13. Road Z

They made it as far as Glenn County before another helicopter spotted the truck moving and they had to bail out and run. This time there was no landing, just the eardrum shattering chatter of a mini-gun chewing the old blue pick-up to pieces. Derek and Stiles ran full out and shifted partially into beta form and moving between two and four feet in their race for cover. Only werewolf speed allowed them to escape being shot up along with the Ford.

The soldiers shooting at them didn't need to be hunters or armed with wolfsbane and swords. A werewolf cut in two by mini-gun fire would be just as dead as one executed ritually with a sword.

As soon as they could, he and Stiles went full wolf. If they were seen from the air, there would be no reason to shoot at a couple of wild animals. Derek's ears were still ringing and he flattened them close to his head as he stretched and ran full out.

The helicopter throbbed closer, but he couldn't stop to find it against the blazing pale sky.

Stiles ran with his muzzle next to Derek's flank, toe nails click-scraping across gravel and pavement as they crossed a county road and hit the dry earth again, kicking up dust. The helicopter was closer; the leaves on the withered, failed corn crops in the field they were crossing fluttered and the stalks bent, wanting to flatten under the rotor wash. The dry cracked earth between each row kicked up under their paws and clouds of it rose as the helicopter swept down and closer still.

The burning fuel reek stung Derek's nostrils and the noise battered at his ears, but he still heard the laughter and a voice shouting, "Look at those bastards run!"

He swerved to the side, knocking his shoulder into Stiles' head and tumbling them both to the side before they sprang up again and ran in a different direction as shots rang out. The men on the helicopter were taking potshots at them for the fun of it. Derek's eyes flashed red, everything he saw draining to monochrome shades, as anger poured through him. The helicopter swept forward, unable or uninterested in quartering as tight as two panicked wolves, while more shots snapped from the open side door. Better than the mini-gun, but Derek wanted the damned thing to swoop low enough he could leap inside and savage the men shooting at him and Stiles.

They bolted out of the cornfield, across a narrow bridge over an irrigation ditch tall with cattails and brush and into a rice field, floundering into the flooded area and bogging down immediately. Weeds and rice plants tangled around Derek's legs. A stab of panic hit, but he shifted his dull wolf toenails into the razor sharp werewolf claws and cut his way free. Stiles was still struggling, half panicked, splashing sluggish, algae-green water up, only an arm's length away.

Derek reared onto his hind feet and slashed at the ropy vegetation that had caught Stiles. Stiles yelped in protest and pain when Derek's claws sliced into him too in his hurry, but Derek ignored that, knowing that even though they were an alpha's wounds, Stiles would heal in little more than a day, especially if he let Derek lick the cuts.

The helicopter was tacking back toward them, but a line of old trees and brush lined the edge of the rice field where another irrigation ditch bordered it that would offer them cover if they could reach it.

Derek growled at Stiles and nipped his shoulder, hard, drawing blood in an instinctive dominance move, sending him splashing and bounding through the water, taking great leaps instead of trying to run. Derek tore after him, mimicking his movement because it seemed to work this time. Their enhanced strength and speed served them well and they reached the first trees as new bullets smacked into the mud and water behind them.

They kept racing westward without plan, intent only on escaping the throb and roar of the helicopter. It disappeared soon, as Derek had hoped, constrained by whatever mission it had been on and fuel constraints.

Stiles and he stayed in wolf form, both of them matted almost fluorescent green with algae, and followed the irrigation ditch north as much as they could before forging across more rice fields to whatever cover they could find.

They were still on four feet when they crossed another county road and angled westward across an onion field. The only thing Derek heard was the heavy buzz of bees from a group of white painted hives set up off another frontage road. Steering clear of the hives took them back to the road where it intersected and Derek paused long enough to read the road sign so he could situate himself again.

Road Z stretched northward, so he padded along it. Stiles limped beside him, whining only once. They were both filthy and stinking and exhausted when Derek decided they needed to rest through the night. Most of the distant buildings he could see were devoted to farming. Grain silos and equipment storage sheds didn't offer much in the way of comfort for wolf or man, though. A sign for the Butte City Hunt Club, leaning toward the ruler straight road, next to a brown-rusted wheel half-sunk the ground with wild mustard growing through it promised better.

That told him which county they were in too. Not as far north as he'd hoped, but they could follow the Sacramento River north from here.

Derek paused and licked Stiles' ear. Stiles rubbed his muzzle against Derek's and licked the corners of his mouth in return, before trotting up the dirt road that ended in a group of farm buildings and beyond them, the Butte City Hunt Club, which included a main building, camper parking and a bunkhouse.

Derek could hear immediately that no one was there, just the calls of red-winged blackbirds and mourning doves and a few squeaking field mice, so he allowed himself to shift back to human before breaking the lock on a back door to get inside the main building. Stiles shifted back too and followed him in only to begin cackling.

Derek turned and raised an eyebrow at him. "What's funny?"

Stiles shook his head, pointed at Derek before glancing at himself and collapsing with laughter. He had to gasp out, "You – we – look like someone spray painted our fronts with neon green paint!"

Derek glanced down at the mucky algae still coating him and realized that it clung to the analogous portions of his bipedal body. And the algae was a lurid green, even in the dimness of the closed up club house. He tried to scrub off a bit clinging to his nipple but it stuck, plus now he was human again, his human brain interpreted what had been a strong smell as a disgusting reek.

Stiles got to his feet again and padded forward to methodically open every door and find out what was behind it. Besides the main room, he reported, "Office, office, storage, ooooh, kitchen, office, whoooo, Derek, there's a locker room with showers … "

Derek hurried after him in time to see Stiles turn a knob and moan with pornographic joy as water sprayed from the shower head.

The water was cold, but neither of them let that stop them. They crowded under a single shower head and scrubbed each other with dish soap they snagged from the kitchen. Both of them sniffed unhappily at the Mango Fresh scent, but it foamed up into a lather that cut the gunk off their skin. Getting clean made up for the smell.

Derek traced his hands over Stiles' skin, playing connect the dot with Stiles' moles until Stiles began tickling him and washing devolved into wrestling and nearly falling and braining one of them on the wet tile.

Stiles clutched at Derek's shoulders while Derek let go of the water control he'd grabbed onto when they both lost their balance. Water ran down into his eyes and clumped his lashes, so they were fuzzy dark shadows at the periphery of his vision. He bent his head and rested it against Stiles, foreheads touching, noses just missing each other. His breath came fast, in pace with Stiles' racing heartbeat. Sliding into a slow, easy kiss came naturally and he would have gone to his knees and blown Stiles right there and then, if Stiles hadn't grabbed a handful of Derek's wet hair and declared, "I want to fuck you."

He wasn't pulling Derek's hair, just holding it, holding Derek's head up so they could meet each other's eyes. Derek's mouth fell open and he gulped, but his dick twitched too, and once he'd swallowed his throat clear, he croaked, "Yeah. Let's. You do it."

He cleared his throat again and said, "I want it." He did. He wanted Stiles' mouth and Stiles' hands and all of Stiles' sarcastic, clever, unwaveringly loyal heart. Letting Stiles into his body, no matter he hadn't chanced that with anyone before, would be easy compared with learning to trust again.

At least, it was unlikely the act would mimic anything Kate had done closely enough to ruin it for him, he thought, and was startled that he could think of her so objectively.

" _You_ like it," Derek said. He didn't see why he wouldn't.

"Yeah." Stiles gave him a brilliant smile. It morphed into something more mischievous, with a hint of evil that made Derek break a sweat, as Stiles rubbed his big hand together. "Okaaaaay."

He began to wonder if he should have stuck to what they'd already done.

"Hey," Stiles said, drawing Derek's attention back to him, the shower, and the cold water sluicing over them both. "Somewhere softer, I think, and less inclined to make my balls shrink up inside of my pelvis, because clean water is great, but it's ice fucking cold, and there's a disconnect currently between what my genitals are willing to do and what I want to do with them to you, thanks to the temperature."

Derek wondered why, out of everyone on the planet, it was Stiles who had made his way through all of his anger and fear and emotional armor, when he was such _an idiot_ sometimes. But he was and he did, maybe because of that, and Derek had no desire to change him by one whit.

"Then let's get out of here," he said.

Stiles grinned at him.

"Couch or floor?"

"I regret my life every time you open your mouth."

~*~

Stiles was shattering him.

The hunt club had a bunk house. Derek was on the bunk and Stiles was between his legs. There were clean, if musty sheets. Those were going to be shredded; Derek kept clutching at them with human hands and inhuman strength. No claws had come out but he thought it might happen. Stiles had him panting and writhing, straining to push back for more, and at the edge of his control.

He hadn't been sure he'd like it, just that he'd like pleasing Stiles.

Stiles had found a jar of coconut oil in the kitchen. Derek would associate the distinct scent with Stiles' fingers tracing his rim until he cried out for the rest of his life.

That had been the beginning, before Stiles began using his mouth, before he worked one long finger inside Derek, a sensation that made Derek need to jerk away and press back for more at the same time, so he bit down on the pillow he was holding to his face and yelled.

When Stiles crooked his finger and rubbed the pad against something inside, Derek shuddered, sweat slicking his flanks and the insides of his thighs, behind his knees and at the inside of his elbows. Stiles worked another finger inside, impatiently, and it burned but Derek couldn't stop arching his back to push back for more, spreading his thighs wider, until the muscles inside ached, while he keened into the pillow, soaking the case with his spit.

The second finger worked inside him too, alternating over his prostate with the first in a pulsing rhythm that made Derek's cock throb in time, bouncing up to slap a wet streak against his belly. Pre-come slid down his erection to tickle against his balls and wet the hair at the base.

He whimpered into the pillow and Stiles twisted his fingers, muttering under his breath, "That's it, that's it, you can let go, that's perfect." Derek moaned in response, clenching down on Stiles fingers and then mewling when Stiles used his other hand to tease at his rim. He felt his face, his ears and his chest go hot with reaction when he felt himself flutter under Stiles' touch, trying to open more, to get more inside him.

Derek couldn't grasp enough words to urge Stiles for more, just groaned and pushed his ass back as enthusiastically as he could.

Stiles scissored his fingers inside in reward and murmured, "I didn't think you'd be verbal, but the vocal bit is great. Keep making those sounds."

Derek wanted to say he would if Stiles kept fingering him like that, that he was going to come from just the stimulus inside his ass, but instead he keened as Stiles added a third finger, spreading them inside, prying Derek open. The sheet under Derek was already wet from the pre-come as another blurt of it escaped his slit and his hips made little abortive jerks forward as he tried to find some kind of friction.

He couldn't breathe, not if it meant giving up even a second of this, and he didn't care about anything but getting off and it going on forever, couldn't grasp the dichotomy of those needs when Stiles leaned over him and bit the back of Derek's neck. He howled as the fingers inside him twisted again and he whited out helplessly, half afraid he'd already come.

The bite at his nape stung as it healed and Stiles licked at it, talking between strokes of his tongue, saying, "God, you liked that, I mean, I haven't even touched your dick yet, but I've got, I've got to get inside you now."

Derek let Stiles do all the work of arranging him, drawing his hips higher and pulling his cheeks apart before pushing his dick inside. It stung a little, because his body had tightened again as soon as Stiles' fingers were removed, but it was a hot, good sting that only made Derek want more. He rocked back instinctively, drawing a harsh gasp from Stiles. "Ke – eep doing that I'm not going to last long," Stiles muttered.

Stiles rolled his hips forward hard, drawing another long groan from Derek. Stiles repeated the move, harder, the sound of hot skin against skin shocking Derek, and again. The third thrust dragged over Derek's prostate and made Derek quiver and whine.

His hands were locked on Derek's hips, digging hard enough to be painful if Derek hadn't been so aroused. Instead, it felt wonderful, like nothing and no one had before, pushing these grunts out of him that embarrassed him but seemed to spur Stiles on.

Stiles found a rhythm after that, one that lit up every nerve ending in Derek's body and had him shaking apart, his eyes squeezed so tightly shut that tears leaked from them, mouth open, choking out breathless noises. He pushed back, back, back, arching and rocking and anything to get more.

Through needy pleasure, Derek could hear Stiles' heartbeat, his quick breaths and half incoherent mutters, the sounds of their bodies against each other, the sheets rucking under them, the mattress springs squeaking and the bed frame stuttering over the floor. More than that, he was surrounded by their combined scents; Stiles' arousal twining with Derek's own, so thick in the hot air that he couldn't pick out anything else; he could taste it at the back of his tongue, filling his throat and his head. It made him want to lean his head back and to the side to bear his throat and give everything up, something he'd never done with anyone, even when he'd been a beta.

He needed a word, something sharper, purer, more urgent, more incapacitating than 'pleasure' to describe the feeling that shot through him each time Stiles pushed deeper. He couldn't gather himself together enough to say that to Stiles, wasn't sure he wanted to either, though Stiles would likely laugh or offer up a half dozen words from other languages that did.

Even that thought dissolved when Stiles lifted one hand from Derek's hip and reached around to his dick. Stiles' thrusts picked up speed and strength; they pushed Derek up the bunk until he wrapped his hands around the bed frame and braced himself.

The rhythm suspended them both, the need to come only coiling tighter and tighter, until Stiles scraped a thumbnail across Derek's slit. The stimulus pierced through him needle sharp and he came with a hard jerk, clenching down on Stiles. Stiles yelped in reaction but Derek barely heard him over his own gasp as his dick spurted come onto his abs and onto the tangled sheets.

He felt Stiles panting hot against his neck, his thrusts gone shallow and uneven, and mustered enough strength to roll his hips back and try to pull the orgasm out of him. A shuddering jolt of overstimulated pleasure rolled through him as Stiles growled loudly and ground inside him as deeply as possible while he came.

They folded down into the sweaty, wet, wrinkled sheets still stuck together and Derek breathed in the heavy odor and blinked moisture away from his eyes. He couldn't move any further than that. Stiles stayed draped over Derek's back, his nose nudged against Derek's nape, breath warm and fast and damp on his neck. Each time he breathed in, it pressed Derek deeper into the bed. He was making little noises, but they weren't words that Derek could make out. They sounded good though; happy and satisfied and approving.

The feel of Stiles' cock softening but still inside him couldn't be quantified, either. It felt good and uncomfortable at the same time. He didn't want Stiles to pull away, but his body sort of did. He'd gone too boneless to do anything about it anyway. He couldn't make himself say anything either, until Stiles reached up and pried Derek's fingers away from the bed frame then laced his fingers between Derek's.

"Holy God," Stiles rasped against Derek's neck.

Derek squeezed his fingers around Stiles because he still couldn't speak.

With a groan of his own, Stiles lifted himself off Derek, sliding free of him with a squelch and rolling onto his side carefully since the bunk bed wasn't really wide enough for the two of them. A trickle of come slipped out too and ran down Derek's perineum before his body tightened up again. He wiggled to the side, grimacing into the spit wet pillow as he stuck to the sheets for an instant. Stiles settled in next to him.

"So," Stiles said conversationally, "I think we can chalk that one up as a success. Yes? Because I thought it was … "

Derek made an approving sound without lifting his face from the pillow.

"Good, good, glad you agree," Stiles continued. He'd begun petting Derek's back and Derek felt like melting into the bed and drifting, not talking, so he just hummed again.

"And I think we should do it again. Often. And you should do me in the morning, if you don't want to do it right now, because … "

Derek hmmned his approval of those plans. Except for the right now part, because he wanted to savor the afterglow a while longer.

"Yeah, because." Stiles leaned in and kissed the ball of Derek's shoulder. "I'm kind of crazy about you."

Derek smiled into the pillow. "Same here," he muttered.

"So, I'm penciling morning sex on our schedule, if you think you'll be up for it."

Derek considered demanding what the hell Stiles meant by that, but decided it wasn't worth the effort. Stiles was just trying to get a rise out of him. "You do that," he said. "Now. Sleep."

Stiles rubbed his cheek against Derek's shoulder where he'd kissed it. "Wolfy wants a nap? Guess I wore you out."

"Sleep," Derek murmured, feeling a little grumpy. Stiles needed to cuddle up to him and let him enjoy being relaxed for a while. On the other hand, it was Stiles, and Derek enjoyed his pushy ways most of the time, except when Stiles was angry at him. He could throw him a bone … He snickered to himself, because he knew Stiles would have and the immature sense of humor turned out to be contagious. "Morning sex," he added.

Stiles sighed without a hint of unhappiness. "Okay. Sleep. Then more sex and food and maybe cleaning up … "

Derek let himself relax as Stiles went on.

~*~

Morning sex meant Derek fucking Stiles, since Stiles was too boneless, drowsy and lazy to do anything besides uncoordinatedly pat at Derek and mumble and moan encouragement. Derek took his time. The pale early morning light painted Stiles' skin in shades of ivory, his moles dots of chocolate. Derek let himself touch each of them, memorizing which were raised and which were smooth, indistinguishable to anything but the eye. He traced the strength in Stiles' shoulders and thighs and the corded muscles of his forearms before sucking gently on each long finger while watching Stiles' whiskey brown eyes fill with light before his pupils swallowed them, and then the flare to beta gold when Derek sank deep in him.

They lingered until the sun rose all the way, ate canned food scrounged from the single camper abandoned in the parking lot, and washed again. The turbine vibration of another helicopter noised close enough to make them flinch.

"Fuckers," Stiles commented with a narrow-eyed glare to the smoky sky.

"We should stay here today," Derek said.

"Yeah?" He could see the eagerness in the way Stiles held his body, the expressive curl of his mouth and the arch of his brows, and most of all in the way his hands reached out to Derek.

Derek arched his eyebrows back and said only, "Yes. They'll be less likely to take pot shots at animals in the dark."

Stiles eyed him then burst into laughter. "Maybe, but I think what you really want to do is try out a different position on every one of those bunks."

Derek cuffed the back of Stiles' head and ended with his fingers stroking through the silky clean strands of his hair. "We'll move faster as wolves."

"You just like being the wolf."

"You don't?" Derek asked, too fast, suddenly uncertain when he'd thought Stiles was accepting the Bite and the changes. Maybe it had been too easy …

Stiles squawked at him. "I love it, you moron. I'm not Scott and I chose this, don't start doubting everything. I just, I know you, and since you made the full shift down in Baja, you've taken every excuse you could to do it again. You love it."

Derek ducked his head, but knew the tips of his ears were pink and gave his embarrassment away. Especially when Stiles leaned in and nipped one.

They gathered the rest of the food into a cardboard box, retreated back into the bunkhouse, and sat on one of the clean bunks to eat and talk. Avoiding the 'I already miss' subjects should have been harder, but Derek had learned to do without things before and didn't find it too hard to let go again, while Stiles was still so fascinated with his new werewolf existence to think about it much. He spent the time peppering Derek with questions that Derek had always answered with a 'it's a werewolf thing, it doesn't translate' in the past. Which it still didn't, but Derek could draw the reactions out of Stiles the werewolf so that he understood without words now. He felt vindicated too: Stiles took to being were more smoothly than anyone Derek had ever met, excepting only Hester. But Hester was, in Stiles' words, some kind of ex super spy mastermind freaky goddess. They discussed whether Hester and her pack would have abandoned Los Angeles before or after the quarantine and fires came down and if they might make their way north to Beacon Hills if they did – Derek had told them of the territory there as part of their alliance; an offer of sanctuary if it ever became necessary.

Another helicopter buzzed over the area twice more before noon. They pretended to ignore it, the same way Derek didn't say anything about the smell of smoke that crept in everywhere and tinted the light orange.

Near dusk, they finished off a package of applesauce cups, since they wouldn't be able to carry any of it with them.

This time, Stiles made the shift through to complete wolf effortlessly. Derek took the opportunity to admire him and ruffle behind his ears before stripping and shifting himself.

With a yip, Stiles took off the instant Derek finished, and they headed northward.