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by Rabid1st
Teen Wolf – Sterek
Rating: Explicit
Spoilers: None – Set in the future.
Words: 12000
BetaBabe: Birthsister
Summary: A sort of explicit coda for Counting the Hours. Derek bottoms for the first time. And then, gets very comfortable with the process over a number of years.
Disclaimer: Obviously, this is not sanctioned by anyone having anything to do with Teen Wolf. I'm just playing with Jeff Davis' characters and making them smutty for my own amusement. Sorry about that, Jeff.


Seven hundred and thirty hours after their first time together, Derek had taken about seven hundred and twenty-nine steps down the road of bisexual identification. Stiles lost a few shirts along the way, in addition to his virginity. Derek found a new appreciation for moonlit rejuvenation. He could spend a few minutes in the cool rays of a nearly full moon and be hard again. Stiles appreciated this ability almost as much as Derek did. Derek still didn't find random guys attractive, but he was as into Stiles as it was possible to be. He breathed him in like gulps of fresh air after a long stint in prison. Dreamed of him. Devoured him. Stiles defined him. Derek could not keep his mind or his hands or his mouth off of him. He'd pressed into Derek's walls and left an impression.

The bond had him by the scruff by their one month anniversary. The first three weeks blurred into a montage of making out and laughing sandwiched between episodes of bloody terror. They'd been blindsided by the enemy. Again. Scott had been brilliant. Again. Stiles came through on the magical front and remained more or less sane. After the battle Derek had held him through the night, soothing them both. Stiles in peril chilled him. Stiles in command gave him chills, too. Like any loyal canine, Derek spent most of his time thinking about the one he loved, watching over him.

They kept their private life as private as they could, considering they were surrounded by nosy werewolves. On weekends, Stiles reeled home in the early morning hours, drunk on a cocktail of sleep deprivation and great sex. They dealt with their issues by arguing them out, pushing one another, circling until they crashed together. From the outside it probably didn’t look like love, but it worked. They were an efficient team when it came to pack business. Stealing time for themselves, they made love with the lights on, in the middle of the day and all night long. Stiles gave up his virgin status in the deep woods. They'd taken a picnic and hiked to a bluff overlooking the river, two miles in and about a half a mile off an old logging road. Giving free reign to his animal side, Stiles had attacked. Before it was over he’d screamed his throat raw. He’d skipped school the next day, because he ached all over, but otherwise he’d fully enjoyed himself, and greeted his dad with a sappy smile.

In fact, Stiles made such a fuss over penetration Derek started envying him the experience. Not that he needed much encouragement to want to try anything and everything with Stiles. Maybe it was the bond making Derek insatiable. He wondered sometimes. He kept trying to pull Stiles into his flesh, make them one. But, under the constant craving to be physically united, there was a transcendent joy. And it was that joy pushing him to receive. He started dreaming about Stiles inside, asking for it. Straddling Stiles on the couch, he told him again how much he wanted to mark their anniversary by taking this last step. He whispered it in his ear, before licking along his collarbone. Stiles hadn’t shaved in two days. The bristles of a burgeoning beard prickled Derek's nose. The scent of freshly washed, recently fucked Stiles curled around him. It turned him on like nothing else could.

They both smelled of herbal soap and clean towels and the sex they’d had bent over the bathroom sink. It was such a heady experience, making love to Stiles. He came like an avalanche every time. No restraint at all. And Derek wanted him inside the next time. They had the lights out and the curtains open. It was a dark night, wet and miserable outside, with sleet hissing against the windows. The waxing moon gave them enough light to see one another clearly. Bathed in silvery rays, Derek recovered quickly. Stiles yawned, sleepy, but not spent. He grew hard against Derek's belly as they kissed.

“Someone might see us,” Stiles said, though it was unlikely given the weather that anyone would lurk for the thrill. The living room was illuminated only by moonlight and assorted digital read-outs, timers and router lights.

“I don’t care.”

“Are you sure about this?” Stiles asked for the sixth time. “You don’t have to…”

“I want to.”

“You’ll need to relax to enjoy it.”

“Do you want to?” Derek asked, beginning to suspect Stiles was the nervous one. He wished they’d gone bareback earlier. If they had, he wouldn’t have to guess what Stiles was thinking. They’d be linked emotionally by now. “First time on top?”

“Except, I'm underneath you.”

“We can change positions.”

“Derek, you do everything I like,” Stiles said.


“I'm just girding my loins.”

Derek would have laughed, but he was too nervous. “You think you won't like it?”

“No, I want to get into you. Want it so much. As long as you're ready.”

“I'm ready. So…?”

Blowing out an exhale, Stiles leaned toward the side table. His fingers clawed together a bottle of lube and the tiny CD remote. “Driver picks the music,” he said, thumbing on the player.

Braced for hip-hop, Derek was surprised by the whoosh and bounce of techno-pop. The music swelled around them. He didn’t recognize the song, but he laughed at the first of the lyrics. All along the Western Front, people line up to receive. Stiles wasn’t as into musical messages as he was, but Derek knew he was starting to appreciate lyrical sensitivity. He imagined this mix would be full of little gems like that. Sure enough, the next track had a drunkenly slow melody he recognized as Between Two Points by the Glitch Mob. The shortest distance between two points is the line from me to you. Stiles swept his talented fingers along every inch of Derek’s skin. He lavished attention on his nipples, neck and inner thighs. He tongued around his balls and puckered rim. Derek followed the melodies for a time, all the way to Get a little bit wrong. Get a little bit wild. Get a little bit high off this love tonight. Get a little bit raw. Come a little undone.

When the foreplay got a little bit raw, Derek lost track of the music. It became a background pulse echoing his. He tuned in again when the soundtrack slipped into Pink's Oh, My God! at exactly the right moment. Stiles sucked him to a climax, swallowing enough cum to bring them into emotional harmony. Derek thought about bursting into song himself as the cresting wave of Stiles’ unguarded feelings broke over him. They laughed together as they merged. And Derek really listened to the final track, some R&B smoothness Stiles had, no doubt, found through painstaking online research. Don't you want to come along on the ride of your life, somebody, somebody's got to be on top.

When the CD went into repeat, Stiles pushed back and away until he was partially reclining at the other end of the couch, with his head pillowed on the sofa arm. He studied Derek with those intoxicating eyes. Derek always felt a little drunk when they were this close, pack linked by his seed. Watching Stiles dribble lube into his palm to warm, Derek thought about how happy he was to have night vision. Stiles smiled as he picked up on the joy. He rubbed his fingers together and his kiss swollen lips parted in an invitation Derek would never decline. God, he loved being a werewolf sometimes. They slotted together again, sucking and nipping at one another while Stiles slicked their dicks. He fisted them both, treating them as one. Derek thrust against the slithering grip. The noise he made as he savaged Stiles' mouth was halfway between a groan and a growl. He transferred his attention to Stiles’ neck and left bruises.

Derek almost came again. He loved this frottage position so much; it drove him half out of his mind every time. The rush shot through his veins. But Stiles felt it building this time and scrunched lower. He reached under Derek and gently tugged his balls. Oh, baby, no, Derek thought. But as two fingers, silky with lube, massaged further back he changed his mind and murmured encouragement. The coiled spring in his belly released a little of its tension. He relaxed, slumping forward to rest his forehead against Stiles’ shoulder. Gentled by the lovely circling pressure, he whispered sweet nothings into an ear, rubbing his beard along the curve of Stiles’ throat.

Then, one of the fingers slipped inside, a swift and unexpected invasion. It went in easy, because he was more than ready for it. But it shocked him. He could feel the second knuckle as the finger curled forward, setting off a jolt of delicious sensation. Derek gasped and came to his knees quickly. He almost bolted away from the stimulation, but the finger withdrew before he could process what it was doing to him. Stiles stroked along his inner thighs, hands asking Derek to open further. Derek obediently levered to a crouch. He quaked inside, feeling vulnerable and exposed. Stiles teased at him again, stroking around his sensitive rim. They’d done this before, of course, at the height of oral sex, but never as the main event. Derek had never been fucked like this, penetrated, as a continual process. When he stopped clenching, two fingers twisted in going further than before. He breathed deep as they pumped and caressed. Stiles fingered him until he eagerly accepted the deepest insertion possible.

He knew fingers were nothing. Stiles had slender fingers after all. They were long, but he had more than eight inches down the length of his cock. Derek still had no idea how he could relax that much. But they were going for it. One hand bracing on Derek’s bent knee, Stiles shifted into position. He maneuvered his slick tip around until it rested against Derek’s hole. The dick seemed separate from Stiles, an entity asking for admittance. It nudged around, searching for entry, nosing at Derek's privates like a tentative ferret. A surreal sensation washed over him. It felt like none of this could be happening, like he was safe in a dream.

Derek had his eyes closed. He wanted to duck his face into the curve of Stiles’ neck. The warmth and scent would comfort him, but their position wouldn’t allow it. He was too far away now. And he couldn't slow his racing pulse as Stiles stretched him open slightly. Heart pounding in his chest, Derek kneaded Stiles’ shoulders with both hands and prayed. Stiles heard his plea and petted him. The long strokes across his belly and down his thighs worked like magic. He’d just started to relax, when Stiles braced his heels and thrust up with his hips. Hissing in alarm, Derek scrambled forward to escape. But when Stiles groaned under him, he stilled. Fuck it. He took a few deep breaths and pushed back, taking in a great deal more cock than he'd intended. Time stopped. The mantel clock still ticked loudly but nobody moved. Derek released a pent gasp. His insides liquefied. He squeezed against the sensation, rocking his hips and heard Stiles exhale sharply.

Looking down at him, Derek saw his eyes pinched shut and the veins in his arched neck were clearly visible. Oh, Derek recognized the emotions bouncing around in their joined mind. He knew what it was like, holding on, holding out against something this intense. It hadn’t been that long ago that he'd been the one balls deep in virgin ass. Stiles had clenched so tight it had taken Derek’s his breath away. It had felt amazing. And so did this. Little pops of pleasure were bursting under his skin. His nipples were throbbing pebbles. He rubbed a hand over them and his cock thumped against Stiles’ belly. Derek licked his lips. His mouth had gone dry, but it filled with saliva as he considered a slow, wet kiss. Stiles would open for him and suck on his tongue. They needed to be closer. Derek wanted to thrust. It was instinct for him. He, also, wanted to slip up and down that length inside him. He was feeling overwhelmed. Full. Complete. Stretched to his limits, it seemed like he’d always wanted this.

He milked Stiles, clenching and releasing his cock, causing him to buck and writhe. The lube made it all slick and easy, but Derek couldn’t be sure how much length he was taking. It felt like that pole Kali ran through him. Being opened like this shattered him every time he rocked back. Thank God, Stiles let him set the rhythm. Derek’s fragmented attention brought him kaleidoscopic impressions of the event. He wasn’t sure he would remember much of it afterward. Stiles echoed his own feelings back at him like an emotional reverberation chamber in his head. They were both yielding and hard, both guiding one another and lost in the experience.

Face alight with wonder, Stiles responded to Derek’s every twitch and pulse. His mouth hung open, emitting tiny gasps, but he did not take control or try to set the pace. He held steady, even when Derek dropped to his knees. Derek couldn’t help admiring such extreme self control. Any man would be tempted to fuck him hard at this point. He could feel Stiles awash with need and trembling, his abdominals perceptibly tensed. His hips kept twitching, as he waited for Derek to move and push into him, but they never hitched up more than an inch.

Derek grew flushed as a heady sense of power sent a glow into his veins. He’d never felt so dominant. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he'd expected to be diminished by this experience. Yet, it was as if he'd somehow discovered the key to breaking men at will. He knew he could make Stiles come in a matter of seconds. All he needed to do was apply the slightest of pressures and the shaking flail would start. He wanted to do it, too, before Stiles slipped away from his mind. Only there was no way he could bear for this to end quickly. His prostate practically sang, waking up to the wonders of direct stimulation. Why had he never tried this before? It seemed like an unforgivable oversight. The world was full of gay men. And he’d had a vibrator for years. His cock wept viscous droplets, begging for attention. He ignored it to wiggle his hips. Stiles whimpered and took a shivery breath.

“You like that?”

“Yes. Yeah. Yes,” Stiles said in a high pitched, breathless voice. “Oh,” he added on a long moan.

“You want to fuck me, Stiles? I can take you deeper. All the way in.”

After another rough catch in his breath, Stiles managed a languid smile. “Get wild,” he said.

Derek did. Eyes fixed on Stiles, gauging exactly what it would take to shatter him, Derek took Ke$ha's advice on every point, coming undone. He began his assault tenderly, cupping Stiles' face with one palm as he drew him into a sloppy kiss. Their tongues played around one another, licking along teeth and flicking against lips. Then Derek braced a hand against the sofa arm. His other hand kept shifting its grip on Stiles, who murmured encouragement as the music pulsed around them. Except for those moments when his lashes dipped low, Derek never broke eye contact. He pushed up in a cat-like arc, enjoying the drawn-out slide of smooth flesh inside him. Every muscle warmed as he sank back until he was filled to bursting again. He welcomed occupation. Fuck. He loved cock. Loved how it seemed to loosen all the kinks in his soul. The looser he got the quicker he slid back and the deeper Stiles surged into him.

Just like everything else this rhythm came naturally for them. Despite all the trouble it had caused the Iron Bond had certainly been right about their compatibility. They were perfectly suited as sexual partners. If Derek wasn’t bi, and the odds were looking really good that he was, he was a Stilesexual for sure. There was nothing he didn’t like about him. Mouth. Hands. Eyes. Mind. Chest. Cock. Soft skin. Tight ass. Heady scent. The taste of Druid power on his tongue. Those little twitches and moans, that swelled into wild bucking and screams.

His name.

“Stiles. Aaah, Stiles.”

“Derek. You want it, don't you? Fuck. Take it. Come on.”

Blunt nails clawed down Derek's chest. Derek made a few suggestions about other things a creative partner might do with his hands. Stiles took his advice. Slim fingers pumped the length of Derek’s cock, working it hard. Inner and outer stimulation proved to be overwhelming. Teeth bared, eyelids fluttering closed, Derek whined. The noise caught in this throat and he grabbed Stiles by the wrists to guide him. It didn’t help. He couldn't take the pressure.

“SsssssAh. Can’t. Too much.”

Stiles relented and coaxed him into a full embrace. Derek settled on top of Stiles, threaded an arm under his and grasped his shoulder. He used their weight for leverage. It restricted their movements to intimate rocking and trapped his cock between them, but it sped them toward the crest of ecstasy. Both of them craved contact, kisses and the silken slide of flesh. Derek inhaled the scent of skin redolent with desire and fulfillment. It wasn’t enough. He mourned the loss of Stiles in his mind. Beta Union always burned off too quickly, forcing them to rely on other senses to connect. Luckily, Stiles never left any doubt about his feelings, alternately pleading and praising. They rushed the shore and broke over it together. Something flashed inside Derek, a pop and sizzle that skipped along his limbs. He shook and grunted, spurting sticky warmth between them. Almost as soon as he came, Stiles followed. Twitching on a long gasp, he pulled tight as Allison’s bow. But he never went quietly into the abyss. Derek's ears rang with the screeching and his body rocked as he embraced the flails.

He held on tight as Stiles fired three hot pulses into him. There was nothing he could compare the sensations with, no metaphor complete enough. Each shot hit home with a glorious jerk of cock and melting heat. Derek wanted to cherish the memory of it. Stiles coming inside him. He snuggled as close as he could get without uncoupling. It took forever to slow their breathing. Derek licked salty residue from Stiles’ cheeks and, only then realized one or both of them had been crying. Sniffling, Derek thought it had probably been him. When the fluids between them started to gel, they separated. They were apart just long enough to wipe down with their towels. In unspoken accord, they both slumped into the sofa corner, a huddle of dreamy contentment.

“Yeah,” Derek said. “We'll do that again.”

“Thought we might,” Stiles said, his smug grin only slightly wobbly.

He scooted down until he nested in the crook of Derek's arm and could pillow over his heart. His fingers splayed across Derek's belly and he traced abstract patterns there. Sleep called them, making their muscles slack, creating slight snores on each inhale. They both thought about going to the bed. But neither of them wanted to move. They were fucked out to indolent.

After a long silence, Stiles said, “Is this a good time to tell you Sparky's coming home? Aunt Ruthie's youngest is allergic.”

“Mmmm-hmm,” Derek said, tightening his grip on Stiles, even as he drifted off into slumber. There was a brief pause while they breathed as one. Then, Derek's mind replayed what he'd just heard and his eyes popped open. “Wait! What?”


Fifteen months. Fifteen fucking months of this and she still wouldn’t leave. She had a plane to catch. Derek checked the clock again. Three hours to her flight. Any minute now she’d go. And then, she’d be out of their lives, a continent away, which was just about far enough. Look at them, cooing over their whelp. Stiles and Lydia. Lydia and Stiles. If he was going to cheat, why did it have to be with her? No, of course, it would be her. She was the only one he would naturally turn to, the one who could give him what Derek could not. She was his anchor, his ideal woman. They were connected now by blood and memories. Derek gripped the edge of the sink and glared down at the dishes. He wasn’t going to be able to do this. He hated that woman. She was a threat to him and his bond. And he was afraid it was going to bleed over onto the child. How could he avoid hating the baby after everything it had taken from him?

Only, of course, the baby wasn't to blame. Derek knew that. The baby was part of Stiles, so Derek also knew he would learn to love and protect her. It was the Iron Bond that he hated. Now he understood why his mother had called it a curse. So many times this past year he’d wanted to just cut it out with a dull blade. He’d tried everything short of a dark spell to forget Stiles. He'd turned to other lovers, men and women. He’d thrown his temper around. Gone wild and run away. But he’d come slinking back, because Stiles couldn't be replaced. Derek loved him more than breathing. Stiles tamed him.

Deep inside, Derek knew this whole mess ultimately came back to his own actions. He’d been careless with Stiles, hurt him first. He’d asked for understanding and tolerance while he played the field. And now he was being asked to tolerate in return. Derek couldn't legitimately complain about any of this. He had just assumed he would be allowed to continue dating women. He'd turned to other sexual partners repeatedly, knowing such encounters were no threat to the bond. They had a son, Elijah Hale, because Derek had random sex with whomever he liked. Stiles had gone to college and Derek had stayed in Beacon Hills to build them a house. Between frantic conjugal visits, they'd both taken a lover or two to bed, but Derek had strayed further afield than any wolfish bondmate would tolerate. He’d had permission. It hadn’t been a secret. But one of the women had been special, a little lost Omega in heat.

Under the light of a full moon, they’d done what his kind had been doing since they were created. They made a natural born werewolf child. When Derek found out, he brought the girl home. It was a serious breech of pack etiquette to breed outside your allegiance without notifying your Alpha. Both mother and child might have been killed without protection. Stiles had been shocked to find a strange woman in their home. But he’d accepted all of it. He’d even spent his summer mothering the very pregnant Omega. He’d been his usual expansive and loving self. Except, he'd cut Derek off from their pack union, insisting on condoms, spitting out his seed or simply avoiding any contact with it. Derek should have noticed, should have considered what Stiles might be hiding.

Eventually, the Omega had tired of living between a bonded pair. She'd returned to her pack, leaving her infant son with Stiles, rather than his father. As a powerful emissary, Stiles had that effect on were women. Supernatural types trusted him to care for their young. Derek not so much. But he did his best to be a good father. Elijah seemed well adjusted. And Derek had promised to nurture this new life in their home. He wanted to be just as supportive as Stiles had been with Elijah. But, he was struggling with lingering hurt. Stiles had gone to Lydia, seeking comfort and connection, and Derek couldn’t move past that. Anyone but her. She'd been off-limits in Derek's mind. Oh, how he’d raged when he found out she was carrying Stiles' child. He’d thrown Stiles out of their house. It was the first he'd heard of the affair, too, making the betrayal multileveled. And it had been an affair. It had lasted three months and there’d been no permission.

So what you're saying, Derek, is you can screw around. You can father a child, but I can't?

No. This is about her. And you and your pathetic crush, Stiles. Get out before I throw you out.


You heard me. Go back to college, play it straight. Have her.

I was getting lost there. I needed—wanted something of my own. Okay?

Why didn't you ask me about a child, then? Why?

I don't...

Because I would have said not her.


Get the fuck out.

After that he'd moved someone else in, a man. Not because he’d even liked the guy, but just to make it clear he didn't want Stiles back. And Stiles had turned all of his love and support toward Lydia and their unborn little girl. He'd come home for holidays and they'd had angry sex a few times, because they couldn’t pretend there was no bond. But for twelve months, Stiles had lived in L.A. with Lydia Martin and not with Derek. But then, just when it seemed there was no hope of reconciling, Stiles had come home to the house Derek had built. He'd come back to Derek with a child and a plan.

Tomorrow was their anniversary, five years since their first time together. Turbulent didn’t cover it. But Lydia was leaving, at last. That was the plan. Lydia wanted to work things out with Jackson in Europe. Derek and Stiles would raise the little girl, whose name was a mystery to everyone but her dad. Stiles called her Layla, but it was short for something else. Derek didn’t want to know what. He watched Lydia take the baby up to the nursery. The blankets and clothing would smell like her for days. The whole house would need cleaning. Sparky, the traitor, trotted after her. Derek had kept the dog when he tossed Stiles out, but it still wasn’t loyal to him. Nobody was. Damn them all.

He wasn’t going to lose his mind over this. No, he had talked this out with Stiles, kept his cool. Derek knew when he was beaten. This was it. He couldn't hold out anymore, couldn't bear another month without Stiles. And thankfully that longing was mutual. They needed each other. Derek's mother had lived apart from her human bondmate. It wasn't something he wanted to do. They would rebuild their life again, stronger than it had been. Taking less for granted this time, they would survive. But he didn't know how he was going to deal with the lingering hurt.

He sat the dish towel aside, watching as Stiles walked Lydia to her taxi. He kissed her cheek and let her go. Stiles waited by the driveway as she was carried away. Derek saw his shoulders rise and fall in a visible sigh. He came slowly back to the porch, eyes down cast, but he didn’t come inside. Derek felt his heart sink. Would there be moping now? Pining for what was lost? He couldn't take that, if she lingered still. He'd lose it for sure. Just thinking about Stiles wanting someone else made him angry and impatient. He started pacing off his tension, trying to remain calm and human. Finally, the door knob turned and Stiles stepped into their home again. Stiles was home. Thank god.

“I should change and shower,” he said.

“It won't help. She's here now. Everywhere.”

“No! She's gone,” Stiles said, kicking off his shoes. “And I'm here. With you.”

“Because the bond won't let you leave.”

“No! No!” Stiles came at him, aggressive but voice lowered to a modulated whisper. “Because I love you, you grumpy son of a bitch. Because I couldn't bear to touch her after you found out. Twelve months living in that house, watching over her and our baby and nothing happened. It was nothing to start with, just something we had to get out of the way. Why can't you just accept that? Why the hell do you think I kept it a secret? I knew you wouldn't understand.”

“Fifteen months isn't nothing, Stiles. Do you have any idea what it was like for me? To know where you not come for you? It was torture.”

“Good,” Stiles said, glaring at him. “Because you threw me into the street. Bodily. You shredded ever stitch of clothing I owned and canceled our bank accounts. You changed the locks. And moved another man into our bed, before I even bought new pajamas. You know why you didn't smell her there, right? In our bed?”

“Because you were sneaking around.”

“Because I didn't want to hurt you.”

“Yeah? Well you did.”

“I know,” Stiles said, slumping in defeat. “And I'm sorry.”

Sorry. He was sorry. Derek believed him. But felt no connection to the words. They'd been repeated a dozen times and Derek still ached with inner cold. He still was shaky and alone. Arms crossed defensively, he glared past Stiles toward the forest. The animal in him wanted to run, flee from the sense of vulnerability. That Stiles could hurt him. That Stiles would hurt him. That they had hurt one another. What would it take for them both to move past this? Maybe nothing but time. But there was something he could take for the pain, something he knew belonged to him.

“Sorry isn't good enough,” he said, “Not today.” When Stiles opened his mouth to ask what more he could say, Derek grabbed his shirt front and silenced him with a bruising kiss. “Let me in,” he said, shoving Stiles into a wall as they broke for air. “Prove you're mine. Make me believe it.”

He could sense desire warring with anger in Stiles. His body fought to escape, but his scent clamored for more contact. He had every reason to reject this aggressive approach. He'd already apologized for what was only marginally a sin in their open relationship. Derek had no right to demand any more. And, for a second he thought Stiles would tell him to fuck off. His jaw set in a stubborn line and his eyes flashed a warning. Derek nearly quailed. He didn't want to spend another night sleeping in separate rooms. He'd do almost anything to avoid it, including back down from this confrontation. But he didn't have to do that. Stiles came to him. He cast aside his protests and inhibitions and wrapped around Derek's body, mouth hungry on his. Derek braced against the extra weight as they shoved and tore at one another. Blunt fingertips found his skin. Stiles bit and clawed into Derek. Stiles. Still impossible to intimidate.

“You fucking possessive werewolf asshole. You wanna piece of me. You come and get it.”

They clashed and tangled together. Derek let all of the desperation he'd felt this last year flood into the space between them as they shed their clothing. He held on tighter than he usually did. Bit down harder. He pushed and jerked Stiles around until he could bend him over the sofa back. A brass lamp crashed to the floor. They both paused, breathlessly waiting for either of their children to cry. The nursery was soundproofed, because they often got loud, but there was a baby monitor feeding them information. Silence stretched as they listened for any sign they'd woken the kids. The breathing space gave Derek time to reconsider rough riding without lubrication. He hauled Stiles upright and wrestled him through to the kitchen, fighting off his shoving indignant protests. Derek had no intention of letting go and Stiles understood that on some level, but he still didn't like manhandling. They exchanged a series of furious whispered remarks, punctuated by open-mouthed kisses.

Holding Stiles by the scruff, Derek pressed him into the refrigerator door as he grabbed at the condiment bottles next to it. He got the red wine vinegar on his first pass and barely checked his urge to throw the glass bottle into a wall. Luckily, Stiles spared his nose. He took the vinegar from him and handed him the olive oil. They almost laughed together. But Derek cut the moment short by dragging Stiles around and putting him belly down across the tabletop. Kicking the chairs aside, he coated his engorged dick with oil, simultaneously slicking up some fingers, and sat the bottle by Stiles' head.

Hand to the Nemeton, Derek needed this so much it was a miracle he had any self control left. Nothing replaced the comfort of a bond-mate. Nothing hurt a wolf more than losing a pack link. And it had been more than fifteen months since he'd gone bareback on Stiles, spilled his essence into him. They'd stopped sharing their emotional lives before Elijah was born. But now, now he wanted Stiles to know everything he was feeling, how desperate and lonely and sorry he was about the separation. He wanted him to know that he meant every word he was going to say. And if, in return, he had to know for sure that Stiles loved Lydia more, then, he would take that, too.

He wanted to be tender and sweet. Wanted to go upstairs and cuddle in their bed, but he just couldn't fight against the desire any longer. He took as much time as he could, holding out against his need. Using his fingers and tongue, he made sure Stiles was ready to take him deep. He didn't want this to hurt, despite the rough pressure he exerted and his lack of kind words. When he pushed in, he went all the way and Stiles cried out, a little bleating note.


Derek bent forward. He huffed into Stiles' skin. Skin he loved. Body he loved. Under him now and all around him. “Are you okay?" There was no answer. "Stiles?”

“Awhhh,” Stiles said on a sharp exhale. His fingers curled on the table top and he squirmed, shoving back into Derek's hips. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Is that a request? Or a complaint?”

“Now he wants to talk? When you're wrecking my ass. Just...just...fuck me. Get it all out of your system.”

That was definitely a request. Derek pulled back slowly, sliding nearly every inch out of that tight sheath. He groaned with the effort and the greedy squeeze Stiles exerted. Stiles wanted more of him, all of him. He added oil and shifted his stance until he was holding Stiles at the hips. They banged out a frantic rhythm for a few minutes. Derek licked up Stiles' spine, nibbled his shoulder blades. His fingers caressed nipples into peaks. He slid his hands over the planes and angles of Stiles. Then, fighting every instinct, he stopped at the edge of losing himself in the slick action. He stepped away, abandoning his position. The dining table was heavy, but it was no match for Stiles once he started getting turned on. They moved to the built in bar, Stiles up on it, facing him. He drew a knee high and Derek got his oiled fingers around that long, tapered cock. It leaked silken pearls for him. He ran the flat of his palm in a tight circle over the shaft-head, spreading the fluid.

Stiles loved that. He arched his back and hissed like a cat in heat. Derek turned him, bracing his body as he entered him again

“There you go. There you go, Stiles.”

“Derek. Derek. Derek?”

“What, Stiles? You wanna come?”

“I can't. You keep...keep stopping. Why do you keep...stopping?”

“Promise me no more Lydia.”

“I promise.”

“No more anyone. No one else. Ever.”

Stiles lifted his head, his eyes open wide. “What?”

“You heard me,” Derek growled, pressing him down and pinning both his wrists to the bar top. “I never want anyone else. Ever.”

“But you—you always—want...”

“You're going to know I mean it. Any second now. I'm going to come inside you and you'll know.”

“Yes. Fuck.”

“I only want you, Stiles. No one else. Ever.”

“Oh, my God! Derek—please don't stop.”

He stopped. Waited. Holding on so tight he could feel Stiles' wrist bones bending.

“I can't promise that,” Stiles said. “But I will do everything I can... No one else.”

Derek let go, filling Stiles up, holding on until they were one again. Stiles flinched away from his pain and anger. But they were drawn together, too. And it was so much nicer than Derek had imagined it would be. Stiles was truly sorry and he definitely still loved Derek. Lydia wasn't tempting him at all. Derek felt the pressure ease around his heart. He knew they would both do their best to never stray again. It was enough.


Ten years. Stiles could hardly believe it. He tried to calculate the hours as he navigated the curving private road toward the river bluff. The high beams of his patrol vehicle swept the woods, casting eerie shadows. The road ended two and a half miles off the highway in a long circular driveway. They had no neighbors but the owls nesting in treetops. He coasted to a stop and parked the Cherokee behind a sparkling red Camero. He took a second to admire the car, set off to advantage in his headlights. It was a retro-model, muscled and sleek despite the electric engine.

Stiles lifted his gaze to the house beyond it. The large two story log cabin home had been designed to blend into the woods. But it had a huge veranda and warmly-illuminated, floor to ceiling, windows that looked out over the river. Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as a dark wolf shape appeared at one of the windows. His gaze locked on the predatory eyes glaring out at him, eyes the same color as the Camero. As soon as Stiles noticed the beast, it sprang away, as if trying to lure him deeper into the house. Stiles switched on his radio.

“Dispatch? This is Deputy Stiliniski, six-ought-four, I'm at my home-20. Can you put me off duty for the next eight hours?”

“Sure thing, Stiles,” Molly's familiar voice said over the crackling receiver. “Are you on call?”

“Not unless there's another missing child, Molly. It's my anniversary.” He glanced at his watch and muttered, “For the next forty-five minutes.”

“Again? You two have an anniversary every month.”

“I keep telling your husband to celebrate the little things, Molly.”

“If Jack ever bought me a car like that, he'd have reason to celebrate. You're going to end up with more kids, if you aren't careful. When he dropped your lunch off today, I think half the office ovulated. Over.”

“Make a play for him, Molly. I don't mind a little friendly competition,” Stiles said on a laugh. “Over and out.”

He adjusted his gun belt as he got out of the Cherokee. After locking the vehicle and arming the alarm, he vaulted the steps to the porch, two at a time. Derek's wolf-form was a bad sign. They weren’t into bestiality, though their son was the result of Derek mating as a wolf. In some ways their daughter was a product of that same indiscretion. Tit for tat. All water on the bridge now. He could joke about it with co-workers, because there was no chance either of them would stray these days.

Stiles keyed open the door and crossed the living room to his gun safe. As he locked his weapon away, Derek padded into the room again on little wolf feet. Okay, not so little feet. Sort of massive wolf feet. Sparky trotted along behind him. But as soon as the little dog saw Stiles he rushed over with a happy bark. If wolves could roll their eyes, Derek would have. His low growl sent Sparky’s belly to the floor for a second or two.

“I know. I'm late,” Stiles said, scooping up their little dog. “Dinner's ruined. I suck. I’m sorry.” The wolf didn't move. It studied him for a long assessing moment. Stiles tried a brighter tone. “Is that your famous venison stew I smell?”

The wolf dropped its line of sight to Sparky, happily squirming in Stiles' arms and made a huffing noise.

“Okay. You win! I should have called,” Stiles said, raising his voice as the wolf circled away into the kitchen. He yelled after it. “Happy anniversary.”

There was a sweating beer on the mantel. Stiles gave Sparky a final scratch and smooch and settled him on the couch, before seizing the beer. He popped it open and took a sip. Still cold. It looked like he wasn’t in too much trouble. He leaned against the sofa arm and stared out at the river. God, he loved this house. How it smelled, the warm glow of energy surging through it.

“I heard about the girl,” Derek said. His tone was even as he walked back in, but Stiles noted he was fastening his jeans and belt buckle. “Any sign of her?”

“No. Isaac is tracking her.” Stiles said. “But we know how that goes. The trail will vanish. Same as last time.”

He shifted his gaze to blatantly leer at his bondmate. His frank perusal skipped and slithered, taking in every inch of Derek. Anyone would admire the play of muscle under the dark blue, skin tight Henley. Stiles appreciated the bare feet. They were sexy feet and easier to deal with than shoes if he wanted Derek out of those clothes. And he did. Stiles sighed. He was bone weary. But, he still wanted Derek naked. Some things, thank God, never changed.

“Whatever this thing is, it’s elusive,” he said, waiting for his welcome home kiss.

Derek didn’t move to oblige him, instead he gave a little shrug. “We'll find it.”

“I know,” Stiles said, before taking another long guzzle of beer. “I just dread the collateral damage. It’s taking little children, four and five years old.” He glanced toward the stairs. “Speaking of...where are the kids?”

“With their Uncle Scott. His house is warded and guarded. Half the pack is there.” Derek came closer. “But if this thing goes after our kids again…” He didn't have to finish the threat.

“It’ll lose more than an arm next time. Yeah, I get that.” Derek lifted a brow and tilted his head to the affirmative.

“I don't think it will risk coming at us directly again," Stiles said. "Fast regeneration takes a lot of energy. You might not be able to kill it, but you sure as hell slowed it down.”

“And you'll stop it. End it,” Derek said. Brushing a hand up Stiles’ back until he gripped his neck, he drew him into a kiss. “Happy Anniversary,” he said, when their lips parted, his breath a warm caress.

“Do you like the car?”

Derek snorted. “I like it when you come home on time or call me.”

“I was out of cell range. And busy.”

“And you don’t want me hurt again,” Derek said.

“Fine. Sue me. I don’t wanna lose you.”

“It's not going get the drop on us, Stiles," he said, but he backed down. "I'll steer clear of it, as long as it doesn’t come after you or our kids."


"I fed your dinner to Sparky.” Derek said, cutting his eyes to the dog, licking itself on the sofa.

“I thought he seemed fatter and happier than usual.”

“But there’s plenty left over in the fridge. We can heat it up after you unwind.” He focused on Stiles as he swallowed another sip from the bottle. “The car is amazing. I took it out for a spin earlier.”

“Matches your eyes,” Stiles said.

“Extravagant,” Derek said. “Where'd you get that kind of money?”

“Well…” Stiles sidled closer to him. “Don't let this get out, but I have a sugar daddy. He pays for my room and board. So, I can spend all of my take home cash on you. What did you get me?”

“Venison stew. And a nice robe. And, if you'd gotten home on time, I was going to let you ride my dick for an hour.”

Stiles had just taken a long pull from his beer. So, when he laughed, the bubbles foamed out his nose.

“God. Don't do that,” he sputtered, swatting at Derek's shoulder with his free hand. Taking a minute to recover, he put the beer bottle back on the mantel, before asking, “And, how is that even a present? I do that twice a week. It's like getting me a free pass to the gym.”

“I was thinking you could use the handcuffs, Deputy,” Derek said. “And I wouldn't break them.”

“That would be different,” Stiles said, coming closer again. “Can't afford new cars if I'm always paying off damaged equipment.”

He slid a hand along his belt to the clip holding his cuffs. A flick of a finger freed them into his palm. Derek’s line of sight skimmed down and up again, suggestively.

“What seems to be the problem, Officer?” he asked.

“How about...resisting arrest,” Stiles said taking Derek's wrist in a firm grip, “You are my prisoner,” he clicked one cuff on and carried the captured hand around to Derek's back. His lips teased at Derek’s neck for a moment, before he added, “And you refuse to accept my authority.”

“You got a pretty mouth, Deputy. You want me to fill it with something?”

“Convict, I want you to answer my questions,” Stiles said, roughly snapping on the other cuff, “fully and completely with none of your smart assed sass.”

“Sass? Seriously?”

Stiles seized an elbow and yanked Derek around to face him. “Backchat! Lip! When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you. Now, we are going march up those stairs to interrogation and you are going to do exactly what I say. Speak when I tell you to speak and shut it when I tell you to shut it.”

“Or what, Boss?”

Stiles switched off his smile and put on his serious face. The one he used when he pulled over a suspicious car. Taking a no nonsense grip on Derek's elbow, he let his free hand find his telescoping nightstick. Tugging it free, he flicked it to its full length and whirred it through the air. It smacked down on the back of his recliner with a sharp crack. Derek blinked, a little startled by the noise.

“Or, I'm going to give you a taste of this stick, Boy. Do we have an understanding?”

The threat was almost too much for Derek. His eyes glinted, daring Stiles to try anything rough. But the corners of his mouth twitched and there was a brief flash of white fang. Stiles had to check a full smile as he watched Derek fight his urge to grin by chewing on his lower lip.

Once he had some control, Derek said, “Your safe word still pelican, Boss?”

The layers of humor in that question caused Stiles to lose it. He squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed against Derek's shoulder. They both shook with barely contained mirth. It was a full minute before they could recover. Stifling the shared chuckles, they tried to get back into character. Stiles pushed away, straightened up and hitched his utility belt a little higher. He plastered on his best offender quelling scowl.

“I don't need no fucking safe word, Son,” he snarled. “Time you realized you’re the one in the cuffs. Time you fully appreciate the gravity of your situation.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I like boss,” Stiles said, taking hold of him and starting the perp walk toward the stairs. “Let’s go with that.”

“Whatever you say, Boss.”

They reached the bedroom without further incident. Stiles positioned Derek with his back to the foot of the bed. He used his stick to swat him lightly on the ass. Then placed the metal hilt of the weapon at his chin and tapped.

“Head up. Eyes straight ahead.”

“Yeah, Boss.”

“You like the pretty red car, Convict?”

“I do, Boss.”

“You willing to show me how much?”

“Show you, Boss?”

“You think this is Grand Theft Auto, Boy? You think you can just drive around making women ovulate and men swoon all over this town and not give me something for my trouble?”

Chin dropping to his chest, Derek snorted out a guffaw. His shoulders heaved. “You are a funny man, Boss.”

Stiles broke character, too, moving in to embrace him. They shared a couple of slow, wet kisses, enjoying the feel of one another. After a long interval of smooching and snickering, Stiles took control again. He backed away to give Derek a stern appraisal. He skimmed his flattened palm up Derek’s chest. Then, down again to his belt buckle.

“Can't have a belt in lock up, Convict,” he said, fingers curling around the buckle. He broke the tongue free of its hole. Derek watched intently as Stiles friction burn the leather out of the loops. “You know why?”

“'Cause you want my pants off, Boss?”

“Exactly. Same reasons you can't have shoes.” He glanced down at Derek's bare feet. “I can tell you were thinking ahead, Convict. Eyes up. You look straight at me.” Derek complied. “Now, you tell me what you thought was going to happen to you tonight.”

Derek did, going into such detail that Stiles regretted asking for eye contact. His skin burned all over from the heated stare. He licked his lips, mouth parched as he anticipated carrying out Derek’s every fantasy. He used his stick to smack him lightly on the inner thigh. Derek kept his gaze up, but opened his stance. Stiles ran his hand up over the bulge of Derek's erection, gripping it through the jeans.

“Forgot to search you for weapons,” Stiles said, his fingers working Derek’s cock. “Excuse the oversight. We try to run a professional operation here.”

Setting the nightstick aside, Stiles let his hands steal under Derek's shirt hem to caress him. Then, he shoved the shirt up and over Derek’s head, drawing the bunched fabric down his arms to tangle around the cuffs. Derek shivered, his skin showing goose flesh. Stiles didn’t think it was the temperature. The room felt very warm to him. He pinched a nipple and Derek grunted. Stiles longed to follow up on that show of interest, tonguing him until he begged. But that would be completely out of character, so the mock pat down continued. It included a number of Derek’s ticklish spots. He only twitched a little when skimming fingers dug in a bit. While cupping around his ass, Stiles leaned close to whisper in his ear.

“We will get to the full cavity search later. You'll like that.”

“Don't know, Boss.”

“You got a stick up your ass, Boy?”

“No, Sir.”

Stiles gave a sassy shoulder rock and grinned. “Good, 'cause my dick is going to need some room.”

“Fuck you, Deputy, I'm not telling you jack. You can screw me all night, but I won’t talk. I want a lawyer. I got rights.”

“Rights? You got the right to assume the position, Boy,” Stiles said, ripping Derek's zipper down and shoving a rough hand into his pants. He wasn’t wearing underwear, so, they both leaned into the silken caress. Stiles voice turned throaty as he commanded, “I want these jeans off and you on that bed. Face down. Ass up. Or I will tie off that cock of yours until morning.”

“Stiles, don't you dare strap me down.”

Derek might as well have saved his breath. Stiles had already moved away. He was at the bedside table, taking out the restraints, their anal vibrator and the slickest lube.

“I know your wolf cock needs to run free, Derek. But it doesn't seem like much of a present, if it isn't wrapped properly.”

“You are going to lose another set of cuffs,” Derek warned. “I mean it.” He groaned in frustration as Stiles shoved his jeans lower, took him in hand and wove the strips of leather around his balls, cutting off their load delivery. “This is ridiculous. And unnecessary. I bounce right back, you don't need to wait on me.”

“Chain gang, Baby,” Stiles said. “It's the principle of the thing. You come when I tell you.”

“Tides going to turn on you, Deputy. You better watch your back.”

“Are you threatening me, Convict? Because I could pop one of those little blue pills and your balls might fossilize before I'm done with your ass.”

“Son of a bitch. You know how lucky you are I’m still human right now? If I didn't love you so much...”

“Yeah, but you do.” Derek glared at him with such intensity that Stiles started to actually worry he’d taken the game too far. He backed to the head of the bed and tossed a couple of pillows down it. “You wanna safe word out on me?”

After a long measured silence, Derek finally, said, “No, boss. I'm good.”

“Thought that might bring you into line,” Stiles smirked as he stepped closer and smacked Derek's bared ass. Derek didn't break this time, though the corners of his mouth lifted a little. “Now, get those jeans off.”

It took an impressive level of balance to wriggle out of tight jeans with your hands cuffed behind your back. But Stiles knew Derek was up to the challenge. He used his Tai Chi training. A bit of acrobatic balance. And, Stiles suspected, just a smidgen of supernatural strength. Pushing with the soles of his feet and gripping with his toes, he dragged the jeans down his legs until he could step out of them. Stiles stood back to watch the show. While he waited, he unbuttoned his own shirt and slipped it off. That was better. Maybe he'd cool off a little once he was naked, too. He stroked a hand down his belly and fingered his own nipples. Derek cast him a mockingly sweet smile and turned around to face the bed. When he knelt on it, Stiles stepped close to help and, very gently, lowered him into a comfortable position. He leaned over to place a series of soft kisses along Derek's jaw to his ear. Whispering a few sweet nothings, he glided gentle hands over his neck and his shoulders.

Once Derek's tense muscles relaxed, Stiles recovered the nightstick. He tapped inside Derek's knees until they slid further apart. Then, he drew the tip of the stick up Derek's inner thigh and around his rim. The cold caress made Derek hiss as he anticipated metallic penetration. But Stiles had other plans, more pressing needs. He placed the stick along Derek’s back, a firm reminder not to resist, and followed the same path it had just traced using his tongue. He licked and sucked until Derek was whining for more. Then he slicked his fingers and set to work opening him wide. Thanks to full moon rejuvenation, Derek stayed as tight as any virgin. But he never got hurt if he was prepped properly. Stiles took a great deal of pleasure in the process.

“How many men you had up this ass, Convict?”

“Only you, Boss.”

“I thought I saw you and three other reprobates on your knees in the yard.”

“Not me, Boss.”

“Yeah, it was you. Sucking one and fucking one and taking one balls deep. I think they all had a turn at you and you liked it.”

“Oh, shit, my cock is dripping. I need my hands, Stiles. Or yours. Come on.”

“Nuh-uh, you keep it up,” Stiles said, slashing the stick down on the bedding. The unexpected whoosh made Derek’s skin jump. “I ask how long? You say, all night, Boss.”

But Stiles couldn't wait another minute. Unbuckling his utility belt, he let it thud to the floor. His shoes, socks, trousers and boxers followed. He surged back at Derek, biting and licking him and fucking fingers into his ass.

“You want to spend some time in the hole, Convict?”

“You know I do.”

“Alright,” Stiles said, trickling lube along his length. “Then, you better give me something like an anniversary present. It's been ten long years. You still want my cock?”

“Hell, yes!”

Stiles slid in deep. They both gasped, but Derek pushed back hard, wanting every centimeter. Stiles grabbed at the knotted fabric twisted around his handcuffs. He weaved the cloth through his fingers, like a bull rider in the chute, preparing for his 8 seconds. Though, God willing, he'd last longer than that. He used Derek's arms for leverage as he hammered into him. They rocked until the bed springs squeaked out a frantic tune. Derek got vocal. He let go when he talked dirty. Drawing the flat of a palm along his bicep, Stiles leaned into his work, giving Derek every thing he asked for and then some.

“If I had my way I'd go easy on you,” he said. “But the warden tells me you’re a hard case. He says Derek Hale likes it rough and sweaty. You want to get wet, Derek?”

“Fuck,” Derek sighed, tilting his hips so Stiles slammed into his sweet spot. The blissful cries he emitted, little mewling growls, hijacked every last brain cell Stiles had been using for his role playing.

“Want you—so--so much,” he grunted. “Damn, Derek.”

“Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.”

“Ten years. Two kids. About six hundred arguments. And you’re still like this in bed.”

“You turn me on, Boss. Every fucking day.”

“You are looking at life here, Convict. Don't you lie to me.”

“I swear, Boss,” Derek panted out. “Just you. Only you.”

“Cause I treat you right.”

“You don't need to buy me cars.”

“I bought it because it looks good on you. I want everyone hot for teacher.”

“Just like you?”

“Just like me,” Stiles agreed. He shifted his stance, bending at the knee and jerking on Derek's hips as he pounded into him.

“I want your mouth, so much, right now, Stiles. I got nothing to suck. That's the worst part of this game. I love you up my ass. Really love…fuck me...oh. But I want your cock...your tongue...cut me loose, Stiles and I’ll swallow every inch of you.”

“Tell me what I want to hear.”

“Love you.”

“Yeah,” Stiles gasped. “No.”

“Fuck...fuck...fuck...fine! You're my Alpha. I know it. You know it. Fuckin' Scott knows it.”

Despite his breathlessness and need for concentration, Stiles barked out a laugh. “Scott takes credit for it. Him and his wooing posse. Like I wasn't already into you.” Stiles gave a derisive snort. “Won't share you, ever,” he said. “I love you slutty, Derek...but, only with me. Those shredded abs sliding over my belly. Oh...fuck, yeah...I'm so close.”

“Come. Come on.”

They were both sweating and slick with lube. Derek was fighting with himself, most of his exertion came from maintaining his restraint. Stiles was just working hard. He saved his breath for the bang, knowing he’d only get this one shot at dominance before morning. His hands skimmed along Derek's skin, down his outer thighs and up his back. They slid around to rake over his chest. Smooth muscle clamped down and twisted, pulsing along Stiles' entire length.

“Uhhhgh...I don't know what you've got up your ass, Convict, but what you are doing to me right now has got to be illegal. You just make me...make it so...oh, my God, Derek…”

Losing control, coasting faster and faster down that hill, Stiles slumped forward, letting Derek take his weight and every inch of his cock. He popped the snaps restraining Derek's erection. His fingers slithered up and down Derek's length. They only managed a few unified pumps before Stiles went into his familiar St. Vitus dance. Even from the back, the thrashing and keening drove Derek wild. He came first, in a sweet burst. Cum roped across the bed spread as Derek bit down on the pillow so he wouldn't wrench apart the cuffs. He groaned when Stiles barreled after him, straight over the edge.

An hour later, Stiles had abdicated his authority. He sprawled on his back, breathing heavy in the afterglow of his third brain-scrambling orgasm. He thought his heart might explode at any second, it was pulsing so loud in his ears. Derek had the upper hand now, recovering almost as soon as he’d climaxed. Damn him. He was on...what? His fourth erection? Stiles had lost count. This close to the full moon, Derek was a monster in the sack. A sweet, patient monster for the time being. He massaged Stiles’ shoulders and petted his belly. Stiles focused on breathing to recover from what had to be the best blow job ever received.

“I’m going to juice you again,” Derek said, lips pressed against Stiles' hip. “One more slow ride.”

“Oh…gah,” Stiles groaned, trying to lift his head and failing. He let it loll to the side, blinking at his intact cuffs on the bedside table. Bottle of lube. Untouched condoms. The vibrator was still humming delicately inside him. “I'm high on you already. Just a—just a little br—breather.”

“Are you sure? This stimulated? You will clock out on me.”

“Shit! No, Derek!” Stiles tried to sound as fierce as he had at the start of the evening. “I am high enough.”

Derek removed the vibrator. Crawling up Stiles, like Shakira through the mud, he seemed the soul of patience. Whenever. Wherever. What the hell? He could wait like a wolf outside the door. He didn't seem to be cowed by the voice of authority. He hovered, holding his weight on his elbows, and stared into Stiles' face. Stiles squinted up at him. They both knew Stiles would eventually say yes. No way he resisted a deeper union. He was going to say yes and die at twenty-seven. Fucked to death by an Alpha werewolf. One more time, he thought, just one more. They were not likely to get any further reaction from his cock without some Alpha mojo in the mix.

“I could die,” he said. “You want to be a widower and have to raise our kids alone.”

“I’ll give you mouth to mouth.”

“You—ah,” Stiles said, before hissing an inhale through clenched his teeth. He couldn't think of anything else to say. He didn't have the strength for witty banter. “I could turn.”

“Not a chance.”

“You’d like that.”

“No, I wouldn’t. You'd kick my ass.”

“I'm like comatose, Derek! Is that what you're into?”

“MmmmHmmm!” To punctuate his ravenous noises, Derek licked him, leaving a sloppy trail of saliva long his collarbone. Stiles felt his traitorous cock twitch. “Signs of life,” Derek said in a throaty whisper. “Now, you’re stalling.”

“I'm not.”

“Is that a pelican I hear?” Derek cocked his head, pretending to listen. “No?”

“Fuck you.”

“Okay. If you think you can manage it, Boss.”

“Get the medics, Boy. I’m dying.”

“Every time you say you’re dying and every time you want it as much as me.”

“I can't hear you over the random synapses firing. I'm a zombie. This is necrophilia, you kinky bastard.”

“We're not done 'til we’re one.”

“What’s that? A friggin' werewolf bumper sticker? Normal people send e-cards, Derek. Something cute. Maybe with a monkey climbing a tree to get some bananas. Happy Anniversary, Sweetheart. Love you bunches.”

“You hate my cards. You love my cock. Ergo...?”

Pushing up into a kneeling straddle, Derek stroked his scruff with one hand and simply studied Stiles for any sign of weakness. Stiles closed his eyes and prayed. Derek sighed. “You've got ten years on me. And Druid healing powers. But no more? Fine. We can cuddle if you want.”

“Gah,” Stiles said, giving in even as he was winning the battle. “One more.” There was a little stirring of interest in his heart. He was such a sucker. “And then you let me die in peace.”

Derek kissed him, a sweet melting press of lips and tongue, before he rolled him half way over.

“From behind? Really?”

“You’re going to feel great after. You always do.”

He always did. He loved taking Derek deep inside, even on an ordinary day, just a quick bang before breakfast. But what Derek had in mind was something more intense. He wanted to push past their exhaustion to their supernatural abilities. He wanted to force them to unite as wolf and emissary, to know one another in mind and body at the same time. That was pure bliss as far as Stiles was concerned. They’d had a taste of the emotional union earlier after Stiles had swallowed when he should have spit. But there was nothing like a full dose of Alpha fluids into the bloodstream. It could change him into a beast. It would trigger every emissary defense Stiles possessed. For Derek that would be the pleasurable equivalent of walking naked into an electrified fence. For Stiles it would be like a hit of LSD. And he would turn, if he wasn't strong enough. You didn't mess with Alpha juice for the thrill of it.

Only, they sort of did.

At every anniversary. Because Stiles was more than strong enough. He was emissary to the True Alpha. Druid of druids.

As Derek’s thick shaft glided into him, Stiles whimpered, drawing one knee higher. Tiny orgasmic quakes hit him low in the gut. His body had been fucked out already and couldn't process any more. Aching muscles pulled taut. Tears blurred his vision. Fucking Derek Hale inside him again. So smooth. So silky and thick. Just perfect. They weren't done with the anniversary until they'd done this. Derek was right about that. Tingling shocks jetted through Stiles, his nervous system overloading. His nipples pinched themselves. Oh, God. Oh, my God.


Derek picked up the pace. The rolling blackouts started and Stiles lost his way in a lightning field that zig-zagged across his vision. He reared up and pushed back. His cock was having no part in this craziness. It hung limp and he thought his balls might pull up into his belly. But his prostate was down with the party. It buzzed and throbbed. And the center of his brain crackled with anticipation. Tickling sensations scrambled over Stiles randomly, like brilliant flashes in the dark, jolts of pleasure racing around under his skin. They stole his breath every time Derek drove deep. Stiles focused on staying in the moment. He couldn’t feel his feet or hands or lips. Though he knew he was leaning into a pillow, he’d become all core, all slick center. He kept his eyes closed only aware he had ears, because he could hear harsh panting and Derek’s sweet, sinful words.

Whenever Derek got completely into him, all reticence vanished. That wasn’t the only trait that disappeared into the act of making love. Stiles became witless. He tried; he really did try, to give Derek some encouragement. He twisted at the waist and reached a hand back, carding his fingers into wavy hair. But coherent speech was beyond him and, for the most part, he had no control over his body. It convulsed. Derek liked that in a way that was distinctly inhuman. He snarled as he pulled out and away. His hands wrenched Stiles over, dragging him down the bed and up into an embrace. Stiles opened his knees and his whole self to the incursion. He tried to focus his eyes, to orient himself in the room, and saw Derek’s eyes go red. The energy currents spilled out of Derek and into him. Currents in the air splashed colors everywhere as Derek surged back into him. Every thrust made them both pulse like emergency strobes.

Only now, Stiles had something to hold onto, solid muscle and bone. He wrapped his arms and legs around the brutally dangerous beast in his bed. He sucked on its earlobe. He petted and coaxed until he felt it coming apart on him. Derek shivered and groaned. He was breaking at last. Just in the nick of time, the endless tingling gave way to molten heat and Stiles grew hard with their combined power. His bones howled, like there was a wind racing through them. Derek gave a sort of death rattle as the waves of energy turned on him.

Derek. Love you. Love you so much. This…this…it’s like nothing else, baby. Like shock-waves in my blood. Seriously. I'm all lit up. My heart. My head. The room is spinning with colors. With you. I'm with you. Just come. Please. Because I don't think I can and I’m losing consciousness.

For a split second, Stiles sensed sharp teeth near his throat. Bristles sprouted under his palms and muscles bent into uncanny shapes. The raging wind inside him escaped. It battered the house, warning Derek's animal off. The wolf stood no chance. Stiles drained it out of Derek's flesh as he shoved him backward into the climax. He was straddling Derek, now, with a hand around his throat. Stiles had seen his own reflection once, his eyes gone completely white. It had freaked him out. His mind expanded, finding every beast in town, including their enemy. It had a lair. He tried to commit the location to memory, but his mind wasn’t working that way. Every pack member knew him as he touched on them. He told them how to find the missing child, sent them scurrying to do his bidding. Nobody dared to refuse him in this form. Only Derek would be safe in his line of fire.

When Stiles had expanded to his limit, he drew back like the receding tide. He pulled everything into his own being, Derek's power, his seed and the ambient energy. Their sources mingled, red and white, and Derek seemed to be floating under him, like a magic carpet. Stray power sizzled around the room, arcing off bits of metal. Stiles got really high, really fast, but he let go of it all. Let go and collapsed. He became human again and shaky with exhaustion. Gentle arms enveloped him, fingers massaging his neck. Delicate, nearly chaste, kisses brushed his lips before Derek settled him into the pillows. Stiles just lay still, completely spent and fully satisfied. He was cradled between the clouds and cliffs. Pillows against his belly and Derek curled close, hard and steady as they spooned. United by their power, they shared their feelings without words.

Stiles felt rejuvenated on every level, but he didn’t want to move. His breathing didn’t feel rushed any more. Each inhale had immediacy to it, as if he’d been put in direct control of previously automatic functions. Wolfish senses merged with his own. He couldn't tell where he ended and Derek began. He smell blood, coppery and hot. It was Derek’s blood still in his veins. It didn’t have to be spilled to be noted. Scent became more important to Stiles than sight. He breathed in information about their health and happiness. He could taste their skin and bones on each inhalation. He knew everything about Derek, knew that he felt nothing at this moment but tenderness and joy. He was faithful and content.

“Much better than a card,” Stiles said. “And by much better, I mean, not even comparable to a card. Like goldfish crackers are not salmon steaks. Like the new Star Wars is not the old Star Wars. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah,” Derek said, back to being understated.

He didn’t have to say anything, of course, because they'd reached a heavenly accord. They would be pack for the next hour or so. Pack was more than family, like Cora had said. Your Alpha remade you in his image. You became one of his limbs. He was part of you, in a very physical, literal sense. Taking the bite, or absorbing his seed, into the bloodstream meant sharing memories and feelings and energy…souls. He and Derek were soul mates on every level.

“Yeah,” Derek said, again, because Stiles didn’t need to speak now to be understood.

The moonlight warmed them both. Neither of them felt the need for more than this. They snuggled closer, listening with their hearts. Derek had gone boneless. It was as yeilding as his body could get. He curled into a loose ball, one hand draped across Stiles. They hummed in satisfaction. Stiles marvelled at how perfectly sated they both were, how completely in sync. He would never tire of this, not if they both lived another 100 years. He let his mind drift back over the journey they’d taken to this place and wondered if the next ten years would be just as eventful. Probably. As long as they both remained stubborn and reactive and Beacon Hills remained a lighthouse on the shore of weirdness. Remembering the lair, he realized they would have trouble heading their way soon. But, at least, they would face it together. And Lord help anyone, or anything, who tried to change that.