the_deep_magic: A nightmare inexplicably torn from the pages of Kafka! (Default)
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Title: Service Weapon (3/3)
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Rating: NC-17
For summary, warnings, and author's notes, please see part one.

One / Two / Three

By the time a week has passed, they’ve managed to sort things out.   Or as much as they can for now.  Of course, that’s when Derek finds the note pinned to his door.  Well, bolted to his door.  By a crossbow quarrel.  Of course.

Your boy toy really is adorable, but the mouth on him.  Well, you always did like a filthy mouth.  You know where to find me.  Come alone and unarmed.

As if Derek would do anything else.  He sticks the siren on the top of the Camaro and drives like hell.

He has no real way of knowing if Kate will be alone, but even when she had lackeys, she preferred to do most of the dirty work herself.  Dirty work.  Jesus, if she’s touched Stiles in any way…

Derek was going to tell him everything, all the things he’ll spend the rest of his life atoning for.  But he’d wanted to wait until after she was caught, or at least definitively out of town and far away.  If Stiles chose to reject Derek for what he’d done, then he would find a way to deal with it, but he couldn’t risk it while she was still a threat.  Derek’s pretty sure Stiles has a good idea of what Kate is like now, anyway.  They’d had the day off and he’d last seen Stiles nine… no, ten hours ago.  He doesn’t know when she took him, but at least he knows where.

When he gets within a mile of the old house, he shuts off the siren – there’s no traffic back here, anyway.  No need to be stealthy because she knows he’s coming, but he still keeps his senses on full alert in case she’s brought backup.

But at the house, around the black SUV parked outside, there are just two heartbeats inside and the only foreign scent in the cool night air is Kate’s.  He’d managed to forget that smell until now, but she still wears the same perfume and the sense memory assaults him like a physical blow.  Combined with the smell of Stiles – and blood – it’s enough to make Derek dry heave.  Instead, he focuses on Stiles’ heartbeat, makes sure his phone is in his pocket and on, just in case.

As soon as he walks through the empty door frame, he hears “Hands up.  And I don’t want to see anything but fingernails, got it?”

There’s no artificial light, but enough of the roof is gone that there’s plenty of moonlight to see Kate with a gun pointed at him, and behind her, Stiles, gagged and on his knees.  It looks like he’s been hogtied, his wrists behind his back and bound to his ankles.  There’s no rope around his throat, but there’s blood that’s trickled down the side of his face from a head wound.  Derek can’t tell how bad it is from where he’s standing, but he doesn’t smell a lot of blood and Stiles is conscious and alert – all good signs.

Derek keeps his hands up and his eyes on Stiles.  “You all right?”

Stiles nods slowly.  He’s sweating and his pulse is through the roof, but he’s not panicking, thank god.  If he had an attack with that gag in his mouth…

Kate uses her free hand to grab Stiles by the hair and yank his head back.  “Don’t worry.  I knocked him out before he could put up much of a fight, so he’s mostly undamaged.  I gotta say, Derek, you really know how to pick ‘em.  He’s stronger than he looks.  Oh, and those sweet, sweet eyes.  Hate to have to put a bullet between them.”

She lets go of Stiles’ hair and strokes a hand down his throat.  Even though Derek knows she’s doing it specifically to piss him off, he can’t help but react to it, claws extending and rage clouding his vision.

“Eh eh eh,” Kate chides, holding the gun steadily with both hands now.  “None of that.  Not a lot of light in here, but you wouldn’t want Bright Eyes seeing things he shouldn’t.”  So she doesn’t know that Stiles knows.  That’s good.

Derek forces himself to look at Kate, really look at her face, for the first time in nearly ten years.  It would be satisfying if she looked a little older, tired from a life on the run, but to Derek she looks the same as the day she first smiled at him in the parking lot of the grocery store.  Even the smile’s the same, though Derek knows what that predatory glint in her eyes means now.

He has to look away or else he really is going to shift, and that’ll probably earn him a wolfsbane bullet before he can take a single step.  He’s only been back to the burnt-out shell of his old house a handful of times since he returned to Beacon Hills, mostly when there were reports of teenagers using it as a place to get stoned.  He can see the phrase “So it goes” tagged on the wall to Kate’s left and it makes him think of the day he caught Stiles behind the library with a can of spray paint.

“What do you want, Kate?”

She laughs, loud and ugly.  “What the hell do you think I want, Derek?  I want to finish what I started.  Leaving survivors is… sloppy.  Though I’ll admit, letting you live had its appeal, even though I didn’t get to watch you wallow in the guilt.”

“What guilt?” he says, swallowing down bile and trying to keep himself under control, to keep her talking.  “Why should I feel guilty for what you did?”

“I may have set the fire, but you might as well have handed me the matches.  Well, so to speak.  Shame you weren’t here to watch it burn.  Do you know how hot a chemical fire can get, Derek?  You could hear the screams for miles.”

The only thing allowing him to hold on to a shred of control is the fact that she’s so completely over the top, almost hysterical with arrogance.  Arrogant people make mistakes.  “So if it wasn’t for me, you would have left them alone?”

She pretends to think it over.  “Hmm, probably not.  You were just a fun little side project, a diversion.  Very diverting, by the way.  And I see you’ve found yourself a diversion of your own.  So pretty, this one.  Looks nice and flexible, too.”

Kate goes to caress the top of Stiles’ head, but she shakes her off, trying to shout something through the gag that Derek would love to hear.  “And feisty,” Kate laughs.  “Just like you were.”

“So why all this?” Derek asks.  “Why haven’t you just shot me already?”  It’s probably not the smartest thing to say, but if she keeps talking about Stiles, there’s no way Derek’s going to be clear-headed enough to get them through this.

She pouts, and it makes him sick that he used to find that sexy.  “You of all people – and I use the word ‘people’ very loosely – should know… I like to play with my food.”

Stiles starts to mouth off again, and though it’s completely muffled even to Derek’s ears, Kate whips the gun across Stiles’ face, nearly knocking him over.  But Derek doesn’t even make it two steps forward before the gun’s pointed back at him.  “Freeze,” Kate shouts.  And then out of the side of her mouth, to Stiles: “I’m not going to eat you, you stupid little shit.  That’s not what human beings do.”  And then back to Derek.  “I do need some information, though.  Tell me where Laura is.”

Derek’s breath catches in his throat.  New York is a big place, and Laura’s still subletting from a member of the local pack like they always did, so their names aren’t on anything.  Still, if Derek’s out of the picture, Kate will probably find her eventually.  “What possible incentive do I have to tell you anything?”

She nods over at Stiles.  “I’ll let him live.”

“And why the fuck should I trust anything you say?”

“I’ll drug him so he won’t remember any of this, and I’ll be three states away before he even wakes up.”

She must be out of practice, because there’s the tiniest skip in her heartbeat, a shift in the tone of her voice.  “You’re lying.”

Another cackling laugh.  “And how would you know that, Derek?  Care to tell your little twink here?  You tell me where Laura is or I’ll shoot him right now.”

It’s time. “Stiles,” Derek says calmly, “don’t listen.”

Stiles meets his gaze, then ducks his head and closes his eyes.  Derek does the same.

There’s a quick series of loud pops and light flares behind Derek’s closed eyelids.  He shifts, and as soon as he hears the eighth pop, he opens his eyes to see Kate’s attention focused dazedly to her left, where a series of small black powder charges have just gone off.  She’s still got the gun pointed at him, though her arm has lowered, so Derek dodges to his left before leaping at Kate from an angle.

She snaps to face forward again and, still blind from the sudden light, fires at where Derek used to be.  He takes her down just as she gets off the second shot and rips the gun from her hands, flinging it across the room

He gets her on her stomach with her wrists wrenched behind her back and holds her down.  She’s not fighting it – she’s conserving her strength, and Derek can’t cuff her like this because she’s sure to have other weapons concealed somewhere on her and she’ll be up on her feet anyway the moment Derek goes to free Stiles.

Stiles makes a noise through the gag and nods at the support beam in the middle of the room, and it’s almost painful for Derek to leave him like that, even for the few seconds it takes to manhandle Kate so she’s sitting at the base of the column and pull her arms back around either side of it to cuff her wrists together.  She hasn’t got sleeves to hide anything and Derek checks her hands to make sure she’s not holding something that could pick the lock, if that were even possible from the angle of her arms.

“Katherine Argent, you are under arrest for kidnapping and assault, as well as under suspicion of arson and murder.”

She laughs, but it sounds desperate this time.  “You have no evidence of murder.”

“I think,” Derek says, standing up and pulling his phone out of his pocket, “that I might have an unsolicited confession on tape.”  He bends low enough to show her that the phone’s making an audio recording and has been for the past fifteen minutes.

He shuts it off now, stowing it safely in his pocket again and going straight for Stiles as Kate shrieks and wrenches against the handcuffs.  Derek carefully slices through the gag first, and Stiles spits out the wet rag that had been stuffed in his mouth.   “Jesus, that thing tastes like an old sweat sock.  Now get these ropes off of me.”

Derek’s cutting him free before he even finishes speaking.  “You think you can stand?”

Stiles shakes his head.  “Give me a minute.  Just… help me stretch my legs out.”

Derek picks Stiles up and moves him just enough so that he’s sitting propped up by the wall, groaning as he stretches his arms and legs and finally drops the rewired car door remote clutched in his hand.  “Do I want to know where you hid that?”

“In my shoe, you perv.  Had plenty of time to get to it.  God, you were right, she was actually monologuing there for, like—ooh shit, pins and needles.”

Derek massages his wrists and arms, leeching a little of the pain away, and takes a moment to just breathe.  “You hurt anywhere else?”

“Just my head, and that stopped bleeding a while ago.”  Then he turns to Kate.  “Oh yeah, and my face.”

Now Kate has her damsel-in-distress expression on, and Derek wonders how he was ever fooled by that.  “Stiles,” she says.  “Stiles, you can’t let him do this to me.  There are things about him, about his whole family, that you don’t know.”

“Oh yeah?” Stiles says, recovered enough to start to crawl toward her.  “What things?”

“He’s a monster, Stiles.  A freak.  He’s dangerous to you and everyone else.  You don’t know what he really is.”

Stiles’ face creases with fear.  “What… what is he?”

“This is going to sound crazy, but at the next full moon you’ll see… he’s a werewolf.”

After a brief, heavy pause, Stiles laughs.  “Oh, thank god.  I thought you were going to say he was a secret groupie for The Cure or something.  But no, yeah, werewolf.  Pretty bitchin’, huh?”

Then Derek sees something he never thought he’d lay eyes on: Kate taken completely by surprise and unable to hide it.  “But—But he’s an abomination!”

Stiles frowns.  “Um, no.  He does eat ketchup on his eggs, though.  That’s kind of an abomination.”  He shakes his head and makes his way carefully to his feet.  “Ketchup, ugh.” 

The look on Kate’s face is better than any violent, bloody revenge would have been.


The shitty thing about your boyfriend being your partner is being stuck together for hours in the close space of a car while you’re pissed at each other.  They’d had a double shift starting the morning after Stiles stormed out of Derek’s apartment, so it wasn’t like Derek could even get a good, self-righteous brood on.  He tried his best, though, and so did Stiles, slumped in the passenger seat and only speaking when absolutely necessary.

It was something Derek thought he’d enjoy – a break from the babbling – but on the clock, he associated Stiles’ silence with pain or grief.  He couldn’t even concentrate on his own anger because his instincts kept screaming that something was wrong, making him glance over to his right every few seconds until Stiles snapped “What?”

“Nothing,” Derek mumbled, and a fresh surge of anger helped him keep his eyes straight ahead.

Just before rush hour, they got a call out to the town’s only highway.  Some asshole in an SUV had been weaving in and out of traffic, coming so close to sideswiping a family in a minivan that the father had swerved, then overcorrected and swung into the next lane.  Four other cars were badly damaged, but the minivan was totaled.

They were the first on the scene, and Derek was out of the car as soon as it was in park.  He knew Stiles would start helping the others, but a little girl was screaming and Derek could hear two heartbeats still in the van, which had eventually come to a stop pinned against the guardrail by another car.

The little girl and her father had made it out of the wreckage, but the mother and an older girl were still trapped inside.  Not sparing a glance to see if anyone was looking, Derek shoved the other car a few feet back, just enough to get it out of the way of the rear door, which he then ripped off easily.  The mother was conscious, but her leg had been crushed by the door, so Derek quickly sliced off her seat belt and lifted her gently out of the car, setting her safely with her husband and younger daughter.

The other girl was unconscious; her head had hit the window and cracked the glass.  She was alive, but Derek couldn’t tell the extent of her injuries.  He just made quick work of her seat belt as well, then shoved at the passenger seat in front of her until it cracked forward, which would give the EMTs more room to work.

When he came back out of the van, Stiles was with the family, crouched down by the little girl and trying to help soothe her.  He looked up at Derek as he approached, nearly as anxious for good news as the others.  “Her heartbeat is strong and she’s breathing fine,” Derek said, “but I want to wait and let the paramedics move her, just in case.”

The father nodded, obviously holding back tears, and the mother thanked him profusely.  In all the years he’d been doing this, he’d never quite known how to react to that.  He never felt like he’d done anything extraordinary, only what someone in his position with his abilities should do.  Thankfully, the ambulance pulled up just then and took over.

There were a few other injuries among the other crash victims, but they were all well enough to be up and walking around, so Derek and Stiles took statements and tried to calm the more hysterical ones.  Derek only had to growl at one dickhead who was bitching about his insurance.  Derek did manage to overhear one of the paramedics telling the family that their older daughter was awake and able to move her fingers and toes, but that she’d need to be checked for internal injuries at the hospital.

After the people were dealt with, Derek, Stiles, and the other officers on the scene were mostly relegated to traffic duty.  They’d had to close off two lanes, so cars crept by though the single remaining lane and it was dark by the time all the wreckage had been cleared away.

When it was all over, Stiles and Derek drove home – well, to Derek’s apartment – in silence.  Derek took it as a tentatively hopeful sign that Stiles might stay the night, but as soon as they walked in the door, Stiles flung his arms around Derek and buried his face against his neck, whole body shaking.  Derek hugged him even tighter.

They stood like that for a long time until Stiles finally pulled back.  His eyes were dry but rimmed in red and he looked exhausted.  “Derek, I’m so sorry about last night.”

Something in Derek melted at the words.  “Me too.  I said some things—”

“No.  Well, yeah, you did, but I was pushing too hard in the wrong spots.  You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

Derek pulled him close again and rested his forehead against Stiles’.  “I’ll tell you everything someday.  I will.”

“Not until you’re ready,” Stiles said.  “Just tell me whatever you think is useful for right now.  And tell me how to help you.  I’ll do anything you need me to.”  He lifted his head to look Derek in the eye.  “You know that, right?  Anything.”

“I know.”  It came out in a cracked whisper as he leaned in to capture Stiles’ mouth in a gentle kiss that only stayed gentle for a few moments.  Much sooner than he’d expected, it turned fierce and hungry, Stiles pawing at Derek’s shirt and Derek’s hands clutching Stiles’ hips hard enough to bruise.

When they came up for air, Derek gasped, “So, a plan?”

“Yeah,” Stiles said, jumping up to wrap his legs around Derek’s waist and trusting Derek to take his weight.  “A plan.  Tomorrow.  First thing tomorrow.”


Once backup has arrived and carted Kate away kicking and screaming, Derek insists on driving Stiles to the hospital to check for a concussion.  Stiles bitches all the way there, but every time Derek touches him, there’s no shortage of pain and Derek isn’t taking any chances.

It turns out there’s no concussion, but Stiles leaves with seven stitches in his scalp and an ice pack for what’s probably going to turn into one hell of a shiner from the pistol whipping.  “At least you were right about where she’d take me.  Ugh, how did I let you talk me into being the bait?” Stiles groans as they get back in the car.

“They did check you for traumatic brain injury, right?  Because I distinctly remember that being your idea.”  Derek had hated it so much that he had nearly stormed out of the apartment that time, but they both knew that if Kate couldn’t get Derek isolated, she’d go after Stiles.

“Yeah, well, let’s not listen to my ideas anymore.  My ideas are stupid.”

Derek makes a show of patting at his pockets.  “Damn.  If only I hadn’t turned in my phone as evidence, I could’ve recorded that.  Made it my new ringtone.”  The pre-rigged explosions as a distraction had actually been a damned good idea, but Derek doesn’t think Stiles needs encouragement to start playing with black powder again.

“Ooh, that reminds me,” Stiles says, pulling his phone out of his pocket.  They found it turned off, but thankfully not smashed, in Kate’s car.  Stiles turns it on.  “Shit.  Eighteen missed calls.  All from Mom.  And a text from Scott… asking to borrow my Xbox.  All is right with the world.”

“Call your mom.  She’s probably heard from everyone in the department by now except you.”

It takes until they get to Derek’s apartment, climb the stairs, and go inside before Stiles has reassured Mrs. Stilinski enough to say “I’ll come see you first thing tomorrow, Mom, I promise.  It might not be actual morning, because it’s like 3 a.m. now and I want to sleep for about 12 hours, but I swear, as soon as I wake up.”  There’s a pause.  “Yes, Derek will drive me even though I don’t have a concussion, according to several fully licensed medical doctors.  And also Scott’s mom.”  Another pause.  “I will.  I love you, too.  See you tomorrow.”

After he hangs up, Stiles groans, chucks his phone in the general direction of the couch, and slumps into Derek’s arms.  “Painkillers kicking in yet?” Derek asks, holding Stiles as tightly as he dares.

Stiles, of course, just pulls him in tighter.  “If they are, they need a hell of a lot more kick.”

Derek slides a hand up to cup the back of Stiles’ head, drawing some of the pain away, and it seems to take Stiles’ spine with it.  “Fuuuuuuuuck,” he sighs against Derek’s neck.  “You probably shouldn’t do that too much.  I’ll get addicted, start chasing after you every time I get a paper cut.”

“Mmm hmm, like you’re not constantly chasing after me now,” Derek says, trying to ignore his very visceral reaction at having Stiles so relaxed and pliable and pressed against him from head to toe.

“That’s only ‘cause the view’s so nice,” Stiles purrs, slotting a thigh between Derek’s and oh, that’s just playing dirty.

“But you’re hurt,” Derek gasps weakly.

“I’m also horny,” Stiles says, nibbling a path up Derek’s throat.  “And horny trumps hurt, especially when life-affirming victory sex is on the table.”

There’s probably at least one flaw in that logic, but Derek is rapidly losing his ability to care.  “Okay, but we go slow.”  He presses his nose into Stiles’ mussed hair and inhales and… wait.  “But first, you really need to shower.  You reek of hospital.”  And her.

Stiles pulls away gently, and Derek has a feeling he heard the words that Derek didn’t say.  He walks backward toward the master bathroom, tugging Derek by the hand.  “As long as you’re in there to lather me up.”

It’s an agonizingly teasing pleasure to work shampoo through Stiles’ hair, carefully avoiding his stitches.  That area, at least, is still numb from the local anesthetic, so Stiles is very vocal about how much he likes Derek’s fingers rubbing his scalp.  By the time he helps Stiles tip his head back to rinse, Derek is fully hard, abs twitching every time the tip of his cock brushes Stiles’ belly.

But he made a promise to go slow, and besides, it’s not every day (meaning: never) that Stiles is this content just to be still and let himself be touched.  The smell of Stiles’ body wash straight from the bottle is overpowering, but it’s better when it’s mixing with the scent of Stiles’ clean skin.  Derek washes down Stiles’ body, dropping to his knees to carefully work the soapy cloth over Stiles’ legs and feet.  His body shows surprisingly few injuries – chafing from the ropes and a few scattered bruises, but it could have been worse.  It could have been so much worse.

Derek feels a hand in his hair and realizes he’s stopped washing Stiles in favor of gripping his thighs and mindlessly rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ hip.  “You okay down there, big guy?” Stiles asks with a crooked grin.

Derek sighs, pressing a kiss to the crest of Stiles’ hipbone.  “Yeah.  Yeah, just…”  I could have lost you.

Stiles strokes a thumb over Derek’s cheekbone and just gazes at him for a long time before saying, “Okay, new rule: no being melancholy when we’re both naked and wet.”

That makes Derek smile.  “I suppose that’s fair.”

“I’ll let you make it up to me.  Since you’re already down there and all…”

Derek nips at Stiles’ lower belly, making him yelp.  “Subtle as always.”

“Hey, I find the direct approach to be v—hoookay, that’s the stuff.”

Derek would grin, but his mouth is currently full.  He sucks Stiles with long, slow pulls, feeling him swell and harden in his mouth.  Stiles moans and pitches forward, catching himself with his hands on Derek’s shoulders, and Derek holds tightly to his hips to make sure he’s completely stable.  They probably shouldn’t be doing this here – Stiles could get dizzy from his injuries and the heat of the water, not to mention the lack of blood flow to his brain.  Derek doesn’t think he’s overestimating his own skills, not when Stiles’ breathing starts to turn ragged as Derek swirls his tongue around him.

Derek is just getting into a good rhythm when the water starts to lose its warmth and Stiles groans in frustration.  But when he fumbles behind his back to either turn the water off or turn up the heat, Derek gets an idea.  “Turn around,” he says, holding up the washcloth.  “I missed a spot.”

Stiles knows what’s coming and spins around so fast he nearly falls over but for Derek’s hands still clutching at his hips.  He spreads his legs as wide as he can in the tub and Derek gently runs the cloth between Stiles’ cheeks, being far more thorough than he probably needs to be.  When he’s done, he sets the washcloth aside and holds Stiles open as Stiles tilts forward, letting the last of the warm water sluice down his back and rinse the soap away.

All Stiles gets for the moment, though, is a kiss to his tailbone before Derek stands up.  They really can’t do this in the shower – they tried once, and even with Stiles at 100% capacity, it still ended with both of them crashing down on the tile.  Stiles apparently remembers that well enough not to complain.

He does, however, dry off in record time and zip back into the bedroom while Derek’s still rubbing a towel through his hair.  Derek takes his time, thoroughly enjoying the sounds of Stiles trying to quietly grab things out of drawers and get comfortable on the bed, all while completely failing at the “quiet” part.  Derek is so in love with Stiles – it’s not really news to him, but the mere sound of Stiles shuffling around on the bed in eager anticipation makes Derek’s heart ache.  It’s a little unsettling, but in a good way.

So he ditches the towel – no use bothering to wrap it around his waist when he’s still mostly hard – and heads into the bedroom, where Stiles is lying on his stomach, hips propped up by two pillows so that his ass is held invitingly up in the air.  There’s three kinds of lube sitting out on the bedside table, and Stiles looks so proud of himself that Derek’s not sure if he even realizes he’s gently humping the pillows.

As tempting as it is to go right for Stiles’ ass, Derek takes the time to run his hands up Stiles’ back – tomorrow, he’ll give Stiles a massage that will leave him boneless and drooling, but tonight he leans down over the length of Stiles’ body and turns his head gently for a kiss.  After a few moments, Stiles tries to crane his neck up to deepen it, but Derek pulls away and puts a hand between Stiles’ shoulder blades.  “Just relax,” Derek whispers into the short hair at the back of his neck.  “Let me take care of you.”

Stiles hums in agreement, but rocks up and back, catching Derek’s erection between their bodies and making him gasp.  Encouraged, Stiles wriggles beneath him and Derek has to move back before the friction becomes too much and he resorts to simply rutting against the heat of Stiles’ skin.  He’s got a job to do first.

Calling it a “job” is maybe not the most accurate description – Derek loves doing this for Stiles.  It makes Stiles a little crazy, and considering how few inhibitions he has in the first place, that’s no mean feat.  He doesn’t need much working up to it, but that doesn’t mean Derek isn’t going to take his time, hold Stiles firmly by the hips and alternate kisses and bites over the firm swell of his ass before spreading Stiles open with his thumbs.

Derek gives him one long lick first, from his balls all the way up to the base of his tailbone, to get him nice and wet.  When Derek blows a stream of cool air over Stiles’ exposed cleft, Stiles shivers and buries a whimper into the crook of his arm.  Derek grins; he’s going to make Stiles come like this, and then he’s going to get Stiles hard again so Derek can fuck him.

It’s good to have a plan.

Stiles spreads his legs as far as he can while Derek delicately traces his rim with the tip of his tongue.  It doesn’t give Stiles much leverage to rock down into the pillows, but he still strains against Derek’s hands, trying to get something more than Derek is giving him.  Derek would give Stiles pretty much anything he wanted if he’d just ask, but he can be a stubborn bastard – truthfully, they both can – so Derek continues at his own pace, easing the tip of a thumb into Stiles’ hole to pull him open just a little more, just enough to start to work his tongue inside.

Jesus, the sounds Stiles makes – whines and gasps and bitten-off moans that sound a lot like Derek’s name when Derek covers Stiles’ hole with his mouth and kisses him hot and dirty.  Given more time, Derek could probably make Stiles come without laying a hand on his cock, but they’re both too greedy for that tonight, too skin hungry to spend much more time without being wrapped around each other, so Derek slides his hand between Stiles’ legs and give Stiles something better than the pillow to rut against.

It only takes another minute of corkscrewing his tongue against Stiles’ hole and bobbing with the jerky motions of his thrusts before Stiles is coming.  Derek tightens his hand around Stiles’ cock and Stiles cries out and shudders, bucking so hard that Derek has to pull his mouth away.  When it’s over, Derek yanks the despoiled pillows out from underneath Stiles’ hips and lets him relax back down on the bed while Derek licks his own hand clean.

He hears a soft, needy sound and looks up to see Stiles propped up on his elbows, head craned around to watch Derek’s mouth with wide eyes.  Derek slides his middle finger into his mouth and sucks the last of Stiles’ cum off of it slowly, pulling it out of his mouth with a wet pop.  That’s all it takes, and Stiles is sitting up and tugging Derek up the bed to cover Stiles’ body.  Far from wearing Stiles out, first orgasms usually just wind him up, especially if he doesn’t feel like he’s done for the night.  So Derek has to catch himself on his elbows before he crashes down on Stiles, knocking the air out of him and pinning him to the bed.

But Stiles is still pulling at him like he really wouldn’t mind if Derek did exactly that.  He buries a hand in Derek’s hair and licks into his mouth without any hesitation at all, and Derek decides that if Stiles wants to do all the work, he might as well be on top.  Derek rolls them easily so that Stiles is splayed out on top of him, murmuring fuck, yeah against Derek’s mouth.

For a few long, lazy minutes, he doesn’t seem inclined to do more than cover as much of Derek’s skin with his own as possible and kiss the breath right out of him, and it’s surprisingly sweet.  When he’d seen the looks Stiles kept shooting him at the crime scene, in the hospital, when they could do little more than briefly clutch each other’s hands, Derek had imagined Stiles wanting it frantic and hard, wanting to be fucked into exhaustion, but instead Stiles seems determined to draw it out.  That’s fine with Derek – anything Stiles wants is fine with Derek.

He’s not foolish enough to think that it’s over, even with Kate locked up.  There’ll be a trial and the long process leading up to it, which will force Derek to relive things he wishes he could simply wipe from his memory.  He’ll have to talk to his sister for more than two minutes at a time, which will be… difficult.  And he did promise to tell Stiles everything.  But right now, Kate is not only facing consequences for what she did to him, she also knows that Derek’s found someone who loves him for who he is, accepts and embraces the part of him that Kate wanted to burn away.  There’s no erasing the past, but knowing that that he’s got Stiles in his life now is enough to make Derek more hopeful for the future than he’s been in a long, long time.

Derek’s snapped back to the present by Stiles rubbing his nose against the line of Derek’s jaw.  “What’s going on in there?” Stiles whispers, nibbling lightly on the shell of Derek’s ear.

“I love you,” Derek breathes, and is this the first time he’s said it out loud?  He honestly doesn’t know; he thinks it so often that he’s sure it’s come out before, he just can’t remember a specific instance of saying it. 

But Stiles doesn’t act like it’s some earth-shattering moment.  He just smiles against Derek’s temple like he already knows, murmurs “I love you, too,” like it’s the most natural thing in the world and it doesn’t surprise Derek either.  Nor do the next words out of Stiles’ mouth: “Now lube me up before I start dry humping your thigh.”

Derek groans, reaching for the lube so he doesn’t “accidentally” flip Stiles back to being face down on the mattress, Derek’s teeth sinking into the back of his neck.  “How fucked up is it that I’m starting to get off on your terrible dirty talk?”

“Ha, knew you liked it!” Stiles crows, kneeling up so Derek can slide slick fingers back behind his balls.  He’s already relaxed and sensitive there from being rimmed, but Derek still teases him gently before pressing a fingertip in.  Stiles plants his hands firmly on Derek’s chest and rocks his hips a little, working Derek’s finger farther into him.

That’s all it is, just one finger, but Stiles’ eyes are closed, long lashes resting against flushed cheeks, and it makes Derek dizzy, how Stiles can go from flippant to frighteningly intense in a heartbeat.  It reminds him that the depth of feeling is always there, has always been there, right under the surface, and how hard Stiles works to protect that surface.

Not here, though.  Not now.  When Stiles lets his guard down, everything shows on his face – the burn of Derek sliding in a second finger, the moment the pain gives way to pleasure, the jolt of sensation when Derek rubs over his prostate.  One day, Derek really will do this all night, see how many times he can make Stiles come using nothing but his tongue and fingers, but they both need so much more right now.

By the time Stiles is grinding down on three of his fingers, they’re both panting with need.  Stiles is hard again and only whines a little when Derek pulls his hand free.  As soon as Derek has slicked his own cock, Stiles is sinking down on him, enveloping Derek in greedy, clutching heat that makes him growl.  Stiles grins at the sound, all bite-swollen lips and wild eyes, and starts riding Derek mercilessly.

As painfully aroused as Derek is, it’s not enough.  He tries to let Stiles set the pace until he realizes Stiles is egging him on, pushing him to let go of his control.  Derek can’t – not completely – but he can thrust up hard, get his hands around Stiles’ hips to lift him and shove him back down on Derek’s cock until Stiles is gasping his name.  Derek’s very skin is starting to itch with the need for more contact when Stiles moans, “C’mon, Derek, fuck me.”

It’s all the invitation Derek needs to flip them, catching Stiles’ head before it hits the pillow and kissing him hard and wet.  Stiles rolls his hips up, urging Derek to thrust deep and grunting out a rough “Yeah” when he does.  Getting a leg up around Derek’s waist, Stiles keeps pulling him in and murmuring, “Fuck, yeah, that’s it, that’s fucking perfect.”

Derek groans, beyond words now, and buries his face against Stiles’ throat.  He’s always so careful about marking Stiles up and Stiles has enough bruises, but she touched him there, ran her hand over the exposed, vulnerable skin like she owned it, and Derek doesn’t have time for shame or propriety.  He knows Stiles would stop him in a second if he were opposed, but he doesn’t.  Instead, he threads his fingers through Derek’s hair and holds him close as Derek sucks and bites, rutting steadily into Stiles as he does it.

Derek forces himself to pull away before he goes too far, and when he sees his mark on Stiles’ skin – flushed a deep pink and surrounded by the indentations of teeth – something deep and primal in him feels satisfied.  Maybe later he’ll ask Stiles to do the same to him; the mark won’t stay, but Derek will know it was there.  Now, though, Stiles is groaning, “Yours.  I’m all yours.”

Derek isn’t going to last much longer, and when Stiles starts telling him, commanding him to come, he’s not going to last at all.  He rubs his cheek against Stiles’ and just lets go, surrenders to the throbbing ache in his whole body and lets it take him, one hard shudder at a time.  Stiles is louder than Derek is, moaning as Derek’s thrusts go jerky and uneven, and Derek could fall apart in his arms for how good it is.

But Stiles is still hard, so Derek pushes up enough to reach a hand between them, staying buried inside Stiles as he jerks him.  It doesn’t take much, just a dozen tight, fast strokes and Stiles is coming again, body thrashing weakly under Derek’s weight as he grips Derek’s arms and pants his name.

They’re both completely spent, Derek reluctantly pulling out of Stiles to collapse beside him.  Stiles burrows his way into Derek’s arms, cheek pressed against his chest, and Derek knows Stiles will smack him in the morning for not prodding him to get out of bed and clean up.  But Stiles’ breathing is already evening out, his warm, loose-limbed body so relaxed that Derek can’t even bring himself to move.  It doesn’t hurt that Stiles is thoroughly covered in Derek’s scent, inside and out, and maybe that’s worth a thump on the back of the head later.


Even after all this time, Derek’s still a little surprised that Mrs. Stilinski (he can’t quite bring himself to think of her as Claudia) actually likes him.  She was suspicious at first – Derek can’t really blame her, given their manner of formal introduction on her couch and the fact that Stiles was only recently of age when he and Derek got together.  But she seems a little baffled by the fact that she likes Derek, too, and somehow that makes it easier.

He knows she and Stiles have worked hard on repairing their relationship over the last couple of years, so he tries to bow out of breakfast (which is really more like lunch, since Stiles slept like a rock until noon).  But Mrs. Stilinski won’t hear of it, and even though Stiles tries to explain things in a way that doesn’t sound like he willingly acted as bait for a multiple murderer, Derek can tell she knows just how serious last night was, how much Stiles put on the line for him.  The least Derek can do is eat waffles at 1:00 in the afternoon and try not to act like he blew Stiles in the shower barely half an hour ago.

But she’s focused mostly on Stiles, and Derek can tell she’s barely holding herself back from reaching out and brushing her thumb beneath Stiles’ black eye, because Derek’s fighting back that urge himself.

“Anyway,” Stiles says between forkfuls of scrambled egg, “even if she tries to recant the confession, her alibi for the fire won’t hold up under scrutiny.”

Mrs. Stilinski’s voice is soft when she turns to Derek.  “I know it’s not going to undo the past, but I hope this gives you some closure.”

Derek thinks back to the look on Kate’s face, the one that Stiles put there.  “It already has.  Stiles is… well, he’s the only person who could have done all this for me.”

Mrs. Stilinski looks at him for what feels like a long time, and he thinks maybe she understands.  The man who killed her husband will be in prison for the rest of his life, but no prison sentence, no conceivable punishment, could ever patch up that hole.  None of them speak for a long time until she finally says to Stiles, “Your father would be so proud of you.”


They don’t hang around long after they’re done eating – having seen that Stiles is still in one piece, Mrs. Stilinski insists that he goes home and rests.  Derek is reeling so hard from the fact that she referred to Derek’s apartment as Stiles’ home that it takes him almost the entire drive to realize that Stiles has been unnaturally quiet.  Silent, actually.

It’s unsettling, but Derek can make a good guess at the reason for it, so he doesn’t push Stiles to talk.  It’s not until Stiles is curled up on the couch with a blanket and a mug of coffee and Derek is typing up a report, even though they have the rest of the week off, that Stiles speaks.

“Can you tell me about him?  My dad?”

Derek swallows and shuts the laptop.  He’s been expecting something like this for a while – he knows Stiles saw a picture of 15-year-old Derek being comforted by Stiles’ dad after the fire.  Initially, it sent Stiles into a rage that nearly made Derek give up on him as a lost cause.  But it’s been almost two years since then and Derek has always known that Stiles would ask when he was ready.  Derek only wishes he had more to give him.

“He was one of the first ones to the scene.  I’d been at a friend’s house and ran all the way home because… because I knew.  Your dad was already there when I got there.  I tried to go in, but the mountain ash stopped me, and he dragged me back.  I don’t remember much right after that – I was probably kicking and screaming – but he tried to keep me calm, got me a blanket and some water.  Kept the cameras away from me as much as he could.  Laura was out of town for a debate tournament, so he was the only one who was there to take care of me.  I know everyone else – the other cops, the firefighters, the paramedics – were doing their jobs, trying their best to save my family, but your dad never left my side. 

“He offered to let me come home with him until Laura got back, but my uncle Peter actually managed to hang on for a few days and I didn’t want to leave him alone in the hospital in case he woke up.  I still thought there was a chance he could heal.  Your dad visited me at least twice a day, brought me food.  After Peter died and Laura came back, he talked about helping us with the insurance companies, getting us set up in an apartment… but Laura couldn’t deal with any of that, so we just left.  In the middle of the night.  I never got to thank your dad for everything he did for us, but I never forgot it.  You’ve probably worked this much out, but he’s the reason I became a cop.”

Stiles is staring out the window, still gripping tight to his coffee mug, but he’s heard every word that Derek’s said and tears are streaming down his cheeks.

“I didn’t know he’d died until I came back,” Derek continues, voice as soft as he can make it.  “I looked up his file, saw that he had a wife and a son…  I’m sorry I can’t tell you more, and I’m sorry he couldn’t be there for you like he was for me.  But I do know that if it weren’t for him, I would have ended up a lot like Laura – bitter, closed off, consumed by anger.”

“He was there for me,” Stiles says, finally turning to look at Derek.  “For the first ten years of my life.  It wasn’t enough, but I remember that about him, that he was caring to a fault.  I’m glad… I’m glad he helped you.  I really am.”

“I know,” Derek says, hearing the truth of it in Stiles’ heartbeat.  Derek sets the laptop aside and scoots closer to Stiles on the couch, waiting for him to respond.  It takes a few long moments, but Stiles puts the mug on the floor and reaches out for Derek, tugging them together until he’s pressed against Derek’s chest, head tucked under his chin.

Derek kisses the top of Stiles’ head and strokes his back until Stiles stops trembling.  It’s time for Derek to come clean.  “Can I tell you about Kate?”

He feels Stiles nod and cling tighter, and Derek tells the whole story.  How he met this mysterious older woman seemingly by chance.  Now he knows she’d been watching him and his family for a long time, and there was nothing random about their meeting.  But he’d been blind to all that, aware of nothing but this woman who wanted him, paid attention to him, listened to him complain about school and baseball and especially his family.  How nothing in his life was ever private, so she told him they’d keep it a secret, that it would be something only between them.  Washing off her scent so his pack couldn’t smell it.  He never mentioned what his family was – she obviously already knew – but he still doesn’t know for sure whether anything he said or did made it easier for her to kill them.  If he really is to blame, or if he just feels that way because he let himself be used by a murderer just because of the way she smiled at him in the afternoon sunlight.  And that if Stiles is as disgusted with him as much as Derek is with himself, he’ll understand.

When he’s done, Stiles is still quietly crying, but he’s leaned back against the arm of the couch and their positions are reversed, with Derek resting his head on Stiles’ chest, right above his heart.  His arms are wrapped tightly around Derek’s shoulders and he shows no inclination to let go any time soon.


“She’s going to hate me.  Oh my god, she’s going to hate me.”

Derek looks at Stiles bouncing nervously on his toes and briefly considers telling him a comforting lie.  But he supposes he ought to actually prepare Stiles.  “Probably.  But don’t take it personally – she hates everyone.”

Stiles turns to him with a quavering smile.  “Even you?”

Especially me.  She used to be able to clobber me every full moon, and now I’m one of Beacon Hills’ finest.”

“But she’s your alpha, so she can still clobber you, right?”

“Yep.  But now I can arrest her for it,” Derek says with a grin, looping his arm around Stiles’ waist.  He wasn’t sure about bringing Stiles to the Sacramento airport to meet Laura, but they’re partners – in everything – and besides, Stiles can handle acting as a buffer for a little while.

Actually, though she’s only planning on being in town for a few days, Stiles probably has a better chance of convincing Laura to come back for good than Derek does.   He’s still surprised she agreed to come back at all, even after he told her that Kate had been caught, and maybe Stiles can show her that not all of Beacon Hills’ residents are psychopaths.  Some are just semi-reformed juvenile delinquents who are now allowed to carry a gun and can talk their way out of nearly everything.  Derek hates to encourage the little spark of con artist in Stiles, but he’s hard to hate for very long (Derek is well aware of this), and Laura does still have a sense of humor.  It’s buried pretty deep, but it’s there.

After a few moments of stillness, Stiles squirms and looks at his watch.  “Isn’t she supposed to be here by now?”

“She’s on her way to the terminal,” Derek says.  “Plane just landed a few minutes ago.”

Stiles looks around for the arrivals board, though there isn’t one in their sightline, and then turns back to stare at Derek.  “Your sense of smell is not that good.”

Derek tilts his head up, acts like he’s sniffing the air.  “She was in seat… 47B, so it probably took her a little longer to get off the plane.”  Stiles is still gaping at him.  “No, I can’t smell her, you idiot.  But she’s my alpha.  I can feel it when she’s close.”

And he can.  Even though he’s in for an awkward few hours, if not days, just knowing that his only packmate is coming back to him tugs at something in his chest.  He looks over at Stiles, who is craning his head up to search through the crowd coming through the gates.  Well, maybe not his only packmate.

Still, when he catches sight of Laura – he can’t smell her just yet, since airports wreak merry hell on his nose and ears – he stands up a little straighter, his heart beats a little faster.  She’s still his big sister; he still wants her to be proud of him, even if it’s in her own begrudging way.

Stiles spots her a moment later.  “Is that her?  Because those look like Hale eyebrows.”

Derek has to glare at him for that.  “What do you know about Hale eyebrows?”

“Um, plenty.”  He reaches up and, mortifyingly, smoothes a thumb over both of Derek’s brows in turn.  “I know these babies like the back of my hand.  Better, probably.  I’m fluent in Hale-eyebrowese.  Right now they’re telling me… ‘Stiles, get your hands off my face, my sister can see and she’s never going to let me live this down.’”

It’s a distressingly accurate translation, confirmed when Laura walks up to them, dragging a small, battered suitcase behind her.  “So this is a Stiles,” she says by way of greeting.

Stiles grins, hands on his hips.  “If there’s more than one, I don’t think I want to know about it.”

“Me neither,” Derek mumbles, and Stiles elbows him in the ribs.

Laura doesn’t do anything so radical as actually smile, but she does look slightly less murderous, glancing between Stiles and Derek.  “God, you two reek of each other.”

“Well, we try,” Stiles says, and Derek prays for the ground to open up beneath his feet and swallow him whole.

But Laura just smirks.  “So, baby brother, you gonna actually say anything to me or do I just keep talking to your hand puppet here.”

Stiles doesn’t miss a beat.  “See, I’d take offense to that, but just last night, Derek had four of his fingers up my—”

Those same fingers are now clamped over Stiles’ mouth and Derek says, “It’s good to see you, Laura.”  He’s actually dying to hug her, to press his cheek against hers and breathe in the scent of pack, but he won’t do it here.  Hopefully, she’ll let him once they get back to his apartment.  She was never big on touch, but Derek has the feeling they both need it after so long apart.

Laura squints at both of them for a moment with an unsettlingly assessing eye and then nods once, like they’ve passed some kind of initial test and she’s not actually going to head to the nearest counter to change her ticket for the next flight back to New York.  Derek hope that means it’s safe to let Stiles talk again.

Stiles seems to get that Laura’s not one for small talk and turns in the direction of the exit.  “No checked bags, I’m guessing?”

Laura seems surprised at that.  “No.”

“Awesome,” Stiles says, leading the way out.  “No way we could have fit three people and extra bags in Derek’s ridiculously impractical car.”

Derek very nearly says something about Stiles’ almost-sexual attraction to that “ridiculously impractical” car, but he decides to leave any crudeness up to Stiles.  Besides, Laura immediately says, “Is he still driving that Camaro?”

Stiles laughs.  “Yeah.  He’s never gonna give that thing up.”

He’s right here,” Derek mumbles, half a step behind them.

Laura turns around and tugs him forward until he’s walking right between her and Stiles.  “Keep up, baby brother.”

It’s not exactly the warmest of greetings, but it’s a start.  Stiles keeps talking, telling Laura about the exciting life that is law enforcement in Beacon Hills, and Derek quietly slips his hand into Stiles’ and squeezes.

End Notes/Extended Warnings: The domestic violence itself is not shown, but the aftermath is, with the injured victim holding a gun on her assailant. A bad car crash is briefly shown, but no injuries are described in detail and there are no deaths. Kate refers to her sexual relationship with an underage Derek and makes advances toward Stiles to upset Derek.

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June 2016

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