#between episodes

He sighed. His hand hadn’t stopped shaking since he missed the shot and doomed Omega. Even if they did manage to track her odds were they would be captured as well, and then… and then… Crosshair didn’t know if he would survive another round of Hemlock’s hospitality. Hunter wouldn’t either. The Kaminoan’s testing would look like a picnic compared to what they would do to find the limits of Hunter’s senses. And Wrecker, well, if he was still injured he would be disposed of. If not, Wrecker was too stupidly kind to last long. Thye’d break him.

In… out…

Crosshair was broken out of his thoughts by the ride and fall of Wrecker’s chest against his armour. He blinked against the dim light and found himself being watched. Lyana was standing beside him, just out of arms reach with a clay bowl in her hands.

“I thought you might be hungry,” said Lyana as Crosshair’s eyes found her.

“Well you thought wrong.”

Lyana thrust the bowl at him and on instinct he reached out to steady it. She pulled away as his hands gripped the bowl with a shadow of a grin. “Yours now. I think some food will do us all some good.”

Now that it was in his hands Crosshair didn’t quite know what to do with it. As tempting as it was to throw the damn bowl across the room out of spite, it would likely attract attention from the stormtroopers patrolling the streets. He examined the contents of it warily, eyeing sliced fruit and smoked fish. It was a quintessential Pabu meal. Crosshair lifted a piece of a soft reddish fruit he hadn’t bothered to learn the name of. He raised it to his lips slowly and bit down. A burst of bright sweetness coated the inside of his mouth. It tasted like sunshine and tropical air. It tasted like shooting practice on the shoreline and Omega’s clear voice announcing she’d found his hiding spot.

It tasted like regret.

Silence filled the house, crept into every corner of the hallway, into every corner of his body. Stiles crossed and uncrossed his arms, pushed his hands in the pocket of his hoodie. Nobody knew about his plan. Nobody knew where he’d gone. Other than Lydia, at least. But she still needed rest. He was alone for what it's worth. After all, he wasn’t on speaking terms with anybody else any longer. He’d broken up with Malia, he’d cut himself off from Scott, and Liam wouldn’t return his calls, too frightened what they might entail. Without the backup of a pack, he went and demanded to talk to the only person who knew what’s coming, the same person who was about to make the biggest mistake of his life, the same person who hadn’t hesitated before murdering Scott.

The last time they had seen each other, Theo had knocked him out on the stairs. It had been the first time he’d lost control over his strength in front of him. Stiles liked to pretend Theo hadn’t meant it. Naively, perhaps. But he couldn’t help himself.

“Listen, I don’t-“

“Theo!” Stiles yelled ignoring Josh trying to make him leave. “I need to talk to you. Get down here!”

Another silence greeted him. Shorter, this time. It took only half a minute and Corey’s anxious, almost inaudible whispers until a door upstairs opened and slammed shut. Footsteps followed, too loud to be Theo’s. It took mere seconds until Tracy appeared at the top of the stairs, skinny jeans in heeled ankle boots, tank top and cardigan too smooth to have been put on hastily, let alone indicate the rough handling sex with Theo would certainly involve. She put her hair in a bun as she walked down the stairs not even bothering to look at him.

Her anger made him crave.

A second time, he found himself hoping against better judgement, but he shook the thoughts off and hurried up the stairs. Out of all doors, only a single one was closed. Stiles licked his lips and stared at it for a few seconds. He had come prepared. He had come ready to get his way no matter the cost. This should be relatively easy. Theo had told him what he wanted, after all. If he gave that to him, at least for a little while, they could solve the problem before Beacon Hills laid in its ruins.

Stiles curled his fingers around the doorknob, disregarded knocking altogether, and pushed the door open. Moonlight lit up the most part of the room, painting shadows on the carpet. He caught a particular scent which hadn’t clung to Tracy before. His eyes flicked from the floor up to meet Theo’s. He sat on the windowsill, legs spread, and bare feet propped on a vintage trunk looking as if it had been remodelled to serve as a seating accommodation and storage. He wore nothing but sweatpants giving the moon enough room to draw on his skin. It rendered him dangerous and handsome at once.

“Look what the cat dragged in,” Theo drawled leaning back to knock ash off his joint. Freshly lit by the looks of it.  

Stiles bit the inside of his cheek and closed the door. His instincts didn’t reel in utter panic. He felt calm, despite logic trying to tell him otherwise. Although most people would consider him as a rational guy, the one with the plan, the researcher, Stiles knew that every decision he made, he based on one thing and one thing only: his gut feeling. Theo could pretend to be a predator all he wanted, Stiles wasn’t the prey but an equal; something Theo craved as much as he needed.

“I know what you’re planning,” he said crossing his wrists behind his back and leaned against the door.

Theo clicked his tongue. “Straight to the point.”

They were staring at each other in silence. Stiles closed his eyes, took a deep breath. “Don’t do it.”

Theo barked out a laugh, cold and brash, too short to be genuine. “Don’t do what?” He raised his left hand twisting the joint between his fingers. It’s more a demand than an invitation.

Stiles pushed himself off the door and crossed the short distance. On instinct, he surveyed the room. A bed made and untouched. Next to it, a nightstand full of clutter, two empty bottles, an energy drink, an empty ashtray, an AP biology book and a package of condoms; hard to tell if it had been touched or not. Opposite the bed was a drawer, underneath the second window a desk and a chair with a closed laptop, a smartphone, three books and a pizza box with a few slices left. Nothing he could potentially use as a weapon. Nothing personal either.

“Deucalion,” he said coming to a halt in front of the trunk, “stop looking for him.”

Theo smiled. “Smart boy.” His eyes roamed over his face. “How’d you figure it out?”

Stiles shrugged. “You didn’t get Scott’s power, so I figured you’re going for the next best thing.” Although Deucalion was very likely a lot stronger than Scott would ever be. But Theo didn’t know him like Stiles did. Deucalion played in a different league.

“Ah, of course.” There was that smile again, the little tip of his head. “But why, pray tell, don’t you want me to find him?” Theo turned the joint until the glow was directed at his own face. As Stiles reached for it, he pulled it away chuckling quietly. How naïve, the gesture screamed, and Theo offered him the joint again smirking now. It’s a simple game accompanying their conversation, once Theo was bored of it, Stiles had forfeited his chance. If he wanted to keep it going, he would have to continue playing hard to get yet occasionally give Theo what he expected to keep his mood in the clear. It’s a dangerous game with blurred lines. The fox inside his head purred.

Stiles put a hand on Theo’s knee letting his fingertips brush over the soft fabric before leaning forward a little. “Because he’ll kill you and your pack.”

A second time, Theo pulled the joint away as Stiles reached for it. “And you care?” He asked moving his hand in position again.

For a brief moment, Stiles’ grip tightened around Theo’s thigh. His anger was embedded in an oil spill, it didn’t need much to light it. “After he’s done with you,” he whispered forcing his fingers to relax, “he’ll come for my town.” Saying he cared might not be a complete lie, but Stiles knew better than to give up this information. He flicked his eyes upwards meeting Theo’s intense stare as he leaned forward even further. “If you want power,” Stiles added in a low voice, “there’s another way.”

Theo ran his free hand over his scruff, eyebrows twitching briefly, pupils dilated more than normal. “Really?” He asked placing the joint at his open mouth.

Stiles didn’t answer. Instead, he put his free hand on Theo’s thigh, barely higher than the other, and took a pull at the joint. The smoke was harsh and intrusive, unfamiliar but not unknown. The joint moved away from his lips, and Stiles sucked in a bit of air letting the smoke travel down to his lungs. It’s abrasive and unpleasant after such a long time but he didn’t cough. He tipped his head back, deliberately exposing his throat, as he exhaled.

Fingers ghosted over his skin, never touching instead brushing over an invisible wall. “What way would that be, Stiles?” Theo asked flicking ash off the joint. He propped both hands on the edge of the windowsill and spread his legs a bit further, demonstrating his power via absolute indifference of potential risks. 

Stiles decided now was the right time to throw cold water on Theo’s expectations. He pulled away and stretched idly. Instantly, the bittersweet taste of annoyance unfurled in the room. “Deucalion isn’t the answer,” he replied eventually pushing his hands in the pocket of his hoodie.

Theo’s gaze was palpable as he checked him out. The left corner of his mouth quirked up into a small, almost satisfied smirk. The annoyance ebbed away leaving his fox unsatisfied. Theo dragged on the joint himself, his eyes never drifting from Stiles’ body. Exhaled. “Are you going to be my answer?”

Stiles wet his lips and gestured at the joint, derailed the topic. “That’s a bit unnecessary, isn’t it?” He asked folding his arms over his chest. “It’s not affecting you.”

Theo chuckled quietly. “Afraid you’ll mess up your act?”

“Act?” Stiles echoed trying to keep his voice even.

Theo hummed and stood, dragged on the joint watching him. He didn’t inhale the smoke, however, beckoning Stiles over instead and set the drug in the ashtray. His eyes were intense in the half shadow. It’s impossible not to follow the pull, although he knew all too well what Theo was intending to do. The moment he’d gotten close enough, a hand appeared at the small of his back and Theo guided him closer tipping his head the smallest bit to the right.

Stiles parted his lips ignoring the rational part of him completely; he was too close, it’s too easy to lose control over the situation if he gave Theo too much. But he couldn’t help himself. He had just enough strength left to keep his hands inside the pocket of his hoodie, fingers linked together to make them harder to separate.

Theo leaned so close their lips might as well touch. He was blowing the smoke into Stiles’ mouth as his other hand crept up to the nape of his neck to fist his hair, to keep him in place. His gaze a physical sensation on his skin, Stiles inhaled as much as he could and exhaled, swallowed around the dryness in his mouth. But Theo still didn’t let go of him. “Look at you,” he drawled, eyes glowing amber in the moonlit room, “my little fox.”

It’s the way he said it, possessive, accompanied by a quiet growl, that made Stiles almost come undone.

Theo pushed him laughing, and Stiles caught himself on the dresser, anger boiling under his skin. He turned to lash out, but Theo was in front of him with intent and a gleam in his eyes that he could neither explain nor figure out. Stiles’ back hadn't even touched the wall as Theo pressed his mouth against his, fingers curling around his waist in a loose grip feeling like it meant to break. Stiles opened and closed his fists at his sides trying not to grab Theo, to kiss back as he stole what Stiles had refused to give.

Push him off, was what his mind urged him to do. But a small voice offered, Why? This is what I want, isn't it?

It was.

He wanted it badly.

When Theo bit his bottom lip, hard, in retaliation for his passiveness, Stiles groaned despite the sharp pain. A tongue pushed past his teeth, carrying the metallic taste of his own blood. His hands found their place on Theo’s hips (push him off!) and he drew him close. A satisfied growl churned in the back of his throat, paving a path straight to Stiles’ dick. Theo noticed, of course, he did, and he chuckled.

It broke the spell. Stiles shoved the chimera away. “You don’t get to do that,” he hissed wiping the back of his hand over his mouth as if that would get rid of the taste on his tongue.

“Do you really think, I’ll believe your little fairy tales, fox?” Theo asked stepping closer again although Stiles had both hands still raised. His emotions made a complicated cocktail of anger and something else, something he had never tasted before.

Stiles bared his teeth, straight and white and human. “Don’t call me that.”

Theo laughed quietly. “If you want me to stop going after Deucalion, I need an incentive, Stiles.” Don’t call me that either, he wanted to say. Not when the way his name rolled off his tongue sounded like a prayer. Theo stepped back into his personal space. Stiles’ hands found their places on his shoulders without making an effort to keep him at a distance. He felt his skin and muscles move as Theo reached up cupping his cheek so softly it might as well be a dream although it felt like a threat. “More than the promise of power somewhere along the line.”

It also might be enough for Stiles to lose everything he had worked so hard to keep. Not Scott, he had already burned his bridges. His pride, his heart, himself. He was too afraid to humanise Theo, too afraid that this might be all that’s needed. He took a breath, swallowed his feelings whole and yanked Theo’s hand away. “I’m trying to help you, you ungrateful dick.”

Theo snarled. His fingers curled into the front of his hoodie. “Fine.” He’s aggressive in his movements, violent almost as he dragged Stiles out of the room and down the hallway, back to the stairs. “I never lied to you,” Theo told him, his eyes flickering back and forth between amber and their normal colour as if he couldn’t control it; perhaps he couldn’t, perhaps Stiles had pushed him too far. “I came clean to you about everything and you continue to play your games.” They reached the top of the stairs. Far too easily, Theo lifted him off the ground. Stiles had one shot at mercy, so he took the fall. “Crawl back to your True Alpha.”

He hit the stairs with a thump. The pain barely registered; a dull echo somewhere in the distance. He’d feel it tomorrow, in a few hours. When he hit the bottom of the stairs, unscathed, with the metallic taste of his own blood in his mouth, Stiles kept his head bowed, kept at the ground, at the feet of the chimera pack who’d hastily moved out of the way. He opened his mouth, watched a string of blood drop from his lips to the ground. This was meant to hurt his ego not him. He could taste the tinge of regret from Theo, but the chimera didn’t move.

Stiles looked up, slowly, felt the blood cling to his chin. Theo stood unmoving, arms crossed over his chest, a king in his palace. When they locked eyes, Stiles forced out a choked sob. “I need you,” he breathed, lowering his head to mimic the submission Theo needed. “I can’t do this without you.”

Two sentences, a few seconds of patience and Theo’s composure broke. He landed on silent feet in front of Stiles and crouched down, fingers curling around his chin impossibly soft. Stiles wished he wouldn’t crave his touches so much. “Of course,” Theo whispered wiping the blood off his skin with a soft smile. “I’m sorry.” Words Stiles hadn’t expected to hear, words he wasn’t sure were true. Theo ran his fingers through his hair, and maybe he didn’t care all that much. “Come here.”

Stiles did, leaned up and pressed his lips against Theo’s in a needy kiss, knowing it’s what Theo wanted, what Stiles needed no matter how much he hated himself for it. Theo grabbed his hair and kept him close, pushing his tongue past compliant lips and teeth. Stiles kissed him with everything he had, with more than he should, wondering briefly how much of it was part of his game, wondering if he needed to end things when Beacon Hills was safe again. Stiles was already acquainted with the monster in his head, perhaps having one in his bed was the only logical conclusion.

Theo tugged at his hair, and he moved away. “Do not betray me, fox.”

Stiles looked him straight in the eye, smiled. “I won’t.” And the words didn't taste so bitter in his mouth.

Lord Dickwad is still dead! Not a new event, just something worth celebrating.

Nancy Birch: “Margaret-- no, go wait outside, Lucy-- Margaret, you do know that people who aren’t your immediate family are also real human beings, right?” Margaret: ???

Haxby aka Edward Hogg aka Chicanery Night in Jupiter Ascending is finally fulfilling his purpose in life, by which the viewer means he’s going to accuse Charlotte of murder and then she’s going to be arrested and then she’s going to be executed and then he’s going to have to get a new hobby

Where are Mr. North and Jacob???

Eldest daughter’s boyfriend’s first meeting with the family could have gone better

Oh no, Amelia broke up with Violet??

“Love’s not a sin”

Why in the WORLD does Mrs. Quigley want Charlotte? What is she plotting?

“i don’t think much of love at all,” says woman imprisoned for murder, as she doesn’t even hesitate to be burned for something she didn’t do if the cost is letting her boyfriend take the fall

Can Mrs. Scanwell and Margaret team-up against Mrs. Quigley? That’d be rad

Boy Quigley DID SOMETHING ACTIVE (Nancy Birch had it handled, but thanks for the effort, Boy Quigley)

Was astonished when Prince Rasselas refused to sell his dirt on the Wells family to Mrs. Quigley even in order to save his man, but actually he did, but actually who can blame him, it’s all very complicated