The boy sat on the edge of the wide bed like an offering in a white linen shift that ended at mid knee, and gathered between his collar bones with a golden ribbon. He was in that stage between manhood and boyhood that held nothing but promise where his limbs were long and slender, yet to thicken, and his face still had the vestiges of his childhood. He was beautiful, however, beyond the tenderness of his age, enough that he made Derek's mouth go dry and the hairs on the backs of his arms stand up, almost in ovation. Derek wanted to swallow despite himself, a dry mouth, and a lump in his throat the size of a pomegranate.
In the lamplight Stiles' skin had a sort of golden ruddiness, and his eyes looked dark. He had put gloss on his lips that made them shine wetly. He had opened the shutters against the night sky and the moon was full and bright, almost incandescent in a metallic dark sky giving more light to the dark room. There was a velvet lushness to the grass between the trees as they shuddered in the wind. It was perhaps a little too cold for the shutters to be open to the night but Derek cherished it as the cool air made it easier to think.
There was a simple sheet on the bed and fresh bedding piled to the side, there was a blanket over the chair by the fire and a bear skin rug that Derek did not remember in front of the fire. There was food on the table, with a large jug of wine and more bottles on the hearth by the fire, which burned merrily and crackled with inviting pops from salt in the wood, and the rich smell of apple chips. When Stiles saw him he smiled, "you're nervous," he said, "why? have you never done this before?"
Derek swallowed again, pulling at the collar of his shirt, as it that alone would make it easier to swallow. "Never with an Adept," he said, when he meant never with you. "And aren't you supposed to be the nervous one, you're the virgin."
Stiles laughed, it wasn't a mocking sound, "I'm an Adept of the Night Court," he said, "I've been training for this all of my life." He stood up, the fabric of his shift was thin enough that Derek could almost see through it, and he licked his lips again although his mouth was dry and his tongue felt like leather. He could see the slim line of hips, the wider lines of his shoulders, almost at his full man's growth, the tight span of his waist and the thin curves of thigh and the folds of fabric between them. "Why would I be nervous?" He tilted his head to show off those glorious moles, left on his skin like the fingerprints of angels.
"What house," Derek stopped, swallowing again with a dry mouth, "what house would you have been?"
The Court of Night Blooming Flowers, or the Night Court, was an institution in Terre D'Ange where the Adepts of Namaah served that most faithful servant of Elua by replicating her service. When Elua wandered the world bringing his word to mankind Namaah had stood beside him and when persecuted by the King of Persis she had lain with him to grant them passage. When they were hungry she had offered her body for sex and in the Court of Night Flowers the practice was repeated and honoured and through sex they found prayer and worship.
There were twelve houses, each named after night blooming flowers, and each with a different skill. For a price one could have an Adept, a courtesan, who knew the skills which were desired and served faithfully and joyously in Namaah's name. Each house was represented by a motto and carved upon their door.
And like any other court in the world it was full of it's politics and skulduggery.
An Adept served out their indenture, or the debt they owed the house for their training, which was finished when their marque, a full back tattoo, was complete to the house mother, the Dowayne's, satisfaction, and no time with an Adept was more prized than what Derek was sharing with Stiles now, the first night, the final initiation of an Adept-potential into the Court of Night Blooming Flowers
"Orchis." Stiles answers calmly, "Joy in laughter suits me, don't you think?" He brushed past Derek with a light touch to the table with food, leaving a fine mist of scents in his wake, juniper and cypress and sharp eucalyptus as he said the house's motto. The scent suited him. It was not unusual for an Adept to have had a signature scent made, one unique to them that no other could wear until their death. This must have been Stiles'. "Let me get you some wine." His feet were bare on the bear skin thrown in front of the fire as he stood there, and Derek wanted to count the moles on the tops of his feet, to run his hands up the length of his shins, but he felt frozen, immobile, as if turned to stone. "Derek," Stiles said softly as he offered him a cup, "you weren't this nervous yesterday."
Yesterday he hadn't been nervous. He'd been sat playing Tsingano dice and drinking brandy with him, they had been sat in one of the wide couches that Derek's uncle Peter favoured, with his legs draped across Derek's thighs, and the two of them had been rather drunkenly laughing as Cora beat them both, quite soundly. But yesterday Stiles had had clothes on over his shift, and stockings, and it wasn't this. "Yesterday wasn't an assignation." Derek said, and took the cup, draining half of it in a single swallow.
"Yesterday you kissed me." Stiles corrected him.
"Yeah," Derek scratched at his beard, with his right hand in a nervous gesture, "I did."
"That's why I agreed when you asked, you know, because you kissed me." Stiles took a mouthful of the wine, it wasn't a seductive move, or a practised one, just a boy drinking wine, he drank it the same way he had drunk it the night before when he had been draped all over Derek and playing dice with him and his sister whilst Peter watched on indulgently going over his accounts. "I'm an Adept, Derek, I can pick and choose my assignations, and I chose you."
It was intended to calm Derek, but it didn't, if anything he stiffened up a little more. "Oh, by the twelve." Stiles said, putting down his cup hard enough a little of the wine sloshed out of the side, "for fuck's sake, Derek, we're going to have sex, not arm wrestle the Master of the Straits. It's not that big a deal, you're going to kiss me, and eventually I'm going to ride your cock and put all that theory I know into practise, several times, in several different positions, and I have no idea why the blood is running from your face right now." Stiles actually rolled his eyes, before he looked heavenward for guidance. "Is it that I am an Adept, or is it because it's me? Because seriously, you know me, you've known I was an Adept-potential for months, since you came back to Terre D'Ange, and you've known me since I was twelve, the only thing I can think of right now is you're nervous because I'm an Adept, because despite having the title, there's not a lot adept about me." He cupped Derek's face so that he had to look him in the eye. They were of a height, and Derek wasn't sure when that had happened. "I have an idea," he said then, looking at Derek's mouth like it took everything he had right then not to kiss him, "there's a bath in the other room, by the fire place, how about I bathe you, I studied at Balm House, I studied at all the Houses, jack of all trades master of none really, but I can give you a bath and a massage, and see where we go from there."
Balm House was prized for healing and calm, they were taught to bring peace to even the hardest heart. Stiles knew what it would mean to offer to Derek, who had, after his return to Terre D'Ange spent many hours in the company of their Adepts for the slow slide of their hands in massage, or their soft voices when he bathed but he had never lain with one.
Not all assignations were about sex.
Derek ducked forward a little and kissed him. "I'd like that." He said.
Staś Anafiel D'Hale, more commonly known as Stiles, and raised Adept of House Hale, companion to Lady Coeuravaele Hale, Cora, raised by her uncle Peter, beamed at Theoderic Hale, heir to House Hale and all it's lands, like the sun had come out from behind a cloud to reveal his hawk.
"Go on into the other room, I have to change, this shift is not really designed to help with bathing, I'll look like a drowned rat." He turned and without waiting for Derek to leave tugged the shift up over his head, showing the back of his thigh and his high pert ass. Derek didn't wait any longer, he went into the other room.
Derek's uncle had spared no luxury in this either, like the bed, the bath was freshly drawn and lightly scented with the same perfumes Stiles wore, juniper and cypress and sharp eucalyptus, perhaps Stiles had lingered in the water before their assignation, Derek wondered, dipping his fingers in the water which was still pleasantly hot. He stripped quickly, and sat on the small stool over the grate. The entire room had been elevated and underneath the tile floor was a network of tiled channels that led to the garderobe, so the water was easier to dispose of. Peter was proud of it, he had had a lot of the old house revised to feature it, and it had been very expensive. Derek knew he was focussing on these details so he didn't have to think about the fact that Stiles was coming in to bathe him.
Derek had been bathed before, the cheapest whore in the town would bathe a man for a penny, and Derek had no real lack of wealth, but there was something unique about it being Stiles, and Stiles was worried it was because he was an Adept when the problem was much easier, it's because he was Stiles.
Derek sat on the stool with his back to the door, but looked over his shoulder waiting for Stiles.
Stiles came into the room, closing the door behind him, if Derek had thought that the shift he was wearing before was scandalous he should have been outraged by the one he was wearing now. It had clearly been his as a child, because it was barely mid thigh length, tight around his broad shoulders and the short sleeves pushed up around his elbows. "Melissa has been trying to turn this into rags for years," Stiles admitted, taking the copper jug from the sideboard, "but I knew I'd find a purpose for it, I had it all broken in and soft, you should feel the linen here, Derek," he thrust his hip towards Derek, suggesting he feel the fabric which was almost sheer from use, "but it's less likely to get in the way than the new one." He said, "now close your eyes," he poured the water, which was warm as opposed to the hot of the bath, over Derek's head.
It was the custom in Terre D'Ange to wash before one soaked, and Stiles knelt on the tile floor behind him in a perfect posture of obeisance and with a small copper bowl and a bar of perfumed soap, lathered up a sea sponge between long fingers. The sea sponge was rough against his skin. It was a pleasant scratch and the soap gave a deliciousness to the drag of it, as Stiles washed him down in competent, comfortable motions, over the splay of his back and down to the cleft of his ass where a deft finger drew a line. "I don't know why you're so nervous," Stiles said as he scrubbed at Derek's shoulders, Derek could feel the heat of Stiles behind him, feel the way he moved, in sinuous motions as he knelt behind him, "it's just sex, and it means I'll get to use all the things I've learned into practise." He scratched his nails down the back of Derek's neck and Derek wanted to purr.
From the bowl beside him, although Derek couldn't see as Stiles was kneeling behind him, the soap was brought up to scrub at his scalp, followed by wicked fingers which knew exactly how to scratch his scalp and it felt wondrous. Derek didn't think that anyone had washed his hair since his nurse. He hadn't known how good it felt, and Stiles' fingers were clever and knew exactly what they were doing, because Stiles was an Adept and had been trained for this.
Derek had to bite back a moan, "It's getting a bit long back here," Stiles said, even as he scratched and tugged and rubbed at Derek's scalp, "do you want me to cut it?"
"You can do that too?" Derek asked, with his head slumped forward.
"Who do you think does Peter's?" Stiles asked him, "Jennivere won't, she says it's beneath her, although considering some of the things she does do, I mean with his scars," Derek chuffed a laugh at the unintentional innuendo, "yeah, and Melissa won't, so I do, otherwise he'd be like some sort of wild beast." He scratched through a clump of hair just behind Derek's ear, "he'd be almost as hairy as you."
Derek chuffed another laugh at him, "lean your head back, and close your eyes," he heard Stiles scoop water out of the bath to rinse the soap from his hair, then his hand laid gently over his forehead to stop the worst of the soap as he slowly poured the hot water over his head. He then moved around, with the bowl of soapy water in his arms, placed it on the floor and dropped into kneeling, looking like the perfect picture of submission apart from the cheeky smile on his lips – like an Adept of Valerian asking to yield.
He leant into Derek, so Derek could almost taste his breath, sweet from wine, as he worked, diligent and determined on the details, bringing the sponge into the creases of his muscles, up into his arm pits, and then, over the plains of his stomach. He took care of his thighs, the backs of his knees and down in between his toes, before he dropped the sponge into the bowl and lathered his hands.
Stiles' hands on his cock were torturous because he was literally washing him, pulling the soap along him in long careful pulls from root to crown with a slight twist just before the head, each hand forming a tunnel and starting as the other finished, with the soap as lubricant, before he dropped then down to wash his balls, his fingers drumming them against his palm, and then, as quickly as he started, he lifted the sponge, rinsed most of the soap out of it, and used it to wash the soap from Derek's skin. He paid such close attention that the tip of his tongue was stuck, just a little, out of the right side of his mouth.
"There," he said, "now, into the tub, I'll be back in a moment with the shears, do you want a shave too?" Derek just stood up, hard and awkward, and climbed into the tub. "I'll take that as a yes, shall I?" he asked. He was still laughing to himself and shaking his head when he came back with a cloth roll, which he spread out on the counter with the oils and soaps, before taking a small pair of shears. "You know," he said with an impish, conspiratorial smile, "I'm a little worried what the ladies of the court will do when they find out I shaved off your scruff. For that twenty minutes or so before it grows back." Derek laughed as Stiles pulled the wooden stool behind the bath, "now don't move."
Stiles hummed to himself as he made quick movements with the comb and shears, using the comb to separate the hairs before the shears snicked shut and cut them. He was careful of his ears and the back of his neck, humming softly and Derek knew that he would have the tip of his tongue peeking again out of the side of his mouth. "There you go," he said, "now dunk." He pushed on the top of Derek's head and Derek sank beneath the water. He just emerged as Stiles came back with the razor and a strop, hooking the stool with his bare foot to bring it around. "Is oil fine, or would you prefer soap?" he asked. Derek mumbled something even as Stiles pulled out a bottle of shaving oil.
That it seemed was the source of the cypress, juniper, eucalyptus smell, which made Derek wonder just how much of it had been used that both the bath and Stiles carried the scent so firmly. He liked the idea that he would smell like Stiles until Orthon drew him another bath in the morning.
Stiles splashed the oil unto his hands, rubbing them together then leant forward to rub it into Derek's scruff. Derek would not have said he was excessively scruffy, but he didn't quite have a beard, it was just laziness, he was willing to admit, that he didn't want to shave, but didn't want the upkeep of a beard either, so every few days he would shave and then let it grow out again, before it started to get itchy and then it had to go again. It felt good though, to have Stiles long fingers stroking it, he wondered if that could count as reason enough to keep it.
Stiles used the razor deftly and with a sort of confidence, moving Derek's head by tweaking his nose, as he dragged the sharp edge along his skin, dipping the blade into the bath to clean it. It didn't take as long as he thought it would either, it seemed to be something Stiles was comfortable with doing, because it was not long after he had started that he was tilting Derek's head back to scrap the razor along his throat. "Why don't you have a valet who will do this for you?" he asked, "you're as bad as your uncle, it's quite disappointing really. You dress well enough, but you're both too lazy to get a hair cut." Derek wanted to laugh but it was not a good prospect, he thought, when someone had a razor against his throat. "Now, there you go." Stiles said finally, rinsing off the blade before he wiped it dry with his shift.
He stood up, close enough to Derek that he could see his stomach through the shift, before reaching over him in what had to be a deliberate motion to get a sheet down to dry him. He practically thrust his cock into Derek's freshly shaved face, and Derek knew Stiles was perfectly capable of that kind of manipulation.
What Stiles didn't seem to realise was that it was that Derek was nervous because of all the ritual and pomp of lying with an Adept, especially for an Adept's first time, but that it was Stiles and it was Stiles' first time.
"Do you need a hand?" Stiles said, with the sheet thrown over his shoulder as Derek went to get out of the bath, he offered him one and Derek let him heave him out of the bath. "Here you go." He threw the balled up fabric at Derek, "I'll be in the other room, come in when you're ready." Derek swallowed again as Stiles walked into the other room, pulling the wet shift over his head and throwing it to the floor, so he walked completely naked to the fire place, long pale hairless limbs, peach warm in the lamp light and Derek was sure if he hadn't been hard from being bathed, he certainly was now.
Stiles had pulled the first shift back on, the loose one that fell below his knees, it was deliberate, Derek knew, to give him flashes of nudity, Stiles was trained as an Adept, he had to have knowledge of his own beauty, he was covering it up for two reasons, one he wanted to put Derek at ease, and two he knew how much more powerful the suggestion of nudity was than nudity itself. An Adept would know that, and Derek was learning it fast.
This was not Derek's first time with an Adept, it was a common practise in Terre D'Ange that any noble child would be taken to the Night Court to remove them of the trouble of virginity in a country which believed in the simple rule, do as thou wilt but nothing against another's will. There was a certain pride in visiting the Night Court. But it was different lying with an Adept and lying with Stiles. After the fire he had spent long hours with the Adepts of Balm House, but he had not needed to lie with them, instead he had listened to them sing as they stroked the knots from his muscles with steady hands and reassured him that he was alive and that despite his guilt he hadn't died in the fire with his family.
He had the wine again, taking a bottle of it from the table and putting it on the small table beside the bed with the oil, "Here," he said pushing one of the cups into Derek's hand, "it's good wine, and it's open, we need to drink it. Then lie on the bed, on your front. I'll give you a massage."
Derek swallowed the wine down in two large gulps, it had been sweetened with honey, which made sense, Peter was very proud of his apiary, and Stiles had a notorious sweet tooth. He licked the last of it from his lips as he climbed on the bed knowing full well that Stiles was ogling him as he did so. "I was thinking," Stiles said, "about why you're so nervous, I mean, first of all there's all of this," he swung one leg over the back of Derek's thighs so he was straddling him just behind his ass, "and I understand that this kind of beauty can be daunting." Stiles was teasing and Derek knew it, as he leant forward, uncorked the bottle of oil, the scent was different this time, there were too many scents to quickly recognise anything other than red wine, it was darker, smoky, and not unpleasant as Stiles poured it unto his back. "But maybe it's because I'm an Adept and you think that Peter might be forcing me into this."
Derek didn't say anything, he just made a grunt as Stiles' clever fingers started to roam over his back, learning where the knots were.
"The thing is Peter didn't want me to be an Adept. I was sold to the Night Court when my mother died, because the woman my mother left me with didn't want to take care of me until my father came home, and my father was never told that she had died, because the three gold pieces they paid for me meant more to her. I know that." He dug his thumbs into the muscle behind the shoulder blade, "and those years were an education, if my mother had lived, and we had continued on my father's salary I would be, at best, a soldier, but I'd probably have sold herbs to the Night Court like my mother did. I might have been able to earn a commission, if I worked hard, and if Elua was on my side I might have got a farm, but then your uncle needed a companion for your sister, and I was a hard fit at the Night Court." His voice was firm and even, "I was educated but too wild for anyone but Orchis House, and too clever for them by far, so it was easier to sell me. And your uncle, for all his faults, has been nothing but good to me." He laughed to himself, "but if I left it that I was Cora's companion, I would face a future in the fields, I would go from being her equal to at best a man who waves at her when she visits at Harvest. I didn't want that, Derek." He stopped again as Derek came apart under his hands, "so I told Peter I wanted to continue with my training, that I wanted Jennivere to train me as an Adept, I wanted to declare myself as a Servant of Namaah, because it means when I finish my Marque I will be your equal."
Stiles stopped for a moment. "Until I complete my Marque Peter is my Dowayne, but do you know how many people approached him about buying my first night? De la Courcel and de Montreve have spent the last five months trying to one up each other, Peter was offered enough property to make Hale one of the largest of all the houses, and he turned them down because I didn't want it." He stopped for a moment, his thumbs working the muscle at the back of Derek's neck, "besides if they spent that much I would get the most awful Namaah's gift, if they bankrupted themselves trying to afford Peter's price, there'd be nothing left for me to buy my Marque." He stopped again, slithering down Derek to work at his thighs with his hard, hot hands, pouring more of the oil, "and I know how much he charged you, a single centime." He stopped, knuckling into the back of Derek's knee as he worked, "did you really think that was all I was worth? I offered to make the payment myself when you kissed me yesterday." He started work on the other leg, "Derek, you have got my first night because I wanted you to have it, because I told Peter to give you it, do you understand?"
Derek made a noise that might have been from the bonelessness that Stiles had worked on him with his thumbs, "and I bet you're appreciating all that time I spent training with Jennivere now, aren't you?" Stiles moved back, off Derek, Jennivere was an Adept of Balm House who had come the manor after the fire to tend to Peter's burns and now she served Derek's uncle because they had come to a mutual agreement. She had become part of the household in the role of Peter's mistress, but Derek didn't spend much time with her. He found her to be manipulative with a cruel sense of humour – but that suited his uncle well. "Now turn over."
"It's not why, Stiles," Derek said, "it's not that you're an Adept.
"Then why?" He asked, lifting Derek's foot and working his thumb into the sole, Derek made a noise because of how good it felt.
"Because it's you." He said bluntly, "because I want it to be perfect for you, and it's not going to be."
Stiles started to laugh, a genuine belly laugh that travelled up Derek's foot as he rocked against it. "Derek," he said through the laughter, "it's sex, it's never going to be perfect, it's going to be messy and involve elbows in places where elbows should not go, and cramps and hair in your mouth and waking up the next morning with bad breath and the taste of god knows what in your mouth and hairs on your tongue. It's about two people coming together to praise Namaah, and through her Elua, with love and pleasure and to put into place all those things that I have learned, to yield, and be yielded to, and that's why it's going to be perfect, because you care enough to worry," he leant forward, dropping Derek's foot and crawled up Derek's legs until his face was just above his sternum, "it's about this," he said and laid his mouth on Derek's skin, but instead of a kiss, that Derek might have expected, he blew a raspberry and Derek couldn't help the belly laugh that came out of him. "When Namaah went to the king of Persis she made him laugh and he loved her in laughter, and that's what sex is, Derek, it's about getting it wrong and laughing about it."
He was above Derek's face now, draped along him with the shift tugged up under his elbows, "hey," he said with a smile, his clever tongue reaching out to wet his soft mouth, a stronger man might have been able to resist, to lie there with this beautiful boy draped over him, to be so close to his mouth, to know how brilliant and brave he was, and not kiss him. Derek was not that man.
Stiles' mouth was soft and hot and he opened so eagerly to Derek's tongue, as Derek's hands found the fabric of his shift, with Stiles' own around Derek's arms. His eyes were mostly closed so that there was a line of the honey colour of his eyes, and the taste of red wine on those plump lips, and the smell of him, musk underneath the cypress, juniper and eucalyptus that he had chosen, and Stiles hands were slick from the oil he had rubbed into Derek, the one that smelled of musk and red wine, and there was the fire place with it's apple wood chips and it was just everything.
He had kissed Stiles before, the previous night when they had been playing dice with Cora, and it was so easy, and it was easy now, now that Derek realised it didn't have to be difficult, that he could do what he wanted, as one hand cupped Stiles head and the other travelled down, over the soft sheer linen, and cupped his ass. Stiles made a noise into his mouth, his tongue peeking out into the kiss and allowing Derek to coax it into his mouth and suck on it softly.
Stiles rolled his hips, and then pulled his mouth away, "this has to go," he said, and with his arms crossed for a brief second he pulled the shift up over his head, and threw it away, "Melissa would have both of our hides for throw rugs if you tore it, and I know you were considering it." He punctuated his words with kisses, and Derek knew that he was right, Melissa may have been his sister's nurse, but her word was law in the Hale house. She didn't even seem like the type as she was soft and fond but when she spoke every one in the household obeyed. She was a Tsingano, one of the dark skinned people who were seen in town and treated as less than dirt, but in the Hale Household Melissa was law, even Laura – Lord of the Hale demesnes backed down from Melissa when she spoke.
"Less talk of Melissa," Derek said, his hand finding skin, soft and hot and flesh moving under his palm.
Stiles laughed into his kisses, his mouth soft and sour with the red wine, as he softly, almost tentatively, rolled his hips. Derek nipped him on the chin when he did it so Stiles gave him a quick moue of displeasure. "Can I try something?" he asked, "something I've wanted to do for so long only Namaah could record it." He licked his lips, "Can I?"
And who was Derek to deny him. "You're shaved," Derek pointed out, he knew intellectually that most Adepts were hairless but it was another thing to see it.
"There's a story," Stiles said rolling his eyes, as he sat back on his calves, the same kneeling position he had learned from House Valerian with it's motto of “I yield”, but now with shins either side of Derek's thighs, so his ass was sat on Derek's knees. "I was all, look a little bit of hair doesn't go astray but Jennivere pretty much pinned me down and violated me with the razor, look," he raised his arms to show his armpit, "it's not natural, I tell you." And Derek laughed. "And I was worried about you giving me stubble burn," he shook his head, his hands everywhere because Stiles was expressive like that, "not the other way around, but," he schooled his face into a rather fair approximation of Peter's Adept, Jennivere, "an Adept is hairless because they are an instrument of Namaah and she went hairless when she went to the King of Persis." He shook his head, "personally, considering she was travelling, I think she was as hairy as a goat but no one wanted to paint her like that, so hairless, and yeah, it kinda feels nice, here," he grabbed Derek's hand and ran it down his arm, "although it'll probably itch like crotch rot coming back in." He grinned, his smile crawling up one side of his face then the other, then he licked his lips, his fingers moving to Derek's crotch, scratching through the still damp pubic hair from his navel to his balls, "although I think you like this. Do you, Derek, do you like this?"
Derek told him that he did. Stiles' expression was impish when he bent down, his breath washing over the crown of his cock, "tell me if I do anything wrong." Stiles wrapped one hand around the base of Derek's cock, bringing it up to his mouth, and started with soft kittenish licks, then he went back to sitting up, licking at his lips, "I'm going to have to move you, the angles are all wrong here, I'm getting cramp." He moved to lying beside Derek, and then used his hands to part his thighs, before he crouched between them, "this should work better," he said and put his mouth back, one hand curled around the base of his cock, and the other curled around his hip.
Derek couldn't say he was skilled, but he was eager and he was determined, he used his tongue to form a cushion and bobbed, sucking only when he pulled his mouth off, his hand had tugged down the foreskin and he used a lot of spit, but the very image of Stiles on his knees with his head bobbing, and his eyes meeting Derek's, all honey gold and huge pupils in the lamp light, Derek couldn't have lasted. Derek tried to pull him off but Stiles used his free hand to wave him off, before Derek came in his mouth, Stiles let him, just holding his mouth open, then when he was done, when Derek was still reeling from the aftershocks, Stiles draped himself over the edge of the bed spat into the chamber pot before he washed his mouth out with the wine.
"Uh," Stiles said, taking another mouthful of the wine, "that tastes horrible, it's like rennet or raw egg or something, ugh," he emptied the cup.
"Then why did you?" Derek asked, he was boneless but he got the impression it wouldn't have made much sense regardless.
"Because I wanted to, because I happen to really like the idea of letting you come in my mouth, I happen to like knowing I did that to you, and it was quick, so I couldn't have been that bad at it, what do you think? Did I pass muster?" He had a wide grin, his eyes were crinkled at the corners, so Derek just grabbed his head and pulled him in for a kiss.
"Do I want to know where you learned to do that?" he asked against Stiles' mouth.
"There may be an artisan in the capital," Stiles whispered in his ear, "whose sole job is the manufacture of porcelain recreations of phalluses." He said, "for the purpose of training Adepts, and satisfying wives who are too much in the public eyes to take a lover without issues from the court, or possessive husbands, or men who are afraid to take a male lover." He tried to look artless but his eyes were mischievous, like honey, sparkling in the lamp light, "and I might have a few of them, in different sizes and colours."
"Do I want to know how an Adept trained outside the Night Court learns of these things?"
Stiles went to say something but Derek cut him off with "Jennivere," as Stiles said "Melissa." He leaned down to take a kiss from Derek's mouth, "I have a few other secrets from the Night Court, you know." He turned and moved to the small cabinet beside the bed and pulled out a small enamelled tin, the design on it was a columbine flower twisted through a triskelion, Derek realised he was one of the first to see the design that Stiles would have as his marque. "Melissa has her secrets as a Tsingano, and I'm not asking, because she'll just twist my ear again, but here," he handed the tin to Derek who opened it.
Derek had heard of the pharmacopoeia of the Night Court, pills that would enhance or delay pleasure, those that softened men and wettened women, there were drugs for all sorts of purposes, and Stiles as an Adept could purchase them, so that was what he was expecting, instead if was a milky looking jelly. "Unless you don't want that," Stiles looked shy then, "I mean, I know some people would consider me blowing you to be everything, but we have all night." Derek sort of boggled, inside the tin was Namaah's Kiss, a very rare and expensive lubricant. "I think there's enough there, I can always go down to the kitchen and get more if we need it, but I just thought," he rubbed the back of his hand with his head, his erection sitting sweetly on his thighs where he was kneeling, "well, I thought you'd like to plow me."
Derek swallowed, his cock, recently sated, started to twitch it's interest, "I mean," Stiles continued, "if you want to, you don't have to," now it was Stiles' turn to be nervous. "I just thought, well,"
"Stiles," Derek said and pulled Stiles across for a kiss, "I would be honoured." He nipped at the lips in front of him, soft and sweet like summer peaches drizzled in honey, with the sour lingering of the wine, "I just."
Stiles smiled against his mouth. "I know what to do," he said, "in theory, well, with a porcelain dildo at any rate."
How was Derek supposed to cope when Stiles kept saying things like that? He made a sort of noise and pushed the tin to the side, making sure he saw where it landed, he tried to silence him with kisses but for all that Stiles' mouth was eager his hands were worse. Derek, using both hands on his shoulders, turned them so Stiles was underneath him. "I'm going to plow you," Derek told him, "you don't have to coax me, but do you know what I'm going to do first," he leaned in and dragged the tip of his nose up over Stiles' mouth, up the side of his nose to his forehead, "I'm going to finish you with my hand, and then when you're all loose limbed, when you're not so nervous, I'm going to plow you with my tongue, to loosen you up for my fingers, how does that sound?"
Stiles made a broken sound, his hand falling over his eyes as Derek sucked a mark unto his collarbones. There was sweat pooling in the hollow of his throat, and with a touch of the lubricant, rubbing it between his fingers to test it, it was much better and less greasy than the oil, he reached down and took Stiles' cock in hand.
Stiles was never going to last, he had been hard, Derek thought, since before Derek had come into the room because that's what Adepts did. He wasn't wearing a ring, although that surprised Derek, so he must have been thinking every unsexy thought he could, but three twisting pulls and the boy was bucking up with a cry, his ejaculate splattering against his chest. For all his training Derek knew this was the first time that Stiles had gotten off with anything other than his own hand and he felt proprietary over it, he had done this to this beautiful boy, he had left him with his lips swollen and vibrantly flushed for Derek alone to see.
But after tonight Stiles did not belong to Derek alone so he quashed down the pride. Adepts were trained to make their patron feel like the only lover they would ever need, and Stiles would be no different.
Derek was not as precious about the taste as Stiles because he licked him clean and didn't bother to rinse his mouth out, but Derek understood, semen was something of an acquired taste, and not something a neophyte could prepare for. Some Houses trained their Adepts before their First Night in that art because they considered that it didn't count for virginity. Stiles tried to bat him away, with a murmur of "too much" but Derek just grinned into the skin before him, the boy was beautiful, he could understand how two of the richest houses in the realm were fighting over claiming him and Stiles had asked Peter to let Derek do this, Derek could do this, he could, he would make it perfect for Stiles, he could break him apart with sensation. He could.
Derek suspected he was lying to himself, but he'd been lying to himself for years, this was just another lie upon the pile.
He rolled Stiles unto his back, and the boy was as pliant as if he was made of cloth, and hitched the boy up, with a forearm under his stomach and the other he used to part the cheeks of his ass, before he leant in to take a deep breath. Stiles was slick with sweat and he had been shaved here too, in the lamp light the damp skin almost glistened, and he smelt faintly of musk, but also of cypress and juniper and eucalyptus, and more than anything Derek wanted to taste.
He didn't know if Jennivere had taught Stiles about this, and she certainly wouldn't have performed it, but the noise that Stiles made when Derek kissed him there, at the start of the crease of his ass, suggested that Stiles had no preparation for this at all. The sound was like he was broken. Heartened and aroused by the noise Derek placed a sucking kiss over the muscle and Stiles groaned like he was deflated.
Derek used his tongue fiercely, alternating it with sucking on the muscle and Stiles twisted and stretched and tried to force more of his ass into Derek's mouth, and Derek took great sucking breaths through his nose so he didn't have to stop, even though his jaw was starting to ache. Stiles was muttering, "plow me, plow me," over and over amidst the groans and he had the sheet pulled so taut in his hands he had tugged it clear of the mattress.
"You want my fingers, Stiles?" this was comfortable and easy, Derek could do this, dipping his fingers into the lubricant that Stiles had provided and then running the pad of his fingers over the muscles which flexed and twitched, slightly open, from his tongue. Kings weren't rich enough to pay for this sight, Derek thought, Stiles was slim and beautiful and worked open and wanting, wanton and yearning raised up a little on his knees to try and force more of his ass into Derek's mouth.
"I," Stiles managed through his litany, "I," Derek pressed his thumb in up to the first knuckle and Stiles yowled like a cat in heat. Derek twisted his thumb, pulling it out as he slicked up two fingers, the lubricant was soft and slightly warm, with a silky texture, and let Derek slip his fingers inside, twisting and rubbing with his fingertips, moving his hand in a steady circular motion to open him up. He was hot inside, and the lubricant made him wet, not like water or oil, but more like silk laid over him and it was taking all the restraint that Derek had not to simply coat his cock and push it into the boy, as Stiles' head thrashed back and forth and the litany of curses and blasphemies he was probably completely unaware that he was making, dragging his cock over the sheet.
Derek looked at his cock critically, wondering if Stiles needed a third finger, the boy was already tight, but this was his first time, the one he'd remember regardless, Derek added more of the lubricant before he made a triangle of his fingers and pushed it in. Stiles was biting his lips now, his cock, was hard and hanging between his thighs, his balls, shaved, pulled high and tight. "You could come from just this," Derek asked him, "just my fingers, couldn't you, do you want me to make you? Do you want to come for me?" With his fingers pushed in as far as he could make them Derek pushed his index finger between the other two so that it tapped down on Stiles' prostate. Stiles howled as he came, almost like it had been wrenched out of him, splattering the sheet. Derek spared a thought for the servants who were probably going to have to burn it when they were done, with oil and semen and sweat it was almost certainly ruined, and that was if Stiles hadn't torn it, which he might have.
When Derek had served as a soldier he had heard legends about the Night Court, his men seemed to ignore the fact that he had grown up amongst the nobility in Terre D'Ange and if not for the murder of his family he would have lost his virginity in the Night Court like all of the other nobles did, instead of being sent there as an afterthought after a quick fumble in an inn in rage, but one thing they whispered was how sensitive Namaah made her servants, that they were so open to pleasure there were tales of women who had come for hours, who could milk a man till he came blood and did so rapturously. Derek hadn't believed the stories because they were just courtesans trained in the arts of pleasure, they used a pharmacopoeia to achieve their ends, but on the other hand there was a boy in front of him, who was opening to his fingers, and so very responsive, without those drugs. A boy who had sucked him simply because he wanted to know if he had learned the skill well, and whom he had trusted to hold a razor to his throat.
Often with lovers Derek was diligent in breaking them apart so they could shudder in his arms, he didn't want that with Stiles, he wanted Stiles to break him apart so he could build him into something as wondrous as Stiles was.
He coated his cock with slick, noticing that there was still plenty in the tin, Stiles had clearly underestimated how good this stuff was, before he pulled his other hand, the dominant one, free, and pushed his cock into the loose muscle. Stiles surprised him then, because loose and boneless and wet eyed, when had he started crying Derek wondered, Stiles shoved back hard, pushing Derek to bottom out long before he had intended to. Derek should have seen that coming, he thought, Stiles was never going to be passive.
Derek whited out for a second and when he regained his wits, Stiles was wriggling, not writhing, but definitely wriggling, muttering plow me as he arched his back and twisted his hips and stared at Derek over his shoulders, "tell me if I hurt you," Derek said and draped himself over Stiles' back, rolling his hips. Part of him wanted to snap his hips back and forth and just finish because he wasn't going to last, but with the way Stiles was shifting and twisting and pushing back and bearing down that much was impossible, Stiles wasn't hard again, but it looked like his body was trying regardless. "So good," Stiles murmured, "more, please Derek, more."
In his head Derek found himself reciting the Creed of faith, in Persis, to try and not come as fast as his body wanted to, he was with Stiles, he was inside Stiles, who was hot and clenching and twisting and oh blessed Elua grant him strength, he pulled back so he was kneeling, pulling Stiles with him so Stiles was splayed over his lap, so he couldn't move so Derek could thrust and throw his fuck up into him, and Stiles was biting his hand, biting his finger enough that there was blood, and the other one was curled around Derek's head and the boy was hard, almost impossibly swollen, his cock was bright red and jerking with the movement in his ass, as Derek used his hand to jerk him off, and he had thought Stiles might take longer to come, it being his third time after all, but no one had explained that to Stiles who with a scream like he was being murdered came all over Derek's hand in a few pathetic splatters, his head falling back and his arms going limp, Derek might have worried for him passing out if he hadn't come himself so hard that they both sort of flopped forward until either of them could breathe.
After Derek pulled out, Stiles rolled onto his side, "oh Elua," he muttered to the heavens, "we are so doing that again, but I might need a minute, or twenty, or an hour maybe." Derek, knowing exactly how he felt, just laughed.