![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rabid1stSKIN ON SKIN
by Rabid1st
TeenWolf – Sterek
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Word Count: 5200 this part...about 15,000 total.
Warnings: M/M Sex. Violence. Triggering for noncon touching. Actually Dubcon in places. Underage (Stiles is 17 yoa). This is not rough sex kink, but the interaction is confusing for both men. Bottom!Derek is not a submissive. Not that there is anything wrong with that, Alphas can be submissive. But he is just needy here.
Beta Babes:Elsecarlass & Birthsister
Spoilers: Set in theoretical S4, some implications through S3a
Summary: Blind!Derek fic. When Derek is sprayed by a wereskunk he is blinded, deafened and left without his sense of smell. He shifts and becomes unmanageable. Stiles is the only one that can help him. The sensory deprivation has some astounding effects on Derek as he gives in to exploring taste and texture. He wants Stiles. Stiles wants him. The non-con parts of this fic are based on Stiles trying not to surrender to their mutual desire. It is not good timing for Stiles and so he resists.
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.
On AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/975296/chapters/1942021
PART THREE
Oh, sweet, sweet Stiles. We should definitely stop wasting time. I could live for a hundred years and never get enough of you. Derek smiled. It felt strange. When had smiling become alien to him? For a second or two he entertained the idea of being happy again. He could visualize exactly how Stiles looked. He'd have his chin tucked in, those brandy-colored eyes peering up from beneath heavy brows, full lips parted. Derek missed that look, like he missed moonlight and stars. He couldn't imagine never seeing it again. When had he fallen in love with that face? It hadn’t been at first sight.
He’d hated Stiles at first sight. Silly whelp. Though hate and love were supposedly intertwined. Stiles kept trying to cheer him up. Don't be such a sourwolf? Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it? Not so much. No. But Stiles always made him reconsider. They'd built trust, layer on layer. Grown comfortable with one another. Stiles could make him laugh. Wow! He laughs. Somewhere a baby angel just got a puppy. Stiles had his back. Stiles stood up to him and protected him, too. He never took Derek seriously. The big, bad wolf. Yeah. Right.
In retrospect, Derek realized he'd been noticing Stiles for awhile, subconsciously, finding him attractive. He’d cataloged the strength in him, his wrists, his beautiful hands, the pouting mouth, the way his t-shirts hung loose over hard muscle. Stiles could be hard and soft, feminine and masculine. The best of both worlds for a nearly straight guy like Derek. All those careless touches, skin brushing skin, seemed to mean more in light of their recent shower. But hand to the Nemeton, Derek had never thought about kissing Stiles. Hadn't craved his mouth, his touch, his cock. Not until he'd tasted those lips for the first time.
In the senseless dark, it had been like a breaker being thrown. That first kiss. Bam! Enlightenment. Did that even happen in real life? Maybe not. It felt dangerous to call it love. Infatuation. Intoxication. Maybe this was just…temporary. A hormonal side effect of the wereskunk toxins. Some type of sex pollen, fueling inhibitions. He'd have to check the bestiary to know. Maybe they should wait for his eyesight to return. Take a couple of days to think this over. Maybe Stiles was right to hesitate about going further.
There it was. His prison closing in on him again, isolating him, numbing his ardor. No. No. Damn it. He was sick of being buried alive. The love gods owed him. They kept kicking him and tricking him. How many mistakes could one man make? He was due for a win. And he was so very careful, cultivating anger all the time. Building walls. He barely made eye contact these days. Jennifer had been a fucking school teacher. Deceptively submissive, like Stiles. She'd reeked with the same power. Druid. Like Stiles. So, he wanted an emissary. A strong hand on his leash. Was that so wrong? Stiles didn’t kill people. Stiles had a heart so big it scared him. Stiles, also, had a girlfriend. And a father with a gun. Stiles was still in high school. And Derek was going to ruin him. But he wanted this so much it was like a fire in his chest. This one would break him if it went wrong. Hell. Right or wrong, this one would be the last one.
“We should...maybe...wait,” he said, hating himself for voicing the doubt. He turned to block the bathroom exit, one hand lifting to caress Stiles' cheek.
“No, we should not,” Stiles said, pushing into his belly, shoving him back onto the hard wood floors. “You're the one who bullied me into this. You are not turning reasonable on me now.”
Derek kept his balance easily, but the intimate contact made his hackles rise. Don't go for the soft parts of an injured animal. Risk your life like that. Trigger me. Damn it, Stiles! Do you want it rough?
“Stiles,” he said, layering a warning in his tone. “I'm serious. You wanted to stop.”
“No,” Stiles said. He stretched the negative like melted mozzarella, like Derek was an idiot. “I wanted to understand. Now, I do.”
“Enlighten me.”
“He wants to talk,” Stiles said, exasperated. He sighed, and then launched into a rapid fire explanation. “I know this isn’t your preference, guys. You're straight. And you don’t find me attractive.”
“I do,” Derek said.
“Now that you can't see me? Right, okay! Say I believe that. You didn’t want me before. Or maybe you did. But you wouldn’t have acted on it. It probably never would have crossed your mind, except I kissed you. But see, I wanted to kiss you. I just needed a good excuse. I don't want to stop, because I’ve been waiting forever. Not for you. For this feeling. This certainty. I thought I could have it with Lydia. I did. She’s got a tiny dog. And designer shoes, Derek. Perfect skin. And she smells great. And the sex is good, really good.”
“Fuck Lydia.” He didn't want to hear this. Derek didn't care if he sounded angry. He didn't want to know how great she was for Stiles. How much he loved her.
“Let me finish,” Stiles said, sounding just as angry as Derek did. Smelling like a man who knew more than Derek ever would. Smart, capable Stiles. In command despite his fears. “What I'm saying is...I like her. She's a huge part of my life. Featured in every dream about the future I've ever had. But we aren’t going to work like the happy-ever-after stories. And I want you to know, it's not because of you. It’s because I would do this. I would cheat on her. Okay, probably only with you. You, in this state, but that’s not the point. The point is…well…I didn't know you could do this to me before tonight.”
Break you. Hurt you. Make you unfaithful by pushing too hard. Destroy your happy ever after story? Every dream you've ever had of the perfect future? All with her. “Great! I ruined your life. Tell her that. Blame me.”
“God, Derek!” Stiles actually ground his teeth together. “It's not about blame. And I'm not sorry. I'm saying I would do this again and again. You pretty much made my life tonight. This is who I am. And, yeah, it scares me. You push me, I push back. You need me, I need you. I’m part of your pack. Or we are both part of Scott’s, I guess. I belong in the world of the Nemeton. It's dark and scary in the woods, but that's where I want to be. In a house in the woods with a couple of kids and—someone, someone who cares if I make it home. I want to feel whole. Not like a work in progress. And when you came apart on me in that room that’s what I felt. Necessary. Vital.”
Stiles wanted this. Needed it? They both dreamed of the same house. Maybe. Hard to imagine he could be the someone for anyone. “I made your life?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, so softly Derek could barely hear him.
“What if tomorrow we wake up and it’s gone?” Derek said.
“Good point. See? We definitely shouldn’t wait.” He took Derek's hand, squeezing his fingers a little. Then, he yanked him around, towing him toward the bed. The irreverent school boy returned as he asked, “Why do you always have your bed on display? Are you proud of your bed, Derek? Do you hope orgies will break out spontaneously?”
“I like open spaces.”
Someone banged on the door and they both started. “Stiles? It’s me,” Scott called, from the hallway. “I know you’re in there. I can smell you. Dude, is that therapeutic sex?”
“Fucking werewolves,” Stiles said, cinching his towel tighter. “Always sticking their noses in.” He gave Derek a pat. “I’ll be right back. Hold all of those thoughts.”
Hold these thoughts? Dark ones about fetish driven sex...in the middle of a farce? Did he want spontaneous orgies? Maybe. Why was his bed on display? Too funny. Even Stiles misunderstanding his attraction. Thinking Derek didn't want him. Having a meltdown over interruptions. Scott at the door. Smelling the sex and...commenting on it. Maybe Derek's dark past didn't need to loom so large. Brooding just came off as ridiculous in this pack. Nobody took him seriously. A guffaw caught in the back of his throat. He let go, started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop. And maybe that was how it should be. Maybe a life with Stiles would be full of laughter. If he just let go of tragedy, maybe he wouldn't be an Omega. If he stopped cringing inside every time someone approached him, he might just enjoy the little moments.
As Stiles bounced off to deal with the Alpha, Derek swept a hand out, locating the bed less than a foot away. He dropped into it, still chuckling as he curled up on the blankets. He spread his towel across his hips for privacy and focused on what was happening at the door.
“This is an actual apartment building, Scott,” Stiles said, when he yanked the door open. “We have neighbors.”
“We? Wow! Things are really progressing. Hey, Derek!”
“Fuck off, Scott,” Derek called.
Scott chuckled. “He’s feeling better.”
“He still can’t see and we have some…healing to do.”
“I so have your back,” Scott said. There was a crinkle of paper, like a small bag being crumpled during an exchange of hands. “I stopped at the pharmacy for the eye wash and picked you up a few essentials. Just in case.”
“Like a toothbrush?”
“Packed that from your house,” he said and dropped a heavy satchel to the floor. “Shoes. Socks. Underwear. Shirt. Deodorant. I know you have some sex supplies of your own, in that box in your closet, but I didn’t want to…see them, you know? Have any idea. And I figure Derek never gets laid, so what are the odds he has anything on hand?”
“I can hear you,” Derek said.
“You are welcome, dude,” Scott said, pitching his voice to carry. He returned to what Derek imagined Scott considered a discrete volume and addressed Stiles. “I just bought what you might need. Lube. Condoms. Not that you can get STD's or pregnant. At least, we hope not.” Scott’s tone turned positively gleeful as he smacked into Stiles in what Derek thought must be a bruising hug. “My brothers. Finally getting it. This is the best thing, ever.”
Stiles was smiling. Derek could hear it in his voice when he said goodbye. He locked the door again. And padded back across the floor to Derek’s bedside.
“Scott is way too happy for us.”
“I noticed.”
“I think he won some kind of bet with Isaac. Or maybe my dad.”
“Don’t even joke about that. And I do have lubricant. Somewhere. Maybe the bathroom. I'm not completely celibate.”
“Are the bottles dusty?” Stiles said, carelessly fanning his towel out on the bed, wafting a breeze across Derek's skin.
He shivered with the cool air and anticipation. His nipples pulled taut. Throwing out an arm in invitation, he smiled up at Stiles, looking relaxed. Stiles flopped down next to him, cuddling close. His dick nudged against Derek's side. The sole of one foot brushed up Derek’s calf. And a paper bag tipped over on his chest, spilling out a couple of tubes and packages. Derek poked at the pile, confused. But Stiles wasn’t one to keep him in the dark.
“My boy, Scott,” Stiles crowed, lifting one of the tubes away, “brings us quality. Liquid Silk. And, yes!” Another bottle vanished. “This stuff keeps you up for an hour. Okay, not you, Mr. Fast Metabolizer. But me. We should send Scott a card. Like, thanks for assisting us in our debauchery. There’s probably an e-card for that. You want to medicate? Rinse out your eyes? Kick start the healing?”
“Maybe we should wait until after...” Derek couldn't believe he'd just said that. On the other hand, why risk complications. “There might be side effects. Seizures with my luck.”
“I think your luck is turning, buddy. Let's see,” Stiles plucked up one of the boxes. Derek pushed the remaining package off his body and to the side of the bed. “It says it doesn't sting. For veterinary use. Ha! Four drops in each eye, twice a day, and blink. That's from Deaton. The werewolf dosage. Do not drive? Are they kidding? Yes, don't drive while you are blind.” He mumbled as he applied his teeth to the plastic wrap. “Also, don't let your dog drive. Good advice.” Shifting his weight, he said, “Look up. I'll do one eye.”
Derek caught his forearm, holding him off. “Do not drive means it makes your drowsy. I do not want to be drowsy right now, Stiles. I want to be very awake. It's not going to cure me tonight, so, it can wait an hour.”
“Really? Staying blind a little longer? This is the choice you make?” Stiles did his patented head bob, Derek felt the rocking motion. “You do need to get laid.”
Derek curled up, bracing on an elbow. He raised both eyebrows, doing his best to level a 'my point exactly' stare in the direction of Stiles' breathing.
“And I'm all inspired now,” Stiles said. “To hell with medical care.”
Setting the eye drops on the bedside table, he searched for and found one of the other packages. He worried it open, using his mouth again.
Nibbling, biting, sucking, teeth tearing into plastic. The enticing little noises drove Derek out of his head. He wanted to skitter after them, like a fox digging for a vole.
“Your mouth. Put it to better use.”
He'd said that aloud. Damn. Why did he always sound so angry?
“Anger is not your friend, Derek. I'm your friend. Your bro. Your fuck buddy. Pour some sugar on me.”
“No,” Derek said. “Not friends.”
“What? Because you want my mouth on you?”
“Yes.”
“Where? How? Tell me.” He tweaked Derek's nipple. “Here?”
Derek groaned. Stiles chuckled low and sexy. Derek lunged for him, but he ducked away, spilling off the bed to easily avoid Derek's half-hearted grab.
“Unh-uh. No more of that.”
He circled the bed. Derek crouched, head cocked to listen. Stiles knew it would be child's play to follow his progress by the ragged sound of his breathing and the slap of his bare feet. But he did his best to move like a predator, preparing to strike. He came up behind Derek, stepping carefully, but with zero chance of catching him off guard. He didn’t really want to startle him. This was a stalking game, designed to heighten anticipation. Instead of pouncing, Stiles crept onto the bed. Kneeling he wrapped both arms around Derek’s chest, lube-slicked fingers sliding across his skin, pulling his peaked nipples. Stiles breathed down his neck. He licked at the edge of soft beard.
“Here?”
“Yes,” Derek hissed. “Bite. Suck. Harder.”
Stiles’ grip tightened to contain him. Derek’s head dropped back, exposing his throat in classic surrender. Stiles savaged it, channelling his inner Alpha.
A little blunt toothed cub attacking. Warm lips and breath tickled along his jugular. Stiles. Fierce. Impulsive. A volatile combination. Derek had always suspected Stiles harboured some Alpha tendencies, from the day he’d threatened to abandon him to his fate, dragging his little werewolf ass into the street to die. He'd make a great Alpha. Or a scary one, Derek hastily amended. Stiles had enough power over him, already. No need to give him more.
Arching into Stiles, gripping his thigh, his head. Wanting so much more. Needing. Stiles. More than his friend. Fuck buddy? Lover? Derek twisted his neck to find those lips. Kissed them. Tongue probing. Teeth clicking into teeth, the meeting an electric shock. Stiles had a perfect mouth. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Where he wanted it next. How it bowed. How it tasted. Yielding, redolent with scent. Luscious. Magical, as it slid away from the kiss and traced lower. Slicking over Derek's ribs and abs. Yes. That’s what he wanted. More tongue. Teeth. Sucking. Feeling totally vulnerable, he startled like a virgin when Stiles went all the way down on him, biting at his inner thigh, blowing heat over his balls.
“This? Here?”
“Yes.” Oral sex. Always welcome. He'd asked for it earlier. Yet, a tremor of uncertainty made him tenative. He wanted this. But he'd never been so vulnerable with a man. Stiles. “It's... I'm...just…”
“Nervous? Me, too.”
He'd been expecting Stiles to say “an ass.” The sympathy struck a far deeper cord in him than anything else could have. He gave in to it. Nodding. His fingers found one of Stiles' hands and gripped it. They were in new territory now. Derek willingly up everything he'd ever been, content to be here. And in good hands. The best hands. Sighing, he relaxed back into his pillow.
“Anywhere, Stiles. Everywhere.”
“Give me a minute.”
Stiles took a breather, pausing in his licking explorations to cast his gaze over Derek. He was shaking, Stiles could feel the little shudders under his fingers and tongue. But Derek seemed pretty sure of what he wanted. Splayed and ready for whatever Stiles chose to do next. Beautiful. Blind. Stiles felt a huge sense of responsibility for how this went. He'd never taken charge like this before and he wondered what roll of the cosmic dice had delivered this into his life, put him in charge of Derek Hale's good time.
“You're uncut, like me,” he observed, before running his tongue up Derek's length. He flicked the tip. “Couldn't circumcise you, of course. You'd just heal.”
“Natural born, yeah.”
“Fucking gorgeous. And tasty.”
“You like it, Stiles? Wish I could watch.”
“Sucking you? Yeah. A lot more than I thought I would."
"Take it all, baby."
"Shut up! Everything I ever wanted done to me, I'm going to do to you. So, pay attention.” He hummed a happy little tune as he engulfed Derek, swallowing an impressive number of inches.
Submerged in Stiles. Damn. So different from anyone else. Better. Clenching. Tongue swirling. Slick probing heat. Deep throating like a porn star. What that must look like? Imagine it. Derek's heart slammed into his ribcage. He arched as he envisioned it. Where the hell had Stiles learned to suck like that? Slurping like Derek’s dick was a Popsicle. This just had to be right. Good for him. Because it was going to become a habit. Every night before bed. Like flossing. Read a little. Get sucked off by Stiles. Wake up. Get sucked off by Stiles. What is that he's humming? Rap? The clicking tongue is really too much. Intoxicating. The noises were making Derek drunk and reckless. Claws out, Derek dug into the blankets. His hips lifted, thrusting into a gag that triggered a flow of saliva. Stiles backed off, almost prompting Derek to attack. But the urge abandoned him when Stiles sang a snatch of the song he'd been humming.
“It feels like one of those nights,” Stiles sang, gulping over the words as he drew breath. “We won't be sleeping. It feels like one of those nights. You look like bad news. I got to have you.”
“Damn it, Stiles,” Derek said, a stifled laugh stinging his nose. “Will you settle down?”
“No,” Stiles said. “Have a good time, Derek. You know you want to. Ladies love the humming.”
Shimmying through a dance move, he sang another verse. Then, he lunged up Derek’s body to kiss him. Not a savage, hard kiss, but a meltingly sweet one. They spent a few minutes just rubbing all over one another, tongues sweeping into hungry mouths, fingers combing through each other’s hair. Derek pulled Stiles into him, running his hands up his back. Stiles laughed, grabbed a pillow and slithered lower. He urged Derek’s hips up and slipped the pillow under him, before he went back to humming and sucking. His slippery fingers teased every place his lips missed. They played over Derek’s balls, along his inner thighs and further back and around. The pillow allowed him better access to some delightfully sensitive areas.
Derek sang along in his head. How did he even know these lyrics? He didn't listen to the Top-40. Didn't own a radio. And he couldn't place the artist. Maybe Cora had the song on her phone. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22. Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you. You don't know about me. But I bet you want to. Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing like we're 22. Have a good time, Derek. In bed. With Stiles. Twenty-two. Not the Alpha. Not an Omega. Not the last survivor, heir to an impossible legacy. Something new. Young. Fresh. New family. New life. Stiles every day, like flossing. Working lubricated fingers into him, now. Twisting them in. Oh. Oh. Yes. Derek couldn’t believe how good it felt. He’d expected it to hurt a little. Thought he would jump or clench. Resent it on some level. But, it was incredible. Just...not enough.
“All of you, Stiles, come on,” he said.
Stiles stopped sucking for moment. Derek shivered. “Two fingers is a lot, Derek. Don’t rush it.”
“Fuck. Werewolf. You can't hurt me.”
“You want my cock, Derek? Is that what you're saying?”
“Yes.”
“Will it make you happy?”
“Yes,” Derek snarled, shoving Stiles’ face back into his groin. “It will.”
He’d come undone. Like some romance heroine. What the fuck? Happy? Werewolves weren't happy woodland creatures. Frolicking around like Bambi on ice. He was going to defile Stiles if the boy kept teasing him. Gut him. Fury and need and affection wrestled for top spot in his brain. He wanted to be fucked and come and Stiles just didn't care. He was a heartless son of a bitch. And merciless. Was this what Derek wanted? To be teased by that tongue for an hour? Given two fingers and a hard time? Fuck that.
Stiles returned to his slow sucking. Fingers pumping in and out, avoiding any extra stimulation. Because he was evil. Because Derek had that kind of luck. The little bastard probably did kill people, blew them to death. Prodded and licked and hummed men into cardiac arrest. How the hell had they ended up here? Derek surrendering everything? Stiles laughing at him? So amused by it all. Those artful fingers found Derek's scent glands and the hot spot between them. His hips jerked. And Stiles scissored into his prostate.
“Motherfucker. You little slut bastard. I’m going to fuck you wide open. I'm going to bury my teeth in your neck and screw you 'til you can’t walk. Stiles? Do you hear me?”
“I do,” Stiles said, over the rush of blood in Derek's ears. He sounded dangerously calm. “You don’t sound happy, Derek. Maybe we should get this over with.”
“Wha'? What?” Derek panted. “No.”
“You want to come, right? I can make that happen.”
Shit. He didn’t want it to end. Not yet. But you just couldn't intimidate Stiles. Threaten to rip out his throat out with your teeth and you might get him to drive you to a doctor's office. Say you intend to fuck him up during sex and he makes you come. Stiles worked his fingers into the perfect position and sucked like he was going after the last sip of a malted milk shake. Bolts of pleasure, curled Derek forward. His cock squeezed out achy pearls of fluid. He seized Stiles, stilling the bob of his head with rough hands. Not yet. Damn you. No. No.
Think about something else, Derek. History. Politics. Starving childen. A pole through your fucking chest. Anything but Stiles sucking you dry. Stiles swallowing, gagging on too much cream. His fingers found no purchase in Stiles’ hair, skidded down to his neck, worked along his muscled shoulders. The picture his sense of touch drew threw Derek over the edge. And then, it was far too late to stop spurting. His hips rocked, pushing him deeper into that mouth. Stiles drained him as he hit the atmosphere. But as Derek fell back to Earth, Stiles abandoned him. Brain functions offline, momentarily disoriented, Derek grasped at air, afraid but melting into a languid sense of contentment. Oh, my God.
“Stiles? Where are you?”
“Here,” Stiles said, lifting Derek's leg to his shoulder. “Tell me if this hurts,” he added, then he pushed into him, going deep.
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking. No condom. Bare skin. Rigid cock. So big. Too much. He was too relaxed and Stiles was too slick. It just went so far in. Shit. Derek tried to squirm away. Not because it hurt. It didn't hurt. It...was like...being occupied. Filled. Pierced to the quick. Like nothing he'd ever felt before and just what he'd always wanted. Not punishment. Stimulation. Tenderness and authority, keeping him on the brink of ecstasy. His gut contracted. His prostate thrummed. He needed Stiles out of him, and further in. And Stiles kept obliging those needs. Sliding in and out. Stiles holding him down, lifting him up.
Derek couldn’t catch his breath. He tried and realized he was mewling. Like a pup. Like the motherless child he was underneath all of the scowling and threats. Deep inside. At the core of his being. Where Stiles was now. Thoroughly fucking him. An endless tickling. That's what it was like. Laura used to tickle him until his laughing turned to hiccups. And pleasure became something like pain. Intense. Under his skin.
Stiles under his skin. The thought of it made him want to come again. Only he couldn't come, because he hadn't recovered. You didn’t keep going. You didn’t keep going after ejaculating, at least, not for very long. He was spent. Hyper-sensitive. But Stiles didn't care. He wasn’t stopping and every time he thrust deep he hit that spot. Safe word. They needed a safe word. Derek couldn't muster enough brain cells back to work. Each slithering pulse of cock, each slap of skin on skin, sent a blast of tingles crawling along every muscle. Electric jolts. Short circuiting his reason. Shockwaves. Like Derek was being tasered with bliss. Too much stimulation. Too much. It triggered a champagne fizz of healing energy. One of those fireworks that continues to sizzle after the bang. Bang. Sizzle. Bang. Sizzle. Bang. Bang. Bang.
“I can't stop, Derek. We just... Holy, God. What is that?”
“Healing,” Derek managed to grunt. “Changing.”
“Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?”
“No. No.”
“Okay. Okay. Good,” Stiles panted. “Because your ass is full of fizzing bubbles. And you are so tight. Slick, but...you want it. Yeah, just like that. Damn! Derek! You are the best fuck.”
“Jesus. Stiles. No more. I can’t breathe. I can’t come again.”
“Want to stop?”
Yes. Yes. Say yes. End it, before it kills you. Only a groan escaped him. He'd forgotten how to say yes. A quick shake of his head. No. Because Stiles would stop if he asked. He would. And this might be the only time they would ever do this. And he never wanted it to end.
“Yeah. Didn't think so. You move like you want it.”
“Can’t let you go, Stiles.”
“Don’t. Fuck me. Hold on. You take all that pain. Take this.”
He was going to cry. Maybe he was crying. He tasted salt on his lips. Felt a stinging in his eyes. One arm came up to cover his face. Unable to flee, he wanted to hide. Or bite, rip into flesh. He could turn. Save himself. Break Stiles. He could sink his teeth in, make it stop. That would end it. And it would be over. He rode out the anger. Latched on to shame. He should, at least, be on his knees for this, looking away with his blind eyes. Being used. Not face up, splayed on his back. Belly and balls exposed. Throat unprotected. Oh, he'd wanted to crawl when they’d started this. Be taken from behind, and then wallow in misery. Sex. Anger. Regret. His personal trifecta.
But Stiles wouldn't let him regret one second of this. Stiles wanted to make him happy. Wanted to see it on his face. Derek's righteous fury abandoned him, leaving behind a need to be seen. He moved his arm. Look at me, Stiles. See what you've done. He wanted Stiles to know him. Wanted it like Christmas. Like he wanted someone to hold him at night. But he was coming apart and he wasn't going to survive it. Stiles was wrong about that. Wrong about him. He wasn't strong enough to be laid open. He had to make him understand that.
“That's it, baby. Let me in.”
“Stiles, Please.”
“Derek. Just let go,” Stiles said, grunting between words.
“I can't. I can't.”
“Shhhh, Alright. I'm sorry,” Stiles said. He stroked Derek's belly. “Maybe you can't.”
“Don't stop. Make me...make me.”
“Derek? God. Derek.” He rocked in a frenetic rhythm. “Almost done. Almost there.”
The stuttering thrusts told him Stiles was losing it, too. Fucking him hard. Hands demanding, as he levered Derek's knees open, parting them a little more. Then, he made a noise, a primal plea and they were changing positions. Stiles taking charge, pulling out. No. Oh, God. Right at the brink, he stopped. He slid all the way out and Derek was sure he was crying now. Fuck. No. Stiles. Stiles urging Derek up and into his lap, pulling him into a full embrace. Derek's feet slipping as he grabbed onto Stiles for balance.
“Come on. Come here. Lock around me.”
Stiles bracing him, guiding his legs, gripping his ass. Going balls deep into him. Home again. All the way home. It felt like fiery spears, running through Derek's veins. Agony, but not pain. More like a religious ecstasy. Fitting given they had to be doing something out of the gay Kama Sutra. Stiles groaning, tight against his chest, abrading his nipples. Sending little zings along his dick. Every thrust, rocking them both. Stiles gripping the scruff of his neck. Fingers weaving through his hair and caressing his lips. So gentle now. Kissing him deep. Mouth slick and hungry on his, sucking against no resistance.
His cock trapped between them tried to get hard again. Derek felt sorry for it. Too late, fella. He was going on without it. Stiles had the only cock that mattered. And Derek milked it, squirming and clenching. He wrapped around Stiles. Suckled his fingers. Found his throat, the lips, that long, strong tongue. Little earthquakes shook the bed. Everything outside vanished into their undulating rhythms. Everything opened up inside of Derek. The birth of the universe. Was this what women had? Multiple orgasms. Not a guy thing. Not spewing out, but drawing up and in. So good. Better than anything he'd ever imagined. And it was happening to him. A series of spasms twisted down his spine. Shifting. He was shifting. In super slow motion. Bone and muscle breaking into tiny pieces. Cells bursting, morphing. Only he didn’t become the wolf, he became Derek. Twenty-two. So in love with Stiles. He'd never get over him.
It had to be a climax, without ejaculating, without his cock involved at all. The tickling buzz turned brutal and rough, ticking every pleasure receptor. The jerking sensation seemed to go on and on. Derek clawed blunt fingertips across Stiles' back. They both pressed hands into the mattress. Someone shouted, maybe him. Maybe a neighbor, calling the police. He tried to push through Stiles, become him. Love shot through his gut, a divine passion. It squeezed his heart. Death. Dead. Ghosted. No light. No air.
His lungs filled again, just as Stiles spilled into him. Hot pulses. Inside. Where they should be. Stiles writhing and moaning in his arms. Fucking awesome. The scent. The sounds. The aftershocks. His emissary. His other half. That part of him that had always been missing, slotted into place like the last piece of his puzzle. The bell dinged. Fight over. An angel getting wings. Derek laughed, a little hysterically, but he didn't care. He just held on, sweaty and spent.
“Got you there, huh?” Stiles said, gulping air.
“Got me. Yeah. What the hell was that?”
“Anal orgasm,” Stiles said, waving his hand around. Derek could feel the little breezes it made. And the movements of his muscles as he laughed, weak and breathless from his own release. “Pretty great, right? You can't do that yourself. You need a partner.”
“Fuck. Stiles. How did you learn to...?” He smelled blood and thought about the clawing. His need to bite. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. You were a perfect gentleman. The perfect lay. I think I tore into you. Sorry.” He touched what Derek now recognized as stinging abrasions along his shoulders, already healing. “Pulling out right then, when all I wanted was... You're face, Derek, at the end. I can't even...”
“You nearly fucked me to death.”
“Like you asked. And I had to push you hard. So you would know, how good it could be.”
“Good? God. Stiles? Where...?”
“The Internet, Derek. I keep telling you it's your friend.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Can we move, please? My legs are cramping.”
Derek levered up and back. His knees were like jelly. Damn. Achy everywhere. And he needed to be filled again. Even though he'd never been so satisfied.
Stiles hissed as his cock slid free. “Ow. Ow. Oh, man. Just so you know, my dick is sprained.”
“Wish I could see that. See your face.”
“Me, too. But, hey, soon, right? I want my turn. Soon as we recover a bit.”
“Don't you worry,” Derek said, kissing his cheek. “My calendar is clear all week.”
“A week? Buddy, I won't be hard again for a month. And you have seriously underestimated my accruing interest.”
“I hope so,” Derek said, flopping into the pillows. “Come here. Snuggle.”
“You're a cuddler?” Stiles said. “Be still my heart.”
“Shut up. Wolves cuddle.”
“Scott told me. I already laughed at him. So, you are spared my cutting wit.”
Great. Scott was going to get details on this? A blush stung his cheeks, going all romance novel virgin again. Fuck. “You tell each other everything?”
“Every sordid detail,” Stiles said, as if he couldn't wait to share. “Are you kidding? I will be bragging about this to Scott, to my dad, everyone in the locker room. The good news is now I have something to write about for that English paper on my most memorable summer experience. The best essays get published on the school website. You'll be famous.”
“Sarcasm doesn't work as well when I can't see your face, Stiles.”
“Sorry. But that was a stupid question. Scott knows what he needs to know.”
Derek shrugged, but smiled. “Tell him, if you want. You are going to smell like me, anyway.”
“Even if I shower?” Stiles sniffed. “Scent glands. Anal. Werewolf, right. You marked me?”
“You marked yourself,” Derek said. “Mine. Get used to it.”
“Eye drops,” Stiles said. “Then, you can have your snuggle.” He crawled, rather languidly, to the side table and picked up the bottle. His fingers traced lightly over Derek's cheek. “Look up. Blink. Look up. Blink. Now, rest. No more exertion.”
Derek heaved a put upon sigh. He pressed his lips into a grumpy face as Stiles hit the floor and wandered off to get a drink. A tinkling of glass. Taps. Freezer. Ice. Comfortingly domestic sounds. When he came back, Stiles managed towels and pillows and blankets, tucking Derek under the covers. With a sickening dip of his stomach, Derek realized he'd had some experience with invalids. For the first time, since falling under the influence, he wonder if Stiles needed a few wins in his life, too.
“Here. Water.” Stiles guided Derek's questing fingers to the glass. Derek grumbled about being smothered, before draining it. “All right, scoot over,” Stiles said, after setting the glass aside. “Do we need so many blankets? I'm seriously overheated.”
“Are you going to be this bossy from now on?”
“Only in bed. And for the rest of your life. Get used to that, Derek.”
As he became cosy with Stiles, perfectly content to overheat him, Derek murmured, “Mmmm! I don't know. I might need a few more hard lessons.”
"Noted. Make a list. Lucky for you, your grumpy ass is now my top priority."
THE END
by Rabid1st
TeenWolf – Sterek
Rating: Mature/Explicit
Word Count: 5200 this part...about 15,000 total.
Warnings: M/M Sex. Violence. Triggering for noncon touching. Actually Dubcon in places. Underage (Stiles is 17 yoa). This is not rough sex kink, but the interaction is confusing for both men. Bottom!Derek is not a submissive. Not that there is anything wrong with that, Alphas can be submissive. But he is just needy here.
Beta Babes:Elsecarlass & Birthsister
Spoilers: Set in theoretical S4, some implications through S3a
Summary: Blind!Derek fic. When Derek is sprayed by a wereskunk he is blinded, deafened and left without his sense of smell. He shifts and becomes unmanageable. Stiles is the only one that can help him. The sensory deprivation has some astounding effects on Derek as he gives in to exploring taste and texture. He wants Stiles. Stiles wants him. The non-con parts of this fic are based on Stiles trying not to surrender to their mutual desire. It is not good timing for Stiles and so he resists.
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.
On AO3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/975296/chapters/1942021
PART THREE
Oh, sweet, sweet Stiles. We should definitely stop wasting time. I could live for a hundred years and never get enough of you. Derek smiled. It felt strange. When had smiling become alien to him? For a second or two he entertained the idea of being happy again. He could visualize exactly how Stiles looked. He'd have his chin tucked in, those brandy-colored eyes peering up from beneath heavy brows, full lips parted. Derek missed that look, like he missed moonlight and stars. He couldn't imagine never seeing it again. When had he fallen in love with that face? It hadn’t been at first sight.
He’d hated Stiles at first sight. Silly whelp. Though hate and love were supposedly intertwined. Stiles kept trying to cheer him up. Don't be such a sourwolf? Positivity just isn't in your vocabulary, is it? Not so much. No. But Stiles always made him reconsider. They'd built trust, layer on layer. Grown comfortable with one another. Stiles could make him laugh. Wow! He laughs. Somewhere a baby angel just got a puppy. Stiles had his back. Stiles stood up to him and protected him, too. He never took Derek seriously. The big, bad wolf. Yeah. Right.
In retrospect, Derek realized he'd been noticing Stiles for awhile, subconsciously, finding him attractive. He’d cataloged the strength in him, his wrists, his beautiful hands, the pouting mouth, the way his t-shirts hung loose over hard muscle. Stiles could be hard and soft, feminine and masculine. The best of both worlds for a nearly straight guy like Derek. All those careless touches, skin brushing skin, seemed to mean more in light of their recent shower. But hand to the Nemeton, Derek had never thought about kissing Stiles. Hadn't craved his mouth, his touch, his cock. Not until he'd tasted those lips for the first time.
In the senseless dark, it had been like a breaker being thrown. That first kiss. Bam! Enlightenment. Did that even happen in real life? Maybe not. It felt dangerous to call it love. Infatuation. Intoxication. Maybe this was just…temporary. A hormonal side effect of the wereskunk toxins. Some type of sex pollen, fueling inhibitions. He'd have to check the bestiary to know. Maybe they should wait for his eyesight to return. Take a couple of days to think this over. Maybe Stiles was right to hesitate about going further.
There it was. His prison closing in on him again, isolating him, numbing his ardor. No. No. Damn it. He was sick of being buried alive. The love gods owed him. They kept kicking him and tricking him. How many mistakes could one man make? He was due for a win. And he was so very careful, cultivating anger all the time. Building walls. He barely made eye contact these days. Jennifer had been a fucking school teacher. Deceptively submissive, like Stiles. She'd reeked with the same power. Druid. Like Stiles. So, he wanted an emissary. A strong hand on his leash. Was that so wrong? Stiles didn’t kill people. Stiles had a heart so big it scared him. Stiles, also, had a girlfriend. And a father with a gun. Stiles was still in high school. And Derek was going to ruin him. But he wanted this so much it was like a fire in his chest. This one would break him if it went wrong. Hell. Right or wrong, this one would be the last one.
“We should...maybe...wait,” he said, hating himself for voicing the doubt. He turned to block the bathroom exit, one hand lifting to caress Stiles' cheek.
“No, we should not,” Stiles said, pushing into his belly, shoving him back onto the hard wood floors. “You're the one who bullied me into this. You are not turning reasonable on me now.”
Derek kept his balance easily, but the intimate contact made his hackles rise. Don't go for the soft parts of an injured animal. Risk your life like that. Trigger me. Damn it, Stiles! Do you want it rough?
“Stiles,” he said, layering a warning in his tone. “I'm serious. You wanted to stop.”
“No,” Stiles said. He stretched the negative like melted mozzarella, like Derek was an idiot. “I wanted to understand. Now, I do.”
“Enlighten me.”
“He wants to talk,” Stiles said, exasperated. He sighed, and then launched into a rapid fire explanation. “I know this isn’t your preference, guys. You're straight. And you don’t find me attractive.”
“I do,” Derek said.
“Now that you can't see me? Right, okay! Say I believe that. You didn’t want me before. Or maybe you did. But you wouldn’t have acted on it. It probably never would have crossed your mind, except I kissed you. But see, I wanted to kiss you. I just needed a good excuse. I don't want to stop, because I’ve been waiting forever. Not for you. For this feeling. This certainty. I thought I could have it with Lydia. I did. She’s got a tiny dog. And designer shoes, Derek. Perfect skin. And she smells great. And the sex is good, really good.”
“Fuck Lydia.” He didn't want to hear this. Derek didn't care if he sounded angry. He didn't want to know how great she was for Stiles. How much he loved her.
“Let me finish,” Stiles said, sounding just as angry as Derek did. Smelling like a man who knew more than Derek ever would. Smart, capable Stiles. In command despite his fears. “What I'm saying is...I like her. She's a huge part of my life. Featured in every dream about the future I've ever had. But we aren’t going to work like the happy-ever-after stories. And I want you to know, it's not because of you. It’s because I would do this. I would cheat on her. Okay, probably only with you. You, in this state, but that’s not the point. The point is…well…I didn't know you could do this to me before tonight.”
Break you. Hurt you. Make you unfaithful by pushing too hard. Destroy your happy ever after story? Every dream you've ever had of the perfect future? All with her. “Great! I ruined your life. Tell her that. Blame me.”
“God, Derek!” Stiles actually ground his teeth together. “It's not about blame. And I'm not sorry. I'm saying I would do this again and again. You pretty much made my life tonight. This is who I am. And, yeah, it scares me. You push me, I push back. You need me, I need you. I’m part of your pack. Or we are both part of Scott’s, I guess. I belong in the world of the Nemeton. It's dark and scary in the woods, but that's where I want to be. In a house in the woods with a couple of kids and—someone, someone who cares if I make it home. I want to feel whole. Not like a work in progress. And when you came apart on me in that room that’s what I felt. Necessary. Vital.”
Stiles wanted this. Needed it? They both dreamed of the same house. Maybe. Hard to imagine he could be the someone for anyone. “I made your life?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said, so softly Derek could barely hear him.
“What if tomorrow we wake up and it’s gone?” Derek said.
“Good point. See? We definitely shouldn’t wait.” He took Derek's hand, squeezing his fingers a little. Then, he yanked him around, towing him toward the bed. The irreverent school boy returned as he asked, “Why do you always have your bed on display? Are you proud of your bed, Derek? Do you hope orgies will break out spontaneously?”
“I like open spaces.”
Someone banged on the door and they both started. “Stiles? It’s me,” Scott called, from the hallway. “I know you’re in there. I can smell you. Dude, is that therapeutic sex?”
“Fucking werewolves,” Stiles said, cinching his towel tighter. “Always sticking their noses in.” He gave Derek a pat. “I’ll be right back. Hold all of those thoughts.”
Hold these thoughts? Dark ones about fetish driven sex...in the middle of a farce? Did he want spontaneous orgies? Maybe. Why was his bed on display? Too funny. Even Stiles misunderstanding his attraction. Thinking Derek didn't want him. Having a meltdown over interruptions. Scott at the door. Smelling the sex and...commenting on it. Maybe Derek's dark past didn't need to loom so large. Brooding just came off as ridiculous in this pack. Nobody took him seriously. A guffaw caught in the back of his throat. He let go, started laughing and couldn’t seem to stop. And maybe that was how it should be. Maybe a life with Stiles would be full of laughter. If he just let go of tragedy, maybe he wouldn't be an Omega. If he stopped cringing inside every time someone approached him, he might just enjoy the little moments.
As Stiles bounced off to deal with the Alpha, Derek swept a hand out, locating the bed less than a foot away. He dropped into it, still chuckling as he curled up on the blankets. He spread his towel across his hips for privacy and focused on what was happening at the door.
“This is an actual apartment building, Scott,” Stiles said, when he yanked the door open. “We have neighbors.”
“We? Wow! Things are really progressing. Hey, Derek!”
“Fuck off, Scott,” Derek called.
Scott chuckled. “He’s feeling better.”
“He still can’t see and we have some…healing to do.”
“I so have your back,” Scott said. There was a crinkle of paper, like a small bag being crumpled during an exchange of hands. “I stopped at the pharmacy for the eye wash and picked you up a few essentials. Just in case.”
“Like a toothbrush?”
“Packed that from your house,” he said and dropped a heavy satchel to the floor. “Shoes. Socks. Underwear. Shirt. Deodorant. I know you have some sex supplies of your own, in that box in your closet, but I didn’t want to…see them, you know? Have any idea. And I figure Derek never gets laid, so what are the odds he has anything on hand?”
“I can hear you,” Derek said.
“You are welcome, dude,” Scott said, pitching his voice to carry. He returned to what Derek imagined Scott considered a discrete volume and addressed Stiles. “I just bought what you might need. Lube. Condoms. Not that you can get STD's or pregnant. At least, we hope not.” Scott’s tone turned positively gleeful as he smacked into Stiles in what Derek thought must be a bruising hug. “My brothers. Finally getting it. This is the best thing, ever.”
Stiles was smiling. Derek could hear it in his voice when he said goodbye. He locked the door again. And padded back across the floor to Derek’s bedside.
“Scott is way too happy for us.”
“I noticed.”
“I think he won some kind of bet with Isaac. Or maybe my dad.”
“Don’t even joke about that. And I do have lubricant. Somewhere. Maybe the bathroom. I'm not completely celibate.”
“Are the bottles dusty?” Stiles said, carelessly fanning his towel out on the bed, wafting a breeze across Derek's skin.
He shivered with the cool air and anticipation. His nipples pulled taut. Throwing out an arm in invitation, he smiled up at Stiles, looking relaxed. Stiles flopped down next to him, cuddling close. His dick nudged against Derek's side. The sole of one foot brushed up Derek’s calf. And a paper bag tipped over on his chest, spilling out a couple of tubes and packages. Derek poked at the pile, confused. But Stiles wasn’t one to keep him in the dark.
“My boy, Scott,” Stiles crowed, lifting one of the tubes away, “brings us quality. Liquid Silk. And, yes!” Another bottle vanished. “This stuff keeps you up for an hour. Okay, not you, Mr. Fast Metabolizer. But me. We should send Scott a card. Like, thanks for assisting us in our debauchery. There’s probably an e-card for that. You want to medicate? Rinse out your eyes? Kick start the healing?”
“Maybe we should wait until after...” Derek couldn't believe he'd just said that. On the other hand, why risk complications. “There might be side effects. Seizures with my luck.”
“I think your luck is turning, buddy. Let's see,” Stiles plucked up one of the boxes. Derek pushed the remaining package off his body and to the side of the bed. “It says it doesn't sting. For veterinary use. Ha! Four drops in each eye, twice a day, and blink. That's from Deaton. The werewolf dosage. Do not drive? Are they kidding? Yes, don't drive while you are blind.” He mumbled as he applied his teeth to the plastic wrap. “Also, don't let your dog drive. Good advice.” Shifting his weight, he said, “Look up. I'll do one eye.”
Derek caught his forearm, holding him off. “Do not drive means it makes your drowsy. I do not want to be drowsy right now, Stiles. I want to be very awake. It's not going to cure me tonight, so, it can wait an hour.”
“Really? Staying blind a little longer? This is the choice you make?” Stiles did his patented head bob, Derek felt the rocking motion. “You do need to get laid.”
Derek curled up, bracing on an elbow. He raised both eyebrows, doing his best to level a 'my point exactly' stare in the direction of Stiles' breathing.
“And I'm all inspired now,” Stiles said. “To hell with medical care.”
Setting the eye drops on the bedside table, he searched for and found one of the other packages. He worried it open, using his mouth again.
Nibbling, biting, sucking, teeth tearing into plastic. The enticing little noises drove Derek out of his head. He wanted to skitter after them, like a fox digging for a vole.
“Your mouth. Put it to better use.”
He'd said that aloud. Damn. Why did he always sound so angry?
“Anger is not your friend, Derek. I'm your friend. Your bro. Your fuck buddy. Pour some sugar on me.”
“No,” Derek said. “Not friends.”
“What? Because you want my mouth on you?”
“Yes.”
“Where? How? Tell me.” He tweaked Derek's nipple. “Here?”
Derek groaned. Stiles chuckled low and sexy. Derek lunged for him, but he ducked away, spilling off the bed to easily avoid Derek's half-hearted grab.
“Unh-uh. No more of that.”
He circled the bed. Derek crouched, head cocked to listen. Stiles knew it would be child's play to follow his progress by the ragged sound of his breathing and the slap of his bare feet. But he did his best to move like a predator, preparing to strike. He came up behind Derek, stepping carefully, but with zero chance of catching him off guard. He didn’t really want to startle him. This was a stalking game, designed to heighten anticipation. Instead of pouncing, Stiles crept onto the bed. Kneeling he wrapped both arms around Derek’s chest, lube-slicked fingers sliding across his skin, pulling his peaked nipples. Stiles breathed down his neck. He licked at the edge of soft beard.
“Here?”
“Yes,” Derek hissed. “Bite. Suck. Harder.”
Stiles’ grip tightened to contain him. Derek’s head dropped back, exposing his throat in classic surrender. Stiles savaged it, channelling his inner Alpha.
A little blunt toothed cub attacking. Warm lips and breath tickled along his jugular. Stiles. Fierce. Impulsive. A volatile combination. Derek had always suspected Stiles harboured some Alpha tendencies, from the day he’d threatened to abandon him to his fate, dragging his little werewolf ass into the street to die. He'd make a great Alpha. Or a scary one, Derek hastily amended. Stiles had enough power over him, already. No need to give him more.
Arching into Stiles, gripping his thigh, his head. Wanting so much more. Needing. Stiles. More than his friend. Fuck buddy? Lover? Derek twisted his neck to find those lips. Kissed them. Tongue probing. Teeth clicking into teeth, the meeting an electric shock. Stiles had a perfect mouth. He couldn’t stop thinking about it. Where he wanted it next. How it bowed. How it tasted. Yielding, redolent with scent. Luscious. Magical, as it slid away from the kiss and traced lower. Slicking over Derek's ribs and abs. Yes. That’s what he wanted. More tongue. Teeth. Sucking. Feeling totally vulnerable, he startled like a virgin when Stiles went all the way down on him, biting at his inner thigh, blowing heat over his balls.
“This? Here?”
“Yes.” Oral sex. Always welcome. He'd asked for it earlier. Yet, a tremor of uncertainty made him tenative. He wanted this. But he'd never been so vulnerable with a man. Stiles. “It's... I'm...just…”
“Nervous? Me, too.”
He'd been expecting Stiles to say “an ass.” The sympathy struck a far deeper cord in him than anything else could have. He gave in to it. Nodding. His fingers found one of Stiles' hands and gripped it. They were in new territory now. Derek willingly up everything he'd ever been, content to be here. And in good hands. The best hands. Sighing, he relaxed back into his pillow.
“Anywhere, Stiles. Everywhere.”
“Give me a minute.”
Stiles took a breather, pausing in his licking explorations to cast his gaze over Derek. He was shaking, Stiles could feel the little shudders under his fingers and tongue. But Derek seemed pretty sure of what he wanted. Splayed and ready for whatever Stiles chose to do next. Beautiful. Blind. Stiles felt a huge sense of responsibility for how this went. He'd never taken charge like this before and he wondered what roll of the cosmic dice had delivered this into his life, put him in charge of Derek Hale's good time.
“You're uncut, like me,” he observed, before running his tongue up Derek's length. He flicked the tip. “Couldn't circumcise you, of course. You'd just heal.”
“Natural born, yeah.”
“Fucking gorgeous. And tasty.”
“You like it, Stiles? Wish I could watch.”
“Sucking you? Yeah. A lot more than I thought I would."
"Take it all, baby."
"Shut up! Everything I ever wanted done to me, I'm going to do to you. So, pay attention.” He hummed a happy little tune as he engulfed Derek, swallowing an impressive number of inches.
Submerged in Stiles. Damn. So different from anyone else. Better. Clenching. Tongue swirling. Slick probing heat. Deep throating like a porn star. What that must look like? Imagine it. Derek's heart slammed into his ribcage. He arched as he envisioned it. Where the hell had Stiles learned to suck like that? Slurping like Derek’s dick was a Popsicle. This just had to be right. Good for him. Because it was going to become a habit. Every night before bed. Like flossing. Read a little. Get sucked off by Stiles. Wake up. Get sucked off by Stiles. What is that he's humming? Rap? The clicking tongue is really too much. Intoxicating. The noises were making Derek drunk and reckless. Claws out, Derek dug into the blankets. His hips lifted, thrusting into a gag that triggered a flow of saliva. Stiles backed off, almost prompting Derek to attack. But the urge abandoned him when Stiles sang a snatch of the song he'd been humming.
“It feels like one of those nights,” Stiles sang, gulping over the words as he drew breath. “We won't be sleeping. It feels like one of those nights. You look like bad news. I got to have you.”
“Damn it, Stiles,” Derek said, a stifled laugh stinging his nose. “Will you settle down?”
“No,” Stiles said. “Have a good time, Derek. You know you want to. Ladies love the humming.”
Shimmying through a dance move, he sang another verse. Then, he lunged up Derek’s body to kiss him. Not a savage, hard kiss, but a meltingly sweet one. They spent a few minutes just rubbing all over one another, tongues sweeping into hungry mouths, fingers combing through each other’s hair. Derek pulled Stiles into him, running his hands up his back. Stiles laughed, grabbed a pillow and slithered lower. He urged Derek’s hips up and slipped the pillow under him, before he went back to humming and sucking. His slippery fingers teased every place his lips missed. They played over Derek’s balls, along his inner thighs and further back and around. The pillow allowed him better access to some delightfully sensitive areas.
Derek sang along in his head. How did he even know these lyrics? He didn't listen to the Top-40. Didn't own a radio. And he couldn't place the artist. Maybe Cora had the song on her phone. I don't know about you, but I'm feeling 22. Everything will be alright if you keep me next to you. You don't know about me. But I bet you want to. Everything will be alright if we just keep dancing like we're 22. Have a good time, Derek. In bed. With Stiles. Twenty-two. Not the Alpha. Not an Omega. Not the last survivor, heir to an impossible legacy. Something new. Young. Fresh. New family. New life. Stiles every day, like flossing. Working lubricated fingers into him, now. Twisting them in. Oh. Oh. Yes. Derek couldn’t believe how good it felt. He’d expected it to hurt a little. Thought he would jump or clench. Resent it on some level. But, it was incredible. Just...not enough.
“All of you, Stiles, come on,” he said.
Stiles stopped sucking for moment. Derek shivered. “Two fingers is a lot, Derek. Don’t rush it.”
“Fuck. Werewolf. You can't hurt me.”
“You want my cock, Derek? Is that what you're saying?”
“Yes.”
“Will it make you happy?”
“Yes,” Derek snarled, shoving Stiles’ face back into his groin. “It will.”
He’d come undone. Like some romance heroine. What the fuck? Happy? Werewolves weren't happy woodland creatures. Frolicking around like Bambi on ice. He was going to defile Stiles if the boy kept teasing him. Gut him. Fury and need and affection wrestled for top spot in his brain. He wanted to be fucked and come and Stiles just didn't care. He was a heartless son of a bitch. And merciless. Was this what Derek wanted? To be teased by that tongue for an hour? Given two fingers and a hard time? Fuck that.
Stiles returned to his slow sucking. Fingers pumping in and out, avoiding any extra stimulation. Because he was evil. Because Derek had that kind of luck. The little bastard probably did kill people, blew them to death. Prodded and licked and hummed men into cardiac arrest. How the hell had they ended up here? Derek surrendering everything? Stiles laughing at him? So amused by it all. Those artful fingers found Derek's scent glands and the hot spot between them. His hips jerked. And Stiles scissored into his prostate.
“Motherfucker. You little slut bastard. I’m going to fuck you wide open. I'm going to bury my teeth in your neck and screw you 'til you can’t walk. Stiles? Do you hear me?”
“I do,” Stiles said, over the rush of blood in Derek's ears. He sounded dangerously calm. “You don’t sound happy, Derek. Maybe we should get this over with.”
“Wha'? What?” Derek panted. “No.”
“You want to come, right? I can make that happen.”
Shit. He didn’t want it to end. Not yet. But you just couldn't intimidate Stiles. Threaten to rip out his throat out with your teeth and you might get him to drive you to a doctor's office. Say you intend to fuck him up during sex and he makes you come. Stiles worked his fingers into the perfect position and sucked like he was going after the last sip of a malted milk shake. Bolts of pleasure, curled Derek forward. His cock squeezed out achy pearls of fluid. He seized Stiles, stilling the bob of his head with rough hands. Not yet. Damn you. No. No.
Think about something else, Derek. History. Politics. Starving childen. A pole through your fucking chest. Anything but Stiles sucking you dry. Stiles swallowing, gagging on too much cream. His fingers found no purchase in Stiles’ hair, skidded down to his neck, worked along his muscled shoulders. The picture his sense of touch drew threw Derek over the edge. And then, it was far too late to stop spurting. His hips rocked, pushing him deeper into that mouth. Stiles drained him as he hit the atmosphere. But as Derek fell back to Earth, Stiles abandoned him. Brain functions offline, momentarily disoriented, Derek grasped at air, afraid but melting into a languid sense of contentment. Oh, my God.
“Stiles? Where are you?”
“Here,” Stiles said, lifting Derek's leg to his shoulder. “Tell me if this hurts,” he added, then he pushed into him, going deep.
Fuck. Fuck. Fucking. No condom. Bare skin. Rigid cock. So big. Too much. He was too relaxed and Stiles was too slick. It just went so far in. Shit. Derek tried to squirm away. Not because it hurt. It didn't hurt. It...was like...being occupied. Filled. Pierced to the quick. Like nothing he'd ever felt before and just what he'd always wanted. Not punishment. Stimulation. Tenderness and authority, keeping him on the brink of ecstasy. His gut contracted. His prostate thrummed. He needed Stiles out of him, and further in. And Stiles kept obliging those needs. Sliding in and out. Stiles holding him down, lifting him up.
Derek couldn’t catch his breath. He tried and realized he was mewling. Like a pup. Like the motherless child he was underneath all of the scowling and threats. Deep inside. At the core of his being. Where Stiles was now. Thoroughly fucking him. An endless tickling. That's what it was like. Laura used to tickle him until his laughing turned to hiccups. And pleasure became something like pain. Intense. Under his skin.
Stiles under his skin. The thought of it made him want to come again. Only he couldn't come, because he hadn't recovered. You didn’t keep going. You didn’t keep going after ejaculating, at least, not for very long. He was spent. Hyper-sensitive. But Stiles didn't care. He wasn’t stopping and every time he thrust deep he hit that spot. Safe word. They needed a safe word. Derek couldn't muster enough brain cells back to work. Each slithering pulse of cock, each slap of skin on skin, sent a blast of tingles crawling along every muscle. Electric jolts. Short circuiting his reason. Shockwaves. Like Derek was being tasered with bliss. Too much stimulation. Too much. It triggered a champagne fizz of healing energy. One of those fireworks that continues to sizzle after the bang. Bang. Sizzle. Bang. Sizzle. Bang. Bang. Bang.
“I can't stop, Derek. We just... Holy, God. What is that?”
“Healing,” Derek managed to grunt. “Changing.”
“Does it hurt? Am I hurting you?”
“No. No.”
“Okay. Okay. Good,” Stiles panted. “Because your ass is full of fizzing bubbles. And you are so tight. Slick, but...you want it. Yeah, just like that. Damn! Derek! You are the best fuck.”
“Jesus. Stiles. No more. I can’t breathe. I can’t come again.”
“Want to stop?”
Yes. Yes. Say yes. End it, before it kills you. Only a groan escaped him. He'd forgotten how to say yes. A quick shake of his head. No. Because Stiles would stop if he asked. He would. And this might be the only time they would ever do this. And he never wanted it to end.
“Yeah. Didn't think so. You move like you want it.”
“Can’t let you go, Stiles.”
“Don’t. Fuck me. Hold on. You take all that pain. Take this.”
He was going to cry. Maybe he was crying. He tasted salt on his lips. Felt a stinging in his eyes. One arm came up to cover his face. Unable to flee, he wanted to hide. Or bite, rip into flesh. He could turn. Save himself. Break Stiles. He could sink his teeth in, make it stop. That would end it. And it would be over. He rode out the anger. Latched on to shame. He should, at least, be on his knees for this, looking away with his blind eyes. Being used. Not face up, splayed on his back. Belly and balls exposed. Throat unprotected. Oh, he'd wanted to crawl when they’d started this. Be taken from behind, and then wallow in misery. Sex. Anger. Regret. His personal trifecta.
But Stiles wouldn't let him regret one second of this. Stiles wanted to make him happy. Wanted to see it on his face. Derek's righteous fury abandoned him, leaving behind a need to be seen. He moved his arm. Look at me, Stiles. See what you've done. He wanted Stiles to know him. Wanted it like Christmas. Like he wanted someone to hold him at night. But he was coming apart and he wasn't going to survive it. Stiles was wrong about that. Wrong about him. He wasn't strong enough to be laid open. He had to make him understand that.
“That's it, baby. Let me in.”
“Stiles, Please.”
“Derek. Just let go,” Stiles said, grunting between words.
“I can't. I can't.”
“Shhhh, Alright. I'm sorry,” Stiles said. He stroked Derek's belly. “Maybe you can't.”
“Don't stop. Make me...make me.”
“Derek? God. Derek.” He rocked in a frenetic rhythm. “Almost done. Almost there.”
The stuttering thrusts told him Stiles was losing it, too. Fucking him hard. Hands demanding, as he levered Derek's knees open, parting them a little more. Then, he made a noise, a primal plea and they were changing positions. Stiles taking charge, pulling out. No. Oh, God. Right at the brink, he stopped. He slid all the way out and Derek was sure he was crying now. Fuck. No. Stiles. Stiles urging Derek up and into his lap, pulling him into a full embrace. Derek's feet slipping as he grabbed onto Stiles for balance.
“Come on. Come here. Lock around me.”
Stiles bracing him, guiding his legs, gripping his ass. Going balls deep into him. Home again. All the way home. It felt like fiery spears, running through Derek's veins. Agony, but not pain. More like a religious ecstasy. Fitting given they had to be doing something out of the gay Kama Sutra. Stiles groaning, tight against his chest, abrading his nipples. Sending little zings along his dick. Every thrust, rocking them both. Stiles gripping the scruff of his neck. Fingers weaving through his hair and caressing his lips. So gentle now. Kissing him deep. Mouth slick and hungry on his, sucking against no resistance.
His cock trapped between them tried to get hard again. Derek felt sorry for it. Too late, fella. He was going on without it. Stiles had the only cock that mattered. And Derek milked it, squirming and clenching. He wrapped around Stiles. Suckled his fingers. Found his throat, the lips, that long, strong tongue. Little earthquakes shook the bed. Everything outside vanished into their undulating rhythms. Everything opened up inside of Derek. The birth of the universe. Was this what women had? Multiple orgasms. Not a guy thing. Not spewing out, but drawing up and in. So good. Better than anything he'd ever imagined. And it was happening to him. A series of spasms twisted down his spine. Shifting. He was shifting. In super slow motion. Bone and muscle breaking into tiny pieces. Cells bursting, morphing. Only he didn’t become the wolf, he became Derek. Twenty-two. So in love with Stiles. He'd never get over him.
It had to be a climax, without ejaculating, without his cock involved at all. The tickling buzz turned brutal and rough, ticking every pleasure receptor. The jerking sensation seemed to go on and on. Derek clawed blunt fingertips across Stiles' back. They both pressed hands into the mattress. Someone shouted, maybe him. Maybe a neighbor, calling the police. He tried to push through Stiles, become him. Love shot through his gut, a divine passion. It squeezed his heart. Death. Dead. Ghosted. No light. No air.
His lungs filled again, just as Stiles spilled into him. Hot pulses. Inside. Where they should be. Stiles writhing and moaning in his arms. Fucking awesome. The scent. The sounds. The aftershocks. His emissary. His other half. That part of him that had always been missing, slotted into place like the last piece of his puzzle. The bell dinged. Fight over. An angel getting wings. Derek laughed, a little hysterically, but he didn't care. He just held on, sweaty and spent.
“Got you there, huh?” Stiles said, gulping air.
“Got me. Yeah. What the hell was that?”
“Anal orgasm,” Stiles said, waving his hand around. Derek could feel the little breezes it made. And the movements of his muscles as he laughed, weak and breathless from his own release. “Pretty great, right? You can't do that yourself. You need a partner.”
“Fuck. Stiles. How did you learn to...?” He smelled blood and thought about the clawing. His need to bite. “Did I hurt you?”
“No. You were a perfect gentleman. The perfect lay. I think I tore into you. Sorry.” He touched what Derek now recognized as stinging abrasions along his shoulders, already healing. “Pulling out right then, when all I wanted was... You're face, Derek, at the end. I can't even...”
“You nearly fucked me to death.”
“Like you asked. And I had to push you hard. So you would know, how good it could be.”
“Good? God. Stiles? Where...?”
“The Internet, Derek. I keep telling you it's your friend.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Can we move, please? My legs are cramping.”
Derek levered up and back. His knees were like jelly. Damn. Achy everywhere. And he needed to be filled again. Even though he'd never been so satisfied.
Stiles hissed as his cock slid free. “Ow. Ow. Oh, man. Just so you know, my dick is sprained.”
“Wish I could see that. See your face.”
“Me, too. But, hey, soon, right? I want my turn. Soon as we recover a bit.”
“Don't you worry,” Derek said, kissing his cheek. “My calendar is clear all week.”
“A week? Buddy, I won't be hard again for a month. And you have seriously underestimated my accruing interest.”
“I hope so,” Derek said, flopping into the pillows. “Come here. Snuggle.”
“You're a cuddler?” Stiles said. “Be still my heart.”
“Shut up. Wolves cuddle.”
“Scott told me. I already laughed at him. So, you are spared my cutting wit.”
Great. Scott was going to get details on this? A blush stung his cheeks, going all romance novel virgin again. Fuck. “You tell each other everything?”
“Every sordid detail,” Stiles said, as if he couldn't wait to share. “Are you kidding? I will be bragging about this to Scott, to my dad, everyone in the locker room. The good news is now I have something to write about for that English paper on my most memorable summer experience. The best essays get published on the school website. You'll be famous.”
“Sarcasm doesn't work as well when I can't see your face, Stiles.”
“Sorry. But that was a stupid question. Scott knows what he needs to know.”
Derek shrugged, but smiled. “Tell him, if you want. You are going to smell like me, anyway.”
“Even if I shower?” Stiles sniffed. “Scent glands. Anal. Werewolf, right. You marked me?”
“You marked yourself,” Derek said. “Mine. Get used to it.”
“Eye drops,” Stiles said. “Then, you can have your snuggle.” He crawled, rather languidly, to the side table and picked up the bottle. His fingers traced lightly over Derek's cheek. “Look up. Blink. Look up. Blink. Now, rest. No more exertion.”
Derek heaved a put upon sigh. He pressed his lips into a grumpy face as Stiles hit the floor and wandered off to get a drink. A tinkling of glass. Taps. Freezer. Ice. Comfortingly domestic sounds. When he came back, Stiles managed towels and pillows and blankets, tucking Derek under the covers. With a sickening dip of his stomach, Derek realized he'd had some experience with invalids. For the first time, since falling under the influence, he wonder if Stiles needed a few wins in his life, too.
“Here. Water.” Stiles guided Derek's questing fingers to the glass. Derek grumbled about being smothered, before draining it. “All right, scoot over,” Stiles said, after setting the glass aside. “Do we need so many blankets? I'm seriously overheated.”
“Are you going to be this bossy from now on?”
“Only in bed. And for the rest of your life. Get used to that, Derek.”
As he became cosy with Stiles, perfectly content to overheat him, Derek murmured, “Mmmm! I don't know. I might need a few more hard lessons.”
"Noted. Make a list. Lucky for you, your grumpy ass is now my top priority."
THE END
(no subject)
Date: 2013-10-01 11:50 am (UTC)Ha! Anyway...back to the emotional core of the fic, which as I've said, is why I write this pairing. Derek does have rapidly shifting emotions here. He barely understands them and so, Stiles has to take charge of it all. That is what Derek wants deep down, but he has no idea how to let it happen. He's used to being a tower of strength and sullen glowering and so being helpless leaves him a little off balance. Stiles, in his speech about finding himself, comes to see that he is fully capable of providing that balance. Basically, in the fic, Stiles realizes not that he loves Derek (though I think he does) but that he belongs in the woods with the scary monsters, helping them be vulnerable and human again.
And, I'm so happy that you took a chance on my fiction and even though it made you feel the bittersweet feelings it proved ultimately satisfying. That's my personal goal as a writer to take people on an emotional ride, make them think about stuff, and then leave them feeling it was worth the angst in the end. LOL Thank you again for taking a chance with me and for taking time to write out your reactions. It is like my pay day for the week of sore back muscles I got hunched over my keyboard.
Oh, and Scott so had a bet with Isaac. I don't think Peter would bet against this...so definitely Isaac.