We Found Love in a Halloween Rave (The Team Jacob Chronicles)

To Catch a Predator

A predator is watching Stiles from across the bar.

Not a predator-predator. There isn't any fur to be seen (that's a whole 'nother can of worms) and Stiles hasn't heard the damning Hi, I'm Chris Hansen with Dateline NBC schtick.

And yet, there he is. The Big Bad Wolf.

He's been watching Stiles from across the dancefloor for the past twenty minutes, and Stiles can't take much more of it.

The man's not overly tall, but he's big.

Muscled and chiseled and broad.

The man's got longish dark hair styled roguishly on his head and a stylized wolf mask covering the top half of what Stiles is sure to be a lust-attack inducing face.

Admittedly, if this were any other time and in any other place than Halloween night in Beacon Hills' shitty rave district, Stiles wouldn't have the balls to approach Big Bad. No, Stiles has the self-esteem of a freshly beached blobfish and would never, ever think a man like that would want a piece of his lily-white ass.

But, it is Halloween. And from the sound of the ear-melting trance music and the salty humidity in the air, it's safe to say that Stiles is standing fifty EDMers deep in a rave.

A shitty rave. Because that's the only class of rave there is.

So he taps Scott on the shoulder, his best friend twisting around in time to the beat as he grinds up against his long-time girlfriend Allison. Scott gives him a vodka-laden grin and shouts out a happy, "Duuuuude!"

Allison giggles and lovingly pats Scott's hands, which are currently wrapped around her waist.

Stiles just rolls his eyes and grins back. He tosses back the rest of his drink—it's alarmingly green and what Stiles is praying is the main reason why his shoes are sticking to the floor—and cups a hand around his mouth. He flails dramatically over his shoulder and announces with his newfound confidence, "I'm gonna go get laid!"

Both Scott and Allison laugh, whooping and cheering. Allison mouths out a, "Have fun!" and Scott gives him a bro-fist.

Stiles gives them both sloppy kisses on their cheeks and then struts off to the other side of the warehouse.

He makes it over to Big Bad, walking straight up into the guy's personal space until they're standing nose to nose. The man has a couple of inches on Stiles, and goddamn does that make him even hotter. Big Bad has thick arms and even thicker thighs, and his hands look strong and capable.

All the better to manhandle you with, my dear.

"What's your name?" Stiles asks over the thumping bass.

"No," says Big Bad, leather-encased arms crossing over his broad chest. Abrupt it may be, but Stiles catches the guy's lips quirk upwards a bit, so he feels no shame in trying again.

"Want to dance?" he asks.

"No."

"Get a drink?"

"No."

"You wanna take some highly suspect drugs?"

"No."

"How about you take me around back and fuck my throat?"

"N—" the guy freezes instantly, nostrils flaring slightly as he sucks in a surprised breath. "What did you just say?"

Stiles lets a mischievous grin stretch across his face. "I want you to put me on my knees and fuck my face. Is that something you'd be interested in?"