Werecheetah in Teen Wolf (AU)

Monday Afternoon January 10th, 2011. Beacon Hills, California.

"Ahhhhh. Good afternoon, Thaema. I'm here to put some balls in some baskets!" Mo held out a hand to the coach of the lacrosse team as he approached.

The man was balding and beady eyed. Like a bird. Like a skinny-fat bird-human with beakish lips primed to sling offensive words.

He looked Mo up and down a single time and smiled.

"The sun rises with every morning. The cheetah runs for every meal. Coaches love tall students. The world and its constants." Mo thought as the coach laughed.

"HAHA! What— how tall are you?"

"S—"

"Don't answer that. Ever. Do you hear me? Let it add to your mystery." He pressed a crooked finger into Mo's chest to enunciate every word.

"I hear you, coach!" Mo grinned.

"Good! Your ears work. That's even better. Now let me see your starting stance." The coach licked his lips and rubbed his hands together like a fly.

Before Mo crashed his own hype train, Jackson came up to stand beside him, "Coach Bobby, you're not actually going to let him on the team are you?"

Coach Bobby pulled a pen light out of his pocket and flashed it in his eyes.

"Ah!— what are you doing?!" Jackson snapped.

"Checking for a concussion."

"Why?"

"Because there's no way you're thinking I'm not letting an athlete play on my athletics team that needs athletes more than GREENBURG needs a better fitting helmet….."

Someone jumped at the mention of their name in the distance.

Mo and Jackson looked from eachother back to the coach.

"He actually has a concussion." Coach Bobby explained, "He tripped this morning on the way to lunch."

Another stretch of awkward silence followed. Mo took the time to turn his ear toward the werewolf in human clothing warming up behind him.

He was young— by his kinds standards, he was a pup. A newborn. Not even two days old. But he'd grow fast. They always did. He was already changing. Denser bone and muscle. Thicker hair. Heightened senses and reflexes.

By the next full moon, Mo would only see his lupine blue eyes and white fangs pinked by blood. All at the command of his alpha.

Mo sighed, trying to exhale the memories. He'd killed more than any child or teenager ever should have to. But he'd do so again if he needed to.

But there were inconsistencies in the shadows surrounding Beacon Hills.

The dead body was too close to the alpha. Too unnatural in its death. It's smell— it's physical state. It was all different. Not to mention, the alpha was alone.

Mo thought to himself in the silence, "New. Not new like Scott, but new as an Alpha. The dead woman….. she could have been the previous Alpha. That's how the red eyed werewolves work. They kill their leaders and take the throne. The beast is a thief, akere. And Scott is his first packmate. Maybe something can be done about this. I'm not strong enough to fight the alpha— or kill it alone. And the alpha has only grown stronger since making Scott his. But is he really?—"

"Alright, Mo. Jackson's gonna take you over to that crate across the field to get you some hand-me down gear. That stuffs got good luck on it. Skill from past generations and what-not. HAHA! You two are gonna be stars on this field! Now play nice. I like to leave all my disappointment for GREENBURG." Coach Bobby said with a clap and shoved them both away.

Jackson stumbled backward with a shocked expression while Mo took the push in stride and was already walking ahead.

"Keep up, champion." Mo called back to him.

Jackson groaned as he sped up to walk next to Mo.

All the while, Mo looked to his left where the stands of steel platforms and stairways held few students and even fewer scouts.

Among the crowd, he spotted Alison looking confused as she adjusted her purse. She must've still been struggling to beleive she "accidentally" pocketed her fathers phone.

"As long as it worked. Hunters are as bad as werewolves." Mo waved to Alison.

She tried to wave back from the stands and Lydia grabbed her arm.

Mo blew her a kiss.

Lydia dodged it like his gesture realized into the form of a poisonous arrow.

Alison shook her head and laughed.

Jackson was practically red before taking a calming breath. His grin was suddenly venomous, "You know, I'm actually glad you joined the team."

"Why is that, champion?" Mo turned from the crowd to eyeball Jackson.

"Now I get to break your nose legally."

Mo smiled, "Ah-eh! You can't even reach that high, white-boy." As he replied, he patted the top of his head to highlight the height difference—

"Don't touch me!" Jackson shoved Mo.

Mo yelped and exaggerated the action, sending himself rolling across the grass.

"AYE! Ref! That's a red-card! Oh my bum is so….bummed!" Mo rolled on the floor in pain.

"Wrong sport jackas—"

"Jackson!" Coach Bobby yelled across the field, "What did I just say?"

"Coach—"

"Give me six laps!" Coach interrupted, "And make it snappy….! Choppy! Whatever the hell just do it!"

"Watch your back, spider. Better yet, don't." Jackson took off to run laps.

Mo grinned as soon as Jackson was gone and rolled over onto his stomach with his feet up as he looked over to the stands to find Lydia.

She glowered at him.

"You're supposed to be supporting your man not looking at me, red." Mo said.

Alison watched the interraction with comedic discomfort before her eyes darted further up the field behind Mo.

His ears twitched then as sounds approached and smells increased.

"Scott! What are you doing!—"

Mo's adrenaline rose just a bit as the werewolf neared. In sports they were the most dangerous. The testosterone, pain, aggression and hunting aspects was enough to make them shift. Back in Brooklyn during football season, he'd watched a defensive lineman wolf out and punch a hole in the opposing team quarterbacks helmet. His pack took him out of school.

What would Scott's alpha do?

"Heads up with Jackson, he's a dick. If you couldn't already tell. He also holds grudges."

Mo rolled over and found Scott standing over him with a hand out. He wore his lacrosse gear like a knight in sporty armor.

Not really though. He was awkward and boyish and…

A werewolf.

"Hm….."

Mo took it. Like always he tried to ignore how he could feel the beast within every werewolf he touched. The fires of violence and predatory urges sparked just beneath their skin to the point that it burned.

Scott burned hotter than most. Power that must have represented his monstrous alpha before him. But for the first time it didn't burn. It warmed. It blazed absent of the usual intent and ferocity.

"McCall! Since you're feeling heroic, help him get geared up! And be gentle! We've got games to win!" Coach Bobby yelled across the field.

Scott nodded, "Yes, Coach."

Mo walked beside Scott across the field to reach the crate of largely broken and ill fitting gear. His ears twitched as Alison began to ask about Scott from the stands.

It was there that Scott began sifting through the bin to grab Mo the right gear.

"So, Mo, you ever played Lacrosse?" Scott asked.

Mo smiled slightly, trying to brave past traumas, "What do you think?"

Scott looked up at him, "….probably not. I hear you're from New York. Not really Lacrosse country."

"Basketball right?" Stiles said in an exhausted tone as he ran over.

"Balls and baskets, skeem." Mo nodded.

"Oh man…. It's like you're speaking a different language.

"You get my drift though, no?"

"Drifting is for street racers, what I want to know is who your dad is." Stiles huffed.

"My dad is dead."

"…."

"Ah…." Stiles cringed and rubbed his buzzed head.

Mo soaked in the awkward silence, "Just kidding."

Stiles exhaled hard.

Scott smiled faintly.

Mo laughed aloud, "You folks are soft on the western side! Haha!"

"This isn't how newcomers are supposed to act towards their vets. You're supposed to kiss the ground we walk on."

"You're no veteran, baldy." Mo pointed at Stiles knowingly as he laughed.

Scott did as well, though he faintly smelled of shame. What Mo couldn't smell, he felt.

"What?!— what makes you say that. You just got here." Stiles was outraged.

"Your boots aren't tied. You know you're not getting playing time, don't you?" Mo asked.

Stiles glowered at him with his tongue pushing against his bottom lip. He stayed that way before relenting, "Ah to hell with it. First line isn't the goal anyway."

"Speak for yourself." Scott said as he handed Mo his gear.

"I'm making it this year. I'm making first line."

Scott's inner spark warmed. Mo could feel it through the grass like the spread of invisible fire.

His skin tingled from the rise of Scott's resolve. His mind whirled at the change of pace, "A werewolf, playing a contact sport. Better yet, a werewolf with an alpha like that murderous beast, growing stronger at the idea of starting on the team. Beacon Hills is... weird. You are weird, Scott. But I don't think you're an enemy…."

Mo kept his thoughts in mind and guard up as Scott and Stiles explained how to wear the gear.

And play the game.

******************

Author Section/Translations

Thaema: how older men are addressed with respect.

Did anyone catch the Wolves movie reference starring Lucas Till? Aka top 5 werewolf movie oat. Might have to do a fanfic if that movie x teenwolf.

Anyway.

The "I hate when the new character in lore interacts with the main cast that drew me to the lore" crowd gonna hate this chapter lol.

I wish you all the best. Plz leave a review and lmk what ya think.