infinitely longer by the fact that no one seems to be capable
of staying on their feet for more than five minutes at a time. The butter is everywhere, and Derek
gets another nasty surprise when he goes for the faucet to fill up a bucket and finds it coated in
what has to be Vaseline. Oh God, he hopes its Vaseline.

At around eight am, once theyre just about finished up and everyones duking it out over who
gets to shower first, Jackson bursts in, his phone held out in front of him.

Youre gonna want to see this, he says, holding it out to Derek.

Theres a video. Of course theres a video. Derek takes one look at it, notes the angle, and with a
furious bout of swearing stomps over to the mantle, where he finds a small, cheap camera, a light
on it flashing red, signaling that its recording. Derek thumbs it off, briefly thinks about smashing
it, but tosses it into an end table drawer instead.

I want your retaliation to be sensational, do you understand me? he says to Jackson, whose face
is all kinds of contorted in a clear attempt not to laugh. The video on his phone is still playing;
Derek can hear Ennis swearing, the particular string of curses that had marked his third spectacular
fall.

Jackson nods, hurriedly shoving his phone into his pocket and making for the door.

Derek orders a couple juniors to do a quick round and double check that all of the doorknobs have
been wiped off, while he heads upstairs to grab a shower of his own, if theres even any hot water
left.

The Alpha pledges next prank is dying Scott McCalls hair pink

Derek is not impressed.

Especially when the next thing they get hit with is stinkbombs.

Derek thought the butter was bad, but no, the stinkbombs are the worst thing to ever happen to
him, and a prank this bad simply cannot go unanswered.

It takes a week, but luckily the weather cooperates, and theyre able to leave the windows open
almost the whole time in order to air out the house. Dereks main concern is that theyre inviting
another stinkbomb attack, but the Omegas, at the very least, seem to be respecting the prank war
tradition of giving the other side time to respond before launching a new attack.

Derek makes use of the time by gathering information. He meets with the Alpha pledges in the
back corner of the library, on the fourth floor, where no one ever goes.

All right, he says, folding his arms across his chest imposingly and looking sternly out at the
freshmen and handful of sophomores gathered around him. What can you tell me about the
Omega pledges.

Its Stilinski, Jackson says promptly. Hes the one coming up with all of these, I guarantee
you.

Derek huffs a sigh; its not the first time hes heard that name, but hes not sure why Jacksons so
intent on assigning all of this mayhem to one person.

Who the hell is Stilinski? Derek asks, and thats when Greenberg, whose name Dereks finally
got a handle on, leans across and shows him his laptop.

That is, he says, and Dereks eyes widen, because on the screen is a freeze frame of the
infamous butter video, and right there, bolting down the stairs, is the same kid Derek had found
outside his door. Scott McCalls friend, the guy Dereks been thinking about far more than hed
like this semester.

Stiles Stilinski, Greenberg says. He sits in front of me in Finstocks Econ class.

Trust me, its all him, Jackson says. Dannys brilliant, but he isnt devious, and God knows
McCall isnt.

Stiles Stilinski, Derek murmurs, eyes fixed to the screen. Greenberg, he says sharply, and
Greenberg jolts a little, looks at him expectantly. I want you to find out everything you can about
him, you understand?

Should I talk to him? Greenberg asks. I mean, he might know Im an Alpha - wouldnt he be
suspicious?

Derek doesnt see that being a problem; Greenberg is absolutely one of those guys who slips right
under the radar, who you have to look twice before even noticing him. Still, its good sense, so
Derek puts his hand on Greenbergs shoulder and gives a firm squeeze.

Just pay attention to him, he says. Keep an ear out for any new pranks hes planning, see if you
can figure out an opening for us to get back at him.

Sure, Greenberg says, looking pleased at his newfound responsibility. Yeah, I can do that.

Good, Derek says. Then lets try to see if we can figure out something better than pink hair for
our next attack.

Every pledge before him flinches, which, they should feel bad. Dying one pledges hair pink is
nearly as terrible as TPing.

you willing to concede victory yet? Boyd texts, when its one week post-stinkbombs, and the
Alphas have yet to respond.

oh, were just getting started Derek replies.

Thats the day Greenberg bursts in, telling Derek all about how next Saturday, Stiles and Scott
will be housesitting for the Omegas, no one but them in the frat house.

Derek grins outright, his mind already working.

Time, he thinks, to call in some help.

Jacksons dating one of the girls pledging their sister sorority, Delta Alpha Kappa, and she very
kindly agrees to help them out, in exchange for Derek introducing her to the head of the Math
department.

Really? he asks, curious despite himself. Thats your price?

She smiles, showy and fake. I have big plans for my time at this school, she says firmly. And I
happen to know that youre one of the few students Harris actually likes.

Likes isnt necessarily the word Derek would use, but its close enough.

Sure, he agrees, then, You know the plan?

Lydia just rolls her eyes, but its oddly reassuring, like shes confident enough about what shes
doing to be dismissive.
Derek watches from behind a tree while Lydia and her friend Allison step up to the Omegas front
door. The boys let them in without question, and Derek pointedly does not think about the way his
chest tightens when he sees the way Stiles is looking at Lydia.

He counts to twenty once the door closes, then jogs over to the front step, carefully testing the
handle. Unlocked, just like Lydia had promised to leave it. He presses his ear to the front door,
listening, and when he cant hear anything, he slowly presses it open and slips silently inside.

There are voices coming from the kitchen, and Derek creeps closer, waiting for an acceptable cue.
He grins when he hears a squawk of outrage, quickly followed by the metallic clang of a pair of
handcuffs.

Hey! Are you - what - you liars! And thats Stiles, pissy and stunned.

Well, we didnt lie about the dinner, he hears Lydia say, then Allison chimes in, We did lie
about being out of the staples though.

Derek gives it another couple moments, and then he hears Lydia say, For Derek, which is the
best cue he could have asked for. He steps smoothly around the corner, gaze flickering around,
taking in the scene before him, Stiles firmly cuffed to the staircase, while Scotts attached to the
radiator. Neither one of them is going anywhere.

Thank you, ladies, he says, with a mock tip of his hat. Stiles groans, gives another half-hearted
tug against his cuffs.

You are an actual caricature of a real human being, do you know that? Stiles says. Seriously,
dude, youre like the big bad British wolf or something, always lurking in corners and glowering -

Just for that, Derek grins at him, big and wide, the same smile, coincidentally, that he puts on
when hes flirting. For some reason, it seems appropriate.

Stiles makes a noise, deep in his throat, and Derek feels his grin stretch wider.

My, what big canines you have, Stiles mumbles.

Allison, Lydia, Derek says, without looking away from Stiles, whose cheeks are steadily
turning a flushed, pretty pink. If you would be so kind as to show the pledges in?

Lydia hands him the key to the handcuffs as she passes; Derek watches her and Allison go, then
glances down at the key, thoughtfully. Stiles is hardly in an ideal position for what hes planning
next, so Derek steps forward, caging Stiles in completely. Hes pressed so close that he feels rather
than hears Stiles inhale, and in a quick, fluid movement, he unlocks the cuff Lydia had attached
to the bannister.

Is this a joke? Stiles asks, his voice more than a bit choked. His fingers flex and curl, like he's
already anticipating being free.

Nope, Derek replies, then stretches up as higher as he can reach, forcing Stiles arm up with
him. When he reattaches the cuff, its way above Stiles head, leaving him precariously on his
toes, and that much less able to squirm once Derek gets to stage two.

Oh, dude, Stiles says. This is just mean. This constitutes bodily harm, Im pretty sure - I could
dislocate my shoulder here! Easily!
Its a plea for sympathy and nothing more, because theres no way this is putting any actual strain
on Stiles arm, not if he behaves himself and doesnt try to tug his way to freedom.

Dont worry, Derek says, stepping just far enough away that he isnt directly in Stiles personal
bubble again. You wont be like that for long. Hes grinning again; he kind of cant help it. It
feels good to get one up on the kid whos been driving his whole fraternity so crazy. More than
that, this is the closest hes ever been to Stiles in the daylight, and it turns out the kids eyes are this
amazing, rich brown, almost amber in the morning sunlight.

Dereks always had a thing for brown eyes.

He forces himself to step away, before Stiles catches him outright staring. There are water cups to
be overseen, after all, and a big part of Derek wants to let Stiles stew for awhile, before putting
part two of his plan into action.

It takes a couple hours, but their prank goes off without a hitch. Derek breaks away from helping
once the entire living room is packed tight with cups, and the pledges have just started on the
kitchen. Its smaller, and Derek figures it wont take more than forty minutes to complete, which
means its time to start on the Stiles-specific portion of his plan.

Stiles, Stiles, Stiles, Derek drawls, enjoying the fact that he so clearly has the upperhand here.

How do you know my name? Stiles demands, surprisingly mouthy for someone in his position.

You dont think Id take the time to find out exactly whos been masterminding all these
ridiculous pranks? Derek says easily. He tosses the duct tape from one hand to the other, watches
Stiles eyes track it.

Masterminding! Stiles says. That is false - completely off base - I dont have any idea what
youre talking about -

Oh, I know an instigator when I see one, Derek says.

The temptation to lean in, to put one hand just above Stiles shoulder, to maybe set the other one
on his hip or at his elbow, is way, way too strong. Derek is not going to be the kind of guy who
takes advantage in that way, so instead, he grabs the edge of the duct tape and unrolls a long strip.

Okay, seriously, man, Stiles says warily, what is that for?

Why dont I just show you? Derek asks.

No need, actually, Im fine not knowing, Stiles says, voice high and tight, but Derek ignores
him. He starts on Stiles wrist, since thats up and out of the way, sets to winding the tape around
it good and tight, though not tight enough that it runs any risk of cutting off Stiles circulation.

Stiles quickly catches on to Dereks intentions, and as soon as he does he starts squirming and
pulling away, as if he has any actual chance of escape.

Im allergic to duct tape! he protests at one point, and Derek stills, halfway through wrapping
his arm.

Right, he snorts. Try a more believable story next time.

Its true! Stiles yelps. Scott, tell him!

Derek glances back at Scott, whos sprawled pretty comfortably on the floor, though he looks a bit
wary when Dereks gaze lands on him.

Well? Derek asks, lifting an eyebrow. Is he really allergic to duct tape?

Scott looks from Derek, to Stiles, to Derek again. Are you going to tape me to the bannister,
too?

That depends, Derek says. You gonna tell me the truth?

Not even a little bit allergic, Scott says, and Stiles howls.

You traitor! he calls, as Derek gets back to work.

Hey, I got my hair dyed pink for you! Scott protests. Youre on your own for this one.

Derek calls Jackson and Greenberg over to hold Stiles feet, after a well-timed kick nearly catches
him in the balls, but with their help the duct taping goes quickly, and Derek finishes just as the last
of the pledges file out, the kitchen now completely filled with cups of water, but for a narrow path
from the bannister to the back door.

Well, this has been fun, Derek says, looking smugly at the sight Stiles makes. Hes totally
trapped, taped securely from the neck down, his feet no longer even touching the floor. Stiles
protests and complaints have finally subsided, and now he just glares mutinously at Derek, his jaw
firmly set in a pout.

It mostly makes Derek want to think of those words that hes barred from his vocabulary.

Derek does a quick, final check, just to make sure the tape isnt cutting into Stiles anywhere, and
once hes satisfied that hes not going to be leaving him in a position thats too uncomfortable, he
leans in close, though not quite close enough to touch. He can smell the faint scent of Stiles
cologne though, and when Stiles blinks up at him, he can see the different shades of brown
swirling through his irises.

His eyelashes, Derek notes, are absurdly long, and unless hes much mistaken, Stiles gaze drops
very briefly to Dereks mouth, a development that makes an annoyingly large part of Derek want
to celebrate.

Tell Boyd I look forward to receiving his surrender, Derek says, and to his secret delight, Stiles
eyes narrow.

We have not yet begun to fight, he says, with as much dignity as he can muster.

Derek laughs; its a hard threat to take seriously when its giver is taped to a staircase, but God
damn, let it never be said that Stiles Stilinski doesnt have spunk.

The warmth that curls through Derek at that thought is dangerous, and he quickly takes his leave,
with no more than a final mocking wave to both Stiles and Scott. He jogs back to his car, parked
two blocks over, still smiling as he slides behind the steering wheel.

Whatever Stiles comes up with in retaliation, and Derek has no doubt that there will be retaliation,
he has a hard time believing its going to top this.
Chapter End Notes

One of the pranks involves the use of restraints, though in a non-sexual manner;
Allison and Lydia handcuff Scott and Stiles to a radiator and staircase, and Derek
then duct tapes Stiles to the bannister.

***

I do have a tumblr, if anyone feels like hanging out. You can find me here! I have yet
to understand how tumblr actually works, but I'd like to start figuring it out a bit more,
hence the self-pimping. Please feel free to come say hi!
 Chapter Two
Chapter Notes

Apologies FOREVER for the wait on this one, guys! Ugh, I can't believe it's actually
been two months, that is ridiculous. Life was busy, I had a bad cold for awhile, and it
turns out writing Stiles comes way more naturally to me than Mr. Derek Hale.
Thanks so much for being patient though, and I hope you this installment doesn't
disappoint! <3

See the end of the chapter for more notes

A week after the duct tape, Derek is still waiting for retribution.

He has to be planning something, dont you think? he mutters, the question ostensibly directed
at Cal, whos the only other person in the Dens living room right now.

Who? Cal asks distractedly, not even looking up from his textbook.

Stilinski! Derek says. I taped him to a staircase, theres no way hes just going to let that go,
right?

When Cal finally does glance Dereks way, he looks equal parts exasperated and amused. You
know, for someone who claims to hate this whole prank war thing so much, youre kind of
obsessed.

That is not true, Derek says sternly. I am not obsessed.

Cal snorts, the very definition of an unattractive sound. You spent almost an hour yesterday
grilling Greenberg on Stilinski, he says. And how much time, exactly, have you devoted to
scouring the web for new pranks?

Derek avoids flushing through sheer will power, his lips pressed tightly together because he
refuses to dignify such an outrageous accusation with an actual answer. Cal, of course, takes in his
expression and laughs.

Im not saying its a bad thing, he continues. Its good to see you into something thats not
classes for once.

Shut up, Derek says, though theres not enough heat in it to be an actual threat. Were not
talking about this anymore.

Theres a definite smirk on Cals face, but he only shrugs and goes back to his reading, leaving
Derek to his brooding.

Hes cooking up something awful, isnt he? You owe it to me to tell me, Boyd, were friends. I
deserve at least some advance warning.

Boyd smirks, and out of the corner of his eye, Derek sees Isaac mark something down on his
napkin.
I stay out of it, Boyd says easily. Like a President of the fraternity should.

I dont have a choice! Derek exclaims. Hes not just giving the guys pledging hell, hes
focusing on the whole fraternity!

The kid thinks big, I like that in an Omega, Boyd says, sounding satisfied.

You gonna finish your fruit? Isaac asks.

Derek slides his bowl over with a grumble, and the three sit in silence for a bit, while Isaac eats the
blackberries that Derek ignored and Boyd picks up his phone and starts texting someone.

I just think maybe you should keep an eye on Stilinski, Derek says. Because if hes going to
try to top what we pulled, he might - what are you writing, Lahey?

Isaac freezes, looking just the slightest bit guilty, and Derek takes advantage of it to snatch the
napkin away from him. Theres a neat line of tally marks across one edge, totaling up eleven little
lines.

What is this? Derek asks, frowning, and Boyd snorts.

Keeping track of how many times Derek brings up Stilinski? he asks, and Isaac nods, a smile
pulling at his own mouth.

Excuse me? Derek says, tossing the napkin down like its burned him. Thats - I havent
brought him up eleven times!

Well, it was hard to take an official count, Isaac says, leaning back in his chair, the better to let
his long legs stretch out underneath the table. Because youve pretty much spent the entire meal
talking about him. But I counted it as an individual instance of there had been a change in
conversation topic before you circled back around, or if there had been a pause of longer than a
minute before you started talking about him again.

Derek splutters out some nonsense sounds for a few moments, which only makes the amusement
on Boyds and Isaacs faces increase.

Hey, its fine by me, Isaac says, giving Dereks foot a friendly tap under the table. Hes smart,
hes funny - hes easy on the eyes.

Nope, Derek says flatly. Nope. No.

Oh, come on, Boyd says with a big, slow smile. You do this every time you fall for someone.
Youre all in or nothing, and when youre all in, you cant shut up about them.

At least its not your TA this time, Isaac says, reaching out and plucking a french fry off of
Dereks plate.

Derek gives him the darkest look he can possibly muster. Id move your hand if I were you, he
says, before I put my fork through it.

Isaac hurriedly pulls his hand away, putting both of them in his lap, safely out of Dereks sight.

Hey, man, its cool, Boyd says. Hed be good for you, I think.

Were not talking about this anymore, Derek says abruptly, gathering up his own crumpled
napkin, Isaacs tally-marked one, and the straw wrappers littering the table, piling it all onto his
empty plate. Wheres the waiter?

He flags down their waiter to ask for his check and ignores Isaac mouthing the word denial to
Boyd, as well as Boyds answering chuckle.

He is not in denial. Just because he thinks Stiles is attractive or finds him interesting - that doesnt
mean he likes him! Because he emphatically does not like Stiles, Stiles is a pain in his ass, Stiles is
the worst, Stiles is...

Thats when Derek groans and drops his head to the table because that line of thinking sounds a
whole lot like hes trying to convince himself.

Isaac makes a sympathetic noise and reaches over to pat him on the back, making Derek lament
the fact that the waiter just walked away with his fork.

Derek!

In the handful of months that Jacksons spent pledging the Alphas, he seems to have picked up
some sort of special radar where Derek is concerned; hes constantly alert to Dereks presence,
and hes forever calling him over, demanding his time for a consultation on his class schedule or
for Dereks opinion on whether or not he should stick with the lacrosse team, even though the
coach doesnt have him starting this semester.

It would be a lot less annoying if Derek liked Jackson just a little bit more.

Derek!

Derek sighs to himself and briefly debates sneaking upstairs to his room, where he can close the
door and pretend hes not in. Jackson enters the living room before he reaches a decision though,
lighting up when he sees Derek.

Derek, hey! he says, throwing himself down into the armchair opposite Dereks seat on the
couch. I wanted to talk to you about something.

Go ahead, Derek says, reluctantly shutting his Physics book and putting it to the side.

Did you know the brothers have been making the pledges do their laundry? Jackson demands.

I - yes, Derek says, taken aback. Thats kind of a tradition of ours.

Its hazing, Jackson says, sitting on the edge of his seat in a way thats almost aggressive. And
isnt Alpha Nu Alpha firmly against all forms of hazing?

Theres a headache starting to form just behind Dereks eyes, and hes entirely sure the reason for
it is sitting right in front of him. Yes, were against hazing, he agrees. But the laundry thing is
harmless, Jackson.

Its totally hypocritical, Jackson says firmly, a note of satisfaction creeping into his tone, like he
thinks hes already won. Making us do everyones laundry - thats taking advantage of the
system -

Oh my God, Jackson, a voice breaks in, and Derek turns around to find Cal standing in the
doorway, looking almost amused. Are you serious right now?
Its clearly a violation of -

Its harmless, Cal says, echoing Dereks earlier statement. And I would be taking your
complaint a whole hell of a lot more seriously if you hadnt waited for laundry duty to cycle
through every single other pledge. I keep tabs, buddy, and I didnt hear a peep out of you about
this until it was your turn.

Derek has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud at the outraged look on
Jacksons face.

Hes got a point, Derek says a moment later, once hes gotten himself under control.

Besides, Cal continues, flashing Jackson a wide grin, the rest of the pledges would have your
head if you weaseled your way out of laundry duty. Suck it up and wash some clothes. And make
sure you get unscented fabric softener - I have very sensitive skin.

Derek manages to hold in his laughter until Jackson hurries off, looking suitably chastened.

That little shit, Cal says. He sounds surprisingly fond, though hes shaking his head as he steals
the chair that Jacksons just vacated. Acting like he was fighting the good fight for the benefit of
the entire pledge class.

And on that note, Derek says, scooping up his pile of books, I have a bag of laundry to get
together.

Cals delighted laughter follows him all the way up the stairs.

What the hell kind of detergent did you use? Cal demands, standing in nothing but his boxers as
he glares Jackson down. His usually pale skin is red and blotchy, fingernail marks clear from
where hes been scratching at his chest and sides.

Regular detergent! Jackson exclaims. The stuff I always use!

Well, you mustve done something weird, because everyone who wore any of the clothes you
washed spent the entire day fucking miserable, Ethan says; his torso is pink, too, though it
doesnt look like hes been scratching quite as vigorously as Cal.

Did you do something to get back at us for laundry duty? Cal demands, and Jacksons eyes go
wide.

What - no! Of course not!

Poor form, dude, Ennis says, a deep, deep frown drawing his brows together.

I didnt -

Thats enough, Derek breaks in, already tired of the sniping. Im sure it was an accident, he
continues, even though he isnt entirely certain; Jackson seems sincere, but hed been full of
complaints yesterday. Still, Derek would like to give him the benefit of the doubt.

Everyone, rewash your own clothes, he says. Jackson, dont think this means youre off the
hook for future laundry assignments.

Jackson looks positively mutinous, but Derek isnt actually sure if its due to the promise of having
to do more laundry, or the fact that all of the brothers had been so quick to accuse him of messing
up their clothes on purpose.

Before Derek can pull him aside for a quick chat, Jacksons stomping out the front door, muttering
something about his roommate under his breath. Derek just sighs, rubs the heel of his hand against
his eyes. He should probably be more irritated about this, but as of this morning, he still had a few
clean t-shirts, and so he hasnt touched the clothes Jackson had left with him.

Mostly, he just wants the pledging process to be over, so things can get back to normal and he can
finally have some peace and quiet again. Thank God tomorrow is Sunday; he doesnt have
anything to do but write a paper, and oddly enough, that sounds almost relaxing to him right now.

Hey, Derek!

Dereks eleven pages in to his twenty-page paper, and he barely registers Ethans shout at first, too
intent on locating the quote hed read maybe twenty minutes ago, one that he knows will perfectly
support his argument, if only he can find it again.

Derek! Ethan calls again, breaking Dereks concentration. He looks up with a scowl, and Ethan
holds his hands up in an I come in peace sort of gesture, hovering near the front door. Your
pizzas here, dude.

Dont call me that, Derek says shortly. And I didnt order a pizza.

Ive got an order for a Derek Hale, he hears a voice chime in, and then that same voice rattles
off a phone number.

Derek frowns, but sets down his book in order to get up and make his way to the front door.

Thats my number, but I didnt order a pizza, he says. The pizza guy huffs a sigh, mouth set in a
thin line. Derek notes his purple shirt, the Petes Pizza logo scrawled across the right side of his
chest. Its been weeks since hes ordered anything from them, but they definitely have him in the
system - they probably just pulled up the wrong account.

Youre sure? the pizza guy asks. Is there anyone else here who mightve used your name and
number?

I highly doubt it, Derek says, but hes already reaching for his wallet. Here, Ive got it, its fine.
Im sure itll get eaten.

That gets him a grateful smile, at least, and Derek throws in a tip as well. Its good pizza, no sense
in letting it go to waste, and itd be pretty shitty to stiff the delivery guy when hes just doing his
job.

Here, Derek says, handing the box to Ethan. Save me a couple slices, but the rest of it is up for
grabs.

Yesssss, Ethan says, eyes lighting up. If Derek had to guess, hed say ninety percent of that
pizza is going to end up claimed by Ethan.

Dereks just settling into his paper once more when the doorbell rings again. This time its Aiden
who answers, and Derek pointedly tunes out the conversation, too intent on figuring out how to
segue into his next paragraph.
Hes interrupted yet again when Aiden comes over, drops a white paper bag in front of him.
Here, he says, when Derek looks up at him. I went ahead and paid the guy for your sandwich.
You owe me ten bucks.

What? Derek asks, after a beat.

Ten bucks, Aiden says, holding his hand out.

I didnt order a sandwich, Derek says.

Aiden frowns, looking deeply skeptical. The delivery guy had your name and number, he says.

So did the pizza guy, Derek says, his frustration starting to leak through. I havent ordered
anything though.

Do you think - Aiden starts to say, but hes interrupted by the chime of the doorbell. This time,
Dereks the one to answer the door, and sure enough, theres an order of chicken wings for him,
from a place hes never even heard of before.

Paying the guy for the damn wings is the quickest way to get rid of him, but Dereks starting to
feel pissed off by the time he closes the door.

I do think, he agrees, finishing Aidens unspoken thought. This has the Omegas written all
over it.

It has Stilinski written all over it, Aiden says, and Dereks only response is a grunt, because hes
spent the past couple days doing a decent job of keeping his mind off Stiles, too distracted by
Jackson and his laundry debacle and his paper to spare any thought for the smart-mouthed, pretty-
eyed thorn in his side.

The doorbell rings again less than ten minutes later; its another pizza, and the only thing that
keeps Derek from refusing to claim it is guilt over the thought of the business losing money. There
might also be a sliver of concern for the reputation of the Alphas; its not going to look good for
them if word gets around that their fraternity is embroiled in some juvenile prank war thats
costing local businesses revenue.

How many orders do you think Stilinskis placed? Aiden asks, sounding slightly wary, even as
hes eyeing the pizza that Dereks set down on the nearby coffee table, so hot its still steaming.

I dont know that I actually want to think about that, Derek grits out.

He finally loses his patience when delivery guy number six shows up right on the heels of number
five - a second sandwich, and yet another pizza.

Who the hell is calling these in? Derek demands, voice rising a little louder than it probably
should, but its been almost an hour since this started, and he hasnt been able to make any more
progress on his paper. Dont you have caller ID? Whats the phone number?

Uh, I dont actually have that information, delivery guy number six says. Just the phone
number the caller gave us - which is yours.

Yeah, but its not me thats doing the ordering, Derek snaps, so whats your caller ID say?

I can check when I get back to the shop, the other guy offers, and Derek takes a deep breath,
tries to rein in his temper.
Great, thanks, he says, his words clipped, then reaches for his wallet and hands each of them a
ten.

Hey, man, you dont have to pay us for something you didnt order, number six says, but Derek
waves him off.

Its fine, itll get eaten, he says. Just - if any more orders come in for me, disregard them,
okay?

Sure thing, says number five with a grin, and the two of them go jogging back to their cars.

Derek settles down just inside the front door, figuring its pointless to even attempt any more work
on his paper just yet.

The deliveries keep coming, every ten minutes like clockwork, and Dereks handing number nine
the payment when his phone finally buzzes. He answers the call with a snapped, Hello?

Caller ID comes up as a payphone, the delivery guy from before says, and Dereks eyes narrow.
He should have guessed that, honestly; Stiles is too clever to call from a cell phone, anything that
the restaurants could trace back to him.

Thanks, Derek says.

Good luck, the guy says cheerfully.

Derek hangs up, darts back inside just long enough to grab his jacket before he sets out for
campus. Theres a payphone near the library, he knows; its as good a place as any to start.

He walks quickly, something like anticipation pulsing through him. He doesnt know what,
exactly, hes going to do to Stiles when he finds him, but hes going to make him pay for
disrupting Dereks meant-to-be-quiet-and-peaceful afternoon.

Stiles is right where Derek expects him to be, holed up in the phone booth around the back corner
of the library. Derek picks up his pace as he approaches, adrenaline already starting to pump
through him at just the sight of Stiles, but before he can reach the payphone, Stiles looks up and
spots him.

Even from this distance, Derek can see the way his face flickers from shock straight to panic, and
he drops the phone, leaving it to hang uselessly from its cord while he grabs for his jacket and
takes off.

Stiles! Derek shouts, though he doesnt think for a second itll get him to stop. It doesnt matter -
Derek breaks into a run as well, and he knows right away that Stiles hasnt got a chance in hell of
getting away from him. Hes quick, but hes no varsity athlete.

Hes steadily gaining on Stiles, fifty feet, then forty, then thirty, and when hes no more than a few
yards behind him, Stiles glances over his shoulder, his expression positively alive with mischief,
and calls out, You should be thanking me! I very thoughtfully provided your whole frat with
lunch!

That is it, that is it. Derek digs deep and closes the gap between them, then full-on tackles Stiles,
dragging him right down to the ground.

*
Somewhere between being preoccupied with the memory of Stiles body, long and lean and
fucking perfect, and the realization that he just made another fraternitys pledge take off all his
clothes, Derek starts to panic. At first its a low-level thrum, an unpleasant flush that starts at the
tips of his ears, then quickly spreads to the back of his neck.

Hes got Stiles clothes bundled up under his arm - still warm from Stiles skin, though as soon as
that thought crosses his mind, Derek has to tamp down the urge to drop them in the nearest trash
can. Hes pretty sure demanding that Stiles strip was creepy enough, he doesnt need to be
thinking about how warm and soft Stiles hoodie is, how if he brought it up to his nose and
breathed in deep, it would probably still smell like him -

Oh God, Derek mutters, forcibly redirecting his thoughts, clinging to the first thing that pops
into his head, which is how, come tomorrow morning, hes probably going to be dragged in front
of the honor court for sexual harassment or something.

Hes in full-fledged panic mode by the time he makes it back to the Den, where he finds two more
delivery guys waiting on the porch. Derek digs out his wallet and blindly thrusts a twenty at each
of them, before swooping up both bags - Chinese and Indian this time - and hurling himself inside.

Ooh, I smell curry! Ennis calls out, and Derek hands the food off to the nearest brother, then
hightails it upstairs to his room, since hed rather hyperventilate in private.

He thinks about calling Laura. He should, probably, since she can be generally relied upon to talk
him down from a ledge. He does not, however, relish telling her exactly what hes done, which is
why he logs onto Skype instead, breathing out a rush of relief when he sees that Ericas online.

He doesnt even think about it, just presses call and waits.

Bonjour, mon petit chou! Erica chirps, flashing him a white-toothed smile as soon as the video
kicks in.

Youre in Germany, Derek says.

Yeah, well, Im going to France next weekend, so Im brushing up on my language skills, she
says. Whats up? You look freaked.

Its unfair, Derek thinks - not for the first time - how easily shes able to read him.

I... may have done something stupid, he admits, and Ericas eyes narrow, her expression gone
instantaneously shrewd.

It makes Derek think of his mother, whos always had a knack for knowing exactly what her
children are up to.

Does this have anything to do with that Omega pledge youve been pining over?

What? Derek asks, then repeats it, because once simply isnt enough to communicate the full
measure of the what-the-fuckery of her assumption. What?

Erica offers him a smug, close-lipped grin. Boyd says you cant stop talking about him.

You - he - Boyd is full of shit, Derek splutters. And have I told you lately how much I regret
ever introducing the two of you?

No, Erica says, a throaty chuckle lurking underneath her words, but then, Ive been out of the
country, so. Give me the deets, Derek, did you finally do him?
He called every delivery place in town and placed an order under my name, Derek says,
choosing to ignore Ericas oh-so-smart remarks. I caught him outside the library, using a
payphone.

And? Erica prompts.

And I tackled him.

And?

...made him give me all his clothes, Derek finishes, very, very quietly.

Ericas eyes go wide, and then she lets out an actual hoot of laughter, one which dissolves into a
cackle.

Oh my God, she says, its like youre starring in your very own romantic comedy. I cant
believe Im missing seeing this in person.

Erica, I took his clothes, Derek exclaims. Hes probably reporting me as we speak for hazing -

Derek -

- or harassment -

Oh, for -

- probably both -

Derek.

Its Ericas amusement, heavily tinged with exasperation, that gets Derek to shut up. Shes looking
at him fondly when he directs his gaze back to her, even though shes got an eyebrow raised in
judgment.

Get a grip, she says - nicely, considering its her. Deep breath, okay?

Derek obeys out of reflex, dragging in a breath so big its almost painful. After holding it for a few
seconds, he exhales, and with the air goes some of the tightness in his chest.

You guys are in a prank war, Erica reminds him. If hes even half as into all this as you are, all
hes going to think about is getting revenge, not reporting you to the administration. Jesus, worst-
case-scenario much?

Shut up, Derek grumbles, although he has to admit its sensible logic.

Yeah, yeah, whatever, Erica says with a smile. Youll be fine, Derek. Lucky for you, youve
got the prank war to act as a cover for the fact that you totally just wanted to see him naked.

Erica, Derek snaps. Thats not even - its not - He breaks off abruptly, recognizing just how
unconvincing his protests are. He thinks his cheeks might be turning pink, and he deliberately
keeps his eyes off the corner of the screen where his own face is, focuses only on Ericas instead,
which is looking positively delighted at the moment.

This is adorable, she says. You should totally go for it.

I am not interested, Derek grits out. Hes an obnoxious little shit, hes like a goddamn mosquito
that just wont go away. Besides, he hates me. That last point, of course, being the actual
problem.

Uh huh, Erica says. Please, hes basically pulling your pigtails. And look, even if you do think
hes that annoying, which, I think youre just a big liar, youre clearly still into him, like, as a piece
of ass.

Erica.

Im just saying! If youre not going to make a move, then at least find someone who looks like
him and get it out of your system. Its about time you got laid anyhow - Boyd says there hasnt
been anyone since Kate -

Derek cuts her off right there, because this is no-go territory, and she should know better. You
were not even here for Kate, he says crisply, therefore you do not get to have an opinion about
the Kate situation.

Erica makes a face, but she doesnt push him on it, which means, no doubt, that Boyds told her
the whole mortifying story.

The silence between them isnt quite strained, but it is a little bit awkward, until Erica finally sighs
and leans in closer to her monitor.

I just want to see you happy, Derek, she says. Boyd does, too.

I am happy, Derek says, the response coming automatically. Im good, Erica.

Its true, for the most part. Hes maybe more content than he is happy, but thats an awful lot like
splitting hairs for Dereks tastes.

Yeah, is all Erica says, clearly not interested in pressing the point right now. Instead she grins,
mischief darkening her eyes. So, this Stiles guy - whatd he look like sans clothes? Good body?

Derek closes his computer, abruptly ending the call.

Erica is still laughing when he calls her back two minutes later.

The talk with Erica helps, but Derek still spends the next few days constantly paranoid, worried
each time his phone rings that this time, its going to be the Dean, wanting to speak to him about
his totally inappropriate behavior.

The call never comes; in fact, Derek hears through the grapevine that Stiles has struck again, but
has limited his evil genius to upside-downing Jacksons bedroom furniture.

Derek hates that he thinks thats clever, that Stiles always manages to think so much bigger than
everyone else in the room. He does have to give some props to Jackson, whos been bragging to
everyone that hed managed to keep the key to his old room, going on about how hes going to
get Stiles back so bad.

Unfortunately, Jacksons idea of thinking big seems to be hair dye and loosening a bed frame,
so Derek isnt holding his breath for anything spectacular.

He catches himself complaining about it when Laura calls him Tuesday night and asks about the
prank war.

Im pretty sure were losing, Derek grumbles, though Lauras the only person hed ever admit
that to. Fuckin Boyd - he scooped the most infuriatingly genius freshman out from right under
my goddamn nose. Kids been making everyones life exceedingly unpleasant.

Laura just laughs, and Derek fights off a sigh, hating how far away that laughter is.

I think youve been having fun, she says, in that big sister way, where she manages to sound all
knowing. That tone of voice happens to be Dereks least favorite. Youve been sending me
emails with more than two sentences in them - for you, thats practically gushing.

Shut up, Derek says, but its a weak reply. Hes so tired of people telling him what fun hes
having, how hes so into Stiles, when that is not ever going to go anywhere. Fine, he can maybe
admit that hes got a little bit of a... a thing, but Stiles doesnt even like him, and Derek isnt about
to make a fool out of himself just because hes got a crush. Hes already done that once, with
Kate, and that was more than enough for him, thanks.

Im serious! Laura says. You seem happier than you usually do, underneath all of that showy
grumpiness, which is great, okay? I dont know why you fight it so much.

Im not fighting anything, Derek protests. Lies.

Uh huh, says Laura, not the least bit convinced. You keep telling yourself that, little brother.
Ill just wait until you prove me right.

Big sisters, Derek is sure, are the worst.

Kali, the current President of the Delta Alpha Kappas herself, corners Derek as hes coming out of
his two oclock class. He startles badly, then tries to cover it up with his sternest look.

What, he says, because Kali never pops up just to say hi.

The annual Delta Alpha Kappa and Alpha Nu Alpha Howl-O-Ween party is this Friday night, as
Im sure you know, she announces, and Derek grunts an acknowledgment. His lack of interest
doesnt seem to bother Kali at all.

I need to know what time you can come over to help set up, she says.

Derek lets his mouth settle into a flat line. Cals taking care of all of that, he says, which is when
Kalis eyes narrow.

Derek, are you or are you not the President of Alpha Nu Alpha? she demands; Derek has to bite
back the urge to growl at her.

Well? she prompts, after a few moments pass with no answer from Derek.

Yes, he finally grits out.

Then as President, Kali continues, you have a duty to not only make an appearance, but also to
help carry heavy things. Like kegs.

Derek manfully suppresses a groan, because the thing is, shes not wrong. The Howl-O-Ween
party is a thirty-year tradition. Hed been hoping the sorority would be satisfied with just Cal, but
clearly that isnt going to be the case.

What time do you need me there? he says, and Kali beams.

Five oclock! she says happily, obviously pleased over having gotten her way. And youd
better come in costume!

She doesnt stick around to hear any further protests, just strides off across the quad, like she
hasnt just effectively ruined Dereks afternoon by bullying him into a ridiculous party he has no
interest in attending.

His mind briefly flickers to his conversation with Erica. At least find someone who looks like him
and get it out of your system. He shakes his head, forcing the thought away. One-night stands
arent his style. Besides, if this years Howl-O-Ween is anything like last years, hes going to
have to keep an eye on things, or risk letting the party get broken up by the cops.

I dont think that actually counts as a costume, Ennis says dubiously, giving Dereks attire a
truly judgmental look.

How does this not count? Derek demands. Im Wolverine.

Youre wearing jeans, a t-shirt, and a leather jacket, Ennis says.

Derek glares at him, because this is exactly what Hugh Jackman wears in the movie, so there. His
brothers have been ridiculously disapproving, however, and its just Dereks luck that hed be
stuck with a bunch that takes Halloween far too seriously.

Here, Aiden says, practically bouncing back into the living room. Hes holding out a simple
black mask, and a pile of gray plastic.

Theyre retractable, Aiden grins, when he sees Derek looking. Stole em from my little sister -
shes obsessed with all things X-Men. He demonstrates, and Derek recoils a little as claws
suddenly shoot out of the contraptions.

He has to admit, theyre pretty cool.

Fine, he says, taking the claws from Aiden and strapping them to his wrists, underneath the
leather jacket. He puts the mask on, too, because why the hell not. Going to this party incognito
might actually be for the best.

Here, this, too, Aiden says, and thrusts a condom and lube at Derek.

Compliments of Miss Erica Reyes, he says, when Derek sends him a death glare. Its overall
effect, Derek thinks, is probably diminished by the mask hes wearing.

Aiden just gives him a shit-eating grin and heads out the door, closely followed by Ennis.

Derek spends a long minute staring down at the supplies in his hand, then all at once shoves them
into his pocket. Itd be stupid to go all the way up to his room just to stick them in a drawer, and
besides, just because hes taking the condom, doesnt mean hes actually going to use it.

As parties go, this years Howl-O-Ween bash is actually kind of fun. Kalis gone above and
beyond with the alcohol selection, which means Dereks been drinking gin and tonics all night,
instead of the usual college staple of shitty beer.

The musics loud, but its good, and the house is filled with people who just want to dance. Derek
isnt dancing, of course, but hes having a good time just watching. Its kind of nice, sometimes, to
just sit back and observe happy people having a great time.

Hes just gotten another drink and is settling back into a corner of the couch when the front door
swings open yet again and two guys enter. Derek notices the one dressed as Spider-Man the
instant he steps into the living room, because apparently Derek has a built-in radar now for guys
who are tall and skinny, lightly muscled and in possession of a great ass. The resemblance to Stiles
is kind of uncanny, and thank God Derek went with a mask, because otherwise his staring would
be creepily obvious. Spider-Mans with a friend though - possibly a boyfriend, if the way theyre
sticking to each other like glue is any indication - so Derek keeps to just noticing, his gaze idly
drifting to those spandex-clad legs whenever Spider-Man comes near.

A few hours in, he sees the shirtless possible-boyfriend flirting with Allison Argent, which pretty
firmly relegates him to strictly friend status. Derek has a half-formed notion to go find Spider-Man,
but he gets distracted by a keg stand that results in a nasty, face-first tumble.

Greenbergs lucky he doesnt break his goddamn nose, manages to stumble away with just a
bruised forehead instead.

As fate would have it, Derek comes into the kitchen a while later in a bid to escape Lydia Martins
mosh pit, only to find Spider-Man trying to sneak his way upstairs. Derek doesnt even think
about it - maybe because hes been drinking, maybe because his blood pulses at the sight of him -
he just moves, until hes right behind the guy, grabbing him by the shoulder and tugging him
back.

Hey! the guy exclaims, flailing in a way that is decidedly unheroic.

Nobodys allowed upstairs, Derek says. The guy turns around, then, and Derek finds himself
staring into a totally opaque mask; he cant catch even a hint of expression. He does notice the
subtle up and down the guy gives him, which ends in a curious tilt of his head.

Who are you even supposed to be?

Something about the question grates on Derek, just a little, and so he gives in to the urge to freak
the stranger out by flicking his wrist and causing the claws to shoot out.

The guy shouts and falls down, hard enough that Derek hears the thud. Holy shit! he yelps,
pointing at Derek. You couldve taken my eye out.

Derek rolls his eyes, because really? Theyre plastic, he says, calm down.

Oh, the guy says, then struggles back up to his feet. In that case...

Derek doesnt miss the flick of his wrist, but he does startle back as a stream of silly string hits his
shirt, and the guy in front of him nearly chokes with laughter. Its giving Derek terrible flashbacks
to Stiles, and the way hed been practically giggling while he was telling Derek about the itching
powder, the way his body shook with humor underneath Dereks.

Thats when Derek darts in, as if action might push the thoughts from his head.
No ones allowed upstairs, he says, forcing the guy back into the bannister a bit. He feels more
than hears a sudden inhale, a little gasp of a breath.

Mjust looking for a friend, the guy says. Seriously, dude, Ill be in and out, thats all.

No.

What are you, the unofficial bouncer? Itll take me two seconds! Hes starting to sound
downright irritated, and somehow, Derek takes some satisfaction in that.

Not without an escort, Derek says. Either one of the sorority sisters, or an Alpha.

So why dont you escort me upstairs?

Derek grins; its easier, somehow, with the mask on, to give in to whatever whims hes feeling.
And right now, hes feeling a little bit like the big bad wolf, and hes kind of enjoying it.

I dont sneak upstairs at parties unless Im going to be putting one of the beds up there to good
use.

Its totally out of character for him, but theres no reason this guy needs to know that. Besides,
when was the last time Derek engaged in a little charged conversation, the kind that edges into
flirting territory?

(An argument could be made for there being a recent time or two, with Stiles, but Derek has no
interest in hearing such an argument.)

I, uh, the guy says, and his voice is suddenly far more hoarse than it was a moment ago. I
could be persuaded.

Derek freezes. It feels like his brain shuts off, because somehow, Ericas careless words have,
potentially, become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Because Derek could do this. Could give into some
no-strings-attached sex, with a stranger who reminds him just a little too much of Stiles.

He cant quite formulate a specific answer, too distracted, maybe, by taking another meandering
look down the length of the guys body. Hes tall, almost Dereks height, and broader at the
shoulders than youd think at first glance.

You want to? the guy prompts, and just like that, Dereks made his decision. He reaches for the
guys wrist, tugs him straight upstairs, already thinking about how Ericas room will be empty,
that the sorority sisters will have thoughtfully outfitted her bed with sheets, in case of overnight
guests.

The seconds tick by in a blur until they reach Ericas room, and Derek leads Spider-Man inside,
snapping the door shut behind them and twisting the lock.

Ericas studying abroad this semester, Derek says. His mouth feels dry, suddenly, and his
hearts about ready to pound out of his chest. Theres a part of him - a big part - that cant believe
hes actually doing this. Nobodyll come kick us out of here, he adds, mostly for something to
say, something to fill the silence.

Good thinking, Spider-Man says. He leans back into the door, hips cocked out, and Derek cant
resist that kind of temptation. He reaches out, settles his hands to the sharp cut of those hips. Jesus,
he can hardly look at this guy without thinking about Stiles, and he has to wonder if that makes
him a terrible person.
You gonna take that mask off? he asks raggedly, because maybe if he can see the guys face,
then his mind wont stray.

Spider-Man goes still, but after a moment, he reaches up and peels the mask up above his nose,
which doesnt actually help at all, because it turns out his mouth is positively edible.

No way in hell Im hot enough for you, Spider-Man quips, although Derek has already seen
enough of him to know that cant possibly be true.

Besides, he continues, I feel like it would be terrible of us to squander this opportunity to do it

as Spider-Man and Wolverine.

Derek cant help it - that gets a smile out of him, one that comes very close to turning into a laugh.
Maybe its for the best. He wont get to know this guys true identity, but this guy wont know
him, either, and Derek does have a reputation to maintain. If you say so, he says and gives in to
the desire to move his hand to the guys bare skin, to curl his fingers to his jaw, to press his thumb
in at the guys plush, bottom lip. God, he wants to bite at it, until its all red and swollen, then suck
the sting away. Hes just begun to lean in, not much room left in his brain for anything but kissing,
when the guy makes a soft, wanting noise.

Im, uh, Im gonna call you Logan, he mumbles. Because its weird if I keep calling you that
guy in my head.

Sure thing, Parker, Derek says, but thinks Stiles, and to keep that particular bit of mortification
from ever seeing the light of day, he goes in for a kiss.

They dont talk much, once Derek starts fucking him in earnest. A large part of that is because
Derek doesnt think he has the breath for it. Parkers a hot vise around his dick, and if Derek gets
distracted by having to formulate words, he thinks hell be coming in no time, and he doesnt want
this to end. It feels fucking amazing, and he cant let it be over, not yet. Not when Parkers a
moaning, mumbling mess underneath him, clutching at Dereks shoulders and sometimes
forgetting himself enough that he ends up scratching blunt nails down Dereks back, leaving, no
doubt, red lines the whole way down.

Instead of talking, Derek keeps his mouth on Parkers neck, the long, pale expanse of it, where he
discovers its insanely easy to bring the blood rushing to the surface, to suck a hickey into being.
Hes always liked leaving marks. He doesnt ever want to hurt someone, has no interest in leaving
those kinds of traces behind, but he likes leaving something harmless, something to say, I was
here.

You can - harder, Parker gasps out, legs tightening around Dereks waist. I like it harder,
cmon.

I dont want to hurt you, Derek says roughly, but he cant quite help the way his hips jerk
forward harder, faster, and his whole body flushes with heat when Parker lets out a strung out
moan. His mouths open and wet, gasping for air, and his lips are every bit as kiss-stung and red
as Derek had imagined, and his cheeks - what Derek can see of them - are stained a splotchy pink,
just the way Derek has seen Stiles flush -

He pulls back from the thought sharply, but its too late; hes already coming, hips stuttering
forward, like his body wants to bury itself as deeply as it possibly can.

Fuck, fuck, he gasps, well and truly wrecked, and to his surprise, he feels Stiles buck up against
him, once, then twice, his cock skidding against Dereks stomach, and then hes seizing up and
coming, too. He clenches up around Dereks cock, and the tightness is almost unbearable, sending
a series of aftershocks rippling through Derek.

Parker, Derek thinks muzzily, his breathing harsh and uneven and loud in his own ears. Parker,
not Stiles. Parker.

He pulls out quickly, carefully, ties the condom off and tosses it into the nearby trash can, but
instead of moving away, he slides an arm around Parkers waist and gently maneuvers him along
as he rolls off, until Parkers sprawled on top of him.

I should go, Parker slurs, his words barely decipherable. Derek cant help but feel kind of smug
about that, even as the guilt starts to creep in, not to mention resignation, because whatever this
was, its clearly not something that succeeded in getting Stiles out of his system.

Gotta - should find my friend, head back home, Parker continues, but Derek just tightens his
hold, starts rubbing patterns over his back.

Not yet, he says, sleep already tugging at his eyes. Even if its the wrong person, a stranger, he
doesnt want to give this up quite yet. Hes exhausted and spent, and Parkers weight on top of
him is warm and comfortable, and theres no reason they cant take a little more time together.
Stay. Just fr now.

Derek flushes head to toe, pleased, when Parker says, For a little bit, on a sigh, snuggling in
nice and close. Just a little. Derek hums his agreement. He pushes his guilt and resignation aside
and just lets himself fall asleep, lets himself have this, if only for a little while.

Derek wakes up early the next morning - too early - when he feels the mattress dip. He rolls over
on reflex, blinking against the dim morning light, and his mouth falls open when he realizes hes
staring right at Stiles.

This is a dream he thinks to himself, not breathing for at least a minute, it feels like. Im dreaming.

Except he doesnt think hed ever have a dream about Stiles where Stiles yelps and then proceeds
to fall out of bed in his haste to get away from Derek.

You! Stiles shouts, and Derek quickly sits up, seeing something a lot like panic in Stiles eyes.
The sight makes Dereks stomach drop like a fucking rock, makes his momentary bloom of
excitement shrivel up like a grape in the sun. You were Wolverine?

Stiles, Derek says carefully, placatingly, moving to the edge of the bed, the sheet dropping
precariously low on his hips. He doesnt know what hes going to say, exactly, to fix this, but he
doesnt even have a chance to figure it out before Stiles expression shifts.

He looks, Derek thinks, like hes about to be sick.

Was this a prank? he asks, voice no more than a croak, and Derek freezes. Was this - is this
some completely fucked up plan where you get back at me by - by fucking me -

Stiles, Derek tries to interrupt, the accusation hitting him in the worst possible way, that same
feeling you get when you turn on the shower and unwittingly step into a stream of ice-cold water.
God, he cant believe Stiles actually thinks -

Shit, did you film this? Is everyone in on it - am I gonna open the door and find your whole frat
out there, waiting -

Stiles, Derek exclaims, because he cant sit here and listen to this, Jesus Christ, he cant let Stiles
believe this, not for a second longer. Stiles gaze is darting all over the room, like hes looking for
an escape route, and his breathing is so quick and shallow, he sounds like hes ready to start
hyperventilating.

Derek heaves himself out of bed, doesnt bother to bring any of the blankets with him. He
couldnt give less of a shit about modesty right now, he just wants to get that fucking look off of
Stiles face.

I didnt know it was you, Derek says seriously, moving toward Stiles - not quite hesitantly, but
cautiously, because Stiles looks ready to bolt. Id never do something that shitty, okay?

I mean, I put itching powder in your underwear, Stiles says. I buttered your whole house -

Yeah, Derek agrees, wholly unable to keep the fondness out of his voice, although hes not sure
Stiles picks up on it. Youve been an annoying little shit, but there isnt anything you could do
that would make me pull something like what youre thinking, all right? I had no idea who you
were until I woke up to you screaming like a girl.

He leaves out, obviously, the part where hed spent most of last night wishing it was Stiles in bed
with him.

Wasnt screaming like a girl, Stiles mutters, stubborn as ever, but Derek can see a measure of
calm stealing over him, so thats something.

In the light of day, hes having a hard time believing he didnt realize it was Stiles hed taken to
bed last night. God, his unexpectedly broad shoulders, his waist, his stupid fucking mouth -

Sorry, Stiles says, distracting Derek from his mouth, which is probably for the best. I didnt -
its not that I think you would do something like that, just - it kind of seemed like the only
explanation.

The only explanation? Derek echoes, not understanding at all where Stiles is going with this.

Stiles goes red, and his eyes shift down and to the side, like hes not interested in meeting Dereks
gaze right now.

For, uh. Sleeping with me, he says, reeking of discomfort. I mean, youre you, and Im, um.

He gestures to himself in a fantastically unimpressed way, and Derek makes an irritated noise,
filled suddenly with the desire to stick up for Stiles, even if its in the face of Stiles own self-
disparagement.

I think you underestimate just how well you filled out that costume, he says, eyes dropping to
Stiles chest - he doesnt remember leaving a hickey on his left pec, but there one is, clear as day.
Its practically involuntary, the way his gaze travels from there, up Stiles throat, to his jaw, his
mouth, and finally up to his eyes.

Stiles is looking at him, his expression shaky and a little bit wondering, and Derek breathes out
sharply. In that moment, he cant stop himself from reaching out to touch, fitting his thumb to one
of the bruises he left on Stiles neck last night.

Stiles gasps, and Derek feels a pulse of want spike through him, all the way down to his dick.
Sorry, he says roughly, because he probably shouldnt have gone to town on Stiles neck the
way he did. Hickeys. I kind of have a thing.

I dont mind hickeys, Stiles says, because of course he does, and Derek thinks he might moan;
hes not actually sure, because before his brain can catch up with his body, hes sliding his hand
up to cup Stiles cheek and dragging him into a kiss.

Stiles makes a muffled, incoherent noise, but he doesnt pull away, and thats the important part.
They wind up laid out on the carpet, kissing each other messily, no finesse whatsoever. Dereks
too desperate for it, too caught up in the fact that its Stiles underneath him, that this time, he wont
have to pretend.

At some point, Stiles winds a leg around Dereks waist and nudges them over, so that Dereks the
one on his back. He feels something hard under his shoulder though, and he grimaces, awkwardly
reaching back to get whatever it is.

Its the bottle of lube, still half-full from last night; Stiles sits straight up when he sees it, still
straddling Dereks hips. His eyes are very, very dark. You want to? he asks hoarsely, almost
tentatively, like he doesnt quite believe that Derek would, now that he knows who Spider-Man
really is.

Yeah, Derek manages. Yeah, I - and then he swears quietly, remembering. I dont have
another condom, he says.

Oh, Stiles says. I - me neither.

Derek stares at him for a long moment. So what if they dont have a condom? There are plenty of
other things they can do, things Derek wants to do, that they didnt get a chance to last night.

Here, Derek says breathlessly, curling up like hes halfway through a sit up, so he can wrap his
arm around Stiles waist and roll them over one more time, depositing him as gently as he can on
the carpet.

Stiles is staring up at him with those wide, beautiful eyes, breathing shallowly and waiting to see
what Derek will do. Derek doesnt leave him wondering long; he hurriedly slicks up his fingers,
brings his hand down to Stiles entrance, while using his other arm to prop himself up, within
kissing distance of Stiles mouth.

This okay? he whispers, the pad of one finger already brushing against Stiles hole.

Stiles breathes out harshly, but nods, then curves his hand around Dereks neck, fingers digging in
tight.

Dereks finger slides in easy, since Stiles is still a little bit loose and slick from last night. From the
way hes hovering over Stiles, Derek can see everything, every expression that crosses Stiles
face, from an oh-so brief flash of discomfort, to the zing of pleasure that results from Dereks
finger curling in at a good angle.

Stiles lets out a low moan when Derek eases another finger inside, and thats when Derek has to
kiss him. Stiles mouth is a little lax, like hes too distracted for kissing, but he doesnt stop Derek
from licking his way in, from sucking on Stiles tongue and tugging at his bottom lip with a gentle
bite.

All the while, Stiles hips are rutting up against Dereks in abortive, needy thrusts. Derek finally
pulls back a little bit, and he feels a frisson of desire at the sight of him; Stiles lips are red and
swollen, his mouth parted and panting now that Dereks no longer kissing him, and his eyes are
shut tight, eyebrows pulled together in a desperate frown.

It makes Dereks chest clench. He cant believe Stiles is doing this with him, that theyre having
sex for the second time in a span of just a few hours, and that this time, Stiles knows its him. Hes
choosing to do this with Derek - he wants to do this with Derek, and its the headiest feeling, the
best thing in Dereks world.

Its hard not to take it as a sign of some sort, and as Stiles throws his head back and arches up off
the floor, as Derek adds a third finger, he decides he cant let this moment pass. Now that hes had
this, he cant go back to being without it.

Good? Derek asks, and Stiles eyes flutter open; he looks overwhelmed.

Fuck, he whispers, rocking down harder against Dereks fingers. Good, yeah, yes.

Breakfast, Derek thinks. They can go to breakfast after this. Theres a diner a few blocks away
that makes the best pancakes Dereks ever had, and Stiles seems like a pancakes kind of guy.

Mso - a-almost, Stiles stutters helplessly, and Derek moves down his body in one fluid
movement, sinks his mouth over Stiles cock, all the while keeping up the steady rhythm of his
fingers.

Stiles practically keens when he comes, one hand sliding through Dereks hair, fingers curling in
and tugging hard. Derek swallows easily, mouth gentling as Stiles comes down from his orgasm,
until he finally slips off completely, eases his fingers out.

He gives Stiles a moment to recover, while he grabs for the lube and drizzles some into the palm
of his hand, which he immediately wraps around his own cock and begins to stroke. Hes so
incredibly hard, it feels like hes on the verge of coming already.

Wait, Stiles says breathlessly, struggling up to his elbows, legs still spread obscenely around
Dereks body. Do you want me to - I could... He trails off, still flushed and panting, looking
vaguely embarrassed.

No, its fine, Derek says raggedly, because as much as hed love to feel Stiles mouth around
him, therell be time for that later, he thinks. He hopes.

Here, just - Derek says, and he crawls back over Stiles, kissing him all the way down to the
floor again. Once theyre sprawled there, Dereks cock fits snugly up against the cut of Stiles hip,
and he loses himself in the cradle of it, his thrusts going erratic as he finally starts to come.

Fuck, Stiles, he groans, but the words are lost against Stiles skin, where Derek has his mouth
pressed once more to Stiles neck.

Hes shaking by the time hes finished, but Stiles breathing is still quick and unsteady, so Derek
flops to the side instead of settling on top of him, taking a moment to just close his eyes and bask
in the aftermath of the best sex hes had in years.

When he finally opens his eyes and turns his head, Stiles is using the nearby sheet to clean himself
off - to get rid of the lube and Dereks come. Theres a funny sort of expression on his face, one
that Derek cant quite read, but that makes his mouth feel suddenly dry.

I - I should go, Stiles mumbles, not looking Derek in the eye. He sets the sheet aside with a
jerky movement, and Derek has to wonder if its panic thats making him so graceless, or maybe
even regret.
 He turns away as Stiles gets dressed, because Stiles is radiating discomfort, and Derek is pretty
sure he wouldnt welcome Derek watching him put on his clothes. He can salvage this though,
probably. Theyll both get dressed, and then Derek can ask him to breakfast, just like hed
planned. They can go home for showers first, then meet back up once theyre both dressed, and
itll be... itll be good, it doesnt have to be awkward or uncomfortable.

Except once theyre both dressed again, Stiles wont meet Dereks eyes. Hes almost hunched in
on himself, and Derek finds himself at a complete loss for what to say. Hes not good with words
at the best of times, and this is - Stiles looks like hes completely freaking out.

So, uh, I guess Ill see you around, Stiles says quickly. Dereks stomach twists unpleasantly, but
he just offers Stiles a jerky nod, pressing his lips together to keep from blurting anything out.
Anything he said right now would probably come out as a plea to stay, and Stiles clearly wants to
be anywhere but here.

Stiles tugs his mask down over his face and practically jogs out the door; Derek can hear his
footsteps pounding all the way down the hallway, and then the staircase, until theres just silence
once more.

Derek takes a deep, deep breath, shoulders slumping as he looks around the room. It reeks of sex,
and the bed is a wreck, a mess of tangled, sticky sheets that trails from the mattress all the way to
the floor. Derek crosses to the window to slide it open, counting on the crisp fall breeze to air out
the room, then gathers up the sheets into a tight bundle. Hell at least throw them in the washer
before he leaves, hopefully before anyone else is up to witness it, because Erica will kill him if she
ever finds out he had sex in her room.

Besides, the thought of keeping himself preoccupied with something as mundane as laundry
sounds pretty good right now. It leaves far less room in his head for thoughts of Stiles and the look
on his face as he left, like all he wanted to do was get the hell out. Like if Derek had asked about
breakfast, Stiles answer would have been an unequivocal no.

Chapter End Notes

I do have a tumblr, if anyone feels like hanging out. You can find me here!
 Chapter 3
Chapter Summary

In which Boyd and Isaac are meddling and Derek's life is still hard.

Chapter Notes

It's finally done! I'm so very sorry for the wait, but thank you all for sticking with me!
Seriously, the outpouring of love that I've received over this series has been
incredible. You all are LOVELY, and I so hope you enjoy the final part!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

The problem with the campus gym, Derek thinks darkly, is that it doesnt stay open past 10pm.
This is college, after all, its not like anyones actually going to bed that early, and it stands to
reason that some people might like to extend their workout past the gyms currently outrageous
and arbitrary closing time. If the library is open until 2am, then surely the gym could stay staffed
until at least midnight.

The girl manning the desk gives Derek an irritated look as he exits, and he glares right back at her.
Its ten on the dot, and even if he has been the only person working out for the past twenty
minutes, its not like she would have been able to go home early if hed left when everyone else
had.

Its cold outside, a shift in temperature so sharp that the sweat dripping off Derek cools
immediately, clinging tacky and uncomfortable to his skin. He should have hit the showers before
he left, but that would have cut his workout short, which wasnt a trade he was willing to make.

Its not far to his house, hell be fine. Its a nice walk, and a peaceful night.

Or at least, its peaceful until he gets all the way past the entrance and sees Boyd sitting sprawled
out over a bench, clearly waiting for someone. Boyd looks up a moment later, and when he spots
Derek, his eyes narrow.

Derek, he says, and his voice is positively radiating disapproval.

Boyd, Derek replies, hitching the strap of his bag higher up on his shoulder. He knows its
wishful thinking to hope that Boyd might be waiting for someone else, especially since Boyd gets
to his feet as soon as Derek passes by, falling into step beside him. His boots give a heftier thud
than Dereks sneakers, and his leather jacket creaks when he shoves his hands into its pockets.

All right, spill, Boyd says after a minute of silence.

Derek doesnt look at him, just keeps on staring straight ahead. Spill what.
Whatevers bothering you, Boyd says. You might as well tell me, you know Im going to get it
out of you one way or another.

Nothing to tell, Derek says firmly. Things are fine. Good. Great.

The snort Boyd offers in return is rife with disbelief. Uh huh, he says, thoroughly unconvinced.
Thats why my sources tell me youve been spending four to six hours a day in the gym, and that
you have once again filled your fridge with sprouts and celery and other shit that youll never
actually eat. Not to mention the fact that youve been dodging my calls, or that Erica hasnt been
able to get you on Skype for days now.

Sources? Derek says, injecting as much derision as he possibly can into the word.

Boyd shoots him a smug smile. Im the TA for Greenbergs philosophy section. In exchange for
keeping me updated about your mental and emotional well-being, I look the other way if he
occasionally misses a discussion session.

Well, Derek says calmly, Im going to kill him, and once thats done, Im going to kill you, so
youd better say goodbye to Erica while you still have the chance.

Derek, come on, Boyd says, his voice finally dropping to something low and sincere. Dereks
prepared to walk right past him, but Boyd grabs his elbow, holding him in place. Theres clearly
something wrong, its not like I havent seen you do the whole obsessive workout thing before. I
mean, after Kate -

Stiles and I hooked up, Derek interrupts, because given the choice between talking about Kate
and anything else, he will pick anything else each and every single time. I hooked up with Stiles.
There.

Boyd gapes at him, the surprise out of place on his normally unruffled face. You... dont hook
up, he finally says. He blinks at Derek, once, twice.

It makes Derek want to laugh, almost, quiet and bitter, but he just jerks his shoulders in a shrug
instead. Well, this time I did, he says. Trust me, Im making a mental note to never do it again.

What happened? Boyd asks, yanking Derek over to a bench, then tugging him down to sit; he
doesnt have to pull very hard, because Derek feels suddenly exhausted, drained in a way that has
nothing to do with the weights he was lifting earlier. When? Where?

Halloween, at the Delta Alpha Kappa party, Derek says, curling his hands into fists and letting
them rest on his thighs, keeping his eyes trained there. We... we were both in costume, wed both
been drinking, and the first time, I didnt even know who he was.

The first time? Boyd prods gently, after a few moments of weighty silence have passed.

Derek tilts his head back, breathes in deeply through his nose, holds it, then draws out his exhale.

We fell asleep, he says. When we woke up, our masks had come off. He panicked when he
saw me, he thought it was some shitty prank Id orchestrated, and then... I dont know, Derek
says, frustrated. Somehow we got from there to sex, and I kept thinking I was going to ask him
out to breakfast after, that Id take him to that diner on Elm. But as soon as it was over he bolted.

Boyd doesnt say anything; hes always been like that, content to let silences linger, probably in
hopes of forcing Derek to say something else, to give up more details. Derek doesnt fall for it this
time - hes already said plenty, so he just keeps his teeth gritted and his gaze focused up, eyes idly
tracing the stars in the night sky.
Stiles was acting kind of weird at the last meeting we had, Boyd finally says, which just makes
Dereks stomach twist tight. Quiet, sort of distant, I guess.

Well, he forces himself to say, hes probably neck-deep in regret because he slept with
someone he cant stand.

Derek, Boyd says, his tone alone carrying a wealth of judgment. Dont be obtuse. Derek
shoots him a glare out of the corner of his eye, but Boyds expression is steady, unshifting. He
raises an eyebrow, as if hes expecting Derek to have some response other than indignation.

Im not being obtuse, Derek snaps, once he cant take Boyds silence anymore. He -

He likes you, Boyd says. Look, I dont know why he ran off - maybe hookups arent his thing
either - but he codenamed you Sourwolf like three weeks ago, and he gets this stupid, smug,
fond look on his face whenever he has an excuse to say it. Which is all the time, because he talks
about you all the time.

Derek doesnt have a response to that, but he can feel his ears suddenly burn with heat.

That doesnt mean he likes me, Derek mutters, feeling like hes suddenly reverted to junior high
and hating every minute of it.

Uh, yeah. It kinda does, Derek.

Then it doesnt mean he wants me, Derek says. Maybe he just thinks its funny to mess with
me. Maybe -

Boyds snort cuts him off. Ive seen him watch that youtube video - the one with the butter, he
says. And Ive seen the way he watches you in it. That kid is the least subtle, if thats how he
looks at you in person, I dont know how you havent noticed it before.

Theres a moment where Dereks mind rushes back to the duct tape, to the time hed tackled Stiles
after all those deliveries. Hell, to the time theyd slept together. He had noticed Stiles looking, is
the thing. He hadnt let himself think too hard about it, still firmly set in his denial, but... hed
noticed. Of course he had. And the looks Stiles had been giving him arent really the kinds of
looks that are easily mistaken for anything else.

Boyd, no doubt watching Dereks thought process play out over his face, hums approvingly,
because hes actually a huge asshole. Then he claps Derek on the back and gets to his feet.

You should talk to him, he says placidly, as if its the easiest thing in the world and not, you
know, terrifying. Try actually asking him out on a date this time. But go home and get some
sleep first, youre kind of a wreck.

Shut up, Derek says automatically, but he cant help the exasperated fondness that sneaks in
despite his best efforts to keep it out.

Yeah, yeah, Boyd says. Im gonna head home, I promised Erica Id skype her once I talked to
you - any messages you want to pass along?

Derek just flips him his middle finger as he gets to his own feet, since its basically Erica who got
him into this mess in the first place. Boyd only laughs, the sound of it following Derek down the
sidewalk.

*
As luck would have it, Greenbergs walking out of the Alpha house just as Dereks jogging up the
front steps. He ignores Greenbergs smile and wave in favor of snagging the front pocket of his
surprisingly heavy backpack and tugging him right back inside.

Hey! Greenberg yelps, strangled. Derek!

Heres an idea, Derek says, once hes deposited Greenberg in the blessedly-empty kitchen and
stepped back so he can fold his arms threateningly across his chest. If you just go to your damn
philosophy discussion session, you wont have to spy on me to get your TA to let it slide.

Greenberg pales - visibly - and gulps. Its just - I got stuck with an 8am -

I dont care, Derek says. No more reporting back to Boyd - or anyone else, for that matter.

Yeah, of course, Im sorry, Greenberg says eagerly, gnawing at his lip in what seems to be a fair
amount of anxiety.

Good, Derek says, settling in to glare at him for a little while longer, to really drive the message
home. Greenberg fidgets guiltily, then opens his mouth, like hes about to start apologizing again.
Dereks not in the mood for that; he cuts Greenberg off to tell him to just go home, but what he
hears come out of his mouth instead is, Hows Stiles?

What do you mean? Greenberg asks, and Derek mentally curses, clenches his jaw so hard
theres probably a tic in his cheek.

Still, Greenbergs looking at him expectantly, so Derek continues, entirely against his better
judgment. Has he seemed... different at all?

If it were anyone else, theyd be calling Derek out on being a huge, double-standard-perpetuating
hypocrite, but Greenberg just tilts his head thoughtfully to the side, thinking hard.

No? he says after a while. A little quieter, maybe? Like, in his own head, kind of. But weve
got this huge Econ test coming up this Friday, and everyones freaking out about it, so its
probably just that.

Derek recalls the weight of Greenbergs backpack and grimaces. Is that what youve been holed
up here studying for?

Yeah, Greenberg sighs. Finstock totally hates me. I think he might fail me on purpose.

If he fails you, hell have to have you in his class next semester, Derek says. Greenbergs face
lights right up.

Thats so true! he says, hiking his backpack up with renewed vigor. Thanks, Derek!

He starts toward the door, an honest-to-God spring in his step. Go to your discussion section!
Derek yells after him, sounding like somebodys middle-aged parent. Fucking Greenberg, he
thinks, sullenly opening the fridge for a snack, only to find nothing but carrots as far as the eye can
see.

He pulls out his phone instead; hell just get something delivered - practically every place in town
has his info now, after all.

Petes Pizza, a girls voice chirps once his call goes through.

Hi, Derek says. Id like to place an order - a large pepperoni pizza, please.
Sure thing, the girl says. Name and phone number?

Derek Hale, Derek says, then rattles off his number, waiting for her to pull up his account.
Theres a pause, the background sounds of the busy pizza parlor filtering through, and then the
girl hums, a quiet, confused noise.

It says here Im supposed to ask you a security question? she says uncertainly. Uh, favorite
movie?

An American Werewolf in London, Derek says, pleased, at the very least, that Petes Pizza is
willing to play along with him on this front.

Not that he thinks Stiles would ever stoop so low as to repeat a prank, but really, hed rather be
safe than sorry.

Dereks frowning down at his iphone as he walks toward the library, scrolling briskly through the
obnoxious spam thats been getting through lately. He cant figure it out - the emails are from
mostly legitimate websites, but theyre not pages hes ever visited, nor are they of interest to him.
Exhibit A: The One Direction fan club that sends him nearly hourly updates as to what its favorite
boy banders are doing. Dereks been trying to unsubscribe for the past week, but it never seems to
stick.

See also: The unrelenting groupon offers, as well as every knockoff copycat in what would appear
to be the continental United States.

Hes clicked yet another Please remove me from this list link when his phone vibrates, a text
from Isaac popping up on his screen.

guess whos at your favorite coffee shop

Derek stares at the text for a long count of five. He knows exactly whom Isaacs talking about,
and the thought makes his stomach twist into an apprehensive knot.

Before he can respond, a second text comes through - a picture this time. Its Stiles, long limbs
folded into an overstuffed armchair, surrounded by books and papers and index cards. Hes
frowning intently at whatever it is hes reading, and even from the distance at which Isaac took the
picture, Derek thinks that he looks tired, strained, the slightest bit frayed around the edges.

this is creepy Derek writes back, even as he downloads the picture to his phone. youre a creep

(Whatever, Isaac was creepy first.)

hes a sucker for pumpkin lattes Isaac texts a moment later. i trust you'll put this info to good
use

He ends the text with an obnoxious smiley face, and Derek huffs, then shoves his phone into his
pocket without replying. Hes nearly to the library, and the coffee shop in question is on the
opposite end of campus. Besides, its not like Stiles would want to see him anyway, no matter
what Boyd says. Derek is perfectly content to keep on pretending that Halloween never happened,
and actively seeking Stiles out would pretty effectively put an end to that.

His phone buzzes once more, and against his better judgment, Derek pulls it out to see a final
message from Isaac.
cmon it says, man up, Hale. hes been SAD lately, wouldnt even help the pledges plan the
next prank at our last meeting. i think hes pining.

Its completely and utterly ridiculous, the thought that Stiles might actually want to see Derek
again, when the last time they were together Stiles hadnt been able to get away quickly enough.
Isaacs wrong, and Boyd is wrong, and nothing good can come of Derek showing up where Stiles
is studying like a great big stalker.

None of that explains why Derek abruptly turns right at the next quad and starts heading in the
opposite direction of the library.

Brewed Daily is one of the quieter coffee shops on campus, which is one of the reasons Derek
likes it so much. (On the other hand, Erica cackling over the fact that he goes to Brewed to get his
brood on is reason enough to make Derek wish theyd at least consider changing their name.) Its
a good place to study, and not only is it generally pretty easy to find a seat, theres also a surplus
of outlets, so you dont ever have to worry about your laptops battery dying in the middle of
writing a paper.

The fact that its a Wednesday afternoon means its even emptier than usual, which in turn means
that Derek spots Stiles as soon as he walks in. Hes in the far corner of the coffee shop, where the
most comfortable chairs are, and hes clearly settled in for the long haul.

Derek takes a deep breath; hed taken the walk over to decide that he cant just ignore Stiles
forever. Theyre probably going to run into each other sooner or later, so its in everyones best
interests to keep things civil. Derek can do civil; they dont have to make a big deal out of the fact
that they slept together. As for anything else, well, Derek figures he can cross that bridge when he
comes to it.

A cough to Dereks left catches his attention, and he turns to find Isaac, whos eyeing him with a
positively devilish grin.

Good man, he says approvingly.

Derek glares. Shut up, he mutters, then heads for the counter. Hes too jittery to want any
caffeine for himself, but now that he knows Stiles favorite drink, he cant not order it.
Remembering how tired Stiles had looked, Derek asks for a scone, too. Somehow, he gets the
feeling that when Stiles is wrapped up in something, he doesnt always remember to feed himself.

Its a long walk over to the back corner, but Derek forces his hands to stay steady, breathes slow
and even through his nose.

Stiles doesnt look up from his index card, not until Derek sets the plate and the mug down right in
front of him.

Oh, I didnt order that, Stiles says, glancing up carelessly, though his expression freezes when
he registers who it is hes looking at. Uh.

Derek meets his gaze head on, feeling himself start to flush when Stiles eyes drop, wandering
down the entire length of Dereks body, slowly coming back up to settle somewhere around his
jaw.

Its a startlingly familiar look, the one that gets Derek thinking dangerous thoughts, like maybe
Boyd and Isaac arent quite as wrong as hed like to think they are.
Derek clears his throat, working hard to keep his voice perfectly even. Obviously, he says. I
ordered it. For you.

Stiles continues to gape at him, a light pink creeping into his cheeks. It makes Derek grateful for
his own complexion; hes feeling a little hot under the collar, too, but it doesnt show up on his
skin nearly as easily as it does on Stiles.

Hes actually grateful for that for multiple reasons; flushed is a stupidly good look on Stiles.

Okay, Stiles says slowly. He bites at his lower lip for a moment, white, even teeth against red,
inviting flesh, and - God, its so distracting that Derek barely hears his next question, something
about wanting to know exactly why Dereks brought him coffee. Derek busies himself with
settling into the chair next to him instead, a move he wasnt aware he was going to make until hes
already sinking into the comfortable cushion, letting his bag drop to the floor.

He realizes Stiles is still looking at him expectantly, waiting for an answer, and Derek casts around
for something that might be an acceptable response.

There havent been any pranks for awhile, he finally says, because thats fairly neutral territory,
it has nothing to do with Halloween or sex or how looking at Stiles right now is downright
torturous because of how badly Derek wants to touch him.

It must not be what Stiles was expecting though, because he blinks, frown deepening. Uh, yeah,
I guess not, he says. Ive been - weve been - busy. I guess.

Its a careless slip, and Derek tries to fight back a smile, a battle hes pretty sure he loses. The fact
that Stiles is still trying to pretend he isnt solely responsible for the mayhem of the past semester is
both ridiculous and kind of endearing.

Its been a nice break, Derek says easily. So thanks.

Uh, sure. Stiles is still looking at him like Dereks possibly growing another head, right before
his eyes. No problem. So... thats what the coffees for?

For just a split second, Derek entertains the thought of taking a chance and asking Stiles out to
lunch - somewhere nice, where there wont be any confusion that theyre on a date. They could
do Thai or Italian - maybe even a steakhouse, though that might be better suited for a dinner.

As quickly as those ideas pop into Dereks head though, he discards them; it doesnt feel like the
right moment. Not yet. Not when Stiles is watching him so warily, clearly waiting for some other
shoe to drop.

Yeah, Derek says smoothly. Its a thank you. And just... you looked like you could use it.

Against all odds, that gets him a smile, albeit a tired one, and Dereks chest tightens, filled with
sudden warmth. Hed really like to make that a regular thing, putting a smile on Stiles face.

Cool, Stiles says, reaching up to rub his long, slender fingers at his temple. Derek does his best
not to watch the movement too obviously. And, uh, good instincts, I guess. Ive got an Econ test
coming up... Im contemplating heading over to the library and just setting up camp for the next
few days.

Derek swallows then, carefully schooling his expression into something neutral, something that
wont give away just how much he knows about Stiles Econ class.

Econ, he says casually. Finstock?

Yeah, Stiles says, and he finally picks up the mug of coffee Derek had brought over; Derek
pointedly does not watch the way his fingers mold to the curve of the cup, the way he dips his
head to breathe it in.

Stiles still has a mark, Derek realizes, a jolt of lust hitting him so hard that he nearly makes a noise,
deep in the back of his throat. Its low on his neck, nearly covered up by his shirt, but Derek
catches a glimpse of it when Stiles shifts. Its still remarkably dark, considering how many days
its been, and Derek swallows hard, diving for his messenger bag as Stiles keeps talking.

Ive heard terrible, terrible things, Stiles is saying, though Derek keeps his head half-buried in
his messenger bag until he trusts his expression not to give himself away.

Youll do fine, he finally manages, withdrawing from his bag with his Physics book in hand,
laying it across his lap. Youre smart.

Im sorry, Stiles says. How are you qualified to make that statement? You dont even know
me.

If Stiles honestly thinks thats true, then he hasnt been paying any attention at all. Derek forces
back a snort, contents himself with an eyeroll instead.

I dont have to know you to know something that obvious, Derek says, because its far less
incriminating than spelling out exactly how hes spent days and weeks thinking about Stiles and
dreaming about Stiles and making Greenberg spy on Stiles and then report back on anything and
everything hes been able to learn. It hasnt even been that much; its not like you have a real
opportunity to get to know your fellow students in the middle of a lecture. Still, Derek can imagine
that revealing the true depths of his interest would go over about as well as a lead-lined surfboard
in the ocean.

He cracks open his Physics book to a random chapter, determinedly staring down at the box of
review questions instead of acknowledging the look Stiles is giving him: a look that pretty clearly
implies Stiles thinks Derek is Up to Something.

Dereks had time to read the same question four times when Stiles goes still beside him again, his
coffee mug almost to his mouth.

Did you put something in this? he asks. The question is full of suspicion, but his tone makes it
sound like he just really, really hopes Derek didnt sabotage the coffee. Salt? Hot sauce? Ants?

Derek nearly chokes at the thought of ants, because who would even do that, and - where would
he have gotten them? How would he have smuggled them into a coffee shop? He keeps his face
in check though, his gaze still fixed to his book, and says, Shut up and drink your coffee.

To his everlasting satisfaction, Stiles actually does. Although a moment later, Derek finds himself
almost wishing hed been his usual defiant self, because he makes this noise - a happy little sigh
that trails off into something that sounds like a moan - and its a noise that Derek remembers. Hed
made that same sound after theyd had sex the first time, when hed been sprawled on top of
Derek, warm and sated and boneless, his body totally spent.

Thats a sex noise, and after a moment of being thoroughly torn between panic and lust, Dereks
surprised to feel his mouth curving into a slight, pleased grin.

He just really likes being responsible for that noise, whether its because hes hand-delivered Stiles
a mug of his favorite coffee, or because hes brought him to an orgasm that leaves him weak and
shivery.
Derek can feel Stiles looking at him, but he doesnt say anything, just rereads question eight for
the tenth time, and eventually Stiles goes back to his own work, alternating between sipping his
coffee and taking messy, unattractive bites of his scone. Derek takes care to keep flipping through
the chapter, as if he really is reading, but mostly hes busy cataloguing everything about Stiles.

Stiles, in a turn of events that should shock no one, is a fidgety worker. He taps his pen while hes
thinking, then frowns and chews on his thumbnail whenever hes faced with something he doesnt
quite understand. He has a tendency to mutter things under his breath - an occasional, exasperated,
where they hell did I put that, interspersed with a hissed yesss when he doesnt have to check
the back of his flashcard for the definition.

Stiles gets crumbs everywhere as he eats, but he thoughtfully brushes them all back onto the plate
when he finally starts packing up to leave. Derek tries not to feel too disappointed. Hes been
sitting here for at least half an hour now; its just that the thirty minutes have gone by quickly,
faster than Derek would have liked them to.

Still, hes not going to make it weird by suggesting that Stiles should stay, and when Stiles finally
gets to his feet, Derek doesnt say anything, expecting Stiles to head for the door with maybe just
a muttered goodbye.

To his surprise, Stiles doesnt leave just yet. Out of the corner of his eye, Derek can see him shift
his weight, his sneaker scuffing against the wood floor.

So, thanks, Stiles says after a few more moments of silence. For the coffee and the scone. They
were really good. Im, uh... heading out. To the library, I think.

Dereks smiling before he even looks up, totally unable to help it. That was more of an
acknowledgment than he thought hed get, and it makes it feel like hes maybe getting
somewhere. This afternoon wasnt his moment, but maybe the next time they see each other will
be.

If nothing else, Derek can at least believe that he might actually get such a moment now.

Youre welcome, he says sincerely. You should check out the fourth floor of the library. There
are some really nice chairs in the back left corner - nice and quiet.

Stiles looks like he doesnt quite know what to say to that, but he offers a smile of his own in
return and an awkward, stilted little wave, before he heads for the door.

He hasnt been gone for more than thirty seconds before Isaacs sliding into Stiles recently-
vacated seat, eyeing Derek expectantly.

So? he prompts. Did you confess your undying love or what?

Derek shoots him a look, but its lacking any real heat. He cant manage a true glare when hes
feeling this quietly pleased.

He liked the coffee, is all he says, but he can feel a stupid, embarrassing smile steal across his
face. He knows its bad when Isaac groans, claps a hand dramatically over his eyes.

Youve got it so bad, Isaac says. Seriously, youre an embarrassment, this is nauseating.

Yeah, Derek thinks, it probably is. Somehow, he cant bring himself to care very much.

*
Cal comes into the kitchen Thursday morning, when Dereks halfway through the bowl of Frosted
Mini Wheats that he liberated from Aidens cupboard.

So, there havent been any pranks in awhile, he says, unknowingly echoing Dereks words
from the day before.

Derek just lifts his eyebrows in response, waiting for the rest of that thought.

Do you think that means were done? Cal asks, padding over to the counter to pour himself a
cup of coffee. Because I, for one, would love to be done with the pranks, Derek.

I... we might be done, yeah, Derek says slowly, stirring his spoon around in his cereal, carefully
flipping each square frosting-side up, so the icing doesnt totally disintegrate. Hes been thinking
about that himself, how Stiles has apparently been reluctant to participate in the pranking this side
of his and Dereks hook up. It has to mean something, and Dereks hoping it means a newfound
respect, maybe, an indication that Stiles doesnt want to make Dereks life quite so difficult
anymore. Perhaps, even, that hes seeing Derek in a new light.

Excellent, Cal says, taking his coffee out toward the living room. I still catch phantom whiffs
of butter sometimes, and I dont know if Im going to be able to enjoy movie theater popcorn
properly ever again. This entire experience has been traumatizing, lets never do it again.

Hes halfway out of the room before he even finishes speaking, so Derek doesnt bother with a
response; he just smiles to himself and takes a big bite of cereal. There have been some moments
of near-trauma this semester, to be sure, but depending on how the next few weeks shake out, it
might also turn out to be the best semester hes ever had.

Friday dawns cool and overcast. Dereks up early, full of excess energy, now that hes no longer
spending quite so much time at the gym. He doesnt have a class until 11:30, but hes too restless
to stay inside, so he throws on his jacket, grabs his bag and heads for campus instead.

Its just about nine oclock when he veers off his path toward the Econ building, where he knows
the lobby has a coffee stand. Its good coffee, too, and reasonably on his way - thats really the
only reason he stops. Nothing at all to do with the Econ exam he knows is slated for later this
morning.

Derek sighs as he gets into line, rubs a hand over his face and wonders when he got so good at
denial.

Hes only a handful of people away from ordering when a familiar voice calls out his name.
Dereks heart legitimately leaps, a smile on his face the instant he turns to face Stiles, whos
staring at him in astonishment. He feels a stab of want at the sight of him, pale and sleepy, his still-
damp hair an absolute riot. Chances are good that Stiles rolled out of bed, into and out of a
shower, and then made his way straight here.

Morning, Derek says pleasantly. Stiles makes his way over to him, practically tripping over his
own feet. His eyes are wide, with dark, bruisey circles underneath. He clearly hasnt caught up on
his sleep yet, which makes Derek want to take him home and put him to bed, because Derek
clearly has a problem.

Stiles mouth parts, slack and soft, and Derek can see the question forming in his expression
before Stiles even blurts it out.
Are you following me?

Well, seeing as I was here first, no, Derek says, grateful that its an answer hes able to give
honestly. Its a technicality, maybe, but that doesnt mean its not true. He cant resist adding a
second jab at Stiles though, anything to get him riled up. Riled is a good look on Stiles. And
second - paranoid much?

I dont think I can be blamed for that! Stiles says, his voice winding tighter and higher. Youre,
like, everywhere lately, what is up with that?

Dereks saved from answering by the barista calling him up to the counter. Hi, he says quickly,
Ill take a black coffee and a pumpkin latte. He feels Stiles go stiff and speechless behind him,
and it takes everything Derek has in him not to smirk.

Theyre simple drinks to make, and the barista hands them over before Dereks even opened up
his wallet.

You - what? Stiles stutters, when Derek hands him the pumpkin latte.

You want a bagel or something? Derek offers, because hes had the blueberry ones before, and
theyre ridiculously good.

No, Stiles says, though hes clutching his coffee to his chest like its serving as a lifeline to his
sanity. No, thank you. I - no. No bagels.

Derek shrugs - hes certainly not going to force the issue - and hands the barista his money.

You should eat something, he says. He starts to walk away from the stand, and in a surprising
but promising turn of events, Stiles actually follows him.

You have that Econ test today, right? Derek adds, taking a sip of his coffee.

Okay, creepy, Stiles says. How do you even know that?

Derek keeps his voice oh-so-casual as he replies. Greenberg has that class with you, hes been
studying for that exam all week. Stiles only stares, clueless, and Derek fights back a smirk, rolls
his eyes instead. Hes going to have to sit down and have a chat with Greenberg about his plans
for the future, because clearly he should become a spy for the CIA or something. Dereks never
met anyone quite so forgettable.

Greenberg, Derek repeats. Hes one of our pledges. He says he sits behind you nearly every
class.

Immediately, he worries hes given too much away, because Stiles face goes glazed, like hes
trying to put a theory together, but cant quite manage it. Derek takes another sip of his coffee to
keep himself from saying anything else incriminating.

I... have to go, Stiles says suddenly, turning on his heel and beelining for the stairs.

Good luck! Derek calls and gets a flustered wave in return.

Its completely stupid, how just those few minutes with Stiles leave him feeling so relaxed and
happy, like hes had the chance to start his morning off in the best way possible. Hes actually
humming as he heads for the exit, though he puts a stop to that the instant he realizes.

Next time, he thinks. The next time he runs into Stiles, maybe hell finally make his move. And
then Stiles wont have to wonder why Derek keeps popping up and buying him coffee.

The rest of Dereks day goes pretty smoothly. Theres a guest speaker in his Architectural Theory
class, so theres nothing much for him to do but listen and take notes. Once that class is over,
Derek detours to the on-campus grocery store for a sandwich, which he eats in the library while he
goes over his reading for Mondays classes. Hed rather do it now than have it hanging over him
all weekend. Hes learned his lesson, too, about counting on Sundays to be days of rest. Better to
get his work done sooner rather than later and risk being interrupted.

Its verging on three oclock by the time he finally starts making his way back to his house, and
the sky has turned a nasty, threatening gray. Theres a near-constant rumble of thunder, and Derek
picks up his pace, not wanting to get caught in a downpour. The winds started to pick up, too,
and he keeps his head down as he jogs the last few blocks to the Den.

Its not until hes halfway down the block that he glances up, and what he sees brings him to a
standstill.

The Alpha house is covered in toilet paper.

Long, billowing sheets of it are trailing from the trees in their front yard, and every inch of the
house that has any sort of outcropping is barely visible in the face of the extensive TP job. Its
strewn across the grass, too, probably from where the winds blown it off the trees.

Derek stares for long, long moments, until the first drop of rain splatters directly on his forehead.

Shit, he swears, as he bolts for the front door, the clouds finally breaking open to pelt him with
fat raindrops. Shit, shit.

Dry toilet paper would have been bad enough to deal with, but the wet, soggy mess the rain is
going to leave behind will be a downright nightmare.

Whos here? Derek yells, as soon as he storms inside, slamming the door behind him. Hello?
Anyone? If someones here theyd better get downstairs right now.

It takes a minute or so, but eventually Derek hears footsteps pounding down the staircase and then
Aiden rounds the corner, squinty-eyed and disheveled, wearing only his boxers.

The hell - Derek? he scowls. Whats wrong?

The house is covered in toilet paper, Derek says, his voice nearly a snarl. Somebody TPd us -
have you been here all afternoon? How did you not notice it?

I was distracted, Aiden says, defensive. Derek takes a closer look at him and notices a smear of
lipstick on his jaw.

Yeah, Ill bet, Derek mutters, and Aiden just flips him off, trots over to the window to peek
outside.

Whoa, he says, his tone almost impressed. Whoever it was didnt half-ass it.

Whoever it was, Derek says with a snort, digging out his phone and scrolling through his
contacts for Jacksons number. Like we dont already know exactly who it was. That little shit,
Im going to - I thought he - that wed -
He breaks off, because Aidens giving him a strange look, and Dereks not interested in talking
about why hes so upset right now. He shouldnt be, its not like hes done anything but buy Stiles
a couple cups of coffee, but it still feels like a slap in the face, somehow, coming home to yet
another mess, courtesy of Stiles Stilinski.

Jackson, Derek barks, as soon as he picks up. I need your key - the one you kept from your old
dorm room.

Why? Jackson asks, because on no planet will he ever be as agreeable as Greenberg.

Id like to have a chat with Stiles, Derek says, irritation dripping from every word, and his
dorm seems like a good place to start.

Thats apparently enough to satisfy Jackson, who asks if Derek can swing by the dining hall and
pick the key up from him there. Derek agrees and hangs up.

Should I call some of the guys, try to clean up before it really starts storming? Aiden asks,
ducking his head down to see out of the window better.

Derek shakes his head, waves him off. By the time anyone gets here, its going to be a mess, he
says. Well save it for once the storms over.

Okay, Aiden says, looking relieved. Well, give him hell. Im, uh, gonna get back...

Yeah, have fun, Derek says drily. Aiden flashes him a grin and takes off for the stairs.

For once, Derek managed to park his car close, just two houses down from the Den. Its raining,
but it hasnt really started coming down yet, so hes not even that wet by the time he slides into the
Camaros front seat.

The dining hall isnt too far away from Stiles dorm and as a bonus, comes with a parking lot, so
Derek simply parks the Camaro, meets Jackson at the entrance for the keys, then storms up the hill
towards Stiles building.

The storm truly breaks just as Derek reaches the quad, and he has to make a run for the entrance.
Hes uncomfortably damp by the time he ducks inside, although he escapes an outright soaking.
Small blessings.

Its been awhile since hes been in a freshman dorm, and when he spots the security guards desk,
he slows his steps, suddenly worried he wont even be able to get inside.

As Derek approaches though, he realizes its a student guard, and the tension seeps out of him
immediately. He lets his most charming smile spread across his face, the one that gets him free
drinks at bars.

Hi, he says as he steps up to the desk. The girl gives him a cool look, pointedly taking her
earbuds out and setting her pen down on the desk. She cant be more than a sophomore, if that,
with dark hair and darker eyes, and shes looking at Derek like shes not about to put up with any
bullshit.

If youre visiting, youre going to need somebody to sign you in, she says crisply, no-nonsense.

Derek feels his smile falter.

Look, he says, I was hoping -

Nope, the girl cuts him off. You either have someone sign you in, or you can turn yourself
right around and head back outside.

I wanted to surprise my boyfriend, Derek blurts, his mouth once more moving without his brain
giving permission. Its a thing that seems to be happening more and more often lately.

The girl lifts her eyebrows, surprise creeping into her expression.

Um, she says, obviously caught off guard. Really?

Dereks kicking himself for the lie - hes probably forever jinxing himself here, and its going to
be mortifying if it ever gets back to Stiles, but hes kind of backed himself into a corner, leaving
himself with no choice but to go along with it.

Its stupid, I know, he says, sheepish. But if you could make an exception...

He trails off, hopeful, and the girls eyes narrow.

Whos your boyfriend? she presses. I live on the fourth floor, and Ive never seen you around
before.

Uh, Stiles? Derek says. Shit, he can feel his face heating up. Its - its new.

Now the girl looks outright stunned, but she also doesnt look like she thinks Derek is lying.
Damn, she murmurs. Well done, Stilinski.

Thats enough to snap Derek out of his embarrassment, and he gives her a glare, which only
makes her laugh.

Ill make an exception this once, she warns. But tell Stiles that Harley said next time hed better
be signing you in.

Sure thing, Derek says, giving her one last, tight smile, then slipping past her toward the
staircase.

According to Jackson, Stiles and Scotts room is only one floor up, but its still plenty of time for
Dereks ire to kick back up. His clothes are wet and chilled, his fraternity house is covered in a
disgusting mess of toilet paper, and he just... he cant even begin to guess where Stiles head is at.
It felt like they were getting somewhere, like maybe Stiles was finally starting to see Derek as
more than the president of the Alphas and the target of all his pranks. But now they're right back
where they started, and Derek has no idea where to go from there.

He briefly contemplates knocking once he reaches Stiles door, but he goes for Jacksons key
instead, quickly unlocking the door and slipping inside, closing it a bit too hard behind him.

The room is shockingly dim, dark enough that for a moment, Derek wonders whether Stiles and
Scott are even here. As his eyes adjust to the shadows though, Derek catches movement out of the
corner of his eye, a sharp, jerky motion that draws attention. He turns, and theres Stiles, sprawled
out on top of his bed.

If Derek thought he looked sleepy earlier, its nothing compared to how he looks now. God,
Derek wants to climb right on top of him, but thats not why hes here, so he only crosses his
arms, leans back against the door to keep himself from getting any closer.

Whassat? Stiles asks roughly. Hes squinting - adorably, damn it - and it takes him to the count
of five to actually spot Derek. When he does, he spends a couple seconds blinking, then rubs
haphazardly at his eyes, as if maybe he thinks his vision needs clearing.

Thhell? he asks, brow wrinkling in a frown, and Derek realizes hes at a serious disadvantage
here. Warm, sleepy Stiles might as well be his kryptonite.

I thought we were done with the pranks, Derek says, keeping his voice low and irritated, the
better to remind himself what hes doing here, why he sought Stiles out.

Pranks? Stiles asks. He sits up, his sheets falling away to reveal his bare chest, and before
Dereks even recovered from that, he gets out of bed entirely and pushes himself to his feet.

The only light in the room is coming from the window, and it's a grey rainy day outside, which
means the room is far too dark for Derek to make out all the details he wants. Still, Stiles is pale
and beautiful in the gloom, boxers slung low around his hips; Derek can see the groove of muscle
there, wants to fit his fingers to the plane of it.

What are you even talking about? Stiles continues, drawing Dereks attention back up to his
face. I havent done anything in over a week.

Its a blatant lie, it has to be, and Dereks heartbeat kicks up a notch. Then why dont you
explain to me, he growls, why the Alpha house is currently covered in soggy, mostly
disintegrated toilet paper.

Stiles just continues blinking at him in confusion, and then he suddenly reaches for his phone, his
frown deepening as his fingers fly across the screen.

Oh, youve gotta be kidding me, he groans, and all at once Derek feels like hes lost the thread
of this conversation. They went with the TPing? Really? Really?

What do you mean, they? Derek asks, trying to hold onto his anger, but its already slipping
away, going, going, gone.

You think I had anything to do with this? Stiles asks. His tone of voice implies a certain level of
how dare you, which leaves Derek fighting a smile, damn it.

Come on, Stiles continues, this isnt even any good. TPing someones place is totally lame!

For the sake of appearances, Derek is still glaring, but then Stiles shifts, reaching up to scrub a
hand through his hair, and Derek drops his gaze, eyeing the play of muscles in Stiles chest, glad
he's growing steadily more accustomed to the dim lighting.

Seriously, Stiles says, that was not me. That was the other members of my pledge class finally
taking some initiative. Lame, unoriginal initiative, but still.

Fine, Derek says, stealing a glance at Stiles shoulders, the slope down to his waist, the long,
lean lines of him.

How are you even here? Stiles asks after a beat. Our doors lock automatically, and the window
is closed! And the wall outside is not particularly conducive to climbing - believe me, I have
tried.

Derek is going to have to ask about that later, definitely. I have a key, he offers, holding it up to
prove it. Jackson will probably be pissed for giving him away, but Dereks feeling magnanimous,
now that he knows Stiles wasnt behind this most recent prank.

You - what? Stiles asks, voice spiraling high and spluttery. How?
Jackson kept it, Derek says. He claimed he lost his copy, and then just paid for a replacement.

Okay, Stiles says, sounding faintly outraged. That is ridiculously against the rules!

Derek has a sneaking suspicion that Stiles is only mad he didnt think to do the same, which is
honestly kind of shocking, considering its Stiles.

Stiles huffs an irritated breath, and Derek is momentarily distracted by the rise and fall of his chest.
His boxers keep slipping lower, the waistband loose and worn. Derek thinks theyd probably be
soft to the touch.

Okay, Stiles says in a rush. Well, now that weve cleared that up, feel free to be on your way.

Derek pulls in a deep breath, and after a split-second of deliberation, he moves closer instead. His
angers all gone, and he doesnt think he can stand to let another moment slip through his fingers.
Its starting to feel like now or never, and he doesnt want to risk being stuck with never.

As he draws nearer, he can see Stiles more clearly, and he finds himself looking at Stiles neck,
seeking out the hickey that had still been there two days ago. He can see it, just barely, a bruise
only slightly darker than the other shadows draped over his body.

Dereks reaching out to touch it before he can stop himself, his fingertips skimming over it, not
quite pressing down.

You still have a mark, he says quietly. Hes close enough now that he can feel Stiles answering
shiver.

Yeah, well, Stiles says. His voice is hoarse. You are a vampire, congratulations.

Its the kind of remark that demands some snark in return, but Dereks busy right now, too
distracted to come up with a properly sarcastic response. Stiles skin is warm and soft underneath
his fingers, and he trails his fingers around Stiles neck, finally pressing his thumb to Stiles pulse,
which he can feel start to race.

Derek? Stiles asks. Whats... what is this? What are we doing here?

I dont know, Derek says, not sure where to start. Hes never been good with words, and he has
a feeling that jumping right in with Im crazy about you is only going to result in disbelief.

You - youre interesting, is what he goes with instead. You interest me, and people usually
dont.

I interest you, Stiles echoes, dry and self-deprecating. That is... shocking, frankly. I wouldve
gone with irritating or infuriating way before interesting.

Oh, youre those, too, Derek says, fighting back the smile thats threatening. He doesnt want
Stiles to think hes laughing at him, and so to keep the grin from blooming full-force, he presses in
and takes a kiss for himself instead.

Theres no hesitation whatsoever for Stiles. He immediately gets closer, a sweet, muffled moan
getting caught in his throat, the kind of soft, helpless sound Derek remembers from the last time
they did this.

Its the best reaction Derek could have hoped for, and he gets his hand on the curve of Stiles
lower back, nudging him closer.
That move backfires, since Stiles immediately jerks his mouth away from Dereks with a shocked
cry.

Jesus, fuck, Stiles bursts out. Youre cold.

Clothesre wet, cant help it, Derek says distractedly, wanting only to get his mouth back on
Stiles, to get his hands all over him. He can imagine that would be uncomfortable for Stiles
though, and so he steps back, quickly and efficiently stripping out of his clothes. As soon as hes
divested himself of everything but his underwear, hes on Stiles again, curving a hand to the back
of his neck to reel him in for another heady kiss, his free hand sliding down Stiles back to palm at
his ass.

Here, cmon, Stiles mumbles, starts tugging Derek back toward his bed. My beds warm - an I
have an excellent comforter.

Sold, Derek says, unable to stop his smile as he shoves down first his underwear, and then
Stiles, almost pouncing him back onto his mattress as soon as the two of them are naked. He
immediately seeks out his neck, fixes his mouth below Stiles ear so he can get to work on a new
mark, something fresh and visible, because Stiles had said he didnt mind, and hes not
complaining now, either, not doing anything but arching up into Dereks body, the hot, wet
suction of his mouth.

When Derek grips Stiles thigh, Stiles simply goes with the motion, curls his leg around Dereks
waist until the two of them are rocking against each other, the rough friction sending shocky bursts
of pleasure right down Dereks spine.

Its heady and thrilling, but its not going to be enough, and once Dereks satisfied with his
hickey, he breaks away for just long enough to ask, Have you got anything? before shifting
down to better explore the rest of Stiles body. A touch of teeth at Stiles nipple makes his whole
body jerk, in a way that leaves Derek smugly pleased, knowing hes done something good.

I - here, Stiles says, digging some lotion out of his nightstand. Derek offers his hand, then makes
a fist, spreading the lotion around just enough to leave his palm slick. Stiles gasps again, loudly,
when Derek finally starts to stroke the both of them, keeping his grip firm and his pace steady.

I was - I wanted to blow you, Stiles says, and Derek bites his own lip, hard, the bright burst of
pain possibly all that keeps him from coming right then.

I mean, dont get me wrong, this is good, too, Stiles babbles. Just. I - I just -

Next time, Derek promises, rubbing his thumb across the head of Stiles cock, which is already
sticky with precome. Next time, okay?

Stiles makes another strangled noise, but he doesnt offer any more words, just grabs Dereks face
and pulls him into a sloppy, dirty kiss.

Distantly, Derek thinks about how all those hours at the gym are really paying off. Theres no way
hed be able to keep this position up if he hadnt been dedicated to his workouts. Stiles seems into
it, too, if the way his hands keep groping at Dereks biceps and shoulders are any indication.

Fuck, cmon, Stiles moans, right around the time Dereks starting to feel uncoordinated, his arm
starting to tremble from keeping himself propped up. Almost - so close -

Its the thought of Stiles coming - of making him come - that punches a sound out of Derek,
makes him grip tighter, speed up the tempo of his strokes.
Stiles makes the most amazing sound as his body tightens up with his orgasm, and just listening to
it is enough to get Derek there, jerking himself once, twice, three times, right onto Stiles abs.

This time, Derek settles right on top of Stiles, even if he is probably too heavy for it. He doesnt
care, he wants this closeness, wants to feel the warmth of Stiles underneath him, the rise and fall of
his panted breaths.

Stiles allows it, too, for longer than Derek expects, before he finally starts squirming.

Okay, enough smushing, he says, wriggling until Derek slides off of him. Theres not actually
room to go far, which suits Derek just fine; in fact, just to make sure Stiles doesnt get it in his
head to take off again, he wraps his arm around Stiles waist and snuggles in closer, unmindful of
the come and sweat hes totally getting everywhere.

Hes pretty sure he could stay here forever, he thinks muzzily. Orgasms always leave him kind of
slow and stupid, and right now everything is warm, Stiles is warm, and the pillow hes on smells
like a combination of Stiles shampoo and his cologne, and Derek never wants to leave this bed.

Ugh, God, this was stupid, Stiles mumbles a while later, and a rush of panic makes Derek lock
up, arm tightening where its still wrapped around Stiles, holding him close.

This cant be happening to him a second time. It cant be.

Stiles turns as best he can, trying to look at him, and Derek meets his gaze reluctantly, afraid of
what hell see.

Theres no panic though, no real trace of unhappiness or regret; if anything, theres confusion, and
that only appears once Stiles has gotten a good look at Dereks face.

I - I just mean, Stiles says haltingly, that I dont have a bathroom or anything? To wash up. Its
communal - theres one down the hall, but thats it.

Oh, Derek says and breathes out all his tension. Stiles has a point - hes more covered in it than
Derek is, but the both of them are a mess, and its going to get very unpleasant very soon. Derek
twists, reaches down and grabs the first shirt his hand comes into contact with, starts to clean the
both of them up.

Hey! Dude - thats my - ugh, forget it, you asshole, Stiles mutters, but this time Derek hears just
how much Stiles doesnt actually mean it, and it makes him smile, makes him get rid of the shirt
and chase down Stiles mouth for some more kissing.

Stiles is an excellent kisser, his mouth more than living up to all of the thoughts Dereks had about
it. For right now, they keep things lazy and slow, though Derek eventually props himself up
enough to hover over Stiles once more, finding a better angle to explore his mouth.

It doesnt take too long for Derek to start getting hard again, but hes thinking they should
probably talk first. He just - he needs to know that he and Stiles are really on the same page here,
so he eventually starts to pull back, peppering Stiles mouth with short, sweet kisses, eventually
pressing a final kiss to one of Stiles dimples before carefully dragging his nose along the smooth
curve of Stiles cheek.

You going to let me feed you this time? he asks, the steady calm of his voice totally at odds with
the way his heart is beating fit to burst.

Uh, feed me? Stiles asks. Wait, what do you mean, this time?
Well, last time we did this, Derek begins, concentrating hard so he doesnt choke over the
words, I was going to ask if you wanted to get breakfast. But you ran away.

Hes touching Stiles as he talks, choosing to nuzzle at his neck instead of looking at him, a little
afraid of what he might see, of what sort of expression Stiles might be wearing.

You... wanted to get me breakfast, Stiles says.

Mmm, Derek hums in agreement, then dips down to press his mouth to Stiles throat, his teeth
scraping lightly. Stiles squirms away from him though, and when Derek finally lifts his head, hes
frowning. He looks downright stern, and it makes Dereks stomach twist unpleasantly.

Are you trying to recruit me? Stiles demands, which - what?

What? Derek asks, not having a clue where Stiles is going with that.

With the - you know, the coffee! Stiles says. And the scones, and the stalking me, and - okay, I
mean, sex would be an extreme measure, I dont see how you could want me in your frat that
badly -

Derek can already tell that Stiles is working himself up to a full-fledged rant, and so he interrupts
him before he can really get going.

I dont want you in my frat, he says, and Stiles mouth drops open.

Well, geez, thanks -

That isnt -thats not what I meant, Derek says helplessly. I - He grunts, unsure how he can
possibly make himself any clearer. Damn it, he thought Stiles was finally getting it.

He rolls on top of Stiles once more, so that he can lean over him, look him right in the eye this
time.

Youre a menace, he says, moving in for a quick, fierce kiss. And youve been driving me and
my entire frat crazy all semester. But youre smart, and fascinating and so fucking sharp, and if
you ever decided to switch your pledge, Id take you up on it in a heartbeat.

Theres something about Stiles expression - incredulous and still-confused - that makes Derek
want to kiss it right off his face. So he gives it his best attempt, his kisses aggressive and a little
bitey.

Stiles still manages to gasp out a, But? not letting Derek off the hook that easily.

But, Derek repeats, thats not what the coffee was for. Or the bagels. Or the sex. I told you -
you interest me. And I want to take you out for breakfast. He glances up then, sees how dark it is
outside and realizes it must be approaching five oclock. Or... dinner now, I guess.

So, Stiles says, still sounding totally disbelieving. You mean, like, a date? You want to take me
out on a date.

Derek just looks at him steadily, because he cant possibly get any more obvious than that.

Holy shit, Stiles breathes after a moment. You - what? Really?

Are you seriously going to make me keep repeating it? Derek snipes, surprised when that gets
him a bright, happy laugh in return, gets him dragged down into a kiss.
You need to learn to use your words, Stiles says, words almost indecipherable, since he says
them right into Dereks mouth.

I didnt have time, you ran away, Derek says. Theres a feeling rising up inside of him, filling
up his entire chest and leaving it tight and bursting with warmth.

Happiness, he thinks dizzily, and he slides his hand down to Stiles ass, pulls him more firmly
against his own body.

Hes not expecting it when Stiles gets a hand on his shoulder, shoves him over so that hes flat on
his back. Stiles straddles him, his ass fitting snugly over Dereks cock, which gives a vicious throb
at the feeling of Stiles settled on top of him.

I know where Scott keeps his condoms, Stiles says, voice warm and rich. You wanna?

Derek breathes in sharply, his hands gripping firmly at Stiles bony hips. I want, he says. He
doesnt think Stiles understands the full extent of that yet, just how much Derek wants him, but
theyll get there, he thinks, even as he slides his palm over Stiles cock, takes in the way it makes
Stiles head drop back, exposing his pale throat, now marked by Dereks mouth.

Yeah, he thinks, gaze sweeping over Stiles, taking everything about him in.

Theyll get there.

Jacksons having what probably constitutes a full-fledged meltdown, and Derek is probably
enjoying it more than he should.

Stiles is definitely enjoying it more than he should; he hasnt stopped grinning since Jackson
walked into the Den and found Stiles on the couch, tucked comfortably underneath Dereks arm.

Are you kidding me? Jackson says, his voice verging on an actual shout. You and him -
seriously? Youre fucking Stilinski?

Dating, Derek corrects mildly.

But also fucking, Stiles says, grinning when Derek shoots him a look. Its only been two days,
but its becoming a pretty common theme in their relationship - Stiles saying something
outrageous, then looking simply delighted when it earns him a glare.

Dereks phone buzzes in his pocket, just as Jackson launches into a new tirade. When he digs it
out, he sees its Laura.

Its my sister - be right back, he murmurs, pressing a kiss to Stiles temple, then getting up and
heading for the front door, not feeling too bad about leaving Stiles to Jacksons ranting. He can
handle it. Hell, Derek would put some serious money down on Stiles emerging as the winner of
whatever showdown is about to occur.

As soon as Dereks on the front porch, he taps the answer button and brings the cell up to his ear.

Hey, he says warmly. Its been days since he and Laura have talked - before Halloween, for
sure, and hed never admit it, but its nice to hear her voice.

Hey yourself, Laura says, sounding surprised, but pleased. Having a good day?
Derek doesnt have to think about it; he starts smiling before he even replies. Yeah, actually. I
am.

And youre admitting to it? Laura says. Who are you and what have you done with my
brother?

Shut up, Derek says. Laura, of course, laughs.

Well, whats the occasion? she asks. Got some exciting news to share?

Derek leans out from the porch a little, enough to peek through the front window, where he can
see Stiles now sprawled comfortably along the entire length of the couch. He looks right at home,
relaxed and amused, not at all bothered by whatever abuse Jackson is undoubtedly throwing at
him.

Derek? Laura prompts, curious.

Yeah, Derek says. His voice is a little bit rough. Stiles looks good, is all, so at home on Dereks
couch. Dereks already itching to get back to him. Do you, uh, remember that infuriating
freshman I told you about?

Mm-hmm, Laura hums. The one doing all the pranking? Why, Derek, are you about to prove
me right?

Derek scowls, even though Laura cant see him. He remembers her insistence that Derek has been
enjoying this semester far more than hes been letting on. Shes definitely going to be smug, and
she doesnt even know the full story yet. But he glances Stiles way again, and the scowl melts
right off; Derek cant maintain it in the rush of easy contentment that fills him at the sight.

I... yeah, he sighs, but he cant even muster up any trace of annoyance. Hes in too good of a
place for that. Im about to prove you right.

Inside the house, Stiles glances up and spots Derek looking. He grins, gives him a wave, and
Derek answers it with a smile of his own.

So, that infuriating freshman, he says, eyes never leaving Stiles. Turns out Im kind of crazy
about him.

When Derek gets back inside, Jacksons disappeared, likely stomped off to some other part of the
house, far away from Stiles.

Good talk? Stiles asked, not making any move to sit up and make room for Derek.

Laura wants to meet you, Derek says, settling himself down on top of Stiles, draping over him
like a blanket.

Cool, Stiles says, easy as ever. Means I get all your embarrassing kid stories sooner rather than
later.

I said she wanted to meet you, not that I was going to let her, Derek says, tucking his face into
Stiles neck, sighing contentedly when Stiles starts running his fingers through Dereks hair.

His phone buzzes again, an email alert, and Derek digs it out, scowling when he sees the new
message.
 Damn it, he grumbles.

Whats wrong? Stiles asks idly, giving Dereks hair a light tug.

This stupid One Direction website, Derek says. I somehow got onto their email list, and now I
cant get off of it.

Underneath him, Stiles goes very still, his fingers no longer teasing through Dereks hair. He
makes a strangled noise, and Derek pushes himself back, suddenly needing to see his face.

His lips are pressed tightly together in a clear effort to stave off a grin, but its no use; the corners
are already pulling up, and if that werent enough of a clue, his eyes are positively lit up with
mischief.

Stiles! Derek exclaims, feeling his mouth drop open. Jesus - how did he not see this one
coming? You - do you have any idea what my inbox has looked like the past couple weeks?

Thats clearly more than Stiles can take, because he bursts out laughing, his whole body shaking
with it.

Okay, thats it, Derek says, pushing off the couch only to tug Stiles up as well, grabbing him
around the waist and slinging him over his shoulder. Stiles twists, trying to get away, but its half-
hearted at best.

Put me down, you caveman, Stiles says, but Derek can hear his grin, the pure delight in his
voice. Where are we going?

To my room, Derek says, heading for the stairs. You can make this one up to me in blowjobs.

Stiles laughs again, a sound thats quickly becoming Dereks favorite thing in the world.

"Menace," Derek says, once they're behind the locked door of his room, and he's deposited Stiles
onto the center of his bed.

"Yeah, but you love it," Stiles says, stripping off his shirt before grabbing the front of Derek's
sweater and pulling him down on top of him for a messy, enthusiastic kiss.

Yeah, Derek thinks to himself, sinking easily into the now-familiar press of Stiles' body. He really
kind of does.

Chapter End Notes

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