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the last of the great pretenders

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It happens in a bar in Indiana.

Derek doesn’t even know why he’s here. But he had to stop. The churning in his stomach worsened about 200 miles back, when he was pushing his rental car to the limit because his sister was in danger and he could feel it.

But then, suddenly, she wasn’t in danger anymore. He felt it like a hot knife in his gut and pulled over to puke his guts up on the side of the road. She’d never be in danger again. She was gone.

Numbness took over and he just couldn’t drive anymore. His feet wouldn’t work the pedals and he couldn’t focus, couldn’t do anything but wonder is this my fault too?

So there’s a bar. It’s dark and dirty and it reeks, but Derek shuffles inside and sits down. He orders whiskey and sneaks in a few drops of wolfsbane when no one is looking, briefly wonders what would happen if he dumped the entire bottle in, and finally decides against it. He has to live, at least long enough to find out why his sister died.

He’s four laced whiskeys deep when someone sits on the stool next to him and Derek’s senses are assaulted. First is the grief, deep and cloying, enough to drown in. It’s seeping out of every pore of the man next to him. Anguish and sorrow, guilt and regret so strong that Derek has only ever smelled anything like this once before: on himself, after the fire and nearly every day after.

But underneath are other familiar smells, silver and gunpowder and leather and blood. Derek’s too far gone to hide his visceral response to the hunter, turning and letting his eyes flash blue, fangs extending. To his surprise, the guy barely reacts. He pauses with his shot glass touching his full bottom lip, eyes on him as he knocks it back. “Werewolf.” He says it like a greeting. His voice is rough and ragged, raw like he’s been screaming.

The response is nonchalant enough that Derek blinks, teeth itching as his fangs retract and his eyes flicker back to their normal color. “Hunter.” Derek looks him over, making note of his sandy dark hair and green eyes. He’s obscenely beautiful and he thinks of Kate before he can stop himself. The resemblance makes him sick. “Are you with the Argents?”

If the guy replies in the affirmative in any way, Derek will take him out back and rip his throat out.

“Never heard of ‘em,” the guy replies, knocking back another shot. Derek is still tensed like he’s expecting a fight. Hunters are bad. Hunters have destroyed everything. The guy looks over at him, eyes traveling up and down like he isn’t the least bit threatened. Derek’s wolf bristles at the insult. “Look man, you killed any humans recently?”

“No,” Derek replies instantly, because he would never. He’s not a killer. The guy nods and picks up yet another shot, toasting him and giving a dry smirk.

“Well then, I really couldn’t give a shit about what you are right now.” He tosses back the liquor and winces before letting his head hang, shoulders bowed. His emotions are heady, thick and sticky in Derek’s nose and throat. The blood on the guy’s knuckles stings his nostrils, but Derek doesn’t smell anyone else on him. It’s like he’s been punching walls.

Derek is enthralled with the stench, just because it’s so much like his own. How could Laura ever stand to be around him when he stank so badly? His wolf howls at the thought of Laura and he bows his head, grief paralyzing him.

By the time Derek looks back up, there’s another whiskey in front of him and another row of shots in front of the hunter. Any regular human shouldn’t be able to stand with so much alcohol in their blood, but the hunter is just staring at him, blunt fingers wrapped around another glass.

“I know that look,” he says roughly, tipping his glass at Derek before knocking it back. “Better drink up, ‘cause that ache ain’t going away.” Derek puts a few more drops of wolfsbane into his whiskey, not really caring if this hunter sees. He just raises an eyebrow and watches as Derek takes a long swallow. “Who’d you lose?”

“My entire family,” Derek bites out, surprised by his honesty. The guy smirks wryly and Derek is ready to growl and lash out with claws and teeth, but he’s stopped short when the guy just lets out a shuddering breath and says “me too.”

--

Derek isn’t quite sure how it happens, but he’s in a sleazy motel room with a hunter. It reeks of other people and sex, the dankness of mold and spilled alcohol, the sharp acidic tang of drugs. He buries his nose in the guy’s neck and inhales, letting out a pleased growl when he tips his head back and exposes his throat. The guy’s a hunter, knows Derek is a werewolf. He knows what that means.

Derek bites down with blunt, human teeth just to gauge a reaction and the guy stills, tensing and letting out a breath. He presses up, pushing against Derek’s teeth, and he lets them lengthen to points. The guy groans and ruts against him, pushing up until Derek’s fangs break skin without him applying any pressure at all.

“The last time I fucked a hunter, she burned my family’s house down,” he grits out. He grabs the guy’s hair and yanks his head back, licking over the mark he’s left on pale, freckle dusted skin. “What’s to say you’re any different?”

“I know what fire can do.” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it, only pain. “I know what it can take away, trust me.”

Trust you.” Derek lets out a bitter snort and bites again, fangs scratching along his skin. “I should tear your throat out.”

“You woulda done it already,” he grits out, grinning cockily and pushing his hands into Derek’s coat to grip his hips. “It’d be a lot more fun if you just fucked me.”

Derek pulls back to look at him. His eyes are dark green, wicked and dark and dangerous. He looks like he doesn’t really care one way or the other if he lives or dies. He’s trying to grin but it’s more of a sneer, a grimace, too many teeth showing behind bitten-red lips. Derek shows his own teeth right back, fangs elongated and eyes flashing.

The guy surges forward for a hard kiss, thin skin of his lips tearing on Derek’s fangs. He grunts at the taste of blood and kisses him back, pulling him forward by the lapels of his coat only to slam him back against the door hard enough to make him gasp.

Derek presses his face close and snarls at him, eyes glowing as he snaps his teeth. Another pretty hunter and Derek’s cock is jumping for it. There’s something wrong with him, deep down at his core. He’s angry at the guy for making Derek want him, angry at him and every hunter alive, angry at the whole world.

The hunter just licks his bloody lips and gives him a challenging look, meeting his eyes for a long moment before finally tipping his head back against the door. Derek growls at the long, tempting line of his throat and bites. He leaves marks from his jaw to his clavicle while he tears at his clothes. He strips him of his coats and when he’s down to just his undershirt he stops, nosing at his shirt and inhaling. There’s another’s scent on the cotton. It’s male and at its base, not that much different than the hunter’s. “Your brother,” he says quietly, coming to an understanding.

The guy lets out an angry sounding snarl and pushes Derek towards the bed, teeth snapping at his jaw. Derek lets himself be pushed down, lets the guy’s hard body fall on top of him even as he grabs and bites. He takes him by the shoulders and shakes him until he stops and looks Derek in the eye. Derek has only ever seen such agony when he looks in the mirror.

“My sister,” he says quietly, fingers digging into the guy’s arms. “Everyone.”

The hunter stares down at him and reaches a hand out, fingers brushing his cheek. The act is almost tender, his eyes flickering with understanding before they go cold again. He crushes their mouths together in a bruising kiss and it’s almost like he’s punishing himself. Derek gets that, he understands.

He wants it too.

They struggle with their clothing, stopping to grapple and push and bite, teeth dragging and nails cutting. There’s so much wolfsbane in his system that he’s healing slowly, but the guy isn’t healing at all. He’s bruised and bleeding and Derek likes it. He likes bruising the guy up, making him bleed.

He slams his naked body down onto the bed, staring down at the expanse of him. A hunter, all marked up by his teeth. Kate never let him mark her, would push him away and leave if he ever tried. But this guy? This nameless hunter? He wants it.

Derek grabs his knees and spreads his legs wide, looking down at his stiff cock and heavy balls, the tight pink clench of his hole underneath. Derek has been with guys before. They’ve always been safer.

He crawls on top of the hunter, grabbing his wrists and pinning his hands over his head. He grunts and pushes up uselessly, testing Derek’s hold. He relaxes down against the bed like he enjoys being pinned down, bruised neck bared like he trusts Derek. Or more likely, he just doesn’t care what happens to him.

He brings their bodies together, thrusting his cock against the groove of his hip as he continues to mark him, sharp bites down the column of his throat, across his collarbones and the tops of his shoulders. The guy reacts to every bite with a groan or a grunt, hips rocking up against Derek’s. He noses at the tattoo just under the guy’s clavicle, sliding his tongue over it before biting down. The guy stiffens at that, squirming like he’s trying to buck Derek off for real.

“You gonna keep biting me or are you gonna let me suck your cock?” That makes Derek look up, eyeing the guy’s mouth. It’s puffy and red and Derek would be fucking stupid to say no. He growls and crawls up his body, spreading the guy’s arms and pinning them down with his knees as he straddles his face. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

“Shut up.” He reaches down to grab his cock, pulling the foreskin back and tapping it against that ridiculous mouth. The guy’s rough stubble brushes his shaft and he jerks, sticky fluid leaking out. He lifts his head, straining against the hold Derek has on his arms, and licks at it. He’s so fucking eager for it, muscles in his neck straining as he tries to get it in his mouth. “Jesus.”

Derek pushes forward, shoving his cock along the guy’s tongue until it hits the back of his throat and he chokes. He immediately starts sucking, lips wrapped tight around the shaft and tongue wriggling underneath. Bright green eyes look up at him from under honey-tinged lashes and Derek starts to thrust, hips rolling forward as he fucks the guy’s hot mouth.

His hands clench uselessly from where Derek has them pinned and he almost lets him go, almost lets him touch him. Almost. Instead he reaches down to cup the guy’s cheeks, thumbing at the corners of his mouth as he thrusts in harder, biting his lip as the guy’s eyes water. He keeps it up until he’s close and resists the urge to come all over the guys too-pretty face, pulling back and watching him gasp for air. He leans down to kiss him, rough and deep, tongue sweeping the inside of his mouth. He tastes himself on the guy’s tongue and he growls, sucking on it and pulling back with a sharp nip to his swollen bottom lip.

“Is your ass as good as your mouth?” Derek growls, sliding back to push his thighs wide. The guy shakes his hands like he’s trying to regain feeling, looking up with a cocky smirk that dissolves into a moan when Derek pushes a spit-slick finger into his hole. “You’re tight. Thought a hunter who’d give it up so easy to a wolf would be fucked loose.”

“You say the sweetest things.” The guy chuckles and tilts his ass up, pushing back against Derek’s finger. There’s too much of a drag and Derek slides down, pushing the guy’s legs up over his head and leaning in to lick at his hole. He tastes good, musky and clean, and Derek growls as he gets him sloppy wet, working him open on his tongue. The guy bites back his moan, hips giving aborted little thrusts against Derek’s mouth. He indulges the guy until he can get three fingers in easy, crooking them up and rubbing until the guy finally has to cry out. Derek grins and slides back up, pushing one leg up by the back of his knee and positioning his cock.

He watches the guy’s face as he pushes in, pressing forward steadily until he’s buried to the base. The guy grits his teeth against the push, blowing out a breath and opening his bright eyes to look up at Derek, who has taken a slight pause. “This ain’t prom, asshole. Fuck me.”

Derek growls again, gnashing his teeth and pulling out almost all the way, only to slam back in so hard the guy’s perfect teeth clack together. “That better? This what you want?”

The guy doesn’t respond, too busy clawing up Derek’s hips and getting his blood under his fingernails. Derek lets his legs fall around his waist, propping himself up with one hand on the bed next to the guy’s head and the other on his thigh. He fucks him at a brutal pace, slamming his hips forward with enough force to shove him up the bed. But the guy seems to be all for it, crying out and leaking all over his belly. His cock is red and stiff, dripping from the head.

But Derek isn’t ready to come yet, so he doesn’t get to either. He leans down for another kiss, more biting at his mouth while he pants than anything else. The guy’s hands slide up through the sweat on his back, pressing between his shoulder blades and against his tattoo. Derek grabs his hands and shoves them up over his head, turning his head to bite at his tricep and nose under his arm.

“Fuckin’ wolves,” the guy grits out, and Derek actually snorts. He covers it quickly, growling and biting just above his nipple, leaving a deliberate mark. He pulls out and the guy barks his displeasure, but Derek quickly flips him over onto his belly and pulls him up onto his knees. He pushes back in and it’s better now. He can get deeper this way, can angle his hips to hit just the right spot. “Doggy style? Color me surprised.”

“You got a fucking mouth on you,” Derek grits out, and the guy just laughs as he grinds back against his cock.

“As you’ve noticed,” the guy responds, and Derek pulls out until just the head of his cock remains. He holds the guy by the hips and looks down at his hole, dark pink and puffy and dripping wet. After a second’s hesitation, he slams in hard, rutting in as deep as he’ll go. That shuts the guy up, makes him crumple until his shoulders hit the mattress. He keeps his ass up in the air for Derek to fuck, which is a nice gesture.

He leans down to leave bites down his spine, across the broad width of his freckled shoulders. Derek is covered in sweat and his hands slip on the guy’s skin. He’s a quivering mess at this point, but he’s still pushing back against Derek’s thrusts and biting back his moans, like he doesn’t want Derek to know how good it feels. But the smell of arousal is cloying, heavy in the air and sticking to the inside of Derek’s nose.

He reaches down to grip his cock and the guy twitches in his grasp, forcing himself back onto his hands and knees. Derek strokes him roughly and bites the back of his neck, burying himself in deep and nudging his prostate. “Gonna come for me?” He growls out, licking at the sweat on his neck. “I know you want to. I can smell it.”

The guy lets out a strangled cry and stills, sucking in a breath as he comes all over Derek’s fingers. The scent is sharp and heady and Derek closes his eyes as he takes it in. He strokes him until he starts to soften and whine at the sensitivity. Derek pulls his hand away and wipes it across the guys back, smearing his come into his skin. He leans down to lick it as he starts to thrust again, a little slower this time so he can revel in the slick drag of it.

Once he’s close, he drags his tongue up to the back of the guy’s neck and bites down hard, pinning him in place as his thrusts go erratic. He growls against the guy’s skin as he comes, shooting hard from where he’s buried inside him. The guy moans and drops down to his shoulders again, sliding his hands out to the side.

Derek laps mindlessly at the back of his neck as he comes down from his orgasm, rutting instinctively against his ass. Once he remembers where he is, he pulls back and slides out, taking a moment to admire the way his come leaks out of the guy’s hole, slick and open and messy. He growls his approval and flops down onto his back next to the guy, who still has his face pressed into the bed.

The guy spends a few moments gasping for air, but soon he’s chuckling and shaking his head, muscles bunching as he gets his arms under himself and turns onto his side. Derek looks over at him with a cool expression, hands resting on his belly while his cock goes sticky-soft against the groove of his hip.

“What a ride,” the guy snorts, reaching up to scrub at his face. He gets up and walks unsteadily to the bathroom and Derek hears the screech of water rushing through old pipes. Derek wonders if he should leave, but the bed is soft and doesn’t even smell so weird now. It smells like him and the hunter, his spicy burnt-wood scent which should be terrible but somehow isn’t. He hasn’t slept in days, he realizes as his eyes close.

He’s close to sleep when the guy comes back out, pulling the towel from his waist and scrubbing at his short brown hair. The look he turns on Derek is speculative and he kicks his foot where it’s hanging off the side of the bed. Derek growls and jerks to awareness, glaring at him.

“You should stay here tonight,” the guy tells him, and Derek starts to sit up with a shake to his head. “Not with me. I’ve, uh, got somewhere to be.” He pulls on his clothes, hissing when rough denim slides up over his bites and scratches. Derek could take the pain away. He doesn’t. “But you should keep the room. Get a good night’s sleep before you go get the bastard that killed your sister.”

Derek’s eyes go a little wide and immediately narrow. He doesn’t say anything.

“I know what the beginning of a revenge crusade looks like,” he says as he sits down next to Derek to pull on his socks and boots. “Been on a few of them myself. They really take it out of you.”

“Is that right,” Derek finally says, clearing his throat. “What if it was a hunter that did it?”

“Fuck ‘em,” the guy replies casually, slapping his hands down onto his thighs once he’s done. He looks so much different with all his clothes on, so many layers hiding the fragile body underneath. Derek can only see the barest hints of his marks peeking out over the top of his collar. “Family’s the ultimate trump card.”

Derek just nods and pulls himself into a sitting position, looking over at him. “I don’t know what happened yet.”

“You’ll figure it out. Argents, you said?” Derek resists the urge to flinch at the name and nods again. “Well, I don’t know ‘em, but odds are they know me. If they give you any trouble, just tell them Dean Winchester’s on your side and that should hold them at bay.”

The name sparks some memory in Derek. Members of the Manhattan pack would tell horror stories of the Winchesters. They’re a scary story. They’re the boogeymen, and it looks like Derek just fucked the last remaining one.

“Dean,” he says, testing the name out on his tongue. “You’re different, you know. Than the rest.”

“So I’ve been told.” There’s a wry, bitter curve to his smirk that makes Derek want to learn more about him, but he stamps the feeling down. It won’t do him any good. “So you know my name. Gonna give me the honor?”

“Derek,” he gets out, because his name isn’t worth much. “Hale.”

“Well, Derek Hale. Thanks for the good time.” He gets up and scribbles something on a piece of paper on the nightstand. For a baffling moment, Derek thinks it’s his phone number. “This is the number for Bobby Singer. He’s a hunter, but he’s good people. You got any questions or anything, he can help you out. I’ll give him your name.”

“Why are you helping me?” He can’t help but to ask. He looks up at Dean, who just takes a deep breath and meets his eyes.

“I know what it’s like, to be where you are.” He finally says, sinking his teeth into his fleshy bottom lip. “And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do, no lengths I wouldn’t go to. No lines I wouldn’t cross.” Derek nods because he knows. That’s where he’s at now. “That’s why.”

Derek swallows hard and looks down at the musty carpet. He feels like he’s standing at a precipice, on the edge of something big. There’s no turning back from this. Dean’s large, calloused hand comes down on his shoulder and squeezes hard, patting once before letting go.

When Derek looks up, it’s to see the door closing. He huffs and falls back onto the bed. It reeks of sex and sweat, of smoky wood hunter, but somehow he finds sleep.

Tomorrow, he goes back to Beacon Hills.