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Predator/Prey

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There was a thick black sheen of resting water coating the surface of the asphalt, reflecting piss-yellow streetlights in wavering circles that dripped into malformed ovals further along the sidewalk.

The air itself was free of residual rain, though the temperature was low enough that hard, hot breath came out in foggy-white gusts.

Altogether an unpleasant night to be out and about, exposed to the unforgiving elements.

Stiles Just-Stiles-Thanks had no real choice in the matter. Being out in the streets, on the prowl, was definitely preferable to being stuck in the flophouse he was currently squatting in. The place reeked of dust and death and decay. About the only benefit it had was that it hid him from the sunlight and was too dangerous and skeevy for even the most desperate of the regular homeless to venture into.

There was a lot to be said for privacy. Especially for someone of Stiles'... proclivity. And he didn't mean the way he earned his living.

Speaking of the last, though, that was why he was out here. It was still early yet, by some people's standards, still plenty of time to earn a few more bills, to suck a few more cocks, maybe suck something else.... Provided the right potentials approached him.

The air was chill but Stiles felt all right. He was at one with the night. Besides, his body didn't rely on external environment in order to maintain his internal temperature.

He had on a teeshirt that was too large and a little more distressed than was strictly fashionable. One might say it should have been replaced several physical altercations ago. Under it he wore short shorts, lycra clinging to his ass and cupping his crotch, generally making the most of his sexual attributes. There was a flash of bare white thigh, then thick black hose. And, yeah, it was usually the girls who wore that sort of thing, but Stiles had discovered that most guys, even when they thought they were normal and vanilla, liked that little hint of exotic eroticism, just the faintest whisper of crossdressing, which wasn't to be boggled at when a man was picking up an underage male of the hooker persuasion.

Besides, the thick black hose did a good job of covering up his knees, which were still skinned from his run-in with Jackson and the pavement in turn. Stupid fucking Jackson.

Some big black work-boots completed the ridiculous ensemble, and Stiles maybe should have felt dumb but he was dressed for comfort in an uncomfortable line of work, and he knew he looked sexy. Hella sexy.

Lydia kept telling him he should grow his hair out, but Lydia was a girl. Stiles had been choked by one too many dick, when the guy he was blowing had gotten a good hold of his hair and held him down. He kept it buzzed short now, thanks. Even though Lydia was probably right and he probably would have looked prettier with longer hair.

Stiles didn't really want to be pretty, though. Looking for the most part like an average sixteen year old guy meant that he could get away with more, could be expected to do less. There were certain benefits to being attractive, it was true, but there were also drawbacks. Stiles had tried it both ways - inasmuch as he could with the face he had - and he knew how to play the game by this point.

So he was out in the dark. Oversized tee, tight shorts, black hose, and steel-toes boots. Any guy who pushed too hard for something that wasn't on the table, Stiles could always kick him in the nuts. Or even just the shin; that should still be enough to put him down. Stiles was good at taking care of himself, no matter what Matt kept trying to tell him. He was alone and he didn't need anyone's protection.

Stiles knew he was taking a chance cruising in what was technically Argent territory. But no one had seen an Argent on these streets in weeks, and Erica had apparently decided Stiles' usual corner belonged to her now. If he'd had more regulars to lose Stiles might have been pissed, but he didn't seem to inspire loyalty. Not even in the pathetic assholes willing to pay for sex, pathetic assholes who ought to know the value of a quality blowjob. Hell, Stiles had heard a rumor that Erica didn't even do oral.

The argument that he was male and she was female and that they ought to share the space since they clearly had differing clientele did nothing to sway Erica, and so here Stiles was, sneaking onto Argent territory and hoping he didn't get caught.

Not that he would have minded blowing Chris Argent. The man was a silver fox, in looks if not personality. But he was also a semi-recent widower, so making the offer seemed in rather poor taste. Stiles could be a complete dick when the situation called for it, make no mistake, but he knew better than to mess around with a guy who had a broken heart and a crossbow. Even if the first didn't give Stiles pause, the latter would have. And besides, he didn't think Papa Argent would have gone for a teenage boy sucking him off.

Anyway. Argent's old bastard of a father was batshit crazy. His even-more-batshit sister - fortunately also recently deceased - was the reason Stiles was alone and on the streets to begin with. And his daughter was Scott's on-again-off-again girlfriend, and Stiles kind of thought they were "off" right now, which meant Allison would be more inclined to shoot first and ask questions after. She'd never really liked Stiles much anyway, even before going all crazy over her mother's death, and had always been suspicious that he was hiding something.

Which, yeah, Stiles got the whole grieving over a dead parent thing. He did. And he was hiding something from Allison, something major. That didn't mean it was okay when she gave him the side-eye and looked at him as though she wanted to gut him simply for existing.

Not to mention, it was totally unfair, because the rest of the free-range sex-selling teens who wandered their way into Argent territory got smiles and sandwiches and extra condoms.

Stiles knew that his life was not fair, not in the slightest, and he didn't expect it to go getting magically better. Still, that didn't mean that he couldn't occasionally be bitter. Bitter and angry and he really hated this town. If it hadn't been for Scott and his stupid puppy-eyes, Stiles would have been out of here so fast....

On the other hand, one place was generally just about as bad as any other, and Stiles hadn't worn out his welcome here yet.

Even though he was being insane and working the Argent side of town.

What? Hunters had needs too, right? And that was what Stiles was here for. To fill a need. Never mind that half the time it was his own needs he was satisfying, because the Hunters really, really didn't need to know about that.

At any rate. Stiles was here, yes, in Argent territory, but he didn't intend to stay for long. One or two good jobs, or better yet, one sap in a car, and he would be golden.

And there, that fit the bill nicely, so to speak, as a sleek, shiny black Camaro pulled up against curb. This didn't look to Stiles like the kind of car that would be owned by someone who needed to pay for sex. But it could be someone who was overcompensating for something. Or someone who liked some weird kinky shit that regular partners weren't up for....

Then the passenger window purred down and Stiles was even more confused. Because looking out at him was a face that.... Well, let's just say this was not the face of a man who should need to pay for sex. Ever.

Dark hair, alabaster skin, large wide-set eyes that shifted color and were actually very nearly colorless in the streetlights, a strong slightly hooked nose, and full lips; all framed by sharp cheekbones and a stubble-shaded jaw that could have been etched out of stone.

Angels fucking wept and Stiles got nervous.

The only reason a guy who looked like this and drove a car like this would be picking up a scrawny underage hooker was because he wanted to do to Stiles the sorts of things you couldn't ask a girlfriend or boyfriend for, or even a stranger in a bar. Nasty-bad wrong things. Things that only money handed over could make better, silence bought and paid for.

Or maybe a dead hooker in a ditch who couldn't talk, no need to pay for the silence.

But Stiles had his own methods for making sure that didn't happen.

Hey, he might not look like much, with his short buzzed hair, bony face, upturned nose, thick-lashed doe eyes, red but somewhat thin lips, his coloring brown, more brown, and moley.... But there was more to Stiles than showed on the surface and if this guy was looking for trouble, then he had found it.

Trouble, Stiles could supply. In spades.

Of course, he'd rather none of that went down. This guy might be a walking wet dream in a slick car, but he was clearly lacking in some serious social skills, the way he was just staring at Stiles now that they could see one another.

"You're too pretty to need to pay for a blow," Stiles said, putting it right out there because why not.

The guy in the car grinned crookedly, exposing both bunny teeth in the front and one fang that flashed in the dim lighting. He looked equal parts adorable and terrifying.

"Not looking for that," he replied, and his voice wasn't as deep as Stiles had expected. Maybe he was younger than he initially looked. Unlike Stiles, who was exactly the jailbait he appeared to be.

"No?"

"No." The guy just stared some more and Stiles sighed, breaking first despite his best intentions. But they were in Argent territory and he had to get out of here. Whether it was riding in a snazzy Camaro, in someone else's car, or on his own two feet, it was best to get things moving.

"So what is it you're looking for?" he asked, leaning down and trying to look sexy as he peered in through the open window. He was lucky he didn't slip and flail, and he was well aware of the fact that he was too cute and goofy to really pull off "sexy" - at least not until he had his lips wrapped around a guy's cock - but that youthful look seemed to appeal well enough to a certain sort. Stiles couldn't tell, though, whether it was going to appeal to the guy in front of him.

"Penetration," the guy said without preamble. "And something more."

"Oh?" Stiles let his mouth and eyes round, even though he wasn't really surprised at all. "What more?"

"I'd really rather not say here," the driver said, his eyes cutting around as warily as Stiles had been feeling. "Get in."

Not a request, but Stiles was not surprised by this either. A man who was paying to use another man's ass usually felt as though he could be bossy. Or well, substitute "underage boy" for "man" in Stiles' case. But still.

Either way, Stiles shrugged and slid as gracefully into the offered ride as he could, which was to say not very. There wasn't much this guy could pull on him that would shock him, and if it got too hairy, Stiles had his secret weapon. Really, he didn't have much to fear and some potentially good money to gain. If this guy wanted penetration and "more", Stiles was going to charge him up the ass. Pun not intended, but he wouldn't be the only one being fucked.

The slamming of the car door sounded a lot like the snapping of a trap and Stiles was well aware of the fact that the Argents weren't the only dangers in town.

But desperate times called for desperate measures... and besides, he had to admit that he was curious.

In the end curiosity trumped common sense and little red riding hood left the beaten path with the big bad wolf. But he was "red" for a reason, and Stiles could take care of himself.

So it might just be the big bad wolf who was in for a surprise tonight.

+++

Stiles wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he wasn't at all surprised when the black Camaro pulled into a parking space in a hotel lot. Most guys didn't take him home, and while he wondered idly what this guy's place of residence might be - an apartment? a condo? an actual house? did he have roommates? - he'd sort of figured this was how the car ride would end.

To the guy's credit it was a decent hotel. The kind that was all on one floor, each suite separate from the other, almost like cabins. The fact that they're driven all the way to the edge of town added to this illusion. Stiles also noted that they were on the opposite side of Beacon Hills from where he'd been picked up, and he sort of wondered whether it had been on purpose or not.

Either way, this was a relatively isolated area, and it made him a bit anxious, especially when he saw that the parking lot was nearly empty. Not that he really had anything to fear; not like he would have if he'd been exactly what he seemed. But he'd really like to go a little longer without the danger of exposing himself as what he was, without running the risk of having to flee the Argent family's wrath.

Seriously, he thought as he climbed out of the car, he hoped this guy wasn't planning on offing him or anything. He'd be fine, but it would be awkward to say the least.

The guy paused on the doorstep, key in hand, his forehead furrowed. It made him look a little older, but Stiles still suspected he was younger than his stubble, leather jacket, and fancy car would tend to indicate.

"Problem?" Stiles queried, quirking one brow, trying to look confident without appearing jaded or cocky. It was easier to think than to do.

"Is this okay?" the guy asked, meeting his eyes with nearly-alarming intensity again.

Stiles waited a moment, not unreasonably expecting a little more. Was what okay? The hotel room? The fact that the guy wanted "more" than penetration? Was this a query as to whether Stiles had condoms with him? Because he totally did, even though he didn't technically need to use them. He did charge more when his clients wanted to go without - a lot more - and pretended as though he was doing them a huge favor. But somehow he didn't think that this guy was asking about protection.

When he didn't clarify, Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, fine," he answered, because he had no idea what he was being asked, but insofar as everything was awful, all the time, everything was fine. That was all he was willing to share, anyway.

Whatever he had agreed to it must have been right, because the guy gave him another couple of seconds of hard stare, then his face sort of shifted into a second stony expression that was just as impossible to read, and he turned to unlock the door.

Stiles bit his lip, knowing his eyes had narrowed, but unable to help himself. Even though the guy had just put his back to Stiles there was a tension to his shoulders that told Stiles clearly that he was not off guard, not unaware of what Stiles was doing behind him.

It was a level of instinctive, internalized vigilance that wasn't usual, and just added to Stiles' feeling that there was something strange about this whole encounter. He was beginning to worry less about this guy being some sort of hooker-skinning serial killer, and was getting more curious.

Curiosity had always gotten Stiles into trouble... but on the other hand, it had also saved his life. So to speak.

He doubted tonight was going to be one of those good experiences.... But who was he to judge? And by this point he was too invested to pull out.

Besides, the door had just closed behind him. He was committed now. Stiles had too much pride to take it back now. He was here and whatever this guy wanted of him, he'd provide it.

Assuming, of course, he got paid.

"So, what is it you wanted?" he asked, as his host took off his leather jacket and slung it carelessly over the one chair in the room. This place was actually a lot nicer than Stiles was used to. The sort of place that was rented out for days at a time, rather than hours. It even had a kitchenette. There wasn't much in it by way of luggage, though. A dark grey teeshirt on the floor and a half-empty water bottle on the small cabinet beside the bed, that was all Stiles could see.

When the guy just looked at him again, Stiles sighed. "Look, I get that the whole strong, silent thing works for you, and you do work it, in case you were wondering. But I need to know. I can't prepare myself if I don't know what you want, and I won't know how much to charge."

And there was a small wince, a crack in the stoic facade, as though he didn't like being reminded, but Stiles wasn't about to play that he was here because he liked a complete stranger. Not without getting more money than this guy was probably willing to part with anyway.

"Get undressed," the guy said, peeling off his own teeshirt, and Stiles scowled. That wasn't an answer he was willing to work with, but the commanding tone made it obvious that it was all he was getting.

He knew his mouth was puckered a little with sourness, but he was displeased. Not only was he being left in the dark, metaphorically, but he was going to have to strip in the literal light, and he had nothing to match the physique this guy was sporting.

They were about the same height, aside from the guy's shirt-ruffled hair that was now standing up a little straighter than it already had before, but Stiles was... wiry, whereas his host was more along the lines of ripped.

"How many push-ups a day do you have to do?" he asked, out of honest curiosity as much as to distract them both as he tugged his own teeshirt off much less gracefully. At least he didn't have any scars, even though he had plenty of moles. And he wasn't any more pale than his client, not really. That was a strange experience, actually; usually Stiles was noticeably more pale.

"I don't keep track," the guy said, and Stiles was pretty sure he was lying, but at least he'd answered.

Stiles snorted. "Well, you don't get abs like that naturally," he muttered, toeing off his boots.

The guy's brow furrowed again, but he didn't say anything as he removed his own footwear. Hiking shoes, Stiles noted, because he liked to always have an awareness of everything around him, everything that might affect him at some point.

Stiles was a little bitter about where he was stuck, physically, but at least he wasn't flabby. He was too lean and bony for that. But lean was better than chubby, right? That was what he was gonna tell himself, anyway. Being caught at the end of his final growth spurt was better than at the beginning of it would have been, even though he was angry that he'd never have a chance to reach his full potential.

"Do you want me to leave these on?" Stiles asked, plucking at the elastic band of his black hose, hoping the answer would be yes. His knees were a mess and it was going to be a little longer before they healed completely. They didn't really hurt, but he didn't scab up and raw hamburger wasn't sexy.

The guy shrugged, and Stiles took that as a win. He stripped off his shorts over the hose without any difficulty, and now he was as naked as he was planning to get.

He was used to it, so he shouldn't have been embarrassed. But he was used to guys with whatever the opposite of daddy issues were, who actually wanted him to look like an scrawny, coltish high school sophomore. He wasn't sure what this guy was looking for, because he couldn't have been more than ten years older than Stiles.

On the plus side, he probably wasn't going to want to spank Stiles or hear Stiles call him "Daddy."

Ugh.

"Seriously, though," he said, fighting the urge to fold his arms in front of him. He'd thought he'd lost his sense of modesty a long time ago, but there was something about the way this guy was looking at him now. As though he was hungry. And not in the way Stiles was used to, more as though Stiles was a fine cut of beef he was thinking about sinking his teeth into. Which should have been creepy and off-putting, but this guy and his pale eyes... he somehow made it simply intense and actually almost a little flattering.

"Seriously, you're gonna have to share with the class at some point here," Stiles continued, planting his hands on his hips instead and trying to ignore the fact that he was naked while his host was still wearing jeans. If this guy wanted to play with power dynamics, that was fine with Stiles. He knew what was really what, after all.

The guy scowled as though he was thinking about arguing, and Stiles just prevented himself from sighing aloud. It suddenly occurred to him that instead of bantering with this strange man, he could just take what he needed. They were isolated enough. Through no effort on Stiles' part, even. He could take the guy down, take what he needed, his knees would heal properly, and then he could boost whatever cash the guy had, take the Camaro for a spin, maybe even leave Beacon Hills in the dust, drive until he ran out of gas....

But it would really be a shame to rob the universe of someone as pretty as this guy was. And Stiles really tried not to kill anyone, ever. Not unless they deserved it, anyway. Which, so far, this guy didn't.

And besides, he still wanted to know what the guy meant by "more". It was probably something mundane and boring, like rimming or breath-play, but that didn't mean Stiles didn't want to know. Because he did, he so did.

"Go and shower," was all he got out of his host, though.

Stiles let out an indignant noise, flinging his arms wide. "That's what you're giving me? Dude, I showered just this morning!" Because he might be squatting in a hell-hole that would give a rat nightmares, but he stayed clean. There were plenty of places where a homeless teen could bathe, and Stiles was worth the effort.

"Go." And was that the hint of a growl?

Stiles stared a moment, but the guy met his gaze blandly. As though he hadn't just growled at Stiles.

"Fine!" Stiles huffed. "Though if this is what you meant by 'more', I gotta say I'm disappointed in you, sir."

It was almost worth the irritation to see the confounded, almost confused expression on the guy's face before he turned and headed toward the bathroom.

Stiles paused, leaning against the doorjamb. "Hey." He peered at the guy across the room. This was hardly what he called standard operating procedure, but there was nothing about this encounter that was normal, after all. "Listen, if you're using my body for unspecified, probably-nefarious purposes, and if you're forcing me to use your shower, you should tell me your name."

He'd sort of expected the guy's thick brows to crunch together in the center, but instead they arched up, giving him a little more of an animated expression. For a second there he almost looked like a real boy!

For a long moment Stiles didn't think he'd get a response. Then the guy growled again, and that was a real growl, what the hell?

"Shower first. Then I'll think about it."

"And fuck you too," Stiles snapped, but he went to do as directed because there wasn't really anything else he could do.

There was soap and shampoo in the bathtub and Stiles used them liberally, despite his cleanliness and how short he kept his hair. It might have been spiteful, but there it was. They were fancy-pants, organic products and Stiles tacked on a few more bills to what he expected to get paid. Along with the bonus he was going to demand for putting up with this guy's bullshit in not simply telling him what he wanted. If he was so embarrassed by it, then he shouldn't have picked up a hooker to do it with!

Whatever "it" was....

Stiles dried off, grimacing at the scratchiness of the towel, the strong odor of chlorine that clung to it. But then, it had dried countless bodies before his, so he ought to be grateful for the bleach. And, ugh, wasn't that a pleasant thought. Hey, Stiles might sell his body for a living, but he had standards, okay? And these towels had seen a lot more and a lot worse than he ever had!

Shaking it off - because he might be grossed out but he didn't have to worry about germs - Stiles tugged his hose back on. His knees were still a mess, and the guy had told him to shower, but he hadn't said anything about the hose, even when Stiles had explicitly asked. In the face of all he was dealing with here, Stiles was definitely inclined to take silence as permission.

So, here he was. Naked, his hair damp, smelling of the guy's bathing supplies.... He hoped that was enough and that he was going to get some actual direction soon. Because this guessing crap? Not what he had signed up for.

And he was going to tell the guy this. He had it in his mind, on the tip of his tongue.

Then he walked out of the bathroom and it all dried up.

Stiles wasn't easily impressed. And he'd seen a lot, even though he hadn't been on the streets all that long, as such things went. He'd already felt a twinge or two that had been as much admiration as jealousy when his host-slash-client had taken off his shirt. But now that he was looking at him, bared-ass nude, it did funny things to him. Like rousing a libido that was more in keeping with the sixteen year old body that he wore.

He'd seen the guy shirtless, duh, before he'd gone in the shower. But there was something fundamentally different about getting a good look at the entire package.

And speaking of packages.... Damn, this guy was hung. Stiles was no wilting virgin, but he found himself sincerely hoping that his client was already at half-mast in anticipation, because if that was him flaccid, then, whoa.

He was uncut, that much Stiles noted before forcing himself to drag his gaze upward. And his bush wasn't exactly neatly trimmed despite the fact that his chest appeared to be completely waxed. There was no way that hairlessness was natural.

The guy didn't seem to be at all self-conscious or concerned by Stiles' scrutiny, was sitting on the edge of the bed, appearing relaxed and at ease. Thighs apart, but if Stiles was packing what this guy was packing he wouldn't be able to close his legs properly either, he supposed.

His own cock was perfectly proportional and in keeping with his rather large feet, but he had to admit to feeling a little... inadequate. Just for a moment.

Well, it wasn't as though he was here for his cock, was it. More likely his ass was on the line, since the guy had said "penetration" before he'd stipulated "more" unless Stiles was sorely misremembering. Stiles' ass was going to be able to take it, no problem, but... well, he just hoped the guy wasn't a grower.

"Now, about that name," he said, as much to break the silence as because he still freaking wanted an answer.

One corner of the guy's mouth lifted in a tiny smile that was more of a smirk. It was actually far more charming than it had any right to be, and Stiles resolutely reminded himself of what an asshole he was being.

"You can call me Derek," he said, his voice low. "If you feel the need."

Stiles arched a brow, but decided he was lucky to be getting that much. Whether it was a fake name or not, that didn't really matter. What really mattered was that he'd gotten his way, that the guy - Derek - had told Stiles his name when he really hadn't needed to.

"So, while we're in a sharing and caring mood," he said, stepping forward but staying out of range of Derek's reach, "Care to share with me what you're going to be wanting from me on top of penetration?"

"Not quite yet," Derek replied evenly. "Come here."

Stiles wanted so badly to refuse, simply on principle, but this was a business transaction and he was here to do what he was told. Even when he wasn't being told everything he was meant to do.

"For the record I really hate this," he bitched as he stepped forward, because he might obey but he wasn't going to keep quiet about his discontent. After all, Derek hadn't told him not to speak. He'd better not, either!

Derek didn't reply, just stared at him with those intense eyes. In the car, in the darkness of the night, they had appeared to be a pale crystal blue, almost silver, but now that they were under the artificial lights of the hotel Stiles thought they were more hazel. As much green and brown as blue, and still completely indescribable.

They were really pretty, just like the rest of this Derek. The stubble did nothing to detract; if anything it accentuated his pale perfection.

Ugh, and now Stiles was getting all poetic and shit. Derek was more infuriating than most of the guys Stiles had to deal with, but that was all Stiles knew about him, all he wanted to know about him. No more of this mooning over his pretty eyes or perfect bone structure. Stiles had never been romantic before, and if there was a time for him to start, this was not it.

Case in point, as soon as he was within grabbing range, that was exactly what happened. Grabbing, that was.

Stiles let out a frankly humiliating yelp and flailed gracelessly as powerful hands closed on his arms, his world tipped and tilted around him, and a soft mattress suddenly slammed into his back. There was a hot, hard body pinning him to the bed, and as his vision cleared he was pretty sure those crystalline eyes were crinkled in amusement.

"Bastard," he grunted, doing his best to punch Derek in the shoulder, even though he didn't have any real leverage. Goddamn muscles were like rock, and Stiles bit back a low whine. He was pretty sure he'd just done more damage to himself than he had to Derek.

"Sorry," Derek said, though he didn't sound it in the least. Then, before Stiles could respond in any way, he bent his head and nosed along the line of Stiles' neck, sniffing him.

"What the- what the hell, dude?" Stiles squawked, trying to wriggle out from under Derek. Suddenly there were vise-like hands around his wrists, pinning him to the mattress, and a rounded bump of a nose was buried in the hollow behind his right ear. He definitely wasn't imagining things; that was an honest to fuck growl, vibrating through the tendons of his neck.

"You smell like other people's blood," Derek rumbled in his ear. Stiles felt a warm curl of lip, then the enamel-hard press of teeth, not biting but not far from it. The threat was definitely there.

"What?" Stiles gasped, choking on the fact that Derek had figured it out, how the hell had he figured it out, what the everloving fuck-

Then it clicked in his brain, hitting him like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, shit, Derek," he warbled before he could control his tongue, "Derek fucking Hale!"

And how had he not made the connection when Derek had told him his name?! What other Derek living in Beacon Hills could possibly have magical abs, a black Camaro, and pale but deadly beauty?

Granted, Stiles had never actually seen Derek before. Hadn't met any of the Hales before their untimely demises. He'd still been human then, just a normal junior high student at the time, largely unaware of the supernatural. But he knew of them, now, and he knew that almost all the family when they had been alive had been, well, freaking werewolves.

Stiles had met other creatures of the night before, and he'd been in fear for his life before. But he'd never before been pinned to a bed with a motherloving werewolf on top of him! A werewolf who, by all accounts, was an Alpha. Well, who else of his family - his pack? - was alive to claim that title?

"Shit," Stiles said again, more resigned this time, going limp. He wasn't about to just let Derek tear his throat out, but Derek wasn't doing that right now, was just holding Stiles down, lightly, almost gently. Stiles wasn't going to go easily. He wasn't going to submit; never mind the way his neck had arched so readily for Derek. But he did manage to recall that Derek was the client in this scenario.

Stiles was still alive and in one piece, so Derek must want something from him, right? After all, he'd stipulated "penetration and something more".... Stiles was beginning to get an inkling of what that "more" might entail, but he'd really be happy if it didn't involve his untimely demise. He'd already died once, technically, and it had been a deeply unpleasant experience that he wasn't inclined to try a second time.

Especially since he wasn't likely to come back the second time.

"What is it you want me to do?" he asked, trying to sound calm even though his pulse was pounding, his veins pumping the meager blood remaining in his body vigorously in the usual fight-or-flight manner. That had been something that had surprised him, Stiles had to admit. When he'd discovered he still had a heartbeat and he was still breathing.... He'd been glad, though. It had made him feel less undead and more, well, reborn.

Derek left off snuffling at his neck, levering up a little to meet his gaze. His upper lip was drawn back, slightly longer fangs bared in something that wasn't quite a snarl, just an expression of distaste, Stiles thought. And it was both amusing and unfair that Derek still had the bunny teeth even when he was all fanged-out and that they still made him look as much adorable as they did feral.

"I want you to feed," Derek murmured, turning his head and baring his neck. Not in submission, Stiles recognized, but in offering.

"What the actual fuck?" he gaped, his eyes going wide.

"I won't mate you when you reek of someone else's blood," Derek growled, and there was a quick flash of red to his eyes, even though the fangs seemed to have receded for the moment.

Really? Mate? Had Derek just used that word? As a verb instead of a noun - not that this made it any better. Had Stiles just heard him right?

When Stiles didn't speak immediately, his mouth hanging open in a manner that was probably more than a little unattractive, Derek smirked at him. The bastard.

"Besides," he added, still smirking, and Stiles decided that this smug expression was even more infuriating than his expressionless expression, "You obviously need to feed, and you're going to need your strength if you expect to keep up with me tonight."

"Ugh, you're such an asshole," Stiles complained, smacking Derek in the shoulder again, because evidently Derek didn't feel that he needed to pin Stiles' wrists down any longer, as though they'd come to some sort of an understanding or something. "You do know that, right? That you're an asshole? This isn't coming as a surprise, is it?"

"I have been told so, yes," Derek replied with obnoxious calm.

"Anyway," Stiles protested, even though his gaze was drawn to the pulse in the line of Derek's neck, "How do we know it's safe for me to feed off of you? What if werewolves are, like, poison for-"

He cut himself off, even though it was obvious that Derek knew what he was. Mostly because he didn't like thinking about it, didn't like putting a name to it. It was bad enough that it had happened to him. Sure, he preferred it to being dead, actually for real dead, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still bitter about it.

"It'll be fine," Derek assured him, and Stiles wasn't sure what was worse; that he sounded so certain, or that the certainty in his voice actually made Stiles feel a little better about the whole thing.

"No," he said. Because even if this was the "more" that Derek had wanted, Stiles wasn't going to do it. He had specific criteria for when he fed and lying on his back on the bed underneath Derek met none of them.

Instead of getting angry or demanding, Derek leaned back down to nose at Stiles' neck again. Stiles stiffened. There was the potential for fangs, and just because Derek was urging Stiles to bite him, that didn't mean that he might not decide to tear Stiles' throat out instead....

Though if Derek did that, he wouldn't get to mate Stiles. So maybe that wasn't such a likelihood.

"You stink of other men," Derek told him again, one hand clamping heavy and hot on the bony point of his shoulder, pressing hard enough to bruise if Stiles had been able to bruise any longer. "And I can smell that your knees need to heal. They'll heal if you drink your fill, right?"

"Fuck you, stop sniffing me!" Stiles ordered harshly, hitting Derek again. Now he knew why this was such an ineffectual move, and yet, he had to put up some sort of resistance.

"Can't drink my fill without killing you, anyway," he added with a little growl of his own. It was one hundred percent true and Derek ought to have known that. There was no way for Stiles to fill his own veins without taking more than the person he was feeding on could live without, and he'd never done that. Stiles might be a bloodsucker but he wasn't a killer. And he never would be.

Infuriatingly, Derek chuckled, hot breath gusting over the cool skin of Stiles' neck. "I can take a bullet to the chest," he informed Stiles, his voice way too warm and pleasant for the words he was speaking. "I've been impaled and survived. Trust me, losing a little blood is no hardship. You're not big enough to drain me."

"You really need to work on your bedroom talk," Stiles informed Derek, figuring the guy could use the good advice. "Seriously. If I had a boner, you'd be killing it right now."

"Can you get an erection?" Derek asked, and it sounded so ridiculous when he spoke the word, but Stiles knew that if he'd had enough blood in his system he'd have been blushing anyway. Which was even more ridiculous, because at this point, what about sex should embarrass him? He freaking sold it to strangers for a living, after all.

"Not that it's any of your business, Mr. Nosy, but yes," he replied snappishly. "I come too, and if you can tell me how that works, then you know more about my body than I do."

"Good," Derek rumbled, the word echoing through Stiles' ribcage. He felt emptied out, had been quite effectively ignoring the fact that he was very close to running on fumes, and now here was Derek with his warmth and all that rich, delicious blood, just inches away from Stiles' mouth....

Derek wasn't the only one who had fangs, after all. And while Stiles tried hard to keep a handle on his instincts, he could feel his teeth lengthening, sharp pinpricks digging into the inside of his lips.

"Do it," Derek ordered, but softly, almost making it sound like a request, as he shifted to present his neck again. "Now."

Stiles' breath was coming heavy as he tried to control himself, his fingers flexing restlessly on Derek's upper back, and when exactly had he latched himself onto the larger body, holy shit, this was kind of humiliating.

"Do it," Derek growled again. Stiles closed his eyes, gave in to inevitability, and buried his face in the curve of the proffered neck, sinking his teeth into its largest vein, pulsing just under the thin skin there.

It would serve Derek right if he was wrong and Stiles drank him dry, Stiles thought angrily and a little incoherently as hot, salty blood splashed onto his tongue and slid down his throat, rich and nourishing. Fucking bastard, forcing this on him, Derek had to know that there was no way Stiles could resist by this point.

Stiles hadn't actually doubted that Derek knew what he was talking about. The fact that he'd evidently been shot in the chest in the past was worrisome and a little sad, but he'd obviously survived. And yet it was still a little surprising to Stiles when, just moments after he'd bitten down, Derek healed right up, his skin smoothing over, the flow of blood ceasing.

"You're going to have to bite harder than that," Derek informed him, his voice low and even, his hands rubbing soothingly over Stiles' shoulders. Stiles was aware that his own nails were sunk deeply into Derek's shoulders, but it wasn't as though they would do any lasting damage. Clearly.

Even just that one small taste had been intoxicating. Stiles had been too long without feeding, and he'd never in all his time as a bloodsucker just taken and drunk his fill. It seemed as though tonight he was going to be able to do so, guilt-free, without having to claim another person's life in order to satisfy himself.

He wanted to swear, he wanted to cry, he wanted to snarl and sink his fangs into Derek so deeply that they never came out. That last was the most tempting, least humiliating option, and so that was what he did.

He bit hard, slicing flesh, spilling blood that came out so fast he had trouble swallowing it, but which then slowed to a trickle all too quickly. So he bit again, and then again, all the while keeping his lips locked as tightly on Derek's hot flesh as his teeth were, suction and grinding, and he suddenly realized that it wasn't all about his mouth.

As the heat and energy of Derek's rich blood worked its way through his body Stiles could feel his own temperature rising and his cock was suddenly achingly hard. Swollen with Derek's blood, and this was the first time Stiles had really thought of it that way. Before, with other men's blood, he'd have been a little disgusted. But somehow knowing that the hard-on he was arching to grind into Derek's belly was filled with the werewolf's own blood... that made it more sexy than dirty. Made it unbearably intimate in a strange way that Stiles was somehow mostly okay with.

Derek was solid over him, pressing him into the mattress, holding Stiles firmly as he writhed in his arms. Sobbing and biting and sucking and thrusting his aching cock into Derek's hard belly, driving himself closer and closer to climax.

"Come on. Come for me," Derek was murmuring somewhere above his ear, holding perfectly still as Stiles continued feeding at his neck, showing not the slightest hint of pain as sharp fangs broke his rapidly-healing flesh over and over again. His heat didn't lower one bit, even as Stiles drank enough of his life's essence to completely fill his own parasitic veins. Stiles hips were also working away, grinding his cock into Derek's body, his thighs locked around Derek's hips. They were about the same height, but Derek had a lot more bulk. And Stiles was using that bulk to grind against in order bring himself to orgasm.

"Come on," Derek repeated, a low rumble of a growl in his chest, thumbs digging into the hollows at the tops of Stiles' shoulders where his collarbones arched, where his neck began. There was the slightest prick of what Stiles vaguely indentified as claws, just a faint sensation of pain in the overwhelming flood of pleasure that was breaking upward and outward from his core, from his pulsing cock, but enough to push him that much closer to the edge.

Stiles whined, his breath coming hard and fast through his nostrils, his fangs sinking once more into Derek's neck, this time deep enough to make Derek actually wince, more blood than Stiles could manage spilling over his tongue and lips, as he jerked and shuddered under and around Derek, his cock spitting and spilling between them, hot as the blood Derek had shared, thicker and richer, smelling of sex and salt and sour.

"Good boy," Derek murmured soothingly as Stiles collapsed onto the bed, shivering, all his limbs going lax, fangs receding, lids falling to half mast over hot, aching eyes. Derek didn't sound winded, didn't sound like he was in pain, didn't even sound very turned on, the bastard.

Meanwhile, Stiles felt like he'd been utterly destroyed.

Now he knew what it was like to drink his fill, to take more blood than any one human could give him without dying. Now he knew how good it felt, how amazing it was.

"Fuck you," he gasped, rage and despair washing through him. He wasn't... he wouldn't... he refused to become a killer, and so he knew he was never going to have this again. It was worse knowing. He'd rather have never found this out.

Derek didn't reply. Instead he bent to lick at Stiles' lips and chin. Not kissing him, lapping up his own blood which had spilled out of Stiles' mouth at the end there, but somehow it was even more sexy than a kiss would have been. Maybe because a kiss would have been a lie, when they didn't know or like each other, but this was something honest. Something real.

Stiles still hated Derek, though.

Once Derek was done cleaning the skin around Stiles' mouth, going so far as to lick his way between his parted lips, still not a kiss but something almost like one, he moved down to snuffle at Stiles' neck again. Where before his every sense had been muffled, weak, as though he was feeling everything through layers of deep fatigue or fuzzy dreaming, now Stiles was hyperaware of the heat and damp of Derek's breath. He could feel the tiny hairs on his neck shifting in an almost ticklish way. He could feel everything.

He felt human again, for the first time since he'd awakened as something "other", and he realized with an actual physical jolt that he hadn't even missed this until he'd gotten it back. He'd taken it for granted that his new way of being was how his second existence simply was.

It was amazing. Incredible. And agonizing. Because he knew, he knew that the reason he felt like this was due to the fact that he'd drunk his fill. It was possible that it was also because Derek was a werewolf, but Stiles kind of doubted that last. Though it was due to Derek being a werewolf with preternatural healing that Stiles had been able to feed until he couldn't take any more blood.

You've ruined me, he wanted to tell Derek. Wanted to scream it while beating him senseless. But besides being ridiculous and impossible, that would showing weakness. And already Stiles was offering up too much, his head turned on the pillow to stare blindly across the room, his neck a pale line that Derek continued to scent like, well, like a wolf.

Stiles did feel stronger now. Not powerful-enough-to-beat-up-a-werewolf strong, he was certain. But being filled with Derek's blood gave him strength and focus that he hadn't known he'd been missing until he had it back.

"Fuck you," he said again, then cursed himself for the way his voice crackled, thin and ineffectual.

"Now you smell like me," Derek said, sounding warm and approving, self-satisfied. His tongue swept soft and slick against the skin of Stiles' neck, sending shivers through him that he also hadn't felt in far too long. Sexual arousal, he placed it after a moment of contemplation, and considering that he sold sex for a living it probably should have occurred to him sooner, but he wasn't used to the two coming together at the same time. He didn't think... he didn't think they ever had before.

Great, Derek was ruining him for fucking life. Both his inhuman existence and his profession.

Derek shifted, nosing his way down Stiles' neck and lapping at the dip where his collarbones met, and Stiles became distinctly aware of the fact that his spunk was still smeared between them, getting tacky on both their stomachs, and he couldn't believe that Derek had actually made him come.

Well, it had more been Derek's blood. In his mouth, sizzling through his veins, filling up the cold emptiness inside and making him feel alive for the first time since he'd died.

Before Stiles could suggest taking a quick break for another shower - or at least a few moments with a damp washcloth - Derek had levered up onto his hands and knees over Stiles and was licking at his flat belly, clearing away the mess that Stiles had made.

"That's gross," Stiles commented, trying to distract himself from the laving tongue getting all up in his business, the smooth, hot slide of it over sensitive skin. He'd just come, but he was already feeling horny again, and there was something so wrong about that, but he couldn't exactly do anything about it, now could he.

Derek didn't reply, just licked at Stiles' navel, then made his way down to bury his nose in Stiles' balls.

"Shit!" Stiles yelped, jerking on the bed, fighting off the instinctive urge to kick Derek. There were potential fangs very close to his most tender bits, and while Stiles didn't really want Derek licking down there, even more he didn't want him biting anything off.

Derek didn't lick, though. He sniffed around a bit, then raised his head. His eyes were gleaming red for a moment, and those were definitely fangs in his mouth, too long and white for his lips to completely contain.

Stiles glared back, feeling his own fangs lengthen, even though he wasn't hungry any longer, even though he had no intention of discovering whether he was even close to capable of taking Derek in a fight. He kept his lips pressed tightly together, as much to express his disapproval as to disguise his own feral nature. Stiles was in control of himself. He might not be human any longer, but that didn't mean he didn't still act like one.

After a long moment of simply staring at Stiles, Derek's eyes faded back to their regular crystalline shade, his teeth receding, leaving him looking younger but no less dangerous, despite the hilarious bunny teeth exposed by his slightly parted lips.

"You've got a little something there," Stiles rasped, scooting to prop himself up against the pillow behind him - not incidentally moving his cock away from Derek's mouth - and gesturing at the werewolf's impressive abs, still smeared with Stiles' jizz.

Reason and sharpness bled back into Derek's face, overwriting the weird blank expression he'd had going on, and Stiles felt a small pulse of relief, even though the tiny smirk Derek gave him was obnoxious as hell. Still, it was better than thinking that Derek was going to try to literally eat him at any moment.

"You smell better now," Derek said, straightening and kneeling, sitting back on his heels, reaching for the top sheet to casually wipe Stiles' come off his belly. His cock was half hard now, the crimson head peering out of his foreskin, the slit slicked with precome, and it was definitely of a size that Stiles might have found intimidating.... Only he didn't anymore.

Maybe it was the werewolf blood surging through his veins, but Stiles knew he'd be able to take anything Derek gave him. Which was a good thing, because he was beginning to suspect that....

"By 'something more', you meant knotting, didn't you," he said, didn't even bother making it a question. He didn't know much about werewolves, and most of the mating stuff was only rumor, but he somehow didn't think he was wrong.

Especially not when Derek's smirk widened.

Stiles let out what he readily acknowledged was an exasperated huff. "Well, I hope you have copious amounts of lube," he said, trying to sound more annoyed than he felt, because for some reason he wasn't very. For some bizarre reason he just felt curious and a little bit turned on. Which couldn't possibly be a normal response to this. "My ass isn't self-lubricating."

Derek let out a huff of his own that was something closer to a laugh, though not quite. And Stiles suddenly, for no real reason, remembered that Derek had lost every member of his family in the Hale fire. Which kind of completely sucked for Derek, even though Stiles wouldn't go so far as to say he was feeling sorry for the guy....

But. Losing everyone you cared about was really the worst thing that could happen to a person. As Stiles well knew.

So even though he didn't know Derek, didn't really like him, and in fact kind of hated him right now for the whole blood thing, Stiles was willing to cut him a little slack - a little - and it made him feel strangely pleased to hear Derek give vent to a sound of amusement, to know he'd caused it, even though Stiles had no absolutely intention of playing the clown for him.

After all, it was enough that he was going to let Derek knot him, right? Speaking of which....

"Seriously, though," he felt compelled to insist, his brows arching. "Lube?"

Derek moved in one sudden burst, seemingly pouncing Stiles. He squeaked, automatically attempting to roll out of the way only to find one of Derek's iron arms barring this move, keeping Stiles right where he was. After half a second he realized that Derek was reaching under the pillow behind him, retrieving a reassuringly large tube of lubricant.

"Well, okay then," he said, a little breathlessly, trying to play it off as though he hadn't reacted at all, especially so ineffectually.

Derek growled a little - and that made so much more sense now - bending to get his prickly stubble all over the skin of Stiles' shoulder, his lips soft where he mouthed at the sharp lines there. Stiles shivered, not out of any emotional response, but because his entire body was so sensitized now, filled with Derek's blood. Sex had never been like this, and it was almost like being a virgin all over again.

Weird thought, and yet not an untruth.

"Isn't... isn't knotting a mating thing?" Stiles asked, trying to ignore the way his voice came out a little breathless, reaching for the lube Derek was holding. He failed to wrestle it away, which kind of pissed him off, but even though he now had more strength than he'd ever had, Derek was stronger. "I mean, I know you used the word, but I just assumed it was a nice way of saying you were gonna fuck me."

Derek nosed at him again, then licked his shoulder in a manner that almost seemed contemplative. Not that Stiles was assigning reactions to him.

"It's metaphoric... and literal," he grunted.

"I hate to break it to you," Stiles laughed, "No, wait, I don't hate to, because you really ought to know this, but even if I were still human there's no way you could get me pregnant. I'm a male through and through. Not to mention, kind of undead now."

Derek reared back up and rolled his eyes. It was a very normal expression, and it somehow made Stiles feel as though he liked Derek more, even while their conversation was edging into places he didn't think he wanted to go with someone he didn't even know. Strange, kinky, possessive places. And Stiles could do kinky - that was what he got paid for on a regular basis, after all - but he very definitely didn't do possessive.

"There's more than one meaning to the word," Derek told him, doing absolutely nothing to sooth the rising alarm Stiles was feeling.

"You are not claiming this fine ass," Stiles yelped, kicking out, trying to wriggle free of Derek's arms as he found himself once again caged against the pillows, Derek snuffling at his neck. "I don't belong to you!"

"You smell like my blood," Derek growled, legit growled, and his teeth nipped sharply at the delicate skin stretched over Stiles' collarbone. No fangs, not yet, but the potential was there. "You smell like you're mine."

This actually calmed Stiles a little, if only a little. "That'll wear off," he said, as much for himself as for Derek. "Do you hear me? You can fuck me, you can knot me, but once it's done you're paying me and I'm walking away."

There was no response to this but another low growl and the wet lashing of a tongue moving against his throat and shoulder, then hard teeth sinking into his collarbone again, more deeply this time, holding on, the spike of pain, then throb of bruising tension - even though he didn't bruise anymore - making his cock jump and swell slightly.

"Shit," Stiles choked, kicking out involuntarily with one leg, his nails sinking blunt into Derek's broad shoulders. He wanted to fight back, wished he had claws so he could tear into Derek, his instincts urging him to get away, to escape, but of the two of them Derek Hale, werewolf Alpha, was clearly the more powerful. Stiles tried to remind himself that what he'd said was true. Once they were done fucking he was getting out of here, whether he got paid or not.

Though he really hoped that he'd get paid.

Derek didn't reply, just scooted back, setting the lube aside somewhere, and grabbing Stiles' left leg.

"What?" Stiles yelped, then winced as Derek stripped the hose away with more force than finesse. He was pretty sure it had just ripped, and his thigh stung momentarily. He stared in fascination at the pretty pink color that rose up in the pale flesh, distracted as Derek did the same thing with his other leg.

He hadn't had enough blood in his system to garner that physical reaction in a long time; not since the couple of nights he'd managed to feed off of five men in the same three hour period, then decided that doing so had been far more trouble than it had been worth. That had been the closest he'd ever come to where he was tonight, and even then it had been nothing like how he felt now.

As Derek had already surmised, Stiles' knees had healed and the flesh of his legs was once again flawless.

"You don't need to hide your knees anymore," Derek informed him unnecessarily, and he spoke evenly but his nostrils were flaring and Stiles could have sworn he felt the prick of claws. "They're healed and these," he brandished the ruined wisps of black nylon still clenched in one hand, "Stink."

"They're brand new out of the package," Stiles argued, more for the sake of arguing than anything else. He actually wasn't surprised when all Derek did was snarl and fling the wrecked hose over the edge of the bed.

"You should work on using your words," Stiles informed Derek, trying really hard not to sound as cranky as he felt because he wanted Derek to know he was coming from a reasonable place, not a position of deep irritation. Even though he kind of was. "Then I could have taken them off myself and maybe could have worn them again later. Like I said, they were new, and not cheap."

Derek snarled at him again, the bastard, then bent to nose at his balls some more.

"No fangs!" Stiles felt compelled to demand, his voice going up a little too high, but his collarbone was still smarting, he'd seen those sharp teeth that didn't even fit into Derek's mouth completely, and he really valued his balls, thanks very much, what guy didn't? Living or... not.

Derek snorted, making Stiles shudder as humid-hot breath blasted over his sensitive parts. His cock seemed to approve despite the nearness of potential fangs and Stiles groaned a little, falling back into the pillows as Derek's wet, limber tongue worked its way over his perineum and then up to lap at the rapidly plumping shaft of his hard-on.

It was very seldom that guys wanted to play with his cock, at least not in ways designed more to give Stiles pleasure than to simply take their own. And being infused with Derek's blood, filled to fullness, feeling real for the first time since he'd died... well, it was making everything that much more intense.

Stiles groaned, reaching up and grasping at his short-clipped hair, feeling his skull hard and round underneath his scalp. He wasn't going to grab Derek's hair, he wasn't. Not only was he not going to show that much enthusiasm, but he didn't think it would be a good idea to go yanking on a werewolf's hair when he was so near Stiles' junk. Just in case. After all, Stiles really had zero idea how good Derek's control was. Sure, he was an Alpha, but-

Then reason and everything else washed away in a wave of holyfuckingfuck as Derek took all of Stiles' hard cock in his mouth in one go, swallowing it down to the root, his nose bumping up against Stiles' pelvis, buried in his pubes.

This was nothing like rubbing off on Derek's belly while feeding had been, when Stiles' attention had been as much caught up in the flavor and heat of the blood rushing over his tongue as on the way his pulsing hard-on felt. This was all centered in his groin, the rest of his body fading away to nothing but the faint recognition of heels scrabbling at the mattress, fingers now clutching at the sheet to either side of his hips, and the back of his head banging into the cheap faux-wood of the headboard behind him.

"Fuck," he got out, strangled but reasonably articulate, even as a hot clench of flesh - the swirl of Derek's tongue, the tightness of his throat - engulfed his cock and consumed his senses. "Fuck, you don't have to- I'm not some- You, you can just st-stick it in, you know. I don't need-"

"Shut up," Derek growled, his voice hoarse as he pulled off of Stiles' cock, leaving it cold and hard and twitching both with the chill and the loss of stimulation. A fist closed around it, jacking it slowly, too slowly, and Stiles peeled open eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed, peering down at Derek through the haze of arousal that was trying to cloud his vision.

Derek looked... amazing, in a word. His lips plumped and red, glistening with saliva. His own eyes heavy-lidded and somehow darker, but not red, thank fuck not glowing Alpha red. His cheeks were flushed, a hint of color that made him seem more human, more real, more vulnerable, even though he definitely was not at least two of these things.

"You shut up," Stiles rejoined nonsensically, because if he could keep his mouth shut in the face of certain danger then he probably wouldn't be where he was now.

On the other hand, he'd probably have wound up actually dead. So. There was that.

Instead of replying, Derek just sighed in an obnoxiously long-suffering way, then bent and started deepthroating Stiles again.

"Ahng!" He whined, doing his best not to thrust upward into that incredible, engulfing heat. He wanted to fuck Derek's mouth and throat until he came again, but that wasn't why he was here. Not unless... unless that was what Derek wanted?

Then there it was, the prodding at his asshole, and that was what Stiles had been expecting.

"I told you," he gritted out, trying not to writhe - toward, away, just in overstimulation - as Derek smoothed the pad of his thumb down the center of his crack, catching a little on the rim of his asshole but not pushing inside, not yet. "Told you, I don't need-"

"But I want," Derek growled, nipping at Stiles' inner thigh then going down on him again, and that was nice, but Stiles still objected on moral principle....

On the other hand, Derek was the client here so Stiles guessed he could have what he wanted.

Stiles yelled, actually yelled, and gave some serious consideration to rethinking this policy as Derek pulled off him with a slurp, rough hands grabbed his hips, and he was suddenly manhandled into a hands-and-knees position on the mattress, his ass in Derek's face, his own face in the pillow.

"Hey!" he barked, twisting to glare over his shoulder. Derek looked unrepentant and mildly amused. Stiles scowled, but couldn't really protest. Not that he didn't want to. "A little warning next time, asshole," he settled for snapping.

Derek didn't reply, instead bending and licking his way into Stiles' ass crack, his tongue incredibly soft and intensely hot where it worked over the tight clench of muscle at Stiles' core.

Stiles let out a little groan despite his best efforts when warm arousal began to turn the muscles of his legs to jelly. He sank his burning face into his arms, as much hiding from the fact that Derek's rim-job was affecting him as he was from the fact that Derek was giving him a rim-job. This wasn't the first time, but it had been rare, and this was the first time Stiles had experienced this with his senses on full alert, still filled to bursting with werewolf blood.

Sex before had always been like Stiles thought fucking with the flu might have been. More of a chore than anything else. Not something to take pleasure from; just something to get done in order to earn money. This... this was more like he remembered masturbation to have been before he'd died, only like a hundred times more intense, because now he had a partner.

It was intoxicating and a little bit terrifying at once.

"You smell clean down here. New," Derek rumbled into Stiles' ass, and he sounded pleased, sounded as though he was smiling, even though Stiles was willing to bet that he wasn't.

"Well, it's not like I... you know," he murmured into his arm, trying to speak normally even as Derek nosed at him, licked his quivering hole. "Liquid diet and all that."

Derek actually chuckled, the vibrations rippling through Stiles, making his cock jump between his spread thighs, precome drooling out of it onto the bed.

"You smell like mine," Derek had to go and ruin the moment by adding, harsh and deep in his throat. But before Stiles could protest, he'd buried his face in his crack again, and begun giving Stiles the tongue-lashing of his life. Both his human life and this one.

"Ah! Ah, fuck!" Stiles gasped out, his fingers kneading at the sheets beneath him, his legs quivering as Derek ate him out, tongue probing, forcing its wet way through the tightness of his sphincter. That had to be more werewolf strength, Stiles thought in a daze, trying to collect his scattered wits enough to reach down and jerk himself off, then reminding himself that he probably shouldn't.

The attention Derek paid to his ass should have been embarrassing, and it was certainly more than he needed, but with his senses intensified and his body twitching Stiles couldn't exactly call this a bad thing.

In all honesty, it really was like being a virgin again. It sounded faintly ridiculous, even in the privacy of his own head - what with the way he sold his ass for a living - but considering that pretty much all of his sexual experience had happened after he'd become what he was now, and that he'd been wading through his afterlife in an eternally half-starved haze, he hadn't every really gotten to experience sex the way it was meant to be.

And he might hate Derek for this, for making him feed to repletion and for now dragging every last shiver and moan out of his quaking body, but in a way he was grateful. Because even though he'd never get this again, even though that realization was agonizing, it might actually have been worse to have never gotten this. Ever.

He wasn't about to let Derek know this, though. Any of it. Derek was a predator and an asshole and Stiles wasn't about to show him any more weakness than he already had.

Stiles was aware that he could technically be labeled a predator too. If the Argents ever realized what he really was, what he had become, then Scott wouldn't even have time to have to choose between his best friend and his girlfriend - not that this would ever be a struggle, and it made Stiles' sting but he knew where he stood so that was something at least - before they took care of business and took him out.

But he was careful. He never fed off of anyone who would be able to identify him later. That wasn't as hard as it sounded; after all, what grown man would admit to picking up a decidedly underage male hooker and paying to screw him? Stiles was smart and canny and after the first time or two he hadn't even fed off of anyone who realized what had happened. Being sneaky about it had become second nature for him and was even easier than the sex.

Stiles was good at what he did, and he wasn't about to go wrecking that just because Derek had shown him how much better it could be.

These were not thoughts that lingered long in his brain when he was being eaten out so magnificently, however. Just niggling realities, fluttering restlessly at the edges, souring what might otherwise be a pretty awesome encounter.

Stiles wasn't sure why Derek wanted to spend so much time licking his way into his ass, but he wasn't about to complain about it. Maybe it was preemptive recompense for the knot that was going to fill him up, stretch him, and possibly hurt even though he wasn't human any longer. Or maybe Derek just wanted to. Dogs liked to sniff each other's asses, right? Maybe wolves - even those of the two-legged variety - had a similar fixation. Though this had gone well and beyond sniffing.

At any rate, Stiles was fully hard again, the entire area between his tailbone and his pubis tingling, the blood he'd taken from Derek and claimed as his own shivering in the surface of his skin, plumping his cock, probably blushing his balls and all of his ass, not that he could check or would have if he could have.

He could almost come like this, he thought foggily, as Derek lapped at him with alternating force and delicacy. He'd have thought he'd get use to it or have gone numb by now, but each sweep of Derek's tongue sent fresh sparks skittering over the entire surface of his body. His breath was coming out sharp and panting, the hairs on his arms were standing up, his nipples were aching, and he knew his balls had to be drawn up nearly into his torso by now....

So, naturally, it was at this point that Derek pulled away and left him hanging.

Stiles let out a strangled noise that was supposed to be a swear, but which just sounded upset and bereft. If Derek laughed at him now, Stiles thought dazedly, he really was going to try to kick his ass.

Derek didn't look amused, though, Stiles noted as he strained to peer over his shoulder. He looked... well, he looked really turned on. His brows were heavy over bright eyes, a splash of red marring each perfect cheekbone, his lips were wet with saliva and crimson from pressure and friction, his tongue darting out, lashes flickering as he transferred his gaze from Stiles' quaking ass to whatever he was doing with his hands.

And then Derek's jaw firmed up, his eyes going back to Stiles' ass, a cool-wet thumb tracking over the puffy-hot swell of Stiles' well rimmed hole, and Stiles realized why Derek had stopped and what he'd just been doing that had taken away his attention like that.

Stiles' cock was unhappy about this turn of events, but Stiles himself had to admit to a touch of relief. As urgent as his need to come had been just moments before, getting off to nothing but a thorough rimming would have bordered on humiliating. Especially when Derek probably had no clue what his blood had done to Stiles, how it had made him hyper-aware and overly-sensitized to everything.

Or maybe he did know, somehow. Either way, he was slow and careful as he prepared Stiles. He made no effort to warm the lube before applying it, and Stiles was actually somewhat grateful for this. It dampened his arousal a bit, enough that he didn't feel in danger of popping off the moment one of those lean fingers breached his natural defenses.

"No claws," he grunted, shifting his knees and clenching around Derek a little, more to underline his point than anything, because he certainly wasn't feeling any discomfort. The contrast between his own hot skin, the heat and hardness of Derek's finger - now two fingers - and the coolness of the lube was actually strangely pleasant, the lube rapidly warmed to match his newly-raised body temperature, before Derek added more - and a third finger - making Stiles shudder and clench more tightly.

"Don't be ridiculous," Derek rumbled, and Stiles couldn't tell if he sounded amused, offended, or something else entirely. He just didn't know Derek well enough to read his tone of voice - even though it was definitely not unaffected - not to mention Stiles had his face buried in his arms again, silently biting at the pillow.

It was stupid that he was so turned on by this, Stiles thought dazedly. But he couldn't change how he felt. And for the first time sex was... sex was something for him to enjoy. He wasn't used to that.

"You don't have to take so much time doing that," he informed Derek, as evenly as he was able to speak when he could feel the blood - Derek's blood - rushing through his body, blazing with heat in his face, ears, neck, chest, cock... and, yes, his ass.

"Do I look like someone who does anything they don't want to do?" Derek asked, and his voice really was even, but Stiles could hear the dark undertone of arousal, of dominance, of certainty. And he remembered that Derek was an Alpha who was presumably used to getting his way so he really ought to shut up. But of course, Stiles being Stiles, he didn't.

"I'm just saying-" he broke off and gasped as Derek twisted his fingers, smearing generous amounts of lube inside and around his hole, prodding for one brief sparking instant at a very interesting spot inside of Stiles, "Just saying," he continued, panting, trying to hold his train of thought, "That you can stick it in me any time now."

Derek sighed. The bastard actually sounded put upon, and his fingers slithered out, leaving Stiles feeling unexpected empty and bereft. Stiles wanted to be incredulous, but he was mostly just disconcerted. Was he actually spoiling this experience for Derek? Wrecking the nice sex-for-money thing they had going on here?

A glance over his shoulder proved that Derek was frowning, but he didn't look overly upset. Just a little peevish.

"What did I just say," he growled at Stiles, and squeezed more lube into his palm. Even when he was asking a question, he phrased it like a statement.

"Sorry, sorry," Stiles said, even though he wasn't really, turning and faceplanting into his folded arms again. "Carry on."

Derek sighed again, though there was a little catch at the end of it, and some wet, squelching sounds that indicated to Stiles that he was now lubing up his hard cock. And this Stiles felt that he needed to see. Especially since it was about to go in him.

It was impossible to crane a look over his shoulder subtly, but Derek wasn't paying him a huge amount of attention right now, so it was all right. He was staring down with a strange but sexy intensity as he fisted his own hard-on. His brows were knit, forehead tense but his lips slack and parted, and Stiles could swear he saw a hint of white fangs gleaming even though Derek wasn't actually wolfed-out or anything.

Derek's entire face, neck, and upper chest were flushed, and Stiles kind of hoped that some of that was for him, that it was as much because Derek had been playing with his ass as it was because Derek was now rubbing himself with an almost punishing clasp.

This drew Stiles' attention down, to Derek's cock. He kind of... he kind of wanted to get his own hands on it, maybe get it in his mouth, and where the hell had that urge come from? Stiles could remember the last time he'd actually wanted to suck a cock, and it had been a long time ago, way before he'd actually ever had to suck a cock.

Derek's hands were graceful and strong, fingers long and lean, some hair shadowing his knuckles and wrist, but he wasn't too terribly hairy, which was a little surprising all things considered. Just enough to be sexy, manly, and Stiles had given up on considering himself bi rather than gay a long time ago, had given up on finding anyone sexual desirable a bit more recently, and now here Derek was, stirring up strange and almost unfamiliar feelings....

Then there was the cock he was so vigorously stroking. It was thick, long, jutting up proud and straight from his groin. The foreskin slid smoothly over the blunt crimson head as Derek's fist moved up and then back down, teasing, covering it then revealing it again. Stiles felt his mouth literally watering as he stared, fascinated, at the thick beads of clear precome that built up at the slit only to be smeared down the shaft along with the lube as Derek worked his cock to a beautiful gleaming readiness.

"Seriously," Stiles breathed, and now he sounded more as though he'd been kicked in the stomach than annoyed, and maybe that might make a difference as Derek raised his eyes and would have met Stiles' gaze if he could have dragged his own eyes off of Derek's amazing cock. "Any time you're ready."

Derek huffed, that soft sound of amusement again, and peeled his hand away from his twitching hard-on, reaching to wipe his fingers on the sheet. Stiles didn't remove his gaze, though.

"I don't see it," he blurted out before he could censor himself.

"See what?" Derek asked, almost startling Stiles. He hadn't really expected any interaction from the guy by this point; not that didn't involve his cock in his ass anyway. Speaking of which....

"The knot."

This time Derek actually did laugh, a warm and husky sound that made Stiles go quivery and hot inside his chest and stomach. It didn't last long, but Derek's eyes were crinkled at the corners the way Stiles remembered his Dad's doing when he was trying not to smile.

Not that now was the time to be thinking about his father - as much out of grief as due to sexual context - and so Stiles banished that comparison as quickly as possible from his mind.

"That doesn't happen until I'm about to come," Derek informed him, one hand moving to rest, heated palm and powerful fingers, on Stiles' ass cheek. "You don't know as much about it as you think you do, clearly."

Stiles scowled, but Derek wasn't mocking him, was only pointing out a fact, and he hadn't said it meanly. He'd said it almost pleasantly, as though he was inviting Stiles to join him in his amusement. Which, no, wasn't going to happen, but more because Stiles was ready to get this show on the road. Now that he'd gotten a good look at Derek's cock, hard and wet and ready for fucking, he wasn't going to rest until he was in him.

This level of enthusiasm was a little disturbing, but why shouldn't Stiles want things for himself? He was still full of Derek's blood, making everything more vivid, more intense. Derek had an amazing cock. So why the hell shouldn't Stiles want Derek to fuck him?!

Derek growled a little, as though he could sense Stiles' desperation and arousal, and he probably could, probably smelled it or something.

Resolutely telling himself it had been a sexy growl, not a threatening growl, Stiles turned to face the pillow again and spread his thighs a little, getting his knees settled more firmly in the mattress, and, not incidentally, wiggling his rear in Derek's face.

"Come and get it, big boy," he offered.

This time the huff was definitely more exasperation than amusement. "Who needs to work on their bedroom talk?" Derek asked dryly.

"You," Stiles replied, without hesitation.

Derek snorted, then gave Stiles' ass a quick smack.

"Hey!" Stiles yelped, jolting and then twisting to glare. "Don't do that!"

It stung, more than he could remember it doing before, but that might have something to do with the rich werewolf blood rising to the surface of his skin. And how long as it going to be before he started thinking of it as his own blood rather than Derek's? Usually he made the mental adjustment immediately. After all, back when he'd been human he hadn't still thought of the burger he'd just eaten as belonging to the cow it had come from, right?

Well, it didn't help that Derek said he could still smell that it was his blood in Stiles' body.

Anyway. The swat wasn't sexy, it had actually hurt a little, as though Derek had forgotten to control his supernatural strength, but that wasn't what bothered Stiles. It was all those creepy daddy-types who wanted to give him a spanking before they fucked him. That was what it reminded him of. Even though Derek definitely hadn't meant it that way.

"Fine," Derek rumbled, and then Stiles felt something warm and wet touch the smacked area, briefly.

"Did you - did you just lick me?" he asked incredulously.

"You're asking this after I spent nearly five minutes eating you out?" Derek asked, and even though he didn't bother twisting to look at him, Stiles somehow knew he had that little curl of his lips that wasn't quite a smirk but was very much amused. Bastard.

It was a little disconcerting that he already knew Derek so well, when it had only been a couple of hours since Stiles had been standing on a street corner and had only known of Derek Hale by name, as a rumor.

He couldn't decide whether where he was now was an improvement. On the one hand, he was getting the best sex of his life and they hadn't even gotten to the fucking yet. Also, he planned to charge Derek up the ass - no pun - for the knotting. But on the other hand, he now knew how much he was missing by not feeding to repletion. And Derek was kind of a massive pain in the ass - again, no pun - or at best incredibly annoying.

"Don't lick me," Stiles commanded. Hey. it was his ass. Never mind that Derek was paying for it. He just... rimming was one thing, licking was something else entirely. Stiles would really like to get out of this whole thing with his dignity intact.

"What about biting?" Derek asked, something dark and wicked in his tone. It made him sound unbearably sexy, and Stiles kind of hated him even more, at the same time his cock jerked between his spread thighs.

Hard teeth set themselves in the tight curve of Stiles' ass, no fangs, thank fuck. Derek bit as he had threatened, hard enough to make Stiles feel it, but for some reason this sensation of pain did way more for him than the spanking had.

"Well, I guess it's only fair," Stiles grumped, even though Derek had practically forced Stiles to bite him in the first place. "Don't break the flesh, though, okay? I don't heal the way you do."

"How do you heal?" Derek asked, sounding curious, his big palm smoothing over the abused spot on Stiles' ass. "I know your knees are fine now...."

"Are we really talking about this when we're both dripping with lube and you should have been in my ass minutes ago?" Stiles asked waspishly, peering back at Derek again. Derek just raised both his wolfish brows, so Stiles sighed and answered, tone a bit angry, but who could blame him? "I heal quicker than humans, especially when I've fed recently, but not as quick as you. Also," he couldn't help adding, even though it was showing a certain amount of weakness, "If you fang me, it'll hurt like hell and that's not sexy."

Derek chuckled again, the bastard, then bent to give the opposite cheek a quick lick, then a bite of equal force.

"Symmetry, that's nice," Stiles snarked, turning his face away but not before rolling his eyes. "That's hot, you're turning me on so much right now."

"Shut up," Derek growled, and Stiles didn't want to obey this command, but then Derek hooked his hands in the hollows where his legs met his hips and Stiles could both hear and feel him shifting into position behind him, so he let it go, with some reluctance.

"Finally," he couldn't help breathing as the insanely hot head of Derek's cock pressed against his ass, slipping, sliding along his crack, butting up against his well-rimmed hole.

Derek hadn't bothered with a condom, but Stiles didn't care and he certainly wasn't going to complain. They were both well aware that there was no need. As Stiles had already pointed out, Derek wasn't going to knock him up. And with that hyper-healing thing Derek had he didn't need to worry about sexually transmitted diseases any more than Stiles did. Which was to say not at all.

Stiles kind of had his doubts about a condom's ability to hold out when a knot was involved anyway. He really didn't have a very clear idea what was involved, how large it might get, but it wouldn't damage him - his healing wasn't on par with Derek's but it was a hell of a lot better than a human's would be - and he wasn't afraid of any potential pain. As long as fangs weren't involved, and even then he wasn't afraid, just annoyed.

If he had to be completely honest, Stiles would have admitted to being curious, slightly aroused, and actually kind of looking forward to finding out about knotting firsthand. A little. Only he didn't really want to be completely honest. Nope. Denial had brought him this far, he saw no reason to fuck with what worked.

Derek's thumb pressed into the small, sensitive spot between Stiles' tailbone and his asshole, then the blunt tip of his cock butted against the pucker there. It rubbed there a couple of heartbeats, seeming almost contemplative, and Stile was torn between focusing on the sensation of Derek's precome staining his flesh copiously enough to trickle down his perineum, or asking Derek if he needed a little help back there. Even though he'd seemed to have found his hole readily enough, even though Stiles probably couldn't have comfortably spread himself wider....

Then, with a surge of muscle that Stiles could feel even though he wasn't looking, fingers going hard and tight in the hollows of his hips, and a small grunt, Derek breached Stiles' ass, thrusting his cock at least halfway in with one hard push and a smooth slide.

"Fuck!" Stiles gasped, the word punched out of him, not affected for the client's sake as he usually did in this situation. This was the first time he'd had something other than his own fingers in his ass when he could actually feel it. This was nothing like all the other times he'd been fucked, harkened back to all his pre-death experiences with masturbation only this was so much more. Because he was still quivering with Derek's blood, because he had a thick, hard cock in his ass when everything was sharper and brighter, and Derek was wrecking him from the inside out without even knowing it.

"Hush," Derek urged, his voice strangely gentle but still commanding. He'd stopped moving, which was a strange form of torture all its own, and one large hand left the crook of Stiles' hip joint, going to rub careful but heavy spirals on the small of his back as his anus spasmed around the intrusive width.

"M'fine," Stiles replied, a little disturbed by how the words slurred on their way out of his lips, the way he sounded drugged or sexed-out already, when all Derek had done was put his cock in, and not even all the way. "I'm fine," he repeated, raising his chin a little out of his arms, taking more care to articulate even though he was still hoarse. "Go ahead, Derek."

He'd honestly meant to say "asshole" instead of Derek's name but his tongue had betrayed him at the last moment. He didn't know why. He didn't want to show weakness. And he didn't think Derek was the sort to mind a little swearing during fucking, even if the swears were aimed at him.

He was half afraid Derek was going to chuckle at him again, but instead he let out a small - tiny, really - growl and sank the rest of the way in.

"Oh, fuck," Stiles grunted, flexing his thigh muscles even though there was nowhere for him to go, toward or away from the penetration. Derek had him held securely, his grip strong and his cock huge inside of Stiles.

It felt... it felt.... He felt.... He was filled up and stretched. He was hot everywhere but especially his hard-on and ass. And if this was how he felt with just Derek's cock inside of him, what was the knot going to be like?

Stiles didn't have time to think about that, though. Derek shifted, hunching over him, hands going from his hips to his shoulders as he held Stiles firmly in place and began a series of short, shallow but sharp thrusts. Stiles shook underneath him, hoping like hell that Derek couldn't feel it, hoping his shudders would get lost in the pounding that Derek was giving his ass, but really afraid that Derek had noticed anyway.

He whined, unable to articulate at all, his fingers sinking into the cheap, stained sheet beneath him just for something to cling to even though it wasn't anything solid, just seeking to ground himself as Derek's cock threatened to shake his world apart from the inside.

There was no pain at all, only pleasure. His body was used to this sort of intrusion and Derek had been extremely generous with the lube. Stiles swore he could feel every inch of cock sliding in and out of him as Derek slowed his thrusts, making them longer and deeper. Nearly pulling out, though the head stayed inside his sphincter, then plunging back in to the root, until Derek's balls butted up against Stiles'.

He wanted to swear, wanted to let out some of the intensity and pressure he was feeling, but all he could do was pant and try not to whine more, try not to moan aloud as Derek fucked him open and tender.

It was hardly any comfort when Derek buried his face in the nape of Stiles' neck and Stiles could feel his harsh, hot breath, heard the small grunts and groans that Derek was making, knew that he was affected by this too, couldn't keep it all inside. It was a little nice knowing that something had finally broken Derek's calm, that he wanted this as badly as Stiles did, but it would have felt better if he hadn't been in the process of shattering Stiles' entire existence.

Derek's hands were strong on Stiles' shoulders, his hips hard as they beat a steady tattoo against his ass. Derek obviously knew what he was doing, and he wasn't giving Stiles room to do anything other than take it. Stiles would have been annoyed by this, but it felt so good that he kind of just wanted to take it. To allow Derek give him pleasure like he'd never known before.

Besides, who was he to complain if Derek wanted to do all the work?

Silvery-sweet sparks of sensation darted over the surface of Stiles' skin, filling the darkness behind his closed eyelids, and he gasped, shivering, just letting the feelings sweep up and overwhelm him, wash away everything that wasn't Derek fucking him, Derek's blood filling him and making this the best experience in his life. Well, his second life, at least.

Stiles let out a small involuntary cry as one of Derek's thrusts punched up against his prostate, one quick stroke of his blunt cock-head, and then it was gone, but the aftershocks zinged along Stiles' nerve endings. He hadn't been expecting that, and he wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved when it wasn't repeated. He was hard, dripping, his cock so erect it was almost curled against his stomach, but he didn't want to come... quite... yet. Not when Derek's cock sliding in and out of his ass felt so fucking good.

He finally let out a small moan - it was either that or bite through his lip and there had been enough biting already tonight - wrenching his shoulders in Derek's grip, not in an attempt to escape, but just so that he could feel how hard Derek was holding him.

He was rewarded, if you could call it that, with a low growl, and a sudden hot clasp of teeth at his nape. Right at the top of his spine, sinking in, holding tight, in warning and probably not a little possessiveness.

And, yeah, Stiles had said no fangs, and yeah, he didn't do possessive. But something about this, something about the feral reality of it made his cock that much stiffer, made him moan again with far less restraint, made an additional surge of heat burst through his body when he hadn't thought he could run any hotter than he already was.

Flexing his thighs, he did his best to try and grind his ass back into Derek's steady thrusts. He was on the verge of coming and no one had even touched him anywhere other than the cock in his ass, the hands on his shoulders, and the teeth in his neck. Prying his eyes open, and getting his elbows propped underneath him a little, he peered down the length of his own belly. He watched his torso rock in time with Derek's hard pushes, watched his hard-on bobbing, red and straining, the head drooling thick strands of precome down to puddle on the sheets.

Derek unexpectedly let out a low whine of his own, more in his chest than his throat, and suddenly plastered himself against Stiles' back, so that Stiles could feel his chest heaving as he panted for breath. His teeth sank more deeply into Stiles' nape, his hips were sealed up against Stiles' ass, his cock twitching and jerking where it was jammed as far inside Stiles as it could go.

Stiles had to close his eyes as a brick wall of pleasure slammed into him, the combination of intense sensations rising up to overwhelm him, and even though he knew that Derek was knotting him now, he couldn't hold his own orgasm back another second. Not that he even tried.

It rocked through him, making him rattle and lurch like he'd been shaken. He wasn't looking any longer, but he could feel his cock tightening and spitting, could hear the stream of come hitting the mattress beneath his belly. He drowned this extremely satisfying sound out with a throttled cry, muffled into the pillow but still plenty loud for all that, and he writhed, not only because he couldn't hold in everything he was feeling, but because wriggling in Derek's grip helped him to focus on the hard teeth in his neck, the hands sunk into the bones of his shoulders, and the knot that was now, yes, swelling inside of his ass, filling him up more than he had already been filled, and setting him on fire.

He was still coming after what felt like minutes, even though he knew it had only been seconds, relief and insane pleasure unspooling inside him, ripping him to pieces and knitting him back together, and he couldn't help crying out again, shaking his way through the last spurt, shivering with aftershocks, the world around him hazy, narrowed down to his own heaving lungs, the heat of his spent cock, and Derek all around him and inside him.

Derek held onto him all through it, his teeth not giving any more than his hands did, humid-hot breaths gusting over the abused skin at Stiles' nape as he remained strong over Stiles. His hips were still but the knot was pulsing as it grew inside of Stiles, and now that the immediacy of his climax was gone, now that he was coasting in the afterglow, Stiles was free to analyze this strange new sensation.

As his senses came back online, albeit through a faint haze of repletion that was absolutely nothing like his normal daze of perpetual hunger, Stiles could hear the small whining sounds that Derek was making in time with his breathing, even though he never once let up his biting of Stiles' neck.

Stiles ground his ass back against Derek, not surprised but gratified and a little turned on when this caused Derek to growl and bite down harder, his hips snapping a few times even though he couldn't move much with his knot sunk deeply inside of Stiles.

And that was definitely a very different sensation. Stiles shifted again, not trying to get away, not even angling for the distinctly possessive response he got, but to try and take in the entirety of what he was feeling.

He could feel Derek's cock jammed long, hard, and demanding inside of him. It felt... sexy. Even though he had just come, the sensation of it sent a shiver of arousal through Stiles all over again.

And then there was the knot itself. It pressed up against Stiles' sphincter from the inside, size and pressure that a cock alone couldn't hope to match. It wasn't exactly like being fisted, but it wasn't a lot different. It ached, dull and throbbing, didn't quite hurt, added to the feeling of being filled.

And then there was the come. Stiles held still now, concentrating, as Derek began to hunch, letting out a grunt, his hips jerking forward just a little with each ejaculation. It wasn't the same as when Stiles had come; this was regular, rhythmic, and extended to a crazy, amazing, sexually stimulating degree.

Stiles could swear he felt the heat and wet of Derek's come inside him, even though that was probably impossible. It wasn't a huge amount of come each time, but it was steady and so hot that Stiles felt his own cock twitch, beginning to harden again.

This reaction was helped along by the small helpless sounds that Derek made, by the way his hips twitched with each squirt. Stiles almost wished he'd been bitten by a werewolf instead of becoming a bloodsucker, because this was a really sexy way to come....

Though it did lend itself to a lot of vulnerability. Derek was essentially trapped inside of Stiles until he was done coming and his knot shrank enough that he could pull out. Stiles didn't like to think about that moment, though, because right now he was stuffed full of Derek's thick cock and huge knot, Derek was still hosing down his insides with his hot, hot come, and Stiles was definitely going to get off on it a second time.

Stiles fumbled, reaching down so that his could fist his renewed hard-on, and Derek growled and clung more tightly as this jostled him where he was mounted over top of Stiles, wrapped around him. Stiles didn't mind in the slightest, even when this netted him a sharper bite at the back of his neck and several short, hard jabs of Derek's cock.

"Fuck," he breathed out, sinking into sensation as he began stroking himself off. He didn't know if it was the werewolf plastered against his back, the werewolf blood in his veins, most likely both, but his cock was ready and raring to go as he wrapped his fingers around it and begin jerking vigorously. There was a little pain, because he had just come so recently, and his balls were definitely aching with a low pulse that matched his stretched asshole, but the throb of pressure twisted into pleasure easily enough, and he let out a little moan, flexing around Derek's cock as he stroked himself closer to a second orgasm.

Derek huffed against his skin, his bite gentling a moment, and Stiles could feel the wet-soft lapping of a tongue moving over the space between where the fangs were set into his neck. He wondered for a moment whether Derek was wolfed out, then decided he probably wasn't, since the hands holding onto him so tightly weren't sporting claws. But in the end it didn't really matter, because Derek was there behind him and holding him so closely, and that was what was important.

Panting through parted lips, his thighs bunching, ass squeezing Derek's knot, Stiles worked himself closer and closer to coming. Derek slowly shifted, never letting loosing his grip on Stiles, but his long, thick cock and swollen knot moving inside of him in extremely tantalizing ways. Stiles moaned and jerked, stomach muscles bunching as he instinctively tried to hump down into his rapidly moving fist.

This dragged another growl out of Derek, and he pressed himself more closely down around Stiles, clinging tightly, his cock still flexing and spraying come inside of Stiles, though it had slowed now.

Stiles fell into the movement of his hand over his cock, his flushed face buried in the pillow, Derek's teeth in his flesh, and it wasn't long before he was gasping, jolting, then letting out a thin keening sound as he shot come all over the bed again.

After this second orgasm he kind of floated, not really feeling anything but warmth and repletion. On some level he was aware that he'd collapsed into a heap of limp limbs on the bed beneath Derek, recognized that Derek bore down on him, still coming, then gave a small shuddering moan as they both tumbled to the bed and he finally stopped coming inside of Stiles. It was a little longer before Derek was able to pull out of Stiles, and Derek spent the time licking at Stiles' nape, his hands moving with languid strokes to caress Stiles' chest and belly, petting, possessive.

Stiles was still in the process of coming back to full awareness as Derek finally pulled out, and he wanted to cry over the feeling of emptiness inside, but before he could say or do anything, Derek was down there, licking his way into Stiles' ass again.

"That's kinda gross," Stiles slurred, though he rolled onto his belly and spread his thighs wider as Derek settled in to seemingly try to lick and suck out all the come he'd left inside Stiles. It felt so good, though, Derek's tongue moving soft and slippery over the throbbing-hot, overly sensitized puffiness of his hole.

Derek didn't reply, and Stiles sighed, letting himself enjoy this for a long moment. But then reality intruded, reminding him that he was doing this for money, and Derek was paying him for allowing him to knot him. Also....

"Ugh, I'm laying in the wet spot, dude," he complained, trying ineffectually to squirm away from Derek.

Instead of escaping off the bed and heading for the bathroom like he'd wanted - even though he wasn't sure his shaking legs could have held him up that long - Stiles found himself being grabbed and manhandled by Derek again, until they were lying face to face on the mattress, Derek's arms wrapped around him, the wet spot just a little behind Stiles.

"This isn't better," he started angrily, but then Derek swooped forward and now they were kissing, actually kissing. And Stiles knew better, but he let himself moan and arch into it, let himself kiss Derek back as the same tongue that had just been in his ass was pushed into his mouth, tainted with the flavor of Derek's come.

It was a little thin and watery, Stiles thought distractedly, but that only made sense for how long Derek had spent coming. With that much spurting out of him - and now leaking out of Stiles, euw - it would have had to have been a little less thick than most guys shot, right?

Stiles wasn't familiar with how dogs or wolves bred, but he now had firsthand knowledge of how a werewolf Alpha went about it. It was different... and sexy as hell. But it was over with now, and it was time for Stiles to get paid, and to avoid Derek like the plague if he ever saw him again.

Well, more than he would avoid the plague, because diseases couldn't affect Stiles anymore, but Derek could definitely affect him, as recent events had so decisively proven.

Stiles tore his mouth away from Derek's. He didn't go all Pretty Woman or anything, but he didn't generally go in for kissing clients, and he definitely charged extra for the charade.

Only... with Derek it wasn't really faked. And that was more scary than the potential fangs next to his neck as Derek started sniffing him again. If sniffing could sound contented, this did, and Derek was very definitely smug as he spoke into the line of Stiles' throat.

"You smell like me now," he murmured, warm and rich. "Inside and out. You smell like mine."

"Whoa," Stiles exclaimed, trying to squirm out of Derek's arms, embarrassed by how completely he failed at this. "Hold up there, wolfman. I don't belong to anyone but me!"

Derek growled, but Stiles was feeling too panicked by his words to take this nonverbal threat seriously.

"No," he reiterated, swatting Derek's shoulder again when Derek levered up to glare down at him. "You don't get to do that. We had sex, you pay me. That's how it works; werewolf blood and feeding and knotting and kinky mating sex aside! Never once did I offer anything other than my ass, and you know it!"

He more than half expected Derek to get angry, but he didn't. He pressed his face into the hollow between Stiles' collarbones, snuffling there even as he held Stiles effortlessly down underneath him. He didn't say anything, just breathed.

"I don't care that I smell like you," Stiles continued when Derek didn't, digging his nails into Derek's shoulder to punctuate this sentence, even though he knew it wouldn't mark him, probably wouldn't even hurt him for an instant. "You don't own me, you won't own me, and after a while your scent will fade, once I start feeding off of other men."

And maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because Derek's new growl was definitely more threatening and he raised his head, his eyes flashing red for a moment.

"You won't," he rumbled, as though he had any right to order Stiles around.

Stiles held his tongue, because he could argue, tell Derek he was walking away and never seeing him again, but that would just put Derek on the alert, make him fully aware of Stiles' intentions. Although, Derek had probably already guessed, if the canny gleam in his eyes and his grim expression were any indication.

"You can belong to me," Derek said, and he actually sounded as though he thought he was being reasonable. "You can feed every time you need to, until you're full, and I'll be fine. And you'll be better than fine."

"And then you can fuck me and knot me whenever you like in trade, right?" Stiles asked scathingly. He took absolutely no pleasure in the way Derek drew back, eyes going wide and startled, his lips parting soundlessly, but it was only the truth. "Your little slut bitch on demand, that's how you see it."

It hadn't really been a question, but Derek replied anyway. "No." He actually sounded a little hurt, his forehead creasing. "Not at all."

"I let you fuck me because you're going to pay me," Stiles continued, painfully blunt, even though it did weird things to his stomach to see the words hit Derek like actually physical blows. So he could cause damage, albeit not with his fists. That was good to know... wasn't it?

Derek growled and rolled, grabbing Stiles' wrists and holding him down so that he couldn't so much as squirm. But then he stopped, resting over top of Stiles, breathing into the curve of his jaw.

"My family died in a fire that my lover deliberately started," Derek said into Stiles' shivering skin. He sounded sad but not grief-ravaged the way the words he was speaking would have indicated. "I had two family members left. My uncle killed my sister, and I killed him. Now I have no one."

"Are you... are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?" Stiles asked, though he had to swallow a couple of times before he could make the words come out without catching on the lump in his throat. He told himself that it was because talking about murdered family members reminded him of his Dad... but he suspected that this was only part of the truth.

"No," Derek replied, raising his head again. And he did look a little sad, but he also looked thoughtful and determined. "My point is... I don't get to have nice things." He paused and smiled, and it was dangerous and frightening even before his eyes flashed red, his fangs gleaming bright. "But you, Stiles. You are not a nice thing."

Stiles felt his stomach swoop. This was the first time Derek had called him by name. It meant that Derek not only knew what he was, he knew who he was. Probably knew what Stiles had lost as well, and what he'd had to do once he'd had his world taken away from him.

That didn't mean they understood one another, though, Stiles thought resentfully, squirming out from under Derek, more than a little surprised when Derek actually let him go. And it didn't give Derek any rights of ownership over him, he continued in his head, but not aloud, as he got dressed as quickly as he was able.

He still felt strong and alive and vibrant, still satisfied after feeding on Derek. And he could have that again, all the time, whenever he wanted.... Derek was offering him a lot.

But at the same time he was asking of Stiles everything that he had, everything that he was.

And Stiles... just couldn't do that.

"You don't get to own me," he said, crossing to the door and grasping the handle. Derek was still lounging on the bed, naked, handsome, watching him with hooded eyes. Stiles couldn't read his expression, but he looked confident. As though this was a game and he was sure he was going to win it.

Well, nuts to that!

"You can run," Derek spoke up, as Stiles cracked the door open and hesitated on the threshold. "But I will find you and I will catch you." He smiled more widely, all fangs and crinkled eyes. "Then I'll keep you, because you're mine now."

As Stiles slammed the door shut behind him and ran, he realized that he'd just left without getting paid. But he also knew that there was no way he was going back there. Not for all the money in the world.

Derek had wrecked him and ruined him, and now Stiles would fade back into his partial existence, knowing exactly what he had lost. But he had his independence, and that was the most important part, right?

As Stiles hoofed it toward the city center, intent on reaching his hidey hole before dawn, moving faster and freer than ever before in his life thanks to his werewolf infusion, he heard a long drawn out howl behind him.

"Shit!" he swore, putting on some speed. Because Derek had said he would find him and catch him, and Stiles had assumed he'd meant later, but maybe he hadn't.

It occurred to Stiles as he ran - knowing, somehow knowing that the big bad wolf raced at his heels - that he had come to a certain amount of ownership of Derek as well. Who else was going to need Derek so much? Who else would let Derek knot them, let him bite them, let him claim them in ways a human couldn't physically take?

Well, if Derek made an argument for this once he caught up to Stiles, then Stiles might consider it.... If it was as much give as it was take.

But in the meantime, he had a wolf to shake, and he had wolf's blood pulsing through his veins.

Stiles laughed aloud in the night, feeling alive and free for the first time. Let Derek run, Stiles would run faster. And if Derek caught up... well, then they would see who was the stronger.

Stiles wasn't afraid of the big bad wolf.

Two predators raced in the night, and neither of them was prey.