Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4160070.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Lydia_Martin, Scott_McCall, Claudia
      Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Same_Age_Derek, Alive_Claudia_Stilinski, Alive_Laura_Hale, Alternate
      Universe_-_High_School, Alternate_Universe_-_Fantasy, Spark_Stiles
      Stilinski, Loss_of_Virginity, First_Time, Hand_Jobs, tumblr_prompt_fill,
      Oneshot, Spark_Triad
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-06-18 Words: 8713
****** Of Witches and Werewolves ******
by alexenglish
Summary
     “I need you to have sex with Derek Hale like yesterday,” Lydia says,
     slamming her bag down on the table with more force than strictly
     necessary, mouth a tight line of displeasure. Stiles chokes on his
     boxed apple juice, sputtering, limbs flailing.
     “Say it louder,” Stiles hisses, leaning forward so they can talk in
     low tones. “I don’t think they heard you in the back.”
Notes
     From a fic prompt on Tumblr, “He did this thing to my ass that made
     my eyes water”. Beta'd by the lovely Kat.
See the end of the work for more notes
“I need you to have sex with Derek Hale like yesterday,” Lydia says, slamming
her bag down on the table with more force than strictly necessary, mouth a
tight line of displeasure. Stiles chokes on his boxed apple juice, sputtering,
limbs flailing.
“Say it louder,” Stiles hisses, leaning forward so they can talk in low tones.
“I don’t think they heard you in the back.”
He jerks his head towards the corner where the Hale betas sit. Isaac and Erica
are openly leering. It’s pure luck that Derek and Boyd aren’t facing them.
Stiles is ready to die of mortification at any moment, and Lydia really isn’t
helping. Mostly because Stiles still doesn’t know how to act. Since everything
happened, it feels like either him or Derek should say something, but they
haven’t yet, and he isn’t sure why.
“It’s not like they don’t know,” Lydia snorts, pushing him back by his forehead
until his ass plops back down on the bench. “They all probably know why you
have to fuck Derek Hale. Also the fact that you don't have the balls to do it.”
“Wow, that was low, Lydia,” Stiles says, pointing a finger at her. Her face
crinkles up like she wants to be petulant and stick her tongue out, but her
eyes dart around, cautious. Instead she settles for flicking her hair and
raising her eyebrows. “Goading is low, even for you. Just because --”
“Even for me? Just because you want to preserve your precious flower --”
“C’mon, Lyds!”
“Virginity is a social construct,” she says, so low that Stiles has to lean
over the table again to hear her. “It doesn’t mean anything, not really. It
will continue to not mean anything after it’s done. Is that actually more
important than your spark?”
“I know it’s a social construct. You’ve made sure to tell me about it every few
hours,” Stiles says, tempted to flick her or something if she doesn’t shut up.
“It’s not that. I just don’t know how it’s going to change my spark. Do you
want to risk it, really?”
His spark is low grade and weak. Pathetic, if he’s being honest. For whatever
reason, magic takes virginity into consideration with some sparks. Virginity
gives him a level-up, a boost, a Mario Kart Power Star. Without it, Stiles
doesn’t know how useless he’ll be. It’s easy for people like Lydia to discard
their virginity. She’s the strongest spark in something like 500 years. Not
that Stiles is jealous, not really. It just means he has different precautions
he has to take.
“Your spark is currently inside a beta werewolf,” Scott says, sliding into the
seat next to Stiles. He rocks their legs together in solidarity before taking a
bite out of his hamburger and continuing with his mouth full: “How long are you
going to research dead ends just to get around taking some dick?”
“Can we lower the volume?” Stiles asks, too nervous to even look in the corner.
It’s a given that they’re all eavesdropping, but Stiles can pretend. Lydia
gives him one of her long-suffering looks. “Mom just said stuff about ‘life
connections’ and ‘meant-to-be’. I hate asking her about it. Do you know how
long she talked about jizz and blood being the purest of life forces? Far too
long, far too long.”
Not that jizz and blood is bad-wrong. It’s the extraction that’s disgusting.
Shame jerking it in the corner while the rest of your triad gets spell
ingredients ready. Having to use a knife on skin? Stiles is terrible with
blood. If he could have picked his god-given natural talent, having a witch’s
spark would notbe it. Too much blood and guts and ick.
“She’s not wrong,” Lydia sniffs, examining her nails.
“Duh,” Scott and Stiles say at the same time. Scott grins at him, wide and
goofy, drawing out a smile from Stiles. It’s not like he can help himself, he
has to smile at Scott. It’s an unwritten rule of the universe.
Even if he’s in the same boat as Lydia, practically begging Stiles to sex up
Derek Hale. Everyone is in that boat. Stiles gets it, he does. It’s crucial.
Even now, he can feel their connection to the nemeton shaking free, and that’s
not okay. It’s the weakest it’s ever been since they were dedicated to it by
their mothers at their simultaneous birth. It’s terrifying, but so is anal
penetration, so.
“Look,” Lydia says, steepling her fingers. She looks like a super villain,
watching them from under her perfectly symmetrical winged eyeliner, lashes a
mile long. Her eyelids flutter prettily before her face goes grave. Stiles
unconsciously moves backwards.
“I need you to get your spark back,” she says, softly. Deadly, if you know her.
It’s the voice she uses when she’s spewing incantations at ghouls and expelling
goblins. The kind of voice she uses to coo at chickens before she twists their
heads off and dismantles them for spell ingredients.
It’s the voice that she uses when she’s being serious. Due to the amount of
times it’s lead to some kind of destruction, Stiles has a fear response. Lydia
Martin’s own Pavlov conditioning.
“Scott and I can’t do this without you. We’re useless without you. Triad means
three, and it doesn’t work if our third’s magic is stuffed up inside some
asshole wolf.”
“Please don’t insult my future partner like that,” Stiles says, automatically.
Derek seems like the kind of person to get feisty when he’s insulted. If
there’s going to be any kind of sexing, Stiles needs to make sure Derek doesn’t
get growly. He’s so engrossed in defending Derek that he doesn’t realize that
it was a truly masterful pun until it’s too late.
“Please, just have sex with him, Stiles,” Lydia says. Her eyes go to the table
the betas are at and then back to Stiles. From anyone else’s perspective, she
probably still looks perfectly composed and fierce, but Stiles can see the way
her eyes and mouth are tight at the corners. With Stiles’ spark MIA, both Lydia
and Scott’s own sparks are waning. It’s all three or nothing.
“I’ll try,” Stiles says, looking away, towards the table. In the same moment,
Derek actually turns, eyes glued to Stiles’ face. It makes Stiles’ heart leap
in his chest. Every atom in his body begs to be closer to Derek, to touch
Derek, to merge with Derek and reclaim his spark.
Instead, Stiles grabs his bag and slides his tray off the table, ignoring the
concerned way Scott says his name. It only feels like he can breathe again once
he’s out the door. The further away from Derek he is, the easier it is.
The thing about his magical virginity is that it’s not just the magic that’s
keeping him from giving it up. He wants it to be meaningful. The fact that his
spark has been thriving off his virginity for his entire life makes him want to
give it up for a good reason. Not just because it got stuck in some wolf.
The worst part about it is that he’s pretty sure it would be good. He’s not
going to pretend it wouldn’t be. Even before the spark-stealing, he’s felt
drawn to Derek in ways that he could never explain. Witches and werewolves
don’t tend to be compelled towards anything other than violence in regards to
each other, but Stiles was.
Very compelled, that is. Towards Derek Hale, of all people. Derek Hale who is
the charming misanthrope, who keeps people at a distance. Except for his pack,
of course, because his pack is his life. Protective and sincere and, not to
mention, the actual hottest. Even with the sticky-out-ears and adorable bunny
teeth that shouldn’t been seen on a werewolf. Stiles is compelled.
He hates it.
Mostly because he knows that if he has sex with Derek, it is going to Mean
Something. It’s going to mean everything and Stiles isn’t sure he can handle
that. Especially since it’s not going to Mean Something for Derek. Stiles might
feel compelled towards Derek, but Derek has never even hinted at knowing who
Stiles was before the spark-stealing.
“Are you avoiding me?” Derek asks, coming up beside Stiles, taking him by
surprise. He screams and flails, shoulder hitting the locker next to him with
clang. When he bounces off, he presses his back into the lockers and stares at
Derek, heart rabbiting in his chest.
At this proximity, Stiles’ skin buzzes with the desire to touch. He has to keep
himself under careful control so that he doesn’t do something outrageous like
slam their mouths together and paw at every inch of Derek’s skin.
“I might be,” Stiles says, straightening, like he didn’t just shove himself
into the lockers.
“You shouldn’t,” Derek says, voice low. There’s something about his tone that
makes Stiles bristle. “We need to figure this out.”
“We?” Stiles demands. “You mean you, right? You got stuck in the shift. You had
to get a witch triad to drag you out of it. You ate my spark. Why do I have to
be included?”
“It’s your spark,” Derek says, hands flexing at his sides like he wants to
clench them and punch Stiles in the face. Stiles’ heart thuds like a metronome
inside his chest, palms prickling with anxiety. “It was a spell that put me
under --”
“A spell, really?” Stiles says, shoving himself into Derek’s space. “Are you
blaming a witch, Derek? Because the last I knew, we were the only witches in
the area.”
“You really think my control is that bad?” Derek demands, stepping up to Stiles
angrily. His nostrils flare, color rising high in his cheeks. Stiles hates
himself for loving it, riding the adrenaline-high of challenging a werewolf.
“That a born werewolf would just get stuck and have to run to teenaged witches
for help? I had no other choice.”
“We didn’t have to help you,” Stiles says. He wants to say: ‘I didn’t have to
help you’. When they went under, Lydia and Scott were pushed out of Derek’s
mind completely. It was Stiles who had to find Derek, huddled in a corner of
his own mind, animalistic instincts pressing in on him from all sides. Stiles
who pulled him out and brought him to the surface.
Derek just stares at him, jaw clenching and unclenching. It’s getting warmer,
so he’s devoid of his custom leather jacket, in a soft henley with the sleeves
pushed up. Stiles can see his pulse jumping in his throat under the surface of
his skin.
“You did,” he says, slowly, as if he has to drag the words out of his mouth.
“I’m grateful.”
Stiles snorts out a laugh. He doesn’t seem grateful, especially not being all
growly and glaring and all up in Stiles’ grill. Derek stares at him until he
stops laughing. That’s enough to make Stiles choke off his giggles and cough,
seriously.
“You’re grateful?”
“It’s not unheard of,” Derek says, haughtily. There’s a petulant look on his
face, a pout. Stiles finds it endearing, anger starting to evaporate rapidly.
“I’ve never heard it,” Stiles points out. Derek didn’t say it when Stiles
brought him up to the surface. Of course, he was too busy with magical after-
shocks, trembling on the table they had laid him out on when they carried his
furry ass in.
Stiles was busy wheezing and gasping against the feeling of his spark being
dragged away from him. It was like a vacuum, sucking the air out of him. Scott
and Lydia felt it too, eyes blazing silver and pinned on Derek, but it wasn’t
Derek’s fault, not really.
Instead of sticking around to see how Derek made it out, Stiles fled the room,
trying to regain the ability to breathe. It was like being underwater at first,
as his spark was pulled through him, out of him. It was excruciating. When it
was over, he felt hollow and wrung out.
“Thank you,” Derek says. Stiles meets his eyes, shocked into silence. The air
between them squeezes in time with Stiles’ heart, filling up his ears with
pounding. The worst part is, Derek can hear it, he knows. That makes it better
and worse. Stiles watches as Derek’s lips twitch into a smirk, a tiny
acknowledgement of the fact that he can read Stiles perfectly right now.
Without realizing it, Stiles moves closer, hand trailing up Derek’s forearm.
All sensation reduced down to the coarse hair on his arm, the way their skin
slides warm when they touch. Stiles can feel the energy of his spark: barely-
there at the back of his tongue, waiting to be tasted. Stiles fixes his gaze on
his own fingers, wondering if they moved of their own volition.
It takes a millennium for Stiles to drag his gaze up Derek’s chest and past his
neck again, his jaw and his mouth -- slightly parted in surprise, teeth
visible. When their eyes lock, the draw towards Derek is so overwhelming, it’s
too much.
To alleviate the pressure, Stiles moves forward and kisses Derek desperately.
Anything to get rid of the ache in his bones, the fizzle of his nerves, the way
his pulse is snapping.
When their lips press, it’s like everything dims out. The world goes out around
them, and all Stiles can focus on is the way they kiss like they’ve kissed a
thousand times before. That they tilt their heads just so and lick and bite in
tandem. That Derek nips at Stiles’ bottom lip and sucks on his tongue, and
Stiles’ knees go so weak that Derek’s arm comes up around him, pulls him in
close.
“We, ah, fuck,” Stiles says, trying to untangle himself. Derek gets the hint
and draws back, looking dazed. “That was, uh, fuck.”
“Intense,” Derek suggests. The roughness of his voice crawls down Stiles’
spine.
“It’s because I’m in you,” Stiles says, then jerks away, face heating up.
That’s not how he meant it. “I mean, my spark, is -- it’s in you. Technically,
part of me, because it’s my magic.”
“I’m fine with either way,” Derek says, eyes on Stiles. Stiles flails his arms,
nearly punching Derek's throat out. He thinks Derek is teasing, but the look on
his face. Fine with either.
“Really?” Stiles chokes out, voice going high. Derek nods. “I didn’t even know
you liked guys.”
Let alone acted against the stereotypical expectation of masculine dominance in
homosexual relationships to explore sexual preferences with regards to
penetration. Stiles is so fucked, it isn’t even funny. The idea of Derek with
his fingers anywhere near or around his ass is just too much.
“Take me on a date,” Stiles says, before he gets ahead of himself. There are
still things like crippling anxiety getting in the way of any penetration.
Small steps, simple progression towards the loss of virginity. Derek blinks at
him.
“Sure.”
“Sure-sure? Or just sure because you figure it might get you laid?”
“Does it matter?” Derek asks, in an offhand way that has Stiles defensive all
over again.
“It actually does, thanks, asshole,” Stiles snaps, moving to walk away, hands
clenching his backpack straps. Why does nobody understand that? Okay, so he’s a
guy and a feminist and he recognizes that virginity as a social construct is
toxic. That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t value it, that it’s not important.
He wants it to be important. He wants to be romanced.
“Wait, Stiles,” Derek says, suddenly in front of Stiles. If Stiles had his
spark, he would have knocked Derek down with of a burst magic, he was so taken
aback. Stupid wolves and their stupid speed, Stiles thinks, heart in his
throat.
“Oh god, are you trying to kill me, fuck,” Stiles says, clenching his chest.
Derek’s hands are on his shoulder and arm and Stiles can’t breathe because
they’re close again, too close.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Derek says, biting at his bottom lip. Stiles gets
stuck on the action until he realizes what Derek said, what he means.
“I --”
“No,” Derek says, firmly. “We should. I mean, do you want to go out? Tonight or
soon, I mean?”
Derek sounds nervous for the first time since Stiles can remember, words choppy
and unsure. Stiles inhales, weighted with the significance of that. That
Derekis nervous at the prospect of a date and maybe-sex. Probably-sex.
“I -- You don’t have to. We can figure out another way.”
“And if we don’t?” Derek pushes, stepping closer.
“Ican figure out another way,” Stiles says, firmly, resisting the urge to move
back only because he wants to move forward. He wants to press himself against
Derek.
“How much time do you have?” Derek asks.
“What?”
“It’s hard for the others, right? Lydia and Scott?”
“They’re not going die, jeez, Derek,” Stiles says, exhaling. This time he does
move back, annoyed. Derek lets him go easily, but his hand slides over Stiles’
arm and his hand before they disconnect. Stiles watches it go and feels the
lossprofoundly.
“No, but you’ll all lose it, right?”
“Yeah, I mean, a triad can’t function without three sparks.”
That makes Derek nod his head solemnly, lips quirking up in a smirk.
“I’ll pick you up tonight, then,” he says and turns to go. He pauses, and his
eyes slide back to Stiles’ face, mischievous. Stiles feels pinned by the look,
exhaling in surprise when Derek grabs his hand and lays a gentle kiss to his
knuckles.
It’s nothing, but at the same time, it’s everything.
It’s so much that Stiles spends the rest of the day in a haze thinking about
it. He’s so preoccupied that he almost misses the way the Hale betas smirk at
him in every class. Even Boyd, who normally leaves his expression frighteningly
blank unless he’s looking at Erica, offers Stiles a hint of a smile. Or a look
of constipation, Stiles can’t tell by the last period of the day.
Even driving home he’s so distracted that he runs a red light. Luckily, none of
his dad’s deputies are around to witness it. It’s only a side street, but it’s
a testimony to how his brain is functioning. When he breaks the law, it usually
isn’t in a light running way.
“You have a date with Derek Hale tonight?” is the first thing his mom says when
he slides in. She’s curled up on the couch, looking at him from over the top of
her reading glasses. Stiles stalls in the doorway, hands on his backpack
straps.
“How do you know these things?” he asks.
“I talked to Laura Hale.”
“The Laura Hale? The Hale matriarch? You didn’t set her tail on fire or jinx
her so that she only hits red lights when she’s driving?”
“Oh that’s a good one!” his mom says, eyebrows popping up. He just gave her
ideas, great. Stiles drops his backpack and runs his hands over his face in
annoyance.
“Mom.”
“No jinxing or harm,” she says, lifting her hands in surrender. “She called
because Derek told her his intentions.”
“You talked about the date?”
That's so... traditional, as if Laura Hale called on behalf of Derek to ask his
mom for permission or something. Chances are they were just gossiping about why
and what they thought would happen. As much as they pretend not to get along,
his mom admires Laura’s feisty side.
“You’re getting your spark back, then?” she asks, curious expression on her
face. Stiles squints at her.
“Maybe,” Stiles shrugs, feeling the uncomfortable prickle of embarrassment
under his skin. They’ve had regular conversations about sex since he was 12.
After almost 6 years, you’d think he’d be used to it. Instead, he hunches up
his shoulders and waits for the inevitable condom discussion.
Only it never comes.
“I need you to be sure,” his mom says, face going serious. “Getting your spark
back from someone who’s stole it is a connection that shouldn’t be
underestimated.”
“What?” He has no idea what that means.
“I didn’t realize that trapping him as a wolf would lead to this,” his mother
says, rubbing the bridge of her nose almost absently. Stiles’ pulse trips
around in confusion.
“You did that?” he demands, voice tight. When she meets his eyes, she looks
guilty.
“Those betas are punk asses,” she says. “They’re always messing around in our
section of the woods. Isaac Lahey was the one who spray-painted witches suck on
the windows of the shop. Erica and Boyd are always getting caught for indecent
exposure --”
“So you hexed Derek?” Stiles asks. “For teenage pranks?”
“No,” his mom says, vehemently. “I spelled him into purpose, so he could find
his purpose and hopefully lead the others to it.”
“Why not Laura Hale, then?” Stiles asks, uneasy. It’s such amom thing for her
to do. ‘Oh, you’re busy making trouble? Find a path in life’. It’s invasive in
a way that he’s not used to from her. Annoyed, he scrubs his hand over his face
again. Maybe she’ll disappear in the time it takes for him to close his eyes
and open them again.
“It just needed to be him,” she says, frustrated. Stiles gets it, he does.
She’s a not-spark. A spark without purpose. In order for her magic to sustain,
she has to do upkeep spells. Mostly, she follows her gut to what magic she
needs to do. Sometimes, it’s spelling cats out of trees. Apparently, other
times, it’s getting werewolves stuck in their shift.
“It worked out,” she says, eyeing him in that curious way again. “He stole your
spark.”
“How is that a good thing?” Stiles asks, feeling more irritated the longer she
goes on being vague about the whole thing. It’s hypocritical, he knows; Scott
and Lydia and him prank spell people all the time. Itching powder spells for
Jackson, weak muscle spells on Danny, that time that they spelled Harris to say
‘cranberries’ instead of ‘hydrogen’ for a day.
Getting a wolf stuck in a shift, though? Stiles remembers what Derek’s head
felt like when he was in it. There was a sense of profound calm, but also
aggressiveness and edginess, waiting to pounce, senses heightened. It was
enough to drive Stiles crazy; he can’t imagine how Derek felt stuck like that
for days.
“It means that it’s meant to be,” she says, voice spiking with excitement. “It
means you’re deeply connected. You should be happy about that.”
“That still doesn’t make sense,” Stiles says, but his stomach flips at the
implication of her words. He remembers the first time he saw Derek. Their eyes
caught in the hallway at school the third day of 7th grade. He remembers how it
felt like it meant something; how every time their eyes meet, it feels like it
means something.
“I think you do,” she says, magnanimously. Stiles scowls at her and retreats,
unable to deal with the way she’s talking about the whole thing. She’s right,
she always is. She’s has a deep intuition when it comes to this kind of thing,
but still.
It’s still annoying that she didn’t bother to tell him that it was her spell
that got Derek trapped in the first place. When he went to her about his spark,
she was concerned more than anything, explaining what happened, but never
bothering to enlighten him.
Except to tell him about how potent jizz is.
And blood.
“Hypothetically, if we did a blood bond, would that work?” Stiles asks,
squinting at her. She makes the surprised-eyebrows face at him again, smirking.
“Of course,” she says. “Blood is just as useful as other bodily fluids.”
“So, I don’t have to have sex?” he asks, to clarify. Direct questions are
better when it comes to his mom. She thrives off being nebulous.
“I never said you had to have sex,” she says, frowning.
“You said sperm was an effective way to transport life forces!” he cries. All
this time he’s been losing his mind because he thought he had to have sex with
Derek. If he had known, he would have pounced on him with a needle days ago.
Two pricks to their fingers and wham bam, thank you ma’am. Well, sir. Whatever.
“I mentioned both blood and sperm. You isolated ‘sperm’ in the context of sex
because you’re a teenage boy. You don’t even need to exchange bodily fluids,
it’s about connection --”
“Okay! Mom!” he says, quickly, cutting her off, hand in the air as if he could
even dream of silencing her. She stops talking with a smirk. “I’m getting ready
and you’re not talking about exchanging bodily fluids.”
“You’re a witch!” she yells after him as he bolts up the stairs. “Bodily fluids
are in the warning label!”
“I was born like this, no warning label,” Stiles mutters under his breath,
tearing into his closet, trying to find something suitable to wear. It’s all
graphic t-shirts and wrinkled plaid shirts. In his head, Derek is all tight
tees and heavy boots: definition bad boy. There’s no way he’s going with
layers.
Even though that’s what he always looks like. Derek knows how he always looks.
Now, he wants Derek to be impressed. He settles on a grey t-shirt that he
hasn’t worn for years because it’s just the wrong side of tight. It makes his
shoulders look broad, so he figures it’s a good start. Plus, artfully tousled
hair? Yeah, he looks good. He’s got this.
He’s just finishing up when the doorbell rings, making his heart jump in his
throat. When he stomps downstairs, his mom is eyeing Derek with a smirk on her
face, the wrong side of mischievous.
“Okay, I love you, goodbye,” Stiles says, worming his way past her to grab
Derek and drag him away. The last thing he needs is for them to conversate.
“You’re being rude, Stiles!” his mom shouts after him, but the door clicks shut
anyway. At least she knows when to push and when not to. This whole thing is
too fragile for her to stage an inquisition. Stiles sighs in relief and
practically slumps against Derek, who confusedly holds him up.
“That was your mom?”
“Yes,” Stiles says, exhaling. “Please don’t worry about it.”
“She’s the one who spelled me?” Derek asks, eyes on the house. Stiles jerks
upright and almost knocks their heads together, confused.
“You know?”
“Laura told me,” Derek says, eyebrows quirking up, amused. It makes Stiles
smile, relieved that he’s not resentful. The actual spell was a pain in the
ass. Being in Derek’s head while it was snarling like a wild beast was a pain
in the ass. Losing his spark -- Okay, Stiles is a little resentful.
“I am so sorry for my mom,” Stiles says, stepping away. They were standing
really close, and Derek is watching him with that hyper-focused look on his
face that makes Stiles want to squirm out of his skin. Standing close to Derek
is almost too much. Everything in him wants to touch, drawn like a magnet to
true north.
Stiles would say it’s just his energy wanting to be reunited with his spark,
but he knows it’s something more than that. Even when he had his spark he felt
that pull towards Derek. It’s been there, just under the surface, for a long
time.
“It’s okay,” Derek says, with a shrug. “It was useful in the end.”
“Uh, full disclosure,” Stiles says, chewing at his bottom lip and waving his
hand around, attempting to be nonchalant, but Derek can hear his heart
thudding, guaranteed. “There’s something else we can do. Something more
approved for general audiences.”
Stiles needs to tell him about blood bonding. He’s not having sex with Derek
under false pretenses, even if it seems like Derek is up for it. Which is still
something he’s ever getting over: Even if they blood bond, he will always have
the fact that some part of Derek was up for getting it in with Stiles. He’ll
use that to boost his ego for the rest of his life.
“Something not sex?” Derek asks.
“Yeah, not sex,” Stiles nods, slowly. “Blood bonding. A quick cut to the palm
and bam! Spark transfer. We don’t have to do the sex thing. Or the date thing.
Or anything.”
Because as much as he wants to do the date thing and the sex thing, it should
be Derek’s choice. Witches and werewolves don’t typically get along. If, when,
it gets out that they went on a date, people will question their motivations.
They’ll get questions about supernatural mergings and pack obligations. They’ll
be asked if the reason for them dating is to quell the tension. God forbid it’s
something they want outside of political motivations.
Derek seems to sense the tornado in Stiles’ head. Without hesitating, he grabs
Stiles’ hand and draws Stiles in.
“I want to go on a date with you, Stiles,” he says, low and sincere. “I’ve
wantedto, I --”
“You have wanted to?” Stiles asks, frowning, head starting to spin with
possibilities again, nerve endings feeling amplified. The more they touch, the
closer they are, the more unbalanced Stiles feels. It’s all a rapid build-up to
the crescendo, and Stiles is being dragged along. “Since when?”
Words like ‘inevitable’ and ‘meant to be’ keep speeding through his one-track
roller coaster mind. It’s almost too good. Which is when Derek freezes up, eyes
going wide. Stiles can feel his fingers clench over Stiles’ hand, like an
imperceptible flinch. That can’t be good --
“I, uh,” Derek ducks his head and rolls his eyes dismissively. Stiles’ stomach
drops in disappointment. “Pretty much since I first saw you.”
“You have a crush on me?” Stiles asks, voice going high because his throat is
closing up in confusion and excitement. That wasn’t what he was expecting at
all.
“Maybe,” Derek says, eyeing him as if he’s nervous. Stiles blinks at him
slowly, not knowing how to react to that. There’s no way Derek has been so
oblivious to Stiles’ mutual crush this entire time, there’s no way.
“How do you think I felt about you?” Stiles asks, tentatively, squeezing
Derek’s hand -- For reassurance, to keep him close, Stiles doesn’t really know.
Derek’s eyes skip around his face, to their hands. There’s no way he doesn’t
know, none. Werewolf senses, anyone? He has to be able to hear Stiles’
heartbeat, feel how clammy his hands are. It’s all from nerves. Stiles is so
nervous, because he likes Derek.
“I thought you were afraid of me,” Derek says, voice low. That makes Stiles
laugh. The sound bursts out of his chest, loud and unrelenting. All this time,
Stiles has been avoiding Derek because he thought he was being obvious about
his feelings. The fact that Derek thought he was intimidated --
“Wow, really?” Stiles asks, still laughing. Derek’s eyebrows jump up at his
tone. “I’m part of a triad with Lydia Martin and Scott McCall. I would not be
afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.”
The declaration makes Derek smirk, and Stiles’ pulse tumbles around in a way
that’s definitely not fear.
“Well, good,” Derek says, voice low. The sound is Doing Things to Stiles, sexy
things. Derek smirks at him, as if he can read it clearly. Now that he knows
what he’s looking for, he probably can. “I wouldn’t want that at all.”
“Scared, jeez, I can’t believe you’d think I was afraid of some overgrown dog.”
“Already with the dog jokes?” Derek asks, hand tightening around Stiles’ to
pull him along to Laura’s Camaro. “Not even ten minutes into our first date.”
Derek saying ‘date’ makes Stiles’ stomach go all funny and squirmy. It makes
Stiles feel shy, want to duck his head and laugh. When he does, Derek shoots
him a fond look.
“I’ll refrain,” he teases, cooing at Derek when Derek opens the car door for
him. The interior smells like vanilla air freshener, dash still greasy from the
cleaners wiping it down. It’s obvious Derek just got it cleaned. The idea that
he wants to impress Stiles that badly is adorable.
“Don’t bother,” Derek says, when he slides into the front seat a second later.
He grins, accomplished at his own agility. “I know you’re thinking it anyway,
might as well say it.”
Stiles laughs out loud at that, grateful. Not many people want to hear his
every, unrestrained thought. The fact that Derek does is something he’s going
to relish.
In the car it’s easier. There’s no obligation for eye contact or wondering how
close he should be. It’s perfectly acceptable for him to look straight ahead
while they talk. Mostly, he does, but occasionally, he’ll glance at Derek’s
face: the sharp angles of his nose and cheekbones, the way his eyelashes are
short and thick. Stiles hasn’t had the opportunity to just stare at Derek
before. Never close enough to see that he has barely-there sun freckles or the
fact that his cheeks look prickly in some spots.
They talk about school, which is the easiest. There’s a lot of time discussing
some of their shared teachers, things that have happened in school that they
never talked about because they’ve never really talked, like the pep rally
where Scott and Stiles painted their bodies and crashed the cheerleading
performance, or when Derek and Erica changed the warning bell to wolves
howling.
It takes awhile for Stiles to realize that they’re driving away from the town
and not towards anywhere familiar, like a restaurant or the movies. The tug-
tug-tug of the spark’s boundaries are up ahead, letting Stiles know that he’s
about to go out of protected territory.
“Are we fulfilling your stereotypical serial killer persona?” Stiles asks
nervously, feeling the twinge as they pass the invisible line. Officially, no
longer under the protection of his coven. “Is this the part where you kill me
and hide the body?”
“I wish you would trust me,” Derek says, sending Stiles a sly glance. Stiles
makes a scoffing noise in dismissal, but that does help reassure him a tiny
bit. There’s no way Derek would take him out of bounds to dismember him. Even
the Hale pack wouldn’t be able to take on his mom if she went Season 6 Dark
Willow.
“Unlikely,” he says, even though he does, just a little bit. Derek smirks at
him, like he knows, but drops it. Stiles makes himself busy flipping through
Derek’s CD book and making fun of his music choices until Derek rolls to a stop
in a parking lot that nudges up against the woods.
“I can’t believe you’re taking me to some make out point,” Stiles teases as
they spill out of the Camaro. Derek pulls out two backpacks and shoves one at
Stiles, only grunting in response before leading the way into the trees. That
makes Stiles nervous, worried even. Maybe that wasn’t the best thing to say,
but their initial intention for this date was sex, so it’s not like it’s
unbelievable.
They break through the trees just a little bit ahead, and there’s a clearing at
the top of a hill that looks over a shimmering lake. It’s glittering in the
evening light, catching oranges and yellows. Stiles just kind of stands at the
tree line looking on. It’s breathtaking. It’s going to be even better when the
sun sinks behind the hills and the valley descends in darkness. There’s a lump
in his throat, trying to work its way out.
“Is this okay?” Derek asks, hand on his elbow. Stiles jerks out of it to see
that he’s laid down a blanket on the grass and already taken his shoes and
socks off. Stiles watches his toes flex in the grass at their feet, feeling
dazed.
“Yeah, I --” Stiles has no idea what to say. It’s romantic, it’s more than that
-- Derek went out of his way to impress Stiles: cleaning his car, having his
alpha call Stiles’ mom, a romantic outlook over a lake in a part of the woods
that Stiles has never been in. “It’s amazing.”
There’s no way to keep the pure awe in his voice from being heard. It should be
embarrassing, but when he looks at Derek, Derek’s eyes are soft. It takes every
ounce of control in Stiles not to launch himself at Derek right then.
Instead, he kisses his cheek quickly and moves away, toeing off his shoes as he
goes. His lips tingle from the brief contact alone. Stiles can’t imagine what
it would be like to linger with skin against Derek’s, hands and mouth. How all
of that energy would come up to the surface of his skin. He remembers the kiss
from school and can’t help the way his stomach tangles up in excitement.
When he sits and looks up at Derek, Derek’s still slowly blinking at the spot
where he stood. Stiles almost expects him to touch his cheek in reverence, but
he doesn’t. Instead, Derek joins him on the blanket and immediately starts
rooting through a backpack, pulling out sandwiches. It’s almost methodical, but
Stiles can see the pink on Derek’s cheeks and over his ears.
“Oh god, is this a picnic?” Stiles demands, as Derek shoves a saran-wrapped
sandwich into his hands. There’s that shy smile again, and Stiles grins back,
unwrapping a roast beef sandwich. Which is his favorite. Of course it is, of
course. “How did you know?”
“I asked Scott.”
“Of courseyou did,” Stiles exhales, unable to help how disbelieving it sounds.
It feels like so much. Any date Stiles has ever been on has been movies and
dinner, or spell swapping with witch friends and then making out for a little
while. There’s so much effort here that Stiles doesn’t know what to do with
himself.
“I wanted to woo you,” Derek says, with a shrug, like it’s no big deal.
“I am so wooed,” Stiles confesses, putting the sandwich down so he can grab
Derek’s face and kiss him. It’s the most anyone has ever done for him, he feels
like he’s going to burst with everything that he’s feeling.
Derek melts into it easily, grabbing at Stiles until they’re closer, sandwiches
forgotten. Stiles doesn’t waste time, just climbs on top of him and kisses him
until they’re both breathless and panting into each other’s mouths. Derek’s
hands are under Stiles’ shirt and Stiles’ nerves are zigging with sensation.
“Okay, so we can do this,” Stiles says, into his mouth. “But we can blood bond,
remember? I mean, I want to do this, but I want you to want to because if you
don’t, it’s not --”
“Can I touch you?” Derek asks, disregarding Stiles’ nervous babble. Stiles’
heart goes thud thud in his chest.
“Do you want to?” Stiles asks. It’s redundant, he knows, because Derek wouldn’t
have asked if he didn’t want to. Derek doesn’t do things that he doesn’t want
to.
But Stiles’ general attitude towards things is to check and double-check and
check again. There’s other ways to do this that don’t involve dick-touching.
Derek could easily take those routes, and Stiles wants him to be sure. This is
going to mean a lot to Stiles.
In terms of his spark, it’s a big deal. Thinking back to what his mom said, he
gets it. His spark, his magical energy, has resided in an entirely different
personfor over a week. Long enough to get accustomed to Derek as a vessel, long
enough to tangle in his energies. When Stiles gets his spark back, it’s going
to different, changed in ways that Stiles won’t be able to anticipate. Stiles
is sure that it’s going to be better, but he doesn’t know for sure what will
happen.
Plus, virginity. It means a lot to Stiles. He wants the action to be
meaningful. It might be an outdated, patriarchally-influenced view on
virginity, but fuck it. It’s what Stiles wants from his first time that
matters. What he wants is romance and connection and it might be stupid and
cliche, but he’s getting that from Derek.
Derek looks as wrecked as Stiles feels: teeth biting into his bottom lip, heavy
brows furrowed. It makes Stiles want to pet his face in reassurance. He’s a
little punch-drunk off Derek’s proximity alone.
“God, I really do,” Derek says, trailing his hand up Stiles’ arm. It feels like
electricity between their skin, neediness pushing to the surface. Stiles
wonders how he could have missed it. Apparently, there was something between
them all along, and he was so occupied with not getting caught out that he was
oblivious to it.
“Good,” is all Stiles can say before he’s kissing Derek again, pushing him back
so they’re horizontal. Stiles relishes the feeling of being on top. He doesn’t
have to worry about his hands, planted firmly to hold himself up. All he had to
focus on is kissing Derek: teeth nipping into lips and tongues stroking over
each other.
Derek’s hands are under his shirt again, hot and heavy. Stiles relishes the
feeling when he drags them down the length of Stiles’ spine. Everything feels
frantic, boiling at the surface of Stiles’s skin. He needs his hands on Derek,
he needs to --
“Okay, can I?” Stiles asks, pawing at the edge of Derek’s shirt. He drags it up
and there’s abs and happy trail. Stiles’ brain might actually explode, but
Derek’s hands grab onto his: an anchor, steadying.
“You’re sure?” he asks, again. It feels redundant, but at the same time, it’s
reassuring and sweet and Stiles loves it.
“God, yes, please, can I just touch you?” Stiles asks, letting their hands
break apart so he can grab around Derek’s dick. Even through his jeans he’s
searing hot and all for Stiles.
“You don’t have to ask,” Derek says, breath stuttering out of his chest against
Stiles’ lips. Stiles wants to tell him he does, but he’s too distracted by the
button on Derek’s jeans. Two hands, he’s not dexterous yet for just one at this
angle.
“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Stiles confesses, as he drags the zipper down.
“I just really want --”
“It’s not difficult, I promise,” Derek says, moving so he can push his pants
and briefs down, and, then, there’s his dick: thick and red, begging to be
touched. Stiles obliges. It jumps up in his hand as Derek groans and falls back
onto his elbows.
“Reverse jerkin’ it,” Stiles says, crouching over Derek. He holds up his hand.
“Lick my hand.”
“You’re right, this is so great,” Derek says, eyes sparkling. He drags the flat
of his tongue up Stiles’ palm, wet and sloppy. “Romantic. Lick my palm.”
Stiles can’t even argue, because it’s not romantic at all, but also because
Derek’s tongue is trailing up Stiles’ first two fingers as he slips them into
his mouth. It’s so wet and warm, Stiles’ elbow buckles a little and he wobbles
as Derek’s teeth scrape his skin.
Who knew fingers were so sensitive. Every lick and suck and nibble is going
straight to Stiles’ dick, pressing hard against the zipper of his pants. By the
time Derek releases him, his hand is glistening, and Stiles is panting.
“Fuck,” Stiles says, grabbing Derek’s dick and relishing in the easy slide as
he surges forward to kiss him. Derek’s mouth is enthusiastic as they make out,
sounds escaping his throat in response to Stiles’ experimental grasp.
“We should --” Derek doesn’t get his sentence out, he just wiggles out of
shirt, making Stiles release his dick quickly. Stiles mimics him and takes a
minute to stare at the way Derek is perfectly chiseled, gorgeous, and
surprisingly hairy. Then again, werewolf. There’s a suntan line in the hollow
of his hips that Stiles wants to lick. That can come later.
Derek’s hot hands trail down Stiles’ torso, making his abs jump up in surprise.
“You’re really fucking hot,” Derek says, eyes on Stiles’ face. Stiles doesn’t
respond, doesn’t think he can. The validation makes him want to squirm, and
it’s so nice, he’s afraid he’ll ruin it if he says anything. Instead, he leans
forward and rewards Derek with a kiss and his hand back on Derek’s dick.
Then, there’s a hand on Stiles’ dick, and it’s the best thing he’s ever felt.
Groaning, he bites into the front of Derek’s shoulder, making Derek moan in
response. It doesn’t take long for him to abandon sucking bruises into Derek’s
neck in favor of watching their hands work each other over and over, though.
Looking down, he can see his hand around Derek and Derek’s hand around him. The
red, blushing heads of their cocks glisten with precome. Derek’s holding him
around the middle of his shaft with a hard friction that Stiles knows is going
to have him coming soon. Stiles tightens his grip just to hear Derek’s breath
stutter out.
It takes him a minute to realize everything is hot. More than normal, as if
they’re in direct sunlight. All the nerves in Stiles’ body are tingling,
sizzling, popping with sensation. There’s fizzing under his skin again. He
feels like he’s going to explode.
If the look on Derek’s face is anything to go by, he feels it too: The way the
air is thickening around them, the way the pressure is building. It’s as if
Stiles is going to vibrate completely out of his skin. He feels sweat prickle
at his hairline, breath coming in shorter pants. At this point, Stiles doesn’t
know whose hand is whose or which voice it is that’s moaning. They feel the
same, they feel like they’reone.
That connection, there’s that connection. Stiles can feel it passing between
them, a feedback loop of pleasure. It makes everything more intense, so much
more intense.
Their hands move faster, grip tighter. Stiles feels his balls draw up at the
same time the tension in his chest expands, radiating into every bone and
muscle in way that feels bright-white, but doesn’t look like anything. When
they come, they come together, muscles tensing in bliss, cum shooting across
each other’s skin.
Stiles squeezes his eyes closed so hard there are white stars behind his
eyelids, head swimming from release. Without a second thought, he feels around
inside of himself, detangling his and Derek’s energies. When he nudges up
against his spark, he feels so relieved he could cry.
All his connections are there: Lydia, Scott, his mom, the coven. Then, at the
very edge, a new connection. It’s barely there, but Stiles would recognize the
feeling anywhere. It’s the same feeling he got when he was in Derek’s mind: the
restless urge to run and romp and snarl and howl. Stiles pokes it with his
energy curiously, watches as Derek’s head snaps up.
“Did you feel that?” Stiles asks, even though it’s, once again, redundant. The
smile that creeps over Derek’s face is soft, but wide, curious.
“That’s a pretty heavy duty connection,” he says as he grabs his shirt and
wipes Stiles down with it, cleaning the cum off them both. It’s almost more
intimate now, as Derek handles his soft cock and kisses him while he tucks
everything back in. It takes some wiggling to get their pants up while
exchanging gentle kisses, but they manage.
“Your phone is going off,” Derek says, kissing the side of Stiles’ neck, teeth
scraping over his skin. Stiles will be able to get hard again in a few minutes,
he knows it. He’s looking forward to putting his mouth on that tan line. “It
has been since we came.”
“Oh fuck,” Stiles says. Gingerly, he rolls off Derek and leans over to grab his
phone, sighing at his inbox.
Scott [18:36] DID YOU? YOU DIIIIIID!! HOW DOES IT FEEL, BRO?
Lydia [18:36] Thank GOD, Stilinski
Mom [18:37] I hope you used protection!
Mom [18:38] Even with the blood bond, cleanliness is important!
Scott [18:38] how did it go? do you feel manly?
Scott [18:39] JK don’t tell Lydia I asked
Scott [18:40] fuck she knew
Scott [18:40] Dude, seriously tho?
Stiles laughs at his phone outright, ignoring his mom and Lydia completely.
He’ll talk to him later. Right now, all he’s interested in is the way the sun
is setting behind the other side of the valley. The way the red tones in the
sky make everything seem impossibly warm. Derek’s lounging on the blanket,
sandwich in hand. When he senses Stiles staring, he turns and smiles just the
tiniest bit before ducking his head, shy. Stiles grins and bites his lip,
shooting Scott a text.
To: Scott [18:42] Virginity totally lost
To: Scott [18:42] He did this thing to my ass that made my eyes water!!
To: Scott [18:43] Just kidding, we just jerked each other off. True loss of
virginity is about that connection not penetration.
There’s a pleased feeling that radiates through their bond, making Stiles’ skin
break out in goosebumps.
“What are you doing?” Stiles demands, turning. Derek drags his gaze up and
smirks at Stiles, exceedingly pleased with himself. “Were you looking at my
ass?”
Derek laughs and puts down his sandwich, moving quickly and gracefully so he
has Stiles on his back in no time. He drags their noses together and kisses
down Stiles’ cheek, towards his ear, across the moles on his cheek.
“Is that alright?” he asks, nuzzling into Stiles’ neck. It takes an eternity to
choke out an affirmative as Derek worries a bruise into Stiles’ neck with his
teeth. Stiles knows he should care, but he doesn’t. He just wants Derek’s mouth
and hands on him forever.
“More than alright,” Stiles says, breathless already. His dick is already
getting hard again, pressed between them. Derek’s smile is predatory as he
pulls back and pins Stiles wrists down to the ground, rocking their hips
together.
It occurs to Stiles that he has no idea what this means. Obviously, he has his
spark back and now Derek is a part of him, but does it mean that they’ve
alleviated the tension between witches and werewolves? Does it mean that there
will be new problems? Do they have to stop pranking the betas? Is he going to
have to meet Laura Hale? Are they boyfriends?
“You’re thinking too hard,” Derek rumbles. Stiles feels it in his chest where
they’re pressed together. Derek presses a kiss to his nose and then nips the
tip. “Whatever it is, it doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter.”
“The only thing that matters,” Derek says, getting that look in his eye again.
It’s playful and adoring all at once. It makes Stiles’ heart squeeze tight in
his chest. “Is how I’m about to blow your mind by sucking your dick.”
“Isn’t that why they call it a blow job?” Stiles asks, lifting his hips so
Derek can shimmy his pants off all the way and toss them behind him. Derek’s
hands are on him again, stroking him to full hardness as they kiss, slow and
wet and searing.
“Exactly,” Derek says, and scoots down his body, pressing kisses into his skin
as he goes.
Later, after another orgasm for each of them and a makeout session in the car
that leaves Stiles’ lips tingling and bruised, Stiles is up in his room,
sighing.
When he finally gets around to checking his phone, he has more texts:
Scott [18:51] That should be your senior quote, dude! Connection not
penetration!
Lydia [18:53] Scott and I are getting you a “Congrats on the sex cookie”, be
prepared.
Finally, one from Derek:
Derek Hale [21:34] Tell your mom I’m sorry I got you home so late on a school
night.
Derek Hale [21:35] I wish I could have kept you for longer. I’ll see you
tomorrow. Tonight was really something, Stiles. Thank you.
Stiles doesn’t have the words to respond to that, so he nudges their connection
in acknowledgement. At any point in time, he can feel a part of Derek that’s
exclusive to him. It’s a reminder that it’s real and it’s meaningful, and it’s
everything Stiles has ever wanted.
It doesn’t take long for Stiles to feel Derek pressing back.
Goodnight.
End Notes
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