There were only so many ways to describe the way Stiles felt. Pissed wasn't right, neither was annoyed, he was more...frustrated. Because, really, just how many times could he find himself trapped in an awkward life-threatening situation with Derek? Fate had a sick sense of humor.

The closet they were currently locked in was small; there was barely enough room for Stiles to even sit down. It had one window, big but reinforced. It was so like the school to put metal bars on the window to a supply closet and not, say, the nurse's station. Moonlight was the only light the pair had; the single light bulb above them had burnt out ages ago.

Stiles shifted again his eyes darting over to the door one more time. There was no handle on the inside and it appeared to be locked from the outside. Again, and not surprisingly, it was well reinforced. Two sets of bolt locks sat tauntingly above the door handle. There were several cracks from where Derek had tried to force it open, but the stubborn piece of shit would not budge.

He pulled his leg up, propping an elbow on it and turned his focus to the other man in the room. Derek was leaning against the wall, arms firmly crossed over his chest, eyes closed and head tipped down. Maybe he's asleep. Stiles thought briefly.

"Derek are you asleep?" he asked, not waiting for an answer he continued; "Can werewolves sleep while their standing? I know I sure as hell can't. Actually, I've never tried. Do you think it's harder than sleeping on a dashboard? This one time I got drunk and fell asleep on the dashboard of Danny's car. Come to think of it, I don't know why I was in Danny's car. I probably thought it was Scott's or something. Wait, Scott doesn't have a car. What are you staring at?"

Derek watched Stiles evenly but Stiles didn't miss the way his lip twitched down and his brow furrowed ever so slightly. "Do you ever shut up?" That wasn't fair, Stiles hadn't even said anything for, like, five minutes. "It was more like five seconds," Derek said quietly and Stiles hadn't realized he had been speaking.

"Well-"Stiles paused to think of something witty to say; "I have to do enough talking for the both of us since you don't say anything."

"I just did," Derek snapped, quickly regaining his calm composure, "Talking is useless right now anyway."

Maybe for you. Stiles thought almost bitterly, even though he knew damn well it wasn't Derek's fault he had forgotten to refill his prescription and therefore hadn't taken his Adderall in more than 36 hours. Derek settled back into what looked like a terribly uncomfortable position with his body standing rigid. Stiles really needed to get on top of that.

A blush spread across his face instantly. The prescription, he needed to get on top of the prescription—not Derek, because that would be weird. Kind of hot too.

Derek sighed irritably; "You're hot now?"

"Wha-No, I'm fine," Stiles answered quickly.

"You just said you were hot," Derek frowned, worry almost seeping into his expression of annoyance and goddamn why couldn't Stiles keep his mouth from spewing nonsense.

"This room is small and you're hot," Stiles frantically added; "I mean, with you in here too, its getting kind of hot."

"There's nothing I can do about it," Derek growled, shifting again; "So stop whining and shut up."

"Yeah, yes. Okay, I will," Stiles blathered. The older man looked really uncomfortable. Maybe he has to go to the bathroom? "Hey Derek, do you have to go to the bathroom?" Shit. There his fucking mouth went again. Damn, he knew his ADHD made him obnoxious but this was ridiculous. It was like Derek's presence completely mucked up his self control.

"What?" Derek bit.

"I mean, you just look really uncomfortable. I thought maybe you had to, y'know, go to the bathroom or something. We have been stuck in here for, like, ever. Hey, do you want to sit down? I can move over. Or I can stand. Is there something wrong?" Stiles made to move but Derek halted him with a glare.

"I do not have to go to the bathroom," Derek started as if he was talking to a child, and Stiles couldn't help but be a little offended; "We have only been in here for seven minutes and Scott is on his way, so no I do not want to sit down," he paused before fixing his curious, intense eyes on Stiles' own and the younger man licked his lips nervously. "Is there something wrong with you?"

"What? No, I'm fine," Stiles cursed himself when his voice cracked a bit, "Just eager to be out of the closet," Shit; "This closet." He cleared his throat awkwardly.

Derek stared at him for a long moment. "...right."

Silence sank into the small room in a heavy, asphyxiating cloud of awkwardness. Great. Stiles ran a hand over his shaven hair and forced his eyes to stare at the mop and bucket to his right. He tried so hard to focus on it, but his mind began to wander and he could do little to stop it.

What if Derek thinks I'm some huge gay now that's head over heels for him? Wait, am I? Aren't I? Well, Derek is hot. When he looks at me I—its not like Stiles really had much luck in the romantic side of life. I should just let it go. But...What if Derek likes me too. Or what if wants to screw? Oh, God. What if he's a sexual predator that likes high school boys. I mean its not like he hasn't, you know, been a predator before being a wolf and all. I'm just a different type of prey. A sexual prey...and that should not turn me on as much as it just did...

"Stiles!" Derek shouted, a chilling rumble to his voice that meant he was fighting back the urge to turn into a wolf, and Stiles jumped; "Were you even listening to a word I said?"

"Uh..." was Stiles' intelligent reply.

Taking a few calming breaths, Derek snarled; "I said; Scott just texted me saying he can't make it—some emergency with Allison that needed his immediate attention."

Stiles snorted; "Yeah. Right. She's probably just horny." There was another awkward quiet moment before Stiles continued with a sigh; "So when can he get us the hell out of here?"

"He didn't say," Derek replied, his words clipped.

"So..." Stiles grinned his best shit-eating grin; "Do you want to sit down now?"

Derek glared. "In case you've failed to realize," the dark haired man barked; "There is a full moon out tonight. I had not exactly planned on being trapped in a small room with such a frustrating person. Do not push me or I will rip your heart out of your chest with my bare hands and make you watch me eat it."

"Wow..." Stiles frowned, and Derek snapped his jaw shut, knowing he said too much; "That was descriptive! How do you come up with those threats? Do you have them written out before hand or is it like some spur of the moment thing...?" He tried to keep humor in his voice, and failed.

Of course I'm just an annoyance. That's all I've ever been. Stiles' chest hurt, like his heart was imploding in on itself and suddenly he was afraid that maybe he was dying or something. His dad had a bad heart and his mom hadn't exactly been healthy either, obviously. Plus, he'd heard of Adderall messing with people's hearts and he had been taking it more frequently as of late.

Wait. He was going to die. What about Scott? His dad? They would be lost without him, wouldn't they? Just like that he couldn't breath. The room was too small, the floor too hard, his pulse too fast. Panic. Stiles was panicking.

Derek was immediately kneeling in front of him. "Are you alright?" he asked and Stiles couldn't bring himself to look the man in the eyes. He hadn't had a panic attack in years and he was embarrassed. He must look so weak. "Stiles? Hey, what's going on?" Derek pressed, grabbing Stiles' face and forcing him to look at the werewolf.

"Can't...breathe," Stiles wheezed out between strangled pants and shortening breaths.

Seriousness and determination settled into Derek's expression. "A panic attack?" All Stiles could do was nod.

There was a moment of hesitation where Derek released Stiles' face, letting it loll against his chest, before Derek moved. Pulling Stiles forward, Derek slid his way behind the younger man. Legs on either side of Stiles' waist and arms wrapped around Stiles' chest, supporting the younger man's weight, Derek spoke, "You need to breathe."

"No shit..." Stiles practically grunted, his cheeks reddening at the feeling of the other man pressing against him. Or maybe that was the lack of oxygen to his brain

Derek let a frustrated growl rumble in his chest and Stiles could feel it vibrate through his entire body. "Since you're not doing such a good job by yourself," Derek tried to keep his voice gentle, and Stiles couldn't remember the man ever even attempting to do that before, "Try to match my breathing."

Stiles didn't know if Derek's hot breath on his neck was a help or a hindrance. Since he could focus on little else, including why he was panicking in the first place, Stiles filed it under being 'a help'. Which he did hesitantly, because as his breathing evened out and his fear subsided they were replaced by lust and a hard on.

There were more awkward situations he could have found himself in, Stiles supposed. Although he couldn't think of many. Or any at that moment. All he could think of was the fact that Derek hadn't slaughtered him in some creatively brutal way which probably meant he hadn't noticed Stiles' problem.

"Derek..." Stiles moaned, and damn his lack of mind-to-mouth filter because behind him Derek tensed. Stiles swallowed nervously, his hands moving to pry Derek's arms off of him; "I-I can breathe now, thanks." When he tried to squirm away from Derek, the older man halted him with a vice grip on his stomach.

"Don't-" his voice was strained and Stiles froze, "Don't move."

"Are you okay?" Stiles asked, worriedly. He worried about everyone, why not worry about Derek too. Even though he could be a real ass sometimes. "Did you get hurt when you were ramming the door?"

"," Derek's breaths had become more shallow, Stiles noted, and his voice more husky; "That's not-" Then Stiles felt it. Something was poking into his back. It was hard and long and holy shit.

"Do you have a boner!?" Okay. So probably not the best thing to shout out right then. No filter, remember? Stiles, eyes wide, halted Derek's attempts to shove him away. "Wait!" Derek did, beyond belief; "I just meant-I didn't know you were, that you liked, I mean because I like and-" Stiles paused, and fuck this tip-toeing around bullshit; "I have one too. A raging-"

Then Derek cut him off. Since he did it with his mouth though, Stiles couldn't really bring himself to be angry, or anything other than insanely turned on. With Derek pulling on his shoulders, Stiles allowed himself to be turned around, now straddling Derek's narrow hips, and when the fuck had Derek even shown an ounce of interest in anyone, let alone Stiles.

The younger man pulled back, just enough to part their lips and Derek's mouth immediately went to his neck. Nuzzling. Stiles gripped Derek's shirt tightly. Come on—focus! "I thought I was," Stiles paused to gasp when he felt Derek's tongue dart across his tendon; "just an annoyance."

Even though he was horny and desperately wanted nothing more than to make out with Derek all night, he had to know if Derek wasn't just losing control because it was the full moon and Stiles had been getting on his nerves and the werewolf didn't really know what he was doing. Because that felt way too much like Stiles was taking advantage of Derek. Huh. Never thought that would be an issue.

"You're," Derek panted into Stiles' skin; "...frustrating." Stiles tensed, and Derek almost rolled his eyes. He gripped Stiles' chin and turned his face so they were looking at each other. All Stiles saw was Derek; no shifting colors in his eyes or fangs hanging from his lips.

"I don't-" Stiles whispered, but Derek interrupted.

"Sexually frustrating, Stiles," he clarified, blatant amusement in his voice, "You're this constant reminder of what I can't have and what I want so badly I can hardly control myself around you. That's frustrating. You, you're-" Derek hesitated, suddenly unsure of himself, "You're perfect."

Of all the things Stiles had expected to hear, that had not even made the list. "Me? But you're the sexy werewolf with the immaculate body and the gorgeous eyes and broody exterior hiding a deliciously gooey center and-" Stiles stopped talking instantly when Derek quirked an amused brow at him. "Right," Stiles ground his hips downward into Derek's pelvis, and the werewolf released a deep groan; "Now that that's settled, can we get back to the making out?"

"I thought you'd never ask," Derek growled, devouring Stiles' lips again.

This kiss was hungry and desperate and Stiles couldn't help but moan when Derek's rough tongue forced its way into his mouth. His hands moved up Derek's chest to his neck, and he found himself pulling Derek impossibly closer. No matter how much they pressed against each other it wasn't enough. Then, Derek slid his hands up the back of Stiles' shirt and Stiles realized what the problem was.

They were wearing far too much clothing.

"Your shirt," Stiles whispered into Derek's lips; "Take it off." Both men were surprised by the stern, demanding tones of Stiles' voice. Derek smirked before moving to obey, slipping the fabric over his head and tossing it aside. "Now take mine off too," Stiles panted into Derek's ear, grinning as the man shuddered.

Derek slid his hands up the smoothness of Stiles' back, pushing aside the younger man's shirt as he did so. He took his time, teasing Stiles to the point of Stiles reaching up and tearing his shirt off his damned self, because he wanted to feel Derek's sexy chest against his own already, God damn it.

Then there was nothing holding either man back. Mouths met hot flesh and hands explored smooth expanses of over sensitive skin until both men were out of breath and desperate for some form of release. Derek gripped Stiles' hips so hard it hurt but Stiles couldn't bring himself to be bothered by it, because honestly it felt too good.

Stiles brought his mouth to Derek's ear, nipping at it lightly before he whispered heatedly; "I want to fuck like a couple of animals." And if Derek's immediate moan of pleasure and roll of hips that sent sparks flying through Stiles' veins were any indication, so did Derek.

Reaching down, Stiles tore his pants open. This was happening. Come on, he was a teenage boy and he had plenty of unsatisfied urges, all of which were going to be completely filled. By Derek fucking Hale. Stiles was trembling in anticipation when he reached down to unzip Derek's jeans.

Derek caught his hands, halting him. "Wait," his voice had an edge, but Stiles couldn't bring himself to care. He had pressing needs, and he knew Derek did to because he could feel it. Rubbing against his fingers.

"For what?" Stiles tugged at his hands, Derek did not relent.

"Someone is coming," Derek's voice sounded almost panicked.

"What?" Stiles did not want to stop. At all; "Who?"

Then Derek swallowed nervously, and Stiles started to worry. " Scott. And your father."

Before Stiles could launch himself away from Derek, put his shirt on and somehow manage to not look for all the world like he'd just been ravaged, the sound of someone opening the door had him freezing in terror. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!

"Stiles," Derek ground out, "Get off." But Stiles never had the chance.

The door flung open and Scott charged into the room before skidding to an abrupt halt. His eyes met Derek's stare of forced neutrality and darted to Stiles frantic look of utter horror and back again.

"Wha-?" He started dumbly before the sheriff's voice interrupted him.

"Scott, is he in there?" he sounded impatient, like he was about to enter the room at any minute.

Stiles felt like he was going to cry; this is not how he wanted his dad to find out that girls weren't the only sexually attractive sex on his prevue of sexually exciting sexual images of sex. God, he was freaking out! Then he couldn't breath again. He was panicking and Scott seemed to catch on really quick because the instant Stiles looked at him, Scott dove out of the room, halting Mr. Stilinski before he got to the doorway.

"What? The closet?" Scott laughed awkwardly; "He is most definitely not in the closet."