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rabid1stSKIN ON SKIN
by Rabid1st
TeenWolf – Sterek
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Word Count Probably going to 15,000 at the end.
Warnings: Violence. Triggering for noncon. Actually Dubcon. Underage (Stiles is 17 yoa).
Beta Babes: Elsecarlass & Birthsister
Spoilers: Set in theoretical S4, some implications through S3a
Summary: Stiles takes a Blind!Derek home after they are pretty much outed to everyone. Established Stiles/Lydia relationship. Established Derek/Stiles friendship.
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and all of the characters belong to someone else, MTV or Jeff Davis or assorted parent companies. I write this for the amusement of myself and other fans of the show and expect no compensation beyond fandom feels.
Author's Notes: Pressing on with this fic by popular demand. No longer a one shot. It is finished. Final part at the betas. As for the warnings...this is NOT a fic about noncon sex. We find Stiles trying to help Derek and getting mixed messages--from Derek and his own heart. I can see how the rough play in this, the violent persuasion, might trigger someone who has experienced real non-con. This isn't as serious as it might appear outside the world of Teen Wolf. Derek can do a lot of damage if he's unrestrained. He's being as gentle as his wobbly fight or flight instincts allow him to be. He doesn't mean to be hurtful. At all. He's just not a good communicator. And he is a werewolf. And he wants Stiles. Derek is a very dominant receiver. The threats are posturing. In other words, you have to consider his inner anxieties.
PART TWO
Find it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/975296/chapters/1936229
Stiles opened his blue tooth connection to tell Scott they were coming out. Then, he steered Derek through the door and across the hanger-like space of the main warehouse. Full of questions, the others rushed at them when they appeared. Derek shrank away from the fresh air and a multitude of vibrations. Running feet coming at him made him crouch low. He called out to Stiles but his words morphed into an inhuman snarl. His fangs appeared and he tensed for a defensive spring. Stiles felt his heart stutter. He dropped into an instinctively protective posture. If Derek bolted he could be seriously injured, even killed, by traffic or a fall into the river. He could kill someone.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Stiles yelled, down on one knee to shelter Derek even as he threw a hand up, warding off the closing pack. “Stop! Everybody stop!”
The panic in his voice worked on his friends. Scott, Isaac and Allison halted in a loose semi-circle. But the scent of fear agitated Derek. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the pack exchanging worried glances.
“Stiles? Have you got him?” Allison asked.
“I don't know,” Stiles said, exasperated.
“We should take him to Deaton,” Scott said. “He's still out of control and pretty rank. I can smell him from here.”
“I'm taking him home,” Stiles said. “Somewhere familiar. Deaton can make a house call. Shit,” he said as he recalled Derek's keys were most likely back with his clothes. “Allison, could you go get his keys? They must be in his pants, still in that room.” He tried hauling Derek to his feet by an arm, but got nowhere. “Come on, buddy, up we go.”
Allison ran toward the warehouse, heedless of how her sharp movements registered on Derek. He shuddered against Stiles. Terrified again. Wolfed out and refusing to stand upright. An animal overwhelmed by stimuli. Stiles mentally assessed the scene, traffic on the road, breeze off the river, lapping waves and boats, people milling around. Derek, the poison still confounding his senses, would be bombarded by thousands of unfamiliar smells and meaningless vibrations. Alone in the dark, he had forgotten how to be human, but Stiles knew how to remind him. He put a hand on Derek's neck, pulling him closer. His fingers tangled in dark hair, petting, soothing, as he aligned Derek's ear above his own heart. Head bent, Stiles took deep measured breaths. Calm. Calm. He sent his exhalations across Derek's face, giving him something familiar to scent, hoping to make him feel contained and protected.
A self-satisfied humming noise left Scott’s throat and Isaac actually gasped. Stiles lifted his gaze to his best friend's face. One glance was enough to tell him he'd been outed. The pack knew werewolf intimacy when they saw it. Scott raised an eyebrow, and smirked, as if he'd suspected this all along. But at least he seemed unfazed by the knowledge. Good. Because, other than Lydia, Stiles really didn't give a fuck who knew he was practically cheating on her at this point.
He was pond scum. He would live with it. He’d just have to pray nobody told her before he could. And how much of a kick to the balls was his life? After a decade of stalking the girl of his dreams, he blows her off for a man who wouldn’t have touched him yesterday, and probably wouldn’t want to look at him tomorrow? This was how affairs ruined people. You just got swept up in the feelings.
He flagged a hand at Scott. “Let him get your scent,” he said. “Hold your nose or something.”
“It's not just my nose, Dude. It burns my eyes, too.”
“Oh, my God! Scott? He can't hear. He can't see.”
Stiles would have said more, but Scott was already moving. Placing his feet carefully, he shifted up wind and came closer. He drew Isaac with him. Both of them coughed and teared up as they neared. But Stiles felt Derek relaxing as the familiar scents found him. The Alpha. His Pack. Safety in numbers. One clawed hand wrapped around Stiles at the wrist. Derek was coming back to him. He understood what was happening, that Stiles had done this, made it easier. And they weren't even kissing. Stiles called that progress.
Allison appeared at the doorway. Realizing Derek could feel, but not hear, Scott shouted for her to walk back. When she was closer, Stiles asked her to drive them to Derek’s place.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because they can't take the smell,” Stiles told her. “And I can't hold him and drive.” He tossed Scott his own keys. “Take the jeep. Bring Deaton.”
Allison brought her car as close as she dared and Stiles managed to persuade Derek to stand and be maneuvered into the back seat. His extra long canines seemed to be making Allison very nervous as she took the wheel. Stiles didn’t want to apply the only sure cure, until Allison was focused on the road. As soon as she stopped checking the mirror, he kissed Derek back to human form. And, okay, now he was outed to Allison, too, because Derek didn't return silently. God, he could talk dirty.
That mouth. Finally, on his again. Thoughts of blood cleared away. Now he wanted sex. But, okay. God help him. Stiles was heavenly. Bet your blow jobs are great, baby. Wet and warm and sweet and silken soft. And Derek was going to make him his, because somehow he'd always wanted this and never known. He cupped his hands around Stile’s face and swept his tongue into that mouth, savoring the different textures as he found them. Blunt teeth. Plump lips. Slick tongue. The taste drew him out of his wolf-mind and plunged him into a lake of profound desire. He couldn’t stop confessing every sinful thought he had. Couldn't possibly get close enough to Stiles. Be human enough, gentle enough for him.
Why hadn’t he known this yesterday? How had he missed all of this soul-stirring heat? There were feelings bundled up in his gut like cords of wood. Emotions he'd cut and stored for a long winter. That’s what this isolation reminded him of—winter. The chill. The emptiness. The despair. Every scent magnified against crisp air. A bone-deep cold. His need for warmth. God, Stiles. Heat me up.
Christ. Get a grip. If only this had happened to them last year before Stiles had Lydia. Before Jennifer. He’d felt a shadow of this yearning with her. An urge to connect. But, Stiles lit him up inside. All he needed. Everything he needed. Just within reach. But he couldn’t just have him. Allison was too close. And it wouldn’t be civilized. Stiles didn’t want this. Not, like he did. Stiles was still in high school. Seventeen. Too young.
Grappling with that truth, forced Derek to end the kiss. He pulled away. As soon as he did, he felt sick. Dizzy. Disoriented. He liked cars, most canines did. Driving fast with the rush of wind in his face always left him a little cocky. But without sight or sound, the stop and go motion made his head spin. He clung to Stiles, again, knowing he should sit up, be a man. Stiles caressing him, stroking through his hair and down his neck. That particular touch made his cock twitch. His throat and scruff were both sensitive areas. His mind conjured up images as clear as a vision. Stiles naked, gasping under him. Stiles coming into him, all over him. So sexy. Derek felt his breath catch. Allison would hear him. Discover their secret. In his current state of partial undress, surely anyone could see how much he enjoyed being petted. Yes. Stiles was adjusting the robe, covering him more completely. He’d get smacked in a moment. Stiles was the only one who ever dared to discipline him.
Stiles burned with embarrassment. Surely, Derek could feel him blushing. Because, even if those sexy mutterings hadn't carried over the hum of the engine and the CD she was playing, Allison had to know by now that he and Derek were sharing something deeper than ordinary male bonding in the back seat. To her credit, Stiles only caught her glancing into the mirror once. And that was because Derek made a noise, like…like he wanted to rip Stiles apart and put him back together again. Stiles hastily rearranged the robe, covering up an erection so gorgeous he frankly wanted to stare at for an hour. He actually considered taking a picture for later study. Man parts were not beautiful, only this one kind of was. It was uncut. Raw power, sculpted by the supernatural, like the rest of Derek.
Noticing that, at least, wasn’t new for Stiles. He’d often fumed, in their combative past, over how perfectly formed Derek Hale was, how effortlessly stunning even when soaking wet or bloodied. He'd sort of hated it. But he’d never actually crossed the line into lust before tonight. Now, all he could think about was using that body. Tasting it. Touching it. Being inside it. Riding it. He seemed to be versatile in his longings. If he and Derek did start something, he was pretty sure they wouldn't put any limits on what they did together. No actual pain, of course. Though, judging by tonight, Stiles didn't mind it a little rough.
“You are not helping,” Derek said, making Stiles jump with his reasonable tone. “This car reeks of your fantasies.” Stiles drew an N on the back of his hand. “Yes it does,” Derek said, leaning very close to his ear. “Open a window or I’ll take care of you right here.”
Had he just said that? What was wrong with his usually reliable filters? When had he even allowed such thoughts to linger in his mind? He was nothing if not compartmentalized. Though, he'd never been exactly shy when he wanted a girl, this urge to verbalize was new. Still Allison was with them, watching, listening. And everything he was talking about was illegal. Guilt compounded his sense of loss as Stiles moved away from him. Derek swallowed a whimper. He was officially pathetic. A whipped dog. He curled into a ball, resting his cheek against the door to better absorb the vibrations. Stiles reached past him. Derek resisted grabbing him. The window hummed down. A gusty breeze scented with traffic smells slapped at his face. Bracing. Like a cold shower. Good. He needed that.
He wasn’t going to pounce on Stiles and fuck his brains out. That would be barbaric. And also…what?Wrong. And…illegal. And okay, he really shouldn’t have thought about doing it, because now he wanted to do it even more. His Karma, the bitch. This was so like her. Just when he was getting his life together... This happens? Fuck his miserable fucking luck. Would the pack still respect him in the morning? Probably not. Did he care? Not if he could have Stiles all the time. In all the ways he could imagine. They could runaway together. Live in the woods. No law. No scorn. The world could go to Hell.
Before the car stopped, he scented familiar surroundings. His place. They’d taken him home. Oh, he loved them for that. He’d imagined they were going to Deaton’s office or a hospital. The poking and prodding, and endless questions would exhaust him. He just wanted to crawl into a hole and recover.
“Home? Was this you?” he asked Stiles and grinned when the Y confirmed it.
I love you. He almost didn’t catch the words before they spilled out of his mouth. Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. This isn’t love. He didn’t love a seventeen year old straight boy who bounced around him like a toddler on a sugar high. That was ridiculous. This was…lust, hunger, need, emptiness? Something else. Anything. Think Derek. Something achingly sweet and soul-deep and…damn, damn, damn. Karma. Shit. An affair. This was an affair. He was having an emotional affair with Stiles. That's why it felt so good. Because it was so obviously wrong. A torrid desire brought on by circumstances beyond their control. Wicked. Dangerous. He should tell Stiles to go. He could manage from here on his own. Find his way to the door and around his apartment. Alone. Alone. In the dark. In the silence.
But Stiles was all over him. That scent. Those capable hands. Tugging on Derek, coaxing him out of the car, wrapping an arm around his waist. Stiles breathing hard. So close. Exhaling into Derek's skin. A tingling sensation lifted the short hairs along Derek’s arms and all over his torso. Tingling everywhere. Great. Screw you, Stiles. Fast and dirty. From behind. Derek had another flash of the two of them, sneaking around. He could get off so easily on that. Pulling Stiles into closed spaces and pushing him up against walls. Allison should go. Stiles should get closer. Stiles should get naked and closer. And be loved like nobody ever had been loved. Because…he could do that. He could love Stiles. Shit. No. He was thinking it again. Stop. Stop it. Damn it, Derek. No sneaking around. No kissing. No touching. And definitely, absolutely, no making love to Stiles. Twitchy. Annoyingly verbal. Already taken. Underage. Stiles.
Allison came in with them. Of course, she wanted to wait for Scott and Isaac. Stiles wanted her gone. Not because he needed to be alone with Derek, although, okay, he needed to be alone with Derek. But, also, Allison was Lydia’s best friend. And everything he was doing felt so much worse when he was one degree of Kevin Bacon away from discovery. If only he could leave, talk to Lydia, tell her. Yeah, tell her what? Mostly that he couldn't leave, not even for her sake, because Derek needed him. And Derek was all that mattered.
Yes, I'm sorry, Lydia. Derek kissed me, a lot, many, many times. And I got off on it. Wanted more. We made out in the back of Allison’s car. Because we couldn't help it. Because we couldn't stop, even though our brains were yelling at us to stop. This isn't about you. Really. You are great. I loved you, from afar, like forever. Stalked you, convinced you to date me and now when I finally have you...this happens. This happens, because...I can't help myself. Because...I love Derek Hale? Fuck! No. He didn’t love Derek. They were friends. Good friends. Friends who might want to have sex about a hundred times. Friends who might cling to each other in a crisis and kiss and sneak around to meet secretly. Oh, he wanted to screw Derek in seedy motel rooms and broom closets and the back seat of that SUV of his. Strictly on the down low. Only not so much, because everyone would know. Everyone did know. Sorry about that Lydia. I'm so sorry everyone knows. But…okay…he was going to have to tell Allison something.
They had taken seats in the living room. Derek and Stiles were on the sofa, too close to each other, fingers entwined. Allison perched on the arm of a chair.
As Stiles opened his mouth, to explain or excuse himself, his phone rang. He disentangled a hand from Derek’s clasp and took the call. “Scott! Yeah. Okay. No, I can do that. How long? Right. Right. Can you pick up some clothes from my house, too? I’ll call my dad, tell him where I am.”
He killed the connection and smiled at Allison. “That was Scott. Deaton said no house calls. This clears up on its own in a few days. Scott's bringing some eye wash and pills. Derek needs to take a real shower. Do you want to help with that?”
“Uh. No.” Allison said. She stood with undo haste and Stiles pressed his lips together to avoid smirking. “I can just go home, if you don’t need me to stay.”
“We’ll be fine,” Stiles assured her. “If you talk to Lydia, tell her I’m tied up here, but I’ll see her soon.”
“You’ll probably call her later,” Allison said, making it sound like a forlorn hope.
“Right. I will. Absolutely.”
Stiles patted him three times, before leaving him alone. Just what he wanted. Me time. He counted seconds off in his head to hold down the panic. The floorboards told him Allison was walking to the door with Stiles at her heels. The door opened and she left. Good. No witnesses. Stop it. Stiles turned the dead bolt. The loud clunk echoed. Tiny vibrations bounced off Derek’s skin. Alone at last. No interruptions. Stiles didn't come back. Derek pulled his feet up, curled into a ball. Stiles? Stiles! Where are you? Lots of scent but no vibrations. Derek tensed, his muscles started shaking. Two taps.
I am here.
There, by the door, standing still. Derek took a firm grip on his desire to bolt toward him. Sit. Stay. Good dog. Maybe Stiles was calling someone. His dad? Lydia? Not a problem. This was Derek's home. His sofa. He was safe and... he could hold out alone for...a few minutes. Stiles! Thank God. He grabbed him, pulled him close again. No kissing this time. Just a hug. Breathing in the scent. He stopped trembling. Gave Stiles a little pat and released him. The worst of his isolation was over, he hoped.
There could be no more excuses for bad behavior. Stiles was his friend. Nothing more. His mostly straight, underage, male friend, the one with the storybook romance. Crap. Why did he have to think about the girlfriend? How was he going to look Lydia in the eye the next time they met? I tried to bang your boyfriend. And we kissed. Nonstop. Nonstop kissing. Sorry, about that. He's a good kisser, though.
Three pats from Stiles. Good boy. Like he was a frigging poodle or something. And he didn’t hate it, not even a little bit. He wanted patting, petting, those caressing fingers. In his hair. On his skin. On his cock. Tickling. Teasing. Who the hell was he trying to kid? This wasn't over. He wasn't all better. He was blind and deaf and needy as a newborn pup. I banged your boyfriend and now he’s mine. Mine. Not yours. Screw you, Lydia. Yeah. That sounded better.
Stiles dragged on his arm. Manhandled him to his feet. Tried to steer him without too much success. Derek played for more contact. Focused on orienting himself to the furniture. Echo locating like a bat. He knew when they were pointed toward the bathroom. He could scent the mildew and soap and water. Well, he could use a bathroom break. And maybe a shower, too. Was that the idea? Showering together? Please let that be the plan. Son of a bitch, he was losing it.
Tile under his feet. Warm hands on his chest. Stiles hands. Long tapered fingers, stripping off his dirty robe, exposing him to chilled air and lingering glances. He could feel Stiles staring. Coveting him with a heated gaze. It made his skin twitch. His wolf senses registered a hunter in the room. Stiles stalking him. Hungry. He was always putting things in his mouth. Chewing. Derek found and clasped a slender wrist, holding on too long. It got weird. Okay, it was already weird. It got scary, waking up his beast. And he let go. The ambient scent of desire compounded in an instant, telling him he wasn't imagining things. You want a taste of me. I'm easy, Stiles. Take me down.
Don’t just look. Touch. Put your hands on me. Pet. Rub. Tug. Screw fidelity. Screw statutory consent. Screw me. Sweet mother of everything Holy. Come on. Imply permission. Make your move. Derek ached with the need to pounce first. But he didn’t dare. There were too many hazards in the room. Too many ways to injure Stiles, emotionally, physically. Break his bones. Bruise his ego. A slip. A fall. A blow to the head. Derek shuddered. So cold from the waiting, the wanting.
Why was he waiting? This was his home. He didn’t have to wait for Stiles to okay his actions. He could jerk off if he wanted. Touch himself, by way of example. He’d have to touch himself, in fact, if he intended to use the toilet. Feeling almost virtuous, he located the edge of the sink, sliding his hand along it. He jumped when the shower thundered to life. The sound of falling water vibrated through the floor and air. The ionic smells teased his nose. Now he really had to pee.
Urinating was tricky, even in light of his full bladder. He was partially hard and unable to relax completely. Also, aiming without sight or hearing proved difficult. He hoped he was on target. Pissing on the floor was just pathetic. Finished, he flushed and fumbled for the shower doors. He paused to visualize the room. He edged sideways and bumped his toe. Bathtub. He took an exaggerated step over the lip of the tub, placing his feet carefully to avoid slipping. He found the body wash by scent. Searched for his shower puff. Stiles seemed to have vanished into the smell of rushing water. Derek took a deep breath. Nothing. Had he gone or was he just staying well out of range? Derek tried to be okay alone. It felt good to be wet, clean. The hot water embraced him. It took the edge off Derek's desperation, even as it stimulated him to a full erection.
“Still with me?” Derek asked, as the shower stream engulfed him.
Stiles slapped the shower door, twice. He wasn't going anywhere. Couldn't look away. His mouth had gone bone dry. He’d seen a man urinate before, of course. Did it himself a few times a day. It had never made him horny. But he’d become a voyeur all of a sudden and every single thing about Derek’s blissful lack of modestly was turning him on. He toed off his sticky shoes and socks, thinking he might wash his feet. But watching Derek orient to shower stole his attention. He should have this on video. He'd never need porn again. Stiles let his fingers drift toward the pocket where he kept his phone and somehow they ended up at his fly. He was rock hard under it. His dick throbbed. Before he could consciously acknowledge he was undressing, he'd yanked the zipper down and pushed his jeans to his ankles. He had to be in there. Derek needed him close, skin on skin. He needed it, too.
Scott was on his way over. Stiles didn’t care. Lydia was still his girlfriend. Stiles didn't care. Part of his mind recalled wanting to take this slow, but his reason had abdicated, leaving impulse in charge. He was going to fuck Derek Hale. Now. Not later. Not tomorrow or next week. Derek wanted it. He wanted it. And maybe it was wrong. And maybe he had no idea how to do it. But, the dam had broken and they couldn’t just pretend it was still there. Sink or swim, they were going to get wet. He thumped the tub twice to alert Derek to his proximity and stepped down hard as he entered the shower. Derek, slick with suds, found him in a heartbeat, occupied his personal space, filled his hands, filled his mouth.
“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes,” Derek chanted, breaking away from the first cascade of kissing. A torrent of filthy suggestions followed that affirmation.
Derek should talk all the time, Stiles thought. Why didn’t he talk all the time? Maybe because this was what he had to say? And he’d had nobody to say it to for most of his life. The idea of him saying any of these things to Miss Blake or Kate Argent made Stiles grimace. He tried to shove those thoughts away. The last thing he wanted to imagine was Derek with one of his psycho girlfriends. And surely he had never told Miss Blake he wanted her on her knees. That he could make her scream and beg and cry and would. That he would never, ever stop wanting her splayed naked under him. No, he’d been quiet in bed like he was in life, Stiles was sure of it. Silent and sweet, controlled in his every touch. But not any more. Dam broken.
Skin on skin with Stiles. Against his mouth. Under his hands. Between his fingers. On his tongue. Stiles everywhere, sliding his palms up Derek’s belly, over his chest, around to his back. Hot water pummelling them both. Derek wanted more than touching, he wanted them inside one another. He’d never had such intense feelings for anyone, certainly not another man. It had to be the sensory deprivation. He wanted sex like he was sixteen again. Words bubbled up from some artisan well of suppressed need. He always talked dirty in bed. He just usually kept it to himself. Bit down hard on his tongue, like he did on every impulse. The things he was saying now would have made him cringe, but he couldn’t hear himself. So, he didn't care. Until his hearing returned.
The first thing he heard clearly was a guttural cry when he fisted his fingers around Stiles’ soap-slicked cock. As he relished the feel of uncut foreskin, so familiar to his hand, he realized he’d been hearing the water and their breathing for some time. The internal vibrations hadn’t registered as sound. He focused his attention and heard Stiles panting by his ear. He could feel and hear their racing heartbeats, synced to one another. And the helpless noises Stiles made, the little mews of pleasure. So erotic. So fucking hot. Derek wanted to make him scream.
But most of all he wanted to hear his name. Say it. Say my name. Moan it, while I'm driving you out of your mind. While I'm jacking you off. Absolve me of my sins. Tell me this is what you really want.
He didn’t know if he asked out loud. But there it was. His name, in the mouth, on the lips. Yes. Fuck. So good. Arousing. He didn't know he could get more turned on, but that did it. Just what he wanted. Derek avoided kissing, swallowed his own words. Nearly gagged on them. He wanted to talk. But he needed to hear Stiles babbling away. The things he was saying boggled Derek's mind. Amazing, perfect things.
“Derek, don't stop. Like that. Just like that. God. You...Uh…” Stiles sucked in air. His head slammed forward. And he resorted to nonverbal sounds, whining for a few beats, his breath feathering along Derek's skin. Then, he drew in a deeper gasp. “Oh...shit. Talk to me.”
Take me to bed. Fuck me. And I'll talk. You want this. I want you. Fuck me and I'll say anything, everything I'm thinking right now. You. Fucking beautiful thing. Stiles. You can be mine. My sweet, hot, filthy...fallen angel. Every night. I need you. Under me. On top of me. I want to come inside you. In your mouth. Feel you in me. Deep inside. Your cock deep inside.
“I want to fuck you so bad, Derek. Fuck you 'til you break. So hard.”
“Show me. Fuck my hand, hard as you want.”
“Derek? Please, no more. Let me come.”
Derek pumped slow, and then fast, in an uneven rhythm that kept Stiles begging. Pushed him close to the precipice, hovering right at the edge of climax. The longer Stiles lasted the better it would be when he finally came. But he was young and eager. Not used to waiting. He writhed and clawed and pleaded until Derek had to relent. He brought their bodies together, fisting around both dicks as best he could. Stiles slipped a hand into the sliver of space between them to help with friction. Those deft Stiles fingers, slender as a woman's. Capable and strong like a man. They worked their magic. Stiles covered his mouth with a surprisingly languid kiss. Derek groaned. Ready to go.
So much for holding off, delaying gratification. Derek twitched as goosebumps raced up his arms. A spurt of cum caressed him, coating his knuckles. Graceful fingers drew the viscous mess along his entire length. Stiles. Coming. Now. A sticky-slick rope of fluid snaked across Derek's skin. It pulsed in time with a series of contractions from Stiles. They bucked together. With the hand at the back of Derek’s neck, Stiles held on as he greedily sucked tongue. His fingers and teeth left transient bruises. Derek wished they could last a week. The firm press of flesh on flesh. Stiles gripping his cock. Stiles all over him, moaning, coming apart. Derek's fell backward into a burst of starlight. No more darkness. Every muscle in his body tensed and quivered. He drew taut and released. And their scents mingled into one glorious amalgamation. A signature aroma. His whole house was going to smell like that—his bed, his sheets, his towels, his clothes. He might never leave home again.
It ended in what seemed like silence, but was actually desperate, shuddering gasps. Sweat slicked flesh went lax under their hands. Derek used his supernatural strength to brace them both as their legs shook. Stiles slumped into him, deboned, and Derek slid an arm around his waist. Their muscles were pliant, creating a softness under Stiles' skin. Derek snuggled into it.
“I wish I could see you, right now,” he said, backing Stiles into a corner, getting as close as he could. “Soft and wet. Pupils blown wide. Muscles fucked loose. Lips swollen. I want you to wrap that wicked mouth around me, Stiles. Suck me back to life.”
“Oh, dude, have some mercy,” Stiles said on a breathless moan. “If you could hear yourself. Oh, my God. I got nothing left. I think your hand job is better than sex. I can't even...I just can't.”
“I bet you can.”
“Shit! What? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“Asshole,” Stiles said, slapping weakly at his upper arm. “Duplicitous fucker. I mean, I'm happy for you, and all, but...how could you just let me say those things?”
“Don’t do that,” Derek said, his fingers questing up to find the thumbnail Stiles had started chewing on. He give the hand a tug. Stiles let him have it. The touch was gentle, but Derek looked angry as he said, “Don’t worry. It was sexy.”
“When did you...? What did you hear?”
“When you said my name.”
“I said your name about a million times.”
“I know,” Derek said, sliding back a bit and flashing a cocky grin.
Stiles couldn't laugh, though he knew Derek wanted him to. How could they relax? Make this normal, just a moment between friends. This felt momentous. More than he could take.
“Not before I got in the shower, right? Please tell me you didn't hear that.”
“What did you say before we got in the shower?”
“I can't remember,” Stiles mumbled. “But it was completely appropriate.”
And now it’s awkward. Shit. Derek let go of Stiles, backed away. He ducked under the stream of the shower to clear his head. Most of the hot water was gone. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut all of a sudden? And, if he had to talk, why couldn't he say anything right? Stiles could be so witty. Derek listened, heard him come closer. Close. But not close enough. Unbelievable. Still horny. Both of them. How was that even possible? He could hear Stiles rinsing off, getting rid of their mingled scent. It should stay on him. He should never leave Derek's side, again. But, if he did. If he wandered into the world...Derek wanted him marked. Mine. Not the Alpha’s. Not Lydia’s. Mine. My Stiles. Fucked well and happy.
“Can you talk to me?” Stiles asked, as Derek shut off the taps. “Do you want me to go? Because this is awkward.”
“No.”
“You still want a blow job?”
“Yes.”
“Guess I don't need to be on my feet for that, right?”
Derek took a deep breath, head low. Stiles watched him. His eyes traced the triskelion as he waited for a snarl, some warning from a large dangerous animal that he'd cross the line. Werewolf in close proximity. Muscles tensed. Unpredictable. A frisson of fear raised the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck. What were they doing here? What did he want to do? His stomach filled with butterflies. He could feel every sphincter tightening, as Derek turned back to him.
“No. But...what I want is—what I want—is…”
Even blind he couldn't face it, this need in him to belong, to be mastered. Let Stiles go. He wants to go. Nobody sane wants to fuck you, Derek. And you don't want a man. Half mad on the full moon? Sure. Almost anything goes in the right company. He'd let that pair of bitch Omegas ream his ass in Tijuana. That didn't mean he liked it. He hadn't even come for them. Just let them use him. And he barely remembered it. Blood. Bruising. Punishment. He'd been violently ill afterwards. Human. No. Stiles? Hell no! This was already too awkward. He blew a long exhale through tense lips. Just say it. Just tell him.
“You. Inside. Fucking me. Hard. Like you said. Let's do it.”
“Oh, my God! Are you sure you can hear yourself? Because this is not you.”
“It is.”
Stiles shuffled backward. “Right, so, you've come out. And I don't hate it. Because, I might be ambisextrous... But seriously, dude...?”
“Problems?” Derek said.
“Ninety-nine plus problems,” Stiles said. “And Lydia is definitely one. Derek…? Look, I was just so turned on by the hot water and your hot hands everywhere. But, I don’t know if I can…carry on...taking advantage of your...condition.”
“If you don't want to, then...you should go.”
“Yeah. So you know, that's reading dickish to me. Maybe you don't realize, but telling me to leave, just because I hesitate to put out makes you sound like a pushy son of a bitch. Which you are.”
“That's not what I meant,” Derek snarled. “It's just.. It's over.”
Over. It was over. He must have been out of his mind to suggest... Because it was a horrible idea. He was relieved. He was. Maybe. He was, also, sort of nauseated. Angry. Exhausted. Embarrassed. Alone. This was why he didn't open up to people. His depths were too deep. Emotions flooded him. And he turned stupid. Needy. A dominate receiver. Fucked up. Fucked over. Kate and Jennifer and Peter all pushing him around. His shoulders tensed. He tried to shrug it out. Cold. Shivering. Empty. God, he needed Stiles to fix this, be kind to him. Heat him up again, help him relax. And he didn't want to need anyone. It was too dangerous. Hadn't he learned his lesson from Paige and Kate and Jennifer? How many lessons did he need? Just one more.
So, he'd lost his eyesight and hearing and bearings. And in the confusion, he'd gotten his wires crossed, somehow. Shit happened in the dark. You could trip and fall. He'd gotten turned around. Ended up gay for Stiles. But he could find his way now. Orient himself to the world. He patted over to a towel and ducked under it to cover his face, wanting to hide. The last thing he needed was to show any more weakness. Come on, Derek, get it together. Walk away. Mutual masturbation was a party game. Everybody did it. No big deal. Shut it down. Step away from the school boy.
Stiles shoved the shower door open and stomped out into the room, careless about slipping. Concern drew Derek out of hiding. “Over. Is that what you think? It's over?”
“I don't want to talk about it.”
“You don't want to talk. Big surprise.” Stiles started drying off vigorously. He muttered curses under his breath for a bit and then said, “So now we have this groping out of our system, we can just go back to our old lives. Good to know.”
“If you don't want to, then...”
“I didn't say that. I didn't say I didn't want to,” Stiles said. “I just never have. If you are thinking I have, then I’ve misrepresented my experience level.”
Like I give a fuck. Don't taunt the werewolf, Stiles. You should know better.
“And I don’t even know what we’re doing here…like this.” He watched Derek feel his way to the opening and step out of the tub. “You're my friend. And I'm a cheating weasel, I guess. And you...?”
...are weak. Pathetic. Crazy. Breakable. You could break me, Stiles. I can feel the give inside when you press down on me like this. If we push this any further... If I let you...let you...if you just one time...came into me. Then, we will see what happens next. Because I don't know.
“I don't know about you right now. Are you helpless? Angry?”
“I'm not angry.” Derek said. And Stiles threw a towel at him.
“Could have fooled me. Look, don't stand there naked and scowling. I want you, okay? I do.”
You want me. Have me. I'm yours. Say. You. Will. Say it.
“But, tomorrow you are going to wake up sober and straight.”
Tomorrow, I will follow you around at heel, dogging your steps like a fucking cocker spaniel.
“What do youwant, Stiles?”
“I don't know, Derek. When you kiss me, when you touch me, I can’t even think straight.” Stiles laughed. “No pun intended.”
“In that case,” Derek said, lunging forward.”
Using body heat and motion to guide his strike, he located Stiles easily. He'd be as good as Deucalion with this by tomorrow. He all but threw Stiles into the shower door. It banged. God. Don't hurt him. Be gentle. Firm. But gentle. He pressed along Stiles, breathed down his neck. Walking his fingertips from chest to throat, he found a soft cheek, rotated the head and initiated a kiss that lasted until they were forced to break for air. They separated only slightly; it felt like being torn in two.
“Let me make this easy for you. Fuck me, Stiles.”
“It's not...”
Derek plunged them under the influence, again, kissing, caressing. He grazed his fingertips down Stiles, making taut stomach muscles quiver. Grabbing a handful of ass and an arm, he gently, but firmly, faced Stiles into a corner, sliding around behind him, using tongue and teeth on his shoulders. A growl rumbled low in his throat.
Quake. Tremble. Try to escape. And I'll hunt you down. Scream if you want it rougher than this. He was losing control. Werewolves did in the heat of attraction. But his kind healed. Stiles wouldn't. You could damage humans, permanently. Thank God, Stiles knew better than to struggle. He reached up to clutch at Derek's hair, his fingers yanking too hard. Tugging on the leash. Settle. Settle Derek. Remember me. Derek sighed. He wanted blood now, but he couldn't hurt Stiles. Gently, he cupped his balls, weighing them in his palm. Stiles shivered and squeaked. Like prey. Damn. Derek's fingers tightened, nearly too much, but not quite. His mouth flooded with saliva. His bite force turned bruising and he sucked until he could taste blood just under the skin.
“Alright. You win. Holy crap. I will. I want to. You jerk bastard.”
Surrender. Sweet. Smart bunny.
Derek released Stiles' balls and licked the mark he'd just created. “You love me. You said so.”
“I did not,” Stiles said, but the quaver in his voice told Derek he might have. “Did I? Well, I take it back. Because you suck. And not in any good way.”
He jabbed an elbow into Derek's ribs, forcing him to move or turn forceful again. Derek relented. Breathing heavily, he stepped away. The release happened so abruptly Stiles staggered. Instinctively, Derek put a hand out to steady him. And just that one touch, skin on skin, drew a sigh out of him. Derek shifted close again. He embraced Stiles, folding the towel around him, coddling him now. Placing chaste kisses on top of the bruising. Stiles sniffed and fumbled around with his towels. Derek winced at the catch in his breath.
“Did I hurt you?”
“You scared me, you psycho werewolf jackass! Good to know you could kill me, maul me, have your way with me whenever it suits you.”
“No. Not easily. You didn't try to stop me.”
“Stop you? Right!” He laughed, a bitter sound without any humor.
“You always can. Just...don't be scared.”
“What was that, then?”
“Instinct. Werewolf stuff. I want you.”
“Yeah, fucking unbridled desire,” Stiles said giving a snort. This time his chuckle sounded shaky but lighter. “I didn't miss that you wanted me. You are not subtle. I know you are on the edge right now, but...stop Jekyll and Hyding all over the place.”
“Okay.”
“You don't deserve my sex confessions.”
He didn't deserve Stiles. Love. Tenderness. No need to remind him of that. He'd left Stiles bruised, and nearly bloodied. That was what he did. He hurt people. They hurt him. There was nothing even remotely lovable about him. He could be useful. People used him. They didn't want to know him, love him. He was scary. So, he'd lied. To lighten the mood. Pretending, for a moment, that he and Stiles were more than horny friends.
“I know.”
He tried to look sheepish, difficult for a werewolf. Listening for the catch in his breath, he could tell when Stiles’ mouth dropped open.
“You liar. You didn't hear me confess anything.” He came at Derek, smacking him, but not hard. “Payback is coming. I'm going to fuck you up. Fuck you until you are nothing but grateful. Don't push a man with streaming porn connections, Derek.”
Derek chuckled. “Sorry. Sorry. I'll be good.”
“How old are you? Five?’
“Twenty-two Wolf Moons,” Derek said, sobering as he owned his age. He sighed heavily, slinking toward the living room. “And thank you for reminding me that I'm breaking the law.”
“No, feel guilty. You should. But not about that. Because I thought you were 30.”
“30? Jesus.”
"You are not ageing well, buddy." Stiles followed him, bare feet slapping on tile. “Too much hard living. Not enough good times. Unless... Are you lying again? Friends don't lie to friends who agree to homosexual dalliances. How can you be 22? That means you were like twelve in High School.”
“Eleven,” Derek said. “We mature faster. At least, we look mature, earlier. Real wolves are sexually mature at three. Werewolf metabolism kicks puberty's ass. How do you think Cora survived?”
“That explains a lot about you, actually. So, how many years do you have left?” Stiles said, stepping close. “Are you like a Great Dane? Should we stop wasting time, here?”
by Rabid1st
TeenWolf – Sterek
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Word Count Probably going to 15,000 at the end.
Warnings: Violence. Triggering for noncon. Actually Dubcon. Underage (Stiles is 17 yoa).
Beta Babes: Elsecarlass & Birthsister
Spoilers: Set in theoretical S4, some implications through S3a
Summary: Stiles takes a Blind!Derek home after they are pretty much outed to everyone. Established Stiles/Lydia relationship. Established Derek/Stiles friendship.
Disclaimer: Teen Wolf and all of the characters belong to someone else, MTV or Jeff Davis or assorted parent companies. I write this for the amusement of myself and other fans of the show and expect no compensation beyond fandom feels.
Author's Notes: Pressing on with this fic by popular demand. No longer a one shot. It is finished. Final part at the betas. As for the warnings...this is NOT a fic about noncon sex. We find Stiles trying to help Derek and getting mixed messages--from Derek and his own heart. I can see how the rough play in this, the violent persuasion, might trigger someone who has experienced real non-con. This isn't as serious as it might appear outside the world of Teen Wolf. Derek can do a lot of damage if he's unrestrained. He's being as gentle as his wobbly fight or flight instincts allow him to be. He doesn't mean to be hurtful. At all. He's just not a good communicator. And he is a werewolf. And he wants Stiles. Derek is a very dominant receiver. The threats are posturing. In other words, you have to consider his inner anxieties.
PART TWO
Find it on AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/975296/chapters/1936229
Stiles opened his blue tooth connection to tell Scott they were coming out. Then, he steered Derek through the door and across the hanger-like space of the main warehouse. Full of questions, the others rushed at them when they appeared. Derek shrank away from the fresh air and a multitude of vibrations. Running feet coming at him made him crouch low. He called out to Stiles but his words morphed into an inhuman snarl. His fangs appeared and he tensed for a defensive spring. Stiles felt his heart stutter. He dropped into an instinctively protective posture. If Derek bolted he could be seriously injured, even killed, by traffic or a fall into the river. He could kill someone.
“Whoa! Whoa!” Stiles yelled, down on one knee to shelter Derek even as he threw a hand up, warding off the closing pack. “Stop! Everybody stop!”
The panic in his voice worked on his friends. Scott, Isaac and Allison halted in a loose semi-circle. But the scent of fear agitated Derek. From the corner of his eye, Stiles saw the pack exchanging worried glances.
“Stiles? Have you got him?” Allison asked.
“I don't know,” Stiles said, exasperated.
“We should take him to Deaton,” Scott said. “He's still out of control and pretty rank. I can smell him from here.”
“I'm taking him home,” Stiles said. “Somewhere familiar. Deaton can make a house call. Shit,” he said as he recalled Derek's keys were most likely back with his clothes. “Allison, could you go get his keys? They must be in his pants, still in that room.” He tried hauling Derek to his feet by an arm, but got nowhere. “Come on, buddy, up we go.”
Allison ran toward the warehouse, heedless of how her sharp movements registered on Derek. He shuddered against Stiles. Terrified again. Wolfed out and refusing to stand upright. An animal overwhelmed by stimuli. Stiles mentally assessed the scene, traffic on the road, breeze off the river, lapping waves and boats, people milling around. Derek, the poison still confounding his senses, would be bombarded by thousands of unfamiliar smells and meaningless vibrations. Alone in the dark, he had forgotten how to be human, but Stiles knew how to remind him. He put a hand on Derek's neck, pulling him closer. His fingers tangled in dark hair, petting, soothing, as he aligned Derek's ear above his own heart. Head bent, Stiles took deep measured breaths. Calm. Calm. He sent his exhalations across Derek's face, giving him something familiar to scent, hoping to make him feel contained and protected.
A self-satisfied humming noise left Scott’s throat and Isaac actually gasped. Stiles lifted his gaze to his best friend's face. One glance was enough to tell him he'd been outed. The pack knew werewolf intimacy when they saw it. Scott raised an eyebrow, and smirked, as if he'd suspected this all along. But at least he seemed unfazed by the knowledge. Good. Because, other than Lydia, Stiles really didn't give a fuck who knew he was practically cheating on her at this point.
He was pond scum. He would live with it. He’d just have to pray nobody told her before he could. And how much of a kick to the balls was his life? After a decade of stalking the girl of his dreams, he blows her off for a man who wouldn’t have touched him yesterday, and probably wouldn’t want to look at him tomorrow? This was how affairs ruined people. You just got swept up in the feelings.
He flagged a hand at Scott. “Let him get your scent,” he said. “Hold your nose or something.”
“It's not just my nose, Dude. It burns my eyes, too.”
“Oh, my God! Scott? He can't hear. He can't see.”
Stiles would have said more, but Scott was already moving. Placing his feet carefully, he shifted up wind and came closer. He drew Isaac with him. Both of them coughed and teared up as they neared. But Stiles felt Derek relaxing as the familiar scents found him. The Alpha. His Pack. Safety in numbers. One clawed hand wrapped around Stiles at the wrist. Derek was coming back to him. He understood what was happening, that Stiles had done this, made it easier. And they weren't even kissing. Stiles called that progress.
Allison appeared at the doorway. Realizing Derek could feel, but not hear, Scott shouted for her to walk back. When she was closer, Stiles asked her to drive them to Derek’s place.
“Why me?” she asked.
“Because they can't take the smell,” Stiles told her. “And I can't hold him and drive.” He tossed Scott his own keys. “Take the jeep. Bring Deaton.”
Allison brought her car as close as she dared and Stiles managed to persuade Derek to stand and be maneuvered into the back seat. His extra long canines seemed to be making Allison very nervous as she took the wheel. Stiles didn’t want to apply the only sure cure, until Allison was focused on the road. As soon as she stopped checking the mirror, he kissed Derek back to human form. And, okay, now he was outed to Allison, too, because Derek didn't return silently. God, he could talk dirty.
That mouth. Finally, on his again. Thoughts of blood cleared away. Now he wanted sex. But, okay. God help him. Stiles was heavenly. Bet your blow jobs are great, baby. Wet and warm and sweet and silken soft. And Derek was going to make him his, because somehow he'd always wanted this and never known. He cupped his hands around Stile’s face and swept his tongue into that mouth, savoring the different textures as he found them. Blunt teeth. Plump lips. Slick tongue. The taste drew him out of his wolf-mind and plunged him into a lake of profound desire. He couldn’t stop confessing every sinful thought he had. Couldn't possibly get close enough to Stiles. Be human enough, gentle enough for him.
Why hadn’t he known this yesterday? How had he missed all of this soul-stirring heat? There were feelings bundled up in his gut like cords of wood. Emotions he'd cut and stored for a long winter. That’s what this isolation reminded him of—winter. The chill. The emptiness. The despair. Every scent magnified against crisp air. A bone-deep cold. His need for warmth. God, Stiles. Heat me up.
Christ. Get a grip. If only this had happened to them last year before Stiles had Lydia. Before Jennifer. He’d felt a shadow of this yearning with her. An urge to connect. But, Stiles lit him up inside. All he needed. Everything he needed. Just within reach. But he couldn’t just have him. Allison was too close. And it wouldn’t be civilized. Stiles didn’t want this. Not, like he did. Stiles was still in high school. Seventeen. Too young.
Grappling with that truth, forced Derek to end the kiss. He pulled away. As soon as he did, he felt sick. Dizzy. Disoriented. He liked cars, most canines did. Driving fast with the rush of wind in his face always left him a little cocky. But without sight or sound, the stop and go motion made his head spin. He clung to Stiles, again, knowing he should sit up, be a man. Stiles caressing him, stroking through his hair and down his neck. That particular touch made his cock twitch. His throat and scruff were both sensitive areas. His mind conjured up images as clear as a vision. Stiles naked, gasping under him. Stiles coming into him, all over him. So sexy. Derek felt his breath catch. Allison would hear him. Discover their secret. In his current state of partial undress, surely anyone could see how much he enjoyed being petted. Yes. Stiles was adjusting the robe, covering him more completely. He’d get smacked in a moment. Stiles was the only one who ever dared to discipline him.
Stiles burned with embarrassment. Surely, Derek could feel him blushing. Because, even if those sexy mutterings hadn't carried over the hum of the engine and the CD she was playing, Allison had to know by now that he and Derek were sharing something deeper than ordinary male bonding in the back seat. To her credit, Stiles only caught her glancing into the mirror once. And that was because Derek made a noise, like…like he wanted to rip Stiles apart and put him back together again. Stiles hastily rearranged the robe, covering up an erection so gorgeous he frankly wanted to stare at for an hour. He actually considered taking a picture for later study. Man parts were not beautiful, only this one kind of was. It was uncut. Raw power, sculpted by the supernatural, like the rest of Derek.
Noticing that, at least, wasn’t new for Stiles. He’d often fumed, in their combative past, over how perfectly formed Derek Hale was, how effortlessly stunning even when soaking wet or bloodied. He'd sort of hated it. But he’d never actually crossed the line into lust before tonight. Now, all he could think about was using that body. Tasting it. Touching it. Being inside it. Riding it. He seemed to be versatile in his longings. If he and Derek did start something, he was pretty sure they wouldn't put any limits on what they did together. No actual pain, of course. Though, judging by tonight, Stiles didn't mind it a little rough.
“You are not helping,” Derek said, making Stiles jump with his reasonable tone. “This car reeks of your fantasies.” Stiles drew an N on the back of his hand. “Yes it does,” Derek said, leaning very close to his ear. “Open a window or I’ll take care of you right here.”
Had he just said that? What was wrong with his usually reliable filters? When had he even allowed such thoughts to linger in his mind? He was nothing if not compartmentalized. Though, he'd never been exactly shy when he wanted a girl, this urge to verbalize was new. Still Allison was with them, watching, listening. And everything he was talking about was illegal. Guilt compounded his sense of loss as Stiles moved away from him. Derek swallowed a whimper. He was officially pathetic. A whipped dog. He curled into a ball, resting his cheek against the door to better absorb the vibrations. Stiles reached past him. Derek resisted grabbing him. The window hummed down. A gusty breeze scented with traffic smells slapped at his face. Bracing. Like a cold shower. Good. He needed that.
He wasn’t going to pounce on Stiles and fuck his brains out. That would be barbaric. And also…what?Wrong. And…illegal. And okay, he really shouldn’t have thought about doing it, because now he wanted to do it even more. His Karma, the bitch. This was so like her. Just when he was getting his life together... This happens? Fuck his miserable fucking luck. Would the pack still respect him in the morning? Probably not. Did he care? Not if he could have Stiles all the time. In all the ways he could imagine. They could runaway together. Live in the woods. No law. No scorn. The world could go to Hell.
Before the car stopped, he scented familiar surroundings. His place. They’d taken him home. Oh, he loved them for that. He’d imagined they were going to Deaton’s office or a hospital. The poking and prodding, and endless questions would exhaust him. He just wanted to crawl into a hole and recover.
“Home? Was this you?” he asked Stiles and grinned when the Y confirmed it.
I love you. He almost didn’t catch the words before they spilled out of his mouth. Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. This isn’t love. He didn’t love a seventeen year old straight boy who bounced around him like a toddler on a sugar high. That was ridiculous. This was…lust, hunger, need, emptiness? Something else. Anything. Think Derek. Something achingly sweet and soul-deep and…damn, damn, damn. Karma. Shit. An affair. This was an affair. He was having an emotional affair with Stiles. That's why it felt so good. Because it was so obviously wrong. A torrid desire brought on by circumstances beyond their control. Wicked. Dangerous. He should tell Stiles to go. He could manage from here on his own. Find his way to the door and around his apartment. Alone. Alone. In the dark. In the silence.
But Stiles was all over him. That scent. Those capable hands. Tugging on Derek, coaxing him out of the car, wrapping an arm around his waist. Stiles breathing hard. So close. Exhaling into Derek's skin. A tingling sensation lifted the short hairs along Derek’s arms and all over his torso. Tingling everywhere. Great. Screw you, Stiles. Fast and dirty. From behind. Derek had another flash of the two of them, sneaking around. He could get off so easily on that. Pulling Stiles into closed spaces and pushing him up against walls. Allison should go. Stiles should get closer. Stiles should get naked and closer. And be loved like nobody ever had been loved. Because…he could do that. He could love Stiles. Shit. No. He was thinking it again. Stop. Stop it. Damn it, Derek. No sneaking around. No kissing. No touching. And definitely, absolutely, no making love to Stiles. Twitchy. Annoyingly verbal. Already taken. Underage. Stiles.
Allison came in with them. Of course, she wanted to wait for Scott and Isaac. Stiles wanted her gone. Not because he needed to be alone with Derek, although, okay, he needed to be alone with Derek. But, also, Allison was Lydia’s best friend. And everything he was doing felt so much worse when he was one degree of Kevin Bacon away from discovery. If only he could leave, talk to Lydia, tell her. Yeah, tell her what? Mostly that he couldn't leave, not even for her sake, because Derek needed him. And Derek was all that mattered.
Yes, I'm sorry, Lydia. Derek kissed me, a lot, many, many times. And I got off on it. Wanted more. We made out in the back of Allison’s car. Because we couldn't help it. Because we couldn't stop, even though our brains were yelling at us to stop. This isn't about you. Really. You are great. I loved you, from afar, like forever. Stalked you, convinced you to date me and now when I finally have you...this happens. This happens, because...I can't help myself. Because...I love Derek Hale? Fuck! No. He didn’t love Derek. They were friends. Good friends. Friends who might want to have sex about a hundred times. Friends who might cling to each other in a crisis and kiss and sneak around to meet secretly. Oh, he wanted to screw Derek in seedy motel rooms and broom closets and the back seat of that SUV of his. Strictly on the down low. Only not so much, because everyone would know. Everyone did know. Sorry about that Lydia. I'm so sorry everyone knows. But…okay…he was going to have to tell Allison something.
They had taken seats in the living room. Derek and Stiles were on the sofa, too close to each other, fingers entwined. Allison perched on the arm of a chair.
As Stiles opened his mouth, to explain or excuse himself, his phone rang. He disentangled a hand from Derek’s clasp and took the call. “Scott! Yeah. Okay. No, I can do that. How long? Right. Right. Can you pick up some clothes from my house, too? I’ll call my dad, tell him where I am.”
He killed the connection and smiled at Allison. “That was Scott. Deaton said no house calls. This clears up on its own in a few days. Scott's bringing some eye wash and pills. Derek needs to take a real shower. Do you want to help with that?”
“Uh. No.” Allison said. She stood with undo haste and Stiles pressed his lips together to avoid smirking. “I can just go home, if you don’t need me to stay.”
“We’ll be fine,” Stiles assured her. “If you talk to Lydia, tell her I’m tied up here, but I’ll see her soon.”
“You’ll probably call her later,” Allison said, making it sound like a forlorn hope.
“Right. I will. Absolutely.”
Stiles patted him three times, before leaving him alone. Just what he wanted. Me time. He counted seconds off in his head to hold down the panic. The floorboards told him Allison was walking to the door with Stiles at her heels. The door opened and she left. Good. No witnesses. Stop it. Stiles turned the dead bolt. The loud clunk echoed. Tiny vibrations bounced off Derek’s skin. Alone at last. No interruptions. Stiles didn't come back. Derek pulled his feet up, curled into a ball. Stiles? Stiles! Where are you? Lots of scent but no vibrations. Derek tensed, his muscles started shaking. Two taps.
I am here.
There, by the door, standing still. Derek took a firm grip on his desire to bolt toward him. Sit. Stay. Good dog. Maybe Stiles was calling someone. His dad? Lydia? Not a problem. This was Derek's home. His sofa. He was safe and... he could hold out alone for...a few minutes. Stiles! Thank God. He grabbed him, pulled him close again. No kissing this time. Just a hug. Breathing in the scent. He stopped trembling. Gave Stiles a little pat and released him. The worst of his isolation was over, he hoped.
There could be no more excuses for bad behavior. Stiles was his friend. Nothing more. His mostly straight, underage, male friend, the one with the storybook romance. Crap. Why did he have to think about the girlfriend? How was he going to look Lydia in the eye the next time they met? I tried to bang your boyfriend. And we kissed. Nonstop. Nonstop kissing. Sorry, about that. He's a good kisser, though.
Three pats from Stiles. Good boy. Like he was a frigging poodle or something. And he didn’t hate it, not even a little bit. He wanted patting, petting, those caressing fingers. In his hair. On his skin. On his cock. Tickling. Teasing. Who the hell was he trying to kid? This wasn't over. He wasn't all better. He was blind and deaf and needy as a newborn pup. I banged your boyfriend and now he’s mine. Mine. Not yours. Screw you, Lydia. Yeah. That sounded better.
Stiles dragged on his arm. Manhandled him to his feet. Tried to steer him without too much success. Derek played for more contact. Focused on orienting himself to the furniture. Echo locating like a bat. He knew when they were pointed toward the bathroom. He could scent the mildew and soap and water. Well, he could use a bathroom break. And maybe a shower, too. Was that the idea? Showering together? Please let that be the plan. Son of a bitch, he was losing it.
Tile under his feet. Warm hands on his chest. Stiles hands. Long tapered fingers, stripping off his dirty robe, exposing him to chilled air and lingering glances. He could feel Stiles staring. Coveting him with a heated gaze. It made his skin twitch. His wolf senses registered a hunter in the room. Stiles stalking him. Hungry. He was always putting things in his mouth. Chewing. Derek found and clasped a slender wrist, holding on too long. It got weird. Okay, it was already weird. It got scary, waking up his beast. And he let go. The ambient scent of desire compounded in an instant, telling him he wasn't imagining things. You want a taste of me. I'm easy, Stiles. Take me down.
Don’t just look. Touch. Put your hands on me. Pet. Rub. Tug. Screw fidelity. Screw statutory consent. Screw me. Sweet mother of everything Holy. Come on. Imply permission. Make your move. Derek ached with the need to pounce first. But he didn’t dare. There were too many hazards in the room. Too many ways to injure Stiles, emotionally, physically. Break his bones. Bruise his ego. A slip. A fall. A blow to the head. Derek shuddered. So cold from the waiting, the wanting.
Why was he waiting? This was his home. He didn’t have to wait for Stiles to okay his actions. He could jerk off if he wanted. Touch himself, by way of example. He’d have to touch himself, in fact, if he intended to use the toilet. Feeling almost virtuous, he located the edge of the sink, sliding his hand along it. He jumped when the shower thundered to life. The sound of falling water vibrated through the floor and air. The ionic smells teased his nose. Now he really had to pee.
Urinating was tricky, even in light of his full bladder. He was partially hard and unable to relax completely. Also, aiming without sight or hearing proved difficult. He hoped he was on target. Pissing on the floor was just pathetic. Finished, he flushed and fumbled for the shower doors. He paused to visualize the room. He edged sideways and bumped his toe. Bathtub. He took an exaggerated step over the lip of the tub, placing his feet carefully to avoid slipping. He found the body wash by scent. Searched for his shower puff. Stiles seemed to have vanished into the smell of rushing water. Derek took a deep breath. Nothing. Had he gone or was he just staying well out of range? Derek tried to be okay alone. It felt good to be wet, clean. The hot water embraced him. It took the edge off Derek's desperation, even as it stimulated him to a full erection.
“Still with me?” Derek asked, as the shower stream engulfed him.
Stiles slapped the shower door, twice. He wasn't going anywhere. Couldn't look away. His mouth had gone bone dry. He’d seen a man urinate before, of course. Did it himself a few times a day. It had never made him horny. But he’d become a voyeur all of a sudden and every single thing about Derek’s blissful lack of modestly was turning him on. He toed off his sticky shoes and socks, thinking he might wash his feet. But watching Derek orient to shower stole his attention. He should have this on video. He'd never need porn again. Stiles let his fingers drift toward the pocket where he kept his phone and somehow they ended up at his fly. He was rock hard under it. His dick throbbed. Before he could consciously acknowledge he was undressing, he'd yanked the zipper down and pushed his jeans to his ankles. He had to be in there. Derek needed him close, skin on skin. He needed it, too.
Scott was on his way over. Stiles didn’t care. Lydia was still his girlfriend. Stiles didn't care. Part of his mind recalled wanting to take this slow, but his reason had abdicated, leaving impulse in charge. He was going to fuck Derek Hale. Now. Not later. Not tomorrow or next week. Derek wanted it. He wanted it. And maybe it was wrong. And maybe he had no idea how to do it. But, the dam had broken and they couldn’t just pretend it was still there. Sink or swim, they were going to get wet. He thumped the tub twice to alert Derek to his proximity and stepped down hard as he entered the shower. Derek, slick with suds, found him in a heartbeat, occupied his personal space, filled his hands, filled his mouth.
“Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes,” Derek chanted, breaking away from the first cascade of kissing. A torrent of filthy suggestions followed that affirmation.
Derek should talk all the time, Stiles thought. Why didn’t he talk all the time? Maybe because this was what he had to say? And he’d had nobody to say it to for most of his life. The idea of him saying any of these things to Miss Blake or Kate Argent made Stiles grimace. He tried to shove those thoughts away. The last thing he wanted to imagine was Derek with one of his psycho girlfriends. And surely he had never told Miss Blake he wanted her on her knees. That he could make her scream and beg and cry and would. That he would never, ever stop wanting her splayed naked under him. No, he’d been quiet in bed like he was in life, Stiles was sure of it. Silent and sweet, controlled in his every touch. But not any more. Dam broken.
Skin on skin with Stiles. Against his mouth. Under his hands. Between his fingers. On his tongue. Stiles everywhere, sliding his palms up Derek’s belly, over his chest, around to his back. Hot water pummelling them both. Derek wanted more than touching, he wanted them inside one another. He’d never had such intense feelings for anyone, certainly not another man. It had to be the sensory deprivation. He wanted sex like he was sixteen again. Words bubbled up from some artisan well of suppressed need. He always talked dirty in bed. He just usually kept it to himself. Bit down hard on his tongue, like he did on every impulse. The things he was saying now would have made him cringe, but he couldn’t hear himself. So, he didn't care. Until his hearing returned.
The first thing he heard clearly was a guttural cry when he fisted his fingers around Stiles’ soap-slicked cock. As he relished the feel of uncut foreskin, so familiar to his hand, he realized he’d been hearing the water and their breathing for some time. The internal vibrations hadn’t registered as sound. He focused his attention and heard Stiles panting by his ear. He could feel and hear their racing heartbeats, synced to one another. And the helpless noises Stiles made, the little mews of pleasure. So erotic. So fucking hot. Derek wanted to make him scream.
But most of all he wanted to hear his name. Say it. Say my name. Moan it, while I'm driving you out of your mind. While I'm jacking you off. Absolve me of my sins. Tell me this is what you really want.
He didn’t know if he asked out loud. But there it was. His name, in the mouth, on the lips. Yes. Fuck. So good. Arousing. He didn't know he could get more turned on, but that did it. Just what he wanted. Derek avoided kissing, swallowed his own words. Nearly gagged on them. He wanted to talk. But he needed to hear Stiles babbling away. The things he was saying boggled Derek's mind. Amazing, perfect things.
“Derek, don't stop. Like that. Just like that. God. You...Uh…” Stiles sucked in air. His head slammed forward. And he resorted to nonverbal sounds, whining for a few beats, his breath feathering along Derek's skin. Then, he drew in a deeper gasp. “Oh...shit. Talk to me.”
Take me to bed. Fuck me. And I'll talk. You want this. I want you. Fuck me and I'll say anything, everything I'm thinking right now. You. Fucking beautiful thing. Stiles. You can be mine. My sweet, hot, filthy...fallen angel. Every night. I need you. Under me. On top of me. I want to come inside you. In your mouth. Feel you in me. Deep inside. Your cock deep inside.
“I want to fuck you so bad, Derek. Fuck you 'til you break. So hard.”
“Show me. Fuck my hand, hard as you want.”
“Derek? Please, no more. Let me come.”
Derek pumped slow, and then fast, in an uneven rhythm that kept Stiles begging. Pushed him close to the precipice, hovering right at the edge of climax. The longer Stiles lasted the better it would be when he finally came. But he was young and eager. Not used to waiting. He writhed and clawed and pleaded until Derek had to relent. He brought their bodies together, fisting around both dicks as best he could. Stiles slipped a hand into the sliver of space between them to help with friction. Those deft Stiles fingers, slender as a woman's. Capable and strong like a man. They worked their magic. Stiles covered his mouth with a surprisingly languid kiss. Derek groaned. Ready to go.
So much for holding off, delaying gratification. Derek twitched as goosebumps raced up his arms. A spurt of cum caressed him, coating his knuckles. Graceful fingers drew the viscous mess along his entire length. Stiles. Coming. Now. A sticky-slick rope of fluid snaked across Derek's skin. It pulsed in time with a series of contractions from Stiles. They bucked together. With the hand at the back of Derek’s neck, Stiles held on as he greedily sucked tongue. His fingers and teeth left transient bruises. Derek wished they could last a week. The firm press of flesh on flesh. Stiles gripping his cock. Stiles all over him, moaning, coming apart. Derek's fell backward into a burst of starlight. No more darkness. Every muscle in his body tensed and quivered. He drew taut and released. And their scents mingled into one glorious amalgamation. A signature aroma. His whole house was going to smell like that—his bed, his sheets, his towels, his clothes. He might never leave home again.
It ended in what seemed like silence, but was actually desperate, shuddering gasps. Sweat slicked flesh went lax under their hands. Derek used his supernatural strength to brace them both as their legs shook. Stiles slumped into him, deboned, and Derek slid an arm around his waist. Their muscles were pliant, creating a softness under Stiles' skin. Derek snuggled into it.
“I wish I could see you, right now,” he said, backing Stiles into a corner, getting as close as he could. “Soft and wet. Pupils blown wide. Muscles fucked loose. Lips swollen. I want you to wrap that wicked mouth around me, Stiles. Suck me back to life.”
“Oh, dude, have some mercy,” Stiles said on a breathless moan. “If you could hear yourself. Oh, my God. I got nothing left. I think your hand job is better than sex. I can't even...I just can't.”
“I bet you can.”
“Shit! What? Did you hear me?”
“Yeah.”
“Asshole,” Stiles said, slapping weakly at his upper arm. “Duplicitous fucker. I mean, I'm happy for you, and all, but...how could you just let me say those things?”
“Don’t do that,” Derek said, his fingers questing up to find the thumbnail Stiles had started chewing on. He give the hand a tug. Stiles let him have it. The touch was gentle, but Derek looked angry as he said, “Don’t worry. It was sexy.”
“When did you...? What did you hear?”
“When you said my name.”
“I said your name about a million times.”
“I know,” Derek said, sliding back a bit and flashing a cocky grin.
Stiles couldn't laugh, though he knew Derek wanted him to. How could they relax? Make this normal, just a moment between friends. This felt momentous. More than he could take.
“Not before I got in the shower, right? Please tell me you didn't hear that.”
“What did you say before we got in the shower?”
“I can't remember,” Stiles mumbled. “But it was completely appropriate.”
And now it’s awkward. Shit. Derek let go of Stiles, backed away. He ducked under the stream of the shower to clear his head. Most of the hot water was gone. Why couldn't he keep his mouth shut all of a sudden? And, if he had to talk, why couldn't he say anything right? Stiles could be so witty. Derek listened, heard him come closer. Close. But not close enough. Unbelievable. Still horny. Both of them. How was that even possible? He could hear Stiles rinsing off, getting rid of their mingled scent. It should stay on him. He should never leave Derek's side, again. But, if he did. If he wandered into the world...Derek wanted him marked. Mine. Not the Alpha’s. Not Lydia’s. Mine. My Stiles. Fucked well and happy.
“Can you talk to me?” Stiles asked, as Derek shut off the taps. “Do you want me to go? Because this is awkward.”
“No.”
“You still want a blow job?”
“Yes.”
“Guess I don't need to be on my feet for that, right?”
Derek took a deep breath, head low. Stiles watched him. His eyes traced the triskelion as he waited for a snarl, some warning from a large dangerous animal that he'd cross the line. Werewolf in close proximity. Muscles tensed. Unpredictable. A frisson of fear raised the hairs on the back of Stiles' neck. What were they doing here? What did he want to do? His stomach filled with butterflies. He could feel every sphincter tightening, as Derek turned back to him.
“No. But...what I want is—what I want—is…”
Even blind he couldn't face it, this need in him to belong, to be mastered. Let Stiles go. He wants to go. Nobody sane wants to fuck you, Derek. And you don't want a man. Half mad on the full moon? Sure. Almost anything goes in the right company. He'd let that pair of bitch Omegas ream his ass in Tijuana. That didn't mean he liked it. He hadn't even come for them. Just let them use him. And he barely remembered it. Blood. Bruising. Punishment. He'd been violently ill afterwards. Human. No. Stiles? Hell no! This was already too awkward. He blew a long exhale through tense lips. Just say it. Just tell him.
“You. Inside. Fucking me. Hard. Like you said. Let's do it.”
“Oh, my God! Are you sure you can hear yourself? Because this is not you.”
“It is.”
Stiles shuffled backward. “Right, so, you've come out. And I don't hate it. Because, I might be ambisextrous... But seriously, dude...?”
“Problems?” Derek said.
“Ninety-nine plus problems,” Stiles said. “And Lydia is definitely one. Derek…? Look, I was just so turned on by the hot water and your hot hands everywhere. But, I don’t know if I can…carry on...taking advantage of your...condition.”
“If you don't want to, then...you should go.”
“Yeah. So you know, that's reading dickish to me. Maybe you don't realize, but telling me to leave, just because I hesitate to put out makes you sound like a pushy son of a bitch. Which you are.”
“That's not what I meant,” Derek snarled. “It's just.. It's over.”
Over. It was over. He must have been out of his mind to suggest... Because it was a horrible idea. He was relieved. He was. Maybe. He was, also, sort of nauseated. Angry. Exhausted. Embarrassed. Alone. This was why he didn't open up to people. His depths were too deep. Emotions flooded him. And he turned stupid. Needy. A dominate receiver. Fucked up. Fucked over. Kate and Jennifer and Peter all pushing him around. His shoulders tensed. He tried to shrug it out. Cold. Shivering. Empty. God, he needed Stiles to fix this, be kind to him. Heat him up again, help him relax. And he didn't want to need anyone. It was too dangerous. Hadn't he learned his lesson from Paige and Kate and Jennifer? How many lessons did he need? Just one more.
So, he'd lost his eyesight and hearing and bearings. And in the confusion, he'd gotten his wires crossed, somehow. Shit happened in the dark. You could trip and fall. He'd gotten turned around. Ended up gay for Stiles. But he could find his way now. Orient himself to the world. He patted over to a towel and ducked under it to cover his face, wanting to hide. The last thing he needed was to show any more weakness. Come on, Derek, get it together. Walk away. Mutual masturbation was a party game. Everybody did it. No big deal. Shut it down. Step away from the school boy.
Stiles shoved the shower door open and stomped out into the room, careless about slipping. Concern drew Derek out of hiding. “Over. Is that what you think? It's over?”
“I don't want to talk about it.”
“You don't want to talk. Big surprise.” Stiles started drying off vigorously. He muttered curses under his breath for a bit and then said, “So now we have this groping out of our system, we can just go back to our old lives. Good to know.”
“If you don't want to, then...”
“I didn't say that. I didn't say I didn't want to,” Stiles said. “I just never have. If you are thinking I have, then I’ve misrepresented my experience level.”
Like I give a fuck. Don't taunt the werewolf, Stiles. You should know better.
“And I don’t even know what we’re doing here…like this.” He watched Derek feel his way to the opening and step out of the tub. “You're my friend. And I'm a cheating weasel, I guess. And you...?”
...are weak. Pathetic. Crazy. Breakable. You could break me, Stiles. I can feel the give inside when you press down on me like this. If we push this any further... If I let you...let you...if you just one time...came into me. Then, we will see what happens next. Because I don't know.
“I don't know about you right now. Are you helpless? Angry?”
“I'm not angry.” Derek said. And Stiles threw a towel at him.
“Could have fooled me. Look, don't stand there naked and scowling. I want you, okay? I do.”
You want me. Have me. I'm yours. Say. You. Will. Say it.
“But, tomorrow you are going to wake up sober and straight.”
Tomorrow, I will follow you around at heel, dogging your steps like a fucking cocker spaniel.
“What do youwant, Stiles?”
“I don't know, Derek. When you kiss me, when you touch me, I can’t even think straight.” Stiles laughed. “No pun intended.”
“In that case,” Derek said, lunging forward.”
Using body heat and motion to guide his strike, he located Stiles easily. He'd be as good as Deucalion with this by tomorrow. He all but threw Stiles into the shower door. It banged. God. Don't hurt him. Be gentle. Firm. But gentle. He pressed along Stiles, breathed down his neck. Walking his fingertips from chest to throat, he found a soft cheek, rotated the head and initiated a kiss that lasted until they were forced to break for air. They separated only slightly; it felt like being torn in two.
“Let me make this easy for you. Fuck me, Stiles.”
“It's not...”
Derek plunged them under the influence, again, kissing, caressing. He grazed his fingertips down Stiles, making taut stomach muscles quiver. Grabbing a handful of ass and an arm, he gently, but firmly, faced Stiles into a corner, sliding around behind him, using tongue and teeth on his shoulders. A growl rumbled low in his throat.
Quake. Tremble. Try to escape. And I'll hunt you down. Scream if you want it rougher than this. He was losing control. Werewolves did in the heat of attraction. But his kind healed. Stiles wouldn't. You could damage humans, permanently. Thank God, Stiles knew better than to struggle. He reached up to clutch at Derek's hair, his fingers yanking too hard. Tugging on the leash. Settle. Settle Derek. Remember me. Derek sighed. He wanted blood now, but he couldn't hurt Stiles. Gently, he cupped his balls, weighing them in his palm. Stiles shivered and squeaked. Like prey. Damn. Derek's fingers tightened, nearly too much, but not quite. His mouth flooded with saliva. His bite force turned bruising and he sucked until he could taste blood just under the skin.
“Alright. You win. Holy crap. I will. I want to. You jerk bastard.”
Surrender. Sweet. Smart bunny.
Derek released Stiles' balls and licked the mark he'd just created. “You love me. You said so.”
“I did not,” Stiles said, but the quaver in his voice told Derek he might have. “Did I? Well, I take it back. Because you suck. And not in any good way.”
He jabbed an elbow into Derek's ribs, forcing him to move or turn forceful again. Derek relented. Breathing heavily, he stepped away. The release happened so abruptly Stiles staggered. Instinctively, Derek put a hand out to steady him. And just that one touch, skin on skin, drew a sigh out of him. Derek shifted close again. He embraced Stiles, folding the towel around him, coddling him now. Placing chaste kisses on top of the bruising. Stiles sniffed and fumbled around with his towels. Derek winced at the catch in his breath.
“Did I hurt you?”
“You scared me, you psycho werewolf jackass! Good to know you could kill me, maul me, have your way with me whenever it suits you.”
“No. Not easily. You didn't try to stop me.”
“Stop you? Right!” He laughed, a bitter sound without any humor.
“You always can. Just...don't be scared.”
“What was that, then?”
“Instinct. Werewolf stuff. I want you.”
“Yeah, fucking unbridled desire,” Stiles said giving a snort. This time his chuckle sounded shaky but lighter. “I didn't miss that you wanted me. You are not subtle. I know you are on the edge right now, but...stop Jekyll and Hyding all over the place.”
“Okay.”
“You don't deserve my sex confessions.”
He didn't deserve Stiles. Love. Tenderness. No need to remind him of that. He'd left Stiles bruised, and nearly bloodied. That was what he did. He hurt people. They hurt him. There was nothing even remotely lovable about him. He could be useful. People used him. They didn't want to know him, love him. He was scary. So, he'd lied. To lighten the mood. Pretending, for a moment, that he and Stiles were more than horny friends.
“I know.”
He tried to look sheepish, difficult for a werewolf. Listening for the catch in his breath, he could tell when Stiles’ mouth dropped open.
“You liar. You didn't hear me confess anything.” He came at Derek, smacking him, but not hard. “Payback is coming. I'm going to fuck you up. Fuck you until you are nothing but grateful. Don't push a man with streaming porn connections, Derek.”
Derek chuckled. “Sorry. Sorry. I'll be good.”
“How old are you? Five?’
“Twenty-two Wolf Moons,” Derek said, sobering as he owned his age. He sighed heavily, slinking toward the living room. “And thank you for reminding me that I'm breaking the law.”
“No, feel guilty. You should. But not about that. Because I thought you were 30.”
“30? Jesus.”
"You are not ageing well, buddy." Stiles followed him, bare feet slapping on tile. “Too much hard living. Not enough good times. Unless... Are you lying again? Friends don't lie to friends who agree to homosexual dalliances. How can you be 22? That means you were like twelve in High School.”
“Eleven,” Derek said. “We mature faster. At least, we look mature, earlier. Real wolves are sexually mature at three. Werewolf metabolism kicks puberty's ass. How do you think Cora survived?”
“That explains a lot about you, actually. So, how many years do you have left?” Stiles said, stepping close. “Are you like a Great Dane? Should we stop wasting time, here?”