Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/800547.
  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, Feels, Scenting, Marking
  Series:
      Part 1 of So_Are_We_Brutal_Hearts
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-05-17 Words: 1663
****** Man or Animal ******
by stayingputwouldbeablunder
Summary
     It's three in the morning and Stiles can't find himself to care.
Notes
     Well, that escalated quickly. I'm not big on writing smut because I'm
     not very good at it but I wrote this towards the end of writing
     'Where Eagles Have Been' because of reasons. So yeah, enjoy this
     smutty little ficlet. It's not super explicit but I rather rate up
     than down.
See the end of the work for more notes
There are times when Stiles likes to take things slow, with soft caresses and
whispered sweet nothings between kisses. Where there’s a soft bed and a pile of
blankets and the bruises he gets are from Derek and not the surface he’s
pressed up against. Where there’s a functioning shower and fresh towels, not
musky rags left by the sink as an afterthought.
Then there are times like this, when Derek has him shoved up against a
crumbling wall of his house, the wood around them creaking from pressure. It’s
three in the morning and Stiles can’t find himself to care.
He needs this. He needs something to ground him, to keep him from slipping into
the panic attack he’s been fighting off for the past week. The Alphas could
have killed him. Could have killed Scott. Could have killed Derek. Derek.
The man is biting bruises into his neck, hands prying the belt free from his
jeans. Stiles doesn’t even care that this is illegal, that if his father were
to catch them he would throw Derek in jail. He stopped caring about four months
ago when the Alphas kidnapped Erica and Boyd, wounded them so deeply it took
them days to heal when they finally sent them back to their alpha. He stopped
caring when Derek said fuck it and kissed him in the back seat of the Camaro
while Stiles was tying a makeshift splint to keep from using his dislocated
left arm.
Stiles should care that they are both a mess, covered in dirt and blood. Half
of his shirt is lying somewhere in the woods and Derek is bleeding through the
leg of his jeans. But it doesn’t matter because the alpha is pulling his jeans
down by their belt loops and shrugging down his own, surging up to lift Stiles
back onto what is left of a tiled kitchen counter.
He’s moaning before he realizes it, mostly because Derek’s biting a hickey into
his neck that no hoodie is going to be able to hide. If he were anywhere else
he’d care; there is no way the Sheriff is going to miss that. But he doesn’t.
He consented to this long before Derek ever made a move and Stiles will never
want anyone else to touch him the way Derek does.
There’s a rustle of a lube packet being ripped open and for that alone Stiles
opens his eyes. He knows what to expect: Derek’s irises blown wide, flickering
between red and hazel, lips puffy, nostrils flared. He’s greeted with a cocky
smirk and Stiles bites his lip when Derek’s fingers press lightly against his
hole. He isn’t really sure where the lube came from but even as turned on as he
is, saliva won’t cut it. Stiles keens when Derek presses the first finger in,
clutching his shoulders, biting his own marks into the alpha’s neck.
He knows Derek wants to be rough with him, to make him forget that there is an
entire pack of Alphas lurking around Beacon Hills for the sole purpose of
destroying his pack. They’ve come after Stiles already, on a day when he was
out with Lydia: the only reason they made it out of that disaster was Lydia
having a Molotov cocktail in the trunk of her car. They’ve come after every
member of the pack, tried to kill them, almost succeeded with Erica.
And because Stiles just spent the past two hours running through the woods
armed with only a baseball bat and a half empty baggie of mountain ash, he
needs this. Needs Derek to keep him from slipping into a frantic mess, needs
the burn of Derek fucking him, needs Derek just as badly as the alpha needs
Stiles in return. It’s something Derek will never admit but Stiles knows is
true: someone as wounded and damaged as Derek should never be able to trust
anyone after Kate Argent but the alpha trusts Stiles for some ungodly reason
and the teenager will take anything he can from the man.
The noises Derek’s fingers are making are obscene. They twist and stretch and
press in just the right places and Stiles wants to cry because it feels
wonderful. Derek pulls him to edge of the counter before chuckling, deep and
low; the noise goes right to his dick. Stiles shivers, pulls the alpha close to
kiss him, reaches out to stroke Derek’s cock. The man growls and bats his hand
away before lining up with Stiles’ hole and pushing in until he’s bottomed out.
Stiles starts begging, talking dirty because he wants Derek to fuck him like
it’s the end of the world. And he will, because one way or another he always
does when they are both high on adrenaline. Derek will fuck him until Stiles
comes from barely being touched, fuck him through it, milking his cock and
rubbing his come into his skin, fuck him until he’s hard again. Stiles will be
wet and sloppy for him, just like the man likes, and then, when he is on the
brink of coming again, the alpha will knot him. That Stiles wants it, will come
from being stretched far beyond what his body should allow, will cling to Derek
while the man scents his neck between marking him; that is how Stiles knows
what little sanity he has left is gone.
When it’s all said and done, after Derek’s knot has gone down and he’s slipped
from Stiles’ body, he kisses the teenager softly. It’s such a contrast to how
things were a few minutes ago, Stiles laughs. He makes a face when he squirms
down off the counter, come dripping from his hole and down his thigh, and gives
the alpha the best reprimanding look he can offer before Derek kisses him
again. As nice as it is it doesn't change the fact his ass is numb from the
counter and his hips are throbbing from newly pressed bruises.
He had opted for condoms the first few times, knowing they were both clean and
free of diseases; Derek hadn’t liked it and Stiles set an ultimatum. And then
one morning, after a night Stiles told his father he was spending at Scott’s,
Derek woke him up with apologetic kisses across his chest, mouthing over still
sensitive scars Kali left three weeks before. They had taken their time, going
through the motions half asleep, basking in affection. When it finally came to
Derek easing his way inside Stiles, there was no question of whether to use a
condom or not. It was intimate and amazing and most importantly it felt right
without one.
Derek didn’t knot him that morning. Instead, he kissed him softly, like what
they were doing was as real a relationship as Scott and Allison’s, like Stiles
wouldn’t go home in a few hours and regret it not being the same. Derek pulled
pain from Stiles’ sternum, hovering over the pink scars before pressing his
fingers against them gently, whispering an apology into the teenager’s neck.
Derek was everything, just everything, and Stiles fell in love.
He doesn’t know if this will keep after the Alphas leave, if Derek will still
want him when they’re not in peril danger and there aren’t ravenous werewolves
running the town. The selfish part of him hopes that something else will come
along, something that keeps Derek trusting him. The sane part of his brain says
that’s unhealthy but Stiles ignores it. He wants Derek now and he’ll want Derek
five years from now. He’s the end all be all of Stiles’ romantic conquests,
numbering in total of one - Lydia - and as frightening as that should be, it
seems like the easiest thing in the world.
Scott is going to yell at him when he finally gets back home, where he’s
probably waiting, because he’ll reek of Derek and sex. His father is going to
give him the disappointed look he’d sported for a month after he finally told
him about the werewolves. The next time he sees Erica she’ll probably rib him
into giving her details and then smirk. Lydia will roll her eyes, tell him he
better be careful, then threaten Derek because the bruises on Stiles’ neck will
look like they intended to change him, not mark him as spoken for. Allison will
do the same, just with less threatening and more cautious smiles because they
have only recently reached the point of being comfortable with one another
again. Jackson will be an asshole because that’s how he is but mostly leave him
alone. Isaac will probably fuss at him, complain about the loft reeking because
Derek didn’t immediately shower when he came home, then demand snuggling
because Stiles is his go to cuddle buddy. Boyd won’t say anything because he’s
Boyd and honestly does not give a single fuck. Stiles likes Boyd.
There’s an easy silence as they get dressed, wiping the remnants of come on the
inside of their clothes and the decaying wood around them. Stiles tells Derek
he needs to start fixing the house up because he can only pull off being the
good looking guy with a modern loft for so long and Derek tells him to shut up
before pushing him toward their cars. Stiles just laughs again and pulls his
keys from his pocket. There’s a flare of pain in his ass when he does and he
watches Derek grin predatorily.
They stand between their cars, Derek telling Stiles to call him once he gets
home before scenting his neck one last time, nipping at the freshest of his
marks. Stiles calls him one of his overused nicknames before stepping towards
the Jeep, hands lingering on the alpha’s arms before falling away reluctantly.
Derek quirks a rare smile and slips into the Camaro without another word.
Stiles drives home singing along to Bob Marley and there’s nothing in the world
that can take that from him.
End Notes
     Two things:
     1. This is the last explicit thing I write for a while.
     2. Unsafe sex, whoops. For me, I think it comes down to a certain
     level of trust.
     Logically, I know this doesn't make much sense. Oh well.
     The title is from the song "Man or Animal" by Audioslave.
     UPDATE: now part of a series with the companion fic I_Want_To_Fall
     Back_Into_You.
     Feel free to come say hello on my tumblr!
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