The moment the words are out of Stiles' mouth, it's like everything stopped. Derek's face practically collapses, giving way to a terrified expression and neither of them move for an undetermined amount of time.

It's like being suspended in air, and then you're suddenly falling. Your stomach feels all light and airy and your heart is hammering, because you know that eventually you're gonna hit the ground. And really, everyone knows what happens when you hit the floor from an insane distance. You fucking splat like a pancake and die.

Then Derek's face hardens, donning a menacing scowl before he's reaching out and dragging Stiles into his creepy wolf-den apartment. In a flash, the door is slammed shut and Stiles is pushed up against a wall.

"Well, this is certainly familiar" Stiles says while clearing his throat, "I'm glad we're past all the awkwardness that is my life. So if you'd just let me go, I'll leave and we can just pretend this never happe- Oh my God! What are you-"

"Shut up." Derek says as he reaches into Stiles' pockets, and that's when he begins to realize that Derek is close. Really, very, close. How he has his hands on Stiles' thighs with just a thin sliver of fabric, separating his insanely, hot and firm fingers from sliding across Stiles' flesh. It was thoughts like these that seem to plague Stiles in the most inappropriate of times.

Before he can begin a dutiful protest, Stiles is watching Derek pull his cell phone from his back pocket. Stiles wants to reach out and take it from him, but he's still being pinned to the wall, so...he guesses he'll just chill right there. Derek unlocks the phone and tenses. His finger hovers over the little yellow Grindr icon. Abruptly, Stiles is aware of that trepidation again. Like the air is too hot to breathe and you're trying too hard not to make a sound when really, everything is just noticeably louder. Then Derek hits the icon.

It seems like a millenia passes while what he assumes is technically just the five seconds it takes for the app the launch. Then Derek groans, chucking the phone somewhere in his small living room.

"What the fuck Stiles! Seriously? What the hell are you doing on a dating app? And for fucks sake, you're not even legal!" Derek is yelling and Stiles instantly feels himself become defensive.

"I don't know, okay? I don't fucking know! It was stupid, I know that. Fucking Christ, can you let me down?" That's when Derek must have noticed how close he was, still pining the boy to the wall. Pulling his arm from Stiles' body, he slowly takes a step back out of his space. Stiles sighs, long and weary and cards a hand through his hair. Remarkably, he deflates, feeling drained and abnormally sullen.

"Look, I'm having like..." He stops and and huffs out another breath, "I think I might be into dudes." He's not quite sure why he's confiding in Derek. He hasn't even seen him since the night they all fought Gerard at that warehouse. Even before then, they've never been anything you could comfortably call friends, but Stiles couldn't deny that Derek was there for him when he needed him. And the same went for Derek when he needed Stiles.

Derek is still silent though, his eyebrows drawn up in confusion. Stiles notices then that he's still standing there wearing nothing but basketball shorts, which reminds him precisely why he was most likely in that state of undress.

It was because Stiles- no, Little Red was on his way over.

His brain eventually tumbles back to how he got into this mess. How some innocent intentions and an insatiable curiosity led to an exchange of nude pictures, and the offer of a hook up. Still, thoughts of 'sw's- no Derek's pictures left Stiles feeling increasingly hot as his body spiked uncontrollably with sudden salacious desire.

He licks his lips, promptly aware that his eyes have been lingering on Derek's naked flesh far longer than what he would deem appropriate. He looks up slowly, meeting the man's knowing glare. Derek raises a brow, looking too smug for his own good; like he knows that Stiles is interested, and how could he not? Despite how fucked up this situation might be, it didn't change the fact that Stiles was- is interested. That he had inadvertently sent Derek pictures of himself. Pictures that Derek had specified he wanted. The resulting consensus being that he wanted to fuck.

Stiles doesn't even know what to do right now. His hormones are suddenly on the fritz while his mind is screaming at him to leave and never see Derek again. It has him conflicted in the most frightening, yet exciting of ways. However, a deeper part of him still can't help but imagine Derek's body pressed up against him, pushing him into the wall; hands burning hot into his skin like both a promise and a claim. He wants to know what it would feel like if Derek trailed his claws across his flesh. How it would feel if he grazed his fangs along the curve of Stiles' neck. To maybe turn him around and slam him into the wall, face first, and grind his hips hard and rough, into the jut of his ass.

Derek makes a deep noise, it resonates in a way that could only be described as a growl. Stiles pulls from his haze to look at Derek whose eyes are dangerously red and is visibly flaring his nostrils. Derek's glare is unforgiving, sending a shiver down Stiles' spine. It makes his skin crawl and his heart pound dangerously heavy in his chest. Because Derek isn't looking at him like he had all those times in the past; like he's some annoying little shit, berating him with harsh humor and dry wit. He's looking at Stiles like he's good enough to eat.

The surprise must show on Stiles face, because Derek is suddenly crossing his arms over his chest and pointedly looking away.

"Is that...such a bad thing?" Derek finally answers. Stiles begins to open his mouth, automatically searching for a defensive rebuttal, but he falters, thinking once again about their situation. Derek is on the app, and of course that would mean that he isn't against some male persuasion. The thought had never crossed Stiles' mind before. Although Stiles was more than against stereotyping the homosexual lifestyle, he just didn't peg Derek as 'rollin' with the bros' sort to speak.

Clearing his thoughts, Stiles realizes that maybe he might have offended Derek in a way that he really didn't intend to.

"No. I mean, not for you or anyone. I just...fuck Derek. I don't know what I'm doing here. I really don't. This is fucking embarrassing and I'm-" He stops, biting his bottom lip. "I'm just confused."

Dereks sighs, giving Stiles a pitying look before uncrossing his arms and motioning towards the living area. It takes Stiles a moment to understand the gesture, but reluctantly begins his tread towards the couch. Derek follows after him, veering off into the small kitchen to the left; a small breakfast bar gives a clear few to the living room.

Stiles falls back onto the dark, leather sectional. It's nice, he thinks randomly, looking around Derek's secret apartment. A dark wooden coffee table separates the sectional from the modest entertainment center; a sizable flat screen TV on its surface. Beside it, Stiles notices a PlayStation 3. That has Stiles' mind crumbling into oblivion, because seriously? Derek and video games? This definitely isn't reality.

Derek pats around in the kitchen a few more moments before rounding the bar with two beers in hand. He pops the cap off one and hands it to Stiles who eyes the drink suspiciously.

"Um...you do know that I'm only sixteen, right? And my dad is the Sheriff? You're pretty much asking for jail time, buddy." Derek merely raises a brow before responding.

"You do realize that you were on a dating app that requires you to be at least eighteen and you went to a complete stranger's house to get laid?"

Stiles feels embarrassed and maybe even ashamed for a moment, because yeah. He sorta, maybe did all that, but he was on a mission for the truth. The truth of sexuality and the exploration of the male physique. He thinks that maybe that's really not a good enough justification, though. Which means that Derek is right, and by principle, that sorta makes Stiles mad.

"Yeah, well...didn't seem to bother you at the time." He says while taking the offered beverage. Derek just sighs, taking a seat on the sofa a comfortable distance away from Stiles. The preceding minutes are filled with an unpleasant silence. The air around them seems dry and heavy.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of...if that's what you're worried about. It's normal to be curious" Derek says finally. It surprises Stiles in a way, because he realizes that Derek is actually trying to be supportive in his own nonchalant way. The notion has Stiles feeling strangely raw. He didn't think, that of all the people he knew, that Derek would be understanding. Which is why he decides to divulge more of himself than he normally would.

"Thing is, I think I always kinda knew, ya know? Like, there were signs but I was just so fixated on Lydia that I didn't really read into it, but after Jackson..." He trails off, looking down at his fidgeting hands. He thinks that Derek knows how he feels. That he probably stinks of grief and sorrow. It makes him feel pathetic and exposed. It's not something he wants to feel like in front of someone like Derek. An Alpha werewolf with the confidence and strength to do things that Stiles only wishes he was capable of doing. Someone who is so sure of themselves; of who they are.

Stiles subconsciously curls into himself, trying to appear smaller than he really is. Possibly to convey how he's feeling; like some small, defenseless animal. He notices Derek's hand flinch, moving slightly toward him, but stops to rest on the couch instead. And maybe that's what gave Stiles the confidence to continue? The implication that Derek appeared to want to comfort him. Letting him know that it was okay for Stiles to voice himself and his concerns.

"But anyway, I'm moving past all that and when I started noticing guys more, I just-" He chuckles to himself. "You know me, diving in head first without thinking shit through."

Derek huffs a laugh, because yes, it's definitely a Stiles thing to do. Anyone that knows him would tell you that Stiles is as impatient and anxious as they come.

They sit in silence a bit more, nursing their beers slowly. Though, Stiles notices more than once Derek's eyes follow the motion of his lips covering the rim of his bottle. He tries not to read too much into that, because its making his gut feel as if a searing, hot wire is coiling its way up his spine. Soon, Stiles is growing restless with the new silence that is filling the air around them.

"I just want to know, like...am I? You know...gay? Or maybe Bi? Not that there needs to be labels or anything...I just want some clarification." Derek nods in agreement. It dawns on Stiles that Derek would indeed understand his dilemma. That at one point maybe he went through this ridiculous uncertainty of his sexuality. The realization has him asking Derek a question he isn't quite sure he's allowed to ask.

"How did you- you know...know?" Stiles voices tentatively. Derek just shrugs, like the question wasn't in any way offensive. That has Stiles' body releasing the sudden tension he only just noticed had taken over.

"It doesn't really matter to me. I like what I like, I've always known, I guess." He confesses, but Stiles just keeps looking at him like he needs to understand more. Derek must have caught on because he sighs, putting his bottle on the coffee table before continuing.

"When Laura and I moved to New York- It's different up there. No one really cares about stuff like who's sleeping with who. Besides, Laura was always sort of wild. She'd drag me around to all these really dumb clubs, and I guess it was her way of coping with everything. Clubs are loud, and there are too many people; too many scents. It overwhelms you." He stops, looking down at his hands, letting out a long exhale.

"So we'd go almost every night. I just went with it, saw this guy one time, took him home and..." He shrugs again, like it was that easy.

"It was good and that did it for me. I was curious before then, but after confirming it, I guess I just do whatever I'm feeling at the time now." Stiles can't help but laugh, because really? Derek actually told him something that was personal, and it shouldn't be all that strange, but watching his mouth move and form exaggerated, coherent sentences just seemed so ridiculous to Stiles.

"Sorry" He says, still chuckling lightly. "It's just, wow man, I think that's the most you've ever said to me in the history of ever." He finishes with a smile. Derek just grins, clearly understanding Stiles need to provide humor at least every five minutes. The sight of Derek's lip curling up playfully, feels like a punch to the chest. Knowing that he did that. To know that the grin Derek is sporting so freely is just for him, it clutches at his insides in a way that shouldn't feel this bittersweet.

"Shut up" Derek says, though it's said more in fondness; with a gentleness foreign to what Stiles usually associates with Derek.

The conversation trails off, leaving them with nothing but a cold, awkward silence. Stiles brings his beer to his lips, only to realize that the drink is spent. Derek seems to notice, his gaze already fixated on where the bottle meets Stiles' mouth.

"You want another?" He asks casually, if not a little hopefully. Stiles mulls it over for a moment. He knows he has to go home eventually, and the possibility of being pulled over drunk or crashing isn't enticing.

"I have to drive home soon. I don't really think a car accident is what I need right now." Stiles finally says, frivolously. Derek shrugs, and really? This dude is always shrugging.

"I could drive you home later? Or you could crash here, its fine." Stiles looks at Derek suspiciously, because, um...that is oddly chivalrous of him.

"You're being nice. I don't know how to handle this. You're never nice, especially not to me." It's out of Stiles' mouth before he can think better of it. His eyes are narrowing on Derek as if to accentuate his suspicion. Derek scowls, looking at Stiles like he's dumb.

"I'm always nice." He says gruffly. That has Stiles chuckling.

"Yeah right, dude. You throw me against shit all the time, and when I try to help you, you give me the death stare and ignore me." Though it was said flippantly, Derek's face sports a guilty expression. Perplexed, Stiles doesn't like the fact that he was the reason for that self-condemning look. Troubling enough, he wonders wistfully when he started to berate himself for making Derek feel bad. Stiles isn't sure he likes the significance of this discovery.

"You're human, Stiles. I'm not-" Derek trails off looking strained. "I'm not good with Humans. The last time I trusted them, my whole family payed with their lives." He looks so plagued; so vulnerable and breakable. Stiles shifts a little closer, and without thinking of the repercussions, rests his hand on Derek's. He's not sure what he's trying to do. Comfort, perhaps? Alleviate the burden that seems to sit so heavily on Derek's shoulders? All he knows is his body instinctively needs to convey that he's there. That he's not going anywhere; he's not going to judge him.

Derek flinches, looking down at where Stiles's hand is placed almost tenderly on his own before raising his head to stare at Stiles. His eyes filled with bewilderment and admiration. That alone is giving Stiles the courage to find his voice.

"Hey man. We've been through a lot of shit together, there's no doubting that. I admit I sorta hated you when all this wolfy crap started, but now...Now I see that you're a pretty decent guy who's just trying to do the right thing and even if Scott doesn't really trust you, well..." He stops, looking away for a moment, suddenly feeling shy. He doesn't understand why, but telling Derek this makes him feel fragile. He steels himself, before turning to meet Derek's eyes with an unfaltering gaze.

"I trust you. Even if you don't believe me, I'm telling you anyways. I trust you, man." Once the words have left his mouth, he's met with confliction. His body feels lighter, but at the same time, it's heavy with trepidation. Worried that maybe his assurance would be taken in negativeness.

But Derek looks absolutely gutted, his face, open and unrestrained. That moment gives Stiles a glimpse at the man on the inside. He's seeing a teenager from six years ago that watched his family burn. The lost little boy who had to encase himself in armor and build walls of stone around himself out of fear of losing anything else. The same child who's more alone and unsure of himself than Stiles could have ever imagined. In that singular moment, Stiles knows with a starling certainty that the words he just uttered weren't just simple declarations. It was a promise of something far more intricate.

Stiles' eyes are locked with the intention to assert that, yes, no matter what the hell is going on, he'll be there if Derek needed him. The moment lingers, as they stare into one another, their eyes almost searching for a deeper understanding of what they both seem to be walking the edges of. The lingering touch of Stiles' hand on Derek's almost seems to charge the air, tugging Stiles subtly closer in attempt to satiate some incomprehensible need. He notices that Derek's gaze flicks between his own and a space somewhere farther down his face; the way his lips have parted almost gracefully leave Stiles' own mouth feeling dry and hungry. How they're both leaning into each other's space, fixated on a desire that Stiles is sure neither of them want to ignore anymore.

Cognizance jolts Stiles, pulling him from whatever compelling intent that had enslaved him; eyes widening before he stalls his motion. Derek must sense the abrupt change as he stops too, looking away with a jerk. Stiles swallows heavily, all-too aware of the uncomfortable aura that has gripped them. Licking his lips, he searches for a deviation.

"So...about that other beer?" He asks. Derek gets up, a little too quickly, and heads to the kitchen. Stiles lets a small smile creep onto his lips, because, yeah. Derek and him totally had a moment. He looks to the ground and notices his phone. Getting up from his perch on the couch, he braces himself on the coffee table, and bends down in what would almost be an obscene manner. While he he's gripping the phone, he hears the sound of glass crashing. Still bent, he look back towards the kitchen to see Derek staring at him, visage contorted in shock. Stiles, taking a moment to understand the situation, follows Derek's gaze to his ass that he realizes is practically being presented. It's then that he notices his pants have sagged slightly, revealing the red underwear he's still wearing. Everything comes crashing back to him, the whole grindr debacle. The pictures they've traded. How Derek, and he quotes, wants to 'tear into that ass'.

His neck and cheeks feel flushed and the well-known feeling of arousal strikes through him like liquid fire. Derek loses his surprised expression in favor of something more defensive, growling a warning.

"Stiles, stop." He says through gritted teeth, but its too late. Stiles is already thinking about Derek's tight, black briefs and the huge outline of his cock. The way his large, heavy hands covered his dick but exposed the rest of his body in an unabashed display meant to entice. He should be ashamed by how his mind can so quickly move from the familiarity of a friendship to a starved lust. He swallows again, finally straightening his back. He already knows he's getting hard but he can't stop himself- he's not sure he wants to, because in that moment he's feeling more comfortable, more starved, more desperate for Derek than he's ever been.

That's when a brilliant plan jolts him.

Stiles licks his lips, thinking about how, despite the fucked up situation they've stumbled in, he can still come to a clear consensus on his sexuality. Derek's jaw clenches, his eyes flare red momentarily at the sight of Stiles wetting his mouth. All the while, Stiles begins to piece together that he's influencing Derek's state of distress. That just the simple act of presenting himself has someone so controlled like Derek in a near-sexual frenzy. It makes him feel powerful, to have such sway over someone so dangerous. He turns to face Derek, whose nostrils are flaring in way that seem conflicted on whether they want to inhale deep, or stunt his breath altogether.

Stiles decides he's going to put his plan into action.

"I have an idea..." Stiles says, slowly walking towards the kitchen. Derek tenses, doting a menacing scowl, as if he knows what Stiles' intentions are; knows the lascivity of his thoughts. That only seems to fill Stiles with a more stimulating incentive.

"How about...you fuck me?" And at that, Derek's mouth drops open. Stiles' blunt invitation hadn't been expected, by the way Derek has abandoned his unyielding expression. But Stiles is feeling confident and horny and now that he's looking at Derek, still shirtless and becoming more disheveled by the second, he's got to admit...sleeping with Derek is an incredible idea. Derek clenches his jaw and takes a step back.

"What the hell are you talking about?" He asks almost angrily. Stiles' approach doesn't falter, taking small steps, almost swaying his hips in a salacious manner. Derek takes notice and turns his face away.

"You told me it took one time to figure it out, right? Well...I need to know Derek. I need to know if I'm into this. Besides, would you rather me experiement with someone I know? Or find some random dude on Grindr?" That steals Derek's attention, his gaze intense and unforgiving; practically asserting an unspoken claim. The look he all but stabs into Stiles almost seems to convey that the thought of anyone else touching him is treacherous. That the mere entertainment of the idea warrants punishment.

"No." Derek replies gruffly. Stiles smirks, knowingly.

"Then let's do it? I trust you..." He says. Those words makes Derek falter for a moment, once again looking like he's retracting into his mind. He abruptly raises a hand, stalling Stiles' approach, who immediately stops. Taking in the sight of the dangerously sharp points of Derek's...claws, his brain rushes with hesitancy. For a second, he thinks that he's been reading Derek all wrong. That he really doesn't want to have anything to do with Stiles, and would rather just forget about any of this. But that train of thought leaks into a time when when Scott had told him about how difficult it was to control the shift when presented with extreme lust. The insinuation that, once again, Stiles effects Derek in such a way, makes him bold. Fills his chest with a burning satisfaction and desire.

"Fine." Derek finally says. "But I'm not holding back, Stiles. This might not be enjoyable for you." Stiles smirks, looking dangerous in his own right, before closing the distance between them. He trails his hands up Derek's chest, confident and suggestive, snaking them up to rest around his neck.

"Good thing I want it rough, then, huh?" He says, as his entire body exudes an overbearing musk of titillating want, sex, and temptation.

Derek growls, low and ferocious, while gripping Stiles' hips. He crashes their mouths together; kissing Stiles with a fervent hunger, sliding his tongue on the brim of Stiles' mouth. He bites at Stiles' bottom lip, catching it between his teeth and tugging it which makes Stiles' body buzz with an unrepressed want. He tightens his grip, pulling them both impossibly closer all the while licking into Stiles' mouth. Their tongues mingle, dancing at the forefront to a cadence of grunts, moans, and groans. Stiles' hands move to grip into Derek's hair, needing to hold on to him in fear of falling out of the sex-crazed plane of existence they seem to be in. Whimpering high and needy, he reciprocates with an endearing enthusiasm, sucking on Derek's tongue; sliding his teeth on the wet muscle as Derek retracts it and bites down on Stiles' lip again. Only this time, it's borderline painful, but the pleasure it sends down his spine makes him shudder and cry out in a sound that can only be described as mewling.

Before he knows it, Derek is lifting his legs, hoisting Stiles up and around his waist. Stiles immediately and instinctively locks them around Derek's body before his back meets the kitchen wall. The impact has him gasping out in surprise, breaking the kiss and moving his face up.

"You never could resist throwing me up again walls, could you?" Stiles says hoarsely, his voice already feeling hard to use; body and mind humming with lust. Derek only makes that low, rumbling noise, deep in his throat before he assaults the flesh of Stiles' neck.

"Oh fuck-" Stiles whimpers while Derek's nips and sucks on the curve of his neck. It's almost a science, how he bites at Stiles' skin, before he sucks and licks. Then he moves lower to repeat, and repeat, and-

Stiles needs to be naked. He needs Derek to be naked. They need to be naked together and despite how hot it would be to get fucked into a wall, he really wants to be on a bed for his first time.

"Hey- Uhnn- Derek, oh fuck. Derek, please- Bed. The bed." Stiles says breathlessly. Derek bites down hard on Stiles' collarbone, eliciting a wanton moan, so filthy and needy it only proves to drive Derek further into a frenzy. The next thing he knows, Derek's mouth is on his again, devouring in its wake; kissing him with a savage brutality that leaves Stiles' keening. He runs his tongue over Derek's teeth when he suddenly feels them. Long, pointed and sharp. Derek's fangs. Deep in his mind, he wonders what the appropriate response to this would be, but before he can over analyze, he's shoving his tongue into the sharpest point of Derek's protruded canines, licking at them with a sick fascination. Derek growls.

He's only half aware that he's being carried farther into the apartment. The sound of the bedroom door slamming echoes throughout the room. Then, Stiles is being thrown onto a plush mattress. Collecting himself, he looks up, taking in the sight of Derek standing above him. His mouth, open and panting, shows that his fangs are indeed there. His ears are long and pointed; animalistic. The hands to his sides show claws, sharp and lethal, but most evident are those eyes. Bloody scarlet and glowing in a constant promise of rage and untamed savagery.

It's in that moment that Stiles thinks that perhaps he's damaged. To crave someone that could easily rip you apart and literally eat you. That definitely can't be healthy desire. But try as he might, looking up at Derek, that's all he can see. Not the Alpha Werewolf who has a bloodlust that could fill a whole pool with bodies, but a man that he just recently realized he trusts a lot more than he had let himself believe. All he sees is Derek Hale, a man who lost his family and is just trying to do his best to fix a mess he feels responsible for. That, despite the whole 'stoic-badass-I-don't-give-a-fuck' routine he has down almost perfectly, Derek cares a lot about the people around him and he's sort of a great guy.

"Are you sure about this?" Derek asks, his voice low; more animal than human. Stiles smiles, privately and genuinely, the epiphany that he really wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now is startling, but absolute.

"Yeah." He nods. "I'm sure."