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“There’s something I need to tell you, Summers,” Derek growled. “I’m a werewolf.”
He and the hot nerdy guy in red sunglasses had met the previous evening in a bar. Summers had clearly been trying to drink some sorrows under the table but didn’t seem to quite know how it was done. He’d been trying for an hour to get himself drunk on spritzers without success and Derek had meant to walk on by but that inner good guy he couldn’t quite repress had made him go back and shove a whiskey in front of him.
“Drink this,” he said. “And when you finish that one, order another one, then repeat until you fall off the barstool. And give me the keys to your car.”
“Bike,” the guy said.
Derek had been about to take that personally – yes, there had been a few different sex partners in his life of late, but there was no need to be judgmental about it – but then realized the guy meant that he owned the shiny black Harley outside. That was both surprising and intriguing. Derek felt a twinge of desire.
“You like powerful things that are a little more than you can handle?” he breathed in the guy’s ear and then had the satisfaction of smelling that sudden spike of sheer want on him. “Taking that as a yes,” Derek said, catching hold of his t-shirt and towing him towards the exit. “Taking you home with me too. Got any objections?”
Apparently Summers had no objections at all. They stumbled through the doorway of Derek’s loft with Derek kissing him fiercely. He slammed him down on the bed a little too hard and was turned on and guilt-twinged at once then sniffed him hungrily and realized that Summers was just turned on. There was something about this guy that could make a werewolf trying to rein in his dark side really hate himself in the morning if he wasn’t careful.
“Look,” Derek said hoarsely, rising to the occasion in a way that made him briefly feel a little faint, “I have a bit of an…inner beast.”
Summers looked nothing but intrigued. “Were you experimented on by Canadians?”
“No.”
“Oh. It’s just that I have a…friend who was experimented on by Canadians. He has an inner beast.” Summers pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it onto the bed and Derek saw the scars down his back that looked suspiciously as if they had been left by…claws.
“Did he do that to you?”
“Yes.”
The words Did you like it? played on Derek’s tongue. He was used to people tying him up and doing strange things to him. Half of his life was spent with people tying him up and doing strange things to him. He had a sneaking suspicion that Summers might actually know what that was like. He had more than a sneaking suspicion that, unlike him, Summers enjoyed it when people did things to him like that.
For some reason Summers was examining his hands. “You don’t have claws, do you?”
“Why do you ask?” Derek demanded, wondering how he had given himself away. Were his eyes glowing?
“No reason. It’s just that some people with sexy…um…with stubble also have claws. Sometimes.”
“I’m just trying to warn you that I can get a little rough,” Derek said. “In the heat of the moment. On certain nights. Like tonight.” The moon was blazing through the windows, a red hunter’s moon so close it seemed to be watching them through the high panes. “I don’t want to hurt you. If you want to back out…”
Being a man of few words himself he could appreciate that the tongue pushed hotly into his mouth and the fingers clutching at his hair, not to mention the long bare legs abruptly wrapped around his waist as Summers climbed into his lap covered a lot of unnecessary words.
The moon was in his blood tonight and it was all he could do not to bite, but he couldn’t help the growling or the bruising grip or the wolfish need to slam-slam-slam his hips hard as Summers arched and moaned underneath him. It was as if nothing could sate him tonight. By 5am he was finally feeling like the last climax might be enough to hold him and starting to feel the familiar guilt flow in. He swallowed hard.
“Summers…? Did I hurt you?”
“No.” Summers was moving a little stiffly but he smelled mostly of…disappointment. “You didn’t.”
Was that his imagination or was that a hint of reproach? It took Derek a moment to get it and then he successfully identified what was going on here. “Wait – I wasn’t rough enough for you…?”
“You did tell me you had an inner beast.”
“I do!”
“You didn’t scratch me.”
If the guy only knew the effort Derek had made to not scratch him in the heat of the moment.
“You didn’t even bite me.”
That was when he knew he had to tell him.
“There’s something I need to tell you, Summers,” Derek growled. “I’m a werewolf.”
“Oh.”
Okay. He had actually been hoping for something a little more along the shocked and awed end of the spectrum there.
“A real werewolf. I can turn into a werewolf or a wolf. That’s why I can’t go around randomly scratching and biting guys I pick up in bars because I’d turn them into werewolves. You don’t believe me?”
“Oh, I believe you. I was just hoping…”
“What?”
“Not that it’s not fine…being a werewolf. I just thought you might be something else. With claws.”
“I have claws!” Derek flexed his claws dramatically.
Summers peered at them. “Oh,” he said.
“What’s wrong with my claws?”
“Nothing. They’re…very nice.” But there was that sigh as Summers looked regretfully at his knuckles.
Somehow his claws weren’t…clawy enough, Derek knew. His foreplay was too tender. His rough sex wasn’t rough enough. Summers sniffed him surreptitiously and there was that little spike of disappointment again.
“There’s something wrong with the way I smell?” Derek had not meant his voice to get as high as that.
“No. It’s just that you…shower.”
“Everyone showers.”
“Not everyone. Some people smell more like…beer. And cigars. And more beer. And of not washing.” It wasn’t really possible to see Summers’ eyes but he just knew they were looking at him hopefully. “Could we do it again? Only maybe punch me first? And don’t be so gentle. And maybe you could tell me I’m a dick and then call me ‘bub’? And tell me you’d really prefer to be sleeping with my wife but because she’s dead you’re making do with me…?”
Derek recoiled. “Summers, I was manipulated into having dubiously consensual sex with Kate Argent and Jennifer Blake, who were both batshit evil crazy to the power of infinity and even I can tell you’re in an unhealthy relationship.”
The parts of Summers’ face that he could see under the visor looked shocked. “No, no, not any more. Maddie and I broke up. And the Phoenix Force and I broke up too. And then Emma and I broke up. I’m only sleeping with Logan and random men who remind me of him who I meet in bars now… Why are you looking at me like that?”
Derek had tried being a hard-assed loner who didn’t give a shit, he really had. He had even got pretty good at at least faking it, but it was no good, his inner beast was sometimes just too darn squidgy in the middle. Clearly normal was not an option for this guy and he was pining for his clawy beer-drinking guy, so who was he to judge? He went through Summers’ jacket, looked through his phone, called the guy called ‘Logan’, not at all surprised when a cigar-harshened voice came through to him from what sounded like a rough bar in Canada.
“What the fuck do you want, Summers?”
“This isn’t Summers. This is the very dangerous werewolf he let pick him up in a bar while he was trying to get drunk. I just had sex with him five times, now I have him tied up in my evil werewolf lair. If you’re not here to collect him in three hours I’m going to bite him and turn him into my werewolf bitch forever. This is my address…”
He had to hold the phone away from his ear because his hearing was acute and that guy’s deranged snarling and stabbing of random innocent objects was really loud.
“I’m sensing some anger management issues,” he said to Summers.
Summers did acknowledge that with a grimace. “He’s really much better than he used to be.”
The sounds from the other end of the phone were still mostly snarling and growling but Derek could pick up a few recognizable threats mixed up with them. Something about stabbing his eyeballs…cutting off his testicles…ripping through his large intestine…making him eat his own entrails…yep, he felt a little spasm of fellow feeling there. That was exactly how it made him feel when guys hit on Stiles. There was a lot of heavy breathing because the guy seemed to be running incredibly fast, possibly directly through things that were not moving out of his way fast enough. Then he heard the roar of a bike starting up and the guy was screaming down a road at what sounded like about five hundred miles an hour.
“Does he have a really fast motorbike?” Derek enquired.
“Yes. He stole mine.”
“Guy sounds like a sweetheart.”
“He was experimented on by Canadians.”
Derek patted him on his bare – scarred – shoulder. “Okay then. I’m going to leave now and go and tell the boy I like that I like him instead of picking up the kind of guys in bars who are...like you. Make yourself a coffee.”
Summers said, “Have we finished having sex?”
Derek was – just a tiny bit – affronted. “You usually have more sex than that?”
“Logan has healing factor. He has a very fast recovery time.”
“Nothing about your life is sane or healthy. The fact that I am the one telling you that should be worrying you a lot more than it is.”
He left Summers sipping coffee and looking confused while Derek headed towards the Stilinski house, telling himself that it could only be his imagination that he could already hear the sound of a super-powered motorbike screaming towards his loft.