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Carve My Name into Your Arm

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art by theteenagehorror

Podfic by Jinxy

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Length: 02:03:20


 

 

Love isn’t tangible. It’s ungraspable, out of reach despite of how close it can seem. Unable to be held onto, it falls between fingertips when hands are clasped together, gets lost in the wind as words are spoken with a whisper.

Stiles cannot love, because it isn’t something he can touch. The closest he’s ever felt, by his recollection, has been when he held someone else’s life in his hands. With one last gasping breath, their blood covering his hands, Stiles believed that what he felt deep within him was, in fact, love. It was adoration, in a way. A connection that could not be undone, could never be severed. Ending a life brought a rush unlike anything Stiles had ever felt, or would feel, of that he was certain.

The adrenaline rush that left him laughing, left him hard in his pants as he sat straddling the dead body, his knife bloody as it hung in his hand, let him know that he was alive. He wasn’t the one lying dead on the ground, their throat slit open.

Stiles hovered, bending over as blood pooled beneath the dead body, a boy around his own age. His eyes darted to his hair, the moles that dotted their face. The resemblance was uncanny, but that’s how it always was. Stiles got off of him, his body buzzing with his high.

Later, when he got home and showered, the body disposed of, he felt nothing. The emptiness consumed him as he stared in the mirror at his reflection: sunken, sallow cheeks and bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. The emotional high of killing didn’t last long, not nearly as long as it usually did. Stiles yanked at his hair as he bit his lip until it bled, watching blood redden his lips before he licked it, closing his eyes as he savored it.

The taste of blood also reminded him that he was alive. Tangy, tasting of metal, he sucked at his bottom lip, his tongue caressing the cracked skin, prodding at it as he shut off the light to his bathroom. At night, when he came from his own hand, Stiles thought of himself dead on the ground, his own blood spilt across the concrete.

-

“Oh, fuck me.”

“You like that?” Derek asked, grasping at a handful of hair as he thrust into the nameless girl. She screamed beneath him, coming for a second time. A sheen of sweat covered them both, the sheets discarded, thrown off the bed over an hour prior. Derek bent over, licking up her neck, biting at her skin.

“Fuck, yes,” she said, her nails raking down his back. Derek grinned as he tugged on her hair, making her yell out. He liked them loud, with nails that hurt and mouths that knew how to suck. It was better for him, a reminder.

Derek’s pace was relentless, the sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room as he fucked her. With a shuddering moan, Derek came, though his needs weren’t yet satisfied. He pulled out, discarding the condom as she lay there in fucked-out bliss, her legs still spread wide.

“Again?” She asked as she fingered herself, reminding Derek of her. He smiled, the memory stinging as he climbed back into bed, sliding between her legs. He licked, his tongue giving her her third orgasm. She even tasted like her, though Derek was sure that was his mind playing games with him. It didn’t matter, though. “You’re so good,” she gasped as she pushed Derek away, satisfied with him. “I sort of want to keep you.”

Derek licked his lips, then wiped at his mouth. He felt as though he had Kate right in front of him once again. His shoulders tensed at the implication that he was something that could be kept. “But I know you’re not like that,” she cooed, her finger brushing over his ear, her breath hot against his neck as she wrapped her arms around him. “Want me to blow you again?”

“I’m good,” Derek said with a sigh, getting off the bed in order to grab his briefs.

“Ah, well,” she said, flipping her hair, the curls falling perfectly. “I can tell you’re not a cuddler.” She winked at him, which only hit the final nail on the head of her coffin shut. Derek gave her a half smile as he watched her dress, slipping back into her dress. Derek did up his jeans, grabbing his shirt from the floor some feet away. He walked her to the door, even kissed her goodbye. He didn’t promise he’d call.

As soon as the door closed, he walked back into his bedroom, grabbing leather gloves, along with his black leather jacket. His face set in a stoic scowl, he set off towards the bus stop. He walked with purpose, his strides quick in order to catch up with her. When he spotted her up ahead, he swore she could have been Kate, even with the way she walked.

Derek breathed in, reigning in his memories of his entire family burnt alive. Of Kate’s laughter, the deprecating tilt of her head. When Derek grabbed her arm, she turned to look at him, her face surprised yet pleased to see him at first. It wasn’t until Derek dragged her into an alleyway that her eyes widened in terror. Within the blink of an eye, Derek took the garrote out of his pocket and wrapped it around her neck, pinning her close to his chest as she scrambled for air.

Choking sobs erupted as she kicked outwards, her nails scratching her own throat as he tightened his grip, his lips close to her ear.

“For my sisters,” Derek said as she went limp in his arms. “For my childhood.” He thought of himself at sixteen, so trusting, believing in the older woman inviting him into her bed. As she let out her last breath, Derek wished it was Kate in his arms instead. He wanted her blood on his hands above anything else. This woman was a poor substitute, but she’d have to do until he found her.
-

Jittery, Stiles sat with his hood up, slouching on the couch in the coffee shop closest to home. He had his laptop in front of him, his headphones in, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything around him. There was a boy, one with flailing limbs and an over expressive face, his eyes wide with a cupid’s bow mouth that made Stiles’ insides burn. Stiles’ jaw clenched as he watched on as the kid laughed with his entire body, his mouth open wide. It was like watching a mirror but in a way that was a reminder of what Stiles could have been like.

Stiles got that itch, the one that kept him alert. He needed him, this boy. He craved the feeling of his blade pressed against his throat, the taste of his blood as Stiles licked it clean. A reminder.

It was too soon, though. He knew he should space his kills out, but he didn’t want to. He needed to act. Stiles was about to get up and pack his things, when someone caught his eye. It was the leather, Stiles suspected. Or the scruff, or perhaps the look on his face as he looked Stiles’ way. D was for dangerous, and he looked the fucking part. Stiles lifted an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth crooking into a smile.

Love was intangible, but lust was something that could be felt within the palm of his hands. Unashamed, Stiles lowered his hood, getting off the couch with ease as he discarded his laptop, forgetting for a moment that he had his mind set on a kill in order to follow Dangerous to the counter.

“Come here often?” Stiles asked with a grin as he leaned on the counter. He got a scoff, but a smirk along with it.

“Apparently not often enough,” he answered, giving Stiles a once over. Stiles rolled his eyes as he ran his fingers through his hair, his lip catching on his teeth as he smiled. He was good at faking it, at getting what he wanted. He knew how to be believable as a normal human being, like he didn’t need blood on his hands in order to keep surviving. “Can I get you something?”

“Your number,” Stiles answered with a smirk. “Maybe a name.”

“Derek,” he replied. Stiles couldn’t stop staring at his stubble, at his biceps through his tight-fitting henley. “And the number comes after I get you coffee.” Stiles leaned in, towards Derek, their eyes locking. They were bright, yet held the same haunted look that Stiles saw when he looked at his own in the mirror.

“Cafe Americano,” Stiles said in answer, then shoved himself away from the counter and back towards his spot on the couch. Derek sat down a few minutes later next to him, their thighs touching as he handed Stiles his coffee.

“School work?” Derek asked, looking towards Stiles’ homework. Stiles narrowed his eyes. Derek was obviously older than him, by at least five or so years. He was toeing the line between seventeen and eighteen, but that was a non-issue as far as he was concerned.

Stiles shrugged.

“Do you have a name, or do I have to pry it out of you?” Stiles hummed at Derek’s dry humor. He almost forgot about his mark, the guy who had been with his friends earlier.

“Stiles,” he said, distracted as he looked to the table where they had sat. Of course, they were gone. Emptiness settled within him as he sipped his coffee. He had needed that kill.

“Last name?” Derek asked.

“Not quite,” Stiles said as he picked at his jeans absentmindedly. “Nickname.”

“So then, Stiles, do you pick guys up at the coffee shop often?”

“Only if I want them,” Stiles stated bluntly. “I tend to go for what I want.”

“I like that,” Derek said, leaning forward, his hand on the back of the couch, resting inches from Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles looked at it, daring him. Derek didn’t seem to need much more than that as he brushed his thumb over Stiles neck, holding it over his pulse point. “Want to get out of here?”

“Definitely,” Stiles said, the corner of his mouth lifting as he thought about fucking in his car, or in the bathroom. “Your place?” He asked.

“Sounds good,” Derek said as Stiles packed his things, dropping them off at his Jeep before shoving his hands into his back pockets, following Derek as they walked down the street. “I live a few blocks this way.”

Derek was right about being close by, living in an apartment, a walk up, that turned out to be a loft above a bakery. It smelled amazing. It wasn’t Stiles’ first hook up, not by a long shot, but most hadn’t been in the middle of the day, barely past lunch time. The loft was bright, with the sun streaming in through the massive window.

Stiles hooked his fingers through Derek’s belt loops, tugging him close as he stared down at his lips, biting his own. To Stiles, sex was second to killing, to be able to have control over someone else’s body. He captured Derek’s lips with his own, their mouths crashing together. Derek cupped Stiles’ face in his hands, his mouth opening readily as Stiles sought entrance, his tongue licking, teeth biting. Derek’s hands on him weren’t gentle as he held onto the back of Stiles’ head, another hand snaking down Stiles’ back, grabbing hold of his ass as Stiles cupped Derek’s groin, rubbing his hand against the fabric of his jeans. Derek moaned into Stiles’ mouth, his stubble scratching against Stiles’ chin.

Derek steered them towards the couch, his fingers against Stiles’ scalp harsh, a finger between Stiles’ asscheeks telling him exactly what Derek wanted from him. Stiles straddled Derek once they got to the couch, his knees pressed into the cushions as he mouthed at Derek’s neck, licking up his stubble, his teeth raking across his skin as Derek palmed his ass, his hips moving against Stiles. They were both panting as Stiles discarded his hoodie, then his own shirt. Derek’s mouth on him made him shiver as his tongue ran over his nipple before he sucked and bit, making Stiles’ back arch as he hissed, tugging at Derek’s hair. Derek shoved his hands down Stiles’ pants, cupping his ass firmly, spreading his cheeks as he continued to mark his chest.

“Fuck me,” Stiles said as Derek rubbed his cheek over Stiles’ nipple, the feel of it harsh in the best way possible. Stiles let out a moan as Derek teased at his entrance, Stiles’ jeans pushed down his thighs. In one swift movement that showed off Derek’s strength, he laid Stiles out across the ground, pinning his hands above his head, holding them there as Stiles’ chest heaved. Being held down, pressed into the floor by Derek, had Stiles laughing as he bucked his hips upwards, seeking friction. His cock was halfway out of his briefs, the head just above the elastic band, precome dripping from it as Derek one handedly pushed Stiles’ jeans the rest of the way down his legs. Stiles kicked at them until he was free of them, his back arching off the ground as he fought against Derek’s grip.

“You like that?” Derek asked, his nose running across Stiles’ cheek. “You want to be held down?”

“Fuck yes,” Stiles said in answer. “Make me stay still, I dare you.” He wanted more, he wanted to be tied, to be gagged. He wanted it all, but he would take what he could get.

Derek’s grip on his wrists tightened as he brushed his other palm against Stiles’ erection, thumbing at his head, gathering the precome up, then licking it as he hovered over Stiles’ mouth. Stiles could taste himself on Derek’s lips. Derek put all of his weight down onto Stiles, his jeans rough against Stiles’ cock as he moved against him.

“I’ll make you stay still,” Derek said, his breath hot against Stiles’ neck. Stiles grit his teeth as Derek put a hand over his throat, but didn’t apply pressure to it. Stiles’ heart pounded in his ears as Derek’s hand slid down his chest, then back up again, pinching at a nipple. “My bed is upstairs. Go sit on it, strip. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Stiles didn’t like taking orders, but the way Derek said it, his voice heady and rough, had Stiles scramble to get up once Derek was off of him. He climbed up the spiral staircase, looking around the room. It was a simplistic aesthetic, one that he could relate to. He stepped out of his briefs, then got onto the bed.

As he waited on his back, legs spread, his elbows holding him up enough that he could see the staircase, he remembered the boy that slipped through his fingers at the coffee shop. Stiles grunted, disappointment washing over him. Those thoughts quickly went out the window as Derek ascended the stairs.

“Are those ropes?” Stiles asked, intrigued. He sat up, crossing his legs as he tried to see what other goodies Derek had brought. It seemed easy, speaking so freely with Derek. Like he could be himself. Stiles knew that was a lie, that he couldn’t, but still. It felt good to believe it for the moment.

“They are,” Derek replied. “You seemed open to it.”

“Oh, I am,” Stiles said, smiling as he held out his hands, wrists together. As Derek wrapped the silk rope around his wrists, twisting it and knotting it in a way that told Stiles he knew exactly what he was doing, Stiles thought about being bound, about being shoved into a coffin and being buried alive. It was morbid, but it made him hard, his cock appreciating the thought.

After Derek was done tying Stiles’ wrists, he fondled Stiles’ balls, his hand rubbing against his cock idly as he pushed Stiles down onto the bed, straddling him. Derek bent over him, his lips hovering close to Stiles’ as he pinned Stiles’ hands above his head once more.

“Do I need to restrain you further?”

“If you don’t want me to move,” Stiles said, putting pressure against Derek’s hold. Stiles gasped, his eyes fluttering shut as Derek’s hand slid up his chest, to his neck once more, holding him down by his throat, his grip tighter than it had been on the couch. “Ah,” Stiles said as he licked his lips, tilting his head back more, his mouth open.

“You’re a kinky one,” Derek said, his thumb caressing Stiles’ neck. “Is this what you want?” Derek asked as his fingers tightened around his throat, pressing down against his windpipe. Stiles’ muscles flexed as he rolled his hips, pushing against Derek’s hold on his wrists as he moaned. He felt lightheaded, his pulse heavy as his cock throbbed between his legs. When Derek let up, Stiles gasped, his body shuddering with pleasure. Even though he had been choking Stiles, the look that Derek gave him was that of-- of a sort of fondness, perhaps. Kinship, maybe, or something like it, only with blown out pupils and a hard cock between his legs. Stiles bit his bottom lip, groaning as Derek slid his hand down Stiles’ chest, then back up again. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

“You and me both,” Stiles rasped as he watched Derek climb off of him, grabbing more rope in order to restrain Stiles’ arms, keeping them above his head by tying them to the headboard. Stiles tugged at them once Derek made his way back onto the bed. Something about the way Derek moved, about the slide of his hand against Stiles’ torso reminded Stiles of himself, in a way, about how he treated his kills, how he drug his knife across their skin before he sliced their throats.

The thought of Derek killing him made Stiles come untouched, spilling across his stomach. Derek lifted an eyebrow as Stiles lay there panting as he laughed.

“That’s some strong imagination there,” Derek said, wiping his thumb through Stiles’ come. “Care to share what you were fantasizing about?” Stiles lifted his hips as he watched Derek lick the come off of his thumb as he looked down at Stiles.

“You,” Stiles said truthfully. He licked his lips, closing his eyes. “Killing me with your hands wrapped around my neck.” Derek stilled, his thumb in his mouth, his eyes sharp as he looked down at Stiles. Stiles held his breath as he waited for Derek’s reaction.

“Is that what you want?” Derek asked, reaching down and swiping another splash of come up from Stiles’ stomach, making him shudder. Stiles nodded his head because he did, he wanted it. When he felt Derek’s thumb against his lips, offering Stiles his own come, Stiles took the digit into his mouth, sucking on it. His tongue swirled around Derek’s thumb, tasting himself as he lapped at Derek’s thumb. When he was done, Derek moved his hand to Stiles’ throat once more as he leaned over. “I’ll give you what you want, after I’m through with you.”

“Please,” Stiles said, though he wouldn’t call it begging. He spread his legs, lifting them into the air, showing Derek what he wanted, what he needed.

“I didn’t take you for polite,” Derek said conversationally as he uncapped a bottle of lube, kneeling between Stiles’ legs. He pushed against one of Stiles’ thighs, practically folding Stiles in half in order to expose him. “I liked you better as snarky.” Stiles gasped as Derek breached him with one, thick finger, opening him up. “Don’t beg.”

“I won’t fucking beg,” Stiles panted as Derek pressed in a second finger, smearing lube around his hole. “I just wanted to get to the fucking.”

“Oh, we’ll get there,” Derek sneered, his hold on Stiles’ thigh bruising. When he was satisfied that Stiles was ready, Derek lined himself up, the head of his cock pressing against Stiles’ entrance. “You’re going to come without being touched again,” Derek told him as he pressed inwards, thrusting his hips against Stiles’ ass. Stiles moaned, his jaw hanging open at the feeling, at how full Derek made him. Stiles’ eyes rolled into the back of his head as Derek canted his hips forward harshly, fucking into him. The ropes against his wrists were a reminder that he couldn’t jack off, that he couldn’t do anything while under him, a stranger.

He wasn’t like any other one night stand Stiles had ever fucked, though. The intensity of his thrusts, the way his hands moved over Stiles’ skin as if he was something to be admired made Stiles’ cock hard between his legs once more.

As Derek fucked him, his hands went from Stiles’ nipples back to his throat, both of them holding onto him, pressing him into the bed. Stiles felt disconnected from his body as the pace quickened, as he felt Derek hit his prostate over and over again, his hand clasped over his throat, choking him. The sensation was like nothing Stiles had ever felt, numbing and liberating as he felt his own climax rush through him. He let out a strangled cry as he spilled onto his stomach once more, Derek’s hand smearing it over Stiles’ chest as his thrusts became more erratic, nearing his own climax. Derek leaned over, placing a forearm over Stiles’ throat as the other hand gripped his hair, tugging at it as his mouth hovered over Stiles’.

“Is this what you want?” Derek asked him, adding pressure to his arm. Stiles nodded his head, his tongue sticking out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip, seeking Derek’s. When Derek’s mouth covered his own, Stiles moaned into it, his arms straining against the ropes. As Derek pulled out of him, he could feel his come dripping between his thighs. His cock hung limp between his legs as he crawled up Stiles’ body, straddling him as he ran his spent cock across Stiles’ lips. Stiles lapped at it, tasting Derek as Derek unbound him.

His arms felt numb as Derek moved them slowly, lifting them towards his chest. Stiles ran his hands over Derek’s taut stomach and chest, letting the blood run through them freely once more. Derek moved against him, his balls just within reach. Stiles cleaned them with his tongue, heavy and hairy in his mouth as he sucked them clean, his eyes closed.

When Derek had enough, he climbed off of Stiles, disappearing into the bathroom, leaving Stiles there, letting the come on his stomach cool. Derek reappeared with a washcloth, tossing it to Stiles so he could clean up. Stiles sat up, feeling lightheaded, his ass sore and wrists red from the restraints. He could practically feel the blood flowing through his veins; he liked the feeling. His body buzzed from it.

“Thanks,” Stiles said as he stood, pulling on his briefs. “That was--

“Here,” Derek said, his own briefs back on and showing off what he had nicely. Even limp he looked big. Stiles smirked when he saw that Derek gave him his phone number written on a blank card. Stiles turned it over in his hand. “For next time.”

“You’re not done with me?” Stiles asked, teasing. Derek quirked his eyebrow, letting out a huff.

“Not nearly.”

Stiles dressed, going to the bathroom to splash water on his face, to check for visible marks. He liked them, got off on them, but his father was a different story. Stiles could tell that, with time, bruises would form. He hoped that they would.

Before leaving, Stiles held onto the back of Derek’s neck, pulling him in for one last, biting kiss, his fingers yanking at Derek’s hair as Derek nipped at Stiles’ bottom lip. Stiles wanted him to draw blood from it, but as Derek soothed the bite with his tongue, Stiles knew he hadn’t.

“Next time, I’m gonna show you my kinks,” Stiles said with a smirk.

“Those weren’t yours?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head, his hand on the sliding door.

“Not nearly,” Stiles called out over his shoulder, leaving Derek alone in his loft. On his way down the hallway, towards the old freight elevator, another door opened. Stiles’ eyes widened as he saw who it was: the boy from the coffee shop. Stiles tried to contain his desire to kill him then and there, high from being thoroughly fucked. He nodded at Stiles, acknowledging his presence as they walked towards the elevator together. As the doors shut, Stiles tilted his head, wondering how to get him alone and how to dispose of the body.



art by theteenagehorror

-

Derek stood in his shower, staring down at his feet as blood went down the drain. His hands still dripped with it as they hung down loose. Every time he killed he sought reprieve, a way to distance himself from the guilt of losing his entire family before his sixteenth birthday. He never felt better, despite the rush it gave him during the act. Derek let out a choked sob as he wrapped his hand around his cock, smearing blood over it as he jacked himself off, pressing his head against the cool tiles of the shower.

He didn’t think about the woman he killed, about the feel of her nails down his back or the way she sucked at his neck like he was some sort of treat. Instead his mind flashed to the lanky kid he met in a coffee shop weeks prior. He had become a constant fantasy for Derek, a go-to when he needed to get off.

“Fuck,” Derek said through gritted teeth as he imagined the noises Stiles had made with Derek’s hand around his neck, how he had wished for Derek to kill him, had said the words. Derek hadn’t lied to him, that he wouldn’t do it until he was through with him. There was so much more he wanted to do with Stiles that one fuck session with him wasn’t enough.

The only drawback had been the fact that Stiles had his number, but he didn’t have Stiles’. It was up to Stiles to get in contact with him, and it had been weeks. Derek watched as the blood washed clean from his hands, cascading down his thighs as he stroked himself, the head of his cock appearing then disappearing as he fucked into his own fist.

He thought about the tears in Stiles’ eyes, the hue his skin turned as his airflow was cut off, the noises he made as he gasped for air, how well he took Derek’s dick.

“Shit,” Derek cried out with a grunt as he came onto the tiles, coating the shower in his come. He cupped his balls, massaging them, riding out his climax until he couldn’t handle being touched any longer. He washed himself down, scrubbing with soap until he felt clean.

He never really felt clean, it was an illusion. His family’s blood would always be on his hands. Nothing he did filled that void he had. The only thing he could do was continue to search for her, to keep going.

When Derek stepped out of the shower, with a towel wrapped around himself, he sensed that he wasn’t alone in his apartment. Still dripping wet, he cautiously made his way into the open living room. There, standing with his back to Derek, was Stiles. He could tell by the way Stiles held himself, by the red hoodie he wore, by his broad shoulders and thin waist. Stiles looked over Derek’s bookshelf as Derek stepped forward.

“Break in often?” Derek asked. Stiles didn’t so much as flinch as he twisted his neck slowly in order to look at Derek.

“It was unlocked.”

“Let me just--”

Derek was going to change, but Stiles stepped forward, leaning close and smelling him, his mouth hovering close to Derek’s ear.

“I was there,” Stiles said, his hand teasing at Derek’s towel, fingers brushing against Derek’s stomach. “I saw you.” Derek stilled, unable to believe he could be caught.

“I don’t think so.”

“What was her name? Do you even know?” Stiles asked. For a moment, Derek was worried that Stiles would snitch, turn him in, but Stiles wasn’t scared of him. Stiles was luring him closer, his hands on Derek’s waist.

“I don’t need a name,” Derek admitted before Stiles’ lips captured his. Derek breathed him in, cupping Stiles’ face with his hands as their bodies crashed together, his towel falling to the floor. As Stiles’ mouth opened for Derek, his tongue against Derek’s, he tasted something familiar. Derek raked his teeth across Stiles’ bottom lip, a moan escaping both of them as Stiles’ hands mirrored Derek’s. It wasn’t until Derek opened his eyes that he recognized the scent.

“You smell like blood,” Derek said. “I can taste it on you,” he whispered as he kissed Stiles’ cheek, tasting it on the tip of his tongue as Stiles exposed his neck, allowing Derek to lick and suck. Derek wrapped his hands around Stiles’ waist, pulling him close as he breathed it in, marking Stiles with his teeth. Stiles’ back arched as he pulled at Derek’s hair.

“I haven’t showered yet.”

“Yet?” Derek asked, busy snaking a hand up Stiles’ shirt to ask anything more.

“I need you to make me feel something again,” Stiles said. “Can you do that?” Derek stopped, letting Stiles stand up fully so he could look at him. He had bags under his eyes, his nails dirty, as if blood was caked beneath them.

“Tell me if you really saw me,” Derek said, holding onto the back of Stiles’ head, their eyes locking. Derek added pressure to his touch. Stiles’ mouth hung open, his eyes wide, irises all but gone as he licked his lips, then smirked.

“I did,” Stiles said, breathing heavily. “I knew,” Stiles whispered. “I knew you were like me.”

“Like you?” Derek asked, though he couldn’t stop looking at Stiles’ mouth.

“I saw how peaceful your face looked as you strangled her, I saw how your muscles, your biceps--” Stiles moaned at the thought, his eyes closing. “What is it made of?”

“What is what made of?” Derek asked incredulously, his voice calm, his face stoic as Stiles curled in towards him.

“The garrote.”

There it was; Stiles had seen him. His grip on Stiles’ head tightened, his fingers yanking harshly at Stiles’ hair.

“I’ll kill you.”

“You already promised,” Stiles said, his voice breathy as he laughed.

“What do you mean, you’re like me?” Derek asked, though he knew the answer. He could taste it on him, the blood of someone’s life that he took.

“Don’t,” Stiles said, letting his face fall. “Just tell me you can make me feel again.”

“I can,” Derek said. His heart jumped at the thought of Stiles beneath him once more. The rush he felt was something more than taking a life could give him, knowing that Stiles’ life was in his hands. He controlled if Stiles lived or died, and that made him hard. “Go upstairs and strip.”

Stiles went without preamble. By the time Derek made his way up the stairs, after thinking about the fact that Stiles kills people, he was prepared for the sight of Stiles naked on his bed. At least, he thought he was. Stiles sat cross legged on Derek’s bed, holding a butterfly knife in his hand, playing with it. He opened and closed it with ease, his face impassive as he looked out the massive window. Derek knew Stiles was young, but he had an air about him that told a story of a life not lived, a darkness that hung beneath the surface.

Derek wanted to touch, to enjoy the feel of Stiles beneath him. He wanted Stiles to feel every bit of it, to set his skin alight. As Derek approached, Stiles turned to look at him, his eyes softening before he took the knife and held it between his teeth, the blade against the corner of his mouth. All it would take was one wrong move, and he’d be bleeding. The blade itself was clean; it hadn’t been the murder weapon. Upon seeing it, Derek wondered how Stiles did it, how he killed his victims. He thought about poison, about a gun, but those were so impersonal. Stiles had blood on his hands, the same as Derek did.

Stiles wanted to feel the life drain from his victims. He wanted to see the blood, see the light leave their eyes.

“Do you cut their throats?” Derek asked. “Or do you make it look like suicide?” Stiles took the knife from his mouth, closing it up carefully as he uncrossed his legs, letting them dangle over the edge of the bed as Derek stood between them, taking Stiles’ head in his hands, tilting his head upwards so he could look at him.

“Depends,” Stiles answered truthfully. “As long as there’s blood.”

“Do you stay?”

“Always,” Stiles said with a smile, looking for acceptance as he glanced up at Derek. Derek brushed his thumb over Stiles’ lips, seeking the warmth of his mouth. Stiles took the digit into his mouth, sucking at it as he looked up at Derek.

“Last time you said you’d show me your kinks.” Derek’s thumb popped out of Stiles’ mouth as his hands slid up Derek’s torso, then raked downwards, his blunt nails scratching at him before he mouthed at Derek’s stomach. Stiles’ smile wasn’t a happy one. It couldn’t be described as that, not with how his eyes narrowed mischievously before darting towards the knife. Derek sucked in a breath.

He had been wrong.

Stiles’ life wasn’t in his hands, his life was in Stiles’.

“You want me to trust you?” Derek asked, taking hold of Stiles’ chin once more. Stiles hummed, his eyes closing.

“I need.”

“You need what?” Derek asked, wanting to hear it aloud.

“I need you to make me feel the way you did before. Like I was alive. Every breath I took hurt, made me think about the rise and fall of my chest. I need that again.”

“If you want that again, I want more of you than what I have,” Derek stated. “Not just you dropping by when it suits you.”

“What would you have me do?” Stiles asked, relaxing against Derek’s grip. The way his fingers dragged up and down Derek’s thighs distracted him, but he knew Stiles wanted this, wanted him.

“Give me your number.” Stiles rattled off the numbers as he leaned back onto the bed, out of Derek’s reach, his hand on the knife.

“No cutting near an artery,” Derek stated. “Nothing deep, no stitches.”

“No stitches,” Stiles said, sitting up, wide eyed; excited. “No arteries.”

“Then I’m going to fuck you,” Derek said, climbing up onto the bed, pushing Stiles onto his back as he hovered over him.

“Yes,” Stiles said, flipping open the blade. Derek lowered his head enough that Stiles could meet him halfway, their lips crashing together as Stiles held the blade against Derek’s chin, near his earlobe. He could feel how sharp it was, a cut stinging as Stiles licked into Derek’s mouth. His cock hung heavy between his legs, more than enjoying the prick of Stiles’ knife. Derek moaned against Stiles’ tongue as he pressed his body against Stiles’, rutting against him, his cock pressed between their bodies. Stiles was just as hard as he hooked a leg around Derek’s thighs, pinning them together.

In one swift movement, Stiles rolled Derek onto his back. He sat straddling Derek, one hand on Derek’s chest as the other held the knife against his throat. Derek swallowed, and the feel of the blade against his neck made his skin tingle. Stiles’ irises were all but gone, his eyes black with lust as he rolled his hips against Derek’s, his mouth falling open. Derek reached out, holding onto Stiles’ waist as he moved against him, their cocks sliding together.

Stiles replaced the knife with his hand, his fingers gripping his throat. Derek moaned, his eyes closing. Derek shuddered as the knife trailed along his torso, without the pressure to slice, but enough that Derek had to watch what Stiles did to him.

The first cut was small, up by Derek’s clavicle. It stung as blood drew to the surface. Derek groaned as Stiles bent down, licking at it, sucking the nick. Derek raked his nails up Stiles’ back, grabbing onto his hair, then tugging him upwards. Their lips crashed together, the taste of blood on Stiles’ tongue had Derek canting his hips upwards, the intensity of the kiss building as he yearned for more.

It was Stiles who broke the kiss, trailing his mouth down Derek’s neck and shoulder, teeth biting as he pressed two fingers against the gash, smearing the blood pooled there.

“Fuck, Stiles--”

Stiles’ mouth found Derek’s once more, but instead of kissing him, he nipped at Derek’s bottom lip, biting down on it as Derek slid his cock between Stiles’ thighs, fucking up between them as Stiles bit him hard enough to draw blood. The tangy taste of blood filled his mouth, along with the gentle throb of pain that accompanied Stiles’ kiss. Derek yanked at Stiles’ hair again, hard enough to elicit a moan.

“Wait until I fuck you,” Derek growled, his mouth close to Stiles’. Stiles, his mouth open, tilted his head back as Derek pulled on his hair, exposing his neck. Derek licked up it, then bit down, hard, on the tender flesh between his neck and shoulder. Stiles cried out, then came, his fingers digging into Derek’s side, come covering Derek’s chest.

As Stiles started to move, to get off of him, Derek hooked his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck, keeping him in place. The knife was at Derek’s throat within the blink of an eye, pressure applied so that if Derek moved wrong, his throat would be slit.

“How do you keep doing that?” Stiles asked, his chest heaving.

“Doing what?”

“It’s like you know just what I need.” Stiles looked down at him, his face an open book. Derek’s grip on his neck loosened, his hand slipping to cup Stiles’ face. The knife, too, lost it’s pressure hold on Derek’s throat.

“Because it’s what I need, too,” Derek said truthfully. Stiles smiled at that. It wasn’t one of his sly, mischievous ones, this was genuine. Stiles was happy. Derek slid his hand down Stiles’ back, then flipped him over, pinning him to the bed, his knees spreading Stiles’ legs apart as he held the hand that had the knife down against the mattress.

“And now you’re mine.” Stiles grinned, biting his lip as he looked up at Derek, his legs hooked around Derek’s thighs, keeping him close. “Does your skin scar easily?” Derek asked. Stiles breath hitched in his throat as Derek took the knife from him. Stiles strained against Derek’s grip, his other hand clasping around Derek’s wrist, keeping the knife from touching him.

“No arteries,” Stiles whispered. Derek bent down, kissing him on the forehead.

“No stitches,” Derek said back, his voice hushed. He kissed Stiles on the mouth, then trailed kisses down his throat and chest, licking at a nipple before making a small nick below it. Stiles’ chest heaved, rising and falling rapidly as Derek licked at it. He still had blood and Stiles’ come on his chest, drying. It felt disgusting, but he didn’t want to stop.

As Derek lapped at the cut, Stiles carded his fingers through Derek’s hair, gentler than any touch he had given Derek before. Derek took it as a sign of affection, in a way, as Stiles played with his hair. Derek mouthed at his nipple, biting it before going back to the cut again, sucking at it. Stiles made little noises, whimpers, as Derek continued giving him attention, his hands running up and down Stiles’ sides all the way down his thighs, to his ass and back up again.

“Fuck,” Stiles said, his voice barely there. He already sounded fucked out as Derek began rolling his hips against the bed, fucking against the mattress as he laid himself flat against Stiles. Stiles squeezed his thighs together, his feet resting on Derek’s back. He looked up at Stiles, realizing he didn’t know a thing about him, except his kinks; that he killed people.

“I’m going to get up. When I come back, I want you on your hands and knees.”

“Okay,” Stiles said lazily, his head tilted as he looked at Derek, so trusting. The thought kept Derek lying there for a moment longer, looking at Stiles. He had long eyelashes, a mouth that could turn heads, and moles that he wished to trace with his mouth. He was something else, something that should be cherished in a fucked up way, by defiling him, destroying him. That was what Derek planned on doing.

Derek got off the bed, heading into the bathroom to wash up a little bit. In the mirror he could tell that the cut wasn’t deep. It had already stopped bleeding; it wouldn’t scar. He used a washcloth to quickly clean up, tossing it into the laundry hamper on the way back into the room. Stiles was there, ready for him. As Derek approached the bed, he held his hand up, surprising Stiles by his hand coming down and smacking Stiles on the ass.

Stiles yelped, but spread his legs wider, his head hanging down between his shoulders. Derek slapped him again, watching as his ass cheeks reddened. He thought about the knife, about cutting along his back, or the curve of his ass. Instead, he spread Stiles’ cheeks apart, his tongue lapping at Stiles’ entrance, his scruff scratching against it.

“Fuck,” Stiles hissed, palming at his own growing erection as Derek’s hung heavy between his legs. He needed to get off, needed to ram Stiles into the bed. “Fuck me.”

Derek ate Stiles out until he lay flat on the bed, his fists clenched around the sheets, pulling them close, panting Derek’s name over and over. The lube was nearby, and after Derek slicked up his fingers, fucking them into to Stiles without a tender touch, he jacked himself off with what was left. He grabbed hold of Stiles’ waist, pulling him to the edge of the bed. He pushed inwards, bottoming out with the first thrust, making Stiles cry out.

He was so damn tight.

Derek pulled all the way out, then shoved his way back in again, gripping Stiles’ waist hard enough to bruise. When he was ready, he bent forward, taking hold of Stiles, pulling him up to his feet.

“I’m going to fuck you so hard you pass out,” Derek said into Stiles’ ear, his hand around Stiles’ throat as his back pressed up against Derek’s chest as he moved inside of him with quick, sharp thrusts. Stiles moved his head enough to take one of Derek’s fingers into his mouth, sucking it as Derek fucked him. Derek hooked his finger in Stiles’ mouth, pressing down against Stiles’ tongue as he raked his teeth over Stiles’ shoulder.

He retracted his finger from Stiles’ mouth, his hands sliding down Stiles’ arms until he grabbed hold of Stiles’ wrists.

“I want you to lean forward.” Derek said as he took another step away from the bed. Stiles did as Derek asked, letting Derek keep him on his feet as he bent forward, his hands stretched back as Derek fucked him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Stiles called out as Derek used Stiles to quicken his momentum. A litany of noises escaped from Stiles, mixing with the sound of skin slapping against skin, of Derek’s breathing. When he was ready, Derek lowered Stiles back onto the bed, but didn’t give in to letting Stiles recover. He pressed Stiles against the mattress, holding his shoulders down as his ass remained in the air. Derek rocked his hips, fucking into him relentlessly.

“Is this what you wanted? To be completely fucked? To come undone?” Derek asked as he slowed his thrusts, but bottomed out with each roll of his hips, his balls slapping against Stiles’ ass.

“Yes,” Stiles said, his voice muffled from where his face was pressed against the mattress. When Derek pulled out, Stiles gasped, his body limp. Derek wasn’t finished, though. He took Stiles’ ankles in hand, forcing him onto his back, spreading his legs wide. He climbed onto the bed, grabbing a pillow to shove under Stiles’ ass. Stiles moved easily, pliant beneath him. When Derek reentered him, Stiles grunted, his eyes closing, hands grasping weakly at Derek, completely fucked out. Derek wasn’t through, though. As his pace returned, he took them across the bed with his thrusts so that Stiles’ head hung off the edge of the bed, Derek’s hands on the end holding them in place as he fucked him.

Stiles’ moans filled the room as Derek palmed his cock, then slid his hand up Stiles’ chest to his throat where he applied pressure. Before him, Stiles’ face reddened as Derek’s grip refused to lessen. He could feel Stiles’ pulse, the blood attempting to slip beneath his fingers. As Stiles grabbed hold of Derek’s wrist with both hands, Derek tightened his grip. Stiles came across his own stomach as his eyes rolled into the back of his head. Derek released his grip on him, dropping his head to Stiles’ chest as he continued to fuck him, his hands caressing his pliant body.

Passed out beneath him, Stiles was a ragdoll. Derek grabbed onto his thighs, scooting them back down the bed. His thrusts slowed to a steady pace, harsh as he panted, gripping Stiles’ jaw in his hand as he cupped Stiles’ ass with the other. He kissed Stiles’ still lips, forcing his tongue into Stiles’ mouth. He could feel Stiles breathing beneath him, but his mind reeled at the thought of killing him.

He wasn’t finished, yet.

Derek grunted as he came within him, Stiles still passed out beneath him. As he pulled out, Derek pressed his fingers against Stiles’ hole, shoving his come back inside, fucking him with his fingers, loving the feel of Stiles hot, wet opening completely fucked out. He fit three fingers in easy, his other hand sliding up and down Stiles’ thigh as he continued to finger him open. When he was through, Derek licked his fingers clean.

-

Stiles woke up without opening his eyes. His body ached, his throat was bruised. He had come dried between his legs. Stiles groaned, opening his eyes to find that he was alone. He sat up in bed, listening for movement around the loft; he didn’t hear anything.

“Derek?” He called out, his voice hoarse. Stiles put a hand around his throat, hissing at how tender it felt. He got up, walking into the bathroom. What he saw made him grin.

There were bite marks, along with finger shaped bruises across his neck. He brushed his fingers across his chest, feeling the small cut Derek made. He looked down at it, his breath catching in his throat. Derek marked him.

He tilted his head as he admired it, along with the finger shaped bruises not only across his neck, but his hips as well. Stiles’ fingers traced over the marks, then slipped behind him, feeling the come that was dripping down his thighs. He hissed as he pressed inwards, watching the look of pain on his face in the mirror as he felt how sore he was. He moaned as he stretched himself with two fingers, slicking them up with come.

“Fuck,” Stiles said, his eyes closing. With his free hand, he gripped the counter. Come trailed down his balls and thighs as he fucked himself with his fingers. “Shit,” Stiles groaned when he realized he didn’t remember Derek coming, or himself coming for that matter. He remembered Derek fucking him, his hands around his neck.

Stiles had passed out because Derek choked him. Stiles bit his lip as he wrapped a hand around his cock, fucking himself with the other. Derek could have killed him, kept fucking him after he passed out.

Stiles wished Derek was there so he could be fucked by him again, make him feel alive like that again. Stiles wanted to drop to his knees for Derek. Most days he felt broken, that he survived by guilt, by seeing others’ happiness. With Derek’s hands on him, all of that was shoved aside. He could just be.

He came silently, his teeth breaking the skin on his lower lip. He licked it, rubbing his tongue across the stinging cut as he washed his hands, then cleaned himself up. Once he was back in Derek’s room, he picked his way through Derek’s drawers in search for clothes instead of wearing what he had left on the floor.

After putting a shirt up to his nose to smell it, Stiles pulled it over his head. He ended up putting his own jeans back on, commando. When he got downstairs, he saw that he was alone in the loft. Derek was nowhere to be seen. Stiles wasn’t worried. Derek probably had things to do, a life to get back to. Stiles turned up uninvited. Of course he’d fuck and leave, there wasn’t a commitment to stay.

As Stiles made his way to the door, his eye caught on the kitchen table, a high top with bar stools surrounding it. There, lying on top of it, was a note with a pen on top. Written in hasty cursive, Derek wrote ‘got called in to work, call me later’. Stiles grinned, his fingers tracing the letters before he walked away from the note, shutting the door behind him.

-

Derek came home after his impromptu shift at the bar, where he found at least one girl who reminded him of Kate, to find his loft empty. Usually, he would have brought her home with him that night, but he wasn’t sure if Stiles would still be there or not, and as much as Stiles thought he knew about Derek, he wasn’t ready to kill with him, or in front of him. It was personal.

He found most of his kills at his bar, or simply while he was out around town. It was thrilling, knowing that he could turn heads with a mere smile. Now, though, with an empty loft and sheets that smelled of come and sweat, Derek only wanted one thing.

Stiles had left his shirt on the floor, along with his briefs. Not at all hesitant, Derek picked them up, bringing them to his nose. He closed his eyes, savoring the smell of him. It made his dick hard, and after the night he had, he needed to get off. Unable to keep Stiles out of his mind all shift had driven him mad.

He had been chatting up a girl with hair like Kate’s but eyes like his younger sister’s. It had reminded him that Kate had stolen his sister from him, that he’d never see her again because of Kate. She had been on her fourth drink, flirting with him. He could have brought her here, could be eating her out until she came from just his tongue and fingers and yet he was here alone, spread out across his bed, rutting against it with Stiles’ briefs in his face.

Derek groaned as he thought about Stiles passed out beneath him, of a garrote in his hands, what the last gasping breaths sounded like as he choked the life out another person. He wondered what Stiles would sound like, how beautiful it would feel. He came between his sheets, groaning at how crazy Stiles made him feel.

He hadn’t felt this way since Kate, and that was something he had to deal with.

-

“Move it, Stilinski,” Jackson sneered as he passed by, shoving Stiles into a locker as he went. Stiles glared at him, but did little else as he put his hood up. Scott, his best friend, looked on without being able to do a thing about it.

“What a fucking asshole,” Scott said, his mouth downturned. Stiles shrugged, knowing nothing could be done about it short of him killing Jackson. If only.

Jackson thought Stiles was a nobody, that he couldn’t take care of himself, that he was a loser. It made Stiles’ blood boil, but he wouldn’t risk killing Jackson because he pushed him around sometimes. He didn’t flip out and kill just anyone. It had to matter, to mean something.

They had to remind him of his mom. No one should look like her, sound like her. Even when he looked in the mirror sometimes, he thought about just ending it all. The misery of being to blame for her death.

Stiles wished he could bring his knife to school. Not to kill, but just to have it. It made him feel safe, feel calm. He needed it, to be able to touch the blade.

At lunch, Stiles sat at a picnic table with Scott, picking at his sandwich when he got a text. Stiles’ brows drew together, since only Scott ever texted him and Scott was right there beside him. When he saw that it was Derek, Stiles laughed.

Hey, I’m off tonight. Want to see you.

Stiles pulled at his lip with his fingers, thinking about it. His dad wasn’t on duty, and every other time he and Derek had fucked, his dad had been working. Stiles looked to Scott, who was busy making a cheeto tower, and nudged him.

“Cover for me tonight,” Stiles said. “If I tell my dad I’m with you--”

“What? Again?” Scott asked.

“Yeah,” Stiles said, insistent. Usually when he asked, it was because he needed a kill, but this was different. This was Derek. Scott sighed.

“Okay, fine.”

“Thanks, man,” Stiles said, patting Scott on the shoulder before stealing one of his cheetos. He texted Derek back.

Your place? Stiles asked. Within seconds, he got a response.

Coffee shop. After you get out of school. Stiles rolled his eyes, not liking the jab at his age.

Sure thing, old man. Stiles grinned to himself.

“What’s so funny?” Scott asked, looking over Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles darkened his screen, his cheeks reddening. He didn’t want to tell Scott about Derek. Hell, he couldn’t tell him. Because Scott didn’t even know what Stiles was really like. The only person that knew was Derek.

“Just something on buzzfeed. It wasn’t even that funny,” Stiles said, shrugging. “I took this quiz that told me who I’d be on Adventure Time. I got Flame Princess.”

“Oh man, I want to take it,” Scott pouted. “I want to know who I am.” Scott looked for it on his own phone.

-

Derek sat at the coffee shop, with a half finished cup of a cafe latte in front of him, waiting for Stiles. He hadn’t been there long, but one of the women kept eyeing him. It wasn’t until about ten minutes passed and she still kept looking at him did he realize that he recognized her from the bar.

“You work at the --”

“Yeah,” Derek said, giving her a toothy grin as he made room for her on the couch.

“I’m Tiffany,” she said, extending her hand. Derek took it, feeling her grip. She had soft hands, unlike Kate’s. Her eyes reminded him of his sister, too, but her hair and nose, those were like Kate. He eyed her, nodding his head as she chatted with him. She could do.

He hadn’t noticed the door chime, that Stiles had entered the coffee shop, until he was standing nearby, bookbag still over his shoulder, faded bruises across his neck.Tiffany gave Stiles a look, one that dismissed him. It angered Derek, knowing that she thought him inconsequential. Derek looked to Stiles, his legs spreading, asserting his space on the couch as Tiffany put her hand on Derek’s shoulder as if claiming him. Stiles’ mouth ticked upwards, his grip on the bookbag tightened. Derek had his hands on his inner thighs, framing his crotch, his eyes not leaving Stiles’.

Stiles licked his lips, his eyes narrowing at Tiffany.

Without a word, Stiles deposited his bookbag in the chair next to Derek’s before going up to get coffee.

“What was that about?” Tiffany asked with a laugh, flipping her hair, her curls cascading across her shoulder.

“I think this is his normal table,” Derek said easily. She played with his ear, running her finger over it flirtatiously. Her gaze remained on Stiles.

“I think he likes you,” she said, laughing. Derek smirked.

“You think so?”

“I think we should get out of here,” she whispered into his ear. He agreed, but not with who he’d be leaving with. “Wanna?”

Derek had to think. Did he want the kill, or did he want Stiles. Stiles stood in line, his hands shoved into his red hoodie. He turned towards Tiffany, sighing.

“I don’t,” Derek said, though the thought of suffocating her was something he was interested in doing, though for completely different reasons than he normally would. Tiffany gave him a look, then scoffed, getting off the couch.

“Asshole,” she said under her breath before leaving. Derek saw Stiles watching out of the corner of his eye. As soon as she was gone, Stiles got out of line, walking over to Derek. He hovered by the couch, as if unsure.

“Sit,” Derek said, his legs still spread. Stiles plopped down on the couch next to him, his knee pressed against Derek’s thigh, his elbow on the back of the couch, holding his face up as he pouted.

“What was that?” Stiles asked. Derek reached out, running his thumb over Stiles’ lip. Stiles bit at it.

“That was a woman I was going to-- well.” Stiles lifted his eyebrows. “But you’re more important.”

“Am I?” Stiles asked, though the way he leaned in, Derek knew Stiles needed to hear more.

“You’re worth more than her.”

“I’m listening,” Stiles said. Derek couldn’t stop looking at his mouth.

“I asked to meet you so we could talk.” Stiles, his breath hot against Derek’s face, shrugged as he leaned in for a kiss. Derek stopped him. “You’re underage.”

“That didn’t stop you before,” Stiles said, angry.

“It does in public.”

“Bullshit.”

“When you’re the Sheriff’s kid it matters,” Derek said, dropping the bomb that he knew just who Stiles was. Stiles sat there, stunned for a moment, his eyes wide. “I know who you are.”

“Yeah, and you’re a Hale,” Stiles said. “And I have your victims pegged.” Derek covered Stiles’ mouth with his hand.

“Don’t-” Stiles licked Derek’s hand, making him drop it. “Stiles.”

“Derek,” Stiles mimicked. “Why aren’t we at your place?”

“Because I want to talk.”

“So talk,” Stiles said, his fingers moving across the back of the couch, walking their way towards Derek’s shoulder. Stiles acted nonchalant, but the way his back was rigid, his voice clipped, Derek knew it to be a ruse.

“I feel a connection with you,” Derek started to say, which made Stiles laugh. Derek rolled his eyes. “Shut up, you know what I mean.” Stiles nodded his head, his eyes flickering for a moment as they locked with Derek’s.

“Yeah, but it sounds cheesy if you say it out loud,” Stiles teased. “It sounds better with your hands around my--”

“Stiles.”

“Wrists,” Stiles deflected, but tugged at his hoodie, showing off the faded bruises.

“You took my shirt,” Derek pointed out.

“You have my briefs,” Stiles smiled. “Did you have fun with them?” Derek looked around the coffee shop where others were locked in their own conversations, none of them paying he or Stiles the least bit of attention.

“Do you want to know?” Derek asked, leaning forward. Stiles’ hand picked at invisible lint across his own thigh, then on Derek’s, his fingers trailing across his thigh.

“I want you to show me,” Stiles said. “I’m going to leave, walk out of here. I’ll meet you at your place.”

“What if I want to take you to dinner?”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

“We’ll order in.”

-

Stiles was content. He had pizza in his hand, and Hannibal was on TV as he and Derek sat in the loft, the both of them in nothing but their briefs after fucking not only on the floor and Derek’s bed, but in the shower as well. He was sore, so sore, but happy for the first time in forever. His body buzzed as he leaned against Derek, licking his fingers clean. It felt normal, sitting with Derek like they hadn’t just sliced and diced, hadn’t face fucked, hadn’t pillow talked about killing.

“It’s smart, cutting up your victims,” Stiles said as he picked the pepperoni off of another slice of pizza. “But I wouldn’t want to eat a human.”

“I only like eating them out,” Derek said, wiping a thumb across Stiles’ cheek, then licking the sauce off of it. Stiles rubbed his shoulder against his cheek, hating feeling mom’ed by Derek. Stiles tried not to think about the fact that not even thirty minutes prior Derek had him choking on his cock to the point that his eyes watered, that he couldn’t breathe.

It had been freeing, in a way. Stiles snapped his teeth at Derek’s finger when he tried to wipe at his face again. Stiles laughed as Derek stuck his thumb into Stiles’ mouth, pressing down on his tongue, holding his jaw like he would a dog. Stiles leaned back against the couch, his half eaten pizza forgotten, as well as the TV show, as Derek crowded over him, pushing him onto his back. Eventually, Derek removed his thumb, but held onto Stiles’ jaw, his grip tight.

“If you’re going to bite, then bite,” Derek said, turning Stiles’ face to the side, breathing against his ear. Stiles had his hands against Derek’s chest, fingers digging into his flesh as Derek applied pressure to his grip, sliding Stiles further up the couch. Stiles’ dick twitched.

“I want to mark you,” Stiles rasped. Derek loosened his grip on Stiles, allowing him space to breathe, though he remained hovering over him, his knees spreading Stiles’ legs apart. Stiles licked his lips as his fingers gingerly rubbed at Derek’s nipples. “I want to see my teeth marks on your skin.”

“Then do it,” Derek urged him. Stiles bent forward, taking Derek’s shoulder into his mouth and biting down as hard as he could. Derek grunted, his body rigid above him as he laved at it with his tongue afterwards. He moved from Derek’s shoulder to his chest, taking a nipple into his mouth, teeth grinding. Derek hissed above him as Stiles shimmied downwards so he would be comfortable. He cupped Derek’s erection in his hand as he sucked and bit at Derek’s nipple, biting the area around it.

“Fuck,” Derek shouted as Stiles sucked a hickey around Derek’s nipple, leaving it bruised and sore. Stiles hummed happily as Derek rolled his hips against Stiles’ hand, seeking friction. Stiles was already fucked out, but he’d enjoy the pain of Derek taking him again even though he was already raw from his cock.

“You want my mouth,” Stiles said with a smirk as he licked at the bite marks he just made. Derek groaned before pinning Stiles to the cushions, practically kneeling on Stiles’ arms to keep them down as he shoved his briefs down his thighs, his cock already dripping wet with need. Stiles stuck his tongue out, licking up every drop before Derek slid his cock into Stiles’ mouth. Unrepentant, Derek hit the back of Stiles’ throat with his dick, making Stiles gag as he gripped his hair.

“I want your filthy mouth,” Derek said. “Your mouth is mine, your ass is mine. Your fucking fingers are mine, you cock, too.” Stiles groaned, his eyes closing as he couldn’t do anything but take Derek’s cock into his mouth, each thrust bruisingly harsh as he stilled, his cock halfway down Stiles’ throat. His eyes watered, he couldn’t breathe as he attempted to cough. When Derek pulled back, Stiles gasped for air, his mouth wet with spit and precome. “You look so good when you’re crying,” Derek said as Stiles managed to get his arms free. He wiped at his mouth with his hand before taking Derek’s cock into his mouth, his tongue teasing the head. Derek cradled Stiles’ head in his hands, almost tenderly, as Stiles wrenched the orgasm from him. Stiles swallowed most of it, but kept some in his mouth for Derek. Stiles showed him, his mouth opening as Derek pulled Stiles up, their mouths crashing together.

“You’re mine,” Derek said. Stiles closed his eyes, holding onto Derek, wanting to believe him.

-

The knife fell to the ground as blood spilled from the slit in her throat. Stiles’ fingers trembled as he watched a woman before him bleed out. He held onto her, covering the wound he inflicted with his hands in an attempt to stop the blood flow. She was already dead, had stopped breathing minutes before, but Stiles couldn’t handle it. She looked exactly like his mother. He thought he wanted it, wanted to see her blood, to be the one to kill her, but he had been wrong.

This didn’t feel like his normal kill. This hurt.

“Please,” Stiles said, tugging at her. “Mom,” his voice cracked as he shut his eyes, clinging to her.

-

Derek got a phone call at three in the morning from Stiles, whose voice sounded wrong. He pulled himself out of bed, changing as he managed to get a street address from him. By the time he found Stiles, the blood was drying on his hands and the body had already begun to stiffen. Stiles looked ashen, his face tear stained, with blood smudged across it.

“I thought it would be good,” Stiles said, his body rocking slightly as he played with the woman’s hair, patting it down. “You know, I kill boys, happy ones, that could be me. Ones that look like my mom,” Stiles rambled, not looking up at Derek. “I killed her, you know. I deserve to die.”

Derek knelt down in front of Stiles, lifting his chin. The confident teen was nowhere to be seen; only a lost child could be found behind those eyes.

“Not yet,” Derek said, his thumb wiping away some of the blood. “You don’t deserve to die yet.” Stiles bit his lip, his mouth turning upwards in a twisted smile as he reached for Derek’s other hand, his fingers bloody. Derek took Stiles’ hand in his own and pulled him to his feet, hugging him close.

“Come on, we need to clean this up.”

-

Derek took Stiles into his bathroom where he stripped him down, tossing his clothes aside as he warmed up the bath. Stiles stood there, looking down at the ground as Derek filled it up.

“Get in,” Derek said as he gathered both he and Stiles’ clothes for the wash. When he returned, Stiles was in the bath, his back hunched over, his hands under the water. Derek took his wash cloth and began scrubbing the blood off of Stiles. He knew what it felt like to shed blood but regret it. He also knew the feeling of guilt that ate him from the inside.

He loved how confident and unabashedly brazen Stiles was, how skilled he was with his knife. Derek stilled his hand on Stiles’ lower back as he replayed what he just thought. He loved.

“Derek?” Stiles asked, after some time, looking up at him, his eyelashes sticking together from crying. Derek cleared his throat before he continued on, taking Stiles’ hands in his own, scrubbing them with a small brush he used to keep his nails clean from blood remnants. Stiles watched on in silence as Derek thought about the last time he thought he could love someone. It had been her. There hadn’t been another.

Stiles was a killer, but Derek had no one else left; the only one that Stiles could kill that would upset Derek was himself.

“Sometimes we think we’re doing what we want, but really it’s only what we think we want.”

“Sounds like bullshit,” Stiles sighed. The water was tinted pink, but Stiles’ body looked clean, his hair damp and fingers getting pruny as Derek helped him up, wrapping a towel around him. Stiles hugged it close, letting Derek lead him into the bedroom.

“Are you skipping tomorrow?” Derek asked as he searched for a shirt for Stiles to wear.

“Maybe,” Stiles said, his teeth chattering. He looked tired as he rubbed at an eye, stifling back a yawn. “My dad won’t know I’m gone.”

“He’ll get the phone call when you don’t show up at school.”

“He won’t do anything,” Stiles said as he dried himself off, then pulled on Derek’s shirt. “I have a good attendance record.” Derek smirked at him. “What? Is there some rule that a killer can’t also have a 3.8 GPA?”

“Do you really?--”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, standing up straighter. “My dad expects all A’s.”

“3.8 means--”

“My Chemistry teacher is a dick,” Stiles spat as he crawled onto Derek’s bed. He looked so damn young sometimes. As Derek climbed into the bed, he pulled Stiles close. It was almost sunup, but he had no intention of staying awake, not with Stiles in his arms. Stiles burrowed his face against Derek’s chest, curling up against him, his fists clenched around Derek’s shirt. “I don’t want to hurt anymore,” Stiles mumbled against him.

“You won’t.”

-

It had been Stiles’ idea, getting into the club on a night that Derek was behind the bar. He didn’t feed him drinks or anything, since Stiles needed to be aware. He could watch Stiles mingle throughout the crowd, looking the part to get attention. Derek gave Stiles a drink to bring to a woman who had ordered the very same drink some thirty minutes before, one that fit the bill perfectly.

He watched as Stiles delivered it to her, pointing at Derek, letting her know who it was from. She beamed as she took it from him. By the time the drug set in, Stiles had her out in the alley way. They made a good team.

Derek didn’t normally drug his victims, but he wasn’t going to do what he normally did. He decided that he and Stiles needed their own rituals, ones that they would do together. They weren’t going to fuck her, they were going to kill her. It had been months since the night Stiles called him up, in the middle of a break down about his chosen kill. Neither of them had killed since, lying low considering the death toll in their area.

School was out for the summer, and Stiles had since turned eighteen. He was no longer technically illegal, but then again, that had never mattered to Derek. Stiles’ innocence was lost the day his mother died, long before he took his first life and years before he met Derek.

She was still alive when Derek met up with Stiles. Her body lay limply on the ground as Stiles paced around, biting at his thumb nail.

“She looks familiar,” Stiles said. “Sort of like my friend’s aunt.” Derek shrugged. She looked familiar to him, as well, but that was his M.O., he hadn’t swayed from it, not entirely.

“Is that a problem?” Derek asked. Stiles shook his head, crouching down as he tilted his head, admiring her.

“Her blood will spill the same way as everyone else’s.” Derek smirked, but all he could think about was Stiles in the tub. He didn’t want that episode repeated; he wanted to share this with Stiles. Stiles had his knife out, folding it between his fingers carefully. When he looked up at Derek his eyes shone bright, the pupils blown wide. Out of Stiles’ hoodie pocket, he handed Derek his garrote. Derek bent down, lifting her into the air, holding her dead weight up. Stiles stood as well, walking around them as Derek smelled her hair.

As he let her go, the garrote caught her throat. She thrashed, waking up enough to clutch at her throat as it cut into her skin, choking her. Stiles was there, his hands on her face, fingers caressing her cheeks before he shoved his knife into her stomach. As blood poured out of her mouth, she stopped moving, her eyes wide. Derek watched Stiles lick his lips, looking at Derek, his hand slipping to Derek’s shoulder, gripping it tight. Derek opened his mouth just as Stiles’ crashed against his. He moaned, letting the body drop to the ground as he tugged Stiles close, gripping his ass. Stiles got hard after he killed, and Derek was no different. They killed together, and it felt fucking amazing to share it with someone.

He looked forward to his kills with Stiles.

-

Stiles woke up, his body draped over Derek’s. He groaned as he rubbed at his eyes, rolling over onto his back, the sheets hanging low around his pelvis. He couldn’t remember the last night he spent at home in his own bed, but he didn’t care. Neither did his dad, as long as he wasn’t getting into trouble.

It was a fucking laugh, but what his father didn’t know wouldn’t kill him. It wouldn’t put Stiles in jail, either. Derek was passed out on his back next to him, the sheets pulled away, revealing his cock. Stiles hummed, rolling back over, taking Derek’s cock into his hand, stroking him to hardness. Derek shifted his legs, bending a knee to give his balls more room. Stiles bent over, taking them into his mouth, sucking at them as Derek hardened in his hand, the head of his cock peeking out of his foreskin. Stiles licked up his length, mouthing at it before sucking at his head until he could taste precome on his lips.

A hand on the back of Stiles’ head let him know that Derek was awake. As he applied pressure, Stiles sank his mouth down, Derek’s cock hitting the back of his throat before Derek pulled on his hair, bringing him back up again. Stiles let a trail of spit connect his lips to Derek’s cock, knowing Derek liked it. When he looked up at Derek, he looked content, his fingers kneading into the back of Stiles’ head, urging him back down. As Stiles took him back into his mouth, Derek kept him down until he choked on it, gasping for air once Derek let him up.

Stiles slid up the bed, pressing his own erection against Derek’s thigh as he rolled his hips. He found Derek’s mouth, their tongues meeting before their lips did as they breathed each other in. Derek turned himself so that they were laying chest to chest, his hands on Stiles’ ass as they rut against each other. Stiles was close, so close, it being the morning. Derek’s mouth tasted stale, as did his own, but coming was more important. Stiles moaned as he raked his fingers down Derek’s back, biting down on his lip as he came. Derek grunted, spilling his orgasm onto Stiles’ chest.

They had to shower after that, where Derek fucked him against the tiled walls. Stiles loved summer.

He liked that he had no school to go to, no responsibilities. He got a job at a coffee shop, where he got to meet people and act like the normal human being everyone thought he was. Only Derek knew the real him, and that was all that mattered.

“I have to be at work at one,” Stiles said after they got out of the shower. He was still dripping wet when Derek pulled him close, mouthing at his shoulder. “That’s in fifteen minutes.”

“Stay,” Derek said, wrapping his arms around Stiles, not letting him go. “I want to eat your ass.” Stiles hummed, his fingers linking with Derek’s as he tilted his head back, allowing Derek space to mark him as he watched in the mirror.

“Tonight.”

“I’m working.”

“Afterwards,” Stiles said. “When you get off.” Derek grinned. “Not like that.”

“Skip work.”

“I can’t.”

“I’ll come with you, then.” Stiles smiled. He liked when Derek didn’t want to leave him. It made him feel wanted, unbroken. Like he was someone that was worth more than the skin he was in. Worth more than blood.

“I’ll make you something special.”

“You always do.”

-

“What can I get for you?” Stiles asked, his hand already with a cup at the ready, as well as a sharpie. A woman stood there, with curly hair and piercing eyes, reminding him of the girl he and Derek killed together. He smiled at her as he wondered if Derek would like for her to be next.

Stiles was always on the lookout.

“I want a large skinny white mocha, no whip,” she said, giving him a blinding smile back. “Well, aren’t you a cutie.”

Stiles grinned at her.

“Thanks,” he said as he handed the cup to the other barista. “What’s your name?” It was then that he recognized her as his friend’s aunt, but still, he wanted to play dumb.

“Oh sweetie, don’t you remember me? I’m Kate.” Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw Derek spill his drink.

“Oh, yeah, I remember,” Stiles said, his brow furrowing. “Excuse me.” Stiles walked over to Derek, helping him clean up. “What the fuck?” he asked.

“Her,” Derek said, his voice hushed but stern. “We need her.” Stiles looked back at Kate, who wasn’t watching them in the slightest.

“Are you sure?” Stiles asked. Knowing the person would be harder. Derek nodded his head, his fingers brushing over Stiles’ hand before he got up. “Where are you--”

“Bring her to my place,” Derek said before he left. Stiles returned to the counter, taking the cup from the other barista before handing it to Kate, adding his phone number to it.

“Here you go, Kate,” he said, giving her a sly smile. She turned the cup, grinning herself.

“Well, you’re a bit forward for someone so young.

“Just in case you wanted it,” Stiles said, shrugging. She winked at him before she left the shop.

Stiles went through the rest of his shift wondering if she’d call or not. By the time that he got to Derek’s, where he was alone because Derek was still at work, he hadn’t heard from her. She might not even call, or she’d wait for another day. By the way that Derek looked, Stiles really hoped that she would call.

He was in the middle of searching for food in Derek’s fridge when his phone rang. Without looking at it, he answered.

“Do you have anything that I don’t need to actually cook in your fridge?” Stiles asked.

“Wrong person, kiddo,” Kate said with a laugh. Stiles stilled, biting his lip as he slid his hand over his face.

“Sorry, I thought you were--”

“Someone else? Didn’t expect me to call?”

“Something like that,” Stiles admitted.

“Tell me, Stiles, what do you think you can give me that I can’t get somewhere else?” Stiles’ eyebrows lifted at Kate’s question.

“Uh.”

“False bravado just so happens to be something I like,” Kate practically preened over the phone line. “ Under eighteen even better, so you’re in luck. Where are you?”

 

“Now?” Stiles asked, his voice cracking on purpose as he jumped into the air. He did it, he got her.

“Mmmhmm,” Kate purred into the phone. Stiles gave her Derek’s address before they hung up. Stiles texted Derek, letting him know she was on her way.

Keep her there until I get home.

How? Stiles asked.

I don’t care, just keep her there.

By the time she showed up, almost an hour later, Stiles didn’t have a plan. She walked in, looking around with intrigue.

“This can’t be your place,” she said, turning to look at him. “You’re practically a baby.” Stiles kept himself from snorting as he shoved his hands into his pockets, framing his dick.

“Nope, it’s not.”

“Whose is it? Are you squatting?” She asked as she walked forward, her fingers walking up his shirt.

“No,” Stiles said, unable to stop himself from looking down her shirt. “It’s my boyfriend’s.”

“You have a boyfriend and you invited me here?” She asked, tilting her head as she grabbed his chin.

“Don’t think you can handle that?” Stiles asked.

“Oh, sweetie,” she said, her lips hovering over Stiles’. “You have no idea what I can handle.”

She tasted nothing like Derek, her nails digging into his skin. Stiles looked to the clock as she cupped his crotch. Derek should be home very soon. He lead her to the couch, not surprised when she straddled Stiles, tugging on his hair.

“You have no idea how good I can be,” she said, rubbing against his erection. He put his hands on her ass, but felt nothing for her except bloodlust. He used that bloodlust to roll his hips, showing her how ready he was. “You like that? You want me?” she asked, sucking on his bottom lip. Stiles groaned, his heart rate skyrocketing as he heard the door to the loft open. Derek was back.

Kate stopped kissing him in order to look at the door.

“Well, this can’t be a coincidence,” she said, her grip on Stiles’ hair tightening. “Derek, it’s been a while.”

“Kate,” Derek said as he walked forward, his hands at his sides. Stiles winced at her grip on him.

“So he’s your fucktoy?” she asked, grabbing Stiles’ throat. Stiles groaned, taking hold of her wrist. She had no idea who she was messing with. Stiles thrust up against her, grinning as she looked down at him.

“Not a toy, never a toy,” Derek said as he walked over, looking down at Stiles with a certain fondness. “I think you have something coming to you, Kate.”

“An amazing orgasm,” she cooed. “Gonna have fun, Der?”

“Oh, we’re going to have fun,” Derek said, helping her to her feet. Stiles stood up, and made his way upstairs with a shaky breath. Derek told him what she did to his family one night, but he never said her name.

Kate was who started it all, and now they had her in their home. He watched from upstairs as Derek whispered in her ear, as she laughed, grabbing onto his bicep as if he was hers. He wasn’t, though. She lost him when she set his family’s house on fire. She was like them, only she chose to come between Derek and his family. She wanted to be the only thing in Derek’s life. In the end, that was her own mistake. Not only did it cost her Derek, but now it cost her everything. Her life was in their hands.

Derek led her up the stairs, her fingers in his hand as she swayed her hips.

“I’ve missed you, you know,” she said as she ran her fingers through Derek’s hair. “And your little plaything is adorable.” She reached for Stiles, pulling him forward. Stiles looked to Derek as Kate kissed him. He wasn’t Derek’s plaything.

Derek grabbed her face, ending her kiss with Stiles in order to capture her lips with his. When he ended it, Kate grinned.

“Tell me, big boy, have you been the one killing women who look like me?” Kate asked coyly, her finger dragging over Derek’s chest hair that shone above the cut of his henley. “I thought so,” she said, reading the look on Derek’s face. Stiles slipped his hands into his back pockets, the feel of his knife apparent as he wrapped his fingers around it. “Tell me,” she said, wrapping her arms around Derek. “Does he know you’re still in love with me?”

Stiles stilled, his eyes wide as his heart thudded in his chest. Derek killed those that looked like her, the ones that weren’t her when she had been in this town the entire time.

“You’re wrong. I can’t love, you burned it out of me,” Derek said, taking her by her hair and yanking it so hard she fell to her knees.

“You didn’t need them, you only needed me,” she said, moaning as Derek tightened his grip on her hair.

“I never needed you,” Derek hissed into her ear before breathing in the scent of her. “Still luring teenage boys between your legs, I see.” Derek looked to Stiles, who lifted an eyebrow.

“I bet he’d be so good for me,” she cooed. Stiles pulled his knife out, showing it to her. “I see you’ve got a type,” glancing at Stiles, half-laughing. “What am I? Your first? You look too innocent to do anything with that.”

Stiles scoffed as he folded the blade between his fingers, flipping it nimbly as he rolled his eyes, crouching down before her.

“You’re my tenth,” Stiles said, putting the blade against her throat. She lunged at him, her nails scratching at his face before Derek pinned her to the ground, holding out her hands as he held onto her wrists. It didn’t take long for Stiles to swipe along them, blood slicking up Derek’s fingers as she struggled. Derek got her onto her back as Stiles knelt before her, slipping his bloodied knife under her chin. “Derek doesn’t need you. You didn’t love him. You loved the idea of him. Killing his family wasn’t the way to his heart. Killing with him is,” Stiles sneered.

He looked up at Derek, handing him the blade as blood poured onto the ground around them. Kate tried to pull on Stiles, bloodying his shirt as Derek took the blade from Stiles. He kissed Stiles, cupping his face, smearing her blood on his cheeks.

He caressed the claw marks Kate made on Stiles’ face, how they too, were bleeding.

“No stitches,” Derek murmured against his lips. Stiles smiled, shaking his head as he attempted to keep the feeling of happiness from flooding through him.

“Arteries,” Stiles said, placing his hand over Derek’s. Together, they slit her throat. She had been weak from the blood loss already, but as they watched the blood from her neck spill onto the floor, Derek pulled Stiles into his lap. They kissed as they smeared blood across their bodies, Kate dying beside them, gurgling until suddenly she was still. Stiles looked over at her, then turned back to Derek, licking up his cheek before capturing Derek’s lips with his own, the taste of blood on their tongues.

Derek pressed Stiles against the ground, hovering over him as he slid his hands up Stiles’ shirt, leaving bloody finger marks down his chest. Stiles wiggled out of his shirt, tossing it into the puddle of blood as Derek mouthed at his nipples. Stiles moaned, arching his back as he shoved his jeans down his thighs. Derek pulled them the rest of the way off, then shoved his down enough to reveal his hard cock. Stiles turned around onto his knees, his hands in blood as Derek ate him out, spitting onto his ass before breaching him with his tongue.

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles said as Derek pressed his cock against his entrance. Dry, it didn’t go far as Stiles groaned. “Lube, lube, fuck me. I need you to fuck me.”

It wasn’t far, by the bed, but Stiles could tell by the time Derek knelt back beside him that he was impatient. He slicked himself up, then took hold of Stiles’ waist, shoving into him with one swift movement. Stiles cried out, laughing as he slipped on the blood. Derek picked him up, pressing his chest against Stiles’ back as they knelt there, with Stiles in Derek’s lap as he fucked him.

They linked fingers as Stiles guided Derek’s hands over his chest and stomach, across his cock that bounced between his legs with each thrust.

“I need you,” Derek said, hot against Stiles’ ear before he nipped at his earlobe. Stiles moaned, his head falling back against Derek’s shoulder as Derek wrapped his bloodied hand around Stiles’ cock, stroking him. He looked down to find his body covered in her blood, streaks of it and smears, his cock completely red. He shook as his climax came over him, shooting onto her lifeless body. Derek, too, came within him, his come slipping down Stiles’ thighs after he pulled out.

“I need you, too,” Stiles said, turning towards Derek. They kissed again, tenderly. “Only you can understand what I need.” It was true, as Derek took Stiles’ throat in his hand, squeezing it. Stiles shut his eyes, thinking about death, about Derek being the one to provide him with it. Stiles licked his lips, moaning.

“Not yet,” Derek said, nuzzling his nose against Stiles’ neck. “I’m not through with you.”



art by theteenagehorror