Sterek Stories - A Collection - I

Campground

Stiles hoisted his backpack further up his shoulders, making the sleeping mat that dangled underneath it bounce against his ass. He was regretting putting on jeans this morning, though it wasn't like he had a pair of those sensible outdoor pants in his drawers. You know, the ones with a gazillion pockets and pant legs that could zip off at various lengths. Yet between his joggers, basketball shorts and jeans, the latter were the most sensible option for a trek in the woods. At least he had a pair of his father's old work boots on instead of his Converses. They shared the same shoe size now, wasn't that a hoot? He peered at the navigation app on his phone. He should be getting close now, but first he needed a toilet break. Drinking all that water to keep himself hydrated had certain expected side effects, perks of a functional human body and all. He looked around him, meaning to find a tree a little ways off the path to conduct his business. Except, who was he kidding? He left the last thing remotely close to a path over an hour ago, stomping through the undergrowth and relying on the compass app on his phone ever since.

"Guess you're it, buddy," he mumbled to a sturdy looking oak tree to his right. The sound of his zipper was soon followed by a relieved sigh and Stiles let his head fall back in momentary bliss. He let it hang back with a somewhat confused frown when he noticed the garbage bag stuffed between two branches high above his head. "Huh. Some people really go out of their way to dump their garbage. Seems counterproductive."
Now, Stiles was all for preserving nature, especially, you know, in The Preserve, but scaling a forty ft tree to get a plastic bag full of unknown waste down was not in his Junior Scout job description. The sheriff hadn't mentioned any gruesome murders or missing body parts recently, so Stiles readily assumed the garbage bag was filled with, you know, garbage. Not any of his business then.

About thirty to forty minutes later he found the little clearing that was flanked by a clear stream on one side and a wide overhang of jagged rock on the other. This should be it. Looks like he was the first.

His back was grateful for it when he let the heavy backpack slide to the ground. Stiles watched the stream longingly, but shook his head. If he took his shoes off now and would sit down, nothing would get done anymore. Before he could change his mind he pulled the bag with his tent loose from the bindings on his backpack and zipped it open. The grey coloured igloo had housed many sleepovers in the backyard, back when him and Scott were so small they could lay down in every direction and still not touch the tent canvas. That was not gonna happen now. "I remember you being bigger," he said accusingly to the small igloo when it was put up.
Whatever. The canvas still looked decent and it would most certainly beat sleeping on the forest floor. He tossed his backpack and sleeping mat inside and then it was finally time to kick back and relax.

A hot, wet breath fanned his face. Stiles scrunched up his nose when a heavy huff blew air up his nostrils. He registered the growl at the same time as something hot, wet and slimy hit his cheek, only an inch away from the corner of his mouth.
It spoke volumes about his self preservation instincts - currently severely lacking - that he wiped a hand across his cheek without opening his eyes and complained: "Dude, did you just drool on me? That's so gross!"
Strong jaws snapped only inches from his face and the next growl was louder, becoming more of a snarl. "Eww, bunny breath," Stiles gagged, turning his face to the side and pushing his hands up against the mass of muscle and fur above him. Ignoring the building menacing growl he pushed through the fur until his hands were at the creature's jowls. He pushed up, revealing even more of the unnaturally large canines. "Smile, Sourwolf!"

To be fair, his heart did make a clumsy mess of the next few beats as the beast roared in his face. Stiles was fairly sure nowadays - like 85 % on a good day - that Derek didn't want to kill him. That didn't mean the Alpha didn't scare the bejeebers out of him when he was angry with Stiles. Annoyed, that was a familiar emotion; Stiles annoyed the crap out of Derek on a daily basis. Real anger was of a less regular occurrence.