Stiles stands in front of a nondescript door, trying to ignore the uncomfortable squeeze of his too-tight leather pants and the black t-shirt he’s wearing. He’s pretty sure every article of clothing he has on at the moment is at least two sizes too small.
“The clock’s running, Stilinski,” Lydia says, her voice tinny through the comm.
“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles huffs, rolling his eyes. “Excuse me for being reluctant to go flirt with a drug lord who wants to chain me up and do god knows what to me.”
“Actually, you should know what, if you did your research like you were supposed to,” Lydia replies, sounding a little exasperated.
“I still think we should have gotten actual books instead of just using the internet,” Stiles grumbles, trying to ignore the way the couple across the street are giving him strange looks.
“Well, we didn’t exactly have much time, now did we?” Lydia retorts, making Stiles sigh, because she’s right. They need that drive back ASAP. Still, it’ll all be for nothing if he does something to blow his cover.
“Fine, whatever,” Stiles says, running a hand through his overly-gelled hair. “I’m going in.”
“About time,” Lydia mutters. Stiles rolls his eyes, wishing she could see him.
He steels himself and walks on through the door. The entryway is as nondescript as the outside of the building, and if Stiles didn’t know better, he’d think that he was in the wrong place. It certainly doesn’t look much like he thought a BDSM club – dungeon, sorry Lydia – would look. It’s discreet – tasteful, even. Then again, it’s not like he’s seen the actual interior yet.
“Good evening. Welcome to the Nemeton,” the woman at the front desk says, her eyes tracking down his body appreciatively. “May I see your ID, please?”
“Sure,” Stiles replies, fumbling to remove his wallet from his very tight pants. “Here you go.”
She takes a moment to appraise it, before handing it back with a pleasant, but slightly sharp, smile. There’s something predatory about her, and Stiles is pretty sure that she’s a Dom at this point.
“Our cover charge is fifteen dollars, but before you pay, it’s required that you read our rules and sign the liability waiver,” she continues, sliding a sheet of paper and a pen over the counter to him. Stiles can’t help but feel knots twisting in his stomach as he wonders what he’d need a liability waiver for. “Also, please note that guests are required to leave their cell phones with me in order to insure that no one is filmed or otherwise recorded against their will.”
“Right,” Stiles says, already reading through the club rules.
They’re nothing particularly outlandish or even unexpected. There’s the rule against recording devices, and another one against touching anyone without explicit permission – sub, Dom, or switch. Nudity’s apparently only permitted in specified ‘play’ areas and DMs, ‘Dungeon Masters,’ are to be obeyed if they safeword, whatever that means.
“Uh, sorry, I’m kind of new to the scene,” Stiles says, looking up from the rule sheet, his cheeks a little flushed. “But could you explain the whole DM thing?”
“Sure,” the woman replies, although she’s smirking in a way that tells Stiles that it must be pretty obvious that he’s new. “DMs are a little like lifeguards. They patrol and make sure everyone’s playing safely and following the dungeon rules. If they see anything unsafe going on, they’ll use a generic safeword to stop the scene.”
“Generic safeword?” Stiles asks a little tentatively. From the way her expression softens slightly, he must be more unprepared than he thought.
“You weren’t kidding about being new, baby,” she laughs, and Stiles feels his cheeks heat in embarrassment. “Generic safewords are either the typical stoplight colors – green, yellow, and red – or simply ‘safeword.’ If you have more questions, though, you should talk to Marin when you get inside. She’s the owner.”
“Thanks,” Stiles mutters, looking back down at the rule sheet and signing the waiver in a single practiced movement.
“The locker rooms are on the left if you want to come in street clothes and change here next time. There are also play areas upstairs and downstairs, but the ground floor lounge is for socializing only,” the woman explains, accepting Stiles’ cell phone as he hands it over. “And remember, this is a safe space, okay? As long as it’s safe, sane, and consensual, anything goes.”
“Yeah, okay,” Stiles replies, forcing a small smile. “Thanks.”
“Have fun,” she says and winks.
Stiles takes in a slightly ragged breath as he pushes past the red velvet curtain and into the dungeon. The weight of the comm in his ear is comforting.
“You’re in?” Lydia asks, her voice a little static-y, but the connection doesn’t waver.
“Yeah,” Stiles murmurs as he walks down the dimly lit hallway towards what must be the bar and lounge.
“Good,” Lydia says, her tone crisp and professional. “According to our sources, Deucalion normally is at the bar at this time. Remember, he likes inexperienced subs, so look uncomfortable but excited. It shouldn’t be hard for you.”
“Thanks, Lyds,” Stiles mutters, rolling his eyes. “I’m cutting out now.”
“Stiles?” Lydia says right as he steps into the surprisingly well lit lounge. “Don’t forget that your safety’s our primary concern.”
Stiles can’t reply, but Lydia must know he’s heard her. He’ll try to keep that in mind, but he’s always been known for being a little blasé about his personal health and safety. He’ll do his best to be safe, but he’ll also do his best to get the job done. And if those two conflict, well…
He pushes those thoughts from his mind as he spots a man who must be Deucalion lounging against the bar. It’s his sunglasses that give him away. After all, it’s well known that he’s blind – not that that makes him any less dangerous.
Stiles makes his way over to the bar.
“I’ll have a rum and coke, please,” Stiles says to the bartender, leaning against the dark red-brown wood of the bar, right next to Deucalion.
“Looks like we have a newbie here,” the bartender, a black woman with three long scars down her neck who’s wearing more PVC than Stiles had ever seen (outside of porn), says, giving him a dangerous smile. Stiles is pretty sure he’s never felt more like prey before, and that includes the time he got caught by the mob while working in NYC.
In this context, though, it somehow doesn’t feel like a bad thing.
“What?” Stiles asks, confused, as he words register.
“Our dungeon’s sober, honey,” she says, leaning forward, her forearms braced on the counter. “If you’re too drunk to drive a car, then you’re certainly too drunk to drive a whip.”
“Oh,” Stiles replies awkwardly. It looks like his rudimentary, ‘get Deucalion drunk’ plan is out.
“Braeden does make a lovely non-alcoholic Sangria, though,” Deucalion adds, surprising Stiles. “I’ll buy you one, if you like.”
“Sure,” Stiles says, tongue darting out to sweep over his lower lip – not that Deucalion can see it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Deucalion replies, his tone switching to something a little smoother, more seductive. “Now, I don’t mean to be rude, but do you mind if I ask you what your orientation is?”
“Uh, bi?” Stiles answers, a little tentative. Hopefully he’s not playing up his inexperience too much.
“Excuse me for not clarifying – I meant your BDSM orientation,” Deucalion says, and Stiles is immensely glad that Deucalion’s blind, so he can’t see how red Stiles’ cheeks have just turned.
“Sub,” Stiles answers immediately. “And you?”
“I am of the Dominant orientation,” Deucalion replies, his smile now distinctly predatory. However, unlike with Braeden’s earlier one, Stiles finds himself more on edge than aroused.
“It’s nice to meet you,” Stiles says, ducking his head slightly and looking up at Deucalion through his eyelashes. “I’m – ”
“Stiles!” he hears someone bark, making him freeze. The person’s voice is familiar – oh so familiar – but it can’t possibly be who he thinks it is.
Stiles glances over his shoulder to find that it is, in fact, Derek Hale. Special Agent Derek Hale who’s supposed to be on vacation right now.
Stiles is trying really hard not to think about what sort of ‘vacation’ Derek’s having.
“I thought I told you to wait for me outside,” Derek growls and what the ever loving fuck is going on? Has there been some sort of change in plans? Lydia hadn’t informed him that Derek was being called in.
“I – ” Stiles starts, but Derek cuts him off.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Derek demands, his tone all righteous fury, although Stiles has absolutely no idea what’s going on here.
“But – ” Stiles protests, but Derek’s having none of it apparently.
“We’re leaving,” he interrupts sharply before turning to address Deucalion. “I’m sorry if he was disturbing you.”
“I didn’t realize he was yours,” Deucalion replies, his smile casual, but distinctly dangerous nonetheless. “You’d do well to collar him.”
“He’s made it pretty clear tonight that he hasn’t earned it yet,” Derek says, his hard gaze landing on Stiles for a moment. For some reason, it makes Stiles want to apologize, makes his cheeks burn with shame even though Derek has no claim over him whatsoever.
“There’s no need to be quite so harsh,” Deucalion tuts, and Stiles can practically see Derek bristle at the comment. He also notices Braeden watching them coolly but carefully from the other end of the bar.
“He disobeyed a direct order,” Derek replies curtly before turning his gaze away from Deucalion and back to Stiles. “We’re leaving now.”
“Well, at least say you’ll be back sometime,” Deucalion presses, making Stiles feel like they’re playing tug-of-war and he’s somehow become the rope.
“We’ll come back when he’s been good enough to deserve it,” Derek replies, and Stiles is a little startled, because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Derek’s temper this short before. Sure, the two of them banter and argue like it’s going out of style, but Derek’s never really lost his temper like this before that Stiles can recall.
With that, Derek starts steering him away from the bar, a possessive hand on the small of his back. The heat of his palm seeps through the thin material of Stiles’ t-shirt, and it’s all Stiles can do to keep from shivering. Stiles tries to slow down a little, to drag Derek off into a more secluded corner so that he can talk, explain, but apparently Derek’s having none of it, steering Stiles out of the dungeon with a single minded doggedness.
It’s not until they get outside that the yelling starts.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Derek snaps, capturing Stiles’ arm in a bruising grip and dragging him off to the side of the sidewalk. “Do you have any idea who that was?”
Stiles stares at him for a moment, shocked and open mouthed.
“Yes!” he yells, breaking away from Derek’s grip. “Fuck, of course I do!”
“Then you should know that ever single sub he’s ever had has gone missing!” Derek snaps, and Stiles is a little startled to hear an undertone of something akin to fear in Derek’s voice. “Are you trying to get yourself killed? You’re lucky that – ”
“Stilinski, what the ever loving fuck is going on?” Lydia demands over his comm, distracting him from Derek’s rant.
“Agent Hale tried to protect my virtue and fucked everything up,” Stiles replies into his comm, glaring pointedly at Derek, who promptly falls silent, his eyes widening minutely in surprise.
“Bring him in for debrief,” Lydia sighs, and Stiles can practically see her rubbing her temples, trying to prevent an oncoming headache. “And he better have a good excuse for this screw up, or I’ll be feeding him to the dogs.”
“Roger,” Stiles says before disconnecting his comm and turning his full attention back on Derek.
“Deucalion was a mark,” Derek clarifies, looking suddenly tense and uncomfortable.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Stiles snorts, shouldering past Derek and heading towards where his car is parked. “Thanks for everything you’ve contributed tonight.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t – I thought – ” Derek says stiffly as he follows Stiles.
“Well, you thought wrong,” Stiles snaps, digging his car keys out of his pocket and unlocking the vehicle. “And even if the situation was what you thought it was, it would still have been none of your fucking business.”
“I was concerned for your safety,” Derek retorts, a hint of anger back in his voice.
“I’m a grown man and an FBI agent,” Stiles replies, sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming the door just a little too hard. “I can protect myself.”
“Not from a man like Deucalion,” Derek says grimly, getting into the car’s passenger seat.
“Please, like I haven’t dealt with worse people before,” Stiles snorts, because fuck if he hasn’t. He’ll take a drug lord over an arms dealer any day.
Derek gives him a long look, but doesn’t protest verbally.
The rest of the car ride passes in awkward, tense silence, and Stiles is almost relieved when they finally arrive back at headquarters. He’s still fuming, though. Derek’s still tense, too, but he seems a little more subdued as they make their way inside. The elevator ride to the tenth floor is pure torture, but somehow they make it without starting to argue again.
“Care to explain what the fuck just happened, Stilinski?” Special Agent Lydia Martin demands as soon as he and Derek enter the meeting room.
“Maybe you should ask Agent Hale that,” Stiles snorts, flopping down into an unoccupied chair, trying to ignore the uncomfortable way the leather pants he’s wearing stretch as he tries to bend his legs.
“Hale?” she asks, turning to Derek and quirking an eyebrow at him.
“I was at the club and was under the impression that Agent Stilinski had approached Deucalion voluntarily,” Derek admits stiffly, and although he sounds for the most part calm and composed, Stiles can detect a hint of tiredness in his voice. “I know of his reputation and attempted to remove Agent Stilinski from the situation with minimal conflict.”
“By insinuating that I somehow belonged to him,” Stiles adds, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Lovely,” Lydia sighs, rubbing the heel of her hand over her temple.
“Would either of you care to fill me in on the situation?” Derek asks, the sarcasm in his tone more than obvious.
“It was recently discovered that former Agent Daehler sold Deucalion FBI data encryption keys,” Lydia answers, slipping into a façade of cool professionalism. “We’re as of yet unsure which ones, but we do know that they’re stored on a flash drive, most likely kept at Deucalion’s private residence.”
“So you, what? Sent Agent Stilinski in to seduce him to get access to it?” Derek questions, his tone almost a growl.
“I had a sedative,” Stiles reassures him, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like I was actually going to have to sleep with him. I wasn’t even in that much danger.”
“Deucalion’s more dangerous than you think he is,” Derek retorts, his eyes narrowing. “I’m not sorry for messing up your shitty plan.”
“Well, now we have no plan, Agent Hale, and every moment we spend trying to come up with a new one is another chance Deucalion has to use the encryption keys,” Lydia says, apparently unwilling to deal with Derek’s protests.
“Looks like we’re going to have to send in someone else,” Stiles sighs, raking a hand through his overly-gelled hair. “Think Danny’s up to it?”
“It won’t work,” Derek butts in and it takes all of Stiles’ self-control not to glare at him, because why wouldn’t it work? Everybody loves Danny, and if Deucalion was practically falling over himself trying to get Stiles into his bed, then Danny’s totally got this down.
“Why not?” Lydia asks, but she doesn’t sound angry or defensive. Instead, she sounds legitimately interested, which, Stiles supposes, is probably not that bad of a reaction, considering how Derek seems to have the most experience with Deucalion if they’re both regulars at the same BDSM club. Dungeon, sorry.
Stiles is still trying to wrap his head around that, truth be told.
“When Deucalion sets his sights on someone, he’s ruthless about it,” Derek says, the tension back in his shoulders. “He’s not going to let Sti – Agent Stilinski go that easily.”
Stiles tries not to think too hard about how Derek falters on his name.
“So I should just go back in and tell him that we had a fight or something and that I actually want him to be my Dom or whatever?” Stiles asks, mind buzzing with thoughts as he tries to form a more through plan.
“No,” Derek replies, shaking his head. “It’s not that simple. Deucalion will find it a turn off if he thinks you’re flighty. He wants someone that he can be sure will be loyal to him.”
“Then we’re stuck between a rock and a hard place,” Stiles sighs, slumping back in his chair. “Fuck my life.”
Silence descends over the room for a moment.
“There is one way we could do it,” Derek finally says, making both Stiles and Lydia perk up, looking at him expectantly.
“And that is?” Lydia pries when Derek seems reluctant to continue.
“If there’s anything that Deucalion likes more than dominating subs, it’s dominating other Doms,” Derek continues, an uneasy expression on his face as he looks over at Stiles. “If he thinks that you’re loyal to me, he’ll do his best to lure you away.”
“And you think I should let myself be lured,” Stiles concludes, frowning.
“You can’t make it too easy for him, but people already think that I’m having trouble…” Derek pauses, his face screwing up in an unhappy expression. “… satisfying you, due to our display earlier. He’ll think he has a chance, and he’ll also enjoy the idea of stealing you from me.”
“So I’d pretend to be your sub, we’d prance around the club a few times to rub it in Deucalion’s face, and then I’d let myself be seduced so I can break into his apartment,” Stiles summarizes, chewing on his lower lip as he thinks it over.
“You really think this will work, Hale?” Lydia asks, her tone entirely serious.
“Yes,” Derek replies, unwavering.
“Then you have my go ahead,” Lydia says, nodding. “Since you know the most about the situation, I’ll defer to you, but I expect regular updates.”
“When do I need to be ready to go back to the club?” Stiles asks, doing his best to avoid thinking about Derek in leather. He’s mostly failing.
“We’re not going back any time soon,” Derek answers, his gaze heavy and intense. “You have a lot of training to do, first.”
Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he butterflies in his stomach are from fear or anticipation.
Stiles stands in front of Derek’s apartment door, fist poised to knock. He hesitates, letting his fingers uncurl as he roughly rubs his hand through his hair, letting out a small noise of frustration. He considers walking away for a moment. Surely they could find a different plan which doesn’t involve him pretending to be in some weird, kinky relationship with the guy he’d been crushing on for the past few years.
Not that he’d be opposed to finally getting the chance to have sex with Derek. In all likelihood, it would ruin him for anyone else, but Stiles is starting to think that that might not be too bad of a thing.
He raises his hand again, but before he can knock, the door swings open.
“Are you going to come in or are you going to just stand there all day?” Derek asks, leaning against the doorframe.
“Shut up,” Stiles mutters, cheeks burning as he pushes past Derek into the apartment. “So, let’s get this over with. Just tie me down and fuck my face or whatever.”
“We’re not having sex,” Derek says evenly, making Stiles look over at him in surprise.
“We’re not?” he asks, unsure if he’s relieved or disappointed.
“Not unless it’s our only option,” Derek answers, closing the door behind him and moving fully into the living room.
“Then what am I doing here?” Stiles asks, folding his arms over his chest.
“There’s more to a Dom/sub relationship than just sex,” Derek explains, moving closer to Stiles, who’s suddenly struck by the feeling of being prey yet again.
But then Derek changes his course, moving over to the couch in the middle of the living room and sitting down on it before reaching over and placing a pillow on the ground in front of him, between his feet. Stiles frowns, confused, but moves to go sit beside him.
“Stop,” Derek orders, making Stiles freeze. “Kneel.”
Stiles glances down at the pillow and back up at Derek, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline.
“Aren’t we supposed to have, like, a contract or something before you start ordering me around?” Stiles asks, staring at the pillow between Derek’s legs dubiously.
“If it makes you feel more comfortable, we can write one up,” Derek answers, his tone surprisingly free of judgment. “You don’t have to kneel right now if you don’t want to, but if you do decide to, that’s all I’m asking you to do at the moment. Nothing else.”
“Right,” Stiles says, a little wary and nervous. “Fine. Whatever.”
He tries to sink to his knees in one fluid movement, but instead it’s a little awkward and he has to squirm for a moment in order to find the most comfortable position. It’s not like he’s exactly unfamiliar with kneeling in front of a guy’s crotch, but he’s willing to admit that this is a very different situation than he’s ever been in before.
“Good,” Derek says, and Stiles feels a shiver run down his spine at the praise. “Now, I’m going to talk and you’re going to listen. Save your questions for when I’m finished.”
“But – ” Stiles starts, earning himself a glare.
“The first thing you’re going to have to learn is obedience,” Derek interrupts and Stiles scowls, but falls silent. “One of the worst things you, as my sub, can do is argue with me in public. My reputation’s already taken a hit because of how you were flirting with Deucalion.”
Stiles winces at that. Not that it’s really his fault – Derek was the one who decided to try and play knight in shining armor. He did it to himself.
“Obviously if there’s something that I’m doing which really, truly is bothering you, then you can indicate to me that you’d wish to discuss it with me in a more private setting,” Derek continues. “As for other basic etiquette rules, never greet another Dom before they greet you. Also, whenever we’re at the club, stay by my side unless I give you explicit permission to leave.”
Derek reaches out and threads his fingers through Stiles’ hair then, and it’s all he can do to keep from leaning into the touch shamelessly. He’s still not entirely sure what he thinks of this whole BDSM thing, and he’s pretty sure his legs are already falling asleep, but he can admit to himself that kneeling for Derek isn’t entirely unpleasant.
“Lastly, at the club you are to refer to me as ‘Sir.’ However, if any other Dom attempts to pressure you into using a title for them, you are to decline. I’m the only one who you should allow that privilege,” Derek concludes, his thumb tracing small circles on Stiles’ scalp. “Questions?”
“Can I stop kneeling now?” Stiles asks, wincing as he shifts slightly, his feet already tingly.
“No,” Derek replies, surprising Stiles. “That’s what I want to work on today, actually. Although not all Doms require their subs to kneel in attendance, I do. There are enough people at the club who know this that it’ll be strange if you don’t kneel, so you better start getting used to it.”
“I have no idea how I didn’t realize you were a sadist before this,” Stiles mutters, making Derek let out a little snort of laughter.
“Well, it’s not exactly something I advertise,” Derek says, removing his hand from Stiles’ hair, and Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from whimpering at the loss. God this is embarrassing. “I really am sorry about this, though.”
“What?” Stiles asks, confused about what Derek means by that.
“I’m sorry for putting you in this situation,” Derek sighs, and Stiles almost thinks he sees Derek’s fingers twitch, like he wants to bury them in Stiles’ hair again. “I know this isn’t what you want, and I’ll do my best to avoid making you submit.”
“Whatever. It’s fine,” Stiles replies, shrugging.
“No, it’s really not,” Derek says, shaking his head. “Forcing someone to submit against their will – it’s disgusting, to say the least.”
“Yeah, well, I’m making you dominate someone you never wanted to dominate, so we’re kind of in the same boat, aren’t we?” Stiles replies, smiling wryly.
Derek stares back at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression on his face.
“So,” Stiles continues, breaking the now slightly awkward silence between them. “Are you just gonna have me kneel for forever, or are you actually gonna teach me anything?”
“You’re way too mouthy to be a sub,” Derek snorts, but he sounds amused instead of annoyed.
“I can be good for you,” Stiles finds himself saying, the words spilling out of his mouth before he can even think about them. Derek tenses for a moment and Stiles wonders if he’s overstepped some sort of boundary.
“We should watch a movie,” Derek says abruptly, throwing Stiles off guard.
“Okay,” Stiles replies slowly, still feeling a little disoriented as he watches Derek stand up from the couch. He starts to stand, too, but Derek motions for him to keep kneeling.
“If you can kneel through the entire film, we’ll call it good,” Derek explains, which Stiles supposes makes sense. “Do you have any preferences?”
Stiles pauses for a moment, considering it.
“I’ll watch whatever you wanna watch,” he finally answers, making Derek’s lips twitch up into a little smile.
“That’s the perfect answer for if we were in the club, but seriously, you’re going to be kneeling uncomfortably for the next few hours. I’m not trying to torture you too much,” Derek says, making Stiles abruptly aware that he’s already fidgeting on the pillow. “So, what do you actually want to watch?”
“Got any superhero movies?” Stiles asks, a small, slightly lopsided grin on his face.
“Is Batman Begins good enough?” Derek replies, making Stiles let out a little bark of laughter.
“You, Agent Hale, are a man after my own heart,” Stiles says, suddenly feeling much more relaxed than he was earlier.
“Derek,” he replies, confusing Stiles for a moment. “Call me Derek.”
“Sure,” Stiles says evenly, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. “Derek.”
“Right,” Derek replies. “I’m going to go make some popcorn now.”
“Sounds good,” Stiles answers as Derek turns to head into the kitchen. “I’ll just… wait here.”
Once Derek’s out of sight, he lets himself slump back against the edge of the couch. He’s still kneeling, of course, because he knows Derek’s right about that much at least – that he’s going to have to get used to this. It’s uncomfortable as fuck, although he can’t help but think that it felt more natural when Derek was there, close enough that, if Stiles wanted to, he could have rested his cheek on Derek’s thigh.
Derek reenters the living room a moment later in order to set up the movie, digging through the bookshelf next to the TV and coming up with an actual disk, which he pops into a DVD player. Stiles watches on idly as Derek fiddles with the remote and navigates through the main menu before ducking back into the kitchen and reappearing with a large bowl of popcorn. He sits back down on the couch in the same position as before, one leg on either side of Stiles.
Really, this could almost be a normal date. If, you know, Stiles wasn’t required to kneel the entire time.
Of course, that would also require Derek actually wanting to date him.
“I hope you’re not planning on keeping all that popcorn for yourself,” Stiles says, tilting his head back to look up at Derek. It’s a little awkward, uncomfortable for his neck, and it makes Derek look like he’s upside down.
“I was thinking that I could feed it to you,” Derek replies evenly, although Stiles knows him well enough after working together for so many years that he’s able to detect the slight hint of uncertainty in his tone. “A lot of couples at the club do it.”
“Sure,” Stiles answers, shrugging, and Derek looks surprised, like he was expecting more resistance. But, hey, it’s not like Stiles is going to say no to having Derek’s gorgeous fingers in the vicinity of his mouth.
Not that Derek needs to know that. Ever.
Derek nods and glances away, fiddling with the TV remote and starting the movie. They’ve both gone back to being a little tense now and Stiles worries his lower lip with his teeth, wondering how to diffuse it. He settles on nudging Derek’s leg and bending his head back again to look at the bowl of popcorn pointedly. Derek rolls his eyes, but picks up a kernel and pops it into Stiles’ open mouth. Stiles also feels him relax minutely. Mission accomplished.
Things continue almost easily from then on. Derek continues to feed him popcorn as they watch the movie, and although Stiles’ lips accidentally catch on his fingers a few times, Derek doesn’t react beyond hesitating slightly. Briefly, Stiles entertains the idea of drawing Derek’s fingers deeper into his mouth and licking the salt and butter off them, but he figures that that would probably make him a little too obvious.
All in all, though, it’s not bad. Not bad at all.
He could almost get used to this. Almost.
“Well, it looks like someone’s been busy since we last talked,” a voice says suddenly, jolting Stiles out of the contented lull he’s fallen into.
Stiles glances up to find a blonde woman sliding onto the couch next to Derek, a mischievous smirk on her face. A second person, a tall black man, sits down beside her, slipping his arm around her waist.
Trigger Warnings: discussion of pain play
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Stiles’ knees are killing him the next day. His feet keep cramping, too.
“No kneeling today,” Stiles groans as he flops down on Derek’s couch. “I’m pretty sure my legs haven’t been this sore since I played lacrosse in high school.”
“We’ll look more closely at your form tomorrow to see if we can find you a more comfortable position,” Derek concedes, eyes flicking over Stiles’ body analytically. “I think I was a little too ambitious with how long I made you kneel yesterday.”
“It’s fine,” Stiles replies, waving off his concerns. “Like I said, I’m just kind of sore. Anyway, what’d’ya got for me today?”
“I was thinking that you need a little more practice following orders,” Derek answers, making Stiles let out a little snort of laughter.
“Hey, I’m not that bad,” Stiles retorts, although he is a little amused. “I’m in the FBI, after all.”
“Fine, let me rephrase that – you need more practice following orders without mouthing off,” Derek replies, and okay, that’s a valid point.
“What are you going to do, then? Gag me?” Stiles challenges, quirking an eyebrow at Derek. “You gonna spank me every time I talk back?”
“What sort of porn have you been watching?” Derek asks, sounding simultaneously annoyed and mildly amused. “That’s not how punishment works.”
“Then how does it work?” Stiles asks, a little curious now. After all, what’s the point of all the whips and chains if they’re not used to punish someone?
“I know this can be kind of hard to grasp for someone who’s not actually a masochist, but they like the pain and humiliation,” Derek explains. “It wouldn’t make sense to use spanking as a punishment if that’s what they get off on. An actual punishment would be having to clean the bathroom or sleep on the couch.”
“That… makes a strange amount of sense,” Stiles says, his face screwing up a bit as he thinks about it. “So, are you gonna put me to work, then?”
“I was thinking that we could cook lunch, and if you mouth off, you have to wash the dishes. If you manage to get through the entire process without complaint, then I’ll do them,” Derek answers, and a lazy grin spreads over Stiles’ face.
“Oh, you’re on,” Stiles says, getting up from the couch and sauntering on over into the kitchen. “What are we making?”
“Pasta with pesto sauce,” Derek replies, guiding Stiles over to the counter with a possessive hand on his lower back. “You can start by grating the cheese.”
Stiles opens his mouth to say ‘rude,’ but he closes it with an audible clack of teeth. Okay, so maybe following Derek’s orders without mouthing off is going to be harder than he thought.
“We’ll need a half cup,” Derek adds, getting the Pecorino cheese out of the refrigerator and handing it to Stiles. “The grater should be in the lower cupboard, to the left of the oven.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles says lazily, almost missing the way it makes Derek freeze for a moment.
“You don’t have to call me that if we’re not around other people,” Derek replies after a moment, gathering the rest of the ingredients and not looking at Stiles.
“I might as well practice, right? So that I don’t forget when it matters,” Stiles replies, shrugging. Derek glances over at him, studying his expression carefully, before nodding and returning to his work.
They fall into a vaguely uncomfortable silence after that, both going about their work.
“So,” Stiles says, wracking his brain for something to say. “How’d you get into this whole – ” He waves his hand around vaguely. “ – thing?”
“How’d I get into BDSM?” Derek clarifies, Stiles nodding in confirmation. “I’m not sure exactly. There have always been elements of it in my sex life.”
“Okay, but, like, how’d you find the dungeon and stuff?” Stiles asks, looking over at Derek curiously. “Did you just google ‘kinky sex club’ or something?”
“Braeden introduced me to it,” Derek says simply, focusing on the basil he’s washing for the pesto.
“Wait, Braeden? Like the bartender Braden?” Stiles asks, blinking at him, his lips turning down in a slight frown.
“We were in a relationship for a while,” Derek answers, shrugging.
“I thought she was a Dom,” Stiles replies, thinking back to the predatory look she’d given him when he was there.
“She is,” Derek says, surprising Stiles. “I thought I was a switch for a while, but apparently not. We parted ways amicably, though. She’s still a good friend.”
“That’s… nice,” Stiles finally replies, trying to ignore the twisting feeling in his stomach at the thought of Derek having sex with someone else. Oh, he has no doubt that the two of them looked beautiful together, but at the same time, the thought of Derek being submissive for someone puts a bad taste in his mouth.
“I’ll introduce you two sometime,” Derek says, measuring out a fourth cup of pine nuts.
“Sure,” Stiles agrees, tamping down on any irrational feelings of jealousy he has. It’s not like he has any claim over Derek after all, not really. “She seems nice.”
“She’s very nice,” Derek replies, his lips quirking up into a smirk. “Until she gets her hands on a crop, that is.”
Stiles flushes at the thought.
Things fall into a comfortable rhythm after that. Stiles finds himself biting his lip to avoid saying something abrasive more often than not, but it’s not all that bad. Derek reverts back to being mostly quiet, occasionally adding monosyllabic words to the conversation, but his standoffish demeanor is contradicted by the extra bits of physical contact he doles out. Stiles has a hard time acting unaffected whenever Derek brushes a hand over the back of his neck or against his shoulder. It’s probably just to acclimatize him to casual contact, but part of him can’t help but wish that it’s just because Derek can’t stand to keep his hands off of him.
“I think the pasta’s done,” Stiles says from where he’s standing at the stove, stirring the pot.
“There’s a colander already in the sink,” Derek replies, already scooping the vegetables he’s been stir-frying out of the pan and into an orange ceramic bowl. “Drain the water and then put the noodles into the green bowl on the counter. After that, mix in the pesto.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles answers easily.
“Good boy,” Derek says idly, taking Stiles off guard.
He stumbles slightly, nearly losing his grip on the pot, and a bit of the hot water splashes over the side onto his hand. He lets out a little hiss as it stings his skin, but he grits his teeth and continues on over to the sink, hurriedly pouring the water and pasta out into the collider.
“I’ll take that,” Derek says, grabbing the still overheated pot out of Stiles’ hands before he can protest and moving to place it back on the stovetop.
“Thanks,” Stiles mutters, scrutinizing the top of his hand where the hot water had fallen on him.
“Let me see,” Derek demands, his fingers already circling Stiles’ wrist and drawing it towards him. Stiles rolls his eyes, but doesn’t try to pull away.
“Dude, it’s fine,” he huffs, watching Derek as he examines the slightly reddened skin. “No blisters or anything. It was just a bit of hot water.”
Derek brushes his thumb lightly over the reddish area on Stiles’ hand and Stiles bites his lower lip, holding back a whimper. Derek’s gentle touch feels good, intimate, but at the same time it’s aggravating his burn, making it throb under Derek’s fingers. Stiles kind of wants Derek to lower his lips to it, to soothe it with his tongue, sensations of pain and pleasure warring in his mind.
Stiles snatches his hand back from Derek’s grip, clutching it to his chest and trying to ignore how rapidly his heart is beating.
“I’m fine,” he repeats, turning away from Derek to run his hand under a stream of cool water from the kitchen sink.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to make it worse,” Derek says, his hand coming to rest on the small of Stiles’ back again. Stiles grits his teeth and tries to ignore it, because Derek making him hurt isn’t the problem. It’s really the opposite.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Stiles announces suddenly, brushing past Derek and avoiding his gaze. “I’ll be back in a sec.”
He doesn’t think Derek protests or tries to stop him, but he’s a little too focused on getting to his destination to really bother listening to him. When he gets to the bathroom, he closes the door roughly behind him, locking it and then pressing his back against the wood, sliding down it until he’s hunched over on the floor. He lets his eyes slide shut and focuses on his breathing.
It’s not like he hadn’t known, at least subconsciously, that pain – well, it does something to him.
Like that one time in college when he’d had a one night stand with a girl who’d scratched her nails down his back as he’d fucked her. She’d nearly drawn blood, but he’d come so hard he almost passed out. It’s also no secret that he loves having his hair pulled when he’s giving head. Honestly, he gets bored without it, and he’s threatened more than once to stop blowing someone altogether if they didn’t pull like they meant it.
He’s been blissfully ignoring it for who knows how long, and now Derek fucking Hale has to ruin all of his hard work. And, of course, the worst part of it is that Derek might like it too. Hurting people, that is.
Not that Derek’s interested in hurting him in particular, he has to remind himself, as he runs a hand through his hair. This is all just an act and the burn on his hand is the result of an accident, not anything purposeful.
“Stiles?” a voice says, jolting him out of his thoughts.
“Yeah?” he asks, his voice a little rough.
“Are you alright?” Derek asks, a note of concern in his tone, making Stiles feel suddenly guilty for abandoning him like this to have his own little masochist freak out.
“Yeah, sorry, just,” Stiles starts, unsure exactly how to explain away his odd behavior. “I’ve gotten shot before, so this really shouldn’t hurt as much as it does. It’s embarrassing.”
“There’s a first aid kit under the sink if you need it,” Derek replies, and Stiles feels a little guilty about lying, considering how nice Derek’s being.
“Nah, I’m fine,” Stiles says, looking down at the reddened patch of skin on his hand again. “I’m just being a baby about it.”
“If you’re sure,” Derek replies, although Stiles notes a hint of skepticism in his tone. “I’ll be in the kitchen when you’re ready.”
“Be there in a sec,” Stiles assures him, listening to Derek’s footsteps on the wood floor before letting out a strangled groan and curling up into an even smaller ball, head between his knees.
He’s so fucked.
They go back to the club two days later. Derek’s a little wary about it, thinks that they haven’t quite waited long enough, but they’re running on a time constraint here. They don’t exactly have much of a choice.
The dungeon’s pretty much exactly how Stiles remembers it. It’s just that now instead of feeling awkward and out of place, adrift at sea, he knows exactly what he’s supposed to do. It’s… kind of nice, actually – having a plan and knowing precisely what rules to follow. Really, he’s too focused on staying exactly one step behind Derek’s shoulder and carrying Derek’s suit jacket perfectly so that it doesn’t get wrinkled to feel self-conscious about people’s eyes sliding over him.
They’re going for casual tonight, relaxed. They’ll sit – or, well, Derek will sit and Stiles will kneel – and chat a bit, mingle and make small talk with other patrons. They already know that Deucalion will be at the club tonight, so hopefully they’ll catch his attention.
Rather, hopefully Stiles, kneeling obediently for Derek, will catch his attention.
“Wait here,” Derek says once they’ve entered the lounge area, placing a pillow down on the floor in front of one of the couches. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Stiles nods, his response of “Yes, Sir,” getting caught in his throat. Somehow calling Derek “Sir” here in public instead of in the privacy of Derek’s apartment makes him feel a million times more awkward and exposed.
Instead, he occupies himself with scanning the room for Deucalion. He sees a few people he vaguely recognizes from the last time he was here, but he doesn’t spot him. Then again, he could be either upstairs or downstairs in one of the ‘play’ rooms. The mere thought makes Stiles’ cheeks heat, even though he’s never thought of himself as a prude.
“Everything alright?” Derek asks as he returns, sitting down on the couch, Stiles shifting around to face him.
Is Deucalion here yet?
“Yeah,” Stiles answers, glancing over at the plate that Derek’s now carrying, a beautiful display of various fruits covering it.
I haven’t seen him.
“You didn’t eat much at dinner, so I thought you might be hungry,” Derek says, placing the plate on his lap and reaching out to run his fingers through Stiles’ hair soothingly. Stiles can’t help but lean into the touch.
“I was nervous,” Stiles admits truthfully.
“Don’t be,” Derek replies, stroking his thumb down Stiles’ cheek and then across his lower lip. “I’ve got you.”
Stiles heart aches in his chest, because of how much he wishes Derek actually meant that in a more than platonic capacity. He nearly whimpers when Derek withdraws his hand and he must be more obvious than he thought, because Derek’s lips twitch up into a small smirk, his eyes darkening minutely.
“Here,” Derek says, holding a strawberry up to Stiles’ lips. Stiles breathes an internal sigh of relief, glad to have moved back into relatively familiar territory. Derek’s taken to hand feeding him at most meals, so Stiles has mostly gotten over the initial awkwardness.
He takes the strawberry into his mouth, careful to make sure that his lips don’t do more than lightly brush Derek’s fingertips. He chews it slowly, savoring the sweetness of it and licking the stray juice off his lips. However, he frowns, confused, when Derek doesn’t offer him another berry, still holding out his hand. Stiles glances up questioningly and Derek quirks an eyebrow pointedly at him in response, glancing down at his fingers and then back to Stiles.
Stiles hesitates for a moment, blushing, before ducking his head down and tentatively lapping the stray bits of red juice off Derek’s fingertips.
“Good boy,” Derek murmurs and Stiles shifts awkwardly as an unexpected burst of arousal hits him.
He’s still not entirely sure how he feels about Derek dominating him, controlling him like that, but this is certainly something he could get used to. Idly, he hopes that it’s not too obvious how little effort he’s putting into faking his attraction to Derek.
He can’t afford to think about that, though, he realizes, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind for later examination. He focuses back on Derek, opening his mouth to accept a blueberry this time.
“Well, it looks like someone’s been busy since we last talked,” a voice says suddenly, jolting Stiles out of the contented lull he’s fallen into.
Stiles glances up to find a blonde woman sliding onto the couch next to Derek, a mischievous smirk on her face. A second person, a tall black man, sits down beside her, slipping his arm around her waist. They’re clearly a couple, but Stiles can’t quite figure out who’s the Dom and who’s the sub.
“He’s pretty cute,” the man agrees, appraising Stiles much in the same way his girlfriend is doing. “Not bad, Derek.”
“Erica, Boyd,” Derek greets them, nodding and reaching out to tangle his fingers in Stiles’ hair again. “This is Stiles.”
“Is he the cutie pie you’ve been angsting over for forever?” Erica asks, still smirking, although she’s looking directly at Stiles instead of Derek. Derek glares at her, but she doesn’t seem to notice.
“Oh, he certainly is,” Boyd cuts in, looking amused. “You know Derek wouldn’t settle for anyone else.”
Stiles has to resist the urge to fidget awkwardly, an uncomfortable, unpleasant feeling twisting in his gut as he thinks about Derek pining over someone else. It’s one thing to know that Derek’s not interested in him, but it’s something else entirely to know that he’s actively interested in some other guy. Lucky bastard.
“Stiles?” Derek asks, jolting him out of his thoughts and making his face flush in embarrassment.
“Sorry, Sir,” Stiles replies, worrying his lower lip. “I didn’t mean to zone out.”
“He had a tough day at work,” Derek explains to Erica and Boyd, which Stiles supposes is at least partially true. “I’m trying to help him unwind, but he gets so tense.”
“Maybe a good whipping would do him good,” Erica suggests, making Stiles go rigid at the thought. It’s absolutely not something they’ve discussed in the slightest, and although he has to admit that the idea isn’t entirely off-putting, his fear is winning out at the moment.
“I don’t think he’s quite earned it yet,” Derek replies, much to Stiles’ relief, pressing another strawberry to his lips, probably in an effort to indicate that Stiles should leave the talking to him. “He wasn’t very well behaved the last time we were here.”
“Well that’s a shame,” another voice says, making Stiles tense all over again.
“Deucalion,” Derek replies, his tone cool and uninviting, a complete shift from how he was just talking to Erica and Boyd.
“I’ve heard you’re quite skilled,” Deucalion continues, undeterred by Derek’s coldness. Stiles can feel Deucalion’s eyes on him, and while he’s glad that their plan seems to be working, his skin is crawling under Deucalion’s scrutiny. “Even Marin gave you high praise, and she’s quite a tough woman to please.”
“Maybe next time,” Derek says evenly, feeding Stiles a piece of pineapple to relax him. It works disturbingly well.
“I can’t wait,” Deucalion replies, smirking slightly. “I’m sure he makes the most gorgeous sounds.”
“Stand down, Deucalion,” Boyd butts in, glaring at him in much the same way Derek is.
“I’m just making casual conversation,” Deucalion says, sounding almost amused. “After all, I’m quite sure that Stiles here doesn’t mind my presence.”
Stiles has to resist the urge to flinch at the implication and he sees Derek tense, too. Stiles can’t help but lean forward and press his cheek to Derek’s inner thigh to try and calm him, looking up through his eyelashes.
“If Sir doesn’t want you here, then neither do I,” he manages, although he forces himself to sound a little hesitant. He glances over at Deucalion, pleased to note that his jaw is clenched. Thankfully it doesn’t seem like his plan has backfired. Instead, Deucalion looks like he wants to challenge Derek to a death match.
Fuck, hopefully Deucalion doesn’t have Derek killed or something. He is a drug lord, after all.
“I apologize for the intrusion,” Deucalion finally says, even going so far as to give Derek a respectful nod. Well, it’s more of a head tilt than a nod, but that’s honestly more than Stiles expected. Derek, too, seems taken off guard.
With that, Deucalion leaves. Stiles can’t help but watch him as he makes his way to another set of couches where a few other people are seated – a pair of twins, a bald man, and a woman who’s oddly barefoot. Stiles is pretty sure he recognizes the man and the woman from the FBI’s file on Deucalion’s known associates, but the twins he doesn’t think he knows.
“Has Deucalion been harassing you?” another unfamiliar voice says, drawing Stiles’ gaze away from the man in question and to a pretty black woman now standing next to Derek.
“It’s fine, Marin,” Derek replies, respectfully but firmly. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I may not be able to control what he does outside of my dungeon, but when he’s in here, he has to play by my rules,” Marin says, her tone a little sharp. Stiles vaguely remembers hearing her name a few times in passing and he thinks he recalls that the woman at the front desk referred to her as the dungeon owner.
“He didn’t cross any hard lines,” Erica reassures her, glancing briefly to Stiles before focusing back on Marin. “He got close, but then he backed off.”
“I’ll have Braeden keep an eye on him,” Marin says, her lips pursed and an unhappy expression on her face.
“Thank you,” Derek replies, nodding respectfully. Marin returns the gesture and moves to sit down next to him on the couch, her eyes moving to settle on Stiles.
“I’d heard rumors that you’d found yourself a sub,” Marin says, her eyes still focused on Stiles even though she’s addressing Derek. “However, I was under the impression that you didn’t normally go for novices.”
“I suppose I just hadn’t found anyone who I was willing to train before,” Derek answers, brushing a hand through Stiles’ hair. Stiles feels himself flush in embarrassment and shame, because he hadn’t realized just how much effort Derek was having to put into this before.
Marin hums in agreement, but Stiles can’t help but feel that she’s somehow not fully convinced.
“I think I see Isaac,” Boyd announces, braking the momentary silence.
“Let’s go see if he wants to play,” Erica replies, a smirk spreading across her face again before she turns to address Derek. “If you and Stiles want to watch, you’re more than welcome.”
“Maybe later,” Derek answers, pressing another piece of pineapple to Stiles’ lips, which now seems to be his preferred method of relaxation/distraction.
“Your loss,” Boyd says, quirking an eyebrow at Derek before getting up off the couch with Erica. “We’re still on for lunch on Saturday, right?”
“Of course,” Derek replies, nodding.
“We won’t be too angry if you decide to cancel on us, though,” Erica says, looking from Derek to Stiles pointedly. “It’s understandable if you get distracted.”
Derek rolls his eyes, but doesn’t protest. Boyd lets out a little laugh and Erica smirks before the two of them turn to head over towards the entrance, where a pale, curly haired man is now standing.
“I’m going to get something from the bar,” Derek announces after a moment, standing up from the couch. “I’ll be back in just a second.”
With that, Stiles is left alone with Marin, uncertain what exactly to do or say.
“You two haven’t done any pain play,” Marin says, abruptly breaking the silence between them. Stiles shifts uncomfortably as he realizes that it’s not a question.
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, unsure what else to say.
“Is it because you’re not interested or because you’re scared?” she asks, studying him carefully.
“Uh,” Stiles answers, thrown off guard. “I don’t know.”
It’s a lie, of course. It’s been two days and he still hasn’t been able to get the memory of Derek touching his burn out of his head.
“I think you do know,” Marin counters, leaning back into the couch and crossing her legs. “And you should know that, sometimes, a little agony is worth it.”
“I – ” Stiles starts, pausing and running his tongue over his dry lower lip. “I guess.”
“Derek’s a good Dom. He’ll take care of you,” Marin says, her tone softening a little bit.
“Yeah,” Stiles finally manages, averting his eyes and staring down at the floor. “Yeah, I know he will.”
He doesn’t doubt it’s the truth.
“That’s all you two have for me?” Lydia demands as she watches Derek and Stiles coolly from across her desk. “All you did was catch Deucalion’s attention again?”
“We can’t rush this,” Derek protests, his mouth turned down in a tight frown.
“Well, you’re going to have to do it faster regardless,” Lydia replies, unwavering. “Thankfully, it doesn’t seem like Deucalion’s used the encryption keys yet, but like I said before, every moment they’re in his possession is another moment he could be using them.”
“We’ll figure something out,” Stiles assures her, sighing.
“As much as I really don’t want to know what the two of you are getting up to in there, I need to know at least the basics of what you’re planning to do,” Lydia says, looking between Stiles and Derek carefully.
“We’ll put on a show,” Stiles announces, making Derek look at him sharply.
“We aren’t having sex,” Derek says through clenched teeth. Stiles doesn’t react visibly, but he’s trying to ignore how much it hurts that Derek wouldn’t be willing to have sex with him even if they absolutely had to.
“Look, we don’t have to have sex, necessarily. You could, like – ” Stiles sneaks a glance at Lydia, blushing slightly. “ – do the thing that Erica and Boyd were talking about yesterday. Deucalion seemed pretty interested, right?”
“You’re a novice. We’re not doing that,” Derek says firmly, his posture stiff.
“Hey, Lydia, do you think you could give us a moment?” Stiles sighs, turning to Lydia and giving her his best pleading expression. She looks less than impressed.
“Fine. I’ll give you ten, but when I come back in, I’m going to need your plan in a little more detail,” she replies, standing up from her chair. “And if I deem it unsafe, I get the last word on the subject.”
“Right,” Stiles says, nodding.
It’s not until the office door closes behind her with an audible click that they start talking again.
“I’m not whipping you,” Derek says firmly, determined and stubborn. Which, really, he should know that that’ll only make Stiles fight him harder.
“If you want this to work, then you better,” Stiles snaps, frowning. “I can take it.”
“It’s not a matter of you taking it. It’s a matter of you wanting it,” Derek protests, unwavering. “You’re not a masochist, and it would obvious to everyone there that you’re faking it.”
“How the fuck would you know if I’m a masochist or not?” Stiles retorts, his heart beating faster in his chest. “I could be.”
“Not based on the way you reacted last night,” Derek snorts, making Stiles scowl at him. “You were scared.”
“Can’t I want it, but also be scared?” Stiles asks, his tone even.
“This isn’t going to work,” Derek answers, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest.
“I can’t give blowjobs without someone yanking at my hair,” Stiles says suddenly, making Derek look at him sharply. “Once a girl scratched up my back with her nails and I came so hard I nearly passed out. Last month I had a one night stand, and the guy gripped my wrists so tightly that I got bruises and I spent the entire next day touching them – ”
“No,” Derek interrupts, making Stiles close his mouth with an audible click. “So you like a little pain. Plenty of people do. What you’re asking me to inflict on you is on an entire different level, though. You may think you want it, but I can’t just throw you in the deep end and expect you to – ”
“I trust you,” Stiles says, looking Derek directly in the eye. “I trust you to take care of me and I trust you to know what you’re doing and I trust that you’ll stop if I ask you to and I – ”
“Stiles – ” Derek snaps, but Stiles barrels on.
“Do you remember when we first met?” he asks suddenly, clearly taking Derek off guard.
“Yes,” Derek answers after a moment, clearly wary and uncertain.
“You were part of the team sent to retrieve me when I got myself captured by the mob in NYC,” Stiles says evenly even as his heart stutters as he thinks about it. “I started having a panic attack once you got me out of there and you – ” Stiles pauses for a moment. “ – you treated me like a sub going into subdrop, didn’t you?
“I wasn’t sure what else to do,” Derek admits.
“Yeah, well, it worked, and I trust you because of it,” Stiles replies, still maintaining eye contact with Derek. “So can’t you just trust me this once? Trust that I know myself.”
“I don’t like it,” Derek sighs after a moment of tense silence.
Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but Derek motions for him to keep quiet.
“But I do trust you,” he continues, making a little bit of the tension drain out of Stiles’ boy.
“So you’ll do it?” Stiles asks, his tongue darting out to lick his chapped lower lip.
“We’ll try it at my apartment by ourselves first, and if anything goes wrong, I reserve the right to veto the plan,” Derek replies after a moment, his tone booking no argument. “You will be completely honest with me about how you feel throughout the entire process, and if you feel even the slightest bit uncomfortable with how things are going, you’ll ask me to stop.”
“Sure,” Stiles says easily, trying not to freak out because, holy shit, they’re actually doing this. He’s still not entirely sure if he’s more excited or scared. Really, he just knows that he wants it and he’s pretty damn sure that there’ll be no vetoing going on in the end.
Now they just have to explain everything to Lydia. Lovely.
In real life, don't go straight into whipping and/or flogging unless you're an undercover FBI agent who desperately needs to recover a flash drive of classified information from a drug lord. This has been a PSA.
Also, don't expect the other chapters to update this quickly. This is a fluke, okay.
“I’m going to be flogging your upper back, in the area near your shoulder blades,” Derek continues, and Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds as Derek brings a hand up to trace the area he’s referring to. “It's one of the few areas that can take a solid beating safely.”
“And here I thought you’d want to have a go at my ass,” Stiles quips, but his breath hitches slightly as Derek starts massaging his shoulders firmly, deft fingers pressing into the muscle.
“Maybe next time,” Derek replies, his voice low, and Stiles feels a burst of arousal travel through him. “I figured you’d like to be able to sit tomorrow, though.”
This chapter contains whipping/flogging. In fact, it's pretty much all whipping/flogging, considering it's just one long scene.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Holy shit, how many of these do you have?” Stiles asks, gaping and wide eyed as he surveys the display set out on Derek’s kitchen table. He reaches out to touch a long, single tailed, leather whip, but Derek bats his hand away before he can make contact.
“Don’t touch that,” Derek orders, but thankfully he sounds more like Annoyed-Derek than Dom-Derek at the moment. “We’re probably not even going to get to it tonight.”
“Why not?” Stiles asks, still eyeing that particular whip. His heart rate increases minutely as he wonders what it would feel like against his skin.
“Single tail whips are the most intense,” Derek explains, moving to the other end of the table to where a series of different toys are laid out. Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he should call them whips or not. Instead of a single tail, they each have a hilt with multiple strands of leather or some other material attached, and, honestly, they look a little scarier than the whip he’d been examining earlier.
“Having any second thoughts?” Derek asks, apparently sensing some of Stiles’ hesitance.
“No,” Stiles answers firmly, because although he’s still nervous, he’s not backing down from this. Now that the idea’s planted itself in his mind, he knows he’s not going to be able to forget about it until he gets a taste of the real thing.
“These are floggers,” Derek explains as Stiles walks over to stand next to him, picking up the one at the very end of the table and holding it out towards Stiles. “You can hold it, but don’t try to throw it.”
“Sure,” Stiles replies, accepting the flogger and turning it over in his hands. The tresses feel as soft as butter under his hands, unlike the rough stiffness he’d been expecting.
“That’s the one we’ll be starting with,” Derek says, and Stiles can feel Derek examining him closely as he continues to run his hands over the flogger. “It’s deerskin, so it should just give a light thud.”
“Thud?” Stiles asks, finally managing to tear his eyes away from the flogger to look over at Derek questioningly.
“There are two types of sensations you can get from impact play – sting and thud,” Derek explains, taking the flogger back from Stiles and placing it on the table again. “A sting is a sharper sensation felt more on the skin, while a thud goes deeper and is more spread out.”
“So like a slap versus a punch,” Stiles summarizes, mind buzzing as he tries to predict which he’ll prefer, or if he’ll even have a preference.
“Pretty much,” Derek says, nodding and looking out over the rest of the floggers and whips on the table. “Most floggers have more thud than sting, while the opposite’s true for single tail whips.”
“So I’m assuming the plan is to start out light and then move down the line?” Stiles asks, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, anticipation thrumming through him.
“Yes,” Derek answers simply. “Ideally, we’d do this over a period of weeks, or even months, but unfortunately we don’t have the luxury of time. Therefore, I’ll give you one or two good hits and then we’ll pause to discuss how you feel and whether we should move to the next toy, continue with the current one, or stop altogether.”
“So should I, uh,” Stiles starts, his cheeks heating slightly. “Should I pick out a safeword or something?”
“Only if you think you’ll be able to remember it in the heat of the moment,” Derek says seriously. “If you say ‘stop’ at any time, though, I’ll stop. I’d also prefer to use the stoplight method – green for – ”
“Go, yellow for slow down and discuss, red for stop,” Stiles interrupts, finishing the statement for him. “Yeah, I know.”
“Christ, you’re already turning into an SAM,” Derek huffs, sounding simultaneously annoyed and amused.
“An SAM?” Stiles repeats, confused.
“Smart ass masochist,” Derek replies with a small smirk.
“Now that sounds like a label I can get behind,” Stiles says, returning Derek’s smirk. “So, how do you want me?”
Derek leads him through the door and out into the living room. Stiles had noticed the rearrangement when he came in, of course, but it still looks strange, seeing all the future pushed to the sides. It leaves the center of the room clear and open, though, which is probably what Derek was going for. There is, however, one wall which has also been left unblocked, and Stiles has a feeling he knows how Derek’s going to have him positioned.
“Take off your shirt and stand facing the wall. Brace your hands against it,” Derek orders, and this time Stiles is certain he’s slipped fully into Dom mode. Stiles hesitates for a moment – not because he isn’t eager to get this show on the road, but because he’s just realizing that he’s probably going to have to be naked for this – or at least partially so.
“Do you need me to undress you myself?” Derek asks, quirking an eyebrow at him.
Stiles sends him a mild glare, but complies, roughly tugging his shirt up over his head and then dropping it onto the floor. He tries not to feel too self-conscious when he feels Derek’s eyes on him, but it’s pretty difficult. He avoids Derek’s gaze and starts towards the wall.
“Stiles,” Derek says, making him stop in his tracks and look back at Derek questioningly. “Come back here and fold your shirt properly. I won’t tolerate untidiness.”
Stiles opens his mouth to make a comment about how Derek should know by now that he’s naturally untidy, but he thinks better of it and just nods, walking back and crouching down to scoop the shirt up off the floor. He does his best to focus on folding it instead on how Derek’s watching him like a hawk. It sends a shiver down his spine, and he sincerely hopes that Derek somehow misses it.
“Where should I put it? Uh, Sir?” Stiles asks, hastily adding the ‘Sir’ on at the end, because although this is still an informal session, when Derek slips into his more Dominant personality, Stiles can’t help but fall back on his recent training, at least to a certain extent.
“Just set it on the coffee table,” Derek answers, nodding towards where it’s pushed up against the opposite wall. Stiles nods and complies before walking back to the other wall and getting in position, his heart already beating a mile per minute.
“Now,” Derek says, suddenly sounding much closer to Stiles than he was just a moment ago, making him jump. “The first thing we need to do is warm you up a bit.”
“Warm me up?” Stiles asks, his voice a little strangled as he wonders what exactly Derek means by that.
“You’re pretty tense right now,” Derek answers. “You need to loosen up a bit before we start, get in the mood.”
“I – okay,” Stiles replies, nodding. He already feels like he’s pretty ‘in the mood’ just by having Derek here behind him, close enough that he’d just have to lean back slightly for them to be touching.
“Can I touch you?” Derek asks, surprising Stiles. He didn’t think Derek would ask about it, after everything else he’s already allowed Derek to do to him. Not that he doesn’t appreciate Derek’s consideration, of course.
“Yeah, sure. Knock yourself out,” Stiles answers flippantly, although truthfully his heart rate’s increasing at the mere thought of Derek’s hands on him.
“I’m going to be flogging your upper back, in the area near your shoulder blades,” Derek continues, and Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from making any embarrassing sounds as Derek brings a hand up to trace the area he’s referring to. “It's one of the few areas that can take a solid beating safely.”
“And here I thought you’d want to have a go at my ass,” Stiles quips, but his breath hitches slightly as Derek starts massaging his shoulders firmly, deft fingers pressing into the muscle.
“Maybe next time,” Derek replies, his voice low, and Stiles feels a burst of arousal travel through him. “I figured you’d like to be able to sit tomorrow, though.”
“Well, it’s not like I’ve never had trouble sitting comfortably after an intense night before,” Stiles says, the words spilling past his lips before he can really think them through. For a moment, Derek’s hands seem to press into his shoulder blades harder than necessary, but that might have just been Stiles imagining things, because Derek's hands are back to gently massaging Stiles’ shoulders a split-second later.
“I’m going to stick to your upper back tonight,” Derek replies, shifting his hands to run a fingertip down Stiles’ spine. Stiles can’t help but shiver under his touch. “If I get anywhere near your spine, though, I need you to say something immediately. It’s highly unlikely that I will, but I don’t want to risk actually injuring you.”
“I can do that,” Stiles answers, nodding. He blushes at how husky his voice sounds already, just from having Derek massage his shoulders.
“Good,” Derek says, finally removing his hands from Stiles’ skin. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”
With that, he pulls away, probably to go retrieve the first flogger. Anticipation and anxiety curl in Stiles’ gut, but he does his best to keep still and maintain position. His back feels a little cold now without Derek nearby, his body heat radiating out over the small space between them.
Barely a moment passes before Stiles hears Derek’s returning footsteps, though.
“Good boy,” Derek murmurs, stepping up behind Stiles again.
Stiles’ eyes flutter shut as he feels Derek touch his back again – only this time, it’s not Derek he’s feeling. It takes him a moment to recognize the feel of the soft deerskin tresses against his back, but when he does, it makes his heart skip a beat. Derek doesn’t hit him with it, though – just traces it over his skin, like he’d done with his fingers earlier.
Stiles is fairly certain he’s never been turned on more in his life. He can already feel his cock taking interest in the proceedings, and he’s pretty damn sure things are only going to get better from here.
“I’m going to start on your left,” Derek announces, backing up slightly.
“Right,” Stiles replies, swallowing thickly. “Green, or whatever.”
The strike comes barely a moment after the words leave Stiles’ mouth. He lets out a grunt, but he’s more surprised than anything. It takes a second for him to really register the hit, but even when he does it doesn’t really feel like much.
“Stiles?” Derek asks, and Stiles blinks, realizing that Derek’s probably waiting for his response.
“Hit me again, but, uh – ” Stiles falters for a moment. “ – harder. Harder, this time.”
Derek doesn't make any move to flog him again, though. Stiles frowns, wondering what –
“Could you, uh. Could you please hit me harder?” Stiles asks, licking his chapped lips. “Sir?”
“Only because you asked so nicely,” Derek answers, and really, Stiles is having a harder and harder time understanding how he didn’t know about Derek’s sadistic streak before. It seems so obvious now.
The next strike that comes is harder, better, but somehow it’s still not quite enough. He can feel a tingling at his shoulder, but he needs a sting – something sharper.
“How was that?” Derek asks, stepping closer again and running a hand over the expanse of skin he’d just struck.
“It’s not really doing much for me,” Stiles admits, unable to keep himself from arching up into Derek’s touch.
“In what way?” Derek replies, his hand hesitating.
“It’s just not enough,” Stiles clarifies, quick to make sure that Derek doesn’t take his words the wrong way. “It doesn’t really hurt and I need – ”
“More,” Derek finishes for him, and Stiles glances back over his shoulder to find Derek looking at him with wide-blown pupils.
“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, unable to tear his gaze away from Derek.
“I’ll go get the next one, then,” Derek replies, moving away again, and Stiles has to bite his lips not to whine at the loss.
Thankfully the distance from Derek helps Stiles gather his thoughts again. They haven’t even gotten to the good part yet, though, and he’s already having trouble keeping his wits about him. Well, hopefully he’ll be able to chalk up anything embarrassing he’ll undoubtedly say to the intense experience.
“What’s this one?” Stiles asks once he hears Derek’s footsteps again.
“Elk,” Derek answers, running the falls of the flogger over Stiles’ skin again, just like he did with the first one. It’s still feels soft, but at the same time it’s heavier than the deerskin flogger, thicker. “I’m going to strike your right side now.”
“Okay,” Stiles replies, bracing himself for the blow.
The leather falls against Stiles’ back. It’s less of a surprise than the first time, but the feel of it takes him slightly off guard. The blow radiates deeper than the previous one, settling into his muscle. What he chases, though, is the sharp, prickling pain on the surface of his skin. It’s less prominent than the deeper pain – the ‘thud,’ he supposes – but somehow it seems far more overwhelming. In a good way, though.
“How was that?” Derek asks, abruptly dragging Stiles back out of his thoughts.
“I – good, but not quite – ” Stiles starts, trying to figure out how to describe exactly what’s missing.
“Start by describing how it felt,” Derek orders, stepping forward to rub his hand over Stiles’ back again, simultaneously soothing and painful. “Good? Bad?”
“Good,” Stiles manages, taking a deep breath. “Definitely, good.”
“Okay,” Derek says, fingers tracing light circles over Stiles’ skin. “Elk floggers tend to have more thud than sting. Were you able to tell the difference at all?”
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, nodding. “Yeah, I – I think I need more sting. The thud isn’t bad, but it’s not – ”
He shrugs, unsure exactly how to vocalize his feelings. He just can’t find the right words to describe it. Intense isn’t quite the right word, but it’s close, he supposes.
“Do you want to try this flogger again, or would you rather try something else with more sting?” Derek asks, his tone devoid of pressure or judgment.
“If we could move on, that would be nice,” Stiles answers. Derek nods, running his hand over Stiles’ back one more time before going to fetch the next toy. Stiles can’t help but fidget as he waits, though, the pinpricks of pain still dancing on the surface of his skin. He’s starting to feel more of that deeper ache, too – the ‘thud.’
“You still there?” Derek asks, abruptly making Stiles focus on his voice instead of the light pain spreading through his limbs, making his mind feel a little clouded.
“Yeah, sorry, just – ” Stiles says, shaking his head to clear it. “ – zoned out for a moment.”
“How do you feel?” Derek questions, moving in closer and placing a hand on the back of Stiles’ neck, rubbing slow circles through the hair at his nape.
“Um. I’m not really sure,” Stiles replies, biting his lower lip as he tries to think of how to describe it. “Good, I mean. Really good, but my head’s kind of cloudy.”
“You still think you can safeword?” Derek asks evenly and Stiles nods, because he’s pretty sure he’s not that far gone yet. “Okay. We can continue, then. If anything changes, though, you’ll tell me.”
It’s not a request, but Stiles says, “Yes, Sir,” anyway.
“Good boy,” Derek replies, and Stiles suddenly wishes that Derek would tilt his head down and press a kiss to the back of his neck – or anywhere, really. “What I have for you now is made of suede. It has less of a thud and more of a sting, so you’ll probably like it better.”
“Yeah, that sounds – green,” Stiles answers, arching his back out slightly in invitation. “Very green.”
The hit comes before he can even really think about it, pain blooming over his left shoulder blade. He can’t keep in a gasp this time, surprised, but not negatively so. Stripes of pain flare over the surface of his skin, and he can’t help but let out a low moan as the feeling really hits him, his hands curling into fists against the wall.
“Fuck, please, I need – ” he gasps, grateful when Derek cuts him off with another blow – harder this time – to this back. He can’t help but arch into it, reveling in every point of contact.
“Color?” Derek asks, stepping closer and pressing down on Stiles’ shoulder blade, fingers digging into the muscle and skin there and Jesus fuck, why haven’t they been doing this for years?
“Stiles,” Derek demands, his voice sharper now, effectively cutting through the fog clouding Stiles’ mind. “Can you give me a color?”
“Green,” Stiles manages, but his voice is thick, throaty. “So fucking green, holy shit.”
“Do you want to continue with this flogger or move on to a more intense one?” Derek asks, and Stiles twists to look at him from over his shoulder, only vaguely aware that Derek’s hand is stroking through his hair.
“What’s the next one like?” he replies, licking his lips, pupils blown wide.
“It’s oiled leather,” Derek says, which unfortunately doesn’t mean much to Stiles. “It’ll be intense, lots of sting.”
“You had me at ‘sting’,” Stiles replies, a small smirk spreading over his lips.
“You’re sure you can handle it?” Derek asks, quirking a skeptical eyebrow at him, eyes scanning him slowly.
“I’ll handle whatever you give me, Sir,” Stiles answers, his voice for once devoid of humor or sarcasm.
Derek studies him carefully for a moment longer before nodding, releasing him in order to go grab another flogger from the table. Stiles cranes his neck to try and get a better look at it, and from what he can see, it certainly looks more intense. All of the other floggers had softer, more flexible falls, but these seem a little stiffer – a little meaner.
Stiles can’t help but shiver.
“You ready?” Derek asks as he walks back over, clearly not missing the way Stiles is eyeing the flogger if the way he’s practically fondling it is any indication.
“Yeah,” Stiles breathes, not managing much more than that. His shoulders are still throbbing and his head’s going a little fuzzy again, but all he can think about is the feeling of that leather hitting his skin.
“Are you sure?” Derek questions, close enough now to drag the tresses of the flogger slowly up Stiles’ spine in some sort of divine torture.
“Yeah, I – fuck, I’m so fucking sure – ” Stiles babbles and he’d probably feel embarrassed about how shameless he’s being if he wasn’t so overwhelmed with Derek’s promise of pleasure-pain.
“I don’t know,” Derek says, casually almost, the flogger suddenly leaving his back. “Your back is already pretty red.”
There’s something about Derek’s tone that’s different now. It takes a moment for Stiles to place it, but when he does, it feels like he’s just had the breath knocked out of him.
Because Derek’s actually getting into this.
Stiles is suddenly, painfully aware of the fact that his cock’s already half-hard, pressing up against his jeans. Then again, maybe he’s imagining things. His brain’s already clouded with pain and pleasure and sure, Derek’s probably enjoying things a little bit purely because he’s a Dom, but – but –
“Stiles?” Derek asks, a note of concern in his voice.
“Please,” Stiles blurts out, the word tumbling past his lips without his permission. “Please, Derek, I – I need – ”
“Good boy,” Derek replies, running the flogger gently down Stiles’ spine one more time before pulling it away and stepping back. “Last chance.”
“Green,” Stiles manages, eyes fluttering shut as he waits for the impact.
When it finally comes, it wrenches something between a gasp and a moan from him – a loud, wanton noise, the sort of which he doesn’t usually make unless someone’s fucking him so hard he’s sure he’ll be feeling it for days afterwards. He’s clenched his hands into fists again and he’s glad he always keeps his nails well-trimmed, because otherwise he’s certain he’d have drawn blood already.
Pain blooms across his right shoulder blade, sharp and bright. It’s hot and searing, but strangely superficial and he moans again as it really starts to seep in. He feels a little dizzy with it, high off the endorphins his body’s releasing. His dick’s fully hard now, straining against his jeans in a way which should be uncomfortable, but which instead seems to help heighten and play off all the other sensations.
“Fuck,” he hears Derek mutter behind him, the first concrete piece of evidence that Stiles isn’t the only one getting a little too interested in this.
“Derek,” Stiles manages, still a little lost in the sensation of stripes of red-hot pain crisscrossing his shoulder blade. “Sir, could you – ?”
“Not yet,” Derek replies, and Stiles is too far gone to hold in a whine of protest this time. “I need to know if you think you could take a single tail whip now.”
“A single tail?” Stiles repeats, his heart beat increasing and his cock leaking a bit of precome into his boxer briefs as he remembers the gorgeous black and red leather whip laid out on the table.
“We can stick with the flogger if you want,” Derek says carefully, running the tresses lightly over Stiles’ shoulder, making the pain flare up all over again. “It’ll work just as well as a single tail in the club, too.”
“No, I want to try,” Stiles replies, his cheeks flushing slightly.
“You promise to safeword if you need to,” Derek says. It’s not a question or a request.
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles answers automatically. He can feel Derek’s eyes on him, probably assessing him for truthfulness, but apparently he passes, because a moment later, Derek’s moving to get the whip.
Stiles can’t quite suppress the thrill that runs through him at the thought of finally – finally – getting a taste of that leather against his skin.
He hears it before he sees it.
He can’t help but jump slightly when he hears Derek crack the whip. It doesn’t make contact, of course – and Stiles cranes his neck to get a better view as Derek cracks the whip again, re-familiarizing himself with it, he supposes. His mouth goes dry as he watches Derek trail his hands over it, examining it carefully, particularly the tip.
Derek, of course, smirks as soon as he sees Stiles watching. Stiles, unfortunately, is beyond the point of caring.
“It’s a signal whip,” Derek explains, continuing to walk towards Stiles. “It’s shorter and therefore easier to control. Not that it doesn’t sting nicely, though.”
Stiles nods his understanding, not finding it in him to form actual words.
“This time, I’m not going to stop until you tell me to, or I decide to on my own,” Derek continues, his tone even. “I’ll alternate between your left side and your right side.”
“Green,” Stiles says automatically, eyes still locked with Derek’s.
“You’ll safeword if you need to,” Derek repeats, and if Stiles weren’t already so doped up on pleasure and pain, he’s probably roll his eyes.
As it is, he just says, “I will.”
“Good boy,” Derek replies, the praise making Stiles’ heart stutter in his chest, skipping a beat. “Now turn back around.”
Stiles complies easily, bracing his hands firmly against the wall and taking in a deep breath. His back is already tingly and tender, but at the moment, he can barely wait for it to start hurting again.
The whip flies out, drawing a strangled gasp from Stiles. A thin, concentrated line of fire-hot pain blooms on his right side, but he only has a few moments to revel in it before the whip strikes him again, on the left side this time. Each strike seems to cloud his mind further, sensations of pain, pleasure, and a strange sort of weightlessness taking over him.
He doesn’t bother to try and sensor the sounds leaving his mouth anymore. He’s pretty certain that if he did, he’d have bitten his lip bloody by now, and his moans, pants, and the crack of the whip resonate through the living room.
“Ah, ah, f-fuck,” Stiles gasps, his nails digging into the paint coating the wall in front of him. “Fuck.”
For a moment, it’s almost too much. He has no idea how many strikes he’s taken by now, had lost track a long time ago even though Derek’s keeping up an impressively steady rhythm. He can’t help but slump against the wall a little, unsure how much longer he’ll be able to keep himself up without his knees giving out on him.
Apparently Derek’s caught on to this, too, though, because the blows start softening and slowing. Of course, this gives Stiles a little more time to feel every strike and the sharp pain they leave behind. Idly, he wonders what his shoulders look like now, if they’re red and raw.
Finally, Derek stops.
Stiles’ knees have apparently decided they’ve had enough, though, and Stiles finds himself sliding to the floor, only to be stopped and supported by Derek, his strong arms wrapping around Stiles’ smaller frame.
Simultaneously exhausted and invigorated, Stiles isn’t entirely sure if he wants to sink into Derek’s embrace or climb on top of him and grind against him desperately. His cock is so hard it’s painful, and unfortunately this isn’t a good sort of pain.
So Stiles makes a compromise and drags Derek down into a kiss.
Derek freezes, clearly taken off guard, and Stiles whines against his lips, opening his mouth and trying to coax Derek into just taking him already. He’s half in Derek’s lap and he can feel Derek’s hard cock pressing up against his thigh, equally as interested in the proceedings.
Derek pulls away.
“Stiles,” he says, not relinquishing his grip, but turning his head slightly so that Stiles’ next attempt at a sloppy, open mouthed kiss misses. “Stiles, listen to me.”
“Derek. Derek, I need – ” Stiles protests, his hands fisting in Derek’s shirt.
“No, Stiles, you don’t,” Derek replies firmly, his tone booking no argument.
“You want it,” Stiles retorts, grinding down in Derek’s lap, gratified when Derek takes in a sharp breath, his grip on Stiles’ waist tightening. “I know you want it and I want – ”
“That’s just the endorphins talking,” Derek interrupts, still steadfast, although there’s a note of something akin to wistfulness in his voice. “You’re coming down from subspace, and you’re effectively high. You don’t know what you want.”
Stiles opens his mouth to protest, but Derek shakes his head, brushing his fingers over Stiles’ back. Stiles’ mind goes fuzzy and distant again and for a moment, he’s lost in the sensation. He’s vaguely aware of Derek murmuring something to him, steadily stroking his back, his hair, his cheek.
He comes back to himself a little when Derek stands up, somehow managing to carry Stiles along with him, even though Stiles knows his weight is not inconsiderable. Derek hefts him over to the couch, setting him down gently while never breaking contact with him, his body always enwrapping Stiles’ like some sort of security blanket.
“Drink,” Derek orders, and Stiles blinks blearily as he suddenly finds himself faced with a bottle of blue gatorade. He complies, though, taking a sip as Derek presses the open bottle to his lips.
He ends up surprising himself with how thirsty he is, downing nearly half the bottle in one go. By the time he’s finished, his mind is feeling a bit clearer, but he still sinks back against Derek, reveling in the warmth of his body. He’s feeling oddly cold now, although he supposes part of that can be attributed to the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt.
Later, he’ll blame Derek’s body heat for why he falls asleep right there.
As it is, his eyelids slowly drop shut and all sensations fade.
Please don't actually move this quickly when first trying flogging/whipping. Although it's good to build up to more intense floggers/whips throughout a scene, using as many as Stiles and Derek did in this chapter is complete overkill. They're only doing it because they have a major time crunch, okay. Also this is fiction. This has been another PSA.
The rest of the info about flogger/whip intensity and alternating sides of the upper back and such are accurate, though!
“We should have sex,” Stiles blurts out.
Well, it only took me, like, 20k to get to the actual sex.
Kinks in this chapter: bondage (scarves), slight overstimulation, uuuuh... dirty talk?
Stiles wakes up slowly. He carefully peels his eyes open, blearily taking in his surroundings. It takes him a moment to orient himself, to realize that he’s not, in fact, in his own bed. He panics for a moment, jolting wide awake, but the movement sends a throb of pain down his back, and he’s abruptly reminded of the previous night’s events.
“Fuck,” he mutters, running a hand through his sleep-mussed hair.
There’s no one else in the room and Stiles idly wonders if Derek’s up already. He doesn’t really remember falling asleep, but he also doesn’t remember walking – or being moved – into the bedroom.
Stiles sighs and swings his legs around to stand up from the bed. He shivers a little as the blankets slide off of him and the cool air hits his bare skin. He’s wearing overlarge sweatpants which probably belong to Derek, but not a shirt, probably to avoid irritating his shoulders.
Yawning, Stiles makes his way over to the bathroom. When he gets inside, though, he can’t help but make a beeline for the mirror, angling himself to try and get a better look at his shoulders.
They’re pretty red overall, but they actually don’t look as bad as he thought they would, considering how overwhelmed and out of it he’d felt the previous night. There are no cuts, but there are certainly a few darker red stripes from where the whip had struck him hard. He can’t help but reach a hand back to brush over his shoulder blade, letting out a little hiss as a jolt of pain travels through him. It fades to a pleasant throb fairly quickly, though – just a reminder that last night actually happened.
He stares at his reflection in the mirror for a few more moments, fixated, before he manages to tear his gaze away and head over towards the living room and kitchen.
He pauses in the living room doorway, though, as he catches sight of Derek, sound asleep on the couch. The furniture’s been put back in its normal configuration, but the signal whip is still lying out on the coffee table. Stiles can’t help the way his eyes linger on it for a moment before he glances back over to Derek.
There are two courses of action for him to choose between now, he realizes, as he thinks back to his actions the previous night – the way he’d clambered into Derek’s lap and tried to kiss him.
The first option is the easier one. He could leave right now, before Derek wakes up, and make it abundantly clear that last night’s discretions are not open for discussion. His clothes are right there next to the whip, folded neatly, and contrary to popular belief, he knows how to be quiet when he needs to be.
The second option, on the other hand, is to stay. He even knows the general layout of Derek’s kitchen by now, and it wouldn’t take much effort to scrounge up some breakfast. He’s pretty sure he saw bacon in the fridge last time he was over. However, this plan of action would inevitably lead to an awkward conversation about last night’s kiss (or, well, attempted kiss).
Stiles glances back at Derek, worrying his lower lip with his teeth while he considers his options.
He sighs and makes his way to the kitchen. He needs to apologize to Derek at the very least.
Thankfully, he hadn’t hallucinated the bacon, and it even seems like Derek has all of the ingredients for French toast. It’s been awhile since Stiles last made it, but he remembers the recipe well enough. After all, he pretty much subsisted off of it when he and Scott had shared a dinky little apartment their junior year of college. Derek even has nutmeg and vanilla extract, which means this is going to be fucking fancy French toast.
Derek shuffles into the kitchen when the bacon starts sizzling.
“Morning,” Stiles says, trying to ignore the bleary look of disbelief Derek’s giving him. “There’s coffee if you want some.”
“Thanks,” Derek mutters, finally averting his eyes and wandering over to get a mug from one of the cupboards.
“Sure,” Stiles replies, his gaze fixed firmly on the bacon he’s in the middle of flipping. His skin prickles a little, though, as he feels Derek’s eyes land on his bare back – the redness and whip marks stark against his pale skin. He’d considered throwing on his shirt earlier, but now he’s glad he didn’t.
“How are your shoulders feeling?” Derek asks, his tone neutral.
“A little tender, but I like it,” Stiles answers, trying to sound casual. “It feels good.”
“It’ll fade in a few days,” Derek replies, sidling up next to Stiles and looking down at the bacon, which is still frying.
“Pity,” Stiles says idly, and for a moment he thinks he hears Derek’s breath hitch.
“Do you need any help right now?” Derek asks, changing the subject a little abruptly.
“The bacon’s the only thing still cooking,” Stiles replies, motioning to the platter of French toast sitting on the counter to his left. “You could wash some blueberries and get out a couple plates, though, if you want.”
“Sure,” Derek says, moving away to get things prepared. Silence falls over them for the next few moments and Stiles starts biting at his lower lip again as he tries to figure out how to start up the conversation he doesn’t really want to have.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he finally says, turning off the burner and glancing over at Derek.
“About what?” Derek asks, frowning.
“I, uh, kind of tried to maul your face,” Stiles answers, gesturing vaguely. “Which, you know, wasn’t a cool thing to do. So sorry.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Derek says, shrugging and averting his eyes uncomfortably. “You were coming down from subspace and didn’t know what you were doing. It was just the endorphins talking.”
Stiles blinks at him, brow furrowing as he tries to figure out if Derek actually believes that or if he’s just trying to give him an out. Except, well, Stiles doesn’t really want an out.
“We should have sex,” he blurts out, the words spilling abruptly past his lips.
Derek stares at him, seemingly at a loss for words.
“As a contingency plan,” Stiles continues, fumbling for an excuse. “You know, in case Deucalion doesn’t bite with the whipping thing.”
“Stiles – ” Derek starts, sounding pained.
“No, look, it wasn’t just the endorphins, okay?” Stiles says, taking in a deep breath. “I’m sexually attracted to you, and judging by the rather impressive boner you were sporting last night, you seem pretty interested in – ” He motions to himself vaguely. “ – this.”
“So you think we should have sex so that we can, what, entice Deucalion into a threesome?” Derek snorts, clearly still not entirely on board with the idea.
“I’m just saying that we should keep our options open in case Deucalion doesn’t approach me right away, and we need to try catching his attention again,” Stiles replies, shrugging. “You fucking me in front of him would be like a challenge, right?”
It’s weak as far as excuses go. Pathetic, really, and painfully transparent. Stiles opens his mouth to start babbling again in the hopes that maybe Derek will forget all about this embarrassing conversation, but –
“Okay,” Derek says.
“Wait, really?” Stiles asks, surprised.
“Unless you didn’t really mean it,” Derek answers, his tone tinged with wariness.
“No! I did, I just, um,” Stiles replies, his cheeks heating slightly. “I didn’t expect you to agree so quickly.”
“Anything for the mission, right?” Derek says, shrugging.
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, staring back down at the bacon. “The mission. And, you know, I think you just about rewired my entire brain last night, and I didn’t even get to come.”
Stiles lets out a very manful squeak as he suddenly feels a hand brush against his back, Derek pressing up right behind him.
“Is that so?” Derek asks, his tone dropping lower as he runs his fingers over Stiles’ reddened shoulders. Stiles sucks in a sharp breath as Derek digs his fingers in, pain radiating out from the spot.
“Fuck yeah,” Stiles hisses, arching back into Derek’s touch, the spatula falling out of his hand and onto the counter. “It’s gotta be in my top ten sexual experiences, to be honest.”
“Only top ten?” Derek snorts, raking his nails gently over Stiles’ shoulder. There’s just enough pressure behind it for Stiles to feel it acutely, but not be overwhelmed by it.
“Fine, top five,” Stiles amends, shivering slightly. “Seriously, though, you’re gonna have to stop touching me now if you ever want to eat breakfast.”
“We can discuss while we eat,” Derek concedes, and Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from letting out any embarrassing sounds as Derek pulls away. Apparently Derek notices anyway, though, because he gets this smug little smirk on his face. Stiles glares back indignantly.
They sit at the kitchen table to eat, and Stiles can’t help but feel hot under his skin as he’s abruptly reminded of the array of floggers and whips that had been displayed on it the night before. Derek’s still smirking slightly, so he probably knows exactly what Stiles is thinking about, the bastard.
“So, discussion,” Stiles says after taking a bite of maple syrup saturated French toast.
“What are you looking to get out of this?” Derek asks, the smirk falling away from his face to be replaced by a more serious expression.
“I dunno. Really fantastic sex?” Stiles snorts, unsure exactly what answer Derek wants.
“Right,” Derek says, but there’s a slightly odd note to his voice which Stiles can’t quite identify. “But what do you want, sex wise?”
“I don’t know,” Stiles replies, eyes dropping back down to his French toast, stabbing at it with his fork. “I don’t think I know enough about my options to know what I want. What about you?”
“Me?” Derek asks, frowning.
“What do you want?” Stiles clarifies, popping a blueberry into his mouth. Derek’s silent for a moment, taking his time to examine Stiles with an intense gaze.
“I want to tie you down, for one,” Derek says evenly, his words sending a shiver down Stiles’ spine, “and I want to fuck you, obviously.”
“Yeah?” Stiles asks, a little embarrassed by how obviously aroused his voice sounds.
“I want to gag you,” Derek continues, and it’s unfair how unaffected he seems. Really, the only indication that he’s also into this is the way his pupils have dilated. “Tease you for hours, maybe with a vibrator.”
“You’re not gonna hurt me?” Stiles asks, a hint of a challenge in his voice. For a moment, he wonders if he’s pushing his boundaries again, if Derek wants a more obedient sub, but then the corners of Derek’s lips turn up in a small smirk.
“You like being burned, don’t you?” Derek replies, making Stiles’ cheeks heat a little as he’s taken back to when he’d spilled the hot water on his hand. “I was thinking wax play.”
“Wax play?” Stiles says, taking a bite of bacon in an effort to calm himself down from his increasingly excited state.
“It’s where hot wax from a candle is dripped onto skin. Depending on the height the wax is dropped from, the heat level varies,” Derek clarifies, his eyes tracking Stiles’ tongue as it darts out to lick a bit of stray maple syrup off his lips.
“That sounds – ” Stiles tries to find an adequate word. “ – awesome. So yeah, yes to everything you’ve said so far. Very much yes. Green. Whatever.”
“I suppose that’s enough to start with,” Derek says idly, and Jesus, Stiles is going to be ruined for anyone else after this, isn’t he?
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, shoving a piece of French toast into his mouth before he can say anything stupid.
What’s that saying? Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all?
Not that this is anything close to love.
They don’t actually do anything until the next day, which Stiles is surprisingly okay with. Even though he slept for a solid nine hours the previous night, he’s still absolutely exhausted and his shoulders are starting to feel uncomfortably tender. As much as he’d love for Derek to fuck him against a wall right now, that’s probably not going to happen anytime soon.
“You do realize that we have to go back to the dungeon tomorrow,” Stiles says as he walking into Derek’s apartment at nine in the morning. “I mean, as much as I love all-day sex marathons, I need to actually be able to function tomorrow.”
“We’re not having sex all day,” Derek huffs, looking like he sorely wants to roll his eyes. Somehow he refrains. “I’m meeting up a few people later this evening, so if you want to do this, we should do it now.”
“If I want to do it?” Stiles repeats, shooting Derek an annoyed look. “You’re the one who’s making this sound like a chore.”
“Sorry,” Derek mutters, looking away. “It’s just been awhile since I did this.”
“Since you did what?” Stiles asks, frowning.
“Had sex,” Derek admits, his jaw clenched tightly, uncomfortably.
“Really?” Stiles blurts out, the words spilling past his lips before he can really think them through, earning him a glare from Derek.
“Yes,” Derek replies tersely.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean – you’re just kind of – ” Stiles stutters, waving a hand at Derek. Somehow, though, his awkwardness seems to make Derek relax a little. “Maybe we should stop talking and just… you know.”
“Fuck?” Derek snorts, sounding mildly amused.
“Exactly,” Stiles replies, the corners of his lips twitching up into a smile. “So, wha’d’ya got for me, big guy?”
“Like I said yesterday, I’d like to tie you down,” Derek says, turning and heading in the direction of the bedroom. Stiles hesitates for a moment, wondering if he’ll be able to concentrate on anything Derek’s saying if there’s a bed right there next to them, but he pushes away his concerns and follows.
“With what?” Stiles asks as they enter the bedroom, eyes tracking Derek as he walks over to the closet, pulling open the door. He’s been stuck in standard law enforcement handcuffs plenty of times before and, quite honestly, the thought of them doesn’t really do much for him. The same goes for zip ties, he supposes.
“I was thinking we’d start out light,” Derek answers, rummaging around the closet. Unfortunately, his broad shoulders are preventing Stiles from really seeing anything he’s sifting through.
“Uh huh,” Stiles snorts, sitting down on the edge of the bed and kicking off his shoes. “I’m pretty sure that ship sailed a loooong time ago.”
“Do you remember when we first met?” Derek says suddenly, taking Stiles off guard.
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, wondering why Derek’s echoing his words from just a few days prior.
“How long did they have you for?” Derek asks, making Stiles frown. “The mob.”
“A couple of days,” Stiles answers vaguely, even though he knows the time down to the hour.
“So you were restrained in a traumatic situation for two days,” Derek says, and Stiles has to very carefully focus on his breathing in order to not get sucked back into those memories.
“This is different,” Stiles protests, his hands closing into fists. “I trust you.”
“And if we get too caught up in things and you forget?” Derek replies, his tone sharp. “We’re starting light.”
“I – fine,” Stiles sighs. “If you insist.”
“I do,” Derek says, his tone booking no argument.
He turns back to Stiles and presses two thin strips of cloth into his hands. Stiles blinks at them, studying them carefully as he runs his fingers over them and turns them over in his palms.
“Silk scarves,” Derek explains, as Stiles resists the urge to bring them up to his face and rub the soft fabric over his cheek or lips. “They’ll hold to a point, and if you’re really trying to get free, they’ll rip.”
“I thought the point was to immobilize me,” Stiles replies, tearing his eyes away from the scarves and looking up at Derek.
“You will be immobilized,” Derek says. “I just want you to know that if things get too bad, you can still escape on your own. You can trust me, but at least for now you don’t have to fully rely on me.”
“Okay,” Stiles replies after a moment.
“That will change later, if you want it to,” Derek adds, still studying Stiles’ expression carefully.
“Okay,” Stiles repeats, his tone a little firmer this time. “Anything else we need to talk about before we get this show on the road?”
“I need to know if you have any medical conditions I should be aware of,” Derek replies. “Both physical and mental.”
“Uh, well. I have ADHD and sometimes get panic attacks, but you already know that,” Stiles answers, chewing on his lower lip as he thinks. “There’s nothing physical, though, I don’t think.”
“Alright,” Derek says, nodding. “Do you have any specific triggers I should avoid?”
“Well, most of them have to do with my mom’s death, and I highly doubt that’s going to come up during sex,” Stiles snorts, smiling slightly. “So yeah, keep talk of my dead mom out of the bedroom and we should be fine.”
“I think I can do that,” Derek replies, mirroring Stiles’ small smile. “Now we just need to go over a few rules and then we can start.”
“Ugh, rules,” Stiles groans, but his tone is playful.
“They’re important, so you better pay attention,” Derek chastises, shooting Stiles a pointed look.
“Or what?” Stiles teases, unable to keep from goading Derek just a little bit.
“Or we’re not having sex,” Derek counters, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Maybe I’ll have to kick you out of the bedroom and jack off on my own.”
Stiles feels his cheeks heat at that mental image and he can’t help but let out a little whimper at the thought of being teased in such a way.
“You wouldn’t,” he counters, his voice a little rough.
“Are you really sure you want to find out,” Derek replies, and okay, he probably would do it. Asshole.
“Yeah, okay, shutting up now. I’ll be good,” Stiles says, giving Derek his best innocent, puppy-dog eyes. “I’ll be really good.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Derek snorts, but he sounds at least a little amused. “We still need to go over the rules, though.”
“Right,” Stiles sighs.
“You already know the first one. Always safeword when you need to,” Derek continues. “If I think you’re holding back on safewording when you need to, I will stop, and we won’t do anything again until you’ve proven to me that you be trusted to prioritize your own safety.”
“Sure,” Stiles replies easily. It’s probably not something he’d be able to truthfully agree to if they were talking about his safety in a mission capacity, but here, just between the two of them, he can do it. “What else?”
“Don’t come until I give you permission to,” Derek says, and Stiles resists the urge to grimace, because that one’s probably going to be difficult to follow. “Do what I say unless it’s something that makes you extremely uncomfortable, in which case we’ll pause to discuss it.”
“Are we still using stoplight colors? And what if I can’t speak?” Stiles asks, remembering that Derek had said something about gagging the other day.
“Yes, we’ll still use stoplight colors, although we’re still at the point where I’ll accept ‘stop’ too,” Derek replies, nodding. “As for not being able to speak, you have a few different options, but we’ll go over those when we get there. I won’t be gagging you today.”
“Not even with your cock?” Stiles asks, attempting to sound innocent and mostly failing.
“Jesus,” Derek mutters, closing his eyes for a moment. “No, not even with my cock. I want to hear you.”
“Right, yeah, that – that sounds good,” Stiles replies, tightening his grip around the scarves still in his hands. “Anything else I need to know about what’s going to happen? Are we doing the wax thing?”
“Not now,” Derek answers, his gaze turning intense again. “I want to take you apart by hand today.”
Stiles’ breath catches in his throat and he can’t do much more than nod.
“Well then,” Derek says, looking at him expectantly. “Strip.”
“What, like a striptease sorta thing, because I’ve gotta say, I’m not – ” Stiles babbles, trying to cover up the rush of good-bad embarrassment rushing through him at Derek’s order.
“I would have asked for a striptease if I wanted one,” Derek interrupts, his tone sharp. “I thought you said you were going to be good for me, Stiles.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles manages, moving to pull his shirt up over his head. He doesn’t really know how to make it sexy, so he doesn’t try. Most of the time when he has sex, it’s frantic and he has a pleasant alcohol buzz going on, so no one really cares how his clothes come off as long as they’re off. This, though, is more than a little different, with Derek’s eyes tracking his every movement.
Once his shirt is off, he almost drops it right onto the ground before thinking better of it and folding the article of clothing carefully, like he did a few nights ago. His socks are the next to go, and his cheeks heat as he bends over awkwardly to pull them off, stuffing them in his shoes. Next are his jeans, which get folded and placed atop his shirt, and, well.
Then he’s left standing there in his bright red boxer briefs.
He hadn’t really thought about them when he threw them on this morning. He supposes he’d assumed that Derek would just rip them off his body as soon as he arrived at the apartment, and that the color therefore wouldn’t matter. Now he’s regretting his choice, though.
Stiles hooks his thumbs under the elastic waistband and looks over at Derek questioningly.
“Having second thoughts?” Derek asks, and although he sounds calm, his pupils are noticeably dilated.
“Are you not gonna get undressed, too?” Stiles counters, not really answering Derek’s question.
“No,” Derek replies simply.
“Right,” Stiles says, averting his eyes. He steels himself and then pulls down his underwear, leaving him completely naked while Derek’s only just taken off his socks. It’s hotter than it should be.
“Lie down on the bed, on your back,” Derek instructs and Stiles moves to comply. It’s hard not to scramble and seem overeager. “I’m only going to restrain your wrists today.”
Stiles’ eyes flutter shut for a moment as Derek takes ahold of one of his wrists, running his fingers over the pulse point before wrapping the scarf around it and securing it to the headboard.
“Too tight?” he asks as Stiles tugs on it, reveling in the feel of the silk against his skin.
“It’s good. Er, green, whatever,” Stiles answers. Derek studies him for a moment longer before nodding and moving to the other side of the bed to restrain his other wrist. He does it more quickly this time, but he still pauses to run his fingers over the soft skin of Stiles’ inner wrist. Stiles breathes a little heavily as he feels his cock begin to harden.
Stiles isn’t entirely sure what he expects Derek to do next. Undress, maybe, just to torture him further, but instead Derek repositions himself so that he’s on all fours above Stiles. He pauses for a moment, probably to gauge Stiles’ reaction, before leaning down to initiate a kiss.
It feels so different from their sort-of-kiss a few days prior, no longer tinged with desperation or reluctance. Stiles can’t help but arch into it, trying to get as many points of contact as possible. Of course, he can’t move too much with his arms restrained. Derek deepens the kiss, pressing inward with his tongue and parting Stiles’ lips roughly. Stiles doesn’t really bother trying to resist. Even if he wanted to, he’s pretty sure he couldn’t.
Derek sucks Stiles’ bottom lip between his teeth and bites, making Stiles wonder if it’ll be bruised tomorrow. Stiles lets out a ragged breath as Derek pulls away, a little embarrassed that Derek’s able to turn him into some Harlequin romance heroine with just one kiss.
“Fuck, you have no idea what I want to do to you,” Derek murmurs, his eyes dark.
“I think I know a little bit, Sir,” Stiles quips, earning him an amused huff and another short, but biting, kiss.
“Not even half of it,” Derek replies, reaching a hand up to skate it over one nipple, tweaking it when Stiles lets out a strangled gasp.
“Tell me?” Stiles manages as Derek continues to play with his nipples, pinching them red and hard. “Please?”
“I wanna fuck you ‘til you scream,” Derek says, reaching down to stroke Stiles’ cock to full hardness. It’s a little uncomfortable without lube, but, honestly, Stiles could care less right now. “I want to choke you on my cock and come on your face. I want to bite you all over and mark you up so that everyone knows that you’re – ”
Derek cuts himself off abruptly, though. Awkwardly.
“So that everyone knows…?” Stiles asks, his voice embarrassingly breathy. Derek doesn’t answer, though – just leans down and kisses Stiles again, this time with a bit more teeth than tongue. Stiles can’t help but moan into the kiss, momentarily forgetting about the scarves as he tries to bring his hands up to tangle his fingers in Derek’s hair.
When Derek breaks away, he doesn’t continue talking, instead moving to bite at Stiles’ neck. Stiles lets out a whine, bucking his hips up as Derek gives him one particularly hard bite, the sharp pain making him feel hot all over. Derek moves on to his collarbones and chest then, nipping and licking like he needs to cover every inch of skin. Stiles tries to thrust his hips upward again, but he finds a strong hand on his hip, holding him in place. Derek’s grip is strong enough to be bruising, though, which only makes Stiles press up against him harder.
“Stay still,” Derek orders, and fuck, does he know how impossible that is for Stiles? Judging by the look he’s giving him, he does.
Stiles nods and squeezes his eyes shut as Derek leans down again, placing his mouth over one of Stiles’ already abused nipples and scraping his teeth over it. Truth be told, Stiles has never really been interested in people playing with his chest – his nipples aren’t particularly sensitive – but he thinks Derek might be able to convert him.
Derek bites and yeah, never mind, he already has.
It’s taking an insane amount of self-control and concentration not to squirm and thrust, but somehow Stiles manages it as Derek moves to torment his other nipple. His breathing’s shallow and harsh and he feels like his entire body’s trembling under Derek’s hands and mouth. In fact, it’s almost a relief when Derek finally continues on to his less sensitive abdomen.
“I should have known you’d be reactive,” Derek says between sucking a bruise onto Stiles’ hip. “I have to say, though, I was expecting you to be louder.”
“You want louder?” Stiles asks before tipping his head back and letting out a long, low moan as Derek runs his hands over his bare thighs. “Fuck, Sir, you feel so fucking good. I just want – I wanna – ”
“What do you want?” Derek asks, his tone even and nonchalant, although Stiles is pretty sure he hears Derek’s breath hitch for a moment.
“Your tongue to be somewhere else,” Stiles manages, trying to be a bit cheeky about it.
“And where would that be?” Derek asks, cocking an eyebrow at him.
Stiles lets out a groan, because of course he’s going to make him ask for it. Maybe even beg for it.
Really, he shouldn’t be as turned on by that thought as he is.
“Here?” Derek asks, pressing a feather-light, teasing kiss to the inside of Stiles’ knee, lifting his legs up so that they’re now resting on his shoulders. “Or maybe here?” he continues, licking along the back of Stiles’ thigh.
“Fuck,” Stiles hisses, screwing his eyes shut. “Fuck, Sir – ”
“Fuck? I thought we were talking about my mouth, not my cock,” Derek interrupts, and if he’s trying to feign innocence, he’s doing an absolutely horrible job at it.
“Well, if you want to give me a good, hard dicking right now, I’m not gonna complain,” Stiles quips.
“Of course you wouldn’t,” Derek snorts, hitching Stiles’ hips up a little higher to grind his denim-clothed erection against Stiles’ oversensitive skin. The rough fabric just barely brushes up against Stiles’ balls, dragging a groan from his throat and making his cock leak a little precome.
“Der – ” Stiles starts, but he cuts himself off with a breathless moan as Derek shifts their position again and leans forward to suck the tip of Stiles’ dick into his mouth. “Oh my god.”
Derek hums in response, sending vibrations down Stiles’ cock, but he doesn’t take it any further into his mouth, instead preferring to just lick and suck at the head.
“Shit,” Stiles gasps, his hips bucking involuntarily and his thighs trembling.
Then he hears the all too familiar sound of a lube bottle being opened. He screws his eyes shut, letting out a harsh breath as he feels a slick finger press at his entrance. Unfortunately, Derek doesn’t actually push inside, instead deciding to rub it almost lazily against his rim. He tries to thrust back against it, but as soon as he does that, Derek pulls his mouth off the head of his cock.
“Don’t,” he says, his tone cool and stern as he continues to rub his finger lightly over Stiles’ entrance. “I’ll give it to you when I think you’re ready for it.”
“I’m ready now,” Stiles whines, a little petulant. It earns him a sharp slap to his ass, but if Derek thought that was supposed to be a deterrent, he’s sorely mistaken.
“Oh yeah,” Stiles moans, enjoying the way his ass cheek tingles a little. “C’mon, hit me again, Sir.”
“Stop being a brat, and maybe I will,” Derek replies evenly, and fuck, of course that’s the actual punishment.
“Derek,” Stiles whines as Derek starts rubbing up against his inner thigh, the denim chafing his skin. He can’t imagine it’s comfortable for Derek either, though, with how tightly the fabric is stretched over his erection.
“Maybe I’ll just get off like this,” Derek says, although Stiles is gratified to notice that his voice is finally starting to sound a little deeper and rougher. “Jerk off over your stomach and then leave you here for later.”
Now that sends a small spike of fear through Stiles, because as badwrongsexy as it sounds, Derek using him for his own selfish pleasure and then leaving, with the way Derek’s grinding against him, it might actually happen. And really, at this point his desire to be fucked is almost a need.
“Please,” he manages, his cheeks heating as he says it. “Please, Derek – Sir – I – please for the love of god, just fuck me. I – ”
Derek finally pushes his finger inside Stiles, making Stiles cut himself off with a loud groan.
“What do you say, Stiles?” Derek asks as he pushes a second finger in alongside the first, the stretch a little uncomfortable.
“Wha – ?” Stiles replies, a little dazed and overwhelmed by the feeling of finally being penetrated.
“What do you say when I give you something, Stiles?” Derek repeats, leisurely dragging his fingers along Stiles’ walls, searching for his prostate.
“Thank you,” Stiles answers, trying to push back against Derek’s fingers, but it’s difficult with the angle and the way his upper body is held still by the scarves biting into his wrists.
“Thank you… ?” Derek replies, his fingers stilling completely.
“Thank you, Sir,” Stiles manages, his cheeks flushing again.
“Good boy,” Derek says, rubbing his fingers right up against Stiles’ prostate, as if he’d known exactly where it was all along, but felt Stiles hadn’t earned the pleasure yet.
“Fuuuck,” Stiles moans as Derek goes at it ruthlessly, no longer bothering to tease him. “Fuck, Derek, I’m ready. I’m so ready – ”
“Are you sure?” Derek asks, still stroking Stiles’ prostate and fuck, if he doesn’t cut it out, Stiles is going to come right now.
“‘m not – ‘m gonna come if you – ” Stiles pants, his mind almost overwhelmed by pleasure.
“Then come,” Derek replies evenly, jabbing at Stiles’ prostate again, and really, that’s all it takes.
“Ah,” Stiles shouts, his body going rigid as he spills onto his stomach. His mind’s a little clouded, but he’s abruptly pulled out of his daze as he feels the blunt pressure of Derek’s cockhead pushing against his entrance.
Stiles squirms, oversensitive as Derek enters him in one even thrust. It’s what he was begging for, what he wanted and, truth be told, what he still wants, but –
“Color?” Derek asks, his voice horse and Stiles is abruptly struck by how uncharacteristically undone Derek sounds. Or, well, close to undone. He still sound far too composed for a guy balls-deep in him.
“Green,” Stiles manages, even if his voice is a little weak. He feels lax and pliant under Derek’s hands now that he’s come.
“Good,” Derek replies before fucking into him sharply, drawing a horse shout from Stiles’ throat.
Really, after that there’s not much more Stiles can do but take it. It feels like too much for a few moments, Derek pounding into him so soon after he’s orgasmed, but it doesn’t take too long for things to start really feeling good again. He’s way beyond the age where he could get hard again in so short a period of time, but damn does he want to. As Derek nails his prostate again, he almost thinks he could.
But then Derek’s fingernails are biting even harder into the soft flesh of his thighs, and his thrusts stutter as he spills into the condom with a groan. They stay like that for a moment, both breathing heavily, before Derek finally lowers Stiles’ legs and pulls out. Stiles bites back a whine, feeling strangely empty, now that Derek’s no longer in him.
Stiles slumps back against the sheets bonelessly as Derek unties his restraints, carefully taking the time to massage the feeling back into his wrists. Once he’s freed, though, Stiles half expects Derek to leave, but instead leans down to catch Stiles’ lips in a kiss.
These kisses are completely unlike the ones before. While those were harsh and biting, these are soft and soothing. They’re not an apology, but something tender. Stiles can’t help but feel like he’s been punched in the gut, though, as he realizes that this is just aftercare – nothing special.
“I should go,” Stiles says, pulling away.
“I’m not meeting Erica and Boyd for a few more hours,” Derek says, and Stiles is so, so tempted to stay. “I have time.”
“Nah. Scott and I have a, uh, thing,” Stiles replies, trying not to wince at how weak and transparent his excuse is.
“Oh. Okay,” Derek answers, and Stiles hates how unaffected he sounds. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
“Right,” Stiles replies.
Then he flees. It’s far from his proudest moment.
“Don’t forget that we’re not going to be alone this time,” Derek reminds him, and Stiles flushes even further at the thought of other people watching Derek whip him – Erica and Boyd, maybe. Braeden, too.
Kinks in this chapter: whipping again, exhibitionism/voyeurism (including public sex), some crying
This chapter also includes a description of subdrop.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
The drive back home from Derek’s apartment is difficult, to say the least. Stiles has to pull over twice when his hands start shaking. When he finally stumbles into his apartment, he manages to make it as far as his bed before collapsing and curling himself into a ball.
He feels like shit, to be completely honest – a little hollow and empty. He worms under the blankets as a chill overtakes him, but fuck does he feel pathetic. Idly, he wonders if this is what it’s like to get attacked like a dementor. It sure as hell feels like it.
Part of him wants to go crawling back to Derek, to be completely honest. He wants Derek to do stupid things like cuddle with him and pet his hair and kiss him softly –
Stiles scrambles back out of bed and into the living room, half tripping over an armchair in the process. He grabs his laptop out of its bag and waits impatiently for it to boot up. He tries to ignore the tremors wracking his hands as he types in his password, but it still takes him three tries to get it right.
When he finally manages to get google open, he types in “subdrop.”
“If not treated, you could go into depression from just one play session. Great,” Stiles mutters as he scans the first article.
The frustrating part is that it wasn’t even that intense of a session they had. In fact, it was practically tame compared to their previous one, and it wasn’t like Derek had even been that rough with him.
Stiles shakes his head and tries to push those thoughts from his mind as he focuses back on the article. He needs to stop fretting about why this happened and find out how to fucking fix it.
It’s hard not to let out a growl of frustration when he reads about the suggested solutions, though. There’s no way in hell he’s going to call up Derek to discuss his feelings, and Derek doesn’t exactly have any feelings for him, so reading a heartfelt letter from him in order to reaffirm his self-worth isn’t exactly an option. There’s no way in hell he’s going to keep a journal about his feelings. As for watching his favorite movie, he highly doubts that Batman Begins is going to help him much right now.
Really, the only remotely viable options on the list right now are orange juice and sleep.
Stiles runs a hand through his already messy hair and opens another article on subdrop, hoping to find a little more about what to do. What he finds, though, stops him in his tracks.
It is equally important to recognize that aftercare is for both the Top and bottom, Dominant and submissive. If either person leaves too soon, then their partner may feel abandonment or loss far exceeding the obvious dimensions of the scene.
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.
Stiles drops his head into his hands, letting out a groan, because fuck, Derek wasn’t unaffected – he was blank, and a blank Derek is an affected Derek. So much for saving Derek the time and trouble of having to cuddle and take care of a needy sub.
With still-unsteady hands, Stiles fumbles with his phone and calls Derek.
“Hello?” Derek says as he picks up the phone, sounding surprisingly – or maybe not so surprisingly – exhausted.
“Hey. It’s, uh, Stiles,” Stiles replies, feeling suddenly nervous. “I just – I shouldn’t have skipped out on you like that and – ”
“It’s fine,” Derek interrupts stiffly. Stiles winces at how closed off he sounds.
“No, it’s not,” Stiles snaps, bringing his feet up onto the couch and curling himself into a small ball. “It was stupid of me, and now we’re both dropping – ”
“You’re dropping?” Derek asks, sounding mildly alarmed.
“Yeah,” Stiles admits, trying to ignore the crushing, hollow feeling in his chest. Just hearing Derek’s voice seems to soothe it a little bit, but it’s still far from gone.
“Do you need me to come over?” Derek offers, and while part of Stiles wants to accept, another part of him realizes that integrating Derek into his life even further will only make breaking up at the end of the mission harder in the long run.
Well, not that they’ll actually be breaking up, because that implies that what they have is an actual relationship.
“Nah, I’ll be okay,” Stiles replies, grabbing a blanket from the other side of the couch and dragging it over him. “Could we just… talk a little bit, maybe? Or, I mean, I can talk if you need me – ”
“I’m doing better now,” Derek says, cutting him off. “It’s just been a while since I did a scene with anyone.”
“I still shouldn’t have abandoned you like that,” Stiles mumbles, his cheeks heating in embarrassment. “It was a shitty thing to do.”
“It’s not your fault,” Derek protests, and for some reason just those few words make the tangled knot of feelings in Stiles’ chest loosen. “I should have warned you about it and tried harder to get you to stay.”
“How about we just say that we both fucked up and call it a day?” Stiles replies, the barest hint of a smile on his face.
“Stiles, as the more experienced – ” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off.
“No, you’re a good Dom, okay? That’s just the drop talking,” Stiles says, finding a bit of confidence. “You took care of me really well, and I’m the one who was an idiot and ran away before we could sort things out.”
For a moment, Derek doesn’t say anything, and Stiles almost checks to see if the connection got dropped.
“Thanks,” Derek finally replies. “How are you doing, drop-wise?”
“I’m doing okay,” Stiles replies, although he’s surprised to find that he actual means it now. “I was feeling kind of shitty for a while, but I think it’s gotten better.”
“Have you had anything to drink or eat yet?” Derek asks, and Stiles smiles softly as he realizes that Derek’s shifted back into Dom-mode. It’s a little sweet, actually – not that Stiles will ever admit it aloud.
“Not yet,” he answers, realizing that yeah, he actually is a little thirsty. “I was about to get some orange juice, though.”
“Do that,” Derek orders, although his tone is strangely gentle. “You should also get some rest.”
“I will,” Stiles replies. “You should, too, though.”
“I was just about to,” Derek assures him. “Thanks for the call.”
“Yeah, thanks for picking up,” Stiles answers, the pain in his chest finally reduced to just the tiniest ache. “It helped.”
“Just one more thing, though,” Derek says before Stiles has the chance to say goodbye.
“Yeah?” Stiles asks, frowning slightly.
“Was today too much?” Derek replies, catching Stiles off guard. “Is that why you left so quickly? I can tone it down if you – ”
“No!” Stiles interrupts, his hand clenching into a fist. “No, it was amazing. I just…” He bites his lip, unsure exactly what to say. “I’m still trying to adjust, that’s all.”
“Adjust to what?” Derek asks.
“To the fact that I want you to hurt me,” Stiles answers, his cheeks heating slightly. “I mean, it’s kind of unnatural, isn’t it?”
“Not really,” Derek replies, his tone surprisingly casual.
“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, his brow furrowing in confusion.
“When you were a kid, did you ever pick at scabs, even though you knew they’d hurt?” Derek questions.
“Well, yeah,” Stiles answers, shrugging – not that Derek can see it.
“It’s what kids do, right? They pick at scabs and bite their fingernails and poke at bruises,” Derek replies. “It’s not until they have a particularly bad experience with pain or adults start teaching them to fear pain that pain becomes such an inherently negative thing.”
“’s still weird,” Stiles mutters, trying to ignore the way his skin tingles as he remembers how Derek had slapped his ass earlier.
“What do you think of me, then?” Derek asks, once again throwing Stiles off guard. “I’m the one who hurt you.”
“Because I asked you to,” Stiles protests, his stomach twisting itself into knots at hearing Derek talk about himself in such a way.
“Stiles – ” Derek starts, but he cuts himself off. “This is part of me. I’m attracted to you, and even if you didn’t want me to hurt you, I’d still want to. I wouldn’t, but I’d want to.”
“Okay,” Stiles replies after a moment. “I – yeah, sorry. I’m being stupid about this.”
“You’re not,” Derek reassures him, making a small feeling of warmth flood Stiles’ chest. “It’s a natural conflict to have when you’re involved in BDSM. It’s probably why you ignored your reaction to pain for so long.”
“Thanks,” Stiles finally says.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, then, Stiles,” Derek says.
“See you then,” Stiles replies before finally hanging up.
When he puts the phone down, his hands are no longer shaking.
They meet at Derek’s house before going to the dungeon together this time, partially because Stiles had let slip about his difficulties driving after their last session. Derek had been more than a little mad at him for his recklessness and now he’s been forbidden from driving for at least an hour after a scene. Really, though, the only reason Stiles had given in is because whatever small amount of submissiveness he possesses can’t help but make him feel guilty for causing Derek – his Dom – so much trouble.
“How are your shoulders feeling?” Derek asks as Stiles walks into the apartment, forgoing a normal greeting.
“They’re fine,” Stiles answers, sprawling out over Derek’s couch as he usually does. “I mean, they’re not red anymore or anything.”
“Let me see,” Derek orders, although his tone is more firm than commanding.
Stiles sighs and just barely manages to keep from rolling his eyes at Derek’s overprotectiveness. He pulls his shirt off anyway, though, twisting around so that Derek can get a good look at his back. Derek’s fingers brush over his skin and Stiles has to squeeze his eyes shut and grit his teeth to keep from reacting too obviously.
However, he opens his eyes and relaxes again as he realizes that he no longer needs to put effort into hiding his attraction to Derek – not after the previous morning, at least.
He clenches his jaw again and lets out a little hiss of pain, though, when Derek’s fingers dig into a particularly tender spot. It’s been long enough that most of the residual soreness is gone, but there are still a few areas that were hit particularly hard which are more sensitive. This, naturally, does not escape Derek’s notice.
“Are you sure you’ll be able to handle this today?” Derek asks, still running his fingers lightly over Stiles’ skin.
“I’ll be fine,” Stiles reassures him, and sure, maybe the pain will last a little longer this time, but that might actually be kind of nice.
“We could always choose a different spot, if you wanted,” Derek offers, making Stiles turn around to look at him questioningly.
“Where?” Stiles asks, curious.
“Didn’t you say something about me wanting to have a go at your ass last time?” Derek counters, making Stiles’ cheeks flush. “Because I do.”
“I am definitely not opposed, big guy,” Stiles replies as Derek’s hands slip a little lower.
“Don’t forget that we’re not going to be alone this time,” Derek reminds him, and Stiles flushes even further at the thought of other people watching Derek whip him – Erica and Boyd, maybe. Braeden, too.
“I – ” Stiles starts, before cutting himself off again as he takes another moment to consider the situation. “I’m okay with it.”
“You’re sure?” Derek asks, not sounding fully convinced.
“You don’t want to show me off, Sir?” Stiles counters, using his best innocent tone.
“Not with that attitude,” Derek mutters, but thankfully he doesn’t actually sound annoyed or angry. “You’re such a brat.”
“Maybe I’m just acting out so you’ll whip me harder,” Stiles teases, pulling his shirt back on and turning around to face Derek fully.
“You seriously need to stop watching whatever terrible porn you have,” Derek snorts, making Stiles grin.
“Do you have any recommendations, then?” Stiles asks, his grin turning a little cheekier and more flirtatious.
“No,” Derek answers, stepping closer and placing a possessive hand on Stiles’ waist. “Because you’re not supposed to be watching anyone but me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles replies, his voice becoming a little rougher. “What about at the club, though?”
“You can look if I make a specific exception, I suppose,” Derek concedes, his grip on Stiles’ waist tightening slightly.
“Right,” Stiles says, unable to keep himself from glancing down at Derek’s lips for a moment. Derek apparently doesn’t miss the movement, though, and he smirks slightly before leaning in. Stiles lets his eyes flutter shut and he parts his lips slightly in anticipation, but he only feels the ghost of Derek’s breath over his mouth and then a teasing brush of lips over his cheek.
“Is that enough to tide you over?” Derek asks, sounding amused as Stiles snaps his eyes open again to look at him in confusion.
“You were supposed to kiss me,” Stiles complains, a little embarrassed about how petulant and childlike he sounds.
“I did kiss you,” Derek counters, raising one eyebrow, which, yeah, technically is true, as much as it pains Stiles to admit it. “But I’ll kiss you on the mouth later, if you’re well behaved tonight.”
Stiles lets out a little huff, but doesn’t otherwise protest.
“We should leave for the dungeon now,” Derek continues, moving away to grab his jacket. He also hefts a bag onto his shoulder which Stiles assumes contains the signal whip they’d used a few days prior.
“Right,” Stiles replies, following Derek out the door.
The car ride is nothing short of torturous. Every moment seems to drag on for an eternity and his ADHD isn’t exactly helping him stay calm as he stares out the car window. He can’t help but fidget, fiddling with the hem of his tight, black t-shirt and tapping out irregular rhythms on his thighs.
“We’re almost there,” Derek says, his voice gruff and Stiles feels a little embarrassed about how obvious his impatience must be.
When they finally pull into the parking lot a block away from the dungeon, Stiles all but bounds out of the camaro. Excitement floods through him at the thought of finally getting to feel Derek’s whip on his skin and it takes a remarkable amount of self-restraint to walk at a normal pace.
“Watch it or I’ll have to put a leash on you,” Derek snorts and Stiles makes an annoyed face at him, although he can’t quite help but feel a small spike of arousal at the thought of Derek yanking him around like that.
“You treat me like a dog and I’ll start yapping at you like one,” Stiles retorts, because although he’s not a hundred percent opposed to a leash, puppy play isn’t really his thing. Then again, there were a lot of things that he didn’t think he’d be interested in a week ago. Derek seems to have a special way of turning his sexuality on its head.
“I thought you said you were going to behave tonight,” Derek says, arching an eyebrow at Stiles.
“I don’t remember specifically agreeing to that,” Stiles replies, his tone light. “And anyway, we’re not at the dungeon yet. I’ll be a good boy when we actually get there.”
“I’m holding you to that,” Derek warns and if Stiles has learned anything over the past couple of weeks, it’s that Derek certainly will.
By the time they reach the entrance to the dungeon, Stiles has calmed down at least somewhat – probably due to the physical movement along with the bit of banter with Derek. The woman at the front desk smiles easily at the two of them as they check in and sign the liability waivers.
“Oh, look at this,” she says as she checks Derek’s bag to make sure he isn’t bringing in any contraband. “I’ll have to see if I can get someone to cover my shift for a while. I’ve heard a lot about your skill with a whip.”
“All of it good, hopefully,” Derek replies evenly, although he’s smirking slightly.
“Let’s just say that, from what I can gather, you have a very lucky sub,” she answers, glancing over at Stiles.
By the time Derek and the Dom manning the front desk finally finish talking, Stiles feels like he’s bursting out of his skin, he’s so eager. Derek clearly notices, if his smug expression is anything to go by, but instead of guiding him to one of the play areas – which Stiles abruptly realizes he hasn’t seen yet – Derek makes a beeline for two familiar figures.
“Erica, Boyd,” Derek greets, sinking into the couch next to them and placing a pillow on the floor for Stiles. It’s difficult to force a pleasant expression on his face, though, and Stiles is pretty sure he’s not hiding his scowl very well. Derek’s barely touched him today and he’s practically going out of his mind with it.
His blood runs cold as he wonders what it’s going to be like once the mission’s over and he no longer has any excuses for the casual contact he’s gotten so addicted to.
“Ooooh, what’s in the bag, Der?” Erica asks, her eyes lighting up mischievously. “Fun toys?”
“You could say that,” Derek answers, his lips twitching up into another smirk as he opens the bag so that she can peer inside.
“Fuck, what I wouldn’t give to feel that on my back again,” she breathes, her eyes darkening as he gets a good look at the whip.
“Hear hear,” Boyd agrees, making Stiles look at the two of them in surprise. The previous time, he’d been unable to determine which of them was the Dom and which was the sub, and now he’s even more lost.
“Aw, don’t look so confused, sweetie,” Erica says, not missing the odd look Stiles is giving her. “Boyd and I are both switches.”
She leans towards Stiles unconsciously, just a tilt of her body, but that action alone has Derek letting out a sound akin to a growl. She looks startled for a moment, but then she smiles again, carefully drawing back and settling against Boyd.
“Just as possessive as always,” Boyd snorts, sounding unimpressed with Derek’s territorial antics.
“Mmm, yeah, it’s been so long since you had a proper sub that I’d forgotten,” Erica explains, almost apologetic. “It’s such a shame, though. I’d love to get that pretty mouth on my clit.”
Stiles can’t help but blush at that, and apparently Derek notices, because he tangles his fingers in Stiles’ hair, yanking him closer until Stiles finds his cheek pressed up against Derek’s thigh.
“My mouth’s not good enough?” Boyd asks, raising an eyebrow at Erica challengingly.
“Your mouth’s my favorite, but you can’t honestly tell me that you wouldn’t want those pretty lips wrapped around your cock, would you?” Erica counters, making Boyd let out a small, amused snort.
“True,” he replies, glancing over at Stiles and then back at Erica, who looks far too smug now.
Derek sends the two of them a mild glare, but there’s no real heat behind it. He does, however, press two of his fingers up against Stiles’ lips. Stiles takes the hint and opens up, sucking Derek’s fingers into his mouth. He shivers slightly at the obvious display of possessiveness. Apparently Derek’s the ‘look, but don’t touch’ sort of Dom.
“Maybe I’ll have him suck my cock later,” Derek says idly, drawing a small moan from Stiles, although it’s muffled by the fingers in his mouth.
“Please tell me that by ‘later’ you mean ‘later at the dungeon’ instead of ‘later at home’,” Erica replies, and Stiles can’t help but feel inordinately pleased as he notices a slight huskiness to her voice. As much as he likes belonging solely to Derek, he preens a little at having pleased not one, but two Doms. (Even though Erica might be a switch, she’s acting a little like a Dom now. Then again, he supposes she’s being a little submissive for Derek. Just a little, though.)
“You’ll have to wait and see,” Derek says.
“Erica, you knew that was going to be his answer,” Boyd points out as Erica lets out an annoyed huff and leans into him a little more.
Stiles loses the thread of their conversation, though, as Derek’s fingers press further into his mouth. He lets his eyes flutter shut and relaxes, welcoming the intrusion. He does his best to make it good, to make Derek want to get on to the main event (whipping and then hopefully some proper fellatio), and he runs his tongue over Derek’s fingers, sucking expertly and hollowing his cheeks just so. He gazes up at Derek through his eyelashes, doing his best to look enticing, and apparently he’s not doing that bad of a job, because Derek’s pupils are blown, his eyes dark.
“Well, well,” another familiar voice says, making Stiles tense, his blood running cold. “I don’t suppose the two of you are going to put on a demonstration, are you? Ennis said he saw you with a whip.”
“Deucalion,” Derek replies, and although his tone sounds superficially neutral, it doesn’t take much to hear the underlying hostility. “As a matter of fact, we were.”
Stiles sees both Boyd and Erica give Derek a wary look, clearly not having expected his answer. It’s not like Derek can explain it to them, though. Hopefully they’ll be able to play it off as male posturing – a power play of sorts.
“I know we’ve had some difficult interactions recently,” Deucalion starts, Derek still looking at him coolly, “but I was hoping that you might allow me to listen.”
“As long as you stay an appropriate distance away and follow dungeon rules, then I have no issue with it,” Derek replies, Erica and Boyd looking even more surprised now. “You can even walk with us. We’re heading to the upstairs play area now.”
Derek removes his fingers from Stiles’ mouth, dragging them out with a wet pop. He wipes the residual saliva on his cheek and then motions for Stiles to stand so that he can also get up. Stiles scrambles to his feet while Derek stands in one fluid motion, drawing himself to his full height, unselfconscious.
Stiles falls into step behind him easily, although he can’t help but sneak a few glances at Deucalion. Even though Deucalion’s blind, for some reason it feels like he’s tracking Stiles’ every movement, like a snake waiting for the perfect moment of vulnerability. Clenching his hands into fists, Stiles focuses back on Derek, trying to concentrate on the excitement still buzzing through him. They’ve caught Deucalion’s interest – that’s for sure – but now they have to keep it, and he’s not going to be able to do that if he spends the entire time panicking about Deucalion. For once in his life, he’s going to have to focus on personal pleasure instead of work.
“You still with me?” Derek murmurs, placing a possessive hand on the small of his back and breaking Stiles out of his trance. Stiles blinks as he realizes that somehow they’ve already migrated to the play room.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” Stiles replies, taking in the room. It’s fairly large and already occupied by a few people, some watching and some playing. Stiles stares in fascination at one woman who’s bound and suspended – actually hanging off the ground! – by a series of ropes and cuffs. He only gapes for a moment, though, before remembering that he’s supposed to ask for permission from Derek.
“Are you having any second thoughts?” Derek asks, and although his tone is tender, the words are said with the utmost seriousness.
“I’m sure,” Stiles answers, meeting Derek’s eyes unwaveringly.
“Good,” Derek replies, nodding. “Then let’s get started.”
He moves with purpose, striding easily towards an odd looking piece of furniture to one side of the room. It looks a bit like a sawhorse, but padded with black leather upholstery.
“It’s a modified wooden horse,” Derek explains as Stiles examines it. “I’m going to bend you over it and then whip your ass until you can’t take it anymore, or I decide you’ve gotten what you deserve.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles answers automatically, trying to ignore the way his heart rate increases slightly at the mental image.
“Then strip,” Derek orders.
But, well. This time Stiles can’t help but hesitate for a moment, suddenly aware of how many people are starting to gather. It’s not that he hasn’t prepared himself for this, but the reality of it is only just starting to sink in. Deucalion is there, obviously, and he spots Erica and Boyd off to one side. Braeden’s appeared, either taking a break or finished with her shift, although she seems more focused on Derek, almost like a mentor to their protégé. Idly, Stiles wonders if she’s the one who taught Derek to handle a whip. The only other person Stiles recognizes, though, is Marin, who’s standing next to Braeden, watching the proceedings carefully.
It’s certainly more of a turnout then Stiles had expected, but he suspects it has much more to do with Derek than with him.
He can’t focus on the voyeurs now, though – not if he doesn’t want to end up chickening out of this. While part of him is thrilled to have an audience, he’s mostly just nervous. Despite this, he begins to undress, removing each article of clothing and folding them neatly before setting them off to the side. He’s all too aware that he’s standing before a whole crowd of people he barely knows stark naked, but with the way Derek’s looking at him, he hardly even cares.
“Straddle the end, one leg on either side, and then bend over. Brace your hands or forearms on it, whichever is more comfortable,” Derek orders, nodding for him to go over to the horse.
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles replies, moving to comply.
It takes a few moments to situate himself, and he’s quite sure he’s the exact antithesis of graceful. He blushes in embarrassment as he thinks of how awkward he must look to everyone as he decides that he’d prefer to prop himself up with his forearms instead of his hands.
“Ready, Sir,” Stiles finally says, although he doesn’t bother to look back at Derek, sure that his gaze will be drawn back to the crowd and he’ll only embarrass himself even more.
“Red, yellow, and green. Don’t forget,” Derek murmurs, too soft for the others to hear, as he runs his hands over Stiles’ back before moving to squeeze and massage his ass. Stiles lets out a small groan at the sensation, arching back into Derek’s hands, but all too soon Derek’s pulling away again.
He hears Derek say something to the crowd about keeping an appropriate distance so that he doesn’t accidentally hit anyone, but soon after comes the sound of a zipper being pulled. Now that Derek’s finally getting the whip out, Stiles is starting to get properly excited again. As soon as Derek starts to drag the single tail of the whip across his ass, Stiles feels himself start to harden and he’s half tempted to beg already.
“I want you to be loud today. Give Deucalion something to listen to,” is the last thing Derek says before pulling back and cracking the whip.
It doesn’t make contact the first time. Just like in their previous session, Derek takes a moment to torment Stiles with the sound – with the promise of what’s coming.
When he gets going, though, he’s entirely ruthless.
Stiles gasps loudly as the first strike makes contact. His shoulders twinge in sympathy as a red-hot stripe of pain blooms on his left ass cheek, but somehow this feels even better than before, although Stiles isn’t entirely sure if it’s because of the new location, or if it’s because he now knows what to expect.
He doesn’t exactly have long to puzzle it over, though, because then the whip’s coming down on his right side, flooding him with even more sensations. Derek’s keeping his strikes relatively soft, but it’s still a little overwhelming.
Another cry forces itself past his lips as Derek switches back to his left cheek, this time crossing over his previous mark and making it throb all over again. Stiles is all too aware that he’s panting after only three strikes, but he honestly doesn’t give a shit right now as long as Derek keeps it up. By the next strike, he can feel his mind go fuzzy for a split-second as adrenaline courses through his body.
“Fuck,” he hisses as Derek starts to increase the pressure behind his blows, the sting even sharper now as his bristles over the surface of his skin. “Fuck.”
“That feel good?” Derek asks, surprising Stiles with the direct address.
“Y – ah! Y-yes, Sir,” Stiles manages – but only just – as he arches back into Derek’s next swing. The entire expanse of his skin feels tingly and perfect. “Feels r’lly good.”
“Are you hard?” Derek asks, although his strikes don’t slow in the slightest. Stiles is pleased to note that Derek’s tone is a little rough, though – probably from both arousal and exertion.
“Yeah,” Stiles pants, clenching his hands into fists so that his short nails dig into his palms. It’s taking a lot of restraint to not collapse fully onto the leather padded horse and rut against it. “I-I mean, yes, Sir.”
“Good,” Derek replies, and Stiles can practically hear his smirk.
As soon as the smug word leaves his mouth, the blows start coming even harder and faster. Stiles lets out a surprised moan, his arms trembling as he tries to keep himself upright. His cock’s impossibly hard now, and ever searing stripe of pain sends a jolt of pleasure to him. Stiles bites his lip for a moment, a little embarrassed by the wanton noises he’s making, but then he remembers Derek’s orders and lets his mouth fall open. Even if he doesn’t find his pathetic moans and gasps sexy, apparently both Derek and Deucalion do.
“You’re taking it so well,” Derek says as he lights up Stiles’ pain sensors with a particularly vicious strike across his right ass cheek. “You’re being such a good boy.”
Stiles has to screw his eyes shut and imagine Deucalion saying that in order to keep himself from coming just from the combination of soft praise and red-hot pain.
“Sir, I’m – I need – ” Stiles gasps, all too aware that he’s not going to last for that much longer. He’s feeling a little dizzy from pleasure and pain, his body flushed and hot.
“Not yet,” Derek growls, his tone sharp, and Stiles can’t help but whimper. “Not until I say so.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles replies, dropping his head down to rest it against his forearms. To be completely honest, part of him wants to argue with Derek, but mostly he just wants Derek to take him over, to take care of him. After all, he knows that whatever Derek does to him will be worth it in the end.
So Derek redoubles his efforts. Honestly, Stiles is a little surprised that he hasn’t tired yet and that he’s still able to swing with such force. The sensations are starting to be too much for Stiles to handle, though, and ever new burst of pain has him crying out and gasping – practically screaming. Abruptly, Stiles realizes that there are tears pricking at the corners of his eyes as his neglected cock throbs between his legs, hanging just above the plush leather of the horse.
Just as it starts to turn from good to bad, the word “red” at Stiles’ lips, Derek lightens up his strikes. Like he did before, he carefully lowers the pressure and speed before trailing off completely, leaving Stiles an exposed, sobbing mess.
“Hey,” Derek murmurs, leaning over and pulling Stiles up so that his back is flush against Derek’s chest. “You were so good for me, Stiles. Such a good boy.”
Stiles tilts his head to the side, burying his face in the side of Derek’s neck. He’s still trembling, and he cries out again as one of Derek’s hands comes down to wrap around his cock, jerking him slowly.
“You can come now, baby,” Derek says, clutching Stiles to his chest and stroking him evenly, and that’s all it really takes. Stiles comes with a loud, but slightly choked, moan, come coating Derek’s hand and his own chest.
He’s still trembling as he comes down from it, blissed out and wonderfully sore. His mind steadily clears, though, as Derek murmurs praise in his ear, stroking his hair and cuddling him, for lack of a better word. Really, the only uncomfortable thing about it is Derek’s hard-on pressed up against his tender ass.
“Wanna suck you,” Stiles groans once he’s regained the brain capacity.
“You don’t have to,” Derek replies evenly, although Stiles is pretty sure he hears Derek’s breath hitch slightly.
“I want to,” Stiles repeats, twisting around in Derek’s arms. “I need it.”
“Still pushy. I suppose that’s a good sign of health,” Derek snorts, leaning back against the leather padded horse. “Fine, then. Suck me off.”
Stiles manages a grin and sinks to his knees in front of Derek, unbuckling his belt and pulling down his pants and underwear with shaky hands. He’s still aware of multiple sets of eyes on him, although he’s pretty sure two of them are Boyd and Erica. Part of him wants to give them a show.
He doesn’t waste any time teasing Derek when he finally gets him out of the confines of his jeans, though. He sucks the head of Derek’s leaking cock into his mouth, tonguing it and then sliding down it in one smooth movement. Derek surprises him a little by threading his fingers through his hair, but Stiles takes it in stride, and he’s secretly a little pleased that Derek’s apparently remembered his predilection for hair pulling.
Stiles lets his eyes fall shut as he enjoys the moment, the feel of Derek’s thick cock in his mouth. He’s running his tongue along the bottom when Derek yanks at his hair abruptly, making him choke a little. Taken off guard, he looks up at Derek who has a questioning look on his face, as if he’s asking Stiles if he was too rough. In response, Stiles brings his hands up to Derek’s hips and coaxes them forward, allowing Derek to fuck his mouth properly.
Derek wastes no time after that, tugging at Stiles’ hair properly, like so many of his previous partners were too afraid to do. This is what he needs – a sharp tug and a punishing rhythm.
“Fuck, Stiles, you look so – ” Derek pants, although he cuts himself off with a groan, spilling down Stiles throat.
Stiles swallows it easily and finally pulls off when Derek releases him from his grip. He licks at Derek’s cock a few more times, though, just to make sure he got every last drop.
“You’re beautiful,” Derek finishes, dropping down to pull Stiles back into his arms and comfort him some more as he comes down from such an incredible high.
Stiles isn’t entirely sure how long they sit there on the floor, huddled together, but when they finally stand up again, Derek helping Stiles walk on his shaky, coltish legs, almost everyone has cleared out.
Everyone except for Deucalion, that is.
“That was stunning,” Deucalion says, breaking the silence. “Thank you for allowing me to listen.”
“You’re welcome,” Derek replies stiffly. “Is there anything you needed?”
Deucalion’s silent for a moment, clearly still deciding how to phrase his response.
“I don’t wish to be presumptuous, but how would you and your sub feel about a more private show?” Deucalion finally asks, taking Stiles off guard. “Next time you’re here, of course.”
“I – ” Derek pauses, glancing at Stiles. “What did you have in mind?”
“Nothing extreme,” Deucalion replies, his tone deceptively light and pressure-free. “Whatever you want to do, as long as I get to listen again.”
“I’m fine with it,” Derek says after a moment. “But it’s ultimately Stiles’ decision.”
“Well, then?” Deucalion asks, a smirk spreading over his face as he turns to Stiles. “What do you think, Stiles?”
Stiles pauses for a split-second, tongue darting out to lick his lips.
“Let’s do it.”
If you're wondering what the piece of furniture Stiles was bent over looks like, here it is (NSFW).
“Are you even taking this seriously?” Derek asks, a steely edge to his voice which makes Stiles snap back to attention. It’s not quite his Dom voice, but it’s damn close.
“Look, it’s fine. I’ll be fine,” Stiles insists, as sincere as he possibly can be. “It’s not like Deucalion’s going to be having a threesome with us. He won’t even get to touch me or talk to me until the scene’s completely over. I’ll be fine.”
TRIGGER WARNINGS: panic attack, implied/assumed abusive relationship (see end notes for more information)
Kinks: wax play, butt plugs, blindfolds
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“You’re sure you’re okay with this?” Derek asks for what must be the millionth time. Stiles lets out a little snort, giving Derek an annoyed look.
“Yes, I’m okay with this,” he replies, just barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “My answer hasn’t changed in the past five minutes.”
“Deucalion’s going to be listening to you,” Derek reminds him – not that he actually needs a reminder. “He’s going to be completely focused on you.”
“Yeah, well, the only difference from the last is that there’ll be a few less people,” Stiles points out, shrugging and sinking a little further back into the cushions of Derek’s plush couch. Idly, Stiles wonders why Derek doesn’t have a leather one and has to bite his lip to keep from grinning too obviously.
“Are you even taking this seriously?” Derek asks, a steely edge to his voice which makes Stiles snap back to attention. It’s not quite his Dom voice, but it’s damn close.
“Look, it’s fine. I’ll be fine,” Stiles insists, as sincere as he possibly can be. “It’s not like he’s going to be having a threesome with us. He won’t even get to touch me or talk to me until the scene’s completely over. I’ll be fine.”
Derek stares at him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Just as it begins to get truly uncomfortable, though, he looks away and gives a stiff nod.
“We should plan our scene then,” Derek finally says, his mouth thinning into a hard line.
“Have at it, man,” Stiles replies, motioning for Derek to continue. “You’re in charge here.”
“That doesn’t mean I won’t at least consider your suggestions,” Derek counters, giving Stiles a look which makes his insides twist themselves into knots as he thinks about all the different things he’d like Derek to do to him.
“You’re more experienced. You know more on the subject than I do,” Stiles points out, although his mouth has gone a little dry.
“True,” Derek says, his tone distinctly amused. “But knowing you, you’ve looked around the internet at least a little bit. I’m sure you can think of at least one thing you’d like to do.”
“The internet lies,” Stiles replies, although his breath hitches slightly and if Derek’s smug expression is anything to go by, he didn’t miss it.
“Tell me,” Derek orders, and Stiles feels his cheeks heat as he thinks of all the things he’s come across in his little internet forays.
“Okay, fine, whatever,” Stiles huffs, staring down at the hole in the knee of his jeans and toying with it with his fingers. “Look, so you remember how you mentioned wax play a while ago?”
Derek nods, his gaze unnervingly intense as he fixates fully on Stiles.
“So I might have looked into it a little more,” Stiles admits, squirming a little under Derek’s scrutiny. “And I’m interested.”
“Good,” Derek replies, his smile a little sharp. “I can certainly work with that, and I have the necessary supplies.”
“Cool,” Stiles says, smiling slightly and trying to ignore the rush of anticipation that passes through him.
“There is one other thing I’d like to do while we’re with Deucalion, though,” Derek continues, his tone dipping into a more serious octave.
“Yeah?” Stiles asks. So far everything he’s done with Derek has been amazing, but he knows well enough that they’re going to stumble on a landmine sooner or later. Letting Deucalion watch them is already pushing it a little bit – not that they can help it.
“I want to blindfold you,” Derek announces.
“That’s all?” Stiles asks, a little surprised. Honestly, with the way Derek was talking he thought it’d be something more severe, something more out there.
“Blindfolding is a lot more nerve-wracking than you’d think,” Derek says. “I’m taking away one of your most essential senses and you’ll have to put quite a bit of trust in me.”
“I do trust you,” Stiles replies for what must be the millionth time since they started this – this thing, this mission, this relationship – whatever it is.
“I’m not just suggesting this because I want you to try it,” Derek continues, his voice still very calm and even. “I know you’re still nervous about Deucalion being there, and I think the blindfold will help you focus more on me than him.”
“Is this about you getting all possessive again?” Stiles teases, a small, lopsided grin on his face.
“That too,” Derek replies dryly, but Stiles doesn’t miss the glint in his eye, a small spark of possessiveness.
“You’re right, though,” Stiles says, Derek giving him a questioning look. “I think it’ll help.”
“Good,” Derek replies.
“So, is that all for our planning session, or can I go raid your kitchen now and watch bad sci-fi movies on Netflix?” Stiles asks, jerking a thumb back towards the other room.
“Later,” Derek says, although thankfully his tone has a hint of amusement to it. “Right now I think we need to go over the basics of wax play a little more.”
“What, you mean like theory, or…?” Stiles asks, waggling his eyebrows at Derek.
“I just want to know that you’ll be able to handle it when the time comes,” Derek answers easily. “Just because what you read and saw on the internet seemed like something you’d enjoy doesn’t mean you’re actually going to like it.”
“I think we’ve already well established the fact that I like pain,” Stiles counters, raising an eyebrow at Derek.
“This is a different type of pain than flogging,” Derek replies, his tone firm. “You might react to it in a way you weren’t expecting.”
“Fine, fine,” Stiles sighs, not that he’d really planned on putting up much of a fight. As he’s constantly reminded, Derek knows a whole hell of a lot more about this than he does, and it’s generally (always) better to follow his lead and listen to his orders. “Let’s get to it, then. How do you want me?”
“In my bed, first of all,” Derek replies with a sharp smile and Stile can feel his cheeks flush.
“Smart ass,” Stiles mutters as he gets up from the couch.
“What was that?” Derek asks, his tone harsher, a little more dangerous.
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles answers, looking at Derek with large doe eyes, the picture of innocence.
“Now who’s the smart ass,” Derek huffs, although some of the harshness bleeds out of his tone. Stiles shoots him a small grin and falls into step right behind him as they head towards the bedroom.
“So, what – ” Stiles starts, standing beside Derek’s large, queen sized bed.
“Just take your shirt off and lie down on your back,” Derek commands. Stiles does as he’s told, although he kind of wishes that Derek had told him to take off his pants, too. Not that he’s going to bother arguing.
It’s getting easier, he thinks, exposing himself to Derek like this. The first time wasn’t all that bad, when he’d taken off his shirt when they were first trying out painplay. Then again, at the time he’d been far more focused on his one nervousness to really be that self-conscious. The second time – when he and Derek first had sex – had been worse, particularly for the few moments when he’d stood there awkwardly in his bright red boxer-briefs.
Of course, then he’d promptly moved on to stripping, and having sex in front of, a whole crowd of people, so really, he got over that nervousness quicker than expected.
“Good boy,” Derek says, breaking Stiles from his thoughts and making him look over to find Derek standing over him with a couple of thick candles and a lighter in one hand and a fire extinguisher in the other.
Stiles watches on with interest as Derek sets the candles and lighter down on the bed and the fire extinguisher on the floor. He then turns and ducks back into the connected bathroom for a moment, although he returns in barely a second with a couple of wash cloths and a bowl of what looks like ice water.
“In case of burns,” Derek explains, nodding towards the bowl.
“Right,” Stiles replies, eyes darting over to the candles this time. They’re a translucent white color, which, if what the websites he perused is to be trusted, is the ideal type for wax play.
“They’re paraffin wax,” Derek explains, picking one up and turning it over in his hand for Stiles to see. “It melts at about one-twenty-five degrees.”
Stiles nods, still a little transfixed.
“For now I’m just going to drip some on your stomach, and maybe a bit on your chest,” Derek continues, eyes sweeping over Stiles’ body in a way which makes him have to suppress a shiver. “I’ll never go anywhere near your face with wax, but depending on how you react to the wax, I could be persuaded to try some on your thighs and even your cock.”
Stiles’ throat goes a little dry at that. Most of the information he’d fond online had been about female subs, and most of them seemed to enjoy having wax dripped on their vagina, but he’s still not entirely sure how he feels about trying something like that. Sure, being whipped and flogged had been good, but, like Derek had said, that was a different kind of pain, and the skin of his shoulders and ass is significantly less sensitive than, well…
“Of course, we’ll only do that if you ask for it,” Derek says, apparently having picked up on Stiles’ hesitation. “We’re sticking with the basics for now.”
“Okay,” Stiles manages, giving Derek a small smile.
Derek’s expression softens a little bit and he leans down to press a kiss to Stiles’ lips. Stiles opens up to him immediately, letting out a little moan as one of Derek’s hands trails down his chest, fingers toying with one of his nipples. All too soon, though, Derek pulls back again.
“I need you to stay a still as you can for me,” Derek says, picking up one of the candles and the lighter. “Can you do that, Stiles?”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles replies, eyes fixed on the flame that’s just sprung up from the lighter.
It only takes a moment for Derek to light the candle. He lets it burn for a moment as he sets the lighter aside, but then he holds the candle up high, carefully positioning it over his outstretched other arm, the soft skin of his inner wrist upturned and exposed.
“I need to check the temperature,” Derek explains as the wax begins to drip down onto his skin, making little dots and crisscrossing patterns. He lowers the candle steadily, letting the wax get hotter and hotter, and Stiles’ stomach beings to twist itself into knots again as he sees Derek grimace slightly when the candle gets a little too close.
“So, am I ever gonna get some, or are you just keeping it for yourself?” Stiles quips, trying to distract himself from how much seeing Derek, his Dom, in pain affected him.
“Keep up that attitude and I’ll make sure you don’t get any,” Derek snorts, giving Stiles an unimpressed look.
“C’mon, Sir, please?” Stiles whines, giving Derek his best pleading look. “I’m ready, the wax is fine, so let’s just do this already.”
Derek arches an eyebrow, before tipping the candle over him and letting the wax fall right down onto his right nipple.
“Holy shit,” Stiles gasps, squeezing his eyes shut as he takes in the feeling of the wax slowly drying on his skin. It’s more warm than hot, and it certainly doesn’t hurt, but it’s a rather disorienting sensation nonetheless.
“Too hot?” Derek asks, calm, although there’s a hint of worry in his tone.
“No, it’s good,” Stiles answers, shaking his head slightly. “Just give a guy some warning.”
“Sorry,” Derek replies, not sounding even the least bit apologetic. He reaches out then and scrapes the wax off Stiles’ skin, his fingernail scratching over Stiles’ nipple and making his squirm.
“It, uh. It could actually be a little hotter,” Stiles admits as Derek continues to tweak and rub his nipple, even though the wax has neatly flaked off.
Derek gives a noncommittal hum, before tipping the candle again and drawing a long stripe across Stiles’ stomach. Stiles’ eyes flutter shut again as he takes in the sensation. This time the wax is a little hotter, but still not quite to the point where it hurts like he wants it too. The line of it, though, reminds him a little bit of being whipped, of how the pain bursts over his skin in a concentrated stripe.
“It still doesn’t hurt,” Stiles complains, looking over at Derek. “I – ”
Whatever he was going to say, though, morphs into a strangled moan as Derek dribbles more wax over his skin, hotter this time, enough to make a burning sensation radiate out from the points of contact. Derek apparently takes his moan as encouragement and draws another stripe across his stomach, crisscrossing it over the other two half-dried ones.
“Good?” Derek asks, a smug smile on his face.
“More,” Stiles whines, arching his back, his mild already well on the way to pleasantly clouded.
“Is that how you ask me for something, Stiles?” Derek asks, his tone dipping into a more dangerous register, making Stiles’ cheeks flush in embarrassment.
“Sir, could you please – could I have some more wax?” Stiles pleads, giving Derek his best doe eyes. “Please, Sir?”
Derek’s smirk returns and he tips the candle again, carefully rotating it to melt the wax evenly as he lets it slowly drip, drip, drip onto Stiles’ skin. The wax creates little circles this time, dotting his skin in little clusters like his moles do. Red-hot pain radiates out from each point, an achy burn permeating his skin which makes him flush all over. His cock’s starting to take interest in the proceedings, too, and he can’t help but roll his hips, thrusting upwards as if that’ll somehow make the wax burn more.
An amused smile on his face, Derek draws back the candle a little bit, teasing Stiles with not-quite-hot-enough wax. Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from making any embarrassing, needy sounds. It only takes a few more lazily drawn stripes of appropriately burning wax before Stiles is fully hard, though, straining at his jeans uncomfortably as he lets out breathy little gasps when Derek starts scraping off the wax with his fingernails again. It aggravates his oversensitive skin, making it sting a little more.
What finally brings Stiles back down to earth, though, is the feeling of Derek rubbing him lazily through the fabric of his jeans. Derek blows out the candle and sets it off to the side before slowly unbuttoning Stiles’ jeans and taking out his cock.
“I can’t believe you didn’t realize you were a masochist before this,” Derek says, stroking Stiles’ cock slowly. It’s a little uncomfortable without lube, but Stiles is beyond the point of being phased by a little discomfort now.
“Guess I just didn’t have someone to show me what it was like,” Stiles replies, his voice rough and a little breathy.
Derek’s eyes darken a little bit, but he doesn’t say anything to that, just continues stroking Stiles until comes with a low moan, splattering over the small burns patterned over his stomach and chest. He lies there, content and a little dazed, as Derek takes out his erection and jerks off over him, Derek’s own come soon joining the mix.
Stiles is jolted back out of his sex-hazed state, though, as he feels a wet, hot tongue on slide over his stomach, lapping up his come and irritating his reddened skin. He lets out a tired groan, but doesn’t try to push Derek away as he cleans their mess up with his mouth, making Stiles’ oversensitive skin tingle and ache.
“You didn’t get any wax on my cock,” Stiles finally says, once he’s cognizant enough to form a coherent sentence.
“Next time,” Derek replies, pressing a light kiss to a patch of reddened skin just below Stiles’ collarbone.
“So is this what we’re doing next time?” Stiles asks as Derek reaches over for a cool washcloth and begins wiping down Stiles’ chest, making sure to clean up all the residual stickiness. “This plus a blindfold?”
“I was thinking I might alternate wax with ice, just to keep you on your toes,” Derek answers, rubbing the washcloth methodically over Stiles’ skin, “and I’d like to fuck you, also.”
“Sounds good,” Stiles murmurs, relaxing into Derek’s touch. “There’s one thing I’m going to need you to do for me, though.”
“And that is?” Derek asks, his tone wary.
“I need you to leave me alone with Deucalion at the end of the scene,” Stiles answers evenly.
“No,” Derek says immediately, his tone sharp.
“Yes,” Stiles counters, firm and unwavering. “Look, Deucalion’s never going to talk to me if he can’t do it alone. I need to be alone with him, and if he thinks I’m particularly vulnerable he might tell me even more than he normally would.”
“I can’t just abandon you after a scene,” Derek replies, his jaw clenched.
“Just say you’re going to get me some water. You’ll only be gone for a few minutes which will give Deucalion enough time to talk to me, but it won’t give him enough time to actually do anything to me,” Stiles says, pushing himself up into a sitting position to look Derek directly in the eye. “He wouldn’t do anything too inappropriate at the club anyway.”
“I don’t like it. You won’t be in the right state of mind, and if you start dropping and I’m not there – ” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off, shaking his head.
“We’ve already taken too long with this mission,” Stiles argues, his lips set in a determined line. “I’ll tell Lydia about the plan, and you know she’ll agree with it and override you.”
Derek’s face twists into an unhappy expression.
“Fine,” Derek sighs, relenting.
Stiles knows he’s won, but it sure as hell doesn’t feel like he has.
A surprising amount of prep goes into getting ready to meet up with Deucalion. Derek had told him to shave pretty much everywhere so that the wax wouldn’t get caught up in his hair, and he’s feeling remarkably morose about the loss of the small patch on his chest. Even his happy trail is gone.
(His legs, on the other hand, feel as smooth as baby dolphins and he’s half tempted to make this a regular thing.)
The worst part of the prep, though, is that apparently Derek doesn’t want to deal with getting him ready once they get to the dungeon.
Meaning that Stiles is trying not to squirm, because he has a fucking butt plug stuck up his ass. Every bump in the road on the drive over is pure torture.
“I hate you so much for this,” Stiles mutters as Derek steers him into the club. His gait is awkward at best, as he’s already caught a few amused and knowing looks from other dungeon patrons.
“I still can’t believe this is the first time you’ve ever worn a plug,” Derek replies, his hand slipping further down to rest on Stiles’ ass.
“So none of my other partners have been a kinky as you. Sue me,” Stiles huffs, his legs going a little weak as he feels Derek press at the plug through his jeans.
“I saved you from an eternity of bad, vanilla sex,” Derek says, sounding far too smug for his own good. “You should be grateful.”
“My sex life was fine before you came along,” Stiles protests, even though it’s a complete and utter lie. His sex life was horrible before Derek came along, and the worst part was that he didn’t even really realize it.
“Liar,” Derek replies, all too perceptive.
Stiles would argue further, but then he spots Deucalion at the bar, already turned in their direction. Stiles glances behind the bar and is grateful to see that Braeden isn’t there. Derek had specifically chosen this time because Erica and Boyd wouldn’t be there to ask awkward questions, but Stiles wasn’t entirely sure if Braeden would be on shift.
“Deucalion,” Derek says, his tone carefully neutral.
“Derek, Stiles,” Deucalion replies, a smile on his lips which makes Stiles’ skin want to crawl off. “I’ve already reserved a private room for us. Hopefully that wasn’t too presumptuous of me.”
“Not at all,” Derek answers with his own sharp smile. “Lead the way.”
“Perfect,” Deucalion says, and Stiles is torn between being annoyed and flattered at Derek and Deucalion’s less than subtle Dom-posturing.
They follow Deucalion to the elevator and then have to wait together awkwardly both for the elevator and then inside the elevator. It’s not until Deucalion leads them into a room on the basement level labeled “six” that they break the silence.
“So, would you care to tell me what it is you have planned or should I wait to be surprised?” Deucalion asks, although the question is obviously directed at Derek.
“Temperature play,” Derek answers easily as Deucalion makes himself comfortable in an armchair pushed up against one wall, facing the bed. “Wax and ice.”
“Exciting,” Deucalion says, but the pleased edge to his voice makes the small hairs on the nape of Stiles’ neck stand on end.
“Stiles is also plugged up so he can take me afterwards,” Derek adds, giving Stiles a look which makes his hair stand on end for an entirely different reason.
“Ah, of course. I couldn’t help but hear that his gait was a little off earlier,” Deucalion replies, but this time his tone is just a little flatter. Derek looks a little pleased at that, and Stiles has to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Derek may be a Dom, but he’s getting a little too into character in Stiles’ opinion. It’s not like Deucalion can see his reaction.
“We should get started,” Derek announces, and Stiles is a little surprised to note that he carefully doesn’t mention the fact that Stiles will also be blindfolded. Then again, the blindfold is mainly to keep him from focusing on Deucalion, so maybe it’s a smart move on Derek’s part.
Stiles has become remarkably comfortable with undressing in front of people now and it only takes him a few moments to remove his clothing and carefully fold them, setting them on the ground next to the bed. He can’t help the way his breath hitches slightly as his underwear catches on the base of the plug, though. It doesn’t escape Derek’s notice, if his smirk is anything to go by.
“On the bed,” Derek orders, his voice even.
“Back or front? Sir?” Stiles asks, blushing as he tacks on the ‘Sir’ he nearly forgot. It’s not something that normally happens to him lately, but it seems like Deucalion’s presence is throwing him off a bit. Then again, Deucalion may interpret it as reluctance to call Derek ‘Sir’ and an opportunity for him to strike.
“Back,” Derek answers, and Stiles complies without hesitation.
He lies there on the bed, exposed, as Derek gets out all the necessary supplies. They’re using the same candle as last time, the same lighter, and the only thing that’s new, really, is the thermos full of ice cubes. They appear to have survived the trip mostly unmelted.
After setting everything out on the small table next to the bed, Derek crawls up onto it, a black, silky looking blindfold in hand. Truthfully it looks more like a sleep mask than what Stiles had thought a blindfold would look like – not that he’s complaining.
“I want you to forget that he’s even here,” Derek murmurs as he puts it on Stiles, his voice too low for Deucalion to hear. “It’s just me, alright? Only me.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles replies softly, resisting the urge to moan as Derek’s fingers drag through his hair.
“Good,” Derek says before pulling back again.
Being blindfolded is – well, it’s a little disorienting. He trusts Derek, of course he does, but the last time he was blindfolded was when he was kidnapped, and that’s really not something he wants to be reminded of. For some reason the blindfold takes him back more than being tied up did, which is a little strange, considering he wasn’t even blindfolded for that long.
His throat constricts a little and his breathing speeds up.
“Stiles?” Derek says, his voice sharp, and Stiles can’t help but flinch back as he feels something touch his cheek. “Stiles, it’s me. It’s okay.”
“I – I can’t – ” Stiles stutters, his breathing shallow and harsh.
“Is everything alright?” he hears Deucalion ask, but it sounds distant, muted.
“Stiles,” Derek repeats, louder this time, ignoring Deucalion.
“P-panic attack – ” Stiles manages, bringing a hand up to claw at the blindfold, but his hands are trembling so bad that he can’t do more than tug at it weakly. He lets out a choked, desperate sound. His lungs feel like all the air is being squeezed out of them and when Derek’s hand skates lightly over his arm, all he can think of are rough, gun-calloused hands shoving him into the back of a van.
“No – ” he gasps as he attempts to break free of – of whoever grip – he doesn’t even know what’s happening anymore, what’s –
The blindfold is wrenched off his face and abruptly he can see again.
“Stiles, it’s me,” Derek repeats as Stiles blinks up at him, dazed. He’s vaguely aware that he’s gripping Derek’s arm hard enough that he’ll probably have bruises tomorrow. “It’s just me. You need to breathe, okay?”
Stiles manages a jerky nod, but his lungs are still working against him, his breathing loud and harsh.
“Breath in with me,” Derek says, and Stiles nods again, his fingers trembling and his grip on Derek’s arm loosening. “I need you to breathe.”
“In.” Stiles breathes in as best he can.
“And out.” Stiles breathes out. It’s loud, too loud. Shallow.
“Good, very good. You’re doing so well for me, Stiles,” Derek says, his tone soft.
“In.” Stiles keeps his gaze firmly fixed on Derek and maybe it’s his imagination, but he takes in more air this time.
“Out.” His exhale is still loud, but it’s better.
“In.” Easier, this time.
“Out.” Easier out, too. His fingers stop trembling.
He’s not entirely sure how long it goes on for, him breathing according to Derek’s careful instruction. It can’t be too long, though, not more than a few minutes. He anchors himself on Derek’s presence and just allows himself to breathe.
“Water,” he croaks when he finally feels stable again. “I need some water.”
Derek looks uncertain, reluctantly to leave Stiles alone. Stiles gives him a significant look and wills him not to protest. He’s pretty damn sure that they’re not going to have sex now, not so soon after a panic attack, and this might be his only opportunity to get Deucalion alone.
“Alright,” Derek replies, caving. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”
He says the last part loud enough so that Deucalion is sure to hear it.
The sound of the door closing behind him is almost deafening and Stiles has to squeeze his eyes closed for a moment to avoid lapsing back into a state of panic. He snaps them open again, though, when he hears Deucalion move closer.
“Are you alright?” Deucalion asks, his voice surprisingly soft. Honestly, it takes Stiles a little off guard.
“Yeah,” Stiles croaks, forcing a smile before remembering Deucalion can’t actually see it. “Just a panic attack. I get them sometimes.”
Deucalion tuts disapprovingly and Stiles stiffens slightly.
“He shouldn’t have left,” Deucalion says, surprising Stiles.
“What?” he manages, staring up at Deucalion.
“Your Dom,” Deucalion clarifies, sitting down on the bed next to Stiles, but not making any move to touch him. “He shouldn’t have left. He shouldn’t have abandoned you.”
Stiles does his best not to wince when Deucalion says ‘abandoned’ because that’s not really the case. Derek would never actually abandon him.
“He went to get me some water,” Stiles protests, unable to keep himself from defending Derek at least a little bit.
“He’s really done a number on you, hasn’t he?” Deucalion says, sounding remarkably sympathetic. “A Dom should never leave their sub when they’re disoriented and vulnerable, particularly with a Dom who they don’t know very well. It’s dangerous.”
“Derek – ” Stiles starts, but he cuts himself off, realizing that Deucalion has given him the perfect opportunity. “Yeah.”
“You don’t have to stay with him, you know,” Deucalion replies and once again Stiles has to tamp down on a swell of anger in Derek’s defense.
“I don’t know how to break it off with him,” Stiles says, forcing himself to sound nervous. He’s not technically lying, though. He has no clue how he’ll break off this – whatever it is, with Derek once the mission is over.
“Let me give you my number,” Deucalion replies, surprising Stiles again. This is perfect.
“Okay,” Stiles mumbles. “Here, just let me – ”
He pushes himself up and slides off the bed, rummaging through his clothes until he finds a slightly crumpled receipt and a cheap pen.
“What is it?” Stiles asks, recording the digits as Deucalion lists them off.
“Feel free to text me, too. My phone can read them out to me,” Deucalion says after Stiles finishes writing everything down.
“Okay,” Stiles replies, nodding.
He hears the door open then and turns around to find Derek walking back through the door. He quickly shoves the receipt and pen back into his pocket and sits back on the bed. Deucalion, meanwhile, stands up again and backs away to a more respectable distance.
“Everything okay?” Derek asks Stiles, handing him a glass of water.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles answers, managing a small smile as he sips at the water. “Can we go home, though? I’m not really feeling up to – ”
“Of course,” Derek says, his expression softening.
“I’ll leave you two to get cleaned up,” Deucalion announces and Derek frowns, giving him a suspicious look, but Stiles puts a hand on his arm and just shakes his head slightly. Derek relaxes a little bit, but he doesn’t stop frowning.
“Did he do anything to you?” Derek asks softly once Deucalion shuts the door behind him.
“No, he just – ” Stiles falters, remembering Derek’s overprotectiveness, his reluctance to leave them alone for just a few minutes. “ – told me that you’re a bad Dom and that I should think about leaving you.”
“Is that all?” Derek snorts.
“Yeah,” Stiles says evenly. He doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes.
When he gets home, he texts Deucalion “thanks.”
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Stiles has a panic attack while he's blindfolded because it reminds him of when he was kidnapped. Derek then leaves (upon Stiles' request) and Deucalion implies that Stiles' relationship with Derek is unhealthy and that Derek is emotionally abusive.
Seriously, though, you shouldn't leave someone like this after they've had a panic attack. Certainly not during, but not for a while afterwards, either.
At Deucalion’s. If I don’t call you in two hours, contact Lydia and have her activate the tracker on my phone.
Stiles sends it to Derek and rereads it. He pauses for a moment and then sends another short text.
TRIGGER WARNINGS: attempted strangulation, some dub-con kissing (Stiles/Deucalion), other fist-fight typical violence, minor talk of mental health issues, possibly dubious punishment*
*see end notes for more details
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Stiles doesn’t tell Derek about his correspondence with Deucalion. Derek is overprotective enough as it is and, really, knowing would only make him worry.
When can I see you?
Stiles has to resist the urge to fiddle with his phone impatiently as he stares at the text – it’s not like it’s going to make Deucalion reply any faster. After all, he’s only had about thirty seconds.
Stiles resolutely avoids thinking about how if it were Derek he’d texted, thirty seconds would be too long. Not that Derek is desperate or needy or anything. He’s just… efficient. That’s the word. Really, the words “Derek” and “desperate” don’t belong in the same sentence unless the word “not” is placed firmly between them.
Zoning out for a moment, Stiles is brought back down to earth by the soft chime of his phone, indicating a new text.
Does tonight work?
Maybe Deucalion’s a little overeager, but Stiles certainly isn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. As Lydia had reminded him earlier that morning, they’re running on a tight schedule and, really, it’s a miracle Deucalion hasn’t used the encryption keys yet.
Too much of a miracle, almost.
Stiles shakes his head, tough, pushing those thoughts from his mind. He can’t worry about that now. He has a mission to complete and the parameters haven’t changed yet.
Sure. What time? He replies.
It’s not a question or a request. Stiles has to tamp down a surge of annoyance and remind himself that he’s supposed to be submissive for Deucalion, pliant and a little desperate. He’s half tempted to say that he’s busy at eight, but, well, Lydia would probably kill him if he gave up such an easy opportunity.
He slumps back down into his couch and pushes his phone away onto the coffee table after sending the text. Tipping his head back, he stares up at the ceiling, wondering if he’s just made a huge mistake. He hasn’t talked with Derek about this, hasn’t even consulted Lydia. She’d make him wear a mike if she knew, and, well, Stiles doesn’t want to risk Deucalion noticing it somehow.
Still, going in without any sort of backup is a pretty stupid idea, even by his standards.
Sighing, Stiles leans back over to pick up his phone again and opens his recent text conversation with Derek. He just stares at it for a moment, fingers hovering over the touch screen.
He locks it and puts it back down on the table.
Stiles stares up at the sleek chrome and glass apartment building. He loiters for a moment on the sidewalk, his phone in hand as he types out a quick message.
At Deucalion’s. If I don’t call you in two hours, contact Lydia and have her activate the tracker on my phone.
He sends it to Derek and rereads it – pauses for a moment and then sends another short text.
Knowing Derek, he probably will anyway, but Stiles will deal with that later. This is more to calm his own nerves than anything.
Taking a deep breath, Stiles steps into the apartment building’s lobby.
“Deucalion,” he says, a little surprised to find him waiting near the elevators on the far side of the room. He thought he’d have to text or buzz up or something.
“Stiles,” Deucalion answers, an easy smile on his lips. “It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yeah,” Stiles replies, unsure what else he’s supposed to say to that as Deucalion sidles up next to him, placing a hand on the back of his neck and steering him towards the elevators. Stiles goes along with it, even though he wants nothing more than to bat away Deucalion’s hand. As it is, it’s difficult not to flinch away from his touch or shiver with discomfort.
“How are things with Derek?” Deucalion asks, his tone superficially casual, but there’s a certain toxicity underneath it. Stiles forces a snort of wry laughter.
“It is what it is,” Stiles answers as they get into the elevator.
“He doesn’t know how to give you what you need, does he?” Deucalion replies, false sympathy coloring his tone. Stiles winces as he feels Deucalion’s grip tighten slightly, his fingers digging into the skin of Stiles’ nape. He can’t help but think that Derek would have asked before touching him like this.
“But you do,” Stiles finally says, maybe a beat too late. “You know what I need.”
“Of course I do, pet,” Deucalion replies, the smugness in his tone makes Stiles’ skin crawl. He shivers a little and he hopes that Deucalion interprets it as excitement instead of disgust. “But let’s save that for somewhere a little more private.”
Stiles kind of wants to throw up.
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles manages, even though the title feels so, so wrong on his tongue. He can’t help but be reminded of Derek’s rule about never addressing another Dom like that.
The elevator dings, indicating they’ve arrived on the correct floor, and Deucalion guides him out into the hallway, his hand never leaving Stiles’ neck. Stiles can feel his heart rate speed up a little as they near the door at the end of the hallway, but he forces himself to breathe evenly and does his best to remain relaxed and pliant under Deucalion’s touch.
It takes a moment for Deucalion to open the door, but his hand remains firmly on Stiles’ neck, and soon enough Stiles finds himself being ushered – with maybe a touch too much force – into the apartment. He wants to say his heart doesn’t skip a beat when he hears Deucalion lock the door behind them, but, well…
“Come in, sit,” Deucalion instructs, moving Stiles down the hall and out into what looks like the living room.
“Thank you,” Stiles replies as he places himself tentatively on one side of the leather couch – because of course Deucalion has a leather couch. He tries not to fidget as Deucalion sits down next to him, between him and the door.
“No need to thank me,” Deucalion tuts, his hand dropping from Stiles’ neck to his lower back. (A little too low for Stiles’ comfort. Not that there’s anything he can do about it at the moment.) “A proper Dominant should take care of their submissive. I’ve always found kneeling to be a little antiquated, anyway.”
“I don’t mind it,” Stiles blurts out, cursing himself at his inability to keep from reacting too obviously to Deucalion’s subtle jab at Derek. He does manage to suppress a small wince, though, as Deucalion’s fingers dig into his lower back a little too hard, fingernails sharp even though the material of Stiles’ t-shirt.
“Ah, but it that you talking, or is it Derek?” Deucalion asks, his tone somehow both soft and steely.
“I – I don’t know,” Stiles answers, doing his best to keep the anger from his voice, infusing it with insecurity instead. He can’t quite force himself to lean into Deucalion’s touch, though. “Derek is – was my first Dom.”
“I know, pet,” Deucalion replies, and Stiles has to bite his lip to keep from scowling at the way Deucalion keeps calling him that – ‘pet.’
But, well, he supposes that, to Deucalion, that’s what he is. A pet.
“Now, why don’t I get us something to drink and we can discuss what you want from me and what I want from you,” Deucalion continues, surprising Stiles a little bit. He’d kind of expected Deucalion to be more forward – not that he’s complaining.
“Okay,” he replies, but Deucalion’s already pushing himself up off the couch, as if he hadn’t expected any other answer.
As Deucalion heads for the kitchen, Stiles idly wonders if he should try to sneak off now and snoop around a bit, but he discards that thought quickly. Deucalion won’t be gone long enough for that, and he really doesn’t want to consider what would happen if Deucalion found him snooping around. Not that he’s that worried about his ability to fight off a blind guy.
He spends a moment staring out the large windows on the opposite wall, but his attention is drawn away from them as he feels his phone start to vibrate in his pocket. Pursing his lips, he glances over in the direction of the kitchen, and pulls out his phone when Deucalion shows no sign of having heard.
However, as he sees the caller ID he has to stifle a curse. Of course it’s Derek. Fuck.
He denies the call and turns off his phone for good measure. He just barely manages to stuff it back into his pocket before Deucalion comes back into the room carrying two mugs of something that looks like tea.
“Thanks,” Stiles says as he accepts a mug. He brings it up to his lips before remembering himself and pulling it away. Deucalion’s been entirely too altruistic thus far, and Stiles can’t forget that he’s a dangerous drug lord.
“Of course,” Deucalion replies, his lips upturned in something that’s not quite a smile, but not fully a smirk. Stiles forces a smile of his own before remembering that Deucalion can’t actually see it.
“So – ” Stiles starts.
“Is it not to your liking?” Deucalion interrupts, taking Stiles off guard.
“Sorry?” Stiles asks, confused and more than a little tense as he grips the mug in his hands.
“The tea. I didn’t hear you swallow,” Deucalion clarifies, which really only sets Stiles even more on edge. “I can get you something else, if – ”
“No! No, it’s fine,” Stiles exclaims, not wanting to aggravate Deucalion or make him suspect anything. Really, he’s probably just being paranoid about the whole thing. So far Deucalion seems to be the ‘draw them in with kindness’ sort of dangerous, so –
– so Stiles takes a sip.
“It’s good,” Stiles says after he swallows. “I didn’t mean to offend you, Sir.”
“Of course you didn’t, pet,” Deucalion replies, a proper smile on his face now. “You don’t need to apologize. Derek really did a number on you, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Stiles mutters, staring down into his mug.
“Would you like me to show you, then?” Deucalion asks. “Would you like me to show you what a real Dom is like?”
Stiles hesitates for a moment, because there’s no reality in which he’d actually want to have sex with Deucalion, or even touch him for more than a minute or so, really.
“Please,” Stiles says.
Deucalion takes the mug from Stiles’ hands and sets it down on the coffee table next to his own before leaning forward. He tangles one hand in Stiles’ hair and yanks, pulling Stiles’ head to the side and exposing his throat. Stiles’ heart is practically beating out of his chest now, but he forces himself to not flinch away, even as he feels Deucalion’s teeth scrape over his jugular.
Stiles forces himself to think of anything but Hannibal Lecter. It’s remarkably difficult.
Unsure how else to react, Stiles lets Deucalion do as he pleases while he attempts to subtly slip a hand into his pocket, gratified when his fist closes around the small syringe stashed there. But Deucalion pushes him down onto his back then, catching him off guard. He goes with it, though, allows Deucalion to attack his mouth next and even opens up his mouth, all pliant and submissive.
He pops the plastic protective cap off the syringe and in one swift movement brings it up to –
Before he can plunge it into Deucalion’s soft skin, a strong hand pins his wrist to the couch with a grip that’s nothing short of bruising.
“Stiles, Stiles,” Deucalion tuts, pulling back a little – enough so that their mouths are still smashed together, at any rate. “And here I thought you were going to be good for me.”
Deucalion tightens his grip even more and Stiles lets out a hiss of pain, trying with all his might to not let go of the syringe still held stubbornly in his hand. Deucalion lets out a huff of something almost akin to amusement at Stiles’ struggle and he leans down again, pulls at Stiles’ lower lip with his teeth while carefully keeping just out of Stiles’ own biting range.
“Fuck you,” Stiles spits out, still straining against Deucalion’s grip.
“Tell me, Stiles, did you and Derek ever get around to breath play?” Deucalion asks, sounding unaffected in the slightest – disturbingly so.
However, Stiles doesn’t get a chance to respond, because a moment later Deucalion’s free hand is pressing down on his throat.
Stiles holds tight to the syringe, not wanting to lose it – it’s the only weapon he has on him, after all – but he claws at Deucalion’s grip around his throat with his free hand, acting on instinct as he tries to pry himself free. Deucalion’s not a particularly large man, but he has the upper hand and it’s costing Stiles. His vision is already starting to blur, and so he does what any desperate man would do and claws at Deucalion’s face.
“Fuck,” Deucalion hisses, caught off guard.
Stiles uses this moment to his full advantage, breaking Deucalion’s grip on his wrist when it loosens slightly, and a split second later, there’s a syringe protruding from Deucalion’s neck. It’s not exactly a pretty sight.
Thankfully, the sedative Lydia gave him is remarkably fast acting. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds before Deucalion slumps down on top of Stiles, unresponsive. Stiles shoves him off, not really caring when Deucalion’s arm falls against the coffee table with a loud crack. Really, Stiles would be happier if it was his head instead.
Stiles yanks the syringe back out of Deucalion’s neck and caps it again before pocketing it. He then rubs down his mug for good measure, just to make sure there aren’t any finger prints on it.
After that, he gets to work looking for the drive with the data encryption keys. He has at least a couple of hours before the sedative wears off – not that he actually wants to cut it that close. He checks the obvious places first: the office, the bedroom, the hidden safe. He finds a remarkable amount of heavy restraints, but unfortunately no drive.
He’s making his way back through the living room to the kitchen when it occurs to him.
It’s not exactly pleasant rifling through Deucalion’s pockets even when he’s unconscious, but it only takes a few moments before Stiles lets out a triumphant noise, coming up with exactly what he’s looking for, tucked away in a well disguised pocket on the inside of his jeans.
Stiles pockets it and walks out.
Stiles grimaces as he checks his appearance in his Jeep’s rearview mirror. There’s a nasty-looking ring of redness and swelling already blooming over his pale throat. He has the unfortunate habit of bruising like a peach and he’s probably going to have to wear turtlenecks and scarves for a few weeks. Ugh, he'll look like some college-age hipster.
He tries to adjust his hoodie to hide the bruises as he gets out of his car and makes his way up to his apartment. Thankfully all his neighbors seem busy and no one tries to make small talk in the hallways or elevator.
However, when he turns the corner to his own hall, he stops in his tracks.
After all, Derek Hale is standing in front of his apartment door looking more furious than Stiles has ever seen him.
“Well, thanks for saving me the trouble of calling you,” Stiles says, drawing his hoodie a little tighter around his neck and breezing past Derek to unlock his door.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” Derek demands, grabbing Stiles’ upper arm and holding him back.
“Can we not do this here?” Stiles hisses, glancing around the hallway for any of his overly nosey neighbors.
“Fine,” Derek snaps, practically shoving Stiles into his apartment and slamming the door behind him. “Now can you explain to me what the hell you were thinking, going after Deucalion alone?”
“How else was I supposed to do it?” Stiles scoffs, pulling away from Derek’s grasp and making his way to the kitchen. “It’s not like Deucalion was ever going to let you into his house.”
He reaches up to grab a glass from one of the cupboards and fills it with water from the tap. He takes a large sip and swishes the water around in his mouth before spitting it back out in the sink, trying to get the taste of Deucalion out of his mouth.
“We could have proposed a proper threesome,” Derek protests, stalking over to Stiles again, but he doesn’t touch this time, just hovers close by. Stiles isn’t sure if he’s grateful or disappointed.
“He never would have agreed to that and you know it,” Stiles replies, before taking in another mouthful of water to clean his mouth out.
“You should have had backup. You should have had a comm, at the very least,” Derek snaps as Stiles continues to rinse and spit, rinse and spit, rinse and spit. “Are you even taking this seriously?”
“Derek – ” Stiles sighs, slamming the glass down on the counter and turning to face him.
Derek isn’t paying attention to him, though, not really. Instead he’s staring wide eyed at Stiles’ neck where his hoodie has fallen away to reveal a strip of reddish, lightly swollen skin.
“Fuck, Stiles, did he – ” Derek starts, reaching out to gently drag Stiles’ collar down enough to fully expose the damage. It’s not too bad at the moment, but Stiles has no doubt that it’ll be a series of nasty purple-black bruises in a day or two.
“I’m fine,” Stiles replies, but he lets Derek examine him. “But if we never try breath play, it’ll be too soon.”
“We should get you to the hospital,” Derek says, his eyes still fixed on Stiles’ throat.
“No,” Stiles says, his tone sharp. “I’m fine. It’s just a few bruises.”
“Stiles, someone tried to strangle you to death!” Derek snaps, startling Stiles a little. He thought he’d seen Derek at his angriest out in the hallway, but somehow he looks even more furious right now. “At least go see Melissa at HQ.”
“Derek, it’s fine. I’m fine,” Stiles insists, reaching out to place a hand on Derek’s arm, trying to placate him.
“Stiles, please – ” Derek says, stepping closer to Stiles.
“Oh my god, why do you even care?” Stiles snaps, glaring at Derek, the stress of – of, well, nearly being killed starting to get to him.
“I’m supposed to support you and take care of – ” Derek starts, but Stiles cuts him off again.
“I’m not your fucking sub, Derek,” Stiles spits out, clearly taking Derek off guard. “Did you forget that this is all fake? I’m not your sub, you’re not my Dom, we’re not in a relationship. It’s not your job to take care of me, or watch out for me, or whatever the fuck it is that you think you have to do for me. It’s just a fucking cover, alright? All of it is fucking fake.”
“Well maybe I don’t want it to be!” Derek snaps. His voice echoes through the room in the following silence.
“Derek…” Stiles finally murmurs, unsure what else to say to that. “Derek, you don’t – that’s not – ”
“Not what you want, yes, I’m aware,” Derek growls, his hands clenched into tight fists by his sides.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Stiles says, reaching out to place his hand on Derek’s wrist again. “This isn’t you. You’ve gotten stuck in your cover, and – ”
Derek cuts him off with a sharp, bitter snort of laughter.
“I know exactly what I’m talking about, Stiles,” he counters, although he doesn’t try to break Stiles’ light grip on his wrist. “God, I’ve been head over heels for you for years, but – ”
“Years?” Stiles blurts out, his eyes widening.
“Look, I won’t ever bring it up again if you don’t want me to. I can be a professional. But if there’s even the slightest chance that you – if you feel even the tiniest – ” Derek replies, breaking off at the end, and Stiles can feel him trembling slightly under his fingers.
“Me too,” Stiles says, the words just kind of spilling out of his mouth. Derek gives him a confused look. “I mean, I – I’ve had a thing for you, too. For years. God, since I fucking met you, maybe.”
“Really?” Derek asks, reaching a tentative hand up to cup Stiles’ cheek, brushing his thumb over Stiles’ cheekbone.
“Why didn’t you say anything?” Derek asks softly, staring into Stiles’ eyes with a conflicted, unreadable expression.
“Why didn’t you?” Stiles counters, leaning into Derek’s touch.
“Why didn’t I ask you out and then say, ‘By the way, how do you feel about whips?’” Derek snorts, which, yeah, okay, he has a bit of a point there.
“I would have said yes to it,” Stiles replies softly.
“Back then?” Derek asks, sounding more than a little skeptical.
“I would have,” Stiles repeats, stepping even closer to Derek, so that there’s barely any space between them. “There are very few things I wouldn’t do for you. Which, you know, kind of terrifies me, actually.”
“If that’s true, then stop putting yourself in danger all the fucking time,” Derek replies, a bit of the previous anger in his tone returning.
“I’m just doing my job,” Stiles retorts, a bit defensive himself.
“Stiles…” Derek sighs, the anger bleeding out of him, replaced by something a little sadder. “I’ve lost track of how many times you’ve told me you trust me since we started this. So why can’t you trust me to have your back in the field? It’s my job. I’m here to make sure you don’t get yourself killed.”
“Hey, well, I’m still alive, so clearly you aren’t doing that bad,” Stiles jokes, but his voice is weak and it falls flat.
“You almost died today,” Derek says, reaching out to ghost his fingers over the bruises just starting to form on Stiles’ neck. “You almost died and I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it.”
Stiles looks down at the ground, no longer able to maintain eye contact with Derek.
“What if it was me?” Derek asks. “What if I confronted Deucalion without telling you and nearly got strangled to death.”
“I can’t guarantee one hundred percent that I won’t put myself in danger again,” Stiles says after a moment, finally looking back at Derek. “But I try.”
“You know, Marin used to be a psychiatrist,” Derek replies, confusing Stiles a little with the change in topic. “You should talk to her sometime.”
“I think I’ve seen enough shrinks, thanks,” Stiles snorts, his tone more than a little bitter.
“Stiles, this isn’t healthy,” Derek says, his voice surprisingly firm. “Obviously I can’t make you talk to anyone about it, but trust me, it helps. I know it does. And if you don’t feel comfortable talking to Marin, she knows some other kink-friendly therapists in the area who she can refer you to.”
“I’ll think about it,” Stiles replies, and Derek nods, apparently accepting that much.
Neither of them says anything for a moment.
“So, are we really doing this?” Stiles finally asks, the smallest hint of a smile on his lips. “Are we official now?”
“If you want us to be,” Derek replies, moving to twine their fingers together.
“I’m yours, Sir,” Stiles answers, and he doesn’t miss the way Derek’s eyes darken a little at that. “As long as you can deal with me being a brat sometimes, of course.”
“I’ll train you out of it eventually,” Derek says, smirking ever so slightly. “Right now you need to contact Lydia, though.”
“Fuck,” Stiles mutters, grimacing, because if Derek was mad, he can’t even begin to imagine how furious Lydia’s going to be. His eardrums hurt just thinking about the yelling he’s going to have to sit through. “I didn’t exactly sedate Deucalion subtly. Damage control’s gonna be a bitch.”
“Maybe it would have gone smoother if you’d had backup,” Derek says, his tone pointed.
“I’ll keep that in mind for next time,” Stiles sighs, already fishing his cell phone out of his pocket. He grimaces when he turns it on again and sees how many missed calls from Derek and Lydia he has.
“I’ll be right here when you’re finished,” Derek replies, dropping a light kiss onto Stiles’ cheek.
“I’m not really – ” Stiles starts.
“Just sleep. We’ll just sleep, and maybe cuddle a little,” Derek says, smiling slightly. “Obviously we’ll have to determine your punishment later – ”
“Punishment?” Stiles squawks, blinking at Derek with wide eyes.
“You put yourself in danger and didn’t give me information pertinent to your safety,” Derek answers, his tone becoming a little more serious. “That’s not something I take lightly, Stiles.”
“Alright,” Stiles sighs after a moment, scowling down at his phone.
“We’ll talk about it when you’re in a better state of mind,” Derek replies, stroking a comforting hand down Stiles’ arm. “For now don’t worry about it.”
Stiles nods and leans over to steal one more chaste kiss from Derek. Then he turns back to his phone and braces himself for Lydia Martin.
Possibly Dubious Punishment: Derek says that he will punish Stiles for putting himself in unnecessary danger and not at least warning Lydia like he's required to. They had not fully agreed to a personal BDSM relationship at the time of the transgression, and have not yet fully determined punishment boundaries at that point in time. The punishment itself occurs in the next chapter, and Stiles is banned from sex for a week, and from the internet (although he is still allowed to use it to skype friends and is absolutely allowed to go out and meet with friends, etc.).
On a completely different topic: I just thought I'd mention that what Derek says about talking to a kink-friendly therapist is really important if you're involved in a BDSM relationship. Remember, BDSM contracts aren't in any way legally binding, because even safe, sane, consensual BDSM is considered abuse throughout most of the US. Therefore, if you talk to your therapist or doctor about your partner flogging/whipping/spanking you, etc. then they might be required to report it as domestic abuse. This has been (yet another) PSA.
“Unbelievable,” Lydia says, her eyes sharp and narrowed as she glares at Stiles from across her desk. “You’re unbelievable.”
Kinks in this chapter: rope bondage (cuffs), collars, kind of voyeurism, uuhhh... dirty talk
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“Unbelievable,” Lydia says, her eyes sharp and narrowed as she glares at Stiles from across her desk. “You’re unbelievable.”
“Lyd – ” Stiles sighs, but Lydia cuts him off before he can even complete the word.
“Were you or were you not aware that you were required to report to me before taking any major action against Deucalion?” Lydia asks, her tone clipped.
“Yes, but – ” Stiles tries.
“Did you or did you not confront Deucalion alone, without any form of backup, knowing that it was against regulations?” Lydia continues, barreling on over Stiles.
“Yes, I did – ” Stiles replies, and although he wants to be frustrated with her, he knows that, ultimately, she’s right.
“Do you know what I would have told you if you’d proposed your plan to me?” Lydia asks, her expression cold and unreadable.
“No,” Stiles answers simply, slumping back in his chair.
“I would have vetoed it,” Lydia replies, resting her elbows on her desk and lacing her fingers together. “Do you know why?”
“Because I put myself at risk and – ” Stiles snorts, but Lydia cuts him off again.
“No,” she says, surprising Stiles. “I would have vetoed your frankly idiotic plan because less than an hour before you went to meet Deucalion, former Agent Daehler was found dead in a motel parking lot five miles past the city limits.”
“What?” Stiles blurts out, his eyes going wide.
“Agent Māhealani and I strongly suspect that he’d given Deucalion outdated encryption keys, which is why our servers were never breeched, despite the ample amount of time Deucalion had to use them,” Lydia explains, making Stiles feel kind of dazed. It makes sense, of course, but it’s still a bit to take in after what he’d just gone through to get the keys back.
“Does that make Daehler more or less of a scumbag?” Stiles muses, frowning.
“My point, though, is that if you’d actually bothered to consult with me, as you were supposed to, you wouldn’t have nearly gotten strangled to death,” Lydia finishes, her gaze still sharp and unwavering. “So I’m suspending you until we’ve got this clusterfuck fully sorted out.”
“Suspended?” Stiles exclaims, sitting up straight again.
Lydia gives him a significant, unimpressed look.
“I, uh, suppose that’s fair,” Stiles mutters, breaking eye contact with her and staring down at her office’s carpeted floor.
“Damn straight, it’s fair,” she snorts, holding out her hand. “Badge and ID.”
Stiles lets out another overdramatic sigh, but warily hands them over, his stomach tying itself into knots as he watches Lydia place them into her desk drawer.
“You’ll get them back soon enough,” Lydia reassures him, her expression softening slightly.
“So am I dismissed then?” Stiles sighs, his posture slumping again.
“Yes, you’re dismissed,’ Lydia replies, and Stiles can tell that she’s resisting the urge to roll her eyes.
Stiles drags himself up out of the chair, his pocket feeling oddly light without his badge and ID weighing it down. He tries not to concentrate on it too much, though. Lydia’s a woman of her word, and he trusts her when she says that this is only temporary. That doesn’t mean he likes it, of course.
“Oh, and Stiles?” Lydia says, making Stiles pause in the doorway. “Tell Derek to finally use up some of his vacation days.”
Stiles blushes bright red.
The far too bright sunlight streaming in through the window is what wakes Stiles up. Not that he minds being woken up too much. Instead, he just relaxes back into the warmth of Derek’s body pressed up against his back.
They hadn’t actually done anything the previous night. After his meeting with Lydia, Stiles had found himself driving to Derek’s place pretty much on autopilot. He’s spent so much of his time there in the past couple of weeks that it’s become second nature almost. Well, that and he’d wanted to see Derek.
He’d explained the situation to Derek, although he hadn’t looked particularly surprised. Then again, maybe Stiles shouldn’t have been either. At least Derek took Lydia’s advice and logged some of his vacation days.
“Morning,” Stiles hears Derek murmur against the back of his neck.
“Morning to you too,” Stiles replies, his voice sleep rough. He squirms around a bit in Derek arms until they’re face to face – almost literally, and Stiles can’t help but lean in that last centimeter to press his lips to Derek’s.
Derek leans into it for a moment, but he pulls back far too soon for Stiles’ liking, and Stiles can’t help but let out a little whine of disappointment.
“We should talk about your punishment before we get too far into this,” Derek says and Stiles can’t help but grimace at that, his shoulders tensing slightly.
“Right now? Really?” Stiles asks, his tone dangerously close to a whine.
“We’re going to have to discuss it eventually,” Derek answers, shrugging. “We might as well get it over with.”
“Fine,” Stiles sighs, the fight draining out of him. “So, what are we doing? Spanking? Caning? Do you have a favorite ruler?”
“None of those,” Derek answers easily. “It would be stupid of me to try and punish a masochist with pain.”
“Then how else are you supposed to do it?” Stiles asks, frowning, his brow furrowing in confusion. “You’re not – I mean, you wouldn’t, like – like blindfold me or something, right?”
“Absolutely not,” Derek replies, his tone reassuring but firm. “I would never cross one of your hard limits or use anything psychologically damaging as punishment. I promise.”
“Alright,” Stiles mutters, nodding slightly, relieved. Not that he actually thought that Derek would do something like that to him, but it’s certainly reassuring to have Derek confirm it so strongly.
“The first thing I think I need to clarify, though, is that there’s a difference between punishment and discipline,” Derek continues, making Stiles frown again. “Discipline is for minor infractions, like coming without permission. That’s what you’re thinking of when you talk about spankings and corner time.”
“Corner time? What is this, kindergarten?” Stiles snorts, but Derek just quirks a challenging eyebrow at him.
“If it works as a deterrent, why not?” Derek asks, and Stiles supposes he has a point. “Discipline is just supposed to correct bad behavior.”
“What’s punishment, then?” Stiles questions, curious.
“Punishment is for much larger issues,” Derek says, and Stiles can already feel his gut clenching nervously. “It’s for things like lying about your health and safety, or willfully putting yourself in harm’s way.”
“So I’m getting punished, not disciplined,” Stiles concludes, his throat feeling a little thick as he wonders what exactly the connotations of punishment are.
“Yes,” Derek replies simply, reaching up a hand to stroke Stiles’ hair comfortingly, helping him relax a bit. Just a little, though. “I’ll try to go relatively easy on you, though, because this relationship is still so new.”
“Okay, then. Lay it on me,” Stiles says, trying to sound nonchalant about the whole thing.
“First of all, no internet, video games, or television for the next week,” Derek starts, taking Stiles off guard.
“What? What sort of punishment is that?” Stiles squawks, indignant.
“A fairly common one,” Derek counters, looking a little amused.
“Okay, but what if I wanna skype Scott or something?” Stiles asks, worrying his lower lip with his teeth.
“That’s allowed. In fact, I want you to text, call, and skype people,” Derek answers, making Stiles frown in confusion again. “So go meet Scott for drinks, pester Danny for case details, whatever. I think that you need a reminder that there are a lot of people out there who care about you, and that it affects many more people than just you when you put yourself in danger.”
“Alright,” Stiles finally replies, nodding. He’s certainly not looking forward to being deprived of the internet for a week, but he supposes Derek has a decent enough point. “I can’t just spend the entire week talking Scott’s ear off, though. What am I supposed to do with the rest of my time?”
“That’s where the second part of your punishment comes in,” Derek says evenly. “I have a fairly extensive collection of books on BDSM and I want you to read all of them cover to cover. And I will know if you’ve just skimmed them.”
“I can do that,” Stiles answers, relaxing a little more. This punishment isn’t even shaping up to be that bad, it seems. He likes researching and sure, the internet/video games/TV thing is going to be annoying, but there are worse punishments, for sure.
“And the final part of your punishment is no sex,” Derek finishes.
“What?” Stiles squawks, his mouth falling open and his eyes widening. “What do you mean, no sex?”
“I mean that, for the next week, I’m not giving you permission to come,” Derek answers simply, completely unconcerned. “The occasional kiss is fine, but no making out, no frottage, no blowjobs, no penetration, no masturbation.”
“Okay, but what if I wake up with morning wood or something?” Stiles whines, giving Derek a pleading look.
“Then take a cold shower,” Derek replies, giving Stiles an unimpressed look.
“You know, you’re punishing yourself with this, too,” Stiles complains, the expression on his face dangerously close to a pout.
“First of all, actual punishment isn’t something a Dom should enjoy,” Derek counters, stroking Stiles’ hair again. “Play, yes, but not punishment. It’s something necessary to correct problematic behavior, but a Dom never wants to punish their sub, because it means that something went wrong in the first place.”
Stiles scrunches up his nose and frowns as he thinks about it, but he begrudgingly admits that it makes sense. Even if he doesn’t like it. Derek not having sex with him, that is.
“And anyway,” Derek continues, a small smirk settling on his face, “I never said that I wouldn’t get to masturbate. I’ll even be nice and let you watch.”
“I hate you,” Stiles whimpers, burying his face in the side of Derek’s neck. Derek lets out an amused huff.
“Do you agree to the terms of your punishment, though?” Derek asks, still running his fingers through Stiles’ hair.
Stiles nods against Derek’s throat.
“Then I might as well start now,” Derek says, and ooooh no, fuck, he’s slipping his hand into the front of his pajama pants. Stiles can’t help but let out another frustrated groan.
He watches as Derek pulls his cock out and strokes himself to full hardness. Stiles wants nothing more than to lean over and take Derek into his mouth, to make his Dom feel good, but Derek had said no blowjobs, and he assumes that he meant both giving and receiving.
“You’d just love to suck me, wouldn’t you?” Derek murmurs, his left hand tightening in Stiles’ hand while he continues to smear beads of pre-come over the head of his cock. “You’re practically salivating for it.”
Stiles nods weakly, his eyes still fixed on Derek’s hand working over his dick, before he remembers himself and manages a simple, “Yes, Sir.”
“When your punishment’s up, I’m going to finally take my time with you,” Derek continues, his voice growing a little rougher. Stiles’ own cock twitches, already well on its way to half-hard. “I’m going to take you apart slowly, eat you out until you’re crying.”
“Fuck,” Stiles groans, screwing his eyes shut.
“I’ll do that too,” Derek says, distinctly amused. “With my tongue, my fingers, toys. Maybe I’ll plug you up again, make you walk around with it in all day.”
“You’re evil,” Stiles mumbles, but there not heat to it.
“You like it,” Derek replies, smirking again, his pupils blown. “Now fetch me the lube.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles huffs, but he fishes it out of the top drawer of the bedside table anyway and hands it to Derek, who takes it from him and slicks himself up. Stiles has to bite his lip again to avoid letting out another whine as he watches. He wants to grab the lube from Derek and open himself up, sink down onto Derek’s cock, but he can’t for an entire freaking week, because he was an idiot and – and –
Groaning, he grabs a fistful of Derek’s shirt and clings to him, trying to resist the urge to crawl up on top of him and just rut against him until he comes. Derek shifts his position a little, accidentally – or maybe not so accidentally – brushing up against Stiles’ hard-on, and Stiles can't help but let out a little groan of sexual frustration.
Derek doesn’t comment on it, though, just keeps stroking himself at an even pace, his other hand still tangled in Stiles’ hair. But Stiles can hear that his breathing’s gone just a little shallower, and sure enough, it doesn’t take too many more tugs before Derek’s coming over his hand and stomach with a soft grunt.
“There. That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” Derek says, still smirking slightly. Stiles tries to glare, but he’s pretty sure his expression looks more like a petulant pout.
“Would’ve been better if you let me help,” he grumbles, his hands still fisted in Derek’s shirt and his cock still painfully hard. Derek lets out an amused snort and brings up his hand to smear a bit of come over Stiles’ lips, making him go a little dazed for a moment as he tries to lap up what he can reach.
“You can make it a week without sex,” Derek replies, his tone amused. “Now go clean up.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles sighs.
Derek kisses him lightly on the forehead.
A Little Over A Year Later
Stiles steps into the kitchen and freezes.
“Oh my god, did I forget our anniversary?” he asks, looking over at the table decked out in a table cloth and even candles. (Incidentally, they’re also the candles they use for play, and Stiles can’t help but shiver as he wonders if that’s what’s in store for him tonight.)
“Our anniversary was five months ago,” Derek snorts, which, oh, okay, Stiles actually remembers that. Or, well, he remembers the sex, at least.
“What’s the occasion, then?” Stiles asks, shucking his jacket and loosening his tie.
“Maybe I just wanted to have a nice dinner with you,” Derek replies, making Stiles narrow his eyes in suspicion. Not that what Derek’s saying is entirely out of the realm of possibility – he’s just learned to recognize when Derek has an ulterior motive. Then again, Derek’s ulterior motives always seem to end with him begging and sex dazed, so maybe he should just go with it for now.
“Alright,” Stiles finally says, moving over to Derek and pressing a light kiss to his lips. However, Derek turns his head a little and deepens it, licking inside Stiles’ mouth and nipping at his lips. Stiles lets out a happy little sound and lets him do as he pleases, making small moans and noises of encouragement. Just as things start to get a little too heated, though, Derek pulls back, breaking the kiss.
“Go sit down at the table. I’ll be there in just a moment,” Derek orders, although his tone is soft. Stiles does as he’s told, sitting on his customary side of the table, but he can’t help but drum his fingers on the table, still a little anxious as he wonders what exactly Derek has planned.
“Stop looking like you’re waiting for the oncoming apocalypse,” Derek snorts as he sets the food down on the table, and Stiles has the decency to look a little sheepish.
“Yeah, well, maybe if you told me what the pomp and circumstance is all about I’d be more relaxed,” Stiles replies, jiggling his leg up and down now.
“I promise it’s nothing bad,” Derek assures him, his expression softening a little as he reaches across the table to twine their fingers together.
“I mean, I didn’t think it was anything bad, but you know how I am. I just – I have this burning need to know, you know?” Stiles sighs, squeezing Derek’s hand a little tighter.
Derek lets out a soft sigh and pushes his chair away from the table.
“I was going to do this after dinner, but I suppose for your sanity as well as mine, it would be better to do it now,” Derek says, although he doesn’t actually sound annoyed. He motions for Stiles to come over to him. “Kneel. I’ll be back in a moment.”
Stiles obeys, sinking down to his knees in the space in front of Derek’s chair. He still has no idea what Derek’s doing, but kneeling helps steady him somewhat, helps ground him. He places his hands neatly on his thighs and waits.
Derek returns only a moment later, a thin box in his hands. It’s not particularly big, nor is it particularly small, and Stiles’ heart begins to pound a little harder as he wonders if it contains what he suspects it does.
“Open it,” Derek says, sitting back down in his chair and handing Stiles the box.
He does so carefully, his eyes fixed on the box the entire time. He wiggles the cover off of it slowly and places it underneath the box before parting the thin, white tissue paper still shrouding the box’s contents.
“I – wow,” Stiles breathes as he stares down at the slim, leather collar within. It’s not particularly intricate, but it’s elegant, just a thin band of black leather with subtle red stitching and a buckle at the back.
“It’s yours if you want to accept it,” Derek murmurs, sounding almost nervous even though he has to know that ‘yes’ is the only answer Stiles will give him.
“Of course I accept,” Stiles huffs, but there’s no annoyance or anger in his tone, just fondness. “Do I get to wear it now?”
“I’d prefer if you waited until after we had an official collaring ceremony,” Derek says, and Stiles flushes with happiness and excitement, because they’re actually doing this. He’s actually getting collared by Derek Hale. This is – it’s huge. “For now, though, I have another more play specific collar in the bedroom.”
“Yeah, that sounds – that sounds perfect,” Stiles murmurs, leaning forward to press his cheek to Derek’s thigh, needing the contact. “You gonna ask me to marry you, too, while we’re at it?”
“I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder,” Derek replies, smirking slightly. “You can get the rings from the cupboard behind the poptarts, if you want.”
“How did you find those?” Stiles sputters, his cheeks and ears turning bright red.
“Just because I rarely eat poptarts doesn’t mean I never eat poptarts,” Derek snorts, reaching forward to run a hand through Stiles’ hair.
“Shut up, that hiding spot was perfect,” Stiles grumbles, but he leans into Derek’s touch. “I can’t believe you managed to find them. And just for that, I’m going to make you wait another week before I actually propose and I’m going to hide them in an even better spot. You just got lucky the first time. You’ll never find them again.”
“You’re right, I did get lucky,” Derek replies, his voice soft, and Stiles has a feeling he’s not talking about finding the rings anymore.
“Well, do you wanna get even luckier and try out that new play collar, Sir?” Stiles asks, waggling his eyebrows and eliciting a half amused/half annoyed huff from Derek.
“That was horrible,” Derek groans, making Stiles’ grin widen.
“And you’re stuck with me now!” Stiles replies, his hands tightening on the box containing his new collar.
“I’m not stuck with you,” Derek says, moving his hand from Stiles’ hair to brush a thumb over his cheekbones and down his jawline. “I have the privilege of being with you.”
“I can’t believe I belong to a romantic,” Stiles grumbles, but his cheeks have flushed bright pink again and he leans into Derek’s touch.
“I’m not entirely a romantic,” Derek replies, and this time his smile is a little sharper, more predatory. A shiver runs down Stiles’ spine.
The collar, along with dinner, ends up being momentarily abandoned on the kitchen table as Derek and Stiles stumble towards the bedroom, exchanging heated kisses along the way.
“Strip,” Derek orders, his tone dipping lower with arousal, and Stiles scrambles to comply.
It only takes him scant moments now before he’s completely naked with his clothes neatly folded and set to the side, a far cry from when he’d first started his relationship with Derek. He ends up kneeling on the bed while Derek finishes removing his own clothing and pulls another box out of the closet. This collar, however, is larger than the other one, thicker and heavier with a metal ring hanging off the front.
“Alright?” Derek asks as he presents Stiles with the collar, studying Stiles’ expression carefully.
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles answers, his eyes firmly fixed on the sleek leather.
“Good,” Derek replies, his slight smirk returning as he leans forward to secure the collar around Stiles’ neck. “Too tight?”
Stiles shakes his head, enjoying the way the metal ring sways with the movement. Derek’s smirk widens and he hooks his finger through the ring, tugging Stiles forward with it. Not too hard, of course, but enough for Stiles to feel it.
“I want to tie you up tonight,” Derek murmurs, reaching his free hand down to circle one of Stiles’ wrists. “And then I want to fuck you facing the mirror, and I want you to watch and know who you belong to.”
“Yes, Sir,” Stiles replies, his voice going thick, his pupils blown wide.
Derek takes a moment to kiss him then, to pull him in close and deep, fucking his tongue into Stiles’ mouth. Stiles gets lost in it for a moment, sinking into the feeling, but Derek pulls away all too soon. Not that Stiles is disappointed when Derek proceeds to suck a large bruise onto his neck, right above the collar.
“Put your hands behind your back,” Derek instructs when he’s finally satisfied that it’ll be dark enough, pulling away.
Stiles complies easily, trying to be patient as he waits for Derek to dig up whatever restraints he chooses, along with the scissors. Thankfully it only takes a moment, though, and soon enough Derek’s settling himself on the bed behind Stiles and twining soft rope around his wrists, forming sturdy handcuffs.
Part of him wants to let his eyes slip shut and just revel in the sensation of the rope and Derek’s hands on him, but instead he finds himself staring straight ahead into the large mirror taking up the entirety of the closet door. It’s a good image, the dark collar standing out against his pale skin as Derek envelops him from behind.
“How do they feel?” Derek asks as he finishes securing the rope.
“Good,” Stiles answers, testing and pulling at the cuffs. They bite at his skin a little, and he can’t wait to see the red rope burns on his wrists tomorrow. “Great, actually.”
“Good,” Derek replies, murmuring the words against Stiles’ neck. Stiles can’t help but jump, though, as he feels a lube-slick finger suddenly press against his hole. He tries to push back against it, but Derek holds him tight, keeping him in place.
A loud moan escapes his throat as Derek pushes a finger fully inside him, opening him up slowly. He’s all too aware of how he’s trembling, but he can’t do much more than gasp and whine as Derek adds a second finger and then a third, finding his prostate effortlessly.
“That’s it, baby,” Derek says, nipping at Stiles’ neck as he thrusts his fingers in rougher this time, twisting them and stabbing at Stiles’ prostate viciously. He attacks it without remorse, dragging a choked sob from Stiles as his cock becomes fully hard. “Such a good boy, taking it like this.”
“Please,” Stiles manages as Derek’s fingers drag over his prostate again. “Please, Sir, just – fuck me, please.”
“Only after you tell me something,” Derek says, tangling his fingers in Stiles’ hair and making him look straight forward into the mirror.
“Sir?” Stiles replies, gazing ahead at their reflections.
“Who do you belong to?” Derek asks, pulling his fingers out so that Stiles feels so, so empty.
“You,” Stiles replies, his voice soft, a little breathy.
“Louder,” Derek orders.
“I belong to you, Sir,” Stiles answers, stronger this time.
“Not good enough,” Derek replies, toying with Stiles’ collar a little, as if to remind him.
“You, Sir, I belong to you,” Stiles groans, his cheeks flushing as he wonders if that was too loud. God know they’ve probably scarred the neighbors enough already.
“Perfect,” Derek murmurs, finally hitching Stiles up onto his lap and sliding him down onto his cock. “You’re perfect.”
Stiles can’t help but moan then from the combination of Derek’s soft praise and the feeling of being full, stretched out on Derek’s cock. It feels so good, even though the position’s a little uncomfortable with his bound arms trapped between his back and Derek’s chest.
Not that he has much time to focus on that minor discomfort, because then Derek’s trusting up into him, hard and smooth. Normally he’d be scrabbling for purchase, but he can’t really do that now with his hands bound and his legs bent under him. Derek holds him still and fucks up into him over and over, moans and whines and pants spilling past Stiles’ lips.
One of Derek’s hands comes up to toy with the ring on the front of his collar then, tugging on it gently, just a reminder of the collar’s presence. The obvious possessiveness of the action alone is nearly enough to make Stiles come and he has to screw his eyes shut and concentrate not to tip right over the edge.
“You look so gorgeous like this,” Derek says, his eyes meeting Stiles’ in the mirror.
“Sir – ” Stiles groans, unable to keep himself from trying to squirm down on to Derek’s cock again, needing just a little bit more –
“Come for me, baby,” Derek orders, thrusting long and hard, his fingers still looped through the collar, and that’s all it takes.
“Sir – ” Stiles gasps as he comes, splattering over his stomach and onto the bed.
“Good boy,” Derek says before redoubling his efforts, holding Stiles in place and pounding into him even harder until Stiles is practically sobbing from overstimulation, the new onslaught too much too soon after having come.
Leaning forward, Derek presses his face against the back of Stiles’ neck, lips brushing against the dark leather of his collar, and finally comes with a moan.
They just stay like that for a moment, still locked together, both a little shaky. Finally, though, Derek lifts Stiles back up off his lap, pulling out slowly.
“You did so well, Stiles,” Derek praises, kissing Stiles between his shoulder blades as he begins to undo the rope still around his wrists.
“Thank you, Sir,” Stiles replies, shivering a little as Derek gently massages his now free wrists and shoulders, checking for damage.
“Thank you,” Derek counters, pulling Stiles back into a tight embrace and pressing soft kisses to his wrists, cheeks, lips.
“How about we just call it even, then?” Stiles says, his lips quirking up into a smile. Derek lets out a soft snort of laughter.
They lie like that for a while – Stiles has no idea how long – just basking in each other’s presences. Stiles occupies himself with pressing up against Derek’s chest and listening to his steady heartbeat, the soft rhythm making him a little sleepy.
“We need to make a guest list,” he says suddenly, making Derek blink at him tiredly.
“A guest list?” Derek repeats, confused.
“Yeah. For the collaring ceremony,” Stiles replies, frowning. “Also, are we doing this here or at the dungeon? And what about food? Are we supposed to have food? What are we even supposed to do? I mean – ”
“Stop overthinking this,” Derek grumbles, pressing another light kiss to Stiles’ lips to quiet him. “It’ll be fine.”
“We should invite Erica and Boyd,” Stiles mumbles quietly, but his eyelids are already starting to droop. “And Lydia. Can we invite Lydia? I don’t think she’d freak out.”
“Shhhhh,” Derek says, pulling Stiles a little closer. “Sleep now. Plan later.”
“’kay,” Stiles replies before drifting off to sleep next to Derek.
The collaring ceremony goes off without a hitch.
Aaaaand that's it! Thanks for sticking with it, guys!
Also, I know that in this fic, I used the philosophy of a collar as an engagement ring of sorts, but collars can have many different meanings. Although the one I used here is the more traditional take on collars, there are also more modern BDSM practitioners who treat collaring more casually.