"My dad's telling everyone I ran away," Stiles says as he wipes Derek's blood from his mouth. He spent the day alone in a basement, came out after sunset half-crazed with hunger, and these are the first coherent words he's spoken since. He's only been a vampire for a couple of weeks, after all. "He's telling them I left a note, that I've been in contact."
"So they don't expect him to file a missing persons report," Derek says. "Yeah, I know."
"You've seen him?" Stiles lifts his head from Derek's throat where he's been sucking down his scent in lungfuls. He can't help it. He always smells good, but there's something more, something better. Maybe it's the starvation. "When did you see him?"
Derek's capillaries swell and his face heats. "After you got off the phone with him this morning. I needed to make sure you were okay."
Stiles leans in again, inhaling that scent, the one he recognizes now some of his sense has returned. "Of course." He swallows saliva as his mouth starts to water again, as his teeth ache. "Smells so good." Derek's pulse isn't as strong as it should be, he needs more time to heal, for his body to replenish the blood Stiles has already taken, but Stiles can't help but drag his tongue over the vein, to press his fangs to Derek's throat. "I just—"
"Stiles," Derek whispers, running his fingers through Stiles' hair, guiding his head back, a thing he can only do now because Stiles allows it. "Give me a few minutes."
Stiles swallows back his hunger and nods. "Right. Sorry." He looks up, out the huge loft window into the night. The moon is just a sliver, but it's not even dark, not to Stiles, not anymore. "How is he? Is he okay?"
He barely resists the urge to ask where his father is. Instinct tugs at him, insists he hunt it down, find the scent and drink it dry. He can't know where his father is. Not yet.
"He's fine," Derek says. "He's dealing. It won't be forever, he knows that."
"What if—" Stiles sighs. "No. I can't ever risk it."
His dad smells better to him than anyone else. It's not because he's human. Stiles can be in the same room with Lydia, pass people on the street, and he can fight the urge to feed, but the memory of his father's scent the night he woke is sometimes enough to drive him out the door in search of it.
So far Derek's talked him down. Torn open a vein to distract him, to ease the hunger enough to coax him back. Stiles is stronger than Derek now, far stronger. Holding him by force isn't an option. The only thing that can truly stop him now is the sun.
"You'll learn to control it," Derek says. "You will."
Stiles nods. He wants to believe. "Say I do. I can't go back to school. That's going to look good, the sheriff's kid a drop out who sleeps all day and drinks blood all night."
"He probably shouldn't tell people his kid drinks blood," Derek grins.
Stiles' mouth tugs up at the corner. "Right. Pretty sure vampires are illegal. Or something."
"Probably." Derek tugs Stiles away from the window, back toward the bed. "I kept my distance," he says. "I didn't touch him."
The scent lingers on Derek's skin regardless, but it's faint. Stiles doesn't remember much about leaving the basement. It's all a blur of hunger and blood. Maybe if he hadn't been starving he could have resisted.
Derek pushes Stiles down into the mattress, crawls up over him, hovers above him. "How much did you sleep?" Derek says.
"Most of the day, I think," Stiles says. "Woke up starving, then I don't remember a lot." He doesn't want to remember. "I'm fine."
A slow smile spreads over Derek's face. "Good." He shifts, eyes glinting blue, claws pricking Stiles' upper arms, then teeth, hair, ears. He lets out a soft, low, rumbling growl, and drops his head to lick at Stiles' mouth.
It's an unspoken signal. Derek's way of reminding Stiles that he's not the only one with a set of fangs. It's an invitation.
Stiles hisses and rolls them both over. Derek gasps and blinks up at the ceiling, then grins. "Try it."
Stiles goes for his throat.
He's faster, stronger. Derek still twists out from under him. He grabs for Derek's wrist as he rolls away, but Derek uses his momentum to pull Stiles along, and with a jerk of his arm sends him halfway across the room.
Stiles lands on his feet.
"You're holding back," Derek says.
Stiles drags his tongue along his gums to sooth the ache. "I could kill you."
Derek drops his eyes to the floor, hiding a toothy smile. "But you won't." He adjusts his stance, plants his feet, and beckons. "Come and get it." Then he tips his head back, baring his throat.
Stiles' lips pull back from his teeth, exposing his fangs. Then he springs.
His hand is around Derek's throat before his feet hit the floor. They tumble back onto the bed, Stiles straddling Derek's hips, yanking his head back by the hair. Derek's throat is a smooth curve, blood pumping through the vein. In a single moment, Stiles gauges the twitch, the rich scent of blood through the skin, the strength of his heart.
Then he strikes.
"Stop," Derek says.
Stiles freezes with his jaw wide, fangs about to break skin. He swallows, licks slow over the vein, then pulls back.
"Good," Derek whispers. He's breathing hard, skin flushed and hot. He drags pointed teeth over his lower lip then swipes it wet with his tongue before he pulls Stiles down into a searing kiss.
Stiles tastes blood, Derek's and his own. Hunger and lust get confused, and he twists his hips, grinding down onto Derek's cock, hard and straining against denim.
"Yeah," Derek says. "I like it when you wriggle." The words slur behind his fangs. He holds Stiles by the hips, rolls his pelvis up. "Now get your shirt off before I ruin another one."
Stiles yanks it off over his head, flicks it across the room. "I'm running out of clothes," he says and shucks off his jeans.
He tends to check his speed when they're like this, but impatience wins out, and in the blink of an eye, he strips Derek bare, leaving him hissing at the friction of fabric against skin. His hunger fuels his need, and while he resists the pull of Derek's blood he doesn't resist the urge to rut against Derek's thigh as he gropes under the pillow for lube.
"Come on," Derek growls as Stiles reaches back, slides two slick fingers into his own ass. "Need to be inside you."
Grace is one of the things Stiles doesn't mind about being a vampire. He balances on the balls of his feet as he slowly impales himself on Derek's dick, groaning as his body stretches around the girth. He focuses on Derek's face as he begins to move, watching as it shifts, not from wolf to man, but from need to ecstasy.
Stiles' muscles don't tire like they used to. The fight, the fucking, they only fuel the instinct to feed. Unless he's starving, he can resist, but he resists only until he can smell the change in Derek's scent. It, along with the tensing of the body beneath him, the swelling of the cock inside him, tells him when to let go.
This time, he moves slow. His hips grind down as he bends, and Derek shudders. He opens his mouth, sinks his teeth and moans as hot, vital blood rushes over his tongue.
Derek arches up and groans as he starts to come. Stiles feels everything, every jerk of Derek's cock deep inside, every hot flood as it fills him. He drinks until Derek stills, gasping for air, then he pulls back and finally, finally, wraps his hand around his dick.
He paints Derek's chest and stomach with white streaks as he comes. He closes his eyes, not wanting to see the moment Derek shivers.
Derek shivers every time, as if he expects it to be warm.