
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/659468.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Original_Non-Human_Character(s), The_Alpha
      Pack_-_Character, Original_Characters, Alan_Deaton, Sheriff_Stilinski,
      Lydia_Martin, Jackson_Whittemore, Erica_Reyes, Vernon_Boyd, Isaac_Lahey,
      Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Dragons, Symbiotic_Relationship, Tattoos, First_Time, Magical_Stiles
      Stilinski, Secret_Societies, Canon-Typical_Violence, Mythical_Beings_&
      Creatures, babelfish_latin, Cuddling_&_Snuggling, Minor_Character_Death,
      Blow_Jobs, Barebacking
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-28 Words: 25419
****** Stiles Stilinski and the Societas Draconistrarum ******
by Green
Summary
     Stiles becomes a Host for a dragon symbiote under difficult
     circumstances, then has to learn to live with her in his head.
     Meanwhile, there's a secret society after him at the same time the
     Alpha pack threatens everyone in town.
Notes
     This fic would be wretched without mific and majoline. They are the
     best betas ever.
“And the funny thing about it is that the Alpha pack is probably hanging out in
the warehouse district,” Stiles says, looking intently at the symbols Deaton is
drawing in the weird blue dust.
Deaton looks up with a frown. “Why is that funny?”
“Oh, c’mon,” Stiles says, grinning. “Were-house?”
“You’ve been Googling werewolf jokes again, I see,” Deaton says. He doesn’t
sound happy about it.
Stiles shrugs. Behind him, a cat mewls pitifully and he turns to look at it.
“What’s wrong with her?”
Deaton looks up from the runes. “Matilda has hip dysplasia. Scott’s been taking
her pain, but there’s no real cure.”
Matilda looks back at them with pain-filled eyes and Stiles feels something in
his gut turn over. “Why don’t you heal her with magic?”
“Have you been listening to anything I’ve been teaching you?” Deaton asks,
sounding exasperated.
Stiles sighs. He’s heard the lecture. It just doesn’t make sense. “If magic is
so dangerous, why are you teaching me, again?”
“The things I’m teaching you are benign. White magic,” Deaton explains.
“And healing is, what, Dark magic?” Stiles asks with a disbelieving scoff.
“That makes no sense.”
“Magic requires sacrifice. The magic I’ve taught you so far only asks for your
belief. Bigger things require bigger sacrifices,” Deaton says.
“Like ritual slaying of humans kind of sacrifices?” Stiles asks jokingly. Only
Deaton isn’t laughing.
“Sometimes, in extreme cases. Life essence sacrifice isn’t necessary if you
have inherent magic to put into your spell, but you don’t have that.”
Stiles has so many questions, so much to learn, but before he can put his
curiosity into words, he’s interrupted by someone clearing her throat.
Stiles jumps and even Deaton looks startled. Stiles’s first thought is that
their visitor is a werewolf, because she’s stealthy. Maybe she’s even one of
the Alpha pack. Stiles knows Deaton has taken precautions against violence in
his clinic, but if Stiles has learned anything it’s to prepare for the worst.
“Jen?” Deaton says cautiously.
The maybe-werewolf woman acknowledges him with a nod, but her sharp eyes are on
Stiles. “Your new apprentice is young.”
“But wiry. Tough. Stringy. Not good to eat,” Stiles says because Jen indeed
looks like she’s sizing him up for dinnertime.
Jen smiles, but it’s not wolfy like Stiles is used to. Actually, now that he’s
really looking at her, she seems a little too pale and there’s a light sheen of
sweat on her forehead like she’s sick. She has dark circles under her eyes,
too, and while she’s probably around his dad’s age, her eyes look much older.
“Sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I don’t scare easily. I was just concerned,” Stiles says blithely. Deaton
hasn’t said anything yet and he isn’t reacting to Jen like she’s a threat, so
it’s easy to feign relaxation he doesn’t actually feel.
“Right,” Jen says, and Stiles gets the idea she’s laughing at him.
“What brings you to Beacon Hills?” Deaton asks.
Jen looks at Stiles and frowns. “Maybe we should speak in private.”
Stiles sighs. “I need to get home to make dinner for Dad anyway,” he says,
wondering if he can sneak back in to eavesdrop on the conversation.
Deaton gives him a knowing — disapproving — look. “Go home, Stiles. Practice
your runes on paper and I’ll see you soon.”
“See you around, Stiles,” Jen says, and Stiles gets the idea she’s not just
saying it to be friendly.
Stiles grabs his bag and walks to the door. Something makes him turn around to
look at Jen once more before he leaves, and the sight of her back takes his
breath. She’s wearing a halter top that bares a beautiful dragon tattoo. It’s
black and red and it seems to ripple under her skin as she looks at him over
her shoulder. It looks almost alive. Stiles stumbles, his feet just as
uncooperative as usual.
Jen laughs. Even Deaton looks amused.
“Nice, um, tattoo,” Stiles mutters, blushing hotly at his clumsiness. Then he
beats a hasty retreat.
===============================================================================
Stiles tries the were-house joke again at the next pack meeting, but no one
appreciates his humor. It’s sad, really. The Alpha pack threat is looming like
a big scary looming thing, and Stiles hates the way Derek’s wolves are tense
and snappish. Especially Boyd and Erica, the only ones who’ve had direct
contact with the Alphas.
“No one goes anywhere without someone else from the pack,” Derek is saying.
Scott rolls his eyes. “The buddy system? Really?” He’s been shooting down every
single idea and pronouncement Derek has come up with for a week now, since he
said he’d join Derek’s pack. Stiles is a little worried that the magical wolf
pack bonding thing isn’t going to take as long as Scott fights Derek at every
turn.
“Dude!” Stiles whispers loudly, elbowing Scott in the ribs. That used to work
really well, but now all it accomplishes is giving Stiles a sore elbow. Stiles
rubs it ruefully and looks at Derek. “I think it’s a good idea. We don’t know
what the Alpha pack is up to, and we don’t want to be sitting ducks.”
Derek, jerk that he is, doesn’t bother thanking Stiles for his support. He nods
in Stiles’s direction but looks like it hurts him to do so. “I don’t think we
need a formal system, just don’t be stupid enough to go anywhere alone. Got
it?” He looks at his pack like the force of his glare will cow them all into
submission. Maybe it will.
It’s interesting the way the wolves lower their eyes in deference to Derek.
It’s also interesting the way it makes Derek look less like he’s going to kill
something. He doesn’t look pleased, or smug, or ‘muahahaha I make you all bow
to my will!’ at all. He looks relieved as he looks from one to the other. Then
he looks at Scott and growls because of course Scott isn’t doing the submission
thing, he’s just frowning at Derek.
“What, Scott?” Derek bites out.
Scott looks like he wants to argue, but the truth — the truth everyone can see
— is that Derek has the right idea if they want to stay safe. “Nothing,” Scott
finally says, so petulant and pouty that Stiles wants to put him in time out
for his own good.
Derek looks up at the ceiling like he’s about to pray for patience and
strength. Then he looks at Stiles.
Stiles isn’t a wolf and he doesn’t do submission. Well, maybe in some secret
sexual fantasies he does, but in this actual real life situation he just smiles
and nods at Derek to show his understanding.
Derek nods back, then claps his hands together loud enough that everyone jumps
and looks wary. “Training time,” he says. Scott grumbles and Erica looks happy
and Isaac makes a face and Boyd smiles because Erica is smiling and Jackson,
who’s been uncharacteristically quiet for the whole meeting, breaks his silence
with a joyful whoop.
Stiles moves out of the line of fire, not wanting to get brained with a flying
werewolf, and takes Modern Systems of Runic Magic and some paper out of his
bag. He’s hopeless at physical self-defense but he’s got a plan to make a kick-
ass talisman. Unfortunately, after his last talk with Deaton, he’s realized he
needs to make some kind of sacrifice for it to work, because try as he might,
he just doesn’t have enough innate magic to craft the talisman on his own.
Which sucks, really. Deaton says he has creativity and innovation enough to do
great things, but he’s only got a spark of magic and his belief, not an actual
fiery well he can draw from. Deaton thinks it’s just as well, because that kind
of potential can lead to Bad Things. Personally, Stiles thinks he’s strong and
moral enough not to let it corrupt him.
“Drawing runes?” Peter asks, sneaking up on Stiles while he’s thinking like the
creepy creeper he is.
Stiles doesn’t jump or squeak. He doesn’t. He looks at Peter warily and nods.
“Shouldn’t you be helping Derek train the pack?”
Peter looks over at where Derek’s blocking a strike from Boyd before throwing
him into a wall. “Derek has refused my help.”
It makes Stiles want to bang his head on something. Sure, he hates Peter and
thinks he’s bugfuck insane, but if Derek doesn’t let him have a role in the
pack beyond Crazy Uncle We Lock in the Attic (there’s no actual locking up but
the thought is sure to have crossed Derek’s mind), Peter will leave, defect,
and probably betray them horribly along the way.
“Sit down, you’re making me even more nervous than usual,” Stiles mutters,
pointing at the other chair. “Do you know anything about branch runes?”
Peter looks surprised and pleased to be asked, and Stiles wonders if he’s doing
the right thing here. Peter bends over the table, looking at the page Stiles is
turned to, and starts talking about healing runes. They both, after awhile,
come to the conclusion that they’d be safer in the forest, where they could
carve runes in the boughs of the trees.
Unfortunately, the last time Peter checked, there were hunters still camped out
at the Hale house. Stiles says, “I wish there was some way to make them leave.
Maybe we can talk to Allison’s father and get him to do it for us?”
Stiles has forgotten for a moment that anything Argent makes Peter unreasonably
ragey.
“Or maybe we can eviscerate them all and-”
“Peter!” Derek says sharply from across the open space of the station.
Apparently he’s been listening to Stiles and Peter talking. He’s glaring
murderously at them both, and Stiles puts his hands up in surrender.
“I didn’t say it, don’t look at me like that,” he says.
Derek stalks over to where they’re sitting at the makeshift table. Stiles
wishes he could stop staring at Derek, but there was something in the way he
moved, like a predator about to pounce on prey, that was captivating. No, not
captivating at all, what is he thinking? It’s scary and creepy and absolutely
does not make Stiles feel hot all over.
Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles sees Peter giving him an amused smirk.
Shit, he could smell it on him, couldn’t he? Stupid werewolf noses.
“The house is safer than the station?” Derek asks Stiles.
Peter says, “It could be,” right when Stiles blurts out, “That would mean
fixing it up so it’s not a giant, incurable case of lockjaw just waiting to
happen.”
“Werewolves don’t get lockjaw,” Derek says. He’s totally being a smartass.
“Whatever,” Stiles says. “Look, I’ll make you a deal. If you get the house up
to code and actually liveable, Peter and I will do our magic thing and make it
the safest werewolf den in the known universe.”
Peter and Derek are both staring at Stiles like he’s the one who’s lost his
mind. Not to be intimidated (okay, a little bit, but he’s not going to let it
show), Stiles holds his ground and stares right back.
“How are you going to get the hunters out of there?” Derek finally asks.
Stiles pauses, thinking of the problem, weighing the pros and cons of getting
Chris Argent involved. Then it hits him and he smiles.
“I think we’ve been thinking too hard. We’ve overlooked the obvious solution,”
Stiles says smugly. “It’s still your land, right? So … why not get the local
authorities to scare them off? They’re trespassing, squatting, on private
property.”
Peter smiles at Stiles like he’s a dog who’s just learned a new trick. It makes
Stiles uneasy, because would that make Peter the owner, or the dog trainer?
Whatever, Stiles doesn’t want his treats.
Derek nods when Stiles turns his attention away from creepy Peter, and says,
“It won’t get them out of town, but they wouldn’t leave with the Alpha pack
here, anyway.”
It’s a little disappointing that Derek doesn’t acknowledge how awesomely
brilliant Stiles is. Of course, that would probably cause Derek to break
something deep inside his dark, brooding soul. That’s fine, Stiles is confident
enough not to need validation. Even if it would be nice.
===============================================================================
Two days later and Stiles is humming that old Rockwell song under his breath,
because the little hairs on the back of his neck haven’t gone down since he got
home from the pack meeting.
It’s weird, like something is just there and he can see it out of the corner of
his eye, but when he turns there’s no one and nothing there.
After school he texts Derek, u following me around?
He gets an answer almost immediately. no Then, is someone following you?
Stiles gets home and locks the doors and windows, wishing he had some mountain
ash. He texts Derek, maybe
where are you? Derek sends.
home, Stiles sends, and then it dawns on him that he’s not supposed to be
alone. He hadn’t even thought he’d be vulnerable at home. dad at work
go somewhere public until I can send someone to you
Right. Stiles sprints to his Jeep, heart hammering in his chest. His tires
squeal as he drives off, and he viciously hopes it hurts the ears of whatever
stalker is watching him.
Somewhere public. His first thought is the grocery store, so that’s where he
heads. Once he’s there, he gets a cart and starts filling it with delicious yet
nutritious and heart-healthy foods. Lots of veggies and fruits. Lean meats.
Fish.
He’s reading the nutritional information on the side of a box of Cheerios when
he gets the creepy stalked feeling again. He looks up quickly to see Jen the
tattooed woman walking toward him.
“Hello, Stiles,” Jen says, and she looks even more ill than she had at
Deaton’s.
“Uh. Jen, right? Are you okay?” Stiles asks. Her face reminds him sorely of his
own mother’s before she died.
Jen smiles and it’s a familiar and heartbreaking look. “I’m fine.” It’s a brave
front, like his mom used to put up.
“This is going to sound weird, but have you been following me?” Stiles asks. He
figures it’s a rude question if she hasn’t, but if she has it’d be nice to know
so he can stop worrying that it’s the Alpha pack.
“I have,” Jen says. Simple as that. What is with all the creepiness in his life
lately?
“Are you going to tell me why?” Stiles asks. He leans in closer. “What are
you?”
She looks amused. “Yes. And I’m human.”
Stiles waits. And waits. “Well?”
“I didn’t say I’d tell you now,” Jen says. Then she winks and walks away.
Stiles is left looking at her back. She’s wearing a tank top with a racer back
today and her tattoo is peeking out. It looks more faded than it had at
Deaton’s, and it doesn’t appear to move like it did before. Maybe last time was
a fluke or a trick of the light.
His phone buzzes. where are you? Derek.
Oh, right. it’s not the alphas, Stiles sends. I think I’m safe
where are you? Derek asks again, and Stiles can practically hear the frustrated
growl.
store but I dont need a babysitter Stiles huffs and puts his phone away before
pushing his cart to the checkout. The line is long so he takes his phone out
again and plays a game to pass the time.
He’s putting the groceries in his Jeep when Jackson pulls up beside him. He
looks about as thrilled to be there as Stiles is to see him.
“You? Seriously?” Stiles groans.
Derek must hate him.
===============================================================================
School is boring compared to what Stiles deals with out of school. The only
thing that really makes it interesting is the fact that he has more friends
now. Even Lydia talks to him.
“I think I want to start going to your little meetings,” Lydia says at lunch.
She seems to say it to everyone, but it’s Stiles who answers.
“Okay? Sure, why not,” he says, but then the rest of the pack looks like he
just said something spectacularly stupid.
“She’s not pack,” Erica hisses. No one else corrects her on her reasoning.
Stiles blinks. His brain is good at making quick connections, but the
conclusion he comes to is so ridiculous that he needs to ask, “And I am?”
No one says ‘Duh’, but it’s implied by the looks on the faces of everyone at
the table. Even Lydia seems to be on board the ‘Stiles is pack’ train.
He doesn’t want to garner any more of those looks, so he doesn’t point out the
obvious: ‘But I’m human.’ Because apparently it doesn’t matter. He’s a human in
a pack of werewolves. He’s a human in a pack of werewolves. There’s a tight
bubble of hysterical laughter that wants to break free of his chest, but Stiles
is going to just breathe right through it and try not to wonder just what is
his life.
“How do I go about applying for membership in your little club?” Lydia says.
Stiles asks, “But why would you even want to?” He realizes how it sounds
immediately, so he looks around the table and whispers, “No offense or
anything.”
Lydia stares at him. There was a time — okay, no more than a month ago — when
Stiles would be jumping for joy to have Lydia’s focus on him. Now that he’s
been witness to the epic lovefest that is Lydia and Jackson, though, it kinda
seems wrong. Like rooting for your parents to get divorced so you can get two
sets of holiday presents. Not that Lydia and Jackson are anything like his
parents, and not that he’d ever hoped his parents would split up, so, okay,
it’s not a perfect analogy? But it’s similar. Maybe.
“I know something big is coming,” Lydia says slowly. “I want protection.” She
looks at Jackson with a smile and says, “More protection than just my
boyfriend, as awesome as he is.”
Scott nods, like he has any say, and looks ready to welcome her to the pack. As
if it’s that easy. Erica sneers. Stiles wonders if it’s a jealousy thing, like
she’s afraid she’ll lose her token girl place in the pack. Then he mentally
slaps himself because that’s probably sexist to assume. Isaac is poking his
mystery meat, staying out of it completely. Boyd puts his arm around Erica and
says, “You’re going to have to do better than that.” Stiles silently agrees.
But Lydia is brilliant. An absolute genius. He can see the way her eyes shine
that she’s going to figure out some way to be so useful to the pack that
they’ll be begging to let her in.
“I will,” Lydia says confidently, and gets up from the table with her tray.
“Just wait.”
As she walks away, Stiles wonders to himself if she remembers that Peter’s in
the pack, too, and she’d have to deal with him on a regular basis. Somehow, he
doesn’t think she’s thought of that.
===============================================================================
It’s totally ridiculous the shit that happens to Stiles due to the whole ‘wrong
place/wrong time’ thing.
He’s walking out to his Jeep after school after waving goodbye to Scott,
minding his own business, when Jen walks up. Okay, no big deal. She looks like
she has the bubonic plague, even more so than usual, but she’s not exactly a
threat unless she’s contagious.
Actually, it reminds Stiles of the time Derek showed up with wolfsbane
poisoning and proceeded to turn Stiles’s whole life upside down. She looks that
bad. Worse.
“You look like you need a doctor,” Stiles tells her.
“They can’t help me,” Jen says. “But you can.”
Stiles starts shaking his head. “Whoa, no, I can’t even heal an arthritic cat.
Get in the Jeep and I’ll take you to the hospital. They can at least give you
something for the pain.” Because she is in pain, he can tell. She looks so much
like his mom did at the end that he’s having serious grief flashbacks.
Jen reaches out and takes his hand. He feels something tingle up his arm and he
jerks away as quick as he can. “Wait a minute! What the fuck is that?”
“Please, Stiles,” she gasps, looking like she might keel over right then. She
reaches out to him again, and then-
They come out of nowhere. There must be some magic involved, or they’re just
that quick. There’s four of them and they surround Stiles and Jen, eyes
glowing. Werewolves, ones Stiles has never seen before. They must be from the
Alpha pack.
“Grab her,” one of them says.
“What about the kid?” another one asks.
The first one, who looks like a rodeo reject — seriously, he’s wearing a
Stetson, a western style shirt, jeans, and pointy toed cowboy boots — leans in
and sniffs Stiles. “He smells of wolves. Take him, too.”
Just. Fucking. Great.
===============================================================================
He wakes up — because he’s been knocked unconscious, of course he has — in a
damp, moldy-smelling place. It’s dark and cold, like someone left the air
conditioner on high and never thought to turn it back to a reasonable
temperature. He feels the floor with his hand and it comes up muddy.
“Stiles?” Jen’s voice comes to him out of the darkness.
“Yeah,” he says, and winces at the way his head throbs. “Where the hell are
we?”
“It’s a cave,” she says. Her voice is weak and threaded with pain. “I can get
you out, but you have to take my hand.”
“So you can do that weird tingly thing? Um, no.” Stiles huffs and sits up, then
wraps his arms around his knees. He’s cold. He wishes he could see.
“I’m sorry,” Jen says, and she really does sound contrite. She coughs, hacks,
really. It sounds painful. She takes a few audible deep breaths. “I should
explain. I just don’t have a lot of time...”
“What do you mean?” Stiles asks, his voice climbing higher. “Don’t you dare die
right now!”
“I can’t help it,” she says. “We’re fading. It’s time.”
“Okay. Okay,” Stiles says. He scoots toward her voice. He would never leave
someone to die alone. “What do you mean by we?”
She’s quiet until he bumps against her. “You have so much potential,” she says.
“Adelinde will learn to love you.”
“Who? What?” Stiles asks, because Jen is making no sense.
She takes his hand. It starts to tingle. “My dragon.”
“Okay, okay. You are making no sense at all,” Stiles says. He starts to panic
as the tingling sensation crawls up his arm to his shoulder.
“You have such a good heart, Stiles,” Jen whispers, then coughs again. The
tingle is at Stiles’s back, warm pricks now.
“Your tattoo...” Stiles knows it’s important to this somehow.
“You’ll be able to protect the people you love,” she says. “The magic-” She
breaks off and starts to shake just as Stiles feels red-hot needles pierce the
skin of his back.
He feels helpless against the pain, helpless facing Jen’s impending death.
Because this is what’s happening: Jen is giving Stiles something huge, and
she’s dying in order to do it. Or because she’s doing it.
“Oh god. Jen! Hold on!” Stiles is gripping her hand and he can’t see her but he
can feel her shake more violently. It reminds him of Erica’s seizures. He’s so
focused on Jen that he doesn’t realize his own pain is subsiding.
And then she’s still, and for a split second he’s so grateful that she’s passed
out, only that’s not what’s happened and he knows it and fuck, he’s crying. He
didn’t even know her but she’s gone and she gave him something magical — he’s
not sure what, exactly, not yet — and she died because of it.
His back is sore and wet with something that can only be blood, because there’s
no way to sweat in this cave; it’s too cold for that. So he’s crying in the
dark, bloody and probably concussed now that he thinks about it, and he’s got
to get out of there before the Alphas come back and kill him. Because it’s
clear, now, that the thing the Alphas were after had nothing to do with Stiles.
Jen had been their target and Stiles had just been in the wrong place.
Maybe this thing, this dragon tattoo thing (because he’d stake actual money on
there being one on his back now) was what the Alpha pack was after when they’d
been taken. And now Stiles has the tattoo, so it’s only reasonable that they’ll
be after him. He’s not sure if that means he’s more valuable to them alive or
dead.
He’s not sticking around to find out.
“I have to leave you,” Stiles whispers to Jen. He knows it doesn’t matter, that
she’s gone, but it still feels wrong to leave her behind.
He stands up and feels around for the wall. It’s wet and cold and smooth. He
takes a few steps, then realizes he has no idea where to go.
You need light.
Stiles nods, because yes, he needs light, and apparently now he’s hearing
voices. Or rather, a resigned, female voice.
He ignores his mental breakdown and checks his pockets, not expecting to find
anything. They’ve taken his phone, of course. He backtracks and pats down Jen’s
body. Nothing.
He almost physically feels the mental nudge. Magic. Right, magic. In theory, he
could create a small ball of light with a simple spell, except, wait, that
would require something like a scary blood sacrifice.
Unless you have magic now. Yep, he’s hearing something that isn’t there and
it’s freaking him out pretty badly.
“Okay, stop,” Stiles orders his brain. “You are not allowed to have a panic-
induced schizophrenic episode right now. I don’t even think schizophrenia works
that way. We have to get out of this cave and get to Dr. Deaton as soon as
possible, and this whole hearing voices thing doesn’t factor into that plan. At
all.”
That’s definitely an irritated huff he hears before the voice says, I’m
Adelinde. Jennifer mentioned me? I’m — I was her dragon symbiote.
He actually slaps himself in the forehead. Symbiote. He’s got a motherfucking
parasite in his brain. Okay, Deaton will know how to fix this, and if not him,
then Derek, or Peter, or hell even Lydia. Someone.
How endearing, Adelinde says, her voice absolutely dripping with sarcasm. I’ve
never been called a parasite before.
“Stop reading my thoughts! And stop talking so I can think!” He wishes he could
pace but it’s too dark and what he can feel tells him there isn’t much space,
either. His head is throbbing where he’s been knocked out and his shirt is
starting to stick to his back uncomfortably.
What had Adelinde said? He has magic now?
“Well?” he snaps. “Do I or not?”
You told me not to read your thoughts. Also, to shut up. She sounds impossibly
smug and irritating and Stiles decides then and there that he hates her stupid
dragon face. Believe me, the feeling is mutual. Why Jennifer chose you I have
no idea.
Deep, cleansing breaths. “Okay. Look, I’m sorry,” he says, and hopes he’s
sincere enough to be believable. “But I’m guessing if I die, you die?”
Close enough. I have a vested interest in your survival, at least for now.
“Great! That’s really good. For me,” Stiles adds. “So, can you help me get out
of here at all?”
Are you going to listen to me this time?
Stiles is nodding before she’s through. “Yes. Absolutely. Just tell me what to
do.”
I cannot assist directly yet, because Jennifer was ill for so long that it made
me weak. But I can share my magic with you.
“How much magic are we talking, here?” Stiles asks, calculating the sacrifice
he has to give to make light. He can draw a rune in the mud, call forth
candlelight without a candle, if Adelinde has the required magic.
She laughs. Enough. She’s definitely keeping something from him, but Stiles
doesn’t know what it is. Maybe she’s just super powerful, or maybe-
“You’re a dragon. You’re made of magic. Right?”
There’s a pause and Stiles thinks she’s not going to answer. Then she says
grudgingly, You’re not wrong.
Which means... Fuck. It means Stiles might now have an almost endless well to
draw from? The thought makes him breathless and so, so scared.
Don’t get ahead of yourself, little human boy. You can only use what I deem fit
to give you. Right now, that’s enough to light the way out of this cave.
Stiles gets down then, wincing at the squelching sound his knees make in the
mud. He’s going to take the longest shower ever when he gets home. If he gets
home. He can’t see, is the thing, and runes need to be damned near perfect in
order to work. He’s working from memory here, dragging his finger through the
mud and focusing on belief and the spark (which is now much more than a spark).
“Is it right?” Stiles asks.
You’re not entirely incompetent, Adelinde says.
Stiles rolls his eyes and cups his hands, still focused. And then a trickle of
something goes through him from his chest to his arms and into his hands, like
turning on a faucet, and suddenly there is actual light in his hands.
It’s so bright after the blackness of the cave that he has to squint. “Wow.”
Once he gets used to the light, he sees Jen’s body, her hand still
outstretched, her eyes wide and unseeing. Stiles keeps one hand cupping the
light, then goes and closes Jen’s eyelids, because that’s a thing you do,
right? He wishes he had something to cover her with, but he’s not even wearing
a hoodie.
Adelinde is silent, but her grief is sharp.
There’s only one way out of the small chamber he’s in, and Stiles follows a
muddy, winding trail toward a possible exit. “Okay, so, what do we do when we
come across a guard? Because I’m pretty sure we’re guarded here. It would be
stupid to just throw us in a cave where we can find our way out, right?”
Although it’s possible that the werewolves who kidnapped them thought the
darkness would be a good enough deterrent.
If I was stronger, I’d come out and kill them, Adelinde says, and Stiles
doesn’t know for sure what she means by ‘come out’ but he has a pretty good
idea that it would be both badass and gory.
There’s a light up ahead and Stiles closes his palm on his own light, snuffing
it out with his will. He thinks his questions hard because now he’s worried
about being heard with preternatural werewolf ears. I need to sneak by without
him seeing, hearing, or smelling me, he sends to Adelinde, hoping she’ll hear
him this way.
Of course I hear you. I’m sharing your mind, I hear every thought you have,
Adelinde says. Her tone of voice makes Stiles feel stupid, even when she says,
But that’s a good idea. Better than attracting more attention by killing them.
Why does she sound so unpleasantly surprised by Stiles’s ability to come up
with a decent plan?
Stiles takes a few soft steps back so that he’s in the shadows. He knows that
if a werewolf comes within hearing distance, they’ll be able to pick up on how
loudly his heart is hammering. He tries to calm himself, takes deep (but quiet)
breaths. He thinks, I don’t know a spell that will do what we want, though.
There isn’t one that will do all that. We’ll have to devise one of our own.
Stiles’s mouth drops open and he thinks, What? How? What? Because it’s one
thing to inscribe runes and make mountain ash last a little longer than seems
possible and maybe he can make that kickass talisman now, but something like
this is complicated and next to impossible. I don’t even know. I mean. How?
He’s still learning magic and he’s pretty sure that without knowing the subject
by heart — to the point where he can recite magical theory in his sleep — he
won’t be able to do something as complex as making up his own spell.
Stop panicking. You may be a baby wizard but I am a dragon. Ibreathemagic. All
you need to do is listen to my instructions and provide the concentration and
belief. I’ll do the rest.
Right. Okay then.
It takes Adelinde some time to devise the spell, but when she is finished she
pronounces it a perfect camouflage and gets to teaching it to Stiles. It’s
different from what he’s used to in that it doesn’t use runes or powdered
plants or even candles, which Deaton has promised to teach him, starting next
week. This spell relies almost entirely on a sacrifice of magic and Stiles’s
belief. It shouldn’t work. Even Stiles, a ‘baby wizard’, knows that much. But
Adelinde assures him she knows what she’s doing, and really, she’s a dragon.
Who in their right mind would argue with a dragon?
Stiles closes his eyes, concentrates on the well of magic he feels in his gut,
and believes.
He follows the muddy footprints he sees on the floor of the tunnels and makes
his way into the light. Up ahead he sees two werewolves arguing.
“We should kill the kid to send a message to Hale,” one of them says. “He’s
only going to get in the way.”
The other werewolf is the cowboy from the parking lot. He says, “Fine. Go check
on the woman and bring the kid here.”
Stiles knows he doesn’t have much time now. He steps to the side quickly so his
would-be murderer doesn’t walk right into him. His heart is beating rapidly and
he wants to get out of there as soon as possible.
He spies his phone lying on a table in the center of the dimly lit chamber. He
grabs it, making sure the cowboy doesn’t see it disappear. Adelinde mutters
about ‘unimportant belongings’ and ‘unnecessary risk’ but Stiles knows that if
he tries to explain to his dad why he needs yet another phone he’ll be grounded
for weeks.
It’s not much farther to get out of the caves. It’s dark outside and he has no
clue where he is, but he’s free and alive and not even a little bit tortured.
He leans against a tree and sighs with relief.
No time for that. They’ll be noticing you’re gone any moment now, so we’ve got
to get moving, Adelinde says.
“Which way is home, then?” Stiles asks waspishly. “It’s dark and all I can see
are trees.” He feels tired now, like using magic has really taken something out
of him. It shouldn’t have, it’s not his magic, but apparently being a conduit
for someone else’s magic is draining. Who knew?
Focus on your Alpha and I’ll get you to him, Adelinde says.
“Derek? Why can’t I focus on my dad, or Scott?” Stiles asks. He doesn’t usually
whine, but he doesn’t think he’s ever been this tired without staying up for
days.
Because he’s your Alpha.
“I’m human, you know. I don’t have a mystical pack bond,” Stiles points out.
Adelinde is silent for a moment. Then she says, Even with your own limited
magic, you should have been able to tap into the existing bond and graft
yourself in.
“Why would I want to do that?” Stiles asks.
For your protection, Adelinde snaps. For situations just like these!
Stiles scrubs at his face. He’s so tired. He can’t wait to get home, take a
shower, and get into bed. That’s his life’s ambition now. Then he remembers he
has GPS and an app for this.
You’re miles from civilization, Addie says, almost gently. You can barely walk.
“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” Stiles mutters, sending Derek a text and his
coordinates. kidnapped by alphas but I escaped. can’t make it home.
The return text from Derek is almost immediate. I’ll find you.
Stiles sighs in relief and rests his head back against the tree.
===============================================================================
He wakes to find himself being held bridal style in Derek’s arms, his cheek
smashed against his Alpha’s shoulder. “So embar’ssing,” Stiles slurs.
Derek’s voice is as tight as his hold. “You smell like blood and death. And
other wolves.”
“Issat all?” Stiles asks. He keeps his eyes closed. He must be dead weight in
Derek’s arms; he’s feeling completely, bonelessly tired. Derek huffs and Stiles
knows he’s relieved. He doesn’t need a mystical bond to read Derek, just some
experience in dealing with him.
“Something else, something I can’t place,” Derek says. He sounds like he’s
mostly talking to himself. “You have a lot of explaining to do, Stiles.”
“Am I Lucy now?” Stiles wonders out loud.
“You get in enough trouble,” Derek says with a snort.
Stiles giggles tiredly against Derek’s neck. “You got the reference and you
made a joke.”
Even Igot the reference, Adelinde says. I Love Lucy isn’t exactly obscure.
“Shut up, Addie,” Stiles mumbles. “Was talking to Derek.”
Derek stops. Stiles cracks open an eye to see that he’s looking down at him,
his face doing that careful blankness that he’s so good at. “Stiles. Who are
you talking to?”
Don’t call me Addie, Adelinde tells him snappishly. Which makes him want to
call her nothing else.
Stiles lifts a hand to his temple. “Dragon in my head.”
“Explain,” Derek grits out.
Sighing, Stiles wiggles in Derek’s arms so that he’ll be let down onto his
feet. Derek holds him for a moment, seeming reluctant to let go, but then he
does and Stiles is standing, though a little wobbly. He holds Derek’s arm to
keep his balance, and keeps holding on even after he’s feeling steady. He
doesn’t think about it, though, not the way the muscle feels under his gripping
fingers or how the bond is stronger while they’re touching. No. No thinking or
examining.
“Addie is a dragon. Apparently she’s in my head now? And I can do complex magic
because of it. She talks to me and helped me out of the cave and past the
Alphas. There was a woman named Jen, and she’s the one who was following me,
and apparently she chose me to host her dragon, and then she died, and … yeah.
That’s about it?”
Oh, for the love of the gods, Stilinski. That is the worst explanation of a
Host and symbiote I’ve ever heard.
Derek is scowling. “You’re possessed.”
Stiles thinks about it for a moment. “Well, sorta?”
I beg your pardon! Adelinde says in an affronted voice. I am neither a parasite
nor a demon. Go speak with Alan Deaton and he’ll explain it to you both. And
stop calling me Addie!
“Sorry,” Stiles mumbles to her, then looks at Derek. “She says we should talk
to Deaton. I guess because you won’t believe it from her. Or me.”
It’s weird, but he’s getting used to the thought of sharing his body with the
dragon. The magic incentive is a big factor, he knows. Maybe the only one. He
tries to think he’s better than a power-hungry wizard wannabe, but...
“You need a shower,” Derek says. “You’re covered in mud and blood and you
stink.”
Stiles nods absently. Is it so bad that he wants to use Addie’s magic to
protect himself? Protect the pack? “Dad should still be working,” he says.
“Take me home?”
When Derek scoops him up in his arms again and heads for Stiles’s house, Stiles
tamps down on the feeling of protection it gives him. It was bad enough to have
the odd fantasy about Derek, or the occasional dream that left him aching and
somehow empty. He’s not going to think about Derek’s strong arms or broad
shoulders or … chest. He can’t think of just one proper adjective for Derek’s
chest yet. It’s muscled and hard but comfortable at the same time. Perfect.
He’s too tired to get an erection, he tells himself sternly. His dick isn’t
listening; it gives an interested twitch. Great. Hopefully he’s too full of
other scents for Derek to smell it on him. For the first time in his life, he’s
grateful to be covered in blood. And mud. And Derek said he smells
of other wolves, too.
He’s thinking unsexy thoughts when Addie cuts in to laugh at him. He mutters a,
“Fuck you,” in her direction. Then another wave of tiredness hits him and he
closes his eyes. He’s safe. He can sleep.
===============================================================================
He wakes up spluttering in the shower. He’s fully clothed and Derek is holding
him under the spray.
“What the actual fuck?” Stiles says, shocked.
Derek doesn’t look contrite at all. “Your shirt is stuck to you.” He angles
Stiles so that the water comes down directly on his back. It’s a little too hot
but it seems to be doing the trick. Stiles tries not to think about how much
experience Derek has with bloody clothes sticking to him because it gives him
faint twinges of horror.
“Arms up,” Derek says, and Stiles obeys long enough for Derek to rid him of his
shirt. But then Derek goes still and too quiet.
“What?” Stiles asks. He can’t wait for this to be over so he can faceplant in
bed.
“Your tattoo is- It’s-”
“Gorgeous?” Stiles asks with a grin. He can’t see it over his shoulder, but
from Derek’s reaction he’s sure it’s a sight to behold. Hopefully it covers up
the fact that the rest of his appearance is just ordinary, if a little muddy.
“It’s obviously magical in origin, since it’s actually moving across your skin.
It looks like it’s breathing.”
“She.”
“What?”
Thank you, Stiles.
“It looks like she’s moving. It’s Addie,” Stiles corrects. “Look. Can you get
out so I can shower in privacy? I promise to scrub all the bad scents off with
my cinnamon sugar cookie shower gel, okay?”
“Alright. But as soon as you’re out, I’m taking you to Deaton,” Derek says.
“What?” Stiles asks. “No! No, as soon as I get out of the shower I’m crashing.
I can’t even explain how fucking tired I am.”
“We need to figure out how to deal with this, Stiles,” Derek says slowly, as if
explaining to a two year old. Or Scott.
“So use your phone. Hell, make Deaton do a house call. I’m sleeping, dude,”
Stiles says. “Well, as soon as you get out of my bathroom and let me do this
washing thing.”
Derek goes reluctantly and closes the door behind himself. Stiles just knows
he’s on the other side in case there’s an accident, like if Stiles falls asleep
in the shower.
===============================================================================
“I can tell you confidently that Stiles isn’t possessed,” Deaton says. Stiles
relaxes, because that thought was still in the back of his mind after
everything and it was hard to beat back even with his own experiences of the
past day.
“Tell me what’s going on with him,” Derek says. He doesn’t growl, but his voice
is pitched low and serious. “The voice? The tattoo?”
Stiles usually hates it when people talk about him like he’s not even in the
same room. It’s one of the hazards of being young, he thinks. He’s gotten used
to it over the years (parents, teachers, doctors, etc. talking about him over
his head) and it sucks. Today, though, he’s perfectly content to let Deaton and
Derek talk while he keeps his eyes shut. He’s still tired. He’d be sleeping if
the two other men weren’t so intense.
“Stiles’s dragon is a real creature, purely magical but also flesh and bone
when she manifests outside the Host body,” Deaton says. “I knew Adelinde’s
previous Host, Jen, for a number of years. She was a member of a secret
society; their life’s work is to keep the existence of dragons going.”
“Stiles is keeping the dragon alive,” Derek says. Not a question, but Stiles is
sure he’s guessing. It’s a good guess.
“Yes.”
“And what does Stiles get out of this? Does he even have a choice, now? Can he
get rid of it?”
Tell your Alpha I do not appreciate being called an ‘it’. Addie is so annoyed
that Stiles is having trouble not being annoyed with Derek, as well.
“Don’t call her ‘it’,” Stiles mumbles without opening his eyes.
Deaton goes on like he hasn’t spoken. “There are gifts the dragon can give the
Host, usually magical in nature. But the Host does what he or she does in order
to give the dragon life. It’s supposed to be a purely selfless act.”
Derek is silent. Stiles is confused. What, no snorting over the idea that
Stiles could be selfless? Not that Stiles is selfish. He does things for other
people all the time. He just never thought Derek had noticed. Hmm, he probably
hasn’t noticed, he’s just being quiet for other reasons. Like maybe he’s
waiting for Deaton to answer the rest of his questions.
“Stiles had a choice. The transfer wouldn’t have worked if he hadn’t been
receptive, at least a little bit,” Deaton says.
“I don’t like this,” Derek says. “Something’s off. What is this secret society
going to do once they find out someone not in their order is Hosting a dragon?”
“I don’t know. As far as I know, this has never happened before,” Deaton says.
“Great. So we should be on the lookout, then,” Derek says.
“Think they wear black monk robes with rope belts and hoods over their faces?”
Stiles murmurs.
“Why is he so tired?” Derek asks. If Stiles didn’t know better, he’d swear
Derek sounds concerned. There is a light touch to Stiles’s forehead that is
gone as soon as he feels it.
“He’s not used to channeling magic. Not that much magic. I don’t know what kind
of spell he performed but he must have held it for a few minutes,” Deaton says.
“Total cam’flage spell,” Stiles says. “Ten minutes.”
Deaton sucks in a breath. “That would do it.”
Stiles opens his eyes because he wants to glare at them. He really needs to be
sleeping and they’re keeping him awake. Deaton is looking at Derek. Derek is
looking at Stiles until Stiles looks back. Then Derek’s eyes are elsewhere,
like he’s more interested in the decor of the bedroom than anything else.
“We should go before the Sheriff gets home,” Deaton says.
Finally.
When they’re on the stairs, Stiles hears Derek ask again, “But how does Stiles
get rid of the dragon if he doesn’t want … her?”
Stiles wants to hear the answer, but they’re too far away and he’s drifting off
to sleep.
===============================================================================
“So,” Lydia says before class begins. She’s sitting close to Stiles, which
normally would have him jumping for joy but today just strikes him as odd.
“I’ve helped the pack before, translating for you. I know it wasn’t much, but I
can definitely do more of that kind of thing.”
Stiles thinks of the books in his bag that have nothing whatsoever to do with
school and nods. “How many languages do you know?”
“Lots. Which ones should I be brushing up on?” Lydia asks sweetly.
Are you sure you can trust this one? Addie asks.
Ignoring the dragon, Stiles smiles and pulls a thin volume full of Grecian
charms from his bag. “The dead ones, mostly.” He puts the book on her desk and
she eyes it interestedly.
“What do you want me to do with this, just translate it?” She carefully turns
the pages, eyes narrowing in as she reads.
Stiles shakes his head. “I need a tutor of sorts. I mean, I already have one,
but he says he doesn’t really know the fundamentals of how things actually
work. And I have a … friend who knows a lot, but she’s never needed to grasp
the theory behind it all.” Addie had been unrepentant about that, saying Stiles
has to learn it himself if he wants it that bad.
“You’re being vague,” Lydia says. “Call it what it is, Stiles. We’re talking
about magic.”
“Keep it down,” Stiles whispers. No one seems to be listening except for Isaac
at the back of the class.
Lydia rolls her eyes but she lowers her voice. “So tell me what you want me to
do.”
“These charms are some of the simplest forms of magic I can find,” Stiles
explains. “Help me figure out why and how they work, so when I move on to
bigger things, I can apply the same principles I learned with the charms to the
big spells.”
“Do you think I could learn to do magic, too?” Lydia asks, a calculating look
on her face as her fingertips trace over the ancient words on the page.
“I’m not sure. I think there’s a lot of factors to it, you know? If just anyone
could do it, we’d be knee-deep in wizards.”
Lydia scoffs. “I’m not just anyone.”
It’s hard not to grin at that attitude. “Keep the book for now, and let me know
when you’ve got some theories.”
There’s nothing harmful in the book, Deaton had assured Stiles, so even if
Lydia figures out how to work some magic and has some innate power, there’s not
a lot that could happen.
Class starts, and Stiles tries to focus on that rather than the recent upheaval
in his life. He hasn’t told anyone yet, but he’s sure Derek told the pack at
least part of what’s going on. Isaac knows something; he’s got to. He seems to
be watching Stiles carefully for … something. Stiles isn’t sure what, exactly.
===============================================================================
Stiles is getting sick of the feeling of people following him around. He knows
it’s just the pack looking out for him under Derek’s orders, but that doesn’t
make him feel any better.
The good news of the week, though, is that the hunters are gone from the Hale
house and Derek has called in some contractors to start working on making the
place habitable.
It’s loud there, though. Even to Stiles, who went by to check on what little
progress had been made since the contractors started. And the house actually
looks worse now than when they started, because they’ve had to knock down a lot
of the structure that was ruined from the fire and exposure over the years.
So Stiles understands that Derek doesn’t want to be around while the work is
done, and why. Derek is standing outside, back toward the house, looking into
the forest when Stiles walks up. There’s no way to sneak up on the werewolf, so
he doesn’t even try (even though it might be funny sometime).
You could try the camouflage spell again, Addie says, and Stiles picks up a bit
of emotion from her. She’s trying, in her own way, to get along with him. To
give him a chance. It makes him smile.
“It’s looking good so far,” Stiles says when he’s close to Derek. “They work
fast. What’d you do, Alpha-roar them into submission?” It’s a joke, but he’s
genuinely curious.
“I’m paying them double the usual rate,” Derek says, and Stiles whistles. A job
this big will cost a fortune, and here Derek is, paying extra. Stiles has
already worked out that Derek must be loaded with insurance money, but him
actually using it, considering where it came from, could be some kind of
emotional progress. Not that Stiles is going to mention that.
“Peter and I are going to figure out the runes today, get ready to ward the
property,” Stiles says.
Derek looks at him, eyebrows bunched together. “How can you trust him?”
“I don’t,” Stiles says. “Not completely — I think he’s unstable. But I really
do believe he wants to be a part of your pack. I think he misses belonging to
something.”
Derek’s face goes thoughtful and a little sad.
“So I think we can trust him to try to protect us as long as we give him a
place in the pack,” Stiles explains.
“That’s what you’ve been doing,” Derek murmurs. “I should have thought-”
“Dude, you’ve got enough to think about,” Stiles says.
Derek lets out a sigh. He looks tired. “I’m supposed to take care of the pack,
keep everyone together.”
“You are. You have,” Stiles says. “Look, everyone knows you’re new to this,
nobody expects you to be perfect at being the Alpha.”
“Except for Scott,” Derek says wryly.
Stiles laughs. “No, not even Scott. Scott’s just an asshole since Allison
dumped him. He blames you and I don’t even know why.”
Derek shrugs. “The buck stops here.”
“Ugh, please don’t turn into a martyr for the cause or I’m going to have to
kick your ass,” Stiles says.
“I’d like to see you try,” Derek growls, but he sounds almost playful with it.
Stiles grins at him. “Give me a little more time to get used to Addie’s magic
and I’ll take you up on it.”
In his head, Addie chuckles and says, Soon.
At the reminder of the dragon, Derek goes stiff again. “How do you know it’s
safe?”
“Addie’s been telling me stuff about the whole dragon and Host relationship.
Did you know that it’s been going on for thousands of years? It’s usually a
peaceful arrangement. Addie’s had lots of Hosts and it’s all gone fine,” Stiles
says.
“You only know what she’s been telling you. Has she told you yet how to get rid
of her?” Derek asks.
Stiles bites his lip. “Yeah, about that...”
“You can’t, can you? You can’t get her out of your head.” Derek sounds angry
but resigned.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds,” Stiles protests. “There is a way, but … I don’t
want it. I’m getting used to Addie, and the magic. I don’t think you
understand. I can actually do something to protect the pack now.”
“You did things before,” Derek points out. “You’ve already proven yourself to
me. You don’t need magic for that.”
It’s weird how Derek gets in his head, worms his way in worse than the dragon.
“Maybe I need to prove it to myself,” Stiles finally says after a long, silent
moment.
Derek looks at him, really looks, intense and focused just on Stiles. Then he
nods, like he understands, and touches Stiles on the shoulder. It’s not a hard
clap, it’s more gentle than that, and Stiles doesn’t know what to do other than
hold his breath and let his heart jump into his throat.
Then Derek is walking away, back to the house. “Station at six,” he calls over
his shoulder, as if Stiles would forget the pack meeting.
===============================================================================
At the meeting Derek explains, haltingly and with mighty frowns, that Stiles is
now sharing his body with a dragon.
Everyone looks at Stiles. They gape, not quite believing. They stare, as if
they can tell from the outside. Then they erupt into questions that Stiles
really doesn’t have all the answers to.
Finally Derek growls at them all and tells them to shut it. “Be nosy on your
own time. This is a pack meeting, and that means we have other things to think
about.”
“Like the Alpha pack. I got a good look at a few of them,” Stiles says.
Derek nods for him to describe the other wolves, and Stiles does so as well as
he can remember. He ends with Cowboy, because he’s more funny than scary in
retrospect (although Stiles is sure he wouldn’t think so if he encountered him
again one-on-one).
When Stiles is done, Derek tells them to stay away from the part of the forest
where he found Stiles, near the cave, since that’s the only place he knows the
other pack might be. Then he tells them about the Hale house’s reconstruction.
At first no one says anything outright, then Jackson says, “Thank god. This
place gives me the creeps,” and everyone is nodding and smiling tentatively.
Peter isn’t as far back on the edge of the room as usual. He’s still several
feet away from Derek, but Stiles notices he’s closer. Pack dynamics and Hale
dynamics in particular are not Stiles’s specialty, but he’s learning, and this
looks promising. Stiles still doesn’t trust Peter, not with his own life, but
he’s starting to think the older man — werewolf — only wants to be a part of
the pack. Maybe he’ll be good for them after all.
“Okay, training time,” Derek says after he goes over the buddy system again
(unnecessarily, Stiles thinks, since they’ve been over it several times
already). “Start without me while I talk to Stiles and Peter.”
Stiles glances over at Peter to catch his surprised look. As far as Stiles
knows, Derek never talks to Peter except to, well, yell and blame him for
everything that's shitty in his life. Now, Derek's motioning him over to sit
with Stiles and is leaning over the table looking at a design Stiles has been
working on.
“This is for a talisman,” Derek murmurs. “What will it do?”
Before Stiles can answer, Peter says, “It looks like a simple protection spell,
but it’s twisted a little. What does it mean?”
“It’s protection against a werewolf’s fangs and claws specifically,” Stiles
says. “I wanted to make it a protection against werewolves completely, like,
all damage? But as far as I can tell there’s no way to do that.”
“How soon can you make it?” Derek asks.
Stiles shrugs. “I was planning on making it now. I just finished up the design,
and with Addie I can make it with no problem.”
Derek nods. “Good. Do it.”
Stiles takes out the piece of wood and says, “Crataegus monogyna. Common
hawthorn. I had to send for a piece this size, but I think it’s worth it.” He
doesn’t mention the other pieces he’s gotten, the ones for the house when it's
finished and habitable.
“You could have used oak,” Peter points out with a slight frown.
“Hawthorn’s better,” Stiles murmurs, and Addie agrees. “Okay, hold on, let me
do this.” Derek and Peter lean back and prepare.
Like before, Stiles feels the magic inside him, feels it rush out and then
shape the wood into the right bends and whorls. It’s carving without a knife,
and it’s wonderful. Stiles puts all his thoughts of protection and care into
the talisman, and when it’s finished, the wood gleams in his hand.
He looks up and notices that the station has gone quiet and everyone is looking
his way. Stiles grins nervously and reaches into his bag for the leather tie
he’s kept for this occasion. He loops the tie through the talisman and then
holds it out to Derek. “Here.”
“What do you want me to do with it?” Derek asks, not taking it.
“Uh, wear it?” Stiles says, because it’s pretty obvious.
“But it’s for you,” Derek says.
“No, I made it for you. You’re the Alpha, you need to be protected. If we lose
you, we fall apart,” Stiles says.
Peter nods. “He’s right. You should put it on.”
Derek seems reluctant as he ties the talisman around his neck, but Stiles feels
better automatically. “You should make something for yourself,” Derek says.
Stiles shrugs. “I’ll get to it,” he says, but he’s thinking of all the other
protections he can make for the pack, maybe even something for his dad. He can
convince his father he’s suddenly into weird arts and crafts, right? And get
him to wear it all the time? Maybe a keychain.
Derek is looking at him with a mysterious expression on his face. Stiles has
gotten used to Derek’s face, has figured out which twitch of an eyebrow means
what and whether or not a certain quirk of the lips means bloody murder. This
look is one Stiles hasn’t seen before, and it’s … well, it’s sort of like Derek
is really seeing him for the first time. Which is ridiculous.
“Yeah, so. Go on, get back to your training. Nothing to see here,” Stiles says
in a loud voice, because he can tell the rest of the pack is eavesdropping
after the magic show he just put on.
Derek nods shortly and turns back to the pack.
“Thank you,” Peter says.
“What? For what?” Stiles asks. He folds up the design for Derek’s talisman and
puts it in his bag, then takes out a page where he has scribbled runes for the
forest. Absently, he slides it over so that Peter can take a look.
Peter checks over the runes slowly. “I meant thank you for the talisman.
Someone has to look out for Derek and he won’t let me do it.”
“Do you blame him?” Stiles blurts out.
Peter smiles. “I guess not. Now, these runes are perfect. I can tell you picked
carefully. I can see the pack personalities in your choices, even.”
Stiles looks away, flustered. He hadn’t expected anyone to pick up on how hard
he worked on this or how much he really cares for everyone — enough to tailor
the protections for individuals as well as the pack as a whole.
“Why don’t you ask Derek for the bite, Stiles?” Peter asks, a little too
nonchalant.
If you become a werewolf, I’ll have to find another Host, Addie says warily. I
can only coexist with a human.
“Where did that come from?” Stiles asks.
“You love this pack,” Peter says. “You do so much for us. I think you want it,
Stiles. I think you want to belong completely.”
Just then, Derek yells at Boyd and throws him across the room. Stiles snickers.
“I don’t want to be one of Derek’s betas. He’s not the boss of me now and I
like it that way,” Stiles says.
Peter gets a thoughtful look on his face but Stiles ignores him and starts
talking about the rest of the wood he ordered for special ornamental amulets to
hang around the new and improved Hale house. Peter lets him go on for the next
half hour until he finally puts his hand up to stop him.
“This protection magic is good, but don’t you want to try something a little
more … immediate?” he asks.
Stiles doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but Addie does. He wants you to
learn offensive magic so you can fight.
“Can I do that?” Stiles asks, both of Peter and Addie.
“You should,” Peter says.
You … could, Addie says, more hesitant.
“I don’t want to accidentally set someone on fire,” Stiles says without
thinking. When he hears himself he winces. “Um, sorry.”
Peter waves his apology away. “Figure out what you think will work best for
you. It doesn’t have to be fire.”
Stiles thinks it’s not going to be fire. Too much history there for him to feel
comfortable using it. But cold, maybe, or something physical — he can do that.
He could fight the Alphas if he learned to use magic offensively. He could
protect the pack even more than he'd planned.
“Addie, can you teach me to do that?” Stiles murmurs.
Yes, under … conditions.
Of course there would be conditions. There are always conditions. “Okay, like
what?”
I want to teach you to heal first. And any offensive spells you learn can only
be used in life or death situations or I’ll take drastic measures. Addie sounds
extremely stern.
“Well?” Peter asks, smiling.
“I get to learn healing first,” Stiles says, taking it as a positive. He thinks
of Matilda the cat with the hip dysplasia and her pain-filled mews. Healing her
will be a good thing. Healing the pack if they get hurt and are slow to heal on
their own will be even better.
It’s getting late and the training winds down. Scott heads for home on his
bike.
Stiles is getting into his Jeep when Derek stops him. “I didn’t say thanks,”
Derek says. He touches the talisman around his neck.
“Oh, that? No problem,” Stiles says. He's keenly aware that no one's around and
he and Derek are alone. And that Derek's looking at him intently, in a way that
makes Stiles’s heart rate pick up.
“I didn’t expect it,” Derek says. Stiles gets the feeling he’s trying to say
something but doesn’t know the right words.
“Surprise!” Stiles says with a nervous grin.
Derek steps closer and leans in. For one heart-stopping moment, Stiles thinks
he’s going to be kissed. Seriously. That’s the whole mood here and maybe...
But Derek just sniffs him. His neck. He’s so close Stiles can feel the heat
from his body and all Derek does is sniff him.
“Dude, what the fuck?” Stiles says weakly.
“You’re pack,” Derek grumbles. He pulls away and glares at a spot over Stiles’s
shoulder.
“Yeah, I know,” Stiles says.
“You don’t need to be a werewolf to be pack,” Derek says. “I just wanted you to
know.”
Oh. He must have heard the conversation with Peter. Stiles licks his lips.
“Okay. I knew that already, but it’s nice to, uh, hear it. So thanks.”
Then Derek looks at Stiles, face serious and intense. “But if you want the
bite, I’ll give it to you.”
Stiles mouth falls open. He feels it go, but has no control over it. Then he
nods, yeah, okay, and says, “I’ll think about it.”
Derek nods and turns around, then does his famous vanishing act.
===============================================================================
As soon as Stiles wakes up, he regrets not putting a talisman in his own house
or around his own neck or anywhere, really, that would prevent something like
this happening.
There’s someone in his room, someone not Derek and not Scott and not Dad.
Someone he’s never seen before.
“Hi?” Stiles says, sitting up in bed.
The young man is wearing a white shirt and white trousers, almost like a
uniform but more expensive. “Be quiet,” he says. It’s not much to go on but it
sounds like he has an accent.
“Oh, you don’t know me at all. I don’t really know how to be quiet. Let’s start
with names, okay? I’m Stiles, and you are...”
His name is Serge and he’s a Candidate from the Order.
“Okay, that means nothing to me, Addie,” Stiles mumbles.
“My name is not important,” Serge says. “I am here to tell you to give Adelinde
up to me.”
Yep, definitely an accent. French, maybe? Kind of French but sort of not. “I
think that might kill me,” Stiles points out.
“Not my concern,” Serge says. “She was promised to me; she is mine. I will get
her.” Then he pulls out a knife — a monstrous knife! — and moves toward Stiles.
“Whoa, whoa, Addie, help me out here!” Stiles says, panicking.
I’m still too weak to take form, Addie says, not exactly calm herself.
Stiles rolls off the bed and kicks out at Serge, catching him in the knee. It
doesn’t stop him for more than a few seconds.
“She will not help you because she is meant for me,” Serge says, moving closer.
There’s a fanatical gleam in his eyes, madness, and Stiles doesn’t know what to
do. He’s not a fighter. He hasn’t been training with the pack. He hasn’t
learned any offensive magic yet.
You must hit him with pure magic, Addie says, at exactly the same time Stiles
has figured that out.
“This isn’t going to be pretty,” Stiles warns, holding out his hands toward
Serge.
“What are you doing?” Serge asks, stopping for the moment.
“Go away and I won’t hurt you,” Stiles says.
“No. I am here for Adelinde. Give her to me,” Serge says, and makes a slashing
motion with the knife. It slices into Stiles’s left arm so quick Stiles almost
misses it. He doesn’t feel it until he sees the blood begin to drip out.
“Shit. Okay. I warned you,” Stiles says, and concentrates on pushing the magic
out as a bolt to Serge’s chest.
It works. Somehow, it works.
“Okay, Addie, you’re gonna need to explain just what this was about,” Stiles
mumbles right before he picks up his phone and dials 911.
Serge is out cold, and there’s no telling how long he’ll be unconscious.
Stiles’s arm is bleeding sluggishly even after he puts a towel and plenty of
pressure on it.
Dragons and humans have coexisted as Host and symbiote for thousands of years,
Addie explains. The Societas Draconistrarum finds Candidates and trains them to
be Hosts to replace older Hosts. Jennifer fled the Order when she fell ill,
suspicious that someone from within had poisoned her.
“You couldn’t have told me this before?” Stiles asks angrily.
Serge was slated to be my next Host. Jennifer never liked him.
“I can’t say I like him much myself,” Stiles says.
Jennifer traveled to find her successor. She found you and decided you were the
one.
Sirens are blaring down the street and Stiles checks on Serge to make sure he’s
still out. He is.
“How did he find me?” Stiles asks. “I don’t understand that part.”
Dragons are attuned to the Order. It works the other way, as well. I should
have known Serge was coming, but I was distracted.
Stiles sighs and goes downstairs to meet the police and ambulance.
===============================================================================
Derek gets a bit overbearing after the attack. For one, he thinks Stiles should
have called him to deal with Serge instead of the police. For two, he doesn’t
want to let Stiles out of his sight. He even suggests Stiles stay overnight at
the train station when the Sheriff is working, just to be on the safe side.
(His dad hadn’t wanted to leave him, but Stiles had reassured him about twenty
times that yes, he was okay and no, it wasn’t about to happen again with Serge
in the county jail.)
“You’re crazy if you think I’m sleeping in an old subway car,” Stiles says.
“I’ve got a mattress,” Derek says. “I’ll even put covers on it.”
Stiles shrugs. He’s touched but he won’t admit it. Derek looking out for him
isn’t completely unusual, but he seems to have stepped up his game a little.
Stiles can’t help but think that things have changed. Somehow. He just doesn’t
know what they’ve changed to, or how, or why. There are a lot of questions
whirring around in his mind, and Addie is no help at all.
Humans are quite amusing at times, she says. But then she mentally stiffens —
it’s so weird how Stiles can feel these sorts of things — and says, More are on
their way. Soon. It’s a testament to how attuned they're getting that Stiles
doesn’t have to ask what she means.
“Uh, Derek?” Stiles says, absently touching his bandaged arm. “Addie says some
more people from the Order are on their way.”
Derek growls low in his throat. It makes the little hairs on the back of
Stiles’s neck stand up. “How far away are they? Can she tell what they want?”
They are in Beacon Hills. They just arrived. I cannot judge intent, though they
do not seem to be a threat to me. She doesn’t mention whether or not they’re a
threat to Stiles, he notices.
“They just got into town. She doesn’t know what they want,” Stiles says. “But
if I had to guess, I’d say they’re here to get their boy out of jail.”
“I doubt that’s their only purpose,” Derek says, moving closer to Stiles. He
lays a hand on Stiles’s shoulder. Maybe it’s supposed to be comforting. For
Stiles, it just serves to make his heart pound. He’s not afraid; he stopped
being afraid of Derek a few months back after Derek saved him yet again. Stiles
had figured if Derek was going to keep saving his life he probably didn’t want
to rip his throat out with his teeth after all. No, Stiles isn’t scared of
Derek anymore, but he’s got a new reaction that’s like fear only more
embarrassing. So when Derek puts a hand on him, the heat and pressure of it
makes everything speed up — his heart, his blood, his thoughts. It rarely lasts
long, this touching, but it’s been happening more and more.
Derek's looking at him strangely.
“Um, what?” Stiles asks. Addie laughs in his head.
“I said we should keep the pack together for the next few days,” Derek says. He
squeezes Stiles’s shoulder. “We’re being threatened on all sides. We’ve got the
hunters out for any werewolf blood they can shed, the Alpha pack trying to take
over our territory, and this new threat — an Order of people who can, what,
turn into dragons? I don’t like this.”
“The dragon comes out of the Host, the Host doesn’t become the dragon,” Stiles
corrects. He’s at least learned this much. He cuts off the inevitable question.
“But Addie can’t, yet. She’s still weak from Jen being poisoned.”
Derek looks thunderous. He grabs on to Stiles’s other shoulder to hold him in
place. “So her last Host was murdered? You didn’t think to tell me this? You’re
in real danger, Stiles!”
“When am I not in danger?” Stiles says. Loudly, but not quite yelling. “And she
just told me. I didn’t know, either.”
Sighing, but still looking like he wants to slash someone’s throat, Derek runs
his hands gently down Stiles’s arms. Stiles doesn’t think he’s even aware of
what he’s doing. “Does she know who killed Jen?” Derek asks.
“Nope,” Stiles says, “But we think it could have been Serge. He was pretty nuts
and he was next in line to be a Host.”
“But it could have been anyone,” Derek says.
“But these Order people, they could just be coming to, uh, welcome me to their
club,” Stiles says. He probably sounds about as optimistic as he feels — not
very. Then Addie speaks up, lets him know a few facts, and he breathes a little
easier. “Look, Addie says the Order just wants what’s best for their dragons.
They aren’t that dangerous.”
“You’re dangerous and you haven’t even been properly trained yet,” Derek points
out.
Stiles rolls his eyes and snorts. “Dangerous? Me?”
Derek glares. “Tell me again how you took out that knife-wielding maniac with
raw magic.”
“You just said it yourself: knife-wielding maniac!” Stiles says. “I wouldn’t do
that unless my life was being threatened! Imminently!” He takes a deep breath
and continues, a little calmer. “Anyone can be dangerous in that kind of
situation. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you will.”
“And the fact that they can summon dragons?” Derek says. “That doesn’t worry
you?”
“I didn’t say I wasn’t worried,” Stiles says. “Just that I don’t think we
should jump to conclusions. I’m basically one of them now. Sort of. Maybe
they’re just here to meet me and make sure Addie’s safe.”
“I still don’t like it,” Derek growls.
“But is there anything you do like?” Stiles asks. It’s a tease, but Derek needs
to lighten up a little.
Instead of answering by rolling his eyes or glaring, Derek moves in closer and
… geez, he’s sniffing Stiles’s neck again. Up close and personal. His nose
isn’t quite in the crook, he’s not touching, but he might as well be for the
reaction it causes. Stiles’s whole body feels hot and he tips forward into a
lean, searching for some kind of contact. He isn’t sure what’s going on,
whether this is a wolf thing or a man thing. It feels sort of like a man thing,
but the sniffing is generally all wolf, right? So it’s confusing.
“What-” Stiles starts, but then shuts up when Derek grabs his shoulders and
licks a stripe up his neck. It should be gross but it’s not, and it makes
Stiles tilt his head back, exposing his throat.
It isn’t until Derek gives a pleased, possessive growl that Stiles realizes
what he just did. He really should correct Derek, because Stiles doesn’t mean
to be all submissive beta wolf-boy, he’s not giving Derek whatever the rest of
the pack gives him.
“You’re still not the boss of me,” Stiles says breathlessly, grabbing the
lapels of Derek’s jacket so he doesn’t fall over.
Derek gives a hoarse laugh and bites Stiles’s throat gently. Stiles has never
seen Derek do shit like this with any other member of the pack. Maybe Derek
has, maybe he does, maybe it only happens out of sight of humans. But somehow,
Stiles doesn’t think so. This seems a little more personal.
Stiles wants to urge Derek to use words, he really does. But his body likes
what’s happening a little too much and his mouth isn’t cooperating with the
talking thing right now. He wonders what he did to bring this on, backtracking
in his mind, going over their conversation...
“So this is you telling me you like me, huh?” Stiles finally asks. Gasps,
really, because Derek’s lips and teeth are doing all kinds of obscene things to
his neck. And that is going to leave a mark.
Stiles pulls Derek closer so that they’re pressed together. They still haven’t
kissed, which is weird, right? Stiles decides to do something about that. He
reaches up and takes Derek’s face in his hands, then presses their lips
together.
It’s not perfect. Derek stiffens, like he isn’t expecting an actual kiss.
Stiles is patient and persistent, though. He does the only thing he can think
of and takes Derek’s bottom lip between his teeth. The bite seems to wake
something primal inside Derek and suddenly they’re really kissing and Stiles
has lost control somewhere along the way. Funny enough, he doesn’t mind. He
wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and just gives in.
“Ew,” Scott says as he (loudly) drops his bag on the table and makes gagging
noises.
Stiles sighs when they break apart and then the others begin to pour into the
station. He glances at Derek and sees Derek’s looking cool and unaffected,
which has got to be a front because Stiles definitely felt an erection there
pressing against his own, not thirty seconds before.
“What?” Jackson asks.
“You don’t wanna know,” Scott mutters.
Stiles watches them all as they come in, sees how Boyd scents the air and
smirks at him. Then he nudges Erica and then they’re both smirking.
Peter comes around a corner and Stiles realizes he’s been lurking behind the
train car for ages and probably heard everything. Not only that, but Derek had
to have known he was there and let him stay. Well, it’s not like they said
anything they weren’t going to share with the rest of the pack anyway.
Isaac comes in carrying two bags, and following him is a surprise. It’s Lydia,
holding her head up high and trying to look like she completely belongs.
“I wasn’t expecting a guest,” Derek says neutrally.
“I’m not a guest; I’m Lydia,” she says. “I’m here to help.”
Derek tilts his head and looks at Jackson. “You told her she could come?”
“I can speak for myself,” Lydia says. “I decided to come on my own. I didn’t
ask first. I’m asking now, though, since you’re the Alpha: will you let me
prove myself to you? To be a part of your pack?”
“You’re human, and immune to the bite. It’s dangerous to be in a pack in your
position,” Derek says.
“The way I see it, it’s more dangerous to not be a part of the pack,” Lydia
says.
“So you want our protection?” Derek says.
Lydia nods. “And I figured that if Stiles can be part of your pack, so can I.”
Instead of asking her what she brings to the pack, the way Stiles expects,
Derek glances over at Peter. Lydia follows his line of sight and frowns. Derek
raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”
Peter looks surprised and pleased to be asked. Stiles wonders if Derek’s
actually going to listen to what he says. “I believe we need her as much as she
needs us,” Peter says cryptically. Stiles wonders what the hell he means by
that. He knows a little of it, that Peter was in Lydia’s head for months, but
what Peter knows because of that is a mystery.
Stiles used to wish he knew Lydia that well. Once upon a time. It’s weird how
he was madly in love with her for years. He guesses he loves her still, but
it’s definitely platonic. His romantic affections all belong to a certain Alpha
werewolf now. So, yeah. Weird how things work out and how fast situations can
change.
“Does that mean I’m in?” Lydia asks.
“No,” Isaac says. It’s strange, because Isaac is usually pretty quiet during
pack meetings. He looks at Derek and Derek nods, so he continues. “We’re a
family and you can’t just jump into a family. There’s a … process.”
“Trial period,” Erica says. She doesn’t seem as hostile to Lydia as she’d been
a week or so ago.
“Yeah, that sounds good,” Scott says.
Derek looks pleased that the others have their own ideas and are agreeing
without his prompting. Maybe it’s a pack thing that they all feel the same way.
Derek says, “Give it a few weeks, see if you fit in. Get to know everyone. If
it doesn’t work, on either of our sides, you can go without anyone feeling
offended.”
Stiles nods. It’s a good idea. Addie agrees.
“Thank you,” Lydia says. “I’ll take that.”
“I’ll need your help with my Latin anyway,” Stiles says. “Addie knows all the
right words and pronunciations, but she’s a terrible teacher. No patience at
all.”
Or perhaps you’re a terrible student, Addie teases. It’s good to hear her
playful. Stiles is starting to think that maybe she likes him after all.
“Who is Addie?” Lydia asks.
It’s always hard to explain, but Stiles tries. “There’s a dragon in my head.
She’s a symbiote, which means she shares my body most of the time. She's been
sick, but when she’s feeling better she can come out and be, well, an actual
dragon. But for right now she’s just a voice in my head and a tattoo on my
back.”
Lydia tilts her head. “I want to see.”
Everyone else in the room wants to see, too. Stiles flushes. So far the only
person who’s seen it is Derek. But he shrugs and takes his shirt off, then
turns around. It’s cool in the station and he gets goosebumps.
“Holy shit, it’s moving!” Scott says.
“Interesting,” Lydia says.
Everyone else is silent. Stiles puts his shirt and hoodie back on. “Okay, so
that’s over. Can we get back to the meeting now?” he says.
Derek starts talking about the Order and about how Stiles was attacked. Then he
mentions that some of their members are in Beacon Hills and everyone should be
watching out, especially for Stiles, who will be guarded from now on. Stiles
groans but he knows it’s smart.
No one knows anything else about the Alpha pack and there’s been no hunter
activity, so the rest of the meeting is short. Time for training.
Stiles, Lydia, and Peter take their places at the table and Stiles brings out a
big spellbook he printed out and had bound at the FedEx office. It’s half about
healing and half about offensive magic, and as he promised Addie, he’s working
on the healing first. Today he’s hoping to get rid of the gash on his arm. It’s
all stitched and wrapped up, but it’s sore and annoying. He might even be able
to come out of this without a scar.
But first he’s got to get the Latin right.
You’re distracted, Addie tells him after he’s been working on one particular
spell for fifteen minutes. Stop thinking about Derek and focus! This is
important.
Right. She’s right. This spell, if he understands it correctly, is a building
block for other healing spells. Once he masters this one he’ll be able to heal
different kinds of wounds, and not just his own. That’s more important than the
way Derek’s lips felt, or how his tongue was rough and tender at the same time,
and how...
FOCUS!
“Ow,” Stiles complains, rubbing his head.
“What?” Lydia says. “Is my tutoring giving you a headache? I’m sorry, should I
just leave you here to figure it out on your own?”
“No. Addie yelled at me,” Stiles mutters. “Okay, so is it sano or sanare?”
“This one should be confervo. I’ve already told you that, Stiles. Look, do you
want to learn this or what?” Lydia glares at him. Peter is smirking like he
knows exactly what Stiles has been thinking about.
Stiles sighs. “Okay. The words don’t matter as much as the intent and the way
the magic washes over the wound; I got that much. I could use integro and it
would work, I think.” Lydia is still glaring so he says quickly, “But I’m not!
It’s confervo, definitely.”
“Riiiight,” Lydia says. “Okay then, you’re ready. Take off the bandage.”
Stiles has tried not to think too hard about the wound and how close he came to
dying when he was attacked. The thing... is it a thing? The whatever it is with
Derek helped keep his mind off it for a little while, but now he’s got to look
at the long, stitched gash and-
He’s not having a panic attack. He’s not. He refuses, not with people around
like this. This is just a little anxiety brought on by a reminder of a
traumatic event. But hey, he’s been through plenty of those lately; the past
year has been full of trauma. He’s kept it together so far, and he’s going to
fight the panic now and win. Just like always.
Stiles takes some deep breaths. He needs a focus point, though, something to
ground him and hold his attention. In the past, his dad has been there for him
and he’s used that connection. Right now...
Right now you’re surrounded by your pack and you’re safe, Addie says
soothingly. Focus on them. On the good you want to do for them. Take the
bandage off and heal yourself. You can do this.
He can do this.
“Stiles?” Peter asks quietly.
He looks up and sees that Derek has stopped what he’s doing and is looking over
at him with his head cocked. Stiles gives him a weak smile and a thumbs up.
Then the unwinds the bandage and removes the covering under that.
It’s ugly and Stiles’s breath catches in his throat.
Heal it. Just do it. I believe in you.
Stiles takes his hand and hovers over the wound, then closes his eyes. He
understands the way the magic works, how deep it has to go, the way it must
flow from him and into the flesh in order to heal. He knows it will probably
hurt a little, but he’s prepared for that.
He mutters the words under his breath, careful of his pronunciation. He feels
the magic flow down his arm, feels it spread through his palm and fingertips,
and sees in his mind the way it moves out of him and into his arm. It seeks out
the broken, the damaged, and the severed. And then it knits things together.
It doesn’t actually hurt. It burns a little, and it itches like crazy, but
there’s no real pain.
Lydia gasps beside him so he knows it must be working, but still he doesn’t
open his eyes. Not until he knows it’s finished, when he feels the magic come
back to his core. It seems to take a long time, but that’s probably just
because Stiles is so aware of everything at the moment. Finally it’s over. He
just knows.
He opens his eyes and is a little disappointed to see that there’s still a
scar. But it’s healed. The sutures have fallen out during the spell and they
litter the table, all of them like tiny black bugs.
“Let me see,” Lydia says, touching Stiles’s arm. Wow, he thinks. Once he’d be
over the moon to have her touch him. Now he waits for her to be done and pulls
away.
“So I’m calling this a success,” Stiles says. He notices then that he feels a
bit lightheaded. “Addie, can I maybe learn a different spell now? Like, one
healing spell for one offensive spell? That’s fair, right?”
She laughs in his head. If you can stay awake I’ll teach you how to use my
breath.
Stiles blinks. She’s right. It’s not as bad as the weariness that took him
after the camouflage spell, but he’s tired. The healing spell took a lot out of
him.
“What’d she say?” Peter asks. “Should I run for cover now so you can practice
something new?”
Stiles shakes his head. As much as he wants to know what Addie means about
using her breath, he’d rather just put his head down on the table and snooze.
He yawns and says, “I think I need a nap.”
Derek is beside him between blinks. “Are you okay?”
“Tired,” Stiles says, smiling at him. “But I did it.” He holds out his arm for
inspection.
Derek touches him then, and it’s totally not like when Lydia did it. He traces
the pink scar gently and Stiles shivers. “I have to go out and get something,
but I’ll be back soon. Stay here with the pack.”
Stiles nods. He’s not obeying because Derek’s the Alpha or his … whatever; he’s
so tired he couldn’t move even if he wanted to. He closes his eyes and focuses
on how safe he feels right where he is, with the rest of the pack there,
watching over him. It only takes a moment for him to drift off.
===============================================================================
He wakes up in a strange bed, on sheets that are stiff in a way only new ones
are, under a soft comforter that still smells like the store. That’s not what
wakes him, though.
It’s the fever-hot body spooned behind him that pulls him out of his dreams.
No, it’s the sleepy nuzzling at the back of his neck. The satisfied growling.
Or maybe the arm around his middle.
Wait, nope, it’s definitely the hardness rocking against his ass that wakes him
up. Everything else is secondary.
“Derek, I think we should talk about this before you start molesting me in my
sleep,” Stiles mutters.
Derek stills and moves back so that he’s no longer doing the rocking thing.
“Sorry,” he says, and he sounds a little lost. Stiles rolls over on his other
side, facing Derek, just in time to see Derek blushing.
“It happens,” Stiles says, then bites his lip. Derek’s eyes fall to his mouth
and he looks hungry and hesitant at the same time. Stiles feels bolder, then.
“You got sheets and a cover for me?”
Derek shrugs. “Yeah.”
“I think we should talk about what we’re doing,” Stiles says. “This... this.
With the kissing and the… whatever else we want to do.”
“Do you want to?” Derek asks.
Stiles laughs breathlessly. “God. Can’t you like, smell it on me or something?”
“Humans aren’t as straightforward as wolves,” Derek says. “You might smell one
way but...”
That’s understandable. Wolves go more on instinct, right? “If I were a wolf,
what would happen?”
Derek’s eyes flash red and he leans in, presses his forehead against Stiles’s.
He’s breathing faster and his body is tense, like he’s holding back. Stiles
realizes he doesn’t want him to do that, not at all. Derek says, “If you were a
werewolf, I would be fucking you right now.”
Stiles shivers all over. Full body shiver. He might even whimper. “I need to
know, though. What-”
Stiles! Addie yells, at exactly the wrongest time.
“Worst timing ever,” Stiles mutters, and sits up, ignoring his raging boner and
serious relationship questions. “What is it, Addie?”
They tracked me here to the station. They’re close. Almost here.
“Shit,” Stiles says, bounding off the mattress and pulling on his clothes.
“Addie says the Order found us and are coming here now.”
Derek throws his own clothes on and growls. Stiles knows it’s a territory thing
as much as a protect-Stiles thing, but it still makes him feel good. Safe.
They walk/run to the entrance to wait and they don’t even have to wait long
because two men, both dressed well and all in black, waltz right into the
station like they own the place. They don’t look the least bit intimidated by
the growling Alpha who meets them at the door.
“Get out before I tear you both to pieces,” Derek says, his claws coming out.
One of the men steps forward and with a smile that’s a bit on the slimy side
says, “We don’t mean you any harm, werewolf. We’re only here to talk to Mr.
Stilinski.”
“So talk,” Stiles says, folding his arms.
The slimy one says, “I’d prefer we do it alone.”
Derek snorts and Stiles says, “Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.”
Both men eye Derek and then turn back to Stiles. Slimy says, “Allow me to
introduce myself. I am Roland, and my associate here is Mark. I don’t know how
much Adelinde has told you about our Order, but we are peaceful. We don’t want
to hurt her. We’re here to make sure she’s alright, in fact.”
Stiles notices that Roland doesn’t say anything about not wanting to hurt
Stiles. It’s all about the dragon with them.
“She’s fine,” Stiles says.
“We’d like to see that for ourselves, if you don’t mind,” Mark says. His voice
is a lot less oily and more kind. Stiles doesn’t trust him as far as he could
throw him.
They want to see me manifest. Tell them I’m still weak from Jennifer’s …
illness, Addie says.
“Addie’s weak. Jen was really sick when we met,” Stiles says. “So she can’t
come out to play. Sorry.” He’s really only sorry that he hasn’t had a chance to
see Addie in all her dragon-y glory.
Roland looks pissed, but Mark says, “That is unexpected, but we can wait until
she’s ready. Until then, we should get to know you. You have to understand that
this sort of thing is unusual for us. Usually a Host is chosen from a group of
Candidates who’ve trained to be Hosts from an early age.”
“Has it happened this way before? An outsider becoming a Host?” Stiles asks
curiously.
Roland shakes his head but Mark says, “Yes. In thousands of years of course
there have been mistakes and rebelliousness. But it hasn’t happened in some
time, about a hundred and fifty years or so.”
Don’t ask him what happened then. He’ll just lie, Addie says.
“So you’re probably here to judge my fitness as a Host, right?” Stiles says.
Beside him, Derek hasn’t moved or looked away from the two men. He’s been
glaring the whole time. It’s almost funny, the way he wants to protect Stiles.
Mark smiles and Stiles almost relaxes. Then he remembers it’s possible one of
these men poisoned Jen and a shiver — not the good kind — runs through him.
“You’ve guessed correctly,” Mark says. “We can’t have just anyone playing Host
to an ancient and powerful dragon.”
“So … if you decide you don’t like me?” Stiles asks.
Mark’s smile falters for a moment, but Roland says, “Ultimately the question
will be answered by Adelinde.”
Stiles huffs. “Addie likes me just fine. And you can stop hiding the truth from
me: I know I’d have to die to give her up to another Host.”
Roland tilts his head. “You aren’t stupid, at least.”
“Yeah, well. I met one of your Candidates and compared to him I’m amazing,”
Stiles says. “Especially since I’m not batshit insane.”
“We don’t exactly know what happened to Serge,” Mark says apologetically, “but
we suspect foul magic. He’s not himself. Please don’t judge his character based
on your experience with him.”
Stiles tilts his head, taking this in. “So you know someone’s fucking around
inside your Order, plotting and killing people. Do you know why?”
“It is not your concern,” Roland says. “The Order of the Dragon is closed to
outsiders and this is our business.”
“Someone made it my business when they went after me,” Stiles says. “I was
almost killed!”
Derek growls, so low Stiles almost doesn’t hear it.
“It’s okay, I’m safe now,” Stiles whispers to him, and moves closer so that
Derek can touch him or sniff him or whatever if he wants. He doesn’t do those
things, but he does relax a bit.
“We were not aware you were close with the local werewolf pack,” Mark says,
words coming out slow and deliberate. “But since you are, that actually opens
up an alternative solution we hadn’t thought of before.”
If you want to be rid of me and still live, this is the only way, Addie
whispers.
“Receive the bite, become a werewolf, and Adelinde will be able to pass into
her next Host without damage to either of you,” Roland says.
Stiles knew this was coming but he didn’t think they’d put it to him so boldly.
He can hear the underlying threat, too — if they want Addie back and he doesn’t
do this, they’ll kill him. Derek is as stiff as a board beside him and Stiles
gives in and laces their fingers together. Maybe Derek doesn’t need the
reassurance but Stiles sure does.
“So my choices are … A. die, B. become a werewolf, or C. live with a dragon in
my head for the rest of my life. That’s what it boils down to, right?” Stiles
asks while Derek squeezes his hand.
“We don’t want you to die, of course,” Mark says.
“The death option is off the table, I can tell you that now,” Stiles says
tightly.
“I’m surprised your werewolf friend has nothing to say about this,” Roland
says.
“Derek’s the strong, silent type,” Stiles says, leaning against Derek’s side.
This is too much stress. Stiles wants the men to go away and never come back.
His chest is tight with anxiety and his stomach is in knots.
Maybe he smells it on Stiles or maybe he senses it some other way, but Derek
does the best thing he could possibly do in this situation. He wraps his arm
around Stiles and says, “I believe you’ve overstayed your welcome … the welcome
I did not extend to you. I suggest you leave now.”
Sam nods and Roland says, “This isn’t over. Think about what we’ve said and
we’ll get back to you.”
“Or you could just leave us alone,” Stiles says without hope.
They would never do that, Addie says, which is what Stiles figured.
“Our responsibility is to Adelinde,” Mark says. “We can’t walk away from that.
Our oaths will not let us.”
“Great. Well, I guess I’ll see you around, then. Just … take your time getting
back to me, alright? I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment,” Stiles says.
“We’ll see ourselves out,” Roland says, and the two men turn and leave.
As soon as they’re gone, Stiles begins to shake. Derek wraps his arms around
him and Stiles buries his face in his neck. “They’re going to kill me,” Stiles
says. It’s muffled and quiet but Derek hears him.
“I would never let that happen,” Derek says.
“They don’t want some kid they’ve never heard of being Addie’s Host,” Stiles
says. “They can’t control me.”
Personally, I believe that’s a good thing, Addie says.
“Maybe you should think about what they said,” Derek says after a while. His
words are hesitant, but Stiles hears a bit of hope in them.
It’s enough to make him pull back and look into Derek’s eyes. “You want to give
me the bite, don’t you?”
Derek doesn’t look away. “I don’t want to lie to you. I think you’d make a good
wolf. And it would solve the problem of the Order; they’d leave us alone as
long as they got their dragon.”
I do not belong to the Order! Addie corrects hotly.
Stiles smiles. “Addie says she’s her own dragon.”
“Will you at least consider it?” Derek asks.
“What, do you think I’ve never thought about it before?” Stiles asks. “I’ve
made lists of reasons why I should stay human, and lists of reasons why I
should be turned.”
“And?” Derek asks.
Stiles sighs. “And the only reason I didn’t want to be completely human was so
I could protect my family — my dad and the pack. With Addie’s magic, I can do
that. I can heal, and protect, and I’m going to learn to fight. I think if the
choice was human without Addie and werewolf, if you’d come to me and asked me,
I would have chosen wolf. But now?” He shakes his head.
“So your choice is the dragon,” Derek says and looks away.
“My choice is always going to be what’s best for the people I love,” Stiles
says softly, reaching up to touch Derek’s jaw with his fingertips.
Derek looks back, sucking in a surprised breath. “Stiles...”
The stubble tickles the ends of his fingers and Stiles wants to feel it
everywhere. He wants beard burn on his thighs. He’s thought about it enough,
what that would feel like, and how it would get there in the first place. He
wants it more than anything.
“The way you smell...” Derek murmurs against Stiles’s lips. “The things you do
to me...”
Stiles doesn’t care if Derek doesn’t complete a thought. He can roll with
sentence fragments. Especially when they’re like this.
“Just tell me what this is,” Stiles says seriously. “If it’s just... just
fooling around, I need to know.” Because Stiles’s heart is already stupidly
involved here, and he wants to know if he’s walking straight into hellish pain.
“Not just fooling around,” Derek whispers, and kisses him. No, kissing is where
you press your lips together and maybe the tongue gets involved a little. This
is some kind of devouring thing happening. It’s hot and hungry and claiming,
like Derek is desperate to take Stiles’s mouth with his own. To make it his
own. Stiles is down with that, though. Stiles is so down with that.
It doesn’t matter that the Order might want to kill him, or that the Alpha pack
wants to kill them all, or that Scott might walk into the station at any
moment...
Oh please, please, no. They’ve had enough interruptions already. He just can’t
handle another one, not when Derek’s hands are traveling down his back and
cupping his ass and pulling him closer.
“Let’s go see if the bed is still as comfortable as it was an hour ago,” Stiles
says.
Derek huffs a laugh and kisses his neck. “We can’t. I sent the others out but
they’ll be back soon.”
Dammit all, cockblocked again! Stiles groans and Addie laughs in his head. He
swears he can hear a Seinfeld character screaming, “No sex for you!” Or maybe
he’s finally going insane for real. Is blue balls a real thing, and if so, does
it cause mental imbalance?
===============================================================================
The rest of the pack bring back food. Which is good, because Stiles is
starving. He eats his burger and curly fries and tunes out the pack’s chatter.
He’s thinking about being one of them. Yeah, he said he was happy being with
Addie, having magic, being able to protect them all through spells instead of
teeth and claws, but there’s another side to being a werewolf that he hasn’t
let himself think about much.
He’s a member of the pack, there’s no question of that. As rocky a start as
they got, they’re a family now. Jackson is submitting to Derek, when Stiles had
thought that was impossible. Even Scott is starting to settle. So yeah, Stiles
is pack. But he doesn’t feel that mystical bond the wolf members feel. He
doesn’t have that tie to them, to Derek.
Part of him wants it. Not only that, but he wants the super senses and the
instincts and the badass claws and … well, he can do without the Elvis
sideburns because really, those are ridiculous. The glowing eyes are cool, but
they don’t seem to serve any real function.
He knows Derek wants him to be a wolf. It’s pretty clear it’s because of the
pack bond. Derek wants to feel him. Does he want to dominate him? Stiles
doesn’t want to be just another beta to Derek. He’s not sure what he wants to
be to Derek, but he has some ideas. Boyfriend is a good start. An equal, or at
least as equal as you can be with an Alpha werewolf.
“You okay?” Scott asks him.
Stiles looks up from where he’s been staring at his last curly fries, which are
now disgustingly cold, and nods. “Just thinking.”
“About Derek?” Scott whispers. Like Derek wouldn’t be able to hear him if he
wanted. Derek’s got ears like a bat — or a wolf, anyway.
Stiles just shrugs and sips his drink. The straw is misshapen from where he’s
bent and bit it at the tip, so the soda comes through slowly. Just how Stiles
likes it.
“What’s going on with you two?” Scott asks, still whispering. “And why does the
station smell like other humans?”
“Long story,” Stiles says. “And me and Derek? I have no clue, man. He’s not
exactly Mr. Feelings Talker.”
Scott wrinkles his nose. “You both smell like …” He flushes and looks away.
“Like you need some time alone together.”
“Yes!” Stiles says, a little loudly. “That is so true you don’t even know!” But
then he realizes that if Scott — who is reluctant to embrace the furry senses —
can smell it, so can everyone else. Well, everyone but Lydia, but she’s so
smart she can probably read between the lines.
When he looks around, he notices that everyone is looking at him and Derek out
of the corner of their eyes and then giving each other knowing, amused looks.
It’s a lot of silent communication but Stiles is attuned to them. He knows they
know. And now they’re looking back at him like they know he knows they know.
Werewolf senses mean no privacy at all.
Time to take their minds off it.
“Okay, quick meeting,” Stiles calls out.
Derek nods at him, approving. Stiles wonders where he’d be in pack hierarchy if
he was bitten. He’s starting to feel like Derek’s second in command. Nothing
overt or anything, it’s just little stuff adding up. Like the way the others
look at him now, gathering around and waiting.
“So, you probably smelled other humans here, and you’re curious. Don’t worry,
they aren’t a threat to you. Or to Derek. There might be a tiny threat to me,
but we’re going to deal with that,” Stiles says. He might as well be as honest
as possible. It’s what he wants from the pack in return.
“Who are they, and what’s the threat?” Boyd asks.
Stiles holds up his hand, listens to a few things from Addie, and then says,
“They’re from an ancient Order called the Societas Draconistrarum.” He doesn’t
trip over the Latin at all. He wonders if Lydia is proud. “Basically, they’ve
been Hosting dragons for a couple thousand years. Dragons used to live freely,
but they were hunted by humans almost to extinction. The remaining dragons made
a pact with the first Order, a group of … let’s call them mages, I guess. The
mages made it so that the dragons could hide in plain sight as symbiotes. So,
for thousands of years this Order has protected the dragons and served as Hosts
to them, only recruiting the best and brightest into their little club.”
“Best and brightest? How’d you get involved, Stilinski?” Jackson asks. The
gentle swipe at Stiles brings down the tension in the room.
Stiles gives him a shit-eating grin. “I’m just special that way, I suppose.”
Tell them about Jen. And the Alpha connection.
“Right, so... Addie’s last host was murdered,” Stiles says. “We think it’s
because she was headstrong and otherwise weak without the dragon. She couldn’t
do magic, and she wouldn’t be the sort to fall in line with whoever wanted her
to do certain things. She left the Order as soon as she figured out she’d been
poisoned.”
“If someone wanted her out of the way, why not just kill her?” Lydia asks.
“The poison made it so that Addie couldn’t manifest. It made her even weaker,”
Stiles explains. “They tracked her here and … someone in the Order either
controlled the Alpha pack or made a deal with them. That’s why Jen and I were
taken.”
“They wanted to get your dragon into someone else while Addie couldn’t
protest,” Lydia says.
“That’s what we think, yeah,” Stiles says.
“And you were attacked by, who, exactly?” Isaac asks.
“His name is Serge and he was supposed to be Addie’s next Host. The men from
the Order seem to think he was under the influence of ‘foul magic’ when he
attacked me,” Stiles says.
“How much longer until Addie can manifest?” Derek asks.
Stiles waits for Addie to answer, but she can only say, I’m not sure. I’ve
never gone through this before.
“She doesn’t know,” Stiles says. “But until then, I’m vulnerable to attack by
whoever is behind this.”
“But you can protect yourself,” Scott says. “You put the whammy on that guy.”
I will teach you to control my breath today. That should keep you safe from
anyone else like Serge.
“That was practically accidental,” Stiles says. “But Addie’s going to teach me
something better soon.”
“It’s clear that one of the Hosts from the Order is behind this,” Derek says.
“Someone with dark magic and a dragon that can manifest. I don’t want you alone
anymore.”
“I can’t just move in here,” Stiles says. He thinks he sounds reasonable
enough. “Dad works a lot, yeah, but he’ll expect me home at least some of the
time.”
“We’ll work to protect your house,” Peter says. “Just like we were planning to
do for our den in the forest.”
It takes Stiles a moment to equate ‘den’ with ‘the Hale house’, but the others
are nodding and don’t seem to think his wording is out of the ordinary.
Werewolves, right. Of course they’d consider it their den.
“We can’t do everything we planned,” Stiles says. “It’s not like my house is
surrounded by trees we can carve runes in.”
“No, but we can hang talismans around the entrances and carve runes in the
windowsills,” Lydia says. Stiles shouldn’t be surprised that she’s so good at
this. She’s fitting into the pack perfectly.
“Do it, as soon as possible,” Derek says commandingly. “Until then, you’re
staying right here.”
Stiles mock salutes. “Yessir.”
===============================================================================
Stiles stays too busy to talk to Derek. He’s learning new spells — something
called ‘healing hands’ that works on other people and not just himself,
‘dragon’s breath’ which isn't fire after all but a freezing stream of cold, and
a locating spell that Stiles has dubbed ‘the packfinder’. When he’s not working
on his Latin (why Latin? Why not Gaelic or Greek or Egyptian?) (I’m from Rome,
Stiles, Addie explains) he’s sleeping. Magic is utterly exhausting. Addie
claims he’ll build a tolerance soon and he can tell he’s not getting quite as
tired as he was at first, but it’s still a pain.
Except for when Derek sleeps with him. They don’t do anything in bed but
cuddle, but then again Stiles has been too tired to do anything sexual anyway,
as impossible as that seems.
Derek spoons behind him while he sleeps, his arms around him, or sometimes
Stiles sleeps with his head pillowed on Derek’s shoulder while Derek runs a
hand over his head and down his back. It’s comforting and safe and Stiles knows
no one's going to get him like this, no one would dare take on an Alpha and his
… cuddle buddy.
“Need a name f’you,” Stiles murmurs one night. “I like labels.”
Derek rumbles a soft laugh and kisses his head. “Go back to sleep, Stiles.”
But Stiles is persistent and he needs to know. He props himself up on one arm
and looks at Derek’s relaxed face. “Are you serious about this?” he asks, words
as deliberate as he can make them. They still slur a bit, but he’s sure Derek
understands.
“Yes,” Derek says.
“Yes,” Stiles echoes. “Okay.” He wonders if Derek means boyfriends or … wolf
mates. Stiles has done extensive research on the sexual habits of werewolves
and while a lot of it was just plain weird and pornographic (not that he’s
complaining, exactly) every source seemed to agree on the whole ‘wolves mate
for life’ thing. But he’s thought about that a lot, too — humans mate for life
in a lot of cases. It’s not something that happens overnight. There’s dating
and there’s buildup and sex and conversations about the future.
“You’re overthinking this, aren’t you?” Derek asks.
“Mmm,” Stiles says. “Probably.” He leans down and drags his lips over Derek’s
clavicle. He realizes he could love this person. He’s lost and broken, but
Stiles thinks he’s finding his place and picking up the pieces. Derek’s been
hurt badly in the past, and while Stiles doesn’t know the details he can make
some assumptions. Just the fact that Derek's willing to share this much with
Stiles means that he’s serious. He’s putting himself out there in a less-
obvious but clear-to-Stiles way. Derek's lost so much, and Stiles wants to give
him everything he can.
Sounds like you’re already in love with him, Addie says smugly.
“Shut up, Addie,” Stiles murmurs, and covers Derek’s body with his own. “What
do you want?” he asks Derek, gaze flicking from his mouth to his eyes and back
again.
Derek licks his lips and it makes Stiles want to moan. “You know everyone can
hear us, right?”
Right. They’re in the corner of the station, but everyone around them has super
hearing. It sucks, and Stiles bites his lip in indecision.
“Don’t even think about it, Stiles!” Scott calls out from the other side of the
station.
“Oh, cover your ears or something!” Stiles yells back, leaning in to take
Derek’s bottom lip between his teeth. He knows from limited experience that
Derek likes that. He’s dying to find out first hand what else Derek likes.
“I’m going for breakfast!” Jackson calls out.
“It’s four AM,” Erica grumbles.
“Waffle House is open,” Boyd says.
“I’m in,” Isaac says.
Stiles just keeps kissing Derek. He yawns a little, but he’ll fight sleep for
this.
“They’re gone,” Derek says, and rolls them over easily so that his body covers
Stiles’s.
Stiles looks up at him and grins. “Are you going to have your wicked way with
me now?”
A growl is the only response before Derek is attacking Stiles’s neck like it’s
a tasty treat. His teeth are blunt but unrelenting, and Stiles knows he’s being
marked. The thought gives him a full body shiver.
“You don’t know how hard it’s been, being so close to you and not able to
touch,” Derek says.
The words wash over Stiles and turn him on even more. “Keep touching. Don’t
stop.”
“I feel like I’ve been waiting years for you,” Derek says. It’s … god, is this
Derek being romantic? It’s working, whatever.
“Don’t stop talking,” Stiles gasps, because this is new and good and Derek’s
growling voice is making his cock throb.
“Knew you’d be just like this, demanding and needy and perfect for me,” Derek
says, and he’s rolling Stiles over on his side and sliding in behind him. His
hands are everywhere, pulling Stiles’s shirt up to his armpits, pushing his
pants and underwear down around his knees. There’s a loud zipping noise — or
unzipping, rather — as Derek wrestles his way out of his own jeans.
“Not to break the mood or anything, but um, you don’t happen to have lube, do
you?” Stiles asks. He wants Derek, he really does, but there’s no way he’s
having his first full gay experience without being completely prepared.
“Don’t need it,” Derek growls, and then he’s pushing his cock — his big, hard,
mouthwateringly thick cock — between Stiles’s thighs.
“Oh,” Stiles says, tightening his legs. It’s not perfect and Stiles wishes
there was something there beside a trickle of precome to ease the friction, but
Derek seems to like it. He bites the back of Stiles’s neck and reaches around
to stroke his cock. He must have licked his palm because it’s a nice slick
slide, almost too tight but absolutely perfect.
“Can’t wait to fuck you for real,” Derek says, breath hot against his shoulder.
“I know you’ll be perfect for me.” His cock nudges the underside of Stiles’s
balls as it rocks, and the closeness of it makes Stiles cry out. He feels needy
and empty and wants exactly the same thing Derek wants.
“Want it,” Stiles says breathlessly. “Want all of you.”
Derek growls deep again and stills, his hot come painting the inside of
Stiles’s thighs.
Once Derek comes back to himself, he rolls on top and starts stroking Stiles’s
dick again. It’s not enough, though. Stiles’s body knows what it wants and his
mouth starts running before he can stop it.
He whimpers. “God. Finger me or something, I need... I need you inside.”
Derek kisses him soothingly and slicks his fingers with come, then runs his
blunt fingertips over Stiles’s hole. Stiles pushes back, making greedy sounds
that he’d be embarrassed about in any other situation. Now he doesn’t care. Now
he only wants to be filled.
“You’re going to smell like me and sex, now,” Derek whispers. “Everyone will
know you’re mine.”
Stiles doesn’t think now is the time to explain it goes both ways. At the
moment, he doesn’t really care what Derek says as long as he keeps talking in
such a sexy voice. It’s his wolf-voice, only different. It’s possessive and
desperate and so, so hot. He’s got one finger inside Stiles now but it just
isn’t enough. “More, Derek. Give me more, please.”
Derek adds a second finger slowly. It burns a little this time where the first
finger didn’t. Stiles is about to demand more, because it still doesn’t feel
like enough, when Derek crooks them and brushes against his prostate. It’s
amazing. It makes him fist the sheets and cry out as Derek murmurs gently.
“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” Derek says, and it’s like a command.
“Not the boss of me,” Stiles reminds him, panting harshly. But then Derek does
something new with that sweet spot and leans down to lick Stiles’s length and
yeah, he’s coming, alright. He’s spurting all over himself, making a total
mess.
He opens his eyes again, expecting a smirk, but Derek is staring at him like
he’s never seen anything like him before. Like maybe he’s got some deep
feelings he hasn’t quite expressed yet.
Stiles looks down at himself and makes a face. “Got tissues or something?” He
asks. He’s got come between his legs, in his ass, all over his belly and chest
— he’s a mess.
Instead of getting up, Derek just shimmies down the bed and starts licking him.
He starts at Stiles’s right knee, where a drop of Derek’s come sits like a seed
pearl, and then he works his way up. It’s weird and hot. Weirdly hot. By the
time Derek's at Stiles’s chest, they’re both hard again and basically humping
each other. Derek growls a lot. Stiles growls back playfully. There’s messy
kissing and more sloppy coming, and this time it gets all over Derek, too.
“I can't wait until the house is ready,” Stiles mumbles sleepily when it’s all
over for the second time. “Hot running water's a blessing that should never be
taken for granted.”
“Not too much longer,” Derek promises. “For now, maybe we should go back to
your house. When does your dad get home?”
“His shift doesn’t end until seven. We’ve got a couple of hours.”
“I’ll text the pack and let them know where we’ll be,” Derek says, whipping out
his phone from somewhere.
Good. Stiles is looking forward to a shower. And, as he yawns, more sleep.
===============================================================================
Stiles is fast asleep and doesn’t notice the problem at first. It’s not until
Derek wakes him at nine that he finds out.
“Call your father,” Derek says.
Shit happens all the time. When your dad’s the Sheriff, you get used to
irregular hours and sudden schedule changes.
The call goes straight to voicemail. Stiles hits end and shrugs it off, then
scrolls through his contacts to the Sheriff’s Department and calls them
directly. After twenty seconds he learns his father got off at seven as planned
and hasn’t been seen since.
The BCSD isn’t far from the house. Stiles and Derek get out and drive the route
in case something happened to the car. They find nothing.
They go to the Department parking lot and Derek picks up a faint scent. Wolves,
the same ones he smelled on Stiles after he was kidnapped by the Alpha pack.
“Shit,” Stiles says, and begins to panic. He should have made that talisman. He
should have made sure his father was protected. He’s been so worried about that
pack that he hasn’t given enough thought to his own father, the only blood
relative he has left.
“Stiles!” Derek says, grabbing him by the shoulders. “Breathe for me, baby.
This isn’t your fault.”
Stiles takes a few unsteady breaths but they want to come fast and shallow
instead of the slow and deep he needs. But Derek’s there. It’s okay. It’ll be
okay.
“We’ll find him,” Derek is saying. “C’mon, you need to stay calm.”
After he’s taken a few long, slow breaths, counting the inhale, hold, and
exhale, Stiles can finally speak again. So he says, “Baby? Really?”
Derek blinks and then turns pink. “If you don’t like it...”
This is definitely not the time. But Derek looks so open and unsure that Stiles
has to say, “No, no, it’s okay. Just, um. Unexpected?”
“I don’t have to...” Derek says, and he sounds so earnest and fuck, Stiles
really is in love with him.
“Just not around the rest of the pack, okay?” Stiles says. “I’d never hear the
end of it.”
Derek smiles and nods and gives him a one-armed hug. “Are you feeling better
now?”
“Yeah. We need to get the pack together,” Stiles says.
Derek is already taking out his phone to send multiple texts. “We’ll go back to
your house and figure this out from there.”
And you’ll need more rest if you’re going to be any match for the Alpha pack,
Addie says.
“There’s not a lot to figure out. The Alpha pack is working for someone in the
Order, and the Order is trying to get to me through my dad,” Stiles says,
ignoring Addie.
“No one is getting to you,” Derek vows, kissing Stiles’s forehead. “We’ll get
him back.”
“We’re no match for a whole pack of Alphas,” Stiles says. “My magic against one
Alpha … maybe. But all of them? We still don’t even know how many there are.”
“Let’s wait until the pack gets here before we start making plans,” Derek says.
Stiles nods. It’s the sane thing to do. It doesn’t stop him from wanting to go
out and freeze the entire Alpha pack in one go. If only he could. Addie’s
magic's there, but his skill isn’t up to a full-scale attack like that.
I’m almost well enough to manifest, Addie suddenly says. If we can get you in
the center of them, I can come out and eliminate the threat.
Stiles knows Derek would never let that happen. Put himself in the middle of
the Alpha pack, put himself in that kind of danger, even with Addie to back him
up? No way.
So you must choose whether or not to tell your Alpha your plan.
Once they get back to the house, Stiles’s phone vibrates. He excuses himself to
the bathroom and checks the incoming messages. There’s a picture of his dad,
trussed up and bloody, and an address. The next message says, ‘Simple trade.
Come alone.’
The address is in the warehouse district. His bad joke has come back to haunt
him and he wants to laugh at the irony.
Addie's right, though — he's got a choice to make. He either tells Derek about
this or he doesn’t. He’s a member of the pack and Derek's his Alpha. He’s also
his boyfriend. Not telling him might lead to some consequences Stiles can’t
bear.
But one thing he knows he can’t bear is his father’s death. Especially since
this whole thing is technically Stiles’s fault. He could have gone with the
Order’s suggestion of getting the bite and giving up Addie. Then they’d be
gone, the Alpha pack wouldn’t have such an interest in him, his dad wouldn’t be
in danger, and Stiles would still have the ability to protect the ones he
loves.
And I’d be Hosted by a magically-manipulated puppet. Don’t forget me in your
hypothetical ‘better’ scenario, Addie says.
“Sorry, Addie,” Stiles says. Then, “Are you sure you’re ready to come out?”
I’d prove it to you now if I didn’t need a cooldown period between
manifestations, Addie says.
“How long is the cooldown?” Stiles asks.
At least twenty-four hours, Addie says. It takes that long to gather myself
together again.
Stiles nods like he understands, which he doesn’t, but he gets the gist of it.
A full day between manifestations, and he doesn’t have that long. He’s got to
get to the warehouse and rescue his dad, with Addie’s help.
His mind is made up. He’s doing this. But he needs to tell Derek.
===============================================================================
“No,” Derek says.
“I get in, get Dad out, then Addie shows up and I get myself out. It’s that
easy,” Stiles says. Of course he knows there are about a hundred ways the plan
could go inside out and sideways, but he’s got to stay positive.
“No,” Derek says again.
Stiles looks around the room at the others, begging for some kind of backup.
But even Scott is siding with Derek on this. Stiles clenches his fists. “You
can’t stop me. I’d just rather have you guys in on the plan than not.”
“No,” Derek says, like stressing the word is going to make it carry more
weight.
“Derek,” Stiles says, rounding on him and showing him just how serious he is.
“I have Addie. I have magic. This is my dad we’re talking about. I can’t leave
him there.”
“I can make something resembling tear gas,” Lydia says. “Then all we need are
gas masks. If we throw it into the warehouse and then take the Sheriff out of
there, we’d stay mostly safe.”
“Where are we going to get gas masks?” Scott asks.
Stiles wishes his magic was more trained. He could use magical fog to knock out
the Alphas and conceal his pack. He knows the camouflage spell pretty well now,
but he doesn’t think he can cast it for everyone else and keep it going,
without getting exhausted.
No, but you can imbue talismans with the same spell with much less effort,
Addie whispers.
He thinks about it while the others talk over him. Derek looks at him several
times, frowning. He knows Stiles is plotting. Finally, Stiles holds up his hand
and smiles grimly.
“Okay, I’ve got a plan.”
===============================================================================
He walks in, alone, his hands empty. He’s still reeling from the near-violent
kiss Derek gave him right before sending him on his way. His lips are swollen
and tingly, but now is not the time to think about Derek’s public display of
‘you’d better not get killed’.
Someone’s coming from the Order, Addie says as he's suddenly surrounded by
Alpha werewolves on all sides. There are five of them, total. Stiles stiffens.
His dragon can only fight so many without being overpowered herself. Don’t
worry.
Don’t worry, indeed. Easy for her to say. She’ll be alive no matter what. It’s
Stiles they want to kill.
“We had a deal. Where’s my father?” Stiles asks, keeping his voice as even as
possible. He knows they can all hear his heart pounding and smell his fear, but
he’s not going to give them anything more than that.
One of the Alphas shrugs carelessly. “He’s in the other room. Don’t know if
he’s still alive or not.”
Stiles’s heart's in his throat now and he can barely talk around it. “Let me
see him.”
“Sure, kid,” says the cowboy Stiles recognizes from his kidnapping. Which makes
him think of Jen, which pisses him off. Magic wells up inside him, ready to
come out at his call. It’s a good feeling. Powerful.
The Alphas push him along to a small office in the warehouse, then lock him
inside. At first he doesn’t see his dad, but then there he is on the floor like
he was mauled and just dumped there. There’s blood on his shirt and face,
smears, and Stiles is not going to panic.
“Dad?” Stiles says, gently turning his father over onto his back. His chest
bears claw marks and Stiles searches all over for more blood that might
indicate a bite. He’d rather have a werewolf dad than a dead one, but it’s not
in his top ten list of ways this should end.
“Stiles,” his dad croaks. “Get out of here.”
That’s a laugh. “Sure, as soon as I can. Got to make sure you don’t die on me
first, though. Hold still.”
He’s only practiced the healing hands spell once, on the cat at the animal
clinic. It worked then but that was another kind of problem. Hip dysplasia is
different than ten inch gashes, and that’s not even taking into consideration
the fact that Stiles has never done this on a person before. Derek had
volunteered, but his super-speedy healing meant it was over before Stiles
started chanting.
Chanting, right. Latin again. Addie whispers the correct wording to him and
then he’s doing it, laying his hands over his father’s chest and moving the
magic into and under the wounds to heal them.
“Stiles?” his dad asks, looking down at the disappearing marks. Now there are
just long pink lines on his chest, where before there were deep gashes. “You’re
going to explain all of this?”
“Soon as we get home, Dad,” Stiles promises.
The Alphas didn’t check him very well this time and he takes his phone out of
his hoodie and sends a text to the pack. He also takes out the empty talisman
he was carrying.
“What’s that? Did you call the police?” his father asks, ever the Sheriff.
“Weird how that option never came to mind,” Stiles mutters to himself. Of
course the cops would all get torn to pieces and there are few enough
applicants already. No one wants to work at the Beacon County Sheriff’s
Department anymore, not with their kind of mortality rate.
“They aren’t human, Stiles,” his dad says hesitantly, like a question.
“No, they’re werewolves,” Stiles says. “But that doesn’t mean all werewolves
are bad. These particular ones are, though.”
“Right. Werewolves,” his father says. He snorts. “What?”
“I’m serious,” Stiles says. The look on his dad’s face is pure shock. “Just
believe me, okay? I promise it’ll all make sense later.”
His dad shakes his head and squeezes his eyes shut. “Werewolves,” he mutters.
Then, with the cool gained by past experience with danger, he nods grimly. “We
need to leave.”
Stiles flashes him a grin. “Don’t worry. We’re getting out of here soon.”
They’re coming, Stiles. Hurry!
Stiles nods and cups the empty talisman in his hands, then works the magic. It
doesn’t have to be perfect; there will be enough distraction that it might not
even be needed. When he’s finished he loops it around his father’s neck and
watches him disappear from view. “Perfect.”
“I can’t see myself,” his dad says, apparently looking down or at his hands or
something.
“That’s the point. Now. I’m going to open the door and you’re going to walk out
of the warehouse, straight past the loading dock, right to Scott and Lydia.
Stay there,” Stiles says.
“And what will you be doing while this is happening? Where’s your amulet?” Dad
asks.
“I have a secret weapon,” Stiles says.
“Are you a werewolf?” his father asks, sounding shocky.
“No. I’m a Host to a badass dragon who’s going to eat those Alphas out there
for breakfast,” Stiles says with a grin he really doesn’t feel. It’s weird
talking to someone you can’t see, but Stiles is just happy the magic is
working.
He feels his father grip his arm. “I don’t understand what you just said, and I
have a feeling I won’t like it when I do.”
Stiles pats his father’s invisible hand awkwardly. “Dad, I really, really wish
I had time to explain everything, but I don’t. We’re in real danger here and
I’ve got to get you out.”
He freezes the lock on the door with the dragon’s breath spell and then knocks
it to the floor.
“Now go,” he whispers, and hopes his father does exactly as he was told.
Take your shirt off unless you want it torn to pieces, Addie says.
“My favorite hoodie? No way,” Stiles says and whips it off over his head. He
hears a gasp — his father must have seen the tattoo. “Dad,” he whispers, “I
promise, I’ll tell you everything. Just get out of here.”
Showtime Addie says. She sounds giddy. Stiles realizes she hasn’t manifested in
a long time and is eager to come out to play.
“Hey, Alpha douchebags!” Stiles calls out, and two of them stalk toward him,
snarling.
“How did you get out?” Cowboy asks. The other one is tall and wiry, like a
basketball player.
“Just a trick I know,” Stiles says airily.
Brace yourself, Addie says, and then there’s a pulling sensation, like Stiles
is losing something vital, and then...
Addie is there.
Stiles knows she's a dragon. He knows what the tattoo looks like and the word
‘dragon’ has been bandied about nonstop since this whole thing began. But to
actually see her, a mythical creature of pure magic, all black with shiny
scales and fire-red claws and horns and deeply intelligent black eyes — well,
it’s a wonder Stiles is still standing.
She looks at him and rolls her eyes and yeah, that’s his Addie. He gets the
message and moves out of the way.
The two Alphas are backing away. They know when they’re outmatched. She corners
them, though, and chomps. Stiles hears their bones crunch, like a couple of
roaches squished under a boot.
Others come running to see what the commotion is. Stiles leaps out of the way
before Addie roars at them, her icy breath freezing them solid. It’s like
something out of a comic book: a freeze ray. He could never get his dragon’s
breath spell that powerful. Well, maybe with practice.
He’s not paying attention. No, he is, he’s just paying attention to the wrong
things. He’s grabbed from behind, arms locked painfully behind his back.
“If I kill you now, Adelinde will have no choice but to bond with Serge,”
Roland says in his ear.
“Serge is in jail,” Stiles says.
“Wrong,” says another voice, and shit, it’s Serge. “Kill him, uncle.”
Addie is done with the Alphas; there aren’t any of them left. She turns back to
Stiles and stops when she sees his situation.
“Adelinde, I’m sure you don’t want to fight with Dracu,” Roland says, and it
takes Stiles a moment to realize he must be talking about his own dragon. “Come
peacefully and you will be treated well.”
“She’s not a pet or a slave,” Stiles spits. “Why do you want to control
dragons?”
“Because we can pool our magical resources together and do great things,”
Roland says.
“So you just want more power,” Stiles says. There's a shift in the air to his
right and he knows Derek is there, wearing a camouflage talisman and waiting
for his signal. It’s dangerous, though. Dracu could manifest and kill them all.
There’s no telling what his opinion of all this is.
“Someone’s here,” Serge says, looking around frantically. “I heard something.”
Addie roars her displeasure.
Roland goes on as if he didn’t hear. “For too long, the Order has stayed in the
shadows, protecting ancient secrets. We could have influenced the entire world,
but instead they chose to hide away.”
“Uncle, I heard something!” Serge says again.
Stiles is bound with his hands behind his back and can’t do anything but watch
as another dragon manifests in the warehouse next to Addie. This one is brown
with a golden underbelly, larger than Addie. Their eyes meet, and then as one
they converge on Roland.
“Dracu! Dracu, come out!” Roland says, holding out a hand as if to stop the
dragons from attacking. But no magic comes and Dracu doesn’t manifest. Stiles
realizes Dracu is on their side, not Roland’s.
Serge gasps as the brown dragon takes a swipe at Roland, then hides his face
when Addie breathes ice on him, freezing him in place. Only then does Stiles
see Mark standing by with his arms crossed. He has a scarily calm expression on
his face.
When Roland is frozen, his magic fails completely and Stiles is unbound. Around
him, his packmates take off their talismans and skirt around the dragons to
check on Stiles and to grab Serge.
Derek is the first to reach Stiles; he must have been close. Stiles leans into
him and Derek wraps his arms tightly around him.
“Wait,” Stiles says, and then walks up to Addie, ignoring Mark’s dragon for the
moment. Hesitantly, Stiles reaches out to touch Addie’s scales. He’s amazed to
find how hard they are. Addie lowers her head so she can meet Stiles eye to
eye. Stiles grins. “Hey.” Addie snorts and Stiles pats her nose. Then he looks
at Mark’s dragon and nods. “Thank you.”
Hang on, Addie says in his head, and then she’s moving back into Stiles, and he
can feel the fullness of her, the power. His back tingles for a moment and he
knows the tattoo has returned to its place.
When Stiles looks up again, he sees that Mark’s dragon has returned, too.
Mark holds out his hand and Stiles shakes it. Derek drapes his jacket over
Stiles’s naked shoulders and Stiles gives him a grateful smile.
Mark looks sadly at the frozen Roland. “I knew he was betraying the Order, but
I couldn’t find a way to capture him without hurting Dracu.”
“That won’t hurt him?” Stiles asks.
“A Candidate is on her way to take over. Dracu has a day or so at least until
he needs a new Host,” Mark says.
“Thank god this is over,” Stiles says with a sigh. “I mean, awesome dragons are
awesome, but my life needs to get back to normal.” Whatever ‘normal’ means.
“The Order is going to want to keep tabs on you,” Mark says.
“Is anyone else going to try to kill me?” Stiles asks. Beside him, Derek
growls.
“I highly doubt that. After what you’ve done here, it’s clear that you and
Addie work well together and it would be a shame to part you,” Mark says. “But
try not to let her manifest anywhere you have to explain it.”
“Ancient secrets, right. I’ve got it,” Stiles says. Erica throws him his
clothes and he grabs them. “Yay, my hoodie!”
“Ready to go home?” Derek asks. It’s clear he thinks that’s a good idea.
Stiles groans. “Shit, I’ve got to explain everything to my dad.”
===============================================================================
His dad takes it about as well as Stiles expected. Better, actually. He’s happy
to find out that he’s not insane and all the animal attacks around Beacon Hills
were something more. The look on his face when it all slots together makes
Stiles smile. The subject matter is grim, of course, but it’s good to finally
come clean.
After he’s shown his dad his tattoo again, and explained in excruciating detail
about Addie and her role in his life now, his father notices how worn out he is
and takes pity so he can go upstairs. Stiles isn’t as tired from doing magic as
he’s been in the past, but there’s an emotional tiredness that he needs to
sleep off. Having everything over, finally, is such a relief. He’s been on edge
since the Alpha pack first came to town, and now that they’re gone he can rest.
His own pack is no longer in danger, at least not from that direction.
He takes a long shower, puts on fresh boxers, and shuts his door tight. He
opens his window before he goes to bed.
===============================================================================
He wakes up in Derek’s arms, just as he’d hoped. A quick glance at the clock
tells him it’s past midnight and he’s been sleeping for about five hours. He
doesn’t know when Derek showed up, but he’s sleeping soundly beside him.
Stiles props his head up on one hand and takes the opportunity to look at
Derek. He smells like soap on top of leather and that forest-scent he can never
shake, so Stiles knows he’s showered somewhere before coming over.
His face looks peaceful. He’s not angry or frustrated and there’s no worried
line between his eyebrows. He looks good like this, like he could wake up and
give Stiles an easy smile at any moment. Just imagining it is enough to make
Stiles’s heart turn over.
You really do love him, don’t you? Addie asks. Stiles smiles and reaches out to
touch Derek’s shoulder gently, smoothing his hand down the well-muscled arm.
“I think you should be quiet for awhile,” Stiles whispers to the dragon,
because he has plans that don’t include her.
As you say, Addie says. She sounds greatly amused.
But Stiles doesn’t have time to think about Addie’s amusement, because Derek’s
eyes are opening and he’s looking at Stiles like that. Zero to sixty in 3.9
seconds, Stiles thinks. Just like Derek’s told him about his Camaro.
Stiles puts a hand on Derek’s chest and gently pushes him down on his back. He
slides down Derek’s body, his intent clear. He’s never given a blowjob before
but he’s watched plenty of porn and had lots of fantasies. Derek seems to be
completely with the program, his eyes flickering briefly red and back again.
“Let me know if I do something wrong,” Stiles says, self-conscious. He looks at
Derek’s cock and feels a little intimidated, because how’s it going to fit? He
wants it, though. In his mouth, in his ass, it doesn’t matter. He just wants
it.
Derek’s eyes are intense when Stiles looks up at him again. Derek says, “I
don’t think you could do it wrong.”
Stiles makes a face, because what if he uses his teeth unintentionally?
Everything he's read always says to watch the teeth. Then again, Derek might
like that. There’s no telling with a werewolf, is there?
“Lick first,” Derek says, cutting into Stiles’s thoughts.
Right. Stiles can follow direction. He takes Derek’s cock in his hand and licks
up the underside with the flat of his tongue. When he gets to the head he
flicks his tongue at the slit and Derek makes a noise in the back of his
throat. It’s a good noise, but Stiles isn’t sure what prompted it. He’s just
started, after all.
“You look incredible,” Derek says hoarsely. “Keep going.”
Stiles licks his way around Derek’s cock, making it wet and sloppy, and then
without prompting takes as much as he can into his mouth. His hand at the base
keeps it from going too far, and he congratulates himself silently on the
forethought.
The weight of cock on his tongue is a new experience, but everything about it
serves to make Stiles harder. He’s glad he’s wearing boxers and not jeans
because it’d be uncomfortable if he was wrapped up tight down there. He doesn’t
quite manage to hold back a moan when Derek shifts his hips and pushes in a
little further.
“Stiles,” Derek says. “You like that?” His hands are petting Stiles’s head and
he moves his hips again. This time his cock moves back so that just the head is
there, and Stiles whimpers and tries to take more again. But Derek holds him in
place and won’t let him move. “Just like this.” And then he’s sliding back in,
wet and slow, filling Stiles’s mouth again.
It’s probably foolish to move his hand from the base of Derek’s cock, but
Stiles wants more. He looks up at Derek’s face and sees just as much want
there.
“You look so good with my cock filling your mouth,” Derek says, and the words
tumble out like he can’t stop them. Then he moves again, still slow, but this
time his cock goes farther and Stiles can feel it at the back of his throat.
It’s not harsh enough to trigger his gag reflex, though, and it feels so
amazing. He can taste Derek’s salty precome on his tongue. It makes him reach
down and palm his own cock through thin cotton.
Derek is starting to pant, and as much as Stiles wants him to finish in his
mouth, he wants other things more. Stiles pulls off Derek’s cock and looks up.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“You-- fuck,” Derek gasps, looking almost lost to lust and emotion. “Are you
sure?”
Stiles laughs. “Yeah. Positive.” He moves up the bed and rummages through the
side table for his bottle of lube. There’s an unopened box of condoms there,
too, but Derek’s a werewolf and can’t catch anything and Stiles is a virgin and
hasn’t had any opportunities to catch anything. So condoms aren’t needed. Which
is hot, really. He doesn’t want to feel anything between him and Derek.
Stiles decides to show off and makes the lube float in midair before pushing it
over to Derek’s waiting hand. Derek smiles at the show of magic and pulls him
down for a kiss. “You’re amazing. It’s hard to believe I can have this. Have
you.”
“Believe it,” Stiles whispers between kisses. “I’m yours.” Totally, completely.
Derek gives a playful growl and rolls them over. Stiles looks up at him and
grins. Then they’re kissing again, their bodies pressing and sliding together,
and Stiles thinks, I really love him.
Stiles parts his legs for Derek and Derek slicks his fingers with lube. “I feel
like I’ve been waiting for you forever,” Derek says, and pushes in with two
slick fingers. It’s almost too much all at once, but somehow Derek knows
exactly what Stiles can take.
It feels good: the stretch, the fullness, and then the twist of Derek’s fingers
that makes him cry out.
“Don’t stop talking,” Stiles says. Because Derek’s sex voice is amazing. Not to
mention the things he says.
“God, Stiles, I’m going to fill you up,” Derek murmurs. “Can you take another
one? Take another finger for me, baby.”
Stiles’s fingers are digging into Derek’s shoulders now, and he pushes back on
the three fingers that Derek gives him. It’s good, so good, and he can’t help
the whimper that comes out of his mouth.
“You sound good, too. You make me want to howl, you’re so perfect,” Derek says.
Stiles begins to fuck himself on Derek’s fingers, needing it, needing more.
He’s so close to begging. Maybe that’s what Derek wants.
“Perfect and mine,” Derek whispers. “Look at you.”
Stiles knows that Derek’s possessiveness is a werewolf thing; he doesn’t mind
one bit. Especially when he’s half mindless with lust like right now. “Yours,
Derek. Just yours. Now fuck me!”
Derek growls and shoves a pillow up under Stiles, then lines up and begins to
push in. His hands are tight on Stiles’s hips, and his cock is huge. Stiles
whimpers, but this time it’s because it hurts.
Derek stills and kisses his knee. “Shh, you’re doing so good. Just let it
happen.” He holds himself there, sweat beading on his forehead, letting Stiles
get used to the intrusion.
It takes what feels like forever, but then it doesn’t hurt anymore. The burn
that was like fire just moments ago is now a pleasant warmth, and Stiles
realizes that Derek is inside him. He wants more. More stretching, more
filling, more fucking. So he gives an experimental roll of his hips, taking
Derek in further.
“Yeah, just like that,” Derek says, sounding relieved and close to desperate.
“Move,” Stiles demands.
“You’re so tight,” Derek says. He thrusts in slowly until he’s buried to the
hilt.
Stiles moans and clings to him, lifting his knees up as far as he can get them
to go. It pushes Derek in deeper, and then Derek’s control seems to break and
he starts fucking Stiles for real. It’s like trying to hang glide in a
hurricane. Stiles can’t find the rhythm, can’t do anything but hold on for the
ride.
Every thrust pushes Stiles closer to the edge, and his cock hasn’t even been
touched. Derek has him on a razor’s edge, and when Stiles looks up he sees red
eyes focused entirely on him. It should scare him, to see how close to the wolf
Derek is. But it doesn’t. It turns him on even more, if that’s possible. Stiles
realizes that Derek’s control hasn’t broken at all, not really. While his eyes
are red, his claws are sheathed, and he’s actually fucking Stiles in a measured
way.
“You stopped talking,” Stiles gasps between thrusts.
Derek growls. “Fucking you, making you mine,” he says, which is probably all
that’s on his mind at the moment. It’s flattering, and sexy as hell. Stiles is
close, and he can tell Derek is, too.
“I am yours. I want you so bad,” Stiles says, clinging to Derek’s shoulders. He
bites and licks at the side of Derek’s neck. “Love you so much,” he gasps.
Derek groans and thrusts hard, then changes angles until Stiles cries out from
pleasure. “Come for me,” Derek says.
It’s not the order that makes Stiles come. It’s not like he was waiting for
permission or anything. Stiles’s orgasm makes an appearance after the demand
because of complete coincidence. That’s all.
And then Derek is coming, and Stiles swears he can feel it, a pulse of heat
inside him. It’s impossible of course, but the thought is hot as hell.
They lie together, sweaty and panting, for a good five minutes. Then Derek
leans over and kisses him. It’s slow and somewhat sloppy, absolutely perfect.
“You’re still not the boss of me, though,” Stiles says with a grin. He’s sure
it’s a goofy smile but he really doesn't care.
Derek traces his features with a fingertip, touching his nose and lips and
chin. It’s delicate and gentle. Stiles realizes he’s seeing a whole other side
to Derek now. He likes it.
“You said you love me,” Derek says softly.
Stiles blinks. “Don't you want me to? Because I don’t think I can do anything
about it.”
“No, that’s not what I meant,” Derek says, pulling Stiles close. The action
puts Stiles’s mind at ease. “It’s just dangerous for you.”
“It’s been dangerous for me since the beginning,” Stiles says. “At least now I
can fight back.”
Derek’s silent for a few moments, then he says, “Yeah, you can.”
Stiles closes his eyes and yawns. “Wake me up before you leave.”
“I will,” Derek says, kissing Stiles’s forehead.
It’s good, this thing they have. And having everything wrapped up and tidy,
having his dad, the pack — the town, even — safe, makes Stiles feel at ease.
He’s drifting off to pleasant dreams when he hears Derek’s voice again. Three
words.
It’s enough to make Stiles greet his dreams with a smile, knowing he is loved.
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