Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/523274.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      First_Time, Dubious_Consent, Sex_Pollen, Frottage, Desperate_Sex
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-09-28 Words: 3149
****** This beast you've made of me ******
by brokentoy
Summary
     “Please, Derek,” he says, and Derek nods, lets Stiles drag his head
     down so he can stroke his own against it, a contented sigh leaving
     Stiles' lips just as Derek starts to walk again.
     The whole walk to the cabin is like that, Stiles trying to be steady
     on his own legs as his body aches with want, touching Derek, licking
     at his neck and murmuring nonsense in his ear as Derek drags them
     both until they finally get there.
Notes
     Of course many thanks and cookies to triedunture for she's the Beta
     Derek would have wanted.
     Title from Florence + The Machine.
They're deep into the forest and the Succubus is dead right in front of
them. She didn’t even have time to watch her curse unfold that Derek’s claws
were already inside and through her throat.
Her blood is splattered everywhere — on the ground, on Derek’s arms and clothes
— tendons and pieces of muscle that caught on Derek’s fingers as he ripped it
all off while Stiles stared horrified in the background.

Stiles looks so scared for a moment there Derek is afraid he’ll turn around and
run, and fuck, Derek thinks, but couldn’t he have thought about it before the
damn demon landed her paws on him? It's bad enough that they are alone up in
the woods, that his Betas stayed in town to keep track of the other two Succubi
the bitch had sired, but no. Of courseStiles has to get in the way of the
action instead of just keeping back and weaken the damn thing with his 101
magic for dumbkidz. And okay, Stiles’ magic has worked and it has been enough
for Derek to kill the Succubus with one good swipe at the jugular but not
before Stiles got himself infected by her powers.

Derek stares at the body for a second before turning around to yell at Stiles,
but as soon as he turns and their eyes meet the curse starts to manifest and
Stiles’ gaze goes from sharp to barely focused to dazed and confused in about
ten seconds.

“Shit,” Derek says harshly, and Stiles turns his head away and back again, eyes
squinting like he's seeing Derek from a distance. “Stiles, look at me, we need
to get you out of here. Come on.”

Stiles nods absently as his legs give out and he drops to the ground. Derek
grips his waist and pushes his weight onto his own side, Stiles’ heartbeat
skyrocketing and thumping loudly in his ears as his smell grows stronger,
richer in Derek’s nostrils.

“Come on,” he says again as he starts walking among the trees, one last look at
the broken body as it sizzles into the ground, burning itself away in some kind
of last act of magic. They had seen a cabin somewhere to the northeast as they
looked for the demon, and Derek is suddenly glad they had taken the time to
check nobody was in there.

The way Stiles murmurs into his neck as Derek walks them down the path is
pained and hurried, like Stiles is feeling his reason slip away with every
pant, every drawn-out breath he whispers into Derek’s neck. It's not long
before Derek senses him getting tense, Stiles’ body a wall of warmth against
Derek as the curse advances. One moment he is an immovable object in Derek’s
arms and the next Stiles is again a squirming, living thing, fever-hot and
pressed into Derek’s side as he tries to get so much closer.

“Stiles,” Derek grunts, his left hand a tight grip on Stiles’ side, “calm down,
we’re almost there.”

Stiles moans desperately, his own hand coming up to tangle on the front of
Derek’s shirt, fingers gripping the material like Derek is the only thing
keeping him from burning away with whatever is consuming him from the inside.

“Derek.” Stiles mouth is wet, wet and fucking soft on Derek’s skin as he groans
his name, and Derek falters as Stiles presses himself even closer, flattening
himself under Derek’s arm as he's trying to climb into Derek’s body. Stiles’
hand reaches up from his place against Derek’s chest into his hair, pulling at
it so insistently Derek is forced to stop in the middle of a clearing and look
at him. Stile's eyes are blown wide and fogged, his mouth open in a silent O,
the wet shine of his lips and the pulsing movement of his tongue as he tries to
calm down enough to speak.

“Please, Derek,” he says, and Derek nods, lets Stiles drag his head down so he
can stroke his own against it, a contented sigh leaving Stiles' lips just as
Derek starts to walk again.

The whole walk to the cabin is like that, Stiles trying to be steady on his own
legs as his body aches with want, touching Derek, licking at his neck and
murmuring nonsense in his ear as Derek drags them both until they finally get
there.
They stumble into the cabin with enough grace to make the door tremble and bang
against the wall, Derek’s feet heavy as he drags Stiles’ squirming body through
the room. It’s been forty-five minutes since the curse hit Stiles and he’s too
warm, too sweaty and too fucking gone to be any help in the walking department,
so Derek has to drag him until he can safely drop him onto the couch.

Stiles moans brokenly and turns into his side, a long line folding into itself
in a tight ball. He’s trembling, shoulders shaking through the light material
of his shirt and if Derek didn’t know any better he’d almost think Stiles was
freezing.

He doesn’t waste any time to get back to the door and close it; he bolts it for
good measure.

Now, as Derek watches Stiles twist and groan pitifully on the couch, as he
looks at him trying  and failing to keep from rutting onto the fake leather
couch until he comes all over it, he thinks Succubi are a fucking plague and
hopes his Betas beat the remaining two to the death.
===============================================================================


Derek checks all the rooms and locks all the windows; the cabin is small —
bedroom, bathroom and a little living room with kitchenette —  but it’s
comfortable enough and thankfully deserted. He checks for running water and
when he’s satisfied with it coming out mostly clean from the tap he washes his
hands and faces, scrubs the blood and filth from them roughly.

Then he starts to run a bath.

He can hear Stiles panting from the other room, the restless slide of his body,
the scraping of his nails as he grips the back of the couch. Derek can hear
every noise he makes, every little puff of air and beat of his young heart as
it thumps excited against his ribcage. He can smell the arousal leaking from
Stiles’ cock, drenching up his boxer shorts and jeans, and Derek tries to focus
on something else, opens cabinets and cupboards looking for clean towels until
the tub is full and he can’t delay this anymore.

He goes back into the living room and there Stiles is, mouth open against the
arm of the couch, the desperate humping of his hips too stuttered and jerky to
hide the fact that he’s been trying to get off since he laid down. He looks
pitiful, flushed and sweaty and downright pathetic, and Derek’s chest
constricts because this is what you get when you try to help people, Stiles.  

“You shouldn’t have thrown yourself in the way,” he says, but it is not unkind.

Stiles laughs around a moan, the long drag of his pelvis still frantic even as
he forces himself to focus. “It was either me or you dude, and I couldn’t have
— ah—killed the bitch on my own — oh fuck— “  

It’s the longest he’s been able to speak since he was cursed, stopping to put
words together seemingly too much for Stiles now, and isn’t that just
hilarious. Derek nods because as loath as he is to admit it Stiles is kind of
right, but that doesn’t mean he should know. It would only encourage him to do
this again and who knows what might happen next time.

“The bath is ready.”

Stiles doesn’t answer, just keeps rubbing into the cushions, languorous and
sweet in the movements of his limbs as he tries to get some leverage with his
feet. His face is half buried in the leather, his lips parted and coated with a
little shine of spit, and Derek has to look away from his flushed cheeks and
sweaty hair before this starts to get even more uncomfortable than what it
already is.

“Stiles, come on.” Stiles tries to speak again but he must be riding a
particularly good wave because his eyes roll back into his head and he trembles
slightly, little ahs and ohs escaping the tender circle of his lips. His hand
starts sliding down between his legs and his hips start fucking faster into the
cupped palm of his hand, and Derek can’t look away for the life of him.

“Stiles.”

Stiles’ eyes snap open at the commanding tone of Derek’s voice and he turns his
head a little, as much as he can without turning his whole body on his back.
“Can’t—I can’t stop,” he says, and it sounds frustrated and mortified, but most
of all irritated. He looks at Derek a little helplessly, big round eyes black
with lust but still completely Stiles.

Derek doesn’t answer; he just nods like he understands and crouches down a
little until he’s face to face with him. He looks at Stiles for a moment, then
his hand comes up of his own accord and the next second he’s stroking the side
of Stiles’ face comfortingly.

Stiles pushes into his touch, mewling a contented sound, some kind of joyous
sigh Derek has never heard from anyone. He strokes his thumb on Stiles’ skin
for a brief moment, lets the tip of it catch a stray drop of sweat as it slides
down from his temple on his way to Stiles’ open mouth.

Derek resists the urge to push his finger against the plush softness of his
bottom lip, tries not to think if Stiles’ pink tongue would come out to play
with it, if Stiles would lick the salt away.

What he does, instead, is try to look reassuring, try to get through the fog
until Stiles is following his words when Derek speaks: “It’s okay, it’ll go
away on its own. You need to cool down though, you’re burning up.”

Stiles nods at him druggedly but he still doesn’t try to move, so Derek huffs a
breath and pushes both his hands under Stiles’ armpits and pulls him up
effortlessly over the couch, over the ground. He means to let Stiles walk into
the bathroom on his own of course, but as soon as he’s in the air Stiles grabs
for Derek like he’s a damn cat, his arms and legs latching around Derek’s body
and locking onto it. Stiles is tall, as tall as Derek is, but he's leaner and
fucking agile when he wants to be, and he's desperate for touch, craving it,
squirming with the need for it. He folds around Derek like wrapping him up in
the cradle of his body, blocking him there, is what Stiles was always meant to
do in life.  

Derek doesn’t have the time to even process what the fuck is happening before
Stiles starts moving again, the hard length of his cock hot against Derek’s
abdomen as Stiles sighs happily into the crook of his neck. They're about the
same size, but with the way Stiles is gripping Derek, holding onto him for dear
life as he shivers through his pleasure he might as well have been much
smaller. 

“Oh my god,”Stiles moans; like he’s surprised, like he didn’t actually climb
Derek like a tree and he isn’t getting off on him exactly as he was doing on
the leather couch.

Derek doesn’t stumble under the weight and momentum of every little thrust of
Stiles’ body only because his physical mass is not a hundred percent indicative
of the sheer power lycanthropy gives his muscles, and he hisses a “what the
fuck are you doing?” exactly at the same time as his hands come up to grab
Stiles’ ass so he doesn’t slip down and break his neck, too.

Of course, with the way Stiles clings to him like Derek’s the last dry patch of
land in a world of apocalyptic floods Derek doesn’t think he’s really at risk
of falling down.

“I’m sorry,” Stiles groans, but from the sound of it he really isn’t, because
even as he talks his hands start roaming through Derek’s hair again, nails
scratching into his scalp slow and dirty, like it’s nothing, like this is a
thing.

This is not a thing. This is Stiles out of his mind with arousal and Derek
under his assault, cock fattening up in his jeans of its own accord because
apparently he can tell himself he’s immune to Stiles how many times he likes
but his body doesn’t seem to be into any kind of collaboration right now.

“Fuck, Stiles. You need to get off me and get into that bath right the fuck
now.” Derek growls, but if Stiles had ever been frightened of him before he
doesn’t really seem to be now, because the only reaction Derek gets is Stiles’
face rubbing against his own like he’s catnip and he’s a very horny, very happy
little cat. Stiles seems to be one purr away from marking Derek up with his
scent, and Derek wonders if amidst the fog of lust Stiles even realizes how
animal-ish he’s acting. “Stiles.”

Derek tries to disentangle Stiles from the human vise he’s become around his
body, but Stiles reacts to that with a plaintive whine, a little whispered
“No”against Derek’s neck and the ever frantic humping of his hips taking it up
a notch.

“Please, Derek,” Stiles whispers and it’s so soft, so trusting, so very much
Stiles even under the heavy smell of sex and want floating in the air that
Derek is rendered helpless under the onslaught of sensation and he just nods
and murmurs “Okay, shhh, okay Stiles. It’s okay.”

He nods again, rests his head into the crook of Stiles neck and breathes him in
as deep as he can so he can find the very smell of Stiles between all the crazy
shit that happened in the last few hours, and when he finds it he clings to it,
pulls Stiles even closer, hands squeezing his ass and pushing him into himself.


They’re so tangled into one another that Stiles’ moan reverberates out of his
body and into Derek’s in one seamless line of sound, and the bite Stiles gifts
Derek with makes him shiver, cock fat and jumping into his own underwear as he
involuntarily pushes it behind the weight of Stiles' balls.

Their chests are so pressed together, so close that Stiles' heartbeat might as
well be Derek’s own, and Stiles’ body is so warm, so taken by the brilliant
burn of lust that he could pass for werewolf himself to someone’s touch.

The thought of someone else’s hands on Stiles body, as fleeting as it is, makes
something ugly and angry curl into Derek’s stomach and he burrows his head even
deeper into the space Stiles’ neck made for him, just for him, and relishes the
satisfied sighs of pleasure Stiles is pressing into Derek’s own skin.

His kisses, brief and sloppy and wet with little laps of tongue — rough, sweet
sweet tongue — are  so kittenish Derek has to hide his smile into a bruise,
suck it into Stiles’ flesh until Stiles bucks against his belly and holds on
even tighter.

“Yeah,” Derek murmurs encouragingly. He knows what’s about to happen here and
he wants to see it, so he forces his head back and brings one hand up into
Stiles’ hair; he’s glad Stiles let it grow a little, so glad he can grip a
handful of it and pull his head back as Stiles looks at him, eyes wide, rosy-
cheeked and mouth so red Derek wants to see it wrapped around his cock and —
isn’t that an amazing picture anyway?

Derek’s dick certainly thinks so.

He plants his feet more firmly into the floor, widens his stance to be sure
they won’t fall down in a heap of tangled limbs as he pushes Stiles down a bit
more; until he can feel Derek’s heat, the fat press of his cock between his
legs and then — then Stiles is trembling, panting even louder and staring into
Derek’s eyes with so much emotion Derek doesn’t know how to process.

He wants to say something, tell Stiles that it’s okay, that he needs to let go,
that Derek’s there to catch him and that everything will be all right again
after, but he doesn’t say anything because Stiles is coming right in front of
himin what has to be a mess in his jeans, hands gripping Derek’s hair tight,
eyes on his andlooking at Derek like he’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever
seen and —

— Derek can’t do anything but follow.
===============================================================================


Later they’re on the couch, and they shed their filthy clothes and leave them
on the floor as they look at each other and try to make sense of all of it.

Stiles doesn't look particularly troubled by the fact that they’re both stained
with come. His body is full of bruises from when Derek gripped his hips and
fucked him against the couch, and there are bite marks all over Derek’s skin
that are taking more time than usual to heal.

Derek doesn’t ask Stiles if he’s all right, because Stiles’ cock is hard
against his belly yet again and soon enough he’ll be fucking Derek’s mouth in
earnest if the glint in his eyes is anything to go by. Derek is perfectly fine
with it, but still Derek wonders.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Stiles murmurs tiredly, because he’s smart and
for some reason he gets Derek and his moods.

“I just—”

“For the last time. Yes. Yes. Yes. I consent. I already consented when I didn’t
know consenting was even an option here. Dude, I just went from virgin to the
whole enchilada in under three hours, can’t you please leave me basking in the
moment?”

Derek wants to smile at that, at Stiles’ good humor even in the face of the
fucked-up situations their lives put them through, so he hides his head in the
little spot between Stiles’ neck and shoulder. He suspects this may become soon
his favorite place in the world but he doesn’t say that, opting for a bite to
Stiles’ collarbone just because he can. Stiles is still so warm, the curse
still running through his body even if he told Derek, laughing, that when it
wears off he won’t be able to see a difference, he’ll be so busy wanting Derek
all the time.

Derek doesn’t know if it’s true, but he tends to trust Stiles these days so he
guesses he will see and they’ll take it from there.

For the moment the water in the bath has gone cold, but neither of them cares
and that’s good enough for Derek.
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