So I didn’t want to put the whole thing up here, because I didn’t want it to take up so much space (it’s not really that much bigger) but I wanted to put a sampler AND if you’d like to finish it, the rest is at this little old link: http://archiveofourown.org/works/807598

Have some established relationship, wing ficcy goodness!

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Let’s go on a vacation, Derek. Two hours away, Derek. It’ll be fine, Derek. God, he’d never been so acerbic in his own mind before. If they weren’t dating, Derek might’ve just strangled Stiles, might still strangle him. 

Should’ve know there’d be a pack. There’s always a fucking pack. Not so many trees, though, nothing for Stiles to get thrown against except good, old fashioned concrete. Bricks. Derek almost gave a pity wince just thinking about it. 

The alpha snarls, stepping forward and separating himself from his pack of fucking twelve. Twelve. Against an alpha and his mate. His human mate, pardon the mistake. 

“Hey, this outnumbering thing isn’t going to work very well. Maybe if you could just come at us one at a time, that’d be nice?” And of course, it’s the sarcastic, wise-ass mate who can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life. Three of the betas begin to crowd in Stiles’ general direction and he puts his hands up in the general symbol ‘I come in peace’. “Guess counting isn’t your strong suit, huh?” They don’t get the hint so Derek steps in with a snarl, eyes flashing enough that they falter a bit and step back in line. 

“Shut up, Stiles.” Derek hisses at him, because if anyone’s going to hurt Stiles its going to be him.

“I think we can take them.” Stiles whispers back with a thumb up. The weight of the sarcasm settles thickly like syrup. 

“Is that your pack?” The other alpha finally speaks, voice just one restrained stitch away from laughter. He takes one strong whiff at the air, then really does start laughing. “That’s your fucking mate?” Derek feels something snap down the line of his spine.

“At least I have a mate.” 

The alpha doesn’t even look offended. Just continues to laugh his stupid little barking laugh. “Hardly.” 

Derek very nearly crosses the distance and snaps the thing’s neck, but he holds back. He hears Stiles behind him, “better then a hand” and has to fight off the smirk.

The alpha’s head jerks up, red eyes narrowing at Stiles. “You really think you’re in a position to talk? Maybe we’ll put your in place after we snap your alpha in half.”  

“Look,” Derek barks, stepping visibly in between the pack and Stiles, “we don’t want a fight. We’ll get out of your town and leave it at that.” The air was thick for a few moments before the alpha’s face split in some wicked grin.

“This isn’t going to be a fight. It’s going to be a massacre.” And the thirteen wolves charge in a snarling, raving heap. 

“I want something nasty-” Wasn’t even talking to Derek but his head snapped around so fast that his neck might’ve broken. “Yeah, you can’t have a zombie movie and not have some nasty shit going on there.” Talking to Scott over the phone. That’s all. 

Derek huffed and returned to ducking a few cups into the cabinet, fresh from the dishwasher. It was so domestic he wanted to puke. Though domestic was a refreshing change from life-threatening. This new apartment thing was actually working for the better. At least, the roof was a big plus. It was easier to get the whole pack over without a problem, plus it was actually amusing how many different positions Stiles could sit on a couch. Upside down, sprawled out, corpse. Yes, corpse, if Derek hadn’t been outfitted with super-senses he probably would’ve freaked out at how dead he looked. 

“Oh God….” Stiles moaned from the living room and Derek heard his muscles crackle as he stopped himself a second before turning. Wait for it… “That popcorn better be swimming in butter.” There it was. He couldn’t keep the smile off of his face.  He knew him so well at this point he kind of scared himself. Three years of knowing someone, half of that time spent dating. A good portion of that spent rutting against each other in the back of his Camaro. In the Jeep. On the couch. The forest wasn’t actually his fault but, it still deserves a place on the list. A prominent place.

Oh God indeed.

There’d been quite a few changes, not limited to the growth of that tangle of practically already sexed hair that grew out of his head in a brunet tangle. Sometimes, it practically hurt to watch the guy run those spindly, perpetually conducting fingers through it. Of course, he’d always been a sight… but now it was just, well really- he could, well it was just more to run through and clench at and-

There were small footsteps trailing from the living room from the kitchen in a bee-line. Derek wasn’t thinking but he turned anyway, catching Stiles mid-yawn with a hand clenching at his hair, shirt rucked up over a pair of Derek’s old sweats. It was too damn early for the scenic planes of hipbones and dark eyes and a hand fisting in his hair. He asked a question, but Derek didn’t hear it. 

“What’s wrong, Stuffy, tongue tied?” 

The mug in Derek’s hand cracked with a shriek.