“What do you want?” Scott growled, fingers curled into claws and eyes bleeding red as the demon before them shifted into corporeal form.
It was flawless, stepping out of its own swirling shadow, appearing to them as a long limbed man in a tailored black suit. Because no demons are original anymore.
“I want submission,” it hissed, throwing its voice from all corners of the space, bouncing off all the crumbling walls of the abandoned warehouse and filling the senses of the pack. The air smelled like fuel and electricity and smokey shadows kept spreading from the demon, drifting in a loose circle around the pack.
“This is protected land,” Derek said from around a mouthful of teeth.
“I don’t want your land,” the demon said, checking its nails like it couldn’t choose its exact form at will. “I don’t even want your pack, or your power.”
“What are you?” Scott asked, growing impatient, the ominous clouds around them making him nervous, making him sweat.
“Some would call me an incubus,” it said slowly. “But those are my children. I am the first.” Derek heard Stiles inhale sharply, scent going sour with anxiety and fear. The wolves shifted restlessly.
“He’s an angel,” Stiles said quietly. “Samael, archangel of death from Judeo-Christian lore, king of the wicked, the original sex demon.”
“Samael is so formal,” the creature complained, eyeing Stiles with appreciation. “And ‘angel’ sounds quite misrepresenting. Sex demon fits though,” it said to Stiles, and Derek took a step forward, blocking its view of the human. Scott reached out for him, frowning and angry. They’d agreed to be partners, to lead the pack together. But this wasn’t something Derek needed his help for.
“A wolf pack with two alphas, not even mated, I had to come see for myself,” the demon said, taking a couple slinking steps closer to the wolves. Derek heard Stiles shift forward, placing a firm hand between his shoulder blades. Derek closed his eyes briefly, wasting a moment cursing the fact that Stiles would be here for this. “And to find this one,” the demon continued, locking black eyes on Derek. “with such a history.”It licked its needle sharp teeth and bloodless lips. “Well, I can’t leave without a taste.”
“What do you want?” Derek asked, taking another step forward, the warmth of Stiles’ hand dropping away from him, ignoring the restless anxiety of his pack.
“Submission,” the demon repeated, suddenly standing directly in Derek’s space. All the oily smoke filling the room disappeared, seeming to suck back into the creature’s chosen form. Its breath smelt of natural gas and Derek could feel an energy coursing through it. He was sure if they touched, he’d be shocked.
Distress washed off the pack in waves. A high whine peeled out of Isaac’s throat and Stiles called his name, low and intense.
“Derek, step back here right now.” Derek felt the pull. The nudge under his ribs that bid him to obey. The demon’s dark eyes gleamed.
“Three alphas, it would seem,” it purred, leaning into Derek, sparks kicking off his skin and snapping against the skin of the wolf’s face. It looked around Derek then, attention on Stiles again. “You should be a wolf, young one.”
“I’m no True Alpha,” Stiles scoffed, fingers shifting dangerously over the handle of his bat. “I’m not that good a guy.”
“True Alpha, no,” the demon agreed, grinning at him wickedly. “But Alpha Mate?”
“Enough,” Derek cut in, taking a step forward, into the demon, filling his awareness. It made his skin buzz unpleasantly to have the demon’s attention back on him, but it was better than the helpless feeling he got when it was looking at Stiles instead.
“Oh, you hadn’t told him? Apologies,” it said, teeth wet and gleaming in a filthy smile.
“Take what you want and leave,” Derek said.
“Derek, stop,” Scott called, power under the command. It rolled off Derek’s back, making his eyes bleed red but not touching his resolve. “You don’t know what he wants.”
“Yes he does, he’s played this game before” the sex demon said, so close Derek could feel the words hit his neck. “I know all your dirty secrets,” He said, voice low and cruel. “On your knees, boy. I think you’ll find this body very responsive to good behavior.”
“Derek, no,” Scott shouted, and Derek could hear how appalled he was, how shocked and aghast. “You don’t have to do this.”
“You’re right, you don’t,” the demon agreed, ghosting one hand across Derek’s cheek. A hand that seemed human, except in Derek’s periphery. When not looked at directly, it lost its humanoid shape, becoming curved and wicked looking claws instead. “You and your pups could try to fight your way out instead.”
Derek felt the wolves tense behind him, braced and ready to strike. Derek resisted rolling his eyes, but only barely. The demon seemed to share the sentiment and smirked at Derek, its’ features almost friendly. They both knew the wolves wouldn’t win.
Derek dropped the shift, fangs retreating, as he dropped to his knees.
“Stop,” Stiles yelled, voice cracking and panicked. Derek didn’t look back at him, but could too easily imagine the face he was making, eyes wide and betrayed.
“You should go,” he said to the pack as the demon’s hand came to rest on the back of his head.
“We’re not leaving,” Scott growled, words distorted around dropped fangs.
“Isaac, take Stiles and go,” Derek ordered, eyes red as he looked up at the demon.
“Let your mate stay,” the demon crooned, pushing a cold thumb against Derek’s lips. “Let him watch. Are you ashamed, my boy?” it asked, both hands coming to cup Derek’s throat. He quirked a brow.
“He’ll do something stupid,” he replied with a shrug. He could hear Isaac tugging on Stiles, and Stiles resisting.
“I’m not going anywhere. Derek, please, don’t do this. We’ll find another way, I can find another way,” Stiles begged, pushing off Isaac’s halfhearted attempts to pull him away.
“This is the best way, he’s a literal angel, we can’t fight him,” Derek said, turning his head away from the finely pressed suit pants in front of him, offering the pack his profile. “No one gets hurt. Now go.”
“There’s no shame left in you, is there?” the demon asked, wonderingly, stroking Derek’s jaw in a mockery of affection as Isaac drug a struggling Stiles away. “You, who has been so mistreated. How is that?”
“I’ve done more for less,” Derek said simply. Stiles resistance renewed, shouting now, almost covering up the sound of the young wolf’s whimpering as he began muscling him away. Hearing Derek’s words only heightened the pack’s distress, and embarrassment prickled at Derek’s ears, knowing they would not understand this.
It was not a sacrifice for Derek to do this. This was something he knew how to do, something that he objectively very much enjoyed. It was a tool that fit well in his hand, familiar and well worn. After being shown how easily a body can be used against you, Derek had learned how best to use his body to his own advantage. It was nothing. His body was nothing, as he had learned at such a young and delicate age. It was something to be used and if he was the one using it than there was no way that it could hurt him again.
He had experienced a lot more than an uncomfortable blowjob for a lot less than saving the lives of everyone he had in this world. He’d traded his mouth for bus tickets when Laura and he had been chased by hunters in Chicago. The first time Laura’s waitressing job didn’t cover the rent, Derek couldn’t even go home to her for fear of her smelling their landlord all over him, still in him. He always tried to hide it from her, knowing it would break her heart. When she died, though, the shame died with her. He was alone. And he would survive.
There hadn’t been much cause for it since coming to Beacon Hills. Some people he’d needed information from, but they didn’t ask for anything he was unwilling to give. And they always asked.
This was no different. Derek’s only shame came in knowing that the pack would pity him, would see this as so much more than it was for Derek. Scott would judge him. With his high moral code and belief in love as a cure-all, he would never look at Derek the same. Isaac would just feel powerless, after having felt powerless his entire life. He might resent Derek, for offering him the bite as the ultimate power play, only to still be beaten by an angel, fallen to earth. He imagined Erica, though, would not pass judgment. Maybe because she was secretly kind, maybe because she was a woman, or maybe even because she would see the logic in it, but she would treat him the same. He imagined she would curl her way into his bed tonight, and Boyd would cook him breakfast, watching with quiet eyes to be sure his alpha was alright. Boyd would always stand by him, silent and accepting of all of Derek’s flaws, as he had always been.
But then there was Stiles.
Stiles, who never hesitated to place an easy hand on his shoulder, to include him in whatever was happening, even it was something he'd much rather not be part of. Stiles, who stashed little stores of his favorite candies around the Hale House and who always put some of Derek's favorites in as well, for when he found them. Stiles, who had started looking more and more handsome as he grew older, filling out his clothes with broad shoulders and lean muscle. Stiles, who tempted Derek as much with his sinuous forearms and lush mouth as he did with his teasing smiles and musical laugh. Stiles, who had given up on Lydia Martin, dropping his ten year plan in favor of hanging around with Derek instead, sometimes looking as doe-eyed and adoring as he had with her, but more often then not, looking at Derek with a patient sort of longing, like he'd finally found what he'd been searching for, and could rest happily until the day it was ready to be given. Stiles, who helped him repaint the second floor of his rebuilt house, starting paint fights and making apology cake after ruining the new floors. Stiles, who smelled more and more like mate every single day. Stiles, who would probably forgive him for anything. Except something like this. This, Stiles might never forget.
He told himself that Erica and Boyd were his favorites anyway and that he didn’t care if Stiles could never look at him the same again. He was a liar, but that was okay.
Stiles was still at the edge of his awareness, fighting Isaac to the point of pain, shouting at Derek, begging him not to, his voice sounding wet. Derek closed his eyes, not sure if he wanted to focus on his voice or try to tune him out. His heartbeat was rabbit fast, so much more stressed and agitated than Derek’s own. The pack was anxious, but Derek was helping soothe them, the pack bond telling them that he was confident and calm, unafraid and willing. But Stiles only understood what he could see, and Derek listened to his heart break as Isaac pulled and pushed him from the building.
“Quite the fire in that one,” the demon said quietly, mouth quirked in appreciation. “You haven’t touched him.” It wasn’t a question but Derek treated it as one, offering information to get the attention back on him, away from Stiles.
“He’s not of age,” he said simply, pulling at the demon’s fly with human fingertips.
“That didn’t matter much to you when you were underage,” the thing commented, fingernails scraping slowly through Derek’s hair.
Derek shrugged, reaching through the opening and pulling out its cock, mostly hard already and flushing further in his hand. Derek listened to Isaac try to calm Stiles as he corralled him towards his Jeep, heard the thud of skin on skin as Stiles' started fighting back with genuine force. He choose to focus on the flesh in his hand, instead. He licked from base to tip, swirling cleverly with his tongue before swallowing it down, ignoring the uncomfortable shifting of Scott, Boyd and Erica behind him. They wouldn’t be able to see much, but they could hear the wet, sucking sounds and see every twitch and expression on the demon’s face.
“You are a marvel, young wolf,” it said, voice losing some composure as Derek sucked, working hard to finish it quickly.
Derek focused inward, pushing calm and contentment into the pack bond, a silent apology for those left watching. He closed his eyes and imagined it was Stiles in his mouth, filling his throat and hand. He could hear Stiles’ calling his name, screaming himself hoarse, fighting Isaac until the wolf began apologizing. Suddenly he smelt blood, Stiles’ blood, and Isaac began shouting, begging Stiles to stop.
He popped his mouth off the twitching cock in front of him, making up for the interruption by making it sound as filthy as possible.
“Erica, go,” he ordered, though his voice was rough and thick. He turned far enough around to spare a glare at Scott, angry that he wasn’t doing his part to keep the pack safe, to keep his best friend for injuring himself. What he found, though, was not the judgmental and disgusted look he expected, but instead he found Scott’s eyes wide with heartache, jaw clenched against helpless fury. Derek looked deep inside himself where the strange, sideways connection he felt to Scott lived, and he felt righteous fury there, a fire to right what ever wrongs had been done to him, a brotherly dedication he did not expect to find.
“It’s fine,” he said, wiping the spit from his chin, offering Scott a weak platitude and a nod, hoping to acknowledge Scott’s anger, to calm it. He didn’t know if it worked, as the sex demon grew impatient with Derek’s absently stroking hand. It grabbed the wolf by the head and turned him back to face it.
“Open wide,” it growled, the first hint of anger coloring its tone, cock still twitching hungrily in Derek’s grip. The demon knocked his hand away and thrust itself into Derek’s mouth, scraping momentarily against his teeth before Derek adjusted to swallow him down. “Good,” the creature gasped, hands moving to press down over Derek’s ears, blocking him off from the pack as all his focus went to keeping his throat relaxed as the demon’s cock forced it open. Spit and precome poured from the corners of his mouth and though Derek could only hear his own gagging and heartbeat, he was sure it sounded filthy. Balls slapped against his wet chin and Derek’s hands dangled uselessly at his sides.
He could tell the creature was getting close and with only a few more stinging thrusts, it pulled out and shot over his face. A streak landed over his eyelid, mixing with the reflexive tears that ran from the corners, and more still covered his jaw and mouth. The demon held him for a little longer, fingers clenching and spasming in his hair as it shook through its orgasm. After a few, long moments it let go, and Derek wiped the come from his face with his shirt, rubbing gently to get it all out of his eyelashes.
“Happy?” he asked, his voice broken and ugly sounding.
“Very,” the demon said, sounding shaken itself. “Good pup, very good.” It patted his sticky cheek, before tucking itself in and doing up its fly.
“We better not see you again,” Derek said, not very threateningly.
“Wouldn’t you like another round, pet?” it asked teasingly, greasy shadows peeling off of it again.
“My mate will find a way to destroy you. If you ever come back here, it’ll be the last thing you do,” Derek promised, knowing like he knew the skin of his own hands and the wolf under his skin that Stiles would find a way.
“Ah, yes, he’ll hate us both for this,” the demon said with obvious glee and its form flickered from solid to ethereal, at some moments so present and at others just a shade.
“Just you,” Derek said, though he wasn’t so sure. It was worth the half-truth to have the last word, as with a final smirk, the demon vanished, gone between one heartbeat and the next, leaving nothing but an oily sheen to the air and smears of come on Derek’s shirt.
Only Boyd had been left when Derek finally climbed back to his feet. Scott had left to help talk Stiles through a panic attack. Derek was glad his ears had been covered, he would not have been able to finish the job if he’d had to listen to Stiles’ sobbing for air.
Boyd had approached slowly, offering his jacket when Derek stripped out of his soiled shirt. He didn’t say much, just squeezed his shoulder, rubbing all down his arm, covering him in the scent of pack. He said “thank you” and it was probably the last thing Derek expected.
“It was nothing,” Derek said with a shrug.
“To you,” Boyd conceded, clearly having been listening to Derek’s heart. “To us, that was brutal. To Stiles, it was a nightmare.” Derek just grunted, using the clean sections of his shirt to really scrub at his face, making sure to get every bit of come, every smear of spit and every teartrack.
The two walked out to the cars, seeing Stiles sitting in the Jeep, legs hanging out the door, head hanging off his neck. Scott stood by him, rubbing his back. Erica and Isaac were standing close together against the bumper, pressed tightly shoulder to hip. When Derek approached, the two slinked over, slow and careful just like Boyd had. They each touched an arm, scenting delicately. Erica smelled faintly of tears and Isaac of trauma.
Derek nodded at them both, wished he could scent them in return, but he knew his hands, neck and face reeked of fuel and ozone.
He looked to Scott, asking without asking if Stiles was ready. Scott shook his head. Derek jerked his chin to the Camaro and he and the trio took off.
The ride to the Hale House was silent.
When they arrived, Isaac sat dully in front of the tv, not even turning it on, looking shellshocked. Erica and Boyd moved quietly, seamlessly, around each other in the kitchen, dressing up frozen pizzas and heating up the oven. Derek moved silently up to his bedroom.
In the shower, he thought about what he might say to Stiles. How he could possibly broach the topic of mates now that he knew. Derek hadn’t felt ashamed of himself in a long time. Not since Laura died and he had no one left to be good for.
Suddenly he had a whole pack, a potential mate even, who could make him feel ashamed of himself.
He didn’t like it.
He scrubbed himself raw in the shower, more for a clean scent than actually feeling dirty. He brushed his teeth until he gums bled, dropping his fangs and brushing them too. He shaved for good measure and just as he was toweling off he heard that unique heartbeat make its way inside. He still smelled of misery, panic and blood, and Derek rushed through dressing. He pulled on his closest, comfiest clothes and casually hurried down the stairs.
Stiles was still standing by the front door, presumably waiting for him. Scott headed into the kitchen, waved off by his friend as Derek met him at the bottom of the staircase.
They looked at each other, silently, both seemingly taking stock of the other.
Stiles’ lip was busted and his knuckles were bleeding sluggishly. He had a red mark across his throat, like Isaac had grabbed the hood of his jacket and he still didn’t stop pulling. He had a bump on his head, likely from being slammed against the Jeep and Derek was sure there were countless other bruises under his clothes.
“You should get cleaned up,” Derek said, his voice still rough enough that Stiles could hear the difference.
“Okay,” he said, watching Derek warily.
“Come upstairs,” Derek offered, already prepared for the rejection, for the disgust.
“Okay,” Stiles said again and the band of tension wrapped around Derek’s chest loosened. He walked past Derek, not touching him, but heading up the stairs and waiting for him at the top. Derek jerked his head in the direction of his bedroom and its en suite, knowing Stiles already knew where to go, but was waiting for the invitation.
Derek pulled his “for Stiles only” first aid kit out from under his sink, grunting at the boy until he washed his hands and sat down on the closed lid of the toilet. Derek watched him move, watched him soap the blood from his knuckles but leave the smear on his lip. He watched him dry his hands, carefully, silently. He thought it was probably the longest the kid had ever been silent in his presence.
He sat and looked at Derek expectantly.
Derek was unprepared for the look of pure anguish that crossed his pale features when he sunk down between his knees.
“Can you not?” he asked, voice cracking and rough from screaming. Derek looked down at his lap, hands folded around the first aid kit. He hadn’t felt this low since the last time Laura asked him where he got the money to afford her makeup addiction.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, sounding small even to himself.
“I’m not worried about you hurting me,” Stiles said, sounding aghast and disappointed. Derek supposed that was a tone he ought to get used to hearing from Stiles.
“Can I clean your hands then?” he asked, not touching the other man until he had permission.
Stiles sighed heavily and offered Derek his bruised and busted hands and he took that as permission enough to get to work. He did so quietly, dapping antiseptic and then antibacterial ointment onto the splits in his skin, wrapping carefully over his knuckles and between his fingers with gauze and tape. When his hands were finished, Derek took a new alcohol wipe and looked up to start on Stiles’ lip.
He found Stiles’ staring down at him, watching him carefully, brow furrowed in pain and confusion. He looked so upset, his scent soured and his heart accelerating, and not from the pain in his hands as Derek had assumed.
“Can I clean your lip?” he asked, once again bracing for a rejection, for the shame.
“Why’d you do it?” was the response instead, whiskey eyes looking at him imploringly, scouring his face.
“It was the smart decision,” he said, sitting back on his heels, willing to have this conversation if that’s what it took. To get back to normal. To whatever it was they were before this happened, their holding pattern of ‘not quite there but almost.’
“How is getting on your knees and sucking off a demon a smart decision?” Stiles asked, derision in his voice and there it finally was. The disgust, the repulsion Derek had been expecting. He dropped his gaze, cheeks going hot even as he jutted out his chin, defensively.
“We couldn’t fight our way out, we wouldn’t have won. I knew what he wanted so I gave it to him. No one got hurt. It was the best I could do.”
“The best you could do?” Stiles shouted incredulously, bandaged hands flailing up into the air. “That was the best you could do? Seriously, Derek, what the fuck?”
“Would you have rather it have been Scott?” Derek asked, unable to keep the growl from his voice, angry and feeling cornered. “Or you? Would you have rather he picked you?”
“He didn’t pick you, you volunteered!” Stiles countered, cheeks splotchy with anger.
“He was a sex demon, the king sex demon, looking to get an alpha to submit. He would’ve killed us all if one of us hadn’t complied.” Derek said, trying to keep his voice calm. Which was getting easier and easier as he got more and more defeated, slumping in his position on the bathroom floor.
“Why did you let him?” Stiles asked, still burning on anger and adrenaline. “We could’ve talked our way out, stalled until I found a way to banish him or something. You didn’t have to suck his cock like a fucking prostitute!”
Derek was quiet for a minute, listening only to the sound of Stiles’ heaving, angry breaths and trying not to think about how this was probably the smallest he'd ever felt. The pack was quiet downstairs. Probably listening. Derek didn’t let himself think about it.
“It was fine, it was nothing,” he said lowly, Stiles interrupting in his usual fashion.
“It wasn’t nothing,” he yelled some more.
“Nothing I haven’t done before,” Derek finished through gritted teeth. “I was sixteen and living in New York without a high school diploma, if you think that was the first time I’ve ever blown myself out of a fuck up, you’re deluding yourself.”
Stiles looked shocked, mouth hanging open, staring at Derek with eyes that had the audacity to look betrayed. That look, the look that Derek had somehow let him down, had done him wrong, that look made him mad enough to go on, like Derek hadn’t done everything he’d done that night for him.
“So I’m sorry if my whoring is so hard for you to stomach, but it’s kept me alive this far, and now you and our whole pack are alive because of it, too. So you’re welcome.” He spit the words at the boy, hearing them fall into a painful pause between them. So many emotions crossed Stiles’ face, always so expressive, before he settled on looking wrecked.
“If you’re asking me,” he began, voice wobbly and tight. “To be thankful for any of the horrible things that have been done to you, then fuck you. I will never be grateful that you’ve had to use sex as a survival tactic. I will never be grateful that being raped in a warehouse by a demon was nothing to you. Don’t say ‘you’re welcome' like I didn’t just watch the man I—” Stiles cut off his a sharp swallow and a shaking lip. “My alpha treat himself like nothing more than a fucking animal at a goddamn petting zoo.”
Derek’s throat was tight and he didn’t exactly know what he was feeling, let alone how to deal with it. There was shame, still, yes, more of it even, and he went with his usual reflex of being defensive and argumentative, hoping to stall long enough to decided what all of that and the heartbroken look in Stiles’ eyes meant.
“Well I’m sorry that that was hard for you to watch,” he said woodenly, moving to stand and leave, trying to put distance between himself and the kid who might’ve grown up to be the love of his life.
He didn’t even make it up to his feet, though, before Stiles was on him. Launching himself off of his perch on the toilet lid, he slammed bodily into Derek, pushing them back into the wall and landing mostly in the wolf’s lap.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he said, pressing his face into Derek’s neck, busted lip and all. “Please don’t think I’m blaming you, I would never blame you, for anything that’s basically ever happened to you.” Derek smelled the salt before he felt the hot tears smear into his neck. “I’m sorry,” Stiles whispered brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he said, selfishly burying his face in the curve of Stiles’ shoulder, inhaling his scent, distressed as it was, and letting it calm him. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m still so sorry,” Stiles said, hands clenching helplessly in the back of his shirt. “That all of that happened to you, Kate, New York, all of it, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that its still happening and I couldn’t stop it.” His heart was starting to race again and his breathing had that dragging, hitching sound on every inhale.
“Slow down, its okay,” Derek said, a wide palm pressing between his shoulder blades, just like Stiles’ had done for him in countless stand offs, even today’s. “Breathe, it’s gonna be okay,” he said in a soothing tone, trying to do all the things his mother used to do for him on a full moon before he mastered his shift.
“Your body is not a tool, it’s not nothing. You need to start treating it like something,” Stiles demanded in a shaky voice, pulling back to look at Derek with red, watery eyes. “When we figure ourselves out, I need to know that you’re doing your part to keep yourself safe. I can’t do it all. You need to be able to do the basic safety checks like not ever consenting to sex you don’t actually want to have. Especially after we figure ourselves out. Don’t you dare ever turn me into another person who you let use you.”
“Okay, Stiles,” Derek said quietly, pulling the teen more firmly against him, curling their bodies around each other, breathing in the scent that was just them.
“And if I’m really your alpha mate, then you really have to listen to me,” Stiles said, and Derek could hear the hesitant question lying under his words.
“You’d only be an alpha if you were a werewolf.”
“But if I were a were, I’d be alpha with you?” he asked, fingers unclenching from their fists and drawing lighting down his back, making Derek shiver.
“If you wanted to be,” Derek answered, his voice quiet and heavy. “You would be if you were my mate. We’d be an alpha pair.”
Stiles’ let out a gusty sigh that Derek felt spread all over his skin.
“I think we make a pretty good pair already,” Stiles said, voice hardly over a whisper, making shy eye contact from under his curtain of lashes.
“Yeah,” Derek agreed easily, unable to keep his eyes from glancing down to Stiles’ red-bitten lips.
“Can I kiss you?” Stiles asked, the words floating over Derek’s mouth it its own, delicate kiss.
“Do you want to?” Derek asked.
“Yeah,” he breathed and that was enough for Derek to close the distance between them. He was careful of his split lip, but still tried to kiss him with every raw bit of desperate love he had tried so hard to ignore. It was chaste and close-mouthed to start, but grew sloppier and wetter as they got their first tastes of each other.
Stiles’ bit teasingly at Derek’s lip and he moaned gently, one hand squeezing reflexively where it held Stiles’ upper arm. The boy winced, then, pulling back with a sound of pain, pulling his arm into his body. Derek sighed, leaning in to press a line of light, soft kisses from the corner of his mouth across his cheek.
“Sorry,” he breathed against the shell of his ear, lips quirking slightly when Stiles’ shivered hard against him. “Let me see,” he ordered, nudging the boy up to standing. He complied, taking his sweatshirt off, treating Derek to his toned and hairy stomach as his shirt stuck on its way up. When he dropped the sweatshirt, though, Derek saw only the dark red of new bruises in the shape of Isaac’s hands on both his biceps. The line across his neck was darkening as well, and Derek bet they were starting to ache. “Stupid,” Derek chided, tracing the handprints lightly. “You shouldn’t have fought him.”
“You shouldn’t’ve sent me away,” Stiles countered, distracted by how close they still were, sliding his hands up and down the wolf’s sides. Derek watched, mesmerized, as his biceps flexed under his hands.
“You wouldn’t have wanted to see that,” Derek said, not closing his hands around the boy, in case he wanted to pull away at the reminder of where his hands had been.
“I would’ve stopped it,” Stiles said fiercely. “Even if it would’ve gotten everyone killed.”
“That’s why I sent you away,” he said with a chuckle, pushing him by the hips to lean against the counter, once again grabbing the first aid kit. He cupped his jaw in one hand, shaking his head playfully before carefully cleaning his cut with the other. When he was all cleaned up Derek kissed him carefully on the other side of his mouth.
“Hungry?” he asked, knowing the answer and already making his way out through the bedroom and down the stairs. Stiles followed closely behind, their hands brushing a couple times before Stiles’ managed to snag a couple of his fingers with his own. They walked to the kitchen, casually holding hands like nothing was different. The pack, seemingly having been holding their breath as the two descended the stairs seemed shocked by their mild declaration. Scott, Isaac and Erica sat on the couch, mouths agape, and Derek was momentarily proud that his betas and fellow alpha were not quite as nosy as he’d thought.
Boyd broke the silence, offering the pair pizza from his spot in the kitchen doorway. Stiles further dispelled the quiet by launching into speech, loud and calm, as if hoping to demonstrate that there was nothing too traumatic or life-altering about the day. Derek was content to agree with him, grabbing some food and making his rounds of his betas, scenting each in turn, receiving a gentle smile from Boyd, a tight hug from Erica and actually having Isaac follow him to the couch and sit on the floor against his legs. He let a pizza-greasy hand fall into his hair and the boy scowled playfully up at him.
When Scott sat down at his side with his serious face on, however, Derek braced himself for the worst. Instead, he got a firm hand on his shoulder and a promise that if that thing ever came back, they would send it straight to hell. Stiles laughed, loudly, loud enough for the whole room and seconded it, lifting his pizza in cheers.
“Seriously man,” Scott said as the betas and Stiles chattered. “I appreciate what you did, but it’s never happening again. And I don’t just mean with that demon. I mean ever.” He cast a significant look in the direction of his best friend and Derek nodded his understanding. “I get that a lot has gone down in your life,” he said, stating it simply in a way Derek appreciated. “And I think it’s past time you find someone to talk to about it all.” At Derek’s skeptical face, Scott held up a hand and continued. “I totally believe in the power of love and all, but Stiles isn’t a professional and he’ll kick himself if he messes up with you.”
“He’s going to be insufferable, isn’t he,” Derek said, mostly to himself but Scott laughed anyway.
“He’s gonna ask permission for everything,” Scott agreed. “It’ll be a good thing, I think,” he said, leaving the ‘for you’ unspoken, but Derek heard it anyway.
“I’ll look for someone,” Derek said, thinking that maybe it might be true, might even be time.
He had people to live for again. People he wanted to keep safe, to make happy. People he wanted to be proud of him. He had a pack that trusted and respected him and a boy that adored him and might someday be his mate in all things. Derek thought that maybe now would be the time to make himself as healthy as he could, for all of them, himself included.
Stiles took his empty plate from his hands and squeezed in close under his arm, pressed against his side, casually talking to Scott across him. Derek closed his hand over Stiles’ shoulder, squeezing gently before tipping his head forward to rest against his throat. Stiles brought one hand up to pet his hair and just kept on talking, the vibrations soothing against Derek’s forehead.
Derek breathed in, the smell of mate and pack, and he was content.
It was three months and twenty-four therapy sessions later that finally found Derek and Stiles falling into bed together.
Not that they hadn’t spent plenty of time rolling around in Derek’s sheets, but Stiles was always very liberal as to what constituted sex, and consent, and Derek was achingly cognizant of Stiles’ age.
So on the day of Stiles’ eighteenth birthday, after a thorough session with his therapist discussing his true motivations, Derek was finally able to say yes to Stiles, without any guilt or second-guessing.
They'd been together since that day, and yet Stiles still asked permission before doing anything. Before he touched, before he kissed, before he licked, it was worse than dirty talk because there wasn’t anything dirty about it. Derek’s therapist said that finding consent and respect sexy was a result of being denied both for so long, but every time Stiles asked “can I?” with that starving look in his eyes, Derek’s dick twitched.
It was Stiles’ birthday, in the early afternoon. Stiles had come back from a birthday brunch and Derek had had an early appointment with his therapist. Derek had been waiting for Stiles on the front porch, his carefully wrapped present in his hands. The present that Stiles had knocked carelessly to the floor as Stiles crashed into his arms, wrapping his deceptively powerful arms around his waist, mouthing against his throat.
“Are you ready? Is this finally happening?”
Derek just grinned at him wolfishly, grabbing thick fistfuls of Stiles’ shirt and dragging him backwards into the house. The teen flailed, arms pinwheeling as he was yanked forward off his feet, faceplanting in Derek’s chest. Which was fine. He bit and kissed his way back to balance while they groped and grabbed their way up the stairs.
Stiles fell on one of the steps, accidentally dragging Derek down with him. He squirmed his way on top, grinding down against him. He gasped, “Here, let’s do it right here,” with a filthy press of his hips between Derek’s leg, pressing his cock hard against the space behind the wolf’s balls. Derek whined, wanting to pull him closer but pushing him away instead.
“No, bed,” he insisted.
“What’s wrong with right here?” Stiles asked, cheeks rouged with arousal, rolling his hips forward again, hands sliding wondrously over the hard strength of Derek’s thighs. “This angle is perfect.” Derek was tempted to agree. He imagined sliding down on Stile’s dick, the stairs keeping his hips angled just right, giving his partner the perfect leverage to fuck him, hard and fast. Derek’s dick throbbed at the thought, and Stiles’ felt it against his stomach.
“No, bed,” Derek said again, twisting out from under the teen and pulling him up the stairs by one, any, of his limbs. “Condoms, lube, pillows, are all with the bed.”
“Compelling argument, I can’t fault your logic,” Stiles breathed against his neck, plastered to his back, arms wrapping around, one hand sliding up to tweak a dark, soft nipple, the other scratching down through the hair over his stomach.
By the time Derek made it into his bedroom, he was ready to burst, throbbing against the inside of his zipper, his neck alternately hot and cool as Stiles’ mouthed hungrily at him before blowing breath over it in the form of absolutely obscene suggestions.
“Soon, probably even today, I want you to fuck me,” Stiles said, hands moving restlessly under Derek’s clothes. “I don’t know if I’ll like it, but I want to at least try. Maybe just the tip.”
“Okay,” Derek said, pulling Stiles’ around by his wandering hands and shoving him backwards onto the bed. Stiles watched, licking his lips hungrily as Derek stripped, pulling off his shirt and shucking his jeans.
“Fuck, you’re not wearing underwear,” Stiles whined, looking like Derek’s bare groin and thighs were physically hurting him. “How are you even real, you look like porn.”
Derek just smirked before pulling at Stiles’ clothes.
Somewhere in the process of peeling off all of Stiles’ many layers, things slowed down. Derek’s hands felt warm against his skin, not hot, and his breath was deep but not fast. Maybe it was the wondering, worshipful look Stiles was giving him, or the way he touched him, everywhere, letting his hands slide loosely over Derek’s forearms as he unfastened his jeans, the way he stroked his fingers through his hair when Derek untied his shoes.
It was slow and smooth, every movement languid instead of rushed. By the time Derek laid down next to Stiles, the two of them shuffling up to lay centered in the bed, his heartbeat was fast but not racing, patiently anticipating.
“This was fun,” Stiles said, their faces inches apart.
“We haven’t even started yet,” Derek said as he watched his hand trace down Stiles’ flank.
“Yes we have. I’m glad that this can be fun.” Stiles’ eyes shone merrily in the afternoon light. Derek smiled back at him, in the honest, carefree way he had just started relearning.
“What do you want to do?” he asked, tracing the cut of Stiles’ groin, fingertip light and teasing across his skin.
“Anything.” Stiles rolled into him, pressing against him with the full length of his body. He kissed him, short and filthy. “Everything. I’ve thought about this so much, I don’t even know what I want to do first.”
“We have plenty of time,” Derek said, watching as freckles disappeared under his knuckles and reappeared on the other side, skin smooth like water.
“I’ve never seen so much of you at once,” Stiles said, pushing up to his hands and knees over Derek. “Your dick is so pretty,” he said, slinking down to rest his head on the curve of Derek’s hip, settling his body between his legs. “Hello, friend. It’s nice to finally meet you.”
“That’s weird, stop that.” Derek nudged him with his knee.
“Shh, we’re bonding.”
“It already likes you fine.” Stiles pet his dick gently, cooing at it, giving it the same look he gives Derek when he thinks he’s being adorable. Derek groaned, reminding himself that the boy whispering to his penis was, in fact, a legal adult.
“Derek, your dick is—”
“If the next word out of your mouth is “adorable,” I’m going to make you wait another three months.”
“Never mind, then,” Stiles said quickly, before sliding his mouth down over him. Derek’s eyes flew open in shock and his stomach contracted as Stiles surrounded him in velvet heat, dragging with mouth back up his length in an achingly slow glide, sucking hard before flicking his tongue into the circle of his foreskin.
“Fuck,” Stiles gasped when he popped off, sounding even more wrecked than Derek felt. “Oh fuck, I’m gonna like this.”
And then he was back down, sliding his tongue, lips, face, along the length of his dick, his hands trailing over his body as restlessly as his tongue flickered against him. He squeezed hard on an upstroke of his fist, gathering Derek’s foreskin around the tip and playing with it in an exploratory way that should have been more clinical than sexy but had Derek gripping the sheet like gravity had just been switched off, hips pulsing off the bed like he was trying to fuck the ceiling.
“God,” Derek breathed, voice crackling like campfire as Stiles pulled ever so lightly with his teeth.
“Good?” Stiles asked, tongue trailing along the head of his cock. Derek just threw a bottle of lube at him, chuckling breathlessly when Stiles squawked as it bounced off his shoulder. “Oh, okay, so not good?” Stiles asked, pulling away to grab the tube, looking at it instead of him.
“Very good,” Derek assured him, running his foot along the length of Stiles’ calf before planting it on the bed. “That’s for your fingers. If that’s okay.”
Stiles made a sound not dissimilar from choking on hot food.
“Yeah, yeah, that’s okay,” he said, flopping inelegantly over Derek’s body to press swollen kisses against his lips. “Although,” he pulled away enough to look at Derek, “I was hoping to get my mouth on you there, too.”
“Fuck, yes, please,” Derek asked, pushing Stiles down the length of his body with a palm to the boy’s laughing face. The laughter dried up, however, when Derek hooked a hand behind his own knee, pulling himself open. Stiles’ settled in on his stomach again, pressing a wet, sucking kiss to the base of his cock before dragging his mouth down over his balls. He nuzzled with his face, breathing in deeply before blowing air sweetly over Derek’s hole. Derek clenched, with an embarrassing moan, and growled at Stiles to stop staring and do something already.
The first touch of his tongue was tentative, like Stiles was once again wondering if this was real. Every lick after was growing in confidence, swirling around his hole, soaking the surrounding skin and hair. Stiles would pull back to gasp noisily, sounding broken and wonderful, before pressing back in with his whole face. Derek was quickly approaching sensation overload and he wondered idly in his blissed out state if he could come from this. He didn’t want to, though, not this time at least, and he thunked his heel into Stiles’ head to get his attention.
“Lube, fingers,” he demanded, dick weeping onto his stomach when Stiles looked up from between his thighs, lips wet and swollen, mouth and pupils wide and hungry.
“You look amazing,” Stiles said, stealing the words out of Derek’s mouth, his voice rough with need. He got his fingers covered with minimal spilling and slipping, pressing two in at Derek’s direction.
Derek groaned, his body lighting up with the stretch. His hands flew to Stiles’ shoulders, digging into the round, solid muscle, leg quivering where it was still held aloft.
“Okay?” Stiles asked before mouthing back over his cock where it was leaking over his stomach.
“Yes,” he hissed through gritted teeth as Stiles’ fingers twisted inside him. Stiles watched him with dark eyes, licking distractedly over the head of his dick, keeping track of every hitch in his breathing as he fucked him on his fingers. He rubbed directly over his prostate, and Derek shouted, breath leaving in a surprised string of nonsense syllables.
“There?” Stiles asked, pressing on the spot with intense attention.
“Another,” Derek gasped, feeling the first sparks of orgasm shocking his spine as the stretch of another finger melted into burning pleasure.
“You close?” Stiles asked, looking at him like he wanted to devour everything laid out in front of him. With the helpless nod Derek gave him, he would probably have been allowed. “God, you look so good, so perfect,” Stiles mumbled, pressing the words into the vein on the underside of his cock, thick with blood and twitching against his face.
“You should fuck me,” Derek said, his voice almost entirely breath. Stiles whined, hips jolting against the bed, burying his face in Derek’s groin.
“I won’t last,” he admitted, sounding like he was about to come already, without a single touch to his cock.
“Me neither.” Derek was pretty sure he’d come the second Stiles’ dick shoved into him. He said as much and got to hear that delicious whine again, high in his throat, so much like a wolf in heat. “Please,” Derek asked, and that did it. Stiles nodded, head loose on his neck and eyes glazed, looking fucked out already. He sat up onto his knees, mindful to keep his fingers angled relentlessly against Derek’s prostate.
“Condom?” he asked and Derek shook his head wordlessly, robbed of speech by the shape of the teen’s mouth, obscene and well used.
“You sure?” Stiles asked, shuffling close on his knees, hissing as he stroked lube over his cock. Derek nodded again, watching the sight with hungry eyes. “You’re certain?” Stiles pushed, running a lube-wet hand over his thigh. “We don’t have to do this, this would still be an amazing first time without penetration.”
“Please,” Derek insisted, hands sliding over Stiles’ already sweat-dampened skin. “I’m sure.”
“Fuck,” Stiles gasped under his breath, watching as his fingers slid in and out of his partner’s body, watching as his hips rolled down to fuck against them. “Gorgeous, Derek, fuck, so pretty,” he babbled, jaw loose and probably sore, eyes on Derek’s stomach and thighs, strong muscles twitching and quivering as his fingers renewed their assault on his prostate.
Derek pushed his head back into the pillows, feeling his orgasm gain momentum as it rushed through his blood.
“Get inside me, now,” he growled, eyes flashing.
Stiles moaned like he was coming already before pulling his fingers out and pressing in with the blunt strength of his cock. Derek lost control, hips jolting up and shoving down on Stiles’ cock, stretching and filling, his cock shooting, untouched, over his stomach. His skin felt like fire, his hips rolling restlessly in Stiles’ lap, pulling tortured groans of out the boy, his hands digging into the meat of his tensing thigh.
“Fuck, Derek, fuck,” he cursed, hips pulsing against him as he fucked deeper, pushing the wolf through his orgasm, one hand sliding through sweat, lube and come to stroke him the rest of the way through it.
“Can I?” Stiles asked, the short words barely coherent as he moaned, and Derek nodded, managing a strangled “yes” when Stiles asked again, grabbing desperately at Derek’s thighs.
Within minutes, Stiles was coming inside him, hands clenching with bruising strength into his legs as he shook apart over him, broken moans spilling from his mouth where it was pressed to the streaks of come covering Derek’s stomach.
They took a moment, sprawled just like that as they caught their breath, bodies lax and soft, not an ounce of tension left in them.
“That was amazing,” Stiles said, smearing his lips further into the cooling come on his skin. He wormed his arms under Derek’s hips, hugging around his waist, holding him in his lap, cock still inside. “That was amazing, right?”
He titled his head to look up at Derek and if there was any moisture left in Derek’s mouth at all it would dried immediately at seeing his partner drag his cheek through his come like he wasn’t absolutely bathing in his scent.
“There’s come on my neck,” Derek said in answer and Stiles grinned, looking young, and handsome, and beautiful.
“If you wanna go again, I think I could stay just like this,” Stiles said, rolling his hips against Derek’s, his softening cock pushing his come deeper.
“Yeah, yeah,” Derek agreed easily, feeling lightheaded. Part of his wanted a drink of water and to stretch out his legs, but then Stiles rolled his hips again, the head of his shrinking cock dragging over his prostate and Derek’s legs clenched tight around Stiles’ waist, holding him close.
“That was fun,” Stiles said, resting his chin on Derek’s stomach, arms tightening in a hug, gazing up at him with easy, adoring eyes. Derek looked down at him, taking in the savaged state of his lips and the dewy blush on his cheeks.
“That was the most fun I’ve ever had in bed with someone,” he answered honestly, running one hand through his lover’s sweaty hair. “I didn’t know sex could be fun,” he admitted. “And then you started talking to my dick, and I should’ve known there was no other way with you.”
Stiles smiled at him hesitantly, shy for the first time since working his tongue into his ass, and asked, “Was that okay? Should I have wined and dined you instead? Candles? I can be romantic,” he insisted, pressing apologetic kisses to skin sticky with come.
“No, it was perfect,” Derek said, cupping his cheek in one hand, pushing up on his elbow and stretching to press their lips together. “You’re perfect,” he said directly into his partner’s mouth and Stiles’ moaned lightly, hips kicking forward where he was still buried inside.
“I’m so lucky,” Stiles said, holding him close, dragging his tongue across the streak of come drying on Derek’s throat.
“So am I,” Derek said, and for the first time in years, he really considered it to be true.