AN: It's been half a year. I wouldn't blame you if you didn't remember what this fic was even about;)) (I advise skimming the previous chapter for context)

Derek

"How's your ass?"

Derek closed the door of the jeep and sent Stiles a disgruntled look. His ass was fine. Mostly. Sure, it would have been better if he didn't have to spend the whole day sitting on the hard wooden chairs at school, but even so, it was nothing tragic. He checked the damage first thing in the morning, right after lamenting that he yet again woke up in the wrong body despite giving the little shit what he always wanted. Not that he really expected that a spanking could break the curse, but a tiny little hope was there.

"It's fine." He looked at the mud all around his Camaro that Stiles was currently washing and wondered why on Earth didn't he move it somewhere else before starting. Still, the fact that Stiles did as he was told and did something productive while Derek was at school, was more than he could hope for, so he kept his criticism to himself.

"You winced as you were getting out of the car," Stiles noted gleefully.

Did he? Derek couldn't recall, but even if he did, it was more likely to be a sore muscle, or a cramp in his leg, or sunlight in his eyes, or any of the other many annoyances he had to suffer through as a human.

"Serves you right for whaling on me yesterday."

Derek refrained from commenting and just rolled his eyes as he walked past him. It was not nearly as dramatic as Stiles was trying to make it out to be. There were a few faint marks on the side of the right buttock but Derek blamed those on the boxers. With those up, he couldn't properly see the damage he was doing. Next time he should probably… wait, what next time?! There will be no next time. He explicitly forbade Stiles to provoke him again. It was the right thing to do, and Stiles accepted it without argument. Move on.

"So now you have to suffer," Stiles sneered behind him.

Derek stopped. Just because he was not really suffering didn't mean he was going to let the little shit gloat this much. He spun around and barked "Lie down!" as if there was danger nearby. Which, of course, there was none, but watching Stiles drop right into the mud without a second thought was deeply satisfying.

"Duuuude! What the fuck!"

Derek smirked, feeling vindicated, but Stiles was not looking at him and Derek suddenly realized that he wasn't talking to him either.

"You really need to break off this conditioning," Stiles said, staring into space. "Next time he could tell you to jump off the cliff and you would just do it. Not cool. You should at least ask me. We are on the same boat now, you know?"

"What are you doing?" Derek asked, biting his cheek to keep himself from smiling.

"I'm breaking your wolf out of this abusive relationship you two have."

"No, you are sitting in the dirt talking to yourself like a lunatic."

Stiles tilted his head to the side, a devilish gleam in his eyes, and even though Derek knew exactly what was about to happen, his human reflexes were still too slow to prevent it, and before he could blink he was sitting in the puddle right next to him.

"There," Stiles deadpanned, patting him on the shoulder with his muddy hand. "Now I have proper company."

Derek swallowed an outraged growl, in this body, it would have sounded ridiculous anyway. Instead, he tried to glare Stiles into submission, but only got a smug grin in reply.

That little shit! And here he thought that spanking made a difference. He opened his mouth to remind Stiles about his promise, but then closed it realizing that Stiles didn't really break it, he merely got even. And just because Derek's palm was itching to repeat yesterday's performance, didn't mean that he was being provoked.

xxx

Stiles

"It should probably go without saying but… you will stop provoking me. It's not a request. It's not a threat. It's common decency."

Stiles was not surprised to hear that, nor did he dare to disagree. He reassured Derek that it won't be an issue, while his cheeks flamed in embarrassment at his past behavior. In retrospect, his actions reminded him of an archetypical anime schoolgirl aimlessly running around screaming "notice me, senpai" in a high-pitched voice. Obviously, he couldn't keep trying to get Derek's attention like that. He should count his blessings that Derek didn't bite his head off after reading his journal, and he might not be so lucky if he kept inviting trouble. He still couldn't believe how easily Derek accepted his kink and even acted upon it without contempt or prejudice.

Derek was the first person to learn about this side of him, and the last person Stiles ever planned on telling. Provoking sure, but sharing his shameful desires? Never. Now that cat was out of the bag and instead of Doomsday or at the very least a swift painful death that was sure to follow such revelation, Derek played out his fantasy and then comforted him, giving him every bit of care and attention that Stiles always pined for.

Stiles didn't think he could possibly fall more in love. Which… was a bummer, as he was trying so hard to get over him and move on. Derek had to know about his feelings by now. There was no way he read all his spanking fantasies and somehow glossed over the longstanding crush Stiles had on him. And yet, he only addressed the kink part.

Did it mean that Stiles had a chance? As tempting as this thought was, Stiles was pretty sure it meant the exact opposite. If Derek at all liked him, even a little bit, he would have told him. After reading the journal, the ball was in his court, and the fact that he didn't say anything, most likely meant that he wasn't interested in Stiles like that.

Sigh.

It was time to stop dreaming that one day Derek would appear at his doorstep, proclaim his undying love and then to the tunes of November Rain's outro solo envelop him in a passionate kiss as the camera slowly zoomed out to the bird's eye view…

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

Derek's bitchy tone and sour expression successfully wiped out the remnants of Stiles's daydream. So not happening. He smoothed out the brand-new red plaid shirt he bought in the morning and grinned. "You like it?"

Judging by Derek's face the question was rhetorical. But if he was to treat Derek's body with respect, he might as well dress it appropriately. All those tight T-shirts gave him nothing but boners.

"Take it off."

"Come on, I'm at home." Seriously, what's the big deal? It was a nice shirt, soft and comfy and the wolf liked it. The bright coloring and flannel material gave homey vibes as opposed to the homme fatale style that Derek usually wore.

"And if anyone would come over-"

"Yes, tragic, they'd see that black is not the only color you wear."

"No, they'd enroll me for a healing stay in Eichen House."

Stiles rolled his eyes. As if anyone came here anyway... Over the past couple of months, Derek turned into hikikomori, avoiding the pack like the plague, and his wolf suffered for it. Frankly, it was high time Stiles did something about it. He couldn't let Derek spend all his evenings knitting socks. Even if he was half-decent at it.

"Fine." Stiles reluctantly took off the shirt and hung it in the closet in case Derek ever changed his mind. "But in return, you'll knit me a sweater."

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm not your seamstress. If you want a sweater, go and buy yourself one."

Stiles pouted at that. "You made one for Mike."

"I didn't. He found out about it by accident and bullied me into giving it to him."

"No problem. I'll bully you too." Stiles's teasing grin got nothing but a glare in return. "Alright. Not a sweater then. A scarf. Come on, Derek, you can do decent scarves. I've seen them!"

"They are gone."

"Why?"

"Because one obnoxious little shit has found them and now won't stop pestering me about it."

Boohoo. Stiles was tempted to stick his tongue out but seeing that Derek was getting tired of the argument, he chose to drop it and count his losses. He could pester Derek later when he was in a better mood.

"Deaton called," he said instead. "He has a mage acquaintance who agreed to take a look at our situation."

A spark of hope lit in Derek's eyes, but it was quickly quenched by the growing skepticism. Stiles could relate. They have spent so much time trying all those ridiculous rituals with Deaton and even more time on tiresome research through books and internet, and nothing worked.

"When?" Derek asked without a hint of enthusiasm.

"He didn't say. Soon, I hope."

Derek just nodded in reply.

xxx

Derek

Ping-pong-clack.

Three days have passed in relative peace. Stiles kept his promise and toned down the brat-act. He was still an annoying smartass even on a good day, but unlike before he never crossed the line to really piss Derek off. Or maybe Derek was getting used to him.

Ping-pong-clack.

Ehem. After two years, now he was suddenly getting used to him?

Ping-pong-clack.

Well… yeah. He never really spent much time with him before. Stiles was getting on his nerves, and no matter how much his wolf found his antics adorable, Derek did not, and so he tried to limit their contact to the minimum. Now it's been almost two weeks of close proximity and Stiles's presence and incessant chatter were growing on him.

Ping-pong-clack.

Mostly.

Ping-pong-clack.

When he wasn't doing this.

Ping-pong-clack.

"Stop it before you break something," Derek snapped, turning to glare at the teenager sprawled on the sofa. The rubber ball in his hand did one more round of floor-wall-catch routine before Stiles bothered to look back at him.

"I won't break anything when I'm human, chill."

The easy dismissal grated on Derek's nerves but the anxious energy he could smell on Stiles dulled his irritation. They were on standby, waiting for Deaton's call when the mage arrived, and Stiles was not the only one antsy about it. Derek calmed his wolf with cooking. He would have preferred physical exercise or even knitting but with Stiles around, he would have never heard the end of it, so he focused on stirring the bolognese sauce in front of him.

Not a minute later, Stiles's phone vibrated with an incoming message. "He is here."

Derek turned off the stove and gave a few more loving stirs to the goodness on the pan before covering it with a lid. "Alright, let me grab the car keys."

He barely stepped out of the room when the sound of a loud crash and broken dishes brought him right back in.

Oh, joy.

The kitchen floor was newly decorated with pieces of broken glass and bolognese sauce, the pan lying nearby bottom-side-up, and the cabinet above the stove missing some of its contents, most notably - the front window. The wretched ball rolled all the way to the table as if to hide its culpability, though the red trail it left behind kinda gave it away.

But it wasn't the rubber ball that Derek was about to kill on the spot. The real culprit was standing there completely dumbfounded, reeking of guilt and "oh shit" vibes.

"Stiles, what did I say?! What did I just say?"

Derek managed to suppress his urges and his voice didn't break the sound barrier either, but Stiles still hunched his shoulders, the guilty smell intensifying.

"Uhm…" Stiles's fingers twisted the hem of his t-shirt, feet shifting on the spot, eyes looking everywhere but at Derek, as he fruitlessly tried to come up with a suitable excuse.

Not that Derek expected any. He brushed a hand through his hair and pinched the bridge of his nose to figure out what to do now. The most tempting option was not to do anything and leave it all for when they were done with the mage. He took another look at his kitchen and decided that a couple of hours won't make a difference, so he went back to grab the keys.

"I'm sorry." Stiles looked genuinely remorseful as he said it, but Derek was not mollified. That sauce took him two and a half hours!

"Let's go," he said brusquely, walking past him.

Stiles remained rooted to the spot but Derek didn't wait for him. He opened the front door and that's when Stiles finally snapped.

"That's it?!"

Derek halted. Stiles sounded so scandalized as if the fact that Derek didn't tear off all his limbs to bitchslap him with them was some great betrayal on his part. But then again, it's not like Derek didn't know what it was that Stiles expected. And perhaps it wasn't entirely uncalled for. Unless… "Did you do this on purpose?"

"What? No! Of course not. But that doesn't mean…" Stiles trailed off, but Derek understood him regardless.

"Alright." He closed the door and looked back at the disaster in his kitchen. The mage could wait another 15 minutes, right? He grabbed an armless chair from the table and placed it right next to the mess on the floor so that Stiles had proper visuals during his chastisement, then took a seat and beckoned him with his hand. "Come here."

But Stiles still didn't move. He just stood there biting his lip and looking at Derek with genuine trepidation. And Derek was confused.

"Isn't this what you want?"

"No!"

Derek scratched his head, trying to figure out what it was that Stiles wanted from him, and then just gave up. "Ok, you are sending me some mixed signals here."

Stiles let out a frustrated breath and shifted from foot to foot. "Well, are you angry?"

Seriously? "Come on, Stiles. Look at this." Derek nodded at the floor. "You can't expect me to be happy about it."

"I don't. But if you are mad, shouldn't you want to punish me yourself?"

Derek frowned, still not entirely sure where Stiles was going with this. "What I want is irrelevant. If it was up to me, you would be getting your ass beat every time you open your mouth." It was an exaggeration of course, but Stiles went with it.

"So why don't you?"

"Stiles."

"What? You know I'm into it. So just do it whenever you feel I deserve it."

Derek folded his arms on his chest, frowning deeper. "What did I say about blanket consent?"

"You were talking about people I don't know. But I know you. Besides, you gave me a safeword, so I can always stop you if necessary."

Damn. The little shit had no business putting this much trust in him. His wolf loved it though.

"By all means, we can start every pack meeting with you over my knee," he said sarcastically. It was a strawman argument and he knew it. Not to mention, they haven't had a pack meeting in forever.

Stiles's shoulders sagged. "You know, that's not what I meant." And fuck, he sounded so disappointed.

Derek capitulated. "Alright. Fine." He threw his hands in defeat, wondering how the hell did he manage to lose that argument and since when did Stiles's desires and expectations begin to matter to him. "So why didn't you come when I told you to?"

Stiles dropped his gaze, his cheeks growing a lovely shade of red. "Because I'm not supposed to want to be punished. You are supposed to want to punish me."

Oh. Derek felt stupid. After all, it was all over those pages. Stiles wanted to be held accountable not because he asked for it, but because somebody cared enough to do it.

"Noted. But what exactly did you expect me to do when you told me 'no'?"

"Drag me over yourself. Threaten to make it worse. Just… make me obey." The last sentence was barely audible, but Derek's werewolf ears picked it up without trouble.

"I see." Derek drummed his fingers against his thigh. Stiles made his expectations more than clear. Now all he had to do was act on it. "Very well then. Change of plans. You are going to clean this, then we are going to Deaton's and when we come back, you are getting the promised spanking. Depending on how well you behave, I might go easier on you."

Relief and excitement filled the air, mixed in with a whiff of arousal and shame.

"And if I don't behave?"

Right. Derek realized that he needed to be more persuasive, lest the kinky little shit started acting out again just to see what he would do. He unbuckled his belt and whisked it through the loops, pleased at the way it made Stiles's breath catch in his throat.

"I think a little demonstration is in order. Drop your pants and bend over." He pointed the belt at the table but Stiles didn't jump to obey, eyeing the implement warily. Derek patted it against his palm and gave him a little nudge. "It will be more than a little demonstration if I have to help you."

That worked surprisingly well, as Stiles quickly pulled down his jeans and leaned over the table shamefaced. Derek could smell his apprehension, as well as hear the elevated heartbeat. Good, he should be nervous. Getting the belt was not fun as far as Derek could remember, and he wanted to make sure Stiles considered it a deterrent as well.

He placed his left hand on Stiles's back, just to have that bit of physical contact and to prevent Stiles from moving and risking that he would hit something other than his butt. Once he deemed Stiles ready, he let his other hand fall down against the seat of his boxers with a resounding thwap.

"Owww! Oh shit!" Stiles jumped up, eyes wide as he rubbed the offended spot with his hands. The belt made an impression. Good.

"One more. Bend over."

"No thanks, I'm good. This was more than enough for a demonstration."

"Two more then."

Stiles's appalled expression and pout were so cute Derek almost laughed. He could bet, Stiles regretted giving him an instruction manual now that Derek made use of it.

Be careful what you wish for, boy.

Stiles grimaced but dutifully put himself back in position. Derek could have lightened up but he didn't and laid the other two just as firmly to make sure Stiles was properly motivated to be on his best behavior.

"Owww! Jesus, that hurt!" Stiles hopped on spot, quickly pulling up his pants and looking at Derek as if some great injustice was done to him.

Derek nearly rolled his eyes. All this whining over 3 swats? Stiles was clearly fishing for sympathy, and he was not gonna get any. He literally asked for this himself!

"Trust me, you don't want a full whipping with it," Derek said, as he threaded the belt back on.

Stiles lowered his gaze. "No, Sir, I don't."

The title came out unprompted this time, but Derek figured it was only fitting that Stiles showed him that extra bit of respect after getting his tail lit with the belt. And now he just stood there like a chastised pup with his head down, chewing on his bottom lip and waiting for Derek's direction…

Okay, perhaps he might get some sympathy. The wolf was howling for a cuddle but Derek only allowed himself two firm pats on the shoulder.

"Go clean the mess."

xxx

Stiles

Stiles didn't like the mage right off the bat. It was not that he looked weird (even though the mage garb on a forty-something dude looked quite ridiculous), or acted weird (yes on that too), but it was the casual presence of superiority and unconcealed disdain for werewolves that bugged Stiles the most. If Stiles felt it, then Derek definitely felt it, and yet he didn't let it show. He remained business-like, ignoring all the contemptuous looks and shady remarks.

Stiles didn't want to hold his tongue, but whenever he opened his mouth Derek would "accidentally" tap his belt, making him forget whatever it was he was about to say. Three red stripes warming his butt were more than enough for him, thank you very much. As a result, the meeting went smoothly and after a few minutes of hocus pocus, Dargamar (yes, his name was Dargamar and Stiles didn't get to ask which House in Hogwarts he attended, even though he really really wanted to) decreed that it was no conventional spell and that's why all Deaton's efforts were futile from the start.

"So what is it then?" Stiles asked.

Dargamar looked at him as if he already managed to forget he was there and shrugged. "I don't know."

Great. Stiles turned to Derek and by his expression, he could guess that the mage was not entirely truthful with them.

"Surely you must have some ideas." Derek's tone remained perfectly friendly even though the glare Dargamar sent him was anything but.

He brushed a hand over his mantle, then did the same to his long black hair, which made his hawk-like features even more prominent, and cleared his throat. "Spells that bind people together are commonly used for establishing connection. Once that purpose is fulfilled the spell runs its course."

"Pretty sure we already did that," Derek said.

"In what way? I mean," Dargamar tilted his head to the side, "there are many."

Derek didn't reply and Stiles felt the blood rush to his face as his mind immediately fell in the gutter. He could think of a good few dozen "connecting" activities they could indulge in… He just seriously doubted he would be ever getting Derek on board for them.

Stiles's intense blushing was hard to miss and Dargamar's smirk made it plain. "I'm sure you can still find a few things to try," he sneered, turning back to Derek.

"But those spells would be conventional, right?" Derek replied, cool as a cucumber. As if he didn't notice all those sexual fantasies playing out on Stiles's face for everyone to see. "You said this one was not."

"It might be a new one or the one I haven't encountered yet…" The skepticism was palpable. Dargamar didn't believe there were spells he hadn't heard of. Humble as a mumble in the jungle. But they asked for his opinion, so Stiles kept his thoughts to himself.

"Or?" Derek pressed.

"Or a failed one."

That perked Stiles up. "A failed Misery spell?"

"Most likely."

Huh. All this, cause of a fucked up spell… To think they were dealing with a dilettante witch, made the whole situation tragicomedic.

"And if it is, can you fix it?" asked Derek.

Dargamar gave him a calculating look but then shook his head as if he had changed his mind. "No. Not without the original caster."

Stiles had a nagging feeling that the dude knew more than he was letting on.

xxx

Derek

"Did he lie?" Stiles asked as soon as they got back to the car.

"No." Derek started the engine and checked the rearview mirror. "But he knew I would be able to tell. He was deliberately careful. I don't know where Deaton found him, but…"

"I don't like him," Stiles said, reading his mind.

"You don't have to. The only thing that matters is whether he can help us or not." And that was not clear as of yet. The guy promised to ask around and let them know if he found anything, but Derek wasn't holding his breath on that one.

The whole thing was frustrating and he could smell it on Stiles as plainly as he felt it himself. Both of them tried hard to manage their expectations, but one couldn't help but hope that today would be the end of it, and now the car reeked of mutual disappointment.

Stiles didn't say anything for the rest of the drive and Derek was never one to fill the silence with mindless chatter. It wasn't till they entered the loft and he was hit with the leftover smell of the bolognese sauce, that he remembered about the unfinished business they still had to take care of. Stiles's quickened heartbeat proved that he didn't forget about it either.

"Are you still mad?" he asked, his voice unusually timid.

Derek glanced at his kitchen but other than the broken cabinet, it looked pretty much the same as usual. And truth be told, he couldn't find it in him to care. Sure, the dinner plans would have to be adjusted, but compared to the fact that they were still cursed with no end in sight, it all felt so insignificant. He wasn't mad, he was tired and frustrated and that was no fault of Stiles's. If anything, Stiles was the one person who could relate. Why would Derek even discipline him for something so inconsequential? So what if he played with the ball indoors and broke some shit. Was that really something to require corporal punishment?

"No." Derek was about to tell Stiles he was off the hook when he noticed how his muscles tensed at the word. Whether it was because he was worried about his punishment or because he was worried he wouldn't get one, Derek wasn't sure.

For anyone else, this would have been a relief, but Stiles was not anyone else. He told Derek he wanted to be held accountable. On the other hand, he also told him that discipline was up to him and to do what he thought best, but something was telling Derek that not following through on his word and delivering what was promised would only lead to further disappointment. And that was the last thing Derek needed right now.

He hesitated for a second and then shook his head. "But that won't get you out of a promised spanking."

Stiles's pulse quickened still, but the soft smile hidden behind the rosy blush told Derek that he chose correctly. And who knew, perhaps it could even take their minds off of the upsetting encounter with the mage.

But now that the decision was made, Derek was lost again. Should he just bend him over the table and wear him out with the belt? Take him over the knee and give him a similar treatment like last time? Scold him? Send him to the corner to think about his behavior?

The last one was not something Derek would ever think about, but he remembered reading it in Stiles's diary. God, he wished he had it at hand right now. For something as trivial as a spanking there sure seemed to be a lot of ways he could fuck this up. And asking Stiles how he was supposed to punish him was undoubtedly one of them.

"I behaved," Stiles said and Derek turned to him confused. Did he guess wrong after all? "At Deaton's," Stiles elaborated. "There was so much I wanted to say to Dargamar, but I kept it in, because… uhm, you said you would go easier on me?"

Right. No belt then.

Derek took Stiles by the arm and dragged him over to the bedroom. Not that Stiles resisted, but he seemed quite surprised as he stared at the bed munching on his bottom lip as if there was something else going on… Of course, that was not why Derek brought him here. The bedroom simply felt more private and he thought that Stiles would be more comfortable here than in the living room, especially since he slept in this bed every other day.

Now he wasn't so sure. But taking him back would be plain stupid, so Derek took a seat and positioned Stiles between his knees, keeping his hands on his hips and taking a moment to study him. Stiles was nervous. He was avoiding eye contact and blushing, but that was probably to be expected. Derek considered reminding him about the safeword but then thought against it. Stiles knew this shit better than he did, and he cared far too much about immersion for Derek to ruin it over something as trivial. So instead, Derek reached over and unbuttoned his jeans to take them down.

"Don-" the spike of panic froze Derek's hands, "don't take it the wrong way," Stiles finished on an exhale, turning a deeper shade of red.

Derek smelled it before he saw it. Stiles was getting aroused, the bulge growing right in front of his eyes. Kinky little shit. Derek nearly chuckled, but laughing at Stiles when he was this insecure would be too shitty even for him, so he quelled the urge and kept his expression serious.

"This is punishment," he reminded him. Actually reminded them both, because seeing Stiles's physical response was making his wolf unduly excited as well. Perhaps taking Stiles to the bedroom was not such a great idea after all.

"I know."

"As long as we are on the same page," Derek said with a shrug, hoping his nonchalance would put Stiles more at ease.

Marginally, it did. Stiles was still embarrassed but not panicking anymore, so Derek pushed his pants to his knees and tipped him over his lap. He took a moment to appreciate the slender body in front of him as well as the curve of Stiles's ass which looked more pronounced than usual. Not that he checked. He just happened to spend every other day in that body, that's all.

Annoyed at the direction his thoughts had taken, Derek decided to get on with it and slapped his target soundly. Stiles jerked in pain and for a moment, Derek got scared he miscalculated his strength. Then he remembered that as a human, Stiles might still be feeling the effects of the belt and decided to check the damage. He pulled down Stiles' boxers and was immediately hit with a fresh wave of anxiety as Stiles gasped in panic.

Shit. Should he have asked him? Warned him? Gave him a chance to protest? Well, too late. Not like he could apologize and reclothe him now. Great. But before Derek could start chewing himself out for a possible mistake, Stiles was already lifting his hips to help him get the boxers further down.

Stop overthinking this. Stiles was into this. And it was not even the first time he spanked him.

Except, last time it was just a spur-of-the-moment thing. Now there were already some established expectations that Derek needed to meet, and he didn't know what they were nor could ask Stiles about them. He was just supposed to know. Like the fantasy Derek from the journal.

Thankfully, he didn't seem to mess it up yet, and so far Stiles's reactions provided sufficient guidance, so Derek stopped fretting and focused on the task at hand.

The three pinkish stripes that adorned the otherwise milky skin of Stiles' cheeks didn't seem too bad. Derek ran his fingers across them and watched goosebumps appear on Stiles's thighs. The boy was still nervous and embarrassed, but also excited and not at all scared. That was all the invitation Derek needed to start spanking.

This time, he kept the strength of the smacks in the medium range, paying careful attention to Stiles's reactions. Just hard enough to keep the boy from relaxing and keep his pulse up, anticipating every swat, but not hard enough for him to fear it or tense up.

The jury was still out on whether Stiles was enjoying it or not (or whether he was even meant to), but Derek actually did. His wolf was in his element and watching the skin whiten on impact and then slowly fill up with color was weirdly invigorating. Stiles's responses, even more so. From soft whimpers and "Ohs" to pitiful "Ows" and quiet sniffles. And yet not once did he try to move or block Derek's hand, taking it like a champ.

Derek kept on spanking till there was an even warm pink color and belt marks were not distinguishable anymore, then gave Stiles a breather and rubbed the heated cheeks to ease some of the sting away.

Stiles exhaled and visibly relaxed. Or rather turned into a boneless pile of content, perfectly comfortable in his position. Pet him and he would start purring. Derek was pretty sure there was actual drool on his bedsheets now. Punished boy my ass. Now there was no doubt that the little shit was very much enjoying this. And, hell, why was it making Derek smile?

He quickly fixed his expression, lest Stiles turned around and saw it. Derek needed to keep appearances. This was discipline, not bedroom play. Except according to Stiles's diary, a punishment spanking was supposed to leave him bawling his eyes out begging for mercy, and while Derek planned nothing of the sort, he didn't think he should be straying quite this far from the source material. He needed to step up his game.

He adjusted Stiles on his lap and cleared his throat. "Alright. Why are you being punished?"

Stiles got some of the muscle back at the question, probably realizing that the spanking wasn't over yet. "I, uh, fucked up your kitchen? I didn't mean to, though."

"I told you to stop messing around," Derek said, faking the sternness he no longer felt necessary. "And instead of doing as you were told, you decided to be a smartass."

"M'sorry," Stiles muttered and for a moment, the smell of guilt overshadowed the blatant pleasure he was emitting.

Derek had to keep himself from smiling again. Now that he was no longer mad at Stiles, his guilty conscience was kinda adorable. "I know you are not big on following orders, but at least when you are here, I expect you to show some respect and do as I say. In fact, as part of the pack that should be the default, and I don't think that giving you leeway did either of us any good."

Stiles hummed his agreement and Derek swatted him.

"A verbal answer, please. Did I make my expectations clear?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good." With that, he resumed the spanking, putting his arm into it for proper disciplinary effect. Stiles acknowledged his efforts by growing more animated with every swat, wiggling his hips and whining in discomfort. Derek would have felt sorry for him if he didn't think that this was exactly what the little shit wanted. His arousal got dulled by the pain, but it was not supposed to be sexual anyway. Not directly at least. Now, if later Stiles wrote about it in his journal and jerked off to it, that was none of Derek's business. He was not even going to check. Probably.

It didn't take long for Stiles's cheeks to turn deeper red and Derek shifted his attention to his sit spots and upper thighs to make sure Stiles felt it whenever he sat down. Or perhaps whenever Derek sat down tomorrow. Ugh. He tried not to think about that. It would not stop him from giving Stiles a proper punishment, even though he didn't really expect it to work. It was unlikely that Stiles would suddenly start following orders to the T, but if he at least took a moment to think before ignoring or outright dismissing whatever Derek told him, he would consider it a win.

He counted down 10 final swats, making them hard enough to yield a few yelps from Stiles, and then rested his hand on the warm flesh. If he kept going he was risking leaving bruises. Already there were a couple of darker spots that might stay for a while but more importantly, Stiles was reaching the point where he would stop even remotely enjoying whatever was happening and Derek didn't want to take it that far. Certainly not over a broken cabinet.

It took a while for Stiles's breathing to calm down and Derek instinctively started petting him, turning him back into a ragdoll from before. Neither of them said anything. Stiles smelled happy and content, so Derek didn't bother asking him if he was alright and just kept his hands busy rubbing the cheeks and stroking alongside his back all the way up to the top of his head.

After Stiles broke down in tears last time, Derek made sure to read up on aftercare. Uhm, just in case. He didn't have any soothing cream at hand, his werewolf skin didn't need healing, hydrating, or sun protection. He had lube in the drawer of the bedside table but he was absolutely not using that. Besides, Stiles didn't seem to need it anyway. He was so comfortable, his breathing began deepening and Derek was torn between letting him sleep and getting himself out of this trap.

Oh, for fuck's sake! This was ridiculous. If Stiles was well enough to start dozing off, he didn't need Derek babysitting him or playing the pillow. Derek carefully pulled Stiles's boxers back up and then slipped from under him.

Stiles stretched on the bed and kicked the jeans off his ankles. "You are gonna have fun sitting tomorrow," he muttered, smiling sleepily at him. It was just a good-natured jab and Derek couldn't help chuckling.

"I'll manage."

Stiles's smile turned sad then. "I wish you didn't have to. I'm so tired of this."

"Me too." Derek reached out and patted his hip in sympathy. The situation was wearing on him just as much as it did on Stiles. Everything they've tried led to nowhere and they were running out of ideas. They sat like this for a few minutes, comfortable silence between them, and Derek noticed that Stiles started drifting off again. "If you want to snooze for a bit, you can," he offered and as Stiles nodded, got off the bed. But before he could walk away Stiles caught his hand.

"Will you stay?"

Derek sat back down and returned his hand to Stiles's hip.

Stiles was out within minutes. His face still held a shadow of a smile, reflecting the perfect content he was feeling as he was falling asleep. Just sitting and watching his blissful expression was affecting Derek to a degree he wouldn't have predicted. Frankly, he didn't remember the last time his wolf was so calm and at peace. Happy even.

For the first time it occurred to Derek that while he was still absolutely wrong for Stiles, Stiles might have been actually not so bad for him.