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Fake Dating Amnesia Werewolf Symposium AU

Summary: To avoid potential pack-relations issues, Derek and Stiles pretend to date at the annual werewolf symposium, but when an emissary in training with a head cold accidentally sneezes out some magic at dinner in the main dining room, they get amnesia and assume they're mates.

After the Druids have sorted everything out and the dining hall has been cleared, after most of the wolves have slunk back to their hotel rooms to shake off the embarrassment, Derek finally returns to their room. Stiles is sprawled out, sleeping on the double bed at an angle, arms clutching at Derek's pillow.

Even from the doorway, Derek can see the line of purpling bruises tracing the long lines of Stiles' throat; the red rash of stubble burn around his mouth. Derek clenches his hands, digs his nails into his palms before forcibly stretching out his fingers and taking a deep breath to try and calm down.

It's a mistake.

The room smells like them. Not just like Derek-and-Stiles, who yes, had been sharing a bed for the conference, but like Derek-and-Stiles, who maybe always shared a bed. Stiles had done him a favor by pretending to be his mate for the conference. He'd put up with Derek keeping him close during boring networking events and scent-marking him in front of other wolves. He'd shared the bed and agreed to wear Derek's sweater over his shirt, to hold hands at the large dinner during last night's presentations.

If it hadn't been for the Gonzalez Pack emissary and his stupid head-cold, it would've been fine. But it's not.

He can smell it from the sheets, from Stiles' skin, smooth and pale and thoroughly,personally scent-marked by Derek. He remembers the vivid euphoria of knowing that Stiles was his mate, really his, only his, and making sure Stiles felt just as ecstatic. He remembers bringing Stiles off twice - with his mouth, and then his fingers, too - before he even got inside him. Remembers leeching away the faint edge of pain and biting down at the join of his shoulder, fervent in his adoration.

He remembers, now, that it was all a lie. With the magic dissipated, Derek is clear-headed again.

On the bed, Stiles stirs, blinking his eyes open slowly, and catching Derek's gaze. "Hey," he says, voice low and rough from sleep. "Where did you go?"

Except somehow Stiles is still under the spell.