Derek has always known he could conceive.
Children born of alphas often inherit strange gifts. Laura had inherited their mother’s gift for shifting into a full wolf. Cora had the most heightened senses of anyone he had ever known.
Derek, well, he had inherited this. “It’s an honor,” his mother had told him, but she was always saying that, going on and on about their blessings, gifts.
For Derek, it had mostly been an irrelevant fact, as important to his daily life as having a spleen. He’s gonna be with Paige forever, and then he thought Kate, and then he’d given up on having anyone at all.
He thinks about it sometimes, and maybe it’s selfish to bring someone into the world just to have something to love, but he can’t help but want it. He dreams sometimes of clutching a bundle of flailing limbs and angry cries to his chest, of having someone to soothe and care for.
But it’s not feasible. He can’t—he’ll never do that. He’ll never inflict his genes, his history, his general lack on someone who doesn’t deserve it. He chooses deliberately to mostly date girls, occasionally fucks boys but never bottoms. He can’t risk it. the moon has a habit sometimes, of trying to help its children and he knows, he just knows he would conceive, if he ever, just once—but he won’t. That’s not for him.
His gift became much more relevant when Stiles fists his hand in Derek’s shirt, drags him in and kisses him, demanding and furious. Derek closes his eyes and kisses him back, doesn’t think. He lets Stiles burrow himself in close, doesn’t do anything to stop him.