One thing is for certain: Derek has never hated himself more than he does right now. Not even after Kate and the fire, because even then he'd been just a stupid kid played by someone older, more dangerous.

Right now he isn't a kid making bad decisions. Right now he is the older and more dangerous in the equation. That's where he fits.

He loathes himself, but can't for the life of him get a hold of his instincts.

This low thrum inside, all over him, dancing over his limbs, growling at him 'now, do it. Assert your dominance, make him submit'. It nauseates him; he's, he's not this kind of Alpha.

He doesn't want to *be* this kind of Alpha.

Stiles' heart, under Derek's hand, is wild, blaring, announcing his feelings to the whole world.

"Derek, dude, I don't know what's happening inside your head, but I'm. I'm just not sure that I like it."

Stiles tries to move away from him, with a clumsy, unsteady step backwards.

"Stay, be quiet," he says, and he sounds torn, pained. Even to his own ears, he sounds pathetic. Weak.

Stiles obeys. Goes limp at the direct order.

That's the faeries' doing, he tries to remember. The faeries ' magic bindings, tying Stiles to anyone who'll give him an order to follow. A stupid magical trick for showing himself rash and insubordinate towards their Queen of All.

That's the faeries, that's not Stiles. Stiles has never- will never bare his neck for him. Never obey, never surrender control to Derek. Never.

Remember, he thinks. Take, his wolf pleads in a longing whine.

"Enjoy this," he asks, in a desperate last attemp to salvage something out of this. He knows it doesn't work like this, knows that this will only end one way, hates himself for it. "Please."

Stiles' eyes are big and round, for a few seconds, until they close. And so does the rest of his face. When he opens his eyes again, he is just... Resigned.

Hate, hate, hate. His hand stays over the human's steadying heart; the other shaking one goes to the boy's cheek, stroking softly.

"Don't hate me," he whispers, a hair's width away from touching lips against lips. "Don't hate me."

His hand trails down Stiles' chest to cup him through his jeans. He kisses him. Says 'don't hate me' with the entirety of his body, with the devotion of his touch, of his lips as they press against untouched skin, of his tongue as it trails past Stiles' navel, even as he is taking and taking and taking like a monster.

'Don't hate me', echoes through him, as he buries his nose between Stiles' legs, smelling damp, musk, sex, Stiles, minetotake.

'Don't hate me', whisper the gusts of warm air leaving his mouth to curl Stiles' dark pubic hair.

(Deep inside, he can't stop thinking 'hate me', 'hate me for ruining you'. He can't stop wishing for this to be the one order Stiles can disobey.)