The third day of rain was genuinely not welcome. All the mud and cover made it that much harder on Stiles, who was trying to find Scott. After all of Scott's attempts to recapture Allison failed, he disappeared. Stiles is thankful that through all of this he still has his jeep.
"What a familiar scene," Stiles thinks, "me, driving alone in the rain, seeking an emotionally unstable werewolf. Great to be reminded of the good ole days!" Stiles knew to avoid the Hale House. With is-he-isn't-he crazy Uncle Peter roaming around and Derek out of his head over being abandoned, there was no telling what could happen. Stiles hoped he could find Scott, convince him to come home, and make it back all in one piece. Despite his every instinct to avoid that place, it was one of the few places left on his search list. As the Jeep finally reached the Hale House, a sense of anxiety overcame him, almost like he was in fear of losing something. Stiles cuts the engine, but keeps the headlights beaming on the house, because, hey, he doesn't have super night vision or anything. Stiles steps out of the jeep and walks up to the house, cracking the door and peeking his head inside. "Scott? You here?" nothing. He pushes the door open, the light from the jeep flooding the entryway. After a few steps up the stairs, Stiles hears footsteps in the room to his left.
"Stiles?" Derek emerges from a shadow, being caught in the corner of Stiles' eye.
"AAH! Dude! What are you doing here?" Stiles yelps as he tenses and attempts to not look frightened.
"It's my house." Derek spits, his back already to Stiles as he leans against the doorway.
"I thought you lived in the rail car now? If you ask me, it's an improvement. This place is still max-level creepy."
"I don't know where I am anymore." The vulnerability in Derek's voice surprises Stiles.
"It'll be okay dude. It'll work out, it always does."
"No! Not this time. I failed and there's nothing I can do to fix it."
"Man, you've failed like a million and one times before," Derek jolts around at Stiles with a look of desperation covering his face. "What I mean is, we've all failed, screwed up—you know? This is no worse a situation than what we've been in before." Derek looks at the floor and crosses his arms, shaking his head.
"You don't get it, do you? I'm weak without them. I have no pack. All alone, again, just like I deserve…" Stiles can't believe the tear streaming down Derek's face.
"Derek…" Stiles uses his manliest comforting tone. Stiles jumps down the stairs and carefully tip toes to Derek. Once he was in arms' reach, Stiles put his hand on Derek's shoulder. Derek clenched his eyes tightly, causing several tears to trickle down his face.
"Well, at least you have me. That counts for something."
"But you came here for Scott," Derek was using a tone Stiles wasn't particularly familiar with; a combination of anger, need, and sadness.
"Hey buddy, any port in a storm, right? Besides, how can you say no to this?" Stiles' cheesy grin amuses Derek. Stiles notices Derek's eyebrow quirk and the corner of his mouth tilt.
"Thanks," says Derek.
"Yeah, man. Hey! I've got an idea. Let's do something! Screw these self-centered ass holes. Let's make it all about me and you. Well, I mean, ugh—you know, not me and you together just, me and you doing something, together…Right?"
"I guess if you can't beat 'em, join 'em," Derek almost sounds defeated, but it's not surprising. Derek is in obvious need of a distraction from his current disdain.
"We can go back to my place and watch some mind-numbingly violent crap and drink some whatever and popcorn and candy and…Whatever you want, Derek," Stiles thinks this rouse is at least better than what they're doing now.
Derek shakes away his tears and follows Stiles to his jeep. They head to Stiles' place in silence, which drives Stiles absolutely insane.
"So, what do you think we should watch? I'm feeling some Kill Bill Volume 1. It has to be one of the most pointlessly but amusingly violent movies of all time."
/
"I want to sleep with you. I don't mean have sex. I mean sleep. Together. Under the blankets. In my bed. With my hand on your chest. And your arms around me. With the window cracked, so it's chilly and we have to cuddle closer. No talking. Just sleepy, blissfully happy, silence." This is a fantasy Stiles has often, especially when he has werewolf withdraws. His fantasies quickly grew into romantic, a-typical fantastical teenager scenarios. These replaced his almost repulsively instinctual sexual fantasies. Stiles is confused at this point. He can't eat, and he never deeply sleeps because the only thing that can satiate him is Derek. Derek's warmth, strength, caress, scent, the intimacy. The idea of getting satisfaction from consuming anything other than Derek is nauseating. After weeks of being balanced on the fine line between utter bliss and writhing emotions of insecure vulnerability and complete salvation, Stiles is finally beginning to accept the 'thing' between himself and Derek is more than a physical release. They're lovers. The other pack members have noticed it, smelt it, partially witnessed it, but never asked about it. Stiles just assumed their first time was purely situational, but the sex-inducing situations quickly grew less dire and more conventional. His insides are tearing to get out while his outside is barely being held together by hope and denial.
"I wanna hide the truth / I wanna Shelter you
But with the beast inside / There's nowhere we can hide
No matter what we breed / We still are made of greed
This is my kingdom come / This is my kingdom come
When you feel my heat / Look into my eyes
It's where my demons hide / It's where my demons hide
Don't get too close / It's dark inside
It's where my demons hide / It's where my demons hide"
Lying in bed with an earphone in one ear and the sound of soft summer rain pinging his window in the other, sleep seems to evade Stiles. The twitch of his right leg and all-over body fidgets are results of nerves on edge. It's been three days, and yet there's nothing. No calls, no emails, no texts, no sneaking in through the window to take me from behind while I'm jacking in the shower fantasizing about you sneaking in through the window and taking me from behind, nothing. Ever since their bond began, Stiles has found comfort in Derek's embrace. Even one of his freakish, wolf-powered body slams would be godsend at this point. This is what Stiles believes it would be like to withdraw off of drugs. Like some seriously heavy drugs. He suddenly has a new-found respect for druggies and the like.
But then again, Derek Hale is a drug. The suspense and adrenaline of being caught almost every time because the urge overcomes either one of them in the most inconvenient of places. Or the sensory overload that werewolf Derek excretes onto (and into) human Stiles with a single touch, a nibble, a lick. The way their bodies are so in tune with each other's that separating seems apocalyptic. It's so hard to be alone, to be cold and left in the dark and withdrawn from. This reminds Stiles of some of his darkest times, and as his mind starts to slip into morbid places, he refocuses on his current dilemma to jerk himself away from the black hole of guilt-ridden situations he can only illogically blame himself for.
"Why? Why is this happening now…? It's not even that big of a deal. Why can't he just stop being so possessive? It's like I belong to him or something! Fuckin' sour wolf ass…" Stiles argues with himself internally as he tosses between a blanket marked intentionally with the scent of his Alpha and a sheet clinging to just one side of his mattress. His violent body ticks cause his phone to get tugged off of the table, hooking a glass of water on its descent, which of course has to land top first onto the phone as they both hit the floor.
"Oh great. Just friggin' fantastic!" Stiles' body tweaks nervously as he hurries out of bed to grab the phone and dry it quickly on his t-shirt. Frantically rubbing the screen, Stiles closes the music player and notices an unread message from Derek:
"Meet me at our spot in 15 minutes. I need you."
Sent at 6:56 PM. It's now 11:12 PM. He manages to frantically tap out the response "Coming now please don't kill me" while tossing his phone to the side. "How could I miss this?" is the only thing Stiles can think while he rushes to clothe his mostly naked body, grab his keys and jet down the stairs and out the door. It's seems to be hours before the 12 minute drive to "their spot" ends in disappointment. The small clearing with a single, fawning pine tree only accessible by foot or some off-roading in Stiles' Jeep appears deserted. Stiles disengages the engine and bangs his head on the steering wheel, followed by a loud thump and an even louder yelp of irritation, pain, and disbelief.
"I can't believe I missed that goddamned text! How? How?!" Stiles bangs his head against the steering wheel again, learning nothing from his first tantrum. Stiles shuffles around a little bit in the car, looks over his shoulder to check to back out, and suddenly he is face to face with Derek.
"HOLY GOD!?" Stiles' arms flail stupidly as he nearly flips over into the passenger seat.
"You're late." Derek says in a broody, annoyed blurt.
"What the fuck do you mean I'm late? It's been three days Derek! Three days. With no response from you! No one has been home, no one has been around town, no cars, nothing. I thought you guys ditched out. This is so-oh not about me being late, this is so-oh about you—" Stiles is cut off by Derek grabbing him by the back of his neck and lunging himself forward, smashing their lips into a sloppy, mangled kiss. Stiles climbs in the back seat, each of his nylon shorts clad legs on the outside of Derek's strong legs. Stiles wraps his arms into a hug around the back of Derek's neck and lays his head down on top of his arm, his lips pressed against Derek's ear. "Don't ever leave me again…" this is the only thing Stiles can choke out of his clenching throat, eyes welling with tears.
Derek turns his head in against Stiles neck and whispers, "I won't." They stay like this for a long while. Long after their heartbeats and breathing have become synchronized. Stiles' body feels warm and fragile against Derek's strong physique; a contrast he's grown accustomed to. Derek finally lifts his head from Stiles' ear and places his hands at his hips, thumbs tucking in towards Stiles' bellybutton. Stiles opens his eyelids, though it feels like they weigh a thousand pounds, just to meet the most longing gaze he has ever seen. It was almost pitiful, but Stiles couldn't help but grin cheekily and peck Derek on the lips.
"Sorry for not contacting you. I was mad." Derek wasn't one to make excuses, and Stiles couldn't help but be empathetic, knowing that sometimes Derek was irrational and hot headed.
"You know, if you weren't so animalistic and would've just asked me what happened, we could've avoided this whole thing. You should trust me by now. You're smarter than that, Derek—you let your insecurities get the best of you. I just—sometimes—I don't understand what's going on in that crazy werewolf brain of yours." Says Stiles as he wraps his hands on each side of Derek's head, tapping each side with just his index fingers.
"If you had my sense of smell, you would've thought that same thing." Derek puffs.
"Oh yeah. I'd totally think you were doing your best friend just because, somehow, a sock with his jizz on it ended up under the passenger seat of your car. Totally logical Derek. I'd absolutely make that conclusion and disappear for three days." Stiles is obviously teasing, but the displeased look on Derek's face tells him that he is testier on this subject than Stiles previously thought. "Look, I am sure it just fell out of his bag. I mean I can understand how maybe you'd think that—since him and Allison aren't together anymore—but seriously? Me and Scott? Psh, outrageous! Plus, Scott isn't GAY or BI or even curious." Stiles reassures Derek, curling his fingers behind his ears and gently massaging the lobes. "You know you're all the wolf I need, baby!" Stiles is back to a teasing, mocking tone when Derek snaps a mouthful of sharp fangs in Stiles' face, making Stiles leap up, banging his head on the roof of the Jeep. "God damn it Derek! GAH that hurt man. What was that for?! You're a friggin' psychopath, you know that? Thanks for nearly breaking my—" Stiles gets cut off by Derek's smiling mouth, pressed hard against his own.
"It's not fair if you get to have all the fun." Derek mumbles while locked in the kiss.
The kiss is hard and there's not as much tongue as Stiles would like, but he's not going to argue. It's been three days, and this is just the type of thing he needs to get over his feelings off irrational abandonment. "Nnng, Aaaah Derek stop…Don't tempt me with a good time." Stiles pulls out of the kiss and then turns his entire body around to sit with his back to Derek's chest, his butt placed tightly in Derek's lap. Derek wraps one arm around Stiles lean chest, while placing his other hand right on Stiles' belly button. Without warning he sinks his dull teeth deep into the curve between Stiles' neck and shoulder, causing a wave of euphoric pain to race from the bite to the tips of Stiles' extremities. The immediate surprise causes Stiles to yelp, but the sound is one of pleasure more so than pain. Stiles then feels Derek begin to soothe the bite with an open-mouthed kiss. He can feel Derek's tongue pressing against the grooves left by his teeth. Stiles instinctively pulls his knees up to his chest and pulls his basketball shorts completely off, revealing his smooth, bare ass and a disproportionately large, stiff cock. Derek is still sucking heavily at the bite mark, the dense bulge in his pants feels like it's going to rip through the zipper and spring into Stiles. Stiles kicks off his shoes and pulls away from Derek to quickly rip off his black t-shirt.
"Your turn," says Stiles with a grin, as he shifts next to Derek on the back seat, sitting on his knees. He's tugging at Derek's shirt avidly, whining quietly.
Derek reaches one arm over and around Stiles' midsection, and then pulls himself out of the Jeep, flinging Stiles over his shoulder. The cool summer rain is sprinkling all over Stiles' naked body. He begins to shiver, sending goose bumps across his bare, pale skin. "Hey! Get back in the Jeep! We're getting wetter than Hurricane Katrina out here." Stiles pouts and Derek heads toward the one tree in the clearing, Stiles over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. "You could at least make this a little more comfortable…" Derek takes the protest as a challenge and gives Stiles a strong, open-palmed slap to his ass. The slap is met with a high-pitched grunt, and then a nervous laugh by Stiles.
With a deep, throaty growl, Derek announces, "You know who that ass belongs to, don't you Stiles?" this is obviously a rhetorical question. Derek reaches the tree and walks under its canopy. He grabs Stiles by the waist and plants him firmly in font of himself.
"It's wet and cold out here. Why didn't we just stay in the Jeep?" Stiles' teeth are chattering slightly due to the cool rainy breeze blowing against his damp skin.
"It smells too much like Scott in there. This is our spot. This spot is marked with our scents, and it makes the getting that much better. This is where I want you. Understood?" Derek says while pulling his shirt over his head and unbuttoning his pants, tossing them nonchalantly behind Stiles. Stiles just smiles sweetly, teeth still chattering. Derek then reaches out and pulls Stiles against his body, rubbing Stiles' face against his strong chest. His body is hot like an electric blanket, and immediately ends Stiles' shivering. He places his nose into Stiles hair and deeply inhales.
"I want you more now than I ever have. You smell so sweet and horny, Stiles. You smell so… frustrated. Have you not come since the last time we were together?" Derek says this with an enthralled curiosity in his voice.
"I was saving it for you. I don't want my big sexy Alpha to think I could manage without him!" Stiles knows he most likely could, but the idea of Derek working a multiple-day load out of him was too good to pass up. He doesn't even remember the last time he's held his come for more than a few hours. Stiles tilts his head down slightly and presses his soft, pink lips against Derek's nipple. He sucks vigorously, shoving a hand down the front of Derek's pants. Pushing through the thin layer of cotton armor, Stiles grasps Derek's growth. He begins to stroke Derek, though his hand is in an awkward position, cramped between his tight hold on Derek's fat dick and the snugness of Derek's jeans.
Derek slides his hands down Stiles' sides, then hooks his own pants and underwear with his thumbs and shoves them off in one quick motion. He can feel his balls tightening between his legs due to the melodic stroke of Stiles' soft hands, so he drops to his knees and, by default, tears his cock from Stiles' grip.
"Hey… I was using that." Stiles mumbles as he looks down at Derek. The tip of his engorged, red-hot cock inches away from the Alpha's hungry mouth. The heat from Derek's breath against Stiles' cock causes it to flinch, and within seconds Derek has his hand wrapped firmly around the base, slaps the other hand against Stiles' perky ass for leverage, and attempts to impale his face on Stiles' pole. The sudden intrusion almost causes Derek to gag, but he resist the impulse by pushing his tongue farther out and against the base of Stiles' cock, opening up his throat and giving him more space to fill. He moves his hand from the base of Stiles' cock to his cum-filled balls. With the extra shaft exposed, Derek braces himself and stuffs his throat full of Stiles. He can hear and feel Stiles' knees crack and shake, and he knows he's rattling Stiles to his core. The hotness of his throat, the abrasiveness of his tongue and the grit of his teeth are almost too much for Stiles to handle, and he thinks he's going to lose it almost instantaneously. And he does.
"Derek… Derek. Please, God, faster…" Derek can smell the come welling inside of Stiles. Derek pulls back just to the tip of Stiles' cock, flicking his tongue over the tip quickly, then plunges down again, engulfing the massive cock with his throat and mouth. In one swift motion, he gives Stiles' nuts a taught tug and pulls his mouth off of Stiles, the suction making a noise not dissimilar to a champagne bottle being corked. And appropriately enough, Stiles cock begins pouring a thick white liquid, covering most of Derek's lips, chin, and neck in man milk. Stiles grabs both sides of Derek's head, thrusting with each spurt, his cock twitching violently as he just keeps coming. A couple of spurts hit Derek in the cheek, one over his forehead, several on the shoulder and a little in his hair. Stiles feels his chest tighten and he starts gasping for air between the pulses of orgasmic ecstasy.
As the last bit of come drips from Stiles, Derek licks from Stiles' cock what dripped down his shaft and onto his balls, swallowing what he gathers. "Clean up the mess you made." Derek says this after licking his lips, enjoying the sweet-salty taste he thirsts for. Stiles is still squeezing both sides of his head, half hunched over and quivering. Stiles lets out an exasperated breath and bends down, face to face with Derek. He begins licking up the come on Derek's neck, shoulder and chin, giving Derek open-mouthed, come-filled kisses. This is always Derek's favorite part: sharing the spoils of his work. Stiles kisses away the rest of his come, very much enjoying the taste of himself mixed with pungent sweat. Derek puts each hand on Stiles' shoulders and gently pulls him to his knees. They take each other in their arms, pulling tightly and crashing their mouths together. It always surprises Stiles how someone as ferocious as Derek can be so passionate. He assumes it most likely stems from the Alpha's need to breed, show affection for his pack, and exert his dominance.
Derek's erection is wedged between Stiles' and Derek's stomachs, hot and hard as a curling iron. Stiles is surprised by how wet and slick it is. He begins moving his stomach side to side, massaging Derek gently between their abs. This draws a deep sigh of enjoyment from Derek's throat, their mouths still pressed hard together, and their tongues still savoring the taste of sweat, come, and pheromones.
Derek pulls away from Stiles gently, putting himself aside: "You're spent— for now. Rest."