AN: I do not own Teen Wolf or the Bourne movies.

Derek woke up before the sun had risen to the sound of a car driving away. He lifted his head from its resting place on the top of Stiles' hair and breathed in the stale basement air. There was only one heartbeat left in the house, and Derek was positive it wasn't Peter's.

Stiles was rousing in his arms. Derek nuzzled his cheek and murmured, "You can go back to sleep. The sun's not even up yet." But Stiles blinked tiredly and stretched, whacking Derek in the face as he raised his arms above his head.

"Sorry," he whispered with a grimace. He cradled his wrist gently. It was purple and red with bruising. Derek took it in his hands and Stiles watched in awe as Derek's veins darkened again. Some of the bruising even began to heal before Derek took his hand away. Stiles took his hand back, mesmerized at the lack of pain. It barely even felt like a sprain.

"How come you never did this before? Like when I got shot?"

Derek shrugged. "I don't know, really. Healing and taking away pain... it's kind of personal."

Stiles blushed. He kissed Derek on the cheek. After a moment he whispered, "Was that a car?"

"Yeah," Derek nodded. "I think Peter just left. Not sure why."

Stiles cracked his neck and struggled to his feet. He offered his uninjured hand to Derek and helped him up. "When do you think our time is up?"

Derek looked out one of the barred windows. "Probably when he gets back, or when the sun rises." He gave Stiles a small shrug. "I'd say we at least have an hour or two."

Stiles closed his eyes with a sigh and leaned against Derek, pressing their chests together tightly. The older man enveloped him in a gentle hug. "I'm still not saying yes to him." A growl rumbled under Derek's skin. Stiles turned his head so his nose rested behind Derek's ear. He nipped at the shell of it and Derek's growl cut off abruptly. He took advantage of the silence to place a kiss on his lips, pushing them both back against the wall.

"Stiles -"

"Shh," Stiles whispered into his lips. "I want this with you." He pushed his knee between Derek's legs, so reminiscent of that hotel room back in Wyoming. Like then as now, Derek was hard beneath the borrowed sweatpants.

Derek's breath caught in his throat as Stiles moved his lips to his throat and bit down. He whined when Stiles soothed over it with his tongue and bit again. Stiles licked up into Derek's stubble and nibbled on his jawline. His skin tasted salty and smoky, masculine and feral. Derek's hands spread over the smooth expanse of Stiles' back and reveled in the feel of the subtle muscles moving beneath them.

Stiles was dipping his head lower and lower over Derek's chest, his tongue lapping into every crevice of muscle. His knees began to bend and soon his tongue was lavishing the band of skin directly over the top of the sweatpants. He spread his hands over Derek's hips to hold him in place as he placed featherlight kisses down the trail of hair beneath his navel. Derek's erection was painfully obvious next to his face.

All of the breath in Derek's lungs left him when Stiles began to mouth the paper thin cotton between his legs. He put his hands gently on Stiles' head and began to say, "I don't – you don't have to do -"

"Derek." Stiles looked into his eyes, open mouthed and wide eyed with want. "I've wanted to do this since Illinois." His eyes still trained on Derek's face, he licked a wet stripe up the underside of his cotton covered cock. Derek groaned and sagged a little against the wall. "I want you." Stiles started creeping the sweatpants down around Derek's hips.

"Tell me not to do this, man," Stiles murmured into the fabric covering his leg. "If this isn't something you want."

Derek groaned and sagged against the wall. "I've n-never done this before."

Stiles looked up at him, a smirk on his face. "Well, I mean, I never did peg you as gay, considering the whole, uh, Kate thing, but you are in luck my friend. I happen to be a master at these." His hand came up to cup Derek through his pants.

"No," Derek whimpered, "I mean I've – no one has ever – not even Kate -"

"What?" Stiles' eyebrows narrowed. "Y-you've never gotten a blowjob before? Not ever?"

Derek could only nod. He leaned his head back, ashamed.

Stiles sighed and pressed a gentle kiss to the V of Derek's hips. He rested his chin against Derek's warm skin and looked up at him. "It's nothing to be ashamed of. I can stop -"

"No!" Derek was louder than he meant to be. Stiles snickered as Derek balled his hands into fists as his sides, unable to articulate just how much he didn't want Stiles to stop.

"I'll go slow, okay?" Stiles brought his hands back up to the waistband and tugged. "And you can tell me if you need to stop."

Soon the pants were around Derek's knees and his cock was in Stiles' warm hand. Derek put his fist into his mouth and bit down as Stiles ran the point of his tongue along the dark blue vein. Wet heat from a warm mouth surrounded his testicles and he groaned out loud when Stiles sucked on his sack – first one, then the other. Stiles kept his word: he went slow, leaving behind teasing kisses, gentle licks, and making him harder than he'd ever been in his life.

Stiles kissed the insides of Derek's thighs lightly, nibbling on the dark, sensitive skin. Derek's cock twitched when Stiles wrapped his hand around him again and bit softly into his thigh. Unable to help himself, Derek thrust into Stiles' fist. The friction made him see stars. He could feel Stiles grinning into his thigh.

Fangs erupted from his mouth and he bit into his fist to silence himself as Stiles began to suck delicately on the tip of his cock. Stiles' cheeks were hollowed out and his tongue was bathing over the oversensitive head, lapping up the beads of precome that had gathered there. His lips moved forward down his shaft, tongue following every inch. Derek couldn't help but thrust into that warmth. He pulled back immediately, wanting to apologize but Stiles growled and gripped his hips harder, holding him in place. Derek tried to control himself, feeling claws desperate to erupt beneath his fingernails, but Stiles was driving him crazy, the edges of his teeth scraping gently against his thin skin.

"Fuck, Stiles."

Stiles hummed against his cock. He slid his mouth off and looked up at him again with a distinctly proud expression. He nuzzled the inside of Derek's thighs again and muttered something even Derek's hearing couldn't catch. Derek stroked his cheek and tilted his head back up.

"What was that?"

"You can call me Jarogniew. If you want."

Stiles blushed furiously and made to hide his head. He hated his name, but coming off of Derek's lips, he thought he'd had it a little less.

Derek wanted to kiss him then more than he had ever wanted anything in his life: kiss him and tell him he wanted him more than everything, more than killing Peter or living a normal life, but Stiles' mouth was on him again and he couldn't think about anything else besides thrusting into it.

Stiles groaned softly as Derek's cock filled his mouth. A bit of drool leaked between his lips and he made to wipe it away before Derek pushed his hand away to thumb the drool away himself. His callused thumb pressed against the corner of Stiles' mouth.

"Fuck, Stiles, Stiles I'm – get off -"

He tried to push Stiles away but Stiles only sucked harder, his tongue flicking at his tip and his hand joining his mouth at a bruising pace. Derek's eyes flashed and he bit down on his hand again, blood dripping down his wrist, as he came into Stiles' mouth.

Stiles closed his eyes as the salty, almost bitter liquid filled his mouth. He swallowed it down, relishing the taste. After a second he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood, grinning like a madman. "How about that, huh? Not bad?"

Derek only answered by finally collapsing against the wall and sinking to the floor, a dazed expression on his face. His sweats were still tangled around his knees. Stiles chuckled and settled himself next to him.

"Do we have time for you to do that again?" Derek mumbled, his eyes still wide and staring at the opposite wall.

Stiles laughed and reached out to cup Derek's cheek. "Maybe."

Derek rubbed his face into Stiles' palm. He sighed softly and whispered into Stiles' wrist, "Jarogniew."

"That's my name," Stiles stroked Derek's cheek. "Don't wear it out."

"What if I say yes to him?" Derek's voice was quiet and gruff in the steadily lightening basement.

Stiles sat up from his position on Derek's shoulder and studied Derek's face. Derek swallowed nervously under the scrutiny. "You would, wouldn't you?" When he didn't answer Stiles swore under his breath and fought his way back into a standing position. "You don't get to decide how this ends, Derek. I told you yesterday, I can't – it's not what I want." Agitated, Stiles paced back and forth across the basement. Derek could only watch from his seat on the floor.

"Stiles..." Derek stepped up and caught Stiles by the elbow. He reeled the unwilling man back into his arms and dipped his head slightly to look him in the eyes. "I am trying to save your life. I will do whatever it takes to protect you, even if that means submitting and – and going back to what I was doing." He looked down and whispered, teeth gritted, "I can't lose you."

Stiles laughed bitterly. "Dude, I know my blowjobs are great but they're not that great." He caught Derek's chin and tilted his head back up. "Hey," he growled. "You don't need to submit. You're better than that."

"I'm really not," Derek argued. He tightened his grip around Stiles' waist. "I'm an omega, remember? A pack is important to me."

Stiles' mouth turned angrily downwards. "I thought I was your pack," he said.

"You are." Derek nudged Stiles' chin with his nose. "Of course you are."

Stiles huffed. "You don't understand, Derek. I'm not – I'm not a killer."

Derek, confused, looked back into Stiles' eyes. "What are you talking about?"

"You know what being part of Peter's pack will mean. He'll turn me into a killer."

"You shot Isaac." Derek, after twelve years doing it for a living, found the idea of taking a life fairly inconsequential, and he didn't understand Stiles' emotions. He suddenly smelled rank with fear. Derek's nose crinkled at it.

"That was totally different and you fucking know it!" Stiles pushed against Derek's chest angrily. Derek let him go. "I – my life before I met you was dedicated to helping people. And since we started this it's been all about helping you, taking care of you. Shooting Isaac was to protect us. But Peter," and Stiles ran his hand through his hair in a heartbreaking way, "will turn me into some kind of rabid dog. He'll put us both in a cage and rattle it until we'll do anything just to escape. And I almost broke yesterday. Imagine what he can do with our whole lives."

He threw his hands up defensively when Derek made to approach him. "I love you man," he choked out, eyes wet with tears, "but I will not be that. Not even for you."

Derek squeezed his eyes shut to prevent any tears of his own from falling. He shook his head and tried to pull Stiles back to him. The younger man hesitated again, but Derek was insistent.

"Okay," Derek whispered into his ear. Stiles instantly became less tense. "Okay. We can say no."

Stiles let out a loud, relieved breath. "Thank fuck," he sighed. "Okay, we need to think of something then. Some way to get out of here." He nodded his head towards the barred windows.

Derek turned his head slightly, not really listening. He heard the faint creaking of a bed several floors above them and the soft padding of bare feet on wood. It was time to try his plan, do or die. He gripped Stiles' face and whispered fiercely, "You trust me, right?"

"Yeah, of course," Stiles said, bewildered. He clutched Derek's hands. "What are you thinking?"

"You just need to trust me," he whispered, and crashed their lips together. The footsteps were getting closer to the door.

Boyd, still in his pajama pants and t-shirt, grasped Derek's service pistol and carefully opened the cellar door. He took the steps one at a time, scenting the air. "You two need to come out where I can see you," he called out. "And you both better be dressed. Jesus, I can smell you from upstairs." Derek stepped out first, blocking Stiles from view. A deep growl rippled through his chest.

"Where's Peter?"

"I can work autonomously from Peter, thanks," Boyd said calmly, a single eyebrow raised. "My orders are simple. You say yes, and I go back upstairs and make waffles. You say no, I shoot you both."

"Do we get waffles?" Derek asked sarcastically.

"No."

"I thought Derek was supposed to watch while Peter tore me apart," Stiles scoffed from behind Derek. "Continuity, man. You gotta follow these things through."

"Change of plans," Boyd sneered. He unclicked the safety and leveled it directly at Derek's face. "So, what will it be?" He said it as though he was asking Derek for his order at Starbucks.

Derek lunged.

He grabbed the gun and Boyd's wrist in one slick motion; Stiles crouched to the floor and covered his head when the gun went off, breaking off a chunk of cement from the wall. Another sick crack echoed through the basement and Boyd roared. Derek had broken his wrist when he'd taken the gun.

Before Boyd could charge at him, Derek quickly fired off several rounds into Boyd's chest. The younger man shook as each bullet exploded against the hard muscle. He fell to the floor, still growling weakly. His expression was fearful as his veins became dark tracks. Each bullet wound emitted a sickly purple smoke.

Stiles stood while Derek took the gun apart with rapid efficiency. Boyd choked and writhed on the ground, pain etched in every line of his face. "I think Peter forgot I was in the fucking Army," Derek growled when Stiles reached his side. "I know how to disarm people."

"This was your plan?" Stiles gestured angrily at Boyd. He stooped next to the dying werewolf. "Bull rush the guy with the gun and hope for the best?"

Derek only shrugged.

"Un-fucking-believable." Stiles shook his head and looked at Boyd. The choking was getting quieter but his eyes were still wide with fear. "Are you going to put him out of his misery or what?"

Derek growled again and extended his claws. A quick flash and Boyd's throat was missing. Stiles, trying not to betray his cool exterior, wiped off a few droplets of blood from his cheek.

"He was an engineering student in Seattle," Stiles mused.

"So?" Derek was sitting at Boyd's feet, pulling off his pants.

"I'm just saying, he was a kid like me."

Derek grunted as Boyd's pajama pants finally came free. He stood and offered them to Stiles, who gave him an inconceivably odd look. "He was nothing like you, Stiles. Put these on."

"Seriously? There's blood all over them." Stiles took the pants reluctantly between two fingers. "What am I supposed to do with them?"

Derek was busy ripping Boyd's shirt off. He was careful to avoid the wolfsbane bullet wounds. "You're going to wear them." The shirt came off barely intact. He threw that at Stiles too, who caught it gracelessly.

Stiles only gaped at him. "But... the blood -"

Derek grumbled and stood. His hands were covered in blood but he drew Stiles up in his arms anyway. "It's all part of the plan," he said, the vaguest traces of a smile visible on his face. "Still trust me?"

Stiles spared a disgusted look at the pajamas before pressing a kiss to Derek's lips. "We better kill Peter today," he murmured into his mouth, "or else I'm going to think of several painful ways for you to make this up to me."

Derek chuckled. "Just put the clothes on, Stiles. I promise I'm not just half-assing this." He turned his back while Stiles stripped and put the sticky pajamas on. When Stiles was finished he ran his hands up and down his arms, sniffing him.

"Dude, this is weird," Stiles whined, twitching uncomfortably. But Derek was satisfied; he didn't smell a thing like Stiles, only like Boyd and blood. He pushed Stiles gently away and pushed his own pants down. He raised his eyebrow at Stiles' appreciative stare.

"This is going to be weirder," he cautioned Stiles. "But if this works we're going to have a good chance against Peter." He motioned for Stiles to take a few steps back. His joints popped and lengthened as he transformed into his wolf. Derek looked at Stiles and snorted as his expression changed from lust to pure amazement.

"Can I...?" Derek stood still as Stiles stepped towards him and gently touched his fur. A grumble, not unlike a purr, came out unconsciously. "Dude. So cool."

Derek pushed him back again, then went to Boyd's body. He felt a little sickened about what he was going to do, and the wolfsbane was going to burn him, but it had to be done. He crouched down and began rolling on the body. Soon his own fur was slick with blood.

"You were right, Derek." Stiles looked a little green when Derek looked back at him. "That was way weirder."

Derek snapped to attention towards the window. He heard a car coming up the infrequently-used driveway. He transformed back into his half-wolf self and put a hand to his lips, motioning for quiet. They both headed up the stairs as quietly as possible, waiting for Peter.

Peter got out of his car into bright morning sunlight. He breathed deeply, taking in all the scents. He smelled trees, squirrels, rotting wood, and inside the house, a lot of blood and Boyd.

Excellent.

He sauntered up the stairs, whistling as he went.

AN part two: Yeah, so, I'm not great at sex scenes. Sorry!