I can see the darkness in your eyes / can you see the love in my heart?

[tsunwolf]

It's a phonecall that brings Derek back to Beacon Hills. Cora argues, ends up staying in New York. The whole idea was getting away from these things. It's not an escape if he comes running when they need him. But Derek doesn't care, because there is a short list of things that will get him to come running, and even if he'd never admit to it, never say it out loud, Stiles Stilinski is one of those things. And so he packs up his things, heads back out west, drives too long and too fast until he's back in Beacon Hills, breathing in air that is sick with the smell of memories. It's been months, and it doesn't hurt so much, he doesn't feel like his ribs are collapsing under the guilt, but it's still... he's not sure he belongs here anymore.

He's certain that he doesn't deserve Stiles, not when someone can so easily get into his head like that.

He rents a room at the small bed and breakfast in town, someplace to drop his things off, and then he heads over to see Scott. It's not an hour later that he finds himself standing alone, looking at the teenager. There's something about him, a change that is both seductive and off-putting. It's like someone polished the rough edges, and lined them with razorblades. He's gorgeous, and it's in how he moves, but Derek misses those jittery twitches, the things he did with his hands. How normally, Stiles would be halfway through babbling about something or other instead of looking at him like he wants to devour him whole.

"Scott's worried about you."

It's a stupid, obvious statement, but Derek has to say something, break the silence before it eats him alive. He doesn't say what he meant: I'm worried about you.

Comments

[bemycatwoman]

"Wow," Stiles says, eyebrows raising in put-on surprise. "And he's got a messenger that he calls in from New York to relay that to me? That's pretty impressive."

Nothing has changed, but he's not the same. He's still Stiles, still lanky and goofy looking, as quick to smile as he is to bite with sarcasm, but he's easier. He moves more easily, more fluid, more purposefully, like there's a plan in everything he does. He's easier on the eyes, but it's hard to look at too long, hard to focus on where the charmingly gawkish boy has been replaced with this dangerous, seductive creature.

His eyes trail down Derek's body, as if he's seeing him for the first time, and a part of him is. That part that's new, that's darker than he used to be, is seeing the Derek that he's previously only been able to see in Stiles' memories and filthy thoughts. He controls the impulse to smile as he sifts through those perverted thoughts, things that Stiles had conjured up, things that were so much more depraved than your average sex-crazed teenage virgin. Not that he still was a virgin, these days.

There's more. More that Stiles had never known, pieces that the demon in him can see through to. He can tell that Derek wants him. Or well, that Derek wanted Stiles, the way he had been, full of energy, jittery, powerless and yet so stupidly courageous, always pushing back until there was nothing left within him, no reserves of strength with which to push. That was when he'd reached out, when he'd met Crowley, and when he'd made a deal. Rather than barter his soul for a prize, this was the prize, this demon who now shared his body and mind. With it brought power and control over himself, his surroundings, it was answer and payment all in one, and Stiles was loving it.

He pushed the door open and leaned against it, his black t-shirt inching up his lean torso just a bit as he slouched against it, the pose effortlessly seductive and inviting, but his gaze predatory, trapping Derek with those pretty brown eyes.

"Come in," he says, and it's not so much an invitation as it is a command, and if Derek refuses him, he's going to grab a fist-full of shirt and drag him inside because he knows this is were Derek wants to be.

[tsunwolf]

Derek doesn't bother answering that, but he does note that Stiles knew he was in New York. He hadn't told Scott until the teen had called, distraught and hurt and confused. He doesn't think the creature that smiles at him with Stiles' face found out from Scott. Which means that it's something else, that it had been keeping track of him. How long, he wonders? Before Scott called? Before the edges smoothed out, and he couldn't hide what he was anymore? And there's a flush of worry about Cora, but somehow, he gets the feeling that he's what it wants, somehow.

He only stares for a moment; Derek's green eyes briefly catching on the skin of his torso, but then he looks away, looks into his eyes and he swallows as the heat of desire rises and burns. He tries to push it down, because it's easier to admit to the fact that he'd wanted Stiles than it is to address any attraction to the creature that's standing in front of him. He has an excuse, something that he was going to say when Stiles tells him to come in, but Derek never gets the words out.

Instead, there are fingers that reach out, grab his shirt and bodily drag him inside with a strength he knows that Stiles never possessed. Derek snarls, reaching down and grabbing his wrist, trying to force his hand away. What's interesting is how careful Derek is. He's using his strength, but he's careful to hold Stiles' wrist in such a way as to not bruise or break.

"Get out of his head."

Derek doesn't understand what's going on, not yet. He thinks he's possessed somehow, that there's a demon controlling him, he doesn't understand what's happening, anymore than he understands how Stiles overpowers him, how Stiles' fingers briefly bloom bruises on Derek's skin before he heals them away.

"...What do you want? To give him back. What do you want?"

[bemycatwoman]

Derek hesitates and so Stiles drags him in by his shirt, grappling with him as he struggles. Derek takes hold but is gentle, careful not to hurt him, and the level of care that's apparent in that gesture is as obvious as what he says next as Stiles pushes him up against the wall, pinning him there with strength he never had before. The last time he was in anything like this position with Derek, it was Stiles against the door and Derek effortlessly holding him there.

Now, the tables are turned, and Stiles, in spite of his slight frame, has Derek pinned as if he's a weakling and not the lithe, muscled wolf he's always been.

Stiles blinks when Derek says to get out, when he addresses his demon. There's a pause, because he knows that Derek doesn't know, can't know that it's not the demon driving the Stiles here. They've both got one hand on the wheel, and it's just the way Stiles likes it. With the demon, the darkness at his side, enveloping him, he can feel desire. He can feel it on Derek, the desire and how he wants it and probably hates himself for how he still feels it, even now that Stiles is slightly out of order.

What he can't tell is how much more there is than desire. Maybe this, the bargaining, is just some dutiful sense of loyalty, but maybe it's more than that. Maybe it's a bond, the kind that Stiles had wanted, the kind he'd thought he'd felt before everything had started falling apart, before he'd felt so powerless and alone.

He gives him a look, knowing and almost flirtatious through his lashes before there's a flash of black that takes over the soft, earthy brown and the whites and shows Derek that he's right, at least on some level. He's not alone in here, but he's not a prisoner in his own mind, either.

He glances down at the fleeting bruises on Derek's arms and back up, murmuring, "What's it worth to you?"

He's not bartering for his own release because he's not a prisoner if he holds the keys, if he's holding onto the demon just as much as he's being held. He just wants to know what Derek feels beyond the desire, how deep it goes.

"What is he worth to you?"

[tsunwolf]

Derek is pinned, Stiles' strength immovable, and for a moment, he's reminded of all the times he used to grab and push. Just to touch, just to hold onto him, just to be close when he couldn't justify the urge. It sinks it in, that feeling of powerlessness, the fact that Stiles isn't human, isn't the boy that Derek craves, but has never had the words to say. He jerks, twists in Stiles' hands, looking into those brown eyes and there's something absolutely intoxicating about the feeling of thin fingers and soft hands pinning him down and those brown eyes. He hates himself for how this thing can pull those sparks of feeling from him that Stiles never had the right senses to see.

It catches his breath, makes him gasp when those browns go black, makes his heart still with a shudder. That flutter of lashes, flirtation that makes his skin crawl with conflicted feelings. He takes a breath, tries to keep his face like stone as he looks into Stiles' eyes. There's a moment, at the second question, the way emotions curl and flicker on his face before his control slides back into place. However the word that slips off his lip is as damning as any look.

"Everything."

It's soft, but his gaze is steely, like glaring can somehow keep the demon from making something of it. From using it to hurt him.

"Whatever you want. You leave everyone else alone, you let him go, and you can have anything from me you want."

Self-sacrifice, your name is Derek Hale. God, he was so fucking easy wasn't he?

[bemycatwoman]

Everything. Stiles could have anything he wanted, or rather, the demon could, if he let Stiles go…

He hadn't known how much he had meant to Derek, as much or maybe more than he'd meant to him. He'd been, at one point, so sure that he wasn't imagining a connection, but he hadn't had a chance to try. Or maybe he had, but had been a coward, unable to take the leap.

There's a moment where he's silent. He can still feel Derek's desire for him, for Stiles, and how hard he's trying not to feel it, thinking he's just a shell of what he was, thinking it's the demon in the driver's seat, that Stiles is an unwilling hostage. He's so wrong, but will he still be resistant once he knows? Will he fight it when he knows the darkness is as welcome in him as he is to it?

"I'd love to make a deal, but he's not holding me captive…" he murmurs finally, human brown eyes scanning Derek's face as his grip loosens on Derek, but he's still got him pressed to the wall as he adds, "No more than I'm holding onto him, at least…"

It's Stiles talking, not the dark demon tangled up in him. There's a pause as he lets that sink in, the truth of the matter, that he doesn't need to be saved this time. He's not the vulnerable, weak teenager he'd been six months ago, armed only with courage and his own stupid loyalty. He's stronger now, and he doesn't need Derek to rush in and give himself up to keep him safe, but knowing… knowing that he would lay it all on the line? That's worth it all.

Will Derek turn away from him now? Will he continue to swallow down his desire, unable to face the darkness Stiles has embraced? He shifts, moves closer, until their bodies press together, until Derek can feel the hard press of interest in his jeans as his hands catch his wrists and pin him to the wall.

"I'll still take everything from you…" he breathes against his ear, and there's an unspoken whisper of if you still want to give it to me. His nose drags down the skin of his neck, and he's feeling for what Derek wants, for what he craves, what he's never told anyone he needs.

[tsunwolf]

It changes things, that revelation. That Stiles is there, isn't drowning in his head, captive under some dark, black thing that offered him power and took away everything that made him Stiles. He can hear the difference in the cadence of his voice, the rise and fall, invisible lift of tone that's just the faintest hint of playful. And it kills him. It kills dead any ideas he's had of how this was going to end, it steals his breath and any chance he'd had of fixing this. Because how does he fix this when Stiles himself doesn't want it fixed? And there's the larger question of it there's anything to fix at all.

He shakes as Stiles catches his wrists, pins him tight to the wall, and he can feel that arousal in Stiles' jeans, and his eyes close for a moment, although it doesn't take long until Derek's half hard in his jeans. His eyes flutter open and he's looking at him, searching, trying to answer that question. "You asked for this? You didn't.. sell your soul?"

Because he can't hold it against him. Not with what Derek is. There's that wolf inside him, that maybe isn't a coherent creature with a discrete voice, wants it could demand, but it's there. Part of him. What was the difference? For those that were bitten, the Bite always changed them. How they moved, dressed, shifted their personality.

Derek had wanted Stiles to be a wolf. He'd wanted him to fuck him as a wolf, too. His desires are unraveling without the sanctity of it to hold onto; that idea that there was something wrong with him. Instead, it's rising, those wants he'd buried deep. Derek wanted Stiles to fuck him, wanted it hard, rough. Maybe it was surprising, maybe it wasn't, but he'd always wanted slender fingers in his hair and soft hand shoving at his body.

He won't say it, but... this is better. He just needs to know that it's okay. That Stiles is different, but he's still okay, at least by some measure.

[bemycatwoman]

"I didn't have to…" he breathes against Derek's neck. He can tell that this was something Derek needed to know, both that he wasn't being held captive and that he hadn't bargained away his soul. That hadn't been the payment for this power, the power was the payment, another tenant inside him, giving a voice to that darkness that had grown around his heart.

He can tell that Derek wants him. That knowing he's still there makes it okay. Stiles supposes he'd guessed right, that he couldn't let himself want if it was just the demon, if Stiles was inside, captive and possibly unwilling. Derek didn't just want his body, he wanted him, and he was glad to see that, at least as far as he could tell, that he wasn't holding his darkness against him.

He feels Derek growing hard, and he gives a slow movement of his hips, grinding himself against Derek as he leaned closer. He could feel what he wanted. There was a hint of regret as he feels a desire to be fucked like a wolf, to be mated, bred, knotted, and there's a glimmer of the old Stiles with a wide-eyed giddy grin that seems to say he's just happened across something particularly perverted, and there's a quirk at the corners of his mouth that say he's not sharing just yet…

"I asked for exactly what I got," he breathed as he let go of Derek's wrists and leaned back, just slightly, upper torso only, holding him against the wall with his hips as he starts to peel up his t-shirt.

"I know what you want," he teases, a knowing smile catching one side of his mouth and spreading, playful as he exposes himself to Derek, an inch of skin at a time.

"Me," he adds in a stage whisper, mocking the reveal like it's not really a secret at all. "You want to get fucked hard… big bad wolf," he muses with a grin, eyes dragging down his body.

And to think, Stiles had been afraid of him once.

[tsunwolf]

The thing that Derek had needed to know was that, right there. That Stiles was still Stiles, that he was going to stay Stiles. He didn't really understand demons, not the metaphysics of it, but he knew there was something about demons and souls and that somehow, he would lose Stiles. But that wasn't the case. Or, at least, it didn't sound like the case. Maybe his heartbeat didn't matter with a demon inside him, but it was the only meter Derek had aside from his eyes, from the feel of him, and it felt like the truth.

But, he'd be a liar if he said part of it wasn't how Stiles rolls his hips, presses against that erection, and it makes Derek keen. The way the motion, the friction melts with the look on his face, the wicked grin that curls the corners of his mouth, and there's a terrible moment where he thinks that like Derek was born to be a wolf, Stiles was born to be a demon. He wants him like this. Black eyes and leering into his heart, he wants him. Because he can see glimpses of his flush-faced crush, and they don't seem tortured.

Stiles lets go of his hands, keeps him pinned with his hips and strength that overwhelms him. But, Derek can't keep his hands still. He's reaching out, reaching up, he's pushing up Stiles' teeshirt, helping him drag it off over his head, and then he's dropping it to the floor. Don't, Stiles. He just can't. No teasing, because it's just been too long, it's been something he never thought that he would deserve. But now they're all monsters in this glass house.

"Yeah. I want you to fuck me, I want it rough, hard, I want you to make me shake with it, Stiles."

His voice is soft and breathy, his lips trembling as he looks up at him. "I always wanted you to fuck me." He whispers that like a secret, but something he wants him to know. It's not just because he's a demon now. He's always ached for him, wanted hands on him and Stiles' cock shoving into him or down his throat. This didn't change things. Maybe it should.

[bemycatwoman]

Stiles lets Derek peel off his shirt, because he's so eager, wants it so much and he can taste the desire pouring off his skin. He'll tease if he wants to, regardless whether Derek thinks he can handle it or not. You'd be surprised what you can handle, how much you can take.

"You should have told me…" he can tell now, but if he hadn't made the deal, if he didn't have the darkness within him, he still wouldn't be able to tell, would be busy second guessing himself every step of the way.

"I should make you pay for that," he adds with a conspiratorial nod and a little smirk as he goes for Derek's shirt, tugging it up his torso, exposing his taut, muscular stomach, taking the time to drag fingertips over his skin.

"…and I might, if you wouldn't like it so much," he adds, fingertips dragging over his nipples before he peels the shirt up and off, tossing it aside. The fact that he'd enjoy it won't stop Stiles from pushing, from punishing him for keeping his secret all this time. Especially because he knows the best, the most effective way to punish Derek is to keep what he wants just out of reach. It was more thorough a punishment than anything rough and physical he could dream up, to just leave him aching and wanting.

Stiles shifts his hips, making sure Derek can feel just how hard he's getting, and he leans in, hands on his shoulders and pushing him, pinning him back against the wall, and he's talking in Derek's ear, "…you know, Derek, there's nothing wrong with wanting to be fucked like that…"

He's not talking about just what he'd said, just that he wants it hard. He's talking about wanting to be fucked like a wolf.

"…knotted," he practically growls against his ear and shifts close enough that their chests brush, "Bred like a bitch… you'd like that, wouldn't you? Just being so full of my cock and my come…"

And there is a hint of that old Stiles, the Stiles that flushed when he was flustered as well as when he was aroused. He's flushed now, cheeks ruddy with arousal, and his lips are brushing against Derek's neck, his breath hot on his skin.

[tsunwolf]

He shivers at the way that Stiles says he should make him pay for it, for not telling him, for hiding it. He can't stop thinking that Stiles is gorgeous, that he's perfect like this. He wishes silently, that he was a werewolf. That they weren't just conspiratorial in darkness, in both being monsters, but that they were Pack. Derek ached for that feeling of belonging, of family. If Stiles had been a wolf, they could have had a family, Stiles could have become an Alpha, could have knotted him, bred him, they could have had beautiful pups, remade the Hale pack, the Hale family.

Derek ached for it, wanted it. He looks at Stiles, breathless, as his tee-shirt gets pulled off over his head. A keening noise from his lips as fingertips drag over his nipples, which harden under the attention as his shirt hits the floor. And the truth was that Stiles did know him well, that hanging his desires just out of reach, just out of what he could touch, hold onto, was a sweeter and more effective torture than Kate and her electrical lines.

He gasps, sharp, his breath coming hot as Stiles rolls his hips, and he can feel his cock, interest already apparent through the layer of his denims. Slender hands press to Derek's strong shoulders, and it catches his breath, makes him shiver at the uncharacteristic strength in his hands, how he so easily pins him to the wall as he whispers into his ear. His hands come up, touching, sliding against Stiles' bared skin, needing to feel it. He'd never thought he could have this, that he'd somehow ruin Stiles. Maybe he already has, so why not just enjoy it?

He gasps quietly, a hitch as he says that word: knotted. And Derek shakes, leans in against Stiles with a hint of a whine because the teen was never supposed to know, never supposed to understand, but the demon does, apparently. Their chests brush, and he talks about Derek being bred like a bitch and the moan it pulls from his mouth is filthy. Because he does. He wants it, needs it. He craves it on so many different levels. Physical pleasure, the emotional closeness of being tied together like that, being mated. And the ultimate fact that Derek wants to be bred, wants children.

He leans in, nuzzles against Stiles' jaw with a needy noise as he shakes, a flutter in his green eyes. "Yeah. I would. I want to be knotted, tied to you, want you to breed me, I want to have your pups." There's a pause, and somehow, all of this; the demon, and feeling Stiles against him so raw and so powerful and somehow part of this creature that's just power keeps stealing the truth from his lips. "I wanted to turn you. Wanted to be your mate. I wanted to remake the Hale pack."

It's not I love you, but maybe it means more.

[bemycatwoman]

Just because Stiles isn't a werewolf doesn't mean that he can't be pack, doesn't mean that he doesn't fit into the role of Alpha, doesn't mean they can't be that close. Maybe it won't have the same words, but they can still fit together the way Derek craves. And he's not the only one.

Stiles wanted it from practically the first moment he'd seen Derek, before that night in the woods, and the crush he'd carried had only grown more intense and, in his mind, less and less attainable as time progressed. He missed the signs that said Derek felt the same, because Derek was terrible at letting his emotions show. Now, he realizes that he was probably the last to know, that it was likely everyone around them suspected there was more going on than the nothing that was.

Stiles grins as Derek's breath hitches on knotted. Derek is shaking in his arms, leaning in like he's desperate, like he's unable to do anything but arch for more, and he's moaning and the sound shivers through Stiles' body, the sound electric.

Derek presses in against his jaw and says it all, how much he wants it, how he's wanted him and all the things he's wanted. Wanted Stiles to join him as a wolf, wanted to be mates, wanted children. It means so much more than anything he could have said, and maybe there's a twinge of regret, that he hadn't offered him the bite. He had said no to Peter because it hadn't been Peter that he'd wanted.

He knew, though, that if he'd taken it, if he'd let himself be turned, that wouldn't have prevented this, this darkness that had taken him over, the demon that resided with him. And he wouldn't have wanted it to. He's happy like this, he's different but little has changed in many ways. He's still Stiles, still himself underneath it all and behind those ink black eyes. He's just powerful.

"It's not too late," Stiles coos into Derek's skin, and he pushes him harder against the wall with his whole body, holding him there, possessing him, making a show of his control. He wants this just as much as Derek does, maybe more - it's hard to know - wants to belong, wants Derek all to himself, to be mates, all of it. His hands drop to Derek's waist and he's undoing the button and the zip, because teasing is one thing but he needs to be touching him, now.

"We can have that," he kisses Derek's jaw and bites at his full lips as his hands slip down into Derek's jeans beneath his boxer briefs, pushing them down and very soundly groping his ass. "All of it," he adds between kisses, hands moving to his own jeans to undo them and push them down.