(Inspired by Holding On Too Tight by Green & ohfeelya)
It’s only days after Derek gave up his alpha spark to save Cora that the last part of him breaks.
Kate cracked him open. Peter killing Laura broke pieces of himself. Killing Peter killed something in him. He’d already killed so much of his family but he’d never had their actual blood on his claws. Being forced to kill Boyd, his own beta, crystalized his self-hatred into an unbreakable stone. Jennifer took his last bit of innocence (the part that still secretly hoped he could have someone). Sacrificing his alpha spark has left him feeling hollow and empty.
And here. Now. Watching Stiles look at him with apology and something gentle, soft in his eyes. For the shit he said while his dad was kidnapped. For all that Derek’s been through.
Derek has wanted Stiles for so long. Stiles is too young. More grown up than Derek when Kate devoured his innocence. Nor is he as innocent. But despite all Stiles has been through, there’s still enough of him, enough good, enough innocence that Derek can never, should never touch him.
Not now. Not anymore. Not ever.
Derek still wants though. He can smell that Stiles does too. He’s for a while known that Stiles is attracted. And with this terrible softness in his eyes, Derek can see love or something like it.
Derek’s hands are too fucking dirty to touch someone as pure as Stiles still is.
In this moment, though, he wants. And there isn’t enough of him, enough of what made him, if not good then decent, to care. He wants to feel that love. To touch it. To taste it. To consume it.
And now? Now he’s too broken to care. And in so deciding, in breaking he feels that last piece of himself break. There’s no coming back from this.
If there were any good left in him, he wouldn’t be pushing Stiles up against a wall and devouring his lips. Biting at them. Trying to claim, to possess, to own.
He wouldn’t be growling obscenities into the hollow of his throat as he marks it up and draws in greedy inhales of Stiles’ scent. Wouldn’t be blending their scents together. Wouldn’t be revelling in the vicious joy of it all.
Derek, when he’d thought about this (in shame and alone in the dark) it was always gentle. Already too much violence in his life. And Kate had always been too rough. Wanted Stiles’ first time to be soft. Gentle. Full of light and all the meagre love Derek had left to give.
Instead they are in the shattered remains of his loft. In the shattered remains of what used to be Derek Hale.
Derek is rough in biting and sucking on Stiles’ nipples. Rubbing his beard all over and making Stiles’ skin a lovely pink in irritation. He wants to be slower. Wants to savour this feast. But he wants to wreck Stiles more. Is too hungry to slow down.
So he eats Stiles out like it’s his last meal (in so many ways, it is). Listens to Stiles sob in pleasure. To his cursing and moans. Takes immense delight in making Stiles come from this alone. He does slow enough to savour the taste of Stiles’ come. Licking it off of him. It tastes like victory. Like the sweet, innocence that Derek is in the process of destroying.
And Derek lifts him up, over the broken glass, into the kitchen. Grabs the oil and slicks up his fingers. Pushing one in and loving the reflexive clenching around it. Loving even more when his growls and kisses lead to eventual surrender. He repeats this with each successive finger. Until Stiles is limp and relaxed around four of them.
This is the most gentle Derek has been (the most gentle he can be in this moment). For all that he wants to wreck Stiles (for all that he knows he’ll ruin him), he doesn’t want to hurt Stiles. Not, at least, in this. If only because he wants Stiles to enjoy it. Wants him to feel so fucking good it does ruin him.
When Stiles is ready, Derek fishes his aching cock out of his pants and slicks it up. Stiles watches with lust and baited anticipation. Derek has him up against another wall. Seems fitting, given their early interactions with each other, that their end should mirror their beginning.
He slides in with one easy stroke. Gives Stiles only enough time to feel him relax around Derek’s cock, before Derek just looses himself in the tight heat. In the scent of them together. In the punched out sounds of pleasure Stiles is making. He is biting and marking up Stiles’ neck. Kissing him roughly and rubbing his beard where he can reach it.
He is claiming Stiles.
And it’s only after he feels Stiles clench up around him, coming untouched, that he lets himself go. Pounds hard and finally, finally comes himself. He bites savagely at Stiles’ shoulder. Not with fangs because, broken as he is, he isn’t that cruel, but with human teeth. He still draws blood.
He’s marked Stiles inside and out. Stiles is his now.
He’s gone the next day.