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Warning Smut ahead!
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Prompted Sterek One shot with Bottom/Derek
This was getting ridiculous. He was going to get caught. He shouldn't be here. Damnit.
Fuck.
Sliding into the window and silently crawling into the room. He stood slowly. He could hear the shower downstairs was still on.
He knew this was stupid. But he needed more of his scent. He needed Stile's scent. The last shirt that he had stolen was no longer good enough. The scent faded too much.
He needed something fresh. This was down right embarrassing. He was so pissed that he was addicted to this 18 year old's scent. Ever since the night he first shifted to a full wolf form he had been drawn to Stiles scent more and more.
He wanted to go over to the young man's bed and roll in it. Wanted to cover himself in his scent so damn bad. But no. He wouldn't stoop that low.
Looking around he found it.
That damn red hoodie that Stiles loved to wear. Fuck. Bringing it up to his face and inhaling long and deep he let out a whimper. Leaning against the wall he inhaled deeply again and groaned.
He had stayed as far away from the infuriating boy as he could. But his inner wolf had been ripping and tearing at him for more of the boys scent since that first night.
Why. Why him. Damn it.
Rubbing a hand over his bulge trying to calm down his raging hardon. But it wasn't going away. The red hoodie smelled to good. He wanted to cover himself in the scent he wanted to devour it. His wolf was howling inside him wanting Stiles scent. Wanting to drown in it.
Pressing his forehead into the wall he reached into his pants gripping himself and started to stroke from root to tip slowly as he rubbed the hoodie on his face and neck.
"What in the actual fuck?"
Derek froze for the briefest of seconds before he ripped his hand out of his pants and turned around and he was still holding the hoodie.
He saw Stiles.
A lot of Stiles.
His vision suddenly colored over in blue hues. There Stiles stood dripping wet with a towel around his waist. Oh holy fuck.
His mouth filled with saliva at the sight of Stiles bare chested he was lean and his body had become more filled out with muscle and there was a faint dusting of a happy trial that teased Derek as it dissappeared in the towel. That pale soft skin, the dotting of moles he wanted to count, those sinful lips, those bright tawny honey colored eyes.
The smell. That scent. He began to shift. His fangs lengthening and his claws sharpening.
He was going to pounce on Stiles.
No!
Derek jumped out of the window. He ran.
He was going to pounce on Stiles. No he coulnd't. He would hurt him! No. He couldn't.
Derek could hear Stiles heartbeat racing as he called out his name from the window.
Derek just kept running.
...
A month later he returned to Beacon Hills. He couldn't face the pack or Stiles after what he had nearly done.
