[fic] No One Loves Me (And Neither Do I) 3/5 (teen wolf, Derek/Stiles/Jackson)
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Pairings: established Derek/Stiles, eventual Derek/Stiles/Jackson
Rating: R (for kink and violence)
Summary: After getting the bite, Jackson had thought that things would finally start going his way. But as Derek gets involved with Stiles, Jackson learns the hard way that werewolves and jealousy don't mix well.
Previous chapters: chapter 1, chapter 2
Warnings for this chapter: substance abuse, angst, violence and dark themes, chubby!kink, humiliation!kink
Notes: This is a sequel to We Fit So Tight You And I. I'm sorry if the pacing seems off, not really used to writing multi-chapter fic.
No One Loves Me (And Neither Do I) - Ch. 3
The calling had forced the change on him and Jackson approached the wrecked ruins of the Hale house with his canines out. He had been ready when his ears had picked it up; he had let himself be summoned. But now that he was nearing the house, Jackson felt his legs getting heavier. He wanted to stall and resist, but he couldn’t.
Jackson felt his muscles start to twitch when the ominous aura that hung around the place surrounded him, but his mind was still curiously distant from everything. It was like the drug he’d taken had woven gauze around his brain, taking the edge off his aggression.
He knew Derek was waiting for him inside. Still, he only got as far as the front steps when the door to the disheveled house was punched open and Derek met him with his eyes blazing in anger.
Catching Jackson by his shoulders, Derek backed him down and crashed him back first into the tree that stood in the yard. Pain wrought through him as Derek’s claws cut into him, piercing both his jacket and his skin. Jackson stifled his cry of pain, his jaw clenching from the effort.
Derek’s voice was more growl than words and it chilled Jackson to his bones. “This is how you repay me?” Derek said, picking him up and slamming him against the trunk of the tree.
Jackson didn’t fight back. He could feel Derek’s anger and hatred in the violent aura that rolled off him. It made the air feel heavy and suffocating, and he knew there was no point in putting up a fight. It would be over quicker if he didn’t resist.
Derek brought his face closer until he was only inches away from Jackson. His eyes were glowing with rage. “You think getting back at me through Stiles is a good idea? That just because Scott’s not there to watch over him, I wouldn’t find out?” The muscles on Derek’s face twitched and it looked like he was having hard time talking. Derek’s fists tightened, his claws digging deep into Jackson’s flesh, making him flinch from pain. “You think it’s clever to use fucking lacrosse as an excuse to rough him up?”
Jackson groaned as Derek pushed him harder against the bark, but there was something in Derek’s words that didn’t make sense. “La-lacrosse?” he muttered out loud, his disoriented mind trying to process through Derek’s speech.
“Don’t fucking deny it,” Derek growled. His voice was all sharp edges and threat. “I saw the bruises. I know it was you, Jackson.”
The combination of drugs and violence made it harder for Jackson to stay focused. He frowned, concentrating through the haze in his brain. He could feel Derek’s mood darken as he waited for Jackson to confess, but as angry as Derek was, there was something about it - about what he was saying - that didn’t add up. Why would Derek bring up lacrosse when that wasn’t the worst of it--
The pieces fell into place in Jackson’s mind. Derek was waiting for him to confess... because Stiles hadn’t.
Jackson’s eyes widened; he almost laughed at the irony of the situation. He had come fearing the worst and it turned out Stiles had done the impossible. He’d managed to fool Derek.
He couldn’t help the cold sneer that spread on his lips. “You should’ve stuck with your own kind if a bit of bruising gets you this worked up.” He saw anger flashing across Derek’s face and felt a spark of satisfaction go through him. “You take up a soft little pet like that, you’ve got to learn how to deal when it gets ruffled up,” Jackson said, his voice clipped with bitterness.
Derek growled and Jackson felt the werewolf’s claws tear away from his flesh, only to slash down across his chest in quick strokes. It was as much a disciplinary move as it was a warning to keep his mouth to himself.
“You keep the fuck away from Stiles,” Derek said. His words were coming through with difficulty and Jackson could sense how close Derek was getting to losing control.
He knew he shouldn’t take the bait. He knew he should be glad that Stiles hadn’t ratted him out, but his rational mind was corroded by jealousy and Jackson found himself saying, “You should ask your little squeeze toy what really happened. I bet he didn’t tell you how much he liked to get roughed up.”
For the briefest moment, Derek’s expression faltered. A stricken look flashed across his face and Jackson knew that his words had found their mark. He felt a rush of grim satisfaction and oh, it was worth whatever the punishment he was about to receive.
Rage finally broke the limits of Derek’s control. With a gruesome howl that made Jackson feel cold to his bones, Derek shifted. His face turned feral as his jaws grew full of razor-like teeth and the eyes that stared at Jackson were the color of blood.
The Alpha struck hard and fast. It tore into Jackson’s throat with a grisly bite and there was nothing Jackson could do to avoid it.
Red, the pulsing red of his blood as it spilled out in a gushing stream--
Voices, now there was red and voices, shouting, fighting, familiar voices, voices he knew--
“Stop! You’re killing him, you freak!”
Jackson felt someone pushing him and Derek apart, physically separating them. His knees gave out and he started to slide, but a hand grasped him and held him up against the tree. Blinking to regain his senses, Jackson’s eyes focused on the sight of flowing strawberry blond hair.
Lydia was standing between him and Derek, her claws raised to fight off the Alpha. Jackson blinked from surprise and tried to speak, but the sound that came from his mouth was close to what Jackson imagined death sounded like. He clamped his hand over his neck, shuddering from relief when he felt that there still was a neck to grasp onto.
“Take it easy, Jackson,” he heard someone mutter next to him and he realized that the one holding him up was McCall. Of course. The pack would have heard the call just as Jackson had. As relieved as he was, Jackson hated having to be rescued.
Derek’s growl of command washed over them like a bucket of ice cold water. It made Jackson’s skin prickle like a thousand needles being struck at once, making him want to curl into himself and whimper. It was clear that Derek was far from being ready to resolve the issue just by talking.
As soon as the echoes of Derek’s roar died down, Lydia and Scott pounced. The air was soon filled with the scent of blood and dirt as the two Betas took on the Alpha, their snarls ripping through the sounds of the fight. Derek didn’t hold back as he let his rage guide him, his blows ruthless and without restraint. Lucky for Jackson, it looked like Scott and Lydia’s efforts to tag team the Alpha were slowly starting to work.
With no one to keep him up, Jackson slid down the tree trunk until he reached the ground in a crumpled heap. He could feel the bleeding starting to slow as his wounds healed, but the ache of his injuries didn’t subside. Even as he felt his body starting to regenerate, his mind was still a mess of bitterness and regret.
Jackson didn’t realize he’d blanked out until he was woken by Lydia’s hand on his cheek. She was crouched in front of him and she looked wild, her long hair hanging around her face in bunches and tangles. The look in Lydia’s eyes was almost fierce.
“Is he--”
“Of course he’s alive,” Lydia snapped, cutting off Scott’s question without removing her gaze from Jackson. She carefully tilted up Jackson’s head and surveyed the damage on his neck with a frown on her face. “Can you talk?” she said as she looked back to Jackson’s eyes.
He cleared his throat and flinched. He could taste blood at the back of his mouth, the inside of his throat feeling raw and hurt. He turned his head very carefully from side to side.
Lydia’s lips pressed into a tight line. She rose up and turned away. “I think he’ll live, but those wounds will take some time to heal.” As she walked up to Derek, Jackson noticed that her blouse was shredded on one side. The fabric was tinted with blood and he could see a slowly healing trail of deep slashes on her pale skin, but Lydia didn’t seem too concerned with her wounds as she jabbed her finger into Derek’s face.
“What the hell, Derek? You almost killed him!” she shrieked, her voice rising as she let her anger guide her.
Derek had been pacing the length of the porch, his fists flexing and curling like he was still itching to continue the fight. His snarl was full of pent up rage. “He hurt Stiles.”
Jackson could feel Scott’s gaze shift on to him. “Hurt Stiles? How?” Scott said, the look on his face darkening.
Derek’s jaw tightened as he glared at Jackson with narrowed eyes. “During lacrosse practise today,” he said after a moment of silence.
“That’s it?” Lydia scoffed, tilting her head. She sounded like she couldn’t believe all this hassle was because of something so mundane.
Derek’s eyes flashed red. Scott and Lydia shifted their stances, ready to continue the fight if need arose, but Derek held himself back. “He had no reason to hurt Stiles,” he said in a tight voice. “He brought this on himself and you two should’ve stayed out of it.”
Scott frowned as he pushed his phone back into his pocket. He stepped up to Lydia’s side. “Is Stiles okay?” he said, looking worried. When Derek’s only answer was to scowl at him, Scott took a step forward. “C’mon, Derek, am I supposed to take that as a yes or a no?”
Derek glared at Scott for a moment like he wanted to attack him, but he reigned in his violence. “He’s...” Derek searched for the right word with his brows pulled into a tight frown. “He’s okay.”
Scott’s shoulders fell and he shook his head in relief. “If he really is okay, then you can’t just kill Jackson over something that happened at lacrosse practice,” Scott said slowly, making his voice sound as reasonable as he could. “He’s an idiot for going after Stiles and I don’t want Stiles hurt any more than you do, but there’s got to be another way to resolve this than tearing off Jackson’s head.”
The longer Derek listened to Scott, the harder it looked for him to keep from launching at him. Derek shifted his eyes to Jackson and he could see the embers of rage still burning in them. “He shouldn’t have started this if he’s not ready to face the consequences,” Derek said in a dark voice.
“Yes, but--”
Scott broke off in mid-sentence. He turned to look in the direction of the sound his ears had picked up. Jackson didn’t need to ask what he’d heard; the rattling noise of the Jeep as it revved on the road that lead to the house was distinct enough to be easily recognized.
Stiles brought the Jeep to a quick halt near the side of the house and pretty much fell out of the driver’s seat in his rush. He pulled himself up by the car door and took a quick look around, taking a head count of the werewolves present. Jackson saw him glance at his direction, but Stiles looked away before Jackson could catch his eyes.
Stiles eased himself away from the Jeep, directing his eyes to Derek. “I, ah,” he started, his tongue flicking out to nervously lick his lips. Stiles cleared his throat, then started again, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I assume that despite the pool of blood he’s lying in, Jackson’s not actually dead.”
Everyone glanced over to Jackson. Fuck off, he thought, but he didn’t have the energy to voice his curse. He felt Derek’s eyes boring into him and he turned his gaze to meet his. Jackson could feel the tension of unfinished business hanging in the air between them; he wasn’t surprised when he heard Derek speak the words:
“This isn’t over,” Derek said before turning away. He walked past Stiles without stopping, brushing off Stiles’ outreached hand. “Let’s go,” Derek said, pausing with his hand on the Jeep’s door.
Jackson could see the worried frown that crossed Stiles’ brow. His eyes scanned the scene, looking from Scott and Lydia to Jackson, before returning to Derek. He looked puzzled as he searched for clues on Derek’s tense frame. “Shouldn’t we--” Stiles started, but Derek cut him off.
“Stiles,” he said forcefully. His tone was high-strung and weary, as if he couldn’t wait to get away. “Let’s just go.”
Stiles gave him a long look. The conflict of emotions was evident on his face, but he gave up without a fight. “Okay, sure,” he finally said in a flat voice, shrugging as he turned to throw Scott a quick look. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
Scott nodded as a reply, looking surprised at the sudden turn of the events.
As the tail lights of the Jeep disappeared into the darkening night, Jackson saw Scott and Lydia share a look. They didn’t say it out loud, but Jackson could read the questions in their eyes as the two of them came up to him.
“What the hell are you doing messing with Stiles?” was the first thing Scott said when he crouched down in front of Jackson. He looked more annoyed than angry, seemingly less worried over Stiles now that he’d seen his best friend still in one piece. “You got a death wish or something?”
Jackson sneered at him. “None of your fucking business,” he said, but his voice was distorted and slurred and not nearly as menacing as he had intended.
Scott and Lydia shared another glance. “We can’t take him to the hospital,” Scott said before Lydia could even suggest it. He looked down at Jackson, tilting his head to better see the wounds on his neck, and grimaced. “Let’s take him to the animal clinic.”
“Anima--” Jackson tried to protest when Scott and Lydia picked him up, but his words became a garbled groan as the ache in his body flared up. He doubled over, almost passing out from the pain. Even with his regenerative system working full time, he felt like his body was on the verge of shutting down. As ready as he had been to give up his life a moment ago, he now feared for what had been left of it.
“C’mon, let’s get you patched up,” Scott said and this time, Jackson didn’t resist.
***
Scott almost ran Stiles over with his bike the next morning. “Dude, what the hell that?” he exclaimed as he leapt off the saddle right onto Stiles’ path.
“Whoa!” Stiles jumped back and if it hadn’t been for Scott’s fast reflexes, he would have most definitely fallen over. Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him back into balance, flashing an apologetic smile. Stiles was just relieved that Scott had missed hitting his bruises.
“Sorry,” Scott said, letting go of Stiles’ arm. He looked around quickly, but as usual, the morning crowd that milled around the school’s parking lot was paying no attention to the two of them.
“What’s up with last night? Derek was acting like he’d gone crazy!”
Stiles shook his head, brushing a hand over his injured arm. “Well, you were there before me, weren’t you?” Stiles said, but it was obvious that he was avoiding answering Scott’s question.
Scott glanced at him curiously as they started walking towards the school. “Yeah, but, it was Derek,” Scott said, like that should explain everything. They stopped beside the bike rack and Scott leaned down to lock his bike. “I thought you might know something more about what happened.”
Stiles ran a hand over his head, feeling oddly pressured. “You know him. He likes messing with Jackson.”
“You call that ‘messing’‘? He almost bit off Jackson’s head, like, literally bit it off! I mean, I’m not Jackson’s biggest fan, but that was some serious damage.” Scott straightened up and frowned at Stiles, his eyes searching for clues on Stiles’ face. “What happened during practice? Derek said Jackson roughed you up some,” he said. Stiles saw him looking down at his body for obvious signs of damage.
Stiles pretended not to notice Scott’s eyes lingering on his waistline for a tad longer than was necessary, nor the quirk of Scott’s eyebrow as he registered that there was something more there than what he’d seen before. When Scott looked away, Stiles adjusted his shirt, willing himself not to blush.
“Yeah, Jackson got a bit over-excited, in that bloodlust-y losing-control kind of way, if you know what I mean,” Stiles said as they started walking again. “Got some bruises to show for it, but I’ll live.”
“That must be what pushed Derek over the edge,” Scott said. “If I think about Allison getting hurt...” His face got serious for a moment and his voice was slightly deeper when he continued, “I guess I can relate.”
Stiles just shrugged.
“Still, that was kind of an overkill, even for Derek. Did he say something about it, after you two left?”
“Not really,” Stiles said, not looking directly at Scott. He didn’t need to be reminded of the awkward silence and unspoken questions that had filled the car ride home the night before. Derek had mostly stared out of the window without speaking, answering Stiles’ attempts at making conversation with clipped words or just plain silence. It had been oddly depressing to go back to the way things had once been, before they had started dating.
“He just hitched a ride with me to see me home safely. He took off when we got there, didn’t say a thing.”
Showing admirable tact, Scott didn’t press the issue. Instead, he seemed to be musing something else, his forehead creased in thought. They had reached the classroom for their first lesson and taken their seats at the back of the room. After a moment, Scott turned on his seat to look at Stiles.
“Full moon’s still a few weeks away,” he started slowly. Stiles wasn’t sure where Scott was aiming at, so he waited for him to continue. “It’s not like Jackson to lose control like that, especially during lacrosse. You know how serious he is about playing.”
Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that it had been just Stiles that had made Jackson lose it, Stiles settled for accompanying Scott’s line of thought. “Not to mention smug as hell, but you’re right.”
Scott glanced away, apparently still processing something. “Now that I think about it, he hasn’t really been himself lately.”
Stiles stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Like,” Scott looked back at Stiles, “you know those stupid drills Derek makes us do? All the sparring and stuff.” He pulled a face that showed how highly he thought of Derek’s werewolf training sessions.
Stiles nodded. Derek had decided it was better that Stiles didn’t attend their pack meetings unless there was something that specifically called for him to be there. He had justified it as a safety measure, but Stiles suspected it was more because of the distraction factor he posed - not as much for the rest of the pack as for Derek himself. Still, Stiles wasn’t exactly sorry he didn’t have to sit in the sidelines and cheer as Derek made the rest of the pack try and beat him up. He could think of better ways to pass his time.
“Jackson’s always liked that stuff, he just loved showing off to Derek when we did training, but lately he’s been...” Scott mused, the frown coming back to his face. “I don’t know, more volatile somehow. He shifts on weird moments, like he just can’t control himself like he used to, and whenever Derek asks him something, he just snaps. He’s been kind of broody lately.”
Stiles had been listening to Scott with growing interest. There was something very obvious in what Scott was saying, but Stiles just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Around them, the rest of the class had filled their seats and the chatter of his classmates made it hard to concentrate. He resisted the urge to stand up and shush the room so that he could think in peace.
“It’s like he’s become what Derek used to be, before you two got together. It’s bizarre,” he heard Scott say, and that’s when it clicked.
It was so obvious Stiles wanted to smack his forehead, so that’s what he did. “Of course!” he said triumphantly, earning a puzzled look from Scott.
“What?” Scott asked.
Just at that moment, their teacher walked into the room and called the class to attention. Scott glared at him to get him to hurry, but Stiles shrugged off his pleading look and busied himself with leafing through his textbook.
It was so evident, now that Stiles thought about it. It explained why Jackson had only come after him; why he’d been so intense about Stiles’ relationship with Derek, like it had somehow personally offended him that they were together.
Of course it offended him, because Jackson was jealous.
The answer had been right in front of him the whole time. Stiles wanted to kick himself for not figuring it out sooner, but he’d been too wrapped up in other things to notice Jackson’s feelings towards Derek.
Stiles knew that Scott was waiting for him to reveal his thoughts after class, but he realized that he wasn’t ready to share them yet. He needed to process this new piece of the puzzle before he shared it with Scott. So when the class ended, Stiles ignored Scott’s puzzled look and deftly diverted the conversation to the mystery animal case Scott was helping the vet with.
***
Stiles wasn’t surprised to find Derek waiting for him when he got home. Derek was sitting on his bed with his elbows resting on his thighs and his dark head hanging between his shoulders; he didn’t look up when Stiles entered the room. Stiles could easily imagine Derek waiting for him like this for hours, his manner not patient but resigned. For some reason, the image left Stiles feeling restless and troubled.
Stiles dropped his schoolbag by the door and slowly approached Derek. He stopped a few feet in front of him, his hands hanging by his sides uncertainly. “Hey,” Stiles muttered softly. He wanted to reach out and brush his hand through Derek’s hair, but somehow that didn’t seem appropriate.
Derek didn’t reply. If Stiles hadn’t known better, he would have thought Derek hadn’t even noticed his arrival. But the signs were there, if you knew where to look. The tension in Derek’s shoulders, the resolute way he kept his face hidden, it was all there because he knew Stiles was waiting for him to respond.
As the moment dragged on, Stiles could feel the sense of dread pool heavy in the pit of his stomach. He had to force himself to stay still, to not launch into rambling about something completely irrelevant just to break the silence that was starting to suffocate him. He could read Derek’s mood through his body language and knew that pushing him would be a mistake. As much as Stiles wanted a resolution, he didn’t want to fight for it.
“Come here,” Derek murmured. He reached for Stiles’ shirt and tugged him forward until his forehead rested against Stiles’ middle. It was a simple gesture, but it was loaded with implications and feelings that were yet to find voice.
Stiles let his arms slip around Derek’s shoulders, his fingers curling into the short hair at the nape of his neck. There was tension in Derek’s body still, but Stiles felt relieved. This was a start, not the end.
“You want to talk?” Stiles asked after a moment.
Derek turned his head, pressing his cheek against Stiles’ soft stomach. His hand was resting against Stiles’ thigh, just a light connecting touch, nothing more. Stiles could sense the conflict in Derek, the need and wanting warring against something else, something dark and unpleasant.
He couldn’t hold himself back. He had to ask the question before it burned a hole in his head. “What happened with Jackson? Did he... did he say...” Stiles couldn’t finish the sentence. He could hear the strain in his voice and he wished it wasn’t as obvious to Derek as it was to him.
When he felt Derek become utterly still, Stiles knew he had hit the nail on the head. He could feel his heart beating hard and heavy in his chest, betraying his anxiousness where his silence could have saved him. The knowledge that Derek could hear his reaction only added to the feeling of dread.
Stiles waited for Derek to pull back, but he didn’t. As if he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulled him closer. “Stiles,” Derek’s voice was rough, his words murmured against Stiles’ shirt, “you need to tell me what happened.”
Derek’s hands were tight around his waist. Stiles flinched as his sore ribs protested, but accepted the pain as part of the inevitable fallout.
Because Derek knew, he had to know to ask that. Jackson had told him something, something bad that made Derek act like Stiles owed him an explanation, or a confession.
Derek nuzzled his face against Stiles’ belly, like he was seeking comfort in the familiar act, but the touch of his hands was rougher than usual. He grasped onto Stiles’ soft sides almost desperately, like he wanted to drag the truth out of him with just the touch of his hands.
Stiles gasped at the sensation. He had become so used to Derek’s hands being gentle with him that the contrast was startling, the strong fingers that kneaded into his flesh so different from usual. Stiles tried to hang on to the passion he felt in Derek’s touch, but feel of his hard hands pulled up another memory. It unfolded and overlapped the present, sending a cold shiver through Stiles’ spine.
Jackson’s hands had felt rough, but his rough was not tender, not teasing. His touch on Stiles’ fat had not been meant for pleasure, but to torment him in the most effective way.
“Is this what Derek’s so into? You're the fat little piggy to his big bad wolf, aren't you?"
The spike of shame made Stiles’ face flush, but he couldn’t banish the arousal that came with the memory.
Derek’s fingers dug into his love handles. “Stiles,” he groaned, the scent of Stiles’ arousal like catnip to him. He burrowed his face into Stiles’ belly, allowing himself a moment of pleasure before he forced himself to back away. “I know you’re not telling me everything,” Derek said. The tone of his voice was forced, but at the same time almost pleading. “That bruise on your arm isn’t from lacrosse, is it?
Stiles felt his heart pounding inside his chest. He took a deep breath, then exhaled; it didn’t relax him in the least. “No,” he said.
“But it was Jackson who did it.” Derek’s words were a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
Stiles knew that Derek was waiting for him to continue, but he couldn’t find the words. It should have been simple - to say that it had been Jackson who had attacked him - but there was more to it than that.
In all the wrong ways, Stiles had been turned on by Jackson’s cruel words and his mercilessly prodding fingers. That hadn’t been Jackson’s intention, Stiles was sure of it, but he found himself unable to forget what had happened.
Unable to deny he wanted it to happen again.
Stiles splayed his hands on Derek’s shoulders, as if to anchor himself down before starting to speak. “It was after the practice, he... Jackson, he was all over the place. I found him hiding in the supply closet and,” Stiles paused, calming himself before he started to sound rambling. “I tried to talk to him, get him to... I don’t know, calm down, let me help him somehow.”
He could feel Derek’s disapproval in the jerk that went through him. “You should have left him alone. I would’ve dealt it,” Derek said in a dark voice.
Stiles cringed at his words. He knew Derek meant only the best, but his protective side was still not one of Stiles’ favorites. This time, though, his worrying was fully justified, so Stiles didn’t argue. “I know, I know,” he muttered. I got the bruises to prove it, he continued in his head, but he didn’t say it out loud.
“What happened?”
Stiles didn’t allow himself to hesitate, not now when he had gotten started. “He got pissed, obviously. Dude’s got some issues with taking advice from ‘humans’, like he’s even higher above us mortals now that he’s a werewolf or something. He,” Stiles said, his fingers twitching nervously. He buried them in Derek’s neck, resisting the urge to close his eyes. “He grabbed me and,” he paused to swallow, “and...”
The scene that replayed in his head got his body pulsing with dark arousal. Stiles could feel Derek’s body against him, but his mind had taken him back to the tiny dark room filled with the smell of old sweat and dust. In front of him, Jackson’s eyes burned with cold light, his fingers prodding, teasing, taunting him--
Derek growled, and the warning in his voice jerked Stiles back from the memory. He could feel Derek shudder against him, but it was not with excitement. It was with rage.
“What happened?”
Stiles could feel the heat on his face, in the pit of his stomach, as he held onto Derek’s shivering form. His words were whispered like a confession when he continued.
“He called me fat, and, I, it, I got turned on.”
Stiles could barely breathe as he waited for Derek’s reply. It was impossible to predict how the werewolf would react. Stiles suddenly realized that there was a chance, a slim but still a very real chance that Derek would take out his anger on him. He fell still, afraid to make even the slightest move.
For a moment, Derek seemed completely gridlocked. He didn’t push Stiles away, but Stiles got the distinct impression that he wanted to; some part of Derek just couldn’t bear to let go. His voice was strung tight with emotion when he spoke, rendering it almost unrecognizable:
“Jackson said you wanted it.”
Stiles couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him. “No! I, I didn’t,” he stuttered, realizing too late where Derek’s mind was headed.
“You know I can smell your arousal.”
“I didn’t ask for it, I would never do that behind your back,” Stiles said, his voice almost breaking as he rushed to explain.
The shuddering tremors that went through Derek’s body felt like tiny earthquakes, the urge to change making his muscles twitch and spasm under Stiles’ touch. Stiles had never seen Derek battle for his self-control to such an extent. Frankly, it scared the hell out of him.
Suddenly, Derek lifted his head. His eyes blazed brilliant red under his dark brows, his teeth sharp and distorting his words:
“Then why didn’t you tell me Jackson assaulted you? Why did you hide all this from me, Stiles?”
His words almost choking in his throat, Stiles tried to take a step back, but Derek was holding onto him still. “It, I was embarrassed, okay? I shouldn’t get a boner from by something like that, I, I didn’t want to tell you.”
Derek stared at him and Stiles could feel the wolf in him through the weight of his gaze. All he could do was to stare back and try to communicate his honesty through his eyes. He was just starting to get restless, when he realized that Derek wasn’t just staring, he was listening.
“I liked it when Jackson called me fat,” Stiles repeated. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to freak you out.” He knew that Derek could hear past the tension that made his voice sound hoarse. Derek could hear that he was speaking the truth.
Slowly, Derek pulled his hands away from Stiles. He seemed to still be processing the whole thing. Anger and relief played across his features as Derek wiped a hand across his face. Stiles noticed it was still trembling slightly and he reached out on reflex, wanting to soothe Derek.
Derek froze when his fingers touched his skin, but he let Stiles pull his hand away from his face.
“Stiles...” Derek said, not looking at him. “I told you about Kate, right? That she was my first.”
Stiles could barely nod. He remembered all too vividly that short but revealing conversation, as well as the sacred promise he’d made to himself to never try and pry open that particular can of worms again. At least, not until Derek was ready to bring it up again. Which seemed to be now, and just the context in which her name was mentioned made Stiles feel slightly nauseous.
“She liked things rough,” Derek said, bitterness cutting an edge to his words. “She knew what I was, but she still pushed me to...” Derek’s jaw tightened and he took a moment to gather himself.
Stiles had brought Derek’s hand to rest against his middle and he could feel Derek’s palm now pressing against him. It was strangely relieving to feel Derek’s touch on him again, like it was proof of him accepting Stiles’ consoling presence. Stiles’ fingers traced patterns on Derek’s arm, seeking to reassure him as he waited for him to continue.
“She pushed me to do things, say things, I wouldn’t normally have done, but I thought,” Derek cut himself off, shaking his head. Then he looked up at Stiles and there was a brief flash of bare emotion in his eyes. “She was my first, so I thought that’s what you do.”
Ouch.
Stiles couldn’t think of anything to say, but Derek hadn’t finished yet.
“Stiles, I can’t--” Derek started roughly, then started again in a less urgent note. “I can’t do that kind of thing with you. I won’t hurt you like that, not even if you’d want me to.” His voice vibrated with hopeless emotion.
The sheer horror of his situation crashed over Stiles. Somewhere along him keeping a secret from Derek had turned into Derek thinking Stiles wanted him to hurt him - something that Stiles would never in a million years have thought of asking from him. He couldn’t imagine himself wanting to trade Derek’s reverence and his warmth to something like Jackson’s cruelty.
“Derek, that’s not, I don’t want that,” Stiles said weakly. He felt Derek’s eyes scanning his face, trying to read through his expression, but he didn’t know what more to say.
Despite his miserable thoughts, Stiles felt a burst of anger flaring inside him. He was fed up with feeling guilty, with trying to save Jackson’s ass from his own stupid mistakes. He had given Jackson the perfect way out, only to have it turned against him.
Stiles knew that Derek could read the change in his mood from his face and he spoke before Derek could question him. “I don’t want it,” Stiles said, “not for myself.” He was surprised at how steady his voice sounded, but he was glad it did. Stiles didn’t need his voice to betray the eagerness he was hiding behind his calm face.
//end of chapter 3 - continue to chapter 4
Pairings: established Derek/Stiles, eventual Derek/Stiles/Jackson
Rating: R (for kink and violence)
Summary: After getting the bite, Jackson had thought that things would finally start going his way. But as Derek gets involved with Stiles, Jackson learns the hard way that werewolves and jealousy don't mix well.
Previous chapters: chapter 1, chapter 2
Warnings for this chapter: substance abuse, angst, violence and dark themes, chubby!kink, humiliation!kink
Notes: This is a sequel to We Fit So Tight You And I. I'm sorry if the pacing seems off, not really used to writing multi-chapter fic.
No One Loves Me (And Neither Do I) - Ch. 3
The calling had forced the change on him and Jackson approached the wrecked ruins of the Hale house with his canines out. He had been ready when his ears had picked it up; he had let himself be summoned. But now that he was nearing the house, Jackson felt his legs getting heavier. He wanted to stall and resist, but he couldn’t.
Jackson felt his muscles start to twitch when the ominous aura that hung around the place surrounded him, but his mind was still curiously distant from everything. It was like the drug he’d taken had woven gauze around his brain, taking the edge off his aggression.
He knew Derek was waiting for him inside. Still, he only got as far as the front steps when the door to the disheveled house was punched open and Derek met him with his eyes blazing in anger.
Catching Jackson by his shoulders, Derek backed him down and crashed him back first into the tree that stood in the yard. Pain wrought through him as Derek’s claws cut into him, piercing both his jacket and his skin. Jackson stifled his cry of pain, his jaw clenching from the effort.
Derek’s voice was more growl than words and it chilled Jackson to his bones. “This is how you repay me?” Derek said, picking him up and slamming him against the trunk of the tree.
Jackson didn’t fight back. He could feel Derek’s anger and hatred in the violent aura that rolled off him. It made the air feel heavy and suffocating, and he knew there was no point in putting up a fight. It would be over quicker if he didn’t resist.
Derek brought his face closer until he was only inches away from Jackson. His eyes were glowing with rage. “You think getting back at me through Stiles is a good idea? That just because Scott’s not there to watch over him, I wouldn’t find out?” The muscles on Derek’s face twitched and it looked like he was having hard time talking. Derek’s fists tightened, his claws digging deep into Jackson’s flesh, making him flinch from pain. “You think it’s clever to use fucking lacrosse as an excuse to rough him up?”
Jackson groaned as Derek pushed him harder against the bark, but there was something in Derek’s words that didn’t make sense. “La-lacrosse?” he muttered out loud, his disoriented mind trying to process through Derek’s speech.
“Don’t fucking deny it,” Derek growled. His voice was all sharp edges and threat. “I saw the bruises. I know it was you, Jackson.”
The combination of drugs and violence made it harder for Jackson to stay focused. He frowned, concentrating through the haze in his brain. He could feel Derek’s mood darken as he waited for Jackson to confess, but as angry as Derek was, there was something about it - about what he was saying - that didn’t add up. Why would Derek bring up lacrosse when that wasn’t the worst of it--
The pieces fell into place in Jackson’s mind. Derek was waiting for him to confess... because Stiles hadn’t.
Jackson’s eyes widened; he almost laughed at the irony of the situation. He had come fearing the worst and it turned out Stiles had done the impossible. He’d managed to fool Derek.
He couldn’t help the cold sneer that spread on his lips. “You should’ve stuck with your own kind if a bit of bruising gets you this worked up.” He saw anger flashing across Derek’s face and felt a spark of satisfaction go through him. “You take up a soft little pet like that, you’ve got to learn how to deal when it gets ruffled up,” Jackson said, his voice clipped with bitterness.
Derek growled and Jackson felt the werewolf’s claws tear away from his flesh, only to slash down across his chest in quick strokes. It was as much a disciplinary move as it was a warning to keep his mouth to himself.
“You keep the fuck away from Stiles,” Derek said. His words were coming through with difficulty and Jackson could sense how close Derek was getting to losing control.
He knew he shouldn’t take the bait. He knew he should be glad that Stiles hadn’t ratted him out, but his rational mind was corroded by jealousy and Jackson found himself saying, “You should ask your little squeeze toy what really happened. I bet he didn’t tell you how much he liked to get roughed up.”
For the briefest moment, Derek’s expression faltered. A stricken look flashed across his face and Jackson knew that his words had found their mark. He felt a rush of grim satisfaction and oh, it was worth whatever the punishment he was about to receive.
Rage finally broke the limits of Derek’s control. With a gruesome howl that made Jackson feel cold to his bones, Derek shifted. His face turned feral as his jaws grew full of razor-like teeth and the eyes that stared at Jackson were the color of blood.
The Alpha struck hard and fast. It tore into Jackson’s throat with a grisly bite and there was nothing Jackson could do to avoid it.
Red, the pulsing red of his blood as it spilled out in a gushing stream--
Voices, now there was red and voices, shouting, fighting, familiar voices, voices he knew--
“Stop! You’re killing him, you freak!”
Jackson felt someone pushing him and Derek apart, physically separating them. His knees gave out and he started to slide, but a hand grasped him and held him up against the tree. Blinking to regain his senses, Jackson’s eyes focused on the sight of flowing strawberry blond hair.
Lydia was standing between him and Derek, her claws raised to fight off the Alpha. Jackson blinked from surprise and tried to speak, but the sound that came from his mouth was close to what Jackson imagined death sounded like. He clamped his hand over his neck, shuddering from relief when he felt that there still was a neck to grasp onto.
“Take it easy, Jackson,” he heard someone mutter next to him and he realized that the one holding him up was McCall. Of course. The pack would have heard the call just as Jackson had. As relieved as he was, Jackson hated having to be rescued.
Derek’s growl of command washed over them like a bucket of ice cold water. It made Jackson’s skin prickle like a thousand needles being struck at once, making him want to curl into himself and whimper. It was clear that Derek was far from being ready to resolve the issue just by talking.
As soon as the echoes of Derek’s roar died down, Lydia and Scott pounced. The air was soon filled with the scent of blood and dirt as the two Betas took on the Alpha, their snarls ripping through the sounds of the fight. Derek didn’t hold back as he let his rage guide him, his blows ruthless and without restraint. Lucky for Jackson, it looked like Scott and Lydia’s efforts to tag team the Alpha were slowly starting to work.
With no one to keep him up, Jackson slid down the tree trunk until he reached the ground in a crumpled heap. He could feel the bleeding starting to slow as his wounds healed, but the ache of his injuries didn’t subside. Even as he felt his body starting to regenerate, his mind was still a mess of bitterness and regret.
Jackson didn’t realize he’d blanked out until he was woken by Lydia’s hand on his cheek. She was crouched in front of him and she looked wild, her long hair hanging around her face in bunches and tangles. The look in Lydia’s eyes was almost fierce.
“Is he--”
“Of course he’s alive,” Lydia snapped, cutting off Scott’s question without removing her gaze from Jackson. She carefully tilted up Jackson’s head and surveyed the damage on his neck with a frown on her face. “Can you talk?” she said as she looked back to Jackson’s eyes.
He cleared his throat and flinched. He could taste blood at the back of his mouth, the inside of his throat feeling raw and hurt. He turned his head very carefully from side to side.
Lydia’s lips pressed into a tight line. She rose up and turned away. “I think he’ll live, but those wounds will take some time to heal.” As she walked up to Derek, Jackson noticed that her blouse was shredded on one side. The fabric was tinted with blood and he could see a slowly healing trail of deep slashes on her pale skin, but Lydia didn’t seem too concerned with her wounds as she jabbed her finger into Derek’s face.
“What the hell, Derek? You almost killed him!” she shrieked, her voice rising as she let her anger guide her.
Derek had been pacing the length of the porch, his fists flexing and curling like he was still itching to continue the fight. His snarl was full of pent up rage. “He hurt Stiles.”
Jackson could feel Scott’s gaze shift on to him. “Hurt Stiles? How?” Scott said, the look on his face darkening.
Derek’s jaw tightened as he glared at Jackson with narrowed eyes. “During lacrosse practise today,” he said after a moment of silence.
“That’s it?” Lydia scoffed, tilting her head. She sounded like she couldn’t believe all this hassle was because of something so mundane.
Derek’s eyes flashed red. Scott and Lydia shifted their stances, ready to continue the fight if need arose, but Derek held himself back. “He had no reason to hurt Stiles,” he said in a tight voice. “He brought this on himself and you two should’ve stayed out of it.”
Scott frowned as he pushed his phone back into his pocket. He stepped up to Lydia’s side. “Is Stiles okay?” he said, looking worried. When Derek’s only answer was to scowl at him, Scott took a step forward. “C’mon, Derek, am I supposed to take that as a yes or a no?”
Derek glared at Scott for a moment like he wanted to attack him, but he reigned in his violence. “He’s...” Derek searched for the right word with his brows pulled into a tight frown. “He’s okay.”
Scott’s shoulders fell and he shook his head in relief. “If he really is okay, then you can’t just kill Jackson over something that happened at lacrosse practice,” Scott said slowly, making his voice sound as reasonable as he could. “He’s an idiot for going after Stiles and I don’t want Stiles hurt any more than you do, but there’s got to be another way to resolve this than tearing off Jackson’s head.”
The longer Derek listened to Scott, the harder it looked for him to keep from launching at him. Derek shifted his eyes to Jackson and he could see the embers of rage still burning in them. “He shouldn’t have started this if he’s not ready to face the consequences,” Derek said in a dark voice.
“Yes, but--”
Scott broke off in mid-sentence. He turned to look in the direction of the sound his ears had picked up. Jackson didn’t need to ask what he’d heard; the rattling noise of the Jeep as it revved on the road that lead to the house was distinct enough to be easily recognized.
Stiles brought the Jeep to a quick halt near the side of the house and pretty much fell out of the driver’s seat in his rush. He pulled himself up by the car door and took a quick look around, taking a head count of the werewolves present. Jackson saw him glance at his direction, but Stiles looked away before Jackson could catch his eyes.
Stiles eased himself away from the Jeep, directing his eyes to Derek. “I, ah,” he started, his tongue flicking out to nervously lick his lips. Stiles cleared his throat, then started again, but there was still a hint of uncertainty in his voice. “I assume that despite the pool of blood he’s lying in, Jackson’s not actually dead.”
Everyone glanced over to Jackson. Fuck off, he thought, but he didn’t have the energy to voice his curse. He felt Derek’s eyes boring into him and he turned his gaze to meet his. Jackson could feel the tension of unfinished business hanging in the air between them; he wasn’t surprised when he heard Derek speak the words:
“This isn’t over,” Derek said before turning away. He walked past Stiles without stopping, brushing off Stiles’ outreached hand. “Let’s go,” Derek said, pausing with his hand on the Jeep’s door.
Jackson could see the worried frown that crossed Stiles’ brow. His eyes scanned the scene, looking from Scott and Lydia to Jackson, before returning to Derek. He looked puzzled as he searched for clues on Derek’s tense frame. “Shouldn’t we--” Stiles started, but Derek cut him off.
“Stiles,” he said forcefully. His tone was high-strung and weary, as if he couldn’t wait to get away. “Let’s just go.”
Stiles gave him a long look. The conflict of emotions was evident on his face, but he gave up without a fight. “Okay, sure,” he finally said in a flat voice, shrugging as he turned to throw Scott a quick look. “I’ll catch up with you tomorrow.”
Scott nodded as a reply, looking surprised at the sudden turn of the events.
As the tail lights of the Jeep disappeared into the darkening night, Jackson saw Scott and Lydia share a look. They didn’t say it out loud, but Jackson could read the questions in their eyes as the two of them came up to him.
“What the hell are you doing messing with Stiles?” was the first thing Scott said when he crouched down in front of Jackson. He looked more annoyed than angry, seemingly less worried over Stiles now that he’d seen his best friend still in one piece. “You got a death wish or something?”
Jackson sneered at him. “None of your fucking business,” he said, but his voice was distorted and slurred and not nearly as menacing as he had intended.
Scott and Lydia shared another glance. “We can’t take him to the hospital,” Scott said before Lydia could even suggest it. He looked down at Jackson, tilting his head to better see the wounds on his neck, and grimaced. “Let’s take him to the animal clinic.”
“Anima--” Jackson tried to protest when Scott and Lydia picked him up, but his words became a garbled groan as the ache in his body flared up. He doubled over, almost passing out from the pain. Even with his regenerative system working full time, he felt like his body was on the verge of shutting down. As ready as he had been to give up his life a moment ago, he now feared for what had been left of it.
“C’mon, let’s get you patched up,” Scott said and this time, Jackson didn’t resist.
***
Scott almost ran Stiles over with his bike the next morning. “Dude, what the hell that?” he exclaimed as he leapt off the saddle right onto Stiles’ path.
“Whoa!” Stiles jumped back and if it hadn’t been for Scott’s fast reflexes, he would have most definitely fallen over. Scott grabbed his arm and pulled him back into balance, flashing an apologetic smile. Stiles was just relieved that Scott had missed hitting his bruises.
“Sorry,” Scott said, letting go of Stiles’ arm. He looked around quickly, but as usual, the morning crowd that milled around the school’s parking lot was paying no attention to the two of them.
“What’s up with last night? Derek was acting like he’d gone crazy!”
Stiles shook his head, brushing a hand over his injured arm. “Well, you were there before me, weren’t you?” Stiles said, but it was obvious that he was avoiding answering Scott’s question.
Scott glanced at him curiously as they started walking towards the school. “Yeah, but, it was Derek,” Scott said, like that should explain everything. They stopped beside the bike rack and Scott leaned down to lock his bike. “I thought you might know something more about what happened.”
Stiles ran a hand over his head, feeling oddly pressured. “You know him. He likes messing with Jackson.”
“You call that ‘messing’‘? He almost bit off Jackson’s head, like, literally bit it off! I mean, I’m not Jackson’s biggest fan, but that was some serious damage.” Scott straightened up and frowned at Stiles, his eyes searching for clues on Stiles’ face. “What happened during practice? Derek said Jackson roughed you up some,” he said. Stiles saw him looking down at his body for obvious signs of damage.
Stiles pretended not to notice Scott’s eyes lingering on his waistline for a tad longer than was necessary, nor the quirk of Scott’s eyebrow as he registered that there was something more there than what he’d seen before. When Scott looked away, Stiles adjusted his shirt, willing himself not to blush.
“Yeah, Jackson got a bit over-excited, in that bloodlust-y losing-control kind of way, if you know what I mean,” Stiles said as they started walking again. “Got some bruises to show for it, but I’ll live.”
“That must be what pushed Derek over the edge,” Scott said. “If I think about Allison getting hurt...” His face got serious for a moment and his voice was slightly deeper when he continued, “I guess I can relate.”
Stiles just shrugged.
“Still, that was kind of an overkill, even for Derek. Did he say something about it, after you two left?”
“Not really,” Stiles said, not looking directly at Scott. He didn’t need to be reminded of the awkward silence and unspoken questions that had filled the car ride home the night before. Derek had mostly stared out of the window without speaking, answering Stiles’ attempts at making conversation with clipped words or just plain silence. It had been oddly depressing to go back to the way things had once been, before they had started dating.
“He just hitched a ride with me to see me home safely. He took off when we got there, didn’t say a thing.”
Showing admirable tact, Scott didn’t press the issue. Instead, he seemed to be musing something else, his forehead creased in thought. They had reached the classroom for their first lesson and taken their seats at the back of the room. After a moment, Scott turned on his seat to look at Stiles.
“Full moon’s still a few weeks away,” he started slowly. Stiles wasn’t sure where Scott was aiming at, so he waited for him to continue. “It’s not like Jackson to lose control like that, especially during lacrosse. You know how serious he is about playing.”
Not wanting to draw attention to the fact that it had been just Stiles that had made Jackson lose it, Stiles settled for accompanying Scott’s line of thought. “Not to mention smug as hell, but you’re right.”
Scott glanced away, apparently still processing something. “Now that I think about it, he hasn’t really been himself lately.”
Stiles stiffened. “What do you mean?”
“Like,” Scott looked back at Stiles, “you know those stupid drills Derek makes us do? All the sparring and stuff.” He pulled a face that showed how highly he thought of Derek’s werewolf training sessions.
Stiles nodded. Derek had decided it was better that Stiles didn’t attend their pack meetings unless there was something that specifically called for him to be there. He had justified it as a safety measure, but Stiles suspected it was more because of the distraction factor he posed - not as much for the rest of the pack as for Derek himself. Still, Stiles wasn’t exactly sorry he didn’t have to sit in the sidelines and cheer as Derek made the rest of the pack try and beat him up. He could think of better ways to pass his time.
“Jackson’s always liked that stuff, he just loved showing off to Derek when we did training, but lately he’s been...” Scott mused, the frown coming back to his face. “I don’t know, more volatile somehow. He shifts on weird moments, like he just can’t control himself like he used to, and whenever Derek asks him something, he just snaps. He’s been kind of broody lately.”
Stiles had been listening to Scott with growing interest. There was something very obvious in what Scott was saying, but Stiles just couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Around them, the rest of the class had filled their seats and the chatter of his classmates made it hard to concentrate. He resisted the urge to stand up and shush the room so that he could think in peace.
“It’s like he’s become what Derek used to be, before you two got together. It’s bizarre,” he heard Scott say, and that’s when it clicked.
It was so obvious Stiles wanted to smack his forehead, so that’s what he did. “Of course!” he said triumphantly, earning a puzzled look from Scott.
“What?” Scott asked.
Just at that moment, their teacher walked into the room and called the class to attention. Scott glared at him to get him to hurry, but Stiles shrugged off his pleading look and busied himself with leafing through his textbook.
It was so evident, now that Stiles thought about it. It explained why Jackson had only come after him; why he’d been so intense about Stiles’ relationship with Derek, like it had somehow personally offended him that they were together.
Of course it offended him, because Jackson was jealous.
The answer had been right in front of him the whole time. Stiles wanted to kick himself for not figuring it out sooner, but he’d been too wrapped up in other things to notice Jackson’s feelings towards Derek.
Stiles knew that Scott was waiting for him to reveal his thoughts after class, but he realized that he wasn’t ready to share them yet. He needed to process this new piece of the puzzle before he shared it with Scott. So when the class ended, Stiles ignored Scott’s puzzled look and deftly diverted the conversation to the mystery animal case Scott was helping the vet with.
***
Stiles wasn’t surprised to find Derek waiting for him when he got home. Derek was sitting on his bed with his elbows resting on his thighs and his dark head hanging between his shoulders; he didn’t look up when Stiles entered the room. Stiles could easily imagine Derek waiting for him like this for hours, his manner not patient but resigned. For some reason, the image left Stiles feeling restless and troubled.
Stiles dropped his schoolbag by the door and slowly approached Derek. He stopped a few feet in front of him, his hands hanging by his sides uncertainly. “Hey,” Stiles muttered softly. He wanted to reach out and brush his hand through Derek’s hair, but somehow that didn’t seem appropriate.
Derek didn’t reply. If Stiles hadn’t known better, he would have thought Derek hadn’t even noticed his arrival. But the signs were there, if you knew where to look. The tension in Derek’s shoulders, the resolute way he kept his face hidden, it was all there because he knew Stiles was waiting for him to respond.
As the moment dragged on, Stiles could feel the sense of dread pool heavy in the pit of his stomach. He had to force himself to stay still, to not launch into rambling about something completely irrelevant just to break the silence that was starting to suffocate him. He could read Derek’s mood through his body language and knew that pushing him would be a mistake. As much as Stiles wanted a resolution, he didn’t want to fight for it.
“Come here,” Derek murmured. He reached for Stiles’ shirt and tugged him forward until his forehead rested against Stiles’ middle. It was a simple gesture, but it was loaded with implications and feelings that were yet to find voice.
Stiles let his arms slip around Derek’s shoulders, his fingers curling into the short hair at the nape of his neck. There was tension in Derek’s body still, but Stiles felt relieved. This was a start, not the end.
“You want to talk?” Stiles asked after a moment.
Derek turned his head, pressing his cheek against Stiles’ soft stomach. His hand was resting against Stiles’ thigh, just a light connecting touch, nothing more. Stiles could sense the conflict in Derek, the need and wanting warring against something else, something dark and unpleasant.
He couldn’t hold himself back. He had to ask the question before it burned a hole in his head. “What happened with Jackson? Did he... did he say...” Stiles couldn’t finish the sentence. He could hear the strain in his voice and he wished it wasn’t as obvious to Derek as it was to him.
When he felt Derek become utterly still, Stiles knew he had hit the nail on the head. He could feel his heart beating hard and heavy in his chest, betraying his anxiousness where his silence could have saved him. The knowledge that Derek could hear his reaction only added to the feeling of dread.
Stiles waited for Derek to pull back, but he didn’t. As if he couldn’t bear the idea of letting go, Derek wrapped his arms around Stiles’ waist and pulled him closer. “Stiles,” Derek’s voice was rough, his words murmured against Stiles’ shirt, “you need to tell me what happened.”
Derek’s hands were tight around his waist. Stiles flinched as his sore ribs protested, but accepted the pain as part of the inevitable fallout.
Because Derek knew, he had to know to ask that. Jackson had told him something, something bad that made Derek act like Stiles owed him an explanation, or a confession.
Derek nuzzled his face against Stiles’ belly, like he was seeking comfort in the familiar act, but the touch of his hands was rougher than usual. He grasped onto Stiles’ soft sides almost desperately, like he wanted to drag the truth out of him with just the touch of his hands.
Stiles gasped at the sensation. He had become so used to Derek’s hands being gentle with him that the contrast was startling, the strong fingers that kneaded into his flesh so different from usual. Stiles tried to hang on to the passion he felt in Derek’s touch, but feel of his hard hands pulled up another memory. It unfolded and overlapped the present, sending a cold shiver through Stiles’ spine.
Jackson’s hands had felt rough, but his rough was not tender, not teasing. His touch on Stiles’ fat had not been meant for pleasure, but to torment him in the most effective way.
“Is this what Derek’s so into? You're the fat little piggy to his big bad wolf, aren't you?"
The spike of shame made Stiles’ face flush, but he couldn’t banish the arousal that came with the memory.
Derek’s fingers dug into his love handles. “Stiles,” he groaned, the scent of Stiles’ arousal like catnip to him. He burrowed his face into Stiles’ belly, allowing himself a moment of pleasure before he forced himself to back away. “I know you’re not telling me everything,” Derek said. The tone of his voice was forced, but at the same time almost pleading. “That bruise on your arm isn’t from lacrosse, is it?
Stiles felt his heart pounding inside his chest. He took a deep breath, then exhaled; it didn’t relax him in the least. “No,” he said.
“But it was Jackson who did it.” Derek’s words were a statement, not a question.
“Yes.”
Stiles knew that Derek was waiting for him to continue, but he couldn’t find the words. It should have been simple - to say that it had been Jackson who had attacked him - but there was more to it than that.
In all the wrong ways, Stiles had been turned on by Jackson’s cruel words and his mercilessly prodding fingers. That hadn’t been Jackson’s intention, Stiles was sure of it, but he found himself unable to forget what had happened.
Unable to deny he wanted it to happen again.
Stiles splayed his hands on Derek’s shoulders, as if to anchor himself down before starting to speak. “It was after the practice, he... Jackson, he was all over the place. I found him hiding in the supply closet and,” Stiles paused, calming himself before he started to sound rambling. “I tried to talk to him, get him to... I don’t know, calm down, let me help him somehow.”
He could feel Derek’s disapproval in the jerk that went through him. “You should have left him alone. I would’ve dealt it,” Derek said in a dark voice.
Stiles cringed at his words. He knew Derek meant only the best, but his protective side was still not one of Stiles’ favorites. This time, though, his worrying was fully justified, so Stiles didn’t argue. “I know, I know,” he muttered. I got the bruises to prove it, he continued in his head, but he didn’t say it out loud.
“What happened?”
Stiles didn’t allow himself to hesitate, not now when he had gotten started. “He got pissed, obviously. Dude’s got some issues with taking advice from ‘humans’, like he’s even higher above us mortals now that he’s a werewolf or something. He,” Stiles said, his fingers twitching nervously. He buried them in Derek’s neck, resisting the urge to close his eyes. “He grabbed me and,” he paused to swallow, “and...”
The scene that replayed in his head got his body pulsing with dark arousal. Stiles could feel Derek’s body against him, but his mind had taken him back to the tiny dark room filled with the smell of old sweat and dust. In front of him, Jackson’s eyes burned with cold light, his fingers prodding, teasing, taunting him--
Derek growled, and the warning in his voice jerked Stiles back from the memory. He could feel Derek shudder against him, but it was not with excitement. It was with rage.
“What happened?”
Stiles could feel the heat on his face, in the pit of his stomach, as he held onto Derek’s shivering form. His words were whispered like a confession when he continued.
“He called me fat, and, I, it, I got turned on.”
Stiles could barely breathe as he waited for Derek’s reply. It was impossible to predict how the werewolf would react. Stiles suddenly realized that there was a chance, a slim but still a very real chance that Derek would take out his anger on him. He fell still, afraid to make even the slightest move.
For a moment, Derek seemed completely gridlocked. He didn’t push Stiles away, but Stiles got the distinct impression that he wanted to; some part of Derek just couldn’t bear to let go. His voice was strung tight with emotion when he spoke, rendering it almost unrecognizable:
“Jackson said you wanted it.”
Stiles couldn’t help the shiver that ran through him. “No! I, I didn’t,” he stuttered, realizing too late where Derek’s mind was headed.
“You know I can smell your arousal.”
“I didn’t ask for it, I would never do that behind your back,” Stiles said, his voice almost breaking as he rushed to explain.
The shuddering tremors that went through Derek’s body felt like tiny earthquakes, the urge to change making his muscles twitch and spasm under Stiles’ touch. Stiles had never seen Derek battle for his self-control to such an extent. Frankly, it scared the hell out of him.
Suddenly, Derek lifted his head. His eyes blazed brilliant red under his dark brows, his teeth sharp and distorting his words:
“Then why didn’t you tell me Jackson assaulted you? Why did you hide all this from me, Stiles?”
His words almost choking in his throat, Stiles tried to take a step back, but Derek was holding onto him still. “It, I was embarrassed, okay? I shouldn’t get a boner from by something like that, I, I didn’t want to tell you.”
Derek stared at him and Stiles could feel the wolf in him through the weight of his gaze. All he could do was to stare back and try to communicate his honesty through his eyes. He was just starting to get restless, when he realized that Derek wasn’t just staring, he was listening.
“I liked it when Jackson called me fat,” Stiles repeated. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to freak you out.” He knew that Derek could hear past the tension that made his voice sound hoarse. Derek could hear that he was speaking the truth.
Slowly, Derek pulled his hands away from Stiles. He seemed to still be processing the whole thing. Anger and relief played across his features as Derek wiped a hand across his face. Stiles noticed it was still trembling slightly and he reached out on reflex, wanting to soothe Derek.
Derek froze when his fingers touched his skin, but he let Stiles pull his hand away from his face.
“Stiles...” Derek said, not looking at him. “I told you about Kate, right? That she was my first.”
Stiles could barely nod. He remembered all too vividly that short but revealing conversation, as well as the sacred promise he’d made to himself to never try and pry open that particular can of worms again. At least, not until Derek was ready to bring it up again. Which seemed to be now, and just the context in which her name was mentioned made Stiles feel slightly nauseous.
“She liked things rough,” Derek said, bitterness cutting an edge to his words. “She knew what I was, but she still pushed me to...” Derek’s jaw tightened and he took a moment to gather himself.
Stiles had brought Derek’s hand to rest against his middle and he could feel Derek’s palm now pressing against him. It was strangely relieving to feel Derek’s touch on him again, like it was proof of him accepting Stiles’ consoling presence. Stiles’ fingers traced patterns on Derek’s arm, seeking to reassure him as he waited for him to continue.
“She pushed me to do things, say things, I wouldn’t normally have done, but I thought,” Derek cut himself off, shaking his head. Then he looked up at Stiles and there was a brief flash of bare emotion in his eyes. “She was my first, so I thought that’s what you do.”
Ouch.
Stiles couldn’t think of anything to say, but Derek hadn’t finished yet.
“Stiles, I can’t--” Derek started roughly, then started again in a less urgent note. “I can’t do that kind of thing with you. I won’t hurt you like that, not even if you’d want me to.” His voice vibrated with hopeless emotion.
The sheer horror of his situation crashed over Stiles. Somewhere along him keeping a secret from Derek had turned into Derek thinking Stiles wanted him to hurt him - something that Stiles would never in a million years have thought of asking from him. He couldn’t imagine himself wanting to trade Derek’s reverence and his warmth to something like Jackson’s cruelty.
“Derek, that’s not, I don’t want that,” Stiles said weakly. He felt Derek’s eyes scanning his face, trying to read through his expression, but he didn’t know what more to say.
Despite his miserable thoughts, Stiles felt a burst of anger flaring inside him. He was fed up with feeling guilty, with trying to save Jackson’s ass from his own stupid mistakes. He had given Jackson the perfect way out, only to have it turned against him.
Stiles knew that Derek could read the change in his mood from his face and he spoke before Derek could question him. “I don’t want it,” Stiles said, “not for myself.” He was surprised at how steady his voice sounded, but he was glad it did. Stiles didn’t need his voice to betray the eagerness he was hiding behind his calm face.
//end of chapter 3 - continue to chapter 4