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[Teen Wolf] Dangerous Things (4/?)

Title: Dangerous Things
Characters/Pairing: Stiles/Derek, also some Scott/Allison and Lydia/Jackson
Summary: The Medieval AU where Derek is an incubus and Stiles is so, so far out of his depth right now.
Rating: R (this chapter), NC-17 (over all)
Chapter: 4/?
Word Count: 5,654
Warnings: Dub-con, canon typical violence/horror, discussion of rape
Previous parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, AO3 link

This chapter marks the end of what is effectively Part One of this whole monster of a story. To give a rough idea of how much we've got left to go, if the whole thing comes in at under 14 chapters, I shall be very surprised.

So it figures that just when Stiles was getting used to having his life threatened and all his assumptions overturned on a daily basis, his next morning is so close to uneventful it's almost a let down. No new revelations, no new monsters, nothing. Life could almost be declared 'back to normal'.

Scott and Alison are still sneaking around doing their tragic love story that Stiles is all but convinced everyone in the tower except Chris already knows about. Scott's still sneaking around being the secret werewolf that everyone but Lydia and the hunters already knows about. Lydia and Jackson are apparently now running their own secret, tragic – or just profoundly nausea-inducing – love story behind the scenes somewhere. And Stiles finally has some secrets of his own. Well, whatever.

Knowing what he knows about Lydia and Jackson still hurts today, but it hurts like an old ache, something he's had months to get used to rather than hours. Okay, so she's sleeping with Jackson – compared to some of her other suitors, even he's not that bad. It's not like it means she's going to marry him. It's not like it means she's doing any more than messing around with him for a little fun and a little post-near-death-experience comfort. Instead of Stiles, which is probably for the best because it's not like Stiles could ever have dealt with being someone Lydia only went to for a little fun.

Yeah, so he's still more than a little bitter, but the whole time he was in the same room as Lydia this morning it hardly even stung. When he thinks about the possibility of switching places with Jackson, getting Lydia but never having Derek at all, it doesn't sting at all.

Stiles figures he can put off analysing that one too closely for at least another day or two. He's earned that much for all his trouble.

The one thing that does happen to Stiles that day involves getting cornered unexpectedly by Chris Argent. There's no escape; Chris can corner a person without a corner or even a wall within a dozen paces, and that's exactly what he does when Stiles runs into him out by the wood pile.

"Oh, hey," says Stiles, realising too late he's not the only one to choose this moment to go out for more firewood. "After you. I'll come back later."

He gets as far as turning around before Chris calls his name. "Why waste your trip? There's plenty to go around. Besides, I've been meaning to talk to you."

"What about?" asks Stiles, like he really doesn't know, eyeing the log pile and judging his distance. Maybe if he makes a dash for it he can grab a couple of logs, make an excuse about the cold and be back inside before this can get personal.

Chris smiles. He has a couple of different ways of smiling, none of which Stiles likes very much, and today doesn't look like being the day he finally invents one. He says, "I understand we have you to thank for ridding us of one of our incubi the other night."

"Well, you know," says Stiles, edging his way closer only to find Chris still seems to be in his way from every possible angle, "someone had to do something, and it's only what Deaton's been teaching me to do... you know, ever since that time all those years ago when he caught me stealing his supplies and decided I needed to learn exactly how many horrible things could have gone horribly wrong for me." In other circumstances, Stiles would voluntarily raise that little historical gem only under extreme duress, but all past experience with Chris assures him it's only going to get brought up for him if he doesn't get there first. Unfortunately, it seems today is the day when one of the Argents finally recognises that Deaton's efforts with Stiles amount to more than a creative form of discipline.

"Don't be so modest. I had no idea you'd come so far," says Chris. "You've been holding out on us."

"I wouldn't look at it as holding out so much as... not rushing into things before I'm ready," Stiles clarifies. "Deaton has very firm opinions and a few very colourful sayings on the topic of apprentices who go out looking for trouble before they're qualified to handle it. Common sense."

Chris gives him a different smile. This one suggests slightly too much amusement at Stiles' definition of 'common sense'. "In my experience, you never know what you're ready for until you're tested. It's at times like this, when we come under adversity, we find out what our friends are really made of." Chris puts a 'friendly' hand on Stiles' shoulder. "I can see you're going to be a great asset to us someday."

Stiles fidgets and tries to find a take on that statement which implies he gets a say in the matter. "Who knows? I guess I could surprise you yet."

Chris' smile broadens. "There's still another incubus out there. Your chance might come sooner than you think."

The need to ask wars briefly with the urge to cut this conversation as short as possible. "Um. About that." Oh, what the hell. Like Stiles has ever gone with 'shut up' when there's any other option. "Do incubi normally travel around in pairs?"

Chris raises his eyebrows and folds his arms. "You tell me, Stiles. Aren't you the expert now?"

"Well," says Stiles, "for one, I got one lucky shot in, that doesn't make me an expert. And for another, nothing I've ever read about incubi said they travel in groups, and everything says there hasn't been a single incubus around these parts in over a hundred years. So there's a gap in my knowledge somewhere and I'd rather fill it by asking the right questions than by waiting until we find out there's twenty more of them out there all after me for revenge." He's learning to love lying by implication on subjects that would've made him nervous even if everything he was saying had been the truth. "Or whether I can sleep easy knowing the other one is busy putting half a continent between itself and your sister. Which is what it'll be doing right now if it has any sense."

Chris smiles. Again. "You know why there hasn't been an incubus seen in this country in a hundred years?"

Stiles should have known better than to hope for anything so simple as a straight answer for his trouble. "Okay. Enlighten me."

"What you need to understand about incubi," Chris turns to the wood pile, because naturally you only add to the effect of a lecture by casually doing something else all the time you're talking, "is that they have more in common with the common werewolf than most people realise. One bite, or one touch, that's all they need to enslave their victims to the basest of their instincts. For the wolves, it's aggression, whereas for the incubus, that base drive is lust. Even for the best of us, desires that primal can be hard to resist."

Stiles feels a person could happily go their whole life without having to hear Chris Argent pronounce the word lust.

"With your reason overcome, what's left of you is easy prey for the will of the alpha – or for the demon." Chris hefts a good solid piece of wood up for inspection. "We're lucky our incubus only sent Lydia to sleep; if she'd been conscious she would have done whatever the demon wanted her to do."

Stiles shifts his weight impatiently. (Not nervously. Definitely no nerves happening.) "Is this building to a point of some kind?"

"Oh, but you see," Chris waves his log toward Stiles for emphasis, "the real difference is what happens next. A werewolf bite can add you to his pack, but all a demon can do is kill you. They can't turn humans, and they don't have that same power over their own kind. That's why when you meet one, it's always going to be alone. And you see, Stiles, once you know their weaknesses, picking them off isn't so hard as you might think. My family's known about those weaknesses for a number of generations."

"Okay," says Stiles, "this is fascinating, but maybe I could repeat my question for you..."

"You want me to speculate as to how we got two incubi in a place where none have been seen for generations?" Outwardly, Chris sounds confident enough, but something in his inflection over the word 'speculate' delivers Stiles a rare flash of insight.

"You don't have any more idea than I do, do you?" Presumably even less idea than Stiles, if Chris can dissemble this long without producing any good alternative to Derek's version of events.

"Not yet," says Chris lightly, apparently unthreatened by his own ignorance. "One incubus might be no more than a lone rogue looking for new territory, but two – that suggests something more sinister than mere coincidence. But if we catch ourselves that second demon, we might just find out what."

Stiles is in the middle of sorting this new non-surprise into his worldview and awarding one more grudging point for to the Derek side of the Incubus/Hunter Credibility Showdown when Chris drops his real bombshell, "Come by our quarters at sunset today; you might just be able to help out."

The concentrated efforts of Stiles' father over the years of his short, uninteresting childhood mean that Stiles has only ever learned a few really good swearwords. None of them seem quite sufficient right at this moment.

Chris goes right on like nothing has happened. "One way or another, we'll be seeing it again, Stiles. But I'd sleep easy for now, if I were you." He gives Stiles one last smile for good measure, finishes grabbing himself some wood and heads back inside.

"Thanks," Stiles calls after him. "That's very reassuring."

Good sarcasm is wasted on the Argents.


So. Chris wants Stiles to 'help out' with whatever brilliant idea the hunters have concocted for tracking down Derek. That doesn't necessarily mean they know he's hiding something, but any excuse he makes to get out of showing up is going to look pretty damning if they do, and pretty suspicious even if they don't. Stiles has been a member of the serving classes long enough to recognise that just because Mr Argent had couched his invitation in terms of 'should's and 'might's doesn't mean he was giving Stiles the liberty to treat it as a suggestion. So as the sun dips below the tree line, instead of arranging to be horribly busy with his regular chores or giving Lydia excuses to find him more work to do, Stiles makes his way downstairs.

The hunters' quarters take up most of the ground floor not already spoken for by the kitchens and store rooms. He's been down here a handful of times before on one errand or another, but by and large the hunters don't have a lot of use for servants. They tend their own horses, they sweep their own floors, and you'd better believe they sharpen their own swords. Hunters have their pride, and they trust no-one outside their own circle around their gear.

Kate meets him at the door with that classic Argent smile. "If it isn't the man of the hour. Ready to see if you can make two demons for two?"

"Yeah, about that," says Stiles, crossing the threshold with all the enthusiasm of the condemned, "maybe if we look at what happened the other night as more of a fluke and..." and that's as far as he gets before he gets a good look at what's waiting for him inside. "Oh."

Space in the main meeting room isn't so much cluttered as unwasted. Bookshelves or cabinets filled with maps and journals cover most of the wall, what space is left between them bristling with rows of hooks holding up coils of rope and netting or a hundred variations on the theme of sharpened metal. If the hunters want to debate the merits of the perfect tool for a very particular job in here, they don't intend to go far for a demonstration model – the intimidation factor, he's sure, is purely incidental. But this is background stuff, nothing he hasn't seen on previous visits; Stiles' attention goes straight to what the hunters have set up on the long oak table taking up the centre of the room. Whereas that table has always been covered in maps and reference material when he's been here before, this time it's bare but for a set of runestones placed to mark the four cardinal directions and a small unornamented dagger, hanging by its balance point on a length of twine strung from the peak of a three-legged metal stand. The blade, a little less than one hand-width in length, is dark with dried blood.

Elsewhere in the room, Chris Argent is saying something like, "Stiles, pleased you could join us," but Stiles would be paying more attention if he hadn't been preoccupied just at that moment remembering being told Kate wounded the incubus before it got away.

Stiles hears himself say, "Is that... its blood?" Any peasant knows there are two kinds of magic in the world, broadly speaking: the kind people like Deaton use to nullify a poison or keep monsters out of your home, which is perfectly respectable; and the kind your unsavoury neighbour uses to summon soul-stealing demons or make your cow go dry, which will have you burnt at the stake as a witch at the minutest implication of guilt. The line between the two gets a little blurry in places, but Stiles is pretty sure anything that involves a dagger coated in demon's blood has to be the kind of magic you wouldn't want to admit even knowing about, let alone in the presence of hunters.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the two Argents exchange glances. "Not much gets past him, does it?" says Kate.

Stiles looks up to catch the look on Chris' face as he says, "I see we won't need to trouble ourselves overmuch with explanations."

"Uh, actually why don't you take me through what you're doing here," Stiles says, slowly. "Make sure we're all on the same page."

Kate flicks a look toward her brother and sits herself on the edge of the table between Stiles and their set up, though also slightly past the edge of what Stiles considers his normal personal space. "Well, obviously I'm no expert," she says, "but as I understand, the principle at work here is like calls to like." Producing another dagger from somewhere, she uses it to indicate the set up on the table, then holds it up to contemplate the gleam of the metal. "A blade that tasted demon flesh once will long to again. All it should take is a little push to get it started, and bang – it'll point us the way."

Stiles is reasonably proud of how he only flinches a little bit when Kate's dagger inevitable finishes this display pointed sharply at his nose.

"It's no easy task, tracking a creature with wings," Chris puts in. "At least if you're going in cold. If we're going to find it, first we're going to need something to point us in the right direction."

"Okay. Sounds like you've got it sorted," says Stiles, carefully, going only a little cross-eyed. "What was it you need me for again?"

Kate mercifully leans away, taking her dagger with her. "Well, there's the problem. We just can't seem to make it work. Any thoughts on why might that be, Stiles?"

"Because a demon just died here." The answer is out before Stiles has even thought about it, recited on rote. "You can't track demon blood without finding residue everywhere. An effect like that isn't going to clear overnight."

"And roughly how long do you think that might take?" Kate prompts.

"Um. A change in the season might do it."

Kate gives an elaborate shrug. "I'm afraid that's going to be longer than we can afford to wait."

"My sister has some experience with invocations," says Chris, "but it's not our area of expertise. It could be this one's beyond us. But before we give up on our best lead, it would be a waste not to see if our own magician in training couldn't get better results."

Yeah, the time for stalling is officially over. Stiles takes a long look between them, and does his best not to swallow around a very dry throat. "This isn't something I've done before. And demonic interference is not something you can just shrug off, practice or no practice; I wouldn't want to get your hopes up I'm-"

"Come on, Stiles," Kate croons, pulling back a chair by their experimental set up invitingly. "You learn by doing."

Stiles gives them the stiffest of nods and moves towards the chair like a man already in a trance. He watches the dagger vibrate on its string as he sits down. You could just about hear a pin drop in here right now.

"Okay," he says. "If I'm going to do this, can I do it with a little more elbow room?"

Kate raises her eyebrows at him, but she moves herself to the far corner of the table opposite Chris, putting her within Stiles' field of vision but no longer right under his nose.

Theoretically, Kate should be a better person than Stiles to be doing something like this; she was the one holding that dagger when it got that bloody stain. If Stiles can make it work where she couldn't, will that show the hunters he has a 'connection' with the demon that they don't? Or if he fails (or pretends to), will they take that as evidence he's in league with the demon? What if he can't make it work? What it just being involved in this makes Derek even angrier than he was about the geas? What if doing this triggers his geas again? What if when the dagger stops spinning, it points to him?

Does he actually want to lead the hunters to Derek? He'd be lying if he pretended he had any idea what he's supposed to make of Derek – he definitely doesn't trust the guy, demon or not – but that doesn't mean Stiles wants him dead.

Can he even make this work at all?

No matter which way you turn the rest of this, the one thing here Stiles can't lie or confuse himself about is that... he does kinda want to know. And the hunters have been nice enough to take all actual choice out of his hands here.

He takes a deep breath and pushes all that uncertainty out of his mind. When he feels like he's ready, he catches one finger against the twine and gives it a sharp tug to send the dagger spinning in crazy circles, swinging on its axis with enough energy that the whole frame judders along the table by half an inch. As the spinning slows, something in the motion starts to go wrong, like the weight has changed or the balance is off – not by much, just enough to leave you playing with dice that will roll you a six four times out of ten. By the time the dagger finally stills it's settled on a direction quite different from the one it started out in.

There's one last horrible moment when Stiles leans in for a better look where his stupid, quivering knee develops a mind of its own and whacks into the table leg, making everything on the top shake and the metal stand ring with the vibration. But the dagger simply twists a little to the left, then the little to the right, then settles right back to its chosen orientation with the certainty of a compass needle answering a subtle magnetic pull.

Stiles stares at it mutely, struck by the discovery that believing you can do something – even believing hard enough to make it work – is still a very different thing from seeing it work for real. He raises his eyes to the Argents, both rapt as he is.

No power on earth could have kept the little trace of smugness out of Stiles voice when he says, "That looks to me like a result."

"Almost due east." Chris has a compass on the table and is unrolling a map before Stiles knows where he got it from. "That would put us..." Already he's tracing roads and trails along the contours of the map, Stiles practically forgotten. "We need to be in the saddle before it moves again."

"Nice work, kiddo," says Kate, dropping a hand on his shoulder which passes for congratulatory for all of a second or two before she's nudging him towards the door. "Your father would be proud."

What should have been a compliment hits him like a slap across the face. Stiles doesn't remember a whole lot of what happens between there and when he finds himself staring at the bottom step of the tower staircase after being turned out of there, trying to figure out where the hell he's supposed to go from here.


Allison's not part of the hunt tonight and she and Scott are taking advantage of the opportunity for an evening rendezvous, which isn't unusual and wouldn't even be notable except that Stiles has never really gotten used to sleeping alone. The one good thing about growing up having to share your sleeping space with too many other people is that even the most imaginative young mind has to work very hard to convince itself there are monsters under the bed. The bad part is that these days, Stiles is old enough to know damn well the monsters are real, and when you leave him to put himself to bed in perfect silence, sleep can quickly cease to be a thing that happens at all. He lies there in bed, not thinking about what Scott and Allison are probably doing right at this moment, and not thinking about what Lydia and Jackson might be doing now too, and definitely not thinking about what any of the hunters are doing – whether they've found and murdered Derek by now, or whether Derek's found and slaughtered them, and whether it's all Stiles' fault for orchestrating it whichever way its going. An hour later all he has to show for it is new evidence that not thinking is something he'll never be good at.

He obviously has zero hope of keeping himself from turning everything over and over in his head tonight, so he might as well get started on it. Three shockingly intimate encounters in the space of days haven't hardly done him any good sorting out just what he's supposed to do with Derek. Derek may have saved his life, but Stiles isn't stupid enough to imagine that was much more than happy accident. He doesn't owe Derek jack. Even Derek would probably agree Stiles owes him nothing but geas-bound silence. But given any actual say in the matter, he'd rather not have Derek's death on his conscience. Even if Stiles might have been willing to grant the hunters some sort of authority on the subject of demons, Derek's still not the one who's been keeping his best friend living in fear for his life for the last however-many-moons, and Chris already blew his chance on that one today. If the hunters do find Derek tonight because Stiles pointed them right at him... well, safe to say Stiles isn't going to sleep any better for knowing that. Probably not for a long time.

It'd be nice if Derek himself had offered a little more help in untangling what Stiles is supposed to do with all this. Between all his half-answers and cryptic bullshit Stiles feels almost like he knows less about incubi than he did this time last week. He's not really scared of Derek at this point; the scary part isn't the guy himself so much as the abstract of what he represents, which would be something closer to a bottomless cavern of the unknown, surrounded by the thorny brambles of well-founded suspicion. All his books will tell him is that incubi are dangerous and not to be trusted. The one thing both Derek and Chris almost seem to agree on, going by their various veiled hints, is that Stiles is way out of his depth and should have the sense to stay well away from what he doesn't understand – except in the parts where he's expected to play his role like a good little accomplice, of course. Chris has never had much use for subtlety; his spiel about how good incubi are at messing with your mind was meant to make Stiles question who he could trust, while conveniently establishing the hunters as the one infallible authority on the subject. If he were born a little more gullible, Stiles would be wondering whether he could trust himself right now. Hell, maybe he is a little; but he still trusts Chris a whole lot less.

He definitely doesn't trust Derek. But however you look at it, he's never felt free-will impaired when the neighbourhood incubus is around. Okay, there was that one time Derek held him down until he'd promised to keep the encounter secret, but he can't see why Derek would have bothered if one touch could have wiped away his choice altogether. The only substantial threat he's thrown at Stiles since is the one about leaving him with blue balls if he wouldn't cooperate, and Stiles can't say he took that very seriously even in the heat of the moment. If anything, Derek acted like he was insulted by the idea he'd need magical manipulation to get what he wanted out of Stiles, and yeah, Stiles can't really argue that point. The uncontrollable lust brought on by Derek's mere presence is definitely a thing, but as far as Stiles is concerned, you'd have to be pretty much dead not to find Derek appealing. Above all, there's no way he can imagine Derek would have put up with all those annoying questions if he could have shut him up with a thought. Meanwhile, the only sure lie Derek's ever told him is the one where he keeps promising he's not coming back, and for all Stiles knows, he's been lying to both of them on that account.

No matter how he looks at it, he eventually comes back to this: Derek is 1) an idiot, 2) an asshole, and 3) a literal, bona-fide demon, who enjoys messing with Stiles' head and probably abstains from serial murder only for reasons pertaining to his own self-interest. None of which makes for terribly compelling evidence that Derek deserves to die.

Of course, it'd be easier to hang onto that if Derek didn't also have mind control powers, not to mention fangs, claws, and a disturbing propensity for spying on Stiles' private life and dropping in whenever he pleases. For all he really knows, Derek's perfectly aware of everything Stiles has been through today. For all he knows, his 'magic' on the dagger was nothing more than a carefully arranged demonic illusion; the hunters are off on a wild goose, and Derek has been pulling his strings to set this up all along for his own amusement. And the sickening part? Stiles thinks he might just be okay with that, if Derek had only had the decency to let him in on it, rather than leave him lying here wondering whether Derek has any idea what's coming for him.

The only times he's been sure Derek must have read his mind are the time he triggered the geas (which might not even count) and the time Derek caught him skulking in the corridor after nearly walking in on Lydia and Jackson. For all he knows, incubi are just specifically wired to pick up on extreme sexual frustration from past or future victims, and everything else was theatre and demonic-hearing-espionage. Well, the joke's on Derek if that's what he's stuck hearing from Stiles – especially on a night like tonight, when he's way past having the patience for any qualms about resorting to the traditional sleep aids of teenage boys.

Stiles rolls onto his back, shuts his eyes and lets his mind wander. He tries out the idea Derek had tried to plant in his head the other night – the one about what it might have been like if there'd been no other incubus, so when Stiles had burst into Lydia's room (alone, this time – Scott and Jackson mysteriously unavailable) thinking her under attack, it had been Derek and Lydia on the bed; her hands in his hair, his own cupping the curve of her breast through the lacing of her gown; Stiles' sudden entrance interrupting them the midst of languidly exploring each other, mouth to mouth. They stare at him for all of an awkward few seconds before Derek gives him an evil smile and says, "Like to join us?" while doing something to Lydia's chest that makes her arch into his touch. Lydia flicks a look at him from the pillow and raises an eyebrow, "In or out, Stiles. Come on."

Stiles is over there and on the bed before he can think twice; then Lydia is undoing his belt while Derek sucks kiss after kiss into his neck, hands already under his clothes, encircling his waist from behind. Lydia pushes his tunic off his shoulders, then Derek is turning him around and pushing him down into the bed so his head is almost in her lap, but somewhere after that he loses track of Lydia a bit and she winds up not so involved – it's so much easier to picture things with Derek with so much inspiration to draw from. So Lydia lounges against her pillow and watches as Derek presses him back into the bed and makes a show of taking him apart, hungry and possessive, eager to show off his conquest to a willing audience...

When Stiles opens his eyes again, Derek is the first thing they land on.

"Hiiiiii!" Stiles grins at him. "I was just thinking about you!"

Derek looks less than happy about being here, but Stiles is about decided that's the only expression he's got beside 'seductive', and when your partner comes pre-seduced before you even arrive that's got to throw you off your game a little. "This is a dangerous game you're playing, Stiles."

"I'm playing? Pretty sure I'm not the one the hunters are going to tear limb from limb if they catch us." Stiles pushes his sheets back a bit and pats the bed beside him invitingly. "Which they won't, by the way, since they're riding off somewhere east of here tonight. You should stay in with me where it's safe." He goes on beaming – and Derek goes on glowering – while he takes the invitation to climb into Stiles' space.

"You really think it doesn't mean anything for you to do this – summon me here, knowingly?" says Derek, well into his looming routine, though he hasn't put a hand on Stiles yet.

"Means I get you," Stiles points out. Derek huffs at him and looks away. "Hey, someone gave me this spiel about how every roll in the hay I ever had left to look forward to without him was gonna be a let down. So either you're it, or you don't deal so well with the idea you're not. What can I say, if two nights with me is enough to make a guy jealous of people I haven't even been with yet, it's not like I can't take a hint, you know?"

Stiles watches the muscles of Derek's jaw working soundlessly. He's still not making eye contact, and Stiles wonders if this is what, by Derek's standards, passes for 'contrite'. "Stiles..."

"Look, Derek, I get it, okay?" Stiles reaches for him, tries to get Derek to turn his face far enough that he can see how serious he's being. "I'm pretty sure I've got this figured out. You don't kill people, so there's no body, nothing – you don't even leave bruises for crying out loud. No-one knows anything more happened than someone had a re-eally good dream. The hunters don't come after you because they don't know there's anyone to come after. But I already know about you, and you already made sure I can't tell anyone, and I'm here and I'm easy, and that's gotta be a whole lot less trouble than crawling in someone else's window tonight. Plus, I come with a front row seat to the local hunter show, and I know exactly when they're going to be out for the night. You can trust me, Derek, I'm really invested in keeping this on the down low."

The corner of Derek's mouth quirks a little. "Right. No personal feelings, no compromised judgement involved."

Stiles shrugs it off. "Okay, you got me, the thought of someone else getting to go next with you makes me a little jealous too. I can admit that. By the way, I'm thinking we're going to do it face-to-face today. I really liked watching you come that first time."

Derek shakes his head and for a moment, Stiles thinks he looks almost fond. "I knew you were going to be trouble."

"And you came back to see me anyway – three times! What kind of message is that supposed to send a guy?"

"You would take that as a compliment," Derek mutters, and kisses Stiles before he can lose the last word.

Part 5



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