The first thing that you need to know is that love does not exist. It is a fantasy, a myth. A lie to keep you warm at night. There a few true emotions that are real – obsession. Jealousy, lust, envy. Primal emotions that keep us alive and ticking.
With that being said, Stiles didn't know what new hell he had gotten himself into. He was obsessed with a certain persons scent. When Erica, Isaac, Boyd and even Scott spend time with him, Stiles grew unnecessarily jealous – he would eye the lingering touches, always biting his tongue so the words could not escape him. Lusted after them with every waking moment, he even lusted during the unconscious hours. The most prominent emotion however, was envy. This would hit him in the chest like a high-speed train. Yet, Stiles couldn't really understand the envy.
Of course, Derek was gorgeous; anything with a pulse could tell you that. But that wasn't it – Derek had a purpose, he was the Alpha, in charge of his pack of immature pups, he needed to be there. Stiles, however, was the loose end to the group. Ever since Lydia found out about the Kanima, Werewolves, hunters – the whole shebang – she became the smart-ass of the pack, leaving Stiles redundant. He was simply the Jeep driver and the fool who says the wrong things and gets in the way. These thoughts would always lead to a panic attack. Each time Derek would smile at someone, laugh, arm brushing with one of his pack, Stiles chest would swell, breath coming in short painful gasps – he would drown in the conflicting emotions.
So he took up smoking. Idiotic, yes. But it helped. The burning in his lungs would calm him; he had a new obsession, something else to focus on while he was with the pack. It took a bottle of Jack Daniels stolen off his Dad to convince Scott to not tell the before mentioned or Melissa. The pack, he didn't need to worry about. His home, school and pack life were all separate – for the most of the time. This didn't stop the pups from complaining at him, informing him of the risks of cancer. As if he didn't already know all that shit – watching your own mother die gives you a good insight to cancer that only a handful of people share.
Derek, however, would only turn his nose up each time Stiles lit up, looking disgusted. Well, cigarettes aren't the nicest smelling things in the world. Maybe some flavoured tobacco or something? A sweeter aroma for the sensitive noses of his company.
Don't be an idiot Stiles. This is your bad habit, everyone has one. This is for you and you alone.
Lighting up a new cigarette at the beginning of a pack meeting, ignoring the sneer from the group and the looks from Derek – which Stiles would not admit, made his heart race – he savoured the acrid smoke spreading through him from between his lips. The pack meeting was normal, boring old crap. The hunters hate us. Scott arguing with Derek as to why Allison can't the meeting, because yes, Scott was that dense when it came to issues with the Argents. Lydia petting Jackson and baring her teeth when Derek commented on his incompetence. Isaac daydreaming throughout most of the meeting, but when his new love interested was mentioned the hackles came up – as usual. Now, what idiot couldn't see this couple happening? Boyd and Erica, almost a supernatural parallel to Romeo and Juliet. Young love at its finest, together on the floor surrounded with pillows, both hanging on every word Derek has to offer, as if that can help them save one another from the eternity of damnation they're heading towards. On the end of the sofa, with a nearly full ashtray placed in front of him, sat Stiles. Paying attention, yes, but his sole focus was on the way Derek's muscles moved under his tight shirt, how his dark jeans hugged his thighs, those beautiful hands which Stiles has spent many nights fantasising about them being wrapped tightly around his neck and agonisingly hard co-
Thank fuck for smoking. After nearly burning his fingers from a neglected cigarette, Stiles banished those thoughts from his head, hoping the weres couldn't sense the arousal coming off of him, again, thank fuck for smoking and the awful smell.
Pay attention Stiles, this could save your life. Repeating this mantra throughout the remainder of the meeting kept him safe from any awkward glances from the gang. It's not like they couldn't already tell, but there was no need for another painful and embarrassing conversation between him and Scott about how weird wanting the "old man" Alpha was. Was he even that old? A couple of years, surely? Having your entire family burn to death, save a psychopathic and ridiculously sassy uncle and alpha sister – who shortly got decapitated – puts a fair amount of stress on a guy. It's surprising that Derek doesn't look like a homeless drug addict.
Isaac brushes past him, all his focus on the small mobile phone in his hands, mumbling a small goodbye to Stiles. The pack meeting must be over then. Standing and casually rearranging his genitals (having erections at inopportune times tend to leave you highly uncomfortable), and grabbing his half-finished packet of cigarettes and lighter, he waits for Scott, who is yet again in a heated debate with Derek about Allison and how she isn't like Kate and totally forgives Derek for biting her mother thus leading to her "suicide" and Allison no longer wants Dereks' head on a stake to present to her family blabla. How many times has Stiles heard this? Yeah, Allison is smart and pretty bad-ass, but it doesn't take a genius to tell that inviting someone who comes from a werewolf hunting family to a werewolf pack meeting isn't the greatest of ideas. Jackson and Lydia skim past, giggling and one another – and here we have some more sickening love birds. It seems everyone has someone apart from Stiles, who simply longs for Derek from afar. Lighting up yet another cigarette, Stiles kicks at the gravel collecting around the front door. Derek should really try and make this burnt old shell of a house a home again. It could be beautiful. The pack could help, cheap labour passing for a bonding experience. Plus, Stiles would get a chance to watch Derek become hot and bothered, sweat plastering his body and dirty wife-beater clinging to his chest.
God damnit Stiles. Behave. At least wait to have these stupid immature thoughts.
Catching off guard, Scott scurries past him, tail between his legs, obviously been put in his place by Derek, until next time. Blowing a lungful of smoke towards Derek, Stiles grins in farewell before turning on his heel and following Scott out the door. After only making it only a few steps, Stiles is grabbed by the collar of his shirt, being yanked back into the Hale residence and dropping his precious cigarette and safety harness when in the presence of Derek. Being spun round and slammed into the recently closed door took around three seconds to process in his already jumbled mind. When coming into focus again, Stiles realised that Derek was scarily close to his own face, nose upturned and lip curled in a sneer. Licking his lips in an attempt of a witty remark, Stiles opens his mouth, but what escapes his lungs is a gasp turn moan instead of a sarcastic comment. Derek has placed his hands around Stiles jaw, turning and tilting his head so his neck is on show, all the while remaining eye contact. A long lick up his neck, followed from a guttural growl from Derek had Stiles clawing at the wall, leaving splinters under his nails.
"You smoke too much, its ruining your scent" Derek sighed under Stiles ear. Again, words were not cooperating with Stiles mouth, so he simply stood, hanging onto the old door, panting and trying to wake up from this fucking dream he was clearly having. A squeeze to his neck, making it harder to breathe had Stiles moaning and gasping
"Be a good boy and cut down"
And just like that. Stiles was turned around and pushed out of Derek's house. Scott was waiting in the Jeep already on the phone to Allison with a dopey grin on his face. Erica, Isaac and Boyd were long gone, as were Lydia and Jackson. No one else knew what happened, Stiles didn't even know what happened, but he now had plenty more to fantasise about and had decided with no influence from anyone else to cut down on his tobacco addiction. Starting after this neat soldier of death. Lighting up on Derek's porch, and hearing a warning growl from inside, Stiles let out a shaky laugh, reorganised his boner, and strutting to the Jeep.
Be a good boy.
He didn't even get though a quarter of the cigarette before throwing it to the ground and stubbing it out with his boot. Stiles could swear he heard a "now that's a good boy" coming from behind him. The front door had been slammed shut so it was just in his head. But the way Scott was looking at him confused and a tad sickened, it may have not been his imagination afterall.
Jumping into his Jeep, Stiles drove Scott and himself to their own respective houses, not at all uncomfortable to know that both best friends would be having some major personal time for the rest of the day.