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A fae creature always knows when an intruder crosses into their wood. It’s a feeling deep inside their very being. A feeling that tells them that somewhere, someone dares to challenge their claim on their territory. Knowingly or not, this is a grave offense in fae culture. Unfortunately for Stiles Stilinski, it is one he is most familiar with.
Painstakingly and with much care, Stiles had staked out his claim on a small plot of land in the middle of the woods. It wasn’t the most remarkable territory. It had nice trees, a grassy meadow, and it was rife with wildlife. Others of his kind preferred something more grandiose - something with a water feature or other such thing. Stiles, however, wasn’t concerned with looks or grandiosity. His humble tract of land would serve him well. He made sure to keep up with the marks and do the proper rites every full moon. It was work - and honestly, he found it quite silly - but it was his.
That was, until a man wandered into his territory. Tall, dark, and handsome - Stiles couldn’t help but roll his eyes - and apparently a blundering idiot. It set Stiles’ teeth on edge. The man had crashed through his nice meadow one morning after the full moon. It took all of Stiles’ might to not reveal himself and kick the guy’s ass for tromping all over the flowers he’d just coaxed into bloom. Stiles had felt that unmistakable twinge of pain in his gut. The swell of rage through his bones as his instincts kicked in. This man was a stranger. He had not brought an offering or bartered to cross his territory. No, it was a great affront. One that was punishable by death.
However, despite all his good sense, something kept Stiles hidden in the trees.
Stiles watched the man cross his territory. He followed his every move through the shadows, his body blending in seamlessly to the wilderness. Several times the man stopped and looked around, as though he could sense someone watching him. At one point Stiles swore the man looked right at him, but that was impossible. Fae magic was imperceptible by human senses. If he didn’t want to be seen, he wouldn’t be seen. This man…maybe he was different. Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes at the thought. He would let the man cross unhindered, but only this once.
Stiles didn’t see the man again for another moon. He had been sitting in a tree, one leg dangling down from the branch lazily, as he dozed in and out of sleep. The night had been long - he’d just completed the full moon ritual once more to seal his claim on this land - and he found himself spent. He wanted nothing more than to fall asleep against the curve of the tree. Then it hit him. That awful wrenching pain, the anger, the insult of a stranger daring to step onto his land, when the pact was renewed and his claim the strongest?
Stiles lept from the tree faster than he knew he was capable. He raced through the woods, artfully dodging every branch and briar. The pain grew stronger as he approached the intruder. He knew he had bad luck, but two intruders in such a short amount of time seemed like some sort of divine punishment. He crouched low and peered around a copse of brambles.
It was the same fucking man.
Stiles bared his teeth in a snarl, exposing his sharp, needle-like teeth. He narrowed his eyes. This time, he’d send the man home with a message. This time, he’d make sure he would never set foot on Stilinski land again. Stiles took a deep breath -
And stopped.
The man was most definitely looking straight at him. It was only then that Stiles realized he had a deer slung over his shoulders, a bloody bite taken out of its neck. Stiles' mouth opened in a surprised ‘o.’ The man didn’t move. He just observed Stiles with a frown. Somehow, that made Stiles even angrier. Now he was taking his animals? And he didn’t even have anything to say about it? He didn’t even look guilty!
”I would think about your next move,” the man said. His voice was a low rumble. Stiles sensed a threat there.
“You’re on my land,” Stiles said. He stepped around the man in a large circle, not fully emerging from the cover of the trees. Now that he was closer, he could see the man’s features better. He was just as dark and handsome up close, with a chiseled jawline peppered with stubble. He was stronger than he first appeared. Stiles could see the ropes of coiled muscle in his arms as he hefted the deer over his shoulders. Stiles settled on his eyes. They were a gorgeous blue color, but Stiles thought he could see something else brewing beneath. A sheen of red.
“I didn’t see any signs,” The stranger said. It was dismissive, insulting. It wasn’t a plea of innocence. It was almost accusatory.
“What is your name?” Stiles asked, deciding to go a different route. The stranger was obviously naive to his kind’s existence, or he wouldn’t have dared trespassed in the first place. He couldn’t possibly know the tale about giving a fae your name. He had to suppress a wicked smile.
“Derek,” the man said. The corner of his mouth quirked up in a smile. He shifted the deer’s weight from one shoulder to another. Effortless. Infuriating. Stiles’ felt his eye twitch.
“Just Derek?” Stiles pressed. A first name didn’t do anything. He couldn’t weave his wicked webs with just Derek.
Derek cracked a dazzling smile. His eyes scrunched up at the corners. Stiles could see the unmistakable pointed incisors. Derek’s eyes flashed a deep red. “Like I would give out something so precious to a fae.”
The revelation struck Stiles like a bolt of lightning. The searing hot anger rippled through his skin. The need to protect his territory. The need to sink his teeth into Derek’s skin and feel the well of lifeblood beneath his tongue. He took a deep breath to center himself. Sometimes his fae nature got the better of him. Today would not be that time.
”Then you understand that what you’re doing is a grave offense,” Stiles said. His fangs poked out from his upper lip, making it harder to speak clearly. Some things he couldn’t control when he was angry - like the flaring of his otherworldly features. He was sure that if he looked down, his nails would be claws and his skin a purple hue. He hoped the sight freaked Derek out. “You’re just choosing to be an asshole?”
“I’m choosing to take the quickest way home,” Derek shrugged. His red gaze seemed to rake Stiles up and down. He could feel it inch across his skin. It made an unexplainable feeling grip his stomach,. A warm heat radiated down to the crotch of his pants. Stiles averted his eyes.
“What are you, then?” Stiles asked. He chanced a step forward, out of the tree line and into the clearing. He thought he saw Derek’s eyes widen, but he blinked and it was gone. “You’re obviously not human. You’re a stupid as one, but no mortal should be able to perceive me.”
“Maybe you’re the stupid one,” Derek said and squared his shoulders. “Especially if you don’t know the answer to that question. I’ll let you think about it.”
With that, Derek turned and ran through the woods, quicker than Stiles anticipated. It was so sudden that Stiles didn’t have time to react. He stood, mouth agape, as the handsome man with the deer across his shoulders sprinted through the trees and out of his territory.
Stiles was left with the question to ponder. He spent another month chewing it over. He even resorted to asking Scott his opinion. Scott had simply cocked his head, shrugged, and asked “Why didn’t you just kill him in the first place?” Stiles had punched him playfully in the arm, coming up with an excuse about wanting to know what kind of creature Derek was before exacting his revenge.
Secretly, he cursed Scott under his breath for adding another pressing question to his plate.
Why hadn’t he killed Derek the first time?
—
Like clockwork, Derek appeared on Stiles’ territory again the morning after the full moon. This time, Stiles was expecting him. He sat crouched in the tree just across from the clearing, like a cat ready to pounce. His eyes narrowed as his instincts unleashed their torrent of pain in his gut as Derek stepped into the meadow. He didn’t have a deer this time, but he was sporting a bloody shirt and a wicked gash across his face.
“Have you found the answer yet, fae?” Derek called up to Stiles.
“It’s Stiles,” he said as he leapt from the tree and landed without a sound in front of Derek. “I’d be a fool to let a goblin know my full name.” He grinned, turning Derek’s turn of phrase against him.
Derek laughed a deep belly laugh that echoed through the trees. He doubled over, resting his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. Stiles looked bewildered. Derek looked up, a grin on his face that made Stiles’ chest ache. Stiles took a step back, trying to put distance between him and that feeling.
“A goblin? Really? That’s what you came up with?” Derek asked. “I’m almost offended.”
“I should kill you for your insolence,” Stiles hissed, showing his fangs, but a blush played high on his cheeks.
Derek closed the distance between them, his chest pressed flush against Stiles’. He looked down his nose at the fae with a wicked grin. He leaned in and whispered, “I’d love to see you try.”
Derek pushed off of Stiles and wandered, almost casually, out of the woods. Stiles stood in the center of the clearing, his breathing rapid, a dark blush high on his cheeks, rage pulsing through his veins and the most aching erection he’d ever experienced tenting his pants.
This was not good. Not good at all.
—
Stiles spent the next month with his mind full of images of a tall, dark man with flashing red eyes and a wicked smile. Of a deep pine scent and the scratch of stubble against his cheek. He found himself counting down the days to the full moon. This time, he’d give Derek an answer. A correct answer. How stupid he was to think goblin. All goblins he knew were not nearly as infuriating or strong as Derek.
Stiles sat straight up from where he lay in the grass.
Red eyes, full moon, inexplicable strength, and an infuriating attitude. It was so obvious. Yet Stiles had looked it right over. Maybe Derek was right. Maybe he was an idiot.
He tried to look casual as he sat against the tree that overlooked the clearing. He reigned in his feelings as to not look excited or expectant. Derek could never know that he was looking forward to his arrival. Stiles attributed it to his eagerness to give Derek an answer. This time he was certain he was right and he couldn’t wait to see the reaction on Derek’s face. This time, maybe he would finally get back at the man.
Right on time, Derek staggered into the clearing. He looked worse for wear. His shirt and pants were ripped and bloody, which wasn’t new, but this time his wounds were far worse. Derek managed a bloody grin when he saw Stiles before he collapsed in the grass. Stiles hurried over to his slumped body, turning the man onto his back so he could see the extent of the wounds. His face had healed remarkably well, leaving just a thin line of scar tissue. He was riddled with claw and bite marks all across his chest. Stiles let out a shaky breath.
Stiles tore through the fabric of Derek’s shirt with his nails to expose the full extent of the damage. He’d lost a lot of blood, but many of the wounds seemed to have already stopped bleeding. Derek’s breathing was strong and even. The man seemed to just be exhausted. Stiles scrunched up his nose. It only confirmed his suspicions.
Derek cracked open one eye, which at the moment was his usual blue. He let out a groan. “Stiles…” he said. “Can you help me? Please?”
It almost sounded convincing. Playing dumb, Stiles decided to play along. “What can I do?”
“Only one thing can heal me,” Derek said. He leaned up ever so slightly. Stiles leaned down to listen to the man’s whisper. “Please. A kiss from a fae. It can heal me.”
Stiles had to stop himself from laughing out loud. He pressed his lips together to suppress a grin. He looked at Derek with his brow knit together is mock-seriousness. He hoped Derek wouldn’t notice. “If that’s what it takes…I can’t have you bleeding out on my flowers.”
Stiles leaned down and watched and Derek closed his eyes and leaned upward to intercept his lips. Before they made contact, Stiles dodged to the side. He pressed his lips against Derek’s ear and a palm on his chest. He pushed the man back down to the ground. Derek let out a surprised grunt. Stiles smiled. “Like I would ever kiss a dirty werewolf.”
Stiles grinned as Derek let out what he could only describe as a whine. It was Stiles’ turn to run off into the woods, leaping up into a tree to survey the aftermath of his trickery. Derek laid on the ground for a moment more before hefting himself up. Stiles could see from his vantage point that his wounds were already knitting back together. He also noticed the very large bulge in the man’s ripped jeans. Stiles grinned and disappeared back into the woods.
—
Stiles found himself staring at the sky, willing the days to go by quicker. It was weeks after their last encounter and Stiles could still feel the electricity radiating across his skin. It was addicting. He wanted more. How much more, he wasn’t sure. He didn’t care. He just knew he needed it. He didn’t know if Derek felt the same, but there was something unmistakably heady and tense underlying their relationship. If he would even call it that.
He was so lost in one of these thought spirals that he didn’t hear the crack of a branch as someone approached. His thoughts were so preoccupied that he didn’t notice Derek approach him from behind, on a day that was not the morning after a full moon. It wasn’t until Derek was pressed against his back, his hand trailing up Stiles’ stomach and chest, his breath hot and heavy against his neck, that he realized the instinct driven pain in his stomach wasn’t there.
Stiles turned in Derek’s arms, breath caught in his chest. Derek only smiled. They were chest to chest, Derek giving him a wolfish grin, accented by sharp teeth. Stiles wracked his mind for a reason why he didn’t notice Derek's approach, or why his instinct didn’t warn him.
It gave him that same lightning struck feeling.
Deep down, he didn't recognize Derek as a threat or an intruder.
No, he was something more.
A guest.
A friend.
A mate.
It was as though Derek read his mind. Their mouths crashed together, all teeth and tongues. They found their rhythm quickly, Stiles nipping at Derek’s bottom lip with sharp fangs. Derek growled and grabbed the back of Stiles’ neck, deepening the kiss. Stiles let out a whine at the touch and the feel of Derek’s claws digging into his scruff. Derek grinned against his lips.
“You like that, huh?” Derek asked.
Stiles raised his chin in defiance, not willing to submit so easily. He shrugged out of Derek’s grip and grabbed the man’s wrists. He pushed Derek up against a tree and pressed his hands above his head with one hand. The other rucked Derek’s shirt up above his pecs. Stiles pressed his hips against Derek’s and he gasped at the feeling of their erections grinding together. Derek was already hard and straining against his pants. Stiles felt his mouth water.
Derek watched Stiles through half lidded eyes. The fae kissed and nipped his neck, using his needle like teeth to leave a trail of marks down his tanned skin. Stiles kissed across his chest, flicking his tongue out to lick across each of Derek’s nipples. Derek grunted, his hips bucking up to grind against Stiles’. Stiles clicked his tongue and shook his head, pinning Derek’s hips back against the tree.
“Not so fast, wolf boy,” Stiles said. “I’m in charge here.”
“Are you?” Derek asked before flipping them around. It was so fast Stiles could only yelp. Stiles was pressed face first against the tree. The bark bit into the side of his cheek as he arched his back against Derek, pressing his ass into the hard length of his dick straining through his jeans. He let out another whine. Derek pressed his sharp teeth to the scruff of Stiles’ neck as he grabbed at his hips. Stiles practically went limp and pliable in his grasp.
“I’ve wanted you since the days I laid eyes on you,” Derek said. His hand reached around the front of Stiles’ and rucked up his shirt, his hand fanning out felt against the fae’s stomach. His thumb ran over the stripe of hair that ran from Stiles’ belly button to down into his pants. He stopped at the base of Stiles’ cock before running his hand back up. “I’ve come to collect.”
Stiles panted, his breath coming in quick bursts. He threw back his head, exposing his throat to Derek. “Glad we’re on the same page,” Stiles said between breaths. “I’m holding you to that.” He accented his statement with another press of his ass into Derek’s dick.
Derek grunted, sank his teeth into the soft flesh of Stiles’ neck, and plunged his hand back into Stiles’ pants. He wrapped his hand around the base of the fae’s cock and gave it a quick stroke, flicking his thumb across the head. Stiles let out a high, keening whine that drove Derek wild. Derek yanked Stiles’ pants down and found that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Derek let out a shaky breath.
“What?” Stiles said as he looked back over his shoulder. He smirked. “You expect a fae to care about underwear? You’re lucky I’m wearing clothes at all.”
Derek gave Stiles’ ass a smack before he pulled down his own jeans and underwear. His dick bobbed free as he kicked the garments away. The sight of Stiles gripping the tree, back arched and ass presented, was almost enough to make him cum on the spot. He’d spent months playing this game, he wasn’t about to waste it in seconds. He took a deep breath and gripped the base of his cock, centering himself.
“Are you ready for this?” Derek asked as he pressed his cock into the cleft of Stiles’ ass. Stiles bit his lip and shook his head.
“Please,” Stiles begged. He leaned back, trying to chase the feeling of Derek pressed against his hole. He wanted it so bad he could scream. He was already so wet and ready. The press of the werewolf’s fangs against his neck made him whimper.
Derek kept his teeth clamped around Stiles’ neck as he lined up the tip of his cock. He sank into Stiles’ wet heat slowly. The fae let out the most beautiful moan as Derek bottomed out. Derek gripped Stiles’ hips as he sank more pressure into his bite, leaving an undeniable mark. The mark of a werewolf on their mate. Derek smiled, lips ghosting across the mark, before pulling out slowly and slamming back home.
Stiles arched back against Derek, taking his full length, feeling the swell of his knot forming at the base. He whimpered with each thrust, wishing that he could take more, take him all, take every last bit of this infuriating, sexy, lovely werewolf that had someone wiggled his way into his heart. Derek held him close, their skin flush, breathing hard against Stiles’ neck. He was relentless in his thrusts. Stiles felt his knees go weak, almost giving out beneath him. Derek wrapped one arm around his waist to keep him standing.
Just as Derek’s knot began to fully form, Stiles felt himself unravel. The catch of the knot on his rim sent electricity up his spine and through his cock. His mind flew in dizzying spirals as he came, painting the bark of the tree white. Derek let out a moan, deep and guttural, as his knot slipped fully into Stiles. His cock pulsed as he came, filling the fae to the brim. He held Stiles close and lowered them to the ground, careful not to pull too hard on their tie. Stiles let out small whimpers and whines with each pulse of Derek’s cock. Derek grinned against his neck and traced the mating bite mark with his tongue.
“I thought you were going to kill me,” Derek mumbled as he trailed his fingers lazily up Stiles’ chest.
“Careful,” Stiles said, breathless. “There’s still time.”
“I look forward to it,” Derek said.