“Hale,” Stiles responded not unkindly.
“You look,” gorgeous “gallant,” Derek admitted, hazel green eyes still focused on Stiles.
“Thank you,” the younger man breathed. “You make… quite the dapper gentleman yourself.”
Derek offered him a broad, sexy smile, showing off his glinting pearly white teeth. “Thank you, perhaps we shall speak again later this evening.”
“Perhaps,” Stiles drawled. Then Derek released his hand and it was almost as if all the noise he didn’t notice dissipating around him, from the other guests, flooded back into his senses. He turned in time to see Scott giving him an amused knowing stare before turning around to welcome and shake the hands of some other persons.
When they had finally gotten to the last few guests Stiles was relieved to see the end of the line, until he noticed who was at it. His parents and siblings all greeted the Whittemore’s easily, but his stomach began knotting the moment he saw Jackson. When the man stood before him looking just as handsome as the last time they were together, all cocky stance, dirty blonde hair, coiffed into a spiky hairstyle and sharp blue green eyes, fixed on him with a sense of seduction that was almost second nature, Stiles found himself turning into a fidgety mess.
“Welcome,” Stiles muttered trying to sound casual.
“Thank you,” Jackson took his hand and lowered himself to kiss it. The action made Stiles involuntarily jerk his head about, to see who might have been watching that little exchange. “You look amazing, Mieszko” he continued, calling Stiles a pet form of his actual first name Mieczyslaw. Jackson had always said it with such perfect pronunciation that Stiles had never minded when he called him that, had even liked it to some degree, the sexy way it rolled off his tongue. But that was a lifetime ago, and he was a much different person
“Thanks Jackson,” He tried to gently pull his hand away but the man kept hold of it in his. “My hand Jackson,” he muttered in a high pitched, singsong tone, that would have sounded amusing to those around them had they been paying attention.
“I miss you,” Jackson whispered, leaning in to the other man’s body so his words could not be heard by those closest. Stiles’ jaw began to work nervously, his teeth clenching and unclenching at rapid intervals, indicating his internal disquiet. It was not so much that he still had feelings for the man, truth be told, he didn’t really. Sometimes he felt a twinge of nostalgia for the old pleasures between them and Jackson had been mostly good to him but no, there wasn’t much left between them except memories and the other man’s wishful thinking. What made Stiles nervous, was knowing how much Jackson still wanted him back and the extra lengths, embarrassing lengths the man might go to, to try to make that happen.
“Jackson we’ve spoken about this...”
“You’ve spoken about this, I only listened and hoped you’d change your mind.”
“Well I haven’t so...”
“Don’t you miss me too,” He stepped in closer, easily gripping Stiles forearms as he lowered his voice. “Don’t you miss the things I did to you, the things I could do with my...”
“Ok, so not the time or place,” Stiles hissed and then louder, loud enough that everyone left in the entryway could hear said, “Thank you Jackson, do enjoy the evening.” Stiles stared through narrowed eyes until the man grudgingly walked away but pinned Stiles with eyes that said, this isn’t finished, not yet.
“What was that about son?” Noah asked narrowing curious eyes at Stiles.
“Nothing, Jacks just wanted to…give me a compliment,” he lied less graciously than he was capable. His father looked after the retreating unit three captain and bit his lip lightly before he realized what he was doing and smiled.
“You know I don’t like to intrude on your personal life son but, that man, I thought he was good for you.” Noah sighed and then turned around. Lifting his arms to his spouses he addressed them all. “Shall we go in and entertain our guests?”
Melissa nodded and smiled taking his arm. Chris clasped hands with him and jerking a beckoning nod at Scott and Allison said, “Let’s.”
Standing with his family atop a dais, Stiles endured the speeches delivered by Peter Hale as well as his unwanted glances, of what Stiles could only describe, as poorly concealed desire. He listened to his father discuss the plans for the Homeland Supernatural Security Directorate, including it’s goal of integrating imprisoned supers back into an evolved society, once the rebellion was quelled. Even Chris spoke a few words on the progress of Shadow Law and its operatives. He made special mention of the three most outstanding captains, Stiles, Allison and Jackson and had no qualms about joking that two of them were his own children. Stiles smiled tightly when an abundance of eyes fell upon him and his fellow captains and faked a laugh at another joke before he was able to sigh and relax the muscles of his face as the crowds turned to the next item on the speech list.
Cheers and applause filled the room before toasts were made following the last formal address of the evening. A combined effort of the hosting directors imploring those present to offer their support, monetary and otherwise, to the new projects being put in place to better deal with the rigo u rs of ‘bringing about great change’.
Finally all the talking was done and the guests in the glittering and dazzling attire, dripping with the wealth of the upper class, got to mingling. It was at this time that Stiles spent the bulk of his evening avoiding Jackson’s watchful gaze. Every time he noticed his ex heading for him, he skilfully made a new acquaintance or, insinuated himself into a new conversation. He made an art-form out of using the social setting as cover if only to avoid for a little longer, the uncomfortable talk Jackson seemed eager to have.
Unfortunately his preoccupation with avoiding Jackson made him forget almost completely about avoiding Peter Hale, as well. So when Stiles noticed Jackson dismissing a member of his unit who had apparently been invited to the gala, and began making his way through a small crowd of sea foam green attendants, Stiles turned on his heel and almost crashed head first into Peter.
“Director Hale!” Stiles exclaimed in surprise. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you th...”
“Please Stiles, call me Peter, I think we can safely desist with such formality between us.” Taking Stiles arm between his fingers in a gentle but commandeering grasp, Peter steered him away from the crowds and toward a veranda, the doors of which had been thrown open to the night. Stiles glanced back once over his shoulder to see a defeated looking Jackson making his way back into the crowd and rejoiced internally for his escape. When he looked back at Peter though, his mental cries of joy became mournful moans of dismay.
“Director, I appreciate the sentiment but as a unit captain I should set an example for my team, I should think,” he tried, pulling a healthy serving of bullshit out of his magician’s hat of lies and excuses. Truth was, he did not feel comfortable becoming less formal with the man. It was as though calling him by name would be the catalyst that initiated unwanted changes between them. It would be the thing that made Peter believe he was gaining ground in this doomed pursuit of his.
“I don’t see any of your team here tonight though or am I mistaken?”
“Well yes, sir, your nephew is a member of my team.” Stiles didn’t miss the grimace at the mention of that word that acknowledged family ties and thought, he really doesn’t like being reminded of that. He filed the knowledge away for more extensive analysis later.
“Yes well I would hardly count him in such a capacity. The supers after all understand their place.” Stiles could only fake a swift smile that looked more like a wolf’s snarl. Peter took a few steps closer to the banister and brought Stiles along with him, still gripping his arm. He finally let it go and splayed his hands over the ledge. “You know Stiles, your family has worked for me...with me for quite some time now.” He meant for, Stiles thought. “I am quite fond of your parents, and I have watched you for quite some time. I have to say you have grown into quite the impressive young man. A talented leader, formidable fighter, expert tactician, you are possibly the greatest agent in Shadow Law. It’s… admirable.” Peter turned to stare into his eyes and the intensity of the man’s gaze made Stiles terribly uncomfortable, though he dared not show it.
“I did have hopes that perhaps we could work together.” At this the director turned to face him and placed his hands on Stiles’ arms. Just lightly touching but strong enough that Stiles could feel the warmth of his fingertips beyond the protective barrier of his sleeves. “I think you have the potential to be so much more than just a unit captain. And I want to help you get there, in any way I can.” Peter licked his lips then. His words had ended slowly, softly, suggestively. “You’ve grown in to such a…” he raised a hand to brush fingers at Stiles cheek, but before he could finish his sentiment. Derek strode through the doors.
The wind brushed against the hanging fabric of his sherwani causing the flaps to flutter lightly like loose pages on a breeze. “May I cut in?” came his clear and oh so welcome baritone.
“Excuse me,” Peter scoffed, before he was able to sensor the disdain in his tone.
“Well considering that one of the ideas behind this event was to, encourage the cooperation between supers and humans, both mother and I thought it best if we highlight such cooperation with a statement of intermingling at this party.” Turning to Stiles and lifting a hand to him Derek asked, “Captain Stiles, might I have this dance?”
Stiles looked from Peter to Derek and for a moment the dazzle of the wolf’s eyes stole his attention so completely he nearly forgot to answer. Derek cleared his throat and Stiles almost jerked. Taking the proffered hand, he turned back to Peter. “Thank you, director, for the vote of confidence and the compliment. If you’ll excuse me...” and with that he screamed for joy inside himself as Derek led him away from the balcony and the man who had cornered him there.
With the smaller hand in his, Derek lifted his arm and extended it, leading Stiles out onto the dance floor in a wide berth. The captain followed his lead and allowed himself to be pulled in and firmly against Derek’s body, his right hand clasped in Derek’s hand, high beside their heads. His other hand falling lightly on the older man’s shoulder. He felt the warmth of Derek’s hand on his waist.
They began to move with an easy grace, falling into a relaxed, classic waltz where Derek led and Stiles followed, a reversal of their normal working relationship. Their eyes, meeting when they had taken their positions did not stray from each other. Derek’s hazel, green stare was intent, and full of something Stiles tried not to acknowledge, not here at least.
“What do you think you’re doing,” he uttered, with feigned indignation.
“I,” Derek began, clearly amused, “think I’m dancing with you, captain.” He spoke the word in an odd exclamation of sarcasm. Then with a glance over his partner’s shoulder to the balcony they had come from said, “I also thought I was saving you, from my uncle’s… aggressive interest.”
Stiles chuckled, a semi high musical chuffing of laughter. “That’s certainly a good phrase for it. What do you think he wants with me?”
Derek looked a t him as if to say, isn’t it obvious and then narrowed his eyes, “I think it’s less what he wants with you and more that he wants you .”
“I was afraid, you’d say that. Haven’t you ever heard if you don’t admit something it won’t become real.”
“Haven’t you ever heard, denial is for the naive.” Stiles scoffed and then took a breath as Derek twirled him out and then reeled him back in, the lower flaps of his tunic spinning out around him. When Derek pulled him in, his back was pressed against the man’s chest and their hands were locked in a crisscross connection, as they swayed from side to side and then did a repetition of five step footwork.
“Where’d you learn to dance so well?” Stiles queued vaguely aware of the inquisitive looks they were getting from some of the guests. A few looked perplexed while some seemed unappreciative of the display. The divide between supers and humans was still vast, despite the efforts to bring them together in certain areas of cooperation, like Shadow Law strike teams.
“Well let’s see, my mother is grand alpha of the wolf packs so, you could say this isn’t my first rodeo.” He spun Stiles out again and they resumed their original position. The pair danced in silence for a bit longer, only staring at each other with some unspoken thing dancing between them.
“Listen,” Stiles began, “Thanks for helping me, escape I mean. And for having my back earlier tonight on mish.”
“You are my captain, I will always have your back, Stiles.”
The song came to an end and the two of them stood there, holding their position. It wasn’t until a voice cut the silent bubble buffering them from the surrounding din of the party, that either of them were jarred from the private moment.
Stiles turned to find Jackson there smiling broadly in triumph, head held high in pride and superiority. “Hale, take a beat,”
Derek looked from Stiles to Jackson and back and Stiles could have sworn he saw a quickly hidden flash of irritation in the man’s eyes, as he hesitated. Jackson, completely oblivious of everything but his own desire and superior position, simply took Stiles’ hand from Derek and glared at him. The wolf nodded and with a final glance at his captain, excused himself from the two of them.
“May I?” Jackson finally spoke in a more polite manner as he gently reached for Stiles’ waist. And began leading him as the music to the next song began to crescendo from the musician’s box.
“Jackson what are you doing?”
“I am dancing with you.” Stiles almost thought it amusing, the way their encounter mirrored his and Derek’s if only in a completely differently light. “Do you hate me so much, are you so over me that you can’t even stand to dance with me. Used to be there was a time I was the only one you wanted to dance with or maybe you don’t remember.”
Sighing Stiles relented. The memories flashed through his mind and they were not all unpleasant. The man was right and as he thought back some of the tension that had filled him when he switched partners, left and he eased into Jackson’s hands. That though may have only served to give the man the wrong impression. “I do remember,” he admitted softly, and I don’t hate you, Jacks.”
“I knew it,” Jackson confessed gleefully, and then twirled Stiles before he could dissuade the blooming false hope he was constantly afraid of breeding in this man. When they came back together, opposite hands touching palm to palm, rounding each other in an ancient revived medieval dance, Jackson pouted in that broody, tortured, puppy dog pout he managed to pull off so effortlessly that Stiles often caved to his plights for forgiveness. This time, while it didn’t quite have the same full effect it used to, it did make Stiles feel a bit sorry for him, until he spoke again.
“So why won’t you give me a second chance?”
“Second,” Stiles scoffed, “You’ve had second chances and thirds and fourths,” his head swayed from side to side as he listed in a singsong voice. “So many that I realized, we don’t work together Jackson.
“I know that I made some mistakes, a lot of them. I’m not denying it,” He raised his shoulders and made a face that said, see how I'm admitting my faults, I'm doing good aren’t I? “But I’ve changed. Losing you, it made me realize that I… had to be different... better. And I think I am. I just wanna prove that to you.”
Stiles searched his face and regretted allowing this dance to begin immensely. “Jackson,” he sighed, “I don’t want to be the reason you change. If you’re going to do that it has to be for you. Because you want to be a better man for yourself not to get me back or make me stay. Change like that isn’t lasting. And I can’t be anything other than what I am, I won’t change for anyone not even you. I’m sorry.”
The song ended and applause rang out around them but Jackson didn’t let him go. “Listen I don’t want that anymore. I love who you are. And I know you love me too.” Stiles looked tiredly into his eyes, distracted for a moment by his father, he could see over Jackson’s shoulder smiling at them. Noah had always felt they were well matched, and he liked Jackson very much. That was only because he saw one side of the man. It was this distraction that made Jackson’s next move take him completely by surprise.
His ex leaned in quickly and pressed his lips against Stiles, kissing him in a firm but gentle way as if, with that one act he could turn back everything and remind Stiles of how good they could be. For a moment, Stiles was pliant, but it ended quickly. He planted a hand against Jackson’s chest and pushed him hard until they separated. Stiles huffed in anger and his eyes blazed with frustration.
“I did love you once but I don’t anymore, not the way you want me to, not like we were!” His voice was a controlled raging storm directed entirely at the man in front of him and not spilling over in any other direction. “What’s more, you trying to force me to feel how you do is only going to push me that much further away from you until whatever friendship we might have is no longer possible.” He took a step back and brushed at his clothing, smoothing rumpled lines. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve had enough of this party.”
Stiles turned away from the man and maintaining his dignity and class, walked toward the exit. He caught Scott’s eye as he danced with Allison and shook his head when he saw his friend’s questioning stare.
Thankfully most had not noticed the final heated exchange between the two men on the dance floor but his father had. Before Stiles could make an exit, Noah stopped him, with one hand, the other pressed against the chest over his royal blue frock coat. “Son where are you going?”
“Dad, I think I’m gonna head home, I’m feeling a little drained after tonight’s mission,” he lied.
“But son, the gala, it’s not over quite yet, don’t you think you can stick it out for a little while longer?”
Stiles wasn’t sure that he was about to give in to his father or fight him, he never really knew when it came to Noah but he was saved from the lose lose situation by Chris who had overheard everything on his way over. Stiles said a silent thank you to god for sending that wonderful buffer of a man into his life.
“Johnny,” he crooned, placing a possessive hand on Noah’s shoulder and squeezing gently. While Melissa would call his dad the absolutely silly and laugh inducing endearment of Noah-bear, which his dad seemed to adore coming from her lips. Chris often called his father by his middle name privately and when he wanted to get his way, it was one of those lover’s things between them and it often worked. As it did then. “let him go home and get some rest, the gala’s nearly over.” he moved his hand from the shoulder to the back of Noah’s neck and squeezed again in a constant massaging rhythm. Stiles had learned this was another private trick which soothed his father and made him that much more receptive to the words of his spouses. “I think Stiles has done an admirable duty of representing his family tonight, there’s no one left to schmooze and the debrief report of his mission tells me he could use an early night.”
Noah turned to look at his husband. Giving him a quirky smile he asked, “When did you have time to read a mission debrief report?”
“Oh my love, don’t you know I have my ways.” When Noah just continued to look at him, changing his stare to a slightly more challenging and inquisitive eye, he relented with a laugh. “I have Jesse,” his assistant, “send me audio cliff notes. That way I can listen while helping you and our beautiful wife get things ready. You know I like to stay on top of things.” Noah shook his head and then leaned in to kiss his husband sweetly on the lips.
“My how talented you are.”
“And right,” Chris added.
“That too.” Turning to his son, he reached out to pat his shoulder and then leaned down to kiss his forhead. “Off with you then. And Stiles, I’m proud of you.”
Stiles gave him a wan smile and gripped his hand lightly before his dad let go. He reached out to squeeze the hand of the stepfather who saved him before turning around. “Should I send Charles with you to see you home?” he heard his father call, stopping him once again.
“The driver knows the way home dad, besides I keep telling you guys,” he looked back over his shoulder in mock incredulity, “Charlie has way better things to do than babysit me all the time.” With that he exited the ballroom before his father could think of something else to say.
“Come on, Melly’s waiting for us, she’s apparently having a compelling debate with Lady Noshiko, about nature versus nature in the kitsunes when it comes to swordplay.”
Peter Hale watched from the upper balcony at the top of the double staircase as Stiles left the party and his fathers re-entered the ballroom. He also watched with troubled interest as, his… nephew, he found himself even mentally reluctantly acknowledging the familial tie, discreetly left the party shortly after Stiles. His interruption was still on Peter’s mind and weighed heavily on the man. Just as well, their little dance was a spark for infuriation to Peter. It was the way they moved together, so easily almost practiced. That and the way they looked at each other. It bothered him tremendously to see that look shared between them. As if they were the only ones in the room at times.
Peter had become very intrigued by the young Mieczyslaw Stilinski. Intrigue had turned to infatuation over time and that had bloomed into something of an obsession. He had finally decided to make a move. He would insinuate himself into the young captain’s life. That couldn’t be hard at all. All three of the man’s parents had worked for him under the Initiative for years. He had seen the young man grow and evolve, blossom into what he was today. Something beautiful and powerful. Something Peter wanted to possess.
Then Derek got in his way, and at such a strategic point in time. He could sense Stiles’ hesitation to his advances, he wasn’t a fool. But that was nothing a little time and persistence could not fix. And persistent he was. If he hadn’t been, he would have never become the only human born to a supernatural family to become so powerful in the human world. The leader of the Initiative. The one to show his sister who was truly worth more. And he did not need the wolf gene or it’s pathetic powers to do that.
No what he needed was his drive, his unrelenting spirit. And now that drive was directed at something else, someone else. Stiles. He would have him. Peter Hale had never been denied and those who had tried to deny him, found themselves unfortunate victims of circumstance, and his vengeful wrath. No Stiles would be his in time, just as he had attained everything else he had wanted. But first, he would find out what was happening between him and Derek. He would find out and he would squash it like a disgusting fly beneath his heel. Then Stiles would be his for the taking.
Peter stepped away from the balcony railing he was leaning against and made his way back down to the party.
The Raspburn had barely touched the ground before Stiles was exiting, eager to be in his wing, and his room enjoying the peace and quiet of his solitude, except for the near silent breathing of his lycanther. He waved off the driver, who no doubt would be heading right back to the gala, to await his family once the festivities had come to a close.
Accessing the biometric scanner, he unlocked the doors and deactivated the silent alarm system before making his way to the west wing of the mansion, he called his own personal haven. The house was silent and undisturbed. Stiles thought over the events of the evening from his mission to his dismissal of Jackson, mostly cringing at all the bobbing and weaving he had to do just to be left alone.
As he got to his room, the very last door at the end of a long hall on the second floor of the west wing, he entered distracted and tugged his tunic off, while kicking free his shoes. Charles would have a heart attack at the way Stiles simply tossed them from him to gather in a fancy pile on his bedroom floor.
“Haaas, give me some tunage,” Stiles requested, voice activating the estate a.i. Home Advanced Artificial Assistant System.
“What are you in the mood for today sir?” a syrupy female voice in something like a Russian accent questioned.
“Surprise me,” Stiles offered and turned as a song with a male lead singer came on to a background melody heavy in the drums and saxophone. It was very old jazz. He checked himself in the full length mirror and then froze. The window behind him was slightly ajar putting him on high alert. Stiles had total recall and knew for a certainty that the window had been closed when he left for the party.
“Show yourself!” he called once his body stilled and his muscles shifted into a ready state. He thought quickly to his protective body suit and his weapons in the closet. Until he knew where the intruder was, it would be best not to move. “I know you’re there, come out and face me.” His words were a challenge and he tried to focus his senses outside the music. Suddenly he saw a shape drop from the rafters above.
D erek Hale landed, still fully dressed in his formal attire in front of him, staring stone faced at him. With astonishing speed Stiles kicked a shoe off the ground and straight at the wolf’s head. Derek swatted it away and braced for impact, knowing all too well that it was a distraction. Stiles lunged forward, fainting right and spinning left with a round house kick. Derek’s forearm blocked it and he swung a hook which Stiles ducked. Flipping backward, the captain kicked for Derek’s head but the wolf flipped back almost simultaneously avoiding the blow, so that their feet only brushed each other as they retreated.
They stood a few feet apart staring at each other. Derek jumped into the air and twisted into a spin bringing his foot out at the last moment for a downward kick. Stiles only rolled underneath him and kicked out with both legs as Derek landed so that his feet connected squarely with the man’s chest and thrust him back up into the air and backward. He landed on his feet as Stiles crouched, ready.
The captain got up into a run and kicked off the ground, his fist curling and pushin g forward powerfully aiming for his opponent's face. Derek blocked with an arm, twisted Stiles forearm with his momentum, bringing it downward before punching with his other fist. Stiles mirrored his move to block before pulling his blocked fist and aiming for a chop to the neck. Derek jerked back out of reach and grabbed the attacking arm by the wrist. He aimed a punch into Stiles’ side but the man turned his body quickly and then kicked across Derek’s stomach causing him to hunch over. Stiles twisted his body, straddling the man’s neck, forcing him to release his arm and then squeezed his thighs as he sent his own body careening over Derek’s chest before twisting around, forcing Derek to flip over and onto the floor. Stiles landed in a crouch.
Derek rolled onto his back and kick jumped onto his feet. Stiles tried to kick his legs out from under him but Derek flipped over him, grabbing his shoulders as he did so. With an iron grip he pulled the man to his feet as he landed and swiftly grabbed the wrist of Stiles’ arm as it punched back defensively. Wrapping that arm across Stiles’ chest quickly, he grabbed the man’s throat and held him tight against his chest.
“You’re holding back,” Derek whispered gruffly.
“I was aiming to incapacitate, not kill, but she might,” he responded and jerked his head at the room door where Frejya, his lycanther had appeared, growling. As a lycanther, a biologically engineered hybrid between a panther and an ancient wolf species, with the wolf genes being the most dominant, it was nearly twice the size of a regular wolf and almost as large as a lion. It’s sleek white fur changed to a shadowy dark colour as it entered the room on silent paws. One of its enhancements was the ability to change it’s fur colour as a camouflaging mechanism. Frejya bared her teeth at Derek.
Suddenly, he released Stiles and walked silently over to the lycanther, dropping to his knees before it. He flashed his wolf eyes and smiled. “I’ve missed you too girl,” he admitted before plunging his hands into the fur at her head and giving it a deep ruffling. Her growls became purrs of acceptance and Derek rumbled his appreciation.
Stiles watched them amused. “I’m gonna have to separate you two, my pet is starting to like you more than she likes me.”
“You won’t get it, it’s a wolf thing,” Derek called over his shoulder before pressing a kiss to Frejya’s muzzle and then rising.
“How’d you beat me here?”
Derek cocked his head and raised a brow. “Please, my Skyspanner duocycle outpaces a Raspburn by a hundred and fifty miles per hour.” Stiles couldn’t argue. The hover cycle was a beautiful and terribly fast contraption he had enjoyed a time or two.
“So in addition to breaking and entering we can add speeding to your list of felonies tonight.” Derek stalked back toward him, a sly expression on his face, hunger in his eyes.
“Arrest me then.” He stood halted before Stiles and settled his hands on the man’s waist.
“One of these days, I just might,” Stiles whispered, his arms going around the wolf’s neck. He barely finished his thought when Derek’s head descended. The feel of his soft cupids bow lips, was a much needed balm to cure the stresses of the day. He tasted like sweet wine, surely remnants of what he’d been drinking that evening.
Stiles moved with him, his head adjusting as Derek kissed him eagerly. He felt Derek’s arm curve around his waist and his hands smoothing his lower back, seeking lower until the firm weight of his ass was cupped in strong hands. Derek’s tongue moved into Stiles’ mouth, swiping the inner rim of his lips and then seeking further, deeper for Stiles’ tongue, until they played with each other like players on a twister board, twining and contorting, tracing shapes against each other.
When he pulled away, Stiles was breathless in a way their little playful sparring hadn’t made him. “I’ve been wanting to do that all day,” he admitted. Watching the amber glow of Derek’s wolf’s eyes fade back into their beautiful hazel green kaleidoscope of colour.
“So have I,” Derek agreed. “Though I thought you might have been somewhat satisfied, earlier. I saw you.”
“Saw me what?” Stiles wondered his brows furrowing in confusion.
“I saw you kissing Jackson. He may be a human and a captain but I wanted to kill him today.”
“Bite your tongue, if anyone were to hear something like that from someone like you...” he didn’t bother finishing. “Besides what you saw, was Jackson kissing me, and me not having any of it. We are in the past he just needs to deal with that.”
“I just have a hard time seeing other men all over you, their hands, their mouths...” Stiles placed a finger to his lips to shush him.
“Then put your mouth on me and make me forget what other men feel like.” His lashes lowered seductively as he spoke and his expression challenged the wolf before him. Derek lifted him then and Stiles wrapped his legs around the man’s waist. As he looked down at Derek, felt the warm power against his body, the growing firmness finding a haven at the cleft between the cheeks of his bottom, even through his tight pants, He almost purred in satisfaction.
Derek carried him to his bed and bore down on him. The man kissed at his neck and licked his earlobe. Stiles belatedly called out, “Freyja, out, shut the door Haas.” He didn’t look to see if the lycanther would obey, she always did but he was lost to the world about him then. Lost to the pleasure of Derek’s sweet kisses and teasing nips and nibbles. Lost to the delightful pressure of fingertips on his skin.
His hand tangled in the wealth of black hair behind Derek’s head and he guided the man’s face to his so he could taste his lips again. Their kisses were passionate and aggressive. Two animals vying for supremacy, battling each other with their mouths, their lips, their tongues. Insatiable creatures at a watering hole and finding they simply could not get enough.
Stiles was no stranger to sex. He had a healthy libido and had never been particularly celibate. His hunger sometimes got the better of him. In his past encounters he always seemed to push for the act wanting men inside him or to drive himself inside the women he bedded with no hindrance to that bodily connection but with Derek, it was different. With Derek the kissing was just as much the goal as was the intercourse itself. He loved the taste of the man, his lips, his tongue, his skin.
Derek pulled back and in one swift motion pulled off his sherwani, revealing tanned muscular flesh. His stomach rippled into defined quadrants of muscle. His chest was a firm well shaped mass with two dark and peaked nipples inviting Stiles to administer his expert attention. The captain wasted no time, following Derek up so he could press his mouth against that chest, swipe his tongue across the nipple there, suck and nip it with his teeth. Derek shuddered against him. He moved to the other and laved it with his tongue until it cut dully against the tip of his tongue like the worn down tip of glass.
Derek pushed him down and peppered kisses across his chest and stomach, descending until he reached the silver band of the man’s pants. Looking up at Stiles, he raised the band with a finger and swiped his tongue beneath it and then impatient to play out the game, pulled the pants down Stiles’ legs and sent them flying errant across the room. Derek licked his lips as he removed Stiles briefs slowly and sent them the same way the pants had gone. Lowering, slowly, agonizingly slowly, Derek took Stiles swelling member in his mouth and sank it deep. It filled out immediately. The sensation of warm wetness, of tightness closing around him made Stiles moan his encouragement. Derek’s head moved, bobbing up and down, twisting around, all the while his tongue swiping and undulating rhythmically.
Stiles grabbed at his head with both hands and helped guide him though he needed no assistance. The man knew how to please. And considering the number of times they’d stolen away for little trysts like this, he had become an expert in Stiles. But the captain liked the feel of control even when he wasn’t in control. It sweetened his pleasure all the more. Derek moved with his hands and against them. He swallowed deeper and tightened the slick cavern of his mouth, driving his little lover higher and higher into ecstasy. All the tension of the evening transformed into pressure building in the pit of his stomach and the sacs of his balls. Stiles felt the peculiar tugging from inside his throbbing, pulsing member and new he was about to explode.
“I’m gonna... cum,” he muttered breathlessly. Derek only increased his pace. He listened to the stuttering of Stiles’ heart and the gasps of his breathing, and just when he knew the man was about to blow, he lowered himself all the way down onto his dick. As the shaft slid like a sword into a sheath down his throat, he felt the burst of expulsion as Stiles came. Derek growled in pleasure and felt Stiles’ body shudder and shake beneath him, felt his fingers grip tightly at his hair, until they weakly let go and settled.
Derek picked up and brought his lips to Stiles’ so he could taste whatever remnant of his own seed that Derek didn’t swallow. The action and the scent was intoxicating. Stiles found himself lapping at Derek’s lips with a renewed hunger. They both looked deeply into the other’s eyes, looked in a daring stare that issued a challenge to burn as brightly and as hot as the other.
Derek finally moved back, the hair around his mouth leaving a sweet burn on Stiles’ own. He spread the man’s legs and propped each one up on its foot. Before descending to the junction there where his legs met. The place that held the hot core he most sought after in that moment. He cupped Stiles butt cheeks in his palms and pushed them higher so he could have easier access to the man’s hole.
For an agonizing expanse of time, there was nothing but the heat of Derek’s skin on his skin, the warm breath of Derek’s lungs cascading like a desert breeze on the sensitive nether regions of his body. Then the wolf’s tongue plunged. It licked a swathe of slickness along the tight ring of muscles, revealed from their hiding place between his spread cheeks. It came again and Stiles squirmed under the assault. Another slash of tongue and he made a squeak of amused pleasure. Finally Derek let him have the full force of that talented tongue.
The man stabbed into him with it, going in as far as he could then undulating it, twirling it inside the ring of muscles before pulling out and then going in again, deeper and more playfully. The sensation was staggering. Derek traced letters and drew shapes with his tongue inside Stiles until the man he held writhed at his touch and begged for him to stop, to keep going, to please, please, please. And yes, yes, yes. His thoughts had passed incoherent, somewhere after the third dive.
When the beta wolf was satisfied with the moist preparation he had painstakingly provided, he kicked his shoes off and tugged free his own pants. A fist stroked the thick, pink headed cock that came free and guided it to the little pleasure hole between Stiles’ cheeks. He rubbed the head of his manhood against the velvet slickness there up and down and then teased it by slipping inside just barely, just enough to feel the twitching grip of tightness around the crown of his penis.
Stiles bit his lip and reached for Derek urgently trying to draw him in but the man grabbed his arms and pinned them above his head with one hand. Holding his young lover’s gaze intensely, Derek eased himself into Stiles. Taking his time to descend into the man’s hot, tight, sheath inch by stretching inch. The pleasure pain was so exquisite for Stiles. He grunted and bit his lip harder, hard enough to draw a tiny dot of blood. Derek watched him find salvation at the receiving end of his member.
When he was seated deep in his lover, so deep his balls pressed firmly against Stiles’ cheeks, He released Stiles hands and braced his arms on the head board. Still looking down, he began to move. He pulled himself nearly all the way out and then drove back in a little faster. Stiles hissed in response and wrapped his arms around the base of Derek’s back. His hips rocked against the man matching his movements, matching his rhythm. Derek slid into him and out and in again sheathing himself in Stiles over and over, picking up a little speed at a time. Finally he was moving rapidly, thrusting, stabbing into the man’s heat with reckless abandon, all the while never looking away from Stiles’ face. His desperate expression. His hungry eyes. They both panted, as their bodies worked to draw pleasure out of each other.
Stiles gripped Derek’s ass and squeezed firmly, his fingers brushing the secret place between those cheeks. The slight touch of his own core made Derek buck with invigorated movement. Stiles’ legs tangled around, ankles hooking behind his calves. His hips worked, meeting Derek’s pulsing rhythm eagerly.
“Fuck, fuck yes,” Stiles grunted as Derek pounded further, pushed higher, raised him up. He felt like he was flying, like he was climbing altitude without a ship and would soon loose air. His body tingled beneath his skin as that long, thick tool of the worker who transformed his body into a masterpiece of sexual proportions stroked that little nub inside of him that made electric shocks of excitement burst through his entire being.
Derek also felt the quickening within him. It was a tightening of his sac, a buzzing in his stomach, a coiling in his shaft and a shuddering tingle beneath his flesh. He tried to hold himself back, not too long, just long enough that he could climax with Stiles. The man beneath him was so close, he could tell, he could smell it despite their mingled scents overwhelming his senses. Stiles threw his head back and panted louder, his back arching as his orgasm found him, landed on him, shattered.
Watching the madness beneath him Derek let himself go. His pounding rhythm becoming as frenzied as the body he was using. He drilled his cock into Stiles and then exploded. Ropes of hot seed spurted from his pulsing cock deep into the cavity of Stiles hole, coating it heavily with the essence of Derek, filling it to overflowing with his cum. His cry of, “Stiles!” was a talisman to ward off the dark loneliness that existed when he was absent, a prayer of thanks for the gift that was the smaller man who let him in. They both grunted as their bodies rocked and rattled against each other, jerking with the last shocks of power that left them breathless and spent.
Derek took Stiles’ mouth and kissed him fiercely, tasting the coppery sweetness of his bloody lip and breathing life into him. He pulled back and kissed the man’s cheek tiredly then let his head fall down into the crook of his neck and shoulder. Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s shoulders, let his hands rest upon the centre of his back and panted, trying to get his breath back.
“That was everything,” he gasped, totally satisfied.
“You are everything,” Derek retorted just as breathless.
After a long time, lying there, just getting a normal rhythm to their breathing back They finally adjusted themselves, so that Derek lay against Stiles with the man’s arms caressing his own, drawing idle shapes into his pecs. Stiles’ chin rubbed back and forth atop Derek’s head, the wavy tufts of hair there rolling back and forth beneath him.
“I wish it could be like this always,” Derek admitted.
“It is always like this,” Stiles countered.
“You know what I mean.” Derek grabbed a hand with his and brought it to his lips, kissing the knuckles, the fingertips. “I wish we didn’t have to hide, that we could really be together, like your parents. Stiles stiffened slightly. “I mean your dad and your stepdad, and stepmom. I mean being open and not a secret.”
“I know,” Stiles sighed. “But you know the rules. This is forbidden at least for now. If anyone found out we would both be arrested.”
“Correction, I would be arrested, you would probably be given leave and a corrections course in the dangers of species mingling. The fucking world is wrong.”
“Yes, it very well might be but there isn’t anything we can do about that right now.” Much as they both wished things were different, they weren’t and there was nothing to be done about it. “It’s not like we can join the rebellion and take down the act or the initiative.”
“Of course not, those guys are terrorists. I get what they’re fighting for but the way they’re doing it is causing way more harm than good.”
“One day things will be different. It may take a long time but it’s gonna happen.”
Derek turned in his arms and lay against him, staring into his eyes. A hand brushed against his cheek. “You really think so?”
Stiles nodded and then they kissed. The moment was again perfect until…
“Sir your father is on his way to see you,” Haaas’ Russian-esque voice announced.
“Shit,” Stiles sat up and Derek moved with him.
“What is he doing here?” Derek questioned hoping off the bed in a fluid leap.
“Uh he lives here.” Stiles answered sarcastically, reaching for clothes.
“You know what I mean,”
“I don’t know Derek just hurry up.” Derek thrust on his pants and shoes and then grabbed his sherwani. He ran over to the window, pulled it open and perched there for a moment.
“Give me another kiss,”
“Come and kiss me.”
“He’s gonna fucking catch you get out of here!”
“Not until you kiss me,” Derek insisted and smiled a wicked smile.
Stiles grunted but couldn’t help the chuckle that bubbled up in his chest. “Fine!” he ran to the window and pressed his lips to Derek’s. The man grabbed his face with one hand and deepened the kiss.
“Now go!” Stiles ordered nervous and excited all at once.
“First promise you won’t let Jackson try to kiss you again.” Stiles widened his eyes so much they nearly bugged out of his head. Derek laughed.
“Son,” Stiles heard from beyond his room accompanied by a light wrapping of knuckles on the door.
“Go,” he whisper shouted.
“Promise,” Derek countered.
“I promise now leave before you get strung up.”
Derek pecked him on the cheek and then dived out the window. Stiles had time to see him flip midair and then land spryly in the gardens beneath his window on his feet before he ran for the estate wall. His door opened with a click and his father entered, watching him, appraisingly.
He had had time to put on his pants but nothing else. “I called, didn’t you hear me?” his father asked.
“Sorry dad I was a million miles away. What’s up?”
Just then Chris’ shadow fell over the door frame and he stepped in leaning his back against the wall while they chatted. “Well,” Noah started a little unsure. He never liked to get into Stiles personal life. “I was wondering what happened with you and Jackson. I mean I never really understood why you broke up with him but I always felt you two were... good together.” Stiles sighed.
“What makes you say that dad?”
“He’s a good looking guy, he’s polite, a captain like yourself, not to mention he’s from a good well respected family. You two always seemed like a match made in heaven.”
“Yes maybe that’s what you saw dad, but there are more sides to a person than what they let you see.”
“Perhaps but that man had a lot of good sides is all I’m saying.” He laughed a short tired laugh, “Sometimes I don’t understand you Stiles. Anyway I just wanted to say good night.”
“Good night dad,” Stiles offered back and watched his father leave. Chris lingered a while staring at him.
“You know we all wondered about that I guess,”
“Not you too,” Stiles complained.
“Chris!” Noah called, “you coming,”
“I’ll be right there!” he hollered back. “I just mean your father isn’t wrong Jackson is good...”
“...and polite and from a prominent family sure. But he’s also arrogant and selfish and possessive in all the wrong ways. He was always accusing me of things and keeping tabs on me, once he accessed my tracker just to find out where I had gone when I didn’t tell him...” Stiles raised his brows at Chris who made an o with his mouth and nodded solemnly, understanding. “It’s like I said, there are more sides to a person than they let certain people see. My dad sees what Jackson wants to show him. But it isn’t all he is.
“I’ll talk to your dad. I think he just worries about you Stiles and wants you to be happy. Like he was with your mom and with us now, though that’s a different happiness but just as meaningful, if you get me.”
“I know, Chris.”
“Good night buddy.”
“Good night,” Stiles called back and his stepfather left the room and pulled the door behind him, but not before letting Freyja in. Stiles jumped onto his bed and the lycanther followed, fitting its large body toward the end of the massive bed so it could lay its head over his legs.
“Haaas, play night drift playlist.”
A mellow rhythm and blues song began working it’s way through the room and Stiles let his mind relax on the waves of the melody.