Chapter 1: Prologue
Chapter Text
Eastern winter was cold, sure, but even more was Noah’s body laying on the red-dotted snow.
Silent was the night that took away Stiles’ father, only enriched by occasional guns firing nearby; they were just walking back home from an evening out, but fate had another idea that the lonely, freezing boy didn’t agree with.
A bullet between eyes and one through the heart, execution style; he couldn’t bring himself to think of the name of those who belong to such doings, how could he anyway? He wasn’t a man of such ways.
His father’s frozen body laid on the moon’s snowflakes, white just like they were supposed to be, enlightening the innocence of the man; yet the pool of warm, visceral blood wasn’t going to retrain itself from staining Stiles’ mind with the portrait Death had commissioned to it.
Over the dead, the boy curved and begged, coughing with sorrow and disbelief at the loss of a beloved; his father was a good man, a policeman, he didn’t deserve to die without being looked in the eye. However, much to everyone’s experience, the pleas of the boy were unheard in the indifferent county of gunpowder and vast ice land.
Fingertips got soaked in scarlet liquid, Stiles tried to pay it no mind but the task wasn’t so manageable; how could he ever move away from the father who had raised him to seek the languid warmth through the biting attitude of the cold?
Yet sobs froze on his cheeks, in those eyes of his ever so slightly alive, causing pain when pulling skin into views of cries; his father slept in the depth of the winter, no sign of wiping away his beloved son’s tears from the pale innocence of his skin.
Cold and alone, that was what Stiles turned out to be.
The mobsters had taken the last of his possession, so he was poor; and the poor had nothing to lose.
Road empty, people nowhere to be seen, his family left to scrambles occupied the street, however those irises of his weren’t as blind as his weeping being; a woman stood a few feet into an alley right across them, purplish rings as eyes while being nothing more than a dark silhouette of the night.
The gun wrapped in her fingers still reflected the shine of the moon though, giving away the reason of her presence during such a fateful night; Stiles knew who he had to seek payment from.
Therefore revenge was bittersweet and cold, much like his heart had become as well in the passing months…
He had begun to track her ever since his father was gone, after the funeral during which no one except him was present, wiping away the lone drop of sadness escaping his impassible figure, with eyes firm on the headstone of the unfair grave of a father meant for great things.
He turned into a cold man, one who gave up on the beauty of life in such a desolated part of the world, one who opted to achieve vengeance for a dead beloved.
Stiles Stilinski was barely a teenager, yet his acumen brought him great results in his mad-hunt: her name, Jennifer Blake, popped up more or less twice on any internet research, but her description made scared people hide beneath the surface, unknowingly indicating the way to find her in the vastity of the country.
Even more so, people called her Baba Jaga, much to the atmosphere of witchcraft she had around herself, and any time someone with a witty mouth heard the name, they would keep it shut for the time being, scared she might be close and hear their voices chatting angrily about everything and nothing; she was known for her predilection of silence and no one wanted to dare to witness what she’d do if there were noises around.
But the threat wasn’t enough to stop humans from being their chatty beings.
People whispered the tales of Baba Jaga, the woman of purplish eyes and easy temper, sharing stories of close up meeting with her in unfortunate nights of deaths and blood; Stiles could’ve shared his own, but he always kept quiet to put together a profile accurate enough that would help him find her.
It led him to places he had never seen before…
An abandoned suburban station of graffiti walls and off-rails trains, barrels of gasoline as light and mobsters nowhere to be seen; it was the poor people’s place, where she seemed to spend most of her time; where no one would ever go search for her.
Yet a decaying hospital was more sinister, with scattered glass windows and empty radiology stations, with drug addicts hallowing in the hallways, chanting broken stories they couldn’t remember; Stiles visited the place more than once, but of her there was no trace.
Maybe the apartment complex down the road where his father died was more sentimental for her, or rather for Stiles; the building fading in the white cast of the fog was astonishing in its dominating stature, while eyes got cleaned from the unshed tears relying on the brim. He had to be a cold man.
Besides, simpler places were more of her kind.
In alleys and down train stations’ hidden hallways, he had found many people warming up to a man-made fire, averting their anxious gaze elsewhere whenever he passed by, yet whispering his deed behind his back, picking up information for him from friends and old guards.
They were nice people, nicer than the woman Stiles was hunting; soon enough they started to get closer to him, trying to understand who the regular bypasser was beneath that fashion of his.
He spent much time there, while his black trench coat for the hellish cold brought much peeking attention; it served him well though, people would share their sights and a new vigilante would be added to the list, and he’d be recognizable even to her if that was the case.
The slim figure of his body was enchanting to maddening people, the curve of his waist and hips even more provocative with a tight belt closing the coat; high chin and hunter eyes, straight lips of rosy pain, the cold biting at the skin and pulling it away, with a dead pale shade covering his face, cheeks burning in contrast.
Many already known him, began to call him Koschei, the great warrior who strived for revenge, and many began bowing to the man whenever he passed by with a kind bag of food in offering to those in need of nourishment; Stiles was making a name for himself, hoping to get something useful out of the goodwill of his heart.
Then, weeks after his conspicuous help, it happened.
People shared more details with him: the woman was fearless and bloodthirsty, wearing white at night and black at day, smuggling firearms and small explosives to great men in power, with contacts in many if not all aspects of the society they were living in; he was secretly glad for all of it.
Her existence was the minimum he could achieve; no material or digital proof of her, yet people knew the woman who went by the name of Baba Jaga, feared her in most scenarios and died in her presence in a few. She was tangible to an extent Stiles could reach.
Besides all the beauty he was adored by, carried through the wind by people he let talk in the dark, caught an interesting person’s attention: Derek Hale.
Stiles had seen him rarely, always trying to hide behind a facade of unprovoked annoyance, yet barely a being of destruction; the boy had conducted a small research on him.
Man of virtues and evils, of both pain and care; he was imposing in stature and recognizable by two full sleeves of tattoos, with an unusual calmness a man of his caliber would never have, seemingly demonstrating the world didn’t bother him; plus the signature symbol on the back: the triskele.
Overall, his beauty wrapped the mind of no other than the boss of the high ends of a certain organization Jennifer seemingly had worked for in the past; Stiles had heard whispers, later certified, about the half man and half wolf holding the power of the whole country in the palm of his hand; after all it was sort of expected from a person of his rank.
The wolf fitted the high ends of every hierarchy he was within: alpha to the wolves of Moscow, boss to the mobsters of Brat'ya, and even a more peculiar role he had within the underground societies based upon the sacred deal of contraband; Derek was notoriously known for being the masters to the dolls of Russia.
Besides, people attached a name to him as well, pushing to the side all the others in favor of Ilya; it had been gifted to him by the homeless who found shelter beneath the roof of the wolf’s sanctuary for those in need of something he could provide; people heard about the assertiveness of the wolf but experienced the compassion of the man, viewing him as a man of reason; a man with reasons.
Although such a precious name, his market of manmade puppets never ceased to exist, never stopped being notoriously known for its trading profit on living beauties.
Dolls were beings of immense gorgeousness, cold in skin and fatal in deeds, yet passionate in heart and clever in mind; everyone who could be fit to be labeled as one of the prestigious Russian dolls passed through Derek’s attentive selection, out of which he would sporadically keep an ephemeral, lovely companion for himself. A time passer for boring nights, still without harming the beloved creation of his heart; for some reason, he never lifted a malicious finger in their way…
Both men and women were of inestimable value in the market the master had created upon careful crafting; being in possession of a doll with the Hale mark was a sign of power and status, each person who had a triskele on the side of their slim neck was kept under great care by every owner’s ordeal.
The reason of which laid in the conditions of possessing one of the famous works of art: taking immense and detailed care of them, from food to clothes and back to health, providing everything they could ever want, but more importantly, one rule served as reminded of what the boss of Moscow could do: never dare to hurt one of the master’s creations, even if personally owned.
Derek Hale would come himself to withdraw a doll of his if he was made aware of some poor condition his creation was living in, walking with heavy steps and a cold stare, hands in pockets in disinterest, without listening to excuses coming out of poor mannered men. The wolf would make sure no other doll could be harmed; he’d kill the men before leaving.
Besides, what was the purpose of the dolls, despite being mostly acknowledged for their ethereal beauty and incredible abilities?
Dolls were companions for life.
Many men of the high ranks of corrupted Russia couldn’t afford a simple woman to fall in love with them and decided, knowing the horrible deeds of said men, to stick around for the long ride and not wish for a better life in the meantime; after all, men were in need of lovers, someone warm despite the great cold of their territory.
Which was exactly where dolls came in handy.
People accustomed to the ways of the underground, akin to the horror capable by men and still willing to love them and submit to them without much of a complaint if treated with respect and kindness, whatever amount their owners were capable of anyway…
They were prizes among all as well, due to the fact that to be listed for a doll, the master himself must agree to your request of having one; and only a few hundred of men, among the thousands of hundred of people of Russia, fitted within the standard Derek had set; he wasn’t going to give his dolls to uneducated and rude people.
Plus, dolls came at a price, or what kind of business would he be running?
Yet, his deals were not about trafficking humans against their will; his creations could choose whether or not to be owned by the occasional man asking for their hand, which made the man in possession of one viewed as someone worthy of more than a few million rubles.
Furthermore, the man of the triskele was just as feared as Jennifer, yet respected in sinister ways by oblivious or intellectual people of a certain appeal, who had begun to cheer the wolf through each of the steps that separated him from his most high-end goal: finding the most exquisite doll for himself, one born to be more than a simple doll to a man like him.
Even so, the boss, the alpha, the master, was well known also for a lover who wasn’t a doll; a woman of great finesse but outrageous desires, capable of cursing with only her eyes, someone who belonged in jail even for the standard of the underground societies within the great Slavic city.
A femme fatale if anyone cared to give her another epithet among all the others she had collected throughout the years; surely it fitted the taste of Derek Hale, man mesmerized by delicate but deadly beauty, haunted by it while searching for it in every face he could see while walking down the deserted streets.
Jennifer Blake was Derek Hale’s old lover, now put in the closet to be forgotten by the wolf’s acquaintances; however the man was of different opinion: he cared for her regardless, something out of character for a man like him, yet somewhat understandable given his compassionate care for his dolls.
Which all came down to a Wednesday night, while the boy was walking back home, to his empty, lonely home, just to eat and sleep; the scheme of events and information, the people involved and those with some sort of knowledge… Everything brought Stiles to think of a singular plan to achieve the revenge his heart sought to hold:
To achieve Jennifer’s dead body, he’d have to become Derek Hale’s most favorite doll; his perfect lover for the cold winter ahead.
Chapter 2: The Beginning
Notes:
these chapters are very saturated of events and development and are very 'quick', but i did my best with the time i gave myself cause i wanted this to be out before a certain date, so i hope you'll enjoy and if so, lemme know!
this said, good read (^///^)edit: don't get fooled, please. nothing is taken out of the following chapters and i decided to make them mid-length to make the story develop with a high paced narration since it was not intended to be a slow burn
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Noah died on December 13, 1989. Stiles had been by Derek’s side since 1993.
Man of desired warm blood as he had apparently become, the young guy got himself railed up by the mobsters’ boss, who surely developed an absurd taste for the slim figure and the menacing eyes Stiles had shown him the first time they’ve met officially, with him offering himself as a doll; Derek had been amused by the undying smirk the boy sneaked behind him when he had turned around to sign off his ownership. What a peculiar individual was being brought onto the game…
“In line!”
A rugged man threw a fist on a cold steel table inside an icy chamber; everyone who was present as possible doll did as told, silent with firm, front-facing eyes, barely showing the breathing rhythm of chests as they stood naked for the master to judge; it was protocol for Derek to personally choose each and all candidate for the future dolls of the market.
Someone was too thin, someone too tall, or too muscular, maybe one could be too chatty; Stiles hoped it was imagination winning when ears heard someone was being too alive… Or maybe some features were too peculiar in the lineaments composing faces? Perhaps, an individual could be seen a hundred kilometers away given their bearing sending echoes of disloyalty?
Could master Hale really tell every commas about someone by just a plain look at their body, naked as the day they were being brought into the world to face such an individual with even more peculiar visuals?
Jade eyes sharp as knives, brown thick with thicker arms, while tattoos conveyed a dangerous aura of warning no one could ignore; the man was muscular, no deny in that, although his composure suggested a lesser imposing personality with how well spoke he was around town; someone sure had made a profile of such a legend, perhaps it was the same person who felt a need for chains to keep himself at bay.
Stiles was the next in line, the one before him was too… Petty? How the man could tell by the doll’s everlasting genuine silence, the boy could never know.
Despite all, the slim body still stood motionless in the quiet atmosphere, waiting for judgment to be cast on him; both arms long by the sides, chest open and chin high; fingertips, hips, collarbones, shoulders, tip of the nose and ears, knees and elbows, all were rosy against the piercing cold of the refrigerator cell they were all being held in.
Derek just looked in dirty eyes of gold; the boy didn’t avert the gaze to go anywhere else if not where the wolf was staring at. Body got scanned through lens in search of impurities, each centimeter inspected with absurd precision; it made him anxious. Was he not of his liking? Perhaps, he seemed too menacing? Dad always said that gaze holding of his made him appear… ‘Judgy’.
Beauty could be the death of him, the same aspect of life he had cultivated in order to use it to achieve a polished win in that precise moment, getting permission to hold the wolf’s heart without saying a word or lifting a finger. The wait held air in thigh fists, lungs got excruciatingly compressed; he held it through the staring he received.
Was it possible to be too pretty?
Fingers brushed his thigh, he tried to hold everything in place, hiding the beating of his heart jumping in unison with the switching movements of the master’s eyes; yet control was pristine, unmatched by every caliber Derek had ever seen, so he wondered some more about possible outcomes going against his wished end.
However, the man let his tingling fingertips go unnoticed or perhaps he understood enough the emotion one would go through being in such a cliff position; Stiles kept a sharp jaw all the time, but teeth were starting to grind against his most solid pinnacle of resilience, which was when something revealed the cards of the game.
The cold and slightly shaking hand got held by the master, who brought it to his lips without much of a reason Stiles was aware of; however, it was the first tick of a long checking list.
Apparently, for a master such as the Hale in front of which he was standing with a prideful, blank stare and an anew stone still body, nothing ‘too pretty’ could exist outside his acknowledgement of the creature; it couldn’t even go out in the market, it would be a waste of stunning material.
“This one,” he had said without much of a collector of those assertive words, letting the boy’s hand fall back in place; someone moved, yet pale sage eyes kept solid the link to Stiles’. “Take this one to my place” and those unmovable irises flicked red for a broken second, however without achieving the desired reaction from the target.
The ethereal entity the master had the pleasure and honor to claim was a stone cold statue of a deity, unknowingly in disguise; the boy was a fortress of ice, impenetrable even by the warmest of hands, a detail the man appreciated as the clock began to tick again favoring the young guy’s relief.
The master then stood still, as the boy did, awaiting for something to be done; both seemingly equally unbothered by the running time a man pointed out from the back of the room.
Besides, Derek wouldn’t be pressured into keeping his business fast and cheap; after all, everyone was selected with an acumen of mind only a quiet, patient man could achieve under such diligent matters. Furthermore, Stiles hoped for the anxious wait to end, grinning already at the win he had scored in so little time.
However, the wolf’s swift motion went partially unnoticed by the boy.
A clawed hand soon took place around his neck, a single tip running spirals on one side; he knew the way the mark was done, and although it wasn’t barbaric, it wasn’t entirely modern either. With a slow motion the man softly carved his claim on the body, leaving a scar made to show status as the other tried not to shiver.
Once done, eyes didn’t leave the bloody scar even for a blinking moment, admiring almost the finished work the master had the pleasure to embroider; surely, he didn’t take away anything from the beauty added to the boy, which he savorly expressed as a human fingertip smeared the crimson tint to help stop the bleeding.
“Now, this looks good on you.”
The words were of a thickness of sweet Stiles almost found nauseous, but he couldn’t deny the man’s eyes as he looked in each with a surprisingly calm attitude; it had got him off guard, although not totally unpredictable as he had heard around how the boss used to mark immediately those who were of a higher value than usual finds.
For a long instance, the man didn’t move his hand away, perhaps feeling the brief instance of pain running down the boy’s collarbone till it reached his chest; the mark was never a process of gentleness, but no doll ever complained after the small incision would be done and sealed.
Besides, it would be the only kind of harm the man would put his dolls through; all had the sign and no other scar was on their bodies, if not there already. The master didn’t see scars as impurities, but rather as symbols of surviving a great deed or pain, something someone could’ve easily died for.
After such a maddening waiting, Stiles was ecstatic by the end he achieved with just a brushing finger; therefore when the man turned around to put a fancy signature on a piece of useless paper and left his neck be in peace, a smirk couldn’t be stopped from forming on the younger’s pale skin.
The alpha turned around right back to catch him in the act.
“One of a kind, indeed.” It let out all the amusement he presumably felt while eyeing him top to bottom… He signed fast on that blank sheet of empty although commanding words while hiding how much intrigued the guy had got him to be; Stiles’ plan was going on just as planned…
Hence, ever since that day when the boy got a bag over his head and a gag pushed past teeth, all for being driven to the boss’ house more than a seemingly quarter hour away, nothing could’ve prepared him for a doll’s training and responsibilities; yet, Stiles was the best in all courses, during which Derek was an everlasting presence, with eyes glued to his every, even smallest, movement.
An intellectual capacity out of ordinary, much like his beauty, with a nearly perfect performance in many combat styles, mixed with an acumen in structuring plans and most of all, a mouth filled with unfiltered words Derek couldn’t get enough of, even if he had to pull up a low-radar fight to hear them during those few charmed times the boy would spill something; he had to admit at some point, after all, that the younger guy had something akin to perseverance, yet he couldn't quite point the reason which sustained the fundament of it.
However, the boy was one of those with a very warm kind of blood running through tiny veins, which Derek surely appreciated in more ways than one; with consent, though, just following the way he had always so strongly enforced among other owners and throughout his business…
Almost three months of training to be a doll, still under the strict instructions of which the man sitting on the couch with crossed arms and legs, sleeves of tattoos on full display with eyes flicking red per usual, was the provider, signals never stopped coming; whatever those taillights-eyes signified, Stiles didn’t care for as long as it didn’t obstruct the plan. Also, drying his battled body after a training session was more the matter at hand.
Be it as it may though, silence or privacy weren’t things he could afford.
“Stiles.”
The man had been calling him by his first name in the past few months, the boy didn’t really mind it happening, it felt refreshing to be respected and not called whatever name passed by the mobsters’ minds while in the training arena; with body turning around to face him, putting on a shirt long enough to reach the end of the boxers, he let out some words: “yeah, master?” He had been using that little name they’ve told him to say; not a fan.
Nothing escaped the sealed lips of a stone still judge scanning the slim figure of a doll in waiting; the Hale’s underground cave of processing trainees seemed too humble for its owner and purpose, being empty and naked, yet fit for how everyone who actually knew the man within described him as: a man of simple life.
Stiles had never been more tempted to test people’s opinions, however something disturbed the articulated thoughts a clever mind was already forming; “why don’t you come here for a moment?”
Nothing other than oblige, bare feet made no sound of steps on the hard floor; at least he wasn’t just out the shower, with nothing on if not a towel wrapped around his hips; he knew Derek wouldn’t mind that. In a few long movements he was standing patiently with the elegance of a ballerina on stage; where was the first note of start for the dance?
“Sit by my side, won’t you?”
So many questions at which Stiles couldn't actually disagree without setting back the plan… Somehow the man was never of a threatening imposition, so calm of demeanor and even more gentle in gestures; it was strange but welcomed by the boy, glad to not have to deal with a barbaric man any more than he had to endure during training. He had broken so many bones on that concrete pavement, a few drops of opponents’ blood were sewed in it each time after his passing.
He did as he was asked, mimicking the man’s way without appearing disrespectful, and did so much willingly despite the tense posture he sporadically had whenever Derek asked him to come so close; it never felt quite right, but he accepted the hardship of endurance to avenge the caring father he had lost. He could deny the man, but denial could never fit into a full grave.
“I have a question for you.” It was expected, the man had been asking many in the last week, always with eyes lingering about the triskele scarred on the skin of his neck; Stiles hoped it could be about an answer that would speed up the undying plan that was eating his heart.
“What’s it about?” Never once was an answer of his longer than necessary, with an everlasting flat tone with no emotion in it, and somehow the man picked him for such a molecular characteristic; there was no need to chit chat with Derek Hale about the weather.
A calloused hand caressed a pale thigh. Stiles didn’t move it away but the muscles flexed in memorized response, unwillingly sharing his truest thoughts; Derek never did more than that, for a reason the boy didn’t mind digging up. He was fine with the action regardless, any price was manageable by the poor, as he was so even in his heart, living with nothing to lose.
Why the man seemed to never be able to avert his eyes from Stiles’, he could never tell though; yet the hand, the touch, the feeling… Everything was never a gesture that could ever feel as threat. Derek didn’t seem to be a man of harmful pleasure, whatever enjoyment he might search from the few dolls he kept close; they were four or five, each so peculiar and deemed worthy by the wolf, yet none was ever enough to be his favorite.
Besides, it was his role to fill, he just needed to be patient and let the man open a way for him to slither into; Stiles could mold into anything and a cast just came his way to take a step further.
“Would you like to be one of my personal dolls?” His words were accompanied by another sentence, much useless as Stiles would’ve said ‘yes’ without a need for anything else; “no more market training, just a bed and a stable role for you, wouldn't that be nice?”
Lips perked in a smile, fists tightened and a long exhale left rosy nostrils; Derek collected everything, stored it well and secured in the depths of a sophisticated mind, waiting patiently for an answer he already knew from the start of the day.
“Would love to if you want me.” Another part of the plan sailed for good, he achieved another inch of closure to the woman he wanted to bring down to the misery he was in, hidden so well beneath all the scheduling that the cold nights have provided him before putting his name in the list of possible dolls.
However, a hand held his waist in place to stick close by the man’s side, an unnoticed surprise otherwise non-existent if Stiles didn’t spiral in menacing conspiracies; something had escaped his crafted figure of immovable doll.
“Ah, here it is that smirk of yours,” Derek promptly remarked. Stiles tried to make it fall; “don’t.” He listened.
Furthermore, after that day the alpha proposed to allow his days to be within the walls of the Hale’s house, which was met by one of those exquisite expressions of agreement the master admired, they implied no need for additional words; the same day, Stiles prepared dinner for both with a long apron on, so provocatively circling his waist as he cooked and served plates. For the first few weeks, there was no other doll in the house, but after that they all came back.
Nevertheless, strange was the order of each coming day.
None of the sweet girls or pretty boys stayed longer than a few hours, seemingly going back to unknown locations after being done doing tasks assigned throughout the daylight; Stiles was the only one who slept in a room next to the master’s bedroom. It seemed to represent the way for the right path.
Which he could’ve been on, surely so when Derek, man of the house, canceled the usual Sunday’s dinner with all his dolls to spend it with him. Peculiar…
“Why don’t we try something that might help with that tense body of yours?”
The question followed Stiles’ hands washing the dishes; when he was done, mere seconds later, he faced the alpha and got close to him; a smirk, which hid the creeping strangling around a closed throat, was clear on his features. Derek was a fool for it.
Hands patted his own lap, “have a sit, try.”
He did in an agonizing slow movement, ending with knees by one side of the man, thighs flat crossing the other’s, followed by a hand holding his waist and a soft whisper being left just right above a cold and pale nape; Stiles felt a tingle running down a tangled spine, although paid it no mind.
“Try to relax, you don’t have to worry.” The words of the man received an opposing response.
Stiles thought the facade of the doll was enough, but apparently the wolf could tell the heartbeat in a throbbing chest with those perky ears of his; it took him a long while to do as he was told, suppressing the raging anger punching the surface. He couldn’t scream in his face to demand Baba Jaga’s location to be shared with him; it would make everything harder if Derek wasn’t on his side for it.
So, with gritted teeth and a deep breath masked by a straight back stretching, the boy gave a chance to the undying care of the man and began to relax under the ministrations he didn’t know were coming.
He ended up with his head softly laid on the other’s shoulder, whose one hand kept caressing thigh and waist sporadically, muttering sweet nothings into red-end ears and blushing cheeks; Stiles choked slightly on the air when he woke up from a small nap he didn’t intend in taking. It made him rush to the worst conclusions.
Taking hold of the man's shoulders, almost strangling them in his grip, eyes wide in a quiet shock which produced no sound from an agape mouth, jaw hanging loose in fear and bewilderment; Derek kept an unbothered appearance while the boy begged for his life to not come to its end.
“Master, forgive me…”
He pleaded softly before the man shushed him with a tender finger pressing against rosy lips; “don’t.” He listened again.
Also, the event wasn’t a one occasion stand-alone; the master asked him to do the same more times; during some he would run a finger on the mark on his neck for which the man seemed to have an owning appealing to, while a few even varied place or position, with Stiles either sitting sideways or on top facing him, yet it seemed to ease that knot of strings his being seemed to be made with.
Besides, all added up in the profile of a man who was akin to untangling situations otherwise impossible to solve if not gifted with a quick, perpetually showing, problem-solving ability; furthermore, undo a doll of its resilient manner seemed a deed so high the master could never deny himself the chance to win, with a possible trophy being the creature’s body itself.
It all worked, surprisingly so, in Stiles’ favor; the plan was working, the cover was solid and the master was slowly being wrapped around his fingers; his father couldn’t be prouder of the poor kid he had raised, able to withstand the cold and find a warm shelter within the walls of the place where he’d found all the answers he needed.
Therefore, Stiles had been one of Derek’s personal dolls ever since, but he had yet to become his favorite one.
Which happened sooner than he had planned, just a few months later much to his astonishment…
An abandoned cinema, ran down and dust scented with years of tangible decay, without the stereotyped rows of red chairs for audience’s applause, the stage empty despite the obviously man-made semicircle of chairs; one could tell by the view alone Derek would sit in the middle, three dolls by each side: a judge with its jury.
It was where they hosted meeting one on one with possible buyers, people of a certain interest Stiles never cared about, yet he was one of the six dolls who ended up sitting by the master’s side, therefore some courtesy interest should be mandatory; usually though, no one would be present, everyone on far off corners ready to snap necks at the first sign of maliciousness, but it wasn’t all that it seemed.
A man had come for hearing, whatever he had to say Stiles wasn’t particularly interested, no business he had in the matter presented before him; dolls were for show, the master would handle all the bureaucracy, much to everyone’s curious eyes; it wasn’t like they could stop listening and the same was for the boy by Derek’s right, who perked an ear and eye every now and then despite being so close anyway.
“Hale, I need another doll,” what a start coming from such a low life man, poor in manners and heart visible by the simple way he carried his pathetic self; from what the report card of a brief previous moment of analysis said about the doll, Nykaa, had mysteriously died in her master’s bed, who had found the body on a random morning he couldn’t state. Strange.
Derek didn’t move, arms and legs crossed, head low in thoughtful ways; the dolls sat all the same, hands on knees of crossed legs, staring deeply into the man in waiting; no one understood how such a man with horrible features and rough palms got hands on a precious creation belonging to the man in charge.
“What type would you like?” Odd question, no interrogation?
All the dolls wrinkled their nose, Stiles remained faceless, Derek picked it up right away; maybe it was a test of sorts, yet it had no aspect of it. Although even if it was, what he wanted to see?
Silence filled the auditorium they’ve conquered years back, the master waiting and his dolls deliberating without a word being said; what peculiar creation, able to talk with no exchange of breath, yet the boy conversed with none of the present; he wasn’t a very welcomed company, the others knew how Derek treasured him.
Besides, all were adamant on being stone still, perhaps being motionless would avert the man’s eyes from them and pick another doll from imagination alone, although those languid eyes had another opinion to share with the whole crew on stage; a change in posture was enough to awaken the alpha’s senses, whose head had been low with closed eyes for a while.
A rough finger that awoke all ran firmly on the crow of dolls, did he want a doll similar to one of those on display? Even so, he had no right to observe Derek’s closest darlings as something he could vaguely want for himself; although the man on the main chair did not add a word, no one knew what was on his mind except himself.
Then, words came with a steady finger on one doll in particular. “He’s so similar to my old doll, I could use another round.”
A limb couldn’t move, others were sealed in time, eyes didn’t hide nor run, head kept high in such a daring manner; the doll didn’t allow a sound to come out its mouth, silent and persevering in its solemn duty of aesthetic companionship even if the man persisted.
“Give it to me, Hale, come on; what could it ever cost you?”
Derek was much ready to disagree.
He wanted Stiles.
Therefore, saying and demanding in such a way wasn’t the smartest thing to say with a werewolf in charge, especially by asking him to deprive himself of someone fitting perfectly into his tastes; someone he had waited for a long time, time he didn’t want to extend any longer.
He should’ve known better than to ask for one of the master’s dolls as one of his own; he should’ve never asked for Stiles, especially.
Eyes shot red in a broken instance during which no one moved an inch, the wolf marched with high chin and broad shoulders, hands tight in fists he would untangle just to wrap clawed fingers around the man’s neck; the frightened walked back at the sight he had just triggered, unable to withstand the weight of the consequences he should’ve seen from afar.
Nothing could separate them no more, no space was allowed to exist between him and the man who fantasized of stealing his property without much of a second thought on the matter.
Man and man, face to face, old ways; the boss had hands wrapped in tight chains around the buyer’s throat, who apparently wanted to pay for a doll to replace the one he had ‘lost’; Derek knew why Nykka died, he could smell it in the man’s scent as the thought over and over about it. That atrocious individual wasn’t the type of garbage the wolf was going to allow walking off, back where he came from.
“Please,” begged the dying bastard while claws pierced right through skin, drawing blood out its hiding; weak fingers tried to unhinge the grip that was killing him, but all was useless against such a strength unmatched by human standards; he should’ve known better, killing off his own doll aware of what its master would be thinking of.
Nothing else came out that crimson-filled mouth later on, he could only cough up blood till the arteries in his neck got cut into shreds by claws sharp enough to get the job done; unfortunately, it wasn’t as painful a death as Derek would’ve liked it to be; still, he’d rather get the man out the market than wait for him to cause more trouble, for then come knock at his door asking for ‘solutions’.
Therefore a hand retrieved to lay by the master’s side, another lifeless body falling on the floor before Stiles’ immovable but mocking eyes; although his father did not appear in his mind as phantom of the low-life excuse of a man with pooling blood around him, wetting the floor with cries of unheard pain no one cared about, the doll had a rapid surge of life bursting within a tightening chest.
Tips out, hands bloody and eyes just of the same color, the alpha stood motionless in front of the dead man's body; he said nothing about disposing of him, vision just locked on it and lips remained closed in a silent plea no one could hear. His dolls were motionless in the midst of the act, all uncaring with rigid features; Stiles felt differently.
He stood in silence, with no command giving him permission.
Everyone’s eyes fell on the figure who walked dominantly towards the wolf, acting to his own accord without being told to; no doll would ever dare to do so, yet Stiles didn’t care, he moved freely as he was born, with nothing to lose. Besides, anything was admissible if it served to get his plan to move on.
Someone gasped but covered the mouth before the sound could go far, another widened in eyes but made a significant effort in dismissing the chance, perhaps someone even imagined the boy’s end being the same as the man on the ground; however, Derek seemed to let it happen.
Not much after, a soft hand grabbed the man’s biceps, flexed with the extortion of claws due to anger so fundamentally deep within him; he wasn’t a man able to tolerate such cruelty, despite the character he had constructed for himself, the life he built around him and the market he had so thoughtfully crafted.
Stiles said nothing, Derek did not move much if not enough to lock those eyes of his with the boy’s hunting ones; what was he searching for, the wolf did not know, although his doll kept that gentle, firm pressure on him and he didn’t do anything to change it. Still, a master had ways and dolls had roles.
A hand wrapped around a throat enough to cover the sign of ownership.
Claws left prints of red on Stiles’ neck, caressing the scar, piercing ever so softly the pale skin Derek aimed at with a deadly stare the boy could hold with less than the effort it took him to glare at the by then cadaver; he waited, not scared of the person who had chosen him as one of his personal dolls, not allowing fear to find him as he believed there might have been a reason as to why the other picked him among all, otherwise he’d already be dead.
They locked eyes, no one blinked, both breathed in unison and none of the dolls moved; within spheres of blood and dirty gold rings, one knew a plan could be accomplished without even having to work much for it, one hoped to have found the reason behind everything that had been built so far, how everything could finally be put into place.
The owning and threatening claws piercing the delicate flesh of a bare, embroidered neck were a blissful sensation of peace compared to the hardship of a makeshift plan, brought on by the mere, consuming desire of revenge the boy felt untameable in his chest; he could swore in that moment, perhaps for a second alone, that everything stopped being so agonizingly made to fit into a painful scheme when the master had no redder in the eyes.
The velvet skin was soothing on the rough palm circling around the biting pulse of the doll’s throat, delightfully turning him into a docile creature only the boy could handle through a graceful dance of stolen touches and unspoken commands; for a brief fraction of the oppressing time weighting on his shoulders, a glimpse of a stop could be found, much to his content, in those amber circles staring so tenderly into a masked, chained soul, therefore allowing a moment of peace between an act and the next.
Besides, both unaware of how a perception of the other was being sculpted within each mind, a small dare hoped to be taken into consideration by someone who had seen the darkness and nominated it friendly; someone else resisted the urge, undying at last, to undo a perfect match.
Although blinded by their commuted, unknowingly shared astonishment, the moment was real; otherwise the next movement of the boy would have been cut short by the wolf, both metaphorically and literally.
The doll took his master’s hand off his own neck, the other didn’t terminate the action as something shifted in him at the loss he felt since fingers didn’t feel the bumpy scar, but let him be without even as much of a warning growl; Stiles led Derek towards the chairs, slowly as the man behind him seemingly could only look at him walking; what was on his mind, wasn’t something to share with bowing minds.
Therefore, feathered were the doll’s steps, while the master’s were thundering behind him, although not in warning for the guiding hand bringing him towards a high ring of power on which only he could stand; Stiles eyed each and all other present with a scrutinizing look of who could be whispering about the day to anyone for any reason, while Derek had just so little say regarding his companion’s intuition.
“Leave, all of you.”
The words cut through the thick air surrounding them, hitting all the dolls’ ears in agonizing, clicking sounds that made them all follow the strict command, with no need to even look at them; the room was empty soon after, no foot could be heard by the time the two stood on the stage, the wolf observing all the chairs he had got placed by one of his men.
Each so light and empty of any meaningless form of life, all for show, to display to those coming what was the highest product available, but it all felt increasingly wrong the more he stared; how could any of the dolls who just got sent away could ever, even remotely so, compare to the fine and precious creature that was Stiles?
The answer was a clear change in taste; a more defined kind, perhaps.
“Bring all of this away,” a few men came out the exit doors of the cinema; the boy had seen many dressed just the same before but did nothing to let the information out of his system, so by the time the thought got wiped away by Derek’s hand taking his guiding one in a switching tango of leading, all the chairs were gone, even his.
The master took place on his seat, a sort of throne now that the boy could finally give it a good look without being too open about it; it seemed an old, royal chair with adorned material but ancient in all other aspects; Stiles didn’t mutter a word anyway. Waiting for something to be told to him by the man, gears were beginning to shift in jade irises.
Although the moment stayed quiet for long, drawn out seconds during which Derek didn’t say a single word, he took his sweet time just to eye Stiles standing still, admiring the drying blood forming a necklace of rubies around his neck, waiting for indications; he had always been such a patient guy, the man had always thought, not once incapable of keeping every single letter of questions or comments to himself, eventually to share each later in the night.
The master knew his doll had a quick tongue and a sharp intellect, although always prioritizing the rules of conduct.
Besides, the guy had changed, as much as Derek did. Complementary aspects of a patchwork that was just beginning to form itself through the thick exteriors they both have; who would be the one to fall first, or to be undone by a needle doing the opposite of its supposed work?
Perhaps, the last to take action or to speak a word.
“Have a sit.”
The master’s words awoke Stiles from the sleep he found within the walls of a tormented mind, feet planted on the stage they were sharing in the empty cinema; Derek took one of his vacant hands when the doll didn’t move, guiding him to sit on his lap like they’ve done so many times before in the comfort of the man’s home.
No hesitation went in following the instructions coming from the man, whom the guy was starting to wonder more about as time went on, but there was a more urgent matter to obsess about; he sat on his legs with his own crossed ones, perhaps it was another step of his plan just about to be accomplished, and maybe he was right; hope surely made the feeling present as true.
Otherwise, if the sensation was akin to falsehood of any kind, shape or form, the incoming storm of deranged scenarios all brought to the end result he had become a witness of; therefore, with little to no restriction as the man seemed to be allowing him some sort of freedom from the strict code of a mannequin, a chain got bent.
“Why did you let him have a doll in the first place?”
Stiles couldn’t contain the question as it came out with way more emotion than he wanted and Derek had an amused expression in the scarlet look he gave the boy when he ran his mouth freely; the master didn’t mind that much, whenever his doll would take some initiative and not simply be a creature of static.
Eyes wandered and mind pondered. Derek let a hand rest on Stiles’ waist and the doll didn’t find it intrusive as he let his own arms circle the other’s neck in a loose knot; the man dead on the floor in front of them wasn’t always the same man the wolf so thoughtfully examined.
“He was a man of reason once, but the more power one has the more he thinks he can control everyone around him; men are… ambitious creatures, beings unable to control themselves when in charge.”
Words were soon followed by a silence and almost an hour went by, with Derek immersed in thinking and Stiles analyzing those features to make out a map or text he could translate in something understandable without even having a code to draw information from; there was no tension in the air, the doll was simply following his master’s will, who was then lost in a fist supporting a chin.
Stiles observed the scene and let a fingers tray along the man’s jaw, bringing their vision to merge and swimming in pools of thought he wished he could, for a brief moment of unplanned bliss, understand; why he felt the way he did, he had no answer, although being lost in the question made a word slip past rosy lips.
The word came out as a sweet reminder that humanity existed, that facades could fall and life could be lived without pretenses, perhaps even coated with a layer of undeniable care and consideration the man couldn’t avert ears from; when the small name slipped, Stiles was the only one someone could have eyes for.
“Derek…”
But not all came with safety.
The boy immediately thought of punishment, at the end of all he had worked for; calling the master by his name as if he meant anything more than a doll to him, letting personal lives mixed with what were supposed to be professional ones. Although before he could start to plead once more for a forgiveness not needed, the mad had already made up his mind as apparently there was no need for such drastic measures and vivid imagination.
Consciousness sparked to life within jade irises, whose color contrasted with the rubies of a painted red around the boy’s neck, at which the man could not help but stare while he had never been more content to be called by his own name; it had all been in front of him, but blinded he had been for too long; even the soft fingertip running on his bearded skin was enough of a sign he could have missed once again.
Why? He hadn't noticed his touch and didn’t need to, it was Stiles and it always had been. Why a sign? Because being on guard and having walls had no purpose around his doll.
Therefore all fell. Derek regained an imposing composure and Stiles mimicked the action, yet a hand was firm on the boy’s waist and so were arms around neck; whatever brought the change, was about to be revealed.
“Everyone,” apparently they weren’t the only ones present in the rundown cinema; a few dozen people came out of hiding, seemingly just arrived and waiting for the word to be said; wonders filled someone’s mind with possibilities of what all of it meant. A pair of men took away the dead body and all stood in waiting.
He didn’t stand to speak, not pushing his doll away for a mere second. “There are news that must be shared,” where did that sophisticated tone come from, Stiles didn't know but also didn’t care; everyone perked their heads up, eyes scanning the room and the people in it, even some crossed arms made their way into the audience.
“After all these years, I found the one.” Perhaps Stiles wasn’t so wrong.
People that seemed all so familiar but not enough to be called acquaintances made a single step closer, all interested in what the master of the dolls had to say about such an, apparently, precarious matter while being passed over by Derek’s gaze, seemingly greeting each of them; Stiles searched the room for someone barely recognizable, not one appeared to be someone eyes had seen before.
However, Derek’s words soon cut through the silence that had fallen, tone flat but fingers slightly digging through his side, he didn’t mind; Stiles never felt so close to achieving something so close to revenge, even in the tiniest form.
The wolf had red irises, everyone listened, all waited.
The doll felt a burning tongue lick his neck clear from blood, while a tongue felt the curves of spirals of flesh; then words were cold on the skin as they were breathed there loud enough to be heard by all but whispered enough to create goosebumps on pale skin.
“From now on, Stiles is my favorite doll.”
All knew what it meant and so did the doll on his lap, who with the same awakening finger played with the fabric of the master’s shirt; sooner or later, he’d be able to take every step of the ladder he had so carefully crafted.
Derek looked at him, came closer to kindly whisper in his ear from where he enjoyed his neck; “if you want to…” It seemed to leave no room for argument, yet if one wanted, a breach could be opened.
In front of all others, Stiles came closer to his master’s… His partner’s ear, smiling in a way Derek could see in the corner of the eye; there it was, finally, that special smirk the man had been mesmerized by since day one; soon even his voice occupied the silence, but just for the other to hear.
“I’ve waited long for this… Yes, I’d want nothing more.”
The smug expression the man wore awoke the audience and all applauded, a thundering sheer neither could effectively care about after having each other wrapped around tender fingers; besides, Stiles felt the rush of the moment melting and diluting with the need of signing off a contract he knew was indispensable.
Something kept his smirk going, his light finger running, his doe eyes softening more with each passing second, until all mixed to tangle him in a trap of webs of both sensation and diligence to duty; the wolf could only tell the former, but got chained within the latter as well with the passage of time.
Soon after then, moved by an untamable desire to show off, with a tender finger Stiles brought their lips to meet in a chaste kiss everyone shied away from, while Derek pulled his body just an inch closer; both shared an expression that each interpreted in different ways.
However, Stiles was a few moves ahead of Derek.
That small gesture was just the start.
Notes:
Ahh, thanks for have read this far and maybe stick around for the other chapters as well (as always, you can find me on tumblr too)
Chapter 3: The Middle
Notes:
hello there! i hope you'll like this chapter, but lemme warn you about some tw
- violence
- decapitation
- sexual content
this said, good read (^///^)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What a whore…” Disgust so thick in the air surely wasn’t a good start, but it was one regardless.
The auditorium had become a regular place for them, hearing people out or leading some sort of illegal task in the sewers; that day though, almost at the beginning of the cold night ahead, both the master and his doll sat together to lead the last mission, although interrupted by unwanted whispering.
Stiles had a loose button up shirt, tight on the waist as the master liked it, with black leather jeans wide from the knees down; Derek had a three piece suit, a white shirt and a smug smile on his face anytime his precious companion chanted something in his ears.
Derek’s mobsters were harmless individuals, mostly based on how undisciplined they were in many aspects both the master and his doll excelled; one being decency, for which the man had a sophisticated palate for, therefore in light of it he wouldn’t quite muffle ears to such indiscreet comments about his darling.
However, the precious being was uncaring of their gossiping, especially if their undergoing tone of murmuring about Hale’s favorite doll was about being a seeker of the master’s consideration; Stiles adored a good cover he didn’t have to build, that was unmistakable.
“What a bitch for attention, I never thought Hale would be into that…”
But little did that low-life man with a running mouth know about the secret untangling before his very own blinded eyes.
Sat on the man’s lap, perhaps or not, just for the sake of the act, softly spoken orders swam through the boss’ ears, chanting choruses of victories yet to arrive but sure to come; especially so if led by the quiet guy crossing his legs so deliciously on the newfound dominating spot he had acquired.
“Send them down to the barracks, down the sewers; through the underground they should all arrive without much hitch to the target.”
What plans his doll could craft, high of a labor almost close to his own and for which he thrived to witness in actions, uncaring of possible contingencies; Derek would do anything to achieve the view that would allow to behold that painter’s smirk his boy made any time some sort of joy occupied his veins.
Besides, restraining himself from giving such a divine doll everything he wanted was impossible; he’d do anything if it meant having Stiles cradling arms around his neck, almost relaxing while on display for everyone to envy, being caressed with everyone looking; although, his boy seemed to control his blushing cheeks only on business occasions, or he’d be flattered by the rough palm stroking his thigh.
Still, Stiles wanted to test how far he could pursue Derek to act according to his will, empowering his position for everyone to see with unfazed eyes; some more blood on slim hands wouldn’t be too bad, the cold season was about to arrive and they had yet another hour to pass by.
Another thing, although pleading, was drilled through the man’s ears then: “I don’t like how they speak of your doll, Sir.”
How could he ever deny anything to such a mesmerizing creature, even if so slightly hinted on?
Looking just to see how sweetly he was asking for it with a mockingly bowing head, the man held those dangerous eyes with unprovoked delight, hand never ceasing to caress his lover’s thigh on clothed skin he was beginning to despise; one thing at the time, he reminded himself with much self control and a remarkable clenching jaw.
Although, fingers still brought a fakely timid chin up passing by a scarred, adored neck to allow lips to brush against rosy ears; perhaps Stiles was being bitten by the cold that Derek was already planning to solve, but another matter had to be taken care of first. He wasn’t allowing anyone to escape his doll’s judgment, always so on point.
“And what would my doll want me to do about it?”
A smirk enchanted the wolf’s eyes; everything Stiles was about to say would be doable, nothing would be too out of reach for him. The man even got so wrapped around that sweet creature’s fingers to share his expression in a show of innate complicity; he had really found the one for him.
Therefore, given such a tight union, Stiles leaned in so close, kissing his master’s earshell probably just for show, exchanging a soft suggestion he knew was about to come true.
“I’ve always been a fan of medieval ways when it came to… Disrespect.” But he sugarcoated it for good measure; “especially directed to a possession a master such as yourself cares for so deeply.” He loved to play the part, he couldn’t deny it; although the stinging of his heart wasn’t a complete falsehood.
Derek couldn’t help himself much if after such a show, in front of a multitude of people waiting for orders, Stiles even let his strong hand fall deeper between his thighs, guided by one of his delicate own; he surely got himself a guy who knew certain ways, despite the fragile innocence he discovered the boy still had and which he was planning on taking.
But one thing at the time, he reminded himself promptly again, one at the time; but he could go slightly forward with it.
“What would you like to see, then?” The sentence got brushed between clothed, warm legs which flexed in a trapping motion when Derek grabbed a handful of his inner thigh; it was a way to play a dangerous game the boy initiated, surely if he felt like risking the all-in.
“Have him decapitated, it’s old fashioned.”
Doe eyes and lovely smirk, lips so warm against his ear, Derek didn’t deny anything to the ethereal doll melting on his lap, who with a guiding finger turned his head and made their lips brush together, yet without gifting any of his presumably sweet taste; the man wasn’t going to abort his plan of laying with his sweet boy the same night even if the world was to collapse, not after such a move.
Derek turned to face the mobsters, hand firmly on his doll who kept his gaze fixed on the crowd with a side eye; Stiles was growing so accustomed to having someone being so sensitive to his needs and wants, even if subtly double faced.
“Boris!”
The chatty man stood upfront, somehow unaware of his faults for whatever lack of conscience; “yes, boss!” What an ignorant individual.
He got eyed by the man he responded to, not noticing the smallest change in the wolf’s features, but bowing to the red he saw in those eyes when he gained enough courage to face him; was he in trouble? Perhaps he was, but nothing wrong came to mind; what he had done was something he wasn’t aware of.
However, the man spoke to no one in particular like he had done so many times over; Stiles had learned there was a small group of trusted men who were his interlocutors and loyal handy squad.
“Give me his head.”
Two men came out with a saw, old fashioned as the time intended, one of those who needed four hands, two at each side pulling in alternate motions; a third man got Boris on his knees, screaming in distress, “what have I done?!”
No answer arrived and people backed up, not wanting to get involved in the master’s business; those who were clever, knew it was something regarding the doll.
“Hale!” The burning sting rushing through Stiles’ ears was maddening, delightful even. “Why this?!”
The boss he kept calling said nothing to stop the men, just glared one last time over the doll so tangled around him on his lap, enjoying the playful smirk on those rosy lips; a man was replaceable, Stiles wasn’t.
“Do it.”
Jagged teeth cut through the man’s nape, agonizing screams filled the room and everyone kept quiet; a pool of blood formed beneath the chopped off head hanging on by a single vertebra unwilling to break, until a man snapped it in half with a kick so barbaric it made Stiles shiver slightly at the sight.
It made a wet sound falling on the floor, rolling towards the exit in a last attempt of escape; people stared at it, then at the master as well, somehow shocked at the cruelty the man was capable of pursuing for his doll’s likeness. Perhaps, no one knew it was all per show.
Soon, one of them grabbed it by a fistful of hair and brought it to Derek, who held it in the palm of a clawed hand in front of his doll; never he had thought showing off a courting gift to his lover could feel so good, knowing no one could ever do anything similar for Stiles.
Rings of dirty gold reflected a shining crimson of irises and blood, pondering with caution his next move to ensure a clean victory, whichever it might be given he was just fooling around with the power he had been given; therefore, after a soft pair of fingers ran across the man’s cheek with a smug smile on pursuing lips, something got warmly affirmed in the man’s ear.
“You know how to treat your favorite doll…”
A chopped head rolled down the stage, returning to its owner and scaring the crowd who erupted in a screaming feast at the astonishment produced by such actions; the master took his doll’s waist, leaving an angry handprint of sacrificed blood, which made Stiles slightly tug his head in the other’s neck; a micro show of shyness Derek always allowed him given he knew how inexperienced he was.
Still, with blood soaked claws, Derek picked his doll’s chin once more, pulling one lip down to show his teeth; heads so close lips were almost together in something that could’ve been seen as a kiss, but it wasn’t enough for the man in command. Piercing tips on his side and hand between his thighs, the man swore he’d never seen anything more divine while shutting out every high pitched sound coming from their audience in the closed space of their dominance.
“We should take care of that lack of experience of yours, don’t you think?”
Stiles just leaned forward at the words being so gentle despite their obvious meaning, making noses bumping together while a smile formed on his lips in agreement; after everyone was screaming and raging around the auditorium at the dead man, the boy felt overjoyed with relief in the small space occupied by the two of them; his man was solidly bent to his will.
But while chaos surged around them, the man quieted everyone down with a solid fist on the armrest; figures stopped in motion and waited, fearing a leader who didn’t tolerate injustices to his possession. For whatever reason, he wanted his words to be so low only Stiles could hear them, but with such silence around that the boy knew the man was toying with his timid heart.
“Tonight, I’ll make you mine.”
Stiles blushed and hid his face in the other’s neck, denial was gone while his father's body laid lifeless on his mind, pooled in blood the same color of his flattered expression; he felt guilt but unable to resist temptation. He was cold.
However, that same temptation caught him off guard when the man made the room empty of any person, somehow commanding so without a word nor a stare, just plain attention directed to his doll and nothing else surrounding them; Stiles wondered what the other had in mind, to make the room so private for them.
After that, Derek took it even further and cradled Stiles in his arms, receiving a lock of slim limbs tightening around the wolf’s neck; the smug expression of victory made the boy’s blood boil but he could do nothing about it; even if the master made him so mad about being manhandled without much of a second thought, he could allow it based on the gentle demeanor he knew the man had within himself.
It came out the night after the announcement of his role as the favorite, when the man had asked him to lay with him and he had a blushing reaction he couldn't hide; Derek had quietly reassured him time wasn’t biting their heels anyhow, therefore they could take as much of it as needed.
Still, it wasn’t over. In a small instance, standing while lifting Stiles as well, Derek began to walk out of the room while observing his doll’s soft, rosy cheeks in embarrassment; he was going to remember that night for the rest of his miserable life.
So, carrying him out the decayed cinema once there was not a single soul in the perimeter of the place, the man let his feet touch ground again while opening the car’s door for him and guiding the slender figure in, for then taking the steering wheel and turning on an engine that made seats shake; the boy was finding out more and more about the courting ways of the man who was bringing him home with such care.
The pitch black Camaro of the newest model available was recognizable miles away, both by its stunning lines and its roaring engine galloping on the road; during the drive, Derek would sporadically caress Stiles’ thigh without going too far up between them while shifting gears, making the doll fumble even more for such doings.
Which didn’t stop his thin mouth from letting his flirtatious nature out; it was unacceptable to not participate in the small dance they had initiated earlier the day. If the wolf could court him so delightfully with dead heads and exploring hands, he could play the desirable act; it was much to his heart’s content after all.
“You are a concentrated driver, aren’t you, Sir?”
Stiles parted his legs widely as the man’s hand remained in place near his knee, while a hand brought his shirt up covering his mouth to hide blushing cheeks and humid eyes, obscuring the triskele as well, not wanting to allow the other the pleasure to have him all in one bite; Derek was going to have to guide him through it, sure, but it didn’t mean he couldn’t trace a small path he was comfortable taking in the meantime.
Silent mouth and screaming eyes couldn’t stop the darting look that covered Stiles’ body, devouring the sweet sight but restraining the hand from wandering on clothed skin; those elephant leather jeans sculpted his thighs in an exquisite tango of flexed muscles and pulled fabric. Derek wanted to rip it off of him right there and then, but a green light clouded his vision and forced him to avert hungry eyes elsewhere.
And the sensual doll noticed in little time how his efforts were being appreciated. The man drove miles above the limit, ran red lights and cut lanes without a second thought, perhaps without looking as well; it seemed clear to someone that Derek wanted to get home as soon as possible, hopefully without crashing.
“I’m not going anywhere, Derek.” He knew calling his name had high chances of creating a traffic accident if he wasn’t careful with it, especially if he planned on rearing up the target; “and your doll can be just so patient.” The smirk Stiles had caught Derek’s eyes and didn’t let them go back to the road ahead.
Therefore, pushing aside better judgment and keeping half blushing face hidden, he went on; holding the rough hand of the man, guidance brought it further down a slim, strong thigh till it reached just below his groin; the man could feel the burning, warm skin hidden by the black fabric.
Although, when fingers gripped his flesh the boy squeaked, a reflex snapped legs shut together while bringing both his own hands over the man’s as to ask for it to stop, but it was a mocking protest when Stiles’ head fell gracefully forward till it rested on closed, yet relaxed knees; if he really had him under his firm will, commanding his every movement, he should’ve known better than to provoke a lonely man who was blindly free and had found his own darling boy.
“Either your sensitivity or my patience get brought to the extreme; you don’t want me to undress you while doing 140mph, do you Stiles?”
Calling his name in such a condescending tone, squeezing his inner thigh to part timid legs once more, stimulating him while they were almost home with a finger making circle on the juncture of hip and thigh… No one could blame him for worrying about surviving the night.
Especially so when, with a snapping moment seemingly going too fast to be perceived, Derek managed to get him a new seat behind the shifting stick, getting it exactly between those shivering legs of his; Stiles stared at it being in fifth, fingertips going swiftly around the man’s upper arm as only support for the picking beat of his heart.
Nothing escaped thin and rosy lips when Derek shifted in sixth and it rested right between his parted thighs, brushing in overstimulating ways against clothed skin; head got hidden in the crock of the man’s neck, breathing heavily but steadily, without a single remark to get back the cards of the game.
“Did you turn silent now, baby?”
Wide eyes met the name his man had used to call him so freely, searching those green eyes that were guiding him through the night ahead; it was a puff of fresh care to his ears, although Stiles tried to do better knowing not to see too much in it.
Deep down, Stiles knew Derek was trying to see how far he’d allow the man to go with him, but also there was a sparkle of fear beginning to form within his chest, with hands trying to cover face and crotch while trying to keep a sort of firm control on the other; he couldn’t risk it all just for sex.
Although, a buzzing sound asked if he could withstand doing such an intimate act, for the first time even, with a man he viewed as puppet, someone he intended solidly on using to achieve a course of actions he was unaware of; Stiles knew he wanted it, but the doll facade brought him just so far, now he could only be himself just enough to be safe.
“No… But we both know what’s about to come out of my mouth if we push this further.”
Therefore, the moment Derek manhandled his legs to pass over the shifting stick, both directly on top of one of his own making yet again another seat, Stiles’ head leaned on a stone shoulder, eyes pleading with a small glimpse of uncertainty; perhaps he had reached the limit he couldn’t pass in a car seat while on an interstate.
Derek read it straight away and a few miles before their destination, he slowed down and drove with his boy, not a mere doll anymore, in his lap just like he was seated, caressing his waist and letting him nuzzle his neck; it made something shift within the man.
But something clenched Stiles’ heart in a fist first, guilt overflowing in a pressured chest making him thoughtful and silent.
It had all been a little demonstration to the boy, to see where each of them stood with the other, accomplishing more progress and remarking old goals with a soliciting passion being held with chains; they had grown fond of each other, there was no denying that it was true for both.
Especially given that any emotion was allowed when they were alone, crafting a tight connection one could never dilute in any other person; it was a knot merging their existences into a thicker one, where they both belonged in shows of affection and care. Perhaps, it was the most complex setting someone could’ve asked for.
Stiles had developed an aching, dull craving for the man’s attention, touch and words, without compromising the goal he had started everything for; he couldn't risk it too far, but commanding an empty heart demanding to be filled was an atrocious deed, one that could create space for flaws and vulnerability, which he had found out the man was amazed by.
While Derek dwelt in the luck that life sparkled on him, allowing such a find to be claimed as his, dissipating all previous pains of loneliness in favor of such a fulfilling companion he was beginning to love more than a simple doll; it had always been the goal anyway, to find an actual lover for his scarred heart.
Although, despite the mutual search for one another, Stiles began to stress about enjoying the night’s tango excessively while filling lungs with the man’s cologne; whichever hint was in the fragrance that he picked to shred apart to reveal the sweet aroma that made his heart skip a beat, was in stark contrast with the quick hallucination he was about to have…
His dad standing on his own grave, polished as newly placed and tall as stupidly proud, the old man watched over his beaten figure on the ground with a disappointed look, slapping the cold skin of his cheeks with a firm judgment over the life he had conducted after his death.
“You enjoy life without me?”
Stiles kicked and forged a breach out of his father’s hold, running on legs too thin to sustain his weight, falling each time after barely more than ten steps; every time the old man got closer, in slow and small movement he didn’t care to change, the other was aware the prey was meant to be hunted down in a show of pure agony.
The boy said nothing as his father kept chasing him, asking him over and over about his life, with then a hammer which came out of nowhere; the next time Stiles was on the ground, the head of metal hit a weak knee, shattering the bone within; the cry of pain was nothing if not present in both reality and dream.
“Answer me!”
No answer came through from the younger boy, who ran through the graveyard in limping action cut short by a sharp pain engulfing his entire body, his father hunting him down without a chance at freedom; he desperately wanted to know if his son had a good life now that he was gone.
“Stiles!”
Although, someone else was calling his name as well…
“Stiles?”
Derek tried to call his boy as his body had tremors in arms and legs, a nail’s breathing and a sweaty forehead with closed off eyes; Stiles didn’t hear him, but a burning mind surely mixed the caring voice into the anger of a dead father in a vivid dream, forging a cage of unbreakable bars.
In the graveyard, as picturesque as it could be, Noah was a pale figure as he hammered Stiles with an iron fist the boy couldn’t escape from; in reality, Derek shook thin arms while driving to get the other to wake, although with only a small result as a small peak formed in the boy’s eyelids.
“Wake up, everything’s fine.”
The man’s voice was rough but warm, deep and tender; it erased the anguish imagination of the boy who then clung to the other seeking comfort, soon provided as a pair of lips kissed his temple and a hand was firm in stroking his side while he regained enough energy to function properly, even if the only need of the moment was to stay sat in Derek’s lap.
Besides, all the hot flirting had brought a headache which caused all the issues Derek seemingly wiped away with another tender kiss the other was starting to get addicted to; but he still stopped himself from making such a dangerous oath to something he feared to lose.
Therefore, what came next, proposed by the man, wasn’t completely unwanted or perceived as negative by the other, who still needed some sort of reassurance while pushing in a far off corner the tripping guilt and disgust he felt at his actions, while coming back from the high of the awakening.
They were in the Hale house, car parked and windows closed, empty rooms and cold sheets.
Derek had laid him on the bed, letting him regain some steadiness there while he made a call to ensure no one would bother them, during which both seemingly agreed to skip dinner without saying much of a word about it; nervousness still floated through the boy though, unsure of what might come out once the last of his possession would be taken from him.
He wondered if he’d be changed.
But thoughts got cut short when the man came back with just a plain white shirt with rolled up sleeves exposing tattoos and suit trousers, crawling on the bed till he was on top of Stiles, who shyly hid his face at his lack of experience; more than twenty years of life and not once anyone had ever seen him naked or even touched him.
Still, Derek caressed his cheeks so softly every limb relaxed, somehow managing with such a simple gesture to make Stiles feel safe to the point leather jeans were soon gone, with the first few buttons of his shirt open; nothing really stopped it from happening, he felt good being taken care of so effortlessly, as if it was second nature to the other to caress shivering thighs.
“Let’s try with something we’ve done before,” suggested the man while kissing the corner of thin lips of a contrasting redness to the white, pale skin of that sweet face; moreover, while tagging his doll’s boxers he expressed another path, “and this might go. Is it good with you, Stiles?”
He should’ve seen it coming, after all he was with a good mannered man, but embarrassment still rushed through him letting all facades fall; there was no doll there anymore, he could see it so clearly in Derek’s eyes; within those walls and after such a long time, they were equals in a way he never thought possible. But his plan wouldn't crumble because of it.
“It’s… alright.”
Boxers were gone then, with face hiding behind closed palms; Stiles let the other see him, but he couldn’t withstand looking at the man’s eyes going over his body with another intention other than selection of candidates.
The second he felt a soft breath of warm air on his neck, he didn’t catch the moment Derek sat on the bed and lifted his body to sit on his lap; perhaps that was what he described as ‘something done before’, but the circumstances within the moment were new to the boy.
Hands held thin waist, forming waves on a white shirt which let a V-shaped valley of skin form on the boy’s exposed chest; Derek kissed his lips once getting reciprocated, arms locking around neck and slowly relaxing legs; Stiles then let the other move his chin with two fingers, exposing his neck to be mouthed by soft kisses.
All the boy’s anxious thoughts seemingly went away when fingers dug in his asscheeks and pulled bodies closer together, making a shocked head hide in the man’s neck while shivering slightly in his lap; Stiles felt his body begin to melt but his mind raging with doubts he had a hard time suppressing back.
“I chose you for a reason.” It caught his attention as the man grinded their bodies together, heat forming between his legs; “you won’t disappoint me, will you?” Stiles knew it was a play, written in the green eyes softly inspecting his features for any sign of discomfort; there was none apparently.
Then a finger pushed past shivering lips, toying with his tongue; the rosy body on the man’s lap melted, sucking on the fingertips fighting in his mouth. “You’ll be good, baby, won’t you?” Derek said it between the bites that were occupying the boy’s neck in a patchwork of redness, adding a background to the scar there.
The answer came shortly after, in the dark room warmed by their breaths, when the boy moaned at the sensation of the spit slick fingertip pushing against his rim; although a glimpse of fear forged its way through his heart. Derek was quick to brush it away with his tongue ravishing the other’s mouth with gentleness.
He didn’t know how he managed to take three fingers while panting in his man’s ears and clinging to his shoulders for dear life, feeling his virgin body being spread wide open to welcome Derek within it; in a matter of seconds though, he found himself with his back on the bed, the other on top of him. He didn’t mind the change as it made his mind free of any thoughts; he knew what was about to come when the other got fully naked.
The tip felt the most splitting to the rim, even though when the whole length fit in he never thought he could feel any fuller than that; in no time arms and legs were wrapped around the man’s body as he thrusted into him, making a belly bulge visible through his thin shirt whenever he tried to take a timid look of their conjoined bodies. He was still a bit shy.
He moaned Derek’s name over and over, overwhelmed by the drilling motions of his lover’s hips, by the teeth sinking in his shoulder and the kisses which allowed tongues to dance without a stop; the bed shook beneath them, room filled with the lust filled sounds of their love making.
“I’m close!”
Stiles let it out in the crock of the other’s neck, almost screamed in hardened flesh while Derek made him cross the edge without needing a hand to stroke his doll’s length; soon enough the man finished as well and panted heavily in his sweet lover’s chest, prepping him in gentle and soft kisses going from collarbone to scar.
However, when Stiles wanted to rest with Derek like lovers do, a wish he couldn't deny himself any longer, the man got up a minute later, earning concerned and scared eyes from the boy, who worried about what was going to happen.
“Wait for me” just said the man though, catching fearful eyes with kind ones; Stiles eased a little in the gesture, waiting for his lover to be back by his rightful side; soon enough a wet, warm towel passed on sweaty skin and got discharged rather quickly as well, in favor of something more akin to both.
Derek finally laid back on the bed, scooping his boy on top of him, feeling a tired body melt on his own; perhaps, all Stiles really needed was knowing someone cared for him. Although the hands on his lower back said something more about owning, he swam in it regardless; belonging had always been a wish of his after his father died.
But hands got rigid, fingers digging in the man’s shoulders as he clenched his jaw while a heavy head rested on Derek’s chest; perhaps thinking about his surreal revenge plan wasn’t the best move, definitely so when the other noticed how tense he had gotten in such a little time.
“What’s on your mind, Stiles?”
The voice sounded weighted by a worry the other didn’t fully understand, was it about the sex or his father? Perhaps the man could read his mind? Although when he realized it couldn’t be the case, something swelled in his stomach; a pit of disgust started to rumble, guilt swallowing the blissfulness of the moment he had allowed himself to have.
Wonders about his father’s judgment pulsed in his brain, trying to hide how he wanted to run away; he felt like dreaming again. Derek held him within a strong embrace, one which unchained Stiles’ sealed lips in favor of a glimpse of truth he still had to merge into something that wouldn’t scream betrayal.
“Just… My father wouldn’t be proud of me for this…”
A hand picked the low chin hiding in small huffs in the other’s neck, bringing their eyes to meet in a mute exchange of questions Stiles would rather not respond to, although Derek was adamant in untangling his mouth; the man’s intentions were genuine, the boy knew that by the soft yet owning fingers caressing the skin of his lower back in undying circular motions, but an idea still sparkled in that skeptical mind of his.
“He died a few years ago. The police did nothing about it.” Well, the police never got involved, but the man didn’t need to know such a useless detail; Stiles let his legs relax more around the other, allowing Derek to roam his hand down to invite him to see his side while he managed a look of pity in his amber, doll sculpted eyes.
The man fell for it, both hands moving to grip thighs with fingers digging in the inner part of each, although Stiles couldn’t deny the ache his heart was in; perhaps, sex wasn’t the best course of action or maybe there was something more to it.
Therefore, he purged out more of the pathetic story of the dead father, left to turn to stone on the cold street of the suburbs, with his sweet son’s tears to freeze on puffed cheeks, rosy with the biting temperatures; and although a real tear escaped the facade that was being built back on, the other still wiped it away with a warm thumb.
He went on with how life flipped around. Having the last option being turning himself in as a possible doll, and before that, having to roam the streets in hope to be looked upon by someone’s kindness to survive the day, or previously even starving himself at night; without his father he couldn't have both the food and the warmth of a fireplace.
Derek couldn’t believe the struggle his favorite doll went through, what hardship brought him into his arms, what the world had done to Stiles to guide his existence to meet the man in a dangerous dance he was never aware of until now; even so, a pit of burning hatred took off in the wolf’s chest; whoever made his boy suffer must meet the same end of his father.
Hands more vigorously held strong, slim thighs making them flex slightly as a result of the strength within the action, turning the boy to a little mess of small convulsion brought up by the low cries he tried to push back down his throat without any success; Derek was going to make them pay for his sweet boy’s tears.
“We’ll avenge your father, baby. You have my word.”
It sounded animalistic in a way Stiles never thought possible, but his mind eased at the victory; Derek was on board, even if mislead, with his plan, therefore it could all start within a week; he could make up a plan to bring the woman out, rule them both to be there and undo her.
But something turned his stomach in sinister ways, bile coming up his throat burning it; he pushed it back down even if the man noticed and caressed his back with one hand, the other perpetually chained to the back of his inner thigh.
There was something awakening in him, something that wasn’t part of any of his strategies; why did he feel bad lying to Derek Hale?
Notes:
hope you enjoyed this and thanks so much for have read this, if you wanna leave a kudos or a comment i'd be honored. for more you can find me on tumblr too
Chapter 4: The End
Notes:
hiiii! we are getting basically at the end of this wrapped up story, and i hope you have enjoyed it so far! but without anything else to say...
good read! (～￣▽￣)～
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The night outside caused no bother. It was an idea, a perfectly crafted plan, that awoke Stiles with wide pupils and running breath; he had to share his thoughts with the sleeping man who had arms all over his body.
Untangling from thick forearms which sliced slowly down his waist, he raised to stand on arms and rubbed sleepy eyes, cold biting pale skin as the sheet fell off his shoulders; he wished his lover would wake up to console his shivering body, but the more pressuring matter was one of an entirely different nature.
“Derek…” He quietly called as a star fell to its blissful end in a comet outside, “wake up” he tried again shaking the bicep of the other, who seemed to have no reaction whatsoever at the doll’s doing; perhaps going more than three rounds had a toll on him, despite his unnatural stamina and the clear enjoyment he displayed just a few hours earlier.
“Come on, your doll needs you awake.” This time he tried with another method, the same he used to get a rolling head to create panic in their auditorium a few months back; the man began to wake at the words moments later, as Stiles wished. Derek felt hands distant from his doll, therefore arms got the body he craved back beneath the sheet, face to face.
“What is it, baby?”
Stiles suppressed the blushing cheeks but not the finger tracing the man’s skin, showing a bit of that choking feeling he couldn’t get rid of for the sake of his plan; dumping foreheads to lock blurry eyes, he then proceeded to share the last thoughts of the journey for the night.
“I know how to avenge my father.”
One of the master’s hands was sewed to a thin, warm hip as he shook his head, now fully awake just for his favorite doll’s content. “There’s a warehouse on the road near the cemetery, we need guards in disguise around the place but no one inside. A fuming chimney wouldn’t do us any good.”
Stiles melted under the soothing fingers on his skin, trying not to lose concentration as he expressed more of the idea; Derek simply hummed at each step as if already planned in advance. Perhaps, someone was there listening to write down each detail for them to find ready the following day, after their morning would be only theirs.
“Next, we send someone to spread the rumor we’ll be there for a meeting the murderer will surely be interested in.” Derek soon asked how could such a low-life person be concerned by any of their doing, and Stiles crafted a reason; the question was unexpected, but he managed a motive for each action.
“Everyone wants to know if there’ll be a police parade near their illegal points, don’t you think?”
“And why would we fake a police parade?” Promptly asked the man, crunching brows and warm breath; Stiles had a small ache in his heart at the sight, but strangled it regardless. “Because… You want to invest in that sector for your businesses to keep thriving for years to come.”
Hands started to caress the man’s chest as incentive to believe his plan, fingers playing with the hair there while a cocooned voice and some doe eyes did the rest; Derek had a smug smile which Stiles restrained himself from treasuring, therefore he tried to go on but the man stole his lips from the plan.
Both had heads on the same pillow since the man had pulled the other that much close in the beginning and after hearing all the effort within the plan, there was no other way to show his content of the boy’s passion for the revenge if not with a kiss; he simply needed to pull his waist an inch closer, foreheads bumping and finally gifting his present, the receiver of which reciprocated but got back to work in no time with a witty pout.
“Wait till you hear everything now, won’t you?”
Stiles smiled warmly, unable to stop pressing his body against the other, who cradled him immediately as he got back to listen. “Then, we go there as if another business day was ahead of us, yet with no one else present if not the master and his doll heading inside to orchestrate the whole fancy show.”
The man listened carefully, although with peaks of high and low attention every once in a while to stare at his lover’s lips; Stiles took advantage of that to wrap him more into the plan and he did so while guiding one of the man’s hands around his neck, aware Derek was obsessed with the triskele resting solemnly there.
“The person we need will be there, I have confirmation about the whereabouts being around the area just tomorrow,” the man pressed a finger above an artery beneath that lovely pale skin; the expression on the doll’s face was anything to pass by.
“Will you help me, Sir?”
The man had a deep line rearranging his brows. Stiles pressed their foreheads together, eyes locking and lips brushing.
“Will you, Derek?”
He thought long and well about the whole deal, or so it seemed before he turned and grabbed his phone, starting a call while reciting to the speaker each step Stiles had just explained to him; if that wasn’t a sign the ship had sailed, nothing else could move forward with the plan.
“Now, go back to sleep. Tomorrow you’ll have your revenge.”
The words felt heavenly sent to Stiles, although he couldn't deny how difficult it was to let sleep claim his body back in the depths of the night; he remained awake for a while, staring at the man’s face as if imprinting a view he knew he’d lose with time. Everything in his chest went against him, but he withdrew the feeling and not the plan.
Besides, little did the man know it wouldn't all be as Stiles descriptive so vividly for him; perhaps, that was the reason behind the guilty lack of sleep that persisted till a few hours before morning, when Derek woke up before him and was already gone downstairs to fancy some breakfast for them both.
It was around 10am when the boy finally came back to his senses, dragging limbs out the sheets and stomping legs down the stairs; he wasn’t always a graceful being and the man didn’t hate the opportunity to hear him wake up; it always offered the best moments of their time together, alone in the Hale house.
“Someone woke up earlier than usual?”
Derek had developed a childish enjoyment for mocking Stiles’ routine of waking after the master, usually late in the morning as well. The man had no issue with it; he framed the doll’s face in his mind each waking morning, lovingly tracing the sleeping beauty’s features with precise devotion.
In a matter of minutes, between a kiss and another, plates got emptied and men got dressed and ready for the events of the day, but someone had a few questions that needed to be clarified on the answers.
“So, tell me Stiles, if you know the murderer is going to be there, you must know who they are as well, right?” The doll could sense where the conversation might lead, how sharing the name could only provoke a wave of crashing contingencies that would eradicate the plan from the execution.
He buttoned the wrists of his shirt with an unusual calmness Derek instantly noticed as he faced him, question hanging in the space of their walk-in closet. “It’s nothing you have to worry about, Sir.” It was a dare to bring in the power dynamic the boy tried to use to his own advantage, but it didn’t work as hoped.
“Tell me the name,” quietly said the man as if it wouldn’t cost Stiles the whole plan. Therefore, he turned around seductively, with no pants on yet and the shirt hanging low on high hips; Derek eyed his doll while rolling up sleeves to expose tattoos, waiting for an answer to the demand he had softly expressed.
But Stiles negotiated with fate, daring once more to get the man off the hook. “It’s nothing personal…” He tried, hiding with shame the answer sealed deep within his knowledge; he even began to walk towards the other, undoing buttons from the bottom of his shirt going up. Maybe Derek would catch the bait-
“Cut the act, Doll.”
Any movement froze; Stiles remained still under the man’s cold gaze, undressing him with eyes only for the content of his heart, and perhaps to remind the doll of the power he was still effectively under. Still, the boy dared another time, getting closer to the man regardless of any possible danger.
No words fell from his lips in the steps he took to close the distance. Derek watched carefully each of his beloved actions; once in front of him, slim arms locked the man’s neck in a loose hold while neither spoke since Stiles brought his lips on the other's. A typical smirk of his appeared and the man didn't deny him a glimpse of love.
“Please…”
Stiles softly begged after the kiss, intertwining their eyes as he felt Derek’s hands passing from rolling sleeves to taking hold of his waist and hips, fingers passing smoothly from one to the other; the softness of the moment prevailed on the rough approach the man had to the doll’s dismissive ways.
Therefore, Derek picked his chin and kissed him again. “Don't hide from me,” hissed the man with leading eyes and owning hands, one of which softly went around a pumping neck; Stiles made sure their hips were glued together, grinding slowly against the man as he whispered a soft plea that held the hope to be believed despite the obvious lie that was being covered.
“Swear.” Stiles replied, mouthing the man’s lips, knowing the win was secured on his side if everything went according to plan after that morning; it was all going to be tested, from the gut wrecking feeling of the doll's heart to the master's intentions, even fate would make it appearance in a few hours.
Also, Stiles was glad the man didn’t push any further on the murderer's name. Perhaps, he could start to hope that after she would be dead, he wouldn’t need to flee away from Derek; there was something that kept him intrinsically twisted within the man's fingers, much to both physical pleasure and surely, much to their fine liking.
Then, trying to finish putting on clothes that someone would rather take off from the other, hours went by and the clock hit the fatal number. At midday precisely, they got in the Camaro; Stiles blushed at the memory and Derek smirked at his boy.
It was going to be a tough day… Stiles was going to have to fight to avoid the death of his heart while ensuring another’s.
It didn’t take too long to get to the warehouse, guards all around it in phantom clothes and mimicking stances, just like the boy had planned with care; both master and doll faked a smoke then, backs to the widows while peeking through, the man waiting on the other to have the green light in order to proceed.
Although, a moment was enough for amber eyes to notice the slender figure entering the place from the back door, wandering in circles in the empty space surrounding the femme fatale unknowingly locked within the warehouse; a sight to behold, screamed a mastermind in silently recognition, a rat in search of cheese.
Staring at her, Stiles’ mind retraced each step till the present moment, rewinding the vastness of events that led to him having his act of revenge, all for a father who will never hug him again. However, for a blissful second of raw rage clenching his jaw, someone else noticed the taciturn run of his mouth.
No words accompanied the discovery, but jade eyes followed amber ones to share the view which seemed to have caught Stiles’ interest; Derek firstly aimed the sweet creature by his side, ever in the slightest fazed, to unfold the secret that had been hidden from him all along.
“Jennifer?”
The word shook Stiles back to his feet, coughing the smoke he wasn’t even realistically inhaling; turning to face him, red irises met his choking heart tangible through the thin veil of bravery covering skittish eyes. The man was still but every muscle visible was starting to show veins running with boiling anger.
Derek eyed the doll in search of flaws but found none, perhaps all was a fake as he was starting to realize; a hand grabbed the boy’s arm, flesh hurting under the touch. Stiles refrained from whining in pain, although his expression was clear to the other’s gaze.
“What are we doing here, Stiles?”
The name was gritted through teeth, a warning clear in the man’s tone. Yet no word got spoken and a body remained still, wondering if the plan could be anyhow saved in such conditions; if he could somehow understand and maybe undo the breaking symphony of his heart.
But before anything could be done, thick arms went around the doll’s hips and threw the body over the man’s shoulder as if weighing nothing; a few thundering steps later, Stiles got thrown on a pile of wooden slabs by a wall in a nearby alley filled with little to no light, humid and cold. He still had to understand why he didn’t just retaliate and went after her.
Soon enough though, the man moved back to create distance between him and the other, trying to push down the red and the fangs that didn’t want to disappear; Stiles watched with a dreading gaze how Derek spun in a circle with hands on hips, contemplating the anger within his body until it made him act in a blink of an eye.
“Answer me!”
Derek demanded, caging Stiles against the wall behind his head, face mere inches away that he could feel the wolf’s teeth already slicing a throbbing throat off; although the man probably missed the shoulder going stiff and the eyes getting watery, how even the doll seemed to be in distress despite the usual collected stand he always had.
A punch hit the bricks by Stiles’ head.
“Where’s the murderer!”
The sentence felt like an accusation of sorts; as if he was hiding the culprit of the worst crime committable, as if the man didn’t want to see what was already so plain in front of him that he could put two and two together to have his answer.
However, Stiles made no movement. Holding the wood with gripping fingers, closing legs in fear and tucking neck down to cover throat and hide symbol, he felt threatened like never before. Not even Babajaga had ever made him feel that way the few times he had seen her lurking in the shadows around him.
Derek remained still at the blinded view he didn’t want to acknowledge, eyes of a twitching red and piercing the boy to the wall, drilling nails in slim shoulders; Stiles tried to shy away, pushing against the wall in dismissal, although always keeping his gaze fixed in the angry eyes that seemed to sketch his every movement.
“Why is she here!”
Derek demanded to know with fists digging on the wall, keeping the other within his arms while breath exchanged in the space between them. But once more, Stiles spoke nothing while a palpitating heart choked at the sight of his man being hurt by his doings.
However, Derek seemed to calm down; palms open on the cold and humid bricks, eyes losing their signature bloodlust for a jade green Stiles never wanted to stop looking at. For a second, everything got clearer; when the man bowed in front of him, begging for an answer in silence without strangling it out of his doll’s throat, something sparkled in his heart till it reached an oblivious mind.
He had then understood. In his perfectly crafted plan even the man admired, making the doll a mastermind hidden in shadows, there was a part he had unintentionally flown over; it wasn't part of the whole deal catching feelings for Derek Hale.
Thus, it wasn’t part of the revenge either, making the man truly hurt by the feelings they both had and that Stiles had kept playing with all this time; it wasn’t the type of pain he wanted to inflict, it wasn’t to Derek that his hatred was aimed at.
“Tell me something!”
Finally and lastly roared the man, getting so close that foreheads could bump, but pulling away before it could happen; the doll wished he had pushed their skin to touch for a brief moment of clarity, gifted by the warm skin of his lover. A lover he didn’t want to lose.
“I don’t know who she is…” He tried to explain with a pair of pleading eyes, although unable yet to let the facade crumble to pieces, persisting in the act of knowing nothing or perhaps being mute. Derek didn’t buy it, as he scrutinized the doll in the act of scrunching a body to cover stomach and chest in an attempt of defense.
“Do you think of me as a fool?”
The man argued with an undying sound of suffering and betrayal. The words contained a sadness diluted in a type of anger Stiles never wanted to hear again, therefore when the hands let the cage fall, pulling back arms from the wall and allowing space to come back between them, the boy found it suffocating to be so far away from the other.
“No… I-”
Stiles got cut before anything could come out of his mouth; perhaps Derek didn’t want to hear another lie fall from the lips he had only ever wanted to kiss.
“Then tell me the truth St-”
“Fine!”
Before the man could rephrase his anger, the other obliged to the request that was breaking a beloved heart; he had already lost his father, he couldn't handle losing the person, he had realized so foolishly late, he was in love with as well.
So, as the man was so distant from him only a few steps were between them, he took them all and stood with a shaking voice and a breaking composure; he had no time to be a doll, he only wanted Derek to know from him the deal they had walked in.
“She’s the one who murdered my dad.”
Everything crumbled in seconds.
The man took distancing steps leaving the doll alone, betrayal clear on his features while hands fell without energy by petrified sides, walking away with a knotted back staring at Stiles; a surging motion awakened within the slim figure, sprinting to get the other to stop.
Leaving behind the chance to go in the warehouse and end the feud would sign the end of the journey, stating the win of revenging a father’s death, but Stiles’ heart could only lose against the dead; Derek was alive and could be his if he found a way, if he came clean perhaps, therefore he tried as the steps between them increased and decreased.
Thin, slender fingers wrapped a strong arm in a timid yet forcing hold, making the man stop; Derek had a bowing head, denial and sorrow vividly painted in jade eyes, which turned crimson when Stiles stood in front of him, obstructing the path initiated a few moments before. He wasn’t going to allow a defeat to be scored on the board, especially not under his name; essentially not since losing Derek wasn’t an option anymore.
Perhaps, it had never been.
“Let me explain…”
Panting, the doll pushed against the master forcing the body to stop its motion, but Derek had no reply ready or processing; nothing reached waiting ears. Therefore, a guess and dare was being thrown up by the boy, who had no option if not confessing sins and hope for forgiveness.
“I did everything to avenge my father,” began the speech that would make Derek’s ears bleed, “I needed to get close to you to get to her. I admit that, alright!”
There was enough proof of it by then, the man admitted as well in a silent chant of loss; the heart beating in his chest had no intention whatsoever to leave Stiles behind, but he had to push through.
“She would’ve never come here if you weren’t the one orchestrating everything!”
The man was about to resort to violence to leave in such a painful moment, especially after Stiles admitted in a broken cry how he had used him only for his own advantage; to get something out of him. And he had thought the boy was the one for him…
However, something made him still for a second more.
“But I was wrong, okay!”
Shouting, beating the man’s chest with shivering fists meant to be cold and solid, there was not enough strength in a single body to beg so tangibly for something to heal back together, although he had to try, if not for his own breaking heart, perhaps to avoid the suffering from being inflicted on the other.
Stiles hid his face in the man’s chest, hoping for an instance to not be shoved away shamelessly, as if he meant nothing to Derek; breathing softly there, clinging to the back of the imposing figure he was trying to keep, the man did nothing to reciprocate, almost willingly allowing their connection to fade into nothingness.
“I love you, Derek…”
Stiles pleaded, crying; wetting the shirt of the man he had grown so attached to, to the point he’d kill for him if he had only asked.
“You have to believe me!” A demand was thick in the sentence and despite it falling on Derek’s deaf ears, it seemed to be collected and analyzed. The look the doll got of the master’s face reminded him of the day he had been chosen, the day everything started.
“I do!” Kept pushing the boy, “I swear!”
But Derek could not believe a word escaping those rosy lips; he pushed him aside, as if garbage which belonged to the side of the street, exactly where he had found him.
Before feet got back to the path leading anywhere far from there, the master turned slightly enough to catch his favorite doll’s eyes; jade irises should never look so broken, but Stiles saw nothing apart from the shreds which remained.
“Go finish what you started.”
Flatly, no emotion conveyed with the words. Derek walked away, out the alley and disappearing around the corner of the building; Stiles restrained himself from running after him, hunting him down as if prey to a predator.
But he had never been no predator to the man.
Softly, he watched the figure vanish without looking back; he had no time to waste, he reminded himself shortly after, as if going back to business would patch up the wound splitting his heart apart. Letting a descending tear from an ashamed cheek, rosy with the desperate actions feelings commanded, he did in fact get back to work.
The guards were still in place yet with no boss from whom they’d usually take orders from; everyone resembled wax statues made for deco, standing in waiting around the perimeter of the building, perhaps even eager to hear the doll’s commands. Although, no words came from the boy, stillness prevailed and a cold hand pushed the door open, sunlight blurring the edges of a thin silhouette.
The place was naked and dusted, chains of dull metal hanging from hinges unstable on the ceiling as perpetually being pulled down by gravity, windows dirty or cracked, even matte, disturbing the light’s purity in a pale contourless stripes giving a gloom atmosphere to the space ahead.
Inside, she noticed the presence almost immediately.
Babajaga, as Stiles would only call her, had the chance to witness a tear being wiped away by a conflicted fingertip, readying himself for a battle he had been preying upon for the longest time; it had been almost two years his father was gone, she was next on the line.
Slender and vigorous, the woman stood in the fierceness of a lioness adorned by the eyes of a snake; appearance as low impact as it could, although pouring a menacing threat in the dense air that was around them. In a matter of seconds, legs swept the floor in slow steps, seemingly uncaring of the other.
Stiles took a brave stance, appearing menacing as only a doll could; imposing slenderness, seductively standing in a court of swords, eyes firm on a target which had been for too long in the aim. Both knew the other, there was no doubt; being Derek’s lover surely was set for a common ground.
"Baba Yaga…" Flatly began the doll, taking a few closing steps while the woman patiently awaited for him. “I’ve come for your head!”
He had no gun nor knife, bare hands would have to do the job he had been thriving to accomplish, leaving no outcome in which there would be no revenge would ever be allowed.
Besides, it was the sweetest way to take avenge, to deem and beg for redemption; not for his father though, but for the man he loved.
“Koschei,” she framed him as such, for everything he was worth in and out of the market the master had crafted, portraying the doll as a figure and symbol; she knew who the people whispered about, she was the reason he had come to be, although not the reason behind the name.
“I didn’t really mean to kill you dad…”
She mockingly hid her face in theatrically shaking palms, almost falling to her knees in an attempt of seeking clemency for an act she felt no guilt about; it took a second for her to be back on her feet, getting closer to the boy, perhaps the man then, that demanded a fight for settling debts.
“Stop playing!” Shouted Koschei, starting to run towards her, getting the same enthusiasm back; he sliced on the ground while the woman tried to jump him, failing as heels hit the cold cement of the pavement. Charging back as if a bull looking at a red cape, the slender figure of the man got a hold of its prey.
But as soon as a thick exhale hit her neck, elbows drilled Koschei’s sides freeing the woman in an unnatural twisting of guts; perhaps hips were fragile with lack of warmth, or stomach was empty without a strong enough reason. Thus, enough time was available to unsheathe a knife from a thigh garment he thought empty.
“I’m sure you’ll be pleased to meet back with your old Pa’, mh?”
A serrated blade aimed for the man’s upper hip, which Stiles managed to overthrow when the tip of metal was close enough to scratch pale skin; he threw them both to the ground, twisting in the motion that disarmed her for a brief second, enough to score a punch under her jaw.
However, another smaller, shaper blade appeared from behind her back; he should’ve probably checked on that before planning an entire scheme of events without involving knives or guns in a fight battled by professional assassins as they’ve been trained to be.
Baba Yaga rolled their bodies till Koschei’s thighs got strangled between her legs, his back pinned down as hands fisted the blade to avoid it cutting through tender flesh, although the blade was about to reach his clothes, poking a hole in the white cotton of his button up shirt. For a brief, chaste instance, he remembered how he was about to unbutton it for the man he loved; all to arrive at this very moment.
Moment in which he was about to lose. The metal tip was drawing blood from quickly exposed skin, pawing in distress in an attempt of freedom; a whine came out thin, till that moment sealed lips when the blade cut through the fabric down to the flesh, drilling half an inch per second. A sinister, proud smile featured the madness within the eyes of the woman.
Fingers got cut in the process, fighting to push the metal out of his system, but failed miserably in the attempt, kicking at her back with no decent result; a glimpse of defeat began to be born in his chest, air leaving lungs with no other option apart from surrender.
A flash ran beyond amber eyes, passing over all the years wasted or enjoyed he had, all the ones he wouldn’t live; hands began to loosen the hold, seemingly allowing her to end his life the same way it started. Baba Yaga, straight spine and smuggling expression, add pressure to the blade just to reach more flesh; Stiles’ eyes rolled back and closed, fighting the pain in a silent whine.
“He never cared for you.”
Eyes shot back on the fatal figure straddling his hips; wonders were about the subject of her accusation, if it was Derek or his father the one who presumably never gave a damn about him. It gave him enough strength to fight back for a lost second, pushing the knife out the flesh enough to have a chance to break free.
She could never know anything about either; his father was a man out of her existence until she signed his death, his lost lover was a man she never truly knew. He was sure of it, there was no other way around it; Stiles would never imagine Derek falling for such a person, it could happen only if under a spell of sorts.
However, the strength he had gathered from her words wasn’t enough.
“He never liked you!”
She pressed in further, slicing it back in and deeper with an inhuman push; her eyes glittered purple and fear choked the boy beneath her. There was a high probability, newly discovered, that she wasn’t simply human, perhaps not at all.
Stiles fought regardless. If he had to go, he realized, might as well be in a fight for the last to breathe; sure, his chances were close to zero, but hope and revenge had brought him this far, he couldn’t let all go to waste in such a crucial moment of the final act.
Hands pushed on each side, a pair of legs kicking while the other stilled, eyes of different colors, one of fear and determination, one of madness and sickness. He managed to do only so much though, blood pooling beneath him and eyes losing their sharp view; she pressured the blade further in, managing another sentence.
“He never loved y-”
While Stiles fought back with his last energies against the pressure on his hip, eyes caught a sight he never thought would become reality.
In no plans he had envisioned, there was a scene where salvation would come so briefly and unexpectedly, just as there was no initial place for catching feelings on the site of the job.
Claws wrapped her neck and blood seeped through the cuts made on her skin, floating down collarbone down her chest till a few drops even stained the boy’s pants; panting in relief, her body fell to the side as if dragged away from weighing him down to the floor.
The hand handled the body to stay away from the boy, who could see the dying sparkle in the woman’s irises as she slowly passed before his very own eyes; her weight echoed on the walls, the sound of her hitting the ground dense and solid. For a chance, only a fragment of one perhaps, the boy thought war was over.
But then, once Baba Yaga was gone, damned to grow cold on the pavement of an abandoned warehouse with a sliced neck and a lost look in her dissipating purplish irises, Stiles’ view got filled with the person responsible for his salvation; it was no other than Derek Hale himself, with claws drenched in crimson warmth and eyes of the same anguish color.
He had no need to bend or kneel to end the woman’s life, therefore the figure, imposing as ever but begging as much, held out an offering hand to the doll with a painful, holed hip and a pair of fearful eyes; all facades were officially gone, but so seemed the same for the man, who apart from signature tattoos and eyes, appeared to be nothing more than a person in search of his other half.
Stiles thought about taking the hand of his supposed lover, calling it even somehow by the turn of events he just witnessed, although the other had a lump in his throat as something made its rugged, rough but delicate way out.
“I can’t dictate my heart.”
It got Stiles off guard; trying to raise his back on weak elbows, the view angled further up to meet the other’s eyes without a valid explanation for what he was hearing. Although, he expressed none of his confusion or consolation, however a sensation close to a pinching nail in his wound made him whine as he had moved.
Knees hit the ground, hands approaching but ceasing the action when Stiles shied away an inch, preoccupied with whatever Derek wanted from him after the shattering last command he had given him before abandoning him; hands withdrew and more words came through.
“Only you can, baby.”
It seemed to sound the same as a reason for why he was back, why he had killed his own ex lover and why he had a loving stare glaring over the doll’s body, while it also turned worried whenever he eyed the wound which Stiles would hide each time the man tried to get a sneak peek of it; passing from two elbows to one made him tremble, although the hand on his injured hip provided a dim comfort despite the blood loss taking away the color of his skin.
He was scared of the man’s intention, although he forced himself to feel that precise way as a mechanism to defend a broken heart from being shattered even more, with eyes wide in search of something he wasn’t entirely aware of, the look he gave the man couldn’t hide the true feeling he was still, once again, trying to suppress.
“You’re mine, Stiles.” Quietly but steadily declared the man. “Plus, I can decide when and how people die.”
It definitely did not work too well; Stiles tried to shy away further, elbows dragging him away. Derek remained still, hurt since his lover did not feel comfortable with him anymore; thus, he tried to heal that fractured trust with a compelling sentence, which perhaps could save the previous one and also the boy, who seemed to be bleeding far too greatly to consider it safe.
“And today I chose it as her last.”
Stiles understood swiftly then, without much problem as he had known that for a while, how things got set to be; surely, it was clear the second the man had killed the woman for his safety alone. Furthermore, when a smile tugged his lips, slightly and just to indicate he was glad his lover could only be his, Derek picked him up in arms without a second thought, almost too fast for him to notice.
Eyes locked and neither exchanged a word with the other; Stiles clung to the man’s shoulder and Derek pushed his lover’s body closer to his own, hoping the wound was not too deep. It didn’t take too much for the man to begin to walk away from the dead woman’s body, abandoning it there while taking his beloved away from the pain.
Stiles looked up at him one last time before the blood loss kicked in, making him lose consciousness in the man’s hold as both arms fell within his lap; the drive in the Camaro was a complete void in the boy’s memory, although he didn’t mind given the person he was with.
Once back in the Hale house, which could be easily called theirs, a patch up work sewed together Stiles’ hip.
Perhaps he didn’t need a plan to fall in love.
Notes:
AHHH! thank you for have read this far! the last chapter will seal everything up, but you can pass by my tumblr for other stuff!
Chapter 5: The Outcome
Notes:
guys! it's been like three weeks and i haven't had the energy to get this done, i'm so sorry about it! but i managed to get out of the slump and finish the touch ups!
i hope you'll enjoy this chapter even if it's not the longest and i didn't want to add anything else than what had already been planned and written, but i hope it serves its purpose and ends the story gracefully as i hoped it would.
lemme know what you think...
thanks to all of those who waited patiently for this chapter! so sorry it took me so long!this said, good read! (❁´◡`❁)
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The warm water soothed the stitches on the boy’s hips; a man’s hands caressing both with undeniably tangible care…
Once the sewing thread, so sweetly held in thick fingers, chained back gutted flesh with dripping blood, Stiles thought the night could come; perhaps, a night’s sleep could undo much of a day’s worth, although it wasn’t the plan of someone else, whose trick relied more on another deal.
Hands just washed, cold with the water’s drop still on them rolling down to the knuckles, each tip pressed around the edges of the wound; Stiles whined in clear pain, both of his own gripping hands halting the man’s doing with crushed brows and whitening vision, speaking through gritted teeth.
“Ain’t the best way.”
Derek shot a surprised gaze at the boy, amazement at the language that had been used, so clearly unfit for such a high caliber doll such as the whimpering creature sat on the toilet’s seat; shirt gone and pants too, there wasn’t much use for stained clothes anymore, in fact even boxers were gone, with just a towel covering a cold lap.
“Relax…”
The word soft as a blowing breeze got the deliverer an open eye on hunting duty, searching for a minor reason beyond the effectiveness of the man’s voice; Stiles had no restrain active within himself as he melted blissfully beneath the tender, unstopping fingers the man didn’t deny him. A small admission had to be made: it wasn’t such a terrible feeling as the pain diluted, floating in the flesh around the pulsing wound.
Therefore, it made the jagged hold on the man loose, hands falling on lap then finding purpose in holding at the seat or at the shoulders so close to him; they both enjoyed the moment, when Stiles felt safe with him and how it made Derek proud. It was a moment denial could not interfere with anyhow.
However, in the little amount of time it took the boy to ease under the actions, a thought carved its way through a man’s running mind, soliciting a calming surprise in a show of pride for a beloved body going through an ache of a kind; knives were the worst among all types, jagged teeth and ripping edges; a way to feel unbelievably alive.
So on edge between a flashing memory and the next, Stiles had felt that adrenaline rush the man knew by heart; slicing throats and cutting heads, inflicting and taking had both a sensation of life he could never deny was enjoyable, besides it was all for a good of heart’s safe recovery.
Possibly nestled even, by Derek’s accord, within his own arms and perhaps with a more soothing warmth wiping the crimson away; therefore, the idea so patiently awaited struck when relaxation was tangible in the boy’s flesh, rosy by touch and not blood, pushing the man to act before judgment could be casted.
Stiles had no chance to investigate the man’s moving legs and arms, or tub filling with water, nor the waiting he endured for something without receiving a muttered word of explanation. Eyes scanned and fingers gripped in a ferocious hold the seat beneath him, wondering for a trembling moment about the other’s doing, all the while with the man caring for a body he only intended on loving.
However, with a smoking mirror reflecting his beaten up figure on the bath’s surface of water, Derek was a quick presence surrounding him; in fact, arms picked him up just as a savior had done the same day, after untangling a neck of its miserable and annoying voice, and began to close the distance between the flesh and the liquid warmth.
No time to adjust was provided, therefore arms did not slid around the man’s neck, making the boy submerge in the water way easier than it would have been if hands held shoulders in the small trip Derek took; but, thankfully aching flesh was finally being soothed by a seeping and melting heat he had been unknowingly craving.
In it, Stiles allowed his body to come undone of every knot present, straightening legs and resting his head back on the edge, arms on his lap in a loose cover for an empty stomach. Before he could show his gratitude to the man though, he began to undress and amber eyes did not avert to look elsewhere.
Clothes gone, Derek got behind the tub and it didn’t take a genius to get the memo; besides, Stiles moved willingly to allow his lover to come closer, perhaps wishing a soothing session to come his way without a reason. When another body increased the water’s level, the other rested against it.
“Got any present for me?”
Stiles did not hide the little wish he had, which needed no words to be explained; fingers soon took hold of his hips, sliding then from waist to thighs providing comfort to the suffering body beneath the rough palms assuring tender care, until they went back to the pressuring motion around those hideous, strangling stitches.
Neither seemed to care about the sewing that had just been done on the boy’s flesh, uncaring if it would get loose or even break under the stretching motion or the burning temperature; both cared when it didn’t happen though, somehow ending with a smuggling smile at Stiles’ tenacious strength.
Furthermore, smile gone and hands still circling kindness in wounded muscle, Derek breathed near the boy’s ear, his head laying on a thick, strong chest as it listened to the beating heart within the pounding flesh; Stiles was eager to hear the man’s thoughts, which didn’t hesitate to arrive his way, with a kiss prepping ringing ears for the words.
“You got disassembled like a matryoshka.”
A huff escaped the rigidity of a doll’s appearance, by then completely discharged in favor of a truer version Stiles had been suppressing for far too long. His hands covered the man’s in a show of subtle appreciation, glad to be allowed to exist without pretenses or facades, glad to be loved for being nothing if not himself.
Although, a withstanding thought did not surrender in the boy’s quickly fading mind, tiredness and exhaustion luring the body, already filled with aches and an undying wish to be held and cared for. It seemed futile to him to deny it, therefore it slipped through lips he had no strength to seal shut.
“It’s what I am.”
The remark was simple and flat, spoke as he looked up to the man, poking from beneath his jaw to catch jade eyes; a finger running on the scar sealed on his neck in a silent ownership he thought impossible to escape from. The other could catch the movement, barely so, just enough to wonder.
In the little time Derek took to ponder an answer, perhaps something strong enough that would make the other understand how they’d be settled from there on, the head which lovingly angled to catch his vision lowered back down, resting softly against a breathing chest.
Although, in the excruciating long moments he took to forge a small sentence, Stiles was about to fall into a deep sleep the man interrupted when the final decision had been picked and selected, much like he was selecting another doll; but of that business there would be no trace between them, he wanted nothing of it to go against their journey ahead.
The words were of a softness unknown to mankind, somehow extrapolated from a form of literature long lost; ethereal and surreal, unable to be described if not with devotion and relief. The man had wanted the other for a long time, it was just in that moment he realized the boy felt the same.
Stiles swore to whoever was above them, that a concession so softly whispered was the only true form of freedom. Derek just believed the same.
“No, not anymore.”
A pair of dusty eyes slowly made their way towards the man’s face, inspecting it in search of flaws that could justify the words he had just heard; all the plan had been crafted on that small fact, on being the master’s favorite doll. Now the plan was done, executed and sealed, although he did not comprehend why would their oath end if everything seemed to be on the way they’d be going.
Besides, everything was readable in the eyes the man caught; Stiles was not hiding anything from him, not a glimpse of the derailing train of thoughts passing through the boundaries of a tired mind could be missed and everything allowed Derek to see more, gifting him a chance to end the confused look the boy had.
So, eyes were big in wide expression of surprise and lack of understanding, hands starting to fidget with the slender fingers that had been calm all along, legs beginning to close in reflex at the chance he had envisioned it all wrong; but the lion’s heart the man had was enlightening the room even before a few words let his lips.
Otherwise, the fingers caressing his scarred hip, uncaring of the triskele merged within his skin, would be anything but soothing, just like his murmuring voice.
“You’re my lover. Always been.”
Stiles turned his head fully at the words, gripping the edges of the tub to sustain his spine, cracking in sound of decompression and with awe clear in the features the man could not deny admiration for; therefore, Derek held him tighter, pinching his chin to come closer until lips met in a soft kiss which meant nothing more if not the weight of their closure.
There was no denying, of course, that the smile tagging the boy’s lips was candid as the snow that did not portray a drop of blood. His father would let him be, it was assured, and existing with his dear lover could be a life he’d be proud of living through; there would be challenges, he knew, but if they reached the goal so far, a few more pushes could bring them everywhere.
Although, around ten minutes later, after kisses got savored and exchanged, while blissfully closing eyes and caressing warm and tender skin, Stiles moved; ending up straddling the man’s lap with caution to the stitches, whereas the man himself decided with good reason to stand once the water was cold, receiving an arm lock around his neck.
“Time to sleep for the injured,” whispered Derek in the boy’s ear as the tub emptied and steps covered the distance between their position and their bed, while Stiles was clinging to his lover’s body while both did not shy at their naked displays; by the time he got in bed, the other was close to him under the sheets with an offering he could never turn down.
Stiles laid on top of the breathing chest of the man, head and hands on the beating heart beneath the flesh that shared with him a type of body heat he could never live without in the cold months of the Russian winter. Eyes were already closing, relying on Derek’s soft touch on his back to send him some comfort and care.
But before sleep could finally put a claim on the boy’s mind and heart, a soft rumble came from the chest beneath him accompanied by fingers deliciously scratching the aching shoulders that tensed at the sound; surprisingly enough, the snoring which startled him came from no other than the man he felt the safest with.
So, with such a sure affirmation it was just Derek being with him, eyes finally shut close; sleep had never felt so recharging if anyone asked him; he had no worries about the upcoming days, of revenging a dead who could no longer speak. Stiles slept without much problem after the other, unconsciously so, as he cradled him even more.
‘What a strange turn of events’, Stiles lastly wondered before allowing sleep to rejoin him with his beloved, ‘events although so treasured…’
The night was empty of surprises, as it should be, sending waves of hot closure to both the men tangled beneath the sheet, in their bedroom in the Hale house; windows shut close by curtains, neither could have a chance to see how the moon was full in blessing even if they were to wake up throughout their sleep.
Besides, another benediction came first thing in the morning.
Soft hands caressed a breathing back, both still naked by the previous night but still sharing a delightful fire ignited simply by their conjoined bodies. Sunlight was lazy in cutting through the curtains, pale and blurry in stripes only Derek admired while he wanted his lover to sleep some more; he had had a rampage of a journey just the day before.
The sheets didn’t cover the skin Derek traced, both their torso exposed with their bodies covered from the hips down; Stiles remained the same as the previous night, hands and head on the man’s soft and warm chest, breathing the scent of the skin he was sharing everything with. Although, slowly, the sun paid him too a visit.
A few stripes crossed his face, knocking on his eyelids until vision got clear as he blinked and rubbed his eyes with a sleepy hand; Stiles slowly awoke soon after, unable to get back to the addicting sleep he couldn't get enough of. Thus, stretching on the man’s body and feeling the contact being skin on skin, a timid smile tried to hide.
But picking his chin up, Derek swept the shyness in a far off corner to never be seen again, guiding their lips to meet to start their new life as lovers and nothing less; Stiles dwelt in the sweetness of the moment, finally and lastly his to own and remember, with no one able to steal it from him.
Besides, something even sweeter came his way when the man had eyes solidly planted on him as he retrieved back down on his chest, chin above crossed hands in between the valleys of the pecs there; the boy could not believe the ears which allowed him to hear the other’s suggestion.
“So, what’s the next plan?”
Stiles smirked at the man’s words, face flat against the other’s chest, giggling with uncontrollable amusement. Derek, stroking his back with soft hands, treasured the view more than gold with a smile of his own.
Notes:
thanks so much for have waited for this chapter and i hope you enjoyed it till the end! i don't know when a next work will come out, but you can see some updates on it on tumblr
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