Archive of Our Own

“It’s an incubus,” Stiles says, dropping the enormous book down on the table in front of Derek for no other reason than that it sounds dramatic.

Predictably, there’s no immediate cry of ‘oh, Stiles, you genius!’

“An incubus,” Derek repeats flatly.

“They exist?” Isaac says.

“Oh, right, because we can all accept the existence of werewolves and kanima and kitsune, but an incubus, that’s stretching the bounds of possibility,” Stiles scoffs. “Please.”

Scott, like the awesome bro he is, is already nodding. “I guess that makes sense,” he says. “It’s a like a sex demon, right?”

“Maybe in World of Warcraft,” Stiles allows.

“I don’t play World of Warcraft,” Scott says.

“You don’t?” Isaac says.

Derek looks physically pained by the turn the conversation has taken. “Can we get back to the point?”

“Right, yeah,” Stiles says. “Incubus. Incubi, if there’s more than one.”

“There’s more than one?” Liam sounds aghast.

Stiles rolls his eyes. “No, it was just – never mind. They don’t hunt in packs.”

“What do they do?” Derek asks with exaggerated patience.

“They feed off sexual energy,” Stiles says. “They take natural desire and twist it into something totally insane. It’s like a drug.”

“So, sex demon, then,” Scott says stubbornly.

“Scott.” Stiles sighs. “That’s a very limited viewpoint.”

“They make everyone want them, right?” Erica says, twirling a strand of blonde hair around her fingers.

“It’s more than just wanting someone,” Stiles explains. “I mean, any hot-blooded male – who am I kidding, any hot-blooded person – would want you, right, Erica?”

“Thank you,” she says complacently.

“But with an incubus, it’s more like compulsion. They increase a person’s sexual desire and then they feed off it. They need it to survive.” There’s a stark silence after Stiles finishes.

At last, Derek speaks. “How do we kill it?”

“Seems kind of unfair,” Stiles says thoughtfully. “I mean, it can’t help itself. Without feeding, it would die.”

“Stiles,” Scott says patiently. “This thing is draining people.”

“Six people have died,” Malia says helpfully.

“Everyone has a choice,” Derek says.

“Okay, okay,” Stiles says, putting his hands up. “Fine. Well, it’s not like most supernatural creatures. You snap its neck, it’ll die.”

“Where’s the catch?” Derek asks warily.

Stiles shrugs. “It’ll use its allure to stop you. Then you die.”

Derek stands up so suddenly that everyone just kind of blinks at him. Stiles, who has been low-key salivating over him for about six months now, feels a little dazed. “That won’t be a problem,” Derek says. He grins, showing his teeth. “Let’s go kill an incubus.”

*

Later, when Stiles is alone in a room tied to a chair with the incubus straddling his lap, his pack on their way but just not quite there yet, he wishes he’d made Derek explain the plan a bit better, because then maybe they would’ve figured out that it wouldn’t work. The incubus hasn’t turned on the allure yet, because Stiles is still in his right mind, but he’s running his hands up Stiles’ chest and licking his lips.

“You’re delicious,” he says. His voice is oddly high-pitched. “Oh, I like you!”

“Yeah, well, I’m not interested,” Stiles says firmly. The incubus dives forward and licks his neck; Stiles shudders.

“Brave boy, you won’t be saying that when I’ve finished,” he croons. “Everyone likes me!”

“Yeah, because you drug them!” Stiles protests. “Look, I get it, survival first, yadda yadda. But seriously, I have a whole pack on my side, I would back off if I were you.”

“Hmm,” the incubus says. “I’ve been lonely a long time, you know.”

“Killing everyone you have sex with will do that to a person,” Stiles says.

The incubus laughs; the sound is grating. “Maybe I’ll make you like me,” he muses. “I haven’t met another like me in… oh, years.”

Stiles pulls against his restraints, alarmed. “What are you talking about?”

“Yes, I think I will,” the incubus purrs. His mouth slides up Stiles’ neck again, his teeth finding the spot behind his ear. “Oh, delicious boy!”

The chair is rocking, but the ropes won’t budge as Stiles writhes and twists to try and get away. Sharp teeth sink into his skin; he can feel blood dripping down his neck. He shrieks, the sound loud and piercing, bucking desperately to try and get the thing off him.

There’s a deep roar from the doorway, and the incubus climbs off Stiles’ lap. The place where he bit his neck is agonisingly painful; everything around him is growing fuzzy, blurry, although Stiles can make out Derek’s bared teeth and bright golden eyes.

“Not you—” the incubus begins, but it’s too late. Derek springs forward, and rips off his head.

“Cool,” Stiles says, and passes out.

*

Stiles decides not to tell anybody what the incubus said – what he did – before Derek showed up to save him. That doesn’t mean he buries his head in the sand; he’s not stupid. The bite mark behind his ear heals overnight, just like the one on Scott’s side did when Peter bit him. He starts feeling irritable, and finding it difficult to sleep. His appetite fluctuates. It’s pretty clear that he’s turning.

The smart thing to do would be to go to Deaton, but he’s not so sure the creepy vet wouldn’t rat him out to Scott, and he’s not ready for his best friend to find out the truth of what he is. Being an incubus – if that is what’s happening to him, and Stiles can’t think of another explanation – is not like being a werewolf. From all the research he’s done, it seems that lycanthropy is a culture. There are families and rituals, and it’s not too difficult to balance the human and wolf sides.

Being an incubus is more like having a virus. There’s no balance, and no control. There’s only feeding the virus, and surviving, or starving it, and dying. It hasn’t reached that point yet, but Stiles knows that there will come a time when he has to have sex with someone to live. And if it’s anything like the one Derek killed, doing it will drain the person he sleeps with until they die.

It’s not exactly how he wanted to lose his virginity.

As the days go on, Stiles gets more and more antsy. His skin feels as though it’s crawling, with tingles running all over his body, and he’s pale and drawn. He’s not sleeping, so there are deep purple hollows underneath his eyes, and he starts losing weight. His ADHD is playing up, even with his medication, so he can barely sit still.

The first time it happens, he’s at a pack meeting. It was Scott’s idea; the pack meets at least once a week, even if there’s no supernatural disaster going on, and they get take-out and watch TV. Mason calls it bonding. Derek calls it stupid, but Stiles knows he secretly likes it.

He’s folded away in an armchair, now that Derek finally has furniture. The need to touch someone, to be near other people, is almost more than he can bear, which is exactly why he’s keeping himself away from the others. His leg, crossed over the other one, is shaking uncontrollably, and he has his arms folded tightly across his chest to stop his fingers from tapping.

Isaac, sitting at the end of the sofa nearest to him, reaches out and clamps a heavy, werewolf-strength hand on Stiles’ knee. “Dude. Be still,” he says.

He doesn’t mean to do it. Doesn’t even quite know how he does it. He just looks up, his eyes meeting Isaac’s, and his face feels hot and there’s a rushing in his ears. He can feel the release of power around him. It’s intoxicating.

Isaac’s face slackens, and his eyes glaze over, his mouth relaxing into a dopey smile. “Stiles,” he sighs.

No one else has noticed; the crackle of power has gone completely unnoticed, and why wouldn’t it? No one is expecting Stiles to be powerful. He wrenches the allure – because that’s unmistakeably what it is – back from Isaac, stuffing it back down inside himself. He feels sick. That was how easy it was, to let go. And how hard it was, to draw back.

He wants to use his allure. He wants to exercise his power. And that sickens him more than anything.

He’s not quite sure how he makes it through the rest of the evening. He’s the first one to leave, jumping up so quickly after the movie finishes that both Scott and Derek stare at him in surprise. Usually, Stiles is the one trying to cajole everyone into watching more TV. He knows he’s being conspicuous, but he can’t risk sticking around any longer. He’s dangerous. He can feel it.

Is this what it was like for the incubus that turned him? Was he a good person at first? Is that how Stiles will end up, a danger to all his friends and family?

His hands are clammy with sweat, clinging to the steering wheel as he drives home.

Thank God, his dad is still at work when he gets home. The thought of being a danger to his own father – it’s more than he can stand. He has a few hours to figure out a fix for his problem. It’s not that long, and maybe it feels hopeless, but he’s the guy who always has the answers. Surely he has to have an answer to this too.

If he can’t fix it tonight, he’ll go and camp out in the woods, no matter what lies he has to tell to pull it off. He’ll learn control of this thing if it kills him.

The doorbell blares out unexpectedly, and Stiles nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s not expecting anyone; it can’t be Scott, because he’s at Kira’s tonight, which means he’ll essentially be putting away his brain for the evening. As he stands, heart pounding, in the middle of his bedroom, the bell rings again.

“Stiles.” Of all people, it’s Lydia’s voice. “Stiles, open the door.”

No good ever comes of ignoring Lydia. Slowly, Stiles walks down the hall and opens the door. She’s standing there, looking as beautiful as ever in a cute little flowered dress, her hair in thick curls bouncing on her shoulders. She raises her eyebrows at him as he looks at her.

“Hey,” he says awkwardly.

“Let me in, Stiles,” Lydia says in a no-nonsense voice. Stiles automatically moves to block her way; her eyes widen.

“Um,” he says. “I don’t – that’s not a good idea right now.”

“Stiles,” she says.

“Lydia,” he replies.

She tips her head to one side. “Just how stupid do you think I am?”

That’s actually a good point. He lets her in. She flounces past him in a whirl of strawberry blonde hair, heading straight to his room.

“My dad’s not in,” Stiles says.

“I figured,” she replies without turning around. “His car isn’t outside.” She strides into his bedroom, waiting expectantly for him to join her.

Slowly, Stiles follows. Just having another person around is making his whole body hum; he’s very, very dangerous right now. He can feel it.

The second he walks in the room, Lydia opens her mouth and screams. The sound is ear-splitting; Stiles’ fingers reach automatically for his ears as she pushes at the air with her hands. Without any warning, Stiles finds himself flung across the room, landing with a loud crash onto his bed as surely as if Scott had thrown him there.

He looks up. Lydia looks complacent, and somewhat bored.

“What was that?” He struggles to his feet.

She examines her fingernails. “Just showing you that I can look after myself,” she says airily. “I’ve been practising.”

Stiles frowns at her. “Okay…”

“I know what you are, Stiles.” Now she looks at him intently. “I know the incubus bit you. And I know you’re losing control.”

It’s like the bottom has dropped out of Stiles’ stomach. He swallows. “Oh.”

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Her chin is lifted almost defiantly.

He sighs. “I can’t tell everyone,” he says. “I’d be pushed out of the pack. I don’t want to put everyone in danger, but Scott… Scott would never understand this.”

“He protected Jackson,” Lydia points out. She shakes her head. “Anyway, I didn’t say Scott. I said me.” She smiles suddenly. “I’m the smartest person you know, Stiles.”

Stiles shrugs helplessly. “I know,” he says. “What am I supposed to do?”

Lydia ponders this. “You need sex to stay alive, right?”

“I guess,” he says warily.

Lydia raises her eyebrows.

“No,” he says firmly.

“Stiles.”

“I’m not having sex with you.”

She puts a hand on her heart. “You’re going to make me feel rejected,” she says.

Stiles sighs. “Look, Lydia… There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to have sex with you, alright?”

“Before you realised you were super gay,” she supplies.

Stiles stares at her. “Um, the term is bisexual, and how did you know that?”

Lydia rolls her eyes. “If you think you’ve been subtle, the way you stare at Derek – you haven’t. At least,” she amends. “I noticed. It’s doubtful anyone else has.”

“Okay, but—”

“Maybe you should just ask him,” Lydia interrupts. Her smile turns sly. “He looks at you too, you know. Maybe he’d be happy to sex you up to keep you alive.”

“Okay, firstly, he does not look at me,” Stiles says firmly. He would definitely have noticed that. Lydia gives a small shrug like she disagrees but can’t be bothered to argue the point. “And secondly, even if he did, I couldn’t do that to him. It wouldn’t be real.” He raises his hands hopelessly. The allure makes everything fake.

“Well, you can do it to me, then,” Lydia says in a business-like voice. “Otherwise, you’ll drive yourself mad, and that’s when you’ll become really dangerous. You’ll end up doing something you regret.”

“Lydia,” Stiles says patiently. “I’m not sleeping with you.”

“Stiles,” Lydia says, just as patiently. “You don’t have a choice. You’ll die if you don’t, and I’m offering.”

“Don’t you get it?” he cries in desperation. “I’m barely keeping a lid on the allure as it is. I’ll lose control if I touch you like that. It’ll be like you’re under mind control. God,” he adds, collapsing back onto his bed, “I always thought Alisha’s power was the cool one in Misfits.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Lydia says crisply. “It may not be ideal, Stiles, but you haven’t got another option. I’m not about to let you die over some simple sex.”

“I could kill you,” he says.

“I can defend myself,” Lydia replies, flexing her fingers.

“You’ll be under the allure!”

She rolls her eyes. “You know as well as I do that the allure isn’t enough to overcome basic survival instincts when it comes down to life and death,” she says. “The human instinct to live is too strong. That’s why most of the bodies had injuries, signs that the victims had tried to fight back.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not willing to let it get to that,” Stiles says stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest. “You think I want to play around with your life? The allure will weaken you. What if your scream isn’t enough?”

“I trust you to keep it together,” Lydia says. “Stiles, you haven’t got a choice. You’re my friend. You would do it for me.”

“That’s different,” he says obstinately.

“Why? Because you used to have a crush on me?” she demands. “Think of it as a friends with benefits arrangement if you prefer. I’m volunteering. This isn’t permanent. We’ll work something else out in time, but for now, let me help you.”

Stiles feels his shoulders drop. She’s right; he hasn’t got a choice. He wants to live, and he’s getting so desperate that he can’t trust himself anymore. He needs to get himself under control. “You can’t tell anyone,” he says miserably.

“I don’t think Scott would mind as much as you think he would,” Lydia says. “He’s your friend.”

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me the last time he thought I had betrayed his principles.” Stiles will never forget the disappointed expression in Scott’s eyes that day in the rain. “He won’t get this.”

Lydia tosses her head. “Well, I suppose we’re the two smart ones anyway,” she says. “It’s not like any of the others would be any help in solving this.”

“Exactly,” Stiles says gratefully.

Lydia smiles confidently at him. “Good. Now that’s settled, take your clothes off.”

*

Stiles spends the winter having sex with Lydia. He hates it.

The sex itself isn’t bad. They figure out that they need to do it at least once every three weeks; two is ideal, and a month is pushing it right to the edge. Stiles hates the way Lydia’s eyes melt with lust whenever he comes near her, hates the way she’s suddenly passionate and malleable in his arms, hates how close he gets, every time, to hurting her.

Still, he does manage to pull back. She hasn’t had to scream. He can control it, even though it still feels like he’s controlling her. He tries to make it good for her, figures out that the sated high he gets from it is better when she orgasms. Lydia herself is fairly clinical about it, although she never stops reassuring him that she’s willing, that she wants to help him.

“You’re getting pretty good,” she says one day as she’s getting dressed. “I do remember it all, you know.”

It does make him feel better, knowing that she remembers everything they’re doing and still comes back each time. Still, it’s pretty lonely. He now knows, with perfect clarity, that he’s not in love with Lydia, will never be in love with Lydia. It’s doing something just a little too intimate with someone who’s fast becoming one of his closest friends, and it’s nice enough if he forgets about the connotations, but it’s not what he wants.

Because Stiles – Stiles is a romantic, always has been. He doesn’t even want sex; after everything, sex is just about the last thing he’s interested in anymore. He wants love. And as the months wear on, he realises that he knows exactly who he wants it with.

It’s another pack night, and Stiles is feeling relaxed and happy because he and Lydia had an appointment – that’s the term they’re using, more sarcastically than anything else – a couple of days ago, so he’s confident enough to sit on the big sofa in between Liam and Boyd, ignoring the electricity that shivers up his arms every time one of them brushes past him. Derek, as always, is sitting alone in his armchair, at just the right angle for Stiles to watch him without looking like he’s doing it.

Although Scott is officially the Alpha – and a True Alpha at that – it’s Derek who assumes all the responsibilities of the pack. He doesn’t seem to mind it; Stiles actually has a sneaking suspicion that he likes it, and anyway, Cora acts as though it’s normal for the pack’s second to take it on. He lays on food for them every week – ranging from Chinese take-out to home-cooked spaghetti and meatballs, depending on how busy he’s been – and doesn’t sit down himself until he’s sure that everyone’s had enough to eat. He provides cushions and blankets, pours drinks, makes sure everyone’s comfortable.

It’s fucking adorable.

Isaac looks up to Derek as a kind of older brother figure, and Scott is forever asking his advice on how to manage the pack. He’s like this quiet, unassuming lynchpin of the group, and it’s kind of hard to remember how they worked before they learned to trust him. He seems to have let go of a lot of the anger that held him together before, and the guy who’s left behind – well. Stiles can’t help but like that guy.

Lydia is looking at him in her knowing way. Stiles flushes and turns away, concentrating hard on the Firefly episode they’re watching, which means he misses it when Erica starts up a conversation with Derek; he only tunes in when Derek says firmly: “Nope, not interested.”

“Seriously?” Erica says. “She was all over you!”

Derek blushes, looking down at his hands. Scott, coming back in from the bathroom, asks the question Stiles is dying to: “Who was?”

“The barista at Starbucks,” Erica. Stiles immediately, irrationally and almost certainly untruthfully, decides he never wants to get coffee there again. “She was, like, eye-fucking Derek when we went for coffee yesterday.”

“Aw,” Kira says, in a spectacular instance of missing the point. “That’s so sweet!”

“You didn’t go for it?” Corey asks.

Derek shrugs. “Not interested.”

“Is she hot?” This is from Liam, who couldn’t be more sophomore if he tried; Stiles elbows him in the ribs out of principle.

“She’s cute,” Erica allows. She shifts her boobs slightly, which Stiles has noticed she always does when another girl’s attractiveness is under discussion. “She has a nose piercing.”

“So why didn’t you go for it?” Liam asks.

Derek is looking distinctly uncomfortable. “I just wasn’t—”

“Interested?” Erica supplies. “Come on, man. It’s been ages since you got laid.”

“Yeah, it was what, Braeden? And that was like, a year ago,” Isaac agrees.

Stiles frowns, watching Derek. His hands are tangled together, and he looks horrendously under pressure. His face is flushed, and he’s frowning at his knees. “That’s not—” he begins, his voice an awkward mutter.

“Hey, guys,” Stiles says loudly. “You’re missing the best bit, come on. Scotty hasn’t even seen Firefly before.”

“Scott hasn’t seen anything good,” Mason says, and the conversation is dropped. Stiles can’t quite get that uncomfortable look in Derek’s eyes out of his head, though, and he finds it difficult to concentrate for the rest of the evening.

He purposefully goes to the bathroom right when everyone is leaving, so that when he comes back out, only Derek is left, clearing plastic cups into a bin liner. They’ve been using plastic ever since the food fight someone – Stiles suspects Liam – instigated about six months ago when Derek made the mistake of serving jelly. A lot of glassware got smashed.

“Hey,” he says a little awkwardly. “I’ll help you.”

Derek looks up at him, giving him a rare smile. “Thanks,” he says. He’s a lot quieter these days, and sometimes Stiles wonders if this is what he was like before the fire. Not withdrawn, exactly; just peaceful.

With both of them working, the living room is cleared quickly, and Stiles sits with a huff on the sofa. He’s not ready to leave yet. Derek follows more slowly, curling himself up on his armchair with his eyes on Stiles.

“Thanks for the food, man,” Stiles says. Derek made macaroni cheese and jacket potatoes tonight, both of which are firm favourites in Stiles’ book. He pats his stomach. “I love food,” he sighs.

“Yeah, I know,” Derek says drily. He hesitates. “Thank you for earlier,” he says quietly.

Stiles turns to look at him. “Hmm?”

“The save,” Derek clarifies. “I noticed.”

“Oh,” Stiles says. He shrugs. “You shouldn’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to.” He feels a little bad, actually; the save was just as much for himself as it was for Derek. He was getting way too jealous hearing about the cute barista.

Derek looks extremely cute himself, pink in the face and half-smiling. “Braeden…” he begins, and then trails off, biting his lip. He looks up at Stiles, who tries to give a look both encouraging and not overly-interested. “We never… We weren’t like that.” He sighs. “I didn’t sleep with her.”

Stiles can only hope that the leap in his stomach doesn’t translate to his heartbeat, because otherwise Derek is going to think he’s a freak. “Cool,” he says neutrally.

“I don’t. I don’t really like sex.” Derek isn’t looking at Stiles at all as he says this. “At all.”

Stiles frowns, leaning forward and propping his chin in his hands. “Huh,” he says. His mind is whirling at about a thousand miles a minute. That actually… makes a surprising amount of sense, from everything he knows about Derek. “Okay.”

Derek flicks a quick glance at him. “You don’t… think it’s weird?”

“Why would I think it’s weird?” Stiles answers. He knows a few people – mostly Dolores’ friends, because they’re the only ones brave enough just to be exactly who they are – who aren’t interested in sex.

Derek is looking down at his hands. “Kate did,” he mutters.

This is huge; he and Derek are kind of friends now, but they never talk about Kate. Stiles says cautiously: “Did she make you do stuff you didn’t want to do?” His heart is thumping.

“I guess,” Derek says quietly. “I don’t know. It took me a while to figure out that I didn’t like it.”

Stiles wants to tell Derek that he would never pressure him into having sex, but then he remembers that Derek would think he was a crazy person. “Well, she was a psycho,” he says bracingly. “And you’re awesome.”

Derek laughs and throws a cushion at him, and that’s the end of that conversation.

*

By the time Christmas comes along, Stiles has settled into a routine which, if not perfect, is at least comfortable. He and Lydia have sex every other Thursday, at his house when his dad is at work. Thursdays are pack nights; that means he has a whole week to scrub the smell of him getting laid from his body before they all gather again. He doesn’t want anyone guessing what they might be doing.

On the pack nights he doesn’t see Lydia, he hangs around after everyone has left to spend some time with Derek. He looks forward to these evenings with a vengeance, eating ice cream, watching TV, and talking about anything and everything. He likes getting to know this new Derek, drawing out his shy smile with stupid jokes and stories about school. Sometimes Cora and Isaac are there too – they both live at the loft, as does Peter – but more often than not they head to their rooms, leaving Stiles and Derek to chat alone.

As per usual, Scott and his mom come over on Christmas Day, although this year Melissa invites Chris Argent, which is kind of weird. It’s obvious within about half an hour that they’re dating, although Scott is clearly too oblivious to see it. Stiles and Melissa cook, and Scott does useful things like peeling potatoes while the Sheriff lays the table, and Chris makes a kickass cranberry sauce, and then after dinner they all lounge about in the living room opening presents and feeling fat.

Boxing Day is pack day. They all get together in Derek’s loft for a buffet of leftovers provided from several different Christmas meals, and it’s an explosion of noise and laughter. There are twenty-seven of them altogether, including the various family members – such as Liam’s parents, Hayden’s sister, and Lydia’s mom – that show up bearing food and alcohol, so it’s a squeeze to get everyone inside. Stiles gets outrageously drunk, and Derek spends the whole day smiling quietly to himself, watching everyone talking and eating and enjoying themselves.

When he’s so full that he can barely move, Stiles staggers out of the dining area and over to the living room. All the seats are full of people – Melissa and Argent are sharing an armchair, much to Scott’s disgust – so Stiles heads over to Derek’s chair and plops himself on the arm.

“Hey,” Derek says, looking up at him.

Stiles leans back to rest on the back of the armchair; he overbalances, toppling down practically onto Derek’s lap. “Hey,” he sighs. “Man, I’m drunk. And full.”

Derek looks amused, budging over to make room for him. “It’s been a good day,” he says mildly.

“Hell yeah,” Stiles agrees, leaning his head on Derek’s shoulder. “You’re comfortable, dude,” he adds.

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek says, although he’s smiling. He wrinkles his nose. “You reek of tequila.”

“Yeah, me and Mason were doing shots in the kitchen. It sucks that you guys can’t get drunk,” Stiles says. He looks around hazily; Malia and Erica are playing beer pong with Liam and Corey across the room, while Hayden, Mason and Isaac cheer them on. Scott seems to have got over his thing about his mom, snuggling into the sofa with Kira. Boyd is talking seriously to Parrish, while several of the parents sneak wary glances over at Peter, who’s standing looking out of the window with a glass of mulled wine in his hand. It’s all very comfortable and pleasant, and Stiles feels satisfied with the whole thing. “This is awesome,” he says.

Derek looks down at him; he’s totally slumped down in the chair now, his head still against Derek’s arm. “What is?”

Stiles waves an arm expansively. “This,” he says. He gives Derek a sidelong look. “You. We should do this, like, all the time.”

“Have parties?” Derek asks.

“Well, yeah,” Stiles says, because that would be awesome. “But I meant you and me. We should always share the chair.”

Derek blushes, so Stiles takes that as a win.

*

Of course, it all goes horribly, catastrophically wrong at pack night.

It’s early February, and Stiles is contemplating his lonely existence while the rest of the pack talk about their plans for Valentine’s Day. Cora and Isaac are going to an ‘ironic movie’, whatever that means – Stiles thinks it’s code for pretending they’re not totally into each other when they totally are – and everyone else minus Malia, who doesn’t care, has a date. Kira and Scott are doing something horrendously sappy, probably (Stiles wasn’t listening when Scott told him about it), Erica and Boyd are going hunting like the predators they are, and Liam, Hayden, Corey and Mason are double-dating. Even Lydia has plans with Parrish, whom, she informs Stiles, is right on the edge of asking her out properly.

He doesn’t miss the fact that Derek is also dateless, but he’s definitely too chicken to ask him about it. So he’s sitting on the sofa in between Boyd and Corey, restless and antsy, trying to tune out the chatter as Scott and Liam earnestly discuss restaurant choices.

“It’s so hard to get a reservation,” Liam complains, like that’s an actual problem. Stiles shivers, and a bolt of electricity runs through his body. It’s been two weeks since his last appointment with Lydia, and all this talk of romance is putting him on edge.

“Stiles,” Lydia says sharply; he looks up guiltily, and realises that Corey is giving him a sappy look. Hastily, he pulls back his leaking allure. This whole incubus thing is way more trouble than it’s worth.

“No date, Stiles?” Erica says sweetly. He gives her the finger. Derek shifts a little in his armchair, and Erica cackles.

“Babe,” Boyd says in his calm, deep voice beside Stiles. “Lay off.”

Erica pouts, but she sits back in her chair anyway. Stiles nudges Boyd gratefully; it’s more than simple single-guy jealousy getting him down. He feels almost frayed at the edges, his allure much harder to handle than usual, dripping out of the cracks as much as he tries to keep it in. He needs his appointment with Lydia tonight, although he’d much rather stay here and hang out with Derek.

“Huh,” Boyd says, his voice oddly mellow. “You have something on your face.”

Stiles feels warm all over, his skin tingling deliciously as Boyd’s large thumb reaches up to brush the corner of his mouth. He lets his eyes flutter closed, warmth spreading in the pit of his stomach, that heated sated feeling creeping over him…

“Stiles,” Lydia snaps, getting up. “Can we talk?”

Fuck. Fuck. He’s doing this to Boyd; his allure is escaping again, his body heating up, and he was so lost in the moment that he didn’t even notice it was happening. Stiles scrambles away, horrified with himself. What is he doing? Not that he doesn’t appreciate Boyd’s hulking masculinity, but no. And dude, is that the point he’s going with? Boyd is his friend. You don’t mind-control your friends unless you have their explicit permission.

Derek is looking at him oddly, but the moment was over so fast that Stiles doesn’t think anyone else noticed anything amiss. He stands up quickly, following Lydia out through the large sliding door. She’s marching surprisingly fast on her high heels; she’s definitely pissed.

“I didn’t mean to,” he begins, but it sounds pathetic, so he adds quickly: “I know there’s no excuse. It was an accident.”

“Stiles,” Lydia says, her voice surprisingly gentle. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. I just figured you needed to get out of there.”

They’re standing in the stairwell of the building, and Stiles feels almost dizzy with need. Lydia looks up at him sympathetically, reaching out to touch his face. She’s right; he’s not going to last until after the meeting. He needs this now.

“Are you sure?” He sounds almost drugged himself, his voice dreamy. Lydia doesn’t answer; she just starts unbuttoning her blouse.

Afterwards, he kisses her on the cheek (they don’t kiss on the mouth. That feels like a line). “Thank you,” he says sincerely. “I was dying out there.”

“I know,” she says confidently. She looks him up and down; he’s no longer vibrating with restless energy, no longer uncomfortable in his own skin. “You seem better,” she says.

“I am,” Stiles says.

“Come on,” she instructs. “It’s a funny time of year. I want to go again when we get back to yours.”

“You’re so romantic,” he grouses, but he follows her down the stairs and out to their respective cars anyway.

Stiles doesn’t think any more of it; Valentine’s Day comes and goes before the next pack night, and slowly, as the whole world stops focusing on romance, his ability to control himself comes back to normal. He’ll know for next time, he guesses. Lydia is hopeful that there may not have to be a next time.

“I wonder if there’s a way of synthesizing the high,” she says thoughtfully, the day after Valentine’s Day when they’re putting their clothes back on. “After all, there are mood-enhancing drugs out there already.”

Stiles rubs his eyes wearily. “You think that’s possible?”

Lydia shrugs. “We’ve conducted plenty of research,” she says. “There’s a chance, anyway. I’ll give it some thought. After all,” she adds, lifting her chin. “I’d rather not be sleeping with you when Jordan finally gets up the nerve to asks me out.”

The thought that he might not have to be having sex with Lydia for very much longer puts Stiles in such a good mood that he’s practically skipping when he arrives early at the loft for the next pack night. Derek is putting out plastic cups next to the pizza boxes on the kitchen table when he gets there, and he heads straight over.

“Hey, man,” he says cheerily, clapping Derek on the shoulder. Derek freezes underneath him, shifting away; Stiles always forgets how not touchy-feely he is. He lets go quickly. “Smells awesome.”

“Right,” Derek says stiffly.

“What are we watching tonight?” Stiles asks. “Want to carry on blasting Suits after everyone’s gone home?”

“I can’t tonight,” Derek says. Stiles frowns, looking at him properly for the first time. Derek won’t meet his eyes. “I’m tired.”

“Um,” Stiles says. Since when does Derek, superwolf, get tired? “Okay? Next time, I guess.”

“Actually, I don’t think we should hang out on our own so much anymore,” Derek says in a rush, like he’s been holding onto it for days. His face looks twisted and unhappy.

“Why not?” Stiles says blankly.

Derek starts rearranging the pizza boxes again. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together,” he says. He still won’t look at Stiles. “People might get the wrong idea.”

Stiles feels as though he’s been kicked in the stomach. His eyes are prickling, and there’s a lump in his throat. Is this Derek’s way of telling him that he knows about Stiles’ stupid crush? That he’s not interested? “O-Oh,” he says shakily. Surely Derek isn’t really going to throw away their friendship over a crush? “I didn’t realise that was so important to you,” he can’t help saying. Since when does Derek care what people think?

“Yeah, well,” Derek says uncomfortably.

“Stiles,” Cora’s voice says flatly behind him. Stiles turns around; he’s struggling not to cry, which is totally pathetic.

“Hey, Cora,” he says weakly.

She glares at him, her expression venomous. “Whatever,” she says.

Isaac, when he comes downstairs, is similarly unfriendly, to the extent that by the time everyone else arrives Stiles is ready to leave. He latches onto to Scott gratefully, sinking onto the sofa with him and Kira. Lydia gives him a questioning look, but he just shakes his head at her.

“Dude, are you okay?” Scott asks in a low voice. If he looks upset enough that Scott has noticed, it must be bad. He shrugs.

“Not feeling so good,” he whispers.

Of course, Cora catches it. She turns to glare at him again. “Maybe something is turning your stomach,” she says loudly. “Maybe you should go home.”

“Cora,” Derek says quietly, and she subsides.

Scott blinks at her. “Have you got some kind of problem with Stiles?” he asks in a bewildered tone.

“Yes!” Cora begins hotly, but Derek glares at her, and she shrugs. “Fine, whatever. Not my problem.”

Liam looks between Cora and Stiles. “What’s going on?” he asks. Mason nudges him.

“Dude,” he says.

“No, I’m with Liam,” Stiles says, which are words he never thought would be coming out of his mouth. “If you’ve got an issue, Cora, why don’t you just come out and say so?”

“Aw,” Cora sneers. “Why don’t you go cry to your girlfriend about it?”

“Huh?” Stiles says. Cora throws a pointed glare at Lydia, whose eyes widen.

“Excuse me,” she says crisply. “Are you referring to me?”

Liam sniggers uncharacteristically; Hayden whacks him in the arm. “What?” he exclaims. He laughs again. “We all heard it.”

There’s a sinking feeling radiating through Stiles’ entire body which tells him what’s going on before his brain has time to catch up. “Heard what?” he asks warily, although he already knows the answer. Across the room, Lydia closes her eyes.

“Um,” Hayden says. “I guess the stairwell isn’t out of range of werewolf hearing?”

“But, you know, thanks for testing it out,” Erica adds.

Stiles can feel his mouth dropping open. He turns furiously to Scott. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

Scott looks surprised. “Well, I’ve known for weeks,” he says. At Stiles’ aghast expression, he sighs. “We’re best friends, Stiles. I know what you smell like. I figured you’d tell me when you were ready.”

“Nobody was ready for you to tell us like that,” Isaac says with a grimace. He shoots an odd look at Derek, who is examining his hands, his cheeks pink.

“Stiles,” Lydia says in an even voice that tells him he’d better agree with her, “I think it’s time, don’t you?”

A frisson of fear darts through him. He can’t, not like this, not here, not now. “Please,” he croaks. Lydia looks annoyed, but he can’t help it. No one will understand, they’ll all treat him like some kind of monster, which, yeah, is fair, but he can’t stand it.

“Dick,” Cora mutters, and Stiles turns angrily to her, grateful for the distraction.

“Okay, what is your problem?” he demands. “So you heard me having sex with Lydia, so what? What, you think I defiled your stairwell or something?”

“Oh, yeah, that’s my issue,” Cora snarls. “Not that you’ve been leading my brother on for weeks—”

“Cora,” Derek growls, standing up suddenly. There’s silence in the room.

“Wait,” Stiles says slowly. “Just – wait a moment.” He looks up at Derek; Derek is very determinedly not looking at him. His face is bright red. “I’ve been leading him on? As in… Derek, do you like me?”

“Told you,” Lydia says helpfully.

“Now he catches on,” Cora says nastily.

“Shh,” Stiles says. His head is still reeling. He turns to look at Cora; he’s standing up, though he doesn’t quite remember doing it. “You’re pissed with me because you think I’ve been leading him on,” he says.

Cora stares at him like he’s crazy. “Yeah…”

Stiles wheels around to point at Derek. Erica giggles. “And you, you like me!”

Derek is staring at the ceiling. “Um. I did,” he says stiffly.

“Penny in the air…” Kira whispers, which makes Stiles love her a little bit because Doctor Who is epic, but he’ll come back to that later.

“But I like you too!” Stiles bursts out wildly. “I do! I thought you’d never be interested in me!”

Derek darts a quick glance at Lydia, who looks amused. “Um.”

“We’re not together,” she supplies. Parrish, to her left, looks a little relieved.

“We heard you,” Isaac says sceptically.

Stiles is buzzing from his head to his feet, vibrating with the need to touch Derek, to be near Derek. His skin is crackling, his eyes hot and his face inflamed. He takes a step forward.

“Hey,” Cora says, shooting up to get in between them. “Stay away from him.” She grabs his arms roughly; Stiles can feel the flesh under her grip thrumming with urgent need.

Scott jumps up at once. “Hey!” he begins, but that’s all he gets out, because Cora’s arms slide up around Stiles’ neck, and she kisses him.

*

It takes a lot of explaining. Cora keeps getting up to rinse her mouth out, which Stiles thinks is kind of insulting.

“You’re an incubus,” Scott repeats blankly. He’s staring at Stiles as though he’s looking at a stranger, which is exactly why he didn’t want to tell him in the first place.

“Yeah,” Stiles says heavily.

“That thing bit you?” Liam says.

“Yes,” Stiles says.

“Dude,” Mason says. “Are you okay?”

Stiles smiles weakly. “I get by.” He looks at Lydia.

“So, just so we’re clear,” Cora says, glancing at Derek. “You sleep with Lydia because you have to, not because you’re into her?”

“Yes,” Stiles says definitively. “She’s not my type. No offence,” he adds hastily.

“None taken,” Lydia says coolly. “You’re not my type either.” She gives Parrish a significant look.

“Oh,” Cora says. She hesitates. “Sorry.”

Stiles shrugs. “Hey, you heard two people having sex. Incubus wouldn’t be my first thought either.”

“There’s got to be another way,” Scott says. “Maybe we could ask Deaton. He might have some experience with it.”

“We’ve been doing some research into it,” Lydia says.

“Dude,” Scott says to Stiles. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Didn’t know how you’d react,” Stiles says.

Scott claps him on the shoulder. “I’ve got your back,” he says easily, which yeah. Stiles really shouldn’t have doubted it. Then he looks worried. “I want to hug you right now,” he says. “Is that…?”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “Unless you also want to bone me, that’s all you, Scotty.”

“Well,” Scott says seriously, “you do have a great ass. Or so I hear.”

He doesn’t get to talk to Derek until much, much later in the evening. Everyone wants to hear the story of Stiles getting bitten – even Lydia hasn’t heard the full tale – and then they all stay up late, discussing theories and ideas, and the upshot is that if the pack has anything to say about it, Stiles’ days of having sex with Lydia are numbered. For which he can only be profoundly grateful.

Finally, however, they all start drifting home. Stiles stays put, his heart pounding, and Derek comes to sit beside him on the couch. He’s been very, very quiet.

“Hey,” he says, smiling a little awkwardly.

“Hey,” Stiles says. Then, in a rush: “I’m sorry. If I’d had any idea you felt the same way I did, I would’ve told you about all this.”

Derek considers this. “You really didn’t know?”

“No!”

“You think I let anyone else share my chair?” he asks. He smiles a little. “I’m not trying to make this any worse for you, Stiles. It sounds like it’s been hell.”

“Still,” Stiles says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Derek says peaceably.

“Derek,” Stiles says warningly, because Derek is moving closer to him. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Derek asks.

“Because it won’t be real,” Stiles says miserably. “Lydia… It’s mind control, Derek. The allure. I can stand it with her because she knows what she’s getting herself into, and I don’t love her like that. I couldn’t do that with you, not after what you told me about sex.”

Derek waits for him to finish. “Stiles,” he says patiently. “What did I tell you about sex?”

Stiles frowns. “That you don’t like it.”

“And where does the allure of an incubus come from?” he prompts.

“Lust,” Stiles says slowly. “It twists desire.”

“Stiles,” Derek says. “I don’t experience lust or desire.”

There’s a few moments of silence while Stiles processes that. He finds himself smiling. “Oh,” he says.

“I like the idea of kissing you,” Derek says, a little shyly.

Stiles’ smile becomes slightly dopey. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Derek says firmly, and proceeds to demonstrate.