Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3407468.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski, Peter_Hale, Alan_Deaton
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Forced_Bonding, Mates, Sheriff_Stilinski's_Name_is_John,
      Good_Peter, POV_Derek, Creature_Stiles, Same-Sex_Marriage, Sexual
      Dysfunction, Suicide_Attempt
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-22 Words: 17636
****** Not Perfect, But So Very Good ******
by ladyoneill
Summary
     The Nogitsune leaves something behind in Stiles, something that
     twists him, breaks him, cracks his mind, and turns him not quite
     human. In order to heal and save him, he needs a strong anchor to the
     world. A mating bond with a werewolf is the best to way to achieve
     this and Derek is the only viable option. While both he and Stiles
     have an unspoken desire for the other, Stiles doesn't want to bond
     with Derek because he thinks he deserves punishment, not to be given
     something he wants on a silver platter. Derek just feels guilty as
     always, more so because he's forcing the bond. Will these two broken
     young men heal themselves and each other and find their way to a
     strong and abiding love? Can they control or even get rid of the
     thing lurking inside of Stiles that wants to hurt everyone he loves?
     And can Derek ever shake off the past and move forward?
Notes
     Written for the Stiles/Derek Big Bang, and yet another twist on the
     forced bonding/mating theme. Ignores the last couple of episodes of
     Season 3 as the cure for Stiles' possession is very different. Also
     Allison lives. I've used the rape/noncon tag because the first sex is
     rushed, not very good for either of them, and somewhat against both
     their wills (plus the bonding is unwanted by Stiles, too, at first)--
     in the end, Stiles consents, but Derek still considers it rape. They
     work this out. Finally, on the show Derek has a coffee table.
     Consider it broken or missing here. Please see the end notes for the
     reasoning behind the sexual dysfunction tag and suicide attempt if
     either of these might be a trigger.
     And go gush over the art here!
See the end of the work for more notes
          [http://www.meanderingmuse.com/bigbang/coverart_banner.jpg]
Derek listens to Deaton's quiet voice, but his attention is on the boy curled
in a ball on the floor surrounded by a circle of mountain ash.
Ash he can no longer manipulate.
Stiles' magic is broken, his spark a dead ember in his damaged mind. The
Nogitsune left something behind, enough of itself to make Stiles supernatural
to a sufficient degree that he can be contained by the circle of ash.
Not that he's moved since Scott placed him there.
The Alpha is crouched just outside the circle, beside his best friend,
murmuring to him, trying to soothe him.
But, how do you soothe someone who believes they committed so many atrocities?
Derek knows that it doesn't matter how many times Scott, his dad, everyone
tells him none of it was his fault, he didn't do those things, Stiles will
never believe them.
He understands that kind of guilt, and his bright blue eyes rest on the boy in
sympathy.
"Derek, are you listening to me?"
Flushing slightly he jerks himself back from his thoughts to Deaton's frowning
face. "Yes." No.
Deaton huffs. "He can't be left to himself. Despite the fact that the dementia
was a lie created by the Nogitsune to explain away some of his actions, Stiles'
mind is splintered. He needs to be brought back to himself."
"Therapy?" But, even as he asks the question, Derek knows that's not an option.
He searched long and hard for a psychologist with knowledge of the supernatural
and the last one died nearly ten years ago. Regular therapy won't work.
"It won't help if he can't discuss the truth. There are only two options. A
lifetime in an institution where his talking about the supernatural will be
written off as delusions, or a bond."
Derek startles, straightens up from his slump against the counter. "What kind
of bond?"
"A soul bond between Stiles and a werewolf should be enough to anchor him in
reality. He'll still need a lot of help to right his mind, but the bond will
assist with that."
"I'll do it," Scott says softly, his eyes never leaving Stiles' shuddering
body.
Deaton shakes his head. "It shouldn't be you. You don't have
the...temperament."
Snarling, Scott turns flashing red eyes on the vet, "He's my best friend. I'm
his Alpha, his brother. No one else knows him like I do!"
"Scott," Deaton explains patiently, "the nature of a soul bond isn't platonic."
Scott flushes but stubbornly replies, "I'll still do it."
"You could never be with anyone else," Derek states, because he knows about
soul bonds. They're rare now, but in the past were common amongst Alphas and
their mates to bring stability to each and the pack. Scott falls silent and
Derek continues, "I've never heard of one between a wolf and a human."
"Stiles is no longer completely human. The ritual will work, but the wolf must
be strong."
Deaton's eyes on him tell him all he needs to know.
A strong wolf. An older wolf.
Not a teenager.
And someone Stiles can trust, so neither of the former Alphas.
His heart sinking--because he wants this, has wanted this...him...for a long
time, but not like this--Derek nods in acceptance.
Scott protests, but they grow more and more feeble, and finally he stomps his
way out of the back room of the clinic.
"I need to talk to him," Derek nods towards Stiles who remains unresponsive.
"I'll prepare the ritual. He...doesn't need to agree, Derek."
He knows that, too. The ritual was sometimes used to bring power mad Alphas
under control, and even, a few times to legitimize rape. As Deaton leaves the
room, Derek shudders at the very thought and silently walks over to crouch next
to Stiles.
"Stiles?"
Patiently he waits, watching the tremors going through the younger man,
smelling the stale sweat and tears on his skin--and the pervasive fear and
horror--until Stiles slowly turns his head and blinks up at him.
"Did you listen to any of that? Do you understand?"
Stiles licks chapped, bitten lips, nods, but his eyes are empty, their amber
now a burnished, tarnished gold. "Can't. Won't do that to you. No. I'm saying
no. Lock me away. Kill me. All I deserve. Not you," he whispers the last.
"It's my choice."
"Not mine," he blazes back, half rising, then falling back into his ball, arms
straining as they wrap so tightly around his body, as if he's holding himself
together.
Maybe he is.
"It doesn't have to be," Derek responds coldly because he's not going to allow
Stiles' stubbornness or desire to be a martyr destroy him more than he's
already destroyed.
Anger flashes across Stiles' face and Derek nearly crows in joy. It's the first
true emotion outside of hopelessness and despair and self-hatred that he's
displayed.
"No."
Just shrugging, Derek says,"It's done. The decision's been made. We're not
letting you break any more and we're certainly not letting you die."
Tears sparkle in the younger man's eyes and he pushes himself up until he's on
his knees, hands pressing against the invisible barrier between them. "I
deserve it, Derek. I did...oh God, so many horrible...I was there, the whole
time, screaming in my mind, and it just laughed and kept hurting people. It
hurt you. I hurt you."
"I survived."
"But, dozens didn't! I killed..." He gags, trembling hands going to his mouth
for a moment before he shakes it off and forces it out, "So many. Killed,
murdered. I should be in jail. My father..."
"Won't do that. He understands."
"I don't understand, how can he?" Stiles wails, burying his face in his hands
and crying.
Derek wishes the barrier was gone. He needs to comfort him, but there'll be
time for that.
All the time in the world.
For a moment the weight of what he's about to do, the knowledge of what they
will become, hits him hard and his breath hitches, and Stiles' tear-swollen
eyes laser in on him.
"You can't want this," he whispers.
"I want you," Derek replies baldly, "And I want to help you."
Tears drying up, Stiles stares at him, then swallows convulsively. "You want
me?"
He can feel his face reddening--his desire for Stiles has been there for a long
time but something he's been determined to ignore--but he nods.
"And we'll have to have sex?"
"We'll want to." At Stiles' frustrated look, Derek sighs and rubs a hand over
his face as he tries to recall details from long ago read tales and stories
told him by his mother and uncle. "The bond will anchor us both to each other.
We'll be able to feel what the other feels, aid in calming each other or
helping each other keep control. We'll strengthen each other emotionally and
bolster each other when we're weak. It should let me help you rebuild your
sanity."
"Can I keep you out?"
"No, and I can't keep you out either."
He looks appalled. "I don't want you feeling everything I'm feeling. God,
Derek..."
"The bond can be kept in the background, but if you try to keep me out, I can
force my way in. We don't have to feel everything. I've heard that it's all
instinctual, not even something we'll need to work on."
"So, you'd have to want to feel my emotions?"
"Yes."
"And I can do the same to you?"
"Yes."
"And that doesn't bother you?"
Derek opens his mouth to deny it, but... "A little." He sighs. "You're so
young, illegally young, and while I want you, I planned to...never do anything
about it."
"You have to know I want you back.
The look Derek must be giving him makes Stiles actually snort and it's the
first indication that the real him is still here.
"Yeah." Sighing, Stiles runs his hand through his hair, making it stand on end.
"You're going to do this regardless of what I want, aren't you."
"I'm sorry." He is. To force a bond, it's not something he ever thought he'd be
capable of. It's not...what his mother would have wanted. But, even feeling the
weight of disapproval from generations of Hales, he'll do it.
Stiles can't...disappear.
"Do you know what I am now?"
"Not human."
The boy--young man--sighs again, almost a sob and drags his knees to his chin,
burying his face there. "Can I see my dad?"
"It's...not a good idea, Stiles. Not yet."
Stiles jerks up his head and starts to cry, "I won't hur...," then bites back
the words and buries his face again. "When do we do this?" comes out muffled
and a bit shaky.
"Soon."
"...I can feel it squirming in my head."
Yeah, the sooner, the better.
*****
Deaton breaks the ash barrier and Derek's unsurprised when Stiles lunges for
the man, teeth bared in a snarl. Before he can reach Deaton, Derek grabs him
around the waist and hauls him kicking and screaming into the other room where
he can feel the power of the wards wash over him. They let him in, though, and,
keeping a tight grip on Stiles, he places them both in the center of another
circle, this one outlined in chalk and symbols. Deaton quickly draws the final
symbol, trapping them within.
Finally, anger and frustration on his flushed face, Stiles stills. Derek lets
him go and he doesn't try to escape again, just crosses his arms over his chest
and gives him a mulish look.
"I don't consent."
It's Deaton who answers. "You don't need to. Derek, repeat after me..."
The ritual is simple and brief. With snaps in his head, his heart, his gut,
Derek feels the bond begin to form. Stiles whimpers, bites his lip, clutches at
his sides and shakes his head.
"Bastard."
Derek can't look at him, just turns to Deaton who, for once, looks a bit
uncomfortable.
"It would be better for the bond to set here, within the protective circle." As
he speaks, he hands Derek a small tube.
Lubricant.
He's a grown man. He's not going to blush.
"Derek, you'll be able to break it. Just erase the final symbol, then please
turn off the lights and lock the back door behind you when you leave."
A moment later, Derek and Stiles are alone.
"What's he mean 'set'? And what did he give..." Eyes dropping to Derek's hand,
Stiles turns fiery red. "Here?" he chokes out.
Nodding, Derek starts to undo his belt buckle, only to have Stiles grab his
arm. "Derek..."
"We can do this quickly and then get out of here. You can get some rest." Derek
still can't look at him, just pulls away from his hand and again reaches for
his belt buckle. "You...you don't need to undress all the way."
"Oh, Derek, you're as broken as I am," Stiles croons nastily.
Jerking his head up, Derek stares in growing horror at the dark miasma of
Stiles' eyes, the crooked smile on his face. Shit. One clawed hand wraps in his
shirt, yanking him into Stiles' hard, lean body, and he can't get away.
The thing that Stiles has become is too strong.
"We can have so much fun. We don't need to bond, Derek. Just let me out of the
circle and we can fuck for hours. I don't have a gag reflex, you know. Just let
me out."
God, the thing is so seductive, so...wrong. What the Hell did the Nogitsune
make him?
"No." Gritting his teeth, Derek balls up his right fist and cracks it across
Stiles' jaw. The claws fly away from his shirt front and the younger man
staggers back, one human hand going to his face, wounded but human eyes turning
on him.
Eyes that fill with horror. "Oh God. I can feel it, what it wants. It's
horrible, Derek!" Stiles' hands yank at his own belt, his zipper, as he shakes
from head to foot and babbles, "It wants to hurt you. It wants to kill people.
It wants me to destroy everyone and everything I love. It's...it's me, Derek.
Oh, God, it's me." Pants and boxer shorts around his knees, he drops hard to
the floor, goes to his elbows and knees, and he's shivering and begging, "Do
it, do it."
Derek can hear the tears in his voice, the terror, and, this isn't how he wants
it. Never in his wildest, darkest dreams.
Swallowing hard, he lowers his jeans and briefs, takes out his dick and starts
to pull on it. He's never felt further from arousal in his life.
"Hurry!"
Not daring to close his eyes, he lets his mind drift to some of his favorite
fantasies of Stiles, the way it should be with him, the way he prays it will be
some day, and he gets hard. Opening the lube, he roughly smears it on, then
drops to his knees and places one hand on Stiles' ass, rubbing his thumb over
the tight pucker.
"Do it," Stiles begs. "Oh, fuck, I can feel it coming back, wanting out."
There's not a hint of arousal, of want coming from the younger man, but he
pushes back against Derek's thumb.
"You're not ready," he chokes out, gently pressing the thumb past the tight
ring of muscles.
"We don't have time. I'll survive."
To just...force it...He can't. It would be rape.
He wriggles his thumb, trying to spread him, before adding a second digit, and
he's so damn tight. This is going to hurt him regardless.
Derek's cock softens a bit.
"Hurt me."
Shocked, Derek looks up into those horrible eyes again, feels Stiles' body
squirm, buck back, wantonly arch.
"You know you want to. Just hold me down and fuck and fuck. But, out of the
circle, Derek. I'll make it so damn good for you, just get us out of this damn
circle."
"No." With a growl, knowing he doesn't have a choice, and feeling sick to his
stomach, he pulls his fingers out and jerks his cock back to hardness before
pressing the head to the tight hole. Too tight.
There's not enough prep, not enough lube inside Stiles, but there's no
alternative. This has to be done and quickly. Closing his eyes so he doesn't
have to see the horrible twisting of Stiles' features, he thrusts hard.
Stiles yells, tries to get away, and Derek grabs his shoulders, pins him down,
and thrusts again. He's hurting them both, but he can't stop. He won't lose
Stiles to the monster inside him.
The yell turns into a howl of fury and the body beneath him thrashes. A jumble
of hateful curses spill from a fang-filled mouth, but Derek doesn't stop
thrusting.
"I will gut you, pull out your intestines and play them like a harp. Rip out
your heart and eat it bit by bit as you die in agony."
With every slam of his pelvis to Stiles' hips, though, the struggles weaken
until he sags and falls silent.
Except for quiet sobs.
He has to end this. End this now!
Concentrating on the fantasy, Derek drives to completion, spilling into his
shaking mate, and the bond settles into place.
Wild emotions flood through him and, purely by instinct, he throws his head
back and howls.
Beneath him, Stiles collapses onto his stomach, which jerks him free, and Derek
cuts off the howl when he notices a few dots of blood on the head of his cock.
The sick feeling returns. Carefully he sinks back onto his heels and rests one
trembling hand on Stiles' ass. He shudders but doesn't try to get away, and
Derek draws out the pain, not even wincing as it burns through him.
He deserves it.
When Stiles relaxes, Derek moves away, rising on shaky legs to jerk his pants
back into place, watching as the young man struggles to do the same. Derek
makes an aborted move to help then lets his outstretched hand fall, and forces
himself to breathe evenly. Dragging himself to his feet, Stiles shoots him a
panicked look over his shoulder.
"Is it...can you feel it?"
"It's still there," Derek replies softly. "But, retreating maybe? I didn't
expect it to be so..." Real. Dangerous. Nasty.
Turning and wrapping his arms around himself, Stiles gives him a dull look. "It
pushed me aside and took over. I...I could hear everything, see everything, but
I wasn't in control. It was just like the Nogitsune. I thought...I thought that
was over."
He looks broken and Derek wants to go to him but he knows comforting is not
something he's good at. Carefully he experiments with the bond, reaches out,
and while Stiles both physically and emotionally shies away, he can sense the
thing is...He's not sure. Hopefully it's going dormant or just fading away
completely, but this is far outside his experience.
"I don't know. I think we're safe for now."
"I can't put my dad at risk until I know it's gone or at least not coming
back."
"I agree, but it didn't want the bond to form, Stiles. I hope that means it
knew bonding with me would start to heal you. Look, we can go to my place. You
can call your dad from there. I'll...I'll even explain things if you can't, and
then tomorrow we make Deaton tell us what's going on. I didn't expect to
see..."
"Claws. Fangs. It had claws and fangs." If possible, Stiles' face gets even
paler and he clutches himself tighter.
Derek decides not to mention the eyes, just moves to break the circle, but
suddenly the younger man is there, grabbing his arm.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes." Pretty sure that the thing inside him, a part of him, isn't coming back
tonight, Derek breaks the circle and eyes Stiles as he stiffens for a long
moment.
Then he relaxes and steps out of the circle.
Derek nearly breathes a sigh of relief until he sees the wince of pain, the
limp. "Are you okay?" He sucks at this--comforting, asking how someone is
doing.
Shrugging, Stiles lies, "I'm fine," and Derek lets the lie stand because he
doesn't know how to address what just happened. "The loft?"
Derek nods and then follows Stiles out the door.
The drive to the loft is uncomfortable for both of them--he notices Stiles
shifting in his seat, wincing in pain, can feel that raw soreness through the
bond--and quiet. By the time they reach the loft, the younger man is exhausted,
dark circles under this eyes, skin too pale except for a nasty bruise forming
across his chin, body trembling. The protective side of Derek just wants to
scoop him up and carry him, but the rational side knows Stiles wouldn't take
that well.
"Um...you can take the bed."
"I can't sleep," Stiles says dully, dragging himself over to the sofa, but he
doesn't sit down.
Derek can feel the fear in the other man. Fear that if he sleeps, the thing
will take him over, or the nightmares will destroy his already fractured mind.
"I'll stay awake while you sleep." At the look Stiles shoots him, he continues,
"I can go without a night's sleep. You're exhausted."
"I can't sleep."
"You're afraid to," he corrects and ignores the stubborn look he receives. He
can feel that, too, and Stiles' anger and frustration.
"I consented. Stop it."
As that seems to come out of nowhere, Derek gives him a baffled look.
"The guilt. You're overflowing with it."
Oh...Having lived with massive guilt for years, he barely notices it anymore.
"You can feel it?"
"Yeah." There's bitterness there and he tries not to wince. He did this. "Stop
it, Derek. I consented. In the end, at least."
"I hurt you," he grinds out, hands clenching into fists at his sides.
"I told you to. Look," Stiles sighs, "I didn't want the bond, but then
that...thing took over and...and...it was the only way, right?"
He looks so young.
Derek nods.
Stiles takes a deep breath and turns towards the bed. "It's big enough for two.
I guess...I mean...We should get used to sleeping together." His voice dies
away in embarrassment and Derek can feel that, too.
He can feel everything. It's not an overwhelming flood, more like a steady
drip, and he really wishes he'd listened to his mother discussing the emotional
side of bonding instead of being bored and wanting to go shoot hoops with his
friends. There has to be a way to block the emotions, or at least make it so
they're unnoticeable. He thought it was supposed to be easy, but he's tired,
too, and his head is starting to ache from overthinking.
They can figure it out together and, Stiles is right. They need to get used to
sharing a bed.
A life.
"Call your dad. I'm going to change, find something for you to sleep in." As he
heads for the chest where he keeps his clothes, he hears Stiles take out his
phone and he can feel his hesitation, but then he says, 'hey dad', and Derek
tunes him out, not wanting to eavesdrop.
It's bad enough he can feel Stiles' emotions--a nearly nauseating mixture of
fear, longing, love, anger, pain, humiliation, and guilt.
His guilt is huge.
Grabbing sweats for himself and a pair of too-small ones and a t-shirt for
Stiles that he leaves on the bed, Derek heads to the bathroom.
When he emerges, cleaned up, sweat pants hanging low on his hips, he finds
Stiles sitting on the end of the bed, head bent down, shoulders slumped. He
doesn't look up.
"He...doesn't understand. I mean, he's relieved I'm okay, but then I pretty
much lied about that. I couldn't tell him about the thing I've become. I don't
know what the Hell that is. He's not happy I'm not coming home or won't let him
come over and he made me promise you'll go explain everything to him in the
morning and that just means he's going to end up shooting you and..."
"Stiles."
Swivelling his head, he flushes in embarrassment. "Sorry. Babbling. Just..."
His shoulders fall even further.
"You're wiped out. Go change and...and come to bed."
"I'll wake you screaming from nightmares," is the dull reply even as the
younger man rises and grabs up the pile of clothes.
Derek wants to respond with something comforting, but all he knows to do is nod
as he climbs into bed and Stiles staggers past him.
More guilt and fear and confusion and...Pressing his fists to his temples, he
tries to stop the onslaught and really hopes he's not doing the same thing to
Stiles. But, as he settles against his pillow, something his mother said that
did stick comes back to him.
"If you don't fully accept the bond, you can't control the flow of emotions in
either direction. You need to relax into and it will all come naturally."
Accept?
Groaning, Derek rolls over and buries his face in the pillow. He can hear the
shower running behind the closed bathroom door, so he takes the opportunity to
scream in frustration into the lumpy down wrapped in plain white cotton.
How can he accept something he forced on the boy? How can he relax into the
bond and just allow it to be normal? Nothing is normal!
So lost in his dark thoughts, he doesn't hear the shower turn off or, a few
minutes later, the door open, but he feels the mattress depress, feels a hand
settle on his shoulder.
"Derek?" Stiles whispers. "Stop it, please. Stop feeling guilty. All I can feel
is this massive wave of pain coming from you. How is this instinctual?" He's no
longer whispering, his voice rising and growing agitated as his hand tightens
and tugs at Derek. "Talk to me. I can't sleep like this. Are you feeling the
same horrible shit from me?"
He's hurting his mate.
Turning over and rising on his elbows, Derek takes in Stiles' huddled form, his
damp hair flat to his head, his panic filled eyes, and he takes a deep,
shuddering breath. "I thought...I thought it would be easy."
Stiles' eyes flash, but it's with normal irritation, not that creature's evil.
"This isn't easy." Flopping down, he winces and Derek feels a corresponding
phantom twinge in his lower back. The pain's back.
He hurt him.
"Stop it!"
Startled, Derek goes blank and stares down at Stiles who glares back at him.
"You did not rape me. I consented."
"You didn't have a choice," he chokes out.
"Okay, I consent now. I consent for the future. There's no way to break this,
right?"
"Death," Derek mumbles.
Turning onto his side, Stiles props his head on his fist, and Derek sinks back
down. "Despite my seemingly reckless stupidity, I plan to live a very long
life, so we're stuck with each other. We have to figure this out because I'm
not planning on it being a celibate life."
He can feel heat rise from his neck up his cheeks. He can't mean...
"Horrible first times are a given."
"I hurt..."
"Stop it." Stiles' cheeks flush as well, but in anger, before he forces out a
couple of calming breaths. "Okay, let's try a different tack. You said you've
wanted me, but obviously not like this. Dating?" Derek slowly nods and Stiles
nods back before continuing. "Yeah, that would have been nice, but..." he adds
quickly, cutting off Derek's instinctive response that probably would make him
mad again, "We didn't get that. You had to save me."
"A horrible way to save someone."
"For you, too. Right?" Stiles hesitates and blows out. "Did you enjoy it at
all?"
"I came." Stiles didn't.
"Yeah, sure, but did you enjoy it?"
Opening his mouth to snap back that of course he did but he didn't want to,
Derek stops, closes his lips, thinks...
And sees where Stiles is going.
"Oh." Slowly he shakes his head. He remembers some of his encounters in New
York, in clubs and back alleys where he picked up guys and let them fuck him
just to try to forget the guilt and pain over killing his family, his Alpha. He
usually came, but it was empty.
Earlier...that had felt empty, too, but not wholly, because...there's a chance
of a future here.
If he lets it happen.
"I didn't...like it," Derek mumbles. "Because you didn't."
Slowly Stiles reaches out, brushes trembling fingers over Derek's cheek.
They're warm; they make him tingle. "It's not how I imagined our first time
would be, either, but we had to do it that way, Derek. This thing...I can still
feel it. It's not pushing to come out, but I'm so scared and..."
For the first time in years, Derek reaches up to comfort someone. Stiles lets
him tug him down, head on his chest, arm around his shoulders and hand stroking
him, soothing him. "I'm here. I won't let it get out." He has no clue how he'll
do that, but...
"You're not projecting anymore."
Startled, Derek realizes he's not feeling every wild emotion of Stiles' either,
just a low hum of exhaustion and fear, but it's not overwhelming.
"My mother told me that you have to accept the bond for it to settle
completely, for the instinctual blocks to fall into place."
"I wish I'd known her," Stiles replies with a yawn, and then all Derek can feel
is a calming darkness.
He can sense his mate sleeping.
Trying not to feel bemused, he closes his own eyes, but, as he promised Stiles,
he doesn't sleep.
*****
The sun has only been up for about twenty minutes when Stiles comes fully awake
with a start. Derek hears his heartbeat quicken, his breathing turn to panting,
and carefully he reaches out and places what he hopes is a calming hand on the
younger man's arm.
It doesn't calm him. Stiles falls out of the bed.
"Jesus, warn a guy!"
That's so...him. Derek can't help it, he snorts in amusement and slides from
the other side of the bed as his mate picks himself up and brushes down his
borrowed clothes. But as he walks around the end of the bed, Stile stills,
stiffens.
"Oh," he says softly, his cheeks flushing red. "Um...so all that really
happened?"
Nodding, Derek stops and waits.
Stiles sinks onto the bed and rubs his hands over his face. "Shit, for a minute
I thought it was all just a nightmare. I...Did I have any?" he asks, turning to
look at Derek who continues around the bed to lean on the wall across from the
younger man. He's trying to be casual but he knows he's failing.
"You didn't wake, but you thrashed a bit."
"Did I wake you?"
"I told you I wouldn't sleep." He's tired, but a hot shower and some food will
rejuvenate him. Not sleeping while Stiles does is not feasible for the long
run, though.
"You need to sleep, too." Stiles sighs heavily. "We gotta figure this out. Did
it...did it manifest at all?"
"No." Derek sensed it a couple times, as if was poking at Stiles' skin from the
inside, looking for a way out. "I think the bond trapped it."
"Me. Probably need to stop calling it 'it'. Both of us." He sighs again and
rubs tired eyes. "I feel like I slept for days and also about five minutes. How
is that possible?"
"We're pretty sure that the Nogitsune kept you awake for the past week."
"Jesus." He shudders, then pushes himself up. "I need to see my dad. I can't
just send you over there to explain things. I gotta do it. Is it--do you think
it's safe to see him?"
"Not alone."
"Yeah. Okay. He'll want to talk to you anyway. It's just...he's going to be
so...mad." Stiles voice dies away and for a moment he looks like a scared kid,
then he straightens his spine. "I'm going to make coffee, see if there's
anything to eat, and call him. Have him come over in an hour or so and bring me
some clothes, my laptop. Fuck, I hardly went to school for the last month. I'm
pretty sure I'm failing everything including gym. I have to get back to normal.
We need to see Deaton after dad, okay?"
Frankly Derek's startled by how strong Stiles appears, until he focuses on his
emotions and feels the terror lurking. Bravado, a false front. He'll need that
with everyone else, but not Derek.
Not his mate.
But, how can he tell a sixteen year old kid that he can break with him?
Derek's pretty sure he's not ready to be that vulnerable either, so he nods,
and heads to the bathroom to try to get his thoughts together under hot
pounding water.
Fifteen or so minutes later he emerges to the aroma of freshly brewed coffee
and bacon and eggs. Following his nose into the kitchen, wearing just an old
pair of jeans, his hair still damp, he finds Stiles at the stove, and, knowing
better than to sneak up on him, takes a seat at the counter.
"I could feel you coming. Is that weird?"
Maybe he can't sneak up on him anymore. "I don't know."
"I need to research this bond. I need to understand more, everything." He flips
eggs onto plates already loaded with bacon and buttered English muffins, then
carries them over to the counter, placing one plate in front of Derek.
"Coffee?"
"Yes, please." As Stiles turns back to the coffee pot, Derek takes a bite of
crisp bacon. He couldn't even remember buying bacon. "I'm surprised there was
anything edible in the fridge."
"The eggs were on their last day. The rest was in the freezer." Two cups of
coffee, one doctored with sugar, the other black, join the plates, and Stiles
takes the other stool. Derek's relieved that he doesn't seem to have any issues
sitting, and he can't feel any pain emanating from him, just a bit of ache.
"Stop poking," Stiles says around a large bite of eggs. "Believe me, you'll
know if I'm hurting."
Rebuked, Derek scowls into his coffee.
"And stop with the eyebrows." The younger man sounds annoyed, feels annoyed, is
projecting it.
"You're back to normal very quickly," he snarls, and looks up to meet Stiles'
eyes, and recoils.
The warm honey brown has been replaced with swirling black.
But...
"Derek?"
He feels like Stiles.
"Derek, what's wrong?" Annoyance changes to fear and he clutches at Derek's
arm. "Oh God, is it, am I...? Fuck!" Tears sparkle along his lashes and he
blinks them away and when he does, his eyes are normal again. "What happened?"
Choking on his own saliva, Derek sets his cup down before it drops from
trembling fingers, and takes Stiles' pale face between his hands before finally
murmuring, "Your eyes were black."
Shock fills them now, along with more tears. "But...but...I felt like myself.
Oh God, it really is me now. Am I evil?"
"No." He's sure about that. If the thing is integrating with him, the true
Stiles is dominant. "You were being snarky and pissed off. That's the real
you."
"So, if I start acting all sweet and saying only nice things, you'll, what,
chop off my head?"
Derek rolls his eyes, but is relieved that the terror coming from Stiles starts
to subside. He's also pleased that this episode hasn't wiped out the younger
man's appetite, as he stuffs a whole strip of bacon in his mouth.
Hands back under control, Derek lifts his cup to his lips and drinks some
coffee before resuming his own meal. They're quiet through the rest of it, but
Derek was brought up with manners, so when he's done he quietly thanks Stiles.
"Yeah, well, don't expect it every day. I'm not the little woman," Stiles
replies, brushing off the courtesy because he's uncomfortable with it, not
because he doesn't feel pleased. Derek's beginning to see a few benefits to the
bond.
"Did you call your father?" he asks, rising to take the plates to the sink to
rinse them off.
"Yeah. He'll be here soon. I don't know what to tell him. Maybe we should have
called Deaton first," he adds reluctantly.
"I doubt we could keep your dad away much longer." Derek's also not sure he's
not going to spend the night in jail. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees that
Stiles looks pensive, so he doesn't mention it.
"You, um...You probably should put on a shirt."
Oh. Yeah.
"And we need to get our story straight," comes out more firmly.
"There's no story, Stiles. We tell him the truth." Even with his back turned as
he finishes the dishes, he can almost hear the flailing.
"Do you want to get shot?"
"There's no way to hide this." Wiping his hands dry, Derek turns and pours them
both more coffee, for himself because he's not one hundred percent alert and
he's going to need to be, and for Stiles, because he knows it can have the
opposite effect on people with ADHD. His mate needs to calm down. "You don't
think he's going to notice that you're living here?"
Stiles gapes, mouth wide, eyes wide, and when he goes white, Derek realizes his
mistake in trying to keep the subject light. Pushing away from the counter,
he's across the kitchen in an instant, taking trembling hands in his own.
"Breathe..."
"Not panicking, freaking, there's a difference. I...I..." he stammers, fingers
reflexively squeezing Derek's. "I haven't had time to think about the details.
I...We're mated."
"For better or worse."
"Oh, geez, don't. No allusions to weddings or marriage or...Fuck, fuck, fuck."
He yanks his fingers free only to run them through his hair before grabbing the
cup and downing half his sugary coffee. "Last night, you said you wanted me."
"Yes."
"But you wouldn't have pushed it ever."
"No."
"Why? No, wait, don't answer that. You don't think you deserve anyone or
anything good." Stiles' lips twist and he bitterly adds, "Well, you wound up
with someone not good, that's for sure." Setting down his cup, he pushes back
the stool and hurries from the kitchen before Derek can think to respond. By
the time he reaches the bed, he can hear Stiles in the bathroom and tunes him
out, just methodically makes the bed and pulls on a grey Henley and a pair of
socks.
As he finishes, there's a loud thump of a fist on the outer door and he tunes
his senses back in.
The Sheriff.
Going up to the bathroom door he knocks and says, "Stiles, your dad's here,"
before going to let the man into the loft.
The Sheriff, or Mr. Stilinski today as he's dressed similarly to Derek with an
added heavy jacket, gives him a dark, worried look as he passes him and goes
down the steps after depositing a duffel bag by the door. "Where's my son,
Derek?" It's not really a question, more a demand.
"I'm here, dad," Stiles says softly as he emerges from the bathroom, skirts
quickly past the bed, and is suddenly dragged into his father's arms.
Derek is relieved that Stiles relaxes into the embrace. He can feel his mate's
fear that he'll harm his father, but it's not enough to keep him from hugging
back.
"Jesus, kiddo. Is it really over? Is that thing gone? Why didn't you come home?
Did it...did it hurt you?" Slowly they separate, but keep touching, John's
hands roaming over Stiles' shoulders, his face, lingering on the darkening
bruise on his chin that sends a fresh surge of guilt through Derek and earns
him an annoyed look from Stiles.
"I'm fine, dad. I mean...I'm okay...I mean...well, I..." The annoyed look turns
to one of helplessness and Derek finds himself under the sharp eyes of the
Sheriff.
"Why are you here, Stiles?"
Shoulders sagging, whole attitude heading towards despair, Stiles deflates, and
Derek is next to him before he realizes he's moved, which startles John into
finally stepping back from his son.
"Stiles, why don't you get the coffee," he says quietly, and the younger man
flees to the kitchen in relief.
"Derek." That's definitely the Sheriff voice, hard and demanding the truth with
just one word.
Derek gestures to the lone chair, waiting for the older man to sit before
perching on the edge of the couch as Stiles returns with a tray--he has a
tray?--with three coffee cups. From the aroma, the Sheriff takes his black as
well.
"Dude, we need milk." Stiles looks around and sighs before handing out the
cups. "And a coffee table." He slouches down into a corner of the couch and
starts to take a sip of his coffee, then shakes his head and sets it down on
the end table before bravely raising his eyes to his dad's concerned face.
Leaning over, John sets his cup down next to his son's, his focus solely on
Stiles. Watching the silent interaction of father and son Derek suddenly misses
his own dad like there's a hole in his heart. He's not surprised when Stiles'
eyes jerk to his for a moment.
"Okay, tell me," John coaxes.
"Um..." This time Stiles' eyes go to his helplessly.
Derek sighs, but he is the adult in this relationship--and that's a thought
that leaves him cold in the face of the Sheriff and father sitting across from
him. Putting his own cup on the floor, he straightens his spine and starts to
talk. It's never easy for him to put his thoughts into words, but he owes John
Stilinski the truth, even unvarnished, as he's never been good at sugarcoating.
"We forced the Nogitsune out of Stiles but it changed him, left something
behind. We're still not sure what that is," he quickly adds when he sees John's
mouth open to question. "It was something dark and...nasty."
"Was?"
He's not the sheriff of this county for nothing. "It's still dark,
but...tempered. I think we can keep it under control."
"You think?" John barks sharply before looking at his son. "Stiles, what is
going on?"
"I don't know, dad. Really. We're going to get Deaton over here to try to
figure it out. I don't think he knew how...bad..." Another helpless look is
shot Derek's way.
"Stiles, do you think you can let it out?"
"Are you fucking kidding? I could hurt him!"
Reaching over, Derek takes his wrist, squeezes lightly, and Stiles calms a
fraction. "I won't let you."
Their eyes meet and Stiles' go black, his fangs--and Derek sees that most of
his teeth are unnaturally sharp not just his canines--distend, and long red
claws emerge from his fingertips.
A strangled sound bursts from John as he stares in shock--but not horror--at
his son.
Tears spill from those swirling dark eyes and then Stiles, human again, curls
into Derek's arms and he holds him as he sobs, sending soothing emotions
through the bond.
"Oh my God."
"Mr. Stilinski, last night, when this change came out, something took Stiles
over. We did a ritual to give him an anchor and since then it's only been a
physical change. Stiles is still in control."
"How do you know?" John asks, his voice choked and worried.
"The ritual." Derek can feel himself flushing and Stiles must feel it too
because he pulls away, no longer crying, just feeling bleak and empty.
"Deaton said a bond with a werewolf could get me under control, help me stay
me. My mind, it was broken, dad, but it's better now. Derek can feel what I'm
feeling, can control it somewhat, I think. It's all still really new."
"What aren't you telling me?"
"It's a mating bond," Derek says firmly because he's not going to back away
from this. He braces himself for the inevitable reaction.
It's not hot anger, though, but cold fury that emanates from the Sheriff. "My
son is sixteen."
"Dad..."
"No, Stiles, you're a child."
"I don't know what I am," he cries out. "This thing...it was so evil and
horrible and it wanted to kill you and everyone, all my friends, and just rain
destruction down on the whole town and I couldn't stop it. It was like the
Nogtisune all over again, just pushing me aside and taking over and using my
body, except...except...it is me this time. It's a part of me, becoming me and
we had to...had to stop it."
"And this was the only way?" He's still angry, but John is also worried again,
confused and pained, and Derek feels Stiles' fear spilling from him.
A very specific fear.
"Sheriff, he thinks you're going to give up on him. That this is the last straw
and you won't love him any more."
"Derek!" Stiles gives him a betrayed look even as Derek feels relief mingle
with the fear.
"What? Stiles, no, I...never, ever." Rising on shaking legs, John opens his
arms. "Come here, kiddo."
Stumbling from the couch, Stiles launches himself into his dad's strong arms,
not crying this time, but so relieved.
"Dad..."
Derek feels a bit uncomfortable observing such a personal moment, but then he
feels Stiles' gratitude and relaxes just a fraction.
Finally the two Stilinskis separate and take their seats and their coffee cups.
Everyone drinks for a few minutes before John starts asking questions.
*****
Over an hour passes. Some of the questions leave all of them blushing, but they
get it all out. The truth of the bond, what it means now and will mean for the
rest of their lives--and John isn't thrilled that his son will never have a
chance to fall in love the normal way. He's also not thrilled that they've had
sex--they provided him with no details, not that he wanted any--and that will
continue and Stiles will be living with Derek.
But, he loves his son and needs him to be alive and well and sane.
He's mollified a bit by Derek's stammered statements of his feelings for
Stiles--still a bit vague as it's not love, not yet--and his promises to take
care of him, to build a true and hopefully happy relationship with him. Stiles'
embarrassed interjections aside, the talk is good.
"I do have a few conditions."
"Dad."
One hand held up silences Stiles and he slumps in resignation. Derek turns a
stoic face to the Sheriff.
"Anything, sir."
"Jesus," Stiles mutters.
"Stiles, you want me to accept that you're adult enough to be having sex with a
male werewolf, stop rolling your eyes and muttering at me."
Despite his own embarrassment, Derek can't help but feel impressed by they way
John handles his son. He figures he can learn a lot from the older man, because
Stiles straightens up and reddens, but keeps his mouth shut.
"Now, the conditions. I expect daily phone calls, Stiles. Truthful phone calls.
Don't try to hide anything. If you're struggling with this thing, if you're
having a bad day, if you have a fight with Derek, if you need to come home for
the night, I want to hear it." He quickly adds, "And, Derek, he's sixteen. If
he wants to come home to me, you let him. I understand that the two of you need
to be together, but one night every so often isn't going to hurt, right?"
"Right, as far as I know. I mean, we don't need to be together all the time,"
Derek stutters, for the dozenth time wishing he'd paid more attention to his
mother. He's afraid he's going to have to go to Peter for information and
that's just going to amuse the older werewolf so much.
"And I want you to feel free to call me, come see me, if you have any issues or
problems, too."
Surprised, Derek nods. He didn't expect that.
John snorts in amusement. "Didn't expect that, did you. Well, that's another
condition." His face goes serious as he looks at both the young men on the
couch. "I'm the elected Sheriff of this county and, while I'd give up my life
and certainly my job for you, Stiles, I'd prefer not to. You're underage and
Derek is too old for this to fall under the Romeo and Juliet law. There's going
to be no way to hide this relationship, not in this small town. I don't want to
have to arrest you, Derek, so you're going to have to legally marry Stiles."
That's the last thing he expected.
"Dad? What the Hell?"
"I can give my consent to that and then, while I'm sure there'll be plenty of
public disapproval at the beginning, no one can force me to arrest you or force
me out of my job, and I figure you boys are going to need me in my position and
in the know about everything supernatural. If I remember the chess board
correctly, it's just going to get worse, right?"
"Probably," Derek says softly, then nods. "Of course, we'll marry." He ignores
Stiles' squawking. While it's not something he's given serious thought to for
years, his Pack has always combined mating rituals with legal marriages, and
it's now legal for two men to marry in California.
"Anything else, dad?" Stiles asks snarkily, which John ignores this time.
"Yeah, once you have whatever is happening to you under control, you go back to
school. If that can't happen, then we'll get you tutors and home school you.
You're going to graduate with your friends, okay?"
"Um, yeah."
"Sheriff..."
"I think you can call me John, Derek."
"John, I'll make sure he continues his education somehow. I have plenty of
money to hire the best tutors if that's necessary." He sees John's skeptical
look around the nearly empty, half falling apart loft, and flushes in
embarrassment again. "I know it doesn't look it, but..."
"I remember your family was very wealthy. You obviously don't spend it on
yourself."
Stiles chokes off a laugh and John smiles and suddenly everything is okay.
"We'll get that coffee table."
The choked off laugh turns into uncontrollable amusement, and Derek and John
both roll their eyes at Stiles.
*****
Deaton has no answers. After examining Stiles and questioning them both, after
Stiles changes again, he leaves to 'look into it'.
"Why do we keep him around again?" Stiles snarls and, turning from the door,
Derek watches him pace.
"Your eyes are black again."
Stiles stumbles and blinks rapidly. "Fuck." The blackness fades. "Can you feel
anything from me when I...change?"
"Nothing unusual. It seems to happen when you're angry or frustrated, though
also on command."
"The latter is great but I can't go flashing demon eyes at anyone who pisses me
off. I'll never get my life back that way." With a heavy sigh he flops down
onto the couch, then reaches over and grabs his laptop case, pulling the
machine out and opening it up. "I'm going to do some research." As he waits for
the computer to warm up, he scrubs his hands through his hair.
Derek can feel the frustration leaking from his mate, tries to block it, fails
and sighs in equal frustration.
Doubting internet research, even by Stiles, who has this uncanny way of making
intuitive leaps and finding the most esoteric of information, will yield any
useful results, he's down to one option for help.
Trudging into the kitchen, he closes the door most of the way and sits down at
the bar to stare angrily at his cell phone for several minutes, before finally
picking it up and making the call.
"Derek, what a surprise."
His uncle doesn't sound at all surprised.
"What can I do for you?"
Having spent the last several minutes trying to come up with a way of asking
that won't give anything away, Derek blurts out, "I need to know about soul
bonds."
He can almost hear the smirk on the other end of the line. "I figured that was
how the boy was brought under control without killing him."
Jesus.
"...How?"
"I have my ways. So, how was fucking that teenage ass?" Peter asks
conversationally, and Derek growls in fury.
"Shut up!"
"You're the one who called me, who needs answers."
"Then give them to me," he bites out, face red, hand turning white around his
phone.
Peter chuckles. "Fine, fine, but this really should be done in person. I need
to see how you interact, or, I'm assuming, fail to interact. I'll be there in
fifteen minutes."
"Wait, no..." But, his uncle has hung up.
Wanting to smash his phone into pieces, Derek stares at the wallpaper of a wolf
howling at the moon that Stiles thought was ironic, then stuffs the phone into
his pocket and heads back into the main room.
"Peter's coming over."
Stiles looks appalled. "Why?"
"The bond. I need more information. We," he stresses, "need more information.
"Great." Then the younger man blushes. "So, he knows?"
"Somehow."
"Great," he mutters again under his breath and turns back to his research, but
one foot starts to bounce and Derek knows that's a sign of nerves.
He can feel it, too, and it makes him want to move, but he forces himself to
remain still, waiting.
"Dude, don't hover." Stiles doesn't even look up and Derek feels himself scowl,
before sitting down in the chair the Sheriff had sat in and picking up a book
he abandoned a couple days before. Waiting for his uncle, worrying about what
he's going to say, he doesn't read a word.
*****
When the loft door opens and Peter struts in, looking amused and smug and
making Derek want to smash both looks off his face, Stiles turns even redder
but doesn't look up from his research.
His foot moves faster, though, and Derek has to almost hold his own down.
"The charming couple."
And before Derek can even realize it's happening, Stiles is on his feet and on
Peter, driving him into the wall, claws, fangs, eyes, everything threatening as
he growls at him to shut up.
Growls in a completely inhuman way.
"Oh, now this is interesting," is Peter's reply as he stands still, hands
raised in a placating gesture, voice no longer smug. Derek can see his eyes
glitter. "What are you?"
"Dangerous." Slowly Stiles steps back and releases Peter, tension sliding down
his back and taking with it whatever he's become.
"So I can see. You can control it?"
Stiles shrugs and goes back to the couch, though he doesn't resume his
research, just stares in annoyance as Peter glides over to join him, though he
keeps his distance, sitting at the other end and crossing one leg over the
other. Derek can tell that while he's trying to be nonchalant, he's both
bothered and intrigued by Stiles.
It's the way he's tapping one finger against his bottom lip, a tell he's had as
long as Derek can remember.
"So, what do you want to know, Derek?"
The sudden attention on him startles him and he nearly chokes on his own
saliva. Fuck, he doesn't want to do this.
And, Stiles, maybe because he can feel him through the bond, takes pity on him.
"I was broken. Deaton said only bonding with a werewolf would help me heal. As
usual he was extremely vague on the details."
"He assumed Derek would know them," Peter interjects.
"Yeah, well, we're not doing so well, so you tell us how to control this."
The momentary side glance Derek receives from his uncle is one of confusion.
"Even I remember that conversation. Talia dragged me into it. She told both you
and Laura at the same time, as you were both of age."
Biting back a reply--refusing to acknowledge that one of the reasons he doesn't
remember much is that remembering any of his mother's lessons hurts--he glares
at Peter who just sighs.
"Stubborn teenagers. Well, the essence of it is that you don't control it. If
you're trying, it's going to fight back."
"You make it sound like a living being."
Peter glances over at Stiles and gives him an absent nod. "Well, it doesn't
have a consciousness, but the bond is a real thing formed between two people to
stabilize both. It wants to heal you, bring you into balance, but the more you
poke at it, the harder it is for it to do its job. You just need to let it be,
to let it settle."
"Mom said that," Derek says dully.
"So, you did listen a bit. Why are you fighting it?"
I'm not, is the instinctual reply, but Derek knows it's not true, and, rather
than answer he stares down at his hands.
"Ever the martyr."
"Not helpful, Peter," Stiles snaps.
"Are you fighting it?"
"...No."
"Well, at least one of you is using your brain. Look, boys," he continues
quickly as Derek snarls. "Just let it be. Accept it. You formed it to save
Stiles, Derek. Save him by fucking relaxing for once in your life. Accept that
you're helping him and you both deserve that and be happy, for God's sake.
We're all sick of the unrequited lust. It's not unrequited anymore, so just go
with the flow."
"Hippy speak, really?"
Peter grins, all teeth. "You're still snarky, I see."
"I have bigger fangs than you, too."
The older man laughs.
Derek just feels lost, but he also knows he needs to speak to Peter alone and,
with a few growls, gets him out onto the balcony where he leans on the stone
railing and stares out over the town.
"You don't know how to be happy, do you."
"...No."
"Fighting, questioning, pushing at the bond, trying to deny it or make it work
a certain way, it's going to make the fractures in Stiles widen."
"He's better," Derek protests as his uncle comes up beside him. He can feel his
eyes on him, maybe even sympathetic ones, but doesn't look at him.
"The formation of the bond would have done that alone, but the more you refuse
to let it just settle into being, the harder it's going to get for him. Being
whatever he is now isn't going to help."
Fear nearly freezes him. "I don't want this to be hard for him. I want to help
him heal."
"Then just do it," Peter strongly replies. "Look, Derek, the mate bond is for
life. If you don't accept that the two of you are going to be together forever,
why did you do it?"
"I told you, to help him!" he blazes, turning on his uncle who takes an
instinctive step back. "I couldn't let...He was so fucking broken, Peter. He
was lost. I couldn't...couldn't..."
Enlightenment floods the older man's face and this time Derek is the one to
step back. No. He's not ready for....
"You love him."
He waits for Peter's derisive laugh and, when it doesn't come, slowly looks at
him. There's almost...wonder on his face.
"And I thought it was just lust." Peter smiles, warmly, the kind of real smile
Derek hasn't seen in years from him, and it feels...right. "Oh, Derek, just
love him, then. The bond doesn't have to be one of love, but, when it is, it's
so easy."
"I...I..." Emotion chokes him and he tries to tamp it down, but then...relaxes.
Stiles' concern, caring, fills him and he doesn't fight it or reject it, just
accepts it.
Easy.
"See?"
Slowly he nods.
*****
Of course it's not that easy. Nothing ever is. For the next three days they tip
toe around each other, ordering in food, finally caving in and having Scott buy
them some much needed groceries, making only small talk and not really
discussing anything. The research and the inability to find answers makes
Stiles frustrated which brings out the darker side of him. When he gives up, he
spends a lot of time in solitary gaming sessions since Scott also brought over
his X-box.
Derek reads, or more rightly stares blankly at the pages, and exercises. When
he does the latter, he can smell the desire rising from his mate and ends up
taking several cold showers a day.
He's not going to push that issue.
While they sleep in the same bed, they barely touch. Derek finds it odd that
the boy who flails so much and takes up so much space when awake, sleeps curled
in a ball in one position for most of the night.
Except when he awakens screaming from nightmares. Derek tries to comfort him,
but he's never been good at that, and they end up just staring into the
darkness until dawn arrives.
Because he's trying to relax into the bond and accept it, the inability to
control the rush of emotions lessens. He can still feel Stiles' emotions when
he want to and, after the nightmares, tries to soothe him through the bond even
if he can't bring himself to hold him, and Stiles lets him, sharing his own
fears until they fade to a neutral calm, but it still flares oddly at times.
Usually when the desire for Stiles hits him hard and the guilt crushes down.
They both know they can't go on like this but neither seems able to make a
move.
Until on the fourth night, Stiles comes out of the bathroom ready for bed not
in his usual sweats and t-shirt, but naked, and crawls onto the bed and on top
of Derek. Shocked, he stares up into his brown eyes and, as there's no sign of
the fangs or claws, he tries to relax.
"Stiles?"
The younger man doesn't say anything, just nibbles on his lower lip, eyes
roaming over Derek's face, and Derek stays still, waiting, unsure as to how to
deal with this new development. He wasn't going to push, but he's surprised
Stiles made a move at all.
His mate's eyes slide away from his, off to a spot next to his head. His hands
clasp Derek's shoulders but don't move any farther. For a moment, he seems
unsure, until he shakes his head and lowers to press his lips to Derek's.
It's a dry, odd kiss, until Derek opens up to it, drawing Stiles in, and the
kiss turns desperate, hungry and wet, and the hands on his shoulders tighten.
Arousal unfurls in his stomach and his cock stirs against his thigh. The cotton
of his loose shorts rubs against his skin, makes him warm, and he kicks at the
sheets to free his legs.
Stiles' hands tighten even more until Derek feels the sting of claws. Shocked
out of his growing desire, he opens his eyes to see that his mate's are open.
And a swirling black.
There's no emotion on his face, just a determined tightness in every muscle of
his body and, as Stiles rocks his hips down, Derek realizes what's missing.
His mate's not aroused at all.
Lifting his hands from the bedding, he grabs at Stiles, trying to move him, and
is shocked when he can't. Their eyes meet and then Stiles is on him again,
kissing and biting at his neck and shoulders before returning to his mouth, and
Derek writhes as it feels so damn good and horrible at the same time. Finally
he breaks the kiss and gasps out, "Stiles, stop."
The rocking hips slow then finally stop and Derek watches as Stiles awkwardly
rises up to sit lightly on his thighs, his hands hanging limply at his sides.
His eyes fade to brown.
And horror.
Crying out, Stiles flings himself off the bed and runs across the room,
stumbling in the dark, and, Derek doesn't even think, just follows.
Horror and fear and shame flood into him--the first emotions from Stiles he's
felt since he came out of the bathroom--and Stiles is crying, gut-wrenching
sobs. Derek tries to calm him, but he's too messed up himself and he can feel
himself failing, even as he reaches out physically and tries to grab his mate.
Somehow Stiles eludes him and flings open the door to the balcony, and terror,
his own, fills Derek as his intent is instantly obvious.
He reaches him just as Stiles grabs for the wall five stories above the street.
"No," Derek yells, putting all of his wolf into it. He's not an Alpha, but he
remembers how to command.
In his arms, Stiles struggles and shivers as a cold wind hits them, but Derek
turns him, pins him against the windows and growls until the fight goes out of
him. Tears stain his pale cheeks and misery fills his eyes.
"Don't you ever..." God, how can he...? How can he handle this?
"I...I...Was that me? Was that me, Derek? What am I? I didn't feel...anything"
he gasps out in horror. "It was like I was outside myself watching and I was
forcing you to...to..."
"You weren't. No." Derek won't let Stiles put that on himself. Even though he
knew something was off, he responded to the kissing. He gentles. "Come inside.
Get dressed and warm. Come on." As he coaxes, he guides his mate into the loft,
closing the door behind them, and leads him back to the bedroom.
Docile and in shock, Stiles lets him dress him and lead him to the couch where
Derek wraps him in a warm throw, then sits next to him, not quite touching, but
there.
Silence, broken only by uneven breathing and the thumping of Stiles' heart,
settles over them, until finally the younger man whispers, "I don't know why I
did any of that."
"What were you thinking in the bathroom?" Because that's where it started. When
he went in, Stiles was fine.
"I...I undressed and brushed my teeth and I looked in the mirror and I
wondered...what you see in me. Why you want me. I mean, I know what I look
like," he adds, the self-deprecation in his tone making Derek cringe inside.
"And I wondered why you hadn't tried to kiss me or, you know, do anything, if
maybe you didn't really want me after all and you were just doing your usual
martyr thing when you bonded with me, and..." He's speaking quicker now, more
his normal pace and voice, and despite what he's saying that makes Derek want
to deny and prove him wrong, he relaxes.
This isn't the thing talking.
"And then...then...That's it." Looking over at him, Stiles flushes and lowers
his eyes. "I don't know why I did any of that, Derek. I'm sorry."
"No, don't apologize." When Stiles flashes him a wary look, he tries to respond
with sympathy, but he's not good at that and is pretty sure he fails when those
amber eyes fall again. "Stiles, you're wrong. I do want you. Desire you. I
just...I don't want to push anything and you haven't shown any interest."
The flush on his cheeks deepens to a dark red as Stiles haltingly replies,
"Derek, I haven't...haven't felt anything, y'know, desire, since before the
possession. I mean, little flashes when you're working out, or I see something
sexy on youtube or something, but no...I haven't gotten hard. I don't...I don't
think I can."
Oh.
Derek feels himself flush, but...This is familiar. He remembers being sixteen
and broken. "Have you tried?" he gently asks.
Stiles nods and fiddles with his hands in his lap.
And it's time to open up.
"You know what happened between me and Kate seven years ago," he starts slowly,
not waiting for a reply because somehow Stiles figured it out. "Afterwards,
when Laura and I ran, I was so full of guilt and self-hatred, I...Well, before
then I'd been a normal sixteen year old boy, aroused by pretty much anything.
It was over a month before I realized I hadn't had an erection since the fire.
Being alone and hating myself, I hadn't given it a second thought. When I did
realize it, I tried and...I couldn't."
"Trauma induced," Stiles says softly. "Is that...Do you think that's my
problem?"
"Probably. It's not...it's not permanent." He hopes. He's not a psychiatrist.
He has no clue.
"We don't know that." Sinking back into the couch, Stiles sighs restlessly.
"Shit. I didn't even think about that. Jesus, I hope it's not permanent. I
really want to have sex. I mean, good, enjoyable sex. Celibacy would suck."
There's almost amusement seeping through the bond and Derek tries not to smile
because it's not funny. It's Stiles' fall back response to hard issues.
"We don't need to rush anything, Stiles."
"It's not fair to you."
"I'm fine."
The look Stiles sends him reminds Derek just how young he is and he inwardly
sighs. "I don't need sex all the time. I've gone months without."
"But, you shouldn't have to. Isn't the bond supposed to make us want each
other?"
"I thought so, but..." He shrugs helplessly. "It's not what I expected and I
think we just have to let it happen, let it be."
"Stop poking at it, like Peter said. Geez, I really don't like him being the
voice of reason."
Derek snorts. Yeah, he doesn't either.
They both smile shyly at each other and then Stiles shifts and presses himself
to Derek's side, making him instinctively wrap his arm around his shoulder as
they both relax.
"We are so fucked up, Derek."
Yeah, they really are.
*****
After a night that, in the end, passes uneventfully, Derek's leaning into the
fridge, frowning at the lack of food, coffee brewing on the counter, when
Stiles slouches into the kitchen and sits at the bar.
"We need to get out of here."
He can feel the apprehension from his mate, but, when Stiles doesn't say
anything, he pulls the remaining eggs and bacon from the nearly empty
refrigerator and moves to the stove.
"We're nearly out of food again and we can go see your dad, if you want. Get
some more of your things. Your school books."
Apparently sourness is an emotion, and Derek fights an instinctive smirk as he
turns on the gas beneath the skillet of bacon.
"Are you sure it's safe? I mean, after last night..."
"We have to try."
Stiles sighs. "Okay." As the food starts to cook a long silence falls until the
younger man sighs again. "We should probably talk more about what happened last
night."
"After breakfast."
"Yeah...Okay."
*****
After they eat, during which they make up a completely mundane grocery list,
they move back into the main room and onto the couch, not touching, but not all
that far apart, either. Not sure where to start, Derek's relieved when Stiles
does.
"So...I...lost control somehow. Every other time, since the bond, it's been me.
I haven't even realized I've changed. I haven't felt any different. But, this
time, I don't know what happened. It was like an out of body experience or
something, and all I could do was watch what I was doing. Can we add a trip to
Deaton's to the list?"
"Yeah. We've given him enough time."
"I can't have a functional life outside this loft if I'm just going to
become...whatever the fuck I've become at any given moment or if I can't
control the change or be in control when I am changed. Are you really sure we
need groceries? I can live without my books."
"We have to try," Derek reiterates. "I won't leave your side."
"Are we fighting the bond and not aware of it? Are we screwing this up?"
"I don't think so. I've been trying to relax." Never easy for him.
"Maybe we do need to have sex," Stiles replies in a small voice. "It's a mating
bond. Until last night, we hadn't even kissed. I..."
"I'm not going to force that."
"But maybe we should!"
Inwardly Derek cringes. Outwardly he glowers, his default look, and Stiles
glowers right back, then sinks into a hapless sulk.
"Sex isn't the..." He almost says 'answer', but...What if Stiles is right? It
is a mating bond, and sex is a big part of being mated, not just for
procreation either. They barely touch, and their first kiss was the night
before and it wasn't really Stiles.
He's going to have to call Peter again.
"Dammit."
"What?" Stiles snaps, but Derek just grabs his phone off the end table and
angrily punches the screen until he reaches Peter's number.
His uncle answers with, "Trouble in paradise?"
"Are we screwing up the bond if we aren't having sex?" is his bald reply.
Peter's sigh is answer enough, and Derek wilts. "Derek, it's a mating bond,
what do you think?"
"...Shit."
"What went wrong?"
"Stiles lost control of the thing."
"Still don't know what he's become?"
"No," he growls and adds, "We're going to hound Deaton today until he gives us
some answers."
"Good luck with that," Peter replies facetiously, then gets serious again. "The
bond isn't meant to be platonic, between friends. It's a means to balance a
physical relationship and an emotional one between mates. If love grows, that's
great, but it's not the end result. Sex is a great equalizer, Derek. It's
powerful in and of itself, and you need that power to settle into the bond
completely."
"Why didn't you tell me this the other day?"
"Because I didn't think you'd be so stupid as to decide celibacy was the way to
go."
Not about to admit all his concerns--Stiles being sixteen; their first time
being so horrible; neither of them knowing how to make the first move--Derek
just growls until Peter hangs up on him.
"So...sex, huh?" Stiles asks dully, then rises to his feet and strips his top
over his head. "Now, Derek, before we leave, in case... If it helps me keep
control, be the real me, come on."
Watching him undress as he moves across the room towards the unmade bed, Derek
feels the complete opposite of desire, but his mate is right. His damn uncle is
right. Slowly he forces himself to follow and remove his own clothing.
Stiles is obviously self-conscious and keeps shifting his eyes away from him,
but he takes a deep breath and climbs onto the bed. Lying down he tries not to
fidget, but Derek can feel both his nervousness and his determination.
In the face of such courage, how can Derek do anything else but join him?
When Derek lies down on his side, Stiles turns to face him. They don't touch,
but they're close enough that their breath mingles warmly.
"Maybe just kissing and touching will be enough."
Stiles counters, "Maybe we shouldn't risk that. It's okay, Derek, even if I
don't...I mean, it can still be good, right?"
Jesus, he's so young and innocent...
But, Derek nods and then leans forward to give him a careful, soft kiss. To his
relief, Stiles responds, a bit hesitantly at first, but then bolder, opening
his mouth for him and shifting closer until their chests and arms touch. He
starts with a hand on the younger man's waist, then slowly moves it around to
his hip and ass. Stiles startles, then sinks into the light grip, his own hand
cupping Derek's bicep.
Their tongues touch, sparking arousal in him, and Derek rubs his knee against
his mate's thigh, his hand caressing, as the kiss continues, building slowly.
Desire warms his stomach and he experiments with letting it seep through the
bond. When Stiles gasps and arches against him, he realizes it worked, and
smiles into the kiss, then turns them so that his mate is half-beneath him.
Lifting his head, he looks down into hazy brown eyes.
"Okay?"
Swallowing hard, Stiles nods, then lifts his mouth for another kiss. This time
his hands move over Derek's back, lightly at first, but slowly growing bold,
and Derek responds in kind, caressing Stiles' chest and hips. He's slender, but
more muscular than he shows beneath his baggy tops, and his shoulders are
nearly as wide as Derek's.
Breaking the kiss, he moves his mouth down to those shoulders, nipping with his
teeth until he elicits a gasp from Stiles, and one hand goes to his head,
pressing him to his clavicle. Derek licks along it and that's a moan from those
expressive lips.
Erogenous zone. He files that information away and presses a kiss to his Adam's
apple before nipping at the other clavicle.
"Fuck..."
"Like that?" he smiles into another nip, and the only reply he gets is fingers
tightening in his hair and on his arm.
But...while he can feel arousal trickling through the bond, there's no
corresponding physical response.
Stiles' cock pressed between them is soft.
His own his hardening rapidly.
Slowly Derek lifts his head and sees Stiles nibbling on his lip, looking
embarrassed and confused, but he meets his eyes and there's strength there.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah." He is. Determined and wanting to please, wanting to do this.
Derek's never been with a partner who didn't orgasm. Being a werewolf, he could
always smell when it was real. He's not sure how this is going to work, but he
wants to try something, so he slides down Stiles' body, licking hotly along his
chest and stomach until he reaches his cock and slips his mouth over the head.
"Oh Goddddd."
Body twitching, Stiles shifts nervously, but he doesn't try to stop him, so
Derek starts to suckle and lick at the hot, musky tasting flesh. After several
minutes, he gets a bit of a response, the taste of pre-cum on his tongue, but
there's no hardening, so he wraps one hand around the base and pumps.
Still nothing.
"Derek, stop."
It's a small, sad whisper, and Derek feels his heart sink. He hoped that would
work. Trying not to give into his disappointment, he pulls back and rises up to
his knees. His own cock is hard and leaking against his stomach, but he can
control it. He...
To his shock, Stiles raises up on one elbow and wraps the fingers of his other
hand around Derek's shaft, one finger sliding through the pre-cum and using it
as lube to pump him.
"You should prep me," he stutters. "You're ready."
"Stiles, I..." How can he do this?
"I want you to," is the firm reply, and now those eyes are so mature and
filling with wonder as he continues to pump Derek's cock slowly, keeping him on
edge. "You want to."
"...Yeah." He's a horrible person, but he does. Finally he finds the strength
to pull away long enough to retrieve a bottle of lube from the night stand
drawer. As he does so, Stiles turns onto his stomach, lifting up to his knees.
"This...it's better this way for me, right?"
"Yeah," he swallows. God, that ass is beautiful, dimpled with a scattering of
moles, not too plump, not too flat. Unable to stop himself, he squeezes one
side, pulling it open to reveal the pink puckered hole.
Stiles whimpers.
Leaning down Derek sucks a kiss over one mole and Stiles yowls, his back
arching and his head swinging around so he can stare at him in surprise.
"Mole."
A shiver goes through his mate, and Derek moves to another mole, then another,
before, after kissing all of them, he lifts up to pour lube in his palm. After
slicking up his fingers, he presses one to Stiles' asshole and slowly pushes it
in past the tight muscles. Stiles takes a shuddering breath but relaxes into
the pressure.
The first time, the preparation had been so hurried, so rough, Derek hadn't
taken time to experience how good it felt. This time, he does, thrusting
slowly, spreading more lube into his mate, listening to the heavy breathing and
soft groans coming from him, feeling him wriggle and, once, press back and arch
his neck down in a submissive pose that makes the wolf in him want to howl.
"Feels good."
Derek hums in response and slips his middle finger inside.
"Shi-it. Yeah. Yeah." Another shudder as Stiles presses his cheek to the pillow
and pushes his hips back onto the thrusting fingers. "That's...prostate?"
"Yeah." Rubbing it again, he almost smiles at the response as Stiles' hands
clench into the bedding and he starts to rock into each thrust. Derek adds a
third finger, spreading them into a cone. "Okay?"
"Yeah," Stiles pants softly, looking back from shining eyes. "It's good,
Derek."
But, he's still not hardening. Regret fills him and Stiles shakes his head
quickly.
"No, don't. It's okay. This is good. Feels really good. Just...Enjoy it, okay?"
Wanting to cry out that he wants Stiles to enjoy it, too, Derek just bites his
lip and nods, then twists his fingers in as deeply as they'll go, before
pulling them out and replacing them with his cock. He's so hard he aches, and
Stiles is open enough that three thrusts of his hips is enough to get him balls
deep.
The younger man shakes and whimpers, but it's not from pain. He's not feeling
pain. A warm pleasure seeps through the bond and Derek lets his own white hot
desire through in the other direction. The emotions mingle and Stiles bucks his
hips hard.
"Fuck me," he begs. "Please, God, please, Der..." His voice rises into a
wordless cry and Derek grips his wriggling hips, pulling his own back to thrust
again, hard and deep.
It feels amazing. The tight muscles clench around his shaft. His balls ache as
they swing and hit that firm ass with each drive. For several minutes he
thrusts from his knees, watching Stiles shudder and arch and dig into the
bedding with his fingers and teeth, and then, needing to be closer, he leans
forward, rests on his back, and places his hands on the bed on both sides of
Stiles' own hands.
Those long digits reach out, twine with his, and the touch, the new angle,
sends a bolt of wild heat through Derek. As he feels his balls tighten and his
stomach twist with need, he pounds into his mate.
Stiles yells and groans and takes it so beautifully that Derek whites out when
he comes.
The next thing he knows he's on his back, panting harshly, trembling and
sweaty, his cock wet and throbbing as it softens against his thigh. Contentment
fills him.
It's not just his own.
Slowly he rolls his head and finds Stiles propped on one hand on his side, a
wistful smile on his face.
Derek can't help it. He glances down.
A bit of wetness glistens on his mate's cock, but he didn't come.
"Derek, no," he says softly, fingers brushing over his cheek, his lips. "It's
okay. It was...it was really good. I mean, if it's that good without coming, I
might just die when I do."
He still can't help it. This time...he laughs.
Stiles, for the first time in a long time relaxed enough to be the smirky
bastard he can be, moves to curl up next to him, draping an arm and leg over
him, as he asks, "Can cuddling be a thing?"
Anything he wants.
"Yeah."
"Cool."
In the warmth of the sun streaming through the windows, they doze for a bit.
*****
After showering and dressing again, they finally leave the loft around eleven,
heading to Deaton's first. The Vet makes them wait while he finishes up with
giving a cat a rabies shot and then puts a cone of shame on a dog.
"Maybe we should get a pet." Stiles is fidgeting, leg bouncing, hands flipping
through a magazine as his eyes dart around the waiting room.
Placing one hand on the bouncing leg, Derek sends calm through the bond and
almost smiles when it works, except that Stiles narrows his eyes at him.
"You really want to set a precedent by stopping my fidgeting? You'll be doing
it ninety percent of the day."
Oh. Yeah. He didn't think about that.
"Still learning," he growls a bit and pulls his hand away, watching as the
bouncing slowly starts again.
"Sorry, didn't mean to be snappy about it." Dumping one magazine back on the
table, Stiles grabs another one.
Obviously the afterglow is gone.
But...Derek still feels better, more content, and not just from an amazing
orgasm. The bond is settling.
Peter was right.
"Dammit, Peter was right."
Stiles smirks at him, but Deaton comes out before he can say anything and
gestures them back to his office as the poor dog in the cone whimpers at its
mistress for making him look stupid.
"We could get a puppy."
"No pets. Scott told me you killed every fish you ever had."
"I was eight the last time I had a fish."
"Gentlemen," Deaton chides as he closes the door behind them and takes the seat
behind the desk. Stiles and Derek sit across from him. "I was going to call you
later today. I still have nothing definitive, but I believe I'm getting closer.
I found an obscure legend of a survivor of a Nogitsune possession that became a
new kind of demon."
Stiles shoots him an appalled look. "I'm a demon?"
"Possibly. You're not human any longer, but you have control, right?"
Haltingly, Stiles explains the loss of control the night before, and Deaton
frowns and hums and makes some notes.
"Your uncle is right about the sexual aspect of the bond."
"Yeah, we, um figured that out." Stiles blushes and, instinctively, Derek
reaches out and takes his hand. They both relax.
"And, since, have you lost control again?"
"He hasn't shifted at all. Not even when he got annoyed with me in the waiting
room," Derek realizes.
"Oh." A smile lights up the younger man's face. "That's good, right?"
A benign look on his face, Deaton nods. "The demon I mentioned didn't have any
kind of bond with anyone. The man it had been was subsumed by it, became it,
and it was completely malevolent. The man was gone. That hasn't happened to you
until last night and even then you weren't doing anything evil."
Stiles' fingers twitch in his as he turns bright red. "I..."
"You weren't evil," Derek stresses.
"Okay, okay," he concedes. "So, Doc, what do I do?"
"I recommend practicing changing. You've been able to do it on command and
remain yourself. Learn to use the strength, claws, fangs, for good. The more
you practice, the easier it should become." Deaton turns his attention to
Derek. "And you need to monitor his changes. If what happened last night
happens again, call me immediately. I don't think it will. I think, as long as
you accept the bond, become true mates, it should give Stiles the control he
needs."
Nodding, Derek squeezes his mate's hand and he squeezes back in wary happiness.
*****
The Sheriff's at the station and, as it's almost lunchtime, they swing through
Arby's and get roast beef sandwiches for the three of them, plus a salad for
John and curly fries for Stiles. Derek just gets an extra sandwich for the
meat.
"Hey, kiddo. Derek." Eyes lighting up, John shoves aside the paperwork he's
doing and reaches for the bag Stiles extends to him. "Do I smell beef?"
Stiles grins. "Lean, and a salad with light dressing."
"I also smell fries."
The grins widens. "I'm a growing boy, man," he corrects as he and Derek take
seats and the Sheriff opens his bag and drags in the scent of hot roast beef
and horseradish sauce.
After they all take a few bites, John asks, "How's it going with you two?"
"Better." On the drive they discussed what's happened and decided not to tell
Stiles' dad about the night before. "We're working through it." Stiles lays out
what Deaton told them and Derek watches John absorb it, listens to him ask
intelligent questions, adds his own quiet responses when Stiles starts to
babble, and it's a pleasant hour. "So, we're going to head over to the house
and get some more of my stuff. I...I miss you, dad, but..."
"It needs to be this way, I understand," John replies softly, a sad smile on
his face. "I always knew you'd move out sooner or later. I was never going to
be ready."
"It's probably not a good idea yet for Stiles to be away from me, but, this is
our first excursion out of the loft. Hopefully soon he can leave on his own, go
to his friends', come see you, even go back to school."
"Don't want to rush that," Stiles jumps in, making John snort.
"You do need to get back to your education. I spoke to the school and explained
that you're sick and not going to get well anytime soon, and they were
sympathetic, but eventually the only option will be to hold you back."
"Actually, I have a few names of tutors and have looked into the online high
school," Derek says, feeling Stiles' surprise. "I said I would. I didn't want
to rush you, but maybe next week you can get started again somehow?"
"Um, yeah, okay." A typical teenager, Stiles doesn't sound enthusiastic, and
when John rolls his eyes, Derek responds in kind. "Geez, gang up on me."
Chuckling, John finishes his sandwich, then gestures to them. "Finish up. We're
going to head over to the courthouse and get a marriage license."
Right, the other condition. Derek nods. It's fine with him, but Stiles starts
to squawk.
"You were serious?"
"Yes," John replies firmly. "While you've been holed up in the loft, no one has
questioned anything, but once the busy bodies of this town start seeing you
grocery shopping together, I'm going to get concerned calls. This is best for
everyone, not just me and my job. It gives you both security and, look, son,
you're in this for life already. We don't have to make a big deal of it. Judge
Murphy will gladly perform a civil ceremony if I ask him. He's always liked
you."
Stiles goes still and Derek frowns in confusion, but then let's it slide away
when his mate asks, "Can it be a bigger deal? I mean, can we invite friends?
Make it real?"
"Of course." John's eyes flick to Derek and he nods in agreement.
"Whatever you want, Stiles."
And his mate gives him a hesitant smile that turns a bit mercenary. "Lydia will
insist on a wedding shower. Hey, think we can get a coffee table out of it?"
John bursts into laughter and Derek rolls his eyes again, but this time, in an
easy contentment.
*****
Two weeks pass quickly as they settle into their life together. Over the first
few days they gradually reintroduce pack members, getting Stiles used to them
and vice versa. He begins to train, first with Derek, then Scott, then the
whole pack. He and Lydia spend a lot of time researching and catching him up on
school work so that he's ready to start the online high school classes, needing
a tutor only in physics.
The loft begins to look like a home, first with Stiles' belongings--his games
and dvds, comic books and desk and gaming chairs--then other things as he
introduces Derek to the joy of shopping somewhere other than a street corner.
They both laugh when Derek secretly orders and has delivered a large, stone
topped coffee table. The first thing they do is put their feet up on it as they
cuddle in front of the, also new, fifty-six inch HD television Stiles insists
on buying to replace the twenty inch old style set Derek got at a thrift store,
while he introduces his mate to the wonder of The Avengers on blu ray.
In silent agreement they touch more, kiss on greeting, waking and going to bed,
and sleep in each others arms.
Derek's still wary about sex, but, to his surprise, Stiles pushes it, even
though he still can't get an erection. Two nights after their first true time
together, his mate backs him down onto the bed and mouths at his dick through
his boxers, then gives him an enthusiastically sloppy blow job that leaves
Derek gasping and his wolf howling in pleasure.
The bond settles between them and, when it does, it is easy. It works. Stiles
doesn't lose control of his demonic side but learns to use it. Derek lets go of
the guilt over forcing the mating in the first place. They learn to work and
live together.
It's good.
Of course, they still argue. Stiles yells. Derek glowers. Raw emotions zing
through the bond almost as often as contentment and peace, but they both can
feel it working, both of them stabilizing and becoming stronger.
And healing.
Derek formed the bond to heal Stiles, but, in doing so, he didn't realize, he'd
heal himself as well.
Two weeks and three days after the beginning, they stand facing each other,
holding hands, on the pier at Lydia's family's lake house. The sun is setting
over the water, their pack and family surround them. Both dressed in neatly
pressed navy trousers and white shirts with the sleeves rolled up, they recite
simple vows to honor, respect, provide, comfort and cherish each other, and, on
the urging of the judge, kiss to the applause of their pack.
There's good food, a chocolate cake, dancing, and the night passes peacefully.
At one point, Derek stands on the perimeter of the dance floor watching his
young mate slow dancing and laughing with Lydia, and he feels happy.
Happy.
"That's a new look."
He gives his smiling father-in-law a confused one.
"You're smiling."
...Oh. Yeah, he is.
Chuckling, John turns his attention to Stiles. "No jealousy there?"
"No. He's mine. I'm his. That's the way it works and, honestly, they're such
great friends, I never could see it being anything else."
"Me, too. Never could convince Stiles of that, but I think he's figured it out
on his own. The way he looks at you...He never looked at her that way."
Derek startles, because that almost sounds like...
John flushes a bit. "Yeah, you know my biggest worry for him in this
relationship with you was that it would never become more than necessity and
some form of contentment. I'm not saying it's love yet; that's between the two
of you, but I can see the possibility, the probability. You just both have to
be open to it." He scratches the back of his flushed neck, then pulls an
envelope out of his jacket pocket. "Enough mushy stuff. This is for the two of
you for tonight." With a clap on Derek's shoulder, he heads out to talk to his
son who's joined Scott and Kira at the snack table.
For a minute, Derek stares after him in bemusement, then opens the envelope.
It's a reservation for the Presidential suite at Beacon Hills' best hotel.
The implication makes him flush a bit, but he's also pleased. He hadn't thought
to arrange anything, figuring they'd go back to the loft, but this is good.
Feeling Stiles' attention on him, realizing he's sending emotion through the
bond, he heads over to him and is met half way across the dance floor.
"What's that?"
"Your dad got us a suite at a hotel tonight."
Stiles blushes in pleasure, then grabs Derek's free hand. "Come on, we've only
danced once."
Derek tucks the card into his pants' pocket, then wraps his arms around Stiles'
back. His mate holds him back and they begin to sway.
"How do you feel?"
"Pretty damn good. Can't you feel it?" Stiles teases.
"Yeah," he hums in response, pressing their cheeks together as they dance
closer. "How long do we need to stay here?"
"It's our party, dude. We can leave any time."
There's an eagerness there that spurs his own, and Derek spins them off the
dance floor.
*****
It takes about a half hour to get out of there under a shower of birdseed and
fond cheers.
"At least no one dared tie cans to the Camaro," Stiles points out as he slides
into the passenger seat, his foot getting tangled with a small duffle bag. "Did
you pack a bag?"
"No." Glancing over, Derek frowns as Stiles picks it up and opens it. There's a
card on top of a pile of clothes and a couple bottles that are making his mate
flush. Derek notices the label on one reads Astroglide. Plucking out the card,
he opens it and reads it out loud. "Stilinski arranged the suite. I've provided
certain necessities. Enjoy yourselves. Peter."
"Geez, he even comes across smarmy in writing."
Snorting, he hands Stiles the card and starts the car. The drive takes fifteen
minutes and they both remain quiet, but Derek can feel the anticipation growing
between them.
The suite is elegant and refined. There's a fruit and chocolate basket and a
bottle of sparkling cider waiting for them, but neither stops for a snack as
they head straight to the bedroom where Derek places the bag on the king sized
bed covered in an immaculate and subdued navy and gold patterned spread. Unlike
most hotel rooms, there are only tiny remnants of the odors of humanity. The
suite probably doesn't get much use.
Stiles is poking around, fidgeting a bit, and he goes up to him from behind,
takes him in his arms and nuzzles the top of his head.
"Why are you nervous?"
"Wedding night," he mumbles, but doesn't stiffen, just sinks into the embrace.
"Neither of us are virgins."
"It should be special." There's a plaintive note in his voice and Derek feels a
corresponding sorrow. The sex between them has been good, relaxing, comforting,
but Stiles has yet to get more than a tiny bit aroused physically. Derek's
spent as much time as he can on making it emotionally pleasurable, but it's not
the same. Placing a kiss on the side of his head, he pulls away and goes to
open the bag. He'd seen two bottles--and even Peter's not crass enough to think
they need two bottles of lube.
The other is unscented massage oil.
Getting an idea, he goes into the bathroom and grabs one of the several
overlarge towels, then returns to pull down the bedding and spread it across
the cream colored sheets.
"What are you doing?"
"How about a massage?"
Stiles gapes at him, then grins and starts to strip off his clothes. Watching
from hooded eyes as that lithe and surprisingly sexy body is revealed, desire
stirs in him, but he tamps it down as he removes his own clothes down to his
grey boxer briefs. When he turns back from placing his clothes on a chair, he
finds Stiles stretched naked on his stomach, arms pillowing his head.
"I've never had one."
Good. Smiling to himself, Derek grabs the oil and climbs on the bed to straddle
his mate's lower legs. He warms a dollop of the oil in his hands, rubbing them
together, then leans down and starts at Stiles' shoulders. Gently he kneads a
bit of tension he finds there, then works on the arms and shoulder blades,
relaxing himself as Stiles starts to make appreciative noises.
This isn't something he's done before, but it's not rocket science, and he
knows if he does something Stiles doesn't like he'll hear about it.
Going lower to the small of his back, Derek uses his knuckles and elicits a
deep groan of pleasure. The bond lets him know Stiles is feeling good as well
and, sinking into the contentment, he lets his hands start to glide up and down
the pale and glistening back until he slides down farther so he can work those
firm buttocks.
"Oh, Jesus...Der...Guh..." A shiver going through him, Stiles arches up into
the kneading.
"Feels good?"
"Guh..."
Grinning, he takes that as an affirmative and presses one slick thumb against
the rosette of his ass. He doesn't push it in though, even when Stiles lifts
into it.
"Derek," he whines, then groans as Derek moves back up to his shoulders in
long, gentle rubs. Lowering himself, he rocks his cotton covered erection
against Stiles' ass and earns a long, throaty moan in response.
Placing a hot kiss on the nape of his neck, he whispers, "I'm going to fuck you
while you're boneless..." Shoving his shorts off, Derek grabs the lube and
slicks up two fingers before pushing them into Stiles' limp body.
He's still tight, but nothing like normal. The massage has relaxed him
everywhere, and so Derek preps him quickly before lubing his cock and lowering
down to cover Stiles' trembling body. A slow push and he sinks into him.
It's a new position, not made for fast fucking, but he's not in a hurry. He
feels good, hot and needy, but not desperate for release, so he just rocks his
hips, shallowly thrusting, while placing kisses along Stiles' shoulders and
neck.
"God, you feel so good," Stiles groans, turning his head for an awkward kiss.
Their eyes meet and hold and Derek thrusts deeper, making both of them groan.
"You're wrapped around my cock so tight. So fucking perfect, Stiles..." He
feels his mate's hips arch up as best they can weighted down by Derek's body,
and he places a hot kiss on his shoulder. "Yeah, fuck me back.
Just...just...fuck, like that," he groans, nearly howling as Stiles' muscles
tighten and his hips bump upwards, driving his cock balls deep.
He never talks much during sex--Stiles is the one who babbles and curses--but
he can see how it pleases his young mate, and nips his earlobe, before
whispering, "I wish I could stay inside you forever."
"Jesus, Derek," Stiles shudders, biting his lip, his eyes glazed with pleasure.
"You're so deep, every thrust. I can feel every bit of you."
Positioned on his elbows Derek doesn't have much leverage, so the thrusting
stays slow, but it's good, so damn good. They kiss again and gradually the
desire tightens in him. Lifting up a bit, he thrusts faster, harder, even
deeper, making Stiles groan and grunt and rock with him.
"Does it feel good? My cock in you?"
"Fuck yes!"
"Can I touch you, Stiles? Can I?" His fingers itch with the need and he's
nearly begging because he wants Stiles to enjoy this as much as he is.
"Yes," Stiles grinds out, wriggling against him, and, using his strength, Derek
lifts them both to their knees, going down on his heels and settling his lover,
mate, husband, on his lap. As Stiles' head falls back on his shoulder, panting
breaths breaking from him, skin flushed and slick with sweat, Derek holds him
tightly with one arm around his waist and wraps the hand of the other around
his cock.
He's still flaccid, soft and warm, but, determined, Derek pumps his fist along
the shaft in time with the hard, fast pumps of his strong hips. With a slight
shift, he angles just right to hit Stiles' prostate, making him cry out and
jerk. Reaching back, he grabs Derek's back, his shoulder and he's thrusting as
well, whole body tremors going through him as he moans.
"I wanna come. Oh fuck, I wanna come so bad. Derek, fuck me harder, harder.
Jesus...God..." A strangled cry bursts from him as Derek nearly lifts him clean
off the bed with his next thrust.
And beneath his fingers, Stiles' cock stirs just a bit, the tip growing wet
with leaking pre-cum.
He pumps harder, twisting his wrist, trying to hit his prostate each time with
his own cock.
And there's a hardness against his palm.
Another strangled cry and Stiles shakes from head to foot. He's gasping for
air, skin flushed and hot, and, then, suddenly, he comes. He's not completely
hard, but semen spurts across Derek's fingers, and Stiles chokes out a whimper
and collapses in his arms.
So thrilled at his mate's orgasm, Derek barely realizes he's coming as well
until they tumble down onto their sides, panting hard and shaking from release.
Emotion floods into him, his own flows back.
Joy.
Pure joy.
Wrapped around his mate, he places a trembling kiss on his cheek, tastes tears,
and smiles, because they're happy tears.
It still wasn't perfect. Stiles didn't reach complete erection, but he
orgasmed.
It wasn't perfect, but it was so damn good.
*****
When Stiles calms down enough to be embarrassed by his emotional release, Derek
kisses him gently and leaves him to regain his composure. He noted earlier that
the bathroom has a decadent two person jacuzzi and he starts filling it with
water before padding out to the sitting room for one glass of cider and a plate
of fruits and chocolates. When he returns, he finds Stiles sitting on the edge
of the bed, still trembling, but trying to smile.
He gives him a reassuring smile back and his young mate relaxes, then gives
Derek a puzzled look when he passes by and returns to the bathroom. Knowing his
curiosity, he doesn't say anything, just places down the glass and plate before
slipping into the bath and turning off the water and on the jets. A minute
later, Stiles is beside him.
"Wow. Never done this either," he moans as he sinks into the water and cuddles
up to Derek who wraps an arm around his shoulders. Reaching for a strawberry,
he nibbles on half of it, then feeds the rest to Stiles. "I could get used to
this. Think we can put in a jacuzzi in the loft?"
"How about one out on the balcony?"
"Ooh, good idea! We can have sexy fun times outside."
Amused, Derek can't help but laugh and then kiss Stiles' grinning lips.
"Okay, my turn. Truffle?" he asks as he rubs a ball of chocolate against
Derek's lower lip until he opens and takes a bite. There's a burst of orange
and cocoa on his tongue and after he swallows, he shares that taste in another
kiss.
Curled together, the hot water churning against their sensitized skin, they
share the glass of cider and feed each other berries and chocolate, until
Stiles dozes off. Content, Derek listens to his snuffling breaths against his
neck until the water cools, then urges him out of the tub. After toweling
himself and his drowsy mate dry, he scoops him into his arms to carry him to
the bed.
"Not a bride," Stiles grumbles but he's limp and happy in his arms, and Derek
kisses him as he lays him down and joins him, curling them together beneath the
warm blankets. Reaching over, he turns off the lamp, and feels Stiles nuzzle
into his neck. He responds with a tender kiss to his cheek, and then closes his
eyes and lets the day slide away.
His last coherent thought is that their life isn't perfect.
But, it's good, so very good.
End
End Notes
     Stiles suffers from erectile dysfunction due to the possession and
     his guilt. He and Derek have sex several times (only a couple
     detailed) and he doesn't get an erection or orgasm. Derek feels
     guilty and bad about this, but they have to have sex to stabilize
     their mating bond. This begins to get better by the end of the story,
     but the issue isn't completely resolved. The suicide attempt is very
     minor--Stiles is horrified by something he does and runs for the edge
     of the balcony; Derek grabs him. He's not really thinking of killing
     himself--he's not thinking at all.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!