Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6510151.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Magical_Stiles_Stilinski, First_Kiss, First_Time, Safe_Sane_and
      Consensual, Past_Rape/Non-con, Frottage, Hand_Jobs, Emotional_Sex, Fluff
  Series:
      Part 4 of Wolf_and_Fae
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-10 Completed: 2016-04-14 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 12681
****** Mates ******
by jaimistoryteller
Summary
     Derek decides to ask Stiles why he is not being pushy about the fact
     they are mates and doesn't expect the evening to go the way it does
Notes
     So this started out as porn without plot, at least that was the goal,
     only it went and developed a plot. A lot of plot actually. Enough
     that I broke it into 2 stories at least, possibly more since I have
     the ideas for a story after. Particularly since I was originally
     going to post it a week ago on Wednesday but new medication and life
     happened.
     Also, one last note: I've only ever seen season one, and that was a
     few years ago. Character traits are based off of the wiki timeline,
     what I remember from the show, clips & gifs I have seen on tumblr,
     and fandom. As such, I will be playing with the time line and events
     as needed to match them with my world.
***** Frustrating Uncle *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you to Madicakes for making me realize something, since I
     haven't posted story one yet, time line is not actually established
     *shakes head* my bad. This takes place right before the pack goes
     back to school for their junior year of high school. Hope that clears
     up any confusion!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek's POV
It's been three months since Stiles decided to cast the mate finding spell that
identified him as the energetic teen’s match. Since that night there have been
a lot of changes, most of them with the pack. Even though he's the alpha,
Stiles has started acting like an alpha himself, including with him when he
does something that pisses the younger man of. What really surprises him is his
wolf doesn’t seem to mind it.
Boyd and Erica both are loyal to Stiles. Both willingly answering to the spark,
when they had fought against him at nearly every turn. Scott had submitted to
him as an alpha, but tends to go to his long time friend and listen to Stiles
more, at least when he does listen. Isaac listens to both of them equally, so
far they haven't contradicted each other, though he is certain he knows who the
young wolf would answer if a situation came up. Peter, well Peter is a wild
card, though he's not sure who, if anyone, his uncle is loyal to. Allison and
Lydia are both loyal to the pack itself, but he knows that they would listen to
Stiles if there was a situation. Jackson goes wherever Lydia is, though he
tends to rebel against anyone trying to give him orders.
Still, they are all alive, and they even train together, though not so much
with him. That's another thing Stiles has taken over. He's training them like
cops, both physically and mentally,  and to his great annoyance it is working
far better than what he as doing.
“Thinking about Stiles again,” his uncle states as he enters the living room,
“you should just claim him already.”
“He's seventeen,” he responds tiredly, it's a conversation they've had several
times already.
“So? If I thought it'd work, I’d court him,” Peter remarks, “I offered him the
bite once and he turned me down. I knew then that there was something unique
about him. Never expected it to be the fact he's extremely magical and not
human.”
"He's human. We'd be able to smell if he wasn't." He mutters.
“Sparks maybe, but he’s more than a spark,” his uncle responds smoothly, "Which
makes the fact we can't smell it just another interesting thing about him."
He glares at his uncle, wishing that the older wolf would just stop.
“Think of this: he never pushes for more, even when he reeks of desire, he
leaves the choice up to you. Would you have done the same thing at his age?”
Peter suggests before walking away from him.
Why did his uncle have to get right to the heart of the problem? He keeps
comparing his situation at sixteen to Stiles’ situation now. It’s hard to see
the differences when he can only see the similarities. Maybe he should try
actually talking to Stiles about it. Every time the topic has come up, mostly
because he brought it up and not the other way around, he has also been the one
to shut it down. What surprises him is Stiles let him. The boy who never stops,
had stopped, repeatedly, and let him change the topic. That alone is something
to think about.
Chapter End Notes
     Publishing schedule, I will update one or two stories on Saturday,
     Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
     Tumblr about my writing JaimiStoryTeller
     I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication, feel
     free to stop in to say hi
***** Discussion and Understanding *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Derek’s POV
Friday night he heads over to Stilinski house to speak with his mate. It’s long
overdue, and not something he is particularly good at, but he has to at least
try. His uncle was right, had he been the one in Stiles’ shoes he would have
pushed and pressed and bothered his mate until they gave in or hated him.
Instead his mate had given him space and understanding. Something he has a hard
time understanding.
Window or door? he wonders as he approaches the house, happy to see that the
sheriff is not there. He really didn’t want to have this conversation while
Stiles’ dad was in the house. That would have made it so much more awkward
because he would have been listening for that heartbeat to get closer. Stiles
is always muttering about them using the door, so he will knock, rather than go
through the window.
Stopping on the porch, his wolf seems to be happy to be here, and he feels more
at peace than he has in a long while, at least on that front.
Lifting his hand, he takes a deep breath and knocks hard once before dropping
it back down to his side.
This was a bad idea, his nerves tell him, a horrible idea that’s going to end
in some hideous fashion.
No, this was the right idea, his mind and wolf contended, better than being an
asshole or ignoring the situation. Not like ignoring it would actually work in
the long run.
Before the debate going on within him can get any further, the front door opens
and he is hit with a rather strong wave of Stiles scent. It’s filled with
boredom, frustration, curiosity, worry, and affection in equal parts, making it
very difficult to gage exactly where his mood is at. Though the worry and
curiosity seem to amplify the longer they stand in the doorway saying nothing
to each other.
Blinking at him, the younger man mutters, “Never actually expected you to be
the one to listen to my rants about using the door instead. Not when you seem
to like being a creeper wolf, though the title goes to your uncle the most.
Come on in, I was just making dinner.”
Turning, his mate walks away, presenting his back to him in a sign of trust. At
least that’s what it feels like.
How odd, that would feel like a sign of disrespect from most. Not the reason he
is here, he thinks as he follows the younger man into the kitchen.
“Want a hamburger? Dad’s on the night shift, so I get some grease.” Stiles
queries as he opens the fridge.
He blinks, nodding in agreement before it dawns on him that Stiles cannot see
him with his back to him, “Sure.”
“So why are you here sourwolf? Things have been mostly quiet, I mean we have
the alpha pack coming, and I have been looking into that, but otherwise things
have been mostly quiet.” The spark queries as he shapes the meat and spices it.
“We need to talk,” he answers gruffly, not wanting to talk, talking is not
something he likes to do.
Putting the burgers on the stove and clicking it on, the younger man turns to
look at him with narrow eyes.
“What went wrong and what do I need to research?” Stiles demands, holding a
hand out to catch the pad of paper and pen that comes flying towards the air
towards him.
The causal display of magic has him blinking in shock, wondering if he does
that when his dad is home and how much of the supernatural world his dad is
aware of.
“We need to talk about us, not a problem or the pack,” he clarifies, leaning
tensely against the wall and watching his mate.
The concern, worry, and anger that had flashed through his mate’s scent
vanishes to be replaced with amusement, frustration, and curiosity. “What about
us? You made it rather clear by bolting when I told you what my first spell had
done how you feel. I figured it had to do with Kate and the underage thing, so
I was not pushing. At least until April ninth, then all bets are off.”
Again he blinks in shock, April ninth? When’s Stiles birthday? He knows he’s
seventeen now, but never actually found out when his birthday is.
“Why April ninth?” he asks.
“Cause April eighth my awesome self turns eighteen,” the spark responds with a
shrug.
Doing the math he realizes that means Stiles had been kidnapped and beaten on
his birthday. He never said. Not a word about his birthday. Scott hadn't said
either. Why had they not said anything? No wonder Stiles took what happened
with Scott so hard, he got betrayed by his friend on his birthday. Yet the
spark had forgiven the young wolf. Why?
Another thing that occurs to him is the fact Stiles seems to know something
about what happened between him and Kate.  Is that because of the spell he had
done three months prior or something else? What does the spark know about that
time frame?  Has he said something to the others? No, because none of them are
really good about keeping secrets.
“Hamburgers done. Come put what you want on yours,” Stiles remarks, turning the
stove off and pulling him out of his head.
“Whatever you're having works,” he answers absently.
If he would have been paying attention to the smirk, he probably would have
been concerned. The younger man’s expression is pure mischief.
A minute later, his mate asks, “7-Up or milk?”
“7-Up,” he answers.
“Take a seat, here or in the living room, doesn’t matter,” the spark comments
as he opens the fridge and pulls a few cans of the soda out. Both the plates
lift up off the counter as Stiles walks towards him, and he settles into one of
the tables chairs.
“Here you are,” Stiles comments as the plate sets itself down in front of him,
and one of the 7-Ups.
When he takes a bite of the burger, he is startled by the amount of flavors
that bursts through his mouth. The primary one is hamburger, but after that
there is lettuce, onion, sharp cheddar, moist mozzarella, tomatoes, green
pepper, mayo, Italian dressing, and honey wheat bread.
Setting it down, he stares at it.
“You said like mine,” his mate remarks with a chuckle. “That’s what I have on
mine.”
“Right,” he mutters, picking the burger back up and eating some more of it.
“Not a fan of the Italian dressing.”
A small smile plays at the edge of Stiles lips, “I’ll remember that for next
time.”
The rest of their meal is eaten in silence. When they are done, his mate
focuses for a minute before the dishes move themselves to the sink, the water
turns on, and they wash themselves before settling in the drying rack.
“You’re using a lot of magic,” he remarks, watching the dishes, his eyes
flicking back to Stiles to see his reaction.
His mate shrugs, responding, “Practice makes perfect, I may be awesome, but
it’s still better to learn how to control multiple objects in the safety of my
home, where I can test my limits without too much danger, than it is in the
middle of a fight.”
He nods, that’s actually a really good idea.
“Now, what would you like to talk about? Would you prefer here or the living
room or my room? Would you like another soda?” Stiles babbles, his rapid fire
attention shifting from topics and he tunes the words out when Stiles shift
into some of his insecurities, though he does catch the fact Stiles sometimes
feels like he doesn't belong.
“Stiles,” he eventually interrupts, not wanting his mate to keep going when
it’s mostly negative things about himself and their not so healthy
relationship.
The spark’s mouth snaps shut and he just stares at him with wide amber eyes,
the pupils seeming to be more of a dark brown than black.
Several times he opens his mouth to say something just to snap it shut again
because he is not sure what to say. The air around them fills with Stiles
curiosity and worry, but that quickly changes to worry and sadness.
He’s surprised by the first thing that comes out of his mouth, “You’re not
human?” That was not why he was here, so why was that the first thing to come
out of his mouth? Why did talking having to be so damned hard?
The way Stiles’ lips quirk lets him know that the younger man is well aware of
the fact he didn’t mean to ask that.
“Yeah, I’m fae and spark. Apparently this,” the younger man motions to himself,
“is something mom did to protect me. I haven’t felt like rolling around on a
clover patch to undo it.” His grin turns mischievous, “I’m awesome as is.”
He nods in agreement absently, “You are.”
Both of them are quiet as they stare at the other. Shock and disbelief fills
Stiles scent, his eyes widen as he stares at him in amazement. The sparks
whisky colored eyes seem to change, the pupils finish changing to dark brown,
going from circles to cat slit ovals. In his mind he recalls all the times he
thought the light caught the younger man’s eyes, making them change, and
realizes it was this each time. Only when there is strong emotion do his eyes
change, mostly when he is furious, but this isn’t fury, so what is it?
“Why?” he asks, hoping that the spark understands everything he is asking.
“Why what? Why am I waiting and not being pushy? Because I understand what
happened and I get why you ran.” Stiles begins answering, his voice low and
serious as he continues to explain, “Why do I know? Side effect of the spell I
did to discover who my mate was.” He shrugs, “Why am I such a bossy pest who is
trying to help the pack? It needs to be done. You’re trying but you’re too full
of anger to succeed. Until you start letting go, start learning to forgive
yourself, the pack is never going to be as strong and healthy as it could be.” 
He leans forward, almost as if willing him to understand, “Why’d I bind Peter
to you? Because he is full of greed and anger and hate. Unbound he was going to
cause harm, and you and the rest of the pack have dealt with that enough not to
need more.”
His mate understood alright, but he used it as a way to answer all the whys
that needed answering not just the most important ones.
“You’re seventeen,” he mutters, mind still processing.
Nodding, the younger man agrees, “I’m seventeen.” His lips curve in a sad
smile, and his scent seems almost depressed as he continues, “At seventeen I am
more of an adult that you are at twenty-two.”
A flash of anger flares through his system but it fades away just as quick as
it came.
“Oh yeah, I know that expression, it’s the ‘I don’t like what you said’ look.”
Stiles mutters with a shake of his head.
He can’t stop the shock that flickers across his face at that statement. Why
does Stiles know how to read his expressions so well?
When his mate continues, every word feels like needles piercing his skin,
because he hadn’t actually stopped to consider how Stiles early life was, never
stopped to consider what makes the hyper teen the way he is.
“It’s true though. Prior to what happened with Kate, your life was mostly
sheltered, though the first break in that was what happened with Paige.” Stiles
states clearly before continuing, “You didn’t have to grow up quick at eight
years old or risk losing your only family. You didn’t have to figure out how to
make sure everything stayed on budget or risk losing your home or not having
anything to eat. You didn’t have people trying to tell you what your dead mom
would want when you were going through puberty and life sucked because you
didn’t fit anywhere with anyone. You didn’t have to deal with a dad who would
either over work himself or drink himself into oblivion for weeks at a time,
almost forgetting that you’re alive. And that’s okay, because we’re different
people so of course we grew up differently.”
Stiles takes a deep breath before continuing in the same factual tone, no
emotion filling it to his surprise. “Instead you felt as if you were an extra.
You knew you were loved and that if you needed something you could ask. You’re
parents tried to be active in your education, they tried to encourage you to
make friends, even when it was hard because you are a bit shy and an introvert.
You withdrew from your family after what happened to Paige. That left you open
for the attack that Kate wrought, and it was an attack, in all forms. One that
you never quite recovered from, because you are an introvert and reaching out
for help when you feel as if you are guilty is not something you have managed
to do yet. You’re still stuck at sixteen when your family was taken from you.”
His mate’s whiskey eyes turn dark amber, the pupils narrowing to slits of
chocolate topaz as he fiercely finishes, “That’s why I help, that’s why I act
the way I do. I know what it’s like to have my whole world pulled out from
under me. I at least had some warning, you didn’t.”
Like a flash, the younger man is on his feet and moving, heading to the fridge
while he can do nothing more than sit there and stare blindly in shock at his
mate.
A moment later a cool glass is being pressed into his hand and he takes a drink
without actually paying attention. The chocolate flavor rushes over his senses
and the milk soothes his throat.
“Chocolate milk?” he inquires with humor and disbelief filling in voice.
The mischief is back in Stiles eyes and they have returned to their normal
color and shape as he replies playfully with just a bit of an edge, “Chocolate
is great for shock, milk because It’s soothing. Mines already gone,” he holds
up an empty glass. “I’m going up to my room to work on a project I have going,
come up whenever you’re ready to continue the conversation, or I will talk to
you later if you decide to bolt again.” the younger man announces before
setting his glass in the sink and leaving the room.
Chapter End Notes
     Publishing schedule, I will update one or two stories on Saturday,
     Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
     Tumblr about my writing JaimiStoryTeller
     I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication, feel
     free to stop in to say hi
***** Closer *****
Chapter Notes
     This thing keeps growing, it went from a one-shot, to a one shot & a
     prequel story, to two stories. I swear my muses needs to get on point
     with some of my other WIPs and not add to the collection but its
     ignoring me. One chapter left, cause this one got to just shy of 5k
     before editing and felt done without ever doing what I was originally
     writing this chapter for.
     Warnings: vague mentions of past non-con, nothing directly stated,
     but still implied
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek’s POV
Does he want to go up those stairs and speak with the young man whose heartbeat
he can hear racing?
He doesn’t know how much time passes as he sits there holding the empty cup
between his hands, staring at the glass as his mind spins around. That was
almost too much information at one time. He’s never been good at processing too
much all at once. He has to take his time thinking things through, and right
now he cannot get past the fact Stiles knows so much and yet still wants him.
Why would he still be open to the relationship when he knows how badly he has
failed?
His wolf wants to go upstairs and wrap himself around his mate, wants to hold
on tight and never let go, wants to protect him from ever being harmed or hurt.
He finds himself at the top of the steps before he even realizes he’s moving,
his wolf having guided him on instinct rather than thought.
Heading to the bedroom, he lets himself in without knocking, something he has
done plenty of times just for the pleasure of startling his mate. It always
served to remind him his mate wasn’t a wolf and not to expect anything from
him.
Only this time its pleasure that fills the air, not shock or surprise.
“I half expected you to leave,” Stiles remarks as he closes the book he was
working with.
Turning towards him in the chair, the younger man studies him before standing,
crossing the room, and pushing the door shut the rest of the way.
“What would you like to discuss?” his mate asks, looking him straight in the
eyes, and he realizes that Stiles is actually taller than him. Not by much but
still.
Looking at those too understanding eyes, he decides talking is overrated.
Does he want to take that risk? Yes. He’d be a hypocrite if he was to say the
law was his problem. The fact Stiles is seventeen doesn’t bother him because of
the law. It bothers him because he doesn’t want to be like her, doesn’t want to
be pressuring his mate into something he will later regret.
He moves slowly as he closes the gap between them, he’s making sure there is
plenty of time for Stiles to move or reject the kiss.
Instead his spark just has a ghost of smile playing across his lips.
The first brush of their lips is soft. Gentle and full of the affection they
feel for each other. They separate for barely a breath before Stiles is
pressing back against him. The younger man’s hands skim up his sides, over his
shoulders, and then up his neck to rest lightly on the curve of his jaw. It’s
not a deep kiss, but it’s full of emotion, leaving his head spinning.
“Are you sure?” the sparks asks when they separate again.
“Yes,” he answers honestly, surprised by the answer even as he knows it to be a
fact.
He’s pretty sure that he has never seen a smile like this on Stiles face
before, it’s a mix of predator, pleasure, and unending joy.
Stiles turns them, guiding him between soft kisses. At first he is not sure
why, then he realizes they are now set so he can sit on the edge of the bed.
That makes his nerves spike because he doesn’t know how much he actually is
willing to do at this point.
“Relax,” his mate murmurs against his lips, “This is at your pace, not mine.
I’m already comfortable, you’re not.”
Tipping his head back slightly he stares at those whiskey amber eyes so close
to his, looking for why and not believing what he sees. His sense of smell
tells him that he is being sincere. His hearing tells him the same thing as he
listens to Stiles’ heartbeat.
When the younger man’s lips twitch in a smile, it is warm, trusting,
understanding.
He doesn’t deserve understanding.
“Yes you do.” Stiles remarks, “Probably a good thing I am good at reading
expression, well yours anyways.”
“Why?” he asks, only before the younger man has a chance to answer, he decides
he doesn’t want one, and kisses him again.
When they separate, his spark laughs softly, pressing more gentle kisses to his
lips.
He takes a step back, and intentionally settles on the edge of the bed.
Stiles almost immediately steps forward, but he doesn’t do anything more.
Somehow, despite his moving backwards, his mate’s — Stiles’ — hands are still
lightly cupping his face.
His tongue flicks out and Stiles’ eyes follow the motion, heat filling them. He
tentatively puts his hands on the younger man’s hips before lightly tugging,
wanting to close the space between them.
His head is on the same level as Stiles’ chest now, so near he could almost
feel Stiles’ heart beating, pounding with arousal. He rests his forehead
against his mate’s chest while he just breathes in his mate’s intoxicating
scent, and listens while Stiles’ heartbeat surrounds him.
With feathery touches, Stiles strokes his face, down his neck and to his back.
Every motion is comforting, not sexual. They are designed to let him relax,
encouraging him to trust, if only in himself if no one else. How someone who’s
never touched another person so intimately knows how to do this, he doesn’t
understand and he doesn’t want to ask. Bad enough that he’s the older one and
he is acting like the virgin, no need to add insult to injury by asking.
“Talk with me Derek,” his mate murmurs as he continues his gentle caresses.
“Use your words. I promise I’ll not judge you or make fun of you.”
When several long minutes pass without him saying anything, his mate speaks
again.
Stiles heartbeat never changes as he speaks, he’s being completely sincere.
“It’s alright to be scared. It’s alright to not want to go any further. It’s
alright to just want physical comfort in the form of cuddling only. It’s
alright to withdraw from physical contact when it gets to be too much.” Stiles
states quietly, hands still rubbing comforting circles on his back.
“You still smell like lust,” he responds, not lifting his head from the
comfortable spot against his mate’s chest.
“Well yeah, I’m a teenager and have you seen you?” There is warmth and
amusement in the younger man’s voice as he suggests, “Ignore it, I promise it
doesn’t bother me. I ignore it most the time too.”
He tries to bite back the laughter, but can’t stop himself low laugh that
spills from his lips.
Stiles chuckles in response, chest shaking lightly, “See, that’s better, it’s
not supposed to be serious and tense. Gotta be able to laugh.”
Sitting back without letting go of Stiles’ hips, he smiles at the younger man.
“You should definitely do that more,” he is informed, “Or maybe not, I don’t
think my heart would be able to take it after being so used to the moody
expressions.” Grinning, Stiles continues, “Never mind that, definitely smile
more, real smiles not those smart ass smirks, not that the smart ass smirks are
bad, I have those catalogued based on mood. Most of them are hot too.”
Tilting his head, he mutters, “Shut up and kiss me.”
Grinning mischievously, Stiles replies, “I can do that.”
Dipping his head, the younger man presses their lips together again. Several
kisses later he is the one to deepen the kisses by opening his mouth, his
tongue flicking out to tease Stiles’ lips for a moment, seeking entrance. His
mate smiles against his lips before parting his lips.
He’s not actually sure if he pulled Stiles down or if Stiles is the one who
decided to settle on his lap with knees braced on either side of his hips.
Either way, the result is the same: it’s easier to kiss since it puts them at
the same level. His arms wrap firmly around the younger man’s back, pulling
them flush against each other. Stiles’ hands are still busy rubbing his back,
though it is now more of an up and down stroke, than a soothing circle.
When they break apart to breath, Stiles stares at him, eyes widen and pupil
taking up nearly his entire eye. The chocolate color is back again. “I never
quite noticed how much hotter you run.” The younger man mumbles as he catches
his breath.
It takes him a moment to realize that Stiles is referring to body heat. He just
arches an eyebrow in response, because that seems fairly odd considering how
much time his mate has spent with werewolves.
“What? I’m cold most of the time. Well I was cold most the time, not so much
anymore,” Stiles babbles, “I sort of spelled myself to be warm all the time.
Scott was always warmer than me, so I didn’t notice much difference after he
changed, and generally the only time you touched me for the longest time, we
were both wearing layers.”
He nods, leaning in again to kiss Stiles some more. This is actually quite
nice, back then there wasn’t time spent just kissing to kiss. While his mind
enjoys the kissing, his wolf wants more skin contact, and is prompting him to
get that contact sooner than later.
The next time they break apart to breath, he decides to see if Stiles minds
having his shirt off. Of course he’ll take his off as well, to keep things
even.
His hands skim along the edge of the shirt, and he asks with a look, if it’s
alright for him to take it off.
Stiles lifts his hands off his back, nods, and smiles at him encouragingly.
Smirking back, he tugs the shirt up and over his mate’s head, dropping it on
the floor as soon as it is off. Unlike him and the other wolves who often go
with the least amount of clothes possible, he can’t actually remember seeing
Stiles without his shirt before, though he must have at least once. Clothes get
destroy far too often for him to have not. Stiles pale skin has a smattering of
freckles and a few different scars, some he can easily identify, others not so
much.
Warmth and understanding fill his mate’s eyes when he meets them. Stiles has
been dangerously injured multiple times and yet he seems alright with his own
skin.
“It’s just us. No reason to be self-conscious about it. Especially if things go
the way I want for the long term.” The spark answers his unspoken question.
“Now don’t ask me to do this in front of the pack, they definitely wouldn’t be
able to handle all this awesomeness.”
Nodding, he considers taking his own shirt off for a few minutes before
deciding to have Stiles do it instead. Keeping his eyes on the young man
settled on his lap, he reaches for the hands that had rested against his
shoulders after the shirt had come off. He wets his lips as he takes hold of
those long fingers and guides them down to the hem of his black tee-shirt.
“Are you sure?” Stiles asks as his fingers curl under the edge, just barely
brushing his stomach, sending warmth through his system at the slight contact.
“Yes,” he replies, never breaking eye contact with his spark.
Slowly, the younger man strips his shirt off, dropping it on the floor once
it’s off. The only time their eyes separate is when the shirt is over his head.
“May I?” Stiles inquires, hands just above the skin of his chest.
“Yeah,” he exhales.
He knows he tenses as the younger man’s hands skim over his chest, just far
enough away he can feel their heat but not their texture. When the spark gets
to just above his waist, his mate’s hand actually touch his skin. It sends a
thrill of pleasure through his senses, his wolf is pleased by this, while his
nerves got nuts because no one has touched him in a sexual manner since he was
sixteen.
Yet it is so very different than he expects.
Softly, Stiles caress his stomach and chest. When he flinches, the younger man
frowns slightly. “Talk with me, Derek, use your words.”
When his mate’s hands slide to his sides, relief pours through him. He really
isn’t a fan of having his chest and stomach stroked. Too many bad memories
associated with it.
“That’s better,” he mutters, not wanting to admit the problem.
“Okay, yeah, that’s good. No hands on the front side.” Stiles states, while
watching his face with sharp, bright whiskey golden eyes. “May I kiss and maybe
nuzzle your front?”
He nods slowly, not sure how good of an idea that is, but he’d like to try.
“If you want me to stop or slow down or move away from a particular spot just
tell me, okay?” his mate tells him seriously.
He nods and blinks, “Yeah,” why does Stiles want to kiss him there?
“Awesome,” his mate declares.
Only Stiles doesn’t immediately move to touch his chest again, those long
fingers continue to caress his sides and back, and his mate presses their lips
back together. Several more minutes are spent kissing. When they break apart to
breath, his mate starts scattering soft kisses across his cheeks and jaw, his
breath coming out in a soft giggle after his tongue lightly scraps across his
scruff. 
Carefully, the younger man kisses his way down the side of his neck and he
freezes in shock when blunt human teeth scrap lightly across his pulse before
continuing downwards.
“You alright?” Stiles asks against his collarbone.
“Yeah,” he gasps, a sharp bolt of lust rushing through his body.
“Good,” his mate murmurs, tracing his collarbone with his tongue.
Groaning quietly, a shudder runs through him. Taking a deep breath, he gets all
of the emotions filling the air, lust, affection, pleasure, joy, and hope from
Stiles, his own scent is troubled, a combination of lust, need, and fear. It
leaves a bad tang in his senses and making him feel like he is doing something
wrong.
Slightly harder nip to the top of his left pect draws his attention to the
spark still balancing on his lap.
“You okay? You’re expression keeps flashing between enjoyment and fear,” the
younger man queries.
He can feel his skin heat up in a blush, “Yeah, I’m fine, just a bit shocked.”
Moving across his chest, Stiles asks, “Why,” light bite, “are,” gentle kiss,
“you,” light bite, “shocked?” slightly harder bite to the top of his other
pect.
“I,” he begins, gasping when Stiles press an open mouth kiss to his skin,
tongue rasping lightly over where he just bit down. “I’m not used to anyone
wanting to touch me and caring whether I enjoy it or not.”
Stiles’ eyes glow brightly, the cat slit pupils returning in full. The spark
locks those electrifying — terrifying, magnetic —  eyes on him as the younger
man fiercely states, “I might be impatient sometimes, and an asshole all the
time, but sex — making love, fucking, any other name you want to call it — both
partners should always enjoy it. If it is not enjoyed, it shouldn’t be done.”
His breath catches in his throat. Not once had Stiles heartbeat changed, and
his scent told him how serious he was too.
“It’s a good thing she’s already dead, cause I would not be nice about how
she’d die if she was still alive.” His mate quietly snarls, and if he wasn’t a
werewolf, he wouldn’t have actually heard that statement.
When was the last time anyone was willing to harm someone else for his
protection? When was the last time anyone cared enough to be concerned over his
happiness or pleasure? Laura had tried, but it hadn’t worked very well cause
she was dealing with her own grief, so when he was fifteen and his mom tried
being there for him even as he pushed her away.
“Stiles,” he groans, suddenly pulling the younger man up so he can kiss him
deeply, “thank you.”
His mate smiles at him warmly, his eyes fading back to normal, “You don’t have
to thank me, but I get it.” Softly, the younger man presses feather light
kisses to the corners of his mouth. “You’re my sourwolf, and even when you make
me furious I don’t want you hurt.”
A smile twitches the corner of his lips.
“How about you scoot back on the bed a bit more, maybe lean against the
headboard? Balancing on my knees like this is not quite my strong point,” the
younger man suggests with a wiggle of his brows.
Keeping his grip on his mate’s hips, he pushes himself back, twisting them
around so his back connects with the wall while Stiles flails in shock.
“A little warning next time,” his spark grumbles fondly, “May I go back to
kissing your chest and face?”
He notices that Stiles had not mentioned his neck and responds, “Yeah.”
“Awesome,” Stiles smirks at him, moving back just enough that their bodies are
just barely touching. The hands that had been flailing just moments before come
up to cup his face as his mate kisses him again.
Long moments are lost in heat and need as the kisses get deeper and deeper,
full of teeth and tongues and shared breaths.
“Stiles,” he groans when they finally break apart.
Ducking his head, his soon to be lover responds, “Luc, you can call me Luc if
you want but only when we’re alone. I don’t like most people calling me what my
mom called me.”
“That’s easy to pronounce, I thought you had a hard name?” he asks in
confusion.
Smiling and looking back up, Stiles nods, “I do, that’s just the first three
letters of it.”
“Luc,” he says softly, his hands skim up his mate’s body to cup Stiles face
between his palms, “Thank you for trusting me,” he whispers, leaning in to
press a gentle kiss to his mate’s lips.
Grinning cheekily, his mate answers playfully, “I might even tell you my full
first name someday.”
Chuckling, he comments, “I may even deserve it someday.”
“May I?” Stiles queries.
“Yes,” he replies, he can feel how happy his wolf is from all the touching and
care Stiles has shown him. It is one of the rare times since the fire that both
sides of his nature have agreed on something.
Slipping his hands slowly down his jaw, neck, and shoulders, Stiles strokes his
body lightly, leaving a tingling sensation wherever he touches. He follows his
hands path with his mouth, skipping right over his neck to suck a spot onto his
shoulder before moving downwards. Now that they are further up on bed, it is
easier for the younger man to slide backwards and gives him a greater range.
He groans, back arching when his mate nips at the spot just below his ribs
before switching to the other side to do the same. A low moan escapes his lips
when Stiles tongue laps over his nipple, making it pebble in need.
When he realizes his claws are coming forth, he quickly moves his hands away
from Stiles face, making fists and burying them the blankets. Hopefully his
mate won’t stop because that feels good. He can control himself, and get them
to go away, he’s sure of it.
“You’re doing that worried look again,” Stiles murmurs as he straightens, eyes
sweeping over him. “Ah,” the younger man mutters, carefully reaching out, he
takes hold of one of his arms, pulling it away from the blanket.
“I can control—“ he begins only to stop in shock when his mate lightly kisses
his knuckles, carefully working a finger into his closed fist and pulling them
open. The cuts on his palm from where he dug his claws in quickly heal, leaving
only small traces of blood in their wake. Stiles leaves him breathless as he
feathers gentle kisses across his palm and over his fingers. Still in shock
from how willing his mate seems to be to accept this, he can only stare as
Stiles repeats the process with his other hand.
“Never be embarrassed by this,” his mate murmurs, still pressing light kisses
on his fingers, “The wolf side is just as much you as the human side.”
With one last kiss, Stiles lets go of his hands.
Biting his lip, he considers what to do.
He puts his hands oh-so-carefully on Stiles’ shoulders, almost cringing at the
action. To his shock, Stiles just smiles.
“It’s OK. You can touch me.” Stiles tips his head to one side, rubbing his face
against the knuckles so dangerously close to his fragile neck.
He looks at Stiles, wide-eyed, frozen, as the action is repeated with his other
hand.
“Luc,” he murmurs, wanting to say more but not sure how to express it.
Stiles expression is warm and open as he rubs his face against the hand resting
on his shoulder.
Several long moments pass with them just sitting there, his hands resting on
his mate’s shoulders, claws lightly scraping over the delicate skin while the
younger man simply smiles at him.
Chapter End Notes
     Publishing schedule, I will update one or two stories on Saturday,
     Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
     Tumblr about my writing JaimiStoryTeller
     I love reviews, comments, and any other sort of communication, feel
     free to stop in to say hi
***** Mates *****
Chapter Notes
     So this has only been edited once, cause its 3 am and I want to get
     it posted, so I will be doing a few more small edits in the morning
     probably, anyways, I hope everyone enjoys. Also, chapter 1 of Fae
     Born will be posted in the next few minutes for those who are
     interested.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek’s POV
He’s not sure how long they stay like that.
The skin beneath his fingers is supple and smooth, cool to the touch compared
to his own skin.
Biting his lower lip and swallowing hard, he slowly moves his right hand along
Stiles’ shoulder. His eyes flicker between the skin beneath his hand and his
mate’s eyes.
When he feels slightly rougher skin beneath his fingertips, he frowns. He lifts
his hand, not seeing anything on the front of his mate’s shoulder. Lightly he
sets his hand back on Stiles’ shoulder. Slowly, he skims his hands carefully
down his arm, lightly taking his mate’s hand and lifting it to his mouth.
Without breaking eye contact with Stiles, he kisses his spark’s hand.
Little by little, the longer they go without his mate’s scent or heartbeat
changing the more relaxed he feels. Maybe this could work.
The soft look in the younger man’s eyes also warms him to the core. It is
accepting and understanding.
When he let’s go of Stiles’ hand and returns his to the younger man’s shoulder,
that odd texture draws his attention again.
“What's this?” he inquires quietly, fingers and claw tips gently grazing the
area, thinking that it feels familiar.
His mate shrugs, twisting his upper body around so most of his back can be
easily seen. “Claw marks, from that fight five weeks ago with the omega pack
trying to cause issues,” Stiles comments, holding still just long enough for
him to note the rest of the marks before he returns to facing him, still
smiling despite the negative nature of what he's saying. “I'm working on
learning how to make them heal better. They had gotten infected, and ended up
being my reason for meeting with Shale a second time. She cleaned them and
explained how I could jump-start my own healing even when in this particular
body.”
“You never said,” he mutters, frowning harder.
Tilting his head as he shrugs, Stiles remarks, “I didn't think it really
mattered. I was fine, and didn't feel like listening to anyone complain about
how easy I am to injure.” Smirking, the younger man continues, “Besides, after
that I started practicing magic a bit more seriously ‘cause it was not
happening again if I could avoid it.”
Still frowning, he thinks about it, trying to recall if there was any reason
his mate would have been injured. The omega who went after Lydia, he realizes,
it was attacking her from behind and Stiles had bashed it with his bat, making
it scream bloody murder but gave the other omega a chance to get him. It had
been just after that that the ice had incased all of the omegas stopping them
from being able to move. Stiles had waved it off as just a reaction and loss of
control, but now he is wondering if that hadn’t been a self defense move to
avoid further injury.
“Stop thinking so hard, I’m fine, they’ll be gone before the end of the school
year. Actually, if I am lucky close to every mark on my body except the
freckles will be gone by then.” His mate tells him with another shrug.
He’s not sure whether to sigh or shake his head. Only Stiles would think being
so badly injured would be an okay thing.
“Cuddle with me for a bit?” his mate queries, “’Cause I think my shoulder
ruined the mood if I am reading your expression right.”
He just nods, agreeing but not sure how his mate wants to cuddle. The only time
he really cuddled with Laura was during the full moon when they were wolves,
otherwise it was another thing he avoided.
“However you are most comfortable,” his spark comments, “I’m easy to please
when it comes to cuddling.”
He nods again, thinking about it. Pulling his legs up, he takes his boots off
and sets them carefully beside the bed before moving over a bit and waiting for
Stiles to join him.
Stiles stretches for a moment, reaching his long arms above his head and
rolling his shoulders.
He nearly flinched at the popping noise. It seems so much louder than is
healthy.
“Perfect,” Stiles groans as he puts his arms back down, lazily waving a hand
towards the light switch as he does so. “Small things like that are actually
harder than calling things to me,” the younger man comments as he crawls up on
the bed and stretches out beside him. “Any preference?”
“I,” he starts but stops and blushes because it seems so much more intimate now
that the room is shadowy. Clearing his throat, he tries again, “I don’t,” he
just ends up shrugging helplessly.
Stiles nods, eyes understanding, “Okay, well then, I am going to be the little
spoon and you can keep me warm. Okay?”
He nods slowly, agreeing to that plan. How much contact is this going to take?
How much is allowed? What if Stiles wants to move away because he finds himself
uncomfortable or disgusted?
“Derek,” his mate comments, breath fanning hotly against his face, drawing his
attention out of his mind.
He blinks, then looks down in embarrassment.
“It’s alright, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” The younger man
states, “Before you start thinking that I don’t want to, that’s not what I am
saying in the least, I am looking forward to it, but I know you’re not used to
this much closeness.” One of his mate’s hands comes up to lightly run down his
arm, ending on his hand to squeeze his hand reassuringly
He squeezes Stiles hand back, biting his lip a bit before suggesting, “You can
get comfortable and I can curl up along your back?”
“Sounds good,” the younger man agrees. Stiles presses close for a moment,
lightly kissing his cheek before he rolls to his other side and scoots back a
bit since it had put him on the edge of the bed. “Make sure you’re comfortable
too.” Stiles twists his upper body around so they are looking at each other as
he continues, “If that means backing off, back off. If it means staying still,
stay still. I’m a twitchy sleeper, and Scott’s told me I am a lot like a
starfish, my limbs end up everywhere.” His eyes are as serious as his face.
He nods in understanding, before remembering that Stiles doesn’t have as good
of eyesight as he does. Or does he and just hasn’t said anything? “Yeah,” he
answers, a soft chuckle escapes him as he remembers the starfish comment,
“Doesn’t that hurt?” he queries, lifting a hand to motion to how Stiles is
lying.
The smirk he get in response is purely mischievous, “Oh, I’m very flexible,”
that is accompanied by an eye wiggle and a leer.
He chuckles again, shaking his head as the younger man straightens back out,
back to him.
He sobers up when he realizes that Stiles is waiting for him.
“Would it be easier if I was talking?” his mate asks softly.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, shifting a little bit closer.
“Well, how do you normally sleep?” Stiles queries curiously.
“With my back against a wall facing the door so I can respond quickly to a
threat. Any noise wakes me up,” he replies, thinking that he sounds pathetic.
What sort of weakling is always on guard like that?
“Derek?” his spark interrupts his thinking again.
“Yeah?” he mutters, still feeling embarrassed and like he is weak.
“It’s called being hypervigilant and is a common behavior in those who have
dealt with a trauma.” Stiles explains quietly. “The bed’s not against the wall,
but we are facing the door. I have the window spelled so only pack can come
through. If you want I can make it so no one can come through it tonight.”
He scoots a little closer, almost closing the gap between them again. “It’s
fine,” he mutters. Very quietly he asks, “Mind if I put my arm over your
waist?”
“Go for it,” he can hear the smile in his mate’s tone, “However you feel
comfortable, I’m a cuddle hound.” There is a pause, Stiles voice dropping as he
mutters, “But I rarely get a chance to cuddle with anyone. Scott used to cuddle
with me before Allison, but,” his mate trails off, voice getting soft enough he
can barely hear him even with his werewolf hearing, “it’s not important.”
“Stiles,” he murmurs, wanting to comfort his mate.
He finishes closing the gap between them, pressing his body all along his
mate’s back. Since they are nearly the same height, with the younger man only
being an inch taller, it made fitting them easy enough. He tucks his head into
the crook between neck and head, the arm facing up goes over Stiles waist, hand
splaying over his mate’s stomach, and he fits a leg between his mates. Stiles
snuggles back him, fitting his firm ass against cradle of his hips.
“Thank you,” the younger man murmurs softly, hands coming up to hold his.
Stiles thumbs lightly stroking his knuckles.
He nuzzles the back of his mate’s neck lightly. Part of him wants to nip at the
tender flesh and mark it, another part just wants to press soft kisses and make
sure nothing else hurts his mate. He wiggles a bit, rolling his shoulders in
slightly and freeing his arm. Carefully he runs his fingers over his mate’s
back, feeling each of the marks. On the ones he pauses on, his mate quietly
tells him what caused the mark. Each one makes him flinch and feel as if he has
failed.
He’s the pack’s alpha, he’s supposed to make sure nothing happens to them. At
least he is supposed to try, and that means he’s supposed to know when one of
his pack mates is injured. Yet he was barely aware of all the times Stiles was
injured according to the marks.
His spark startles him when he suddenly rolls and is facing him.
Long fingers cup his face as his mate fiercely states, “They’re not your fault.
You have no reason to feel guilty.”
“I’m the al —“ he begins only to be quieted by Stiles pressing their lips
together gently.
“Not,” soft kiss directly on his lips, “your,” light kiss to the corner of his
lips, “fault,” light kiss to the other side. “Okay?”
“Okay,” he responds, thinking that it is his fault but he wasn’t going to argue
with the younger man.
Now that they are facing each other, they tangle their legs together. His
mate’s hands are lightly cupping his face.
“May I?” Stiles inquires, hand twitching slightly against his skin.
“Yeah,” he answers, a low thrum of excitement coursing through his veins. Some
reason Stiles — his mate Luc — still wants him. He knows he is considered
appealing physically, but he is also somewhat sure that is not what Stiles is
drawn to.
“Luc?” he murmurs questioningly.
“Yeah?” his mate’s hands freeze against him, the slight twitching slowing down.
“Why me?” he really is curious about the answer.
“It was you even before I cast that spell,” his mate responds calmly. “You’re
protective,” light kiss to his lips. “You’re expressive, even if it’s mostly in
facial expressions,” soft kiss to his cheek. “You’re passionate, even if most
of the time it is tightly controlled,” his breath catches in his throat as he
kisses his eye. “You’re gentle,” light kiss to his other eye, “You’re
thoughtful,” light kiss to his other cheek. “You are you,” soft kiss on his
lips.
Instinctively his hands come up to cup his spark’s face as he murmurs brokenly,
“Stiles.” It is his turn to press kisses to the younger man’s lips and face,
repeating both of his names.
As he continues the kissing, his mate’s hands slide lightly across his face,
along the column of his neck, down his shoulders, and over his chest. Despite
the fact they are on his chest, they are kept to the sides, never touching the
firm muscle of his abdomen.
As their lips connect again, he deepens the kiss, holding Stiles head where it
is as he hesitantly opens his mouth, his tongue flicking out to trace the
younger man’s lips.
Groaning, his mate opens up, letting him run his tongue along his mate’s blunt
human teeth and for their tongues to meet, twining together and teasing each
other.
“Stiles,” he groans as he rolls onto his back, taking the younger man with him,
“Luc.” He whispers before connecting their lips again.
Stiles gasps in the kissing as they change positions. He smiles against his
mate’s lips as Stiles catches himself on his elbows rather than falling
directly on top of him.
“May I?” his spark queries huskily, hands hovering just above his skin.
“Yeah,” he answers, confused why Stiles keeps asking. “Why?”
“Why do I want to or why do I keep asking?” his mate questions softly, kissing
him lightly again.
He nods, figuring that the younger man will understand since he seems to keep
doing so.
“Why I ask is more important I think,” his mate muses, voice getting serious as
he continues, “I ask because its polite. I ask because it’s better to know your
boundaries then to push you too far. I ask because I care.”
“Oh,” he mumbles, “thank you.”
His mate’s expression lightens and he nods, stating playfully, “Plus Lydia.
She’s drilled me repeatedly on having manners and asking permission. She’d beat
me silly if she thought I didn’t listen.” Chuckling, the spark finishes with,
“She can be very scary when she’s determined.”
A huff of laughter escapes as he pictures the scene, “She can be,” he agrees.
Instead of commenting again, his mate presses his lips to the corner of his
mouth before taking his time kissing a soft trail along the edge of his jaw,
tongue light rasping at his stubble. Stiles skips over his neck, kissing and
nibbling along his collarbone before working his way lower, hands stroking his
sides, absently tracing runes into his skin as the spark continues his
downwards path.
He groans, back arching when Stiles licks his nipple before drawing into his
mouth and nibbling on it.
“Stiles,” he moans as the younger man licked as path across his chest to his
other nipple, repeating the process there.
His hands run down the younger mans jaw and neck, fingers following the path of
the muscles and bones, not as startled by the feel of the scars beneath his
fingers this time. As the pleasure builds, he feels his wolf coming to the
surface, wanting to be just as involved and nearly jerks his hands away when
his claws come out once more.
Stiles hand glide continue their downward path as his lips lightly trace over
his flat stomach. When his mate’s tongue swirls around his belly button, his
back arches hard and his hips jerk upwards, seeking friction.
“Stiles,” he gasps, “Luc.”
“I’ve got you, Derek, nothing more than you're comfortable with.” His mate
reassures him, pressing his cheek against his chest and looking up at him with
bright but human eyes.
His lips twitch and he smiles a little hesitantly, drawing one of his hands up
to stroke his sparks’ face, claws lightly running along the smooth skin.
Stiles beams at him, pleasure filling the air surrounding them along with the
lust that is already there. Somehow the younger manages to turn his head,
catching his fingers and claws with his mouth, tongue lightly curling around
his digits.
That makes him moan, gasping for breath as he is surprised at the feelings
rushing through his system. The hand that his mate isn’t sucking on stops
tracing the muscles and comes up to cradle his mate’s face carefully, so very
aware of the damage he could do with his claws. He is amazed by Stiles’ calm
reaction.
With an obscene noise, his mate lets go of his fingers, pressing soft hot
kisses to his hand.
Stiles rests his head against his hand, pressing it downwards to trap it
between Stiles face and his own stomach. Smiling playfully, his spark softly
blows hot air over his muscles and watching them twitch in fascination.
“Stiles,” he gasps as his muscles twitch again, “I,” he blushes, how to ask
without feeling stupid or like he is in the wrong? “Can we,” each time he
starts and fails to get the question out, he feels worse, “ghnnnn,” he groans
when his mate turns his head to play with those fingers that are under his
head, “Please,” he finally whispers, hoping that Stiles will understand the way
he has with the other one word questions of the evening.
Bright human eyes study him for a moment. A tender smile curving his spark’s
lips as he presses them gently to his belly, giving him light kisses.
“Please,” he repeats, hands reaching for the younger man though he is not
exactly sure why.
“It’s alright, Derek, I’ll take care of you,” Stiles promises quietly, pressing
one more open mouth kiss to his belly before he sits up.
He immediately feels the loss and wants his mate back. Stiles wouldn’t stop,
not now. At least that’s what he hopes. Has he done something wrong? No, Stiles
wouldn’t promise to take care of him if he had done something wrong. Still, why
is he sitting up?
“Derek, love, come back to me,” he hears as soft, calloused hands cradle his
face, thumbs stroking over his jaw.
He blinks a few times, focusing in on Stiles who is sitting straddling his
hips, leaning down lightly to cup his face as he quietly speaks.
“There you are,” his mate murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, “May I
unbutton your jeans?”
”Yes,” he nearly growls in excitement, “Oh yes.”
Stiles smiles warmly at him, lips pressing one last feathery kiss to his before
the younger man starts down his body. The younger man takes his time. Tongue
rasping against his skin of his throat. Pausing only briefly to swirl around
the hallow at the base before continuing downward. On his chest, Stiles
scatters butterfly kisses across it, mostly focusing on going straight down the
middle with only a pause to tease each of his nipples for a time. When he
starts to writhe and moan in need, his lover continues to teasing way down.
He gasps when his mate’s hands leave his face, running down sides. Stroking and
caressing his skin. It sends a thrill of pleasure through him, particularly
since his mate is taking care not to touch him in spots that makes him flinch.
It's when Stiles reaches his bellybutton that he gasps the younger man’s name,
back arching as the pleasure and heat pools even lower in his belly. Like a
fire to his nerves.
“I’ve got you, it’s okay love,” his spark murmurs against his skin, lips barely
moving away from his skin, tongue lapping lightly at his belly as he continues
down. “I love your salty spice taste.”
The endearment makes his heart pound and his muscles tighten in shock.
When Stiles reaches his waist band, he scoots his legs backwards a bit, hands
running along the edge of his pants but stopping just above the button. Whiskey
amber eyes catch his as the younger man looks up, softly asking, “You sure?”
“Yes,” he growls again, feeling his teeth lengthening as his body shifts
further, he is almost all the way in the beta form half way between wolf and
human. His eyes widen in shock for a moment, worrying about Stiles reaction.
“Hey, shhhh, it’s alright,” his mate leans down to kiss his stomach, “You’re
adorable no matter the form.”
He can hear the sincerity in Stiles voice, and growls low in his throat, not in
a threat but in pleasure.
“May I?” his mate queries one more time, fingers brushing under his waist band.
“Yes,” he growls again.
“Awesome,” Stiles remarks happily, “If you get the urge to get me out of these,
just give a tug and I’ll be out of them faster than you can blink.”
He nods slightly, but doesn’t give a tug yet.
Without speaking further, his mate flicks the button open and tugs the zipper
down, hands skimming along the under edge of his pants, slowly pulling them
down as he lifts his hips.
He swallows hard, features fading back into purely human as his nerves spike.
What if Stiles doesn’t actually like what he looks like totally naked? He’s not
cut, would have been worthless as a werewolf because of his healing ability.
He’s got more hair down there because it has been years since he felt the need
to do more than wash. Then there is the fact he does have a knot, even though
it’s never actually swollen, it’s still there. She always taunted him for—
“Ouch!” he snaps jerking to prop himself up with his elbows and stare at
Stiles.
“Sorry, I tried talking, and kissed your stomach a few times, but that seemed
to make you worse,” Stiles sounds apologetic, “Figured it’d get your attention
and not be tied to whatever memory was in your mind if I bit your inner thigh.”
He snorts, giving a small shake of his head, “You were right.”
Mischief enters his mate’s expression, “I almost skimmed your underwear off,
but would prefer to make sure that’s alright first.” The younger man’s
expression gets a bit more serious and appreciative as he states, “I'll
probably come way faster than I want, ‘cause damn you look good.” His mate
leans over without breaking eye contact, pressing his lips against the skin
just above his black boxer-briefs, tongue flicking out to lap at his skin, “You
taste good.” He nuzzles the skin he had been kissing just moments before, “You
smell good.”
Pushing himself upright, he grabs his mate’s shoulders, pulling him up and
groaning at the friction before kissing the younger man hard. It is only after
they break apart, both breathing a bit harder from arousal that he wonders if
he should have asked first.
Stiles nips at his lower lip and he blinks at the mischievous expression
filling those whisky eyes.
“Feel free to kiss me whenever you want,” his spark tells him seriously but
still smiling.
His lips curve in a smile as he takes Stiles up on the offer, pressing them
back together and licking at his lips, a pleased rumble escaping him as he
deepens the kiss.
Several long minutes are spent with them simply kissing. His mate settled on
his lap, their chests pressed close together, and hands stroking each other’s
bodies.
He keeps growling low in his throat, enjoying the contact, and scent filling
the air.
Stiles keeps whining breathlessly, soft noises that make him hard and needy.
Low moans and quiet groans spike the lust as surely as his scent.
When they finally break apart, he takes his time merely studying the younger
man’s flushed skin. Enjoying the way the pale skin seems to be lit with an
inner warmth. His lips are kiss reddened and swollen, eyes heavy lidded and
dilated so that only thin bands of amber show their normal color.
“Beautiful,” he mumbles pressing a kiss to the junction of neck and shoulder,
smiling when the younger man tips his head to the other side, giving him better
access.
“Derek,” Stiles moans, hands nearly clutching at his back.
He worries for a moment he is doing something wrong, but his senses tell him
that he is not, that he’s doing something right. Which is good. Now if only he
can make sure to keep up the progress, without another space-case moment, he’ll
be great.
Since Stiles has been doing practically all the work this time so far, he flips
them, using the fact he is stronger and faster to do so. What he doesn’t expect
is getting thrown off the bed and against the wall.
“Shit, sorry, you alright?” Stiles is asking before he has even had a chance to
catch his breath, the younger mans eyes wide, scent a combination of worried,
aroused, and pleased.
Straighten, he nods, “I’m fine.” He’s curious how his spark had thrown him and
why, at the same time he is quite pleased because it shows Stiles can defend
himself in a pinch.
“Sorry, sort of a panic reaction I am working on controlling,” his mate
mutters, blushing and ducking his head as he does so.
He nods, stretching a bit, hands reaching for the ceiling and pressing them
without too much trouble.
All the concern vanishes from his mate’s scent as the younger man’s eyes rake
over him, tongue absently flicking out to wet his lips.
It takes him a moment to notice the change in scent because he is too focused
on the way his sparks tongue keeps peeking out from between his lips. It’s
making him think of other things that tongue could be doing.
Of course his wolf is preening. His mate is looking at him like that. It’s
himthat makes the younger man reek of lust and desire. It’s himthat his mate
desires. Giving a small shake of his head, he clears the thoughts running
through his mind, even if this time they are a bit nicer than the thoughts from
earlier.
Stalking back to the bed, it’s his turn to settle above his mate’s hips, though
he asks with a glance before actually climbing on the bed, much to his mate’s
amusement.
“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, “Oh hell yeah.”
So a few breaths later, he is balancing on his knees, legs bracketing his
mate’s as his eyes roam over all the pale flesh.
“Can I?” he asks, suddenly feeling the desire to touch Stiles in the same
manner.
“Oh yeah,” his spark agrees, allowing his body to flop backwards, tucking his
hands behind his head.
Smiling shyly, he settles his hands on the area just above his mate’s pants
before running his fingers lightly upwards, learning the feel of Stiles’ skin.
Unlike with his shoulder, he doesn’t pause on the patches of different skin
from scars as he explores the front, instead he merely traces them, learning
each ones texture and differences from the skin around it. Those he can
identify he presses kisses to, an apology or acceptance, he is not sure.
When he reaches Stiles’ nipples, he lightly licks at one, while he uses his
fingers to tease the other. He is delighted to discover that his mate is just
as sensitive there as he is, and spends several minutes playing with.
The only reason he stops is his mate starts rocking his hips, seeking friction,
pupils blown wide, breathe coming out it short huffs as he grips the blankets
beneath them.
“Am I doing something wrong?” he asks when he sees that. Stiles has been
touching him all night. Why would he be feeling to grab the blanket now?
“No,” his spark instantly answers, “You’re doing everything right and I’m
trying not to come in my pants.”
He just about smirks, because that means he is doing it more than right, and
that is a good thing. After a moment of thinking about it, he lightly tugs on
the jeans, thinking of asking if he can take them off, only to be startled when
Stiles presses up for a minute, a moment later shimming them off and kicking
them to the floor.
It takes everything in him not to laugh when he sees the Marvel boxers that are
most obviously tented right along what appears to be a spider web.
“They’re definitely you,” he mumbles, trying to think of what to do next.
“Thanks,” his mate responds with a smirk, “Any plans for next?”
He gives a small shake of his head, because he really isn’t sure what to do.
Back then, she lead everything, telling him what to do, leaving when he got
something wrong, and not really caring how much he enjoyed it or not.
“Well, there are a couple of options,” his spark offers. “We can keep making
out until we come, which I think will be sooner than later since I can smell
the sex in the air and that’s with a plain human nose. We can finish getting
undressed and I can see if that thing I did with a banana will actually work.
We can finished getting undressed and just explore each until we are coming. Or
we can finish getting undressed and have actual sex, though if it’s the last
option, we’re going to need the lube out of the bottom of my nightstand.”
There is almost an overwhelming amount of choices, so he inquires, “Which do
you want?”
Stiles’ smile is mischievous as he answers, “Nice try, but this is about your
desires, not mine, I’m game for all the options or I wouldn’t have suggested
them.”
His eyes narrow but he accepts that with a nod, “I don’t know,” he finally
mutters, looking away because it’s embarrassing.
Sitting up, his mate lightly loops his arms around his shoulder and nuzzles his
cheek with his face, “That’s okay too.”
“How’s it okay? I’m twenty-two. I should know which option I like best, but I
don’t, they all sound good.” He grumbles, tucking his head into his mate’s
shoulder, absently pressing little kisses against the skin.
“When would you have learned? It’s okay not knowing, in no way does it make you
worth less.” The spark whispers in his ear. Voice soft and caring, honest and
sincere.
He wraps his arms around the younger man’s lower back, nodding as he considers
the options.
Now that are pressed so close together he can feel exactly how turned on his
mate is, the younger man almost matches him for hardness.
“Explore,” he finally answers, blushing because it’s been years since he was
naked in an intimate situation.
“Awesome,” Stiles agrees with a nod.
Still they stay pressed together for several more minutes, arms wrapped around
each other, each teasing the other’s neck. He is surprised at how much he
doesn’t mind that. After all, he’s a born werewolf, necks are one area that is
normally avoided since showing it is a sign of submission. Yet it feels
perfectly natural for his mate to touch and kiss and lick him there.
Eventually his hands trail downwards, cupping Stiles’ ass through the thin
material of his boxers. In reaction the younger man rocks his hips, rubbing
them against each other through the material of the underwear, making both of
them moan.
“May I?” Stiles inquires, hot breath fanning over his ear, hands having drifted
down his back to the top of his boxer-briefs, one finger lightly tracing the
edge.
“Yes,” he growls, wanting and needing the contract.
“Awesome,” his spark murmurs, tongue flicking out to trace the rim of his ear,
making him buck in surprise and desire.
He fingers the top of Stiles’ briefs, and tugs on them lightly to see if the
same rule from before applies. He’s happy when he sees it does because somehow
Stiles sheds them without hardly moving, and still managing to pull his off as
well.
“Let’s stretch back out,” his mate suggests, “It will make reaching and
exploring easier.”
He nods in agreement, quickly moving to the side while Stiles flops backwards
and rolls onto his side.
“May I?” Stiles asks as his hand hovers just above his skin.
He nods, arching a questioning eyebrow as he mimics the motion.
“Oh yes,” the younger man agrees.
He returns to tracing the marks on his mate’s skin, enjoying the differing
textures. Stiles strokes his hands over his side, shoulders, and what he can
reach of his back. Eventually the younger man is actually the first to stroke
lower, hand running down his side and not stopping at the top of his pelvis,
instead it continues on its way down his leg before raking his blunt nails on
the way up.
“Can I touch you Derek? Can I wrap my hand around your beautiful cock? Can I
stroke it and squeeze it? Can I learn how it feels in my hand as you throb?”
Stiles whispers in his ear, leaning close so he barely has to say it and he can
hear every word of it.
Each word makes him twitch in need, his cock aching and throbbing more than he
can ever remember, even back then.
“Fuck yes!” he nearly snarls.
The words are barely out of his mouth when Stiles hand closes around him,
stroking him from tip to root.
Gasping, his back arches into that contact, pleasure rushing through him like a
lightning storm, making every nerve come alive.
“More, please, Stiles, please,” he just about keens. His wolf comes to the
surface again, his claws and fangs immerging faster than he can control.
Shifting a bit closer, so there is next to no space between them, his mate
lines their cocks up, rubbing them together and wrapping his fist firmly around
them both, though his fingers barely touch. When his mate starts rolling his
hips, he gasps, body shaking.
Only four thrusts later he is coming with a drawn out groan, “Stiles.”
“I’ve got you, it’s alright,” his mate murmurs as he works him through his
orgasm.
He can feel how close the younger man is to coming and he reaches between them,
stopping Stiles from finishing himself off.
“Can I?” he asks bashfully.
Stiles smiles at him in response, nuzzling their cheeks together as he simply
answers, “Of course.”
He can feel how close his mate is, and he barely has to move his hand a few
times before Stiles is spilling all over them, coating both their chests and
his hand as he continues to stroke until his mate is spent.
Carefully he lets go, fingers itching to dip into the mess and mix it together
before spreading it on them.
“Go ahead,” his mate mumbles sleepily, “Though we’re getting cleaned up before
it becomes too much of a sticky mess.”
“Okay,” he responds, happily swirling it together and using his fingers to rub
it into their skin so they smell like each other.
“Screw it,” his spark mutters eventually, “I feel too good to move, we’ll just
sort of wipe up the mess instead,” and he holds his hand out, catching his
shirt as it lifts off the floor.
Before Stiles can do anything, he takes the shirt and wipes up the mess,
starting with their skin and moving on to the blanket. Once he got as much as
possible, he tosses it back on the floor. This is the point where she would
have left or told him to leave, so what to do now? Should he get up and get
dressed?
“Derek?”
“Yeah?” he responds as he starts to feel like he is panicking because he
doesn’t know what he is supposed to do.
“Help me get under the blankets, and then, if you want to, and only if you want
to, curl up with me. I’d like to try sleeping in your arms if you want to give
it a try,” his mate tells him sleepily.
Stiles wants him to stay? But why? Doesn’t matter, he’s happy about it, if he
had his way he would sleep with his spark every night.
Getting out of the bed on somewhat wobbly legs, he tugs the blanket out from
under his mate, laying it carefully over him, and crawling under it with him.
He goes to pull Stiles close but he’s not actually sure how his mate wants to
sleep, so he dithers for a long moment.
“Get comfortable Derek,” his spark tells him.
He stretches out on his back but pressed up against his mate’s, and waits to
see what happens next.
“Comfortable?” Stiles inquires sleepily.
“Yeah,” he replies, finding he actually is. How odd, he’ll have to think about
it later.
“Good, if you don’t mind, I’m using you for a pillow,” the younger man tells
him as he rolls to face him.
He smiles at the idea, and nods, “Yeah. I don’t mind.”
“Awesome,” his mate mumbles, pressing their bodies together from toe to
shoulder, one leg getting thrown over his, an arm over his torso, and Stiles’
head resting on his shoulder. His mate’s hot breath fans his neck making
goosbumps raise along his skin as he mumbles, “G’night Derek.”
“Goodnight Luc,” he whispers in response, pretty sure his mate is already
asleep. That’s alright though, because he is not far behind. For the first time
in years he feels like he is home, wrapped in his mate’s arms and scent.
Chapter End Notes
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