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It was a special kind of torture to watch Stiles dance, but to see him in the hands of another was a sickening agony.
Gerard’s hands gripped Stiles’ waist with a hunger familiar to Derek. He knew how that skin felt, he knew its warmth. He gritted his teeth to dust that evening, standing still by the entrance, watching over the guests and the omegas. Stiles did not look at him once, for it could provoke rumors, and Stiles was smart enough to know it. Still, his pointed dismissal spurred bitter jealousy in Derek's stomach. He could not take a single bite that night. At least, he had an excuse to look his fill.
Derek ought to strangle his stupid, selfish dreams. There was no future with Stiles. Gerard would lie with him, Gerard would have him, own him in every way. Gerard's kids would drink Stiles' milk and call him "mama".
Gerard had never known gentleness, and he would not extend it even to the softest of creatures.
Derek would have abhorred him even if he did.
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dark, hot and very "wolfy" (???)
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