Eric Northman, Vampire Duckling

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/3579990.

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Teen Wolf (TV), True Blood
Relationships: Eric Northman/Stiles Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Additional Tags: Vampires, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Mildly Dubious Consent, Loss
of Virginity, Partial Mind Control, Blood Kink, Post-Traumatic Stress
Disorder - PTSD, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Frottage
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2015-03-20 Updated: 2024-03-26 Words: 16,893 Chapters:
4/?
 Eric Northman, Vampire Duckling
by night_reveals

Summary

“I can protect you from now on.”

“Jesus,” muttered Stiles. “Have you imprinted on me? Are you my vampire duckling?”

The sudden, sweet smile that Eric offered up made Stiles yank his head back to the road with
a blush. “I do not think my feelings are filial. Are yours matronly?”

Notes

The Derek/Stiles is EVENTUAL & I will be tagging as the story progresses. I'll be adding
more detailed information about content later so please wait for me to do that if you're unsure
about reading.

I'd also like to add that I'm pretty sure I first read about this from chadleymacgruff's tumblr,
which has since closed up shop. If anyone knows their new name, let me know.
 Chapter 1

“Hey, do you need some help or something?” Stiles asked out the Jeep’s window, keeping
one hand clenching his phone. Half-naked dudes wandering around were quotidian in Beacon
Hills, but the unsure gait of the guy in question told Stiles that something was off.

“Hey,” repeated Stiles, slowing to 4 miles-per-hour on the back-road into town. The man,
who upon closer inspection was icy-blond and way too muscular, didn’t show any hint of
acknowledgment. “Rude,” Stiles muttered under his breath.

In his right hand he flipped his phone compulsively, tapping it once on his Jeep’s shifter.
Deaton had said that the more in-tune Stiles got with his magic frou-frou, the more instincts
would guide him. Right now they was insisting that Stiles figure out who this man was and
help him; they were silent on the threat front. Spidey-sense had nothing on Stilesey-sense.

Whatever the reason, his sudden good Samaritan act probably had nothing to do with the way
the guy’s black jeans wrapped up long legs and stopped right under the divots bracketing his
spine. Stiles didn’t have much practical experience, but he knew lickable acreage when he
saw it - and. Yeah. Any half-naked guy wandering the side of the road who wasn’t Derek
probably needed help.

Decision made, Stiles put on his emergency blinkers and tumbled out of his car.

“You need to tell me if you’re okay or not. Did your car break down?” Stiles didn’t remember
seeing any cars on the side of the road, but he hadn’t been looking. “Or do you need to use
my phone? I can call the police, if something happened.”

Lickable Acreage continued walking. The night so far had been calm and cool, but a violent
gust of air from the south ruffled Stiles’ clothing, blowing along the northerly road. The hair
at the back of the man’s head fluttered with the same breeze, and he came to a sudden and
complete stop.

“Um,” Stiles said eloquently, wondering what had caught the man’s attention.

The man turned, eyes wide as they settled on Stiles with a look that was all-too-familiar from
months of running with werewolves: hunger.

He took a step towards Stiles.

“Are you okay?” Stiles shifted where he stood, hands newly-sweaty where he gripped his
phone.

The man took a deep breath of the air in front of him, stepping forward again on the leaf-
covered roadside. “Why do you smell so good?”

~
A vampire. A hand-to-God vampire.

Chancing another look at his passenger, Stiles tried not to boggle at the white fangs poking
out of Eric’s mouth. As soon as Eric had gotten within four feet of Stiles, his fangs had
dropped and Stiles had, suffice to say, freaked the hell out.

It had taken Eric a heartfelt apology and a hand over his fangs for Stiles’ heartrate to get
anywhere close to healthy, but the fangs had yet to disappear. Fingers pressed to his lips and
eyes darting around the Jeep, Eric seemed embarrassed by his lack of control.

All Stiles wanted to do was get another good look at them. They were long, straight, and very
sharp, quite unlike Scott’s or Derek’s -- not scythes but daggers. It made sense for the whole
blood-drinking thing. Stiles shivered.

“Please,” Eric said in a soft voice muffled by fangs and his hand. “Don’t be scared. I won’t
hurt you.”

“I’d feel slightly better if you’d put your fangs away.”

After an ashamed look down, Eric admitted, “You smell…intoxicating.”

“Reassuring people isn’t really your Thing, is it,” noted Stiles, taking the turns towards the
Hale house a little faster.

“I’ll try,” Eric promised, wide eyes catching the glow of lights zooming by outside.

“Okay,” replied Stiles with a suspicious glance. “So. What led you to walking the side of the
road half-naked? I mean I’m not complaining, it’s a good look for you, but sexy or no this is
not the best neighborhood for unaccompanied baby vamps.”

“You find me pleasing to look at?” Eric asked, perking up where he sat. “Because I find you
very pleasing. And I am not unaccompanied. I have you.”

I have you.The words reverberated in Stiles’ head, and he shivered again. Little did Eric
know that Stiles was taking him to the resident Big-Bad to possibly be filleted. With the
Alpha pack long-gone, Derek’s confidence was through the roof and his sights had turned to
convincing Scott to join his pack - and in the crossfire Stiles had been subjected to creepy
werewolf wooing for the past few months. One of the upsides to the situation, though, was
that any supernatural problem immediately fell to Derek.

Baby vamp ETA 10 minutes, Stiles texted Derek at a red light. He took the chance to fill
Scott in on his destination, too. Just in case.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” Stiles continued to Eric. He waved a hand around his
face, indicating Eric’s teeth. “You must be new at the whole vampire thing, right?”

Eric cocked his head and dropped his hand from his mouth at last. “I don’t feel new.”

“What’s the last thing you do remember?”

"Darkness."

“Well that’s helpful.” Stiles rolled his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Eric said in a soft voice that almost made Stiles feel bad.

“Don’t be.” In his seat, Stiles shifted, annoyed with himself. “Do you need a coat or
something?”

Eric took a moment down to look at his bare chest, and Stiles followed his gaze with a
swallow. Why were all supernatural creatures drop-dead gorgeous? It was cramping Stiles’
style, for real. “I’m fine.” Then Eric darted a hand to Stiles’ wrist, the same one wrapped
around the steering wheel.

Stiles squawked and slammed on the brakes, his seatbelt fortunately catching him. Next to
him Eric simply held out an arm to the Jeep’s glove compartment, the force with which he
was thrown forward obviously nothing compared to his strength.

“What the - ” With a shake of his wrist, Stiles threw Eric’s hand away. “Don’t do that when
I’m driving!”

“I’m sorry,” Eric repeated, looking stricken. During the commotion, his teeth had slid back
into his gums. “But your skin is goose fleshed. I only wanted to warm you.”

“Warm me,” Stiles said dumbly.

“Yes.” Eric nodded earnestly. “After I feed I will warm even more, and we can lay together.”

Blinking, Stiles stared, sarcasm the one response he could muster. “What kind of boy do you
think I am?”

“Oh.” Eric ducked his head. “I meant only to share our heat. Though I would not be adverse
to anything else.” There was no other word for the look on his face other than hope, and
somewhere deep, deep inside himself, Stiles laughed. The first person to point-blank say they
wanted to sex up Stiles wasn’t even, strictly speaking, a person.

Figured.

“No,” replied Stiles, decidedly not watching as Eric’s face fell. “And new rule: don’t touch
me without my permission. Is that understood?”

"Yes.” Eric swallowed once and Stiles tracked his adam’s apple, the long bob of it stark under
his smooth white skin. Damn, this guy wanted to sleep with him? Trying not to feel like he
was looking a gift-horse in the mouth, Stiles grit his teeth.

“No feeding on me, either, while we’re at it.”

After a long moment Eric drew into a smaller version of himself, head bowed and hands
twisted around each other. When he answered, “Yes, Stiles,” his voice was sad.
“Well, you don’t have to - “ Stiles waved a hand at Eric. “ - look like that. I’m not angry. In
fact, you’re the most respectful creature of the night I’ve ever met.”

“You know others of my kind?” Instead of appearing comforted, Eric frowned.

“Not exactly.” Stiles smirked to himself blithely. “But lets just say I’ve been thrown up
against enough walls and hit enough times to appreciate people who know how to use their
words.”

There was no immediate answer, and Stiles chanced a look at his passenger. Eric was
glowering, his lip raised as if his teeth were about to snick out again. Fuck.

“You’ve been beaten?” asked Eric slowly. “By whom?”

“Uh,” started Stiles, trying to figure out what he could say to placate Eric. “People in my
past. Really, I’m touched that you care enough to want to fang-out about it, but there’s
nothing you can do.”

“I can protect you from now on.”

“Jesus,” muttered Stiles. “Have you imprinted on me? Are you my vampire duckling?”

The sudden, sweet smile that Eric offered up made Stiles yank his head back to the road with
a blush. “I do not think my feelings are filial. Are yours matronly?”

“I’m a dude, so it’s ‘patronly,’” corrected Stiles, angling for time. His heart was beating faster
than he’d like, and seeing as Eric sucked blood for sustenance, he probably could hear. Stiles
cursed himself. Why was he always crushing on beings that had the upper hand in almost
every way?

“I meant no umbrage. A mother is a fiercer protector than a father,” said Eric. “I would rather
do battle with six fathers than face one mother.”

“Hey, the single fathers of Beacon Hills take offense at that,” Stiles replied. Then he mulled
over whom he’d rather face when angry: his own father or Melissa McCall. Even considering
his dad’s gun, it was no contest. “…But on second thought, I think you’re probably right.”

Satisfied, Eric nodded, then said, “I don’t think your feelings towards me are familial. I hear
the way your heart beats in my presence.”

“Whoa, hold up.” Stiles flailed around with his free hand, taking his eyes off the road for the
umpteenth time to fully glare at Eric - and try to cover up his other emotions with anger.
“Heart rates are not magical feelings readers. You listen to what I say with my mouth, got it?”

For the first time Eric looked discomfited. “I’ve already promised to touch you only with
permission.”

“Got it?” asked Stiles again.

Only after Eric had nodded did Stiles put the Jeep back into gear and continue on the way.
The 10 minute ETA had become something like half and hour, but whatever. Derek could
suck it.

The dirt road that Stiles and Eric took winded through the forest unpredictably, plenty of hair-
pin turns and sudden dips to slow down the unfamiliar or unaware driver. Stiles was neither,
and the Jeep's tires ripped through the loamy earth with a certainty borne of practice.

The second time Eric hit his head on the Jeep's ceiling, Stiles looked over.

“Seatbelt,” he said.

“I don't need one,” insisted Eric. “It doesn't hurt.”

“I'm not asking because I'm worried about you, I'm asking because I'm worried about my car!
I just got it fixed and I am not going into the shop again to have them beat the shape of a
vampire's head out of her metal.”

“Oh.” Eric complied with the request, wrinkling his nose at the belt over him.

“Don't make that face. It's only another few minutes.”

“Your house is in a strange location.” Eric's eyes fell on Stiles' face like lodestones.

“We're not going to my house,” admitted Stiles warily. “You're going to meet my creature of
the night friend and he's going to figure out what to do with you.”

“You're not saying what he is. I think that's on purpose.” It wasn't said in a confrontational
tone, but still Stiles flinched. Vampires and werewolves rarely got along in the histories that
Stiles had studied, and he had no reason to believe any of that would be different in real life.

“Surprise is the spice of life,” Stiles settled on saying.

With a low mmm Eric settled into his seat. Then, “Is he one of the ones that hurt you?”

“What?”

“Earlier you said that you had been hurt before, by others.”

Stiles opened his mouth. The last time Derek had touched him had been months and months
ago, a hand straight over Stiles' chest as he pushed Stiles away from the Alphas. It had been
even longer since Derek had done anything even remotely threatening. Stiles closed his
mouth and shook his head.

The beat of silence obviously gave Eric the wrong idea, and the snick of fangs coming out
filled the Jeep.
“Aw, c'mon, you were doing so well with the no-stabby-teeth thing,” lamented Stiles. “And
he didn't hurt me - and won't- so chill.” To himself Stiles bitterly thought that Derek had a
whole pack to do his dirty work, anyway, just like Deucalion once had. But Derek wasn't
Deucalion. Red eyes does not the devil make, thought Stiles, trying to remind himself.

“You seem very sure.”

“Well.” Thinking briefly of Scott, Isaac, and the truce with the Argents that rested upon Scott
and Derek keeping the peace, Stiles shrugged. “He needs me.”

“He doesn't take care of you,” Eric said as they went up the final stretch of the driveway, a
quarter mile of gravel road that ensured even a far-off human would hear their approach.

“I - what are you even talking about? I take care of myself.”

Right in front of the husk of the Hale house Stiles threw the Jeep into park, the car skidding
across wet leaves. Derek's Camaro wasn't anywhere Stiles could see it, but he had learned
that meant nothing; they used this as a meeting area for secrecy's sake, and surely Derek had
a dozen areas to hide himself or his transportation.

Eric narrowed his eyes and made no move to leave the car. “Your wrist is scarred on the
inside, a burn. A gash runs behind your right ear. Your fingertips were cut open and then they
healed without treatment - glass?” At once Stiles' heart began to beat faster, a crazed drum in
his chest with his memories the drummer. Eric continued, “And you seem scared now that
we've arrived.”

“None of that - ,” he choked out, was Derek, he began to say, before the door on Eric's side
was ripped open and Eric was literally torn from the Jeep, the seatbelt snapped like a spider's
tenuous web.

Shocked into silence only a moment, Stiles had long enough to see flashing red eyes, to hear
growling before he vaulted from his seat out of his Jeep.

“Derek!” Stiles stumbled forward to the small clearing before the house, the same area
Creepy Peter had met his impermanent end.

Growls and deadly silence were his answers, Derek and Eric locked in what looked like a
vortex of movement - blonde hair flashed in the moon, but Stiles could barely see anything
else with his weak human eyes.

A harsh hand on his bicep held him back, and only then did he notice the pinpricks of a set of
yellow eyes in the dark forest. If Erica was next to him, then that was almost certainly Boyd.

“Let me go,” commanded Stiles with a single tug of his arm.

Erica rolled her eyes but didn't grip any harder. After the alphas had left, she'd lost her taste
for violence, especially against Stiles. Her soft handling of him was an unwanted reminder of
all that he'd - that they'd been through.
“Just wait for Derek to take care of it.” Erica nodded towards the fight. “That's why you
brought him here, right?”

The growling abruptly turned into whining, a high, pained sound that Stiles knew intimately
from his time nursing Scott after battles. Next to him Erica released Stiles' arm like it was
burning, her eyes flaring and her fangs dropping.

When Stiles turned his head to the clearing, he saw why.

Eric had Derek pinned to the ground face first, Derek's hands clasped behind his back.

Before Stiles could shout anything, Erica was running towards them, claws outstretched and
face manic. Swiveling his head towards her, Eric met her eyes and said, in a voice deeper
than Stiles had heard from him before, “Stop. Don't move.”

And she did, abruptly as if she'd hit a wall.

“What the fuck is going on,” wondered Stiles, casting a glance to Boyd, who'd come forward
as well. Per his usual, Boyd shrugged, his thoughts obviously with Erica.

“You said he was a baby vamp,” Derek shouted into the dirt, spitting the words against mud
as he continued his obviously completely pointless struggle.

“Don't speak to Stiles.” Eric slammed Derek into the ground. “You've already scared him.”

“Whoa, what, no,” started Stiles, finally coming forward, slipping a little on the wet leaves.
“I'm not scared, unless you count me being scared that I'm going to witness yet another
murder that will haunt my dreams for the rest of my life.” Comically, a look of sheepish
shame came over Eric's face. “Can you please let Derek up? His car and his clothes are the
only things he spends any money on, and you're getting mud all over his nice leather.”

It was almost impossible for Stiles to comprehend the amount of strength it would take to
hold down an alpha werewolf so easily, as Eric was doing, yet Stiles felt no fear. It was
exhilarating, and even though Stiles second guessed himself, he took another step forward.

Eric stepped up and Derek whirled to his feet, turning and snarling. Leaves were stuck to his
face, mud was smeared down his right side, and Stiles kind of wanted to laugh at the sight.
The blood trickling from Derek's smashed nose and the bruise forming beneath his eye were
less funny.

Shifting to the right slightly, Eric put himself in between Derek and Stiles.

“Varulv,” spit Eric. Derek didn't bother with a verbal response, his claws coming back out.
Like always, Derek would rather batter himself against an enemy's gates than use his mind to
think. Thank God Scott was understanding and didn't mind when Stiles consulted for the
other team.

“Okay, Derek, claws away. Eric, fangs away. Everybody chill.”

From behind Stiles, Boyd said urgently, “Erica still isn't moving.”
“Eric,” Stiles snapped. “Why isn't she moving?”

“He glamored her,” snarled Derek before Eric could get a word in edgewise. “It's how
vampires feed on humans. It's not supposed to work on werewolves.”

“Later we're going to have the sharing-important-information talk yet again, dumbass,
because this should not be the first time I'm hearing vampires are actually real,” started Stiles.
“And secondly, Eric, please un-whatever her.”

Instead of doing exactly as Stiles had demanded, Eric turned, showing his back to Derek in a
seeming unconcern for his own well-being. “You're not safe here,” he told Stiles.

“He's right,” said Derek, sounding confused that there was any agreement between he and
Eric. “Leave, Stiles.”

“If you'd forgotten, Derek, I'm not safe anywhere.” The clearing rung with silence, Boyd and
Erica carefully looking elsewhere, Derek's face broken with the reminder. “So don't patronize
me.”

“He,” Derek licks his lips, shifting back to human form completely. “He must have glamored
you to get you here. If he's old enough to do that to Erica, he can take human memories.
Twist emotions.”

Unbothered by the accusations, Eric said, “No glamor, even mine, would work on a child of
the fae.”

Stiles boggled. “Child of the -”

“This is fascinating,” Boyd interrupted them all, “but Erica still can't move.”

Derek growled and Eric narrowed his eyes.

“For fuck's sake,” whispered Stiles with a hand to his forehead. “Eric, I'll lift the moratorium
on touching - ”

“What.” Derek's roar shook the area.

“ - if you let Erica move and don't do the mind-control-thing to anyone here again.”

In a flash Eric was standing in front of Erica, looking down deeply into her eyes. “You may
move,” he intoned.

With a leap backwards she did so, right into Boyd's arms.

Stiles shivered. That was genuinely disturbing. ...And had he just pimped himself out to Eric?

“Boyd, Erica, leave. Now,” Derek directed. They did so with a few backwards glances, worry
loud and clear in their eyes but unable to contradict a direct order that surely they saw the
wisdom in. To Eric, Derek said, “Stiles is not of the fae.”
"I'm one-hundred percent fragile human,” agreed Stiles.

Eric merely looked confused. “You are. Your blood sings like the wind over the seas.” Using
the same super-speed as before, he pulled up right in front of Stiles, the air around him
blasting past Stiles' body. The same hungry fascination from the car filled his eyes, his nose
flaring slightly.

“This is creeping me way the fuck out,” admitted Stiles, looking over to Derek.

Who looked helpless and upset, his eyes back at normal humanity as he watched Stiles and
Eric together.

“Derek,” led Stiles with worried eyes. “Can we figure out what to do with our friend here,
please?”

Eric didn't have any response to being cut out of the conversation. In fact, he seemed to be
fixated on Stiles' jugular. So much for being a gentleman creature of the night.

“Let him die,” said Derek. “The sun comes up in four hours. No matter how old or strong he
is, he'll burn.”

“I'll find a place,” Eric said. Then, with a smile, “Stiles, does your house have a covered
area?”

“No,” vetoed Derek immediately, stepping forward.

“I can speak for myself, dude,” snapped Stiles. “And no, I don't. California isn't exactly
infamous for its sprawling basements. If you want to stay underground, you're going to have
to ask Derek. He's got a freakin' dungeon.”

“And if I leave you here alone with this varulv, will you be alright?” There was the strangely
gentle guy that had ridden in the Jeep.

“I'll be fine,” Stiles reassured, feeling slightly ridiculous as he did.

"He's with me,” Derek added. Eric's disdainful face clearly showed how much he thought of
that.

There was a tense standoff for a few moments, but Eric had to be pushing unknown buttons
of Derek's, because only a few minutes later Derek formally invited Eric into his house -
which he never stayed at, anymore - and directed Eric to the stairs. Eric left with a long look
at Stiles, want written over his face.

Once their new vampire was safely ensconced away, Stiles rounded on Derek.

“What the fuck was that?” He gestured to his Jeep, where its right door was hanging open
and the shreds of the passenger side's belt lay.

“You're the one whose heart was beating like a rabbit's,” Derek said in an angry hiss. “I
thought he was threatening you.”
“Oh dear, I'm touched.” Stiles raised a hand to his heart in a false swoon. A moment later he
dropped it and the act. “Except not at all. I don't need you to protect me, Derek.” The one
time I begged for you to come you never did, Stiles didn't say.

“I'm not going to let him take over your mind.” Derek stalked even closer. “Don't you see
that's what he's done?”

"No.” Stiles shook his head. His Stilesey-sense would have tingled, he knew it. “He didn't
take over my anything. I was driving almost the whole time. I barely looked him in the eyes
longer than a second.”

“That could be all he needed,” said Derek with one last step forward. They were so close that
the wind carried a hint of Derek's warmth when it wrapped around them both, and Stiles
shivered.

“Look, if I pull a Jackson and start trying to kill people, you have my permission to put me
down - ”

A sneer from Derek and a quick grab interrupted Stiles' martyr speech, Derek's hand going
unnervingly right to where Eric's had rested on Stiles' wrist earlier. The blaze of red eyes at
full tilt filled Stiles' head, his words dying on his lips and his train of thought crashing down
into the pit of fear that had suddenly opened in his mind.

With a great, heaving swallow Stiles tried to right himself, mashing the memories down to
where they belonged. Red eyes do not the devil make, he chanted in his head like a prayer. It
didn't help his knee-jerk panic, though, and he flailed out of Derek's grip - or tried to.

When he couldn't immediately get away he said, voice thready, “Lemme go. Lemme go.”

In the next second he was free, Derek backing away, his eyes cooling in his face like dying
coals. He didn't apologize for the random molestation - but when had Derek ever?

“Go home, Stiles. I'll take care of this. He'll be gone by tomorrow.”

“Right.” Stiles sneered. “Because you challenging him physically obviously worked
wonders.”

“You said he was new! New vamps are supposed to be weak and dumb.”

“Supposed to be?”

“What, do you think I know a lot of other vampires? That I've been sneaking off to support
meetings to bitch with them about how difficult our lives are?”

“Jesus, Derek, I don't know what you do and I don't care. Just don't try anything with Eric
until you talk to me, first.”

“For not being in my pack you sure are a pain in the ass,” said Derek, grousing.

“I think I've earned your consideration. Or haven't I?”

The silence that followed Stiles' question was the only answer he needed. They both knew
he'd earned simple consideration and more; he'd bought it with his blood.

“Go home, Stiles,” Derek said with a tired sigh. “I'll stay here tonight, and we'll talk
tomorrow about what we're going to do. The last thing Beacon Hills needs is a vampire
running loose.”

“At least we can agree there. Beacon Hills has too many predators already.”

That decided, Derek disappeared into the trees. Whirling on the spot, Stiles cursed and kicked
at the leaves on the ground. It'd been almost a year since Scott had been turned and they'd
first met Derek, and Stiles still couldn't figure out how the fuck Derek seemingly popped in
and out of existence. That was when he remembered Eric and Derek's small exchange about -
what had it been, fairies? Stiles being a fairy? That was obviously a miscommunication of
some kind, but still.

Fairies were real as well?

“Hey, asshole,” said Stiles in the direction of the house. “Don't think I've forgotten about that
'fae' stuff. You have a lot of explaining to do, Derek.”

Predictably, there was no answer.

With a final chuff of indignation, Stiles jumped back into his Jeep with a single mournful
look at his passenger side seatbelt.

Tomorrow he, Scott, and Derek would figure out what to do with their guest.

Everything would be okay.

 Chapter 2
Chapter Notes

''Sorry.''

“You have got to be joking me.” Scott’s eyebrows were insultingly high on his face.

“Does it look like I’m joking you?” In front of his locker, Stiles flailed a little, his fellow
students deftly dodging his limbs with eyerolls and sighs. Whatever. “I sent you texts last
night and I know you got them.”

“I got your texts,” Scott replied patiently. “I just thought you were fucking around. I mean,
c’mon. Vampires? Those don’t exist.”

Stiles tried to pack as much disdain into one look as he could. “Hypocrite much?”

“Werewolves are totally more believable,” defended Scott, looking around furtively as he did
so.

“Dude, why do you even bother trying to be sneaky anymore. How many ‘animal attacks’
has Beacon Hills suffered in the past year and a half? Face it: we’re surrounded by the
dumbest population ever. You could probably attend class half wolfed-out and our teachers
would just tell you to take off your mask. And werewolves aren’t any more believable than
vampires.”

“Well,” Scott raised a finger and started ticking things off. “One, at least our cells can partly
be explained away as hybrid creations -- wolf and human combined. But vampires aren’t
alive. So what is their tissue made of? Two, we eat. Normal food -- ”

“-- and squirrels,” added Stiles. Scott was never living that down.

Scott grimaced but continued, “And sometimes squirrels, but at least that’s just, like, meat.
But vampires drink blood, yeah? That is not a balanced diet. And, um...”

"Um?" said Stiles before he turned and caught on to who had caught Scott's eye. It was
Allison. Of course they weren't together any longer, not after the Alpha Pack fiasco, but
somehow Scott's hard-earned maturity crumbled around her.

“Earth to Scott: two reasons is not enough. Though I am impressed with your biology
knowledge. How’s AP treating you?”

Slowly Scott came back online, eyes fixing on Stiles grudgingly. Stiles tried not to take it
personally. “A? B+?” Scott threw out.
“Sweet, good grades are inversely related to the number of times we almost die a month. This
does not shock me." Stiles shouldered his backpack. "so what are we doing about the blood-
sucker?”

Scott frowned, then frowned more. “You could talk to Deaton?

“I could talk to Deaton? Why me? He’s your boss. He likes you. He toler-hates me.”

“I have a meeting with Derek after school.” Scott said it like he was reading his own death
sentence. “He wants to talk about Erica and Boyd.”

Stiles wondered exactly what Derek had to say about his two older betas. To this day, Stiles
had never told anyone about so many things: the basement, the Alphas, the beatings. Boyd,
Erica and he shared too many secrets, for not being friends. It was obvious Scott didn't know
what Derek wanted and didn't care to speculate, either, so with that Stiles waved Scott away.
Scott had checked out of the conversation at the first sight of Allison, anyway. The post-
Gerard breakup would have been the final one, if the Alphas hadn't shown up and thrown the
whole world into dissaray.

Stiles wasn't jealous, though. They had bigger problems -- the biggest of which was currently
hiding in Derek's basement, presumably biding time before it sucked human blood.

There was a lot that Stiles found unforgiveable. Last week when an asshole in a white SUV
cut him off on the highway, Stiles' first thought wasn't, Maybe they're in a hurry. Stiles' first
thought was of Godzilla, and how it would only be fitting the Pacific Ocean belched it up
again so that the great monster would crunch the pristine white car into a little metal pancake.
The "Baby on Board" sticker in the back only meant that Godzilla would have baby butter
between its toes. For the last six miles on the highway, Stiles had smirked as he imagined
Godzilla licking its feet clean of people juices.

Stiles didn't feel bad about his vivid, violent imaginings; he was not exactly a paragon of
forgiveness.

This tendency made visiting Deaton into one of Stiles' least favorite things to do, however.
Supposedly Deaton had thrown them to the Alphas because he had to "keep the balance." In
practice it meant "keep himself safe", and though Scott had promised over and over again
that Deaton had his reasons for staying out of things, Scott didn't know everything that had
happened. How the Alphas had taken Stiles to the great tree, had tortured him, had --

That was one thing Stiles owed Derek, at least. He'd kept Stiles' pain and fear to himself. A
secret that burrowed between them, unspoken but undeniably there, lurking behind their
every argument.

Stiles shook his head and pushed into the back of the clinic.

"Stiles," Deaton said, not even bothering to sound suprised. Stiles was sure Deaton felt him
entering.
"Sup, doc."

"You're early."

"...what?"

Deaton patted the dog he'd finished examining, a huge thing that had to be seventy pounds of
muscle, and it clamored off the table before obediently walking into its cage with no
prompting from Deaton. "I wasn't expecting you for another week, at least."

Stiles grit his teeth. "What are you talking about, man?"

Placid to the end, Deaton only smiled. "There's energy headed here. I can't tell what it's for,
or who it is, but it'll be here soon."

"Oh, wow. 'Energy headed here'. Could you get more vague?"

"That's all I have for you now, Stiles. I'm not your personal library of weird."

Stiles blinked. His mouth fell open. It was the first time Deaton had ever chided Stiles, for all
the non-arguments they'd had.

"You're an adult," Stiles said. "You're supposed to -- to help us."

"I'm as much a human adult as your friend Scott is a human teenager." Deaton twitched his
nose, and to Stiles it seemed annoyed. "Now what did you come here for?"

At once Stiles got the feeling -- the spidey-sense feeling, the one that Deaton himself had
explained before the Alphas came and fucked everything up -- that it'd be better to shut up.
Eric hadn't hurt anyone.

It was just one more secret, after all.

"I just felt weird, is all. Guess your energy theory explains it," Stiles said, trying not to look
Deaton in the eye.

Deaton hummed noncommitedly, and Stiles ran away while he could.

For all that Derek occasionally appeared in Stiles' room with no warning, and for all that
Scott often hung out with Stiles after school, the Stilinski household was not an oft-trafficked
supernatural haven.

So when Stiles jumped out of his Jeep and trudged up to the house right before nine o'clock
that night, he did not expect Eric and Derek to be waiting there at the side of the house. The
Camaro was nowhere in sight, so Stiles could only assume that they'd run from Derek's place.

Freakin' non-humans.

“You have got to be kidding me,” said Stiles. “What are you two doing here?”

“The varvulv's cellar is not light tight. The stones are open in places. I burned last daybreak,
before I found old blankets to hide in.” Eric sounded almost happy about it.

Stiles rubbed at his forehead and glared at Derek, who had a bit of sweat on his brow and
looked very put-off about seeing Stiles again. After Deaton, Stiles was not feeling up to the
bullshit.

“Well, what am I supposed to do about it?”

“Can you harbor me?” Eric immediately asked. His shoulders curved down along with his
head, and he looked at Stiles through his lashes.

“This is ridiculous,” said Derek, crossing his arms over his chest. Belatedly Stiles realized
that Derek's eyes only came up to Eric's chin - he was almost a head shorter than their new
vampire visitor. “You can't harbor a vampire.”

“I'm a huge fan of vampires, actually,” Stiles said with no thought behind it. Eric visibly
perked up. “You can stay - if you answer my questions.” There was no way that a
supernatural visitor was going to come to Beacon Hills and not get the Stiles Stilinski cross-
examination experience.

His eyes boring into Stiles', Eric nodded. “Anything.”

“No - “ started Derek, but Stiles turned to him and gestured towards the east, where Derek's
actual apartment was.

“Go away,” Stiles ordered. “When I was thirteen I was certified as a babysitter through the
YMCA. Vampires can't be that much different.”

“You're an idiot and you're going to get yourself killed.”

"I've actually got a pretty good track record, at least as far as near-death experiences go."

"Fine. You're taking him as a pet? He said he has to feed tonight," Derek said, eyebrows
furrowed. "I catch him out and I'll take him down."

Stiles could only imagine the level of self-control it took Eric not to laugh at that toothless
threat. They'd seen who had won the physical contest last night, and it hadn't been Derek.

"Whatever. Nobody is dying on my watch," promised Stiles. "I am the best babysitter."

"Idiot." Message delivered, Derek grit his teeth, muscle in his neck spasming, then turned and
began to jog down the street. If he really believed Stiles was in danger, nothing would have
made him leave. His guilty conscience was legend.
“Good-bye, dog!” shouted Eric from behind Stiles, and Derek whirled around and flashed red
eyes at them before turning a corner and disappearing from sight.

Amused, Stiles looked up at Eric. Way, way up at Eric. Dude was huge, and somehow he'd
forgotten that in the drive back to his own house. He was also still half-naked, which really,
really worked for him, but was also distracting as hell. Stiles resolved to find him a shirt as
soon as he could - Derek's would fit better, but he had a feeling Derek wouldn't be giving any
of his things to Eric anytime soon.

“Let's find you a place to stay. My dad will be home in twenty minutes, so don't lolly-gag
around.” Stiles slipped through the front door and looked back when he didn't hear Eric enter.
“Oh, wow. So that's true, then. You can't come into a house without being invited?”

Eric nodded with wide eyes. “May I come in, Stiles?”

Sensing that this was a good piece of information to have, Stiles cocked his head. “You went
into Derek's place without asking.”

“There was no human to make it a home.” A considering look came over Eric's face. “No
living human, at least.”

“That's creepy,” Stiles noted. “But okay. Eric, you may --” Suddenly Stiles stopped. He
needed to make sure of a few things, first.

“Stiles?”

“Before you can come in, I need a few promises.”

As if disgruntled, Eric blinked and shuffled on his feet. “I will not hurt you. I promise.”

“Not that.” Stiles sighed. “Promise me that you won't try your - your 'glamoring', or whatever
it is, on my dad or me.”

Biting his lip, Eric glanced away before nodding. “I swear it. It would not work on you, in
any case.”

“And no biting me or my dad, either,” rushed out Stiles.

That one appeared to be the harder promise. Eric stared long seconds at Stiles' neck,
obviously arguing with himself. Eventually, though, he acquiesced with another, “I swear it.”

It was Stiles' turn to wonder at his decisions. Most likely nothing kept Eric from breaking his
promises - but then again, Eric had held Derek's life in his palm, Erica's too, and he'd backed
down when Stiles asked. Eric was definitely dangerous to others, but he didn't feel so to
Stiles.

“Fine. Eric, you may come into casa de Stilinski.”

Eric blinked and didn't move.

“Um. You can come into my house?” tried Stiles.

Like the sun, a smile shone on Eric's face and he stepped in. Getting Eric a shirt that at least
kind of fit was priority number one, and thankfully there were some large vintage rock 'n roll
tees in his dad's back closet (Stiles had seen the old pictures; they were not pretty). He
handed one to Eric, saying, “If you lose, tear, or burn this shirt, my father will find us both
and kill us both. Capiche?”

“Maybe I should just not wear one,” said Eric doubtfully, holding the worn black shirt like it
was something precious.

Stiles' gaze flicked over Eric's hard chest, nipples peaked in the cool night.

“No, no, you definitely need a shirt,” said Stiles. There was no way he was popping a stiffy
around a vampire that could probably smell it just like the wolves could.

Stiles was so fucked.

Next came a quick tour of the house, Eric attentively following Stiles from room to room and
listening to Stiles' rules with no qualms. They had to find a light-tight space, and to that end
Stiles took Eric to each room, Eric searching out the best location. In the end it was the closet
in the study downstairs that was the best bet. It had only a small window on the east side, and
the Stilinski men rarely used it, preferring to do their work at the kitchen table.

Laid out on the ground Eric took up the whole space, but Stiles gave him a pillow and a clean
blanket and hoped it'd be fine. When he turned to go, Eric followed.

“Um. What're you doing?” Stiles asked, pointing at the closet.

“I'm a vampire,” replied Eric patiently. “I sleep when the sun is in the sky.”

“Fuck,” said Stiles slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. “How did I - yeah. I knew that. Well,
I don't sleep when the sun is in the sky, I sleep at night. Speaking of, my dad is going to
expect me to be in bed when he gets back in, oh -“ Stiles looked at his phone “ten minutes or
so?”

“I can accompany you to your room.”

It was useless to ban him from following, so Stiles let Eric tag along. Like that Stiles ended
up brushing his teeth, washing up, and stripping in the hallway bathroom before returning to
his room, where Eric waited in a corner.

“That's creepy, dude. And if my dad comes, you're going to need to hide.”

Eric nodded to the window. “I'm leaving soon.”

“Huh?” asked Stiles as he got into bed, exhaustion hitting him like a truck.

“I must drink,” Eric said simply.

“Whoa.” Stiles sat up like he'd been electrocuted. “You're not going to actually kill anyone,
are you?”

There was silence for a moment, and Eric padded on bare feet over to Stiles' bedside,
kneeling when he arrived. With Stiles sitting up and Eric on his knees their heads were of a
height, and Stiles inhaled sharply.

Leaning in, Eric slowly extended a cool hand to Stiles' neck, rubbing his thumb over the long
muscle there.

“You're cold,” said Stiles.

“I'm sorry,” Eric said. “I will warm, after.”

The touch continued, a sweet pressure on Stiles' human body, intimate and new. Another's
skin against his own, a brush of touch with no violent intent behind it. Stiles shivered.

“Don't hurt anyone,” he said, eyes caught in Eric's. “Don't suck somebody dry.”

“I won't. I'll find two people and take a little from each.”

“Does it hurt?” Stiles glanced at Eric's mouth, right where his fangs would poke from his
mouth.

“Not if I don't want it to,” Eric said, before reconsidering. “Or, it does, but in the best way.
They moan for it.”

The vibration from Eric's words traveled down his arm to Stiles' neck, Eric's fingers skating
over the skin, buzzing there. If Stiles' dad came home and walked in now, he'd see Stiles on
his own bed, neck canted up, letting a man Stiles barely knew rub at his pulse point and
whisper to him.

“So it feels good?”

Eric leaned in further, his nose inches from Stiles'. “Yes.” His eyes traced Stiles nose, cheeks,
then down to his clavicle, his head lowering as he went. Sliding his fingers back, Eric cupped
his hand around the curve of Stiles' neck, holding him in place.

“Don't bite me,” warned Stiles. His heart was thud-thud-thudding in his chest, working faster
than it had all night - and he was so turned on it almost hurt.

“I won't,” promised Eric as he held Stiles steady and leaned in, words catching in Stiles'
flesh, “Just let me...”

Warmer than the rest of his body, Eric's lips landed right where his thumb had been, a press
against Stiles' taut muscle. Unable to stop himself, Stiles reached out and lodged a hand in
Eric's shirt, pulling him closer to the bed, breathing through his mouth when Eric licked over
his pulse point.
Stiles was self-aware enough to realize that the perceived danger - a vampire at his neck -
was responsible for at least half of his hard-on, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.
Stilesey-sense had been working without hiccups since the alpha pack had arrived, and it was
totally silent now.

The wet tongue on his skin dragged a tiny gasp from Stiles, and Stiles felt the hand around
his neck tighten slightly, a new edge of control entering the picture.

“Stiles,” said Eric straight into Stiles' neck, voice low and inviting, following his name up
with more kisses to his neck.

“Oh my god,” said Stiles meaninglessly. He bared his throat more, a hum going through his
veins at the vulnerability he felt with the movement. The scrap of teeth down the column of
his neck, his carotid artery like a line of sweet fire, Eric's hands sweeping up and down his
head, smoothing through his hair -

- snick, Stiles heard Eric's teeth come out, the sound close to his ear, like if Allison had
flipped a knife open right next to him.

A gasp came next, Eric pulling back, color high on his cheeks and a hand over his teeth. He
looked ashamed.

“Sorry,” he said, words slightly garbled. “I need to - ”

“It's okay,” Stiles was saying, but Eric was already gone, the window open and the curtains
fluttering in the wind.

In Eric's absence, a belated surge of nerves and fear at almost being bitten coupled with a
rush of attraction, confusing Stiles. He slipped one hand under the covers and palmed
himself, his cock eager and wet, and put his other hand at his throat, covering the tender area
where Eric had been attached.

He jerked off, panting and imaging Eric joining him in bed, kissing at his neck, giving him
hickies, sucking -

Stiles came with a hurt sound, like someone had forced all the air out of his chest. It was
several seconds before the last tremors left his body, the area around his carotid artery
pounding loudly with each beat of his heart, the fingers that had been buried in Eric's shirt
tingling.

Dazed, he flopped out onto his back, dirtied hand shining in the moonlight.

Wow. He was so, so fucked.

The night in this sleepy town did not embrace Eric.

Nothing was familiar: the roads, the metal vehicles that he somehow knew were called
“cars”, the people’s manner of dress. The stars above his head were foreign, constellations
whose names he could recall but that he did not remember learning at his mother’s knee.
Even the whiff of salt and ocean on the air was somehow wrong -- it was not his ocean. This
was not his land, and these were not his people.

He was a very, very long way from home.

But the boy. From the shops in the middle of town to the edge of the woods, Eric could not
escape the fae scent, a maddening pull at his stomach. He had run from Stiles’ side, fleeing
both the sweet blood that called to him and the human eyes that unknowingly promised
everything.

Tonight -- and every other night he stayed with Stiles but was refused the boy’s blood -- Eric
would glut himself. He would keep Stiles safe, from himself and any others.

~
 Chapter 3
Chapter Notes

hi??

also, porn

It was too early for anything.

“Mmph,” said Stiles, waving his new vampire away from his bed. “--at're you doin'? Sleep.”

“Stiles,” Eric said insistently, shaking his shoulder.

“Oh my god,” moaned Stiles, pressing the side of his face more firmly into his pillow. “'s the
house burning? You burning? Wasswrong?”

“No one is burning,” replied Eric guiltily. “I wanted to lay with you.”

Slitting one eye open, Stiles took in the black jeans before him, Eric standing less than two
feet away. He sighed. Maybe vampires were as snuggly as werewolves? Who was he to
judge? Also, sleep. “Biting bad,” Stiles managed to say before flailing an arm behind him at
the rest of the bed in invitation.

Less than ten seconds later, Eric was in bed with Stiles, shirt shucked off and a pair of Stiles'
too-small boxers on, body tentatively tucked into the other side of the bed. Stiles just hoped
he remembered to get himself to the office closet before the sun rose.

It'd suck to wake up in a bed full of ash.

A few hours later, a little more rested and a lot more awake, Stiles stretched out - and muffled
a shout.

The clock next to him read 5:13, still an hour from sunrise, and he had a vampire plastered
against his back. If Stiles had wondered what vampires were made of, he had to wonder no
more: it was muscle. Long, powerful muscle that held him securely down, an arm around his
middle and another curving above his head. A face was pressed to the back of his neck, lips
brushing his skin and a nose buried at his nape.

Breath stirred the little hairs there, and Stiles blinked. Did vampires have to breathe? It took
long moments to realize that Eric was inhaling at exactly the same time he himself was. A
warmth started in his chest at the thought, and he grinned. For all the people to become a
vampire breathing metronome, he was probably the worst. He didn't mind, though.

“You're awake,” said Eric quietly from behind him, the words curving up Stiles' neck to
nestle in his ear.

“Yeah,” agreed Stiles, moving minutely in Eric's grasp, hand dropping to Eric's at his waist.
In response Eric tightened his hold and pressed a kiss to the slight bruise he'd left earlier on
Stiles' neck.

“Fuck,” Stiles whispered, biting his lip. Bloodsucking would not be sexy, he reprimanded
himself. It was half-assed at best.

Technically this wasn't the first time Stiles had been in bed with another person. When Scott
and he had been young enough to share without encroaching on each other's space, they'd
sprawled out together, fingers sticky from hidden candy. It had been years since then, though,
and they'd certainly never rubbed against each other. Even in Stiles' most fevered
imaginations, he could never have predicted just how revealing it felt to be slotted next to
another person, limbs tangled and the air a shared commodity.

Always Stiles had assumed the best thing about waking up next to someone would be
knowing that he'd finally had sex, and so the tingling sensation that swept through him at the
simple, warm intimacy took him by surprise. He could feel each flex of Eric's body, how his
legs went on after Stiles' ended, how his hand splayed on Stiles' stomach, pressing the
graphic tee into his skin.

“I'm sorry for waking you,” Eric said, releasing Stiles a bit from his grip - but keeping his
hand where it was, pinky finger right above Stiles' belly button.

“You didn't,” Stiles said over his shoulder, a little hoarse.

“I think it was my fault,” admitted Eric. This time he pulled Stiles' body against his own,
sheets crinkling under them. There was no warning before Stiles' stomach swooped, a surge
of arousal speeding through him, his heartbeat quickening. “When I did that, your
body...reacted.”

For the first time Stiles realized he was hard in his boxers. It was such a common occurrence
to wake to that it had hardly pinged on his radar. Shiiiit. Burying his face in his hands briefly,
he sucked at his own lip and tried to get his stupid dick under control.

"Well this isn't awkward at all," Stiles said, face flaming. Eric's hand was like five inches
away from his hard dick. Five inches away. That was the closest any hand -- not including his
own -- had ever been.

"Why?" Eric asked, sounding puzzled. He rubbed a circle onto Stiles' stomach, the tshirt
riding up with the movement. Stiles felt a little like dying.

"I’m too hard."

"I am not sure such a thing is possible."

Then Eric leaned forward, pressing even more firmly into Stiles' back -- and, holy shit, that
was a dick. A dick that wasn't Stiles' dick. There were two hard dicks on the bed, only one of
which belonged to him, oh god. For years Stiles had psyched himself up. He was dead-set on
being a generous, badass lover, whenever anyone finally got around to noticing him like that,
and to that end he had tons of dialogue prepared for exactly this situation: smooth words and
seductive invitations that he had maybe practiced in the mirror.

Instead of any of that, he said, "I can feel your dick." As soon as it was out his mouth, Stiles
turned his head towards his pillow and tried to suffocate himself. Behind him, Eric froze for a
moment, then resumed stroking Stiles' stomach, nose still nuzzling below Stiles' ear, lips
brushing skin.

"Can I touch you?" The words were quiet and sincere, signed with a kiss to the back of Stiles'
neck.

"Pretty sure we're touching, big guy," Stiles said, a little choked.

"I want to touch you -- " Eric dragged his hand lower, pinky edging into Stiles' boxers and
punching a gasp from Stiles, "-- here." Again he kissed the back of Stiles' neck, this time
spending more time there, nibbling at Stiles with blunt teeth.

"Oh my god," Stiles couldn't think past the rush of blood to his dick, the lips at his neck,
Eric's breadth behind him. It should be scarier, shouldn't it? Never mind that Scott teased him
for having no sense of self-preservation. The alphas had debunked that, for all the good it had
ended up doing him, so a vampire should have sent Stiles' running for cover. Yet right now,
Stiles wanted anything but to run away. "I -- god, okay, yeah," Stiles finally got out, hips
jerking up as he said it.

The mouth below his ear grew harsher, then, sweeping all the way down to his clavicle as
Eric gave him hickey after hickey. In the back of his mind Stiles knew he should say
something, maybe tell Eric to cut it out, but the rush of blood to the surface of his skin proved
addictive in its own right and he could only moan quietly, pushing back against Eric's hold.

"You smell...." Eric trailed off, sniffing at Stiles' jugular. It was different from how the
werewolves scented him. Eric was almost delicate about it, like a gourmet chef getting ready
to sample a creation -- and, wow, that was an unfortunate parallel his mind had just drawn.
Even more worrying was the fact that it simply made Stiles harder.

"Please." Stiles dropped his own hand to Eric's, fingers riding the vampire's. He increased the
pressure and felt it against his own stomach.

"Yes, Stiles." One last kiss to Stiles' head and Eric finally slipped his hand into Stiles' boxers.

Stiles whimpered, trying not to whine when instead of grasping his dick Eric started pulling
the fabric down one-handed. Stiles helped and soon enough he was naked, cock happily free
and bobbing up. Eric wrapped a hand around it and Stiles locked up, his whole body freezing
with the anticipation of pleasure and the alien feeling of another's hand on his most private
skin.

"Look at you," Eric said on his first stroke, hand clever and tight on Stiles' precome-covered
cock. "My fae boy."

"Fuck," breathed out Stiles, mind tripping over what Eric was saying but body too twisted up
to do anything but start rutting into Eric's hand. "Oh, fuck, fuck, Eric."

"Take what you need," urged Eric kindly, hand tightening, becoming something for Stiles to
fuck up into. The bed started rocking from side to side and belatedly Stiles realized that Eric
was rutting behind him, cock nestled at his ass. The thrusts timed with Stiles' perfectly, and
that realization had him spurting all over, too soon and too good. Come coated Eric's hand as
Stiles shuddered through it, gasping and biting at his own lips. "Beautiful," praised Eric,
voice only a little strained. His fist stayed at Stiles' cock, a warm sheathe that held Stiles as he
softened.

"You haven't -- " started Stiles with a look over his shoulder.

"Shh," Eric replied. Then, "Do you want to help me?" Stiles nodded and lifted his hand even
though he felt wrung out. Being a generous lover might be harder than he'd originally
thought. But instead of letting Stiles turn towards him, Eric pushed gently at Stiles' shoulder
till Stiles was face-down.

"What're you doin'?" The question was muffled into the pillow.

"Taking my pleasure from you, as you did me," Eric said from above him. An electric shock
went through Stiles at the words. It sounded -- dirty. Stiles couldn't have put a finger on why,
but he liked it. Over-sensitive but ambitious, his dick flexed against the bed and Stiles bit at
the inside of his mouth.

Lips came back down on Stiles' nape, Eric's body blanketing Stiles'. Seventeen years in his
own skin hadn't prepared Stiles for the overload of someone else surrounding him, and Stiles
could barely decide what was hotter: the cock rutting at his back or the mouth trailing down
his spine, biting at the taut skin there and sending tendrils of a strange type of pain straight
through him. A few minutes later saw Stiles reduced to panting, reaching a hand back to find
Eric's head and gripping the hair there, tugging him down so that they pressed together.

Teeth set to Stiles' ear, Eric came between them in a rush, coating the divot of Stiles' spine.
Like a hot splash Stiles felt it against his skin; it was crazy just how sexy it was to know that
that had come from another person, proof of how Stiles had made them feel good.

"Holy crap," Stiles managed to get out. He petted at Eric's head, too tired to bother trying to
buck him off. Was that how it was every time?

"You were beautiful."

"Yeah, right," said Stiles, dropping his hand to the pillow. He was a lot of things, but that
wasn't one of them.
"You are thinking of your reflection in the mirror," Eric guessed, his fingers finding Stiles'
and threading them together. "And you are beautiful there, too. But I mean the noises you
make; the way your body gives and takes in turn; the smell of your life throbbing through
your veins."

"Creepy." The words lost whatever censure they were supposed to carry when Stiles tripped
over their delivery, his face burning with happy embarrassment at Eric's spiel.

A moment later, Eric placed his mouth at Stiles' neck from behind, and the prick of teeth
against his skin shoved Stiles from happiness to shock.

"Hey," warned Stiles, hand going slowly back to Eric's head. "Hey, what're you doing? No
biting, remember. I distinctly remember vetoing the biting aspect of all of this." The grumble
of discontent that met his prohibition set Stiles' heart to a faster beat, a low thrum of anxiety
setting in. "No, Eric," Stiles tried one last time.

A tense second followed before Eric's fangs snicked back up, loud in the newly-quiet room.

Belatedly Stiles realized that Eric was shaking above him, hard body tensed as if ready for
battle -- but there was no one there for Eric to fight save himself.

"I'm sorry." It was mournful and followed by a thumb at Stiles' neck, where the flesh was
unmarred save for a few hickies. "I -- I -- "

"Let me up," ordered Stiles. Immediately Eric complied, their bodies coming apart with a
lewd noise and a sensation of stickiness. Together they sat next to each other on the bed,
sweat and come still cooling on their bodies. A flush came over Stiles' cheeks when he
remembered that he was naked and on display. He didn't have low self-esteem, exactly, but
there was a reason he preferred to keep his shirt on and it wasn't because he burned easily. He
grabbed a pillow and put it on his lap.

"Sorry," repeated Eric with shuttered eyes.

"It's --" okay. Was it? Eric hadn't broken skin, it was true, but he'd known he wasn't supposed
to bite Stiles. For a moment, Eric had trembled on a knife's edge of control, and Stiles would
have to have been a fuck-ton of stupid to realize that the whole thing could have gone very
differently had anything pushed Eric the wrong direction. "You almost bit me."

"You -- your blood smells like sunlight over the seas, or rain filtering through trees."

"It's mine, though," said Stiles, mentally cataloging what Eric had said. Kind of poetic, if
weird. "Dude, it's my blood. You could be starving and it could smell like a seven-course
meal but it'd still be mine."

"You weren't concerned about the people I fed on last night." Instead of an attack it sounded
like an observation. A totally correct one, too.

"Yeah, well." Stiles twisted his mouth, fighting a wince. "I'm not perfect."
"Neither am I." Looking up through his lashes, Eric seemed mostly harmless, his light eyes
tracing Stiles' face.

Trying to disconnect himself from what was happening, Stiles realized he had a vampire on
his bed apologizing for almost drinking his blood right after he'd -- lost his virginity, or half
of it, how did that work, anyway -- and Stiles laughed, mostly at himself. He ran a hand over
his face and sighed. The clock at his bedside flashed 5:58, and the room was going from pitch
black to lighter shades of grey by the minute.

"You gotta get to bed soon," noted Stiles, self-aware enough to know he was dodging a
conversation they obviously needed to have.

"Yes," agreed Eric before leaning in slowly, giving Stiles plenty of time to move away. When
he didn't, Eric cupped Stiles' cheek and kissed him, pulled back an inch to stare. "I want you
inside me in all ways, your blood and your flesh. I want to take your body as I take your
blood; I want to drink everything from you, life and seed and sweat. I want to have you, and
for you to have me."

Stiles' mouth dropped open and Eric's eyes followed. Then they were kissing again, hot and
fast, Eric guiding Stiles back onto the bed and ripping away the pillow on Stiles' lap,
throwing it over his shoulder.

"Oh my God," Stiles said, meaninglessly, and reached for Eric --

-- who pulled away suddenly, glare twisting his face as he looked out the window.

"The sun," he said in explanation, and rose from the bed with supernatural speed. Two
seconds later he was gone, making no sound as he zoomed down the stairs, presumably to the
closet.

Stiles thunked his head back onto his dirtied bed, sheets smelling like spunk and his spine
getting itchier and itchier from the drying come. At his front, his half-hard dick bobbed as if
missing its partner. I want you inside me in all ways, your blood and your flesh. I want to take
your body as I take your blood; I want to drink everything from you. Moaning, Stiles grabbed
himself, biting at his own lip and jerking it. After Eric's hands, his own seemed disappointing
and cool, but it didn't matter in the end.

Stiles came all over himself, spine arching as Eric's words echoed in his head.

Like most boys his age, to Stiles an orgasm was as good as a soporific, and he slept easily. It
was only as he dragged his shoes on, closed the pantry door his dad had left open, and
grabbed his backpack that the beginning of unease began to uncurl in Stiles’ stomach. The
night before he had wrapped himself into a cocoon of feeling and thoughtless action, but
walking outside, the dawn cracked open his softness to a harsh reality.

On the way to school he spotted a hickey that had only grown over the night. Light-skinned
and too Scandinavian for his own good, Stiles had always bruised with a shocking
suddenness. Even though Eric had been gentle, the blue smear of broken vessels under the
skin still stretched several inches under Stiles’ Adam's apple.

Swallowing, Stiles swore he could feel the bruise constrict his airway. He pulled off to the
side of the road, swallowing over and over, the muscles around his soft pallete and trachea
pulling all of his attention. He'd never realized that his throat clicked when he swallowed --
was that normal? Was that new, from last night?

The hyper-focus of his own attention was such a double-edged sword, Stiles knew. It worked
in his favor for school, occasionally, turning him from a mildly smart student to one with a
gift for deep understanding and unique turns of logic. But when he turned the relentless
power of his mind against himself, Stiles never won. He knew the only way to escape the
whirlpool of singular thought was to overwhelm himself with observations. One worry was
catastrophic, but ten were manageable. If only he could split his attention, he would get out
of this without passing out at the side of the road.

A big breath. One, two. In the close confines of the car, Stiles’ own scent permeated the air,
and he filled his over-eager brain to the brim. The Jeep's clutch – it stuck, and had been
sticking for a while. That'd be expensive to fix. The sway of the trees next to the car, the
subtle shift of shadow and light playing out over his windshield. What his dad would say if
he found the freakin' vampire Stiles was hiding in their house – Stiles quickly moved on from
that thought. That was too real.

Eventually even Stiles' mind tired of savaging itself, and Stiles was left staring straight ahead
by the side of the road. Only a few moments had passed, though it felt much longer. He'd
become a pro by now; panic attacks were few and far between. Left with only his buzzing but
exhausted brain, Stiles felt the distillation of his every previous thought: he had to find out
where Eric was from, and help him return. Deaton was a no-go, but perhaps others would be
able to help. Allison's father, even, if Stiles could figure it. Perhaps Chris would know where
to start – would know where vampires may nest.

The resolution cleared Stiles' mind like no pointless afterthought could, and he drove on to
school.

The day passed quickly, though that was half-due to Stiles sleeping through differentials in
AP Calculus only to wake at the bell. It just so happened it was his one shared class with
Scott, who sent him a questioning eyebrow and a frown that told Stiles he’d have an
interrogation to survive. The last thing Stiles wanted to do was explain his recent actions to
Scott when he could barely explain them to himself, but he bucked up. No matter the tallies
of who had saved whose life, Stiles would owe Scott until the end of time. If he ever forgot
that, his scarred hands served a good reminder.

The text came right after AP Calc, between classes. Scott must have seen something he didn’t
like, to bother texting when lunch was already so close.

Scottland!: Derek keeping you up again?

Stiles did a double take. A few months ago he’d have made a naughty joke -- just now he
couldn’t bring himself to. Before and even during the Alpha crisis, Derek had made himself
at home at Stiles’ place at all hours of the night. Having Derek in his room -- so close to
where Stiles had dreamed of seeing him -- had been torturous the first few times. Eventually
Stiles had gotten used to Derek patrolling his house at all hours of the night, but it had been a
long, hard -- very hard -- first week.

Stiles shook himself out of his reverie and typed, Naw, all quiet on the creeper-wolf front. He
pocketed the phone and jogged to class.

Scottland!: you've got a hickey

“Fuck,” Stiles whispered at the screen. A blush started at his nose and spread to his cheeks,
staining them red.

“Mr. Stilinski?” Ms. Moore peered down at him from her desk. “Is that a phone you’re
cursing at?”

Crestfallen, Stiles nodded slowly. Shitfuck. He couldn’t be without his phone. He

just….couldn’t.

Seemingly disarmed by his lack of acerbic response, Ms. Moore sighed. “Please bring it here.
You can get it at the end of the day from the Principal’s office.”

The rest of the class passed slowly, Stiles twitching every few minutes. The last time he’d
been without his phone -- it’d been when he really needed it. In the woods, with the Alphas.
He’d left it at home because he was only supposed to have been gone a few minutes --

“Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles froze. He looked around at the empty room.

“It’s lunch time,” explained Ms. Moore, looking at him not unkindly.

Stiles loosened his death grip on his desk and left.

“Dude,” Scott fairly hissed when Stiles finally joined him at their lunch table. Allison was
nowhere in sight, and so Scott’s gaze fell squarely on Stiles. Or to be more accurate: the huge
fucking hickey under Stiles’ adam apple that he’d been unable to cover well enough,
obviously.

“Uh,” Stiles said.

“Dude.” Scott blinked and finally looked up from the hickey. He looked aggrieved, his pout
coming out. “You didn’t text me!”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, then moaned, head in his hands. “‘M sorry, man. Things just got.
You know.”

“But...who was it?” Scott sniffed at the air, then frowned. “I don’t smell anything.”
“First, you have to promise me you won’t freak out.”

Scott looked at Stiles like he was a four-year-old. “Well, that’s promising.”

“Hey, leave the sarcasm to me!” Stiles pointed at Scott, warning him. “It’s all I have.”

Scott rolled his eyes and sighed. “Stiles, man. It can’t be that bad. I won’t freak out.”

Stiles knocked his knee on the underside of the table and swore, grasping it with a hand.
When he got nervous, he still lost control of his limbs. At least the pain helped distract him
from what he was saying, which was, “well, remember the vampire I picked up?”

“There’re from the vampire?”

“Scott, you’re screeching,” Stiles whispered over the table so loud it must have been audible
from three tables over, if anyone cared to listen in to what the Beacon Hills weirdos said.

“The vampire?” Scott repeated, if possible getting even louder. “Your first hickies are from a
-- a --- “

“You promised you wouldn’t freak out,” Stiles got in, desperately looking around the lunch
room.

“I lied!” Scott said. “I lied and I’m totally freaking out, what the hell, Stiles!”

“Okay, look, Scott, it’s just like you and Allison, right? Hunter and hunted? Very romantic.”
As soon as he said it, he regretted it, and Stiles tried to bury his face into the hard plastic table
as Scott lost it even more.

The rest of lunch time was filled with Scott probing Stiles, and not in the fun way. Stiles
found himself promising that he hadn’t been forced into anything, hadn’t been hurt, hadn’t
been convinced into anything. At the end he felt bedraggled but strangely warm and cared
for, and as the ending bell rang, he threw a hand over Scott’s shoulder.

“You know you’re my bro, right?”

“Duh,” Scott replied, smiling with his whole soul. Then he got more serious. “But you realize
this means you can never give me shit about Allison or her family ever, ever again, right?”

“Fuck my life. Fine.”

Normally at the end of the school day, Stiles texted Scott to see if he’d need a ride home or if
he’d be going with Allison to do grown-up things. Today, however, his phone was locked in
the principal's office and he’d been too late to grab it. Seeing as it was his 5th offense in the
last year, the secretary had no sympathy for him and had simply waved him away in
annoyance.

Stiles puttered around his Jeep, fingering the broken passenger-side seatbelt and rolling his
eyes at the memory of Derek freaking out then tearing Eric out of the car. Asshole still hadn’t
offered to pay for the seatbelt.

A light rap against his half-open window scared Stiles, and he froze before twirling around to
whoever was outside his Jeep.

It was a woman.

There wasn’t anything gaudy about her; she looked really nice, actually, with a cute grin and
buck teeth that reminded Stiles of Derek, vaguely, if Stiles ignored almost everything else
about her.

“Hi,” she said, and, “I’m Sookie.”

 Chapter 4
Chapter Notes

Don't mind me, just strolling in half a decade later after thinking about finishing this
damn story at least once a month for the past several thousand days.

Reminders: All tags are not yet present on this story. It gets darker. End-game is still
Derek/Stiles (although Eric and Stiles still have some porning left to do). Next chapter
already written.

“Sookie?” Stiles repeated. If anything the woman’s grin grew wider at hearing her name. She
nodded.

“Yes. And it is very nice to meet you!”

“Uh. Yeah,” Stiles said. His heart was already beating faster. She didn’t look like anything
scary or dangerous, but he didn’t know who she was -- what she was.

Suddenly she was pressed right up against his window, looking side to side shiftily. Stiles
immediately thought back to the phone he’d had confiscated earlier that day. Instead of
attacking him, though, she just said, “So, is there anything weird about me?”

Stiles took a second to really understand the question.

“Well,” he said. “Not sure. Your name. I guess. Though I am kinda throwing stones at glass
houses, there.”

The woman gave him a mildly perturbed look, which Stiles took very personally. If anyone
was going to be perturbed during this situation it was going to be him, thank you kindly. A
strange woman being pressed all over his car was one of those things that sounded great in
the abstract but was less awesome in real life.

“Well then, what’s your name?” She asked, a whisper of an accent coloring her words.

“Stiles,” Stiles said. “Like I said, I can hardly cast aspersions on anybody’s name. So
you’re….Sookie?”

“Sure am. Aren’t we just two peas in a pod!” Sookie looked too happy for the situation, and
Stiles’ alarm bells officially started going off. It wasn’t Stilesey-sense, exactly, that ringing in
his bones that had gone off when the Alphas had come after him, but there was something
there and Stiles wasn’t taking any chances.

“So. What’s weird about you? Besides the name.” Stiles squinted.
Sookie looked deeply into his eyes, then lifted her eyebrows once, twice. Stiles assumed it
was supposed to be meaningful, but he found it pretty bereft of meaning. He did jazz hands in
response.

“We’re two peas in a pod. You know,” Sookie said encouragingly.

“I really don’t,” Stiles said back. “Besides having sad names -- “

“--now no need to get mean.” Sookie put her hands on her hips and finally leaned away from
Stiles’ car window. “I just...we’re family, of a sort.”

Stiles stared. It was his turn to lift his eyebrows.

“Very, very distant family,” Sookie added, as if that helped. She quirked an eyebrow again.

“I’m the only-child of only-children,” Stiles said, bewildered.

“Oh, Jesus on the cross, I’m fae too!” Sookie finally snapped.

And that was how Stiles met his fairy godmother.

**

“I am not your fairy godmother,” Sookie said for the fourth time from the passenger’s seat of
the Jeep.

The past thirty minutes had consisted of Stiles keeping his cool while he came to terms with
being tracked down by yet another magical being. It was like the Alphas all over again,
except this one was super sweet and had brought really, really good cornbread with her.

“B’ you sa’d you feh?” Stiles tried to get the words out around the cornbread and did not
succeed. He swallowed as Sookie watched him, vague disgust on her face. He tried again.
“But you said you’re fae, right?”

“Yes,” Sookie said slowly. “Fae. How do you think I found you, by the by?”

“Honestly, I was trying not to think about it.” Stiles said. He nudged his car towards the left
lane; he had to turn up here.

“Well, I can’t read you. So when I came round these parts, it was easy to find you ‘n yours.”

“Me and mine?” “

You, easy as pie. Felt a few others: the wolves.”

A cold, biting pain hit Stiles’ shoulder as he froze. The car behind him honked and he slowly
turned left, third to second gear.

“Wolves?” Stiles asked, trying to play it cool. Someone knowing about whatever his
weirdness was, that would be okay. But the pack? That, he had to protect.
“Don’t worry,” Sookie said, throwing him a look. “We’re all in on it. And werewolf minds
are so chaotic -- you know how it is, you try reading them for anything meaningful and you’ll
end up drooling in a rocking chair out on a Georgia farm.”

Stiles kept silent for a moment but it was all he could bear before his curiosity got the best of
him. “Reading them?”

“Yeah,” Sookie was looking out the car window as Beacon Hills gave way to the forest of the
Preserve. “Their minds.”

“You can read minds?” Stiles asked without thinking.

Sookie’s head whipped around. “You can’t?”

“You don’t have to say it like that!” Stiles replied, feeling frantic. He really, really wanted his
phone.

“Oh.” Sookie drew her mouth into a moue of contriteness. “I’m sorry, don’t mean nothing by
that. I forget that all us half-fae have different abilities.”

“Gee, that makes it all better then,” Stiles muttered as he tried not to think about anything,
especially where they were eventually going. It was very, very hard. “So you can read minds,
then?”

“That’s putting it a bit simply, but yes, most humans broadcast their thoughts quite loudly. I
can’t hear any real thoughts from you, of course, on account of the fae blood, but you do buzz
a bit.”

Stiles sighed internally. Shit, that was close. And she’d said earlier, hadn’t she, that she
couldn’t “read” him. Must have been what she’d meant.

“How about you, then?” Sookie asked with a sweet smile. Her blonde hair fell over her
collarbone and Stiles felt almost bad for a moment. “What can you do?”

Stiles made a split-second decision to take her for food before taking her to Derek.

It was over burritos from Ray’s Taco Shop that Stiles spilled the goods. Sookie had dug
crumpled five-dollar bills out of her strawberry-themed purse to pay for their haul via
drivethrough (four shrimp tacos, a quesadilla, and salsa with chips), and Stiles had been a
goner from that point on. His personal well-being, bought and paid for in food. Credit to her,
though: Sookie had hidden any disappointment when Stiles had admitted that he had no
powers beyond his Stilesey-sense and his ability to manipulate low-level items such as
mountain ash.

“I’ve also been told I smell good,” Stiles added as he tried to dig a piece of cheese out from
behind his molar. Sometimes food was so damn good that chewing just seemed disrespectful.
He gagged on his own finger. Sookie didn’t seem to notice.

“That’d be the blood. We smell a dream to certain members of the night.” She stuffed a piece
of quesadilla in her mouth, grease running down her lip as she chewed and swallowed.
“Count yourself lucky you ain’t full fae. They get gobbled up if they leave their world and
don’t mask themselves.”

“Gobbled up?” Stiles sucked hard at the back of his mouth and the piece of cheese came free.
Victory! “By what?”

“Vampires, of course,” Sookie said casually. She polished off the last slice of the quesadilla
and wiped her face with the napkin, treating it like a hand towel. “Ever had any visit?”

Stiles didn’t let the atmosphere in the car change, and definitely didn’t think of Eric. Instead,
he finished his bite of taco. “We get lots of stuff coming through here. It’s a hotspot, Buffy-
style, due to a tree -- long story -- and I’d be surprised if a few vampires hadn’t come through
before. We’ve never had any problems, though.”

As casually as she’d brought it up Sookie let it drop, but it was too late: Stiles’ brain was
already chugging along, half trying to make connections and half screaming at him that he
needed his phone, needed backup. They were pulling out into the street, still crowded with
after-work traffic, when Stiles leaned over the middle console.

“So. I gotta take you to see somebody.”

“Oh, sure. Your alpha, right?” Sookie smiled disarmingly.

“Well, he’s not exactly mine, but, yeah.”

“Fine by me, that’s who I need to see. You were just a happy coincidence. Always good to
meet another fae.” She sounded so sincere that Stiles couldn't bring himself to doubt her.
But…

“You knew I was part of a pack?” Stiles did a double take. Did he smell like wet dog?

“Oh. Yes.” Sookie looked at her hands. “Promise I ain’t stalking you. It’s just you got that
aura.” She hooked her hands into fake claws. “The grr aura.”

“Grr?” Stiles asked.

“Yes,” Sookie giggled. “Kinda like...your aura has teeth? Happens when you join a pack.”

“Oh,” Stiles said. He accelerated onto the highway north and carefully didn’t think about how
he hadn’t thought he was pack. “Well that actually sounds kind of cool.”

“Right?”

Stiles didn’t say anything else as they drove out to the preserve. The woman, Sookie, wasn’t
pinging any of his freak-out genes; in fact, she was doing the opposite, if that were possible.
He felt at ease around her, like she really was the family she’d claimed when they’d met.

All he could do was hope she wasn’t a secret murderer as he drove her out to Derek’s house,
where Derek lurked during most days. Well. Stiles called it lurking, but Derek had actually
been conducting one-man demolition on parts of the house, lately. Stiles again missed his
phone, and crossed his fingers.

“Here, kitty kitty kitty,” Stiles shouted after he got out of the Jeep. Derek’s house sprung up
from the ground before them, its huge wooden frame implanted in the earth like it had been
there a thousand years.

“You have got to be shitting me,” came a voice from the trees. Erica stepped into view a
moment later, her gaze going quickly from Sookie to Stiles. “You’re not even fucking
kidnapped.”

“Uh.” Stiles said. “What?”

Erica marched towards Stiles and Sookie, her phone already in her hand. She texted furiously
with one thumb, nail painted blood-red. Stiles didn’t interrupt her.

“You’re taking me home,” Erica snarled after she finished her text and glared at Sookie, then
Stiles. “Derek freaked the fuck out when he couldn’t reach you, you idiot, and the whole pack
is spread around the city looking for you.”

Stiles sent a look to Sookie. He meant for it to be reassuring, but it probably came out as a
cry for help. Sookie looked unperturbed about Erica assuming she was incapable of kidnap.
Stiles wasn’t so willing to let it go, even as they piled in his Jeep.

“I could be kidnapped!”

“What, by Plain Jane? I can smell the cornbread from here, please.” Erica sniffed and rolled
her eyes from the back seat.

“I’m not a very good kidnapper,” Sookie confirmed from her seat across from Stiles.

“Wait. Have you kidnapped people before?” Stiles started the Jeep (only two tries!) and
rolled backwards.

“It’s harder than it sounds,” Sookie defended herself.

The three spent the next twenty minutes discussing the occasional hell that was living on a
hotspot. Stiles seriously could have gone without learning about were-cats and breeding, but
he felt Erica and he held their own when they presented the Kanima episode. During the story
Stiles let go of the wheel to gesticulate and Sookie gasped in alarm. “No, it’s fine, I
sometimes do that,” Stiles reassured her.

It turned out even Sookie hadn’t heard of a Kanima, and making her gape in shock put a
strange bubble of pride in Stiles’ chest. Even Erica started to warm up after getting a piece of
cornbread from the depths of Sookie’s purse.

They ended up driving halfway around the city to return Erica home, where Boyd and Derek
were waiting out front. Boyd lounged on her steps, eyes only half-open, while Derek’s face
was so twisted it looked like he was brainstorming torture tactics. Seeing this, Stiles made the
tactical decision to park on the street instead of the driveway; preserving a quick getaway was
clearly paramount to human-fae survival.

Boyd and Erica excused themselves immediately (cowards), leaving Stiles, Sookie, and
Derek outside as the neighbor’s watering system clicked on in the background.

“So nice to meet you!” Sookie exclaimed to Derek, waving instead of offering her hand to
shake. It was thoughtlessly thoughtful, and proved she did know at least some basics. Casual
touching outside of the pack was tolerated but certainly not invited in werewolf circles.

Derek spent a few minutes asking questions half-heartedly, then thanked Sookie for checking
in with him as a visitor to Beacon Hills, and (shockingly) accepted her offer of cornbread
from her strawberry-patterned purse. Watching Sookie completely obliterate every wall
Derek put up with a sweet smile and sweeter giggles struck awe in Stiles at the same time a
slightly more sour emotion welled up. After letting them finish up their creature-of-the-night
customs, Stiles offered to drive Sookie back to the city center. When she declined and told
them she’d grab an Uber from a nearby park, Stiles didn’t analyze his feelings of relief.

Stiles drifted closer to Derek’s side as Sookie walked away, bumping his shoulder.

“Hey. Can I have that cornbread?”

“Better not. Just in case.” Derek poked then glared at it, sniffing as if he’d be able to smell
any ensorcelling.

Stiles winced. “Actually, I already had a piece earlier.”

Derek threw his head back and sighed. “Honestly, Stiles. I am amazed at the fact of your
continued existence.”

“Thank you,” Stiles shot back. “About that cornbread?”

He did not get seconds on the cornbread.

**

Derek commandeered the Jeep, bullying Stiles into driving him all the way back out to the
Preserve.

“Derek,” Stiles stopped the Alpha before he could get out of the vehicle. “She just happened
to ask if we’d seen any vampires lately. I’m betting it wasn’t a coincidence.”

Derek frowned at that. “I don’t like that.”

“She didn’t feel dangerous.”

“No,” Derek agreed. “But you should have texted me about that. Or answered any of our
calls. I would have followed her.”
Stiles then had to explain that his phone was in metaphorical jail in the principal’s office
while his hands started trying to shake. He’d been without his phone for almost eight hours
now. He swallowed and the enormity of that hit him -- he had very carefully been within four
or five feet of his phone since that night with the Alphas.

Seemingly uncaring of Stiles’ sudden panic, Derek glared and told him to wait before getting
out of the car. The sun was setting and Stiles tried to focus on that instead of how anything
could have happened to him without backup accessible in his back pocket.

Minutes later Derek was leaning into the Jeep from the passenger’s side, forcing a phone into
Stiles’ hands.

“I - what?”

“It’s an extra,” Derek explained. “Don’t get this one put in jail, too. It should use your
charger.” He didn’t meet Stiles’ eyes, instead opting to lean back out and cross his arms.
“Don’t be an idiot.”

A little thrown, Stiles bumbled out a ‘thank you’ but Derek had disappeared into the growing
dark.

Scrolling through the contact list preloaded on the phone didn’t last long: there was only one
contact. “Alpha” it read, with Derek’s number underneath. Thumb hovering over the contact,
Stiles opened it and renamed it.

“Alpha >:( “

With a small smile Stiles sent a quick Thanks, not waiting to see if Derek texted him back
before leaving to go home.

**

Still thinking through Sookie’s appearance earlier that day, Stiles almost smacked his own
head when he realized he’d have to talk to Eric about what had happened last night. It was a
testament to how busy the day had been that Stiles hadn’t once had a panic attack about
having to have a feelings and boundaries conversation with a vampire.

But with the moon rising there was only so much time before Eric went out, and Stiles clearly
wasn’t capable of higher thought at 3 or 4 AM, so it was now or never. He knocked on the
study door. Before he'd even stepped back, Eric was there, no sound accompanying the
movement.

No matter how Stiles told himself he was used to supernatural beings breaking the laws of
physics, displacing time and space with no hint of their existence, he still couldn't help
gasping.

"Sorry," Eric immediately said. He looked down to his bare toes. "I had no intention of
scaring you."
"You didn't! Definitely. Um." Stiles rocked back on his heels, hands finding his hoodie
pocket through long habit.

"Do you find yourself well?"

"So well, man," Stiles said. "I mean -- I'm good."

Eric kept a steady gaze on Stiles, a gaze that slipped to Stiles' throat back to his eyes. "I am
glad to hear it. I was rough, earlier. I wanted to apologize."

"No, no, no apologies necessary at all." Stiles waved away the very thought, or tried. Then,
he thought of something better. He grabbed the hoodie and yanked it to the side, showing off
the quickly healing bruise that Eric had given him only that morning. "See? Gonna be fine in
a few days."

Instead of laying off, as Stiles had thought he might, the vampire stepped forward. Eric's
hands raised, encircling Stiles' neck before Stiles could retreat. Like the best prey in the
world, he froze.

His hoodie was slowly pulled to the side, Eric's cool fingers trailing over Stiles' collarbone.

"Is it painful?" Eric asked, staring at the bruise. "Did I hurt you?"

"No," Stiles said, then, "Well, I. Liked it."

"Good," Eric said, the words coming out on a deep exhale.

"Did you sleep -- is it sleeping? I guess it is -- did you sleep okay?" Stiles tried to ignore his
body shaking. He didn't know why he was shaking. He wasn't scared, exactly.

"I slept fine, Stiles."

After that exchange, Stiles had nothing to say. He glanced up at his accidentally adopted
vampire and was again struck by how hot Eric was. If that morning had been the first time
he'd come in another's hand, this night was the first time he faced that person again, and
Stiles had no idea what to say. He wanted to do it again -- just drag Eric over to the couch in
the living room and rut up against him.

Eric's nose twitched. His eyes, a light blue, darkened.

"I need to feed, first," he said, unprompted. He ran a thumb over Stiles' neck, an unconscious
gesture.

"First?"

Eric ducked his head down, nestling his nose right next to Stiles' ear.

"Before we warm your bed."

"Fuck, Eric, you can't just sa --" Stiles didn't even get the protest out before Eric kissed him,
finding Stiles' mouth and taking it for his own. Eric wrapped hands around Stiles thighs and
dragged him up the door frame, his muscle bunching and moving with their kisses. Stiles felt
more than heard Eric's fangs snick out, and as soon as he did he moved his head back,
banging it on the wood paneling behind him. He had nowhere to go. Stiles could see that
Eric's eyes were slits, focused somewhere around Stiles' chin, and Stiles flailed.

Eric lowered Stiles to the ground and grabbed his wrists, pinning them to the sides of Stiles'
head. He ducked back in to meet Stiles' gaze.

"I will not harm you."

Stiles swallowed. "Sure. Yeah. No biting Stiles, you know that, right?"

"Biting -- " Eric grinned, very small and barely there. "It would not hurt you. But you have
made your feelings clear. Know that I will not hurt you. Your body..." and Eric took Stiles'
hand down, placing it between them. The dusk light illuminated the fine lines crisscrossing
the back of Stiles' hand, scar tissue curving around the sweep of his palm. Stiles felt more
than saw Eric's gaze go from his hand to Stiles' face. "Or your heart," finished Eric.

Stiles couldn't look up. He made a disbelieving noise, cross between a laugh and a snort.

"You don't even know me, dude." It was a protest of some sort, or Stiles meant it to be. Only
after he'd said it did he realize how unsure it sounded.

"I know how you smell. Light through trees, the wind over the ocean. You're braver than you
should be. Too brave for your own body."

Stiles rolled his eyes. His cheeks were hot.

Eric continued, "And I am not a dude. At least, I do not think so."

At that, Stiles couldn't help snorting again. "No, no," he agreed. He tried not to think of
Derek, how he used to say almost exactly the same thing -- with more growling.

"You're right."

"Will you be here when I return?"

"Yeah. Of course. It's night, Eric. If I need to feed, it'll be from the fridge."

With a satisfied nod, Eric palmed Stiles' face, kissing him again. Then he disappeared.

On the way up to his room Stiles stumbled only once, on the faux-Persian rug that curled up
on the ends, forever a tripping hazard. Through a haze he cleaned his face, shaved, and got in
the shower. As the water streamed down, he thought about what would happen that night. His
dad wouldn't be back until early morning. That meant if he wanted, he could ask Eric to fuck
him.
Stiles put his head against the wall, trying to clear his thoughts. Derek had said -- what had he
said about vampires? They could manipulate your thoughts, control your body. Was that why
he felt this way?

But no. Even as he thought it, Stiles felt guilt for thinking that Eric had done anything except
be attractive and slightly dangerous in Stiles' general vicinity. The vampire was lean, strong,
and didn't seem violent, at least not cruelly. Cupping his balls and rubbing along the head of
his cock, Stiles rocked into his own hand. Yeah, tonight. He could do tonight.

He slipped a finger between his thighs, rubbing over his perineum, ostensibly soaping
himself up. Once that was done he traced his hole, biting at his lip as his body clenched and
unclenched, finger pushing in. By the time he was done he was panting, but he didn't want to
get off, for some reason. He left the shower with a towel around his waist, a little cold in the
night air.

In his room, he yelped.

"Fucking -- mother fucker ---"

Derek was standing by his bed, head down and hands fisted at his sides.

Mortification swept over Stiles. "I really, really hope you just got here." Could a werewolf
hear a whimper over running water? Then, "You asshole. You fucking -- you ever think I
might not appreciate random night visits? Especially after..." Stiles waved a hand wildly,
indicating their shared past.

Derek didn't have the grace to look ashamed. He just growled and yanked his head up to glare
at Stiles. "You seem fine with night visitors."

"Oh my god, you're joking me." Stiles scoffed. Was Derek actually playing at being jealous?
"What are you even here for, dude?"

"Don't call me that," Derek said, hissing out the last word and muscling Stiles against a wall.
He managed to do it without actually touching Stiles, the threat enough to have Stiles pre-
emptively back up.

"And here we go again, Stiles against a wall, take 27." Stiles crossed his arms in front of his
chest, feeling like he wanted to hide. With Derek so close and warm, he was only reminded
of his nakedness under the towel. Times like this were made for sarcasm.

When the requisite bitch-back from Derek failed to come, Stiles opened his eyes to see Derek
staring at Stiles' hickey. He looked -- blank. Totally and completely. It didn't fit at all with
Derek, who wore his emotions in his eyebrows like the furriest cape, who managed to make
"silent disgust" into an artform. He clearly hadn’t noticed it earlier, when Stiles had been
hiding it under his hoodie.

"Did he bite you?" The question was surprisingly placid, dinner-party-esque.

"No," Stiles said. "I'm not an idiot, no matter what you seem to think. I told him not to."
Derek gritted his teeth. "I'm not saying you are. But if he did bite you, when he shouldn't
have -- he's older -- "

Stiles cawed in a hybrid laugh-yell, loud enough Derek stepped back, finally giving Stiles
some breathing room where he'd pinned him against the wall. "I'll say! Seems obvious to me
he's a freakin' Viking, or near to it."

"It's not funny," Derek said, swirling around to pace. "And you know what I mean."

"Yeah, you're what, Derek, scared for my virtue?" Stiles sneered the last word. The anger at
Derek once again butting in where he wasn't wanted gave Stiles the bravery to do what he
hadn't been able to before. He dropped the towel and swiveled on his foot to his dresser,
throwing on boxers. The whole time the room was quiet, Derek's eyes on his back. Stiles
could feel the gaze like electricity on his skin.

“If he hurts you,” Derek started, taking a step forward to replace the ground he had lost.

“What, you’re going to do something about it?” Stiles huffed another laugh as he turned back
around to face Derek, even if he couldn’t bring himself to look anywhere but Derek’s vague
direction.

The room seemed to get smaller when Derek got closer. It had been long enough without a
comeback that Stiles looked up to meet Derek’s eyes, wondering what he’d missed in their
usual back and forth.

“I failed to protect you, once.” The words came out of Derek’s mouth quietly, like the flap of
birds’ wings, almost silent enough to ignore. But Stiles was riveted. “You needed me, and I
wasn’t there, and you got hurt. And I’ll never forgive myself for it.”

For months they’d danced around it, never really talking about the torture Stiles had endured,
how Scott and Derek had each thought Stiles with the other for the night, how Derek hadn’t
found him until Stiles’ voice had been thrashed into nothingness.

Stiles had left his phone at home, that night.

The backup phone that Derek had bought, had pre-programmed with his number, sat on
Stiles’ desk. Stiles could see it from where he stood. It blinked, indicating a message waiting
for him. Derek was the only one with that number.

“ It – ,” Stiles started to say. Their back and forth was like a track in the ground, worn deep
and maintained by their daily bickering. But Derek had just blown them both off the tracks,
and Stiles was left unsure, head fuzzy with a sudden influx of nerves. “It wasn’t your fault,”
he finally got out. His voice was quieter than he wanted, but it still filled the room.

Derek started shaking his head before Stiles had even finished. “I’m the Alpha. I should have
checked on you. I should have known.”

Any other time, Stiles would have immediately mocked Derek for referring to himself that
way. But his throat was dry, his eyes hot, and he couldn’t bring himself to act normally.
Thankfully Derek didn’t suffer the same plight; he turned towards the window and growled,
“Now put on a shirt.”

Stiles quickly opened the second drawer of his dresser and did so, hands trembling. He
couldn’t help snarking, “Well that’s hypocritical.” It said something – Stiles wasn’t sure what
– that Derek took the barb and returned nothing. Derek turned back once he’d heard Stiles’
shirt settle onto his skin.

“The girl who visited us earlier today,” he said, suddenly moving on with no warning.
Typical fucking Derek.

“Sookie?” Stiles felt a vague sense of whiplash.

Derek nodded. “She visited Deaton. Asked if he’d had any reports of vampires. Scott
overheard and called me.”

“So she is looking for Eric,” Stiles said. He felt some vague sense of unease come to life in
his chest. She seemed like a nice person, and he felt bad for misleading her. Eric had lost his
memories; maybe she could help.

Derek looked as pleased as a person with a perpetual bitch-face could look. “Yes. I’m not
sure why, but she is.”

A contrary nature that Stiles would never lose told him to point out that they might be
handing Eric over to an evil mastermind. Then his brain unearthed his impression of Sookie,
her strawberry purse and cornbread, and even he couldn’t pretend.

“Fine,” Stiles said, slightly mulish. It figured his provider of orgasms might be taken away.

Derek only stayed a bit longer. It appeared that when Scott had overheard Sookie’s
conversation with Deaton, Scott had called Stiles; when he’d been unable to reach Stiles,
Scott had called Derek, who had subsequently started a completely unnecessary man-hunt.
School tomorrow was going to be a bitch – Derek and Scott worrying about him made them
each insufferable in their own way. But Stiles couldn’t help feeling a warm spark in his belly,
knowing he’d been missed almost immediately, that Derek had sent his wolves looking as
soon as he’d noticed.

A few minutes later and alone, Stiles woke the phone Derek had gifted him. Messages from
Alpha >:( waited.

The first read, We need to talk about our visitor.

Then, only a minute or two later, Stiles?

Coming over now, had come through last.

Stiles hovered his fingers over the screen. I’ll never forgive myself for it, Derek had all but
whispered.
It wasn’t your fault, Stiles typed out with his scarred hands. He stared at the message, and it
felt like the truth. He had been – he had been cruel. To Derek. Stiles made him feel like what
happened was Derek’s fault, when it wasn’t, not truly.

Stiles hit send and threw the phone on his bed. He didn’t care if Derek texted back. Really.
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