Inadale
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“You’re seriously going to do this? You’re not going to stop until somebody has sex with you?”
“Only you could make me feel more useless and like a piece of shit than I can. Thank you, Derek. Thank you.”
He started to tug away, but Derek gripped him tighter.
“Than it’ll have to be me.” -
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He doesn’t belong here.
It’s the first thought that crosses Derek’s mind as he watches the new inmates spill into the cafeteria. The kid stays close to the wall, eyes scanning all the exits and skimming over the tables. If he’s trying to get a barring for his surroundings he’s doing a shit job of it, something made completely evident as Lewis shoulders him from behind and the kid almost jumps to flatten himself against the wall.
Or
Stiles is the new inmate at Derek's prison. He really didn't expect to fall in love with the mouthy little brat.
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After the rave, Stiles can't go home, and Derek doesn't want him to.
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Derek looked like the stuff of his deepest fantasies. His shirt was rumpled where Stiles had his hands in it, and he was breathing hard as well, chest heaving. His eyes—his eyes were glazed over and he looked stunned, like he’d been—like Stiles had—
“No,” Stiles said, blood draining from his face. The word was croaky and felt like it had to be wrenched out of his chest. “God, no.”
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"So," Derek says like it's utterly obvious. (It's not, it's totally not). It's hard to know how to take someone you can't really read.
His tongue licks between Stiles' lips like all of this was never in question. Was it? No, not really, because: Derek.