red
PAIRING: Derek/Stiles
RATING: NC17
LENGTH: 2300+
ORIGINAL POST DATE: 09-06-11
DISCLAIMER: don't own anything related to TW.
SUMMARY: when Stiles doesn't listen to Derek and almost gets himself killed, Derek decides to punish him. (Fill for this prompt.)
WARNING: spanking, dub-con
Derek didn't go around thinking about bullshit like this. It was that little freak Stiles who put the idea in his head. Stiles's fat mouth running off. Sour wolf this and sour wolf that and what're you gonna do- spank me? Grinning like he thought it was the farthest thing from Derek's mind. Like he thought Derek didn't give enough of a damn about him one way or another to even bother.
But that night, waiting around for Stiles in his room, deranged off the full moon and the overwhelming scent of Stiles and sweat and lacrosse field and school and his come, and angry that Stiles still wasn't back yet, Derek couldn't think of anything else but pushing him down over a knee and reaming him until Stiles just started begging for any small mercy Derek could be assed to give him. The minutes ticked off the clock to the throb of his anger, and the more worked up he got, the more he couldn't stop picturing it, how unconvinced Stiles would look at first, how he might even laugh about it, fidgeting over Derek's knee, unconsciously egging him on. Just asking for it. And then the pop of the first blow would come, and the pain would lax his face. He’d be in utter shock, and he'd break out in a sweat, like he'd sweated back at the vet's, when Derek had asked him to cut his arm off.
His ass was probably even paler than his face, and Derek could just see how the marks would come fast and dark, with a fever; he could feel the heat on his palms already.
Derek's hands shook booting up Stiles's computer to distract himself, slipped over the keys, clung to the mouse, bent the plastic.
Maybe Stiles would even be into it. Not at first. But afterward, when he realized it was what he needed- someone to put him in his place like this, to make him shut up and just take it.
Maybe he'd want Derek to do it again later on, too. Maybe he'd start disobeying on purpose, until Derek just had no choice but to give it to him, harder than the first time, harder and harder and harder every time he didn't learn his lesson. Maybe Stiles would need it all the time. Maybe he’d be a little slut for it.
Derek's back went tight as Stiles's jeep came rolling down the street toward the house. He could hear the way Stiles was breathing heavy, arguing with himself about looking all over and still not being able to find Scott. He'd check the papers tomorrow, early, he said, see if there'd been any mysterious deaths.
Scott was safe and in control back in his own bedroom; Derek had made sure of that. One less hormonal teenager to deal with. If anything Stiles had just gotten in the way, like always.
He was slow coming up to his room, once he'd pulled into the driveway and slammed through the front door, and his arms were loaded with chips and bread and cold cuts. In his teeth he grit another bag of chips. There was a goofy, hungry shine in his eye, though he seemed tired, and that made Derek almost just give in, just walk out and forget it. He wasn’t thinking straight right now. Full moon, goddamn.
He stood, scowling.
Stiles was confused a second. He spit the bag of chips out. "Derek... Thought you'd be out killing someone with Scott tonight. You find him?"
"What'd I tell you?"
Stiles cocked his head, like he was suddenly hard of hearing. "What?"
"Don't give me that. When I called you this afternoon to tell you that I was alive, what else did I say?"
"You said it's the full moon tonight, don't do anything stupid? And then you hung up, which, I have to say, is really bad phone manners, dude-"
Derek stalked over to him and slapped the food out of his hands, spilling it all over the floor. "Shut up." He got a hand in the collar of Stiles's shirt, jerked him around some, just to let him know who was talking here. "I told you not to go anywhere near Scott. I told you that I would watch him and that you should stay as far away from him as possible. But did you do that? No. You went over and almost got yourself killed, didn't you?"
"Does this mean you actually care, Derek?" Stiles tried a nervous laugh, but Derek jostled it out of him and started backward toward the bed, pulling him with him. The bags of chips exploded under his clumsy feet.
"I thought I could help Scott, okay? You can't just expect me to sit around and wait for him to hurt someone. Or get hurt. What if he got hurt, Derek?" Stiles grabbed Derek's wrist, "I'm tired of being on the bench. I don't want to be Robin, Derek- Derek, what're you doing? I'm sorry? Is that what you want me to say? Because I'm not, sorry to break it to you-that sorry didn't count."
"Talk is cheap," Derek growled, sitting down when the backs of his shins struck against Stiles's bed. "Clearly, you don't listen. I'm gonna try a new language."
Before Stiles could really protest or put up a half-decent fight, Derek had hauled him down over his knees. He bucked and dug his feet in, scrambled to grab the comforter, trying to get the leverage to yank himself off, but Derek just pushed an elbow ruthlessly into his spine, sharper and sharper until he finally gave up with a squawk and stopped moving altogether.
But even then, he wouldn't shut up. "You're not serious-you're not going to spank me, seriously? Derek, in case you haven't noticed, way too old to be spanked here."
Too old to be spanked? Derek snorted and didn't even bother undoing Stiles's fly before he pushed the waistband down over his ass, dragging his boxers with it.
"Derek!" Stiles picked back up struggling, clawing his fingers into Derek's pant leg, "Derek, come on, this is humiliating. This is worse than humiliating. This is- this is uber-miliating. Come on, dude-"
He went shock silent at the first touch of Derek's fingertips on his left cheek, entire body flinching.
The skin was as lily white as Derek had imagined, but there were freckles and moles, like the ones on Stiles's face, which he hadn't, and a large birthmark that split across either cheek, near the base of his spine; people probably teased him about it in the locker room. Derek knuckled over it, and Stiles choked, embarrassed. A flush spread out under the edge of his shirts, toward Derek's touch.
"How many do you deserve? Five?"
Stiles wriggled around, testing Derek's grip again. "None! Zero! Derek!"
"Ten, then."
"Derek, okay, really, this is craz-"
"Fifteen."
"Okay! Okay, fine, ten. Ten! Ten, all right? You psycho."
Derek punctuated the insult with the first loud slap. Stiles yelped, rocking hard against his thighs.
"Ow, son of a bitch! I wasn’t even ready!"
"Count," Derek muttered, stretching out the tingle in his hand. "Or I'll have to...and I might forget some."
"Derek!"
"Count. Or I'll start over." Derek landed the second slap.
"-Two" Stiles grit out, squeezing Derek's leg hard. He was angry now.
"Good boy," Derek couldn't help saying, even more patronizing. Stiles's cheeks were already turning a mad red, and Derek spanked the worst of it over again, to make it even darker.
"Three," Stiles wheezed.
They got up to eight before Stiles couldn't even hiss the numbers anymore, not even after a generous pause, his skin burning, the breath ripping out of him. He was fisting both hands in Derek's pant leg, and was overwhelmingly starting to smell like he wanted to fuck something. He probably didn't even realize how he was riding the side of Derek's knee in short, erratic thrusts. He had his head dug into the comforter in embarrassment, chewing it between his teeth.
His ass was almost completely red, the ghosts of Derek's fingers spread out over the cheeks like a brand of ownership. They would part like butter in his hands, tender and fire around his cock.
Derek forced Stiles still with a soft palm, thumb rubbing him lazily. "What number was that?"
"What?" Stiles heaved. "Se-eight... Eight."
"Eight already?" Derek spanked him again, gruffing out "eight" when Stiles didn't say "nine." And Stiles just shook his head, digging his face harder into the bed.
"Count." Derek hit him for the tenth time, and Stiles shuddered, barely whispering "nine."
The final one was nothing compared to the rest, too sloppy and gentle, and before Stiles could say "ten" or even get his wits together that it was over, Derek had an arm around his waist and was standing up to sling him face-down across the bed. He couldn't remember ever being this buzzed before. All from some little motormouth roadblock who couldn't take orders for anything and seemed like he had a thing for being beat on.
Stiles didn't make a sound for a second, but it was a short second. "Derek, oh god," he moaned, trying to worm onto his knees and reach down to pull his pants up.
Derek pushed his searching hands back and yanked his pants and boxers the rest of the way off, hooking off his shoes as he went, too. "Shut up."
"Dude, what're you gonna do now?" Stiles almost sobbed, climbing the bed. "Son of a bitch-"
Derek pushed him down again when he tried to sit up, straddled his legs. He didn't waste any time with words, just hunched over and pressed his tongue flat against the reddest part of Stiles's ass.
"Derek." Stiles tensed, muscles tight under Derek's mouth.
"Shut up," he said again, sucking a blotch of hot skin up between his lips. It made Stiles squirm, leak these harsh, overstimulated gasps, louder as Derek got more aggressive, laving every inch of his ass like he had all the time to, worrying more marks up, tongue rough. He ate the trembles right off Stiles's skin.
Stiles moved away from it at first, cowered and tensed and writhed against the bed. But then his whimpers turned brutal and starved, into full-on moaning Derek's name, and he started rolling his hips into the bed, fucking it like it had begged him for it all day.
Derek backed off him only long enough to free up Stiles's legs and spread him open wide, parting his ass cheeks with quaking fingers. Stiles didn't know what he was doing to him- he just wanted to split him on his dick-
He leaned over and pressed a tentative lick against Stiles's hole. Stiles bucked and cursed, "Derek, what the fuck-" muffled into his pillow, his body locking up. Derek just came back more sure, kissing his hole in wet, open-mouth drags, before he drove his tongue into him, felt how Stiles clenched around him instinctively.
"Oh man," Stiles groaned. "Fuck, this is…so rimming. I read about this, oh god-"
"Good for you," Derek mumbled, thrusting into him again. Dumbass did too much research. He nosed down at Stiles's balls, his scent so thick Derek could taste it, was distracted by it, wanted to rub all over it, cover it up with his own.
Stiles shuddered when Derek drew a line from them back up to Stiles's hole with his tongue, lips slick and hungry on him. He fucked his tongue back into Stiles and held it there until Stiles whimpered again, for something, a lot of babble that didn't make sense. And Derek kept fucking it into him, starting up a rhythm that Stiles easily fell into with his own cock, rutting forward into his bed and then back, onto the fat of Derek's tongue.
Stiles was so overwhelmed that he didn't last another two minutes, coming with a shudder. Derek kneaded the snap of his ass as he unloaded himself, tongue-fucking him through it. Stiles went boneless, hands melted off either edge of the bed, and Derek just licked into him until he grumbled and turned over, cupping his dick in his hands, suddenly embarrassed again. He sighed hard.
Derek pried Stiles's hands away with only a lukewarm fight from him, and just eyed the come smeared all over him, stared at it so long that Stiles got warm with humiliation and sat up, pawing him back.
His spunk smelled like copper and everything that unhinged Derek, when he was out at his house all by himself.
"Won't be able to sit for a week..." Stiles croaked, standing up on wobbly legs and stumbling over to his dresser for a clean pair of underwear and jersey shorts. He gave Derek a dull glare, while he wrung his cock clean with a sock and hitched the clothes on, blushing from ear to ear. "Asshole, what the hell was all that?"
"Didn't you like it?" Derek asked, and his voice was rough, too, his head addled with sex, cock throbbing. But Stiles was a little virgin. A little virgin to be worked up to worse and worse things, eventually.
Not yet. Not on the full moon. Not when Derek could rip him apart.
"If I say yes, does that mean we won't do it again? Because you and I both know how often you do anything I want you to do... That would be never. In case you didn't remember."
Derek bent forward to take off his shoes. "If you promise to listen to me when I tell you something important, I'll do it to you whenever you want."
"Even the, uh..." Stiles scratched the back of his neck, squinting off at something out the window. "Yeah. The. That- spanking part?" His eyes were shy coming around to look at Derek, but when they finally did, Derek just smirked.
RATING: NC17
LENGTH: 2300+
ORIGINAL POST DATE: 09-06-11
DISCLAIMER: don't own anything related to TW.
SUMMARY: when Stiles doesn't listen to Derek and almost gets himself killed, Derek decides to punish him. (Fill for this prompt.)
WARNING: spanking, dub-con
Derek didn't go around thinking about bullshit like this. It was that little freak Stiles who put the idea in his head. Stiles's fat mouth running off. Sour wolf this and sour wolf that and what're you gonna do- spank me? Grinning like he thought it was the farthest thing from Derek's mind. Like he thought Derek didn't give enough of a damn about him one way or another to even bother.
But that night, waiting around for Stiles in his room, deranged off the full moon and the overwhelming scent of Stiles and sweat and lacrosse field and school and his come, and angry that Stiles still wasn't back yet, Derek couldn't think of anything else but pushing him down over a knee and reaming him until Stiles just started begging for any small mercy Derek could be assed to give him. The minutes ticked off the clock to the throb of his anger, and the more worked up he got, the more he couldn't stop picturing it, how unconvinced Stiles would look at first, how he might even laugh about it, fidgeting over Derek's knee, unconsciously egging him on. Just asking for it. And then the pop of the first blow would come, and the pain would lax his face. He’d be in utter shock, and he'd break out in a sweat, like he'd sweated back at the vet's, when Derek had asked him to cut his arm off.
His ass was probably even paler than his face, and Derek could just see how the marks would come fast and dark, with a fever; he could feel the heat on his palms already.
Derek's hands shook booting up Stiles's computer to distract himself, slipped over the keys, clung to the mouse, bent the plastic.
Maybe Stiles would even be into it. Not at first. But afterward, when he realized it was what he needed- someone to put him in his place like this, to make him shut up and just take it.
Maybe he'd want Derek to do it again later on, too. Maybe he'd start disobeying on purpose, until Derek just had no choice but to give it to him, harder than the first time, harder and harder and harder every time he didn't learn his lesson. Maybe Stiles would need it all the time. Maybe he’d be a little slut for it.
Derek's back went tight as Stiles's jeep came rolling down the street toward the house. He could hear the way Stiles was breathing heavy, arguing with himself about looking all over and still not being able to find Scott. He'd check the papers tomorrow, early, he said, see if there'd been any mysterious deaths.
Scott was safe and in control back in his own bedroom; Derek had made sure of that. One less hormonal teenager to deal with. If anything Stiles had just gotten in the way, like always.
He was slow coming up to his room, once he'd pulled into the driveway and slammed through the front door, and his arms were loaded with chips and bread and cold cuts. In his teeth he grit another bag of chips. There was a goofy, hungry shine in his eye, though he seemed tired, and that made Derek almost just give in, just walk out and forget it. He wasn’t thinking straight right now. Full moon, goddamn.
He stood, scowling.
Stiles was confused a second. He spit the bag of chips out. "Derek... Thought you'd be out killing someone with Scott tonight. You find him?"
"What'd I tell you?"
Stiles cocked his head, like he was suddenly hard of hearing. "What?"
"Don't give me that. When I called you this afternoon to tell you that I was alive, what else did I say?"
"You said it's the full moon tonight, don't do anything stupid? And then you hung up, which, I have to say, is really bad phone manners, dude-"
Derek stalked over to him and slapped the food out of his hands, spilling it all over the floor. "Shut up." He got a hand in the collar of Stiles's shirt, jerked him around some, just to let him know who was talking here. "I told you not to go anywhere near Scott. I told you that I would watch him and that you should stay as far away from him as possible. But did you do that? No. You went over and almost got yourself killed, didn't you?"
"Does this mean you actually care, Derek?" Stiles tried a nervous laugh, but Derek jostled it out of him and started backward toward the bed, pulling him with him. The bags of chips exploded under his clumsy feet.
"I thought I could help Scott, okay? You can't just expect me to sit around and wait for him to hurt someone. Or get hurt. What if he got hurt, Derek?" Stiles grabbed Derek's wrist, "I'm tired of being on the bench. I don't want to be Robin, Derek- Derek, what're you doing? I'm sorry? Is that what you want me to say? Because I'm not, sorry to break it to you-that sorry didn't count."
"Talk is cheap," Derek growled, sitting down when the backs of his shins struck against Stiles's bed. "Clearly, you don't listen. I'm gonna try a new language."
Before Stiles could really protest or put up a half-decent fight, Derek had hauled him down over his knees. He bucked and dug his feet in, scrambled to grab the comforter, trying to get the leverage to yank himself off, but Derek just pushed an elbow ruthlessly into his spine, sharper and sharper until he finally gave up with a squawk and stopped moving altogether.
But even then, he wouldn't shut up. "You're not serious-you're not going to spank me, seriously? Derek, in case you haven't noticed, way too old to be spanked here."
Too old to be spanked? Derek snorted and didn't even bother undoing Stiles's fly before he pushed the waistband down over his ass, dragging his boxers with it.
"Derek!" Stiles picked back up struggling, clawing his fingers into Derek's pant leg, "Derek, come on, this is humiliating. This is worse than humiliating. This is- this is uber-miliating. Come on, dude-"
He went shock silent at the first touch of Derek's fingertips on his left cheek, entire body flinching.
The skin was as lily white as Derek had imagined, but there were freckles and moles, like the ones on Stiles's face, which he hadn't, and a large birthmark that split across either cheek, near the base of his spine; people probably teased him about it in the locker room. Derek knuckled over it, and Stiles choked, embarrassed. A flush spread out under the edge of his shirts, toward Derek's touch.
"How many do you deserve? Five?"
Stiles wriggled around, testing Derek's grip again. "None! Zero! Derek!"
"Ten, then."
"Derek, okay, really, this is craz-"
"Fifteen."
"Okay! Okay, fine, ten. Ten! Ten, all right? You psycho."
Derek punctuated the insult with the first loud slap. Stiles yelped, rocking hard against his thighs.
"Ow, son of a bitch! I wasn’t even ready!"
"Count," Derek muttered, stretching out the tingle in his hand. "Or I'll have to...and I might forget some."
"Derek!"
"Count. Or I'll start over." Derek landed the second slap.
"-Two" Stiles grit out, squeezing Derek's leg hard. He was angry now.
"Good boy," Derek couldn't help saying, even more patronizing. Stiles's cheeks were already turning a mad red, and Derek spanked the worst of it over again, to make it even darker.
"Three," Stiles wheezed.
They got up to eight before Stiles couldn't even hiss the numbers anymore, not even after a generous pause, his skin burning, the breath ripping out of him. He was fisting both hands in Derek's pant leg, and was overwhelmingly starting to smell like he wanted to fuck something. He probably didn't even realize how he was riding the side of Derek's knee in short, erratic thrusts. He had his head dug into the comforter in embarrassment, chewing it between his teeth.
His ass was almost completely red, the ghosts of Derek's fingers spread out over the cheeks like a brand of ownership. They would part like butter in his hands, tender and fire around his cock.
Derek forced Stiles still with a soft palm, thumb rubbing him lazily. "What number was that?"
"What?" Stiles heaved. "Se-eight... Eight."
"Eight already?" Derek spanked him again, gruffing out "eight" when Stiles didn't say "nine." And Stiles just shook his head, digging his face harder into the bed.
"Count." Derek hit him for the tenth time, and Stiles shuddered, barely whispering "nine."
The final one was nothing compared to the rest, too sloppy and gentle, and before Stiles could say "ten" or even get his wits together that it was over, Derek had an arm around his waist and was standing up to sling him face-down across the bed. He couldn't remember ever being this buzzed before. All from some little motormouth roadblock who couldn't take orders for anything and seemed like he had a thing for being beat on.
Stiles didn't make a sound for a second, but it was a short second. "Derek, oh god," he moaned, trying to worm onto his knees and reach down to pull his pants up.
Derek pushed his searching hands back and yanked his pants and boxers the rest of the way off, hooking off his shoes as he went, too. "Shut up."
"Dude, what're you gonna do now?" Stiles almost sobbed, climbing the bed. "Son of a bitch-"
Derek pushed him down again when he tried to sit up, straddled his legs. He didn't waste any time with words, just hunched over and pressed his tongue flat against the reddest part of Stiles's ass.
"Derek." Stiles tensed, muscles tight under Derek's mouth.
"Shut up," he said again, sucking a blotch of hot skin up between his lips. It made Stiles squirm, leak these harsh, overstimulated gasps, louder as Derek got more aggressive, laving every inch of his ass like he had all the time to, worrying more marks up, tongue rough. He ate the trembles right off Stiles's skin.
Stiles moved away from it at first, cowered and tensed and writhed against the bed. But then his whimpers turned brutal and starved, into full-on moaning Derek's name, and he started rolling his hips into the bed, fucking it like it had begged him for it all day.
Derek backed off him only long enough to free up Stiles's legs and spread him open wide, parting his ass cheeks with quaking fingers. Stiles didn't know what he was doing to him- he just wanted to split him on his dick-
He leaned over and pressed a tentative lick against Stiles's hole. Stiles bucked and cursed, "Derek, what the fuck-" muffled into his pillow, his body locking up. Derek just came back more sure, kissing his hole in wet, open-mouth drags, before he drove his tongue into him, felt how Stiles clenched around him instinctively.
"Oh man," Stiles groaned. "Fuck, this is…so rimming. I read about this, oh god-"
"Good for you," Derek mumbled, thrusting into him again. Dumbass did too much research. He nosed down at Stiles's balls, his scent so thick Derek could taste it, was distracted by it, wanted to rub all over it, cover it up with his own.
Stiles shuddered when Derek drew a line from them back up to Stiles's hole with his tongue, lips slick and hungry on him. He fucked his tongue back into Stiles and held it there until Stiles whimpered again, for something, a lot of babble that didn't make sense. And Derek kept fucking it into him, starting up a rhythm that Stiles easily fell into with his own cock, rutting forward into his bed and then back, onto the fat of Derek's tongue.
Stiles was so overwhelmed that he didn't last another two minutes, coming with a shudder. Derek kneaded the snap of his ass as he unloaded himself, tongue-fucking him through it. Stiles went boneless, hands melted off either edge of the bed, and Derek just licked into him until he grumbled and turned over, cupping his dick in his hands, suddenly embarrassed again. He sighed hard.
Derek pried Stiles's hands away with only a lukewarm fight from him, and just eyed the come smeared all over him, stared at it so long that Stiles got warm with humiliation and sat up, pawing him back.
His spunk smelled like copper and everything that unhinged Derek, when he was out at his house all by himself.
"Won't be able to sit for a week..." Stiles croaked, standing up on wobbly legs and stumbling over to his dresser for a clean pair of underwear and jersey shorts. He gave Derek a dull glare, while he wrung his cock clean with a sock and hitched the clothes on, blushing from ear to ear. "Asshole, what the hell was all that?"
"Didn't you like it?" Derek asked, and his voice was rough, too, his head addled with sex, cock throbbing. But Stiles was a little virgin. A little virgin to be worked up to worse and worse things, eventually.
Not yet. Not on the full moon. Not when Derek could rip him apart.
"If I say yes, does that mean we won't do it again? Because you and I both know how often you do anything I want you to do... That would be never. In case you didn't remember."
Derek bent forward to take off his shoes. "If you promise to listen to me when I tell you something important, I'll do it to you whenever you want."
"Even the, uh..." Stiles scratched the back of his neck, squinting off at something out the window. "Yeah. The. That- spanking part?" His eyes were shy coming around to look at Derek, but when they finally did, Derek just smirked.