
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3660945.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale/Original_Male_Character(s)
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale, Peter_Hale, The_Hale_Pack, Scott_McCall,
      Sheriff_Stilinski, Original_Male_Character(s)
  Additional Tags:
      sterek, Contracts, Chastity_Device, Kink_Negotiation, Bondage, Alternate
      Universe_-_Werewolves_Are_Known, Butt_Plugs, Manipulative_Peter, Sex
      Toys, Blindfolds, Stiles_gets_to_have_a_good_time_many_many_times_in_many
      different_positions, peter_is_a_bastard, sexual_contract, Premature
      Ejaculation, Peter_is_a_bad_dom, Underage_Sex, Spanking, Gags, Collars,
      Orgasm_Delay/Denial
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-04-01 Completed: 2015-05-11 Chapters: 34/34 Words: 96414
****** Sign the Dotted Line ******
by exclamation
Summary
     When Peter Hale throws a party so his nephew can choose a suitably
     virginal teenager as a consort, he goes to extreme lengths to ensure
     the attendees remain eligible. The only reason Stiles accepted the
     invite is because he Peter Hale promised to remove the chastity belts
     at the end of the party and Stiles would really like control of his
     dick back.
     Stiles has absolutely no desire to be anyone's consort... until he
     meets Derek Hale and learns that he's almost as angry with Peter as
     Stiles is. He knows Derek is only choosing him to antagonise Peter,
     but he can live with that, especially if it means he gets to have
     lots of sex with a ridiculously hot werewolf.
     Note: The rape warning has nothing to do with the main Sterek
     relationship
Notes
     This is as close to an April Fools joke as I will get. I am posting
     the first chapter of this fic despite knowing that I won't be posting
     chapter two until Tuesday next week at the earliest. If you're
     looking for my usual daily updates, you might want to hold off
     starting this fic until next week.
     A couple of words of warning about this fic. Firstly, it contains a
     lot more sex than I usually write. This will include a lot of
     consensual kinks including, but not limited to, bondage, blindfolds,
     wearing butt plugs in public, and hand feeding. I'm sure I will add
     more tags as I go along.
     There is also a rape warning on this fic. THIS DOES NOT APPLY TO THE
     MAIN STEREK RELATIONSHIP. The rape/non-con warning refers partly to
     Stiles and others having chastity devices placed on them without
     their consent. It also refers to the Peter/OC relationship which will
     be in the background for this story. Technically, the OC consents to
     everything, but Peter is such a manipulative bastard that I think it
     deserves a warning. There will be some hints of cruel sex play
     between Peter and the OC, but it won't be anything like as explicit
     as the consensual stuff between Derek and Stiles.
***** Chapter 1 *****
Stiles stripped off his clothes and pulled on the horrible gown that left him
feeling horrendously exposed. It felt like he could fidget a tear into this
thing and leave himself naked. He’d spent far more time with doctors than any
person ever should have to, although admittedly that had largely been the fault
of his own stupidity, and he could never get used to these gowns. But he got it
on and sat on the padded examination table that had been rigged up in the small
office. The medical table looked very out of place next to the teacher’s desk,
but at least this way Stiles didn’t have to trek out to the hospital for this
bizarre examination. Other equipment had been wheeled in for the day, a huge
chunk of the school transformed to allow the male students to be assessed,
though no one had given a particularly satisfactory explanation as to why. The
doctor came back into the room and smiled pleasantly at him. He was holding a
clipboard in one hand, which he checked now.
“What name do you prefer to be called?” he asked, which was undoubtedly his way
of asking how the hell to pronounce Stiles’ name.
“Stiles,” he said. “Just Stiles.”
“OK, Stiles, I’m going to do a brief physical examination now. Nothing to worry
about.”
Of course, someone telling him there was nothing to worry about instantly made
him worry. He tapped his fingers nervously against the edge of the table as the
doctor took standard readings of pulse and blood pressure, both a little higher
than average but probably due to the stress of having to be examined. Eye
responses and reflexes were normal. The doctor measured height and weight. He
listened to Stiles’ heart and breathing with a stethoscope. Stiles did a
fitness test involving stepping up and down on blocks for a couple of minutes
and then having his pulse taken afterwards. Everything seemed perfectly normal,
though there was nothing to explain why every boy in school was being put
through this.
The doctor remained calmly cheerful throughout, and then he sat Stiles back
onto the table and started asking standard questions about his health. Any
recent illness, was he up to date on his immunisations, any allergies, any
chronic conditions. The doctor had access to Stiles’ medical records, but he
was getting Stiles to confirm the relevant points. Stiles felt that the whole
thing was a colossal waste of time, but he was supposed to be in chemistry
right now with Mr Harris, so he wasn’t too upset about it all.
Then the questions got personal.
“Are you sexually active?” the doctor asked, in the same calm tone he’d used to
check Stiles’ history of broken bones.
Stiles tapped his fingers nervously on the edge of the table.
“Erm,” he said, “it depends on how you define active.”
“Are you engaged in any sexual behaviour with another person or people?” the
doctor asked. “I’m not including kissing here, but anything, shall we say, that
involves going below the waist.”
“Well,” Stiles said, “when you put it that way...” meaning that another person
had to be involved, “no.”
“Have you ever been sexually active?”
“No. Why? Is that was this is about? Has there been a rash of STIs or
something?”
The doctor ignored Stiles’ question and continued.
“You’ve never given or received oral sex? You’ve never had penetrative sex with
another person? Been given a hand job by another person?”
“Can we just assume the answer is no and move on?” Stiles asked. “I’ll happily
detail my grandfather’s heart attack history and my dad’s high blood pressure
for you if we can move on from this subject.”
“I’m sorry, Stiles. I know this must be embarrassing, particularly for a
sixteen year old, but I must be absolutely certain that you’ve never been
involved in any sexual activity with another person.”
“Why?”
“It’s part of the assessment,” the doctor said.
“Yeah, but why? What’s the point of these assessments?”
Once again, the question was ignored. The doctor just told Stiles to lie back
on the bed for the final part of the assessment. Thankfully this didn’t seem to
involve any needles. Unfortunately, it did involve the doctor’s hands going for
Stiles’ genitals. There was nothing sexual about it, but still Stiles didn’t
like the idea of those hands pressing against his balls. Stiles wondered if the
guy was feeling for cancer lumps or something. Stiles looked away and tried to
think only about the fact that this was now almost over.
Something cold slid over Stiles’ penis. He tried not to think about it,
assuming this was just some medical instrument for measuring something. Then he
felt something tight wrapping around the base of his penis and his ballsack.
There was an ominous click. Stiles pushed himself up on his elbows to try and
see what was going on, but the paper of the gown was in the way.
“What’s going on?” Stiles asked.
“Stand up please,” the doctor said.
“What did you just do?”
Stiles got to his feet, not to obey the doctor but so he could pull the gown
aside and see what was happening. There was a metal cage around his penis, held
on by a ring that ran around his shaft and balls. Stiles might not have any
sexual experience, but he had an internet connection and an active curiosity.
He knew a chastity device when he saw one. With this thing on, he wouldn’t be
able to get hard.
“What the hell are you doing?” Stiles demanded.
But while Stiles was standing there, trying to figure out what had just
happened, the doctor had kept working. A curved piece of metal attached to the
back of the cock ring and the doctor raised this up now to lie tightly up the
line of Stiles’ ass. A metal band around Stiles’ waist held it in place. As the
doctor stepped back, Stiles tugged at it, trying to find a catch or some way to
get the thing off him, but it seemed to be locked in place. It seemed obvious,
given all the questions about sex earlier and the cage around his cock, that
this metal rod against his ass was intended to ensure he wasn’t penetrated. His
lower half was entirely off limits for anything sexual.
“What the hell?” Stiles asked again. “Take this thing off me!”
“I’m sorry, Stiles. It’s only a temporary measure. This letter will explain.”
The doctor opened up a box on the teacher’s desk. It contained a large number
of sealed envelopes. He took one out and held it out to Stiles, who took it
automatically. He needed something that would afford an explanation. The doctor
also got out a packet of antibacterial wipes.
“These will be helpful for cleaning up after you defecate,” the doctor
explained, handing them over. Stiles hadn’t even thought of that. Crapping with
that metal bar in the way wouldn’t be pleasant. He stared at the wipes.
“No,” Stiles said. “No, you’re taking this thing off right now. I don’t know
what kind of games you’re playing but you can’t do this sort of thing to me. I
don’t care if this is some crazy new medical treatment but you can’t do this
sort of thing without my consent.”
“Without the consent of your legal guardian,” the doctor corrected. “You’re a
minor. Your father signed the forms consenting to this assessment.”
“My dad wouldn’t agree to you sticking some kind of mediaeval torture device on
me!”
“It’s hardly a torture device. And, as I said, the device is temporary. The
letter will explain. I will leave you to put your clothes on. Please be prompt.
The next student will be expected in five minutes.”
“I don’t give a damn about the next student!” Stiles snapped. But the doctor
had already left the room.
Stiles wanted to throw something. He wanted to kick something. He reached down
beneath his legs and tried to tug at the device, trying to get the thing to
come off, but all he succeeded in doing was yanking at his genitals.
Which left his other choice, which was to get his clothes on, go to his dad,
and get his dad to arrest that doctor for sexual harassment because there was
no way in hell this could be legal.
Stiles grabbed his clothes and pulled them on. His jeans felt a little too
tight now, his caged cock sitting uncomfortably in them. He tried to adjust his
clothes and thought he’d got them feeling alright, but the second he started
walking, he felt aware of the weight down there, of the metal squeezing his
balls and pressing into his ass. Someone was going to pay for this.
He shoved the wipes into his backpack, which he slung on his back, grabbed the
letter, and left the office which had been turned over to the doctors for these
assessments today. He got into the corridor and saw Scott a little way down the
hall.
“You waited for me?” Stiles asked.
“It was this or go back to chemistry,” Scott said. He glanced at his watch. “If
we walk slowly, we’ll get back to class right when the bell rings.”
He seemed surprisingly cheerful, particularly given the chastity thing would
surely put a major dent in his relationship with Allison. Then Scott looked
down at the white envelope still clutched unopened in Stiles’ hand.
“What’s that?” Scott asked. Stiles only noticed then that Scott wasn’t holding
an envelope. It was possible he’d put it in a pocket or his bag, but he was
looking at the one Stiles held with curiosity.
Just then, one of the other doors opened. Jared came out in a rush. He hurried
over to the nearest trashcan, bent over it, and vomited. Despite the smell,
Stiles and Scott rushed over to make sure he was alright.
“Hey, Jared, you OK?” Scott asked. Stiles just stared at the letter Jared was
holding. He’d opened up the envelope and now held it and its contents clutched
so tightly in one hand that the paper was tearing.
Stiles shoved a finger under the flap of his envelope and ripped it open,
pulling out the paper inside. It took a couple of minutes to read the letter,
longer for his brain to process it. It was an invitation from the alpha of the
Hale werewolf pack to a party held in honour of his nephew. His nephew wished
to choose a consort from those physically suitable. The device Stiles was
fitted with was to ensure he remained physically suitable. The chastity device
would be removed at the end of the party. The wording made the implication very
clear: if Stiles didn’t go, he might never get this thing off. Stiles crumpled
the letter in his fist.
“Fucking werewolves,” Stiles muttered.
Jared stopped vomiting in the trashcan.
“They can’t make me go,” he said.
“I think they can,” Stiles said. “I need to talk to my dad. There’s got to be a
way out of this.”
“Out of what?” Scott asked. “What’s going on?”
He pried the letter out of Stiles’ grip and smoothed it out so he could read
it.
“The werewolf pack wants someone to be a sex toy,” Stiles said, “and they have
invited all the virgin boys to a party so they can pick who it’s going to be. I
don’t suppose your girlfriend has got some wolfsbane I could use? Or maybe a
shotgun?”
***
“I can’t believe you signed a consent form for this!” Stiles yelled across the
kitchen. His dad was backed up against the counter. On any other day, he’d be
berating Stiles for yelling. The fact that he wasn’t suggested he knew he’d
messed up.
“All you have to do is make small talk with werewolves for an evening,” his dad
said, “while eating their free food. I don’t see what the big deal is.”
“The big deal? A werewolf wants to take his pick of all the innocent virgins in
Beacon Hills to deflower me or something, and you don’t think it’s a big deal?”
“You can always refuse. Even if they pick you, you’re entitled to say no.”
Stiles scoffed at that, “Somehow I don’t think the alpha likes taking no for an
answer.”
“Then don’t go to the party. You’ve been given an invitation, but they can’t
force you to go. Simply don’t attend and then there’s no chance of them picking
you.”
“Don’t attend?” Stiles asked. “There’s a cage around my dick that they’ll only
take off if I go to that party!”
His dad froze for an instant, then his expression changed to one of confusion
and concern. It was clear from this reaction that he hadn’t known about the
chastity device that was currently locked around Stiles’ most private anatomy.
He’d had it on for a few hours now and it was already feeling frustrating. The
knowledge that he wouldn’t be able to even jerk off for three days was making
him think about jerking off, which was making the cage incredibly
uncomfortable.
“Was this in the consent form?” Stiles asked. “Because if it wasn’t, we can go
up to their mansion and demand they take this off and then sue them for sexual
harassment while we’re at it.”
His dad looked away.
“There may have been a clause in the consent form about ensuring that those who
received an invitation remained eligible.”
“Dad!”
“I didn’t know the alpha would pull something like this! Usually packs just
hire a famous band to play at the party in order to encourage attendance.”
“I can’t believe you signed a form consenting to this without even asking me,”
Stiles complained.
“I didn’t realise it would be such a big deal,” his dad said. “As an alpha,
Peter’s style is... very different for Talia’s. But I can talk to him. I can
officially withdraw you from consideration and he should remove any...” He
gestured vaguely towards Stiles’ pants.
“Should?” Stiles asked. He wished his dad had used a more definite word.
“I can retract my consent. You’ll be stricken from the invitation list and then
there will be no reason for the pack to have any... precautions in place.”
His dad still didn’t seem completely confident. Stiles wanted to go along with
his dad’s plan. He wanted to argue with Alpha Hale for ever implementing this
plan. But there was a possibility that the alpha might take Stiles off the
invitation list but never remove the chastity cage. Then Stiles could be stuck
with this thing on forever. Besides, his dad actively opposing the local alpha
was probably a lethal move for his career. His dad was elected to the post of
sheriff and the packs held a lot of sway.
Stiles sighed, “I’ll go to the damn party.”
“Just remember, you’re allowed to tell them no,” his dad said. “And you can
always just go and hang out with Scott all evening.”
That wasn’t a possibility, since Scott hadn’t received an invitation. Not that
Stiles could tell his dad that, because that would mean admitting that underage
sex was going on. So Stiles just nodded. Friday night was going to be hell.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Stiles hadn’t realised how much he jerked off until he was physically incapable
of doing so. And every time he shifted in his seat, he felt the cage around his
cock, the metal bar along his ass, and he thought about the reason they were
there. Which meant he thought about sex. Which made the cage worse.
He was known for being fidgety at school but this took things to a whole new
level. By Friday, he was constantly shifting in his seat, tapping a pen against
his books in an attempt at distraction, all the while his hormones begged him
for a release he couldn’t give them. He wondered if this was part of the
alpha’s plan, to get them all so juiced up on hormones that they’d agree to
anything when faced with the possibility of sex.
He wasn’t the only one suffering. It was interesting to look around the
classrooms and make a mental catalogue of those who were shifting awkwardly.
There were some who were obvious candidates for receiving an invitation, the
people who, like Stiles, had never had a relationship. There were some from
religious families who’d chosen abstinence. But there were some people he
wouldn’t have expected. There was Trevor Alman, who always seemed to have a
girlfriend. Stiles would have picked him as the sort to have had sex the minute
he figured out what his junk was for. But there he was, in the front seat in
English class, adjusting his position in the seat every five minutes.
Stiles ended up walking out of the class right behind him as the bell rang, and
couldn’t resist asking, “You?”
“Me what?” Trevor responded. They walked into the crowded hall, weaving their
way through other students on the way to class.
“You’re invited, aren’t you?”
Trevor flashed a smile, “That’s right, Bilinski.”
“But you always have a girlfriend.”
“The right person is worth waiting for.”
“Meaning a werewolf?” Stiles asked.
Trevor smiled again.
“You wanted this invite,” Stiles said.
“No one in the Hale pack had picked a consort. It was bound to happen
eventually and it might as well be me. See you later, Bilinski.” Trevor walked
away with a little wave. Stiles just stared after him, bewildered that someone
would want this. Trevor could probably have had sex a hundred times but he’d
held off in the hope that an alpha werewolf would kick off this ridiculous
ritual. He actually wanted to become a werewolf’s consort. Well, Stiles wasn’t
going to fight him for it.
***
Stiles picked his outfit carefully for the party. This was a big night. This
was the night where the werewolves would be choosing someone to have ridiculous
amounts of sex with, which would be potentially awesome except that the Hale
alpha clearly had issues with boundaries and the whole concept of consent.
Stiles knew he could technically refuse an offer to be a consort, but he could
also technically refuse to go to the party, and he’d seen how the Hale alpha
had handled that. Which meant his best option was to make sure no one picked
him.
He decided against the stud muffin t-shirt because it might be mistaken for
enthusiasm. He went instead for the one with the picture of a stripper and the
joke about supporting single moms. It was tacky and tasteless. He pulled on a
pair of scruffy jeans and dug around in the bottom of his closet for the old
pair of sneakers with the stains and the hole in the toe. He topped the whole
outfit off with a hoodie that wasn’t so much worn in as worn out. It was
beautifully comfortable but also faded and with a mysterious stain on the right
elbow that had survived about a hundred washings. He looked at his reflection
and decided that no one in their right mind would possibly see him as a sex
object. It was perfect.
He went downstairs and his dad looked out from the den. Stiles had been giving
his dad the cold shoulder treatment because he was still angry about the damn
consent form. His dad swore that he hadn’t realised what Peter would do. He’d
assumed it would be a few simple fitness tests and then Stiles would get an
invitation that he could accept or not as he chose. He’d had no idea that Peter
would treat this as consent to take control of Stiles’ body and strong-arm him
into going to the party. Stiles could understand where his dad was coming from,
because what person would assume Peter would be such an asshole? But he was
still pissed.
“That what you’re wearing?” his dad asked.
“Yep,” Stiles replied, daring him to argue. He was probably expected to go
dressed in his finest in order to woo the werewolf pack with his awesomeness,
but to hell with the lot of them. His dad presumably got that because he didn’t
tell Stiles to change his outfit.
Instead, he said, “Try not to punch the alpha.”
“Does that mean I can punch the other werewolves?” Stiles asked.
His dad didn’t dignify that with an answer. Stiles decided that would count as
permission if the situation should arise later. He let himself out and went to
his jeep.
The Hale pack had gone all out for the party. The house and grounds in the
woods were decorated with enough lights to serve as an entire town’s Christmas
decorations, with the trees on either side of the long drive sparkling in white
and silver. There was valet parking, with a line of young men in red waistcoats
waiting to take the keys of arriving guests. Stiles handed over his keys along
with a list of advice on how to handle his jeep’s eccentricities.
“I’m driving it about a hundred yards,” the valet cut him off. “I promise I
won’t destroy your baby.”
Stiles gave up and let the guy take the jeep. In the space behind it, Trevor
was handing over his keys much more willingly. Trevor had dressed for the party
in full black tie, bowtie and everything. He eyed Stiles’ outfit.
“You’re wearing that?”
“At least I won’t be mistaken for a waiter,” Stiles said.
Trevor swept past him and up the steps. Stiles followed, his guts twisting in a
mass of nerves and disgust. Inside were the werewolves. Inside were the people
who thought it was OK to hold his body hostage. Stiles stepped into a
glittering entrance hall and froze under a crystal chandelier. He really didn’t
want to be here.
“The party is this way, sir,” said an older guy in white tie who was holding a
tray of glasses that almost certainly didn’t contain real champagne. He
gestured to a pair of double doors that were open, offering a view of the large
ballroom beyond.
“Congratulations on keeping a straight face when calling me sir,” Stiles said.
He took a glass and drank. Sparkling apple juice apparently. It was a shame
there wasn’t any alcohol in it. He needed something to help him prepare. He
looked through the doors towards the party, taking in the view, hearing the
music and chatter. He could see people moving around, even dancing, but it felt
like another world. A world Stiles wanted no part of.
“Is there a bathroom around here?” Stiles asked. He downed his juice.
The waiter pointed to a side door off the entrance hall.
“Down that corridor and first door on your left,” his eyes sparkled with humour
as he added, “sir.”
Stiles grinned at him and handed his empty glass back. He headed through the
door and found the bathroom easily enough, marked with a carefully placed sign
so that it couldn’t be missed. He relieved himself and took a minute to splash
water on his face and try to prepare. Sooner or later, he’d have to go through
those doors and pretend to be polite to the werewolves who’d violated his
autonomy.
Or did he?
Stiles opened the bathroom door and looked down the deserted corridor. He could
just find somewhere to hide out until the werewolves had made their choice and
then sneak back to the party to get the chastity cage taken off. He headed down
the corridor away from the entrance hall and paused at the first door that
stood ajar.
Stiles peered through the crack and saw darkness on the other side. He eased
the door open further and slipped inside. In the faint light, Stiles saw a room
that was either a small library or a seriously over-compensating study. It
seemed the perfect place to hide because no one would have a reason to come in
here tonight.
“What are you doing in here?” a voice asked behind him.
Stiles yelped and spun round, nearly tripping over his own feet in his
surprise. There was an armchair in the corner, hidden behind the door, and it
was occupied. It was hard to make out much about the occupant in this light,
but the voice had been male.
“Why the hell are you sitting here in the dark?” Stiles asked.
“I asked first.” He sounded calm about this, which meant he presumably had a
right to be here. Unlike Stiles, whose heart was trying to beat itself out of
his chest.
“I took a wrong turn coming out of the bathroom,” Stiles lied.
“Try again.”
“Alright! I’m hiding from the party.”
“Hiding? Why?”
“It seemed the best way to ensure I don’t get picked as consort. I didn’t
expect to get caught quite so quickly but it’s OK. I’ve got a plan B.”
“Which is?”
“Being utterly obnoxious to every werewolf I meet so no one would want me as a
consort,” Stiles said. The he added, “Jerk,” because there was a good chance
this guy was a werewolf. At the very least, he was sitting in a werewolf’s
study like he had a right to.
The guy stood up. Stiles took a nervous step back, concerned that he was about
to get pummelled for that insult. But the guy just went to a switch by the door
and turned on the light. Stiles blinked for a moment and then took in the view
of the guy. He had to be a werewolf because only werewolves seemed to achieve
that aura of power combined with supernaturally good looks. He had dark hair, a
sculpted jaw with just a hint of stubble, and a t-shirt that clung to his chest
and exposed biceps that ought to be illegal.
Stiles caught himself before he started drooling and he realised the werewolf
was studying him back with more amusement than admiration. Stiles almost
regretted his choice of wardrobe since having vast quantities of sex with this
guy might not be such a bad idea after all.
“If you really don’t want to be chosen,” the werewolf asked, “why did you
come?”
“Because I want control of my genitals back.”
“What?” The werewolf looked genuinely confused.
“Your alpha’s insurance to keep us ‘eligible’,” Stiles made air quotes around
the last word. The werewolf still looked confused.
“I’ve got a cage around my cock!” Stiles snapped. “Your alpha said he’d take if
off if I came to the party.”
“He did this to everyone?”
“Why the hell do you think I’m so pissed? I mean, what sort of person does
that? It’s like rape. I mean, technically it’s kind of the opposite of rape but
it’s still taking away my autonomy and that’s a violation. It’s just
unacceptable!”
“I’m sorry,” said the werewolf. “I didn’t know he’d done that. Peter said he
had a plan to get good attendance but he didn’t say what it was and I didn’t
ask.”
“I just... who does this?” Stiles asked.
Hot werewolf guy looked away, “I might have expressed concern to Peter that
this stupid party ritual would only get a bunch of guys who were virgins for
good reason so desperate for sex that they’d agree to anything. He then
announced that he was going to ensure a high attendance so we’d get a higher
calibre pool of candidates. I’m sorry.”
“Did you tell him to stick a cage on my cock?”
“No.”
“Then he’s the one who should be apologising, not you. God! This whole ritual
is so insane.”
“Why do you think I was hiding in the study with the lights off?” the werewolf
asked.
“I mean, what’s even the point of this? The health assessments? The party? The
fuss of it all? Bringing all eligible candidates together?” Stiles made a face.
“It’s not like you need to force a bunch of guys in and assess them for their
potential as sexual partners. I mean, every single werewolf I’ve seen seems to
get supernatural good looks to go with the heightened senses and the super-
strength. You could have just walked into school and gone, ‘Hey, who wants to
have sex with me?’ and had your pick without needing to deplete the world’s
fairy light supplies to decorate your driveway.”
“So if I’d walked up to you in your school and asked to have sex, you’d have
said yes?”
“I’d probably have asked you if you were kidding or asking me on a dare,”
Stiles said.
“But would you want to have sex with me?”
“You have to ask?” Stiles asked. Because this guy was so smoking hot he could
catch fire.
“Yes, I have to ask, because this ritual doesn’t take into account sexualities.
You could be completely straight, you could be asexual, you could be a member
of a religion that makes you think we’re going to hell for even having this
conversation. Would you want to have sex with me?”
“Yes,” Stiles said. “But it would have to be on my terms. I’m not having
someone else dictate how or when I’m having sex. Especially not some creepy
alpha werewolf I’ve never even met.”
“So name your terms,” the werewolf said.
Stiles sort of froze, his mind catching up with the rest of the conversation.
Had this guy really implied what Stiles thought he’d implied? No, he couldn’t
have done, because that would mean he was actually asking Stiles to have sex
with him instead of just talking about theoretical scenarios.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“There’s a contract involved in being a consort and you have as much right as
me to say what clauses you want in it.”
Stiles blinked some more. This guy was seriously offering to make Stiles the
consort. Of all the ways Stiles had pictured this conversation going, this
wasn’t one of them.
“But we haven’t even been introduced,” Stiles said.
“Right,” the werewolf said. He extended a hand. “Derek Hale.”
“Stiles Stilinski.” Stiles shook, still rather dazed.
“Stiles?”
“Don’t ask. So you’re seriously asking me to be your... erm... sexual partner?”
“If you want. And the technical term is consort.”
“So you’re really asking me to agree to have lots and lots of sex with you?”
“Why is this such a difficult concept?” Derek asked.
“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Stiles responded. Derek was way out of
his league. Derek could trip and fall in an open sewer and still come out
looking way out of Stiles’ league. This didn’t make sense as a serious offer. A
part of Stiles was still waiting for Derek to declare this a joke and laugh at
him. Except that Derek was hiding out from his own mating ritual party. He was
in here instead of sniffing around all the guys he could have sex with. Maybe
Stiles was an easy escape from having to deal with this bullshit.
“So,” Stiles said, “I can really just lay down the rules about how we’d handle
this and that’s OK?”
“That’s right,” Derek said. He went over to the big desk that dominated the
middle of the room. He sat down and pulled out a pad and pen from one of the
drawers. “Shoot.”
“OK,” said Stiles, trying to think. “Well, first thing is that no one but me
controls my dick. No one’s allowed to stick a chastity device on me again.”
“OK,” Derek said. He wrote rapidly while Stiles tried to think of the next
thing to put.
“And no kinky stuff without prior discussion and express consent.”
“OK,” and Derek wrote again.
“And I’m allowed to say no. If I’ve got a headache or I’m tired or I just don’t
feel like it, I shouldn’t be compelled to have sex. Not that the not feeling
like it thing is likely to come up because, hey, sixteen year old boy here, but
I should have the option.”
Derek nodded. He was still writing.
“And I want the option to have a room of my own when I’m here. In case I want
some privacy. This place has a spare room, right?”
“About five,” Derek said. He wrote this down too.
“And I’ve still got school. This... whatever the hell it is shouldn’t interfere
with school.”
“OK,” Derek said again. Stiles started to wonder if Derek would agree to
everything he said. What if this was a trick? What if Derek was saying all this
stuff to get Stiles to agree to this but then he’d throw out all the rules and
just take advantage of him?
“I can’t abandon my dad,” Stiles said. “I should be home with him sometimes.
Not necessarily every night, since he does work some nights, but you can’t
force me to be away from him.”
“How about we put in a clause saying you have the right to stay away from the
pack on, let’s say up to six nights a week? You could stay here more if you
want, but you won’t be forced to.”
Now it was Stiles’ turn to nod. But he felt like this was too easy. Derek was
just agreeing to everything. There had to be a catch. He decided to push
further.
“I want breakfast in bed on Sundays,” Stiles said.
“Even if you stay the night at your dad’s place?” Derek asked.
“OK, point. But when I’m here.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem.”
Stiles was actually getting annoyed now that Derek wasn’t even really trying to
argue. That last demand had been fairly ridiculous and Derek hadn’t batted an
eyelid. This had to be too good to be true. Stiles needed to ask for something
ridiculous to see what Derek’s reaction was.
“I want a pet dragon,” Stiles said.
Derek slammed his pen down on the desk so hard that the noise made Stiles jump.
Derek glowered at Stiles, who took an instinctive step back.
“If you don’t want to do this, you could have just said no,” Derek said.
“I didn’t say no.”
“You’re asking for a dragon!”
“You can’t get hold of a pet dragon?”
“Of course I can’t get hold of a dragon,” Derek said. “No one could get hold of
a dragon. Dragons are myths. If they ever were real, they either died out
hundreds of years ago or they’re really, really good at hiding, and even if I
were to somehow find one, there’s no way they’d make good pets.”
“You’re just saying that because you’d want to keep the dragon for yourself,”
said Stiles.
“Is this a joke to you?”
“A little bit. Fine. We’ll have joint custody of any hypothetical pet dragons.”
Derek glared at him.
“Come on, you can put that in,” Stiles said. “If they’re only hypothetical
dragons then the contract’s still valid even if I never get one.”
Derek glared some more.
“You said I could define the terms in the contract,” Stiles pointed out. “Are
you taking that back?”
“I should,” Derek replied. But he picked up the pen and wrote down the clause.
Stiles considered for a bit while Derek wrote, then asked, “What sort of things
normally go in these contracts?”
“Now you ask what’s normal,” Derek muttered, before answering, “There are
standard clauses that are always in there about how the alpha isn’t obligated
to make you a werewolf, or how you’re not obligated to accept if the alpha
offers. Stuff about how we’ll feed you while you’re here and take care of any
medical bills if you get sick, that sort of thing. Those will be in the
contract regardless. And usually there’s a clause that says you’re not allowed
to have sex with anyone except me without my permission.”
“OK, that can go in, but it should go both ways. You shouldn’t get to have sex
with other people without my permission.”
“Seems fair,” Derek said, writing it down.
“What else is normal?”
“Some people put in rules about dress and behaviour,” he shot Stiles a critical
look, “but clearly we’re not going to have a problem with you dressing
inappropriately.”
“I’m wearing pants, aren’t I?”
“Was not wearing pants an option?”
“I thought about it, but given that I was here to audition as a sex toy, I
figured clothes was a better choice. Of course if I’d known you were turned on
by old hoodies and falling apart trainers, I might have reconsidered.”
“Well, we’ll have plenty of opportunity to see how pantsless compares,” said
Derek. Stiles wondered if he was blushing. He hoped he wasn’t blushing, but
Derek was talking about having sex with him. This wasn’t just an exercise to
get out of the party, he was actually planning on having sex with him. And this
was freaking Stiles out a little.
“How long do these contracts last?” Stiles asked.
“It depends. Some packs put a time limit on it – a month, six months, a year –
but most leave it open ended so that either party can call and end to it when
they think it’s run its course. I was assuming we’d do that, if you’re OK with
it.”
“Sounds good,” said Stiles. He thought a bit while Derek wrote that down on his
list, and then said, “So does this mean I could accept being your consort, sign
the contract, and then thirty seconds later declare that I’ve decided to end
the arrangement? Then you’d have picked someone and it would all be nice and
legal, so you wouldn’t be able to pick someone else.”
“You would be legally within your right to do so, but it would be a huge
embarrassment to the pack and Peter would be furious. He’d probably make it his
mission in life to destroy you and everything you love. It wouldn’t be worth
it. If you don’t want to go through with this, say no before you sign anything.
You can walk out of this room right now if you want and Peter never even needs
to know I asked you.”
Stiles actually thought it over. Here he was faced with the possibility of vast
quantities of sex with a ridiculously hot werewolf, and he thought about
leaving. He wasn’t sure if that was a sign of sense or insanity. But Derek was
here offering him choices and making promises that would be legally binding in
a contract, and Stiles would have the right to walk away at any time. Derek
wasn’t like the alpha. And he’d even apologised for the chastity cage thing,
even though it was the alpha who’d been behind that idea and so he should be
the one who was apologising.
“Derek,” he said, “how about another clause in the contract that states that
your alpha has to publicly apologise to us all for putting chastity devices on
us?”
“Peter will hate you,” Derek said.
“Enough to destroy everything I love?”
“No, just his usual levels of hate.” Derek was grinning as he said it, and he
wrote down the clause at the bottom of his list. The thought sparked off
another in Stiles’ mind.
“What if there’s a penalty clause for if he tries anything like this again?”
Stiles asked. “Like, if he tries to control my genitals, he has to pay me, I
dunno, a hundred thousand bucks?”
“Make it a million. A nice round figure. Plus, he’d have to cash in his
investments or sell of a bunch of antiques to get that amount of money, so it
would really hurt him.”
“OK then, a million, but half of the money to come to me, and half to go to a
charity for supporting rape victims.”
Derek smiled wickedly at that, writing hurriedly.
“He is going to hate you,” he said.
It was strangely comforting to know that that was the reason Derek was doing
this. Because astonishingly hot guys didn’t just jump into bed with Stiles. If
they did, he wouldn’t be here. Derek had picked Stiles because he hadn’t wanted
this party and picking Stiles would make his alpha mad. Derek would get to
annoy his alpha, Stiles would get some hot sex, and then he’d never have to
worry about being eligible for one of these parties ever again. At least this
way, Stiles didn’t have to look for the catch.
“Any other clauses to include in the contract?” Derek asked. “Should I be
putting in something about a unicorn?”
“No, unicorns are generally only friendly with virgins and that won’t be much
help once we sign the contract,” Stiles said with a wink. Derek just rolled his
eyes. He wasn’t sure if Derek was amused, annoyed, or both at the same time.
Either way, he stood up from the desk, taking the piece of paper with him.
“So what happens now?” Stiles asked. “Do we sign?”
“No, this needs to be written up with the right wording. Then I have to offer
in front of the alpha and you have to accept and we all sign, including Peter.
It’s got to be official.”
Stiles made a face at that. Official probably meant formal and in front of
everyone, which wasn’t his thing. He wasn’t sure he needed everyone at school
to know that he was going to be fucked by Derek. Although it might do wonders
for his reputation.
The study door was pushed open fully and Stiles spun towards the movement. He
recognised the man standing there of course, but it was still disconcerting to
find himself right in front of the alpha of the Hale pack. Peter looked younger
than Stiles expected. He’d assumed that all the photos of Peter were old ones,
since werewolves didn’t generally photograph well, but this guy didn’t look
that much older than Derek. His eyes flicked towards Stiles for a moment then
he turned his entire attention towards Derek, apparently forgetting that Stiles
existed even as he stood there.
“Derek,” he said, “you should be at the party talking with eligible
candidates.”
“I’ve already made my decision,” Derek said. “Peter, this is Stiles. He and I
were just discussing the terms of the contract.”
Peter looked back at Stiles. His eyes started at the floor and took in the
length of Stiles’ body all the way to his face, then he turned back to Derek
with a look that managed to combine distain, dismissal and annoyance all in one
efficient expression.
“Really?” Peter asked.
“Yes, really. I was just on my way to find you to get you to put these clauses
in the official contract.” Derek held the piece of paper over to Peter. Peter
took it. Stiles stood there, twitching nervously, wondering if he ought to be
taking cover. Or maybe trying to escape while he still had the chance.
“Dragons?” Peter asked.
“They’re hypothetical dragons,” Derek said. “The contract will still be valid
even if no dragons ever materialise.”
“That’s the most ridiculous clause I’ve ever heard being incl-,” Peter stopped.
He’d apparently found a more ridiculous clause. He turned back to Stiles, who
fidgeted his fingers at his sides and wondered if werewolves could smell fear.
Stiles fought the urge to hide behind a bookcase.
“I take it these clauses are your idea?” Peter asked.
“No, I love the idea of having a complete stranger take my dick hostage so he
can get attendance for his party.”
Peter turned back to Derek. Stiles was immensely grateful for being dismissed
from his attention.
“Is this a joke?” Peter asked.
“No. Stiles is my choice and he’s agreed.”
“You haven’t even met any of the other candidates.”
“You told me I had to pick a consort. I picked a consort. Are you going to sort
out the contract or not?”
Derek stared at Peter. Peter stared at Derek. Stiles wondered if they were
going to sprout claws and fangs and just rip each other to shreds. Then Peter
smiled.
“I will get to work on the contract,” he said, “but it will take a little time
to finalise the wording of these unusual clauses. In the meantime, you should
go to the party. It would not be sensible to settle on a final choice without
talking to every single one of the other potential choices.”
“Every single one?” Derek said.
“Yes. And more than three words to each one, Derek. I expect you to exchange
whole sentences with every boy at this party.”
“Just get the contract ready.”
Derek walked around Peter and hooked a hand around Stiles’ elbow. As he was
being led out of the room, Stiles realised that this was the first physical
between them aside from a handshake. It was a little disconcerting to realise
that they could be having sex in a few hours and this was the only touch they’d
shared.
Out in the corridor, a little way from the door, Derek stopped and asked
quietly, “Are you OK?”
Stiles nodded. He was nervous but it was more excitement now. Peter had seemed
angry, but it had been directed at Derek and not at him.
“We shouldn’t go back in together,” Derek said. “You go through the front way
and I’ll come in through another door. I probably won’t talk to you for a bit
if I have to talk to everyone else at the party.”
“That’s fine,” Stiles said.
Derek’s hand was still on Stiles’ arm, warm and strong. Stiles couldn’t help
but think where else those hands might go later.
“If you change your mind,” Derek said, “tell me so I can actually pay attention
to the people I’m talking to.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
Derek lent forward and his lips brushed against Stiles’, just for a moment.
There was a fleeting instant of contact, soft as a butterfly’s wings against
his mouth. Then Derek turned and walked away.
***** Chapter 3 *****
Stiles went back past the bathroom and into the entrance hall. The waiter was
still there holding his tray of sparkling apple juice. He met Stiles’ eye and
held out a glass towards him. There was no one else in sight and the guy’s arm
was probably getting tired from holding up the tray, so Stiles went to help
lighten his load.
“There’s a door in the corner behind the buffet table,” the guy said in a
whisper. “It leads down to the kitchens, but there are a couple of storage
rooms on the way. No one should be going in there tonight.”
Stiles was confused for a moment, then realised that this guy had seen him head
off to the bathroom ages ago. He probably figured Stiles had social anxiety or
just really didn’t want to be here, so he was offering advice on places to hide
out.
“Thanks, man,” Stiles said, “but I’ll be OK now.”
“Alright. You just remember it if you need it.” Then he said a little louder,
“Have a nice night, sir.”
“You too,” Stiles said, and headed into the ballroom with his glass of juice.
There was a band in the corner working their way through the greatest hits of
inoffensive pop. The music wasn’t bad, but it could easily be ignored, which
was probably part of the point. No one was bothering with dancing now, and the
room was filled with awkward and uncomfortable guys standing in little clusters
making awkward and uncomfortable conversation. Or flocking around the buffet
table.
Stiles decided that was his best option. Peter was a jerk so Stiles might as
well attempt to eat him out of house and home. Stiles grabbed a plate and
started loading it up with fingers sandwiches and miscellaneous nibbles. There
were several things on the table that Stiles couldn’t identify but he was
willing to bet they were probably posh, expensive things he’d never get the
chance to eat again, so he loaded up his plate with them anyway.
“Bilinski, where the hell did you disappear to?” Trevor asked, appearing at
Stiles’ side and making him jump. A pastry ball thing rolled off Stiles’ plate
onto the floor. Stiles quickly kicked it under the buffet table.
“Bathroom,” Stiles said. Trevor gave him an odd look.
“You need to see a doctor,” he said. Stiles shrugged and stuck a mini pie into
his mouth whole and then tried to figure out how to chew it.
“Derek Hale hasn’t arrived yet,” Trevor went on. “My guess is that the rest of
the pack is filtering out the no-hopers,” Trevor glanced at Stiles’ outfit as
he spoke, “so that Derek knows who to target when he does arrive. The others
have been in an out.”
“What are they like?” Stiles asked, around his mouthful of pie, since he
figured he’d be spending time with them soon. He hoped they weren’t all like
Peter.
“Good thinking,” Trevor said. “You know you don’t have a shot with Derek so you
aim for one of the others. After all, they still might want a consort.” He
looked at Stiles’ clothes again. “You might have a shot with Malia. She doesn’t
seem particularly formal.” He leaned in closer and added in a whisper, “Plus
she’s Peter’s kid, even if Derek is the official heir.”
He said all this like he was passing on secret conspiracies.
“I wasn’t actually thinking any of that,” Stiles said.
“Oh. Right. Of course not. Ah, there he is.”
Trevor left Stiles’ side instantly. Derek had walked in through a small door
near the band. Trevor cut across the hall like he had a homing device, pausing
only to grab a couple of glasses from a passing waiter on his way. Stiles
shoved his mouth with a star shaped cracker cover in little black blobs he
guessed were caviar. He’d never tried caviar before.
A moment later, he decided he’d never try caviar again. He put a hand over his
mouth and looked around for somewhere to discretely spit it out when a
beautiful, dark-haired girl walked up to him. She was staring at Derek, who was
currently being smoozed by Trevor. Trevor had a hand on Derek’s arm and was
smiling and laughing in a way that was obviously flirting even from the other
side of the ballroom.
“Do you think he has to buy special slime to ooze like that or is it natural?”
the girl asked. There were almost no females in the room except for the waiting
staff. She had to be a werewolf, one of Derek’s pack.
Stiles swallowed down the caviar.
“I think it’s a god-given talent,” Stiles said.
“Core Hale,” she said, offering her hand. Stiles wiped disgusting caviar off
his fingers. He shook.
“Stiles Stilinski.”
“So how did you get your claws into my brother so fast?” There was something
hard in her tone, not quite an accusation but not far off. Suspicion lurked
behind her eyes.
“I picked the same hiding place as him,” Stiles said.
She nodded, a little of her harshness melting away. “You’re in a building full
of werewolves,” she said. “If you want to hide, the only place you can really
do it is down near the kitchens because the food masks your scent.
Unfortunately, Derek figured out that was my hiding place when I was five.”
“Do you have to hide from him often?”
“No. These days it’s usually him hiding. Speaking of, I should probably go
rescue him.”
She slipped away, heading across to Derek. Trevor was firmly latched onto one
arm, smiling broadly as he talked. Derek was giving only nods in response, his
face locked into one of sullenness. It was hard to believe that Derek was the
predator in this room.
Stiles was getting a little warm in the room, so he pulled off his hoody,
hanging it over one arm until a passing waitress offered to take it to the
cloakroom. Stiles let her take it and turned his attention back to the buffet
table, inspecting the selection more carefully this time to avoid any traces of
caviar.
“I like these things,” said a voice beside him. Stiles turned and saw Isaac
Lahey there. He wasn’t the quiet, shy kid Stiles was used to though. The
werewolf bite had clearly agreed with him. He hadn’t lost the adorable curls,
but he had a confidence now that turned his look into something new. Stiles
hadn’t really spoken to him since he had taken the bite, but now Isaac was
cheerfully reaching across the buffet and grabbing a handful of the little
pastry balls.
“I’ve no idea what’s in them. I think it might be crab. But they’re delicious.”
Stiles grabbed one.
“So how’ve you been?” he asked.
“Good. You?”
“Aside from your alpha blackmailing me into being here, I’m good.”
He tried the pastry ball thing. It was filled with a creamy, fishy paste thing
that could well be crab. Maybe. Stiles wasn’t sure so he grabbed another one to
try. It was nice, but he couldn’t quite define the flavour. He frowned at the
thing.
“Hmm?” he said.
“I know, right!” said Isaac.
“Don’t you guys have super sensitive senses? Can’t you just take what sniff and
decide what’s in these things?”
“I’ve tried. Maybe they’re some incredibly rare shellfish which I’ve never
tried before than just happens to taste a bit like crab.”
He grabbed another one, tasting it carefully as he ate. At this rate, they were
going to go through the entire plate and still not know what was in them.
Stiles looked across the room to where Derek was chatting with a cluster of
three guys. Stiles recognised one of them from Beacon Hills High School, but
the other two presumably went to another school. Derek didn’t look quite as
uncomfortable as when he’d been flirted at by Trevor but he still looked like
he’d rather be hiding in the study.
Stiles wondered if he would find someone he’d rather be with. It wouldn’t be
the end of the world if he did. After all, Stiles had come here not wanting to
be picked, so he could hardly complain if he ended up not being picked. And it
wasn’t like he could be offended or jealous since he knew Derek was only
picking him to make his alpha angry. If Derek found someone he actually wanted
to be with as a consort that would probably be a good thing.
But Stiles was wondering what Derek’s ridiculously hot werewolf body looked
like under that tight t-shirt. If Derek picked someone else, Stiles would spend
the rest of his life wondering what it would have been like to have sex with
him. Right now though, he was wondering when the hell he could get this damn
cage off because it was starting to feel snug again.
“Down boy,” Isaac muttered.
“Damn it,” Stiles muttered. “Stupid, werewolf sense of smell.” Isaac grinned.
Stiles grabbed a possibly crab thing and shoved it in Isaac’s mouth.
Across the hall, Derek turned to look at them. It was only for a moment, but
Stiles had a suspicion Derek knew what was going on anyway. But he was all the
way across the room. How the hell could he know what was going on in Stiles’
pants?
***
Stiles was pounced on by the entire pack at various points while Derek made his
rounds. Erica was the most interesting point of the evening. She spent about
five minutes explaining to Stiles that she’d had a huge crush on him for a
while but been too nervous to tell him about it. She said all this while
leaning in close and wearing a tight, leather outfit that left nothing to the
imagination. Stiles kept his eyes locked on hers for the entire conversation
while she talked about how it was such a shame he was going to be Derek’s but
maybe she could persuade him to share. Apparently that sort of thing was pretty
common.
Stiles was seriously considering the waiter’s suggestion of finding a hiding
place when Derek came over on the pretence of grabbing some food from the
buffet table. He growled at Erica to leave Stiles alone. Literally growled.
Stiles wasn’t sure if it was Derek being jealous or just him trying to protect
him from Erica’s evil seductions. Either way, he appreciated it, but Derek
could only nod at him and then he had to get back to talking to every guy in
the room. His progress kept being impeded by Trevor, who seemed determined to
find every possible opening to get a conversation going with Derek.
The easiest conversation Stiles had all evening was with Boyd. Boyd walked up
to him, nodded, and said, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Stiles said back. They stood side by side for about half a minute and
then Boyd wandered off again.
After a while, Trevor returned, having been separated from Derek once again.
“I think it’s going well,” he announced. “I’m pretty sure I’ve made an
impression with Derek.”
“I really think you have,” Stiles agreed. Trevor smiled and took that as a
compliment.
“Plus, his sister keeps talking to me. I think she’s really into me. I know,
she’s not the heir and I should keep my focus, but she’s a lot more my type.”
“Your type?”
“You know. Female. Definitely easier to get it up for her than for Derek.”
Stiles stared at Trevor. “You’ve been trying to get hired as Derek’s sex
partner all evening and you’re not even into guys?”
“Hey, he’s the heir of the Hale pack. That transcends preferences.”
Stiles didn’t have words to express what he thought about Trevor right then.
The guy was willing to do anything to get an in with the pack. Cora had
described him as slimy and Stiles could see the point. He was half tempted to
tell Trevor that Cora’s only interest in him had been acting as interference to
give Derek a chance to escape.
Stiles hadn’t been noticing the band’s music but he noticed the sudden silence.
He turned in that direction, as did just about everyone else, and saw Peter
Hale moving to stand behind the singer’s microphone. He smiled pleasantly at
the assembled teens, but Stiles was more focused on the sheets of paper and pen
held in his left hand.
“I’d like to thank you all for attending,” he said, “and I hope you are
enjoying the party. As you are all aware, there is a purpose to this party. I
know my nephew has been talking to you and I’m sure he’s met a great many
wonderful people tonight but he can only make a single choice. Derek, please
join me.”
Derek walked across the room. All eyes were on him, but Stiles was aware of
Trevor twitching with nervous anticipation beside him.
“Have you made a choice?” Peter asked. Derek nodded and so Peter stepped aside,
yielding the microphone up to him. Derek stood in front of it.
“I’ve chosen,” he said, “Stiles Stilinski.”
Stiles was aware of murmurs of surprise and relief from around the room, and
Trevor’s confused mutter of, “Stiles?” beside him. The party guests looked
around, searching him out, and then finally turned to stare at him. Stiles
began to wonder if this was such a good idea. His mouth went dry with nerves,
but he forced his feet to start moving. He walked across the room towards Derek
and the people parted to let him through, still staring. He could almost read
their thoughts in their faces: what the hell would Derek see in him?
It seemed to take forever but eventually Stiles was standing in front of Derek
and Peter. They could probably smell him sweating through his t-shirt. His
fingers twitched at his side despite his best efforts to keep them still.
“Do you accept the position as Derek’s consort?” Peter asked. There was not the
slightest trace of distain in Peter’s voice; he must be one hell of an actor.
“I do,” Stiles said, then realised that sounded way too much like a marriage
vow and he instantly wished he could go back and reword it. But Peter just
nodded.
“We must make this official with the signing of the contract,” he said. He held
out the sheets of paper.
Stiles looked at them carefully. The language was more formal, starting with a
basic description about how this was a contract between a human and werewolf,
explaining that a consort was expected to be a sexual companion. Then it got
down to the rules of the relationship, which contained all the clauses Derek
and Stiles had discussed in the library, including the one about being able to
call this off at any time. And the one about dragons.
Stiles took the pen. He used a music stand that one of the band had been using,
and he signed his name in the section for consort. Then he handed the pen to
Derek, who signed. Finally, Peter signed as the alpha and witness to the
contract.
Stiles realised his hands were shaking. He was now officially the consort of a
werewolf. What the hell had he been thinking?
Peter stepped back in front of the microphone, “Thank you, everyone, for
attending. I apologise that my method of ensuring continued viability of all
candidates may have seemed intrusive to some of you. I felt it was necessary to
uphold the fine traditions of this practice and to ensure as wide a group of
candidates as possible, but I understand that some of you might have felt
imposed on, and I apologise for that. Now, you are welcome to stay and enjoy
the party, but if you wish to leave, there are a number of medical staff
waiting out in the entrance hall who can remove the chastity devices. Thank you
and goodnight.”
He stepped away from the microphone. Stiles’ nerves had been replaced with
anger.
“That was the weakest apology I’ve ever heard,” he muttered. He hadn’t intended
to say it out loud but when Peter turned to him, he decided he might as well
continue. “You were apologising that they felt bad, not actually apologising
for what you did.”
“Your clause stated I had to make a public apology,” Peter said. “Nowhere did
you specify that you had to be satisfied with my apology.” He smiled.
Stiles hated him more then than when he’d read the stupid letter about this
party. Before he could say or do anything stupid, a hand closed around his
shoulder. Derek’s hand. Stiles wasn’t sure if it was meant as a gentle reminder
that he wasn’t alone, or to physically restrain him if he decided to launch
himself at Peter. Either way, he stopped.
“I need to file this,” Peter said. He turned away with the contract. Stiles
just stood and glared after him, so he saw when Trevor slimed his way up to
Peter’s side.
“Good evening, Mr Hale,” Trevor said. “I just wanted to thank you for this
wonderful party and for the opportunity you offered us. I’m just disappointed
that I won’t be able to serve the pack myself.”
Stiles made a gagging noise in his throat and turned to Derek, who rolled his
eyes a little. His hand was still on Stiles’ shoulder. It seemed like a
promise.
“I’ve got a couple of things to sort out,” Derek said. “Will you be OK down
here for a minute or so?”
“Sure. No problem.”
“OK. I’ll get one of the pack to show you upstairs.”
Stiles nodded, his mouth dry again. Upstairs. To Derek’s room. Where they were
going to have sex. Derek smiled and walked away.
Stiles stood there awkwardly and realised that Trevor was still talking with
Peter. Peter was actually smiling at Trevor and Stiles wondered if Peter would
have preferred him as the choice of consort.
“It would be impossible for me to take a consort,” Peter was saying, “but there
are other options open to us. However, it would be indelicate for me to make
such arrangements tonight. This is Derek’s big night.”
“Of course, sir. I quite understand.”
Peter walked away and Trevor turned to Stiles, his grin so wide it looked like
it might split his face in two.
“I have no idea how you got Derek to pick you,” Trevor said, “but it looks like
I’ve landed the alpha.”
“This isn’t a fishing competition,” Stiles said.
“Says you. And how come he called you Stilinski?”
“It’s my name.”
“Then why didn’t you ever correct me when I called you Bilinski?”
“I thought you were just being a jerk.”
Cora chose that moment to appear, arriving at Stiles’ side so suddenly and
silently that Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Hey,” she said. “I’m going to show you upstairs.”
“Right. Thanks.”
Stiles was glad to leave Trevor behind and the horde of staring people who were
looking at him like they were trying to get the punchline of the joke. On the
other hand, his feelings were decidedly mixed about the concept of going to the
room where he was going to be deflowered by a werewolf. In the pro column, he
was about to have sex. In the con column, he was going to have contractually
obligated sex because of some archaic ritual perpetrated by the alpha of the
pack who Stiles loathed with every fibre of his being. But having sex with
Derek would annoy Peter and that was definitely another point in the pro
column.
Cora led Stiles out through a side door and into a corridor that was hung with
portraits of various former alphas. Stiles tried to keep track of the route,
but this place was a maze, with doorways hidden in panelling and mirrors
designed to look like doorways and other tricks that he was sure existed to
keep new consorts from attempting to make an escape. He could be trapped in
here for weeks.
Cora must have noticed his rising panic, because she turned to him with a smile
and said, “It’s OK. Derek’s nice. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“Thanks,” Stiles said.
She reached a door and opened it up for him. She gestured him inside but didn’t
cross the threshold herself.
“The bathroom’s through there,” she pointed at a door on the far wall. “There’s
towels and stuff if you want to get cleaned up. Derek will be up in a minute.”
“Thanks,” Stiles said again. He walked into the room and heard the click of the
door closing behind him.
The bedroom was huge. It was furnished almost like a whole apartment, with
chairs and coffee table, drawers, desk and table, bookshelves, but the main
feature was the bed, which was a ridiculously massive four-poster made of iron
and covered in red bedclothes. There were towels folded neatly on the end of
the bed, along with a plush bathrobe and a little plastic pouch containing a
bunch of toiletries and even a disposable razor.
Out of curiosity, Stiles went to the bathroom door and looked inside. He wasn’t
at all surprised to find it equally ridiculous. There were two sinks. Who the
hell needed two sinks? And the bath was a hot tub Jacuzzi thing that could
easily fit four people. He considered the shower, wondering if that was the
polite thing to do. He wondered about Cora’s comment on cleaning up. Were the
toiletries a hint? Was that their way of saying that he stank to werewolf
senses? Or were they just being polite and giving him this stuff because he’d
be expected to stay the night?
A new spark of panic rushed through Stiles. He reached into his pocket and
pulled out his phone. He called his dad.
“Stiles, is the party over?” his dad asked.
“Pretty much, yeah.”
“OK. I’ll see you at home in a bit.”
“Erm... actually... I’ll be staying the night here.”
“Staying the night?”
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I’ve... I’ve agreed to be Derek’s consort.”
There was a moment of silence, then his dad spoke, voice frantic and worried,
“Are you OK? Have you signed the contract yet?”
“Yeah. It’s all official.”
“Look, you’re allowed to say no. If they pressured you into this, if they
coerced you or refused to take that chastity thing off or something then
they’re in breach of the rules and we can get the contract declared void. You
don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. They have no right to make you
do this.”
“Dad, I’m fine, honestly,” Stiles said. He could understand why his dad was
freaking out. After all, his dad had seen him setting out for this party
furious with the whole pack and determined not to get chosen. This was a big
change and given Peter’s sneaky manipulations, he was obvious worried that
Stiles was being coerced again.
“Stiles, I’m coming to get you. Don’t do anything. I’ll figure this out. They
can’t pressure you into anything.”
“Dad, it’s fine. I’m fine. I agreed to this. My own free will. Plus I got to
put my own clauses in the contract about what is and isn’t acceptable and I can
say no at any time if Derek wants to do something I don’t want to do and I can
end the contract and walk away if he turns out to be a jerk. I didn’t just sign
my life away. I’m good. I just didn’t want you to worry about me. I’ll be home
tomorrow and we can talk about what happened.”
“Are you sure?”
“Dad, how many times do I need to tell you I’m fine?”
“You’re really fine?”
“Yes!”
Stiles was pacing around the big bedroom and his meandering path turned him to
face the door. Derek was standing watching him.
“I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Be careful.”
“I will. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
Stiles hung up and pocketed the phone. Derek just stood there in the doorway.
“Sorry about that,” Stiles said. “My dad’s freaking out a little bit. He knew I
didn’t want to be here and now here I am agreeing to be your consort. He’s
worried that your alpha might be up to his tricks again.”
“Do you want to go talk to him?” Derek asked. “You’re allowed to go home; you
put in the contract and everything. We don’t have to rush this tonight. You can
sort things out with your dad and we can...” he paused, “tomorrow. Or later.
Whenever you feel right.”
“The word you were missing there was sex,” Stiles said. “You’re willing to
steal my precious virginity but you won’t even say the word?”
Stiles didn’t bother to hide his amusement at that. Derek looked away, clearly
a little embarrassed, and deflected the subject back.
“Your dad?” he asked.
“I’ve told my dad I won’t be home tonight. I’m staying. I’m ready to do this.”
“OK. Good thing I got this then,” Derek said. He reached into a pocket and came
out with a tiny key. Stiles had no doubt what that thing unlocked.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     The first of many NSFW scenes. We get back to plot about half way
     through this chapter.
They stood staring at each other for at least a minute. Neither moved. Derek
had the key in his hand.
“Should I,” Stiles started, then said, “How do you want to do this? Should I
just get the key and unlock it myself.”
“It’ll be easier if I do it,” Derek said. “Easier to... um... see.”
“OK then.” He stood there a moment more until Derek raised an eyebrow. “Oh.
Right. I need to lose the pants then, don’t I?”
“It would make it easier.” Derek’s tone was perfectly dead-pan. Stiles wasn’t
sure whether it was sarcasm or serious.
Stiles kicked off his shoes and undid his pants, pushing them and his briefs
down and stepping out of them. He felt self-conscious, but Derek would be
seeing him naked soon enough. Derek acted as though this was perfectly normal
and crouched down in front of Stiles, fitting the key into some hidden hole
beneath the cage. It took Derek a few moments, his fingers brushing against
Stiles’ balls as he worked, then something clicked and Derek unfastened the
cage. He unlocked the waistband and the whole hideous contraption fell away.
Stiles wasn’t sure if it was Derek’s fingers, or just the fact he’d spent the
last few days locked up thinking about sex but unable to get release, but he
was half-hard in an instant. Derek looked up at him with a quirk of a smile and
Stiles waited for him to make a blow job joke. Stiles couldn’t help but wonder
what it would be like to feel that mouth. That thought sent more blood rushing
southwards, half-hard rapidly becoming fully erect. His mind filled with
imagined outcomes of tonight.
“Somebody’s eager,” Derek commented. He ran a finger up Stiles’ erection.
Stiles shuddered and gave a cry that was more distress than anything else, and
he shot his load in Derek’s face.
Stiles couldn’t move. He just stood there, sure his face was turning scarlet,
while Derek blinked through streams of cum with a surprised expression on his
face. Stiles wondered if Derek would be upset. If he’d send Stiles away and
request a new consort, someone who didn’t shoot his load before they’d even
started, before he was even fully undressed. This was probably the most
humiliating moment of Stiles’ life.
Derek just stood, peeled off a cum-splattered t-shirt and used it to wipe his
face. He didn’t seem angry. He seemed amused. In Stiles’ mind, that was
probably worse. Derek would start laughing at him for this and decide he didn’t
want to share his bed with someone who had so little self-control. Stiles saw
Derek’s bared chest and decided that if Derek had taken his shirt off earlier,
he’d probably had come the second Derek took the cage off.
“How long were you in that thing?” Derek asked, prodding the chastity cage with
his foot.
“Three days,” Stiles said.
“Three days of chastity put you on a hair trigger?”
“I think the fact that I’m sixteen probably put me on a hair trigger already.
Plus you’re very hot. Really, you should take this as a complement.”
“I prefer my complements a little less sticky.”
“I’m sorry.”
“At least now we can take things slowly without worrying you’ll explode.”
Derek seemed quite calm about the whole thing. He stripped off his pants
efficiently, revealing strong, muscled legs that matched his chiselled abs and
sculpted arms. He peeled off boxers and Stiles saw he was already half-hard
though he didn’t seem to be heading for the same embarrassment as Stiles.
Derek reached out across the void of mortification and caught the bottom of
Stiles’ t-shirt. He hesitated a moment, perhaps waiting for Stiles to protest,
and then lifted it up. Stiles raised his arms to let Derek pull the shirt off.
Stiles then bent down and pulled his socks off because otherwise he felt even
more ridiculous. Then they stood there, naked and studying each other.
Stiles wondered if this was supposed to be romantic or arousing. The most
overwhelming emotion right now was a sense of awkwardness and it seemed to be
mirrored in Derek. Neither of them knew what to say or do. Derek at least took
the initiative. He reached out again and put his hands on Stiles’ arms,
stroking up and down slightly. In a weird way, it felt more intimate than the
fingers on his cock had earlier. Derek let those fingers trace up and down
gently, while Stiles stood there and wondered what he should be doing with his
own hands.
“Let’s move to the bed,” Derek suggested. And it was a suggestion. Stiles
almost wished Derek would just tell him what to do. He knew Derek was probably
trying to be gentle and make sure he was alright, but Stiles had no idea what
he was doing here and he was reminded of that fact by Derek phrasing things in
such a way as to give Stiles a choice.
Still, Stiles went along with the suggestion. He moved to the bed and sat down
on its edge next to Derek. Derek kept a hand on him, moving in soft circles on
Stiles’ back. It was strange that someone so powerful could give such a gentle
caress.
“May I kiss you?” Derek asked.
Stiles didn’t trust his mouth to make the right words, so he just nodded a
little and leaned in. Derek leaned the rest of the way and their lips met in a
kiss that was soft and yielding. There was the same gentleness. This wasn’t
some predatory act of sex, but a delicate sharing of feelings. Stiles reached
out a hand and cupped Derek’s hip, urging them closer together.
Each moment of the kiss was drawn out, taking their time to get to where they
were going. That destination now appeared in the corners of Stiles’ mind as
whispered possibilities, bringing with it a sense of anticipation. He twisted
round a little further so he could bring his other hand into play, his fingers
tracing the contours of Derek’s stomach, the lines of his arms, then down to
stroke the strong muscles of his thigh.
Derek moaned a little into Stiles’ mouth and brought his own hand down to
mirror the gestures, stroking Stiles’ thigh gently. He brought his fingers
towards the rising heat at Stiles’ groin, and then away again, each time
teasing him with closeness only to take it away again.
Derek pulled away from the kiss and shift further onto the bed, urging Stiles
around and after him. Stiles let himself be led. He soon lay on his back in the
middle of the huge bed, with Derek half beside him, and half on top, his hands
either side of Stiles’ shoulders. Derek leaned down, but the kiss this time was
to Stiles’ neck. He kissed and nuzzled underneath Stiles’ ear and a shiver ran
straight to Stiles’ groin, where his penis was endeavouring to make up for
earlier.
Stiles hadn’t guessed his neck was so sensitive, but now the actions of Derek’s
mouth there seemed directly connected to Stiles’ arousal. Stiles gave a little
groan, wrapping an arm around Derek’s back as though to hold him there forever.
Derek shifted sideways a little, legs astride Stiles’, his body lying almost on
top of Stiles’. He kept up those kisses to the neck, but moved a hand lower,
leaving some of his weight resting on Stiles’ chest. His hand wrapped around
two erections at once and Stiles’ gave a strangled cry at the touch.
That hand moved slowly, too slowly. Stiles writhed on the bed, trying to get
into rhythm with it, trying to move faster.
He urged Derek faster, but he wasn’t sure if the words ever left his mouth or
if he just thought them loudly. He wove fingers into Derek’s hair and breathed
in frantic gasps as Derek finally gave in to Stiles’ urging and pumped them
both over the edge.
Stiles came for a second time that night and then collapsed boneless onto the
bed. Derek rolled onto his back beside Stiles.
When Stiles’ higher mental faculties came back online, he wondered how to voice
his thought without it sounding incredibly rude.
“That’s not what I was expecting,” he said. “I figured you’d want to, you know,
pin me to the bed and fuck me.”
“Plenty of time for that,” Derek said. “Unless you’re planning on ending the
contract tomorrow, in which case, give me half an hour and we’ll go for round
two. Even werewolves need time to keep up with sixteen year old boys with hair
triggers.”
“No, I’m not planning on calling it off. Unless you’re a jerk to me.”
“Then we can build up to that. Not being a jerk. That other thing...”
“Yeah, I got it,” Stiles said. Derek really did have difficulty saying the
words.
The mattress shifted and Derek stood up. Stiles wondered if he'd done something
wrong. Maybe he had offended Derek with that question, or implying he was a
jerk. Stiles just didn’t have the energy to move.
Derek returned a moment later with a damp washcloth and started wiping up the
sticky white trails that decorated Stiles’ chest. Stiles tried to take the
cloth, but Derek gently battered his hand away and continued cleaning Stiles, a
soft and dreamy look on his face. He went back to the bathroom. Stiles lay
there on the bed, listening to water run and then the flush of the toilet. When
Derek returned this time, he presented Stiles with the pouch of toiletries.
“Brush your teeth,” Derek instructed.
Stiles obeyed, climbing from the bed and heading for the big bathroom. He
didn’t dare ask whether this was just Derek being a stickler for dental hygiene
or if it was a criticism of Stiles’ kisses. Either way, Stiles cleaned his
teeth, relieved himself, and then gave himself another quick wash. He headed
back to the bedroom to find Derek standing awkwardly next to the big bed. The
covers were pulled down in obvious invitation.
“You said you wanted your own room,” Derek said. “If you want to sleep
somewhere private, I can show you somewhere.”
Stiles was feeling tired. Besides, given what he and Derek had just done, a
private room seemed unnecessary. He crossed over to the bed and climbed in,
tucking the covers up around him.
He felt the mattress shift as Derek got in, but the bed was big enough that
they didn’t touch. Stiles lay on his side with his back to Derek, and waited
for sleep to wash this confusion away.
***
Stiles was woken by a hand gently shaking him.
“Hey,” he complained. Then he opened his eyes and saw Derek standing beside the
bed wearing nothing but a towel, his hair standing up in damp spikes.
“Hey,” Stiles said again, in an entirely different tone.
“Your dad’s downstairs,” Derek said. That threw a bucket of cold water over
Stiles’ early morning thoughts. He sat up.
“What?”
“Cora just told me. I don’t know about you, but I plan on wearing clothes when
I go down and talk to him.”
“Right. Clothes. Clothes are good.”
Stiles hurried into the bathroom for what might qualify as the fastest shower
of his life. That was something of a shame, since the water pressure in Derek’s
shower was amazing and the toiletry pack he’d been provided included some posh,
lemon-scented shampoo. Stiles then went and ruined his fruit-basket scent by
pulling on the same clothes he’d worn yesterday. Derek was fully dressed and
waiting by the bedroom door. He looked nervous, like an animal that was
preparing to bolt.
“Maybe I should just let you talk to him first,” Derek said.
“You’re going to have to take me to him,” Stiles said, “because I will get lost
in this labyrinth you call a house.”
Derek led Stiles downstairs, all the while Stiles was thinking about how much
his dad must be freaking out. He’d told his dad he’d be home today and they’d
talk, but his dad had come here anyway. That meant either he didn’t believe
Stiles would be allowed to leave, or he was just too worried to wait the extra
hour or two for Stiles to go to him. Stiles wished he’d taken Derek up on his
offer to leave last night. He should have sorted things out with his dad before
anything else happened.
Cora was waiting for them at the bottom of the stairs. She told them that
Stiles’ dad was in the study and then she made herself scarce. Derek took
Stiles back to that same study they’d met in the evening before, only now
Stiles’ dad was sitting in an arm chair by the window, reading through a
document. He stood instantly as the two walked in and Stiles went over to him,
letting himself be hugged.
“I told you I was coming home today and we’d talk,” Stiles said. “You didn’t
need to come here.”
“I needed to make sure.”
“I told you about five times that I’m fine.”
“I needed to see.”
Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes, because it was kind of sweet that
his dad would react like this. It was also good to know that if he ever were in
danger of being raped by a pack of werewolves, his dad would come to his
rescue. But Stiles wasn’t sure how else to convince his dad he was fine,
particularly not standing in front of Derek, who was the whole reason his dad
had probably spent last night in sleepless worry.
Stiles turned to Derek and said, “I don’t suppose you’ve got coffee around
here?”
Derek took the hint, “I’ll go get some. You want some food as well?”
Stiles was somewhat hungry, which was almost a surprise after how many of those
possibly-crab things he’d eaten last night.
“A little bit of something,” he said. “But don’t go overboard. I expect I’ll be
going home very soon.”
“OK. I’ll be right back.”
Derek left them alone in the study. He might still be listening in, werewolf
hearing being what it was, but Stiles didn’t think he’d do that.
“Interesting contract,” Stiles’ dad said once they were alone. That was the
document he’d been reading.
“Well, when else am I going to have a chance to demand dragons?”
“I was thinking more of the last couple of clauses. Did you get Peter to
apologise?”
“Yeah, I did. I mean, it was a really lame apology but it was a public apology,
so he lived up to his end.”
“And you’re really OK about this?”
“Yeah. I’m still mad as hell with Peter, but Derek’s not Peter. And if he turns
out to be a jerk, I can always just call the whole thing off.”
“So you’re really OK?”
Stiles groaned, “I’m going to buy a parrot and train it to say, ‘I’m fine,’
over and over again to save me the trouble.”
His dad cracked a smile. “Alright, I take the hint. But if things stop being OK
for any reason, I want you to tell me.”
“Sure, Dad.”
His dad hugged him again. Twice in less than five minutes. That had to be proof
of how worried he’d been last night. Stiles really should have taken Derek up
on his offer to go and talk to his dad before they moved forward with their
arrangement. He wondered if it was guilt as well as worry, since his dad had
signed a consent form that had allowed that doctor to stick the cage on, even
if his dad had only thought he’d been signing a consent form for a brief
physical and an invitation for a party. His dad had probably spent the night
terrified that Stiles was being raped by werewolves and holding himself
responsible for it.
Although Stiles had to admit he was still fairly pissed off about the fact his
dad had signed the form without at least talking to him about it. The fact that
no one could have predicted Peter’s level of utter creepiness didn’t undermine
the principles of the thing.
Derek returned then with a tray of coffee and pastries. He set it down on the
desk.
“I wasn’t sure what you liked,” Derek said. “We have cereal, if you want that.
Or I could make something. I could scramble some eggs or... I dunno, whatever
you like.”
“You don’t have a full catering staff on site?” Stiles asked, grabbing a coffee
mug in one hand and an almond pastry with the other.
“No, that was just for last night. But I can still cook something. Something
basic anyway. Don’t ask for anything that’s in a foreign language.”
It was almost endearing how nervous he was. Stiles wasn’t sure if this was
because of Stiles or his dad. Maybe Derek wanted to prove that he could tend to
Stiles’ needs.
“This is fine,” Stiles said.
There were more mugs of coffee on the tray, so Stiles’ dad took one, though he
drank it in huge swallows like there was a race to get to the bottom of the
cup.
“So,” Stiles said, around mouthfuls of pastry, “I guess I should go home with
Dad. If nothing else, I should get some clean clothes. Should I come back here
later?”
“You can join us for dinner and then stay over,” Derek said. “Or join us for
dinner and then go back home, either way is good. Unless you’ve got stuff to do
for school. I don’t want to interfere.”
“How about you give me your phone number. Then I can go home and get started on
my homework and I can make my decision based on how much I get through. I can
text you later.”
“Perfect.”
Derek took Stiles’ phone and entered his number in it while Stiles finished off
his pastry. He texted himself so that they’d both have each other’s numbers.
Then Derek offered to show them out and there was an awkward moment on the
doorstep where Stiles wasn’t sure if he should kiss Derek and he thought Derek
was wondering the same thing. They parted with a handshake and Stiles went to
retrieve his jeep from where the valet had parked it round the side of the
house.
***** Chapter 5 *****
His dad got home first, but he was waiting in the hallway when Stiles walked
in.
“So, when you left here, you were pretty adamant you didn’t want to be a
consort.”
“Yeah, I know. I get why this might have freaked you out a bit.”
“How did he get you to change your mind?”
So Stiles told him the story. He explained about running away from the party
and meeting Derek also hiding from the party, and how he’d ranted about what
Peter had done.
“Derek had no idea about the whole chastity cage thing,” Stiles said.
“So he claims.”
“I believe him. He was very apologetic about the whole concept.”
“He might have just been saying that to lure you in.”
“There was no luring. He asked me if I’d want to have sex with him and then,
when I said yes, let me set the terms of the contract and gave me multiple
chances to back out before I signed.”
“He could still be using you.”
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “He’s using me for sex and to get back at his uncle for
forcing him into this situation. He’s been perfectly clear about that.”
“And you’re really OK about it?”
“If I wasn’t, I’d have told Derek last night.”
His dad nodded. He knew Stiles well enough that it seemed he had no trouble
believing that. Stiles suspected he would have to deal with his dad asking if
he was alright about a dozen times a day until Derek got bored with this
arrangement. Stiles didn’t think Derek would be a problem though. There were a
million little things about Derek’s attitude, his words, the way he’d checked
Stiles was OK about things, the way he’d talked about Stiles maybe wanting to
back out the next day like he wouldn’t have been at all upset if Stiles had
done just that. It all added up to a guy Stiles didn’t mind being with for
however long this took.
“Just remember,” his dad said, “you’re Derek’s consort. You signed the contract
to be with him. If any of the rest of the pack so much as touch you without
your permission, I can arrest them for sexual assault of a minor.”
“Awesome,” said Stiles. “And if it’s Peter, we get to collect half a million
dollars.”
His dad smirked, “I really liked that clause.”
“What can I say, I’m inventive when I’m pissed off.”
***
“So is it true?” Scott asked, the instant Stiles answered his ringing phone.
Stiles was up in his room, showered and in clean clothes and working his way
through a stack of homework. The homework might have been going better if he
his thoughts hadn’t kept drifting into thoughts of Derek naked and the promise
of going all the way. Did Stiles need to clean himself out or something? He
should probably do some research on this.
“Stiles?” Scott prompted.
“Yeah.”
“Well? Is it true?”
Scott sounded so intensely curious that Stiles couldn’t resist calmly
enquiring, “Is what true?”
“Are you Derek Hale’s consort?”
Stiles did his best to exude nonchalance down the phone and said, “Oh that.
Yeah, it’s true.” He aimed for a tone of voice that made it sound like being
picked as someone’s sexual partner was an everyday occurrence, even though the
fact he’d been eligible already proved that false.
“How the hell did this happen?” Scott asked.
“What I can say? Derek took one look at me and fell for my irresistible
charms.”
“What really happened?”
“I’m hurt,” Stiles protested. “If you imply that I don’t have irresistible
charms, you’re going to have to tear up your best friend card.”
“Can’t tear it up; it’s laminated. So what really happened? You didn’t go with
the plan to turn up naked, did you?”
So Stiles recounted the story again, sparing no detail. He talked about the
obnoxiousness of his clothing choices, the conversation with Derek, Peter’s
reaction, the way the pack had sought him out, even Trevor’s slimy attempts to
get chosen. Stiles stopped the story when he got to being in Derek’s bedroom,
and Scott seemed appropriately grateful for his tact.
“Oh crap,” Stiles muttered.
“What?” Scott sounded genuinely worried.
“I just realised I left my hoody at the Hale house. I guess it doesn’t matter.”
It was an old hoody anyway, rarely worn these days because of how tired it was.
Besides, he could pick it up some other time that he was over at that house,
which he guessed would be quite often.
“So what now?” Scott asked.
“Now, I finish up my homework so I can go back to Derek’s place for dinner and
steaming hot sex.”
“I regret asking.”
“What happens now is I act as Derek’s consort until he gets bored with the
arrangement and calls it off. Or until he acts like a jerk and I call it off.
Or until his uncle tries it on, in which case I collect half a million bucks
and then call it off.” Stiles considered. “I wonder if I could lure Peter into
sexually harassing me; it would be a serious boost to my college fund.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” Scott asked.
“As much as I ever do.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about.”
“I should go. I’ve still got two pages of history left and I’ve not even looked
at physics.”
“Just be careful around the werewolves.”
“No problem. See you.”
“See you.”
Stiles put the phone down and returned to his homework.
***
Stiles’ dad tried to argue Stiles into staying home for dinner and spending the
night in his own bed, but Stiles argued that the more time he spent with Derek,
the sooner Derek would get bored of him and call an end to the contract. It was
almost depressing that his dad didn’t even argue that point. He just assumed
that Derek would toss him aside sooner or later. Of course, that was the whole
point of the consort contract, that a werewolf could use a human for as long as
suited them. Still, it would be nice if his friends and family could at least
pretend that people might be drawn to Stiles’ numerous charms and fall in love
with him and sweep him off his feet.
Stiles sent Derek a text saying that he’d be visiting for dinner. This time, he
packed an overnight bag. He didn’t really need much, especially since Derek had
provided the posh toiletries, but clean underwear would probably be appreciated
tomorrow by everyone concerned, and his Adderall would be welcome in the
morning. He got into his jeep and then hesitated even more than he had done the
day before. What if Derek took one look at him and realised he’d made a stupid
decision? What if he sent Stiles straight back home again?
That was the thought running round in Stiles’ mind all the drive back to that
ridiculously big house in the woods: what if Derek had come to his senses?
There was no valet parking this time so Stiles just parked up in front of the
main entrance. Derek was already opening the front door by the time Stiles
turned the engine off. It was possible his werewolf hearing had let him know
Stiles was coming from miles away, but Stiles had a strong suspicion Derek had
been waiting for him. Given the size of the house, it could take ten minutes to
get to the front door. And yet there Derek was, waiting.
Stiles wondered if this was a bad sign. Was Derek waiting to great him out here
so Stiles didn’t have to go inside before Derek sent him away?
But Derek just held the door open for him, and then gave him a funny look as
Stiles walked inside.
“You seem more nervous than you were last night,” Derek said.
Stiles didn’t want to admit he’d been scared Derek would decide to get rid of
him, especially since admitting it might put the idea in Derek’s head.
“Dinner with the family,” he said instead, “what could go wrong?”
He expected Derek to say something reassuring, to offer him some meaningless
platitudes about how his pack would love Stiles. Stiles was strangely relieved
when Derek instead said, “Their opinions don’t matter.”
It was reassuring that Derek wasn’t trying to lie to him, wasn’t trying to say
things Stiles knew he couldn’t mean.
“Not even your uncle’s?” Stiles asked.
Derek gave a little shrug, “I made my choice and he’ll have to live with it.”
“Does that mean he’s not plotting my grisly demise?”
“I’ll let you know if I smell poison in your food,” Derek said. “Come on, I’ll
get you a drink and then give you the tour.”
Minutes later, Stiles had a can of soda in his hands and was following Derek
through the house, which was simply ridiculous. He’d thought it was big before,
but Derek showed him through rooms that were used for parties and public
meetings, along with a host of rooms that supported them. There was an events
kitchen about the size of Stiles’ whole house filled with shining appliances
and nothing else. This was apparently where the catering crew had worked for
the party the night before, but now everything was sparkling clean and
deserted. This whole huge part of the house was only used when the pack were
hosting big functions. Now Stiles felt like he was trespassing in a ghost town.
Other parts of the house were much more lived in. There was a large living room
and a smaller den, both nicely furnished and equipped with TVs Stiles wanted to
drool over. Stiles had seen the study so they skipped that. Upstairs, Derek
pointed out doors to various bedrooms but didn’t take him in until he reached
the room he said was now Stiles’. Inside, the room was bright and cheery,
decorated in blues and greens. The room had a large bed, closet, drawers, even
a desk, and an open door showed a sparkling shower room just for him. Stiles
wondered if it was well-furnished because the guest rooms happened to be well-
furnished, or if Derek was deliberately giving him the equivalent to an
apartment here. Was this Derek’s way of saying he wanted Stiles to hang out
here a lot?
“This is your room,” Derek said. “Meaning you have the right to tell anyone to
get out if you don’t want them in here. If you need a break from me... or
anyone else, you can just come in here.”
It was probably unnecessary, given that Stiles could just leave and go home,
but it was nice to know anyway. His own little bit of territory in the middle
of the pack’s home.
So far in the tour, Stiles hadn’t seen a trace of the rest of the pack. Given
that they’d walked through most of the house, that had to be deliberate. It was
only as Derek took Stiles down to the family kitchen, a much more modest-sized
affair compared to the events one, that Stiles saw other people. Cora and Isaac
were in the kitchen preparing dinner. Both greeted Stiles with warm smiles.
Stiles gave them a hello and then stared at the chopped vegetables on the
counter top.
“Huh,” he said.
“What?” Cora asked.
“Nothing. I just never pictured werewolves cooking. I figured you’d have an
army of staff on hand to serve your every whim.”
“Only when Peter throws a party,” Derek said.
“We do have a cleaning service,” Cora put in. “They come in a couple of times a
week and clean the shared rooms. They don’t come into the bedrooms though.”
It’s stupid that Stiles had never considered werewolves doing day-to-day
things. Not that he’d ever thought about werewolves much until this week. But
he never would have pictured them making a tuna pasta bake for a visitor.
Stiles tried to imagine Peter at that oven, baking something, and his mind
rebelled at the image.
Derek carried plates through to the dining room and insisted that Stiles
shouldn’t help because he was a guest. Stiles grabbed cutlery anyway and went
to help set the table. Stiles worked his way up the table, laying out cutlery
for every place that Derek had put a plate down at. He was nearly up to the
head of the table when Peter walked in. He scowled at Stiles.
Stiles waited for Peter’s reaction, knowing that it wouldn’t be anything
favourable for him. He expected something snide about his choice of clothes
today, but what he got was Peter disapprovingly saying, “It’s not a consort’s
place to wait tables for the pack.”
Stiles considered pointing out that laying out cutlery was hardly a great
chore, or pointing out that he was just chipping in. If anyone else had made
that comment, he probably would have dismissed it with a grin and insisted on
it, since they were feeding him. Instead, Stiles held out the last handful of
cutlery towards Peter.
“Fine,” he said. “You can set your own place then.”
The only place he hadn’t set was the one at the head of the table. There could
be no doubt it was the alpha’s place. Derek frowned from the other end of the
table, where he’d been setting out glasses, but Stiles just stood there,
staring defiantly at Peter, holding out the little bundle of knife, fork and
spoon. He was challenging the alpha while simultaneously obeying him. Stiles
felt a little rush of fear and wondered if Peter would demand satisfaction for
his harsh tone, but instead he gave a cold smile and took the cutlery from him.
Peter said nothing as he arranged the cutlery precisely around his place. He
sat down at the head of the table while Derek finished with the glasses and
fetched bottles of water. Stiles could taste the tension in the room, even
though Derek hadn’t said a single word. Stiles just stood there, waiting for
someone to tell him what to do. Sitting down seemed weird while Isaac and Cora
were carrying food in from the kitchen, but Stiles couldn’t offer to help after
what Peter had said, so he just stood there.
Peter seemed to notice his dilemma. He gestured to the seat immediately to his
right.
“Please, Stiles, have a seat,” Peter said. His tone was as icy as his smile,
polite words sounding almost like a threat.
“There?” Stiles hesitated, wondering if this was a trap. “Wouldn’t that be
Derek’s seat? Or Malia’s?”
“We don’t stand on ceremony at a family dinner. Besides, you’re our guest.”
Stiles looked over towards Derek, who nodded. Only then did Stiles pull out the
chair and take his seat at the table.
Almost as if it were a cue, the rest of the pack started piling in through
various doors and taking seats. Derek sat to Stiles’ right and Stiles found
himself facing Malia across the table. The others found spaces with no apparent
significance to positioning. Stiles didn’t know enough about werewolves to know
if this was normal. All he knew was from public events where pack structure was
apparently important enough that Stiles’ dad had once spent a week in meetings
with the mayor and several other officials planning a seating chart for a
formal dinner that had involved some of the local werewolf packs.
Cora served out portions of tuna-pasta bake, starting with Peter and then
moving on to Stiles. Once that was served out, everyone was encouraged to just
dive in to other dishes of vegetables, passing them around the table to ensure
that no one was left out.
“The food looks great,” Stiles said to Cora.
“It’s nothing fancy,” she said, but there was a smile that suggested she was
pleased with the complement.
“We try to eat all together as a pack at least twice a week,” Peter said.
“That’s really nice. I try to have the same rule about dinner with my dad.
Sometimes I take lunch to him at the station to eat together because otherwise
with his work and my school, it’s easy not to see him.”
“Is school important to you?” Peter asked.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You guess? You specifically put a clause in the contract that your schoolwork
shouldn’t be interfered with.”
“I mean, I want to do well and go to college and all that.”
“What will you study?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Stiles said. “Maybe forensics.”
“You wish to follow your father into law enforcement?” Peter asked.
“I’ve not made my decision for sure, but turning out like my dad would be no
bad thing.”
“Do you have the science grades for a subject like forensics?”
Stiles glanced round at the table, seeing everyone silently eating. No one was
meeting his eyes.
“Has anyone else noticed that this conversation is turning into an
interrogation?” Stiles said.
“My apologies,” Peter said.
“I just don’t want to intrude on your pack bonding time. Feel free to pretend
I’m not here.”
Stiles shoved a large forkful of pasta bake into his mouth in a hope to stall
any further questions. Peter gave him another of those cold smiles and then
turned to Malia, grilling her about her math grade. Malia glared at Stiles in
between responses to her father. Stiles guessed she would have rather the
attention stayed on him.
It seemed Peter’s idea of pack bonding was an extended interrogation because
once he was done with Malia, he started moving round the table. He asked Isaac
about his chemistry grades and then grilled Cora about some situation with a
girl at school; Stiles was missing way too much context to figure out what that
conversation was about. Then Peter asked Boyd some pointed questions about his
lack of a romantic relationship, even hinting that it would be possible to
throw a consort-selection party for him once enough time had passed from
Derek’s party.
“That won’t be necessary,” Boyd said.
“Ah, so you’ve already chosen someone?” Peter asked.
“I just don’t want a consort.”
Stiles glanced at Derek and guessed that argument wouldn’t hold Peter back from
anything for long. The interrogation moved round the table again and by then
they’d all finished with the first course. Malia and Erica cleared the plates.
Stiles wondered what Peter would do if he tried to help, but decided it was
safer just to sit there and wait while Erica brought out desert: a large apple
pie.
“Is this homemade?” Stiles asked as Erica served him a slice.
“I made it,” Cora said.
“Nice. I may have to start having meals here more often.”
“You’re entitled to share meals with the pack whenever you are here,” Peter
said. Stiles noticed that he’d said entitled and not welcome. There was a big
difference between the two, but he pretended not to have spotted it.
“Thanks,” he told Peter. “Good to know.”
“You don’t have allergies,” Peter said, “but are there any foods you have a
particular aversion to that we should avoid?”
“I’m not too keen on olives,” Stiles said, “and how do you know I don’t have
allergies?”
“It is part of the information provided in the physical assessment.”
“That is incredibly creepy and invasive,” Stiles said, before he could think
about whether saying it out loud was a good idea. He’d thought all the stuff
about his sexual history had been creepy, but now he knew that Peter must have
access to a large chunk of his private medical records. The fact he hadn’t
known about it until now just made it worse, and Peter was just sitting there
calmly like this was perfectly normal.
“It’s important to know that a potential consort is physically capable of
withstanding the rigors of being with a werewolf,” Peter said.
“And that translates into you getting confidential medical information on
everyone in town?”
“Just the eligible candidates.”
“Ugh!” Stiles said. “You self-entitled bastard!” It was only then that he
noticed the way everyone else around the table was staring at him, a nervous
tension in their expressions. They were looking between him and Peter like they
expected Peter to explode at any moment. Was this the moment where Peter
sprouted claws and tore him to pieces?
Should he apologise? Should he try to take that insult back?
“My parents were married,” Peter said. He sounded surprisingly calm.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“Going by the traditional definition of bastard, it doesn’t apply to me.”
“Words change their meanings over time,” Stiles said. Even as he said it, he
wasn’t sure if it was a good idea, since he was just continuing the insult. But
Peter just gave him another of those cold smiles.
“I think I’ve had enough food for now,” Peter said. “Cora, Isaac, thank you for
cooking. Boyd, I believe it’s your turn with the dishes.”
He pushed back his chair and stood, walking out of the room without another
word. Everyone else around the table seemed to let out a breath of relief at
his leaving. They ate in silence, swallowing down the last mouthfuls of pie,
then Boyd stood to grab the empty dishes, Erica hurrying to help him.
“Should I do anything?” Stiles asked.
“Peter’s made it clear you shouldn’t,” Derek said.
Stiles considered that, then said, “Can I do anything?”
That earned a faint twitch at the corner of Derek’s mouth. It was almost a
smile.
“Come on,” Derek said. “I can think of something to keep you occupied.”
Stiles followed Derek out of the room and along the route back towards his huge
bedroom. They started up a wide staircase. Stiles was here for one purpose and
it seemed Derek was going to make use of him.
“Is this the point where you chain me to the bed and screw me into the
mattress?” Stiles asked.
“Not without prior discussion and explicit consent,” Derek said. Stiles
stumbled on a step and Derek caught his elbow to stop him face-planting.
Stiles recovered his footing and thought about the implications of what Derek
had just said. Stiles had put that clause in the contract about kinky stuff.
Now Derek was making a deliberate and obvious reference to that. Joke or not,
he was implying that he’d be open to chaining Stiles to the bed, so long as
Stiles consented. Now Stiles just had to think how he’d feel about it.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Another NSFW chapter, starting with sex and then moving on to cuddles
     and discussion of kinks. Very little that could be considered plot in
     this one.
Stiles hesitated just inside Derek’s room, while Derek closed the door with a
quiet thump behind them. Stiles stared at the big bed, which was neatly made,
as though last night had never happened. A warm hand rested gently in the
middle of Stiles’ back.
“I’d like to have sex with you,” Derek said. “If you’re OK with that.”
“And by that you mean...” Stiles gestured towards his ass.
“If you want to. If you’re not ready, we can wait. I don’t want to rush you
into all this.”
Stiles’ imagination furnished him with a picture of Derek having sex with him
in this gentle and caring way, checking at every point that he was alright. The
mental image was so sweet as to risk causing diabetes, but enough to make
Stiles half-hard already.
“Yeah,” Stiles said. “I’m ready.”
“OK. Well, I want you to be relaxed. The more relaxed you are, the better.”
Derek didn’t sound particularly relaxed, but Stiles decided it would be rude to
point that out.
“Should we take this to the bed?” Stiles asked.
“Yeah. But maybe we should lose the clothes first.”
“Good plan.”
Stiles stripped off his clothes. Only when he was partway through did he
realise that maybe he was going about this the wrong way. He was undressing as
he would to go to bed at home, without anything sexual in his movements. He
looked across at Derek, who was undressing with the same efficiency, and
decided it didn’t matter. But maybe in future he’d make more of the act of
stripping.
Once they were both naked, Derek took charge. He told Stiles to get on the bed
on his front.
“There are lots of different positions,” Derek said, “but I think this will be
easier for a first time. You just relax.”
Stiles did as he was told while Derek rummaged in a bedside drawer. Stiles lay
there on his front, turning his head a little so he could watch Derek climb
onto the bed beside him. Derek was entirely naked and utterly unselfconscious
about it. What did he have to be self-conscious about? His body was all
sculpted muscle and smooth skin, all in perfect proportion. Stiles could just
lie here and study him like a work of art.
Derek’s hands rested gently in the small of Stiles’ back, slick with some kind
of oil. He started moving them in smooth, soothing circles.
“Not what I imagined sex would be like,” Stiles said.
“Ssh, we’ve got loads of time. I want to do this right. And that means get you
nice and relaxed.”
Derek’s hands roved Stiles’ back, running gently over his muscles, sweeping up
in long strokes and then shifting into small circles that eased at knots of
tension before sweeping down again. Stiles closed his eyes and just let himself
enjoy the sensations, warm fingers working up and down his back. Up and down.
Up and down. And then down some more.
And then Derek’s hands were running over Stiles’ ass. He shifted a little on
the bed, anticipation simmering inside him. But the hands moved further down,
running over his thighs, continuing the massage.
Stiles could feel those fingers working, tentatively close but achingly far
away from where he wanted them to be. Stiles shifted again, feeling his cock
brushing against the bedcovers, without enough attention to actually be hard
yet.
Derek’s hands roved upwards again, kneading the curves of Stiles ass, but he
still seemed determined to keep this to a relaxing massage and Stiles’ slowly
simmering arousal was becoming less relaxed by the moment.
“Come on,” Stiles muttered, “get to the good stuff already.”
Derek chuckled.
There was a dribble of oil in the crack of Stiles’ ass and he sucked in a
surprised breath. The fingers were back at work again, running down the crack,
pressing into the ring of muscle. Stiles let out a tiny moan as the finger
eased inside.
“You OK?” Derek asked. Those fingers had stilled their work.
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m more than OK. Get moving again.”
The bed shifted as Derek leant down and Stiles felt a kiss pressed between his
shoulder blades. Then Derek started working his finger gently in and out.
Stiles had experimented down there of course, he was a horny teenager, but he’d
never had anyone else slide an oiled up finger into his ass. Stiles tried to
move his hips, to get more speed, more something, but Derek’s free hand rested
on his ass and held him softly still.
“Ready for another?” Derek asked.
“More than ready.”
“OK then.” Derek chuckled again. He slid another finger inside. Stiles felt the
shifting pressure, those fingers easing against his tightness, preparing the
way.
Stiles felt Derek brush against something inside him. He gave a strangled moan,
his semi-erection rapidly progressing towards full. Derek found that spot
again, a gentle touch against something that seemed directly wired into Stiles’
cock.
“Oh god,” Stiles said.
“Like that, huh?”
“Don’t you dare stop.”
Derek’s fingers were pulling away and Stiles tried to flail round a hand to
grab Derek’s wrist and get him to go do that again.
“Don’t worry,” Derek said. He slid a third finger inside.
Stiles bit down on the pillow. The pressure was a little too much, but in a way
that still seemed wonderful and if three fingers let him reach that spot with
more leverage then...
Stiles’ ability for rational thought appeared to shut down.
He was completely hard now, both because of what Derek had been doing and with
the anticipation of what it meant he was about to do. Stiles squirmed beneath
those fingers, trying to get some friction on his erection, trying to get
Derek’s stretching fingers to reach that point inside him again.
Derek willingly obliged.
Then Derek slid his fingers out. For a few moments, Stiles felt achingly empty,
then he felt the tip of Derek’s cock at his opening. He slid slowly inside,
easing gently through the ring of muscle and making Stiles bite down on the
pillow once again, a moan catching in his throat.
“Oh god,” Stiles moaned around the mouthful of pillow.
He felt Derek’s weight over him just a little, chest resting over his back. He
felt Derek’s breath in his ear.
“You good?” Derek asked.
“Yeah. Oh god, yeah.”
There was a little huff of breath against his ear that might have been an
amused laugh. Then Derek started moving and Stiles stopped trying to analyse
meaning in every breath because they were soon both breathing hard. Stiles
drove his hips in rhythm to Derek’s thrusts, a little out of sync at first but
quickly finding a point that worked, that drove Derek deeper inside him. Each
shift of his body also drove his erection against the bed, but that wasn’t
enough and somehow Derek knew that. Derek reached am arm around Stiles,
clutching their bodies together, and taking the shaft of Stiles’ cock in his
hand.
He stroked firmly in time to the thrusting of their bodies. The combined
stimulation, inside and out, sent Stiles over the edge. He gave a yell and came
hard, body shaking with the erection. A moment later, perhaps in reaction,
Derek cried out too. He clutched Stiles tighter and they shudder together in
mutual climax.
Stiles collapsed down and lay there while Derek eased out of him. He started to
roll over, but Derek stilled him with a hand on his shoulder.
“No, don’t move,” Derek said, voice a low murmur. The bed shifted as Derek
climbed off. He returned a minute later with a damp cloth, sponging down
Stiles’ ass. He did so slowly and carefully, and then gave a little, relieved
sigh.
“What?” Stiles asked.
“No tearing.”
Stiles twisted himself round so he could look up at Derek, “That was a
possibility?”
“This was why I was going slowly. You are just impatient. I should introduce
you to the concept of edging. You’ll probably be plotting my murder before I’m
halfway through.”
Derek gave Stiles ass a final wipe and then beckoned him to turn over so Derek
could wipe cum from his front as well. Stiles was happy to comply, just lying
there while Derek got him clean, or at least cleanish.
“Edging’s where you tease the other person for ages without letting them come,
right?” Stiles asked.
“That’s the one.”
Stiles gave a grin, “Well, if you want me to do that to you, I’m willing to
give it a shot.”
Derek returned the grin. Then he walked over to the bathroom to get rid of the
cloth. Stiles just lay there, watching Derek’s ass move as he walked. He
wondered if Derek would give him the opportunity to do what Derek had just done
to him.
Derek came back to the bed, lying on one edge of it to they could avoid the wet
patch that was right in the middle. He wrapped his arms around Stiles, pulling
Stiles to lie pressed against Derek’s chest, and then tucked the covers over
them. Stiles went along with it, closing his eyes and feeling Derek’s heart
beating against him. Stiles probably could have drifted off right then, but
Derek clearly wasn’t ready for sleep yet.
“In the contract,” Derek said, “you mentioned kinky stuff, that it had to be
discussed and agreed to. Did you have anything particular in mind?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, is there anything kinky you want to try? Do you want me to tie you up?
Do you want me to spank you? Do you want to dress up in silk underwear and high
heels?” It was hard to believe this was the same guy who’d been too nervous to
use the word sex the day before. Maybe he’d been hesitant about it because he’d
worried Stiles would be hesitant. Now though, he was talking about sex and
more. There was no judgement in Derek’s tone, just genuine interest as he
listed off possible kinks, “Do you want to wear nappies and pacifiers and
pretend to be a baby? Or how about role play? Should I dress up as a sexy nurse
so we can play hospital?”
Stiles had a sudden mental image of Derek in Mrs McCall’s hospital scrubs and
he gave a little burst of laughter.
“I take it that’s a no to the sexy nurse idea,” Derek said.
“My best friend’s mom is a nurse. Nurses are not particularly sexual to me.”
“Got it. But what is sexy to you?”
Stiles considered the question. He didn’t exactly have experience in this area,
aside from what he’d downloaded onto his computer.
“There are things that seem interesting,” he said, “when I’ve read about them
or, you know, seen porn. But I don’t know if I’d actually like them if I really
tried them, or if the idea is better than the reality.”
“That’s OK,” Derek said. “We can try something and if it turns out not to work
for either of us, we stop and try something else. What sort of thing seems
interesting?”
His fingers were tracing idly up and down Stiles’ arm in a gentle brushing
motion. It wasn’t the precursor to anything sexual. Stiles wasn’t even sure
Derek noticed he was doing. It was just such an intimate gesture, somehow more
intimate than the sex they’d just had, that Stiles didn’t want Derek to ever
stop.
“Bondage,” Stiles said. “I don’t know about serious restraints and hard-core
stuff, but I just like the idea of being tied up while someone does sexual
stuff to my body.”
“OK,” Derek said.
“I don’t know about spanking or paddles or anything like that. I don’t
generally like pain. At all. So I think that might be one of those things
better in concept than reality.”
“OK,” Derek said again. “We can stay away from pain play.”
“I don’t know. I guess more of what we’ve been doing would be good. I haven’t
really got a list of kinks worked out. What do you like?”
Derek didn’t answer at once. Stiles just lay there in his arms, waiting,
feeling the gentle brush of Derek’s fingertips against his skin.
“I want you to wear my scent,” Derek said.
“You’d better not be talking about pissing on me. That’s a definite no.”
“No,” Derek said quickly. “Just... wearing my jacket, something which smells
like me. I want every werewolf to be able to smell you and know that you’re...”
“Owned?”
“Taken,” Derek said. “At least for now.”
“Wearing your jacket I can definitely do,” Stiles said. “What else?”
There was another pause, but there was more of a nervous note to this one.
Derek’s fingers went still against Stiles’ arm.
“You can say no,” Derek said. “These are just ideas. If you don’t like them, no
one’s going to make you do them.”
“You’re going to have to actually tell me if I’m to say anything?”
“Butt plugs. I like the idea of you wearing a butt plug, ready for me, or doing
ordinary things and knowing it’s there and thinking about me. Or,” he hesitated
again, “or wearing a plug after sex so that my cum is trapped inside you.”
Stiles considered. Derek’s fantasies weren’t about the immediate pleasure, but
something deeper. He wanted Stiles thinking about him, and that was nice in its
own weird way. Stiles would like to think that Derek would be thinking about
him too. Maybe Derek would be thinking about Stiles thinking about Derek.
Besides, he’d enjoyed the way it had felt when Derek had been inside him.
“I could do that,” Stiles said, “the first bit anyway, wearing a plug. I’m not
sure about the other bit. Wouldn’t your family be able to smell it?”
“They already know we’re having sex.”
“Yeah, but there’s a difference between knowing something and smelling it.”
“OK. No problem. But you’re OK with wearing a plug?”
“I’ll give it a try. Maybe not right now though because that would involve
moving.”
Derek chuckled. Stiles felt his chest shake with it. It was a pleasant
sensation.
“No need to move now,” Derek said. “We don’t have to do any of this right away.
I just thought we should talk about it so we’d have some ideas of things we
could try at some point. There’s no rush.”
So Stiles just lay there with his eyes closed and let himself relax against
Derek’s chest.
***** Chapter 7 *****
Chapter Notes
     Another NSFW chapter, including blow jobs and consensual bondage.
Stiles woke to lips against his, a slow kiss urging him to waking. Stiles
reached a hand out before he was even awake, snaking it around Derek’s back and
pulling him in closer. Only then did he open his eyes and meet Derek’s, which
shone greenish-gold in the early morning light. Derek straightened up, smiling,
and for a moment Stiles just lay there, mind still slightly asleep, the rest of
him happy and slightly dazed.
Then reality hit him.
“I never brushed my teeth last night,” he said. “God, my breath must stink. Why
did you kiss me? Morning breath must suck for a werewolf.”
He started to get up, scrambling out from under the covers. Derek stilled him
with hands on his shoulders.
“Hey, where are you going?” he asked.
“To brush my teeth.”
“After breakfast,” Derek insisted. He lifted a tray from the floor and flicked
out little legs so he could set it over Stiles’ lap. A plate of scrambled eggs
on toast, a mug of coffee, and a bowl of chopped fruit were arrayed before him.
Stiles started smiling at this sweet gesture, but the smile froze an instant
later when he remembered the contract. He’d asked for breakfast in bed on
Sundays. Derek wasn’t doing this because he wanted to, but because he was
obligated to. That sucked the joy out of the moment.
“Is everything OK?” Derek asked.
“Yeah. It looks good.”
Stiles picked up the fork and began to dig into the eggs. A moment later he
realised he was probably being rude.
“You want some?” he asked, nearly spitting eggs out over the bed.
Derek’s lips quirked in a little hint of a smile, “No, I’m good.”
He sat down on the edge of the bed. He was fully dressed, wearing jeans and a
sinfully tight t-shirt. Presumably he’d dressed to go and cook this. It was
weird for Stiles to realise he was still completely naked under the covers.
Being naked when they’d both been naked hadn’t been that weird, but it was a
whole new level when Derek was clothed and watching him eat. Stiles gobbled
down the eggs because racing through this breakfast seemed the quickest way to
get this situation back to a mildly less weird level.
“How do you not choke?” Derek asked, eyebrows dropping into a puzzled frown.
“Practice,” Stiles said, around an eggy mouthful of toast.
“Just don’t choke to death in my bedroom. I think your dad would skin me alive
and then sew my skin back on with wolfsbane inside it.”
“Nah, he’d probably just shoot you in the head. He goes for the direct
approach.”
“Comforting.”
“I thought so,” Stiles grinned. He attacked his breakfast again, finishing up
the egg and toast and drowning the lot with a long gulp of coffee.
While Stiles drank the coffee, Derek picked up a bit of melon between his thumb
and forefinger. Stiles was about to argue about Derek stealing his breakfast,
but Derek held it out towards Stiles’ mouth. Stiles took the piece of fruit
between his lips and ate it, watching Derek pick up a bit of mango.
“Are you going to feed me the whole bowl?” Stiles asked.
“Yep,” Derek held out the mango. Stiles took it, and he noticed a dribble of
juice on Derek’s thumb, so he extended his tongue to catch it.
Stiles swallowed down the rest of the coffee and set the mug down on the tray.
Derek quickly set the whole tray aside, returning with just the bowl of fruit
in one hand, using the other to pick out pieces and offer them to Stiles.
Stiles watched the reaction on Derek’s face as he sucked juice off those
fingers as well as taking the fruit.
“With you feeding me,” Stiles teased, “I’ve got nothing to do with my hands.
Whatever shall I find to do with them?”
He reached out, placing his hands on Derek’s thighs, stroking gently while he
took the next bit of fruit with another slow working of his tongue around
Derek’s fingers.
Stiles worked his hands slowly up Derek’s denim-covered thighs. His fingers
reached the crotch while he took another bit of fruit and basically gave a blow
job to Derek’s fingers. Derek gave a little moan and Stiles felt the hard lump
trapped inside the crotch of Derek’s jeans. He ran a finger over the outline of
the erection and saw Derek shudder.
“We’ve still got half a bowl of fruit to go,” Stiles said, licking his lips
with a smile.
“God, your mouth should be illegal.”
“If you want me to stop...”
“Don’t you dare.” Derek basically shoved a bit of melon into Stiles’ mouth.
And so they continued, with Stiles sucking and licking at Derek’s fingers, all
the while feeling him up through his jeans. He stroked, he sucked, and Derek
kept closing his eyes and giving faint moans, which Stiles took to be a good
sign.
When they’d got through the last of the fruit, Derek almost threw the bowl onto
the tray, before scrabbling at his flies.
“I need your mouth,” Derek said. He got his zipper undone but Stiles caught his
wrist before he could undo the button.
“Leave them on,” Stiles said, and reached in to ease Derek’s erection out,
careful of the teeth of the zipper. There was something deliciously wicked
about doing things this way, with Stiles completely naked and Derek fully
dressed.
Stiles repositioned himself on his knees and bent down to take the head of
Derek’s cock into his mouth. He’d never done this before but he figured what
worked on the fingers would work here, so he sucked, and ran his tongue around
Derek’s tip. Derek closed his eyes and moaned again.
Stiles tried to move his head, bringing his mouth up and down over the shaft,
but he quickly realised that down could be a problem because he kept gagging.
After the third time, he stuck to just sucking at the top of Derek’ erection,
but his used his hands on the rest, fondling the balls and stroking up and down
the base of the shaft.
“Oh god, I’m gonna,” Derek groaned.
Stiles sat up as Derek came, cum splattering over Stiles’ chest, and the bed,
and leaving white streaks on Derek’s jeans. Derek looked down at the mess with
a grin.
“You seem determined to give me laundry to do,” Derek said, but he tucked his
erection away, still grinning, and reached out to feel through the bed covers
for Stiles’ groin. Stiles’ morning erection hadn’t diminished any through all
this sucking.
Derek pushed the covers aside and lowered himself over Stiles’ cock. Unexpected
warmth and wetness enveloped him and Stiles was left wondering why he hadn’t
found someone to do this for him sooner. He arched his body backwards as Derek
swallowed down an impressive portion of his dick, the suction providing
pressure that was incredible.
Stiles wanted to say something clever but all ability to form a rational
thought had evaporated and all the world condensed down to those lips around
his dick, that wet mouth, that sucking. Derek moved his head, bobbing up and
down, slowly at first but then faster, increasing the pace as he led Stiles to
the edge and over it.
Derek kept his mouth there, swallowing down the spurts of cum.
“Oh god!” Stiles said. He flopped back against the pillow.
A moment later, he added, “Every day should start like this.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” Derek said, and leaned over to kiss him. Stiles quivered
at the knowledge of what he was tasting on Derek’s tongue.
“Go get cleaned up,” Derek said. “Take a shower, do whatever you need to do to
your teeth.”
“Maybe you could join me,” Stiles said. He fingered the sticky spots on Derek’s
jeans.
Derek grinned and looked like he was considering it, but he shook his head.
“Not this time,” he said. “I’ve got something else in mind, something that will
get up both sticky again.”
“Good to know,” Stiles said.
Stiles started to get up, but Derek called out before he could get to the
bathroom door.
“You don’t have to rush home, do you?” Derek asked.
“Nope. I should go back sometime this afternoon and make dinner for Dad, but
we’ve got plenty of time.”
“Good.”
Something about the way Derek said that one word made Stiles hurry into the
bathroom and rush through the processes of relieving himself, showering,
brushing teeth and generally getting ready for whatever it was that Derek might
have in mind.
When he emerged, Derek was waiting for him, stripped down to his boxers and
holding a length of black rope in his hands. Stiles looked at that rope and
swallowed. Where the hell had Derek got rope from? Though, thinking back to
yesterday’s kink discussion, it probably wasn’t that surprising Derek had a
supply of stuff ready for kinky sex.
“We need a safe word,” Derek said. “Something you can say if you want me to
stop at any point. Something that you’re not going to say by accident and that
you’re not going to forget.”
“I know what a safe word is,” Stiles said.
Stiles’ eyes hadn’t left that stretch of rope, long trailing ends dangling down
from Derek’s hands. He considered the question for a minute and said, “Scott.”
“Scott?”
“He’s my best friend. If I’m thinking of him when I’m with you, something’s
gone horribly wrong.”
Derek smiled, “OK. Scott is your safe word. We can also use colours: red,
yellow, green. Red if you want to stop completely, yellow if you want to
clarify something or pause for any reason, green if you’re good.”
Stiles nodded.
“Are you OK with this?” Derek asked.
Stiles kept staring at the rope. His mouth was trying and his heart racing from
nerves, but he didn’t think he’d be able to leave this room without at least
learning what that rope would feel like against his skin.
“I want to try,” Stiles said.
“OK. And remember, you can use a safe word at any time. This is supposed to be
good for both of us. If it’s not, if you don’t like it or you’re just not into
it, we can stop.”
“Got it.”
“Good. Now hold out your wrists.”
Stiles held his hands out in front of him, wrists pressed together. Derek
doubled up the rope and held the loop this made against Stiles’ wrists before
feeding the trailing ends of the rope through. He proceeded to loop the rope
round and round Stiles’ wrists, stopping frequently to stick his little finger
under the loops to make sure they weren’t too tight. Stiles’ heart was beating
faster with every loop, but not from fear, though he wondered if he should be
afraid.
At last, Derek tucked the rope under one of the loops to hold it all in place,
but there was still a couple of feet of rope dangling from Stiles’ bound
wrists.
“How does that feel? Not too tight?” Derek asked.
Stiles tested, tugging and shifting his arms. His wrists were trapped together,
but it wasn’t too tight and the rope was silky and smooth, soft against his
skin.
“It’s good,” Stiles said.
“If it starts to hurt or you get pins and needles or anything, tell me.”
“Got it.”
Derek went over to the bed, where a pile of black was pooled on top of the
sheets. Stiles had been so distracted by Derek and the rope that he hadn’t
noticed it until this moment, but now he saw more rope there, along with a
strip of black cloth that looked like silk. This was what Derek picked up now.
Stiles had a suspicion was this was for and, sure enough, Derek came back to
him and wound the silk around Stiles’ head, covering his eyes.
“Can you see anything?” Derek asked.
“A tiny slither of light if I look down,” Stiles answered. Derek adjusted the
blindfold.
“Now?”
“No.” Stiles was sure Derek must be able to hear his heart. It was pounding its
way out of his chest. Derek knotted the blindfold behind his head and Stiles
was left in darkness, hands bound in front of him, completely naked and at
Derek’s mercy. If he had any common sense, he would be scared right now but he
guessed he didn’t have any common sense. Instead, what he had was a rekindling
erection Derek was steadfastly ignoring.
Stiles felt a tug at the ropes on his wrist, and Derek’s hand rested on his
shoulder, guiding him slowly in the direction of the bed. Stiles let himself be
led. He let Derek get him positioned in the middle of the bed. He let Derek
lift his arms up and tie his bound wrists to the headboard. Stiles felt
exposed, vulnerable, but that just stirred up excitement deep inside him that
sent fresh blood pouring to his growing erection.
“You still good?” Derek asked.
“If my hands were free, I’d be making a tally of how many times you’ve asked me
that. I think you’re on about three, maybe fou-.”
Derek cut him off with a quick kiss. Stiles took that as a hint that he was
ruining the mood.
A hand trailed down Stiles body, fingers leaving traces of their presence down
his chest, across his side, over his thigh, and then down to his ankle. Derek
took Stiles’ ankle in a firm grip and quickly had it wrapped in an embrace of
rope. He stretched Stiles’ leg off to the side, presumably tying it to the bed
post. He quickly did the same to the other ankle.
Stiles took that moment to test the restraints, tugging against the ropes
experimentally. He was trapped. He had a little bit of wriggle room but not
enough to get free. He was held firm, utterly at Derek’s mercy. That little
hint of fear shouldn’t be such an aphrodisiac but it was. Derek left him there,
writhing on the bed, for some long moments while Stiles’ heart raced and he
pulled ineffectually at the ropes. But then Derek’s hand was back on Stiles’
chest again.
“Hey, it’s OK,” Derek said. “You’re OK. You’re safe.” His voice was soft and
soothing. Stiles let himself listen to it. He let himself trust. Derek hadn’t
done anything to hurt him.
“You want to carry on?” Derek asked.
“Yeah. Green. Yeah.”
Stiles couldn’t see anything with the silk around his eyes and it was driving
him crazy. He had to try and guess what Derek was doing from the faint sounds
and then the shifting of the mattress as Derek climbed into the gap between
Stiles’ spread legs. Then something trailed up the length of Stiles’ penis, a
feather-light touch. It wasn’t a finger. What the hell was it? Cloth? Or...
Stiles got the answer when Derek looped it around the base of Stiles’ erection.
It was more rope, twisting around his cock and balls. Derek was tying his dick
up.
“This,” Derek said, and Stiles felt Derek’s fingers running around the edge of
the rope, “is to keep you from coming too soon. We’re going to play a little
game. When you ask me to, I will undo this and let you come. You decide when it
happens. But I don’t want you to ask too soon. The longer you take, the better
your reward will be.”
“My reward?”
“Your reward.” Derek ran his tongue up the shaft and Stiles squirmed in his
restraints.
“Was that a clue as to what the reward is?” Stiles asked.
“No.” Derek did the tongue thing again and Stiles nearly asked Derek to take
the rope off right there and then.
But no. He was going to be strong. He had already come once this morning, so he
could hold out. He’d gone three days without an orgasm when he’d had the
chastity cage on. He could last now. Even with Derek working his tongue around
the underside of Stiles balls.
Stiles squirmed. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to get away from Derek’s
tongue or get more of it.
Derek worked mercilessly, teasing with tongue and fingers. Sometimes he worked
on the cock itself, other times, he stroked Stiles’ thighs or sucked on his
nipples. All the while, Stiles writhed on the bed, feeling the ropes holding
him helpless as his resolve rapidly crumbled. Whenever Derek stroked his dick,
Stiles tried to thrust his hips, tried to get enough friction, but Derek just
moved his hands away again.
“Now!” Stiles yelled. “Do it now. God, Derek, just stop with the evil teasing
already and let me...”
But Derek had already loosened the rope and he wrapped his fingers around
Stiles’ erection. Stiles’ words dissolved into a cry as he came hard, his
stomach splattered with cum.
Stiles lay there panting, but Derek’s voice was almost mocking when he said,
“That wasn’t even fifteen minutes.”
“You must have miscounted, it was way longer than that.”
“No, I’ve been watching the clock. Just over fourteen.”
Stiles felt a tug at the ropes around his right ankle and then a moment later
he could bend his leg again. Derek must have done some quick release knot or
something, because Stiles’ left leg was free just as speedily.
“Does this mean I don’t get a reward?” Stiles asked.
“You can get a little reward. A tiny one.”
The mattress shifted as Derek moved around the bed and then Stiles could lower
his arms from the headboard. His wrists were still bound together, but he could
sit up on the bed now. He reached for the blindfold.
“No,” Derek said. “No peeking. Just wait there.”
So Stiles sat there in the middle of Derek’s bed, naked and cum-spattered, with
ropes trailing from his wrists and ankles. He heard a door open and then a
rustling, then he door shut again. Derek hadn’t gone far, so presumably that
had either been the closet or the bathroom. Stiles guessed Derek had hidden his
reward in the closet.
Derek was back on the bed then, pressing something into Stiles’ hands. Stiles
tried to guess what it was by feel. There was a little ring of cold metal then
a short chain, then a plastic shape. It was definitely a keychain, but Stiles
couldn’t identify what the plastic shape was except that it had lumpy bits and
a pointy bit. While Stiles tried to figure it out, Derek unfastened the knot of
the blindfold. Stiles blinked for a moment in the light and then looked down at
the little, plastic dragon in his hands. Derek had given him a dragon keychain.
“My pet dragon,” Stiles said.
“You asked for one.”
Stiles laughed. He kissed Derek, still laughing.
***** Chapter 8 *****
Chapter Notes
     See end notes if you want to see the content warnings on this
     chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles walked into school on Monday wearing Derek’s leather jacket and a huge
grin on his face. The jacket was a little big around the shoulders in a way
that made it obvious that it was borrowed. He was pretty sure anyone could
glance at him and instantly know that he’d spent the weekend having kinky
bondage sex with a ridiculously hot werewolf. And the fact that they knew made
him grin more broadly, because they didn’t need to know that Derek had picked
Stiles to annoy his uncle. As far as everyone else knew, Derek had picked
Stiles because Stiles was an awesome sex god.
Scott caught up with him at the locker and said, “Well, no need to ask if you
had a good weekend.”
“It was awesome!” Stiles said, raising his voice in pitch and volume on the
awesome. “If you’d told me sex was so good, I’d have been doing this ages ago.”
“I did try to tell you,” Scott said. He had. When he’d first had sex with
Allison, he’d tried to tell Stiles about the experience, only for Stiles to
declare it too much information and tell him to shut up. And now Stiles was
grinning at his books because of all the ways he’d done things with Derek over
the weekend and he didn’t think Scott would let him give him details either.
He wondered if he should tell Scott about being his safe word. Would Scott
think that was sweet? Or would he just be creeped out by it?
Probably the latter, Stiles decided. He’d probably also worry about the fact
Stiles was doing stuff that required a safe word.
“Did you steal his jacket?” Scott asked.
“He wanted me to borrow it. Some werewolf thing about wanting me to carry his
scent.”
Scott gave him a frown, “Please don’t tell me he wanted to piss on you too.”
“Ew! No. Not going to happen.”
Stiles decided not to mention that he’d explicitly ruled that out. Scott
probably didn’t want to know that they’d had a discussion about kinks they did
and didn’t want to try.
Stiles got out his books and made his way to the first class. Isaac was already
there, unloading books onto a desk. He nodded a greeting at Stiles. He didn’t
comment on the jacket, or on anything else.
Stiles wore that jacket all day, even though he got too warm in it. He was
aware of everyone staring at him, looking at him with curiosity or confusion
for the most part, though a handful gave him looks of anger. He noticed Trevor
a couple of times, glaring at him. Stiles suspected there were a few guys here
who didn’t think Stiles deserved to be with Derek.
Between classes, Trevor actually cornered Stiles.
“You think you’ve won here, don’t you?” he asked.
“I wasn’t aware it was a competition,” Stiles replied.
“Well you may have bagged Derek, but I’ve got a meeting tonight with Peter. So
enjoy being a beta’s fuck toy. I’ll be the one with an in with the alpha.” Then
Trevor stalked away.
As the day wore on, Stiles kept thinking about what might happen the next time
he saw Derek, but with each class a damper fell on his enthusiasm. Every
teacher seemed to think this was a great time to pile of the homework, with
Harris giving a particularly cruel set of questions to be answered in detail.
Plus he had lacrosse practice after school. Stiles gave up and sent Derek a
text saying he wouldn’t be able to come over tonight.
Derek quickly texted back, saying it was OK and asking about tomorrow. Stiles
said he’d let him know. Then Stiles had to put the phone away or risk it being
confiscated by the teacher.
Getting ready for lacrosse practice, Stiles was aware of the guys looking at
him. He’d never got changed under such scrutiny before. Maybe they were trying
to figure out what Derek saw in him. Jackson was rather less discrete about
what he was looking for.
“So he didn’t lock up your junk again?” Jackson asked.
“No,” Stiles said, pulling on his uniform. “It would have got really
inconvenient if he had to keep unlocking it every time we had sex so we just
got rid of the thing.”
“I don’t know how he can do it. Does he have to wear a blindfold so he doesn’t
have to look at your ugly face?”
Stiles gave Jackson a smile, in too much of a good mood to be brought down by
insults today.
“No,” he said, “but I did wear a blindfold one of the times. Real silk and
everything. You know Derek, he likes the best.” He broadened his grin, even as
Jackson gave a snort of derision, clearly expressing with a flick of his eyes
down Stiles’ body that he didn’t think Stiles counted as the best.
“Can we all stop discussing Bilinski’s sex life?!” Coach yelled across the
locker room. A few lockers away, Isaac smirked in quiet amusement.
“Yes!” said Stiles. “Thanks, Coach.”
“And, Bilinski, tell your werewolf that he’d better not do anything to you that
will hurt your ability to run.”
“I’ll tell him, Coach.”
“Right! Now get out there on the pitch and start warming up!”
***
Stiles spent Monday evening trying to get ahead on his homework. On Tuesday, he
had a free period that he used to get started on that day’s homework. At lunch
time, he sent Derek a text saying he could come over but he would have some
work to do before they could have fun. He then texted his dad not to expect him
home. He’d packed some changes of clothes in the back of his jeep just in case,
so he could make these decisions without having to stop home after school.
As soon as the bell rang, he got into his jeep and drove out to that big house
in the woods. He squirmed in his seat as he drove, jeans feeling too tight
already. He tried not to crash the car as he wondered what exciting things
Derek might have planned for them.
Derek was waiting at the front door when Stiles parked. They headed upstairs
together, Derek carrying Stiles’ bag of heavy books, while Stiles only had to
carry his clean clothes.
“I really do have some homework to get done,” Stiles said, “but there’s not too
much that I really need to do tonight. Most can wait until another day.”
“I don’t want you to get behind,” Derek said.
“It’s fine. I’ll just work for an hour or so and then we can have fun.”
Derek held the door to his bedroom open and then carried Stiles’ bag over to
the desk.
“You can work here,” Derek offered, “but before you do.”
He picked up a small box that had been sitting on the top of the desk, waiting
for them. He held it out now and Stiles took it. It was rectangular, about as
long as his palm and perhaps half as wide and deep. Not too heavy, made of
black cardboard and tied with a red ribbon.
“A present for me?” Stiles asked.
“More of a present for me really,” Derek answered.
Stiles undid the ribbon. He lifted the lid off. Sitting in the middle of the
box was a small butt plug made of a pinkish rubber that was presumably meant to
be flesh coloured. Stiles remembered the conversation at the weekend and how
Derek had talked about getting Stiles to wear a plug while doing other things.
“You want me to wear this while I do my homework?” Stiles asked.
“If that’s OK with you,” Derek said. “If you think it will be too distracting,
you don’t have to.”
Stiles had never imagined that doing his homework could be turned into a kinky
game, but here it was. He lifted the plug out from its box, considering. If it
got too distracting, he could always change his mind later and there was always
tomorrow for doing homework.
“Sure,” Stiles said.
“Really?” Derek asked. He was probably going to double check every decision
Stiles made, which was sweet but likely to get annoying as hell pretty quickly.
“Really. How should I do this?”
“Drop your pants and lean over the desk. Spread your legs a bit.”
Stiles undid his flies, pushing down his pants and briefs until they were
gathered around his thighs. He followed Derek’s instructions, putting his hands
on the surface of the desk and leaning forward, spreading his legs to give
Derek access. He felt the buzz of anticipation that was beginning to be
familiar.
Derek started off slowly. As with the weekend, he eased a single finger into
Stiles’ ass, working it in and out to gradually stretch him out. Stiles was
half hard from the stimulation and thinking he might go insane if this took so
long.
After what felt like an age, Derek removed his finger and then he placed the
tip of the plug at the hole. It wasn’t a large plug. Stiles guessed it had been
the smallest available, but still he felt it as Derek eased it in a little.
Then Derek stopped, pulling the plug out again, and Stiles frowned in
puzzlement. It made more sense when Derek pushed it in again, going slightly
further this time. It became a pattern of slow movements, in and out, in and
out, with each inward thrust stretching his ass just a little further.
Then, on one inward movement, Stiles felt the stretch, the plug pushing through
his tight opening. And then it slipped inside, his ass clenching instinctively
around the narrow base. And then it was inside him fully. It wasn’t big, but it
was still noticeable. Stiles shifted his ass, feeling the mild pressure of it.
“You should get on with your homework,” Derek said. He went into the bathroom
to wash lube from his hands while Stiles pulled up his pants and settled at the
desk.
He felt the base of the plug pressed in by the chair, the plug shifting inside
him. It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t even uncomfortable. It was just there, an
intruder, reminding him of what might be, of what would come later. As he felt
it inside him, he felt his pants too tight around his part erection.
But no, he had work to do. He pulled out his math text book and tried to focus,
even though every shift in the seat reminded him what he’d agreed to. While
Stiles worked, Derek took up a position in an armchair nearby, reading a book.
Stiles was sure Derek could smell his arousal. He was certain Derek looked up
at him every time he moved and felt the plug resettle inside him. Stiles forced
his eyes on his work, and wondered how the hell he’d ended up in a position
where doing math was a sex game.
***
It took Stiles longer than normal to finish his homework but Derek only had
himself to blame for delaying their sex. Stiles threw down his pen, thoroughly
horny and needing to do something about it. He swivelled the desk chair round
and looked across at Derek, who raised an eyebrow at him over his book.
“Homework is done,” Stiles declared. “Now are you going to deal with the
frustration you’ve caused me?”
He gestured to his crotch. Derek gave a grin and set aside his book. He stalked
across the room like a predator. Stiles expected Derek to grab him and throw
him on the bed, or to hold him over the desk and fuck him standing up. But
Derek just reached out and undid Stiles’ flies, easing out the stiffening cock.
Derek ran his fingers up and down it. Stiles squirmed a little under the touch
and once more was reminded of the rubber embedded in his ass.
Derek bent forward and lowered his mouth over Stiles’ erection, his lips
embracing his cock. Stiles closed his eyes and groaned at the sensations as
Derek sucked and bobbed his head, urging Stiles to completion with tongue and
lips.
Stiles lasted an embarrassingly short length of time, but Derek didn’t seem to
mind. He kept his lips wrapped around the head of Stiles’ cock, swallowing down
the spurts of cum. Stiles gasped, clinging to the arms of the chair, until
Derek stood up and kissed him, with lips that tasted of Stiles’ cum.
As Stiles came down from the aftermath, he realised Derek was still fully
dressed. He hadn’t had the relief he’d offered Stiles, so Stiles reached out
and undid Derek’s jeans. Derek let it happen. He put his hands on the desk,
leaning back against it, as Stiles dropped to his knees and returned the blow
job, sucking Derek off on the floor where he’d so recently been working. Derek
was already large and hard; no doubt he’d been as turned on as Stiles had been.
He didn’t take long either, but Stiles wasn’t ready to try swallowing yet. He
pulled back at the last moment, and ended up with sticky streams of white
decorating his t-shirt.
Thankfully, he’d bought multiple changes of clothes.
They washed up quickly in the bathroom and then Stiles pulled on a fresh t-
shirt. It was as he bent down to grab it from his bag that he felt the plug
shifting inside him again. Derek had only just come. Even werewolves needed
recovery time so he wouldn’t want to take the plug out and fuck him right away.
“What now?” Stiles asked.
“Now it’s dinner time,” Derek answered.
Stiles was sure he turned scarlet at the implications of Derek’s words. The
butt plug was still inside him and Derek wanted to go downstairs, where his
family almost certainly were, and have dinner with them. Stiles reached a hand
behind him, feeling the firm base of the plug through the seat of his jeans.
“Will they be able to tell?” Stiles asked. Derek shrugged.
“It depends on how obvious you are. But they know we’re having sex. They might
assume any stiffness in the way you’re sitting is because of that.” Derek took
a step towards Stiles and placed a hand on his arm. “I don’t mind if you want
to take it out. I only want to do this if you want to do it.”
But this was the thing Derek had talked about when Stiles had asked about his
kinks. There was no doubt that Derek would be turned on by the thought of
Stiles sitting through family dinner with a plug up his ass. There was
something warped about it, but Stiles couldn’t deny that thought was arousing
for him as well. It wasn’t exhibitionism, but he wasn’t sure what it was. Maybe
it was the thought that he and Derek would have this secret. Everything would
seem normal, but they would know the truth. The knowledge was a precious thing
between them.
“Let’s do this,” Stiles said. The words rushed out quickly, like he was afraid
they wouldn’t come if he waited too long.
There was no denying Derek’s smile, but he still insisted on asking once more
if Stiles was sure. Stiles rolled his eyes and walked out of the bedroom.
His heart was racing before he even made it to the stairs and that nearly set
him into a loop of panic because they were werewolves. They would hear. They
would know something was up and then they’d work out about the plug. Stiles
almost ran back into the bedroom to shut himself away.
Then Derek reached him and wrapped him into a tight embrace.
“You have nothing to worry about,” Derek whispered in his ear.
Stiles relaxed into the hug for a moment and then straightened, a new resolve
filling him. If his heart was pounding now, it was from excitement, not panic.
Derek jerked his eyes back towards the bedroom door, raising his eyebrows in a
question. He was asking Stiles if he wanted to go back in there. He was still
checking Stiles was OK, giving him the chance to back out.
Stiles pressed a quick kiss to Derek’s lips.
“Let’s get dinner,” Stiles said.
When they walked into the dining room, everything seemed normal. Boyd was
carrying a steaming dish to the table, while Erica carried out bowls of
vegetables. The table was already set, with plates and cutlery arranged for
them all. Cora and Malia were sitting next to each other, chatting quietly.
Isaac was fetching a water jug from the kitchen. Eyes glanced over at Stiles
and Derek as they walked in, but if anyone noticed something weird going on, no
one showed it. That helped Stiles relax a little.
He sat down, not wanting to risk someone seeing the plug’s base outlined
against his pants. The act of sitting pushed the plug deeper inside him, but if
anyone noticed his intake of breath and the increase of his heartrate, they
didn’t show that either.
Boyd served out the food, which turned out to be chicken in some kind of herb
sauce, and everyone helped themselves to the vegetables, but no one started
eating. Stiles sat there, staring at the food in front of him, and at the empty
seat at the head of the table. The pack were waiting for their alpha.
Peter didn’t force them to wait long. Soon he walked into the room, but he
wasn’t alone. Stiles stared in confusion at Trevor, who stood next to Peter. He
was dressed in the clothes he’d worn at school, only now there was the addition
of a leather collar around his neck.
“This looks good,” Peter commented, looking at the spread on the table. “Let’s
all get started.”
He walked to his seat. Trevor started towards an empty seat further down the
table.
“Trevor,” Peter called out, “your place is not sitting at the table with the
pack.”
“Stiles is sitting at the table,” Trevor pointed out.
“Of course. He’s a consort.” Peter sat, and then he pointed downwards, at the
floor under the table right in front of him. Trevor hesitated.
Stiles wasn’t the only one staring at Trevor. Stiles wasn’t sure what was going
on, but the implications were enough to make him deeply uncomfortable,
especially since Trevor looked absolutely furious at what Peter was expecting
him to do. Trevor glared at Stiles as he walked back to the head of the table
and dropped down. Stiles couldn’t see him now, but it seemed Trevor was
expected to spend the meal sitting at Peter’s feet.
Peter adjusted the position of his chair, picked up his knife and fork, and
started eating.
Around the table, the tense silence was broken as everyone else reached for
their cutlery. All appetite had left Stiles but he managed to pick up his fork
and start eating. He couldn’t even think about his and Derek’s sexy games,
because Trevor was sitting a few feet away from him at Peter’s feet and Peter
was proceeding with his dinner as if this were perfectly normal. Peter
complemented Boyd on his cooking, getting a quiet thanks back from Boyd. Then
Peter started asking Isaac about lacrosse and whether he thought the Beacon
Hills team would do well this year.
Stiles ate in silence, moving his knife and fork mechanically. Every once in a
while, Peter would take a tiny bit of his food between two fingers and hold
them beneath the table. Stiles thought about what he and Derek had done at the
weekend but this had a completely different feel to it. At the weekend, the
fruit-feeding had been a game they’d both been participating in and enjoying.
Now, Peter was handing over little titbits in an almost absent-minded way, like
he was sparing Trevor just the occasional passing thought but otherwise didn’t
care about what was happening under the table.
Stiles also noticed how little food Peter was passing down. He hoped Trevor had
eaten something earlier because otherwise he must be famished if this was all
the dinner he was getting.
Peter seemed to notice Stiles staring because he turned his attention with a
smile.
“Are you enjoying the food, Stiles?” Peter asked.
“It’s delicious,” Stiles answered, though he’d barely tasted anything of what
he’d eaten.
“I’m glad you think so,” Peter said. “It’s important that you feel well taken
care of while you’re with us.”
Stiles thought of Trevor under the table and wondered if Peter was doing this
deliberately, talking about how Stiles was eating what he wanted while Trevor
got tiny scraps. It was cruel in a way that made Stiles want to vomit up all
the food he’d just eaten.
Stiles was glad to escape as soon as the meal was over. He hurried back up to
Derek’s bedroom. Only when the door was firmly shut behind them did he dare
voice the question that had been going through his mind all meal.
“What the hell is going on with Peter and Trevor?”
“It looks like Peter’s taken him as a pet,” Derek answered.
“A pet? What the hell does that mean?”
Derek avoided eye contact. “If Peter likes him, it means they’ll spend the next
month or so having sex in every conceivable position and then Peter will send
him packing with a new Porsche or a diamond-studded watch or something else
equally pointless and expensive.”
“And if Peter doesn’t like him?” Stiles asked, because forcing someone to sit
under the table wasn’t usually done when a person liked someone.
Derek continued to avoid Stiles eyes, “Then Peter will try every kink under the
sun and push the kid’s boundaries until he can’t take it anymore and leaves.”
“He can leave?”
“Absolutely. They’ll have signed a contract and Trevor will be free to walk
away any time he likes, but doing that will mean giving up on whatever it is he
thinks he’s going to gain here.”
Stiles thought about the way Trevor had behaved at the party, about his
comments at school when he said he had a meeting with Peter. He thought he had
something to gain by getting close to Peter. Maybe he wanted the bite, maybe it
was the political power the pack represented, but Trevor was out to get
something. And it was something he wanted a lot.
“Trevor’s not going to walk away, is he?” Stiles said.
“He will,” Derek answered quietly. “Sooner or later, he’ll reach a breaking
point. But this is a game to Peter. He’ll see how far he can push before Trevor
gives in.”
“This isn’t right. I should... call my dad or something... get him to arrest
Peter.”
“That won’t work. Trevor will have signed a contract to serve Peter. He will
have consented to this. Right or wrong, a decent lawyer will be able to keep
any charges from sticking and Peter can afford to pay some really good
lawyers.”
Derek’s hand rested lightly on Stiles’ arm. It was probably meant as a
comforting gesture but Stiles couldn’t keep his thoughts away from Trevor and
Peter, and how furious Trevor had looked at being made to go under the table.
He’d been humiliated and Peter had enjoyed that.
“I should warn Trevor,” Stiles said.
“You could try,” Derek said, without any confidence in his tone.
Stiles thought of all the plans he and Derek had had for this evening, but he
couldn’t face any of them now. Peter’s display at dinner had destroyed any
arousal he might have had.
“I can’t stay here tonight,” Stiles said.
Derek stepped back from him, a pained look quickly falling into place on his
face.
“I understand,” he said.
Chapter End Notes
     A bit NSFW with consensual butt plug usage and bondage. We also get
     the first display of Peter's slightly less consensual humiliation
     play with Trevor.
***** Chapter 9 *****
There was a look of terror on his dad’s face when Stiles came home after saying
he’d spend the night at Derek’s. He came to him at the door, putting a hand on
Stiles’ arm and not at all surreptitiously checking for signs of injury.
“What happened? What did he do?”
“Derek didn’t do anything,” Stiles said quickly. Apparently that wasn’t enough
to comfort his dad.
“What did Peter do?”
“Nothing to me. Look, give me two minutes to put my stuff away and then I’ll
explain. I’ve got a bunch of questions.”
He headed for the stairs before his dad could protest. He wasn’t going to have
this conversation with a plug up his butt. He had left the Hale house in a
hurry and hadn’t realised the plug was still inside until he’d sat down in the
driver’s seat of his jeep. Now he hurried into the bathroom and dropped his
pants, reaching round for the plug’s base and easing it out.
There was a little pressure as he tried to squeeze the widest part out, but
then it slid free. He washed it thoroughly in the sink, wondering if he needed
some special disinfectant or something. All he had was soap. That would do for
now. He would talk to Derek about hygiene before using this thing again. For
now, he just cleaned it off and tucked it in one of his drawers where he hoped
his dad would never see it. Then he headed back downstairs to have a
conversation where he wouldn’t be constantly conscious of the state of his ass.
His dad was waiting for him, anxiety still written on his face. They sat down
at the table in the dining room.
“Look, this isn’t about me,” Stiles said. “Everyone’s been great to me. But
there was this other guy at the party who clearly wanted the consort position.
I mean, seriously wanted it. He spent half the night trying to convince Derek
he was the greatest person in the universe. And when I got the position
instead, he started smoozing up to Peter, saying he could serve the Peter
instead. And today... Peter brought him into the dining room with a collar
around his neck and made him sit under the table. Derek called him Peter’s
pet.”
Stiles spat that last word out with a note of disgust. His saw the set of his
dad’s jaw, a trace of anger in the way those muscles tensed, but still his dad
looked calmer now than when Stiles had first come home.
“I think the technical term is companion,” his dad said.
“So you’ve heard of this?”
“It happens. I don’t know how often because it doesn’t get the big song and
dance that consorts get. Basically a companion is someone a werewolf has signed
a contract with to have casual sex.”
“That sounds exactly the same as being a consort,” Stiles said.
“No it’s... I wish I knew more about werewolf law to explain this. You’ve
signed a contract with Derek, but it’s not just about the sex, it’s about the
pack taking care of you, providing you with food, getting you medicine if
you’re sick, all of that. While you’re Derek’s consort, you’re basically an
honorary member of the pack. A companion doesn’t get that. Most of the
differences aren’t really relevant here. Stuff like, if you were a girl and you
got pregnant, the kid would automatically be accepted into the pack unless you
said otherwise.”
“So I’m part of the pack but Trevor isn’t? I guess that’s what Peter was
getting at with the table thing.”
His dad frowned, putting his elbows on the table and linking his hands between
them. Stiles twitched in his seat, waiting for the answer.
“Remember when the mayor was hosting that dinner,” his dad said, “with the Hale
pack and Satomi’s pack and a couple of others?”
“Yeah, I remember,” Stiles said. He remembered because his dad had looked more
stressed about arrangements for that dinner than he usually did in the middle
of solving a major crime.
“The table arrangements for that dinner were a nightmare because there are all
these rules about werewolf ranks. They have different levels: alpha, beta,
omega. If there was to be a big dinner tomorrow, you would be invited along
with the Hale pack. As consort to a beta, you would be placed between the betas
and the omegas. In fact, if Derek’s officially the second in command, you might
be placed at the same level as the other betas.”
“And as a companion, Trevor would be below the omegas?”
“Trevor wouldn’t get a seat at the table.”
Stiles thought about that, remembering Peter’s comment at the table. Stiles had
a seat next to Derek because he was Derek’s consort. Trevor didn’t get a seat.
So Peter’s actions could be construed as him just following werewolf rank
protocols, but the first time Stiles had eaten at that house, Peter had
insisted that they didn’t follow ceremonies with family dinners. Peter could
have made an exception and let Trevor take a seat. Or he could have given
Trevor dinner separately, or he could have just let Trevor eat standing up.
There were numerous ways he could have handled things that would have been less
humiliating for Trevor which meant that the humiliation was the point.
“Can we do something about this?” Stiles asked.
His dad hesitated, then asked, “Did Trevor sign a contract?”
“I think so. Derek assumed he had.”
“Then no. If Trevor entered into a companion contract of his own free will,
then this is between the two of them. If there isn’t a contract, then I could
get Peter for statutory rape, but I doubt Peter’s that stupid. If Peter coerced
Trevor into signing a contract by making promises he had no intention of
keeping, then I could get him on rape by deception, but I doubt Peter would say
anything concrete. He’s too smart for that.”
Stiles remembered his brief conversation with Derek after the dinner. Derek
hadn’t denied that what Peter was doing was wrong, just implied that Peter
would never be convicted of anything.
“Stiles,” his dad said, “I agree that this is messed up for any number of
reasons. The age difference alone would give me pause even without the
humiliation treatment. But I can’t do anything unless this Trevor kid comes to
the police with a case against Peter. Just because I think something’s wrong
doesn’t mean I get to arrest everyone involved.”
Stiles looked across the table at his dad, reading something else in his face.
“You want to arrest Derek for making me his consort, don’t you?”
“If I could, I’d lock him up and throw away the key.”
***
Stiles cornered Trevor before first period the next day. Trevor seemed entirely
recovered from the humiliation at dinner and whatever else Peter might have
done to him.
“You should get out of your contract with Peter,” Stiles said. Trevor just
scoffed at him.
“You want to be the only one getting in bed with a werewolf?” he asked.
“It’s not like that. Peter’s just using you.”
“And Derek isn’t using you? You think because he lets you wear his jacket
you’re his boyfriend or something?”
The words were taunting, but Stiles couldn’t deny them. He was still wearing
Derek’s jacket, the oversized leather feeling comfortable and warm around his
shoulders. Maybe it had been a mistake to wear it to talk to Trevor. It
probably looked like Stiles was trying to rub his face into it about the
consort position.
“Peter will hurt you,” Stiles said. “What he did at dinner was just the start.”
“He’s a little kinky,” Trevor said with a shrug. “He’s an alpha werewolf. Don’t
tell me Derek doesn’t have his kinks. I heard you bragging to Jackson about
wearing a blindfold.”
“There’s a difference between having kinks and hurting someone.”
Trevor scoffed again.
“You’re just jealous,” he insisted, “because I’ve got the alpha and you’re
stuck with a beta. Enjoy your jacket.”
Trevor walked away, leaving Stiles standing in the school hallway with a
leather jacket and a massive load of frustration that someone could be so
stupid.
***
Stiles sat through his first three classes mentally composing texts in his
head. What he eventually sent was actually very simple: Can we meet somewhere
away from your house?
Derek replied almost at once: I could meet you at school when you finish.
Stiles agreed and he spent the rest of the school day wondering how to have
this conversation with Derek without offending Derek’s family and/or entire
race. He needed to make it pretty clear that it was only Peter he felt
unconditional loathing for.
At the end of the day, Stiles headed out of the school and saw a sleek, black
car waiting in front of the school steps. He didn’t have to look to know who
owned that car. It had werewolf written all over it. Sure enough, as Stiles
hurried down the steps, waving a goodbye to Scott, he saw Derek sitting in the
driving seat, a weirdly blank look on his face. Stiles slid into the passenger
seat and reached for his seatbelt, waving Derek to start driving.
“Do you want to go anywhere in particular?” Derek asked.
“Just somewhere there’s no chance of your uncle over hearing us.”
Derek nodded, driving away from the school building. Stiles had his backpack
between his feet and he fidgeted with the strap, trying to think up a way to
bring up the subject.
“You’re still wearing my jacket,” Derek said.
“Yeah. That’s OK, right? You said you wanted me to wear something that smelled
of you. Unless it now just smells of a load of stressed out teenagers. You can
have it back if you want.”
Derek’s hands tightened around the steering wheel. He was staring straight
ahead at the road in front of them, which was probably a good thing, but Stiles
couldn’t help feeling like he’d just said something wrong.
Since Derek didn't seem about to answer the question of the jacket, Stiles
pushed on with what he really wanted to talk about.
“I tried to talk to Trevor today,” he said.
“And?” Derek asked.
“He accused me of being jealous because he landed an alpha and I’m stuck with a
measly beta.” Stiles hoped his tone effectively conveyed just how ridiculous he
thought that notion. “I tried to warn him that Peter was going to hurt him and
he said that Peter was ‘just a bit kinky’.”
There was a drawn out silence. Derek turned the car at a junction. Stiles
realised he hadn’t the faintest idea where they were, but that didn’t matter
much right now.
“Is Trevor a friend of yours?” Derek asked.
“God no. He can’t even get my name right.”
“Then why do you care so much what Peter does to him?”
“Because it’s not right that he can just control people like this. He can just
wave his hand and command that all virgin boys can be stuck in chastity cages
and then he can sign a contract with a guy and insist that the guy has to eat
his meals under a table now. He gets off on dominating someone half his age and
he acts like he can get away with all of this.”
“He can get away with all of it,” Derek said. His voice was quiet.
“He shouldn’t be able to.”
Derek pulled the car over to the side of the road and put it into neutral. He
didn’t turn to look at Stiles though. He put his hands on the wheel again,
clenching his fingers around it and then unclenching them slowly.
“Do you want out?” Derek asked.
“What?”
“Of the contract. Do you want out?”
“No. Why would I want that?”
“Yesterday, you were so disgusted you couldn’t stay in the house and now...”
“I’m disgusted with Peter. I’m disgusted by what he’s doing to Trevor. But that
doesn’t mean you and I...”
Was that why Derek had looked so tense when Stiles had got in the car? Had he
been worrying that Stiles was about to back out of the contract? If that was
the case, Stiles was almost flattered that Derek had cared that much.
“Is there anything we can do about Trevor?” Stiles asked.
Derek shook his head, “This is between him and Peter.”
“So what will happen now?”
“It usually goes one of two ways. Sometimes, the person decides very quickly
they don’t like Peter’s idea of fun and they end the contract. But there’s a
tipping point around the first week, when the person has gone through too much.
They don’t want to walk away because that means they went through all that for
nothing, so they stick around, waiting for a payoff that they hope will make it
all worthwhile.”
“But the payoff never comes?”
“Peter will just make things worse and worse until he reaches a breaking
point.”
“This can’t be legal.”
“Technically, they consent. Trevor’s signed a contract.”
“Technically?” Stiles spat the word with such venom that Derek actually
flinched.
“I don’t like what Peter does,” Derek said, “but Trevor’s the one who can call
this off. Not either of us. You’ve warned him. Now it’s up to him to listen.”
“So you’re saying we should just do nothing while Peter coerces him into doing
god knows what?”
“I’m saying that’s all we can do.”
“Ugh!” Stiles hated doing nothing. He hated even more that Derek was probably
right. Stiles had talked to Trevor and tried to get him to see sense, but he
couldn’t live the guy’s life for him. If he was going to insist on being an
idiot then Stiles couldn’t prevent that.
Stiles glared out of the car window while Derek put the thing into drive again
and started them moving. Stiles watched the streets pass by without really
seeing them, still wondering if he could somehow find the right words to
convince Trevor to see Peter for the manipulative monster he really was. He
wasn’t paying attention to where they were going until he recognised familiar
houses. He sat up a little.
“You’re taking me home?” Stiles asked.
“I thought... unless you want me to take you back to the school so you can get
your jeep?”
“No. I can deal with the jeep in the morning.”
Derek parked the car in front of Stiles’ house. Stiles decided not to ask how
Derek knew where he lived. He was pretty certain that he wouldn’t like the
answer.
“Stiles,” Derek said quietly, “I don’t want to be like Peter. I don’t want to
pressure you into anything or push boundaries you’d rather not be pushed.
Yesterday with the plug, I know you weren’t really comfortable with that and
I’m sorry.”
“Derek,” Stiles cut him off, “you are nothing like Peter. You haven’t pushed.
You’ve been extremely sweet.”
Derek made a face and demanded, “Sweet?!”
Stiles couldn’t help a burst of laughter. After all the tension of discussing
Trevor, he needed this, this look of absolute horror on Derek’s face at being
considered sweet.
“You are, man,” Stiles said.
“Never call me that anywhere that Peter could overhear.”
Stiles laughed again and leaned across to kiss Derek quickly, “It’ll be our
little secret.”
He grabbed the handle of his backpack and then reached out to open the door. He
hesitated for a moment in that position, then turned to look at Derek, who had
clearly spent the last day fretting over whether or not Stiles thought
creepiness ran in the family.
“Do you want to come in?” Stiles asked.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
“Come on you stupid – damn it!” Derek was nearly yelling. Stiles was trying to
keep from laughing. He was really trying, but it was hard. Derek was getting so
invested in the game, which wouldn’t have been nearly so funny except that he
was truly terrible at it.
“Why do they keep killing me?” Derek demanded while he waited for his character
to spawn.
“Because you keep standing in the open,” Stiles said. Derek’s character popped
into life again the middle of the battlefield. “Look. There’s a wall to your
right. Go over to that.” He tried not to laugh while Derek ran into the wall
and apparently tried to run through it.
Red warnings flashed onto the screen.
“You’ve been targeted by someone behind you,” Stiles warned. “Go round to the
other side of the wall.”
Derek’s character was still trying to run through the wall, but he was moving
sideways along it at least. Not fast enough though. The character’s head
exploded. Stiles had to be impressed with how much effort had been put into the
graphics for the blood in this game. Derek just looked like he wanted to throw
the controller through the TV.
“We could play something else,” Stiles suggested, for about the third time.
“No,” Derek growled. “I’m going to kill someone in this thing if it kills me.”
“Right now I’m more concerned about you killing my TV.”
Derek spawned again.
“Look,” said Stiles. “On your left. There’s a soldier. Shoot him before he
shoots you.”
Derek got his character looking in the right direction and then looked down to
inspect the game controller to find the button to shoot. By the time he looked
up again, his character had collapsed under a hail of bullets.
“This thing should come with an easy mode,” Derek complained. Stiles made a
vague noise that might be interpreted as agreement. He didn’t point out that
Derek hadn’t got past the training level intended to teach new players the
controls. This was as easy as it came.
“I thought werewolves were supposed to have great reflexes,” Stiles said, as
Derek yet again failed to shoot an enemy before getting shot.
“In real life we do,” Derek said, “but this stupid computer guy doesn’t know
that.”
He spawned. This time, Derek jammed his finger down on the fire button while
spinning round randomly. His hit register in the corner of the screen actually
ticked up one but then Derek ran out of ammunition. Normally Derek died too
quickly for that to happen.
“OK,” said Stiles, “you need to reload your weapon. You have to point the gun
at the ground – never mind.” He finished up as Derek died again.
“Stupid game,” Derek muttered. He looked ready to transform into a werewolf and
slash things to pieces with claws.
“I should have started you off with Dance Central or something,” Stiles said.
“I can see why people think video games cause violence.”
Stiles wondered how long this could last for. Surely Derek should be able to
kill someone just by pure fluke. It had to happen eventually.
Derek spawned and ran to the nearest building, standing against the wall. At
least he’d stopped trying to run through things. Stiles crossed his fingers for
luck as Derek turned round, looking for something to shoot. The red warnings
flashed up for a moment and then Derek’s character exploded.
“What the hell was that?”
“Grenade,” Stiles said.
“Grenade? That is just cheating.”
“You’ve got grenades too. You just have to change weapons.”
Derek glared at the screen, muttering under his breath about cheating computer
sprites with grenades.
“OK,” said Stiles. “That’s enough.”
He reached over to try and take the controller away from Derek. Derek pulled
his hands out of reach. Stiles struggled to reach over, scrambling almost
across Derek’s lap.
“No, I’m going to get this,” Derek said.
“Derek, it’s supposed to be fun. You’re not having fun.”
“I’m not going to be beaten by a stupid game.”
While Stiles and Derek were scuffling over the controller, Derek’s character
had spawned and died again in a burst of well-rendered simulated blood.
“Now look what you’ve done,” Derek complained. He elbowed Stiles in the ribs to
drive him back to the other end of the couch. Then he adjusted his hands on the
controller and tried to glare the TV into submission again.
“I’m going to get us a snack,” Stiles said, because it looked like Derek might
be here all week getting shot and blown up and generally slaughtered. He just
would not accept that maybe shoot ‘em up video games weren’t his forte. Maybe
Derek was just not used to being bad at something.
He went into the kitchen, grabbing a couple of sodas and pulling a bag of chips
out of one of the cupboards. He hesitated a moment and then pulled out a bowl
to empty the chips into, because it seemed slightly more hospitable. He had no
idea what he was doing here, what had possessed him to invite Derek in for
video games like they were friends. Like they were boyfriends.
Stiles went back into the den in time to see Derek’s character die yet again
and Derek swear at the screen. Stiles put the chips down on the coffee table in
front of him. He took a small handful and sat back on the couch, watching Derek
successfully move his character across the virtual landscape only to get shot
in the back.
He was just starting to wonder if he should rig a power outage to put Derek out
of his misery, when Derek finally managed to not only shoot one of the game
characters but kill it.
“Yes! Take that, you stupid computer. I finally win.”
“Congratulations,” Stiles said. “I knew you’d get there eventually.”
He took the controls from Derek and turned the game off before Derek could
realise that he was actually supposed to make ten kills in order to pass the
training level.
“People play these things for fun?” Derek asked.
“Yeah, well, some people run marathons for fun or throw themselves off bridges
with elasticated rope around their ankles. It takes all sorts to make a world.”
“I guess.”
They sat in awkward silence for a minute. Derek reached out and took a handful
of chips from the bowl. Stiles crunched his way through his handful. Beside
him, Derek crunched.
“So,” said Stiles, “what do you want to do?” He realised that might be
interpreted in certain ways given that they were in a sexual relationship so he
pressed on quickly, “Bearing in mind that this is my dad’s house and I’m not
sure when he’ll be back from work and so we shouldn’t do anything that will
result in you getting shot, even though he did technically agree to this.”
“Your dad’s not happy about you being my consort?”
“No.”
“But didn’t he have to agree? I know in states where the age of consent is
sixteen they don’t have to get parental agreement, but I thought here they
did.”
“Dad signed a form saying I could get my physical health checked and, if
eligible, get an invite to the party. He knew what the party was about but I
don’t think it ever occurred to him that I’d get picked.” Stiles considered. “I
probably should be offended by that.”
“Definitely,” Derek said. He leaned across the couch and pecked a kiss to
Stiles’ cheek. It was such an unexpected thing, utterly devoid of sexual
undertones, that Stiles was left just sitting there in surprise.
“What does your mom think of all this?” Derek asked.
Stiles went cold, the way he always did when a question about his mom caught
him out of nowhere.
“She’s dead,” he said.
“Oh. I’m sorry,” Derek said. It was said quickly, with guilt in his tone.
Stiles wasn’t sure if he was apologising for bringing the subject up, or just
expressing condolences. Probably both.
Stiles shrugged, “I’m surprised it wasn’t in the files you got on me.”
“It probably is. I didn’t read the files. You’ve had enough invasions of your
privacy lately.” Derek added in a small voice, “I didn’t want to be like
Peter.”
This shouldn’t be a big deal, Stiles knew that. The fact that someone hadn’t
grossly invaded his privacy should be the bare minimum of respect between two
people. It shouldn’t be something he found sweet. But even though he knew all
that, the thought of Derek trying hard not to treat him the way Peter had
treated him gave Stiles a little flutter inside. Now it was Stiles’ turn to
lean over on the couch and press a kiss to Derek’s cheek.
“You are nothing like Peter,” Stiles insisted.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind sharing his ability with sarcasm,” Derek said.
“Perfectly understandable. Feel free to inherit the family sarcasm trait.”
“I’m glad I have your permission to be sarcastic,” Derek said, more than a
little sarcasm in his tone.
“Are you being sarcastic about being sarcastic? That’s a dangerous road to go
down. Before you know it, you’ll be trapped in a huge void of sarcasm where you
don’t know what’s real and what’s not.”
“A sarchasm,” Derek said. It took Stiles a few moments to get the pun, but in
his defence he’d heard the word spoken aloud. If Derek had written it down, he
would have got it much more quickly. He groaned, and Derek just grinned like
he’d won a point.
“Just for that, I should put the game back on and let you get shot again. How
the hell is it you can be that bad at video games?”
“Apparently werewolves have better things to do than to play games with silly
computer sprites,” Derek said. Something in the way he said it made Stiles
think he was quoting someone, and there was more than a little bitterness
hidden in the tone.
“Peter?” Stiles asked.
“Actually my mother. She thought we should spend our time expanding our
intellects and bettering ourselves. She didn’t approve of video games. She
barely let us watch TV.”
“That’s rough.”
Derek shrugged, saying, “I speak three languages, I have a degree in
literature, and I’m most of the way to a degree in politics and economics.”
“Wait, you’re in college?” Stiles asked.
“It’s a remote learning course. I watch videos of lectures over the internet,
submit papers by email, stuff like that. The only time I actually have to go to
college is to take exams.”
“Are you enjoying it?”
“Peter thought it would be more useful as a subject than literature.”
“So no,” Stiles said. Derek just shrugged again.
“It’s alright,” Derek said. “Parts of it are interesting. I just don’t really
enjoy all the statistics that’s important for the economics side. But Peter’s
right, I can’t just read books all day if I’m going to be the alpha.”
Derek sounded less enthusiastic about being the alpha than he did about doing
statistics. Stiles hadn’t really thought about being an alpha as an obligation,
but it was clear Derek was seeing it as a job he would eventually inherit
rather than a privileged position. Stiles wondered if Trevor would be less
enthusiastic about sliming his way into the pack if he heard Derek talking like
this. Probably not.
“We still haven’t decided what to do,” Stiles said.
“This is your house.”
“Yeah, but you’re the guest. You should express preference.”
“But I don’t know what you have to do in your house.”
“You know, the usual.”
“Which means what exactly?”
Stiles didn’t know whether to glare at Derek or just laugh. At this rate,
they’d be stuck on this couch forever, unable to decide what to do. Stiles got
up and went over to the TV stand, opening the cupboards beneath it to reveal
rows of DVD cases.
“Pick something to watch,” Stiles said. Derek left the couch and joined him,
crouching down to read the rows of titles.
“What’s good?” Derek asked.
“They’re all good. That’s why we paid money to get the disks,” Stiles said.
Derek reached for a case and Stiles corrected, “Except that one. That’s boring.
It’s one of my dad’s.”
“I have no idea what to pick. I know nothing about any of these movies.”
A part of Stiles wanted to despair at Derek’s inability to make a decision, but
the rest of him was filled with pity. Sure, Derek had privileges and status and
superhuman senses and the ability to pick virginal boys as sex partners, but
he’d been deprived of the simple joys of lying on the couch watching mindless
movies. So Stiles grabbed a case of the shelves and turned to Derek saying,
“Your true education is about to begin.”
“With Star Wars?”
“You ever seen it?”
Derek shook his head.
“Then it’s time you found out what you’ve been missing,” Stiles said.
Stiles started the movie playing and the two of them settled back onto the
couch, the bowl of chips between them. Stiles wondered if he’d made a strategic
error with the placement of the chips. With the bowl between them, they
couldn’t cuddle up or make out. But if he moved the chips now, it would be
obvious what he was thinking about, and he didn’t want Derek thinking he
definitely wanted to make out if Derek was actually enjoying the movie. Stiles
looked sideways at Derek. It looked like he was enjoying the movie.
Without taking his eyes off the screen, Derek reached out and took hold of
Stiles’ chin, turning Stiles’ face back around so he was looking towards the TV
screen again. Stiles might have complained about being moved like that but he
was actually impressed that Derek managed to do that without even looking.
Han Solo had just been introduced for the first time when Stiles heard the
front door open. His dad followed the sound of the TV through into the den.
Stiles looked across and watched his dad’s cheerful expression harden when he
saw Derek. Stiles quickly hit the pause button.
“Hey, Dad.”
“Stiles. Derek.”
“Hello again, Mr Stilinski,” Derek said. He didn’t move from the couch.
Stiles’ dad looked between them and the TV, “Star Wars?”
“Derek’s never seen it,” Stiles said.
“I don’t remember seeing this in the contract.”
“There aren’t any rules against it,” Derek said.
“Are you staying for dinner?”
Derek looked nervously between Stiles and his dad and then said, “No, I should
go. We can finish the movie another time.”
Derek hesitated and then gave Stiles the briefest peck on the cheek that was
physically possible, before edging past Stiles’ dad and out the door. Stiles
just sat there on the couch, his dad watching him. His dad was looking at him
like he had something important to say, but he just stood there silent. Stiles
realised why when he heard the car engine start outside. His dad was waiting
for Derek to drive away so he couldn’t overhear.
“So,” he said at last, “you were watching Star Wars?”
“Yep.”
“Why?”
“Because he sucks at video games.”
His dad just stared at him. Apparently that wasn’t a good enough answer.
“We were just hanging out,” Stiles said, “and Derek hadn’t seen Star Wars.”
“Hanging out? With the man you have a contract to perform sexual services for?”
“What are you upset about?” Stiles asked. “Surely it’s better that he thinks of
me as a person he can hang out with, rather than someone to use just for sex.”
“I just don’t want you getting in over your head,” he dad said. “I don’t want
you getting emotionally involved when...” he trailed off.
Stiles finished the thought, “When this is just a temporary sex thing for him.
I know. I am aware of what this is to Derek, and what that means.”
Chapter End Notes
     For some reason I find it hilarious to picture Derek playing video
     games incredibly badly.
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
     Some NSFW stuff later including light bondage.
Stiles had to call Scott to get a lift to school, since his jeep was still
parked there. Scott borrowed his mom’s car to drive them both. Of course, that
meant Stiles had to spend the ride to school explaining what had happened with
Derek. Scott seemed more than a little disappointed when Stiles told him.
“Video games and Star Wars?” Scott asked.
“He’s been seriously deprived of such things,” Stiles replied, “and, by the
way, this means he’s automatically more awesome than you because he’s at least
seen some of Star Wars which means he’ll get my ‘you’re my only hope’ reference
while you are still hopeless.”
“I get your references.”
“Having heard my jokes enough times to know when I make a Star Wars reference
is not the same as getting my Star Wars references. Seriously, dude, you need
to watch the movies.”
“How did this get onto me?” Scott asked. “We were talking about Derek. I
thought you two were supposed to just fuck like bunnies.”
“I know. But I think he wants to prove to himself that he’s not like Alpha
Creeper. I didn’t want to have sex at my house where my dad might walk in and
he just went with that. Then he got kind of obsessed with not admitting defeat
about the game.”
“You can talk. You were the same about that dead princess game for a while.”
“That’s different,” Stiles started, then he stopped, because he could see
Scott’s point. He’d started playing a game a while back that involved trying to
get a princess to survive to her coronation, which proved exceedingly difficult
as there were about a billion ways for her to die and some of them became
unavoidable if he’d made certain decisions earlier in the game. He’d kept
playing over and over, despite his infuriation at the game, because he was
determined he was going to find a way to win even if it killed him. He hadn’t
wanted to be beaten by a game. He supposed yesterday had been the same, with
Derek hating to be shown to be unable to outsmart a bunch of code.
Stiles slumped back in his seat. Scott looked victorious.
“Does this mean you’re going to start just hanging out with Derek?” Scott
asked.
“I don’t know. Yesterday might have just been a weird thing because he knew I
was freaking out about Peter. He signed up for one thing and one thing only.”
The question Stiles didn’t want to think about was whether he wanted to hang
out with Derek again. It had been weird and awkward, but there had been moments
of fun, and not just laughing at Derek being so utterly awful at the game.
Maybe his atrociousness was because he was a werewolf? Werewolves were used to
super senses, and probably reacted in daily life based on cues from smell and
sound that a human just didn’t even know were there. A werewolf would
instinctively rely on them, but videos games were generally marketed to a human
audience and would be designed to work for human senses. The subtle clues only
a werewolf would notice wouldn’t even be there.
“You OK?” Scott asked.
“Yeah, sorry, got side-tracked with my thoughts.”
Scott made an amused noise. Really he should have been used to this by now.
“Are you going back to his place tonight?” Scott asked.
“I’m not sure.” Stiles wondered if he should wait and see what Derek wanted,
but Derek would probably try and not appear pushy and let Stiles decide. Right
now, Stiles’ only decision was to see how much homework he got and make the
decision from that.
***
In the end, Stiles waited until Friday and then texted Derek suggesting he go
back to the Hale house. Derek replied at once saying he’d be welcome. The speed
of it made Stiles think that Derek had been eagerly awaiting the text.
Stiles was prepared for this visit with his overnight bag left in his jeep
through school. There were a couple of extra items tucked into the bag. The
first was the half-watched Star Wars DVD. The second was the butt plug. Stiles
knew it was illogical to think that anyone at school would break into his jeep,
go through his overnight bag, find the thing, and then taunt him for all
eternity, but still that whisper of a fear was in the back of his mind all day.
What if they found out? He found himself looking around at the other students,
wondering what they would think if they knew he had a butt plug in his bag.
His mind was filled with imaginary insults and he nearly panicked every time
anyone called his name. He made it through school and into lacrosse practice
without any incident. He tried to be rational and accept that people were
giving him weird looks because he was being jumpy, not because they knew that
he was having kinky sex. Though really he couldn’t blame them for thinking that
because he was having kinky sex. Telling himself that they probably already
assumed he was doing all this and more didn’t really help.
He left school and drove straight over to the Hale house, Derek opening the
door to greet him as before. He took Stiles’ overnight bag from him and led the
way upstairs. They went straight to Derek’s room. Once there, Stiles fished out
the two items he’d brought.
“I wasn’t sure if you were actually interested in watching the rest,” Stiles
said, holding aloft the DVD. Derek actually smiled.
“Absolutely,” he said. Stiles wasn’t sure if that was because he was really
into Star Wars or because he’d just been seriously deprived of movies in his
youth and this was his way of compensating. Either way, Stiles would be happy
to oblige. But maybe not right now.
Stiles pulled the plug out and confessed his ignorance on how to clean it.
Derek went to the closet and opened up a large chest that stood on the floor
beneath racks of clothes. Stiles was burning with curiosity, particularly when
Derek lifted something leather with straps out of the way so he could rummage
inside. There was a clank of metal inside the chest. Then Derek stood up
holding a small bottle. He tossed it to Stiles.
“Toy cleaner,” Stiles read off the label.
“To be honest, I’m not sure how it differs from other disinfectants, but it
keeps everything clean. You can keep that bottle in case you end up taking
other toys home.”
“Thanks.” Stiles tucked the bottle into his overnight bag.
“I take it you’re not in any way prepped?”
“No. Should I be?”
Stiles wondered if he was messing up here. He was supposed to be Derek’s sex
toy after all, as much as any of the stuff in that chest. Maybe he should have
prepared himself so Derek could be free to use him in any way as soon as he
arrived.
But Derek just shook his head and said, “No, I just wanted to check before we
got started.”
“Sounds like you’ve got something planned?”
Derek returned to the closet, but this time he picked up some items that had
been left sitting next to the chest. Presumably he’d got them out earlier. He
walked back into the bedroom and laid them out on the bed for Stiles to see.
There were four lengths of rope and the silk blindfold.
“I thought we’d play with your sense of touch,” Derek said.
“You want to tie me up and touch me?”
“With a variety of different objects. Nothing that would hurt you in any way. I
could show you them if you want but that would spoil the surprise.”
Stiles looked at the blindfold, which was presumably also to preserve the sense
of mystery. Derek clearly had ideas about how he wanted this to go, but he was
complying with Stiles’ rule about prior discussion and consent. Stiles just had
to decide how much he trusted Derek in this. He could insist on knowing every
little detail of what he was agreeing to, or he could just accept that he was
probably going to enjoy it as much as the last time he’d been here in Derek’s
power.
“Surprise me,” Stiles said. Derek rewarded him with a smile.
In the next moment, Derek’s smile disappeared. His demeanour shifted and he
seemed to become more serious. He stood in front of Stiles and Stiles was once
again reminded how much power Derek had. His strength seemed to radiate off
him.
“Remove your clothes,” Derek ordered. It was an order, there could be no doubt
about that, but it was spoken in a low, soft tone.
Stiles obeyed, trying to be a little more graceful about it than on previous
occasions. He wanted to make this part of the event, rather than a chore to get
out of the way so they could get to the good stuff. He lifted his shirt slowly,
exposing skin as a gradual process, instead of just ripping everything off.
Shirt off, he turned his back on Derek and bent down to undo his shoes,
shifting his ass from side to side as he moved from one shoe to the other. He
peered between his legs to check that Derek was watching him. He was.
Stiles straightened and turned back to face Derek, unfastening his fly with
deliberately slowness. He met Derek’s eye and offered a smile, before easing
jeans and underwear down over his hips. Derek’s eyes tracked downwards,
watching the exposing of Stiles’ legs. Then Stiles stepped out of the puddle of
his jeans, and stood naked in front of Derek.
Being naked while Derek was fully clothed was turning out to be a major kink
for him. The heat of his arousal filled him and he was already getting hard
without either of them laying a finger on him. Stiles wasn’t sure what it was
about the situation that was turning him on and he decided that this wasn’t the
time to do an in-depth analysis of his psyche. For now, he would just enjoy the
experience.
“On the bed,” Derek ordered.
And Stiles, usually the most argumentative guy around, obeyed without question.
Under Derek’s direction, he lay down in the middle of the bed, on top of the
covers. Derek picked up one of the lengths of rope and walked round to the side
of the bed. He lifted Stiles’ arm gently by the wrist, but he didn’t start
working with the rope just yet.
“Do you remember your safe words?” Derek asked.
Stiles decided this was not the time to roll his eyes and say something
sarcastic, so he simply said, “Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“Scott or red.”
“OK,” Derek said. He started looping the rope around Stiles’ wrist. He worked
efficiently, but still managed to check repeatedly to make sure that there
would be no problems with circulation. In minutes, Derek had Stiles’ wrist
bound to the corner of the bed. He then walked round the bed and dealt with the
other wrist in the same way. Stiles shifted a little, testing his freedom and
checking that he wasn’t going to get too uncomfortable.
Derek moved to another corner and picked up another length of rope. Stiles knew
what was coming, and he watched as Derek quickly bound his ankle to the bed
post. Pretty soon, all four of Stiles’ limbs were secured, gently but firmly.
Stiles tugged a little at the bonds, testing them, before lying still to await
what was coming.
Derek sat down on the edge of the bed and held up the piece of silk. He trailed
the end of it up Stiles chest, the smooth fabric brushing lightly over his
skin, bringing up goosebumps in its wake.
“You ready for this?” Derek asked.
“Yes,” Stiles breathed.
Derek placed the band of silk over Stiles’ eyes and Stiles lifted his head from
the pillows to allow him to tie it off. Stiles’ heart was racing now as he lay
in darkness, helpless, waiting for whatever Derek had planned. He was already
achingly hard and Derek had barely touched him.
There was a long moment when Stiles could feel nothing but the ropes around his
limbs and the silk of the blindfold. He could hear Derek moving about, but only
air touched Stiles’ skin. Then Derek returned with a shifting over the mattress
and something soft ran up Stiles’ side. Some sort of cloth, he thought, running
over his skin. Something mirrored it on the other side, smooth and light rather
than soft. For a minute, Stiles tried to identify the somethings, but then he
just let himself be lost in sensations.
Up and down his torso, dancing across his nipples, trailing across his neck,
those sensations flowed, sometimes in sync, sometimes separate. Just as Stiles
was starting to fall into a pattern, one item would leave and then a different
texture would begin its journey across his skin, painting him in sensations.
The feelings swam across the skin of his torso only occasionally drifting
lower, becoming a teasing play on his cock to keep his erection from
diminishing.
Stiles squirmed whenever the touches reached his cock, hoping for something
more, something harder, something else, but Derek just began his play of light
touches once again.
Stiles squealed when something tickled across his armpit. He tugged
involuntarily at his restraints, trying to pull his arm down. Derek quickly
moved to other areas, keeping up the light play on less ticklish spots.
Something sharp ran across his stomach. It wasn’t painful. It didn’t cut him at
all. It just ran over his skin in a pleasurable way, like the scratching of an
itch he hadn’t known he had. He let out a little huff of surprised breath. A
thought crept into his mind as the sharp thing trailed up to his nipples. Was
Derek using his claws?
That thought should have been terrifying. Stiles knew how hopelessly vulnerable
he was right now. Derek was a werewolf. Those claws could eviscerate him in a
heartbeat. And yet, when faint scratches trailed down his sides, he nearly came
right then.
When Derek shifted to his tongue, Stiles didn’t have to guess what it was. He
licked and kissed his way across Stiles’ body, nuzzling Stiles’ neck, sucking
on his nipples, licking out his navel, and then down to play across his balls
and up the length of his achingly hard cock. Stiles moaned. It was possible he
even said things, but his brain wasn’t coherent enough for his language
functions to be working properly. Then Derek engulfed his erection in a hot
mouth and Stiles was undone instantly.
As he came down from the orgasm, he was aware of a new sensation, of something
sticky and wet hitting his skin. He knew it wasn’t his own cum. Derek must have
climaxed making Stiles do the same.
Stiles seemed to be in a floaty haze as Derek unfastened the ropes. The silk of
the blindfold slid away but Stiles’ eyes remained closed as Derek pressed a
quick kiss to each eyelid. Stiles smiled at that sensation.
“Wait here,” Derek whispered. Stiles didn’t think he could do anything else. He
lay there on the bed, tucking his limbs in to his body, and listened to the
sounds of Derek moving around and the sudden rush of running water.
A minute later, Derek was back with him, arms slipping under his body and
lifting him from the bed. Stiles snuggled into Derek’s chest. He ought to make
some sarcastic comment about being carried around like a baby, but he couldn’t
think of one right now, so he let Derek carry him into the bathroom and lower
him into that enormous tub. Stiles lay in the warm water as Derek climbed in
beside him, Derek’s strong hands wiping them both clean. Then they lay back
against the edge of the tub, Derek’s arms wrapping around Stiles from behind,
holding him close.
“How was that?” Derek asked.
Stiles couldn’t think of the words, the way to express how awesome that had
been, how Derek had undone him completely and left him this new being. The fact
that he couldn’t think of how to say it proved he wasn’t the same person he’d
been before. So Stiles took hold of one of Derek’s hands and lifted it from the
water. Stiles pressed a kiss to the palm of the strong hand that had made him
feel all those things. He kissed the tips of the fingers, staring down at
Derek’s hand, wondering how he’d never seen what a miracle this hand could be.
“Stiles,” Derek said, a trace of concern in his voice now, “I need to know if
that was OK for you.”
“Wasn’t OK,” Stiles said. OK was such a weak word. Too small a word for what
they’d just shared.
“Oh,” Derek said, sadly. “OK then. I’m sorry. We won’t do that again. Next
time, please say, if it’s not OK.”
There was pain in his voice and that was enough to break through the floaty
haze that Stiles was feeling. His brain started up again and he realised how
badly Derek had misunderstood his statement. Stiles twisted round so he could
look Derek in the eye.
“Derek, stop. It wasn’t OK because it was amazing. OK is getting a B in a class
you’re averaging an A in. The prawn toast from the cheap Chinese place is OK.
OK is acceptable. That was so much more.”
He kissed Derek quickly, and that kiss transformed Derek’s worried mouth into a
smile.
“You liked it then?” Derek asked.
“It was incredible.”
Stiles shifted round again, narrowly avoiding elbowing Derek in the chest, so
that he could settle back into Derek’s arms. He thought about what had just
happened.
“It felt... intense,” Stiles said. “Like I just turned my brain off somehow. I
wasn’t thinking, I was just feeling.”
Derek kissed Stiles’ hair.
It was sweet that Derek was so concerned about Stiles. Stiles would have said
as much, but he’d promised never to call him sweet where Peter might overhear
and they were in Peter’s house right now. So Stiles just lay there, feeling the
warm water around him and Derek’s body pressed against his back. He felt light
still, like he could just rise up and float on the surface of the bath.
“We need to have sex in this bath,” Stiles said.
“Not right now,” Derek said, with a huff of amusement.
“No, not right now. Right now would involve moving.”
“We are going to have to move eventually. The water will get cold and we’re
both going to need dinner.”
Stiles didn’t answer. If he didn’t answer he could ignore the probability of
having to get out of this bath in the near future and having to go eat dinner
with Peter. It was easier if he just pretended that the world outside didn’t
exist. There was just him and Derek, the bathtub and the big bed in the other
room. And the chest in the closet, his thoughts reminded him.
“Am I going to get to see the other stuff in your box of tricks?” Stiles asked.
“Huh?”
“The chest in the closet. Do I get to see what else is in there?”
“If you like,” Derek said, “but some of it I’m not going to use with you.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’ve already said there are things you don’t want to try.”
Stiles tried to remember the details of that conversation. He’d told Derek he
wasn’t interested in anything that hurt. It made him wonder what things Derek
might have in that chest. And who he might have used them with. Stiles decided
that the unspoken rule of not asking about exes wasn’t really relevant in this
situation because it wasn’t like he and Derek were actually in a relationship.
Besides, his curiosity was now roused.
“Who did you do all this with before I came along?” Stiles asked.
Derek didn’t answer at once. Stiles wondered if he’d overstepped his mark.
Maybe he should have stayed clear of the subject. Positioned as they were,
Stiles couldn’t even see Derek’s face to see if he was upset or angry or what.
“Clubs,” Derek said at last. “I met people in clubs.”
“You just went into clubs with ropes and blindfolds? You can do that?”
“If you know the right clubs.” There might have been amusement in Derek’s tone
at that. “I’d go into the club and see who was interested in casual sex. We’d
rent a room, have a lot of fun, and then never see each other again.”
“Was that...” Stiles tried to find the right words to ask the question. It
seemed easier when he wasn’t looking Derek in the eye. “As a werewolf, are you
allowed to have one night stands?”
There was another hesitation.
“I had a stack of companion contracts,” Derek said, “each for no more than
twenty four hours, all pre-signed, agreeing to a casual encounter with no
strings attached. From a legal standpoint, it was all fine, and there are
plenty of people who frequent those sort of clubs who get off on the idea of
sex with a werewolf.”
“So what changed?”
“I ran out of contracts and Peter wouldn’t sign new ones. He said I gave people
the wrong impression of werewolves.” Derek made an angry noise, like a faint
growl deep in his chest. Stiles felt it through his back. “With all he does, he
thought I was the one making us look bad by having perfectly safe and
consensual encounters in a controlled environment. He said if I wanted to let
off steam, I had to do it his way.”
“And so you’re stuck with me.”
“That’s not... Stiles, you’re... I like what we do together.”
“Yeah, me too,” Stiles said. It was the truth. But Stiles was glad he wasn’t
looking Derek in the eye because everything Derek had said just confirmed what
Stiles already knew. This was about sex for him. This was one long casual
encounter because he wasn’t allowed to have his one night stands anymore.
Stiles couldn’t let himself forget that, not ever. He had to remember that all
of this was just a temporary arrangement.
***** Chapter 12 *****
Chapter Notes
     Some more NSFW stuff towards the end, including bondage and
     vibrators.
They were a little late getting to the dinner table. From the amused
expressions around the table, the rest of the pack knew exactly why they were
late. Most of the pack were sitting around the table, though Erica and Boyd
were nowhere in sight tonight. There was someone else there. As Stiles walked
into the room, he saw Trevor. Trevor wasn’t sitting at Peter’s feet, he was
kneeling, the collar around his neck again. He glared out at Stiles, as though
his position were somehow Stiles’ fault. Stiles just stared at him for a few
moments, until Derek’s hand at his elbow guided him towards an empty seat.
The others were already eating their meals, but Malia quickly served out
portions of... something. There were blackened bits and chunks of recognisable
vegetables, but beyond that, Stiles couldn’t guess. He forced a smile.
“Looks good,” he said.
“I can tell you’re lying, you know,” Malia said. She slammed Derek’s portion
down on his place and then resumed her own meal.
“Sorry,” Stiles muttered.
No one was eating with any enthusiasm. Stiles put a forkful in his mouth,
hoping that it would taste better than it looked. It didn’t.
At the head of the table, Peter picked out a blackened piece from his food. He
held it below the table, presumably for Trevor. Peter caught Stiles watching
and smiled.
“Malia has many talents,” he said. “Unfortunately cooking is not one of them,
though she is improving.”
Stiles couldn’t imagine what food must have been like before the improvements.
He nodded and made a vague noise that he hoped would substitute an answer. He
couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t be considered a major insult.
“Do you often cook?” Stiles asked Malia.
“When it’s my turn,” she answered.
“A pack shares responsibility,” Peter said. “We share common chores. Each
member takes their turn supporting the whole.”
“Everyone takes their turn even if they have different skills and could support
the pack in other ways?” Stiles asked.
“You make a good point that people should use the skills they’re best at, but I
do believe everyone ought to be able to scramble eggs without setting the
kitchen on fire,” Peter said. Malia looked down at the table. From the
expression on her face, Stiles guessed Peter wasn’t talking metaphorically.
Peter picked out another piece of blackened charcoal and held it under the
table for Trevor. It seemed Trevor would be getting only the worst parts of the
meal. At least Stiles could pick around the charred parts.
“Do you cook for the pack?” Stiles asked Peter.
“When the occasion calls for it.”
Stiles wondered if he should offer to cook for the pack. After all, he was
supposedly an honorary member. But Peter had already kicked up a fuss about him
setting the table. But if Peter was vehemently against it, maybe that was all
the more reason to offer.
“Should I help with the dinner preparations some nights?” Stiles asked.
“Of course not,” said Peter. “It’s not your place to serve the pack; you’re a
guest.” He stressed that last word like it was an insult.
Stiles wondered what Trevor was thinking in his place below the table, where he
waited on his knees. Stiles was a guest. So what the hell was Trevor? Stiles
wasn’t sure which of them that word was aimed at. He couldn’t understand
Peter’s actions here at all. He couldn’t understand what point Peter possibly
thought he was making. He decided not to try, and went back to attempting to
eat the awful meal.
Peter turned his attention to Derek, interrogating him on his studies and
suggesting some economics journals he ought to subscribe to for background
reading. Derek answered the questions calmly and nodded along to all of the
suggestions, but he showed as much enthusiasm as a corpse.
Dessert turned out to be shop bought cupcakes, for which Stiles was immensely
grateful. He nearly shoved the whole thing in his mouth at once to try and
drown out the taste of the main course with sugar and frosting.
They escaped soon after that, Stiles following Derek back up to the bedroom. He
was learning the route now, though he was sure he would still get lost if he
tried to find anywhere else in the house. On the walk up, he considered the
conversation he’d just had with Peter. Stiles waited until the door was firmly
shut behind him.
“I have an idea I think Peter will really hate,” he said.
Derek smiled and asked, “What?”
“I want to cook breakfast.” Derek looked puzzled, so Stiles continued, “He’s
said I shouldn’t be making dinner, but he hasn’t forbidden any other meals. If
I cook breakfast for the pack, I’m not challenging his authority because
technically he hasn’t told me not to, but I’m definitely going against the
spirit of what he’s said.”
“You want to cook breakfast for the whole pack?”
“Unless you think he’s going to destroy everything I love for insulting his
hospitality.”
Derek was looking thoughtful, a distant look on his face as though he were
frowning at some far off point that Stiles couldn’t see.
“It’s perfect,” Derek said.
“I’m not sure ‘perfect’ is quite the right-“
Derek cut him off, “No, don’t you see, you’d be supporting the pack. This is
how we do things, everyone helping out, supporting each other, doing tasks
together. Peter is trying to keep you at a distance, calling you a guest, but
this would be you inserting yourself into the pack.”
“When you put it like that, I’m not sure it’s such a good idea. I don’t want
anyone else to think I’m intruding. It’s only Peter I want to annoy.”
“Everyone else will appreciate a cooked breakfast,” Derek said, “but some of
them might be suspicious that you’re trying to win favour.”
“Favour?”
“Some people want to be a consort to get the bite, or to get the status of
being part of a pack. Cooking breakfast might be interpreted as...”
“As buttering you up,” Stiles said. A horrible thought occurred, “Do you think
that I’m...”
“No,” Derek cut him off before he could even finish the question. “You didn’t
come into this trying to get something out of it.”
“I’m getting awesome sex out of it. And dragon keyrings.”
Derek laughed. He stepped closer to Stiles, placing his hands on Stiles’ arms.
“Awesome, huh?” he asked.
“Definitely.” Stiles pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips. “And I’m sure you promised
something about showing me the rest of your toys.”
Derek’s smile vanished instantly. He looked almost scared, his hands still
resting gently on Stiles’ arms. He made no move to go to the closet. He looked
as nervous as he had been on their first night together, as though he were
afraid the wrong move might send Stiles running for the hills.
“You don’t have to use any of them,” Derek insisted. “You mustn’t feel
pressured. Just because I have them doesn’t mean you have to try.”
“Derek, I know you haven’t known me long, but I assure you I’m perfectly
capable of saying no, loudly and often, if you ask me to do something I don’t
want to do. Just ask my dad.”
There was the faintest hint of a smile returning as Derek said, “I really don’t
think I want to have this conversation with your dad.”
Derek left Stiles standing there and went into the closet. He lifted the huge
chest with no apparent effort and carried it out into the middle of the room,
setting it down near to Stiles. As he crouched down in front of it, Stiles did
the same, peering inside as Derek lifted the lid. This felt like he was getting
a peek into the inner workings of Derek’s mind, seeing what fired his interest
in the most intimate of ways.
The inside of the chest was chaos. Stiles suspected stuff just got thrown in
here whenever it wasn’t in use and Derek had made no attempt to organise it.
Derek just started lifting items out slowly so Stiles could have a look at
them.
First came the rope. Different lengths were looped up in bundles. Most of the
bundles were of black rope, soft and smooth to the touch, like the ones Derek
had used on him earlier, but there were some red ropes of the same type, as
well as a long bundle of a coarse rope.
“I wouldn’t use that on you,” Derek said, while Stiles ran his fingers over the
rough surface, already imagining how uncomfortable it would be on his skin for
any length of time.
“Must be painful,” Stiles said.
“I wouldn’t use that one directly against skin,” Derek said. “Definitely not on
a human and probably not on a werewolf either.”
Derek took the bundle from Stiles’ hands and put it aside with the rest of the
rope. Stiles tried not to think of the implications of what Derek had just
said. It wasn’t like he should be surprised that Derek had presumably had sex
with werewolves as well as humans. Stiles watched Derek lift the next item from
the chest.
There were leather restraints, cuffs for wrists and ankles, as well as more
than one collar of different widths. Stiles took one of the cuffs to look more
closely at it, seeing the red fabric lining, soft beneath his fingertips, and
the sturdy metal ring that could be clipped to another cuff or to a bed or
something. It was about two inches wide. He wrapped the cuff around his wrist
to feel what it was like, aware that Derek was watching his every movement.
He held his wrist out to Derek rather than attempt to fiddle the buckle on one-
handed. Derek swallowed visibly, but quickly slid the buckle closed. Stiles
tugged at the ring, feeling the way the leather embraced his wrist. The cuff
was about two inches wide, and felt strong. It seemed to hold a million
whispered possibilities as it wrapped around his wrist. Stiles took off his
watch so he could take the matching cuff and wrap it around the other wrist.
While Stiles was running his fingers over the smooth leather, Derek dug in the
chest and emerged with a quick release clip. Each end could clip onto the rings
of the cuff but be undone with a simple press of a finger. Derek held it as a
silent question, offering but not pushing.
Stiles took the clip, slipping it into place on first one wrist then the other.
He still had a reasonable range of movement. The clip was a couple of inches
long and Stiles could still twist his hands around each other to reach the
buckles. He’d be able to let himself out if he needed to, but the leather was a
constant reminder of all that might happen.
Stiles left the cuffs buckled in place and looked once more into the chest.
Derek pulled out lengths of chain, with cuffs and collars of solid metal. Derek
put these all aside without letting Stiles look too closely at them.
“They’re strong enough to hold a beta werewolf,” Derek said. “We’ve used them
sometimes with the newly bitten on their first full moons while they learn
control. I wouldn’t use them on you.”
Stiles nodded. There was something exciting about the thought of being chained
up by Derek, but he had a suspicion that it would be another of those cases
where internet porn was better than reality. The edges of those cuffs looked
like they could cut into his skin if he started tugging on them.
Derek pulled out something that was obviously some kind of whip, made of
multiple strands of leather coming out of a handle. Derek started to set it
aside when Stiles held his hands out, wanting a closer look. Derek handed it
over, and Stiles closed a hand around the cool leather of the handle, running
his other hand through the trailing strands.
“You said you weren’t interested in pain play,” Derek said.
“I’m interested in a lot of things,” Stiles said. “I’m just not sure I want
anyone doing them to me.”
He wondered what it would be like to feel those strands against bare skin. He
knew he didn’t like pain. He didn’t like it when he whacked himself on
doorframes or got hit with the ball in lacrosse. In no other part of his life
was he interested in pain, yet somehow holding this object in his hands made
him burn with a mixture of curiosity and arousal.
He handed the flogger to Derek to set aside.
“Have you ever had anyone use this stuff on you?” Stiles asked.
“No,” Derek said. “I need to stay in control.”
That was an interesting way of phrasing. Derek could have said he liked to be
the one on top, or that he wasn’t turned on by being controlled, but he’d used
the word need. Derek didn’t just like to be the dominant one in a sexual
encounter, he needed it. That sparked off a whole different type of curiosity.
But Derek was already digging into the chest again and Stiles decided this
wasn’t the time to ask. If he ever asked. There were other questions he could
ask.
“How were you so nervous on the first night when you had an entire sex box in
here?” Stiles asked.
“I was nervous because of you. In the clubs, people had clear ideas of want
they wanted. You had no idea what you were doing and I was worried that you...
would be scared. I wanted you to be comfortable.”
There was something in the way he admitted it that made Stiles think the words
didn’t go deep enough. It wasn’t just about Stiles being scared off by the
thought of some of the kinky play he knew he wasn’t ready for. Derek didn’t
want Stiles to be scared by him. He didn’t want Stiles to think he was some
kind of freak for enjoying using these things on people. Derek had needed to be
slow and gentle because he’d been afraid of being seen like Peter.
Derek brought out a few more implements for hitting: there were a couple of
paddles of different substances and a riding crop. He put them aside after
giving Stiles only a cursory glance. The he pulled out a pair of leather gloves
and Stiles’ mouth went dry.
“Put them on,” Stiles said. He barely recognised his own voice. He had no idea
why he was reacting like this. He’d never have imagined before this moment that
leather gloves were such a turn-on for him, but now he watched Derek pull tight
leather over those strong fingers. The sight seemed to bypass all higher brain
functions and communicate directly with his crotch. Stiles thought he might
come in his pants when Derek reached out and ran a leather-clad finger over
Stiles’ cheek.
“I guess we’ll be getting some use out of these,” Derek said. Stiles wasn’t
sure if he was amused or excited. Maybe both.
He left the gloves on and went back into the chest. There were cock rings of
different materials and sizes, some with strange textures or attached
vibrators. There were metal bars that could clip to the restraints, and various
clips to hold things together. There was a long series of toys, vibrators and
plugs of different shapes and sizes, all carefully sealed in plastic bags to
keep them clean. Stiles winced at the mere sight of some of them, realising
just how small the one he’d worn actually was. One of the toys resembled a
traffic cone in shape and wasn’t much different in size.
“How the hell to people get those inside them?” Stiles asked.
“A lot of practice and preparation,” Derek said. He picked up one in particular
for Stiles to get a closer look at. “This one would be fun to use.”
The plug was a little larger than the one Stiles had already worn, but this one
came with a radio control unit. It was a remote, with on/off buttons and speed
settings. It had to be a vibrator. A vibrator Derek could control remotely. The
thought was exciting and terrifying in the same instant.
“Maybe,” Stiles said, but he couldn’t keep himself from grinning at the idea.
They were most of the way through Derek’s collection now, but there were a few
more items still to explore. There were more maybes, some more doubtful than
others, like the nipple clamps, which seemed exciting but looked hideously
painful. There were gags and masks, which Stiles wanted to try but was still
worried about, because he didn’t want to lose the ability to back out if things
went too far.
Derek started packing his toys away, putting them back in the chest in a more
orderly manner than they’d been stored in. Stiles looked down at the cuffs he
still wore, the little piece of metal holding them together.
“You don’t have to put everything away right now,” Stiles said.
“Anything particular in mind?” Derek asked.
Up until this point, Derek had been very much in charge of their bedroom
activities. Stiles had the ability to say no, but it had always been Derek
deciding what they would try. Now Stiles looked at the array of options and was
almost overwhelmed. But he made a choice. He reached out and took one of the
sealed bags.
“OK,” Derek said.
***
Derek put most of his collection back into the chest and then carried that back
into the closet. Stiles sat on the edge of the bed and waited, watching him do
it. Derek was still wearing the leather gloves. Stiles’ wrists were still
cuffed together in front of him.
Derek came to stand in front of him. His face had the serious look Stiles was
starting to think of as his in-charge expression. He gestured for Stiles to
stand and then took hold of Stiles’ wrists, unclipping the cuffs from each
other. Stiles didn’t feel at all disappointed, because Derek quickly made it
clear he’d only done this so he could remove Stiles’ t-shirt. Derek seemed
determined to do the undressing, undoing Stiles’ flies and then pulling down
his pants. Stiles’ only actions were in response to Derek’s instructions to
lift his feet, so Derek could pull the garment off completely.
Once again, Stiles stood naked in Derek’s bedroom, while Derek was fully
clothed in front of him. This time, Derek ran leather-gloved fingers over
Stiles’ skin, reaching up to the growing erection. He slipped a ring around the
base of Stiles’ cock. Stiles hadn’t asked for that, but he supposed it made
sense. Derek knew from experience he could have a hair-trigger and neither of
them wanted this to end before it had even begun.
Derek got Stiles to kneel on the bed and then bent him forward over his knees
with gentle touches. Derek took Stiles’ wrists and manoeuvred them to the
bedframe, feeding the clip behind a bar and attaching it to the rings in the
cuff. Stiles could still get his fingers to the clip if he needed to, he could
get out of these restraints more easily than the rope, but there was something
forbidding about the bands of leather that felt more serious, more intense.
“Hold the frame,” Derek ordered. Stiles repositioned his arms so he could take
hold of the bars of the bedframe. His fingers wrapped around the cold metal.
Derek started adjusting Stiles’ legs, urging his feet further apart. A sense of
vulnerability filled Stiles. Positioned as he was, his body bent down over his
kneeling legs, he felt enormously exposed. Spreading his legs, even a little,
made it worse.
Then there was leather wrapping around his ankles. Another pair of the cuffs,
the soft lining pressing against his skin while Derek buckled them in place.
Stiles couldn’t see what was going on, but he heard the click of more of the
quick-release clips and when he tried to move his legs, he found he couldn’t do
much. One of the spreader bars from the chest must be clipped to the cuffs,
holding his legs apart.
A hand touched the small of his back, the leather already warming but still
somehow different from all the times Derek had touched him skin to skin.
“Are you alright?” Derek asked. Stiles tried to nod. His head was pressed
against his arms, resting on them like they were a pillow.
“Stiles?” Derek asked again.
“Yes,” Stiles managed. “Yes, I’m good.”
“Good,” Derek echoed. Then his mouth was on Stiles’ ass. Stiles hadn’t known
what to expect, but he hadn’t expected Derek’s tongue to go there. He made an
incoherent noise as Derek’s tongue slid inside the rim of his asshole. The clip
at his wrists rattled against the bar of the bedstead as he lost his grip.
“You like that, huh?” Derek asked.
“That better not be all you were planning on doing of that.”
Derek dove in again, working his tongue around Stiles’ opening, then pushing it
in, licking him out, working him loose with nothing but his mouth. His hands
were on Stiles’ ass, the leather holding him still. He wanted to writhe, held
on the brink of ecstasy by that tongue attacking his hole.
When Derek pulled away, Stiles whined a little, aware enough in his mind to
hope Derek didn’t notice. Certain that he had.
“I thought you wanted to play with my toys,” Derek said. Then there was
something else pressing at Stiles’ opening. It was the plug, cool rubber slick
with lube. Derek eased the tip inside, then slid it out again. He set up a slow
rhythm, working the toy in and out of the hole he’d only just begun to loosen.
Stiles clenched his hands around the bedframe as Derek carefully worked his
muscles, getting his ass to accept more and more of the toy.
Stiles tried to relax into it, tried to just feel. He was hard as a rock now
and he wanted more from that rubber toy in his ass. He wanted the pleasure he
knew it would be able to give him. Derek pushed the toy a little deeper and
Stiles bit down on a moan. It was stretching him, but in a way that was more
pleasure than pain.
Derek’s free hand rubbed soothing circles on Stiles’ lower back, the leather
smooth against his skin.
“Nearly there,” Derek said.
Stiles nodded, eyes screwed shut. Then there was one more push and suddenly the
widest point was inside. His ass closed around the tapered end, pulling the
plug in deep. It filled him up. And then Derek flipped the switch.
“Gah!” Stiles probably would have come right then if it weren’t for the ring on
his cock. The plug buzzed against his prostrate. Stiles writhed in his
restraints, trying to rub his cock against the bed or something, trying to get
the plug to touch him in the right way.
Derek twisted the plug inside him. It was like a living thing, writhing deep
inside Stiles, pushing him to new pleasure. Derek shifted the ankle, pressing
the vibrations against his prostate. Stiles gave another wordless cry. He
clutched the bed so tightly he half-expected the metal to snap.
“I could undo you,” Derek said, voice soft, barely audible over the pounding of
Stiles’ own heart.
“I could take you to pieces and rebuild you,” Derek went on. “I could make you
mine.”
“Yes,” Stiles breathed out.
Derek slid the plug out, still buzzing as it passed through the rim of muscle.
A moment later, something else filled the void. Something warm and alive thrust
into the opening.
Stiles could feel Derek’s legs against his, his chest against his back. He felt
the fabric, aware that Derek was still fully clothed as he pounded their bodies
together. Leather-clad hands gripped his wrists, holding over the restraints.
Derek’s breaths were hard pants.
Then there was a hand working its way under his body, finding its way to
Stiles’ desperate cock. The cock ring came free and then leather fingers were
pumping him in time to the pounding against his prostate.
Stiles screamed as he came. A few moments later, Derek shuddered against his
back. Stiles felt the wet heat inside him.
As Derek pulled free, all Stiles could do was lie there, breathless. He felt
the slick rubber sliding back into the hole Derek had just pulled out of.
***** Chapter 13 *****
Stiles was woken by a morning erection so hard it almost hurt. He was used to
morning wood but this was ridiculous. He shifted a little and remembered why he
was so hard. The plug was still inside him. And Derek’s arms were wrapped
around him from behind.
Stiles managed to turn over and the act clearly woke Derek up. His blinked
bleary eyes at Stiles and smiled. He looked different in the morning, calmer,
without the tension that seemed to fill him during the day.
“Got something you need to deal with over here,” Stiles said. Derek raised an
eyebrow. Stiles decided that demonstration was the easiest option. He edged
closer to Derek, pressing his erection between them.
“I see,” Derek said. “So how do you want me to deal with it?”
He wasn’t joking. It was a serious question and so Stiles decided to give it
serious thought. He wanted to fuck Derek, to see what it was like to be the one
pounding inside him. But he remembered Derek’s words the night before, about
how Derek needed to be in control. Derek probably wouldn’t like a skinny human
being on top.
“Your mouth,” Stiles said. For a moment, Derek frowned. He looked like he was
going to say something. Then he dove down beneath the covers to deal with
Stiles’ erection. Derek worked with lips and tongue and Stiles came almost at
once.
But he didn’t have long to bathe in the afterglow if he wanted to go through
with his plan about breakfast. He did however need to get cleaned up, and he
was fairly sure Derek had something of his own that needed dealing with.
Stiles put his hand around Derek’s wrist and led him into the bathroom. Derek
followed along easily behind him, and then had Stiles lean against the counter
so he could ease the plug out of his ass. Stiles felt empty as it was taken
away.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said. He looked at the plug in his hand. Stiles turned to
face him.
“Huh?”
“I didn’t actually ask about having you sleep with it in. I mentioned wearing
it after sex but you never really agreed and I still...”
Stiles silenced Derek with a quick kiss.
“I enjoyed it,” Stiles said.
“But I shouldn’t have just assumed you’d be OK with it.”
“I was OK with it.”
“But what if next time I do something you’re not OK with and you’re too out of
it to tell me?”
“All the sex in the world couldn’t stop me from expressing my opinion,” Stiles
said. “Now come on. Time to get messy and clean at the same time.”
Derek looked confused for a moment, until Stiles dragged him into the shower.
He turned on the water, letting the spray pound down around them, and then he
dropped to his knees. He was still figuring out what worked, but he tried to
remember anything he did that make Derek groan or grab the shower fixtures.
Stiles worked his tongue around the tip of Derek’s cock, then fondled his balls
while taking as much of the shaft into his mouth as he could without gagging.
He sucked and Derek gave another moan.
Stiles kept it up, working with mouth and fingers until Derek clutched at
Stiles’ head with one hand and shuddered into orgasm.
Stiles got the first bitter taste of cum in his mouth and backed off quickly,
letting the rest splatter across the both of them.
While Derek gasped and recovered under the spray, Stiles reached for a
washcloth and started cleaning Derek up. Then Derek took his turn, wiping
Stiles down, cleaning the crack of his ass to get rid of last night’s play.
They stood like that for some time, naked beneath the flow of water, kissing
gently and washing each other with gentle care.
But Stiles knew they’d have to get out of the shower eventually.
***
Down in the kitchen, Stiles busied himself while Derek sat next door at the
dining table reading through the morning newspaper. Derek had offered to help
but Stiles insisted that he needed to do this himself. Derek doing something
for the pack was normal; this had to be Stiles’ work. He got Derek to point out
where things were, then he set to work making smoothies while Derek read. The
Hale kitchen was ridiculously well-stocked, so Stiles had everything he might
need and then some.
He’d picked smoothies because he wasn’t sure when the others would come
downstairs. If he cooked something, then it might have gone cold by the time
the pack arrived to eat. Smoothies could be made and waiting for whoever turned
up, whenever they turned up. Plus, there were bags of berries and frozen fruit
in the freezer, and a high-powered blender, so clearly someone in this house
loved smoothies. Stiles worked in an imprecise way, tipping in handfuls of
fruit and spoons of yoghurt, sometimes throwing in a bit of honey for extra
sweetness. He made up his first batch and carried a glass through to Derek,
sipping another one himself while he rinsed out the blender and decided what to
put in the next load.
Cora came downstairs as Stiles was mixing the second batch. She took one of the
prepared glasses, a look of amusement on her face.
“Is my brother being lazy and making you do all the work?” she asked.
“He wouldn’t let me help,” Derek called from the dining room.
“I wanted to do something nice for the pack,” Stiles said. There was suspicion
in her eyes, but she drank her smoothie and went to steal bits of the paper
from Derek.
Erica and Boyd were the next ones up, coming into the kitchen together. Stiles
had finished his second batch then and there was only one glass left of the
first, so they took different flavours, agreeing to swap halfway through to
compare.
“Not bad,” Erica said. “I guess Derek’s peach isn’t the only one you enjoy
squeezing.”
“Shut up, Erica,” Derek called from the dining room. She just laughed. Stiles
avoided her eyes and went back to chopping up a fresh banana to add to the
third batch of smoothies.
He was pouring the mixture into glasses when he heard an angry voice from
behind him.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Peter demanded.
Stiles jumped, splashing smoothie all over his hand and the kitchen counter. He
put the blender jug down and tried to get his heart to stop trying to escape
his chest. He reminded himself that annoying Peter had been the whole point of
this exercise but it had seemed a much better idea before he saw Peter’s eyes
glowering into him like he’d committed some terrible crime. And Stiles had been
caught red-handed, with the strawberry and raspberry mix staining his fingers
from the spill.
“I’m making smoothies,” Stiles said.
“Why?” Peter stalked across the kitchen to him, moving into his personal space.
Peter didn’t lay a finger on him, but still Stiles found himself pressed right
against the kitchen counter, Peter far too close for comfort.
“You told me I couldn’t help with dinner. You never said anything about
breakfast.”
Peter put his hands on the counter on either side of Stiles, not touching him
but still holding him trapped just as effectively as if he had. When Peter
spoke, his voice was low and calm, but there could be no denying the anger in
it, the fury written on his face.
“You think you can buy your way into this pack with smoothies?” Peter asked.
“I’m not buying anything.” Stiles considered putting his hands on Peter’s chest
and shoving him away, but he didn’t have the strength to make a werewolf do
anything, and Peter would definitely interpret that as a direct challenge.
Stiles looked past Peter, looking for some form of help, and he saw the rest of
the pack watching. Derek was standing in his doorway, his hand gripping the
doorframe, knuckles white with the tension.
“Peter,” Derek said quietly, “Stiles just wanted to do something nice. There’s
no rule against that.”
Peter looked slowly towards Derek, then back to Stiles. He took a step
backwards. Stiles still clung to the edge of the counter, fighting down an urge
to panic. He almost wanted to run across the room and hide behind Derek, but he
was not going to act like a frightened child. He stood up straight in front of
Peter, hoping that werewolves couldn’t smell his fear.
“I think it’s time Stiles and I had a proper talk,” Peter said, “in private.”
He gestured to a side door that led directly out from the kitchen into the
garden. He stood there, arm out, waiting for Stiles to move. Stiles sent a
pleading look towards Derek, was still frozen in the doorway, clutching the
doorframe like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. Derek jerked
his head towards the door, a clear message telling Stiles to go.
So Stiles walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped out into the chill
air of morning. Peter came out behind him and shut the door firmly. Then Peter
started walking out through the garden, towards the trees that formed the
majority of the Hale property. Presumably he wanted to get away from the house
so that the other werewolves couldn’t eavesdrop. Stiles followed, telling
himself every step of the way that Peter couldn’t hurt him. Well, Peter could
hurt him but then he’d get in huge legal trouble. Peter hadn’t even touched him
because of a contract saying Stiles could get a fortune off him for any sexual
harassment. Stiles remembered Derek talking about Peter being too clever to get
in legal trouble over Trevor, so he was unlikely to do anything like murder
Stiles and leave his body in the wood, because that really would cause legal
trouble. Still, logic wasn’t much help when Peter looked very much like he
wanted to skin Stiles alive and turn his intestines into a belt.
They reached the trees at the edge of the formal garden and kept walking,
moving in a path between the sturdy trunks, heading in as straight a line as
was possible given the undergrowth. It already felt like the house was miles
away.
After what seemed like a year, Peter started talking.
“Some people,” he said, “are obvious. They think they’re being smooth and
subtle, but their motives are written all over them, clear as day. Your friend
Trevor, for example, comes in with smiles and complements and remains
completely unmistakable in the fact that he desires to use us.”
Stiles decided this wasn’t the time to argue about Trevor being his friend.
Instead, he said, “I’m not like Trevor.”
“No, you’re not. You’re a lot cleverer.”
“Thanks?” Stiles said, though Peter’s tone had made it sound more like an
insult than a complement.
“Every other guest at that party was where they were supposed to be, but you
were sneaking around the rest of the house and found Derek alone.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
Peter stopped walking and turned to Stiles with a glare.
“Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps you’re telling the truth. Perhaps it’s all a
wonderful coincidence that you happened to stumble upon my nephew by accident.
Perhaps Derek was so winning that you abandoned your supposed determination not
to be a consort within minutes of meeting him. Perhaps everything you say is
true.” Peter stepped closer to Stiles, who found himself stepping back
automatically.
“It is true,” Stiles said, surprised at how weak and nervous his voice was.
“Perhaps,” Peter said again. “But Derek doesn’t have a good track record of
recognising when people are out to use him. Just remember that I don’t take
kindly to people trying to take advantage of my pack.” He smiled at Stiles and
said pleasantly, “I should probably let Trevor out now.”
He turned and walked calmly back towards the house, leaving Stiles standing
under the trees. The first thought that came into Stiles’ head was a question.
What the hell was Peter letting Trevor out of? The other thoughts came in a
jumbled rush after them. Peter’s mention of Trevor had to be deliberate. It had
been a threat. Peter thought Stiles was manipulating Derek, that the meeting in
the study had been a ploy rather than an accident. Peter couldn’t hurt Stiles
because he was protected by the legalities of the consort contract, but he
could demonstrate what he would like to do to Stiles. Everything he was doing
to Trevor was to prove a point to Stiles that he would punish those trying to
manipulate his family.
The problem was Stiles didn’t know how to even start proving to Peter that he
wasn’t some evil manipulative asshole.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Back in the house, Stiles headed straight for Derek’s bedroom. He grabbed his
scattered things and shoved them into his overnight bag. Derek came in while he
was still packing.
“Are you alright?” Derek asked. “What did he say to you?”
“Short version, he thinks I’m evil and manipulative and trying to take
advantage of the pack and/or you. He thinks meeting you the night of the party
was something I planned. He thinks I’m trying to use you.”
“Are you?” He asked the question seriously. Stiles tried not to feel hurt that
Derek felt the need to check.
“Of course not,” Stiles said. Derek nodded. “Derek, I’ve very much enjoyed
everything we’ve done so far, and I look forward to trying out so more of your
box of tricks, but that’s the limit of my ulterior motives.”
Derek nodded again. It seemed like he believed him. Stiles hated that he had to
say this at all.
“Look,” Stiles said. “I’m going to go home for a bit. I have homework to do and
I promised to meet up with some guys to do some work for a chemistry project,
but maybe we could meet later. You could come to my place and we could watch
the rest of Star Wars.”
He’d put the disk back into his overnight bag. He saw Derek’s eyes fall on it
now.
“You really don’t want to be near Peter, do you?” Derek said.
“Peter freaks the hell out of me,” Stiles answered. “And I think he’s hurting
Trevor because he can’t hurt me, so staying away from him is better for
everyone. I’d like to avoid being in the same room as Peter if at all
possible.”
“OK.”
***
Stiles hadn’t been kidding about the work that he needed to do. Danny was his
lab partner and he’d been complaining that Stiles had been too busy, “screwing
around with hot werewolves,” to do any work, which was a problem because they
were supposed to perform their chosen experiment on Monday. So now Danny was
coming over to work on their project. At the same time, Scott was struggling
with his chemistry grades and so they’d arranged for it to be a double-project-
work-thing. He and Allison were also coming over to work on their project on
the grounds that they might actually get some project work done this way and
not spend the entire time making out.
Stiles really hoped they wouldn’t spend the entire time making out.
He got snacks out and gathered his notes. When the others arrived, they sat in
the dining room to make use of the table, discussing experiment methodologies,
expected results, and who would handle which parts of the write-up. Scott spent
the entire time making puppy eyes at Allison, but at least there was no actual
making out.
When they were done with the work part, it was Danny who looked at Stiles and
said, “I have to ask, what’s it like being with Derek Hale?”
“Awesome,” Stiles said.
“That’s all you’re going to say?”
Scott jumped in, saying, “I’m quite happy if he doesn’t want to go into
detail.”
“But you’ve got to say more than just ‘awesome’,” Danny said.
“It’s personal,” Stiles said. “All I will say is that I’ve enjoyed everything
Derek and I have done together so far, and there’s a whole bunch of stuff we
haven’t tried yet, but everything else is between me and him.”
Stiles knew he was grinning, thinking of those leather gloves, and of Derek
feeding him by hand, that morning in bed. He thought of the toys in Derek’s
box, all the things they hadn’t tried but might try sometime. Maybe. But
without Derek ever pushing him to try something he found uncomfortable.
“Your face looks ridiculous right now,” Danny said, but he was smiling without
a trace of meanness to it. “Maybe I should have held out for a werewolf lover.”
“The whole ritual is degrading,” Allison said. “Sorry, Stiles. I know you’re
enjoying this, but the whole concept is archaic and steeped in debasement,
treating people like objects.”
“Hey, I’m not arguing with you,” Stiles said. He’d said exactly the same when
he’d first gotten that letter. No matter how well it had turned out for him, he
wasn’t ready to let go of his anger at what Peter felt entitled to do.
“Just think about it,” Allison went on, “if a human gathered together a group
of teenagers and announced he was going to pick one of them to sign a contract
obligating them to have unlimited sex, but only if they’re a virgin, then
everyone would be calling the police. But because it’s done by a werewolf and
wrapped up in tradition, it’s all treated as OK.”
“Still not arguing with you.”
“But you’re going along with it.”
“Derek didn’t ask for the party and all this. That was all Peter’s doing.”
“But Derek’s still benefiting from it,” Allison said. “There’s a culture of
entitlement that werewolves are surrounded by, privileges that they gain from.
Werewolves get away with things that no human ever would.”
Scott was staring at Allison, that dreamy in-love look on his face again but
with an added layer of fascination.
“I had no idea you felt so strongly about werewolf politics,” Scott said.
“Sorry,” Allison said. “It’s kind of a family obsession, but this thing with
Stiles is the epitome of what’s wrong with the current situation. It’s like
there’s one set of rules for humans and one for werewolves.”
“But that’s not all the werewolves’ fault,” Stiles said. He’d been doing a lot
of reading since he’d become Derek’s consort. “The consort and companion
contracts came about because people were afraid that werewolves might not be
able to control themselves and humans worried about werewolves going out just
raping people and stuff, so a bunch of human legislators wrote laws saying that
werewolves are only allowed to have sex with humans when there’s a contract of
some sort in place.”
“But it was werewolves who created the rituals about choosing virgins to be
consorts.”
“OK, true,” Stiles admitted, “but the werewolves twisted round something that
was forced on them by humans. I’m not saying it’s right, I’m just saying you
can’t put all the blame on one side.”
“I didn’t know I was going to kick off world war three by bringing up the
subject,” Danny said, almost apologetically.
“It’s not like that,” Stiles said. “Allison’s right. The situation is
appalling. Peter could grab a bunch of us, stick chastity devices on us, all so
his nephew could pick someone to sign a sex contract with. That’s screwed up on
about ten different levels. But what I’m saying is that people like Derek are
just living in the society that’s been built up around them. Derek has to put
up with pack hierarchy and rituals that were put in place years ago, and all
the rest of it.”
“He doesn’t have to put up with it,” Allison argued. “He could be trying to do
something about it. He could be standing up to his alpha. He could be arguing
against rituals that let him objectify humans. But he’s going along with it.”
Stiles wasn’t enjoying this debate in the slightest, but he suspected that was
because he knew Allison was making a lot of good points. Werewolf culture was
such that certain behaviours were just accepted when they came from werewolves,
certain rituals were not only legal but almost expected. These things were
treated as just the way things were, but that didn’t make them right. Stiles
himself had argued with Peter about this, but he’d ignored the more passive
role Derek had played because he liked Derek.
But the conversation with Peter that morning was just another reminder of the
sort of behaviour werewolves could get away with. Peter could be torturing
Trevor in a myriad of ways, but he’d never be convicted of a crime because he’d
convinced Trevor to sign a bit of paper.
“Look,” said Danny, grabbing his bag, “I think maybe I should get out of the
way before things get violent.”
“No, Danny,” said Stiles. “It’s not... Look, thanks for coming over. I’ll see
you Monday.”
Danny nodded and headed out. Stiles looked back to Allison.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to give you a hard time. None of what’s
happening is your fault.”
“You’re right about a lot of this though,” Stiles said. “The rituals are messed
up but Derek... Derek’s a good guy. I like him.”
He might have been talking to Allison, but it was Scott he was really aware of
then, looking at him with a serious expression on his face. And Stiles was
aware of the feelings behind his own words. He really did like Derek. He was
sweet and gentle, concerned about Stiles’ pleasure more than his own, as well
as being willing to be sarcastic when necessary.
***
Derek came over that evening. Stiles’ dad was in the house, but he gave them
space as they settled in the den to watch the rest of Star Wars. Stiles was
ready with popcorn and soda and they sat together on the couch, Derek putting
his arm around Stiles’ shoulder and pulling him close. As Stiles was trying to
find the point they’d got to last time, Derek suddenly went all serious on him.
“The conversation you had with Peter,” he said, “you said he said something
about Trevor and why he was hurting him.”
“He didn’t say really,” said Stiles. “Not in any explicit way. It was all just
hints. He talked about how Trevor was trying to use the pack and that I was
being more subtle about it. He actually complemented me about how cleverly I’d
manipulated things into meeting you outside of the main party. And then he said
some stuff about not liking people trying to use his pack. And then he said he
had to let Trevor out. Out of what? Did he make Trevor sleep in a cage all
night or something? But it was the way he said it, right after the bit about
how he thought I was trying to use you and how he didn’t like it. It made it
sound like Trevor’s an example. Like he’s showing that he can do all this stuff
to him to threaten me.”
The movie was at the right point now, but Stiles just hit pause. This felt more
important. So he waited, Derek’s arm around his shoulder, his eyes on the
frozen image on the screen, waiting for Derek to say something.
“Peter can’t hurt you,” Derek said, “not directly. You’re protected by the
contract.”
“Can you say that in a way that sounds more confident, please?”
There was silence. They stared at the TV screen. Stiles wondered if he should
just hit play. After all, he’d invited Derek over to watch a movie not to get
depressed that Peter could torture an innocent guy because he was angry at
Stiles and there wasn’t a damn thing Stiles could do to stop it.
“Maybe there’s a way to show him you’re not out to use the pack,” Derek said.
“Yeah, but how do I do that? Peter seemed pretty convinced and he said some
stuff about you having a track record of not seeing when you’re being used.”
Derek tensed up. His arm tightened around Stiles’ shoulder, fingers clenching
against his arm.
“I’m going to kill him,” Derek muttered.
“Before you do that, could you let go of my arm before it bruises.”
The fingers loosened their grip.
“Sorry,” Derek said.
“Look, I don’t know what Peter was on about with that bit but if you want to
talk about it, I’m here. And if you don’t want to talk about it, I’ll still be
here, but pretending I’m not burning up with curiosity about it.”
“I appreciate that.”
“The here part or the pretending part?”
“Both.”
“Right,” said Stiles. So that presumably meant he wasn’t going to get any
answers, but that was only to be expected. After all, the contract had been for
him to have sex with Derek, not to be a shoulder to cry on about whatever past
events Peter had been hinting at.
“Let’s just watch the movie,” said Derek.
“Right.” So Stiles hit play. They were no closer to knowing how to deal with
Peter, but for now he could lose himself in the familiar tale of good versus
evil where no one had to worry about manipulative werewolves torturing people
to get back at him. There’d be plenty of time to worry about Peter later.
***** Chapter 15 *****
When Trevor showed up to school on Monday morning, he was wearing the collar
he’d worn at the Hale house. He tried to grin about it with the other guys,
joking about how hot werewolf sex was, but Stiles caught Trevor glaring in his
direction once the jokes had ended. Stiles wondered if Peter had told Trevor
that Stiles was the reason for whatever messed up stuff Peter was doing.
Stiles tried to talk to Trevor. He tried to ask what Peter had done and to
advise again that Trevor should just walk away.
“Just because you got a nice one,” Trevor responded, “don’t think that means
you’re one of the pack yet. You can’t tell me what to do.”
“It’s not about telling you what to do,” said Stiles. “It’s about trying to
keep you from getting hurt worse. Peter talked about how you’re trying to use
the pack and how he doesn’t like that. He’s going to just keep torturing you
until you give up and walk away.”
“I wouldn’t say it’s... torture.” He sounded really doubtful, like he was
trying to convince himself.
“Where did you spend Friday night?”
Stiles still didn’t know what had happened on Friday night, where it was that
Peter had needed to let him out of, but clearly the words meant something to
Trevor. He didn’t suddenly decide Stiles was right and declare his intention to
leave Peter. He just got angrier, glowering at Stiles darkly.
“Screw you, Stilinski. This is all your fault. If you hadn’t blocked me with
Derek, I’d be the one getting leather jackets and breakfast in bed right now.
So screw you. And keep your advice to yourself.”
Trevor walked away. Stiles wanted to call after him that he was wrong, that
Derek would never have picked him in a million years even if Stiles hadn’t been
there, but that seemed somewhat mean.
At least Trevor could remember his name now.
***
He got through chemistry and his experiment with Danny, and things went
according to their plan. It was good that something did. They had their plans
for doing the write up so it was possible Stiles would actually get a decent
grade in this class for once, despite Harris’ hatred of him.
Leaving the classroom to go to lunch, Erica and Isaac positioned themselves by
the door to wait and then flanked him as he headed out into the corridor. It
was like having an honour guard. Or possibly two powerful werewolves within
arm’s reach who could do unspeakably painful things to him.
“Hey?” Stiles said cautiously.
Erica slipped her hand around his elbow, walking pressed right up against his
side. Stiles wondered if he could safely pull away without something getting
clawed. They walked down the hallway towards lunch like that, Erica’s hand
threaded around his arm.
“So,” she said, “rumour is that you’re terrified of Peter.”
“I’m not sure I’d use the word ‘terrified’ but... yeah, I’m terrified. He
basically implied he wants to torture me.”
“So you probably won’t want to be having pack dinner with him?” asked Isaac.
Stiles nodded his agreement.
“Which brings us to the plan,” said Erica. “After school, we accompany you back
to your place and do homework or whatever for a bit. Then Derek picks you up
from there and you two go eat somewhere while we go back to the house for
dinner with Peter. Later on, Derek takes you home or brings you back to our
place to stay the night without you ever having to be in the same room as
Peter. Sound good?”
They reached the lunch queue, Erica still attached to Stiles’ arm. It did sound
good. Stiles was in favour of any plan that involved him not having to be in
the same room as Peter. But maybe fretting about Peter was making him paranoid,
because he couldn’t help wondering why Derek would have sent this message via
the two of them. When they’d made plans before, they’d done it through texting.
So why hadn’t Derek just texted that he’d pick him up from home for dinner?
“Can I get my arm back?” Stiles asked. Erica let go. She reached past him and
grabbed a couple of the plastic trays, putting them both on in front of the
food counters as the line moved forward. Stiles pulled his phone out of his
pocket, sending Derek a quick text to ask if he’d said he would pick Stiles up
for dinner at his place.
Derek’s response arrived by the time they’d collected their food: Does 7 work
for u?
Stiles tried to pick up his tray, but Erica snatched it one-handed and carried
it over to a table. Stiles had no choice but to follow after her if he wanted
to eat lunch today.
“I’m perfectly capable of carrying a tray,” Stiles said. “I might not have
super strength but I’m not that weak.”
He sat down at the lunch table in the place Erica had put the tray. He wasn’t
at all sure he liked the way she was controlling the situation. It was such a
minor thing, just deciding where he would sit, but it made him think about the
conversation with Allison about werewolf privilege, and the way Peter had been
able to control him much more thoroughly.
“Does this mean you two have appointed yourselves my bodyguards now?” Stiles
asked. “Do I get any say in the matter?”
“Part of being in a pack is having some decisions made by the pack instead of
the individual,” Isaac said.
“Except I’m not part of the pack. Not really. I’m not a werewolf and I don’t
think I ever will be, not just because being part of the pack would mean I’d be
obligated to spend time with Peter. Besides, to even become a werewolf, I’d
have to convince Peter to give me the bite and I think that’s about as likely
as me becoming BFFs with Harris.”
“If you don’t want to be part of the pack,” said Erica, “what was that
breakfast thing about?”
“At least fifty percent of it was about pissing Peter off.”
Isaac gave a grin at that.
“As good a cause as any,” he said.
Boyd came over to join them, sitting down next to Erica. He nodded a greeting
to Stiles. Stiles looked across the room to where Scott was eating lunch was
Allison. He wasn’t entirely sure Scott had even noticed he was missing, he was
too busy being all puppy-eyed about her.
***
Stiles went along with the plan. Erica and Isaac followed him home and they
spent some time doing their homework. Stiles also packed up his overnight bag.
According to his contract, he should be spending at least one night a week at
the Hale house. Stiles didn’t want to accidentally break the contract by
staying away too much and at least with this plan there should be the minimal
possible contact with Peter.
Derek showed up as promised at seven but his eyes narrowed in suspicion as he
saw Erica and Isaac.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded.
“Just keeping Stiles company,” Erica said. Isaac looked guilty. Derek glared.
Stiles felt like an idiot for not being more specific in his wording on his
text. He’d been trying to figure out if this was Derek’s plan but Stiles hadn’t
mentioned the other two werewolves. Maybe Derek’s plan had just been the dinner
thing and the bodyguards weren’t part of it. And if they weren’t part of
Derek’s plan, then that meant it must have been Peter’s plan instead. But why
the hell would Peter tell these two to hang out with him?
“Sorry, Derek,” Isaac said.
“What’s Peter playing at?” Derek asked.
“He told us to find a way to hang out with Stiles when he’d be more relaxed,”
Isaac said. “He wants to find out what Stiles’ schemes are. His words,” he
added to Stiles.
“I don’t have any schemes,” Stiles said. “I wasn’t trying to become consort. I
don’t know why Peter finds that so hard to believe.”
“Because he’s Peter,” Derek said. He glared a little more at Isaac and Erica,
then told them to go home. They slunk away, apparently relieved. Stiles just
stood there in the doorway to his house, his overnight bag ready, unsure of
what to say.
“I’m sorry,” Derek said.
“What the hell are you apologising for?” Stiles asked.
“Someone should apologise. And it’s not going to be Peter.”
“But you shouldn’t have to apologise for him. You didn’t tell those two to spy
on me.”
“Let’s just eat,” Derek said.
They headed out towards the diner, going to one on the east side of town that
did the best curly fries in all of Beacon Hills. Apparently Derek had never
been there before so Stiles ordered for them.
“You weren’t allowed curly fries?” Stiles asked.
“It’s not that we weren’t allowed them,” Derek said. “It’s just... when we eat
out it’s usually as a pack and we generally book somewhere at a nice
restaurant. Not that I’m implying this isn’t nice.”
The waitress came over with their food and Stiles thanked her. Derek stared at
the plastic basket in front of him with his burger and fries, then he looked
around, first at their booth and then around at the rest of the diner.
“What are you after?” Stiles asked.
“She didn’t bring our cutlery.”
Stiles just stared at him for a moment, trying to decide if Derek was serious.
Then he started laughing. He knew it was mean to laugh at someone’s ignorance,
but he Derek looked so out of place and confused that he couldn’t help it.
“What?” Derek asked. Stiles fought to get his laughter under control. It wasn’t
Derek’s fault. Derek had never eaten in places like this and he’d been deprived
of watching the television shows that would teach him what was normal in places
like this. The more he thought about it, the less funny it became and the more
sad.
“Just follow my lead,” Stiles said. He picked up his burger by its paper
wrapping and bit into it. Derek watched him. Then he looked round at the other
occupants of the diner, seeing them eat with their hands. Only then did Derek
pick up his burger and start eating it without cutlery.
“Isn’t this,” Derek said a few bites later, “really bad etiquette?”
“Seriously, dude, most people in a place like this can’t even spell the word
etiquette.”
“I’m just picturing how my mom would react if she saw this. I can practically
hear her: ‘I brought you up to have better table manners than to stuff your
face like an animal’.” He said it with a fond smile and then took another bite.
A bit of melted cheese was dribbling out of his burger, getting on his fingers.
Derek shifted the burger into his other hand and started to reach for the
napkins, but Stiles caught Derek’s wrist and drew his hand across the table.
“Eating like this has some advantages,” Stiles said. He brought Derek’s fingers
up to his mouth and into his mouth, licking the cheese off them. Derek made a
low moan.
“I might give up cutlery forever,” Derek said.
Stiles grinned across the table at him. Derek grinned back. They ate their way
through their burgers and curly fries. Unfortunately though, they had things
more important than diner etiquette to discuss.
“So Peter’s sending the pack to spy on me,” Stiles said.
“Apparently.”
“Maybe I should try and talk to him again. Maybe there’s some way I can
convince him that I’m not out to do anything evil or whatever it is he suspects
me of.”
“If he thinks you’re trying to deceive us, he’s not going to believe you if you
say you’re not,” Derek pointed out.
“I told you that and you believed me. You do believe me, right?”
“I saw how surprised you were when you realised I was in the study. I believe
you weren’t looking for me the night of the party.”
It was nice to hear that Derek believed him. Stiles didn’t like people thinking
he was a liar. OK so he sometimes bent the truth with his dad, but that wasn’t
the same thing at all. But Peter was convinced this was all just an act.
“I don’t follow Peter’s logic,” Stiles said. “Let’s say I was some conniving
whatever out for my own gain. What does he think I’m trying to get? If I were
trying to get the bite and all the superpowers that go with it, I would be
trying to make nice with him not deliberately annoying him. So what does he
think I’m after?”
“He might think you’re a gold digger,” Derek said. “Consorts often get gifts.
He might think you’re trying to get presents out of me.”
“Yeah, well I’m not giving Errol back.”
“Errol?”
Stiles pulled out his keys, with the little plastic dragon hanging from them on
its chain. Derek shook his head, but he looked like he was trying not to laugh.
“You called it Errol?” Derek asked.
“All pets need a name.”
Now Derek was definitely trying not to laugh.
“I suppose it could be worse,” he said. “You could have called it Glaurung or
something.”
“You do not get to mock my dragon naming skills,” Stiles said. He tucked the
keys away again. For a few seconds, the air of enjoyment lay over their table,
but then things went serious again. That little quirk of a smile faded from
Derek’s lips.
“There are other things Peter might be afraid of,” Derek said.
“Afraid? Him?”
“Not everyone likes werewolves,” Derek said. “Some people actively hate us.
They think we shouldn’t have the rights we do. They think we’re animals, that
we can’t control how we act and that we’ll go out of control and hurt people.”
“Like the people who wrote the laws saying you need to have a signed contract
every time you have sex?”
“Exactly. Some of them want to restrict what we’re legally allowed to do
because they think we’re dangerous. Others would rather just kill us.”
“Kill you?”
“If Peter thinks you’re connected with one of those groups,” Derek said, “he
will stop at nothing to destroy you.”
There was something about the way he said it that suggested he wasn’t being
metaphorical about this. He sounded almost like he was talking from experience.
Stiles wondered if he ought to find out more about Derek’s history. There were
so many things he didn’t know, like what had happened to Derek’s mom or dad or
anything else. He didn’t know what Peter had meant when talked about Derek
having a history of not knowing when he was being used. He didn’t know why
Peter was so convinced Stiles was lying. He didn’t know much of anything.
The waitress came over with the bill and Derek insisted on paying.
“Surely I should pay,” Stiles said, “to prove to Peter that I’m not a gold
digger.”
“Peter’s not here right now.”
“Yeah, but if I pay you can tell him I paid so he stops thinking I’m trying to
use you.”
“But if we do that, you’re just using the situation to your advantage after
all, aren’t you? You’re paying the bill just to prove a point and then it
wouldn’t be genuine generosity.”
Stiles glared.
“When did buying burgers become so complicated?” he asked.
Derek just handed over his card to the waitress while Stiles was still trying
to deal with the paradox of using a situation to prove he wasn’t trying to use
the situation. Once again he found himself wishing Peter wasn’t in the picture.
If it were just him and Derek, they could spend their days in bed exploring the
rest of Derek’s toys, at least until Derek got bored of him.
They headed out to the parking lot and Stiles was soon climbing into the
passenger seat of Derek’s Camaro. Derek sat behind the wheel but he didn’t turn
the key in the ignition quite yet.
“So,” Derek asked. “Am I taking you home or back to my place?”
“I brought my overnight bag,” Stiles said.
“My place it is. But first, there’s something I’d like you to do. If you’re up
for it.”
“What?”
“Check the glove compartment.”
Curious, Stiles opened it up. Inside was a familiar toy, the vibrating butt
plug Derek had used on him before, cleaned up again and sealed inside a ziplock
bag. There was also a tube of lube.
“I thought we might find a quiet spot,” Derek said, “where I could put that in
you and then we could drive around a bit before going back to the house. If you
want.”
Stiles was going to need to invest in looser pants if he were going to keep
having these conversations with Derek. He shifted a little in the seat, already
thinking about that plug inside him.
“Well?” Derek asked.
“Let’s do it.”
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Trigger warnings at the end for Peter's behaviour
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The alarm on Stiles’ phone bleeped. Derek groaned. Stiles rolled over and
grabbed the phone off the bedside table. Derek rolled over the other way and
buried his head under the pillow. Stiles turned the alarm off. Derek groaned
into the pillow.
Stiles climbed out of the bed and walked across to the bathroom. He grabbed his
overnight bag and carried it into the bathroom so he didn’t need to turn on the
light and wake Derek up any more than he already was. Only one of them had to
go to school, so only one of them needed to actually get out of bed at this
ridiculously early hour.
Stiles showered away the disgustingly crusted remains of last night’s pleasure
from his skin and got dressed quickly. He slipped out of the room with his
overnight bag and book bag, heading down to the kitchen to grab some food for
breakfast. Maybe he could get a lift to school one of the teenagers in the
pack. They had cars and Stiles’ jeep was still at school. Isaac and Erica owed
him for lying to him the day before.
He walked into the kitchen, empty aside from some bowls in the sink with the
remnants of milk and cereal inside. He hoped that didn’t mean they’d all gone
already. He went over to the cupboards, hunting for the cereal he knew must
exist. He found it and then went on a hunt for bowls. Once he’d grabbed one, he
turned away from the cupboards and then gave a yelp of surprise, fumbling to
keep from dropping everything.
Peter stood in the kitchen doorway. Beside him was Trevor. On his hands and
knees. Naked except for the collar around his neck. A ring on the collar was
attached to a leash, the end of which Peter clutched tightly. Trevor glared up
at Stiles.
“Good morning, Stiles,” Peter said. “Getting ready for school? Feel free to
take the cereal. I was just getting some breakfast for Trevor here.”
He walked across the room, Trevor crawling beside him, and took another bowl
and a different packet of cereal. Stiles tried to keep his hands from shaking
as he poured his own breakfast, adding the milk to his cereal and then putting
the carton down on the counter so Peter could get to it.
“Let’s go through to the dining room,” Peter said. “It’s not civilised to have
breakfast standing around the kitchen.”
Stiles had little choice but to follow. He sat down at the dining table, but
Peter set Trevor’s bowl down on the floor next to his place. Trevor knelt
there, bending his face down to eat without a spoon. Stiles’ mouth felt dry
seeing this but he forced spoonfuls of cereal into his mouth anyway. Stiles
watched Trevor eating, milk dripping over his chin. Peter watched Stiles
watching Trevor. He smiled coldly.
“How are you enjoying being a consort, Stiles?” Peter asked.
“I’m enjoying the times I spend with Derek,” Stiles answered. “The passive
aggressive threats from his alpha, I could do without.” He looked significantly
at Trevor. Trevor’s glare darkened. Stiles wondered if he should have held his
tongue. What if there was a direct relationship between Stiles’ rudeness to
Peter and the humiliations and discomforts Trevor suffered? What if Stiles had
just signed Trevor on for more pain?
“Being a consort is about more than just one person,” Peter said.
“Not according to the contract I signed. Yes, I’m attached to your pack, but
the contract was between me and Derek. What we do is up to us.”
“Up to Derek, you mean.”
“Us,” Stiles repeated. “Full and explicit consent prior to every act. It’s a
concept you should look into instead of sitting here so full of your privilege,
so used to getting your own way, that you’ll torture someone who has nothing to
do with this just to make a point.”
Peter smiled. Stiles was utterly furious but Peter’s only reaction to his anger
was to look pleased, which meant Stiles angrier still. Peter reached out a hand
and stroked Trevor’s head like he was a pet.
“Nothing to do with this?” Peter said. “But you’re attached to the pack so any
friend of yours is a friend of mine.”
His fingers tightened in Trevor’s hair and yanked his head back. Stiles heard
the hiss of pain. Trevor gritted his teeth, his eyes still looking in Stiles’
direction, still glaring, as though Stiles was the one causing him pain right
now. Stiles resisted the urge to glare back, because this was more Trevor’s
fault than Stiles’. Trevor had signed up for this. He could walk away any time
he wanted. All he had to do was declare the contract void and he could leave
Peter behind forever.
“Trevor isn’t my friend,” Stiles told Peter. “He’s a jerk. In all the time
we’ve known each other, I think he’s only managed to get my name right once.
But being a jerk doesn’t mean he deserves what you’re doing to him. No one
deserves to be used.”
Stiles wasn’t sure if that word would have the right effect. Peter had talked
about not liking people who used his pack. Derek had said much the same, using
the same word. Peter was so opposed to being used, so Stiles hoped it would do
something if he realised he was the one doing the using. It didn’t seem to.
Peter smiled again and loosened his hold on Trevor’s hair before pushing his
head down again, forcing him to bend forward over his knees, down towards his
cereal bowl again.
Stiles was feeling sick. His cereal sat in the bowl in front of him, floating
in the sea of milk, but he couldn’t face it. He dropped his spoon in and
started to stand.
“Stiles,” Peter said, “you might want to think about who has the power here
before you start throwing your weight around.”
“Having power doesn’t give you free reign to do whatever you like. Just because
you can do something doesn’t mean it’s right.”
Someone cleared their throat. It was a tiny sound, as though the person
interrupting would dearly love for their interruption to go unnoticed. Stiles
looked past Peter to the door that led deeper into the house. Isaac stood
there, a bag slung over one shoulder.
“Peter,” Isaac said, “we should leave if we want to get to school on time.”
“Very well. Trevor, that’s enough for now. Go get dressed and go to school.
I’ll see you later.”
Trevor stood up. He moved towards the door where Isaac waited. It was only then
that Stiles realised Trevor wasn’t quite as naked as he’d originally thought.
There was the black base of a butt plug showing in the crack of his ass. And
that ass was decorated with red welts criss-crossing the pale skin. Stiles
hadn’t seen them before because of their relative positions, but now he had no
choice but the notice as he grabbed his bags and followed Trevor out of the
dining room.
“I take it you want a lift to school?” Isaac asked him. Stiles nodded, unable
to take his eyes off the marks Peter had left on Trevor.
Out in the hall, the other teenagers of the pack were waiting. Trevor’s
belongings were piled by the door and he reached them now, pulling on shirt and
pants, not bothering with underwear and without taking out the plug. He refused
to meet anyone’s gaze as he got dressed. It didn’t take him long, but soon he
had his bag in his hands and was ready to leave.
They headed out of the house, to where the pack’s cars were parked. Erica and
Boyd took one car. Isaac and Malia took another. Trevor headed towards Isaac’s
car, letting himself into the back and wincing slightly as he sat down. Stiles
had a free choice of which he would take, so he joined Trevor, hoping for a
chance to talk some sense into the guy. Trevor just glared some more as they
fastened their seatbelts.
Stiles hesitated a little as the car pulled away. Malia was Peter’s daughter
after all and Isaac, though he’d apologised for it afterwards, had acted as
Peter’s spy before. Any conversation they had might be reported back. But
Stiles decided he didn’t care. It might do Peter good to hear what someone
really thought about him.
“Why do you let him use you like that?” Stiles asked Trevor.
Trevor looked to the front seats of the car, where Isaac and Malia weren’t even
pretending not to be listening. Malia actually looked over her shoulder towards
Trevor, waiting for the answer as much as Stiles was.
“I’m showing Peter I have the strength and determination to be worthy of the
pack,” Trevor said.
“Peter never asked me to kneel at his feet to prove my commitment,” Isaac
commented. Trevor’s jaw clenched tightly.
“Did Peter tell you that he’d let you in pack if you did this?” Stiles asked.
“It’s not so much what he said as the way he said it,” Trevor said. “He said
the pack’s grown too quickly recently for him to take on two new members and
that an official consort gets priority. I can read between the lines. If I can
stick it out longer than you, I’ll get my invite.”
Which at least partly explained Trevor’s anger at Stiles. He thought he
wouldn’t be in this mess if Stiles just backed out of his contract. But Stiles
was willing to bet that Peter had implied a lot but not actually said anything
that could be construed as an agreement to make Trevor part of the pack. There
would be nothing in writing and nothing that a lawyer would be able to claim as
legally binding. Peter could hint at making Trevor part of the pack without
ever saying anything that would tie him to that. But Trevor would probably
never believe that.
Instead he took another angle.
“Derek never told me I’d be made part of the pack,” Stiles said. “In fact, the
contract specifically has a clause saying that it’s not a promise. Given that
Peter hates me, it’s safe to say that I’m never going to be part of the pack.”
“Then why are you doing all this?”
“Because Derek’s amazing in bed.”
From the front seat, Malia gave a snort of laughter.
“I didn’t need to hear that,” Isaac complained.
Trevor was still giving Stiles a disbelieving look.
“Look,” Stiles told him, “Derek asked me if I wanted to have lots of sex with
him. I signed a contract agreeing to have lots of sex with him. No more, no
less. Derek never told me I might become a member of the pack and I’m not
expecting to get invited to join so maybe you should tell Peter that. Tell him
that I’m perfectly happy for him to make you part of the pack and forgo
whatever priority of packification I supposedly have. But I don’t intend to let
him scare me away from Derek.”
Trevor continued to stare at him. Malia had snorted amusement again at the word
‘packification’ so it was impossible to pretend that this was a private
conversation. Trevor was probably worrying how Peter would react when word of
this got back to him.
“Why wouldn’t you want to be part of a pack?” Trevor asked. He sounded like the
idea was inconceivable to him.
“Aside from the fact I wouldn’t relish being under Peter’s authority,” Stiles
answered, “I like being me. I don’t have any strong desire to become a
werewolf. I don’t have anything against werewolves and if I come down with some
life-threatening illness, I might change my mind, but I don’t see that there’s
any need to risk bite rejection when I’m fine as I am.”
Trevor continued to stare at Stiles like he was spouting lunatic utterances.
“Plus there are the legal restrictions,” Isaac put in from the front seat. “I
didn’t really pay much attention to them before I got the bite, but I can’t
leave the Hale territories without getting signed approval from Peter and the
alpha of whatever territory I’m going to. It will make touring colleges a
nightmare.”
“That sucks,” Stiles said.
“It’s supposed to prevent any accidental bloodshed between packs over territory
issues,” Malia said.
“So there’s only deliberate bloodshed?” Stiles asked. Malia shrugged.
“You really don’t want to be in the pack?” Trevor asked Stiles, bringing the
conversation back to its initial topic.
“No. I don’t get why Peter finds it so hard to believe that what I want out of
this arrangement is exactly what I’m getting right now: having a good time with
Derek several times in a row in many different positions.”
The car ran over a pothole. Trevor winced as he was jolted in his seat.
“You really like it?” he asked.
“If I didn’t, I’d tell Derek and he’d do something else. Peter might not grasp
the finer points of the concept of consent, but Derek does. He makes sure we
only do stuff we both enjoy. Seriously, dude, it’s not worth it. Peter is
stringing you along. The sooner you back out of the contract, the happier
you’ll be.”
Trevor’s confusion darkened to anger again.
“Just because you don’t want to be in the pack,” he said, “don’t think you can
stop me being in it. I’ll show Peter how strong I can be and he’ll give me the
invitation while you’re still ‘having a good time’ with Derek.”
Isaac pulled the car into the school parking lot. Stiles guessed that meant the
conversation was over.
***
It was a few days before Stiles went back to the Hale house. His dad had been
making pointed comments how he hardly saw Stiles anymore. Plus there was
homework to do, including writing up the chemistry project for Harris. It was
also possible that Stiles was deliberately trying to avoid Peter. He didn’t
know how Peter had reacted to Stiles’ comments at breakfast or the conversation
the betas had no doubt reported to him. He wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
All the while, Trevor walked around school with a scowl on his face and that
collar around his neck. He glared at Stiles whenever they passed in the halls.
When he sat down, it was cautiously. The only time they spoke after that
conversation in the car was towards the end of the week when he told Stiles, “I
know you don’t want to be a werewolf but I do. Why don’t you just back out of
your contract?”
“Because I like being with Derek,” was Stiles’ answer, though there was a fair
amount of sheer stubbornness. He didn’t like anyone pushing him around. He
didn’t like that Peter was trying to force him out and that just made him want
to dig his heels in more.
He told himself that what was happening to Trevor wasn't his fault. He reminded
himself every time they passed in the halls that Trevor had chosen this. If it
was really so bad, Trevor had the option of walking away. Stiles tried to tell
himself that he shouldn’t let it weigh on him.
But it also meant he couldn’t enjoy being with Derek knowing what Peter was
making Trevor do. So he stayed away, accepting the excuses of homework and home
responsibilities without trying to fight them.
He texted Derek throughout the week. He kept remembering how tense Derek had
seemed when he’d thought Stiles was backing out of the contract. He didn’t want
Derek worrying now that there was any reluctance on his part. So Stiles sent
texts complaining about homework, talking about his dad, describing what had
happened at lacrosse practice. Other times, he sent little messages just saying
he’d been thinking about him, or thinking about that box of toys.
He’d decided to go back to the Hale house after school on Friday. If he just
kept staying away from Derek, he was doing what Peter wanted, so he made up his
mind to return. He was taking the DVD of The Empire Strikes Back as well as his
changes of clothes and medication and stuff. But he didn’t plan on spending the
entire time watching sci-fi classics. He couldn’t let his life be ruled by
Peter’s actions, especially when they were aimed at someone else. He told
himself yet again that he wasn’t responsible for Trevor’s choices and tried to
put him out of his mind and focus on more interesting things.
Been thinking about your box. Stiles texted during lunch on Friday.
Anything in particular? Derek texted back.
Maybe. How would you feel if we tried something and I said to stop 3 seconds
in?
There was a long pause. Stiles stared at his phone screen, even as Scott and
Allison came to join him at the lunch table. Scott looked at Stiles and the
phone and quickly declared that he didn’t want to know what Stiles was sending
texts about.
Stiles’ phone buzzed.
I think I know what you want. We’ll talk later.
Stiles grinned at his phone, imagining what might come.
“I definitely don’t want to know what you’re texting about,” Scott announced,
seeing the grin.
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter includes Peter forcing Trevor to be naked, to crawl, to
     be leashed, and to eat from a bowl on the floor, as well as to wear a
     butt plug at school. There is also evidence of a beating severe
     enough to leave marks visible at least the following day.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     More NSFW stuff, including spanking and gags
Derek was waiting to open the door for him as soon as Stiles parked the jeep.
Peter was nowhere in sight, for which Stiles was grateful. It was easier to
pretend Peter didn’t exist when he couldn’t see him. Derek looked nervous as he
led the way up to the bedroom.
“I think I know what you’re curious about,” Derek said, once the door was shut
behind them, “and if I’m right, I understand why you’d be nervous about trying
it out.”
He left Stiles standing in the middle of the bedroom while he went into the
closet and opened up his big chest. He lifted out the flogger, with its sturdy
handle and the long strands of soft leather. He held the handle lightly and ran
the strands over the skin of the opposite arm.
“I saw the way you looked at this when we went through the chest,” Derek said.
It was probably the way Stiles was looking at it now, with curiosity and desire
mingled into something consuming. Stiles’ curiosity was always getting him into
trouble.
“I don’t know if I’ll like it,” Stiles said, “but I want to know. If I don’t
find out, I’ll always be wondering.”
Derek nodded. He seemed to understand.
“I wouldn’t start with this,” Derek said. “Not your first time doing anything
like this.”
“What would you start with?”
Derek shifted the handle of the flogger into his left hand, lowering it down to
hang at his side. Instead, he raised his right hand, holding it up, palm facing
towards Stiles.
“This,” Derek said.
“You’d just hit me with your hand?”
“It’s easier to control the power,” Derek said, “the pain of the impact. And it
would let me bring you in closer. I could hold you over my knee. It’s more
intimate. I would start with my bare hand to give you a feel for this kind of
play. If you like it, I’d move on to something else you seemed particularly
fascinated by.”
“What?” Stiles asked.
“The gloves. I’d hit you wearing the gloves. Only then would we move on to
something else, something like the flogger, and probably not in your first
session.”
“And if I decide I don’t like it?”
“That’s why you have safe words. I wouldn’t want to push you further than you
want to go. If you want to explore your curiosity, I will be delighted to help
you. If you change your mind, there are plenty of other ways we can enjoy
ourselves. If you try and decide this isn’t for you, we can stop and we never
need to do anything like this again.”
Derek had never done anything to make Stiles doubt him. He’d never pushed. He’d
always made sure things were good for Stiles. There was no reason to think this
would be any different. And he could back out. That remained as a comfort in
his mind, as reassuring as Derek’s calm and kind expression.
“OK,” Stiles said.
“You don’t have to do this right now. You could think about it some more.”
“No. I’m ready. Let’s do this thing.”
Derek smiled and nodded. He went into his closet and put away the flogger,
coming instead with the leather gloves. There was something else held in one
hand, but Derek positioned himself so that the other object was obscured by his
body. Maybe that should have frightened Stiles, but it didn’t. He felt the
little rush of arousal already, just thinking about what was going to happen.
Derek sat down on the edge of the bed, setting the gloves down on the covers
beside him. The other object was still hidden from Stiles; Derek held it
against his leg on the other side.
“I want you across my legs,” Derek said. “Lower your pants and position
yourself across me. Take as long as you need to find the right position and
remember that you can back out at any time.”
Stiles nodded. His mouth was a little dry but it was from excitement rather
than concern. He undid his flies, noting that Derek had said lower not remove,
so he let his pants bunch around his knees. Slightly hobbled by the fabric, he
shuffled over to Derek.
He bent forward, Derek’s strong arms holding him around the waist gently to
help him keep his balance. Derek’s knees were a little high for Stiles to
kneel, so he had to rest most of his weight on Derek’s legs, using his hands
and feet mostly to keep from sliding off. Derek shifted his arms, one of them
resting across Stiles’ back, holding him in place. Stiles shifted again, trying
to get comfortable, ending up with his groin pressed against Derek’s thigh and
his bare ass sticking up in the air.
He wriggled a little more and then froze, realising he was basically rubbing
his cock against Derek’s leg. He could feel the fabric of Derek’s jeans against
his sensitive skin. He felt exposed and vulnerable, but that just stirred his
growing excitement. Derek must be able to tell the effect this was having on
him.
“Are you ready?” Derek asked. Stiles nodded. “I need to hear it, Stiles.”
“Yeah. I’m ready.”
Derek’s left arm was still across Stiles’ back, holding him in place, but his
right hand started moving, rubbing slow circles over the curves of Stiles’ ass.
He felt those fingers, warm and sure, the gentle brush of them over his skin.
“I’m going to start off slowly and lightly. If you’re OK with that, I’ll start
to speed things up and increase the strength a little, but I’ll still be making
sure it’s not going to seriously hurt you. Remember, you can stop at any time
you want to. If you want me to slow down or change something, you can say
‘yellow’. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Stiles said.
“OK.”
Derek raised his hand from Stiles ass and Stiles braced himself, heart pounding
as fear resumed. But when the hand felt, there was only the faintest sensation
of impact, a tiny sting that was gone almost as soon as it began.
Derek went back to stroking, running his fingers slowly over Stiles’ ass, up
and down the cheeks or small circles over the curves. He raised his hand again,
bringing it down with the same faint strike. Stiles shifted a little in his
position. This wasn’t what he’d imagined. He hadn’t wanted Derek treating him
like glass, like something he might break if he dared touch too hard.
“Are you OK?” Derek asked.
“Yes. More.”
There was a little huff of amusement from above him.
“Patience,” Derek said. His hand resumed its stroking. Then it rose and fell
again, a little more force behind it now. It still couldn’t really be
considered pain. There was a little sting to it now, the slaps coming more
frequently, but still interspersed by soothing strokes. Stiles felt it like
warmth flowing out through his ass.
Derek got into a rhythm. Stroke, slap, stroke. Stroke, slap, stroke. Stiles
found his body rocking to that rhythm. Each slap pushed him forward just a
little then he eased back. The movements were slight, just a faint back and
forth, but his cock was pressed against Derek’s leg. Each strike made Stiles’
body rub forward until he was basically humping Derek’s leg. His face was
probably red from embarrassment, probably the same shade as he imagined his ass
to be now, decorated by Derek’s steady strikes.
Stiles couldn’t have stopped himself from the humping, however embarrassing.
His erection was stirring now with strong desire. He went with the rhythm,
rubbing himself with every blow and hoping for the climax.
When Derek broke the rhythm, when he kept stroking softly instead of resuming
the slaps, Stiles made a low noise of complaint.
“I’m going to put the gloves on now,” Derek said. “I’m going to give you ten
more, a little harder than I’ve been doing so far. I’d like you to count them
out. OK?”
“OK,” Stiles managed, surprised he was able to find a voice. A part of him just
wanted to squirm against Derek’s leg until the friction of it made him come.
Derek’s hand vanished from his ass. After a moment, there was a shifting of
position in the arm holding him. When Derek resumed his original position, the
hand that rested on Stiles’ ass was wrapped in cool leather. Stiles felt the
texture of it, the separation between them. The gloved fingers seemed to leach
the heat out of Stiles’ warmed ass, but the heat was not diminishing in other
areas. He was as hard as ever, braced for what was to come.
The hand moved quickly, rising and falling with a sting of pain that made
Stiles gasp.
“Ow. One.”
There was a pause. Derek must be waiting to see if he’d use a safe word. A rosy
glow in the pit of Stiles’ stomach joined the warmth in other places.
The hand rose and fell again, Stiles counting out the blows. There was pain
now, there could be no denying that, but it seemed directly connected to the
need in his groin. Each blow made his body rock forward over Derek’s thigh,
pumping harder than before, driving him closer and closer.
As the tenth blow fell, Stiles didn’t manage to get out the count. Instead, his
words dissolved into a cry as he came, streams of cum shooting out over Derek’s
pants.
Stiles hung over Derek’s knees, catching his breath and sure his face must be
redder than his ass. He couldn’t believe he’d just come like that.
“Stiles?” Derek asked.
Derek’s arm loosened. Stiles slithered off his legs, ending up kneeling at
Derek’s feet, head bowing. His limbs felt shaky and he didn’t want the effort
of standing, energy sapped the orgasm, or perhaps by pure humiliation. Stiles
had come humping on Derek’s legs like a dog. What must Derek think of him?
Derek moved at once, crouching down in front of Stiles, reaching out. Leather
fingers caught Stiles’ chin, tilting his head up. Their eyes met, concern
written all over Derek’s features.
“Stiles?” Derek asked again. “Was it too much? Are you OK?”
“I humped your leg. I can’t believe I did that.”
A little smile burst onto Derek’s face. He leaned forward, urging Stiles closer
with those gloved fingers so he could press a quick kiss to Stiles’ lips.
“I can believe it,” Derek said.
“You don’t mind?”
“Stiles, this was about you enjoying it. This was good. I wanted you to be
turned on by the experience.”
“I came on your pants.”
“I have other pants.”
Derek put his arms around Stiles and helped lift him up, guiding him onto the
bed. Derek lay Stiles down on his stomach, still with his pants bunched up
around his knees. He lay there, head buried in the pillows, while Derek opened
a drawer. The mattress shifted and then Derek was beside him, hands on his ass
again. This time, the leather was gone and he rubbed something cool into
Stiles’ skin.
“It seems at least part of you enjoyed that,” Derek said, hands rubbing gently.
“It was... yeah.”
“That wasn’t a full sentence,” Derek said. Stiles tried to find words to
explain how that experience had been. He’d liked it. Yes, there had been pain
but it hadn’t been bad. The closest thing he could compare it to was the main
of a deep massage. It was something that hurt, but it seemed to release
something deep inside.
“Yes,” Stiles said.
“Have I completely broken your brain?” Derek asked.
“My dad would say it was broken already.”
Derek finished with the soothing something. Stiles’ ass felt surprisingly
alright. There was a little warmth there but he doubted he’d even end up with a
bruise.
Stiles sat up on the bed while Derek put the jar of soothing cream away again.
He tested that he could sit without discomfort, and then started pulling his
pants up, because sitting around like this was weirder than sitting around
completely naked. Only then did he notice the object lying on the bed. It was
the other thing Derek had brought out of the closet: a simple ring of rubber
attached to leather straps.
“This is a gag,” Stiles said.
“It appears your brain function is resuming,” Derek said. He sat down next to
Stiles on the bed.
Stiles picked up the gag, running his fingers over the rubber of the ring, firm
but with just a tiny bit of give in it. He’d looked at the gags when they’d
gone through the chest and he’d wondered what it would be like to have his
ability to speak removed. As someone who talked constantly, the idea was
exciting and terrifying all at once.
“I didn’t want to put it on during the spanking,” Derek said. “I needed you to
be able to say no. But I’d like to try it on you. I won’t use any other
restraints, so you can stop if you want, and take the gag out if you don’t like
it.”
Stiles ran his fingers around the inside of the ring. It was large enough to
fit Derek’s cock through the middle. He strongly suspected that was the point
of having a gag with an opening in the middle.
He raised it to his mouth, opening as wide as he was able in order to get the
thing behind his teeth. He settled it in position and then took hold of the
straps, pulling them round behind his head and feeding the end through the
buckle. Derek sat beside him, not moving to help, simply letting Stiles work
the gag into place on his own. Presumably, Derek didn’t want to force this on
him; he was determined that this would be Stiles’ choice.
Stiles got the thing in position, testing out the ring with his tongue. Already
his mouth was beginning to feel strange from being held open so wide. He
couldn’t imagine wearing the gag for long would be at all comfortable, so he
decided to hurry up with his plan.
He slid off the bed and onto his knees, nudging Derek’s legs apart and kneeling
between them. Derek was smiling as Stiles reached out to undo his flies and
ease out an erection that hadn’t had the same release Stiles’ had.
He positioned the cock with his hands and then lowered his gagged mouth over
the end. It felt strange. He couldn’t really wrap his mouth around it like he
had the other times he’d done something like this. But he could still work his
tongue around the tip and get Derek to moan obscenely.
Stiles set to work, using his fingers around the base of the shaft while he
used his tongue near the top. He bent forward, trying to swallow down as much
as possible. He thought he was getting better at this, getting in deeper before
he started to gag.
Derek sat on the bed, hands gripping the covers. He just let Stiles work,
tilting his head back and moaning again. Stiles tried to fit more of the cock
into his mouth as he pumped with his fingers.
Derek gave a cry. This time, Stiles didn’t pull away. He tried to swallow down
the spurts of warm, bitter liquid that shot into his mouth. Some trickled out
over the gag and he had no way to stop it.
When Stiles pulled back, Derek finally reached out to touch him. He stroked his
finger along Stiles’ bottom lip, capturing the stray trail of cum. He held the
sticky finger out and Stiles used his tongue to lick up the errant trace.
As Derek tucked himself away again, Stiles reached up and unfastened the buckle
of the gag.
“Well?” Derek asked.
“I don’t think I’d want to wear a gag for long periods,” Stiles said.
“You’d probably get withdrawal symptoms from talking if you tried.”
“Mean.” Stiles whacked his hand gently against Derek’s leg and stood. Derek
stood too, looking down at the state of his clothes.
“I need to change my clothes before dinner,” Derek said. He headed towards the
closet. “And I’ve got something for you.”
“More toys?”
“No. Just a present.”
Stiles decided not to remind him that a previous present had been a toy. Derek
emerged from the closet holding something small and black.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice your thing for leather,” Derek said. He held it
out. Stiles took it.
It was a band of leather about two inches wide, but a bracelet rather than a
cuff. It would fasten around his wrist by means of leather cords threaded
through small holes at either end of the band. There were two layers to it. As
well as the main band, there was a narrow braid of leather cords that ran
around the middle of the bracelet, attached at either end near the holes. The
only part of it that wasn’t made of leather was a little metal tag hanging from
the braid, with the triple spiral of the Hale pack etched into it.
It was a beautiful piece of work. Stiles wasn’t at all surprised to find that
it was sized to fit perfectly around his wrist. He fingered that metal tag.
“Is this like the collar Trevor wears?” Stiles asked. “Is this meant to show
people I belong to you or something?”
“No,” Derek answered. “Nothing like that. I just wanted you to have something
you could wear to make you think of me. Something that wouldn’t distract you
during school.”
“You’d be surprised to know how easily distracted I can be during school.”
Stiles lay the bracelet over his right wrist and tried to use his left hand to
feed the cord through the holes. After a few moments, Derek, now in clean pants
again, took gentle hold of his wrist.
“Here,” he said. “Let me.”
Derek’s fingers working the cord through the bracelet were as intimate as
anything they’d done in the bed.
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
     Some more NSFW stuff. See end notes for warnings.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Dinner had involved more uncomfortable exchanges with Peter. Peter had brought
Trevor to the meal again. He wasn’t naked this time, but what he was wearing
was hardly an improvement. Leather straps around his upper arms and wrists held
his arms tightly behind his back. The chastity cage was back on his cock. Cuffs
around his knees held a metal bar that forced his legs wide as he knelt at
Peter’s feet. Metal clamps were tight around his swollen nipples and throughout
the meal Peter would reach down and flick them, causing hisses of pain from
Trevor.
Trevor said nothing through the meal. He just knelt there, making noises of
pain in response to Peter’s actions and eating from Peter’s fingers the few
scraps that were offered.
Peter had insisted that Stiles took the seat next to him, and positioned Trevor
between them so that Stiles had no choice but to see. Once more, Peter politely
asked Stiles if he were enjoying his time as consort.
“Yes, I am,” Stiles said. “Unlike some people at this table, Derek isn’t a
jerk.”
“A jerk?” Peter asked, perfectly calmly.
“I could come up with some other terms if you prefer, but you objected when I
called you a bastard.”
Under the table, Derek’s hand squeezed Stiles’ knee gently. Stiles wasn’t sure
if the gesture was intended as support or as a warning to back off.
“I see my nephew has been presenting you with gifts.”
Stiles looked down at the bracelet. He tried to think about what to say about
it. He didn’t want to dismiss Derek’s gesture because Stiles was immensely
touched by it, but he didn’t want to think Stiles was only interested in Derek
for the potential presents.
“Derek knows that I don’t need anything like this,” Stiles said, “but I’m very
touched that he was thinking about me enough to get me something.”
“I’m glad you think you’re being remunerated appropriately for your services.”
Peter smiled again. He was probably trying to get a rise out of Stiles by
implying he was a prostitute, having sex for monetary gain. Stiles forced
himself to smile back.
“To be honest, the smoking hot sex is enough remuneration,” Stiles said. “I
have no need for anything else. But I’m not sure this is appropriate
conversation for the dinner table.”
“Really, really not,” Cora said from the other end of the table.
Stiles took the opportunity to ask Isaac how his chemistry project was going
along. Isaac quickly jumped in to complain about Harris and his ridiculously
harsh marking standards. Erica joined in with the complaints. Stiles hoped that
would be the end of the uncomfortable sex talk, but Peter had other ideas. He
spoke up in defence of Harris.
“Sometimes a person must be harsh,” Peter said. “Only through discipline can
true worth shine through. It’s said that the strongest sword is forged in the
hottest fire.”
While he spoke, he reached out a hand and stroked Trevor’s hair in an almost
absent-minded way, as though he didn’t even notice he was doing it. That effect
was proved a lie when, on his last word, he tightened his grip in Trevor’s hair
and yanked his head back. Trevor gave another quiet noise of pain but said
nothing about this treatment.
“People aren’t swords,” Stiles pointed out. “If you stick a person in a hot
flame, you’ll kill them.”
His eyes were on Peter, but he still noticed the reaction of the others. Cora
and Derek both tensed up. The rest of the pack seemed nervous, eyes shifting
between Peter and Stiles. Peter gave another yank, pulling Trevor backwards
before letting go. Trevor resumed his position. His eyes were filled with hate
when they looked towards Stiles.
Peter returned to his meal as though nothing had happened. Stiles forced
himself to eat.
They got through the meal with no further violence and Stiles was glad to
escape. Out of the room, away from Peter, Stiles let out some of what he was
feeling in a stream of words, not quite able to care that Peter might be
eavesdropping from elsewhere in the house.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” he asked. “How can anyone get so much
pleasure from hurting someone else? So Trevor wants to get into the pack. So
what? So did Isaac, Erica and Boyd. Did they have to get tortured for weeks to
prove their worth? If not, why is Trevor so different?”
After a minute, Stiles had to slow down to gather breath. Derek had been
watching him throughout.
“Am I expected to answer any of these questions?” he asked.
Stiles sighed, “Not really. I just... I don’t understand Peter.”
“If he thinks someone’s trying to use the pack, he... gets intense. Trevor
didn’t approach him openly and request the bite. That’s why Peter’s treating
him differently to the others.”
“I still don’t get how he can get away with this. There will be no legal
ramifications, no social outcry, not even scowls of distaste. It’s the
embodiment of all the stuff Allison says about werewolf privilege.”
“Allison?” Derek asked.
“Scott’s girlfriend. She has strong opinions on the subject.”
“You say that like you don’t.”
Stiles shrugged. He couldn’t deny his own opinions.
“Is there any way we could force Peter to back out of the contract? Could we
get it declared void somehow?” Stiles asked.
Derek shook his head. “If it were a beta involved, we could appeal to the
alpha, but with Peter the contract is between him and Trevor. Only one of them
can call it off.”
“Maybe we could read the contract and check the exact wording, see if there’s
something a lawyer could pick apart.”
Derek shook his head again.
“I’m sorry, Stiles,” he said. “I know Peter is doing this to get to you but you
have to remember that it’s not your fault. None of what he’s doing is your
fault.”
“I know. It’s just... I wish I knew a way to make things better.”
Derek kissed him lightly.
“What was that for?” Stiles asked.
“For caring so much. Now I’m sure you said something earlier about bringing a
DVD. Do you want to just watch the movie, or should we make it a little more
interesting?”
***
Stiles shifted a little on the couch, trying to find a comfortable position
with the plug buried deep in his ass. He was sitting with his legs tucked up
beside him, leaning against Derek’s side, Derek’s arm around his shoulders.
Stiles might have made some comment about the plug, but Cora was sitting in a
chair a couple of metres away from them, her eyes fixed on the TV screen as the
movie played.
It seemed Cora had never seen any of the Star Wars movies either. Once she’d
realised what they were doing, she’d asked to join them, after checking that
they didn’t want alone time. They’d agreed, so now Stiles was trying to
concentrate on his third favourite movie, constantly aware of the plug in his
rear. He was in a state of low arousal and he was sure Cora must know. She
could probably smell it on him.
Stiles tried to keep his focus on the movie, a little amused when both of the
werewolves reacted with genuine surprise at the big Darth Vader reveal at the
end. Had they been so shielded from pop culture that they’d missed the millions
of parodies and references that had sprung up in the years since the movie’s
first release? Apparently so.
The movie was in its last few minutes when Peter came into the den, leading
Trevor behind him. No one said anything. Derek and Cora pretended to still be
fully intent on the TV screen, but Stiles openly watched Trevor. Peter had
changed his restraints, and now each limb was folded double and bound with
leather straps, calf bound to thigh, forearm to upper arm. Trevor was forced to
crawl forwards on elbows and knees, balanced precariously. He had a large gag
stuffed in his mouth and a plug stuffed in his rear.
Peter sat down in one of the armchairs and Trevor knelt in front of him,
bending forward over his knees, arms trapped under him. Peter casually raised
his feet and rested them on Trevor’s back.
“What are we watching?” Peter asked.
“Star Wars,” Derek growled.
On the screen, a droid was testing the reactions of Luke’s new artificial hand.
“And it’s nearly over,” Stiles announced cheerfully.
“That’s a shame,” Peter said. “Perhaps we could watch something else as a
family.”
On the TV, the music dramatically built and then the movie cut to credits.
“Nope,” Stiles said. He pulled himself out of Derek’s hold to get the player to
spit out the disk. Derek tossed the remote to his uncle and stood.
They left the room in a hurry, Cora leaving right after them, though she turned
the other way once in the hallway. Derek put his hand in the small of Stiles’
back and guided him away from the den.
“Maybe I should try talking to Peter again,” Stiles said.
“Forget it. I can give you something more interesting to think about than
Peter.”
In the bedroom, Stiles stood and waited while Derek made preparations. His
first acts seemed bizarre. He went to the closet and fetched a couple of
scarves. He then took them to the bed, wrapping them around the metal bars that
made up the frame at the foot of the bed. When he was done, two adjacent bars
were so wrapped up the scarf wrappings were nearly touching. They were about
groin height, but Stiles wasn’t sure exactly what they were for.
Derek, apparently satisfied with his handiwork, when back to the closet and dug
in the chest. He came out with the leather cuffs and a load of rope. He set
this collection on the bed and ordered Stiles to take his clothes off.
Stiles undressed slowly under Derek’s intense gaze. His every move was watched
and he tried to make his stripping more of a show. His slowly shed his clothes,
exposing skin a little at a time. The last item to go was the bracelet. Only
when everything else was gone and he stood naked in front of Derek did he undo
the cord and loosen it enough that he could slide the leather over his hand. He
set the bracelet down carefully on top of his pile of clothes. Then he
straightened and stood exposed in front of Derek, waiting for whatever was to
come next.
Derek picked up the cuffs and one by one fastened them in place. Each move was
infinitely careful. As he buckled the leather in place, he tested the
tightness, checked that they wouldn’t rub, tested tugging on the ring to make
sure they were comfortable.
Soon Stiles was naked except for the restraints and Derek led him over to stand
at the end of the bed. Derek teased Stiles’ cock, coaxing a little more
hardness, and then he positioned Stiles to face the bed, his legs spread, his
body pressed right against the frame, his cock sliding between the scarf
wrappings. Fabric pressed against his sensitive erection on either side and
Stiles suspected he would soon be humping the bedframe and he was grateful his
cock wasn’t pressed against cold metal.
Derek worked quickly with the ropes, tying them through the rings in the cuffs
and then round the posts of the bed. He stood on the mattress so he could
Stiles’ arms to the upper corners of the four-poster. Stiles was held open and
vulnerable, limbs outstretched, ready for whatever Stiles had in mind.
When Stiles was thoroughly trapped, Derek made one last trip to the closet. He
returned with the leather gloves, dragging them over Stiles’ skin for a minute
before putting them on.
“You have no idea what you do to me like this,” Derek said. Gloved fingers
trailed down Stiles’ spine. “Open. Vulnerable. Trusting.” Derek’s face buried
into his neck. “Smelling of want.” Those hands stroked Stiles’ shoulders and up
his outstretched arms. “You are incredible. Beautiful. Mine.”
Stiles made a strangled moaning sound. The hands trailed down his back to his
ass, cupping the cheeks for a moment. Then one moved to the base of the plug.
It twisted.
Stiles moaned against, thrusting as well as he was able between the scarves.
“I could leave you like this,” Derek said. He stood right behind Stiles,
breathing the words into his ear. “I could leave you to decorate my bedroom,
waiting for me, ready for me.” He twisted the plug again. He pressed on the
base, driving it a little deeper.
“But you know what,” Derek breathed, “you’re not the only one who’s impatient.”
He pulled the plug out in one quick, smooth motion. Stiles gave a startled cry
as it broke free and he was left empty, but Derek didn’t leave him that way for
long. Soon Derek’s erection was filling the void.
Derek moved with fast, powerful thrusts, driving into Stiles from behind. His
arms wrapped around Stiles’ chest, holding them together, pulling them into one
being. Derek was still fully dressed, his clothes rubbing against Stiles’ bare
skin as he pounded into him.
Stiles moved with the rhythm, helpless to do anything else, his own erection
driving back and forth over the soft scarves while Derek’s thrusts hit his
prostate again and again. Cries of need burst out of Stiles’ mouth, without
words or thoughts to them, just the desire for the sensations that were filling
him.
It was over quickly, Stiles shooting his load onto the bed as Derek came inside
him. Stiles clutched at the ropes holding up his arms, knowing he’d never stay
upright if it weren’t for the restraints, while Derek hung off him, heavy and
breathless in the wake of his own climax.
Derek pulled out after a few moments, but he didn’t leave Stiles empty for
long. He slid the plug back into place.
He unfastened the cuffs at Stiles’ ankles first and Stiles managed to get his
feet under him supporting his weight again. Derek was careful to check Stiles
not going to fall before he undid the cuffs at his wrists. The cuffs dangled
down from the bedframe by the ropes, hanging there like promises of what was to
come. Neither of them wanted to deal with tidying up at a time like this. Derek
just half-carried Stiles into the bed. Stiles lay down beneath the covers while
Derek stripped off his clothes and turned off the light. Stiles was almost
asleep already when he felt Derek’s arms wrapping around him. Stiles leaned
back into him.
“I could get used to this,” Stiles murmured.
“Good,” Derek whispered. “I don’t plan on letting you go.”
Chapter End Notes
     Consensual bondage and butt plug wearing for the Sterek side of
     things.
     Strict restraints, nipple clamps, and hair pulling for the Peter side
     of things.
***** Chapter 19 *****
Chapter Notes
     I couldn't possibly have a chapter end like that without something
     going horribly wrong, could I?
     Warnings about Peter in the end notes.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles managed to get out of bed without waking Derek, which was quite an
achievement. He pulled on yesterday’s clothes because he didn’t stand a chance
of finding something in his bag while keeping Derek asleep. He also kept the
plug in, enjoying the feeling of fullness as he walked, knowing Derek would
like the idea of Stiles cooking him breakfast in bed, still plugged up with
yesterday’s cum.
Stiles got to the kitchen and started rummaging around for supplies for French
toast. He wanted to do something nice for Derek, the words from last night
still echoing in his ears. Derek didn’t plan on letting him go. Derek wanted
this to last. For the first time, Stiles let himself dare hope that this might
be turning into something real.
“Making yourself at home?” a voice asked.
Stiles jumped and an egg splattered on the floor by his feet. He muttered a
swear word and quickly set his supplies on the counter before turning to Peter.
“I’m making breakfast for Derek and me,” Stiles said.
“It must be a pleasant change for him,” Peter said. “His usual sexual partners
didn’t often stick around until breakfast.”
That was probably meant as a taunt, telling Stiles that he wasn’t the first,
reminding him that this was supposed to be all about sex. Peter couldn’t know
that Derek had already talked about his previous habit of picking up one night
stands at BDSM clubs. Stiles wasn’t going to let it get to him.
“Why did you change the arrangement?” Stiles asked. “It seems surprising that
you’re so opposed to Derek having a consort given that you’re the one who
insisted he stop having one night stands and do this instead. Me being here is
your idea, not his.”
“I thought this way would be safer,” Peter said. “Derek left himself
vulnerable, inviting strangers to share a bed with him, bringing them in close.
I thought it would be safer for him to pair up with a boy, someone
inexperienced, someone too young to have been recruited by an enemy. You’re not
who I had in mind.”
“Then maybe you shouldn’t have put a cage on my dick and blackmailed me into
attending your party. If you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have been trying to
hide from creepers who think my cock is their property.”
Stiles folded his arms and glared at Peter.
“So you’re still going with that story about how you were hiding when you met
Derek?”
“Did it never occur to you that maybe it’s the truth?” Stiles said. “I assumed
the whole chastity cage thing was Derek’s idea and I ranted to him about it and
then he apologised, a much more genuine apology than yours, I should add. He
didn’t want some sycophant like Trevor so we came to an agreement. There’s no
mystery. There’s no secret plot. That’s all that happened. I don’t get why you
have such a hard time believing it.”
“Do you think I’m a fool?” Peter asked.
“Do you really want an honest answer to that question?”
“I have watched you, Stiles. I was suspicious about your fortuitous encounter
with Derek, so I decided to make sure. I’ve seen you, talking with an Argent.”
Stiles frowned, puzzled, wondering what the hell Allison had to do with any of
this. She hadn’t been invited to participate, and wouldn’t have been eligible
even if Peter had chosen to include girls in his party. Why would Peter care in
the slightest about his friend’s girlfriend?
“Did you really think no one would notice you debating werewolf privilege with
an Argent?” Peter asked. Again, he spat that name like it was a swearword.
Stiles was still confused.
“Allison’s my best friend’s girlfriend. We hang out sometimes. What’s that got
to do with anything?”
“Everything. Play innocent all you like, but you’ve made your views clear.
Whether you have been fully recruited to the Argents’ cause or not, you’ve been
vocal enough about werewolves and pack status that it’s clear you’ll be one of
theirs soon enough. I won’t let an Argent spy have free access to my nephew.”
“Seriously,” Stiles said, “there’s no spying going on here. Allison is Scott’s
girlfriend. I see her at school and sometimes when I hang out with Scott.
That’s the limit of things. I don’t know why you hate her so much but there’s
no spying. There’s just me and Derek and the stuff we do in his bedroom.”
“Stuff,” Peter almost laughed. “That tame play you think is so extreme. Do you
think that will be enough to satisfy Derek for long? You argue too much. You
don’t ever stop thinking about your choices, your desires. Derek likes his
sexual partners to yield up to him completely, to do the things you wouldn’t
even dream of. You hesitate and hold back. You play at being submissive but
your heart’s not in it.”
Stiles said nothing. He knew this was just another angle for Peter, another way
of driving him from Derek, but a part of him was afraid it was the truth. There
were things in Derek’s chest that Derek had said he wouldn’t use on Stiles,
like the chains, and the riding crop. There were things Stiles had absolutely
no desire to try, like the nipples clamps. Even the gag, he knew he wouldn’t
want to wear for long and he’d be quite happy to never wear again. He wasn’t as
into all this as Derek so obviously was.
“You’re so keen to fight me,” Peter said. “You won’t back down but you’re only
buying yourself a little time. Sooner or later, Derek will push you further
than you want to go.”
“He wouldn’t push me,” Stiles said quickly.
“Then he’ll get bored. The little you give him won’t be enough to satisfy his
needs. He’ll let you go. He’s only stuck with you this long because I’ve denied
him the companion contracts. But you know as well as I do, he never wanted a
consort. He never wanted you. He wants his clubs, his true submissives, the
ones who know what they’re doing in a scene.”
Stiles didn’t want to listen. He didn’t want to hear all this, but Peter’s
words didn’t stop coming and they fanned the embers of his insecurities into
flames of fear. It was true that Derek hadn’t asked for a consort. Stiles had
been a consolation prize because he’d been refused what he actually wanted.
“I can show you the sort of things Derek enjoys,” Peter said. “You can come
upstairs with me and watch while I demonstrate all of them and more on Trevor.
I will push pins through the skin of his ballsack. I will whip him with a cane
until he bleeds. I will force him to drink my piss. I will pierce the end of
his dick and put a ring in it so I can lead him about with a leash on his cock.
I might even brand him. I can sear my mark into his flesh with burning iron. If
I tell him it’s a sign of belonging, you know he’ll consent because he’ll see
it as a step closer to the pack. I will let you watch while I make him bleed,
and cry, and scream. And you’ll know that this is what Derek would do with
those willing partners in the clubs he used to frequent.”
Stiles wasn’t afraid of Derek. He didn’t believe Derek would ever do anything
like that to him. But Derek did have other toys in his chest. He had talked
about his need for control. Was that a werewolf thing? An alpha thing? Stiles
couldn’t forget that Derek was destined to be alpha of a pack. If Peter was
telling the truth and this was the sort of thing Derek really enjoyed, then he
wasn’t going to stay satisfied with Stiles forever, whatever he might say in
the post-sex haze.
Stiles had known from the moment that this was a contract to have sex until one
of them got bored and decided to end it. Derek could end the contract at any
moment.
“Once I have eaten my breakfast,” Peter said, “I will go back and take care of
Trevor. Think about that while you and Derek and pretending to be satisfied
with each other.”
“Why do this to Trevor?” Stiles asked. “I know you hate me. I’m the one you
think is a spy. Why hurt him?”
“Because it hurts you. I will end my contract with Trevor the second you end
your contract with Derek. He doesn’t have to receive a single bruise more. You
can release him. Break off your contract with Derek. If there really is no
hidden agenda, it should be easy. It would happen eventually anyway and we both
know it.”
Stiles did know that. He’d been telling himself that since the beginning,
telling himself not to let himself get emotionally involved. He didn’t want to
leave. He didn’t want to end things with Derek, but maybe it would be for the
best. He could walk away before he ended up caring too much about Derek. He
could walk away before walking away was too painful to consider.
And the thought of Trevor lingered. He might be able to push the thoughts aside
from time to time but if he let Peter go through with his plans, he would never
forgive himself. He would know for the rest of his life that he was partly
complicit.
He nodded faintly.
***
Once again, Stiles found himself in the study, looking at the terms of a
contract. He didn’t like these terms and Peter was not as willing as Derek to
compromise.
“At least let me say goodbye to Derek before we do this,” Stiles said.
“If you walk out of this study without signing,” Peter said, “I will do to
Trevor everything I described earlier, and I will also whip his ass so much he
will be incapable of sitting at school next week. Everyone will know what was
done to him. What you agreed to.”
“I never agreed to you torturing him.”
“If you back out now, it’s as good as agreement.” Peter nudged the paper a
little closer to Stiles.
There were clauses in here about Peter, about how he would release Trevor from
the companion contract with no further injury. There were also clauses stating
that Peter wouldn’t involve in any activities opposed to Stiles, his family, or
his friends. The contract meant protection from Peter for Stiles, Trevor, and
everyone Stiles cared about. All he had to do was sign.
All he had to do was agree to never see Derek again.
He didn’t want to do this. If nothing else, it wasn’t fair on Derek to leave
without a proper goodbye, without an explanation of why Stiles felt he had to
do this. But Trevor’s fate was now in his hands. Stiles picked up the pen and
signed.
Peter signed too, fixing his agreement to the contract.
“Go out to your car,” Peter said. “I will bring your belongings out to you.”
Stiles walked out to his jeep. He felt cold, like something inside him had been
yanked out. He looked up at the house, trying to memorise the shape of it, the
layout of the windows, the way the morning sun hit it through the trees. He
wanted to remember this forever because he knew he’d never get to see it again.
He’d never get to see Derek again.
He wanted to break down in tears. There was so much they’d never get to try.
Some of it was bedroom stuff. Stiles would never get to feel that flogger
against his skin. They’d never have sex in that ridiculously big bathtub. But
more than that, he’d never get to share Return of the Jedi with Derek, or take
him out to more cheap eateries that he’d not been to before. Stiles would never
get to make Derek smile again.
He was still thinking these thoughts when Peter walked out of the house,
holding Stiles’ book bag and overnight stuff. He handed both bags over. There
was no sign of the leather jacket Stiles had been wearing for the last couple
of weeks.
“Goodbye, Stiles. This really is best for everyone. I’m sure it won’t take
Derek long to get over you.”
“You’re enjoying this far too much,” Stiles said. Peter just smiled.
Stiles opened up his bags, checking everything he needed was still inside. He
wouldn’t be able to come back here if anything was left behind. Plus, this let
Stiles stall. This let him put off the final moment of departure for just a few
more moments. But everything was there. Stiles had no excuses left. He tossed
his bags into the back seat of the jeep and went to the driver’s side.
As he sat down, he felt the plug shifting inside him, the last trace of Derek
captured inside. Stiles started up the car and began driving, feeling the
fullness inside, remembering that he’d never have this again.
He was about halfway home when his phone buzzed with an incoming text. At the
next set of traffic lights, he fished it out and checked the message. It was
from Derek. Where did you go?
Stiles tossed the phone down on the seat next to him as the light turned green.
He started driving again.
A little further down the road, the phone buzzed again. Peter says you ended
the contract. Why?
Stiles tightened his grip on the steering wheel and tried to hold himself
together. Had Peter not told Derek about their discussions, about how he’d
forced Stiles into this? Of course he hadn’t. He no doubt wanted Derek to hate
Stiles, so he’d left Derek believing that Stiles had just got out of bed and
left him without a word of goodbye. Derek must think Stiles was heartless.
Stiles was just parking the jeep outside his house when the next text arrived.
Did Peter do something?
This must be why Peter had insisted that Stiles not contact Derek. He didn’t
want Stiles to explain himself. So all he could do was watch these texts come
in. He wasn’t allowed to reply.
He grabbed his bags and let himself into the house as quietly as possible.
There was a chance his dad was still in bed. He really didn’t feel like
explaining this right now. He crept up the stairs and into his bedroom. He’d
just shut the door behind him when his phone buzzed again.
Did I do something?
Something snapped inside Stiles. Tears broke free in a great rush. He sank down
onto the floor, unable to hold himself up anymore. The thought of Derek hating
him was bad enough, but this was so much worse. Derek was feeling guilty,
thinking he’d done something wrong and driven Stiles away. And Stiles wasn’t
allowed to ease his feelings, to tell him that he’d always been absolutely
perfect.
All he could do was cry.
Chapter End Notes
     Peter doesn't do much in this chapter, but he makes a lot of threats,
     including caning, piercing, branding, and generally torturing Trevor.
***** Chapter 20 *****
“Do you want to talk about it?” Stiles’ dad asked. Stiles was lying in bed,
staring at the wall. His dad stood over him, looking at him with concern.
Stiles wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there.
“No,” Stiles said.
“Do you want me to rough someone up?”
“No,” Stiles said. He’d love for someone to beat up Peter, but Peter was an
alpha werewolf with a load of money and an army of expensive lawyers. If he
didn’t rip Stiles’ dad to pieces, he’d get him arrested. Neither of which would
help in any way.
“Do you want to watch Disney movies while eating ice cream?” his dad asked.
The automatic denial started to form but Stiles considered.
“Yeah,” he said. “That sounds good.”
“OK. How about you take a shower and I’ll go sort out the ice cream.”
He left the room. A moment later, Stiles stood up. He went across the hall into
the bathroom and stripped off yesterday’s clothes. He also knew that the time
had come for one more thing to go too. He eased the plug out of his ass. It was
marked with Derek’s cum from last night and that nearly made Stiles start
crying all over again.
He felt empty with the plug gone, but he couldn’t wear it to watch Disney
movies with his dad. He could clean it up, use the toy cleaner Derek had given
him, and put it away. He could use it again in future, when he felt ready to
remember his times with Derek.
He showered, cleaning himself thoroughly. He probably stank of sex even to a
human’s senses. Once he was completely clean, he got dried off and dressed,
pulling on old sweats and a loose t-shirt. Comfort mattered more than
appearance right now. He picked up the bracelet, the wide band of leather that
Derek had given him, with that little disk inscribed with the Hale symbol.
Stiles held it to his face and breathed in the scent of leather, then he slid
it over his hand and started tightening up the cord that laced it on.
His phone buzzed again. He didn’t look at it this time. He didn’t want to know
whether Derek was hating him or hurting.
Down in the living room, he curled up on the couch. His dad handed him a bowl
of chocolate ice cream and started The Little Mermaid playing. He wasn’t sure
why his dad had picked that one. He just went with it.
“I’m here,” his dad said, “if you do want to talk.”
Stiles shook his head. He spooned chocolate ice cream into his mouth.
“Should I call Scott?”
Stiles shrugged. It wasn’t like Scott could make this better.
“I’ll call Scott,” his dad said.
***
Scott turned up with more tubs of ice cream, but Stiles wasn’t in the mood for
eating anymore. He was feeling a little sick. Ice cream when he hadn’t had
breakfast might not have been a sensible choice. Stiles lay on the couch,
staring at the screen, which was now showing Aladdin. He wasn’t sure his brain
had taken in a moment of the movie.
Scott sat in the chair next to him. His dad had gone elsewhere; Stiles wasn’t
even sure if he wasn’t still in the house. He couldn’t bring himself to care.
“Did he break it off?” Scott asked after a few minutes.
Stiles shook his head.
“You called it off?”
Stiles nodded.
“Did he do something?”
“No!” Stiles said the word sharply, angrily. He didn’t want people thinking
that. He didn’t want anyone believing any of this was Derek’s fault. “Derek was
wonderful and sweet and amazing in bed and sarcastic and... amazing.”
“Then why did you end it?” Scott asked.
“Peter,” Stiles said.
“Oh.”
They sat and watched the movie some more.
After a little while, there came a knocking on the front door.
“I’ll go see who that is,” Scott said. He returned an instant later saying,
“It’s Derek. Should I let him in?”
“No,” Stiles said. He kept his voice quiet. He wasn’t supposed to talk to
Derek. Talking loudly so that Derek could overhear was probably a breach of the
new contract with Peter.
“Should I tell him to go?” Scott asked.
Stiles shook his head. He wasn’t supposed to pass messages to Derek. Scott
telling Derek to leave on his behalf was probably also a breach. Everything was
a breach.
Derek knocked on the door again, louder this time.
“Stiles!” he called out. “I just want to talk to you.”
Stiles tucked himself into a tighter ball on the couch. The tears were
threatening again. He didn’t dare open his mouth because he might say something
he wasn’t allowed to say. He wanted to run out there and hug Derek and tell him
how sorry he was. Instead, he grabbed a cushion and hugged that to his chest.
“Stiles,” Derek called again, “just tell me what I did wrong. Give me a chance
to fix this.”
Tears slid from Stiles’ eyes. He pressed his arm to his face, the leather of
the bracelet against his skin. Had he screwed up? He’d let Peter push him into
this. He should have held out. He should have argued. He should have fought
more. But now it was done. And Derek was hurting. And Stiles was the one to
blame.
“Stiles, please,” Derek called again.
“Hey!” A new voice joined the yelling outside the house. A car door slammed.
Stiles’ dad was back.
Stiles heard his dad’s voice from the other side of the door, telling Derek to
get the hell off their property. He’d rarely heard such anger from his dad. He
didn’t hear what Derek said next, but he heard his dad’s reply.
“I don’t care!” his dad snapped. “Just get the hell out of here before I arrest
you for trespassing.”
A moment later, the front door opened and then shut. His dad came into the den.
He walked over to Stiles and put a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t hate him,” Stiles said quietly. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“Then why?” his dad asked, gesturing to indicate Stiles’ prone form.
“Peter,” Stiles said quietly. “Peter made me break off the contract and he
hasn’t even told Derek he’s the reason for it. Derek thinks I just walked out
on him without saying goodbye.”
“I could go after him,” Stiles’ dad said. “I could bring him back here and let
you say goodbye.”
“I’m not allowed to. I’m not allowed to talk to him or see him or send him a
text or a letter or a semaphore message or anything. I’m not allowed to
communicate with him in any way.” Stiles started crying again. “I can’t tell
him I’m sorry.”
***
Sunday passed in a haze of homework and trying not to think. There was nothing
else from Derek. No more visits. No more texts. Maybe Derek had given up on
him. Maybe Derek now hated him.
Time seemed to drag. He tried to distract himself by throwing him into his
schoolwork. What was supposed to be a three page essay for economics on wealth
distribution ended up being seventeen pages of commentary on the structure of
privilege and how it applied to different classes and groups, human and
werewolf. He did answer Coach’s question somewhere in those pages though so he
decided he’d hand it in anyway. His chemistry write-up was a polished gem
complete with diagrams and references to research papers from four universities
and an analysis of how the results of their experiment were applicable in the
real world.
It was easier than thinking about Derek.
When Monday came, he dragged himself out of bed and pulled clothes on,
including the bracelet. He couldn’t bear to leave it at home. It felt like
leaving the bracelet would be leaving Derek behind forever. He wasn’t ready to
do that.
School looked the same as ever, but it felt different. There were the same
people talking about their weekends or the coming classes, panicking about
forgotten homework, discussing lacrosse, all the usual things. Stiles walked
through the halls like he was a ghost, passing invisible people ranks of people
who didn’t know how empty he was feeling. He didn’t exist to them.
Or maybe he did. As he was drifting along, someone shoved into him from behind.
He might have thought it an accident, but there was enough force behind it to
nearly send him face-first into the lockers. When he looked to see who’d shoved
him, Malia gave him a glance over her shoulder before she headed off to her own
locker.
Stiles said nothing. He went to his locker and started sorting out his books,
grabbing what he needed for the first few classes.
“So you’ll abandon Derek but you’ll keep his gifts,” an angry voice said.
Stiles looked across at Boyd, who was glaring at the bracelet on Stiles’ wrist.
Stiles ran a finger over the leather. He caught the metal tag and ran his thumb
across the etched mark.
“Derek wanted me to wear it and think about him,” Stiles said. He knew it
sounded pathetic, but he didn’t want Boyd or anyone thinking he’d just been
using Derek to get stuff.
“Now you’re thinking about Derek?” Boyd asked. “Maybe you could have thought
about him when he was panicking that you’d disappeared.”
“Peter knew where I’d gone,” Stiles said, “and why.”
“And you thought that was enough? You didn’t think Derek deserved an apology or
an explanation or anything?” Boyd was so angry that Stiles could see his nails
starting to extend into claws. Stiles was about to be eviscerated by an angry
werewolf, but he couldn’t find the energy to care about that. If Boyd killed
him, so be it.
“He deserves all of that,” Stiles said.
“Then why won’t you give it to him?”
“Ask Peter.”
Stiles slammed his locker shut and grabbed his bag, but he couldn’t even feel
really angry with Peter. Anger took too much energy. He just slung his bag over
his shoulder and started towards his first class.
When Danny looked at Stiles’ contribution for the chemistry project, he asked
if Stiles was overcompensating for something. Stiles shrugged and they handed
it their work.
“You OK?” Danny asked.
Stiles shrugged again.
“When you stop talking it’s time to worry,” Danny said. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
Harris walked into the room to call the class to order and Danny lowered his
volume.
“Can I do anything?” he asked. Stiles shook his head.
“Quiet, everyone,” Harris ordered. “Lahey, put phone away unless you’re trying
to get it confiscated.”
Stiles glanced round. Near the back of the classroom, Isaac had been tapping
away at something on his phone. He slipped it under the desk now, out of sight.
For an instant, Isaac met Stiles’ eye. Stiles turned away.
***
Stiles somehow made it through the day. Coach commented on his silence during
economics, asking if Stiles was ill because he wasn’t, “Talking so much my ears
start bleeding.” Stiles just shrugged away the concern. At the end of the day,
Coach called Stiles back to his office for a talk. Stiles went along
reluctantly, not at all looking forward to what was bound to be a horribly
uncomfortable conversation.
“Coach, this really isn’t necessary,” Stiles said, “I’m fine.”
“Oh, you’re not here for your health, Stilinski,” Coach said. “I wanted to talk
to you about your paper.”
Stiles waited for the inevitable tirade about his lack of focus and inability
to stick to the subject of a paper.
“Have you thought about getting it published?” Coach asked.
“What?”
“It needs some tidying up. And by that I mean a lot of tidying up. Your train
of thought goes all over the place at times, but there are some great insights
in here, particularly around how werewolf status impacts economic privilege.”
“Published?” Stiles said.
“You need to focus it a lot first. Get the word count down, trim out the fluff
and the random detours and stuff like that. I’ve made some notes.”
He handed over the paper, which had been scrawled over with red pen. Coach had
marked the first three paragraphs and scrawled Tidy the F Up!!!! in the margin.
“Published?” Stiles said again.
“I may be a high school teacher but I know a few people in the economics
journals. It’s worth a shot. Get me a second draft by the end of the week and
I’ll help you put a submission together. Now get the hell out of my office,
Stilinski. I’ve got to mark the papers of people who actually stick to the
assigned subject.”
“Right,” Stiles said, then he added, “Thanks.”
He tucked his red-covered paper into his bag and headed out of the office. The
halls were quieter now, most of the students out of the school the second they
could escape. He started towards the door.
He stepped round a corner and into the swinging stroke of a lacrosse stick.
Pain flared up his arm and stumbled back a step, nearly dropping his bag in
shock. Trevor stood in front of him, fury on his face.
“What the hell?” Stiles demanded.
“It’s your fault,” Trevor snarled. “I’ll never be in the pack now and it’s your
fault!”
He swung the stick again. This time, Stiles managed to bring his bag up to
shield the blow, but his arm jolted from the impact. Then Trevor dropped the
stick and just launched at Stiles, raining down punches.
Stiles hurried back, trying to get out of reach, but his foot caught the fallen
stick and his leg went out from under him. As he hit the ground hard, Trevor
was already there with kicks to his ribs and stomach. When he spoke again,
every word was punctuated with a kick that sent waves of pain through his
torso.
“It’s! All! Your! Fault!”
Stiles tried to curl in on himself, to create a small target, but the kicks
kept coming, with furious rage powering each one.
“Hey!” a voice yelled. “Get off him!”
***** Chapter 21 *****
Stiles sat in the little room in the hospital, waiting for the results of the
x-rays. He had an icepack clutched to his arm while he tried to hold another
one against his chest with his elbow. His dad had been called and was
apparently on his way. Isaac sat in the visitor’s chair.
“I knew he didn’t like you,” Isaac was saying, “but I didn’t expect him to flip
out like that.”
“He hates me because Peter dropped his companion contract,” Stiles said, “and
now he’s not going to be invited to join the pack.”
“Peter was never going to invite him to join anyway.”
“You know that and I know that, but Trevor doesn’t seem to.”
His stomach and chest throbbed. This was going to cause him serious problems
because talking seemed to make it worse. The doctors were waiting until the
results of the x-rays to decide what painkillers to give him.
“He’s the reason you backed out of the contract, isn’t he?” Isaac said.
Stiles nodded. He wasn’t allowed to talk to Derek, but Peter hadn’t made him
promise not to talk to any of the others. He just wasn’t allowed to give them
messages to pass on to Derek.
“We thought you’d just got bored or something,” Isaac said, “but today you’ve
looked as miserable as Derek. I figured there had to be more to it than you
just deciding you’d had enough. Plus, you’re still wearing his bracelet. You
wouldn’t do that if you’d just decided to dump him.”
“Peter told me what he planned to do to Trevor,” Stiles said. “He said the only
way he’d stop was if I left Derek forever.”
“So you save Trevor and he kicks the crap out of you for it? That’s gotta
smart.”
Stiles looked pointedly at his ice pack.
“I don’t get him,” Isaac said. “I mean, I wanted to join the pack but I
wouldn’t have let Peter treat me like that. I wouldn’t let anyone do that. Why
the hell does it matter so much to him?”
Stiles shrugged. He regretted the action, his arm throbbing at the movement.
Everything hurt right now. He wished he could go back in time and tell Peter
where to stick his deal. He’d done this to help Trevor and Trevor’s reaction
had been to whack him with a lacrosse stick and kick him hard enough that the
doctors were checking for broken ribs and arm.
The door burst open. Stiles’ dad rushed into the room, hurrying over and
reaching out like he intended to hug him, but pulling back at the last instant.
“Stiles, what happened?” he asked. Then he seemed to notice Isaac and rounded
on him, “What did you do?”
Isaac held up his hands in surrender. It was hardly surprising, as Stiles’ dad
was in full uniform looked a heartbeat way from pulling his weapon.
“Dad,” Stiles said quickly, “Isaac helped me. He’s the reason I’m not a bloody
puddle on the school floor right now.”
“What happened?” his dad asked.
“Trevor,” Stiles said.
“Peter’s companion?”
“Not anymore. Peter broke off his contract with Trevor and now Trevor is mad at
me because he won’t get the werewolf bite.”
His dad still looked puzzled, “I don’t get why he’d think that’s your fault.”
Stiles just shrugged the shoulder of his unhurt arm.
“Tell me from the beginning,” his dad said. So Stiles did. He told his dad
about the way Peter mistrusted him and was hurting Trevor to send him a
message, and about Peter’s threats and the proposed new contract, about how
Peter would leave Trevor alone only if Stiles promised never to see Derek ever
again, and about how Trevor hated Stiles and held him to blame for the fact he
wasn’t going to become a werewolf. He explained about how Trevor had attacked
him out of nowhere and how Isaac and stepped in and got him to the hospital.
His dad listened to it all, lips pressed tightly together. He didn’t say
anything right away, but his posture screamed his anger. At last, he dragged a
hand through his hair and addressed Stiles.
“Do you want to press assault charges against Trevor?” he asked.
Stiles considered. He was mad as hell with Trevor, furious that he’d done this
when all Stiles had done was protect him. But it somewhat defeated the point of
protecting him to go after him now. On the other hand, if Trevor just got away
with this attack, what was to stop him trying again?
“No,” Stiles said, “but don’t let him know that right away. Make him sweat a
bit.”
His dad nodded, understanding. “I’ll bring him into the station and use lots of
terms like ‘aggravated assault’ and give him an official warning. If he touches
you again though, I will throw the book at him.”
It was nice that his dad was leaving this decision with Stiles. Stiles had
expected his dad to try and squeeze every bit of retribution out of the legal
system, but Trevor had been hurt enough lately.
The doctor returned, announcing that there were no breaks, though there was
some bruising around Stiles’ ribs and he should be careful for a while. She
gave him some painkillers and told him to switch to over the counter pain
medication when they ran out.
The little group of them headed out to the reception area for Stiles’ dad to
finish dealing with the paperwork. Isaac lingered. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was
still acting as bodyguard. But near the reception area, Isaac hesitated. He
sniffed the air.
“What is it, Lassie?” Stiles asked.
“Trevor was here.”
“What?”
“His scent. Trevor’s been through here. Probably recently, or it would have
been overwhelmed by the disinfectant smell.”
“Weird,” Stiles said. “Do you think he was here to see how badly I was hurt?”
If that was the case, he felt less conflicted about the decision not to press
charges. Maybe Trevor felt bad about what he’d done.
“I don’t know,” Isaac said. “All I know is that he was here.”
***
Stiles walked into school, a small bruise on his cheek and a horrendous purple-
black swollen mess on his arm. His ribs still ached whenever he did anything
strenuous. Like breathing. He carried his bag over his good shoulder, but he
didn’t carry it far. As soon as he stepped into the school, Boyd insisted on
carrying it for him. Stiles wondered if this was his way of apologising for
confronting him the day before. It was clear that the attitude of the werewolf
pack had changed. He wasn’t sure that the pity in their eyes was any better
than anger.
When lunch came, Erica and Malia cornered him and insisted that he eat with
them. Malia carried his tray for him. Stiles wanted to argue that he could
carry his own tray, but his bruised arm was throbbing so he just went with it.
He sat down at their table, while Isaac and Boyd came to join them.
“You know I’m not the consort anymore,” he said. “I’m not an honorary pack
member or anything so you don’t have to be nice to me.”
The werewolves eyed each other, something significant passing in their looks.
“Derek’s miserable,” Isaac said, “and he’s angry. He wants to do something
about it, if you’re up for it.”
“I can’t,” Stiles said. “I can’t see him. I can’t even send him a message.”
There was another significant look. Erica looked downright evil.
“You don’t have to do either,” Erica said. She reached into her backpack,
pulling out a small brown paper bag. She passed it to him under the table,
handling it so carefully it was like she thought it might explode.
Stiles held the bag under the level of the table and opened it a crack, peeking
inside. He started laughing.
That turned out to be a mistake because it made his ribs scream in pain, but he
couldn’t help it. Even when his eyes filled with tears, he was still halfway to
laughter.
“Are you in?” Erica asked.
Stiles wanted to say yes, but it wasn’t as simple as that. For one thing, he
was extremely suspicious of these guys bringing messages from Derek, because
the last time they’d said they were doing that, they were acting as spies for
Peter. Besides, if this really was from Derek, Peter would be absolutely
furious. Stiles felt his bruises throb and wondered what Peter might do to him
for this challenge.
But one thought washed aside all fears. Derek wanted to take this risk for him.
For him. This wasn’t about casual sex. This was about Derek being miserable
without him and wanting to stand up to his alpha to get him back. This bag and
its contents were a sign of how serious Derek was taking this.
Stiles couldn’t say no to that.
“I’m in,” Stiles said.
***
Stiles sat in the passenger seat of Isaac’s car. The rest of the werewolves
were car sharing in the other car so it was just the two of them. He had his
book bag at his feet and the paper bag with Derek’s gifts on his lap.
“You know you don’t have to go through with this,” Isaac said. “Derek wanted us
to tell you that you can back out any time you like.”
Normally Stiles would have made some sarcastic comment about being treated like
a baby, but he was actually grateful. If nothing else, it was exactly the sort
of thing Derek would insist on saying, which made him feel happier that this
was really Derek’s plan and not Peter luring him into a horrible torture trap.
Isaac pulled over to the side of the road on the outskirts of the Hale lands.
Stiles fiddled with the bag.
“So,” said Isaac, “should I text him?”
“Yeah.”
“You’d better get ready then.”
Stiles pulled the first of Derek’s gifts out of the bag. It was a gag. A small,
slightly squishy, rubber ball was attached to leather straps. Stiles put the
ball into his mouth and fastened it in place. The gag was smaller than the one
he’d worn in Derek’s room, which he hoped meant it would be less likely to make
his jaw ache. He could still move his mouth around a bit even with the straps
done up tightly, but any attempts at speech would be mangled and
unintelligible.
He pulled out the second item: an airline sleep mask. He positioned it over his
eyes as a blindfold. So now he couldn’t see Derek and he couldn’t communicate
with Derek. He was obeying the terms of the agreement with Peter.
And Peter was not going to be happy about it.
Stiles fidgeted with the now-empty paper bag. He crumpled it and uncrumpled it,
and twisted it around between his hands until there was a tearing noise. It
seemed being blindfolded was a lot less fun when he was sitting in a car with
Isaac imagining Peter ripping him to tiny pieces with his bare claws.
“He’s here,” Isaac said. Stiles had been thinking about Peter right then and
Isaac’s words nearly triggered a panic attack.
But the car door opened. A few moments later, it shut again, and then Derek was
there saying, “Hi, Stiles.”
Stiles couldn’t say anything back with the gag in his mouth, but he relaxed a
little against the seat. Derek was here. This wasn’t Peter getting the wolves
to lie to him. This was Derek fighting for him.
“I know you can’t talk to me,” Derek said. “You probably shouldn’t even nod or
shake your head or anything. So I’m just going to sit here for a minute. If you
don’t want to go through with this, you can get out of the car and then I’ll
leave and let Isaac take you home. But if you stay in the car then I’m going to
assume you want to fight Peter about this situation. I’ll drive us to the house
and we’ll go inside. I’ll make sure you don’t bump into any doorways or
anything. And I’ll tell Peter that I’m going to find a way to see you whether
he likes it or not. He will be angry so if you don’t want to do this, I don’t
blame you. You can leave.”
There was silence.
Stiles wished he’d unbuckled his seatbelt so that he could buckle it up again
now to show Derek he was serious, but if started fiddling with it now, Derek
might interpret it as him having second thoughts. He couldn’t think of a way to
imply that he was ready other than sitting here and waiting, and he really
hated waiting. Stiles couldn’t even see his watch to see how long he’d been
waiting. It could be three minutes or three seconds.
“OK,” Derek said. “I’m going to start the car now. If you want out, you’ve
still got a chance to get out.”
The car engine started. By this point, Stiles had torn the paper bag to shreds,
but he hadn’t otherwise move.
After another long silence, the car started moving.
“This is really awkward,” Derek said.
Stiles wanted to roll his eyes or say, “No shit.” He couldn’t do either. He
prodded at the gag with his tongue, shifting it around in his mouth. Hopefully
the movement would keep the ache from setting in.
“I guess that was a stupid thing to say,” Derek said.
Stiles wondered if there was a sign language gesture to indicate that he was
rolling his eyes behind the blindfold. Except that would definitely count as
communication and be therefore banned under the terms of his contract with
Peter.
“Usually you’re the one doing all the talking,” Derek went on. “I’m not sure
what to do in this situation. It must be worse for you. Are you going into
withdrawal from having to stay quiet?”
The faint noise of laughter didn’t count as communication, particularly because
it was caught by the gag and cut short because of the aching in his ribs.
The car came to a halt.
“We’re here,” Derek said. “If you’ve changed your mind, just stay in the car
and I’ll know to take you home.”
Stiles undid his seatbelt and then fumbled for the door handle. He got out of
the car by himself, which hopefully gave the intended message that he was going
to see this through. He was scared out of his mind, but he’d come this far and
he wasn’t going to walk away now.
He wasn’t going to walk anywhere at the moment because he risked falling flat
on his face. Derek seemed to understand that. He was at Stiles’ side in
moments, hand on Stiles’ arm, guiding him towards the house.
“We’re at the steps,” he warned a few seconds later, and Stiles lifted his
feet, walking slowly up the front steps of the house, feeling carefully with
each foot before setting it down. Derek didn’t hurry him in any way but his
strong hands were there to catch him if he should fall.
At the top of the steps, Derek guided him forward again, opening the door for
him. Stiles tried to walk more confidently, trusting in Derek to not let him
crash into anything. He tried to work out where they were by the steps they’d
taken and the feel of the surface beneath his feet. Hard stone of the entrance
hall, plush carpeting of the hallway, then something hard again, probably the
smooth wood of the dining room.
Derek let go of Stiles’ arm and Stiles froze. There was a scraping noise and
then Derek was back, guiding him to a chair. Definitely the dining room. Stiles
sat down and pulled the chair automatically in to the table, even though he
wouldn’t be able to eat with this gag in.
He shifted the gag around in his mouth again, adjusting his jaw around it. It
was more comfortable than the ring gag had been, but he still wanted this thing
out. It felt like an intruder, forcing its way into him. He would be glad to
rip it out and never wear a gag again, but he had a point to make here. So he
settled for just moving his mouth around it and trying to keep the muscles of
his jaw from aching.
“Are you OK?” Derek asked. Stiles didn’t nod. Nodding was communication.
Instead, he reached out until he found Derek’s leg. He was seated at the chair
beside him. Stiles had been hoping for Derek’s hand, but he’d take what he
could find. He squeezed Derek’s thigh gently.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Derek said. Stiles smile around the gag.
“Hey,” another voice said, Cora giving a cheerful greeting. “I’m about to start
the dinner prep. You guys want a drink or anything?”
“What do you think?” Derek snapped, angry.
“I think you’re not the only ones who can be inventive,” she replied.
Stiles tried to figure out what was going on by sound alone. He could hear
faint noises of Cora moving around in the kitchen next door, but nothing he
could easily identify. Then her footsteps returned and there was the soft,
metallic sound that could have been a can being set on wood. He heard Derek’s
faint huff of amusement.
“There’s a straw,” Derek said. He took one of Stiles’ hands, guiding it towards
the cold soda can. Stiles felt for it with the other hand, finding the straw.
He fed the straw into his mouth around the gag and sipped a little of the
drink, tilting his head back slightly to make it easier to swallow.
“I’m going to make soup for dinner,” Cora said. Stiles would no doubt make a
ridiculous picture drinking soup through a straw, but he’d assumed he wouldn’t
get to eat at all, so this was appreciated. It would also be a clear message to
Peter that Derek wasn’t alone in this. It might all be for nothing, of course.
It was highly likely that Peter would throw him out the second he realised
Stiles was here.
The younger members of the pack joined them soon, with Isaac and Boyd doing
their homework at the dining table. No one said it, but Stiles guessed they all
wanted to be here when the fireworks started going off. He wasn’t sure if they
wanted to support Derek, or if they just wanted front row seats for the show.
Stiles just sat there and listened to them talk, unable to contribute, sipping
his drink through the straw.
Derek touched him constantly. It wasn’t intrusive, just a touch of a hand on
his leg, or squeezing his shoulder, or brushing gently over his neck. Every
second, there was that faint reminder that Stiles wasn’t alone.
There was a slamming noise that killed all the quiet conversation and making
Stiles jump. Soda splashed down his front from the can he’d been holding. In
the utter silence that lay over the dining room, Peter’s voice demanded, loud
and angry, “What the hell is he doing here?”
***** Chapter 22 *****
“Hello, Peter,” Derek said. His voice sounded astonishingly calm. Stiles set
his soda can down and tried to hide his nerves. He fidgeted with the tag on the
bracelet.
“What is he doing here?” Peter asked again.
“He’s joining us for dinner as my guest,” Derek said.
“Clearly you didn’t think our agreement was worth keeping, Stiles.”
“Stiles can’t answer right now,” Derek said. He put his fingers against Stiles’
cheek and gently turned Stiles’ head, presumably so Peter would get a clear
view of the gag in Stiles’ mouth. “He’s not seeing me. He’s not communicating
with me. He is following the terms of your agreement, but I never agreed to not
see him.”
There was a pause. Then Peter said coldly, “You should have left matters alone,
Stiles. Do you really think you’re the only one who can work around contract
wording?”
“This wasn’t Stiles’ idea,” Derek said. “He was following your rules and
staying away from me. He wasn’t even replying to my texts. I went to talk to
him and he wouldn’t let me into his house or even acknowledge that he heard me
knocking. He was doing everything you wanted, but you didn’t consider that none
of this was what I wanted.”
“I only have your best interests in mind,” Peter said. Derek scoffed.
“You think you’re better placed than me to decide who I should be with?” Derek
asked.
“Frankly, yes. Look at your track record.”
“Yes, I made a mistake,” Derek said. “Yes, it was a terrible mistake and yes it
cost us everything. But I was sixteen years old! Did it never occur to you that
maybe I’ve learned since then?”
“Clearly you haven’t,” said Peter, “since you’ve let yourself be manipulated by
someone who’ll invite an Argent into his house as a friend to discuss the
problems of werewolf privilege.”
Allison again? What was Peter’s problem with her? There was also the worrying
fact that Stiles’ conversation with Allison had taken place in his own home.
Had Peter been stalking him? Spying on him?
There were a million questions running through his mind but he couldn’t ask any
of them. The gag in his mouth prevented Stiles for demanding explanations.
Thankfully, the others had no such restrictions.
“Are you talking about Allison?” Isaac asked.
“You know her?” Derek asked. There was something Stiles couldn’t recognise in
his voice. Stiles really wished he could see Derek’s face right now, because
that strain in his tone was painful to hear.
“Yeah, I share three classes with her,” Isaac answered. “She seems nice.”
“She’s pretty bad ass too,” Erica added. “We did this self-defence course in
gym once and one of the guys took the opportunity to cop a feel. She flipped
him over her back, put her foot over his groin, and asked him how he liked to
be touched without permission. It was pretty awesome.”
Stiles remembered that class. It would be hard not to. Allison had made her
point about touching and then spent most of the rest of the class teaching
Scott how to throw a punch, including a lot more stroking of arms than was
strictly necessary.
Now, he heard confusion in the voices of most of the pack. Whatever problem
Peter had with the Argents, it was clear that the more recent members of the
pack didn’t share it.
“What’s she got to do with anything?” Boyd asked. “So she and Stiles hang out
sometimes. So what? She’s dating his friend, isn’t she? Next you’ll be telling
me I can’t be around Derek because Allison and I worked on a history
presentation together.”
When Peter answered, his voice was hard and cold. “Derek understands the
dangers of bringing an Argent into our circle of trust.”
“Stiles isn’t Kate,” Derek said.
“He’s an Argent’s ally. If you insist on believing that he found you by
accident on the night of the party, then you’re more foolish than I thought.”
Stiles was feeling completely lost. He’d heard Peter’s remarks before about
Derek and people using him, but there was so much context he was missing. He
hated not being able to say anything, not being able to ask the questions that
were burning in his mind. Who was Kate? What did Derek mean about his mistakes?
What the hell was Peter on about? Why was Peter so convinced that just talking
to Allison made him a threat to Derek?
“Stiles isn’t trying to use me,” Derek said.
“Your naivety astounds me sometimes, nephew.”
“What do you think he’s trying to gain?”
“Perhaps we shouldn’t have this discussion in front of him.”
“No,” Derek snapped. “We’re having this conversation. Stiles deserves to hear
what exactly you’re accusing him of.”
“I don’t like tipping my hand to an enemy about how much I may or may not
know.”
“If you keep your paranoia to yourself, how can anybody convince you of
anything? No, if you want to convince me that Stiles is out to get me, you can
do it in front of him.”
“Very well. There are several things he might be seeking. If he is an Argent
spy, he could be seeking entry into our home in order to gain information.”
“What kind of information?” Derek asked.
“Information to weaken our political or economic standing, or to sway public
opinion against the pack.”
Stiles wasn’t sure what Peter’s secrets were, but he couldn’t imagine anything
would sway public opinion worse than the knowledge of how Peter enjoyed
torturing innocent teenagers.
“Stiles hasn’t been in your study since he got here,” Derek said. That wasn’t
quite true, but Derek didn’t know that was where Stiles had signed his new
agreement with Peter. “He hasn’t tried to access your files or computer or
anything. Not once. I don’t think he’s going to gain insight into our economic
standing by knowing my favourite sexual positions.”
“Then he might have been sent to weaken the pack. He has certainly succeeded in
dividing us.”
It was Cora who snorted and said, “Like we needed any outside help for that.”
“Then what if he is here to scope out our property to help the Argents plan
another attack?” Peter asked.
Stiles noted one particular word in that sentence: another. The Argents had
already attacked them once. The pieces were starting to fit together, a jigsaw
with too many holes but the hint of a picture forming. Derek had been tricked
by one of the Argents, this Kate that he’d named earlier. She’d gotten close to
him and then attacked the pack. Stiles remembered Derek’s comments about losing
everything.
He might not know much about the history here, but he’d lived in Beacon Hills
long enough to know about the fire that had wiped out more than half the pack.
What if it hadn’t been the accident everyone said it was? If it had been an
attack, if Allison’s family was behind it, then maybe that would explain
somewhat why Peter was so worried about someone who hung out occasionally with
an Argent.
“I don’t believe Stiles would attack us,” Derek said.
Once again, Stiles wished he could take the gag out. He would love to argue
vehemently that he wouldn’t do anything to hurt Derek.
“You expect me to risk the safety of the entire pack based on what you
believe?” Peter asked.
“One day, you’ll have to. I’m supposed to take over the position of alpha one
day. You can’t decide my judgements are worthless until the end of time because
of one screw up.”
Stiles felt very small sitting in that dining room, this argument raging around
him. He was such a small piece of the disagreement. Derek and Peter were
arguing about their history, about enemies, about a lack of trust that had
taken root long before he’d come on the scene. He was a catalyst to this
argument but there were so many factors he couldn’t do anything about. He
couldn’t change Derek’s history. He couldn’t erase old mistakes. He couldn’t
change the way Peter discounted Derek’s choices now.
The silence lingered in the wake of Derek’s statement. Stiles fidgeted with the
metal tag on his bracelet, running his fingers over the curves of the spiral.
He hated the blindfold. He couldn’t read anyone’s faces. He had no idea what
Peter might be thinking or doing.
It was Boyd who broke the silence.
“I don’t think Stiles is capable of being as sneaky as you seem to think he
is,” Boyd said. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was being insulted or complemented.
“He’s got a point,” Erica added. “He can’t even come up with a good excuse when
he forgets his homework.”
Stiles would have liked to say that he came up with some amazing excuses. One
English teacher had actually given him points for an excuse once, since the
assignment he’d forgotten was a creative writing assignment and he’d been
particularly creative with his reason for not having it.
“He managed to find Derek alone on the night of the party,” Peter said. “That
shows some ingenuity.”
“Sorry, Peter,” said Isaac. “I’m with Boyd and Erica on this one. I don’t think
Stiles is some evil spy. Besides, if he was, why would he have signed your
agreement to leave Derek alone forever?”
“Whatever his reasons, he has signed it. He is not allowed to see Derek or
communicate with him. He is no longer Derek’s consort so a physical
relationship between them would be illegal. This show is a pointless exercise.
I will never agree to a new companion contract for Stiles.”
“I’m more concerned about the fact that I can’t have a conversation with him,”
Derek said. Stiles smiled around his gag at that. If he needed proof that this
was about more than sex to Derek, that was it.
“He signed the agreement,” Peter said. “He knew what it meant.”
“He signed it under duress,” Derek snapped. “Coerced consent is not consent at
all. In fact, I’m not sure your contract is legally valid, given that Stiles
only signed up because you were threatening to torture someone else. In fact,
screw it.”
Stiles felt fingers at the side of his face and then he was blinking in the
sudden light as the blindfold was ripped away. Derek was next to him, glaring
at Peter. Stiles had broken his agreement with Peter. Technically speaking,
Derek had broken it for him. He wasn’t sure Peter would care much about that
technicality, given how he was glaring back at Derek.
“You could take him to court for breaking the contract,” Derek said, “but I
really don’t think any of this would reflect well on you. Do you? Come on,
Stiles, let’s go out to eat.”
Derek stood and waited for Stiles to stand too before storming out past Peter.
Peter glowered after them.
“I still won’t agree to a companion contract,” Peter called after them.
Derek didn’t reply. Stiles still couldn’t.
They left the house together and hurried down the steps to the Camaro. Only
when they were both inside the car, with Derek driving them away from the
house, did Stiles reach up for the straps of the gag. He undid the buckle as
quickly as possible and spit the ball out.
“Thank god,” he muttered.
“Are you OK?” Derek asked.
“I hate gags,” Stiles said. “I hope you don’t mind if with never, ever use gags
in the bedroom because that was seriously not fun.”
“Right now, I think we’ll be lucky if we get to do anything in the bedroom ever
again. At least until Peter’s dead.”
“You should probably be careful of your tone when saying things like that
because that almost sounded like you were plotting his murder.”
“Only almost?”
“Murdering your uncle is not a valid solution to our situation.”
“Shame.”
***
They ended up at a Mexican restaurant, where Derek floored Stiles by ordering
their food in perfect Spanish. At least, Stiles assumed it was perfect. He
hadn’t the faintest idea what was actually said. The waitress seemed to
understand and they had a brief conversation.
“You spend a lot of time in Mexico?” Stiles asked, once the waitress had taken
their order.
“I’ve only been once. Travelling is difficult as a werewolf. We have to request
permission from the alpha of every territory we pass through, and we have to
provide itineraries and even a slight deviation could be seen as an incursion
into someone else’s territory. It’s all very formal and complicated and
annoying.”
“But what if you flew? Surely then you’d only need permission at the end
point.”
“The rules were put in place before flight was common. Technically, we’re
supposed to ask permission for all the territories below the flight path, which
is a nightmare to calculate. Plus, flight is restricted since 9/11 as
werewolves are considered a potential threat to security. We can only fly if we
can prove we couldn’t reasonably make non-flight travel plans.”
“I had no idea,” Stiles said.
Derek shrugged, “Werewolves don’t try to travel often enough for it to come up
much, so it’s not common knowledge.”
Stiles wondered what else he didn't know.
“Do you want to talk about what happened with your family and the Argents?”
Stiles asked.
“Not really.”
“OK, but if Peter’s going to hate me for being in the same room as Allison, I
should at least know something”
Derek didn’t meet his eye.
“The Argents don’t like werewolves,” he said. “They’ve turned hating werewolves
into a family business. They campaign against werewolf privilege, say we have
too many rights, say that we should wear identification in public because we’re
a danger, all sorts. Some of it has a point, but other things would designate
werewolves a subspecies and strip us of our rights. Some of them weren’t happy
that their anti-werewolf campaigns weren’t getting much traction and decided to
take action. When I met Kate, I was young and stupid, and she was attractive
and... no, that’s about it.”
“She used you,” Stiles said. It wasn’t a question. After everything Derek and
Peter had said, there could be no other conclusion.
“She made me think she loved me,” Derek said. “I invited her back to our house.
She burned it down.”
“Holy crap.” Stiles had guessed some of this, but it didn’t prepare him for
hearing Derek say it.
“She used me to murder my family. It’s no wonder Peter doesn’t trust my
decisions.”
“In your defence, who the hell would expect someone to be plotting murder
against their entire family? No one would see that one coming.”
Derek was staring at the table. Stiles reached out and took his hand, squeezing
gently.
“I’m not another Kate,” Stiles said.
“I know. I just don’t know how to get Peter to believe it.”
“Do you think he’s going to be plotting horrible things to do to me now that
I’ve broken his stupid contract?”
“Now I’ve broken it,” Derek corrected. “And probably, but there are limits to
what he can do. He’s still got to obey the law and if he tries to take you to
court over breaking the contract, you can argue duress and he risks the whole
situation with Trevor becoming far too public. Werewolf privilege protects him
so far, but even he doesn’t want too much bad publicity.”
“How come you can talk about werewolf privilege,” Stiles asked, “but when I
talk about it, he decides I’m an enemy.”
“Werewolf privilege,” Derek answered, deadpan. Stiles gave a laugh. For the
first time since the blindfold came off, Derek gave a hint of a smile.
***** Chapter 23 *****
Stiles sat at the dinner table with his dad, prodding at the food in front of
him while he tried to work out how to bring up the subject of Derek. His dad
was watching him suspiciously. He hadn’t said anything yet, but Stiles still
felt like he was sitting at an interrogation table while the detective was
waiting for him to confess to a crime.
“So,” Stiles said. He stopped.
“So?” his dad prompted after a minute of silence.
“Hypothetically speaking,” Stiles started.
His dad put his cutlery down, linked his fingers in front of him, and muttered,
“This is going to be good.”
Stiles ignored him and continued, “How far could I go with Derek before it
became technically illegal?”
“Are we discussing the fact that he’s a werewolf or the fact that your
sixteen?”
“Yes.”
“As a werewolf, any penetrative sexual act would be illegal for him. As a
sixteen-year-old, you are not to so much as take your clothes off in front of
him or I will arrest him and you will be grounded until you graduate college.”
“But he’s already seen everything.”
“Stiles, are you trying to give me an aneurism?”
“I’m just trying to work out where things stand between me and Derek now that
the contract’s void,” Stiles said.
His dad sighed, “I think you know where you stand, Stiles. You can’t legally
continue a sexual relationship with him. Even if you wait until you turn
eighteen, you can’t do anything that involves penetration without his alpha’s
consent, which it sounds like you’ll never get.”
It was Stiles’ turn to sigh. He guessed this was when he’d find out how
important the sex part of the relationship was to Derek.
***
Stiles and Derek sat across from each other at a cheap restaurant Stiles had
eaten at from time to time. Derek looked around with suspicion at their
setting, seeing the sticky tables, the dirt in the corners of the room, and the
gruff man at the counter who had no concept of customer service and had barely
gasped the basic of personal hygiene. Every other table was empty and the guy
at the counter seemed offended that customers were interrupting his night.
“Are you sure about this place?” Derek asked. That was the second time he’d
asked. He’d asked when they were outside and Stiles had announced that this was
the place he’d picked for their date.
“Just don’t order anything with chicken,” Stiles said. Derek raised an eyebrow.
“We can go somewhere else,” he said. “I’ll pay.”
“This isn’t about the money. You haven’t eaten until you’ve tried to food
here.”
“You just told me to avoid it.”
“You might actually be fine. Do werewolves get food poisoning?”
“I don’t want to find out,” Derek said.
The gruff guy came over and glared down at their table.
“You two ordering anything?” he asked. He looked put out by the fact he had
customers.
“I’ll take the honey pork special,” Stiles said. “He’ll have something with
beef. Surprise him.”
Derek’s glare matched the counter guy’s. Derek looked up at him.
“If your food makes him sick,” Derek warned him, “I will make you eat his
vomit.”
Counter guy scribbled down the order and walked away. Stiles just sat there,
smiling at Derek, wondering how someone could be enormously sweet and scary as
hell at the same time.
“Why are we here?” Derek asked.
“Because I don’t want to have date night with your uncle,” Stiles said. Derek
stared at him, unhappy with the answer. “Because you, with all your privilege,
have missed out on so much of life, including restaurants that have nearly been
shut down by health inspectors more times than I can count but still keep going
because their food tastes divine. I intend to educate you.”
“You consider this educational?”
“You’ll see.”
Stiles smiled at him and sipped his drink. They were skirting around the real
reason they were here tonight, avoiding the issues that they needed to discuss.
Stiles knew they would have to talk about them eventually. But when the words
rose in his throat, they died on his lips. It was easier to smile and joke.
“Are you OK?” Derek asked. So much for jokes. It surprised Stiles how well
Derek could read what was going on inside his head.
Stiles fidgeted with the tag on his bracelet.
“What’s going to happen to us?” he asked.
“What do you mean? Peter can’t publicly come after us without opening himself
up to publicity he doesn’t want.”
“I meant... our relationship.” Stiles didn’t think he’d used that word before,
at least not with Derek. It seemed to have weight to it, lying heavy on the
table between them.
“Ah,” Derek said.
“We can’t have a penetrative relationship without a contract signed by Peter.
And we can’t even do non-penetrative stuff until I turn eighteen or my dad will
probably arrest you.” He wasn’t certain how serious his dad was about arresting
Derek, but he’d sounded serious enough that Stiles didn’t want to put it to the
test.
“Peter’s been telling me he’ll let me go back to one night stands,” Derek said.
“I think he’s hoping I’ll forget about you. I wondered about using those
contracts with you, but Peter will probably word them so that you’re explicitly
excluded.”
“You mean by name?” Stiles asked, an idea forming. “You mean, he’ll write
contracts that say, ‘Derek Hale can’t take Stiles Stilinski as a consort’?”
“Yeah.”
Stiles reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He saw the
stricken look on Derek’s face and realised a moment too late what this might
look like. It might look like he just wanted to pay the bill for the food and
walk away. He quickly hurried to get out his driver’s license to make it clear
what this was really about. Derek’s expression changed to confusion as Stiles
held his license out across the table to Derek. Derek took it, and Stiles saw
the usual look of bewilderment that came when someone saw his name spelled out
in full.
“What the hell?” Derek asked.
“That’s my name. My real name. If Peter just uses the name Stiles Stilinski, we
can still use a companion contract.”
Derek smiled a little.
“We’ll probably only be able to pull it off once,” he said. “Peter will smell
you on me afterwards and he’ll close the loophole.”
“So we’ll be able to have twenty four hours of wild and wanton sex perfectly
legally, but then we’ll never be able to have sex again.”
“Yeah.”
“Then we’ll have to plan the twenty four hours extremely carefully. And in the
meantime, there’s still one more Star Wars movie to watch.”
“I thought there were six of them,” Derek said.
“The prequels do not count. But don’t worry, there’s plenty of other stuff to
educate you on. There’s Serenity, The Matrix, The Lord of the Rings trilogy...”
“I’ve read those books,” Derek cut him off.
“So clearly you need to witness the majesty of Middle Earth in visual form.”
Derek was still smiling, apparently content with the idea of them just eating
in cheap diners and watching movies together. It wasn’t the same as what they
had been doing, but it was better than nothing. And they could think about some
way to get back at Peter while they did it.
The gruff waiter turned up with their food, dumping the plates down on the
table in front of them. Derek stared in suspicion and the mass of meat and
vegetables on his plate, smothered in an unidentifiable sauce. Stiles, who’d
eaten here before, just grabbed his fork and dove straight in. Derek was a lot
more hesitant, but he gathered a forkful up, sniffed at it suspiciously, and
then put it in his mouth.
His expression changed instantly so one of astonished pleasure.
“Told you so,” Stiles said around his mouthful of dinner.
***
Stiles took his second draft to Coach before school on Friday morning. He’d
trimmed the paper down by a lot but it still covered a lot of ground. The more
he’d worked on it, the more it had become focused on privilege. He’d kept the
context on the economic privileges, such as ability to get high paying jobs,
and cut about half a page of statistical analysis of prejudicial crime, but
he’d still allowed himself to digress a little when he got onto werewolf
privilege. Even though most of the paper applied to everyone, he included the
section about werewolf privilege and a minor digression about how they might be
privileged in some ways but restricted in others. Strictly speaking, the rules
about travel weren’t about economics, but he managed to tie it in with the
points he’d been making earlier about how the ability to go college was a
privilege.
Stiles handed the paper over to Coach, who promised to look at it and then told
Stiles to, “Get the hell out of my hair because I’m busy enough without over-
achievers with no sense of focus giving me more stuff to do.”
Stiles decided now wasn’t the best time to point out that Coach had been the
one who’d given him this extra project. He just headed out of the office and
back towards his locker. Then he rounded a corner and saw Trevor there.
Thankfully, this time, Trevor wasn’t holding a lacrosse stick, but he still
glared at Stiles like he’d been the one sent to hospital for x-rays.
“What the hell is your problem?” Stiles demanded.
“You got Peter to kick me out,” Trevor answered. “Now I’ll never be in the
pack.”
“Peter made it pretty damn clear he had no intention of ever letting you in. He
was just playing with you.”
“You don’t that. He said I had to show I was strong.”
“But did he ever explicitly say he’d let you into the pack? Did he ever say,
‘Hey, if you let me torture you for long enough, I’ll make you a werewolf’ or
was it all hints?”
“He made it clear what he wanted.”
Stiles wanted to whack Trevor round the head for being so stupid.
“You do know he never did any of this to the people he actually invited into
his pack, don’t you?” said Stiles. “Erica, Boyd and the rest, he never did to
them any of the stuff he did to you.”
“That doesn’t matter. I could show him I was strong and he would have to let me
in.”
“Do you even know what he wanted to do to you?” Stiles asked. “Because he told
me. Piercings and whippings and sticking pins into parts of the body that
should never have pins stuck in them. And a brand. He was going to brand you as
his property. He had no plans to give you the bite. He just wanted to hurt you.
A lot.”
“I could cope with it.”
That was the point Stiles snapped.
“What the hell is wrong with you? Do you not get it? Why the hell would you put
yourself through that for a bite you were never going to get?”
“I had to try,” Trevor said.
“Why? Why is being a werewolf so important you’d let Peter mutilate you?”
Trevor was silent. His face was drawn, tense, as though he was holding himself
together by only the slenderest of threads that might snap at any moment.
“Screw you, Stilinski. You ruined everything. Screw you.”
***** Chapter 24 *****
Legally, there were strict limits on what the two of them could do together,
but that didn’t stop Stiles thinking about all the things they had done. It
also didn’t stop him thinking up something he could do which wouldn’t break the
werewolf restrictions on sex, and that couldn’t really count as anything his
dad would get in an arresty mood over. When he and Derek were curled up on the
couch on Saturday afternoon to watch Return of the Jedi, Stiles leaned in to
Derek’s ear and whispered, “Guess what I’ve got in.”
Derek’s arm tightened around him.
“You’re a tease,” Derek said. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was annoyed or excited.
Possibly both.
“Yep,” Stiles said. He shifted slightly, positioning himself to lean against
Derek, watching the screen as though nothing had happened, as though all he was
interested in was the start of the movie.
They couldn't have sex, but Stiles knew enough now about what turned Derek on
that he could make Derek think about it and he would think about it too. Even
if all they could do was go home afterwards and masturbate to those thoughts,
it was better than nothing. It was nowhere near on the level of what they had
been doing, but it was better than nothing.
Derek ran a hand up and down Stiles’ arm, fingers gently brushing against his
skin. Stiles might have thought it an unconscious gesture except, after a few
minutes, Derek murmured, “Maybe I should wear my gloves next time we do this.”
Stiles wondered how far they could push this. He could wear toys under his
clothes that he put on or in himself, without Derek ever touching him or
telling him to do it. That wouldn’t be a crime. Derek could wear gloves and
touch his arms and face and chest and that wouldn’t be a crime. They could make
a game of pushing the boundaries, of getting close to what wasn’t allowed but
never quite crossing the line.
Except once. They’d be allowed to cross the line once, when Derek managed to
get a companion contract from Peter before he figured out the loophole of the
name.
Stiles wondered if they could be satisfied with that.
If Peter would let them get away with even that. In the original contract,
Stiles had initialled the relevant places and then signed his name as S
Stilinski. He hadn’t actually had to spell out his name in full anywhere. If
Peter included wording barring Derek from having sex with any S Stilinski,
their plan would fail utterly. If Peter was specific about banning Derek from
taking a previous consort as a companion, then this plan would fail. They had
to hope Peter wrote his wording to exclude Stiles Stilinski, but Derek couldn’t
even ask him if that was the case without making him suspicious.
“Are you OK?” Derek asked.
“Just wondering how long we can keep this up,” Stiles said. “How long Peter
will let us.”
On the screen, the familiar scenes of the movie were playing out. Stiles didn’t
want to talk through this. He wanted Derek to enjoy the movie, Stiles’
favourite of the trilogy. He didn’t want to spoil this day with talk of Peter.
But Peter loomed over everything. He was like a foul sickness infecting
everything their happiness touched.
“I don’t have a plan,” Derek said. “I don’t know if Peter has a plan. If he
still thinks you’re an enemy, he will come at you. Even if he accepts you’re
not out to hurt us, he’s not going to want to back down. He doesn’t like
admitting to being wrong.”
They watched the movie. Stiles stared at events he’d seen a hundred times
before, at Leia strangling Jabba with the chains he’d used to enslave her.
Peter was trying to control them just as thoroughly, twisting the laws to his
purpose.
“I know he’s your uncle,” Stiles said, “but can’t you just leave him? Have you
always got to be answerable to him?”
“He’s my alpha. If I left the pack, I’d become an omega. Even if I could leave
my sister and my cousin and the others, I wouldn’t have the protection of the
law. I’d be the target for any werewolf pack whose territory I wandered too
close to. And people like the Argents could shoot me with wolfsbane bullets and
claim I was violent and no one would even bother to question whether it was
true.”
Derek sounded angry at that, as angry as he’d even been when talking about
Peter. Stiles realised that he was once again witnessing the double-edged sword
of the werewolf laws. People talked about werewolf privilege, about how betas
who committed violent acts were released into the custody of their alphas
without a day’s prison sentence served, but no one ever talked about this.
People talked about the consort laws that allowed a werewolf to take a teenager
as a sexual partner, but they never talked about the fact grown adults had to
have their sexual partners approved of by another person. The more Stiles found
out about it, the less privilege there seemed to be.
Perhaps humans only wanted to see the disadvantages they suffered, not the many
advantages they experienced.
Stiles shifted position again, settling once more in Derek’s arms, feeling the
warmth of his embrace. This moment ought to be so simple. It ought to be a
quiet peace for them, a shared time. It shouldn’t be weighed down with thoughts
of whatever revenge Peter had planned and the injustices of the world that
Stiles couldn’t do anything about.
He tried to pay attention to the movie. Things were simpler in the movies.
Maybe he’d be able to take on even Peter if he had a lightsaber.
***
When Derek went home, Stiles spent some time lying on his bed, fucking himself
with the plug while beating off with the other hand. It was nothing like as
satisfying as actually being with Derek.
When he was done, he got cleaned up and went to his computer. He started
digging into some of the rules Derek and the others had talked about, the
restrictions on travel, the way the alpha had supreme authority over the betas
in their pack, as well as the sex rules. Some of it was about trying to find a
loophole in the rules that would let him and Derek actually get together for
real, but the rest of it was about filling in the alarming gaps in his
knowledge.
This sort of thing wasn’t commonly known. When people talked about werewolves,
they talked about the wealth and power of the pack, but the more Stiles drilled
into it the more hollow the concept of werewolf privilege became. Yes, the big
packs had power and influence, but it was the same power and influence that
rich families had. There were connections and relationships with other people
of influence, and the money to get their way when it mattered. But actually
being a werewolf didn’t give that much legal privilege.
Stiles started making lists. On one list, he documented the things that could
be seen as privilege, on the other, he listed all the restrictions. The first
list only had three items on it. There were the obvious physical advantages of
being a werewolf, which he included for the sake of completeness. There was the
right of an alpha to get medical information about potential candidates for
being a consort. Then there was the thing about how a beta werewolf who
committed a violent act could be handed over to their alpha instead of getting
tried for the crime and sent to prison.
On the other list, were the rules stating that a werewolf couldn’t have sex
without a signed contract. There were the restrictions against travel. A
werewolf in the wrong territory could be murdered by another pack without any
justice. Stiles actually hesitated about whether that counted as a privilege
for the pack who committed the murder, to get away without justice.
There was a lot about pack hierarchy. Betas had to yield to their alpha on
legal or monetary matters. An alpha technically had rights over everything
their betas owned, including all their savings. But a beta couldn’t leave
without being an omega which meant basically zero protection. No alpha to speak
for them. With no territory, an omega was at risk constantly.
That was the scariest thing Stiles found. After over an hour of digging, he
found some reports of werewolf deaths. A little bit more digging turned up more
reports. Humans could kill werewolves and declare it self-defence. All a human
had to say was that the werewolf looked dangerous and the human feared for
their life. If the werewolf was a beta of a pack, the alpha would often fight a
legal battle to get the human charged with murder, but the odds of a charge
sticking seemed miniscule. But, bad as that was, it was worse for omegas. There
were enough stereotypes that omegas were wild and violent without packs, that
everyone seemed to buy the self-defence argument. Stiles couldn’t find a single
incident where a human killed an omega and the human was even arrested.
As he gathered his notes into a logical order, Stiles started writing. He had
no idea what he was going to do with this when it was done. It wasn’t like he
could take it to Coach because it had nothing to do with economics, but still
he wanted to get his thoughts written out. He needed to talk about this, and
putting his rant down on paper seemed the best way to go about it.
But even as he wrote about the restrictions and injustices werewolves suffered,
there was another thought niggling at the back of his mind. The laws allowed
Peter to gain intrusive medical information on potential candidates. It even
allowed for an alpha to arrange their own medical assessments if they had
reason to believe that standard tests would be lacking. But there was
absolutely nothing about werewolves having the right to put chastity devices on
teenagers.
Stiles couldn’t believe that Peter would be stupid enough to do something like
that without covering his bases, but still, the thought nagged at him.
***
Stiles made it three steps into school on Monday before Trevor confronted him.
No lacrosse stick this time. No angry words. He looked pale, more pained than
when Peter had been hurting him. He stood in front of Stiles, opening his mouth
as if to speak, but not saying anything.
“Well?” Stiles asked.
“I went to see Peter,” Trevor said. “I officially petitioned him to get the
bite.”
“And?”
“He laughed in my face. You were right. He was never going to let me into the
pack.”
Stiles had a strong urge to say, ‘I told you so,’ but he held off, seeing how
broken Trevor looked right now. He’d known that Trevor wanted to be in the pack
badly, but he seemed utterly devastated by the loss of the chance.
“Why does it matter so much to you?” Stiles asked. “I know that being a
werewolf gets you strength and super senses and stuff, but there’s a whole lot
of suck involved too.”
“It doesn’t matter now. It was never going to happen anyway. I just wanted to
say you were right and... you know.”
“I believe the words you’re looking for are ‘Sorry for kicking the crap out of
you and thanks for saving me from being tortured and mutilated by Peter’.”
“Yeah,” Trevor said. “That.”
“Are you actually going to say it?” Stiles felt a little bit of a jerk for
pushing Trevor like this while he looked so awful, but he was mad as hell and
parts of his body were still aching like crazy, sore from bruises that seemed
to go all the way through him. He wasn’t going to be satisfied with anything
less than a genuine and, not to mention vocal, apology.
“I’m sorry,” Trevor said quietly.
“Once more with feeling?” Stiles suggested. Trevor just glared. Stiles guessed
that was all the apology he was going to get any time soon.
“On the plus side,” Stiles continued, “you don’t have to file a dozen forms to
go on a road trip and you don’t get Peter vetoing who you choose to date.
Because seriously, being a werewolf may have some good points but there’s bad
too and you’re acting like being a werewolf is a matter of life and...” Stiles
stopped talking. “Isaac said you were at the hospital.”
“That’s none of your business,” Trevor said.
“But the fitness assessments. You wouldn’t have been a candidate unless you
were healthy so how?”
“It’s not about me.” Trevor looked away. “Just leave it the hell alone,
Stilinski.”
This wasn’t about Trevor. Stiles thought about the reading he’d done over the
weekend, all the information he’d found about werewolf laws. Anyone over the
age of sixteen could petition an alpha for the bite, but there was a loophole
for those who were younger. Someone younger than sixteen could make a petition
if they had a family member who was already a werewolf in the pack.
“Who is it?” Stiles asked. “A sibling or...”
Trevor looked away, glaring down at the floor for a minute. For a long while,
he didn’t say anything and that was almost answer enough, but then he finally
looked up and met Stiles’ gaze, that broken look still in his eyes.
“My little brother,” Trevor said. “He needs the bite. He won’t live to sixteen
to make the request himself.”
“Holy crap,” Stiles breathed. All this time, he’d thought Trevor was stupid for
putting up with Peter, going through all that pain for some stupid dream of
inclusion into a privileged group. But all the while, he’d been thinking of
someone else. He would have endured absolutely anything Peter did for him, on
the slim chance that his brother could ask for the bite.
Stiles watched Trevor slump away down the hallway of the school, looking like
his entire universe had shattered.
Stiles pulled out his phone and composed a quick text. Who’s the least douchy
alpha you know?
***** Chapter 25 *****
This pack didn’t have one huge mansion like the Hales did, but a little cluster
of houses, all built close to each other in the middle of a private meadow.
Stiles parked outside the gate and walked up the drive, giving the pack plenty
of time to know he was there. He was in full view of the houses, with no cover
at all, just expanses of tall grass and bright flowers on either side of him. A
man was waiting for him by the time Stiles reached the houses. He sniffed,
being completely obvious about doing so.
“Are you here representing another pack?” he asked.
“No,” Stiles answered. “I have no official connections with a pack and I would
like to speak to your alpha regarding another human. Two humans, technically.”
“Official?” the man echoed. “Technically?”
Stiles hoped phrasing things in an intriguing way would make it easier to get
in the door.
“I request a meeting with your alpha. I will explain everything to her.”
“And if she doesn’t want to see you?”
“Then I go back to my jeep and drive away,” Stiles said. “Then I try to find
another alpha who is willing to talk to me.”
“So any alpha will do and we’re just interchangeable?” The man sounded
offended. Stiles wondered if he’d misjudged his efforts to be non-
confrontational. He tried to look casual.
“I’m trying to speak to an alpha who’s less of a douchbag than Peter Hale,”
Stiles said, “and yours came recommended.”
“Recommended by whom?” asked another voice. An older Japanese woman stood a
little way from them, watching them carefully. Stiles guessed this was Satomi,
leader of this pack.
“Derek Hale,” Stiles said. There was no point in lying. They would probably be
able to tell if he did.
She walked up to him until she stood about a metre away, then she too sniffed
the air. The man, her beta presumably, stepped backwards to take a position
beside her and a little behind.
“What is your connection to the Hales?” Satomi asked.
“Until recently I was Derek Hale’s consort. But that’s not the main reason I’m
here to talk to you.”
“Well?”
“This might take a while.”
Satomi considered. Then she nodded, gesturing to the door of one of the houses
in clear invitation. Stiles smiled and thanked her politely.
***
A long conversation later, Stiles was sitting in the alpha’s study, a much
smaller affair than Peter’s, drinking the last of his tea. Satomi sat behind
her desk. She’d listened to everything, with only a few clarifying questions,
while Stiles had explained about his situation with Derek, about Peter
tormenting Trevor to try and break the contract, and about Trevor’s reasons for
wanting to join a pack.
“I’m not sure what you expect me to do to help you,” Satomi said. “I may be an
alpha, but I have no authority over the betas in another pack. I can’t grant
you a companion contract.”
“No, I don’t expect you to. I’m here about Trevor. I mean, the guy’s a jerk but
his brother’s sick and he’d do anything to get him a bite. Peter said no, but
Peter’s not the only alpha.”
“You expect me to issue an invitation to this boy you have just described as a
jerk?” She seemed amused.
“Well, I could make a case about how wonderful he is, but you werewolves are
good at telling when people are lying, so that probably wouldn’t work too well.
So I might as well admit he’s a jerk. But he’s a jerk who will literally let
himself be tortured and mutilated to protect his brother. If you get him that
loyal to your pack, that’s got to be a good thing.”
Satomi considered, studying Stiles’ face carefully. She sipped at her tea.
Stiles had finished his already, so he just turned the cup round and round in
his hands, waiting for her to say something.
“I make no promises,” she said, “but I’ll meet this boy. Extend my invitation.”
“Actually, it might be better if he doesn’t know I did this. He hates me.”
“You will go to such lengths for a boy who hates you and who you hate back?”
Stiles shrugged, “Yeah, I know. I’m not sure I understand myself. But I feel
kinda responsible for what Peter put him through.” And Stiles kept thinking of
the way Trevor had looked the last time they’d spoken. He’d looked like a lost
puppy. Nothing in the world would make them friends after all this, but it
didn’t hurt Stiles to ask Satomi on his behalf, and there was the brother to
think about. The brother hadn’t done anything to hurt Stiles, so why shouldn’t
Stiles try to help?
“I was also wondering,” Stiles said, “if you might have some advice, on how to
deal with Peter?”
“Generally, a werewolf doesn’t give advice on how to deal with another pack’s
alpha.”
“But there’s not a rule against it, right?”
“Rules are one thing,” Satomi said. “Traditions are another. Traditions are
often a way of clawing back power that has been stolen. People take a tool that
was used to oppress them and turn it into a weapon. The laws restricting
werewolf sex were put in place by men like the Argents to control us, to try
and let our kind die out. There were some who advocated that all werewolves
should be sterilised. Those less severe thought that werewolves were dangerous
slaves to our instincts and that we should be forced to wear chastity devices
to prevent us losing control and raping poor, innocent humans. Some still
believe these things.”
Stiles had done a lot of internet reading and he’d come across some people
saying really stupid things about werewolves. Some of them were people in
worryingly high positions of authority, spouting ignorant stereotypes about
werewolves. Some of those were people responsible for voting on laws.
“I don’t get how that helps me,” Stiles said.
“Sometimes, you fight a battle to win. Other times, you fight a battle knowing
that victory is impossible, but in the hope that your efforts will allow
another to win at some point in the future. Sometimes, you lose in one battle,
in order to win another.”
“Is any of that meant to make sense?” Stiles asked.
Satomi smiled a little.
“I have been arguing against the injustices of werewolf restrictions for most
of my life,” she said, “and I’ve had a long life. I don’t expect to achieve
perfect equality between werewolves and humans in my lifetime, but still I
fight, for the sake of my pack. In your case, fighting one battle might win you
another.”
Stiles puzzled through her words, “Meaning that if I start fighting against the
restrictions, Peter will see that I’m on his side. Even if I don’t do any good
around changing the laws, it might change Peter’s mind about me?”
She smiled again.
“I have actually written a piece about werewolf restrictions,” Stiles said. “I
haven’t the faintest idea what to do with it.”
“Now that,” she said, “I can help you with.”
***
Back in his room, Stiles typed in the URL Satomi had written down for him. The
website loaded up and Stiles wondered how he’d not found it during his internet
hunts earlier. He looked at lists of resources and information, and it started
to make sense. Most of the useful information was in downloadable files:
papers, verbatim texts of the werewolf laws, transcripts of legal cases
involving werewolves, and spreadsheets of statistics. None of it was stored on
pages that could be indexed by search engines. There wouldn’t be enough links
back to this site to raise it in search engine ranking algorithms and whoever
had created the pages clearly had no idea about search engine optimisation.
But the more he read, the more Stiles wondered if that was the point. The
descriptions were sometimes vague or worded without including any of the
keywords people would use to search for the contents held within the
downloadable files. Whole lists of document summaries managed not to include
the word ‘werewolf’ anywhere. Where keywords were unavoidable, they were often
misspelled, or with random spaces between letters to break the words up.
Sometimes, instead of blocks of text, there were image files showing the words,
which wouldn’t be indexed in the same way by search engines. The effect was so
complete it couldn’t have been achieved by accident. Whoever had designed this
site had done so in such a way as to make it very difficult to find unless
someone was specifically looking for this.
Only someone who knew exactly what they were looking for would find it. The
point wasn’t to bring the general population to the resources here, but for a
few people to use these resources to take the message elsewhere. The goal of
the group Satomi worked for was to change the minds of those who’d never come
looking for information about werewolf laws. They had to reach out, into other
media, into newspapers and magazines and other websites, dripping information
into the daily lives of ordinary people, hoping to change perceptions of how
werewolves were treated and raise awareness of restrictions.
There were enough anti-werewolf groups out there that they wanted to stay below
the radar. The phrase ‘werewolf privilege’ was used enough that if werewolves
started claiming they were hard done by, they would probably be met by derision
rather than sympathy.
The group that produced the website didn’t even have a name. They weren’t an
organisation that could be targeted by the anti-werewolf groups. They were just
a collection of people trying to make people see that werewolves weren’t as
privileged as the majority believed. People with connections to print and
online media, so they could distribute their message as widely as possible.
Stiles found his rant about werewolf privilege and sent it off in an email. He
had no idea where something like this would be printed, but he hoped the people
on the other end of the website would know. He also mentioned the paper he was
working on with Coach, which was now on its third draft. Admittedly, the
werewolf connection in that one was only a couple of paragraphs near the end,
but that was probably what these guys were after: a little drip feed of
information on werewolves mixed in with an article on another subject.
Something that could be read by people not really looking for information on
werewolf laws.
Stiles looked through the lists of resources on the website, and wondered if
there were other things he could write about.
***
Stiles was jotting down possible article ideas on a bit of scrap paper, when
the werewolves appeared at his lunch table, arriving suddenly around him and
making him jump. Stiles was sure they did that on purpose.
“What’s up?” Stiles asked. “Peter announced his plans for how to murder me?”
“He wouldn’t announce those,” Isaac pointed out.
“Well does he look like he’s come up with super secret plans to murder me?”
Isaac shrugged, “Really hard to tell with him.”
Stiles wasn’t sure if Isaac was joking or being serious. It was a worrying
state to be in.
“So what is this about?” he asked.
Erica slammed a bit of card down on Stiles’ lunch tray. It was covered in
calligraphy and gilt edging and probably way too expensive to be sitting in a
puddle of spilled gravy. He picked it up and read it.
“Cora’s birthday?”
“Yeah, Peter’s insisting on a party,” Erica said, “but most of the people there
will be boring old guys for Peter to smooze with. Cora insisted she had to have
some invitations for her friends since this is supposed to be her party.”
“I didn’t realise Cora counted me as a friend.” Stiles knew that she was
probably only extending this invitation to him because of Derek, but still it
felt nice. Stiles had never really had many friends. There were people he
talked to at school, but mostly it had been Scott. That had never felt like a
shortage until Scott started dating Allison. Being invited to a birthday party
like this was nice. He could get used to this.
And Peter was unlikely to violently throw him out of the house if the place was
full of rich and influential people Peter wanted to make a good impression
with.
“Tell Cora I’ll be there,” Stiles said.
Isaac pulled Stiles’ scrap of paper out from under his elbow.
“What’s this?” he asked.
“I’m planning on writing some articles and stuff about werewolf restrictions.
Maybe if I get something published, Peter will see that I’m trying to speak out
in favour of equal rights and decide I’m not an evil monster out to slaughter
him and his family.”
“Or he’ll think you’re being sneaky and manipulative and hate you even more,”
said Malia.
Stiles resisted the urge to smack his face down on the table in front of him,
mostly because the remains of his lunch were still in the way. He suspected she
was probably right. Peter was so determined to hate him that absolutely nothing
Stiles did would be seen as good. It could all be interpreted as him trying to
be sneaky and evil.
“Why is it so hard for him to understand that I like Derek?” Stiles asked. “And
that’s it.”
“Peter’s made a study of paranoia since the fire,” Malia said. “He sees
everyone as a potential enemy. I don’t think that’s going to change any time
soon, no matter what you might write.”
Stiles stared at his list of article ideas. She was probably right. He hated
that she was probably right. But he had to try anyway, because doing anything
else would be letting Peter win.
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Stiles had invited Derek round to watch movies and hang out. Derek had asked
whether his dad would be there and then turned up with a large bag when the
answer turned out to be no. Stiles looked at the bag with curiosity.
“Are the contents of that thing going to get my dad arresting you?” Stiles
asked.
“This bag?” Derek said. “I just happen to have some stuff I don’t want to leave
in the car. If you happen to get curious and sneak a look inside, or decide to
try some stuff on while I’m fixing us both a snack, I can’t be held
responsible.”
“I really don’t think my dad’s going to buy that.”
“That’s why I asked if he’d be home. Now I’m going to make some sandwiches.”
Derek set the bag down at Stiles’ feet and walked away. Grinning, Stiles
snatched the bag up and hurried upstairs to his room. Technically, Derek wasn’t
doing anything to him right now. Besides, his dad was working a late shift so
they had the house to themselves for at least the next few hours. Stiles put
the bag down on his bed and unfastened the zipper eagerly, looking at what lay
within.
A few minutes later, as he heard Derek’s footsteps up the stairs, he was still
struggling to get the pants on.
“Need a hand in there?” Derek called from the other side of the door.
“Nope,” Stiles said. He lay on his bed, feet flat on the mattress, and arched
his hips up, tugging on the pants to try and get them up over his hips. The
action caused teasing shifts of plug inside him, which made it even harder to
get the flies done up.
“Are you sure?” Derek asked.
“I think you got the wrong size.” Stiles had got the pants up and managed to
fasten the buttons of the fly but that didn’t mean his difficulties were over.
When he stood, the leather was stiff and tight around his legs, unyielding. He
could barely move in these things.
Stiles quickly swapped his shirt for the one Derek had provided and then kicked
the clothes he had been wearing under the bed because bending down to pick them
up would be impossible in these pants.
“OK,” Stiles called. “Ready.”
Derek opened the door. He stood there, the plate of sandwiches in one hand, and
just gaped at Stiles. For a moment, Stiles wondered if it was because he looked
ridiculous, here in these leather pants a size too small and a white t-shirt of
a fabric so thin it was almost see through. But Derek’s expression was one of
hunger. He was looking at Stiles like a predator looking at prey, like he
wanted to pounce on Stiles and devour him there in his bedroom.
“I think I got the perfect size,” Derek said.
“I can’t move,” Stiles complained.
“Why would you need to go anywhere?”
Derek did have a good point with that one. They sat together on the bed, Stiles
lying against Derek’s chest. Derek fed Stiles bits of food with his fingers
while they used Stiles’ laptop to watch tonight’s movie, choosing that over the
TV in the living room because Stiles didn’t want to risk wearing this outfit
downstairs, just in case a neighbour stopped by and mentioned something to his
dad. Technically, Stiles was following his dad’s rules as he was fully dressed,
but he still didn’t fancy explaining this situation.
They probably crossed the line of legality when Derek picked up a remote, made
a comment about adjusting the volume, and turned on the vibrator in Stiles’
ass. He grinned.
“Oops,” Derek said. “Wrong remote.”
Stiles felt the buzzing inside him and squirmed a little, Derek’s arms wrapping
around behind him. Stiles couldn’t forget for an instant where they were, what
they were doing, with the buzzing inside his ass and the pants so tight around
his legs and over his crotch that they might have been another bondage toy.
Stiles was a constant mess of distraction and arousal, especially when Derek
started playing with Stiles’ nipples through his shirt.
“I’m going to ruin your present,” Stiles said, shifting again. The pants were
feeling tighter by the moment.
“I’m not sure I’d call it ruin,” Derek said. He kissed and nuzzled at Stiles’
neck. Those fingers rubbed over his nipples. One of his legs wrapped over
Stiles’ leg, foot rubbing up and down over the leather. And all the while, the
plug buzzed away inside him.
Stiles had long since stopped paying attention to the movie playing. He spun
round on his bed so he could face Derek instead, pressing their lips together
in a fierce kiss. The movie played on in the background, but they didn’t
notice. They just kissed and groped, feeling each other through the flesh of
their clothes. The thrill of their illicit arrangement made Stiles’ more
excited, and the constant buzz inside him never let up. The pressure on his
crotch was at once uncomfortable and stimulating, a constant reminder of the
restrictions that reminded him once again that this was forbidden.
Derek’s hands cupped his ass over the tight leather. Each movement of those
fingers stirred the base of the plug through the pants, causing shifts inside
Stiles that brushed against his prostate. Stiles groaned into a kiss.
Derek broke off kissing to nuzzle at Stiles’ neck again, whispering between
kisses.
“Can you do it?” he asked. “Can you come without me touching you? Without you
even taking your pants off? Are you still on enough of a hair trigger that we
can still do this, with all the barriers in between us?”
The answer turned out to be yes. Stiles gave a soft cry as his body shook and
he came, the pants still fastened tightly around him. He swore he could feel
Derek’s smile in the kisses at his neck.
Afterwards, when Stiles had washed up and changed, Derek offered to take the
pants to deal with cleaning them, so that Stiles’ dad never needed to find
them.
“Won’t Peter be able to smell what happened?” Stiles asked.
“We haven’t broken any laws,” Derek said. Stiles was less sure about that but
decided not to argue. “And it will drive Peter crazy.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be trying to win Peter over so he’ll let us be together
properly?”
“Driving him crazy’s easier.”
Stiles grinned at an idea, “What if you took some stuff from my laundry bin and
hid it around the house so that Peter smells me everywhere?”
Derek laughed and pulled Stiles into an embrace.
“You are an evil genius,” Derek said. “I love you.”
Stiles froze in the circle of Derek’s arms. For an instant, he wondered if he’d
imagined those words. But Derek had frozen too, as if he were as shocked by the
utterance as Stiles was. Stiles knew Derek liked him. He knew they had fun
together. He knew Derek was willing to fight his uncle so they could spend time
together. But love? Love was a whole other thing altogether.
He liked Derek. Derek was sarcastic and strong and ridiculously hot and willing
to stand up for what he believed in and smart and incredible in bed and a
thousand other things, but was it love? Stiles had never been in love. His
crush on Lydia Martin didn’t count because they’d never had an actual
conversation. What he had with Derek was built on a foundation that his
interactions with Lydia had never had, but was that foundation love? How was he
supposed to know? Was there a checklist of feelings he could look at to decide
if this was love?
Maybe he could look that up on the internet later but right now he needed to
say something because he was just standing there, frozen like a computer on
bluescreen, without a single word that he could say.
And he’d waited too long. He couldn’t even repeat the words back to Derek
without it sounding awkward and false because he’d pause for far, far too long.
He needed to say something. He needed to do something.
Derek stepped away from Stiles, arms falling to his sides. Stiles felt suddenly
cold now that Derek’s arms weren’t around him anymore.
“I should go,” Derek said. He shoved the clothes and plug and everything into
his bag and hefted it onto a shoulder.
Stiles didn’t want that. He didn’t want Derek to leave. They’d been having fun.
But he didn’t know how to ask Derek to stay after that catastrophe of his
silence. He still didn’t know what to say. He always knew what to say. Even if
he didn’t know what to say, he said something anyway.
“Derek,” Stiles said. He stopped. He didn’t have anything to follow up with,
but at least he’d managed to say something.
Derek stood there, frozen. He held the bag over his shoulder with the ruins of
their joy inside. He looked absolutely terrified. Stiles was terrified too. He
was terrified Derek would never forgive him for this and he’d walk out of here
and Stiles would never see him again.
Stiles still didn’t know what to say. He quickly closed the distance between
them and pressed a kiss to Derek’s lips. It wasn’t words. It wasn’t whatever he
needed to say to make this right between them. But it was something. It was
better than silence and frozen stillness.
“I,” Stiles started. The words caught in his throat. What if he didn’t mean
them? What if this was liking but not loving? What if he said the words and
Derek heard them as a lie? What if he was just hoping for something real? What
if he said the words now and it hurt Derek later if it turned out Stiles wasn’t
really feeling them?
“I’ll see you soon?” Stiles asked, the words almost trembling, almost pleading.
Derek nodded.
“Yeah,” Derek said weakly. He walked away.
Stiles watched him leave. He sat down on the edge of the bed and flopped
backwards onto the mattress. Never in his life had he felt so utterly useless.
***
Stiles actually did a google search for how to tell if he was in love. He found
a surprising number of results, including an article on wikihow. He sat there,
thinking about Derek, worrying about what Derek was thinking right now,
wondering how the hell he could possibly talk to Derek after this.
The fact that he couldn’t stop thinking about Derek was a good sign according
to several of the pages he read, but fretting about social mistakes was also a
sign of anxiety and freaking out right now might be more about the fact he’d
been so utterly terrible at handling the situation than about Derek.
He wished someone could open his skull up, peer into his brain, and see if the
love centres were flashing with activity. He wished the brain did have love
centres. Did the brain have love centres?
He got side tracked in some internet research into hormones and emotions, and
how certain hormones in the body stimulated feelings that were generally
associated with love and happiness but which were often short-lived. What if he
was just a stew of short-lived hormones that would wear off?
He got his phone out and stared at it. He needed to say something to Derek. He
didn’t know what to say to Derek. But if he didn’t say anything, that would
only make things worse. Not saying anything was the reason he was freaking out
right now. What if Derek hated him? What if Derek decided it was easier just to
forget about him and find someone else.
Stiles needed to say something before he lost Derek forever.
He typed out a text.
He deleted it.
He typed out another text.
He deleted that too.
He stared at the screen of his phone until it turned itself black from lack of
activity. He stared at the blackness instead.
Finally he typed out a contender for the world’s most pathetic test message.
Hey.
It took Derek all of five seconds to respond with another simple Hey.
Stiles didn’t have any sort of follow up prepared, but at least there was still
communication. That was something. Right? He stared at the screen and then
typed out another message.
I’ve never done relationships and stuff before.
I know, Derek typed back. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.
Stiles wished they were face to face instead of doing this over texts because
he wanted to pull Derek into his arms and hug him for that. Stiles was the one
who’d screwed up here. Derek was the last person on earth who should be
apologising.
Don’t apologise. You didn’t push. I’m an idiot for just freezing.
Stiles didn’t say he loves Derek. Derek didn’t ask. Stiles stared at his phone
while he waited for the reply, wondering if he should tell Derek that he’d just
read far too many pages trying to figure out if he was in love or not. He
decided against it. Admitting to using internet research to analyse his
feelings would probably convince Derek that there weren’t any feelings at all.
Stiles typed out another text. You’re awesome. Then another. Your sarcasm is
great. He continued on, tapping out words and hitting send.
You have the body of a Greek god.
You’re smart.
When you smile, it’s like the sun after a storm.
He considered, then followed that text up with, You make me write stupidly
corny text messages.
He could picture Derek’s quirk of a smile when he read that one. Stiles still
wasn’t saying that word. But he wanted to Derek to know that this, whatever it
was, was important to him too.
Derek finally sent a text back. Your mouth should be illegal.
Stiles managed a smile, a little relieved to see the words, responding to his
stream of compliments. Maybe they could be OK after wall.
He flopped down onto his bed, phone in hand, and typed out a response. What
about your arms? Those biceps belong in a museum.
And somehow they moved on to sexting. Stiles lay on his bed, sending Derek
comments about his body and what he wanted to do to him, getting comments back
in response. Stiles undid his pants and started a slow stroke, reading messages
from Derek describing kissing every bump of his spine, or holding him down and
making him beg for mercy.
With words on a screen, and a dose of imagination, Stiles brought himself to
the second climax of the night.
Chapter End Notes
     For those of you on Tumblr, I'm currently running a giveaway where
     you can potentially win one of my books, along with a few other
     goodies.
***** Chapter 27 *****
Stiles had a strange sense of déjà vu on a Friday evening when he was heading
to a party at the Hale mansion in the woods. This time, he was actually dressed
for the party, in a clean shirt and his best jeans, with the bracelet around
his wrist. This time, he would be walking in there knowing Peter detested him,
instead of detesting Peter. Or maybe as well as.
He had the invitation in case Peter tried to throw him out. There was still of
splodge of gravy staining the posh card, but there was nothing he could do
about that. He drove up to the front of the house, past the trees decorated
with fairy lights, and handed over his keys to the valet. He didn’t protest
this time around.
He was still nervous, but for entirely different reasons. He hadn’t spoken to
Derek face to face since the debacle of Derek’s confession. They’d texted, so
he was reasonably sure Derek didn’t hate him, but he still wasn’t sure how to
speak to Derek. How did they move past a declaration of love that Stiles hadn’t
reciprocated? Butterflies danced in Stiles’ stomach as he climbed the steps and
walked in through the front door.
Peter must have used the same catering company, because Stiles recognised one
of the guys on welcome drink duty. There were two of them tonight, one holding
a tray of actual champagne, the other with glasses of a different shape with
what was presumably the same sparkling juice as last time for those not of
drinking age yet. The guy with the juice was the same waiter who’d been here to
greet the guests for the consort party. The guy clearly recognised Stiles too,
going by the surprise in his eyes.
“Good evening, sir,” he said the last word with an amused smile. “Can I offer
you a drink or a hiding place?”
“Just the drink tonight,” Stiles said. “Though I might take you up on the
hiding place if Peter’s in a bad mood.”
“I’ll look out some nice, quiet spots for you,” the waiter smiled. “Enjoy the
party, sir.”
Again there was that note of amusement over the last word.
“At least I look more of a sir tonight,” Stiles commented. He took his glass of
juice and turned to face the double doors into the main hall and the party. He
pulled up short, seeing Peter standing in the doorway, staring at him.
For a moment, his nerves threatened to overtake him. The idea of running and
finding a hiding place seemed better by the second. But he swallowed and walked
towards the doors, hoping that he didn’t look as worried as he felt.
“Stiles,” Peter said coldly.
“Peter,” Stiles replied, with equal ice in his tone. Peter’s eyes darted past
Stiles to the waiter, who now looked about as nervous as Stiles, having been
caught joking with the guests by the alpha who’d hired him.
“A friend of yours?” Peter asked.
“He was on the staff for the last party,” Stiles said. “I guess I must have
made an impression with more than just Derek.”
“So it would seem.”
Stiles wondered if Peter would try and bar him from the party, but he stepped
aside, allowing Stiles to pass through the doors. There was no welcome in his
words or gesture, but Stiles guessed this was as good as he could hope for.
Peter was still looking at the waiter with his tray of drinks. Stiles really
hoped he hadn’t got the guy in trouble by laughing with him. He was willing to
believe Peter would fire a guy as unprofessional just because he’d smiled at
Stiles.
In the main hall, there was music playing and clusters of people were talking.
Erica had been right about the party guests. Most of them were guys at least
twice Cora’s age. There were some women, but they were mostly there to look
beautiful in dresses, hanging off their husbands’ arms as much accessories as
the expensive cufflinks or fancy tie pins. There were very few people that
Stiles could imagine Cora inviting, but there were a few. Most of the younger
werewolves and their guests were hanging out in a corner near the buffet table.
Stiles wished Cora a happy birthday and she introduced him to a few friends
from the posh private school she attended. She introduced Stiles as, “My
brother’s boyfriend,” which made Stiles smile. There might not be any paperwork
to make it official, but Cora was making sure that people knew where Stiles fit
in the picture.
Derek approached before long, greeting Stiles with a kiss and wrapping an arm
around his back, holding Stiles pressed against his side. If he was still hurt
by what had happened in Stiles’ bedroom, he didn’t show it. His face held a
pleasant smile as he exchanged small talk with Cora’s friends. It didn’t take
Stiles long to see his heart wasn’t in it. The smile was too fixed, the polite
nods just a mask he wore. Stiles wasn’t sure if Derek was bored or annoyed, or
if he was uncomfortable about having to stand here next to Stiles and act like
everything was alright between them.
A couple of older men came over to wish Cora a happy birthday, breaking up the
little cluster of youth. One of the men’s wives came over to greet Derek, who
smiled and asked her how she was. They exchanged a few pleasantries, but then
the woman commented, “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your young friend?”
For a fraction of a second, Stiles witnessed a flicker of terror on Derek’s
face. It was one Stiles recognised, from going to functions with his father and
talking to people he knew he must have met at similar functions in the past but
without the faintest idea who they were. He’d gone through many parties trying
to perfect the art of saying nothing while trying not to give away that he had
no memory of the names of the people he was talking to.
Stiles smiled and held out a hand, before Derek was forced to say something,
“I’m Stiles Stilinski.”
He had to hope his attempt wasn’t too clumsily obvious. The woman gave her name
and shook her hand.
“I assume you’re here with your husband?” Stiles asked, looking towards the men
who were still talking with Cora. It turned out the woman’s husband was CEO of
an IT company in Beacon Hills, a business associate of Peter’s. Stiles asked a
few more polite questions, about how they knew the Hales and things like that,
with Derek standing silent beside him, contributing a few nods to the
conversation but nothing else.
When Stiles politely extracted them, he guided Derek over to the buffet table.
“There’s a trick,” Stiles muttered quietly. “If you can’t remember someone’s
name and you think you’re about to be asked to do introductions, you just shove
something in your mouth.”
“There’s something I’d love to shove my mouth, but not in polite company,”
Derek murmured the words in Stiles’ ear. Stiles was sure he was blushing at the
suggestion. It was a pointless notion anyway, given where they stood with the
legalities of their situation.
Stiles took a plate and started filling it with little nibbles.
“The code,” Stiles said, “is that if we’re talking to someone whose name you
can’t remember, you take something off the plate and start eating it. I’ll
introduce myself while your mouth’s full, so you won’t be expected to say
anything.”
Derek looked at the plate in Stiles’ hand and said, “We’re going to need more
food than that.”
Stiles added some more nibbles. They moved back into the room together,
standing close enough to be clearly a couple but not as entwined as they’d been
earlier. Almost instantly, an older man approached them, greeting Derek with a
broad smile and seizing his hand to shake.
“Derek, my boy, you’re looking well,” the man said, cheerily.
“And you,” Derek replied. “It’s been a while.”
The smile was fixed to his face but the instant the man released his hand,
Derek reached for the plate.
***
Peter had invited a whole host of influential people to this party. There were
business owners, board members of major organisations, a judge, even two
senators, all mingling and making small talk. When Stiles eavesdropped on
nearby conversations, it was clear that most of the people were talking
business and politics rather than Cora’s birthday.
Stiles wove through the crowds at Derek’s side, exhausted from the fake smiles,
and from trying to keep down yawns at the more boring of the guests. This party
was utterly tedious. Derek was clearly finding it as draining as he did and
they’d had to replenish the plate three times. Everyone here seemed to know
Derek, but Derek had remembered only a handful of names.
Stiles was about to suggest he and Derek sneak away somewhere, when a voice cut
through the noise.
“Ah, Stiles, it’s good to see you again.”
Stiles turned and saw Satomi standing there, next to a surprised Peter. Stiles
gave a more genuine smile than he’d managed for most of the evening.
“Alpha Satomi, a pleasure,” Stiles said. She and Peter had been in conversation
with a couple of men, including one of the senators Stiles had introduced
himself to earlier.
“I wasn’t aware you were friends,” Peter said, his tone unreadable.
“I wouldn’t presume to say friends,” Stiles said. “We’ve only met the once.”
“Stiles came to me to ask my advice regarding another young man. An unfortunate
boy with sickness in his family. He would have done almost anything to join a
pack so that the invitation for the bite could be offered to a younger sibling.
Stiles asked my opinion as an alpha on this matter.” Satomi’s tone was
absolutely pleasant, talking about this subject as though it was as much news
to Peter as to the other two men. “Stiles is such a caring young man,” she
continued, “to go to such lengths for the sake of a boy that, by his own
admission, he doesn’t even like. You must be proud of your nephew for choosing
such a consort, Peter.”
Peter didn’t reply. His face was a mask, his emotions unreadable. He must know
that Satomi knew the truth. Stiles wasn’t sure what game she was playing. He
just kept what he hoped was a polite smile on his face.
“Actually,” Derek corrected her, “Stiles is no longer my consort.”
“A partnership contract already?” Satomi asked. “But you’re so young. Well, I
suppose congratulations are in order.”
“No,” Derek corrected her. “There’s no partnership contract either. Our consort
contract... came to an end and Peter has not yet drafted up a companion
contract to replace it.”
“This is exactly the sort of thing I was talking about, Senator,” Satomi
addressed the human who’d been listening. “These consort contracts are drawn up
with time limits and escape clauses to keep young people from being trapped
into commitments, but what happens when a relationship proves more successful
than the length of the contract? They’re trapped by bureaucracy and can’t
continue the relationship without more contracts and paperwork.”
“The paperwork’s not arduous though, is it?” the senator said. “It’s not like
you need to get these things ratified by outside parties. I mean, Alpha Hale
here could write up a contract here and now, couldn’t he?”
Stiles wondered if this was Satomi’s point, if she was trying to force Peter’s
hand into giving them a contract at the party. Stiles could have hugged her
right then.
Peter gave a cold smile and said, “As Satomi says, things aren’t that simple.”
“It seems ridiculous,” Satomi said to the senator, “in this day and age, that
consenting parties must wait for someone else’s approval before they can be
together.”
“Consent’s a tricky thing,” the senator said. Then he asked Stiles, “How old
are you?”
“Sixteen,” Stiles said.
The man waved a hand as if to say, ‘exactly.’ He turned back to Satomi as
though Stiles was no longer there.
“A sixteen year old boy,” the senator said. “If your proposal were to be pushed
through as law, we’d be signing approval for kids to be in sexual relationships
with people who could physically overpower them.”
“If you got rid of the contracts,” Stiles said, “we’d be bound by the same laws
of consent that apply to human relationships. I wouldn’t be able to have sex
with Derek until my eighteenth birthday. In California and places where the
standard age of consent is eighteen, you’d be pushing back the age at which
humans can have sex with werewolves.”
“Stiles has a valid point,” Satomi said. “Then there is the fact that it is
possible for a strong human to force someone weaker into sex. It’s called rape
and it’s already a crime. There’s no reason why the same laws against rape
shouldn’t apply to werewolves. There shouldn’t be a requirement to sign a
contract and get it approved by an alpha if both parties are consenting. And if
there isn’t consent, that’s already a crime.”
They debated for a little while, with Satomi and Stiles doing most of the
talking, explaining how pointless and frustrating the werewolf sex laws were.
The senator made some weak arguments and then simply said that he couldn’t push
through a change in law all by himself even if he were convinced. He tried to
argue that there were processes that must be adhered to. One man didn’t make
the laws.
“Of course not,” Satomi said. “But when the time comes to it, I trust you will
place the right vote.”
She smiled and then excused herself to go and get another drink. The senator
quickly left, no doubt pleased to escape from the debate. The other man had
disappeared some time ago and Stiles hadn’t even noticed him leaving. That left
Stiles and Derek standing with Peter.
“You went to Satomi,” Peter said.
“I wanted advice from an alpha who was less of a douche,” Stiles said. “It
sounds like there’s already a proposition to change the law about the
contracts. Maybe Derek and I will get to be together again without having to
convince you to sign anything.”
“The law will never get enough votes,” Peter said.
They spoke quietly, all aware of the crowds around them, the polite
conversations of others standing nearby and all the others who might be
listening. If Peter had other werewolf guests, every word they said might be
carefully studied. Even so, Peter’s words sounded almost like a threat. He was
warning them that they still had to rely on Peter’s good wishes before they
could have a physical relationship again.
Stiles was sick of false smiles and fake politeness. He was sick of Peter. He
looked around the room, at the faces of the people he’d met tonight. All
influential people Peter did business with.
“I wonder what the good senator would say,” Stiles said, “if I told him about
the reason I came to the consort party. He seems to care so much about the
consent of teenagers. I wonder what he’d say if I told him that the current
laws allow for a man twice my age to sexually harass me by proxy by getting a
doctor to fit a sex toy around my junk without my permission.”
His words were barely a whisper, but he knew Peter heard them by the dark glare
in Peter’s eyes. Derek caught hold of Stiles’ hand, and squeezed it, almost
painfully tight.
“Are you threatening me?” Peter asked, his voice as quiet as Stiles’. Around
them, the pleasant buzz of party conversation continued. No one had noticed the
argument in their midst, or the look of murder in Peter’s eyes. Stiles half
expected claws to slash his throat at any second.
“I don’t want to have to fight you about this,” Stiles said. Not just because
fighting Peter could end up with him literally clawed to ribbons. “Derek and I
just want to be together. Why do you have to turn everything into a battle?”
“You went to the alpha of another pack.”
“After you were a world class douche,” Stiles said. His words were still nearly
a whisper, no matter how he wanted to yell them.
“It seems like you have her on your side. Why don’t you simply join her pack?”
“Because this was never about joining a pack. This is about Derek. It’s always
been about Derek.”
Peter started to say something, but then an elderly couple approached,
apologising for interrupting their conversation but apparently they had to
leave and wanted a quick word with Peter before they left. Peter nodded his
agreement and then gave Stiles an empty smile.
“Perhaps we can discuss this later,” he said, “after the party is finished. Or
tomorrow. Your guest room is available if you wish to spend the night.”
He walked away, smiling rather more pleasantly to the departing guests. Stiles
and Derek were left standing there amid the crowd of party guests.
“Discuss it later?” Stiles said. “Does that mean he’s going to say something
other than ‘no’?”
“I have no idea,” Derek said.
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is mostly smut. See the end notes if you want specific
     warnings.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles had never actually spent the night in the room he’d been given in the
Hale mansion. It was strange that this room had been set aside for him as
Derek’s consort and he’d never used it. Now he was using it as a guest.
Derek had come with him. They sat side by side on the bed. Downstairs, the
party continued, but it seemed like a world away, with so many walls and doors
between them and it. There were just the two of them now and that made Stiles’
insides twist in knots, because the conversation he’d been putting out of his
mind all evening was here and he would have to say something.
“I’m sorry,” Stiles said. Derek gave him a puzzled look. “Last time, at my
house, I froze. You caught me off guard and I... This is all new to me and I’ve
never been in a situation where I’m thinking about saying those words. Look, I
do things without thinking all the time but this can’t be that. I can’t just
say it because it’s expected. I have to be sure. This is important. I can’t say
it when I think I feel it. I have to be sure. When I say the words, I have to
know without a doubt that I really mean them.”
Derek leaned in and silenced him with a soft kiss. When he pulled back, he
smiled.
“I can wait,” Derek said.
Stiles put his arms around Derek and just hugged him, because he was so
grateful at Derek for understanding that he couldn’t put it into words. Derek’s
warm arms held him close and this felt like nothing to do with sex. This was
about safety and closeness and support. And that was almost enough to scatter
Stiles’ doubts right then and let him say the words he was scared of.
“So,” Stiles filled the silence when the hug was over, “what do we do while we
wait for the party to finish?”
“I could get some toys from my room,” Derek said. “We once talked about edging.
I wouldn’t be able to do it properly, but we could still do something. And your
dad could hardly complain about me not making you come.”
“I think we’d still have a hard time convincing him it was legal.”
Derek leaned in and pressed a kiss to Stiles’ neck, right where it curved out
into his shoulder.
“He’s not here now,” Derek pointed out.
“True.” There was a short silence. Derek kissed his neck a few times more,
slowly, as though just killing time. Stiles realised he probably was. He was
waiting for Stiles to agree or disagree to his proposition.
“OK,” Stiles said. “How are we going to do this?”
“I’ll go and get some things from my room,” Derek said. “And some pyjamas you
can borrow if you’re staying the night. While I’m doing that, you can get
started. But don’t come.”
He kissed Stiles lightly on the lips and let himself out of the room.
Stiles flopped back onto the mattress and opened his flies, easing out his
cock. He started slowly, running his fingers up him length, cradling his balls,
using his other hand to stroke his thighs through the fabric of his pants or to
reach under his shirt and toy with his nipples. He playing with himself gently,
feeling the sensations of his hands, knowing that Derek’s hands would soon
replace them. He let his mind wander, imagining what Derek would do on his
return, the thoughts stirring up his erection as much as his hands.
After a few minutes, there was a knock on the door.
“It’s me,” Derek said. But he didn’t come in. Stiles realised he was waiting
for an invitation, and Stiles also remembered what his dad had said about not
taking his clothes off in front of Derek. He tucked himself back into his pants
with some difficulty before he invited Derek back into the bedroom carrying a
large bag.
Derek had changed his clothes. Now he was wearing tight black jeans, and a
shirt that clung to his chest, short sleeves revealing the curves of his arms
that Stiles had praised so enthusiastically in texts. He was also wearing the
leather gloves.
Derek set the bag down on the bed and pulled out some items, starting with a
pile of scarlet silk. Derek soon handed Stiles a little bundle and sent him
into the shower room to get changed while Derek set things up out here. Stiles
did as he was told. Inside the room, he stripped off his clothes. The last to
go was the bracelet with the Hale symbol on the tag. He set that down gently
and started with the toys Derek had given him.
First was the vibrating plug. Stiles wasn’t at all surprised to see that one.
He leaned against the sink and stretched himself out with fingers and lube
until he was ready to try with the plug, easing the tip inside and thrusting it
slowly in and out a few times before he slid the widest point through the ring
of muscle at his opening. He was already breathing hard from that alone, from
fucking himself with the rubber toy.
He was washed the lube from his hands and reached for the next item, a
contraption of rings that would fit around the base of his erection, with more
rings to squeeze around each ball. It took him a minute to figure out how to
get it on, finally closing them with a clip under his balls, but then he knew
these would keep him from coming before his time.
He pulled on the silk pyjamas, the material soft against his skin, brushing
cool against the heat of his excitement. They fit him perfectly, so Stiles knew
that Derek must have bought them for him to wear, to see him wearing them. They
tented out obscenely in front of his crotch, but that was part of the fun.
They’d be able to see the effect of whatever it was Derek had planned, while
Stiles was still staying fully dressed.
He walked back out into the bedroom, silk gliding against his limbs as he walk.
It rubbed against his erection like a caress.
Derek stood by the bed, arranging ropes and leather straps. He turned now to
look at Stiles, hunger in his eyes. He lifted two wrist cuffs and walked across
to Stiles, kissing him before he did anything else.
“I’m not allowed to touch you,” Derek said. He took one of Stiles’ arms,
wrapping the wrist in leather and sliding the buckle closed. “That means you’re
not allowed to touch yourself either.” He took the other wrist, buckling the
cuff on with equal efficiency. “We will both be frustrated.”
Stiles stood there, silent and strangely calm, as Derek went back to the bed
and picked up another leather strap, longer than the cuffs but with the same
soft lining and secure buckle. His breathing increased in speed when he
realised what it was. It was a collar. Derek walked back to him, slow and
careful steps, eyes on Stiles’ face, while all Stiles could see was that band
of leather.
Derek stood behind Stiles, pressing whisper-soft kiss to the back of Stiles’
neck, even as he raised the collar and pressed the leather against the front of
the neck. Stiles had an instant of panic as the leather pressed against the
front of his throat, instincts warning him about strangulation, primal fears
telling him this was a danger.
But Derek had frozen. The collar rested against the front of Stiles’ neck, but
Derek made no move to fasten it on. Not until Stiles got his racing heart back
under control and nodded. As Derek closed the loop of leather around his
throat, it was excitement that made Stiles’ heart race. This collar felt like
such an intimate thing, such a surrendering of control, that it seemed directly
linked to his desire. As the buckle slid closed, the collar was there, a
constant sensation around his neck, not uncomfortable but impossible to ignore.
Derek’s hand rested gently on his shoulder, fingers brushing against the skin
of his neck just above the leather. The leather of his gloves sent tingles
through Stiles’ skin.
“Is it alright? Not too tight?”
“It’s perfect,” Stiles said. He ran his fingers against the soft and supple
leather, feeling the way it embraced his neck, the cold metal of a ring at the
front of it.
Derek placed a kiss on the leather. All Stiles felt was the slight increase in
pressure of the collar against his neck. Stiles shivered a little at the
gesture.
Derek walked away again to the bed. They could have done this much more quickly
if Stiles followed him and stood closer, but speed wasn’t the point. The point
was this slow rising of anticipation. Each gesture was careful and calm. Each
action was done with deliberate peace. Derek picked up a length of soft rope
and returned to Stiles. He held the bundle tucked between his elbow and his
side while he fed an end through the ring at the front of the collar. When he
had a little more than a foot available to him, he tied it in a quick knot, and
then threaded the dangling end through the ring in Stiles’ wrist cuff, tying
that as well.
It took about a minute, and then Stiles was standing with his arm bent, his
wrist fastened to the collar by that short length. He had a little freedom of
movement, but not enough to reach down. Not enough to touch the aching at his
groin.
Derek took the other end of the rope, feeding it through the cuff on the other
wrist, tying that with about as much freedom. Then he doubled back and tied off
on the collar ring again. There was still a good portion of the rope left over,
dangling down from the collar like a leash. Derek let it hand, but he touched
it gently and swung the rope a little, letting the dangling end brush against
the tent of the pyjamas. Stiles shuddered as the rope brushed against his need.
He bit his lip against the sensation and Derek leaned in to kiss that lip,
leather fingers reaching up to brush his cheek.
Stiles gave himself to the kiss, yielding, letting Derek do as he wished.
When Derek stepped back, he held the rope leash lightly in one hand. He tugged
gently and Stiles followed, letting himself be led over to the bed. He lay down
in the middle of it, while Derek tied off the end of the rope to one of the
wooden posts. Stiles shifted, resting his elbows on the mattress and trying to
find a comfortable position for his hands, tied as they were.
There were more straps and ropes waiting for them. Derek picked a strap up,
trailing it over Stiles’ body. He felt goose pimples rising beneath the silk as
the strap danced across his body. Derek took a moment to play with the tent of
his erection, then he fastened the strap around Stiles’ thigh. The same
movements, the same gestures, and then a second strap mirrored on the other
thigh. Twice more Derek did this, attaching the straps to his ankles this time.
Then he took hold of Stiles’ legs and lifted upwards, bending them, until he
could clip each thigh strap to the matching ankle cuff.
But Derek wasn’t done. He played lengths of ropes of the restrained legs,
across Stiles’ chest, and the aching cock. Then he tied the rope to the ankle
cuffs and to the posts at the head of the bed, until Stiles was bent, legs over
his torso and out. His ass was lifted off the mattress and his cock was
exposed, framed by his limbs.
Derek ran a hand over the silk pants.
“Are you comfortable?” he asked.
“Not quite the word I’d use,” Stiles muttered. But he wasn’t uncomfortable. The
ropes held him secure so there was no strain on his muscles except for the
unaccustomed stretch of the position.
“Do you want me to change the position?”
Stiles shook his head. “No. I’m good. Maybe later.”
“OK. Just tell me if it gets uncomfortable.”
Stiles nodded, smiling at Derek between his legs.
“In the meantime,” Derek smiled, “I’ll give you something to distract you.”
His hands ran over the silk of Stiles’ legs, cupping his ass. They felt for the
base of the plug through the silk. A moment later, the buzzing came alive
inside Stiles.
“Oh god,” Stiles moaned, squirming a little in his restraints.
“No,” Derek said. “Just me.”
He ran his hands over Stiles’ bare feet, leather against skin. At times the
touch was almost ticklish, and Stiles writhed, twisting against the ropes and
straps, his own movements making him more aware of the plug inside him. At
other times, the fingers pressed deeper, massaging the muscles, easing away
tension Stiles hadn’t even know was there.
The hands moved on, fingers running along the ankle cuffs, tweaking at the
ropes and forcing Stiles’ legs to twitch. They ran up his shins to his knees
and then followed the curve of his thighs back down. Slow, gentle strokes, soft
through the silk. The strokes curved round to his ass again and then flowed
away, ignoring the erection that pushed the pyjamas up so obviously.
When Derek reached between his legs, it was to stroke hands up Stiles’ sides
and chest, to seek his nipples out through the silk and play with them, teasing
them into little lumps that showed through the cloth.
Derek leaned forwards, between Stiles’ raised legs, hands resting on the
mattress on either side of him to take his weight. Derek’s stomach brushed
against Stiles’ erection as he leaned down, but his mouth found those nipples.
The silk became damp puddles as Derek kissed and nipped at the nipples in turn.
Stiles’ hands clenched empty air as he squirmed under the touch, as his ass
clenched around the plug buzzing inside him. Nothing was quite enough. The
vibrations of the plug weren’t strong enough. They weren’t pressed against
quite the right place. Derek’s touches were too soft. His mouth worked the
wrong part of his body. Stiles felt like he’d been hard for an eternity.
“God, I need to come,” he moaned quietly.
His hands were clenching again, involuntarily, as though some part of him was
trying to take hold of his cock and stroke it, even when his hands were held by
ropes, too far away to reach.
“If I let you come, then it’s over,” Derek said. He’d sat up straight again,
hands stroking softly on Stiles’ bound thighs as he looked down on him. “I want
to play with you some more.”
He had that predatory gleam in his eye again but Stiles knew he would untie him
if he asked. He would untie the ropes that bound Stiles’ hands and let him
stroke himself, let him have to climax he craved. But Derek couldn’t be here
for that part. Even they couldn’t pretend that was legal. If Stiles wanted to
come, it would mean an end to his play session with Derek. Much as Stiles’
aching cock wanted release, he didn’t want this night to be over.
“Play,” Stiles whispered.
So Derek did. Soft strokes of hands on skin and silk. He kissed Stiles deeply,
and pressed other kisses to the points where skin met collar. He played with
Stiles’ nipples through the pyjamas and ran hands through Stiles’ hair.
After a time, the discomfort of the position became a welcome distraction from
the aching need in his groin. Derek played with every other part of him but
never went near there.
After a time, the position went from being a distraction to just uncomfortable,
and Derek undid the ropes that held Stiles’ legs up, unclipping the thighs from
ankles. Stiles let his legs flop out on the bed, Derek still sitting between
them. The tent of Stiles’ erection seemed more obvious now.
Derek left the bed, and Stiles moaned at his loss, his complaint wordless but
clear. Derek returned a minute later with a glass of water, helping raise
Stiles head up from the mattress to tip the water into his mouth and let him
sip at it. Stiles was grateful, but Derek had been gone longer than it took to
pour a glass of water. Stiles was fairly certain Derek had just masturbated in
the bathroom, and Stiles was still here, writhing with need on the bed, unable
to touch himself where he need to be touched.
The words hovered in Stiles’ throat as Derek resumed his slow game. Stiles
wanted to say them. He wanted to come. He would beg to come. But coming would
mean Derek would leave. So the words hung on his tongue and never passed his
lips.
Not until Derek’s hands reached between his ass and the mattress to turn up the
power of the vibrations. Only then did Stiles gasp out the word, “Please.”
“You want to come?” Derek asked.
Stiles was a gibbering puddle of need, all the world condensed down to his
sense of touch and those hands that were still running teasing fingers up his
thighs.
Stiles nodded.
Derek moved up the bed, placing a slow kiss on Stiles’ lips as his hands worked
the knot that held Stiles’ right hand to his collar.
As Stiles dropped his hand down and under the waist of the pyjamas, Derek
walked away. Stiles found the rings and pulled them undone with his one free
hand. The door opened and shut. A moment later, Stiles’ hands were around his
cock, pumping. He came in an instant, white splatters decorating the red silk.
He lay there, panting hard. The bed feeling strangely lonely. He reached out
and found a spot of warmth that Derek had left on the mattress. Tears slipped
silently from his eyes.
There was a quiet tap on the door. Derek walked back in. He spotted the
glittering water on Stiles’ cheeks and was across the room in an instant,
kissing them away.
“Hey,” he said softly, “what’s wrong?”
“I don’t want you to have to leave,” Stiles whispered.
“I’m here,” Derek said. He kissed Stiles’ cheek again, then started to work
loose the knot that held the rope to the bed post, so he could free Stiles’
other hand.
He knew why Derek had left the room. He understood. This way, Stiles would be
able to say that he’d not come in front of Derek and it would be true. He’d be
able to say that Derek hadn’t touched his cock and it would be true. He’d be
able to say that he’d been fully dressed at all times, and it would be true. It
wasn’t completely honest, but it was technically true. If his dad decided to
arrest Derek, Stiles would be able to argue against it. He still didn’t have to
like it.
It seemed to take Derek an eternity, but he finally undid the last knot and
tossed the rope aside. He lay down on the bed, still fully dressed, and pulled
Stiles into his arms. Stiles felt his warmth, the rising and falling of his
chest. He thought he could hear the steady pounding of Derek’s heart, so close
to him.
“You should go,” Stiles said. “You should go back to your own room.”
“I don’t want to.” Derek’s fingers brushed Stiles’ hair.
Stiles didn’t want to move. He didn’t want Derek to move. He wanted to lie like
this forever, safe and warm, and drifting on the post-orgasm sensations.
“We can’t sleep together,” Stiles said.
He needed deniability. He needed to be able to tell his dad that he slept in
the guest room and Derek slept in his own bed. He needed those few fragments of
truth because he knew how dangerous what they were doing was. He knew the risks
to Derek if this became known.
Derek slipped off the bed and out of the room. Stiles slid under the covers,
the cuffs still around his wrists and legs. He curled himself into a ball and
tried to pretend Derek’s arms were still holding him as he drifted into sleep.
Chapter End Notes
     This chapter contains consensual bondage, use of vibrating butt plug,
     cock ring, and collar.
***** Chapter 29 *****
“Good morning, Stiles.”
Stiles opened his eyes, yelped, and scrambled at the covers to make sure he was
completely covered. He was, thankfully. But the pyjamas under the covers were
crusty with dried cum and Peter could definitely smell that. Plus, Stiles was
still wearing the cuffs on his wrists; they’d never taken them off after last
night’s play. Peter stood next to the bed, looking down at Stiles.
“I thought this room was my private space,” Stiles said, “and you couldn’t come
in here?”
“While the contract still applied, yes,” Peter said. “But the contract no
longer applies and this is my house. We should talk.”
“How about we talk after I’ve showered and put clothes on.”
“Go right ahead.” Peter gestured towards the bathroom. He remained standing
next to the bed. Stiles pulled the covers up to his neck. He wasn’t getting out
from under these covers while Peter was looking at him. He wondered if he
should yell for Derek. Even with all the walls between them, werewolf hearing
should pick it up.
“What’s this about?” Stiles asked.
“You want to be with Derek,” Peter said.
“Yes. I’d have thought even you would have grasped that point by now.”
Peter ignored the not-exactly-subtle insult to his intelligence.
“You seem to want this very badly,” Peter continued.
“Duh.”
“I think it’s time to decide how badly.”
Peter’s tone had been perfectly calm throughout but still he managed to make
that last part sound like a threat. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Peter was
having this conversation with him now, with Derek not here. Derek was probably
asleep in his bed, completely oblivious. Once again, the urge to yell for him
arose. But that would mean admitting that Peter scared the crap out of him. He
didn’t want to give Peter that satisfaction.
“What do you mean?” Stiles asked.
“I will give you the companion contract,” Peter said. “No end date. You and
Derek can be together for as long as you decide you want to be.”
“Great. You go down to your study and draft that out while I take a shower and
Derek and I can be back together before breakfast.” Stiles forced a smile onto
his face, even though the cold smile that rose on Peter’s lips sent chills
through him.
“There is a condition,” Peter said.
“Naturally.”
“You’ve seen what Trevor was willing to do to achieve his goals. I’m interested
to see what you are willing to do. How badly do you want to be with my nephew?”
Stiles swallowed nervously. He didn’t answer the question. He wanted to be with
Derek. But there was no mistaking the menace in Peter’s tone. There was no
doubting that Peter wanted to hurt Stiles.
“What’s your condition?” Stiles asked.
“Twenty four hours. I will give you the contract to be with Derek for as long
as you wish, but only after you spend twenty four hours as my companion,
letting me do whatever I wish to you. If you want, I can include a condition in
the contract that I won’t cause you any permanent injury,” he said that like it
was some huge concession, “and you will be free to walk away at any time. But
if you walk away before the time limit is up, you will forfeit all right to the
contract with Derek.”
Stiles thought of Peter’s hands on him. He thought of the pain on Trevor’s
face. He thought of all the torments Peter was probably devising right this
moment. There were a lot of ways Peter could hurt him that wouldn’t technically
be permanent.
“Go to hell,” Stiles snarled.
“A shame,” said Peter. “And I thought you really wanted to be with Derek.”
“I’m not going to put myself in your hands.”
“Ah well. I’m sure he enjoyed being with you while it lasted.”
“You’re acting like these are my only options,” Stiles snapped. “Be your slave
for twenty four hours or never be with Derek again. But those aren’t the only
options. We’ll find another way. Maybe Satomi’s proposition will get voted
through and the laws will change and Derek and I won’t need a contract anymore.
Maybe you’ll piss off the wrong person and get killed by another pack and Derek
will be the alpha. Maybe you’ll have a personality transplant and turn into a
person with a soul. It might take longer, but we can find a way. Now will you
please leave the room before I call my dad about the sexual harassment charges
I’ve been thinking about since you first stuck a cage on my cock.”
Stiles tried for a cold, calculating smile to match the one Peter wore. He
probably just looked absurd. It was very difficult to be forthright when
covering in a bed.
“I would think carefully about any such discussions,” Peter said. “I’m sure
your father would be interested to know why your bed smells so much of semen.”
“My dad knows I masturbate.” Stiles hoped he sounded confident. He didn’t feel
confident. He and Derek might not have had sex since the contract ended, but
Stiles had no doubts about how his dad would react to what they had got up to.
“Masturbate?” Peter asked. “Yet Derek spent some time in here with you
yesterday evening.”
“We talked.” Technically, not a lie.
“If your father starts asking me questions regarding sex, I will tell him the
truth. I will tell him that Derek returned from seeing you smelling of you and
sex.”
“Are you seriously trying to intimidate me by threatening to get your own
nephew arrested?” Stiles asked.
“I have enough friends that I’m confident I can get Derek released into my
custody, with restrictions on his behaviour no doubt. The authorities may
choose to enforce restraining orders preventing him from approaching you or
your house or school, but I’m sure Derek will survive. What I’m not sure about
though is how your father will react with you.” Peter smiled again.
“I can’t believe you’d do that to your nephew just because you don’t like me.”
“He is defying me.”
“And that gives you the right to destroy his life? To get him arrested and
branded as a-?” Stiles couldn’t even say the word. Derek would be marked as a
paedophile if Peter went through with this.
“I am his alpha and he is choosing to defy me.”
“Ugh!” Stiles threw a hand up in a gesture of disgust. “Does it not occur to
you that the point of being an alpha is to protect and care for your pack? Not
enforce your will on them regardless of their wishes?”
“You think you can tell me how to be an alpha, human,” Peter spat the last word
like it was the worst insult he could possibly imagine.
“Yeah, well even this human can see you’re not doing a very good job at it.
Even Cora, your own niece, said you didn’t need any help from the outside to
divide your pack.”
“You are the one trying to divide my pack.” Peter took a step towards the bed.
Stiles wished he had a weapon. Once again, the thought rose in him to call for
Derek, but he hated Peter seeing that he was afraid. He wanted to be strong. He
wanted to argue Peter down. He didn’t want to be the one needing rescuing when
all Peter was doing was talking.
“I’m not trying to do anything,” Stiles said. “Except be with Derek. You’re the
one failing to pay any attention to what your pack actually wants. I mean,
Cora’s party.” Stiles let go of the covers long enough to make air quotes
around Cora’s name. “You filled the place with people she thinks are boring.
Derek’s party, he didn’t want at all, to the extent that he was hiding from his
own guests. You belittled Derek’s degree and you’re making him get a new one in
a subject he’s not interested in. You’re so busy making them do what you want
them to do, you don’t even notice that they don’t want it.”
“I’m doing what’s best for my pack.”
Stiles gave a derisive snort. It was probably the least respectful noise he
could have made right then short of farting in Peter’s face, but he couldn’t
help it. Peter was so self-righteous.
“You do not get to tell me how to lead my pack.”
“Then stop being such a dick to them.”
Casually insulting Peter was probably not the best idea when he was terrified
of him, but somehow Stiles couldn’t stop himself. Peter’s eyes narrowed.
Stiles’ instinct was to say sorry, but he didn’t want to apologise to Peter for
anything. He’d start apologising to Peter when Peter started apologising to
him, which, going by their track record, was probably going to be a couple of
centuries after the apocalypse.
“You’re threatening to get your own nephew arrested,” Stiles said. “How can you
not see you’re in the wrong here?”
“I will protect my own,” Peter said. “This is your last chance to take me up on
my offer.”
“Your offer to let you torture me? How ‘bout no.”
“Your choice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a phone call to make.”
Peter turned and walked out of the bedroom.
***
Stiles’ shower was fast and his goodbye to Derek was faster, but by the time
Stiles got home, his dad was waiting for him. He had that calm look on his face
which told Stiles he’d gone through the level of blustering anger to the point
where he was truly furious. He sat down at the dining table and gestured for
Stiles to sit across from him.
“How old are you, Stiles?”
“You know, I find it really hurtful that my dad doesn’t know how-“
“Stiles!”
“I’m sixteen.”
“And what’s the age of consent in California?”
“Dad, come on, I’ve not had sex with Derek since the contract ended.”
“Then why did I get a call from Peter Hale telling me that the room you slept
in last night smelled of sex?”
Stiles could have tried arguing that technically it wasn’t sex, and that
technically he’d even stuck to his dad’s rule about being fully dressed when
with Derek, but he didn’t think that would count for much. Not with his dad
this angry and already used to Stiles trying to find loopholes in rules.
Instead, Stiles decided to go for the other option: honesty.
“You got that call because I told Peter I wouldn’t have sex with him,” Stiles
said.
“What?”
“He told me he’d let me be with Derek if I signed a twenty four hour contract
with Peter and let him do anything he wanted to me as long as it didn’t cause
permanent injury. I said no, so he threatened to get Derek arrested.”
His dad sat there for a long moment, just staring at him in shock. Then he
shook his head sadly.
“Oh, Stiles, what have you got yourself into?”
“Has Peter officially reported Derek?”
“No. I don’t think so. He called here directly.”
“Look, Dad, we haven’t had sex since the contract ended. We’ve messed around a
bit, but clothes stayed on. He’s not touched me, you know.” Stiles gestured
down at his crotch. He really didn’t want to have this conversation with his
dad, especially since he knew they had probably stepped over the line of
legality more than once, but he wanted his dad to know they weren’t completely
reckless.
“I don’t think it matters,” his dad said.
“Of course it matters. Derek hasn’t done anything wrong.”
“If an alpha werewolf reports his own beta, people will believe him. It will be
your word against his, and evidence won’t matter because Peter will make sure
this will never go to trial. He’ll cut a deal, and get Derek released to him on
conditions that will make it impossible for Derek to ever see you again.”
“And everyone will believe Derek’s a... a rapist, because they’ll see his alpha
not even trying to fight the claim that he took advantage of a poor, innocent
boy. Derek will be branded with this forever and it doesn’t matter that he
would never do a thing to hurt me.”
Stiles wanted to smash something. He wanted to storm back to that house in the
woods and punch Peter in the groin. But he sat there at the table, fingering
the tag on his bracelet.
“Stiles,” his dad said softly, “you know I don’t like that you’re with someone
so much older than you, so please don’t interpret this as me trying to keep you
apart. Peter plays dirty.”
“Yeah, I noticed that.”
“I think you should stay away from Derek, at least for a while. Maybe when
you’re older, if you still like him, you could try...”
“I can’t just give up,” Stiles said. “I can’t just accept that Peter’s stronger
than me and stop seeing Derek. I love him.” The words left his lips before he
even knew he was going to say them. “Oh.”
“Oh?” his dad asked, seeing the surprised look on Stiles’ face.
“I’d not actually said that before. Derek told me he loved me and I kind of
froze. I didn’t say it back but...” he thought over all that had happened in
the past few weeks, “I love him.”
His dad dragged a hand over his face and through his hair.
“God help me,” he muttered. “You’re in love. I never thought I’d long for the
days when all I had to worry about was you breaking your arms or setting fire
to classrooms.”
“It was only the one classroom.”
His dad glowered, unamused.
“Dad, I love him,” Stiles said. “I have to fight for him.”
“Meet him in public places,” his dad said. “Go to dinner with him. Walk in the
park. Always go somewhere you’ll have witnesses. Don’t even go to the movies.
Peter can’t claim you’re having sex if you’re never alone together.” He paused
and then added, “And I hope I don’t need to mention that you really, really
can’t have sex with him.”
Stiles guessed this was as close as his father was going to get to approval.
“Thanks,” he said quietly.
“Why couldn’t you have stayed in love with that Martin girl?” his dad asked,
not really expecting an answer. He didn’t get one.
***** Chapter 30 *****
Stiles spent more time writing articles than he probably should have done,
particularly since his homework was backing up. But he’d received an email
saying that his article on privilege or lack thereof had been placed with a
small magazine in a region that had a higher than average werewolf population.
The email had apologised for the fact that the magazine was small and the pay
rate so low, but even at three cents a word, he should be earning enough for
that article to take Derek out for dinner somewhere.
Most of his writing time was spent on a long article that was more of a rant
about the power of alphas over their own. He wrote it assuming a human reader.
He also assumed his readers would know little about werewolf politics, but be
familiar with phrases like ‘werewolf privilege’ and probably believe the
stereotypes about werewolves all being rich, powerful, and able to get away
with whatever they liked.
Stiles didn't deny those stereotypes. He played up to them, but emphasised that
the power was all in the hands of the alphas. He talked about how the alphas
could control their betas, how they had absolute authority over who they dated,
even things like what degree they could take. He didn’t mention Peter by name,
he simply talked about the things alphas could get away with, including
mentioning how an alpha could essentially frame their beta for a crime when
they got out of line. He also talked about money. For all the supposed wealth
of the packs, he wrote, the money all rested in the hands of the alphas. The
betas couldn’t spend money without the alpha’s permission.
He talked about how that often left betas with no choice but to stay with
alphas, even if they were being abused, because leaving would mean becoming a
penniless omega. Technically, an alpha could report former betas for theft just
for the clothes on their back and the money in their wallets, because even that
belonged to the alpha. A werewolf leaving a pack would have absolutely no way
to fend for themselves.
He talked about omegas and the dangers they faced, throwing in a few of the
statistics about the how many were killed by other packs, and by hunters, about
how there was no one to speak for them so some who were prejudiced against
werewolves would feel free to hurt them.
Over the course of a couple of thousand words, Stiles painted a bleak picture
about the lives of beta werewolves. He stressed repeatedly that this was not
true of all packs. There were some alphas, he wrote, who cared deeply for their
betas and would never take advantage of the system. However, he concluded,
there were some alphas all too eager to take advantage and act cruelly because
they could get away with it. He finished up by saying that werewolf privilege
really only rested in the hands of a small minority, and that the ones who
suffered most from the abuse of that privilege were the betas compelled to
remain in their packs.
Stiles felt nervous as he read through what he’d written and sent it off. He
had no idea if there was a market that would take an article like that. He had
just needed to get his emotions down on paper. He wanted to scream about what
Peter had threatened to do to Derek and this seemed the most productive way to
do that.
Then he and Derek went out for dinner on Sunday evening. They were continuing
their tour of cheap eateries, partly in the name of continuing Derek’s
education, but partly because three cents a word really wasn’t all that much.
They sat in a booth in a pizza place that did an all-you-can-eat deal. Stiles
reached across the table and took Derek’s hand.
“Before we do anything,” he said, “there’s something I need to say.”
“OK,” Derek said. He looked apprehensive. No, he looked terrified.
“I love you.”
“Oh.” Derek’s eyes went wide with surprise. “That’s... oh.”
“I’m glad I’m not the only one whose brain stalls in the face of unexpected
pronouncements,” Stiles said, fighting down laughter, because Derek’s surprised
eyebrows looked like they were trying to migrate up off his face.
“You... love me?” Derek said.
“Yep,” said Stiles, the p popping in his mouth. “I figured it out while my dad
was telling me I really should stay away from you and the thing that made me
most mad about Peter’s threats was the fact that they’d hurt you. I love you.”
Derek didn’t say it back right away but he didn’t need to. His smile said it
all. Then he reached out, grabbed Stiles’ shirt and pulled him over the table
so they could kiss. Stiles had the edge of the table digging uncomfortably into
his stomach, but it was worth it.
“I love you,” Stiles whispered, while they were still leaning awkwardly over
the table.
“I love you,” Derek whispered back. They slid back down into their seats and
Stiles righted the pepper pot which had been knocked over during their display.
Something felt lighter in the atmosphere, now that the words were out there,
spoken by both of them. But it didn’t solve the immediate problem.
They had their dinner, sitting in view of the staff, and the other customers,
and anyone wandering by outside. They stayed in public view, talking calmly and
sharing an occasional kiss, but not doing anything that could be remotely
considered illegal. How long could they keep this up? How long before Peter
found something else to threaten them with?
They talked. Stiles moaned about school. Derek moaned about his degree. Stiles
shared a couple of stories about his exploits with Scott. Derek gave a story
about Cora. Stiles talked about his writing plans, even though it seemed like
that wouldn’t be enough to get Peter on his side, given the way he’d reacted to
Satomi at the party.
“It would be good to go on a road trip with you,” Stiles said. “I could do a
piece for a travel magazine but include details about the difficulty of
travelling with a werewolf. But sharing a hotel room right now would probably
be a one way ticket to doom.”
“You’d want to go on a road trip with me?”
“Yeah, and not just because it would make a good article,” said Stiles. “It’s
also because you have an awesome car.”
Derek gave a little smile at that.
“Peter would have to sign the travel request forms though,” Derek said. “He’d
never agree to it.”
“So that’s basically the story of our lives now.”
“Yeah.”
***
Coach dropped a letter on Stiles’ desk at the start of econ and told him,
“Don’t take it personally. There are still plenty of places I can send it to, I
just started with the biggest. They were always as likely to print it as I am
to regrow my missing testicle.”
“Really don’t need to know about your testicles, Coach,” Stiles said, opening
the letter. It was from an economics journal, rejecting his piece. The letter
was polite and utterly impersonal, simply stating that the piece wasn’t suited
to their needs at this time. The last sentence did suggest he try again in the
future with other pieces, so maybe his work wasn’t that bad. Of course, they
could put that in every letter. This thing did read like someone had just
inserted his name into a standard template. There was no indication that they’d
even read his article.
Stiles tried to tell himself that it should just make it easier not to take it
personally. But still it stung. He’d put time and effort, heart and soul into
that article and someone had dismissed it so casually, with a letter so bland
and uncaring. He wondered if they’d even read it. Maybe they’d realised he was
still in high school and dismissed the piece out of hand.
He tried to focus on the lesson, particularly when Coach yelled at him that
lack of focus was only acceptable when he got a college-level paper out of it.
Stiles almost took that as a challenge to start writing another one in the
middle of class, but his recent ideas were more politics and sociology than
economics.
Stiles got through his morning classes and then sat with Scott and Allison at
lunch. He wasn’t sure if sitting with Allison was a good idea, but it was
obvious that nothing he could ever do would make Peter accept him, so he damned
well wasn’t going to avoid his best friend.
“What’s going on with you at FInstock?” Allison asked Stiles.
“I wrote an economics paper he thinks is good enough to get published. He’s
sending it out to some places for me.”
“What’s it about?”
“Economic privilege, particularly how it impacts different races, classes and
stuff like that. There’s a bit in there about werewolf privilege.”
“Is your boyfriend OK with you writing about werewolf privilege?”
Stiles shrugged, “Derek’s fine with it. His uncle still wants to torture me,
but I’ve just about given up on him ever feeling any other way. Plus, the
werewolf thing’s just a tiny bit of that article.”
“That article?” Allison asked, catching the word and Stiles’ inflection. Stiles
decided it didn’t matter what she knew. After all, it wasn’t a big secret that
he was writing this stuff. Satomi knew, and Derek, and his name would be on
anything that got published.
“I’ve written some other pieces about werewolves and the restrictions they face
and stuff like that.”
“Restrictions?” she said. “Like being restricted from going to court if they
commit a crime.”
“Or from getting found not guilty by a jury when they’re being framed,” Stiles
said. That particular example of werewolf privilege was one he’d been thinking
about a lot since his last conversation with Peter.
“What?”
Scott was looking at him curiously. Stiles hadn’t told him yet about Peter’s
threats to frame Derek.
“Let’s say an alpha and a beta are arguing,” Stiles said. “The alpha decides
that the beta needs to be reminded of his place. So he goes to the police and
reports that the beta has committed some crime. People will basically take his
word for it because the alpha is reporting his own beta and why would he lie?
Then the alpha pulls some strings to avoid the trial, and everyone takes that
as proof, because why would the alpha do that unless the beta was guilty? Then
the law puts restrictions on the beta, maybe even confining him to the alpha’s
property with no time frame given for when the restrictions will end. So the
beta is basically imprisoned, with the alpha as jailor, with everyone just
accepting that he’s guilty, and he doesn’t get a trial to prove he’s innocent.”
Allison looked at Stiles for a long moment after his increasingly angry rant.
For a minute, he thought she was actually listening to him.
Then she said, “That scenario’s never going to happen though.”
“It’s what’s happening right now. It’s what Peter is planning to do to Derek.”
Scott and Allison both looked at him in confusion. Stiles stabbed at his lunch,
picturing each piece of food as Peter’s face. He explained briefly about
Peter’s plan to get Derek arrested and subsequently banned from seeing Stiles.
“He does have a point that you having sex with Derek is illegal,” Scott pointed
out. Stiles hit him round the head.
“Are you even listening?” Stiles said. “Derek and I haven’t had sex since Peter
forced us to end the contract. But Peter can say Derek smelled like sex and
people will take that as an eye witness report. Or nose witness, I guess. Peter
can twist the restrictions round to his advantage.”
“Which just proves the point about werewolf privilege,” Allison said. Stiles
wanted to dump his lunch over her head.
“Alpha privilege,” Stiles said. “Alphas have all the power and the privilege.
Everyone else is just screwed over, by the alphas and the humans.”
***
Stiles didn’t think much about his conversation with Allison until a couple of
days later when an older guy cornered him as he was carrying groceries out to
his jeep in front of the store. He gave Stiles a smile and Stiles assumed the
guy wanted help carrying something heavy and couldn’t find an employee. Stiles
smiled back, waiting to see what he wanted.
“Stiles Stilinski, isn’t it?” the man said. And now Stiles was slightly creeped
out by the fact the guy knew his name.
“And you would be?”
“Gerard Argent. You go to school with my granddaughter.”
“Nice to meet you. Excuse me, I’ve got some perishables that should really be
in the fridge and my dad’s expecting me back home soon.” In fact, his dad was
working this weekend which was why Stiles was getting the groceries, but creepy
grandpa didn’t need to know that.
“Allison talked to me about you. She thinks you have some interesting ideas
about werewolf privilege and the restriction laws. I would be keen to hear
them.”
Stiles remembered everything Derek had said about the Argents, about how they
made hating werewolves a family business. Even without factoring Kate in, Derek
had talked about protests and stuff. Stiles suspected this guy was probably
like one of those radical religious types who thought it their duty to try and
convert atheists at every opportunity. He expected Gerard wanted to teach him
the error of his ways and why werewolves deserved every restriction placed on
them and more.
“I’m busy right now,” Stiles said. “You know, homework and stuff waiting for me
back at home.”
He started to walk away.
“I may be able to help you with your problem,” Gerard said.
Stiles paused long enough to throw his arms wide and smile, saying, “Problems?
I don’t have any problems.”
“The entire town knows that you want to be with the wolf and his alpha won’t
let you. I can help you. All I’m asking is a conversation. Surely you’re not
afraid to talk to an old man?”
It was baiting at its crudest. Gerard wanted Stiles to go with him to prove
that he wasn’t afraid. Stiles was not going to fall for it.
Except that Gerard said he could help. Right now, Stiles needed all the help he
could get. It couldn’t hurt to hear what he had to say. After all, Peter
already hated him for talking to Allison so talking to Gerard couldn’t make
things any worse. All he had to do was listen. If Gerard started spouting some
anti-werewolf nonsense, Stiles could always walk away.
“We need to keep it short,” Stiles said. “I really do have to get home.” As an
afterthought, he pulled out his phone. “I should just let my dad know I’ll be a
few minutes late.”
It wasn’t his dad he texted. He typed out a quick message to Derek.
Meeting Gerard Argent. Says he can help us. I’m gonna hear him out just in
case. Try to keep Peter from killing me when he finds out I’ve breathed the
same air as this guy.
He wanted Derek to know he wasn’t siding with his enemies or having secret
meetings, because Peter was bound to find out something like this and probably
try to use it to break the two of them up.
Stiles tucked his phone away.
“OK,” Stiles said. “Talk.”
“This might take more than a minute. There’s a coffee shop around the corner.
Let’s go there. I’ll buy you a drink.”
Stiles knew the coffee shop the guy meant. He hesitated, but only for a moment.
The coffee shop was a public place. This guy couldn’t be planning to do
anything more evil than having a conversation. Besides, he had to be at least
sixty. If he tried anything, Stiles reckoned even he could take the man in a
fight. He shrugged.
“Sure,” he said. “But I meant it about keeping it quick.”
They started to walk across the parking lot. They’d only made it a few metres
when Stiles’ phone buzzed in his pocket, signalling an incoming text. Stiles
pulled it out and saw Derek’s name on the screen.
DO NOT GO ANYWHERE WITH HIM!!!
Stiles heard the click of a safety coming off a gun.
“I hope you’re not going to make this difficult,” Gerard said.
***** Chapter 31 *****
“You have a strange definition of the word ‘talk’,” Stiles complained, as he
stumbled down the last few steps into basement and nearly fell flat on his
face. He turned and glared, adding, “And didn’t your mom ever tell you it’s
mean to shove people?”
“Didn’t your mom ever tell you children should be seen and not heard?” asked
the guy. The Argents had presumably hired him for his muscles, not his charming
personality. He’d been waiting in the van Argent had used to bring him here
after they snatched him at gunpoint from the middle of the store parking lot.
They were now in the basement of an abandoned house. It seemed the Argents were
dumb enough to kidnap the sheriff’s son, but unfortunately they weren’t dumb
enough to take him back to their own property. At least Derek knew who’d taken
him. Hopefully he was right now talking to the sheriff and rounding up the
rescue party. Hopefully.
Stiles looked round at the basement, which was damp and empty, just bare walls
and the steps up to the house. Nothing he could use as a weapon. No windows he
could escape out of.
“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Stiles commented.
Argent’s muscle man pulled out a knife. He smiled at Stiles.
“I think it needs a bit of colour,” he said. “A bit of red on the walls would
brighten it up nicely.”
Stiles blinked and tried not to show he was afraid. He tried to tell himself
that this guy was unlikely to go to all this trouble just to kill him. He
hoped.
“Gotta give you points for creativity on that threat,” Stiles said.
“I got your point right here.” The guy gestured with the knife.
“Yeah, that one’s a bit of a cliché.”
The guy looked increasingly angry as Stiles failed to show the appropriate
level of fear. Maybe Stiles should do that. Maybe he should make a show of
cowering and being scared, to buy himself time for Derek or his dad to find
him. Mouthing off to the heavily armed guys who’d kidnapped him probably wasn’t
the smartest thing he’d ever done.
“Now, now,” said Gerard’s soft voice from the top of the stairs, “we don’t need
to hurt the boy.”
He walked slowly down the steps into the basement. Muscle guy stepped aside to
let Gerard pass. Stiles stood in front of him and folded his arms in front of
his chest, trying to give a glare that Derek would be proud of.
“Maybe you should have thought about that before you kidnapped me.”
“This isn’t a kidnapping. I just thought we should talk somewhere more private.
After all, there are some subjects that shouldn’t be spoken of in a public
place.”
“Subjects like what?” Stiles asked.
“How to kill an alpha werewolf, of course.”
Stiles couldn’t process that for a minute. He stood there, blinking and
confused, certain he must have misheard because what Gerard was suggesting was
utter lunacy.
“Are you crazy?” Stiles asked. “No, scratch that. I don’t need to ask. You’re
definitely crazy because it sounds like you’re suggesting we conspire to kill
Peter.”
“I’m not suggesting we conspire about it,” Gerard said. “I’m suggesting we do
it. I can provide you with the tools and the means, and then you will be free
to do whatever you like with the other wolf.”
“You can’t seriously expect me to murder Peter? Aside from the fact that he’s
bigger, stronger and faster than me, with the super healing and the ability to
sprout claws and fangs, there’s the small fact that you’re asking me to commit
murder.”
“Don’t think of it as murder,” said Gerard. “Think of it as putting down a
rabid dog. Think about much safer the world will be without that animal in it.”
“First, off, he’s not an animal. He’s an evil, sadistic bastard, but that’s
because he’s an evil, sadistic bastard, not because he’s a werewolf. Being a
werewolf doesn’t make it any less murder.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that the world will be a much safer place
with Peter Hale dead. And out of it, you get to put your boyfriend in charge
and be with him the way you want to be. You win on both counts.”
“Aside from the high likelihood of Peter murdering me in the slowest and most
painful way he can manage using nothing but his bare claws.”
“Only if you fail.”
“Yeah, because I’m clearly auditioning for the role of greatest assassin ever
over here. How do you expect me to kill an alpha?”
“I told you, I can provide you with the tools. Weapons laced in wolfsbane. All
you have to do is break the skin, and he will die.”
“Of course, in the immediate aftermath of me breaking his skin with a poisoned
weapon, I’m sure he’d still be able to claw me into a dozen pieces.”
“Some varieties of wolfsbane act more quickly than others. He would be weakened
almost at once. How fast can you run?”
“Not fast enough to try this, even if I was considering it. I mean, just
because I’ve had idle thoughts about how nice it would be if Peter dropped
dead, it doesn’t mean I’d kill him. You need to find yourself another assassin.
Better yet, try it yourself. Hopefully you’ll finish each other off.”
“I would never get close enough. You can.”
“Peter would never let me get close,” Stiles said. But his words nearly
faltered. Because Peter had given him the perfect way to get close. Stiles
could agree to be his companion for a day, and then, when Peter came up to him
to take advantage, he could scratch him with something laced with wolfsbane.
Except Peter might not let him get close. It was entirely possible that Peter
would do something like throw handcuffs at him from a distance and force Stiles
to restrain himself before Peter ever came close enough to be in range. Peter
knew how much Stiles hated him and had decided he was an enemy before any of
this even happened. Peter might be suspicious enough to never give Stiles a
chance, even if Stiles decided to try this. He wasn’t going to try it.
“There are other options,” Gerard said. “A challenge fight within the pack.
Derek has never made a move against Peter, but he could be persuaded. We just
need to give him the right incentive.”
“So you’ll blackmail Derek into killing his uncle by threatening me? I mean,
it’s got better odds of success than sending me after Peter, but you’re
forgetting the fact that Peter is a hell of a lot more powerful than Derek.
Chances are Peter will kill Derek.”
“It’s still worth the attempt. I’ve got nothing to lose.”
Stiles supposed that was true. Gerard was hardly going to mourn if Derek ended
up dead, any more than he’d mourn for Peter.
“Why to do you hate Peter so much? I mean, I get that you’re an anti-werewolf
bigot, but why focus all this on him?”
“He killed my daughter,” Gerard said.
“Would that be Kate? The same person who murdered a whole bunch of his family?
It’s a little hypocritical for you to go all revengy over him going all
revengy, given that she was the one who started all this. If anyone’s the real
monster here, she was.”
Gerard moved fast for an old guy. The back of his fist caught Stiles on the
cheek with enough force to make him stumble sideways. Pain blossomed in the
side of his face.
Before Stiles could think of a good retort, preferably one that wouldn’t end in
another punch, the sound of a gunshot tore through the air.
Somewhere up above, gunfire sounded again and again. Stiles didn’t know if it
was his dad or Derek or someone else, but it was pretty clear that this was the
cavalry. Gerard turned to his hired muscle and sent him up the stairs to help
out whoever was up there fighting. Stiles was left along with the old guy, but
he wasn’t going to try and escape right now. He’d rather stay down here, away
from the bullets.
Naturally, as soon as Stiles had that thought, Gerard pulled out his gun from
somewhere in his jacket and aimed it at Stiles.
“Really?” said Stiles. “This again?”
“You never know when you might need a hostage.”
Overhead, something crashed and someone yelled in pain. There was an animal
snarling noise and then some truly horrible screams that turned to blubbering
noises at the end. Stiles’ eyes were drawn up towards the ceiling and the
source of the sounds. In that instant, Gerard was round behind him. He looped
an arm around Stiles’ neck and put the gun to his head.
If Stiles survived this, he was going to start going to the gym or taking self-
defence classes or something because it was utterly humiliating to be taken
hostage by a pensioner.
There was another crashing noise and suddenly Stiles was being showered with
bits of wood as the basement door shattered inward, taking chunks of doorframe
and bits of wall with it. Stiles got a glimpse of something huge and hairy and
angry leaping down the stairs.
Gerard emptied his clip into the creature’s chest but the thing didn’t even
slow. It shoved Stiles aside with a sweep of a huge arm that sent him
sprawling, and then it had Gerard pinned to the wall, claws at his throat,
holding him off the ground.
It had to be Peter. It was an alpha werewolf and Stiles couldn’t imagine how it
could be anyone else. Peter had come to rescue him. What the hell?
Gerard spoke, his voice choking and weak as it broke through the grip on his
throat.
“You can’t kill me,” he said. “The police will kill you if you do.”
Peter shifted. The fur melted away. His huge alpha form shrank down without
losing a shred of his strength or menacing. His eyes still burned red and his
claws remained extended, pricking through Gerard’s throat.
“You hurt my nephew’s consort,” Peter said. “A consort is part of the pack and
everyone knows that an alpha has no control when someone threatens his pack.”
Peter smiled, mouth full of razor fangs. “No one would ever convict me.”
His claws slashed through Gerard’s throat. Before the old man could even fall,
Peter’s claws were in him again, tearing through his torso, cutting through
skin and muscle into the organs beneath. Blood sprayed everywhere and Stiles
scrambled back along the floor, feeling the need to vomit but unable to look
away from the sight of Peter literally tearing Gerard into chunks.
When Peter stopped, he slowly turned towards Stiles. Stiles was still on the
floor, crouched in a corner of the basement, trying not to breathe too much
because the room stank of blood and death. Peter was splashed with crimson,
naked after his transformation. Most of the blood was probably Gerard’s, and no
doubt some was from the others upstairs, but Stiles could see the bullet wounds
in his chest, and other injuries. He must have taken several direct hits
bursting in here and it hadn’t even slowed him down.
Stiles swallowed nervously. Because Peter had just protected him. After
everything, Peter had just saved him from Gerard, and Stiles needed to know
what that was about because right now it didn’t make the slightest bit of
sense.
“You said I was Derek’s consort,” Stiles said. “Does that mean you’ve changed
your mind about me?”
Peter smiled. There wasn’t a shred of kindness in his expression.
“An alpha can’t just kill people,” he said, “but defending a member of a pack
is seen as an uncontrollable instinct. If it came to a choice between keeping
you out of the pack, and killing that man, even I am willing to be flexible.”
So Peter’s desire to commit murder was stronger than Peter’s hatred of Stiles.
That wasn’t all that comforting. Particularly when Peter bent down over
Gerard’s body and pulled out a long knife. He smiled at Stiles again.
“It’s such a shame I wasn’t here quickly enough to stop them giving you a
mortal wound. I’m sure my nephew will be very upset that I wasn’t able to save
you.”
Peter, knife in hand, stepped towards Stiles.
***** Chapter 32 *****
Stiles scrambled to his feet, but he wasn’t sure what good it did him. Peter
was between him and his way out, still holding the knife. Stiles didn’t have
anything he could use as a weapon. Even with Peter bleeding from multiple
gunshot wounds, Stiles knew there wasn’t a chance in hell of him fighting an
alpha werewolf. So Stiles did the only thing he could do: he talked.
“You don’t have to do this,” Stiles said. “You know I’m not an enemy. You know
I wasn’t working with the Argents. You talked to the waiter at Cora’s birthday,
you know I was telling the truth about hiding during the party. Why do you need
to kill me?”
“You are a catalyst of disruption within the pack. Your presence is interfering
with the smooth running of the pack.”
“You don’t think murdering me might disrupt things? You know Derek will never
forgive you for this.”
“When Derek gets here, he will find me trying to save your life, trying to stop
the bleeding from the injury the hunters dealt you. I will express my sincere
regrets for how I misjudged you, and offer Derek my deep apologies. He will be
hurting, and I will offer him sympathy. He will see how it hurts me that I
couldn’t save you, and he will forgive me for my part in it. Over time, your
loss might bring the pack closer together.”
“You really are a monster, aren’t you?” Stiles said.
Peter smiled. He raised the knife.
There was a blur of movement as someone shot through the broken door and leapt
into the room, not even bothering with the stairs. Stiles barely had time
process what was happening, and then Derek was there, driving his claws into
Peter’s back, snarling as his eyes burned blue.
Peter spun, slashing out with the knife he still held, but Derek didn’t even
seem to notice the wound. He brought his claws up into the movement of Peter’s
turn, slashing claws up through Peter’s chest. Peter started to shift back into
his alpha form, but Derek was quicker, sinking his teeth into Peter’s throat
sending out a spray of blood.
Stiles slid along the wall, eyes locked on the grisly battle. Peter struggled
for a minute, claws tearing at Derek’s flesh, but then he fell still. For a
moment, Derek just stood there, holding Peter up with claws and fangs. Then he
opened his mouth and let Peter fall. He stepped backwards, face covered in
blood, more of it dripping down from his fangs. His eyes met Stiles as they
burned blood red.
Stiles dropped to his knees, stomach finally giving in. He vomited over the
floor, sick splashing against his legs as he knelt. The stench of it didn’t
overcome the smell of the blood. He’d just seen Derek, his Derek, the kind,
gentle man who held him in bed, tearing out someone’s throat with his teeth.
Stiles couldn’t even looked up, he just stared at the puddle of vomit in front
of him, because he didn’t want to see Derek like this. It hurt too much to see
what Peter had forced his caring Derek to do.
“Stiles?” Derek’s voice was soft and gentle. It was the Derek Stiles loved, the
one he wanted to be there. Stiles could close his eyes and hear that voice and
Derek would be as he should be, not covered in blood.
“Stiles, it’s OK. Your dad’s coming. I called him. He’ll be here soon.”
Stiles was shaking. He wanted Derek to put his arms round him. He wanted Derek
to hug him close and tell him everything was going to be alright. But Derek had
blood all over him. If Derek touched him now, the blood would be all over both
of them. Stiles already had enough of Argent’s blood on him. He didn’t need
Peter’s too.
“Stiles, can you hear me?”
Stiles nodded.
“Are you hurt?”
There was a faint throb of pain in his cheek from where Gerard had hit him, but
that was nothing next to all this blood. Derek had come before Peter could do
anything. Stiles shook his head.
There were sirens somewhere up above. There were footsteps on the stairs.
“Stiles?” his dad’s voice this time.
“I think he’s in shock,” Derek said. “I don’t know...”
He sounded worried. He sounded scared. Stiles wanted to tell him it was OK,
that there was nothing to be scared of now. But Stiles couldn’t find the voice
to say it. He couldn’t even look up, because if he looked up, he’d see that
blood. Derek shouldn’t be covered in blood. Derek was soft and kind and sweet.
It wasn’t right that he was drenched in blood.
Something warm draped around Stiles’ shoulders. A jacket. His dad’s jacket.
“Is he... dead?” Stiles’ dad asked. For a moment, Stiles thought that was a
stupid question, that his dad was asking about him. Of course he wasn’t dead.
But then even his sluggish thoughts got into gear and he realised his dad was
asking about Peter.
“Not quite,” Derek answered. “I took him to the point of death, enough to take
his power, but there’s a chance he might heal.”
He said it like he didn’t even care either way. Derek didn’t care if he’d
killed Peter. That wasn’t right either. Derek wasn’t a killer. He wasn’t a
monster like Peter. It wasn’t right that Peter had made him into a killer.
Derek might not care if Peter was dead, but Stiles did. He wanted Peter to
live. He wanted Peter to live so Stiles could kill him himself. After all he’d
said to Gerard about not being a murderer, Stiles knew he’d be happy to make an
exception now. He would gladly kill Peter for turning Derek into someone who
could kill.
“Stiles, time to get out of here,” his dad said softly. “Can you stand?”
His dad’s hands were on him, helping him up. Stiles stumbled upwards, noting
absently that he stood in the vomit puddle. Not that it mattered. There was
already blood on his shoes. He wasn’t sure if it was Gerard’s or Peter’s. It
probably didn’t matter.
“Let’s get you some fresh air,” his dad said, guiding him to the stairs. “Then
we’ll get you home and get you cleaned up. OK?”
Stiles managed to nod.
***
A while later, after an all clear from an EMT, clean and dressed in warm
clothes and full of hot soup, Stiles gave his statement, sitting at the table
in his dining room. His dad wrote everything down like a sheriff should, asking
questions and taking careful note of his answers. Stiles explained about Gerard
approaching him, about being forced into the van at gunpoint, about Gerard’s
plans, and his death. He explained what Peter had planned, and how Derek must
have heard it as he got close, because Derek just tore into Peter and left him,
if not dead then pretty damn close.
“Is Peter dead?” Stiles asked, when he’d finished.
“No. Derek didn’t quite kill him and now Peter’s healing has kicked in. He’ll
live, but he won’t be an alpha anymore.”
“So what will happen to him?”
“That depends on Derek. Peter is now Derek’s beta. If Derek chooses, he can get
Peter released to his custody and then it’s up to Derek what his punishment
would be. Or Derek can choose to let Peter be prosecuted by human law. Peter
will be tried for murder.”
If this went to trial, Stiles would probably have to testify. He would have to
stand up in front of a jury and explain what had happened and why Peter had
wanted to kill him. He really didn’t want to have to do that. But he didn’t
want the alternative either. If Derek took custody of Peter, Derek would punish
him. Stiles had seen the hate burning Derek’s eyes when he’d fought Peter.
Derek would put that hate to use and make Peter pay for everything he’d ever
done, and maybe there was justice in that. But that look of hate wasn’t what
Stiles wanted to see on Derek’s face. That wasn’t the Derek he loved. Punishing
Peter, no matter how justified, would make Derek less and less of the gentle
man Stiles had fallen in love with.
“I should go see Derek,” Stiles said.
“You’re in no condition to drive,” his dad said. “Besides, your jeep’s still at
the store. If you want to see Derek, he has to come here.”
Stiles wondered if there was more to it than that. Maybe his dad didn’t want
Stiles leaving the house after what had almost happened. Maybe his dad didn’t
trust Derek even now, and he was worried about letting Stiles walk into his
house now that Derek was an alpha with all the authority that meant. Maybe it
was all of that and more.
Stiles nodded and reached for his phone.
The phone he didn’t have anymore because Gerard and his hunters had taken it
from him.
He didn’t actually know Derek’s number because he’d always used it from the
phone’s memory. That meant he couldn’t even borrow his dad’s phone to call him.
“Stiles?” his dad said, voice still soft and gentle, like even a harsh word
might shatter him. “What’s wrong?”
“They took my phone.”
“It’s probably in evidence,” his dad said. “I’ve got to go into the station and
see how Peter’s interrogation is going. I’ll see if we can get the phone
released. It shouldn’t be important to the case considering everything else.”
Stiles probably should have just nodded agreement to that, but the thought of
Peter sitting in an interrogation room in the station stirred something in him.
It felt like his emotions were waking up. They’d shut down sometime during
Derek’s fight with Peter but now they rose inside him. Anger and hate and
disgust, all the things he felt for Peter, but fear too. Not fear of what Peter
would do to him, but fear of how Peter might change Derek.
“I want to go with you,” Stiles said. His dad started to agree, but then Stiles
added, “I want to see Peter.”
“What? No.”
“I need to see him,” Stiles said. “In chains. I need to see him locked in a
cell.”
“Stiles...”
“I need this.”
“OK.”
So Stiles rode with his dad back to the sheriff’s station. He tugged his hoody
around him, trying to feel warm, trying to feel the softness of the fabric
instead of the memory of the blood sticky on his skin. He’d washed it all off
but he still felt it there. He barely spoke a word through the drive, just felt
his dad’s eyes flick over to him, filled with concern.
“You can always change your mind,” his dad said.
“I need to do this.”
“I’ll come with you.”
“No. I need to do this. Just me.”
“You don’t have to be in the same room as him. He’s in one of the interrogation
rooms. You can look in from the observation room.”
Stiles nodded. That was all he needed.
Inside, his dad showed him through and let him into the room that stood next to
the brightly lit interrogation room, separated only by a large window of
heavily reflective glass. In the darkened observation room, Stiles could see
through easily. Peter sat at a metal table, heavy cuffs around his wrists
locked to the table. There were more chains underneath the table, around his
wrists. A metal collar was fixed to the wall by a sturdy chain. Stiles
remembered the chains in Derek’s chest, how he’d said they were strong enough
to hold an adult werewolf. Peter was secure.
“You know I’m here,” Stiles said quietly. “I know you know. I know you can hear
me. Derek took your power but he didn’t take your senses.”
Peter looked up towards the glass. Even with the reflections between them, his
eyes met Stiles’. Stiles smiled at him.
“I don’t know what Derek plans to do,” Stiles said. “Whether he’ll leave you
for the courts to try for murder and attempted murder. Or if he’ll get them to
hand you over to him. All I know is that if you ever get out of here, you’ll
leave. You’ll leave the pack and become an omega. You’ll leave Beacon Hills and
never come back.”
Peter’s smile grew on his lips.
“Why would I do that?” he asked.
Not long ago, that expression would have filled Stiles with terror, but he
didn’t feel it now. It wasn’t the chains around Peter’s wrists that kept it
away. Maybe the terror had been washed away by the blood, down in that basement
room. All Stiles knew was that he’d seen how far Derek was willing to go. He’d
seen Derek willing to kill, and he knew Peter would push him to that again.
When Stiles spoke, it was with absolute sincerity.
“If you don’t, I will kill you,” Stiles said. “I will find a knife, like the
one you planned to use on me, and I will slice you open. I will get the
wolfsbane and mountain ash that the Argents wanted me to use, and I will put it
in your guts. And then I will stitch the wounds closed, with all that poison
inside you.”
“You really think you could kill me?” Peter seemed amused.
“I really do.”
“I heard you with Argent. You told him you weren’t a killer.”
Stiles had to wonder how long Peter had been listening. Had Peter been
following him? Had he seen Stiles taken and followed to hear what might happen
next? Stiles couldn’t believe that Derek would have called Peter for help, so
this was the only explanation. The sick fear he should have felt about Peter
stalking him just wasn’t there anymore. Stiles wondered if something had
snapped inside him when he’d witnessed the fight. Maybe he was broken, to be
able to not feel like this.
“I wasn’t willing to kill to be with Derek,” Stiles said. “But there is
something I am willing to kill for. I will kill you to keep Derek from having
to do it. I know you’ll want revenge or want your alpha power back or something
and you’ll push and Derek and he’ll be forced to do this again. I don’t want
that. I will kill to keep him from being a killer.”
There was something in Peter’s expression then, something Stiles had never
witnessed there before. He looked at him, almost impressed.
“Perhaps I was wrong about you,” Peter said.
“Now you say that?”
After all the effort Stiles had put into trying to change Peter’s mind about
him, he wanted to leap through the glass and punch him for changing his mind
only now.
But the door to the observation room opened and then his dad was there. Stiles
turned away from Peter and walked out.
“Did you get what you needed?” Stiles’ dad asked.
“Yeah. I think so.”
“I’ve not got your phone back yet, but I’ve got something else.”
He ushered Stiles into his office. Derek stood there in front of the desk. He’d
cleaned the blood off him and changed his clothes and he looked the same as
ever, except for the look of fear in his eyes. Stiles wondered for a moment why
Derek was still afraid; Stiles was safe now, the hunters were dead, and Peter
was locked up. Then Stiles realised: Derek was scared of him. Scared of his
reaction. Back in the basement, Stiles had pulled away from Derek and refused
to look at him. Derek was scared of how Stiles would react to him now.
Stiles hurried across the room. He put his arms around Derek and pressed a kiss
to his lips.
“I love you,” Stiles said.
Derek’s arms pulled him into a tight hug.
“I love you,” Derek said. “I thought I’d lost you. I love you.”
***** Chapter 33 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Stiles drove his jeep out towards the big house in the woods, telling himself
that everything would be great now. Everything would be better. Peter was gone
and now they could actually do what they wanted together. He could be with
Derek and be happy.
Except, his insecurities whispered away in his mind. Derek could have
absolutely anyone on the planet now, as long as they were willing to sign a
form. He could go back to his BDSM clubs and pick up experienced subs. He could
write his own contracts and not have to get them approved by anyone else. He
didn’t have to settle for Stiles. His rational mind tried to dismiss those
fears, tried to remember all the things Derek had done or said over the past
few weeks, but the fears refused to leave.
When he parked up in front of the big house, he expected Derek to come and meet
him at the door, like he had almost every other time Stiles had visited. But he
didn’t. Stiles hopped out of the jeep and walked up to the door, still waiting
for Derek to arrive. What if Derek wasn’t interested anymore? What if he wanted
more than Stiles now that he was an alpha with all the privilege that implied?
Stiles hesitated at the door, knocking lightly. He couldn’t just walk in there
uninvited. It didn’t matter that he’d been here so many times before, he needed
someone to let him in. So he waited, fidgeting with his bracelet, afraid that
whoever opened the door would send him packing again.
When the door opened, it was Malia on the other side. She let Stiles in without
a word. There was a sulky expression on her face but Stiles really shouldn’t
have been surprised about that. Her father was locked up, waiting to be tried
for murder, and the guy who’d nearly killed him was now in charge of her. A
little sulking was probably justified. Whatever else Peter might have been, he
was still her dad. And now he was out of the pack. Derek had officially stated
he wouldn’t be supporting Peter in any way, not claiming pack protection for
him, and not even helping to pay for a lawyer.
“Are you OK?” Stiles asked.
She gave him a withering look.
“Sorry,” Stiles said. “Dumb question.”
“Come on. Maybe Derek will stop torturing us with paperwork now you’re here.”
She led him to the study. Peter’s study. Now Derek’s study, like everything
here was no Derek’s. The whole pack were there and it seemed Malia hadn’t been
kidding about the paperwork. Everyone was filling out forms, with Derek
checking them over and signing in the right places. There was a woman in a
smart suit watching over the whole procedure, adding official stamps or
witnessing some of the more crucial signatures.
Derek looked up from his forms and flashed Stiles a smile, but he didn’t move
to greet him. He just kept going through the stack of papers in front of him.
“I had no idea becoming an alpha involved so much paperwork,” Stiles commented.
“Everything Peter owned is now mine,” Derek said, “and he owned a lot of stuff.
All the deeds and papers and everything need to be changed to be in my name.
All the services need to be changed to bill me instead of him.”
“And everyone needs to be in on this?”
“No,” Cora said. “Derek’s just trying to get rid of us.”
“For the last time, I’m not trying to get rid of you. I just want you all to
have options.”
Cora rolled her eyes and got on with filling out a form. There wasn’t enough
space at the desk, so she was leaning again a bit of shelf she’d cleared some
books from. Erica was currently using Boyd’s back as her table.
“I’m confused,” Stiles said.
The woman in the suit gave a professional smile and said, “Mr Hale is
reallocating some of his assets to create trusts for each member of his pack.
Should they wish to leave his pack, those funds in those trusts would become
theirs.”
Stiles knew how big a deal this was. He’d spent so much time researching
werewolves lately that he knew how utterly screwed omegas were. When they left
a pack, they had literally nothing. Derek was giving them a safety net. If they
walked away from him, they would have enough money to survive for a little
while until they figured something out. It probably said a lot about how Derek
had felt as Peter’s beta that his first act as alpha was to make sure his betas
never felt trapped with him.
But there was probably more to it than that. Stiles suspected Derek wanted
reassurance. He wanted to know that the members of his pack stayed with him
because they wanted to, because they felt this was their home, rather than
because they felt they had no choice. Derek wanted to give them that choice so
that they’d choose him. It was just the same as in the bedroom. Derek would
happily take charge and take care of his betas, but he only wanted those who
wanted him.
“I should write about this,” Stiles said. “It would highlight the fact that
this is unusual and how betas usually don’t get anything of their own. Maybe it
will convince some of the other alphas to do the same. I’m sure we could get
Satomi to do something like this for her betas.”
“I’m surprised you still like her,” Cora commented. “It was announced yesterday
she’s taking Trevor into her pack.”
“That’s good news,” Stiles said. “He gets what he needs and he’s in a different
pack so I never have to deal with him. I’ve no problem with that.”
Some of the others looked at him with confusion or doubt, so Stiles changed the
subject back to what a good article subject this would all be. It was economic
in nature too, so he could probably get another paper to Coach to help publish.
“Are you planning on writing about every aspect of our lives?” Isaac asked.
“Pretty much. I might keep some of the stuff Derek and I do in the bedroom to
myself, though I’m sure there are some websites that would be interested.”
Derek gave a low growl. Stiles took that as a sign that exhibitionism wasn’t
his kink. Stiles bit down a laugh.
“So,” said Stiles, “is there any paperwork for me to do?”
Derek shifted in his seat. Almost like his pants were too tight or something.
“When we’re done with the finances,” Derek said.
It didn’t take too long for them to finish. Stiles grabbed a random book off
the shelves and sat in an armchair to wait, reading about the history of
lacemaking and wondering if Peter had a reason for owning this book or if he
just bought it because it was an old hardback that looked impressive on his
shelves. Stiles knew more about tatting and bobbins than he ever needed to by
the time the suit lady had collected all the financial paperwork and Cora was
showing her out. Stiles slid the book back into its place as the pack dispersed
into the house.
Then there was just him and Derek. Derek stood up from behind the desk, crossed
the room, and kissed Stiles like he never wanted to stop. His hands were in
Stiles’ hair, running up his back, cupping his ass, pulling him in close, as
though this kiss could melt them together into one.
When they finished, Stiles’ lips felt like they were tingling, like he would
spend the rest of his life feeling the echoes of that kiss.
“Wow,” Stiles muttered.
“We need to talk,” Derek said.
“Seriously? You’re going to follow up a kiss like that with ‘we need to talk’.
And that’s a terrible phrase. Do you not know all the connotations of that
phrase? It’s basically code for ‘I’m going to dump you now’ which I really hope
isn’t going to happen because otherwise that kiss was seriously mixed signals
and we-“
Derek kissed him again. This one was much shorter, clearly intended to shut
Stiles up more than anything else.
“We need to sort out what we are,” Derek said.
“Boyfriends,” Stiles said. “And I’m hoping you’ve got another contract
somewhere in your mass of paperwork that means we’ll be boyfriends who can
legally have sex as soon as we’ve signed them.”
“Yes, but which contract? Technically a werewolf can only take a consort once
and it must be with a virgin, but I’ve talked to a couple of people and we can
probably get away with renewing the consort contract since you were my consort
and you’ve not had sex with anyone but me. That would make you an honorary
member of the pack. Or you could be more casual and go for a companion
contract. We’d still get to do everything we want to do, but I wouldn’t have
any authority over you as far as pack law is concerned. I’d be your boyfriend
but not your alpha. You wouldn’t be in the pack. We could always make you part
of the pack later if you wanted with a partnership contract so it’s not like it
would be the end of the world if you chose not to be pack now, because you
could become pack later.”
“Partnership contract?” Stiles asked, cutting off Derek’s flow of words.
“Satomi mentioned that but I’ve never heard of it.”
“It’s rare,” Derek said. “Usually, when a human and a werewolf get serious, the
human eventually takes the bite and joins the pack that way. A partnership
contract is basically as close as a human and a werewolf can get to being
married. The human is officially part of the pack with all the rights of a full
beta, but they stay human. It’s way too early to be thinking about something
like that for us; we’ve only been together a few weeks.”
Stiles swallowed nervously at the implications of what Derek was saying. A
partnership contract was way too big and way too soon. But it hung there as a
possibility. Derek had said it was too early, not that it was something that
could never happen. It was too soon to think about forever, but it was clear
that Derek had thought about it nonetheless. And that was good enough for
Stiles.
“If we renew the consort thing,” Stiles said, “is that going to cause any legal
problems? We’re not going to have someone claim it’s invalid and come and
arrest you?”
“It shouldn’t happen.”
“Then let’s do that. I guess we need to draft up the contract then.”
“I... um... already... I may have drafted up both contracts, just in case.”
He pulled out some paperwork from his desk drawer and held it out for Stiles to
look over. A lot of it was the same as the first contract. The standard clauses
at the start were identical. There were clauses about not being allowed to have
sex with anyone else without both of them agreeing to it. There was the consent
clause, even though Stiles wasn’t sure that was entirely necessary. He couldn’t
believe Derek would ever do anything he didn’t consent to, contract or not.
The clauses involving Peter were gone, but Derek had left in his silly joke
clauses. He’d also already signed it, so all it took was for Stiles to place in
his signature in the right places. He set the pen down on the desk and only
then noticed the problem. His eyes fell on one clause in particular, and on the
word that was missing.
“No,” Stiles said.
“No?”
“Oh no, no, no.”
“Stiles, what’s wrong?”
“It’s missing. The hypothetical. It’s missing.”
Derek put his hands on Stiles’ shoulders to hold him still while Stiles started
to panic.
“Stiles, take a breath and tell me what’s wrong.”
“The contract isn’t valid. The hypothetical is missing from the dragon clause.
Now you have to give me a dragon or the contract isn’t valid because it’s
talking about literal dragons instead of hypothetical ones.”
“Stiles, it’s OK.”
“No, it’s not. Because the contract isn’t valid unless you give me a dragon and
you’ve already said that’s impossible.”
“Not quite impossible,” Derek said. He was smiling. There was something teasing
about his expression and he didn’t seem at all concerned about the fact that
he’d just signed a contract that couldn’t possibly count.
“You got me a dragon?” Stiles asked. Derek smiled again. He caught Stiles by
the hand and led him from the study.
In a small sitting room, a large glass tank had been set up. Lying on a bit of
broken log under a basking light in the middle of the tank was a lizard about
as long as Stiles’ forearm. It looked calmly out at them as they approached.
“This is a bearded dragon,” Derek said. “His name’s Balerion.”
“Oh please, he does not look like a black dread,” Stiles said. The lizard was
too placid to name after the fiercest dragon in Westeros. “He’s more of a
Mushu.”
Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist from behind, smiling down at the
tank and the lizard within.
“We can argue baby names later,” Derek said. “Right now, since I’ve convinced
you the contract is valid, I’d have thought you might have other things on your
mind.”
Stiles grinned.
“I guess we could,” he deadpanned. “If you’re so keen.”
Derek kissed the side of Stiles’ neck until he shuddered.
“What do you want to do?” Derek asked. “Anything you want.”
“Anything?” Stiles asked, suddenly nervous.
“I’m sure I can handle anything you might want,” Derek said, “but if not,
that’s why safewords were invented. What do you want to try?”
“I want to fuck you,” Stiles said, the words leaving his mouth in a rush
because if he hesitated he might rethink this idea. Derek was an alpha now, and
he’d always been the one dominating in the bedroom. He’d said it himself that
he need to be in control. He probably didn’t want Stiles to be the one on top.
But Derek just kissed Stiles’ neck again and said, “OK.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You’ll need to start slow though. It’s been a long while since I had
anything inside me.”
“But you’re OK with me doing that?” Stiles asked.
“Yes,” said Derek. “I trust you.”
And those three words seemed to mean more than all the declarations of love in
the world.
Chapter End Notes
     The final chapter will be just a sexy times epilogue, so I wanted to
     say now thanks for sticking with this story. Hopefully it's been as
     fun for you guys as it has been for me.
     I think I am going to go back to not-completely-evil Peter for my
     next fic though. Keep an eye out for Don't Savage The Messenger while
     I'm sure I'll start posting soon.
     In the meantime, I'm still running my_giveaway_over_on_Tumblr if you
     want a chance to win one of my books and some other goodies.
***** Chapter 34 *****
Chapter Notes
     Final chapter with some consensual sexy times.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Back in Derek’s bedroom, Stiles felt more nervous than he had done for a long
while. He couldn’t doubt what a significant moment this was for Derek. Derek
was the one who liked to be in control, who needed control, but he was letting
Stiles call the shots right now. The fact that Derek was physically so much
stronger than Stiles didn’t diminish the importance of what Derek was offering.
“Do you need a safeword?” Stiles asked, as they stood fully clothed beside
Derek’s bed. He wasn’t sure what he expected. Maybe for Derek to say it wasn’t
necessary or to point out that Derek now had alpha strength so Stiles couldn’t
exactly force him to do anything.
Instead, Derek simply said, “Passport.”
“Passport?”
Derek nodded. “Passport.”
“Makes as much sense as my safeword,” Stiles said. “You want to get out of
something, so you use your passport.”
Derek rolled his eyes, but he leaned in to give Stiles a quick kiss.
“I love you,” Derek said. “Just... take things slow.”
Stiles suspected Derek was as nervous as he was. It wasn’t like they were
planning on using restraints or whips or any of the stuff in Derek’s chest, but
still Stiles felt like Derek was putting him in control and he couldn’t ever
doubt how big of a deal that was for Derek after all he’d been through.
“Usually rules apply,” Stiles said. “You can tell me to stop or slow down or
whatever at any time. And if you change your mind and decide you want to be on
top after all, I have no complaints about that.”
Derek’s lips quirked up in a smile, “Is this what it’s like for you when I keep
checking you’re alright?”
“I’d have to check about ten more times for it to be equivalent.”
Derek kissed Stiles lightly, just a soft brushing of their lips while he
reached up to cup the back of Stiles’ neck. It was gentle and tender, more
reassurance than building to whatever might follow.
“I trust you,” Derek said.
They started slow. Stiles decorated Derek’s face and neck with light kisses.
They held each other, soft touches brushing over skin. When they undressed, it
was a slow stripping between caresses, shedding clothes as they kissed.
It was Stiles who guided Derek to the bed. It was Derek who lay back on the
mattress, Stiles kneeling astride him, continuing the kisses, stroking his
hands up the muscles of Derek’s stomach and chest. Derek’s hands were in
Stiles’ hair and on his neck, but it was Stiles who was choreographing this
dance.
It was Stiles who told Derek to roll over. Stiles who opened up the tube of
lube from the bedside table and slicked up a finger. He ran that finger over
Derek’s asshole for a moment, circling the ring of muscle, waiting in case
Derek changed his mind. Then he eased it slowly inside. Derek gave a faint
grunt as Stiles worked the finger in up to the knuckle, muscle tight and tense
around his intruding digit. He remembered the times Derek had done this for him
and attempted to imitate, slowly stretching the hole, opening Derek up in
preparation.
He took his time, as promised, working with one finger to open Derek up before
he even considered sliding a second in to join it. He took his time,
remembering being on the receiving end, exploring inside Derek with those
fingers until his found that golden point.
Derek grunted when Stiles found his prostate, rutting slightly against the
mattress. Stiles knew how good that could feel and so he made a point of
finding Derek’s prostate again and again.
“You keep that up,” Derek said, “I’m gonna come before you’re even inside me.”
“Then I’ll have to fuck you so long that you’ll recover and come all over
again,” Stiles said. But he eased up a bit on the prostate anyway, focusing on
stretching Derek, preparing him. He wanted to be inside Derek when he came.
While he was working his third finger inside, Stiles wondered who else had had
Derek like this, open and vulnerable beneath them. Derek had said he hadn’t had
someone inside him for a long while, but he hadn’t given details. Had it been
someone at the clubs? Derek was stretched out naked beneath Stiles but Stiles
couldn’t keep his mind on the present. He had to wonder if someone in Derek’s
past had had Derek like this, and used him in such a way that Derek felt he
needed to be the one on top most of the time. Stiles knew he had to make this
good for Derek. He had to make sure that Derek was happy.
While he stretched Derek, using generous amounts of lube, Stiles used his other
hand to rub gentle circles in the small of Derek’s back, murmuring words of
love.
Stiles slid his fingers out and Derek shifted beneath him, twisting. Stiles had
been sitting astride Derek’s legs and now he raised himself up so Derek wasn’t
pinned. Derek turned onto his back, pulling his legs out from under Stiles.
Stiles wondered if he’d done something wrong, if Derek had changed his mind.
“I need to see your face,” Derek said. He lifted his legs up, hooking his hands
under his knees as he bent himself to give Stiles access to his ass.
Stiles’ erection had softened a little while all his attention had been on
Derek but now, seeing Derek just present his ass like that was enough to get
him hard again. Derek wanted to see his face while Stiles took him for the
first time, and that was beautiful.
Stiles stroked himself to hardness as he applied lube and then positioned
himself so he could slide inside Derek’s waiting hole.
Despite his earlier efforts, it was tight and hot around him. He gave a little
moan as he eased himself in, remembering all of Derek’s warnings to take things
slow. He thrust as slowly as he could bare, feeling that beautiful pressure
around his cock and wanted to just thrust hard and fast until he came. He got
into a slow rhythm, watching Derek’s face, watching the way his mouth fell open
a little at the movements, watching the way his lips twitched into a little
smile at the corners.
Derek’s eyes locked onto Stiles’. They watched each other as Stiles found his
rhythm and kept it, as Stiles slowly increased the tempo. The sensations around
his cock were drawing him closer and close to the edge, but Stiles’ attention
was on the expression on Derek’s face, and the way Derek was looking right back
at him.
It was Derek who came first, body shuddering with the orgasm, cum splattering
up his stomach and chest. His reaction, the way his body moved, the way his
eyes fell shut and his mouth opened in a moan, was enough to send Stiles
following.
Stiles slid out and figured it was his turn to get the washcloth from the
bathroom and clean the sticky mess from their skin, but Derek caught his hand
and pulled him down onto the mattress beside him.
“I want to smell like us,” Derek said.
“OK,” Stiles said. He shifted and moved to lie beside Derek, feeling the ache
in his legs from what had just happened.
“Not the most comfortable position,” Stiles said, “but worth it. Definitely
worth it.”
Derek reached out, brushing fingers against Stiles’ cheek.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you,” Stiles murmured back.
It was soft and sweet and beautiful and for once it wasn’t Stiles who spoiled
the tone.
Derek said, “And we can’t name our dragon after a Disney character.”
Chapter End Notes
     I hope you've enjoyed this fic. Thank you to everyone who's left
     comments on it (always appreciated).
     I'm sure I'll be posting my next story soon.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
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