THE SECOND TIME

Okay, since when did they do rock concerts? Stiles had no idea who had thought of this idea, or when it had morphed from an idea to a legit activity, but the end result was pretty fantastic.

The pack had decided to go to their first ever group rock concert. Yep, they carpooled in Allison's van and had driven a total of four hours to San Francisco California. They were seeing a Canadian band named Marianas Trench, a band that straddled hard rock, pop, and even a little dance music to perfection. Although the concert itself was surprsingly screamy, most of them didn't mind. Allison and Lydia still had their token pop songs, so in the end, everybody was happy.

The best part of the night, however, was holding Derek's hand.

Even if it was under less than romantic conditions, the base point was the same. Derek's hand had encased Stiles.

It happened right after the concert had finished. The audience was hardcore crazy. He was pretty sure everybody had a little to drink, and absolutely nobody knew exactly which way the exits were.

Stiles was still in euphoria after the band's encore. He hadn't realized the pack was moving until it was too late. All of a sudden he was surrounded by bodies he didn't know. Violent bodies. Sloppy, drunk, get-the-fuck-out-of-my-way bodies. Masculine, testosterone filled and ready-to-fight bodies.

A fairly older guy (Stiles guessed mid thirties) bumped into Stiles as the younger teen was trying to work his way around the crowd.

"Hey kid, Watch where the fuck you're going."

"Seriously?" Stiles spluttered before he could think better of his actions. "I was totally standing right here."

"And I was clearly walking right here," he growled, and really Stiles couldn't help himself. That was the puniest growl he had ever heard. He practically heard five I'm-going-to-tear-you-limb-from-limb growls daily. And here this bozo was growling like a kitten.

He laughed.

Thirty something year old dude got pissed. Quickly.

"You're laughing? You keep that up and I'll break your fucking nose. Now get the fuck out of my way."

And Stiles laughed harder. Not only could this guy not growl, but he couldn't give a threat to save his life. Stiles had heard more creative and deadly threats than a tortured victim; this guy clearly didn't know whom he was dealing with.

But then his laughter quickly died. Apparently it was Stiles who didn't know who he was dealing with. The guy had met the end of his patience. Stiles barely had time to register the man ball up his fist before said fist was flying right at his face.

He closed his eyes. It didn't hit.

"I think you should probably leave now." He heard a gasp of pain. He opened his eyes to the back of Derek's hand, which, just like in the supernatural movies, had caught the guys' fist mid punch.

Stiles unconsciously moved closer to Derek.

"Let go of my fucking hand!" Derek did, practically throwing it away from him; the man followed the direction of his fist and stumbled backwards.

"Now get the fuck out of here," Derek growled. And that's how you growl, Stiles thought proudly. Because it had this asshole absolutely shaking in his boots.

"Well ain't that cute. Look boys," the man indicated to his friends in the sidelines, "the boyfriend is sticking up for his bitch." If the man's voice wasn't wavering, Stiles might have been hurt.

"Said boyfriend could beat your fucking face in gramps, get the hell out of here and go terrorize some other underage kid." Stiles spoke up; gleeful at the four glares he received.

The man lunged at Stiles. Derek grabbed him by the throat and threw him to the floor. One of the friends tried to tackle the alpha; he ended up on the ground too.

The other two seemed to actually posses a brain. They quickly helped their friends up and pulled them away from the scene.

Stiles beamed up at the back of Derek's head. When the alpha turned, the glare Stiles received didn't faze him in the slightest.

"Maybe if my boyfriend hadn't left me by myself, drunk thirty-year olds wouldn't have tried to beat my face in."

"I'm going to beat your face in."

"Now that was a growl."

"What?"

"They tried to gro-" Stiles smile fell. His eyes had glanced behind Derek. Derek turned to see what the younger man was looking at.

"We should go," the said together.

The 30-year olds apparently had plenty of friends. It looked like a group of ten people were making their way toward them, equally pissed off faces shared between them.

"Don't think you can take them," Stiles joked weakly.

"I could fucking break them all...with a hell of a lot of witnesses and probably the cops getting involved."

"Point taken."

Derek quickly grabbed Stiles hand, laced their fingers (laced their fingers!) and started to take off. He practically dragged Stiles behind him, but the younger boy made sure he could keep up. He was not letting go of that hand.

Yes, Stiles was totally the biggest girl for thinking it, but he couldn't shake the titanic scene out of his head. The one where Jack and Rose were being chased by those bad guys through the ship, and they held hands the whole time, and that stupid corny-but-you-love-it banjo music was playing in the background while they run for their lives.

It kind of felt like that. He wondered if they were going to end up in a conveniently placed car in a conveniently placed warehouse where there's just enough condensation to make the perfectly romantic but still PG-13 window sex scene so beautiful.

And then he wondered why he had thought all of this, and quickly denied that he might have hoped for this, and tugged his hand out of Derek's grip. They were in the parking lot now, only a few rows away from the van.

Derek turned to him with a raised eyebrow. Stiles glared.

"You know that was your fault, right?"

"Don't be so condescending. I wasn't some damsel that needed saving." Lies. In that situation, saving was exactly what he needed.

"Than I thoroughly apologize for not letting them kick your ass."

"You didn't even give me time! I could have taken him."

"Was this before or after you closed your eyes? I'm going to assume after. But you'd probably have been on the ground if that fist would have connected."

"I'm sorry, I lost you at eyes. You just said a shitload of words and I'm totally not used to hearing your voice for an extended period of time. I didn't think your tongue was strong enough to string all those vowels and consonants together. Doesn't it get tiring? You probably shouldn't talk for a week."

"As per your demand, I'm pretty sure you know exactly how strong my tongue is."

Stiles stopped dead in his tracks, eyes widening and looking at Derek. He didn't care if it was the deer-in-headlights look either.

"You-what-no-we haven't talked about that! And we won't...ever. I can't believe you brought it up. I can't believe you remember that."

"Why the hell wouldn't I? I was perfectly sober, and you were the one begging me to stick my cock in you."

Stiles stopped completely. "Oh my god," he says as he starts shaking. "Oh my god this isn't happening. I was drunk. Holy shit you are such an asshole and I hate you and you should never talk about this again and why do I love the word and and please stop me from talking and oh my god I DO NOT want your dick inside me and oh my god..."

Derek's grin quickly fades to a frown. Stiles was starting to shake, almost falling over onto the parking lot concrete. And they were only two rows away.

"Stiles, calm down. I was just kidding. Hey...HEY!" Stiles really does fall, and Derek quickly catches him, straightening up, and putting his hand over the teen's heart.

"Breath. I was kidding. I know you were drunk. Calm down. Breath."

Stiles eyes focus on Derek (or at least attempt to) as his world slowly stops spinning.

"My chest..."

"I know. Breathe."

"Stiles?" They hear a worried voice, followed by another, and pretty soon they see a gang of people hurrying through parked cars.

"What the hell? We thought shit was legit going down! What was with the panic?" Jackson's voice is accusatory. Stiles does not need that right now.

"I told you it was a panic attack!" Scott answered the question for Stiles.

"I can't believe all of that was from a panic attack," Erika noted.

"What happened?" Isaac questioned.

"Some old dude wanted to use me as a punching bag with his friends. Derek rescued me. It was a close call. I want to leave...now."

Without another word, Stiles marched pass them and made his way to the car. They all turned to Derek.

He just gave an affirmative nod and made a motion for them to follow.

Nothing more was said about the drinking episode. In fact, Derek didn't even talk to Stiles for around a week, save the necessary greetings and pack training exercises.

After that week, it was Stiles who forced conversation on the adult. He was less than thrilled to fine the less-than-five-words-is-preferable Derek giving him very short and cut answers again.

Stiles didn't like it. He also didn't like how much he hated not talking with his alpha. Most of all, he hated how...hot he had gotten when Derek had talked about putting certain stuff in certain places.

Scratch that, those feelings were the second worst. The first; not quite knowing how to take the second worst feelings. Sure he wanted to just hate them - hate how he shivered when Derek talked about his cock.

But than, why was Stiles jerking off in the shower thinking about just that?

Yes, it was that confusion that he hated the most.

Stupid handholding and stupid rock concerts and stupid drunk kissing and gahh, STUPID.

Two times. Whatever. They were done. They were done.

Stiles should stop telling himself that.


A/N – Yahh! Rock concerts for the win! Go check out the band because they are AMAZING. But leave a review before hand and tell me what you thought! I'll give you two words for the third time…grocery store!