rubykatewriting: (Teen Wolf: Stiles Smooth Criminal)
[personal profile] rubykatewriting
Author: [livejournal.com profile] rubykatewriting
Title: The Strong Scent of Evergreen
Pairing: Derek/Girl!Stiles
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Derek and Stiles start something new. "I am, you know," she whispers against his mouth, and he tilts his head in question. "Yours."
Spoilers/Warnings: Can be found here.
Notes: Title comes from the song "Passenger Seat" by Death Cab for Cutie.
Disclaimer: Not mine. So not mine. No harm intended.



Lydia explains knotting over coffee, because that’s what their lives are now. Never mind that Stiles simply asked a very timid, mortifying question about sex, just regular sex; that it spirals from there into the mechanics of mating with your werewolf boyfriend is only further proof that Stiles’ life is really just a slippery slope of horror clichés. Stiles tries not to look absolutely terrified and horrified and all other kinds of –ified as Lydia talks in that matter-of-fact way of hers (Stiles is half convinced Lydia came fully formed, like Athena, out of her mother’s forehead) while a fucking laundry list of questions goes through her head and it’s possible this may be the final straw for her overworked brain.

Why hasn’t Derek told her about this? Why, in all of her research, had this fun little fact eluded her? God knows, when Scott first turned, Stiles was popping Adderall like it was candy just so she could stay up that little bit longer. Back then it had all been about curing Scott. Finding the tiny, throwaway line amongst all the lore that would save Scott from the curse. The one thing she did find turned out to be a bust – a wreck of a guy so burdened with disappointment that it had left her and Scott both a little rudderless.

Stiles glances over at Allison, who is trying to look anywhere but at Stiles or Lydia, and oh god, the betrayal of it all. “You and Scott?!

Allison’s face goes red, and she just nods, still avoiding eye contact.

This is apparently her breaking point because the hysterical laughter starts bubbling out at that exact moment. How is this her life now? “Our lives, you guys. When did this become our lives?”

Lydia stares at Stiles as if she has well and truly lost it, but then her lips start to twitch. Sex is enough of a landmine, teenager, adult, whatever, and now there’s all this new biology involved, and Stiles starts to hyperventilate she’s laughing so hard. It’s turning into a bray, and that’s when Allison snorts, hand over her mouth, shaking she’s laughing so hard.

“As the Werewolf Turns?” Allison finally sputters, and there’s a yelp from Lydia, who covers her face with both hands. Stiles sees other patrons looking at the three of them, but she can’t stop laughing, tears trickling down her cheeks.

-

Stiles keeps sneaking glances at Derek. How does one bring something like this up? Rather, how does a normal person bring something like this up? She’s not being chicken; she’s trying to stop the whole “barrel in, backpedal later” tactic she’s adopted since she was about five. Nope. She is totally not a big damn chicken.

Derek, of course, ends her internal tug-of-war: “Spill it, Stiles. Your heart is about to thump right out of your chest for fuck’s sake.”

“Knotting?” Stiles blurts out and promptly covers her mouth like an idiot.

Derek actually flushes. Suddenly The Goonies is the most interesting movie he has ever seen. Ten minutes ago he was grumbling about her making him watch it again (he prefers The Sandlot, for obvious reasons), but now he’s watching it like there will be a pop quiz after.

“Where did you hear about that?” he asks nonchalantly, as Sloth lets out his first mighty bellow onscreen. Then he’s on his feet, and she can barely track him as disappears towards the kitchen.

Stiles is hot on his heels. “Lydia held an info session today over coffee. It was magical.” Stiles watches as Derek gulps down three glasses of water in quick succession, and it isn’t helping her anxiety at all when she’s never seen him like this, acting like, well – her. There is one thing Stiles knows to be true: there is only room in this relationship for one flailing, awkward bundle of nerves and she called dibs ages ago.

“Derek.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“How the hell do you think I should approach that topic, Stiles? You’re a fucking virgin. ‘Hey, guess what – it’s going to hurt like hell and then only get worse once I fucking nut. Sound like fun?’”

“Well how did it work for you and Kate?” Stiles cringes even as the words come tumbling out of her stupid, big mouth. She knows how much that time of his life still screws with his head. She also knows that if Kate weren’t already dead, she would have killed her herself after Derek told her everything. Never let it be said that people can’t surprise the hell out of you with their ability to be even worse fucking deplorable, immoral psychos than first imagined.

“She wasn’t a virgin, Stiles. She was twenty to my fifteen –” Derek swallows “– and it doesn’t happen unless it’s a mating relationship. It’s a mating thing.”

Stiles deflates at that, sagging against the counter. “Oh.”

Derek is in front of her in the blink of an eye, his hands moving into her hair, fingers massaging her scalp. “For Scott and Jackson, mating is an important rite, something they shouldn’t enter into lightly, but Laura always warned me that for born wolves, it’s deeper. It’s why I’ve been putting… it off,” he admits softly, his mouth close to her temple.

“But it doesn’t happen when I, you know, give you head,” Stiles says to his shirt front because no matter how much she’s done, no matter how willingly, sometimes she still can’t quite manage the words without cringing.

Derek makes her look at him, a gentle smile on his face. “It’s different. Unfortunately, I don’t have any elders to go to for questions anymore, but I just know it’s different.” He presses a kiss to her lips. “It’ll happen when we have sex because my body – my wolf – wants to mate with you.”

Stiles leans back to look at him. “What was it like for your parents?”

His eyes do that inward thing, and she knows that his family is all but in the room with them now. Not for the first time she wishes she had known them. Everything that made Derek so bent on avenging his family goes back to the happiness he had known for the first fifteen years of his life. It was the one thing she understood in Peter. As much as he terrified her, it was the knowledge that she wasn’t so different from him that tempered it somehow. If that had been her mom and her dad in that basement, she can’t say she wouldn’t have found herself on the same path.

“They met when they were both your age and that was it. Monogamy is a big thing for werewolves, just like it is with wolves, but it can be with different partners over a lifetime.” He gives a slight shrug. “For them, they were forever.”

She blows out a breath, her chest tight. “It was the same for my parents. Like, I knew that they loved me, wanted me – I’m why they left L.A. and Dad became a deputy – but sometimes it could be lonely with them, they were so in love with each other. And then she was gone and he’s better than just after –” She pauses, pain as fresh as it was that day seizing her. Principal Bello had come down to the classroom herself, and when she saw Mrs. McCall waiting outside, the look on her face as she met Stiles’ eyes. “Gi – Stiles, there’s been an accident,” she had said in her soft, sweet voice, and Stiles had her arms around her waist, sobbing, before she could even finish. Her heart twists. That’s the thing people don’t tell you; the pain may eventually go away, gone more often than it comes, but it never stops being as achingly vivid as the day it happened.

“But he will never be the same without her.” Stiles slides her hands up under his shirt, needing that skin to skin contact, and he relaxes into her touch. “I love you, and somehow you’ve become forever for me – but I would be lying if I said it doesn’t scare me shitless.”

As his green eyes move over her face, they get the faintest tint of red. She can feel the Alpha simmering just below the surface, and she offers it her throat. For all her pretty words about hesitation and fear, she is his, and she knows as surely as she draws breath that he belongs to her. Derek is possessive and territorial, but unsurprisingly, so is she; he is hers. Just as she would do anything for her father and Scott, she would hunt down anyone who hurt Derek to the ends of the earth.

He burrows his face into her throat, his teeth on the cord of muscle there. It’s absurd how much her life has changed in only a matter of months, and even more absurd is the man standing in her kitchen, tongue rough on her skin. She can still see him standing there in the woods, all black leather and fuck-off attitude, and shit if she hadn’t been equal parts enthralled and terrified even then. Her curiosity at who he was notwithstanding; he was beautiful and angry and sad even as he dismissed them with a toss of Scott’s inhaler.

“It will happen,” he whispers, his mouth still at her throat. “Sooner rather than later, and after that you’re mine, Stiles. Forever. I need you to understand that. I can’t lose you.”

She knows it’s his way of still giving her an out. Scott was wrong; she realizes this was what he was worrying about that day he first saw them, that she was being claimed unwillingly, that she wasn’t fully aware of the ramifications. The stakes are so much higher for Derek; as a human, she could move on, but the fact is that’s not really true. Maybe it’s somewhere in her DNA, passed to her just as surely as her mother’s brown eyes and her father’s sense of humor. She is her parents’ child; forever means forever.

-

It surprises her how much she loves going down on him. It’s partly the control, having complete say in what is going to happen to him, how long he will be forced to wait for orgasm, but it’s also visceral. She didn’t expect that after the last few years in the locker room, listening to the girls discuss the trials of blowjobs as a necessary evil. She loves the feel of him under her tongue, in her mouth, but more than anything she loves how concentrated his scent is at his groin. It doesn’t escape her notice (nor his) that she always has to breathe him in first, echoing his own reaction to her, before she ever touches him.

“Stiles.” This is the one place his dominance is worthless, but he still tries it when she’s got him so close that he’s grabbing at her hair. She likes it when he’s so overwhelmed he can’t decide between pulling her off or pushing her down until the tip is hitting the back of her throat. He’s done both, but mostly he submits and that’s her favorite.

“Not yet,” she murmurs before trailing her tongue down the shaft to his balls. His thighs tremble beneath her hands, and that’s another trick she’s learned: after a certain point, she uses just her mouth. It’s a small torture, because she’s almost ready to come with him, but she doesn’t touch herself either. This is all about him.

In an almost detached way, she notes the way his balls have tightened, the quiver of the muscles in his belly, and then his hips jerk up, pushing him further into the heat of her mouth, his knee bending, foot pressing deeper into the mattress. “Fuck fuck fuck,” he groans.

He grabs her by the arm, dragging her up to his chest, and she feels the warmth of his cum against her stomach as his mouth crashes down on hers. He’s still thrusting, the friction of his chest against her nipples, his dick against her abdomen makes everything tighten within her. She tries to break the kiss, pull away, but he holds her fast with one hand at the small of her back, the other slipping between her thighs. It takes just a few rubs at her clit, and she’s setting her teeth into the skin of his shoulder to keep from crying out.

Long minutes pass, just their breathing filling the silence. She finally manages to maneuver herself into a more comfortable position on top of him, arms folded under her chin, and she can look at him all she wants. His eyes are closed, but she knows he’s aware of everything around them – her room, the house, and the neighborhood beyond it. It used to bug her thinking about it. No secrets. When he was staying here, she cringed at the thought of him listening to her pee – or more, which still makes her flush but isn’t quite as bothersome after some of the things he’s done to her butt – and it was like being a girl around a boy times a million. She was used to lack of privacy when it came to her thoughts or her emotions because he could scent her and accurately assess her without a second thought. But it was the first time she had ever cared because god knows, having a father and a male best friend had certainly trashed so many illusions about the opposite sex. She really should have realized she was a goner.

“You’re staring,” he mutters.

“Yep,” Stiles says without the least bit of guilt.

“I’d tell you it’s creepy but that would probably just encourage you.”

“You know me so well,” and when she says it, she really means it as a throwaway line, a joke, but it’s true.

His eyes flutter open at that and the gold flecks in them glow in the moonlight. She loves everything about him, but his human eyes still manage to steal her breath, even after all this time. They don’t miss much. They have seen so many horrors, witnessed more loss than those three times his age, and yet she can see in them the determination, the strength, that helped him persevere. That they see her and see in her everything he needs and wants.

“I love you,” she whispers, and she knows her own eyes are shiny with tears.

He skims his thumb along her lower lip, rises up to meet her kiss, and when he pulls back, he stays close so that she feels his mouth move against hers as he says the words. “I love you.”

-

“Are you sure?”

“You ask me that one more time, Derek, and I swear to GOD, I will kick you in your bits.”

He actually laughs at that. “Can’t you say knee me or something? It sounds more threatening than calling my dick ‘my bits.’”

“Will it hurt any less?”

“No.” He rolls his eyes and lets it go. That’s how she knows she’s won her point; he is physically incapable of saying the words “you” and “right” to anybody. She is no exception, and so she has learned to accept his silence as victory. Considering how much he says with silence – annoyance, desire, the urge to put a person’s head through a wall – it is a hollow one, but she takes what she can get.

She strips off her t-shirt and stands there in her bra. She bought it specially. It’s lacy and a shade of purple the sales girl called “eggplant.” All she cared about was that it wasn’t her usual, serviceable white cotton bras she bought by the three-pack at Dilly’s. Also, that it is so sheer that her nipples are all but staring back at Derek’s dilated eyes. A girl has to have her priorities, and if getting him to do what she’s asking him to do requires a little titillation, then she’ll do it. Having a male best friend has finally paid off.

She looks at him, but he’s doing exactly what she wants, staring at her boobs. “Now where does it go?”

He doesn’t say anything. He moves in, crowding her personal space, and starts sucking on her neck like always. Not what she wants, but then he’s trailing kisses along her left shoulder, and he pulls the strap of her bra down. She opens her mouth to argue again when she feels sharper-than-normal canines test her skin and then her fists are tight in his t-shirt, knuckles white, as he bites until she feels blood trickle down her shoulder blade. Air becomes secondary; staying upright is all she can focus on as he releases her once, and then sinks his teeth in again. He finally releases her shoulder, carefully lapping up the blood. Either her body has gone into shock, or there is some kind of healing property in his saliva because the pain is almost completely gone by the time he raises his head.

“You okay?”

She nods, mute, and he tilts her head so he can capture her mouth. When he presses into her mouth with his tongue, the metallic tang of her blood has mixed with his normal taste, and it doesn’t freak her out as much as she thought it would.

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