A/N: Written for a friend. This was supposed to be a short oneshot PWP but it somehow took on a life and meaning of its own, and turned into this 6000+ word monster. I regret nothing.

When the Autumn Moon is Bright

As he stares down at the cellphone in his hand, he realizes mistakes had been made somewhere along the way tonight. Taking some of his father's liquor and heading out on his own to drink had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now that he was drunk and alone and somehow still too sensible to try driving himself home, he was regretting this decision. He'd only wanted to take the edge off - to, for one night, forget about werewolves and banshees and hunters and demon foxes. Especially demon foxes. But he'd wound up thinking too hard and drinking too much, and now he was stuck in the woods staring at the too-bright screen of his phone as though that would somehow help him now.

And, well, he supposed it could help. He could actually call somebody. Maybe Scott. Maybe not. The full moon was tomorrow night, and his best friend was more than a little high strung because of it. Probably busy with Kira, too. Calling his dad was definitely out of the question. Lydia probably wouldn't answer. Isaac was definitely out of range. And Allison - well, she was dead.

So that, logically, left him with one last option, and being in his current state, he didn't question the impulse.

He's half smirking to himself as he brings the phone up to his ear and lets it ring, and ring, and ring, and -

The phone is answered, finally. There's silence for a long moment, and Stiles wonders for a moment if he should talk first. But then there's a sudden "what do you want?" gruff and aggravated in his ear.

"Derek!" he gasps, relieved, and leans back against his jeep. He runs a hand over his face, and leaves his knuckles pressed into his lips as he speaks. "Heeeey," he drawls, muffled.

More silence, then a sigh. "Stiles."

"Yeah?"

"Are you drunk?"

A pause, and then, "yeah."

"What do you want?" Derek repeats.

"Can you, like - can you come get me, and maybe take me home?" he sort of mumbles, mostly slurs, letting his hand fall away from his face finally.

More silence, but he can still hear Derek breathing - sighing again.

He whines into the phone. "I'm out in the woods, and way, way too drunk to drive myself home."

Surprisingly, Derek doesn't suggest calling Scott. "So sleep it off in your jeep."

"C'mon, Derek! There are werewolves out here," Stiles argues with another whine.

Derek doesn't sigh this time, he growls, low and deep into the phone. It makes Stiles shiver.

"Stay there."

And before Stiles can even think to try and coherently explain to Derek where he can find him, the line goes dead.

The phone stays in place for a moment, then he slowly pulls it away from his face and another sigh of relief leaves him. He had not thought that would work but he's glad it did, even if it means he'll be stuck with Derek for a little bit. He pockets the phone, and leans against the jeep and tells himself to wait patiently.

But Stiles, being Stiles, finds it next to impossible to abide by Derek's words. He manages to stay put and in place for a whole of five minutes before he starts to fidget. He kicks at sticks and stones and walks circles around the jeep until he's dizzy. At some point, his clumsy circles become wider, more obscure, until he's wandering away from the jeep all together. Walking drunk and aimlessly into the woods goes against whatever is left of his better judgment, but he tells himself he isn't going too far. He'll just turn around and head back to the jeep - except when he looks over his shoulder, he can't see the jeep anymore.

He turns himself around completely, faces the direction he thought the jeep was in, and just stares into the night. He stares long and hard as though that might somehow will the jeep into being where he needs it to be. That doesn't happen, obviously, but he stares so intently that the shadows seem to start weaving themselves between the trees. He sucks in a deep breath of cool night air and squeezes his eyes shut. He tells himself he's just drunk, that there's nothing sinister and void out there in the woods.

When he and Edward had loaded into his jeep and took off on his latest bear hunting escapade, he hadn't paid much mind to the way Alice smiled when she saw him off and sing-songed "goodbye" and "have fun." Emmett just assumed it was Alice being Alice - which, of course, it was, and so that alone should have had him questioning things. But he liked to take things as they came; knowing what was in store ruined half the fun of the experience.

And with that in mind, he also pretends not to notice the way Rosalie grins bites her lip after Alice whispers to her.

He does his best not to pay any of it too much mind, and tells Edward to keep Alice's thoughts to himself on the sixteen hour drive from Forks to Beacon Hills.

He doesn't know why he chooses Beacon Hills, it's just somewhere he hasn't been before, and he has nothing to lose by going. He's heard it's a small town without much history or reputation, and a lot of wildlife that wanders in and down from the surrounding woodlands. Really, he couldn't ask for a better hunting ground for the next few days.

Or, so he thinks.

When they arrive, they are both almost instantly aware of a strange scent that clings to the air of the town. It's familiar in ways, and completely new in others. Every town has its secrets, Emmett supposes - and, honestly, that just makes this trip all the more interesting. Of course, he has to promise Edward he won't go looking for trouble before they go their separate ways.

"But if trouble finds me," he says with a wink, shrugging. "No promises."

Emmett leaves Edward to wander the small town, to do whatever it is he does on his own when he tags along on these trips. He can't be bothered to fuss and wonder over it all too much.

Strangely enough, the scent is weaker in the woods. It ghosts through the trees, and he has to wonder what sort of creature that smells like that would prefer to hide in the city. If he's lucky, maybe he'll find out before they head back to Forks.

As he wanders deeper into the woods, he starts to pick up on other things: the smell of gasoline and alcohol, the sound of a heart beating hard and fast. For the moment, these things interest him more than any bear could, and so he follows the trail, slow and careful.

He finds the jeep first, older and more worn than his own. He peeks into the backseat, and sees empty beer bottles there. A half-empty bottle is on the ground near the driver's side, tipped over with its mouth kissing the dirt. It makes him think the bottle was dropped - maybe on the way out of the vehicle - and the drinker didn't bother trying to salvage it.

He follows the scent of the drink and the sound of the heart cautiously, curiously. A few yards deeper into the woods, and he can see the source of it all. There's a young man not too far ahead of him, slumped against a tree. His head is tipped back, skull pressed harshly into the bark, and his eyes are squeezed shut. Emmett just watches him for a few long seconds, and thinks he must have drank himself stupid and scared.

He steps out of the thicket and into the clearing. "Hey," he calls out, getting the young man's attention.

Stiles jerks, surprised by the sudden presence of someone who isn't Derek. He stares at the stranger, and grasps at the trunk of the tree to get his balance, swallowing his anxiety. He's never seen this man before, and that makes him nervous, especially considering most newcomers have meant nothing but trouble lately. Trouble and pain and darkness and death.

Emmett can hear his pulse increasing, can smell the bile and alcohol roiling in his stomach, threatening to leave him. He raises both hands and grins a little at the boy. "Hey, hey, take it easy. Just taking a walk. Saw you out here and thought you might need a hand."

Stiles lets out an airy laugh. "Who just takes a walk in the woods in the middle of the night?"

"Good question," Emmett grins, and wonders if this boy is this clever and sassy when he's sober. He doesn't bother actually answering. "Seriously, are you okay? Maybe had a little too much to drink?"

Stiles swallows hard and rubs a hand over his face, but never tears his eyes away from Emmett. He's big - probably bigger than Derek, which is impressive to say the least. He wants to think that if this stranger wanted to hurt him, he would have done so by now. But he's been wrong before, and his head is spinning and his judgment is clouded at the moment, and so he tries to keep as much distance as he can between them.

"M'fine," he mumbles, and waves the question off with one hand before letting it drop heavily to his side again. "Waiting for someone."

"I saw a jeep back there," Emmett says and steps closer. "Is it yours? Do you need help getting back to it?"

Stiles shakes his head. "I'm good. I'm fine."

Emmett has his doubts, but it's really none of his business. "If you say so. Maybe lay off the juice next time, huh?"

"Great idea. Why didn't I think of that?" Stiles mutters.

Emmett doesn't bother answering, momentarily distracted by the sound of another car approaching. Parking. The door opens. Slams shut. The driver takes fast and determined steps in their direction. The pace slows for a moment, then picks up again, and Emmett turns his head just in time to see something that looks like a man step into the clearing. But he is so far from human, and he reeks of that strange odor polluting the air of the town.

Emmett grins.

"Stiles."

Derek's voice makes Stiles jump again, but he lets out a sigh of relief when he sees the werewolf standing not too far away. He takes a quick glance at Emmett and sees that he's just staring at Derek, grinning in a way that makes Stiles uncomfortable.

"Stiles," Derek says again, louder, gaining his attention. "Get over here. Now."

When Derek's phone rang well into the night, he had been mildly surprised. When he glanced at the caller ID and saw that it was Stiles, his first reaction had been to ignore the call, but instinct told him that not even Stiles would call him at half past one in the morning for no reason. With a sigh, he had answered the call and put the phone to his ear, demanding to know what Stiles had wanted of him.

Turns out, he was drunk and needed a way home, and of course Derek had been the one he chose to call. Granted, Derek understood fairly quickly that most other people Stiles chose to grace with his presence would be otherwise occupied or unavailable at the moment, but that didn't mean the situation annoyed him any less.

As Stiles had whined and slurred into the phone that he was too drunk to drive, and too scared to sleep it off in his jeep. And after everything that had happened, Derek hadn't been able to just leave him out there, and so he told him to stay put and wait for him before disconnecting the call.

Of course, by the time he gets to the woods, and follows the scent to the jeep, Stiles is nowhere to be found. The smell of alcohol and anxiety is strong, but there's something else hanging in the air. Something new, unnerving, and it makes him quicken his pace as he scents Stiles out.

But the scents begin to weave themselves together, and by the time Derek finds Stiles, he sees that the source of the other scent has found him first. This thing looks human, but it reeks of death and the mere sight of it makes the hair on the back of Derek's neck stand on end, makes his fingernails shift into claws. He doesn't know what this other creature is, doesn't know why it hasn't already started to tear Stiles apart, but he doesn't give it any more time than its already stolen.

"Stiles," he demands the human's attention, and sees Stiles jerk. The thing near him is staring at him with strange eyes and even stranger grin, but he ignores it for now.

Stiles is usually fast-paced, but the alcohol has made him slow and faulty. So Derek says again, louder, "Stiles," and then, just for good measure, he adds, "get over here. Now."

Stiles lets out a long, breathy sigh of relief before stumbling over to Derek. Derek grabs at the sleeve of his jacket and shoves, urging him to get behind him. It takes Stiles a few long seconds to regain his footing, and when he does he stares at the back of Derek's head, confused and uneasy.

"Go to the car," Derek says.

"Why…? What's going on?" Stiles asks, and he looks between Derek and Emmett. Even in the state he's in, the tension between the two is obvious, thick, and he wonders why. And then it clicks that Emmett isn't entirely human, and a new wave of anxiety crashes over him. As he stares wide-eyed at Emmett, he starts wondering exactly what he is and what he could have done to him if Derek hadn't shown up.

"Move your ass," Derek glares over his shoulder, growls at him, fangs bared and eyes shining.

As Stiles stumbles away, Emmett smirks and lets a quiet laugh leave him. "Protective much? It's not like I was gonna eat him."

Derek turns his glare on Emmett. "What are you?"

"I could ask you the same question," Emmett replies and his grin broadens, watching as Derek starts to circle. He mimics the pace and stride, and the two walk slow, deliberate circles around each other.

Derek's response is a low, deep growl.

Now that Derek's this close, Emmett inhales deeply, inflates his dead lungs with the thick, pungent scent of this creature before him. When he exhales, he grins in a way that bares his teeth.

He should have realized it sooner. He's never encountered an actual werewolf before, but the scent is so similar to the shapeshifters back in Forks. They both stink like dog.

"The strong silent type, huh?" he teases, and this just coaxes another growl out of Derek.

"What are you doing here?" Derek asks, and Emmett can hear the urgency in his voice. He wonders if it's a territory thing?

Emmett has nothing to hide, and nothing to lose, so he shrugs his shoulders and replies, "hunting trip."

This makes Derek snarl. Emmett grins again, wider than before.

"Down, boy," he teases, and appreciates the way Derek bristles at the gibe. "Not that kind of hunting trip. Humans haven't been part of this vampire's diet for a long time."

The way Derek reacts to the word 'vampire' is priceless. For just a split second, he falters; his stiff spine goes slack, and his gleaming eyes become full concerned confusion. Emmett can see him coming to terms with this admission. But he recovers quickly, and he shifts before Emmett's eyes, and it's the most enticing, exciting thing Emmett has seen in a long while.

Derek doesn't, for even an instance, believe Emmett isn't here to hunt and feed on humans. He doesn't ask for further explanation, and he definitely gives no warning as he lunges at the other creature. But Emmett is fast, and he dodges easily enough, watches Derek skid on the dead leaves before righting himself.

"Come on, pup, you don't wanna do this," Emmett teases again.

Derek snarls and tries again, coming at Emmett with more vigor than before. His claws snag the rolled-up sleeve of his sweater, scrape his forearm, but leave no welts behind. In fact, one of his claws is broken after the attack, and he gapes at the vampire. Whatever sort of undead thing Emmett is, it unsettles him. He can't even put a dent in this thing's skin.

"Bit of a hard head on ya, huh?" Emmett continues to tease, and Derek realizes that he isn't taking this fight seriously at all. He isn't afraid of him. He isn't even slightly concerned.

"What do you want here?" Derek repeats, staring Emmett down.

Emmett shrugs his shoulders. "I told you. Hunting trip."

"Hunting what?"

"Would you believe me if I said bears?"

Derek knits his brow together and cants his head to the side in a very canine-like manner. Emmett wonders if he realizes he's doing this. "Bears?"

"Bears."

A moment passes between the two of them that's nothing but silence and tension as Derek tries to understand this creature in front of him, and Emmett relishes in the other's confusion.

Emmett genuinely hadn't come to Beacon Hills to cause trouble. It was a new place with an old enemy, and he just happened to cross paths with this werewolf. And like he'd told Edward, he couldn't make promises if trouble found him.

He takes a moment to look skyward, and though the untrained eye might not notice, he realizes the moon isn't quite full. He looks back at Derek, still on guard, and he grins again.

He holds his hands up in a sort of surrender. "Look, I can tell you don't want me here. So, hear me out: You're a werewolf, right? So how about we try this again tomorrow, when the moon is full?" The proposal catches Derek off guard, and he regards Emmett curiously as he speaks. "If you want to throw-down, I want to do this while you're at your strongest."

Because, honestly, going head-to-head with a werewolf on a full moon is better than wrestling a bear any day. He can see Derek weighing his options, and so he continues with his proposal.

"If you kick my ass, I'll pack it up and leave without a fuss."

"And if I lose?"

Emmett shrugs his broad shoulders. "If you lose, you keep my secret and let me do my thing in peace."

Derek inhales deeply, considering this offer. The scent of the undead is strong, and there's no telltale heart beating to let him know if this creature before him is lying. However, there is something in that grin – something honest that even Derek can't deny or ignore. He sighs, and allows himself to shift back into his human skin.

"If you cause any trouble," he warns and Emmett lets out an airy laugh, holding up his hands again.

"Easy, boy. I'm a man of my word."

Derek bristles at the taunt, but gives this man the benefit of the doubt for the time being. If something goes awry, he'll deal with it then.

Derek doesn't say another word before walking away from Emmett. After a few paces, he looks over his shoulder, and sees that Emmett's gone. He hadn't even heard him leave the area, and that sort of swift power makes Derek nervous. Just what sort of mess did he get himself into?

But he'll worry about that later, because right now he had to get back to the car, and back to Stiles - who, thankfully, made his way back to it safely, and stayed put. Well, not so much stayed put as passed out in the passenger's seat.

In the long run, he'll blame Stiles for this, but for now he'll let him sleep.

As the full moon rises, Derek makes his way deftly to the woods by foot. His trek starts in a slow jog, and then turns into a full run as he nears the woods. By the time he's at the forest's edge, he's shifted, running on all fours because it's faster, and tonight it feels the most natural.

He can smell Emmett's stench, spread out through the trees, a purposefully misleading trail. It may have confused a lesser creature, but Derek is well versed in tracking, and though it takes him a few seconds longer than he may have liked, he eventually scents out the most likely path to Emmett. He follows it deep into trees, deeper than even Stiles had wandered. And then it stops, hanging stagnant in the air, and Derek stands up right to try and get a better idea of where the vampire might be hiding.

But he no sooner stands, and then he's knocked flat on his face but a blunt and brutal force against the base of the back of his neck. He snarls and shifts around on the ground, looking over his shoulder to see Emmett standing there behind him. He cracks both sets of knuckles, but what Derek really notices is that grin is right back on his face. Something clicks and he realizes that this other creature really is picking this fight just for fun.

What a reckless and impulsive thing he is. Derek has to admire him.

He gets back up to his feet and faces Emmett, claws at the ready and fangs bared. Most, when faced with him like this, shudder in fear, smell close to pissing themselves, but Emmett's grin just broadens. He licks his lips and rolls his shoulders, cracking stiff joints before he lunges. He's fast - faster than Derek anticipated, and Derek doesn't even see his fist before it collides with his face. And when those knuckles crack against his cheek, it doesn't feel like a fist at all, but like he was hit by a brick.

When he recovers from the blow, Emmett isn't where he had been when he threw the punch. Derek whirls around, finds him behind him again, and he's just grinning that grin. His strange eyes catch the moonlight, glimmer in a way that makes Derek momentarily forget this thing before him isn't human, isn't even alive.

And he just stands there, and it occurs to Derek that he's letting him take a hit. It's insulting, but he goes for it anyway. He rushes him, hooks his arm around his chest and drives his shoulder roughly into his sternum. Derek manages to shove him backward - or maybe Emmett simply lets him - and the vampire's back slams into the thick trunk of a sleeping tree.

This should have winded him, but Emmett just drags his hand up along Derek's spine, then grabs at his hair. He jerks him back and away from him roughly, shoves him back, makes him stumble. Derek catches his footing quickly, comes at Emmett again, and in an act of desperation resorts to punching. First his face, then his sides. Though Emmett jerks just slightly at the contact, Derek is the one who ends up injured, knuckles broken and bloody.

He stares at his hand, and it settles very slowly in his mind that he is not going to win this fight. Emmett is so unlike what he had assumed vampires were; his skin is hard, impenetrable, and he's incredibly fast, ridiculously strong. He's had the upper-hand the whole while and Derek realizes too late that this fight was a set up. That he only suggested it to prove a point, to fight something stronger than some poor and unsuspecting wild animal.

And the worst - or possibly the best - part is: he's genuinely doing this for fun. There is absolutely no malicious intent.

Derek realizes all of this too late, and suddenly Emmett's arms are around him. He lifts him off the ground too easily, and starts to squeeze. The air leaves him, and he can feel his his bones straining against the crushing embrace.

He looks down at Emmett's face, and he's still grinning - wide and bright and proud. The smugness of it all makes Derek snarl, and before logic can dictate that what he's about to do is a bad idea, he acts. He leans back in the bear hug, then comes forward forcefully, crushing their foreheads together.

Emmett gasps and loosens his grip, lets Derek fall limply to the forest floor. The werewolf groans low and deep, bringing his good hand to his forehead and rubbing, as though that might ward off the dizziness. Emmett leans over him, arms folded across his chest.

"I said you had a hard head, but I think mind's harder," he teases, and Derek stares up at him, sees that he's just looking him over now. Not quite sizing him up, but more like admiring his efforts and his true form.

Derek groans, letting himself fall back against the cold, damp ground. He's panting as he stares up at the full moon, and then at Emmett again.

"You set me up," he mutters through a growl.

Emmett walks around the winded werewolf, smirking. "Guilty," he admits, shrugging one shoulder.

Slowly, Derek sits himself up, flexes his healing hand. The blood's already dried, the open wounds healed over. The bones still have to settle. "So, you win," he says gruffly, raising to his feet. He's still a little dizzy, but it's fading fast. "Go hunt your bears."

"I will," Emmett laughs, and then he smiles at Derek. "This was fun."

"Speak for yourself," Derek says. The fight had been exhilarating, but he had not enjoyed it as much as Emmett had, clearly.

"I am," Emmett quips, and then one eyebrow raises. "So, what's your name?"

"What does it matter?"

"Curious. Besides, I can't think anybody who's willingly taken that sort of beating from me. Putting a name to the face would be nice." A very slight pause before he thrusts his hand out toward Derek. "Mine's Emmett."

Derek hesitates for a long moment, and again simply soaks in the fact that Emmett, as powerful as he is, isn't a malevolent creature.

"Derek," he says, and the grin finds its way back to Emmett's face. A moment passes before he puts his hand, freshly healed, in Emmett's.

As promised, Derek doesn't tell anybody about his encounter with Emmett, and thankfully Stiles doesn't remember meeting him. Which, naturally, makes keeping this secret somewhat easier. He'd question how Scott hasn't noticed the scent of him or his companion, but Scott is nursing a broken heart, and he knows how easily it is to get lost in those feelings.

Over the next few days, he catches glimpses of him and the other vampire in town now and then. No one seems to suspect a thing, and Derek has to wonder if he would be so blind and stupid if he were human and weren't already aware of Emmett's true nature.

And then, it happens.

There's no real prompting; Emmett just shows up at Derek's apartment one dull evening. They don't have much to talk about between the two of them. Emmett asks how he's healed up, jokes that he hopes he didn't take it too hard on him. Derek asks how the hunting's gone.

The small talk doesn't last long, and then Emmett blurts out, "I've been thinking a lot about you."

Derek doesn't ask what he means, because even if Emmett's dead, he can smell his growing arousal. It smells strange, all things considered, but it's unmistakable and a little intoxicating. Derek just fixes Emmett with a stare, not so much questioning as daring.

And Emmett takes the bait. From his seat on the arm of Derek's couch, he leans across and closes the distance between them. His lips are cold on Derek's, and for someone so strong, the kiss is surprisingly soft.

Even more surprising is that Derek finds himself kissing back. His kiss, unlike Emmett's, is rough, demanding. And that's all Emmett needs before he's moving quickly, pinning the werewolf on his back and leaning up to smirk at him.

Derek growls back at him, grabs his shoulders and digs his fingers into that tough flesh. Emmett may be stronger, but Derek refuses to lie down for him - not yet. He flips them over, pins Emmett instead, and bares fangs before he crushes their lips together again. Emmett doesn't seem to mind, and actually laughs softly into his mouth. He kisses the werewolf needily, hands wandering up and down his sides a few times before tugging at the hem of his shirt. He pulls it upward, and Derek moves fluidly, expertly, breaking apart from him only long enough for the shirt to come off and be tossed aside.

He works Emmett's shirt off in turn, and takes a moment to really feel him. He runs his hands, rough and calloused, against the ridiculously smooth, cold skin. There are no imperfections to be found, and Derek wonders about whatever it is that keeps this monster-man moving. What sort of dark force of nature could grant a person his all of these powers, and so little weaknesses?

Derek will probably never know, but right now that doesn't matter.

What matters now is his hand wandering down Emmett's stomach, and Emmett's hand in his hair. He works the fly of Emmett's jeans undone, slides his hand inside to feel him. He's already hard, and reeks of excitement. The scent is such a strange one, because whatever it is that rushes to his dick to make it hard, it isn't blood. Derek's never smelled anything like it before, and depending on how this goes, he might take the time to ask about it when it's all said and done. But for now, he shoves Emmett's hand away from his hair and leans down as he exposes his cock.

Derek is a determined lover, and not quite as graceful as Emmett's used to with Rosalie. He drags his tongue up the length of his dick's underside before taking a surprising amount into his mouth. It's not that Emmett doubted his capabilities, and maybe he's a little old-fashioned, but taking almost half of him into his mouth right off the bat seems a little forward to him. Not that he's complaining – because Derek's tongue strokes him with practiced ease, and now and then he can feel the scrape of non-human teeth against his shaft.

And just when he thinks it can't possibly get better, Derek starts fucking him with his mouth. He nods his head slowly, dragging his lips and teeth and tongue up and down his length again and again. He's done this before, Emmett can tell, and it makes him grin to think of Derek going down on the other guy he'd met in the woods.

There's a hand between his legs, cupping and kneading his balls, and Emmett an feel claws catching on his sack. He doesn't need to breathe, but he's panting anyway, arching his back and bucking his hips in time with Derek's hungry bobbing. It doesn't take him long to come at all.

"Don't swallow it," he groans, but Derek's already leaning over, spitting the sour tasting, strange load onto the floor. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, licks his lips, and stares at Emmett with his brow furrowed.

"The hell is that?" he chokes out. He should have known, though, that this dead thing spread out and hard on his couch wouldn't produce sperm. Whatever that mouthful had been, it hadn't been the most pleasant of surprises. Derek thinks that if they ever do this again, he'll have to pull away before Emmett comes, maybe finish him with his hand.

"Not now," Emmett drawls with a roll of his eyes. He's definitely not in the mood to talk about his biology.

Derek figures it can wait.

"You're hard," the vampire says. He doesn't have to look at Derek to know, he can smell his arousal just as easily as Derek could smell his own. The scent of the blood, even if it isn't human, hot and rushing through every vein, makes him swallow hard. Control is easy now, but that doesn't mean he doesn't wonder, just for a moment, what werewolf tastes like.

Derek looks down at his own hardness, straining against his jeans. He reaches down, rubs himself through his pants for a few long seconds before finally undoing them. He takes his pants off completely, then his underwear.

He's growling while he pulls Emmett's pants and underwear off, surprised at himself for not tearing right through them. And now they're both more or less naked, except for their socks, and Derek gets himself between Emmett's legs. He presses in close, lets his cock rub against Emmett's inner thigh and ass while he wets two fingers.

He reaches down, rubs circles around his hole, then slides his fingers in roughly. Not only is he determined, but Derek is not what one would call a gentle lover. Especially when he knows his partner can handle it. So he buries his fingers into Emmett a few times, as deep as they can do, and smirks at the way he arches and writhes under him.

When he pulls his fingers away, Emmett whines. If he had a complaint ready, Derek doesn't give him time to voice it. He leans in again, gets into a better position, and slides himself into Emmett. It's cold inside him, and it feels completely different from anything he's had before, but he starts to thrust anyway. He's too hard to care about particulars right now.

He grabs Emmett's thighs, urges his legs up and over his shoulder, and bends over him as he moves. Emmett has his eyes closed for the most part, but he's grinning again, open-mouthed and what would have been breathless if he were alive.

One hand gets between them, and Derek watches as Emmett starts to jerk himself off while being fucked. His hand moves quickly, pumping and kneading and tugging at himself in all the right ways, and it makes Derek throb inside him. He moves faster, and Emmett moans louder.

When Derek comes, Emmett curses loudly and his back arches high off the couch. Derek's load is warm inside him, and that sensation alone is enough to make him come again, a sticky, thick mess splattered across his own stomach.

Being the creatures they are, they have stamina to spare, and this affair continues on well into the early morning. When they're finally finished and Emmett is getting dressed, Derek can't help but notice an odd sort of sheen on his skin in the early morning sunlight.

"And that's all she wrote, I guess," Emmett says, smirking while heading for the door. "It's been fun."

"Fun isn't the word I would use, but it's definitely been something," Derek replies. Something he wouldn't refuse if ever it was offered to him again.

Emmett winks before he leaves. "Hey, look me up if you're ever in Forks."

"You didn't find a single bear, did you?" Edward asks at some point during their drive home. Not that he has to ask, he knows – he knows everything. Some of it amuses him, some he really could have gone without knowing.

Emmett laughs and reaches over, mussing his brother's hair. "Not a one. But you knew that already."

"So did Alice," Edward quips, an eyebrow raised as he glances at Emmett.

And then Emmett remembers Alice and Rosalie's goodbyes, and he laughs.

When Stiles checks his phone, he has a new voicemail. Curious, he listens to it.

"If you're ever stuck in the woods again, don't call me, I'll call you," Derek had recorded, and Stiles rolls his eyes. It figures – even if he's a few days late, he knew he would eventually hear about it.

"But," and this catches Stiles' attention, "I'm calling because I need your help. Sort of." Even recorded, Stiles can tell how difficult it had been for Derek to say that. It makes him grin – but only for a split second, because the next and last part of the message confuses and terrifies him:

"What do you know about vampires?"