Derek made himself at home in Stiles' desk chair, fingertips drumming along his kneecap. He listened to the quiet mumblings, kid would talk in his sleep, as Stiles dreamt. His heart was racing, sweat beginning to seep from his skin, his entire body writhed before settling. He groaned. Derek watched the expressions playing over his face.
"I like you Stiles." He couldn't breathe. His skin tingled as he forced himself to meet Peter Hale's eyes. His mouth was insanely dry and he couldn't stop himself from moving his tongue around in an effort to settle. It wasn't working. He was terrified out of his mind and Peter was stepping closer to him. Stiles let out a sigh. He couldn't help it. This really was too much to deal with. "Since you've helped me, I'm going to give you something in return." There was a tiny, significant pause. "Do you want the bite?" Heat rushed over Stiles, immediately followed by a severe chill. He stared at the werewolf, running the words back over in his head.
"What?" the word whipped out. He still hadn't gotten it.
"Do you want the bite?" he repeated, enunciating painfully. Stiles could do nothing but stare at him, mouth hanging open. They went back and forth, forth and back. Peter stepped even closer, improperly closer. Stiles really couldn't breathe then. He could hardly think. Peter's hand was hot and strong on his wrist and Stiles watched as he lifted it. He paused, mouth less than an inch away. "Yes or no?" His heart was slamming painfully into his ribs. His keys cold in his hand. He couldn't speak, lips fluttering uselessly. Peter's mouth drew closer, teeth peeking out of his lips. Panic out ruled everything else. Stiles yanked his arm away. Peter resumed his former posture carefully and Stiles had the ridiculous thought that he was moving slowly so as not to scare him. Ridiculous.
The man was a cold blooded killer. Nothing more. What he'd done to Scott… And Lydia… He had loyalties to remember. Stiles gave himself a firm shake.
"I don't want to be like you." There wasn't a flash of disappointment in his eyes. There couldn't be. Stiles blinked quickly.
"You know what I heard just then?" Peter questioned silkily. Stiles thought for a moment he was going to faint. Stiles stared at him, breath whooshing in and out of his still open mouth, which he couldn't seem to close. "Your heart beating slightly faster over the words I don't want." Just like that the painful enunciation was back. Stiles' knees weakened. "You may believe that you're telling me the truth but you are lying to yourself. Goodbye Stiles." His lips opened again. A strangled noise fell out. Peter froze perfectly, glancing back over his shoulder.
"M-maybe it was a lie," Stiles managed, barely. "I do want the bite. But not like that."
"Not from me?" Peter questioned, turning back, one eyebrow arching. He closed his eyes as his cheeks burst with color.
"I d-didn't say that."
"Oh?" Peter questioned. He must've moved silently because Stiles could feel the breath of the word fan across his face. He shivered. "So you want the bite from me…but not like that." He clicked his tongue before circling Stiles slowly. "Explain."
"N-" Stiles' denial was cut short as Peter's hand clutched the back of his neck.
"I'm short on time Stiles." The words were cold and short.
"Not like that!" Stiles shouted, panic working its way up and down his throat. "Do you speak English?" he demanded suddenly, stupidly. Peter shoved his head to the side, moving his mouth to Stiles' neck.
"Like this then?" His mouth ghosted over Stiles' throbbing pulse. "More intimate?"
Stiles couldn't answer. Time seemed to move oddly as he waited, in agony, to see what Peter was going to do. "I don't hear any denial," Peter whispered. "Only your heart." Stiles swallowed. He couldn't have thought of anything to say if he was able to speak at all. Stiles screamed as teeth tore through his tender skin, blood pouring out. Heat flashed through him and he was falling. When he shot up in bed, cover tangled in his legs, it honestly took him a moment. One hand moved to his damp forehead and he sighed. Just a dream. His hand moved to his neck on his own. No bite. Peter hadn't stopped. He'd said goodbye and gotten in his car. Peter was dead. Stiles swallowed again. Peter was dead. He fell back against his pillow, not allowing himself to be upset.
"Pleasant dreams?" Stiles shot back up, heart in his throat. For just a split second he thought it was Peter. But it was the other Hale. He had to cough before he could speak.
"What do you want?"
"My uncle must have left you alive for a reason. If he thought you were useful I can use you."
"Fascinating," Stiles muttered, running a hand over his head before dropping it back to his lap.
"Do you want to join my pack?"
"No," Stiles answered without hesitation. Derek inclined his head slightly.
"An honest answer. I didn't expect that."
"I was sleeping." Derek smirked.
"You're lucky I've already added Jackson. Heaven forbid someone actually want the bite." Stiles didn't answer and Derek stood calmly, crossing the room and jumping out the window without another word between them. "I don't want the bite," Stiles repeated in a whisper, "not from you."
A/N: I might be becoming the oneshot queen… Oh and I like Stiles paired with everyone. Except Derek. Derek belongs to Jackson. Obviously.
Anyways, hope you enjoyed..