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rabid1stBONDING RITES
By Rabid1st
Teen Wolf – Derek/Stiles
Rating: Explicit/Mature
Beta Babes Birthsister and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
elsecarlass
Author’s Note: See Part 1 for notes
Warnings: Most sex acts possible between two men. Not kinky or dom/sub, but explicit.
Summary: Set a year or so in the future, Stiles is about to turn eighteen and is training to be an Emissary, He’s learned that there are certain rituals he needs to perform in order to be bonded to his pack. Derek agrees to help with his initiation. Panic and hilarity and some sexy times ensue.
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf is a world unto itself. I am only playing with the characters for my own amusement. No copyright infringement is intended.
PART ONE: http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/402669.html
PART TWO
The next day, Stiles sat down at his customary lunchroom table with a tray overflowing with food. He'd just stuffed a handful of tater tots into his face, when Lydia dropped into the chair across from him. His throat closed, as it usually did around her, leaving him no way to empty his mouth. He reached for napkins.
“Derek’s alive?” Lydia said, lifting an inquiring eyebrow. It was barely a question. Her tone said she knew.
And there was his spit take, right on cue. Stiles covered his mouth, swallowing convulsively. Choking, he took a slug of water to clear away the tot debris. How did she know these things? Was it her supernatural gift? The dead spoke to her. Maybe they'd told her about Derek. Stiles glanced around nervously. Nobody outside their little circle could know about Derek's miraculous return from the dead.
“What makes you say that?” he finally managed to ask.
Lydia dropped a pointed gaze to his lunch. Stiles followed her line of sight down. He supposed it was an excessively full plate. But he hadn't had much to eat in the last week.
“And you haven’t run to the bathroom all day.”
“I’m feeling better,” Stiles said. “It has nothing to do with Derek. I had the flu.”
“Right,” Lydia nodded.
“And we have a lead on the Phoenix.”
“But Derek is alive, too.”
“Let’s say he is. Let’s say, hypothetically, I have to deal with him and his anger management issues again. How does that make my life any better?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
Stiles pressed his lips together and looked away. “Fine. Whatever. Answer this: How would you handle him and his lone wolf ways?”
“You’re the emissary. It’s your problem.”
“But what would you do?”
Lydia considered her salad, impaling an apple slice on her fork, before she answered him. “You know how I handle dangerous men,” she said, before taking a careful bite from her apple. Stiles watched her chew and swallow, every movement nuanced. After delicately licking her lips, she added, “The question is--are you willing to do the same?”
“I'm not you,” Stiles sighed. He stabbed up food with his fork, knowing his own eating wasn't even slightly poetic. He just got on with it as quickly as possible. “Dealing with wolves feels like juggling knives in the nude,” he went on. “One slip and...schnick!” He used his free hand to mimic a guillotine blade coming down across his lap.
“You’re a eunuch? Come on, you love every minute,” Lydia purred. “Sex and violence. That's a heady combination.”
“Are you saying I'm kinky?”
“Isn't that what being an emissary is all about?”
Stiles set his fork down, frowning. “You know about the...Druid rituals?”
“I read,” Lydia told him. “And, be real, this one isn't a shocker. You've had it bad for Derek since the day you met him. Maybe since your dad took you to that first basketball game.”
“I have not!”
Lydia studied her nails. “I saw it. But don’t worry; you don't have it nearly as bad as he does. He’s your puppy.”
“Yeah,” Stiles guffawed. “Right—he has it bad?” He chomped down hard on his next forkful of lunch, shaking his head. But Lydia's pitying stare, took a toll. It made him push back from the table and, finally, ask. “Bad, how?”
“He practically salivates when he sees you. It's disturbing.”
“That's because he's been thinking about biting me, how tasty I'll be.”
“Oh, he wants a taste, alright,” Lydia agreed, fork fluffing through the lettuce in her salad. They both ate for a bit. Then, Lydia spoke again, while pointing a grape tomato she'd speared at him. “This would be so much easier if either of you were gay. Then, at least, one of you would have some idea what you are doing.”
“I have ideas, plenty of them,” Stiles said. When Lydia lifted a brow, he corrected her obvious assumption, “Not about Derek. Because we hate each other. My ideas are generic, all purpose ones. And I could still turn out gay. Why is everyone so sure I'm not gay?”
“Because you’re polyamorous,” Lydia said.
“Poly--? Wait, I know what that is…” he broke off, flushing because he'd come very close to telling Lydia about his own extensive reading. “Deaton mentioned it.”
“Of course you know. It is simple vocabulary. Poly is many and Amor is love. To love many. As the emissary, you have to do what is necessary to keep the Pack healthy. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“And you are obviously not shocked or anything,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes.
“Stop being so Victorian and just get in there and take one for the team,” she suggested, patting his arm. “It will be like housebreaking a puppy.”
“Derek is not a puppy. He’s a killing machine. A bad tempered one.”
“So is my little Prada, but he behaves.” She ignored the derisive snort Stiles made at that comparison. “Just tug on Derek's leash a little. Oh, there we go. What you need is a book on dog training? Have you ever watched The Dog Whisperer? It’s on YouTube.”
“Derek is, also, a human being.”
“And a werewolf,” Lydia said. “Become a pack whisperer. All of that pack mentality comes into play during sex. You need to set the boundaries. Show him that you are the one in charge. It will comfort him when he’s forced to turn to you for direction and advice.”
“Behavior training is a comfort?”
“To canines, yes,” Lydia assured him. “They need to know that it is okay to rely on you to make decisions. You just need to be firm with them at first. Don’t let Derek take the lead or he will run with it.”
“Firm,” Stiles said, making a fist. “Right. I can do that.”
Lydia gave him another pat. “Maybe you should watch a few videos, first.”
**************************************
Scott and Stiles met at Derek's apartment for a quick war council later that evening. They left Derek's place with a plan of attack and more collective information. Stile's needed to keep his Dad out of this one, because the Mayor's involvement could mean professional suicide. Scott would follow up with Lydia to secure her access to the city council via her mother.
“I'll have to tell my Dad something,” Stiles was saying as they entered the elevator.
But Scott didn't want to talk strategy. He glanced nervously back at Derek's door, before he ducked into the elevator. When the doors dinged closed, Stiles stabbed the lobby button. And Scott grabbed Stiles by the elbow, leaning in to avoid being overheard.
“What was all that about?” he hissed in a hushed tone.
Stiles affected a carefree manner. “What was what about?”
“You and Derek,” Scott whispered, even though, with the elevator noise as cover there was little chance Derek would hear them talking. “What's going on?”
Stile's felt his mouth drop open, knew his eyes were wide and tried to make them fill with innocent wonder. “I don't know what--” he began after a swallow. “Did you smell something?”
“No, I can't smell anything but smoke,” Scott said. “But there's something? Right? Because you think I can smell it. And because anyone with eyes can see you two were...” His brow furrowed. “Well, I don't know what you were doing. That's why I'm asking.”
Just for a second, Stiles toyed with the idea of confessing all. That was what he did; he shared everything with Scott. They were best friends. Scott had always been his partner in crime and world saving. He'd just assumed he would tell Scott the first time he had sex. Scott had told him about Allison. Not details, but enough. He knew when it happened. And eventually, Scott would find out about the emissary rites and wonder. Or maybe he would know, given the air wouldn't always be smoke saturated. Would he be hurt, feel left out? Would he understand how hard it was to tell your best friend you were about to have ritual gay sex with your best enemy?
The isolation would be the worst part of being an emissary Stiles realized suddenly. He might not be able to share everything with Scott. He was already keeping things from his dad. There were bound to be secrets he would be forced to hold for other people. Or for Scott's own good. The weight of his choices might hang over him and, yet, he wouldn't be able to share his fears or doubts with his best friend. This was going to be harder than he'd imagined. He wasn't much of a natural liar. He ran off at the mouth, generally, so he'd learned to stay honest. He stalled for time as they exited the building and headed toward the jeep.
“He pretended to be dead,” Stiles began, figuring that was good enough to start with. “He left us down a man, while he went off on his own, investigating. It's that lone wolf thing, again. And I hate him already so having him back from the dead is a mixed bag of joy and indigestion.”
“I guess,” Scott said, not completely satisfied with that explanation. “It's just...you seemed different together...like not hating.”
“God, Scott. What did you see? What is it you want to know?” Stiles said. “Because I can't explain your squicky feelings if I don't know--” He looked at Scott, meeting those wide, guileless eyes across the jeep hood. Inspiration struck and he grinned wide as it dawned on him that Scott would never believe the truth. “Unless you mean the blatant sexual tension?
“Sexual?” Scott blinked, unable to process this.
“You got us,” Stiles confessed, pulling open the jeep door and climbing in, while Scott scrambled to follow suit. "We can barely keep our hands off each other."
“But...you and---what?”
“Yeah. It's a shocker. But you figured us out. Derek and I are secret lovers. We were passing notes under the table whenever you looked away.”
Scott laughed and relaxed back into his seat. “Fine. Don't tell me. But whatever it is I don't want it to get in the way of this plan. I need you both.”
Stiles started the car. “We will control our hostile impulses,” he promised. “Now, let me tell you what I want for my birthday. I assume money is no obstacle?”
***************************
“Happy Birthday to me,” Stiles said, when the sliding steel door opened. Before Derek could say anything, Stiles recoiled, dropping the backpack he was carrying on Derek’s foot. “Oh, My God! You smell like a satyr's armpit. We need to talk about personal hygiene.”
“I showered this morning.” Derek said, kicking the backpack aside. It skidded a short distance, remarkably heavy for a change of underwear.
“And then, what?” Stiles exclaimed with a grimace. “Played handball in the sewer all day?”
“You might remember the town was on fire? All the men were putting it out. Where were you?”
“With Scott saving the world and your ass. No more Phoenix. So, you are welcome,” Stile said. He crossed the threshold, but just far enough for Derek to close the door. “Then, at a party. It's my birthday!”
“Must have misplaced my invitation.”
“Not your sort of fun,” Stiles said, leaning against the door frame. “One, no maiming. Two, Karaoke. Good job on the firefighting, but for the record there is no part of you that is going in my mouth. A little Axe body spray is all I'm say. A spritz or two goes a long way.”
“Did your canister explode?” Derek asked, rubbing at his nose.
“Too much?”
“You've vaporized the hair in my nasal passages.”
“Got to be an improvement, considering your manly stench.”
Derek grabbed Stiles by an elbow and dragged him down the few stairs into the living room.
“Ow. Ow. Ow. A simple invitation to sit would...”
Only Derek didn’t stop at the sofa, but kept on past the bed, headed toward the bathroom.
“It looks like both of us are hitting the showers.”
“What? Now? Isn't this a little rushed? Shouldn't we work up to that, slowly...over a few dates?”
“This isn't a date,” Derek growled. “It's a ritual necessity. Let's just get it over with.”
“And suddenly the reason for your bachelor state becomes painfully clear. Ow. Sharp corners. Derek? Damn it. Let go,” Stiles ordered, pain making his command harsh.
And just like magic Derek released him. Stiles rubbed arm and shoulder, working out the kinks from the wrenching. Derek started stripping off his shirt, which prompted Stiles to looked around.
“Oh, this is nice. Very steampunk. Why have I never been in here?”
“Great bladder control? Put your hands up.”
“What?”
“Hands? Up!” Derek barked and Stiles found himself reaching for the ceiling, even as he backpedaled into the edge of the toilet.
Derek closed the slight distance between them. His fingers curled under the edge of Stiles' shirts, knuckles brushing sensitive belly. Stiles cringed, grimacing at the tickle. He started to lower his arms, but Derek, with a smooth upward motion, divested him of both the tee and the flannel shirt in one move.
“Holy--” Stiles began. His voice broke as a shiver lanced through him. Derek's fingers had hooked into the waistband of his jeans. Instead of righteous indignation, a shuddery gasp escaped Stiles. All of his practiced authority evaporated. He lifted up on his toes. “Wait, wait, wait!”
To his amazement, the plaintive tone worked as well as the assertive one. Derek froze mid-ravishment to raise an inquiring eyebrow.
“Problem?”
Stiles took a shaky breath, trying to slow his racing heart. He knew Derek was listening to it, because he cocked his head and a confused expression replaced his irritated one.
“You want this, right?” Derek asked. “It's what you came for.”
“Not exactly...this.” Stiles pushed both his palms down. “Not a quick bang in a bathroom.” He managed to avoid stuttering, despite having full body jitters. He was sure Derek would hear his teeth clacking together, as he swayed his head from side to side to indicate their surroundings. “I thought my first time would be a little more...introspective. And, also, you know...involve breasts.”
“You're a virgin?” Derek exclaimed, releasing him abruptly.
Seriously? How could Derek not know this? And why the derision? The swirl of mixed emotions, which had been threatening to overwhelm Stiles from the moment he'd arrived, solidified into a focused fury. Oh, how he hated that superior attitude, that condescending tone. He’d been putting up with it for years from more experienced teens. The teasing. The pity. The jokes. Letting his ire take over, he pushed hard into Derek's bare chest. It was like shoving on Grant’s Tomb. He didn’t shift Derek. Instead, he propelled himself sideways, around the toilet and away from the door.
“Why does everyone say it like that?” Stiles raged. “Full of pity? Like it’s contagious? So, I waited for someone special. It’s not like I’m over the hill. I'm only eighteen. Technically, all this,” he waggled his index finger back and forth between them, “was illegal yesterday.”
Derek looked a little contrite. “Sorry. I just thought by now...”
“What? Just because I didn't start hooking up in the neonatal ward that makes me a joke? Maybe ADD interferes with intimacy. Maybe my awkward stage lasted a year or two longer than it should have. Maybe I have standards.” His gaze swept down Derek and his lips twisted into a sneer. “Had.”
Derek grinned, suddenly, one of his rare beaming smiles. “I'm rarely a first choice.”
“Well, if this is how you generally go about it--dragging people around, ripping off their clothes--I can see why.” A thought occurred to Stiles. “Can’t you smell virginity? The virginal state.”
“Not in a man,” Derek said, back to his ‘you are a moron’ tone.
“Unbelievable,” Stiles snapped, striding past him to the door.
“What is it you want, Stiles?” Derek said, sounding frustrated. His hands had gone to his own zipper. “Do you want to cuddle first?”
The question stopped Stiles at the doorway. He didn't answer it, but his eyes went to the mirror. In it he watched Derek strip down. He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his jeans and stretched to start the shower. Stiles noted Derek went commando. He, also, noted the bobbing, half-erection with a combination of pride and concern.
“Wow, Derek! That’s some heavy duty tackle you're sporting there.”
“Feeling inadequate?” Derek asked, maneuvering the words around teeth that always seemed a little too sharp for Stiles’ complete comfort.
“You could land a marlin with that.”
“Flattering. But the mirror, and abject terror, distorts your sense of proportion.”
Stiles turned to face him. “Still looking mighty intimidating.”
“I can put it away.”
“No,” Stiles said with a resigned sigh. “You’re right. This was my idea. Just getting used to the,” he framed his view with both hands, “magnitude of it. Wondering how to avoid...repetitive motion injuries.” He glanced around the room as he massaged his fingers and palms. “You have any cocoa butter? Maybe some sesame oil or lotion? I brought a few things. I could get something...”
“There’s soap in the shower. Get in.”
“What kind of soap? I’m allergic to shea butter and...”
“Goat’s milk with herbs. Very gentle. And slippery. Get in.”
“How are we going to go about this? You first? Or me?”
“However you like. I'm easy.”
“Something that is alarmingly self-evident at this point.”
“Stiles?” Derek barked. “Stop stalling. Or I'm going to use this,” he pointed his cock at Stiles, “On you. Where you stand.” He used a snapping wrist motion to emphatically jab his finger at the shower. “Get—IN!”
“Alright! My God, you are cranky for someone who is about to get the best hand job of his life.”
“All you've given me so far is a headache.”
Waves of aggressive energy seemed to pulse off of Derek. He had an arm braced against the shower stall door. He really wasn’t enjoying himself, Stiles realized. He stepped closer to place a soothing hand on Derek's bare shoulder.
“Okay,” Stiles said, gently. “This is supposed to be about trust. So, just, relax. I think we're both a little nervous...”
“I'm not nervous, I'm furious.”
“Just another day in the life of Derek Hale, then,” Stiles quipped and Derek smiled, ever so slightly, obviously fighting the urge. Dropping his chin Stiles managed to make eye contact under the glowering brow. “Come on, you know I’m going to do it. And these hand,” he rotated one of them for inspection, “they are amazing. I’ve had years of practice.”
Derek huffed his disbelief. He shrugged, throwing off Stiles' touch, before stepping under the shower spray. Rivulets of water traced lightning bolt patterns all over his torso. Stiles followed him into the close space and shut the sliding door. He picked up the soap, giving it a tentative sniff.
“You doubt me, Boogie Nights?” he said, pointing the bar at Derek. “Sure, maybe you are the experienced one when it comes to sex with actual partners. But I'm the Mozart of hand jobs. I started young and stayed with it.” He lathered his palms. “While all the other boys were out scoring girls, I was home alone, putting in the hours.”
This time, Derek laughed outright, as he yanked Stiles to him, eliminating their individual, personal space. “Sold. Show me what you’ve got.”
To his own amazement, Stiles managed to focus on task. Only the musky scent of the soap distracted him for a few moments. It was a handmade bar, redolent with sandalwood and amber and other pungent natural odors. Derek smells he recognized, like leather and wet fur. The soapy scent mingled with smoke and sweat when Stiles got a little closer to Derek. Soap. Derek. Water. Derek. Tile slick under his feet and, occasionally, brushing coolly against his back or shoulder. Hot water pounding on him. Derek. The line of hair tracing downward. Satin and iron. The steam curling in the small space. And Derek was right about how slippery the soap made them. Skin slid across skin, fingers fumbled for purchase. Stiles ran out of wiggle room. Shoulders and bottom pressed against the slick tile wall, he tried to catch a breath and a break. But Derek had him cornered. They kissed. Derek slipped one hand around Stiles' waist, the other hand skidding down and between.
Stiles made a noise, a sort of squeak. Nobody had ever cupped his balls before, and it felt a lot different than doing it himself. A lot better. Now he just had to return the favor. Though it was a little bit distracting, with Derek’s mouth doing what it was doing now to his nipples. And Derek’s hands…everywhere. Stiles had lost the lead. And Derek had scampered into the neighbor's yard to dig up begonias. Or something like that. Stiles couldn't remember one thing the Dog Whisper had told him, but he knew he had to take some initiative. Only he couldn't do anything, because Derek kept on stroking him. That fist going up and down Stiles' achingly hard length, palm twisting at the top to capture lubricating fluids. Fingers pumped the slickness down the shaft slowly, firmly. Fuck. Tongue again. Why so much kissing? The man was seriously fucking with him. A teasing flutter here. A deft tug there. Those lips. That tongue. Prickly beard. Silky hair. Smoke. Sin. And rock hard biceps.
Stiles was man enough to admit that being jerked off by Derek Hale, in a wet dream come true, was enough to make him come. So he did. His ball drew tight. His head lulled back. His talented hands betrayed him, simply grasping on to Derek's neck and ass, as he ground into that mouth, that grip. Derek waited until Stiles went limp all over, then he turned him to the wall, pushing a very hard cock into his backside. Thankfully, nowhere close to any orifices. Stiles wasn't sure he would put up much resistance at this point. He braced both palms against the wall and tried to gather his strength, hoping to push back any assault. But, Derek only nuzzled along his hairline, a tender tickling with nose and lips. Making it that much more shocking when he bit down hard enough to cause pain.
“Whoa--hey--no biting!”
The panted protest made no impact on Derek. He kept on sucking. The world reeled. Stiles didn't dare twist away from the bruising, despite sensing blunt teeth. He couldn't risk blood shed. His panic combined with a weakness in his knees from that amazing climax to mimic submission. The sense of vulnerability was excruciating and tantalizing and seemed to go on and on. It ended with a slurp of Derek's tongue and more hot breath close to an ear.
“I barely bruised you, Amadeus,” Derek murmured.
“I have very delicate skin,” Stiles said, enunciating each word with care. He wanted to slam an elbow into Derek's ribs, but he still couldn't seem to move.
“Mmmm,” Derek hummed, tilting Stiles chin back so he could kiss him over the shoulder.
Stiles forgot about his plan to elbow Derek. He took a shuddering breath and turned into the kiss. Two could play this game. Derek thought his mouth was kissable. Well. Okay, then. This time his tongue took the initiative. As he walked his fingers down Derek's stomach, Stiles could feel the muscles tense. Lower down, something firm stirred and nosed against him. That's it puppy, he thought, sit up and beg. Derek Hale wanted him. There was no doubt about it. Time to take charge. Despite the lethargy of having come so hard his teeth ached, Stiles felt a little thrill of excitement. This was going to be fun.
He put his hands to work. Derek held it together for about two minutes. He seemed unmoved by the kissing and the first few strokes. Stiles eased back a little so they could see one another clearly. Derek maintained eye contact, settling into a predatory stare. Stiles upped the ante and applied a number of variations on grip and pressure. Derek's gaze dropped to Stiles's mouth. Stiles flashed him some teeth. Derek snarled back, but playfully. His hips bucked, just a little, but he kept his cool right up until Stiles tried a move he'd read about on a stripper's blog once. She'd called it the jellyroll. And it involved using both hands and your lips, so he had to go down to his knees. But Derek's reaction made the tile burn well worth it.
“Son of a...Ash, the fuck...what?”
Stiles, fighting his gag reflex, couldn't answer. But he felt sure that was rhetorical “What the fucking?” No need to respond. He found the fallen soap. Slicked up again, he began tracing a finger around Derek's balls. He considered his next move carefully. It was a little gross to be honest. But he knew it could tip the scales in his favor. If Derek didn't kill him, of course. He'd placed his hands on Stiles at the shoulders, perilously close to the throat. Stiles thought of those kisses again. That neck bite. Derek deserved a little something back. He fumbled his way to the right spot and pressed up, his finger easily penetrating into a fascinating tightness. The invasion didn't provoke the reaction Stiles was expecting. Apparently, Derek was used to the sensation. Probably from the stick permanently up his ass, Stiles thought. He remained rigid at the wrist as Derek ground down, wanting more. Stiles obliged, using two fingers. He forgot about the gross element, enjoying what it did for Derek. But the loss of one hand limited his own maneuvering. And he was getting hard again, himself. Right. Something a little more esoteric for the man who's had everyone.
Stiles gulped air as he sucked free of too much cock. He gave the straining member a final lollipop slurp, and then wiped a hand across his slick chin. Time to put Derek's other sexual organ to work.
“Tell me what you want to do to me, right now,” he said, grabbing the hard length again, while also shoving his fingers deep. “Assuming it is all legal and I'd live through it.”
“Ride you. Fuck you. Turn you, so you'd never get away from me,” Derek snarled. “Bury my cock so far up your virginal ass, you...Fuck? Stiles?”
“I'd let you do that.”
“I can't...changing. Can't hold it—you need to—back—get away. Get out. Agk—” He growled, a deep, vibrating in his chest, as his eyes came open. “—Baby, I don't want to hurt you, but I'm going to come and I can't...oh, my...Grrrah!”
It went against everything in his nature, every impulse, to move toward Derek. To stay inside of him as his eyes went red. But Stiles managed to half-stand and push even closer. He kept on pumping. Twisting his fingers in that squeezing heat, curling them forward to hit the perfect angle. He kept on stroking up and down, leaning in to use his ribs and stomach for more friction. The head of his cock randomly poked into Derek's body. Finally, in a burst of inspiration, he bit down on Derek's neck. Finding the same point where he'd just been bruised himself, he used his teeth to draw blood. He hoped that wasn't enough to infect him. The unexpected assault pulled Derek taut as a bow string. His back arched, muscles standing in relief under his skin. His claws came out and he roared, teeth snapping together inches away from Stiles' shoulder.
Luckily, Stiles was so close to his own orgasm that the first hot pulse of Derek's jizz across his belly sent him flying off the edge. He'd tugged his fingers free of Derek to grab his own cock, as he collapsed out of the danger zone. There was a blur of strobe lights in his head. He ended up on his knees again, partially draped over Derek's right leg. Neither of them moved for a few stuttering heartbeats. A tangle of flesh, they just let the cooling water wash over them, both gasping for air.
Predictably, Stiles broke the silence. “Did you just call me baby?”
“No.”
“I distinctly heard you channeling Justin Bieber,” Stiles cooed, as he gave his fingers a rinse. “Baby, Baby, Baby...oh, what was it, exactly? 'I don't want to hurt you—baby.' That was so sweet.”
Derek pushed at him. Weak as a kitten, Stiles noticed. “You are dead to me. And if you tell anyone about this...”
“Yeah. Yeah. You'll rip out my throat,” Stiles said, hauling himself to his feet by using Derek and the soap holder for leverage, “with your teeth. Don't even bother with your threats. I'm not going to tell anyone about this, because it would be a violation of my oath as an emissary. So, your secrets are safe with me.” He stood, swaying slightly, as he added, “baby.”
“Next time, I'm not going to give you any warnings.”
“Next time, if there is a next time, I'm going to make you roll over and take it like a man. Which, I'm gathering, you've done before.”
“As soon as your Druid mojo wears off, you are going to pay for every dog training reference you make.”
“You think I'm messing around here? This bonding ritual is going to take. So, my mojo is forever. I haven't even started working you over,” Stiles said, sliding the stall door aside, leaving Derek to shut off the faucets.
“I've created a monster.”
“Not your first time for that either.” Stiles grabbed a towel from the pile on the counter top by the sink. He wrapped it around his waist and took another to dry his hair.
“Where did you learn to—you know? All that?” Derek said, with conversational nonchalance.
“The Jellyroll?” Stiles enjoyed showing off and knew his breadth of sexual study would impress. “It's from Bubbles Fly Life blog. She's a sex worker and stripper. When I got bi-curious; I got bi-educated. I've read my way through every downloadable sex manual and online forum I could find. The Joy of Sex. The Joy of Gay Sex. Light His Fire. Light Her Fire. The Lesbian Kama Sutra. I know the rabbit pose and all sixteen variations of the tiger grip.”
“The rabbit—what?”
“Like Sting, I'm Tantric,” Stiles said to clarify. Noting Derek's blank look, he scowled his dismay. “Really? This is what comes from living the way you do, sleeping in abandoned buildings, running around the wood half naked. No iPhone. No wi-fi. You have no grasp of cultural references. One Week? Barenaked Ladies?”
Derek shook his head, his expression saying he didn't care to know. “Toss me a towel, Sting.”
Stiles complied and Derek started rubbing himself dry. As Derek worked the moisture out of his hair, Stiles couldn't help gawking a little at the rest of him, still glistening with water droplets. The man had no shame. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of, given that body. A body he, Stiles, was sure he wouldn't be touching again any time soon.
“Okay,” Stiles drawled, tearing his gaze away. “So I know what I'm getting you for your birthday—a Pandora subscription.” He peered out the door, taking in the rest of the sparse loft. “And something like an audio system. Maybe a laptop.”
“You aren't moving in,” Derek told him.
“Are you getting unruly already?” Stiles said, exiting the room on his way to the kitchen for a drink. He needed something to wash the lingering soap taste away. He adopted a casual air as he sauntered by the bed. “Because I was leaving, but I can apply another tongue lashing, right this minute, Mister.”
The bedsprings creaked behind him. Stiles stopped walking. He turned to see Derek sprawled across the duvet. Stiles mentally reprimanded himself for knowing the word duvet. He couldn't help noticing Derek wasn't wearing his towel. It was artfully draped across his stomach, like maybe Michaelangelo would be dropping by later to sculpt him.
“Where do you think you're going?”
“Uh...home? After I get a drink.”
“Why don't you tell me what's in the backpack? It smells interesting.”
“Seriously?” Stiles said, letting it sink in that Derek was still ignoring every opportunity to cover up with his towel. He looked past him, out the window. In his wildest, or most panicked, imaginings he'd never thought this would be more than a quick exchange of hand jobs. “We're not done here?”
“You want to be done?” Derek sounded surprised, maybe even a little hurt.
“Do you see me walking away?” Stiles half-turned, as if to leave.
“Do you see me laying here belly up and naked?”
Stiles pivoted slowly back to the view of exposed Derek. He let his gaze drift along the bed, taking it all in. He considered telling Derek he wasn't going gay for him. Seemed a little late for that. He considered remaining completely unmoved, practically stoic. Then, he considered the picture perfect display of canine submission before him. He wasn't buying it.
“What an enormous boner you have, Grandma.”
Derek flashed his teeth. “The better to...oh, that's right. I already told you.”
“Right,” Stiles said on a drawn out sigh, less than impressed. “My ass. The riding of, and...” His teeth clicked as he mimed a bite.
Derek pressed his lips together, both brows arching up as he gave an almost imperceptible nod. The tiny movement was more blood-curdling than any overt threat. Stiles felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. Run, his brain stem told him. Don't let him catch you.
“I'll just get my drink,” he said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder.
He took two exaggerated steps backward and ducked into the living room, breaking their eye contact. Derek Hale wanted to—okay, no! That wasn't happening. When he reached the front door, Stiles considered bolting out it, but he was dressed in nothing but two towels. And Derek might come after him. And, to be honest, he'd spent a fortune on his secret stash of sex toys. Might as well show them off. Derek was probably bluffing about the bite. And...his nearly virginal ass.
He got his drink and returned to the bedroom to find Derek in the same position. Still sprawled. Still naked. Only his towel was now under him. From the respect in his eyes, Stiles knew he'd passed some kind of test. He handed Derek a beer. Derek curled forward to take it. He twisted off the top and guzzled. As if his mouth hadn't tasted like sin before, Stiles thought, taking a long pull on his soda. He flashed back a few weeks to their first kiss, sweet sauce and beer. He was going to hell. Assuming he wasn't there right now. He sat his bottle on the bedside table. Then, unzipped the backpack and tipped the contents out over the bed. An impressive array of sexual paraphernalia rained down. Some of the rubbery toys bounced around a little. Derek sat up straighter, his feet finding the floor. He reached his free hand out and prodded an anal plug with the tip of one finger.
“Did you mug a hooker on the way over?”
“No!” Stiles said, the same way he'd say, “Duh?” But pride got the best of him again and he launched into an explanation. “I shopped the Internet, where they don't sweat proper identification like every minimum wage clerk at Blue Fantasy on the edge of town. Pay Pal is our bitch. No credit card required. I just had to answer a few basic security questions. Am I over twenty-one? No. I mean...check. Is this legal in my state? Who knows? But...check.”
“That's frightening.”
“Tell me about it. The only hassle I had was renting a box for the deliveries, because no way am I explaining this to my dad, or asking him if it's legal. And let me tell you those Mail Box, Etc. employees can be mighty obnoxious, too.” He held up one of his toys. “This one is for...”
“I know what they're for,” Derek said.
“You know a lot for someone who is supposedly very heterosexual.”
“Kate was a big fan of the strap-on.”
Stiles flinched so violently, the room went dark for a second. The thought of Kate Argent doing that, or anything, to Derek was like a gut blow.
“T.M.I. Too much information. Way, way too much.”
“T.M.P. Too many products,” Derek countered as he carefully placed his beer on the floor by his feet. “We need this. And...this.” Reaching into the pile he extracted a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms, tossing each at Stiles.
“Condoms? Really? Doesn't being a werewolf mean you never have to worry about STDs?”
“That's me covered. You want to take your supernatural chances be my guest. Though, with my luck, one of us ends up pregnant.”
“Good point. Ooh, Flavors.” Stiles said, reading the packaging. “But, do we really want to mix,” he read the condom label first, “Strawberry and Spice with,” he held up the lubricant, “Vanilla Caramel Sunrise? What does a sunrise taste like?”
“I'll never know, because,” Derek said, applying air quotes, “'No part of you is going in my mouth.'”
“That's the denial talking. Sad really.”
“I'm working through my eight stages of bonding grief. It's three stages worse than death, at this point.”
“Let me know when you get to bargaining,” Stiles said, lifting a pair of fuzzy handcuffs with the nose of a dolphin-shaped vibrator.
Derek pounced on him. Literally, pounced leaving the bed, rotating mid-air and returning. He carried Stiles backward into the pillows. Since Stiles had been sitting on the very edge of the mattress at the time, they almost rolled to the floor. Luckily Derek had muscles on top of muscles and supernatural reflexes. Stiles lost his towels, and a bit of dignity. But they both ended up safely in the middle of the bed. Derek beneath him. A selection of dildos rolled noisily to the floor. Derek's beer bottle clattered away. They both tried to hold onto their serious faces. And failed, snorting into guffaws.
“Cat-like reflexes,” Stiles said, huffing giggles into Derek's neck. “Stealthy. Graceful.”
“Shut up,” Derek managed to growl, despite shaking with laughter.
As Stiles tried to extract the hand trapped under Derek's left shoulder, the dolphin vibrator still clutched in it buzzed to life. The sound and tickle set Derek off into another peal of mirth. “You are going to finish me,” he gasped, unable to catch his breath.
“Yes, I am,” Stiles said, peacocking around the double entendre.
He pushed up to his knees, searching for the condom packet he'd been holding. Finding it nearby, he brought it to his mouth and ripped it open with his teeth. Artificial strawberry scene mixed with the smell of beer and latex. A new light danced in Derek's eyes. Stiles thought it might be enjoyment. Certainly, he'd given up being disagreeable for a minute.
“We've lost the caramel sunrise.”
“In the drawer,” Derek said, waving toward the bedside table. “There's Astrogel.”
Stiles reached for the handle, stretching to pull open the drawer. Since it was nearly empty, it only took a moment to tease out the bottle. As he read the label, he went for the bestiality pun, “The Jetsons were kinky? I had no idea.”
Derek groaned. “I can't believe I'm going to let you screw me.”
This news stopped Stiles cold. He'd been a hair's breadth away from rolling the condom down Derek's cock. “I'm doing--you?”
“You are not in any way ready for the bottom,” Derek told him. Something Stiles was absolutely sure was absolutely true. “And I've...”
“If you mention Kate Argent again, I will throw up in your face.”
“...had some practice. Jeez!”
Instead of continuing the verbal give and take, Stiles busied himself with condom and lube, breaking away from their close contact. It felt like he was a puppet, being moved by someone else. He didn't know if he wanted to do this. He didn't know why Derek would let him. There were lots of Star Wars fanfics about tops and bottoms. Guy on guy. And he'd read all those books. He understood the basics. But actually penetrating someone...with his penis? Not just someone. Derek. Joining their bodies together seemed...not wrong, exactly, but surreal. What if he didn't like it?
What if he did?
When he was physically prepared, he said, “How does this work?”
“There's only one way you can go,” Derek said, rolling to his belly. “It's not complicated.”
Stiles positioned himself, close to the obvious opening into Derek's body, feeling around with slick fingers. Derek held very still, waiting. But Stiles couldn't make himself thrust up into him. Because then, he'd have done it. And, he might come. And then, tomorrow or the day after it would hit him that he'd come inside Derek Hale.
“Holy Mother of God. Now, I know what they mean by 'girding your loins'. If you lose control again you will probably crush me to paste.”
“I won't. Just, take it slow and easy.”
Stiles dribbled on some extra lube. He pushed all the air out of his lungs in a great huff. Then, gripping Derek's shoulder with one hand, he used the other to guide himself in slowly, but steadily. There was an initial resistance, before smooth, ridged muscle sheathed him. Wet heat. So hot. So tight. So fucking awesome. Stiles had to think about old people in thong bikinis to stop himself from popping off immediately. He had no idea how he would last for anything like five minutes of sex happening. Especially, if Derek kept wiggling around like he was doing.
“Sssst,” Stiles hissed. Derek stilled.
Stiles gulped in a breath or two. He bucked back to thrust. Derek clenched around him. Stiles punched his shoulder. There was no weight behind the blow, and it glanced off, but Derek still growled in protest.
“What?”
“Stop clenching.”
“Then, get on with it.”
“Derek, I swear...” Stiles snarled.
But, he found that ire worked for him, taking his mind off the range of exquisite sensations Derek produced. Stiles had no idea why people didn't use asshole as a compliment. Obviously, word hadn't gotten out about this, yet. Gritting his teeth he powered through a dozen, hard, fast, jerking hip movements. Driving deep. Pulling back only slightly. Things seemed to get easier, looser, as Derek relaxed into the experience. From the movement of Derek's elbow, Stiles knew he was stroking his own cock, keeping a different rhythm. Stiles picked up the pace, until they were pulling and pushing together, flesh slapping.
“Harder,” Derek ordered. Stiles complied. “Harder,” Derek said again, this time between clenched teeth. Stiles slammed into him and caught just a slight whimper.
He had a mental flash of Kate Argent, punishing Derek like this. It stopped him cold, freezing out all of his fun in one icy blast. Nausea churned bile into his mouth. He pulled straight out, pushing away, his erection going flaccid.
“No,” Derek said, in a voice that was too plaintive. Nothing like his usual gruff tone.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.
“Me?” Derek panted, rolling to glare at him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I'll tell you what I'm not doing,” Stiles said. “I'm not going to hurt you so you feel better about yourself.”
“It didn't hurt.”
“I saw your face, Derek. I heard that sound. It made me sick.”
“Sex between men isn't all hearts and flowers, Stiles.”
Stiles shook his head. “Guess I'll stick with women.” He rolled the soiled condom off, tossing it aside. “You can call one of your girlfriends to finish up here. I'm going home.”
Derek came at him, more furious animal than anything, seizing him by the scruff of the neck. “I like it rough,” he snarled. “And you are not going anywhere?”
Stiles held his breath, but kept his gaze steady. “You don't like it rough. You expect it. There's a difference.”
Derek yanked him into a brutal kiss, dragging him forward, until Stiles lost his balance. So much for showing a werewolf who was boss. They fell into the pillows together, Derek's fingers clutching, bruising. The beer tasted bitter on his lips. Stiles tried to break free. They panted and pushed, as they wrestled for dominance. And then, they were nose to nose and somehow, the frantic shoving turned to slow strokes of Derek's palm along his side and up his back. Stiles felt his cock stirring again. Unbelievable. He wanted to smack Derek in the mouth. But the mouth entreated, pleading Derek's case. Derek feathered kisses from Stiles' lips to his cheeks, forced his eyelids closed with kisses. The kisses became nips and licks as Derek slithered lower. Stiles thought about rolling away, getting up and leaving. He didn't need this. He didn't come here to be manhandled. He didn't want Derek Hale nuzzling his privates. Or hovering above them, actually, because Derek had stopped moving. Stiles waited through a breathless pause, not sure what would happen next.
Lots of nothing happened. Stiles braced up on an elbow to meet Derek's eyes. He thought about making a joke. He thought about cussing or kicking. But he didn't do any of those things, because he'd never seen Derek look so uncertain.
“I've never,” Derek said, cutting a glance down and somehow conveying his lack of blow job expertise.
“Not even with,” Stiles wasn't going to say her name, not now, “strap ons?”
“She wanted to, but I wouldn't.”
“It's okay, I'm not...” Stiles began, thinking there was no way he would just lay here and let Derek's teeth wrap around his personal parts. Not after what had just happened with the forceful foreplay. No, he was going to go home to take a long shower and forget all about...
He saw Derek's tongue point flick over that tiny, impossibly sensitive, slit at his tip, lightly caressing the fold of skin. Son of a bitch! Just like that Stiles lost all righteous indignation. And his train of thought. All it took was that little concession to convince Stiles to stay. He relaxed into the supine and let Derek practice playing him. It took some coaxing with the oh-so-talented Hale tongue and a few instructions on technique, but eventually Stiles did swell again. Once he was hard, Derek climbed up his body, hand over hand. He hooked a leg around Stiles at his hip, knee riding up, pelvis tilting forward, until they were positioned perfectly for re-entry.
“Come inside,” Derek said, staring into his face. An invitation that was hard to resist.
“I lost my condom.”
“Even better,” Derek said, smiling like a slightly naughty angel.
Stiles shifted just enough to let them fit together. He rocked with Derek, hitching his hips until they were locked together. They could only manage small, controlled thrusts and corkscrew movements. Derek slipped an arm around Stiles at the neck and gripped his opposite shoulder. He held eye contact, even when Stiles put a hand between them to tug at Derek's cock. The pace quickened. Every few strokes Derek broke their united gaze long enough to kiss Stiles. It must be true, Stiles thought, I have a pretty mouth. They were tender kisses, at first, nothing wild about them. Stiles wondered if they were part of a strategy to keep him quiet, to keep his mouth busy.
But as they established a breathless tempo, riding hard toward mutual climax, Derek's lips, tongue and fingers grew more insistent. He couldn't seem to get close enough, wanting more and more contact, as if the supernatural poison in his blood longed to get under Stiles' skin. Stiles saw Derek's eyes glass over, eyelids growing heavy. His cock jerked, through a series of spasms. And his head dropped back to expose his throat. Stiles didn't need 28 hours of animal behavior videos to read that signal. Submission. He licked along Derek's jugular. Derek moaned, a guttural sound. Stiles echoed it. And sticky cum spurted between them, coating his fingers and their abs.
Neither of them acknowledged this, they just kept rocking, back and forth. Clenched tight around one another until Stiles let go, too. It took longer than he ever thought it could. But it was so much sweeter for the wait. When purple and gold stars stopped flashing on the inside of his eyelids, Stiles opened them. And found himself nosing into Derek's shoulder. He pushed away, only to fall forward, spiritually, into Derek's steady gaze. There it was--trust. A large predator at complete ease, Derek had surrendered. His expression made it clear. He would look to Stiles, his lover and emissary, for guidance, direction and reassurance. Stiles would have cheered, if it weren't for this soul-deep lethargy, dragging him toward sleep. Maybe after a short nap, he might gloat a little.
As if scenting the air of triumph, Derek snarled, “Just to be clear, I still hate you.”
Then, he kissed Stiles, again. This time exerting complete authority with a hard, possessive pressure, twisting lips against teeth. Stiles groaned. God. No more. Not tonight. Tomorrow. And, just like that, he knew. He would be back tomorrow. And next week. And Derek would welcome him. Because no way this was hate. And no matter what happened in the future, no matter who Stiles became, who he loved, he'd keep coming back to this.
It didn't matter how far he ran; he'd never escape his emissary role. If he moved to the other side of the country and went to college or stayed on in Beacon Hills to become Sheriff after his father...if he married Lydia and had three kids and six grandkids...his life would circle back to this give and take with Derek. When he was 82, he'd still want Derek Hale's mouth on his. Still want to push deep into Derek's hard body and feel him break in a climax. Stiles knew, now, beyond any doubt that bonding with a pack wasn't about sex on your eighteenth birthday. Bonding defined you, created your future. It had set him on a path he would walk for the rest of his life.
After they'd cleaned up a little, Stiles slipped back into bed and leaned his forehead against Derek's brow. There was no talk of leaving. Derek slowly traced fingertips up his spine. In those daydreaming seconds before full sleep, Stiles often thought of things that woke him up again. A question popped into his head. Stiles didn't stop to consider Derek's uncharacteristically passive mood, before letting the question out.
“Derek?”
“Hmmm?”
“How long before we can be sure you're not pregnant?”
THE END
By Rabid1st
Teen Wolf – Derek/Stiles
Rating: Explicit/Mature
Beta Babes Birthsister and
elsecarlassAuthor’s Note: See Part 1 for notes
Warnings: Most sex acts possible between two men. Not kinky or dom/sub, but explicit.
Summary: Set a year or so in the future, Stiles is about to turn eighteen and is training to be an Emissary, He’s learned that there are certain rituals he needs to perform in order to be bonded to his pack. Derek agrees to help with his initiation. Panic and hilarity and some sexy times ensue.
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf is a world unto itself. I am only playing with the characters for my own amusement. No copyright infringement is intended.
PART ONE: http://rabid1st.livejournal.com/402669.html
PART TWO
The next day, Stiles sat down at his customary lunchroom table with a tray overflowing with food. He'd just stuffed a handful of tater tots into his face, when Lydia dropped into the chair across from him. His throat closed, as it usually did around her, leaving him no way to empty his mouth. He reached for napkins.
“Derek’s alive?” Lydia said, lifting an inquiring eyebrow. It was barely a question. Her tone said she knew.
And there was his spit take, right on cue. Stiles covered his mouth, swallowing convulsively. Choking, he took a slug of water to clear away the tot debris. How did she know these things? Was it her supernatural gift? The dead spoke to her. Maybe they'd told her about Derek. Stiles glanced around nervously. Nobody outside their little circle could know about Derek's miraculous return from the dead.
“What makes you say that?” he finally managed to ask.
Lydia dropped a pointed gaze to his lunch. Stiles followed her line of sight down. He supposed it was an excessively full plate. But he hadn't had much to eat in the last week.
“And you haven’t run to the bathroom all day.”
“I’m feeling better,” Stiles said. “It has nothing to do with Derek. I had the flu.”
“Right,” Lydia nodded.
“And we have a lead on the Phoenix.”
“But Derek is alive, too.”
“Let’s say he is. Let’s say, hypothetically, I have to deal with him and his anger management issues again. How does that make my life any better?”
“Do you want me to answer that?”
Stiles pressed his lips together and looked away. “Fine. Whatever. Answer this: How would you handle him and his lone wolf ways?”
“You’re the emissary. It’s your problem.”
“But what would you do?”
Lydia considered her salad, impaling an apple slice on her fork, before she answered him. “You know how I handle dangerous men,” she said, before taking a careful bite from her apple. Stiles watched her chew and swallow, every movement nuanced. After delicately licking her lips, she added, “The question is--are you willing to do the same?”
“I'm not you,” Stiles sighed. He stabbed up food with his fork, knowing his own eating wasn't even slightly poetic. He just got on with it as quickly as possible. “Dealing with wolves feels like juggling knives in the nude,” he went on. “One slip and...schnick!” He used his free hand to mimic a guillotine blade coming down across his lap.
“You’re a eunuch? Come on, you love every minute,” Lydia purred. “Sex and violence. That's a heady combination.”
“Are you saying I'm kinky?”
“Isn't that what being an emissary is all about?”
Stiles set his fork down, frowning. “You know about the...Druid rituals?”
“I read,” Lydia told him. “And, be real, this one isn't a shocker. You've had it bad for Derek since the day you met him. Maybe since your dad took you to that first basketball game.”
“I have not!”
Lydia studied her nails. “I saw it. But don’t worry; you don't have it nearly as bad as he does. He’s your puppy.”
“Yeah,” Stiles guffawed. “Right—he has it bad?” He chomped down hard on his next forkful of lunch, shaking his head. But Lydia's pitying stare, took a toll. It made him push back from the table and, finally, ask. “Bad, how?”
“He practically salivates when he sees you. It's disturbing.”
“That's because he's been thinking about biting me, how tasty I'll be.”
“Oh, he wants a taste, alright,” Lydia agreed, fork fluffing through the lettuce in her salad. They both ate for a bit. Then, Lydia spoke again, while pointing a grape tomato she'd speared at him. “This would be so much easier if either of you were gay. Then, at least, one of you would have some idea what you are doing.”
“I have ideas, plenty of them,” Stiles said. When Lydia lifted a brow, he corrected her obvious assumption, “Not about Derek. Because we hate each other. My ideas are generic, all purpose ones. And I could still turn out gay. Why is everyone so sure I'm not gay?”
“Because you’re polyamorous,” Lydia said.
“Poly--? Wait, I know what that is…” he broke off, flushing because he'd come very close to telling Lydia about his own extensive reading. “Deaton mentioned it.”
“Of course you know. It is simple vocabulary. Poly is many and Amor is love. To love many. As the emissary, you have to do what is necessary to keep the Pack healthy. Makes perfect sense to me.”
“And you are obviously not shocked or anything,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes.
“Stop being so Victorian and just get in there and take one for the team,” she suggested, patting his arm. “It will be like housebreaking a puppy.”
“Derek is not a puppy. He’s a killing machine. A bad tempered one.”
“So is my little Prada, but he behaves.” She ignored the derisive snort Stiles made at that comparison. “Just tug on Derek's leash a little. Oh, there we go. What you need is a book on dog training? Have you ever watched The Dog Whisperer? It’s on YouTube.”
“Derek is, also, a human being.”
“And a werewolf,” Lydia said. “Become a pack whisperer. All of that pack mentality comes into play during sex. You need to set the boundaries. Show him that you are the one in charge. It will comfort him when he’s forced to turn to you for direction and advice.”
“Behavior training is a comfort?”
“To canines, yes,” Lydia assured him. “They need to know that it is okay to rely on you to make decisions. You just need to be firm with them at first. Don’t let Derek take the lead or he will run with it.”
“Firm,” Stiles said, making a fist. “Right. I can do that.”
Lydia gave him another pat. “Maybe you should watch a few videos, first.”
**************************************
Scott and Stiles met at Derek's apartment for a quick war council later that evening. They left Derek's place with a plan of attack and more collective information. Stile's needed to keep his Dad out of this one, because the Mayor's involvement could mean professional suicide. Scott would follow up with Lydia to secure her access to the city council via her mother.
“I'll have to tell my Dad something,” Stiles was saying as they entered the elevator.
But Scott didn't want to talk strategy. He glanced nervously back at Derek's door, before he ducked into the elevator. When the doors dinged closed, Stiles stabbed the lobby button. And Scott grabbed Stiles by the elbow, leaning in to avoid being overheard.
“What was all that about?” he hissed in a hushed tone.
Stiles affected a carefree manner. “What was what about?”
“You and Derek,” Scott whispered, even though, with the elevator noise as cover there was little chance Derek would hear them talking. “What's going on?”
Stile's felt his mouth drop open, knew his eyes were wide and tried to make them fill with innocent wonder. “I don't know what--” he began after a swallow. “Did you smell something?”
“No, I can't smell anything but smoke,” Scott said. “But there's something? Right? Because you think I can smell it. And because anyone with eyes can see you two were...” His brow furrowed. “Well, I don't know what you were doing. That's why I'm asking.”
Just for a second, Stiles toyed with the idea of confessing all. That was what he did; he shared everything with Scott. They were best friends. Scott had always been his partner in crime and world saving. He'd just assumed he would tell Scott the first time he had sex. Scott had told him about Allison. Not details, but enough. He knew when it happened. And eventually, Scott would find out about the emissary rites and wonder. Or maybe he would know, given the air wouldn't always be smoke saturated. Would he be hurt, feel left out? Would he understand how hard it was to tell your best friend you were about to have ritual gay sex with your best enemy?
The isolation would be the worst part of being an emissary Stiles realized suddenly. He might not be able to share everything with Scott. He was already keeping things from his dad. There were bound to be secrets he would be forced to hold for other people. Or for Scott's own good. The weight of his choices might hang over him and, yet, he wouldn't be able to share his fears or doubts with his best friend. This was going to be harder than he'd imagined. He wasn't much of a natural liar. He ran off at the mouth, generally, so he'd learned to stay honest. He stalled for time as they exited the building and headed toward the jeep.
“He pretended to be dead,” Stiles began, figuring that was good enough to start with. “He left us down a man, while he went off on his own, investigating. It's that lone wolf thing, again. And I hate him already so having him back from the dead is a mixed bag of joy and indigestion.”
“I guess,” Scott said, not completely satisfied with that explanation. “It's just...you seemed different together...like not hating.”
“God, Scott. What did you see? What is it you want to know?” Stiles said. “Because I can't explain your squicky feelings if I don't know--” He looked at Scott, meeting those wide, guileless eyes across the jeep hood. Inspiration struck and he grinned wide as it dawned on him that Scott would never believe the truth. “Unless you mean the blatant sexual tension?
“Sexual?” Scott blinked, unable to process this.
“You got us,” Stiles confessed, pulling open the jeep door and climbing in, while Scott scrambled to follow suit. "We can barely keep our hands off each other."
“But...you and---what?”
“Yeah. It's a shocker. But you figured us out. Derek and I are secret lovers. We were passing notes under the table whenever you looked away.”
Scott laughed and relaxed back into his seat. “Fine. Don't tell me. But whatever it is I don't want it to get in the way of this plan. I need you both.”
Stiles started the car. “We will control our hostile impulses,” he promised. “Now, let me tell you what I want for my birthday. I assume money is no obstacle?”
***************************
“Happy Birthday to me,” Stiles said, when the sliding steel door opened. Before Derek could say anything, Stiles recoiled, dropping the backpack he was carrying on Derek’s foot. “Oh, My God! You smell like a satyr's armpit. We need to talk about personal hygiene.”
“I showered this morning.” Derek said, kicking the backpack aside. It skidded a short distance, remarkably heavy for a change of underwear.
“And then, what?” Stiles exclaimed with a grimace. “Played handball in the sewer all day?”
“You might remember the town was on fire? All the men were putting it out. Where were you?”
“With Scott saving the world and your ass. No more Phoenix. So, you are welcome,” Stile said. He crossed the threshold, but just far enough for Derek to close the door. “Then, at a party. It's my birthday!”
“Must have misplaced my invitation.”
“Not your sort of fun,” Stiles said, leaning against the door frame. “One, no maiming. Two, Karaoke. Good job on the firefighting, but for the record there is no part of you that is going in my mouth. A little Axe body spray is all I'm say. A spritz or two goes a long way.”
“Did your canister explode?” Derek asked, rubbing at his nose.
“Too much?”
“You've vaporized the hair in my nasal passages.”
“Got to be an improvement, considering your manly stench.”
Derek grabbed Stiles by an elbow and dragged him down the few stairs into the living room.
“Ow. Ow. Ow. A simple invitation to sit would...”
Only Derek didn’t stop at the sofa, but kept on past the bed, headed toward the bathroom.
“It looks like both of us are hitting the showers.”
“What? Now? Isn't this a little rushed? Shouldn't we work up to that, slowly...over a few dates?”
“This isn't a date,” Derek growled. “It's a ritual necessity. Let's just get it over with.”
“And suddenly the reason for your bachelor state becomes painfully clear. Ow. Sharp corners. Derek? Damn it. Let go,” Stiles ordered, pain making his command harsh.
And just like magic Derek released him. Stiles rubbed arm and shoulder, working out the kinks from the wrenching. Derek started stripping off his shirt, which prompted Stiles to looked around.
“Oh, this is nice. Very steampunk. Why have I never been in here?”
“Great bladder control? Put your hands up.”
“What?”
“Hands? Up!” Derek barked and Stiles found himself reaching for the ceiling, even as he backpedaled into the edge of the toilet.
Derek closed the slight distance between them. His fingers curled under the edge of Stiles' shirts, knuckles brushing sensitive belly. Stiles cringed, grimacing at the tickle. He started to lower his arms, but Derek, with a smooth upward motion, divested him of both the tee and the flannel shirt in one move.
“Holy--” Stiles began. His voice broke as a shiver lanced through him. Derek's fingers had hooked into the waistband of his jeans. Instead of righteous indignation, a shuddery gasp escaped Stiles. All of his practiced authority evaporated. He lifted up on his toes. “Wait, wait, wait!”
To his amazement, the plaintive tone worked as well as the assertive one. Derek froze mid-ravishment to raise an inquiring eyebrow.
“Problem?”
Stiles took a shaky breath, trying to slow his racing heart. He knew Derek was listening to it, because he cocked his head and a confused expression replaced his irritated one.
“You want this, right?” Derek asked. “It's what you came for.”
“Not exactly...this.” Stiles pushed both his palms down. “Not a quick bang in a bathroom.” He managed to avoid stuttering, despite having full body jitters. He was sure Derek would hear his teeth clacking together, as he swayed his head from side to side to indicate their surroundings. “I thought my first time would be a little more...introspective. And, also, you know...involve breasts.”
“You're a virgin?” Derek exclaimed, releasing him abruptly.
Seriously? How could Derek not know this? And why the derision? The swirl of mixed emotions, which had been threatening to overwhelm Stiles from the moment he'd arrived, solidified into a focused fury. Oh, how he hated that superior attitude, that condescending tone. He’d been putting up with it for years from more experienced teens. The teasing. The pity. The jokes. Letting his ire take over, he pushed hard into Derek's bare chest. It was like shoving on Grant’s Tomb. He didn’t shift Derek. Instead, he propelled himself sideways, around the toilet and away from the door.
“Why does everyone say it like that?” Stiles raged. “Full of pity? Like it’s contagious? So, I waited for someone special. It’s not like I’m over the hill. I'm only eighteen. Technically, all this,” he waggled his index finger back and forth between them, “was illegal yesterday.”
Derek looked a little contrite. “Sorry. I just thought by now...”
“What? Just because I didn't start hooking up in the neonatal ward that makes me a joke? Maybe ADD interferes with intimacy. Maybe my awkward stage lasted a year or two longer than it should have. Maybe I have standards.” His gaze swept down Derek and his lips twisted into a sneer. “Had.”
Derek grinned, suddenly, one of his rare beaming smiles. “I'm rarely a first choice.”
“Well, if this is how you generally go about it--dragging people around, ripping off their clothes--I can see why.” A thought occurred to Stiles. “Can’t you smell virginity? The virginal state.”
“Not in a man,” Derek said, back to his ‘you are a moron’ tone.
“Unbelievable,” Stiles snapped, striding past him to the door.
“What is it you want, Stiles?” Derek said, sounding frustrated. His hands had gone to his own zipper. “Do you want to cuddle first?”
The question stopped Stiles at the doorway. He didn't answer it, but his eyes went to the mirror. In it he watched Derek strip down. He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his jeans and stretched to start the shower. Stiles noted Derek went commando. He, also, noted the bobbing, half-erection with a combination of pride and concern.
“Wow, Derek! That’s some heavy duty tackle you're sporting there.”
“Feeling inadequate?” Derek asked, maneuvering the words around teeth that always seemed a little too sharp for Stiles’ complete comfort.
“You could land a marlin with that.”
“Flattering. But the mirror, and abject terror, distorts your sense of proportion.”
Stiles turned to face him. “Still looking mighty intimidating.”
“I can put it away.”
“No,” Stiles said with a resigned sigh. “You’re right. This was my idea. Just getting used to the,” he framed his view with both hands, “magnitude of it. Wondering how to avoid...repetitive motion injuries.” He glanced around the room as he massaged his fingers and palms. “You have any cocoa butter? Maybe some sesame oil or lotion? I brought a few things. I could get something...”
“There’s soap in the shower. Get in.”
“What kind of soap? I’m allergic to shea butter and...”
“Goat’s milk with herbs. Very gentle. And slippery. Get in.”
“How are we going to go about this? You first? Or me?”
“However you like. I'm easy.”
“Something that is alarmingly self-evident at this point.”
“Stiles?” Derek barked. “Stop stalling. Or I'm going to use this,” he pointed his cock at Stiles, “On you. Where you stand.” He used a snapping wrist motion to emphatically jab his finger at the shower. “Get—IN!”
“Alright! My God, you are cranky for someone who is about to get the best hand job of his life.”
“All you've given me so far is a headache.”
Waves of aggressive energy seemed to pulse off of Derek. He had an arm braced against the shower stall door. He really wasn’t enjoying himself, Stiles realized. He stepped closer to place a soothing hand on Derek's bare shoulder.
“Okay,” Stiles said, gently. “This is supposed to be about trust. So, just, relax. I think we're both a little nervous...”
“I'm not nervous, I'm furious.”
“Just another day in the life of Derek Hale, then,” Stiles quipped and Derek smiled, ever so slightly, obviously fighting the urge. Dropping his chin Stiles managed to make eye contact under the glowering brow. “Come on, you know I’m going to do it. And these hand,” he rotated one of them for inspection, “they are amazing. I’ve had years of practice.”
Derek huffed his disbelief. He shrugged, throwing off Stiles' touch, before stepping under the shower spray. Rivulets of water traced lightning bolt patterns all over his torso. Stiles followed him into the close space and shut the sliding door. He picked up the soap, giving it a tentative sniff.
“You doubt me, Boogie Nights?” he said, pointing the bar at Derek. “Sure, maybe you are the experienced one when it comes to sex with actual partners. But I'm the Mozart of hand jobs. I started young and stayed with it.” He lathered his palms. “While all the other boys were out scoring girls, I was home alone, putting in the hours.”
This time, Derek laughed outright, as he yanked Stiles to him, eliminating their individual, personal space. “Sold. Show me what you’ve got.”
To his own amazement, Stiles managed to focus on task. Only the musky scent of the soap distracted him for a few moments. It was a handmade bar, redolent with sandalwood and amber and other pungent natural odors. Derek smells he recognized, like leather and wet fur. The soapy scent mingled with smoke and sweat when Stiles got a little closer to Derek. Soap. Derek. Water. Derek. Tile slick under his feet and, occasionally, brushing coolly against his back or shoulder. Hot water pounding on him. Derek. The line of hair tracing downward. Satin and iron. The steam curling in the small space. And Derek was right about how slippery the soap made them. Skin slid across skin, fingers fumbled for purchase. Stiles ran out of wiggle room. Shoulders and bottom pressed against the slick tile wall, he tried to catch a breath and a break. But Derek had him cornered. They kissed. Derek slipped one hand around Stiles' waist, the other hand skidding down and between.
Stiles made a noise, a sort of squeak. Nobody had ever cupped his balls before, and it felt a lot different than doing it himself. A lot better. Now he just had to return the favor. Though it was a little bit distracting, with Derek’s mouth doing what it was doing now to his nipples. And Derek’s hands…everywhere. Stiles had lost the lead. And Derek had scampered into the neighbor's yard to dig up begonias. Or something like that. Stiles couldn't remember one thing the Dog Whisper had told him, but he knew he had to take some initiative. Only he couldn't do anything, because Derek kept on stroking him. That fist going up and down Stiles' achingly hard length, palm twisting at the top to capture lubricating fluids. Fingers pumped the slickness down the shaft slowly, firmly. Fuck. Tongue again. Why so much kissing? The man was seriously fucking with him. A teasing flutter here. A deft tug there. Those lips. That tongue. Prickly beard. Silky hair. Smoke. Sin. And rock hard biceps.
Stiles was man enough to admit that being jerked off by Derek Hale, in a wet dream come true, was enough to make him come. So he did. His ball drew tight. His head lulled back. His talented hands betrayed him, simply grasping on to Derek's neck and ass, as he ground into that mouth, that grip. Derek waited until Stiles went limp all over, then he turned him to the wall, pushing a very hard cock into his backside. Thankfully, nowhere close to any orifices. Stiles wasn't sure he would put up much resistance at this point. He braced both palms against the wall and tried to gather his strength, hoping to push back any assault. But, Derek only nuzzled along his hairline, a tender tickling with nose and lips. Making it that much more shocking when he bit down hard enough to cause pain.
“Whoa--hey--no biting!”
The panted protest made no impact on Derek. He kept on sucking. The world reeled. Stiles didn't dare twist away from the bruising, despite sensing blunt teeth. He couldn't risk blood shed. His panic combined with a weakness in his knees from that amazing climax to mimic submission. The sense of vulnerability was excruciating and tantalizing and seemed to go on and on. It ended with a slurp of Derek's tongue and more hot breath close to an ear.
“I barely bruised you, Amadeus,” Derek murmured.
“I have very delicate skin,” Stiles said, enunciating each word with care. He wanted to slam an elbow into Derek's ribs, but he still couldn't seem to move.
“Mmmm,” Derek hummed, tilting Stiles chin back so he could kiss him over the shoulder.
Stiles forgot about his plan to elbow Derek. He took a shuddering breath and turned into the kiss. Two could play this game. Derek thought his mouth was kissable. Well. Okay, then. This time his tongue took the initiative. As he walked his fingers down Derek's stomach, Stiles could feel the muscles tense. Lower down, something firm stirred and nosed against him. That's it puppy, he thought, sit up and beg. Derek Hale wanted him. There was no doubt about it. Time to take charge. Despite the lethargy of having come so hard his teeth ached, Stiles felt a little thrill of excitement. This was going to be fun.
He put his hands to work. Derek held it together for about two minutes. He seemed unmoved by the kissing and the first few strokes. Stiles eased back a little so they could see one another clearly. Derek maintained eye contact, settling into a predatory stare. Stiles upped the ante and applied a number of variations on grip and pressure. Derek's gaze dropped to Stiles's mouth. Stiles flashed him some teeth. Derek snarled back, but playfully. His hips bucked, just a little, but he kept his cool right up until Stiles tried a move he'd read about on a stripper's blog once. She'd called it the jellyroll. And it involved using both hands and your lips, so he had to go down to his knees. But Derek's reaction made the tile burn well worth it.
“Son of a...Ash, the fuck...what?”
Stiles, fighting his gag reflex, couldn't answer. But he felt sure that was rhetorical “What the fucking?” No need to respond. He found the fallen soap. Slicked up again, he began tracing a finger around Derek's balls. He considered his next move carefully. It was a little gross to be honest. But he knew it could tip the scales in his favor. If Derek didn't kill him, of course. He'd placed his hands on Stiles at the shoulders, perilously close to the throat. Stiles thought of those kisses again. That neck bite. Derek deserved a little something back. He fumbled his way to the right spot and pressed up, his finger easily penetrating into a fascinating tightness. The invasion didn't provoke the reaction Stiles was expecting. Apparently, Derek was used to the sensation. Probably from the stick permanently up his ass, Stiles thought. He remained rigid at the wrist as Derek ground down, wanting more. Stiles obliged, using two fingers. He forgot about the gross element, enjoying what it did for Derek. But the loss of one hand limited his own maneuvering. And he was getting hard again, himself. Right. Something a little more esoteric for the man who's had everyone.
Stiles gulped air as he sucked free of too much cock. He gave the straining member a final lollipop slurp, and then wiped a hand across his slick chin. Time to put Derek's other sexual organ to work.
“Tell me what you want to do to me, right now,” he said, grabbing the hard length again, while also shoving his fingers deep. “Assuming it is all legal and I'd live through it.”
“Ride you. Fuck you. Turn you, so you'd never get away from me,” Derek snarled. “Bury my cock so far up your virginal ass, you...Fuck? Stiles?”
“I'd let you do that.”
“I can't...changing. Can't hold it—you need to—back—get away. Get out. Agk—” He growled, a deep, vibrating in his chest, as his eyes came open. “—Baby, I don't want to hurt you, but I'm going to come and I can't...oh, my...Grrrah!”
It went against everything in his nature, every impulse, to move toward Derek. To stay inside of him as his eyes went red. But Stiles managed to half-stand and push even closer. He kept on pumping. Twisting his fingers in that squeezing heat, curling them forward to hit the perfect angle. He kept on stroking up and down, leaning in to use his ribs and stomach for more friction. The head of his cock randomly poked into Derek's body. Finally, in a burst of inspiration, he bit down on Derek's neck. Finding the same point where he'd just been bruised himself, he used his teeth to draw blood. He hoped that wasn't enough to infect him. The unexpected assault pulled Derek taut as a bow string. His back arched, muscles standing in relief under his skin. His claws came out and he roared, teeth snapping together inches away from Stiles' shoulder.
Luckily, Stiles was so close to his own orgasm that the first hot pulse of Derek's jizz across his belly sent him flying off the edge. He'd tugged his fingers free of Derek to grab his own cock, as he collapsed out of the danger zone. There was a blur of strobe lights in his head. He ended up on his knees again, partially draped over Derek's right leg. Neither of them moved for a few stuttering heartbeats. A tangle of flesh, they just let the cooling water wash over them, both gasping for air.
Predictably, Stiles broke the silence. “Did you just call me baby?”
“No.”
“I distinctly heard you channeling Justin Bieber,” Stiles cooed, as he gave his fingers a rinse. “Baby, Baby, Baby...oh, what was it, exactly? 'I don't want to hurt you—baby.' That was so sweet.”
Derek pushed at him. Weak as a kitten, Stiles noticed. “You are dead to me. And if you tell anyone about this...”
“Yeah. Yeah. You'll rip out my throat,” Stiles said, hauling himself to his feet by using Derek and the soap holder for leverage, “with your teeth. Don't even bother with your threats. I'm not going to tell anyone about this, because it would be a violation of my oath as an emissary. So, your secrets are safe with me.” He stood, swaying slightly, as he added, “baby.”
“Next time, I'm not going to give you any warnings.”
“Next time, if there is a next time, I'm going to make you roll over and take it like a man. Which, I'm gathering, you've done before.”
“As soon as your Druid mojo wears off, you are going to pay for every dog training reference you make.”
“You think I'm messing around here? This bonding ritual is going to take. So, my mojo is forever. I haven't even started working you over,” Stiles said, sliding the stall door aside, leaving Derek to shut off the faucets.
“I've created a monster.”
“Not your first time for that either.” Stiles grabbed a towel from the pile on the counter top by the sink. He wrapped it around his waist and took another to dry his hair.
“Where did you learn to—you know? All that?” Derek said, with conversational nonchalance.
“The Jellyroll?” Stiles enjoyed showing off and knew his breadth of sexual study would impress. “It's from Bubbles Fly Life blog. She's a sex worker and stripper. When I got bi-curious; I got bi-educated. I've read my way through every downloadable sex manual and online forum I could find. The Joy of Sex. The Joy of Gay Sex. Light His Fire. Light Her Fire. The Lesbian Kama Sutra. I know the rabbit pose and all sixteen variations of the tiger grip.”
“The rabbit—what?”
“Like Sting, I'm Tantric,” Stiles said to clarify. Noting Derek's blank look, he scowled his dismay. “Really? This is what comes from living the way you do, sleeping in abandoned buildings, running around the wood half naked. No iPhone. No wi-fi. You have no grasp of cultural references. One Week? Barenaked Ladies?”
Derek shook his head, his expression saying he didn't care to know. “Toss me a towel, Sting.”
Stiles complied and Derek started rubbing himself dry. As Derek worked the moisture out of his hair, Stiles couldn't help gawking a little at the rest of him, still glistening with water droplets. The man had no shame. Not that he had anything to be ashamed of, given that body. A body he, Stiles, was sure he wouldn't be touching again any time soon.
“Okay,” Stiles drawled, tearing his gaze away. “So I know what I'm getting you for your birthday—a Pandora subscription.” He peered out the door, taking in the rest of the sparse loft. “And something like an audio system. Maybe a laptop.”
“You aren't moving in,” Derek told him.
“Are you getting unruly already?” Stiles said, exiting the room on his way to the kitchen for a drink. He needed something to wash the lingering soap taste away. He adopted a casual air as he sauntered by the bed. “Because I was leaving, but I can apply another tongue lashing, right this minute, Mister.”
The bedsprings creaked behind him. Stiles stopped walking. He turned to see Derek sprawled across the duvet. Stiles mentally reprimanded himself for knowing the word duvet. He couldn't help noticing Derek wasn't wearing his towel. It was artfully draped across his stomach, like maybe Michaelangelo would be dropping by later to sculpt him.
“Where do you think you're going?”
“Uh...home? After I get a drink.”
“Why don't you tell me what's in the backpack? It smells interesting.”
“Seriously?” Stiles said, letting it sink in that Derek was still ignoring every opportunity to cover up with his towel. He looked past him, out the window. In his wildest, or most panicked, imaginings he'd never thought this would be more than a quick exchange of hand jobs. “We're not done here?”
“You want to be done?” Derek sounded surprised, maybe even a little hurt.
“Do you see me walking away?” Stiles half-turned, as if to leave.
“Do you see me laying here belly up and naked?”
Stiles pivoted slowly back to the view of exposed Derek. He let his gaze drift along the bed, taking it all in. He considered telling Derek he wasn't going gay for him. Seemed a little late for that. He considered remaining completely unmoved, practically stoic. Then, he considered the picture perfect display of canine submission before him. He wasn't buying it.
“What an enormous boner you have, Grandma.”
Derek flashed his teeth. “The better to...oh, that's right. I already told you.”
“Right,” Stiles said on a drawn out sigh, less than impressed. “My ass. The riding of, and...” His teeth clicked as he mimed a bite.
Derek pressed his lips together, both brows arching up as he gave an almost imperceptible nod. The tiny movement was more blood-curdling than any overt threat. Stiles felt his heart try to leap out of his chest. Run, his brain stem told him. Don't let him catch you.
“I'll just get my drink,” he said, cocking a thumb over his shoulder.
He took two exaggerated steps backward and ducked into the living room, breaking their eye contact. Derek Hale wanted to—okay, no! That wasn't happening. When he reached the front door, Stiles considered bolting out it, but he was dressed in nothing but two towels. And Derek might come after him. And, to be honest, he'd spent a fortune on his secret stash of sex toys. Might as well show them off. Derek was probably bluffing about the bite. And...his nearly virginal ass.
He got his drink and returned to the bedroom to find Derek in the same position. Still sprawled. Still naked. Only his towel was now under him. From the respect in his eyes, Stiles knew he'd passed some kind of test. He handed Derek a beer. Derek curled forward to take it. He twisted off the top and guzzled. As if his mouth hadn't tasted like sin before, Stiles thought, taking a long pull on his soda. He flashed back a few weeks to their first kiss, sweet sauce and beer. He was going to hell. Assuming he wasn't there right now. He sat his bottle on the bedside table. Then, unzipped the backpack and tipped the contents out over the bed. An impressive array of sexual paraphernalia rained down. Some of the rubbery toys bounced around a little. Derek sat up straighter, his feet finding the floor. He reached his free hand out and prodded an anal plug with the tip of one finger.
“Did you mug a hooker on the way over?”
“No!” Stiles said, the same way he'd say, “Duh?” But pride got the best of him again and he launched into an explanation. “I shopped the Internet, where they don't sweat proper identification like every minimum wage clerk at Blue Fantasy on the edge of town. Pay Pal is our bitch. No credit card required. I just had to answer a few basic security questions. Am I over twenty-one? No. I mean...check. Is this legal in my state? Who knows? But...check.”
“That's frightening.”
“Tell me about it. The only hassle I had was renting a box for the deliveries, because no way am I explaining this to my dad, or asking him if it's legal. And let me tell you those Mail Box, Etc. employees can be mighty obnoxious, too.” He held up one of his toys. “This one is for...”
“I know what they're for,” Derek said.
“You know a lot for someone who is supposedly very heterosexual.”
“Kate was a big fan of the strap-on.”
Stiles flinched so violently, the room went dark for a second. The thought of Kate Argent doing that, or anything, to Derek was like a gut blow.
“T.M.I. Too much information. Way, way too much.”
“T.M.P. Too many products,” Derek countered as he carefully placed his beer on the floor by his feet. “We need this. And...this.” Reaching into the pile he extracted a bottle of lube and a packet of condoms, tossing each at Stiles.
“Condoms? Really? Doesn't being a werewolf mean you never have to worry about STDs?”
“That's me covered. You want to take your supernatural chances be my guest. Though, with my luck, one of us ends up pregnant.”
“Good point. Ooh, Flavors.” Stiles said, reading the packaging. “But, do we really want to mix,” he read the condom label first, “Strawberry and Spice with,” he held up the lubricant, “Vanilla Caramel Sunrise? What does a sunrise taste like?”
“I'll never know, because,” Derek said, applying air quotes, “'No part of you is going in my mouth.'”
“That's the denial talking. Sad really.”
“I'm working through my eight stages of bonding grief. It's three stages worse than death, at this point.”
“Let me know when you get to bargaining,” Stiles said, lifting a pair of fuzzy handcuffs with the nose of a dolphin-shaped vibrator.
Derek pounced on him. Literally, pounced leaving the bed, rotating mid-air and returning. He carried Stiles backward into the pillows. Since Stiles had been sitting on the very edge of the mattress at the time, they almost rolled to the floor. Luckily Derek had muscles on top of muscles and supernatural reflexes. Stiles lost his towels, and a bit of dignity. But they both ended up safely in the middle of the bed. Derek beneath him. A selection of dildos rolled noisily to the floor. Derek's beer bottle clattered away. They both tried to hold onto their serious faces. And failed, snorting into guffaws.
“Cat-like reflexes,” Stiles said, huffing giggles into Derek's neck. “Stealthy. Graceful.”
“Shut up,” Derek managed to growl, despite shaking with laughter.
As Stiles tried to extract the hand trapped under Derek's left shoulder, the dolphin vibrator still clutched in it buzzed to life. The sound and tickle set Derek off into another peal of mirth. “You are going to finish me,” he gasped, unable to catch his breath.
“Yes, I am,” Stiles said, peacocking around the double entendre.
He pushed up to his knees, searching for the condom packet he'd been holding. Finding it nearby, he brought it to his mouth and ripped it open with his teeth. Artificial strawberry scene mixed with the smell of beer and latex. A new light danced in Derek's eyes. Stiles thought it might be enjoyment. Certainly, he'd given up being disagreeable for a minute.
“We've lost the caramel sunrise.”
“In the drawer,” Derek said, waving toward the bedside table. “There's Astrogel.”
Stiles reached for the handle, stretching to pull open the drawer. Since it was nearly empty, it only took a moment to tease out the bottle. As he read the label, he went for the bestiality pun, “The Jetsons were kinky? I had no idea.”
Derek groaned. “I can't believe I'm going to let you screw me.”
This news stopped Stiles cold. He'd been a hair's breadth away from rolling the condom down Derek's cock. “I'm doing--you?”
“You are not in any way ready for the bottom,” Derek told him. Something Stiles was absolutely sure was absolutely true. “And I've...”
“If you mention Kate Argent again, I will throw up in your face.”
“...had some practice. Jeez!”
Instead of continuing the verbal give and take, Stiles busied himself with condom and lube, breaking away from their close contact. It felt like he was a puppet, being moved by someone else. He didn't know if he wanted to do this. He didn't know why Derek would let him. There were lots of Star Wars fanfics about tops and bottoms. Guy on guy. And he'd read all those books. He understood the basics. But actually penetrating someone...with his penis? Not just someone. Derek. Joining their bodies together seemed...not wrong, exactly, but surreal. What if he didn't like it?
What if he did?
When he was physically prepared, he said, “How does this work?”
“There's only one way you can go,” Derek said, rolling to his belly. “It's not complicated.”
Stiles positioned himself, close to the obvious opening into Derek's body, feeling around with slick fingers. Derek held very still, waiting. But Stiles couldn't make himself thrust up into him. Because then, he'd have done it. And, he might come. And then, tomorrow or the day after it would hit him that he'd come inside Derek Hale.
“Holy Mother of God. Now, I know what they mean by 'girding your loins'. If you lose control again you will probably crush me to paste.”
“I won't. Just, take it slow and easy.”
Stiles dribbled on some extra lube. He pushed all the air out of his lungs in a great huff. Then, gripping Derek's shoulder with one hand, he used the other to guide himself in slowly, but steadily. There was an initial resistance, before smooth, ridged muscle sheathed him. Wet heat. So hot. So tight. So fucking awesome. Stiles had to think about old people in thong bikinis to stop himself from popping off immediately. He had no idea how he would last for anything like five minutes of sex happening. Especially, if Derek kept wiggling around like he was doing.
“Sssst,” Stiles hissed. Derek stilled.
Stiles gulped in a breath or two. He bucked back to thrust. Derek clenched around him. Stiles punched his shoulder. There was no weight behind the blow, and it glanced off, but Derek still growled in protest.
“What?”
“Stop clenching.”
“Then, get on with it.”
“Derek, I swear...” Stiles snarled.
But, he found that ire worked for him, taking his mind off the range of exquisite sensations Derek produced. Stiles had no idea why people didn't use asshole as a compliment. Obviously, word hadn't gotten out about this, yet. Gritting his teeth he powered through a dozen, hard, fast, jerking hip movements. Driving deep. Pulling back only slightly. Things seemed to get easier, looser, as Derek relaxed into the experience. From the movement of Derek's elbow, Stiles knew he was stroking his own cock, keeping a different rhythm. Stiles picked up the pace, until they were pulling and pushing together, flesh slapping.
“Harder,” Derek ordered. Stiles complied. “Harder,” Derek said again, this time between clenched teeth. Stiles slammed into him and caught just a slight whimper.
He had a mental flash of Kate Argent, punishing Derek like this. It stopped him cold, freezing out all of his fun in one icy blast. Nausea churned bile into his mouth. He pulled straight out, pushing away, his erection going flaccid.
“No,” Derek said, in a voice that was too plaintive. Nothing like his usual gruff tone.
“What are you doing?” Stiles asked.
“Me?” Derek panted, rolling to glare at him. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I'll tell you what I'm not doing,” Stiles said. “I'm not going to hurt you so you feel better about yourself.”
“It didn't hurt.”
“I saw your face, Derek. I heard that sound. It made me sick.”
“Sex between men isn't all hearts and flowers, Stiles.”
Stiles shook his head. “Guess I'll stick with women.” He rolled the soiled condom off, tossing it aside. “You can call one of your girlfriends to finish up here. I'm going home.”
Derek came at him, more furious animal than anything, seizing him by the scruff of the neck. “I like it rough,” he snarled. “And you are not going anywhere?”
Stiles held his breath, but kept his gaze steady. “You don't like it rough. You expect it. There's a difference.”
Derek yanked him into a brutal kiss, dragging him forward, until Stiles lost his balance. So much for showing a werewolf who was boss. They fell into the pillows together, Derek's fingers clutching, bruising. The beer tasted bitter on his lips. Stiles tried to break free. They panted and pushed, as they wrestled for dominance. And then, they were nose to nose and somehow, the frantic shoving turned to slow strokes of Derek's palm along his side and up his back. Stiles felt his cock stirring again. Unbelievable. He wanted to smack Derek in the mouth. But the mouth entreated, pleading Derek's case. Derek feathered kisses from Stiles' lips to his cheeks, forced his eyelids closed with kisses. The kisses became nips and licks as Derek slithered lower. Stiles thought about rolling away, getting up and leaving. He didn't need this. He didn't come here to be manhandled. He didn't want Derek Hale nuzzling his privates. Or hovering above them, actually, because Derek had stopped moving. Stiles waited through a breathless pause, not sure what would happen next.
Lots of nothing happened. Stiles braced up on an elbow to meet Derek's eyes. He thought about making a joke. He thought about cussing or kicking. But he didn't do any of those things, because he'd never seen Derek look so uncertain.
“I've never,” Derek said, cutting a glance down and somehow conveying his lack of blow job expertise.
“Not even with,” Stiles wasn't going to say her name, not now, “strap ons?”
“She wanted to, but I wouldn't.”
“It's okay, I'm not...” Stiles began, thinking there was no way he would just lay here and let Derek's teeth wrap around his personal parts. Not after what had just happened with the forceful foreplay. No, he was going to go home to take a long shower and forget all about...
He saw Derek's tongue point flick over that tiny, impossibly sensitive, slit at his tip, lightly caressing the fold of skin. Son of a bitch! Just like that Stiles lost all righteous indignation. And his train of thought. All it took was that little concession to convince Stiles to stay. He relaxed into the supine and let Derek practice playing him. It took some coaxing with the oh-so-talented Hale tongue and a few instructions on technique, but eventually Stiles did swell again. Once he was hard, Derek climbed up his body, hand over hand. He hooked a leg around Stiles at his hip, knee riding up, pelvis tilting forward, until they were positioned perfectly for re-entry.
“Come inside,” Derek said, staring into his face. An invitation that was hard to resist.
“I lost my condom.”
“Even better,” Derek said, smiling like a slightly naughty angel.
Stiles shifted just enough to let them fit together. He rocked with Derek, hitching his hips until they were locked together. They could only manage small, controlled thrusts and corkscrew movements. Derek slipped an arm around Stiles at the neck and gripped his opposite shoulder. He held eye contact, even when Stiles put a hand between them to tug at Derek's cock. The pace quickened. Every few strokes Derek broke their united gaze long enough to kiss Stiles. It must be true, Stiles thought, I have a pretty mouth. They were tender kisses, at first, nothing wild about them. Stiles wondered if they were part of a strategy to keep him quiet, to keep his mouth busy.
But as they established a breathless tempo, riding hard toward mutual climax, Derek's lips, tongue and fingers grew more insistent. He couldn't seem to get close enough, wanting more and more contact, as if the supernatural poison in his blood longed to get under Stiles' skin. Stiles saw Derek's eyes glass over, eyelids growing heavy. His cock jerked, through a series of spasms. And his head dropped back to expose his throat. Stiles didn't need 28 hours of animal behavior videos to read that signal. Submission. He licked along Derek's jugular. Derek moaned, a guttural sound. Stiles echoed it. And sticky cum spurted between them, coating his fingers and their abs.
Neither of them acknowledged this, they just kept rocking, back and forth. Clenched tight around one another until Stiles let go, too. It took longer than he ever thought it could. But it was so much sweeter for the wait. When purple and gold stars stopped flashing on the inside of his eyelids, Stiles opened them. And found himself nosing into Derek's shoulder. He pushed away, only to fall forward, spiritually, into Derek's steady gaze. There it was--trust. A large predator at complete ease, Derek had surrendered. His expression made it clear. He would look to Stiles, his lover and emissary, for guidance, direction and reassurance. Stiles would have cheered, if it weren't for this soul-deep lethargy, dragging him toward sleep. Maybe after a short nap, he might gloat a little.
As if scenting the air of triumph, Derek snarled, “Just to be clear, I still hate you.”
Then, he kissed Stiles, again. This time exerting complete authority with a hard, possessive pressure, twisting lips against teeth. Stiles groaned. God. No more. Not tonight. Tomorrow. And, just like that, he knew. He would be back tomorrow. And next week. And Derek would welcome him. Because no way this was hate. And no matter what happened in the future, no matter who Stiles became, who he loved, he'd keep coming back to this.
It didn't matter how far he ran; he'd never escape his emissary role. If he moved to the other side of the country and went to college or stayed on in Beacon Hills to become Sheriff after his father...if he married Lydia and had three kids and six grandkids...his life would circle back to this give and take with Derek. When he was 82, he'd still want Derek Hale's mouth on his. Still want to push deep into Derek's hard body and feel him break in a climax. Stiles knew, now, beyond any doubt that bonding with a pack wasn't about sex on your eighteenth birthday. Bonding defined you, created your future. It had set him on a path he would walk for the rest of his life.
After they'd cleaned up a little, Stiles slipped back into bed and leaned his forehead against Derek's brow. There was no talk of leaving. Derek slowly traced fingertips up his spine. In those daydreaming seconds before full sleep, Stiles often thought of things that woke him up again. A question popped into his head. Stiles didn't stop to consider Derek's uncharacteristically passive mood, before letting the question out.
“Derek?”
“Hmmm?”
“How long before we can be sure you're not pregnant?”
THE END