rubykatewriting: (Teen Wolf: Derek & Stiles Closeup)
[personal profile] rubykatewriting
Author: [livejournal.com profile] rubykatewriting
Title: The Strong Scent of Evergreen
Pairing: Derek/Girl!Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Derek and Stiles start something new. "I am, you know," she whispers against his mouth, and he tilts his head in question. "Yours."
Spoilers/Warnings: This exists in a universe in which Stiles is and has always been a girl. Everything that took place in season 1 has taken place as on the show, as have some of the developments that took place in the webisodes "Search for a Cure" (the hospital and town I mention are real, because I am just that anal, but I'm not sure if it's ever noted where Dr. Fenris works. However, Mr. Posey also plays the doctor Jackson visits in "Wolf’s Bane," so take it with a truckload of salt). Stiles' relationship is, for all intents and purposes, the same with Scott and her dad, but I would wager some of Derek’s physical aggression towards Stiles – i.e., that one time that Stiles' head met his steering wheel and it was awesome – likely wouldn’t happen in a 'verse where he is a she. There is dominance, violence (in which Stiles is hurt), and loads of under-age sexytimes, as well as general wolvliness, but all awesome things in the fandom considered, this is rather tame by comparison.
Notes: This fic would not be what it is today if not for the awesomeness that is [livejournal.com profile] januarylight; I honestly cannot stress that enough. Title comes from the song "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab for Cutie.
Disclaimer: Not mine. So not mine. No harm intended.



Stiles is trying her best to ignore Derek as she speeds towards the Hale house; the sooner he is out of her jeep, the better. This'll be the last time she offers to drive him home while his car is in the shop. He can run home from now on for all she cares. He's fuming in barely controlled silence, and it makes her itch because she can’t handle uncomfortable silences; she wasn’t built for them.

This is becoming a recurring theme in her life: do something – anything, really, good, bad, or some combination thereof – which then leads to a pissed off Derek of some varying degree; then he fumes, somehow a car inevitably becomes part of the equation because that’s just how these things go for her in this new reality, and REPEAT. After everything went down with Peter, Stiles had what turned out to be the vain hope that they had turned a corner. Not just her and Derek, but everyone. She breathes out through her nose and tries to calm herself.

"Calm down," Derek bites out, echoing her thoughts, and that’s another thing that irritates her. "You’re an even shittier driver when you start getting huffy."

It takes everything in her not to slam on the brakes right there in the middle of the road, and god she's having flashbacks to Derek getting shot. Only now he's perfectly healthy, near untouchable as long as he doesn't go rabid dog on any unsuspecting humans, and fuck if she isn’t going to take this opportunity to finally kick him out of her jeep. She swerves onto the gravel shoulder and reaches across him to open the door, which wouldn't be the first time she's underestimated his effect on her. He shifts slightly closer, and she shoots him a confused look. That is a whole can of worms that she never wants to open. In fact, she wants to throw the can away and forget she ever had it in the first place. It isn't like she's blind, and the amount of time they've been forced together in the last few months has only made her that much more aware of him. Hell, she's not even sure he realizes she's a girl, and the anecdotal evidence she's compiled since she's known him seems to back up her long-running theory that she is, in fact, invisible to those of the opposite sex. (She really hates being right so often.)

Still, she settles back in her seat like a normal person, one who is not stuck in a small, enclosed space with a damn werewolf who simultaneously gives her the willies and makes her feel like she could very possibly explode from want. She meets his eyes and points. "Out."

His mouth flattens into a straight line and he just stares at her, challenging. Maybe it's because of the whole werewolf thing, but even as their human green, his eyes glow in the low light. If he wasn't such an anti-social ass, those eyes could (hell, they probably still do) keep the girls lining up. It just makes her temper flare that much more.

"Get out of my jeep, Derek. Now."

He opens his mouth to argue, and then he leans forward, brows snapping together, staring at something up the road. Stiles glances in the direction he's looking and sees a dog limping its way out of the underbrush. There's no question it is definitely going to try to cross, and without thinking Stiles is jumping down from the driver's seat. She moves towards the dog carefully, keeping her eyes askance so it doesn't take her approach as challenge, but then she remembers she actually has something that will work even better. "Derek –"

He grabs a handful of her hoodie and drags her behind him, not letting go. "Are you really that stupid?" he asks, shaking his head, but the insult lacks the heat it usually does. "Approaching an injured dog like that is a good way to get your hand bitten off."

Stiles grits her teeth and grabs his hand, trying to unlock his death grip. It's her favorite hoodie, and his hand keeps brushing her right breast every time she breathes. "Well then, please, Derek," she mocks, finally freeing his index finger, "show me how it's done, Alpha-style."

Derek glares at her over his shoulder, but before he can respond, he stiffens, ears perking. Stiles opens her mouth, ready to threaten anything for him to let go, and then she hears the telltale whoosh of airbrakes, an eighteen-wheeler rumbling around the bend ahead. The sound spooks the dog, which runs forward, and it's like slow motion. One minute the dog is there and the next it's nothing more than dead meat spread on the road. Even with everything she's seen in the last several months, what she's helped to do for the sake of the pack, Stiles can't help the wail that breaks out of her then.

Derek all but lifts her and starts back to her jeep. She tries to get down, to get away from him, but he won't let her go. She starts hitting his shoulder with her fist, and maybe it's that or the unearthly noises she can hear coming out of her mouth, but he lets her down. He won't let her go though, holding her by the shoulders, telling her to breathe. Then his hands are in her hair, cradling her head. The touch is so reminiscent of her mom, how she would massage Stiles' head when she was sick or upset, and the nausea and hysteria start to ease. She's still shaking all over, but her teeth stop chattering.

She grips his upper arms, fingers pinching the soft leather, and it's a bad idea, staying this close. The self-protecting part of her wants to shove him away but it’s the other part that wins out, the one that sees some kind of answer to an as-yet-unknown question when she looks at him. She lets him hold her.

"I’ll drive you back to your house."

His voice is so gentle, lacking any of its usual gruff. She glances down at his mouth, briefly, and his face goes a little blurry as he pulls her just that tiny bit closer. His expression is one she recognizes so well, because it’s like seeing all of what she’s been feeling reflected back at her. Stiles tries to take a step back, but his hand slides to her back, under her hoodie, warm fingers pressing against her skin. It isn't a demand; it's a request, and that more than anything makes her hesitate. The air feels heavier as he takes a long, assessing look, and then his lips are on hers, dry and just this side of chapped, but surprisingly soft. He gathers her up into his chest, her feet leaving the ground again, and Stiles wonders if oxygen is really that essential for human life.

Then his tongue is in her mouth, and it's like something explodes in her brain. Is this why Scott has gone completely mental because oh my god does she get it now. He doesn't let her stay shy, either. There's something demanding about the way he's kissing her, and she sort of amazes herself, keeping up. She licks into his mouth and the noise he makes in the back of his throat hits her smack in the belly. She wraps her arms around his neck, hugging him closer, and really, oxygen can go fuck itself.

-

She feels someone grab her from behind as she's walking through the school parking lot. After this long, she knows it's him by the way she sort of falls back on her heels and the sound of his breathing. Derek drags her over to her jeep, glancing around like he’s expecting Scott or Jackson or someone else to come at him, and it's not the first time she’s felt the urge to punch him in his gut but it's the first time her hands actually close into fists. Is he that fucking ashamed? She stares at his chest as he presses her up against the side of her jeep.

"You should pick up when I call," he says gruffly.

"I...lost my phone."

He just shakes his head. "You really are the worst liar."

She juts out her chin. "I'm an excellent liar." Even without meeting his eyes, she can feel his stare and she flushes under his scrutiny. "You're staring."

"Why are you avoiding me?"

"You had your tongue down my throat and your hand up my hoodie less than forty-eight hours ago, Derek. Pardon me for feeling a little out of sorts at the abrupt change in our relationship." She licks her lips, trying to figure out another way to breathe because he’s crowding her space again. Then there's his smell; it's all around her, achingly familiar. When did she start missing his scent? Hell, when did she start noticing it in the first place?

"Jesus, don’t...lick your lips like that," he bites out. "Stiles, look at me."

She wants to fidget so badly. She can feel the twitch of it all the way down into the tips of her fingers. He settles a hand at the base of her throat, fingers curling slightly until she can feel the blunt tips of his nails, and then he relaxes, his skin against hers. It's like an extra-strength dose of Adderall. There's a low thrum that travels from the spot where he’s touching her and goes outward, and she finally meets his eyes.

"You want me." He leans in extra close; turning her head so he can get at her throat, and he takes a long, deep inhale. It shouldn't be hot, getting sniffed like a dog, but her knees go and thankfully he's holding her up. She lets her head fall forward, bites the leather covering his shoulder, and his hand skims under her shirt, around to the dip of her spine. He follows the bones up, the pads of his fingers rough with calluses, and she shivers at the mix of cold air and warm hands.

"Fuck," he groans. He mirrors her, his head falling forward until he's all but curling into her too, and she can't help but grin into his jacket.

-

She lets out a yelp, stumbling back into the doorjamb and smacking her right shoulder blade. Pain, sharp and insistent, makes her stomach roil and her shoulders tense but she still gathers the front of her robe in a death-grip as if her life depends on it. "Oh my god," she manages, taking several deep breaths. "Don’t make me put a bell on you, Derek."

She catches the smirk he throws her, but there's no growl so it obviously didn't land as she hoped. Then she remembers she knows that mouth in entirely different ways now and her heart gives a couple extra thumps. She has spent hours with that mouth, in that mouth, and then he interrupts her reverie by turning back to her computer, eyes intent on the screen.

Curiosity outweighs pretty much everything in Stiles' world so it takes her all of five seconds to move up behind him to get a look at what has him commandeering her computer. She...is not expecting to see the Lowe's website or a kitchen visualizer program.

"You’re fixing up the house?" She manages to keep the "finally" silent, but the way he looks at her, it may have gone unsaid but he heard it.

"I always wanted to but things weren’t exactly conducive to renovations."

"True." She leans forward to get a closer look and taps the screen. "You should go with the flat front doors. Fewer nooks and crannies for grime and cooking gunk to find their way into."

"Okay. What color?"

"I like light cabinets – white or those naturally light woods – because the way the kitchen is situated in the house, it'd get all that natural afternoon sunlight and it would get all glow-y." She stops and glances at him. He's staring at her with this look on his face and she feels like she's grown an extra head. "Or, you know those cherry cabinets," she stammers, trying to bolt for her chest of drawers.

He grabs her around the waist, keeping her put, and she is painfully aware that there is just a thin robe between her and nakedness. They haven't really gotten to the stage where clothes have become optional. "You've thought about my kitchen?"

She shrugs. "My dad watches DIY a lot. There's this show where you can win a renovation and your house may have popped to mind once. Or, you know, every time."

The inscrutable look is back again as his fingers go to the belt of her robe, and he tilts his head in question. Bravery and stupidity seem to have gotten mixed up inside her, but she's not sure which makes her nod. She still has trouble getting undressed in the locker room after practice; yet she can't imagine being anywhere than right here, right now. He pushes the fabric back and moves his eyes all over her as she watches, goosebumps going up all over her exposed body. He presses a kiss to the skin between her breasts, then pulls back, surveying her again, and leans close to press another kiss to her belly button.

"Did you change soaps?" he asks conversationally, as if his mouth isn't inches from her cunt.

"Um." She reaches out and grips his shoulder, her knees going wobbly. A new theme in her life when she finds herself in Derek's presence, as if the part of her brain that controls her legs suddenly disconnects from her body, and she shakes her head to clear it. "They had a sale on this new body wash."

He trails his tongue along the line of her pubic hair, and if she thinks standing was hard before, it's impossible now. His hands guide her onto his lap, legs straddling him, and it's the first time she’s ever felt denim against her. It's rough but the friction makes her breath hitch. He pulls her close, scenting her, and lets out a low growl of what she hopes is approval but it feels so good she almost doesn’t care. For a scant second, it's enough, and then his fingers are ghosting up her thighs and between. They press up into her, finding her clit, and she bites back a moan, hips jerking.

"This will have to be quick," he says, sounding regretful, and she vaguely remembers her father was meant to be home soon. "He's four blocks away."

He works her clit as she pushes her face into his throat, sucking at the skin below his ear so she doesn't accidentally cry out. She can't have this be her father's introduction to Derek Hale, non-fugitive citizen of Beacon Hills. He moves to circle her entrance, the tip of his finger barely dipping in, and then he's back at her clit, the pressure building in her lower belly. Her thighs quiver as she feels the familiar tightening until it breaks inside her, an orgasm shuddering through her. She doesn't realize she's pulled away from him, making noises, until he covers her mouth with his free hand.

"Shhh," he murmurs, eyes locked on hers as her hips let out one final jerk.

She can't look away. It's the first time she's ever orgasmed with someone else, and even as the euphoria dissipates, she can feel the flush creeping up her chest. He shakes his head at her, a lecherous smile curving his mouth as he cleans his hand, one finger at a time, with his mouth. What may have been a light pink flush becomes a bright red blush as she watches, unconsciously licking her lips. He lets out a frustrated growl and his teeth knock into hers as he kisses her, hard.

Then he's setting her on her feet, tying her robe snugly at her waist, and disappearing into her closet in what feels like a matter of seconds. She stands there, her legs shaky, as her father gives his usual goodnight knock before opening the door.

"I’m home," he says by way of greeting, and somehow she manages to hold a conversation with her father. He gives her a quizzical once-over, and she's sure the jig is up, but then he's saying goodnight. It can't last longer than a minute, but she really hasn't gotten any better at playing it cool with him. If this is going to work, she is going to need to work on her nonchalance.

Derek closes the door of her closet behind him, and whatever awkwardness that may have followed seems to evaporate when she notices he is no longer wearing his shirt. He tosses it to her. "Wear it."

There's something in his tone that feels reminiscent of the way he seemed to be asking her if he could kiss her that day on the road. She would have thought in a situation like this he would be even more demanding and dominant, but leave it to Derek to throw a damn curve ball.

She shucks the robe and pulls the soft, worn t-shirt over her head. For a second she breathes in deep, inhaling that Derek smell that seems to follow her everywhere now. Even though she's a tall girl, it only hits at the top of her thighs and being completely naked underneath makes her stomach do an awkward somersault. She rubs a hand down her front, smoothing the fabric, and glances up at Derek.

"Okay?"

"Yeah."

The sound of a zipper is loud in the quiet. Stiles watches as he toes off his sneakers and his jeans drop down his bowed legs. Not for the first time, Stiles notes his preference for black boxer briefs – she can't help that she's observant or a perv who made excellent use of the mirror above her dresser on those painfully awkward nights he was staying here. This will be the first time he's spent the night since the case was closed on his sister's (and the others') death, and the circumstances have changed so much, it's like she's found herself on an entirely new planet. He will be sharing her bed this time around. The last time she slept in the same bed with a boy, it was Scott and they were six.

Derek sets his folded jeans and shoes on the chair on the other side of the bed and then turns to face her, seemingly waiting for her to make the next move. A week ago she was wondering if he was going to finally follow through on one of his many threats to end her. She thinks the surreal circumstances of her life now would take the surprise out of every new turn, but nope, she still finds herself regularly shocked, open-mouthed like a fish out of water.

Stiles grabs the pillow with the sham from her side and Derek follows suit. Together they pull the comforter and top sheet down. The domesticity is more than a little disorienting and her hands shake as she takes a step back towards her desk to switch off the lamp. Then there is nothing left to do but get in, and she climbs into her bed, lying stiffly on her back like some sort of pantomime of a person in a coffin. Derek cocks an eyebrow at her but slides under the sheet, leaving the comforter folded down at the foot of the bed.

"Are you planning on staying that way all night?" he asks, and his voice is warm with mirth.

The darkness is absolute since it's the new moon tonight so he can't see her blush, but she knows he can smell it on her. Slowly, she turns on her side to face him and starts at how close he is.

"Whoa," she breathes out in surprise.

"I should warn you. Werewolves prefer close sleeping quarters." He smoothes a hand down from her shoulder to her wrist, almost petting her, and then he splays a hand at the small of her back, urging her forward. "You’ll probably wake up in the morning with me on top of you."

The idea is simultaneously alluring and off-putting. She has spent so many years alone in this bed; the idea of having to share it with someone who can't adhere to basic bed etiquette makes her feel a little antsy, even if that someone is Derek Hale. Although she will say this: There is something to be said for a werewolf bedmate; the sheets are already warm and she doesn’t feel the loss of her comforter as keenly with him in the bed. He nudges a knee between her thighs, and she almost gulps when his knee doesn’t stop until he's got his thigh pressed snuggly against her groin. She's still feeling a little sensitive, but he distracts her with a sleepy kiss, as if he's reminding her of his taste before she drifts off. Or it's so he can fall asleep with her taste and scent all over him. Hell, maybe it's both. She's suddenly so tired that she just tucks herself into his chest, sighing, and gives up trying to figure this thing out for tomorrow.

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June 2012

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