Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuck!

There's beer on my jeans, I'm high as a fucking kite and my best friend has his dick up someone's skirt.

I want to fucking leave.

Scott dragged me to this so-called party, when it's just a drug infested orgy.

I'm antsy and I can't keep still. Maybe I shouldn't have hit that line, but what the fuck ever, right? It was there and I needed not to be in my own head.

Stiles showed up with pretty boy, Danny and I wanted to hurl my fist into his face.

Danny of all fucking people.

He ripped my heart out and now he's fucking Danny?

I want to hate him. And I want to hurt him, but I won't. Because I'm in love with a smart ass, hyperactive spazz and he broke my fucking heart.

What were his words? Oh, right...

I can't do this anymore, Derek. I can't handle this shit anymore.

So what the hell does that mean? He can't handle "this shit" anymore. What shit? All I fucking do is crave him, his lips, his sweet tight little ass. His smart mouth when I don't stick my dick in all the way, when he's begging for it.

Stiles Stilinski is my fucking life and he can't handle it? Bullshit.

He's scared, I know he is. Scott may have said something about him being afraid of commitment but there were shots and my mind was somewhere else. Anywhere but on Stiles.

And now I'm pissed, I'm standing outside on a shitty porch, looking at the moon like some lost puppy. Looking for answers as to why my favorite boy is afraid to love me.

What a load of shit.

Peter would be laughing his ass off right now. Telling me about how much of a pussy I am and something along the lines of pulling my dick out from between my legs. He'd probably tell me to man the fuck up and go get my boy. And fuck him until he howls my name, knowing who owns him.

The thought is tempting.

I finish smoking a cigarette I wasn't aware I was smoking, and go back inside.

There's someone dancing in the living room, and there's bodies passed out on the furniture. Smoke and weed lingers in the air and it's kind of welcoming, despite my wanting to leave. This is the last time I let Scott drag me anywhere just because he wants to get his dick wet.

Walking to the kitchen, I grab a beer, passing a few people doing blow on the table. My nose still burns from earlier and I think about Stiles.

He'd be mad, raging even. Sputter on about brain cells and losing function of my frontal lobe or something overly dramatic and I'd probably fuck him and show him who's boss.

Fuck, I miss him. He was always so submissive. Letting me posses him, taking control anywhere, anytime.

I remember fucking him in a public restroom, while we were at some bar with his extremely annoying friends. Malia and some bitch named Kira. I fucked him into agreeing to never bring the whiny little shits around me again. Always going on about how some guy stood them up, or their hair wasn't the color they wanted it to be. I almost blew my brains out.

My dick is hard thinking about how he cried my name out as I pounded into him while he held onto the coat hanger on the bathroom door.

I shove my dick down, hoping to simmer down the throbbing pain that is pushing into my jeans.

Fuck Stiles.

Fuck him and his perfect fucking lips and his small dimples on this back, that I love to kiss and bite.

My dick is still hard.

I finish the beer I'm holding in seconds and that's when I see him, standing on the wall. He's talking to that pretty boy and I want to punch the wall next to me. I want to walk over to him and slide my tongue I'm his mouth and taste him. I want to hit that motherfucker in his face, because he has his hands on my boy.

He sees me watching him, and I can tell he's enjoying my suffering. He wants to see me jealous. Dick.

Aiden calls to me then, "You want in on this?"

"Yeah, man."

I walk over to the table and watch him cut two lines, then there's four. Two for me, two for him. He hands me a rolled up twenty and I take the first line on my left, then my right.

Fuck. That shit burns, but not as bad as before. I feel so damn good. Numb and tingly and I feel like I could do anything.

I rub my nose and sniff, my hand twitches a little bit but I don't really care.

I feel his eyes on me, and I refuse to acknowledge him. I need a cigarette.

I walk back outside and light up. My heart is racing, and if I didn't feel so weightless, it might scare me. But I just feel good. That's the thing about coke. She lets you forget shit. She takes all the pain away and leaves you feeling like a fucking king. She's the only bitch I'd ever let fuck me.

Yeah, I know it's wrong. But it's not like I do it everyday. It just takes the edge off and I'm cool with that.

I'm sitting on the stairs with another cigarette in my hands.

Inhale, exhale.

I taste nothing but a bitter burn at my throat and the minty freshness of my Newports. I wish I tasted Stiles.

I lean my arms on my jeans and I remember Lydia spilling her beer on me. I probably smell, but I don't really care.

I take in the fresh summer breeze and my eyes burn a little. I'm about to get up when I hear him come outside. I don't even have to look, I just know his scrawny white ass is standing behind me. Probably a look of worry, laced with anger on his face.

Fuck him.

He doesn't get to be mad at me. He broke things off, not me. All because he's afraid to love or whatever the fuck you want to call it. Man, fuck him..

And now I'm angry, I can feel my mood change instantly. I'm raging on the inside, my blood burning in my veins. My heart beating faster than before. I want to punch something.

And then he speaks, "Derek."

"Stiles." My voice doesn't sound like my own.

"What do you think you're -"

I cut him off, "Oh look, now he cares. Little baby Stiles." I want to hurt him.

"Fuck you, Derek."

"No, fuck you, Stiles." My voice is laced with venom.

"Don't blame your shit on me, baby." The word used as an endearment is coated with sarcasm and I want to hit and kiss Stiles all at once.

"What do you want?" I ask fed up, wanting him to leave. I don't want to deal with this shit right now.

My dick hits my jeans and I readjust myself. I watch as Stiles' eyes linger on my lips and then down to my crotch.

Fuck me for still wanting him.

"I want to tell you how fucking stupid you are! Don't do this shit, Derek."

"Why do you care? Huh? Why do you give a shit if I shove shit up my nose?" I sniff, on purpose.

He looks pained, and I hope he still wants me. If he shows any type of sign, I'm fucking him right on this porch. I will claim him, and he won't be able to fight me on it.

"I've always cared." His voice is shallow and I hate that it hurts me.

"Fuck you, Stiles. You don't care, you left. You're nothing. I fucking wanted you and you ran away. So run along, pup. Go back to your fucking dog."

His face contorts to anger, then. Good. I've hit a nerve.

"You're such an asshole!"

"Yeah." Cause what else am I supposed to say?

"Damn it, Derek. This was supposed to be easy. You were supposed to forget and move on."

Now I'm fucking hurt. Doesn't he understand what he means to me? That I love it when he annoys me about watching some documentary on wolves. Or when he's teasing me about wanting to suck me off. Can't he see how crazy he makes me?

And because I'm fucked up and over the moon, I tell him the truth. I know I'll regret this later, but what else have I got to lose?

"Being in love with you isn't easy, Stiles. Nothing about not being with you is easy."

His mouth is practically on the floor and the urge to kiss him is back. So I do.

I slide my tongue into his mouth, and I can feel the burn under my skin. I can taste cheap beer on his tongue and when I feel his tongue battling mine, I know I've got him.

His little whimpers and moans are what I fucking live for. The sound is so fucking perfect and just for me. He's pulling at my jacket and my hands are on his ass. I push him into the wall and the thought of taking him right here, on this shitty porch under the night sky is making my heart race and my head turn.

I'm biting his neck, breaking skin. His hands are wrapped around my neck and he's holding me there, begging me to mark him again.

I turn him around and my hands are pushing his pants off.

He gasps, and it's such a good sound. "Derek, no, not - oooh!"

My tongue is licking down his back, down to his perfect little ass and I kiss and bite my favorite dimples.

I need to make this fast.

I'm shoving my pants down, keeping Stiles pinned to the wall and spitting on my dick. And then I enter him and he feels like home and so fucking good. And when he cries out, I push harder.

Pumping into him, I bite his ear, "You're fucking mine."

A silent cry comes out of his mouth, "Yes, yes, yes."

"You're not ever to going to leave. Ever." I growl and I have to hold Stiles up as his legs become weak.

One, two, three more thrusts and I'm coming.

Winding down, I lean on him, pulling out.

His head leans on the wall and he's panting. "Derek."

I smile at the way my name sounds coming out of his mouth. Whispery and lust filled.

"Let's do that again," he says as he pulls his black jeans up.

"I can go all night long, baby." I smirk. Damn, I feel good.

This boy isn't going anywhere. I'll mark him, and claim him until he is etched into me.

He is mine.

The burn in my eyes is back and my nose itches. Sniff.

Stiles rolls his pretty blue eyes, "Fucking idiot."

Yeah, maybe. But I don't really give a shit and he just let me fuck him. So I'm higher than the fucking stars right now, and I'm never coming down from this.

Stiles is better than any coke bitch, and I'd much rather ride his waves than hers.

My boy grabs my hand and he leads me inside the dark house, ready for round two.