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Belief in the Quiet

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Derek is never happier than at times like these.


”Too tight?” Stiles asks, voice warm and loving, but also with that edge to it that means that Derek had better be telling the truth, or there's gonna be consequences. Derek knows this from experience. He tests the cuffs, the runes on the leather warming briefly against his skin as he pulls at them, but nothing is cutting off blood flow.




”Good.” Taking a slow walk around Derek, Stiles double checks everything, nodding to himself with satisfaction when all of it seems in order. ”Perfect,” he sighs, and Derek feels like squirming under the admiration. He's on his knees on the floor as usual, wrists cuffed behind his back, and a runed collar snug around his neck, making sure even his wolf will never forget what they're doing.


”So fucking pretty,” Stiles purrs, pulling up the stool he likes to sit on during scenes, and plops down on it right in from of Derek. For a minute or two he just sits there, eyes dragging slowly across every inch of Derek's naked body, and he feels like he should be ashamed or humiliated, but mostly he just feels... good. Like he's doing something right.


It's nothing like the leers from strangers, expecting things of him he can never give, or assuming all kinds of stupid shit about him simply from the way he looks. Stiles' eyes are full of wonder, like just having Derek there to look at is a gift. But there's also a hunger there. The same kind of hunger a painter radiates when faced with a blank canvas, or a writer with an empty notebook. Like an itch to leave a mark.


Stiles doesn't look at Derek like he's damaged, or prepped and packaged for sexual consumption. Stiles looks at him like he's new. Pure. Ready to be molded into something amazing. Like he has endless potential. Even as a child Derek can't remember anyone ever looking at him like that. It makes him shiver, and Stiles notices with a smile.


“Are you ready?”


It's not really a question. Stiles decides when they're ready. But whatever Derek answers gives Stiles an impression of his state of mind, and sometimes he'll choose something different than he planned for his first step. Derek knows this. They've talked it through so many times now he could probably recite it in his sleep. But after all the times he was used by people preying on this very aspect of his nature, knowing that Stiles insists on talking it through front to back and sideways and slantways gives Derek the calm he needs to enjoy it.


After... them... he'd thought for a while he'd never be able to indulge this urge ever again. It simply added insult to injury that after all the things they'd taken from him, they'd also stolen his only true escape.


But now he's granted it again.


There's been talking. And there'll be more talking. But right now? Right now it's game time. Derek can already feel his body tensing up in all the places that'll release once Stiles works his magic.


Not literal magic, though that certainly is involved. The runes keeping his wolf dormant is a precaution, because even though Derek has perfect control, the whole point of this game is to give it up. Let it go. And while he's never hurt anyone before, knowing that there's no way he can is a comfort.


“Yes. I'm ready,” Derek says, shifting his knees under himself and lowering his eyes.


“No, baby, look up,” Stiles murmurs, and Derek's gaze moves up immediately. “I want you to see me today. Want you to know who's being good to you.” He reaches out to stroke his knuckles gently across Derek's stubbled cheek. “I'm always good to you. Right, sweetheart?”


“Yes,” Derek sighs, eyes fluttering before he remembers he's supposed to be looking.


Stiles gives him an approving nod and smile. It makes Stiles so different from anyone else. He's never cruel. Never finds pleasure in reluctance or punishment. He will punish if needed, but it's not his favorite part, and never the goal. He likes compliance. Submission. His orders followed willingly and without question.


And Derek happens to be very good at all of those things. He hardly ever needs punishment.


“Good boy,” Stiles says as he stands up, letting his hand slide up Derek's temple and into his hair. He steps in close until he's a mere inch away, the warmth of his skin radiating, even through his loose pajama pants, and Derek's eyelids flutter again from the sensation. He so loves the warmth of Stiles, especially when he's naked and Stiles is not. Wolves run slightly hotter, but that only makes everything feel colder, so even though the heat is on to compensate, he still can't help swaying closer. Thankfully, Stiles welcomes it.


“C'mere,” he whispers, pulling gently on Derek's skull until his face is pressed up tight against Stiles' crotch. He's only half hard, but he'll get there soon enough, and Derek enjoys the pliant length under his cheek while it lasts. His eyes finally close as he sighs and slumps even closer, nuzzling his nose against the soft-washed fabric, and Stiles undulates his hips slightly in response, hand gently petting Derek's hair.


“There we go, baby. You want it?”


Derek nods, his nose catching on the fabric, but Stiles gives his hair a sharp little tug. “What was that?”


“Yes. I want it.”


“That's it. That's my good boy,” Stiles says, and hooks a thumb under his waistband so he can tug his pants down enough to free his cock.


He doesn't like to be naked. It's probably in part because of certain issues he still has with his body, even as he's perfectly confident in every other aspect of this. But it fits the power imbalance, and makes Derek feel safe, even as he's naked, kneeling and bound.


“What do we say?”


Derek was already swaying closer, mouth dropping open in his eagerness. He almost forgot.


“Please,” he says quickly, eyes darting up to meet Stiles' for permission. Or punishment, if he was too slow.


But Stiles just huffs out a little laugh. “It's okay, baby, not gonna punish you for wanting it. But you gotta remember the rules, right?”


“Yes. Please, may I?”


“Go for it, gorgeous. Show me what that pretty mouth can do.”


Derek falls against Stiles, almost missing the mark in his enthusiasm, but makes up for it by sucking down Stiles' whole cock in one long and wet slurp, savoring how it stings in his throat as he swallows around it. It's a perfect kind of pain, a pain that says he's doing something impressive, giving Stiles a gift. This is something he's good at.


“Such a fucking amazing mouth, fuck,” Stiles moans, and scratches at Derek's scalp in reward. “So fucking pretty.” He rubs a gentle thumb across Derek's stretched lip, making him still for a moment. “I should fuck that every day. Have you waiting for me inside the door when I come home. Ready and open for me. Would you like that?”


Derek pulls back enough to make a decent enough sound of agreement. He likes that fantasy, especially because that's all it is. Stiles never expects Derek to fulfill anything he agrees to during scenes. But he might ask again later, and sometimes it ends up being added to their next scene. But for now it's all talk. Something Stiles is always good at.


“Yeah, of course you'd like that. Always so hungry for it, right sweetheart?”


Rather than answering, Derek swallows Stiles' cock down again, and feels pride swooping through his gut as Stiles' thighs shake. “Fuck yeah, so good, baby, so good.”


Stiles' fingers clench and unclench in Derek's hair, and Derek loses himself in it; in the wet slide of a hot cock across his tongue and in his throat, and in the gentle scratch of short fingernails across his skin.


As a purely physical activity it's not even Derek's favorite thing to do during sex. Frankly he likes it better the other way around. But the feeling of accomplishment and Stiles' blatant admiration makes him drop to his knees again and again, and he can already feel the quiet descending in his head, the background noise of his life fading in every rhythmic, sloppy pass.


“That's it, baby, that's it,” Stiles breathes, and Derek prepares himself for the bitter spurts. But nothing comes, and he glances up to see Stiles flushed and panting, but also gazing at Derek with such love and fondness it makes Derek's eyes sting with more than just the hard use of his throat. “You're so beautiful, Derek. So fucking beautiful.”


Derek has to close is eyes against it, and takes Stiles' cock in another couple of times before Stiles tugs on his hair again and makes him pull off. He sits for a second, just staring dazedly at Stiles' glistening cock, swaying heavy and red right in front of his eyes, almost beckoning him to dive back in, but Stiles nudges his chin until he looks up.


“You're doing great, baby. But I think it's time to move.”


When they do this Derek sometimes doesn't notice any discomfort, but as he's coaxed to his feet, his knees definitely twinge, and as long as he's bound with the runes he'll feel every second of it. It's one of the wonderful side-effects of locking down the wolf. He'll feel Stiles everywhere on his body until he's released.


“On the bed,” Stiles orders, and Derek knee-walks gingerly across the soft mattress. “Down,” Stiles adds, a hand on the back of Derek's neck guiding him, until his face is pressed into the mattress, wrists still tied behind his back, and ass high in the air for Stiles to admire where he's standing next to the bed. “Ready to go under?”


Derek is already feeling softer around the edges, the scratch in his throat and the twinge of his knees feeling like a promise of what's to come, and he nods weakly against the sheet.


“Didn't hear you.”


“Yes,” Derek rasps. “Please.”


“Good boy,” Stiles says, just as he smacks his hand down on Derek's ass, giving him no time to prepare. Derek can feel his instinct to fight rear up for a moment before it dies down again, and for the first few slaps Derek's whole focus is on remembering why he wants this.


Eventually, though, he stops feeling the yank of the fight, and is finally able to just let himself feel. Feel how every slap of Stiles' palm shocks through him, at first just stinging, then slowly warming and finally burning.


He pants raggedly into the mattress, small croaks escaping his bruised throat when a smack lands just right, and he breathes fast and desperate every time Stiles pauses to rub in the pain.


“Ten more, baby,” Stiles says, and Derek whimpers, because it really hurts. But it hurts the right way, and when Stiles blows a cool breath across his abused buttocks he moans helplessly.


Stiles rubs again, pain exploding in small bursts under his rough palm, every callous feeling like sputtering flames against Derek's skin.


“Please,” Derek gasps, and he's not even entirely sure if he's asking for more or less. But it's okay, because Stiles knows from experience what he needs.


“Of course, baby, I got you.”


Ten more slaps, and Derek is crying now, tears running freely, and soaking into the sheet. “Stiles, please.”


He cries out, voice breaking as yet more slaps rain down, the pain radiating up his spine from his ass, and he loses track of the world around him, the rhythmic waves of agony washing through his body, and taking every doubt and fear and gnawing voice of guilt along with it.


It's so quiet in his head it takes him a moment to realize it's suddenly quiet around him as well.


Stiles is kneeling behind him now, blowing cool breath after cool breath across the pain. Derek barely feels it, everything a muddled mess of searing pain and blessed void in his head.


“Look how well you did, baby,” Stiles murmurs, stroking his thighs with gentle hands, one palm noticeably hotter than the other. “You always take it so well. Go right under, like a good boy.”


His voice is like syrup in Derek's ear, far away and close at the same time, the sheet weirdly coarse under his cheek, even though it was perfectly soft before. All his nerve endings are in overdrive, except maybe for his ass where everything is still pain. Stiles' hands are still stroking, from Derek's thighs to his hips, carefully skirting the tender areas, and Derek shivers from it.


“Wanna come?” Stiles asks, and it takes Derek a moment to realize that Stiles is referring to his forgotten cock, hanging hard and leaking between his legs, but once he's aware of it it's like he suddenly can't feel anything else.


“Uh huh,” he whimpers, rocking his hips against the air, abruptly desperate for friction.


“You've been so good, baby,” Stiles purrs. “You deserve it.”


Pain rockets up his spine as Stiles molds both hands to Derek's bruised buttocks, and pulls them apart so he can dive in and lick a long, wet stripe across Derek's hole. It's exquisite torture, Stiles' fingers digging deep into the pain, and the slightest rasp of Stiles' very earliest stubble skirting dangerously close to the tender areas as he presses his whole face in as far as it'll go. Tongue and lips work in concert to drive Derek absolutely wild, and the conflicting input of searing pain and amazing pleasure makes him twitch with indecision about whether to move away or to push back against it.


Stiles hums against his hole, and Derek moans against the tear-stained sheet, wrists straining in the cuffs with the urge to reach down and stroke himself to completion. But Stiles is in control, and Derek will take what he's given, like he always does, even though it feels like he'll be stuck here, forever on the edge, and never allowed to actually cross the finish line. A hoarse sob makes it through his throat, and he feels his whole body shake as Stiles licks and sucks at his rim, bringing him so close, but not... there.


Please,” he keens. “Please, Stiles, please.”


“You sure you're ready?” Stiles asks, hands massaging right where it hurts the most, making Derek squirm under the assault. “You know what I need to hear, baby.”


It takes a little while for Derek to remember this part. It always does. He has no idea how Stiles came up with it, but it's been doing wonders for Derek's general state of mind and while it's probably not an approved form of trauma therapy, it seems to work for them.


“I... I...” Derek pants, cock throbbing and shoulders shaking.


“You can do it, sweetheart. I know you can. Come on now. I got you.”


“Fuck, I... I deserve this.”


Stiles places the gentlest of kisses on the nearest, pained buttock, and purrs into the skin. “I knew you could do it. Good boy.” And then he dives back in, tongue stabbing at his core, one hand holding him open, and the other going to his hard cock, finally, fucking finally, giving it a perfect clench to thrust into. Derek ruts mindlessly, stuttering and off-rhythm until the wave breaks and he vaults off the edge with a soundless cry, his throat lancing with pain at the failed attempt at sound.


He doesn't feel Stiles helping him down, easing out his bent limbs or checking that he's okay. He doesn't hear the slick noises as Stiles jerks himself off, and he doesn't feel the spatters on his back as Stiles paints it with his come.


The first thing Derek feels is a gentle hand stroking his shoulder, and a soft puff of breath across his cheek. Stiles is lying right next to him, almost nose to nose, gently touching him and coaxing him back to the surface.


“Hey, baby,” he says, and Derek shivers from the sudden realization that he's cold, and that the cooling jizz on his back really isn't helping. Everything from his waist to his knees is still burning, though, so he's definitely not ready for a blanket yet.


“Ready to lose the cuffs?” Stiles asks, and Derek gives a small nod. His shoulders are sore, and it would be nice to free them. They fall limbly to the bed as soon as Stiles releases them but there's no buzzing, so the cuffs were obviously as perfectly fitted as Stiles had judged them to be. “Collar too?” he asks, but Derek shakes his head. If he loses the collar, he'll lose the pain too. And he's not ready for that yet either.


“Okay,” Stiles says, and lies back down next to him. “Just say when.”


Derek nods, and enjoys the feeling of Stiles' breath on his face and his warm hand on his chilled back. He can't hear Stiles' heartbeat thanks to the collar, but it's okay. His whole body feels Stiles next to him, and thanks to the quiet still in his head, he can take in so many more details than usual. The slight shake of the bed as Stiles shifts his legs, the shush of the pillow as he pulls it close for them to share, the heat of Stiles' whole body, and the subtle strength as he rubs the back of Derek's neck, around and under the collar.

“Still so pretty,” Stiles sighs, and in this wonderful quiet, Derek feel like he can believe it for once.