Derek
Derek looked at the hieroglyphs in front of him, trying to make sense of the assignment but his mind kept coming up blank. He didn't remember anything. Stiles tried to give him a crash course through differential calculus, but Derek's hungover brain just wasn't up to par with the material.
He glanced around the classroom, then wiped his sweaty palm against the ridiculous plaid shirt he was wearing and prayed for the sudden inspiration but it was no use. If he was in his own body, he could at least rely on his senses to cheat and copy the answers from somebody else, but as a human, he was utterly helpless.
Gah. Why the hell did he let the little shit talk him into this? What's it to him if Stilinski failed a class or didn't get into his university of choice? They had much bigger problems right now and Stiles could be waiting tables for the rest of his life, for all he cared. Ok, that was the frustration talking. Derek didn't want Stiles to fail anything. Judging by his marks, the kid was smart and could go places and no matter what Derek said out loud, he would hate to be the one to hamper his future.
He sighed, stretching his arms, and nearly fell off the chair when he saw Stiles in the window. The fuck was he doing here? He was supposed to be running off his energy in the woods but clearly, it was too much to expect Stilinski to follow a simple instruction. And didn't they agree to stay away from the pack till they knew more? And why was he grinning like this? Did he want to ruin Derek's reputation for good?
Derek tried to convey it all in a single glare but Stiles was either immune or willfully blind. He nodded at him as if asking about the test and Derek shook his head, preparing him for the worst outcome. Stiles didn't seem to mind it though and circled his fingers in an "ok" sign before disappearing from sight again.
Derek had a bad feeling about this and was proven right when not two minutes later a fire alarm went off. Oh, joy. The piercing horn made everyone forget about the test right away and Derek's groan was drowned in the commotion.
"Brainless fucking teenager," he muttered, hiding his face in a facepalm. The last thing he needed was to have his face on the security cameras setting fire to the local high school.
"Stiles?" Lydia eyed him suspiciously. "You know something?"
Derek was not in the mood for questioning, so he pretended not to hear her, as he quickly collected his things, but Lydia was not someone to be ignored.
"Stiles, I'm talking to you! What is going on again?!" She cut off his exit route, placing herself in front of the door, and Jesus-fucking-Christ, Derek was so done with this shit… Which must have shown on his face, because Lydia took a tentative step back. "Dude, did you just growl at me?"
He probably did, old habits died hard. He didn't have the time nor the mental capacity to deal with her. "Not now, Lydia," he snapped, squeezing himself beside her and storming out of the classroom. But before he managed to get lost in the crowd, he was grabbed by the arm and yanked into the side corridor.
Stiles's cocky grin plastered on his own face was obnoxious to see and Derek met it with a matching scowl, rubbing his biceps with a grimace. The handprint Stiles left there will likely bruise.
"Watch your strength, idiot."
Stiles had the grace to appear sheepish as he clasped his hands in front of him. "Sorry, but I have-"
"I told you to run off that energy," Derek barked, crossing arms on his chest. "What the fuck are you doing here?" He could see the dissonance his retort produced. The wolf cowed, accepting the rebuke, but the pout that appeared on his lips - that was all Stiles.
"Saving my math grade," he said sulkily.
"Please tell me you didn't set actual fire."
"Just tickled the smoke detector, no worries." Stiles waved his hand dismissively, which put Derek a bit more at ease. "Anyway, I have to show you something." His eyes flashed with excitement as he took Derek by the wrist (his grip once again disproportionately tight and bruising) and pulled him towards the sunlight.
Derek had a scathing remark on the tip of his tongue when he noticed how the sun hit his skin to reveal a black pyramid-shaped symbol on the underside of his wrist.
Stiles beside him exhaled, showing the same symbol on his own wrist. "I saw it as I ran. I didn't remember you having this tattoo before and it looked familiar, so I did a bit of googling-"
"Bilinski!"
Stiles's head shot up at the call, but Derek didn't care. "What did you find?" he asked impatiently.
"Bilinski!" the man repeated, coming closer.
"That's you," Stiles said quietly and Derek didn't have a choice but to acknowledge the intruder. Given the sports outfit and the whistle around his neck, it was not hard to guess that it was the coach of the lacrosse team.
"Bilinski, where the hell were you yesterday?" he asked, the angry tone suggesting that Stiles must have missed the practice.
Derek frowned but remained quiet, wondering what he was supposed to say. The pause dragged and Stiles elbowed him in the ribs. Way harder than necessary. Again.
"Busy," Derek grumbled, eager to just turn around and walk away but unsurprisingly, such a half-assed excuse did not appease the man.
"Doing what?"
If only I knew.
"Stuff."
"Stuff? Oh no, you too?" the coach sneered. "I thought only Greenberg did that."
Derek had no idea who that was, nor did he really care. "I thought so too," he said, matching the guy's sarcasm and without further ado, took Stiles by the elbow and dragged him out of the building. He already took the math test for him, no way in hell was he dealing with a pissed coach too.
"Nice, great, now he is gonna-"
"What did you find, Stiles?" Derek interrupted him, not in the mood for the teenage whining.
But Stiles refused to take a hint. "He is gonna have my head," he said, adopting this stupid sulky expression that looked absolutely ridiculous on "Derek's" face.
"He is not the one you should be worried about right now." And Derek was getting dangerously close to making good on that threat.
"Oh, is that so?"
The skepticism was downright appalling. Derek's hand shot up to Stiles's face and squished his cheeks roughly. Swapped bodies, or not, he was not going to let the little shit talk to him like that.
Unfortunately, he must have miscalculated just how intimidating he could really be under the circumstances because instead of cowing into submission, Stiles looked at him and smirked. Then his fangs started slowly extending out of his squished mouth till they poked at Derek's fingers and forced him to let go.
"You know," Stiles cocked his head, his face obnoxiously smug, "you should really work on your anger issues."
Unable to do much else, Derek gave him a dirty look. He didn't have any anger issues, Stiles just knew how to press his buttons, and did so pretty much every chance he got. Derek never understood the logic behind purposely provoking a werewolf. No one else from the pack seemed to suffer from such an affliction. Only Stiles.
xxx
Stiles
Watching Derek's scowl slowly morph into resignation, Stiles's glee was crowded out by a guilty feeling. Not being able to throw his weight around must have been a new thing for Derek. And as much as it felt good to rub it in, he had to admit that riling Derek up was not as fun when the power imbalance was skewed in his favor.
And Stiles never realized just how great that imbalance really was. After spending some quality time in the woods sprinting and jumping and using his heightened senses, Stiles wasn't sure if he even wanted his own body back. He ran at least 10 miles and hardly broke a sweat, he nearly caught a rabbit with his bare hands! The poor little fellow was fleeing for dear life and Stiles would have felt bad for him if the beast inside of him didn't enjoy the hunt so much.
Letting the rabbit go and forcing himself to go back to school took some mental fortitude. But once he saw the sign on his wrist and realized where he had seen it before, his excitement surpassed the wolf's needs.
"The drink," Stiles said pointedly, making a dramatic pause. "It must have been enchanted. I saw this very symbol reflect on its surface before I drank it. At the time I thought I must have imagined it, not to mention the taste was so awful, it overshadowed everything else. But this," he pointed at his wrist, "is not a coincidence."
Derek looked thoughtful, studying the tattoo. The symbol resembled two black pyramids standing next to each other. Stiles has never seen anything like it and by the way Derek was looking at it, neither did he.
"So who is she?"
"Who?"
"The girl," Stiles clarified, tilting his head to the side. If it was she who cursed them, she must have had a motive for doing so. "What do you know about her?"
Derek shrugged. "Nothing. I saw her for the first time yesterday."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
Stiles studied him for a second, trying to focus on his heartbeat. He had no idea how Scott did that lie detector thingie. Stiles couldn't tell anything from it. "So you two didn't…"
Derek shook his head, his face betraying his annoyance. "No, we didn't."
"Are you sure?" Stiles repeated. "I mean, would you even remember?"
If looks could kill, Stiles would be pushing up daisies soon.
"Of course, I'd remember."
"A one-night stand from, say, three years ago?" The reason Stiles sounded so skeptical was not because he would want Derek to be a manwhore, it's just that with a face like that…Yeah, he would be hard-pressed to assume anything else.
"Yes." Derek didn't look offended. He looked pissed.
Stiles mulled over the answer for a second before his mouth ran away with him again. "And how often do you have them?"
"Stilinski!" Derek finally snapped, throwing his hands in the air. "My sex life is really none of your business, don't you think?!"
"And my sex life is none of yours, and yet you still felt the need to butt into it."
Derek looked away. "That's different."
"Yeah? How?"
Derek didn't reply, silently walking towards his Camaro. Stiles trod after him, the question still hanging in the air. He was sure that if he kept pestering Derek, he would hear something along the lines of him being too naive, inexperienced, or immature. And he didn't want to hear any of that.
"Were you surprised to see me at the Shelf?" he asked instead.
Derek shrugged, not bothering to look at him. "I thought you like girls."
I like you.
"Huh?" Derek turned with a frown.
Shit, shit, shit! Did I say it out loud? "I said, I'm like you. I saw you leave bars in a male company more than once."
Derek was still frowning at him, but that was probably because Stiles sounded like a stalker and not because Derek called his bluff. Phew. For once Stiles was really glad he was the one in a werewolf body because his viciously beating heart would have been a dead giveaway.
"You said you researched the symbol," Derek said, changing the topic much to Stiles's relief.
"Yeah," he nodded. "Googling images is not easy, but I've found this." He held the phone for Derek to see. "It looks pretty close, doesn't it?" The picture showed a stone pendant with a somewhat similar symbol carved on it.
"It does. What is it?"
Stiles shrugged. "It doesn't say. It just says: talismans, charms, amulets, and other supplies. It's a store." Derek's shoulders sagged and Stiles looked at the phone again. "But according to Google, it's open now and it's… uh, a bit over two hours by car from here. We could check it out. The Shelf is not open yet anyway. I think it's worth a shot."
"Alright. Let's go."
"Can I drive?" Stiles asked, biting his lip in an attempt to be cute.
The exaggerated glare was the only answer he got.
xxx
Derek
It was a complete and utter waste of time.
The drive there was an exercise in patience in itself because Stilinski was absolutely insufferable for half of it. The little shit just wouldn't shut up! And when he wasn't prattling, he was changing the radio stations, and when he wasn't doing that, he was whining that he needed to pee, and after they stopped to pee, he was suddenly dying of hunger and then pouting like a 4-year-old when Derek refused to let him eat the burrito in the car.
Seriously, if Derek was in his own body, he would have probably lost his temper and did something he would immediately regret. However, aggravating a newbie werewolf was hazardous, so Derek had to keep his head, and even though he suspected that the wolf would still obey him over Stiles, he was yet to fully test that theory.
Thankfully, Stiles dozed off soon after eating and Derek was rewarded with peace and quiet for the next hour. Asleep, Stiles was an almost welcomed companion. He slept with his mouth open, drooling on his T-shirt, and for once, Derek didn't find it irritating but rather adorable (for the lack of a better word). He nearly caught himself smiling when Stiles finally closed his mouth, grimaced in his sleep, and then started slurping to counter the dryness. Perhaps he was a toddler after all.
The magic-store was a bust, just as Derek expected. The cheap trinkets were as fake as they come and the shop assistant knew nothing of the symbol they were interested in. She sold them a witchcraft book, two hex-protection pendants, and an anti-curse tea. Yes, an anti-curse tea!
Stiles was actually bummed when neither pendants nor the tea worked. Derek never expected them to.
Their visit to the Shelf didn't bear fruit either. No one remembered any black-haired girl. The bartender that gave Derek the drink claimed that he had never seen her before and even if he had, he wouldn't have remembered. The only thing he knew for sure was that she wasn't a regular. Stiles tried to read his heartbeat and told Derek it didn't change, so he must have been telling the truth. Except that wasn't helpful at all and they were back to square one.
"So, what now?" Stiles asked, looking at Derek as if he was supposed to pull the solution out of his sleeve.
"We go back to my place and do research." Derek didn't wait for Stiles to agree and headed to the exit. When Stiles didn't follow, he took a deep breath and reminded himself that obeying was not Stiles's strong suit.
"Do you think we should tell others?" Stiles was gnawing at his hangnails again. As if it wasn't enough that Derek spent the entire day with his fingers all chewed up, now Stiles was doing it to his body too!
"No," Derek snapped, slapping at his hand with a glare. Stiles had the grace to appear sheepish, hiding his hands behind his back, and Derek decided to let it go. "Not till we know more."
Stiles looked like he might argue more but then thought better of it. Good. Derek's patience was running thin.
xxx
Stiles
After the two hours of staring at the computer screen yielded no results, they were both tired and frustrated.
At least Derek was nice enough to feed him. Which couldn't be said about anything else, because he was irritated and waspish even more than his usual Derek-self. Stiles suspected that it had something to do with spending an entire day with him, and him being a little shithead for the better part of it. He couldn't help it though. Getting on Derek's nerves was like breathing to him and the wolf seemed to enjoy teasing his "ex-roommate" too.
Despite all the eye-rolling, grumbling, and snappy remarks, Stiles couldn't help but relish that he got to spend so much time alone with Derek. Over the course of the day, he probably got more one-on-one attention than in the past two years combined. And not all of it was bad. The drive back to Beacon Hills could be even considered nice. Once Stiles stopped messing with the radio, Derek put on some old rock ballads and it turned out they shared appreciation for Queen and Guns N' Roses. It was the little things.
Stiles saw Derek hide yet another yawn behind his fist in the past few minutes and glanced at the clock. "It's getting late. You need to get home."
"Why?" Derek asked without tearing his gaze off the screen.
"Cause you have a dad who loves you and you don't want him to worry?"
Derek's brows furrowed. "Just text him that you are staying over at Scott's or something."
"AND," Stiles continued, grimacing slightly, "you got into a bit of trouble yesterday and you don't want to push your luck." His dad's nose was better than that of a werewolf. Stiles could swear he was completely sober by the time he finally made it home, but explaining why he came back on foot and, apparently, reeking of alcohol, did not go down so well.
"Fine, we can stay over at your place," Derek relented.
"I can't go with you. My dad doesn't like you very much." The look he was met with didn't promise anything good. But really that was Derek's fault, not his. "Don't you dare do anything to my dad!" Stiles warned, pointing a finger at his chest.
Derek graced him with another exaggerated eye roll. "What could I possibly do in this useless body of yours?"
"Hey. Lack of claws forces one to use the brain on occasion. I think that exercise would benefit you greatly."
Derek's hand shot up to Stiles's throat, but of course, the skewed power balance made the gesture entirely unthreatening.
"Thank you for proving my point," Stiles deadpanned.
Derek begrudgingly let go of him, his cheeks pinkening slightly, and Stiles wondered if Derek could always smell embarrassment as easily as Stiles could smell his right now. His wolf was having a field day with this.
"Be nice to my dad, and take Jeep, not Camaro." Stiles tossed car keys at him, and they bounced off Derek's chest since Stiles threw them a tad too hard and Derek's human reflexes were not up to par. He winced and scowled, clearly eager to rip Stiles a new one, but Stiles beat him to it. "And stop growling and glaring. You look ridiculous."
That only intensified the murderous look Derek was sending him, but other than that, he kept his hands to himself and refrained from issuing any deadly threats.
As the door closed behind him, Stiles returned to the search results but ended up blankly staring at the screen. Someone whined inside of him and he was suddenly overcome with a feeling of loneliness.
Wow. Stiles sat back in surprise. He didn't like that feeling whatsoever. Was the wolf upset to see his real master leave, or was this a reaction to being alone in general? Wolves were pack animals, after all.
Stiles got up and went to watch from the window as Derek got in his jeep and drove away. The tightness in his chest didn't diminish and while some of it could have been explained by Stiles's crush on him, it never felt this lonely before. It must have been the wolf.
After the whole Alpha pack debacle, Derek tended to avoid all of his Betas unless there was an impending threat. Not that he was particularly social before, but his loft was never really empty. Isaac, Erica, and Boyd hung out here the most while others usually came and went. Derek never showed interest in joining whatever they were doing. He was just there, either reading or doing something on his laptop, occasionally barking at them to keep it down or to take it outside. But after Erica and Boyd nearly died, Derek closed off, and cracking his shell became next to impossible. Eventually, everyone decided to leave him be and give him time to deal with his unwarranted guilt.
Now it's been several months and either it was getting to him way more than Derek let on, or the wolf was really attached to his dickish master. Either way, he was unhappy to be alone.
But being alone meant that it was the first time Stiles was left to his own devices in Derek's body. His mind took a nosedive to the gutter and the wolf perked up right away. Stiles looked at his reflection in the glass wall and grinned mischievously.
"Alright, partner in crime, show me sexy."
His fangs extended and eyes developed a red tint. Stiles gave himself a lecherous look and snapped a selfie, then burst out laughing. Derek never looked like that. He was all grrr.
"Show me angry." He furrowed his eyebrows but couldn't keep it for long and laughed again. "Yup, that's the one. The grumpy I-hate-everyone-but-especially-you werewolf." Then he tilted his head to the side and rolled his eyes, trying to recreate the exasperation he was met with throughout the day. "Shut up, Stilinski. You touch that radio one more time… No eating in the car. Out. Now!"
The last one reduced him to giggles again. He was nailing the Derek impression… Which meant he could act out some of his long-term fantasies as well as generate some lovely pictures for safekeeping. Hmm, that's a plan.
He crossed his arms on his chest and tried to emulate the firmness with which Derek addressed a Beta that stepped out of line. The expression was harder to capture because it was not anger but rather a display of dominance and confidence. Derek would rarely raise his voice, his features and posture being enough to convey his displeasure. There must have been some Alpha mojo transmitting too because even such arrogant loudmouths like Jackson would suddenly look like a guilty puppy about to be smacked with a newspaper for making a mess.
And Stiles had butterflies in his stomach every damn time it happened. Never to him though. Stiles was not a werewolf and whatever strictness Derek employed with his Betas never extended to him (or Lydia or Allison). That's not to say that Derek didn't manhandle him, because he absolutely did, but never to the degree he did the wolves. In fact, he must have been really careful, because Stiles never sported any bruises, intended or otherwise.
It took Stiles a while to perfect the expression but if his pants getting tighter was any indication, he was doing pretty well. His eyes slid down to his chest and muscular forearms and he had to fight the urge to palm his growing erection cause strong hands were the biggest turn on. Stiles studied them, tracing his fingers lightly across the right palm. He often found himself staring at Derek's hands, imagining all the things they could do - the pain they could inflict, the pleasure they could bring. And Stiles was actually really into the pain part of it, but afterward? They could do hugs and cuddles and all types of not-so-PG-rated touching and…
Yes, if he could just please have a relationship with Derek's hands, it would be fucking enough.
As time went on, Stiles got bolder. Even though he originally felt like a creep violating the sanctity of Derek's body, with growing arousal, his morals had to take a backseat. He got rid of his t-shirt and marveled at the sight of those stonehard muscles. All too soon just looking was just not enough and he had to touch…
It only went downhill from there, both literally and figuratively. Before long he was naked, hands roaming all over his body, exploring as if it was not his own. Derek had interrupted him in the morning and now Stiles had the perfect opportunity to finish what he started.
xxx
Derek
Humans were so weak! As a born werewolf, physical exhaustion was not something Derek was used to. He didn't even do that much today - ran some in the morning, drove around, walked a bit - nothing to feel this worn out. And yet by the time he stepped out of his jeep, he was ready to fall face-forward on the bed.
He had been at Stiles's home before and knew where his room was so he headed directly there, hoping to avoid confrontation with the Sheriff.
"Stiles?"
No such luck. Derek wondered if pretending not to hear him would work. After all, human senses were very subpar. And even though the lack of sensory information brought about a certain level of peace and quiet, most of the time, it was simply annoying and made him feel vulnerable and ill at ease.
"Stiles! Hey, I'm talking to you!"
Derek begrudgingly turned around, trying to hide his scowl behind a more polite expression. He must have been doing a pretty bad job at it because Stiles's dad frowned at him.
"Did something happen?"
"No," Derek said quickly and then tackled a hesitant, "father."
The look on the Sheriff's face told him that that was definitely not how Stiles addressed him.
"I mean, dad. Dad… uh… -dy?" Derek tested and immediately gulped when the man narrowed his eyes in suspicion and made towards him, lips pressed in a firm line.
Shit.
He grabbed Derek's chin, forcing him to look up. There was clear confusion, as well as a hint of annoyance, but mostly there was worry and concern and those were surprisingly hard to stomach. Derek instinctively averted his gaze and the Sheriff tilted his chin further up. "Look at me, have you been drinking again?"
"No. I... sorry. Just tired. I'll go to sleep, ok?" He felt that the clumsy delivery was actually very Stiles-like.
His dad must have thought so too because the harsh lines on his face softened and his eyes warmed. "Hard day?" he asked, dropping his hand.
"Yeah. You know." Derek shrugged with a grimace. "School." He hoped it was self-explanatory and the Sheriff won't ask for specifics.
He didn't. Instead, Derek was pulled in a quick one-armed hug with a chaste kiss planted on his temple. "Wanna switch? I'm heading for a night shift soon."
"I'll pass," Derek said, summoning a small smile, while the old ache deep inside of him scratched at the walls of the emptiness where his family used to reside. It's been a long time but some wounds were too great to heal, and opening up and letting others in to fill the void could only lead to further loss and heartbreak. Getting attached was risky business and Derek knew that better than anyone.
"Alright. Don't stay up too late." The Sheriff patted Derek on the back and went back to his office. Derek watched the door close behind him and hoped that Stiles realized just how lucky he was to have him.
Stiles's room was in the same state as it was in the morning - an organized mess. Textbooks and spreadsheets were scattered across the table, some science project materials all over the floor, the bed unmade, just the way he left it. At least the clothes were more or less orderly hidden in the closet. Derek found a fresh t-shirt and shorts to sleep in and went to take a shower. He tried to be as quick and efficient as possible and did his best not to think about whose intimate parts he was washing.
After the shower he figured he could still squeeze in some research before falling asleep, so he slipped into the desk chair and wiggled the mouse to wake up the laptop. The image he was greeted with took him by surprise. Startled, he jerked with the mouse and accidentally unpaused the porn video on the screen as well as summoned a gazillion of annoying pop-up ads that made shutting it down again take several agonizing seconds. At least the volume was turned all the way down, and thank God for small mercies, but still…
What the actual fuck?! Who leaves porn like that?
Apparently Stiles.
Derek could never afford such luxury. Growing up in a family of werewolves with a keen sense of smell and hearing and two sisters with zero respect for personal space, masturbating was… a challenge. Stiles, on the other hand, only had to deal with one parent and a human male at that. His dad probably knew how to knock and never touched his things without permission, which would explain his carelessness. Lucky bastard.
After getting over the initial shock, Derek looked at the video again. It was titled "Daddy punishes his boy" and depicted a petite barely legal twink cuffed face down to a bondage table and his ripped "Daddy" in leather pants shoving a large rubber toy into his freshly spanked ass.
Nice. So Stiles was not just a little shit. He was a kinky little shit. A cursory glance through the other tabs confirmed that thesis - Pornhub, xHamster, XNXX, BoyFriendTv, SpankingTube, and some others he didn't even recognize - all filled with gay spanking and BDSM porn in large, large quantities. I mean, Derek was once a teenager too, but damn… that was a lot of tabs.
Shaking his head, Derek remembered that in his moment of panic he had knocked some notebook off the desk, and bent over to pick it up from the floor. It fell open in the middle and had Stiles's handwriting all over it. Derek would have probably ignored it and put it away if he didn't catch his name from the corner of his eye. Not a notebook then. A diary.
He leafed through, eyes scanning the content without really reading. Not because he didn't want to invade Stiles's privacy (he couldn't care less about that), but because he simply didn't care enough to know the inner workings of an obnoxious teen. But then he saw his name again, and he stopped to read the entry. Confused, he checked the previous one for context and then a few more and before long he was going through the entire thing.
After reading a couple of pages, two things became clear. One - Stiles's porn choice reflected his fantasies; and two - he wanted Derek to fulfill those fantasies because he had a huge long-standing crush on him.
Derek suspected that Stiles might have been interested back then when they first met. All the signs were there - the elevated heart rate, flushed cheeks, nervous hands, running mouth, etc. With his looks, Derek encountered such reactions more often than not. But then Stiles turned into this snarcastic provocative little shit, and Derek figured that perhaps he just loved the thrill of getting on his nerves.
Now it was clear that Stiles's feelings were very much romantic in nature and he had been dreaming about him for the past two years, and Derek would have been flattered if… If he didn't read some of the entries he wished he could unread. For example, Stiles wanted him to imprint on him like "that dude from Twilight". Derek on the other hand wanted to drink some bleach. And then pour it into his eyes. And ears. Maybe take a bath. Seriously, some of the fantasies the little shit had…
Some of the others though were very much in line with his porn history and Derek couldn't help but feel intrigued. Even though he would absolutely never (and I mean NEVER) sleep with the kid, his dick seemed oddly interested in those scenarios. Must have been Pavlov's reflex of this body.
Alright, perhaps not just that. Some of that stuff was kinda up Derek's alley too. Stiles wanted to be dominated, held down and taken, but also spanked, tied up, and then spanked some more. And manhandled and bossed around. And did I mention spanking? Cause there was a LOT of that.
While Derek was partial to being dominant in sex, Stiles's fantasies far exceeded the realms of bedroom. He wanted to be taken care of and disciplined, or as he called it - taken in hand. He wanted a set of rules to follow and be praised and rewarded for good behavior and scolded and spanked for breaking them, and not in a sexy enjoyable way, but real punishments. And obviously, in his fantasies, Derek was the one to do it. Such a level of power exchange was not something Derek ever considered for himself, his wolf would have loved it though.
In true diary fashion, Stiles wrote down real events, described their various encounters but gave them alternative endings where Derek acted on his threats and busted his butt. Sometimes it stopped there. Sometimes it was followed by cuddles and proclamations of love. Sometimes by sex. Stiles particularly liked to recount that one time a long time ago when Derek threatened to take him over his knee.
Surprisingly enough, Derek remembered it. Not the specifics, just that Stiles was being a little bitch again and Derek has had enough of him and threatened to take him over the knee and whoop his ass like a little brat he was. He remembered how quickly the fight left him, how the blush spread on the cheeks of the 16-year-old boy and congratulated himself for finally finding something that shut him up. It was an empty threat aimed to humiliate, and Derek doubted he would have followed through even if the kid didn't stop getting on his nerves. Now he knew that he directly played into his kink and became his penultimate fantasy.
Oh, joy. And what was he supposed to do with all that information?
Nothing. Ignore it. After all, despite his name being waxed poetic all over the pages, Stiles's fantasies were none of his business. Besides, later entries already implied that Stiles was over him, or at least trying to get over him, so turning him down, however gently, would bring nothing but unnecessary heartache. No, better let it be and pretend that he didn't know anything.
One thing that made a dent in that plan was the fact that he saw Stiles on a date with Jared (of all people!). Sure, that asshole would dominate and beat him alright, but Stiles would end up with way more than he bargained for. Derek couldn't let him get hurt like that. Some conversations, however awkward, just needed to be had. At the very least Derek would make sure Stiles knew that he should be exploring his fantasies in a safe and consensual environment.
Unless of course Stiles already knew that. After all, he did meet with Jared in a public place.
Derek turned back to the laptop screen, eyes going through the opened tabs till he found Fetlife. Stiles's profile was void of any personal information or identifying pictures, so at least he had enough common sense for that. A cursory check through his PMs confirmed that Stiles focused on flirting and fantasies rather than setting up meetings in remote locations where his body would never be found.
Perhaps he won't have to do any awkward discussions after all, only reaffirm to stay away from Jared and leave Stiles's kink explorations to him.
Derek stretched his arms with a yawn. The tiredness was catching up with him and he really didn't feel like doing any research. He was on a way of making peace with all the disturbing imagery Stilinski planted into his consciousness when he saw a forum thread called "Fail-proof ways to get a spanking" and recognized not one, not two, but four different suggestions.
And just like that, the last remnants of his patience were gone. He was going to murder him. Long and torturous death, and not in a kinky way, but something worthy of the Saw franchise. The moment he got his own body back, Stiles was a goner. Poor Sheriff would be probably devastated, but as far as Derek was concerned, it was his fault anyway. He must have failed to provide Stiles with this lovely childhood experience for him to pine for it so much in his adulthood.
Derek, on the other hand, had been well acquainted with discipline growing up. Werewolves were physical creatures and Derek's ass paid for his wolf's temperament on more than one occasion. And since he never cared for repeat experiences, he did his best to tame it to avoid further reprimands.
Before turning the lights off, Derek looked for the last entry in the journal to see if Stiles wrote anything about their encounter yesterday. There was just one sentence:
"How am I supposed to move on, when he keeps acting like he cares?"
His irritation vanished without trace and something long-forgotten prickled in his chest.
...
The next day Derek woke up in his loft. In his body.
Yes!
His hands ran across his body checking his arms, head, torso, legs… The wolf was back too.
God, yes. Thank you!
He didn't know which of those fake witchcraft mojos did it and he honestly didn't care. He wasn't looking forward to hearing the smarmy "I told you so" but whatever, he could deal with Stiles. The little shit could gloat all he wanted just as long as the nightmare was over and Derek could move on with his life and forget this terrible day ever happened.
If only his life was that easy… Because the next morning he found himself in Stiles's room again and the nightmare was back. He let out the most pathetic groan his whiny teenage voice was capable of and closed his eyes hoping against all hope his surroundings would magically change.
They did not.
Fuck. Not again!
TBC
