well whadduya know. There IS another chapter. Guess this isn't much of a oneshot ;)

(Okay guys just so I'm warning you there's a bit of an intense slightly dub con moment between our two fellas here. Of course if Derek hadn't wanted it to happen it wouldn't have happened but just in case this might trigger something I'm giving you the heads up. But I hope it doesn't!)

Enjoy!

There Will Be Blood

"Derek, Derek" Stiles gasps, flesh against flesh as he buries into the tight heat of his body. The alpha groans jerking his hips quickly losing himself in the sensation of Stiles, Stiles, Stiles as he fucks into him.

His scent drives him mad, their intermingling scents satisfying him in a way he can't explain and doesn't want to sinking into it as deeply as he can.

Stiles is eagerly spread out beneath his hands, fingers twisting desperately, strongly, into his hair as he shifts in the alpha's lap, the slightest tilt of his hips drawing so many different sounds from his mouth.

He is not used to trying to be quiet. It's always been a natural thing for him, instinctive, easy but when he and Stiles are connected like this he can't think, can't breathe.

And he can't stop opening his mouth. Stiles seems to encourage this, rutting harder against him rocking his erection against the unyielding muscle of the alpha's stomach as he lowers himself back onto his erection.

The alpha hands slide across his hip until he reaches Stiles' cock and tugs gently, encircling him with the warmth of his fingers and working them down to the base. Stiles groans and his grip in his hair tightens as he rocks into him. But he leans forward pressing his mouth into the shell of his ear and the alpha's grip goes taut.

He hears Stiles' tongue as it darts out to lick his own lips and trembles knowing instantly what he's about to do. Stiles' fingers tighten their grip at the base of his neck and the warmth of his breath floods across the side of his face.

"Derek," he purrs rolling the word off his tongue, testing it, worshipping it with his seductive voice.

The alpha gasps and thrusts up into the tight, blistering heat of his body one last time before he loses it, huffing out a groan against Stiles' neck as he literally explodes into him. Stiles shudders with him, his own juices splashing across the alpha's chest as he finishes, slumping against his chest with a sigh of deep, bone tired satisfaction.

They sit there, in the alpha's quarters sprawled across the small cot basking in the afterglow and nothing but the sounds of each others heavy breathing.

After a while Stiles wiggles his hips and the alpha groans and attempts to still him against his sensitive flesh. He laughs and pulls off of him, the alpha watching his semen sliding out of Stiles' hole with rapture.

Stiles doesn't bother to cover up but swats at his hands when he reaches for him again.

"Derek," he says with a cheeky laugh. "I'm supposed to be in a meeting with my Dad. We're meant to be finding a new seller. You know after the last one sold us a rabid wolf that tried to eat me?"

He snarls and crowds Stiles against the nearest wall, fingers biting deeply into the soft flesh, claiming, at the mention of the rabid wolf. He scents the spark of arousal and a deep satisfied rumble echoes within his chest as his mouth slams onto Stiles' again.

Stiles tries to speak around his lips but the alpha pushes harder, forcing his tongue against his lips and they open willingly for him.

Only for him.

He can feel himself stirring again and Stiles pulls away.

"No," he says with a grin. "Later, okay? Dad's already pretty pissed about Princess and The Captain. Plus he already suspects something's going on between us."

It takes him a second to pull away. Probably because he can touch, finally touch every inch of the man in front of him and he has waited and wanted for too long to not take certain liberties.

It's so much harder to be around him now in front of the other werewolves pretending not to want what he wants. He growls in frustration and releases him, kissing softly against his mouth as an unspoken promise for later.

Stiles smirks at him and he tries to quench the tightening in his chest. "See you in The Arena, baby," he says before trouncing out the door, blowing a kiss in his direction.

The alpha scowls at his departure and scratches his claws against the wall, irritated. It's become a necessary thing lately with his emotions so out of control.

The walls of his quarters are riddled with the deep gouges of his powerful claws, the intermittent sense of desperation lingering in the stone. But Stiles scent is everywhere and he settles into it without a word and inhales deeply, drawing him into his lungs.

And waits.

The crowd is restless tonight. They haven't forgiven the rabid wolf incident just as yet and there is less humans filling the stands than before.

The mistake has hurt them. And it has only incensed the crowd's desire for blood. He waits in his usual position, head bowed finding an anchor in the chaos. He is calm but distracted by the approaching familiar footsteps.

Stiles walks stupidly, dangerously close to him and he wonders if he actually wants Sheriff to know what's going on between them. Even if the rest of the werewolves already do.

The Captain had clapped him on the back the other day without any warning and he'd nearly thrown him through the nearest wall before he realised it wasn't a threat. Pup gave him a thumbs up from several seats away and The Fugitive only rolled his eyes. Enigma smirked and Blondie looked pissed.

The alpha had tried not to smile. Because they can smell exactly what's been going on between them. He's been bathing Stiles with his scent every opportunity he has alone with him.

His eyes widen briefly as familiar fingers pinch his ass and he tries not to react, growling softly at Stiles' innocently retreating figure as he makes his way to the podium.

Sheriff had a newer version installed so that it's higher than it had been before. And safer. He can breathe easier without the niggling sense of worry clouding his thoughts. Stiles will be fine there.

They also don't release his opponent until Stiles is safely standing on the podium which means it takes much longer to twist the animal to his will.

Stiles revels in the challenge and accepts the extra time needed for preparation easily and he loses himself in his voice as MC distracts the crowd. They release two beta wolves into the pit with him and it's a risky move, too showy after the rabid wolf but he can handle them even if the crowd is still wary. He crouches low after the signal from Stiles and rests his eyes on them. The effect is almost instantaneous after the bell is rung and he senses this is the effects of the different buyer Sheriff got them from.

They look tougher, hardened from abuse and they attack him as one, their combined fury overwhelming him for a moment.

He goes down. Hard. The weight of their paws cutting deeply into his chest, Stiles' nerves drift into his words and only he can hear the hidden strain as he comments on the match. He recovers quickly, instantaneously and slams the darker one into its kin mate and rolls to his feet.

It's fast and bloody. By the time he's torn them both apart he's covered in varying degrees of his own warm blood and the sickening combination of their own. He wipes the sweat from his brow and can smell Stiles' reaction from the podium as his claws dig into the dirt in victory.

"There you have it folks," Stiles says smoothly but he can hear the relief in his voice. "Another victory for Sourwolf. Can anybody stop this alpha?"

"Does that include hunters?"

He stills. No. Her voice twists into his bones and digs sharply into his flesh, tearing into his bloodstream. It's her.

He looks up. And there she is, standing amongst the crowd a row behind Princess and the woman Pup is smitten over who Princess calls Snow. The Bitch.

Pup had finally worked up the courage to ask Snow out and now her scent is drenched in his own, possessive, claiming but still the alpha flinches at the manicured hand on her shoulder. He doesn't know why The Bitch is touching Snow but if Pup doesn't know then they're in trouble.

Stiles is looking at her in shock as the crowd titters with excitement. He snarls out an inhuman sound of demented rage and races towards her, claws out, eyes bleeding red as he focuses solely on her smirking face. He reaches the wall of the pit muscles tightening in preparation of the jump because he's going to kill her.

He's going to kill her right now in front of everybody and then finally, it will be done.

But Stiles is there, eyes hard and dangerous and his hand is outstretched open palm to stop him. He freezes and pins him to the wall, claws retracting just in time, crowding up against every inch of Stiles pressing his face against his neck because he can't see. All he can feel is rage, rage and the crowd's fear and the slick slide of satisfaction emanating from her, inches within his reach.

"It's her," he pants against the thrumming pulse of Stile's throat. "It's her. Itsheritsheritsher."

He can't breathe, he can't think all he wants is her blood, wet and warm, running beneath his claws. Stiles pushes him down, violently, forcefully and he collapses without protest under the feeling of his hands on him. Then Stiles turns back towards the crowd.

"Someone's a little eager," he jokes into the microphone managing to sound amused despite the tension. Stiles steps away without a glance at the alpha so he drops into a crouch, regaining control of himself and refusing to meet her gaze, knowing she'd be smiling.

He wants to tear his own eyes out.

But instead he listens to Stiles as he makes his way up the podium after launching himself off to prevent him from jumping into the crowd. His gut twists at the realisation.

"Is that a challenge, dear lady?" Stiles asks The Bitch and he can hear her steady heart beat along with the rhythm of his own. He wants to stop his from beating for fear of them beating as one ever again. The thought sickens him to the core.

"It is," The Bitch drawls. "The Argent's would like a match with your little Sourwolf over there. Then we'll see who's undefeated. And who's dead."

He howls into the dirt, scraping his claws frantically as he struggles to control his shift as he quickly descends into the animal. He focuses on Stiles' heartbeat and breathes in the scents of earth and sweat and blood.

And tries to reassemble himself again.

He can feel Stiles' hesitation but The Bitch has already challenged them publicly in their own Arena. There is nothing that can be done that won't make them look weak. He has to say yes.

"You're on," he says and the alpha bleeds red.

"What the hell was that?" Stiles demands when the crowd has gone home and he's escorting him back to his quarters. He'd convinced Sheriff that Guards were unnecessary with the alpha but that was so they could fuck whenever they pleased and now he regrets the protection of their presence. At least then Stiles wouldn't be talking about this.

"You know I'd just convinced Dad you can be trusted with a bit more responsibility and this is how you handle it?"

He doesn't answer, lets the heat of Stiles' anger sink into his skin, branding it like melting steel and doesn't meet his eyes. Stiles sighs and the rage he can almost taste on his lips cools swiftly.

"What were you saying back there?" he asks softly, gently probing him. "When you tried to attack that woman?"

He moves towards his quarters and enters without even looking in his direction nearly losing it at the welcoming scents of Stiles and his own mingled perfectly together. The tension settles in his shoulders and worms its way through his stomach tearing into his intestines and making his head pound.

The alpha collapses onto the mattress without saying anything, dead inside and working through the motions of his body not even caring about wiping the blood off his hands. He has enough blood on his hands already. He turns on his side and faces the wall and stays silent listening to Stile's heavy breathing.

He takes a step towards him, then seems to reconsider that and stops. "You said 'It's her,'" he asks quietly, soothingly and the alpha feels the tension in his shoulders ripple and settle into the softness of his voice. "What does that mean? You know her?"

He closes his eyes and prays for darkness, for Stiles to go away, for him to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight, to never let go.

Stiles lets go and eventually he leaves.

The alpha lies there in the silence and slowly falls apart.

"Hey," a voice cracks through his sleep and he jerks into alertness, claws out and slashing before he realises the voice isn't inside his room.

But next door.

"Sourwolf, you and MC having a fight?" Pup asks and the sound of a hand slapping skin interrupts him.

"Ow! Dammit Cap!"

"Leave him alone," The Captain growls. "He doesn't want to talk to you."

He closes his eyes again and listens to them bicker because it's familiar, a foundation that he can build on.

"But if I was fighting with Snow I'd want to talk about it. I just wanna help you know because Snow says-"

The Captain snarls. "Stop talking about goddamn Snow maybe you should start talking about how much you suck in the arena."

"I don't suck!" Pup cries. "I'm a werewolf badass."

"Sure you are buddy," Stiles voice interrupts them and the alpha immediately tenses. "That's why Enigma wiped the floor with you tonight."

He sits up as Stiles walks into his quarters again expression hard but not angry. He is confused by what he can't sense from him. There's no anger, no fear, no frustration. Nothing.

"Get up," he snaps, voice hard, eyes narrowed. "You're coming with me."

He thinks Sheriff wants to see him, wants to demand why he tried to kill a human in the pit tonight but he doesn't react to Stiles' behaviour and ducks his head, following him silently out of his quarters.

But Stiles doesn't take him to Sheriff. He takes him down a different corridor and he follows silently without comment, scenting the different air as they walk along, slipping so easily into each others company.

He pulls open a door suddenly and pushes the alpha roughly through it. The strongest scent of Stiles he's ever been exposed to other than from his body itself permeates the air, clinging to every inch of the space.

And he realises he's inside Stiles' room. He turns to raise a questioning eyebrow but Stiles pushes him down onto the bed without an explanation free hand already working the buckle of his belt.

He lands on his stomach and tries to twist around but Stiles' hand is already at his neck, a gentle pressure holding him down.

"Don't speak," he whispers. "You need this."

And he hears Stiles yank off his own pants as he listens to the excited beat of his heart. He's tense, confused and feeling vulnerable in this position but he trusts Stiles and he doesn't protest when hands find their way to his own pants.

He lifts his hips to help Stiles remove them surprised to find that he's already hard. Stiles fingers drift nimbly over his skin hesitating slightly over the blood he's still covered in before drifting across the soft flesh of his ass.

He tenses, growls, muscles almost realigning in warning and Stiles wraps a hand around his cock.

"Be quiet," Stiles snaps and he falls silent as Stiles slowly pumps him, sliding painfully across his heated flesh, the roughness making his heart beat faster. He jerks into the friction teeth sinking into his lips to keep silent before Stiles is suddenly spreading his cheeks.

He seizes up, unyielding and unwelcoming before he feels Stiles' tongue against his entrance and he shudders, collapsing onto his arms as he lets him into that intimate part of him.

It several minutes before he realises that he's torn through his lip with his fangs and his blood drips slowly onto the sheets. But it heals just as quickly and he keeps silent as Stiles tortures him with his mouth. He closes his eyes and loses himself in the sensation, his cock jerking shallowly against the mattress seeking out something warm to bury itself into and a gasp escapes him when a finger suddenly works its way inside of him.

Stiles immediately stops and he tries desperately to move against it. Because he does need this. He needs this so badly that he might die.

"I said quiet," he says and the alpha doesn't make another sound before Stiles is working another finger inside him.

He's straining against the feeling trying to get more but Stiles seems to sense he's trying to inflict the pain on himself and slows it down to gentle probing. He removes his fingers and he nearly begs for it before Stiles returns them, slick and sliding readily into the heat of his own body. And then it's just all heat, the stretch, the burn of it winding into him and setting him alight.

Stiles preps him until he knows the alpha can't keep silent any longer and removes his fingers. The emptiness in his chest is just as hollow as the sense of Stiles' loss.

And then Stiles' hands are on his hips shifting him readily into a better position and he's sliding slowly into him.

He bites his wrist to keep silent as Stiles easily fills him, body accepting him into it's heat without any protest and suddenly he's everywhere. Stiles' chest is pressed against his back as he waits, his thighs pressed against his own as he bottoms out with Stiles inside him. He bites deeper, feels as if he tastes bone and his eyelids flutter with need. And then Stiles wraps a hand around him again and he's jerking forward helplessly, silently begging for Stile to start moving.

And he does. Pulling at his hips and plunging deeper within him. It's maddening. The scent of him is rolling over his skin in waves and he can taste Stiles' sweat and arousal on his tongue making his balls feel tight and his hole clench around him.

Stiles groans seemingly understanding that he won't last long and takes the hand that's not beneath his lips and interlocks their fingers together, linking them in the most simple way.

"Speak," he pleads thrusting into him and the alpha groans working his hips back to meet him. "Please." He unclenches his jaw from around his wrist and lets go.

"Stiles," he cries jerking when Stiles' seed pulses into him, slicking up his insides and assaulting his nose with the scent.

He comes with a shocked sound as if he doesn't know what to think of this moment between them and clenches around Stiles' throbbing cock. There's a wetness against his face and he wipes at it expecting blood but his hands come away clear as water. He stills as Stiles attempts to slide out of him but he reaches around and holds him there hesitantly.

Stiles seems to understand and pulls them both into a more comfortable position, rolling them onto their sides. His fingers reach around to gently brush at his eyes and he knows that Stiles knew he was crying even when he didn't. A breath shudders through him and he stays silent.

"I'm sorry," Stiles whispers softly kissing the sweaty skin of his shoulder. "If I was too rough. But you needed that."

He touches his own face again, feels the tears still rolling sluggishly down his cheeks and knows Stiles is right. And he lies there shaking, whilst Stiles holds him.

When he wakes up tangled in Stiles' arms he quietly disentangles himself and leaves after pulling his pants back on. He makes his way to the showers ignoring the dried semen on his chest and the wet feeling of Stiles' cum still inside him. He swallows heavily at the memory and quickly removes the evidence under the heated water, losing himself in it.

"What's going on with you and my son?" Sheriff asks as he steps into the communal bathroom.

He's dressed neatly as usual, a stark contrast to the alpha's dirt, blood and semen coating every inch of his sweaty body. He makes no effort to cover himself and shrugs his shoulders, unconsciously touching his face again as if to make sure it's unmarked by tears. He feels a little raw, weaker than he's ever felt before but he's feeling everything.

Sheriff doesn't feel the need to give him privacy and he doesn't request it, standing there silently as the evidence of the evening is slowly washed from his skin.

But the blood runs deeper.

"He trusts you a lot, you know," Sheriff says finally. "And so do I. I trust you to protect him. And having to put himself between you and whoever that woman was tonight was not protecting him."

He drops his gaze because Sheriff is right. He can't protect Stiles. He can't protect anyone.

An animal has nothing to protect.

Sheriff calls a meeting the next day. He hasn't seen Stiles since he left his room the night before and the alpha's breathing hitches when he climbs onto the table in food area, steps powerful and vigorous as he joins his father.

He remembers what if felt like to have Stiles inside him and gooseflesh erupts across his skin and his claws extend past the flesh of his human hands and the flush of his face.

"Okay listen up MC's gonna let you know what's going down for the next match. As you all know Sourwolf's been called out by some hunter's for a death match so-"

He looks down at his plate of untouched food and digs his claws into the already destroyed- by his owns hands- table, tightening on the metal feeling it hold him in place. The Bitch must die.

But not if Stiles might get hurt.

Stiles takes over when Sheriff steps away. "Alright listen up wolfies here's what's up. The lineup has been scrapped in light of this new challenge so here are your new opponents-"

He lets Stiles' voice lull him into relinquishing his grip on the table but he doesn't really listen to his words, only the sense of them as the ripple across him. Enigma takes a seat beside him eventually. But he doesn't look at him. "I know you've got a thing with MC," he says deep voice drowning out Stiles' own. "If you die in the pit. I'll keep him safe. We all will."

He smirks and glances pointedly at Blondie. Enigma grins.

"Well not Blondie, she's a bitch," he rectifies.

The alpha can feel the sincerity of his words so he nods at him and Enigma jerks his head back in agreement but his jaw still tightens in restrained rage at the thought. He is not going to die, he's going to rip The Bitch into miniscule pieces and wet his claws with her blood until he's swimming in it.

Stiles will never be alone.

Enigma returns to his own table with The Fugitive and Blondie who unwraps herself from The Fugitive and stalks towards him, the perfume of her skin choking him and stirring the air with its sickly, sweet fragrance. He tenses when she stops at his shoulder and leans down towards him.

"I bet he enjoyed fucking you," she whispers. "We're all their pets, but you're his favourite."

He pushes her away from him roughly and rises to his feet with a snarl, striding away as her words ring in his head like a sick poison.

He finds Stiles alone on his way back to his quarters and doesn't hesitate to slam his mouth over his, pressing him deeply into the wall. Stiles lets out a deep rumbling sound of appreciation and gravitates towards him and his breath catches every time he reciprocates like this.

Stiles shouldn't want him but he does. He shouldn't let the alpha anywhere near him if he was smart, if he really knew, but he doesn't. Stiles just digs his hands into his hair and presses them together.

Pulls them closer and he can never draw away.

Not even if he wanted to.

The news has spread of the challenge by the time the match comes around and the Arena is full to capacity before any of the competitors even make their way into the pit. He waits for the earlier matches to pass, listening intently to Stiles as he walks him through every single one of them with his commentary. Pup beats Blondie. The Captain beats The Fugitive and Enigma kills the arctic wolf.

He waits for his turn.

And he's ready, sharpening his claws on the walls of his room making unrecognisable patterns as the sound grates his ears like nails on a chalkboard. He continues sharpening because it calms him and he listens to the sound of Stiles' beating heart which pumps so loudly it's as if he's standing right in front of him.

The Guards lead him to the pit when it's time and he cracks his knuckles, loosening his shoulders as he strides towards the pit, towards redemption, towards his own forgiveness.

He needs this. This closure and he will only be satisfied with violence. And blood. Her blood, pooling in the dirt of the pit beneath his feet. He breathes in Stiles as he enters the pit and it helps him find his centre, the place where nothing touches him but Stiles, his scent, his body, his voice, his eyes.

The alpha loses himself so easily in him that it's frightening. Stiles doesn't greet him as he walks past him towards the podium but his hand does curl possessively over the deep bruise he left on his hip days ago.

And he knows it's a silent promise that they belong to each other and it sets his resolve. He will not die here.

"Here you have it folks the final match of the evening between our undefeated Sourwolf and if you'll believe your eyes one of the finest hunter families in the country, an Argent."

The crowd thrums its approval and the excitement rolls over him as it undulates in rising strength. Stiles is driving them into a frenzy again without even lifting a finger. "This is a one time only fight so you better hold on to your seats for the first ever death match between a hunter and alpha werewolf in our Arena. Trust me, this is going to be messy."

He snorts and tosses his head as the shift jerks through him, quickly without theatrics this time and he knows he's too eager, too full of his own bloodlust to concentrate. He focuses on Stiles' voice as he introduces The Bitch to the pit, the gates sliding open loudly, gutturally as the rusted gates reveal a woman's figure swathed in hunter gear.

He starts forward, poised on the balls of his feet but falls back, waiting for the bell, claws digging into the flesh of his thighs to keep himself still.

He doesn't want to wait. He wants to commit murder.

"And here you go folks, your very own Hunter!"

The woman finally steps out but her steps aren't as confident as he is expecting and that's what keeps him still as Stiles rings the bell. He waits, confused as she slips out of the shadows, revealing her face.

He stills, eyes widening glancing immediately towards Stiles whose mouth is open in shock. He looks back into her nervous eyes, sees the reluctance there as the crowd eagerly screams for blood and tries not to let everything drop away beneath him.

Because it's not The Bitch standing before him ready to die painfully, so painfully at his hands that have been waiting years for this chance.

Oh no.

It's Snow.

And the alpha has to kill her.