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Alpha, Beta, Omega, and one Human

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This chapter ONLY contains references to Stiles/Parrish. Lydia and lots of people are really awful to Stiles, so a warning for that as well.


Stiles stared down at the bills on the table. He was tired. His son was upstairs asleep by flashlight because the damn electric was out again. His rich bitch mother hadn’t bothered to send them her fucking child support. Stiles was disgusted with the world at large and had no idea how he was going to pay for his son’s daycare, but if he couldn’t pay for the daycare than he couldn’t go to work, but he couldn’t afford daycare, but he didn’t qualify for assistance because he was getting child support, but Lydia skipped paying child support every few months and…

Stiles put his head down on the table and told himself repeatedly not to cry. It wouldn’t help and knowing his luck Dylan would wake up and see the tears and panic. He couldn’t let Dylan worry about money the way he’d worried about his father’s health and the bills all his life. It was hard enough raising a child without giving them all sorts of anxiety issues before they were even in grade school! Not that he blamed his father… it wasn’t his fault Stiles’ mother had died, just like it wasn’t Stiles’ fault that Lydia had turned out to be a horrible mother.

Stiles picked himself up, tossed back his nightly shot of whiskey, and headed up to bed. The last whiskey bottle was almost empty, reminding him that it had been nearly a month since he’d lost the support of his father. He’d estimated that if he drank a shot a night he could avoid his father’s pitfall of alcoholism while still taking in the burning liquid that made him feel close to his father. However, once his father’s stash ran out he wouldn’t be able to afford to replace it.

Something’s gotta give.


Enchanté,” Stiles beamed happily, “Welcome to Garcon’s, I’ll be your serveur today. May I interest you in our wine list?”

Stiles’ smile paid the bills. The more he enchanted the customers the better they tipped. He was lucky to have a job at the most pricey restaurant in Beacon Hills, but the tips were iffy. Every table could be that bastard who figured that an expensive restaurant meant the waiters were paid more than others or that having spent a lot on the main course meant they didn’t have to tip. So every time he went to work he put on his game face and put his troubles behind him, because this would either make or break them.

Except, Stiles clearly should have paid attention and toned down his enthusiasm, because the woman he was speaking to had been on a headset and now she was glaring at him for interrupting her phone call. Stiles winced, mouthed an apology, placed the menu and list on the table, and backed off.

“Hang on a second, Derek,” She stated sharply, “This waiter just caught my eye. Come here, you. What’s your name?”

“Uh, Stiles,” Stiles smiled weakly, “Sorry about interrupting your-“

“Speak when you’re spoken to,” She stated sharply, “How old are you?”

Stiles blinked in shock at how utterly horrible she was. He’d been mocked, humiliated, and sneered at by customers, but never treated like that before. Stiles forced the smile back on and tilted his hip, to angle for flirtatious since she was eyeing him up like a steak.

“Twenty-two,” Stiles replied, “Worried about me handling liquor?”

He gave her a sassy wink and she told the person on her phone she’d call him back. Then she pulled her phone from her pocket, toggled the camera open, and stood up to face Stiles.

“Turn your head to one side and lift your chin.”

“Ummm…” Stiles froze, “Uh, I’m not so sure about a picture…”

“Shut up and do as you’re told.”

Stiles swallowed and angled his head as told, baring his neck to her. He had a sudden chill go up his spine and wondered if this woman was a werewolf. This was far too similar to what Isaac did when he pissed off Scott.

“Smile again, like before,” She ordered. Stiles smiled and she rolled her eyes, “Flirtatiously. Idiot.”

Stiles turned on the Stilinski smoulder and was rewarded with her catching her breath and flashing the camera. He straightened up and turned the smolder down a notch.

“So, how about that wine?”

“It’s eight in the morning, dumbass,” She grumbled, fiddling with her phone, “Get me a coffee and your breakfast steak with eggs over easy and rye toast. No butter.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Stiles nodded, giving her a slight bow since it somehow felt appropriate.

Stiles scurried away to do her bidding. When he returned she was giving him a steady stare, her chin resting on her folded hands.

“Anything else you need?” He asked, placing her cup down with a bowl full of various creamers and sugars. She picked up the cup and sipped it black and burning hot, making Stiles wince, “Er… ice?”

“No, thank you.”

“Wonderful, you’re meal will be out shortly and I’ll just…”

“What did I tell you about speaking?”

Stiles made a zipping motion and hurried away to the kitchen, leaning against the inside wall once the doors swung shut. The bitch was the only woman in the restaurant at this hour and Stiles was ready to scream.

“We’ve got a nasty one on our hands,” Stiles told the chef, “Do me a favor and make that extra fucking perfect.”

“I never make otherwise,” The chef scoffed, “Why they insist on being open for breakfast I’ll never know. We only ever have Monday morning meeting customers here. The rest of the damn week is dead.”

“Boss makes so much money he might as well keep the electric on, I guess,” Stiles rolled his eyes, “You think he’d take us off tips and make us wage.”

“You’d never survive on wages,” The man laughed, “You make a killing on tips.”

Stiles shrugged. It wasn’t untrue; it was just that life was more expensive than he planned each month. Stiles kept glancing out the window at the nasty woman, but she made no indication of wanting his attention as she nursed her cup of black-as-her-soul coffee. Finally the meal was ready and Stiles headed out with the food, tilting his head submissively as he placed it down on the table with a graceful flourish.

“Your meal m- er- sorry,” Stiles blushed a bit and shut his mouth tightly.

“Don’t be,” she sighed, “I’m a bear before I’ve had my coffee and my little brother was giving me hell when you walked up. Sorry for being such a bitch.”

Stiles smiled warmly, “Hey, I get that. Siblings, right?”

“Right,” She gave him a wan smile, “What did you say your name was?”


“Interesting name.”

“it’s a nickname. My real name is literally unpronounceable.”

“You speak French, but your real name is unpronounceable?” She snorted.

“It’s Polish.”

“Aha,” She nodded, “You in school?”

“Nah,” Stiles shook his head, “I wanted to go to college but life happened, you know?”

Stiles waited for the inevitable ‘you should go back’ or ‘don’t waste your life’ that always followed, but the woman only nodded in understanding and waved her empty cup for a refill. Stiles nodded and took the empty cup and saucer, hurrying to get her more anti-bitch bean juice. When he returned she had already devoured her entire meal. Stiles gaped at her empty plate in shock and then leaned sideways to inspect her face for signs of having scarfed it down like a food eating contestant. She snorted and took the cup straight from his hand, tossing it back like a shot.

“Jesus! That was fresh brewed! Are you okay?!”

“I’m fine,” She stated with a sigh of relief, then stood up and placed a card in his pocket, “Add my meal to my tab and call me when you’re ready to get out of this hell hole.”

“Tab?” Stiles stammered, “We don’t do tabs here. This is-“

“I know where I am,” She stated sharply, “And Jerry is a personal friend. Show him the card and he’ll know what to do, but keep the card because you really, really need to get out of here. Your kid doesn’t deserve a waiter’s salary.”

“How did you…” Stiles narrowed his eyes at her, but she was already walking away, “Definitely a werewolf.”

To his completely lack of shock she half turned, glanced at him over her shoulder, flashed him red eyes, and winked saucily while showing a nasty fang-filled smile. Stiles shuddered but gave her a weak smile in return. When he pulled the card out of his pocket there was a hundred dollar bill folded around it. It was a business card with ‘Alpha~Beta~Omega’ in big letters across the top.

“Well,” Stiles sighed, “At least I can pay her bill with this.”

Stiles walked to the maître d’ who was dabbing at his head and looking poorly.

“You okay, Tom?” Stiles frowned, “Tell me it’s not another stomach bug.”

“Just our monthly run-in with Laura Hale,” The man sighed, “She’s a backer for the restaurant. Didn’t you know?”

“What? No!” Stiles’ eyes widened and he pulled out the card. Laura Hale was written in blood red ink beneath the name of her business, “I thought she was some executive or something.”

“Franklin should have warned you,” The man sighed, “She never tells us when she’s going to show up. Just appears and snarls at everyone. If her meal isn’t perfect than she lets Jerry know and he tears her victim a new one. Got the last waiter fired. Tell me you didn’t fuck with her?”

“What me? Never,” Stiles worried, “So… is that why she took my picture?”

The man frowned, “She took your picture? Weird. I mean, I know she’s got a photography business, but why would she take your picture?”

“Because I’m so damn handsome?” Stiles posed saucily, “So does that mean she really won’t owe me for the bill? Cause she kinda walked out and left me a tip only so…”

“Yeah, tips yours. Wait… she tipped?” Tom gaped at him, “What did you do, suck her dick beneath the table?!”

Stiles laughed, “She offered me a job. Maybe she was trying to butter me up.”

The man’s face went still and Stiles shook his head, “I’m not taking it, dude! Like I’d ever want to work with that first class bitch!”

“Don’t let Jerry hear you say that… or about the job offer. He’d fire you on the spot for both.”

“Damn, really? Okay, I’ll keep it on the lowdown.”

“Yeah, don’t tell anyone else. I won’t either.”

“Okay,” Stiles nodded.

“Oh, and Stiles?” Tom called as Stiles started to walk away, “Don’t take the job. Her company is weird.”

Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes, but just kept walking. Damn Tom. Now he’d peaked the Stilinski curiosity.


Stiles got home and powered up his dad’s old computer, frowning as it took ages to boot up. Then he typed in the web address at the bottom of the card and his jaw dropped as several shirtless men appeared on the screen. They all looked powerful and wild and something inside of Stiles screamed ‘werewolf’. Stiles clicked through the links and kept getting blocked by requests to pay money, but the free stuff made it clear what they were. A porn company. He’d been offered a job making porn. Apparently their main draw were DVD’s and a web series, but they’d started as a magazine and still made one once a year along with a calendar. Censored clips of their web series could be found on youtube and Stiles watched them curiously. In a world where werewolves were second-class citizens it was amazing to see an company devoted to showing them off, and showing off the fact that they were gorgeous beings. It even catered to all sexualities and genders. Stiles had expected it to be degrading, but from what he saw it was pretty empowering. So why had she wanted a human to work for her? Maybe she’d liked him in her own twisted way and wanted him to fetch coffee for her on the regular?

Stiles stared at his bills, then his computer, then the card and all the memories associated with it, and tossed it aside. He had a job. He had a good job. He wasn’t going to take a risk on a cranky bitch who got people in trouble on the regular.


“What do you mean I can’t drop him off?!” Stiles stammered.

“This is the third time your payment’s been late,” The daycare’s secretary told him, “I’m sorry, but Dylan can’t attend here anymore.”

“It’s the middle of summer! I’ll never find a replacement!”

“That’s your problem,” She stated sharply.

“I want to see my friends!” Dylan wailed, “How will I see my friends?!”

“Not now, Dilly. Listen, I can pay you. I’m just waiting for my ex to-“

“We’ve heard it all before,” She huffed irritably, “Please leave before I call the police.”

Stiles growled angrily and scooped Dylan up, carrying him out the door and back to his jeep. He placed his son back in his car seat and sat down while swearing under his breath.

The car wouldn’t start.

Stiles fumbled in his wallet for the card to his dad’s friend’s tow truck company while fighting back tears. His wallet tore and the cards scattered across his lap. Stiles swore loudly this time and in the back his son started to whimper. By the time Stiles found the card his son was sobbing brokenly and Stiles was a breath away. He dialed the number while completely losing his cool.

“Dylan, I know you’re upset but you have to stop crying! I’m trying to make a- hello? Yeah, hey George, this is Stiles! How’s it going buddy?!”

The man on the other side of the phone sighed, “I’m sorry, Stiles. I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” Stiles asked, feeling his stomach twist in dread.

“I know I said I’d be there for you when your old man died, but I’ve towed your car three times this month. For free. I’ve got a business to run. I’m sorry.”

George hung up and Stiles broke down, joining his son and sobbing brokenly in the front seat of his jeep. After a few minutes of letting himself weep he started fumbling with his cards again, trying to find another person who owed his father a favor. Hell, maybe Scott was visiting from college? Was a holiday nearby? Maybe?

Stiles jumped in alarm as someone rapped on the window and looked up, mortified to be caught crying in the parking lot of a daycare but hopeful it was the staff and they’d take pity on him, only to see Sheriff Parrish staring down at him. Stiles rolled down his window.

“The daycare called me. You can’t stay, Stiles.”

“My car won’t start and the tow truck won’t come and-“

“Pull the seat out, I’ll give you a lift home.”

Stiles wanted to protest that he needed to go to work, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Parrish was already walking back towards his vehicle, speaking into his handheld.

“Yeah, get Bob down here. I’ll cover the tow. Take it to his house. No, I can’t do that. You remember last time…”

Stiles winced. He’d lost track of how many people he owed money in the town. Apparently Parrish was one of them.

“Thank you,” Stiles told him for the third time, after reminding Dylan for the fifth time to stay at his ‘safe spot’ by the vehicle’s gas cap.

“Don’t mention it,” Parrish told him, “Sorry I don’t have the money to fix your jeep this week. I’m strapped.”

“It’s not your problem,” Stiles replied, rubbing at his eyes while adjusting the straps on the car seat.

“I know,” Parrish replied, “But I see what you’re going through and-“

That broke him again. Rage he could deal with. Pity he could tolerate. Disgust he was used to. Parrish giving him a sad smile and understanding that this was all out of Stiles’ control and he had no way to dig himself out? Stiles burst into tears again, leaning against the side of the car as it all came crashing down around him. Lydia telling him she was pregnant. Lydia leaving Dylan sitting in filthy diapers while she did her nails and he screamed in pain from a horrible rash. Lydia breaking up with him five months later, leaving him for Jackson of all people. Lydia dropping Dylan off on his doorstep in tears and telling him she couldn’t do it anymore. She wasn’t cut out to be a mom and hated their son. Making this work around his dad’s hectic schedule. Scott leaving for college and Stiles knowing he couldn’t go back, that his future was trashed. His father’s death a few years later, and the loss of the income he needed to survive. The realization that Stiles’ father had spent his pension, retirement, and life insurance money on Stiles and Dylan without telling him, leaving barely enough to pay for a funeral. The bills. The bills. The endless, consuming, life smothering bills.

Stiles barely registered his son clinging to his leg and Parrish holding him tightly, rubbing his back and murmuring supportive words in his ear. Nothing helped. Nothing would ever help. He had no way to dig himself out of piles of debt, feed and clothe his son, and maintain his life.

Parrish tilted Stiles’ head up, offering him a tissue which the trembling young man took, blowing his nose and leaning back against the car.

“I’m sorry, man. It’s just all built up and-“

“It’s fine. I get it,” Parrish told him, and Stiles’ chin quivered again. Before he could start weeping again Parrish leaned in and captured Stiles’ lips in a tender kiss. Stiles froze, shocked into not crying anymore, “Come on. Climb in. I’ll fix the carseat and we’ll get you home.”


Stiles felt sick. He couldn’t believe he’d put his son in front of the television and taken Parrish up to his bedroom and…

Stiles leaned over the toilet and threw up, not wanting to think of what was coming up at that moment. He wanted it out of his body. Out of his mind. Out of his life.

The door slammed and Stiles realized Parrish had left. He’d gotten what he wanted. Payment for Stiles’…


With his body.

Stiles staggered to his feet, tugged on his clothes despite his urgent need for a shower, and rushed outside barefoot. He opened the door to his jeep, ignoring the note on the seat about the tow truck being covered by Parrish, and dug through the cards still spread across his seat. Stiles found the one he was looking for and headed into the house, drinking a glass of water to clear up his tainted mouth.

“This is Laura Hale,” The sharp voice stated.

Stiles took a breath and his voice completely failed him. There was a long pause and then a wicked chuckle.

“Hello, Stiles. Would you like to come in for an interview today?”

“My jeep…” Stiles croaked.

“Hm, you’re worse than yesterday. I’ll send a car for you. What’s your address?”

“My kid…”

“As it happens I like children more than grown ups. Bring him along.”

“To a porn studio?” Stiles hissed.

“What do you think my office is, a boudoir? It’s rated G for the office and we’ll do a lot of spelling. I’ll have some pictures taken of you if the photographer likes you as well, but the most they’ll take off till you sign a contract with us is your shirt.”

“I thought… I thought maybe you really liked my coffee serving-“

“You want to make minimum wage? Or do you want to be able to pay for childcare and your jeep?”

“Okay. Yeah. Okay. Ready for the address?”


Stiles had never showered so fast in his life, but he took an obscene amount of time brushing his teeth. He threw on his suit that he’d worn to the funeral and hurried downstairs. He shoved a few articles of clothes, food, and books into a bag and dragged a confused Dylan to the door.

“Daddy has an interview,” Stiles stammered, “Hopefully a really, really good one.”

“Good luck, Daddy!” Dylan crowed, “Am I going to school now?”

“No, you’re coming with me and you’re going to be extra good,” Stiles ordered him.

“Okay,” Dylan replied, “Am I getting a job, too?”

“Not until you’re at least ten,” Stiles told him firmly.

The car pulled up and Stiles hurried out to it and then froze. His damn car seat was still in Parrish’s car! Stiles swallowed down his worry. He was already violating a million parental codes today, what was one more? He’d have to hope the bastard drove safe. Stiles climbed into the back and strapped Dylan in his own lap, holding him tightly as the car sped off.

“So…” Stiles started to babble as usual, “You work here long?”

The person driving glanced up in the rearview and then looked back at the road. No response.

“Okay. Awkward silence it is. I can do that. I do awkward like no one else.”

“I suggest you not babble during the interview. Laura Hale hates chatter.”

“Yeah,” Stiles sighed, “I got that impression.”

“Just be really submissive and you’ll be fine. She’s a typical alpha.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“You’ll do great, daddy,” Dylan insisted, “I love you!”

“I love you too, little guy.”


The interview was actually rather standard and conducted by someone named Erica rather than Laura Hale herself. She didn’t appear until Stiles and Dylan- who had been presented with donuts- were led upstairs to the studio. Stiles tensed at the sight of blacked out windows but when they arrived on the set his hand over Dylan’s eyes wasn’t needed. It just looked like a kitchen with only two walls.

“Derek!” Laura Hale roared, and Stiles winced at the alpha tone in her voice, “Get your A-S-S down here?!”

“Why are we spelling swear words?” A man’s voice asked.

Stiles’ heart jumped into his throat and he swallowed convulsively as a drop-dead-gorgeous man walked across the set from somewhere behind it and approached Laura by the cameras with a scowl on his face. He was wearing a burgundy Henley with sinfully tight jeans and designer sneakers. Stiles was painfully jealous.

“Because there’s a kid on the set.”

Derek glanced over at Stiles and Stiles waited for a joke about his age, but Derek’s eyes dropped lower to take in the sight of Dylan and he just nodded.

“Who’s the noob?” Derek asked.

“The human you were asking for. Found him wasting his life- and his kid’s life- as a waiter. Can you believe that B-S?”

“This is awkward and I’m not going to take off my clothes in front of a kid,” Derek replied, folding his arms, “I don’t care if his dad thinks this is cool. It’s not.”

“His dad does not think this is cool,” Stiles snapped, “His dad is frustrated and too poor to afford daycare, which disgustingly enough means I’m too poor to work. Figure that one out, I dare you.”

Derek stared at Stiles in silence for several painful minutes, “He won’t work.”

“What?” Stiles asked, his breath leaving his chest in a whoosh. Erica had just been telling him that he could make $300 in one day. More if he took off more clothes. Even more for explicit video. Stiles had been salivating and had promptly left his pride and self respect in the trashcan beside her desk.

“Yes he will,” Laura scoffed.

“You can’t keep rescuing every stray puppy you find, Laura,” Derek sighed.

Wait, he thinks Laura is nice? Man, he must be horrible! I bet he eats cute little woodland creatures alive.

“Stiles, give him your ‘my customer’s a rich b-i-t-c-h face,” Laura smirked.

Stiles shifted his weight to one foot, smiled wide, and lowered his eyelids, ducking his head just a bit as he pantomimed holding an order pad, “May I recommend the house wine? It’s a subtle variety with a slightly fruity aftertaste- much like your waiter.”

Derek raised an eyebrow, “Tilt your head to the-“

Stiles complied before he’d finished his sentence, baring his neck the way Laura had made him do before.

“See?” Laura smirked when Derek went still and his eyes widened a bit.

“The picture you sent me didn’t do him justice,” Derek stated, “Those moles are perfect. Very alluring.”

“Bitable,” Laura nodded, “Let’s see if the camera likes him.”

“I’ll take him to makeup. You get the kid out of here. This is no place for a child. If he touches something I’ll quit.”

“As if,” Laura scoffed, but headed for Stiles with a broad and shockingly friendly smile, “Hey, sweetheart! What’s your name?”

Dylan ducked behind Stiles’ leg, but peaked out and flirted shamelessly. Stiles rolled his eyes.

“Stilinski charm is a genetic predisposition. He’s cursed.”

“He’s adorable,” Laura laughed, “We have a bit of an informal daycare in Aiden’s office. He’s a sucker for kids and watches all the model’s little ones while they’re here. I’ll take him down and you can fetch him when you’re done.”

“Um… okay,” Stiles watched Dylan skip off with her while he felt increasingly not okay with the situation. He never just left Dylan with someone. He kept his son in daycare’s he’d thoroughly researched and with friends who had CPR training and had been lectured six ways from Sunday. This was outside of too many of his comfort levels.

“Makeup is this way,” Derek grunted, motioning to Stiles.

Stiles swallowed his anxiety and followed Derek to the chair. He was swarmed by a plump woman with garish makeup and clothes that could be used as a substitute disco ball. She was absolutely the sweetest person Stiles had ever met and he adored her by the time she let him up. She’d also put him heavily at ease.

“I’ll run downstairs and check on your little boy,” Garcia promised him, “I’m sure he’s fine, but I know how daddy’s can get.”

“Thanks,” Stiles smiled contentedly, then headed for the set.


Where Derek was waiting in a pair of fucking boxer briefs displaying his huge package and shapely ass for Stiles and the camera to see.

“Okay,” A voice stated from behind the lights. Stiles couldn’t see him and gave up trying, “You’re going to kneel on the kitchen floor with a scrub brush and scrub the floor. WE’ll tell you when to freeze.”

“Where’s the water?” Stiles asked, picking up a brush.

“Buckets are gross. Just the brush.”

Stiles shrugged and dropped to his hands and knees. Derek sighed in obvious disgust and walked over to him to drag him bodily three feet back. Stiles yelped in surprise but let himself be manhandled into position. Derek walked over to the elbow of the L shaped counter and leaned on it, picking up a cup and raising one of his attack eyebrows to favor Stiles with a smoldering look. Stiles’ eyes widened and he dropped his head quickly to begin frantically scrubbing at the floor.

“STOP! Look up at him like that again.”

Stiles hesitated, because this was just humiliating, and then leveled Derek with that same ‘oh fuck you’re really hot like that’ look. The camera flashed. Stiles was told to drop his head and scrub. He did so. The camera flashed. He was told to get up on his knees and crawl towards Derek. The camera flashed and flashed and flashed. Stiles was kneeling in front of Derek with his nose only a few inches from his crotch. Derek was half hard and Stiles could smell his musky, werewolf scent despite not having werewolf senses. He swallowed heavily and glanced up to see Derek looking bored. Well. That was a mood killer.

“Derek?” The director asked, “Could you engage him a bit?”

“Yeah, engage me,” Stiles huffed, “I’d like to see the eyes that match your scent.”

Derek’s eyes flew to him and both eyebrows went up, “What scent? You’re human.”

“Still have a nose,” Stiles tapped it, “Pine and cardamom.”

“Pine and…” Derek shook his head, scowling down at him, “You’re weird.”

“So I’ve heard,” Stiles shrugged.

“Stiles, how would you feel about putting your hands on Derek’s thighs?”

“Lucky?” Stiles offered, putting his hands out and placing them on either side of Derek’s package, “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” Derek snorted as if consent was just a silly thing he never bothered with.

You and Parrish.

“So, come here often?” Stiles quipped, because he had no self control whatsoever.

Derek rolled his eyes.

“Stiles, stop talking!” The director ordered.

“Sorry!” Stiles replied, “I was warned, I just-“

“He means now,” Derek growled and Stiles shut his mouth with a click.

“Both of you look interested,” The director snapped at them.

Stiles gave Derek’s package a hungry look and was rewarded with his cock twitching in his underwear. Stiles licked his lips and the camera flashed like mad.

“I want to get some tape rolling. Get Camera three on them. I want to see how he lights up,” The director ordered.

Stiles’ eyes slowly climbed Derek’s gorgeous body and met his eyes again. He didn’t look bored anymore. He looked like he was about to devour some more helpless woodland creatures. Stiles swallowed hard and his cock remembered how to get over Parrish very quickly.

“Hi,” Stiles whispered.

Derek’s eyebrow rose, “Hi.”

“So… is this going well, or…?”

“We’ll find out. Sometimes you fit the bill but the camera doesn’t love you,” Derek shrugged, “Something to do with the filters they use to stop werewolf eyes from flaring. We’re having trouble finding a human that will fit the bill and not look dead in the pictures.”

“So…” Stiles hesitated, “Why a human?”

“Popular demand. Lots of wolves want to see a human with a werewolf.”

“So naturally making me scrub your floor and suck you off…” Stiles asked, pulling his hands away as he realized they were still present.

“Hold the pose until told otherwise," Derek barked at him.

Stiles’ hands flew back, but he gave Derek a scowl. It did nothing to dissuade the werewolf’s erection. If anything it grew before his eyes, twitching and pushing at the confines of his clothes. Stiles’ eyes bugged out.

“Oh, wow.”

Derek stated, “Not necessarily. Sometimes we like a challenge.”