
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/621379.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Mildly_Dubious_Consent, Underage_Sex, Dom/sub_Undertones, bottom!Derek
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-03 Words: 2857
****** I Cannot Make ******
by Ladycat
Summary
     "Why."
     It isn't a question. Stiles continues laughing so hard his eyes
     water, stomach aching. When he's done catching his breath he looks
     over at Derek and manages a not-at-all-giggly shrug. "Because, dude.
     It fits."
     On the side of the bed-pallet-thing it reads For A Good Puppy.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
Stiles buys the bed on a whim.
He isn't trying to be mean, really. The bed looks soft and warm and is nearly
as big as his actual bed, only rounder and lacking things like a frame and the
mattress box. Only it is mean because even without those normal, mattress-
y type things, it's still better than what's currently being used, plus what it
literally is, the name written on the side and everything.
And fine, so Stiles is kind of an asshole. He can accept that. He's god damned
surrounded by assholes so if he wants to buy a bed that is more like a pallet
he's going to do it, and put it by his window too.
Because why the hell not.
* * *
His Dad doesn't notice.
Stiles tries not to feel relieved. Or resigned. Upset? There are all these
feelings and honestly, Stiles is pretty crap and dealing with them.
Sometimes when he's sitting at his desk, browsing on his laptop, he'll glance
over to the bed and when all those feelings start coming up, he'll concentrate
on how much of an asshole he is.
And how fucking funny it's going to be.
* * *
It isn't funny.
* * *
Ok, it is the first time. When Derek climbs through his window like the creeper
he's decided he's going to accept and embrace since it obviously isn't going
away. He's getting stealthier about it, no longer this sudden presence, tall
and broad and so damned full of muscles that seriously, Michelangelo would have
wept to use him as a model.
Instead Derek sticks to the shadows. He actually creeps now, hands and knees
sometimes, with his back low and his head down. Stiles bites back every single
joke he desperately wants to make because he's already made the worst one
possible.
Derek stares at it.
He's in the shadows by Stiles' bed- the real one, not the one he just bought
and occasionally piles his clothes on because it's easier to find stuff that
way, stupid drawers- and Stiles honestly doesn't notice him for probably a half
hour. Maybe more. Derek is barely breathing, just sitting there, legs drawn up
with his arms around his knees like some sort of classic heroine pose of angst
and pain, staring.
His expression is fucking hilarious Stiles doesn't even startle when he notices
Derek, just laughs and laughs. Cruel and cutting as any scalpel, he laughs
until Derek stops staring and glares instead.
There is absolutely a difference. Stiles has been the recipient of both and he
can study, okay, and research and learn. It's just really hard sometimes.
"Why."
It isn't a question. Stiles continues laughing so hard his eyes water, stomach
aching. When he's done catching his breath he looks over at Derek and manages a
not-at-all-giggly shrug. "Because, dude. It fits."
On the side of the bed-pallet-thing it reads For A Good Puppy.
* * *
It actually does fit. That's when it stops being funny.
* * *
Stiles doesn't know when Derek starts to use it. Just that the plush brown
fabric stops looking absolutely pristine. There are patterns in it that sort of
indicate a body, depressions along the curve of it and heavier marks at either
end.
Nobody comments on it. Nobody being Stiles since no one else knows. Scott
doesn't come up to his room that much anymore and no, Stiles is not bitter,
it's summer vacation, nobody is in their rooms unless they want to be.
Derek, clearly, wants to be in Stiles' room. To sleep. Sleep deprivation is
something Stiles is sadly a little too familiar with, same with the hyper-
vigilance that no one else seems to see in Derek but Stiles does. He remembers
it, that tension that buzzed under his skin until his muscles felt like they
were going to snap, bones brittle and pressing too close to the skin.
He's read the DSM-IV.
Yes, all of it. He got bored once and read about half of it, then couldn't stop
thinking about it so a couple months later he read the other half. It's oddly
come in handy.
So Derek comes to his room and sleeps in a dog bed, curled up and sort of
adorable looking with his face relaxed out of that permanent scowl, mouth
curving in what could maybe be an upward direction if the stubble wasn't
obscuring it, the lines between his eyes smoothed out into the skin of a man
just into his twenties.
A werewolf. Who is, and this cannot be stressed enough, sleeping in Stiles'
room.
On a dog bed.
* * *
It isn't funny.
It's mean.
Only Derek is still there, sleeping, and doesn't mind that Stiles is watches
him when he does. Or sleeps in the bed next to them, the sound of their
breathing matched into a white noise that makes Stiles sleep without
nightmares. Or that sometimes Stiles rubs his cock through his boxers, tingling
and half-hard, because curled up like this Derek does look like a good puppy.
He looks like he's Stiles' good puppy.
* * *
Stiles is a complete and utter asshole.
And kinky as hell.
* * *
One day in the heat of late July, when everything is sticky and slow no matter
how many trees try to combat the pervasive, oppressive weight of the sun,
Stiles pushes his shorts down and his boxers too and he strokes his cock past
half-hard. He's done this before but usually on his bed. Derek would be asleep,
or pretending, whatever Stiles is okay with Derek's creeper self, he really is.
So Stiles would jerk off with Derek right there.
They wouldn't talk about it. Ever. But Stiles started doing it more often and
sometimes over the sound of his own breath, wet and jungle-hot in his lungs,
the roar of his own blood, sometimes he'd hear something else. A gasp, maybe,
or a hitch of breath that is definitely not his own.
He'll come from that, sometimes.
This day, though, this day Stiles is feeling mean. He's feeling like it's good
that he's standing over Derek, curled up and cozy looking, holding his cock and
stroking it so that Derek has to watch. He has to see that Stiles is hard from
this, from him, from this situation.
Stiles thumbs over the head of his cock and tries not to gasp. "A good puppy,"
he says.
Derek makes a noise. It isn't a growl, or at least it definitely isn't an angry
sound. It's just a sound- awareness, acknowledgement.
"Good puppy," Stiles says again, and this time he does gasp because he's
cupping his balls now, rolling them with his legs slightly spread and his back
arched just a little. "That's right," he says in the tone everyone uses with
dogs and babies and small things they want to patronize and please. "Good
puppy."
Derek smoothly uncurls up onto his knees. The light makes his nose look like a
blade, the darkness of his eyebrows hiding whatever might be going on his eyes.
His mouth is wet, though, and sweet. It's hot and slick and it slides over
Stiles' cock like he's done this before, like he likes it. Stiles definitely
likes it. He thrusts when he feels like it, instinct and uncaring pleasure both
driving the head into the back of Derek's mouth, into his throat. It makes
Derek choke but he never stops, just sucks and flicks his tongue like he can't
get enough of the taste.
Stiles isn't quite sure when he started petting Derek's head, sliding over hair
that has way, way too much gel in it, seriously Derek, down to the silky heat
of the back of Derek's neck. Over and over he does this because whenever he
does Derek hums. Or growls. A low, pleased sound, helpless and hated, and fuck
does it make Stiles feel fantastic.
"That's it," he murmurs, "good puppy, that's right. Gonna come, boy," is a
gasp, and he grips Derek's hair tight in his fist.
Derek straight up whines.
And swallows every drop.
He even licks Stiles clean, his tongue carefully flat and light as he glides
over the length of Stiles' cock, his balls and even some of his thighs.
Just like a puppy, Stiles thinks, and pets Derek's head again. "Good boy."
* * *
Stiles isn't surprised to learn he likes getting blowjobs.
He is surprised that Derek loves to give them.
* * *
Anytime Stiles wants, all he has to do is push his boxers down. At least at
first. By the end of the second week, Stiles can starfish over his bed, mostly
naked because it is so hot, the heat wave clearly not going anywhere.
He'll say, "Where's my good boy," in that tone, everyone knows the one. That
half cheerful, loving tone that dogs always respond to no matter what the
actual words are. "C'mere, cocksucker, come be a good boy for me."
Sometimes it's 'puppy', still. Derek likes them both equally as he crouches on
the bed and puts that slick-hot mouth to use. He loves when Stiles pets him
especially, leaning into the caress whether it's given when he's got both of
Stiles' balls in his mouth, focused on gently sucking them, or when Stiles is
sitting at the computer, Derek settled at his side with his head leaning on
Stiles' thigh.
Somehow that part is hotter than the way Derek is so eager every time, the way
he tries tricks and techniques Stiles has never even dreamed of, anything to
get Stiles off.
To get him to stroke Derek's hair and croon what a good boy he is, such a good
puppy boy.
* * *
They never kiss.
* * *
"Do you want to get off too?"
It's been weeks since this started. Derek is always hard when he's on his knees
for Stiles but as far as Stiles knows, Derek doesn't ever come. Stile has
learned he tends to pass out after the second or third orgasm, waking up dazed
and sated and calm to find Derek curled up in his bed again.
Derek flushes. It's a thing Derek does kind of a lot. The stubble hides it but
Stiles knows to watch his ears. "Yes."
"Have you been?"
"Yes." Derek's head is down, shamed and waiting for punishment.
"Show me, puppy," Stiles requests.
Derek glances up, startled, but eventually nods and creeps over to his doggy
bed. He curls up with his pants pushed low enough that Stiles can see his
thick, uncut cock.
Rubbing up against the bed. Humping it.
Delighted (cruel), Stiles laughs. "Do it right," he orders, and laughs again as
Derek pushes flatter on his stomach so he can rub his cock against his bed,
coming with a low gasp and an exhaled breath of relief.
"How long have you been doing that?" Stiles asks, still grinning. He waves and
Derek approaches, head down this time for the pets he's so eager to receive.
"Since the first time."
"So basically, I get to come in your mouth or over those abs," which Stiles
hasn't licked yet, but only because Derek seems furtive whenever he does.
Stiles is mean, sure, and a bastard, but he isn't stupid and he's getting
regular sex whenever he wants it. He can roll with it. "Or do whatever it is I
want to you, and you go and hump your bed like a puppy before he's neutered.
Then you sleep in it."
Another blush, hot as an oven coming to temperature under his palm. The back of
Derek's neck is so soft and Stiles can't help but run his fingers over it, over
and over. "Yes."
"And you like that? Does that make you feel like a good boy?"
Hotter now, probably a nice roasting temperature if Stiles is any judge. His
cock is getting hard again and Derek keeps sneaking looks at it and licking his
lips. "Yes."
"You like that, I know. Being a good boy for me."
"Yes."
Just here, though. The moment Derek leaves Stiles' room, the moment Stiles
leaves his room, it's all different. The same, or normal, or whatever passes
for it in a town that should probably be called Sunnydale and give awards for
years with the lowest student death count. They haven't had that yet, thank
god, but Stiles can see the writing on the wall.
He can also feel the way Derek is pressing kisses into his naked hip, forehead
hot against his ribs.
"I honestly have no idea what I'm doing," Stiles says. "How this works."
Derek stays silent, mouth better occupied by licking around the base of Stiles'
cock, encouraging it to stand up straighter. The tip is already pearled with
want because understanding or not, Derek is there, and wanting, and Stiles just
turned seventeen years old.
He doesn't have to have any idea of what he's doing.
"I'm going to fuck you, probably," he says as he pushes Derek's head down,
watching cut shoulders, moon-pale and softer than Stiles ever imagined press
down against the bed so Derek can haul himself further up. "I'm going to get
you on all fours and listen to you mewl. I'm gonna lay here, just like this,
and watch you slide up and down on my cock, your eyes half closed because
you're so into it you can't concentrate on two things at once. You're such a
good boy for me, puppy. Such a good boy."
Derek shivers. He opens his mouth all the way to take Stiles in, sucking hard
and tight. Desperate and- there has to be another word for eager, Stiles
decides, watching as Derek sucks him off. He'll have to research it, probably.
Find the right way to describe how Derek loses everything but this, but making
Stiles come in him and on him, as many times as Stiles wants. Hell, there are
times when Derek will lip him through his jeans even though Stiles isn't even
hard.
Craving. Maybe that's the word. Addicted.
"Oh, that's it, good boy," Stiles gasps, when Derek does this one twist with
his tongue that makes Stiles see stars. "Do that again."
Derek does, but then he slides off until his lips are brushing over the head,
his breath a hot, unsteady gust that makes Stiles want to shove up into him.
"Are you going to do that?" Derek asks. "Really?"
Pushing Derek's head down back where it belongs, Stiles groans out something
satisfied and mean, so mean. He's always mean to Derek. "Course I am, puppy.
I'm gonna have you every way y- I want. So long as you're my good boy. And you
will be. I know it. You want to be my good boy."
Derek hums something that sounds more like a promise than mere assent.
* * *
When Stiles finally does fuck Derek- after a half an hour of Derek sliding
thick, long fingers into himself, sloppy and leaking with lube- he bites the
back of Derek's neck, his shoulders, calls him, "A good boy, such a god damned
good boy, come in your bed. Come all over it, just because I'm fucking you, the
way you've always wanted. Because you're a good boy, Derek, and I want to see
you come."
It isn't immediate but pretty soon Derek's puppy bed is once again soaked with
come. It makes Stiles fuck him harder, faster, mouthing all over Derek's skin.
He knows what this means to Derek, alpha but not, leader but so fucking bad at
it.
Stiles knows, and it makes it him glad.
Because he's an asshole.
But Derek is nearly sobbing with relief, gasping little choked out noises that
sound almost like thank you or even please. His body is heaving backwards,
tightslickhot around Stiles' cock, but he never once throws Stiles off of him.
He could.
He doesn't.
When Stiles comes, someone howls. He's never completely certain who.
* * *
If anyone knows about it-
and they have to because werewolves and also sometimes Derek will sit a little
too close to Stiles, duck his head a little no matter how angry he is about
whatever the problem is this time, and occasionally Stiles will cup the back of
his neck and feel the way tension seeps out of too tight shoulders, a spine so
rigid it's going to snap -
nobody says anything.
Stiles has no idea why but hey, he can roll with it. He can smile and joke and
flail around and mean all of it, every second. He's good at that. Maybe even
likes it.
But when he goes home to find Derek waiting he doesn't smile or joke or flail
around. He pulls his lips back into something too hard, too cruel for such
simple labels as smiles or grins and holds up his hand.
Says, "Good boy,"' when it's immediately filled with hair that's no longer
coated, just bristly and thick, and "that's it, I want to feel your mouth
today, fuck I've needed this," and listens to Derek make that low growl that
he's pretty sure means yespleasemore, all pushed together.
And Stiles thinks that if this is what happens when he's mean, maybe he'll let
it out a little more.
Just to see.
On a whim.
End Notes
     Warnings: some dubious consent and mild humiliation.
     Title is from the Thomas Merton quote: “I cannot make the universe
     obey me. I cannot make other people conform to my own whims and
     fancies. I cannot make even my own body obey me.”
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