~Stiles
It's been two fucked up years.
Fucked up, but not exactly horrible.
I could argue that having the mystical world of Lycanthropy become such a huge reality to me pretty much overnight screwed me over, seeing as I'm literally the only one now in my social group who lacks abilities of some sort. Meaning that I tend to be the one drawing the short straw in the Game of Luck more than anyone in the group. I mean yeah, I figure a lot of shit out before anyone else does. But by the time they actually stop and consider that maybe I have some pretty damn good instincts, I usually end up getting beaten up. Or paralyzed. Or kidnapped. Sometimes a combination of the three. On the other hand though, the whole thing gave me a whole new friend set.
That's really the only pro. But I can deal with that.
What I can't deal with (and I can deal with A LOT) is sitting here in Derek's loft watching Scott and Isaac 'train', when in actuality all they're doing is rolling on the ground trying to break each other's limbs and pretend they're not fighting about Allison. We've all guessed for weeks that Isaac has liked her, but of course Scott and his thick skull didn't notice until Danny pointed it out to him this week. I get that she's hot, but I've had my sights set on Lydia since 3rd grade so I don't really get the fuss. I really do wish things were working out with Lydia, but I feel like that ship sailed when she held her dying boyfriend and told him she loved him. Granted, he kind of came back to life right after but you get my point. Shit's not gonna happen.
Breaking out of my little ADD trance, I look up when I hear Isaac slam into the wall behind me. How Derek never gets noise complaints from anyone else in the building I'll never understand. Scott stands in the center of the room fuming, and looking back I can see Isaac's shoulder is dislocated. So much for the rest of training. Isaac hobbles over to Scott and Derek, looking pathetically childish holding his elbow and staring at the ground. I sort of feel bad for him, but then I remember that their fighting was seriously annoying me. It reminded me of my pathetic lack of a love life. I dig through my backpack, put on my headphones, and close my eyes.
Seven songs later, I wake up to a face full of concrete. I look up from my awkward face-down position to see Derek walking away from me and towards the window. That douchebag.
"What the hell Derek. What. The. Hell."
Derek doesn't even look back. "You were drooling on my couch."
"And that gives you an excuse to practically break my nose?"
"Yes."
I look over at him and see immediately that something was up. He was squatting, resting ass to heels. Not only that but he held his head in his hands, tilted down to the floor. I noticed Derek was doing something other than pacing, standing completely straight or sleeping, so instantly I changed my tone.
"What's wrong with you?"
This time Derek turned his head to look at me. "You don't need to know. But you do need to leave. Scott and Isaac left over twenty minutes ago."
I look down at my phone. Shit. I should have been home by now, I had homework to do. I grabbed my backpack and started to walk out the door, but something made me look back at Derek. He was watching me, but the look on his face seemed almost sad. He turned away quickly, but I knew I couldn't leave him like this. I walked back in, sat back on the couch and regretted it instantly when I felt my butt get wet with my spit. Shuddering a little, I turned my attention to Derek and watched with surprise as the look on his face changed from sad to confused to curious in about 2 seconds. I really had no idea what to say, so I basically sat and stared at him for a good 20 seconds before he started to talk.
"Why are you staring at me."
Really inventive there Derek. He didn't even phrase it as a question, simply a statement that he suspected would give him the immediate results of me looking away like it would with his pack.
Unfortunately for him, I once stared at a wall for over five minutes straight without blinking. "Your moodiness is pissing me off today."
He was up and in my face in half a second, eyes flashing red in an obvious effort to intimidate me.
"Is it Stiles? Good."
He put his forearm up and pushed me back into the couch while his teeth slowly inched their way out over his bottom lip.
"Because I really care about your opinion right now."
He was so close I could feel the heat from his skin and feel his breath on my face. I stared into his eyes, showing him that he wasn't having an effect on me, when suddenly I felt something strange in my stomach. A warm sensation flooded my abdomen and caused my breath to hitch. I know this feeling all too well. What I don't know is why I'm feeling it right now, or why I feel it slowly creeping down my abdomen and into where I shouldn't be feeling anything at all currently.
What the fuck.
Apparently my confusion could be read all over my face, because Derek began giving me a quizzical look and pulled his arm back just a little. Not enough for me to get out, but enough for him to be out of my face and free to look around. Which is when he noticed my arms crossed oddly across my lap to cover my 'situation'.
That's it, I'm dead. There's no way Derek will just let this slide unnoticed. He grabbed my arms and separated them, revealing my very obvious and very, very, very unexpected boner. I closed my eyes, preparing for claws to enter my body at any second.
I don't feel claws. I feel fingers, tracing down my cheek.
What the hell?
I open my eyes to see Derek slowly lick his bottom lip as his fingers make their way to the bottom of my chin. There's the sensation again. My every nerve is on high alert as I watch his fingers complete their journey and start a new one down my chest. My whole body shudders. What the fuck is happening to me? I close my eyes again and feel myself lean into him, feeling a need for his fingers to be everywhere on me. He pulls his hand away at my movement. I open my eyes and see him shake his head as if to snap out of a daydream and stand up quickly, briskly walking across the room and into his bedroom, shutting the door.
I give my heartbeat a chance to slow down before I stand up and start to leave. My thoughts are a mess. Derek Hale just turned me on. Why the fuck did that turn me on. I suddenly stop walking a few feet from my Jeep. Shit. What if he tells someone about it? Then I remembered he didn't exactly drop and play dead about it. He purposefully made it about ten times worse. I'm fairly certain he won't bring it up to anyone, so I get in my Jeep and drive home, blaring the radio to tune out the thoughts in my head of Derek.
