Chapter Text
Two months research and almost no hint whatsoever. Annoying shit. But I needed to do it. I just had to. Even if it was irritating and tiring. Research was really more Stiles’ thing. Why would probably always remain a miracle to me. That boy had just a knack for worming himself into unsolvable riddles to find a solution.
It was one of the few times his focus would stop him from babbling. He would probably be more successful at finding what I needed, but he was not involved in the whole thing, didn’t even know I was looking. It was better that way. That was at least what I had convinced myself to think.
Any information Peter found that I didn’t was a potential threat. He was scheming at his best times and I was certain that now at his worst, he was plotting something. The three eyed guy wouldn’t hold him forever. And if I found Malia’s mother first… I liked the thought of finally having an advantage again.
Braeden had been even more obsessed, having chased after the myth of the woman long before I even heard of it. I had hunted with her, after small hints, the whispers of possible clues. It had been two whole months before I decided to return to Beacon Hills and look for other traces. I was only useful in field search when I could use my nose, so naturally I chose to support her from afar.
My fingers wandered over the spread papers filled with numbers, names, hints, but none of these seemed to be the missing piece I was looking for. It was maddening. My brows furrowed and I tried arranging the sheets differently, trying to find the link, but only ended up with less of an overview than I had before.
With a groan I pushed away from the table. The advantage I wanted was not within reach and by every passing minute I got more tempted to light it all on fire. Due to the fact that I wasn’t too keen of fire, I decided to escape into the ‘nightlife’ of Beacon Hills. If you can even call four bars and two clubs nightlife.
Throwing on my leather jacket I grabbed my keys and headed out.
Sometime after two in the night I arrived in a dark bar downtown, heading right into the shadows I felt so at home in. Sure, my apartment provided plenty of those dark spots, but there was also a silence on some nights in there. A silence I couldn't deal with or (to be honest) didn't even want to. It made my thoughts unbearably loud. Memories of the smell of smoke and burned flesh and high pitched screams liked to claw their way to the surface on those nights. It was bad to be alone then.
Honestly, I was on my own more often than not since my social contacts had returned to a minimum after the whole Scott the Berserker incident. Probably better this way most of the time. I had become dependent, careless. I should know better. I knew better.
But the shadows... they had been with me for a while, since way before I met the Beacon Hills gang. I got so used to lurk around and surprise others by silently stepping out of the dark that the habit had become part of me, just like my favorite black leather jacket.
Enjoying the low buzz of music and conversation for once, which made me unable to brood over supernatural matters, I settled into a worn out looking leather seat in a dark corner, a glass of scotch in one hand and the other on the hip of the girl, who had made herself comfortable in my lap.
I took a deep breath, took in the smell of leather, sweat, perfume and the hint of lust that always seemed to cling to bars. People are tipsy, more open, willing to find a companion for the night. No wonder it smelled like this. Nice hunting grounds.
As for me, I apparently didn’t even need to flirt tonight. I could be all kinds of charming to get my way if I needed to. But this girl here was quite eager, already busy rubbing herself on me. While she whispered some rather inviting promises into my ear I let my eyes wander around. At least my lower half enjoyed her dirty talk.
Still, I snorted slightly at her 'flirting' in my mind. She had practically clung to me since I entered the bar and had thrown herself all over me. A little too desperate. She probably only wanted to get back at someone. Her skin smelled like those overly sweet sugared cocktail cherries, cheap perfume and cigarettes. Not really the best scent.
Actually, I barely managed not to wrinkle my nose, but this was certainly more acceptable than the iron like smell of blood and gore dripping on cold asphalt, which I had smelt over and over again in the last months. And there wasn’t anything even faintly supernatural on her. If there had been I would have left immediately. Something like that screamed trap miles against the wind.
She was definitely not getting her ass anywhere near my home, even if I decided to get in her pants. I already smelt her on my leather jacket after only half an hour and I didn’t want it all over my place, the furniture, the bed. I wouldn't be able to sleep for several nights straight in there before it finally faded enough again.
Lucky for her, she had a nice body and my hunger demanded some ‘food’ tonight after so many days of research on the desert wolf. During the search I hadn’t allowed myself any private fun time. Or any fun time at that. Scott had mumbled something like ‘self-destructive wolf’ as he had visited me two weeks ago before running off when he had received a text of Kira concerning some minor supernaturally caused problems.
Or had it been three weeks already? Maybe the boy had been right. My hand wandered slightly upwards on her hip, which made her purr a little and flash her white teeth at me in a grin that was supposed to be charming. Arousal drifted off of her in thick waves, almost assaulting my nose. Maybe the toilets here were deserted and shadowy enough to...
What?
A sound made me jerk my head around fast enough to result in the small figure in my lap squealing in surprise as she tried to stay in balance. My werewolf nose and eyes still scanned the room frantically as I heard it again: a laugh. No, not just any laugh. A little deeper and rougher than I remembered it, but unmistakably the same. Finally, my eyes settled on the lean back of the young man sitting on a stool by the bar.
Then, I growled, a frown forming. Why did I not smell him? Sure, I hadn't been in contact for over two months, but I sure as hell would never forget it enough to not even recognize him in such a small room. Again, I concentrated and tried to catch his scent. After a few moments a sound of frustration rumbled through my throat. Only traces of aftershave that wasn’t his, judging by the faintness of it on him, and vodka. What the hell was he doing here, alone, unprotected?
I tilted my head slightly. He appeared so carefree, throwing his head back in a laugh, which looked more earnest than anything I had seen from him in a long time. It had been all tired smirks, dark circles under his eyes, tense shoulders. Nothing of that seemed to be part of him tonight. Sure, there was no instant threat at the moment, but he was usually more careful than this.
Well, actually he wasn’t. It’s Stiles we’re talking about, but still…
Trying not to be too rough I maneuvered the girl out of my lap as I got up and crossed the room, ignoring her complaints, my eyes only focused on that lean back that yet again shook slightly as Stiles snickered at something. I scanned the room again, but couldn't see any of the usual suspects around - no Scott, no Liam, no Kira, no Malia.
Something felt wrong about the image. Not only because he had been all over Malia just until Mexico. And Scott was usually somewhere around him, constantly worried about his best friend. Ironically, he was never near when Stiles actually needed him.
"Stiles."
The slender body on the chair in front of me still smelt nothing much like the personal scent of Stiles as I sucked another whiff in. Again, only the aftershave and smell of the guy next to him. When I finally tore my eyes away from fixating his back, I realized what else was different: The boy was completely dressed in almost dark clothes. Black skinny jeans shoved into half laced biker boots, a low cut v neck shirt in a blue hue not far from black itself, even a freaking leather jacket.
To top it off, he wore several silver rings on his hands and leather bands snaked around his wrists, his hair in that kind of orderly mess that took talent to style. Funnily enough, it all suited him and didn’t look like he tried to dress up, even if it couldn’t be farer from his old style.
The sight of the small plug in his ear and the piercing in his eyebrow resulted in me raising my own eyebrows even more, but it was the dark bruise I spotted on his neck that made me scowl.
Surprisingly, I had a hard time keeping my teeth human and away from putting them over the hickey that bloomed in a bruised lilac color. Completely normal reaction. Get your shit together Derek. That I even needed to remind myself of that…
"Well, well."
The long legs swung around as he turned on the chair with a lot more elegance than I was used to from the clumsy teen. But it wasn't the only surprise: I was greeted with a sneer on the pinkish lips of Scott's best friend that was entirely unknown to me. Not that I claimed to know all of his expressions, but it felt foreign anyways.
Shortly, the image of the Nogitsune flicked through my mind, but I shoved it down, suppressing a shiver.
"Hi there, Derek."
Wow. That sounded plainly bored. My nostrils flared.
The scowl was still in my face as I looked into his, apparently not worth his complete attention as the damn kid was still eyeing this chunky guy next to him and taking a sip of his glass. Anger started to seep through my veins like liquid lava, slow and torturous. He always riled me up somehow. I didn't like not having his attention.
The teen had always given it to me, hung on my lips sometimes, listening, but still had never hesitated to mock me or interject with whatever came to his mind. As much as it had aggravated me at first, I somehow relished it after a while. It had been honest, true. But not even fucking facing me? No.
Now, the energetic Stiles that his friends adored for his enthusiasm seemed to be hid away somewhere behind this irritatingly calm young man and behind this whole gloomy make over thing that apparently happened after I last saw him. I growled and the whisky colored eyes finally flickered over to meet mine like they had a million times before.
My heart sunk. Shockingly.
He looked at me with a mix of anger, annoyance and frustration, before he seemed to reclaim his composure in the blink of an eye. With flared nostrils I tried to smell more of the feelings I had seen, but yet again nothing useful reached my nose. Can’t do more than try.
My heart started racing. I was not losing my powers again, was I? Concerned I closed my lids and sensed my eyes change easily back and forth between wolf and human before I opened them again. Crisis averted.
Stiles had watched me with vaguely raised eyebrows, elbows on the bar behind him, lips again on the glass in his hand. The smirk he showed when he lowered his drink made my stomach clench weirdly. God damn. Dorky teen boy had finally figured how to be sexy.
Again my brain helpfully provided pictures of him chewing on pencils, his fingers dancing elegantly over papers, the way his throat worked when he drank…
All right, all right.
How to be sexy on purpose. My lower regions had reacted to Stiles once or twice before, but I had known better than to act upon it. Even a grown man can have stupid hormonal urges. He was still not my type. Unruly brat.
"So, what's up sourwolf?"
My jaws clenched tightly. The word choice was right here, but the tone... Too husky, enticing.
"What are you doing in a bar drinking Vodka alone? Where's Scott?"
With openly faked innocence Stiles looked up to me through his long dark lashes, as I was still taller standing in front of him. I snorted but couldn't help feeling another tug in my groin as Stiles bit his lower lip temptingly. I was absorbed in observing the small motion before my eyes flicked up again to meet his amused gaze. I suppressed a growl. It was bad enough he had caught me staring, he didn’t need to know it annoyed me, too. He certainly had upped his game.
"I’m not alone.”
He let his fingers tap gently over the muscular arm of his companion, which elicited another infuriated hiss from me and a gentle laugh from the man, who eyed him with obvious lust.
“And I would never dare drink alcohol. This is just water."
Chuckling, the boy stretched lazily backwards over the bar, exposing a strip of unblemished skin as his shirt slid up, looking at the barkeeper upside down. I licked my lips unconsciously as my eyes inspected the smooth paleness that showed more muscles than I had expected on the lean boy. As my gaze wandered I realized Stiles' arms being more toned too. Fuck. When did he start working out so much that it actually showed? Not that I truly cared, but he did grow more into his skin, filled out his clothes more.
"Another water please."
I growled again. AGAIN. I wasn’t really relaxed at the moment to begin with and the boy was occupying himself with a dangerous game of poke-the-wolf-with-a-stick-until-it-bites.
The guy behind the bar grinned and nodded at his customer as he took the glass Stiles was handing him. As he reclined to a relatively normal seating position, still sprawled over the bar partially, I stepped closer and leaned further in towards the boy.
"What is up with you?" The annoyance showed in my tone.
I knew it wasn't quite my business, but I didn’t care much that it wasn’t. I wanted to know what happened to the hoodie and jeans wearing ball of sarcasm, sunshine and humor and how the hell it turned into 'I'm sexy and I know it'.
He made a disapproving noise, which was also a novelty and grabbed my jaw tightly in one hand. Rude. Even for him. For a second I was tempted to snap at his fingers purely out of reflex, but thankfully I still had some control.
The man next to him frowned and tried stepping closer, probably thinking the bat-swinging and supernatural killing human in front of him needed protection, but Stiles waved him off with a small gesture. He actually stepped back and turned towards the bar to pay for Stiles’ drink.
My attention snapped back to Stiles as he tightened his grip.
"Back off. You're too close."
I bared my teeth in a snarl as Stiles shoved me backwards by my chin astonishingly powerfully right after his words. His heart rate didn't even change in the slightest at my silent threat. Although I felt a kind of stupid satisfaction at the kid not being afraid of me like he used to, but a little anxiety would have been convenient right now. Besides it being rather irrational not to be at least a little afraid of a werewolf. So I tried again with more…emphasis.
"What. Happened."
My voice was dangerously low, commanding and threatening. That usually did the trick. I would have flashed my eyes for effect, but that is not such a great move in public. The reaction I got in return was once more not what I had anticipated: a snicker.
Stiles licked his lips unhurriedly and frowned while glancing upwards, as if he tried hard to remember something. Then again he stared straight into my eyes, in which sparks of blue already combined with the greenish gray in spite of my efforts.
"Nothing. Nada. Niente."
Once more I showed a sour expression. There were no signs of a lie in his uninterested words, no pulse difference, no sweat, no change in tone, but it was more than apparent that he wasn't telling the truth either. Alright. The brat wanted to play. I didn’t.
Without another thought I moved in again and grabbed a handful of his messy hair. He was about to protest, the grumble already hearable as I yanked him towards me and growled more wolfishly than human, aiming for an intimidation that would teach him not to mess with me.
I felt triumphant as I suddenly smelled Stiles' very own scent of a summer breeze, mowed grass, wild strawberries and (unexpectedly) home surrounding me again, and was only mildly surprised by a new spicy note in it, which I couldn’t identify. I even heard a difference in his heart beat and roared internally at the accomplishment.
A small wince escaped Stiles throat as I gave his hair another tug. My scent slowly mingled with his and for a moment I pondered scent marking him, to show who he belonged to. My pack. It fueled my wolf side and I was tempted to place my teeth over his throat do establish my dominance over him even more. But aside from the fact that the gesture was a weird thing to do in publish, Stiles would probably despise me for it. So I didn’t.
He stared at me for a long moment, his heart fluttering even faster than it usually did. The tension grew, and although the sounds around us didn’t actually disappear, it felt like they tuned out into almost nothing. Several emotions flickered through the honey eyes in front of me and it looked like he was staring at a fire and contemplating if the feeling of heat was worth getting closer and risk being burned. Then, I felt one of his fingers gently tracing my jawline, before his hand slowly cupped my face.
I had to put an effort into not jerking away from the touch, not because it was uncomfortable, it definitely wasn’t, the opposite actually, but because I didn’t know why he would suddenly touch me so voluntarily.
What was the cheeky brat up to now?
Carefully he tried moving his face towards mine, his eyes darting over my features as if to make sure I wasn’t going to rip his throat out like I usually liked to threaten. I let him, still frowning. Our little fight over dominance was forgotten as he looked so tentative and vulnerable. He was so close that I felt his ragged breath on my face, saw each of those overly long lashes, could see the sprinkles in his eyes. Those were still the same.
Stiles pulled me slightly towards him as he closed the distance, only shortly hovering in front of my lips before pressing his own softly against them. My brain stopped.
I saw him close his eyes, just as his astonishingly soft lips started moving against mine, his tongue licking seductively at my lower lip. It was a promise to something a lot more thrilling than this cautious kiss. He pulled at me harder and with a low rumble I followed.
Angling my head I used my hand in his hair to keep him close, hesitating for another small eternity. My brain started throwing how’s and why’s at me, but the sound of my heart was loud enough to drown it out. Then, with force, our mouths connected again. It was harsh and untamed as our lips crashed together passionately.
A content hum escaped me. The long fingers of his hand curled in my shirt and tucked me closer, trying to bridge the distance between our chests. I…liked it. But before I had time to relish in the feeling of this devouring kiss or to even open my mouth to explore his, I heard the sizzling of electricity. I frowned. Shit. That could only mean trouble. But for who?
I felt Stiles lips form a sneer against my own and opened my eyes (which I seriously didn’t remember closing) slightly worried to the sight of him staring coldly and superiorly at me. The breeze was gone and I smelt a summer thunderstorm.
Oh. For me. Trouble for me.
“Fuck you, Derek.”
Then he tasered me.