Sterek Stories - A Collection - II

The time of your life - 5. The werewolf's den

The next day after dinner Stiles hurries back to the cabin. Derek is already waiting for him, leaning casually against a tree. "I'm sorry I'm late," Stiles pants, quickly grabbing his backpack from where he stashed it on the small porch earlier. "I skipped desert, but dad wouldn't let me leave before everyone had emptied their plate and Scott was taking forever because he was talking about Allison the whole time and -"

"Stiles, it's fine." Derek gestures for him to follow, so he does.

The path they're taking is a little too narrow for them to be walking side by side and Stiles walks close behind the other man. "Wanna tell me where we're going?"

Derek takes some shortcuts, leading them over narrow paths that cut behind the cluster of dance studios. "My place."

"Your place?" Stiles can hardly believe his ears. "You're taking me to your den?"

"Not if you're gonna make it weird." Derek throws him a glare over his shoulder.

"No! I mean, I won't. Make it weird, I mean. I think it's great that you're taking me to your place. I can't wait to see it -"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop talking."

Stiles audibly shuts his mouth and trails after Derek through the forest. They're still on the resort, but this part looks like it hasn't been used for years and years. Bushes overgrow the path and there are no nifty little lights to show you where you're going. Still, the biggest marvel is that Derek is taking Stiles to his place. His den, the place where the Alpha sleeps.

Scott is the only werewolf in Beacon Hills as far as they know and Stiles doesn't have a lot of werewolves in his social circle - in real life at least: he talks to some werewolves online. Ever since he dove headfirst into lycanthropic research when Scott was bitten Stiles frequents a forum for werewolves and the humans close to them. He knows a thing or two about pack culture, so he knows what it means to be allowed into the Alpha's home. He's so much in awe that he doesn't even think to comment on the slightly decrepit state of Derek's place. It actually looks to be a former dance studio, with the same octagonal shape and windows all around like the newer ones on the resort's main compound. There's a padlock hanging from the door. Stiles can't imagine anyone would be dumb enought to break into an Alpha's home and besides, the door itself doesn't look all that sturdy. The padlock may very well be the most solid part of the whole entrance. Yet Stiles says nothing, he quietly trails behind Derek as the werewolf opens the door and steps inside.

Stiles hovers on the doorstep. "Should I take off my shoes?"

Derek makes a gesture over his shoulder that Stiles doesn't quite know how to interpret. He toes his trainers off, just in case. Better safe than sorry. He'd hate to track dirt inside the Alpha's home.

In fact, he's so much aware of the fact that it's very unusual for a person who's not pack to be in the Alpha's den, that he barely dares to move. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him, but that's pretty much it. Stiles watches Derek move around the place, hanging his leather jacket over the back of a chair, flicking on some lights and then moving towards a kitchenette in the back of the room. It's an open plan studio, with one door in the back which probably leads to the bathroom. Stiles carefully keeps his eyes away from the bed; seeing the rumpled sheets feels like an invasion of privacy.

Derek is oblivious of Stiles' internal struggles, he pulls two bottles of water from the fridge and places them on the sparse counter surface. He turns back to survey the room, hands planted on his hips. Other than a contemplative sound he says nothing, almost startling Stiles when he suddenly starts to roll up the circular rug that's in the middle of the room. Stiles catches on when Derek pushes the table with its two chairs up against the wall, but he still doesn't dare to take any initiative to help.