Author's Note: I've given up. I've somehow become the queen of writing one-shots in the fucking middle of the night when I'm supposed to be fucking sleeping. That's it. Great.

This came to me out of nowhere, and I'm pretty sure it makes no sense. So there. Hope you guys like it.

Also, Liam is fifteen here, so, if this isn't your cup of tea, this isn't the fic for you.

Stiles loves Scott. He does. Scotty is his brother in all the ways that matter, regardless of whether they share the same parents or not. Stiles loves that knuckleheaded idiot, and he would protect him 'till his last breath if it came down to it, but even he knows that Scott is kind of the king of pointing out the obvious.

It's annoying to everyone else, to say the least, yet it makes him feel like he's participating in the discussion or something of that sort, so he keeps opening his mouth to say stuff Stiles already knows and truly doesn't need to hear at the moment.

Case and point, the second Stiles finishes explaining the plan to the pack, hands resting over the map of Beacon Hills, where he carefully drew the places each member needs to be at midnight, Scott is the first to speak.

"You didn't include Liam in the plan," he says with that stupid 'I'm disappointed in you' look. "He's not gonna like that."

"I. Don't. Care."

Stiles makes sure to enunciate each word perfectly, hoping to convey just how much he does not care whether Liam is upset or not with his lack of involvement. As long as he and Lydia were the ones researching and coming up with the plans, as long as Stiles is the one calling the shots, Liam will stay out of the fight.

"We don't need him," Isaac shrugs, unceremoniously dropping his weight onto the couch behind him now that the explanation part of the meeting was over. "It's just one wendigo, Scott. Derek and I could probably handle it on our own."

"Thank you," Lydia agrees, flipping her hair over her shoulder.

Scott frowns. "That's not the point, guys. He's a member of this pack, too. We can't keep forcing him to stay back when he's made it clear that he wants to help," he points out, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why isn't he here with us?"

"Liam's sleeping," Stiles says, ignoring all the rest. It's a pointless discussion that, for some inexplicable reason, his best friend insists on having time and time again, despite knowing that there's no chance of him winning that fight.

"Stiles…"

"Ugh, whatever McCall, quit whining," Jackson scoffs, rolling his eyes. He moves around the table and goes toward the kitchen. "Who cares if the cradle-robbers want to keep their ankle-biter at home? It's not like we need him."

Lydia raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Before Jackson can try to defend himself, Danny interjects."He's fifteen, Lydia. He kinda is an ankle-biter." He walks to the couch and sits next to Isaac, who immediately lies down, resting his head on Danny's lap.

"Liam's old enough," Scott defends, still touchy wherever his Beta's age is concerned, "and I'm not dealing with him when he finds out about this." Scott waves his hand in a circle, mentioning all of them.

Peter snorts in disbelief from the corner, Jackson comes back with several cans of soda, tossing them to whoever opens their hands first, Allison and Kira each grab one of Derek's hand, pulling him down to sit on the carpet with them, probably tired of the man's silent brooding, and the matter seems to drop. Stiles releases a breath he didn't know he was holding, pulling up a chair to sit down just as Lydia came toward him, instinctively opening his arms to allow her to sit in his lap.

Just as Stiles is running his lips down Lydia's neck, content in ignoring the conversation flowing between his packmates, his phone begins to ring, vibrating on top of the table and drawing everyone's attention.

"There's the puppy," Jackson mocks from his place under Isaac's legs.

Stiles groans, closing his eyes for a second. Maybe he could ignore it. Not for very long—he's not an idiot—but just long enough to enjoy a few more minutes of peace before tackling the argument he knew was coming. As soon as Stiles decides that yes, ignoring his problems while hoping they go away on their own looks like a great idea, Lydia drops the phone in his hand, pinching him in a clear warning.

"I hate you," he mumbles against her neck, but dutifully swipes right and answers the call. "Hey, pup," Stiles greets, only to wince, knowing he had just made things worse for himself.

"Stiles, where are you?" Liam asks, although his tone indicates that he already knows the answer to that question.

"Huh, I- Pack meeting?" Stiles informs, but hurries to add. "It's nothing serious, babe. Okay? Just go back to sleep. We're done here—almost. I'll send Lydia home to you; if you want."

As Stiles speak, he looks up at Lydia, tilting his head to the side in a silent question, to which she nods in agreement, telling him that she has no problems with his idea. Great. It's probably for the best, anyway, even with the entire pack going after the wendigo, Stiles will feel better once Liam is not alone and unprotected.

"Are you for real right now? Did you seriously leave me behind, sleeping in your bed, and sneaked out to a pack meeting? What the fuck, Stiles?" Liam yells on the phone, and Stiles can vaguely hear the noise of keys in the background.

Stiles pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand, ignoring the laughs he can hear coming from the couch. "Liam, please stay where you are. There's no reason for-," Stiles tries to reason, but the unmistakable sound of strong wind tells him that Liam is already running to Derek's. "Liam…"

"I see you in five," is the only response he gets before the calls abruptly ends.

"That went well," Isaac says, grinning.

"He's running here," Stiles informs Lydia, releasing his nose. Why can't he have one night where nothing goes wrong?

"Baby Beta sounded pretty mad," Jackson adds. "What's the plan now?"

"I told you," Scott once again points out the obvious. "You need to-"

"What I need is for you all to stop getting in the middle of my relationship," Stiles finally snaps, cutting off whatever crap Scott was about to utter, giving his phone back to Lydia. He makes sure to glare at the room at large for good measure. "It's 11:30—scram. I want texts from all of you when you get in position, okay?"

There's a collective groan of complaint from most of them, although they all get up from their places and start to get ready without another word. Lydia gets up as well, straightening her skirt.

It's instantaneous. There's a levity in the air, even with the imminent confrontation against a hostile wendigo and the unresolved matter of Liam's place in the pack's meetings, which is abruptly shattered when Jackson furrows his brows and utters. "You're not my Alpha, Stilinski." He says it with a hint of fangs, flashing his blue eyes at Stiles.

Of course.

It would take the sort of luck Stiles doesn't have to get them moving without some shit happening. So, yeah, of course Jackson decides to be the asshole they all know he is deep down inside, just to add another layer to Stiles' building headache, and the instant he does so, Scott growls and flashes his own red eyes, taking a step in Jackson's direction.

"Oh, please Jax, not this again," Danny complains, having seen that scene enough times to be beyond annoyed.

It was, indeed, familiar, and like always, it settles in the very same way, with Jackson barring his neck for Scott, just to have the boy ignore his submission without so much as a blink of eyes, patiently waiting until his blue eyes turned to Stiles instead.

"This is starting to get old," Stiles says when he hesitates, not without a touch of irritation in his voice, holding the stare with ease.

And see, they have been pack long enough to know each other in private, personal ways that allowed them to understand the many nuances particular to all them, so his mild and low tone was more than sufficient to have eyes flashing around the room in support. Malia reaches and kicks Jackson's leg just hard enough to shake his balance, but he maintains his ground.

Stiles places one open hand softly on the table, Scott growls loudly in response, this time with Derek as echo, and Jackson folds like a poorly stacked pyramid of cards. He lowers his eyes dutifully, tilting his head all the way back, baring his entire neck to Stiles, who watches the display with coiled satisfaction.

"Good," he purrs. "I appreciate you lovely cooperation. Let's not do this again, shall we?" And he waits until Jackson nods in agreement, properly chastised, to add. "Great. Now get out of here, all of you." Stiles waves them away, leaning onto Lydia's hand, which is softly massaging his scalp.

"You're such a slave driver," Allison teases while grabbing her crossbow, obviously trying to ease the tension. "It's Saturday night, you know? I could be partying."

"I'm sorry if our wendigo situation killed your chances of getting laid, Ally-Cat." Stiles grins. "The night is still young, though. If you all get this done fast, there's still time to go clubbing," he says, eying her up and down. "I'm sure the girls at The Jungle would be all over you with that 'might hit on you, might kill you' vibe."

Allison laughs, and Lydia rolls her eyes at the stupid nickname, but Danny perks up at the possibility. "Dancing sounds amazing, actually; It's been ages since I've been there. We could all go—it would be a good place to celebrate our success." He nudges Jackson. "You never take me anywhere."

"I'd hardly call killing one wendigo a success worth celebrating," Peter says, like the killjoy he is.

"Quit being an old man," Allison grumbles. "You're coming with us. I bet that if you got laid, you wouldn't be so grumpy."

"Shut up, Allison. No one wants to imagine that," Derek complains with a groan before turning to Stiles. "I can hear Liam. He's close."

"You all better be gone when he gets here," it's all Stiles says, and it's more than enough because in the next second they are all turning to leave without another word. "And no getting into fights if you do decide to go dancing. I'm not bailing any of you again, do you hear me? If you want to make a mess, at least do it in a dark alley like everybody else."

"Stiles!" Lydia snaps, pursing her lips, although he can clearly see the amusement swimming in her beautiful hazel-green eyes.

A sing-song voice comes from the hallway. "Whatever. Stop being such a mother-hen."

And just like that, they are all gone, leaving only him and Lydia in the apartment, the map still spread across the table, and silence hanging over the room. Stiles raises both his eyebrows—not by choice, but rather by the lack of ability to raise only one.

"So…" He begins, pouting. "You wanna handle this?"

"Has someone told you that you are not as funny as you believe yourself to be?" Lydia asks, and it's rather cruel of her. Stiles is hilarious, they all know that. How dare she?

He doesn't get to defend his honor, though, because Liam pushes the door open and storms inside, his eyes flashing golden already.

"Where are the others?" He demands, eyes going for the map.

"They left," Lydia explains calmly, grabbing the said map to roll it up, now that it's no longer needed. "As Stiles said, it's only one lone wendigo, Liam. They all went more out of boredom than actual necessity."

Liam slams his hands on the tabletop. "Maybe I'm bored as well, hun? Have you thought of that? I'm pack, too. Stop treating me like a child."

Stiles gets up, circling the table until he stops right in front of the Beta. "No one is treating you like a child. You were sleeping, remember? 'Cause you were up working on your English project 'till late, which you still haven't finished," he says, trying to maintain control of the situation. With Liam, it was always a gamble. "I saw no reason to deprive you of sleep to run needlessly around the woods."

Stiles sees Lydia stepping closer to Liam's other side from the corner of his eyes, probably in an attempt to pacify their partner, but it only serves to further Liam's anger. He jumps back, narrowing his eyes at both of them. "How convenient. And how about two weeks ago? How about the fairies? And the pack last month?" He asked, grinding his teeth. "There's always an excuse, Stiles. God, you think I'm stupid? Is that it? At least give me a better lie."

"What do you want me to say?" Stiles says. "I'm not comfortable with sending you to battle, all right? God, kid, I'm already risking the wrath of your parents and honest-to-god jail time by being in a relationship with you, I'm not sending you out there as well if I can help it, which I can."

"It's not your choice."

"Yes, it is. As long as I'm the Alpha, it's my choice and my choice alone. You have more important things to be focusing on."

"Like what, school?"

Lydia takes a step forward. "You don't think school is important?"

Wrong move. Liam turns his attention to her, closing the distance between them, his eyes burning with savagery, a hunger, a thirst that Stiles was more familiar with than he would prefer. "When my pack is out there risking their lives, no I don't," he snaps, spitting the words out.

"They'll always be risking their lives," Stiles corrects, coming behind the boy and cornering him between Stiles' body and Lydia's. "It comes with being a part of the supernatural world, unfortunately, and I try my damn hardest to make sure that they are as safe as they can each time I send them out there."

"You don't think I can deal with that?"

Stiles shakes his head. "I don't want you to have to." And suddenly Stiles is tired of the half-words. He wants Liam to understand where he's coming from, needs the boy to see that his selfish desire to keep him safe comes from a place of fear, not distrust. "Liam, we didn't have a choice, okay? I dragged Scott into the middle of the preserve, at night, to look for a dead body, and Peter bit him. We didn't choose this."

He cards his fingers through Liam's dark blond hair. "You look at us now, and I don't think you can grasp just how much we struggled in the beginning just to stay alive, to not get killed by hunters, or all the crazy shit that was after us. Scott almost got held back a year, and it was absolutely insane to juggle all the responsibilities we had: school and all the life-threatening situations happening outside of school. I don't want that for you. I want you to get the opportunity to enjoy high school in a way that we didn't get to, 'cuz we were too busy trying to stay alive."

Liam sighs, his shoulders sagging as the fight left his body. "Look, I get it. I understand that you're trying to give me things and shit, but it's my life," he reasons, and despite the reasonably calm demeanor he had at the moment, Stiles didn't kid himself believing that the arguing was over. It's never that easy. "When Scott got bitten you had the choice of turning your back, of going on with your ordinary life and never getting wrapped up with this—no, Stiles, you did. You love Scott, though. You wanted to help, and you needed to be a part of everything so you could protect everyone. I just want the same thing—I have to be the one making decisions for myself. It's my life that I'm risking."

Lydia kisses his jaw. "You're right, it is your life, but you're not the only one who will suffer if something happens to you. I did promise to your mother that I'd do whatever I needed to keep you safe," she explains, wrapping her arms around his middle. "Please, let us do what we can for you. This is Beacon Hills we're talking about—sooner or later you'll be in the middle of it. Don't try so hard to anticipate things."

For the briefest of moments, it looks as though Liam is placated and about to sag into her arms, which, in hindsight, might have been wishful thinking on Stiles' part, 'cause boy, was he wrong. Instead, he flips, shrugging Lydia's arms away and twisting back, putting distance between them. "Fuck this shit! God, this is such bullshit," he curses, his eyes more golden than anything else. "I don't need to be treated with kid gloves by my fucking partners!"

Lydia stumbles back a little with the force of the push, perhaps also surprised by the ferocious return of Liam's anger, and Stiles sees red. He knows he should treat the situation with more tact, yet his blood is rushing and it kind of mixes with the tension running high in the room, as suddenly he wants more, he wants to shove, and demand, and squeeze until Liam is making different noises than the sneers of indignation he has going on.

And Stiles has always been terrible at self-control.

So he does.

Stiles pushes Liam against the wall, his hand threading through his hair, gripping a handful and pulling it back, forcing Liam to expose his throat. "How's that for kid gloves?" He whispers in his ear, nice and slow. "Is this what you want? Cause you don't have to start a fight with me to get this. All you had to do was ask nicely."

"Shit," Liam groans, not quite a moan, but close enough. For now.

"I'm quite partial to begging myself," Lydia says, going with the flow and arranging herself on her back on the couch, her legs parting wider with each word. "I happen to think Liam looks especially good whenever he begs for it." The look she gives Stiles is one he's familiar with.

He smirks. "I think I agree. Should I make you beg, sweetheart?" Stiles murmurs, nibbling his ear, his leg pushing forward and up until he has Liam trapped against the wall, pressed snug against his thigh. Perfect. From this position he can feel the erection Liam is trying to hide hard inside his jeans, probably hitting the zipper in all sorts of uncomfortable yet pleasurable ways. Liam whines, struggling to get more friction, which Stiles keep denying him.

Liam always flips from anger to lust with such ease.

"Please," he begs, slightly out of breath.

Stiles isn't feeling very charitable, though. "I think you should apologize to Lydia first."

"Yes-I-I'm so-," he tries, but Stiles sucks a hickie on his neck as soon as he starts to speak. Hard. "Shit! I-Stiles, please-I'm sorry. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Hm. I don't think that sounded quite sincere enough. What do you think?" Stiles asks, looking over his shoulder at Lydia, who has a look of burning need shining in her eyes and one hand going up her creamy thigh. Liam groans, probably already aware of where this is going.

"I believe you have a point," she agrees easily, a teasing grin hanging off her lips. "How about a bit of a friendly race?"

"No!" Liam yells, this time in desperation. "Not this again. I can't."

But Stiles grins back, entirely on board with the idea. Liam could protest as much as he wanted; his erection is still firmly pressing against Stiles' leg. "Oh, yes," he says, his hands going for Liam's zipper. "What do you have in mind?"

Lydia's hand reaches her red panties, which she pushes to the side to reach her clit. "If I come first, I win," she declares, looking too much like the cat who got the cream, and honestly, who was Stiles to deny her of a little competitivity?

"Lydia," Liam calls in something akin to a plead, meeting her eyes. "Please." It was hard to tell what he was begging for this time, if he wants her to call off the race or if he simply needs more.

"Deal," Stiles says to Lydia, and when she smiles in agreement, his right hand goes to Liam's boxer's slit, and in a smooth move, he fishes the younger man's erection through it. He doesn't play around, with a firm hand he stroke Liam's leaking cock, squeezing just a little bit harder on the upstroke.

In the background, Lydia moans softly, just as Liam knocks his head back on the wall, groaning and whining in Stiles' arm, instinctively following the move with his hips. When he speaks, the words are almost choked. "God, I hate you both," he curses, but he sinks his fingernails on Stiles' back, pulling him impossibly closer, and Stiles doesn't have to be a werewolf to know he's lying.

Stiles just grins against the base of the younger's man neck.

It's on.

AN2: There you have it, folks! For some fucked up reason I needed to write needy Liam.

Don't forget to leave a comment saying what you thought of it. Or not. Don't crush my little heart. Xoxo.