Author's note: This is not a complete AU like my other Sterek stories, but it's still absolutely not canon compliant. It uses canon setting, though more in an "inspired by" rather than a "conforming" sense.

Other than that, it's the usual - Derek is a dick, Stiles is kinky, and there will be some hand-to-butt discipline thrown somewhere in the mix. Probably more than once, so consider yourself warned.

xxx

Stiles

"Alright, here we go." Stiles checked his reflection in the rear-view mirror of his jeep and tried to force the stubborn hair strand in the direction it was meant to go but the little fucker had a mind of its own, sticking proudly like an apple stem. Stiles huffed, licking his fingers, but even the extra moisture did not persuade his hair to adjust. Meh, whatever, not like he really cared. It just gave him an excuse to linger in the car for another minute or two. "Ok, stop being a pussy."

Today was the day. Today he will get his shit together and lose his virginity. Seriously, he must have been the last virgin in Beacon Hills. And it was not for the lack of opportunity. No, Stiles had plenty of chances to get laid with both girls and boys. But he was not interested in either, he was interested in men. Or rather one particular man. Werewolf, to be precise.

Gah, stop thinking about him.

The pep-talk Stiles indulged in on an almost daily basis. Over the past 2 years, his initial secret infatuation with Derek Hale first morphed into some kind of fucked-up obsession and then into an albeit more sane but no less painful ache of unrequited love.

There wasn't a day when Stiles wouldn't think about him, making up various scenarios - some romantic, some kinky, some just flat-out weird. So much daydreaming was unhealthy (hence the daily pep-talk). At this point, he wasn't even sure whether he was bisexual, gay, or just exclusively Derek-sexual?

Ok, if porn was anything to go by, he was absolutely gay. Just because he hasn't considered any other guy for 2 years, didn't mean that his dick didn't get hard from watching them. Besides, he was hooking up with a Daddy-type dude tonight who was objectively hot. Of course not Derek-level hot but… Stop!

Stop. Thinking. About. Him.

Think about Jared. Big and bulky, 32 years old, with a beard, strong hands, and a menacing presence. At least on pictures. Perhaps he was a bit old for Stiles, but old meant experienced and Stiles didn't want his first time to suck.

From the brief conversation they had on Tinder, Stiles figured that Jared definitely knew how to dominate in bed - he wanted an obedient, cock-hungry twink. Stiles didn't consider himself to be either, but whatever. Perhaps it could serve as a reason to get a spanking first (Stiles's obsession number two).

The Shelf was not really a gay bar per se, but it was the closest thing Beacon Hills had to offer. Stiles had never been here before, but he knew the bar's reputation as being a risqué one, with all types of clientele.

He spotted Jared right away and was pleasantly surprised to see that the pictures didn't lie. With Tinder, one could never be sure. He slipped into the barstool next to him and greeted him with an awkward wave and a sheepish smile (in case anyone didn't notice just how much Stiles didn't belong there).

The guy gave him a skeptic once-over and then smirked. Stiles hoped it was a good thing, even though it made his hair stand up on the back of his neck. He refused to be a chicken though because then he might as well remain a hopeless pining virgin forever.

"Cute."

Stiles felt anything but cute really.

"You have this deer in the headlights look. Relax, I don't bite. Much." Jared winked at him and it helped with some of the tension.

Stiles didn't tell him that he never had sex before. He wasn't sure whether his lack of experience would be a good selling point.

"What would you like to drink?"

"Just coke." Stiles could have asked for something stronger, the dude was clearly buying and it might have helped with the nerves, but he didn't want to risk potential embarrassment if the bartender decided to make a fuss.

Jared ordered him coke while Stiles chewed on the hangnail of his thumb, trying to come up with something to say. He was usually more verbose than this.

"Your place or my place?"

"Huh?"

A flicker of annoyance passed over Jared's face as if repeating himself was a courtesy Stiles hadn't earned yet, but it was quickly hidden behind a friendly smile. "I assume you are looking for more than just coke? I've seen the bathrooms here and…" Jared shook his head, his grimace suggesting that he wasn't eager to go there.

And thank God for that, cause this whole thing was already getting more demeaning than Stiles expected. I mean, they've barely greeted each other... It seemed that Jared was not one to waste time on pleasantries or wooing.

"My place is not far from here, so... whenever you are ready."

Stiles bit his lip, staring into his glass. This couldn't get any more romantic, huh? But then again, what could one expect from Tinder? A loving relationship till death do us apart? Yes, the dude was a tad too straightforward about it but what was the alternative? Sit at home and dream about the impossible? That one day Derek will wake up and suddenly see him as something more than just Scott's pestiferous little friend?

No, that was not happening. Derek was tolerating him at best, annoyed with him at usual and completely ignoring him otherwise. That's why Stiles made it his mission to get on his nerves at every opportunity because exasperation was infinitely better than indifference (and Derek getting handsy was a nice bonus too).

And it might have been easier to stomach if the guy was straight, but that was not the case. Stiles saw him leave this very bar with a guy on his arm on more than one occasion. So it wasn't that Derek wouldn't swing that way. He just didn't swing Stiles's way.

Stiles asked. Not directly of course. It was Lydia or Erika, or just one of the girls who once jokingly asked Derek if he would ever consider doing more than just growling at them. Derek looked at her as if she grew an extra head and said that the hell would sooner freeze over before he dated any of them "kids".

"Even me?" Stiles chaffed, chuckling when Derek regarded him with his usual somebody-please-kill-him expression.

"Especially you, Stilinski. You are so fucking obnoxious, I'd be surprised if you made it to graduation. Alive."

Ouch… but not really a surprise. And honestly, the clean cut should have helped Stiles to get over him. And yet it only sparked his appetite and-

"The hell are you doing here?" an all too familiar growl interrupted his train of thought.

Well. Speak of the devil.

xxx

Derek

He could sense him even before entering The Shelf. It was pure instinct that kicked in whenever members of his pack were around. Stiles wasn't technically part of the pack, but Derek's wolf considered him as one, and for some inexplicable reason had way more tolerance for that insufferable human's antics than Derek had.

When it came to Stiles, he and his wolf never saw eye to eye. Whenever the little shit opened his mouth, Derek was irritated whilst his wolf was entertained. Whenever the little shit did something stupid, Derek was angry whilst his wolf was worried. Whenever the little shit finally left to go home, Derek was relieved whilst his wolf was sad.

Seeing Stiles at the bar next to Jared Wilson had Derek and his feral side agreeing for once. Jared was bad news. And not just because he was a hunter but because boys seen in his company often had blackeyes adorning their faces. He was a cruel bastard and Derek would gladly sink his teeth into his major artery if it wasn't for the truce he established with his brother. Wilsons were just like Argents - not the friendliest bunch. But they could be negotiated with and there was already too much drama surrounding Beacon Hills for Derek's taste to antagonize another hunter-family.

Politics aside, he didn't like the picture he was seeing. And neither did his wolf. What the hell did Jared want with Stiles? And what the fuck was Stiles even doing here?

"Oh hey, Derek."

The little shit had the gall to act as if he wasn't just caught red-handed in a place he shouldn't be. Derek narrowed his eyes, once again reminding himself that he was human, and dropping him on the floor and snarling in his face was not the way to go.

"Don't 'hey Derek' me. I just asked you a question," he said instead, his voice low enough to verge on a growl.

"He is with me," Jared smirked at him with confidence he had no business having when facing an angry werewolf.

"On a date," Stiles added, mirroring Jared's expression.

Derek looked between them, wanting to call bullshit on that cause there was no way Stiles could be interested in that asshole, right? Right?

To prove his point Jared wrapped his hand around Stiles's shoulders and Derek's wolf clawed his way to the surface, changing the color of his irises. He didn't like to be challenged like that and the protective instincts were hard to control.

"Easy there, Hale," Jared purred, as he let go of Stiles, who wasn't really fighting his embrace, to begin with. "Stiles asked me out himself."

Stiles nodded in agreement, raising his chin as if to say "and what are you gonna do about it?"

Derek furrowed his brows, fighting the urge to slap some sense into the kid. "Absolutely not. Let's go." He grabbed Stiles by the arm, ready to haul him out of the bar but Jared wasn't ready to part with his prey, placing a heavy hand on Derek's shoulder at the same time.

"Hey!" Stiles snapped, jerking his arm away with a glare. "The fuck is your problem?!"

"This is none of your business, Hale. Walk away, before you cause a scene." Jared's voice was eerily calm. He looked like a level-headed, peaceful guy, but Derek knew better. He had seen what he did to his coworker, Mickey. The kid came to work with a couple of teeth missing. Supposedly to improve his oral skills. Human-fucking-scum. There was no way Derek was leaving Stiles with him. The asshole was right about one thing though - it was better to avoid an outright brawl.

"He is fucking underage, Jared. That's too low, even for you." Derek made sure to say it loud enough for the bartender to hear. He had no doubt that Jared didn't care about Stiles's age, but he might care about his reputation.

"Dude! I'm eighteen!" Stiles retorted, fuming.

"Since when?"

"Since April?!"

It was October now. How did he miss that? His wolf whined, recognizing the hurt look on Stiles's face. Derek, however, refused to feel bad. It didn't change a thing. Stiles was still a kid and Jared was still bad news.

"His father is the Sheriff. If you are feeling brave, I can call him right now and we'll see what he has to say about this. But something tells me, he will not be giving you his blessing."

Judging by the way Jared changed in the face, Derek knew that he won. No piece of ass was worth that kind of trouble.

xxx

Stiles

No way! Seriously?! He was gonna walk away just like that?!

"Jared, wait!" Stiles tried to follow him but was caught by the scruff of his t-shirt. He gave Derek his fiercest glare, but the werewolf's grip was iron-clad.

Gah! That was just his luck to have Derek, of all people, come at the worst moment and ruin this for him! Ironic, wasn't it?

If this happened two years ago, Stiles would be nurturing hope that Derek simply got jealous, but too much time had passed for him to still be practicing this self-delusion. Derek probably thought that Stiles was too young for anything a guy like Jared had to offer, and that was just infuriating.

"Let go of me!" he snapped, and when his demand was ignored just like his death-glares, he added, "I need to take a leak. Unless you want me to pee right here?"

Derek let go of him and Stiles stalked in the direction of the toilets, changing his course at the last second and jumping outside just in time to see Jared drive away. Great. Fucking perfect. Best hook-up ever. Derek managed to save his virginity for the foreseeable future and Stiles stormed back to the bar to show him his undying appreciation.

"Nice cockblock, dude. Seriously, thanks a lot."

"Anytime." Derek sipped on a beer, his whole posture showing just how much he didn't give a fuck.

"You are not funny. Who do you think you are to butt into this?!" He might have been the Alpha of the pack, but Stiles was no werewolf to defer to him like the others, and even if he was, his private life would still be none of Derek's business.

"Someone who clearly knows better." Derek still didn't even look at him, wearing that bored, mildly annoyed expression and Stiles was about ready to combust.

"You can't just..." he gasped for air in indignation. "Would you stop treating me like a fucking kid?!"

"You are a fucking kid."

Right. As if Stiles needed another reminder of just how little Derek thought of him. Even though Derek stated it more as a fact than an insult, it still smarted.

"If I become a virgin sacrifice to the next supernatural being that comes to town, that's on you."

"I'm this close to sacrificing you myself," Derek replied, entirely unaffected by Stiles's anger.

Stiles folded his arms on the chest, trying not to pout like a 3-year-old. "You are such a dick," he huffed. Why on earth would he fall for such a dick was beyond him, but he did. And how was he supposed to get over him, if the said dick kept thwarting his dates?

"I did you a favor," Derek said, interrupting his grim thoughts. "Jared is the last person you want to get involved with."

"Why?"

"He is dangerous. Stay away from him."

Says the werewolf. "You are dangerous. Maybe I should stay away from you."

Derek tilted his head to the side. "Yes, please. I would actually very much appreciate that."

"Asshole," Stiles muttered under his breath and Derek cast him an equally irritated look.

"Why are you still here? I thought I told you to go home."

Stiles opened his mouth to say something snide and sarcastic but that's when one of the bartenders placed a drink in front of Derek. "From that lady over there," he said, pointing at an attractive raven-haired girl in her early 20s. She raised her own glass to salute him and Stiles grimaced realizing that unlike him, Derek was very likely to get laid tonight.

Jealousy pooled in the pit of his stomach. This was so unfair! What would Stiles give to have Derek look at him the way he just looked at her - with curiosity, interest. Catching his gaze, she got up from her seat and walked towards the bathrooms in a silent invitation.

"Wow, really?" Stiles shook his head incredulously. How easy it must have been for Derek. With his looks, he didn't even have to do anything and girls were throwing themselves at him.

Derek chuckled as the girl disappeared behind the corner and then returned his gaze to the drink she bought him. Stiles noticed how weirdly the surface reflected the light, but it didn't stop him from grabbing it away from Derek's reach and emptying it in a single gulp.

Bleh, it must have been some really cheap whisky cause the taste was downright horrible. He ended up violently coughing and tearing up as if it was his first encounter with alcohol (which of course, it wasn't) and he quickly regretted his impulsive act of brattitude. It might have won him Derek's attention back, but judging by his scowl, Derek was done playing nice.

The bartender cleared his throat behind him and Derek raised a hand in a sign of apology. "Sorry. I got this". With that, he took Stiles by the arm and dragged him out of the bar like a little kid. And Stiles kinda felt like one, his face burning in humiliation. Thankfully, his self-preservation instincts kicked in and he didn't attempt to fight an angry werewolf and make an already embarrassing situation worse.

Once outside, Derek let him go, but not before cuffing him upside the head. "Are you an idiot? Oh wait, who am I asking. Of course, you are an idiot! You couldn't have drawn more attention to yourself if you tried. And that, right after yelling about your age and your birthday in April for the whole bar to hear."

Ok, that might have been not his smartest move, but it wasn't in Stiles's nature to back down. "And what's it to you?! Why do you keep acting as if it's any of your business?"

"Apart from the fact that it was my drink?"

"You should be thanking me. That was some nasty shit she sent you." Stiles's quip missed the mark and Derek looked about ready to cuff him again and this time, Stiles suspected it would be no gentle pat. He preemptively took a step back and reached for his wallet. "Jeez, fine, I'll give you the money."

But that seemed to only fuel Derek's irritation. "I don't want your money," he spat.

"Then what do you want?"

"For you to grow a brain? Or stop doing stupid shit? Oh, the possibilities are endless. Though right now I want you to do as you are told and go home. And if you feel like you need some additional motivation, I'll be happy to provide you with one."

Derek took a menacing step towards him and Stiles jumped back, raising his palms in surrender. "Ok, ok, I'm going."

This was absolutely not how he imagined this evening would go. And why was it that whenever Derek threatened violence, Stiles got all flustered and hot? There was definitely something wrong with him.

"On foot, you moron!" Derek growled when he headed towards his jeep.

"But…" Crap, Stiles didn't even realize that he won't be able to drive when he took that shot. Still, going on foot was such an unattractive prospect... "But that would take me forever!" he all but whined.

"Perhaps you should have thought about it before you downed my drink, genius. But if you don't wanna walk, you can always call your daddy to give you a lift."

Stiles grimaced. "Can't you?"

"I could," Derek said, nodding. "There is just this tiny little problem... I don't want to."

Dick.

xxx

Derek

The first thing Derek felt as he woke up, was a headache and strong weakness. As a werewolf, he never had to worry about having a hangover. Somebody must have spiked his drinks with wolfsbane or mistletoe. He wouldn't be surprised if Wilson came back to exact revenge for ruining his plans on a young piece of ass.

Derek groaned, refusing to open his eyes and face the day. Last night sucked balls. His own plans for a peaceful evening, some alcohol, and perhaps a quick fuck, got effectively spoiled by that insufferable little shit. After Stiles left, getting frisky with that girl was the last thing on his mind.

His wolf kept demanding that Derek followed him and made sure Stiles got home alright, but Derek refused to play the babysitter. Stiles was not a toddler and no one has ever died from a bit of walking. His wolf was not happy with him but this was not a democracy. Derek always kept his feral side firmly in check. He was in control of his wolf, not vice versa. And by the looks of it, his wolf was still subdued, either from the effects of whatever was put in his drinks or perhaps still sulking over Derek not giving in…

Derek opened his eyes with a start. He didn't feel his wolf at all! And he was… oh what the fuck?! What was he doing in Stiles's room?! Did he follow him here due to his guilty conscience?

Oh God, it got worse! He was in Stiles's bed! Please, please, please, tell me I didn't do anything stupid!

The silent prayer died on his lips as he looked at his hands and his blood turned cold. His breath ragged and panicking he slowly got off the bed to look in the wardrobe mirror.

Fuck.

xxx

Stiles

Stiles woke up feeling oddly energized, which was a surprise given how sad and tired he was by the time he finally hit the bed last night. Walking home took him around an hour and gave him plenty of time to wallow in misery over his unrequited love for the biggest dick in town.

But now it was as if somebody turned the page. He was hungry and horny. He palmed his morning wood sleepily and nearly fell off the bed at its size. His dick couldn't have grown that much over one night. No way. Startled, he opened his eyes and pulled down his underwear to look at it, and gasped. And his dick was not the only thing that was different. His hands were large and hairy and… he fantasized about those hands caressing his body or smacking his ass far too often not to recognize them.

"I must still be dreaming," he muttered, examining his sixpack. He was so engrossed in his own body, that he didn't even notice that he wasn't at home but at Derek's loft. In his bed.

Ok, he was definitely dreaming... or tripping. Stiles pinched his side. Tripping it is.

He looked at his reflection on the glass wall and took off his shirt, drinking in the sight of Derek's muscular body. This was surreal. He let his hands roam around his skin, his dick getting harder in the process. He might never get to do it in real life, but damn if he didn't take advantage of whatever drug-induced state he was having.

He glanced down at his palm again and watched his nails turn to claws and then back. Whoa, wicked! His eyes changed color to red and the fangs extended. He wanted to run and to jump and to hunt and to kill. His arousal mixed with all those cravings as if there was an animal inside of him. His senses were heightened, but he had a hard time focusing on anything. One thing he knew for sure though - he was not alone.

"Stiles?"

Stiles turned to see himself standing in the doorway. This trip just got even more ridiculous and he couldn't help chuckling at the absurdity of his hallucination. "Wow! This shit is strong."

"What the fuck are you doing?!" His doppelganger was frowning down at him and Stiles found it hilarious.

"Having a good time, what about you?" he said cheerfully. "I don't know what kind of drug is this, but it's the best fucking trip ever!"

"Idiot! This is not a trip! " The doppelganger snapped, his exasperated tone and expression oddly familiar. He took Stiles by the shoulders and shook him. "Snap out of it! This is for real! And stop touching my dick for fucks sake!"

Stiles's hand halted. He was sure he must have been hallucinating, but the animal inside him got subdued by the telling off and a shadow of doubt started gnawing at him.

"Uhm… Derek?"

xxx

Derek

He was going to fucking kill him! Murder in cold blood and set the remains on fire (just as soon as he got his body back, that is). As if it wasn't enough that a leisure 10-minute run from Stiles's place turned into a 30-minute one, with his breath and muscles giving out every 300 yards or so. Stupid human body! He tripped and nearly threw up several times! And now he finally made it home only to find this idiot naked and jerking off as if nothing was going on!

"Put something on right-fucking-now!" he growled, though his voice didn't travel the same way as when he was in his own body. When Stiles remained staring at him with an expression of a lost puppy (= not something he thought he would ever see on his own face), Derek opened the closet and threw a fresh pair of boxers for him to wear. Thankfully, the little shit obeyed him without further ado and if the growing redness on his cheeks was anything to go by, he was finally starting to catch on.

"I don't understand. How is this possible?" he asked, looking anywhere but at Derek.

Good question. "I don't know. A spell, a curse, some voodoo shit? Take your pick." Derek grabbed jeans, a t-shirt, and socks, and handed them to Stiles. "In Beacon Hills anything's possible. We need to figure out what, who, why, and why us."

Stiles quickly got dressed and then looked at his reflection again. "This is a Freaky-fucking-Friday," he groaned, flopping facedown on the pillow.

Derek was about to tell him to pull himself together when he caught his own reflection and grimaced at the unruly strand of hair still sticking upright on his head. It kept bugging him the entire time yesterday, but fixing Stiles's hair would be a bit too intimate. Now it was his hair and there were no such constraints.

"It's no use. I tried," Stiles said, watching his failed attempts to plaster the strand down. "God, I'm hungry."

Of course he was. Stiles was a werewolf now. Derek didn't even want to think about all the ways this moron could make his life miserable now that he had werewolf strength. He could only hope that they would manage to switch back before Stiles did any significant damage.

Speaking of damage - Derek grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to his boss, saying that he won't make it today. He worked for a local logging company, coincidentally owned by Wilsons. Boyd kept needling him about working for hunters but to Derek, it was a job like any other. The pay was decent, not that he really needed money, it was just something to do. Physical work calmed his wolf and gave the hunters the illusion of control over him. They sure acted as if it was so... and well, whatever helped them sleep at night. As long as they stayed off his back (and more importantly - off his pack), Derek didn't care. Hopefully, Lucas will cut him a break today since he was usually the more sensible of the Wilson brothers.

But nope, no such luck. Derek grimaced as his phone immediately started ringing. He handed it to Stiles, hiding his irritation behind a stern expression. "Say that something came up. Apologize and tell him you will take extra shifts to make up for it. Then hang up."

Stiles did as he was told, or tried to, anyway. He had a hard time squeezing a word into the angry tirade that could be heard from the other side. Derek was used to this but he preferred not to have an audience. Stiles's look of confusion would have been funny if the rest of it wasn't quite so irritating.

"I don't understand," Stiles said, as Derek snatched the phone from him and ended the call right in the middle of yelling. "You're a fucking werewolf. Why are you letting them treat you this way?"

Derek ignored his question. "Let's go. I'll make you a steak." He didn't wait to see if Stiles was following him and walked out of the room to the kitchen. He didn't have to explain himself to anyone. Least of all a mere human.

Except, he was the mere human now. It felt a bit weird not to have the presence of the wolf - the cravings, the energy, and the need for strict self-control. He wasn't particularly hungry, didn't have to keep his temper in check, or run or hunt to keep his wolf happy. It was like a vacation, albeit a forced and unwelcomed one, but still.

"Wow, I'm so hungry I could eat a deer," Stiles said, squirming on the chair with nervous energy.

Derek silently added an extra steak to the pan. He didn't bother seasoning it, as he expected Stiles to wolf it down too fast to appreciate the taste anyway. Young wolves were restless like that. Or rather his wolf was mature but the current owner residing in his body was anything but.

xxx

Stiles

Derek was cooking for him! And wasn't that just romantic? The fact that Stiles was attracted to him even when their bodies were switched proved that it wasn't just about a pretty face (and a six-pack) for him and he actually had feelings for the dickhead inside.

For the dickhead that never thought twice about him... and Stiles sure knew how to make a fool of himself to guarantee it stayed this way. Sigh. He would rather not think about what could have possibly gone through Derek's mind when he caught him masturbating to his own reflection. Stiles' face was still burning at the memory.

Just like the steaks on the pan. God, they smelled absolutely heavenly. And Derek looked quite yummy with that spatula too. The wild energy coursing through Stiles's body kinda made him want to jump on him... but Stiles possessed more self-control than that.

Ok, scratch that. He possessed zero self-control when it came to food. The meat never tasted so good, honestly. For a moment he forgot about everything and savored the flavor and the juices streaming down his chin... Till he caught a disgusted expression staring at him from his own face.

"What?" he said defensively, wiping his chin with the back of his hand.

Derek closed his eyes and tilted his head back as if praying to the Almighty to grant him strength. "Just finish your food. We need to figure out what we are going to do now."

"You know, we could just try to run against each other and…" Stiles pointedly slapped his fist, looking at Derek for reaction. He got another exasperated eye-roll and if things kept going like this, there was a real danger that his eyes would just stay this way!

"That didn't work even in the movie. And you will probably end up putting your own body in a wheelchair."

Now it was Stiles's turn to roll his eyes. "Come on, you are not that strong." He banged his fist against the table to prove a point… aaaaand broke it in half. "Holy shit!"

"STILINSKI!"

Oops.

"Uhm…Don't be mad!" Stiles clumsily tried to put the two pieces back together, but unsurprisingly, they didn't magically repair themselves and crumbled on the floor in front of him. "I didn't mean to. Besides, you don't look all that scary in my body anyway."

Wrong thing to say!

Derek grabbed him by the collar, fuming down in his face. "But when I get my own body back, I'll hunt yours and break every fucking bone you have."

Yikes. He was piiiissed. But now that Stiles saw just how much stronger he was than him, the threat just didn't carry the same weight. "Come on, Derek, it's just a table. Don't be such a sour wolf… oh wait, that's me now," he grinned, wiggling his eyebrows.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him but quickly realized that his intimidation techniques were not yielding any results and let go of his collar. "You are not funny."

Stiles would beg to differ. His playful mood affected the animal inside of him and his claws and fangs extended, the energy bursting to the surface. But before the feral urges could take over, he felt Derek's hand on the scruff of his neck pressing him down.

"No," Derek said quietly and the firm command immediately subdued him. "Down, boy."

Wow, that felt weird. It was as if part of Stiles automatically submitted, as if the werewolf inside him deferred to Derek. It did play into some of his wilder fantasies, but now was not the time to explore that. Now they had to figure out what happened and why it happened. The obvious choice would be to start at The Shelf. The bar wasn't open yet, but they could just go and… Oh, crap! How could he forget?

"Shit," Stiles cursed under his breath, frantically thinking of the way around it and coming up with nothing.

"What now?" Derek snapped.

"Nothing… just… I have a math test today."

"So?"

"I can't miss it." Stiles looked at him pleadingly, willing Derek to grow a heart or at least some semblance of compassion.

Derek stared back at him as if he was mentally challenged. "Are you kidding me? Absolutely not!"

"Please, I can't fail it. I won't get into Berkeley!"

"Don't be ridiculous, just do a make-up test or something."

"This is the make-up test!" Stiles stressed. "I missed it, cause I had to help Scott with… whatever, it doesn't matter. You have to do this."

Derek shook his head, glaring. "I don't have to do anything."

Ok, this was clearly not working so Stiles had to pull out the big guns. "If you fuck this up for me, don't think that I won't find a way to fuck this up for you!" he growled, recognizing the timbre Derek so often used. Since pleading didn't help, Stiles was not above making threats. Not like he couldn't make this just as unpleasant for him. And Derek must have been aware of that because he immediately amended his uncompromising attitude.

"Stiles, I can't take the test even if I wanted to. I don't remember anything from high school math."

"It's just differential calculus."

"Exactly." Derek threw his hands in the air for emphasis.

Stiles bit his lip and then checked the time. "We still have a bit over two hours, I'll tutor you." Please, please, please, help me out here. He fortified the silent prayer with his best sad-puppy-eyed look (which was supposed to be utterly irresistible).

Derek turned around, clearly searching for a way out of this unappealing predicament but then just sighed and threw his head back with a defeated groan.

TBC

The POV alternation is a new thing for me, I hope you enjoyed the first chapter=)