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"I’m the alpha now.”
The words rattled around in Stiles’ brain as they all stared at the looming form of Derek above the charred remains of Peter’s corpse.
Derek’s eyes—bright, piercing red, like blood—looked over them all before settling onto Stiles with an intensity that had the air leaving Stiles’ lungs in a sharp exhale.
You shouldn’t hold eye contact with a predator. It was a challenge. But Stiles couldn’t look away.
Not even when Derek began to stalk toward him, Peter’s blood still dripping from his claws.
Stiles blinked as Scott stepped between them like a spell had been broken, momentarily forgetting other people existed.
“Allison,” Chris said, grabbing his daughter by the arm and pulling her away despite her struggles. “Let’s go. Now.” The older hunter hissed, clearly sensing a storm brewing.
Stiles had an equally bad feeling forming in his gut. He turned his head to look toward Jackson—who was standing to the side, looking pale and stricken.
“Stay away from him,” Scott growled. “Leave us alone.”
“Get out of the way, Scott,” Derek snarled, stepping into the teenager’s space.
Stiles’ lips parted as his brow furrowed in confusion. “Scott, I think we should—”
Derek’s eyes flicked to him, and the words died on Stiles’ tongue.
“Last warning, Scott. Step aside.”
“No.” Scott spat, straightening his shoulders. Stiles could see the pointed curve to his ears.
Derek’s jaw tightened, and his shoulders tensed, preparing for a fight.
Stiles had hurried to step between them. “Hey, how about we don’t whip out the fangs and the claws?” he said, gesturing animatedly between them. “We just won! We should be celebrating! How about we all just go home and sleep, huh?”
He could feel Derek’s stare on the back of his neck, making his skin prickle. He did his best to smile and ignore it, pushing Scott toward Jackson’s Porsche.
“Fine,” Scott had murmured, still glaring over Stiles’ shoulder at Derek. “But this isn’t over.”
It was weird being dropped off at home by Jackson—he almost felt like he was in an episode of that old TV show The Twilight Zone.
Thinking like that, Stiles wasn’t surprised when he opened his bedroom door to find Derek looming in the corner. He was, however, surprised when Derek immediately invaded his space.
“You know, it’s real creepy to lurk in a teenager’s bedroom in the middle—Jesus Christ,” he whispered, heart stuttering as Derek leaned close, unashamedly sniffing him.
"Do you want the bite?” Derek whispered, his breath ghosting over Stiles’ skin, raising goosebumps in its wake.
Stiles’ breath hitched, his shoulders going rigid. “What?”
“Do you… want the bite?” Derek murmured again, his hands settling firm and heavy on Stiles’ waist as he trailed his nose along the column of Stiles’ throat.
Stiles’ heart hammered against his ribs, his pulse loud in his ears—louder, maybe, to Derek. Every nerve in his body screamed at the proximity of Derek’s mouth.
His mind flashed back to earlier that night, to Peter’s cool touch on his wrist, that same smooth question slipping from his lips. Do you want the bite?
“I…” Stiles’ throat worked, words trembling out of reach. He did. He wanted it. Peter hadn’t been lying when he called him out on it.
But he was also terrified. The bite could kill him. His muscles shook with the weight of that truth.
Then again—he could die any day otherwise. His dad saw it all the time: car crashes, heart attacks, random acts of violence. Or, you know, more recently unlucky bastards mauled by werewolves.
“Well?” Derek prompted, voice low, almost gentle, his breath hot against Stiles’ neck.
“Would I… would I be part of your pack?” Stiles asked, so quiet no human would’ve heard it.
“Yes.” Derek growled, claws pricking through denim as his grip tightened on Stiles’ hips. “You’d be mine.”
Stiles’ face flamed, his head ducking automatically.
“That sounds…” His brain scrambled, the word gay springing to mind, but years of knowing Danny had drilled restraint into him. “…intimate.”
Stiles shook his head.
"I'm not gay." he wasn't. At least he didn't think–
“You’re attracted to me.” Derek murmured, voice firm, stating a fact.
Stiles jerked back—or tried to. Derek’s grip didn’t give, only loosened enough for him to lean back and meet Derek’s eyes. Brown to glowing red.
“Dude,” Stiles sputtered, ears burning, throat bobbing as he scrambled for a defense.
“The location of the bite matters. Did you know that?” Derek continued, one hand leaving Stiles’ hip to glide over his side—right where Scott had been bitten.
“Low rank. Normal pack member.” Derek’s voice was a dangerous purr. His hand slid higher, catching Stiles’ wrist, mirroring Peter’s hold from earlier.
“Second in command. High rank.”
Stiles shivered, Derek’s touch climbing to his shoulder, then higher still—fingers brushing the vulnerable expanse of his throat.
“Mate.”
Stiles swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple pressing against Derek’s palm. The werewolf’s eyes darkened, heat rolling off him in waves.
Stiles’ heart was going so fast now it had to be deafening.
“Where… where do you intend to bite me?” His voice broke, body trembling with adrenaline, his stomach twisted tight.
Derek’s lips curved, canines glinting in the low light.
“Here,” he said, giving Stiles’ throat a slow, deliberate squeeze that made his breath catch.
“And then,” Derek whispered, “I’m going to lay you down on that bed and fuck you while it takes.”
“Oh, god,” Stiles choked, knees nearly buckling as every ounce of blood in his brain rushed south.
Stiles’ breath came in sharp, shallow bursts. His whole body felt like a live wire, caught between fear and the kind of want that made his knees weak.
“Derek,” he rasped, not sure if it was a warning, a plea, or both.
“Shh.” Derek’s thumb brushed the hollow of his throat, firm enough to remind Stiles of the strength in his grip. “You don’t have to decide tonight.”
Stiles blinked up at him, chest tight, lungs straining like he’d forgotten how to breathe. “That’s—yeah, that’s good, because I’m, uh—my decision-making skills are usually questionable at best, and right now I’m, like, ninety percent certain my brain has left the building—”
Derek silenced him with a low growl, pressing closer, his body a wall of heat against Stiles’. “You want it,” Derek said, not a question.
Stiles swallowed hard, throat flexing against Derek’s palm. “I…” His voice cracked. “…yeah. I think I do.”
Derek’s eyes flashed again, wolf-bright. His nose brushed along Stiles’ jaw, inhaling, dragging over skin so sensitive Stiles nearly jumped.
“Say it,” Derek ordered, voice a low rumble in his chest.
Stiles squeezed his eyes shut, head tipping back against the wall, throat baring itself without his permission. “I want the bite.”
The air between them seemed to thicken, charged with something that made Stiles’ stomach swoop. Derek’s claws flexed against his waist, the scrape of sharpness just enough to sting through the denim.
“Good.” Derek’s mouth hovered, breath warm over the place he intended to claim. “When I mark you… there’s no going back.”
Stiles’ laugh was shaky, breaking in the middle. “Oh, yeah, no pressure or anything.”
But his hands—traitorous, trembling—found Derek’s shoulders anyway, clinging.
"Fuck–okay–just do it.”
Derek’s body stilled, muscles coiling tight like a snake preparing to strike.
“Are you sure?”
Stiles was shaking so badly you’d think he was freezing, but it was the opposite. He felt hot, sweat slicking his palms and armpits.
“Yes,” his blunt nails dug into the leather of Derek’s jacket, eyes squeezing shut as he prepared for the teeth and the pain.
But none came. Derek’s mouth settled over his throat, yes, but instead of teeth there was a tongue and suction.
“Oh,” Stiles gasped, eyes flying open as he jerked at the startling contact. “Oh.”
It was ticklish, and Stiles couldn’t help squirming as Derek’s stubble brushed against his sensitive skin.
A wet tongue lapped at his skin before blunt teeth dragged over Stiles’ racing pulse.
Then a hard bulge pressed against Stiles’ hip as Derek further crowded him, pressing him against the wall.
Crowding him in and blocking out the rest of the world.
Stiles’ lips parted, chest heaving as sharp little gasps broke from him.
His head was spinning, mind practically melting away faster than he could catch it.
“Derek,”
He mewled, hand sliding up the back of the werewolf’s neck and tangling in dark locks of hair.
And then Derek’s teeth sank in.
White-hot pain exploded across Stiles’ neck, sharp and searing, stealing the air from his lungs. His gasp broke into a strangled sound, torn between a cry and a moan as fire licked down through his veins.
The world tilted. His fingers dug hard into Derek’s shoulders, desperate for balance, grounding himself against the strength pinning him in place. His knees gave, but Derek held him up easily, mouth locked on his throat, driving heat and power into him with every crushing heartbeat.
Stiles felt like he was burning alive. His veins blazed molten. His bones shuddered, threatening to crack apart. But under the pain—God, beneath it all—was something else, something primal and raw that clawed at his chest and dragged a low sound from deep inside him.
A whimper. A growl. He couldn’t tell which.
Derek finally pulled back, lips red, canines gleaming. His hand stayed on Stiles’ body, holding him steady, keeping him from collapsing completely.
“Breathe,” Derek ordered, voice low, steady, commanding.
He obeyed, dragging in a ragged breath, then another, chest heaving. His legs were trembling so hard Derek had to half-lift him, half-pin him to keep him upright.
Stiles’ body felt like it was being electrocuted from the inside out. Every vein burned, every nerve screamed, but threaded through the pain was something sharp and intoxicating, like adrenaline set on fire.
He clung to Derek’s blue Henley in fistfuls, nails biting through the fabric as his legs shook beneath him. His breath came in shallow, frantic pulls, throat raw where Derek’s teeth had broken the skin.
“Derek—” His voice cracked, desperate. “I can’t—I can’t—”
“You can.” Derek’s voice was iron, unyielding, his arm locked around Stiles’ waist to hold him upright. His palm pressed firmly at the back of Stiles’ neck, not to soothe but to claim, to remind Stiles whose bite it was. “Just keep breathing.”
Stiles let out a choked laugh that broke into a groan. “Oh my god, you—this—” He couldn’t string the words together, couldn’t decide if he wanted to shove Derek away or pull him closer until there was nothing between them.
The fire spread lower, clawing down his spine, wrapping tight around his ribs. His heart hammered like it was trying to break free from his chest. He jerked against Derek’s hold, his body twisting between resistance and surrender.
“Hurts—” Stiles whimpered, forehead grinding into Derek’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut.
“I know,” Derek growled, voice rough, steady against his ear. “It’s supposed to.”
The words shouldn’t have grounded him, but they did. Something in Derek’s tone—commanding, certain, unshakable—threaded through the chaos inside him.
Stiles clutched tighter, nails dragging against Derek’s back. “Feels like—like I’m gonna die.”
“You’re not.” Derek’s hand shifted, sliding to cup the side of Stiles’ throat, thumb brushing just below the bite, smearing the blood leaking from the wound. His voice dropped, almost a whisper. “It’s taking.”
The heat in Stiles’ veins spiked, but this time it wasn’t just pain—it was something darker, deeper, and it made his head spin. His lips parted on a broken sound, and for a dizzy second he wasn’t sure if it was from agony or want.
"Derek,"
It was a struggle to form words, his brain lagging as it's overloaded with too much input.
The wind scraped across the window like fingernails. The drip-drip of a faucet across the hall landed like a drumbeat in his skull. Even Derek’s heartbeat—steady, powerful, right there beneath his ear—throbbed against him like an anchor, the only rhythm that kept him from falling apart.
Stiles gasped, shuddering. “I—hear—everything—”
"Shh," Derek's lips brushed his cheek, and Stiles shivered, hyper sensitive to the touch. "Just focus on me, only me."
He listened to Derek's breathing, loud and slightly labored, feels his exhale against his skin as Derek's lips hover above his own.
Can hear the rustle of fabric, crinkling and squeaking of leather, as it shifts over Derek's body with each subtle movement.
Derek's tongue flicked out, licking over Stiles' lips and Stiles gasped at the pulse of heat that surged under his skin.
"Stay with me, Stiles," Derek whispered, lips parting to capture Stiles' own, and that wet tongue returned—licking and prodding at the seam until it dips inside.
Stiles shuddered, as the taste hit him, rich, thick, coppery tang, followed by what was just the taste of Derek on his tongue.
Leather squeaked in protest as Stiles grabbed thick handful's of Derek's shoulders, feeling the muscles flexing underneath.
The loud beat of their hearts sounded in Stiles' ears, fast steady beats, practically sounding as one.
"Derek," Stiles whispered, the sound breathy and half choked as it leaves his lips—whispered right into the other mans mouth.
Derek's lips make a molten trail along his jawline and throat, paying special attention to a spot just below Stiles' ear.
His erection was hard and painful, staining against the seam of his jeans, and why were they still wearing so many layers?
"Stop," Stiles gasped, shuddering as blunt teeth dragged across his skin. He pushed back against Derek's shoulders, and Derek growled but obeyed.
"What's wrong?" Derek's voice was thick, dripping with want. Stiles shook his head, pushing at Derek's stupid leather jacket.
"We're wearing too many clothes," Stiles said, sliding the jacket down until it slipped free leaving just the dark henly underneath.
"If you're going to fuck me—"
"I am." Derek rumbled, eyes darkening to that deep, rich red.
"Then we need to get naked." Stiles finished, heat creeping down his neck as his own hands fumble with the hem of his shirt—hesitating only a moment before he lifts it up and off.
Cold air immediately rushes in, making him shiver as his nipples pebble and goosebumps form on his skin.
He's only cold for a moment, before Derek's shirt joins his own on the floor—then he's back in Stiles' space, radiating heat like a furnace.
Derek's palms slide around his sides, memorizing the shape of him.
He could hear the roar of Derek's heartbeat, a loud thudding that blocked out everything else.
"Come on," Derek whispered, lips sliding over Stiles' in a chaste kiss. "Bed."
Derek's fingers looped in his belt loops, pulling as he guided Stiles away from the wall and towards the mattress in the corner.
The springs squeak as they collapsed onto it, clothes ruffling as they frantically shed layers.
Stiles is a little embarrassed when he tears more than a couple of items in his excitement.
"Sorry," he whispers, ducking his head, but Derek only attacks his mouth with even more vigor. Unbothered by the loss.
He loses himself to the heat of their bodies, skin finally sliding against skin, wet tongues dancing, hands learning the shape of each others bodies.
"Do you have lube?" Derek panted, eyes glazed in hunger as they part.
A shy jerk of his chin towards his bedside drawer has Derek shifting away—but only for a moment—then his heat settles overtop Stiles' form once more.
The bottle cap opening in the otherwise silent room is nearly deafening, sending heat to Stiles' face as he spreads his legs.
The first slick press of a finger had Stiles' back arching with a sharp, shuddery inhale. He could feel everything—the slightest twice of Derek's slippery finger as it rested inside him.
"That's it," Derek murmured, holding still and allowing Stiles to adjust to the foreign, sensation. "Just breath for me."
Derek leaned down, pressing his lips to Stiles' peck, placing soft featherlight kisses to Stiles' skin. Each brush set his nerves aflame, pleasurable and ticklish all at once.
Stiles' chest heaved softly, cock red and leaking against the wiry hair on his stomach as Derek's finger begins to slide in and out.
The slick sound of it filled the room, muffled under their breathing and heartbeats but no less present.
His whole body jolted with a cry when Derek's finger brushed his prostate, body wounding tight like it was being electrocuted.
"Shh," Derek whispered, voice thick, stubble dragging across skin in a maddening dance.
He hardly noticed the stretch of a second finger—hyper focused on the pleasure as Derek's poked and prodded the spot that made him see spots behind his eyelids.
"Derek," Stiles breathed, a cry, a plea, for what he didnt really know, but he was sure Derek would give it to him.
"I'll take care of you," Derek rumbled, breath ghosting across Stiles' rib cage, spreading goosebumps in its wake.
Stiles trembled—vibrating with tense energy as the squelch grows louder, more and more fingers filling him up until he can't take it anymore.
"What—" he groaned, unable to stop the roll of his hips. "—you gonna stick your whole fist up my ass?"
A deep, gravely chuckle makes his whole body shudder, looking down and meeting Derek's eyes.
"Only if you want me to." Derek said, words a filthy promise, as his fingers—four of them—slipped free.
His hole clenches uselessly, too stretched to fully close, as Derek crawls up overtop.
"Oh, god," he keens, long pale legs settling around broad hips, and wounding his arms around Derek's neck.
The feeling of Derek's cockhead kissing his hole has Stiles' breath hitching. The feeling of it breaching, has him shuddering.
It didn't hurt, there was the overwhelming sense of fullness the deeper Derek went, but it wasn't uncomfortable.
Derek's hands were warm, trailing over Stiles' hipbones up to his rib cage, nails dragging just so and making goosebumps in their wake.
"That's—" Stiles' voice cracked, throat constriction as he swallowed. "That's not so bad."
Slow, long jabs, in and out. He could feel every muscle as it stretched and clenched around the intrusion, accepting it like it belonged there.
"Yeah?"
Stiles' lashes fluttered, lips parting on a particularly good roll of Derek's hips. "Yeah," he dug his heels in, spurring him on, to go deep, faster. "Right there—ah,"
His words melted away, turning garbled and bitten off as the world was reduced to only them—only this.
Derek's shifted, pressing down, arms caging him in on either side as his strokes deepened, rocking Stiles' body with each thrust.
"Knew you'd be perfect like this," Derek whispered, lips trailing Stiles' throat. "Can't wait to take you again under the full moon."
The air was thick with the smell of them—sex and musk—so much so it was dizzing.
"Derek," he sighed, toes curling as each rock of their hips pushes him closer and closer to the edge.
He pants, open mouthed, tasting the smell of sex on his tongue. The salt of their sweat, the heat of their bodies.
Stiles turns his head, seaking Derek's mouth as the peak threatens to overwhelm him, body trembling.
It was exhilarating and terrifying all in one, Stiles felt like he was going to fly apart at the seams.
"Derek," he whimpered, eyes wide and frightened, shaking like a leaf as the heat in his gut threatens to boil over.
"Shh," Derek's tongue licks into his mouth, as his hips continued to rock. "Don't be afraid, just feel."
The thrust of Derek's hips was turning ragged, signaling his own impending orgasm, and when a hand wrapped around Stiles' weeping cock, that was the end.
Stiles came and it was like a shock wave—a whitewash of ecstasy that left his mind blank.
Warm, broad hands stroked down his sides as a voice whispered against his skin, praises and filth in equal measure as Derek’s hips slow.
Derek’s cock slid out of him, lube and come following, slicking the sheets beneath Stiles’ ass.
"That was—” Stiles didn’t even have the words. His chest heaved as he stared up at the ceiling while Derek settled against him.
Derek was a hot line of sweaty skin, his nose pressed to Stiles’ collar, snuffling every so often as they basked in the afterglow.
Outside, crickets chirped. Somewhere in the woods behind the house, a lone owl hooted. Stiles took it all in, breath leaving him in a shaky exhale.
“How do you tune it all out?” he whispered, studying the faint seams between the plaster boards overhead. “The little noises, the bugs, my neighbor down the street watching porn—oh god.”
Derek chuckled, his breath warm against Stiles’ throat, and Stiles shot him a glare.
“I focus on a sound I enjoy,” Derek murmured, lifting his head to meet Stiles’ eyes. “The heartbeat of someone close to you is a good start, than the rest falls away."