Title: Better Off Bread
Author: Sibyl Moon
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Genre: Humor, Romance
Relationship: Stiles/Derek
Beta: Grammarly
Warnings: Murder, Canon-level-Violence, Discussion-Hate Crimes/Speech in relation to Hunters and Supernatural Beings, Discussion-Poisoning, Discussion-Torture, 
Word Count: 25k
Summary: Stiles has been taking care of the less than savory side of the supernatural world since his dad fell to a rogue hunter a decade ago. Opening up his own bakery and utilizing his spark made things easy as pie – or cake – depending on preferences. He’s remained undetected all this time, but now he’s got Derek Hale coming around asking questions. Worse than that, the werewolf is Stiles’ unforgettable one-night stand from just the other night.
Artist: Lalaith

Author’s Note: This fic was a labour of equal parts love and agony. All the lovely art was created by the wonderful Lalaith just for the fic, including the chapter markers. The only piece that I did was the banner on the first chapter–a holdover from when I first began to write this fic.

Derek blinked up blearily into Stiles’ face, wolfsbane ash laying heavy on the back of his tongue. He reached his hand up, fingers tracing the other man’s face as he tried to get his bearings. The instant punch of attraction that came with Stiles’ presence rolled over him like always, muted only by the wolfsbane poison dissipating from his system. 

“Well, that was fun; let’s never do it again.” Stiles gripped his shoulder with one hand while the other clasped his wrist and helped Derek sit up. “Hello, Derek.” He leaned in, pressing his mouth against Derek’s, brushing lips—a shared breath more than a kiss—before sitting back. He touched an absent hand to Derek’s jaw before dropping his hand altogether.

Derek looked around, frowning as his head cleared, the wound in his shoulder already gone—as well as his shirt, he noticed. They were in an unfinished basement, bare lightbulbs bouncing light off dull grey concrete. A towering stack of matching grey totes defied gravity along one side wall. One of the totes was on its side, spilling clothing over the concrete floor. A sagging grey couch squatted off to the side, a hunched shadow along the wall. The only other item in the basement was an industrial sink that gleamed white in the otherwise grey space.

“What are you doing here?” Derek shoved down his panic at Stiles’ presence as he tried to sense if anyone else was nearby. “Where in the hell are we?”

“I could do without the judgement in your tone, we’re locked in my basement.” Stiles huffed, poking him in the shoulder and handing him a dark blue t-shirt. “Sorry these have been packed away for a while, can’t promise they don’t smell a bit musty.”

“Why are we locked in your basement? I didn’t even know you had a basement,” Derek said, turning an incredulous look onto Stiles, his mind reeling. He shrugged the shirt over his head and turned back to stare at Stiles. Only then did he notice the blood on the other man—fresh blood.

“You’re hurt.” He reached for him, pausing when Stiles winced. 

“Go ahead, I just got shot a little bit,” Stiles said, shrugging. Then, when Derek jerked forward, choking on his panic, Stiles waved his hands in an attempt to calm him. “Not with a bullet or anything, just a dart—or three.” He muttered the last under his breath, but Derek heard it just the same.

“Why were you shot with three darts?” Derek pulled Stiles’ shirt away from his chest when the other man rolled his eyes and waved him forward. There were three puncture wounds, two still bleeding sluggishly—all already showing livid bruising. Derek couldn’t imagine the kind of impact they’d had on Stiles when they hit to leave that kind of mark. The shooter couldn’t have been standing far from him.

“Because Jedidiah Williams is an asshole who got his hands on a wardbreaker and made it into my house,” Stiles grunted when Derek pressed on one of the bruises before drawing some of the pain. “Don’t worry about that, they don’t hurt that much unless someone is poking at them.”

“Nobody I know would sell a hunter family a wardbreaker,” Derek said, letting go of Stiles’ shirt and sitting back.

“Oh, I doubt its the kind of wardbreaker you can buy, even on the dark markets. This one was blood made, a lot of magic blood was spilled for this, unwilling magical blood,” Stiles said, something dark passed over his features. “It’s going to be very satisfying when he dies. I’m going to make sure that it happens soon.” He looked down at his hands, shaking them out. “As soon as these drugs wear off.”

“Right,” Derek drew out the word as his brows raised. He’d need to revisit Stiles’ murderous impulses and his reaction to it later. “Back to the explanations first. Why are we in your basement and don’t talk around it.” He glared at Stiles when the other man opened his mouth.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Stiles said, blinking suddenly wide eyes at him.

“Uh-huh, explanations, preferably before they come back. Since I’m assuming we’re locked in down here,” Derek said, nodding up the stairs towards the door. 

“You’re a werewolf and my door isn’t exactly reinforced,” Stiles said, arching his brow as he pushed to his feet and crossed to the sink. “There are at least two of Jed’s goons on the other side and I used up the last of my wolfsbane stash getting that poison out of you. You’re lucky I have a feel for poisons or the bit I had wouldn’t have been enough.”

“You have bits of wolfsbane in your basement?” Derek stood and followed him to the sink, watching as Stiles twisted the facet on and began to scrub his hands with a harsh block of porous rock and green soap. The astringent scent of cloves and cinnamon flooded his senses—not what he expected.

“It was packed away with my old shirts, leftover from an old defunct project. I probably should have thrown it out but I’m a bit of a packrat. My friends have cured me of most of it, but even sealed they won’t touch the containers with wolfsbane in them.” Stiles grinned as Derek leaned back against the wall and continued to watch him. “I still haven’t gotten around to going through it—it’s only been five years since I moved in. I’ve got room and time.” 

The words sounded like a well-trodden argument, and Derek decided to ignore them. Stiles having the wolfsbane had been a stroke of luck for him. He had been trying to keep watch on the hunters and the pack, ready to jump in and help. He hadn’t seen the hunter that shot him until after the bullet hit. Jedidiah Williams’ ugly face grinning over his right before he brought a tire iron down on his head had been the last thing he thought he’d ever seen. Waking up to Stiles still seemed a dream.

“Stiles, start talking,” Derek said, crossing his arms and settling in, keeping part of his attention on the door. Stretching his senses, he could hear footsteps above them but only one person shifting restlessly near the door.

“Forgive me for wanting to get that ash off my hands,” He sniped, twisting the sink off and shaking out his dripping hands, the wrinkle between his eyes deepening as he looked around.

Derek sighed and shoved off the wall. He crossed over the bin; he didn’t scent any wolfsbane among the clothing spilling out of it, so he scooped up the first piece of fabric he saw, tossing it back at Stiles. Crossing back over, he took up his position on the wall again. 

Letting his gaze scan Stiles, he realized the man was still in clothes he’d been wearing at the bakery when Derek had stopped by for coffee earlier in the morning. Ash and dirt were covering the dark wash of jeans tight enough to cause Derek to rumble in appreciation before he could stop himself—He ignored Stiles’ sly grin as he took in the reasonably clean long-sleeve t-shirt, frowning at blood stain from the darts wounds.

“You know that Jed up there is in Beacon Hills because his brother died right?” Stiles let out a breath at Derek’s nod. He tossed the shirt aside and turned to the side of the sink to lean back against it and face Derek. “Well he’s a lot better informed about the circumstances than any of us realized. He decided to get the full story from me. He wants the identity of his brother’s killer. He has almost all the details, just not all of them.”

“What exactly is he missing and why does he expect you to know?” Derek felt his brow furrow. “Does he know about the pack, is that why?”

“That’s part of it, I’m sure.” Stiles nodded, not meeting Derek’s gaze.

“Stiles?” Derek dropped his arms and reached for Stiles, reeling him in. He slid his hands to rest on Stiles’ hips, holding him still. “What’s going on?”

“Okay, so, I might be a little bit magic?” Stiles winced when Derek just stared at him, waiting for him to continue. “Or more than a little bit. I’m going to be honest with you and hope it doesn’t bite me in the ass. I’m a spark, we aren’t sure exactly what that means in the grand scheme of things, we do know its dangerous. We keep what I am as quiet as possible but—people have shown up a couple of times over the years looking to rip my magic out of me for some dark ritual or another. We’ve also had at least one hunter show up to kill me for my dangerous and unstable abilities. That was all in the early days though, its been years since anyone has attacked us for this. I thought it was unknown to the world at large until Jedidiah up there started spouting off about my magic just before he dumped me down here with your dying body.”

“I’ve heard of sparks,” Derek said, his grip tightening on Stiles as he thought about the danger the man had been in constantly before Derek had even met him. “The—your ability—isn’t rare, just uncommon and coveted by those that seek to increase their power through darker rituals since a spark will twist to a user’s will or something. Peter knows more; usually, sparks are protected by their community. A spark is usually drawn to an area with a pack or a kiss, and then they protect—” Derek frowned as he thought back over his strange conversation with Finstock. His hands tightened before he forced himself to relax. “You’re the Guardian.”

“I’m the what?” Stiles laughed, his hands resting on Derek’s forearms as he stared at him, amusement coloring his scent. “I don’t know if I would say it like that, but I guess it’s something like that.”

“If Peter ever finds out about this I am never going to live it down.” Derek shook his head to clear it before meeting Stiles’ gaze. “If you’ve managed to keep this underwraps, and you have or Peter would have said something if there was even a hint of a spark being in Beacon Hills, then how does Williams know?”

“We were so careful with our early kills, just not careful enough,” Stiles said, puffing out his cheeks and frowning. “I left magical residue on them. It disappeared before anyone could get a good read according to Jed up there, but there was enough for them to know that the deaths weren’t as natural as they appeared and there were just enough of them to lead them here and enough similarities to lead them to me.”

“What do you mean early kills? I thought this was about his brother,” Derek reached up and gently pulled Stiles’ lip from his teeth. “Be careful, you’re going to bite it bloody. Just tell me what’s going on. Trust me, Stiles, please.”

“Why? Why should I trust you—fuck,” Stiles jerked away from Derek, banging his hip against the sink as he spun. He shoved his hands into his hair as he began to pace. “Fuck this. Nothing I’ve done has made sense in the normal way since that alpha crashed his through our lives like a train with teeth. Why should this—you—be any different?” He pointed an accusing glare at Derek.

“I’m not sure what to say right now, except you can trust me. I’m invested in you. Overly invested, according to some. There’s something about you, Stiles, something that—even before this—made me want to come back. Something that made me think that Beacon Hills wouldn’t be a terrible place to live,” He said, cupping Stiles’ face as he met his gaze. “So unless you’re about to tell me that you’re gunning for my family—” Stiles shook his head but didn’t pull away. “Then we don’t have a problem.”

“I kill hunters and supernaturals too far gone to save with pastries,” Stiles blurted out. He sucked in a breath, his eyes going wide. “Wait—I didn’t mean to say it like that.”

“Okay,” Derek said, his hands settling on Stiles’ shoulders as he watched the other man try and gather his thoughts. Derek let his mind drift over the last week as little things fell together, puzzle blocks tumbling over one another and clicking into place. “Take your time—although, I’m not sure how long they’re going to give us.”

“Oh, we’ll be fine. I’m fairly sure they’re going to be taken care of before we even attempt the door,” Stiles said, his gaze flicking to the stairs; he looked back at Derek with a smile curving his mouth that was a mix of mischief and worry.

“Uh-huh.” Derek brushed the back of his fingers over Stiles’ face. “I’m not going to hurt you, I don’t think I have that in me.”

“Oh, fuck you and your sincerity,” Stiles huffed, but he didn’t sound or scent as angry, and he leaned into Derek’s touch. “I don’t even know how this started, and we can talk about that later. The short version is that with my spark I can manipulate poisons and circumstances enough that I’ve managed to kill the hunters that come through Beacon Hills—the ones that don’t adhere to their flimsy code and those that are a threat to our community.” He lifted his chin, eyes going steely cold. “I’ve done the same to those in our community that have preyed on both humans and supernatural. We made that decision when a witch started dropping bodies shortly after we just kicked them out of town. That blood is on our hands. We make damn sure that doesn’t happen again, and anyone with those kinds of credentials that comes to Beacon Hills—”

“You’re the Guardian,” Derek repeated his earlier assertion, not flinching from Stiles’ challenging glare. “You and your pack protect Beacon Hills. I’m not angry with you. Do you know that in a pack structure there is a position called the left hand?” 

“I’ve heard about it. We’ve avoided most established packs for obvious reasons,” Stiles said, tension flowing out of his posture as he leaned back into Derek.

“Yes, your alpha aversion,” Derek said, amused. “You know that you’re their alpha, right?”

“It’s not an aversion to not want another pack poking their nose into our territory,” Stiles replied, narrowing his gaze at Derek, hands tightening on his arms. “And yes, I know. Nobody thinks I do, but I do. I don’t think they need a wolfy alpha, but—” He tilted his head and looked at Derek from under his lashes. “A wolf with more experience hanging around wouldn’t be as bad as I thought—if it was the right wolf.”

“You’re something else,” Derek said, unable to stop the smile curling his lips and unwilling to stop himself from leaning in and kissing Stiles. 

“So now we get out of here, because I’m pretty sure they don’t expect you to live much longer on your own and I got the impression they wanted to use you as some sort of leverage,” Stiles said when they finally parted, his lips swollen and red, cheeks flushed and eyes blinking at Derek even while he made plans.

Derek had never been more attracted to someone in his life. He’d worry it was a situational thing, but he was pretty positive that it was a Stiles thing, and Derek had always had a thing for competent people.

“I was wondering why they didn’t finish the job where they shot me,” Derek said, rubbing his thumb over Stiles’ swollen lip before focusing on the task at hand.

“You’re a Hale,” Stiles said, shrugging, something like unease threading through his scent. “If they can net your uncle or your alpha they will probably try.”

“I’m a Hale, but I wouldn’t be the first to move out on my own,” Derek said softly, brushing the backs of his fingers over Stiles’ cheek. “That’s a discussion for when we get out of this basement, though.”

“Right, yeah—fuck.” Stiles closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath before he opened them and returned Derek’s gaze. “You’re something else, Derek Hale.”

“Said by the pot,” Derek replied with an arched brow and dry tone just to watch Stiles laugh. “I don’t want to wait for them to come to us. We don’t know when that will happen for one and for another this area is too open. I doubt they are going to leave their guns upstairs.”

“Taking that door should be easy enough with both of us, you’re back to full strength?” Stiles patted Derek’s shoulder, and Derek nodded.

Stiles stepped out of Derek’s arms, shaking out his hands, and Derek felt the loss immediately, barely stopping himself from following Stiles just to stay within his space.

“I don’t know that I’m at full strength, but whatever they gave me was meant for a witch—I’m not sure how much that differs from a spark, but we’ve discovered over the years that it does, especially when it comes to things like this. I’m burning through it quicker than I imagine they expected. I’m pretty sure Jed doesn’t know I’m a spark,” Stiles said, even as he continued to shake his hands before holding them up, and Derek watched flashes of light spark off the tips of his fingers. “From what he said he doesn’t know I killed his brother or any of the other hunters, but he thinks I know who did it—which he’s not wrong I guess.”

“Explains why you’re still alive,” Derek said, ice slithering through his blood at the thought of Stiles lifeless on the basement floor instead of the warm, vibrant man in front of him. “So, the door.”

“The door,” Stiles agreed. “Let’s go teach hunter’s not to play with guns and break into my house.”

They both turned to the stairs at the same time.

Shoving the door open, Stiles spotted one hunter slumping against the wall. Stepping over the sprawl of his legs, Stiles kneeled and checked for a pulse despite Derek’s confirmation about the lack of a heartbeat.

“Looks like they got into things they shouldn’t have,” He said, looking up at Derek, grinning wide. “Then again, those treats were for guests.”

“Treats?”

“I brought some cookies home from work,” Stiles said, shrugging at Derek’s look. He always struggled to explain his spark and how it wasn’t just power but almost a breathing will—a force. The last time he’d done that, Isaac had cracked Star Wars jokes for a month. “It felt right.”

“You brought poisoned cookies—magically poisoned cookies—home from work, because it felt right and didn’t find that suspiciously like a warning?” Derek sighed and stepped past Stiles.

“There is real poison in them, its just enhanced with my spark—nevermind. So you don’t find it weird that my spark basically told me to make poisoned cookies and bring them home,” Stiles whispered as he waited for Derek to get his bearings and figure out where the others were. He couldn’t count on everyone being victims of death by chocolate chip.

“Of course not.” Derek glanced back over his should brow furrowed in a frown. “It’s protecting you to the best of its ability, you’re the guardian of the territory and there is a credible threat. Cookies might be an odd choice of weapon, but I suppose it makes sense if that’s what you’ve been using to take out threats in the past. Of course your spark is going to warn and arm you—at least you listened to it that much, even if you didn’t take the warning as seriously as you should have.”

“Huh,” Stiles stared at Derek, his heart turning over in his chest. This fucking man. He forcibly turned his mind back to their immediate situation. “Can you tell how many are in the house? I was only able to detect the three in between getting shot and dumped into the basement with you.”

“I’m only hearing one heartbeat—this way,” Derek said, frowning as they moved out of the hallway and toward the kitchen.

“Then one of them is out of your range or he’s down as well. We’ve got to assume that the one still standing probably knows something is up,” Stiles murmured as they paused outside the spill of light from the kitchen doorway.

“Right,” Derek whispered agreeably.

Together, they entered the kitchen to find another man sprawled on the floor, eyes wide dull, gaze fixed, and mouth agape. Derek shook his head when Stiles glanced at him. 

Jedidiah Williams paced across the room, separated from them by the multilevel kitchen counter, hands rubbing over his scalp constantly. He was so distracted by his thoughts that he didn’t notice them until they stepped out of the shadows of the doorway and into the well-lit room.

“You!” He spat, pointing a finger at Stiles, his hand shaking as his pacing stopped and he faced them fully. There was no weapon in sight, though.

“Not looking too hot there Jed,” Stiles said, letting his mouth curl into a smirk as he observed the waxy grey cast to the man’s skin, beads of sweat rolling off his scalp. 

“You did this,” Jed said, pressing forward against the counter, his palms flat as he leaned towards Stiles. “You and your foul magics have killed Leon and Dave. Now you’re doing something to me.”

“Foul magics?” Stiles turned and mouthed the words to Derek, his brows shooting up.

Derek shrugged, looking amused even as he kept his attention on Jed. “He seems like the dramatic type. He did shoot me and then hit me with a tire iron. I’m pretty sure he was talking then too, but I was a little distracted.”

“Huh, okay,” Stiles said, turning back to Jed, who glared at them even as he slumped down further on the counter; his elbows looked as if they were locked to hold him up. It wouldn’t be long now if Stiles was any kind of expert—and he was. “And this is less magic and more poison. You and your boys just couldn’t keep away from those cookies, could you?”

“Poison?” Jed glanced at the white pastry box open on the counter, crumbs alone showing evidence of what had been inside. “Why—how did you know we would be here? Why would you bring poisoned cookies here?” The befuddled expression wiping out the anger on his face and amusing Stiles.

“I didn’t,” Stiles said, grinning. He crossed the short distance to the box and nudged it with his finger, ignoring Derek’s warning mutters behind him. “That’s probably the foul magics you’re accusing me of. But you and your boys certainly inhaled my death by chocolate cookies, so I think calling it foul is incorrect.”

“Death by chocolate, really, Stiles?” Derek said from behind him, managing to sound exasperated and fond simultaneously.

“I know, a bit on the nose. I was led to it, though, and the recipe is very popular. We can’t keep them in the case when we bake them,” Stiles said over his shoulder, not taking his gaze off Jed, watching the man further deteriorate.

“You make these for the bakery too?” Derek’s voice held a level of pearl-clutching that Stiles didn’t appreciate.

“Without Brewster’s spice mix, of course, that’s only for special customers,” Stiles said. “Don’t be a Mortimer, you were doing so well earlier.”

“I’m not being a—” Derek blew out a breath. He turned Stiles around to face him. 

“I’m not going to endanger anyone in town. We’ve been doing this for years, you know,” Stiles said, crossing his arms and glaring at Derek while keeping part of his attention on the dying man on the other side of the counter. “It’s not like we’ll stick him in a window seat or bury him in the basement.

“I know, I’m sorry—” He took a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly before opening them and smiling at Stiles, a soft curve of his lips flashing briefly. “I like chocolate, you know. Old movies, too.”

“Yeah?” Stiles felt his face heat as Derek brushed his fingers over his cheek before slipping his hand around to the back of his neck, tilting Stiles just where he wanted him and leaning in. Derek kissed him softly, giving the barest hint of teeth along his bottom lip before pulling back. Stiles found himself chasing after Derek, wanting more—always wanting more.

“Definitely,” Derek replied, stepping back. “Although I’m no good at baking, plus movies are much better watched with company.”

“I see what you’re doing here. This—this is not subtle at all,” Stiles said, biting his lip to keep from smiling.

“Wasn’t trying to be. Is it working?” Derek raised his brows, grinning without shame.

“Asshole, you know it is. Now stop it. We have to finish dealing with this jackass,” Stiles said, shoving Derek’s shoulder before turning his full attention back to Jed. 

“I’m going to kill you,” Jed rasped, having made it halfway around the counter, a knife clutched in his hand. “I’m going to cut your heart out and gut you in front of your wolf, we’ll see how pretty he thinks you are then.”

“You can’t even stand straight and the hand holding that knife is shaking so hard you could double as a paint mixer. I’m not exactly trembling with fear over here. You’re going to be dead soon, I don’t even have to touch you,” Stiles said; he felt his smile widen, his teeth on display as he leaned towards the hunter. “I’m going to make sure that your entire clan is forgotten, everyone that had a part in what is going on in Beacon Hills and what went down in Amity. You attacked the wrong packs. I can’t protect everyone, but—” He shrugged and wandered around the end of the counter to Jed, plucking the knife from his hand. It was a tactical bowie knife, fairly typical for someone like Jed. It was wicked sharp with a serrated edge. Stiles imagined it had seen more than enough death.

“This isn’t the end, eventually the council will find you,” Jed said, shoving himself up from the counter, swaying in place as he glared at Stiles. “They’ll make you regret what you’ve done.”

“I regret plenty of things in my life,” Stiles replied, holding the knife to the light briefly before returning to Jed. “This is never going to be one of them. Maybe if you hadn’t come in here determined to do the same thing to us—” He shrugged, frowning. “Probably not, though. I know what you did up in Amity, and I know that there were families and covens before that.”

“Not much longer now,” Derek said, coming around beside Stiles and boxing Jed in against the counter. “I can smell death on him—you’re going to want to get your house cleaned after this.”

“I’m never going to hear the end of this,” Stiles groaned, glancing around the room and spotting his cell phone on the table in the breakfast nook and a mess of other items that he assumed were Derek’s since they were scattered around a familiar cell phone. “I should call Isaac and Erica. They’ll need to help with clean up.” He grimaced, already hearing their complaints.

“I’m going to kill you, gonna make it stick this time,” Jed hissed, shoving himself into Stiles’ space, eyes wild and glassy. 

Stiles was jerked back from Jed. Derek turned Stiles into his body when he heard the gun go off—the weapon he’d never noticed. Stiles swore as he heard Derek grunt as his body jerked with the impact of the bullet. He struggled out of Derek’s hold, the other man almost a dead weight—he wouldn’t think about that.

“Get out of my way, monster,” Jed shouted, spittle flying from his mouth as he aimed the gun at Stiles just inches away. “He can’t save you again.”

“He doesn’t need to,” Stiles said. He shoved the gun down with one hand while swinging with the knife still in his hand, thrusting it into the hunter’s throat. He let Jed crumple to the floor, knife lodged deep as he turned to Derek. 

“I hate being shot,” Derek said as Stiles kneeled over him. “I’m going to need one of his bullets unless you keep wolfsbane handy in your kitchen.”

“Why would I keep wolfsbane in my kitchen?” Stiles looked at him, baffled.

“Why did you have it tucked away in a storage box with clothes?” Derek raised his brows—which were beginning to bead with sweat.

“Point,” Stiles acknowledged, turning to grab the gun that had been dropped after he’d stabbed Jed. He extracted a bullet, grimaced, and got to his feet to rummage through a drawer before finding a set of pliers. Kneeling next to Derek again, he took the bullet apart and dumped out the mixture before using his spark to light it on fire. “Do I need to take it out?”

“No, my healing did that much. The bullet fragments are gone, but the poison is in my bloodstream,” Derek said, struggling to roll onto his side so Stiles could reach the wound on his back.

Stiles helped him onto his side and tore open the hole in the shirt, shoving the ash into the wound. He watched to make sure all the black lines disappeared and the wound healed before letting Derek sit up.

“So he’s dead,” Derek grunted as he pulled the torn shirt off, tossing it to the side.

“And I have blood all over my kitchen floor,” Stiles said, frowning at the mess. “I need to call Erica and Isaac.”

“Not Boyd?”

“He’ll come with Erica, but she has the cleaning kit for situations like this.” Stiles got to his feet. “Although its been awhile since we’ve had a situation go this badly.”

“You know he could have told others about his suspicions and it was known he was coming here.” Derek pointed out as Stiles picked his phone up and scrolled through to call Isaac first.

“Yeah, we’ll have to look into that but clean up comes first,” Stiles said with a shrug. “This isn’t our first rodeo and these guys weren’t exactly working off all brain cells.”

“Stiles,” Derek huffed, crossing to him and taking his hand. “You need to be careful.”

“I will be. You should probably get in touch with your uncle,” Stiles said, smiling at him. He squeezed Derek’s hand as Isaac picked up the call. Derek opened his hand, threading his fingers through Stiles’. Stiles continued to smile even as Isaac began to grumble over the line.

“Isaac, my favorite brother—” 

Steam curled over the top of his mug as Stiles leaned over the railing of the rented cabin. He sipped his coffee and watched the sky lighten through the trees. He straightened as he heard the door open behind him, but he didn’t turn around.

“You’re up early,” Derek said, voice sleep roughened as he wrapped his arms around Stiles, settling his hands on his stomach. 

“So are you,” Stiles replied, taking another drink. He traced the backs of Derek’s hands with his free one as he watched the forest around them wake up.  

“The bed got cold,” Derek grumbled, leaning in and pressing a whisper of kiss to the side of his head.

The cool dawn breeze chose that moment to dance over Stiles’ bare arms, sending a shiver through him. Derek pulled him closer, his naked chest a line of heat along Stiles’ back, burning through the thin material of the shirt he’d thrown on before coming outside.

“It’s not any warmer out here I’d wager,” Stiles said, finishing his coffee and reaching forward to set it on the railing out of the way.

“Maybe not, but you’re out here so it’s where I want to be regardless,” Derek replied.

“You’re a smooth fucker, Derek Hale,” Stiles said, a soft laugh escaping him.

“You say that now,” Derek laughed into Stiles’ hair, more movement than sound. “What about the other night when not only you, but the entirety of the dinner table was covered in wine?”

Stiles felt his smile widen as the memory of that night flashed through his mind. Derek was half standing across the table from him, arm outstretched. The carafe on the table—merlot covering everything, including Stiles. Derek’s eyes glowed to match the crimson of the wine. It had been quite the reveal.

“You made it up to me later.” Stiles tilted his head to grin at Derek. “You were inventive too. I didn’t know that you could do that in the shower without injury.”

“Werewolf strength comes in handy for more than you’d think,” Derek said, returning the smile as his ears began to turn red. 

Stiles hummed, turning back to look out at the forest, the dawn mist beginning to burn off as the sun began to color the sky. The worries of that had awakened him and drawn him out of bed, and Derek’s arms began to surface again.

“So, you going to tell me what brought you out here or do I have to guess?” Derek dropped a kiss on Stiles’ shoulder, his tone mild.

Stiles hummed again, listening to the wind dance with the windchimes at the other end of the porch. He’d been struggling to put into words what he was feeling since he’d woken. He’d laid in the dark, listening to Derek breathe for what felt like hours before he’d dragged himself out to the porch.

“You’re sure Beacon Hills is where you want to settle?” Stiles pulled the words from behind his teeth, his body pulling itself taut as he waited for Derek’s response.

“Of course it is,” Derek said, nuzzling into the side of Stiles’ neck, just below his ear, before turning him in his arms and meeting his gaze. “I thought we had this all figured out. Isn’t that what the last few days of phone and video calls have been about?”

“I need to know that you won’t regret claiming Beacon Hills as your territory,” Stiles said; he blew out a breath, pulling back from Derek. He rested his hands on the railing behind him, leaning back on his arms. “The pack placed a lot of limitations on you to do that.”

“I don’t see these limits Stiles,” Derek said, shaking his head when Stiles opened his mouth. “No, really. The pack entered negotiations to bring in a new pack member—an alpha—and laid out what was acceptable and what wasn’t for the territory and the pack. I can either agree, bring in a counter offer, or walk away. I’m not going to walk away. Nothing you or the pack asked or wanted was unreasonable or beyond my capability to put my name to.”

“That made sense when you were a beta coming into our territory, but you’re an alpha now—one with the Hale name behind him. Even if your mom isn’t happy with your elevation, plenty would be thrilled to take a Hale alpha into their territory. Why would you turn down that for Beacon Hills?” For me? Stiles added silently. He looked away from Derek—down the porch where the windchimes twirled and sang, glinting in the hazy dawn glow. 

“Because your there and I want to be with you. The territory itself calls to something in me as well, but you—you are the one that draws me the most. I don’t believe you’ve changed your mind about this in the last few hours—so what’s going on?”

“You just sit there when I talk about recipes and recipes,” Stiles waves his hands towards the windchime, still refusing to look at Derek. “I’m sitting there last night, going over a file that Isaac sent me about someone I’m going to be serving pastries to in the next few days and killing them. You just sit there and nod along, not even flinching. How—I don’t understand how you just—don’t you want to pretend I don’t make deadly desserts or something?”

“I love you,” Derek said, his hand cupping Stiles neck, thumb stretching to gently nudge his jaw until his eyes met Derek’s. “I love you for your sharpness and your shadows just as much as I love your light and your laughter, not in spite of them. I don’t love you in an attempt to burn away those shadows or temper your blades any more than I would want to mute your laughter or light. This is all a part of you. It’s how you protect the pack and the territory, it’s vicious and deadly and you wield this ability in defense of those you care for. I love you for it, not despite it. I’m not going to turn my gaze away from you or pretend to only see the parts of you that the rest of the world would find pretty.” Derek snarled the word. “Would you rather I kept all the parts of my wolf hidden from you, kept the shadows of myself away from you so as not to taint what we have?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, your wolf isn’t a taint—” Stiles said, pressing into Derek’s hand, even as he realized he’d stepped right into Derek’s verbal trap. “Fucker—I love you.”

“Feel better?” Derek leaned in, pressing his lips feather soft over Stiles’

“How are you like this?” Stiles shook himself, bewildered, as he lifted his head to peer at Derek, his mouth tilted into a fond smile. 

“I’m not sure what you mean, I just know I love you from every dark corner of my own soul—the depth and breadth of it is unknown, even to me. Perhaps when the ocean is finally mapped I will have something to compare it to, but I doubt it. I’ll need galaxies,” Derek said, wrapping one arm around Stiles’ waist and pulling him close while he brushed the back of the fingers of his other hand over the flush Stiles felt warming his cheeks.

“You are one smooth fucker when you want to be Derek Hale,” Stiles said, tilting his head and leaning into Derek’s hand. Who knew that such lines would be what did it for him. Maybe it was because it was Derek. Perhaps it was because he loved Derek as much as he was loved in return—it didn’t matter. Stiles would burn cities and worlds to ash for this man. He’d bake trays of pastries and ruin dynasties for Derek Hale without a whisper of regret.

“So you keep saying,” Derek said, grinning, his thumb running over Stiles’ bottom lip. “Ready to come in for breakfast now?”

“How about we go back to bed for awhile,” Stiles replied, leaning in just enough to catch Derek’s thumb lightly with his teeth and grin around it.

“You’re full of fantastic ideas,” Derek said, voice catching when Stiles closed his lips around his thumb and gently scraped his teeth along the end, watching Derek with those honey eyes from beneath his lashes before he pulled back with a knowing smile curving his mouth. “You’re also a tease.”

“I’d rather be full of something else and I’m never teasing you—you should know that by now.” Stiles laughed, happiness and love bubbling through him even as arousal kicked a warming heat low in his belly. The air around him seemed to still in anticipation as Stiles leaned in close, lips brushing against the curve of Derek’s ear. Amusement and lust shivered across Derek’s skin in equal measure as Stiles spoke, “Catch me, if you can.” Stiles nipped at Derek’s ear, then twirled out of his arms, laughter spilling into the air. Gliding across the porch, he winked over his shoulder and slid into the cabin. Derek’s laugh rang out behind him.

Better Off Bread 1/3

Better Off Bread 2/3