
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1360189.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Danny_Mahealani
  Character:
      Danny_Mahealani, Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, Marking, Casual_Sex, Hook-Up, Derek_Has_Issues, Past
      Relationship(s), Past_Sexual_Abuse, Mentioned_Kate_Argent, Past_Kate
      Argent/Derek_Hale, Bottom_Danny_Mahealani, Anal_Sex, Anal_Fingering,
      Derek's_Life_Is_Hard, Underage_Sex, Blow_Jobs
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-03-24 Words: 5357
****** Take Me To Your After Party ******
by lezzerlee
Summary
     The night after the black light rave, Derek cleans up his apartment.
     He gets an unexpected visitor.
Notes
     This fic is set between season 3, episodes 16 & 17.
     Thanks so much to gollumgollum, shaded_sun, & yviwashere for the
     beta!
Derek wants to murder someone. He wants to smash every single black light in
his apartment, hear the glass shatter over the floor. But he doesn’t, because
he’d have to clean that up too.
They painted every goddamn banister on his staircase and he's working his way
down each post, scrubbing with acetone first before he has to special order
paint remover, or worse, sand the fucking things. He's right in the middle,
squatting awkwardly into the curve of the steps —making some progress, but
probably more from the force of running his rag over the bars than from the
chemical removing any paint— when there is a knock at his door. Derek goes
still. He hadn’t set his proximity alarm after the alphas left, which was
probably a stupid, suicidal mistake. There's only one fast-beating heart
outside, and anyone wanting to kill him isn’t going to knock, so he pushes
himself up, dropping the rag at the bottom of the stairs, and pulls the door
open.
He is not expecting the hacker kid from Stiles’ school to be standing there. He
remembers that vividly, how Stiles manipulated him, even with all the horrible
shit that’s happened in his life since then. Derek doesn’t like when people use
him, not after Kate. If the look the kid is giving him is anything to go by,
Danny remembers him just fine as well.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Derek grits out, and Danny flinches, has
the sense enough to look nervous and regretful with his hands tucked into the
pockets of his jeans. But not enough sense to leave, apparently. It takes him a
second to answer, as if he’s just now considering the possibility that Derek
might disembowel him for showing his face after last night, but seems to decide
that Derek won’t. Derek’s claws dig into the thin skin of his palms.
“I need to pick up the stereo equipment or I’ll lose my deposit,” Danny says.
Derek glares.
“Look man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know this place was actually occupied, or that
it was yours. Aiden said… well, never mind. It doesn’t matter what he said.”
Derek bristles even more at the mention of the twin. They’d been lucky there
were bigger problems to deal with after the rave, or Derek might have killed
them both for even stepping foot in the room where they helped murder Boyd.
Danny continues undeterred. “I had no idea he even knew you. So please don’t
kick my ass. I can’t really afford to replace the equipment on the zero real
job I have right now. I’d have to do some seriously shady shit to make up that
kind of money, which is not my style.” Danny’s hands fingers twitch by his
sides, mock typing.
Derek is not mollified at all, but he also doesn't want to have to figure out
what to do with the equipment if it’s left here, so he reluctantly steps to the
side, letting Danny enter.
Skirting by him nervously, Danny heads straight to the overturned table to
check on the stuff Derek tossed last night. “Shit,” he says under his breath,
picking up some plastic pieces. Derek can smell the twins on him now, Aiden
faintly, Ethan more. Derek walks back to the stairs, picks up his rag and
starts scrubbing where he left off. Danny starts unplugging speakers, wrapping
cords up into bundles and moving everything towards the door. It takes him over
half an hour to gather everything he needs, and Derek’s made it almost to the
bottom of stairs by then, two bottles of acetone empty on the floor and a third
already halfway to gone.
Unlike some people, cleaning does not calm Derek. It’s a waste of time when he
has better things to worry about. His anger is simmering under his skin. It's a
shade compared to what it once was, but familiar all the same. It makes him
restless, makes him want to bite into something soft and defenseless, even
though he's more controlled than he's been in years.
He’s scrubbing, mindless, repetitive motions up and down, fingers wrapped
around the pole and thoughts firmly set on recalling any lore he might have
ever heard about ninja-like supernatural creatures, when Danny clears his
throat. Derek glances up and Danny’s scratching the back of his neck, cheeks
faintly flushed and the barest gleam of sweat on his skin from moving the
speakers. Derek can smell arousal wafting off of him and his control slips just
enough to make him want. He wants to ruin, and to punish. He thinks he could
get away with it with Danny, starts thinking about how he could use this kid
like he's been used, make him pay for his trespasses, give them both something
that they crave. He can see it in the way Danny holds himself, toeing the line
between confident and awkward. Derek stills his hand, carefully unwrapping his
fingers from the pole.
“I, uh…I have someone coming to pick up the equipment now, but I can stay and
help clean up if you want,” Danny says. He drags his bottom lip in with his
teeth, leaving a faint red line over the plump skin.
Derek’s instant thought is to say no, a knee-jerk reaction to an obvious come-
on because those never end well for him. He wants to get Danny the fuck out his
space so he can make it right and safe again. Not that it ever was safe to
begin with, evidenced by the ease with which the entirety of Beacon Hills’ high
school population gained access to and proceeded to destroy it.
There is still paint everywhere, the scent of strangers permeating his space,
and even with werewolf stamina, strength and speed, it’s going to take him days
to get everything cleaned up by himself. “Sure,” he says without conviction.
“This is your fault, after all.”
Danny frowns but doesn’t deny it, and then his phone pings from his pocket.
“I’ll be back in half an hour,” he says after checking his message, and he and
a friend haul the speakers downstairs. Derek doesn’t hold his breath on Danny
coming back.
Forty minutes later there’s a second knock on the door. Derek’s finished the
stairs and moved on peeling the fluorescent duct tape from the walls. Most of
it comes down easily, but he has to pick a little at the glue that remains.
He opens the door again and Danny walks right in. He’s is carrying a case of
glass bottle cokes and has a plastic sack of cleaning supplies like he’s just
come from the store. “Got a fridge?” he asks. Derek nods towards the kitchen
and Danny drops his bag on the table before shoving the soda onto the empty
wire shelves.
Derek is surprised that Danny came back, but he’s not going to dwell on it. He
starts peeling off more strips of tape, bunching them into fist sized balls at
his feet. Danny heads over towards the storage space. Derek can hear him moving
things around, but he doesn’t really pay attention until Danny migrates back
into his space, pulling a full trash bag from the storage room. They work
around each other, taking down decorations, scrubbing when needed. Danny
finishes the last of it off by picking up all the little tape balls Derek threw
on the floor and then mopping. They both pile the garbage by the door.
Derek’s never denied being an asshole, so he tells Danny where the dumpster is
outside and lets him take down all the bags by himself. He does open a couple
bottles of coke though, with his claws because he doesn’t have a bottle opener
in the loft. He hands one to Danny when he comes back in and nods towards the
couch.
Danny flops, gracefully. Definitely gracefully —Derek’s been around enough
teenagers recently to tell. He has an air of confidence that most other kids
his age don’t. Seems to have more brains as well, except Derek knows that Danny
was Jackson’s best friend.
Teenagers make mistakes.
It makes him think of himself around that age and suddenly his throat tastes
bitter, stomach turning acidic like every time he remembers his own dangerous
naïveté. “Thanks for cleaning,” he says, wincing when the sugar hits his
tongue. He doesn’t usually drink soda, or eat much in the way of sweets, but
the burn of it is nice down his throat. They both sit silently, drinking their
soda. Derek catches Danny watching him out of the corner of his eye.
“I know your name isn’t Miguel,” Danny says, apropos of nothing. Derek raises
his eyebrows. “I know you’re Derek Hale. I know you hang out with McCall, and
Stilinski. What I can’t figure out is why.”
Derek swallows another mouthful of coke and watches Danny's eyes dart down to
his throat. The grin he releases is feral, he can feel it splitting his face
like the slice of a knife, and when he stands Danny very subtly recoils, thick,
athletic muscles pressing into the plush cushion of the couch. He doesn't break
eye contact with Derek though, and Derek gives him points for his brass balls.
"I don't hang out with anyone," he says.
"Then what do you do?"
Derek stands directly in front of Danny, leaning down to pull the empty coke
from his hands. "Do you really want to know?" he asks.
Danny's expression turns sharp, calculating even, as if he's weighing the
things Derek isn't implying by standing so close: months of hushed whispers,
days absent, Stiles' deterioration and Lydia's distraction. "No," he says,
releasing the bottle.
"You have everything you need?" Derek asks, meaning the equipment. He steps
away, to throw the bottles out.
"Not nearly," Danny replies, under his breath so Derek won't hear. It makes
Derek snort. Danny stands, head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed, and Derek is
bracing himself for Danny to change his mind, to demand to know everything, but
what Danny says next is not what he expects.
"Listen, I'm getting a vibe, and I don't make a policy over dancing around
people's sexuality hang-ups, so if you want to fuck sometime, you should call
me."
Derek's primal brain speaks before his logic has time to strangle it into
submission. "Why not now?" he asks.
Danny's expression melts into something that can only be described as
charmingly smug. "Why not?"
Derek closes the distance between them, probably faster than is prudent if he
wants to pass for human. He hopes that his body is distraction enough as he
presses himself into Danny’s space, thigh against thigh as he wraps a hand
around Danny’s neck and tongues his way into Danny’s mouth. Danny is too smart
for his own good, and if Jackson doesn’t tell him after a few more months
wallowing, homesick in London, then he’ll figure it out on his own. He’ll
figure out what Ethan and Aiden really are. Now that he’s so close, Derek can
smell just how much of Ethan’s scent is wrapped around Danny. He wonders if
Danny will feel the same way that he did when he figured out that he slept with
a murderer.
Danny is broad and firm under his fingers, strong but not unbreakable. Utterly
human and fragile, Danny is a bag of bones swimming in syrupy blood, organs
just waiting to be released from their wrappings. If he knew what Derek could
do to him…
But Derek shoves the urge to bite down. He’s not the alpha anymore; there is no
claim. Instead he lets Danny dig his fingers in, grab at Derek’s shoulder,
press against the small of his back. Breathing becomes secondary as they lick
and bite, feeding like hungry animals, repetitive but nourishing the most basic
of instincts.
Eat. Fuck. Kill.
Derek’s only grown tired of one, is well on the way to being done with another.
But maybe he’s looking in the wrong places. He was looking at soft curves
expecting soft hearts. But the women in his life have had sharp, hard edges.
Danny is nothing like anyone he’s been with before. He likes that this will be
a one time thing, a taste, dipping his feet into another pool and hoping he
doesn’t get pulled under.
Danny is completely onboard if the way he’s clawing at Derek’s shirt is any
indication. Derek gives him what he wants, pulling the blue fabric over his
head. He rakes his hands up Danny’s side, drawing his yellow shirt up along his
ribs before dropping back down to tuck his fingers into the band of Danny’s
pants. The fit is tight, fabric burn across his knuckles and a moan against his
lips. Derek wants to draw that sound out again.
Shoving his hands as far as they will go, Derek clutches at skin, at hips and
bone, and there’s too much clothing between them. He drags his hands up again,
takes the t-shirt with him, grips Danny’s jaw between his fingers before he can
look back down. Danny’s neck is exposed, artery pulsing shallowly under the
surface of his skin. Derek tilts Danny’s head, likes the way it shifts Danny’s
hips against his own. He can bend Danny to his whim, break him down. The best
part is that he doesn’t have to put him back together again. Derek can take and
take, because no hearts are on the line, no lives, no family. It’s just him and
a boy—teenaged but with experience, the opposite of what Derek once was. Danny
may find out later what he’s gotten himself into, but at least he knows Derek
is a bad choice. At least Derek won’t be the thing that truly ruins him. Sex is
just sex when both parties have no expectations.
He pushes his thumb into Danny’s mouth and is rewarded with a hot, slick tongue
gliding over his fingernail. His other hand shoves up into the heat under
Danny’s arm, into the hair and sweat and musk concentrated there. Danny fights
for control, tries to manhandle Derek towards the couch, but Derek is far too
strong and won't be cowed. If Danny won't back down and submit then they can
end this right now. Derek's done taking the back seat in his own sex life.
He releases Danny’s jaw only to shove a hand into his perfectly styled hair,
roughing it up. He likes taking a little of the polish off Danny’s appearance.
He wants to smother Ethan’s scent with his own, claim him, take Danny away from
him like they took Erica and Boyd from him. He wishes he could do more, wishes
he could leave his mark in blood and bruises, but he has to hold back. There’s
nothing tender in the way he scrapes his nails down Danny’s spine, until he can
cup both hands underneath Danny’s ass. Lifting him is easy after that, and
surprise jolts through Danny’s body, because Derek is just a hair smaller than
him in size, but he wraps his legs around Derek’s waist anyway.
"Fuck, you're strong," Danny says. Derek kisses him silent, walking him towards
the staircase, leading him up to where he moved his bed after Isaac left.
There's no way he can fit both their bodies on it at once, so Derek sets him
down. He slips a hand between Danny’s thighs as they ascend, pressing his
intent into the seam if Danny's jeans. It’s just enough pressure right over
Danny’s hole, and Derek waits to see if Danny will back out now.
Danny glances over his shoulder around the curve of the support column. He
smiles with blindingly white teeth before he goes upstairs. Derek gets a great
view of his ass before he follows him up.
Derek stops before they can make it to the bed, hand wrapped around Danny’s
wrist. He doesn’t want to fuck there, not after his last time being with
Jennifer, not until it’s with someone he means it with again. It’s too
intimate.
He has to think of something else quickly, but there’s no furniture up here,
nothing but an exposed water pipe with his clothes hanging from it, with his
pants folded on the floor, and box for his socks and underwear. He drags Danny
over to it, shoving hangers apart and guiding both of Danny's hands to grip the
bar.
Sliding his hands down Danny’s body seems like the next natural step. He runs
his palms over his shoulders, thumbs pressing into the muscle near Danny’s
spine as his fingertips skate along his ribs and then lower. He circles them
around Danny’s body, stepping closer so that his lips press against the bones
of Danny’s neck and he quickly undoes Danny’s belt. The fabric of his hanging
shirts brushes against their shoulders. He can smell the leather of his jacket
as it hangs on the other side of their bodies. He knows that Danny can’t see
anything but dark fabric and brick wall.
Derek pushes Danny’s pants and briefs over his hips until they drop onto the
floor. His fingernails rake up Danny’s flank and he kisses his way down Danny’s
spine until his stubble brushes the top curve of Danny’s ass. He has to drop to
his knees to do more.
Derek picks one of Danny’s feet up at a time, freeing him from the pile of
clothing and shoving it to the side. Danny strains, pushing back as far as he
can without letting go of the bar. Derek’s palms drag over skin, over strong
muscle and dark hair as he hooks his thumbs beneath the curve of Danny's
cheeks. He spreads Danny wide and watches at the way Danny’s back contracts,
the rippling of his muscles. He leans in close and breathes, sending warm air
across Danny's pucker just to watch it twitch.
When he looks up, Danny is biting his lip waiting, glancing under his arm to
see what Derk will do. Derek smirks at him and Danny laughs. "Asshole," he
mutters.
Derek’s smirk turn sharper as he presses a dry thumb to Danny's hole. Danny
makes a wounded noise and Derek feels the muscle flex underneath his finger. He
wants to push it right in, but Danny's not nearly open enough, not wet enough,
not begging enough for Derek's taste. He taps his thumb and watches Danny’s
hole contract in defense only to reopen as if begging to be filled. Danny is so
hard for him already. His body strains towards Derek’s touch and Derek can
smell the way Danny leaks for him, the acrid boy-sweat sweetness of arousal,
can practically taste the salt of it on his tongue. As if to prove the point,
Derek watches as a drop of precome falls to the floor between Danny's legs.
He spreads Danny wide and licks in. Danny’s moan is broken and loud, cascading
through the empty apartment. Derek presses farther in, he rubs his lips over
Danny’s hole, buries his cheeks between the globes of Danny’s ass.
“You’re going to give me beard burn,” Danny says, then gasps when Derek swipes
his tongue across his asshole again.
Derek pulls back. “Do you care?” he asks, teasing his finger, stroking over
Danny’s clutch of muscle again and again. “Is it going to make your boyfriend
jealous?” He wonders what Ethan will do, when he smells Derek all over Danny’s
skin.
Danny doesn’t answer, so Derek licks his way back in, fucking Danny with his
tongue, forcing the tip of it inside of Danny’s gradually opening body. He runs
the flat of it from Danny’s perineum up, making him sloppy and wet. Skin tastes
like skin, but eating a boy out is drastically different than eating a girl
out. There’s no sweetness on his tongue, no extra wetness added to his own
spit. The movement of muscle beneath his tongue is stronger. Everything is firm
beneath his hands.
He lets go of Danny’s thigh to wrap a hand firmly around Danny’s dripping,
sticky cock. Thumbing over the tip, Derek smears precome over his fingers and
down the shaft. Danny jerks forward into his grasp. It’s just a shade too dry
as Derek jacks him off.
Danny’s not very vocal, but he’s breathy. He gasps and sucks in air, hisses
when Derek starts to work a finger inside of him. He lets out a quiet, “oh,”
when Derek’s knuckle breaches past the muscle, whimpers when Derek works him
from both ends, twisting his finger around inside as he runs his hand up and
down Danny’s cock. Danny chokes, and groans, and bites his lips raw when Derek
presses his finger forward, down towards Danny’s prostate.
Derek removes his finger. He sticks it in his mouth along with another to get
them wet before he presses both back in. Danny starts to shake, toes curling
into the floor, the knuckles of his toes turned white where they press against
the wood floor and the blood is pushed out beneath his weight. Derek can hear
the way the cadence of Danny’s breathing changes and releases his cock. He
doesn’t want him to come, not yet. It’s the opposite of what he would usually
do with a woman. He tries not the think about it, but Kate had taught him well.
She taught him how to make her come twice before he fucked her. She also taught
him how to submit to her whims, to not demand more than the luxury of burying
himself inside her tight heat before she crawled out of his car and left him to
drive back home through the preserve with the windows rolled down.
He stops thrusting his fingers. He won’t… He knows Danny’s not expecting more,
but he’ll make it clear again to Danny after, that there are no expectations,
that there should be no expectations. This is a one time affair. He doesn’t
think it will be a problem, but Danny’s young, and Derek isn’t going to be
responsible for misdirected emotions.
Danny whines and starts rolling his hips, trying to fuck himself on Derek’s
stilled fingers. Derek doesn’t give in. He counters the movement of  Danny’s
body, not allowing them to slide until Danny’s breathing evens out, until his
eyes open and he looks back in slack-jawed desperation to see what Derek will
do.
Derek pulls his fingers out. He slaps two fingers to Danny’s hole to hear the
wet pop it makes. Danny’s body jerks and the hangers shake as he pulls on the
bar. Later, Derek will be able to smell Danny’s sweat on the hem of his shirts
from where they brush against his slicked body.
Derek licks the curve of Danny’s flank but he wants to taste more, wants to
taste everything that makes Danny different than anyone he’s been with before.
He reaches between Danny’s legs again and pulls his cock back. He can just get
his mouth around the tip of Danny’s cock if he tilts his head right. Danny
gasps out a, “Fuck,” as Derek tongues at his slit. Precome smears his lips and
salts his tongue, making Derek’s mouth water even more. He palms Danny’s ass as
he sucks, digging his nails into the skin, not quite bruising with the pressure
of his fingers.
Danny’s calves shake, thighs flexing to keep him balanced. The veins carrying
his life’s blood back to his heart stand in contrast between skin and straining
muscle. Derek imagines that if he ran a claw through it, Danny would snap like
a rubber band.
“Oh, fuck. Fuck,” Danny pants, finally finding his voice. His head is thrown
back, his throat stretched long and taut. He sounds ruined, words cracking over
his vocal cords like a broken violin’s bow. He’s breathing like he’s been
running suicides at lacrosse practice; sweat is dripping down his spine. Derek
releases his cock, and Danny honest to God whimpers, throws in a few pleas as
his body shudders. Derek soothes him, skimming his hands up and down Danny’s
flank slowly.
“Condom?” Derek asks.
“Wallet, in my pants,” Danny says.
Derek’s pleased when Danny doesn’t even attempt to move his hands from the bar
as he bends down to rummage through the pile of clothing. He comes up with
Danny’s wallet, ignores the glaring proof of Danny’s age on his driver’s
license and picks out the condom and a packet of lube before tossing the wallet
back on the pile. He tears the foil open and slips the condom on, giving Danny
one more sloppy set of licks before standing. He squeezes the lube onto his
fingers before wrapping them around his cock and lining himself up.
Derek presses his hips forward until the tip of his dick has breached past
Danny’s tight circle of muscle. Danny’s legs spread just a little wider,
grounding his body as Derek puts both hands on Danny’s hips, using Danny as an
anchor as he sinks all the way in. Danny lets out a sharp, cut-off moan when
Derek snaps his hips. The shirts hanging down around them shake as Danny tries
to keep his balance, back arched towards the floor, pushing his ass back into
Derek and begging for more.
Derek gives it to him, grinding into him, thrusting in bursts of speed, then
slowing down, dragging his cock out of Danny excruciatingly slowly for the both
of them. He can feel the way Danny’s body clings to him, tries to draw him in.
His hands are restless, roaming over Danny’s body. He skims up his ribs, hooks
his hands under Danny’s arms, across his chest to pull him back as far as
Danny’s straining arms will allow. Derek bites into the side of Danny’s neck,
sucking and bruising, and leaving his mark. He can’t help it, not with the way
he wants to claim something for himself. Danny doesn’t say anything, doesn’t
warn him off, and Derek relishes it. He’s never been allowed to before.
He bites down Danny’s shoulder, latching onto the muscle just beneath the blade
of it, smelling the sweat underneath Danny’s arms. He buries his face there,
licks the building sweat, tastes the maleness, the musk. He feels the strength
of Danny beneath him as he pistons in.
It makes him snap his hips harder, looking for release, wanting to breed, to
let go. Because Danny can take it. He’s crying out in pleasure on each forward
movement, meeting Derek’s thrusts.
Their skin slides together, a hot, sticky, squelch trapped between them.
Derek’s nipples slide against Danny’s skin. If he squats more, he can get more
thrust, so he does, holding Danny’s shoulders and driving in, and in, and in.
The only sound in the room is the slap of their skin, until Danny lets out
another series of loud curses that slices through the apartment like a
razorblade.
Derek wraps a hand over Danny’s mouth to quiet him, tilting his head back to
his shoulder. Danny’s breath is hot and wet, slicking the palm of his hand as
pant after pant beats out the rhythm of Danny’s lungs. Danny still murmurs
beneath Derek’s fingers, unintelligible but clearly desperate. Derek wants to
drag this out, but he can feel the build of his orgasm at the base of his dick,
the hot pressure and promise of blissful release.
He picks up the pace as his hands wrap around Danny’s body, sliding over
Danny’s flat stomach until he presses his fingers right above the root of
Danny’s dick. He searches for the pressure spot he likes himself, digging his
fingers in until Danny sobs into the wall and Derek knows he found it.
Derek works the angle, tilting his hips until Danny doesn’t stop moaning. He
releases one long, overwhelmed wail as Derek fucks him. Derek’s claws itch
beneath his fingertips, and fangs press against his gums, but he holds himself
in, waiting to let go until Danny is an obliterated mess.
It only takes a few moments before orgasm hits Danny hard. He shudders and
shakes, and Derek holds him tight, keeps thrusting to drive the orgasm out of
Danny completely, white streaks across the floor and the corner of Derek’s
folded pants. The apartment goes silent as Danny’s voice chokes over his own
pleasure.
Derek follows him after, as Danny’s head sags forwards and he all but collapses
but for his hands that still resolutely hold onto the bar. Derek barks through
his orgasm, face smashed into Danny’s back, the sweat from his hair smearing
with the sweat of Danny’s skin. He pants and thrusts weakly until he’s
completely spent, until his mind is blank and clear.
He feels nothing. He doesn’t know what he expected. Maybe some satisfaction,
maybe some sense of superiority, of primal pride and ownership. Instead he
feels empty, and ashamed as having used anybody like he’s been used before.
Derek’s legs are just as shaky as Danny’s, and when he urges Danny’s fingers
free from the bar, they both collapse to the floor in an awkward, naked heap.
The wood is hard and cool. The sun has dropped low in the sky, making the loft
dim, though the glow from below brightens the ceiling above the stairs. It
takes a minute before their breathing evens out, until Danny starts to stir,
weak movements of his arms and legs as he attempts to sit up.
“That was fucking fantastic,” Danny says with a smile. His back bows as he
leans his elbows against his knees. He’s unabashed at his nudity, at what they
just did, at fucking a stranger who by all rights should have never invited him
in.
Derek hoists himself to his feet and makes his way downstairs. He grabs two
glasses from the kitchen cabinet and fills them with water. Danny’s already got
his jeans back on when he comes up the stairs, and takes the water without a
word, and gulping the entire thing down in one go. The room is sticky with
their scent and the bitterness in Derek’s stomach returns. He grimaces, gazing
at the floor until he can come up with something to say.
Danny is definitely more observant that Derek’s given him credit for because he
says, “Hey dude, chill. It’s fine. I’m not looking for anything serious, and
I’m not going to report you for anything. The dating pool would be next to
nothing if age was a problem, if you know what I mean.”
Derek nods, thankful, but still not happy. He doesn’t really feel any better
than he did before. His life is still fucked, and there’s still something evil
in Beacon Hills. Scott should be his priority, and here he is fucking someone
he barely knows when he could be doing something useful.
Danny walks towards the stairs, patting Derek’s shoulder before he heads down.
Derek can see the bruises budding on Danny’s back, on his neck. He wonders if
they were worth it. His marks aren’t claim at all. Danny doesn’t need him,
can’t ever be his. He doesn’t want Danny that way anyhow.
Derek slips on a pair of sweats and follows. Danny has his shirt on and is
writing something on the back of the receipt left in the pack of soda he
brought. “Listen,” he says. “I don’t want to get any more involved with
whatever your friends are up to, but if you want to do this again sometime,
call me. No strings, no commitment; everyone needs a little release sometimes.”
Derek takes the strip of paper and follows Danny to the door, sliding it closed
as Danny heads down the hallway. When he turns back, everything is in order
again. There’s even soda in the fridge, which is more than Derek’s stocked up
on in ages. But his stomach feels twisted as he thinks about Danny’s words.
They’re not untrue, but Derek thought he knew what he wanted, and a release
wasn’t it.
He opens a window to air the place out and pulls out Peter’s laptop, starting
research on what the shadow demons could be.
 
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