Sterek Tumblr Shorts

Fake Dating Amnesia Werewolf Symposium in Space AU

When Captain Lydia assigned him to go with Derek and Laura to the conference he'd assumed she meant to observe. After all, it's not like Stiles' background as a science officer was going to be very helpful while the Lycan people hammered out an agreement about whether or not they should allow more of their children to enter the Academy.

But as they're pulling the shuttle craft up for docking, Laura gestures at his uniform. "You're going to need to smell more like Derek if this is going to work, you know," she says casually.  "No one's going to believe you're his mate if you walk around smelling like that."

"Uhhhh," Stiles stutters, totally professional, "Sorry, what?"

Her expression flattens out. "You didn't even read the briefing notes, did you?"

"I mean, I skimmed them?" he tries. She glares at him. "Okay, I skimmed the first page. In my defence, I thought I was just here to observe?"

"You're here to be observed," Laura hisses at him, rolling her eyes. "The Elders don't care where our people study, they care about repopulation. You're here as Derek's mate, so sell it."

***

He's sharing a berth with Derek, obviously, though it adjoins with Laura's room. Derek immediately circles the room twice, dragging his palm across various surfaces before heading into the attached bath. Lycans, he remembers from interspecies relations, frequently scent-mark their territory, no matter how temporary.

Stiles shrugs and unfolds his carry-all he can see that someone (Kira, probably, and maybe Isaac just because he's a dick) has replaced half the clothes inside with pieces that clearly belong to Derek, and a few things that might be newly replicated.  He picks up an unusually designed dress uniform shirt, holds it up against himself to try and see how it works. The neckline is... weird.

"Hey, Derek," he calls out, "Is this yours?" It seems a little small to fit Derek, but who knows. Sometimes his clothes seem like he replicated them a size too small. Derek comes back out of the bath, dragging his hand completely unsubtly up and down the door before freezing halfway across the floor. "I mean, the neckline is kind of weird - I don't know what you guys do for ...formal... hey, are you okay?"

Because Derek is dropping some series fang, eyes bright blue for a minute. "No," he says shortly before visibly working to get himself back under control. "No, that's-- for you." He swallows. "You should wear it to the reception."

"Are you sure?" Stiles asks again, dropping the shirt back onto the carry-all. "Because you got all," he mimes fangs, "and Lydia will jettison me into the vacuum if I fuck this up."

Derek rolls his eyes at that. "It's fine. I wasn't expecting it."

Wasn't expecting what? Stiles wonders, but doesn't push it in case it was something in the briefing notes he hadn't read.

***

He's right about the shirt though. It's weird. It's a little tight, even on Stiles, and the neckline is low and asymmetric, and if Stiles had boobs he would feel almost as if he were on display. It's a fine line as it is, because at Laura's insistence, Derek had spent a good half-hour before the reception rubbing his face and hands all over Stiles, resulting in some pretty intense beard burn along his neck and collarbones. The red prickling of it is incredibly obvious thanks to the cut of the shirt, and Stiles tries to act casual about it instead of showing how utterly conspicuous he feels.

"Nice touch," Laura had said with a raised eyebrow before they headed to the observation deck. "Very thorough." Derek had squirmed a little but kept close to Stiles anyway. For the mission, obviously.

The reception is pretty swank. They've dimmed the lights on the observation deck of the space station where the symposium is taking place, the better to highlight the stark contrast between the dark skies outside and the six moons that orbit the nearby planet. It's a beautiful view, and the decorations inside the deck are minimal so as not to distract from it.

"Stay close," Derek had whispered into his ear before the transporter doors as hissed open, and he had for the first hour.

But they'd separated briefly so Stiles could grab them both another drink, and he'd been waylaid on his return trip by twin alphas with a lot of questions about how a mostly human (75% earthling, 25% everything else) science officer had scored an invite.

"Oh, I'm here with the Hales," he says, choosing his words carefully. Lycans have the uncanny ability to hear lies rather than detect them, no telempathy required.

Twin One looks suitably impressed. The Hale name has a lot of weight behind it. "The Hales are here? Is that them, over there?" he gestures over Stiles' shoulder but when he turns to look it's not them.

"No, sorry. I really need to get back to my- to Derek," he stumbles. "My Derek."  He takes a sip of his drink to cover the slip. "Nice meeting you," he says over their protests before slipping back into the crowd.

Maybe it's the fact that he's the only (mostly) human on board, or maybe he's had one too many Romulan Ales, but he feels a little off, a little fuzzy as he searches Derek out in the crowd.  He finds him after a minute or so and slips his drink into his hand before tucking himself under Derek's arm and breathing in, deeply. He's so tired.

"We believe very strongly in the potential benefits of a closer relationship with Starfleet," Laura is saying to someone.  Stiles' eyes are heavy. "You can see Derek has gained quite a lot from the experience." Stiles breathes in deeply, rubbing his nose against Derek's shoulder. He smells so nice. Has Derek always smelled so nice?

"I can see that," the other person says wryly. "You make a convincing argument."

"It's an issue we feel very strongly about, for obvious reasons," she replies. Stiles feels very strongly about it, too. He feels very strongly that Derek is the best part of Starfleet, the best at keeping Stiles on his feet, because his legs feel funny and he's just really tired all of a sudden.

There's a crash, somewhere, the sound of glass breaking, and someone calling his name. That's the last thing he remembers before he passes out.

***

"He's waking up," he can hear Derek say softly. "Get the Doctor." Someone is holding his hand. Probably it's Derek. Derek's great like that.

"You're the best," Stiles slurs, blinking his eyes open. They still feel heavy, but he's warm and holding hands with Derek, so everything must be okay. "Definitely my favourite," he adds. People need to tell Derek how great he is more often. Like, all the time. Maybe he can work on that.

"Do you remember who did this to you?" Derek asks, and that doesn't make sense.

"Did what to me?" Stiles asks. He pulls Derek's hand closer to his face and rubs his cheek against it. Derek shouldn't ever look sad or worried like that.

"Someone drugged you," Derek says, his face still too serious. "You're in the med bay on the station. Dr. Deaton is on his way from the Beacon."

"I'm in your heart," Stiles replies, because that sounds a lot better than being in a med bay. "We should get married."

Derek looks confused. "Uh, what?"

"I know we're mates, but my dad probably wants a big wedding, earth-style. The works," Stiles tries to gesture what 'the works' entails but it's hard when he's holding Derek's hand, and also his limbs seem a little out of his control. He frowns then. "Wait, was I supposed to let you ask first? I don't know if that's a Lycan thing."

"I--" Derek falters. "I think we should uh, wait for Dr. Deaton to take a look at you before we make any big decisions," he says carefully.

Stiles sighs happily, strokes his thumb along the side of Derek's hand. "You're the best," he re-iterates. "I'm so glad you're my mate."

For some reason that just makes Derek frown.

Notes: Less like Amnesia, more like Ethan and Aiden drug Stiles to try and make him susceptible to (enamoured with) the first werewolf he comes into contact with because they are against Lycan-interspecies matings or something because politics, blah, whatever. Stiles basically forgets he isn't actually mated to Derek instead though.