I have my final major assignment due on Friday. I thought it was next Monday, so I’m freaking out with the loss of two full days.
So, if you see me online this week, please TELL ME OFF immediately!
My first fic written for Solicited_Love on LiveJournal
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Rating: NC-17/R (Explicit)
Summary: Derek hasn’t noticed the usual signs and symptoms leading up to his heat. The day his heat hits, he’s forced to search on the other side of the Wall to find a human willing to help get an Alpha through a heat. He finds Stiles.
Warning: brief mention of abuse, not graphic.
Link to AO3, or fic under the cut.
Derek was desperate. He usually knew exactly when his heat was coming, recognised all of the signs and symptoms in the week leading up to it, but this time he’d been so busy at work that he hadn’t realised until the day of his heat. His sister was usually there to remind him about his heat, help set him up with an Omega from an agency, but she was overseas for another three days, and the agency he usually went through had closed shop for the night. It was for this reason that Derek was now driving around on the other side of the Wall, looking for anyone willing to be paid to be fucked by an Alpha. The chances were slim to none, because while some humans might survive a heat with an Omega or Beta, an Alpha’s heat usually lasted for a full week. Fuck, Laura was going to kill him when she got back. If he didn’t kill himself because he couldn’t get a fuck first.
Pulling up to the curb where a small group of guys were waiting, shivering in the evening air, but their clothes strategically torn to emphasise their asses, muscles, their best features. If he concentrated, Derek was sure he’d be able to smell their leader a few doors down (probably inside in front of a heater, the bastard).
"Hey, big guy. What do you need?" one of the lankier guys asked, strolling over to the car as the others stayed behind to conserve their warmth.
"Alpha. Heat," he ground out, barely able to stop his eyes from turning red when he caught the scent of sex on the young man.
He looked like sex, smelled like sex, had obscenely full and pink lips that Derek needed on his cock right fucking now. He held back a whine of desire and desperation, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as he waited impatiently for a response.
“Fuck,” the kid muttered, pursing his obscene lips to whistle low, and Derek snarled, tempted to just pull him in through the window already. “All right, calm down there, big guy. I’ll get you through it. It’s going to be triple the usual amount, and you’re taking care of all and any food and medical requirements, got it?”
Derek nodded tightly. “Got it. Now get in here and suck me,” he growled.
"Sure thing," he replied, grinning and licking his lips indecently. "Isaac, tell Scott I’ll be back in a week," the guy called over his shoulder, not waiting for a reply before opening the car door and sliding into the front passenger seat.
He barely waited for the door to close behind him before he started mouthing at Derek’s cock through his trousers, his cock already hard and tenting the material. Derek inhaled through his nose, moving his hand to unzip his pants, and then rested his clawed hand on the back of the guy’s head as gently as he possibly could. He let out a small groan as a warm and wet mouth wrapped around him. Derek pressed his foot down on the accelerator, speeding out of the town and towards the Wall. The sooner he got home and fucked this heat out of his system, the better it would be.
The guy sure knew how to use his mouth, and Derek had come twice on the drive home. He didn’t care that half of it leaked out of the guy’s mouth and onto his seat, he was just getting started. Derek pulled into his house’s garage, turning off the engine and pulling the guy onto his lap abruptly, ignoring his flailing and surprised yelp. He swallowed the noise, kissing him firmly and jerking his hips up against him.
"So, what’s your name?" the guy asked as Derek as they pulled away, grinding his hips down against Derek’s cock firmly.
"I’m Stiles. Nice to know what name I’ll be calling for the next week," Stiles said with a grin. "You want to get started in here? Or do you have a flat - and preferably soft - surface inside the house?"
"Inside," Derek bit out, but neither of them moved. "You talk too much."
"It’s a gift. Wait ‘til I start talking dirty; you’ll love it then," Stiles promised, eyes fluttering shut as Derek rubbed his cock through his tight pants.
Fuck; he had to get inside, or he’d end up spending the whole fucking week in his car, Derek realised, forcing himself to let go of the body on top of his.
"Bedroom’s upstairs. Get out and run. I’ll be more inclined to follow you then,” Derek explained. “I’ll try not to hurt you.”
"No worries, big guy. You break it, you pay for it to get fixed," Stiles said with a smirk.
If Derek wasn’t holding himself back from rutting against Stiles - fuck where they ended up spending the week - he’d wonder just what had happened to make him so blasé about being hurt.
Stiles slipped his torn shirt off and pressed it against Derek’s chest. “Come and get me, big guy,” he said with a wink.
Derek let out a small growl, but before he could grab Stiles and fuck him against the steering wheel, Stiles slid out of the car and started running. Derek’s eyes shifted to red completely, and he let out a snarl that echoed and followed Stiles into the house. He forced himself to stay in his seat, pressing Stiles’ shirt to his nose and inhaling deeply, trying to get his wolf used to the scent of the person he’d be fucking for the next week. His fangs slipped out of his mouth and sharpened as he caught a sweet scent under the musky smell of sex. That scent belonged to him now, and he would have it on him, under him, inside of him for as long as he wanted. Derek almost tore the door off the car, running straight into his house, focused on nothing but Stiles’ scent.
Stiles was struggling with his jeans - damn them for being a size too small, no matter how great his ass looked in them! - when he was suddenly thrown and pressed up against the door, his cheek pressed up against it. Derek crowded up behind him, breathing heavily down his neck, and Stiles shivered in anticipation. Clawed hands fell on either side of his head, Derek’s body pressed against his entirely, and fucking hell, he still couldn’t get his jeans off!
Derek let out a growl, his hands moving to Stiles’ waist and the rest of him following. He peeled the tight jeans off Stiles’ body, making him step out of them and spread his legs. Stiles didn’t wear underwear while he was working; it was too difficult to get them on with the jeans, mostly, but if he needed to tease a john to get him hard (pressure of the moment, it happened sometimes), then showing them his ass usually helped in no time.
Derek seemed to like his ass just as much as the rest of them, clawed fingers spreading him and holding him open so he could bury his face in Stiles’ ass, licking and sucking at him. For a guy in heat, he seemed to have enough control to pull back the fangs. That was considerate of him, really. Stiles tried to be accommodating as well, squeezing his ass around Derek’s tongue, and pressing back when he did some twirl thing that Stiles filed away for future reference. Derek slid two fingers in to him, claws gone thankfully, but fuck that was a little fucking painful. Stiles bit his lip to keep from whining out in pain. Derek’s fingers were thicker than his own, and Stiles hadn’t prepped as much as he should have this afternoon. Of course, he didn’t think he’d be getting fucked by an Alpha tonight. (It was so fucking cold, Stiles didn’t think he’d be getting fucked by anyone tonight, really.)
Derek stood up, fingers still buried in Stiles’ ass, and moved his free hand so his fingers were pressed against Stiles’ mouth. He opened his mouth immediately, sucking them in without hesitation. Despite the twinge of pain as a third finger was added, Stiles felt fucking fantastic. He loved being filled like this, even though he hadn’t even had Derek’s cock yet. It was fucking rare to have anyone make him feel good, usually he was paid to be a mouthy bottom that guys (or sometimes women) could slap around to make themselves feel better or in control, whatever, he wasn’t a shrink. Stiles had heard that bottoms could have as much power as tops, but when he was getting fucked and told what a pretty mouthed slut he was, Stiles figured it was a fantasy or something that only happened in a committed relationship. And honestly who’d want to be in any sort of relationship with him, a guy that had to get fucked for money just so he could eat?
Derek sniffed at him, nose pressing against his neck, and Stiles forced himself to concentrate on his job, sucking at Derek’s fingers as he fucked them into his mouth. Derek pulled them out a second later, breathing heavy and shallow, as if he was losing control.
"I’m… I’m going to fuck you now. I need… Tell me if I hurt you," Derek breathed heavily, fangs out again and Stiles swore he could feel fangs as his three fingers pulled out of his ass.
He nodded briefly, moving to spread his legs a little wider for him. Stiles was surprised when Derek lifted him and put him on the bed instead, lying on his back. Figuring he’d made a mistake, Stiles tried to turn over onto his stomach. Derek growled, clawed hand resting on his stomach.
"Want to see your face while I still have some control. Later, I won’t remember, I’ll just need to fill you," he added, pulling out a bottle of lube from his bedside table. "There’s five bottles in there. Hopefully it’s enough."
Stiles’ eyes widened when he saw the size of the bottle.
"Do you need a condom? I’m clean," Derek added, which was kind of a funny thing to say while his eyes were red and glowing (or maybe Stiles was going into shock, he wasn’t quite sure).
"Got tested last month; haven’t had anyone since," Stiles said, eyes still focused on the bottle.
Winter was a bad time, which is why Stiles and the others he lived and worked with spent most of autumn fucking anything with a wallet, trying to build up enough to survive the three coldest and unforgiving months of the year. It usually worked, but in the beginning of autumn, Jackson had pushed Stiles around and broken his arm which put him out of action for four straight weeks. It was difficult to look sexy and appealing with your arm in a cast and your face bruised purple and yellow. He hadn’t even been able to get pity fucked, and instead, Stiles had stayed home, cleaning and cooking for the others the best he could. It wasn’t much and sure as fuck wasn’t enough, not when they were down almost a grand because of his injuries. Since it was his fault they weren’t able to stay home like they usually did this winter, Stiles made sure that he got whatever customer rocked up to their street, so they could return to the warm house instead. It was the start of the second week, and Derek was the first for the month.
Stiles’ reply seemed to be enough for Derek, and he grabbed his hips, sliding his cock into his ass slowly. They both groaned as Derek stretched him, his cock filling him until Stiles couldn’t feel anything but Derek’s cock. It was weird facing him like this, Stiles was pretty sure he’d only ever faced someone once, maybe twice, and definitely not an Alpha. Stiles bit his lip so he wouldn’t say something stupid and fuck up a week’s worth of pay. Derek didn’t seem to notice anything, already starting to move his hips and hold on to Stiles. While Stiles usually envied the werewolves’ ability to have multiple orgasms, he sure as fuck didn’t envy them the heats. The loss of control, of rational thinking, of the ability to focus on anything other than getting relief. Sure, it had sounded like Heaven while he was young and stupid, but now, after Stiles had seen what they went through first-hand. Yeah, fuck that with a cactus.
Still, Derek seemed to have more control than most of the wolves Stiles had been with. Perhaps it related to his power as an Alpha? Or maybe because he was a born werewolf? Maybe both.
"You’re thinking too much. Relax,” Derek growled, and Stiles immediately did as he said, letting his body relax and thoughts disperse.
It had taken almost three straight hours and one rough customer for Stiles to work out how to get his mind to close off, and it wasn’t just a matter of turning off his responses completely. He was usually expected to still make a response - at least by most of his customers - and Stiles had learned to perfect his moans and sighs so that most wolves couldn’t even tell the difference between real and fake.
Derek started fucking him a bit faster, eyes still bright red, his fangs out, claws pinching into his skin. Stiles had heard others talk about how ugly werewolves were, especially Alphas with their terrifying red eyes, but Stiles had never disagreed with that sentiment as much as he did right then. Derek was looking at him with ruby red eyes, sweat beading on his forehead, and Stiles doubted that he’d ever seen someone look so fucking beautiful before. Derek grabbed his hips, tilting him up slightly, and Stiles let out a moan.
"Don’t," Derek gasped out, claws sharper against his skin.
"What?" Stiles asked, eyes wide, thinking he’d done something wrong.
"Don’t moan if it’s not real," Derek growled. "Want to hear you, not what you think I want to hear."
Stiles blushed in embarrassment at being caught, and nodded quickly. He was actually quiet for once, just watching as Derek slowly began to lose himself to his heat. It was something that Stiles had always wanted to see, but rarely had the chance, since most of his customers refused to let him look at them; he was a conveniently priced hole and nothing more. Licking his lips, he tried to keep his eyes from drooping shut as Derek started to slam against his prostate, the urge to fuck and claim taking over his control. Stiles watched as Derek’s eyes darkened, the red expanding until the glow covered his pupils, whites, and irises completely. His fangs grew out even further, almost slicing through his lips themselves, and Stiles could feel Derek’s claws doing the same against his hips. The hair on his face remained the same, and while his hands were probably hairier than most, it was soft rather than coarse. He wondered if there was a werewolf-specific hand cream that Derek used.
The next thrust against his prostate actually had Stiles crying out Derek’s name, his back arching, and there wasn’t a hint of anything fake as he squirmed in his grasp and tried to get that fading feeling back. Derek seemed smug at the sound, and it obviously made him very determined to get Stiles to call out his name again. He started to pull Stiles’ body against his hips with each of his thrusts, Stiles gasping out Derek’s name with a stutter each time. He was close to begging, his ass clenching and trying to keep Derek inside of him, when Derek tipped his head back and let out a howl, clutching Stiles to him and coming hard inside of him. His orgasm tipped Stiles, and he came between them, long white spurts hitting his chest as they both tried to get their breath back.
Derek stared at the mess on Stiles’ chest for a few seconds, his howl feeling as though it was echoing around in Stiles’ skull, then moved them both so he could lick at his chest with firm sweeping motions of his tongue.
"Fuck. That was good," Stiles murmured, brushing Derek’s sweat-damp hair back from his forehead. "Mind if I get some water before you get hard again?" he asked.
Derek finished licking at his chest and shook his head. “Hurry back.”
"You want anything?" Stiles offered, feeling a little awkward that he was about to raid this guy’s kitchen.
He shook his head again and didn’t answer verbally. All right, it seemed that he was a werewolf of few words then.
Stiles slid out from under Derek carefully, wincing as a mess of semen seeped from his ass.
"Wait. I’ll clean you first," Derek murmured, staring down at his ass as if it held the answer to life, the universe, and everything.
Stiles expected a cloth and water, tissues, something like that. But instead, Derek pressed his face against Stiles’ ass and licked him clean, even licking into him to catch the remaining drops on his tongue. Geez, with this sort of treatment, he should be paying Derek, Stiles thought to himself. Derek was already hard by the time he finished cleaning, and Stiles had to put off the glass of water as Derek slid into his ass again.
Five hours, six fucks, four knots, and several blow jobs later, Derek was exhausted enough to sleep, and Stiles finally managed to slide out from under him to get that glass of water.
Stiles winced when he saw the wrecked state of the bed linen, but was glad that all of those holes and tears weren’t on his body instead. He should sleep, especially while the werewolf was out like a light and probably due to wake up in a few hours’ time, but he couldn’t get his mind to shut off long enough for sleep to claim him. Derek was surprisingly gentle, no matter how far gone he seemed to be with his wolf, and it made Stiles think about the other clients he’d had. Jackson had been a complete bastard from start to finish, trying to exert control and power, and breaking Stiles’ arm when he couldn’t break his spirit. While he was the worst, the rest of them all seemed to push Stiles around like he was a possession instead of a person, and yeah, sure, they paid money to fuck him, but that didn’t mean he was worth less than them because of it. Fuck, they were the ones that needed to pay for a fuck anyway.
Since Derek was still sleeping like the proverbial log (Stiles wondered where the saying came from; who the hell thought logs slept? Maybe they’d confused the log for an alligator or something?), he took the chance to look through the house. Apart from the bookcases and various shelves, it was fairly minimalistic. There were a few pictures on the walls, and while Derek didn’t exactly seem big on smiling, some of the pictures showed him with his lips tilting up into what could be construed as a grin if Stiles squinted. He wandered through the house, following the bookcases to a small sitting room. Since there was no point trying to change the bedlinen while Derek was a freaking tonne on top of it (werewolves liked to have the sex scent around them during a heat anyway), and there was no way he was going to attempt to cook in Derek’s pristine and industrial kitchen, Stiles picked a book and sat down in his borrowed sweats to start reading.
He got so caught up in the book that it took Stiles a few minutes to realise hours had passed and Derek’s low growl was filtering through the house. Swearing, he set the book aside and ran upstairs, tugging at the drawstrings around his waist. Derek was completely wolfed out, and pounced on Stiles with a deep growl.
"Who were you with?" he snarled.
"Hemingway. I borrowed a book," Stiles squeaked, eyes wide.
Derek sniffed at him, nose buried against his neck, hips already starting to rut up against his body. Stiles stayed completely still, not sure how to respond, then Derek breathed in relief and sagged into his body.
"Thought you’d left. Thought you left me," Derek murmured, over and over in a whisper, his lips brushing against his skin.
"Nope. Still here."
Derek hummed, a pleased sound that reverberated against Stiles’ chest, and he lifted his hips up to Derek’s hardening cock, rubbing his leg between his thighs.
"Ready for round eight?" Stiles asked, grinning.
Derek answered by pressing Stiles back against the carpet and kissing him until his toes curled. Stiles found himself on his stomach a few seconds later, Derek biting out an apology, his wolf needing the presentation. Stiles was filled and fucked so hard he didn’t even care about the carpet burn on his thighs and chest.
The next fuck had him kneeling up against the bed, Derek pounding into his body until the bed started to creak with the exertion. Stiles clung to the ruined sheets, fingers taking purchase in the linen as Derek held his hips up and thrust into his ass unrelentingly. Stiles blacked out as he orgasmed, blinking his way back to consciousness when he heard Derek howl.
The need to piss out the water he’d drunk earlier had Derek following Stiles in to the bathroom, bending him over the basin to fuck him again. Then Stiles found himself being guided to the shower, Derek turning the water on before he fucked him once more, Stiles’ body pressed up against the cool and condensation-damp tiles, hot water dripping onto his body from Derek’s shoulders and hands, pooling in the places their bodies met. The water was turned off after Derek howled, slumping against Stiles’ body as the heat and powerful orgasms tired him out. Sexy times in the shower was definitely sexy, but trying to get a billion-pound werewolf out of the shower while they were both wet? Not fun at all, Stiles discovered. By the time he managed to get them both out to the bedroom again, they were no longer even damp, and Derek collapsed on the mattress to sleep. Stiles curled up next to him, finally falling asleep.
Stiles woke up early the next morning to Derek rutting up against him, whining his name in his sleep. He had to grin at that, even though his ass was aching and he doubted he’d be able to get through another fuck without probably a bottle of lube. He leaned over the bed to fumble in the drawer for another bottle, and barely had the lid off before Derek woke up, found himself with Stiles’ ass against his chest, and groaned something incoherent before licking a strip directly across his rim.
"No, oh, hell. Fuck, we need lube first. Or a break from my ass entirely," Stiles groaned.
Derek mumbled something, possibly a whine at the potential loss, his tongue and lips warm and wet against him. Stiles groaned, hanging over the edge of the bed. He dropped the bottle of lube back by Derek’s thighs and spread his legs further on his shoulders. Derek sounded happy with the response, and seemed to take extra care with Stiles, tongue always withdrawing to lathe him as much as possible until Stiles squirmed back against him, gasping and desperate for more. Derek opened the lube and manoeuvred Stiles until he was back on the bed and sitting up on his lap.
"All right, big guy. But after this, I’m going to give you blow jobs for the rest of the day, and you’re going to like what you’re given," Stiles said as sternly as possible while his body was trembling with pure need for Derek, Derek’s cock, his fingers, his anything.
Derek nodded even though Stiles couldn’t see him, and bit the nape of his neck gently, running his thumb along the indentation of his teeth before he helped Stiles lower himself down onto his leaking cock. Derek sighed in relief, forehead resting against Stiles’ shoulder blade when he bottomed out, and Stiles let out a shaky breath. His head lolled back as Derek held his hips and lifted his own at the same time, slow controlled movements that were so out of character for a usual werewolf’s heat that Stiles wondered again about this Alpha’s ability to control himself. Then Derek started to jerk him off with a lubed up hand, and Stiles’ ability to think went out the window entirely.
"Come on, Derek. Harder,” Stiles groaned, trying to grind down against him unsuccessfully.
Derek continued with his torturously slow torture, making Stiles ride him so precisely Stiles actually begged and cried in pure frustration and need. Derek nipped at his shoulder, then took the fingers that Stiles splayed back and sucked on them in time with his shallow thrusts. Stiles could feel Derek stretching him, a knot forming, and he begged desperately, needing to orgasm before he stretched and tied into him completely. Derek finally took mercy, hands working to bring Stiles off faster, and he came just as Derek’s knot formed completely, tying them together for the next fifteen minutes at the least.
"You … asshole. I could’ve come ten minutes ago," Stiles groaned, wiggling his ass to try to get comfortable.
Derek just sighed contently, feeling Stiles’ ass spasming around his cock, feather-light movements that felt amplified by his knot and heat.
"Hey, Derek? Any chance you can walk with both of us like this?" Stiles asked.
The ‘why?' was left unspoken, but Stiles answered anyway.
"I need to get some food in my stomach before my body implodes on itself."
It took a few minutes for them to get coordinated, Derek’s legs a bit weak and Stiles still attached to his cock, but Derek eventually stood up without feeling like he’d fall and squish Stiles. Walking was another obstacle all together, but they both made it to the kitchen in one piece (literally, in fact), so Derek considered it a success.
"Toast and three bottles of water sounds perfect," Stiles groaned, stretching an arm out for the loaf of bread.
Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed the bread, keeping one arm wound around Stiles’ stomach. They demolished the entire loaf of bread and drank two bottles of water each by the time his knot had loosened enough for Stiles to stand up on his own. Derek frowned at his third water bottle, missing Stiles’ body heat against his chest. Stiles tucked himself up against Derek’s bare chest a few seconds later, a faint blush on his cheeks but neither one mentioning it.
"How are you going? Any chafing?" Stiles asked, glancing down to Derek’s half-hard cock.
"I’m fine. You?"
"Surprisingly fine. A bit chafed and my ass is killing me, but it’s not as bad as it has been," he said, shrugging.
"How many heats have you been through?" Derek asked, trying to temper his emotion so he wouldn’t crush the bottle in his hand.
"Three in the last two years. You’re lucky number four," Stiles added, grinning.
"Were they as good as I am?" Derek growled, his attempt at tempering his emotion obviously failing.
"Fuck no; you’re the best I’ve ever had, babe," Stiles said.
There wasn’t a stutter in his heartbeat, but Derek’s wolf couldn’t let the idea go, that someone else, some lower wolf, had touched what was theirs. Derek picked Stiles up with a soft snarl, pressing their bodies together firmly, and carried him back upstairs for the next round.
Stiles woke up to the sound of the front door opening. He wasn’t quite sure how much time had passed, or even what day it was, and since he’d accidentally kicked Derek’s alarm clock the night before, it was flashing uselessly on the floor beside the bed. Derek was either dead to the world, or didn’t think of the opening door as a threat, but Stiles didn’t particularly want to be caught without pants. He tugged the sweats on and headed downstairs slowly, listening as carefully as he could with his human ears, and trying to determine if it was a friend or foe.
"Who the fuck are you?" a woman asked, staring at Stiles as she dropped her luggage to the side of the door.
"Stiles. Who’re you?" he asked, his stomach dropping.
Stiles realised that he hadn’t asked Derek if he had a girlfriend or something - some wolves just needed a basic fuck during their heat, and didn’t care about gender. Stiles had just assumed that he was single, and he’d kind of hoped that this was more than just a simple fuck.
Fucking hell, he was falling for Derek, and that was probably the stupidest thing he’d done in years.
"Laura, Derek’s sister. You’re human," she said, surprised.
"Yeah, Derek got me from the other side of the Wall when his heat hit a few days ago," Stiles said, so fucking relieved that she was Derek’s sister that he didn’t even bother censoring his words.
Laura frowned at his words, but not in disgust; she simply looked confused.
"Derek’s heat isn’t for another two weeks," Laura muttered, looking to her phone for the date.
A loud growl came from upstairs, but before Stiles could go up to Derek, he leapt down, moving in front of Stiles and baring his teeth at his sister, eyes glowing red. He stopped growling on realising that Laura was standing there, and stood up a little straighter, hands reaching back for Stiles to hold him.
"Derek, what on earth are you doing? Your heat’s not for another two weeks," Laura said.
"How do you not know when your heat is?" Stiles asked, frowning.
"Just how long have you two been fucking? The house stinks of sex," Laura said, waving her hand in front of her nose with a frown.
"About three days. Derek, answer me,” Stiles said, his voice close to breaking.
"All the signs were there. I was over-eating, and Peter said…" Derek started to explain.
"Since when do you believe anything Peter tells you?" Laura interrupted, glaring. "You know he’s a twisted bastard, never mind that he’s our uncle; he probably put the idea in your mind to get you laid."
Stiles just kind of stared at Derek, feeling confused and used, and slightly nauseous on top of it all. “I’ll… I’ll just call a cab to go home,” he murmured, stepping back to head up to the bedroom where he hoped his jeans were still on the floor somewhere.
"No. Stiles, wait. Please," Derek begged, taking hold of his wrist gently.
"I’ve been on a plane for the past eighteen hours, the house stinks of sex and emotions, and I’m exhausted. I’m going to go stay at Cora’s for the rest of the night. Talk about it, and call me when it’s safe to come back, okay, Derek?" Laura said, grabbing her suitcase and heading back out without waiting for an answer.
"What is there to talk about? You picked me up to get you through a heat, you don’t need to get through a heat, so that’s all there is to it," Stiles muttered.
"It was more than that, Stiles, and you know it. I howled for you,” Derek growled.
He shrugged and tried to calm his traitorous heart. “Doesn’t mean a thing on the other side of the Wall.”
"Fine, then what does mean something on that side? Money, public declarations? I’ve got more money than I know what to do with, you can have all of it; I don’t know where to get one of those atrocious billboards made up, but I’ll do that if you need it. Tell me what you need to make you believe me.”
“Words, Derek, that’s what means something - on either side of the Wall,” Stiles added firmly.
"Now, you’ve fucked me into oblivion for the last three days; I want us to talk now instead."
Derek nodded firmly, picked Stiles up and carried him to the sitting room, grinning a little when he laughed in his arms.
"Before we get started, I want to know something important," Stiles said seriously when he was settled on the couch.
Derek sat beside him, ready to spill his deepest and darkest secrets if that’s what it took for Stiles to be with him. He tensed a bit, wondering if Stiles would want to know about his money, as some of his previous lovers had.
"Just what would you have written on that atrocious billboard?" Stiles asked, grinning broadly.
"If you want to have a good time, get the fuck away from my boyfriend," Derek said, promptly wanting to blame his answer on his sex-fucked brain.
"Huh," Stiles murmured, frowning as he thought it over. "That actually works for me."
They finished talking hours later, with Stiles agreeing to actually date Derek starting the next day, and Derek insisting on paying for the last three days because Stiles still needed to pay his bills and feed himself.
Then, with the conversation over, Derek led Stiles back upstairs and controlled his wolf as Stiles fucked him for the first time. He needn’t have worried, because his wolf still let out a loud howl for Stiles, and Derek wasn’t far behind.
Thanks for reading!
sterek modern royalty au: stiles is the crown prince, and derek is basically the royal mechanic
happy (belated) birthday literaryoblivion! i hope you like this <3 you are amazing and wonderful and ilu.
Stiles faces the cameras, waves his hand and smiles like he’s been trained his whole life to do. His back aches from the stiff posture, and he resists the urge to run his hands through his hair. A reporter asks him a question about his father’s upcoming peace summit, and Stiles automatically recites the answers.
Remember to smile. Remember the answers. Remember to be charming like Mom taught me.
The reporter thanks him, and Stiles continues down the line, answering more questions about the summit, but also superficial questions like who he was rooting for in the World Cup and what’s the worst thing about being the son of a king. “Never getting good curly fries,” Stiles answers, which isn’t what the reporter expects. “I never get to just run through a drive thru and get fries, and the one time I did, the workers were so nervous my fries were burnt.”
“Couldn’t they just make them for you at the castle?” the reporter asks.
Stiles grins and winks at her. “Just not the same.”
Be charming. Be funny. “You don’t have to be Prince William,” his mother had told him. “You don’t always have to be serious.”
His bodyguards stand by watchfully as Stiles takes photos with a few people, and then he faces the cameras again. His fingers self-consciously go to the waist of his dress pants, because they feel too tight, too restricting. But Lydia had insisted that his outfit was perfectly tailored. “This is what you pay me for, Stiles,” she’d huffed. “Now let me do my job.”
He trusts Lydia with everything, from his clothes and hair to booking his appointments, but that doesn’t make him feel any less constricted and ridiculous in these tight-fitting pants. He misses the days when he could wear oversized khakis and hoodies, despite the fact that he was heir to the throne. Sometimes, he thinks turning eighteen had been the worst thing to happen to him.
Stiles walks towards the car waiting for him on the curb. He waves for the remaining cameras, shouts out a few one-word answers to reporters’ questions, watches as his bodyguards keep more eager reporters from rushing him. At the car, he turns and gives one final, regal wave before slipping inside.
He takes a deep breath once the door’s closed. Without the adrenaline that comes with being in the public eye, his hands start to shake violently.
His driver, Isaac, turns around to look at him. “Are you okay, your highness?”
Stiles concentrates on his breathing – in out in out in out – the panic ebbing, though the shaking doesn’t stop. “I’m fine, Isaac.” He shoots him a weary smile. “Let’s go home.”