Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/4862144.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Major_Character_Death, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf)
  Additional Tags:
      Inappropriate_Potion_Use, Canon-Typical_Violence, Stiles_Dies, But_it's
      only_temporary!, Plot_What_Plot/Porn_Without_Plot, Unwholesome_Recovery
      Fic, ish, Dom/sub, Dom_Derek, Sub_Stiles, Gratuitous_Use_of_the_Word
      “Bitch”, Affectionate_Use_of_Homophobic_Slurs, Daddy_Kink, handjobs,
      Blood, breath_play, Marking, Rough_Sex, Knotting, knotting_that_hurts,
      Murder_Kink, Aftercare, Licking, Dead_Dove:_Do_Not_Eat, Bad_Stories_for
      Bad_People
  Series:
      Part 3 of Sure_As_Hell_Earned_It
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-09-24 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 2560
****** Plus Six Potion of Resurrection ******
by Spitshine
Summary
     Stiles has no idea what the hell the recently-defeated witch was
     planning on doing with a shelfful of growlers of “+6 Potion of
     Resurrection”—it wasn't like she even had a coven—but he sure knows
     what he wants to do with it.
      
     Well, assuming he can get Derek to go along with it.
      
     In which Stiles gets an unexpected opportunity to indulge his murder
     kink.
Notes
     This story is dedicated to the oh-so-lovely anon who decided to
     comment on an earlier story in this series. They said, and I quote,
     “Why don't you just have Derek rip Stiles to shreds and kill him?
     Disgusting story for disgusting people. Ugh.” So obviously I decided
     to do exactly that. This one's for you, Mac! (Woulda had it up sooner
     but I had to figure out how to talk Derek into it.)
     Content warning in the end notes. Also in the tags.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Stiles has no idea what the hell the recently-defeated witch was planning on
doing with a shelfful of growlers of “+6 Potion of Resurrection”—it wasn't like
she even had a coven—but he sure knows what he wants to do with it.
Well, assuming he can get Derek to go along with it.
                                       *
Derek doesn't go along with it, not the first time he oh-so-slyly edges around
the topic, or the second time, when he asks straight up. The third time, he
barely opens his mouth to speak when Derek shuts him down.
“Stiles. No.”
“Bu-”
Derek sighs heavily and squeezes his temples between his index finger and
thumb. “It's my job to take care of you.” He leaves the “idiot” unsaid, but
it's loud all the same.
“And roughing me up is a great way to do that!”
Derek stares at him, blank and unbelieving. “You're not asking me to rough you
up. You're asking me to-” He moves his hand down to cover his eyes and most of
his face. “No, Stiles. I'd do a lot for you, you know that, before you had this
moronic fucking idea I would have said anything, but not this. I can't.”
                                       *
“You know, that whole plus six thing is a Dungeons and Dragons joke. I know,
what a nerd, right? No fucking wonder she was a solitary. But what it means-”
“Stiles.”
“-is that that potion is just as strong as it could possibly be. Plus six is
the highest modifier available in DnD, so-”
“We're not talking about this.”
                                       *
“It might be cathartic, you know, to be able to bring me back, after...” Stiles
trails off, blinking rapidly at the werewolf-sized hole in his window screen.
Derek hasn't been in so much of a rush he forgot to lift it in, well, ever.
Huh. Maybe bringing up the whole Paige thing was pushing it a little.
                                       *
Stiles decides to drop it after the screen incident (even in the safety of his
own head, he's a little too embarrassed about his bad behavior to call it the
Paige incident) and tries to push the idea to the back of his mind. He hopes
to, in time, forget all about it.
So it takes him somewhat by surprise when Derek picks him up from school a good
three weeks later and, instead of parking somewhere deep in the Preserve so
they can do the do, he pulls into a big box-store parking lot and turns to face
Stiles, face drawn and somber.
Oh shit, Stiles thinks. This is it, he's done. Only a matter of—oh, he's
talking. Stiles straightens his posture and turns towards Derek, finally tuning
in.
“...test it first. There's no way, Stiles, no way that I can trust this, trust
you, to some witch's weird labeling system. I mean, it might not even be that
potion, it could've been a joke, or maybe it expired, or...” Derek trails off,
clearly lost in the wrong-going potential of whatever he—oh. Ohhhhh. Yeah.
“I thought you were dead set against it? So to speak. I mean, I know I crossed
a line, the last time I asked; I was trying to let it go, you know? I realized
I hadn't, uh, hadn't been very respectful of your boundaries, so...”
Derek shifts in his seat, looks fixedly into his sideview mirror. “I, that is,
Deaton said it can help. To replay trauma in a controlled environment, give it
a better ending.”
“You did not tell Deaton about my freaky murder kink! Did you? Did you?!”
Stiles hears himself shrieking, sees Derek wincing at the pitch and volume,
can't seem to reign it in.
“Well, what the hell else was I supposed to do, Stiles? He's more likely to
keep it to himself than anyone else we know, the cryptic bastard, and he's used
to advising on pack matters. I'm your alpha, I'm supposed to take care of you,
to provide for you, and it's more than that.” Derek turns back but doesn't make
eye contact, stares stiffly at Stiles' knees instead. “You're my, my lover, and
I want to be good for you. Fulfill you.”
It takes all of Stiles' self-control not to croon, “Aww, boo,” but he manages.
He can let Derek have a moment for once. He can.
“But even so, we have to test it first.” Derek flicks his eyes up again,
finally, and Stiles feels his heart twist at the raw emotion there—fear, love,
determination. “Non-human animals first, and then maybe—we could hang around
the ICU or the ER, see if we can test it there. And even if—we're not gonna do
this all the time. If it works, this potion is a valuable asset to the pack and
we can't just fritter-”
Stiles wants to roll his eyes, but flings himself over the console and into
Derek's lap instead, blissfully ignoring the steering wheel crammed into his
spine. “No, of course, we can save it, we should save it, once is plenty, once
is more than I ever thought I could get, even after we found the potion, I
never thought you would—” It comes out all at once, and Stiles is breathless
before he switches to kissing Derek, still talking. “Thank you, daddy, you're
mmrph you're the best, you're ohhhfuck gonna take such good yesyesyes good care
of me, the best care yeah yeah okay.”
Stiles is still muttering his gratitude a few minutes later when he comes all
over Derek's hand and both of their bellies.
                                       *
“I don't think I can do this.”
“It's a mouse.”
“But what if it doesn't work?”
“You were seriously going to let me tear your throat out with my claws-”
“Or teeth! Teeth are good too!”
“Not. Helping. You were going to let me tear your throat out, on the strength
of an untested potion you apparently have less that 100% confidence in?”
“Um. When you put it that way, it sounds really bad, like really really bad,
but... yes? I mean, I just didn't think it through that much I guess. And I've
never just killed something, like, in cold blood. Not in a fight or anything. I
mean. It's not like I'm protecting you from the mouse or anything. And he's so
cute!”
Derek groans loudly in frustration, once, punches a tree hard enough to leave
dark red smears on the bark, and takes off into the woods, shifting as he goes.
Stiles follows just long enough to gather Derek's shed clothes and then
collapses under a tree, cursing soundlessly his own stupidity.
                                       *
Derek goes along with it. Eventually. After plenty of trial-and-error, Stiles
killing a hapless rodent only to grow drunk on his own power when he brings it
back from motherfucking death, the theft of Melissa's ID, a midnight visit to
the hospital, and the stealthy return of Melissa's ID, Stiles hissing apologies
through his teeth the whole way.
But he goes along with it, and Stiles walks around in a euphoric, anticipatory
haze for the three weeks it takes to get all the details ironed out.
                                       *
Stiles pushes back against Derek's slippery fingers, trying to get more,
faster, deeper, harder, anything.
“Greedy slut,” Derek chuckles. “You're not happy with two, I can always go back
to one.”
Stiles whines high in the back of his throat but stops moving all the same.
Derek drags it out, opening Stiles more slowly than he has since the first time
they'd fucked—maybe even slower than that—with his human right hand while his
clawed left strokes up and down Stiles' sides, his legs, curving over his hips
and sliding down his arms.
Occasionally he angles his fingers down, rakes through Stiles' skin instead of
skating across it, and Stiles can't help it, he arches into the touch and
chants, “Yes yes yes yes yes YES,” into his fist until the words break into a
hot, wide-mouthed scream. The gouges sear into his flesh; he feels he's being
rent to the bone, but when he twists his neck to look at his hip, torn skin is
all he he sees. He gasps, “Oh fuck, Derek,” and Derek doesn't miss a beat,
pulls his hand out to spank across Stiles' hole before plunging all four
fingers in for the first time that night. “S-sorry, sir, I mean, oh fuck, sir,
give it to me-” He breaks off in a whimper when Derek's hand leaves him empty
again but claws sink into each thigh, flipping him hard enough to knock the
wind out and press his knees uncomfortably into his shoulders. “Please, alpha,
take it outta my hide.”
Derek rubs his slit over Stiles' lube-sloppy hole, not pressing in any more
than a half inch no matter how Stiles begs, just letting them both feel the
push. Derek pulls one hand free to wrap around Stiles' neck and that must be
muscle, has to, because his thigh, his whole side is wet now and he can't move
his left leg as good as the right. If this was a fight, he'd be scrabbling to
cram it down where it can't get to him, to grit his teeth and keep going, but
here, finally, he can let himself feel all of it, the pain and the danger and
the bone-deep certainty this one is going to fuck him up. He revels in it, in
the hot too-much-ness swelling under his skin making him sensitive and
desperate.
He pulls in just enough air to whisper, “Green,” behind Derek's thumb pushing
in behind his collar bone, Derek's four fingers splayed across his throat. He
knows better than to wiggle his hips, chasing the fuck, so he forces himself to
hold still as Derek sinks into him, thick even before he gets to where his
knot's already swollen. He doesn't stop or slow, just pushes unrelentingly into
Stiles' too-small body.
Stiles screams, because nothing short of a fist is ever prep for that and
shoves back against what little leverage he has to arch his neck, rolls his
head back to expose every inch of throat he has. “Do it, daddy, please, I need
it, every I feel everything feels so much c'mon c'mon...”
Derek shakes him a little and he shushes in time to hear, “...until I come,
bitch. You can wait that long, can't you? Stupid little pup.”
Stiles wants to nod, yes, he is the stupidest, this is literally the worst idea
anyone could ever have, and Derek is giving it to him, he's so fucking
lucky—but he doesn't want to tilt his chin down, cover his throat even the
least bit. So he hisses out these pathetic, wet, muffled little noises, trying
to say yes.
When Derek's hand rakes down his ribs to make room for Derek's face, shoving
under his jaw and snuffling around in the blood, Stiles keens and can't hold
still anymore, rocking up onto his shoulders to meet Derek's thrusts. Derek
allows this for a few minutes before he scoops Stiles up in both arms. Stiles
wraps his blood-sticky legs around Derek's waist and Derek is everywhere, fills
up his whole world. Sweat drips off Derek's hair into his eyes, his nose and
mouth are thick with Derek's scent, his hips and back bounce off Derek's thighs
while Derek's hands hold his shoulders firm. He's never felt this focused or
this free in his life. He's flying.
Stiles tugs at Derek's hair to bring him into a kiss and gets side-tracked by
Derek's eyes. His pupils are huge and black; Stiles can feel his own eyes
getting wider as they stare into each other.
“I'm gonna come,” Derek says, low and solemn. “I'm gonna-”
Stiles grunts in pain as Derek rolls his hips and his knot pulses bigger, but
he keeps his eyes where they are and groans out, “Yeah, do it, I'm ready.”
Derek drops Stiles heavily and shifts his own weight to one forearm, the other
hand closing back over Stiles' throat.
Stiles feels Derek's cock throb in him one more time, filling him, and Derek
catches his lip in his teeth like he always does, and Stiles goes to scream
because it feels so good and it hurts so much but he can't hear; he has no idea
if he's making noise, just that his throat is closed where it should be open,
it's turning hot and wet from the inside out and Derek is everywhere, Derek is
everything.
                                       *
The first thing that penetrates Stiles' consciousness is a thick, syrupy
glugglug noise. He opens his mouth to speak, to ask about it, but the words
won't come.
Next are Derek's eyes, so huge they shift from one to two to one, serious and
shiny-wet and filled with concern.
The third thing that filters into his dim awareness is Derek's hand clutching
too-hard at his face, closely followed by the unending litany of Derek's voice.
“Ssh, ssh, sweetheart. Don't talk yet. Baby. It's okay, you're gonna be okay.
You will. Can you open your other eye for me? Yeah, yeah, just like that. Good,
good pup. You had me so worried, baby.”
Stiles blinks rapidly, trying to take stock. Vaguely, he feels his own skin,
warm and sticky from the... blood? Must be, if Derek is so worried. Must be a
lot of blood. But there's something else, cool and slick, oily almost, pouring
onto his throat, spilling down his chest, his arms. The potion.
The potion. Right. That's what happened. He can't help himself; he lets out a
hollow chuckle. And, less intentionally, a thick burble of congealing blood as
the laugh forces air through his clogged airway. “Think you can stop pouring
now, big guy.”
“It's not—why are you laughing?” Derek sounds affronted, and Stiles can't blame
him, not really. Not after everything he put the poor guy through.
“No, no, it's just, I didn't remember what happened, when I woke up, I just
figured whatever I was covered in had to be blood, my blood, if you were
sounding so sweet. Letting me see you be worried. See you care. And then I
remembered.”
“I always care.” He's offended now, no doubt about it.
“I know, boo, I know. I knew before and even if I hadn't, you couldn't ever
prove it better than doing this. C'mere. What do you need? You can have
whatever you want as long as I don't have to move. I still can't feel my—there
it is. Dude! Did your knot get even bigger?”
“Just—just let me—let me—” Derek doesn't bother with more words than that, just
hunches his back so he can nuzzle into Stiles' neck without pulling too hard at
the boy's rim, and sets to licking. Licks off the potion first, and then the
blood, all the while saying things too quiet, too muffled for Stiles to catch.
***** A Few Months Later... *****
“Stiles, where did you say you put those—is this your sex trunk, Derek? Why
don't you lock that—WHY IS THERE A BOTTLE OF PLUS SIX POTION OF RESURRECTION IN
YOUR FUCKING SEX TRUNK, DEREK?”
“Remember that rule about not asking questions you don't want the answer to,
Scotty? Check yourself before you wreck yourself, bro,” Stiles calls up smugly.
But not before Derek, face red, grinds out, “Stiles is a fucking menace.”
End Notes
     CW: Stiles tries to negotiate a scene Derek is suuuper uncomfortable
     with, and instead of letting it go when Derek says NOPE, he continues
     to ask at different times. He does—eventually—give up and in the end,
     it's Derek that suggests they go through with it, so it doesn't quite
     feel like dubcon to me, but it certainly touches the line. This
     series may as well be named “Mind the Goddamn Tags,” so, you know,
     take care of yourself.
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