A/N: Long chapter notes so bear with me: first of all, apologies for the delay. Blah blah Big Bang, blah blah life happened, blah blah too busy, blah blah blah. I feel like you guys know the drill by now. And I truly am sorry for the wait between chapters.
Which brings me to this: I'm reformatting the way I do fics. Cause it was pointed out to me that it's a little ridiculous that I can write a 100+K fic for a Big Bang in about a month (literally did that, it was ridic and never again, I cried so much, oh god the break downs!) yet I can't update 7-11K chapters in a reasonable manner (which again, my apologies. I'm the worst at updates and I'm aware and I'm sorry). So, instead of just writing it a chapter at a time and updating as chapters are written, I'm just gonna sit and write an entire fic all the way through and then update periodically in a more timely fashion. I'm hoping this will mean less time between updates and less continuity errors (which make my eye twitch when I go back and reread old fics and see that I've repeated phrases and such. Urgh.)
That being said, this fic is number two in my line of priority writings, since I have Camp NaNoWriMo happening this July and I'm using that to work on my next Big Bang (two fics, one stone, or some bull like that). Meaning this fic won't be updated until at least August. But considering my last update for this was March, I feel like that's not that bad... Maybe?
Anyhoo, any questions/comments/concerns about my new plan or any writing or just wanna say hi, then feel free to send me a message on my tumblr (username: kitstiles) or twitter (charwright5). Until then, hope you enjoy the update :) OH! And be on the lookout for a new Sterek fic from me being posted on July 1st as part of Teen Wolf Bigbang! (shameless self promo ftw!)
PS mad at Derek for totally changing the plot of this thing. Again. URGH!
Derek managed to get the bed made back up in about five minutes, all the while Erica went back to munching on peanut butter dipped pretzels. Task done, the blonde flopped on her back on the bed, nose wrinkling at the scents her actions caused to drift up: the factory-stale smell of the new sheets, the must of the old mattress, Derek's own smell, his dried come, the small hint of Omega that still lingered deep within the fibers of the mattress.
He grumbled about crumbs in his sheets, Erica answering with a middle finger and an Oreo tossed at his head. His response was to give her a stern glare, resisting the urge to flash his red eyes and use his Alpha status to make her bow down. Because he refused to be one of those Alphas who used his status to get his way and excuse his controlling asshole behavior. Not to mention the fact that she'd use the action to further demand that he be an actual Alpha and lead the misfit pack she had with her two friends, insisting that it was proof of him wanting to be their Alpha, in her own twisted way.
So instead, he just huffed in annoyance and rolled his eyes before returning to his bags of purchases and pulling out the curtains, only to realize there was no rod to hang them. A search of the storage side of the attic proved victorious when he actually found one—complete with screws still in their holes—and he got the thing up and the curtains hung in no time, all the while Erica stuffed her mouth with peanut butter dipped Oreos—which apparently was a thing—and yammered on about Boyd being her Mate and how she'd realized that fact upon their first meeting because "you just know, ya know?"
Derek stared at her flatly before climbing down off the bed and striding over to the desk. "No, I don't," he grunted as he snatched up their school bags. And while the statement didn't feel like a lie, his wolf still grumbled inside his head, a flash of whiskey-colored doe eyes, mole-speckled skin, and citrusy sweet scent hitting him.
"Really now?" Erica questioned dubiously from where she continued to lay sprawled out on the bed, eyebrow cocked in question, red painted lips curved up on one side in a devious smirk. He barely knew the girl but was already fully aware that that particular grin meant trouble. "So the sheriff's kid—"
"Is a nuisance and a pain and nothing more," he grumbled before tossing her messenger bag on her exposed torso and making her curl up as she grunted out an "oomf!" at the impact. "Homework," he ordered, being sure to keep the Alpha-tone out of his voice as he pointed at her things then sat on the bed by the wall, pillows shoved up behind his back.
Her reply was nothing but a mock salute and a satire of a serious scowl, one he felt was deliberately mocking his own grave expression more than anything, as she sat up, opened packages of Oreos and peanut butter carefully placed beside her. The two set to work, Derek explaining what they'd went over in class that day, having to go back and reteach things they'd learned in their previous math class the year before. It was slow going at first, but Erica finally caught on, although she continued to interrupt with almost every problem of their homework.
Voices and heartbeats drifted into the room after about an hour or so of working, Erica drowning them out with songs from her iPod on her "continuing quest to get you to listen to real music". The Alpha had just grunted, deciding it was easier to just let her do whatever than argue, allowing him to focus on his own school work.
Until, of course, her battery was barely more than a red sliver and she'd whined and begged and pleaded to borrow a charger.
Calc work done, they both moved on to homework from other classes. Soon enough, the scents of dinner being cooked drifted up and broke him out of the zone he'd been in while reading his history assignment. Lifting his head, he realized that the sun was setting, the room bathed in orange light, the curtains he'd installed having been left open—another thing done to get the Beta on his bed to quit whining.
"Should probably head out, huh?" she suggested, arching her back to pop it from where she'd been hunched over her own text book as she sat with her legs crossed in front of her. "Think you could give me a ride?"
Cracking his neck, he closed his book and set it on the pile beside him before nodding his ascent. A genuine smile formed on her face as she reached over and smacked his outstretched legs, loudly cheering "thanks, Alpha-man!" He scowled at the term, just like he had the other twenty-seven times she'd called him that over the afternoon, following her lead as she rose off the bed.
Her school things were quickly packed up, arms slipped through her jacket, strap of her messenger bag slung over her shoulder. Satisfied she'd gathered everything, the twosome headed down the stairs to the main floor, Derek sliding on his own jacket as they went. They turned to head to the front door and leave, only to be stopped by a familiar elderly female voice.
"Where have you been, lobito?" Maria questioned, hands on her hips, floral apron tied around her waist, dishtowel hanging from one hand. The scents of beans, ground beef, and warm tortillas drifted out from her spot in front of the kitchen door, alerting him to the fact that it was burrito night. But past the smells of the food were the scents of everyone else occupying the kitchen, causing his hackles to raise and his wolf to prick its ears in interest.
Melissa. Scott. The fucking sheriff. Stiles.
As if summoned by his nose, the foursome gathered around the Delgado matriarch, Melissa cocking a hip and crossing her arms, eyebrow raised in an expectant and judging manner. Scott scowled from the other side of Maria, Stiles a step behind and to the side, popping tiny cubes of cheese into his mouth, his own features morphing into something angry as his eyes settled on Erica. Derek gave a half-second's worth of thought into the Omega's reaction before flicking his eyes to the opposite side of the group, settling on John as he leaned against the doorframe in a casual manner, his eyes narrowed in an analytical manner, lips slightly parted and displaying his bottom teeth, wrinkles more pronounced on his forehead as he frowned as though he was figuring out a puzzle.
The Alpha felt a growl rumble up in his throat but bit it back, choosing instead to glare at the unwelcome guest, questioning what the hell he was doing there. One would think the guy would've learned his lesson about meals in that house after his last one, but apparently not. Instead, he'd decided to show back up, to march into Derek's territory...
Wait. Not his territory. His current living situation was only temporary. That fact had clearly slipped his mind for a brief moment there.
But still. The guy didn't need to show his mug around Derek or where Derek was staying at the moment.
"Lobito?" Maria prompted, tilting her head forward slightly, eyebrows raising in expectation. Right. She'd asked a questioned. And given the audience, he was now obligated to actually answer. Terrific.
He kept up an air of nonchalance as he pointed to Erica with his thumb. "We were in my room studying," he answered flatly, honestly, dropping his hand and shrugging like the no-biggie it was.
Maria's eyes widened in surprise before returning to their normal size and switching over to the mentioned guest. She looked Erica up and down, lips pinched and eyes narrowed as she analyzed the Beta female.
Melissa's expression mimicked her mom's for a moment before she shook herself out of it, hand running through her curly hair as she sighed. "I didn't know we were expecting another guest—"
"I didn't know we were expecting any guests," he pointed out sharply, giving a pointed, angry glare in John's direction.
Her eyes narrowed momentarily, clearly not happy with her son's behavior or attitude, but unable to really lay into him like she wanted due to the fact that they had company. "But I'm sure we can find a place to fit you," she wrapped up, polite smile aimed at Erica as she played the role of gracious hostess.
"Thanks, but no thanks, Mrs McHale. Derek and I actually have dinner plans elsewhere," Erica courteously declined, sporting a friendly grin of her own as she wrapped her arms around one of Derek's.
The Alpha peered down at her with an eyebrow cocked in confusion, seized arm tensing up under her grip. He honestly had no idea what plans she was talking about, why the hell she was giving him an out, why she was grabbing on to him like that. He also had no idea if he was okay with the contact or not, part of him itching to chew his arm off in order to get away from her, part of him—a part he attributed to his wolf and its desires for physical contact—relishing it, practically purring inside.
A sharp scent of something spicy and angry had his head raising, just in time to see Stiles turn away with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes, fingers curled into tight fists as he stalked back into the kitchen. Scott glared momentarily at his older brother before following his best friend, John watching the boys leave with a confused expression.
Derek felt his own curiosity pique at the event but shoved it aside, deciding it wasn't any of his business really. Whatever Stiles was thinking or feeling wasn't any of the Alpha's concern and to inquire about such would be contradicting the fact that he didn't care, as well as being counterproductive towards his goal of making the Omega hate him and stay away.
He ignored his wolf's whimpering, just like he had been for the past...however fucking long he'd known Stiles. Dumb animal obviously had no clue what was good for both it and the human half of him.
"Well, then," Melissa began then paused, drawing her eldest son's attention. A smile was plastered on her face, one that didn't quite reach her chocolate eyes, clearly there for show and to hide the discomfort and confusion she was feeling. Strange to think there'd been a time when he'd be demanding to know what had upset her and offering to destroy whatever it was, to try and fix things somehow, someway. Now, he wanted nothing more than to just get the fuck out of that house and away from...well, everyone really.
"I guess have fun, you two," she wrapped up, clasping her hands with a clap, allowing them to drop in front of her, fake smile still on her face.
"Thanks, Mrs McHale," Erica replied with a grin that was more genuinely, turning to the only other werewolf in the room and patting his shoulder. "Let's go, Alpha-Man. I'm starved." With that, she unwrapped her arms from around his and sashayed her way to the front door, waving her goodbyes over her shoulder.
Derek stood stunned for a moment, wondering how she'd so easily gotten them out that situation as well as how she could be starving considering the junk she'd shoved in her mouth throughout the afternoon. Bobbing his eyebrows in dismissal, he spun on a heel and followed her out, slipping his keys out his pocket and ignoring the murmuring of conversations behind him and Maria's Spanish grumblings as she shuffled back into the kitchen.
Door shut behind himself, he hurried on his way to his car, Erica keeping pace, typing away on her slide phone. He unlocked the doors with the key fob, waiting for her to round the back of the Camaro before grabbing hold of the door latch and opening it up.
She mimicked his actions, opening the passenger door before slinging her bag into the backseat and giving him a smirk. "You're welcome by the way," she commented then slid inside the car, stunning him frozen again for a brief second.
He slipped in behind the wheel, looking at her with a cocked eyebrow. "For what?" he asked dubiously, sliding the key into the ignition and putting his seat belt on with a click, ordering her to do the same.
"Getting you out the house," she pointed out with a "duh" expression while following his direction, phone beeping in her hand. She scanned the newly arrived text and giggled, typing a reply as she continued speaking out loud. "You seemed like you were about to rip someone apart or something. And since I'm pretty fond of your broody ass, I'd rather you not be in jail."
He rolled his eyes as he started the engine and pulled away from the curb. She was pretty much right about him being close to tearing into something, but he wasn't gonna acknowledge it. Although judging by the way she smirked at him, phone slid closed and laying on her lap, she was well aware that she was right.
"So what's the deal anyway?" she questioned as she rearranged herself so she was turned towards him, arm on the door, hand propping her head up. "Why all the hate aimed at our good sheriff?"
A snort blew out his nose without him even thinking about it, pulling to a stop at an intersection. "He used to date Melissa," he grumbled, eyes narrowing as though John was on the other side of the windshield and he could glare the human into submission.
Erica called for a left turn before nodding slowly. "Okay. And who is Melissa exactly?" she questioned with a head tilt.
His jaw tensed slightly, hands tightening their grip on the wheel as he turned left. "My mother."
"Ah. And what? You aren't too stoked your mom hooked up with people other than you dad?"
His teeth ground at that one, jaw working. His wolf rumbled a growl in the back of his head and he smeared a hand over his face, not all thrilled with his passenger's choice in conversation. "He—no, you know what? I don't need to explain shit to you," he stated defensively, scowling in her direction, watching as she flicked a hand in dismissal.
"Fine, whatever. That's your deal. Just know that you're the only person in town who hates the guy."
"I don't care," he ground out, scowl now directed out the front window as he focused on the road.
She snorted, eyes rolling in his periphery. "Yeah. I get the feeling you don't care about a whole lot."
A shrug of the shoulders was his only response. It was another thing he wasn't admitting she was right about, despite her knowing she was.
Her directions led them to a diner in what would be considered downtown Beacon Hills, the stereotypical 50s themed joint with shiny silver panels on the outside and wide windows. Derek could see the baby blue booths lining the walls inside, the counter with the pastel pink and silver stools for customers to sit at, framed kitschy art of old ads and LP covers. He was willing to bet a jukebox was playing "Surfin' USA" or "Rock Around the Clock", the floors black and white checkered, the menu comprised of burgers and grilled cheese, fries piled high with chili and cheese, everything coming with an extra side of grease and brain freeze guaranteeing super thick milkshakes all the high school couples ordered with two straws.
It was the type of place he would've loved as a kid, begging his dad for a nickel or a quarter or whatever in order to play "Surfin' Bird" for the five-hundredth time and his dad indulging him, despite his mate's protests over that song giving her a headache. But now? Now his lips were pulling back in a sneer at the sight of the place.
Slipping off her seat belt, Erica turned to him with a questioning look, head tilted to the side like a curious pup. "You comin' or what?"
He cocked an eyebrow at her, unable to believe she was actually being serious. "Or what," he deadpanned, engine still running, hands still gripping the steering wheel.
Her eyes were rolled again, along with her entire head, before she leveled a hard look at him. "Then what exactly are you planning on doing with the rest of your night?" she asked as she folded her arms over her chest, eyebrows raised in what he figured was an authoritative manner. Or at least was supposed to be.
Smearing a hand over his face, he stared out the front windshield, not really having figured that out. Not that he'd even had time to figure it out, but whatever. At that point, all he knew was that he wasn't about to stay there.
But it wasn't like he had anywhere else to go. He couldn't head home, not with the sheriff and Stiles and his scent there. He wasn't familiar enough with Beacon Hills to know of any hang out spots—not that he'd even wanna go to one, considering that meant socializing. And so far in his brief stay in that town, the only people who'd even tried to be social with him were Erica, Isaac, and Boyd—sorta Boyd anyway.
And Stiles, but.
Yeah, he didn't count. Pinning a guy against things and scenting him wasn't socializing. Neither was telling the guy to "fuck off"—not in those exact words, but the meaning had been there.
He shook his head to snap out of it, hand sliding through his hair. 'Course his mind would go to fucking Stiles while trying to think of something else. There was something seriously wrong with him, with his mind. He needed to fucking get over it, get himself together, and just...Just be normal.
Turning to his passenger, he took note of her expectant look, the sassy raised eyebrow, the quirk of her lips that said she had made a damn good point and was waiting for him to admit it. "Drive around," he stated the only thing he could think of, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly.
She rolled her eyes as she sighed exasperatedly, like what he'd said was so fucking stupid she couldn't even deal with it. "That's dumb."
"That's logical," he argued, if for no other reason than a stubborn refusal to let her be right, an explanation belatedly coming to mind. "I gotta find somewhere to shift on Saturday."
"Which is what? Four days from now? You can wait one night," she argued right back, mischievous smile forming on her face, scent shifting to something slightly devious and smug. "Besides, big Alpha like you's gotta eat, right?" With that, she leaned over and patted his stomach.
He swatted her away, scowling at her and sneering at the giggles she let out. "Don't do that," he grumbled, hating how he sounded like a petulant child getting mad at his mom for spit-washing his cheek in front of his friends.
Which she'd done. He didn't talk to her for a day, which at the time had been a huge deal. While he'd been closer to his dad, he still really loved his mom and had always rambled non-stop about his day at elementary school every afternoon when he saw her. Eight year old him wouldn't believe that the eighteen year old version went a month and a half without saying a word to her and had called her "Melissa" to her face.
"My point still stands," Erica claimed, drawing him back to the present. "You need to eat and you clearly aren't gonna do it at home with the sheriff and his kid being at your place. Might as well just join us."
He let out a harsh sigh, roughing his face with his hands, seriously hating how she was right again, how she was able to read him so well despite barely knowing him. He thought he'd been doing a pretty good job of keeping shit in, of hiding it away from the world and not letting anyone see what exactly was going on with him mentally and emotionally. Yet here was this female, reading him like a book, getting right to the core of him.
Derek thought back to earlier that afternoon, to her stating that she'd been in his shoes, had acted out and pushed people away after losing her own parents, her own Alpha. Clearly she got what it was like, understood what he was going through. So it wasn't so much that she knew him, rather that she'd just been there, done that, and was able to recognize when it was playing out again in front of her. She was observant, smart in a way that contradicted her blonde bimbo exterior, and he was almost sorry he'd underestimated her.
He hadn't, however, underestimated her methods of persuasion and her refusal to back down until she'd gotten her way.
"Pleeeease," she begged, leaning over the center console and resting her head by his shoulder. She peered up at him with her bottom lip sticking out in a pout and her hands clasped in traditional begging fashion. "We'll be good, promise. No Alpha talk, no pack talk, just food. Swear it." Her bottom lip stuck out more and she batted mascara-ed lashes at him, even going so far as to let out a few small whimpers.
His own wolf began whining, recognizing and being upset by the distressed sounds of another of his kind, not aware that the noises were coming from someone who was actually okay, just really manipulative.
With a harsh sigh, Derek slammed his head back against his seat, grumbling out a "fine" before glaring down at her. "Just stop with the damn pouting and whining. You're driving my wolf nuts."
"Yay!" Erica sat up with a giant grin, clapping her hands together as she bounced in her seat. His only response was to roll his eyes—something he was doing a lot that evening—while he killed the engine, the two then getting out the Camaro and heading to the front entrance.
The diner was exactly what Derek had predicted it would be, a smiling waitress in robin's egg blue uniform telling them to seat themselves while simultaneously giving him Grease flashbacks. "Rocky Robin" played from hidden speakers, framed yellowed ads for ten cent burgers and five cent milkshakes hung above an open alcove offering a peek into the kitchen, and a clock shaped like Elvis stood out on a back wall, his legs swinging back and forth in an imitation of his infamous pelvic moves as it ticked away the passing seconds.
Erica called out a "hey!", waving her arm around wildly before grabbing hold of Derek and dragging him down the aisle between the counter and the row of booths. He quickly discovered what had caught her attention, finding Isaac sitting at a booth halfway down, Boyd turned around on the opposite side and smiling at the blonde as she skipped over. The curly-haired one went wide-eyed, jaw dropping as he caught sight of who she was pulling along, making the Alpha feel like a circus freak. He knew Alphas were a rare thing in Beacon Hills, but there was seriously zero need for the shocked and confused scents hitting him in the face.
The blonde dropped her hold when they reached the booth, putting a knee on the cushioned seat as she leaned over to kiss her mate on the mouth. Derek quickly averted his gaze from the saccharine sweet—and barf-inducing—PDA, focusing instead on the lean male to his left. Isaac was still staring up at him, scent full of surprise, lips remaining parted and eyes remaining wide. The Alpha raised both eyebrows in a silent question, giving him a pointed look that asked what exactly it was he was staring at. The expression was interpreted correctly, the curly-haired one shaking his head to snap out of it.
"Sorry," he murmured, ducking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. "Just. Surprised to see you here."
A snort left the elder male as he sat next to the younger, leather jacket and vinyl seat all creaking with the movement. "Surprised to be here," he grumbled back, grabbing a menu from its spot behind a metallic napkin dispenser. Just as he'd figured, a whole lotta burgers, cheeseburgers, grilled cheese, chili fries, cheese fries, chili-cheese fries, all available in either human or werewolf proportions. At least the place was up to date with that.
A huff of a humored laugh gusted out the curly-haired one's nose, blue eyes darting to the couple across the booth from them, the twosome completely oblivious to the world around them. Derek internally snorted. Fucking mates.
"Lemme guess," Isaac began, reaching over and rearranging the condiment jars, most likely a nervous tick if the tension in his shoulders were anything to go by, visible even through the black v-neck tee and maroon scarf combo he was sporting. "Erica batted her eyelashes and pouted and basically cajoled you into joining us."
Derek snorted out loud this time, flipping the menu over and taking in the options for fountain drinks, internally debating if he was in the mood for caffeine or if he wanted a plain ol' water. "Something like that," he muttered.
"She's like that. Don't think she knows the meaning of the word 'no'. At least not from us."
The Alpha cocked an eyebrow at that, turning to the Beta, noting how he was now trying to get the label on the ketchup bottle perfectly centered and facing front. He ignored the obsessive-compulsiveness of his actions, choosing to focus instead on the conversation at hand, deciding the torture of actually talking to someone was being than the torture of watching the other Betas being sickeningly coupley. Lesser of two evils, he supposed.
"Which makes me wonder why you guys even need an Alpha in the first place, since she clearly seems to take to the role of boss-lady," he pointed out, turning his attention back to the menu and bobbing his eyebrows. "And with great joy, too."
"Having an Alpha is about more than just bossing people around," Erica cut in, butt firmly planted in the seat, apparently finished doing whatever it was she'd been doing with Boyd. "It's about protection, about having someone that will always look out for your best interests and make sure that you're always taken care of."
Derek stared at her with a dubious expression, eyes peeking through his lashes as he took her in without lifting his head from where it was bent over the menu. She was leaning over the table, forearms resting on chipped formica, a hand stretched in his direction without crossing that invisible line that marked his side of the table from her's. Brown eyes stared at him imploringly from behind heavy black shadow, almost begging with him to understand, to get what she was saying and also what she was leaving out. It was an unspoken plead to agree to be their Alpha, not technically breaking the guidelines they'd set forth for hanging out, but finding a loophole in it. Derek couldn't help but believe there were a lot more reasons than what she'd given for their need for an Alpha, reasons she wasn't sharing for whatever reason, yet he couldn't quite muster the energy or a fuck to give in order to ask about it.
"Besides," she continued, face turning smug, smirk on her face as she leaned back and folded her arms over her chest, chin tilted up in a haughty fashion. "You clearly fit in with us given your choice in outerwear."
He cocked an eyebrow at that, looking down at himself then glancing at the three other wolves at the table. Erica and Boyd both had on leather jackets, just like he was wearing, only their's were obviously made recently and to fit in with whatever fashion trend was happening at that moment.
Without a word, he slipped the jacket off and let it pool around him on the vinyl seat, ignoring Erica's brief cock of the eyebrow that said she knew what he was doing and he'd basically proven her right. Especially given the victorious tint to her scent.
Dammit.
"Wish I had a leather jacket," Isaac muttered, breaking Derek's attention from the lone female, the curly-haired one looking forlornly down at the salt shaker he was spinning around on the table.
"You aren't cool enough to have a leather jacket," Boyd deadpanned, features flat and stoic as he stared across the table at his packmate, who had lifted his head and began sputtering in protest.
"Boo is right," Erica agreed, wrapping herself around one of her mate's arms as he grumbled about not being called that. "You couldn't pull it off. You've got too much of an angel face." To prove her point, she reached over the table and cupped his chin, pursing her lips and making nonsense baby talk at him as she gently wagged his head back and forth.
Isaac scowled and swatted her hand away, muttering to himself about how he could pull it off and how he didn't have an angel face, all the while frowning down at the salt shaker he started back playing with. She simply sat back in her seat, wrapped around Boyd's arm again, as she cackled loudly, head thrown back and all. The larger Beta looked down at her with a smile pulling the corner of his lips, a sparkle in his dark eyes that Derek had never seen the male wear before, but had noticed it in his dad's eyes as he looked at his own mate. Love, pure and simple, the kind that made you believe that person was the most beautiful thing on the planet and that they were perfect despite or because of all their flaws and that you were the luckiest fucking being to ever exist solely because you had them with you and for some crazy reason, they loved you back.
Whiskey eyes flashed in Derek's mind, a brief moment spent wondering what that same sparkle would look like within them, how it would feel to look into those orbs to see it while they were focused on him. His heart skipped a beat before pounding doubletime, his skin tingling and his stomach fluttering with something he hadn't felt since he'd first laid eyes on Kate his freshman year. Only it was stronger now, more powerful, more visceral. He fully expected his stomach to just burst open there at that table and a million moths to come flying out, for his heart to pound and pound until it exploded, for his skin to practically vibrate right off his body and leave him bare and open for all the world to see what exactly was happening to him, inside him.
Although judging by the way Isaac was side-eyeing him and Boyd was peeking over with a cocked eyebrow and Erica was flat out staring with a smirk, he had a feeling they knew anyway.
"Sheriff's kid again?" she asked, already knowing the answer, smugness polluting her scent.
Derek glared at her, barely resisting the urge to growl, instead letting his words rumble out through clenched teeth. "I will literally pay you if you never bring him up again."
"Sweetie," she started calmly, leaning forward and cupping his cheek with one hand. "You couldn't afford me." She patted his cheek twice before letting her hand drop and sliding back to her side of the table, still smirking.
The Alpha sighed hard through his nose, choosing to scowl down at his menu instead, wondering if maybe it wouldn't have been such a bad idea to have stayed home to eat.
He was glad to have been wrong.
Dinner had been...well... Yeah, he had no idea how to put it into words. It wasn't fun exactly, since being social wasn't a thing he was all that happy to actually do and there were a thousand other things he'd rather do and places he'd rather be—some of which involved a certain Omega who thankfully hadn't been brought back up, but he was ignoring those choices for the non-options they were.
But it hadn't been the uncomfortable torture that eating at the Delgado-McHale place would've been. At no point had he felt like maiming and/or killing someone, even when Erica had repeatedly poked his cheek and told him in her annoying baby talk voice to quit looking like a pissed off constipation victim. At no point had he felt the urge to slam someone against a wall and scent them without their consent. At no point had he been overwhelmed by the desire to steal someone away and claim them or pound their face against the table for making him want to do just that. It had almost felt like having dinner with his friends back in New York.
Only...
And he was reluctant as hell to believe it and would never actually admit it out loud but it'd been...
Better.
Because he hadn't felt the need to impress anyone or put on some kind of show. He hadn't had to sit there and endure his girlfriend discussing private facts of their relationship and sex life—regardless of her intent behind those words. He hadn't had to suffer through people kissing his ass or talking him up about whatever shot he'd made in whatever game he'd just played. He hadn't had to pretend to be interested when others around him bragged about this chick or that hook-up or this car or that trust fund.
He'd listened to Erica complain about math and how she was convinced it was actually Satanic, practically yelling as she insisted that there was some YouTube video somewhere proving it. He'd watched Isaac constantly rearrange every item on the table so they were lined up perfectly and getting a panicked edge to his scent when things were moved and not put back in the exact spot they'd previously been in. He'd noted Boyd contributing to the conversation here and there, proving sage and wise and calm, with a way of carrying himself that went beyond his age—which Derek found himself asking what it was exactly and being surprised when the Beta told him he'd just turned eighteen over the summer.
And he'd found himself actually adding in his own thoughts, correcting Erica that the video she'd been referring to was math and biblical references to the president being the devil—which she'd then argued was the same thing, something that had Boyd shaking his head and Isaac rolling his eyes—commenting on his own morning runs when talk turned to Boyd and Isaac being on the cross country team, throwing in his own opinions on their current English reading assignment. He even found himself moving along with the pack and adjusting to them as the night wore on. He poked Erica back just as much as she poked him, rolled his eyes along with Boyd at whatever wild statements she was making, taking care to place the ketchup and salt and pepper shakers back exactly as he'd found them to ease Isaac's worry over them.
It was strange really, he thought repeatedly as he sat there eating his wolf-proportioned burger—a recommendation from Boyd, who'd ordered the same—finding himself actually somewhat enjoying himself while with other people, fitting in with them, more at ease than he'd ever been with friends he'd known his entire life, all while sitting amongst strangers he'd never wanted to meet much less hang out with. But he was. He was chuckling at jokes over Isaac turning into a grilled cheese if he kept ordering them, fist-pounding Boyd over witty insults at Coach Finstock's expense and a preference for Pizza Hut over Domino's, sharing his fries with Erica, who hadn't ordered anything but a Diet Coke—a fact Derek hadn't been all that surprised by, given the fact that she'd stuffed her face with junk all afternoon, only to later be surprised when she'd began stealing food from everyone else. It was the most comfortable he'd been with other people since his dad's accident and he wasn't entirely sure what to make of it.
Well, if he didn't count those moments when he had Stiles pinned up against something and was breathing in his scent, but he attributed that to just an Omega's ability to calm an Alpha. Biology and instincts and all that bullshit.
An hour after arriving at the diner, he was finding himself exchanging high-fives with Boyd and Isaac in the parking lot, being pulled into a hug by Erica, sloppy kiss placed on his cheek. His offer to give Isaac a ride home was turned down and he felt an odd mix of relief and disappointed, chalking the latter up to the realization that he'd have to go straight home and deal with the possibility of guests still being there. His wolf grumbled and he ignored it as always, agreeing to give Erica a ride home from school the next day for more math help, making her promise to keep up her No Asking About the Alpha Thing end of the deal.
All too soon, he was parking his Camaro on the side of the lawn and killing the engine. Stepping outside, he noted the lack of Sheriff SUV in the driveway next door, familiar powder blue Jeep in its usual spot. Tuning out the sounds of the outside world, he focused his hearing inside the house, catching four different heartbeats. John had apparently left and headed to work. Stiles had apparently decided to stick around.
And his evening had actually managed to turn into a good one, too.
With a heavy sigh, he steeled himself and headed inside, nose assaulted with the leftover scents of dinner, of the usual smell the home carried with it, of Melissa, Maria, Scott, John, Stiles.
His head automatically snapped to the left, to the staircase, where the scent trail was the strongest. Two heartbeats sounded down from that directions and when he listened closer, he could hear the familiar effects of their shoot-em-up video game, of their smack talking, of Stiles' laughter drowning out his buddy's.
Derek's hand was on the banister, foot on the stair, before he even realized what he was doing, only aware of his actions after his name had been called. He frowned in confusion, wondering when the hell he'd stepped over, when he'd decided to go upstairs, when he'd chosen to go find Stiles and snatch him up and take him to bed.
His name was called a second time and he fully snapped out of it, turning to find Melissa standing in the doorway to the kitchen, hip cocked, arms folded, eyebrows raised expectantly.
"Dishes?"
Right. Shit. He'd forgotten. Hell, he was technically grounded—hence the nightly dish duty—but had still gone out, practically had permission to given the fact that he hadn't been stopped or told he couldn't. The whole thing had slipped his mind and probably had slipped hers, too, since he'd only been grounded the once and it was over a weekend so he could study for a make-up test he'd bombed and avoid academic suspension.
But the fact that he was doing extra chores—like all the dishes—as his main punishment was because he hadn't been going out, so a full-on grounding wasn't even an option. Or maybe it had been and that he wasn't actually allowed to go out to eat with other people, but she'd been so shocked that he was even going that it made her forget that he wasn't supposed to go.
Not that any of it matter. He'd gone and there was nothing she could do, except reinforce a "no going out" policy and extend his already undetermined grounding period. Not that it would be necessary. He'd only gone out because it'd seemed like a preferable kind of torment over having dinner with the Stilinskis.
Then again, there was always a chance of the neighbors having dinner with them again and Derek would be forced to make another choice as to who he'd rather be annoyed by. But considering how his night had gone, dinner with the pack hadn't been all that bad and was a more appealing option.
Not that he was gonna admit any of that out loud. Or even to himself. Not really anyway.
Instead, he just nodded once and headed into the kitchen, she moving out the way to let him pass. He set about filling the sink with water, soaking the sponge, grabbing the dishwashing liquid from its home in the cabinet below, slipping off his jacket and draping it over the back of a chair. The running water let him block out other noises in the house—more specifically ones drifting down from the upper floor—no longer plagued by heartbeats he wanted to feel against his own or laughter he wanted to help create with his own witty words—if he was even capable of witty words to begin with.
Maria yelling through that Melissa was about to miss "NCIS" was the only thing that alerted Derek to the fact that the younger female hadn't left his presence yet, was still in the same room. He peeked over his shoulder to find her standing in the same position, only now more in the kitchen, her aggravated and expectant look replaced by one of curiosity and wonder. He didn't think too much about it, didn't try to figure it out, simply shut the water off and grabbed the first dish he could reach and scrubbed.
"You have fun with your friend?" she asked cautiously, like she was afraid to ask, for reasons unknown. Then again, if Derek actually put thought into it, he probably could figure out why she'd be nervous to pose the question. Fear of her conversation starter being rejected. Fear of him snapping and growling and acting like a general Alpha werewolf douche. Fear of him further hurting her feelings and humiliating her by calling her by her first name.
He winced at that, glad she was still behind him and couldn't see his face, glad she was human and couldn't scent his embarrassment and guilt and remorse. He'd fucked up with that one. And despite all his posturing and his insisting that he didn't want any relationships with any person, the past few hours had made him question if that was what he truly wanted it.
Although, if he was being honest with himself—which he still wasn't—he'd been questioning that since he'd opened the door his first night in Beacon Hills and gotten a good whiff of Stiles' scent.
"Friends," he corrected lowly while rinsing a plate, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly. "And yeah."
Surprise flooded her scent and he heard her clear her throat and run a hand through her hair. "Good," she stated hoarsely, clearly her throat again then swallowing. "Glad to see you're making an effort to be sociable." Her words were genuine, caring, sweet, and motherly, something he hadn't heard from her since about two weeks after his dad had died and she'd snapped herself out of her zombie coma, deciding to actually be a mom and not just hide out in her room. Scott had welcomed her with open arms. Derek hadn't. At that point, he'd begun pushing people away, had already shoved aside most of his friends, had alienated Scott, and Kate was even further out the door of their relationship than she had been.
Melissa's scent shifted again, from happiness at her son potentially breaking out of his shell, to anger and bitterness over the fact that he was still wrapped up in it. "Maybe you'll extend that behavior to people inside the house," she snarked, turning on a heel and preparing to stomp out the kitchen. Well, stomp out as much as one could when wearing fuzzy slippers.
Derek felt a surge of panic and worry swell up inside, causing him to drop the bowl he had in his hand back into the water before spinning around to catch sight of her retreating back. For some reason, he couldn't just let her leave, not on that note, not with her still pissed at him. Damned if he knew why, but his night was apparently full of big emotional changes. Why not add another?
"Hey, Me—uh," he cut himself off with a wince, curling his fingers into a fist before shoving them behind his head then dropping it. She turned to him with her eyebrows raised and her mouth hanging open, disbelief rolling off her, like she was unable to fathom the fact that he almost called her by her name once more.
Shit.
Okay, he wasn't helping himself out in any way. He'd almost committed the same sin he was trying to atone for, all while trying to make it up to her.
Which.
Weird.
Fuck, his head felt scrambled up and he seriously had no idea what the fuck it was he wanted anymore, all thanks to an annoying blonde Beta and her annoying pouty red lips.
"Uh," he stalled out, not entirely sure what he wanted to say. He wanted to apologize for the other night, for calling her what he did, wanted to promise he wouldn't do it again. But he couldn't, not while being one-hundred percent sincere with it. Because he probably would do it again, whether accidentally or on purpose, he didn't know. But it was most likely to happen, just like it was extremely likely that his current sociable mood was a one-time freak thing, his wolf having more control over his emotional climate so close to the full moon and leading him to believe he was comfortable around other people solely due to his more animalistic side's need for pack. So he didn't say anything, didn't make insincere apologies, didn't make false promises. Just went with whatever bullshit came out of his mouth.
"Erica, the girl friend—well, the girl who is a friend. Kind of a friend, whatever. The girl I was with tonight that you sorta met?" he rambled, internally grimacing at how dumb he sounded. "She'll probably be hanging around a lot more. And stuff. So." He wrapped it up with a shrug, feeling like a total jackass, but knowing there was nothing he could do about it now.
Although really, it wasn't like he didn't have a reason for telling her. She'd been surprised earlier at having a guest—or rather another guest, considering the Stilinskis presence—and he was just giving her a heads up to expect the blonde around more often. It was a courteous thing to do, really.
Still felt like a jackass though.
"Okay," Melissa replied flatly, nodding once before plastering a tight smile on her face. "Good night, Derek."
"Night."
This time, when she turned and left, he let her, focusing once more on the dirty dishes he had to clean and a churning in his stomach that had nothing to do with salty fries and a greasy burger.
It took him about half an hour but everything was washed, rinsed, dried, and put in its proper place, allowing him to finally slink off to his room. His earlier sociableness had worn off, as had the good mood he'd been in at the diner, replaced with just fatigue and an overwhelming feeling of "done with it all". He figured feeling like an asshole would do that to someone, that his guilt over his shitty behavior that he'd been ignoring all summer had finally caught up to him and was finally taking its toll on him. Had to happen eventually, he figured.
He climbed up the steps slowly, hand on the railing to help haul himself up, mind lost in a haze. The palm of his right hand dug into his eye as though it could help him get his mind right, help him readjust his priorities, help him figure out what the fuck was going on with him that evening. He'd started the day off not wanting to be around anyone, to having dinner with three Betas and enjoying himself, to wanting to apologize and right a wrong he'd done to Melissa. Shit was so much simpler when he'd first moved to town and acted like an asshole towards everyone.
Okay, maybe it wasn't that much simpler, he reassessed as a door open and he caught a whiff of citrus and sugar, the combination knocking the breath out of a him and causing a low rumble to form in the back of his mind.
'Mine.'
His head snapped up, hands dropping to his sides as he reached the top of the stairs, finding Stiles exiting the bathroom. The Omega still had a hand on the door knob, frozen in place, like Derek was a t-rex whose vision was dependent on movement. Or, more likely, he was considering fleeing back into the bathroom to lock the door and hide. Seemed logical, given the tense way he held his body, like he was ready to spring into action at a second's notice, and the fact that two of their previous encounters had ended with Stiles pinned against something hard as Derek scented him against his will.
Possibly against his will, his mind corrected.
No, definitely. Just because an Omega was yielding under an Alpha's actions didn't mean he was consenting. It was biology and instincts and all that shit they learned in Heat Ed, that was all. It had nothing to do with Derek or any potential attraction Stiles may have for the male himself. Just the fact that he was an Alpha with an Alpha's scent and an Alpha's knot and fuck, he needed to stop that train of thought because now all he could think about was how perfectly all right he'd be with letting Stiles just use him for his knot, how perfectly content he'd be for the rest of his life if he was nothing more than just Stiles' sex toy and a surrogate knot to help ease his heat.
God, he was so fucked when it came to this Omega brat.
Stiles swallowed hard and Derek's eyes tracked the movement of his adam's apple bobbing, wanting to trace it with his tongue, mark the pale flesh with his teeth. He wanted to lick every inch of him, to find out if his moles tasted different than the rest of his skin, to discover all the places where his scent was the strongest and the places that coaxed the most sounds out of that throat.
His cock twitched at the images his mind created, of Stiles sprawled naked in his bed, head reared back as moans escaped past his parted cupid's bow lips, legs spread as Derek scented him in his most intimate areas. He'd trailed his nose along where hips met torso, around his cock and over it, down between his cheeks before lapping at his hole, taking in that slick he naturally produced and making the Omega squirm in pleasure as he ate him out like a man starved and thirsted.
The citrusy sugar scent got stronger, joined by the spice that gave away the Omega's arousal. Derek's ears pricked at the sound of a pounding heart, eyes sliding up to see a tongue darting out to wet pink lips, to see pale cheeks flush, to see dark pupils dilate. Their eyes locked momentarily and the Alpha could hear the younger male's breath hitch, could see the tension increase as he tightened his grip on the doorknob not to ready an escape, but like he was holding himself in place. Derek had no idea why, what was stopping them, why he couldn't just let go and why he himself wasn't just marching over there and hauling the other male up to his room.
The moment was broken when Stiles' eyes flicked down, narrowing on something on Derek's cheek, a low rumble of a growl escaping past barely parted lips and his eyes flashing gold. The Alpha felt his cock twitch in his pants at the hint of the other man's wolfish nature, at the animal lying underneath, and he had flashes of thoughts of how to bring that side out him out more, only for it to all cut off when he inhaled the chemosignals he was giving off.
Stiles. Was pissed. He was angry, upset, fuming, embarrassed, self-conscious, and beyond it all, jealous.
And Derek hadn't a fucking clue why.
The younger man narrowed his eyes in his direction before shaking his head angrily and storming across the hall, slamming Scott's door behind him and muttering out halfhearted apologies to his best friend's objections. All the while, Derek stood there looking and feeling baffled, struggling to figure out what the hell had happened to make Stiles go from horny to furious in zero-point-two seconds.
Frowning in confusion, he slipped into the bathroom, ignoring the scents of Omega and Stiles and mine hanging around as he went straight to the mirror. And there it was, standing out like a neon red sign in a world of black and white: the imprint of a female's lips on his cheek.
Shit.
Derek honestly had no clue how long he'd been laying there in bed. He remembered going there, remembered skulking out the bathroom like a scolded dog after scrubbing his cheek raw in order to get rid of Erica's bullshit smudge-proof lipstick that was damn near impossible to clean without a sand-blaster. He remembered trudging up the stairs, remembered stripping down to his boxer-briefs, remembered climbing on top of the bed and pulling the sheet over him as his wolf whimpered at him.
But most of all, he remembered laying there trying to figure out how to explain to Stiles that what he saw wasn't what he thought it was. Erica was apparently overly affectionate and incredibly tactile, showing her like for someone by constant pokes and prods and unwanted cuddles. She'd ruffled Isaac's hair countless times, wrapped herself around Boyd at practically every opportunity, squeezed Derek's face and making kissy noises at him at one point during the evening. The kiss on the cheek was nothing more than a friend saying goodbye, a friend who was in a happy and committed relationship with her mate.
He just needed to explain all this to Stiles and make him understand that it meant nothing, that he and Erica were nothing, barely even acquaintances and that all their time spent together was pretty much against his will and a result of severe coercion.
Yet...
Yet he stayed put. Yet he didn't get up to go find Stiles and talk to him. Yet he didn't make any plans to go to his house the next day, to wait for him before or after either of their shared classes, to hunt him down wherever and just...
Derek wasn't gonna do any of that.
And his wolf hated him for it.
But it turned out he didn't need to, because his door flew open and was slammed shut, because feet were stomping their way up his stairs, because a familiar achingly sweet citrus scent was flying up to his nose and pulling him. He shot upright on his bed, eyes wide as they watched Stiles appear at the top of the stairs in the same lame graphic tee/flannel shirt combo as earlier. That angry scent still hung around him like a cloud, his whiskey eyes narrowed, his jaw taught, his brow pulled into a scowl. Derek felt his cock jerk at the sight of it, briefly wondering why the hell he was finding a pissed off guy so fucking hot. But he was and he did and he wasn't about to question it, especially not when the younger man was ranting as his sneakers pounded against the wooden stairs.
"Look, you Alpha asshole," he practically snarled as he breached the top of the steps, finger pointing at the Alpha asshole in question, wagging as though it could help him figure out his next line.
Derek couldn't do anything but sit there, eyebrows raised in expectation as he awaited the next insult, for the tongue lashing that was sure to come. Because that angry scent was in full force and he just knew he was about to get ripped a new one. Not that he didn't deserve it after all the shit he'd put Stiles through, which meant he'd sit there and take it, would accept all the angry words and bitter statements and probably way too true rude epithets he'd be called.
Only none came.
Stiles seemed to lose steam as he paused halfway to the bed, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the scents of the room, eyes flashing gold as he groaned and his body went lax. The older man felt his brow furrow in confusion, completely enraptured with the slumping male before him, the way the teenager's eyes went heavy lidded, the way his heart pounded in his chest, the way his scent shifted from anger to arousal.
Fucking hell.
His cock practically shot up at that, getting so hard so fast it was pretty much painful. But he didn't care. He had an aroused Stiles in his bedroom only three feet away from his actual bed. And the Omega wasn't doing anything to hide his current state, wasn't trying to fight it, wasn't flushing with embarrassment or running off in humiliation. He was giving over to it, letting it happen.
"Fuck," Stiles breathed out, a flash of fang catching the older man's attention. "I wanna be pissed at you."
Derek couldn't do anything but nod dumbly, eyes locked onto his mouth, on those cupid's bow lips and the hint of sharp teeth they revealed with each tiny movement.
"Your room smells like come," he went on, the Alpha continuing with the stupefied nodding thing. He was well aware of what his room smelled like, had had it pointed out to him earlier that day by Erica, along with the fact that there was a slight hint of Omega underneath.
Of Stiles underneath.
"But just yours, no one else's."
Derek nodded more, licking his lips, eyes still locked onto the teenager's. "You could change that," he rumbled, voice husky, an octave lower than usual.
Another groan came from the Omega, a fresh wave of aroused scent punching Derek in the gut and knocking him senseless. He was glad he'd been sitting or he'd be on his ass from it, knees and legs no longer functioning the way they were supposed to.
His eyes drifted down, catching sight of a bulge hidden behind blue denim, one that hadn't been there when Stiles had first walked in. But now it was and Derek wanted it bare to his eyes, his nose, his mouth. He wanted to scent it, to lick it, to suck it, to try every trick he thought he knew and see which one turned Stiles into a blubbering, whining, pleading mess the fastest. He wanted to take the Omega apart bit by bit and put him together again with his knot, to join them together in the most basic way and never let him go.
Without a word, Stiles rushed over, rounding the end of the bed before standing over Derek and crashing their lips together. It was clumsy, hurried, spoke of a lack of experience and precision and it made Derek growl in pleasure. He parted the Omega's lips with his tongue and delved inside, tasted the sugar of his soda and the spice of his dinner and that one taste that could only be described as Stiles. It made his head swim, dizzy-drunk, and he needed more.
In a blur of movement, Stiles was on his back on the bed, Derek pressing down onto him. Clothes were torn off, both in too much of a hurry to worry about saving this or being careful with that, to take the time with buttons or zippers or whatever other stupid fastenings clothing designers figured were necessary but were really a fucking inconvenience when it came to getting his Omega naked.
But then he was and Derek had him sprawled on his bed, just like he wanted. Legs parted, head tilted back, fingers grabbing at the sheets as the Alpha ducked down and licked along his groin, nipped at his hip bones, sucked at his inner-thighs. He nosed behind Stiles' balls, scented him at his most pure and delighted at the groan he got in response to his growl.
"Der," Stiles practically whimpered, blunt teeth sinking into his bottom lip. "Alpha. Please."
He was absolutely powerless before those words, that voice, that scent. He may have been physically stronger, faster, better in pretty much every way, but between them, Stiles was the one in control, that held all the reins, that wielded the power. And Derek would happily spend his life on his knees serving his Omega.
To prove that fact, he settled further between the other man's legs before bending them back, keeping a firm grip on the back of his thighs. Without hesitation, he leaned in and lapped at his hole, rumbling in pleasure at the taste. Stiles practically keened, hands flying to wrap around thick wrists, squeezing tight as though the grip would keep him together.
That wasn't gonna happen, not if Derek had anything to say about it.
He stiffened his tongue, slipping it inside his hole, thankful for an Omega's body and its slight stretching when aroused. He lapped all around it, inside it, swirled his tongue around and ate him out the way he'd only ever imagined. He sucked at the slick the teenager produced, swallowed it all down with a moan, his hips rolling and grinding his aching cock into the mattress on automatic.
Stiles' head thrashed about on the pillow, lips parted as he breathed out a litany of swears and groans, Derek's name a praise mixed in on occasion. His hips rocked up, his hole gripped him tight, trying to pull him in more, trying to keep him in. He was begging, pleading for more, to be filled, to be given his knot, please, Alpha, please. But Derek wasn't done tasting him, wanted more. He was being greedy, he knew he was, but he couldn't help it. He had a head rush and a sugar buzz all from the taste and he wanted to drink it all down, to make the Omega produce more to slicken his way. He wanted to make the other man come from just this and lap up what his cock gave out, wanted to taste everything Stiles had so that it would be left in his mouth for days, weeks, months, ruining his mouth for everything else.
His own hips ground down more, practically humping the mattress as he kept eating out his Omega. Stiles was crying out, sweat covering his pale skin and bringing a sheen to those beautiful moles. Claws were digging into Derek's wrists and when he peered up, he caught sight of the tiny fangs young wolves had. God, he couldn't wait til Stiles came of age, when he got his full fangs. He wanted them on his skin, sinking into his neck and marking him with the mate's bite, letting everyone around them know Derek was taken and by whom.
"Der. Close. 'M so close," Stiles slurred, head reared back, long pale throat on display.
All Derek could do was hum in agreement, feeling his own balls drawing up tight, the tingle at the base of his spine alerting him to imminent release. But not before Stiles, not before his mate. With renewed vigor, he went at it, thrashing his tongue inside the other man, sucking at his hole, rubbing his stubble covered cheeks on two pale globes and marking him there. All the while, his own hips worked harder, drove him higher, closer, almost, almost...
His eyes flew open and his head jerked off the mattress as he came, inhaling deep on a gasp like he'd been drowning and was finally able to come up for air. His cock was pressed between his torso and his mattress, knot fully inflated as he tried to lock on to an imaginary partner, come spurting out and staining another pair of underwear. And his hands were trapped, tied up and tangled in the shredded remnants of another set of sheets.
Goddammit.
Body still on edge and vibrating from his ongoing orgasm, he raised himself up onto his elbows, taking in his surroundings. His alarm clock let him know that it was set to go off in about twenty minutes—convenient really, since that'd be the time he'd stop fucking coming—his pillows had been shoved to the floor, and his top sheet was nothing but shreds of fabric scattered about the place. His body was halfway down the bed, legs hanging off the edge from the knees down, and when he pressed his nose to the mattress, he caught a whiff of an even stronger scent of Stiles than had been on the other side.
Another large spurt of come rushed out as he groaned and writhed on the bed, hips rolling as his nose actively sought out even more of that smell. He didn't even bother trying to fight it, didn't bother questioning or arguing or hating himself. For once, he gave in to what his body—and his wolf—wanted, admitting to himself that all of him wanted it, too. The only thing he could really hate about the whole situation was how it wasn't actually Stiles beneath him, but an old, stale, diluted version of his scent.
His wolf whimpered in the back of his mind at the lack of mate being pressed against them and for once, he didn't ignore it or tell it to shut up or disagree. He just let out a low, muffled whimper of his own.