Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1160444.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Insanity, Nemeton, Possession, Season/Series_03, Season/Series_03
      Spoilers, Real_or_not_real, Dubious_Consent
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-30 Words: 762
****** the wires are all that's left of me ******
by mishaphappens
Summary
     He brings his hand up, curling a single finger and heaves out, “One,”
     past his scorching lungs, desperate for air.
Stiles opens his eyes and stares at the brick wall for a long moment.  He tries
to recall where he’s seen it before but his mind is fuzzy.   His eyes
eventually drift to the large windows overlooking Beacon Hills and he thinks
vaguely, huh, that’s just like the one in Derek’s loft, before he realizes its
exactly like the one in Derek’s loft.
He turns his head and there he is, sleeping on his stomach next to him.  His
arms are burrowed under his pillow, the blankets pushed down to expose half of
his bare back.  Stiles blinks rapidly, belatedly realizing he’s naked too
underneath the blankets.  He lifts them up just to make sure and yes, naked and
something is on his stomach and Stiles reaches out, rubs his fingers against
the crusty remains, but he already knows what it is, and he lurches out of the
bed.  His legs give out on him, however, as a sharp pain resonates from his
behind and Stiles stumbles his way to the bathroom, breathing sharply through
the knot forming in the back of his throat.  He slams the door closed, can’t
even be silent about it, and braces himself against the door.  His mind races
as he tries to remember how he got here, what happened with him and Derek, of
all people, but his mind is a blank, a dark hole eating him up.  He grasps onto
the sink and tries to breathe, but it gets lodged against the knot in his
throat.  His throat is closing in, he can’t breathe, and he can’t remember how
he got here, because it has to be a dream, a dream, and Stiles gasps at his
reflection in the mirror, trying to concentrate on the terrified boy in front
of him.
 He brings his hand up, curling a single finger and heaves out, “One,” past his
scorching lungs, desperate for air.  His vision darkens as he puts up a second
finger, tries to stare at them as they come in and out of focus and, “Two,”
jerks painfully past his lips.  He was at home, he was getting ready for bed,
it’s just a dream, he’s dreaming, wake up, Stiles, and toothbrush in his hand
and he looked up, “Three,” Stiles gasps out and he doesn’t want to look,
doesn’t want to see, but he looks back at the boy in the mirror, but he doesn’t
recognize him, who is that, who is that, and his reflection smiles and
whispers, “Four.”
 
Derek wakes up fully when he feels Stiles crawls over him, lips brushing his
jaw and then down his throat.  Stiles takes his time there, nibbling his way to
his shoulder.  He can feel Stiles pushing the blankets down and he wiggles
helpfully to speed their descent and Stiles naked body presses against his.
“You okay?” Derek asks, voice deeper with sleep as Stiles uses the tip of his
tongue to trace Derek’s tattoo.  Derek frees a hand from underneath his head to
reach behind and run the pads of his fingers down his hip, past Stiles’s
beautiful backside, to the soft flesh of his inner thighs.  “Thought I heard
you get up.”
“Bad dream,” Stiles murmurs, parting his legs more fully so they incase Derek’s
hips, his half hard dick nestling between Derek’s cheeks.
“Mm,” Derek hums, baring his neck when Stiles demands more attention to it and
rolling his hips gently, smiling as Stiles’s hips answer back.  “Want to talk
about it?”
“No,” Stiles breathes.  “Rather fuck you.”
“I’m okay with that too,” Derek breathes, grunting as their hips find a rhythm
with each other, bringing Stiles to full hardness, sliding between the warm
crease of his ass.  Stiles pants against his sweaty throat, sending shivers
down his spine.  Precum from Stiles’s dick eases the way and sometimes the head
of his dick catches against his hole, teases it, before breaking away and
sliding up.  They rut against each other almost desperately, and Derek might
not be able to reach his dick, but rubbing against the bed seems to be enough. 
Derek grasps Stiles’ hip just as Stiles nuzzles behind his ear, and licks at
the mark those monsters left behind. Derek shudders unexpectedly, his dick
oozing out a startlingly amount of precum, his balls tightening up.
“Stiles,” Derek groans, wrecked, and Stiles smile into his hair.
“Five,” he murmurs and his breath hitches as he comes, splattering on Derek’s
lower back.  Another brush of his lip against the mark, and Derek’s whole body
rolls with sudden orgasm, choking on a groan. 
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