A/N: The name of this chapter is its own warning. You will love me. And then you will hate me. Sorrynotsorry in advance.

"THIS IS ALL YOUR FAULT!"

Derek bolted upright on the couch, gaping at Stiles, who was glaring at him with wild, slightly red-rimmed eyes. His thick brown hair was spiked up in disarray, evidence that Stiles had been tunneling his fingers through it repeatedly, yanking at the spikes and tufts in frustration. His book fell from slack fingers, all but forgotten in the wake of Stiles' hurricane-like entrance.

"What the hell, Stiles?"

"I can't stop thinking about you," Stiles ranted, his liquid amber eyes flashing, and Derek's lips fell open in surprise as his heart started to race. "I can't stop wishing you were my soulmate. I can't stop thinking maybe it doesn't matter that you aren't, and I can't stop wondering if the inevitable heartbreak would be worth it. I can't stop, Derek, I can't stop wanting you!"

His chest was heaving with his erratic breathing, and Derek started to rise to his feet when Stiles pinned him in place with another vicious glare. "You've ruined my whole life," he concluded, still breathing heavily, shoulders slumping as he came down from the emotional high generated by his tirade.

The accusation felt like a poison-tipped arrow slicing into his heart and spreading acid fire through his blood. "Do you hate me that much?" he asked, devastated, and Stiles threw himself on the chair in outrage.

"I don't hate you at all, Derek, don't you get that?" he cried. "I love you, and my boyfriend-correction, my ex boyfriend-knows it!"

Derek swore his heart stopped. It was melodramatic and over the top, but it wasn't something he ever thought he'd hear from Stiles and he felt like he was entitled to the moment of indulgence. "Ex boyfriend?" he parroted instead, choosing to focus on the less volatile-he thought-part of that declaration.

Stiles snorted bitterly. "Donovan called time of death on our relationship two hours ago. Said it was obvious we weren't soulmates and he wasn't interested in being my distraction from you anymore." His hands found their way into his hair again as he dropped his head into them, elbows digging into his knees. "It's always going to be like this, Derek. I don't have a prayer of being happy with anyone else as long as you're in my life."

"So, what?" Derek asked, his voice hardly more than a whisper. "This is it?"

Stiles glanced up, flinching when he saw what Derek figured was probably raw agony in his own eyes. "No, never," he murmured back. "I can't keep not doing this anymore."

"What do you mean?" he parried, confused, and the breath caught in his throat when the helplessness on Stiles' face shifted into something darker, predatory. His eyes were gleaming in determination as he rose from the chair and crossed to Derek purposefully. Derek swallowed hard when Stiles dropped into his lap, thighs trapped between the knees Stiles clenched around him. His heart felt like it was going to burst out of his chest, and his cock out of his pants, when Stiles braced his hands on the back of the couch on either side of his shoulders and leaned in, licking at the hollow of his throat. "Jesus, Stiles, what are you doing?" he croaked, and Stiles pulled back with a smirk.

"What we've both wanted since the day we met," he breathed, dragging his teeth over the curve of Derek's neck where it met his shoulder. He shuddered as Stiles bit down, halfway between gentle and bruising, unable to think past the rush of blood from his brain to his cock.

When his senses caught up with his brain, however, he caught the scent of alcohol on Stiles' breath. He frowned and pushed Stiles away. "You're drunk," he accused, and Stiles rolled his eyes.

"I've had three beers," he grumbled, eyes dropping to stare avariciously at Derek's mouth. "I'm hardly to the point of not being able to consent."

"I don't want this, not like this," Derek protested, and Stiles sighed, leaning into Derek's personal space and curling up like a contented kitten.

"I want this any way I can get it," he countered, his voice a low rumble. "Maybe I wouldn't be saying or doing this if I was a hundred percent sober, that's true. But I'm glad I'm not, because we deserve this. We've suffered for a long damn time for it. Take it, Derek. I'm offering this to both of us."

Derek faltered, and Stiles seized on that moment of uncertainly. He tilted his hips and rocked forward, his erection rubbing firmly against Derek's aching, straining cock. His whiskey-colored eyes gleamed in determination, and Derek couldn't find it in him to fight it anymore. Plenty of people got together from drunken one-night stands, and he and Stiles were so much more than that. They had been since day one. He was going to take this, just as Stiles had demanded, and he was going to be grateful for it however it happened.

Mind made up, he surged forward, fisting his hands in Stiles' spiky brown hair and pulling him down to meet Derek's insistent mouth. Stiles let out a helpless groan as his mouth crashed into Derek's, hard and bruising and demanding, while his fingers curled over Derek's shoulders, nails biting through the fabric of his faded blue T-shirt and digging into his skin. Derek was almost embarrassed by the frantic little noises he was making as he tried to chase Stiles' lips, which had left his and instead were traveling down the side of his throat, sucking dark red bruises into the skin at short intervals. Stiles had him pinned against the back of his couch as he ground his hips down into Derek's erection, attacking and consuming and taking, and Derek offered it all up freely.

"I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't even be able to sit down tomorrow," Stiles growled against the curve of his shoulder, teeth nipping at the thin skin wrapped over bone, and Derek choked out a laugh.

"That's going to make the drive back to Beacon Hills difficult," he began, hissing when Stiles's hands migrated under the hem of his shirt and mapped the hair-roughened skin of his abs and chest, nails catching on his nipples. "I'm making you drive so I can lay down in the backseat if that's the case."

"Worth it," Stiles mumbled, yanking at the shirt gracelessly until he'd finally managed to remove it. The look in his eyes was worshipful as they took in every inch of golden skin, the whorls of hair and the dark trail that disappeared behind the button of Derek's jeans. He'd seen it on more than one occasion, of course, but not like this. Never like this. "I meant it, you know."

Derek arched up reflexively when Stiles dipped his head and bit gently into his left nipple. "Meant what?" he gasped, fingers curling through Stiles' hair and bringing his head back to the right one.

"I love you," Stiles breathed into his skin. "Always have, right from the start."

"I think I loved you from the second you looked up at me after I'd spilled my coffee all over you," Derek admitted on a harsh exhale when Stiles' spider-like fingers trailed down his abs and hooked into his waistband. The words spilled from him, dying to be released after months of being held back. "It doesn't matter that we're not soulmates. Forget the fucking soul mark; you're mine, and I'm yours."

Stiles stiffened, an ache flashing through his eyes before he blinked, determination burning it away. "I don't want to talk about soulmates tonight," he whispered, nimble fingers deftly unbuttoning Derek's jeans as he lifted his hips enough to slide the zipper down. "It's just you and me, and the rest of the world can go fuck off."

Derek wholeheartedly agreed, pushing his hips up as Stiles reached inside his underwear and found his straining cock, warm and velvet and pulsing with life underneath his touch. Stiles held his breath, staring in wonder as he slowly stroked his hand up and down Derek's length despite the awkward angle. Derek found himself holding his breath as well, watching the emotions play over Stiles' face instead of watching what he was doing. After several moments filled only with the sounds of their harsh breathing, Stiles glanced up and caught Derek's intense gaze, smiling crookedly.

"I think we're both wearing too many clothes," he concluded. Derek nodded, the gesture an effort. He watched greedily as Stiles grabbed the hem of his own shirt and stripped it, this time with movements that were precise and efficient. It was when he impatiently started to lean back in that Derek held a hand up, his palm flat against Stiles' chest. They sat for a moment, Derek reveling in the sensation of Stiles' heartbeat pounding furiously beneath his fingers and Stiles evidently soaking in the feeling of having Derek's hands on his body.

"We should move this to my room," Derek suggested, voice rough. His eyes burned into Stiles'. "I have stuff in my nightstand."

"Use it a lot, do you?" Stiles murmured, and the heat of Derek's gaze turned blazing.

"Not once since I met you," he rasped, swallowing a groan at the way Stiles' breath caught in his throat. "None of them were you, and I wasn't willing to settle for anything less."

"Your room. Now," Stiles commanded in a broken voice, and Derek pushed them both up off the couch. Their lips locked back onto each other's and they stumbled through the hallway and into Derek's darkened room. Derek hooked his fingers through Stiles' belt loops and when his knees hit the edge of the bed, he fell backward and pulled Stiles with him.

They landed with a soft jolt but hardly missed a beat as Stiles scrambled over Derek's prone body, his lips never leaving Derek's. He continued nipping and sucking and licking into Derek's mouth as his hands fumbled with his pants, pushing them impatiently over his hipbones along with his underwear. When he was all but naked, Derek flipped them over and dropped his hips, rubbing his still-clothed cock against Stiles', relishing the way Stiles panted and squirmed underneath him.

The breath left him entirely when he wiggled, shifting his body downward to be able to get his mouth at cock-level, and was confronted with his own jet-black initials staring up at him in stark relief against Stiles' pale skin. "What the hell?" he choked out, eyebrows climbing as he bolted backward, and Stiles frowned, lifting himself up on his elbows and glancing down at his soul mark bemusedly.

"I'm in the process of getting naked. You should have expected to see it," he remarked with a soft snort, and Derek's eyes flew up to his, wide with shock.

"I expected to see a soul mark," he began, swallowing past a lump in his throat. "I didn't expect to see my initials on you."

Stiles' eyebrows drew together in confusion. "How did you not know?"

"How would I know?" Derek countered, voice frantic as the ache bloomed in his heart and overwhelmed him. We were so goddamn close.

Stiles sat up, concern spreading across his face. "Derek, every guy I've dated over the last couple months has had your initials. Donovan Holbrook, Drew Hessington, David Harper, Devin Hill, Dean Halverson." His voice dropped lower and lower as he ticked off the names unsteadily.

"I didn't know any of their last names!" Derek bleated, and Stiles blinked away tears.

"I asked you if we were soulmates." His voice was little more than a whisper. "If your initials weren't on me, I would have already known."

The logic floated around in his spinning, swirling brain until things calmed and settled. "Goddamn it, Stiles," he ground out. "I wish I'd never found out. This makes it so much fucking worse, don't you get it?"

Stiles reached for him, grabbing his wrist and tugging on it until Derek half-lost his balance and tumbled forward, hands flying out to catch himself before he collapsed on Stiles' chest. "It doesn't matter," Stiles coaxed, "not tonight."

Derek stared at him in dismay for a few moments before the pleading look in his eyes overturned any objections Derek might have had. He was right, it didn't matter. If he had to think about it, he would just allow himself to pretend that his own soul mark was different. He could see the heavy black DH curling right under Stiles' hip bone, and he traced the pad of his thumb over the mark reverently. "You're mine," he murmured.

"Always have been," Stiles returned, a wistful, sad smile barely curving the side of his mouth. "But now I really just want to fuck the hell out of you. Get naked already."

Derek complied, hurriedly shucking his jeans and tugging Stiles' the last little bit over his feet, tossing both to the floor in a crumpled heap. Dipping his head, he lowered his body until he was about to wrap his lips around Stiles. A hand on his shoulder stopped him and he glanced back up, looking at Stiles through half-lidded eyes and a thick fan of black lashes, and smirked at Stiles' sharp intake of breath and the sudden jump of his cock. "Do you object to me going down on you?" he asked mildly, and Stiles smirked in return.

"Not at all. Just don't work me too hard, okay? Otherwise I'm going to come all over your lips instead of in your ass, and that's kind of my end goal for the night."

The groan that escaped Derek was loud and mortifying and he cursed his body's sudden yet inevitable betrayal. To distract from the unexpected sound and his flushed cheeks, he wasted no more time in practically inhaling Stiles' cock. The younger man's even louder groan eased his embarrassment somewhat and, in a rather dick move, he smirked at Stiles-or as best he could with a mouthful of penis. Stiles half-glared down at him, but the effect was lost through his gasping and the way his head dropped back while he fisted handfuls of the sheets and twisted them in his white-knuckled grip.

Derek slowed his motions, settling into an easy rhythm of back-and-forth, up-and-down, the tip of his tongue flirting with the slit of Stiles' cock while he gently palmed his balls, lifting and rolling them around in his hand, fingers stroking along the underside and over the thin skin that separated the two of them. Stiles started to squirm, but hesitantly, clearly not wanting to run the risk of having anything yanked or scraped.

Finally, he twined his fingers through Derek's hair and tugged, bringing Derek's head up enough that he could lift his eyes and deliberately watch Stiles and the way his chest heaved with his erratic breathing. "You have to stop," he grunted, his voice a low whine. "I need a break before I lose it."

Derek pulled back, releasing Stiles' erection with a loud, wet pop, slicking his fingers up the shaft and over the head, then skimming his fingertips over the slit that was weeping a stream of pre-come. Unable to resist, he leaned back and licked at the fluid, tongue flat against the sensitive skin as he lapped at it, and Stiles's body convulsed into one long, uncontrollable shudder. "Stop!" he hissed, hips jerking, and he palmed himself to get some of that control back.

Stiles rolled away and Derek watched him go, wondering if maybe he'd pushed a little too far. His mind was eased when Stiles sat up on his knees, grabbed hold of Derek's shoulders, and pushed. Derek fell flat on his back and shivered a little at the heated gleam in Stiles' eyes. "You promised to fuck me so hard I won't be able to sit down tomorrow," he reminded Stiles, his voice gruff and gravelly. "I sincerely hope you don't break your promises."

"I try not to," Stiles muttered, moving between Derek's legs and rocking forward, his length sliding along Derek's own and settling into the line of Derek's hip. "I can promise I won't break this one."

Derek could feel his heart pumping erratically at the silkiness of Stiles' voice and the knowledge of what was to come. Literally. Twisting, he propped himself up on his hip as he reached for the drawer in his nightstand, reaching in and withdrawing with a tube of lube and a foil packet clamped between his fingers. He could feel the twitch of Stiles' cock against his own and lifted one leg, his thigh half-curling around the curve of Stiles' ass. Stiles plucked the condom out of his hand, quickly tore it open, and pinched the reservoir tip. Derek's hands covered his and Stiles let him take over, rolling the condom up and over his cock, stroking him surely as he went.

"I want to watch you fuck yourself on your fingers," he breathed, pressing a light kiss to the coarse hair surrounding the base of Derek's cock, and Derek was more than happy to oblige. His fingers trembled as he squeezed some lube onto them, more than enough to slick his entrance up comfortably. He did this on a regular basis, so he didn't even bother starting with one finger to warm himself up. He slid two inside, twisting, curling, stretching the edges of his hole, pumping steadily until he was up to the second knuckle of both fingers. Stiles' eyes avariciously tracked his movements. It didn't take long for him to lose patience and dip in, sucking the head of Derek's cock into his mouth and stroking in time with the motion of Derek's fingers. Derek faltered, his head dropping back as the sheer pleasure of finally having Stiles' mouth on him overtook the feeling of fucking himself on his own fingers. His hand fell slack and then he withdrew, but it was only moments before he felt Stiles' fingers scooping up the excess lube and sliding back in.

His erection strained, his hips lifting off the bed as Stiles simultaneously finger-fucked his ass and sucked the life out of his cock. "I'm going to come before you ever get inside me," he gasped in warning, and Stiles reluctantly drew back, giving his shaft one last lick up the underside of it. "Not so fun when you're the one being told to stop, is it?" he grumbled, the half-smile on his face belying any true irritation.

"I don't have to stop completely, though," Stiles reminded him slyly, and then the head of his cock was pressing against Derek's ass. "I just get to do this instead." Derek groaned as he felt the head stretching him, the ache turning into a slight burn as Stiles continued to push forward, filling him, expanding everything to accommodate his size. When he stilled his movements Derek whined in protest, trying to thrust against him, take him deeper, but Stiles' fingers digging into his hips stopped him. "I want to feel everything," Stiles explained, voice low, and Derek couldn't bring himself to protest.

When Stiles' head began to lower, Derek lifted his, eagerly meeting the kiss. Stiles' earlier kisses had been passionate, demanding, bruising, but this one was relaxed in its confidence. Stiles licked into his mouth and he opened up, his legs unconsciously spreading at the same time, and Stiles fucked into him sharply with a sudden thrust of his hips. Derek bit off a choked gasp, his ass aching deliciously as Stiles set up a steady cadence, fucking him slowly, thoroughly, and Derek swore he couldn't go any deeper, but somehow he did.

Derek braced his feet against the bed and lifted his hips, changing the angle so Stiles could hit that sweet spot inside his ass that had him seeing stars. His cock ached and he reached down, wrapping his fingers around it and jerking it roughly until Stiles' hand joined his, and they both slid up and down in tandem until Derek could feel the rush start to curl through him from the toes up.

"Fuck, I'm going to come," he gritted out, and Stiles' eyes narrowed in concentration as he picked up the pace, fucking into him hard with every thrust, and Derek could feel it uncoil in the base of his spine. His throat ached as he chased the pleasure, the release that was so close it burned on the back of his tongue and then he was gasping, growling, and shouting in relief as he let go, come rushing out of him in furious spurts, coating both his chest and Stiles'.

The sight of him wanton, debauched, and come-covered apparently did something to Stiles, who followed him over the edge. His hips strained toward Derek as his orgasm rushed through him. Stiles continued to pump into Derek through the aftershocks until he was depleted, his upper body trembling as his arms shook from the effort of holding himself up. When the last of his strength drained out of him, Derek lay his arm out to catch him as he collapsed. They lay on their backs, breathing harshly for a minute or two. Eventually Stiles slid the used condom off and tied it, dumping it into the trash can beside the bed before he rolled over and snuggled into Derek's side, head tucked underneath his chin.

They were silent for a few minutes, neither able to put into words what they were feeling. Eventually Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek's chest, his lips brushing reverently against the soft whirls of dark hair. "I love you," he said on a sigh, and Derek could feel him sag more fully against his side. It was only moments before he was fast asleep.

Derek stared at the ceiling, not quite sure how this had happened, but not about to question it. Now that they'd finally gotten past Stiles' mental block about not being soulmates, there was nothing to stop them from living happily ever after. A silly, sleepy, happy smile split his lips and when his eyelids drooped shut, he was pretty sure they could see his teeth from space.

When he woke the next morning he automatically reached for Stiles, disappointed when his hand came up empty. "Stiles?" he called blearily, rolling over and digging his thumb and forefinger into his eyes to try to wake himself up. "You better be making breakfast, babe." The endearment fell naturally from his lips, half-surprising him with the ease of it.

When there was no response, he pulled himself out of the bed and grumbled, padding into the kitchen. He blinked when he realized the kitchen and the living room both were completely empty. Cocking his head slightly, he concentrated in order to hear the sounds of the shower running or the toilet flushing, and only came to the realization that his apartment was as quiet as a tomb.

Heart thumping, he turned back for his room, digging his phone out of the jeans that were still lumped on the floor, though without another pair wrapped around them. No texts. No voicemails. Glancing around, his heart fell when he realized there wasn't a note, either.

Derek pulled his jeans and a plain black tee on in record time, jamming his feet into his sneakers without benefit of socks and grabbing his keys and wallet from the counter before sweeping out the door, phone trapped between his ear and shoulder. Stiles had just gone back to his dorm to finish packing for the trip back to Beacon Hills, he told himself, because as was habitual with him, he'd literally left it to the last minute. The phone continued to ring and ring until it went to voicemail, and Derek punched the end call button with a frustrated curse.

It was only ten minutes later-yeah, he'd broken a couple speed limits, or eight-that he was pounding on Stiles' door. Eli, his roommate, opened it with a glare.

"Can't you assholes let a man get some sleep?" he groused, spearing a hand through his hair, matted from being crushed into his pillow. "I'm fucking exhausted and Stiles tore through here a half hour ago. I just barely fucking got back to sleep."

Derek stared at him, the panic tasting acrid as it built up in the back of his throat. "Stiles was here?" he asked hoarsely, and Eli blinked, as if he was finally realizing what was going on.

"Yeah," he answered, more subdued this time. "Grabbed his suitcase, dumped it upside down on his bed, threw it back in the closet, and ran back out again like a bat out of hell." Derek's gaze darted to the bed, which was strewn with jeans, underwear, graphic tees, and a half-dozen video games. Eli cleared his throat uncomfortably. "My guess is he isn't coming back for awhile," he added, gentling his voice, and Derek nodded mutely.

"If you see him, tell him…" He trailed off while Eli watched him expectantly. "Never mind. It doesn't matter."

Eli hesitated before nodding. "Happy Thanksgiving, dude," he offered instead, tentative, and Derek laughed bitterly.

"Fuck Thanksgiving. I have nothing to be thankful for."

A/N 2: I promise the next chapter offers an explanation for Stiles' actions. He had his reasons, I swear.