Chapter 21 - Pupsitting

Hiding in the bathroom was, most definitely, not the most glamorous thing Minho had ever done but, somehow, he smothered his pride and managed it, the constant reminder that this was for Thomas the only thing keeping the teen from bursting forth from the tiny room that very moment and chasing down what he desired like a beast after a rabbit - A rabbit that smelled like sex, and mate, and mine... Okay, nevermind, the rabbit was probably a poor analogy but, somehow, the prey aspect of it still rang true and Minho was in no state to think of any better simile when he was a little preoccupied with battling back his inner animal, thank you very much.

Minho wanted to chase, and pounce, and bite. He was the hunter and Thomas was the only prey that would satiate the ravenous hunger that clawed at his chest and urged him to devour what was his. It took more willpower than the Keeper actually owned to resist the urge to pursue his succulent mate, the need to hunt down the one he so desired undeniable in its feverish tug, the only comprehensible thought that ran through the wolf's muddled mind was the want to capture, to dominate, to claim.

Whoah. Whoah. Whoah. Slow your roll there, Wolfy. Full moon or not, Minho was sitting right here on this bathroom floor until Thomas was far out of reach. The Keeper was absolutely unwilling to do any such hunting or fucking unless Thomas had explicitly given him the A-Ok to do so, and Minho just didn't see that happening anytime soon. (According to Wolfy, Thomas was Mate and had thus already consented - Now let's get on with this shit - But Minho was diligently ignoring all that.)The Keeper's intent was to protect and shield Thomas, not to be the threat, and he would die before he swayed on that.

So the werewolf sat crouched against the door with his back leaned into the now ruined surface and his head tipped back to match, his dark eyes remained squeezed shut tight and his face contorted into one of intense discomfort as he battled with himself - Though to any onlooker it would probably appear as if the boy was dealing with the worst case of constipation known to mankind rather than an onslaught of horniness. Once Thomas finally retreated with his twin, things became, admittedly, a miniscule amount easier, considering Minho could at least no longer smell that wonderful concoction of lemon and sweetness that drove him wild (Quite literally in this instance given the fact that his claws were currently scratching long lines of damage into the slick, white tile of the bathroom floor.)

However, the wolf still maintained his acute sense of hearing fixed on the constant rhythm of Thomas's heartbeat throughout the entirety of the separation, the well known drumbeat a familiar cadence that Minho's animal locked onto like a lifeline and focused on with such intensity that all else became a dull buzz in the background. Thum-Thump. Thum-Thump. Thum-Thump - With the occasional skip beat that correlated with the teen's unease, Thomas apparently still just as upset at being kept from Minho as the werewolf himself was.

Minho's wolf let out a distressed whine every time there was a skip-beat of nervousness from it's mate, the tormented sound verbally escaping the boy's lips on each occasion as the creature was absolutely desperate to reach its mate and protect him despite Minho's vain attempts to convince the beast that there was nothing to protect Thomas from at the moment save for his own self. Still, the wolf fought, unrelenting in the face of its mate's apparent fear and unwilling to listen to reason with the anxious skip-beat fueling it into a defensive rage but Minho was steadfast in his resolve and nothing would convince him to put Thomas at risk, so here on the bathroom floor he stayed.

With all this in mind, one would undoubtedly be convinced that Thomas's eventual departure would alleviate some of the strain put on the werewolf as, surely, no longer having to listen to the tormented rhythm of his lover's heart rate would be a blessing. Well, those idiotic individuals would be so fucking wrong. The moment the sound of the front door opening met Minho's ears followed by the corresponding absence of Thomas's heartbeat, his wolf went batshit.

Minho slammed himself through the bathroom door, his animal unwilling to think about normal human things like doorknobs at the moment and opting to simply throw his body into the wooden barrier until it gave way, which proved to only take about two adrenaline fueled shoulder checks in fact. The boy slammed his right shoulder gruffly into the bothersome door a final time and the cracking thunder of thick wood splitting apart filled the air, the tarnished door throwing open to send the caged werewolf tumbling from its bowels, the creature all but falling through the doorway and stumbling onto the carpeted floor of the hall beyond in his haste.

Minho scrambled upright in an instant, his legs propelling him forward in a mad dash of desperation before he'd even fully risen to an upright position once more, sending the werewolf bolting down the hallway before he could even think to stop himself. The wolf flung a clawed hand out to grasp the tall wooden pole that marked the beginning of the stair's banister, swinging himself around on the, luckily quite stable, thing to turn his body toward the steps. Maybe the sheriff had werewolf proved his house? Minho wouldn't be too surprised - Though he'd recommend stronger bathroom doors if that were the case and some very good insurance for the boy doubted even a steel plated safe vault could keep him in if Thomas was on the other side of it.

Stairs? Who needs those? Minho's wolf apparently declared as the boy all but leapt down to the first floor, painfully jolting his knees as they took the brunt of the impact and the Keeper vaguely wished the Sheriff had invested in carpet on the downstairs level as well when he was doing all that werewolf-proofing. However, there was no time to worry about any of this as the teen scrambled to the front door and peered outside, clawed nails ticking noisily against the glass window pane of the thing as the wolf craned to catch even the slightest glimpse of his cherished mate, needing at least that to soothe his livid animal who cared about naught but getting Thomas in his sights and under his guard once more at the moment.

All the poor wolf caught sight of, unfortunately, was the softly glowing tail lights of Stiles's robin egg Jeep rushing up the road and disappearing out of sight over a crested slope, effectively robbing his mate away from him and leaving the Keeper to whine pathetically at the undesired (No! Wolfy! This is what we wanted! We need to keep him safe!) turn of events. A beat of silence passed, then another, before suddenly a deep, remorseful sound began building in Minho's chest, escaping his lips as naught but a low moan yet rapidly building into an outright wail of want. Howling. Howling was a thing now. Great, really fucking great.

The howl was a horrible sound, speaking of unadulterated need and agony, the wolf being left in physical pain at the separation from its mate and unable to hold in the unbearable hurt a moment longer. It was a tormented thing, mangled and unnatural in the boy's throat as it forced its way through his lungs and demanded the world bear witness to its suffering and weep for all that it had done to it.

Unsurprisingly, as the world rarely regrets its cruelty and feels no remorse for its degraded victims, no weeping came, but there was a rather unexpected gruff mutter of "Need a muzzle, pup?" from behind Minho so that was something. Though the teen would definitely still have prefered the weeping, thanks, or actually, literally anything other than that. Nails through the eyeballs perhaps?

Minho turned from where he'd kept his face plastered to the window, his nose smooshed up against the cool glass and his labored breath leaving steam against the chilly surface as if his wolf was half convinced hope alone would bring Thomas rushing back into his arms. The boy's expectant gaze fell upon Derek Hale, badass werewolf by day, babysitter by night.

The guy was standing at the foot of the stairs Minho had all but abandoned in his quest to chase down Thomas and was watching the younger wolf with a calculating look, muscled arms crossed stoically over his broad chest and eyebrows skyhigh in silent judgment. Resting bitch face much? Or maybe it just had something to do with the fact that Derek was actually a stuck up bitch.

How had the guy even gotten there? Minho was literally standing in front of the only door to the house! The dude must've stalkerishly gone through Stiles's window or some other insane course of action. Creep. (Accuses the guy that rubs his crush's shirts on himself to get his smell on them.)

Minho huffed out a half-hearted snarl, not because he felt actually threatened or even all that defensive at the moment considering Thomas wasn't here and his wolf thus had little reason to be bothered by Derek's presence but just because he, apparently, did not exactly have the level of patience required to deal with the infamous King of Brooding at the moment.

"Wow. You really have no control." Derek snorted distastefully, giving the other wolf a once over before shaking his head disbelievingly. "It's barely afternoon and you're already shifted." The alpha groaned exasperatedly, appearing as if there were a very likely chance he might strangle Stiles in vengeance for assigning him this heinous job the next time he laid eyes on the brunette teen.

"You don't say, asshat?" Minho snarled back, barely resisting the pressing urge to slam his head into the nearest wall until he knocked himself out just for the simple fact that, if he were unconscious, he wouldn't have to deal with Derek's utter assholery. "Nothing gets past those sharp alpha senses, huh?" The boy huffed snarkily, stalking across the room to retreat upstairs once more, having no reason to be down here since there was an obvious lack of Thomas in the area. Maybe he could at least smother himself in their shared sheets and at the very least catch a bit of his mate's scent before he asphyxiated himself to escape the older man's bothersome presence.

Minho stepped to the side to move around the utter brick wall that was Derek Hale, purposely knocking his shoulder roughly into the other wolf's as he did so and immediately regretting it as, um, ouch. Was this fucker literally made out of rocks or some shit?

"I'm not any more excited to be pupsitting you than you are." Derek reminded the teen pointedly, his gruff voice bordering on an irritated growl.

"Pupsitting?" Minho parroted incredulously, that self-suffocation looking more appealing by the second as he stalked up the stairs and stormed back towards his own room.

"Blame Stiles. His term, not mine." Derek snorted distastefully, glowering haughtily at nothing in particular and looking as if he wanted to do a whole lot more to Stiles than blame him. Minho was gonna go out on a limb here and say it was pretty safe to assume there would be some seriously rough revenge sex in the poor guy's near future. Good thing Stiles had seemed excited about getting that "hot alpha dick" tonight or the teen might legitimately be concerned for the dude.

As it was, all Minho felt was mild disgust and an incredibly strong desire to think about anything else, preferably about an entirely different pair of werewolves and scrawny brunette boys participating in extremely similar activities. Just as the Keeper was about to duck into his own room and take leave of his hired watchdog, however, Derek began speaking again because the world refused to simply let Minho just go jerk off to thoughts of his hot crush like any other normal teenage boy. Thanks universe, you fucking cockblock.

"Why haven't you been this bad off before?" The brooding bitch asked pointedly, somehow managing to make the simple question sound like more of an accusation than anything else, as if Minho had asked to be so out of control he had to forcibly separate himself from Thomas, who he wanted nothing more than to be at the side of at all times. Yeah, because that made a whole lot of sense, right? Man, someone bring in the cap and gowns, Derek Hale was a genius!

"The people that had us did shit to our brains." Minho huffed darkly, suddenly not so eager to choke his chicken as he had been moments ago. Discussing your traumatic past as a labrat and failed science experiment usually tended to be a bit of a boner kill. "Probably just turned it off or something, man. I don't know." The boy growled uncertainly, not enjoying how glaringly obvious it was that Wicked had more control over his body then he himself or the fact that he was left uncertain as to what all had actually been done to him. There could still be shit in his brain for all he knew, waiting to sabotage him at the worst of moments and take away everything he'd ever loved. Again. (Minho refused to think of that terrifying possibility a moment longer - The thought of losing Thomas just too much to bear and eliciting a warning growl from the protective wolf dispute the apparent fact that there was nothing here for him to growl at - Though he wouldn't mind growling at Derek just for the hell of it .)

Derek said nothing more after that, leaving Minho feeling a little bit proud at the notion that he'd actually managed to shut the guy up for a moment as the werewolf finally managed to duck back into the safety of his own room. The Keeper immediately took a straight B-line to the bed and threw himself into it so roughly he was legitimately concerned that he may have broken it for a brief moment. Though, honestly, the werewolf doubted he would've even convinced himself to care at the moment if he had, too busy burying his face into Thomas's pillow and inhaling as much of the sweet scent as he possibly could before he'd have to resurface for actual oxygen, a disgusting, distasteful substance in comparison to the wonderful scent of his mate.

Minho's wolf keened unhappily and demandingly informed the teen that it needed more, urging him to snuggle his nose further into the plush pillow in an attempt to capture just a breath more of his cherished human's lingering essence until the wolf was all but nuzzling the thing. It still wasn't enough but it was enough to soothe the werewolf into at least falling into a restless sleep, only comforted by the sweet haze of mate and the knowledge that Thomas was safer away from him.

Which is why it was not actually a good thing when, what had to be hours later, it was the return of the familiar thrum of Thomas's heartbeat re-entering Minho's stream of conscious that roused the wolf into wakefulness.