Dot to Dot - Chapter One

[sunmontue]

Title: Dot to Dot
Pairing: Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale
Rating: NC17
Word count: ~2,500 (this part)
Warnings: Crack. Cliched. Fun to write. Underaged sexual situations and drinking.
Summary: In which Derek is distracted (a lot) by Stiles’ moles, to the point of trying to find out where they all are. Because once he knows, his curiosity will be assuaged and he can put his obsession behind him. Right? (Or could be called ‘Five times Derek tried to get Stiles to take his shirt off and one time he didn’t’).

Author's note: This is a posting of the fic on tumblr, with the parts combined to make larger chapters. I'll update this as I have time.

The first time he notices is because he sees a few by accident, the briefest of moments before Stiles is tugging the hem of his t-shirt back into place. He’s never thought about it before, but this flash of dark spots on the pale skin of his stomach makes him realise he’s never seen Stiles without his shirt off. Well, maybe he has, but there were probably extenuating (read: life threatening) circumstances and he can’t be blamed for not paying attention as to whether his co-conspirator was clothed or not. Or whether he had moles scattered over his torso like stars across a moonless night.

He shakes his head, trying to clear the ridiculous and completely fucking pointless thoughts from his head. He has more important things to worry about. He must do. However as he listens to Erica and Boyd he finds himself staring, studying the moles on Stiles’ face, and he can only wonder whether the frequency of spots increases or decreases under his shirt. Now that he looks and is paying attention he can see some spots beneath his hair, despite its increasing length.

Now that he’s thinking about it he can’t seem to let it go. They all seem perfectly circular, only a few of them slightly raised, and varying in colour from dark chocolate brown to pale pinks – those ones only noticeable now that he’s paying close attention. Stiles shifts and pulls a face at him and he startles, realising that he’s been staring for quite a while and completely missed whatever Erica and Boyd were saying. Arguing about. Whatever.

Standing, he walks away, no destination in mind, just away. He can’t deal with this right now, doesn’t know how to deal with it. Whatever it is. Fuck, he really doesn’t need this right now. ‘Dude, what is his problem? He wouldn’t stop glaring at me!’ He hears the mumbled responses of ‘no idea’ and ‘you just have that effect on people’ and scrunches his face, speeding his pace slightly to put more distance between them and him.

--- ---

He’d hoped it had been an aberration. A once off. Especially because he’s pretty sure creating fantasies about the sheer possibility of moles; like sunbathing with Stiles and placing little chocolate chips on each individual spot, waiting for the chocolate to melt before licking it off one-by-one… Jerking off to that had been more than fulfilling, however he’s sure that this can’t be normal. For all he knows Stiles’ chest and back (and other certain parts of his body) could be completely unmarked.

There’s nothing for it. He has to find out. He needs the knowledge now, and it’s not like he can just ask Stiles to take his shirt off. Not for the first time since he met Scott and Stiles he wishes Stiles was the one Peter had bitten. Although no, he likes Stiles as he is, much to his dawning horror. He actually likes him, his laugh and his constant movement, enthusiasm and the sheer amount of heart the guy seems to have. For everyone. Except maybe Peter. Okay, definitely Peter.

So he hatches a plan. It’s not difficult or complicated. He’ll just spill a drink on his shirt and offer him a dry one. Actually, if he carries the plan out in Stiles’ bedroom then he doesn’t have to offer him one at all, he can just watch him change, plus there’s the handy full-length mirror, and if he positions himself just so then he might be able to get a view of chest and back at the same time.

Of course it doesn’t work that way. Apparently being clumsy isn’t as easy as it looks, and spilling water onto Stiles only ends up with a damp patch on his bedroom floor and a bare splash on his shirt. Sure he gets another odd look when he suggests Stiles change it anyway, but he listens for once, and he steels himself for the exposure of skin and then… nothing. Who wears two t-shirts? Who? The only thing the second shirt has going for it is that it is smaller and tighter than the one that was over top. And regardless, it’s quickly covered with a loose fitting flannel shirt that Stiles buttons up incorrectly.

He’s pretty sure flinging his glass of water at Stiles a second time would be highly suspicious so instead he just leaves, telling Stiles he’ll be back if Stiles finds anything worthwhile. He can hear Stiles muttering about stupid werewolves, fetching glasses of water like some errand boy and his general odd behaviour. Fuck. He really needs to get this out of his system before anyone catches on.

---

He gets his second opportunity just after a training session. Stiles had insisted on joining in, saying he needed to run and burn off some energy, and he’s starting to realise that he really can’t say no to him. He hopes like hell Stiles never finds that out and puts it to the test. The others are bonding, in high spirits, but he can tell Stiles has been hurt, probably just a few grazes, because he can smell fresh earth mixed with the blood, so his following suggestion has a dual purpose, grazes need to be rinsed out right? So they don’t get infected?

“You should get cleaned up, have a shower.”

“Why? Are you trying to say I smell bad? Do I smell bad?” Stiles asks the rest of them and they all either shakes their heads or roll their eyes. It irritates him, and he’s not quite sure why yet.

“I just thought you might want to wash the dirt and grime off.”

“Yeah, that sounds good, but I think I’ll go home to where there’s running water.”

“There’s running water here!”

“Hot running water Derek, there is a difference.”

He scowls, because he has a point.

---

It’s that comment about hot running water that has him organising the rebuild of his family home. Untouched money sitting in accounts just gathering interest means he can easily afford to rebuild. So he does. Well, he sets the wheels in motion. He can’t stand to see and smell so many people working on his family home, kicking up leaves on his family land, so he organises to rent a small house on the edge of town so he can just… avoid it until it’s ready.

He had looked at apartments but that had seemed too claustrophobic after being used to the open woods for so long. So he moves, Isaac helping him with wide eyes as he lets him pick out furniture for his new bedroom. It feels good. Two days later it feels even better when he comes home from a run (and maybe inspecting the new spray-painted marks where the new foundations will be) to find everyone in the lounge. Isaac’s eyes fly to his, fearful, like he’s done something wrong somehow in inviting everyone to what is his home and he shakes his head imperceptibly, lets a small smile show that everything is completely okay.

Despite the feeling of rightness it’s still a little overwhelming and he needs some time. He heads for his room, glad that he actually has space he can legitimately call his own now, and that he is building an even bigger and better place for his pack. It seems to have settled something inside of him, some need for permanency. He’s not sure. He needs a shower, or maybe even a bath, a luxury he’s not actually going to partake in with several teenagers in the house.

“So what’s with all the secrecy?”

“What?” he replies, and he’s looking for clean clothes he can change into, and it’s been two weeks since he lost his mind. Partially, and only in regards to Stiles. At least with the whole rebuild he’s had other things to focus his mind on.

“The moving thing! Buying a house! Isaac has a flash new bedroom!”

“Isaac deserves that bedroom. He’s been through a lot.” He hasn’t exactly told anyone about the fact he’s rebuilding. He’s not sure why, except for the fact that it feels nice to have a secret for just himself. A nice secret for once.

“I —. I’m not going to argue with that. Uh… just, I would have helped you know? We all would have.”

He frowns and turns, because there’s a catch to Stiles’ voice, like he’s somehow hurt that he hasn’t been included. Stiles is also picking at a piece of lint on his shirt, pulling it away from his stomach. It’s loose and baggy, and he knows he has to be imagining the flash of pink spot that appears beneath the neckline just before he releases the fabric and he has to stop imagining things. He lets out a frustrated growl and mentally shakes himself. He’s too old for this shit.

“It was something that Isaac and I needed to do together.”

“Oh… I get it. Pack bonding thing. Right. Of course…”

He’s pretty sure Stiles doesn’t get it at all and he just rolls his eyes and strips off his shirt. The skittering he senses in both Stiles’ heart and breathing has him rolling his eyes again, because the guy has serious body issues if he can’t handle him getting ready to have a shower. Surely he doesn’t get like this in the locker rooms? His brain fizzles slightly at the idea of Stiles in the showers at school, fuck, any shower and he brushes past Stiles with a bit more force than necessary and heads for the bathroom.

---

When there’s an accident he doesn’t have time to think about spots, and his skin is all covered in blood anyway. It’s not good. He can smell too much of Stiles’ blood to make him relax, despite the fact that the conflict is over and they’ve come away the victors. It’s not until later that he realises that Stiles was almost naked in front of him, clothes ripped from him by a rogue wolf and he’s just glad that he got there in time. It adds another facet to his obsession, in that he wants Stiles awake, not unconscious, when he finally gets to study his moles.

It’s all moot point anyway, he’s not suddenly going to peel off anyone’s clothes, not with the situation they’re currently in, and definitely not with Stiles, who hasn’t shown any interest. Direct interest anyway, because he’s pretty sure Stiles would proposition anyone if he thought he’d get an affirmative answer. And even then that doesn’t explain his ongoing and constant pursuit of Lydia. He doesn’t understand teenagers. He didn’t understand himself when he was one, so he sure as hell doesn’t have a chance in hell now.

---

He doesn’t count the time Stiles got hurt as a time he tried to see him naked. For one, he wasn’t really trying, and secondly, he was too concerned with Stiles being alive to worry about something as mundane as that. Now that Stiles is back in full fighting fit form, or at least that’s what he’d like them all to believe, he wonders if he’s scarred. He hates the idea of him scarring, marring the smooth untouched skin. Although some of the moles on his face are really very raised and he’s pretty sure they’d feel like a little raised bump under his tongue.

Fuck.

He really needs a hobby.

---

The third time he’s working on Stiles’ jeep, because it has broken down yet again. He needs a cloth to take off the radiator cap, something he really shouldn’t do until the engine has cooled down, but he kind of needs to work with what he’s got… he turns to Stiles and eyes up the shirt he’s wearing, the formation of an idea starting to take shape. He motions with his hand.

“Take off your shirt.”

“What! Why?”

“I need to twist off the radiator cap and I am not burning my hand for your piece of crap jeep.”

“My jeep is a lady! Anyway, I’ve got just the thing!”

Of course he does. Stiles pulls out an old towel from the back seat and he wrinkles his nose at the musty-dank smell and decides shutting off his olfactory sense right now would be a wonderful idea. If only he could. And he obviously needs to give up, because his plans suck.

“Wouldn’t you heal anyway?”

“Hmm? Oh…” He rolls his eyes. “I don’t want to feel pain just for the sake of it, despite what kinky things you might be in to.”

That makes Stiles flush red and he hides his grin, studying the engine intently.

---

“You sure you don’t want to come?” Isaac asks for what has to be the fourth time and he shakes his head. Summer holidays mean bored teenagers. Well, more bored than normal, and he has no idea what they’ve got planned, but he’s not getting involved. He’s just told them to stay out of trouble. He has plans anyway, the house is pretty much finished, he just needs the council to sign it off and he’s meeting them at the house today. He’s looking forward to all the workpeople being gone from his property and new home.

He’s gone there in the middle of the night and walked through the empty house, hearing the ghost of laughter, but also hearing the potential future laughter. It’s not a surprise anymore, it’s difficult to hide something as big as rebuilding a house, but he enjoyed keeping it from them as long as possible. Their cries of ‘why didn’t you tell us?’ all silenced when he’d said he wanted it to be a surprise.

He does what he needs to do, coming back to the house with several newly cut keys and key rings jangling in his pocket, heart skittering in his chest. He’s got enough keys for everyone, he just doesn’t know if Scott and Stiles will take them. He doesn’t know if he wants them to. Boyd, Erica and Isaac are more known to him, linked to him in a way that the bite gives. Scott is removed from him through Peter, although he knows there is a small part of Scott that recognises him as an alpha, even if it isn’t his alpha.

His nose twitches at the smell of chlorine when he opens the door and he stops, hand still on the door handle, the sight of disappearing flesh beneath a dry shirt making him pause. Of course they’ve gone swimming, and fuck, it’s like the fates are conspiring against him as well. He can hear them talking but doesn’t take it in, sees Isaac looking between him and Stiles and he can’t deal with this right now so he just turns on his heel and leaves.

“Dude, what is his problem?”

At least he has somewhere else he can sleep now.

---