Author's Note: I should note that I'm not really in the Teen Wolf fandom. I've seen all the episodes and am eagerly awaiting the new season, but while I pretty much ship everyone/everyone and don't even have a favourite pairing, I'm not overloaded with plot bunnies. (Yet.) LOL! I wrote this as a pinch-hit for tw_fallharvest on LJ and there were some really amazing fics written for that fest. Do check them out!
Scott took a drink of his cola and listened with half an ear to Stiles' incessant complaining. Stiles poked a plastic sword into his bubbling 7-Up and tried to stab a cherry lodged between the ice cubes. He missed and made another attempt. Scott thought he might have better luck with the cherry if he stopped checking out the clientele of the Jungle while pretending he wasn't checking out the clientele. Scott wasn't sure if Stiles was actually bi-curious or if he was simply bothered by the whole "not attractive to gay men" thing that he was currently obsessing over.
"Are mesh shirts still in? Because there should be a season for those, don't you think? Like, mesh shirts can only be worn before Labor Day, or after Flag Day, or something. And who makes those rules?" Stiles finally speared the cherry and lifted it with the sword. He let the droplets of clear liquid drip back into the glass before he crunched into the pseudo-fruit. Scott wrinkled his nose, remembering how maraschino cherries were made. He thought he could still smell the formaldehyde.
About to enlighten Stiles, now that he was eating the nasty thing, Scott was distracted by Isaac dropping into a free chair at their table.
"Hey," said Isaac with a lopsided grin.
Scott fought down a jolt of panic. "What's wrong? Why are you here?"
Isaac glanced at him, seeming unconcerned. "Why are you here?"
Scott relaxed minutely. Isaac wouldn't be acting like a jerk if something important was up. Or, wouldn't be acting like quite as much of a jerk, probably. "I'm here because I need to talk to Danny and he hasn't been answering my texts." Scott gestured toward the dance floor where Danny was currently gyrating between the thighs of a muscle-bound guy. Despite having caught Danny's eye several times, and despite the fact that Scott's increasingly desperate 'I need to talk to you' gestures had been noted, Danny seemed to be in no hurry to leave his date. If Scott didn't get his help with the pop quiz tomorrow, Scott was going to be dead meat. Literally, because his mother had threatened to invent new, undetectable ways to kill him if he didn't pass.
"Why am I here?" Stiles grumbled.
"You're here because I don't have a car," Scott said.
Stiles scowled and stared at his glass, obviously thinking about making a try for the second cherry. "That's right. Stiles' Taxi Service and Werewolf Transportation Association. Sometimes I forget you only need me for my jeep."
Scott shook his head. Stiles was in a pissy mood tonight. "You know that's not true."
"Yeah, whatever." Stiles pushed his drink away. It left a wet smear on the tabletop. He perked up. "Oh, hey! Bartender change-over. I don't recognize this one, which means he won't recognize me. Time to see if I can score a rum and Coke with Mr Fake ID." He slid out of his chair and swaggered in the direction of the bar.
Isaac watched him leave. Scott wasn't sure he liked the look in Isaac's eyes. "What are you doing here?" Scott asked with an edge to his voice.
"Maybe I like it here." Isaac grinned. His canines seemed sharp and deadly, even though it was still a few days until the full moon. "Stiles is cute. He'd be such an adorable werewolf, don't you think? Wouldn't it be cool if he was like us?"
The question pierced Scott like a shard of ice. "Stiles? No. Not ever."
Isaac's blue eyes bored into Scott's and there was something alarming beneath his casual words, something that made Scott think he was deadly serious. "No? I'm sure you've thought about it."
"I said, 'Not ever.'" Scott's fingernails caught on the edge of the table; they were longer than might be considered normal. He tried not to panic, but the thought of Derek turning Stiles made his palms sweat. If Stiles was part of Derek's pack, would Scott still be able to say no? Would he even want to? Was that Derek's plan?
"Don't get your panties in a wad," Isaac said and grinned. He jerked his chin toward the dance floor. "Looks like Danny is done."
Scott tore his gaze away from Isaac to find he hadn't lied. Danny had finished dancing and stood on the dance floor with a somewhat dopey grin, obviously waiting for his date to return from wherever he'd gone, bathroom or bar, probably.
"Shit," Scott muttered. "Stay here and I'll be right back." He hated to leave Isaac without determining if he had ulterior motives, but he really needed to talk to Danny.
"M'kay." Isaac reached over to pick up Stiles' 7-Up. He took a slow drink.
Scott tried to find something duplicitous in his behavior, but nothing stood out. "All right, then."
He left the table and hurried to speak to Danny.
"This is, like, the worst fake ID I've ever seen."
Stile rolled his eyes. "Okay, okay, thanks."
"No, really, it's hilarious. I almost want to frame it. You should ask for a refund."
"Just give me a Coke," Stiles snapped and held his hand out for the ID. He should toss the damned thing, but he kept hoping it would work. At least once, to justify what he'd paid for it.
The bartender chuckled again and handed the laminated card over, then moved off to fetch Stiles' soda. The man next to Stiles stared into his beer; he hadn't said a word during the fake ID exchange. Stiles eyed him and tried not to drum his fingers on the bar-top. The man was dressed in a sequined tank top and obscenely tight black jeans.
Stiles cleared his throat. "Say, would you say I am… attractive? To gay men, I mean?"
Stiles froze when a pair of arms enfolded him and soft lips nuzzled his neck. "Very attractive." The words floated into his ear on a hot breath and Stiles shivered, giving in to the odd sensation of being fondled before turning his head to see whether his assailant was attractive or terrifying. He wasn't sure if he should be disappointed or relieved to discover it was Isaac.
"Ha ha," Stiles said. "You're funny. And straight."
"How do you know? You don't know anything about me." Isaac spaced his words with flicks of his tongue over Stiles' neck, darting touches of heat that felt far better than they should have, considering it was Isaac. The bartender could hurry the hell up with that Coke; anytime now would be great.
"Did Derek put you up to this?"
Isaac went rigid and it wasn't until then that Stiles noticed he was wrapped around him like an octopus. One hand was splayed over Stiles' chest, just beneath his breastbone, and the other was on Stiles' waist, thumb casually looped into the waistband of Stiles' jeans. His fingers dangled below, caressing the space between Stiles' zipper and the pocket holding his keys. Isaac's fingers stopped moving.
"Derek doesn't own me," he hissed. "I am free to go out whenever I want, see whomever I want, and do whatever I want. And, Stiles… I want." With that, Isaac renewed his assault on Stiles' neck, placing nibbling, burning kisses there. Stiles shivered and unconsciously tipped his head to the side. Not to give Isaac better access, of course not; he could see the bartender better that way. Oh god. Stiles' knees unlocked and he thought he might have dripped to the floor in a melted puddle if Isaac hadn't been holding him up. He knew there were reasons he should stop Isaac, and he planned to dredge them up just as soon as he could catch a breath, and just as soon as Isaac stopped doing-Stiles' eyes fluttered half closed and he gave in to the sensation, just for a second, because no one had ever touched him with such determination before.
The sound of a glass banging onto the bar made Stiles open his eyes. The bartender was smirking at him.
Isaac's questing, hot mouth and warm, warm body were torn away. Stiles turned, still in something of a languid haze, to see Scott glaring at Isaac. Flecks of yellow burned in his eyes, visible even in the dim lighting. "What the fuck are you doing?" Scott demanded.
"What does it look like? I told you he was cute."
"Bullshit," Scott snapped. Stiles scowled. What was that supposed to mean? He was plenty cute. "I don't trust you, and I definitely don't trust Derek. Did he send you here to-"
"Shut up about Derek," Isaac said, visibly annoyed. "I can do what I want."
"So, what? You're here on your own, looking for some action? And you just happened to pick Stiles out of all these options? Is that it?"
Isaac rolled his eyes and then he turned and gave Stiles a wink. He pushed past Scott and headed for the door. Scott glared at Stiles for a long moment and Stiles tried to pull up some excuse for why he'd been just standing there, letting Isaac put his hands and… and his mouth… all over him.
"You planning to pay for this?" the bartender asked behind him.
Stiles jumped and reached into his pocket, digging for the crumpled five somewhere under his keys. "Yeah! Yeah, of course." Distracted, he didn't notice Scott leaving until he was halfway to the door. Stiles tossed the bill on the bar and hurried after Scott.
By the time Stiles made it outside, Scott was passing a long line of cars parked on the street, trotting after Isaac. Stiles hurried to catch up. Scott had been on-edge lately, as he usually was with the approach of the full moon, but Stiles wasn't in the mood to deal with angry werewolf posturing. He was tired and wanted to go home.
Scott stopped Isaac with a hand on his shoulder. Stiles couldn't hear their exchange of words, but he saw Isaac's hand flash out and catch Scott on the jaw, snapping his head back.
"Goddamn it," Stiles muttered. "Can't we go anywhere without there being bloodshed? 'Take me to the club; I need to talk to Danny. And probably kick ass on someone because I'm a big, bad werewolf now.'" Stiles delivered the last in falsetto and broke into a run just as Scott barreled forward and drove his head into Isaac's midsection. He knocked him backward into a parked car. Glass shattered, but thankfully no car alarm blared.
"Guys!" Stiles shouted, looking around for bystanders. "Knock it off!"
Isaac was doubled over, on one knee.
"Derek can't have Stiles," Scott said. "Stay the fuck away from him."
Quick as lightning, Isaac leaped up, claws extended and mouth open, baring his fangs. Stiles winced as Scott and Isaac both went down, rolling into the semi-darkness of the alley.
Stiles sighed and rubbed an irritated hand through his hair. "If you roll into anything disgusting in there, you are not getting into my jeep!"
"…can make his own decisions," Isaac was saying. "He isn't part of your pack. You don't even have a pack, Omega."
"He doesn't have to be part of a pack to be under my protection," Scott replied and Stiles heard the sound of flesh hitting flesh. Someone banged into something metallic-a dumpster? "He's my best friend and you can lay off fucking around. Whatever agenda you and Derek have had better not involve him. Do you hear me?"
The last question was bellowed and another metallic clanging sound rang from the alley. Stiles envisioned Isaac's head being banged against the heavy dumpster and almost felt a moment of sympathy. It was lucky werewolves could heal themselves, as often as they got beaten up.
"Fine!" Isaac cried, sounding strangled. "Just get the fuck off me."
A moment later, Isaac stumbled from the alley and then stopped to straighten his jacket. He looked at Stiles, who waited, arms crossed. He tried to look patient, but one foot beat a quiet rat-a-tat on the sidewalk. "This isn't over," Isaac said, just loud enough for Stiles to hear. And then he bolted, tearing down the street and disappearing into the darkness. Scott seemed ready to run after him, but Stiles snatched the arm of his hoodie and held on.
"Can you not?" Stiles asked.
"Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'm tired and I promised dad I'd do some maintenance at home tomorrow. I'm sure he'll have something horrible for me to do, like clean the gutters or the garage, and I'd really rather not do that while exhausted. Can we go?"
Scott seemed torn, but Stiles suspected he just really liked punching things, especially close to his "time of the month."
"Yeah, okay. Fine. But keep your doors and windows locked. I don't trust him. He's up to something."
"Why? Because he came on to me? That means he's up to something?" Stiles pulled out his keys and headed for the jeep.
"No. Yes. He's a werewolf, Stiles. And you're not gay." Scott broke into a jog to keep up and shot him a concerned look. There was blood on his lower lip where Isaac must have landed a solid blow.
"I could be!" Stiles protested.
"I'm not kidding. If he shows up, don't let him in."
"What, are werewolves like vampires now? They have to be invited in?"
"I'm serious, Stiles. Isaac doesn't know what he's doing. He's acting like this is all a big game. You don't want Derek to turn you into one of them, do you?"
"No, of course I don't!" Even as Stiles spoke the words, he wondered, not for the first time, what it would be like to have Scott's abilities, to be stronger and faster and just… better. And how would it feel to stop taking pills without feeling like his head would explode from the number of thoughts tripping over themselves? Stiles often wondered how becoming a werewolf would affect his ADHD, too much time wondering, maybe. "Of course I don't." Besides, Scott was overreacting. Stiles had been alone with Derek plenty of times. If Derek had wanted to turn him, he would have done it already.
Scott said nothing as Stiles unlocked the jeep and slid into the driver's seat. He flipped the lock to let Scott in before starting the engine. "So. How did it go with Danny?" Stiles asked in a blatant attempt to change the subject.
To his relief, Scott launched into an explanation of his upcoming tutoring session and left Stiles to mull over his own tangled thoughts. No, he probably wasn't gay, but it sure hadn't sucked to have Isaac's mouth on him. I definitely need to get laid, he decided.
Later, Stiles lay in bed (door and windows all locked up tight, anti-vampired and anti-werewolfed-he had even considered rubbing garlic on the sill as a joke, but remembered he might need it to make spaghetti) and thought about Isaac.
The thing was, Stiles liked neck-kissing a lot. Apparently more than he had even known, because just thinking back to the memory of it was making him feel a little bit giddy and his cock was considering taking up the gauntlet. Not gay, he reminded himself, but lips were lips and if he shut his eyes he could imagine it was anyone kissing and sucking their way down his neck. It could even have been Lydia, except she would never have held him so tightly, and she wouldn't have gripped his belt and dangled her fingers down, so close to… Oh yeah, his cock was definitely taking interest in the proceedings.
"I am not going to jack off over Isaac," Stiles muttered into the darkness. He debated finding some porn on his laptop, but that would involve getting out of bed to fetch it, and he hadn't lied to Scott about being tired. Thinking about his laptop reminded him that he needed to pick up some canned air and give it a good cleaning, since the P key was sticking a bit, and wasn't that annoying? He wouldn't think the letter P was used all that much; and it probably wouldn't hurt to give the desktop a spray or two before it started making that chugging sound and threatening to shut itself off.
Sufficiently distracted, he followed the meandering path of his thoughts-deliberately avoiding all but fleeting reflections of Isaac-until he finally fell asleep.
Loud rapping woke him and he staggered half-out of bed before the sound fully registered. Knuckles on glass.
"Damn it, Scott, when are you going to learn to use the door like a normal person? Do werewolves have to use the window? Is it a creature thing?" He had pushed aside the curtain and flipped the latch, shoving the window up a few inches before he realized it wasn't Scott's face peering at him through the glass. Shit.
Two hands joined his and Isaac opened the window the rest of the way before climbing inside.
"Um," Stiles said intelligently.
"I couldn't stop thinking about you," Isaac said and pounced. Before Stiles could blink, he was sprawled out on his bed with a determined werewolf atop him. Geez, he's fast. And strong. Isaac's mouth was on Stiles' neck again and that felt really nice, but his hands were working their way under Stiles' too-big t-shirt and that… wasn't nice, wasn't okay, because Scott had told him to keep his doors and windows locked, and he'd really fucked that up and, oh god, were those Isaac's teeth, because they felt really good.
"Stop!" Stiles shoved at him. Isaac didn't budge, of course, being probably a gazillion times stronger than Stiles, and bigger as well, even though he looked deceptively skinny from a distance. He was actually pretty solid. Really solid. And warm, despite having come from outside.
"You want to play Alpha?" Isaac asked and then pushed himself away and sat cross-legged on the bed next to Stiles. "Okay. I can do that."
Stiles levered himself up and mimicked Isaac's pose, leaning back into the pillows and purposefully not touching him. He considered leaving the bed entirely, but that seemed rude. Somehow. "What… what do you mean by that?"
"It means you're in control. Is it okay if I touch your leg?" Isaac lifted a hand and hovered it over Stiles' knee, which suddenly seemed to have nerve endings that Stiles hadn't known about. It twitched almost violently. About a million reasons why he should say no sped through Stiles' mind, but none of them took root in the portion of his brain that controlled his speech.
"I guess," he said. His hand fumbled with the edge of one pillow and his fingers twisted in it. The solidity of the cotton kept him from leaping off the bed when Isaac's hand descended. It rested on his knee, not moving. After long moments, Stiles' heartbeat resumed a more normal rhythm. There, he thought, no big deal. A guy is touching my leg. He's sitting on my bed, touching my leg at what-the-fuck o'clock; nothing weird about this at all. Except the fact that he's a werewolf, of course. That's a bit weird, but everything else is just normal-as-can-be.
"Can I touch your wrist?" Isaac asked and Stiles locked eyes with him; they looked huge and intense in the darkness.
"Sure," Stiles said, thinking wrist-touching was strange, but still pretty innocent, after all. His father touched peoples' wrists all the time, slapping handcuffs on them; although, Stiles really hoped Isaac didn't have any handcuffs on him. That slightly terrifying thought derailed the moment Isaac's fingers slid over his wrists. His other hand abandoned Stiles' knee to join in the wrist-touching, or wrist-caressing, as it turned out to be. Isaac's thumbs swirled over the veins and tendons of Stiles' wrist, first one and then the other, drawing light circles that felt anything but innocent. Isaac's touch seemed to be warming the blood beneath Stiles' skin, because heat stole up his arm and into the rest of his body. He felt a blush creeping into his face.
"Can I touch your arm?" Isaac whispered.
Stiles nodded and the light touch moved up his forearm, raising gooseflesh as it grazed the sensitive flesh of Stiles' inner elbow, then worked back down to his wrist and up again. Stiles' other hand had gone still on the edge of the pillow; the nervous movement halted as his attention was fully caught up in the electrical storm being stirred by Isaac's gentle fingers.
Isaac leaned forward. "Can I kiss you?"
Probably not, Stiles thought wildly. That's probably a really, really bad idea, so no. "I guess," he said aloud.
Isaac's lips were soft, soft and warm and tasting vaguely sweet, but indefinable, like Dr. Pepper. The kiss was just a press of lips to lips, nothing special. The arm stroking didn't stop, but Isaac pulled him even closer and deepened the kiss, just enough to apply more pressure and crack Stiles' mouth open. Stiles waited, heart pounding, for the wet trace of tongue, but it didn't come. Isaac pulled away. His breathing was rapid and his lips were wet and inviting. Stiles wanted more kissing.
"I love the way you taste," Isaac said. "Can I kiss your neck?"
Stiles nodded emphatically. "No biting." His voice cracked as it hadn't done since he was a pre-teen.
"No biting," Isaac agreed and then lowered his head. Stiles' head fell back and he shivered. Fuck, why did it have to feel so good? Isaac's tongue-no teeth-came into play and his kisses were far hotter and more possessive than the one he'd placed on Stiles' mouth. Isaac sucked hard on a pulse-point and Stiles vaguely wondered if he would have a mark there tomorrow and how he was supposed to explain a werewolf hickey to his father.
Isaac's mouth reached Stiles' collarbone and he nudged roughly at the collar of Stiles' t-shirt with his chin. "Can I take your shirt off?"
Great idea. "Yes." Stiles let go of the pillow to help Isaac remove his pesky shirt because, really, it was far too warm in the room, even with the window partly-ajar. Stiles' hair crackled as the shirt dragged over his head-it was almost time for another haircut-and then the shirt was forgotten, tossed somewhere on the floor and Isaac's hot, hot breath hovered over Stiles' bare skin.
"Can I kiss-?"
"Yes," Stiles said, because fuck, yes, kissing was good.
Isaac's lips nuzzled Stiles' collarbone again, then worked their way down, down, over Stiles' pecs and then brushed, ever so lightly, over a nipple. Stiles' head banged into the headboard-he had slowly fallen back until he was sprawled uncomfortably on his pillows, pretty much offering up his body to Isaac. One foot had caught in his pajama bottoms and he was developing a cramp in his toes.
"Um-" Stiles began and then jerked his foot free with a cry as Isaac took the nipple into his mouth and sucked, working the nub with his tongue and sending spasms of-something-jolting through Stiles' body and collecting in his cock. Both of Isaac's hands were clamped around Stiles' arm, nails digging in almost painfully.
Stiles arranged his legs more comfortably; one of them dangled half-off the side of the bed, and he let his head rest against the headboard. Coherent thought was out of his grasp as Isaac moved to give the sucking, tonguing treatment to his other nipple. The only thing that came to mind was that the Alpha Game was a great idea and should be promoted across the country as the next new thing.
"Can I touch your legs?" Isaac asked and Stiles was glad to note that his voice was rough; he sounded nearly as wrecked as Stiles felt.
"Sure, why not?" Stiles managed, unable to think of a single reason to refuse, and then Isaac's hands were hot and heavy on Stiles' thighs. Isaac moved down and began to lick Stiles' happy trail, licking and licking until Stiles thought he might remove the hair completely, but hell if it didn't feel amazing, and Stiles' cock was excited by the fact that Isaac's molten-hot mouth and talented tongue were mere inches away. Isaac's hands gripped his thighs, tightening and relaxing, bunching the fabric of Stiles' sweats, pulling them slightly down with each clenching movement, and Isaacs' mouth moved lower and lower over Stiles' abdomen with every inch revealed. His breathing sounded labored and loud in the room. Somehow Stiles' hands had ended up in Isaac's hair. The curls were soft and damp around the edges.
"Please," Isaac whispered, "can I suck your cock?"
"Oh hell yeah." The words turned into a choking sound and Stiles thought he might arch off the bed when Isaac's fists jerked hard, exposing Stiles' cock to Isaac's stare. He only looked at it for a moment-not even long enough for Stiles to request a judgment call-and then his tongue licked it from base to tip.
"Oh god!" Stiles cried. "Oh god, oh god!"
Isaac licked it again, and then again, repeating his procedure with Stiles' happy trail, and really, Stiles couldn't complain about his technique. Thumbs way the fuck up, actually, and then even that wayward thought exploded when Isaac's lips closed around the tip and moved slowly down, down, down, enclosing Stiles in wet, hot, so wet, so hot heat that tore a soul-deep groan that seemed to originate somewhere around Stiles' toes.
"Oh fuck yes," he whispered.
Isaac seemed to take encouragement from his words and his cheeks hollowed as he sucked hard, and then began to move, mouth-fucking Stiles in movements both slow and fast, until Stiles vaguely wondered how Isaac didn't choke, taking him so deep with every down-stroke. Stiles gripped Isaac's hair, although he didn't quite dare to give him any guidance. None was needed; frankly, he was doing an amazing job with his tongue, sending bursts of brilliance through Stiles' cock with every wet motion. Stiles would have bucked his hips upward, needing to help, needing, wanting to fuck Isaac's mouth, but Isaac's hands were like iron bands holding his pelvis, trapping him against the bed.
Isaac's head bobbed, up and down, up and down, until Stiles' toes curled and his legs quivered uncontrollably. Pleasure that was borderline pain built, radiating outward from his cock and turning his body into a quivering mess; he thought he heard words and realized he was babbling, although he could have been reciting War and Peace at his current level of coherence. Isaac's mouth was incredible, especially when he-oh god, was he growling?
Isaac's eyes locked with his for a moment and Stiles whimpered as he felt one last stab of Isaac's amazing tongue, diving into the sensitive slit at the crown of his cock, and then he was coming, arching like a rainbow and trying hard to suppress a scream, because, fuck, his father was home. Isaac took him deeper, sucking, swallowing-suddenly all the 'spit or swallow' jokes made sense-and his stare never left Stiles' face.
Stiles shuddered over and over, spilling every last drop into Isaac's mouth. He nearly ripped out handfuls of golden hair with the force of his hold. Good thing werewolves could heal themselves; otherwise Isaac would have a massive headache. He loosened his hands when Isaac finally released his cock. It slapped against Stiles' abdomen with a wet sound. Before Stiles could speak, Isaac moved up and took his mouth in a hot, salty kiss. His tongue dove in this time, sliding over Stiles', sharing the taste that was borderline unpleasant, and yet… really fucking hot.
Isaac kissed him for a long time, until it felt less like kissing and more like claiming, and then he broke away and sprawled on his back, looking as if he were the one fully sated. Stiles stared at him blankly.
"Feel good?" Isaac asked.
Stiles could only nod. He supposed he should cover himself. When the thought coalesced in his pudding-like mind, he pulled up his sweats and swallowed hard, looking away. He had just allowed a guy to give him head. Was he gay, then? Or just really fucking confused? He did, however, feel good. He felt amazing. Best orgasm of his life, so far, no contest. Masturbation would never compare.
"Do you ever think about becoming a werewolf?" The question sounded casual enough. "Ever wonder what it would be like?"
"Sure." Despite his easy answer, Stiles looked askance at Isaac. Scott's words swam back to him through a euphoric haze, dampening the brilliance of his afterglow a bit. What if Isaac wasn't here simply because he wanted to be? What if there was more to it? Stiles lifted his feet and tucked them under the sheet. With the tingles slowly working their way out of his system, he was starting to feel chilled. Isaac seemed to be waiting for something and Stiles wondered what was supposed to happen next. Was he supposed to reciprocate?
"It's great," Isaac said. "Knowing no one can hurt you, ever again." He paused. "Well, the Argents, I suppose, and people like them, but not normal people. Not the ones that used to look at me like I was the scum of the earth. The bullies and the haters. Sometimes I think about tracking them down and tearing their throats open." He lifted a hand and curled it into a claw.
Stiles must have made a noise, because Isaac craned his neck to look up at him. His lips were puffy, Stiles noticed, and he sort of wanted to kiss them again.
"I wouldn't, of course," Isaac said, "but I could. And that makes all the difference, I think. Knowing you could do something and choosing not to. Like not changing during the full moon. It's hard. Really hard. But refusing to give in… Well, that's a more powerful feeling than running amok and getting revenge, I think. Do you know what I mean?"
"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." Impulsively, Stiles reached out and touched Isaac's hair, and then jerked his hand back, unsure what he was doing.
"I love never getting sick," Isaac went on, not seeming to notice Stiles' gesture. "And the whole wound-healing thing is fucking awesome. Still hurts to get hit, though. Scott has a pretty good right cross." Isaac reached up and touched his jaw, then worked it back and forth as if remembering a blow.
"He was just protecting me," Stiles said and spared a guilty flush for Scott. He would be so pissed if he found out about this. If.
"Protecting you from the big bad werewolf," Isaac said and then grinned at him as he rolled over onto his stomach. Stiles had to admit, it seemed kind of funny, in hindsight.
"Yeah," Stiles said. After a long, long pause, he blurted, "Why are you here? Is it really for you, or is it for Derek? Is this part of some scheme of his to lure Scott into joining up with him? Because it won't work."
Isaac grinned and he did not look at all wolfish, only human. "This has nothing to do with Scott and nothing to do with Derek. This is about what you want, Stiles. Just you."
Stiles thought about that, sliding his attention away from Isaac to track the row of books on his shelf, taking comfort in their alphabetical organization. He mulled over Isaac's words. When was the last time he had thought about himself and not Scott, or Lydia, or his dad, or the Argents, or the whole werewolf situation? Just him?
"Can I touch your leg?" Isaac asked in a growly-sexy tone that instantly sent Stiles' heartbeat into overdrive. Oh god, he couldn't possibly…
"Yes," Stiles replied.
And later, with one hand tangled in Isaac's soft curls as he slept, Stiles watched through the window as pink leached into the dark sky and turned it to dawn. He wondered what he would say the next time Isaac asked, not silly Alpha Game questions, but the big question, the one that lurked beneath every kiss and breath and brush of skin on skin. The one hinted at but never asked outright.
The one Stiles no longer had a clear-cut answer for.