Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3579990.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV), True_Blood
  Relationship:
      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
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-03-20 Updated: 2017-01-02 Chapters: 3/? Words: 11953
****** 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 three 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 was more than a
month ago, now, 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.”
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