Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/751310.
  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, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Dubious_Consent, Mates, Claiming, Biting, Angst, Anal_Sex, First_Time,
      Underage_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-04-07 Words: 7345
****** The Devil Or The Deep Blue Sea ******
by ladyoneill
Summary
     In a world where Peter's return to life sucked the Alpha out of Derek
     and back into him, he rules his Pack with a hard but steady hand, and
     he isn't about to lose Stiles to a future of college and marriage and
     anything away from Beacon Hills. So he issues Derek an ultimatum he
     has no choice but to accept.
Notes
     I started this in December, wrote just the first two scenes and
     stalled over the sex, and then, in the last thirty six hours, wrote
     the next 5000 words or so, finally over the block. From three
     different perspectives: Peter, Derek, Stiles (and back to Derek then
     Peter again) and set in a AU after season two where there's no Alpha
     Pack. The dubcon is in that neither Derek nor Stiles have a real
     choice but to have sex. Stiles is sixteen. Both are pretty miserable.
     But there is hope.
See the end of the work for more notes
He stands on the top step of the rebuilt porch, leaning against an unpainted
column, breathing in the scent of fresh lumber and the iron of nails. Arms
crossed over his chest, he listens to the boy chattering on and on.
They're in the woods, not too distant, approaching the house. He can hear the
rumble of his nephew as he tolerates the incessant questions and comments, even
responding occasionally. That has changed. No more throwing the boy into walls
or trees to shut him up.
Interesting.
A not-so-subtle sniff and he can smell exactly what has changed. That should
make things easier, that is, if his nephew will step up to the plate. Knowing
him, though, he'll go stoic and morose, ignore and deflect until it's too late.
No, this needs to be addressed, and soon. The boy is brilliant and while just
beginning his junior year in high school, universities will come calling before
too long, and he can't allow that.
He needs the boy in his Pack, a human if he wishes to remain so, but he can't
leave Beacon Hills, at least not any farther than a hundred miles and even that
will be pushing it.
Derek will need to do something about that or Peter will.
*****
Stiles cut himself off mid-sentence as they exited the woods. Derek didn't need
to follow his line of sight to know Peter was waiting for them. He'd known the
moment his uncle had stepped outside.
"Lord of all he surveys," Stiles muttered darkly, dropping his eyes to the
uneven turf that had once been a pristine lawn.
Derek saw the smirk creep across Peter's face and felt like smacking the kid.
You don't play Peter's games and Stiles just kept doing it. Every little nasty
comment, every sneer, every time he called him something like 'creepy zombie
uncle' or 'the walking undead' or even 'pedowolf'--and Derek was afraid he knew
where that name came from but he really didn't want to address it--it just made
Peter happy.
Too much made the Alpha happy these days.
Crossing the lawn and the dirt strewn with a few pieces of gravel, all that
remained of the once white rocked drive, they stopped near the foot of the
steps. Derek wasn't sure how he felt about the renovations, but, despite the
house legally being his as sole survivor of his mother, it hadn't been worth
challenging Peter when he'd declared they were rebuilding.
Using the pillar, Peter swung himself off the porch and landed lightly in front
of them.
"Careful, Peter, you might get a splinter," Stiles snarked and Derek really
wanted to smack him.
"If I do, will you remove it?"
"What, like Daniel and the lion? No thanks." That sweet tone belied the
nastiness just beneath the surface.
Peter's eyebrows went up, his lips quirked and parted, but before he could
comment, Derek beat him to it. "Stiles, you should go home. You said your dad
would be there for supper."
"Yeah. Right. Nearly forgot." His eyes never left Peter's until Derek
physically swung him around and pushed him towards the jeep parked on the side
of the drive. If Stiles kept challenging Peter like this...Derek didn't like to
think about the consequences. An invisible shudder went through him and he
stood guard, watching Stiles climb into his jeep, start the engine, and turn it
around to leave.
When he was out of sight, he felt like sighing in relief.
"If you're so worried about him, why do you let him come here?"
Derek's shoulders tensed but he resisted spinning around, instead, slowly
turning, not surprised to find his uncle only a foot away. "I've told him to
stop coming here. He doesn't listen."
"The boy enjoys your company," Peter said, smiling coyly, which made Derek
uncomfortable and his hackles begin to rise. "He'd rather see you, spend time
with you, and risk what I might do, then not be with you. Such loyalty can't be
lost. It's time to make sure it won't be."
Derek's mouth went dry and when Peter reached out and laid a heavy hand on his
shoulder in the guise of comfort, he felt both the need to submit and the
desire to vomit. This was bad, really bad.
Peter just smiled at him and tugged him forward until they could walk side by
side, the Alpha's arm slung over his Second's shoulders. Unable to stop any of
this, Derek let himself be led in a slow stroll through what were once vibrant
gardens. When they reached a cracked stone bench in front of a dry fountain,
Peter pushed him down and Derek went, eyes on his feet, shoulders slumped.
"He refused my offer of the Bite. I won't ask again. I no longer want him as a
wolf. With the spark of magic, he's too valuable as a human." There was nothing
friendly in Peter's voice now. It was hard and cold like ice, sending chills
through Derek, who still could not look up. "But I won't lose him, Derek. He's
Pack and he'll remain Pack. In a few months or so he'll start thinking about
college and leaving Beacon Hills far behind, and I won't allow that." He paused
and then ground out, "Look at me, Derek."
Unable to ignore the order, Derek jerked his head up and stared just past his
uncle's shoulder. He couldn't swallow, his mouth bone dry now, because he was
afraid, so afraid he knew where this was going, and he couldn't...he couldn't
do that.
"Put claim to him, Derek. You have forty-eight hours or in the forty-ninth,
I'll do it for myself and he'll be lost to you."
"No." The whining protest was out before he could stop it and he caught a
glimpse of Peter's eyes flashing red and ducked his own again, hunching into
himself. This was worse, even worse. He'd thought that Peter would just demand
the claim from Derek, but to plan to force it on Stiles himself... "He's
sixteen," he tried to protest, all the while his wolf whimpered inside him,
both at the thought of losing Stiles and for fighting his Alpha's command.
"And how old were you?" That knowing tone, just on the edge of fury, made Derek
cringe, but he couldn't just accept this.
"How would...if you did it...how would you explain...?" God, he was babbling as
badly as Stiles.
"Do you think I care? Do you think that his father could stop me, anyone in
authority could end me and take him back? The Argents are floundering in their
own misery. The sheriff and town council are clueless. I'd simply make him
disappear and, by the time anyone thought to look here, he'd be so broken, he'd
simply refuse to leave me. You know I can do it, Derek. You, of all people,
know how charismatic I can be when I try."
Slowly Derek nodded, because it was all true, and Peter was so powerful now
after his resurrection, even more so than a normal Alpha. He also knew that his
uncle would have no problem threatening the Sheriff and that would send Stiles
straight to him.
He couldn't let that happen, but...He wasn't ready for this and Stiles had no
clue it was coming.
"I'll go talk to him," he choked out.
"I suggest doing more than talk," Peter snickered and Derek watched him stroll
towards the house as if he didn't have a care in the world.
And he probably didn't.
*****
The noise at the window sent Stiles spinning in his desk chair to frown at
Derek as he climbed over the sill. "Did we forget something?"
Derek rose to his full height and stared at the floor.
Okay, that was weird.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Stiles tried again. "Derek? Did you want
something? I thought we were going to meet up tomorrow at eight to go running."
Nothing, and Stiles huffed in frustration. "Use your words or I'm going back to
killing trolls." He gestured at the computer screen, game frozen.
Derek glanced up and it looked like he was chewing glass as he ground out,
"Peter gave me an ultimatum."
Stiles waited patiently for nearly a minute, then sighed and rolled his hand at
him in the 'continue' motion.
When the werewolf finally spoke again, it was so softly that Stiles had to
strain to hear him. "To claim you."
And, when he did, and the words made sense, his eyes widened and he shook his
head in automatic denial because he knew what claiming meant and, while he and
Derek might have been dancing around stuff for months, that wasn't on the
table. "No."
Eyes flashing vibrant blue, Derek growled, "We don't have a choice. You don't
have a choice. It's me or Peter."
Stiles felt his stomach lurch. "What?"
"Forty eight hours. If I don't do it within two days, he will."
"No. Fuck no, Derek. I can't, won't, not him!"
Derek's eyes dropped to the floor again and he slumped back against the window.
"Then...me... Look, we have nearly two days. Just think about..."
"No." Interrupting him, Stiles jumped to his feet, a part of him wanting to run
from the room and never look back.
But, Peter would catch him, and what he'd offered in the garage wouldn't be
offered this time, just forced on him and...no...
"Why? Why now?" he asked plaintively, confused and scared and really not
wanting this, but he had to know all the details. He had to know why his life
was being derailed.
"He said he couldn't lose you. That you're going to start thinking about
college, about going away, maybe not coming back. With your magic, you're too
valuable to him, to the Pack."
Stiles felt himself going even paler, all the blood rushing from his head and a
roaring filling his ears, and he fell back into his chair, burying his face in
his trembling hands. Breathe, breathe, breathe, he told himself over and over.
When he finally had enough control back, he asked, "I can't ever leave Beacon
Hills?" He had started to think about college, knowing his grades could get him
into a lot of schools, even get him scholarships. The PSAT was in a few months;
he was aiming for Merit Scholar. While he hadn't seriously thought about
schools away from the West Coast--not wanting to be far from his dad--there'd
been dreams of Ivy League.
"I don't know. If you...If he claims you, then probably no, but I won't...as
long as Peter allows it, and he said he'd be open to it, you can go away to
college, just not far. A couple hours drive at most, probably."
"What about you? Can you go with me?" Mates lived together, built a life
together, and, Jesus, how was that going to work now? He was only sixteen and
his dad...his dad could not know about any of this.
"I don't think he'll let me leave town. Stiles, this is way in the future,
we..."
"No, this is my future," he stressed angrily, "And Peter wants to take it from
me. It doesn't matter that you say you'll let me go to college. If he says no,
that's it, right?"
He watched Derek flush and twitch uncomfortably, then nod, eyes still down.
"Will you fucking look at me?" That brought the wolf's eyes up and Stiles
wasn't surprised to see them flash a brilliant, frustrated blue. "Did you
protest this at all?"
"Of course I did! But, if we don't do this, Peter will come here and he'll
claim you and fuck you and to Hell with your father or the law. He'll kill
anyone who tries to stop him, even your dad, even though you'd hate him
forever. He doesn't care about that. He won't care if you fight him, if you try
to kill him. He'll hurt you. He'll keep you in fucking chains if he has to. In
two days, he'll drag you out of here to his bed and you won't leave it ever
again unless he allows it." Derek seemed to run out of steam and slumped even
more against the window. "I...I won't..."
"Right, no chains with you. My dad safe. Just us bound together for the rest of
our lives. It's for life, right?" If Stiles sounded bitter to his own ears, was
it any surprise?
"For me, yeah. For humans, sometimes. It depends on emotions. You could
probably fall in love with someone else, it's just Peter won't let you leave
the Pack or...me."
"So...just the two of us, forever." He took a deep breath and shoved himself to
his feet again. "Okay," he said dully. "You. Obviously, I choose you.
Just...we'll do it now. Get it over with." So not like in his dreams. In
actuality, he'd never really expected this. Figured they'd just keep dancing
around till he went off to college and found someone to love.
He should have known. His life never worked the way normal people's did.
"Stiles," Derek protested softly. "We can wait till tomorrow, let you adjust."
"No." He shook his head emphatically. "I don't want to wait, to chicken out."
Was that hurt that flashed across the other's face? "We do it because there's
no way in Hell Peter's getting near me." Why didn't you actually fight him, he
wanted to yell, but he knew why.
Derek couldn't. If he had, he would have lost, maybe died, and Peter would be
here now and Stiles would have no choice.
Not that this was really a choice either.
Steeling himself, he walked to the bed, pulling his t-shirt over his head and
kicking off his sneakers. He sat to pull of his socks, tossing them negligently
across the room and then his hands hovered over his belt buckle, and he
couldn't.
Breath starting to stutter, he ducked his head and tried to stave off the panic
attack that had been lurking since Derek spoke the word 'claim'.
"Breathe, Stiles." Derek was in front of him, on his knees, hands tentatively
reaching out and Stiles let him touch his arms, his chest, over his heart, let
him stay there in the growing quiet.
"I didn't want it like this," Stiles whispered when he finally could breathe
normally again.
"I know."
"Do you even like guys?" Because, he figured Derek could force himself to do
this, to save him from Peter, because martyring himself was in his soul, but if
wasn't attracted to men, how would this even work after tonight? He didn't want
to be celibate for the rest of his life.
"I like you."
Briefly their eyes met, then Stiles nodded and scooted back on the bed, his
hands finally working his belt free. When it was open and his fingers fiddled
with the button of his jeans, he asked, "Do you have to be naked?"
"No, not if you don't want..."
He didn't want any of it, not this way, but he really didn't want to see
Derek's god-like body and compare it to his own still scrawny one, not when
there wasn't any lo...any real emotion involved. Not when they were doing this
for reasons, not want.
He shook his head again, still ducked so his chin was almost on his chest. When
he heard Derek rise, he lay back on the bed, turning his head away, and jerked
open in his jeans, then squirmed out of them and kicked them away.
The mattress depressed and his breath caught in his throat. When Derek's
fingers curled around his left wrist, he nearly jumped out of his skin.
"I have to bite." Derek sounded apologetic, but Stiles knew this was the claim,
and he nodded. When fangs punched through the thin skin, expertly avoiding
bone, Stiles hissed at the flash of pain, winced at the sound from Derek that
might have been pleasure.
This was supposed to be pleasurable, for both. A claiming bite, a mating was
supposed to be love.
Tears prickled his eyes and he closed them quickly, tightly. He refused to cry
about this.
All summer he and Derek had grown closer, become friends, and maybe it might
have become more, though he never would have pushed it and Derek probably
wouldn't have either, but he knew that letting Peter see that friendship was
risky. To keep reminding the pyscho of his existence wasn't smart. Stiles knew
that he'd been playing with fire for months.
But, he hadn't expected this. Frankly, Stiles had expected to be grabbed,
bitten and turned against his will by the Alpha. He'd just been waiting for it.
A tongue across his wounded wrist jerked him out of his thoughts and he opened
his eyes, rolling his head to see Derek, one knee on the bed, hand still around
Stiles' lower arm, blood on his lips.
"Is he going to turn me?" Along with the mating, that would tie him completely
to Derek and the Pack. A shudder went through him. He wanted to stay human.
"Your magic, it wouldn't be the same." Carelessly, Derek wiped his mouth on his
sleeve, and, again, their eyes met briefly before both looked away. "He wants
that more than you as a wolf."
"So...I'll get to stay human. Your human mate?" A moment of relief hit, but
faded quickly with all he faced.
"Yes."
"If you were the Alpha still, would you turn me?"
"Doesn't matter," Derek mumbled, and opened the nightstand drawer. "We need
lube," he baldly stated.
Stiles felt himself flush, the color on his cheeks spreading to his chest when
Derek pulled a half-full tube from the drawer and dropped it down next to his
knee.
The slick that he used to jerk off was going to go inside him, coat another
man's dick, and Stiles couldn't deal with that. Turning away, he rolled onto
his stomach, grabbing a pillow and dragging it under his chin. He'd get on his
knees when...it was time. "It's easier this way, right?" he muttered.
"I don't know," Derek painfully admitted. "I've never done this with a man."
Stiles jerked his head up, eyes going to him in surprise, noting the
embarrassment on his usually inexpressive face.
Jesus.
"But...you know what to do, right?" God, please let him know what to do because
this was going to hurt even with plenty of prep.
Derek nodded shortly and moved to straddle Stiles, who buried his face in the
pillow and tried to breathe. When hands pulled down his boxers, he flinched,
but kept as much of his focus as he could on respiration. The sound of the lube
cap popping open was loud and he flinched again.
"Stiles, we don't..."
He was still trying to give him an out. They couldn't take it. He shook his
head against the pillow. "No, we do, and just...get on with it," he finally bit
out as anger began to churn in him, mixed with confusion and fear and loss and
pain and not a bit of desire.
A slick finger slid between his ass cheeks and he shivered in reaction.
The finger lingered over his hole, barely touching, and Derek asked hesitantly,
"Have you ever fingered...?"
"No."
"I'll try to..."
"Derek," Stiles huffed impatiently, "Just do it. It's going to hurt like hell
regardless, so just get going. My dad'll be home in less than ninety minutes
and I need to start dinner."
Was that a growl of frustration? What right did Derek have to be frustrated or
ticked off? He was the one about to get fucked.
The finger pushed inside him and he yelped in surprise at the suddenness. It
went in more smoothly than he'd expected, but it was only one and not that
thick. Stiles tried to relax because he knew more were coming, but it felt
weird.
At least he'd finally figured out he was bi and started watching and reading
gay porn so he knew something about what it would feel like, but, he realized,
Derek had never really answered the question.
Liking him didn't mean the older man wanted him.
The finger slid almost out then in again, crooking a bit, spreading him, and he
winced at a small burn of pain.
After a minute, an endless minute, a second finger hesitantly joined the first,
and Stiles bit into the pillow to hold back a cry as the pain spread with the
spreading digits. The lube was helping, but it still hurt.
And he still felt nothing good. Not even his usual low level of perpetual
horniness. It was gone and he was just laying there, enduring and waiting. And
Stiles realized he didn't want to feel anything because this wasn't what either
of them wanted. Well, he wasn't sure what Derek wanted.
The prickling tears returned and this time he let them fall into the pillow.
"Stiles," Derek whimpered.
"Shut up, Derek."
Derek fell quiet, only his increasingly harsh breathing echoing in the room,
and Stiles realized the werewolf was getting turned on. He was shifting on top
of him and, even through his jeans, Stiles could feel his growing erection
brushing his thigh.
A part of him was terrified, but another part was relieved because if Derek got
hard, he would fuck him and Peter wouldn't have the chance.
The thought of crazy pedowolf doing this to him was too much to bear.
The two fingers had been thrusting and twisting inside him for a while and
Stiles felt he was open enough and wriggled his hips back, experimenting. But,
when the third finger pushed in, he realized how wrong he'd been and tried to
squirm away, his fingers scrabbling for purchase, his feet kicking. Fuck, that
hurt!
"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry."
"Shut up!"
With a choked sound, Derek fell silent again and the three fingers burned like
fire, and Derek's cock was going to burn even more and everything sucked so
much.
Suddenly he felt a second hand on his back, caressing him, gentling him, and he
wanted it off of him, but he also felt himself relax beneath the touch, and he
realized they hadn't even kissed. Derek's tongue on his still bleeding wrist
hadn't been a kiss.
There should have been kissing, heavy making out, hand jobs and blow jobs, all
building up to this, and Peter had taken that from them. None of it might ever
have happened, but they should have been given the chance.
The fingers pulled out of him, leaving him open and shivering. The other hand
left him, and Stiles listened as a belt opened, buckle clinking, a zipper going
down, and then a quick, familiar slapping of slick flesh on flesh. Derek was
jerking himself into readiness, maybe nearly to orgasm so it wouldn't have to
take long--because Stiles knew that the werewolf had to come inside him to
cement the bond. He'd read that much in the books Peter had lent him with such
glee--and now Stiles knew why. There'd been tantalizing information about
mating, some detailed to the point of porn.
There was another step, too, and Stiles had to ask, because his dad couldn't
see and question. "The second bite, does it have to be on the nape?"
Derek grunted and took a hold of Stiles' hips, lifting him to his knees, and
Stiles went to his elbows and pressed his face into the soggy pillow. "I can
bite your shoulder. You can hide..."
It shouldn't be hidden, the scars that wouldn't fade even on a werewolf were
supposed to proclaim the mated pair to the world, even though, even on men,
hair usually concealed them, or collars did, but Stiles still buzzed his hair
and mostly wore t-shirts, and Derek...he couldn't bite Derek back.
He couldn't reveal the mark. Derek wouldn't have one.
This was all wrong.
"It...I'm..." Derek leaned forward and that was his dick pressed against
Stiles' ass, and he clutched the pillow to his face and wished he could
suffocate himself into unconsciousness and then he wouldn't have to be here for
this.
"Do it." His knees and elbows were already aching and for the first time Stiles
wished his mattress was softer. This wasn't a position he'd ever experimented
in.
The blunt head of Derek's dick pushed against his loosened hole and Stiles took
a breath, let it out, tried to relax and prepare, but the punch of pain as it
breached him was too much, and he cursed and shuddered in pain, biting with his
human teeth into the pillow.
"Shit...you're so tight," Derek hissed as his pushed deeper and Stiles felt
every inch of his cock rubbing his tender passage, forcing it wider, because of
course the werewolf was both long and thick. He could feel his own dick just
hanging there between his legs, not a hint of hardness, and Derek made no move
to touch him there.
He really didn't want to be touched there right now, so that was probably for
the best.
The anger returned with a sudden flare and Stiles gritted his teeth and held it
in even though it made every muscle tighten and quiver.
"You have to relax."
Fuck you, was the first thought in his head. You take a baseball bat up your
ass and see if you can relax, was the second, but he held his tongue, and tried
to obey because he knew the pain would just get worse if he didn't.
Denim brushed his ass--Derek was all the way in, and Stiles was wrong. It
wasn't a baseball bat, it was a hot poker. And wasn't some gay English king
killed with a hot poker rammed up his...?
"Shit," he yelled when Derek pulled back sharply and thrust in again, not going
as slowly this time, just bottoming out on one thrust. Fingers tightened on his
hips and, behind his closed eyes, Stiles could imagine the bruises forming.
He'd have to be careful in the locker room for a couple days.
And then he realized that anyone who might care was a werewolf and no matter
how much he showered and dosed his body with cologne, they'd smell the mating
on him through the bites.
God, he wanted this over. Derek was still moving too slowly to get off, still
being too damn careful, though he was now thrusting at an even pace and his
pelvis was slapping against Stiles' upturned ass, and, fuck, that was going to
leave marks too, since his pale, thin skin bruised so easily.
"Hurry up."
Derek faltered, his gripping hands slipping away, then returning to hold him in
place when Stiles instinctively tried to squirm away. "I...Do you want...?" Why
couldn't the damn man ask a complete question?
But, it became obvious what he was asking when one hand slid around his pelvis
and....
"No" Stiles yelled bitterly. "I don't want, Derek. I want this over with, so
hurry up and fuck me hard enough to come and then bite me, because there's
chicken defrosting in the damn sink and my dad will be home soon and I'd really
like to shower before he gets here and, even with his puny human nose, can
smell you on me."
All movement stopped until Derek's hand crept back to his hip, and he curled
over Stiles' back, his forehead pressed to his spine. "I'm sorry." And it was
heartfelt, but Stiles didn't care.
The anger had him in its grip. He was mad at Peter for forcing this on them.
Mad at himself for not making a move sooner so this could have been something
real and good.
And so mad at Derek for just caving into his uncle, for not listening to any of
Stiles' plans to kill him again, to even refusing to team up with the Argents
to take out Peter.
For being here, fucking him when they should have been making love, and Stiles
knew if he'd just been a bit responsive, just gone to Derek and hugged him and
kissed him for the first time, this could have been better. It would have still
hurt, he still would have been scared, but, it wouldn't have been so fucking
empty.
So, he was really, really mad at himself for being mad.
Hot tears spilled onto the pillow and one sob broke from him, and he felt Derek
shake.
And the anger dispersed as quickly as it had come, and Stiles turned his head,
met Derek's sorrowful gaze with his own watery one, and swallowed hard.
"Just...just...please, Derek. Finish it."
Their eyes held for a long moment, until Derek nodded and resolve crossed his
face. He lifted himself back up and resumed thrusting and Stiles put his face
back down and just breathed. It still hurt, but more like being too full with
an accompanying ache. The denim bunched around Derek's thighs was rubbing his
ass cheeks, making them sting, and his hips ached from the tightening grip of a
werewolf's fingers, but Stiles finally relaxed, and then, instinctively,
clenched around the cock inside him.
And Derek lost his rhythm, hips stuttering, fingers biting even deeper, and a
growl burst from him as the blunt fingernails turned to claws that left Stiles
before they could do more than scrape his skin. He felt something hot and wet
flood into him and realized Derek was coming. A quick glance showed the
werewolf's head thrown back, his whole body shaking in what he guessed was
pleasure, though it looked almost painful.
Then Derek's head came forward and blue eyes flared and fangs dropped. With a
forward lunge, those fangs were in his right shoulder, and Stiles yelled in
pain.
Something snapped inside him. Something was born. The bond would never be as
powerful or complete on his end as long as he was human, but it was there,
maybe more tight than it should have been due to his magic.
He could feel it, like a heat pulsing in his stomach, and if he could feel it,
what did Derek feel?
The fangs slid free and, as Stiles watched his blood drip onto the pillow next
to his head, his mate threw his head back and howled.
It wasn't possessive or joyful or lusty.
Through the newly formed bond, Stiles could instinctively recognize it for what
it was--a sound of mourning and loss.
Oddly enough, his eyes were dry. No more tears to be shed over this. But his
heart thumped painfully in his chest and loudly in his own ears and he was
trembling from head to foot.
He didn't even feel Derek pull out of him until a warm trickle of semen and
lube spilled down his inner thighs and then there was another burst of pain as
he was empty and everything felt weird.
Stiles collapsed onto his stomach, stretching out his stiff legs, wincing in
reaction and shivering with cold even though the room was warm and stuffy with
humidity from a gathering storm. Dimly he felt the bed shift, heard a soft
thump, and glanced over enough to see Derek sitting with his feet on the floor
and his head in his hands. His jeans were still open and pulled down and the
curve of his ass was revealed beneath the hem of his t-shirt.
It was a nice ass, and it was weird that he still didn't feel any desire. Just
a throbbing pain in his ass, another in his shoulder, a fading one in his wrist
and a big emptiness inside his chest. A glance at the clock on his nightstand
showed him more time had passed than he'd realized, and he didn't want to break
the silence, but he needed to get up and Derek needed to leave.
With his fist he pushed at the small of his back and Derek grunted in surprise,
as if he'd forgotten Stiles was there, though that was highly unlikely, so
maybe he hadn't expected him to touch him so soon after...
Stiles watched him lurch to his feet and jerk up his drooping jeans--no boxers,
he went commando, not a surprise. The zipper and belt were nowhere near as loud
now, but once dressed, Derek made no move to leave.
He also didn't turn to face him. "Stiles, we need to..." There was pain in his
voice and he still wasn't talking in complete sentences and that would too
easily piss Stiles off again.
"Not now," he replied a bit bitterly, turning onto his side and wincing as more
gunk slid out of him. Porn sex never seemed this messy. He supposed condoms
fixed that somewhat but that wasn't an option, not with the bond requiring skin
on skin and cum inside his ass, and if his thoughts were crude, tough shit.
There was cum in his ass and lube all over his thighs and his crack and he just
wanted to scrub every inch of his body clean.
"You need to disinfect the wounds. They won't heal as quickly as a wolf's, but
the bleeding should stop soon."
"Healing saliva?"
"What? Um, no. It's just a benefit of the claim. I..." One of Derek's hands
went to his face and he rubbed it, then finally glanced over his shoulder, his
eyes going everywhere but to Stiles' still naked body--well, he realized, his
shorts were actually around his ankles, and he kicked them off, wincing as the
sudden movement sent a shot of pain up his spine.
Derek flinched, too. In sympathy?
Stiles really didn't care. Tired of everything, he sighed and gestured to the
window. "Go report to your bastard of an Alpha that he's not needed around
here. I'm all claimed and well-fucked."
"Stiles...."
"Stop it, Derek," he murmured back, just shaking his head. "Not tonight. I
can't...I just can't face this tonight."
There was a bit of wonder in Derek's reply, that only irked Stiles. "You're my
mate."
"Yeah, I can feel it. I can feel everything and I just need...I need to be
alone."
Finally turning, Derek didn't leave, but dropped to one knee so that their
faces were level. Stiles tried to scoot back, but he was just too tired, and
when surprisingly soft lips found his, he let it happen, opened under them.
Found himself kissing back for just a moment before Derek retreated, and was
that regret on his face for everything? Was his face really that open, even for
a second or two?
He sighed and reached out to briefly squeeze Derek's shoulder, because, when it
came down to it, he didn't hate Derek. He didn't hate all of this. He
wanted...too much. "We have no choice but to make this work." If that came out
a bit dully or sadly, he couldn't help that either.
Derek nodded, expression going from a flash of wonder to determination, and
then he was up and out the window.
Stiles watched him go, felt an ache in his heart join the other pains in his
body, then forced himself up and to the bathroom.
He'd survive this. He'd make this work.
Because Peter wasn't going to ruin this even if the beginning had been pretty
damn horrible.
*****
Derek had parked his car around the corner from Stiles' house, but, as he
walked towards it, as it came into view, he knew he couldn't drive.
He needed to run.
While he'd been...with Stiles, the sun had slid behind darkening clouds, the
air had grown humid. A storm was coming.
One was already pulsing through his veins.
Walking quicker, he headed for the nearest entrance to the woods that
surrounded Beacon Hills. Still miles from the Preserve and his home, but he
needed those miles. He needed to run and run and he needed thunder so he could
howl to the hidden, rising moon, his grief and fear.
It had been horrible.
His breath caught in his throat, choking him, and he wanted to vomit, but not
here. The woods, he needed the woods.
Stiles hadn't...he hadn't come. Hadn't been aroused at all. Hadn't
wanted...him.
Inside his head his wolf howled in anguish so loudly he stumbled to a stop and
pressed his hands to his ears.
It had been horrible and now he was alone. His mate had demanded he leave,
disregarding all custom. On their bonding night, mates should be together,
alone, in their den, wrapped together, loving.
Loving.
Derek wouldn't have that. Wouldn't be allowed that. This was Peter's punishment
for his role in the fire. Forcing him to claim too soon the boy he wanted so
badly, when he was too young--criminal and, God, he felt filthy, felt
like...her. Stiles hadn't been ready. Attracted to him, yes. Liking him, yes.
But, they hadn't even kissed. Hadn't even let each other know the possibility
of a future existed.
Now it was forced on them through an ugly, unpleasant act.
It had been the most unsatisfactory orgasm of his life. Even the few rough
handjobs in alleys with strangers had been better. Even his own solitary,
perfunctory masturbatory sessions were better.
And Stiles hadn't even wanted to come.
His fangs dropped, biting into his lips, and he tasted blood and finally
reached the woods. Shifting, he dropped to his hands and he ran.
The storm hit, thunder, lightning, pounding rain, and he howled in pain.
And ran.
But, he knew he could never run away.
There was no escape for either of them and it didn't matter that he cared for
Stiles, his mate, because everything was ruined. He gagged again, this time
letting himself vomit into the bushes he crashed through. Blood and bile
and...that lingering taste of Stiles.
That hint of honey and warmth and man.
That kiss.
Sagging against a tree, Derek wiped his mouth and let tears mingle with the
rain streaming down his face.
That kiss.
He'd taken a risk, kissing his mate, his wolf needing that contact so badly.
He'd expected to be rejected, pushed away, but Stiles had returned the kiss,
hesitantly, but willingly, and...
It had been the only perfect thing in a horrible day.
That kiss was the only hope Derek had that they could find a way to make a life
together.
He howled again, over the thunder, making the trees around him tremble, but now
there was a growing determination in the sound.
Peter couldn't win everything. He just couldn't.
He started to run again, this time towards home.
*****
Standing on the porch again, Peter watches the heavy rain turn the drive into a
mudslide. He drinks in the aroma of wet growth, new wood, electricity, and
smiles as lightning slashes the sky and thunder rolls the earth.
As the sound fades, another fills the air. His nephew's howl of grief reaches
him, and Peter snorts in disgust, but he's not really surprised.
Of course the boy would martyr himself between Stiles' legs.
Only a few minutes before, he felt the bond snap into place between his Second
and his mate, and he can feel a bit of regret at the loss of Stiles to Derek.
The boy is smart and mouthy, but also caring and loyal, and would make a
perfect Alpha Mate, but Peter knows he'd be too tempted to turn him and then
he'd lose that precious magic.
No, Stiles is better off with Derek and if Derek punishes himself for fucking a
sixteen year old, all the better.
Plus, not counting several distant relations, which he doesn't, there are only
two Hales of the blood left. Their Pack had never been overly large, not with
the increase in hunters in the twentieth century, and the fire decimated them.
They have two males left to restore the line, but, the need to have Stiles
mated into the Pack in actuality leaves them with only one, as werewolf
surrogacy is a very iffy proposition. Bitten wolves are all well and good in a
pack but they need blood kin to produce the next Alpha strong enough to inherit
without having to kill for the position, which is the only way for a pack to be
truly stable and healthy, something he knows too well. He can only hope the
Hale Pack can stabilize without that. Cubs of Hale blood will help.
And, as the Alpha, Peter has a much better chance of siring a future Alpha than
Derek might have. In fact, in the last six generations, the Hale Alpha has
always produced the next in line, the Beta wolves only producing other Betas or
humans. Until him, the position was inherited through death but not through
combat. He wants to return to those more humane ways.
So, he needs to find a female mate and start siring cubs. He finds that a more
satisfactory thought than having Stiles as a mate anyway. He is attracted to
the young man, but he's always preferred the sweet scent and curves of women.
An image of his beloved Marta flickers through his broken mind, and he drives
it away, relieved by the distraction of another howl sounding. Derek's taking
his frustration out on the trees and Peter isn't going to think about what he's
lost. That's in the past. He's had his revenge and they're building a new
future, even if it is mostly with hormonal teenagers.
They'll grow up, and he'll find a new mate. It'll be tricky. Packs they had
alliances with before the fire broke those treaties when he killed Laura--
something he regrets, but he was truly insane at the time. Few females will
want to join a pack on the precipice of a war with hunters--because Peter knows
it's coming. Maybe a recent Omega, if he can find one before she goes feral.
He'll have to give this some thought. Perhaps reach out to more distant packs,
even those overseas. He's not a fan of mating within family, but the original
Hale Pack still exists in the Highlands of Scotland. A much more traditional
pack than younger, American ones tend to be, they might be more likely to
accept his need for revenge and his methods of obtaining it as something not to
be reviled and to see him as an Alpha worthy of one of their own as a mate.
There are options, but he supposes he should win the war first before
introducing a mate into his world and siring cubs. Cubs need stability. In two
or three years he should have complete control over his territory and maybe a
couple of the other mated pairs in the Pack might be breeding. It's the best
way to grow the Pack.
And his cubs will need playmates.
Maybe he'll even allow Stiles to produce a human child. Human surrogacy has a
much better chance of success.
And having a cub of his own will keep Derek in line even better than having a
mate.
So many plans, so many things coming together.
The door behind him opens and he doesn't need to look to know Derek's last Beta
is standing there.
"It's done?" she asks, her voice strong and sharp. "Derek mated with an
underage human?"
Still not turning to her, knowing she'll never dare attack him--because the
last ten times she's tried, he's quickly shown her the error of her ways, and
the lessons have finally sunk in--Peter nods and smiles into the storm.
"That's going to piss off Chris and Gerard."
"Good. Let the war come."
"So confident you'll win," she scoffs.
Laughing, he finally does turn. "I came back from death, my dear Victoria.
Nothing can beat me." Her eyes flash golden in her vulpine face, and she gives
him a disgruntled look. "Now, what's for dinner?"
End
End Notes
     This is just the start of a much larger story which will never be
     written since it revolves around Peter and an OFC (and more recently
     Chris and another OFC). So, I do know that Stiles and Derek have a
     happy ending. And, yes, at the end that is who you think it is
     because I like the idea of Chris unable to cut her in half so she
     comes back from the stab wound (Gerard doesn't know).
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