Forest for the Trees – 5 – Hazel

Reading Time:
20 Minutes

Chapter Five:

Epigraphy was opening in the morning.  Phee’s big day.  Her debutant ball.  Her crazy cotillion.

He’d been so distracted the last week learning how to be a convincing boyfriend of a guy he’d just met and getting his apartment unpacked and livable that he hadn’t really been thinking about it.  The shop was a labor of love.  He’d put months into setting it all up just the way he wanted it.  And that was after a year of extensive planning and many months of work to build up an inventory and backstock.  But since he’d gotten Phee all glammed up and ready he’d been otherwise occupied, so the first day snuck up on him.

Not even the advertising he’d been working on, not even the big Grand Opening sign he’d hung just before he’d met Derek had really gotten through to him.  It had been abstract, another task on a list of logistical to-do’s.  But now it was time and he was pretty sure he was going to hyperventilate and pass out in his apartment not to be found until the next day when he failed to open the doors for the nonexistent hordes of Beacon Hills to buy all his lovely magical do-dads.

Stiles paced back and forth, winding himself up into a neurotic frenzy until the sudden ringing of his cell phone startled him into jumping in place and screaming just a little.  Clutching his chest and waiting for his heart to stop racing, he slowly made his way over to the phone still vibrating its way across his kitchen counter to the tune of Florence + the Machine’s Howl.

“Derek!  Hey.  Hi.  What’s up?”

The deep chuckle that answered him was both exciting and calming at the same time.  “Thought I might check in.  See how many last-minute catastrophes you’d come up with for tomorrow.”

“Hah.”  Stiles went back to pacing.  “Shows what you know.  I haven’t even gotten to that part.  I’m still at the pre-show where I struggle to comprehend what day it is.  I won’t start coming up with everything that could possibly or impossibly go wrong wrong wrong for at least another half hour.”

Derek huffed out another laugh, the subtle background noise of the sheriff’s station late on a Sunday providing just enough nostalgic distraction to keep his thoughts from spiraling inward yet again.  “There hasn’t been a real magical shop in town since old Hilda moved to Stockton in 2003.

“You’ll get quite a few people curious about your stuff or the possibility of a good sale, but most anyone who’s serious enough about things to throw you off your game will either stay clear or has already placed an order through the website.”

Stiles took a deep breath.  He had gotten seven orders over the last week for personalized rune arrays either as talismans or small-scale ward stones.  “Right.  Yeah.  Of course.  Absolutely nothing to worry about.”

“No,” he could hear Derek’s cute little bunny toothed smile in the sound of his voice, “there isn’t.  But I’m sure you have thought of more than a few contingencies just in case.  I’ve got a patrol scheduled in half an hour.  You can call me back then and talk me through your plans if you want.”

He breathed deeply again.  Then again.  “That, uh, that actually sounds really good.  If you don’t mind.  I don’t want to be a distraction.”

There was that smile again, a soft barely-there tone that carried clear and comforting through the phone line.  “I don’t mind at all.  I’ve got to finish my prep but call at 10:30, okay?”

“All right.”  Stiles was sure his own dopey grin was audible as he said a temporary goodbye.  It lingered on his face as he readied himself for bed and got situated on his new couch with a hot cup of peppermint tea and a knitted throw that wasn’t at all necessary.

By the time he got off the phone an hour later, he was calm and settled despite the way his heart wanted to race at the thought of his sweet, considerate, hot werewolf fake boyfriend.  What the hell had he gotten himself into?

The feeling of twitterpated-but-prepared followed him through his early morning preparations and lingered through the first few hours of his grand opening.  It wasn’t helped at all by the good luck, not that you need it text he’d woken up to.  His own reply of what do I need then? had overlayed its own nervous excitement on the morning.

Messages continued between them throughout the day, each one just this side of flirtatious.  Or maybe just the other side, he didn’t know.  Flirting was not his strong suit.  Though apparently shopkeeper was, despite his distinct lack of experience.  Most of the day sailed by smoothly, with looky-loos and customers alike drifting in and out in a steady stream.

He was finishing his nineteenth actual transaction at about a quarter to eight when the old-fashioned bell he’d affixed above the door jingled yet again.  He waved cheerfully at the young girl who had purchased a pair of crystals and a meditation mat embroidered with runes to help calm and focus the mind, and glanced at what he hoped would be one last paying customer before he got ready to close up for the night.

He was vastly disappointed on multiple levels when he noticed Alan Deaton strolling through the aisles.

Stiles tried to keep his face as neutral as possible while watching the man put his sticky druid fingers on everything he passed.  If the man had a magical core of his own, Stiles was sure there’d be traces of his magic everywhere when he was done.

As it was, there was basically no chance that the shifty bastard wasn’t checking everything he could for traces of exterior magics.  Thankfully, as a druid he wouldn’t be able to directly detect the core magic that Stiles had put into the runework he was selling, which meant no matter how hard he tried he would not be getting any indication of Stiles’ actual strength even as it concerned the sorcerer-type magics he was openly displaying.

After several silent minutes, Deaton made his way to the front counter where Stiles had been keeping himself occupied working out a rune scheme for a new product he was considering.  The stone-faced fuck nodded in greeting and Stiles did his best to look like he wasn’t wishing he’d already closed up.

“Young Mr. Stilinski, welcome back.  We didn’t get a chance to speak at the pack gathering Saturday.”

Damn right, he couldn’t help but think.  He and Derek had gone out of their way to ensure they didn’t have to talk to him at the BBQ.  “Yeah, too bad.  Were you looking for anything specific I can help you with?”

Deaton tilted his head, his face as blank as it always was.  “I simply wished to let you know that I am most relieved to see you back and contributing so productively to the magical community here in Beacon Hills.  I admit I was a little concerned that the unpleasantness when you were so young might have had lasting effects.  I am glad that such does not seem to be the case.”

Stiles gave an obviously stiff smile, figuring the prick mentioning his mom’s death and his magical outbursts surely allowed him to be a little rude in return.  Had he been a sorcerer, magical upheaval at that age certainly would have had the ability to damage his core.  His mage status had of course allowed the exterior magics –  specifically the telluric currents of the town – to help stabilize him through the ordeal.  But shaddy druids didn’t need to know that now any more than they had then.

“Well, no need to worry.  I had all the tutors and magical support I needed at the time.  My dad made sure of it.”  As his pops told Deaton when the man had tried to stick his nose into things back then and been sent packing.  He crossed his arms over his chest as though he were feeling defensive, which earned him a single slightly raised brow from the man.

“Yes, your admittance to Loo Wit did give me hope that such was the case.”

Stiles shifted on his feet.  No doubt if he’d been a sorcerer, he’d feel a bit indignant at someone acting surprised that he’d managed to get into such a prestigious school.

“I must assume that your father is glad to have you back home after so long away.”

He took a deep breath, because the implication that it took him more than four years because he must have had a hard time passing his classes was so fucking insulting.  Even if he had been a sorcerer, that wouldn’t make him dumb.  Not that he could admit to having earned two masters degrees and a long enough internship to save up the money to open his shop in that time, but still.  He just scowled a little.  “He was happy when I finished school, yes.”

Deaton hummed, glancing around the shop.  “Your education seems to have served you well.”

“Loo Wit offers a worldclass magical education,” he agreed.  Stiles gave another stiff smile, pointedly not bristling at the implication that it was only the things he’d learned at the school that had allowed him to make the things around them and not with his own power or skill.

The druid hummed again, gave what passed for him as a smile.  “Indeed it does, Mr. Stilinski.  I hope it continues to serve you well.”  The dude nodded like he was a noble acknowledging the lowly existence of a peasant and turned to leave.

Stiles watched him go, finally allowing his lip to curl up at the sight.  Just as Deaton was making his way through the doorway, another man slipped into the store.  The two seemed to maintain eye contact for a moment before Deaton fully left the store and let the door shut with a jingle.

Of fucking course it was Peter Hale.

The wolf glanced from the closed door to Stiles, gaze racking up and down him in a slow, deliberate way that made Stiles roll his eyes.  Peter chuckled and slowly began to make his way up and down every single aisle in the store, pausing in front of numerous displays and tilting his head to one side and then the other like he was judging the fuck out of Stiles’ merchandise.  Eventually he made it to the front counter, where he leaned one hip against it with another smirk.

Stiles raised a brow in question.  “Are you here to assess my magical abilities as well?”

Peter adopted a look of obviously feigned surprise.  “You think the esteemed Hale Emissary was here to do more than welcome you back to town?”

Stiles rolled his eyes again, muttering under his breath.  “Shaddy fucker.”

“My dear Stiles, are you not a fan of Beacon Hills’ most prominent druidic practitioner?”

Stiles just stared at him with his best ‘you can’t be fucking serious’ expression.

Peter smirked, looking him up and down again.  “You have such impeccable taste, sweetheart, however did you end up with my laconic nephew?”

He sighed.  “Get out, creeperwolf, it’s closing time.”

The Left Hand of the Hale Pack left with a chuckle and an obnoxious wave, but at least he left quickly.  Because it really was time to close and Stiles was more than ready for the workday to be over.  He went about straightening up the store, locking the door and turning off the power to the OPEN sign.  When he was done, Stiles slipped out his phone and sent Derek two texts in rapid succession.

To Hot Guy: Your uncle is an asshole.  I think I like him.

To Hot Guy: Your mom’s pet druid is a sketchy, stone-faced motherfucker.  Him I don’t like much.

He hadn’t even made it up the private back staircase that led to his apartment before his phone was ringing.  Unsurprisingly, it was Derek.

“Peter and Deaton both came to the shop today?” Derek’s voice was a little distracted but more than a little incredulous.

“Two entirely different types of threat assessment from what I could tell.”  Stiles ran a hand over his face, then slowly unlocked his door.  “Deaton put his slimy hands all over everything, probably trying to see if he could detect any other magics or whatever.  Peter did kind of the same thing but probably to scent mark and see what kind of things I am selling and what I’m capable of making.”

He dropped his keys on the kitchen counter and just stared at his closed fridge, knowing there was nothing in it that he could quickly heat up for himself.  “At least they waited until the end of the day so I could just be fucking done now.”

“You sound tired.”

Stiles gave a weak laugh, he really had underestimated how exhausting it would be to be polite and cheerful to strangers all day long.  “Cold cereal is a full meal, right?”

Derek huffed.  “Why don’t I pick up something for your dinner?  I’m off shift in five minutes and I kinda owe you anyway.  Consider it a thank you for putting up with the BBQ.”

He would have demurred but he was just too damn tired.  “Okay.”

His relief must have come across clear in his voice because Derek laughed softly and told him to text what he wanted to eat.  Stiles barely managed another thanks before they hung up and he dropped the phone beside his keys with a long, heavy sigh.

Maybe he would end up hiring someone to work the register at the store sometimes after all.

An hour later, the staffing of his shop was the last thing on his mind.

It was either the hot shower, the hot food, or the very hot werewolf smiling at him from less than two feet away that had revived him.  Whatever it was, Stiles was left wide awake and struggling to keep from reading too much into the way Derek was staring at him as they talked.

They’d eaten the take-out Derek had brought over almost as soon as he arrived and then after cleaning up their mess had somehow ended up on the sofa, turned to face one another.  Derek had one arm stretched along the back of the couch, and his hand had started plucking absently at the short cotton sleeve of Stiles’ shirt.  The touch was so distracting that he barely even noticed when they moved closer until the leg Derek had folded under himself was pressed solidly against his.

He decided to blame the long day and his previous exhaustion for the way he turned, looked Derek in the eye and just asked if he could kiss him.

Derek paused, looking almost surprised for a moment before he pulled Stiles to him with a smile.  The moment their lips touched, it was too much.  Stiles moaned and surged forward, pressing a hand firmly against the side of Derek’s neck to hold him still as he swung one leg over the wolf’s thighs and straddled him.

Derek’s hands immediately gripped his waist, pulling him down firmly into his lap.  The hard length of him was obvious as they pressed against each other, still kissing.  “Fuck,” he hissed as he took a breath before diving back in.

His hot werewolf seemed to agree completely because the next thing he knew, Derek had stood from the couch and was carrying him into the bedroom like it was nothing.  Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist and enjoyed the ride, short as it was.

It was rather disappointing when he was dropped onto the mattress and not covered by the muscled heat of Derek’s body as soon as he was there.  Then he opened his eyes and saw that Derek was stripping off his clothes.

Stiles started to wiggle out of his sweatpants, glad he hadn’t bothered with socks or shoes but before he’d managed to get out of them, Derek was there, tugging them off and tossing them over his shoulder.  He straightened his arms to allow his shirt to be pulled off next.  Derek didn’t hesitate.

He grinned up at him.  “Eager, are we?”

Derek straight up fucking growled, and Stiles didn’t bother to bite back the moan.  The moan turned into a curse as he was pressed into the bed, Derek covering every inch of him.  His back arched, rubbing his cock up against the hot length of Derek’s.  Another growl, this time in his ear, was almost more than he could take.

“Fuck!”  Stiles threw his arms over his head, gripping tightly onto the pillow above him.

Derek kissed his neck, biting down just enough for Stiles to feel it before he started to grind downward, rubbing their cocks roughly together.  Stiles shouted again, head tilted back, heart racing and blood singing.  It felt like they lay pressed together, rubbing off on one another forever.  Yet in no time at all, he could feel his orgasm building with rapid intensity.

He tried to cry out a warning, but all he could hear was his heart pounding in his ears and Derek panting hot and wet against his neck.  Derek seemed to understand anyway.  He pressed harder, reaching up to pin his hands to the mattress with a long, guttural moan as they both started to come.

“Holy fucking hell.”  He’d meant to say it louder, but the words came out as a whisper where his face was pressed into Derek’s collarbone.

His werewolf shook slightly as he laughed, then drew back so he could smirk down at him.  Stiles rolled his eyes and used all his strength to free one hand and pull that smirking mouth against his own.

They lay there, still pressed together and exchanging long, unhurried kisses until they had finally caught their breath.  Stiles had a second to worry that Derek might get up and leave when the man rolled off of him and left the bed.  Before he could start to work himself up, the water was running in the bathroom and Derek was back with a warm wet cloth to clean them both up.

He hummed in pleasure, wiggling slightly until he was situated comfortably against Derek’s side, using the man’s unfairly muscled chest as a pillow.  Derek chuckled and covered them both with the sheet, then pulled him a little closer.

No matter how tired he had been an hour and a half before, there was no way he was going to fall asleep right away, so Stiles flopped one arm over Derek’s damp six pack and wracked his brain for something they could talk about.  Because if he didn’t come up with something he was sure to start rambling mindlessly and he’d rather save that for a less intimate moment.

A glance at his side table, which featured his ipad, a baby Yoda figurine and a lightning bolt lamp refocused his thoughts.  “Okay,” he said as propped his chin on Derek’s pectoral.  “So, I have to know.”  Derek raised his brows, either asking for the question or questioning why he had to know something right then.  “Derek, Eric, Laura, Cora, Talia, Dahlia, Peter, Porter.”  He gave the list an almost lyrical rhythm automatically, because how could someone not?

Derek let out a heavy sigh that caused his head to move up and down with the breath.  “I told you about the genealogical obsession among the Hale alphas?”

Stiles nodded as best he could without moving.  It probably dug his chin into Derek’s chest, but the guy didn’t so much as flinch.  “Yeah.  Number Four.”  He sniggered a little, because that inside joke was absolute gold.

“The name thing is related.  The very first Hale alpha, her name was Laura and her sisters were Cora and Flora.  Her daughter, the second alpha was named Aster, her sisters were Esther and Hester.”

“Wait, wait, wait.  Your mom named her heir after the very first Hale alpha?  And Laura’s daughter is also Aster, right?  Is that a thing?  Are there family names that keep coming up?  Are you actually Derek the 6^th?”

“Not the sixth.  Mom is technically Talia the second.  She’s named after her grandmother.  But she was the first repeat name on the records.  Now there’s Mom, Laura, Aster and Jason.  Laura’s son is named after the more successful of the two male alphas of the Hale pack.”

Stiles blinked.  So, no pressure.  Also, the arrogance.  Though that was absolutely in keeping with both women as far as he’d seen.  No.  Back on track.  “So the endings of the names all rhyme.  By gender, right?”

Derek nodded.  “Yeah.  Thankfully only the alpha and alpha heir follow the tradition.”

“Wow, that’s some commitment.  And planning.  Does every alpha have like a list to choose from?  Is there a family name poem with all the options?   What if it changes?  What if someone who wasn’t the heir becomes the next alpha?  Do they rename their kids?  And seriously, if there’s a family tree that means you have a full record of the names.  Which means I need need need some examples.”  He just barely kept from bouncing in place.

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Come on.  Don’t tell me you don’t know them.  You probably had to memorize them as a kid.  Right?  Was there a song?  Long form poetry?  Was there a recital once a year?  Did you gather in Number 4 to pay homage on the anniversary of the Beacon Hills Nemeton granting the alpha spark to your ancestor?”

Another long sigh.  And a pause before Derek spoke again, grimacing slightly as if he really didn’t want to admit what he was going to say.  “Nothing like that.  Though family meetings were held there when we were kids so I used to spend a lot of time staring at the tree when I wasn’t listening.”

“You DO have them memorized, don’t you?  Now you have to tell me all of them!”  Stiles bit his lip, eyes wide and pleading.

“Fine.”  The word was said like he was conceding to do something painful but his lips twitched upwards just a little at the corners so Stiles figured he was willing to indulge him.  “So Laura, Cora, and Flora, then Aster, Esther, and Hester.  The third alpha was Paul and his brother was Saul. His sons were Victor and Winter.  His sisters were Molly and Dolly but in 1883 a hunter attack killed almost the entire pack.  Molly was the only survivor.  She married shortly thereafter and had seven kids.”

“Wait.”  Stiles pushed up slightly, one hand on Derek’s lovely bare chest, one on the mussed sheets.  “Her name was Molly and she had seven kids.  Was her husband named Arthur?  Was she super overbearing and fussy and force food on everyone?  Were any of them twins?  Did they have a really wonky house and keep owls?  Was there a ridiculously old pet rat?”

Derek rolled his eyes again, one hand coming up to rub lightly on Stiles’ back as if to calm his sudden manic interest.  He reluctantly settled back down against him as Derek continued.  “Her husband’s name was Henry.  Did you want the rest of the list?  Or are you just going to make more Harry Potter jokes?”

Stiles pouted.  He’d like to say it was a manly expression of discontent, but he could literally feel his bottom lip jutting out.  He bit down on his lip and motioned with one hand for Derek to continue.  “Spoilsport.  I can save the jokes.  Gimme the list.”

“So, Molly became the fourth alpha and her son Jason was the fifth.  His brothers were named Mason and Grayson.  His sisters were Marilyn, Madilyn, Carolyn, and Adelyn.”

Stiles bit his lip again, this time to keep from repeating the names in a sing-song voice.  Derek paused, as if waiting to see if Stiles was going to interrupt before he went on.

“The sixth alpha was Talia, my great grandmother.  Her sisters were Othalia and Callia. Her only brother was Joshua.”

There was absolutely no way he could keep from interrupting again.  “Joshua?  That’s fantastic.  What on earth was the plan for boys’ names?  If Joshua had brothers what on earth would Jason have come up with!”

“I have no idea.”

But he had to know!  He had to spend the next half hour doing name searches online.  Except that would mean leaving the bed with the hot naked werewolf.  He sighed.  The question was going to haunt him, he just knew it.  At least he had something to do during his downtime at the store tomorrow.

Derek raised a brow.  Stiles made a face and twirled his hand again in a go on motion.  Derek raised his brow even higher, but did in fact go on.

“The seventh alpha was my grandmother Lilith.  Her sisters were Edith and Judith.  And you know the rest of them.”

Stiles laughed.  “That is just too much.  The planning.  The rhyming.  It must have been like a-” Derek cut him off say with a kiss and by the time he pulled back, Stiles had forgotten what he was going to say.

“We both have work in the morning.  We should go to sleep.”

Stiles thought about relocating his train of thought, but a large warm hand started sweeping up and down the entire length of his back, pulling slightly so Stiles was plastered against the length of his werewolf’s naked body.  He weighed his options and gave in to the prompting, snuggling back into position and asking Derek to restart the movie that he’d been listening to the night before on the ipad propped on his bedside table.

He tensed briefly when Derek did so without question.  He waited for the protest, for the sigh of inconvenience, but there was nothing.  Several minutes passed, but no matter how hard he tried he could not hold back the question that filtered to the forefront of his mind as the movie started in the background.

“This means we’re, like, actually dating now, right?”  The words were whispered so softly that if he weren’t a shifter, Derek probably wouldn’t have even heard them.

The strong arm around his back tightened for a moment.  “Yes Stiles.  That’s what it means.  Now go to sleep, I really don’t want to have to try to explain to your father why I’m falling asleep in the middle of my shift tomorrow.”

Stiles snorted a short laugh, trying to picture the look on his dad’s face if faced with such a thing.  Then he closed his eyes, listened to the movie and enjoyed the feel of warm muscle against him and the comforting weight of a strong arm around him.  He was asleep in minutes, and stayed that way until morning.