(Getting Together, Mates Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Explicit Sexual Content)
Summary: Stiles travels around Europe to try to escape his demons. He goes to Longyearbyen because the sun won't set for months and has an unexpected encounter at the bay.
The black sand beaches of Iceland were a spectacular sight, the quiet, solitary beauty of Landeyjahöfn and the crystalline otherworldliness of Jökulsárlón Lagoon, its banks strewn with glacial “diamonds.” Cold and captivating.
Stiles stayed on the southern coast of the country for a nearly week, but it wasn’t far enough for him, the shadows still deep and capable of hiding monsters. Now he was in Longyearbyen, on the island of Spitsbergen in the archipelago of Svalbard, over 500 miles north of the Norwegian mainland and equidistant to the North Pole.
The ocean called to him no matter where he’d gone on this journey, ever since he fled with a backpack and a shiny new passport. It didn’t matter that the water was frigid and foreboding even in the summer, that he currently had on multiple layers for today’s high of 46 degrees, which felt colder still from the wind.
He’d been here for a few days now, repeatedly visiting the same stretch of Adventfjorden. Advent Bay.
Sometimes it felt like he was being watched, could swear he caught movement in the rippling waves, but that was nothing new with the echoes in his mind. Call it figments of his imagination, products of hyper-vigilance and paranoia or straight up hallucinations. Little slips in reality between consciousness and dreaming. As long as it wasn’t that. As long as it wasn’t him.
He bought strawberries from a fruit stand outside the market, small and ripe and red. The kind that were sweet like candy instead of the giant, watery fruit that stores back home so often sold, grown to survive being shuffled across continents rather than for flavor. These were for eating within days of harvest, would spoil if in the blink of an eye, but so worth it if you were lucky enough to have a taste at the right time.
Stiles took his little carton down near the water’s edge, watching the tide come gradually closer. Between plucking off the green bits and eating them whole he’d occasionally bite one in half and run it over his mouth like lipstick, staining the flesh there red like his fingers were. Like his hands would always be.
When he came back to himself again there were people coming out of the water.
People. Coming. Out of. The water.
Not divers in wetsuits that he’d missed seeing before somehow, but a dozen or so…humanoid creatures who were all bare chested except for some jewelry and miscellaneous accessories.
He looked around to ask “Are you seeing this shit?” but then he realized that there was no one else on the beach. As if the half dozen or so other visitors had gotten some psychic memo to depart. Everyone, but him. How long had he been staring at his hands, transfixed?
The sun wasn’t noticeably lower in the sky than it was before, though of course it wouldn’t actually slip beneath the horizon. That was the whole point of this latest detour on his odyssey, months on end without night. Well, fewer than two left since it was now the end of June, a bit more than halfway through, but a welcome respite for however long it could last. Not that the nightmares couldn’t find him the daylight, but it at least made his wakefulness less terrifying and strange no matter the hour.
Until this one.
Most of the sea people stayed at least half submerged, but one stepped onto the shore. What seemed like a man only with jet black legs and arms and a tail.
Stiles sat there frozen as he approached, a shiny, crinkly looking fabric draped around his hips and between his thighs in greens and browns with stripes of red. He immediately thought of nori, which made sense since he was 99.3% sure it was made from seaweed.
There was a grayish tone to the pale, too smooth skin where it wasn’t the color of a moonless midnight. On his face and throat and most of his chest and abdomen. The palms of his hands and the underside of the end of his tail, which was long and thick and had flukes like a cetacean. A bristly black mohawk reminiscent of the crest on a Roman optio's helmet was the only hair that Stiles could see, what appeared to be eyebrows actually flexible darkened ridges instead. The Sea Man, er, Sea Dude, stopped before him and silently held out a large, semi-webbed hand. Stiles stared into piercing pale eyes before turning to where the entourage watched them intently.
He dropped his head to stare at his own skin once more, still ruddy from dried juice. Again his sense of time went wonky, his mind skittering and skip-skip-skipping like a smudged dvd. In his peripheral vision the creature began to fidget and he glanced up to see discomfort on the somewhat reassuringly discernible features. Huh. Stiles met that keen gaze and exhaled slowly, reaching out to him with his left hand while popping the last two strawberries into his mouth with his right. Why the fuck not? At least whatever this was would be interesting.
The flesh was warmer than he expected and he marveled as the rubbery, alien extremity surrounded his and he was pulled to his feet like he weighed nothing at all.
He was led toward the water, which duh, he should’ve expected, and stopped several feet away. The creature didn’t let go, but didn’t drag him either, just stared at him with an unreadable expression. Stiles looked back and forth between the bright, little settlement behind him and the murky, unforgiving expanse ahead.
With shaking hands he started unzipping his jacket, warm fingers finally slipping away to allow him to take it off. He was glad that he left his phone and wallet tucked away back at his cheap, four person room at Gjestehuset 102. Quickly, he removed everything except his T-shirt and underwear, shivering immediately. It’s not like more layers would keep him warm where he was going and it’d only make moving around harder.
You really think that’ll be a concern?
He threw his bundled up clothing back up the beach as far as he could, but doubted that he’d ever wear them again.
The creature took his hand once more and he gasped when his feet touched the water. Fuck that was freezing. Intellectually, he knew that it would be, but nothing could compare to feeling it. On his ankles and calves, his knees and thighs. His whole body clenched when he waded further still and he was pretty sure that his balls had been permanently relocated inside his body. The others watched him curiously as he hyperventilated, teeth chattering.
The chill was already deep in his bones and he wondered how long it’d take for hypothermia to set in, trying to remember what he’d read before. What was it about water and the air temperature? Five degrees or so above the daily low? If that was the case it was probably around 40 degrees. And 40 degrees meant...
He tried to visualize the chart in his head. 40 degrees meant 10-20 minutes before muscle weakening and loss of coordination. It had only been one or two so far, right?
When it came up to his stomach the fear kicked in, the natural dread land animals had for the depths from which they once came, but could no longer call home. The ocean held no mercy in its heart for its endemic children much less those long estranged.
Stiles tried to calm himself, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths. Cold shock, right. That part should go away soon. Breathe. In and out, in and out. Nice and slow, bring it down.
They suddenly drew to a stop and he opened his eyes. The Sea Dude was already gorgeous, but then he smiled and it was brilliant. Breathtaking.
If Stiles was a normal person he would’ve swooned or something, but he’d known too many killers who loved to smile and he couldn’t help thinking Anglerfish-ass man despite the whole not being a hideous abyss dweller with a dangling lure thing. (Or was he?) It was kinda too late for second thoughts, though.
The smile fell from that overcast sky-hued face, replaced by what appeared to be puzzlement and then concern. Long fingers connected at the second knuckle rose toward his temple and Stiles tried not to flinch.
There was a sensation of tendrils slither-swimming through his head like octopi, multi-limbed and picking through his disparate thoughts. Twisting into nooks and crannies. Words that weren’t words echoed in his head as the creature frowned.
I’m not going to eat you.
Strangely enough Stiles hadn’t truly thought that he would, though he probably should have given it real consideration after his run in with the wendigo. He was assuming more of an inexplicable murderous ritual if harm was intended rather than wanting him for the merman snack bar. Perhaps a drowning fetish.
The creature shook his head with exasperation, a reaction that Stiles was all too familiar with, but then he let out a musical, effervescent laugh and grasped his hand again, tugging him further into the deep.
Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Sheriff Stilinski, Ethan Steiner, background Cora Hale, Isaac Lahey, Erica Reyes, Vernon Boyd, mentioned Aiden Steiner, Scott McCall
Tags: POV Derek, POV Stiles, Alpha Derek, Human Stiles, Angst & Fluff & Smut, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire/Modern Setting, Strangers to Lovers, Hurt Feelings, Pining, Dad Advice, Making Up, Getting Together, Various Explicit Sex Acts, Top Derek/Bottom Stiles, Hickeys, Come Eating, Knotting.
Summary: Derek calls "Claim" on Stiles at Jungle when Cora and Ethan show interest too. They leave together and have good time, but the next morning various packmates barge in and Ethan, not realizing that Stiles is still there, implies that he was a just a conquest in their game. Hurt feelings, making up, and smut.
Sterek Weekly prompt: Video (also Claim.) @sterekweekly
Derek:
It started when the three Hale siblings and Isaac all had to share the same bathroom when the family temporarily moved into a guest bungalow while the Pack House was being remolded.
Their parents had the master bedroom and ensuite all to themselves. “Alpha Privilege” they said, smirking and shutting the door in their faces that first morning to get up to god knows what. Laura and Cora shared the modest second bedroom and Derek and Isaac the even smaller third one.
Every morning became a battle to see who got to shower first or at all. Isaac, the often quiet, but sardonic 14 year old they took in from an abusive father a couple years before, eventually just switched to evenings like a reasonable person, but the others refused. 19 year old Laura, 16 year old Derek, and 12 year old Cora instead came up with an elaborate system of dibs that involved yelling “Claim.”
Whoever yelled it first while in sight of the bathroom (not being able to “Claim” while still in bed or eating breakfast, etc, had been Rule #2) got to take the first shower even if someone else had been closer to the door. If you didn’t say it, it didn’t count. Too bad, so sad.
This continued on after they moved back to the larger property months later and was also extended to all manner of things: the corner pieces of brownies, riding shotgun, taking out the garbage instead of a more involved chore, the movie they were watching that night, etc. It became a constant refrain.
Isaac joined in and then Boyd and Erica when they were brought into the pack a couple years later, spreading to visiting friends as well. Even their parents got in on it.
Seven years of triumph, thwartation, and teasing later, the now 23 year old Derek was heading for a night out of clubbing with Erica, Cora, and the newest members of his mother’s pack, brothers Aiden & Ethan. First stop: Jungle.
The place was bustling when they arrived just before 11:00 on a Friday night, full of people letting off steam after what was, for most of them, the end of the work or school week.
That was the case for the twins, who were juniors at BHU, and Derek, who worked weekdays at an auto shop a couple towns over. Cora was a server at an Italian restaurant, but they closed at 9:00, so she had time to go home and get ready after her end-of-night duties. Erica’s LPN shift didn’t start until mid-afternoon tomorrow so she was also down to party into the wee hours.
The music was loud and various light displays shifted between colors and patterns. Aidan went straight for the bar, but the rest of them were checking out the packed dance floor and the winding, rolling, thrashing bodies working up a sweat, their attention soon drawn to a particularly ecstatic whirler who had carved out a space just for himself and seemed to be having the time of his life.
The dancer looked to be a couple years younger than Derek, dark hair short on the sides and longer on top, a few tendrils of which clung damply to his forehead begging to be brushed back. He was wearing tight black pants and a shimmery black shirt on his leanly muscled frame. There was gloss on his lips and makeup around what he thought were dark eyes, but couldn’t be sure with the currently orange lighting.
Derek thought he was beautiful, so alive and full of joy, even though he appeared to be here alone. And the way he gyrated those hips. Unfgh. He had to have him.
He saw Ethan making a beeline for him and when he turned to his sister she was eyeing him as well with a considering look on her face. Oh hell no. (Erica was enjoying the view as well, but she had Boyd at home so he didn’t have to worry about her.) Before Ethan could reach him and just as Cora opened her mouth Derek let out the mother of all “claims” in a truly stentorian roar.
“CLAAAAAIIIIMMMM!!!”
Cora huffed and rolled her eyes and Ethan halted, glaring back at him and clearly pissed that he’d forgotten about “that stupid game.” Derek was grinning like a Cheshire cat when the dancer looked over at him. Now to introduce himself.
Stiles:
Stiles had been lost in the music — eyes closed and just existing in his body, in the present — and enjoying a much needed break from his hamster wheel brain when there was a super loud shout, though he couldn’t make out what was said. When he opened his eyes and turned toward the source of the noise there was a small group of people looking in his direction. A 20-something guy with spiky dark hair and epic stubble flanked by two younger women, a brunette and a blonde.
All were attractive, but the man was on a whole other level. Wowzers. He wore dark chinos and a darker fitted shirt — possibly green — that showed off his muscular chest, upper arms, and other assets. On that note Stiles was dying to see the view from the back. The man smiled at him and he blushed, smiling back.
The three were then approached by a clean shaven, brown-haired man walking from his area of the dance floor and he looked away, embarrassed. They must’ve looking at and calling for him.
Stiles returned to his dancing, trying to get back in the zone, but failing. He glanced back to where the group was still standing, but while the other guy had seemingly multiplied Hottie Prime had vanished. He sighed, feeling disappointed.
I don’t why, it’s not like he would’ve been interested in you anyway the critical little voice in his head said. Yeah, but at least I could’ve gotten to look a bit more.
Ah well. When Stiles turned to face the bar again the man was standing right there in front of him.
“Eeyah!” he blurted, jumping. Of course it was during a break in the song when the volume was low enough that his weird little cry could be heard.
“Hi, there,” the gorgeous stranger said wearing a wolfish grin.
Stiles could see that his eyes were light, but couldn’t make out which color in the blue light. He swallowed and licked his dry lips.
“Um, hey,” he replied with an awkward wave. The music picked up again.
“Do you mind if I dance with you?” the man shouted.
Stiles shook his head, paused, nodded, and then realized that both were kind of ambiguous so finally just started to move again while grinning at him and hoping that got the message across. The amused man leaned in, warm breath ghosting against his ear.
“I’m Derek!”
“Stiles!”
“Stiles?”
“Yeah.”
He saw Derek nod and repeat it to himself, which was adorable.
After a couple of songs of orbiting around each other and mimicking each others moves, Derek stepped in closer and very lightly placed his hands on his hips, watching his face for a reaction. He blushed, nodding, and Derek’s grasp tightened, making a jolt of arousal course through him. The now red lighting momentarily reflected in the other man’s eyes making for a really cool effect as they moved together.
When the music speed up even more Stiles turned around and they danced pressed back to chest, hips first swaying side to side and then forward and back and all around together in time to the beat. Derek was plastered to him — hot and smelling of something spicy, bright, and woodsy — and Stiles could feel as he grew hard against his ass. He shivered, barely holding back a moan. Strong arms wrapped around him and lips brushed against his ear.
“You wanna get out of here?”
Derek:
Stiles told him he’d taken a rideshare to the club in case he had more than a couple drinks for the night so he got into Derek’s car after having him swear he wasn’t a serial killer. He’d also texted someone a picture of his driver’s license and license plate “just in case.” Derek was amused by his apologetic face, but also saddened at the precautions the younger man felt he had to take. It could be a dangerous world.
He didn’t live far from the club, but the tension in the Camaro made it seem longer. Stiles smelled aroused, but also nervous. Derek put a hand on his bouncing left knee.
“We don’t have to do anything, Stiles. I’ll be down for however far you want to go, but we can also just hang out or you can change your mind at any time, okay?” His passenger let out a breath and smiled, saying “Okay.” The atmosphere became much more relaxed.
Derek showed him around the loft and they talked about this and that for a while. Stiles mixed orange juice, Sprite, and strawberry Fanta together when he offered him a choice of water, juice or soda, practically daring him to comment. He held his tongue, but let his eyebrows do the judging. Then he made some tea for himself (Stiles actually awwed) and they joked around, flirting. They watched an episode of some new cooking competition show he’d never heard of, but that came highly recommended by his guest. Near the end of the first episode he felt Stiles watching him.
He turned toward the younger man who’d been looking at his lips and then met his gaze before focusing back on his lips again. Derek leaned in for a kiss and then another, the both of them progressively going longer and deeper. When Stiles came up for air he tried to take a sip of his half full drink, but managed to spill most of it on his shirt. Derek couldn’t help chuckling, but quickly got up to get him one of his sleep shirts to put on after kissing the embarrassed youth on the forehead.
Then he sat back on the couch and pulled a meeping and once again interested Stiles into his lap, looking into his pretty brown eyes.
“Okay?”
“Yeah.”
They resumed their making out and Stiles moved to straddle him, grinding down against him. Derek slid his hands under the shirt, his shirt, and stroked his sides. His sized up light gray tee hung even more loosely on the smaller man — who was only a couple inches shorter, but slender — and he pulled at the collar to get at his neck. The scent of Stiles’ arousal mixed with him wearing Derek’s clothes was doing things to him.
He lifted his head for another kiss and then leaned back to pull up the front of the shirt to look at Stiles’ belly and chest. Comfortable in his den and focusing on watching his right hand feel that warm, smooth skin — making those abdominal muscles twitch — and inhaling them had him involuntarily making little growling noises. His eyes even briefly flashed red without him noticing.
When Stiles froze and gasped, heart racing and smelling of surprise, he let go of the bunched up fabric and withdrew both hands.
“What’s—“
“You’re a wolf!” the staring human exclaimed.
“Uh, what? You—what…?”
Derek carefully set Stiles to the side and got up, his own heart pounding rapidly, and began to pace. What had he done? Did he actually beta-shift without realizing or something?
“Hey, it’s okay,” Stiles assured, scrambling to his feet, but still giving Derek space. ”My best friend is a wolf, so I just recognized the growly-growls and the, um, Alpha eyes.”
Derek’s head shot up. So the other man knew knew about werewolves then. He exhaled slowly. Well, at least he hadn’t lost as much control as he’d thought. His best friend, huh? Must be that kid who Mom met some years ago that ended up becoming a True Alpha somehow. Steve or something.
“Seriously dude, don’t worry. I’m totally cool with the wolfiness.”
Derek hazarded a glance at Stiles’ face. There was no fear or disgust in his eyes or in his scent. No lie in his heart beat. If anything he seemed curious and even more aroused. Heh. Derek grinned, thankful for the lucky break — he’d freak out about how sideways this could’ve gone later — and moved back toward the couch.
“Don’t call me ‘dude,’” he admonished mock-sternly as he sat down. Stiles climbed back into his lap.
“Okay, Alpha.”
Stiles:
Well that definitely had the desired effect. No longer attempting to hold back his wolfishness, Derek dove into his neck, licking and nipping and full on growling while squeezing his ass and rutting up against him. A minute later he was being picked up and yelped, wrapping his limbs around the werewolf who pressed a smile into his skin. God, Stiles loved how strong Derek was. He was set down in the Alpha’s bed and those hungry eyes had gone from their usual green-hazel — he’d finally gotten a good look in the kitchen — to red again.
“What do you want, Stiles?”
Everything, honestly. But was he said was “Your mouth up here…and your hands and body against mine.”
“I can do that,” came the reply, voice full of seductive promise.
And then he was pounced upon, lips seized in another kiss before his borrowed shirt was pushed up again, a hot tongue finding first one nipple and then the other. Derek licked down his chest and belly before kneeling back to peel off Stiles’ pants and then getting up to remove his own as well as his shirt. Wearing only their underwear below — him in red hip briefs and Derek in black boxer briefs — he opened his legs for the wolf to crawl between and press their lengths together, thrusting and grinding with only thin fabric between them. Derek resumed plundering his mouth and swallowing his moans.
Then the Alpha leaned off to the side and rutted against his right thigh, dragging down Stiles’ underwear enough to free his leaking cock. A large, callused hand wrapped around him after being licked wet and Stiles fucked into it as it stroked him. When he was getting close Derek straddled that same thigh and had him suck two fingers before sliding them under the red fabric, up his backside and into his cleft. The fingers alternately rubbed over and circled his hole, not quite dipping inside, until a minute later he was writhing and tensing and crying out.
Derek watched him cum onto his belly and chest, eyes glowing steadily as he continued to work Stiles through his orgasm. After he was spent the wolf collected most of it and used it to slick himself up. Stiles’ stared wide-eyed and hungrily when he pulled his cock out, absentmindedly licking his lips at the impressive sight. It didn’t take long for Derek to come too, stripping himself while looking down at him, all messy and languid and smiling.
With a growl Derek shot his seed onto him, first onto his flaccid cock — making him gasp — and then from his lower belly up to his chest. Stiles closed his eyes and bit back a whimper as the Alpha’s warm hand rubbed their releases together and into his skin before tugging the shirt back down and patting his stomach twice.
Afterward he lay there with Derek, happy and sated, as the wolf laid beside with an arm casually across his torso. About 15 minutes later he started to get antsy though, figuring that he should leave. Stiles wanted to stay right where he was and the wolf had made no signs of wanting him out — no exaggerated yawns or bringing up an early appointment or straight up looking at him and then staring at the door like one girl did freshman year maybe 3 minutes after. But that’s how this worked, right? Was what he was supposed to do. And then maybe if he was lucky the person would want to exchange numbers on his way out.
That had happened twice before. A classmate named Kat that he hooked up with a second time last fall and a sweet guy, Geoff, that he even dated for several weeks sophomore year before he transferred to Georgia. Or was it Alabama? Somewhere in the southeast.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed, getting up to locate where Derek had thrown his pants. If he wanted that chance, however slim, of seeing the Alpha again he needed to not be clingy and annoying. A-ha, there they are. Way across the room in a corner.
“You don’t have to go, Stiles. If you don’t want to.”
He froze. Oh right, werewolf. He can probably sense how pathetic I’m being. He’s probably just being nice. Stiles turned around to make up some excuse and then realized Derek would also be able to sense that. Fuck.
“I mean it. I’d like it if you stayed,” the Alpha said, sitting up and leaning forward. “Snuggling with a cute guy, maybe getting another taste before or after breakfast…” He wagged his brows. “Sounds like a great plan to me.”
Stiles broke into a wide smile and Derek mimed circling and throwing a lasso around him, “pulling” him back to the bed. He giggled and went along, leaning over to give him a kiss.
“Give me a minute.”
He hurried back into the living area and grabbed his phone, sending a text to his father that he was staying out.
Stiles had considered moving into the dorms or into his own apartment like most of his classmates, but his father chilled out a bunch once he graduated high school and it made a lot more financial sense to stay home. He also hadn’t liked the idea of his dad living alone if he didn’t need to despite the elder Stilinski’s protestations that he’d be fine. Plus this way he could still harass encourage him to still eat healthy most of the time.
It did occasionally get awkward though. He didn’t hook up that often and when he did it was usually earlier in the night, only obviously being somewhere after the clubs actually closed a couple times. (It was Lydia he texted with the info of the people he’d gone home with, not his dad.) All of his close friends were either in SoCal or out of state currently so it wasn’t like he could claim to be with one of them right now.
His dad had never given him any shit for it, (all of his “sextures,” as Stiles called them, took place between 7th grade and his junior year of high school,) but the knowing look was enough. He was actually staying over this time — holy crap — so there was no getting around it. Totally worth it though.
When he got back to the room Derek smiled and patted the mattress beside him. Stiles climbed in and cuddled up to the wolf, falling asleep much faster than he would’ve expected as thick fingers carded through his hair.
Stiles woke a bit after 10:00 the next morning to the smell of frying bacon and yawned, happily remembering the night before. He relieved himself and then decided to take a quick shower after finding a couple of towels and washcloths folded and waiting for him. His now clean shirt was there too and a new toothbrush. Stiles swooned. How thoughtful.
There was also a pair of Derek’s boxer briefs for him to keep forever borrow if he wanted. He shushed his dick when it began to stir. Shower, then food, then hopefully more fooling around.
Stiles was just finishing up, greedily inhaling the scent of Derek’s body wash hanging in the humid air — the bergamot and oak that he first noticed at Jungle and was now clinging to his own skin — as he heard the wolf moving around in the bedroom. He was taking a last look in the mirror to make sure he didn’t have toothpaste on his face or hair sticking up all weird when there was a commotion downstairs. The sound of laughing and crosstalk and a door slamming before one guy’s voice in particular called out loudly.
“Hey Derek, how was that sweet piece of ass last night? I can’t believe you beat me to him with your fucking ‘Dibs’—“
“‘Claim,’” corrected multiple voices.
“‘Claim’, whatever. I should’ve just igno—“
“Shut the fuck up,” Derek hissed.
He held onto the counter as the sound of footsteps retreated, looking at the now pained expression in his reflection. Oh. Of course. It had been some kind of competition. And then Derek had wanted him to stay in order to show proof of his conquest, but probably hadn’t expected his friends to be so blatant about it.
Stiles didn’t know what to do. Remaining in here all day wasn’t an option, but he also really didn’t want to go out there. To be seen. Especially upset as he was.
Maybe they’d get bored and leave soon and then he could go too. He put the toilet seat down and sat on it, drawing up his knees and hugging them. His eyes stung, but Stiles took a deep breath and tried to will his thoughts elsewhere. He’d be damned if he was going to cry. Not here anyway.
Derek:
He groaned in annoyance when most of the gang came crashing in. The group from last night minus Aiden (who was likely still sleeping off the drinks he’d no doubt spiked with spotted wolfsbane) and plus Boyd and Isaac. Derek had been looking forward to a nice breakfast with his new companion and then hopefully finding out what that mouth could do. Afterward, assuming Stiles didn’t have somewhere else to be, he wanted to spend the rest of the day getting to know the funny, sexy-adorable, clever, wolf-friendly human. Grr.
Then he realized what Ethan was yelling about. Fuck.
“Shut the fuck up,” he hissed, running toward and then down the stairs. He had really hoped that Stiles hadn’t heard the insensitive wolf, but if the elevated heart rate now coming from the bathroom was any indication he definitely had. Shit.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he spat in a barely audible whisper. “You couldn’t hear that he’s still here?” Ethan shrugged.
“I wasn’t really paying attention and assumed he’d be long gone by now.”
“Well, he’s not. Because I like him and asked him to stay. And he heard you. So can you please go the fuck away?” He turned to look at the other sheepish younger wolves. “That goes for the rest of you too.”
Derek saw them out and was the one to slam the door this time. He took a deep breath and steeled himself before climbing slowly up the stairs. After a brief pause he rapped his knuckles on the bathroom door.
“Hey, are you okay?” He heard a derisive snort and cringed. “Can I talk to you…please?” There was movement inside and then the door flew open. The scents of hurt and bitter resentment, of anger and salt, came wafting out with the toiletries.
“There isn’t anything to talk about,” Stiles said, turning sideways to slide past him without touching him. Derek whined internally. There were no tear tracks on his face, but his pretty brown eyes had an extra sheen to them.
“I’m sorry, Stiles. I—It wasn’t like that,” he started, watching the young man collect his phone before heading down to get his house keys and put on his socks and shoes. “The whole ‘claim’ business was for the opportunity to approach you first, not to make being with you a…a game or something. It wasn’t. Not to me.”
Stiles turned toward him, frowning and mistrustful. He kept going.
“I didn’t know they were going to barge in here. I was hoping to spend the day with you. Not only fooling around, but maybe watching more of that show you like — it was pretty entertaining — or going for a walk. Grabbing some lunch. Stuff like that.”
The human only looked at him, searching his face and saying nothing.
Derek felt desperate, like he was about to lose something special right as it started. Just as it could’ve, should’veblossomed into more. Nipped in the bud instead.
Stiles:
He wanted to believe Derek, he really did. Wanted it with every fiber of his being to be told “Psych, I actually do really like you and want to spend more time with you.” But he was hurt and uncertain and just wanted to go home. And even if Derek had meant it like how he said, he still wasn’t keen on the idea of being involved in a competition between the two men. Who did that? Stiles sighed and headed for the door.
“You could call your friend, the wolf, and I—I could prove it,” Derek called after him in a shaky voice. “He would know that I was telling the truth.”
Stiles paused and sighed again, turning and walking up to the hangdog looking Alpha. He kissed his cheek and murmured “Thanks for last night. It…was very nice.”
Then he left.
That Monday the dark-haired young woman he saw at the club — who introduced herself as Cora, Derek’s sister — came up to him when they crossed paths at the school library. The hesitant freshman apologized for her part in the the whole situation and reiterated that her brother was truly sorry and that he would love to see him whenever if Stiles ever forgave him. She took off quickly once he acknowledged that he heard her, but he didn’t respond one way or the other.
The following day he was still moping on the couch at home, set off again when he tried to watch his favorite cooking show that evening and couldn’t help thinking of Derek. How amazing that night had been and then how things had ended the next morning with him feeling less than. Was he being too harsh? Not harsh enough by not telling Cora to tell Derek to fuck off?
His father came home from his day shift and raised an eyebrow at his broody state. An hour or so later just after dinner he asked what was troubling him and Stiles gave him the gist of it after some hemming and hawing. A sheepish expression came over the his face and Stiles narrowed his eyes.
“What?”
“Well, you know…actually, you definitely don’t know this…but me and your mom? My friend Michael actually noticed her first at the veteran’s shindig, but I challenged him to an arm wrestling match to ask her out instead. Best of three. Mike was a bit…tipsy and overconfident and I won all three rounds. So I got to try my luck and well the rest — he spread his arms with a grin now on his face — is history.”
Stiles sat there with his mouth hanging open. Apparently the answer to “Who did that?” was his dear old Dad. His own father had basically called dibs on his mother.
“You should close that before you swallow a fly,” his father teased. “A little friendly competition is not uncommon. And it’s true that it can get out of hand, become a callous, hurtful thing, but it doesn’t have to be. You’ve never had to deal with this issue before because by the time you and Scott actually had a chance in hell at dating — I love you son, but it’s true — the two of you had very different types. He likes to chase after dark-eyed brunettes and you seem to lean mostly toward athletic or hunky guys—“
“Never say that again,” Stiles said half-heartedly.
“But when you are interested in women it’s generally a blonde…or redhead.”
His dad gave him an amused look, clearly remembering his Lydia phase before they actually became friends. Stiles rolled his eyes. Huh. He wasn’t wrong though. And now that he thought of it, every time he’d been open to meeting someone while going out with friends they’d either been straight or in a relationship or had different types. Danny pretty much swung between super beefy muscle bros that probably lived in a gym and the twinkiest of twinks depending on what he was in the mood for.
Stiles was most attracted to guys like, well, Derek. Or at least his own size. He liked it when someone could move him around, but without giving young Ah-nold (or hell, old Ah-nold) a run for his money. Sue him. What would he have done if Scott was there, was bi or gay, and they’d both been into Derek at the club?
Well, absolutely nothing probably, but in theory? Hmm…
“Let me ask you a few questions, kiddo” his dad said, interrupting his thought experiment. “Did he treat you right?”
Stiles nodded and then blushed. Oh, Derek had treated him well alright. His father rolled his eyes.
“That’s…not what I meant — and say no more — but I won’t pretend that that doesn’t matter too. Ahem.” Stiles ducked his head, grinning.
“Yeah. He assured me that anything that happened was up to me and he washed my shirt that I spilled OSS on—“
“You and your damn concoctions. Which one is that again?”
“Orange juice, Sprite, and strawberry soda…anyway. Yeah. He was…thoughtful and sweet.”
“Hmm. And did he—what was his name again?”
“I didn’t say, but it’s Derek.”
“Did Derek show interest in you? Your thoughts and interests and feelings?”
Stiles sighed.
“Yeah, he did…”
“And finally, did he…like you? Get all smiley? At least hint at wanting to see you again?” Stiles lowered his head onto the table, lightly thunking it a few times.
“Yersh,” he said, leaving his face mashed against the wood. The elder Stilinski waited until he rested his chin on his arms and met twinkling blue eyes.
“Well, if you want your old man’s advice…” Stiles rolled his eyes. As if his father hadn’t been coaxing him to a certain conclusion this whole conversation.
“Sure,” he replied, nodding and shrugging a shoulder. Might as well humor him. His dad grew more serious.
“Your feelings are valid and if it’s truly a dealbreaker for you, so be it. But, if you really like this guy — and it sounds like you do — consider giving him another chance. Not just for his sake, but for your own as well.”
And with that his father got up, patted him on the shoulder and kissed his head, and then wandered into the living room, probably to turn on the tv and catch the rest of whatever game was on.
Stiles thunked his head a few more times. Goddammit. It sounded so reasonable when you put it like that. He stayed there for a while, trying to think things through.
Oh shut up. You know you’d rather be with Derek than be mad. It’s a matter of pride, sure, but you can always have him beg some. Preferably in bed. And you can still be mad at that other dude, who was the one that actually called you a piece of ass.
He grinned mischievously.
Derek:
It’d been an altogether uneventful Wednesday — no screaming customers or tricky repairs or shipping delays for parts — but Derek wanted nothing more than to just go home. Well, there was something, or rather someone, he wanted more, but that wasn’t in the cards. The work had been a helpful distraction the last few days, but in between fixing or maintaining vehicles and checking inventory and whatever else needed doing, his thoughts returned to Saturday and Stiles again and again. Especially today when he finished the last car in the queue a good hour before close.
Finally 6pm came and he was ready to go just 5 minutes after having done the usual post-close tasks already. Derek called out a goodbye to Terrance and Miguel, got in his car, and peeled out of there.
He decided to stop at Rosario’s on his way out of Selva because why not stuff his face while wallowing in his misery? At least his pain was supporting the tiny family owned donut shop. Maybe he’d even put on that cooking show when he got home too. Make it really hurt.
Then he’d check his phone for anything actually important, ignore the pups wanting to hang out some more (especially a certain precipitating beta that dared to say he shouldn’t be so upset about a one night stand as if he wasn’t upset precisely because he hadn’t wanted it to be a one night stand. Or to hurt him.) On second thought, he‘d text Ethan a series of middle fingers for that.
Maybe try to make himself go for a night run before coming back home, taking a shower (he’d finally switched to nights after working a job that got him dirty) and eating a pint of ice cream and going to bed. What a plan. Rinse and repeat the next day, except perhaps he’d get some pie or french toast with maple syrup, strawberries and whipped cream instead. He let his sweet tooth run wild when he was down in the dumps.
But when he pulled into the parking lot of his apartment building around a quarter to 7:00 there was a beat up, old blue Jeep in a guest spot that he’d never seen before and an unexpected visitor waiting by the door to the lobby.
“Stiles?!” he blurted, surprised and cautiously hopeful. Also a bit afraid. It seemed unlikely, but maybe he was going to get chewed out some more. The tired looking human stood up from where he’d been perched on a large rectangular concrete planter.
“Sorry for just showing up, but I don’t have your number or anything and your sister said you still wanted to see me.”
He wanted to simultaneously kiss and strangle Cora.
“Yeah, I did. I do. I hope she hasn’t been bothering you—“
“Nah, she just spoke to me the one time a couple days ago when she saw me at BHU. Said her piece and left.” Derek nodded.
“Did you want to come in…?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Derek tried to discreetly suss out his emotional state as they want through the door and walked down the hall to the elevator closer together, but he saw Stiles smirk so he probably wasn’t as subtle with the sniffing as he thought. He smelled…Derek wasn’t quite sure actually. There were lots of shifting scents. But he wasn’t acutely upset, which seemed like a good sign.
When they reached the loft he went to the fridge and mixed a can each of strawberry Fanta and Sprite and a cup of orange juice together, dividing it into two glasses. He’d first tried the unusual combination when he’d been pining on Sunday. It wasn’t bad at all, though he wasn’t sure if he’d gotten the ratio right.
Stiles smiled and raised an eyebrow and Derek blushed. After taking a couple sips the younger man took a deep breath and started talking, tracing circles on the table with his pointer fingers.
“So I probably overreacted on Saturday…”
Derek was about to contradict him, but he put one of those fingers to his own lips and then to Derek’s. He almost whined at the touch.
“Shhh, let me finish. I’m not saying I was wrong to be upset at all, but I made some leaps myself. Assumptions that probably were’t true. Like how I thought you had the others come over to show off your conquest.”
He shook his head in negation. Oh Stiles.
“I have my own issues around…actually being liked or wanted,” the human grimaced. “And that just really didn’t help.”
Derek actually did whine then. He hated the idea of Stiles feeling that way at all, much less because of him and his packmates.
“But I talked with my dad and he gave me some advice — you so owe that man a BBQ platter or something, by the way — and he made me realize that whatever stuff you had going on with your friends, that you never treated me like I was just a…prize or a notch in your belt. You were kind and considerate and fun and so fucking sexy and I like you, goddamnit. So yeah. If you wanna give this thing another try…”
Stiles shrugged a shoulder casually, but Derek could make out his anxious scent and racing heart. A huge grin came over his face as his chest thrummed with elation. Oh he was definitely going to thank Stiles’ dad profusely if…whenthey eventually met.
“Yes,” he replied, actually a bit choked up, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Yes, Stiles. Of course. I like you so much. And once again, I’m sorry.”
“Cool,” Stiles said, leaning in for a kiss.
Derek did indeed watch more of that cooking show, but unlike what he imagined a couple hours before he had Stiles with him commenting on everything. He shared his box of donuts mentioning that he had planned to eat them all while missing him and continuing to lament losing his chance.
“Aww, Derek,” Stiles cooed before snuggling up to him and then mockingly “Claim”-ing over half of the assorted pastries, saving two for his father in thanks. When the human left to go home a few hours later it was with Derek’s number in his phone. A couple minutes later he heard what must’ve been that blue monstrosity struggle to life — he cringed and swore then and there to get Stiles to let him tune it up — and his phone chimed a couple times.
The first message was a close-up picture of Stiles behind the wheel from mid-nose down to his upper chest, head titled up and to the side to show off his bared throat with his collar pulled down and a mischievous smirk. Swallowing, he scrolled down and there was also a video of the same, only capturing the movement of it and with Stiles whispering his name. Derek groaned and felt like that “awooga” wolf from the old cartoons, eyes widened and salivating as blood went rushing south.
Then there was another short video with his full face this time, blowing him a kiss and then smiling widely with laughing eyes. It was followed by a few snapshots of him doing so. Derek grinned and saved them to his gallery and the phone number to his contacts under “Favorite Human.”
He picked Stiles up on Friday evening for a 7:15 reservation at the restaurant where Cora worked, everything on the house. They shared tagliatelle alla carbonara, pappardelle with short rib ragu and polenta with taleggio and mushrooms for dinner and a piece of tiramisu and two cannolis — one with chopped pistachios and the other with chocolate chips — for dessert. He hugged his sister, thanking her for the delicious meal and again for letting Stiles know he’d still wanted to hear from him. She grinned and said he owed her and that she intended to cash in a big favor sometime.
His happily stuffed date suggested they catch the local theater’s final showing of the latest explosionpalooza and then stayed over afterward, changing into one of Derek’s shirts and snuggling up to him and giving his ass a squeeze before promptly falling asleep. Derek nuzzled his shoulder and then drank in the sight of him until he started drifting off as well.
He woke when Stiles’ alarm went off and then grumbled and pouted as he watched him get up to leave early in the morning. Apparently, there were some serious home projects going on at the Stilinski residence that day and he also needed to catch up on his studying and coursework after, but he told Derek that he’d be free tomorrow. Stiles smacked a kiss on his head, said “see ya later, sourwolf” and danced away laughing before Derek’s groggy, uncoordinated self could grab him.
He came back over to the loft on Sunday for a triple feature and Derek couldn’t wait to show him some of his favorite ambitious and visually interesting films: The Fall (2006,) Cloud Atlas, and Across the Universe. In between the second and third movie Derek also got down on his knees to show the surprised, but excited younger man what his mouth could do.
When Stiles looked down at him with a half-lidded gaze, scent going warm and musky-sweet as he spread his legs Derek nearly whined in anticipation. Then the human gently held his chin and he stilled the hands that were reaching to undo another pair of those snug black pants. He glanced up again.
“I want to hear how much you want it,” Stiles said with an authoritative voice, but a telltale rosiness on his cheeks.
Derek was amused and charmed and so very turned on. So the blushing boy wanted him to grovel a bit, hmm? Not only was he not above begging, but he found he liked the idea of a little role reversal for once. The Alpha at the mercy of a human.
“Please, Stiles. Let me suck your cock,” he said, running his hands teasingly up and down his thighs and looking him right in the eye. “I want to taste you so much, want to satisfy you and make you cum. Please, baby. Please.”
“Well, alright then,” Stiles said, trying to be nonchalant, but only getting more flustered.
Seconds later Derek had his hard cock in his mouth and the taste of precum on his tongue. Both of them moaned. A hand burrowed into his hair and he began to suck in earnest, his own erection straining and leaking inside his pants. After a couple of minutes he tugged Stiles’ pants and underwear down further to mid-thigh so he could have an easier time fondling his balls, making him groan louder and jerk his hips.
When that movement caused Stiles’ cock to touch the back of his throat he gagged a bit, but then growled in pleasure. The human started to apologize, but Derek popped off and said “It’s fine.” He then snaked his arms under Stiles’ knees and gripped his ass to fuck his own face with him. Stiles’ head fell back against the couch as he whispered “Oh. My. God.”
Derek grinned as he pulled back to suckle and lick around the head before resuming the previous motion. That’s right, baby. Going to ruin you for anyone else. He could tell Stiles was getting close.
“If you’re good…and swallow it all…I’ll return…the favor…next time.”
Fuck. He was going to do that anyway, but now he was really going to give it his all. Derek put Stiles back down and put one hand on the base of his cock, using the other to massage his taint. He went to town with his mouth and when Stiles started tensing he looked up, red eyes locking onto whiskey brown, and instantly started receiving a warm and salty reward for his efforts. Mmm.
Swallowing as he went, Derek didn’t let up until Stiles was trembling and reached a limp arm to tap his shoulder. He drew off, licking the tip one last time, and wrapped his arms around the younger man’s back, pressing his head against the clothed chest so that the sound of Stiles’ heartbeat was all he could hear.
Stiles:
After he recovered from the most epic blowjob of his life Stiles had Derek sit back on the couch and straddled him, pants pulled back up, but left unbuttoned. He freed the wolf’s engorged and so far neglected member, spit a few times into his right hand, and began to work him with long, slow strokes. When he moaned Stiles kissed his open mouth, sucking his bottom lip before sliding his tongue inside and tasting a trace of himself.
He sped up and licked his other hand, adding it to the impressive cock as well to twist and squeeze around the base. Then he nibbled Derek’s left earlobe and whispered.
“Mmm, such a beautiful cock. Fuck my hand, Alpha. Show me what to look forward to.”
God, the way Derek looked when he drew back to see his face. All predatory intensity, hands flexing against his sides. It was a wonder that he wasn’t thrown down and fucked right there. Not that he would’ve complained. (At least as long as there was a pit stop for lube.) Instead the wolf obliged and began thrusting and making those little growly noises like that first night, which were frankly adorable in addition to being hot as fuck.
He looked down between them and imagined Derek pounding into him just like that, disappearing inside of him over and over and he moaned, spurring him on. When the movement went from fast to erratic he removed one hand and pulled up his shirt, knowing how the wolf liked to mark him that way. Derek rumbled, caressing his abdomen, and then shot ropes of cum against his skin. When he was finished Stiles let go of Derek’s cock and took his hand, both of them rubbing it into his skin together.
Still smiling at each other a few minutes later they went to wash up a bit and grab some more food and drinks before hunkering back down for the 60s-tastic Beatles’ musical. Stiles had brought over a handful of snacks and a few beverages too and when he saw that Derek had grapefruit juice this time he introduced him to “R2G2”: Ruby red grapefruit juice, guava nectar, and ginger ale.
“Add some rum or vodka and you’ve got yourself a nice little cocktail,” he informed the wolf watching him fondly.
That Wednesday evening he ended up being introduced to Derek’s three betas — Isaac, Boyd, and Erica — and also the culprit from that first morning after, Ethan. He’d been nearby and when he asked what Derek was up to he told him he was hanging out with some pack members and that Stiles could come by if he wanted to. He took several minutes to think about whether he did want to or not, finally sighing and deciding he should go ahead. He was going to have to get to know them sooner or later.
The betas were all smiles and curiosity and welcome, especially the blonde he remembered from the club. Erica. Then one of the twins he’d also seen there sauntered out of the bathroom and he immediately recognized his voice when he began to speak.
“Oh look, it’s you. Derbear here lucked out after all.” Derek growled lowly as the younger wolf approached him with his hand out. “The name’s Ethan.”
Stiles raised an eyebrow and shook it firmly. “Piece of Ass, nice to meet you.”
Erica cackled in delight as Isaac grinned widely and Boyd smirked and shook his head. Derek looked back and forth between them anxiously. The cocky beta snorted.
“Yeah, sorry about all that. What can I say, you’ve got a nice one.” Ethan replied, shrugging.
Stiles saw Derek’s eyes go red and the growling got louder. He walked over to the Alpha and stood next to him, pulling the wolf’s left arm around his back to grasp his hip and reaching his own right hand around to squeeze Derek’s ass, making him jolt and quiet, before settling on a hip too.
“It’s spoken for,” Stiles said baring his teeth in what one could only mistake as a smile from some distance. Ethan raised his hands and ducked his head.
“Alright, okay, I’ll shut up.”
“Thanks,” he snarked.
When Stiles turned to Derek he was looking at him with hunger and pride and the next thing he knew he was being swept up and taken around the corner into the partially separated kitchen as the other wolves oohed and whistled. He was set down on a counter and the Alpha dove into his neck, scenting and licking and then biting and licking all around as he clutched onto broad shoulders.
He walked back into the common area hand in hand with Derek, blushing, but with his head held high wearing what was — as he’d seen in the reflection of the window over the sink — a truly impressive array of hickeys. There was a drawled “Daaamn” from Isaac and Erica looked at Boyd as if she was challenging him to do better, temporary as it’d be. Ethan wisely said nothing, only glancing up briefly and meeting the Alpha’s eye before going back to scrolling on his phone.
Stiles stayed for a couple of hours playing card games and monopoly and taking turns putting on music — they each got 3 songs at a time — and actually having a good time. When he had to go he did his best to leave a single massive bruise on Derek’s neck and the werewolf promised he’d hold onto it until he fell asleep. Of course his dad was sitting in his recliner in the the living room when he came in, recently returned from a swing shift, and his eyebrows shot up as they exchanged “hellos” and “goodnights.”
As he headed up the stairs he heard a muttered “Was he attacked by vampires?” Stiles paused and grinned.
“A werewolf, actually.”
His father sputtered and he heard the foot rest of the recliner swing shut. He turned around on the 7th step as his father came into view.
“Wait, your Derek is Derek Hale?”
“Yep,” Stiles said, smugly. He was also very curious about how his father knew of him.
The elder Stilinski had found out about werewolves not long after Stiles did — when Scott was Bitten by some unknown wandering Alpha. He was on the night shift that first full moon a couple weeks later, but stopped home to get something or other and heard the unholy racket of an angry chained up werewolf coming from the basement. Stiles hastily informed him that the situation was under control and that the murderous looking creature was actually one floppy-haired Scott McCall.
The new wolf hadn’t wanted to join a pack at the time — apparently he didn’t have to as long as he maintained other strong personal connections — but the Alphas in the region, Satomi Ito and Talia Hale had offered resources and basic lessons. Scott took to Satomi right away so she was the one who instructed him and still checked up on him from time to time, but the Sheriff was present with Scott’s mom, Melissa, at the initial meeting and naturally looked up what he could about the resident wolves.
His father had never mentioned the name of the 2nd Alpha knowing how especially nosy his son was back then. Scott had simply misremembered her as “Alpha Helen.” Surprise!
After explaining his dad looked at him, opening and shutting his mouth a few different times before simply snorting and shaking his head.
“Well damn. Good for you, son” he said finally, ambling back to his chair.
Good for me, indeed. And speaking of which, he had a call to make — or maybe a text, this could get embarrassing — to said werewolf bro in San Diego who should still be awake. Stiles had plans for this weekend and some questions to ask.
When Saturday came around — two weeks after he’d left for what he’d thought both the first and last time — Stiles returned to the loft as a man on a mission. Derek was still greeting him after opening the door when he dropped his bag of groceries on the floor and started kissing him. The older man’s amused grin turned into an expression of disbelief and then desire when Stiles dropped to his knees before him. Derek hurriedly closed the door and then he was leaning against it as Stiles gripped his muscular thighs and nuzzled his crotch.
“It’s next time,” he said cheekily as momentarily clawed hands fumbled with the zipper.
He’d been drawing things out some, feeling out the situation at first and then both enjoying the anticipation itself and teasing Derek a little and hopefully making him want, but he was done waiting for more. This was the third occasion of him getting eyes on that gorgeous cock and he was going to get it in his mouth this time. Stiles lifted his eyes to watch Derek staring intently from above and opened up, sticking his tongue out for the wolf to do whatever he wanted while resting his hands on his own legs.
Derek looked at him like he was a precious thing that he also planned on sullying and then took hold of himself, rubbing the head of his cock across Stiles’ cheek and then over his top lip before sliding it onto his tongue and then inside.
“Go on,” the Alpha prompted huskily.
Stiles closed his lips around the hot flesh stretching him wide and started bobbing, eyes fluttering at the taste and feel of him. Oh yes. After a few minutes he withdrew and teased Derek’s shaft with little licks and then over the head and dipping into the slit, making him whine and jerk minutely. Stiles engulfed him again, tongue lapping firmly on the underside of his cock as he resumed sucking.
A hand was placed on his head and Stiles moaned in approval, encouraging the wolf to thrust as well. He opened even wider and let saliva run down, the wet sounds and the grunts of pleasure above spurring him on. When Derek started tensing up he finally lifted a hand to grasp his balls, fondling and squeezing them just hard enough to send him over the edge.
Cum flooded his mouth, warm and rich on his tongue. Derek reached down to run the pads of his fingers up and down his throat, growling lowly as he swallowed. He didn’t stop until he took it all and the Alpha’s head fell back against the door.
“Wow.”
Stiles pulled off, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand and grinned.
After taking a minute to rest, leaning into a bite-worthy thigh and being pet affectionately, he got up with an assist from a starry-eyed Derek, who immediately cupped his face and kissed him hungrily. Then he cleaned up a bit and made space on the counter, gathering the groceries spilling out of the bag. Now to put the rest of his plan into motion. As he unpacked the other pierogi fixings he made a show of looking for a missing item.
“Oh crap, I don’t have the sour cream and I need it for this. Do you think you could grab some for me while I get things started?”
Stiles made a point of not saying he forgot the sour cream because that would’ve been a big fat lie, but he must’ve still reacted in some way, perhaps his heart speeding up as he wondered if this would work or in anticipation, and the wolf narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Derek soon fell victim to his puppy dog eyes anyway and went on the errand after shooting him another dubious glance and saying “Be good.”
Going to be so good for you, Der.
As soon as he heard the car pull away Stiles went hunting through the neat pile of clothes that the Alpha had worn, but didn’t need to go in the laundry basket yet. He selected one of Derek’s light gray T-shirts that the wolf liked to sleep and apparently run in sometimes, which were large even on his broader body. The hem came down to the very tops of his thighs in front and showed just a hint of butt cheek in the back. Perfect.
He’d had that awkward and hilarious conversation with Scott a few nights ago, who excitedly called him full of his own questions after Stiles texted “So, werewolf sex…now relevant to my interests. Give me the deets.”
There were some things he already knew about — the thing about necks, STIs not being a concern, and the importance of scent in general — but he learned that wearing their clothes in particular was like wolfnip. That certain movements and actions made them want to chase and that getting into a position that was head down and ass up went straight to their furry little brains. About the different kinds of marking.
Knowing he had 20 minutes or so at most now before Derek returned Stiles washed up quickly, put the shirt back on, and then peeked into the nightstand for lube, which he actually did forget to bring. Luckily, the wolf kept it in the typical place and he got to working himself open on the bed, teasing, but not trying to get off. Stiles withdrew three fingers when he heard the Camaro pull in — he was a pro at recognizing car engine’s thanks to years of listening for his father or other patrol cars while doing mischief — and set the scene.
Derek called out for him shortly after entering and he yelled “Up here.”
“I hope I got the right kind,” he replied, climbing the stairs. “There were a bunch of different ones, but I just got a tub of original and also picked up s—“
Stiles wished he could’ve captured the look on Derek’s face when he walked into the bedroom and froze upon seeing him sat on the bed, leaning back on his hands with his head tilted up and to the side and his feet on the mattress, knees bent and spread wide.
“Alpha,” he breathed, shifting his weight to one hand and trailing a finger between his cheeks with the other. He rolled over onto his forearms and knees after seeing Derek’s hands clench and his eyes turn red.
Stiles heard the sound of the grocery bag hitting the floor and then a belt being unbuckled and clothes quickly being pulled off and discarded. He shivered with anticipation as the mattress dipped behind him.
Derek’s left hand fisted in the shirt and exposed more of his back as the right palmed the corresponding butt cheek, thumb sliding over his wet hole before slipping easily inside.
“I’m ready for you.”
“Stiles,” Derek groaned, letting go of the shirt to grab the bottle of lube on the bed.
The cap was popped open one-handed as the wolf continued to play with his asshole and Stiles closed his eyes, just focusing on the sensation and listening to the slick sounds behind him.
Then he was being mounted, cock head pressed against his rim. He made a high-pitched whine when he was breached and Derek’s hips jerked forward as he sunk deeper, rumbling deep in his chest. Stiles grinned. Another effective werewolf turn-on. He dropped his head lower so that the Alpha could mouth over more of his neck as he bottomed out.
Eyes all but rolling back at the feeling of being so full, he started rocking and squeezing the thick cock buried inside him. When Derek’s arms braced on either side of him and the thrusting began Stiles’ jaw fell open in pleasure even greater than he’d imagined.
Derek:
The feeling of plunging into Stiles’ welcoming heat was indescribable. He was enveloped. Embedded. Euphoric.
Derek knew that the human was up to something, but had assumed a prank or game of some kind. Maybe hiding notes or trinkets for him to find later or making some mystery concoction.
He was not expecting to find Stiles in his bed, naked except for his shirt, showing off his throat and glistening hole and then presenting for him. It took all of his control to not just rip through his clothes.
And now he was inside with Stiles eagerly moving around him. Derek almost pulled out before snapping his hips and driving forward again and again and again, desperate to fill him. To feel him.
The sounds of Stiles’ pleasure were intoxicating and fueled him to go faster and harder. He shoved his face into a clothed shoulder, inhaling their combined scents and then rubbing his stubble over the younger man’s exposed skin. Despite his wolf’s protests, he held back his knot as he drew near. Soon hopefully, but not yet.
Derek thought of Stiles swallowing his release an hour or so before and how he was now going to plant his seed within this passage as well, saturating the human’s core with himself, and tipped over the edge. He thrusted on, groaning as his cock pulsed, and shortly after Stiles was crying out and contracting around him untouched. Derek wrapped an arm around him and rose up into a kneeling position, bringing Stiles with him and turning his head to kiss him greedily as they rocked through the aftershocks.
They rinsed off cursorily in the shower, Stiles smirking at him knowingly while using soap on his hands, but not his body and then dressing in more of his clothes. Derek backed him into a wall and sucked a massive bruise onto the side of his neck.
Finally, they got around to making lunch, Derek watching Stiles prepare the dough with sour cream and then helping to assemble the potato, cheese, and fried onion pierogis after copying the first few. Apparently, there were several ways to cook them including boiling, baking, boiling and pan-frying, and pan-frying and steaming. Stiles decided on the latter, topping the browned dumplings with chives and parsley and serving them with more sour cream sprinkled with smoked paprika. It was delicious and Stiles smelled sweet with happiness and satisfaction at his enjoyment.
Derek said he still felt a bit hungry afterward and scooped the squawking human up while he was attempting to do dishes, depositing him gently on his back on the kitchen table. He tugged off the loose gray sweats and swept an arm under Stiles’ knees, folding him up and leaning down to lick broad stripes over the sensitive furled muscle before pushing against it and dipping in. When Stiles came he lapped up the pearly liquid on his belly, sucked his cock clean, pulled up the pants, and then carried the momentarily speechless human into the living room.
Stiles chose a movie called Were The World Mine to watch that was on his list, but that neither of them had seen yet. It was about a bullied gay teenager cast as Puck in a school production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream who finds a recipe for a love potion and various shenanigans ensue. Derek’s pick was Baz Luhrman’s Romeo + Juliet in keeping with both the Shakespeare theme and his love for interesting, cool-looking films. Stiles humored him and his raving about the aesthetic, editing, soundtrack, and more when it was over, eventually quieting him by climbing into his lap and occupying his tongue.
And that’s how they ended up upstairs again, Derek being straddled once more, only now with Stiles perched on his knot.
He’d been planning to bring it up (ha!) some other time, likely a ways down the road, but Stiles surprised him yet again and asked Derek if he’d like to, obviously curious about it himself. Um, yeah. He was ridden silly until it formed and together they worked it inside nice and easy. Derek grinned from ear to ear as he experienced this dream come true and, well, came more than he ever had before.
Stiles was still milking him, approaching his own orgasm when he heard the sound of the door being opened downstairs and then an all too annoyingly familiar voice.
“Hey Derek!”
He groaned and knocked his head against the bedstead. Did the wolf not have ears and a nose?
“What are you up to ton—“
Before he could manage to say anything the human still defiantly grinding on his cock took a deep breath.
“Get out!”
There was a pause and then laughter and a half-assed “Ope, my bad” before the door slammed shut again.
“I’m getting you another lock, Derek,” Stiles hissed.
“And I’ll only give you the key, babe” he said, grinning and kissing the annoyed human’s nose. And maybe Boyd. Hecould be trusted to be both observant and considerate.
He wasn’t about to let Ethan ruin Stiles’ good time again so he immediately got to work on distracting him from the intrusion, sucking his nipples and taking hold of his cock while moving his hips in small circles.
“Fuck, Der,” the youth said between moans.
Derek refrained from making the obvious joke, but smiled into Stiles’ neck where he was now leaving more pretty bruises. He put his free hand on the humans hip and then moved it over his ass, grabbing a cheek before sliding fingers between to feel where they were connected. That was apparently the last bit of stimulation needed because then Stiles was gasping and spasming around his knot. He grabbed his cock as he came to aim the rest of his release at Derek’s chest and abdomen.
“CLAAAIIIIMM!” Stiles yelled for any other lurking supernaturals and probably the neighbors on multiple floors to hear, panting and grinning wolfishly.
They both started giggling.
The younger man brought his enthusiastic grinding down to a slow slow rocking motion and reached over to rub his cum into Derek’s skin, affecting him more than he would’ve imagined. Claimed. Eyes prickling and heart full with a knot that might never go down at this rate, he burrowed one hand into the hair at the back of Stiles’ head and pulled him in for deep, sloppy kiss.
About an hour later they were sprawled across the couch, heads at opposite ends and legs tangled together while watching — what else — that cooking show when Stiles got a couple texts in quick succession. Derek grinned, pretty sure he knew what that was about. Stiles inhaled sharply and then barked out a laugh, sitting up to smack him playfully on the shoulder as more messages arrived.
“Oh my god, Derek. So that’s what you were doing on your phone literally behind my back while we were waiting for your knot to go down. And why you were asking if I had plans with my dad again today. You little sneak, you actually did it!”
Stiles’ laughter turned into an indignant cry when he grabbed the phone and then trapped the struggling human out of arms reach with his legs.
“Keep trying babe. Alpha werewolf, remember.”
Now Stiles sounded like a cat with its tail jammed in a door. Yeah, he’d be paying for this later, but it was so funny right now. The screen wasn’t locked yet so Derek clicked on Messages and pulled up the most recent ones as the last few came through.
From Daddio:
<I’m pretty sure I don’t want to know why Derek Hale just sent me a veritable feast from Sauce & Bone.>
<But I’m going to enjoy the hell out of this for lunch tonight and over the next few days.>
<Definitely beats the turkey & sprout wrap or whatever that Parrish was trying to pawn off on me.>
<Tell him thanks for me.>
<And also that he’s coming over for dinner at the house next Saturday. 6:00pm.>
<And thank you too I guess. Ugh. But hands off my grub!>
<Love you, kiddo.>
Aww. Derek was honestly kind of afraid a bit nervous about meeting the Sheriff, but he liked what he knew of the man so far. And he clearly had him to thank for his favorite human and current hellcat giving him another chance. He supposed he’d have to send Scott something too for the werewolf tips. Derek tossed the phone back to the glaring younger man, but didn't let him up just yet. He waited until after Stiles read the last 3 messages and smiled fondly despite himself.
Of course he was still pounced upon anyway and he resigned himself to his fate, which was apparently an adorably growly Stiles draped on top of him and latched onto his neck like a lamprey, biting and sucking marks onto his skin more intensely than usual. After laying there for a while Derek wrapped his arms around him.
“The night’s still young. You wanna go to Jungle, babe? There might be a really hot dancer there that’s fun and smart and snarky and just amazing in every way.”
Stiles detached from his neck to roll his eyes at Derek, but he couldn’t help the grin and blush that followed. He admired his handiwork for a few moments and then got up.
“Nah, I’m in the mood for staying in. I hear there’s this sweet, geeky, super sexy Alpha werewolf that’s good with his hands who lives around here somewhere. Gonna see if he likes to chase as much as they say.”
And with that Stiles started backing away slowly.
Derek stood up, head tilting involuntarily as Stiles started moving faster and then thankfully turned around so he didn’t trip over something and brain himself. He began following as well. The human then ran for and then up the stairs and he set off after his shrieking prey. As soon as Stiles cleared the last step he leapt and wrapped himself around the younger man and turned to let himself take the brunt of the landing, which was at least on the plush rug.
He rolled them over so that he was on top of Stiles in the dark room, rutting against his ass and firmly, but carefully biting the back of his neck. The heavy scent of arousal and the accompanying whine from his captive made him rumble happily and Derek released his jaws to lave over the skin instead.
Then he mouthed over the juncture between Stiles’ shoulder and neck, setting his teeth there and imagining leaving his mark one day, and the human gasped. Derek stilled for a moment realizing that either the wolf friend told him or he somehow found out another way about what biting there meant. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly before leaving a kiss right over it.
He might not be ready to say it and he wouldn’t assume that Stiles was there yet so soon, but Derek wasn’t going to freak out about him knowing what he was thinking about either. What he hoped for in the future that he could now see for them.
“I’m so glad I met you, Stiles,” he said quietly.
There was an eruption of wiggling beneath him so he raised up enough to let the human turn over.
“Likewise, Derek,” Stiles replied.
Derek couldn’t make out his expression in the scant light reaching them from downstairs, but there was that sweet scent of joy and he saw a shadowy face coming towards, kissing him softly after his lips were located. And then after arms pulled him down that face sank into his throat, moving until Stiles found that same spot and bit down gently, sucking a mark there too. Well then.
Eyes burning red, he flipped his future mate back onto his belly and got ready for what could be Round 3, Round 5 or Round 8 depending on how and from when you counted it. It didn’t matter. If Derek had his way he’d spend the rest of his life working toward Round Infinity.
Tags: POV Stiles, Human Stiles, Left Hand Peter, Graphic Violence, Alternate Universe, Strangers to Lovers, Getting Together, Gratuitous Endearments, Versatile Stiles/Peter, Explicit Sexual Content, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Knotting, Mating Bites, Dubious Consent, Uninformed Consent, Little to no prior discussion of a lot of things lmao, Assholes in Love, Morally Ambiguous Stiles/Peter, Murder Husbands, Song Lyrics, Happy Ending
Summary: Stiles and Peter run into each other when attempting to kill the same people. They get together and go a-murderin'.
He drove for hours to get to the target, turning the knob between radio stations in the old, throwaway car he bought in cash for one trip only. His gloved fingers paused when the fist-pumping rhythm, scorching guitar, and sneering growl of “Rebel Yell” came blaring out of the speakers and he put his hand back on the steering wheel, drumming along and shimmying his shoulders. They must’ve been playing alternating sets because the next two tracks were Billy Idol too.
Grinning and even more hyped he arrived at his destination after nightfall, a tiny community on the Northern California coast called Albion. He made the final approach to an isolated McMansion on the outskirts, its resident reclusive and paranoid. Too paranoid to trust others with his security, apparently, relying only on his guard dogs and technology.
Not paranoid enough, he thought, smirking. After parking the car out of view he climbed out and took off his black hoodie, strapped on a bulletproof vest, and then put it back on again, zipping it up high. This was his tactical hoodie, it had several custom compartments, including a passthrough pocket for his handgun and a sheath on the back for his bat.
Stiles tranq’d the quartet of Dobermans from afar with night vision goggles and dropped the dart gun to be collected later or left behind as circumstances permitted. It wouldn’t led back to him. He slipped inside with a hacked door code, the gentle beeping hopefully not yet alerting his quarry. Carefully, he made his way through the house, avoiding or disengaging a series of booby traps that he used the man’s own surveillance cameras to memorize.
He was almost to the wing with the sleeping quarters when suddenly an alarm that sounded like the apocalypse itself started going off. What the entire fuck? He knew he hadn’t messed anything up. Moments later it blessedly cut off again, but then he heard a roar of pain behind him as he sprinted down the hall and realized that he wasn’t the only one breaking in tonight. Of all the dumb fucking luck.
Stiles turned and saw a man rushing toward him, shouting, and he sped up. The guy moved unnaturally fast and gave the distinct impression of wanting to rip him apart. Yeah no, buddy.
He jumped a trip wire and then threw himself to the right, ducking under another sensor. From the sounds of gunfire behind him his pursuer hadn’t bothered to pay attention to his maneuvers, but must’ve been one lucky son-of-a-bitch because the footsteps kept coming, if somewhat slower.
Reaching the end of the hall, Stiles quickly triggered a thick metal door to descend, which slammed down between them before the mystery mission-crasher could get through. There was a narrow strip of some transparent bulletproof material in the otherwise solid steel door and he met the shadowed eyes of the man cursing him on the other side, an odd reflection making them seem bright blue for a moment. Seconds passed entranced as they stared, but then he shook himself out of it.
“Sorry, my guy. This is my party and you weren’t invited.”
There was an answering thud near his head and more muffled cursing and noises of frustration.
“If you let him get away I’m going to tear your throat out,” the man threatened. See? He knew the guy was a ripper.
Stiles scoffed. “You’re the one who fucked this up, asshole.” He turned away muttering, “Goddamn Leroy Jenkins over here.”
Luckily, he always had a backup plan, in this case the code to the panic room as well. That’s what too many simulations and drills would get you.
Humming softly, he withdrew his gun and prepared to go inside. Here she comes now, sayin’ Mony Mony. Shoot ‘em down, turn around, come on Mony.
When their eyes met again over what was now a mangled corpse it was…something at first sight. Well, technically, it was like, third sight, but this was his first time actually getting a good look at the guy. And vice versa from the way those light colored eyes were currently tracking up and down his body.
The man was older, but not yet middle-aged — perhaps 35 or so — and had impeccable style. Upscale business casual threads in blues and grays with a belt and shoes in an orange-brown for color. Stiles had no penchant for it himself, but could appreciate it all the same. He noted some red leaking through the navy blazer. The man didn’t seem concerned though, so it must’ve been a graze.
Stiles straightened up and wiped the blood spatter from his face. The mark had gotten off a couple shots, one going wide and the other embedding in the side of his vest. He’d shot the man’s right arm, causing the revolver to fall to the floor, and followed up with another one high on his leg. Then it’d been bat time.
This was personal, after all. The motherfucker — a former deputy — almost killed his father. Did kill innocent bystanders. Heather. He gave the piece of shit a last kick to the head and flipped him over.
“Darling, you look so good in red,” the man purred.
If it were anyone else Stiles would’ve hefted his still dripping bat in warning, but instead he found himself grinning like an idiot and felt himself flush more than from his recent exertion.
“I bet you say that to all the boys,” he said, cleaning his favorite weapon on the back of the dead man’s shirt before pulling out a bag from his hoodie, wrapping it up, and sliding it back in its sheath.
Then he unlocked a second door and backed away into the night, not taking his eyes off the man watching his every move until he had to disarm another trap in the side yard.
The next time they met he’d been the one to arrive to a murder in progress. And how. Stiles had seen a lot in his 21 years — especially the last two or so spent ever further outside of the law — but he never expected to come face to face with a hulking beast with wicked claws and ginormous fangs in a freaky, furry face. Furry everything.
He stood there stunned for several moments, gun pointed at the creature, but not firing as it finished off the lowlife he came to kill. It was disgusting, but impressive.
When it was done the beast looked at him, but made no move to attack. Then it started to change, the sight of flesh rippling and the sound of bones reforming quite disturbing really. Lastly, he watched as the fur receded and it became a man, the man, that he encountered when he took care of Haigh.
The man he couldn’t stop thinking about and kicked himself for not getting any information that he could’ve used to track him down. To find out more about him. Who he was and what he was about. If he’d liked to get naked sometime.
Speaking of which, he hadn’t really noticed before what with the very distracting eviscerating going on, but most of the beast man’s clothes had torn in his prior transformation, only scrapes of pants hiding his junk almost like a pair of extra ripped Daisy Dukes. Stiles had no qualms about checking him out and was tickled when he preened and set a hand on his hip.
“So we meet again, sweetheart. Like what you see?”
Always with the endearments, this guy. Monster guy. Werewolf, he supposed. It was obvious that he did like it, but that didn’t mean he was going to say so out loud. Stiles raised an eyebrow and changed the subject.
“Should we be comparing lists or something?”
There was an amused snort. “Perhaps.”
They stood around awkwardly for a few moments and then Stiles went to get a closer look at the thoroughly shredded Body Formerly Known As Todd.
“You’re not going to ask?” the werewolf blurted.
There was surprise and incredulity in his voice. And was that a hint of disappointment? Stiles bet he had a whole spiel prepared. He smirked.
“About what? You’re a guy who turns into a wolf-bear creature. And? Do you have another trick up your sleeve? Some fascinating hobby?”
The werewolf erupted into a full-body laugh, mouth open and eyes sparkling — Stiles was close enough now to see that they were blue — and he was pleased to elicit such a response. He wanted to hear that sound again.
“Eh, that’s about it unless you consider my day job interesting?”
“Which is…?”
“I’m a rather sought after lawyer.”
“Not in the slightest,” Stiles replied, grinning.
“Ouch, you wound me. I bet you’ll change your tune when you need my help getting out of jail and a long prison sentence.”
“Pbbt, your furry ass will be right there beside me the way things are going.” Which brought him back to the subject at hand. Or foot. “So about that list. Why were you after the likes of this scumbag?” He nudged the body with his shoe.
He listened as werewolf explained that Todd here had been working with a group of Hunters — how original — that attacked supernatural creatures even when they’d done nothing wrong. A group that had killed several members of his family, only himself and his nieces and nephew surviving. That Haigh had helped to cover it up before moving and joining the force in Beacon Hills, where he took part — both directly and indirectly — in the deaths of multiple supernaturals and humans alike.
Stiles then he gave his own reasons for going after the same targets. His father’s near death and the indiscriminate killing of his childhood friend Heather and other folks who were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Stiles studied the man in front of him (he was definitely a man regardless of whatever else he was) and mentioned a few more names he was hoping to cross off, observing a reaction to one of them.
“Well, it sounds like a bunch of your enemies are my enemies.”
“Does that make us friends?” the werewolf asked, words laden with seductive promise.
Stiles put his right hand out flat and rotated his forearm back and forth. “Perhaps.” He winked and retrieved his latest burner phone.
They decided to meet up a few hours later about a 100 miles away at a brewpub in Santa Rosa. Stiles was more nervous on the drive there than he’d been when going a-murdering. At least after the first few times. He slid into a private booth where the werewolf waited upstairs, quiet enough to hear each other easily, but loud enough in the establishment to drown out their conversation.
He might’ve had a bit (a lot) more to drink than he intended, feeling all kinds of things in the presence of the attractive, deadly, supposed-to-be-mythological man who flirted like innuendos were the gas pedal in Speed. Stiles was amused. Conflicted. Aroused. Reckless.
He remembered flashes of what followed after they settled on a joint course of action. The hawk-eyed stare as he suggestively ate various vaguely phallic finger foods. Stumbling on the steps outside. A hand reaching into his pocket and being buckled into a different car than he arrived in. Asking if the werewolf knew how unfair it was that he was “just so fucking hot” and singing that he wanted to, quote unquote, “Lick lick lick lick you from your head to your toes.”
Being guided through the door of his motel room and onto his unmade bed. A face pressed against his neck and the lightest brush of lips on his throat. Murmured words, a streetlight briefly flooding the room, and then darkness and silence.
Stiles woke with a start, but soon began to relax after taking stock of first himself and then his surroundings. He was unmurdered, unmolested, and by all accounts still in possession of all of his belongings. The only things out of place were a pair of playing cards tucked underneath his wallet on the beside table. Well, the first was a playing card, the Ace of Spades of course. The second had the back of one, but was actually a fairly standard business card on the other side. It had a triple spiral symbol on the left.
Peter Hale, Attorney at Law.
He smiled.
Stiles watched as Peter was punched and pistol-whipped, dragged bloodied and bruised into the inner sanctum of some crime lord’s wannabe chateau. Listened as he begged while henchmen laughed and jeered, taunting that he’d never leave this room alive as they continued to pummel him before tying him up for their boss to interrogate.
And the award goes to…
When “Mr Marc,” the self-described King of Sacramento, entered the room it was his cue to cut the lights. That unsettling sound of rearranging came through his head piece and then the screaming and gunfire began.
Stiles took out a few soldiers on the way with his second favorite weapon, a semi-automatic pistol, but the rest had already converged on the custom made cell. Unfortunate for them. By the time he peeked inside it was all over, but the cursing of one gasping Carl Marconi. The man who’d been financing the likes of Haigh and Todd and dealing less-than-legal weapons to the Hunters, not out of any particular animus, but finding the extermination of supernaturals and related fuckery profitable.
“You messed with the wrong folks,” he said, leaning against the wall as Peter lifted Marconi by the throat in the green light of his night vision goggles. Seconds later there was ripping and gurgling and a trachea landed a few feet away from him with a soft thud.
“Gross, dude.”
Stiles invited him over after they cleaned up what they needed to, leaving the bodies for their affiliates to find. Perhaps they’d have second thoughts about their business. He booked a nicer place this time, an actual hotel instead of his usual hovel-esque lodgings.
Despite all of his suggestive behavior Peter actually seemed surprised when he pounced as soon as they made it inside.
“Well, this is kind of our third date,” Stiles joked, wagging his eyebrows before kissing him again.
They made out against the door for a bit, getting more and more heated with little nips and delving tongues. It was obvious that Peter assumed that he would be in charge, but Stiles had other plans at the moment. The wolf followed his unspoken directions with an air of being put upon as he went down to his knees, eyes glowing that inhumane blue, but going nonetheless.
Stiles pulled out his cock and Peter dropped his fangs with a smirk, but that was no deterrence. Danger only made him harder.
Carefully, he rubbed the head over Peter’s top lip and then on the fronts of both elongated upper canines and the werewolf shivered, whispering his namebefore retracting his sharpness and taking him into his mouth. Stiles caressed his head as it bobbed, eventually giving a testing tug. Peter groaned and increased his tempo so he did it again. Soon he was holding him stationary and fucking his face, so incredibly turned on be having his way with the werewolf — being allowed to use him — and when he came with a shout Peter swallowed it all, lips wet and eyes shiny.
As he leaned back against the nearby dresser in the midst of his afterglow Peter rose effortlessly to his feet, riled up up and ravenous.
“My turn,” he rasped, plundering Stiles’ mouth and sharing a taste of himself. Pressing him hard against the wall, Peter extended his claws just long enough to tear off his pants and boxer briefs, leaving tiny lines that didn’t quite bleed on his skin.
“Suck,” he growled, sticking blunted fingers between his lips.
Stiles obliged, jerking his hips at a jolt of arousal. It’d take a while before his dick got back in the game, but he wanted nonetheless. Before he could fully register that his mouth was empty again two fingers were rubbing over his hole. He tried to relax as one pressed inside, burning slightly.
“So tight, you’re going to feel amazing on my cock,” said Peter, grasping under a thigh and around his back to carry him over to the bed.
Stiles’ heart raced with both nervousness and excitement knowing what would happen next. He’d been fingered before — mostly, though not solely, by himself — but he’d always topped with his previous partners when it came to fucking. He was also aware that this would not be a gentle deflowering, but he didn’t want to stop.
After tossing him face down on the bed Peter quickly sniffed out his lube before Stiles could tell him that it was still in his luggage — he deserved a reward for not making a dog joke — and then two slick digits were entering him, alternating between spreading him and brushing over his prostate and then just pumping repeatedly. He wiggled and moaned, rubbing against the bedsheets below him.
“Such a good little whore,” Peter crooned, palming an ass check with his other hand and then lifting it off again. “I know exactly what you need.”
Stiles’ face heated at the words, but he discovered that he liked it. He heard a bottle cap being flicked open and viscous liquid being applied to Peter’s cock. Then he was being pulled up by the hips onto his knees, which were nudged farther apart, and the werewolf climbed over him. Hot, hard flesh pressed against his rim. Stiles realized then that he hadn’t even seen it and had no idea what he was getting into. Or rather, what was getting into him. Breathe, breathe. Relax, relax, re—
With a snarl Peter pushed steadily inside him and he gasped as his body struggled to accommodate the intrusion. His hands clenched in the sheets as he was stretched wide, panting with tears instantly forming in his eyes.
Groans of pleasure from just above punctuated the sound of Peter’s balls slapping against him as he was pounded for several moments and willed himself to just take it. He’d taken Peter’s mouth after all, it was only fair.
Then the movement paused, the fact that he was unusually quiet and still perhaps pulling the older man out of his own blissed out world.
“Sweetheart, are you okay?”
Stiles turned his head and gave a shaky smile, nodding, but Peter shot him a skeptical look and then seemed to concentrate inward. He watched in amazement as dark lines began to flow along the werewolf’s veins and suddenly most of the pain was gone, leaving only a mild ache. Taking some deep breaths, he focused on relaxing and letting himself adjust. When Then he experimented with rocking his hips.
Peter adjusted his position a bit and when he pushed back again he lit up with pleasure, moaning.
“There we go, darling.”
The thrusting continued, slower this time, and the werewolf leaned down to lick and suck on his neck. His own cock was hard once more and Stiles began to writhe and gyrate, desperate for more friction.
Strong hand clamped down on his neck and waist, stilling him as Peter speed up again. “You’re going to be a good boy and take what I give you,” he growled, snapping his hips.
Stiles gave himself over to the wolf’s control and the cock mercilessly targeting that wondrous little bundle of nerves. He was just starting to get close, but then he felt something happening. An increased pressure.
Peter swore and paused momentarily, grabbing the bottle of lube and drizzling more over them. As he resumed fucking him Stiles felt it again, something stretching him even more.
“Peter?” he gasped.
“Shhhh. It’s okay, darling. Do you trust me?”
Strangely enough, Stiles did. He probably shouldn’t, but that didn’t seem to matter.
“Yeah,” he answered honestly. The hand at his neck moved to stroke gently down his left side.
“Do you want to be mine? For me to be yours?”
“Yes,” he sobbed, suddenly feeling vulnerable. Not understanding what was going on. He wasn’t really sure what Peter meant either, but he wanted it all the same. The idea of belonging. Wishing that could be true.
Peter made a pleased, guttural sound and he felt himself being opened wider still. He whimpered and the part of the sensation that had crossed over into pain was siphoned again. Finally the source of the pressure slipped all the way inside where it nestled against his prostate. The wolf began to swivel his hips, grinding into him over and over.
Stiles cried out as he came, clenching around the large object and then suddenly sharp fangs were embedded where his shoulder met his neck. He was already overwhelmed before a rush of foreign information — impressions and feelings and things he had no words for — flooded his brain just as Peter’s hot cum flooded his body and he passed out to the sound of roaring.
He floated back to awareness being held to a warm chest, a hand gently stroking his back and neck. He felt sticky and slightly sore, bombarded by sensations and emotions.
“Is that what bottoming is always like? Holy fuck,” he muttered, half-lifting his head groggily before letting it fall again.
Peter paused his petting and Stiles almost begged him to continue the grounding contact.
“You…I assumed…” The wolf was actually at a loss for a moment.
“S’fine,” he mumbled into the pillow. The soothing touch continued more softly.
When his brain truly came back online some minutes later he jerked up, pulling back to look at Peter, who’d apparently been doing that pain drain thing again. He was going to ask about that later, but he had more pressing things on his mind.
“So wait, what the fuck was up with your dick? And why do I feel like…like there’s more…just more in my head?”
For the first time he saw actual worry on the werewolf’s face, before it smoothed back into a neutral expression.
“Well…”
The more Peter explained about werewolves and mating and wolf mates the narrower his eyes got until he could barely see the mouth still flapping only a few feet away.
“And you didn’t think to tell me about any of that beforehand, you son-of-a-bitch?!”
The worried look was back again, but even more pronounced. Stiles could feel -- because he had some mystical bullshit feeding him another person’s emotions somewhere in his head now — Peter’s anxiety and fear. His defensiveness and discomfort and a flash of hurt, as well. Boo-fucking-hoo. Tellingly, there was only the barest whisper of guilt. The bastard.
Peter opened his mouth to respond, but he cut him off.
“Blah blah blah, wolfy instincts I’m sure. You’re a selfish bastard.” Stiles glared into stormy sea eyes. “But then so am I.”
Peter huffed, crossing his arms. “Well, you can always kill me if you want out.”
“I know.”
He hadn’t actually known until just then, but he’d figured that would be the case. Peter grimaced and nodded.
“Are you going to?”
A numb resignation drifted through the bond. That’s what it was called. The bond. Pack bond. Mating bond. He was a mated man. Claimed.
“Hmm…perhaps,” he answered with bared teeth.
“Lie.” The wolf hissed. He then leaned forward slightly and sniffed, his head tilted and eyes unfocused before they narrowed in turn. “You’re…not actually mad about this, are you?”
“Not really,” Stiles said, shrugging and sighing deeply. He let out go of the anger that he’d been purposefully trying to cultivate. That he probably should feel, but didn’t. He wondered what that said about him. “But it’s the principle of the thing,” he added, punctuating the words with a finger jabbing into Peter’s chest.
The asshole flashed a triumphant grin and that occupied little corner of brain was all happy and relieved and smug.
“Eat me,” he retorted, flipping double birds.
And well…Peter did.
God, his tongue. A++, would be rimmed until he babbled and cried again. And again. He had half a mind to make it a stipulation whenever they got around to drawing up the legal papers as well.
The next morning the wolf — his wolf — was in the process of getting out of bed, but Stiles wrapped around him from behind like an octopus and pulled him back to sit on the edge of the mattress. He spat in his hand and reached around and down to grasp his hardening shaft, tweaking a nipple with the other and leaving disappointingly brief hickeys on the side of his neck. Peter thrusted up into his hand for a minute or two and then twisted to push him onto his back, sliding over his body and settling between his legs.
He lined up their cocks and then began rutting between, making those hot growly sounds as Stiles moaned and wrapped long legs around his waist and moved his hips.
“I’m going to give that sweet ass of yours a break,” Peter whispered in his ear, licking and nipping at an earlobe. “But I’ll be fucking you again real soon.”
Perhaps I’ll fuck you first.
Stiles followed Peter into Growing Gaines, a cozy, fairly new shop which sold flowers, plants, and natural remedies. He turned the sign in the door to “Closed” and quietly twisted the lock behind him.
This was a more impromptu job than usual, the result of his mate showing him bestiaries and other books about the supernatural a couple mornings ago and suddenly coming to the realization that the recent influx of missing children in the area was probably due to some kind of fae creature. Likely in Oakland, around 15 miles away from Peter’s apartment in Walnut Creek, based on the pattern of disappearances.
A wandering Higher Unseelie it turned out, though the exact species was unknown. Ancient. Beautiful. Deadly. And in this case, rather sloppy, sometimes literally.
There’d been no time to waste — they wanted to make sure she didn’t strike again — so they collected what they knew to work against the fae, much of it already in the wolf’s possession. (Peter had informed him that he was something called a Left Hand, a pack’s protector and enforcer. An instrument of vengeance should harm befall them.) Purified salt, mistletoe, holly, and silver. Rowan, which was part of the rose family and also known as mountain ash. Peter had it in both wood and powdered forms despite not being able to touch it himself. And of course “iron — cold iron — is master of them all.”
There was some debate about exactly what “cold iron” meant: iron turned into a weapon, iron that had been cold-worked instead of forged or welded, raw iron ore or just a poetic term for iron in general. Stiles made sure to cover all his bases by selecting a sharpened, cold-worked spike made from a meteorite and attached to a rowan handle from the Hale vault. Hell, he threw it in the freezer for good measure and packed it in a cooler bag with ice packs even though the wolf laughed and laughed at him.
While Peter turned on the charm and distracted the sweetly smiling platinum blonde he got to work “browsing” the plant section out back and laid out a binding circle. Well, it was more of an oval really. When she led Peter toward the weigelas he asked about Stiles knocked her out with a rag soaked in mistletoe extract and rolled in silver dust.
They’d been pretty damn certain that they had the right culprit, but to make absolutely sure Peter rifled through the office inside while Stiles kept watch over the unconscious “Alisha Gaines.” When he felt a sense of nausea followed by rage through the bond he knew that they did before the wolf returned with a look of disgust on his face. It took about another ten minutes for her to wake up — they wanted her aware of why she was going to die — and everything was ready.
“You know all you had to do was not be a complete piece of shit and you could’ve lived just about forever,” Stiles said, shaking his head at the triple bound fairy. “It’s not like you even needed to eat people — children — to survive or anything. You just wanted to.” The malevolent creature glared at him with pure hatred, but thankfully looks couldn’t kill unless you were dealing with a basilisk. “Oh well.” He drove the iron spike into her heart.
With a muffled scream she began to dissipate, which was both fascinating and very convenient. Power coursed through him —as he’d read that it would — and also into a set of seven amulets that he had wrapped around his right wrist. Stiles didn’t have magic himself, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t use it if harnessed in certain ways. And he could definitely benefit from the general upgrade in health and vitality from a transference of life force.
“God, you’re so fucking sexy when you do that,“ Peter growled, burying a hand in his growing hair and all but mashing their faces together. “The planning.” He licked over the seam of Stiles’ lips. ”The set up.” A teasing tongue worked into his mouth. “Keeping it short and sweet…” Peter sucked on his lower lip. “Instead of a whole monologue.”
Stiles slipped his tongue into the wolf’s mouth.
“The execution,” Peter hissed, resting their foreheads together, breathing each other in. “Pun intended,” he added a few moments later before diving back in again.
The kissing turned into wrestling for dominance and surprisingly enough Stiles won, arms wrapped around the wolf from behind with teeth set to the side of his throat. He wasn’t sure if the fae power gave him that much of a boost or whether Peter simply relented for once.
“Looks like I’ll be having you tonight” he teased, swatting Peter on the ass. The wolf huffed and stalked away, but he could tell that he was actually pleased. Excited even. This whole bond thing was pretty cool after all, at least when it worked to his advantage.
Stiles gathered several bunches of hanging herbs that were drying in the sunshine knowing that Mr. Fancy Pants would totally love that shit. He also swiped two bouquets of roses from inside, one with classic, long-stemmed red flowers and the other a pretty light purple variety. The tag called it Plum Perfect and described it as “lavender” and “double flowered.” What could he say, he was a romantic.
Peter made them a lovely beef roast for dinner with root vegetables — parsnips, carrots, Yukon gold and sweet potatoes, and freakin’ rutabagas because he was extra like that — cooked in a red wine sauce with some of the fresh thyme. Afterwards, Stiles found him in the bedroom naked and spread out on his back for him. He hurriedly pulled off his clothes and climbed onto the slate blue 1000 thread count sheets.
The wolf wore a come-and-get-it smirk on his face, but Stiles could feel that he was nervous too. He just lay on top of Peter for a while, kissing him and mouthing his neck while frotting lazily between his legs, enjoying a nice, slowly building heat. His wolf grabbed one of his hands and kissed it, looking up at him with such affection in his eyes.
“Go ahead, sweetheart. It’s just been a long time.”
Then he took two of those fingers and sucked until they were sopping wet, guiding his hand down between them. Stiles didn’t need to be told twice.
He bit Peter’s shoulder and closed his eyes after inserting that first finger, circling and rubbing inside. He reached over for the lube when he was about to add another, but then held it over the other man’s left hand instead.
“I wanna see you fuck yourself open for me.”
Peter inhaled sharply and moved to obey. The slick sounds watching those shorter, but thicker fingers pumping into his ass, went straight to Stiles’ already rock hard cock.
“C’mon, show me how much you want it.”
Peter’s eyes flashed that beautiful bright blue and he started to thrust up with his hips to meet his hand, the tendons in his neck standing out as leaned forward and threw himself into it. Stiles was practically drooling as he stared and decided to put that pooling saliva to use, letting it drip down over his mate’s now three busy fingers. He bent down off to the side and suckled the head of Peter’s leaking cock, licking and kissing and then enveloping it again a few times before pulling away, the wolf trying to keep him there with the scrabbling digits of his other hand.
He smirked and Peter glared at him — all flushed and sweaty and shameless…beautiful — until he saw him slicking himself up. When Stiles grasped the backs of his thighs just above the knees and lifted the wolf finally withdrew his fingers so that he could take their place. He shuffled forward and rubbed the tip of his cock over his mate’s quivering hole, teasing and savoring the delicious anticipation.
“Fucking hurry it up!” Peter barked.
Stiles had half a mind to make him wait even more, make him beg, but he was more than ready to get on with it himself. No, he’d give Peter exactly what he wanted.
“Fuck,” he breathed as he entered that tight, engulfing heat, steadily sinking in until he was sheathed completely. Peter’s mouth hung open, his rim stretched and clenching around Stiles’ cock, but he wasn’t experiencing true pain. Still, he waited until Peter started to wiggle around and then he snapped his hips, setting an even pace.
Stiles settled down onto his forearms to kiss him and then buried a hand in his hair, tugging his head up and latching onto his neck. His tips tingled from the vibrations of Peter’s moans. He switched to undulating his hips every so often, dragging long and slow.
It was so so good, but soon he began to crave something else. A wilder, animal impulse urged him to claim.
Peter whined when he suddenly pulled out, but he wouldn’t be left empty for long. Stiles flipped him over and lined himself up, pushing back in with a single forceful thrust. He grasped the wolf by the throat, not choking him, but holding firmly, and began thrusting again with abandon. Deep, hard strokes that pressed him into the mattress. Peter gasped and tilted his hips back, spurring him on even more.
“That’s a good bitch,” Stiles said before biting the back of his neck.
And then Peter was tensing up all over, making low, breathy sounds and clenching around his cock as he came and came and came. Stiles felt his rapid pulse against his palm, squeezing once before letting go and planting both hands on the bed. He sped up then, chasing his own end as the wolf still twitched beneath him. It wasn’t long before his balls drew up tight and he began to shoot his load.
“Mine mine mine,” he chanted, just as Peter often did when he was the one coming apart under his mate. Stiles only wished that he had a knot to bury in him too. Perhaps he’d check out some of those not-entirely-fantasy-after-all sex toy makers.
He continued to slowly thrust into Peter even after he emptied every last drop inside him.
They were on the road again, this time all the way to Austin, TX. They could’ve just flown in and gotten a car down there, but it became an excuse to do some gallivanting on the way. Vegas. Albuquerque. Maybe they’d swing down across the border to Monterrey on the drive back. Hit up some museums and stuff themselves with cabrito al pastor.
Stiles all but skipped into their first stop in the city — one of the dozen and a half or so record stores he pulled up on the map — excited to buy some vinyl now that he had access to a turntable and a state of the art sound system. He was browsing the H-Me section when Billy Idol’s Rebel Yell caught his eye. Memories of that fateful trip to Albion and his first encounter with Peter ran through his mind and he grinned. Of course he had to get it.
The fact that this was their final mission practically made it a sign. An auspicious one, he hoped. Their kill lists had significant overlap, but there were a number of targets who only made the mistake of enraging one of them. Not that that mattered, they were no less dead for it. If someone made it onto Peter’s then, by golly, that was reason enough to land them in his sights as well and vice-versa.
This one made the top of both of theirs, though. Gerard Argent. Leader of the Argent clan despite their supposed matriarchy. The Hunter who bribed corrupt policeman like Haigh and introduced the likes of Marconi to the existence of the supernatural. Who approved his daughter’s heinous attack on the Hales.
Stiles had been happy to learn that she’d been left to rot in scattered pieces — or perhaps to become a meal for some lurking scavenger — in a landfill somewhere in the southwest. Arizona or New Mexico. His mate had been kind of out of it at the time, apparently. Kate Argent was one of Peter’s first post-fire kills and understandably the most emotional.
Now it was time for her father to pay. They’d saved him for last.
Things went wrong almost immediately, a series of cascading minor mishaps requiring them to adapt everything on the fly. All they needed was for Peter to wearingly declare that he was too old for this shit (he would never) and it would’ve been a perfect cliche. But in the end the mission was salvaged. Gerard was super dead and they were still around to return one day and piss on his grave. The worse for wear for sure — he’d been injured enough to need all 3 of the amulets he brought and would probably have nightmares from having to burn that much wolfsbane out of Peter — but alive. That was all that mattered.
There is nothing safe in this world. And there's nothing sure in this world. And there's nothing pure in this world. Look for something left in this world. Start again.
They were somewhere between Artesia Wells and Encinal, about 60 miles from the border, when Stiles was directed to turn off onto an unmarked dirt path and through a gate. It was covered in signs declaring it private property and promising trespassers a plethora of bodily harm. Stiles raised his eyebrows and glanced over as he continued farther down.
“It belongs to friends of the family,” Peter stated, completely at ease
The pack. Sometimes the fact that he was now part of it too, if not yet officially, made him slack-jawed with disbelief. Stiles Stilinski, guy who runs with wolves.
Well, just the one at the moment. And he preferred a brisk walk or a jog at most. A nice sedate stroll from time to time.
They built an unnecessarily large bonfire from the stack of dry branches next to the large two room shed, which was stocked full of water and nonperishable food on one side and various tools, cleaning solutions, and other potentially useful miscellanea on the other. Nice.
He was about to toss in any last detritus from their venture — a pair of shoes, certain fake IDs, some papers (written in code, but still,) a blood-soaked woven tote bag and such — when Peter grabbed his wrist.
“Ah ah ah, dear heart. Smores first, then incriminating evidence. Who knows what awful chemicals are in that stuff.”
Stiles snorted. “I’m still going to breathe it in, babe.”
“Not if you go back to the car and let me and me and my superior constitution handle it. After dessert.”
He rolled his eyes, but sent a burst of affection through their bond. Peter might often wrap it up in jerkitude, but it was these small, thoughtful gestures that showed how much he cared.
“So what’s on the agenda when we get back? Redecorating? Adopting a pet?” he inquired between gooey bites of chocolate-y marshmallow deliciousness.
Peter didn’t dignify the first suggestion with a response. “Hmm, a well-behaved adult cat might be negotiable.”
“If…?”
“If you accompany me to the Pack House.”
Stiles felt his face warp into something merely resembling a smile.
“Um…sure.”
He just couldn’t help being anxious about it. What if Laura refused to accept him after she actually met him? Or the three of them just didn’t like him. He learned about how important packs were to wolves when Peter explained about being a Left Hand and all that.
His mate chuckled and rubbed his shoulders consolingly.
“Okay love, not yet. But soon. And it’ll be fine, I promise. They’re going to love you.”
Stiles wished he could say the same, already imagining the look on the retired Sheriff’s face when introduced to the older man who was even more bloodthirsty and chaotic than he was, not to mention kind of a snob to boot. And that wasn’t even getting into the werewolf thing, assuming he ever broached that topic at all. But hopefully in time his dad would come around once he saw how well they were suited and how doting and devoted Peter was, even if would have studiously not look too closely should any more trash need to be disposed of.
Almost a week later they returned to Peter’s apartment. Their apartment now he supposed unless the wolf wanted somewhere new. There was no way in hell he was moving into Stiles’ shanty studio situation up in Sacramento, that was for sure, and the idea of living apart was…discomforting to say the least. He liked to blame it on the mate bond or the frequency with which he awoke to Peter’s mouth around his cock, but he also loved cuddling and spooning and breaksfast in bed, okay?
The Pack House was in Emeryville about 20 minutes away, but he knew his mate liked having his own place. Hadn’t spent much time there at all recently, what with the various “errands” and then being, ahem, tied up with him. He knew Peter missed them and that they wanted to see him too. Both of them. Perhaps he would invite them over for dinner this upcoming weekend. Yeah, hopefully it would be less nerve-wracking if they met in his territory so to speak. This little slice of home.
Stiles made a beeline for the record player to put on his latest purchase. Peter rolled his eyes, smirking at him until music filled the living room and he started to strut, advancing on the wolf and slipping fingers into his belt loops to encourage him to move. "Last night a little dancer came dancin' to my door..." he sang, alternating his shoulders up and down and gyrating.
It turned out that Mr. Hale could shake it with the best of them.
“Never breathe a word of this,” the enforcer threatened as he shimmied forwards and back and then spun, swinging his hips and tossing his head.
“Sure, babe,” he said, embracing his mate and grinning wickedly behind his shoulder as they swayed together. He wouldn’t say a thing.
Texts or pictures once he was finally introduced to his Alpha and the others, though…
Is there a reverse mating run where Omegas compete to claim Alphas? Or does Stiles wind up with Derek as forfeited collateral in a dystopian AU where werewolves are known and oppressed by humans?
Does Stiles find out how Derek actually feels when he becomes feral and gives him a mating bite? Or do they get married in the Preserve and have a traditional Claiming chase after?
Does Derek outbid everyone for a date with Stiles at a charity auction? Or does Stiles always make sure to call shotgun when it comes to riding in the Camaro after Roscoe breaks down?
Call dibs on an idea and make it happen!
Accepting new and unpublished fic, art, and playlists until July 31st. See here for more info.
Does Stiles' brain stop functioning when Derek wears only a tiny pair of running shorts during a summer training session? Or does Derek have a hard time controlling his wolf when Stiles is all hot and sweaty from playing lacrosse?
Do they meet while choosing the same bit of shade to hide from the unforgiving sun in a post-apocalyptic wasteland? Or do they dare each other to consume hot sauces higher and higher on the Scoville scale until tears are streaming down their faces?
Does Stiles end up stuck manning the grill at the pack bbq so Derek comes over to keep him company with some ice cream? Or do they go to a nearby river to cool off during a record heatwave and one thing leads to another?
