Derek Hale grasped the steering wheel of his black-as-sin Camaro so tightly his knuckles lost all color, turning a frightening shade of ghost white. The little red needle on the speedometer neared 120, but Derek only egged the engine on further instead of taking his foot off the gas. Trees sped by so quickly that they ceased to remain as trees, just shapeless blurs of forest green that further clouded his mind. And with the music blaring so loud that much less sensitive human ears would bleed, one thought crossed the werewolf's mind.

I'm going to kill him.

The engine screeched around the turn in the road. Somehow, the angry noise seemed to be the one thing he needed to hear—the flourish at the end of a perfect idea. A smile folded across the stubbly jaw of the man at the wheel. Exhilaration flooded his veins and his heart pounded to the beat of the deafening stereo. "I'm going to kill him," he said, this time aloud. The words were invigorating, and seemed to keep him going, driving along the black pavement at a murderous speed. Slowly, the smile disappeared and a look of pure disdain replaced it. Under his breath, Derek Hale spoke once more, eyes flashing a brilliant blue in the tainted moonlight. "I'm going to kill him."

The muttered words came spilling out of his lips and brought back the memory, the reason his ears rang from the deafening music and the needle of his speedometer grazed the edge of the red zone. Even though he was sure he was alone on the winding California road, he spared a quick glance in the rearview mirror to make sure. Only darkness returned his crystal blue stare. With eyes squeezed tight, he edged his foot off the gas pedal only to slam it with full force down upon the breaks seconds later. The jolt that sent the car to a screeching halt thrust Derek's entire body forward against the feeble seatbelt, but as his back hit against the seat again he reveled in the sudden pain. Anything to keep those warm brown eyes out of his mind. Because, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't stop thinking about them. Those damn brown eyes.

...

Stiles Stilinski sat in his bedroom. Alone. For the first time in weeks, actually. The hum of his laptop rang through as the only sound in the space, besides that of Stiles' breathing and the sound of his fingers drumming against his own stomach as he lay back on the bed. He guessed, after he really thought about it, that technically he'd been alone in his room on nights like this plenty of times in the past few weeks. Only, then he had had things on his mind that kept the wheels constantly spinning and turning and giving him things to worry about, to put together, things that made the time fly by until he would physically crash into a dead sleep. And each morning, the pleasure of being resurrected by the sound of an alarm was all his, along with the start of another day that became so filled with activity he never truly felt alone.

But now seemed different.

The calm whirring of whatever complex computer parts lived inside the laptop resonated through the room, and Stiles just sighed and laid his head back on the pillows, staring at the Glow in the Dark stars on his ceiling. He wasn't sure how many nights he had spent staring at these stars and thinking, hoping madly that something exciting in his life would happen. A puff of air escaped his lips and his hands came to rest behind his head as a solid thought escaped his mind. Yeah, something exciting has happened Alright. Something that now consumed every second of his time, and had been for the past two months with no breaks in between. An unconscious smirk graced Stiles' pink lips when he remembered just how cool this 'something exciting' turned out to be. His best friend, turned into a freaking werewolf? How much more awesome can it get? Not to mention the werewolf hunters, a killer Alpha wolf and terrifyingly Godlike creature Derek Hale entering his life as well.

"Oh… Derek." He said aloud, releasing a restrained exhale of breath at the end. He had expected his thoughts would come to this subject eventually. Somehow, they always did.

"Derek." He said again. The sound of the name repeatedly played itself through Stiles' thoughts, several half-hearted attempts to clear the man from his head failing him. A silver moon hung outside his bedroom window that stood wide open, letting a breeze wash through the room. Shivers ran themselves down Stiles' spine, but from the breeze, or something else? Someone else… he subconsciously corrected. His thoughts flicked back to the mere hours before when he'd found Derek to be standing, uninvited, in his bedroom. There had been the awkward conversation with his dad about his first lacrosse game before he'd really had a chance to react to Derek's presence. Usually Stiles could talk to his dad easily, but the kid had barely been able to form a word when he knew the werewolf waited on the other side of his bedroom door… and the next thing he knew, the godlike creature that was Derek Hale had Stiles up against the wall. He barely noticed, he was so consumed by his thoughts, but Stiles' pulse rose slightly and a pink blush colored his cheeks at the memory. The smile, however, had completely disappeared from the teen's expression.

Derek's voice then filled his mind.

"If you say ONE word—" the man growled, eyes just spitting threats that Stiles knew he really should heed.

"What, you mean like 'Hey Dad, Derek Hale's in my room. Bring your gun.'?" The words were spoken against his better judgment, Stiles knew. A part inside of him screamed at his head to back down, but now that the words had left his mouth, there was no point shying away. His breaths came staggered and deep; Derek did something to him, way beneath his gut. Not sure of it being fear, or something much worse, he stuck by the sarcastic words. Even if Derek did somehow affect him in strange ways, something about him seemed to challenge Stiles as well. He wanted to beat the wolf at his own game.

Derek's eyes deepened just the slightest bit when he heard the kid's lightning-fast reply... Softened a little in respect for him. His grip on the dark grey jacket loosened and a warm breath the kid had been unconsciously holding staggered out through his open mouth. The werewolf felt it wash over him, and let out a steady breath himself, eyes glued to the teenager's unmeeting gaze. "That's right." Stiles continued, eyes focused on Derek's lips like the next words they said could make or break him. "If I'm harboring your fugitive ass—" He breathed, allowing his warm brown eyes finally coming up to stare confidently into the werewolf's jaded green ones, "—it's my house, my rules, Buddy."

The fluffy pillow squished to fit the change in pressure as Stiles rolled over into it. A muffled "AGHPFTUGHGRRRRAAHHH!" filled the blue walls, then a deep sigh, a few punches to the pillow, and he collapsed his heavy head back onto its abused surface again. The memory felt like a movie in his head that he couldn't turn off, just had to watch play repeatedly and fall victim to the thoughts that ensued.

Derek, who'd had Stiles' body pressed tight against the wall for what felt like ages, watched as his expression morphed into a look that could only read as "Please, don't kill me!" Without dropping the eye contact, he drew back his hand and lowered it from the boy's shoulder. Much to his surprise, Stiles felt a sharp tug on his jacket front— Derek's way of saying "Alright, Stiles. You win." The dork just couldn't help but pull up a full-drawn cocky smile as he returned the favor, Derek's leather jacket making a similar snapping noise to his own. Stiles removed himself from the wall. Maybe this guy wasn't so scary, after all? Of course, he'd had to go and ruin the fuzzy moment right afterwards by getting all up in Stiles' face again, giving him the jump of his life… He retreated to the chair by his desk with a flutter in his stomach that couldn't seem to slow down.

And that was as far as Stiles' trip down memory lane cared to go for that moment. A miniature smile broke from his lips despite the fact, followed by a small laugh as he remembered the orange and blue striped shirt that lay on his dresser, tossed carelessly aside by the same Derek Hale that had shoved him against the far wall. He'd felt the strange butterflies then too, when "Miguel" discarded his shirt to the grey carpeted floor, but had been having way too much fun messing with both him and Danny to pay much mind to them.

Stiles bit his fist. Then screwed his eyes shut and punched himself in the head, attempting to wipe the smile from his stupid face. Whatever this feeling was, it came back to him stronger with every second the shirtless werewolf remained in his mind.

"Oh, who am I trying to kid?" came the whispered words from a warm mouth beneath the pillows. Derek's face appeared in the teenager's mind and his stomach swirled with curiosity and anticipation. Even thought he may look it sometimes, Stiles Stilinski was not stupid.

As uncomfortable as it was for Stiles to think about another man the way he had been Derek the past few days, something about the guy just mesmerized him. He just seemed so dangerous. The way his eyes stared so intently into those of his victims of conversation, the way his lips formed every word perfectly, with so much power. The way his hands felt against Stiles' chest, even with his dad not 100 feet away from the closed door…

BRRRIING BRRIINGGG BRRRIIINNGGGG!

"AAGGGH! – Oof!"

BRRRRIIINNG BRRINNG!

… "Owww…"

BBRRIIIIIIIINNNNNGGGGGGGGGGG!

"Alright, already!" muttered Stiles from the carpeted, yet surprisingly hard, floor beside his bed. His head throbbed from the spazz-induced fall he'd made at the blaring noise of his cell phone. It pulsed and rang on the covers. With one hand on his forehead, and another searching for the obnoxious source of the ringing, Stiles heaved himself up onto the bed and pressed talk. "Hello?" – No answer, then Ding! The phone went off right in his ear. Stiles swore under his breath and moved his hand from his throbbing head, to his now ringing ear. The words Missed Call from Scott met his unhappy gaze, and he couldn't help from rolling his eyes. Can't a guy get a minute to himself every once in awhile? But, after a short internal debate about whether or not he should just turn the stupid thing off and give himself a minute to relax with his thoughts, Stiles only had one thing to say.

"This had better be good, Scott." And he pressed the green button, redialing his best friend.