
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/444108.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Magic, Oral_Sex, married
  Series:
      Part 2 of Love_in_the_Groves
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-06-26 Words: 2170
****** The Cherry Tree ******
by Sheepnamedpig
Summary
     Derek and Stiles get married. And then they get married again.
Notes
     I Sterek'd again. It's a slippery slope.
     Unbeta'd
The forest spirit – Stiles – (and what the hell kind of name is 'Stiles'
anyways? “The kind that my mom made up when she named me after her dad without
realizing that non-spirits can't pronounce it.” And that's fair, Derek
supposes) doesn't wear clothing. Period. When Derek dumps a pair of pants in
his lap he rolls his eyes and shoves them off. When Derek tries to wrestle him
into a pair of boxers, the morning glory that migrated from Derek's legs to his
hair shoves two vines up his nose and wiggles them until he lets Stiles go.
Stiles storms off into the forest to commune with the trees or the animals or
whatever it is he does when he wanders off and Derek doesn't see him again
until two days later.
Derek doesn't try to force clothes on him after that. It's not like the house
gets any visitors anyways.
Speaking of the house, Stiles makes the burnt-out husk come to life. Literally.
The boards fuse together into living panels, shedding paint and charcoal as
they grow upwards and outwards, replacing the old floors and walls and growing
branches that arc like ceiling beams. Derek goes into town and finds as much
information on thatching as he can and he spends three weeks weaving living
straw into the branches and leaves, bundling everything together with more
varieties of morning glory than he knew even existed. Meanwhile, Stiles weaves
thick vines into banisters and sets window panes into the solid wood walls by
asking them politely to open such-and-such shaped holes. In the end, when
everything is finished, the Hale house looks like something from a fairy tale,
and that's no mean feat, coming from two fairy tale creatures.
Also, sex. Lots of sex.
Stiles is sixteen and absolutely shameless, meaning he's a perverted little
shit who can and does abuse his abilities to tie Derek down and ride him until
one of them passes out.
“Gotta bless every room in the house,” he pants, riding Derek's dick like he
didn't lose his virginity just a few weeks prior.
Derek is a werewolf, so he doesn't know jack shit about nature blessings, but
he does know a lot about lunar blessings, so when the moon waxes full, he takes
Stiles out and claims him under her light.
Technically, it means they're pretty much wolf-married, but Derek is
surprisingly okay with that, and when he admits it to Stiles, Stiles is pretty
okay with it, too. It doesn't stop him from wanting to strangle Stiles when he
gets into those moods where nothing can shut him up, but nobody's perfect.
A few days later, Stiles comes up to him and holds out his palm.
“Check it out, dude,” he says, inordinately pleased with himself.
“Don't call me dude,” Derek replies on reflex.
Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sorry, honeycomb,” he snarks. Derek lets that one go,
but only because it's marginally better than 'sugar bear', which was only
slightly better than 'sweetie lips'.
Derek looks down at Stiles palm. It's a cherry, such a dark red that it's
almost black.
“It's a cherry.”
“Duh.” Stiles rolls his eyes again and curls his fingers back around the
cherry. He turns and walks straight into the forest and Derek follows him.
Stiles starts talking about cherries and cherry trees and why cherry wood
darkens as it ages, but Derek tunes him out in favor of watching him walk.
The way Stiles walks through the woods is riveting, even taking out the part
where he's completely naked. He walks like he's wandered through the forest his
entire life, like he knows where every stone and root is, and exactly how high
he needs to raise his feet to avoid falling face-first into the dirt. And he
never, ever gets lost. It makes Derek a little jealous, knowing that there's
someone who knows the forest better than he does, but then, Stiles  is  the
forest, literally, for all that he's a spastic mouth-breather who never shuts
up.
They've been walking about ten minutes when Stiles stops abruptly, his words
trailing off. He looks around, at the trees, at the dirt, and at the sun where
it's an hour shy of its zenith, and nods decisively.
“Hey, um, morning, everyone,” Stiles says to the trees, waving a hand in hello.
A few wave branches back. “I'm going to start a clearing here, so could
everyone maybe back up, just a little bit?”
The trees obediently shuffle away, leaving troughs of disturbed earth behind
them. A bush uproots itself and rolls out of the way, helped by a few tree
roots that rise up and nudge it along until it hits the edge of the clearing,
where it promptly re-roots itself. Derek doesn't even blink because this is
seriously one of the less strange things he's seen Stiles do. The morning glory
in his hair curls a companionable vine around his ear.
Stiles looks up at the sky again and around at the brand new clearing. “Thanks,
you guys. This is perfect! Now, let's see about these leaves.”
A friendly dust devil sweeps into the clearing and picks up the leaves,
depositing them around the very edges of the clearing before dissipating. A few
leaves get caught in Derek's clothes and he picks them free as grass sprouts up
beneath their feet. In a matter of moments, the clearing looks a lot like the
one Derek found Stiles in.
“Do I get to participate this time?” Derek asks.
Stiles looks up at the sky again and sets the cherry down dead center in the
clearing, pressing it into the dirt. “Yep. So take those clothes off.”
As Derek strips down without complaint, he thinks he may be pretty far gone on
Stiles. He sets his clothes down at the base of a friendly looking birch.
“Would you please keep an eye on these for me?” he asks politely. He can
usually get away with grunting and growling at Stiles, but the trees are a
little less tolerant and are horrible gossips. There's an old elm down south
that he was rude to and now he can't walk past a single elm in the forest
without them tripping him.
The birch drops a single leaf down onto the pile. A 'yes'.
“Thank you,” Derek says. When he turns around, Stiles is smiling like it's
Christmas and Easter and Spring Equinox all rolled together. Derek smiles back,
just a little.
Stiles fits in Derek's arms like he was made for it. Derek only has an inch or
so on him, so it's as easy as anything to pull their hips together and grind
while they kiss. A familiar energy builds in the clearing and the scent of
renewing life washes over him as Stiles gets hard.
There are some people, humans mostly, who think that arousal smells like spice.
It doesn't. It's more like a slow rolling wall of scent, a dense fog bank
silently devouring everything in its path, and a weightless presence against
his skin that clings to the fine hairs on his arms and makes him shiver from
the base of his spine. Stiles' arousal is all that and more, filling him up and
making him feel like he's something more than just 'alive', like he's too full
of whatever energy 'life' is made of and the only way to release it is by
touching Stiles.
He pushes Stiles down to the grass, careful of the cherry sapling rising out of
the dirt, and settles down between his thighs, holding them down with his upper
body as he just  breathes  on Stiles' erect cock. The entire forest breathes in
in anticipation and Derek breathes in with it, watching Stiles' pupils dilate
until there's no honey-brown left at all. And then he leans down and  gives a
little kitten lick to its base.
Energy floods into the clearing and the cherry sapling shoots upward, sprouting
leaves and new branches like a cat that's been shocked. He takes Stiles' cock
into his mouth and goes to town.
Everything about this reminds Derek of that first day, when he watched Stiles
establish his power in the heart of the forest, growing an oak tree from seed
in the time it took to bring himself off. But this time is different. The
energy doesn't flow around him but  through  him and Derek can feel his own
energy feeding into it, can feel Stiles' energy too, and even the energy of the
sapling as it unfolds leaves and flowers. He can feel it all, tied in like
another circuit rather than a bystander watching the process happen.
Stiles writhes and babbles under Derek's hands, his hips thrusting shallowly
into Derek's mouth. Derek reaches out and a familiar flower rises out of the
ground to meet him, the cup of its blossom forming under his fingers. He dips
two fingers in, coating them with the sweet sap Stiles prefers and eases them
into Stiles, still so tight even after almost three months of daily sex. He
pushes in a third, and then a fourth, nearly gagging on Stiles' cock as he
bucks at the stretch.
Energy builds around them as Stiles gets close, (and wow, when this is over
Derek is going to miss being able to sense just how close Stiles is to coming),
so Derek eases off, going from four fingers to two and taking his mouth off of
Stiles' leaking cock to nibble his hip bone. Stiles whines and grabs at Derek's
hair, fingers tangling in the vines of the morning glory nestled there, but the
growing energy levels off.
“Not done with you yet,” Derek growls. Stiles' cock twitches.
“Oh my God,” Stiles moans, brow scrunched in equal parts pleasure and
frustration. He yanks on Derek's hair. “Hurry up and fuck me!”
Derek swats Stiles' hands away before the greedy vines woven through his hair
get any clever ideas again but keeps his other hand moving in Stiles' stretched
hole. Some instinct tells him it would be a bad idea to stop the pleasure cold-
turkey.
He leans up to kiss Stiles, leaning over him on one hand while the other teases
Stiles' prostate. Stiles pulls him close, fingers digging into the meat of
Derek's back then drifting down to pluck at Derek's nipples and scratch blunt
fingernails through the thin line of hair that leads down from Derek's navel.
He slicks Derek's cock with quick and perfunctory touches, but Derek shudders
in pleasure anyway, feeling his energy mingle with Stiles' as it flows directly
from him to the almost fully grown cherry tree.
Derek sighs into Stiles' mouth as he lines up his cock and pushes in. The quiet
exhale is lost under the sound of the tree's branches creaking as they are
pulled down by the weight of hundreds of swelling cherries. Derek ignores it,
catching Stiles knees over his elbows and planting his hands to either side of
Stiles' waist, opening him up and giving Derek a better angle with which to
thoroughly abuse Stiles prostate. Which he proceeds to do. Thoroughly.
Stiles shouts and starts swearing like a drunk sailor with an attitude problem.
His heels kick against Derek's sides and his hands wind over Derek's shoulders,
fingers catching in the vines of the morning glory. Derek lunges hard with each
thrust, fucking Stiles down into the grass until Stiles is nearly bent double
at the waist. The energy builds again, flowing into their bodies and funneling
into the cherry tree which groans under the weight of a thousand ripe cherries.
Derek can feel Stiles' orgasm cresting well before the forest spirit actually
comes. He's scraping his teeth down the line of Stiles' throat when hot come
spurts up Stiles' chest from his untouched cock, but somehow it's not over yet
because the energy is still building, still feeding into the two of them, into
the cherry tree which desperately sprouts new branches and fruit to accommodate
it. And then -
And then Derek is coming with a roaring howl and Stiles writhes mindlessly
beneath him as red-black cherries rain down on them.
Later, when the two of them are curled up at the base of the cherry tree and
sucking sweet red juice off each others' fingers, Stiles explains.
“Well, you made us wolf-married, so I made us spirit-married.”
Derek pulls Stiles further into the curve of his body and holds him tightly. “I
see,” he says, voice carefully neutral.
Stiles snorts and rolls his eyes. “If you want to smile, just do it. I promise
not to defile your reputation as a badass to all the adoring fans you don't
have.”
Derek compromises by burying his face in Stiles' neck before giving into a
smile that threatens to crack his face apart. Stiles laughs at him, the
vibration in his throat making the fine hairs on Derek's face tickle, but Derek
just huddles closer, basking in everything that is suddenly so right with the
world.
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