You&#39;ll always be running

Alcide had sniffed out the other wolves sometime just before sunrise, and so when he woke, it was on the floor in an unfamiliar house.

And he was naked. Because he was from the Shreveport area and that was how they rolled. For the moment, he'd just adjust to his surroundings and try to get the pounding in his head to cease. Then, eventually, coffee. Maybe bacon.

Pants were notably lower on his list.

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"Pants," Derek snapped, averting his eyes. Just because he was a little extra fuzzy on the full moon, didn't mean that naked strangers wasn't a bit much.

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Alcide totally would get pants. In a minute.

Never mind that his pants were back in his hotel room. He'd point that out momentarily.

"Hang on. I'm still getting my bearings," he said gruffly.

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"You're getting something," Derek grumbled. GETTING IT ALL OVER HIS CREEPY MANSION.

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"It was a rough night," Alcide said, rolling his eyes. "I'm a packmaster and I spent it alone. Gimme a minute."

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"...Packmaster?" Now Derek wasn't averting his eyes. Because this was important, damn it.

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Alcide nodded. "In the Shreveport area. Louisiana." As though the drawl had not clued in everyone in the vicinity that he was not from around here. "I left my second in command in charge but -- I'd rather have been with 'em."

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"You have a pack?" Oh god, Derek. Don't make eyes at the idea of a pack.

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Alcide nodded slowly. "You don't, normally?"

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HIS PACK WAS DEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAD.

"I have my alpha." Who was in New York. Not being dead. "And Jack."

AND SCOTT IF ONLY HE WOULD LET HIM IN. LET HIM INTO YOUR HEART, SCOTT.

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"Jack mentioned that," Alcide noted. "Well. If you ever feel like relocating to the South, we might have room for you."

There were trials and whatnot, and also who would ever move to Louisiana?

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Oh sure, make him give you a wistful look that wouldn't be out of place on a Lifetime Original. Damn it, Alcide.

"I wouldn't leave my sister."

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"Oh my god."

Stiles.

Stiles, stop looking.

Please, Stiles, stop.

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"G'morning," Alcide said, with a slightly sheepish little wave. He wasn't making an effort to cover up, still, but he also was sort of dim sometimes and figured Stiles was impressed by how awesome he looked, like, objectively.

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"Morning," Stiles squeaked. He tried looking anywhere but the obvious, he really did, but somehow his eyes kept going there. "You...you were definitely not here last night."

Oh god strange and potentially embarrassing things were happening.

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Yeah, now Alcide was thinking he should find pants. If only he'd thought to bring pants here last night, though. Tragic. "Nope. Caught up with the others in the early hours. Alcide Herveaux, nice to meet you."

Hooray for totally casual nudity.

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"Stiles," he said, managing to tear his eyes away and look at a wall. "Nice to meet you too, my best friend is the shirtless guy holding the poofy dog."

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"That is a hell of a poofy dog," Alcide noted. "Like, less a dog, more a...cloud."

By all means, Alcide, don't hurry to find a blanket or anything.

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"He's actually penis--DEREK'S!" Yeah, Stiles had looked over again. "It's Derek's dog!"

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Alcide was just going to raise one thick brow at that. "You okay, son?"

Oh god, don't make it weirder, Alcide.

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"Yes?" Stiles cleared his throat and looked away again, blushing a little. "I mean, yes, I'm fine. How are you?"

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"Tired," Alcide replied. "You obviously know about the change, so I don't mind telling you that it's exhausting."

Still no move towards pants. Let's just have a conversation without them. Who needs pants? Fascists, that's who.

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