
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/535839.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Knotting, mentions_of_canonical_and_non-canonical
      character_deaths, Prostitution, vampire, sterek
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-06 Words: 19332
****** Predator/Prey ******
by someone_who_isnt_me
Summary
     Angels fucking wept and Stiles got nervous.
     The only reason a guy who looked like this and drove a car like this
     would be picking up a scrawny underage hooker was because he wanted
     to do to Stiles the sorts of things you couldn't ask a girlfriend or
     boyfriend for, or even a stranger in a bar. Nasty-bad wrong things.
     Things that only money handed over could make better, silence bought
     and paid for.
     Or maybe a dead hooker in a ditch whocouldn'ttalk, no need to pay for
     the silence.
     But Stiles had his own methods for making sure that didn't happen.
     Stiles is a vampire. Derek's still the Alpha. And there's knotting.
Notes
     Obviously this is AU, since Jeff Davis has flat-out said there are no
     vampires in "Teen Wolf" canon, but it's also obviously AU for other
     reasons, so I don't feel bad about that. I regret nothing! This is
     simply a vampire hooker fic with a sprinkling of underage and
     knotting because Stiles and Derek are who/what they are, even when
     they're in an AU, and because the author is a pervert (whose friends
     egg her on)!
     Also, I'm fudging the facts of RL wolf knotting a bit because, duh,
     werewolf in human form here. I'm the author, I do what I want! (And
     evidently what I want is to write nearly 20k of vampire-hooker and
     knotting fic. La!)
See the end of the work for more notes
There was a thick black sheen of resting water coating the surface of the
asphalt, reflecting piss-yellow streetlights in wavering circles that dripped
into malformed ovals further along the sidewalk.
The air itself was free of residual rain, though the temperature was low enough
that hard, hot breath came out in foggy-white gusts.
Altogether an unpleasant night to be out and about, exposed to the unforgiving
elements.
Stiles Just-Stiles-Thanks had no real choice in the matter. Being out in the
streets, on the prowl, was definitely preferable to being stuck in the
flophouse he was currently squatting in. The place reeked of dust and death and
decay. About the only benefit it had was that it hid him from the sunlight and
was too dangerous and skeevy for even the most desperate of the regular
homeless to venture into.
There was a lot to be said for privacy. Especially for someone of Stiles'...
proclivity. And he didn't mean the way he earned his living.
Speaking of the last, though, that was why he was out here. It was still early
yet, by some people's standards, still plenty of time to earn a few more bills,
to suck a few more cocks, maybe suck something else.... Provided the right
potentials approached him.
The air was chill but Stiles felt all right. He was at one with the night.
Besides, his body didn't rely on external environment in order to maintain his
internal temperature.
He had on a teeshirt that was too large and a little more distressed than was
strictly fashionable. One might say it should have been replaced several
physical altercations ago. Under it he wore short shorts, lycra clinging to his
ass and cupping his crotch, generally making the most of his sexual attributes.
There was a flash of bare white thigh, then thick black hose. And, yeah, it was
usually the girls who wore that sort of thing, but Stiles had discovered that
most guys, even when they thought they were normal and vanilla, liked that
little hint of exotic eroticism, just the faintest whisper of crossdressing,
which wasn't to be boggled at when a man was picking up an underage male of the
hooker persuasion.
Besides, the thick black hose did a good job of covering up his knees, which
were still skinned from his run-in with Jackson and the pavement in turn.
Stupid fucking Jackson.
Some big black work-boots completed the ridiculous ensemble, and Stiles maybe
should have felt dumb but he was dressed for comfort in an uncomfortable line
of work, and he knew he looked sexy. Hella sexy.
Lydia kept telling him he should grow his hair out, but Lydia was a girl.
Stiles had been choked by one too many dick, when the guy he was blowing had
gotten a good hold of his hair and held him down. He kept it buzzed short now,
thanks. Even though Lydia was probably right and he probably would have looked
prettier with longer hair.
Stiles didn't really want to be pretty, though. Looking for the most part like
an average sixteen year old guy meant that he could get away with more, could
be expected to do less. There were certain benefits to being attractive, it was
true, but there were also drawbacks. Stiles had tried it both ways - inasmuch
as he could with the face he had - and he knew how to play the game by this
point.
So he was out in the dark. Oversized tee, tight shorts, black hose, and steel-
toes boots. Any guy who pushed too hard for something that wasn't on the table,
Stiles could always kick him in the nuts. Or even just the shin; that should
still be enough to put him down. Stiles was good at taking care of himself, no
matter what Matt kept trying to tell him. He was alone and he didn't need
anyone's protection.
Stiles knew he was taking a chance cruising in what was technically Argent
territory. But no one had seen an Argent on these streets in weeks, and Erica
had apparently decided Stiles' usual corner belonged to her now. If he'd had
more regulars to lose Stiles might have been pissed, but he didn't seem to
inspire loyalty. Not even in the pathetic assholes willing to pay for sex,
pathetic assholes who ought to know the value of a quality blowjob. Hell,
Stiles had heard a rumor that Erica didn't even do oral.
The argument that he was male and she was female and that they ought to share
the space since they clearly had differing clientele did nothing to sway Erica,
and so here Stiles was, sneaking onto Argent territory and hoping he didn't get
caught.
Not that he would have minded blowing Chris Argent. The man was a silver fox,
in looks if not personality. But he was also a semi-recent widower, so making
the offer seemed in rather poor taste. Stiles could be a complete dick when the
situation called for it, make no mistake, but he knew better than to mess
around with a guy who had a broken heart and a crossbow. Even if the first
didn't give Stiles pause, the latter would have. And besides, he didn't think
Papa Argent would have gone for a teenage boy sucking him off.
Anyway. Argent's old bastard of a father was batshit crazy. His even-more-
batshit sister - fortunately also recently deceased - was the reason Stiles was
alone and on the streets to begin with. And his daughter was Scott's on-again-
off-again girlfriend, and Stiles kind of thought they were "off" right now,
which meant Allison would be more inclined to shoot first and ask questions
after. She'd never really liked Stiles much anyway, even before going all crazy
over her mother's death, and had always been suspicious that he was hiding
something.
Which, yeah, Stiles got the whole grieving over a dead parent thing. He did.
And he was hiding something from Allison, something major. That didn't mean it
was okay when she gave him the side-eye and looked at him as though she wanted
to gut him simply for existing.
Not to mention, it was totally unfair, because the rest of the free-range sex-
selling teens who wandered their way into Argent territory got smiles and
sandwiches and extra condoms.
Stiles knew that his life was not fair, not in the slightest, and he didn't
expect it to go getting magically better. Still, that didn't mean that he
couldn't occasionally be bitter. Bitter and angry and he really hated this
town. If it hadn't been for Scott and his stupid puppy-eyes, Stiles would have
been out of here so fast....
On the other hand, one place was generally just about as bad as any other, and
Stiles hadn't worn out his welcome here yet.
Even though he was being insane and working the Argent side of town.
What? Hunters had needs too, right? And that was what Stiles was here for. To
fill a need. Never mind that half the time it was his own needs he was
satisfying, because the Hunters really, really didn't need to know about that.
At any rate. Stiles was here, yes, in Argent territory, but he didn't intend to
stay for long. One or two good jobs, or better yet, one sap in a car, and he
would be golden.
And there, that fit the bill nicely, so to speak, as a sleek, shiny black
Camaro pulled up against curb. This didn't look to Stiles like the kind of car
that would be owned by someone who needed to pay for sex. But it could be
someone who was overcompensating for something. Or someone who liked some weird
kinky shit that regular partners weren't up for....
Then the passenger window purred down and Stiles was even more confused.
Because looking out at him was a face that.... Well, let's just say this was
not the face of a man who should need to pay for sex. Ever.
Dark hair, alabaster skin, large wide-set eyes that shifted color and were
actually very nearly colorless in the streetlights, a strong slightly hooked
nose, and full lips; all framed by sharp cheekbones and a stubble-shaded jaw
that could have been etched out of stone.
Angels fucking wept and Stiles got nervous.
The only reason a guy who looked like this and drove a car like this would be
picking up a scrawny underage hooker was because he wanted to do to Stiles the
sorts of things you couldn't ask a girlfriend or boyfriend for, or even a
stranger in a bar. Nasty-bad wrong things. Things that only money handed over
could make better, silence bought and paid for.
Or maybe a dead hooker in a ditch who couldn't talk, no need to pay for the
silence.
But Stiles had his own methods for making sure that didn't happen.
Hey, he might not look like much, with his short buzzed hair, bony face,
upturned nose, thick-lashed doe eyes, red but somewhat thin lips, his coloring
brown, more brown, and moley.... But there was more to Stiles than showed on
the surface and if this guy was looking for trouble, then he had found it.
Trouble, Stiles could supply. In spades.
Of course, he'd rather none of that went down. This guy might be a walking wet
dream in a slick car, but he was clearly lacking in some serious social skills,
the way he was just staring at Stiles now that they could see one another.
"You're too pretty to need to pay for a blow," Stiles said, putting it right
out there because why not.
The guy in the car grinned crookedly, exposing both bunny teeth in the front
and one fang that flashed in the dim lighting. He looked equal parts adorable
and terrifying.
"Not looking for that," he replied, and his voice wasn't as deep as Stiles had
expected. Maybe he was younger than he initially looked. Unlike Stiles, who was
exactly the jailbait he appeared to be.
"No?"
"No." The guy just stared some more and Stiles sighed, breaking first despite
his best intentions. But they were in Argent territory and he had to get out of
here. Whether it was riding in a snazzy Camaro, in someone else's car, or on
his own two feet, it was best to get things moving.
"So what is it you're looking for?" he asked, leaning down and trying to look
sexy as he peered in through the open window. He was lucky he didn't slip and
flail, and he was well aware of the fact that he was too cute and goofy to
really pull off "sexy" - at least not until he had his lips wrapped around a
guy's cock - but that youthful look seemed to appeal well enough to a certain
sort. Stiles couldn't tell, though, whether it was going to appeal to the guy
in front of him.
"Penetration," the guy said without preamble. "And something more."
"Oh?" Stiles let his mouth and eyes round, even though he wasn't really
surprised at all. "What more?"
"I'd really rather not say here," the driver said, his eyes cutting around as
warily as Stiles had been feeling. "Get in."
Not a request, but Stiles was not surprised by this either. A man who was
paying to use another man's ass usually felt as though he could be bossy. Or
well, substitute "underage boy" for "man" in Stiles' case. But still.
Either way, Stiles shrugged and slid as gracefully into the offered ride as he
could, which was to say not very. There wasn't much this guy could pull on him
that would shock him, and if it got too hairy, Stiles had his secret weapon.
Really, he didn't have much to fear and some potentially good money to gain. If
this guy wanted penetration and "more", Stiles was going to charge him up the
ass. Pun not intended, but he wouldn't be the only one being fucked.
The slamming of the car door sounded a lot like the snapping of a trap and
Stiles was well aware of the fact that the Argents weren't the only dangers in
town.
But desperate times called for desperate measures... and besides, he had to
admit that he was curious.
In the end curiosity trumped common sense and little red riding hood left the
beaten path with the big bad wolf. But he was "red" for a reason, and Stiles
could take care of himself.
So it might just be the big bad wolf who was in for a surprise tonight.
+++
Stiles wasn't sure what he'd been expecting, but he wasn't at all surprised
when the black Camaro pulled into a parking space in a hotel lot. Most guys
didn't take him home, and while he wondered idly what this guy's place of
residence might be - an apartment? a condo? an actual house? did he have
roommates? - he'd sort of figured this was how the car ride would end.
To the guy's credit it was a decent hotel. The kind that was all on one floor,
each suite separate from the other, almost like cabins. The fact that they're
driven all the way to the edge of town added to this illusion. Stiles also
noted that they were on the opposite side of Beacon Hills from where he'd been
picked up, and he sort of wondered whether it had been on purpose or not.
Either way, this was a relatively isolated area, and it made him a bit anxious,
especially when he saw that the parking lot was nearly empty. Not that he
really had anything to fear; not like he would have if he'd been exactly what
he seemed. But he'd really like to go a little longer without the danger of
exposing himself as what he was, without running the risk of having to flee the
Argent family's wrath.
Seriously, he thought as he climbed out of the car, he hoped this guy wasn't
planning on offing him or anything. He'd be fine, but it would be awkward to
say the least.
The guy paused on the doorstep, key in hand, his forehead furrowed. It made him
look a little older, but Stiles still suspected he was younger than his
stubble, leather jacket, and fancy car would tend to indicate.
"Problem?" Stiles queried, quirking one brow, trying to look confident without
appearing jaded or cocky. It was easier to think than to do.
"Is this okay?" the guy asked, meeting his eyes with nearly-alarming intensity
again.
Stiles waited a moment, not unreasonably expecting a little more. Was what
okay? The hotel room? The fact that the guy wanted "more" than penetration? Was
this a query as to whether Stiles had condoms with him? Because he totally did,
even though he didn't technically need to use them. He did charge more when his
clients wanted to go without - a lot more - and pretended as though he was
doing them a huge favor. But somehow he didn't think that this guy was asking
about protection.
When he didn't clarify, Stiles shrugged. "Yeah, fine," he answered, because he
had no idea what he was being asked, but insofar as everything was awful, all
the time, everything was fine. That was all he was willing to share, anyway.
Whatever he had agreed to it must have been right, because the guy gave him
another couple of seconds of hard stare, then his face sort of shifted into a
second stony expression that was just as impossible to read, and he turned to
unlock the door.
Stiles bit his lip, knowing his eyes had narrowed, but unable to help himself.
Even though the guy had just put his back to Stiles there was a tension to his
shoulders that told Stiles clearly that he was not off guard, not unaware of
what Stiles was doing behind him.
It was a level of instinctive, internalized vigilance that wasn't usual, and
just added to Stiles' feeling that there was something strange about this whole
encounter. He was beginning to worry less about this guy being some sort of
hooker-skinning serial killer, and was getting more curious.
Curiosity had always gotten Stiles into trouble... but on the other hand, it
had also saved his life. So to speak.
He doubted tonight was going to be one of those good experiences.... But who
was he to judge? And by this point he was too invested to pull out.
Besides, the door had just closed behind him. He was committed now. Stiles had
too much pride to take it back now. He was here and whatever this guy wanted of
him, he'd provide it.
Assuming, of course, he got paid.
"So, what is it you wanted?" he asked, as his host took off his leather jacket
and slung it carelessly over the one chair in the room. This place was actually
a lot nicer than Stiles was used to. The sort of place that was rented out for
days at a time, rather than hours. It even had a kitchenette. There wasn't much
in it by way of luggage, though. A dark grey teeshirt on the floor and a half-
empty water bottle on the small cabinet beside the bed, that was all Stiles
could see.
When the guy just looked at him again, Stiles sighed. "Look, I get that the
whole strong, silent thing works for you, and you do work it, in case you were
wondering. But I need to know. I can't prepare myself if I don't know what you
want, and I won't know how much to charge."
And there was a small wince, a crack in the stoic facade, as though he didn't
like being reminded, but Stiles wasn't about to play that he was here because
he liked a complete stranger. Not without getting more money than this guy was
probably willing to part with anyway.
"Get undressed," the guy said, peeling off his own teeshirt, and Stiles
scowled. That wasn't an answer he was willing to work with, but the commanding
tone made it obvious that it was all he was getting.
He knew his mouth was puckered a little with sourness, but he was displeased.
Not only was he being left in the dark, metaphorically, but he was going to
have to strip in the literal light, and he had nothing to match the physique
this guy was sporting.
They were about the same height, aside from the guy's shirt-ruffled hair that
was now standing up a little straighter than it already had before, but Stiles
was... wiry, whereas his host was more along the lines of ripped.
"How many push-ups a day do you have to do?" he asked, out of honest curiosity
as much as to distract them both as he tugged his own teeshirt off much less
gracefully. At least he didn't have any scars, even though he had plenty of
moles. And he wasn't any more pale than his client, not really. That was a
strange experience, actually; usually Stiles was noticeably more pale.
"I don't keep track," the guy said, and Stiles was pretty sure he was lying,
but at least he'd answered.
Stiles snorted. "Well, you don't get abs like that naturally," he muttered,
toeing off his boots.
The guy's brow furrowed again, but he didn't say anything as he removed his own
footwear. Hiking shoes, Stiles noted, because he liked to always have an
awareness of everything around him, everything that might affect him at some
point.
Stiles was a little bitter about where he was stuck, physically, but at least
he wasn't flabby. He was too lean and bony for that. But lean was better than
chubby, right? That was what he was gonna tell himself, anyway. Being caught at
the end of his final growth spurt was better than at the beginning of it would
have been, even though he was angry that he'd never have a chance to reach his
full potential.
"Do you want me to leave these on?" Stiles asked, plucking at the elastic band
of his black hose, hoping the answer would be yes. His knees were a mess and it
was going to be a little longer before they healed completely. They didn't
really hurt, but he didn't scab up and raw hamburger wasn't sexy.
The guy shrugged, and Stiles took that as a win. He stripped off his shorts
over the hose without any difficulty, and now he was as naked as he was
planning to get.
He was used to it, so he shouldn't have been embarrassed. But he was used to
guys with whatever the opposite of daddy issues were, who actually wanted him
to look like an scrawny, coltish high school sophomore. He wasn't sure what
this guy was looking for, because he couldn't have been more than ten years
older than Stiles.
On the plus side, he probably wasn't going to want to spank Stiles or hear
Stiles call him "Daddy."
Ugh.
"Seriously, though," he said, fighting the urge to fold his arms in front of
him. He'd thought he'd lost his sense of modesty a long time ago, but there was
something about the way this guy was looking at him now. As though he was
hungry. And not in the way Stiles was used to, more as though Stiles was a fine
cut of beef he was thinking about sinking his teeth into. Which should have
been creepy and off-putting, but this guy and his pale eyes... he somehow made
it simply intense and actually almost a little flattering.
"Seriously, you're gonna have to share with the class at some point here,"
Stiles continued, planting his hands on his hips instead and trying to ignore
the fact that he was naked while his host was still wearing jeans. If this guy
wanted to play with power dynamics, that was fine with Stiles. He knew what was
really what, after all.
The guy scowled as though he was thinking about arguing, and Stiles just
prevented himself from sighing aloud. It suddenly occurred to him that instead
of bantering with this strange man, he could just take what he needed. They
were isolated enough. Through no effort on Stiles' part, even. He could take
the guy down, take what he needed, his knees would heal properly, and then he
could boost whatever cash the guy had, take the Camaro for a spin, maybe even
leave Beacon Hills in the dust, drive until he ran out of gas....
But it would really be a shame to rob the universe of someone as pretty as this
guy was. And Stiles really tried not to kill anyone, ever. Not unless they
deserved it, anyway. Which, so far, this guy didn't.
And besides, he still wanted to know what the guy meant by "more". It was
probably something mundane and boring, like rimming or breath-play, but that
didn't mean Stiles didn't want to know. Because he did, he so did.
"Go and shower," was all he got out of his host, though.
Stiles let out an indignant noise, flinging his arms wide. "That's what you're
giving me? Dude, I showered just this morning!" Because he might be squatting
in a hell-hole that would give a rat nightmares, but he stayed clean. There
were plenty of places where a homeless teen could bathe, and Stiles was worth
the effort.
"Go." And was that the hint of a growl?
Stiles stared a moment, but the guy met his gaze blandly. As though he hadn't
just growled at Stiles.
"Fine!" Stiles huffed. "Though if this is what you meant by 'more', I gotta say
I'm disappointed in you, sir."
It was almost worth the irritation to see the confounded, almost confused
expression on the guy's face before he turned and headed toward the bathroom.
Stiles paused, leaning against the doorjamb. "Hey." He peered at the guy across
the room. This was hardly what he called standard operating procedure, but
there was nothing about this encounter that was normal, after all. "Listen, if
you're using my body for unspecified, probably-nefarious purposes, and if
you're forcing me to use your shower, you should tell me your name."
He'd sort of expected the guy's thick brows to crunch together in the center,
but instead they arched up, giving him a little more of an animated expression.
For a second there he almost looked like a real boy!
For a long moment Stiles didn't think he'd get a response. Then the guy growled
again, and that was a real growl, what the hell?
"Shower first. Then I'll think about it."
"And fuck you too," Stiles snapped, but he went to do as directed because there
wasn't really anything else he could do.
There was soap and shampoo in the bathtub and Stiles used them liberally,
despite his cleanliness and how short he kept his hair. It might have been
spiteful, but there it was. They were fancy-pants, organic products and Stiles
tacked on a few more bills to what he expected to get paid. Along with the
bonus he was going to demand for putting up with this guy's bullshit in not
simply telling him what he wanted. If he was so embarrassed by it, then he
shouldn't have picked up a hooker to do it with!
Whatever "it" was....
Stiles dried off, grimacing at the scratchiness of the towel, the strong odor
of chlorine that clung to it. But then, it had dried countless bodies before
his, so he ought to be grateful for the bleach. And, ugh, wasn't that a
pleasant thought. Hey, Stiles might sell his body for a living, but he had
standards, okay? And these towels had seen a lot more and a lot worse than he
ever had!
Shaking it off - because he might be grossed out but he didn't have to worry
about germs - Stiles tugged his hose back on. His knees were still a mess, and
the guy had told him to shower, but he hadn't said anything about the hose,
even when Stiles had explicitly asked. In the face of all he was dealing with
here, Stiles was definitely inclined to take silence as permission.
So, here he was. Naked, his hair damp, smelling of the guy's bathing
supplies.... He hoped that was enough and that he was going to get some actual
direction soon. Because this guessing crap? Not what he had signed up for.
And he was going to tell the guy this. He had it in his mind, on the tip of his
tongue.
Then he walked out of the bathroom and it all dried up.
Stiles wasn't easily impressed. And he'd seen a lot, even though he hadn't been
on the streets all that long, as such things went. He'd already felt a twinge
or two that had been as much admiration as jealousy when his host-slash-client
had taken off his shirt. But now that he was looking at him, bared-ass nude, it
did funny things to him. Like rousing a libido that was more in keeping with
the sixteen year old body that he wore.
He'd seen the guy shirtless, duh, before he'd gone in the shower. But there was
something fundamentally different about getting a good look at the entire
package.
And speaking of packages.... Damn, this guy was hung. Stiles was no wilting
virgin, but he found himself sincerely hoping that his client was already at
half-mast in anticipation, because if that was him flaccid, then, whoa.
He was uncut, that much Stiles noted before forcing himself to drag his gaze
upward. And his bush wasn't exactly neatly trimmed despite the fact that his
chest appeared to be completely waxed. There was no way that hairlessness was
natural.
The guy didn't seem to be at all self-conscious or concerned by Stiles'
scrutiny, was sitting on the edge of the bed, appearing relaxed and at ease.
Thighs apart, but if Stiles was packing what this guy was packing he wouldn't
be able to close his legs properly either, he supposed.
His own cock was perfectly proportional and in keeping with his rather large
feet, but he had to admit to feeling a little... inadequate. Just for a moment.
Well, it wasn't as though he was here for his cock, was it. More likely his ass
was on the line, since the guy had said "penetration" before he'd stipulated
"more" unless Stiles was sorely misremembering. Stiles' ass was going to be
able to take it, no problem, but... well, he just hoped the guy wasn't a
grower.
"Now, about that name," he said, as much to break the silence as because he
still freaking wanted an answer.
One corner of the guy's mouth lifted in a tiny smile that was more of a smirk.
It was actually far more charming than it had any right to be, and Stiles
resolutely reminded himself of what an asshole he was being.
"You can call me Derek," he said, his voice low. "If you feel the need."
Stiles arched a brow, but decided he was lucky to be getting that much. Whether
it was a fake name or not, that didn't really matter. What really mattered was
that he'd gotten his way, that the guy - Derek - had told Stiles his name when
he really hadn't needed to.
"So, while we're in a sharing and caring mood," he said, stepping forward but
staying out of range of Derek's reach, "Care to share with me what you're going
to be wanting from me on top of penetration?"
"Not quite yet," Derek replied evenly. "Come here."
Stiles wanted so badly to refuse, simply on principle, but this was a business
transaction and he was here to do what he was told. Even when he wasn't being
told everything he was meant to do.
"For the record I really hate this," he bitched as he stepped forward, because
he might obey but he wasn't going to keep quiet about his discontent. After
all, Derek hadn't told him not to speak. He'd better not, either!
Derek didn't reply, just stared at him with those intense eyes. In the car, in
the darkness of the night, they had appeared to be a pale crystal blue, almost
silver, but now that they were under the artificial lights of the hotel Stiles
thought they were more hazel. As much green and brown as blue, and still
completely indescribable.
They were really pretty, just like the rest of this Derek. The stubble did
nothing to detract; if anything it accentuated his pale perfection.
Ugh, and now Stiles was getting all poetic and shit. Derek was more infuriating
than most of the guys Stiles had to deal with, but that was all Stiles knew
about him, all he wanted to know about him. No more of this mooning over his
pretty eyes or perfect bone structure. Stiles had never been romantic before,
and if there was a time for him to start, this was not it.
Case in point, as soon as he was within grabbing range, that was exactly what
happened. Grabbing, that was.
Stiles let out a frankly humiliating yelp and flailed gracelessly as powerful
hands closed on his arms, his world tipped and tilted around him, and a soft
mattress suddenly slammed into his back. There was a hot, hard body pinning him
to the bed, and as his vision cleared he was pretty sure those crystalline eyes
were crinkled in amusement.
"Bastard," he grunted, doing his best to punch Derek in the shoulder, even
though he didn't have any real leverage. Goddamn muscles were like rock, and
Stiles bit back a low whine. He was pretty sure he'd just done more damage to
himself than he had to Derek.
"Sorry," Derek said, though he didn't sound it in the least. Then, before
Stiles could respond in any way, he bent his head and nosed along the line of
Stiles' neck, sniffing him.
"What the- what the hell, dude?" Stiles squawked, trying to wriggle out from
under Derek. Suddenly there were vise-like hands around his wrists, pinning him
to the mattress, and a rounded bump of a nose was buried in the hollow behind
his right ear. He definitely wasn't imagining things; that was an honest to
fuck growl, vibrating through the tendons of his neck.
"You smell like other people's blood," Derek rumbled in his ear. Stiles felt a
warm curl of lip, then the enamel-hard press of teeth, not biting but not far
from it. The threat was definitely there.
"What?" Stiles gasped, choking on the fact that Derek had figured it out, how
the hell had he figured it out, what the everloving fuck-
Then it clicked in his brain, hitting him like a ton of bricks.
"Oh, shit, Derek," he warbled before he could control his tongue, "Derek
fucking Hale!"
And how had he not made the connection when Derek had told him his name?! What
other Derek living in Beacon Hills could possibly have magical abs, a black
Camaro, and pale but deadly beauty?
Granted, Stiles had never actually seen Derek before. Hadn't met any of the
Hales before their untimely demises. He'd still been human then, just a normal
junior high student at the time, largely unaware of the supernatural. But he
knew of them, now, and he knew that almost all the family when they had been
alive had been, well, freaking werewolves.
Stiles had met other creatures of the night before, and he'd been in fear for
his life before. But he'd never before been pinned to a bed with a motherloving
werewolf on top of him! A werewolf who, by all accounts, was an Alpha. Well,
who else of his family - his pack? - was alive to claim that title?
"Shit," Stiles said again, more resigned this time, going limp. He wasn't about
to just let Derek tear his throat out, but Derek wasn't doing that right now,
was just holding Stiles down, lightly, almost gently. Stiles wasn't going to go
easily. He wasn't going to submit; never mind the way his neck had arched so
readily for Derek. But he did manage to recall that Derek was the client in
this scenario.
Stiles was still alive and in one piece, so Derek must want something from him,
right? After all, he'd stipulated "penetration and something more".... Stiles
was beginning to get an inkling of what that "more" might entail, but he'd
really be happy if it didn't involve his untimely demise. He'd already died
once, technically, and it had been a deeply unpleasant experience that he
wasn't inclined to try a second time.
Especially since he wasn't likely to come back the second time.
"What is it you want me to do?" he asked, trying to sound calm even though his
pulse was pounding, his veins pumping the meager blood remaining in his body
vigorously in the usual fight-or-flight manner. That had been something that
had surprised him, Stiles had to admit. When he'd discovered he still had a
heartbeat and he was still breathing.... He'd been glad, though. It had made
him feel less undead and more, well, reborn.
Derek left off snuffling at his neck, levering up a little to meet his gaze.
His upper lip was drawn back, slightly longer fangs bared in something that
wasn't quite a snarl, just an expression of distaste, Stiles thought. And it
was both amusing and unfair that Derek still had the bunny teeth even when he
was all fanged-out and that they still made him look as much adorable as they
did feral.
"I want you to feed," Derek murmured, turning his head and baring his neck. Not
in submission, Stiles recognized, but in offering.
"What the actual fuck?" he gaped, his eyes going wide.
"I won't mate you when you reek of someone else's blood," Derek growled, and
there was a quick flash of red to his eyes, even though the fangs seemed to
have receded for the moment.
Really? Mate? Had Derek just used that word? As a verb instead of a noun - not
that this made it any better. Had Stiles just heard him right?
When Stiles didn't speak immediately, his mouth hanging open in a manner that
was probably more than a little unattractive, Derek smirked at him. The
bastard.
"Besides," he added, still smirking, and Stiles decided that this smug
expression was even more infuriating than his expressionless expression, "You
obviously need to feed, and you're going to need your strength if you expect to
keep up with me tonight."
"Ugh, you're such an asshole," Stiles complained, smacking Derek in the
shoulder again, because evidently Derek didn't feel that he needed to pin
Stiles' wrists down any longer, as though they'd come to some sort of an
understanding or something. "You do know that, right? That you're an asshole?
This isn't coming as a surprise, is it?"
"I have been told so, yes," Derek replied with obnoxious calm.
"Anyway," Stiles protested, even though his gaze was drawn to the pulse in the
line of Derek's neck, "How do we know it's safe for me to feed off of you? What
if werewolves are, like, poison for-"
He cut himself off, even though it was obvious that Derek knew what he was.
Mostly because he didn't like thinking about it, didn't like putting a name to
it. It was bad enough that it had happened to him. Sure, he preferred it to
being dead, actually for real dead, but that didn't mean that he wasn't still
bitter about it.
"It'll be fine," Derek assured him, and Stiles wasn't sure what was worse; that
he sounded so certain, or that the certainty in his voice actually made Stiles
feel a little better about the whole thing.
"No," he said. Because even if this was the "more" that Derek had wanted,
Stiles wasn't going to do it. He had specific criteria for when he fed and
lying on his back on the bed underneath Derek met none of them.
Instead of getting angry or demanding, Derek leaned back down to nose at
Stiles' neck again. Stiles stiffened. There was the potential for fangs, and
just because Derek was urging Stiles to bite him, that didn't mean that he
might not decide to tear Stiles' throat out instead....
Though if Derek did that, he wouldn't get to mate Stiles. So maybe that wasn't
such a likelihood.
"You stink of other men," Derek told him again, one hand clamping heavy and hot
on the bony point of his shoulder, pressing hard enough to bruise if Stiles had
been able to bruise any longer. "And I can smell that your knees need to heal.
They'll heal if you drink your fill, right?"
"Fuck you, stop sniffing me!" Stiles ordered harshly, hitting Derek again. Now
he knew why this was such an ineffectual move, and yet, he had to put up some
sort of resistance.
"Can't drink my fill without killing you, anyway," he added with a little growl
of his own. It was one hundred percent true and Derek ought to have known that.
There was no way for Stiles to fill his own veins without taking more than the
person he was feeding on could live without, and he'd never done that. Stiles
might be a bloodsucker but he wasn't a killer. And he never would be.
Infuriatingly, Derek chuckled, hot breath gusting over the cool skin of Stiles'
neck. "I can take a bullet to the chest," he informed Stiles, his voice way too
warm and pleasant for the words he was speaking. "I've been impaled and
survived. Trust me, losing a little blood is no hardship. You're not big enough
to drain me."
"You really need to work on your bedroom talk," Stiles informed Derek, figuring
the guy could use the good advice. "Seriously. If I had a boner, you'd be
killing it right now."
"Can you get an erection?" Derek asked, and it sounded so ridiculous when he
spoke the word, but Stiles knew that if he'd had enough blood in his system
he'd have been blushing anyway. Which was even more ridiculous, because at this
point, what about sex should embarrass him? He freaking sold it to strangers
for a living, after all.
"Not that it's any of your business, Mr. Nosy, but yes," he replied snappishly.
"I come too, and if you can tell me how that works, then you know more about my
body than I do."
"Good," Derek rumbled, the word echoing through Stiles' ribcage. He felt
emptied out, had been quite effectively ignoring the fact that he was very
close to running on fumes, and now here was Derek with his warmth and all that
rich, delicious blood, just inches away from Stiles' mouth....
Derek wasn't the only one who had fangs, after all. And while Stiles tried hard
to keep a handle on his instincts, he could feel his teeth lengthening, sharp
pinpricks digging into the inside of his lips.
"Do it," Derek ordered, but softly, almost making it sound like a request, as
he shifted to present his neck again. "Now."
Stiles' breath was coming heavy as he tried to control himself, his fingers
flexing restlessly on Derek's upper back, and when exactly had he latched
himself onto the larger body, holy shit, this was kind of humiliating.
"Do it," Derek growled again. Stiles closed his eyes, gave in to inevitability,
and buried his face in the curve of the proffered neck, sinking his teeth into
its largest vein, pulsing just under the thin skin there.
It would serve Derek right if he was wrong and Stiles drank him dry, Stiles
thought angrily and a little incoherently as hot, salty blood splashed onto his
tongue and slid down his throat, rich and nourishing. Fucking bastard, forcing
this on him, Derek had to know that there was no way Stiles could resist by
this point.
Stiles hadn't actually doubted that Derek knew what he was talking about. The
fact that he'd evidently been shot in the chest in the past was worrisome and a
little sad, but he'd obviously survived. And yet it was still a little
surprising to Stiles when, just moments after he'd bitten down, Derek healed
right up, his skin smoothing over, the flow of blood ceasing.
"You're going to have to bite harder than that," Derek informed him, his voice
low and even, his hands rubbing soothingly over Stiles' shoulders. Stiles was
aware that his own nails were sunk deeply into Derek's shoulders, but it wasn't
as though they would do any lasting damage. Clearly.
Even just that one small taste had been intoxicating. Stiles had been too long
without feeding, and he'd never in all his time as a bloodsucker just taken and
drunk his fill. It seemed as though tonight he was going to be able to do so,
guilt-free, without having to claim another person's life in order to satisfy
himself.
He wanted to swear, he wanted to cry, he wanted to snarl and sink his fangs
into Derek so deeply that they never came out. That last was the most tempting,
least humiliating option, and so that was what he did.
He bit hard, slicing flesh, spilling blood that came out so fast he had trouble
swallowing it, but which then slowed to a trickle all too quickly. So he bit
again, and then again, all the while keeping his lips locked as tightly on
Derek's hot flesh as his teeth were, suction and grinding, and he suddenly
realized that it wasn't all about his mouth.
As the heat and energy of Derek's rich blood worked its way through his body
Stiles could feel his own temperature rising and his cock was suddenly achingly
hard. Swollen with Derek's blood, and this was the first time Stiles had really
thought of it that way. Before, with other men's blood, he'd have been a little
disgusted. But somehow knowing that the hard-on he was arching to grind into
Derek's belly was filled with the werewolf's own blood... that made it more
sexy than dirty. Made it unbearably intimate in a strange way that Stiles was
somehow mostly okay with.
Derek was solid over him, pressing him into the mattress, holding Stiles firmly
as he writhed in his arms. Sobbing and biting and sucking and thrusting his
aching cock into Derek's hard belly, driving himself closer and closer to
climax.
"Come on. Come for me," Derek was murmuring somewhere above his ear, holding
perfectly still as Stiles continued feeding at his neck, showing not the
slightest hint of pain as sharp fangs broke his rapidly-healing flesh over and
over again. His heat didn't lower one bit, even as Stiles drank enough of his
life's essence to completely fill his own parasitic veins. Stiles hips were
also working away, grinding his cock into Derek's body, his thighs locked
around Derek's hips. They were about the same height, but Derek had a lot more
bulk. And Stiles was using that bulk to grind against in order bring himself to
orgasm.
"Come on," Derek repeated, a low rumble of a growl in his chest, thumbs digging
into the hollows at the tops of Stiles' shoulders where his collarbones arched,
where his neck began. There was the slightest prick of what Stiles vaguely
indentified as claws, just a faint sensation of pain in the overwhelming flood
of pleasure that was breaking upward and outward from his core, from his
pulsing cock, but enough to push him that much closer to the edge.
Stiles whined, his breath coming hard and fast through his nostrils, his fangs
sinking once more into Derek's neck, this time deep enough to make Derek
actually wince, more blood than Stiles could manage spilling over his tongue
and lips, as he jerked and shuddered under and around Derek, his cock spitting
and spilling between them, hot as the blood Derek had shared, thicker and
richer, smelling of sex and salt and sour.
"Good boy," Derek murmured soothingly as Stiles collapsed onto the bed,
shivering, all his limbs going lax, fangs receding, lids falling to half mast
over hot, aching eyes. Derek didn't sound winded, didn't sound like he was in
pain, didn't even sound very turned on, the bastard.
Meanwhile, Stiles felt like he'd been utterly destroyed.
Now he knew what it was like to drink his fill, to take more blood than any one
human could give him without dying. Now he knew how good it felt, how amazing
it was.
"Fuck you," he gasped, rage and despair washing through him. He wasn't... he
wouldn't... he refused to become a killer, and so he knew he was never going to
have this again. It was worse knowing. He'd rather have never found this out.
Derek didn't reply. Instead he bent to lick at Stiles' lips and chin. Not
kissing him, lapping up his own blood which had spilled out of Stiles' mouth at
the end there, but somehow it was even more sexy than a kiss would have been.
Maybe because a kiss would have been a lie, when they didn't know or like each
other, but this was something honest. Something real.
Stiles still hated Derek, though.
Once Derek was done cleaning the skin around Stiles' mouth, going so far as to
lick his way between his parted lips, still not a kiss but something almost
like one, he moved down to snuffle at Stiles' neck again. Where before his
every sense had been muffled, weak, as though he was feeling everything through
layers of deep fatigue or fuzzy dreaming, now Stiles was hyperaware of the heat
and damp of Derek's breath. He could feel the tiny hairs on his neck shifting
in an almost ticklish way. He could feel everything.
He felt human again, for the first time since he'd awakened as something
"other", and he realized with an actual physical jolt that he hadn't even
missed this until he'd gotten it back. He'd taken it for granted that his new
way of being was how his second existence simply was.
It was amazing. Incredible. And agonizing. Because he knew, he knew that the
reason he felt like this was due to the fact that he'd drunk his fill. It was
possible that it was also because Derek was a werewolf, but Stiles kind of
doubted that last. Though it was due to Derek being a werewolf with
preternatural healing that Stiles had been able to feed until he couldn't take
any more blood.
You've ruined me, he wanted to tell Derek. Wanted to scream it while beating
him senseless. But besides being ridiculous and impossible, that would showing
weakness. And already Stiles was offering up too much, his head turned on the
pillow to stare blindly across the room, his neck a pale line that Derek
continued to scent like, well, like a wolf.
Stiles did feel stronger now. Not powerful-enough-to-beat-up-a-werewolf strong,
he was certain. But being filled with Derek's blood gave him strength and focus
that he hadn't known he'd been missing until he had it back.
"Fuck you," he said again, then cursed himself for the way his voice crackled,
thin and ineffectual.
"Now you smell like me," Derek said, sounding warm and approving, self-
satisfied. His tongue swept soft and slick against the skin of Stiles' neck,
sending shivers through him that he also hadn't felt in far too long. Sexual
arousal, he placed it after a moment of contemplation, and considering that he
sold sex for a living it probably should have occurred to him sooner, but he
wasn't used to the two coming together at the same time. He didn't think... he
didn't think they ever had before.
Great, Derek was ruining him for fucking life. Both his inhuman existence and
his profession.
Derek shifted, nosing his way down Stiles' neck and lapping at the dip where
his collarbones met, and Stiles became distinctly aware of the fact that his
spunk was still smeared between them, getting tacky on both their stomachs, and
he couldn't believe that Derek had actually made him come.
Well, it had more been Derek's blood. In his mouth, sizzling through his veins,
filling up the cold emptiness inside and making him feel alive for the first
time since he'd died.
Before Stiles could suggest taking a quick break for another shower - or at
least a few moments with a damp washcloth - Derek had levered up onto his hands
and knees over Stiles and was licking at his flat belly, clearing away the mess
that Stiles had made.
"That's gross," Stiles commented, trying to distract himself from the laving
tongue getting all up in his business, the smooth, hot slide of it over
sensitive skin. He'd just come, but he was already feeling horny again, and
there was something so wrong about that, but he couldn't exactly do anything
about it, now could he.
Derek didn't reply, just licked at Stiles' navel, then made his way down to
bury his nose in Stiles' balls.
"Shit!" Stiles yelped, jerking on the bed, fighting off the instinctive urge to
kick Derek. There were potential fangs very close to his most tender bits, and
while Stiles didn't really want Derek licking down there, even more he didn't
want him biting anything off.
Derek didn't lick, though. He sniffed around a bit, then raised his head. His
eyes were gleaming red for a moment, and those were definitely fangs in his
mouth, too long and white for his lips to completely contain.
Stiles glared back, feeling his own fangs lengthen, even though he wasn't
hungry any longer, even though he had no intention of discovering whether he
was even close to capable of taking Derek in a fight. He kept his lips pressed
tightly together, as much to express his disapproval as to disguise his own
feral nature. Stiles was in control of himself. He might not be human any
longer, but that didn't mean he didn't still act like one.
After a long moment of simply staring at Stiles, Derek's eyes faded back to
their regular crystalline shade, his teeth receding, leaving him looking
younger but no less dangerous, despite the hilarious bunny teeth exposed by his
slightly parted lips.
"You've got a little something there," Stiles rasped, scooting to prop himself
up against the pillow behind him - not incidentally moving his cock away from
Derek's mouth - and gesturing at the werewolf's impressive abs, still smeared
with Stiles' jizz.
Reason and sharpness bled back into Derek's face, overwriting the weird blank
expression he'd had going on, and Stiles felt a small pulse of relief, even
though the tiny smirk Derek gave him was obnoxious as hell. Still, it was
better than thinking that Derek was going to try to literally eat him at any
moment.
"You smell better now," Derek said, straightening and kneeling, sitting back on
his heels, reaching for the top sheet to casually wipe Stiles' come off his
belly. His cock was half hard now, the crimson head peering out of his
foreskin, the slit slicked with precome, and it was definitely of a size that
Stiles might have found intimidating.... Only he didn't anymore.
Maybe it was the werewolf blood surging through his veins, but Stiles knew he'd
be able to take anything Derek gave him. Which was a good thing, because he was
beginning to suspect that....
"By 'something more', you meant knotting, didn't you," he said, didn't even
bother making it a question. He didn't know much about werewolves, and most of
the mating stuff was only rumor, but he somehow didn't think he was wrong.
Especially not when Derek's smirk widened.
Stiles let out what he readily acknowledged was an exasperated huff. "Well, I
hope you have copious amounts of lube," he said, trying to sound more annoyed
than he felt, because for some reason he wasn't very. For some bizarre reason
he just felt curious and a little bit turned on. Which couldn't possibly be a
normal response to this. "My ass isn't self-lubricating."
Derek let out a huff of his own that was something closer to a laugh, though
not quite. And Stiles suddenly, for no real reason, remembered that Derek had
lost every member of his family in the Hale fire. Which kind of completely
sucked for Derek, even though Stiles wouldn't go so far as to say he was
feeling sorry for the guy....
But. Losing everyone you cared about was really the worst thing that could
happen to a person. As Stiles well knew.
So even though he didn't know Derek, didn't really like him, and in fact kind
of hated him right now for the whole blood thing, Stiles was willing to cut him
a little slack - a little - and it made him feel strangely pleased to hear
Derek give vent to a sound of amusement, to know he'd caused it, even though
Stiles had no absolutely intention of playing the clown for him.
After all, it was enough that he was going to let Derek knot him, right?
Speaking of which....
"Seriously, though," he felt compelled to insist, his brows arching. "Lube?"
Derek moved in one sudden burst, seemingly pouncing Stiles. He squeaked,
automatically attempting to roll out of the way only to find one of Derek's
iron arms barring this move, keeping Stiles right where he was. After half a
second he realized that Derek was reaching under the pillow behind him,
retrieving a reassuringly large tube of lubricant.
"Well, okay then," he said, a little breathlessly, trying to play it off as
though he hadn't reacted at all, especially so ineffectually.
Derek growled a little - and that made so much more sense now - bending to get
his prickly stubble all over the skin of Stiles' shoulder, his lips soft where
he mouthed at the sharp lines there. Stiles shivered, not out of any emotional
response, but because his entire body was so sensitized now, filled with
Derek's blood. Sex had never been like this, and it was almost like being a
virgin all over again.
Weird thought, and yet not an untruth.
"Isn't... isn't knotting a mating thing?" Stiles asked, trying to ignore the
way his voice came out a little breathless, reaching for the lube Derek was
holding. He failed to wrestle it away, which kind of pissed him off, but even
though he now had more strength than he'd ever had, Derek was stronger. "I
mean, I know you used the word, but I just assumed it was a nice way of saying
you were gonna fuck me."
Derek nosed at him again, then licked his shoulder in a manner that almost
seemed contemplative. Not that Stiles was assigning reactions to him.
"It's metaphoric... and literal," he grunted.
"I hate to break it to you," Stiles laughed, "No, wait, I don't hate to,
because you really ought to know this, but even if I were still human there's
no way you could get me pregnant. I'm a male through and through. Not to
mention, kind of undead now."
Derek reared back up and rolled his eyes. It was a very normal expression, and
it somehow made Stiles feel as though he liked Derek more, even while their
conversation was edging into places he didn't think he wanted to go with
someone he didn't even know. Strange, kinky, possessive places. And Stiles
could do kinky - that was what he got paid for on a regular basis, after all -
but he very definitely didn't do possessive.
"There's more than one meaning to the word," Derek told him, doing absolutely
nothing to sooth the rising alarm Stiles was feeling.
"You are not claiming this fine ass," Stiles yelped, kicking out, trying to
wriggle free of Derek's arms as he found himself once again caged against the
pillows, Derek snuffling at his neck. "I don't belong to you!"
"You smell like my blood," Derek growled, legit growled, and his teeth nipped
sharply at the delicate skin stretched over Stiles' collarbone. No fangs, not
yet, but the potential was there. "You smell like you're mine."
This actually calmed Stiles a little, if only a little. "That'll wear off," he
said, as much for himself as for Derek. "Do you hear me? You can fuck me, you
can knot me, but once it's done you're paying me and I'm walking away."
There was no response to this but another low growl and the wet lashing of a
tongue moving against his throat and shoulder, then hard teeth sinking into his
collarbone again, more deeply this time, holding on, the spike of pain, then
throb of bruising tension - even though he didn't bruise anymore - making his
cock jump and swell slightly.
"Shit," Stiles choked, kicking out involuntarily with one leg, his nails
sinking blunt into Derek's broad shoulders. He wanted to fight back, wished he
had claws so he could tear into Derek, his instincts urging him to get away, to
escape, but of the two of them Derek Hale, werewolf Alpha, was clearly the more
powerful. Stiles tried to remind himself that what he'd said was true. Once
they were done fucking he was getting out of here, whether he got paid or not.
Though he really hoped that he'd get paid.
Derek didn't reply, just scooted back, setting the lube aside somewhere, and
grabbing Stiles' left leg.
"What?" Stiles yelped, then winced as Derek stripped the hose away with more
force than finesse. He was pretty sure it had just ripped, and his thigh stung
momentarily. He stared in fascination at the pretty pink color that rose up in
the pale flesh, distracted as Derek did the same thing with his other leg.
He hadn't had enough blood in his system to garner that physical reaction in a
long time; not since the couple of nights he'd managed to feed off of five men
in the same three hour period, then decided that doing so had been far more
trouble than it had been worth. That had been the closest he'd ever come to
where he was tonight, and even then it had been nothing like how he felt now.
As Derek had already surmised, Stiles' knees had healed and the flesh of his
legs was once again flawless.
"You don't need to hide your knees anymore," Derek informed him unnecessarily,
and he spoke evenly but his nostrils were flaring and Stiles could have sworn
he felt the prick of claws. "They're healed and these," he brandished the
ruined wisps of black nylon still clenched in one hand, "Stink."
"They're brand new out of the package," Stiles argued, more for the sake of
arguing than anything else. He actually wasn't surprised when all Derek did was
snarl and fling the wrecked hose over the edge of the bed.
"You should work on using your words," Stiles informed Derek, trying really
hard not to sound as cranky as he felt because he wanted Derek to know he was
coming from a reasonable place, not a position of deep irritation. Even though
he kind of was. "Then I could have taken them off myself and maybe could have
worn them again later. Like I said, they were new, and not cheap."
Derek snarled at him again, the bastard, then bent to nose at his balls some
more.
"No fangs!" Stiles felt compelled to demand, his voice going up a little too
high, but his collarbone was still smarting, he'd seen those sharp teeth that
didn't even fit into Derek's mouth completely, and he really valued his balls,
thanks very much, what guy didn't? Living or... not.
Derek snorted, making Stiles shudder as humid-hot breath blasted over his
sensitive parts. His cock seemed to approve despite the nearness of potential
fangs and Stiles groaned a little, falling back into the pillows as Derek's
wet, limber tongue worked its way over his perineum and then up to lap at the
rapidly plumping shaft of his hard-on.
It was very seldom that guys wanted to play with his cock, at least not in ways
designed more to give Stiles pleasure than to simply take their own. And being
infused with Derek's blood, filled to fullness, feeling real for the first time
since he'd died... well, it was making everything that much more intense.
Stiles groaned, reaching up and grasping at his short-clipped hair, feeling his
skull hard and round underneath his scalp. He wasn't going to grab Derek's
hair, he wasn't. Not only was he not going to show that much enthusiasm, but he
didn't think it would be a good idea to go yanking on a werewolf's hair when he
was so near Stiles' junk. Just in case. After all, Stiles really had zero idea
how good Derek's control was. Sure, he was an Alpha, but-
Then reason and everything else washed away in a wave of holyfuckingfuck as
Derek took all of Stiles' hard cock in his mouth in one go, swallowing it down
to the root, his nose bumping up against Stiles' pelvis, buried in his pubes.
This was nothing like rubbing off on Derek's belly while feeding had been, when
Stiles' attention had been as much caught up in the flavor and heat of the
blood rushing over his tongue as on the way his pulsing hard-on felt. This was
all centered in his groin, the rest of his body fading away to nothing but the
faint recognition of heels scrabbling at the mattress, fingers now clutching at
the sheet to either side of his hips, and the back of his head banging into the
cheap faux-wood of the headboard behind him.
"Fuck," he got out, strangled but reasonably articulate, even as a hot clench
of flesh - the swirl of Derek's tongue, the tightness of his throat - engulfed
his cock and consumed his senses. "Fuck, you don't have to- I'm not some- You,
you can just st-stick it in, you know. I don't need-"
"Shut up," Derek growled, his voice hoarse as he pulled off of Stiles' cock,
leaving it cold and hard and twitching both with the chill and the loss of
stimulation. A fist closed around it, jacking it slowly, too slowly, and Stiles
peeled open eyes he hadn't even realized he'd closed, peering down at Derek
through the haze of arousal that was trying to cloud his vision.
Derek looked... amazing, in a word. His lips plumped and red, glistening with
saliva. His own eyes heavy-lidded and somehow darker, but not red, thank fuck
not glowing Alpha red. His cheeks were flushed, a hint of color that made him
seem more human, more real, more vulnerable, even though he definitely was not
at least two of these things.
"You shut up," Stiles rejoined nonsensically, because if he could keep his
mouth shut in the face of certain danger then he probably wouldn't be where he
was now.
On the other hand, he'd probably have wound up actually dead. So. There was
that.
Instead of replying, Derek just sighed in an obnoxiously long-suffering way,
then bent and started deepthroating Stiles again.
"Ahng!" He whined, doing his best not to thrust upward into that incredible,
engulfing heat. He wanted to fuck Derek's mouth and throat until he came again,
but that wasn't why he was here. Not unless... unless that was what Derek
wanted?
Then there it was, the prodding at his asshole, and that was what Stiles had
been expecting.
"I told you," he gritted out, trying not to writhe - toward, away, just in
overstimulation - as Derek smoothed the pad of his thumb down the center of his
crack, catching a little on the rim of his asshole but not pushing inside, not
yet. "Told you, I don't need-"
"But I want," Derek growled, nipping at Stiles' inner thigh then going down on
him again, and that was nice, but Stiles still objected on moral principle....
On the other hand, Derek was the client here so Stiles guessed he could have
what he wanted.
Stiles yelled, actually yelled, and gave some serious consideration to
rethinking this policy as Derek pulled off him with a slurp, rough hands
grabbed his hips, and he was suddenly manhandled into a hands-and-knees
position on the mattress, his ass in Derek's face, his own face in the pillow.
"Hey!" he barked, twisting to glare over his shoulder. Derek looked unrepentant
and mildly amused. Stiles scowled, but couldn't really protest. Not that he
didn't want to. "A little warning next time, asshole," he settled for snapping.
Derek didn't reply, instead bending and licking his way into Stiles' ass crack,
his tongue incredibly soft and intensely hot where it worked over the tight
clench of muscle at Stiles' core.
Stiles let out a little groan despite his best efforts when warm arousal began
to turn the muscles of his legs to jelly. He sank his burning face into his
arms, as much hiding from the fact that Derek's rim-job was affecting him as he
was from the fact that Derek was giving him a rim-job. This wasn't the first
time, but it had been rare, and this was the first time Stiles had experienced
this with his senses on full alert, still filled to bursting with werewolf
blood.
Sex before had always been like Stiles thought fucking with the flu might have
been. More of a chore than anything else. Not something to take pleasure from;
just something to get done in order to earn money. This... this was more like
he remembered masturbation to have been before he'd died, only like a hundred
times more intense, because now he had a partner.
It was intoxicating and a little bit terrifying at once.
"You smell clean down here. New," Derek rumbled into Stiles' ass, and he
sounded pleased, sounded as though he was smiling, even though Stiles was
willing to bet that he wasn't.
"Well, it's not like I... you know," he murmured into his arm, trying to speak
normally even as Derek nosed at him, licked his quivering hole. "Liquid diet
and all that."
Derek actually chuckled, the vibrations rippling through Stiles, making his
cock jump between his spread thighs, precome drooling out of it onto the bed.
"You smell like mine," Derek had to go and ruin the moment by adding, harsh and
deep in his throat. But before Stiles could protest, he'd buried his face in
his crack again, and begun giving Stiles the tongue-lashing of his life. Both
his human life and this one.
"Ah! Ah, fuck!" Stiles gasped out, his fingers kneading at the sheets beneath
him, his legs quivering as Derek ate him out, tongue probing, forcing its wet
way through the tightness of his sphincter. That had to be more werewolf
strength, Stiles thought in a daze, trying to collect his scattered wits enough
to reach down and jerk himself off, then reminding himself that he probably
shouldn't.
The attention Derek paid to his ass should have been embarrassing, and it was
certainly more than he needed, but with his senses intensified and his body
twitching Stiles couldn't exactly call this a bad thing.
In all honesty, it really was like being a virgin again. It sounded faintly
ridiculous, even in the privacy of his own head - what with the way he sold his
ass for a living - but considering that pretty much all of his sexual
experience had happened after he'd become what he was now, and that he'd been
wading through his afterlife in an eternally half-starved haze, he hadn't every
really gotten to experience sex the way it was meant to be.
And he might hate Derek for this, for making him feed to repletion and for now
dragging every last shiver and moan out of his quaking body, but in a way he
was grateful. Because even though he'd never get this again, even though that
realization was agonizing, it might actually have been worse to have never
gotten this. Ever.
He wasn't about to let Derek know this, though. Any of it. Derek was a predator
and an asshole and Stiles wasn't about to show him any more weakness than he
already had.
Stiles was aware that he could technically be labeled a predator too. If the
Argents ever realized what he really was, what he had become, then Scott
wouldn't even have time to have to choose between his best friend and his
girlfriend - not that this would ever be a struggle, and it made Stiles' sting
but he knew where he stood so that was something at least - before they took
care of business and took him out.
But he was careful. He never fed off of anyone who would be able to identify
him later. That wasn't as hard as it sounded; after all, what grown man would
admit to picking up a decidedly underage male hooker and paying to screw him?
Stiles was smart and canny and after the first time or two he hadn't even fed
off of anyone who realized what had happened. Being sneaky about it had become
second nature for him and was even easier than the sex.
Stiles was good at what he did, and he wasn't about to go wrecking that just
because Derek had shown him how much better it could be.
These were not thoughts that lingered long in his brain when he was being eaten
out so magnificently, however. Just niggling realities, fluttering restlessly
at the edges, souring what might otherwise be a pretty awesome encounter.
Stiles wasn't sure why Derek wanted to spend so much time licking his way into
his ass, but he wasn't about to complain about it. Maybe it was preemptive
recompense for the knot that was going to fill him up, stretch him, and
possibly hurt even though he wasn't human any longer. Or maybe Derek just
wanted to. Dogs liked to sniff each other's asses, right? Maybe wolves - even
those of the two-legged variety - had a similar fixation. Though this had gone
well and beyond sniffing.
At any rate, Stiles was fully hard again, the entire area between his tailbone
and his pubis tingling, the blood he'd taken from Derek and claimed as his own
shivering in the surface of his skin, plumping his cock, probably blushing his
balls and all of his ass, not that he could check or would have if he could
have.
He could almost come like this, he thought foggily, as Derek lapped at him with
alternating force and delicacy. He'd have thought he'd get use to it or have
gone numb by now, but each sweep of Derek's tongue sent fresh sparks skittering
over the entire surface of his body. His breath was coming out sharp and
panting, the hairs on his arms were standing up, his nipples were aching, and
he knew his balls had to be drawn up nearly into his torso by now....
So, naturally, it was at this point that Derek pulled away and left him
hanging.
Stiles let out a strangled noise that was supposed to be a swear, but which
just sounded upset and bereft. If Derek laughed at him now, Stiles thought
dazedly, he really was going to try to kick his ass.
Derek didn't look amused, though, Stiles noted as he strained to peer over his
shoulder. He looked... well, he looked really turned on. His brows were heavy
over bright eyes, a splash of red marring each perfect cheekbone, his lips were
wet with saliva and crimson from pressure and friction, his tongue darting out,
lashes flickering as he transferred his gaze from Stiles' quaking ass to
whatever he was doing with his hands.
And then Derek's jaw firmed up, his eyes going back to Stiles' ass, a cool-wet
thumb tracking over the puffy-hot swell of Stiles' well rimmed hole, and Stiles
realized why Derek had stopped and what he'd just been doing that had taken
away his attention like that.
Stiles' cock was unhappy about this turn of events, but Stiles himself had to
admit to a touch of relief. As urgent as his need to come had been just moments
before, getting off to nothing but a thorough rimming would have bordered on
humiliating. Especially when Derek probably had no clue what his blood had done
to Stiles, how it had made him hyper-aware and overly-sensitized to everything.
Or maybe he did know, somehow. Either way, he was slow and careful as he
prepared Stiles. He made no effort to warm the lube before applying it, and
Stiles was actually somewhat grateful for this. It dampened his arousal a bit,
enough that he didn't feel in danger of popping off the moment one of those
lean fingers breached his natural defenses.
"No claws," he grunted, shifting his knees and clenching around Derek a little,
more to underline his point than anything, because he certainly wasn't feeling
any discomfort. The contrast between his own hot skin, the heat and hardness of
Derek's finger - now two fingers - and the coolness of the lube was actually
strangely pleasant, the lube rapidly warmed to match his newly-raised body
temperature, before Derek added more - and a third finger - making Stiles
shudder and clench more tightly.
"Don't be ridiculous," Derek rumbled, and Stiles couldn't tell if he sounded
amused, offended, or something else entirely. He just didn't know Derek well
enough to read his tone of voice - even though it was definitely not unaffected
- not to mention Stiles had his face buried in his arms again, silently biting
at the pillow.
It was stupid that he was so turned on by this, Stiles thought dazedly. But he
couldn't change how he felt. And for the first time sex was... sex was
something for him to enjoy. He wasn't used to that.
"You don't have to take so much time doing that," he informed Derek, as evenly
as he was able to speak when he could feel the blood - Derek's blood - rushing
through his body, blazing with heat in his face, ears, neck, chest, cock...
and, yes, his ass.
"Do I look like someone who does anything they don't want to do?" Derek asked,
and his voice really was even, but Stiles could hear the dark undertone of
arousal, of dominance, of certainty. And he remembered that Derek was an Alpha
who was presumably used to getting his way so he really ought to shut up. But
of course, Stiles being Stiles, he didn't.
"I'm just saying-" he broke off and gasped as Derek twisted his fingers,
smearing generous amounts of lube inside and around his hole, prodding for one
brief sparking instant at a very interesting spot inside of Stiles, "Just
saying," he continued, panting, trying to hold his train of thought, "That you
can stick it in me any time now."
Derek sighed. The bastard actually sounded put upon, and his fingers slithered
out, leaving Stiles feeling unexpected empty and bereft. Stiles wanted to be
incredulous, but he was mostly just disconcerted. Was he actually spoiling this
experience for Derek? Wrecking the nice sex-for-money thing they had going on
here?
A glance over his shoulder proved that Derek was frowning, but he didn't look
overly upset. Just a little peevish.
"What did I just say," he growled at Stiles, and squeezed more lube into his
palm. Even when he was asking a question, he phrased it like a statement.
"Sorry, sorry," Stiles said, even though he wasn't really, turning and
faceplanting into his folded arms again. "Carry on."
Derek sighed again, though there was a little catch at the end of it, and some
wet, squelching sounds that indicated to Stiles that he was now lubing up his
hard cock. And this Stiles felt that he needed to see. Especially since it was
about to go in him.
It was impossible to crane a look over his shoulder subtly, but Derek wasn't
paying him a huge amount of attention right now, so it was all right. He was
staring down with a strange but sexy intensity as he fisted his own hard-on.
His brows were knit, forehead tense but his lips slack and parted, and Stiles
could swear he saw a hint of white fangs gleaming even though Derek wasn't
actually wolfed-out or anything.
Derek's entire face, neck, and upper chest were flushed, and Stiles kind of
hoped that some of that was for him, that it was as much because Derek had been
playing with his ass as it was because Derek was now rubbing himself with an
almost punishing clasp.
This drew Stiles' attention down, to Derek's cock. He kind of... he kind of
wanted to get his own hands on it, maybe get it in his mouth, and where the
hell had that urge come from? Stiles could remember the last time he'd actually
wanted to suck a cock, and it had been a long time ago, way before he'd
actually ever had to suck a cock.
Derek's hands were graceful and strong, fingers long and lean, some hair
shadowing his knuckles and wrist, but he wasn't too terribly hairy, which was a
little surprising all things considered. Just enough to be sexy, manly, and
Stiles had given up on considering himself bi rather than gay a long time ago,
had given up on finding anyone sexual desirable a bit more recently, and now
here Derek was, stirring up strange and almost unfamiliar feelings....
Then there was the cock he was so vigorously stroking. It was thick, long,
jutting up proud and straight from his groin. The foreskin slid smoothly over
the blunt crimson head as Derek's fist moved up and then back down, teasing,
covering it then revealing it again. Stiles felt his mouth literally watering
as he stared, fascinated, at the thick beads of clear precome that built up at
the slit only to be smeared down the shaft along with the lube as Derek worked
his cock to a beautiful gleaming readiness.
"Seriously," Stiles breathed, and now he sounded more as though he'd been
kicked in the stomach than annoyed, and maybe that might make a difference as
Derek raised his eyes and would have met Stiles' gaze if he could have dragged
his own eyes off of Derek's amazing cock. "Any time you're ready."
Derek huffed, that soft sound of amusement again, and peeled his hand away from
his twitching hard-on, reaching to wipe his fingers on the sheet. Stiles didn't
remove his gaze, though.
"I don't see it," he blurted out before he could censor himself.
"See what?" Derek asked, almost startling Stiles. He hadn't really expected any
interaction from the guy by this point; not that didn't involve his cock in his
ass anyway. Speaking of which....
"The knot."
This time Derek actually did laugh, a warm and husky sound that made Stiles go
quivery and hot inside his chest and stomach. It didn't last long, but Derek's
eyes were crinkled at the corners the way Stiles remembered his Dad's doing
when he was trying not to smile.
Not that now was the time to be thinking about his father - as much out of
grief as due to sexual context - and so Stiles banished that comparison as
quickly as possible from his mind.
"That doesn't happen until I'm about to come," Derek informed him, one hand
moving to rest, heated palm and powerful fingers, on Stiles' ass cheek. "You
don't know as much about it as you think you do, clearly."
Stiles scowled, but Derek wasn't mocking him, was only pointing out a fact, and
he hadn't said it meanly. He'd said it almost pleasantly, as though he was
inviting Stiles to join him in his amusement. Which, no, wasn't going to
happen, but more because Stiles was ready to get this show on the road. Now
that he'd gotten a good look at Derek's cock, hard and wet and ready for
fucking, he wasn't going to rest until he was in him.
This level of enthusiasm was a little disturbing, but why shouldn't Stiles want
things for himself? He was still full of Derek's blood, making everything more
vivid, more intense. Derek had an amazing cock. So why the hell shouldn't
Stiles want Derek to fuck him?!
Derek growled a little, as though he could sense Stiles' desperation and
arousal, and he probably could, probably smelled it or something.
Resolutely telling himself it had been a sexy growl, not a threatening growl,
Stiles turned to face the pillow again and spread his thighs a little, getting
his knees settled more firmly in the mattress, and, not incidentally, wiggling
his rear in Derek's face.
"Come and get it, big boy," he offered.
This time the huff was definitely more exasperation than amusement. "Who needs
to work on their bedroom talk?" Derek asked dryly.
"You," Stiles replied, without hesitation.
Derek snorted, then gave Stiles' ass a quick smack.
"Hey!" Stiles yelped, jolting and then twisting to glare. "Don't do that!"
It stung, more than he could remember it doing before, but that might have
something to do with the rich werewolf blood rising to the surface of his skin.
And how long as it going to be before he started thinking of it as his own
blood rather than Derek's? Usually he made the mental adjustment immediately.
After all, back when he'd been human he hadn't still thought of the burger he'd
just eaten as belonging to the cow it had come from, right?
Well, it didn't help that Derek said he could still smell that it was his blood
in Stiles' body.
Anyway. The swat wasn't sexy, it had actually hurt a little, as though Derek
had forgotten to control his supernatural strength, but that wasn't what
bothered Stiles. It was all those creepy daddy-types who wanted to give him a
spanking before they fucked him. That was what it reminded him of. Even though
Derek definitely hadn't meant it that way.
"Fine," Derek rumbled, and then Stiles felt something warm and wet touch the
smacked area, briefly.
"Did you - did you just lick me?" he asked incredulously.
"You're asking this after I spent nearly five minutes eating you out?" Derek
asked, and even though he didn't bother twisting to look at him, Stiles somehow
knew he had that little curl of his lips that wasn't quite a smirk but was very
much amused. Bastard.
It was a little disconcerting that he already knew Derek so well, when it had
only been a couple of hours since Stiles had been standing on a street corner
and had only known of Derek Hale by name, as a rumor.
He couldn't decide whether where he was now was an improvement. On the one
hand, he was getting the best sex of his life and they hadn't even gotten to
the fucking yet. Also, he planned to charge Derek up the ass - no pun - for the
knotting. But on the other hand, he now knew how much he was missing by not
feeding to repletion. And Derek was kind of a massive pain in the ass - again,
no pun - or at best incredibly annoying.
"Don't lick me," Stiles commanded. Hey. it was his ass. Never mind that Derek
was paying for it. He just... rimming was one thing, licking was something else
entirely. Stiles would really like to get out of this whole thing with his
dignity intact.
"What about biting?" Derek asked, something dark and wicked in his tone. It
made him sound unbearably sexy, and Stiles kind of hated him even more, at the
same time his cock jerked between his spread thighs.
Hard teeth set themselves in the tight curve of Stiles' ass, no fangs, thank
fuck. Derek bit as he had threatened, hard enough to make Stiles feel it, but
for some reason this sensation of pain did way more for him than the spanking
had.
"Well, I guess it's only fair," Stiles grumped, even though Derek had
practically forced Stiles to bite him in the first place. "Don't break the
flesh, though, okay? I don't heal the way you do."
"How do you heal?" Derek asked, sounding curious, his big palm smoothing over
the abused spot on Stiles' ass. "I know your knees are fine now...."
"Are we really talking about this when we're both dripping with lube and you
should have been in my ass minutes ago?" Stiles asked waspishly, peering back
at Derek again. Derek just raised both his wolfish brows, so Stiles sighed and
answered, tone a bit angry, but who could blame him? "I heal quicker than
humans, especially when I've fed recently, but not as quick as you. Also," he
couldn't help adding, even though it was showing a certain amount of weakness,
"If you fang me, it'll hurt like hell and that's not sexy."
Derek chuckled again, the bastard, then bent to give the opposite cheek a quick
lick, then a bite of equal force.
"Symmetry, that's nice," Stiles snarked, turning his face away but not before
rolling his eyes. "That's hot, you're turning me on so much right now."
"Shut up," Derek growled, and Stiles didn't want to obey this command, but then
Derek hooked his hands in the hollows where his legs met his hips and Stiles
could both hear and feel him shifting into position behind him, so he let it
go, with some reluctance.
"Finally," he couldn't help breathing as the insanely hot head of Derek's cock
pressed against his ass, slipping, sliding along his crack, butting up against
his well-rimmed hole.
Derek hadn't bothered with a condom, but Stiles didn't care and he certainly
wasn't going to complain. They were both well aware that there was no need. As
Stiles had already pointed out, Derek wasn't going to knock him up. And with
that hyper-healing thing Derek had he didn't need to worry about sexually
transmitted diseases any more than Stiles did. Which was to say not at all.
Stiles kind of had his doubts about a condom's ability to hold out when a knot
was involved anyway. He really didn't have a very clear idea what was involved,
how large it might get, but it wouldn't damage him - his healing wasn't on par
with Derek's but it was a hell of a lot better than a human's would be - and he
wasn't afraid of any potential pain. As long as fangs weren't involved, and
even then he wasn't afraid, just annoyed.
If he had to be completely honest, Stiles would have admitted to being curious,
slightly aroused, and actually kind of looking forward to finding out about
knotting firsthand. A little. Only he didn't really want to be completely
honest. Nope. Denial had brought him this far, he saw no reason to fuck with
what worked.
Derek's thumb pressed into the small, sensitive spot between Stiles' tailbone
and his asshole, then the blunt tip of his cock butted against the pucker
there. It rubbed there a couple of heartbeats, seeming almost contemplative,
and Stile was torn between focusing on the sensation of Derek's precome
staining his flesh copiously enough to trickle down his perineum, or asking
Derek if he needed a little help back there. Even though he'd seemed to have
found his hole readily enough, even though Stiles probably couldn't have
comfortably spread himself wider....
Then, with a surge of muscle that Stiles could feel even though he wasn't
looking, fingers going hard and tight in the hollows of his hips, and a small
grunt, Derek breached Stiles' ass, thrusting his cock at least halfway in with
one hard push and a smooth slide.
"Fuck!" Stiles gasped, the word punched out of him, not affected for the
client's sake as he usually did in this situation. This was the first time he'd
had something other than his own fingers in his ass when he could actually feel
it. This was nothing like all the other times he'd been fucked, harkened back
to all his pre-death experiences with masturbation only this was so much more.
Because he was still quivering with Derek's blood, because he had a thick, hard
cock in his ass when everything was sharper and brighter, and Derek was
wrecking him from the inside out without even knowing it.
"Hush," Derek urged, his voice strangely gentle but still commanding. He'd
stopped moving, which was a strange form of torture all its own, and one large
hand left the crook of Stiles' hip joint, going to rub careful but heavy
spirals on the small of his back as his anus spasmed around the intrusive
width.
"M'fine," Stiles replied, a little disturbed by how the words slurred on their
way out of his lips, the way he sounded drugged or sexed-out already, when all
Derek had done was put his cock in, and not even all the way. "I'm fine," he
repeated, raising his chin a little out of his arms, taking more care to
articulate even though he was still hoarse. "Go ahead, Derek."
He'd honestly meant to say "asshole" instead of Derek's name but his tongue had
betrayed him at the last moment. He didn't know why. He didn't want to show
weakness. And he didn't think Derek was the sort to mind a little swearing
during fucking, even if the swears were aimed at him.
He was half afraid Derek was going to chuckle at him again, but instead he let
out a small - tiny, really - growl and sank the rest of the way in.
"Oh, fuck," Stiles grunted, flexing his thigh muscles even though there was
nowhere for him to go, toward or away from the penetration. Derek had him held
securely, his grip strong and his cock huge inside of Stiles.
It felt... it felt.... He felt.... He was filled up and stretched. He was hot
everywhere but especially his hard-on and ass. And if this was how he felt with
just Derek's cock inside of him, what was the knot going to be like?
Stiles didn't have time to think about that, though. Derek shifted, hunching
over him, hands going from his hips to his shoulders as he held Stiles firmly
in place and began a series of short, shallow but sharp thrusts. Stiles shook
underneath him, hoping like hell that Derek couldn't feel it, hoping his
shudders would get lost in the pounding that Derek was giving his ass, but
really afraid that Derek had noticed anyway.
He whined, unable to articulate at all, his fingers sinking into the cheap,
stained sheet beneath him just for something to cling to even though it wasn't
anything solid, just seeking to ground himself as Derek's cock threatened to
shake his world apart from the inside.
There was no pain at all, only pleasure. His body was used to this sort of
intrusion and Derek had been extremely generous with the lube. Stiles swore he
could feel every inch of cock sliding in and out of him as Derek slowed his
thrusts, making them longer and deeper. Nearly pulling out, though the head
stayed inside his sphincter, then plunging back in to the root, until Derek's
balls butted up against Stiles'.
He wanted to swear, wanted to let out some of the intensity and pressure he was
feeling, but all he could do was pant and try not to whine more, try not to
moan aloud as Derek fucked him open and tender.
It was hardly any comfort when Derek buried his face in the nape of Stiles'
neck and Stiles could feel his harsh, hot breath, heard the small grunts and
groans that Derek was making, knew that he was affected by this too, couldn't
keep it all inside. It was a little nice knowing that something had finally
broken Derek's calm, that he wanted this as badly as Stiles did, but it would
have felt better if he hadn't been in the process of shattering Stiles' entire
existence.
Derek's hands were strong on Stiles' shoulders, his hips hard as they beat a
steady tattoo against his ass. Derek obviously knew what he was doing, and he
wasn't giving Stiles room to do anything other than take it. Stiles would have
been annoyed by this, but it felt so good that he kind of just wanted to take
it. To allow Derek give him pleasure like he'd never known before.
Besides, who was he to complain if Derek wanted to do all the work?
Silvery-sweet sparks of sensation darted over the surface of Stiles' skin,
filling the darkness behind his closed eyelids, and he gasped, shivering, just
letting the feelings sweep up and overwhelm him, wash away everything that
wasn't Derek fucking him, Derek's blood filling him and making this the best
experience in his life. Well, his second life, at least.
Stiles let out a small involuntary cry as one of Derek's thrusts punched up
against his prostate, one quick stroke of his blunt cock-head, and then it was
gone, but the aftershocks zinged along Stiles' nerve endings. He hadn't been
expecting that, and he wasn't sure whether he was disappointed or relieved when
it wasn't repeated. He was hard, dripping, his cock so erect it was almost
curled against his stomach, but he didn't want to come... quite... yet. Not
when Derek's cock sliding in and out of his ass felt so fucking good.
He finally let out a small moan - it was either that or bite through his lip
and there had been enough biting already tonight - wrenching his shoulders in
Derek's grip, not in an attempt to escape, but just so that he could feel how
hard Derek was holding him.
He was rewarded, if you could call it that, with a low growl, and a sudden hot
clasp of teeth at his nape. Right at the top of his spine, sinking in, holding
tight, in warning and probably not a little possessiveness.
And, yeah, Stiles had said no fangs, and yeah, he didn't do possessive. But
something about this, something about the feral reality of it made his cock
that much stiffer, made him moan again with far less restraint, made an
additional surge of heat burst through his body when he hadn't thought he could
run any hotter than he already was.
Flexing his thighs, he did his best to try and grind his ass back into Derek's
steady thrusts. He was on the verge of coming and no one had even touched him
anywhere other than the cock in his ass, the hands on his shoulders, and the
teeth in his neck. Prying his eyes open, and getting his elbows propped
underneath him a little, he peered down the length of his own belly. He watched
his torso rock in time with Derek's hard pushes, watched his hard-on bobbing,
red and straining, the head drooling thick strands of precome down to puddle on
the sheets.
Derek unexpectedly let out a low whine of his own, more in his chest than his
throat, and suddenly plastered himself against Stiles' back, so that Stiles
could feel his chest heaving as he panted for breath. His teeth sank more
deeply into Stiles' nape, his hips were sealed up against Stiles' ass, his cock
twitching and jerking where it was jammed as far inside Stiles as it could go.
Stiles had to close his eyes as a brick wall of pleasure slammed into him, the
combination of intense sensations rising up to overwhelm him, and even though
he knew that Derek was knotting him now, he couldn't hold his own orgasm back
another second. Not that he even tried.
It rocked through him, making him rattle and lurch like he'd been shaken. He
wasn't looking any longer, but he could feel his cock tightening and spitting,
could hear the stream of come hitting the mattress beneath his belly. He
drowned this extremely satisfying sound out with a throttled cry, muffled into
the pillow but still plenty loud for all that, and he writhed, not only because
he couldn't hold in everything he was feeling, but because wriggling in Derek's
grip helped him to focus on the hard teeth in his neck, the hands sunk into the
bones of his shoulders, and the knot that was now, yes, swelling inside of his
ass, filling him up more than he had already been filled, and setting him on
fire.
He was still coming after what felt like minutes, even though he knew it had
only been seconds, relief and insane pleasure unspooling inside him, ripping
him to pieces and knitting him back together, and he couldn't help crying out
again, shaking his way through the last spurt, shivering with aftershocks, the
world around him hazy, narrowed down to his own heaving lungs, the heat of his
spent cock, and Derek all around him and inside him.
Derek held onto him all through it, his teeth not giving any more than his
hands did, humid-hot breaths gusting over the abused skin at Stiles' nape as he
remained strong over Stiles. His hips were still but the knot was pulsing as it
grew inside of Stiles, and now that the immediacy of his climax was gone, now
that he was coasting in the afterglow, Stiles was free to analyze this strange
new sensation.
As his senses came back online, albeit through a faint haze of repletion that
was absolutely nothing like his normal daze of perpetual hunger, Stiles could
hear the small whining sounds that Derek was making in time with his breathing,
even though he never once let up his biting of Stiles' neck.
Stiles ground his ass back against Derek, not surprised but gratified and a
little turned on when this caused Derek to growl and bite down harder, his hips
snapping a few times even though he couldn't move much with his knot sunk
deeply inside of Stiles.
And that was definitely a very different sensation. Stiles shifted again, not
trying to get away, not even angling for the distinctly possessive response he
got, but to try and take in the entirety of what he was feeling.
He could feel Derek's cock jammed long, hard, and demanding inside of him. It
felt... sexy. Even though he had just come, the sensation of it sent a shiver
of arousal through Stiles all over again.
And then there was the knot itself. It pressed up against Stiles' sphincter
from the inside, size and pressure that a cock alone couldn't hope to match. It
wasn't exactly like being fisted, but it wasn't a lot different. It ached, dull
and throbbing, didn't quite hurt, added to the feeling of being filled.
And then there was the come. Stiles held still now, concentrating, as Derek
began to hunch, letting out a grunt, his hips jerking forward just a little
with each ejaculation. It wasn't the same as when Stiles had come; this was
regular, rhythmic, and extended to a crazy, amazing, sexually stimulating
degree.
Stiles could swear he felt the heat and wet of Derek's come inside him, even
though that was probably impossible. It wasn't a huge amount of come each time,
but it was steady and so hot that Stiles felt his own cock twitch, beginning to
harden again.
This reaction was helped along by the small helpless sounds that Derek made, by
the way his hips twitched with each squirt. Stiles almost wished he'd been
bitten by a werewolf instead of becoming a bloodsucker, because this was a
really sexy way to come....
Though it did lend itself to a lot of vulnerability. Derek was essentially
trapped inside of Stiles until he was done coming and his knot shrank enough
that he could pull out. Stiles didn't like to think about that moment, though,
because right now he was stuffed full of Derek's thick cock and huge knot,
Derek was still hosing down his insides with his hot, hot come, and Stiles was
definitely going to get off on it a second time.
Stiles fumbled, reaching down so that his could fist his renewed hard-on, and
Derek growled and clung more tightly as this jostled him where he was mounted
over top of Stiles, wrapped around him. Stiles didn't mind in the slightest,
even when this netted him a sharper bite at the back of his neck and several
short, hard jabs of Derek's cock.
"Fuck," he breathed out, sinking into sensation as he began stroking himself
off. He didn't know if it was the werewolf plastered against his back, the
werewolf blood in his veins, most likely both, but his cock was ready and
raring to go as he wrapped his fingers around it and begin jerking vigorously.
There was a little pain, because he had just come so recently, and his balls
were definitely aching with a low pulse that matched his stretched asshole, but
the throb of pressure twisted into pleasure easily enough, and he let out a
little moan, flexing around Derek's cock as he stroked himself closer to a
second orgasm.
Derek huffed against his skin, his bite gentling a moment, and Stiles could
feel the wet-soft lapping of a tongue moving over the space between where the
fangs were set into his neck. He wondered for a moment whether Derek was wolfed
out, then decided he probably wasn't, since the hands holding onto him so
tightly weren't sporting claws. But in the end it didn't really matter, because
Derek was there behind him and holding him so closely, and that was what was
important.
Panting through parted lips, his thighs bunching, ass squeezing Derek's knot,
Stiles worked himself closer and closer to coming. Derek slowly shifted, never
letting loosing his grip on Stiles, but his long, thick cock and swollen knot
moving inside of him in extremely tantalizing ways. Stiles moaned and jerked,
stomach muscles bunching as he instinctively tried to hump down into his
rapidly moving fist.
This dragged another growl out of Derek, and he pressed himself more closely
down around Stiles, clinging tightly, his cock still flexing and spraying come
inside of Stiles, though it had slowed now.
Stiles fell into the movement of his hand over his cock, his flushed face
buried in the pillow, Derek's teeth in his flesh, and it wasn't long before he
was gasping, jolting, then letting out a thin keening sound as he shot come all
over the bed again.
After this second orgasm he kind of floated, not really feeling anything but
warmth and repletion. On some level he was aware that he'd collapsed into a
heap of limp limbs on the bed beneath Derek, recognized that Derek bore down on
him, still coming, then gave a small shuddering moan as they both tumbled to
the bed and he finally stopped coming inside of Stiles. It was a little longer
before Derek was able to pull out of Stiles, and Derek spent the time licking
at Stiles' nape, his hands moving with languid strokes to caress Stiles' chest
and belly, petting, possessive.
Stiles was still in the process of coming back to full awareness as Derek
finally pulled out, and he wanted to cry over the feeling of emptiness inside,
but before he could say or do anything, Derek was down there, licking his way
into Stiles' ass again.
"That's kinda gross," Stiles slurred, though he rolled onto his belly and
spread his thighs wider as Derek settled in to seemingly try to lick and suck
out all the come he'd left inside Stiles. It felt so good, though, Derek's
tongue moving soft and slippery over the throbbing-hot, overly sensitized
puffiness of his hole.
Derek didn't reply, and Stiles sighed, letting himself enjoy this for a long
moment. But then reality intruded, reminding him that he was doing this for
money, and Derek was paying him for allowing him to knot him. Also....
"Ugh, I'm laying in the wet spot, dude," he complained, trying ineffectually to
squirm away from Derek.
Instead of escaping off the bed and heading for the bathroom like he'd wanted -
even though he wasn't sure his shaking legs could have held him up that long -
Stiles found himself being grabbed and manhandled by Derek again, until they
were lying face to face on the mattress, Derek's arms wrapped around him, the
wet spot just a little behind Stiles.
"This isn't better," he started angrily, but then Derek swooped forward and now
they were kissing, actually kissing. And Stiles knew better, but he let himself
moan and arch into it, let himself kiss Derek back as the same tongue that had
just been in his ass was pushed into his mouth, tainted with the flavor of
Derek's come.
It was a little thin and watery, Stiles thought distractedly, but that only
made sense for how long Derek had spent coming. With that much spurting out of
him - and now leaking out of Stiles, euw - it would have had to have been a
little less thick than most guys shot, right?
Stiles wasn't familiar with how dogs or wolves bred, but he now had firsthand
knowledge of how a werewolf Alpha went about it. It was different... and sexy
as hell. But it was over with now, and it was time for Stiles to get paid, and
to avoid Derek like the plague if he ever saw him again.
Well, more than he would avoid the plague, because diseases couldn't affect
Stiles anymore, but Derek could definitely affect him, as recent events had so
decisively proven.
Stiles tore his mouth away from Derek's. He didn't go all Pretty Woman or
anything, but he didn't generally go in for kissing clients, and he definitely
charged extra for the charade.
Only... with Derek it wasn't really faked. And that was more scary than the
potential fangs next to his neck as Derek started sniffing him again. If
sniffing could sound contented, this did, and Derek was very definitely smug as
he spoke into the line of Stiles' throat.
"You smell like me now," he murmured, warm and rich. "Inside and out. You smell
like mine."
"Whoa," Stiles exclaimed, trying to squirm out of Derek's arms, embarrassed by
how completely he failed at this. "Hold up there, wolfman. I don't belong to
anyone but me!"
Derek growled, but Stiles was feeling too panicked by his words to take this
nonverbal threat seriously.
"No," he reiterated, swatting Derek's shoulder again when Derek levered up to
glare down at him. "You don't get to do that. We had sex, you pay me. That's
how it works; werewolf blood and feeding and knotting and kinky mating sex
aside! Never once did I offer anything other than my ass, and you know it!"
He more than half expected Derek to get angry, but he didn't. He pressed his
face into the hollow between Stiles' collarbones, snuffling there even as he
held Stiles effortlessly down underneath him. He didn't say anything, just
breathed.
"I don't care that I smell like you," Stiles continued when Derek didn't,
digging his nails into Derek's shoulder to punctuate this sentence, even though
he knew it wouldn't mark him, probably wouldn't even hurt him for an instant.
"You don't own me, you won't own me, and after a while your scent will fade,
once I start feeding off of other men."
And maybe that was the wrong thing to say, because Derek's new growl was
definitely more threatening and he raised his head, his eyes flashing red for a
moment.
"You won't," he rumbled, as though he had any right to order Stiles around.
Stiles held his tongue, because he could argue, tell Derek he was walking away
and never seeing him again, but that would just put Derek on the alert, make
him fully aware of Stiles' intentions. Although, Derek had probably already
guessed, if the canny gleam in his eyes and his grim expression were any
indication.
"You can belong to me," Derek said, and he actually sounded as though he
thought he was being reasonable. "You can feed every time you need to, until
you're full, and I'll be fine. And you'll be better than fine."
"And then you can fuck me and knot me whenever you like in trade, right?"
Stiles asked scathingly. He took absolutely no pleasure in the way Derek drew
back, eyes going wide and startled, his lips parting soundlessly, but it was
only the truth. "Your little slut bitch on demand, that's how you see it."
It hadn't really been a question, but Derek replied anyway. "No." He actually
sounded a little hurt, his forehead creasing. "Not at all."
"I let you fuck me because you're going to pay me," Stiles continued, painfully
blunt, even though it did weird things to his stomach to see the words hit
Derek like actually physical blows. So he could cause damage, albeit not with
his fists. That was good to know... wasn't it?
Derek growled and rolled, grabbing Stiles' wrists and holding him down so that
he couldn't so much as squirm. But then he stopped, resting over top of Stiles,
breathing into the curve of his jaw.
"My family died in a fire that my lover deliberately started," Derek said into
Stiles' shivering skin. He sounded sad but not grief-ravaged the way the words
he was speaking would have indicated. "I had two family members left. My uncle
killed my sister, and I killed him. Now I have no one."
"Are you... are you trying to make me feel sorry for you?" Stiles asked, though
he had to swallow a couple of times before he could make the words come out
without catching on the lump in his throat. He told himself that it was because
talking about murdered family members reminded him of his Dad... but he
suspected that this was only part of the truth.
"No," Derek replied, raising his head again. And he did look a little sad, but
he also looked thoughtful and determined. "My point is... I don't get to have
nice things." He paused and smiled, and it was dangerous and frightening even
before his eyes flashed red, his fangs gleaming bright. "But you, Stiles. You
are not a nice thing."
Stiles felt his stomach swoop. This was the first time Derek had called him by
name. It meant that Derek not only knew what he was, he knew who he was.
Probably knew what Stiles had lost as well, and what he'd had to do once he'd
had his world taken away from him.
That didn't mean they understood one another, though, Stiles thought
resentfully, squirming out from under Derek, more than a little surprised when
Derek actually let him go. And it didn't give Derek any rights of ownership
over him, he continued in his head, but not aloud, as he got dressed as quickly
as he was able.
He still felt strong and alive and vibrant, still satisfied after feeding on
Derek. And he could have that again, all the time, whenever he wanted.... Derek
was offering him a lot.
But at the same time he was asking of Stiles everything that he had, everything
that he was.
And Stiles... just couldn't do that.
"You don't get to own me," he said, crossing to the door and grasping the
handle. Derek was still lounging on the bed, naked, handsome, watching him with
hooded eyes. Stiles couldn't read his expression, but he looked confident. As
though this was a game and he was sure he was going to win it.
Well, nuts to that!
"You can run," Derek spoke up, as Stiles cracked the door open and hesitated on
the threshold. "But I will find you and I will catch you." He smiled more
widely, all fangs and crinkled eyes. "Then I'll keep you, because you're mine
now."
As Stiles slammed the door shut behind him and ran, he realized that he'd just
left without getting paid. But he also knew that there was no way he was going
back there. Not for all the money in the world.
Derek had wrecked him and ruined him, and now Stiles would fade back into his
partial existence, knowing exactly what he had lost. But he had his
independence, and that was the most important part, right?
As Stiles hoofed it toward the city center, intent on reaching his hidey hole
before dawn, moving faster and freer than ever before in his life thanks to his
werewolf infusion, he heard a long drawn out howl behind him.
"Shit!" he swore, putting on some speed. Because Derek had said he would find
him and catch him, and Stiles had assumed he'd meant later, but maybe he
hadn't.
It occurred to Stiles as he ran - knowing, somehow knowing that the big bad
wolf raced at his heels - that he had come to a certain amount of ownership of
Derek as well. Who else was going to need Derek so much? Who else would let
Derek knot them, let him bite them, let him claim them in ways a human couldn't
physically take?
Well, if Derek made an argument for this once he caught up to Stiles, then
Stiles might consider it.... If it was as much give as it was take.
But in the meantime, he had a wolf to shake, and he had wolf's blood pulsing
through his veins.
Stiles laughed aloud in the night, feeling alive and free for the first time.
Let Derek run, Stiles would run faster. And if Derek caught up... well, then
they would see who was the stronger.
Stiles wasn't afraid of the big bad wolf.
Two predators raced in the night, and neither of them was prey.
End Notes
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