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Stiles woke up with a strange taste in his mouth. It was chalky, almost bitter. Also, he’d apparently been drooling in his sleep, which was just embarrassing. Groaning, he reached to wipe his chin, only to realize that for some reason his hands were trapped above his head.
Huh.
Peering blearily up, he could see his own arms, dangling in a pair of solid silver manacles from a long chain, which had been driven into the side of an overhanging rock.
Well, shit. That probably wasn’t good.
Looking down at himself, he also noted that he was mostly naked; he was wearing nothing but his thin, ratty pair of boxers.
Double shit.
Now he wished he’d chosen a better pair that morning.
Of course he’d heard the stories – everyone had: that once in a generation, the village would have to sacrifice a virgin to the beast in the forest. The victim would be drugged, as a mercy, and staked out at the big rock a few miles from the gates of town, and by morning they’d be gone, never heard from again. But nobody he knew had ever even seen the creature, and there’d never been a sacrifice he could remember. He’d always figured it was a myth, the kind of thing adults told their kids to keep them in line.
It wasn’t really looking so mythical now, considering that he’d apparently been chosen as this year’s offering.
Funny, he’d always assumed the virgin in question would be a girl, somehow. He guessed nobody had ever said that explicitly, but he’d kind of just always assumed . . .
Stiles tried to concentrate, which was surprisingly difficult. He could vaguely remember one of the village elders, Deaton, maybe, offering him a cup of mead at the village festival. He’d swallowed it down, hadn’t thought anything about it. Right before everything had gone black.
Stupid.
His vision still swimming, Stiles looked to the horizon, where the sun was maybe an hour away from setting. Uselessly he tugged on his hands, trying to get free of the manacles, but there wasn’t an ounce of give. He wrapped his hands around the chain and yanked, trying to work the stake out of the rock. It didn’t budge.
Numbly he debated crying out for help – what were the chances that a Greek hero would be walking by at just this time, back from, like, slaying a Gorgon, or something? – and was just wondering if that would actually be more likely to attract the monster, when he heard the low rumble from the woods.
It was too late; the beast had already found him.
Crap, crap, crap.
Stiles twisted himself clumsily around in his chains to look at the shape emerging from the trees.
Holy beast attack, Batman. He’d never pictured the beast in any detail, but he guessed he would have gone with scales, maybe a long lizard tail? Not this. It looked like a wolf, but no natural animal was that large – on all fours it stood taller than Stiles’ waist. It was entirely black, with glowing blood-red eyes. And fangs – mustn’t forget the fangs.
“Wow,” slurred Stiles, stupidly. “You’re … you’re really big.”
The wolf growled, low in its throat, scenting the air. Stiles closed his eyes and pulled helplessly against the chains, mentally saying goodbye to his father and his best friend. His body was numb, weightless from the drugs, and he could only hope that being eaten wouldn’t hurt too much.
But if he had expected the wolf to get straight to the chowing down, he was in for a disappointment. Instead, it slunk across the clearing and – just like a dog – pushed its face between Stiles’ legs, sniffing vigorously.
“Ah!” Stiles managed to say, his tongue thick and giant in his mouth. “Mm – no. No no, doggie.” With his hands trapped above his head, he couldn’t push the wolf off, only try to twist his crotch away from the dog’s massive teeth. Undeterred, the wolf simply followed him.
“Are you jus’ … playing with your food here, or - what?”
The beast squeezed between the rock and Stiles, to nose up Stiles’ legs and sniff his butt. “This’s … ridiculous,” Stiles’ mumbled, wincing as the wolf’s muzzle nudged between the cheeks of his ass through the thin boxers. There was whining and possibly some licking going on back there.
It circled back around to Stiles’ front, cocking its head to examine him quizzically. Then it jumped up to standing on its back feet, resting its massive paws on Stiles’ shoulders. Stiles had to close his eyes again, unable to stand being level with those fearsome teeth, or staring into the vivid red eyes of the beast, a moment longer.
The wolf began to solemnly bathe Stiles’ face with a tongue the size of a fist. It started at his forehead and made its way down his nose, licking enthusiastically at his nostrils.
“Ack,” said Stiles.
His only recourse was to turn his head, which merely seemed to present new geography for licking. He kept his lips pressed tight together – no way he was French-kissing a dog – as his chin got thoroughly slimed. Then the tongue moved on down his neck.
This is all obviously just some trippy dream, Stiles told himself dazedly. Close your eyes and count to three, and when you’re done, you’re going to wake up in your own bed.
One – the wolf slathered over the top of his pecs.
Two – he was pretty sure that was a tooth grazing his nipple.
Three. The weight disappeared from his shoulders. Stiles opened his eyes and found himself looking into the face of a man.
“Whoa!” he managed. It was an extremely handsome man, he found time to note – he had dark, chiseled features and unusual grey-green eyes.
“Mine,” said the stranger, in a rusty voice that sounded like it hadn’t been used in a long time. “My mate. Mine.”
“Umm … I’m sorry – what?” Because he knew he was a little stoned, but this was definitely getting weird. “Hey, did you … happen to see, like, a giant wolf go by, just now?”
The man ducked his head to fit it under Stiles’ jaw, knocking his chin up, and took a long, apparently very satisfying sniff. Stiles yelped at the sensation of a wet tongue and then flat human teeth against the sensitive skin of his jugular.
“Wow, we like, just met,” he squeaked. “And I’m kind of tied up, and also mostly naked, and – ooh look, you’re naked too! And that’s uh – that’s your …”
“I can hear your heart,” said the man, sounding amused. “Like a little rabbit.”
“That’s … that’s cool.” Stiles closed his eyes, trying to count again.
“Are you ready for me to claim you now?”
“Uh, what? And also, what?” Stiles was feeling muzzy and stupid, still wondering where that wolf had gone.
“You should get to know my scent,” the strange man directed, lifting an arm. “Here.” He slid his hand around the back of Stiles’ neck and pulled him forward, forcing his face into the dark-furred armpit. Stiles squirmed and found himself pressed more firmly into the thick patch of hair, until finally he had to inhale. “Good, Rabbit,” said the stranger, petting through the hair at the back of his head. “Now you will always know me.”
“My name’s, uh, Stiles,” Stiles offered, muffled in the short, spiky curls. The stranger, he couldn’t help but note, had a very strong, musky scent, almost spicy. “I - don’t think - I caught your …?”
The stranger stepped back, dropping his arm, and Stiles hung from his chains and panted. “Derek,” said the man. He sounded just the slightest bit uncertain about it, as though he hadn’t heard it a lot lately.
“Derek! Hi! Great to meet you,” said Stiles. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “Hey, how would you feel about maybe letting me out of these chains?”
Derek cocked his head, the exact way that the wolf had done. “Why would I do that?” he said. “I haven’t claimed you yet.” At the words, his eyes flashed – Stiles was sure – briefly red.
“Ok, so this is going to sound crazy,” said Stiles, after a long pause, “but are you, by any chance … are you maybe a wolf?”
“Not a wolf,” said Derek calmly. “A werewolf.”
Stiles concentrated on breathing evenly in and out, as Derek watched him with interest. Deep breaths, c’mon, you can do this, no need to panic. “That’s … cool,” said Stiles, faintly, struggling to control his wildly-pounding heart. Black spots were dancing in front of his eyes. “Uh, yeah, that’s great.”
Derek grunted. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.
“Soo … ha ha, definitely not eating me, then, right?”
“Why would I eat a human?” Derek looked blank. “Humans are scrawny and taste like spoiled milk.”
“I’m not asking how you know that!” said Stiles quickly. “I mean, I’m sure you’re a really nice, uh, werewolf, because you definitely seem - really great, from what I’ve seen!”
Derek lifted one bushy eyebrow. “Do you need more of my scent?” he asked, as though that would help anything.
“Nope, no, I think we’re good there,” said Stiles. “Funny thing about, you know, humans, but we don’t really – we don’t really do that. Uh, smell other people.”
Derek frowned. “Then how do you know each other?”
“We, uh, look, I guess? With our eyes?”
Derek cupped Stiles’ cheeks and pulled his head up, leaning forward until their foreheads were pressed together. “Look into my face, then,” he ordered, “and know your mate.”
Then he maintained some of the most intense eye contact that Stiles had ever been subjected to.
“Wow, yeah, I’m … not going to forget you,” Stiles agreed, unable to look away until Derek let go of his head. Immediately, his eyes skittered to the ground. He did feel a lot calmer, somehow; must be the drugs.
“Now we will proceed,” said Derek.
“Umm …?”
“Turn around for me.” Strong hands landed on his shoulders, gently turning him to face the rock. “Spread your legs.” Stiles obeyed on autopilot, his brain about two steps behind his body.
The stranger knelt behind him and tugged the boxer shorts down below the swell of his rear.
Stiles meeped.
“It’s alright, little rabbit.” Derek rubbed his warm, calloused hands over Stiles’ thighs.
“My name’s Stiles,” said Stiles fuzzily.
“Hush. Let’s get a good look at you.” Stiles squirmed helplessly as careful hands parted his cheeks. “Pink,” said Derek, gently inspecting his asshole. “Hmm, so tight back here.”
“Stop,” said Stiles, dizzily. “N-nugh, no. Don’t.” His boxers were still around his thighs, which strained against the constriction, spread wide by Derek’s knees.
He couldn’t stand to try to look at the man kneeling behind him – it was too much. Instead he let his head drop back and stared up at his wrists, suspended from their silver chains.
“It’s alright for me to touch you here,” soothed the stranger, rubbing the pad of his thumb over Stiles’ asshole. “I’m your mate. It’s alright.”
“Why do you – Ah! – keep saying that?”
He heard Derek spit behind him. “Relax for me,” he said, gently pressing what felt like a thumb inside. A thick, calloused thumb.
“Uhngh – oh god – ah…” Stiles could feel his asshole fluttering around the intrusion, trying unsuccessfully to close. He could feel the heat of it, burning his insides like a brand. His head was spinning.
“Mm …”
It was the drugs, obviously, making this feel so good. Somehow the touch awakened a deeper craving, like an itch that needed to be scratched, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was that he wanted.
“Tell me no one has ever touched you here before.”
Panting, Stiles shook his head no. He’d never even played with own his, er, backdoor; why would he, when his dick was an obvious, pleasurable, and much more hygienic alternative?
“Mine,” whispered the wolf.
He shifted things around to work what felt like an index finger in where his thumb had been, allowing him to press in deeper. Stiles hissed, transfixed on that one finger like a butterfly on a pin. No matter how he moved, he couldn’t ease the pressure of it.
He whined, high-pitched and uncertain, which seemed to be the only sound he was capable of making.
“Easy, Rabbit. You can take it.” Derek stood and reached around with his free hand to cup Stiles’ balls, squeezing gently and rolling them in his hand. “You’ll take a lot more, before I’m through.” He left the finger firmly buried in place as his grip shifted down to Stiles’ twitching dick, and began to stroke it roughly.
“Ohgod ohgod – ”
Stiles was a virgin – obviously, since that was what got him into this mess in the first place – meaning that nobody had ever played with his penis before (much though he had fantasized about the redhead girl up the street). Through the confusion of the pressure in his ass, and the tension of his arms above his head, one thing was immediately clear: he was going to come in about two seconds if Derek kept touching him like that.
“That’s right,” Derek hummed. “Show me. I want to see it.” He rubbed what felt like a pretty sizeable erection of his own against the plush of Stiles’ backside, nudging it between his thighs, where it rubbed against his taint, scorching hot. “Yes, you like this,” he whispered. “I can smell it on you.”
He wrapped his palm around the sensitive head, and Stiles cried out, a cut-off wail like he really was being mauled by a beast.
“Derek, hngh. M’gonna – Derek!” Hips pumping mindlessly, twisting on the finger still inside of him, Stiles came into Derek’s hand, his orgasm unwinding from his dick like thread from a spool.
“Good boy,” Derek soothed, coaxing him through it. He kept his palm cupped around the tip, catching all of the ejaculate in his hand, and slid his finger out. “So perfect, just like that.”
Stiles didn’t know what was so great about his premature ejaculation, but he consented to being petted and praised as his body came down, strong hands rubbing over his sides and belly. Acting on drugged instinct, he turned his face into Derek’s shoulder and rested there, letting the other man nuzzle around his face, and listening to the deep rumbling in his chest, almost as if he was purring.
“That was … nice,” Stiles managed lamely, several minutes later. “Uh … thanks?” He tried shifting his weight. Yup, that was definitely a rock-hard dick tucked between his legs, and heavy, furry balls pressing against his cheeks from behind.
“Look at me.” Derek moved back, leaving Stiles swaying in his chains. When he managed to lift his head Derek was standing in front of him, still holding a puddle of come in his cupped hand. “Watch me.” Solemnly, Derek dipped his finger into the liquid. Then, maintaining eye contact, he brought it to his lips, licking it into his mouth.
Stiles gaped at him.
“You taste good,” said Derek seriously. “I’m going to taste you everywhere now.”
He dropped to his knees and, without preamble, sucked Stiles’ limp, sticky dick into his mouth.
“Mfph!” Stiles groaned like he was the one with his mouth full, straining away. “S-sensitive, dude! Too soon!” Just his luck, he finally got a blowjob and couldn’t even enjoy it.
Derek tugged him in by the hips to suckle a little longer, but finally let him slide back out, turning his attention to licking the closest testicle he could reach, cleaning him thoroughly, and then the other when Stiles twisted. He guided him all the way around, sniffing up his legs and pausing briefly to lick at the back of Stiles' knees, which – huh. Ticklish, but still surprisingly sexy.
Inevitably, he ended up kneeling behind Stiles again with his face buried back in his favorite locale. He was growling softly to himself, and vibration carried.
“You know, your other side basically did this to me too,” Stiles pointed out, his voice coming out high-pitched. “Seems like you both can't get enough of this sweet, sweet ass.”
“Lift up your foot,” Derek directed, sliding the boxers all the way down and off.
Oh god, that was a tongue, licking around his asshole, flat over the whole of him. Stiles was definitely going to have to reopen the file on his supposed heterosexuality, because that felt amazing.
“Wow, you're really going to town back there, huh,” said Stiles, closing his eyes. “You're kinda making out with my butt, really. Tongue up in there and everything. Mm. That's more action than the rest of me has seen in, pretty much ever, I’d say.”
Derek growled and pushed Stiles’ legs wider apart, which increased the pull on his hands. He yelped and almost overbalanced until Derek tugged him in closer to ease the angle.
“Can’t you maybe let me out of the shackles?” Stiles asked, hoping he sounded cute and piteous. He wasn’t actually sure what he would do if he was freed – try to get away, or bend over the rock and beg to get fucked?
“As soon as we’re mated,” Derek grunted, nosing around his backside, nipping lightly at the skin. “I know how you humans can be unpredictable.” Then he tugged Stiles back against his mouth.
Stiles decided to just let himself enjoy it – the warm, wet pressure all around and inside his hole, contrasting nicely with the stubble burn against his delicate cheeks. But then there were fingers pushing back inside him again, hot against his super-sensitive rim. They sunk in smoothly, and it took Stiles a minute to realize he was being slicked with his own spunk.
“Dude, it’s called lube!” he protested, hissing at the slightly gritty texture against his inner walls. He was still feeling a little puffy and sore from the previous probing.
Derek ignored him, concentrating on fingering him open slowly.
Stiles knew he should probably be fighting, not allowing his muscles to unclench around the invasion, definitely not pushing back against it. He decided to blame the drugs for everything.
“So I gotta say, this is really not how I pictured losing my – ungh – virginity. And let me tell you, I’ve really pictured it. A lot. Ohgodohgod, right there, right there! Yeah, uhn, I figured it’d be with, uh, with a girl, probably … or at least a human? And I didn’t really see being, you know, chained up. Not that I’m … mm, complaining …”
Two fingers felt good, working around inside him, but the introduction of a third had Stiles whining in the bad way. Until Derek twisted his hand slowly; something seemed to give way and he felt himself loosening, hot and wet.
“This … feels very weird. Is this real? Seriously, m’not – not … sure …”
Derek’s fingers gently contracted inside of him, pulsing against that place that made him see stars. “I think you’re ready now,” he said, withdrawing.
“Whoa, dude, is that seriously your dick? Because I didn’t get a good look before and I’m not sure how you think, uh – oh, jeezus, Derek, that thing is huge!”
Derek lifted his clean hand up to Stiles’ mouth, sliding the fleshy junction of his finger and thumb between his teeth. Then he took hold of his own dick with the other. “Be brave, little rabbit-heart,” said Derek, nuzzling his ear, and pressed in.
Stiles bit down on the flesh in his mouth, groaning as he was stretched by the stranger’s thick cock. It felt like he was being split open, the sensitive insides of him stretched to bursting. His hands wrapped tight around the chains, holding on for dear life. No matter how hard his teeth ground down, it didn’t seem like he could break Derek’s leathery skin – or maybe it closed over just that fast.
“It’s alright, I’m going to give you what you need,” Derek soothed, taking on more of his weight. “Always going to give you what you need. Take such good care of you …” His voice was strangely serious.
He pushed deeper, slow, but firm, keeping Stiles still with a hand low on his belly. There was no chance of getting away, nowhere to go. Teeth still buried in Derek’s hand, Stiles dropped his head to his chest and willed himself to relax.
“That’s right, open up for me,” Derek grunted, sliding forwards. “You were made for this, weren’t you? Take it just like that. Good.”
He withdrew, adjusted his angle, and shoved back in, as Stiles jolted helplessly. He felt teeth skimming the back of his neck.
“Beautiful,” Derek growled. His hips began moving, thrusting rapidly in and out, faster and harder than Stiles thought the human body was capable of.
The sensation was almost too much to process. The burning stretch was turning into something intensely pleasurable, like electric current running straight to his dick. It felt good somehow, stuffed so full of cock that it was impossible for Derek to miss rubbing over his prostate on every stroke.
Derek guided his forehead back, neck bared to evening air, until his head rested on Derek’s shoulder. Then he tugged his hand free. There were no marks where Stiles’ teeth had been buried.
He relaxed and let just Derek hold him up, body curling on each inward stroke, rocking lazily in his chains. Occasionally he tried to push back in some kind of rhythm, counter to Derek’s thrusts, but mostly he just let it happen. At least he had some stamina this time, having already come once.
“Is it good?” Derek rumbled.
“Mm,” Stiles managed to say, closing his eyes.
He could feel Derek snuffling over his collarbone. “Say you like this,” he ordered.
Stiles pressed his lips together and didn’t answer.
Derek reached down to scoop up Stile’s dick, letting it fuck into the circle of his fist with every stroke. “Say you always want me to do this to you,” he insisted. “Only me.”
“Feeling insecure, wolfman?” Stiles hadn’t thought he was close to coming again, but his cock was definitely filling out, tingling all the way down to the place where Derek was swinging in and out of him. He tried to stave it off, but it was boiling up in spite of him.
Derek stopped moving entirely, and Stiles hollered, trying to wriggle and finding himself pinned; “Hey!”
“Say it.” Derek nudged slowly back in, too slow to give Stiles any pleasure.
“Argh, yes, okay! I want it! Keep going!”
“Only me.”
“Ohhh fuck, fuck you, alright, Derek, only you, alright?”
Like a damn had been unleashed, Derek started pounding into him again, harder and faster, and Stiles bounced on his cock making noises that weren’t human. He’d gone pre-verbal, like those people who suffer traumatic brain injury and forget English. This was a traumatic dicking incident.
“Mine,” Derek snarled, close to his ear, and Stiles came all over himself. It went everywhere, all over his thighs and stomach and chest, exploding out of him like a bomb went off. A bomb in his dick. A dick bomb.
Derek slowed down through the worst of the spasms but didn’t pull out, churning slowly inside him. As Stiles uselessly struggled to catch his breath, he began to speed up again. Stiles tried to clench, tried to be helpful, but there wasn’t much he could do but hang there and let it happen as Derek resumed his previous pace. Which was, you know, like being fucked by a jackhammer.
“Close,” Derek grunted. “Do you want it?”
“What? Uh, I mean, yes. Okay?” Stiles made a note to work on his dirty-talk. “I want you to. You know. Uh, come. Inside my butt. Right in my butthole. With your … dick.”
Ham-fisted it may have been, but it was apparently good enough, because Derek clutched him hard around the hips and stopped thrusting, planting himself as deep as he could. Stiles could feel it in his spine, ringing up each one of his vertebrae to rattle his skull. He swallowed experimentally to make sure there wasn’t actually cock lodged in his throat.
Then in the next second, he felt something hot bursting over his inner walls, which was a – new experience, to say the least.
“Oh, shit,” he breathed, holding still as Derek pulsed between his legs.
“I can feel your heartbeat here,” said Derek, grinding in deep.
“Can … feel yours, too,” said Stiles.
Derek gave a few lazy thrusts but pulled himself out before he finished. “There’s a lot,” he said, quietly.
Stiles hissed at the empty, raw feeling, and was then distracted by something spattering over his legs and his backside, dripping down his thighs.
“Yeah, I uh, see that,” he said. “Oh, there’s – more of it, huh?”
“Mm-hmm.”
He felt a hand, down between them. “Wait, what are you – ack!”
Derek had caught up a handful of his come and was rubbing it over Stiles’ chest, adding it to the mess that was already there. Stiles squawked as his nipples were anointed, pinched between wet fingers, then the hollow of his throat.
“This is kind of – gross, actually. Or is it hot? No, I’m pretty sure it’s – I’m going with gross. Hey, get that away from my face. Derek, I mean it, right now.”
“Need to mark you,” said Derek, voice gone deep. Stiles tried to turn his head away but Derek pursued him, painting a wet stripe over each cheek and rubbing it in with his thumb.
“Not my mouth,” Stiles managed to protest, trying to squirm away. “Derek, nugh,”
“Just a little,” Derek whispered, swiping his sticky thumb over Stiles’ lips, coaxing them open to slip one finger inside, rubbing over his tongue. “Just enough to make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”
“Thith ith disguthing,” Stiles garbled, glaring. He thought he could taste a hint of the same spiciness he had detected in Derek’s scent.
When Derek brought up another fingerful, he opened for it. Resistance was obviously futile.
“Are you actually still coming?” he asked, feeling a fresh gush between his thighs. “Honestly?”
Derek had the grace to look a little embarrassed. “Sorry,” he muttered. “Wolf thing. How’s your – uh, how’re you feeling?”
“I … I dunno,” said Stiles honestly. Which Derek apparently took as a cue to lean over and examine his asshole again, fingers and everything, as if he hadn’t gotten a good enough look during all that up-close-and-personal time he’d already had.
“That wasn’t an invitation!” Since Derek wasn’t looking, Stiles wiped his face on his arm, and grimaced at the feeling of what he guessed was werewolf jizz dribbling down his crack. And possibly being pushed back in. “Would you quit that? I’m fine. I’m sure it’s fine.”
“You look alright,” Derek agreed, from behind him. “Well claimed.” There was deep satisfaction in his voice.
Stiles rolled his eyes. “Mm, great. Does this mean you can let me out of these now?” He rattled the chains which kept his hands above his head.
Derek came back around to his front, leaning his face close to Stiles. “One more thing,” he murmured, pushing their mouths together.
Human or not, he obviously had some experience with kissing, because he was great at it. Unfortunately Stiles had no idea what he was doing. Blindly he tried to press back in a way that he hoped felt good.
Derek broke away to plant soft, sucking kisses at the side of his mouth. “Going to take you far away from here,” he said, voice rough. “Somewhere far away, where nobody knows who we are.”
It wasn’t like Stiles wanted to stay in the village that had left him chained to a rock to die, but he would definitely have to negotiate to at least let Scott and his dad know he was okay. He decided they could talk about it when Derek wasn’t mouthing and biting at his chin.
“We’ll make a new pack together,” Derek whispered, nipping his lower lip.
Stiles was trying to kiss back, sloppy and inexpert, but he kept missing his target.
With a faint sound of frustration, Derek cupped his cheek and guided his face up, to the right angle. Then with one finger he gently pressed Stiles’ chin down, opening his mouth, and immediately licked inside. Considering that tongue had just been in his ass it should have been gross, but Stiles tried not to think about that. He suckled helplessly, humming softly with pleasure as Derek’s tongue made itself at home in his mouth, warm and wet and strangely soothing.
Abruptly Derek pulled back, smacking his lips. “You taste like poppy,” he said.
“S’the drugs,” said Stiles, leaning back in with his eyes closed, searching for Derek’s mouth. “They gave me something.”
Derek’s nose wrinkled in confusion. “Why would they need to drug you? Being chosen should be an honor.”
Stiles gaped at him. “Do you honestly think I wanted to be out here?"
"... you didn’t?"
"Dude, if I was a willing volunteer, why would I be chained to a rock??”
“Humans have strange rituals!” Derek defended. “I thought that was some sort of ceremonial display!”
"Oh yeah, that makes - absolutely no sense whatsoever ..."
Derek sounded disappointed. “Nobody ever told me exactly how it worked. My mother just told me, when the Dog Star is brightest, return the village and find your mate. And there you were, waiting for me!”
“You didn’t think to ask any questions?”
“There’s nobody to ask,” said Derek quietly. He reached up to examine the manacles around Stiles’ wrists. “My pack is … gone. I’m the last.”
With a sharp twist, he broke the clasp of the chains with his bare hands.
“For years now I’ve been watching the sky, waiting for the signs. I thought …” His voice was small. “Do you not want to be my mate?”
Stiles’ arms dropped to his side, tingling and numb. As soon as he was free, the weight of his exhaustion washed over him, and he swayed heavily. Between the drugs, the fear, and the sex, it was too much. “Think … m’gonna pass out,” he muttered.
Someone helped him slump against the rock when his knees gave out. He felt his arm being lifted, and then someone was examining his white fingertips. “Does this hurt?”
“My butt hurts,” Stiles blurted groggily, his eyes drifting closed.
Warm, strong hands guided him to lie down on the grass, cradling his head. Fingers stroked over his short, bristly hair. It felt good.
“You don’t have to be my mate, if you don’t want to,” Derek whispered.
Stiles passed out.
--
When he woke up, Stiles was lying on the ground. The wolf was lying next to him, its head on its paws. The metal shackles lay crumpled in the dirt.
“Mn. S’it … mornin’?”
Derek inched across the ground towards Stiles, his massive snout almost close enough to touch noses.
“Hey,” said Stiles, sleepily, looking around.
It was still night, but the moon was out above them. The sky was full of stars.
Derek stood up and shook himself vigorously. He took a few steps towards the treeline, frosted with silver. Then he paused to look back. Even in this form, he managed to convey uncertainty.
Stiles struggled to roll onto his elbows, pushing himself up clumsily, and began to crawl.
Derek whined.
"Jus' a - minute."
Carefully, he draped himself across the dog’s broad back, one leg on either side of him, fingers twining around his neck. He leaned forward to rest his face in the thick, soft hair of his scruff.
He closed his eyes.
Stiles held on as the wolf carried him away.
(The End)