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Second Chance Strays

Rated: Explicit (8.4K)

Relationship: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski

Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Larem the red deer, unnamed Julia Baccari

Tags: Magical Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Derek Hale, Alternate Universe, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Graphic Violence, Getting Together, First Kiss, Virgin Stiles Stilinski, Fuck or Die, Claiming, Various Explicit Sex Acts, Knotting, Mating Bites, Mating Bonds, Wilderness Survival, Happy Ending, POV Stiles Stilinski

Mead Moons prompts: 21, Becomes, Buck, Claiming, Hay, Herbs, & Mead. @sterek-and-stuff-events

Sterek Weekly prompt: Explore (also Healthy & Family.)

When Stiles found the wolf injured and unconscious in the snow he sighed heavily, but dragged the unusually large animal onto his sled over the snorted objections of his hoof-stamping hart.

“Don’t worry, Larem, I won’t let it eat you,” he said, scratching around a soon to be shed antler and trying to soothe his sole companion of the past 3 years.

Cutting his foraging short, he secured the unfortunate creature and returned to his solitary hut hidden deep in the forest to take a closer look. Male, with thick, black fur and seeming a healthy weight for his size. That was a good sign. The fact that the wolf had been doing okay before whatever befell him recently gave him a better chance of survival. Stiles had magic yes, but his healing abilities were fairly modest and generally more helping things along than performing outright miracles.

After some minor debate he moved the wolf inside. There wasn’t much for the animal to destroy should he wake and it’d get him out of the elements for now. That way his body could focus on healing and not expending as much energy for warmth, especially with the increase in breath rate he now noticed.

Lighting a fire was an easy task for Stiles’ magic and he went out to boil some water in his smallest pot to cleanse the wounds — the wolf’s right front leg had obviously been caught in a trap, but he’d somehow managed to get out of it — and gathered comfrey, yarrow, chamomile, and calendula from his supply of healing herbs in the meantime.

As he was taught by his mother years before, Stiles used a mortar and pestle to grind them roughly, adding garlic and honey to form a paste. He brought in the hot water and soaked clean cloths to wipe away any debris before applying the poultice and covering it with a strip of fabric. The wolf twitched and whimpered, but remained unconscious.

Stiles put his hands on the now heaving sides of his patient and concentrated, finding something that felt dark and gave the impression of bitterness — a poison? — and began to draw it out. It was hard, but several minutes later he seemed to have gotten it all and the labored breathing eased. He used his power to press the noxious matter into a tiny ball and sealed it pine resin before tossing into the fire.

That done, he filled most of his mid-sized pot with water, salting it, and set it over the flame to make a warming broth with bones from some of his meals over the last few days, which he’d wrapped and buried under the snow. (One didn’t waste anything out here.) He could spare a couple handfuls of grouse as well from his larder out back and still had an ample supply of dock seed flour to make a heartier soup. Stiles took out a large bowl’s worth for the canine and then added onion, garlic, sage, and thyme to the rest.

When he returned he was quite surprised, but not utterly shocked to find a naked man on the floor where the wolf had been. He hadn’t seen such beings in person before, but had heard of them. Stiles put the bowl down on the table and peered at him curiously, noting how his wounds seemed to be gone now and how he looked just like any other man. Well, perhaps not any other man, he was very attractive indeed.

Said man awoke soon after, easing back into consciousness at first and then sitting up quickly, no doubt alarmed by the strange surroundings and possible danger. He whipped around toward Stiles, eyes turning from some pale color to a brilliant red, and growled warily.

Stiles huffed and crossed his arms. He knew he should probably be more understanding of whatever his guest had been through, but he’d been alone a long time (aside from dear Larem, pun absolutely intended) and now here he was being threatened in his own home after rescuing the sorry shifter. His own eyes flashed silver and the warning noise cut off immediately. The man awkwardly tried to both curl in on himself and bare his neck at the same time, releasing a short whine before trying to speak.

He croaked and cleared his throat a few times as if from long disuse and then hoarsely said, “I’m sorry, Magus, please forgive me. Please don’t kill me.”

Stiles sighed. So the wolf had heard of his kind too. Magical beings who too often strayed to the dark side and could cause untold harm in their greed and entitlement or simple desire for cruelty.

It wasn’t the majority of them, but any occurrence was too often when as powerful as they could be. In the past couple decades it seemed to be as high as 1 in 8, at least to some degree of malfeasance, and many a decent mage had been hurt or killed in the process of defending against them. A pang of grief ran through Stiles as he thought of his parents; his mother died when he was 9 protecting him and other children from a mad wizard and his father when he was 17, just 3 and a half years ago, ambushed while doing his lawman’s rounds in the city of Beacon. Both had taken their assailants down with them, but it was little consolation.

“I didn’t go through the trouble of saving your wolfy ass to kill you now,” he quipped, walking back toward the table. “It’s nothing exciting, but there’s food if you’d like and water to drink and wash up.”

“Thank you, Magus.”

“Stiles.”

“Pardon, but what’s a “stiles?”

“Me,” he responded, looking through the pile of clean clothes in the corner.

“Sorry, Master Stil—“

“Just call me Stiles and stop apologizing. Now, what’s your name?”

“Derek.”

“Here you go, Derek.”

Stiles threw his loosest shirt and pair of trousers at him and went back out to the fire with the bowl. A minute later the shifter peeked around the corner and then cautiously approached him as he added the soup back to the pot and added more herbs and aromatics.

“I didn’t realize you were a shifter so I took your portion out before the onions and garlic and such,” he explained. Once he figured the flavors had melded nicely he filled the large bowl again and handed it to the stranger, serving his own meal from the cookpot and then gesturing to sit down beside him on the bench. Once he began eating Derek did as well, drinking from the bowl.

“I’d give you a spoon, but I’ve somehow managed to misplace or ruin the others and I haven’t bothered to make more yet since it’s just me that uses them.”

“It’s no trouble. I’m used to eating with my hands or in wolf shape anyway. Thank you for the food. And for saving my life.”

“You’re welcome.”

They continued to eat in silence until the sound of snorting and hooves drew their attention. Stiles looked at the wolf-man and pointed at the 5.5 year old red deer.

“That’s Larem. He’s my friend and helper so don’t eat him.”

Derek started rolling his eyes and then froze after remembering who he was sitting next to. Stiles looked up to the heavens and sighed. The shifter swallowed.

“I-I won’t. I wouldn’t have either. He clearly belongs to someone.”

“Good. ”

And so began their companionship. Derek didn’t seem in a rush to go anywhere and Stiles told him that he could stick around if he wanted. He soon built his own little hut a couple hundred feet away on the opposite side of the greenhouse. It was nice having someone to talk to who could answer back and while the wolf certainly had an appetite the amount of game in Stiles' stores increased significantly and he more than came out ahead.

Grouse and wild turkey, rabbit and boar. He told Derek that he wouldn’t begrudge him hunting deer too as long as he did it, and the initial butchering, well away. Stiles taught Derek about dock seed, mallow, the roots and greens of daisies, lambsquarters, and tree sap for sweetening and the wolf brought back crabapples, elderberries, and teaberries that he’d found during his ranging, fashioning a bag to wear in wolf form.

As winter turned to spring they shared more and more of their stories in bits and pieces, Stiles speaking of his parents and his old life in Beacon and Derek telling of his lost pack. Apparently, he had a sister somewhere, but both had assumed the other was dead after they were attacked years ago by Hunters. He eventually learned that she survived and left the area, but could no longer feel her. His uncle came out of a long lasting unresponsive state, but was mad and killed his other sister, leading to Derek having to put him down and becoming an alpha.

This only happened a handful of months ago and he’d spent his time as a wolf ever since until Stiles found him. He’d been hiding from regular hunters when he stumbled into the trap, which had been set by the other kind and soaked in a wolfsbane solution that prevented his usual healing abilities. Derek shifted back to human form just long enough to remove it and then ran far away despite the pain until he passed out from exhaustion and the effects of the poison.

He borrowed from Stiles' haphazard stack of books one at a time — he’d limited himself to 3 dozen when he left Beacon, a mix of fiction and survival/wilderness guides — and built him an actual book shelf. Stiles played minor pranks on him from time to time and played the mandola for him regularly after dinner. One evening when it rained and he’d done his music inside he could’ve sworn that Derek was going to kiss him when he walked the departing werewolf to the door. There was a charged pause, eyes roaming over faces to lips and then back to meet again, but the moment passed with only an awkward smile and a quiet farewell.

Stiles hadn’t much considered the prospect of romance and/or sex with the shifter until then both being completely out of the habit of such things and worried about the possible fallout. He had been texting with Heather about their upcoming first date — his first date, period — flirting and making plans for weekend when he got the news that his father had been killed. Needless to say, it was cancelled along with every other plan he had as he first withdrew into himself and then from society altogether. That had been the entirety of his romantic endeavors and while he masturbated like a typical young man he tried not to dwell on things he didn't, couldn't have.

Then Derek showed up and it also became a matter of not wanting to risk scaring off his only human (-ish) friend or, in the beginning, concerns about taking advantage when the werewolf was still a bit afraid of him. So he just hadn't really let himself go there. But that night Stiles desperately stroked himself while imagining green eyes staring into his as large hands explored him all over. A swarthy, muscular body on top of him and the short beard — which he loaned his scissors to keep trimmed — rubbing against his skin.

He hadn’t actually gotten a proper look at Derek’s cock, but he did his best to imagine it thrusting into him as well, adding two and then three fingers (as much as he could at that angle) to bring himself to completion. After that night Stiles noticed occasional glances and there were little touches here and there, but nothing more came of it, both likely afraid to make the first move. And then one day everything changed.

It was a beautiful afternoon in May and Stiles had decided to leave Larem to rest and enjoy some hay with apples and acorns, setting off to take a nice long walk and go foraging alone instead while Derek was out hunting. He was exploring in a direction where he’d seldom gone, happily picking wild garlic in a small clearing he’d come across, when all of a sudden something made all the hairs on his arm stand up. Danger. Eyes wide he threw himself on the ground and rolled just as a burst of magic hit the spot where he’d been standing.

Fucking darachs. He’d thought he left all of this behind, but apparently even the middle of fucking nowhere wasn’t far enough. Stiles returned fire with his own power, feinting and then hitting the long-haired brunette square in the chest with a what he called a "pain loop," causing her to scream in agony and fury.

He lashed out again with a stunning spell, but she managed to dodge it and all too soon interrupted the paroxysms from his previous strike, eyes glowing milky white as she threw something in sickly shades of green and brown at him. A perversion of earth magic.

Stiles was able to twist away in time and then he was running, weaving between the trees as soon as he reached the edge of the clearing. Not for the first time he bemoaned the fact that he was too young to learn killing spells from his mother, who was loath to know such things, but understood their necessity. He tried to put some distance between them so he could face the dark druid on his own terms, perhaps ambush her on ground of his choosing if he was lucky.

Unfortunately, he was still a ways off from his usual stomping grounds and unbeknownst to him a large tree had fallen and blocked the other end of the fairly short, but narrow path he vaguely remembered from a previous time that he’d come this way. Cursing, he went back and hoped to emerge in time to try another route, but the darach met him on the way out.

He was at the ready so he got off another pain loop even as he was finally hit with whatever foul magic she was dealing out. Stiles gasped as a chill took hold of him and he felt noticeably weaker than he had just moments before. He hit her with the stunning spell as well this time, but he could tell it wasn’t nearly as strong as it should be as he staggered too slowly towards her.

Stiles was planning to kill her the old-fashioned way, with his sufficient enough all-purpose knife, but another wave of weakness went through him and he fell to his knees perhaps 5 or so yards away. Wearing a smirk on her objectively pretty, but...twisted, oblong face the darach rose to her feet, stretching languidly like she just woke refreshed from a nice nap. With horror he realized that that was more or less the case and that it was his power and life-force being siphoned to her benefit.

She didn’t speak, but stood there watching him like a cat not quite ready to pounce again on the mouse she’d been toying with, drawing out her amusement. A flash of darkness fast approaching caught his eye beyond her and he pretended to have a fit in order to keep her attention. I really hope I’m not just seeing things, he thought. Hurry.

“Why are you doing this?” he shouted. The woman rolled her now normal looking light colored eyes and huffed.

“Power, what else?” she replied in a tone that said he was very stupid indeed.

No, what was stupid was wasting time gloating and not paying attention to your surroundings or checking for reinforcements when dealing with an enemy. Stiles ranted about less than mediocre practitioners trying to make themselves feel special with stolen power, but always being the same pathetic losers at heart, punctuating his words by slapping his hands on the ground and rustling the leaves and twigs there. The darach’s face grew dark and she clenched her fists, clearly over his continued existence. Just as she was about to step forward he bared his teeth in a bloodthirsty grin.

“Go to hell,” he said, and then the massive, red eyed, black wolf was there, leaping to clamp his jaws around the back and right side of her neck. Stiles took great pleasure in the utter shock on her face, lastly only a second or two before Derek brought her to the ground and tore her throat out the moment he regained leverage. As her blood sprayed and splattered a rather impressive distance he felt the effects of her spell slow and breathed a sigh of relief.

Unsteadily, he got up and stumbled toward where Derek was still savaging what was now a tattered corpse.

“I think you got her, dude,” he snickered, feeling not a shred of remorse for the death that just occurred. Who knows how many people she’d hurt or killed before attacking him?

The wolf shook the body one final time and then dropped it, fangs gleaming red like his eyes, before shifting into a naked, blood smeared Derek. Stiles swallowed. That should not be as hot as it was. Apparently that post-battle feral lust thing in stories was real. Derek’s nostrils flared and he made a pleased growling noise, his cock twitching and starting to harden in interest. Oh my god. Stiles was torn between remaining there, frozen, and closing the last few paces between them when his legs suddenly buckled.

“Stiles,” Derek cried, rushing forward to keep him from slumping all the way over.

It took a minute to clear his head and he then realized that while the darach’s draining spell had indeed slowed considerably, it hadn’t stopped even with her death. Like she’d also tied it off somewhere and didn’t only anchor it to herself. What the fuck?!

“Draining spell, need to go home now,” he rushed out. Moments later he was lifted into strong arms and cradled against Derek’s chest as the beta-shifted wolf ran much faster than Stiles’ own feet could ever take him. He closed his eyes and concentrated on his diminished well of magic, using it to counteract the spell. It bought him time, but as he was expending more power than he could replenish in his current state doing so only amounted to dying more slowly than he was before. Maybe distance from the casting and using his herbs to restore and amplify his power could make the difference.

He was too weary to stand when they got back so Derek put him down on his bed and tried to find the right jars of plant matter using his descriptions. Stiles had lived alone for so long and had never thought to label what he clearly knew on sight. After trying to figure out which of three nearly identical containers of dried leaves was a particular ingredient a frustrated Derek simply picked him up again and had him point at the right items. The wolf prepared them according to his instructions and he swallowed the resulting tea in between words of focus and intention.

Stiles felt some vitality return, but even after seven mugs of the frankly disgusting stuff over the next hour or so he could tell that it wouldn’t be enough to give him the strength necessary to break the spell. Fuck. He was now at least able to brew the tea himself and continued drinking two to three mugs of it an hour for several hours, pissing like a racehorse in between trying to think of something, anything, else, but he was quickly running out of a couple of the rarer herbs.

There was only so much of the infusion he could consume before it stopped being effective and before both the amount of liquid and the ingredients themselves became toxic anyway. Fuck. As the smallest containers emptied the tension evident in Derek’s body increased, the clenching of his jaw more pronounced and the muscles of his back tighter still. The pants-only shifter alternated between pacing inside the small dwelling, trying to sit quietly, and going outside to check the immediate perimeter for any additional danger.

When Stiles was down to his last mug and half of tea he finally resigned himself to the inevitable. He was going to die by the hand of an evil caster just like his parents. And just like with them, it didn’t matter that the darach had been thoroughly neutralized, though that did at least bring him some satisfaction.

All that hiding and isolation and it had been for nothing in the end. Stiles laughed bitterly. It wasn’t fair. He was only 21, his birthday just the previous month though he hadn’t bothered to mention it. Stiles hadn’t even gotten the chance to see if the whatever between him and Derek eventually went anywhere. It was dark out now and he had seen his last sunrise.

Around three-quarters of an hour later, maybe 10 minutes after taking that final sip, he turned to the silent, intently watching werewolf with a wry smile.

“Promise that you’ll look after Larem for me.” Derek made a wounded noise and he felt a sweet, sad warmth for his friend. Stiles was very sorry to leave him like this, but he was glad to have met him. To have cared for him and know that he had been cared for too. “And promise that you’ll do what you need to do to both survive and not go feral. Find yourself a pack,” he added sternly.

Derek exhaled forcefully and an expression of grim determination came over his face.

“There’s a way…I might be able to save you.”

Stiles gave him the mother of all exasperated looks, throwing up his hands.

“And you didn’t think to mention this earlier because…?”

“I’d have to claim you,” Derek replied, sounding somewhat uncomfortable, but moving closer to him.

“Claim me?” Stiles asked, puzzled.

Like pledging fealty in a ritual or something? Or did the wolf mean giving him the turning Bite? Perhaps he wasn’t aware that it didn’t work on magic users, either doing nothing or killing them.

“Mate you.”

Ohhh.

Oh.

Oh my god.

“Wha—Seriously?!” he blurted out, incredulously. Seriously?!, he echoed internally.

Derek looked like he’d swallowed something sour and was probably about to explain that he was certainly not just trying to have his way with a dying man and how very dare, but Stiles lifted an arm — already feeling heavier again, fuck, this spell was a bitch — and put two fingers to the shifter’s lips before letting it fall again.

“I believe you, Derek. That’s exactly the kind of thing required for binding magic, which I gather this shifter mating stuff is. Blood or bone or, um, essence, and all that kind of thing or some combination thereof. I swear the Universe is a huge perv. It’s just…wow, not at all what I was expecting to hear right now." The werewolf looked at him with fondness and concern. Stiles took a deep breath. “Yeah, you can…you can do that.”

It wasn’t only the increasing weakness that had him trembling when he made his way from the table over to the bed, Derek hovering behind him. He turned and dropped to sit on the mattress, looking up at the older man.

“Kiss me?” he pleaded, wanting to make sure he got to know what it was like and to do some part of this in order.

Derek smiled and caressed his cheek with a knuckle before sliding it under his chin to tip his head up, bending down to press their lips together. Stiles made a soft sound and opened his mouth to allow Derek’s tongue inside after it swept across his lower lip. A minute or so of exploration and deepening kisses later he felt out of breath and drew back, panting but grinning shakily.

He lifted his arms as well as he could and the shifter quickly helped him undress, pulling off his shirt and then gently pushing him back and drawing his pants and underwear down and then off along with his socks. And then there he was — flushed, hard, and lying bare — as hungry red eyes raked over his body.

“Beautiful,” the wolf murmured before removing his own pants and freeing the erection that had been straining against it. Stiles’ eyes widened at seeing Derek fully hard. That was going to go inside him? He might’ve whimpered or maybe his scent was tinged with nervousness or fear because Derek paused to run those large hands along his sides (it felt even better than he’d imagined) and told him that it would be okay before guiding him over onto his belly.

With no hesitation the wolf parted his cheeks and started licking over his hole, circling or pushing at the muscle every few passes. No one had ever touched him sexually much less there — hell, he hadn’t been touched at all in years by another person until the recent brief brushes from Derek — and Stiles was overwhelmed by both the physical sensation and his emotional reaction. The shifter reached up to rub his back and then took hold of ass with both hands once more, soon working his tongue inside. Stiles moaned in pleasure, but then another sudden chill reminded him of the situation.

“Uh, as amazing as this is, you kinda gotta hurry it up, dude,” he got out between breaths. The wolf gave him another long lick before lifting his head and growling in frustration.

“I wanted to take my time with you if this ever happened. You deserve so much better than…” Derek trailed off and Stiles could feel that he was shaking his head.

“I appreciate that big guy and I promise that if this works you can, um, do that as long as you want another time.” Derek snorted.

“I’ll hold you to that. Do you have any—“

“In that cabinet. The tall, thin bottle,” Stiles cut in, jerking his head in its direction. He’d placed a simple preservation spell on it to keep the things inside lasting several times longer than they normally would. The wolf returned with the container of a clear gel, a curious look on his face. “Aloe vera,” he explained. “I brought some plants with me from…before. It grows in the greenhouse. Good for minor burns and injuries and, er, quite viscous and slippery.”

Heeding the need for urgency, Derek immediately gathered some on his fingers and applied it to his entrance and Stiles tensed at its coolness. He made himself relax again, allowing a thick finger to slip inside.

“More,” he gasped, rubbing himself against the bed. “I’ve…used fingers before.”

“I know,” Derek rumbled, pushing a second digit inside. “I’ve heard you.”

Stiles could feel himself turn bright red, which was really rather silly in his current position, but he couldn’t help being somewhat mortified. How many times over the past several weeks, since the kiss that wasn’t, had he brought himself off whispering the wolf’s name?

Derek chuckled and leaned down to kiss his left shoulder blade before going to nibble at his earlobe.

“I almost came to you a few times, my wolf going wild at how you clearly wanted us,” he whispered into Stiles’ ear, making him shiver. “But I figured you had your reasons and fantasy doesn’t always equal what one would actually do.”

“Didn’t want to scare you off…pressure you,” he said, panting.

“Well, I’m not going anywhere,” Derek replied huskily. “And as for pressure…”

The shifter got a bit more of the lubricant and added a third finger, stretching him wider than his own slender ones ever had. Reaching deeper than he could from those awkward angles.

“Derek!” Stiles cried out when he massaged that special spot within him.

“One more,” the wolf crooned, pumping faster and spreading his fingers. “Go ahead and come. I want you nice and relaxed for my knot.” Stiles clenched involuntarily at the thought. Right, werewolf. An alpha werewolf. He felt Derek’s pinky enter him and it burned some. “You’re doing so well.”

Propped up a bit on his elbows Stiles rocked his hips, fucking himself back onto Derek’s hand and then forward to rub his dick on the mattress beneath him, moaning. On some of the forward thrusts he ground down in a circular motion for maximum friction. He was so close. Stiles heard the shifter spit and then a hand was sneaking under him to grasp his shaft. He whined, moving faster between the two palms and then he was coming, spasming around the appendages continuing to piston into him.

Mere moments into the afterglow yet another wave of cold and weakness wracked through him and he cried out again, this time in fear, as his upper chest, shoulders, and face hit the mattress. Stiles managed to turn his head to the side.

“Please hurry!”

“Okay, okay,” the wolf soothed, withdrawing fingers from his still clenching hole and shoving a pillow beneath him before shaking more globs of gel out to coat himself. The slick sounds made him flush in anticipation. He felt Derek get into position and the press of his cock against his rim. “Deep breath.”

Stiles did as instructed, bearing down and gasping as the groaning wolf pushed into him steadily until he was all the way in, filling him.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” Derek hissed, pausing only a few seconds before grabbing him by the waist and beginning to thrust.

“First..time,” he said breathlessly, eyelids fluttering. It felt so good even lying there like a lump on a log, a doll for the werewolf to fuck. Derek growled again, a pleased sound, and Stiles grinned. “Oh, you like hearing that, big guy?”

“Yes,” the shifter answered before mouthing at the back of his neck and then down to his shoulder, fucking him harder. Faster. Stiles really hoped he survived so that he could actually participate next time, but if he was still going to die, well, what a way to go!

“Going to knot you, bite you,” Derek warned a few minutes later.

His cock made a valiant effort, but it was still too soon to harden again. Then the second part of that statement sunk in it and he tensed with worry.

“Not that kind of Bite,” Derek added hastily. “Mating bite. It won’t hurt you.” Stiles sighed in relief. “Well, you know, it’ll probably hurt ‘cause teeth, but—“

“I know what you meant,” he replied with a soft chuckle before gasping again. Stiles could feel the shifter’s cock swelling, spreading him even wider than his palm had. Derek groaned, thrusting in sharp jerks, and draped over him. The pressure was continuing to grow and he whimpered, sensitive, as pleasure teetered on the edge of pain. Then the knot locked inside him and Derek began to howl. Stiles intentionally squeezed around him.

Sharp fangs clamped down between his neck and shoulder and he wailed, overwhelmed as new senses and amplified or mirrored sensations crashed into him. He was stuffed full and enveloped by a tight, hot passage milking him all at once. Power coursed through him, a renewed vigor flooding his veins and refilling his nearly empty well.

When it got to the point of overflowing he looked within and severed the muddy, leeching connection. Stiles made sure to locate and tear out all of its remnants as well, his now red-tinged silver magic immediately rushing in to heal the resultant damage. When he returned to the outside world he was hard again, Derek grinding his still pulsing knot against his prostate, continuing to come with teeth embedded in his flesh.

“It’s done,” he whispered just before a second mind-blowing, mind-melding, orgasm swept through him and he proceeded to pass the fuck out.

When Stiles came to he being was cradled in Derek’s arms and sitting sideways across his lap, the shifter upright on his bed with his back against the wall. As the last images of some truly strange and spectacular dreams slipped away, he yawned and stretched languidly. He was not only alive, but felt good. Stiles wiggled to look into the green eyes of the very awake werewolf.

“Thank you,” he said earnestly, choking up. Derek nodded and swallowed thickly himself, taking one of Stiles’ hands in both of his and kissing it.

He noted that he was wearing his light robe and had obviously been cleaned up as he wasn’t sticky or anything after their activities. Stiles blushed at the memory and received a light squeeze on the ass, causing him to make a squeaky sound and redden more.

“So I guess I belong to you now, huh?” he said a few minutes later, curious and a bit uncertain, but not displeased with the situation. The part of him that was stubborn and contrary and so very independent grumbled a bit, but the rest of him was okay with the idea. He didn’t think the wolf would abuse whatever power he now held over him.

“No,” Derek replied, eyes crinkling at the corners. ”We belong to each other.”

“Oh, like family?”

“Yes, family. Mates. Pack.”

Stiles more than liked the sound of that just as he more than liked the werewolf. He was content to remain resting where he was for a while longer despite his not only returned, but increased strength — he’d have to give his new capabilities a whirl later — but felt a bit self-conscious as Derek continued to watch him intently with a serious, vulnerable expression. Gratitude. Reverence. Wonder, the new connection in his mind supplied. How cool was that?

“What?” he finally asked, kissing the wolf’s nose as a strong hand caressed his back. “You look like you’re the one who almost died.”

He said it teasingly, but Derek froze momentarily and then remained suspiciously silent. Stiles’ stomach dropped as his mind sharpened, rising from its nice, floaty haze.

“Derek?” The shifter eventually met his searching eyes. “What would’ve happened to you if I’d died?”

“That close to the formation of the bond? I would’ve followed you,” he answered quietly

Several emotions rushed through him, one after the other, before combining to make him a teary mess. Shock and gratitude for his choice. Anger and sorrow and guilt at the thought of Derek dying with him. For him. Elation that he mattered that much. Stiles swatted the wolf’s shoulder and then pulled him in for a kiss. He was bursting with the desire to express the depth of his feelings, but what came out was something else.

“As soon as I get up I’m sucking your dick, you idiot!” he exclaimed, scowling.

“Uh…is that supposed to be a threat or…?”

Stiles tried to smack him again, but Derek grabbed his hand, laughing.

“I just hate the idea of you risking your life like that. Knowing you could’ve died for me.”

Derek shrugged.

“You saved me. And more than that, you gave me a reason to live. An existence that's about more than mere survival. Kept me from starting to go feral and having to make a choice about that with only three shitty options.” The older man blushed and looked away. “You mean a lot to me. Make me happy, which I no longer thought possible.”

Stiles felt stunned. He also recalled a conversation from a while back about the basics of being a werewolf.

“Am I your anchor?" he asked tentatively. Derek gave him an unimpressed look.

“Obviously.”

"You know, I liked it better when you were all 'Magus this' and 'Master that,'” he glared, crossing his arms.

"No you don't," the shifter replied matter-of-factly.

Stiles groaned in annoyance and Derek smirked. He flopped out of the werewolf’s lap and onto his stomach on the bed, resting his head on his stacked forearms and hiding his face. Moments later he felt a hand petting him on the back of the head before lightly squeezing his neck. Arousal flashed through him and he wiggled a bit, making an embarrassing little noise.

The hand then ran up and down his back and the wolf rumbled possessively, which made Stiles giggle a bit. It wasn't like there was anyone around to witness much less warrant such displays. Their only other companion was a deer and an apparently very straight one at that based on his antics during the last few rutting seasons.

Fingers went back to his neck again, stroking over his bite mark, and Stiles moaned even louder this time.

"Is that an invitation, mate?” Derek asked with a growl in his voice.

“Yes, mate,” he replied, feeling a thrill at saying the word for the first time. He repeated his intention of sucking Derek off, but the stubborn werewolf said he’d made a prior promise. Before long Stiles was a writhing, begging mess and the werewolf was only satisfied once he came untouched from being eaten out alone.

He finally got his mouth on Derek’s cock once he recovered, having him sit up against the wall again, and did his best to get back at him. Stiles experimented with varying maneuvers of his tongue, lips, and hands and after learning some of what the responsive wolf liked most he gleefully teased him until the alpha’s hand shot out to hold his head in place, claws scraping lightly against his scalp. Stiles moaned at the action, his own cock leaking against his belly. Pausing to scent the air and receiving a jerky, eager nod, Derek began to thrust upward into his willing mouth until hot cum was coating his tongue and sliding down his throat.

Interesting, he thought, licking his lips afterward. It was no honey or tree sap, but definitely better than the godforsaken tea he’d been chugging yesterday. He fully intended to acquire a taste for it.

The mated pair spent their days much as they did before, but with the addition of regularly sparring and practicing finding or sneaking up on each other under a wide range of conditions. Not wanting to be at a disadvantage again, Stiles also worked on creating his own offensive spells and was able to make some actually effective defensive charms with his new abilities.

And then there was the sex, of course. The quick and dirty fucking and marathon lovemaking sessions and everything in between. Yeah, okay, so there were some major changes, but the plants in the greenhouse still needed tending and the seeds and nuts still needed grinding for flour and the clothes still needed washing, you know?

They built a larger home for the both of them, referred to as the Den, while maintaining their individual huts for those times when they needed space or simply wanted to work on something without disturbing the other. They also built a cob oven outside so they could bake crackers and dense, crumbly breads and granola from the dock seed, acorns, etc, instead of mostly using them to bulk up soups and stews, as breading, or to make a kind of gruel.

Larem finally got used to Derek even in his wolf form, the two of them actually cuddling together on occasion.

“I’m a disgrace to wolves,” the shifter muttered after the first time it happened.

“A very adorable disgrace,” Stiles said, attempting to console him before bursting into giggles.

“Just don’t befriend any boars or game birds,” Derek growled, glaring and wagging a finger.

Summer slid into autumn and when Stiles came across a huge beehive nestled inside a tree trunk he was over the moon. Sap was just fine, but the converted nectar was on a whole other level and he knew exactly what he wanted to do with most of his bounty. After returning with the necessary supplies he smoked the bees out and used his power to keep any stragglers from reaching him, taking care to make sure the hive remained habitable and the queen unharmed. Stiles collected nearly 25 pounds of honey, leaving more than enough for the bees to get through the winter.

Over the years he’d tried fermenting various things, sometimes doing so unintentionally as well, with a wide range of results. He kept about a third of the honey for sweetening and the rest he used to make a handful of different one gallon batches of mead. The glass containers were left to gather wild yeast, stoppered with airlocks, and then placed in a warm, dark place to do their thing with periodic tending.

Derek told him that he had no idea what day it was or even what month it was for sure, but that fall always reminded him of his family who’d made a big deal of the harvest celebrations between the equinox and the following full moon. Stiles had stopped paying attention to dates too for the most part, but was in the habit of marking a daily tally and so had the means of figuring it out if he so cared to. He later informed his wolf that it was September 27th.

Derek mentioned some other meaningful days from his past, including his birthday, which was on Christmas Day. Curious, his mate then asked when his birthday was and Stiles told him that it was April 8th, a couple months after they first met and a month or so before they got together. Derek frowned and said that he wish he’d known.

“Well my half birthday is coming up soon,” he replied, grinning.

Derek rolled his eyes, but prepared Stiles’ favorite meal for the event — roasted garlic and rosemary wild boar with honeyed parsnips — and worshipped his body all night, knotting him twice.

By the time Derek Day came around (Christmas was hard for both of them, especially Stiles, but Derek’s birthday they could do) most of the mead had been racked and was either aging or in secondary fermentation based on the alcohol content he was going for or the resiliency of the yeast. The rest they had already drank young.

All of it served its basic purpose of getting him tipsy (or more) and was drinkable at the least, but the blackberry melomel and the meadowsweet and dandelion petal metheglin were truly delicious. He gave a couple bottles of each to Derek as the first part of his 26th birthday gift. The wolf might not be able to get drunk, which Stiles vowed to remedy that one day, but he could enjoy the complex beverages all the same, sweet and semi-sweet respectively.

The second part of his gift was a rich cake-like dessert made with acorn flour, water, honey, boar grease, the last of the duck eggs from his new and improved preservation cooler, vanilla leaf, lavender, and salt, and baked in the cob oven. The third part was simply his mouth and ass, Stiles wearing a bow and everything. (Two bows actually, one around his neck and the other around his waist, made from berry-dyed woven foliage and scraps of fabric.)

On New Years Day he hitched the sled up to Larem once more to go exploring, but this time a massive black wolf trotted along side or ranged ahead to circle back around protectively. Another 5 weeks would mark a year since that fateful afternoon when his tiny world of two began to become a fuller, happier three. Brought him a companion who became a true friend and then even more. A mate.

They stopped to eat lunch near an unfamiliar river — he marked its location on his map and made a note to return and try fishing when it was warmer — and Derek shifted back, pulling on the thick, winter clothing Stiles had packed for him. He unfolded a small metal tripod with a hook and set his small cookpot on it, filling it with the leftovers of last night’s 3 meat and mushroom stew before placing kindling and dry chunks of wood underneath it to start a fire.

They sat on the sled and when their meal was bubbling nicely Stiles took some hay from a side bag, tossing it and a handful of acorns to the buck, and then ladled the stew into bowls. Two cups for him and three for the always hungrier wolf. They now had 10 fine spoons thanks to Derek’s superior wood-carving skills: the ladle, 3 other cooking/serving spoons, and 3 pairs for eating in different sizes. Afterwards he brought out an apple for each of them as well.

Derek watched as Larem happily munched on his and then turned to Stiles with a raised eyebrow.

“You know, you never did tell me exactly how you ended up with him.”

“Huh, I guess not,” Stiles muttered, thinking back as the shifter took a bite of fruit. “I found him a few months after I came out here, around the end of fall four years ago. He would’ve been around 2 1/2 then and one of his back legs had gotten broken somehow. I don’t know whether he was still with his mother’s herd or with a young bachelor’s group until then and got left behind or if he’d been already going solo, but at any rate, he was alone and leaning against a tree. Larem was able to move around, but it was doubtful that he could cover enough ground to feed himself properly, especially with winter coming, and he definitely couldn’t flee from any predators.”

Derek grunted in acknowledgment, tearing a huge chunk out of his apple.

“I considered eating him of course, but he was just so defenseless and looked at me with his big, curious eyes — he’d probably never seen a human before — and I just couldn’t do it. Besides I was lonely and rather bored and figured he might be a good project whether just in the short term or something ongoing.

“I had a ton of apples from some trees I harvested a few weeks before and had brought several with me, so I threw him a couple before approaching. He seemed fairly trusting or at least hungry enough to override his fear and while he focused on a third one in my hand I got close and used my magic to make him unconscious so I could work on his leg. I set the bone as best I could and was able to speed the healing along just enough for it to hold if he bore weight on it. When he woke up he seemed pretty confused, but snapped out of it once I gave him the apple.”

Stiles looked over to see Larem eyeing the red and green fruit he was currently holding and chuckled. He took out his knife and cut half of it into slices, tossing one to the buck.

“I got him to follow me home like this, giving him pieces of another three apples and eating one myself. Thankfully it wasn’t too far away. I had some hay and other dried plant stuff meant for mulch and more apples of course, so he hung around.

“I brought rope with me when I moved out here as well; it took two long, slow and heavy trips before I had everything I wanted and where we live is a good ways further than my original shelter at the time. I can make bark cordage now, but frankly the synthetic stuff is stronger so it’s good that I had it. Anyway, I fashioned a harness and lead from some of it and decided I would keep him unless he truly seemed unhappy. I thought I might be able to train him to carry bags or drag stuff for me and, well, the rest” — he finished with a dramatic flourish — “is history!”

Derek appeared suitably impressed with him and he smiled, throwing the rest of the slices to Larem.

“I’m pretty sure he kept me from going crazy too,” he added, biting into the remaining half apple. Derek gave him a look that said he wasn’t too sure about that and Stiles rolled his eyes.

“And then you found me,” his mate said, eyes still sparkling with amusement.

“Mmhmm,” Stiles hummed, nodding before swallowing his mouthful. “Three second chance strays: human, werewolf, and hart. Well, Larem was too young be a proper hart then, but he’s one now.” He gestured to the 6.5 year old buck. “It’s a much cooler term for you, right?”

Larem looked at him blankly and then snorted, turning and lying down on the patch of snow free ground under a tree now that food time was over. Derek laughed, leaning over to kiss him, and they fell back onto the sled. It was too cold to want to get naked out here, but he let his his knees fall open so that the alpha could lie between them and he could wrap his legs around him. They made out for a while, kissing and rubbing against each other through their layers.

Stiles didn’t know what the future held; whether they would just stay out here until death did them part or if they would venture back to civilization at some point either to stay or just occasionally to procure the stuff they really couldn’t get in the wild. Things made from metal and books and certain spices and medicines. Other company perhaps, strange as it now seemed.

Soft fabrics, at least for undergarments, when their clothes eventually wore down completely and couldn’t be patched or sewn together into more shirts or pants or briefs with other usable scraps. He could make thread from nettles and other plant fibers, but it was very labor intensive to do garments from scratch, not to mention, well, scratchy. All leather all the time would be a bit much as well, especially in the warmer months, but Derek could certainly rock the look and took to making it from his larger kills.

What Stiles did know is that they’d all saved each other and that he’d follow his mate anywhere. Based on the glint in the werewolf’s now red-ringed eyes and the love and arousal coursing down his bond that meant straight back to the Den to roll around naked. They hastily repacked their things and hitched the sled up to the annoyed deer, promising him additional, rarer goodies upon their return for interrupting his nap.

“Let’s go home!” he cried, getting into position and signaling for Larem to move. A loud, sustained howl was let loose just ahead and Stiles grinned into the cold air rushing by with a heart full of warmth.

Larem. About to lose his antlers, sick of your shit.

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