Teen wolf pt 2
Back to part 1
Derek crouched low to the ground and watched Stiles catch his breath from behind the root boll of an old oak. His fur bristled out, sensitive to the faint air currents, and his nose moved left and right to catch the subtle interplay of scents his prey was putting out. He caught the moment when Stiles seemed to think that he was safe again. The sharp sting of adrenaline shifted to the more muskier scent of anger. He tamped down his urge to growl and give away his position.
Anger wasn’t good. The wolf interpreted anger as a challenge, and challenge meant fighting, clawing, tearing. Derek didn’t want to fight Stiles and leave him in the hospital. He didn’t want Stiles to suffer and perhaps be too weak to accept the bite. He definitely didn’t want Stiles to die. He just wanted to chase him, wear him out, then force him to submit to his fate. Thankfully the moon was closer to new than full, and there was enough human in him to moderate his wolf’s instincts.
Stiles sighed and began walking slowly Northward. Derek knew the ground here, and evidently so did Stiles, because there was a bend in the Forest highway just another couple hundred feet in that direction. He followed silently, his paws making almost no sound in the dense layer of sodden leaves. Stalking slowly up on his prey from behind.
Stiles pulled a phone from his pocket.
No good. This was between Stiles and him. He didn’t need Scott trying to interfere. Or worse, an Argent.
Derek rushed forward, grabbing the phone out of Stiles hand with his teeth and then nearly flipping sideways to change trajectory and hide behind a bunch of bushes. He spat the phone out on the ground then held still. Stiles’ shriek ringing loudly in his ears.
After a few seconds the screams stopped. There was a moment of silence, then Derek heard him say, “Fucking, ow!”
The alpha moved his head so that he could see between the leaves. Stiles was turning in circles, staring about wildly and shaking his hand like it had been stung. “Derek!” he called out. “I know you are there! Why can’t you leave me alone!” His voice rose in a whine. “I’m serious, this is not cool. This isn’t fun.”
The wolf in Derek begged to differ. This was heaps of fun. It’d be even better when Stile started running again. Derek hadn’t even come close to being worn out by the game.
But Stiles just stood there, waiting, sending out waves of anger scent that irritated the wolf. Derek pushed himself further back into the bush to keep away from the scent. Why couldn’t Stiles start running again? Or being frightened? Or resigned? Or any number of emotions that didn’t trigger Derek’s need to claw things to bits?
Act like prey damn it, Derek willed. Don’t you have any idea how dangerous this is for you? Picking a fight with a werewolf?
But Stiles merely turned his hands into fists and began walking determinedly towards the road.
Derek, silent as breath, circled around, giving a wide enough birth that Stiles couldn’t see him as he ducked around the old-growth trees. Though out of sight, Stile was never out of Derek’s awareness. He caught whiffs of his scent on the eddying air currents and heard each crackling footfall echoing off the tree trunks. Stiles moved slowly and cautiously, but with little stealth until he reached the bottom of the hill under the road itself.
Stile’s smell had shifted from anger to hopeful excitement when he caught sight of the road. Derek felt relief as the wolf’s instinct to protect itself melted into a desire to fetch and play and tease his prey into running again. Derek silently moved forward to position himself between Stiles and his goal, curious to see how close the boy would get before he looked up from his feet.
Derek’s mouth opened and his tongue lolled out in a predatory smile, and his heart quickened with excitement. Closer. Closer. Derek let out just the quietest growl, almost as if by accident.
Stiles froze. Fear burst out his skin, perfuming the air so invitingly that Derek couldn’t hold a louder growl back.
“Shit,” said Stiles, staring at the Alpha crouched uphill from him. For once, why couldn’t Derek be the jerk that Stiles hoped he was? A jerk was so much better than a monster. A jerk could be forgiven.
The worst part of it was, that it wasn’t as if Derek had snapped and had turned into an unreasoning beast. Every action the alpha took had a premeditated quality. Taking his phone. Driving him into the woods. Hell, kidnapping. How the hell were they ever going to come back from this?
Stiles felt tears starting to form in his eyes. This fucking sucked. He’d considered Derek a friend of sorts. But after this? How could he?
Even now the Alpha was just waiting there, not attacking. Drawing this out more as if it were some fun game. Asshole.
…Or maybe Derek had doubts on what he was doing. Maybe that hesitation meant there was just the slightest bit of humanity left under that shaggy, glowy-eyed exterior. Stiles’ heart skipped a beat. That was actually an awesome thought. He could totally work with that.
“Listen Derek,” Stiles said, raising his hands in a calming gesture. “I know you are in there. Just come back for a moment. Let’s talk this through.”
The alpha turned its head to one side as if considering. The glow in its eyes seemed to dim a few watts.
Encouraged Stiles went on. “You want me to accept the bite and be one of your betas. And okay, okay, maybe I could go for that if you used a bit of persuasion. But this isn’t persuading me. You keep this up and you’ll make me a werewolf, I can’t stop that, but I won’t be your beta. I’ll go omega like Scott. And what use to you is that? One more lone wolf on your territory - surely you don’t want that.”
It seemed as if he might be getting through to Derek. The alpha was changing shape, reverting back to human, and oh, god that was gross looking the way the bones and muscles all shifted, like big insects fighting under the skin, popping and squirming. A moment later Derek crouched in front of Stiles in beta form. Naked. Wow that was way more of Derek than Stiles had ever expected to see.
He averted his eyes for a second before curiosity won out over propriety and he looked again. This time Derek was fully human and even more naked without all the fur covering him. And an impressive piece of manhood he was! The muscles weren’t confined to his upper half. And was he just a little bit hard there, or was he a show-er? Hopefully he wasn’t one of those who were growers and showers, because Stiles already felt inadequate and he wasn’t sure he could bear to be outmanned that badly.
And fucking ADHD, this wasn’t what he needed to be thinking about. Survival. Who knew how many seconds Derek was going to give him before he just reverted back and bit him.
Derek sighed and stood up fully, crossing his arms in front of his chest with out even a tiny shred of awkwardness at the whole exposed bit. “What can I say that would persuade you, Stiles?” he asked.
“I…” Stiles thought. His mind whirred ineffectively for a second. Then he blurted: “Well, okay, what are my chances of turning into a werewolf and not a kamina or a corpse or a whatever Lydia is? Seems to me that it’s a bit of a crap shoot. I mean, if I just die on you, then you’d get no beta and I’d get no nothing.”
“You aren’t going to die,” said Derek, clearly thinking the question was stupid. “Those who die are the ones who panic and fight the bite. You are young and healthy, flexible in mind and have a strong will to live. There’s a reason I choose teenagers to turn, Stiles, and it’s not because I’m a creep.”
Says the naked man to the boy he just kidnapped and chased through the woods.
“You’ve worked with me in the past, Stiles. You may be angry right now, but you like me. When you feel what it’s like to be in a pack, you won’t be in a hurry to turn omega. It’s better than you think it is.”
“Scott didn’t seem to think so.”
“That’s because Scott has never felt what it was like to be part of a real pack. He only felt Peter’s rage and lust for vengeance. You’ll feel something better. Communion, comfort, belonging, love.” And boy could Derek just say that in a dryer voice? He might as well have been saying tests, training, chores, hangnails. From the way Boyd and Erica reacted, perhaps Derek’s idea of comfort was doing chores.
“Wow,” said Stiles, unconvinced. “Well, yeah. That makes it sound like joining a very lovely cult.” Derek glowered more. Stiles quickly pushed on. “Okay, but what if I don’t turn into a werewolf? What if I turn out like Jackson? I don’t want to end up being someone’s slash-happy meat puppet.”
Derek shook his head emphatically. “You won’t. That - what happened to Jackson wasn’t not normal. That was my mistake.” Derek’s voice sounded bitter and his eyes turned away with guilt. “I thought he was a spoiled brat and I didn’t want him in my pack. It was irresponsible on my part. He needed a pack more than either of us were willing to admit. He couldn’t - can’t survive the loneliness of being an omega. So his wolf found someone who wouldn’t listen to his words and didn’t care about his personality. Someone he couldn’t drive away.”
Derek twisted his face ruefully, as if he’d just come to an unpleasant realization. “Peter was right,” he murmured softly. “I should…”
“No Peter is not right!” Stile objected. “Peter is never right. You don’t go thinking that.”
“Jackson’s issues aren’t yours,” Derek continued as if he hadn’t been interrupted. “I won’t do that to you.” He looked at Stiles expectantly again. The hope in his smile made Stiles wince.
No, no. I don’t go down this easily. Stiles fished about. “But what if it just doesn’t take? Like Lydia. She almost died.”
“You aren’t like Lydia,” said Derek firmly. “And I’m only going to bite you, not claw you to shreds.”
“But how do you know?”
Derek huffed. “This is getting no where. You are going to have to trust me, Stiles. This is the best. Now either lift your shirt or run away and we’ll do this again. Either way my wolf will be satisfied.”
“You like chasing me,” accused Stiles, pointing at him.
Derek grinned fiercely. “It’s more fun than you can imagine.” He was already starting to shift.
“Well, then, you are just going to have to settle for fun,” said Stiles defiantly. “Because the answer is still ‘hell no!’”
Derek raised a bristly brow. “I’ll give you thirty seconds head start. One… two…”
Stiles turned and raced off again.
Derek didn’t wait long this time before taking charge of the chase. He started by steering Stiles deeper into the trackless woods and away from the road and town. This was wolf business. There was no reason to bring random humans into it. Stiles would be reborn to the pack the way the Hales had been for hundreds of years: in the wild.
Stiles hadn’t exactly got with the program. He kept trying to make a break for the forest road. Every time the boy made a dash in that direction, Derek sped up and put himself between Stile’s and his goal. After the third time, Stiles seemed to understand the way was blocked and took another tact, sweeping deeper but purposefully into the woods. Derek wasn’t sure what Stiles thought he was up to, but he didn’t protest it. Eventually Stiles would be too warn out to fight anymore and when Derek asked him once more to lift his shirt, he would see the futility of it all and comply.
But Stiles hadn’t reached that point yet, even though he was definitely starting to slow down. Derek easily paced him, two dozen feet to the side, watching the the boy’s head turn from side to side, almost as if he were looking for something. It occurred to him, belatedly, that Stiles might get desperate enough to pick up a stone or a stick and try attacking, as though he had no chance winning the battle. Crescent moon or no, if Stiles hurt Derek in this form, he’d rip him to shreds before he could stop himself. The thought brought a shudder through Derek’s body and made his fur stand on end.
Please, Stiles, have better sense than that!
He growled, deep and resonantly. This wasn’t like his earlier, playful growls. It meant business.
Stiles responded by sprinting even faster. Good. The quicker he wore out, the better. It was time for this chase to end.
The growl echoed in Stiles ears as he madly dashed away. Not a fun sound. No that was a mad sound. It was almost as if Derek knew Stiles’ plan, which seemed impossible because Stiles hardly knew his plan. Moreover, Stiles wasn’t at all sure his plan would work in the amount of time he’d been given, partially because he couldn’t do it right, and partially because he definitely wasn’t in the right mindset for doing magic at all.
Oh it was all well and good to meditate and focus in the quiet back room of Deaton’s veterinary clinic. It was another to try to do it when he was hungry and exhausted and had a fucking werewolf snapping at his heels.
But he had to stay positive, because running wasn’t going to cut it and neither was doing something stupid like beating Derek off with a stick.
There was mountain ash in the area (he knew only because Dr. Deaton had taken him on a field trip looking for some - wild grown was better than cultivated for the purposes of magic), but it wasn’t native to the area, and it definitely wasn’t common. Furthermore, even if he found a tree, who was to say that hugging it would give him any protection at all. Proximity to mountain ash didn’t carry the same protective qualities as making an unbroken circle. And even if he could make the protective magic work, Derek could just wait him out. His dad was out of town until Sunday afternoon. No one was going to miss him.
But maybe it would give him time to think up something better. And in any case, Stiles wasn’t ready to give up yet, though he did need to catch his breath.
Derek, the fucker, had circled ahead of him and rushed him from the side as soon as he slowed dow. He didn’t touch Stiles as he passed but he did force him to speed up again. So much for a break. At this rate Stiles was going to drop from exhaustion before he found a damn mountain ash tree. Did he even really remember what it looked like?
And this wasn’t positive thinking. He really needed to focus. He needed to -
Apparently what he needed to do was finally step on that untied shoelace and trip face first into the ground, because that’s exactly what happened. The ground was soft enough to his face not to stun him, but hard enough to hurt like the bajeesus. And cold. And just a bit slimy. He hardly had time to scramble forward to his knees when he felt a tugging and a dangerous warmth against his ankle. Then just as suddenly as he felt it, it was gone and Stiles was up and running again.
Only this time his left foot seemed to go about an inch further to reach the ground, and when it did so, the ground felt distinctly wet and not shoe-like at all. Stile’s stride was thrown off and his ankle wobbled and his knee twinged. His shoe was missing!
Stiles considered just for a second turning around and looking for the shoe. Maybe Derek will let me find it and put it on, just for fair play. Yeah, no, that wasn’t going to happen. Derek had pulled it off for a reason. He was trying to hobble him or something - as if being worn out, out of breath, and human weren’t handicapping enough. Stiles’ lungs burned and his muscles twitched. All his joints up his left side ached with every uneven stride. Ah god he couldn’t keep this up much longer.
Ten strides later Stiles gave up. He couldn’t run with only one shoe on. He’d never considered before how thick the soles of his running shoes were. The trajectory Derek had set him on now, had him heading downslope into a more bushy area, where his poor unprotected foot was more likely to get stabbed to pieces by the flora or battered to bits by gravel. He staggered to a stop.
“Not … fair,” he called to Derek between gasps.
“I’m not trying to be fair,” Derek called back from uphill. “I’m trying to get you to surrender. You keep running, I’m going to keep chasing, but you might as well stop now.”
“I can’t,” whined Stiles. Because he really couldn’t. It wasn’t fair. All this supernatural stuff was cool and important, but he was only sixteen and this was the rest of his life. He wanted the option of being able to walk away from it if it ever got to be too much for him. He had college, a career, family all ahead of him. He didn’t want to be hunted down. He didn’t want some killer instinct taking over his body and putting the people he loved at risk. Maybe the Argents were right - it was better to die than to succumb. But he didn’t want to make that choice. He just wanted to fucking finish his sophomore year of high school.
He looked over his shoulder in time to see Derek switching from human to beta form, then falling forward into full wolf, and he knew he wasn’t going to get that option.
Stiles started running again. He turned to look forward just in time to miss smacking his face into the trunk of a maple, but not in time to miss tripping over the spreading roots. He tumbled forward again, saving his face at the expense of his hands. He managed to scramble onwards but this time when he tried to stand up, he felt a mighty tug at his waist. He fell sideways, then felt himself being dragged, stomach down back over the roots and through a layer of mostly decomposed leaves. His hands flailed out but couldn’t find any purchase.
Derek had him by the belt with his great big alpha teeth. Stiles felt the heat and breath and fur against the small of his back. His skin broke out in goosebumps. His shirt pulled free of his pants and was dragged up under his armpits. No, no. Derek wasn’t going to get at his belly that easily. He abandoned trying to scramble away in favor of getting his shirt down again. The barrier was mostly symbolic, but he daren’t yield anything at this point.
For a moment Stiles belly felt tightly pinched as he was lifted off the ground by his belt. Then the pressure was off, and he fell back to the earth with a thud. Stiles rolled out from under the beast and crab walked until he had the tree at his back again.
His whirring mind caught on another idea. He grabbed his remaining shoe and yanked it off his foot. “Here wolf! Fetch!” he said and threw the shoe as far as he could into the bushes. “Go get it!”
While the alpha’s head followed the trajectory of the shoe, Stiles stood up and dashed away in the other direction. One last push. One last chance.
For just the tiniest second, Derek was actually tempted to fetch the damn shoe. To his credit, he’d just been so surprised by the tactic that his human side blanked out and wondered why Stiles was throwing his clothes away. His wolf side just liked pouncing on and exploring moving things. He’d actually turned around and bounded a step towards the bush the shoe had landed in, when he heard the sound of his true prey running away again. And then it all came crashing down on him exactly what Stiles had said and what he was doing.
Angry, Derek flipped around and took off after him. Stiles had barely even gotten his feet under him when Derek bowled into him, shoving him down onto his scraped hands and sock covered feet.
No more nice wolf. It was time to end this. He’d brought Stiles out here to give him the bite, not to play games, and the bite was what Stiles was going to get.
Before Stiles could recover, Derek caught hold of the waist of Stiles jeans with his teeth and began yanking him across the forest floor again. If he could drag Stiles chest across the ground, his shirt would ride up and give Derek access to his bare side. But it seemed as if Stiles was determined not to let that happen, using one hand to keep his shirt yanked to his stomach and the other to grasp a loop of exposed root to hold him in place.
“Ow, ow, ow!” Stiles was saying, though Derek knew he wasn’t really hurting him.
Derek splayed his paws out to either side of Stile’s long, gawky legs. His claws bit deep into the clay. He let go of the back of Stile’s belt long enough to adjust the grip with his teeth, then he yanked hard. For a moment the tug of war appeared to be a draw. Then Derek felt the pants give to his pressure, slipping past Stile’s hips and knees and almost to his ankles before Derek let go.
Stiles boxers had been dragged a good way down his thighs in the tussle, leaving his buttocks bare and round and terribly pale, like the inviting glow of the full moon.
Well, this works. Derek grinned inwardly, then sank his teeth quite nicely into a firm, sweet, virginal cheek.
Stiles was not sure he ever wanted to move again. He could just stay here, under this maple tree, breathless, defeated, bleeding, forever. It was over. Why had he thought he could hang out with fucking werewolves and not get dragged all the way in? He should have run away the first time he saw Derek, like any sensible person would have. And Scott would have been able to handle things just as well without him. Scott was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for.
But no. Stiles was curious. And curiosity gets you bitten in the ass. How undignified was that? Of all the places on the body Derek could have picked to bite, he went for the one that would invite the most jokes. And it had hurt a hell of a lot more than Stiles had thought it would.
Once Derek had done his deed, he’d turned back to human and sat next to Stiles, looking unbearably smug. Which well he should be. He’d gotten his way. Stiles opened his eyes again, and yep, there was good old naked Derek, leaning against the tree trunk, looking like he could really go for a cigarette about now. Was it good for you too?
No, don’t listen to the person who helps you all the time, for free! Just go ahead and treat him like a rump roast. Chow down on that delicious ham. You’re the alpha. You deserve it.
That’s what he was probably thinking. He was probably not thinking that a man’s ass wasn’t just a yummy meal or some nice decoration to stare at. That it was used for such useful things as walking and sitting. Because the thing about turning werewolf is it didn’t just happen, snap, like that. It took its own sweet time. So here Stiles was, exhausted, hurt, face pressed against a tree root, his butt burning and itching while his balls rested against the freezing, slimy mulch. He’d pull up his pants, except his butt felt the size of a beach ball and he couldn’t stand anything touching Derek’s fucking bite mark.
So he was just going to stay like this forever. Mooning the damn forest.
“You’ve stopped bleeding,” Derek said, casually. “Do you want to try walking back to the house? It’s more comfortable there.”
Stiles refused to answer. If Derek had really cared about his comfort, he wouldn’t have bitten him. And how was he going to tell Scott this? He’d totally make hay out of all the freudian implications. Saying things like “this is closest Derek has come to getting a piece of ass since Kate.” Stiles snickered.
“That sounds better.”
Stiles stopped snickering. “It’s not. I’m still mad at you.”
“I figured you would be,” said Derek. “You’ll get over it.”
That made Stiles madder. “No, I’m pretty sure I’m not going to get over being a werewolf. I don’t think that’s one of those things you get over - because god knows I’ve done enough research trying to cure Scott. This is like herpes. You’ve given me herpes.” He pressed his eyes closed and resisted the idea of suffocating himself in the mud.
“It’s not herpes,” said Derek, sounding just a bit annoyed. “The pain should be receding. Open your eyes and look around. You should be seeing better already. I’m starting to feel a connection to you.”
Stiles didn’t want to open his eyes. He wanted to lie down and be mad, but he was starting to feel a connection to Derek as well. As much as he wanted to believe that Derek didn’t give a flying fuck about his feelings, that he was some kind of psychopath, Stiles could tell that the alpha did. He could tell that Derek fell guilty as fuck, but also completely unrepentant, which gosh, was a great combo. Some part of him wanted to soothe away the guilt, which was even more fucked up.
“Come on, I’ll take you home.” Walk it off Yeah. No.
“I don’t have my shoes,” said Stiles petulantly.
He felt Derek change, which was weird in itself. Suddenly there was all this wolfiness in his head. If Stiles had been human he’d have panicked and worried that Derek was planning on mauling him for his attitude, but now he knew that Derek just wanted to track down Stiles missing things quicker. Sure enough he came sauntering back less than five minutes later with both Stile’s shoes in one hand and his phone in the other. He placed them on the ground next to Stiles, who did nothing.
“Pull up your pants, Stiles,” said Derek.
“No. You did this. You get to look at it.”
Derek chuckled. “It’s not a bad view. I just thought you might still feel modest.” Stiles felt warm roll of lust through the bond. Which surprised the heck out of Stiles because he had been pretty sure up to now that he’d been the only one harboring dirty thoughts in their relationship. But right now sex was about as far from Stiles mind as possible. He had enough on his plate to deal with.
Stiles pulled up his pants. He winced as the bite was rubbed, but it wasn’t nearly as bad as he thought it would be. Apparently the bite was taking faster than it had for Scott. So much for making a stand on that issue. Stiles wasn’t even sure how to fight it.
Even with his eyes closed, he was starting to get the full sensory loveliness that was being a werewolf. Smells became more intense, focused, and powerful. It’s not that things stank worse, thank god, but he was getting more detail out of what he smelled. Part of him wanted to start crawling around on all fours shoving his nose into things, because, Jesus, there was a lot of smells here that he had never noticed before. Like how many types of fungus were growing on this root under his face.
It was all seriously starting to distract him from his angry funk. Stiles wanted to start talking about how massively cool and weird it all was and what everything meant. It was only his vow to himself to stay mad at Derek that was keeping his mouth still.
In the silence, Derek started talking. Weird. Derek had never opened up to Stiles before, but now he seemed to just unleash this flood of words. All about a reoccurring dream that involved biting Stiles and everyone being naked in one big orgy in a basement. Kinky.
Through the bond, Stiles felt Derek’s longing. Stiles ached back, much as he really didn’t want to. It was hard to stay unsympathetic when someone was in your head, flooding you with their feelings. Maybe Derek was just so inarticulate because growing up he never really needed to talk, he just used this pack bond thingie to express himself.
“Teen pregnancy is a bad idea,” Stiles chimed in, against his will. “Can’t you wait until they are married before sleep-knocking Allison up?”
Derek perked up, as if he hadn’t been sure Stiles was listening to him. “I know. It’s a silly idea.”
Stiles snickered, thinking of Chris Argent’s face at the idea of having were-grandchildren. Come to think of it, Chris had probably already thought of that. It was probably why he hated Scott so much.
“Is it so wrong to want this, Stiles?” Derek asked, sadly. “A home. A pack. Family. Everyone safe and happy?”
Vow of silence, vow of silence, don’t give him comfort … oh, who was he kidding. Stiles and the silent treatment just were fundamentally incompatible. Between Derek’s feelings and his inner wolf, he just couldn’t sustain it.
He opened his eyes. “Wrong to want? No. Wrong to force it, yes.” Stiles sat up and flexed, feeling all his muscles stretching pleasantly. The bite had faded to a slight lingering itch. Boy when the werewolf thing finally kicked in, it really kicked in. He wondered how strong he was.
“I’ve tried not forcing it,” Derek growled. “I’ve tried not wanting it. But I’m just left with this miserable mess.”
“You need help,” said Stiles, patiently. “But not from Peter. Peter’s poison. Listen to him and he’ll steer you wrong every time.”
Now there was someone he could blame this fiasco on! Stiles knew he couldn’t forgive himself if he didn’t hold someone accountable for what happened. Peter really worked for a scapegoat. Stiles could do only good by hating and distrusting that revenant. So, in a backwards way, Peter was actually helpful after all. Huh.
Derek looked wretchedly hopeful. Worse, he felt hopeful. Stiles knew exactly what it was like to be a log that had come within reach of a drowning man’s hand. Goddamn it. That was it. Derek was his alpha, and Stile’s wolf (I have a wolf, how bizarre) already seemed very invested in this whole pack thing. Stiles recognized the hand of fate when it spanked him on the ass.
“Okay, not mad anymore,” said Stiles grabbing one of his shoes and shoving it on his dirty foot. “But know this: You are stunningly lucky that I’m pathologically incapable of holding a grudge. Because you so deserve nothing but my deepest disgust for what you just did and I don’t think you feel nearly sorry enough. But this is my life, too, now and I’m not going to let you ruin this for me. Don’t go all growly, I’m not threatening your alphadom. I don’t want to be alpha. But from now on no more of your my-way-or-the-highway stupidity. I’m going to be the desperately needed voice of reason in this pack and you all damn well better listen when I talk.”
Derek looked (and felt) skeptical, but hopeful. “You mean, you aren’t going omega.”
Stiles laughed, not entirely nicely. “Yeah, no. You wanted me, big boy. You get the whole Stiles experience. There’s no escaping me now. You are mine and I’m going to drive you nuts with my nagging until that crazy dream of yours comes true.”
Derek smiled hugely. Infectious relief flooded through the bond so powerfully that Stiles couldn’t help but smile back. “I’m good with that. I’m very good with that.”
The End