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There Are Some Things You Can't Walk Away From
He'd figured it would be simple. He'd told McCall, and slipping away with Cora was the easy answer. The past year all condensed down into a duffle bag of clothes and sunglasses; no room for all of his mistakes. It seemed like the best solution, to walk away, go off on their own, leave Scott and Stiles and Isaac and Beacon Hill to their own devices. There was no taking back that he'd screwed up. Saving Cora didn't make up for Boyd and Erica. They were holes in his heart that he didn't think could ever be filled.
They'd saved the last three sacrifices, they'd saved Deucalion from himself, at least for now, and Jennifer had been far beyond saving. He'd heard about the price for the ritual, about Beacon Hills becoming a literal beacon, but he still didn't think he should stay. He could work with Scott, but he'd never be his Beta. Scott had his own pack now, non-traditional as it might be, filled with hunters and Betas and Alphas and a Banshee. It was easy enough to believe that they were better off without him.
Scott could do it better, which was an acidic thought that curled in his chest. No one appreciated it, but he'd tried. He'd done his best, he had tried to be a good leader. He'd made a point to take this most likely to survive the process, to not take the strongest, but the most vulnerable, those who needed the Bite. Isaac, Erica, Boyd... They were people that had been stronger, better as werewolves. He'd wanted to protect them, to keep them safe, to teach them. Their blood was on his hands, except Isaac, who hadn't really been his since he'd sent him away. He'd done too good of a job making the blond Beta hate him.
He flips the lightswitch, and the empty loft plunges into darkness. Despite everything that had happened, it looks like no one had ever been there at all. How he liked it. He tugged at his jacket, as he picked up his bag. Cora was waiting for him and he was already halfway out the door. But he lingered, brows drawing together, looking at the dark doorway. There was so much to leave behind.
They'd saved the last three sacrifices, they'd saved Deucalion from himself, at least for now, and Jennifer had been far beyond saving. He'd heard about the price for the ritual, about Beacon Hills becoming a literal beacon, but he still didn't think he should stay. He could work with Scott, but he'd never be his Beta. Scott had his own pack now, non-traditional as it might be, filled with hunters and Betas and Alphas and a Banshee. It was easy enough to believe that they were better off without him.
Scott could do it better, which was an acidic thought that curled in his chest. No one appreciated it, but he'd tried. He'd done his best, he had tried to be a good leader. He'd made a point to take this most likely to survive the process, to not take the strongest, but the most vulnerable, those who needed the Bite. Isaac, Erica, Boyd... They were people that had been stronger, better as werewolves. He'd wanted to protect them, to keep them safe, to teach them. Their blood was on his hands, except Isaac, who hadn't really been his since he'd sent him away. He'd done too good of a job making the blond Beta hate him.
He flips the lightswitch, and the empty loft plunges into darkness. Despite everything that had happened, it looks like no one had ever been there at all. How he liked it. He tugged at his jacket, as he picked up his bag. Cora was waiting for him and he was already halfway out the door. But he lingered, brows drawing together, looking at the dark doorway. There was so much to leave behind.
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"Come on," he says, pulling away to grab his bag off the ground and then tugging at the teen's hand as he headed back toward the building. There was a part of him that wanted to keep Stiles close, but he was ignoring it in favor of actually being able to navigate the stairs up to the loft.
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Once they're inside, Stiles slides the heavy metal door shut and then turns around to lean back against it. Then he reaches out and pulls Derek to him. "I'm glad you stayed. I know you didn't have to- that you don't have to. But I'm happy you did. Even if no one else does, I want you here with us." With me, he thinks but doesn't say.
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They step inside, and he's hardly set his bag down when Stiles is reaching out and pulling Derek in against him. He lets him, leaning in, pressing up against him, head tilted down to look at the teen, his arms going around his waist. "I thought it would be better if I left. That doesn't mean that I wanted to."
He nuzzles in against Stiles' jaw for a moment, because this is nice, and the sky isn't falling around their heads. Yet, anyway.
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Stiles tilts his head up against the nuzzling, letting out a quiet sigh as he feels stubble scrape gently along his jaw and cheek. He slides his hands up under Derek's shirt, fingers splayed along his back, pressing into warm skin.
And for the moment he just takes it in; the press of Derek against him, the warmth of his body along his own, how he feels under his hands and feels his eyes close as he memorizes this moment.
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There's a shiver in his shoulders as Stiles' hands snake up under his shirt, fingers pressing against his back. He likes the touch, the contact, and he likes the feeling of being wanted. Not because someone was trying to use him, but because Stiles wanted to be here with him.
He shifts and nips lightly at his jaw with a lazy smile. He likes how his skin feels under his teeth... not enough to hurt, he's careful, but it still rises a rumble of contentment in his chest. His hands shifting to slide up Stiles' chest, feeling skin through fabric and there's a thought that this would be better without shirts in the way.
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"I was, wasn't I?" He teases, grinning softly. He arches into the touch, groaning and can't help but look over Derek's shoulder to the bed on the other side of the room. Pulling away, Stiles grins as he ducks between Derek and the door and moves into the open area of the first level.
Then he turns and begins walking backward. Toward the bed. Stiles tugs his shirt off and drops it to the floor. Then toes off one shoe, then the other. Then his socks, leaving a trail of clothes for Derek to follow.
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He lets Stiles pull away, turning to watch him, and his breath catches as the teenager is moving back to the bed, stripping slowly, and Derek can't stop watching. He's staring, and it only takes a moment before he's following, stripping out of his shirt and his shoes, leaving his clothes to mix with the brown eyed devil's.
Stiles wasn't a child. No child could make that look so carelessly seductive. He left Derek unable to do anything except follow him, heat and arousal sparking inside of him.
He wanted to feel, wanted Stiles.
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He does it slowly, slides the material down his hips and thighs, letting them pool at his feet as he steps out of them. Then he's falling back onto Derek's soft bed in just his boxers, slightly tented with his arousal, and moves back toward the center of it.
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Derek smiles, thumbing open the buttons of his denims, shoving them down off his hips, kicking them down to his ankles so he can join Stiles on the bed. He's in just a pair of black boxerbriefs, and Stiles isn't the only one with an erection. He leans in, brushing a hand against the teen's chest with a tilt of his head as he watches him. He doesn't think he wants to let him go until at least morning.
Somehow, there's this good feeling, warmth and being close to him and he wants to hold onto that.
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And he wants it, god he wants it.
Reaching up, Stiles slides his hands along Derek's bare chest, feeling hard muscle beneath soft, warm and unmarred skin. His fingers skate over nipples as he drags them down along his stomach to tease across the top of his briefs, groaning at the sight of the man's cock tenting the fabric.
Slowly, he drags his touch further down to tease his fingers along the hard line of it and can't help the way his own hips tip upward in response.
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His hips jerk as Stiles' fingers brush at the top of his underwear. And that groan that he makes has Derek leaning in, kissing him as if it's something he can devour. There's an edge of heat, of desire and want as he kisses him. Stiles' fingers tease down his cock, and he's moaning against his mouth, his hips jerking into the contact.
One hand slips away from skin, to instead tease at the band of his boxers, slipping fingertips inside, between skin and fabric, and dragging that touch low across his stomach, just shy of his erection. He wanted Stiles, just wanted to feel him, smell him, taste him.
It had been a long time since he'd been so overwhelmed, but it had been a long time since he'd felt real desire.
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He moans into the kiss and palms Derek's cock a little more firmly, fingers fitting around the outline of it as he strokes slowly up and down, his own rising to Derek's teasing fingers, wanting to feel that warm hand wrapped around him, touching him.
He wants Derek, and not just for right now. But he'll want him tomorrow and the next day and the day after, and a week from now, two weeks, a month and three months from now. He thinks he'll want Derek always.
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This is good. Just being here with him, touching, feeling. And somehow, because it's Stiles, it's easy to believe that this isn't going to somehow blow up in his face and destroy people he cares about. There's still that worry that he'll get him hurt, that he'll have the teenager's blood on his hands by the end of it, but Derek has never been good at heeding those warnings.
And so his fingers stroke as his hips rock into the touch of Stiles' hand, his breath quickening, nuzzling into the boy's neck and nipping at his neck. He wants him, wants to keep him.
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"Derek," he groans out, pressing firmly with his hand, rubbing up and down the bulging length of the man and grinding up into him as well. "Remember how I said I had... things I wanna do to you?" He asks, a sly grin crossing his face.
"I really want to blow you."
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He likes the sound of his moans, and he wants to hear more of them, making his fingers stroke a little faster. And then, Stiles' is grinning with his fingers on his cock, and he says he wants to blow him. Derek swallows, because it's filthy and gorgeous and the teen is far too seductive for his own good. Or, well, for Derek's, anyway.
"Jesus, Stiles... Yeah, I'd like that." Who the fuck wouldn't? He lets a grin of his own tease at his lips. "What else do you think about doing to me?" This is different. Talking about it, instead of just falling into bed, bodies sliding as he got swept away on a current he couldn't resist.
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"Like riding you, fucking myself on your dick after you've opened me up with your fingers and tongue, after you've gotten me all slick and wet and ready for you," Stiles pants out, verbally confessing one of his dirtiest fantasies. He moans loudly as he grinds up into Derek's fingers, the touch too much and not enough.
"I've also," the teen pauses to lick his lips, wet his mouth a little. "Though about doing the same, getting you on your back or your knees and eating you out, slicking you up and fucking you. If- if you'd want that, of course," because he sure as hell wouldn't just because it was something he wanted, if Derek didn't want it too.
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He quickens the pace of his fingers a little encouragingly, leaning in as Stiles talks about riding him, and then he's talking about fucking Derek and there's a shiver that runs visibly through his shoulders. His green eyes watching Stiles, lingering on his mouth that's damp from his tongue, and there's a slow nod at that implied question. "Yes. Yeah, I want that," his voice is rough, shaky with desire as he looks into the teen's warm brown eyes.
He trusts him, somehow.
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He pulls back only an inch, licking and nipping at his lower lip as he rolls his hips slowly. "God, so much- I want to do so much," he pants out, slowing the pace until he's barely moving, just resting atop the werewolf. "But first, I really wanna suck you off," Stiles murmurs, then begins to move further and further down Derek's body.
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Their lips meet again, and it's searing, electric, and his other hand reaches up to slide into his hair. His tongue sliding against Stiles', pressing into the kiss, hot and hard and wanting. His green eyes are bright with desire as he looks up at Stiles, falling back against the pillows as the teenager pushes him down. Stiles straddles him, their hips grinding together and it steals the breath from his lips, has him moaning at the friction. His hands sliding up Stiles' legs, caressing against his thighs.
He likes how Stiles seems almost distracted, almost overwhelmed by the fact that he can have this, have Derek. It means that at least he's not alone with the feeling. He's thought about things like this, but never as something he could have. Or at least, something he should have. And he's still not entirely convinced that he wont ruin this, but at least it feels better than anyone else he's been with.
"We'll get there. I'm not going anywhere." It's both a reminder and an offer, that he's staying and that they can do this. That Stiles can have him, can make his fantasies real. He shivers softly at the way the teen's body is sliding down Derek's, and his hands come up, catching strong fingers on Stiles' shoulders, needing to touch, feel him.
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He mouths at the bulge, wetting the material as he laves his tongue along it, feeling it twitch beneath his lips. His hands bypass tugging the briefs down to instead smooth along the man's muscled thighs, moaning softly along his dick. Despite his display, Stiles hasn't actually done this before, though he's watched numerous porn videos where guys blew each other.
Dragging his hands back up to Derek's hips, he does the same with his tongue along the man's dick, teasing the head through the material with the tip of his tongue before finally, finally tugging the briefs down and letting the man's erection spring free.
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His hands rub softly, slowly against shoulders, wanting something to hold onto. The way that Stiles mouths at the fabric, licking him through his briefs is ridiculously erotic, and he tries to keep himself at just the right angle so that he can watch this. His cock twitching at the attention, wanting to be free of the cloth barrier, but Derek's trying to let Stiles do what he wants. The teen is intoxicating and so very hot, but he just wants to let this happen. And then he wants to keep him and let it happen again.
His hips arch up into the touch of Stiles' hands, a moan slipping from his throat, low and almost guttural. He's hot and aching with want, for Stiles, for the strange feeling that stretches between them so Derek still feels like it might break. After the mess that was Jennifer, the smart thing would be to avoid relationships for a while. Sometimes, when it came to making the right decision, Derek didn't make the smart choice. But sometimes smart and right weren't the same thing.
He breathes his name on a muted exhale of breath when his briefs are finally tugged down so that his erection can pop free. The head is damp from his desire, hard and twitching slightly at being exposed to the warm air. He was still watching him; lips just slightly parted, green eyes dilated with arousal.
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Lowering his head, eyes still on the man's face, Stiles licks up the veined underside of his cock, taking in the texture and taste of him, teases his tongue under the crown of his dick, along the nerves there before dragging his head across the wet head. Then he wraps his long fingers around the shaft to lift it to his mouth, lips teasing over the head in a kiss before he parts them and takes the man into his mouth.
He groans softly at the heavy weight of Derek on his tongue and begins to bob his head. He's never physically done this before but he's watched enough porn to get the gist of it. Hopefully it won't be too terrible or something. On ever upward stroke of his mouth Stiles licks his tongue across the head, teasing into the slit with the tip of his tongue before going back down again, creating a low rhythm.
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Stiles might be a virgin, might have never done this, but he's still good at this. There's a rough gasp on his lips as Stiles kisses at the tip, and then he's parting his lips and taking him in, and there's a rough catch to his breath that's all pleasure. When Stiles starts bobbing his head, tongue sweeping over the head on the upstroke, Derek has a lot of words for this. Terrible is absolutely not one of them. The rhythm has his hands flexing, and normally it's easy enough to keep in control, but he can feel the sensation in his fingertips, has to force his hands to stay as they are.
Control has always been what he was good at, but somehow the incredibly human teen is stealing it as surely as he steals his breath. "Stiles-" There's a hint of a growl to the way Derek says his name, voice low, breathy, sensual.
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His gaze moves over Derek's face, takes it in- his expression, the look on it and then travels down his body where his hands are clenched in the bed. He licks his lips again as he looks back up to Derek. "You can touch me, too. You can... uh, wolf out, if you want. Claws, fangs, whatever." And it thrills him a little to think that he'd make Derek so aroused and turned on that he'd wolf out because of it. The thought alone makes his dick throb and he has to drop his free hand to press the heel of his palm against the bulge in his boxers.
Then he goes back to the task at hand, lowers his head and takes Derek back into his mouth, nearly all the way own until the tip hits the back of his throat- then past it as he takes him down even further, past whatever gag reflex he might have had if he'd had one. Then he swallows, throat convulsing and muscles fluttering around Derek's cock.
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He watches as Stiles licks his lips, the way he gives him permission to wolf out, to not hold back, and that sends a shiver down his spine. He'd assumed it was something he needed to hide, too animalistic, too feral, too inhuman. But he can catch the way it makes the scent of Stiles' arousal heavier, and he swallows with a slow blink of his eyes.
Thinking about much of anything vanishes in a flash, the way that Stiles takes him into his mouth, tip hitting the back of his throat, and then Stiles is sinking down deeper and he can't help the almost-whine as his eyes blink closed. His body is shaking and when his eyes open they're that bright, cold blue. His hands are on Stiles' shoulders, and when his throat flexes around his cock, he can't help the way his hands clutch just the wrong side of too-tight, leaving splayed fingerprint bruises on fair skin.
He's not going to last, his head falling back onto the pillows, moaning as he shakes. Muted curses breathed under a harsh growl that's almost a warning. Because he's getting close and he's not going to last like this.
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