Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/883856.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage, Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin, Allison
      Argent, Cora_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Canon-Typical_Violence, slight_suicidal_thoughts, depressive_behavior,
      Angst_with_a_Happy_Ending, Run_On_Sentences, POV_Stiles, Barebacking,
      team_human_is_as_tight_as_derek's_jeans_yo, Anal_Sex, Character_Study,
      Train_of_Thought, Stream_of_Consciousness, Mildly_Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-07-15 Words: 5930
****** Anger to Ashes ******
by happilyeveramber
Summary
     Derek isn't the only one who needs saving.
Notes
     Don't even ask me when this takes place, okay, cuz i have NO idea. I
     started writing it before the whole Mrs. Blake/Derek thing (which
     aren't you so excited our baby is finally being loved :') ) so idek
     Please check end notes for warnings (the warnings do feature
     spoilers).
     thank you to the lovely Jules for betaing for me~
See the end of the work for more notes
"Fuck," Stiles mumbles as he trips over another branch. "Fuck."
He can hear it, roaring and howling and growling and thrashing, all behind him,
but not too far, not so far that they won't catch up. Fuck.
It's all he can do to keep running, to not fall over clutching his side, the
burning pain coming out of it from overexertion and cuts from claws. He wants
nothing more than just to freeze time for a moment, to be able to stop moving
for a second- and, God, isn't that a familiar wish- to just breathe and try not
to pass out. But he can't. He's started running and he doesn't know how to
stop.
He doesn't know why he's even a worry for the Alphas. He's human; useless. But
Kali, the vicious one, had looked him right in the eye and snarled with an evil
smirk, had taken off after him while Derek tried to hold his own against
Deucalion while Boyd helped and Scott and Isaac attempted to double team Ennis,
and Allison shot bow after bow at the twins as Cora danced around them, swiping
whenever she could. Maybe she had seen him there, not defenseless, definitely
not, but nervous and weak and scared. She must've known he was the weak spot
and immediately pounced, thinking she could be done with him under five minutes
and move on.
Stiles had been partnered with Lydia, who had made more Molotov cocktails then
they knew what to do with and had helped Stiles lace his bullets with
wolfsbane. Bullets that were doing him really no good now that he can't fucking
see anything.
Lydia had run off to throw her explosives at anybody near, leaving Stiles with
only a gun and shaky hands.
See, he had come up with this image in his mind that when it came to an actual
battle he would be badass and killer, not thinking about anybody else but his
own survival. It didn't really work that way. He had looked at them all and,
even as they were trying to kill his friends, he had thought these are people.
I came here to killpeople. And he had panicked.
So that's why he's running through the forest, fingers shaking over the trigger
of a stolen gun, lungs practically bursting, eyes tearing, and brain hurting.
He can hear Kali behind him, which she must be doing on purpose to make him
even more afraid, considering she's a werewolf. She must be playing a game with
him, trying to terrify him before she grows bored and strikes.
And he kind of hates to think it, but he keeps thinking quietly that maybe it
won't be so bad when she does. Then he won't have to keep running and keep
panting and keep being terrified. The only problem is he has to keep running.
He has to keep running and panting and being terrified for as long as possible
so that Kali won’t be able to go after one of the others. As long as she’s
distracted with him, they’re all a bit safer.
He hears her get louder, like she could sense he was thinking too hard to be
totally overwhelmed with fear and she didn’t like it. She’s snarling as she
speeds up, though he knows she’s still playing with him because she’s not doing
that ridiculous four legged run werewolves love to do.
Maybe because she is playing with him, maybe she won’t mind if he slows for a
moment. But when he tries- just for a second, please, because oh God his legs
are burning- he can’t. His legs refuse to listen and to stop. He can’t stop, he
can’t stop, oh God he’s going to die, his legs are going to disintegrate.
Keep running, keep breathing, keep going. He can almost feel Kali growing
impatient and he knows she's too smart and probably too afraid of Deucalion to
keep this up for too much longer. As long as his death keeps someone else alive
for at least a moment longer, he'll be okay. Everything will be okay.
Right when this werewolf business started, him and Scott had made a deal. If
Stiles died, Scott would take care of his dad and vice versa with Scott's mom.
If he dies, right here and right now, everything will be okay.
He gradually tries to get himself to slow down, to let himself have a shred of
dignity in his final moments. Everything will be okay, everything will be okay.
It repeats like a mantra in his head.
Finally, he sees Kali stride out of the trees and he stops. Everything will be
okay.
"Giving up already?" Her smirk is dangerous and her claws are deadly.
"Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" He replies, swallowing, letting his gun
fall, hoping she'll at least make it quick.
"Pity. Well, you were fun while you lasted." She doesn't use her otherworldly
speed, she simply walks over to him, drawing her claws in and out repeatedly.
She pouts as he closes his eyes. "Not even a bit of a fight? You're not even
gonna make it fun? Well, whatever. I need to go and finish the job I started."
He feels a single claw on his cheek, pressing harder and harder as it moves
down.
He feels the sudden urge to fight, to pick up his gun and blow her brains out,
to go out with her blood on his hands, and a smirk on his face.
He tries to suppress it, but he can feel his hand snaking down to the ground
when suddenly everything hurts. His head is pressed into a tree, hard, and he
sinks down to the ground as Kali laughs above him.
Weak, weak, weak, everything will be okay, everything hurts.
He reaches for the gun, but Kali steps down on his hand, grinding it into the
ground with her heel. He’s starting to doubt his little chant.
But, he needs to try. He needs to fight. He needs to fight for his father, his
friends, his Alpha, his pack. He owes it to them and how much they work to
protect his weak human ass to at least try and fight to keep himself alive too.
To at least try and keep Kali from them for another moment or two.
He puts his other hand on the ground and tries to propel himself up and
forward, though it’s hard with his hand still under her boot. As soon as he is
no matter how unsteadily on his feet, he aims a- hopefully- swift kick towards
her shin.
It doesn’t seem to do much, because she just punches him in the face hard, her
claws out. He can feel her slicing through his skin. She then moves her hand
down around his neck, her fingertips pressing bruisingly hard, claws drawing
blood.
She pushes him against the tree again, hand still around his throat. She
tightens it and he lets out a choked off sound. Everything will be okay.
He can feel his airways closing off, he can feel himself dying. Everything…
everything will be okay. The pack will be fine. He’ll be okay. Everything.
Everything will be okay.
He slumps down, letting all the fight go out of him. He knows he’s about to die
and he’s alright with that.
Just as Stiles thinks he’s about to have Kali snarling at him as his last
sight, the pressure around his neck vanishes. He stands there, stock still,
disbelieving that he may not actually die that night. He looks up and sees
Derek holding Kali by the neck, similar to the way she had been killing Stiles.
Scott and Boyd are next to Derek, howling, looking like they want a go at her
when Derek is done.
But Derek doesn’t even go to his usual dramatics. He just snaps Kali’s neck
quickly and then walks over to where Stiles has fallen to his knees on the
ground, feeling on the verge of consciousness.
Scott kneels next to him, holding his head in his hands and inspecting him.
Derek stands over him, watching with unreadable eyes.
"Stiles! Stiles, are you okay?" Stiles looks up at Scott, at Derek, as he feels
something inside him wilt.
"Yeah, buddy. I'm always okay."
 
                                      ::
 
Stiles wakes up in a bed that's not his own.
He raises his head, looks around, and decides he doesn't want to deal with it.
He lies back down.
 
                                      ::
 
It's about two hours later when he decides he better eat. He doesn't want to,
he doesn't want to ever get up again, he wants to lay in this bed his whole
life.
When he gets up, he's in clothes that are definitely not his. They are way too
big, but they're comfortable and his old ones should probably just be thrown
out.
He pads out to the hallway, recognizing it vaguely as Derek's new loft. He
hasn't ever been to the upper story before, but he's too tired and his bladder
is too small for him to really notice anything.
He opens the next door and thanks anybody listening that it’s the bathroom. He
quickly empties his bladder before moving to wash his hands. When he looks up,
he catches sight of himself in the mirror and almost winces. His lip is cut and
his eye is black. He has a bruise across his neck that goes all the way to his
back.
He stares into the mirror, looking at what he is now. Weak. Weak, weak, weak,
human, useless, weak.
He looks away.
 
                                      ::
 
He walks downstairs slowly, but when he sees Derek sleeping on the couch, he
almost goes back upstairs.
"He finally went to sleep at around three," he hears behind him and he turns
around to see Cora. He tries to offer her a smile, but his mouth refuses.
"He had Scott call your dad and tell him that you were sleeping over his house.
He didn't want you going home like that and he didn't want Mrs. McCall to worry
or chance her telling your dad." She smiles softly down at Derek.
"Well, you'll have to tell him I said thank you," Stiles finally speaks,
wincing by how hoarse his voice sounds.
Cora's eyes snap back to him. "No. You're going to stay around long enough to
tell him yourself. He took you back here last night and cleaned you up, fed
you, and gave you a place to rest. I think the least you can do is thank him
yourself."
Stiles suddenly feels smaller under her hard gaze, even though, physically,
he's larger.
Cora's face softens. "Stiles, he considers you pack. We all do. You and Scott
and Lydia and even Allison. He will do whatever he can to protect you and care
for you. I don't know how he got himself into this big mess, but he's trying to
make the best of it. In his own way." Stiles stares at her and she sighs. "I'm
gonna go make some pancakes. Wake him up, okay?" Stiles nods even though that's
probably a death wish, and she disappears into the kitchen.
He walks over to Derek and softly hits him on the arm. “Hey, buddy. It’s time
to get up.” Derek groans and raises his hand to shield his face.
“Come on, Cora is making pancakes. Nice, fluffy pancakes. Mmmm, yummy. But only
for nice obedient werewolves who wake up when told to.”
“Don’t be patronizing to me, Stiles,” Derek mutters to him, slowly rising and
scratching his stomach. Suddenly, he seems to realize who he is talking to and
his eyes widen. “Stiles, are you-?”
“Okay?” Stiles interrupts. “Of course I am.” He grins crookedly. “I’m used to
all this by now.”
Derek doesn’t seem appeased. “You’re lying.”
Stiles’ smile falls. “Excuse me?”
“You’re lying. I can hear it. You’re neither okay nor used to any of this.
Which you shouldn’t be.”
Stiles feels shaky. “You have no right to use your stupid little werewolf shit
on me. How dare you tell me I’m lying. I am perfectly fine. I’m good, I’m fine,
I almost died last night, I was okay with knowing I was going to dielast night,
but I am okay!” He doesn’t know how he started yelling but he can’t seem to
stop.
“Stiles, calm down. Nobody is blaming you, nobody is saying you need to be
strong.” Derek reaches out like he is going to touch Stiles, but then pulls it
back.
“I don’t need to be strong,” Stiles says because Derek still doesn’t get it. “I
need to stay alive.” Derek is still making a face like he doesn’t understand,
like he doesn’t get that Stiles owes it to all of them to stay alive, after all
they have done to protect him. That he owes it to Scott and Derek and his dad
and everybody else. He can’t do what he did last night. He can’t be ready to
die yet.
He hears a clattering in the kitchen and he remembers Cora, who  has probably
heard every word. “I’ve got to go,” he says suddenly, disappointed and
disgusted and ashamed of himself that he just put himself out there like that,
naked and vulnerable.
“But your face-” Derek tries, still looking glazed over.
“I don’t have to go home. But I’m not staying here.” He walks out the door,
breathing heavily. He doesn’t break until he gets to his car, in which he can
feel his carefully composed face shatter.
He has to stop the car twice to puke in some bushes.
And it’s only when he pulls into Lydia’s driveway that he realizes he forgot to
thank Derek.
 
                                      ::
                                        
“Oh, honey,” is the first thing Lydia says when she opens the door. “Come in,
I’ll get the wine,” is the second.
She calls Allison, who comes over immediately with a stack of Marvel movies in
one arm and even more alcohol in the other.
“You guys do know that I’m not a girl going through a breakup, right?” Stiles
finally speaks up during Iron Man 2, pressed up against them both in Lydia’s
huge bed.
“Well, duh,” Lydia answers, rolling her eyes.
“Then we would have The Notebook and ice cream,” Allison says with a grin.
They don’t talk anymore after that, just get way too drunk for a Thursday
afternoon and laugh at Robert Downey Jr’s one-liners.
 
                                      ::
                                        
Stiles stays over Lydia's house that night, though he's on her floor, because
Lydia wouldn't let him sleep in the same bed as her even if he was dying a slow
death. He lies on her soft carpet with a purple blanket wrapped tight around
him.
"Stiles," he hears Lydia whisper, well past the AMs.
"Yeah?"
"I know it's scary- even I'm scared- but it has to get better. We got the
Alphas, right?" Stiles wants to laugh at her innocence.
"You don't understand, Lydia. There's going to be something else, there's
always going to be something else. We got ourselves into this mess and now
we're never going to find a way out. As soon as we let out guards down, it's
going to be more murders, more violence, more loss. We are going to have to
live our lives in constant fear." Stiles feels himself wilt internally. "But
it's okay. Everything will be okay, right?"
Lydia stays silent the rest of the night.
 
                                      ::
 
When Stiles wakes up, he has three missed calls from his father and two from
Derek. He shuts off his phone.
When he looks up, Lydia is already gone, though she laid out a T-shirt and
jeans that had probably been Jackson’s. He quickly dresses, glad to be out of
Derek’s clothes.
He doesn’t expect Lydia to provide breakfast too, so he leaves her a thank you
note and drives to Starbucks to get a black coffee. It is supposed to clear his
mind, but instead it just burns his tongue.
He feels numb as he pulls into his driveway. He knows what’s coming- yelling
and lying and disappointment. He wants to just fast forward through it.
He walks through the door, not even bothering to hide his face. His dad is
sitting at the table with a phone in one hand and a beer in the other. He looks
up when Stiles comes in.
“Stiles! Are you okay? Jesus, where the hell have you been?” Already going
through the different levels. Worry to anger to disappointment.
“I was at Lydia’s house all night.” He’s surprised when the actual truth comes
out. He had intended to reuse the old Scott’s house or studying all night at
the library but when he had opened his mouth, he just felt tired.
“At Lydia’s?” His dad looks thrown for a second. “Were you guys…?”
“No! No, she’s just a friend.” He’s surprised to find no feeling of regret at
the words. Sure, Lydia is gorgeous and snarky and a genius, but it’s not like
he would even have time for a relationship. Even someone who knew about all the
werewolf shit. He has enough trouble fearing for people’s lives, he doesn’t
need someone moving up on that list. “We just watched movies, that’s all.”
“And why didn’t you call?” He can hear it; disappointment seeping into his
tone.
“I forgot.” The truth. Kind of. He had been putting it off, shoving it so far
into the back of his head that eventually it had flew out of his mind entirely.
“You forgot? Stiles, I haven’t seen you for two days. And, what happened to
your face, Jesus?” Stiles had completely forgotten about his not so mint
condition. Dammit.
“I, um, ran into a wall?” He can’t help the way his voice lifts at the end. Who
could possibly run into a wall and come out with a black eye, cut lip, and
bruises aplenty?
“Stiles.” Disappointment. Stiles feels exhausted.
“Okay, okay, it was Scott. We were just play fighting, y’know, wrestling, and
he forgot his own strength, haha. It wasn’t his fault.” Stiles rubs his neck
before wincing, forgetting how sensitive he was on his new wound.
The sheriff sighs, sitting back down and picking up his beer, obviously not
buying it. “Just go to your room, Stiles. I’ll see you for dinner.” And
suddenly Stiles hurts.
He quickly feels a burning in his eyes, tears filling them. He opens his mouth
to say something but all that comes out is this terrible, wrecked sounding sob.
His dad looks up, getting up quickly and taking Stiles in his arms like he did
when he was younger.
“I’m so sorry, Dad, I’m so sorry,” Stiles gasps out, shaking. “I’m so sorry.”
He can’t breathe, he can’t breathe, how come he can’t breathe if he’s taking so
many breaths, his heart his going so fast, so why can’t he breathe?
“Stiles, Stiles, it’s okay. It’s okay, calm down, son, it’s okay.” But he
doesn’t know that it’s not, it’s not, he’s been kidding himself all this time,
nothing is okay. People are dying, people are being murdered, Stilesis
murdering. Suddenly it’s all too much. The wolves, the Alpha pack, the
killings, everything. He needs to protect everyone, he needs to protect
himself, but he can’t.
He’s panting as his dad runs his hands over him in circles, trying to calm him
down. His dad doesn’t even know, all this time he has been in danger because of
Stiles, and he doesn’t even know.
“I have… I have to go,” he somehow manages to say. His dad looks at him likes
he’s crazy.
“Son, you’re not going anywhere like this. Now, do you want me to tell you
what’s going on?”
He doesn’t. He doesn’t want to at all.
But he still does.
 
                                      ::
                                        
After his dad has heard him out, has sat down with him on the couch, leaving
the alcohol on the table, has listened to every last word and not told Stiles
he’s insane, he makes his getaway.
“I really do have to go,” he says, taking advantage of his dad still
processing. “I need to talk to someone, especially now that you know.”
His dad looks distracted, probably running through all the cases that the
supernatural has touched. “Be back by eleven.” Then, his eyes get sharp. “Or at
least call if you can’t.”
Stiles nods, feeling a bit lighter, a bit like it’s easier to actually smile
again. He feels like he’s getting off easy, but as soon as he’s opening the
door, he hears his father call, “And don’t think we aren’t going to talk about
those injuries, young man! I have a lot to make up for.”
But, somehow, that just makes him feel even better.
                                      ::
                                        
When he gets to Derek’s house, he swallows down his nervousness. It’s not like
Derek couldn’t have seen this coming. Scott’s mother knows and he’s okay with
it. It’s not like Stiles made him out to be this terrible psychotic murder- in
fact, he toned it down quite a bit. But he’s still ready for Derek to yell at
him.
He doesn’t even have to knock; Derek has opened the door by the time he reaches
the first step.
“Are you okay?” Derek asks him and Stiles rolls his eyes. He kind of tired of
that question by now.
“Yes, I’m fine. Look, I need to tell-”
“Lydia told me she was worried about you,” Derek interrupts. “She said you
didn’t sound so good last night and she thought you should be put on ‘breakdown
watch.’”
“I’m perfectly fine, thank you. Other than the impurities marking my once
perfect baby soft skin.”  He winks at Derek. “Listen, I-”
“Are you sure? Because you’ve smelled off for the last couple of days. I’ve
been worried.”
“Jesus fuck, Derek, can you let me talk?” Stiles snaps. At Derek’s startled
look, he composes himself. “I’m fine. Nobody has any reason to be ‘worried’.
But I really need to tell you something. And it would be nice if you didn’t cut
me off this time.” He raises his eyebrows at Derek, who nods. “I told my dad.
About us. You. Werewolves.”
“Did you want to?” Derek surprises him by asking.
“What?”
“Did you want to tell him?” Derek repeats. “Or did you do it because you
couldn’t explain something or you were tired of lying?”
Stiles is thrown. “Why does it matter?”
“Because if you don’t want him to know, I’ll help you cover. We can make up
some excuse or something. I don’t want you to be forced into telling him.”
Derek’s stare is intense and Stiles shivers without reason.
“No, he… He needed to know. He needed to know how much danger he was in and
what was happening in my life, in hislife. It wouldn’t be right to leave him in
the dark any longer.”
“As long as it’s what you want.” Derek goes to walk back inside the house but
Stiles pulls at his arm.
“That’s all you have to say? ‘As long as it’s what I want’? What the fuck?”
Stiles didn’t realize until now, but he had wanted Derek to put up a fight, to
yell at him, maybe to throw him into a wall or two. He was tired of soft voices
and pity and kindness. Why else would he come to Derek and not Scott? He sure
as hell didn’t come for comfort, what the fuck. Who would get comfort from
Derek, who has more problems than all of them combined?
“What do you want me to say, Stiles? I agree with your decision, if that’s what
you want. I’m not going to argue with you on this.” Derek’s gaze is too soft;
fake.
It dawns on him. “You still think I’m on the verge of breakdown, don’t you?
You’re going to treat me like I’m fragile until you’re sure that I’m not going
to down all my Adderall, huh?” Derek’s averted eyes tell more than his words
ever do. “What do I have to do to prove it to you? What do I have to do to get
you to shove me around and flash your eyes like you love to?”
Suddenly, Stiles is pressed up against the front door. “You want me to push you
around?” Derek hisses in his ear. “You want me to yell and argue and push you
against the wall? You want me to let the wolf out? Let it do whatever it wants
with you- to you?”
Stiles does a full body shudder. “Yeah,” he whispers back, because it feels so
good, it feels sogood to have someone firm and hard- heh- pressed against him,
holding him against the wall. He wants Derek to hold him down and demand all of
his attention. “Yeah.”
Derek grabs him and pulls him into the house, closing the door behind him and
immediately attacking his neck. Stiles honestly doesn’t know how the
conversation went this way, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care, he doesn’t
care, he suddenly wants Derek to hold him down and fuck him so hard and deep
that he’ll never care about anything again.
“Please,” he gasps out, making Derek’s lips vibrate with a growl against this
throat. “Please, Derek, I want more. Please.” Why won’t Derek take pity on him,
he asked nicely?
“Stiles,” Derek groans. “Are you sure?” Stiles wants to kill him, because, yes
he is sure, just take it up with the erection straining against his jeans.
“Yes, yes, yes, please, Derek, I’m so sure.”
Derek doesn’t waste a moment; he literally picks Stiles up and throws him on
his bed, apparently suddenly considerate enough to not fuck him against a
doorframe for the first time.
Derek hovers over him on the bed, sucking on his neck until Stiles is sure it
must be more red than peach, pulling off both their shirts, biting, sucking,
licking, twisting, pinching, just not fucking.
“Derek,” Stiles whines. He doesn’t want to waste time on foreplay right now. He
doesn’t want Derek’s hands or mouth or anything except for his dick shoved as
far up Stiles’ ass as it can go.
He wants to forget who he is, what is going on in his life, he wants his mind
to be totally clear. He wants Derek to hold him down so that he can’t
physically move, to take all of his attention so his mind can’t wander.  If
Derek can’t give it to him, he’ll just go somewhere else.
But, no, his mind whispers. You don’t want just anybody. You wantDerek.
He tells his mind to shut the fuck up.
“Please,” he begs Derek. “Please just fuck me.”
Derek must hear something in his voice, because he just stares into Stiles’
eyes and nods, reaching for his nightstand to pull out a little bottle.
“No, no lube,” Stiles says, recognizing what it is. He wants pain, he wants to
feel the burn of Derek’s cock inside of him, to let it ground him.
Derek looks at him like he’s an idiot. “Yes, lube, Stiles. Unless you want to
use the tears that will most definitely be streaming from your eyes as lube.”
He has his judgy eyebrows on, but he looks almost fond, what the fuck, when did
that happen?
“Fine,” Stiles says, distracted by Derek’s face. He reaches a hand out to
smooth his eyebrows out, but Derek catches the hand and kisses it, looking way
too affectionate for this to just be a fucking. Stiles half expects him to play
Your Body is a Wonderland.
Derek drizzles the warm liquid on his hand as Stiles watches, covering one
finger in it. Stiles shivers in anticipation.
He isn’t disappointed when Derek plays with his hole with the finger, teasing,
before finally sticking it in. Stiles gasps at the sudden presence. He’s
fingered himself occasionally, but this feels completely different. He can feel
Derek’s finger pressing into angles Stiles himself would never be able to
reach.
As Derek crooks his finger, making Stiles cry out in pleasure, he feels another
finger enter. Yes, yes, this is what Stiles needed. He can barely breathe, can
barely think anything but a steady stream of more, more, more.
Derek scissors the fingers, grinning as Stiles’ body spasms. “Just fuck me
already, you asshole,” Stiles hisses at him.
Derek shrugs. “Your wish is my command.” He slowly fucks his fingers in and out
of Stiles.
“I hate you so much, oh my god, I hate you.” Stiles shudders. If you do not put
your dick inside of me right now, I will die, Derek, I will d-i-e.”
Derek rolls his eyes at the dramatics, but obediently pulls out his fingers,
making Stiles whimper at the loss. But then he’s flipping Stiles over onto his
hands and knees and rolling his hips against him.
“No,” Stiles chokes out and Derek stops immediately. “No, I mean- I want you to
hold me down. I want you to put your weight on me and hold my hands so they
can’t move.” Stiles smirks. “That would be what no man has ever done before.
Think you’re up to the challenge?”
Derek growls and flips him over once more, so that he is lying on his back and
Derek is over him, pressed against him almost everywhere. Stiles moans loudly,
shamelessly.
He feels Derek’s cock against him every time he rolls his hips. “Jesus fuck,
Derek, just get it inside of- ah.” Stiles cuts off suddenly when Derek does
exactly what he says, pushing into him. Deep.
Suddenly, Derek stops. No, no, no, that is the opposite of what Stiles wants,
no.
 
"I might not ever be able to love you," Derek says like a warning, putting his
hands on Stiles' shoulders and pushing, which isn't what he wants at all.
Who the fuck said anything about love? This is about sex, not love. This is
about Derek burrowing deep into Stiles until he can’t think of anything else.
It has nothing to do with love. He can’t love Derek, so why would he ask Derek
to love him?
"You don't have to love me. I don't want you to love me," Stiles answers,
though he might, he might. "I just want you to fuck me."
"Okay," Derek says. What a beautiful word. Okay, okay, okay, I love you, okay.
Derek pushes in again, deep and sharp, burying himself into Stiles like he
wants them to become one person.
Derek leans down and sucks an angry hickey on the back of Stiles’ neck, right
next to his bruise. Fuck, they haven’t even kissed.
Suddenly, that’s all that matters and Stiles feels frantic, panicky, that his
first sexual encounter will be with someone he hasn’t even kissed.
“Derek, Derek,” he pants out. “Kiss me, please, kiss me.” Derek nods against
the back of his neck, his stubble scratching him and angles Stiles’ head so
they meet in a sloppy kiss, tongues and teeth everywhere. Derek bites his
bottom lip, sucks on it, before slowly pushing his tongue in and out of Stiles’
mouth to match the pace of his hips.
Stiles had wanted this to clear his mind, to erase every thought. It doesn’t
work. Instead, all he can think about is Derek. How beautiful he is like this,
sweaty and close, pushing in and out of him. How had he never realized that
Derek was beautiful? Of course, he knew that Derek was hot; everyone knew that
Derek was hot. But he’s so beautiful, he looks like some sort of Greek God.
He’s beautiful, with his eyelashes so long and black, his gorgeous green eyes,
the sweat dripping down his cheekbones, even those fucking ridiculous eyebrows.
“I could do this forever,” Derek whispers into his ear, nipping at his lobe. “I
wish I could fuck you forever. Just stay inside of you until we merge.”
Stiles nods frantically, choppily, because yes, that is what he wants too. He
wants Derek to push so deep inside of him that he forgets that he is a separate
person, that he can pretend that he is just another part of Derek.
Derek switches so that he is holding Stiles up with only one hand, reaching
down with the other to grasp Stiles’ dick, making the boy pant, threatening to
come just from the feeling of Derek’s warm grip.
Derek pumps him all the way up and down his length, matching his pace to his
thrusts. “Fuck, Derek, I’m already close,” he sobs out as Derek hits his
prostate overand over.
“Come for me, baby. Come all over us.” Stiles cries out, losing it as his
orgasm wracks through him, coming while Derek is still fucking him.
As soon as he is down from his high, he kisses Derek, sighing into his mouth
before pulling away. “Now, listen here. You are not allowed to come in me on
the first date. I am not that kind of boy.” Derek smirks.
“Oh, I wouldn’t think of it. Well, maybe that pretty mouth of yours.” He
reaches out a calloused finger- how did they even get like that? Doesn’t
werewolf healing cover those?- and traces it over Stiles’ bow-lips.
Derek pulls out, causing Stiles to whine, before positioning himself over
Stiles’ face. Jesus, Stiles thought this kind of shit only happened in porn.
Stiles opens his mouth willingly, because, hey, werewolf, no diseases, and
holds himself still while Derek groans as he jerks himself off.
Finally, Stiles feels a sticky warm liquid cover his lips and chin. He groans
as he tries to lick most of it off, but fails.
Derek falls back onto the bed with him, smiling, completely come-dumb. Stiles
slaps him on the arm. “Clean me.”
Derek rolls his eyes but gets up to go to the bathroom to get something to wash
them off with. Stiles last thought is that he hopes Cora isn’t home, before he
closes his eyes and starts to drift off.
By the time Derek has returned with a warm washcloth, Stiles is already asleep.
 
                                      ::
                                        
Stiles wakes up the next morning to the sound of silent brooding.
"Ugh, Derek, stop. I can feel your angst." He throws a pillow at him,
scratching his stomach and yawning.
"Stiles, you're up?" Derek asks, suddenly over him, stroking his arm with a
serious expression.
"No."
"About what I said last night," Derek continues, ignoring him. Stiles suddenly
feels colder. "I was being honest. I really don't know if I will ever be able
to love you." He pauses, searching Stiles' face, which is carefully blank.
"But I can try," Derek finishes, making Stiles freeze, his breath catching. "I
want to try. I want to try and love you with everything I've got."
Stiles can't help the smile that overtakes his whole face. "A little too
serious for a Saturday morning, huh?" Derek grins back at him.
"Stiles?" He breathes onto his face, a hair away from lips.
"Mmhmm?"
"Shut up." Derek kisses him like he never wants to stop, licks into his mouth
like he could make a home in there.
"Yeah, I think I could do that." He tangles his hands in Derek's hair, tugging,
as he nips and licks and sucks and kisses. Derek leans back and stares into his
eyes, a warm smile on his face, his eyes soft. And that's when Stiles knows for
sure.
Everything will be okay.
 
                                      ::
 
(At least until his dad barges in around noon, because Stiles forgot to call
again.
But that’s a totally different story.)
End Notes
     Stiles has depressive behavior in this. After the attack, he acts
     slightly out of character.
     He has a panic attack when talking to his father.
     The sex might be seen as dubcon, because Stiles is still not in his
     right mind entirely, but he does vocally consent and enjoy everything
     that happens.
     If anything else needs to be warned, don't hesitate to tell me and
     make_sure_to_check_me_out_on_tumblr
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