fifty frenchmen can't be wrong (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
some_stars) wrote2012-11-22 07:24 pm
some_stars) wrote2012-11-22 07:24 pm
Entry tags:
WIP Amnesty 2012, part 3
Unfinished But Kind Of Good Fic I Wrote: now with teen wolves! And regular teens. But no regular wolves.
1. untitled Scott/Stiles
They're my OTP and the fandom basically ignores them even though they are wonderful and in love and also sometimes incredibly kinky, like, dang. But also tiny babies, so I wrote this, which contains honor bondage and Strange New Feelings.
They're making out on top of Scott's bed, for only the fifth time ever--the fifth time making out, not the fifth time on the bed. This is the first time on the bed, and it's awesome. The making out is also awesome, but that was expected.
Being horizontal is fantastic, though. Stiles doesn't have to worry about tripping over Scott's shoes, or Scott getting so into it he lurches them both off-balance so they go sliding down the wall in one of those slow-motion falls, where you see it coming and you keep grabbing stuff to stop yourself, but it doesn't work and you hit the floor softly but humiliatingly ten seconds later. On the bed they can just lie down and roll around and it's all soft blankets and the heavy weight of Scott on top of him, kind of smooshing him but it feels good, like those lead blankets they give you at the dentist when they do x-rays.
Scott is super handsy when making out. This is a thing Stiles hadn't known about him, having had no opportunity to observe this behavior in its natural environment, aside from a handful of times walking in on him and Allison. When he used to imagine making out with Scott, he'd always spent more time imagining the mouth part, and what his own hands would be doing. Those parts are definitely as excellent as he always thought they would be--more, even--but Scott is a champion feeler-upper, it turns out. He doesn't discriminate either--slides a hand over Stiles's head while they kiss, up and down his arm like he just wants to feel the skin moving under his hand, under his shirt and petting his back, everywhere. Also the sexy parts, of course. Like right now there's a hand sliding under his thigh, squeezing and lifting his leg up and wow, wow, that's. That's a little new. Fitting together like that, horizontally. In boxers instead of jeans.
"Holy crap," he says, out loud like an idiot who's surprised the dude on top of him and pawing his ass is getting hard. This is why Scott is his favorite person in the world, though--he just looks up from nuzzling Stiles's throat (like, obsessively, it's probably a wolf thing) and beams him this huge smile like he's surprised too, like they've just made the best and newest discovery two people with dicks have ever made together.
Scott smiles at him, and squeezes the top of his thigh where it's sort of a part-thigh-part-ass no man's land, and says, "Dude." If Stiles weren't already stupidly, hopelessly in love with him, that would probably do it.
He grabs Scott's neck and pulls him back down for more kissing. This makes it easy, a minute later, to lock his leg around Scott and roll them over . They come dangerously close to the edge of the bed, but don't go over, because Stiles has mad skills. And now he's on top.
This is a good place to be, he decides. The view is great, for one thing, especially with his hands planted on Scott's biceps so he has to sprawl there flat, hands up by his head. The idea of him actually legit pinning Scott is laughable, of course--he can feel the muscles under his hands telling him exactly how laughable--but for just this moment, it looks--feels like that's what he's doing. And he likes it. He likes it a lot.
Scott's laughing, like he used to when they were kids horsing around and more evenly matched and this happened all the time, except without the boners. "Dude, that was awesome. You're like a ninja."
"That's exactly what I am," Stiles says. "I'm a makeout ninja. I strike when you least expect it." He's about to add a whooshing sound effect, but thinks better of it at the last second. There's a time and a place, just like his dad is always telling him. Dammit, now he has to stop thinking about his dad.
"I could do that, though," Scott says, and starts to lift his arms to wrap them around Stiles and flip them back. And that would be great, assuming he doesn't flip them the wrong direction and off the bed, but--Stiles likes it up here. He tightens his grip on Scott's arms, which is of course a purely symbolic gesture, but it gets Scott to hold up for a second.
"Not if I don't let you," he says. And--oh god, what, that sounds. That sounds terrible.
Scott's eyebrows are wrinkling, because of course he's confused, because they both know Scott can take him. Scott could most of the time take him even before getting superpowers, ever since Puberty Santa dropped down his chimney a year ahead of almost every other guy in their class.
"I mean," Stiles says, "if you let me...not let you. I mean. Oh my god." He flops his head down against Scott's chest, face burning. "Forget it."
A second later, very quietly, Scott says, "Oh."
"Yeah, oh," Stiles agrees, into his shirt.
He wants to keep his face here forever, mashed into Scott's chest and happily invisible, but it's hard to breathe. Scott's watching him, when he lifts his head. There's a funny look on his face. His mouth is open, and his eyes are wider than before, and they're kind of glowing. Not wolf-glowing, just...bright. Also he hasn't moved his arms.
"I mean, okay," Scott says. "We can do that."
Stiles's whole body twitches. It is the least sexy thing any human being has ever done. "We can?"
"Yeah." Scott grins. "I'll totally let you pin me."
Scott is the best friend ever. "You're the best friend ever," Stiles tells him fervently, and kisses him hard, digging his fingers in tighter.
"Yeah, well, remember that next full moon," Scott says, a little breathless, not looking straight at him.
Stiles will, he totally will. He'll never complain about anything werewolf-related ever again, because there's a flush rising on Scott's cheeks and he's squirming around under Stiles and his hands are twitching like they want to be fists but they're holding back, and he's into this. Scott is totally into this.
"Okay," Stiles says. He can't hold back the smile spreading stupidly wide across his face. "Okay, just--hold still. No matter what. Okay?"
Scott's hips jerk under his as he nods. "Okay."
Best ever. Ever ever ever. Stiles shuts his eyes for a second, trying to get himself back under control at least a little bit.
"Okay," he says a fourth time. When he lets go, Scott doesn't move an inch.
[[that's not actually an ending, there was going to be sex. whoops.]]
2. more untitled Scott/Stiles
There's a scene where Scott talks dirty about Lydia to Stiles while chained up and full of wolf rage, and it was weird and attractive and also I like stories where people talk about groin sex while having hand sex. Sadly this fic died before anybody got to have any kind of sex at all.
"Wait," Scott said. He leaned over the edge of the bed, frowning. "Does this mean you want to have sex with Allison? Because that's not cool."
"It doesn't have anything to do with Allison," Stiles said. "Except that you won't stop mooning over her, and how much sex you two are having, and how magical it is, and if I have to live vicariously through you then I want details, okay?"
"Well, they're going to be about Allison, dude. I don't know who else you think I've been having sex with."
"That's not the point. I am totally uninterested in Allison, okay?" This wasn't strictly true, because Stiles had eyes and she was a babe and lately kind of scary, which he could admit he liked in a woman. But he wasn't, like, into her.
"Then why do you want me to tell you what it's like to do it with her?"
"Not with her. Just--in general. With a girl. You don't even have to say her name, okay, I promise I'll be picturing Lydia the whole time."
"Dude," Scott said, "that makes it even more weird."
"Look," Stiles said, "you owe me. You owe me like a million times over at this point, and I haven't been calling it in because, you know, your life is kind of crazy and I get that. But I think we can both agree I've gone above and beyond the usual best friend duties this year, and this is my preferred form of repayment."
[[...]]
"I just want to stop feeling so--" Left out, he managed not to say, thank god. "Unprepared."
"Unprepared?" Scott raised his eyebrows. "Half the porn on my computer is stuff you found for me. I think you know how it works."
"Come on, are you telling me that what you and Allison do is like watching [[horrible porn title]]? With the grunting and the slapping and the name-calling and all twisty with the legs and stuff?" Porn was magic. Stiles loved porn. It did not make him feel ready to touch a woman in her places--or vice versa, for that matter. Maybe even more vice versa. "I want to know what it's really like," he said.
Scott looked at him for a minute, or okay, probably not a full minute but it felt that long. Stiles couldn't get a read on his expression--something that almost never happened, because generally Scott wasn't so much an open book as a billboard. Sometimes, though, his face fell still and his eyes went dark and it was like he was looking at you from way back behind his face, wearing it like a mask. There'd been a lot of times like that when they first met, and then hardly ever for years. More often these last few months, though.
Stiles tried not to fidget under that stare, without much success. He didn't look away, though. It was getting kind of warm in here.
Then the mask melted and turned into a face again, and Scott nodded. "Okay."
[[...]]
He flopped back onto the bed, out of sight from Stiles's blanket nest on the floor. The bedside blanket nest was a sleepover compromise they'd had to devise when Stiles had finally caught up to Scott's early-bloomer growth spurt and trying to fit them both in a double bed became a tragedy of too many elbows and three AM knees to the groin. It was the knee-groin incident that had marked the final end of the co-sleeping arrangement. Two years later and Stiles still felt kind of bad about that one.
That was probably a good idea, not looking at each other.
[[The End. Man I wish I'd finished that one.]]
3. untitled Derek & Boyd talking about feelings
This was supposed to be another fandom-mocking fic, the genesis of which was, "What if werewolves regarded sex within the pack as a giant gross unspeakable taboo?" I swear I've never written fic intended to troll people before I encountered Teen Wolf fandom and it became all I wanted to do forever. Anyway it didn't work because I immediately started taking it too seriously, and Derek is the least reliable of narrators, and Boyd is too great to just be the guy who delivers the setup.
"So, hey," Boyd said, "you think you can get those two to back off some? Maybe they'll listen to you."
They were on the floor after a hard training session--only it wasn't so much training after they'd started shooting at you. More like practice. And Boyd was on the floor because he was leaning against the wall, recovering from a half hour of dodging projectiles in close quarters; Derek was crouched a few feet away just to keep him company. Of course, put that way it sounded silly, especially since he'd been the one shooting the projectiles. But there was so little time, he had to grab his pack bonding when he could. They all had to trust him, and know he trusted them--Boyd especially, if Derek was going to feel safe leaving him in charge. And it could come to that, the way things were going.
He'd thought they'd found a wavelength by now, but he had no idea what Boyd was talking about. "Erica and Isaac? Are they giving you trouble?"
Boyd snorted and reached for his water bottle. "You could say that." He took a long drink, his throat working as the bottle drained. "If by trouble you mean they won't stop hitting on me."
He couldn't have heard that right. "They what?"
"Yeah, every time we're in the same room. I mean, they have their weird thing and that's great for them, whatever. But 'crazy white kid' just isn't my bag, you know? Much less two of them at once."
"They're not crazy," Derek said, defending them on autopilot while he tried to make sense of this information. "Wait, are you saying they're--together?"
"Fucking, yeah," Boyd said. "Like all the time. What, you never smell it?"
He stood up, feeling sick. "No, I--" There had been a couple times. Maybe more, but he was so distracted these days, and they were all new to him, their scents still changing and settling. And he hadn't thought it was from each other. Of course he wouldn't assume that, that was--that was disgusting.
Boyd frowned at him. "Hey, you okay? It's not a big deal, I can handle them."
He must be grimacing--he could feel it on his face. How could he not have told them? But then, how could it have occurred to him they needed to be told? It wasn't the sort of thing you had to tell people, any more than you told them not to kill and eat their pack mates. You just didn't.
"It is a big deal," he said. "They're not supposed to--you don't have sex within the pack. It's wrong."
"You mean like incest?"
"Yes," Derek said, seizing on it gratefully. It wasn't quite right, but close enough. "It's like incest. Your pack is your family, and eventually you find a mate from outside and bring them in, or if they're a werewolf you can join their pack, but you can't mate in your own pack."
"Why not?" Boyd said. Derek reminded himself that this was his fault, really. He'd brought them in, all of them still kids when you got right down to it, despite what they'd been through, and he hadn't explained anything--but there hadn't been time. But it was still his fault. Somewhere he could hear Peter laughing at him, for thinking he could handle being a real alpha. He heard it a lot lately. On better days it was Laura that he heard, but Laura wouldn't have laughed at this.
"Because you can't," he snapped. Isaac or Erica would have flinched; Erica would have covered it up better. Boyd just raised his eyebrows.
"Pretty weak answer, man." With only a brief flash of a wince, he pushed himself up to standing. That puncture wound in his thigh must have just about healed; that was good time. Boyd was getting stronger. They all were. "It's not like they're actually related. And would you rather have them going out getting mixed up with normal kids? You know they can't keep the secret worth a damn. The only reason no one at school knows is because they were already freaks, so nobody looks too close. Except at Erica's cleavage."
[[...]]
"Look, are you sure this is really a wolf thing, and not just...a you thing?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know..." Boyd shrugged. "Because your pack used to be your actual family?" At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable bringing it up.
[[...]]
"Wait, did you--" He broke off. Boyd was staring pointedly over his shoulder. "You said they weren't your type!"
"They're not, man, trust me, they're not. But it was right after I got turned, and they were all up on me first thing, and I was all crazy with those new wolf feelings. You know how it is." He glanced at Derek, took in his expression, and grinned crookedly. "Well, I guess you don't know. But it's intense, okay? Plus you're always trying to get us to sleep together and snuggle and shit."
"Not like that!"
"Yeah, I get that now. But it was--" He stopped, sighed, went on. "It was the first time anyone was close to me like that, you know? Not just with sex. Since I was a kid. And they're both kind of hot, before they open their mouths and the crazy comes out."
"Stop calling them that." Apparently he wasn't going to deal with the rest of this just yet. "They're not crazy."
"Well, there's something wrong with them," Boyd said. "But okay, whatever. They are getting better lately. I think turning messed them up for a while."
"It happens sometimes," Derek said. Though it wasn't supposed to happen twice in a row. That usually meant there was something wrong with the alpha doing the turning. "But they're okay now."
"Yeah, they're fine." He shrugged. "They're pack. Anyway, there's probably something wrong with me too. Anybody normal ever said yes to this?"
A stab of fear struck him--no, not fear, something lower and more creeping. "Boyd. You said you wanted--"
"I did. I do. I don't regret it. But--" Another shrug. It seemed to be his default motion. Derek wished he could read it better. "It's all pretty messed up, you have to admit."
[[I have no idea where this was going, but it's a safe bet plenty of Feelings would have been involved.]]
Tragically, the huge epic pre-series Scott/Stiles fic that was going to express all my deep and intense feelings about them and their lives and their relationship and what they mean to each other and just, everything, is not only unfinished but too fragmentary to make much sense outside my head. This is what happens when I actually care about the story I'm writing: I start planning. Planning is the opposite of writing.
So that is the end of this year's WIPs, now set free to trouble me no more, clearing the way for another exciting and rewarding year of never finishing anything.
1. untitled Scott/Stiles
They're my OTP and the fandom basically ignores them even though they are wonderful and in love and also sometimes incredibly kinky, like, dang. But also tiny babies, so I wrote this, which contains honor bondage and Strange New Feelings.
They're making out on top of Scott's bed, for only the fifth time ever--the fifth time making out, not the fifth time on the bed. This is the first time on the bed, and it's awesome. The making out is also awesome, but that was expected.
Being horizontal is fantastic, though. Stiles doesn't have to worry about tripping over Scott's shoes, or Scott getting so into it he lurches them both off-balance so they go sliding down the wall in one of those slow-motion falls, where you see it coming and you keep grabbing stuff to stop yourself, but it doesn't work and you hit the floor softly but humiliatingly ten seconds later. On the bed they can just lie down and roll around and it's all soft blankets and the heavy weight of Scott on top of him, kind of smooshing him but it feels good, like those lead blankets they give you at the dentist when they do x-rays.
Scott is super handsy when making out. This is a thing Stiles hadn't known about him, having had no opportunity to observe this behavior in its natural environment, aside from a handful of times walking in on him and Allison. When he used to imagine making out with Scott, he'd always spent more time imagining the mouth part, and what his own hands would be doing. Those parts are definitely as excellent as he always thought they would be--more, even--but Scott is a champion feeler-upper, it turns out. He doesn't discriminate either--slides a hand over Stiles's head while they kiss, up and down his arm like he just wants to feel the skin moving under his hand, under his shirt and petting his back, everywhere. Also the sexy parts, of course. Like right now there's a hand sliding under his thigh, squeezing and lifting his leg up and wow, wow, that's. That's a little new. Fitting together like that, horizontally. In boxers instead of jeans.
"Holy crap," he says, out loud like an idiot who's surprised the dude on top of him and pawing his ass is getting hard. This is why Scott is his favorite person in the world, though--he just looks up from nuzzling Stiles's throat (like, obsessively, it's probably a wolf thing) and beams him this huge smile like he's surprised too, like they've just made the best and newest discovery two people with dicks have ever made together.
Scott smiles at him, and squeezes the top of his thigh where it's sort of a part-thigh-part-ass no man's land, and says, "Dude." If Stiles weren't already stupidly, hopelessly in love with him, that would probably do it.
He grabs Scott's neck and pulls him back down for more kissing. This makes it easy, a minute later, to lock his leg around Scott and roll them over . They come dangerously close to the edge of the bed, but don't go over, because Stiles has mad skills. And now he's on top.
This is a good place to be, he decides. The view is great, for one thing, especially with his hands planted on Scott's biceps so he has to sprawl there flat, hands up by his head. The idea of him actually legit pinning Scott is laughable, of course--he can feel the muscles under his hands telling him exactly how laughable--but for just this moment, it looks--feels like that's what he's doing. And he likes it. He likes it a lot.
Scott's laughing, like he used to when they were kids horsing around and more evenly matched and this happened all the time, except without the boners. "Dude, that was awesome. You're like a ninja."
"That's exactly what I am," Stiles says. "I'm a makeout ninja. I strike when you least expect it." He's about to add a whooshing sound effect, but thinks better of it at the last second. There's a time and a place, just like his dad is always telling him. Dammit, now he has to stop thinking about his dad.
"I could do that, though," Scott says, and starts to lift his arms to wrap them around Stiles and flip them back. And that would be great, assuming he doesn't flip them the wrong direction and off the bed, but--Stiles likes it up here. He tightens his grip on Scott's arms, which is of course a purely symbolic gesture, but it gets Scott to hold up for a second.
"Not if I don't let you," he says. And--oh god, what, that sounds. That sounds terrible.
Scott's eyebrows are wrinkling, because of course he's confused, because they both know Scott can take him. Scott could most of the time take him even before getting superpowers, ever since Puberty Santa dropped down his chimney a year ahead of almost every other guy in their class.
"I mean," Stiles says, "if you let me...not let you. I mean. Oh my god." He flops his head down against Scott's chest, face burning. "Forget it."
A second later, very quietly, Scott says, "Oh."
"Yeah, oh," Stiles agrees, into his shirt.
He wants to keep his face here forever, mashed into Scott's chest and happily invisible, but it's hard to breathe. Scott's watching him, when he lifts his head. There's a funny look on his face. His mouth is open, and his eyes are wider than before, and they're kind of glowing. Not wolf-glowing, just...bright. Also he hasn't moved his arms.
"I mean, okay," Scott says. "We can do that."
Stiles's whole body twitches. It is the least sexy thing any human being has ever done. "We can?"
"Yeah." Scott grins. "I'll totally let you pin me."
Scott is the best friend ever. "You're the best friend ever," Stiles tells him fervently, and kisses him hard, digging his fingers in tighter.
"Yeah, well, remember that next full moon," Scott says, a little breathless, not looking straight at him.
Stiles will, he totally will. He'll never complain about anything werewolf-related ever again, because there's a flush rising on Scott's cheeks and he's squirming around under Stiles and his hands are twitching like they want to be fists but they're holding back, and he's into this. Scott is totally into this.
"Okay," Stiles says. He can't hold back the smile spreading stupidly wide across his face. "Okay, just--hold still. No matter what. Okay?"
Scott's hips jerk under his as he nods. "Okay."
Best ever. Ever ever ever. Stiles shuts his eyes for a second, trying to get himself back under control at least a little bit.
"Okay," he says a fourth time. When he lets go, Scott doesn't move an inch.
[[that's not actually an ending, there was going to be sex. whoops.]]
2. more untitled Scott/Stiles
There's a scene where Scott talks dirty about Lydia to Stiles while chained up and full of wolf rage, and it was weird and attractive and also I like stories where people talk about groin sex while having hand sex. Sadly this fic died before anybody got to have any kind of sex at all.
"Wait," Scott said. He leaned over the edge of the bed, frowning. "Does this mean you want to have sex with Allison? Because that's not cool."
"It doesn't have anything to do with Allison," Stiles said. "Except that you won't stop mooning over her, and how much sex you two are having, and how magical it is, and if I have to live vicariously through you then I want details, okay?"
"Well, they're going to be about Allison, dude. I don't know who else you think I've been having sex with."
"That's not the point. I am totally uninterested in Allison, okay?" This wasn't strictly true, because Stiles had eyes and she was a babe and lately kind of scary, which he could admit he liked in a woman. But he wasn't, like, into her.
"Then why do you want me to tell you what it's like to do it with her?"
"Not with her. Just--in general. With a girl. You don't even have to say her name, okay, I promise I'll be picturing Lydia the whole time."
"Dude," Scott said, "that makes it even more weird."
"Look," Stiles said, "you owe me. You owe me like a million times over at this point, and I haven't been calling it in because, you know, your life is kind of crazy and I get that. But I think we can both agree I've gone above and beyond the usual best friend duties this year, and this is my preferred form of repayment."
[[...]]
"I just want to stop feeling so--" Left out, he managed not to say, thank god. "Unprepared."
"Unprepared?" Scott raised his eyebrows. "Half the porn on my computer is stuff you found for me. I think you know how it works."
"Come on, are you telling me that what you and Allison do is like watching [[horrible porn title]]? With the grunting and the slapping and the name-calling and all twisty with the legs and stuff?" Porn was magic. Stiles loved porn. It did not make him feel ready to touch a woman in her places--or vice versa, for that matter. Maybe even more vice versa. "I want to know what it's really like," he said.
Scott looked at him for a minute, or okay, probably not a full minute but it felt that long. Stiles couldn't get a read on his expression--something that almost never happened, because generally Scott wasn't so much an open book as a billboard. Sometimes, though, his face fell still and his eyes went dark and it was like he was looking at you from way back behind his face, wearing it like a mask. There'd been a lot of times like that when they first met, and then hardly ever for years. More often these last few months, though.
Stiles tried not to fidget under that stare, without much success. He didn't look away, though. It was getting kind of warm in here.
Then the mask melted and turned into a face again, and Scott nodded. "Okay."
[[...]]
He flopped back onto the bed, out of sight from Stiles's blanket nest on the floor. The bedside blanket nest was a sleepover compromise they'd had to devise when Stiles had finally caught up to Scott's early-bloomer growth spurt and trying to fit them both in a double bed became a tragedy of too many elbows and three AM knees to the groin. It was the knee-groin incident that had marked the final end of the co-sleeping arrangement. Two years later and Stiles still felt kind of bad about that one.
That was probably a good idea, not looking at each other.
[[The End. Man I wish I'd finished that one.]]
3. untitled Derek & Boyd talking about feelings
This was supposed to be another fandom-mocking fic, the genesis of which was, "What if werewolves regarded sex within the pack as a giant gross unspeakable taboo?" I swear I've never written fic intended to troll people before I encountered Teen Wolf fandom and it became all I wanted to do forever. Anyway it didn't work because I immediately started taking it too seriously, and Derek is the least reliable of narrators, and Boyd is too great to just be the guy who delivers the setup.
"So, hey," Boyd said, "you think you can get those two to back off some? Maybe they'll listen to you."
They were on the floor after a hard training session--only it wasn't so much training after they'd started shooting at you. More like practice. And Boyd was on the floor because he was leaning against the wall, recovering from a half hour of dodging projectiles in close quarters; Derek was crouched a few feet away just to keep him company. Of course, put that way it sounded silly, especially since he'd been the one shooting the projectiles. But there was so little time, he had to grab his pack bonding when he could. They all had to trust him, and know he trusted them--Boyd especially, if Derek was going to feel safe leaving him in charge. And it could come to that, the way things were going.
He'd thought they'd found a wavelength by now, but he had no idea what Boyd was talking about. "Erica and Isaac? Are they giving you trouble?"
Boyd snorted and reached for his water bottle. "You could say that." He took a long drink, his throat working as the bottle drained. "If by trouble you mean they won't stop hitting on me."
He couldn't have heard that right. "They what?"
"Yeah, every time we're in the same room. I mean, they have their weird thing and that's great for them, whatever. But 'crazy white kid' just isn't my bag, you know? Much less two of them at once."
"They're not crazy," Derek said, defending them on autopilot while he tried to make sense of this information. "Wait, are you saying they're--together?"
"Fucking, yeah," Boyd said. "Like all the time. What, you never smell it?"
He stood up, feeling sick. "No, I--" There had been a couple times. Maybe more, but he was so distracted these days, and they were all new to him, their scents still changing and settling. And he hadn't thought it was from each other. Of course he wouldn't assume that, that was--that was disgusting.
Boyd frowned at him. "Hey, you okay? It's not a big deal, I can handle them."
He must be grimacing--he could feel it on his face. How could he not have told them? But then, how could it have occurred to him they needed to be told? It wasn't the sort of thing you had to tell people, any more than you told them not to kill and eat their pack mates. You just didn't.
"It is a big deal," he said. "They're not supposed to--you don't have sex within the pack. It's wrong."
"You mean like incest?"
"Yes," Derek said, seizing on it gratefully. It wasn't quite right, but close enough. "It's like incest. Your pack is your family, and eventually you find a mate from outside and bring them in, or if they're a werewolf you can join their pack, but you can't mate in your own pack."
"Why not?" Boyd said. Derek reminded himself that this was his fault, really. He'd brought them in, all of them still kids when you got right down to it, despite what they'd been through, and he hadn't explained anything--but there hadn't been time. But it was still his fault. Somewhere he could hear Peter laughing at him, for thinking he could handle being a real alpha. He heard it a lot lately. On better days it was Laura that he heard, but Laura wouldn't have laughed at this.
"Because you can't," he snapped. Isaac or Erica would have flinched; Erica would have covered it up better. Boyd just raised his eyebrows.
"Pretty weak answer, man." With only a brief flash of a wince, he pushed himself up to standing. That puncture wound in his thigh must have just about healed; that was good time. Boyd was getting stronger. They all were. "It's not like they're actually related. And would you rather have them going out getting mixed up with normal kids? You know they can't keep the secret worth a damn. The only reason no one at school knows is because they were already freaks, so nobody looks too close. Except at Erica's cleavage."
[[...]]
"Look, are you sure this is really a wolf thing, and not just...a you thing?"
"What do you mean?"
"You know..." Boyd shrugged. "Because your pack used to be your actual family?" At least he had the decency to look uncomfortable bringing it up.
[[...]]
"Wait, did you--" He broke off. Boyd was staring pointedly over his shoulder. "You said they weren't your type!"
"They're not, man, trust me, they're not. But it was right after I got turned, and they were all up on me first thing, and I was all crazy with those new wolf feelings. You know how it is." He glanced at Derek, took in his expression, and grinned crookedly. "Well, I guess you don't know. But it's intense, okay? Plus you're always trying to get us to sleep together and snuggle and shit."
"Not like that!"
"Yeah, I get that now. But it was--" He stopped, sighed, went on. "It was the first time anyone was close to me like that, you know? Not just with sex. Since I was a kid. And they're both kind of hot, before they open their mouths and the crazy comes out."
"Stop calling them that." Apparently he wasn't going to deal with the rest of this just yet. "They're not crazy."
"Well, there's something wrong with them," Boyd said. "But okay, whatever. They are getting better lately. I think turning messed them up for a while."
"It happens sometimes," Derek said. Though it wasn't supposed to happen twice in a row. That usually meant there was something wrong with the alpha doing the turning. "But they're okay now."
"Yeah, they're fine." He shrugged. "They're pack. Anyway, there's probably something wrong with me too. Anybody normal ever said yes to this?"
A stab of fear struck him--no, not fear, something lower and more creeping. "Boyd. You said you wanted--"
"I did. I do. I don't regret it. But--" Another shrug. It seemed to be his default motion. Derek wished he could read it better. "It's all pretty messed up, you have to admit."
[[I have no idea where this was going, but it's a safe bet plenty of Feelings would have been involved.]]
Tragically, the huge epic pre-series Scott/Stiles fic that was going to express all my deep and intense feelings about them and their lives and their relationship and what they mean to each other and just, everything, is not only unfinished but too fragmentary to make much sense outside my head. This is what happens when I actually care about the story I'm writing: I start planning. Planning is the opposite of writing.
So that is the end of this year's WIPs, now set free to trouble me no more, clearing the way for another exciting and rewarding year of never finishing anything.
no subject
And that sex taboo is such a great idea, omg. yes.