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Stiles looks down at me, his caramel eyes dark in the shadows of the forest. The silver laced rope binds me down and the moonlight glints off the sliver of silver he holds in his hand. I draw in ragged breaths, the shallow cuts on my body trying to heal even as non lethal amounts of wolfsbane seeps into my wounds. It stings and burns, I release a howl and Stiles steps towards me. His once innocent features are contorted with power and marred with control. His macabre smile doesn't reach his shiny eyes and he laughs at me.
"Are you okay, Derek?" I don't dare respond as the scents of amusement and anger fill my nose, mixing with the scent of my own silver tinged blood. Stiles only moves closer to slice into my thigh. It's a shallow cut but my wolf urges me to move before I can get cut again. I'm burning where the silver has broken my skin. Burning with betrayal, burning with fear and pain. I'm burning up in love.
I have always loved Stiles. We meet in the park, his plaid shirt forgotten in the dry heat of summer and he drags a large basket behind him. The summer atmosphere calls my wolf to run to the top of the nearest hill and howl. It demands me to mark territory and form boundaries, but I focus on Stiles. He waves at me and carefully placed the basket on the ground.
"Derek! Ready for delicious food prepared by yours truly?"
"Depends, is there red meat?" I smirk and he cocks a brow at me.
"Of course there's red meat. Don't tell my Dad, but it isn't summer without an artery clogging burger."
"Yeah, promise." I wink. He flails in the general direction of the basket.
"Dude. Help me with his thing."
I grin at him and easily lift the basket. "Where's it going?" He playfully glares at me then points to the nearest hill.
"Up there! It's not a picnic without a view."
My wolf howls it's appreciation and we begin our trek up the barely used path.
I wake before Stiles does. He looks like he did before when he sleeps, only now he smells only of aggression and sex instead of the sweet honeysuckle and soothing lavender with the medicinal tang of ADHD pills. I carefully pull two mugs from my cupboard, the silver ropes from last night still making my wrists ache. The coffee pot beeps and I turn to pour it out when there are soft footsteps and pale arms winding around my waist.
"Good morning Derek." I silently hand Stiles his cup of coffee and me moves quickly to the other side of the kitchen. Even before the cup shatters 3 inches left of my head I know I'm in trouble.
"What the hell was that? Can't you even make coffee right, you dumb bitch." Stiles fumes and moves towards me and slaps my mug out of my hands. The hot coffee seeps into my socks and Stiles keeps yelling.
"But it makes sense. Because you're a stupid mutt. Get the fuck out! You're in the doghouse." I quickly leave the kitchen.
Stiles rests his head on my full stomach and although I don't see him smile I see his cheeks raise and I can form it from memory. We watch the clouds float over head and I run my hand through Stiles' short hair. He runs his hand up and grasps mine, kissing the palm lightly before closing it.
"Derek... I... Thank you." I focus on rubbing a little circle into his shoulder.
"What?" He clears his throat.
"You... You have so much power over me, but you never use it. You never control me." He swallows hard and I'm not sure how to respond and I fall silent for a minute. I find something to say.
"I... I would never use power over you Stiles. I don't... I can't be like... Her." I inhale and close my eyes while Stiles shifts against me to lie chest to chest. He caresses my neck and cups my cheek, I close my eyes and he brushes his fingertips over my eyelids before tracing my lips. When I open my eyes he's staring at me and he carefully kisses my jaw.
"You'll never be Kate, Derek. That's not you." I grunt.
"I can't guarantee that." He smiles at me.
"I can. Because I love you."
The doghouse is real. It used to be a shed, it used to not scare me, it used to not give me nightmares that rivaled ones about Laura. Nightmares that rivaled the fire. The interior has been redone with silver in the walls and I had long since learned not to sit or lay on the floor because someone had embedded wolfsbane into the wooden panels. My feet were already beginning to swell and pinch in protest. I stand in the center of the room, where only my feet received the worse punishment, but also gave me a perfect view of the many silver tipped knives hanging from the walls. I can hear Stiles leaving the house and it's only been 5 minutes. I am either to be released or tortured and when the door of the doghouse opens, I restrain myself from stepping away from the waves of contempt and disgust radiating from Stiles body. He smiles at me and stops in the doorway.
"I'm sorry, Derek. I over reacted. I know sometimes I'm a drama queen." I release a breath I didn't know I was holding, but he continues. "But I can't let you go. You'll become unruly, misbehave and disobey. I can't have that, Derek." He runs his hands over the knives lining the walls and stops at the stiletto knife. He lifts it off the wall and gently cleans the blade.
"However, I'm kind. So you can pick where I cut you." I hold my breath and my feet are stinging. Stiles steps closer and trails the blade over my chest.
"C'mon baby, where do you want it?" I want to shiver from the string scent of hate, but my body is frozen.
"In my... My arm."
I think Stiles bed is too small. I start the argument in the aftermath of moans, when all we have left is a sense of fulfillment and sweaty skin. He playfully punches me in the arm.
"Shut up. It's do I don't get to far away from you, sourwolf." I snort.
"No matter what I'd find you, dumbass. I'm a wolf." Stiles threads his fingers through mine.
"Hey now, I prefer smartass." He smiles up at me and I'm hit with the strong scent of wilderness and sun-warmed fresh earth. I associate this smell with love and the color of Stile's eyes. I pull him closer and breath in the scent.
"Okay, smartass." Stiles wiggles against me.
"You have an odd way of showing affection." My lips curl into a smile and I poke him in the hip.
"Didn't you know I only want you for your body?" Stiles laughs and his whole body shakes against me.
"Dude! That was my reason. Your reason is I save your life every week." He moves until he's pressed to my chest and my wolf howls with joy.
"Alright, smartass, what do what to do now?" He makes an exaggerated show of thinking then snuggled into my arms.
"I dunno, dumbass. How about what we've been doing?" I snort into his short hair and roll my eyes.
"Okay, your bed is too small."
Stiles carefully cleans my arm with rubbing alcohol and water. He darts a quick look at me and I swear I detect a hint of regret and remorse, but he turns away and the faint smells are overpowered with rage and control. He sets the stiletto against my shoulder, already my blood boils and itches, and smirks at me. He forces the silver blade into my shoulder until it's buried an inch deep and I manage not to scream. My wolf protests inside me as I do not fight, it demands I escape-even as it weeps with betrayal. It's feels as if a million scorpions have been released beneath my skin and they sting and bite inti my muscles. Stiles pulls the blade, slowly and precisely, down my arm until it's 7 inches from the initial puncture. The scorpions become king cobras and rattlesnakes that slither beneath the surface releasing venom into my body. My arm is tense and my knees are locked to prevent me falling to the floor. The only reason I haven't fainted yet is because I'm still hoping Stiles stops. He pulls the blade from my arm and blood weeps from the slice, an unnatural silver tinged navy blue. I must gasp because Stiles looks at me. He cleans the knife before he turns to my arm, and he wipes away the poisoned blood before cleaning the wound and securing a bandage. I resist the urge to cry as my wolf whimpers in my soul. Stiles whistles while he works.
It's an accident that ruins us. It's in the aftermath if a battle and we both smell of someone else's blood, adrenaline, and stress. Stiles' Jeep can't drive fast enough and I press wet kisses to his neck. He slaps me away.
"Dude, if I crash, you are DEFINITELY not getting laid tonight." I growl and start to pull at his jeans. He smirks. "Road head is great in movies. In real life it could get us killed." I groan and resign myself to palming myself through my jeans.
"Just hurry the fuck up, Stiles." He pouts for half a second.
"Hey, no swearing in my baby, sourwolf." I roll my eyes but I can feel the Jeep speed up. We finally reach his house and I immediately return to his neck, my hands pulling at his jeans, and he pushes me away.
"Oh my god, let's get in the house first." I reluctantly pull away so we can exit through our separate doors. Stiles fumbles with his key at the door and I slip my hand into his jeans.
"J-Jesus, Derek, literally one second..." He finally gets the door to open and I tackle him through the doorway while he laughs into my mouth. I pull his blood stained shirt over his head and unbuckled my own belt as we trip up the stairs. Stiles laughs triumphantly when he manages to pull my shirt over my head and we fall into his room. I leave sloppy kisses and bites on his chest and neck until he pushes me away.
"Derek! I have a bed! A beautiful creation that allows us to have sex comfortably instead of on my hard floor that will bruise my back!" I growl at this interruption, but I do pick him up and his legs automatically tighten around my waist. When I drop him on his bed he sighs dramatically.
"My hero. Now, find lube!" When I return with the tube he pats my head.
"There's a good boy! Good boy, Derek." I shove him back on the bed.
"Shut up, Stiles." He smirks up at me and the spike of arousal in the air further excites me.
"Make me."
As Stiles leads me back into the house I consider escape. With my superior senses and strength, I could push him away easily and leave him behind. Leave my pain and suffering behind. But I know I can't, I am bound to Stiles in the most intimate way. Ever since he was 16 with a bright smile that tried to hide everything and caramel gold eyes that found my heart. If I ever tried to leave him my wolf would claw at my heart and devour my soul, howling "mate" with every step I took away from Stiles. He throws me a look every few steps, I don't know why. Just like I don't know why he stays. He could leave, he has no supernatural ties to me or our love, which has obviously decayed on his end. I want to believe it's because he still loves me, deep inside, and this is a test of my love for him. I fear he stays because I'm easy to hurt, with bruises that heal instantly and a refusal to believe he's doing this to me. He smirks when he looks at me again and I can almost remember a time when it wasn't so predatory or condescending. He forces me up the steps inside, and shoves me onto our bed. No-the bed. It's large, so large that Stiles can roll away from me, so far that I can't feel the heat of his body or accidentally touch him if I reach out. He's giving me an appraising look and I automatically begin to remove my clothes, quickly. This isn't for my pleasure, or even his. It's a display of control and manipulation. He grabs my arms while they're trapped in my shirt, he pulls my hair.
"Nice to know I've trained such a pretty bitch. Good doggy." He releases me and I throw my shirt somewhere.
Stiles smirks more than he smiles. It matches his personality and I don't mind. Especially when the smirk is erased and replaced by an 'o' as I slip 2 fingers inside him. His eyes flutter closed and he squeezes around my fingers as I carefully finger him open.
"Shit..." I grin and he opens one eye and-surprise-smirks at me. "Shut up. You think you're so gre-oh god." I can't resist a smile as I crook my fingers inside of him again, scraping against the sensitive bundle of nerve hidden there.
"I'm sorry Stiles, what was that?" He manages to slap my shoulder.
"You dick... Ohmigod, do it again!" I push farther in and crook my fingers again. Stiles hisses. "Yesssssss. Yes, I knew you were great." I reach up to wrap his dick in my palm and I start to tug at the same pace I push in at and Stiles' back arches off the bed with a strangled moan.
"There's my baby..." He hits my head on the way down and I release his dick. He whimpers.
"No! Oh god, put it back, I'm sorry! Sorry..." I willingly begin to jerk him off again, my own dick pressing hard against the seam of my zipper.
"Oh, god. Stiles..." He thrashes on the bed, tongue lolling out and moaning. I keep my eyes traiined on his moles, licking as many as I can. Each one represents a praryer from me to him. I worship his body. He is pure and holy. He is a merciful god.
Stiles is alreay naked. We never undress each other anymore, no more unwrapping our bodies like presents, no more laying them out on beds like offerings. I have become a sacrifice. And Stiles is never satisfied. I'm used to the rough pull on my hair, and I repress my wolf's need to growl and assert dominance. Stiles moves me like I'm a doll, pulling me where he needs me: My mouth to his cock-where I suck until drool drips from my mouth in gobs and his cum is the only thing I'm having for breakfast. He still moans loudly whe he comes, arches of the bed all pale, fragile, ad mole-covered, bt it's no longer a reacction to me, it's a reaction to stimulus and pleasure. I get high off the feeling of making him high, so I willingly give him everything, I rim him until he screams and I fuck him until he comes, and he's so loud. But I stay silent. I used to whisper nothings into his ear, promises and oaths, swears and "oh god, Stiles", breathy moans that ghosted past his ear and got him off faster than my hands or my mouth ever could. I'd tried it once, before I realized the doghouse was becoming a permanent fixture on my own lawn. It had almost cost me an arm, but only took a million tears and an x-shaped scar on my mouth. The message I'd recieved was clear: No more.
Stiles' knees are hitched up around my waist, arms loose around my neck. We hold steady eye contact as I slowly push into him with a sigh.
"Stiles..." I can fee his toes curling against my back, and when they release, I breathe again "Stiles?" He moans as I push in a littl farther.
"Oh, god, keep going..." I push in slowly, gauging and setting my pace by the seconds between toe curls and heartbeats. I can feel myself bottom out and he hisses into my neck.
"Stiles, I-"
"Keep going, c'mon..." I pull out just a little and push back in.
"Oh, you're so tight." Stiles' brow is wrinkled and his teeth clenched in concentration.
"I want you to fix that." He winks up at me and I sag, some of my weight falling onto his slight frame.
"Jesus, I'm going to wreck you..." Stiles takes a shakey breath as I thrust again, deeper this time.
"Oh, yeah? Show me." My wolf urges me to thrust faster, pound into Stiles' willing body, to mate and take and keep. Love. I can't help my increasing pace and Stiles braces himself under me.
"Oh my god, I love you. You're mine." I bury my head in the crook of his neck, nosing along his cheek and dropping back to the hollow that collects his sweat as I thrust into him. His hands move from around my neck to my back, holding tightly as I abuse his body.
"Derek! Derek, oh fu-Derek!" I mumble into his hairline, things I want to give him. Things I'll give him, things I love about him. He gets louder and louder as he nears his climax, caramel eyes dark with lust.
"Mine. My mate. Mine. Stiles, you're mine. Mine!" I growl then, howl, and Stile's arches off the bed, nails digging into the sweaty flesh of my skin and I scream. Stiles' rides out the aftershocks of his orgasm, his fingers scratching into my back and I howl again. He must realize it's pain and he pulls away, cupping my face in his hands.
"Derek! Derek! What's wrong?"
I'm secured to the mattress, as always. it's never for me. it's for Stiles. Once the silver laced ropes are secured around my wrists and ankles he lowers himself onto me. No kisses, no foreplay. He jerks himself off wih one hand and supports his shaking body with the other hand planted firmly on my thigh. HE faces away from me but I always imagine his face. The sheen of sweat and a blush that runs right up from his cock to his hairline, I know the position of moles no one's ever seen before and the way his lush eyelashes flutter when he gets me entirely inside him. He starts to bite his lip when he gets close, the pressure making them bright red and the gnawing of his teeth make them raw, puffy, sinful. He doesn't blindfold me and I don't know if it's to punish me-to see all I can no longer have-or to reward me wth something. If he thinks he's depriving me, he's wrong. The lack of affection, no more soft kisses on eyelids, they been replaced with a view of his spine poking through papery, translucent skin. the ripples of muscles as he moves over me, and the scent of lust hanging heavy in the air. Sweeet nothings have been replaced with grunts and moans of pleasure, no names, squeaking bed springs and deep breathing. When he comes, it stripes my thighs and some lands inbetween my toes, he pulls off and away immediately. He unties me and rolls away in the uncomfortably large bed. I wait until he's asleep to take a shower, to clean his come off my body and release myself. It's not ideal, but after being stripped of everything, I take what I can get.
I gape at the cresents left on my back. They aren't deep, Stiles bites his nails, but they sting slightly when I move. The mirror slides and Stiles' head sticks overhead.
"Is it really bad? What happened?" I rub at my eyes and answer dryly.
"What happened is, we learn to wash our hands after battles." Stiles eyes widen.
"What? What does-ohmigod. The wolfsbane?!" I nod and Stiles sets the mirror down. "Jesus, I'm sorry, Derek. Does it hurt?" He experimentally prods one of the indents and I flinch.
"Kind of. They'll stop." He turns me and runs his hand lightly over my now blemished skin. He's in awe.
"I know you love leaving love bites, but I never thought I could mark you..." I smirk and reach behind me to capture one of his thin wrists and draw him around to kiss him.
"Do you like it? Do you like marking me?" He runs a hand through my hair and blushes.
"You know... It's a wolf thing."
"You're not a wolf." He rolls his eyes.
"I've been spending too much time with you, sourwolf. It's like osmosis." I gather him into my arms and his hands lay gently on my back, leaving a tingling feeling.
"Hey, I think they've stopped stinging." Stiles brightens.
"Really?" I growl playfullly and drag him back to his bed.
"Yeah. This means we can get back to the wolf marking..."
My hair is still damp from the shower. Stiles is dead asleep even as the noon day sun blazes through the windows. I decide to close the curtains, throwing a glance down at the doghouse, before crawling into bed. I comply to the rules an lay stiff on my side of the bed while my wolf aches in my chest. It begs me to reach out and pull Stiles close, feel his heart syncronize with me and ensure his safety. I calm is with thoughts of free-runs and the scent of wilderness that now seems to radiate from Stiles' prone body. He makes an odd noise in his throat and flips towards me, lahes stark black against alabaster skin and pouting lips. I wait on my side of the bed as he slowly migrates towards me, the smell of honeysuckle, lavender, forest leaves and wild flowers. I wait until he's curled himself against me to release my breath. He sighs against me, one hand curled on my chest.
"Derek..." I freeze, waiting to be scolded for this, but then he continues to breath, deeply, evenly. My wolf howls in contentment and I loop my arm aroud him. I think of the broken coffee mugs that need to be swept off the kitchen floor, the blood to be cleaned from the doghouse, the scars I have that will never heal. Stiles body tightens around me and I smile down at him. This is my mate, my one true love.
I'm covered in poisoned cuts and blisters, burns and scars, but we're still sleeping like we're lovers.