Alpha. Beta. Bitch.

            “Go get the others for dinner,” Stiles snapped at him. He was a little surprised when Scott obeyed him, practically dragging himself from the kitchen and out of the Hale’s house. He glared over at Isaac. “You going to interrogate me too?” he demanded, but Isaac didn’t look up from tossing the salad.

            “Wouldn’t even dream of it,” he said, and Stiles could see the corner of Isaac’s mouth twisting up in a thin-lipped smile. The bastard. “I’m gonna’ take this out to the table.” He carried the salad bowl out to the livingroom, which had become the room where anything of importance—meetings, meals, and movie nights—happened.

            “You’re an ass,” Stiles grumbled under his breath, knowing very well that Isaac would hear him. The wolf snorted in laughter from the other room. Stiles grinned.

            He’d just finished stirring the milk, butter, and powdered cheese into the macaroni when he heard footsteps behind him. “Scott, I’m not answering your question,” he said as he turned to face the newcomer. His face nearly collided with Derek’s chest. “Woah, hello,” he said, stumbling back into the counter. “Someone still doesn’t understand personal space.”

            Derek jerked his head towards the livingroom. “Feed the pack,” he said, taking a step closer to Stiles so he was pinning him against the counter. “Then we need to talk.”

             Stiles swallowed hard. His mouth was dry. “Alright.”

            Derek’s line of a mouth twitched upward as he took a step back, allowing Stiles to snatch the macaroni pot off the counter and flee to the other room. “Dinner’s served, my lovelies,” he said, practically slamming the pot onto the table.

            Erica made a gagging noise. “Oh my god, Stiles,” she gasped as the others dived for the macaroni. “You smell like Scott when he’s around Allison.”

            “Hey!” Scott protested weakly. “I do not—“ But the rest of the conversation was lost as Stiles dashed back to the kitchen, shouting something incoherent about leaving the milk out.

            Derek wrinkled his nose as Stiles returned to the kitchen. “Erica’s right, Stiles,” he said, taking a step closer. “You do smell like Scott when he’s around Allison.”

            “Oh whatever,” Stiles breathed, practically slamming himself into Derek. Derek responded by pushing him back, ramming his willing prey into the wall with slightly more force than was really necessary. “They’re going to hear us,” Stiles warned meekly as he slid down the wall. “You okay with that?”

            Derek’s hand was already halfway up Stiles’ shirt, raking the tender skin of his back with his nails. “They can already smell it on us,” he growled, his lips and teeth tracing their way down Stiles’ neck to his collarbone. “Stop squirming.”

            “Trying not to… do you have to fffff… do that again.” Stiles closed his eyes against the harsh glare of the ceiling lights. Someone was going to walk in on them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Derek’s face was buried in the nape of his neck as Stiles quivered beneath him, his shirt riding up inch by inch every time Derek moved.

            “Oh my god, you two.” Erica’s high heels clicked against the floor as she strutted to the fridge. Mood killer. “We make food in here.”

            “Erica…” Derek snarled, lifting his head from Stiles’ neck to glare at her. “What the hell are you even doing in here?”