
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7929922.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale/Derek_Hale, Peter_Hale/Chris
      Argent
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale, Chris_Argent, Gerard_Argent
  Additional Tags:
      AU, hitman_-_Freeform, Childhood_Sexual_Abuse, Sexual_Abuse, Rape/Non-con
      Elements, Grooming, Rough_Sex, Unsafe_Sex, Anal_Sex, Oral_Sex,
      Established_Relationship, Murder, Masochism, Aftermath, Uncle/Nephew
      Incest
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-09-01 Words: 3300
****** Raze ******
by Cumvore, Slither-the-least_(baeberiibungh)
Summary
     Derek, who had been rejecting every advance on him as soon as he had
     come in, lay one hand on those hands and squeezed before pulling the
     owner of those hands before him...
Notes
     Shits been tagged guys, so squicks and triggers get another reminder
     to heed.
     Also, 'DON'T FUCKING LIKE? DON'T FUCKING READ!!!'
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles picked the locked door open with minimal effort and walked out. The
rooftop was empty. He could hear the whirr of loud fans somewhere as well as
the clank shift of the lifts. He had on his red hoodie and a beanie hat, cheeks
red from the cold and the exertion of climbing the stairs for so many flights
to escape the small camera wedged in the corners of the said lifts. He had on
thin but warm gloves on. He rubbed his hands once before putting down his
guitar case. Stiles moved around, making sure that no one was there with him
indeed. Satisfied, Stiles opened his guitar case and started to assemble the
gun. It was one of Stiles’ favourite.
Stiles pulled off his gloves, got into position behind the half wall of the
roof that worked as the parapet and took aim at seven buildings over, into an
office where an old man was sitting and grimacing at two younger men as he
talked with emphasis. Stiles breathed in and out slowly a few times, making
sure to eye the piece of cloth he had tagged to the building three weeks ago.
It was a ragged dirty piece of cloth now, but perfect to check the speed of
wind and direction. The weather people had said that it will be a still night,
no eddy currents nearby and the timing between 7 and 8, when the traffic went
too hot and the air sizzled, it would make the least amount of influence.
Stiles closed his eyes, took a long and deep breath and let go. He didn’t take
the next breath till the old man’s forehead was in the calculated sight of his
gun. He released his breath, took in another, released that as he pulled the
trigger, not flinching even a little. The kick was low, the longish barrel of
the gun more effective in sending the bullet in a fast whirl. It was an
impacted round and Stiles watched as the old man’s face suddenly disappeared in
a spray of red and bits of flesh and grey matter from one second to the next.
The other two men who had been in the room were moving about, the glass still
falling off in small shower of broken off pieces, shock on their faces as they
looked at the glass that should have been three inch thick plexi and stopped
anything short of armour piercing rounds.
Stiles immediately broke down his gun, put the pieces in his guitar cases, put
his gloves back on, picked up the single shell casing, pulled off his hoodie,
turned it inside out so that it looked a weird olive green, took off his beanie
and walked back down. He closed the door to the roof quietly. He took the
elevators down for three flight before backtracking again through the stairs to
go pick up his guitar case, his cap pulled low on his face. He was down and out
of the building within 10 minutes, taking a rarely used back exit that ended in
a fence which Stiles just stepped out through the hole he had cut into the
wiring. There was a taxi waiting just outside. Stiles got in with his guitar
case and then got down the other side without it.
Then he simply walked off into the crowd while the car drove off with his case.
 
......................................................................................................................................................
 
Derek was watching the TV morosely. There was some Spanish drama on it with
lots of elevated emotions and ridiculous amount of hairspray and makeup. On
both the men and women actors. Peter was out. Out out. Derek splayed even lower
on the squishy sofa, legs wide and hands on his thighs and bored out of his
mind. The front door opened and someone walked in. Derek didn’t look around as
only Peter had the other key to the apartment. He could hear then thump of
peter putting down things by the door onto the table kept there for that
purpose before he walked in. When Peter reached behind Derek, he put his hand
on the front of Derek’s neck, tipping it back to give him a slow kiss.
Derek kissed him back easily, as easy as breathing, no longer so bored. He
raised his hands to pull at Peter’s shoulders both side, pushing harder at the
kiss, sucking on his tongue. Peter was still lightly cupping the Derek’s gorge.
He pressed it a little, in warning perhaps, before standing straight. Derek
looked dazed, his eyes blown, his cock stirring in his pants, mouth open, hands
fallen to his side, head placed back on the back of the sofa. Peter traced his
lower lip with the tip of the thumb of the hand he had on Derek’s neck. Derek
licked at it, slowly, sucking it in, making kissing sounds while the TV went
on. Peter petted his hair once before pulling his hand away and heading towards
the bathroom.
Derek licked his lips and pretended that he did not taste blood on Peter’s
thumb and that the taste did not make him instantly hard.
 
......................................................................................................................................................
 
Chris sat alone by the head of the bar. His father was dead. Someone had turned
his face into a bulls eye target practice with a personalised bullet. His blood
had turned back within half an hour and now Chris was here, celebrating what
felt like both the best and worst day of his life. His father was dead and all
he felt was relief. He was not shocked at that. He was shocked at the intensity
of that relief as if he himself was not aware how deeply he hated and feared
his father. And now he was free. So as to speak. Gerard’s acolytes were
snarling for revenge, to break the neck of the Mage, the only one who used such
chemical reaction that turned blood black.
A genius at chemical science, there had been reports that the Mage was an old
man, a young redhead, a young boy and a black haired girl. There had never been
any confirmed sights or pictures to pin the moniker. All that the world knew
that the Mage was one of the top assassins the world had ever seen who had
sprung up within a very short period of time. Perhaps equalling the myth and
mystery of the Wolf. Just like The Mage was known for his use of chemical
manipulations in his bullets and bombs, the Wolf was an expert of converting
each kill into a perfect animal kill, with animal hair and saliva dripping over
the slashes. Even if the kill happened at the penthouse of a tightly guarded
house.
Chris slammed the shot, and when he put the glass down, Peter hale was sitting
beside him, a truly mirthful smirk on his lips as he watched Chris. Chris
started, jumping in his stool. The glass fell from his hands onto the bar.
“Peter,” Chris said in a voice that was trying to hide too many things.
“Chris,” Peter purred. “Heard the good news, so came to join you in your
celebratory drinking. I am starting to think that I am getting in debt to the
Mage. The next round’s on me huh, lover? And maybe a celebratory blowjob as
well to round up this perfect evening of death?” Peter asked through shining
teeth as if he still could not stop smiling at the news.
“I always thought it would be you. You know, the one to kill him,” Chris said
as he called for another drink.
Peter’s face went tight for two seconds, his smile disappearing completely
before the mask was back in place. “So did I dream too,” he added in a rueful
voice, the happiness still there under the tone.
Chris knocked down his second drink, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand
and then turned to Peter before saying, “I thought I heard about an offer for a
celebratory blowjob around here?”
Peter smiled at that, vicious with too many teeth and cruel jest in his eyes.
He got up and headed out. Chris threw down a few bills to cover his drink and
followed Peter. He fucked Peter’s throat with wild snarls descending his mouth,
coming deep. Peter then fucked him with spit against the wall of the bar,
making him grunt out hurt little gasps. Peter sent him home much sober, with an
ache in his ass matching the one in his chest. Back to his tight-lipped wife
and daughter who was yet to learn so much.
When Peter got home that night and Derek opened the door to him, Peter got down
on his knees and blew Derek hard and fast with the door still a little open.
Derek was wild eyed and ruddy cheeked as he came almost bent double over Peter,
loud breaths and whimpers falling from his mouth. After Derek came, Peter
rested his head near his thighs, just breathing and thinking how he loved the
sounds Derek made, as much as the hurt grunts Chris was prone to make. It took
a few minutes for Derek’s legs to stop shaking, for him to get up from his
curl, and pull an almost snoozing Peter up from his knees and shutting the door
finally. Derek thanked his lucky stars that no one had walked by. Not that
Peter would have cared.
Derek took off Peter’s clothes before pushing and pulling him into the
bathroom. With a quick shower with Derek plastered behind him keeping him
straight, Derek put him into the bed naked with a perfunctory rubbing with the
towel before covering him up with the blankets. With Peter safely asleep, just
after fucking someone too possibly, Derek took a quick shower himself and got
ready to go out. He wore a Henley, black jeans and Peter’s jacket. He peeked
once at Peter, put on his shoes, closed the door and locked it before going out
to whistle down a taxi. He got down at a club, went in and ordered a beer. When
he was halfway into that beer, hands wrapped his waist from behind and cool/wet
lips nuzzled along the back of his neck tasting sweat.
Derek, who had been rejecting every advance on him as soon as he had come in,
laid one hand on those hands and squeezed before pulling the owner of those
hands before him. Sparkling hazel brown eyes smiled at him and then leaned in
for a small kiss. Derek kissed him back and then licked his lips. He tasted
something cherry.
“Come dance with me babe,” Stiles said loud to Derek as the bass thumped on the
dance floor. Derek really didn’t want to, but he could not say no to Stiles
when he looked that happy. He let Stiles lead him to the dance floor and tried
to keep up with Stiles’ erratic movements. Stiles was not a good dancer, but he
kept leaning in to give delicious kisses to Derek and rubbing himself all over
him and that felt very, very, good.
They danced for an hour or so, with a drink in the middle before Stiles decided
that he had enough and this time dragged Derek right out of the club. Stiles
hailed a taxi and headed to his home, where he proceeded to make Derek into a
well fucked out happy mess on his bed. Stiles kept catching and pushing the
come back in when it kept slipping out from Derek’s hole till it stopped
leaking. Stiles crawled up and kissed blissed out Derek some more, running his
hand through the hair at Derek’s stomach.
“Peter didn’t stop you?” Stiles asked after some time. There was just curiosity
in his voice.
Derek shook his voice and said, “I think he went out and fucked something
today. He did blow me when he returned but he was a sleepy mess just after
which means he had fucked well. He was sleeping when I came.”
“Hmmmm,” Stiles nuzzled closer. “He must have heard, right?” Stiles asked this
time.
Derek gave a snort before saying, “Who didn’t?”
“Does Peter still fucks you?” Stiles came with that next.
Derek’s smile went down before he gave a sigh and said, “Yeah... Yes, he does.
You already know this Stiles, why are you asking?”
“Well, he has been fucking you since you are 12. I thought maybe he had gotten
over you by now,” Stiles answered amicably, still kissing Derek’s suddenly
tightly closed lips.
“It’s, it’s not like that. And we have talked about this. We have. Many times.
So why do you still...?” Derek broke off with a hiss.
Stiles had poked at one of the older bruises that Peter had given him. He said,
“Because Peter seems to think he has some claim on you just because he forced
you to make him your first. Because he still goes out fucking who knows what
and denies you that. Because you seem to think that you in some ways are
indebted to him for keeping you after your family died, even though all the
space he gave was his own bed and his cock. Because you seem to want to forgive
him so easily and let him do anything he wants to you and I have seen your face
then, Derek I have, you know I have. The resignation as if that was something
entirely inevitable. I, I love you and I hate him for how you love him too!”
Derek had rolled nearer to Stiles and was hiding his face by Stiles’ neck, his
lips on his clavicle as Stiles ranted on some more.
“I am sorry,” Derek whispered, “I am sorry Stiles” he added.
Stiles pursed his lips and wrapped his hands around Derek to pull him closer.
He also heard how Derek did not say anything about stopping Peter or the like.
Stiles petted Derek’s hair before saying, “I am going to kill him one day, Der,
I swear.”
“Just...not yet please Stiles. Please,” Derek said pushing back from Stiles
neck to look at his face, the look on Derek’s face so sad and again resigned
that if Stiles wanted he really could not stop him, stop Stiles from killing
the only member of his once vast family he had because he is not that important
or his words of promise so heavy.
Stiles pursed his lips, more at Derek’s expression than at his words, before
pulling him closer into the hug to kiss his head.
Derek snuggled closer, his lips trembling a bit on Stiles’ skin, possibly
having a flashback from those first times that had lasted years before Derek
learned to just give in, so that things become easier, so that it stopped being
so hurtful and soul wrenching. The self loathing he grew when he started to
enjoy it to start go looking for it himself this time and how Peter had smiled,
all delighted and pleased and filthy names broken by heartfelt pleas of love
and Derek had believed it all, because it got so simple like that. Peter loved
him and that is how Peter loved him and how could Derek not love him back? Love
him and match his love by doing everything Peter wanted because Peter wanted it
and Derek loved him, didn’t he.
Of course he did. Otherwise he wouldn’t have come crying out Peter’s name loud
and pulling Peter closer. Peter loved him and Derek loved him so everything was
ok, everything was all right with the world.
Then his family had burned and Derek had cried, cried for days, cradled in
Peter’s lap, hating him as much as himself, sure that this is how he got
punished. Sure that God found out that Derek didn’t really love Peter, just let
him do bad stuff to him because he was that that greedy for the release and
didn’t really care who he got it from and now his family were all ashes and
they didn’t even know it was Derek to blame. They didn’t know that Derek was
that weak. So what did it matter that Peter fucked him still, suddenly most
often, just because he felt like it and Derek let him because he liked it too.
Let Peter bite bruises into his skin and gouge crescents of blood with his
nails. It really didn’t.
And then Derek had met Stiles. Beautiful, funny, sweet Stiles with his killer
hands and trickster smile and love for Derek in insurmountable amounts. Derek
tried to scare him away by being an asshole to him, by being rude, but Stiles
stuck by, warmth spreading from his hands over Derek wherever he touched unlike
the cool absence of that he got from Peter that he thought was the norm. How he
always wanted to kiss Derek even though Derek just had his mouth on Stiles
cock. Derek never got to taste Peter. And every kiss has always been initiated
by Peter, even when Derek had a scratchy voice and went begging for cock like
Peter’s personal cock whore as he informed Derek in a fond voice.
So, Derek fell in love too. Actual love this time, not something coerced out of
hands that didn’t even know what they were holding. Derek hated Peter, but he
loved him too. It was not an active feeling for him now but a habit to always
love Peter no matter what. To love Stiles was vastly different, his consent
being asked for each time with every moment such a novelty that even after a
year Derek was surprised when Stiles paused to ask. Derek knew Stiles killed
for his living, just like Peter did. And isn’t it funny, so funny, that both
the people Derek loves could drown in the blood of the people they have killed
and it does not change one iota of Derek’s feeling for them.
Derek used to think that one day Peter will have enough of whatever facsimile
of life he had and kill Derek while he is riding Peter, letting his body spasm
milk out one more orgasm from Peter’s body and then turn the gun on him,
tasting the hot metal with his tongue before pulling the trigger. Or maybe not.
Maybe Peter will choke Derek one day while he is sleeping on his bed, finally
done with him, having got rid of the itch that made him touch his sister’s
tween son in the first place and have no use of him anymore. Or maybe not.
Maybe Peter will break down one day and cry and beg for his forgiveness and
then kill himself and leave Derek free and the most alone he had been for the
rest of his life. Or, maybe not.
Stiles kissed Derek into a deep sleep, wrapped around each other. He woke up to
the smell of coffee and cooking bacon and the sight of a gun open on Stiles
side of bed to be cleaned and he got up. Brushed his teeth with the toothbrush
that shared Stiles’ cup, put on his boxers and walked up to Stiles like and
wrapped his hands around him like Stiles had done last night at the club.
Stiles turned his face, kissed Derek’s cheek and plated out the eggs he had
been cooking, putting the bacon pieces he had been draining onto another plate
and walked to the table, Derek following him with his hands still around his
waist. Putting the plates down, which already had a plate of toast on it,
Stiles turned properly and kissed Derek properly.
Stiles looked excited to do that, his eyes bright and head tipped as he smiled
at Derek and stole his heart all over again. Derek was happy to let him.
End Notes
     Thanks for reading. Lacking a beta. Mistakes all mine. Kudos and
     comments are most welcome
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
