Fucking Peter and his mind games. Derek shifts from foot to foot, tempted, so frigging tempted just to go inside the apartment and let it happen. The female inside is aware, is excited. He could go in there, let nature take its course. She smells good to his wolf, and perhaps his uncle would leave Derek the fuck alone if he gave in and performed stud duties.
Just the thought of it, though – a child, part of the pack and yet not truly Derek’s- no. He thinks of his parents, his brothers and sisters and everything in him recoils.
He swallows hard, tries to ignore the low-level arousal triggered by the knowledge that someone is there, warm and fertile and ready to be mounted-
He growls, spins on his heel, and runs. He gets back in the Camaro and drives until Beacon Hills is behind him, on to the outskirts of the next town and he leaves the car there, at a strip mall. He keeps going on foot, knows he’s in no state to drive safely now, with the mating moon close to rising and so very near to full and the urges beginning to hit.
He has one last bolthole of safety, an apartment Peter knows nothing about, and Derek heads there by the longest route he can manage, treks through garbage and stormwater drains on the way to ensure his scent is drowned out by the city. He can hunker down there and endure the mating moon until it passes. He always has before.
His route takes him through what this town would laughingly call a red-light district – half a block, really, of varying levels of desperation. Dealers and whores linger in half-shadows, drifting forward at the sight of a likely customer, a slow moving car or a shuffling junkie. They’re not sure what to make of Derek, his steady run, and he slows his pace a little, doesn’t want to draw the wrong attention, not with this itch under his skin and his control half-shredded.
He slows to a walk, takes in a deep breath and damn near falls to his knees.
That scent. Saliva floods his mouth, he breathes in deeper and swallows, fuck, what is that? Like fresh bread and clean sheets, enticing and new and damn near addictive after just a few seconds exposure. He breathes in deep, hands shaky, and lifts his head, searching.
There’s a blonde kid under the street light, probably twenty or so, starting toward Derek with a practised slink, and nearer to the corner he spies a long, lean silhouette in a darkened doorway. The details he can make out would barely be visible to human eyes in the dark - close-cropped dark hair and pale, pale skin. Derek walks past the blonde like he isn’t even there, eyes fixed on his target, circling toward that divine scent, the pull getting stronger with each step.
“Hey,” the brunette says, low and inviting, only half-turned toward Derek, enough to show the rare colour of his eyes. At some point he’s learned enough to be wary of the blonde, who has taken a step forward, fingers curling into fists. Derek glares at the blonde warningly and he huffs out a breath and turns away, switching focus to a car that’s cruising the block.
Derek turns his gaze back to the amber-eyed boy. His hands are clenched against the urge to grab, to sink his face into that smooth, pale throat and just breathe. He has to, oh God this isn’t just about the moon but it’s worse tonight, urge getting stronger and he needs. His hands are still hands and not claws, teeth still human, but keeping it that way robs him of any finesse which is why he leads with, “How much for a whole night?”
“The whole night?” The kid says, startled. It makes his mouth a perfect, tempting ‘o’ and just like that Derek hears the truth of what he really wants slip from his lips.
“Three nights. The next three nights, you and me.”
“Uh.” The kid just stares. “That’d be... alot,” he says, clearly too stunned to think. Or too tired, maybe, the skin around his eyes is smudged dark with weariness.
Derek’s skin is itching, the scent of the boy drifting out to him, tempting as sin and he says, “Five thousand?”
Oh for crying out loud, this kid needs a keeper. At least it means he hasn’t been doing this long, isn’t hardened enough to keep up his poker face.
Derek licks his lips, feels his head clear a little from the haze of sex to an odd protectiveness. Screw it, he’s just gonna lay it all out there. “Nights and days,” he says, softly, enticing.
The kid blanches. “Days too? What the hell- let me look at you,” he demands suddenly.
Derek steps forward into the brightness under the street light. He usually gets a better reaction than the way the kid pales and shakes his head, hands coming up as if to defend himself.
“No, oh shit no. What the hell is your kink, man. What exactly are you wanting to do to someone for three full days and nights-”
“What? Nothing. Well, nothing terrible. Fuck. Suck. The usual,” Derek says, hopelessly confused.
“No way. No way someone who looks like you has to pay for that, you’re like, into heavy pain or unsafe bloodplay or some kind of weird shit, sounding or figging or-”
“No,” Derek interrupts, biting back a laugh. For a moment the wolf had snarled in rage at being rejected by this boy. This makes sense, though – he’s smart, this kid, he’s trying for careful. “No. I just. I don’t have anyone and I don’t want to go out and...” he flaps a hand to try and convey the exhaustion of trawling through a club, a bar, “go through all the bullshit. I want to just-” he stops and takes a ragged breath, eyes flying to the boy, knowing the raw hunger is all over his face.
He takes a shambling step forward. “I want to fuck, I want someone with stamina.” he says, low and rough, “I want someone who knows what they’re getting into and who’ll stay until I’m done.”
“Jesus,” the kid breaths. “Did you just get off a frigging submarine or out of a monastery or something, if you’re that horny?”
Derek lets out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. You could say that. It’s been a while.”
“Hungry,” the kid says, awed. His eyes flick up and down Derek’s body. He sucks in a quick, sharp breath and that’s when Derek knows he has him. “Ten thousand,” he says after a moment, a challenge.
“Done,” Derek says without hesitation. That pretty jaw drops.
“You are fucking kidding me.”
He shakes his head, and the kid’s face twists. They both know the immediate agreement means he could have asked for more and Derek would have happily paid it.
“Shit,” he says faintly, almost to himself. “It’s almost worth the risk that you’re a serial killer.”
“I’m not a fucking serial killer,” Derek growls, offended, and yeah, possibly that wasn’t the most reassuring way to deliver that message.
Big amber eyes blink at him.
Derek sighs and drags himself under control. His usual surly glares are not going to help this situation. He’s going to have to – he winces internally – talk. “What’s your name, kid, and don’t-” he raises a hand, “don’t ask me what I want it to be. Make one up yourself, if you have to.”
“S-Sam,” the kid says, and Derek’s eyes narrow.
It’s a movie character, or a comic book reference, he’d bet his left nut on it. He shrugs, then, and says, “I’m Derek.”
Eyebrows go up. “That almost sounds like a real name.”
Derek eyebrows ‘Sam’ right back.
“Right,” Sam says faintly, “because a guy who’ll pay an underage hooker ten grand has nothing at all to hide.”
“Ah, fuck,” the kid says, sounding suddenly exhausted, “me and my big mouth.” He slumps back against the wall and sends Derek a pleading glance, “Look, only by about two weeks. I swear.” He raises his hands and widens his eyes, possibly the same thing he does in his fucking high school French class or whatever when he hasn’t done his fucking homework.
Jesus H. Christ. Derek pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.
The wolf doesn’t care. The wolf doesn’t give two flying fucks what the law says about statutory rape and age of consent, the wolf only cares that this kid will taste like summer and trees and cool, bare earth and mate.
“Yeah,” he hears the kid say faintly, too faintly for human ears. “Genius move, Stiles.”
“I can’t, this,” Derek says, clinging to some kind of humanity, some semblance of right and wrong. He’s not an animal-
“Look, Derek,” Sam says, and he is suddenly very close, warm hand on Derek’s forearm overwhelming his capacity for thought for a moment and reducing him to pretty much a panting pup. “It’s pretty obvious that I – I need the money. Please. This would,” he swallows, licks his lips and Derek very nearly growls. “I don’t want to be doing this.” He gestures behind him, where Derek has been filtering out the sound of the blonde slurping his way through a blow job in the front seat of the car just around the corner from where they’re standing. “And if you-”
“Fuck,” Derek says, with feeling. “Fuck my goddamn fucking life.” He’s a moron for hesitating, even for a second. Because if he’s not paying the kid for it, someone else will be. Plenty of someone else’s already have. At least Derek will treat him right. At least he’ll be safe.
He takes one shuddering breath. “All right, kid. Yeah.”
And then Sam laughs, suddenly. “Wow. Great. So glad I convinced you.” All his nerves are back in his voice again, at the idea of what he’s agreed to.
Derek just shakes his head.