You Belong To Me
Author: vampthenewblack
Title: You Belong To Me
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Derek, Stiles
Summary: Stiles is glorious when he's angry. The fierce energy that flows through him is almost palpable, and it excites Derek, makes him feel alive like nothing else.
Warnings: Err, kinda rough sex? Biting and handjobs, that's about it.
Word Count: 993
Prompt: #48: Possessive
Author's Notes: Maybe some OOC going on here, I flipped the expected dynamics.
"What the hell was that?" Stiles says as soon as the door to the county admin office closes behind them.
Derek decided he wants his house back. He plans to rebuild it. He's got hoops to jump through, but at least the process has begun. "What was what?" He opens the drivers door of his truck, parked right outside because it's eight thirty in the morning and the streets are almost deserted.
Stiles is still standing on the sidewalk. He splutters. "That..." He waves his arm in the direction of the office. "That. That thing you did. With the smiling." He pulls a face, like the idea makes him nauseous. "You were totally flirting with that woman." He appears to fight the urge to vomit, then yanks open the passenger door and climbs in, still staring daggers.
Derek's lips twitch as he tries not to smile. Stiles is glorious when he's angry. The fierce energy that flows through him is almost palpable, and it excites Derek, makes him feel alive like nothing else. "I got her attention," he says, and starts the engine.
Stiles is silent, seething, all the way back to the loft. It's all Derek can do to not reach out while he's driving, to touch, to feel the electricity on his fingertips. As soon as the door closes behind them, however, he gives in, wrapping his arm around Stiles' waist from behind and pulling him close so he can feel that buzz the entire length of his body.
Stiles strikes out violently, twisting, shoving at Derek's shoulder with the heel of his hand. "No," he says. "You don't get to do that now."
The fighting only arouses Derek further. He doesn't let go. "You're jealous."
"Fuck you." Stiles struggles, and Derek releases him. He storms across the room, grabs a few items of discarded clothing from the end of the bed, rummages for the keys to his Jeep in the bottom of his backpack, then shoves the clothing in.
"You're not leaving," Derek says. The amused smirk on his face dies, and all he can do is stare as Stiles pushes past him on the way to the door.
Stiles reaches for the handle. "Watch me."
Derek doesn't think before he moves, putting himself in front of the door before Stiles can get it open. He looks Stiles in the eye as Stiles' lips twist in frustrated anger. "I'm sorry," Derek says. "I had no idea you were so..." He fights the urge to smile again as a rush of pleasure swirls in his belly. "I thought this was..." He glances toward the bed, the tangled sheets, the mess they made of it last night, this morning. He thinks of the other nights they've spent in it, scattered nights Derek can count on the fingers of one hand. "I didn't know it was like that."
Stiles' mouth tightens as he grits his teeth. He looks away, but the edges of his eyes redden and Derek can smell salt.
He puts himself in Stiles' shoes, imagines watching Stiles leaning toward someone, reaching out, touching them, smiling at them the way he smiles at Derek. Anger fueled by fear prickles at his skin, makes the tips of his fingers and gums ache as he fights the shift. "Stiles," he says, his voice thick in his throat. "Stiles."
Stiles turns his eyes on Derek. They're shining, wet. "Let me go," he says, twisting his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt, his physical actions belying the words. "I can't-"
Derek shakes his head. "I won't do it again." He wraps his fingers loosely around Stiles' wrist, holding his hand there.
Slowly, Stiles relaxes his fingers, spreading his palm out flat, dropping his eyes to watch. Then he flicks his gaze up, blinks away the moisture and his stare is a fierce challenge. "I want you to be mine," he says, his voice rough but barely a whisper.
"I already am," Derek says.
Stiles' fingers dig into Derek's chest, nails pressing through the fabric of his shirt, digging into the skin.
The kiss, when it comes, is desperate and rough. It's harsh breath and biting teeth. Derek hisses in pain when Stiles catches the edge of his lip and Stiles lets out a groan. He crowds in closer, pressing Derek against the door, shoving his knee between Derek's thighs.
Derek could push him off in a second, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to, he doesn't need to. He needs this, this desperate ownership, the want and need and heat that Stiles puts off as he thrusts against him. Derek wants nothing more than to let it happen, to give up the lead he's taken for granted before.
Hurried fingers tug at his belt, awkward as Stiles tries it left handed. Derek helps, getting his own as Stiles breaks the kiss to shove his own jeans down to his hips. Stiles' hands are made for fucking, long-fingered and strong, and Derek watches for a moment as one of them grips both their cocks, presses them together and starts to stroke.
Then Stiles' lips are on his throat, his breath raising goosebumps. "You're mine," Stiles says, a harsh growl, and the part of Derek that runs on pure instinct responds, tipping his head back further, exposing all of his throat. "You fucking belong to me."
Derek comes with Stiles' blunt human teeth in his throat, pain shooting along his spine, spasms of pleasure making his knees buckle. Stiles holds him up, seventeen, but as far as Derek is concerned, a man in every way but the law. "Yeah," Derek says as he shakes through the aftershocks, his voice wrecked and broken. "Yours."
Stiles grunts into his shoulder and stiffens, spilling over Derek's softening cock.
In the aftermath, Stiles slides messy hands under Derek's clothes and over his skin. Derek's been covered in Stiles' scent before, but this time it's different, this time he's being marked.
Title: You Belong To Me
Rating: NC-17
Pairing/s: Derek/Stiles
Character/s: Derek, Stiles
Summary: Stiles is glorious when he's angry. The fierce energy that flows through him is almost palpable, and it excites Derek, makes him feel alive like nothing else.
Warnings: Err, kinda rough sex? Biting and handjobs, that's about it.
Word Count: 993
Prompt: #48: Possessive
Author's Notes: Maybe some OOC going on here, I flipped the expected dynamics.
"What the hell was that?" Stiles says as soon as the door to the county admin office closes behind them.
Derek decided he wants his house back. He plans to rebuild it. He's got hoops to jump through, but at least the process has begun. "What was what?" He opens the drivers door of his truck, parked right outside because it's eight thirty in the morning and the streets are almost deserted.
Stiles is still standing on the sidewalk. He splutters. "That..." He waves his arm in the direction of the office. "That. That thing you did. With the smiling." He pulls a face, like the idea makes him nauseous. "You were totally flirting with that woman." He appears to fight the urge to vomit, then yanks open the passenger door and climbs in, still staring daggers.
Derek's lips twitch as he tries not to smile. Stiles is glorious when he's angry. The fierce energy that flows through him is almost palpable, and it excites Derek, makes him feel alive like nothing else. "I got her attention," he says, and starts the engine.
Stiles is silent, seething, all the way back to the loft. It's all Derek can do to not reach out while he's driving, to touch, to feel the electricity on his fingertips. As soon as the door closes behind them, however, he gives in, wrapping his arm around Stiles' waist from behind and pulling him close so he can feel that buzz the entire length of his body.
Stiles strikes out violently, twisting, shoving at Derek's shoulder with the heel of his hand. "No," he says. "You don't get to do that now."
The fighting only arouses Derek further. He doesn't let go. "You're jealous."
"Fuck you." Stiles struggles, and Derek releases him. He storms across the room, grabs a few items of discarded clothing from the end of the bed, rummages for the keys to his Jeep in the bottom of his backpack, then shoves the clothing in.
"You're not leaving," Derek says. The amused smirk on his face dies, and all he can do is stare as Stiles pushes past him on the way to the door.
Stiles reaches for the handle. "Watch me."
Derek doesn't think before he moves, putting himself in front of the door before Stiles can get it open. He looks Stiles in the eye as Stiles' lips twist in frustrated anger. "I'm sorry," Derek says. "I had no idea you were so..." He fights the urge to smile again as a rush of pleasure swirls in his belly. "I thought this was..." He glances toward the bed, the tangled sheets, the mess they made of it last night, this morning. He thinks of the other nights they've spent in it, scattered nights Derek can count on the fingers of one hand. "I didn't know it was like that."
Stiles' mouth tightens as he grits his teeth. He looks away, but the edges of his eyes redden and Derek can smell salt.
He puts himself in Stiles' shoes, imagines watching Stiles leaning toward someone, reaching out, touching them, smiling at them the way he smiles at Derek. Anger fueled by fear prickles at his skin, makes the tips of his fingers and gums ache as he fights the shift. "Stiles," he says, his voice thick in his throat. "Stiles."
Stiles turns his eyes on Derek. They're shining, wet. "Let me go," he says, twisting his fingers into the front of Derek's shirt, his physical actions belying the words. "I can't-"
Derek shakes his head. "I won't do it again." He wraps his fingers loosely around Stiles' wrist, holding his hand there.
Slowly, Stiles relaxes his fingers, spreading his palm out flat, dropping his eyes to watch. Then he flicks his gaze up, blinks away the moisture and his stare is a fierce challenge. "I want you to be mine," he says, his voice rough but barely a whisper.
"I already am," Derek says.
Stiles' fingers dig into Derek's chest, nails pressing through the fabric of his shirt, digging into the skin.
The kiss, when it comes, is desperate and rough. It's harsh breath and biting teeth. Derek hisses in pain when Stiles catches the edge of his lip and Stiles lets out a groan. He crowds in closer, pressing Derek against the door, shoving his knee between Derek's thighs.
Derek could push him off in a second, but he doesn't. He doesn't want to, he doesn't need to. He needs this, this desperate ownership, the want and need and heat that Stiles puts off as he thrusts against him. Derek wants nothing more than to let it happen, to give up the lead he's taken for granted before.
Hurried fingers tug at his belt, awkward as Stiles tries it left handed. Derek helps, getting his own as Stiles breaks the kiss to shove his own jeans down to his hips. Stiles' hands are made for fucking, long-fingered and strong, and Derek watches for a moment as one of them grips both their cocks, presses them together and starts to stroke.
Then Stiles' lips are on his throat, his breath raising goosebumps. "You're mine," Stiles says, a harsh growl, and the part of Derek that runs on pure instinct responds, tipping his head back further, exposing all of his throat. "You fucking belong to me."
Derek comes with Stiles' blunt human teeth in his throat, pain shooting along his spine, spasms of pleasure making his knees buckle. Stiles holds him up, seventeen, but as far as Derek is concerned, a man in every way but the law. "Yeah," Derek says as he shakes through the aftershocks, his voice wrecked and broken. "Yours."
Stiles grunts into his shoulder and stiffens, spilling over Derek's softening cock.
In the aftermath, Stiles slides messy hands under Derek's clothes and over his skin. Derek's been covered in Stiles' scent before, but this time it's different, this time he's being marked.