Araya and Severo enter the warehouse; no additional hunters as promised, but the tension is palpable.

Derek moves to be slightly in front of him, the tense wolf acting as guard for his mate.

Everyone’s poised for a fight.

Even as a human, Stiles swears he can taste it in the air—an acidic tang on his tongue—or maybe his spark’s responding to his pack’s distress.

That leaves Stiles to be the mature one to start the meeting on the new treaty.

He’d laugh if he could, but he needs to be taken seriously.

If only Lydia was here.

Lydia has her engagement party tonight, so Stiles is has to look his best.

Of course, when Stiles mentioned wearing his suit from prom, she insisted on buying him and Derek ridiculously overpriced suits.

Including a real tie, which Stiles needs Derek’s help with.

Derek’s bent over putting on his shoes when Stiles finds him.

Stiles licks his lips.

“That suit was worth every cent.”

Derek turns back, a question on his brow.

“Nothing. I’ll be right back. I forgot something.”

Namely, a packet of KY Jelly just in case the opportunity arises.

He’ll make one if he has to.

Derek was worried when a pack attempted to use old werewolf laws about a thrice-abandoned territory to claim Beacon Hills.

Not anymore.

“As the esteemed council can see, the territory was abandoned only once. The remaining claims are null and void, as Alpha Hale was visiting family or protecting his mate while they attended school; both well-established exceptions.”

Derek tries not to feel smug as Lydia presents his marriage certificate—Stiles’s and his marriage was one of convenience at the time, but that’s none of their business.

He can already sense that Lydia’s guarantee they’d win is all but confirmed.

Stiles hesitates just before he’s to dip a finger into the strange concoction.

“Are you sure I won’t get sick from this?”

Deaton sighs, clearly annoyed—too bad.

Stiles feels he’s justifiably concerned when the noxious fumes are already enough to make him feel dizzy, and Deaton’s the only one he can ask. It’s not “customary” for the intended mate to be present during the runic application, and with Derek busy with his own runes, Stiles can’t even text any questions.

He supposes there’s always Peter.

Which, no.

“It’s been used in mating rituals for hundreds of years, Mr. Stilinski.”

SMELLS LIKE TEEN SPIRIT

.

He shoved the kid up against the nearest wall using his body just as much as his barely contained lust.

Bad idea. Stiles smelled ripe.

“You stink,” he snarled at the little pest.

“No shit? Happens when you're human and slaying demogorgons or what-the-fuck-ever you said those Stranger Things were.” His razor-sharp wit gave Derek slash marks. “God, you are such an asshole.”

Derek hadn't said he minded.

“Shut up, Stiles.”

“Or what?” Stiles challenged without taking a beat.

Fuck it.

“Or this—”

Derek rammed his tongue so far down Stiles's throat the only thing Stiles could say was unmpf.

.

Stiles has been a pest the last few days, or maybe it’s not that Stiles is a pest as it’s that he’s the worst temptation; either way, Derek is at his wit’s end.

“Stop that.”

“Eating? I’m hungry, man. You said I can’t eat chips because they’re too loud,” they are, “I can’t eat candy because it’s unhealthy,” Derek couldn’t think straight every time Stiles licked chocolate off his fingers, “and now I can’t even eat an apple?”

The apple is so ripe and juicy, it’s even worse than the Reese’s.

Sharing a dorm with Stiles is testing his limits.

It’s a reunion, and Stiles thinks someone should give a speech.

He nudges Derek.

Derek kicks him before starting.

“I’m proud of you all. This is no longer a group of dysfunctional teenagers, forced to act to protect yourselves and those you love. Each of you rose above the horrors you endured to become—”

“Wow, Derek. You've become so mushy since you started slurping on Stiles’s leaky pipe on the regular.”

“Don’t be nasty, Erica, I’m eating here.”

“I think it sounds hot.”

Stiles ignores Scott’s whinging—and Erica and Malia’s fist pump—and whispers to Derek.

“Any regrets, babe?”

Derek gets home, and while he’s shaking the rain off his umbrella, he can hear Stiles humming and Eli babbling away.

“Yeah, buddy, I don’t think he’s our kidnapper either.”

That’s new.

He’s used to Stiles replying to Eli's unrecognizable baby talk as if he’s getting coherent answers, but it’s the first time it’s happened while Stiles is creating an evidence board.

“Are you confident about exposing him to your work?”

“He can’t nap with the lightning outside—you know he hates storms as much as you do. Besides, it’s just a kidnapping.”

Derek shakes his head with a smile.

Derek’s learned to tolerate the acrid odor of sulfur that persists around Stiles—he’d endure anything to be with his mate—so it takes him a moment to recognize the cloyingly sweet smell coming from the tears on Stiles’s face.

“She wasn’t fully cognizant, you know? Mom just saw a threat and locked it in our attic. She didn’t realize that it was like a million degrees up there and would kill me before dad got home.”

He knew when Stiles took him to a cemetery that learning of his past wouldn’t be pleasant, but this is worse than imagined.

The fresh breeze coming through the window isn’t enough to offset the unseasonable heat; Stiles feels too lethargic to move.

“I don’t want to get up.”⁠

Derek hums, which Stiles takes as agreement.

“But I’m also hungry.”

“I know something you can eat without leaving the bed.”

Stiles can hear Derek’s grin; someone woke up feeling sassy.

“You finally admitting to having a cookie stash, Mr. ‘the crumbs aren’t from me, Stiles’?”

Derek kicks his leg, but markedly, doesn’t deny it.

“I’ll share a juice box and my Doritos.”

Derek’s quiet, seemingly thinking it over.

“Do you have any apple?”

Stiles nudges Derek with his elbow so he can start filming again.

Eli enters the stage, brandishing a wooden dagger.

His voice cracks as he tells Snow White that she needs to leave and never come back, and a few parents in the audience laugh—Stiles takes his eyes off Eli long enough to find his targets.

Once Eli’s finished, Derek stops him short of getting up with a hand on his thigh, squeezing with a hint of claw.

Right; it’ll be harder to prove that claw marks are intentional.

Stiles avoids looking in his dad’s direction when Derek leaves.