Chapter 6: Outlawed

A/N: Thanks for the influx of comments, I greatly appreciate each and everyone who wrote back to me. Shinigami, I agree with you, the Argents have a very flimsy concept of justice and righteousness. That, dear commenter, is the beauty of the characters. They've been hurt before, as evident by the recent episodes (season 2), and by the actions of other werewolves all of them are hunted. On another note, meep indeed. *Poke* Hey Living Mi Own Lyf.

New addition to the playlist: Outlawed Love by Adam Lambert, which has been my inspiration for the chapter.

~Burning

P.S. Pour mes amis francophones, il y aura des moments où j'utilise mon éducation de votre langue pour enrichire l'histoire. (I have terrible french grammar, particularly when I write it. Speaking is so much easier.)

Previously on Harmless: Derek opened his mouth wide and bit into Stiles' shoulder... Stiles thought Derek remembered everything, but when he saw Derek's face, he knew that it had surprised them both. Derek didn't hesitate before his tongue was on the teen's wound, noticing the old hickeys and the new that littered his lover's neck as he went towards the teen's shoulder. He licked across Stiles' wound, tasting the blood and checking for infection.

One words. Derek only said one words. In context the word was ambivalent — It could mean either-or. He said, Sorry. One of the most abstract words in the English language and he chose it. His face was unreadable to Stiles, he searched and searched for what he meant. Was it infected? Was he infected. Was he going to be a werewolf? Would Derek no longer have to worry about hurting him? He wanted to laugh, he wasn't some teenage girl with a vampire paramour that could snap her like a twig through byronic happenstance and turmoil. He was just Stiles and he wasn't going to sit idly by and he was no sappy lovestruck hormonal teenager — or at least not entirely. Out of all his friends he was the most level headed, a bit odd, a little erratic, but he still reasonable. In his own way he was like Scott, he wanted to jump his lover right then and there, but he wouldn't let it fog his judgement. Scott believed, even with Alison's great agility and mastery over the bow, that she wasn't able to defend herself, but Stiles knew she was able to, he knew that Scott should put his faith in her and not just consider her as his lover. That was how he felt about Derek. Stiles knew that regardless of their relationship, he had proved himself to be more than just a pretty face. He had already prepared himself — if he was going to be a werewolf this would have been the way. An act of love between them would have been the ideal moment for him to be bitten, in between the floods of desire and abandon. Peter had offered him the bite — simply asked, as if it were a favour, but he had rejected it, tearing his arm away. He was seventeen for God sake, and when offered power he wanted it, but it wasn't enough to trump his logic — the cold logic that ran through him like the werewolf blood in Derek's veins. But for Derek, for the love that resides for him in the depths of Stiles' heart he would accept it willingly. He wanted power, Peter knew that, the bastard could hear it, but he remembered that at what cost would he gain it; now, awhile since Derek became alpha, he didn't lust for equality between him and Scott, or even the desire to be better, what he wanted was someone who could understand him — someone to be a part of, something to be a part of, for as a human in Beacon Hills there was not lot of options... Just two, either risk your life or stay unaware. The hunters (even though they were human) had been honing skills for ages, but Stiles didn't want to be a part of their harmful quest. He knew exactly what werewolves were capable of, but he knew that there could be control amongst the animalistic savagery. As human, he was bound to their frailty, even if he had been helpful, he would never be Scott. He could never have Derek's back in the same way that Scott does, but a bite — the bite could change all that. The bite would be gift.

"Sorry?" Stiles said.

"I'm sorry I bit you, Stiles, but luckily you haven't been infected. It's just a superficial wound, not in the blood stream."

Stiles momentarily looked disappointed, "That's good. I've called my dad and told him to tell the school I won't be there." Stiles paused, "I'm sick." Stiles let out a rather disingenuous cough.

"Disappointed?" Derek asked. He licked at Stiles wound again, tasting the blood. He was a werewolf after all and if he wasn't going to have Stile's flesh, a lick or two of blood would do no warm, particularly when he could feel Stiles tense and a sigh escape him. Derek continued his lapping at his lover's wound, the metallic aftertaste explosive, his wolven tastebuds taking in the subtle and unique flavours. He glanced up at Stiles, his eyes puppy-like: innocent and playful with an undertone of impish delight. He left a slower lick, grazing ever so gently across the wounded shoulder. Stiles moaned, the pain that inhabited the wound was suppressed by pleasure.

Stiles squirmed for a moment, "Stop," the teen chuckled out.

Derek continued, licking seductively across the wound, "You know my price."

Stiles weakly pushed Derek off his shoulder, the werewolf instinctively following the teen's lead. Stiles with some difficulty, do to soreness and pain, was on top of Derek. He pressed into Derek's lips, which instantly took hold of his. The werewolf smiled and broke from Stiles, "Toll accepted. We might want to bandage you up a little. The bleeding has nearly stopped, werewolf bites are very clean, unless of course you've been infected. We should probably just wrap some bandages and lucky for you werewolf saliva has antibacterial properties."

Derek lifted Stiles up, slowly lowered the teen down before getting up and riffled through a couple of his drawers. He extracted a roll of white cotton bandages and a pin before he returned to Stiles' side. He careful wrapped Stiles shoulder and pinned the bandages in place. "There. Now, why were you disappointed? You want to be infected? I remember you telling me that you were too smart for such things."

"Exactly. I was only disappointed that I bled on my favourite pullover, that's going to be hell to clean," Stiles said. "So now that you've got me all to yourself today, what do you plan on doing with me?"

"I can think of a few things," Derek said as he lay down next to Stiles who adjust himself so that he was pressed right close to Derek's chest, right above the heart. Stiles could hear Derek's heartbeat and he waited to hear what he had in mind for them to do.

"Well," Derek said, he nuzzled into the top of Stiles' head. "I was thinking we could just lay here."

"Is that all," Stiles said skeptical.

"Maybe," Derek said, his coy little smile-grin popping up on his face.

Stiles shifted so that he could look up to Derek, seeing his smile the teen couldn't help, but smile back. Stiles slowly picked himself up and got closer to his werewolf's face. "Maybe, hmmm..." Stiles lay a kiss against Derek's stubbled cheek before taking the werewolf's mouth. Stiles just stayed there, lips on lips before Derek's tongue demanded entrance. They fought each other, but Derek sought control and won.

A knock sounded, "Derek... Ah, and Stiles, could you not. We're all stuck here recuperating," Erica said through the door.

"I don't think they want to catch mummy and daddy at it," Stiles joked.

Derek laughed. "So you let them out, I assume?"

"Well I couldn't keep them leashed, besides I can now add unhooked burnt out werewolves after a full moon to my list of firsts."

"I bet that list as expanded since I got back in town," Derek said.

"Haha," Stiles said jabbing Derek in the ribs with his elbow. "Oh and by the way, those chains won't last another full moon."

"What makes you say that?"

"They got destroyed this time around."

"Let's hope you're wrong, I don't have any more."

"So, within their restrictions, I suppose we could just lie here as you had planned?" Stiles said, his disappointment more evident than when he was trying to conceal it.

"Cocky, even though you're bruises and battered," Derek said. He saddened, his face momentarily drawn to a look of remorse.

"Oddly enough I don't blame you, Derek. It must be hard to take on the role of Alpha, I am thankful you protected Scott from it."

"It's not good enough, Stiles. I could have killed you. My anchor during the moon has always been anger, it helped me grounded."

"For now, Derek, just stay with me," Stiles said cuddling right close to Derek's side as he could. Derek's arm that was underneath Stiles wrapped itself securely around the teen, allowing for the blood to circulate as it should have been. Derek leant his head down and kissed Stiles' cheek, before, for once, he fell asleep before Stiles, the evenings change had taken its toll. Stiles could tell that Derek was still upset, in his sleep his face grimaced as if he still bore the weight of his actions last night. Stiles shifted only a little, making sure to not wake his lover. He lay a kiss on the werewolf's lips, softening the discomfort on Derek's face. Stiles lay back down and fell asleep, enjoy the radiating warm the werewolf provided. Even in his soreness, pain, and filthiness, he wanted to remain there with Derek. Enjoying the moments of peace before whatever evil lurked out there, whether Kanima or Argent caused them grief.

"Gerard, long ago I helped your family take out something that was more beast than human, even I could not stop it. It saw no reason — it gave no reason — it had only blood as its wanton desire, but not all werewolves are the same. Not all want blood, it may be in their primal wolven nature on the full moon, but you and I both know that with an anchor they have their humanity."

"They've killed Kate, we do not idly let one of our own die."

"The Hale's boy and his pack have done nothing wrong, and all that awaits you by trying to kill them is suffering."

"At their hands!"

"No! Gerard. At your own. You cannot taunt another creature of pride and expect no retaliation. You have hunted them because you had the necessary skill, I know that there may have been those that had shed human blood, and for their crimes they were owed death, but those who have done it out of necessity, out of fear, is of your own doing." The man who spoke was dressed in a black cloak that gave the impression that there was nothing but a void where the man's face was supposed to be. Light from the window danced, illuminated the man's mouth, dispelling partially the shadows. In his hand he held a staff, it was bleached mountain ash, and looked very old inscribed in triple binding runes and near the head, a triskelion burned into the wood. Gerard moved quickly to his desk, the hooded man's hand blanched as it tightened around the staff.

Gerard removed the sword from the top of his desk and withdrew it from its scabbard. "Fine craftsmanship, sharp as a scalpel. I bet it works just as well against you."

"Do not threaten me, Argent. No blade I forged could cut me."

"I'd give it my best before having you killed."

"You're not going to keep me away through threats, Gerard. Now, it's been absolutely lovely, but I do believe it is time I take my leave. I'll be back, and know that I'm always watching."

Stiles awoke, the soreness and pain minimized, but still there, and forcing him to wince as he moved a little. He glanced over towards Derek's patch of photographs, their photographs now an addition. He smiled, and glanced up at Derek, his sleeping face was different than that whilst he was awake. His age presented itself there, in that dormant face. It was obvious that he had a very difficult life and it forced him to grow up faster than normal. Stiles couldn't imagine being hunted, alone, for so many years. He glanced at their pictures and smiled before nuzzling his nose into Derek's chest.

"I'm not afraid of you, but maybe I was," Stiles whispered. He chuckled under his breath, closing his eyes and just inhaled. Right then and there everything was perfect — that moment, no hunters, no one but the two of them. Anger flourished in him, a ship crashing against the rocks of his heart and fracturing; the remnants swirling in the whirlpool of his mind. Why was it that whenever he was happy people were taken away from him. His nostrils flared and his breathing was ragged. He calmed, "Why is everyone slowly taken from me." He closed his eyes. His eyes grew hot, the cold air of the warehouse had made them cold, even if his body was being warmed by Derek's. Tears' heat expanded underneath his eyelids, before spilling down his cheek toward his chin before resting on his werewolf's chest.

Hands moved and cupped Stiles' face, thumbs brushing away the tears. Derek moved Stiles with ease so that their foreheads rest against each other's. "What's wrong?" His voice was like an anchor, weighing him down to the moment. His actions were soft, and he couldn't help but remember all the times he had been rough. A smile darted across Stiles' face.

"It's nothing." Derek didn't look satisfied with his answer, "Derek, I'm just happy."

Derek gently kissed Stiles, taking his mouth with his own so very gently. Stiles closed his eyes.

A/N 2: SPOILERS for the actual show are included in this little note.

So I'm debating where this should end, or at least go on hiatus while I see where the actual show is going. I want to have a proper conclusion that fits. I believe it should be before Peter, obviously, and before Victoria, because I don't know how Alison is going to react, or maybe I could push it a little... Add Peter and have angry Alison. We shall see,but as it stands I'm going to keep the story before Victoria and the Rave. I have an ideal conclusion of the story, with a beautiful poetic ending, but I need to proper alignment in the actual show. Bear with me.

A/N 3: Obviously this was a connector chapter, I gave it subtext. Oh and I suppose this is short... considering that I nearly reached 7k with the last chapter, but it's alright, right?