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the_deep_magicTitle: Pack Up; Don’t Stray (Epilogue)
Author: ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
the_deep_magic
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Warnings (this part): themes of slavery, possessiveness
Stiles hadn’t even dropped his keys in the bowl by the door before he heard a loud “You’re late” from the kitchen.
“I got my cast off today, remember?” Stiles yelled back. Longest, most annoying six weeks of his life. He’d gotten his job back after two, with an understanding that he had some kind of disciplinary mark on the equivalent of his permanent record. He’d also been restricted to desk duty until his wrist healed, and Mrs. McCall was right – Stiles would rather listen to Scott’s lectures on the miracle of lactation on eternal repeat than get stuck behind a desk again.
“Yes, I remembered,” Derek said, coming into the front hallway. “And you’re late from that, too.”
“Ran some errands,” Stiles said with a shrug. Derek eyed him suspiciously, but gave him a quick kiss and went back to the kitchen.
Stiles followed him. “Did you talk to Deaton today?”
“Yeah,” Derek sighed.
“Bad news?”
“He can get transport for the fugitive that’s down at the station, but no one’s willing to take the two feral wolves I met in the woods last week.”
“Can’t say I blame them,” Stiles said, looking over the pile of mail on the table. “Those guys sounded like assholes.”
“They were born and raised in the woods, Stiles. They don’t know any different.”
“They slashed up your face,” Stiles said grumpily. “I like your face.”
“My face is fine,” Derek said, rolling his eyes, but Stiles went over to take it in his hands, just to check. Of course there were no marks there, and Derek had probably left the other two with some injuries that would take longer to heal, but still.
Bringing his hands up to cup Derek’s face meant that Derek could see the gauze taped over Stiles’ left wrist. “What’s this?” Derek asked, bringing Stiles’ left arm down so he could look at it. “I thought you were all healed by now.”
“I am,” Stiles said, smiling mischievously.
Derek frowned and sniffed at the bandage, his eyes suddenly going wide. “Can I—?”
“Go ahead. Just be careful, it’s still fresh.”
Derek peeled back the gauze slowly, with reverence, and Stiles thought he looked like a little kid opening the biggest Christmas present that he’d been saving for last. On the inside of Stiles’ left wrist, covered by a layer of Vaseline and clear plastic wrap, was the name Hale tattooed in large, bold letters. It complemented the Stilinski on the same place on Derek’s wrist.
Derek didn’t seem to be able to form words at the moment, so Stiles said, “Have I ever thanked you for having such a short last name? Because if you’d been part of the McCaimbridge pack, I definitely would’ve passed out.”
“Not McCaimbridge,” Derek growled softly – and not a little possessively – bringing Stiles’ wrist closer to his face.
“Oh my god, you totally want to lick it, don’t you?” Derek nodded, not looking the least bit ashamed. “Well, you can’t. Not for a couple of weeks, ‘til it’s healed. After that, you can lick it all you wa—hey!”
Stiles suddenly found himself being lifted off his feet and tossed over Derek’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. On the one hand, Stiles had been sure to appreciate every day since his body had healed enough for Derek to stop treating him like he was made of porcelain. On the other hand: potatoes.
But then they were moving toward the bedroom and Derek was growling “Need you to fuck me right now,” and okay, Stiles could work with that.
“Not the other way around?” Stiles teased, poking at Derek’s ass, which was practically at eye level. They switched things up often enough, but Stiles was still trying to get a handle on the wolfy, claim-y behavior, see if there was a discernible pattern there when it came to sex. And Stiles would’ve guessed that the tag would make Derek all red-eyed and dominant.
“Nope,” Derek said simply, and maybe he just felt like getting fucked. Stiles knew the feeling well.
Derek pitched him down on the bed hard enough that Stiles bounced a little before scrambling up to his knees. He made sure to re-tape the gauze over his wrist and Derek let out a quiet whine.
“Don’t be like that. I’ve got to keep it clean,” Stiles said, yanking several layers of shirts over his head at once. He fixed Derek with his best wicked look. “But if you’re good, I’ll let you see it just before you come.”
That got him tackled to the bed, Derek scraping his teeth lightly down the center of Stiles’ chest, all the way past his navel to where his pants were being yanked down and possibly torn off. Before Stiles could even protest the mistreatment of his clothing, Derek’s mouth was on him. Derek got a few long, wet licks in before sucking Stiles’ cock into his mouth.
Derek always seemed to take particular pleasure in feeling Stiles harden in his hand or his mouth, like he was proud of the effect he had on Stiles, and Stiles was more than happy to encourage him. Since they’d fooled around that morning, it took a little bit longer than usual, and Stiles enjoyed every second of it, feeling himself swell against Derek’s eager tongue. The tough part was always stopping Derek if they wanted to do more.
Tonight, though, it was Derek who pulled away when he was satisfied that Stiles was fully hard. Fuck, he was really desperate for it. Stiles figured it was about time that he started taking charge. “Clothes off,” he gasped as he pulled himself up to his knees again. “Slowly.”
Stiles had never known anyone less self-conscious about their body than Derek, but making him unbutton and unzip instead of yank and tear made him blush a little – just the slightest flush on his cheeks and the tips of his ears – and if there was anything sexier than making Derek blush, Stiles hadn’t found it yet.
“Derek,” Stiles said in a broken whisper, barely even aware that he was slowly stroking his own cock, still wet from Derek’s mouth. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? Turn around.”
That made Derek blush even harder, though he tried to hide it as he turned his back to Stiles to pull down his jeans. But he left the tight black briefs up, and Stiles decided it was time for things to get a little more hands-on. Specifically, his hands on Derek’s ass.
Stiles groaned as he groped with abandon, shamelessly rubbing his cheek against the dark fabric. “Now this, this is a thing of beauty. Oh my god, do you realize I’ve never gotten two good handfuls? That damn cast always got in the way. So this is, like, a moment. An experience.”
“Stiles,” Derek grumbled, but Stiles could hear the blush in his voice, along with a not-so-subtle request to get things moving.
“Shhh,” Stiles whispered. “I’m savoring this.” And then he could deny himself no longer – he fit both hands over the firm swell of Derek’s ass and squeezed. “This is perfection, Derek.”
“Then why is it taking you so long to fuck me?” Derek growled.
Stiles laughed, swatting Derek’s backside. “This ass is mine tonight. I’ll take my time if I damn well please.”
“Yours,” Derek breathed out, and Stiles could actually see some of the tension bleed from Derek’s shoulders. So that’s what this was about.
“Mine,” Stiles repeated, softer, gently tugging down the back of the briefs and letting Derek ease them over his erection in front. Even when they were off and kicked away, Derek stayed where he was, and Stiles took the opportunity to press wet, sucking kisses all over the soft, bare skin.
The sounds Derek was making turned needy very quickly, and Stiles took him by the hips and turned him. Derek’s cock was hard, already starting to get wet at the tip, and Stiles reached up to rub that bit of moisture around with his thumb. Just that touch made Derek shiver so beautifully, and Stiles had a pretty good idea of what Derek wanted.
Still, he asked, “Hands and knees?” and Derek clambered quickly onto the bed, his breath speeding up audibly.
“Gorgeous,” Stiles whispered, running his hands – both of them – all over Derek. Over his ass, of course, but also up his back and down his sides, across his shoulders and thighs. Derek was quivering with need after just a few minutes of it, and Stiles regretted that he had to stop touching Derek to reach for the lube.
Stiles kept a steady hand on the small of Derek’s back as he worked first one, then two fingers into him. He only got to tease a little – nudging Derek’s prostate, rolling Derek’s balls in his hand – before Derek was pushing back impatiently. “I’m ready,” Derek said, voice as breathless as Stiles had ever heard it. “I want to feel it.”
Normally, Stiles might have pinched him, teased him some more, drawn it out, but something felt different about this. And when Stiles positioned himself behind Derek, gripping Derek’s hips as Stiles thrust in, he got it. Before, they’d had to work around Stiles’ injuries, and then his cast, and the sex was never any less amazing for it, but Stiles being healthy and whole and bearing Derek’s mark on his skin made this something deeper, something even more indelible than the tattoo. As Stiles worked his hips flush against Derek’s, one hand on the curve of Derek’s hipbone and the other grasping his shoulder, his body draped over Derek’s, Stiles felt something instinctual surge through him.
With full use of both his hands, he could hold Derek just like he wanted him, get the leverage to roll his hips hard and deep. Every thrust punched the air out of Stiles’ lungs with a grunt, but he knew Derek could take it, wanted to take it. Knew Derek was loving it, from the deep groans of fuck and yes. Stiles would’ve gone slowly even if Derek’s body wasn’t fist-tight around his cock; it was just that good, and if he went any faster, this would be over much sooner than either of them wanted.
Stiles pressed his forehead between Derek’s shoulder blades and fucked into him with all his strength. “Yours,” he gasped against Derek’s skin. “I’m all yours.”
Derek bucked beneath him, back arching and neck twisting until his throat was bared to Stiles, a distinct counterpoint to Derek’s growl of “Mine.” When Stiles thrust in deep and bit down on the exposed skin of Derek’s throat, the deep, rumbling vibration in Derek’s chest shot straight through Stiles’ body, right down to where his dick was buried to the hilt inside of Derek.
Stiles felt like he’d been given permission to take what he wanted – and what he really wanted was to rear back, grab Derek by the hips, and pound into him until Derek was his. Derek groaned at the loss of skin-to-skin contact, but keened with pleasure when Stiles’ thrusts lengthened and changed angle.
Derek was spreading his thighs, locking his elbows to push back against Stiles’ pistoning hips, and Stiles felt his impending climax coil tight in his belly. He gritted his teeth as his toes clenched, his abs and thighs burning and he howled helplessly, doubling over with pleasure as he released deep inside Derek’s body. His short nails dug into Derek’s skin as he held on, just held on tight.
Stiles hadn’t even gotten his breath back before he was dropping back to sit on his heels, tugging Derek with him to straddle his thighs, their bodies still connected. Derek was too heavy to hold like this for very long, but he’d been good, so good, and Stiles had made him a promise. He wrapped his right hand around Derek’s hard, dripping cock and simply extended his left arm out. Derek ripped the gauze pad off with his teeth, but the plastic wrap stayed in place. Stiles got in maybe three more strokes before Derek’s whole body jerked silently and Stiles felt wet warmth drip down his hand.
After that, there was nothing for either of them to do but simply collapse. It was Derek who recovered first, as usual, and dragged them to a more comfortable position on the bed. But he never did let go of Stiles’ left hand, his thumb stroking the base of Stiles’ palm when Stiles was sure he was desperate to be stroking the actual tattoo. But there would be time for that, and Derek knew it. Just the way he looked at it had Stiles considering getting several more of them in all sorts of places, fear of needles be damned.
“Stiles,” Derek whispered after a few long, quiet minutes. “This is…”
“No more than you deserve,” Stiles said softly. “I’m just as much yours as you are mine.”
Derek closed his eyes and pressed Stiles’ palm to his face, turning his nose to inhale the scent of ink mixed with Stiles’ skin. Still, Stiles’ eyes couldn’t help but land on the thick silver collar around Derek’s neck, a visible reminder that, in the eyes of the world, they still weren’t equal.
But things had been set in motion. Derek met other wolves when he went for runs in the woods – completely legit now that he had an “owner” who allowed it – and worked with the ones who wanted or needed a way out. The fact that he carried a human’s scent caused some suspicion, as it apparently had with Derek’s two most recent acquaintances, but word had gotten around, even in the woods, and the name “Stilinski” had become well-respected among werewolves. The tag on Derek’s wrist helped other werewolves to trust him. And to tell him tall tales about this mysterious Stilinski, who fought hunters bare-handed and could spirit a werewolf to safety in the blink of an eye, which Derek would then repeat with a perfectly straight face to Stiles over dinner. Stiles was pretty sure Derek was making most of them up just to embarrass the everloving hell out of him, because Stiles harbored no illusions that he was doing any of this on his own.
But with the help of Derek, Scott, Deaton, and others in Deaton’s network that Stiles was beginning to actually meet, they had gotten three full packs of werewolves, plus eight other fugitives, up to the sanctuary in just a month and a half. Allison was even talking about using the abandoned estate and its spacious grounds as a home for abused strays and fugitives. That was still a long way off, but Chris had at least seemed receptive to the idea.
And here, in this house, Stiles and Derek were just… Stiles and Derek. Not everyone accepted their relationship or the freedom Stiles “gave” Derek, but anyone who said a negative word about Derek in Stiles’ presence, or the presence of any of his friends, was quickly shut down. Stiles still dreamed of Derek one day being able to take the collar off – something he’d since heard wasn’t even permitted at the Alaskan sanctuary – and finding out what he really could do, could be. Stiles thought he could see the pure wolf in Derek’s eyes sometimes, how it longed to come out and howl.
He could see it now as they settled back on the bed, something more than mere human satisfaction in Derek’s face. Derek smiled, and Stiles imagined a huge, powerful, beautiful black wolf cutting swiftly and silently between the trees, stopping only to bay at the full moon before charging on.
FIN
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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Date: 2013-01-19 06:57 pm (UTC)I did however love the entire story itself, the backstory of how things are the way they are, how they changed, what lead to the changes. Im a total sucker for slow builds, and it paid off in the end to see them come together. I'll definitely be coming back to re-read this over and over again. <3 <3
Definitely glad you pushed through and finished this awesome work of art! Its well worth it I believe!
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Date: 2013-01-23 04:25 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-23 06:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2013-01-26 05:15 am (UTC)