They had a system, a deep imbedded set of rules that Stiles shouldn't stray from if they were to not only enjoy their dynamic, but to keep Stiles alive. Derek wasn't strict, but his five rules were never to be stepped over. One; to not disobey Derek's orders, two; to not be self-sacrificing, three; safewords were there for a reason, if Stiles felt uncomfortable in any way he was encouraged to speak up about it, four; communication was key, Derek always wanted new information about what was good for them and what shouldn’t be done again, five; wherever Stiles goes during the day, he always comes home to his Sir.
Stiles knew he broke the rule the second it happened, watching the way Derek's eyebrow twitches a little at the remark. You don't own me. That's what he said, in the middle of the pack meeting. Internally he cringed, watching the way Isaac swallowed thickly at the new tension in the room, knowing something was going to happen sooner or later. The pack knew about their dynamic, encouraging it after Stiles' run in with the nogistune, he needed something to cling onto and this was easy. They didn't have to know about the details of their relationship but they understood it worked and it made both Stiles and Derek healthy. A healthy alpha benefits the whole pack. So, when he stated that he wasn't owned, it wasn't exactly a lie but it was enough to have an uptick in Stiles' heart. He knew the wolfy ears could hear it too, fuckers.
He tensed as a hand came to the back of his neck, gripping just enough for him to feel that Derek was holding himself back. There was no way out of it now, no matter how many times Stiles stuttered out that what he meant was something entirely different. His eyes darted around the room seeking assistance but funnily enough everyone wasn't looking at him. He'll say it again; fuckers. "You're all traitors."
"Make your bed and lie in it, Stilinski." Jackson sniffed and looked down at his perfectly buffed nails, ignoring the way Stiles glared at him as he was led out and into the kitchen. The moment they were in another room the grip on the back of his neck tightened enough to bring his head forward submissively.
Derek bent him forcefully over the counter and tutted his distaste. He could appear disappointed all he wanted; Stiles knew he got off on this. Marking his partner up so everyone knew who he belonged to. "So, I don't own you, hm?"
"I didn't mean it –! Sir, please!" Stiles tried again, whining as his jeans were unbuttoned one handed and yanked down past his knees, underwear quick to follow. Unconsciously he spread his legs as much as he could, even his own body was betraying him.
Derek hummed at the attempt to plea, letting go of Stiles' neck knowing the teen wouldn't move a muscle from where his Sir puts him. He rummaged in the kitchen draw for a second until he found what he was looking for; a flat wooden spatula. "I think you were being bratty. You know what I do to brats, Stiles?"
Stiles was silent for a moment too long, just enough time for Derek to strike down the spatula onto Stiles' pale cheek, a pink square quick to form from the hit. He yelped and jolted from the sting, the heat radiating a little before relaxing down against the counter. Well, as Jackson so eloquently stated; there was no way out of this apart from taking his punishment like a big boy. "They get spanked, Sir. Please, how many strikes do I get, Sir?"
There was a hum of thought behind him, Derek's hand running over Stiles' ass just admiring the view for a moment before tapping the spatula against Stiles' inner thighs. The teen moved to spread his legs a little more, obeying the silent order. "I think I'm going to give you two strikes for every word. What were they again? 'You do not own me'? So that's ten, yes?"
Stiles was going to say something about using proper grammar, and that fact that he said 'don't', not 'do not', so really he should get eight swats and get off lightly, but he wasn't going to be any more of a brat. Instead, he nodded his head against the counter as he prepared himself for the onslaught. "Yes Sir, thank you Sir."
"I think I'm going to hit these sensitive thighs too, what do you think?" Derek tapped the spatula against Stiles' inner thighs, knowing for a fact that they were the easiest thing to bring the boy to tears. He heard Stiles squeak at the mention of the sensitive area. Derek didn't even bother to hide his grin. "What was that?"
Stiles was going to mention that it wasn't fair, but he bit back his remark. Instead, Stiles arched his back so his ass stuck out more for the alpha. "Nothing Sir, thank you."