Title: Shake on It

Pairing: Stiles/Derek – Slash, m/m

Show: Teen Wolf

Author's Note: This story doesn't fall anywhere specifically in the storyline.

**Season 2 has reignited my interest in Stiles/Derek! And what better way to satisfy my obsession than to continue this fanfic? I just re-read all six chapters so hopefully this addition will continue the storyline smoothly enough. But, also, I'm a little rusty on remembering everything from season one, so if I make a mistake, please just let me know and I'll try to rectify it.

Stiles pulled up to his regular parking spot at school, crudely putting the jeep into park and jumping out in nearly one single movement. Slamming the door, he began… not actually skipping, but ambling along in a fashion that somewhat resembled the notion.

Stiles might be more sporadic with his movements than the average Joe, but never did he ever skip.

"Stiles?" Scott asked, giving him an odd look.

"Oh," Stiles said, noticing Scott for the first time. "Hey."

Scott continued to stare at his friend, an obvious look of confusion on his face. "Where's your book bag?"

Stiles' hand instinctively went to his shoulder, feeling for the strap when he realized he didn't have it. He had left it in his car.

"Right," he replied, giving Scott a hard point with his index finger. "My book bag." He was going to explain himself further, but seeing as to he had no real reason for leaving such a sensible object behind, he spun around and found himself back at his car door.

Scott got there about the same time. With confused look in tow.

"Will you stop looking at me like that?" Stiles asked, trying to act nonchalant.

"Something's changed," Scott said, his eyes turning from puzzled to disbelieving. "You had sex," he said suddenly and louder than Stiles would have appreciated.

He looked around frantically, lowering his own voice in example for Scott to freaking lower his! "No," he whispered harshly. "What are you talking about?"

He retrieved his book bag and proceeded to do what he intending on doing before. Go to school.

"You're lying to me," Scott said, a grin growing wider on his face. "You're just… too happy."

"First off," Stiles said. "I do not lie. I tell partial truths. And secondly, you're wrong. Your assessment of my mood is incorrect. I am simply happy today."

"You're telling me that this sudden high you're experiencing is not Derek related?" Scott asked, skeptical.

Stiles thought about it for a moment. "Oh my God…" he said, dawning on something he never had before. "I'm…" he paused. "Acting like you." The tone of his voice blatantly affirming that acting like Scott was not something to be desired.

And Scott was appropriately offended. "What?"

"Oh…" Stiles' voice changed as he attempted to mimic Scott. "I hung out with Allison last night." He sounded completely dazed and love struck. His eyes were unfocused on something in the distance. "She's so perfect… and funny… and beautiful. If she had the sniffles I would throw my body sheer off a cliff if it meant getting her a tissue. Even if it meant me dying…"

"Okay, I get it," Scott said, still sounding a bit off-put by the taunt but incapable of denying it either. Eventually he just nodded in acceptance. "I love her," he said in explanation.

"I know," Stiles said, patting his friend on the shoulder. "And I accept you as you are. Allison-doting and all."

"And what about you?" Scott asked. "You're so preoccupied by someone that you left your book bag in your car."

"Can't I just be in a good mood?" Stiles asked.

"You were practically skippi—"

"I was not," Stiles said sternly, trying to keep any shred of masculinity he had left.

"Then you were… prancing?"

Stiles groaned, slapping his hand against his forehead. "I was strutting."

Scott thought for moment. "Frolicking."

Okay, so never in his life did Stiles think that skipping would be a step up on the manliness scale. Man, he needed to reprioritize some things.

And he wasn't even skipping in the first place! And he certainly was not frolicking. Even though that reminded him of an animal frolicking, which reminded him of little bunny foo foo, which reminded him of Derek, which made him smile, which made…

"You're thinking about Derek, aren't you?" Scott said, interrupting his thoughts.

"What?" Stiles said without thinking. "I mean, no." He shook his head quickly. "I mean… why do you ask?"

"Because you have that look on your face again," Scott answered.

"What look?"

"The same look I get every time I think about Allison."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

Stiles had received a second rose (third technically, since he had discarded the first one) at the end of school that day. It was receipted much better this time. Inside the small, elegant note was written six words:

My house

Now

A Present Awaits

Going directly there, Stiles sprinted up to the front door, knocking and yelling simultaneously.

"Derek," he said. He waited a few seconds. "I know you can hear me. Derek!"

Still nothing. It was then that he began to worry. He back stepped off the porch, craning his neck up in attempt to look into some of the broken windows. Nothing but dark, unmoving shapes greeted his eyes.

"Derek?" he called again, but this time much quieter. He glanced back, staring into the vast forest behind him. He took a couple steps into the woods, feeling the natural silence envelope him. He could hear himself breathing.

And then out of the corner of his eye he saw a quick moving figure. Very quick. Inhuman.

It couldn't be Derek.

He moved in the opposite direction only to hear the loud snap of a branch breaking just ahead of him. He searched for his car. It had to be twenty or so yards away. He could make a run for it.

That's usually what he did when his life was threatened.

Run frantically.

He sprinted, running as fast as he could but it still felt horribly slow. He felt and heard something whiz right past his head, hitting hard into an object near by.

And then bam.

He was tackled to the ground, sliding across a sheet of dried leaves. He struggled, trying to land some punches, but nothing hit the mark. They were all blocked and Stiles stopped when he realized who he was hitting.

Who had been hunting him.

"Derek!" he yelled, freezing up out of a mixture of shock and uncertainty. He glared at the werewolf, who remained annoyingly expressionless. Quickly he regained the cognition to move and roughly shoved the man off him. "What the hell?" He sat up, covered in bits of forest foliage, and grimaced realizing how tender his ribs felt. He'd be bruised.

At Stiles' small pained groan, Derek's eyes softened and he moved as if to look at the injury.

Stiles retracted from him, halting Derek's movements.

"Talk," Stiles demanded.

"I was testing you," Derek said hesitantly.

"For what?"

"I wanted to see how you react to danger. I wanted to watch you when you had to rely only on instinct."

Stiles' jaw clenched as anger overwhelmed him. And then he just punched him. As hard as he could and to the best of his ability, since he still sat on his butt with little to no leverage to pack much heat behind it.

"Holy mother of God!" Stiles screamed, gripping his now possibly broken hand. "Jesus, Christ Lord and Mary and Joseph and everyone else! Shit!"

Derek could've easily dodged the assault, but he took it. He deserved it, he knew.

"Stiles," Derek shifted closer to him. "I couldn't tell you because I needed to see you in a situation where you felt you were in real danger."

Stiles was on his back again, eyes closed. "Haven't you seen me struggle for my life one too many times already?"

"Not when all of my attention was focused on you," Derek said.

"I am not flattered by this form of affection," Stiles said.

Derek leaned over Stiles, a foot away from his face. "I'm doing this because I want to keep you alive."

Stiles opened his eyes, sensing Derek close to him.

"I want to know your fighting style so I can read you without even having to see you," Derek said.

"I don't have a fighting style," Stiles said.

"I know. I'm going to teach you. So if I can't protect. You can protect yourself."

There was a pause as Stiles tried to digest what Derek was telling him. "I'm still mad at you."

"Good," Derek said. "Use that aggression in our training." He bounced up, and waited for Stiles to follow suit. Albeit slower, Stiles managed the action.

With only a few complaints, Stiles followed Derek deeper into the woods and into a small clearing.

"There it is," Derek said, coming up to a tree that had a knife sticking straight out the side.

Stiles watched him easily pluck the blade from where it was embedded, realizing that the knife was the object that almost sliced through his neck earlier. "That's…"

"Your gift," Derek finished for him.

"Not what I was gonna say," Stiles said. "That's what you almost killed me with a couple minutes ago. My present." He snatched it from Derek's hands. "Thanks."

"I threw it behind you and it wasn't even close to actually hitting you," Derek said.

"Felt close."

"I've been in possession of this knife for my entire life. It was my first weapon when I was very young. Now, I want you to have it as your first weapon."

Stiles studied the knife, noticing the beauty that it held. The handle was made from wood and was a deep midnight blue, practically black. It was faintly coarse from use, but still smooth under the touch of Stiles' fingertips. He could feel small grooves from where a design had been carved into it. It was an elegant carving, with many lines and curves, accentuating the arc of the knife.

"Did you carve this?"

"Yes," Derek said. "A long time ago."

The knife was certainly beautiful, but what use was it really against someone like Derek?

"I have a proposition," Derek said.

Uh-oh. The last proposition Derek had had turned Stiles' world upside down.

"You get ten chances to come at me," Derek said. "If you can draw blood even once, you win. If you can't, then I win."

"And what's at stake?" Stiles asked.

"Whoever wins can request anything they want from the other. One request, anything they want," Derek said.

Stiles looked down at the knife in his hand. He gripped it tight, feeling the weight and shape against his palm.

"Deal?" Derek asked.

Ten chances to draw a little bit of blood… he could do that.

"Deal."

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

On his first attempt, Stiles was easily defeated within a single second. He lunged quickly, rashly and found himself face first into the nearest tree.

"Don't merely lunge at me wildly. Have control in your attack," Derek said, circling Stiles. "Again."

Stiles pushed off the trunk, using it as a way to gain speed but found himself flying past Derek again and slamming to the ground.

"Don't sacrifice your balance for sheer force," Derek said. "You cannot overcome me with strength. You must resort elsewhere."

Stiles stood, securing a good stance before attacking again. He still missed, but at least this time he kept his feet.

"Better," Derek said. "Now watch me. Your opponent. What are my movements? Read me. Go!"

Stiles tried to observe Derek's actions, trying to predict where he would move next. He chose and was wrong, missing terribly.

"Don't be distracted by my eyes or my arms. Watch my body. Which way my hips are turned. Read the necessary parts to know where I'm moving next."

"You're too fast," Stiles said. He attempted once more before falling back and watching the stalking werewolf.

He watched Derek's feet, approaching slower, more methodically. He waited to attack once he knew which way the man was heading and then time Derek actually had to make an effort to dodge the assault.

He smiled. "Better. You have four more attempts."

The next one almost mirrored the previous attack, close but not close enough.

"Don't always attack my midsection. Attack wherever is most vulnerable at the time."

Stiles went low and then high with his next two attacks, but missed both times.

"Last chance," Stiles said.

"Last chance," Derek confirmed.

Using all of his knowledge he had gained from this crash course in knife wielding, Stiles moved in, striking at Derek once and missing, but spinning around and attacking again, taking him off guard. He aimed directly at his upper back, near his shoulder blades and knew he was millimeters away from hitting skin when Derek was suddenly out of range again.

He missed.

Panting, he shook his head. "You won," he said.

"Harder lessons are learned from failure than from winning," Derek said.

Stiles wanted to roll his eyes, but he restrained himself. "So," he said, his breathing still labored. "What is your request of me?"

Derek walked over, letting his hand innocently brush up Stiles' arm as he leaned in close to Stiles' ear. "For you to come up to my bedroom."