Chapter 4: Cold

A/N: I shouldn't hope for reviews, that wasn't the point, but if you want to review I'd love that... Obsessively. (~^_^)~

On a rather unrelated note I've been listening to music (who doesn't) and I've been mentally building a soundtrack for Harmless. So far I've got Cinema (the Skrillex cover), I Love You (2NE1), and Owl City's Meteor Shower.

I'm not very versed in the rules of this website, so I hope that the scene... Isn't too racy, oh and this is also the first time I've written anything like that so... I hope it's alright.

- Burning

Previously on Harmless:

"Stiles why do you smell like Derek!"

"Scott, I'm a loyal friend, but shut up."

"Tell me!"

Stiles got up from his seat in hurry and ran to his jeep before Scott could follow. He may have been a werewolf, but he used his senses in groupings, but never all together. He was slow, but strong. He pulled out and started driving going no where.

What was he supposed to do? Stay and take Scott's comments, his all to right implications. He was embarrassed, but he wasn't ashamed. It was more the feeling that he was getting from Scott, that by smelling of Derek — by being with Derek, he was betraying Scott in some way. He didn't feel that way, he felt that he could both be friends with Scott and lover's with Derek. He didn't want to go to his mother's grave, he didn't want to compound more emotions into a situation he knew would foster more feelings. He didn't want to go home, that would be condemning himself to silence. He turned the radio on, the music would distract him long enough. He was antsy —the music didn't help.

He tightened his grip around the wheel, his skin blanched from the pressure. He glanced at the clock, it was six and the sun was dripping down the sky, the ink of darkness bloomed and enriched the sky. His phone rang, the god damn phone that prevented them before. He answered it reluctantly, feeling anger toward the object instead of the people who called. "Hello."

"Stiles, this is the Sheriff's department."

Stiles inhaled.

"Your dad's been shot, he's at the hospital."

Stiles hung up the phone. He shifted gears, jolting his jeep to the edge of its life. He sped towards the hospital, feeling lucky that he was close enough that the chance of him being pulled over for speeding was minimized. He nearly forgot to lock his jeep as he ran from his car. He was in the hospital in a flash, waiting by the door was Scott's mom.

"He's alright, Stiles," She said, her face grief stricken.

"What happened?" Stiles asked.

"The police are being close lipped as always, but he was shot from far away, maybe by accident."

"Accident. Where?"

"The ambulance came from just outside the city. Come Stiles, he's sleeping," Melissa McCall said.

His father was bandaged across his chest on the Sheriff's right side, avoiding the heart. His heart was in his mouth, he was practically choking on it. He couldn't keep his vision from narrowing, nor could he stop his stomach from churning. His breathing laboured and he knew that he going to start hyperventilating. He darted out of the room; Melissa didn't notice until she saw the teen run through the hospital. She only saw a streak of him before she heard the door shut.

Stiles revved his engine and sped down the road, stopping to drop his jeep off at his home. He switched his jeep for something more discreet — his bike. He hadn't used it since he got his jeep, but it would be far easier to hid it over his vehicle. He peddled as fast as he could, his breathing hyperventilated, and he knew he was close to a full blown attack. By the time he was at the warehouse district he was glancing around cautiously, checking for people if they followed him. He doubled up and down several streets, risky considering he was nearly facing trembling and probably immobility. He had to make sure Derek would be safe, he wouldn't be able to deal with it if the Argents found Derek because of him. He ditched his bike, hiding it well, before walking into the passage.

He ran once he hit the ground of the secret liar. He was in the main room with the subway car train. Erica, Isaac, and Boyd were lounging about until he came in panicking. They could tell something was wrong, they could smell it. They all tensed. Stiles couldn't breath. He couldn't think. His knees buckled.

"What happened," Derek growled. "Stiles!" He didn't give his pack a second thought before he dismissed them; he picked up Stiles and carried him into his makeshift room. He was breathing shallowly, the hyperventilating still present. Derek sat down in his bed and placed Stiles onto his lap. He wrapped his hands around his lover and rocked back and forth. The warmth of the werewolf's body brought him tenuously back to reality; his breathing still heavy. Derek breathed into Stiles' ear, soothingly cooing.

"What's wrong, Stiles," Derek asked, his voice firm and commanding.

"My dad's been shot," Stiles managed to breathe out.

"Is he alright?" Derek asked.

"H-he's fine. He's sleep." Tears welled in the teen's eyes, threatening to fall. He sniffled them back and wiped them away.

"Well everything will be alright. Everything will be alright."

Stiles calmed down from his panic attack pressing his back into Derek's chest. Hungrily, Stiles manoeuvred himself so that he was facing, and pressed himself into a forceful kiss. He wanted to be lost — lost in love, lost in emotions, lost in the physical, anything that involved Derek's body on his own. Stiles bite down into Derek's lower lip, pushing a growling from the depths of Derek's throat. He slid his hands under Derek's shirt, attempted to doff it without the werewolf's help. Clumsily he got caught on Derek's arms; the werewolf laughed, removed his shirt. He pulled off Stiles' shirt and forced his way into the teen's mouth with his tongue. They both were frantic; Stiles clawed at Derek's back as the werewolf removed Stiles pants and underwear quickly, in one motion. Stiles, naked, pressed himself entirely into Derek enjoying his hardness against Derek's firm body. The werewolf removed his jeans, his hardness pressing against Stiles'. They continued there, deeply kissing; Derek fell backwards, Stiles on top, intwining their legs. They each could feel the other harden, Derek growled, Stiles moaned. The teen left a trail of kisses down the werewolf's chest spending extra attention to Derek' nipple, before clumsily taking Derek in his mouth. He tasted like he smelled, potentially more musky. He had only a basic understanding, but he took Derek in stride. Drawing the man close to his edge before Derek pulled Stiles on top of him again, kissing deeply. His own taste was odd in his mouth. He slid down to Stiles' waist and mouthed at his hardness. He enjoyed Stiles moans and his fingers digging into Derek's back. He growled, it reverberating against Stiles' hardness. Stiles squirmed under Derek's suction, the coffees he had early making the squirming more frequent and desperate.

"So close," Stiles breathed.

Derek pulled himself off his lover, taking Stiles mouth with his own. Derek rolled Stiles onto hid back, grinding into Stiles ruthlessly. Stiles whimpered and moaned, feeling the inevitable conclusion rising. Derek on the hand grew silently nervous, hidden by his poker face. He could feel his inner wolf rising, wanting to taste the teen's blood, his flesh, more gorily. His heartbeat pounded in his throat and it took all his energy to keep his nails from extending and his canines growing. His eyes had shifted red. It didn't take him long to calm his inner wolf, particularly when Stiles spoke.

"Take me," Stiles groaned out. He too was anxious, he hadn't been this far with anyone. He knew he wanted to Derek. The werewolf, luckily for Stiles, could smell the anxiety, the panic, the desire. He gently pulled the teens legs apart, lathered himself with his own spit, and gently pressed himself into Stiles. The teen gasped, feeling the expansion and the pain, but Derek was compassionate, he was gentle. He carefully made love to Stiles, taking his time so that Stiles could adjust. Moments passed between them, the combination of deep ringing growls and moans. Between the two, they both had expended themselves, energy and all. They lay next to each other, panting, and curled into each other. Their hearts raced, their blood coursing hot in their veins. They were sticky and tired, but Stiles lifted himself up to kiss Derek delicately on the mouth; the werewolf smiled into the kiss. Stiles fell down, and snuggled into the werewolf, his mouth against the side of Derek's chest. Derek rustled the covers from the foot of the bed and lifted it on top of them. Derek reached over to the lamp, the only source of light in the room. He switched it off and snuggled against Stiles, his nose against the teen's head.

"I love you," Stiles said.

Derek hadn't had anyone since his parents say that to him. He was flustered for moment, blushing slightly. "I love you," Derek muttered out. "I love you."

The Argent home was an ordinary one: cars out front, a well maintained garden, a grand, but simple house. No one would be the wiser, unless of course they knew that Chris Argent was an arms merchant. It gave him a sort of edge amongst those who knew. He appeared kind with something hidden within his eyes, something dark and intimidating. His daughter seemed all smiles, without the darkness, and yet she had some of her mother in her, and Victoria Argent, she was a piece of work, just like Gerard; in comparison, Chris was a rabbit. They were slayers, werewolf hunters with a self-righteous moral code that guided their actions — for centuries the family has been, in the cloak of darkness, killing.

"You shot the Sheriff," Victoria Argent yelled at one of her lackeys.

"But!" one of them said.

"No buts! We can't afford any mistakes," Gerard Argent said coming into the room, Chris Argent in toe. "There is a war out there, and we can't allow for interference." Gerard went to cabinet near and pulled out a scabbard. He unsheathed his English broad sword and pointed it to the throat of the lackey. "You're damn lucky we don't kill our own for stupidity."

A/N (2): P.S. Please forgive the shortness of this chapter, I would have extended it longer, but I liked the way it concluded, with both Stiles and Derek, and the Argents. There is something about the Gerard character that drew me in. He is messed up, and he could be fun to play with as an antagonist, along with Victoria.