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Stiles Stilinski blearily poked his head out of the nest of his bedding and patted blindly at his nightstand, looking for the source of the evil ringing noise that had awoken him. Finding his cell phone, he poked ineffectively at it until the ringing stopped. With a muttered imprecation against all phones and people who made calls to them, he prepared to bury himself back in his blankets, only to be thwarted by the renewed ringing of the phone. He grabbed it again, thumbed over the accept call button and grumbled, “Lydia, it's 9am on a Saturday. Someone had better be bleeding or on fire.”
“Get dressed and come to the studio,” Lydia responded sweetly.
“Lydia,” Stiles explained again, patiently, “9am. On Saturday.”
“Stiles,” Lydia replied. “Do you want to make $3000 for one morning's work?”
Stiles went from lying to standing instantaneously, shedding blankets in his wake as he headed for his closet. He had a grad student fellowship that paid for tuition and most of his living expenses, but he had plenty of undergrad debt, and the closer he got to getting his doctorate and leaving the refuge of academia, when those loans would no longer be in deferment, the more they weighed on him. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes,” he promised Lydia, yanking on some blue jeans.
“Shower first,” she commanded.
“Then make it twenty-five,” he told her, and ended the call.
Twenty-four minutes later, he was parking the Jeep in front of the studio where Lydia Martin -- math PhD student and all-round genius -- was a part time office manager. It was a Grecian-style building that, from the outside, resembled a palatial home more than it did a commercial building. Lydia met him on the front steps, her bronze-painted nails digging into his arm as she hurried him inside. “Ow, Lyds, what's the rush?”
“You don't keep Laura Hale waiting,” she informed him, dragging him past the reception desk and up the curving staircase behind it.
Laura Hale -- Editor-in-Chief of Claimed, the premier werewolf porn magazine -- was sitting behind her enormous mahogany desk, one eyebrow raised as Lydia deposited Stiles firmly in one of the guest chairs and seated herself in the other. She gave Stiles a comprehensive head-to-toe glance, nodded once decisively, and said merely, “You were right, he’s perfect. He's hired, as long as Derek is willing.”
“Should I take him to the studio?”
Laura shook her head. “He's on his way up.”
Sure enough, the office door opened about ten seconds later, disclosing the most beautiful specimen of masculinity Stiles had ever seen: dark hair, designer stubble, a jawline Stiles wanted to lick, navy tailored suit that managed to highlight instead of conceal a perfectly muscled form. Lydia daintily reached over and put one manicured finger under his chin, pushing his mouth closed.
Derek was apparently even more laconic than Laura. He paused in the doorway, took a deep breath, growled “Okay,” and disappeared.
Stiles blinked, then turned back to Laura. “Sooo … I've got the job?”
“It appears so.”
“Great. What is the job?”
Laura whipped around to glare at Lydia. “You didn't tell him?”
Lydia shrugged. “Stiles, you'll be doing a photoshoot for the magazine.”
“Lyds, you know I don't know anything about photography.”
“As a model, Stiles” she said, rolling her eyes impatiently.
He snorted. “You're kidding, right? I mean, not that all this isn't fantastic,” he added, flailing to indicate his body, “but I'm not … I mean … I'm not exactly model quality.”
Laura raised an expressive eyebrow. “To a werewolf, you're very attractive. You have a very nice neck.” She gave him a leer that somehow managed to be flattering rather than offensive. “I'd do a spread with you myself, but I haven't worked in front of the camera in years. You'll have to make do with Derek.”
Stiles flailed again. "Derek?” he repeated incredulously. “That Derek? The one who was just in here?”
“Yes, my brother Derek,” Laura answered with some amusement. “He's one of our most popular werewolf models, but he's an absolute nightmare about his shooting partners. The human he was supposed to shoot with today basically got glared out of the building. Of course, he looked terrified and Derek looked murderous in every photo we managed to get before he just broke and ran. That's the only reason I'm willing to pay so much to a newbie - we're on a schedule and I need this shoot done today so the next issue can go to print on time. Lydia said you're familiar with weres and won't act like you're afraid of having your throat ripped out. That kind of thing sets Derek off.”
“Yeah, my best friend was bitten when we were in high school. I've spent a lot of time around werewolves. I helped Scott learn to control his shift, actually.”
“Good, then you know what not to do. Just listen to Boyd -- the photographer -- and you'll be fine. Lydia, get him down to wardrobe and makeup, and while he's there you can get his paperwork ready.”
Lydia handed Laura a manila folder. “It's already done. I took the liberty of signing for Stiles under power of attorney.”
Stiles sputtered. “Since when did I give you a power of attorney?”
“Freshman year. You took 8am classes every day and decided you shouldn't be able to make any more major life decisions.”
“Lydia, that was not a binding legal document! I just printed it off my computer!”
“And signed it in front of a notary, who then properly notarized it,” she added primly.
“What notary?” Stiles flailed so wildly he almost knocked over a cup of pencils on Laura's desk.
“Me.”
“But that's … you … you're not … oh my god. Of course you are.”
Lydia patted him comfortingly on the shoulder. “Don’t worry about it. I made sure it's the version of the contract for no nudity. You'll get to keep your panties on.” She smirked.
Stiles just gaped blankly and let her lead him to wardrobe, where he was handed a disturbingly tight pair of red satin briefs. “Oh my god, Lyds,” he hissed as he shimmied his way into them. “These practically show my internal organs.”
Lydia heaved the put-upon sigh of a genius who has to talk to an idiot. “It's porn, Stiles.”
“Speaking of which, how is this a better life decision than 8am classes? What if my dad sees these photos?” Stiles suddenly felt a little panicky.
“Does your dad make a habit of reading werewolf skin mags?” Lydia inquired coolly. “Particularly those slanted towards a bisexual-to-gay audience?”
“Okay, fair point,” Stiles conceded. Then: “Oh my god, what if Scott sees them?”
At that, Lydia outright laughed. “Then I hope I'm around to listen when he calls you freaking out.” She grabbed him arm. “Enough second-guessing my decisions. We need to get you to makeup.”
“Makeup” turned out to be a misnomer. He sat quietly as a terrifying blond werewolf named Erica, with blood red nails that looked vaguely claw-like even in her human form, waxed, plucked and trimmed his hair -- face, head and body -- into submission. “You're adorable,” she declared, gesturing with a razor a bit too close to his sensitive bits for comfort. “Derek's gonna love you.”
“He met me,” Stiles pointed out. “All he said was 'okay’.”
“From Derek that's practically a love sonnet,” she assured him as she wielded a pair of tweezers in what Stiles could only assume were scientific experiments regarding his pain tolerance. She stepped back a little to examine her work. “Okay, all done with the hard part.” She snickered. “Well, at least until Derek gets his hands on you, then you'll have a different hard part.”
Stiles groaned. “No punny innuendo before I even have coffee.”
“You poor thing, you haven't had coffee yet?” Erica snapped her fingers and a gofer ran over to her. “Coffee for Stiles.” She glanced down at Stiles. “Cream and sugar?”
“Both.” Moments later he had a steaming cup of coffee in his hands. He took a sip and sighed happily. “I take back everything I was just thinking about you. You are a goddess and I love you.”
She grinned at him, but all she said was, “You're going to have to brush your teeth when you finish. Werewolf noses are sensitive and Derek doesn't like the people he shoots with to smell like anything but their natural scent. He won't even start a shoot with someone whose scent he doesn't like.”
Stiles’ eyes widened. “Oh, so that's what he was doing. When he came up to Laura's office he kind of took a deep breath before he agreed to do the shoot with me. I didn't realize he was checking my scent.” He gestured with the coffee. “Brain wasn't online yet, obviously.”
Erica nodded, then leered at him. “He must have liked how you smell.” She leaned in and sniffed his neck a little. “You do smell nice,” she added. “Kind of like trees in the rain and …” she paused, sniffed again … “something else, I'm not sure.”
“My friend Scott says it's like a lightning storm,” Stiles offered, and her face cleared. She bounced a little with excitement. “Yes, that's it exactly! Almost an ozone smell.”
Stiles failed to see how that was appealing, but he gave her a thumbs up. “Glad to know it doesn't make you want to hurl or anything.”
“No, it's nice.” She snapped on some latex gloves. “Okay, I'm going to rub you down with a scent neutralizer to get the smell of me off of you, and then as soon as you brush your teeth, come back and I'll touch up your lips a little, and then you'll be ready for Derek.”
Five minutes later, Stiles was sitting on a comfy gray couch on the set, wearing nothing but a bathrobe and the red satin briefs, while Boyd, the photographer, and his assistant Isaac, adjusted lighting and filters. “Okay, we're ready,” Boyd said at last. “Derek!” He barely raised his voice, but a few moments later Derek strolled casually onto the set, still in that perfect navy suit, and seated himself at the other end of the sofa from Stiles.
“Okay, Stiles,” Boyd said. “We're going to start slow, the idea is for the photos to show the progression of the scene. Derek is your boyfriend, he's getting home from the office and he's had a long day, maybe he's a little stressed, and you're going to cuddle him a little, undress him down to his underwear, and then we'll get some nice shots on the bed, and then we'll be done. All tasteful, I promise.”
Stiles nodded, suddenly nervous. The gofer appeared next to him, holding his hand out for the robe. Stiles stood to take it off and handed it over, slanting a look over to Derek as he did so, but the werewolf had no visible reaction to seeing Stiles’ almost naked body.
“Okay, Stiles, sit on the couch facing Derek. Lean toward him, just a little, but keep your neck stretched out, you want him to know you're offering yourself to him. Good, just like that.” The camera started snapping away. “Okay, Derek, put your hand on his shoulder, now put your face against his neck like you're scenting him.” Derek's hand landed so lightly on Stiles’ shoulder that he could hardly feel it, but despite the barely-there touch, Stiles could sense that the werewolf's body was strung tight with tension.
Impulsively, he put his own hand over Derek's and pressed it down firmly, giving the 'wolf a grin. “I'm human, but I'm not made of glass, okay?” The camera went click, click, click. Derek nodded silently, and buried his face in Stiles’ neck. He held it there for a long moment while Boyd clicked away from behind Stiles. Then there was a pause, and Boyd cleared his throat and said, “Uh, okay, just let me change the filter.” Isaac raced over to hand him a different one. Boyd replaced the one on the camera quickly, then resumed shooting. “Okay,” he said. “Stiles, you're doing great. Derek, relax a little, try to look like you're enjoying this. Okay, let's start getting Derek undressed. Tie first.”
Derek leaned back, and Stiles reached for his tie. “Okay, here we go. Let me just get this knot loose -- good grief, did a Boy Scout tie this thing? You could moor a ship to a dock with that knot. Ah, there we go, okay.” Talking settled him a little -- just letting his mouth take over was familiar territory. He glanced at Boyd and asked, “Is it okay if I'm talking? Does it spoil the photos?”
“I'm getting great shots here, just keep doing what you're doing. I'll tell you if I need you to stop talking.”
Isaac grinned cheekily as he put in, “Believe me, our readers are going to enjoy seeing those lips open. Makes them think about what they might put between them,” he chuckled. Derek growled low in his chest and glared at Isaac, who put both hands up in a “no harm” gesture.
“Hey, no worries big guy,” Stiles reassured as he started pulling off Derek's suit jacket, running his hands along Derek's shoulders and arms as he did so. “A little sexual harassment is a good thing in this job, right?” He threw Isaac a wink over his shoulder. Derek growled again, but when Stiles looked back his eyes were closed and his whole body was taut as a bowstring. Stiles wasn't exactly sure what he was doing wrong -- Boyd seemed pretty happy with him, but Derek seemed upset. Or maybe nervous? But Derek was a professional, it couldn't be nerves. Maybe he didn't really like Stiles’ smell but he had agreed because he knew Laura needed to keep to her shooting schedule. Come to think of it, Stiles was pretty sure that when Derek's face had been buried in his neck, the other man hadn't been breathing at all. Well, that was unfortunate, but Stiles was determined to do the best job he could here, and Derek, the alleged professional, was just going to need to man up. Maybe a bit of acting would help set the right tone and chill Derek out. So Stiles started unbuttoning Derek's white shirt, but as he did it he looked at Derek and said softly, “Hey handsome, did you have a rough day at the office?” Derek's eyes flew open and he stared directly into Stiles’ eyes. “There we go,” Stiles crooned, moving down to the button that was just below the level of Derek's nipples, and letting his hands slide along the other man's pecs as he did so. He felt Derek shudder a little, but he just kept talking. “You know your eyes are gorgeous, I mean what color are those even? Green? Gray? Opal?” Derek just watched him silently. He moved down to the next button, hands shaking just slightly. “Okay, we'll get this shirt off of you in just a minute, get you more comfortable. Maybe a shoulder rub? I'm great at those. Let me just help you relax, okay?” He finished the last button and started to push the shirt back over Derek's broad shoulders.
“Great, Stiles,” Boyd said, and Stiles jumped a little; he had actually forgotten anyone else was in the room, he'd been so focused on Derek. Boyd ignored his spazzy moment, and continued, “Run your nose along his jawline as you push the shirt off.” Nothing loathe, Stiles did as he was told, and then for good measure rubbed his cheek against Derek's stubble. Derek tilted his head back to give him better access for nuzzling, but otherwise he was as still as a statue. “Doing great guys,” Boyd encouraged. “Derek, stand up so Stiles can take your pants off. Stiles, kneel in front of him and put your hands on his belt like you're about to unbuckle it. Perfect, now tilt your head back and look at his face. Don't move your hands. Arch your back a little. Okay, stay perfectly still.” There were rapidfire clicks of the camera while Boyd circled them. “Go ahead and take his pants off.”
Still kneeling, Stiles unbuckled Derek's belt and pulled it free, then went for the button and zipper of the pants. That was when he noticed for the first time that Derek … Derek was hard. Really hard. Stiles sucked in a breath as he realized he could see a dark spot on Derek's gray boxer briefs where a drop of precome had seeped out, but he'd heard that doing photoshoots like this was supposed to be judgement free -- no judgement if you get hard, no judgement if you don't -- so he gamely ignored it (or tried to) and stood up to wait for Boyd's next direction. But knowing that Derek was aroused definitely changed the mood for Stiles. Up until now he'd been focused on doing the job, on getting Derek to relax with him so he didn't have the “murderous” expression Laura had mentioned so they could get usable photos (and Stiles would get paid), and, although in the back of his mind he’d been aware that he was mostly naked and Derek -- now also mostly naked -- was very attractive, he'd just felt a kind of background low-key arousal. Now, though, he was definitely thinking about Derek's cock, and the shape of it under Derek's underwear, not a monster but definitely a bit longer than average and leaning ever so slightly to the left where it was trapped under the fabric. Stiles felt his own cock starting to fill, and he blushed a little, but resisted the automatic impulse to try to conceal it -- not that he could have.
Boyd, bless his heart, was ignoring the both of them and continuing to give matter-of-fact instructions. “Stiles, stand close to Derek, lean your head on his shoulder. Derek, put your arms around his waist.” They leaned into each other as instructed, and Stiles almost moaned as his erection brushed against Derek's. He'd been buried in research for his doctoral dissertation for the last couple of months, and it had been a depressingly long time since he'd been touched by anyone but himself. Feeling Derek against him, even through two layers of fabric, was sparking things in his body that he hadn't felt in a while. “Great, now Derek, sit in the couch. Stiles, on his lap facing me. Lean back against his shoulder, offer your neck to him. Derek, slide your hand around to his front.” Derek's hand came to rest with his fingertips on the waistband of Stiles’ underwear, about an inch away from the head of his cock. Stiles arched his back a little and let out a hiss of breath. He felt Derek lean down and set his teeth against Stiles’ neck, not biting down, just holding them there. Derek's hard-on was pressed right between Stiles’ butt cheeks, and Stiles’ own rampant erection was becoming more urgent by the minute.
“Okay, move over to the bed,” Boyd said. “Stiles on your back, Derek over you. Cage him in with your body, look like you're protecting him.” Derek crawled over Stiles, his warm body covering him. Stiles looked into his eyes again, and it was like feeling a connection snap into place. He lifted his hand to Derek's cheek, stroking tenderly. Derek mirrored his gesture, his gray-green eyes never leaving Stiles. He rocked his lower half against Stiles, almost asking a question, and Stiles let out a shuddering sigh. Derek did it again. Boyd was snapping away, but Stiles almost didn't notice, his brain beginning to go a little hazy around the edges as he just stared into Derek's eyes. For the second time that morning, Boyd's voice startled him. “Okay, sit up. Stiles in Derek's lap. Isaac, the sheet,” he commanded. Isaac artfully draped the sheet around then to make it look like they were naked. Stiles shimmied a little, and this time it was Derek who hissed. He looked into Stiles’ eyes and began slowly rolling his hips up against Stiles. Stiles found himself sinking back into the hazy mindspace that Boyd had snapped him out of a minute before. Derek's body against his just felt so damn good, and the way Derek was looking into his eyes, predatory yet open, was combining with those sensations to make him feel relaxed and floaty. Five minutes ago he would have been mortified at the possibility of coming in his underwear during the photoshoot, but now Derek was gently but inexorably leading him there and Stiles felt safe and protected, unashamed, and he just wanted to surrender to the sensations and give Derek what he wanted. He felt himself getting close and his eyes drifted shut at the same time that Derek buried his face in Stiles’ neck, open-mouthed, his teeth once again pressing lightly just above his collar bone. “That's a wrap,” Boyd's voice broke in firmly. “Derek, take five.” Derek froze for a moment, every muscle in his body seeming to tense, before he practically leaped away from Stiles and sprinted out of the studio. Stiles watched him disappear in confusion, his brain unable to process the transition between being just on the edge of orgasm and being left alone, balls aching with how close he'd been. Without Derek's werewolf-warm body against him, he suddenly felt cold and heavy. He gathered the sheet up around himself but it did little to warm him. He curled in on himself, shaking a little. Boyd gave him a comprehensive glance and then bit out, “Isaac. Get Lydia.”
When Lydia appeared moments later, she just gathered Stiles up against her and helped him off the bed. “Come on sweetie, let's get you changed and home.” Stiles complied dazedly, only really waking up when Lydia deposited him on his own bed. She disappeared for a moment, returning with a bottle of water which she gave to him and then climbed into bed beside him. “Hey, Stiles. Feeling a little better?
He chugged half the bottle of water and then nodded. “I'm not … I don't really know what happened there.”
She frowned. “I'm not sure how much I should tell you right now, but from what I understand, Derek went a little off-script. Laura's pretty upset -- she offered to double your paycheck.”
Stiles felt like his brain was still sluggish. He didn't know why Laura would be upset, or what Derek had done wrong, or why Derek had left him so abruptly. But he was tired, both from being woken early and from the emotional stress of his morning, so he opted to just curl up and go to sleep.
He didn't feel much better when he woke a few hours later. He had dreamed of Derek, and not even the good kind of dream, just a dream about looking into Derek's eyes. He woke up longing, wanting to be wrapped in Derek's arms and staring into those incredible eyes again. “Get it together, Stilinski,” he muttered to himself. Sure, Derek was gorgeous, but there was no reason for Stiles to get hung up on a guy he barely knew.
But for the next three weeks Stiles found himself thinking about Derek incessantly. Drifting off into daydreams about him. Longing to be held by him. Wondering why Derek had run away from him and not come back. He was irritable, sleepless, listless. Lydia kept shooting him worried looks, but other than forcing him to eat and occasionally shower, she kept silent.
Then on Monday Lydia came home and handed him a manila envelope. “What's that?” he asked indifferently.
“Something you need to see,” was all she said. Stiles slit the envelope, and then sat staring for several long moments at what fell out. It was the latest issue of Claimed. It had come out a week ago, Stiles knew, but he hadn't been able to bear the thought of seeing it. Now he was confronted by the cover photo of Derek scenting Stiles’ neck as they sat on the sofa. Stiles vividly remembered the moment, but what he saw in the photo came as a surprise. Derek was glaring at the camera over Stiles’ shoulder, eyes alpha red and expression daring the cameraman to come any closer. Stiles’ breath hitched at the raw possessiveness in that photo. He suddenly recalled Boyd calmly saying something about changing the lens filter, and realized he must have been switching it for one that would minimize the lens flare from Derek’s eyes. “The rest of the spread starts on page eighteen,” Lydia told him gently. Stiles opened the magazine with shaking hands.
There it all was. Stiles kneeling with his hands on Derek's belt buckle, and Derek's whole body seeming to strain towards him. The two of them, in just underwear, in each other's arms, and Derek nearly biting through his lip as they rubbed together. Stiles leaning back against Derek on the couch, looking near blissed-out as Derek's hand rested on the waistband of his red briefs, and Derek red-eyed again and half-wolfed out as his still-human teeth rested gently against the tendon in Stiles’ neck. And then, finally, Stiles in Derek's lap, the sheet draped around them giving the illusion that they were having sex, and Derek still with his teeth resting at the juncture of Stiles’ neck and shoulder, but fangs this time, and the hand against Stiles’ back had claws, and Derek's eyes were half-closed, for all the world as though he was about to give Stiles a claiming bite. Stiles suddenly remembered that Boyd had called an end to the shoot and ordered Derek to take five. At the time he'd been in no mental state to process that, but now, looking at these photos, he thought he understood. Like puzzle pieces slotting into place, his brain started making connections, filling in the gaps of what he hadn't understood that morning, and he gasped as the full picture came clear.
He looked up at Lydia. “I need to see him.”
“I thought you might say that. I already called Laura. Get dressed.”
“What, now?”
Lydia merely arched a delicate eyebrow at him in response, and Stiles raced to comply, almost tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to his bedroom. Once there, he froze, unsure what he should wear to see Derek. Of course, last time he'd been wearing just briefs, and the photographic evidence suggested that Derek had been pretty okay with that, but he wanted to make a good second impression. Fortunately Lydia had anticipated his problem, and was already pulling a pair of tight black jeans and light green shirt out of his drawer. “The green accents your eyes,” she told him, heading out of the room. “And shower first,” she tossed over her shoulder. “You don't want to smell like four days of wallowing and Cheetos when you're around werewolf noses.”
After an extremely (perhaps even optimistically) thorough shower, Stiles dressed in the clothes Lydia had selected and made his appearance in the living room for her inspection. “You'll do,” she decided. “Come on, I'm driving.”
“Why are you driving?” Stiles retorted, ready to be affronted on Roscoe's behalf.
“Because if this meeting goes well you'll be going home with Derek, and if it doesn't you'll be in no state to drive,” she told him bluntly. Which, okay, fair. Stiles followed her to the garage and slid into the passenger seat of her sensible plug-in Prius. He had to admit that the environmentalist in him liked the idea of a car that wasn't a gas-guzzler like the Jeep, but he just couldn't bear to get rid of Roscoe until he absolutely had to.
Stiles was uncharacteristically quiet on the drive to the studio, although he was still drumming his fingers, jiggling his legs and generally being twitchy until Lydia reached over and took his hand in hers for a moment, stilling it. “Stiles. It'll be okay.” He gave her a wan smile, but they both knew that he was playing out every possible negative scenario in his head.
When they got there, Erica was sitting in the lobby, lazing back against one of the couches in the reception area. She stood up when they arrived and gave Stiles a long, narrow-eyed look. “Huh. Boyd was right. How can you feel it? A human?”
“Spark,” he explained.
She grinned suddenly. “That explains the ozone smell. Go get 'im, Tiger.” She paused, then said seriously, “But go easy on him. He's had a rough dating history.”
Derek and Laura were waiting in Laura's office, Laura looking relaxed, Derek looking strung out. His hands were clenching so tightly to the arms of the chair that his knuckles were white. Stiles sat down in the same guest chair he'd used last time he was in this office and turned his full attention on Derek. The werewolf didn't say anything, wouldn't even look at Stiles. Stiles, with his eternal gift for filling awkward silences with even more awkward conversation, cleared his throat and said, “So, a mating bond. Did you mean to, or was it just a heat-of-the-moment thing?”
Derek flinched. “I'm sorry. It … uh … I asked our pack emissary and he said it will go away in a few more weeks if we don't, um, reinforce it.”
“So you didn't mean to?” Stiles asked, his heart sinking a little.
“I would never … without your consent … I didn't … I just couldn't…” He looked over at Laura in agony.
She sighed. “What my emotionally constipated brother is trying to say is that, although he's very interested in getting to know you better, he did not intend to initiate the formation of a mating bond during the shoot. He was acting on instinct, not under control, and he would never normally do something like that without full and informed consent. Of course, until Lydia informed us that you're a spark, we assumed you were completely human and would not experience any negative effects from the … ah … interruption of that process. Derek is very sorry.” She paused and shot a glare at her brother. “He has also assured me that it will not happen again if you agree to do more photoshoots with him.”
Stiles jerked in surprise. “More photoshoots?”
“Stiles, half my staff got boners just trying to decide which of those photos to print. Your issue of the magazine has beaten all of our prior sales records -- which is saying something considering what the internet has done to print magazines. We actually had to print a second run. If you're willing to work with Derek, I want you in the magazines, I want pictures on the website, I want video. Whatever you'll do.”
Stiles blinked at her. “Wow, that's … wow.” He looked over at Derek. “Can I please speak to Derek alone for a moment?”
Laura started to say, “I'm not sure that's-” but Derek interrupted.
“It's fine, Laura.”
Laura looked like she wanted to argue, but she and Lydia left the room. Stiles stood up and took a few steps towards Derek, who was still staring at the floor. “Hey, Derek. Look, if you want to just let the bond dissolve, I understand. I know I'm probably no one's first choice for a lifemate, least of all a smoking hot werewolf, and if you’re not really interested and you were just … I don't know, moon-drunk or something, I totally get that and I won't bring it up again. But I just need you to understand what it means that I'm a spark -- you couldn't have formed that bond in the first place without my consent. I mean, I didn't really know what we were doing, maybe you didn't either, but making that connection, it was both of us. It's not like with a human where they can't really participate, wouldn't even feel the bond until after it's … um … consummated. It's more like if you were bonding another were -- it has to be mutual to work.”
Derek looked up at the him then, finally meeting his eyes, and said hoarsely, “You mean you … you'd keep it? You want it?” His eyes were wide, almost pleading. “Stiles, don't say yes because you feel guilty, or you're trying to be kind. I can … I know I may not look like it right now, but I'll live. But if we cement the bond, there's no going back for me.”
Stiles closed the last of the distance between them and knelt in front of Derek, tangling his fingers with the other man's. “I know,” he whispered. “And I'm not really sure how to explain it -- we don't even know each other -- but something about you feels right to me.”
Derek squeezed his hand gently. “I've smelled you on Lydia before. Just tantalizing hints of your scent, but it lured me. I always hoped I'd meet you someday -- and that you weren't Lydia's boyfriend,” he added with a wry smile. Stiles snorted at the idea of anyone mistaking him for Jackson Whittemore. “And then when you showed up here for that photoshoot -- with your scent so much stronger than I'd ever been able to sense it before -- I guess I was primed to react to it. All I could think about was touching you, scenting you. I was already fighting my instincts, trying not to just take you, but when you started…” He paused and blushed. “When you started smelling like arousal and I was looking into your eyes, the bond formed almost before I knew what was happening, and I lost control. If Boyd hadn't stopped me, I would have claimed you. Cemented the bond.” He blushed even deeper. “I'm a born 'wolf, my control is usually better than that. I'm sorry Stiles.”
Wordless for once, Stiles leaned up (intentionally stretching out his neck and knowing how that would affect the 'wolf) until he could reach Derek's lips with his own. The kiss was gentle, almost chaste, but it left Stiles breathless. The bond had been slowly, painfully fading over the last three weeks, but now Stiles felt it singing through his body, pulsing in his veins. He drew back, breathing hard. When Derek opened his eyes, they were red. Stiles grinned at him. “So we're doing this?”
Derek nodded wordlessly and bent his head for another kiss. This one was firmer, more insistent, and Stiles let himself fall into it, following where Derek led. But all too soon, Derek was pulling away. There was a prominent bulge at the front of his pants, but he grabbed Stiles’ hand to stop him when Stiles tentatively reached out to stroke it. “Stiles … I need … desperately need to claim you,” he groaned. “Been hard since you walked into the building and I caught a whiff of your scent. Could barely stop myself from jumping you when you walked into this room. Touch me and I won't be able to hold back any longer. And I don't want to do this in my sister's office.” He paused and added cynically, “Also if we stay here Laura might try to get it on video for the website.”
Stiles laughed. “Not this time. Maybe someday, but this time -- when you bite me and make me yours -- this is just for us. Take me to your den, wolfman.”
Derek rolled his eyes, but obligingly rose and, tugging Stiles along by their joined hands, headed for the exit to the underground parking lot. They passed Laura and Lydia. The former gave her brother a concerned look. “Derek, are you sure this is a good idea?”
Derek just made a noise halfway between a grunt and a growl and continued tugging Stiles along. “He's in cave-Derek mode, he'll have to get back to you later,” Stiles tossed back over his shoulder. “But if it helps, I'm pretty sure he thinks this is a good idea. I'm pretty jazzed about it too, but, you know, I'll probably be able to give more precise feedback in the morning. Or maybe the morning after,” he added as Derek growled again. “You know what, we'll call you. Definitely do not call us.”
The exit door shut between them at that point, and Derek tugged him towards a black Camaro. “Back seat,” he muttered through fangs. “I won't be able to concentrate on the road if you're in touching range.” He looked a little embarrassed by that admission.
“Are you sure you're in a state to drive?” Stiles asked.
Derek nodded. Stiles shrugged, figuring that werewolf reflexes counted for a lot, and slid into the back seat on the passenger side. As much as teasing Derek sounded appealing, he wasn't about to risk an accident before even getting the were into bed. Derek revved up the car and peeled out of the parking lot as if the hounds of hell were chasing them.
Derek had a nice apartment -- high ceilings, open floor plan, huge windows -- but that was about all
Stiles got to see as Derek tugged him straight to the bedroom. Once there, he sat on the bed, pulled Stiles into his lap, and proceeded to kiss him senseless, in between nuzzling at his neck and muttering broken endearments like, “Smell so good … want you so bad … mmm, Stiles, been thinking about this since the photoshoot…”
Stiles groaned as his cock responded enthusiastically to Derek's words. “Oh my god, of course you're into dirty talk.” He nipped at Derek's ear and murmured, “Gonna make me come in my pants if you keep that up. Wouldn't you rather get these clothes off so I can come in you, Alpha?”
Derek moaned at that, tipping his head back, offering Stiles his throat in a breathtaking display of vulnerability. Stiles mouthed at it, licking and scraping his teeth gently along the bared flesh as Derek whined and jerked his hips, seeking friction. “Come on big guy, clothes off. I've been dying to get my hands on your dick.”
Derek snorted at that, but he cooperated in getting them both undressed before he went back to hardcore-scenting, murmuring more delicious obscenities that had Stiles’ balls aching and his cock hard enough to pound nails. Stiles wanted to complain about it, wanted to get inside Derek, or get Derek inside him, he wasn't picky, but he was also starting to sink into that hazy space the bond put him into, where all he wanted was contact and closeness with his partner. Derek was obviously on the same page, as he continued kissing, nuzzling and rubbing against Stiles. The feel of Derek's erection rubbing against his own was driving Stiles mad, though, both too-much and not-enough. “Lube,” he gasped into Derek's ear. Derek raised his head, glassy-eyed, and gestured to the nightstand drawer. Stiles reached over and fished it out, noticing their magazine cover in the drawer with it. “Been jerking off to that?” he inquired cheekily.
“Every night,” Derek growled. “Every night since we met I've touched myself thinking of you. Took those red panties you were wearing home from the studio with me and jerked off to your scent until they stopped smelling like you, then when the magazine came out I jerked off to your pictures, thinking about what it felt like to hold you, to touch you. Imagined you under me, or fucking me. Couldn't control myself,” he admitted, nibbling at Stiles’ neck, “came so hard thinking about you.”
Stiles gasped as his cock twitched at Derek's words. “Jesus, you're going to kill me.” He poured some lube in the palm of his hand and then wiggled it between their bodies to stroke them both with it. Derek moaned again and Stiles slipped his other hand along Derek's thigh, over the tight mounds of his ass, into the furrow between the cheeks, and down to the furled opening. “Did you touch yourself here?” he asked breathlessly, rubbing his lubed finger against it. Derek groaned and bucked and nodded, his ears bright red. “Do you want me to do it?” he asked, licking the shell of Derek's left ear as he worked just the tip of his finger in -- the angle wouldn't allow him to get any further.
“Yeah,” Derek moaned. “Want to ride you while I bite you.”
“Fuck, yes, okay, we can definitely do that. Lie on your back for me while I get you ready.” When Derek complied, Stiles shimmied down until he was face-to-dick with Derek's erection, and began licking and sucking it while he slowly worked the first finger into Derek's tight, hot body. “Holy shit, weres really do run hotter,” he swore. “Can't wait to get inside you, bet that feels incredible.”
“Unnngh,” Derek groaned, in what Stiles took to be wholehearted agreement. He continued working Derek's body until he had three fingers sliding in and out comfortably, just teasing at the prostate, and Derek was squirming between his fingers and his mouth. The dirty talk had stopped, which Stiles was rather sorry about, but he was pretty proud of himself for rendering Derek nonverbal.
“Okay,” he said, withdrawing his fingers and sitting up to slick up his cock, “come over here.” Derek seated himself in Stiles’ lap, facing him, and lined himself up, moaning and throwing his head back as he slowly lowered himself down until Stiles was fully seated inside him. Stiles saw his eyes flash red for a moment before he closed them, and he cupped his hand around the back of the wolf's neck. “Hey, look at me,” he said softly. “I don't mind the red eyes, I just want to look into them and feel the connection we're building.”
Derek's eyes opened, glowing red, and Stiles leaned forward until their foreheads were touching. “Hot. As. Fuck,” he pronounced slowly.
Derek snorted a laugh. “Not sure I can hold back the rest of the shift,” he admitted, but Stiles was shaking his head even before he finished the sentence.
“Don't care. Want to see all of you. Whatever you need, Der. Don't be embarrassed.” He grinned. “You'll need the fangs out to give me the claiming bite anyway. I'm totally happy if that comes with the rest of the wolfy package, as long as all things clawed stay away from my package, you feel me?”
Derek nodded as he slowly began to work himself up and down on Stiles’ shaft. Stiles moaned. “Oh my god, feels so good. Derek, Jesus, I don't think I'm gonna last very long.”
Derek's features had already morphed into his beta shift. “Me neither,” he growled. “Next time.” He increased his speed, lifting himself up and down with a strength that was clearly supernatural, and Stiles groaned. He was just about to stutter out a warning that he was close when Derek abruptly stopped, eyes closed, fists clenched.
“Derek, what's wrong?” Stiles asked quickly. Derek shook his head for a moment, then took a deep breath. “Getting close,” he muttered. “Hard to hold back the knot when I'm like this.” He gestured to his shifted face.
“Oh fuck,” Stiles breathed as his cock twitched and throbbed. He felt a bit of precum ooze from the slit and had to pinch himself to keep from coming right then and there. “Can you knot in my hand?” he asked in a hoarse voice.
Derek looked startled for a moment, but then he nodded. “Yeah,” he said in a voice as rough as Stiles’. “You just have to keep pressure around the base.”
Stiles reached his hand between them and snugly gripped the base of Derek's cock. He could already feel the slight swelling of the gland, and by the way Derek hissed and twitched in his grip he could tell it was sensitive. He squeezed experimentally and used one finger of his other hand to tease at the sensitive spot under the head of Derek's cock while he rocked his hips slightly up into Derek. The 'wolf's whole body shuddered at the combined assault on his prostate, frenulum and knot. “Gonna come if you keep doing that.”
“Want you to,” Stiles moaned. “Bite me and come all over me, goddammit Derek, I need you to. Want to be yours.” He squeezed Derek again, and twice more, and felt the knot expand inside his fist as the werewolf howled and buried his fangs at the juncture of his neck and shoulder and then a moment later come pulsed out over his hand and wrist. Derek's body clenched around Stiles’ cock, and Stiles moaned as his own orgasm tore through him in a full-body wave that seemed to be pulled up from his very toes. He felt the bond between them solidify, although it felt more like molten lava pouring between them, hot and glowing and primordial.
“Derek,” he gasped out, and he heard Derek growling “Mine!”
“Yours,” he responded, and, “Mine,” he added his own claim.
Derek slumped over him, gasping. When he sat up again his eyes had returned to their normal green-gray-blue, and he stared at Stiles in something like awe.
Stiles returned the look, testing the edges of the bond between them with his spark. It would be strong, he thought. There was a pretty good chance they'd be able to consciously send emotions through the bond rather than just passively sensing. He gave Derek a smile of pure joy. “So. Claimed.”
“Claimed,” Derek agreed. He ran his finger possessively over the bite marks on Stiles’ neck.
The cover photo on the next issue of the magazine was a close-up of Stiles’ claiming mark, with Derek's clawed fingers resting tenderly beside it.