Chapter Text
“Let me see,” Derek says, kneeling beside Erica and pulling her top away to see the skin underneath. He nods, apparently satisfied that it’s healing, and stands up.
“Those of you with homes, go home,” he says firmly. “You should be with your families right now. Erica, can Isaac go home with you?”
Erica nods.
“In that case, scram. Not you Stiles,” he adds, when Stiles begins to move towards the door.
Erica’s limping, her shirt soaked in blood, but she still manages to give Stiles an absolutely filthy smirk. Stiles doesn’t flip her off, but only because he’s too busy grinning like a lunatic.
Derek guides him to the bench that stands against one wall, and they sit, both trying not to look at the other.
The stolen park bench isn’t the comfiest thing Stiles has ever sat on. He kinda really wants to just climb into Derek’s lap for this, but he thinks that might be kinda forward of him.
“So, um, how do you want to do this?” Stiles asks, hoping he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels. He’s fed from Derek before, but that conversation while they were locked in the cellar changes things.
“I didn’t… I mean this isn’t…” Derek sighs and looks away. “I really hate having to talk things through. Look, you know, or you’ve guessed, what happened with Kate, the basics at least.”
Stiles nods.
“So you’ll understand then, I hope, why I have some… issues. About sex, and about pain, and about a lot of stuff.”
Stiles nods again, and keeps his expression carefully blank. Derek wouldn’t want his sympathy, and he’s sure as hell not going to let Derek see how disappointed he is. Because he hadn’t actually got as far as thinking about sex with Derek, but now he think’s being told that’s not an option, and he’s wondering why the hell he didn’t fantasize about it while he still had hope. He just knows he’s going to feel weird and creepy jerking off to Derek now.
“Well I don’t think either of us is into hardcore BDSM or rape-roleplay,” Stiles jokes, “So how about we try stuff and you tell me whether you like it or not. And vice versa. Though in my case the problem is probably going to be wanting more rather than less. What with the whole wanting to eat you thing.”
“You want to eat me?” Derek asks, a strange expression on his face.
“Yes. No. Well, I mean I don’t want to damage you, you know? You’re… maybe not a friend, but you’ve saved my life a few times and you’re letting me drink your blood, but well… I’m a Peuchen. And you smell amazing. And your blood tastes amazing. So yeah, I maybe want to tear the living flesh from your bones with my teeth and… mpff!”
Derek cuts Stiles off with a kiss, quick and hard.
When he pulls back, blushing slightly (and Derek Hale blushing is kinda a mind-fuck) Stiles asks, “Did you just kiss me because I said I wanted to eat you?”
“Issues,” Derek stresses, ducking his head. “I warned you about the issues.”
He sounds like he thinks Stiles will be angry or disgusted or something, which, no. No way. “Feature not a bug, dude,” Stiles says, taking his hand. “Also, since you’ve kissed me, does that mean I can sit on your lap?”
Derek looks a little spooked, and Stiles adds quickly, “It’s totally fine if not. I just… kinda really want to.”
Derek smiles at him, a proper wide happy smile of the kind he’s never seen on his face before, and pulls Stiles too him. Stiles takes the hint and scrambles across him, less than gracefully, so that he’s sitting facing Derek, straddling him. The back of the bench and the length of Stiles’ legs mean he has to lean forward a long way to kiss Derek, but he doesn’t care. This awkward closeness is so much better than sitting at opposite ends of the bench.
They kiss long and slow, and Stiles relaxes, because this at least he’s done before. Not a whole lot maybe, but at least he knows what he’s doing.
When the urge to bite down on Derek’s lips and tongue gets too strong he makes himself pull back. If this is going to be good for both of them (and he really wants it to be) then he needs to be clear about what he’s going to do, give Derek a chance to object. He hates to think he might ever be that guy, but he doesn’t know if he’ll be able to stop once he starts.
He sits up, arching his back just a little, because, yeah, Erica was totally spot on with the whole exhibitionism thing, Derek’s eyes on him feel amazing, and says, “I’m going to bite you now. Right here.” He taps a finger against the point where Derek’s shoulder becomes his neck, and adds, “If you’ve got a problem with that, tell me now.”
Derek shakes his head. “No problem.”
Stiles would like to think that he doesn’t do anything as undignified as launch himself at Derek, but in truth he knows that’s exactly what he does. He’s hungry and horny and Derek is right there, smiling slightly and smelling delicious.
It’s harder, now he knows what it feels like to keep going, to stop himself from biting too hard, but the first rush of blood into his mouth, exploding on his taste buds, distracts him from the desire to rip and tear and kill.
He notices the smell of arousal sooner this time, and feels it in the way Derek shudders when Stiles sucks at the wound. Stiles’ whole body is singing with the rush of the blood, hot and sweet and Derek in his mouth, and he has a sudden thought that he really hopes Derek’s issues don’t extend to blowjobs, because next time, Stiles wants to hold him down and drink from the meat of his thigh before he sucks him off the with the taste of his blood still in his mouth. This time, there’s no way he’s going to last long enough.
He pulls back from the wound, lapping at the skin and grinning as Derek shudders beneath him.
“How do you and your issues feel about a handjob?” Stiles asks. “You’re totally free to say no of course, but if you’re anything like as turned on as I am…”
Derek smiles again, that open happy smile that Stiles think he’ll never get enough of, and says, “Me and my issues would really like it if you’d stop talking and get your hand on my cock.”
Stiles ducks to catch his mouth in a desperate blood-tainted kiss, his hands scrabbling at Derek’s jeans (and damn it, why do people still have button flies in this day and age?). Eventually he gets them open enough that he can insinuate his hand between the fabric and Derek’s smooth skin. Derek tenses when Stiles slips his hand under the waistband of Derek’s shorts, but when Stiles stills, afraid that he’s overstepped some line, Derek shifts his hips upwards, trying to make Stiles move.
Stiles pulls him out of his jeans, gives him an experimental squeeze. Derek lets out a low groan, shifting like he wants to thrust into Stiles’ hand but can’t because of his weight pinning him. Stiles grins – he’d always pegged himself as vanilla, but having Derek desperate and at his mercy is doing all sorts of things for him.
He begins to jack Derek in earnest, his hand dry and hard against Derek’s flesh. Derek doesn’t mind, if the little gasping breathes he’s letting out are any indication. He’s more controlled than Stiles feels anyone has any right to be during sex, but he’s so much more open than Stiles has ever seen him, and it makes Stiles’ heart lurch in a way he ignores for now.
Derek opens his eyes and they’re red, glowing like hot coals. Stiles’ cock kicks with the extra rush of arousal the sight sends reeling through him, and leans in to kiss Derek, deep and rough.
Derek leans his head back, and Stiles is slightly offended until Derek groans out, “Bite me.”
Stiles is pretty sure he should ask if Derek’s sure, but he’s too far gone in lust to resist. He leans forward, arching his back so that the hard line of his cock rubs against Derek’s leg, and sinks his teeth into Derek’s neck, just above the last bite.
Derek’s hands come up to grip his shoulders, holding him close, as his mouth fills with blood. His hand is still moving on Derek’s cock, totally independently of his brain, and he’s shifting his hips desperately, trying to get the pressure he desperately needs.
Derek lets out a low noise, somewhere between a sob and a moan, and Stiles can feel him moving his hands, probably trying to keep from hurting Stiles as he loses control.
“You can’t hurt me,” Stiles says, pressing the words into Derek’s torn skin like a kiss. “I can heal it. It’s okay.”
He’s not a fan of pain, but he’s even less a fan of Derek having to worry about controlling himself when he should be concentrating on feeling good.
Derek gasps as he digs clawed fingers into Stiles’ shoulders, tearing eight small holes in his flesh.
Stiles inhales deeply, and grins at the mingling smells of his and Derek’s blood and arousal. He can feel the pain from his back clearly, but he’s aroused enough, buzzing with adrenaline and blood, that it just adds a delicious sharp edge to his pleasure.
He jacks Derek faster, running his tongue across the teeth marks set into Derek’s tanned skin.
Derek’s fingers tighten as he comes, tearing deep gashes into Stiles shoulders as he gasps and writhes.
The pain and the smell of Derek’s come releases something inside Stiles and he ruts shamelessly against Derek’s thigh, moaning a high, broken sound as he comes, the taste of blood still thick in his mouth.
oOOOo
He’d given Mellissa McCall an abbreviated version of the truth, and sat quietly while the doctor checked him over and took blood samples. He feels fine, but if this will calm everyone else down, he’s happy to sit here being bored.
He’s less happy when the door to the room he’s in flies open to reveal his dad, looking like he’s about to have a heart-attack.
He crosses the room in two strides and gathers Stiles into a bone-crushing hug.
“What’s going on, Stiles,” he demands. “No lies this time. Mellissa called me to say you’d been admitted to hospital after being kidnapped, and on my way in a Doctor stopped me to say that he’d got the results of your blood-tests and they think you’re taking steroids! What the fuck is going on?”
For one disorientated moment, Stiles can only think that there’s some kind of plot to discredit him, and then he realizes. His hormone levels must be insane. If Peuchen can shift fully enough for someone female to father a child then there must be hormonal changes as well as cosmetic ones.
There’s no way of getting out of this, except telling the truth.
“Well dad,” he says, sitting up and trying to marshal his thoughts enough to explain, “There’s something I need to tell you…”