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A Knight, A Princess, Some Droogs, and Velma Jenkins

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When Stiles came to, he found himself sandwiched between Scott and Isaac on the cold floor in one of the empty rooms inside Derek Hale’s house. Stiles shivered, despite the two warm bodies pressed against him; the sweater from his costume nowhere to be seen. His mouth felt raw and swollen, and there was something dry and flaking pulling at the skin of his lower back. Scott made a muffled groan when Stiles reached back to inspect. In addition to the dry and flaky, there’s more bare warm skin, the coarse scratchiness of… oh god, no.

“Scott,” Stiles hissed. Scott blinked bleary eyes open, a lazy smile stretching across his face.

“Hey man.” Stiles waited for Scott to draw some conclusion from their position. When a few minutes passed without comment, Stiles huffed, annoyed.

“Aren’t you going to say anything about the fact that your bare ass is pressed against me and I’m sandwiched against your boyfriend?”

Scott furrowed his eyebrows. “Don’t you remember?”

Remember? “Remember what?” Isaac stirred beneath them, rolling over to reveal the full expanse of his bare skin. His costume is a mess of pink ribbons beneath his head like a pillow.

A pregnant pause hung heavy between them. “We had sex,” Isaac told Stiles bluntly. “I mean, we were under the influence of sex magic, but, well… yeah.”

Right.

It would certainly account for Stiles’ swollen mouth and the dry flakiness on his back that could only be one thing. He was almost disappointed that he didn’t remember what happened.

Sex magic.

Fucking witches.

+ + +

When Lydia said she’d plan the Halloween party, nobody argued. Lydia was known for her parties, her own birthday always the highlight of the year. But this year… this year Halloween stole the show. By methods no one was entire sure of, though there was a great deal of speculation about Peter being involved, Derek agreed to the party being held at Hale house. The burnt out, dilapidated shell of the house was the perfect backdrop for an atmospheric gathering. Lydia, with help from Allison and Erica, framed the windows with red Christmas lights that gave the house an eerie glow through the darkness. The light glinted off the cracked and broken glass. Inside on the main floor there were tables with assorted finger foods - too classy for this type of party, for this particular group of people - and bowls of punch framed with the cold undulating smoke of dry ice. The house was full of enough spiders and cobwebs that there was no need for further decoration.

Most of the party spilled out onto the front property; teenagers milling around as vampires, zombies, fairy-tale creatures, celebrities, and iconic television personas. The ground pulsed in time with the heavy bass of the music which was pumping out of speakers hidden beneath the front porch. Standing on the porch overlooking the proceedings stood Lydia, Allison and Erica, who had chosen to do a group costume. They looked menacing, grouped together dressed as the droogs from A Clockwork Orange. Each of them had their long hair tied in a messy braid hung over their left shoulder, their right eyes dressed up in the classic false eyelashes, black bowler hats pulled down over the opposite eye. Lydia leaned her white clad hip against her cane, hip cocked out. Allison cradled hers in her elbows, tucked behind her back, while Erica dangled hers casually over her shoulder. Anyone who had met Lydia for more than five seconds knew she was a force to be reckoned with, but her costume made her look all the more dangerous. Together they looked as though at any moment they might bring their canes swinging down to crack painfully across the back of your legs.

The party was already in full swing by the time they arrived; too much time spent bitching and complaining about their costumes before finally making it out the door. There were a lot of drunken people grinding to the music, or making out in the shadows – of which there were many. Stiles pulled at the ugly orange sweater he was wearing and frowned. Isaac next to him didn’t look particularly happy either, adjusting the sparkling plastic tiara to make it sit straight in his mess of curls. Despite their ridiculous costumes, the only real issue Stiles had was how good Isaac actually looked in the satiny pink dress he was wearing. The only normal costume between them was worn by Scott, accompanied by a smug grin, because he had come out on top in the ridiculous bet that they’d made with the girls. Scott’s left hand sat confidently on the hilt of his plastic sword at his hip. He’d gotten to be the knight in shining armour. Stiles bitterly thought that it wasn’t much of a costume.

“Well, well, well,” said Lydia as she swung her cane out and walked purposefully down the creaking front steps. “A princess, a knight, and a brain.” She grinned wide and sharp. “Did somebody lose a bet? Oh, that’s right. They did.”

Scott and Isaac shuffled their feet awkwardly, making Lydia and Erica laugh, but Stiles refused to give them the satisfaction. Velma Jenkins was smart as hell, and a total badass too boot. “I didn’t think pink was your colour, Isaac,” Erica commented wryly, and Isaac glowered.

“Shut up, Erica.”

“This is some party, Lydia,” Stiles said, crossing his arms across his wool covered chest.

“Thank you. I owe Derek until I’m dead in the ground for letting me use his house.”

“Yeah,” Scott started. “How did you con-“

“That isn’t important,” she replied sharply. “There’s food and drinks in the house.” With a snap of her fingers, the three girls turned and disappeared into the moving bodies on the grass.

“You guys want anything?” Scott asked, stepping away and up the stairs. Stiles shook his head, scanning over the party-goers to see if there was anyone he knew or could recognise. A moment later Scott returned with three plastic cups in hand. Stiles took the cup he was offered, but didn’t drink.

“Who’s that?” he asked, pointing at a figure lurking along the forest line. It was too dark to make out if it was a man or a woman.

“Probably just someone from the party, dude. Don’t worry about it.”

Stiles shrugged, and left it alone, despite the strange itch in the back of his mind that wouldn’t go away; something that told him that worrying about it was exactly what he should be doing.

Stiles wandered aimlessly around the Hale property, taking note of a basin full of water where people were bobbing for apples. After every sucking sploosh of water there was uproarious laughter when the costumed bobber failed and had to return again. Father from the house, deep amidst the trees, was a slow pulsing glow. Stiles furrowed his brow. He was well familiar with the Hale property at this point, and never in all of his years of traversing the Beacon Hills forest had he ever come across something like this. He debated going back and bringing Scott and Isaac with him, but that meant weaving through the ever growing crush of bodies, or having to explain his sudden departure to Lydia, Allison or Erica; or worse, having to deal with their wanting to come along. It wasn’t that he didn’t love and trust them, or that they weren’t fully capable of defending themselves; it was more that this didn’t feel like the type of adventure that warranted a gaggle of semi-intoxicated teenagers and werewolves.

The glow pulsed again slowly, almost blindingly bright and then fading to near darkness. It called to Stiles, and made him ignore his conscious that was stamping its foot and insisting that he not go alone. He was well practised at ignore that voice, and took the first few tentative steps towards the tree line.

“Stiles Stilinski!” Lydia. Fuck. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“I was just going to take a walk for a minute.”

“In the woods?”

“There aren’t a lot of options, if you hadn’t noticed.” He could feel his feet creeping back towards the trees without his permission. The earlier sense of disease settled in his chest heavily. He tried not to panic.

“What about the party?”

“I’ll be back!” Stiles called, and then he was being engulfed by the trees, Lydia barely a speck of white at the periphery of his vision.

Stiles turned slowly. The glow seemed much closer suddenly. It made no sense. The glow had seemed much farther only a moment ago, at least a ten minute walk, if not more. Now it seemed as though if he simply reached out his hand he’d be able to touch it, a gentle warmth against his palm. Suddenly there was a burst of light and the loud cracking boom of what sounded like fireworks. The sky lit up with red, green, gold. Stiles could vaguely hear the awed cries of the party-goers somewhere just behind him. He tried to turn, to go back to the party; but his feet stuck fast to the ground. The display overhead lasted for several long minutes, and when the last burst of colour fell from the sky, Stiles felt whatever had held him immobile suddenly released.

He didn’t care that he was wearing a skirt and a wig, or that he probably looked ridiculous. The anxious coil in his stomach tightened as he approached the house. It didn’t immediately appear as though anything was wrong; but as Stiles got closer, slowed his pace...

The first thing he saw was Lydia brandishing her costume can like a bat, ready to swing it down on some poor party guest who was cowering on the ground. Behind her came Alison and Erica, laughing gleefully and pushing people to the ground, kicking them in the ribs with their heavy black boots. To his left was a tall guy dressed as a vampire, teeth long and sharp, glistening with near-black viscosity, a girl dressed as a bunny limp on the ground at his feet.

“What the fuck is going on?” Stiles said aloud, pushing past the girls to get around the front of the house. Where was Scott? Where was Isaac? “Scott? Isaac? Where are you guys? Scott!”

In his panic, Stiles forgot to stop and consider that he was still himself. Had the glow lured him away from the party on purpose? What did it want from him? Someone big and muscular slammed into Stiles’ shoulder, his vision filling with pink satin.

Pink satin.

“Isaac!” He chased after them, keeping his sight fixed on the pink of the dress.

“Stiles!” A hand on his shoulder, stalling him.

“Scott!”

“Someone’s kidnapped Isaac. Did you see which way they went?”

Stiles pointed in the direction he had been headed before he’d been stopped. “I must rescue him! He is my princess!” Scott said, and pulled his plastic sword from its sheath.

Stiles stopped for a moment and stared. “What did you just say?”

“He is my princess.”

“Mother of god,” Stiles moaned, and when he’d removed his hands from his eyes, Scott was already cutting a swath through milling zombies, vampires, and - good sweet Christ, you are joking - werewolves. Poorly rendered werewolves, like the ones you see in bad B-grade movies. “Guess it’s up to me,” Stiles said flatly to no one. “As usual.”

He cut back around to the rear of the house, and was about to dash into the forest when he saw Lydia, Allison, and Erica, amoral droogs from a book all about senseless, amoralistic violence, crowded around two boys who were bloodied and sobbing. There was nothing, no where that Stiles could stash them, lock them up until all the craziness was resolved; none the Stiles was aware of. And even if there was, there certainly wasn’t any time available to find it before someone ended up grievously injured, or dead.

It all hinged on a hope and a prayer.

Making it to the tree line, Stiles charged around tree trunks, along the pathetic excuse for a path, all the while keeping his focus on the pulsing glow that was still faintly visible. His lungs ached as he sucked in air, and then all of a sudden he was stumbling into a clearing where three figures huddled around what looked suspiciously like a cauldron. “No way.”

“Ahh, there you are,” said a female voice. An arm wrapped around his shoulders, heavy and solid. The face which accompanied it hid behind the hood of a red cloak. “We were expecting you much earlier, but then you ran away.”

“What the hell is going on?”

A deep purple hood was drawn back to reveal a man, probably not much older than Stiles’ father. His eyes were a curious mix of brown and amber, deep set in a pale face, highlighted by the shaggy mane of black hair that hung lank around his jaw. “Magic,” the man said, his voice low. “Something you are familiar with, yes?”

Stiles shrugged.

“Ahh... don’t be so shy, Mr. Stilinski. There is magic in you.”

“As exciting as that might be to hear, I’m a little bit concerned about my friends at the moment. What did you do to them?”

The three figures laughed together. The sound made a shiver run down Stiles’ spine. “Just a bit of fun, is all. Don’t you think they’re having fun?”

“I might be a bit biased in my opinion, but, uh... no. Not really.”

The red hood was drawn back to reveal what might be considered a pretty face, cheeks flushed a rosy pink with sparkling green eyes and hair the colour of straw. The crooked mouth was pulled down into an ugly frown. She stared hard across the clearing at the man before she said, “This is the one you think we need? He doesn’t seem so special.”

“Excuse Mable. She’s just disappointed that you aren’t enjoying her little Halloween trick.”

Stiles huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. “What the hell is going on?”

“We want you to join our little coven, Stiles. We’ve been watching you for some time, and well... I think it’s safe to say we think you have some talent, and that you could use some help in fostering that talent.”

“Sorry. Not interested. Turn my friends back now.”

A dark plume of smoke shot up from the cauldron that was... it was actually bubbling... over the fire. “It isn’t exactly that easy, Stiles.”

“I’m not joining your coven.”

“Enough!” said the third figure. All eyes swung towards them as a rich golden hood was drawn back. The woman beneath had piercing blue eyes and a mass of long dark hair twisted into an untidy braid. Stiles vaguely thought she looked a bit like Alison. “I will not argue with a child. If he does not want to foster his gifts, that is his own choice. But before we return your friends to the natural states... you must do something for me.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “What?”

She unfolded a small packaged from within the folds of her robe and held it out. “Take this and plant it at the base of an oak tree. There is a piece of paper tucked against the base. Read the enchantment on it three times as you cover the package with dirt. When I know you have completed your task, your friends will return to normal.”

“This is the stupidest thing I have ever done in my life. And I have done some stupid things,” Stiles muttered as he crossed the clearing to retrieve the package, heading back the way he came without a second glance.

It didn’t take long to find an oak tree, but Stiles wanted to be as far away from those - they were witches, right? That’s what they meant by coven? - witches as possible. But time was of the essence, and a few short minutes later, Stiles found a tree and dug a shallow hole. He removed the piece of paper from the base and placed the package in the hole. With one hand he held the instructions and read the incantation three times as he filled in the hole with dirt. The words felt clumsy and unfamiliar in his mouth, but as he finished the third repetition, there was a rumbling that spread out from where he crouched. He waited for another minute, unsure if that was intended to happen. When nothing else happened, Stiles quickly began to jog back toward the house.

As he exited the trees onto the back property of the Hale house, something shivered down his spine, different than before, a warm tingle that settled at the small of his back and travelled around to sit low on his stomach. His eyes went out of focus and he blinked rapidly to clear them. As everything came back into view, he was happy to see people helping each other to their feet, a general sense of confusion in the air, but whatever injuries people had received seemed to have disappeared as well. At least that little bit of crazy had been dealt with.

“Scott,” Stiles said suddenly. He spun around, looking to see if Scott and Isaac were finding their way back to the house. He had no idea what had happened to them after Isaac had been carried off like some spoil of war, Scott charging along after. A gust of wind forced the sharp edge of a leaf against Stiles bare calf, and rather than the usual irritating scratchiness, it sent a delicious line of heat up the back of his leg, mingling with the pool of warmth sitting low in his gut.

There was the crunch of feet in the dry grass behind him, then the touch of fingers against his wrist. It was like an electric shock, a spark of electricity from him to Alison. Their eyes caught, her pupils blown suddenly wide, mouth wet with saliva, dropped open on a surprised gasp. Stiles’ skin tingled where her fingers continued to touch him. “Stiles…” she whispered, and it was practically a moan.

“Shit!” He pulled away.

“Allison? Stiles? Is that you?”

“Stay away!” Stiles shouted, scrambling back away from Allison who had a hungry look in her eye. She list forward as Stiles moved away before regaining herself, however slight.

“Stiles, what the hell is wrong with you?” Lydia touched the back of Allison’s arm to get her attention and the spark that passed between them was bright, vivid. The change in Lydia was quick, mimicking the transformation in Allison: dilating pupils, softness of mouth, heat in the eyes.

What the fuck had those witches done this time?

There was the rustle of bushes when suddenly Scott and Isaac pushed out from the trees. Isaac’s dress was torn in several places, plastic tiara long since lost. Scott grinned when he saw Stiles, jogging up to greet his friend, though he frowned when Stiles recoiled. “Don’t touch me!” Unfortunately in his haste to escape Scott’s friendly touch, he careened backwards into Isaac, who caught Stiles between broad hands.

Isaac’s hands lingered, fingers tightening slightly around the soft muscle of Stiles’ arms beneath the wool of his sweater. Scott looked confused. “What the hell is going on?”
“W-witches,” Stiles wheezed as he turned in Isaac’s grip and pulled the other boy in to press their mouths together. Isaac was quick to respond, fisting his hand in the back of Stiles’ sweater.

“What the hell!” Scott grabbed Isaac’s hand in an effort to remove it from Stiles, but the moment his fingers touched bare skin, there was another crackle of electricity, and then Scott was plastered against Stiles’ back, reaching for Isaac’s mouth over Stiles’ shoulder.

There might still have been people around; Stiles didn’t care. He was burning up sandwiched between Scott and Isaac, but delightfully so. As far as he was concerned, the world didn’t exist beyond their bubble. Then they were moving, Scott awkwardly marching them towards the house. At some point Isaac turned, wrapping long fingers around Stiles’ wrist, and dragging them inside the house, into some empty back room. At least Stiles thought it was empty.

Every touch, every brush of cool autumn air against bare skin felt amazing. Scott was furiously pulling at the plastic pieces of armour, throwing them carelessly to the floor, as Isaac struggled with the zipper of his dress. A touch on Isaac’s arm stilled his moments, and then Stiles was pulling the skirt of the dress up around his hips, slipping his hand inside Isaac’s boxer-briefs and cupping his cock. Scott’s hand found its way in after, folding around Stiles’ hand. There was a note of possessiveness behind it, despite each of their uncontrollable need.

It was messy and awkward. An uncoordinated tangle of limbs slicked with various body fluids. Stiles liked the growing ache in his jaw, the tenderness he felt in his ass, the slick stickiness of drying come on his cock. Isaac is all warm, naked skin beneath him, his satin pink princess dress ripped to shreds beneath his head, Scott a blanket across his back. As he drifted into unconsciousness, he wondered at Lydia and Allison, at their reaction to the magic – because that was undoubtedly what it was – at where they had ended up. He hoped that at the least they were safe. Scott breathed a heavy sigh against his shoulder, and a cold ripple, like a drip of water, ran down Stiles’ spine.