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Little Lamb

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Stiles couldn’t believe it. He’d made it. Well, making it out of high school wasn’t the hard part. He was a smart kid—intelligent even—and he made the grades. Scott was the one he’d had to worry about. Getting into college though, especially a state university like this. Well, okay. Still not hard for him. But getting Scott in had been a chore and a half. And now, here he was.

Rushing a fraternity party.

He had to remind himself to give Scott the several thousand swift kicks in the ass he owed him for once again, not coming through for hm. Sometimes he wondered at why they were friends in the first place because really, agreeing to rush a frat with one’s best friend and then ducking out at the first beck and call of his girlfriend.

That was just not right man.

He sniffed at the thought and returned to the party because the party was kicking. Only problem, he had no idea what he was doing. And with no Scott to help boost his confidence and spirits, because that’s how it always worked with them. Scott was an idiot potato but still got the girl and Stiles was forever at his side but hey, at least he got to forever prove his superiority to baser best friend.

When it came to actually knowing stuff and the art of sarcasm anyway. For some reason, and it was a working theory of Stiles’s, the baser men were the ones who seemed to get the girl. Whoever decided that was the way—he glared upward—really did not take their smart pills that day of existence.

Deciding he had spent enough time cowering—he was not cowering—in the corner, Stiles pushed away and made himself move through the crowd with difficulty. He made it to the punch table and poured himself a glass. He had no doubt it was spiked but his somewhat moral compass had him sniffing it. Then taking a drink. After all, it was only a partial model compass.

He coughed, not expecting that much alcohol. Was the point not to be inconspicuous with the booze. That was the point of spiking. He sighed at what the brains of the neanderthals must look like. Maybe it wasn’t so hard to get Scott in after all. He drank again and gasped as it burned down his throat.

Someone liked a little punch with their vodka. Well then. At least if he was assured of one thing that night—and it wasn’t a bid (but honestly, did he really want one)—it was that he would be sufficiently smashed. He grinned as he took another drink.

Bring it on.

But even with all his forced bravado, he wanted the bid. A bid. Even if he didn’t make it in, a bid meant he beat out someone. For once.

Getting in.

That meant he belonged.

He grumbled at himself. Stupid men and built in pack mentalities. He sighed as a sinking feeling settled into his stomach. How would he get a bid? No one was talking to him. No one was even looking at him.

Except.

Stiles’s brows furrowed as the hair rose at the back of his neck. His amber eyes looked around fiercely. They landed on. Oh shit.

If men had pack mentalities and this was the wolf pack then that there—heading toward him like a month to a freaking bug zapper—was definitely the Alpha. Huzzah for analogies He loved analogies. Or was it similes Similes used ‘like’ right? Oh he couldn’t think right now with Mr. Leather headed his way.

Somehow, Stiles found his back pressing back against the wall. When he had started moving, he had no idea. But now he had a very unhelpful piece of building in the way and the other was right there. What was his name?

Derek. Derek Hale.

Right. He had been thinking it a very frat, rich boy sort of name but this guy. He didn’t really give off the posh attitude. Of course, none of these guys did really. It was why he had chosen this place against the others. They seemed… cooler somehow. And they were nicknamed the Wolf Pack. That was pretty awesome. In fact, he couldn’t think of their actual name. The one with the greek letters and he was pretty sure alpha was one of them, which made it kind of ironic.

Also that they were called the Wolf Pack anyway. Their mascot was a lion. Interesting really.

His body was shivering as the other moved right into his space, placing a hand against the wall looking to all the world as if he merely were resting against it and not crowding Stiles in like some kind of… prey.

Okay, then.

“Lost, little lamb? You look lost,” the other commented softly—dangerously, his mind supplied—with a grin that seemed to pop out of nowhere because a moment ago he was all scowls. And this grin-smirk-thing really shouldn’t have made him more ridiculously attractive than he already was—and oh he was so very ridiculously attractive, it should be a sin—but it was.

“Hah, no. Okay. Um. Naw, dude. I’m—I’m alright. Peachy keen, jelly bean.”

He gave a nod. Just to further his alright status. The other just stared, his grin—no smirk—growing.

“That so?”

Stiles nodded rapidly, his mouth parted as he trued to remember to breath much less do anything else semi-productive with his body. Just those eyes and that damned-be-it-to-Hell smirk. Well. He could maybe fool everyone else but he wasn’t fooling himself.

They were doing things to him in the arousal department.

“Psh, yeah. Yeah. Just… enjoying the party.” He trailed off at the end as the other’s mouth parted slightly. His own mouth stayed parted and his tongue slid across his lower lip. He watched as Derek’s eyes followed it, mocking it with his own rather attractive looking tongue.

What the hell? Attractive looking—OKAY!

Stiles pressed back harder against the wall, Derek having shifted so his hand was no longer holding him off him but his forearm was.

“S-So. Good turn out this year, huh?”

Stiles had no idea what he was saying. He wasn’t even there last year so he had no idea how they did. Not mention this was one of the most popular fraturnities at UCLA and so it wasn’t likely there was ever a year with what could be considered a bad turn out.

Derek shrugged and just watched him, his sour look back. Stiles found he didn’t like that look so much, even if the grin was a little creepy. It was hot. And seemed to favor him. So he tried again.

“See anything you like?”

Okay, well that’s not the way he meant to word it. But the grin was back. Actually. It was more than back. It took on a whole new form. Not entirely sure how that was possible but it was definitely dirty and had Stiles’s insides warmed up nicely.

“Yeah. I do.”

Stiles let out a nervous chuckle with a little half grin. The breathy, stuttering kind of chuckle. Then his eyes glanced to Derek’s mouth again and he licked his lips.

“Yeah?”

Derek snorted.

“Come on, little lamb,” he said, leaning in. His breath hit Stiles’s ear, making him shiver. “I can show you the right way.”

“Hah… ah.” He cleared his throat a few times before nodding. “Chyeah? Mmkay, yeah.”

Derek smirked and moved off him, heading back through the crowd. Stiles had no question as to whether he was meant to follow or not. He collected himself quickly and swallowed hard as he pushed away to follow the path Derek Hale had taken.

Well then. He was at a fraternity party, about to be laid by the fraternity president himself, and Scott was nowhere to be seen.

Guess he really didn’t need his best friend.

Scott? Scott who?

Stiles Stilinski was the man.

“Lamb.”

Stiles’s eyes looked up to meet Derek’s and he grinned goofily.

Or lamb. That worked. That worked too.

“Coming!”

Oh, and he knew he would.

Come that was.

Several different times, in no doubt, many. Many. Many positions.