#flash!fic

“Everyone will—”

Derek swallowed Stiles’ objections with a very hard, very sloppy kiss. Half a moment later Stiles’ jeans were magically undone and Derek was on his knees, his mouth around Stiles’ cock, two fingers in Stiles’ ass, no doubt in mind as to his goal.

Stiles pushed his head back into the tree and gripped Derek’s hair and was so very, very glad he’d gotten better at being quiet.

Not that every wolf in a hundred yards couldn’t smell and hear what was going on, of course.

His younger self would be horrified at how long he didn’t last.

♠

swift (adj): happening, or performed quickly or without delay

“You’re going to blow them away.”

Derek looked in the mirror. He wanted to believe his mother, but she wasn’t exactly unbiased.

Though, he’d done all the preparation required, and more.

He looked as good as he could in the regulation sweats and t-shirt.  

He knew the family history of all the Candidates, and their favorite colors, authors, foods and … He was a Hale, which counted for more than it should.

“His father would be a fool to reject your ballot. You’ll see your Chosen by this time tomorrow.”

Derek leaned into his mother’s touch.

“By this time tomorrow.”

♠

aspire (v) : to long, aim, or seek ambitiously; be eagerly desirous, especially for something great or of high value

Derek stood back and took in, finally, what he’d managed to complete. The late afternoon sun was just starting to dip too low to be of use, and fruit bats were beginning to stretch and tussle with each other as they woke for their evening flights. He listened as they screeched their hellos and challenges across the trees around the village and envied them their freedom from his current task.

He’d taken a good six moons to re-shape and prepare his small field allotment — inherited from his grandmother when the old alpha had finally decided to resign herself to less active tasks — and although he thought his looked better than the other newly claimed plots around, he still wasn’t happy.

Derek still wished he’d had time to polish the top layer of stones on each of the five curved walls he’d refurbished. Jackson had been given so many fowl by his parents when he’d started his preparations that he’d been able to give two in payment to Isaac’s father, so that the younger boy could do the polishing instead of Jackson doing the work himself. Derek had complained long and loud to his own father, and this alpha mother, about the injustice of it all. They’d both listened and then asked if he thought anyone in the village, or the next, or even the one after that, hadn’t already heard of the arrangement. Derek had had to concede that he thought it was so unusual a thing that mostly likely those in villages far enough away to not even know which direction Beacon was in would have heard, and then that, no, any omega Derek was interested in would likely not be impressed by it anyway.

It had made him feel better, but it still rubbed Derek’s wolf the wrong way, and even now, months after he’d learned of it, thinking of it made his hackles rise.

He shook off the thought with a drink of water from his new barrel — a thoughtful coming of age gift from his otherwise annoying uncle — and, out of habit, almost turned to walk back to his parent’s den.

He gripped the wooden cup hard in his hand to steady himself, and then reached out to touch the doorway of the den he was standing in front of to make certain of it.

His den.

He’d slept in it a few times already, of course, on nights when he’d simply been too lazy to walk back to his parents’ hearth, and once or twice when he wanted to be away from Cora’s mooning over Isaac or his parents’ mooning, and moaning, over each other.

Tonight he must sleep here, though. He shouldn’t cross another’s hearth until after the Inspection, or tomorrow word would reach the omegas that he’d not thought enough of his own handiwork to bed down in the space he’d been preparing for them. For one of them.

There was only one he’d want to impress, of course, but he supposed that was the same for most of the alphas and betas in the same position tonight. Stiles, the omega son of the head man in the next village, had smiled at Derek sweetly and offered him fruit from his basket the last time Derek had made a trip that way, and then a month ago Derek had looked up from tilling to see the same smile not two body lengths from where Derek was standing now. Stiles had, Cora told him later, been watching him work for longer than she would have thought necessary.

Stiles had seemed pleased with Derek’s progress then, and Derek hoped, as he laid himself down next to the fire pit, over the sleeping furs that he’d worked hard to earn and would hopefully soon share with Stiles, that the omega would be a least that, if not more, on the morrow.

♠

terrace(s) (n): a series of horizontal ridges made in a hillside to increase cultivatable land, conserve moisture, or create stability

I wrote this during a word sprint (am trying to get myself into tight deadlines) and then realized as I was reading it over that the fruit bats/flying foxes I’m used to aren’t something everyone gets to see/experience in daily life. So, if you’d be so kind as to disregard the fact that I’ve just dumped an animal from Australia/Madagascar/Asia etc into North America, that would be lovely. Thank you.

“Thank you for keeping him safe, Aren.” Derek tried not to laugh at the way Stiles was rubbing his face into the flower bed he apparently thought was very comfortable. “I came as fast as I could. I swear none of us had any idea he had Fae blood in his family.”

Aren, tall and lithe and supple like the willow she was apparently named for, nodded seriously. “It is understandable. His family is recently from the old countries. His Fae blood is strong, though. He should soon be taught to control what he has now awakened.”

Derek blinked at that. “Strong? How strong?”

Aren tilted her head to the side and looked past Derek’s shoulder, as if the fact that Stiles was star-fishing naked in a bed of flowers he’d apparently conjured was answer enough. Derek blinked again. It probably was enough.

“Your mate’s reaction is this strong to the nectar because he is strong with Fae blood. A human with a small amount of the old blood will feel happy after drinking our nectar. The reaction grows with the level of our blood that they share. It’s…” She looked sideways and her eyes went unfocused for a moment. She snapped her head back and stared into Derek’s eyes. “It affects neither full Fae nor full human, but those of a mix, well… It is inversely proportional in its strength.”

Derek held back the growl he felt rising in his throat. The elf was not challenging him with the direct gaze, and she wasn’t laughing at Stiles. There was no reason to be upset. In fact, there was every reason to keep Aren and her kin as friendly as possible. “So a pure human would not react to the wine, but a human that has strong Fae heritage... “ He turned and looked at Stiles. The not-so-human-actually was now on his back. He was still starfishing. His cock was hard and standing proud and swaying back and forth with the movement of the rest of his body. “Was this a test?”

Aren raised a long, thin eyebrow. She smiled, her pointed teeth a pale, pearlescent green in the light from the moon. “Not a test, I swear, wolf. Simply a pleasant surprise for us. He does need lessons, of course. The nectar’s effect will last only a few hours. Once he’s regained his full faculties, we’ll examine what his ability to naturally steer his gifts is, and just what they might be. If he was Fae born we’d know by the mix of his parent’s blood. As he’s human born, it could be anything.”

“And until then? Should I, um.” Derek had no idea what to do with his other half. Stiles had come to the meeting with the Fae as he wasn’t shifter or banshee or anything other than human. As someone completely mundane, his presence was supposed to be the least offensive to the fӕries’ sensibilities. Derek should probably just take him home, even if they hadn’t taken the reveal as an insult.

“Until the morning, wolf, you’ll need to take care of his needs. He’s made a bed of flowers upon which to pleasure you, it would be rude of you to refuse.”

Derek opened his mouth and managed one whole word. “He…?” A bed of flowers upon which to pleasure... He contained his need to blurt out, What?

Aren’s smile grew wider and she flicked out a hand. The other elves in the clearing disappeared. “We’ll not disturb you, I swear. When Mieczysław’s old blood awakened he gained the knowledge of his clans. He’s created you a bed of flowers upon which to properly consummate your binding.” Derek was pretty sure they’d already consummated their everything several times in just the last week, let alone in the two and a half years they’d officially been together. Aren laughed. It was light and Derek could see why people likened the humor of elves to the peeling of bells. “This is about more than just physicality, Derek Hale. He wishes to cement your connection. He wants to make those promises the two of you both desire but have not had the courage to ask each other for. His old blood is stronger than human or even wolf.”

Derek wanted to go through the traditions his family had always followed: the run, the mate declaration, and mark and… He’d never brought it up with Stiles because, well. How do you tell your very human boyfriend you want to chase him naked through the woods, knot him, and bite him, till death do you part? He knew that Stiles was aware of the traditions, Peter had made sure to make a big fuss over giving him that book. Stiles had never mentioned it to Derek, though. Silence wasn’t a wonderful invitation.

Derek couldn’t be certain. He couldn’t take part in some kind of supernatural marriage thing without Stiles being completely sober and consenting, at least to start with. “I can’t, he’s not himself.”

“Touch him, Derek Hale. Take his hand and he’ll show you what you need to know. His judgement, on this, is not impaired. He can’t speak with his mouth right now, but he can with his mind.” Aren took a step back and motioned towards Stiles, still rolling in the flowers. “Just take his hand.”

Derek blinked again, and Aren was also gone.

He stepped closer to Stiles, and Stiles looked up at him and smiled wider and brighter than should be possible when he was off his face on some kind of faery liquor.

“Stiles you’re,” his eyes were wide and so open and even they were the happiest Derek could remember seeing them. “You are seriously high, aren’t you.” Derek reached out his hand and hoped that Stiles understood he should take it. “I’m kinda worried that you have no idea what I’m saying right now.”

Stiles grabbed his hand and,

There’s plenty I don’t understand, but I do understand this. Lie with me, Derek. Lie with me and let me make you mine. Then tomorrow I can run, and you can make me yours.

Derek couldn’t speak. He opened his mouth to, but no sound came out.

Stiles smiled some more.

I have no way of explaining this but to share how I feel. Here, Derek was hit with a wall of warm and love and want and desire and need to protect and laughter all at once, this is what I feel. Come, lie with me, Sourwolf. We’ve been putting this off for far too long.

Derek understood. He let himself be pulled into the flowers, and only had a moment’s wonder at the fact that his clothes disappeared as he kneeled down.

This story is continued here.

More like this (well, more that are pornier).

"I thought you wanted to, what was it? Fuck me into the mattress until I forget my own name?" Derek's voice was light and, well, happy.

Stiles was so fucking glad to be home. He dragged his face from laying on the left cheek to the right. His wolfy-other-half was leaning against the door frame, hip cocked, glass of red in one hand, the other hand stuffed in his pocket.

"I do want to fuck you into the mattress," Stiles groaned out, barely managing to open his mouth to speak. "I owe you a good dicking, and," he tried to sound as if he wasn't three quarters of the way to sleep already, "I really, really want to make you smell like mine again." He wanted to be marked and claimed and all those things, and he wanted to do all those things to his husband, too. He was just so fucking tired after the three weeks away, half the sleep he should have had, and a red-eye on top of that.

Derek chuckled low in his chest as he walked over to their bed. He put his glass down on the side table and sat down. He leant over and ran his nose up Stiles' chin and cheek and into his hair. Stiles shivered and felt himself melt a little further into the comforter. Derek breathed in deep before he shifted slightly and nestled his head into Stiles' neck. He nipped at the skin there and then pulled back, running his hand down Stiles' back and resting it in the its middle, hot and heavy.

"And I want that, too. But just a couple of weeks away hasn't changed the fact that I already do. You still smell like mine, and I still smell like yours."

Stiles felt his lips curve, and he relaxed a little further. He wanted Derek. He wanted sleep. He was hard. Derek could smell all of that even if he couldn't see it. Stiles should remind him, though. He batted his lashes and almost whined, "I'm hard."

So... this was supposed to be brightness, not bright, but damn, the people who compiled the prompt table I’m using have a weird hard-on for shiny/ing things (glimmer, glitter, glisten...). I just couldn’t, not so soon. Also... I couldn’t ignore the look on Scott’s face in this set of gifs and I just had to. My apologies to the McCall lovers out there. 

“Okay, due. Spill. Derek says you stink like someone spat in your jello.” Stiles sits on his father’s sofa, and it feels good. It doesn’t feel like it’s his own sofa anymore, but it’s a home away from home, and he’s glad to have one.

He’ll be even more glad to have an explanation from the guy who, despite their ups and down, has always been his brother. Scott looks like someone made a very unpleasant smelling suggestion. He’s had the look on his face for the last hour or so. Derek decided to make himself scarce by going to pick up dinner for them, which leaves Stiles with approximately twenty minutes to pry the problem out of Scott’s brain.

“You wouldn’t be happy if I’d kept a secret like this from you.” Scott’s on the other end of the sofa. It’s where he should be, even if he’d look more right with some kind of game controller in his hand. He’s staring at Stiles, though, instead of at the television screen or a textbook or at his phone.

It’s strange having some kind of heart to heart in the living room, but Stiles is nothing if not flexible.

“You’re that pissed at me for not letting you know we were coming?” Things must be dire if that’s the case. Scott’s always dug surprises. “I thought you’d be happy to see us. We want to help. You know we can. I mean, even Dad’s glad we’re here. Like, he didn’t even hint at putting Derek in the spare bedroom.”

Scott squeezes his eyes together a little and his cheeks pull up high beneath them. “No, man. I mean. It’s good to see you and all and it means things are definitely looking up, but,” he actually waves his hand in front of his face, “you could have warned me that you stink like you’ve been marinating in Hale for months.”

And now, if there’s anyone going to be surprised, here, it’s Stiles. “What? Dude. I told you minutes after the first time I ran into him. I sent you texts while I was freaking out about getting ready for our first official date. What the hell are you going on about? Of course I smell like him. He stinks of me, too. You share a bed and everything else with someone for six months and it’s bound to happen, man.”

“You didn’t tell me it was him!” Scott’s voice has risen to a point somewhere between I forgot to do my homework and Dude, you shot someone. Stiles is slightly shocked to realize that he doesn’t know which of those two extremes Scott is sitting closer to. He hasn’t been out of Beacon Hills for that long, he should know. He should know what Scott’s feeling. Scott says, “You never have your face or his in the pictures you send. I know what his and your hands look like together, and that he’s got way hairier legs than you, and the color of the sofa in your apartment.” Scott’s cheeks are getting pinker with every breath in. “You only ever call him D or big D in your texts, and man, I wasn’t going to ask if that was related to his name or something else! I just thought you’d hooked up with some boar-man and he didn’t want you taking pictures of his beard or kinky-harness or something.”

Stiles tries to hold it in and fails spectacularly. He’s glad they’re not eating or drinking, ‘cause he’d have knocked everything over and spat everything out. He catches his breath and manages to ask, “Boar-man? Kinky what? What the hell, Scotty?”

Scott blinks and looks at the table and then at Stiles, but can’t seem to look him in the eye. “You know, a boar. A big hairy guy that likes leather and lithe, young men.”

Stiles presses the back of his hand to his mouth to stop himself from laughing more. “You did your homework, huh? It’s bear, though, not boar. I don’t think a lot of big, hairy gay men would like you calling them pigs. Also, I’m pretty sure they don’t exclusively like twinks. I’ve seen bears with bears and twinks and guys in expensive suits. Derek’s not a bear, though, man, even if he is rocking a pretty awesome beard these days.”

Scott’s eyes are wide, and he sputters, “I. Oh.”

Stiles leans back. Scott now looks far more like the Scott he wants to see. “I’m sorry I didn’t make it more clear to you, dude. I could have sworn told you I was with Derek. Either way, we’re here now, and we want to help, and you’ve got to let us. We’re all in this dude, and together we can make it go our way.”

♠

Bright: [n] filled with light, vivid or brilliant: [n] quick-witted, intelligent: [n] favorable or auspicious, bright prospects

Dictionary.com word of the day: aegis

"Hand the boy over to us, young Hale, and we'll leave without another word."

Derek knew he was risking things he shouldn't be making decisions on, but there was something about the boy at his feet. His mother was likely to scold him for what he was about to do, but she'd also understand when he explained the tug in his gut and the way he knew he had to protect the young man.

"He's inside our wards, Deucalion, and that means he's under the aegis of the Hale Pack. You'll have to approach our Alpha through the proper channels and plead your case."

Deucalion's eyes flashed red, and so did those of the three other wolves with him.

"And if I simply take him from you, pup?"

Derek had been so focused on the Alpha Pack in front of him that he hadn't heard his sister approach.

Laura said, "I'm sure you can try, Deucalion, but the wards that let the boy through will likely not be as welcoming to you. We'll be back inside our compound before you have stopped bleeding."

The young man at Derek's feet made a huffing sound, and when Derek looked he could see that it had been laughter. The human wasn't so human after all. His eyes were glowing a brilliant silver and there were sparks at his fingertips. He sat up on his knees, and then pushed himself upwards until he was standing.

"Or, Dӕmon Wolf, I can set the same blood ablaze before you even step through their wards. Maybe I'm not under the Hale Pack's aegis. Maybe they're under mine.”

Wordnik.com word of the day: depuration "You may not see him, Derek. We discussed this at length." Deaton stood inside an ashline that had been placed just for this purpose around the little cabin; for keeping Derek away from his mate.

"I can feel his pain." It was waxing and waning, spiraling out of control and then fading away, probably when Stiles lost consciousness. Derek felt his fangs drop as a particularly savage rush of agony ripped through his lungs. He had no idea how Stiles was still breathing.

"And you will continue to." Deaton said, as if he couldn't hear Stiles screaming inside the building too. "You knew what the pre-bond entailed. And you knew what the depuration would do to him. You agreed to the purification."

Derek couldn't breathe. He was torn between throwing himself at the barrier and trying to dig his way under it. The strength in his legs, in his support, was gone, and he sank to his knees. "I can't, Deaton. I need to be with him. You said hours. You said it wouldn't really hurt him. It's been days and he's screaming in my head." Derek could feel the cool, sharp surface of the forest and it's rocks beneath his hands. He could feel the way they cut into his skin and the heat of his blood as it escaped his palms.

Derek saw Deaton step back, then kneel so they were nearly at eye level. "He wanted this, Derek. He knew exactly how long and how hard it would be. He did not want to complete the bond with you until every part of the Nogitsune’s touch was removed from his soul. He will survive this, and he will be stronger."

Derek nodded and felt tears welling in his eyes. The pain had passed; Stiles must have fainted again. "I understand."