When Stiles wakes up, his vision involuntarily autofocuses into his bedroom's dome, marbled ceiling with pinpoint accuracy. He rubs at his eyes, staring back up, and finds his sight still narrowed in on the ceiling's foundation and the design in its exterior. He groans loudly, not ready to admit he's malfunctioning this early in the evening.
He needs at least two coffees to function like any other normal, nocturnal being so he assumes this must be his body's way of telling him he requires more sleep. He closes his eyes again, willing to play sleeping beauty until this weird bodily function passes, that is until a dark shadowy figure appears from behind his eyelids. He squints up and shrieks, flailing up in surprise as Lydia stands over him.
"Stiles?" Lydia asks, her usual teasing tone cracking with emotion, which never happens, ever. Stiles instantly sits up, looking back at her with the same alarming gaze. She appears in equal parts of his depth of field when he asks,
"Lydia? What's wrong? God, am I drunk? I feel drunk," he says groggily, his voice sounding hoarse even in his own ears. He clears his throat, the feeling of a hangover creeping over him as he tries to straighten up against his headboard. His vision swirls, making him feel sick to his stomach, the pounding of his head in sync with the heartbeats in his chest.
"What the hell..." He says, grabbing a fist of his hair.
He tries remembering how many drinks he had last night. He only had about two, four, five at most...his last drink was with Derek.
Shit!
All of a sudden the events from last night come flooding back to him. His body proceeding to break out in a cold sweat. He tries to sit up fully, pushing the covers away.
"Stiles be careful! You're..you're really sick ok? Don't get up." Lydia says hesitantly. His eyes widen, pulling the covers up to view the rest of his body.
"Why? What's wrong?..." His head kills but it's not like he's physically injured. He doesn't remember changing into his PJs but that aside he's pretty sure Vampires aren't supposed to get sick. He squints back at Lydia in confusion but the worrying look she's giving him confirms she's just as confused as he is.
Lydia sighs deeply before reaching over to the nightstand and handing him two painkillers and a glass of water.
"Take this. You'll thank me later…"
He doesn't understand how the pain killers are going to help. Over the counter drugs are too weak for Vampires to use. That's why narcotics and amphetamines were typical Vampire drugs of choice. But he swallows them down anyway trusting Lydia's instructions because of her doctorate in medicine, one of the many degrees hung up on her bedroom wall.
He groans, closing his eyes, his hands tightening in his hair, trying to breathe through the pain.
His eyes water, the prevalent ache in his head now pounding more forcefully than before, raising the heat in his face, and before he knows it a liquid tear comes falling down from his left eye. He wipes at his face, looking at his slightly trembling hand in disbelief.
He hasn't cried in centuries, since he was human.
When the realization of this hits him, he starts to freak out even more.
"What the hell did he do to me, Lydia! What did Derek do? What's happening to me?" Stiles pleads. Lydia sits down on the bed, still in her silk red lace-trimmed slip, putting a comforting arm around his shoulders.
"I don't know Stiles I…"
They both turn as the doors swing open, Allison and Isaac walking in with matching terrified looks on their faces. Sliding next to him on the bed, Allison puts her arms around his other side, cuddling close to him and wiping fallen tears from her eyes. Allison is one of the only vampires he knows whose humanity is still turned on but this has to be his first time ever seeing her cry.
He doesn't know what to make of it, still in shock that Derek's the culprit. He sits there stunned in place, the events from the night before replaying in his mind over and over again, trying to see where he went wrong. Isaac moves in beside her. Lydia continues to explain, the strain in her voice indicating she was about to deliver bad news.
"Stiles... Allison and Isaac found you on the floor completely unresponsive. Luckily, you were alone but you wouldn't wake up, not even after I poured a bucket of water on you. We helped change you into new clothes and tried forcing you to drink some blood but you puked it all up. You've been out cold for almost 48 hours. Danny and Jackson have been researching all night to find a cure but we've run out of resources. It's like nothing we've ever seen before..."
Allison wipes at her eyes some more, sitting up and adding on, "Stiles we tried everything. Every blood type in the fridge, even animal blood." She says trying to hold back the quivering in her voice, squeezing his hand reassuringly. He gulps, nodding his head numbly. Derek's discriminating attitude towards his kind the most obvious warning sign of the night before.
"Keeping any Nightcrawlers out. " Derek's threatening voice echos back at him. How could he be so stupid!
Lydia sighs, "After Peter had left I found a note under my pillow." She reaches over the nightstand and retrieves a white small envelope. Taking out the business card sized paper, she hands it over for him to read. The paper is of good quality and symbolic of the Hales impeccable planning. '700, Hales road. Beacon Hills.' Is written in perfect black cursive.
He looks it over memorizing every detail, the rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach. His hands tremble, thoughts of maiming and mutilation flashing through his mind as Derek's breathless voice saying, ' Promise me we'll meet again .' whispers mockingly back into his ears.
He scoffs, "Wow I'm so impressed. Like seriously Lydia this is...they really outdid themselves..." He laughs, looking at her in amazement and then back down at the note. Isaac snickers.
The bastard was smart he'll admit but Stiles was no fool. He will keep his promise, but just for this once.
"I'm going to kill him..." Stiles says, crushing the note in his hands, plans of sweet, savage revenge on his mind, he swiftly gets up and off the bed with inhuman speed, heading straight towards the doors.
He almost makes it before Lydia is grabbing his arm and turning him around. Being the oldest Vampire in Stiles's clan, Lydia's speed and strength are unparalleled. He has no chance against her as she holds him in her steel tight grip.
"No Stiles! Not like this. We need a plan!" Lydia warns through gritted teeth but he barely hears her, the rage boiling through his veins and pounding heart slightly deafening him.
The logical part of his mind screams at him to stop challenging her, but it was too late. His Vampiric side was in control now and he couldn't care less about the consequences of his actions. Maybe if he was in the right state of mind, he'd be able to appreciate her concern for him but as of right now, any rationality has gone out the window.
Since she disapproved of the hierarchy system within a Vampiric clan, giving the oldest individual reign of authority, she had stepped down, making him the second eldest, the leader. Despite reasoning with her, stating all his faults and weaknesses he soon learned that once Lydia was adamant about something there was no changing her mind. That's why after a minute of struggling against her, her grip loosens, hand lingering in mid air and eyes completely devastated as she lets go of him fully.
Lydia knew they were the same.
Their ruthlessness made them the ultimate partners in crime both on the battlefield and in handling personal business. They were known for getting the job done, no matter what stood in their way, and like Stiles, she viewed him as an equal and would have to respect his decision.
But when he finally makes a run for it again, Allison beats him to the doors, looking at him with concern.
"Stiles…" Allison's voice says in warning but it's faint in his ears as the room swirls, his heart continuing to pound through his head, feeling lightheaded, dizzy, weak, and nauseous all at once.
"Oh, shit..." He stumbles forward literally two seconds away from face planting the ground.
Before he's able to blackout Isaac catches him in his arms like some goddamn damsel in distress movie and brings him to his bed. His eyesight blurs as he feels himself hyperventilating from a panic attack he hasn't had in years.
"Wha...Lydia!" He gasps for more air. "I think..." Another shallow breath, "I'm having..." He groans loudly unable to get enough air in his lungs to speak. He fists his shirt over his heart, trying to physically slow his heart down somehow.
He hears Lydia's distant voice demanding Allison to get her phone before he blacks out completely. When Stiles wakes up again he's drenched in sweat and foaming at the mouth from starvation.
He tries to get up but notices he's been tied down to the bed. His voice is almost unrecognizable as he calls and threatens with helpless pleas, but no one comes.
After a while, Stiles goes in and out of consciousness until the door to his room is open and Lydia comes walking through dressed in her hunting gear, hair up, in her black widow inspired one piece.
His head lolls to the side as she walks up to his side, caressing his right tied up hand.
"Stiles, how are you feeling?" He gulps. If he was honest, he felt like complete shit but this time instead of the overwhelming need to feed, he felt completely drained of energy so he responds with,
"Tired. Like I could sleep for centuries." He notices the sadness that flashes in her eyes as she nods her head. Stiles didn't need to hear the words. He knew he was dying.
"Stiles I'm going to take these constraints off of you now ok? We are going to get you dressed and then head out towards the Hales." He numbingly nods his head, watching her untie him.
Stiles gets changed into a black sweatshirt, jeans, and his lucky charmed red converse. Heart pounding and shaking with adrenaline, he still needs Lydia's assistance to walk, getting into his navy blue jeep wrangler.
Danny and Jackson follow them in their black Porsche Panamera as Lydia, Allison, and Isaac geared up to kill are dead silent the whole drive, to Stiles's dismay.
It's raining and the middle of the night when they get to their destination on the hologram GPS. As expected the address doesn't actually lead to any house but instead down a dirt road to a creepy burned down mansion in the middle of the woods. Stiles sighs, as Lydia helps him down from the car and sits him on the surviving steps, leading to a caved in porch.
"So what now?" He asks impatiently, annoyed they're carelessly risking their lives to be at his side.
Lydia glances at him and huffs out a frustrated sigh. "They are supposed to meet us here to negotiate a deal."
"What deal?" He asks, already angry that he hasn't been informed of any of their plans. The tension between them is thick as no one seems to want to answer his question.
"What deal!" Stiles says in frustration, glaring them down.
"Shhh," Jackson says harshly. He stands up.
"What?" Stiles says, ready to fight when he hears footsteps coming near them, towards the clearing.
He stands up straighter as he sees Peter and Derek, closely behind, walk out first. Stiles hisses at them, letting himself transform to his true Vampiric form. Red bloodshot sclera and protruding veins around his eyes, he relishes in the feeling of his fangs elongating. With his night vision now activated and narrowed in, he's prepared to fight to the death.
Derek meets his gaze, unmoving, and as beautiful as Stiles remembers. Two other people follow suit after Peter and Derek. A pretty girl with blonde hair with a mean resting bitch face rivaled to Lydia's and a model looking black guy who had to be the tallest one out of everyone there.
"Darling..." Peter says sauntering up, close to Lydia's personal space. Lydia hisses at him, transformed as well, she bares her fangs openingly in warning.
Peter steps back with his hands up. "No reason to get your panties in a twist babe. Aren't we here to negotiate?"
Stiles snorts, still admittedly surprised by Peter's cocky demeanor in the face of almost certain death that is Lydia Martin. Actually, after analyzing each of Derek's outnumbered entourage, their confidence levels are obnoxiously too high for his liking.
Derek's especially, who smirks as soon as he catches Stiles's gaze once more. Derek's intoxicating scent still prevalent and as distracting as it was the night before if not more fatally enticing now that he's famished.
Stiles' eyes narrow in on his prey as he says, "Clearly you want to die. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here..." Derek and the rest of his posse eye him as Peters' predatory attention turns onto him.
"You have a lot to say for someone who's actually going to die," Peter says in an unimpressed tone.
"Oh really?" Stiles says sarcastically before making a move for Peter's' throat, only sadly to be stopped by Lydia's' arm holding him back. "Explains why I'm just dying to kill something..." He warns, eyes flicking towards Derek's as he smiles back at Peter's smug face.
The itch to kill almost unbearable as he stands merely inches away from tearing out Peter's throat.
"Enough," Lydia says. He looks at Lydia in disbelief.
"Could you at least think about letting him die? For me?" He pouts at Lydia. Derek sighs as he walks up closer to Peter.
"You too," Derek says pushing Peter away. Stiles's eyes can't help but narrow in on him, the tension in the air rising to lethal levels.
"Oh, really Derek? Because it seems like you guys only respond to displays of violence."
Derek ducks his head, hiding an infuriating good looking smirk as he walks dangerously closer to him, standing eye to eye now as if to intimidate Stiles with his size like he could legitimately challenge Stiles with his strength. And maybe...just maybe he could. After all, underestimating the attractive asshole is what got him here in the first place.
The thought alone has every fiber in Stiles's being vibrating with anticipation, adrenaline racing through his heart as Derek's smoldering attention turns deadly. Even Danny tenses beside him, moving closer to him on his left. He's thankful for the backup but doesn't move, too enticed by the unknowing danger that Derek might bestow on him.
"Look, don't take it personally," Derek says looking at him from under his lashes. "This is family business and now that we have your undivided attention," Derek's eyes dropping down to his lips in a seductive gaze, successfully objectifying him as he continues, "We just want to explain our side of the deal," stepping oh so temptingly closer.
Lydia's arm is standing in the way but Stiles couldn't resist the killing instinct anymore. Before Lydia's able to stop him, he's grabbing Derek by the throat and slamming him into a nearby tree. He leans over to talk into Derek's ear, smirking as Derek's eyes widen in response.
"I'm getting really bored and impatient of your games Derek, so you better spit it out or else..." he warns, tightening his grip. He sees a flash of red before his hand is being ripped off and he's the one being pinned to the tree by the collar of his sweatshirt.
He sees his pack and Derek's standoff, waiting for a queue to attack but the animalistic growl Derek's making in his throat demands his attention back. Growling at him, in his half shifted form is a werewolf. A hairier faced Derek to be exact with alpha red eyes and big, white fangs bared.
"You're a fucking werewolf?" Stiles says, breathlessly and a little overwhelmingly turned on by Derek's terrifying half shifted form. Really, the bestiary depictions of lycanthropes don't do them justice.
Derek growls in response. The close proximity of the deep vibrating sound, tremors through Stiles chest, goosebumps breaking across his skin in response. "God, you're hot," he says before making a move for Derek's throat.
The entire clearing is filled with growls and hisses as Derek and Stiles pack face off. Although, he's too busy to care with his fangs sunk deep into Derek's unprotected wrist.
He didn't even need to try, Derek's vulnerable wrist was out in the open trying to pin him down, too easily accessible to latch onto with his fangs.
Sucking in Derek's blood like a lifeline, Stiles instantly felt its effects in his body, curing the painful ache in his head and stomach, making him feel so full and alive again. Derek's delicious blood was simply life changing.
Its tastes the richest, thickest, and purest tasting blood he has ever had, in his nearly 500 years of existence. It's euphoric rush so addicting Stiles felt like a drug addict, unable to stop sucking mouthfuls of it down, desperately trying to get his fix like he was strung up on a drug. He trembles, his vision and thoughts clouding over in a hazy bliss. Allison's faint voice ringing through his ears.
"Stiles! No!" are the last words he hears before blacking out entirely.
When he wakes up again, he's startled awake from loud banging and screams coming from Lydia's room that's right beside his.
Sitting up instantly, he hears her cry out, "Let me out! Let me out now or I swear I will tear you apart limb by limb!" He runs over to his own doors, trying to rip the doors from their hinges but he quickly realizes that they are also sealed.
Confused, he tries again using all his strength but fails.
"Damn it!" He yells, banging his head against the warded, thick mahogany doors in frustration. Leaning against its cool surface out of breath, he sways before them.
He figures the seal on his doors must be magically bonded, tightening the more effort he puts in trying to rip them open. Great.
He sighs deeply, squeezing his eyes shut, thinking of what to do but the only thing he's capable of focusing on is the lightheadedness he feels with what he assumes is from exerting so much energy at once.
He walks back to his bed, thinking maybe if he took a moment to think it might help him come up with a plan, which was obviously a huge mistake.
When he walks back to his bed, falling back on his mattress, his heartbeats slow down instantly, heavy eyelids threatening to shut as the drive to brainstorm melts away into a puddle of comforting cushion. The soft feel of his sheets against his skin tempting him to surrender to the dark clutches of sleep. Although he doesn't remember them being so warm and comfortable, or smelling so good...
In seconds, Stiles body flushes in heat, every nerve in his body crying out to be touched, erection throbbing in his pants, precum already saturating through his boxers. He gasps, sitting up and standing to look at his bed in a daze.
"What the fuck?" He breathes in deeply, smelling Derek's sweet amber scent all over his bed. His body responds immediately, stomach clenching tightly and aching for more. No, No, NO!
Stiles runs into his king sized bathroom, taking off his restricting black sweatshirt, and looking himself over in the mirror. Flushed deep red, all the way to his chest, sweaty, shivering, fevered skin, pink with sensitivity, and for the first time, in over 500 years, Stiles felt sickly human again.
Turning on the faucet and splashing water on his face, several times, trying desperately to cool off to no avail. He slams his hands down against the marble sink in fury, remembering Allison's voice ringing through his ears in warning.
He was such an idiot! Selfishly letting his predatory instincts take control instead of killing Derek when he had the chance.
It was going to kill them all.
Everyone he ever let himself care about.
Without them he is nothing.
Overcome with rage, he walks out of his bathroom and back into his room, mind racing a mile a minute. Stiles tries the doors to his balcony but they're also sealed. Cursing under his breath, he shakes his head, grabbing at his hair in frustration, annoyed his mind was choosing this moment in time to completely blank out on the 500 years of experience he's had with dealing with enchanted objects.
He looks them over, noticing the paper enchanted seal on the outside taped to the door frame. He smirks before kicking through the glass pane of his French doors, laughing to himself as he reaches over and simply rips the spelled paper off. Vampires aren't affected by magic so the usual zap of defense from the easily reached seal didn't affect him at all. Ha fuckers!
Once outside, he jumps on the roof, running over to Lydia's balcony, already ripping off the seal and busting through the doors. He walks in and immediately spots Lydia crouched down on the floor.
Her hair a mess, with sticks and dirt, her black widow suit unzipped, steady tremble, racking throughout her body. He knew the signs of rape all too well but needed to make sure.
He runs over to her, already shaking with rage, he holds her shoulders, helping her sit up.
"Lydia? Lydia! Are you alright? Who did this to you?" She looks up at him silently with dead eyes, lip split open, and bruises around her neck. The oldest, strongest, and deadliest Vampire Stiles ever knew was on her knees, out of her goddamn mind!
He shakes her, "Lydia? Answer me! Lydia!" he yells, eyes stinging with unwelcomed wetness that he was sure, dried up centuries ago. He swallows hard, trying to regain control, to focus, his eyes frantically searching for clues, too caught up to see the sudden movement.
He really should have known better though, frozen as Lydia's fangs sink into his neck, drinking half of his body weight in blood in seconds. Distraction, the pathetic cause of his near brink experience of life and death. Then Lydia's letting him go just as quickly, making him stumble to the ground.
Standing over him she gags, throwing up mouths full's of his blood. Coughing and gagging Lydia falls to the ground, veins around her eyes and fangs disappearing completely. The aftershock has him feeling the bite mark on his neck fade, taking his shaky hand away, covered in his own blood.
Looking down at Lydia's dying form, he quickly recovers, picking her up and laying her back down on her bed. He runs out of her balcony in panic, dropping down onto the lawn.
Seeing lights from the formal living room on, he rules out trying to open the magically sealed doors and instead crashes through the windows, seeing Allison, Isaac, Danny, and Jackson stand instantly from their seats around the grand fireplace.
"Stiles wait…" Danny says closest to him, but before he's able to go ape shit, Stiles sees him walk in...
Tanned, uneven jawed, and puppy eyed as ever is Scott Mccall's unaged ghost, openly gaping at him in surprise as Stiles stares back at him with the same expression. He can feel the color of his face drain away, the fight in him successfully extinguished out. Stunned in place, he's only able to huff out a laugh, closing his eyes tightly for a moment, settling on hallucination at fault for this bizarre apparition.
"Stiles…" Scott's voice says clearly in his ears, echoing now in the deadly silent room but he refuses to open his eyes, too afraid that his mind was playing tricks on him, baiting him to open his eyes and see nothing but the betrayal in the room.
"Stiles, Look at me!" Scott's voice raw with emotion rings through his ears.
His eyes open instantly, the tears fall almost immediately as he looks at the boy whose screams haunted his dreams for nearly 500 years. Like his nightmares, he opens his mouth to speak but no words come out, too sad, too guilty, to say anything like he was still that 19 year old boy who lived all those years ago.
Scott's face goes stone cold as he moves to take a step closer but freezes as the doors of the formal living room swing open and Derek and his uncle are striding in. He wipes away the tears quickly, gulping down the repressed emotions within him once more.
Derek's nose flares but is unreadable as Peter's face scrunches up in disgust.
"Someone certainly enjoys making an entrance," Peter says mockingly but it's faint in his ears, the sound of his heartbeat drowning out any surrounding noise. His eyes close tightly, concentrating on the familiar sensation of depersonalization that comes from turning off his humanity.
"...Well, if you don't mind, I need to go feed my little vampire princess. You guys can deal with this mess on your own." And that's all it takes. Stiles eyes snap open with killer intent, crouching down ready to attack.
"Or I could just let her die…" Peter says, smirking with too many sharp teeth and flashing electric blue eyes at him.
"Shut. Up!" Derek snarls out in a futile attempt of warning before Stiles has Peter by the throat, body slamming him into the ground, the satisfying sound of his skull cracking and the sight of blood only fueling the feral needs in him to kill and maim.
The shadow from the corner of his vision moves from where he's standing over Peters' unconscious body, Derek.
Stiles smiles, catching his gaze, reflexively licking his fangs before lunging forward, taking him down as well. Their bodies collide like a head on collision, both of them crashing down together, skidding to a stop on the other side of the room. Straddling his waist with the sweet taste of victory right on the tip of his tongue Stiles is thoroughly shocked when Derek catches him off guard, flipping them over and managing to escape from his grasp. Stiles flips back up, hissing loudly, he sees Derek backing away towards Scott whose red eyes burn holes of hatred into him.
He stills, feeling his skin crawl as he looks back at Scott's red glowing eyes. They're just... wrong.
"Scott..." Stiles says, but the name tastes like ashes in his mouth. Despair courses through him knowing that Scott hadn't been spared that night...that they'd both been changed forever. The Scott he knew, he's...he's gone.
"Stiles. Stop. Listen to me..." The stranger standing in front of him says, the authority tone in his voice almost undeniable, returning Scott's haunting brown eyes back.
"No..." Stiles looks down, unable to meet his gaze, he shakes his head and shuts his eyes tightly, shakingly grabbing at his hair, his entire body trembling uncontrollably. The oxygen in the room is gone suddenly, making his lungs burn as he pants to catch his breath.
They killed him!
"Please Stiles don't..."
His best friend!
"They're- They're my pack."
His brother !
Stiles yells in anguish, lunging towards Derek in a blind rage. Derek catches his hands in a steel tight grip.
"Calm down," Derek demands, his face inches away from him, staring him down with his glowing red alpha eyes.
"Fuck you!" Stiles yells, furious as he grudgingly uses all his strength to try and pry the alpha's hands off but Derek is fast.
Using Stiles' momentum to push their bodies flush against each other before picking him up and manhandling him into a bridal style hold, he carries him off, yelling and screaming out of the room, no one stopping to help him. He's utterly humiliated, trying to bite Derek but before he's able to he's thrown back down on his bed from across the room.
Derek sighs and sits down on the couches opposite of his bed, crossing his ankle over his knee, arms draped over the couch casually, looking at Stiles like an impatient parent.
"Don't you think it's time for us to talk?" Derek says, with just a hint of aggravation in the tone of his voice, while sitting there looking completely calm and collected, in his stupid sexy plum, unbuttoned, chest hair showing dress shirt, and black jeans. Stiles swallows, closing his eyes, he meditates, reining in his anger just enough to fully speak sentences again until he's only annoyingly turned on and pissed. Taking one for the team, he cautiously walks over to talk to the werewolf on the couch, standing with his arms crossed defiantly.
"About what Derek? Your twisted master plan worked! You got exactly what you wanted! What the fuck is there to talk about? Huh?" Stiles asks, less than amused at Derek's nonchalant attitude. Derek rolls his eyes and sighs forcefully.
"I could've left you for dead. But I didn't." Derek says, looking up at him expectedly. He scoffs impatiently,
"And? Your point?" Surely, Derek wasn't stupid enough to think Stiles was going to trust him now, there's always a catch. But Stiles needed to ask, on behalf of Lydia, whose life was still in jeopardy. Derek looks away staring at the waxing gibbous moon through the open doors of his balcony, the moon casting its light onto him as his own spotlight, extenuating the sharp lines of his cheekbones attractively as he says,
"Werewolves have evolved throughout the millennium to have a built in, self defense mechanism against Vampires. A toxin that kills any Vampire who drinks our blood within 48 hours from starvation, if not fed by the original werewolf owner's blood. You'll never be fully satiated with any other blood source but my own. My blood is the only thing keeping you alive." Derek says, turning back and narrowing his crimson red eyes at him. The tapetum lucidum glow of his alpha eyes reflecting through the darkness of his room.
Stiles tightens his jaw, annoyed that he could look this ethereal while condemning him to death, it just wasn't fair. Although he's silently thankful that they hadn't caught onto the differences in their vampire hierarchy, just one of the many perks of Lydia's demotion, being the strongest one between them, she'll have a chance to save the clan and make it out of this alive, all Stiles needed to do was keep the Alphas interests on him. Lydia will be able to handle the rest. Flailing his arms in his direction he asks,
"Then why? Why keep us alive?" Derek arches a brow up at him,
"Isn't it obvious? We want to make an alliance." Stiles scoffs, left completely speechless.
Did he seriously just hear that right?
Stiles was expecting a vengeance but justified story blaming his clan for their countless slaughtering of innocents, the cities they pillaged, or an outright ban from the town of Beacon Hills, maybe even a treaty agreement to never step foot into x and y amount of distance to the nearest civilian but he suspects anything else would make more sense than an alliance. I mean Stiles has heard it all before but this has to be the first time since anyone's willing to comply with an agreement with his clan without brute force.
There has to be more, a deeper meaning to what's going on here, something that Derek doesn't want him to know, why else would he be so dedicated to making this alliance? He takes a moment to try and figure out the implications of what Derek just said but he's facepalming in frustration a minute later coming up completely empty handed. The possibilities were endless, hell Derek could make up any bald-faced lie, and Stiles and his clan wouldn't have any say in the matter.
"Well if we don't have a choice then there's really no alliance then is there!" He half yells, lifting his head already ready to kill Derek. Derek sighs and stands, walking over to join him in the shadows, crowding into his personal space.
"It's not what you think," Derek says, glancing down at Stiles's lips before trailing them down past his chest. He breathlessly inhales, blushing when he remembers that he's shirtless. The werewolf's hungry eyes rake up and down his lean but muscled torso. Stiles swallows hard, trying not to be affected by it as he says angrily,
"Well, I can't think of a better reason to die." Stiles has sacrificed parts of himself for his clan in the past and he would do it again in a blink of an eye if he had to. As their leader, he'd always put them before anything, his soul, his freedom, his body...
He can tell Derek is taken aback by his words from the forward twitch of his brows, but after a moment Derek's heated eyes harden, hand coming up to caress his face. He flinches but Derek comes closer. Sliding his warm hand around to the base of his head, squeezing lightly at the hair there, while giving him this look of complete adoration, like something to be treasured and Stiles who's physically unable to resist his touch, can't bear to look away.
"Don't say that," Derek says in a harsh whisper, voice borderline threatening as his warm palm comes down to run over his neck and to his lower back, strong arm wrapping around his waist to brush his fingertips up and down his exposed hip bone. The intensity in his eyes seems as though it can look through to Stiles's very soul, pleading at him to understand, as if his life held more value than all the stars in the universe.
Stiles groans, over sensitive body betraying him. He swallows thickly, eyes glossing over as Derek's light touches set his skin on fire, shivers barely containable as he pushes against his chest, fingers accidentally rubbing over the soft expanse of dark chest hair and Stiles really, really needs to move away, like right now .
He tries to step away from the hot temptation of Derek's body but Derek's having none of it. Angrily huffing, his other hand grabs a fistful of Stiles hair and tugs and it nearly kills him. A breathless whimper escapes from his lips as Derek aligns their bodies perfectly, barely keeping a lip grazing distance between them, he rests their foreheads together.
Derek's kaleidoscopic eyes half lidded as he says,
"You need me, Stiles. I know what you're after. We both want the same things..." His voice is low and intimate, as though coaxing him into submission. Stiles huffs out an incredulous laugh, catching himself almost wanting to believe him. There were only a few exceptions of people who were allowed to promise sweet nothings in his ear and Derek was dangerously close to becoming one if Stiles let things continue. Grabbing Derek's collar, he gives in, pushing their bodies flush together for a heated moment.
"Oh, I'm sorry. Your tone implies that I'm actually supposed to care." He meets Derek's eyes challengingly before pushing him away but only managing to move him a step back.
Stiles knew Derek's game all too well. He was just trying to get a reaction out of him, seducing him, merely playing with his food before eating it.
Well, he wasn't going to give him the satisfaction. Stiles had learned the value of patience the hard way over the years and he was going to let Derek learn the same. Let him figure it out, let him underestimate Stiles, the worth of his life and with the information he freely gives, will simply hand over the answer he needs to make the final decision.
After all, he's flipped cities and countries upside down with the simple miosis and mydriasis of his eyes so why does Derek think he won't do the same with him, let alone with the people of Beacon Hills? He looks back into Derek's eyes, doing just that, focusing his eyes to capture him in a trance like mind compulsion, hoping to find any hidden agenda. However, all it does is make Derek smirk all too knowingly, clearly amused, and not affected at all.
Stiles gasps in shock, pushing him away yet Derek is insistent, pulling him in by the waist and holding him tightly.
Derek's eyes are calculating as he says,
"This town would have seen you dead but I can make it your home and every soul who wishes you harm will be struck down. Just as sure as my blood runs through your veins. You will return to me..." Derek's words are sincere and confident but give Stiles the ammunition he was waiting for.
The sound of his hand landing on Derek's face resonates throughout the room. The slap strong enough to have any normal person flying across the room by its sheer force only leaves an impressive red handprint on Derek's cheek, whose face seemed to move just slightly along with his footing.
With his suspicions of Derek's strength matching his own confirmed, he shutters, absolutely amazed. They were equals. Stiles was impressed and even more turned on than before. Well then Plan B it is...
The room is silent as Derek turns his head slowly back, blood crimson eyes narrowed and furious. His chiseled jaw clenching is so insanely sexy it sends a zing of warmth through him. His skin buzzing with excitement. Fuck! He was so screwed.
Stiles tries to catch his breath, his hand still stinging from the impact as the blood rushes from his head and down to his dick. He can't help the breathless laugh of amazement that escapes his lips when their eyes lock.
"Always wanted to do that..." Derek's expressive brows narrow in confusion but Stiles swallows, his eyes trained on his lips determinedly. He stalks forward, harshly grabbing Derek's face and bringing their lips together in a fierce, wet kiss.
Turning his mouth into a gun with a bullet that has Derek's name on it, he pulls the trigger.
Moaning into Derek's mouth, he goes to town, roughly cutting off the warning low growl in Derek's throat with the dive of his tongue. Feeling Derek reciprocate the kiss, pressing their bodies flush together, he groans deeply, tightly wrapping his arms around Derek's broad shoulders and deepening the kiss. They kiss like they're starved for one another, their tongues licking into each other's mouths filthily.
He grinds into Derek's thighs and gasps as Derek slaps his ass, growling, his burning hot hands slide under Stiles black jeans, and squeezes hard , wordlessly acknowledging that Stiles can take that shit as well.
Derek grinds back into his thrust and in one fluent movement has Stiles off the ground, legs wrapped around his waist, bringing him over and throwing him back down onto the bed. For the short moment, they part Stiles can focus on nothing but the primal needs of his arousal, which are only being fueled by anger and hatred the longer they're apart.
"Derek," He demands before Derek finally glides his body over Stiles, knocking his knees apart to fit perfectly in between his legs.
Stiles's hands automatically reach for Derek's shirt, roughly pushing it up to dig his fingertips along his flexed abs, loving how his nails dig painfully deep into each groove. Derek snarls loudly like he's barely in control of his wolf, he rips open his shirt, leaving Stiles gasping at his thick muscled torso. He tosses the shirts shredded remains back carelessly, leaning back down over Stiles's body, right where he belongs.
A delicious aroma develops him as Derek's heavy form presses into him, kissing him deep and sensually as Stiles tongue slides over his lips, desperate to be let in. When he opens his mouth Stiles's own, ravenously tastes every part of Derek he can reach. Feverishly kissing him back with all his might, he lets his body take out his anger on Derek through his lips.
Derek is pliant and skillful though, driving Stiles insane with his soft lips and slick tongue, warm big hands teasingly squeezing the junction between his hip and thighs, heat radiating off him like a freaking radiator while relentlessly rutting against him.
Stiles can't get enough, the fact that he's on edge from frottage alone is literally blowing his fucking mind, everything's happening too quickly and yet not fast enough. It's unnerving with just how much he wants this, needs this.
His arms draped around Derek's shoulders give him access to his flawless muscled back, which he makes sure to scratch painfully hard, drawing blood along their path. The sweet amber scent of Derek's blood hitting the air has Stiles fangs shooting out so quickly it aches his jaw. His abdomen contracts, spilling an embarrassingly huge amount of precum all over his boxers.
Derek snarls, baring his fangs in warning, he removes the buckle from his jeans in one fluent motion
"Fucking finally ..." Stiles says breathlessly, excited to finally get his hands on his rock hard cock. But then Derek's taking both of his hands and pinning them over his head. "Wait... What are you doing?" He says louder, squirming beneath his hold. Derek somehow already manages to have his hands strapped together, tightening the belt almost painfully so. "Ow!"
"Oh Shut up," Derek says with the hint of a smile on his lips. Suddenly mouthing openingly at Stiles's neck, sucking and biting harshly at his skin. Stiles feels himself smile, surprised by this new ability to let someone else take control. Stiles almost couldn't believe it, like seriously is this real life? A wave of unexplainable emotions washes over him as Derek marks him, making him want to cry with its intensity. It's almost too much to bear when something inside his mind identifies the feeling as adrenaline. He was having an adrenaline rush!
"Fuck it, keep going!" He pants, allowing himself to drift deeper into the feeling, shamelessly moaning loudly when Derek's biting turns into airtight suction and licking at spots around his neck.
He's left reeling in Derek's soft lips and scruff before Derek uses his free hand to grab at Stiles hair, pulling his head back and revealing more of his neck in submission.
The sudden feeling of sharp fangs prickling his skin has Stiles moaning loudly, arching his back, and lifting off the bed for more.
"Oh fuck yeah!" Derek growls in response, holding his hips down, he bites .
Stiles gasps in shock, stilling with bated breath, his heart hammers in his chest as the werewolf fangs sink through his trapezius. The animalistic rumble of satisfaction that comes out of the werewolf has Stiles shuttering out a breath, relaxing into it, mesmerized at the sensation of being on the other end of another predator's bite. Derek holds him there with his fangs, moving his hips now in a slow circular motion. It's cruel really, how Derek's taunting him, daring him to challenge Derek's dominance over him, knowing how powerless he is against him now.
But even through his haze of arousal Stiles isn't scared, in fact, quite the opposite, he feels grounded at the moment, like the bite alone is anchoring him to his body, joining the essence of his Vampiric nature and him as one. The hot pressure against his neck, making his entire body tremble in comparison.
"Harder! Please..." Stiles cries out, needing to feel the Alpha in his very bones, tearing into the very core of his soul until Stiles can do nothing but feel for days. Derek growls in response but obeys, spreading his thighs even further apart as the friction between them and their boxers become almost unbearable.
Derek unclenches his fangs from Stiles' shoulder to bite at his nipples with his bloody spitted mouth, letting out pleased inhuman rumbles after letting go of each one with a slick pop, sucking and nipping at them until their raw and puffy.
Stiles gasps, eyes rolling back and then shutting tightly, with his wet mouth open in ecstasy, moaning like a complete slut as Derek fucks into him. Thrusts so hard, he huffs out a breath every time their bodies collide.
"Der... So good! I'm going.. to cum. Ugh! hnngh..." Derek cuts him off, gagging him with two fingers in his mouth and letting him salivate on them.
But before he's able to finish cumming, Derek's taking away his hand and biting into his wrist, resting the bloody gash over Stiles mouth. His fangs bite into the flesh unable to resist, his mouth filling up with Derek's exquisite blood.
He has about one full gulp of blood before he's convulsing, stomach full and painfully over sensitive, and for the first time in over 500 years Stiles is unable to drink anymore, pushing away Derek's wrist. The wasted blood spills from over his lips and down his throat.
Derek grabs his neck firmly in a chokehold, grounding Stiles once again as he watches with half lidded alpha eyes, the effects of his blood coursing through Stiles veins, making him feel like he was floating through some psychedelic slow motioned reality.
Stiles lets out an embarrassing pained whimper, his eyelids becoming heavy as the heat rises to his face and throughout the rest of his body, the pressure in his dick swelling up once more.
"Jesus Christ!" He gurgles out, the blood spitting out of his mouth. Sweat pours from every part of his body, the choked out gasp that escapes his mouth, his only warning before he's cuming again, his entire body racking with spasms and jolts as his second orgasm rips through him. His eyes water, nearly passing out in the process.
A deep inhuman whine comes out of the Alphas throat from above, his vigorous thrusts slowing down as he cums, collapsing onto Stiles in a heap of sweaty limbs.
Derek unties him shortly after, capturing him from around his waist and securely into his warm embrace. His dull teeth scraping against Stiles shoulder teasingly as they bask in their afterglow.
Stiles can't help but fall limp in his arms, never feeling so high and bewildered in his life. Derek's warm kisses along his spine luring him to sleep.
He finds himself snuggled up in Derek's sleeping form as the smaller spoon the next morning.
Unable to find the energy to move, he snuggles back into his sleeping wolf. The Alpha's arm still wrapped possessively around his waist.
Stiles smiles at himself in triumph with the bullet firmly lodged into Derek's heart.