My Fic Blog

***

One moat later, Scott decided his sand cave needed to actually be a cave, so he began scooping out an entrance with a shell he found.

“What’s that?”

Startled, Scott looked up and saw the lanky kid from earlier pointing at his sand cave. He had a fresh bruise blooming just under his right eye. If only Scott had a sprig of parsley with him.

“A cave,” Scott said. He noticed the kid’s hair was shorn very close to his scalp, and Scott hoped he wasn’t bringing lice to his peaceful play spot.

“That’s a small cave,” the kid said. “Wanna make it bigger?”

Scott was perfectly content to keep building his cave by himself. But there was something about the boy that told Scott he was maybe a little lonely, too. They didn’t know each other, but somehow Scott could tell they had that in common.

“All right,” Scott said cautiously. He handed the boy an extra shell.

The boy sat down next to Scott and started digging up sand. “My name’s Stiles. What’s yours?”

“Scott.”

“You’re that weird kid who lives in the woods.” 

Scott hesitated. Weird kid? “Umm…”

Adding his sand to Scott’s, Stiles shrugged. “It’s okay. Your mom is scary, though. Jackson said she’s a witch.”

Scott burst out laughing. The sound surprised him and he clapped his hand over his mouth. He couldn’t stop the giggles, and Stiles looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“What’s so funny?” Stiles asked.

It took a few attempts to stifle his laughter. “She’s-she’s not a witch. She’s a healer, and I’m learning how to do it, too.”

“Really?”

“Uh-huh. I know an herb that will help that bruise on your face.” Scott said with mild pride.

Stiles gingerly poked the tender area underneath his eye. He shot a dirty look at the kids still playing in the surf. “Do you know any curses?”

“I told you we’re not witches.” Scott shook his head. “What about your mom? What does she do?”

Suddenly, Stiles stopped scooping. “The moat needs water. I’ll go get it.” He dashed off to presumably collect sea water in his shell.

Scott was confused by the abrupt change of subject. He couldn’t figure out what he’d said to make this strange kid just run away like that. Then again, he had no idea why Stiles was playing with him in the first place. Maybe running around and being weird was just something he did.

Eventually, Stiles returned with a shell full of water he’d carefully walked back to their construction site. He dumped the paltry amount of water into the dry moat.

“I’ll help,” Scott said. His shell wasn’t much bigger, but it was better than nothing.

***

It turns out splashing each other in the surf was a lot more fun than collecting moat water. So, Scott and Stiles did that until they were both soaking wet and exhausted. Scott retreated to their half-formed cave and spread out on the warm sand to dry off. Stiles followed.

“I won,” he declared as he poked Scott in the ribs.

“Did not,” Scott replied, punching Stiles in the shoulder.

“You’re wetter than me. That means you lost.”

“Yeah, well, you’re…” Scott tried to think of a comeback, but nothing came to mind. He settled for hurling a lump of wet sand at Stiles instead. 

“It’s getting late,” Stiles shook sand out of his hair. “I have to be home soon.”

Scott felt like someone stole the air directly from his chest. It wasn’t like the attacks that prompted his mom to make him breathe an herbal steam. No, this was different.

“Okay. It was nice to meet you.”

Stiles flashed him a lopsided smile. “You, too.”

“Stupid babies!” a voice shouted at them. Scott saw one of the other kids jogging toward them. It was the kid Stiles had been fighting. 

“Jackson,” Stiles spat. He stood up. Scott stood, too, because he had a bad feeling about this.

“Stiles, why are you over here with the witch kid? Too dumb to play with normal people?”

Scott felt his face redden. “I’m not a witch.”

“Then why don’t you have any friends?”

Who was this kid?

“I’m his friend,” Stiles said, taking a step forward. 

Jackson looked him up and down and dismissed him with a scoff. “Hey, what’s this?” He pushed past Scott and Stiles and stopped at their sand cave and moat.

“It’s ours. Leave it alone,” Scott said.

“Yeah!” Stiles agreed.

“I didn’t do anything,” Jackson said with fake innocence. “But, oh, no! Look at the size of that bug!” Before Scott could do or say anything, Jackson brought his bare foot down right in the middle of the little sand cave.

“Stop!” Scott yelled.

“Stop what?” Jackson dug his foot into the collapsed sand, completely destroying what was left.

Anger welled up inside Scott. It was usually an emotion he reserved solely for his dad, but Jackson seemed like a worthy target. He stared at Jackson’s foot as he wiggled his toes in the sand tauntingly. He kept staring as Stiles poured water on Jackson’s foot.

Wait. Why would-

Oh. It wasn’t water.

“STILINSKI!” Jackson roared as he jerked his foot out of Stiles’s pee stream and ran to rinse his foot in the ocean.

“Ah, that feels better,” Stiles said. He finished and tucked himself back into his loincloth.

Scott blinked at Stiles. Did he really just do that?

“We’ll build a bigger, better one next time,” Stiles said nonchalantly. “And if Jackson tries to mess with that one, I’ll pee on his other foot.”

“Ew,” Scott replied, and they both cracked up laughing.

***

“And then he ran to the water to wash his foot!” Scott told his mom on their walk back home. Melissa had plenty of clams with her, and they clacked in the bag at her hip. She didn’t seem too impressed with Stiles peeing on Jackson, but she indulged Scott all the same.

“Sounds like you had quite a day,” she said.

“Yeah!” Scott beamed. “They all think you’re a witch!”

Melissa chuckled. “Oh, goodness. Well, am I going to have to cast a spell on you to help me with supper tonight?”

A brief moment of doubt washed over Scott, but it didn’t last long. His mom was joking, right? 

Still, Scott obediently grabbed his mom’s hand and held it all the way home. Better safe than sorry.

***

After supper, Scott played part of the day over and over in his mind as he drifted toward sleep.

I’m his friend.

I’m his friend.

I’m his friend.

Scott didn’t have time to tell him, but he was Stiles’s friend, too, and he looked forward to seeing him again, because...

I’m your friend.

I’m your friend.

"It's just a tie, dude."

“No, not the tie,” Scott said with a sigh. “Do you have any idea how many people are going to be there? To hear me? Talking about research I did over a year ago?” His voice rose slightly in pitch the longer he spoke. “The president of the Veterinary Research Association is going to be there!”

“You’re also going to be accepting an award tonight,” Stiles pointed out. It was a huge deal, and Stiles could practically feel his chest swelling with pride for Scott. He told everyone he could about it (much to Scott’s chagrin), and the congratulations had been pouring in from family and pack members scattered all over the place. Derek even sent an expensive-looking gift basket filled with coffees neither he nor Scott had ever heard of.

Scott turned to him with wide eyes. “Do you think they can just mail the award to me or something? I don’t need to do a fancy dinner and speech thing.”

They weren’t getting anywhere like this.

Stiles entered the room and grabbed Scott’s hands. “Come on.” He pulled Scott back to his feet and took the tie from him. “You’ll be fine. I’ll be right there with you the whole time.” He looped the tie around Scott’s neck. “Windsor knot or four-in-hand?”

“I honestly don’t know the difference.”

Stiles felt himself smiling a little as he made short work of the Windsor. “I didn’t either, until Lydia pretty much drilled it into me. Apparently, if you wear a tie to work every day, knowing a million different ways to tie it is a requirement.” He adjusted the knot around Scott’s neck, careful not to pull it too tightly. “How’s that feel?”

“Um…” Scott’s Adam’s apple bobbed almost imperceptibly beneath the fabric, “...feels great. You’ve gotten really good at this,” he said appreciatively.

“Yeah, I have.” Stiles delicately tugged on the tie, bringing Scott’s face closer to his. He couldn’t help but glance at Scott’s lips, which were slightly parted in surprise. “Still feeling nervous?”

“I’m feeling something,” Scott said. “The important question is what are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling this.” Stiles tugged Scott even closer and directly into a searing kiss. Scott opened up almost immediately and sank into Stiles like so much jell-o. Stiles felt him unwinding, relaxing as the kiss melted away whatever tension Scott still carried. It wasn’t as miraculous as the pain-drain-magic-fingers thing, but kissing Scott was infinitely more enjoyable. And effective.

Stiles finally broke the kiss and let go of the necktie. Scott blinked at him in pouty confusion.

Yep. Infinitely more enjoyable.

“I swear, if we didn’t have somewhere to be in a few minutes, you better believe I’d be railing you so hard right now,” Stiles said.

Scott leveled a slow smirk at him that Stiles could swear rivaled one of his own. “What makes you think you’ll be the one doing the railing?”

A familiar warmth pooled in the pit of Stiles’s gut. Oh, God. What had he started?

“Well, I can see you’re feeling better,” he said quickly. “Have you seen my jacket?”

“Living room, across the back of the sofa.”

“I’ll just go get it, then.”

“No, that’s where we’re gonna-”

“Scott!” Stiles sputtered as soon as he saw where Scott was going with this. He really had unleashed a beast, and not the hairier, fang-ier version of Scott’s supernatural self. Just the really fun, slightly unpredictable, horny-for-Stiles version of Scott that appeared at the weirdest times.

“Okay, okay,” Scott said. “But you started it. I didn’t need help with my tie.”

“Just...finish getting ready, please. We can work out who’s railing whom after the banquet. Deal?”

Scott let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine.”

“Good. Meet you at the Jeep in five. You’re gonna do great tonight! I’m so proud of you!” Stiles called over his shoulder as he left the room.

“While it’s true I don’t care about your two-wheeled death trap, I do care about you not getting to do something you wanted. That genuinely sucks.”

“Aww, thanks, buddy,” Scott smiled.

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles threw a second PS4 controller at him. “When I die, we’ll go two player. Just promise me you won’t hide in a bush the whole time.”

Scott picked up the controller as a distant rumble of thunder sounded off in the distance. “All right.”

***

After nearly two hours, the rain still hadn’t let up. Scott and Stiles synchronized their latest jump from the Party Bus for what felt like the millionth time.

“I’m just gonna land in a tree.”

“Scott, no,” Stiles grumbled. “We need to gather supplies as soon as we hit the ground.”

“You gather supplies. I’m tired of being mowed down by 6th graders. We can’t even break the top ten like this.”

“If you land in a tree, I swear I’m going to chop it down.”

Scott had every reason to believe Stiles, what with the steady heartbeat and the dangerous glint in his eye. Still, he felt almost obligated to put up some sort of opposition. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” Stiles replied.

Scott aimed his glider for the nearest tree.

“Ugh, you little-”

Suddenly, a deafening peal of thunder rattled the walls of their tiny apartment and drowned Stiles out. In fact, the thunder was so loud that Scott involuntarily dropped his controller and clapped his hands over his ringing ears. Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Just how close was that?” Scott wondered as he retrieved his controller.

“Pretty damn close,” Stiles said. He extricated himself from his slovenly-yet-supremely-comfortable cocoon, went to the living room window, and opened the blinds. “It’s dark, too. Looks like a really bad thunderstorm. You probably won’t be riding at all today.”

With a sinking feeling in his gut, Scott joined Stiles at the window. The sky was almost pitch black, and it was barely past 4:00 in the afternoon. Rain came down in torrential sheets with no cessation in sight.

A bright flash turned everything outside a brilliant white. Before Scott could register the scent of ozone in the air, another painful peal of thunder shook the walls and rattled the windows. Scott felt rather than saw Stiles edge slightly closer to him. He tugged on the bottom of Scott’s shirt.

“Maybe we should move away from the window,” Stiles suggested.

“That’s a very good idea.”

Stiles closed the blinds, and Scott followed him back to the sofa. They sat a little closer than before, almost shoulder to shoulder. Scott considered the sagacity of continuing to play video games during a thunderstorm, but, well…

“You seriously landed in the tree?” Stiles sputtered next to him. “Okay, that’s it. It’s choppin’ time.”

“No! I’ll take damage!”

“Get out of the tree, Scott! I’m doing this for us.” Stiles chuckled as his character began hacking at the trunk of Scott’s tree.

“Noooo!” Scott grabbed Stiles’s controller and sat on it.

“Hey!”

“I’m doing this for us,” he parroted.

Stiles narrowed his eyes. “Don’t think I won’t reach under your ass for my controller.”

“Why do you keep threatening me? Is this your idea of teamwork?”

“Yes.” Stiles shoved his hand underneath Scott’s ass, just as he said he would.

Scott burst out laughing as Stiles’s wiggly fingers went fishing for the controller. He had a ticklish butt; what could he say?

“Aha!” Stiles proclaimed as he yanked the controller from captivity. Almost as if on cue, a bolt of lightning struck somewhere dangerously close outside. The resulting thunder clap came instantly and was louder than any of the others before. Stiles shrieked and flailed so hard that he landed on top of Scott, tipping him over on the sofa.

A second boom shook the apartment, and they were plunged into darkness.

“Jesus Christ,” Stiles muttered.

Scott lay there trying to get his bearings. The thunder dazed him enough to temporarily scramble his thought processes. Sensitive werewolf hearing could be a drag sometimes. His keen sense of smell, however, was enough to ground him, because the scent and heavy weight of Stiles on top of him was enough to reboot his brain.

“The lights are out,” he said, as if he weren’t stating the obvious.

Nodding, Stiles pushed himself up off of Scott. “I think a transformer blew outside.”

A faint, unexpected twinge of loss settled over Scott. He sighed and sat up, too. “Looks like mother nature’s throwing a monkey wrench in both our weekend plans.”

Stiles looked around shrewdly at the mess of blankets and junk food scattered around on the sofa. “Not if I can help it,” he said after awhile.

“You have something else in mind?” Scott asked.

“Yeah. I think I do. Meet me in your room in about five minutes. Bring a flashlight.” Before Scott could get any kind of explanation, Stiles grabbed as many blankets and snacks as he could carry and headed to Scott’s room.

The storm clouds outside cast a dark grey pall over the room and blocked the late afternoon sun Scott had hoped to see again that day. Nighttime approached, and though he could see just fine in the dark thanks to his alpha vision, Stiles definitely couldn’t. Flashlights were a good idea.

***

When Scott made it to his room with a couple of flashlights, he realized Stiles hadn’t requested them for practical reasons.

“Dude...what is this?” Scott asked, smiling at the haphazard arrangement of blankets and sheets spread over the tall posts of his bed (a housewarming/graduation gift from Derek, of all people).

Stiles popped his head out of a blanket flap. “Blanket fort. Get in here.”

Scott kicked off his shoes with no argument.

The storm still raged outside, but inside the pitch dark fort, the blankets muffled the thunder.

“Wow. You are really committed to this vegetate-in-gross-comfort thing you had planned for the weekend, huh?” Scott said as he crawled over a pillow and part of Stiles’s snack hoard to find a spot to relax. He handed Stiles a flashlight, who clicked it on.

“Nice,” he said. “We haven’t done this since we were kids, and with the electricity out and nothing else to do, I figured, why not?” His eyes shone with a gleam that couldn’t be attributed to the flashlight.

“You’re enjoying this,” Scott noted. He nudged Stiles’s foot with his own and received a bag of chips in return.

“I just want to hang. Want to tell a ghost story or something?”

“Given our actual lives, what kind of ghost story do you think we can tell that’ll be any scarier than reality? I mean, I was murdered that one time. What if I’m the ghost? What if we’re both ghosts after the nemeton sacrifice?”

Stiles winced. “Jeez, Scott. Could you lighten up, please? That line of thinking won’t lead anywhere good. Like, I still wonder sometimes if I’m in a clone body thanks to the whole possessed thing. I’m just trying to have a good time tonight, you know?”

“You tell a story, then,” Scott said gently. He didn’t want to talk about any of that stuff, either. It was a rocky time in their lives and friendship, a time he was more than happy to leave in the past. He and Stiles were at a good place now that things had finally settled down, and they were allowed to lead something resembling normal lives.

Stiles munched on a Snickers. “All right. I’ll tell you about the spooooky copier at work. Sometimes, when the office is quiet, it comes on by itself and spits out blank pages.”

“Maybe it has a short in it.”

“Or maybe it’s haunted. Stranger things have happened. We’re living proof of that.”

Scott didn’t believe any of Stiles’s story about the haunted printer, but he hung on every word all the same. He ate his chips and relaxed as Stiles regaled him with tales of improbable happenings in the FBI. Soon, his eyelids began to feel heavy.

“I think the storm’s dying down,” Stiles said, yawning. He stretched out in Scott’s bed. “Damn, your bed is comfortable. I don’t see how you ever get up in the mornings.”

“The struggle is real,” Scott conceded.

“Hey, guess who’s sleeping here tonight. Here’s a hint: he has nine toes.”

Scott made room and gave Stiles a loose blanket that escaped construction of their fortress. “That’s fine. We can blame it on the rain,” Scott said as he settled in next to him.

***

“All right, maybe. Lots of people will be there,” said Scott.

“Is this like last time when you got all handsy with my stuff and-” Stiles stopped and looked at all of the neatly rolled clothes in his suitcase. “Oh, my God. You’re scent marking my clothes.”

“I’m helping you pack,” Scott said, casually dropping a rolled pair of Stiles’s boxers in with the rest.

“No, you’re rubbing your hands on my stuff and getting your wolfy scent all over. Look how much surface area you have to touch to ROLL A PAIR OF PANTS.”

Scott surveyed his handiwork. Everything looked neat and tidy, so what was the problem with getting a little alpha scent on Stiles’s things? It’s not like regular humans would even notice. Most importantly, Scott had his own very good reasons for doing it.

“You don’t know who else is going to be there,” Scott explained. “What if some asshole from another pack wants to mess with you? They have to know who you belong to.”

“Who I belong to?” Stiles asked, amused. “I don’t know whether to be horrified or flattered right now.”

Scott suddenly felt heat rising up his neck. “I meant they should know whose pack you’re in.”

“No, I’m pretty sure you meant what you said the first time.” Stiles planted his hands on his hips, and Scott steeled himself for what was coming next. “Look, Scott, we’re both busy professionals. You have your vet stuff, and I have my FBI stuff. There are going to be times when we can’t be in physical contact, and that’s fine. You know I can take care of myself.”

“But that’s not the point,” Scott countered. He had no idea when this turned into an argument, but here they were. “You’re a member of my pack. It’s kind of my job to look out for you. And if that means warding off other wolves or whatever who might get too close with the wrong intentions, then oh well.”

“So, it’s an alpha thing?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“A possessive alpha thing?”

“That feels like less of a question and more of statement,” Scott said to himself.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just mark me, then?”

Scott blinked at Stiles.

“A hickey.” Stiles said, pointing to his neck.

“Oh! Oh, wow. Are you sure? Touching all of your clothes is much easier.”

“But this is quicker, and yes, I’m sure. Deaton said it’s perfectly safe for humans, so go ahead. Mark me.”

“Okay. That could work, but I’m not feeling particularly wolfy right now. You have to trigger the response somehow.”

“Just wolfing out a little won’t do it?”

“Not if you want the mark to last. There’s an emotional component to it.”

“How do I do it?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never had to mark anyone before. I didn’t even know it was a thing until Deaton mentioned it when you and I started dating.”

After a few moments spent pondering the situation, Stiles seemed to have discovered a solution. “Maybe I should rile you up a little. Get your wolfy juices flowing.”

Scott scrunched his nose. “Please don’t ever mention my ‘wolfy juices’ ever again.”

Stiles reached over Scott and took the rolled pants from the suitcase. He unfurled them right in Scott’s face.

“I think I’ll take another pair,” he said.

Scott didn’t say anything. He knew Stiles was deliberately trying to goad him, but he still felt a little uneasy about it.

Stiles put a random pair of slacks Scott hadn’t touched yet into the suitcase.

A dull thumping rang in Scott’s ears. He usually had way better restraint than this.

“Out of about two thousand people at the conference, how many do you think will be supernaturals?”

“I don’t know,” Scott grumbled. Stiles’s eyes lit up. His expression went slyly smug.

“I’m guessing...ten? Twenty, even? And you know law enforcement attracts people with type-A personalities. Present company excluded of course.”

Scott sighed. “Stiles, this is taking too long. Lemme just…” he tried to grab the slacks, but Stiles pushed the entire suitcase away.

“The chances of any of those ten or twenty people ending up in a room with little ol’ me are slim. But not impossible, right? Right?”

Stiles apparently expected an answer. “Whatever,” Scott muttered. Stiles moved in closer.

“I probably smell unattached, huh?”

“No, you smell like us. Both of us.”

“But you won’t be there, will you, Scott?”

For some reason, this cut straight through to Scott’s gut. He felt his eyes flare in response. “Stiles…”

“I can take care of myself, sure. Don’t worry about me.” Stiles leaned in even closer and whispered, “It’s those other wolves you should be worried about.”

Suddenly, Scott had fangs.

Stiles took a step back. “You want to mark me? Make me yours?”

“You’re already mine.” That was definitely the wolf talking.

“No one else knows that, do they?” Stiles took another step back. Scott’s wolf didn’t like that.

“I think now might be a good time to do it.” He sounded vaguely incoherent to his own ears. He held on tight to control of the wolf, because Stiles had just done the equivalent of pressing every button in the elevator all at once.

Grinning impishly, Stiles took another step away from Scott. “You think so? How about I make it a little more interesting?”

Scott cocked an eyebrow at him.

Stiles took off in a mad dash out of the room. Scott was on him almost immediately, and Stiles made it as far as the kitchen before Scott caught up to him. Scott pinned him forward against the wall, using his entire body weight to keep Stiles from going anywhere. The scent of arousal--his, Stiles’s, both--filled his nostrils, and Scott buried his nose in Stiles’s neck, working his way up the pulse point until gently nipping at his earlobe.

“A couple thousand people, Scott,” Stiles went on breathlessly. “Who knows for sure how many of them could be wolves? How many might be alphas…”

Scott drug his lips to a sensitive spot on Stiles’s neck just below his jaw. This forced Stiles to tip his head up a little and expose more of his throat. The wolf inside Scott thrummed with satisfaction.

Mine, it rumbled.

“You smell so good right now,” Scott slurred around his fangs.

“Oh, yeah? Well, think of how good I’ll smell while I’m jerking off in my hotel room thinking of you. Might even have some unexpected company sniffing around, ready to stake a claim to the untended, mated emissary of the McCall pack. You wouldn’t want that, would you, Scott?”

“No.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

The gnawing deep in the pit of Scott’s stomach turned to something more ravenous. He skimmed Stiles’s skin with his fangs before finding a spot and latching on. The sweet, salty taste of sweat on Scott’s tongue combined with the scents overwhelming him was almost intoxicating. A growl rumbled deep in his chest as he nursed the tender spot. He was very careful to not actually bite Stiles, though.

“Fuck,” Stiles shivered. He pressed back against Scott and ground his ass on Scott’s crotch. Maybe it was deliberate. Maybe it was involuntary. Scott had no idea. It felt good, though.

He sucked hard enough to leave a bruise and drank in every molecule of arousal surrounding the both of them. It was surprisingly easy to do. Later, Scott would wonder if werewolves were at all related to vampires.

Once he felt he was done, and once his head was a lot clearer, Scott relinquished Stiles’s neck with a filthy smack. His fangs retracted, and he gave his handiwork a quick once-over. The mark wasn’t dark enough to be hugely noticeable, yet.  He finally eased up enough to let Stiles turn around with slightly wobbly knees.

“Your eyes are still glowing,” Stiles said proudly. He was flushed and still breathing heavily.

“And that hickey is gonna bloom nicely,” Scott countered. He reached up and stroked the side of Stiles’s neck. “Too bad your plane leaves soon. I could have given you a matching set.”

“Yeah, that’s definitely too bad.” Stiles closed in on Scott’s lips and kissed him hard and deep. The kiss was deeper than either of them had time for, and Stiles broke it off with what must have been a herculean effort. “I need to finish packing and get out of here before traffic gets too heavy,” he explained. He kissed Scott again, quickly this time. “Sorry I had to say all that stuff to you. Love you.”

“Love you, too,” Scott replied, thumbing over the burgeoning mark once more as the wolf in him relaxed in contentment.

***

Later that night, after Stiles called and let him know he’d landed safely and was checked into his hotel room, Scott received a text from him less than five minutes after hanging up.

[10:41] I’m going to kill you.

Scott wondered what Stiles could possibly be upset about. Then his phone chirped again. This time, a picture was attached.

The photo showed the side of Stiles’s neck. His hickey had bloomed, all right. It was considerably darker than it had been before. It was also larger. Way larger. Half a grapefruit larger. It spread out over his neck and even reached part of his shoulder.

[10:44] oops Scott texted back. Clearly, there was a supernatural explanation for why the smallish mark had grown so large, a reason Deaton obviously forgot to tell them about. Not that that was anything new…

[10:45] OOPS??? I have a very serious panel to attend in the morning!!! How do I cover this up???

[10:46] it’s sort of big but why cover it? that defeats the purpose. i think it looks nice.

And it was true. Scott thought that huge mark looked sexy as hell. His wolf agreed. Even better was the fact that no other alpha or otherwise unspecified asshole could take one look at that mark without knowing what it meant. Stiles had a pack, and his alpha meant business.

[10:47] Maybe I’ll just let you roll all of my clothes next time. Hell, you can even wear them first.

“Excuse me, but how were my partner and I supposed to know there are actual X-Files being kept here? That room across the hall looked like any other locked and sealed containment unit. There wasn’t even a guard posted. Michelle was just curious.”

Liam dodged a spiked hoof. “Where is she, anyway?”

“She ran as soon as its eyes started glowing. But just be glad this isn’t Bigfoot. Michelle puked then ran the first time she saw it. Hey, Scott, remember when we went looking for Bigfoot and the poison ivy thing happened? Turns out it was the same Bigfoot!”

“Stiles, do you have anything useful to add, or are you going to shut up and help?” Derek appeared next to him from out of nowhere fully wolfed out. Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin.

“Jesus Chr-, don’t do that!”

Scott roared again, and the horse beast swung its long neck at him. He ducked just in time.

Derek shoved past Stiles and joined the battle.

“Try herding it back toward the doorway!” Scott called out to the pack. “Lydia and Mason are waiting to trap it back in the containment unit! We gotta hurry before this place is crawling with FBI agents wondering why we’re here…”

The four of them worked to get the demon horse moving in the general direction of the door. Stiles ran from behind the filing cabinet to clear space for them. The cacophonous sounds of roars, snarls, and whatever godawful noise the demon horse kept making filled the disheveled office, and the amount of property damage they caused only increased by the second.

The demon horse swung around again, but Scott wasn’t ready for it this time. It grabbed the collar of his jacket with it’s terrible jaws, reared back, and flung him all the way across the office. Scott hit the back wall and crumpled face first to the floor.

“Scott!” four voices yelled in unison. No response. Stiles immediately ran to him.

The demon horse bucked violently and nearly took out Derek and Malia simultaneously.

“We have GOT to get this thing out of here,” Derek muttered. “Stiles, how is he?”

Stiles stooped down to where Scott lay unconscious and gave him a quick lookover. “Not moving, but he’s still breathing.” He carefully shook Scott’s shoulder. “Hey. Wake up, Scott,” he said.

“Unnnhhh,” Scott grunted. The knot in Stiles’s chest loosened ever so slightly.

“That’s it. Come on.” Stiles ran his fingers through Scott’s hair as he tried his best to coax him closer toward consciousness. A warm, sticky feeling brought him up short. Stiles pulled his hand back and saw blood on his fingers.

The demon horse shrieked as Liam, Malia, and Derek shoved it toward the door.

“Guys? He’s bleeding. It’s a head injury.”

“He’ll heal, but it might take a second,” Derek said. “Stay with him, and when he can get up, get him out of here. The rest of us will take care of the horse thing.”

Stiles wasn’t sure when they started taking orders from Derek, but what he said made sense. Besides, he had no intentions of leaving Scott’s side. Not like this.

“Scott, you have to concentrate on healing, all right? We don’t have a whole lot of time, here.” He patted Scott’s back encouragingly.

“Uhher…” Scott groaned.

“What?” He leaned down closer to hear Scott better.

“Lower.”

Stiles stopped patting Scott. Unbelievable. “This really isn’t the time, dude,” Stiles whispered, hoping no one else heard that. “How hard did you hit your head?”

“What happened?”

“Seabiscuit over there decided to use you for a frisbee. The wall kinda got in the way. Can you move?”

Scott rolled over with Stiles’s help, but he was clearly nowhere near 100%. His eyes were glazed and unfocused as he watched the others inch the demon horse a few more steps toward the door. Stiles put Scott’s arm around his shoulder and helped him get to his feet, where he swayed a little and grabbed his side in obvious pain. He probably had a couple of broken ribs from the impact. Scott was in no condition to fight.

Which is why Stiles wasn’t at all surprised when Scott tried to rejoin the fight.

“No way, buddy.” He held onto Scott and pulled hm back to his side. “We’re getting out of here.”

“I have to help them.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” He put up three fingers.

Scott leaned heavily against him and squinted at Stiles’s hand in front of his face. “Like…eight?”

Suddenly, Liam yelped. The demon horse, who was now apparently capable of breathing fire, came within centimeters of singeing the top of Liam’s hair in a hellish, fiery gout.

Stiles started moving toward the nearest fire door. The irony wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t have time to quip about it. He needed to get Scott somewhere safe. As soon as he opened the fire exit, an alarm sounded. So, not only were FBI agents on their way, but now the fire department would be joining the party. Tonight was just getting better and better.

Tomorrow, he was going to his boss and requesting a new partner.

Derek, Malia, Liam, and the demon horse finally spilled out into the hallway. Stiles hoped Lydia and Mason were ready. He also hoped they’d all been paying attention when he told them how to avoid cameras in the halls.

Lydia’s potent screams must have briefly subdued the demon horse, because Stiles heard Derek yell, “Now!” before a clatter of doors opening and closing filled the relative peace and quiet.

“That’s our cue,” Stiles said as he hefted himself and Scott through the door.

***

“No, I didn’t,” Scott said in the Jeep a few minutes later. He found an ice pack in the glove box and pressed it to the slowly healing wound on the back of his head. They watched from a safe distance while a fire truck and several unmarked FBI vehicles descended on the building.

“Yeah, you did,” Stiles countered. “You totally asked me to grab your ass.”

“Why the hell would I do that?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Either you have the hots for me, or it was literal brain damage. Speaking of, how’s your head feel?”

“Better, I guess. The rest of me feels like a truck ran over me, but I think I’ll be okay. Thanks, man.”

“Any time, any time,” Stiles said as nonchalantly as he could. “I wish I could, you know…” he wiggled his fingers, “…do the healing hands thing.”

“You’ve done enough, Stiles. Stop selling yourself so short.” Scott’s text ringtone sounded just then. He checked his phone and breathed a sigh of relief. “Everyone got out safely. None of them were followed. And Liam might need a haircut.” He smiled for the first time since the whole ordeal began. It was a welcomed sight.

“That’s good to hear.” Stiles squeezed Scott’s knee. “Let’s go home.” He reached for his keys in the ignition and started up the Jeep. “By the way, don’t think I’m going to forget about you asking me to feel you up. And I definitely didn’t forget what you said about getting me in your bed the other night. Once is chance, twice is coincidence, but a third time would be a pat-”

To Stiles’s complete and utter surprise, Scott leaned over and kissed him softly on the cheek. He pulled back, blushing and biting his lip in a way that made a direct connect connection to Stiles’s crotch.

“Oh,” was the only sound Stiles was capable of making.