#pornlet

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Teen Wolf (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: pre Derek Hale/Stilinski, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski, Mentions other Characters - Character Additional Tags: Originally Posted on Tumblr, picture prompt, Not Beta Read, BAMF Stiles Stilinski, Alpha Derek Hale, Full Shift Derek Hale, Evil Werewolves, Non-sexual Consent Issues, magical coersion, forced confession, Getting Together, Mates, pornlet Series: Part 69 of Pornlets & Ficlets ♠ Summary:

Derek was glad for the four compass-point fires lit around the grand hall they’d been brought to; with this much smoke, no one in attendance could possibly scent the deception that Stiles was likely seeping through his every pore. Derek was not going to survive this. He was naked and hard and he needed to be closer to his mate. But no matter how hard he licked, how raw his stubble rubbed Stiles’ skin, he couldn’t taste him. Derek couldn’t taste or scent Stiles because of the potions they’d been fed by the Elders a few hours before — they’d separated him and Stiles and Derek was glad that his mate wouldn’t have been told the secrets of the liquids they’d been given. Derek licked a long line up Stiles’ throat again and settled against his chin to lave and lap and caress the skin there for what was the first, and likely last, time. Even now, as the chemicals and magic from the Elders’ concoction held it down, the wolf deep in Derek’s veins was clawing its way higher, impatient to test if the man before him was who it suspected but could not confirm. Derek had long since lost the fight with his claws. He let them scratch and skewer his own skin so that he didn’t risk doing it to Stiles instead — drawing mate’s blood without being able to scent it would be beyond maddening. He suspected that the change to his wolf-eyes would soon follow, then soon after his fangs. Before long, once the skylight was opened above them, the moonlight would hit his skin and enhance the effect of the potions and if the person standing before him was not his mate he’d kill them. This was the test Derek had been set, and the test he was taking: firstly to keep calm and satisfied by only that which his human-senses could perceive of his mate, and then confront them as fully wolf and have them survive. If he failed in either step the Elders would apparently choose a more suitable, a more purewolf appropriate mate for him. Stiles had stood beside him the week before when these so called Elders had descended on Beacon Hills, announced their decision to visit now that it was a safe place to exist, then informed them all that as a purewolf Derek had certain responsibilities to shoulder. If he refused the test, he and his Pack and anyone who might stand witness would die. It was the first time Derek had regretted inheriting his mother’s full-shift. The Elders had assumed that Stiles standing with Derek — taking Derek’s hand, holding Derek back from attacking them — had been as they were mates. They’d not approved, and both Stiles and Derek had purposefully fueled the misconception before realizing exactly what it would mean to the visitors. Stiles had refused the plane ticket to the other side of the world that Derek had bought him when they’d figured out just what the Elders were there for. Derek had only agreed to let him stay because, even if Stiles didn’t reciprocate, even if the human couldn’t feel the connection with his faculties, Derek knew without a doubt that Stiles was his mate. Even if they Elders killed Derek for the half-made bond he carried, Stiles should survive the rest of the night. The Pack would likely be left alone, too: the Elders were only concerned with those they considered worthy of their concern. They were only horrified by those they considered worth of their horror. They had no concern for anyone in Beacon Hills that wasn’t a full-blooded Hale-wolf. Derek whimpered at the thought that he would soon leave them all. “Hey, hey.” Stiles’ voice was soft and deep and it was definitely his. Derek couldn’t hear a heartbeat, though. He pressed his face into the thin skin of Stiles’ neck to feel the pulse just under the surface. Derek couldn’t speak. His fangs were in the way and his mouth didn’t want to make human noises. He huffed out what he hoped was a good response. “You’re looking wolfier by the second, Der.” Stiles wrapped his arm around Derek’s waist and used his other hand to bring Derek’s chin up a little so they were looking eye to eye. “I’m still me, even if I can now smell that they are burning the same stuff they fed us in that nasty cup-of-ick earlier. Talk about overkill.” Derek sucked in deep breath to try to test that idea and then realized what Stiles had just said. “Oh, what big eyes you have, Mr Wolf,” Stiles chuckled out. “They might not have deemed me worthy of really explaining what was going on, but I’m not an idiot. Even my human nose could identify what they gave me to drink, and they somehow didn’t figure that an emissary might know a little Latin. Their chanting was pretty transparent in its purpose. Transferring your senses to your mate is pretty cool, even if they’re asshats for doing it.” Stiles’ grip on Derek’s back grew harder. “I never wanted this to be a public declaration, and we are definitely talking about not keeping important secrets from each other once this is all over, but…” He looked so much like a wolf as he drew in air and his nostrils flattened then stretched. Derek licked at the skin he could reach. He couldn’t taste Stiles properly or hear his heart or say anything back but hopefully he could get his comprehension across. “I’m glad you agree. The mojo and the herbs they put in that potion are going to suck wearing off, but I want you to know that whatever you thought was going to happen because I wasn’t your mate isn’t going to happen. Obviously.” Derek had to concentrate on the sound of Stiles’ voice over the pounding of blood in his own ears. Stiles tapped out the rhythm of Derek’s pulse. “It’s cool hearing your heart speed up like that.” He pulled Derek even closer and then turned his head. “They’re about to open the skylight.” Derek couldn’t help the whine he let out. Stiles caught his gaze again and rubbed a thumb across his lips. “It’s going to hurt like a bitch. You are going to howl. I am probably going to scream. The moon will right the imbalance they’ve set up here, though. You’ll wake up with your eyes and ears and nose and everything back to normal again, and so will I. They’ll see that we survived, then they’ll fuck off and we can go back home and go back to normal after we have that chat I was talking about.” Derek growled softly and hated, for the first time in a very long time, that he couldn’t make words. The skylight above them creaked and then started to move. Derek looked up a moment and when he looked back Stiles’ eyes were wide and bright, and there was a smile in them and on his lips as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Derek’s mouth.

Stiles has never failed to be impressed by just how much Derek’s desire fights with the magic that is supposed to stop them from breaking the treaty and consummating their relationship early. The Moon’s presence—far more than usual as it seems to cover half the sky tonight—is lending fervor to Derek’s usual enthusiasm. Not that Stiles isn’t damn enthusiastic, too.

They are month or two away from the end of the two-winter wait-period the High Coven set on their engagement. The delay is absurd and inexplicable, even for a body that is known for its bizarre rulings. But, even the most arcane amongst the Council realize that keeping a ‘Wolf away from his Marked Mate on the Full Moon is tantamount to torture. Derek and Stiles are allowed time alone, truly alone, one night a month. They never waste it, but tonight… Tonight there is something more than the usual needwantlust in their not-sex. They’ve been through a Wolf Moon and a Super Moon before, but the fact that they are occurring together has even Stiles’ young magic, and the faint half-threads of their politically impeded Bond, buzzing.

Despite the fact that the magical limits they’re under have them soft in their pants, they’re rocking and rubbing and Derek is, Stiles realizes as his sweats get pulled down for the third time in ten minutes, getting closer and closer to possibly breaking one of the absurdly specific list of intimate dos and don’ts they have memorized.

Stiles licks at Derek’s lips and sits up a little, a bead of sweat running down his back and close to where Derek’s wayward finger is.

“Stop.”

Derek stills.

Stiles hates that he has to be the voice of reason in this: He’s not the cautious one between them, not the one who listens in classes about laws and traditions. He never colored in between the lines as a kid, either. While he’s glad for the few hours they get to be together each month, sometimes he wonders if the privilege isn’t hurting them more than it’s helping. The lines of worry that are now creasing his Mate’s forehead shouldn’t be something that he even indirectly causes.

Stiles does the only thing he can think of that might help right now, and presses kitten-kisses to the angry lines, hoping that they might magically go away. When he moves back to see if it worked, he, well. They’ve faded a touch, so that’s at least something.

“I love you, Derek Hale.”

The corners of Derek’s mouth curl up and his eyes seem to follow and the lines around them and across his forehead are now good ones. Stiles runs a thumb across Derek’s kiss-red mouth and Derek nips at the fleshy pad of it and his eyes grow red around the edges. It must startle Stiles more than he realizes—enough to change his scent—as moments later Derek wimpers. The reaction is understandable, even if the suspiciously wolfy delivery of it is not. Other Packs might try to bully the Hales about their son being sub-vocal, but it’s because they assume he can’t talk in public, rather than realizing the simple truth that he simply chooses not to. Derek has never held back his words from Stiles.

Stiles sits up further, resting his ass on Derek’s thighs and reaches back to gently take his Mate’s hands. He slips his fingers through Derek’s carefully. Derek’s face and hands and the rest of him have started into the Beta shift, but it isn’t complete; there are still eyebrows on his face and only rings of red around his eyes, his hands are hairy but his claws haven’t popped, his ears are just starting to elongate but they aren’t actually pointed.

Stiles hums, trying to make it sound interested and happy, rather than worried or scared. It apparently works. One of Derek’s hands starts creeping around towards Stiles’ asscrack again.

“Hey, big D. We can’t. You know we can’t, and I know we can’t and you are not the kind of boy who breaks rules very often.” Derek tips his head to the side a little, and though his hand stops, it doesn’t retreat either, cupping Stiles’ buttcheek. “And, despite the fact that you’re very much okay with the physical-claiming idea associated with us finally Bonding, you are also generally more appreciative of porn where the twinkier dude is reaming the butch guy. I’m pretty sure that if you were going to choose now to start breaking rules, you’d be trying to figure a sneaky way to be presenting your ass to me, not the other way around.”

Derek opens his mouth to, presumably, answer, but all that happens is another whine. His fangs have fully descended, and when his tongue flicks out to investigate that fact he growls and. Well. Being pissed off at his body just seems to push everything a little further: completely red eyes, mutton-chops and disappeared-eyebrows, pointy ears and holes in Stiles’ sweats caused by rapidly deployed claws.

Stiles squeaks and Derek sniffs and that whine is now almost a cry. It didn’t feel like it, but it’s possible one or two of the claws drew blood. Derek tries to pull back into the mattress, but it’s a pointless effort when Stiles is not only sitting on top of him, but also gripping him tightly.

Derek lifts his head off the sheets and sniffs some more. Everything about his face is suddenly about concentration, and a quick glance at his forearms—pale gray lines snaking up them—explains why.

Stiles moves slowly. He brings Derek’s hands around between them and lifts one so he can kiss the back of it. “They’re some pretty-pale pain lines, babe. I’m assuming you got me with your claws, but I can’t actually feel that it happened. The only thing your magic, wolfy-touch is sucking up is my lower back’s issue with the chair at my desk at work.”

Derek grunts, tracing his eyes across every bit of Stiles face in search of truth, as if he wasn’t able to hear Stiles heart stutter over a lie. Apparently satisfied by the double-check, he drops his gaze to their hands and watches Stiles’ thumb dragging back and forth across his own palm. Derek flexes his fingers and growls in their general direction.

“You can’t shift back, huh?” There’s an idea forming in the back of Stiles’ mind, and if it’s right? Somehow he will make the Coven’s leaders pay. “It’s not…” He swallows when Derek looks back up at him, wide, vulnerable eyes that are all the more shocking as they’re glowing red like blood and murder. “I didn’t think about it before I got here. I was too excited about being here with you. Full Moon is the highlight of my month, every month.” He squeezes Derek’s fingers and Derek squeezes back. “If I’d stopped to think about it though? The Wolf Moon and the Super Moon falling on the same night... They planned this. They allowed us together tonight because they thought you’d crack and give into what they think is an animal inside you.”

Derek tries to pull away again, but Stiles keeps their hands gripped together tight. “Oh no, big D. Don’t. I know they’re wrong. And we’re going to prove it to them.” He lifts his ass up off Derek, the air between them cold, even though the heat is on in the room. There’s nothing as warm and toasty as a one’s own personal ‘Wolf-man. Stiles brings Derek’s hand back up to his lips and kisses each knuckle in turn, then puts it palm-flat on Derek’s chest. He squeezes their other hands together as he basically dismounts his fiancé, and looks at the ceiling-lamp as he flops himself onto his back on the bed. “They’ve been playing the long-game. I’ll admit that the whole two-winter thing sounded plausible, though.” He sighs. “They just obviously never considered that we’re in it for the forever-game.”

When Stiles turns his head, Derek’s features have softened somewhat, but he’s still definitely stuck in his Beta-face. Derek’s eyes are pulled into towards each other, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he manages to say something that approximates, “Love you.”

It sounds like he’s speaking with a mouthful of marshmallows, but Stiles understands anyway. Tonight, and he suspects the next couple of Full Moons before their official Bonding, will now be about snuggles and cuddles and gratuitous scent-marking. Well, that and Stiles figuring out just how he can take revenge on the oldest and strongest of the Coven’s members. They will be sorry they made his Mate suffer.

“I love you, too, D.”

“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

“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.

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