Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/479625.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Erica_Reyes, Dr._Deaton, Scott_McCall, Boyd
      (Teen_Wolf), Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Pack_Dynamics, shaman!Stiles, Body_Paint, Hand_Jobs, Magic
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-06 Words: 2747
****** Living Links ******
by Miya_Morana
Summary
     This is it, he thinks as he dips his fingers into the bowl. No coming
     back. Once you tie yourself to a pack, to an Alpha, it’s a connection
     that’ll always be there.
Notes
     Huge thanks to morganoconner for her support and mithrel for her beta
     skills. Shout-out to entangled_now who posted something earily
     similar (yet quite different) this afternoon, because we are
     obviously brain twins. Written as the Wild Card of my cheaty_kink
     bingo_card (body-painting).
Stiles doesn’t feel ready. He still has so much to learn, so much to understand
more fully. Deaton says they’ll have time, that he’s not going anywhere, but it
feels a whole lot like graduating to Stiles. Or maybe like getting married, if
you think of all the implications and the ties that will result from this. But
Stiles would rather not think about how he’s getting magically married to
Derek’s pack (to Derek), so he prefers t go with the graduation metaphor.
He’s about to become officially part of the pack, as a sort of adviser slash
shaman, and the fact that he doesn’t even know if there’s a name for what he is
should be a pretty good sign that he’s not ready, shouldn’t it?
“It’s gonna be fine,” Derek growls, making Stiles start.
He hadn’t heard him arrive. It won’t be a problem for long. According to
Deaton, once this is done he’ll be able to feel the presence of his pack. Which
is kind of scary. Okay, this whole thing is kind of scary. Stiles watches Derek
walk around the empty warehouse. The Alpha is always aware of his pack, and the
pack is always aware of the alpha. Stiles wonders again what his place will be
exactly, and how it will feel. He won’t have to wonder for much longer.
Erica’s head pops through the door, her long hair framing her face in golden
waves.
“We’re all in position and everything seems quiet,” she says.
There shouldn’t be any dangers, as they’re not currently at war with a
resurrected alpha or a family of hunters, and there are no mystical creatures
wreaking havoc at the present time, but Derek’s learned to be prudent; they all
have. And since both he and Stiles will be pretty vulnerable during the ritual,
they’re taking precautions.
“Good,” Derek replies.
“Any idea how long this is gonna take?”
They both look at Stiles, who tries to shrug nonchalantly. That’s one more
thing he doesn’t know, one more question he doesn’t have an answer for. Erica
just sighs, waves at the both of them and closes the door, leaving them alone.
“Do you need any help with these?” Derek asks, pointing to the little bowls and
jars that Stiles is taking out of his bag.
Stiles shakes his head, because he knows what he’s doing and explaining things
to Derek would just take more time than doing them himself.
“Just, hmm, just get ready and sit in the middle of the circle.”
Derek nods and starts taking off his clothes. That’s the other thing that’s
making Stiles slightly nervous. The fact that Derek has to be freaking naked
for this, and that Stiles will have to touch him, to put his hands all over
these gorgeous muscles…
There’s been a lot of sexual tension between them for a long time, enough that
they know they’re both completely aware of it (there’s only so long you can lie
to yourself about that kind of thing), but neither of them has done anything
about it. Stiles doesn’t know what’s keeping Derek back, but the not knowing is
part of what prevents him from making a move.
So Stiles averts his eyes from the rapidly-becoming-naked werewolf and
concentrates on his task, lighting candles around the chalk circle on the
floor, mixing herbs and mashing berries in a wooden bowl, concentrating the way
Deaton’s taught him to, believing, just like he had the first time he’d
accomplished something magical, completing that mountain ash barrier when all
the laws of physics told him he didn’t have enough.
When he looks up, Derek is kneeling, naked and glorious, in the exact center of
the circle. Stiles takes a deep breath, picks up the wooden bowl now filled
with a somewhat thick, blood-red paste and walks up to the alpha. Derek’s eyes
follow him, and there’s such intensity in his face that Stiles almost shivers.
He kneels in front of Derek, lowering the bowl to the floor between them.
Stiles doesn’t know if it’s their usual…thing that makes the air kind of heavy
between them, or if it’s already the ritual starting to take effect, or whether
it’s just his nerves. He licks his lips nervously, sucking them in slightly,
and the wet noise it makes resonates in the empty warehouse. In front of him,
Derek’s eyes flicker briefly to his mouth, then he takes a deep breath.
Deaton was very clear about the not talking part of it. He said he wasn’t sure
how the ritual would end, since they were all a bit different, just like all
packs are different, but he insisted that no matter what, neither he nor Derek
should utter a single word until it was over. Derek wouldn’t have any problem
with that –the aApha was far from what you’d call verbose– but for Stiles it
was going to take a lot of effort. He tended to use words to keep his focus.
Okay, he tends to use words for everything.
This is it, he thinks as he dips his fingers into the bowl. No coming back.
Once you tie yourself to a pack, to an Alpha, it’s a connection that’ll always
be there. But then, the whole werewolf thing is permanent for them all, there’s
no reason for it to be different for Stiles. Slowly, but without any
hesitation, he raises red fingers to Derek’s chest and starts tracing symbols
on his skin.
He draws the main symbols first, the ones Deaton taught him. Triskeles and
triquertas on the chest, spirals and five-folds on the shoulder, simple Celtic
knots down the arms. Once he’s started it’s like the rest makes perfect sense.
He starts tracing complicated symbols that must have a name but that Stiles has
never seen before on Derek’s palms and the back of his hands, elaborate knots
on the perfectly defined abs. The werewolf is taking deep breaths under
Stiles’s fingers, and when Stiles looks up to his face clear green eyes are
staring at him with such intensity that it makes him shiver.
But he isn’t done, he knows in his gut that he isn’t done. His fingers dip once
again into the bowl’s red contents, and he lowers his gaze to Derek’s thighs,
sucks in a breath when he realizes that Derek is hard. It should be obscene, it
should be intimidating, it should be wrong, but it only feels right,
empowering. Stiles lets the shiver run up his spine and starts drawing double
spirals, followed by a quaternary knot, then something he only belatedly
recognizes as a Dara knot. His free hand is on Derek’s hip as he leans over
slightly to add small details with the tip of a fingernail.
Deaton told him to follow his instinct, but for a second Stiles wonders if he’s
not mixing up instincts and hormones when he traces a long spiral whirling
around Derek’s cock, starting at the base and ending a bit messily at the tip
of the head. Derek’s making short, breathy sounds over Stiles’s bent neck. The
air between them is heavy, tense, almost crackling but not quite, and Stiles
knows it’s all right, it’s all perfectly right.
He lifts his gaze back to Derek’s face, and if he thought that the werewolf
looked intense before that was nothing compared to the expression he has now,
all strained and barely controlled and incredibly sexy. Stiles raises red
fingers towards that magnificent face and draws more symbols on those perfect
cheekbones, across the brow, over slightly parted lips. Their breaths are
mingling as they both try to keep it under control.
Stiles looks at the reddened lips and knows what he has to do next, what will
seal the bond he can feel forming between them. He makes a pained sound when he
bites down on his lower lip, hard enough to draw blood. Because of course it’s
about blood and pain and life. The bitter, coppery taste of it rolls on his
tongue, and Derek looks at him with a mix of concern and confusion, until
Stiles leans towards him, presses their mouths together.
When Derek’s tongue laps at his broken lip Stiles can feel it all slip into
place. There are presences at the back of his mind, faint but there, one
stronger, pulsing. He’d like to investigate that strange new sensation, but
Derek’s lips are against his, Derek’s tongue is flicking in and out of his
mouth, and all Stiles can do is kiss him, messing up the now useless symbols
painted on the alpha’s lips. He tastes of wild berries and herbs and of Derek.
Stiles moves further into Derek’s space, propped up on his knees so that he can
straddle the werewolf’s thighs. Derek’s hands are fisting into his shirt,
pulling him against his chest, and it’s going to leave stains but Stiles really
couldn’t care less. He’s wrapping his arms around Derek’s shoulders, kissing
him as if his life depended on it. He pours all those long months of
frustration into that kiss, and Derek is almost growling under him, and God,
he’s thrusting his hips up, his red-painted cock brushing against the seams of
Stiles’s jeans.
“Oh god,” Stiles moans.
“No talking,” Derek groans against his mouth, then latches his lips to Stiles’s
throat, grabbing Stiles’s waist and grinding their erections together.
“The ritual’s done,” Stiles breathes out. “I can talk as much as I want.”
“No talking!” Derek growls again, nipping at Stiles’s neck, making him jump and
yelp.
“Okay, okay, no talking,” Stiles agrees in a hurry as Derek’s hands slide under
his shirt.
They have to part for a short time while Derek rids him of his shirts, and of
course Stiles’s arms get all tangled up in the clothes but then he’s free
again. He looks down at Derek, whose body is a red mess. The Alpha is smearing
Stiles’s skin as he touches him everywhere he can, and Stiles grinds down into
his cock, and fuck, he’s still wearing too many clothes.
“I’m still wearing too many clothes,” he says out loud, because he obviously
sucks at the not talking thing.
Derek doesn’t seem to mind this time though, he just growls in agreement
somewhere in Stiles’ neck, and then his hands are opening Stiles’ fly and
Stiles just has to push back, gripping Derek’s shoulders, moaning when strong
hands push his jeans and briefs down just far enough to free his erection. Deft
fingers wrap around it and Stiles fists a hand into Derek’s thick hair. The
werewolf lets him drag his head back, and they kiss again, sloppily, as Stiles
snakes his other hand down.
Derek’s cock is heavy in his hand, and for a second it’s almost too real; all
of his senses seem to be heightened by the rush of adrenaline and endorphins,
or maybe it’s the magic they’ve just completed, the new pack bond between them.
Or maybe it’s just because it’s Derek. Yeah, it’s probably that, Stiles
concludes as the werewolf playfully nips his lower lip, breathing hard against
Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles is smearing red magical fruit-and-herbs paint all over Derek’s cock, and
it looks a mess, and neither of them cares as they just keep moving, keep
touching, with hands and lips and skin, so much skin. Derek’s eyes glow red for
an instant and Stiles feels him tense up. He keeps moving his hand as Derek
comes between them with a low, honest-to-God growl. Stiles looks down at the
mess, grinning, because yeah, he just made Derek Hale come. With his hand. It
feels awesome.
When he looks back at the alpha’s face, there’s a predatory look there, one
that would have scared Stiles to death back in the days but now it makes his
heartbeat quicken and his breath hitch for entirely different reasons. And when
Derek does a little twisty thing with his wrist it sends Stiles over the edge.
He almost slumps against Derek, and strong, sticky arms wrap around him to hold
him up. They take time to catch their breath, Stiles resting his forehead
against Derek’s. The werewolf looks a little bit stunned, which puts a grin on
Stiles’ face, because again, yeah, he’s totally responsible for that
expression. On Derek’s face.
“So,” Stiles says, because even now he just can’t shut up, “that was fun. Okay,
it was more than fun, it was freaking awesome, and also about time! Though next
time, I’d prefer we do the nasty in a nice, comfortable bed rather than the
hard, probably unhygienic floor of a warehouse, with all the pack close enough
to have heard us, and also, no sticky magic paint. Though the whole skin
painting thing was kind of hot.”
“Stiles?” Derek groans, but their faces are close enough that Stiles can see
amusement in his eyes. On of his hands slides from Stiles’ waist to his ass,
cupping it, sliding between the cheeks, teasing.
“Yeah?” Stiles manages to reply, his breath hitching.
“Next time, I’ll find a way to keep that mouth of yours too busy to talk.”
“Okay,” he huffs, smiling.
After a while they reluctantly decide to finally get up, disentangling their
sticky bodies. There’s a hose hooked up to the wall and they use it to clean
themselves up before clearing the floor of any evidence that either a magical
ritual or frantic sex has happened here, and there’s a new, easy playfulness
between the two of them that Stiles fully intends on enjoying. Derek is still
kind of intense and broody-looking, because it’s just the way he is, but
there’s the hint of a smile as he sprinkles Stiles right in the face, and his
mouth is pliant and wet against Stiles’ when they kiss again.
It’s totally unfair, though, that Derek’s clothes –which had been neatly folded
and left well away from the chalk circle– are all clean and straight whereas
Stiles’ are a red, slightly torn-up mess. Which Stiles complains about, loudly
and at length, as they pack up the candles and bowls and jars back into his
bag.
“So can you feel it?” Derek asks, cutting into his diatribe.
Stiles finally allows himself to examine that strange new feeling, like a
presence at the back of his mind.
“It’s like the pack is just one entity,” he says, almost whispers. “And yet, if
I pay attention, if I concentrate, I can almost recognize everyone. Like,
Scott, he’s anxious and a little bit relieved. Oh, and that bright, fiery
confidence, that’s Erica, right?” The more he focuses, the more everything
unravels in his mind. “And Boyd is feeling a little bit smug and amused, and
you, you’re all gruffness and responsibility and surprise.”
“You can see the pack as clearly as an Alpha,” Derek replies, frowning a little
bit, but it’s not in annoyance or worry.
Stiles looks at him, his eyes wandering over Derek’s body, remembering what he
looks like with all his clothes off, and the pack slips away from him, goes
back to a vague, tangled-up presence at the back of his mind.
“How do the Betas see the pack? Is it just that vague, comforting presence I
can feel when I’m not paying attention to it?”
“Mostly, yes.”
Derek had lived his whole life being part of a pack. Suddenly, Stiles has a new
understanding of why Derek was so desperate to form a new pack after his
sister’s death. He must have felt so alone, so lost. Stiles puts a hand on
Derek’s face, presses his lips quickly against the Alpha’s before they open the
door of the warehouse and step outside.
The others are waiting, looking at them knowingly, and Stiles can feel the heat
of his blush in his cheeks but he doesn’t look away, just smiles.
“Did everything go well?” Deaton asks, and he must be the only one who has no
clue exactly how well things went.
“Yeah,” is all Stiles says.
Deaton nods, while Isaac snorts, and Derek glares at his Beta. Deaton decides
to ignore it and puts a hand on Stiles’ shoulder.
“I knew you were ready, in spite of all your doubts. Now this might be a bit
overwhelming at times for a little while, but I still expect you to be at the
clinic for our lessons tomorrow at ten.”
“Sure thing, doc,” Stiles smiles. He knows he still has a lot of things to
learn.
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