Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/913001.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Sexual_Content, Mentions_of_knotting, Oops, basically_porn_with_feels,
      Feels, Not_Canon_Compliant
  Series:
      Part 2 of So_Are_We_Brutal_Hearts
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-07 Words: 2845
****** I Want To Fall Back Into You ******
by stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary
     So they do this instead: steal hours away from reality, hide in their
     own world. Pretend the Alphas aren’t there to maim and kill. Pretend
     that Erica didn’t almost die. Pretend that Scott and the betas didn't
     run a scouting mission on their own and come home with wounds because
     of it. Pretend the Sheriff won’t question the bruises Stiles has
     scattered across his body like a map, twenty different shades, marks
     Derek left there for selfish reasons.
Notes
     This is companion fic to Man_or_Animal although it can be read as a
     standalone piece. [UPDATE: it still can be I guess, but to get the
     point across about how both Stiles and Derek see their relationship,
     I put them together.] Man or Animal gave me and still gives me all
     the feels for reasons I don’t really get, but I thought about this
     for like two hours at work on Friday and scribbled ideas down on
     paper between doing things.
     I suggest listening to this song on repeat while reading this. It
     will give you all the feels and it's what I listened to while writing
     ninety percent of this fic.
     Unbeta'd, whoops.
See the end of the work for more notes
It starts when Stiles talks back, gets in Derek’s face for trying to intimidate
him, stands up to the alpha and is not afraid of the consequences. It continues
through the mess with Peter, then the kanima. It only comes to a head when the
Alphas, Deucalion and his pack of murderous wolves, kidnap the betas after they
defect.
Derek didn’t know then, that it was the Alphas who had his two of his pack. By
the time Isaac caught the scent, it was days too late and no one could find
them. When Erica and Boyd came staggering in the warehouse a week later, no one
was there. Stiles was the one who found them and drove them to the loft after
he screamed at Derek over the phone, demanding the address.
He stayed the entire time, held Erica’s hand and fed her broth, pampered her as
her body tried to heal itself. Scott showed up the day after they returned,
saying Isaac called him. The beta, alpha to his pack of humans, pulled
discomfort from Boyd to ease the licks of fire that shot through his right leg
with every movement; Aiden shattered his patella and the joint underneath it.
Together, they integrated themselves into the healing period and aftermath,
became pack without vocally expressing a want to. And while Derek expected that
from Scott, he’s still surprised now that Stiles stuck around for two days
without going home, napping on the couch while the betas slept on Derek’s bed.
Three weeks later, Stiles got himself thrown into a brick wall when he quipped
something at Ennis. The alpha grabbed him by the throat and dislocated his
shoulder with the force used to slam him into brick, raised the human high
enough his feet couldn’t touch the ground. Derek chased Ennis off while the
betas got Stiles to the Camaro. Somewhere in the Ironworks there were five
howls and Boyd sped off.
Stiles was shaking as he ripped his flannel shirt apart with his teeth,
wrapping it around his left arm. The Camaro drove over something that made the
car lurch and the teen cursed, leaning his forehead against Derek’s shoulder.
Derek said ‘fuck it’, placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder, and kissed him while
absorbing the pain. When he pulled away, Stiles looked delirious; he started to
say something but the man popped his shoulder back into place. Derek drew the
pain out through his palm and Stiles cried into his neck.
Sometimes he forgets that beneath the corded muscle and sex mussed hair, Stiles
is still just seventeen, fragile, human. He can break, has and will in the
future. His wounds gape open, don’t stitch themselves closed with magic, just
bleed and bleed and bleed. Derek could spend hours tracing each and every scar
Stiles has with his fingers and lips, listen to stories that are far too
intimate for what they are. Because this isn’t a relationship, this isn’t what
Scott and Allison have. This isn’t like Erica and Boyd. This isn’t like Lydia
and Jackson.
Derek wonders what that would be like. Then he remembers his past. Kate. Paige.
The people he loves always end up dead.
So they do this instead: steal hours away from reality, hide in their own
world. Pretend the Alphas aren’t there to kill and maim. Pretend that Erica
didn’t almost die. Pretend that Scott and the betas didn't run a scouting
mission on their own and come home with wounds because of it. Pretend the
Sheriff won’t question the bruises Stiles has scattered across his body like a
map, twenty different shades, marks Derek left there for selfish reasons.
Sometimes Derek likes to let his wolf take over, to ravish Stiles until his
creamy skin has blossomed purple and maroon, until his caramel eyes are
brimming with tears, until he reeks so heavily of his alpha that no one will be
able to miss it. He knows Stiles likes it. When Derek touches him his pupils
grow wide, hide irises that seem ethereal, while his tongue glides across his
bottom lip like an invitation.
His wolf is never more content than when he’s buried balls deep in the kid,
knot catching the rim of his hole, the way Stiles clenches down before he’s
about to come. Derek could knot him for days and never tire of the feeling.
Better yet, Stiles asks - no, begs -, pleads until he’s full of Derek’s cock
and all his clever articulation has been reduced to four lettered words and
incoherent noises.
It drives Derek crazy in all the right ways.
But then he remembers, like he is now, that this won’t last. That they’re using
each other to escape. His own record with relationships is shit and he’s damn
sure Stiles’ is close to non-existent. Stiles deserves-, Stiles needs-. Stiles.
Sometimes he just forgets.
The wolf in him loves to turn the loud mouthed, sharp witted son of the Sheriff
into a wanton creature, eager and willing to roll over when asked, to spread
his legs, to speak the lewdest things when Derek fucks him just the right way.
He could blame the wolf for loving when Stiles pins his hands - to the ground,
mattress, wherever they are when they’re coming down from adrenaline laden
highs - and rides him until his thighs are trembling, but that would be a lie.
He’s on par, however, with the way Stiles takes his knot. The only discomfort
there is the feeling of filling a condom instead of the warm body kissing him,
running long fingers up and down his arms, muttering praises from swollen lips.
They have rules. Derek doesn’t like them and Stiles doesn’t care. ‘I’m not
going home with your jizz leaking out of my ass. I don’t care if my dad can’t
smell it like your betas and Scott can, he barely trusts me alone these days,
and washing my jeans every few days is not something I want to do,’ he had said
the second time they fell into bed together. Derek paused from sucking a bruise
into the teen's inner thigh, crooked his fingers from where they were knuckle
deep in Stiles’ ass, and made him come.
It’s barely dawn now but Derek has been awake for an hour, laying with his back
to the wall of windows, only half awake, content to listen to the way Stiles
breathes. The teenager is still asleep, facing away from the alpha although he
has an arm thrown across his chest and has tucked his foot around the other’s
ankle. He’s wearing a shirt of Derek’s, one he stole after they showered the
night before; it’s bunched around his armpits.
It’s rare that Stiles spends the night. His father is under the premise he’s at
Scott’s right now. Melissa is apparently on the night shift and Scott is with
Isaac, Allison, and Lydia.
Derek smiles into the comforter. Stiles always complains he gets too hot when
they sleep together, that Derek is like a space heater that is perpetually
stuck on the highest setting. Yet he still lets the man spoon him or vice
versa, limbs tangled together when they wake up, someone's chest pressed to the
other's back.
The sky starts turning a rosy pink when Derek notices the scars. There’s four,
discolored and barely raised, wounds that Kali gave Stiles when he surrounded
her in a ring of mountain ash and Allison shot her through the abdomen with an
arrow. When she didn’t get up from where she was bleeding on the ground, Stiles
chortled, snarky grin on his lips as he pocketed a handful of wolfsbane. Before
he could blow it in her face, the alpha ripped the arrow from her stomach,
broke the barrier, and slashed the teenager up and across the chest.
Stiles wound up in the ER, reticent and dazed. Scott said the Sheriff ripped
him a new one, demanding to know where the fuck he kept getting injured.
Morphine and warm blankets made Stiles chatty and he told his father as Melissa
stitched the jagged wounds back together. The man didn’t believe him until
Scott's veins went black from where he leached pain from his best friend and
his eyes glowed amber.
Derek should have been there to stop it. Stiles is pack now, it’s his
responsibility as the alpha to keep his own safe. Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Scott,
and Jackson, they can protect themselves. But the humans, Stiles, Lydia, and
Allison. They are all strong, fierce and undeterred by being simply human, but
they get injured far too easily.
Stiles mumbles something in his sleep and Derek takes his chance to remove his
arm from where it’s pinned beneath the teen’s head. The nerves tingle and his
skin goosebumps from pinpricks and the rush of blood. When he can flex his
fingers without the muscles in his arm spasming, Derek scoots down the bed to
lean over the Stiles' chest. Without hesitance, he presses his lips to the
longest of the pink mars, ghosting over it as the kid twitches in his sleep.
He kisses them until Stiles stirs beneath him, yawning and try to squirm to one
side. Derek holds him down by his waist, trailing kisses up his chest to his
collarbones. He nips at a bruise he left the night before, continuing a path
across the teen’s neck, settling at his jugular. Stiles whines something about
it being too early and Derek shuts him up by pressing their lips together.
It’s not the most delicious of kisses; they both taste like stale morning
breath. Stiles doesn’t seem to care though: he loops his arms around the
alpha’s neck until Derek settles his weight on top of him. It’s almost
leisurely, the way they breathe into one another’s mouths, tongues chasing each
other back and forth. Derek opens his eyes when Stiles moans softly, finding he
has his own squeezed shut.
He fumbles with the drawer of his night stand to find the lube as Stiles frees
himself from the shirt and his boxers. When Derek settles back between his
legs, the kid is yawning and scratching at his stomach. He finally opens his
eyes, eyelids fluttering as the first finger presses against his hole. He just
grins then, stretches his arms until his palms are flat against the wall, and
leans up to kiss Derek.
It’s slow, languid like so many times of doing this aren’t. Stiles bites
Derek’s upper lip between his teeth with the man presses against his prostate,
mumbling a curse. Derek kisses him before sitting back on his heels. He slips
out of his own underwear before slicking his cock and lining up between the
teen’s legs. Stiles tells him to do it already, voice raspy as his hands wrap
around Derek's forearms.
Watching the way the kid bites his lip, the way his face contorts into a
pleasured version of pain, how his pulse hikes and the air grows that much
thicker with lust; Derek thinks that’s close to the most perfect thing about
Stiles. He loses himself in this whether they’re between the sheets in the loft
or crammed in the backseat of the Camaro. ‘You were made for this’ he had said
once, when Stiles was blissed out and lying on his tiny twin bed as Derek
cleaned them up. The Sheriff's son had just beamed at him with hazy eyes,
kissed him before he slapped his ass and told him to leave.
Derek places a hand over Stiles’ scars and feels the way he tenses beneath him.
Stiles covers the alpha's hand with his own, as though hiding them will negate
their existence. Derek rocks his hips forward, delighting in the way the teen’s
breath catches, whispers ‘I’m sorry’, and absorbs pain from his chest. Stiles
goes limp beneath him, a shiver racking through his body before he nudges the
alpha with his shoulder away from where he’s hiding his face in the kid's neck.
Unlike the previous night, four days before that, or even a week earlier, they
take their time. There’s no need to rush, not for a few more hours. There's
just slow rolls of hips, deep kisses, fingernails biting into skin. Stiles
cants upwards to meet Derek with every thrust, keening when the angle is just
right.
He mumbles something before pushing at the man's chest, cheeks flushed with
color. Derek pulls back, wondering if something is wrong but the teen just
smiles at him and says ‘I want on top’. The alpha complies, thumbs pressed
against slightly jutted hipbones as Stiles straddles his thighs, sinking down
on his cock with a strained sigh. His eyes are closed again, bottom lip caught
between his teeth, nails scraping against Derek’s chest as he lifts his hips
only to rock back down.
Derek sits up, one hand still around the teen’s hip, moving the other to pull
Stiles’ hair back with the lightest tension. If one thing has come from Stiles
growing his hair out, it’s that it provides the perfect leverage to get him to
tilt his head back and expose his neck. He mutters ‘fuck’ as Derek sucks a week
old bruise back into place, driving his hips down in quick snaps.
This is why he wants Stiles as much as he does. The seventeen year old can take
control without making Derek feel like he’s being forced. It’s nothing like
with Kate; she pushed and pulled him where she wanted, took and took because
Derek was willing to give. It’s not like with Paige, who kissed him
wholeheartedly and never let him touch her more than that.
When Stiles takes, he gives it back two-fold. He doesn’t complain about the
alpha’s need to mark him up. He doesn’t care if Derek insists they don’t label
whatever it is they are doing. He wants Derek, broken as he is.
That is why Derek needs him.
Stiles gets a hand in Derek’s hair, whining as the man lifts his hips enough to
meet every downward thrust, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping
against skin. Derek licks a stripe across the taut ligaments in Stiles’ neck,
delighting in the way his pulse is pounding. He gets a hand around the teen’s
cock, wet with pre-come, and rubs a finger across the slit at the head. Stiles
moans, rocking forward into his grip. It takes no more than a few rough strokes
until he comes, forehead pressed against Derek’s.
He curses when Derek maneuvers him onto his back again, shoving a pillow
underneath his ass before spreading his legs. The alpha fucks him hard this
time, knowing Stiles is oversensitive, still reeling from his own orgasm as
Derek chases his own.
When he comes, it’s with a groan. Derek buries himself as deep as he can go,
forehead pressed against Stiles’ shoulder. It’s only when he pulls out and
stream of hot come trails after the head of his dick does he remember he forgot
the condom. Stiles furrows his eyebrows at the sensation but doesn’t say
anything. Derek retreats to the bathroom, cleaning himself off before returning
with a warm washcloth. When he runs the coarse fabric down the seam of the
teen’s ass, he apologizes, saying ‘I’m sorry I forgot’. Stiles just shakes his
head and replies ‘It’s alright’, shuddering when Derek presses the pad of his
thumb against the angry red puckered skin.
Derek tosses the washcloth on the floor before laying back down. Stiles mumbles
something about still having another hour before he needs to leave, scooting
away from the wet spot in his side of the bed and into Derek’s arms. He throws
an arm across his chest and buries his face in the alpha’s neck, kissing the
skin before drifting off.
His phone goes off an hour and a half later, ringer low because he knows it
bothers Derek. They get dressed in silence, casting shy looks at each other.
Derek follows Stiles to the door, watching him slide it open. He turns around
before stepping out, opens his mouth to say something and closes it. Derek
watches caramel eyes flick between his own hazel and his lips.
Stiles kisses him softly, using the height advantage from the stairs to make
Derek lean up into it. Derek rests his hands around the teen’s waist as Stiles
places his on the man’s neck. They kiss for what seems like hours even though
it’s really just minutes. When Stiles pulls away he whispers goodbye against
Derek’s mouth, slowly dropping his hands before walking out of the loft.
Derek watches him go, grateful Stiles can’t hear his heartbeat, how its racing
from just a kiss. He slides the door shut before laying back down in bed, face
buried in the pillow Stiles slept on. It smells like him, like sweat and
Derek's body wash and Stiles' underlying scent of fabric softener. Derek rolls
onto his back and covers his eyes with both of his arms.
Because fuck if he isn’t in too deep.
End Notes
     FEELS. Fucking feels, man.
     The title comes from the song linked above, Disappear by Mikky Ekko.
     If you still aren’t listening to the S3 soundtrack, I suggest
     remedying that immediately. It’s fantastic in ways I can’t describe.
     Back to my wip. Hopefully I’ll be done with the next chapter in the
     next two or three weeks. Just in time for the hiatus and overwhelming
     feels sure to be brought by the mid season finale.
     As always, I'm on tumblr if you need me.
     UPDATE: now part of a series.
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