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toomuchofabastard · 4 years ago

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Heaven’s Final Betrayal (5/6)

[ << CHAPTER 1 ] [ < CHAPTER 4 ]

Fandom: Good Omens (TV)

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Aftermath of Rape/Non-Con, Mentions of Dissociation

Word count: 3,726 (total 19,201)

Fic Summary: It was obvious that Heaven wouldn’t exactly be thrilled about Aziraphale’s role in preventing Armageddon. But neither the angel nor Crowley could have predicted how far they were willing to go to get revenge, and now Aziraphale needs him by his side more than ever.

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Madame Tracy contemplated the saucepan full of Brussels sprouts.

Then she rapped her fingers against the side of the pan and glanced at the clock again. 2:46 pm. Mr. Aziraphale would be arriving at around a quarter past three. What to do?

She still made sure to boil up some Brussels before every séance, finding that no potpourri or expensive aromatherapy oils could create an atmosphere of safety and reassurance for the type she entertained quite like the familiar scent of vegetables that had been left on the stove too long.

But that was her regular - well, human - clients. Would it work on an actual, literal angel? Aziraphale reminded her of some of her (now ex-)clients in ways, although she could think of several key reasons why he would never be interested in the services she’d offered them, beyond the cup of tea. And a cup of tea and a chat was exactly what she’d promised. She wondered again what she Aziraphale might be needing to talk to her about. Crowley had made it sound pretty serious when they’d first arranged this afternoon together.

She’d been in the Oxfam shop just off Tottenham Court Road, browsing through some second-hand purses, when the bell over the door had rung and a damp and surly-looking young man had entered. She instantly recognised the copper-red hair, not to mention the serpentine tattoo on the side of his face, the monochromatic clothing, and the curious propensity to wear sunglasses even on a rainy day.

Crowley hadn’t noticed her at first, striding straight up to the till and shoving a hefty tome at the surprised teenager behind it with a brusque “Here.”

“Oh, um, thank you! Is this to donate?” they asked.

“Yeah, yeah, it is,” Crowley had responded distractedly, running a hand through the back of his hair, and eyeing up the door already. Madame Tracy wandered over as the cashier started to input something into their till.

“Do you qualify for Gift Aid?” they asked Crowley.

Crowley turned back and snorted, seeming amused. “No, I don’t pay taxes,” he explained, as though it should be obvious. That didn’t surprise Madame Tracy one bit. He was a demon, after all. Tax evasion was probably the least sinister activity he got up to.

Crowley made to leave and Madame Tracy rushed to catch his attention before he was gone. “Crowley, love, is that you?” she called out.

He swung round, looking a little startled, but then clearly recognised her after a few seconds. “Oh. Hey,” he said, awkwardly waving a hand. He paused, then asked “You alright?”

“Very well, thank you,” she replied, stepping closer. She noted out of the corner of her eye as the cashier picked up the old book Crowley had donated with a puzzled look on their face and started to type its details into their computer. “Me and Mr. S are still looking for a place in the country. Nothing yet, but with the market being what it is at the moment, we’ll probably have to be patient,” she said.

“…Right,” responded Crowley blankly. His vacant expression made it clear to Madame Tracy that he had no idea who she was talking about. Come on, demon, she thought. You’ve only known him since the sixties.

“Of course, he’s retired from the old Witchfinding now,” she led on. “Fancied he might take up firearms restoration, or maybe lock-picking.” She watched Crowley’s face closely. He remained hopelessly blank for another few seconds, and then suddenly she saw a light ping on in his eyes.

“Right, right, yeah,” he said hurriedly. “The sergeant. ‘Cos you’re together now, aren’t you?” he said. She thought she could detect a faint patina of red spreading across his cheeks.

“Exactly,” she said. She smiled widely and kindly at him, and decided to take mercy and change the subject. “And how are you and Mr. Aziraphale doing?” she asked.

Immediately, she saw that it hadn’t been a good avenue of conversation to pursue. Crowley’s face darkened and his eyes became hard and troubled. He ran his tongue across his teeth for a second, appearing to weigh something up in his head.

“Yeah, not so great,” he eventually replied, voice low and jaw tight.

“Oh, dear,” Madame Tracy remarked uncertainly. “What’s wrong?”

“…Something happened,” Crowley sighed, and ruffled the back of his hair again. “He’s not… doing very well with it.”

Suddenly, the spark of an idea seemed to light up the demon’s harried face. “Actually,” he said, “I’ve been thinking; he needs someone to talk to about it - someone who’s not me - and, well, if he’s up for it, could you maybe…?”

Madame Tracy understood what he was getting at, and thought about it. She liked the angel. They saw eye-to-eye on the important things, like the fundamental problem with designating people as wholly Good or wholly Evil, and whether you should put the milk or the tea in first. And he’d been gracious enough to forgive Mr. Shadwell for exploding him and accidentally burning down his bookshop, citing impending Armageddon as a ‘mitigating circumstance’ for all involved.

“I’m sure I’d be very happy to chat to him about whatever’s troubling the both of you,” she smiled.

Crowley smiled too. “Thanks,” he said, casually, but his tone and the relaxing of his shoulders betrayed a deep relief and gratitude.

“I’m free on Thursdays now, if you like?”

“Sounds great- well, I’ll ask him, anyway,” Crowley said.

Madame Tracey nodded. “Just give me a ring, love.” Next to her, the young cashier’s eyes suddenly bulged wide as they stared at whatever result concerning Crowley’s book the computer had just presented them with.

Crowley gave Madame Tracey a sharp nod and then turned to leave. “Um, sir, are you sure you want to-!” the cashier called out, but Crowley had already sauntered back out into the rain.

That had been six days ago, and now the angel himself would be here in less than an hour. Madame Tracey tapped the saucepan again. To boil or not to boil? Probably she should have thought about this sooner. Well… what harm could it do? From the sounds of it, it wasn’t going to be an easy conversation and Aziraphale would need something reassuring. And if it worked on her usual visitors, then why not him? He seemed just as English as she was. Maybe more so.

Madame Tracey nodded to herself, and then set the sprouts to boil.

◥|⧗|◤

About half an hour later, there was a sharp buzz on the intercom. When she opened the front door, the angel and the demon were standing there side by side, one dark and the other fair, almost putting her in mind of a pair of chess pieces. A bishop and a knight, perhaps. Crowley looked uncomfortable, and Aziraphale looked nervous.

They exchanged brief pleasant greetings, and then Madame Tracey beckoned Aziraphale inside. “Do come in, dear.”

“I’ll be back for you around four, alright?” Crowley said to him, as he massaged Aziraphale’s hand.

The angel murmured something in response and kissed Crowley dotingly on the cheek, squeezing him close. Madame Tracy saw a recalcitrant blush blossom underneath the demon’s sunglasses and the corners of his mouth twitch upwards. Aw. They were sweet together.

They parted and Crowley slouched back to his car, which Madame Tracey could swear was a vintage Bentley model older than she was. Aziraphale smiled at her and followed her inside, down the drab hallway and into her less-drab flat.

“Make yourself comfortable,” Madame Tracey said, and then popped quickly into the kitchenette. As well as the Brussels sprouts, now boiling away happily★, she’d been sure to boil the kettle and pre-prepare two cups, saucers and teabags, which she quickly assembled and brought out to the table in her sitting room. She placed one in front of the angel.

★Or as happily as any vegetables - had they attained sentience - could be, whilst being boiled to within an inch of their lives.

“Sugar, dear?” she gestured to the bowl.

“No, thank you,” Aziraphale replied, perfectly sweetly, but his hands were fidgeting underneath the tablecloth.

She sat down next to him and took a sip from her own cup. “Lovely,” she remarked. He likewise sipped his tea quietly, and nodded in agreement, although his face was gloomy.

“So, what exactly was it that you needed to talk to me about?” she asked.

“Um… I-I don’t really know where to start,” he replied with a light chuckle.

“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?” she suggested gently.

Aziraphale took a deep, slightly shaky breath, cradling the tea close to himself, and swallowed. “You, um, you remember the other angel that was at the airbase, in Tadfield?” he began.

Madame Tracy cast her mind back. There had been all manner of bizarre characters and phenomena around that day - an honourable mention to her-with-the-angel-in-her-body - but she did recall a figure who had spoken down to Aziraphale after the two of them had been separated again.

“Tall fellow?” she said. “Sharply dressed? Very easy on the eyes?” A habitual hint of coquettishness crept into her voice with the last question.

Aziraphale nodded. He didn’t look happy at the description.

“Nasty piece of work, I thought,” Madame Tracy added, coldly.

A brief smile flashed across the angel’s face. “Yes,” he said, taking another deep breath. “That’s Gabriel.”

“He’s your boss?”

“Was. I believe I’ve been - uh - ‘let go’.” He laughed humourlessly.

Then he gulped, and looked down. “He- Heaven- well, they… weren’t best pleased with me for helping to prevent Armageddon,” he said. “So they decided I had to be… punished for that, and-and for, um, associating with Crowley.” He raised his eyebrows slightly as he spoke the word associating, and Madame Tracy could tell exactly what sort of ‘association’ he was referring to.

There was a pregnant pause. Aziraphale seemed to be trying to work himself up to saying something, staring down at his clenched hands and breathing heavily.

“They… th-…” he started, but then stopped with a pained frown. He sighed. Then he tried again, but his mouth moved silently, no words coming out.

“Take your time, dear,” Madame Tracy said. She patted him reassuringly on shoulder.

He smiled briefly again, but the anguish was obvious in his eyes. For a few moments, he just sat still and took several deep, forced breaths, while Madame Tracy waited patiently. Eventually, he managed to stutter it out.

“They… r-raped me.”

Then he turned immediately away to look up at the ceiling, and blinked rapidly as tears formed in the bottom of his eyes.

“Oh, sweetheart,” exclaimed Madame Tracy. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting but it certainly wasn’t that. Instinctively, she reached to brush his hand. Aziraphale glanced at her and then quickly away again, his chest beginning to heave. A few choked gasps escaped the angel and his shoulders jerked silently up and down with sobs. Madame Tracy rushed to grab him a tissue from the box on the sideboard.

He accepted the tissue with another quick polite smile, and dabbed heavily at the watery corners of his eyes. She continued to stroke the back of his hand as he dried his eyes and tried to compose himself a little. The poor dear. It was unthinkable, what had happened to him.

“Apologies,” Aziraphale eventually said. “That’s the first time I’ve actually…s-said it out loud.”

Madame Tracy gave him a sympathetic look and squeezed his shaking hand. “No need to apologise, dear,” she said. “I’m so sorry. That’s dreadful.” She shook her head. “Awful.”

Aziraphale said nothing.

She didn’t feel it was really her place to ask him to clarify, but she felt herself pressed on by an awful morbid curiosity. “You said ‘they’…?” she asked cautiously.

Aziraphale swallowed, and managed to somehow look even more miserable. “A-Another angel, you wouldn’t know him,” he explained. His eyes wandered a little and his face darkened. “Even nastier piece of work than Gabriel. Always has been.” A minute shudder ran through his body.

“And they have the cheek to call themselves angels,” Madame Tracy scoffed.

Aziraphale snorted and waggled his eyebrows in agreement. The angel reached mutely for his tea and took a long draft, sighing deeply as he set it back down. He tapped the side of the cup restlessly as he moved to speak again.

“Crowley witnessed it all,” he said, the lines of anguish returning to his face. “He’s been so good to me. So patient.” He trailed off as a dreamy, loving look entered his eyes and the lines were replaced by the plumped cheeks and crow’s-foot creases of a real smile. Then the smile faded.

“But… well… it’s changed things,” he continued. “And I- I don’t know what to do. Neither does Crowley.” He looked over at her hopefully.

“What’s changed?” she asked delicately. “Maybe I can help.” That was doubtlessly why Crowley had asked her for this in the first place.

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “Um… I keep- I keep having these… ‘episodes’, I suppose, where, um, well, I feel… disconnected from everything. Sometimes for hours. Crowley tries to snap me out of it but it-it doesn’t always work.”

Madame Tracy said nothing, letting him continue.

“And it’s interfering with our, um…” - the angel coughed and his cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink - “…being intimate together.” He glanced at her hopefully again. “Y-You’re something of an expert in that area. What do you suggest?”

“So you’ve tried ‘being intimate’ since?” Madame Tracy responded with a question. She would normally be a lot more frank, but right now it was probably easiest to borrow the angel’s charmingly-euphemistic turn of phrase.

Aziraphale nodded.

“And it didn’t go well?” she prompted.

The angel shook his head. “We got halfway,” he said, “and it was- it was ok, it was nice, but then, well,” - he frowned - “something changed and I just, sort of… went numb.” His face creased with regret. “And that was the end of that.”

She smiled softly again and rubbed his arm.

“You’re going to need time, dear,” she said. “You have to be patient with yourself.” Aziraphale stared down into his tea, still forlorn.

It’s a good thing he came to me, she thought. At least she had some experience with this kind of thing; more than Crowley would, anyway. Content, well-adjusted individuals weren’t typically in the habit of visiting a sex worker when they could just as easily be getting ‘it’ in more typical places. Many of her clients had clearly been in it just as much for the company and emotional support as the sex, and over the years, she’d gotten pretty decent at assuaging the needs of the soul in addition to the body.

“If you want my advice for what to do-” she began, and he instantly looked back up at her, “I think you should try to focus on yourself. Rest, do things you enjoy, make sure you’re relaxing; really just take some time to nurture yourself.”

Aziraphale looked uncertain.

“As for the disconnecting-” she pressed on, taking charge of the conversation, “-well, we just need to find a way to reconnect you, that’s all.” A sudden memory flitted into her mind. “Come to think of it,” she continued, “I had a client once who I think suffered from a similar thing.”

Aziraphale’s eyebrows rose inquisitively.

“He was rather odd with it - he would start listing things; objects that were in the room,” she said. “Said it helped to name all the blue things he could see or things he could smell. Quite bizarre.” She’d heard about Mindfulness and Similar Capitalised Concepts in magazines, although she wasn’t sure what blue objects had to do with it. “But it seemed to work for him,” she finished.

The angel looked rather sceptical. “So I should… count objects?” he asked.

Well, she hadn’t meant that quite so literally. “It’s all about grounding yourself in the present, I believe,” she said authoritatively. “Always returning to reality, and focusing on what’s around you.”

Aziraphale nodded slowly.

“For example, in the, ahem, bedroom” - Madame Tracey batted her eyelashes - “if you feel yourself drifting off, try to notice all of the touches and sensations and whatnot. Your Crowley seems very attentive,” she continued, causing Aziraphale to turn beetroot-red and grin sheepishly at the floor, “-so you just relax and think about what feels good to you, all the things that feel pleasurable in the moment.” She thought for a second.

“Do you have a bathtub?” she asked suddenly.

Aziraphale blinked in surprise, and then nodded. “Yes- well, Crowley has one, in his flat.”

Madame Tracey raised a finger to hush him and then quickly got up and left the angel sitting, confused, at the table, as she vanished into the bathroom at the back of the flat. With targeted precision, she collected together a number of parcels and baskets she’d had lying around, and brought an armful back out to the living room. They bumped and tumbled as she dumped them onto the table between them.

“So-” she pointed at each of the objects in turn, “-you’ve got bath bombs, and there’s some salts there too, and moisturiser and your essential oils and- oh, you like tea, don’t you, love?”

Ignoring Aziraphale’s bewildered face as he tried to process the question, she bustled over to the kitchenette and began pulling boxes from one of the cupboards. She reached to the very back and pulled down a bright gift box, containing a selection of exotic and colourful loose-leaf teas, which she’d at first mistaken for potpourri.

“One of my old clients gave me these, but Mr. S will never go for that sort of thing and after all, your need is greater,” she said, and added the box to the sprawling pile on the table.

“I-I couldn’t possibly accept all this!” the angel protested.

“Oh, nonsense, dear,” Madame Tracy replied, fussing a hand at him. “I’m always buying this stuff, or getting given it; I’ve plenty enough to last the rest of my life and beyond. It’s good to pay it forward.” Satisfied with the haul, she sat back down next to him.

Aziraphale looked sheepish again. “And… this will help, you think?” he asked quietly.

“Well, it’ll certainly relax you and engage the senses,” she said. “And they say smell is a powerful thing, don’t they?” The smells that emanated from Shadwell’s flat certainly were, she thought to herself. “If you can practice focusing when you’re happy and relaxed, it’ll come easier when you really need to.”

Aziraphale sighed, and some of the tension finally melted away from his face as he smiled. Madame Tracey returned the expression.

“Oh, bother,” Aziraphale muttered, as he reached for his tea and noticed that both cups had gone rather lukewarm as they’d been talking.

“I’ll brew us another,” Madame Tracey said as she began to get up.

“Oh, no need!” Aziraphale stopped her. He clicked his fingers sharply and suddenly both cups were once again as hot as newly poured, the smell of fresh tea thrown back into the air around them. Madame Tracey blinked in surprise. Sometimes she almost forgot that Aziraphale and Crowley weren’t human, and then they went and did - she’d heard them called miracles, and that seemed apt - just like it was nothing. Amazing.

She picked up the cup, somewhat cautiously, and took another sip. The angel smiled again, and joined her.

◥|⧗|◤

Crowley prodded the doorbell and then stepped back, squinting again at the needlessly complex display of his watch. He was a little bit earlier than he’d said. Hopefully that didn’t matter. He lounged against the edge of the wall as he waited for a response from inside the house, still feeling taut with nerves. This whole thing had been his idea, and while Aziraphale had assured him that he agreed, Crowley felt a little like he’d pressured the angel into it. He just hoped it would help.

He heard muffled footsteps, and stood up straight as the door clicked open and revealed Madame Tracey’s cheery face, greeting him. Aziraphale came up behind her, his arms full of… boxes? … and squeezed past until he was standing in front of Crowley.

“Hey angel,” Crowley said softly. “Ready to go?”

“One moment, dear,” Aziraphale replied. He turned back to Madame Tracey.

“I-I really can’t thank you enough, for all of this” - he gestured to the pile of boxes - “and all of the advice and just… for listening.” Crowley was glad to hear a note of calm and relief in the angel’s voice, which hadn’t been there when Crowley dropped him off.

“Any time, love,” Madame Tracey patted Aziraphale’s arm. “You take care of yourself now.”

She looked meaningfully at Crowley, and then added: “Both of you.”

Aziraphale beamed at them both, and then carefully picked his way over the doorstep and followed Crowley to the Bentley. Crowley opened and closed the door for him, gave a vague wave to Madame Tracey, and got into the driver’s side. As he did so, a cacophony of overlapping scents instantly hit him. It was just like he’d walked into one of those cosmetics shops - the sort that you could already get a whiff of from fifty metres away and whose products always looked tantalisingly edible.

“What’s all that about?” he nodded towards the source of the offending smell, the horde of parcels in Aziraphale’s arms.

Aziraphale laughed lightly. “I’m under strict instructions to relax,” he explained, his tone humorous.

Crowley smirked. “Well, I could have told you that.”

Aziraphale laughed again. Crowley’s heart squeezed in his chest at the sound of it. It was so good to hear him laugh again.

He leant close to the angel, his voice becoming earnest. “It helped, then?” he asked.

Aziraphale’s face softened and he gazed lovingly into Crowley’s eyes. “It did,” he replied sincerely. Crowley’s heart soared as the angel reached out to draw him close, and planted a firm kiss against the corner of his mouth. Then he settled back with a satisfied sigh. Crowley gazed at him fondly for a few seconds, then he put the Bentley into gear and they roared away.

#my fanfiction #rape tw #noncon tw #whump #aziraphale!whump #good omens whump #nsfwhump #long post

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1989dreamer · 4 years ago

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When the Stars Align

And here is part two of why @evanesdust had to be so, so patient for their prompt to be fulfilled.

AO3 Link

Written for this prompt (same as Seventy-Five Percent).

Yes, I wrote three stories for the same prompt. It was a lot of fun.

Summary: Derek has a coworker that is a little too enthusiastic about getting him alone, so he asks Stiles for help. Stiles gladly volunteers but neither of them quite know what they’re getting into. A pissed off Kate Argent isn’t to be trifled with and neither are the growing feelings Stiles has for Derek.

Tags: Stalking, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Child Abuse, Murderer Peter Hale, Deputy Cora Hale. Human AU, Getting Together, Fake Dating, Kate Argent is Her Own Warning, Fear, Non-descriptive Panic Attacks

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It was a beautiful Thursday afternoon, and Stiles was out at the park with his sketchbook and pencils, just trying to draw random sketches of his characters, trying to find the natural flow of their movement for the big battle they had coming up. Suddenly, almost sweetly, he heard the words: “I’m going out with Stiles.”

His head shot up. He was going out with someone? News to him. Who could be making such a bold claim?

He studied the people nearest him: Derek Hale, older brother of Stiles’ closest friend, Cora Hale; some blonde woman standing way too close to Derek; and a sallow-faced, shady-looking fellow who reminded Stiles of his sadistic chemistry teacher.

Derek pointed at Stiles. “My boyfriend,” he said, somewhat stiffly, upset and uncomfortable, and excuse him but Stiles was a national treasure. Dating him would be nothing but a delight.

The blonde woman seemed unperturbed by the fact that Derek was one) clearly trying to escape and two) his “boyfriend” was right there.

Stiles stood up, shoved his sketchpad under his arm, and sauntered over to them. He cocked a hip and tucked a hand around Derek’s waist, noting the way Derek sagged against him in relief. “What’s up, babe? These idiots bothering you?”

The woman’s face sank into a sour expression, and Stiles almost laughed at how angry she appeared. Almost as if she’d known Derek was lying to her, but Stiles had decided to play along. Whatever. It wasn’t like Stiles had anything better to do than to rescue the older brothers of his friends.

The woman stuck out her hand. “Kate Argent,” she said, as sour as her face.

Stiles ignored her hand. “Stiles, Derek’s other half.”

“Certainly not the better half,” Kate laughed, something malicious lurking beneath her false smile.

“I wouldn’t say that,” Derek said, and wasn’t he being so sweet? Stiles pinched him to make him close his mouth.

“Now, my question still stands: are you bothering my boyfriend?”

Kate didn’t answer. Instead, she stomped off, her companion trailing after her. Derek didn’t immediately pull away, which surprised Stiles.

“What’s up with that?” Stiles asked when Derek finally disentangled himself.

Derek rolled his shoulders. “I don’t know,” he mumbled. “She works with me. Technically she’s my boss.”

“And how does dating me come into it?”

Derek rolled his shoulders again and Stiles realized that he was shrugging.

“If you date me for, say, a month and then break up with me, spectacularly, publicly, Kate would think I’m undateable and she’ll leave me alone.”

“And why me?”

Derek shrugged again. “I panicked?” he offered.

“Oh, I see. I’m the convenient choice.”

“No,” Derek said. “I just.” He blew out a breath. “You were right there. I knew you. I’m sorry. You don’t have to do it. I can find someone else.”

For some reason, that was more of an insult to Stiles than the fact that Derek had chosen him in the first place. “Now, wait a minute.” He grabbed Derek’s hand. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it.”

Derek’s eyebrows scrunched together. “You’ll do it?”

Stiles nodded. “Who knows why? Probably because you’re the big brother of my best friend, and Cora will never let me hear the end of it if I let you get pressured into dating your boss.”

Derek made a face. “Cora can’t know about the fake dating thing,” he said.

“Why not?” Stiles shook his head. “She’s my best friend. Of course, she’s going to know.”

Derek sighed. “Fine. It’s not like she wouldn’t have found out anyway.”

“So, what are your rules for dating?” Derek shrugged. “No, seriously. What’s on the table? What’s off? Pet names? Touching? What kind of dates do you want to go on? I mean, you want Kate to actually think we’re dating, right?”

“I guess?” Derek frowned. “I-I think so? Would it be easier to meet up at, like, one of our apartments and plan this out?”

“Sure. That works. Want to go now?”

Derek nodded. Honestly, he looked a little lost. Something wasn’t adding up. “Why can’t you just tell Kate’s boss or HR that she’s bothering you? Why go through this subterfuge?”

Derek sighed, and Stiles felt the vibration of it in his chest. Derek was bone tired, exhausted, and frustrated. He was thoroughly vexed.

“Kate is the HR department,” he said. “Her dad owns the company. All my coworkers just tell me to buckle down and date her.”

“But,” Stiles said.

“I’m not comfortable with dating. There’s been rumors of some of the men she’s dated before. She likes challenges, likes to break her partners. She’s taken my disinterest as a challenge.”

“There’s got to be some way to report her. Will any of her former partners file a police report against her?”

“I don’t know. I think she, like, collects evidence that her partners are the ones who hurt her.”

Stiles shuddered. “Dude, I am so sorry that she’s targeting you.”

“So am I.” Derek sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry I got you involved. Kate will probably try and scare you off. I don’t know what tactics she’ll use, so I can’t warn you more.”

“Well, how about we worry about the logistics of the dating before we worry about what Kate will or won’t do?”

Derek nodded, sitting down on the grass next to Stiles. He held out his hands, like he was showing that he was unarmed. Stiles smiled at him. While he hadn’t known Derek well when he and Cora were in school together, he’d been the cool older brother. The hot, cool older brother that Stiles sometimes daydreamed about kissing until he lost his edge.

Talking to Derek now, finding out that he liked some of the same things Stiles did and dates would be easy enough, that he liked slow dancing and kissing in the rain, that it took more than a few meetings before he made up his mind as to whether or not he actually liked someone romantically was all cute and good. It also made it a little more embarrassing that Stiles wanted to kiss him even more now.

Derek nodded at the sketchbook. “Anything good?”

“Just character studies,” Stiles replied. He was not in the habit of sharing his work before it was ready to publish. He was also used to people not respecting his boundaries when he said he didn’t want to share, that he was already expecting Derek to demand his sketchbook anyway.

“Cool,” Derek said. He gripped a handful of grass, tugging at it too gently to break any blades. “I write stories that are sort of like that.”

“Oh really?” Stiles smiled to let Derek know that he thought that was cool too, but it was wasted because Derek never looked up. “Hey,” Stiles said, “you know that if you put words on paper, then you’re a writer regardless of what anyone else tells you, right?”

“Right.” Stiles heard the disbelief in Derek’s voice. He could also relate to being told that his “hobby” wasn’t a form of real art. Well, he had time. He would start working with Derek to shed the negativity and embrace his passion.

“So, um,” Derek said, “did you want to do the first date tonight?”

“Yes,” Stiles said before Derek could take it back. “Absolutely. Pick you up at 7:00?”

“Sounds good.” Derek pulled out a small book, tore out a piece of paper, wrote down his address and phone number. “Just text me something so I have your number too.” He handed the paper to Stiles.

“Absolutely.” Stiles waved when Derek stood up. As soon as Derek was out of sight, Stiles sent two texts.

One to Derek: This is stiles now u have my #

And one to Cora: Dating ur bro don’t make it weird

Derek did not respond immediately, but Cora did.

Y what

Y my brother. Leave derek alone u ass

He’s my bf now. Srsly tho, i’m helping him. Don’t give him grief

Fine. But if he cries over u, i break ur knees

Fair

Stiles set his phone aside and picked up his sketchbook again, tracing the shadow under his main character’s face. It wasn’t perfect, but Stiles wasn’t trying. This had been an exercise to get him out of his apartment. Finding out that Derek was in need of a rescue just like Malcolm was not at all how he planned his Thursday to go, but it was still nice enough. Besides, he’d secured a date with the hottest senior at Beacon Hills High—never mind that Derek hadn’t been a senior in high school for almost seven years and Stiles had graduated college and moved back to help out his dad, who was looking to retire from the position of Sheriff of Beacon County within the next two or three years. He’d started taking some graphic design classes at the community college when he realized he could only get so far with his self-taught art.

He still liked hand-drawing things, and he was almost ready to move onto sketching Mallorca when his pad was forcibly lowered.

He gripped his pencil, aware of how much damage he could inflict even though it was dull. Kate’s face popped into view and Stiles restrained his hand.

“What do you want?” he said, blandly. Uninterested. Kate seemed the type of person to hate that.

Stiles was right. She barely waited a second more before thumping his sketchbook down on his lap.

“Listen, Styles,” she hissed.

“Stiles,” he corrected.

Kate looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “That’s what I said.”

“No.” Stiles shook his head. “You said ‘Styles,’ like style of clothing or something. My name is ‘Stiles,’ with an i.”

Kate glared at him. “Whatever. Just stay away from Derek Hale. He may think he’s your boyfriend, but there’s only one person who’s right for him, and it’s not you.”

“Maybe so,” Stiles agreed easily, “but you know who has to make that decision? Derek. Not you.” He picked up his sketchbook, tucked away his pencils, and walked away from Kate.

This wasn’t high school. And no one should ever be able to call dibs on a person anyway.

Kate needed to grow up, but Stiles doubted that she ever would. She’d had lines by her eyes and a little gray in her hair under the bad dye job. She’d probably never had to work for anything in her life, working in Daddy’s company, having men thrown at her feet either by themselves or by circumstances.

If dating Derek got Kate off his back, then Stiles was game.

His phone chimed.

Derek.

Thanks. What did you want to do tonight? Dinner? Movie?

Stiles paused, thinking. He’d only been planning on taking Derek out to The Boot, a steakhouse on the edge of town. Jeans and flannel almost a requirement. But a movie…No, Stiles didn’t like movies for first dates. There was a small park—just a bench and some trees—near Stiles’ apartment that he liked to sit outside and dream up new adventures for his webcomic.

Maybe he could take Derek there?

Stargazing actually. If thats okay?

Derek’s reply came a few seconds later. Sounds good. Thanks.

Stiles couldn’t help the elation those words gave him. Yeah, it was Derek’s idea to pick out Stiles as a potential date, but the fact that he was agreeable to Stiles’ suggestions was a nice departure from Stiles’ usual dates.

See you at 7.

Stiles smiled at his phone, sending, See u then and then basically floating home, his steps light and unfettered.

He would make tonight awesome for Derek. And himself. The start of something new and beautiful.

The end would be fiery, and he’d have to guard his heart, but there wasn’t any harm in playing pretend, right? Thinking of a future where Derek did really want to date him. Where Kate Argent wasn’t a reason Derek needed safety or that Stiles could provide that safety.

Yeah. It was a nice fantasy.

~ * ~

The Boot wasn’t too crowded and the food only so-so, but when Derek got going, he could tell a story and keep Stiles sitting on the edge of his seat.

Using interrogation tactics gleaned from a lifetime as the son of a law officer, Stiles managed to extract Derek’s online persona from him, filing away the information for later in case he had to live a sudden Derek-less existence.

Like after publicly breaking up with Derek to make him undesirable.

After their meal, which Derek paid for and Stiles vowed to get the next one, they headed to the little park by Stiles’ apartment. He was acutely aware that sometime during their meal, the sallow-faced man Kate had been with showed up, and now he was following them.

“Excuse me a moment,” Stiles said, ducking into the bushes, like he was going to take a leak. Instead, as soon as he was out of sight, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Cora, asking her to look into Kate Argent and her associates.

Cora was a junior deputy at the Beacon County Sheriff’s Department and as such had access to resources that Stiles could only dream of—legally—obtaining.

Her reply came immediately: What am I looking for?

Stiles made sure his flash was off before he took a quick snap of Derek standing under the streetlight, back tense, facing down the sallow-faced man, who was perfectly illuminated, if even more washed out because of the quality of the light.

Fella on the left

On it

Stiles put away his phone and stepped out from the bushes, tugging at his zipper like he was just redoing it.

Derek sagged, visibly relieved to see him.

“Problems?” Stiles asked, putting his arm around Derek’s waist, making sure to keep his hand from actually touching him to keep up with the illusion that he’d just handled his dick.

“No,” Derek lied.

The man nodded his agreement. “Just thought I recognized him.”

“And do you?”

“Yeah,” again it was Derek who spoke. “This is Jerry. He works in Kate’s office with her.”

“Jerry, huh? Well, glad to see that you’re not a stranger I have to call the cops on. Just a coworker.”

Jerry shrugged. “I’m not who you should be worried about.”

“And neither is Kate. Go tell her the date was great. And we’re going to have sex now.”

Jerry scuttled away, his expression somewhat relieved. Puzzling.

Stiles’ phone pinged and he checked it to find a text from Cora.

Jerry has priors. Stay clear of him.

Priors, huh. Could be why he hung around Kate so much outside of work, if she had something on him.

Will do, he sent back. Well, he would certainly try. If Kate and Jerry had plans to keep running into Derek and him when they were on dates, Beacon Hills wasn’t the largest.

“Let’s get you home,” Stiles said to Derek, wondering at the stricken look he received in return.

“I thought we were supposed to go stargazing?”

“Yeah, if you want. I thought after running into Jerry, you might want to go home so that you wouldn’t risk running into him again.”

“I mean, isn’t it better to give them more evidence that we’re dating?”

“Sure. Okay.” Stiles took Derek’s hand, led him to the park. The whole way, he couldn’t shake the sensation that he’d done something wrong.

They sat on a bench, and Stiles let his head fall back. Even though they were competing with all the light pollution of the city, the stars were still breathtaking. Stiles liked to imagine that he was on a different world, exploring like his webcomic. It sure beat studying graphic design and living in his skin some days.

“Are we really going to have sex?” Derek asked quietly after a few minutes.

“No.” Stiles moved his head so that he could see Derek’s profile. “Did you want to?” He’d thought the whole ruse of them dating was to get Kate off Derek’s back so that he wouldn’t have to be assaulted.

And then he remembered what he’d said to Jerry.

“I’m sorry,” he said, sitting up and turning to face Derek. “I shouldn’t have said that, and especially not without clearing it with you first.”

Derek shrugged. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not. Derek, you’re allowed to be upset and to stand up for yourself. That’s what the ground rules are for. If I say or do something that makes you uncomfortable, then I need to know so that I don’t do it again.”

Derek nodded. “Okay. So, wanna point out any constellations?”

Happily, Stiles leaned back, lifting an arm. And then realized that Derek was putting him on. Amateur stargazer that he was in his spare time.

As first dates went, it wasn’t either the best or the worst, but it was a solid seven-and-a-half in Stiles’ book, and he had to remind himself, after walking Derek home, that they weren’t really dating.

It would undeniably get more difficult the longer they played the ruse, but at least there was an end. Even if it painted Stiles as the bad guy. It wasn’t like Stiles needed his reputation to remain pristine for Kate Argent. In fact, the more she disliked him, the better in his opinion.

Maybe he could work this storyline into his webcomic. It wasn’t like his adventurers were currently on an adventure.

On the one hand, Stiles had based Malcolm on Derek, subconsciously. And something like this—needing to pretend to date to throw off an unwanted suitor—was something Malcolm could potentially encounter. On the other, more logical hand, Derek probably read Stiles’ webcomic. Cora certainly did. Better not to muddle it with real life situations.

Shame though. It’d make a great arc. Even though he’d need to create a whole new character because Mallorca was asexual and uninterested in dating anyone platonically, and Stiles already knew that if he put a fake-dating in his comic, he’d have to end it as a real love story. Too bad real life couldn’t mimic fiction.

Stiles shoved his hands into his pockets and stalked home, mind already spinning with the storyline he couldn’t post.

~ * ~

Stiles woke up to a barrage of texts. Some from Cora. One from Derek. And seventeen from an unknown number.

Stiles opened Derek’s text first.

Kate got your number. I let Cora know too. If she bugs you, file a report. Maybe we can get her on harassment.

Stiles turned to Cora’s three texts.

Derek told me about kate getting ur #

If she bothers u let me kno

Come by the station. We’ll get u set up w/reports

He sent a text to each Hale thanking them for their concern. And then he read each and every one of the unknown texts.

It was definitely Kate.

She moved from a joking tone to downright threatening.

Well, Stiles knew what he was doing with his morning. Derek and Cora were right that he needed to establish a pattern of harassment. He’d suspected that being in Derek’s orbit was dangerous but to actively be threatened with bodily harm was another thing. Kate wasn’t stupid enough to actually threaten him, was she?

No. It was more likely that these texts were from Jerry or some other associate-slash-lackey.

Still. Stiles could give the phone’s owner hell. Maybe teach Kate a lesson by proxy.

He shot another text to Cora, letting her know that he’d stop by the station because of the texts he’d received.

Then, he took a shower, grabbed his textbook for his 1:00 class, and headed out.

Cora met him at the front desk. She snapped her fingers at him until he surrendered his phone.

While she copied the texts to an evidentiary phone, he poked his head into his dad’s office.

“Stiles,” Dad said in the way that usually meant he wasn’t pleased to see him. “I hear you’ve got a new boyfriend.”

Stiles winced. “Yeah. Meant to tell you about that.”

“You’re an adult. You can make your own decisions.” Dad rummaged in his desk until he found a bottle of antacids. He popped a couple in his mouth, chewing with a grimace. “You’re not here because your boyfriend is being a possessive asshole, are you?”

“No, not my boyfriend.” Stiles winced again. “Actually, it’s someone who wants to date my boyfriend. Kate Argent. She didn’t use her own phone to text me. She’s too smart for that.”

“Great.” Dad ran a hand over his face, digging at his eyes. “So who’s phone did she use?”

“That I don’t know. I think Cora is trying to figure that out now.”

“Great.” Dad rattled the antacids before putting them back in his desk. “Keep us in the loop if there are more incidents. And tell your boyfriend that I’d like to meet him some day too.”

“Dad,” Stiles whined, “it’s still so new. Let us see if there’s something there before we start introducing each other to families.”

Cora knocked on the door before his dad could open his mouth again. She handed Stiles his phone. “You were right that Kate didn’t use her own phone. She used Jerry’s. The kind of threats on there…” she whistled. “Well, let’s just say that it violates his parole.”

“So Kate’s burning her bridges.” Stiles bit his lip. “Hey so, Jerry followed us when we were on our date yesterday.” He blushed, embarrassed that he’d even said anything at all last night. “I told him we were going to have sex because I knew he was only following us on Kate’s orders.”

“And did you?” Dad asked.

“No, not that that’s any of your business. Thing is, Kate might be punishing Jerry for bringing her news she didn’t want to hear.”

“That’s definitely a possibility.” Dad sighed. “Okay, Stiles. I know you have class today. How about you head out? Let us know if you get any more texts.”

“Will do.” Stiles left the station with a nod to Cora. What a fucking mess. Derek didn’t need a boyfriend: he needed a bodyguard. Hell, Stiles needed a bodyguard after this morning.

How could Derek continue to work at Kate’s family’s company when she was such a menace?

Or maybe it was the fact that Derek was “dating” Stiles that made her flip out on him.

Whatever the reason, Stiles needed to warn Derek. There was a good chance that Kate would escalate, and Derek was probably her intended victim.

She was worse than what Derek had said. She was dangerous and volatile. And Stiles wanted to be the one to bring her down. He didn’t want to hide or let her win because doing either of those things meant that she’d get Derek, and that was not an acceptable outcome.

Yes, they were fake-dating, but that didn’t mean Stiles didn’t care for or not love Derek.

He sent a text to Derek, asking to meet him after class ended at 5:00 and to watch out in case Kate tried anything retaliatory.

Then, he tried not to vibrate out of his skin with pent up anticipation and worry and every negative emotion he could feel in a four hour span.

~ * ~

Derek brought Stiles a coffee when they met at the park by Stiles’ apartment.

Stiles accepted the coffee and sat on the bench. His leg wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down, no matter how he pressed on it. “Hey, so did Kate do anything to you today?”

“No.” Derek took the seat next to Stiles, put his hand on his knee and then pulled back. “She was tied up in meetings all day. Jerry, though, got arrested over lunch.”

“Oh?” Stiles tried to play at being surprised but Derek touched his leg again. “Okay, yeah. So I think it was Kate, but someone blew up my phone today with threats and things.”

“Are you okay?” The worried furrow that appeared between Derek’s brows was adorable, and before he could stop himself, Stiles reached out to smooth it away. Derek smiled at the gesture.

“I’m fine. I filed a report with the Sheriff’s Department. That’s probably why Jerry got arrested. It was probably his phone.”

“I’m sorry that I got you roped into this. I didn’t think that she’d try and go after you.”

“Hey, it’s going to be okay.” Stiles took a sip of the coffee. It was too sweet, but that was okay. There was plenty of time to teach Derek how he liked his coffee. “If she gets mad enough, she’s going to make mistakes. We can stop her with those mistakes.”

“Yeah but, I just don’t want one of her mistakes to be hurting you.”

“That’s so sweet.” To make his point, Stiles sipped at the coffee again. “Look, Derek, you knew she was possessive. It’s why you made yourself unavailable. Anything she does is on her. And your sister is a freaking deputy. Kate should know better than to mess with you.”

“And yet,” Derek murmured. He set his hand on Stiles’ knee again, and Stiles realized that his leg wasn’t bouncing anymore. “I don’t want you to get hurt because of Kate, so I think we should back off the dating thing.”

“You think so? I mean, if Kate was mad enough to burn one of her associates because of one date, imagine how much damage she’ll do to herself the longer we ‘date.’”

“I guess.”

“Besides, I thought the date was actually kind of good. And if Jerry isn’t going to be around to interrupt us again, then all the more reason to do it again.”

Derek looked away. “I don’t want to trap you,” he said quietly. “I panicked when Kate demanded that I produce my boyfriend immediately. I saw you drawing, and I—I blanked. You were familiar and that’s why I picked you out. I’m sorry.”

Stiles managed to hook a finger under Derek’s chin and draw his gaze back. “I wouldn’t have agreed to date you if I hadn’t wanted to help out.”

“But it’s not real dating,” Derek said, bitterly.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s doing what it needs to do,” Stiles said, just as bitter. He was a little mad that Derek kept reminding him that it wasn’t real. Stiles wished it were, but he also didn’t know how to broach that subject, especially because it was officially only the second day they’d been dating. And how had his dad heard about it? Stiles hadn’t told him, hadn’t wanted to jeopardize whatever rapport he and Derek had. After all, it wouldn’t do for his dad to confront Derek and announce “About damn time.” Yeah, Stiles had been friendless for nearly three years after his childhood best friend Scott McCall had transferred to a school close to his grandmother after his mother was injured in a workplace accident and his dad couldn’t take him in.

In retrospect, it probably hadn’t been Stiles’ best idea to get drunk and confess to his dad that he was bisexual and crushing on the star of the basketball team. Surprisingly, his dad had taken it well and had taken to teasing Stiles about seeing Derek when he and Cora became friends.

Now it was a matter of time before Dad hunted down Derek and demanded to have a father-boyfriend talk with him. And knowing his dad, he would probably take the opportunity to embarrass Stiles with his long-standing crush. Nope. Better to keep them apart.

“Look, Kate was probably upset because Jerry reported what I said to him.”

Derek shot Stiles a scathing look. “You think I don’t know that? Why’d you tell him that anyway? It’s not like I do that. And especially not on the first date.”

“But that wasn’t supposed to have been our first date,” Stiles pointed out. “I mean, it went toward establishing our—your alibi to having been dating me for a while.”

Derek flushed, glaring at his lap. “I guess,” he mumbled, as close to a “You’re right” Stiles was likely to get.

It did not make him feel any better. He’d still used Derek, albeit in a way that had actually helped his case. Maybe. Still, Stiles felt skeevy, like Kate had crawled under his skin and jack-hammered the crudeness of declaring sexing up Derek Hale out of his mouth.

It was not a pleasant sensation.

“I am sorry about telling him that.”

Derek shrugged, and Stiles realized he was trying to play it cool. Why though? “It’s not that big of a deal. I mean, as you pointed out, if we’ve been dating for a while, it’s pretty obvious that we would have started having sex at some point.”

Or maybe not, Stiles thought, studying Derek’s suddenly green face. “Dude, are you sex-repulsed?”

“What?”

It was Stiles’ turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Like, the thought of sex, especially you having sex, makes you feel physically sick or something. Repulsed by the idea of sex.”

Derek looked thoughtful for a minute. “Maybe,” he finally said. “I guess. Cora just calls me asexual.”

“That’s probably a part of it.” And now Stiles felt even worse about telling Jerry that he and Derek were off to do the horizontal tango. Great. Guilt felt a lot like heartburn, except Stiles wouldn’t be able to chew a few antacids and have it go away. “So, I’ll understand if you really don’t want my help anymore.” Stiles bit off the rest, Not that I’ve been much help so far, because this really was not about him and he had actually helped even if it was just Kate throwing a tantrum.

“No. Kate probably smells blood,” Derek said. “She’ll probably double-down and I don’t know if I can deal with that alone.”

“Hey, you’re not alone,” Stiles hurried to assure him. “You’ve got Cora and you’ll still have me on your side even if you decide that the fake-dating isn’t working out.”

Derek seemed to think about that for a few minutes before nodding slowly. “Yeah. Okay. Hey thanks, Stiles.”

He leaned over, gave Stiles a one-armed hug, and then jumped to his feet. “I was wondering if you wanted to schedule another date now? Maybe Sunday night? There’s this really cool spot out in the preserve. Even better for looking at stars than this park. Would you like to go?”

Stiles couldn’t stop the smile or the skip in his heartbeat. “I’d love to,” he said, trying to force his tone not to jump. He wasn’t very successful but Derek didn’t seem to notice that he was unnecessarily happy for their next date. “Midnight picnic?”

“Sounds great. I’ll pack the food.”

“Okay, see you Sunday.”

Derek smiled and walked off.

Almost immediately the guilt came back, wriggling its way into his mind, spreading tendrils of doubt and disgust.

Stiles sighed, deflating down as he thought about just what he was doing. How could he survive a month of dating Derek, a month of “pretending” to be in love, and then break up like nothing happened?

How was he supposed to yell at Derek and make him un-date-able when Stiles was walking-breathing proof that someone wanted to date Derek?

He cursed himself for not asking out Derek earlier. Yes, Derek probably would have said no. It was his sister’s friend. They’d known each other since Stiles was a freshman and Derek was a senior in high school. It would have been weird, and Stiles would have been hurt by the rejection, but it surely would be better than this pseudo-relationship they were in.

Stiles needed advice, and he only knew one expert on Derek Hale. Well, only one that he was willing to talk to. Derek had another, older sister who still sometimes scared Stiles.

And there was no way Stiles was talking to either of Derek’s parents.

Nope. Cora was his go-to encyclopedia on her brother. Even after eight years.

He shot her a text, asking to meet to discuss personal things.

Her reply was almost immediate: told u

Which, no she hadn’t. She’d threatened his knees over text and then laughed her ass off when he told her face to face about dating Derek, because apparently her brother was indeed un-date-able and definitely some form of asexual. She revealed that he’d never even confessed crushes in high school.

“Sucks,” was what she’d said before she changed the subject to the upcoming Beacon Hills celebration days.

Well, told-you-so or not, Stiles still needed advice, and Cora was still going to give it to him, whether she wanted to or not.

~ * ~

Well, being adults kind of got in the way, and Stiles had papers due that he worked on all day Saturday, and Cora had a double shift at the station, so it wasn’t until Sunday afternoon that their schedules finally managed to line up enough for him to crash into her room and fall onto her bed, spilling out the whole story, leaving nothing out. Before, he’d only told her that he was going to be dating her brother as an experiment, per Derek, not him.

“You did what now?” Cora asked for the third time.

“I agreed to fake-date Derek even though I am in love with him,” Stiles dutifully repeated for the third time.

“Why would you do that?”

Finally. A different question.

Stiles shrugged. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see how uncomfortable he was. And Kate wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Derek told me that she’s targeted other men like him and that she always gets away with it because she files reports first.”

Cora narrowed her eyes. “Reports like what?”

“Rape and assault.”

“Jesus fuck, really?”

Stiles nodded.

“So you were helping him?”

“More like he panicked, picked me out so that he wasn’t ‘available,’ and then I agreed to keep up the charade.”

“And now you’re here,” Cora confirmed. “In love with my brother and fake-dating him.”

“Yep.”

“So is the public dumping still on?”

“Is Kate in custody yet?” Stiles countered. Cora glared at him. “Then yes. Yes it is.”

“Well that’s fantastic. Are you planning on telling my brother that you’re in love with him?”

“Ah, no. I was actually hoping that avoiding that particular problem might make it go away.”

Cora blew out a breath through her nose. Secretly, Stiles agreed. He didn’t think this was a problem that time would solve. In fact, the longer he let Derek believe that he was just helping him out instead of trying to save up as many memories of dating Derek as possible, the more their separation was going to hurt. Stiles knew he could heal from a broken heart because he’d done it before. He’d just never had to heal from his first crush.

And he didn’t want to. Selfishly, he wanted Derek to realize that dating Stiles was the best thing ever and they would never break up. Mopey, he voiced this sentiment to Cora.

“Well, you could always confess your feelings to, you know, the object of your feelings.” Stiles vigorously shook his head. “Then, something else you can do is just never break up with him. Eventually he’ll have to realize that you’re dating.”

And then Stiles would get promptly broken up with.

“We need to remove the threat of Kate,” Stiles said. “Without the excuse of why we’re dating, I can maybe ask him out again properly.”

“So how do you get rid of Kate?” Cora asked.

Stiles thought for a few minutes. “Well, she blew up my phone with threats after learning that Derek and I were ‘going to have sex.’” He aggressively shoved his air quotes in Cora’s face in an attempt to ward off any smacks or grossed out reactions she might have to him fucking her brother.

Cora fell over laughing. “Derek? Having sex?” She was practically hooting, and while Stiles understood the sentiment, it still stung.

“Hardy har har,” he intoned. “Yes, me having sex with your asexual brother is so fucking funny.”

Cora swallowed her laughs and sat up. “I’m sorry. That was really mean. It’s just, growing up with Derek gives me a perspective that maybe you’ll get to learn someday. There’s no way Derek’s having sex any time soon. In fact, if he ever has sex, I’ll buy you a diamond ring.”

“The diamond market is an evil industry and I won’t be a party to its support.”

“Jesus, Stilinski, it’s just an expression. I’m never going to actually buy you a ring of any kind.” She paused, staring into space, before a gleam came into her eyes. Stiles did not like that look. That look got him in trouble for boosting his dad’s whiskey sophomore year, leading to his bisexual confession. That look got them busted for sneaking into the only bar in Beacon Hills that didn’t card minors but called their parents.

That look was going to be the death of him one day, and while he might protest the whole way, he was still going to do whatever it was that gave Cora that look.

“What if you could incite Kate into giving herself up just by doing something really simple?” Cora asked, far more innocently than whatever she had planned.

“And how can I do that?” Stiles returned, apprehensively.

“By proposing.”

“To Kate?”

Cora hit his arm lightly. “No, idiot,” she said affectionately. “To Derek.” Stiles stared at her, incredulous. “I mean,” she rolled her eyes, “instead of breaking up with him, propose to him. Publicly so that Kate gets wind of it right away. I’ll be there so I can arrest her if she tries anything.”

“It’s been a day,” Stiles said. “If I propose now, Derek will think I’m crazy.”

“You can always ask him out again. Right now, isn’t it more important to get rid of Kate? As long as she’s around, your relationship will always be about keeping her away from Derek. Without that threat, Derek would be more open to dating you.”

“If he forgives me,” Stiles muttered.

Cora waved away his concern. “I’ll make sure he still likes you after.”

“Wait, he likes me now?”

Cora snorted. “No. He doesn’t like anyone. It’s Derek. You remember him from high school.”

“I remember him being really hot and me being too chickenshit to talk to him.”

“Well, you’re certainly not shy now,” Cora pointed out. She stood up and grabbed something off her dresser. She tossed it at Stiles, and he juggled it before she plopped down next to him again.

“What is this?” Stiles knew it was a ring box. Why Cora had given it to him, he didn’t understand. Was he supposed to use this ring to propose to Derek?

Cora opened the box, revealing a simple silver band set with a single black stone. “Zirconium,” Cora explained. “Not a real diamond.”

“Suits you,” Stiles said, because it did. Cora had had a goth phase in high school, and the only reason she probably still didn’t wear all black was because of her job. And that was only because Beacon County deputies wore brown uniforms.

She didn’t paint her nails or wear heavy makeup but that was probably because Cora was Newton’s First Law embodied—a body at rest will stay at rest even if that body wants to have heavy eyeliner and black fingernails.

“And this ring won’t be weird to propose to your brother with?” Stiles asked. He couldn’t see Derek wearing any jewelry. Hell, he never saw him wear his class ring even after agonizing about getting it.

“Well, it’s not like you’re really proposing. You’re just trying to get Kate off his back long enough for me to find something to charge her with.”

“And you’ll definitely be there?”

“How do you think Derek is getting there?” Cora paused. “You are proposing at the mall, right?”

“It is the most public place in Beacon Hills, and Derek did want it to be public.”

“Good. Okay, so I’ll make sure Kate is there to witness it.” She closed the ring box. “Stiles, Derek might say yes if he feels pressured, like if he sees Kate, so if you’re expecting him to break up on the spot, he might not.”

“I’m already fucked,” Stiles said, tucking the ring box into his pocket. “It’s not like I can fall anymore in love with him.”

“Don’t speak your own prophecy,” Cora said. “I’ll do my part, but Derek can’t know that I suggested the proposal. He’d never forgive me.”

“Oh, so it’s okay if he hates me after?” Stiles asked, just a little bitter. Derek was Cora’s brother. He’d eventually be okay with her. Stiles, though, wasn’t family, and as soon as he’d outlived his usefulness, Derek would have no obligation to keep in contact with him. It sucked that this was Stiles’ dream but Derek’s nightmare.

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t hate you forever,” Cora promised.

Time would tell if it was an empty promise.

“Okay, so, should I have a script or do you want to leave it up to chance?”

“Words,” Cora immediately replied, retrieving a notebook and pen from under the bed. She flipped to a blank page and wrote at the top: Stiles’s Proposal Speech.

Then, she sat and tapped her pen on the paper for about five minutes.

“Can’t think of anything?” Stiles asked. “Like, maybe I should mention that even though it’s been such a short time, I already know that I want to spend the rest of my life with him? Or is that too much?”

“Might be a bit much for Derek, but it’s perfect for Kate.” Cora wrote it down. “Got anything else?”

Stiles had plenty of other ideas, years of observing and loving Derek from afar was enlightening, but he didn’t want to burn everything on this proposal that wasn’t even going to be real. So he only gave Cora a few more ideas, checked his phone for the time, and made the excuse of having to get ready for the date with Derek to escape.

Cora didn’t respond, too busy stringing together his ideas into what was certainly going to be a melodramatic, eloquent speech.

Stiles would collect it tomorrow, and then he and Cora would set the trap for Kate. It felt like trapping Derek too.

And Stiles was not okay with that.

It was one thing for Derek to claim him as a boyfriend to try to escape Kate’s persistence, but it was another thing entirely to trap Derek in that lie by proposing and having Kate there. Of course, Stiles could always take it back after Kate was arrested, but that was if Kate reacted the way they expected her to. If she didn’t, and Derek still was pressured to say yes, then Stiles thought he was no better than Kate.

He took a deep breath, took out his phone to text Derek to cancel tonight, and saw a message from Derek.

Just wanted to say, really looking forward to tonight. I really like hanging out with you, and I’m so thankful you’re here.

Stiles paused, mind spinning. Derek liked him? He would have given anything in high school for Derek to acknowledge him, but now, it felt cheapened.

Can’t wait 2, Stiles texted back. And that was not what he needed to say, but he figured he could think about it and talk to Derek tonight. Maybe they wouldn’t even need Cora’s plan if Kate realized that they were going on a date to an isolated area.

But that sounded like a great way to get murdered by her without having backup.

Stiles shook his head. He didn’t even know what was right anymore. Get rid of Kate by proposing to Derek? Don’t propose to Derek?

Either way, he wanted one last date with Derek before the shit hit the fan. He’d make tonight the best that he could and then if Derek decided to break contact after tomorrow, then Stiles could subsist on the what-if of a relationship with Derek with reality sprinkled in.

Life was going to suck so much, but Stiles was used to it. Mostly.

~ * ~

He and Derek met at the entrance to the preserve, and Stiles scoffed at the “No Entry After Dark” sign. The Hales had installed it after a few too many teens got caught out there, having the kind of fun their parents didn’t want them to have.

It was a lame measure, easily navigable, except for the stretched chain that meant they couldn’t take any vehicles with them.

Derek hefted a basket that must have held the midnight picnic, and Stiles lifted the chain so he could duck under it. It gave him the perfect opportunity to ogle Derek’s ass, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Guilt was choking down most of his other emotions and, not for the first time, he was thinking it had been a grave mistake to come here.

Even worse was there was no cell phone service out here so he couldn’t even send an SOS text to Cora.

It wasn’t long before Derek made him forget about his misgivings. They lied on a blanket, looking up at the stars. Which were definitely more visible without the light pollution of Beacon Hills.

It wasn’t Stiles’ intention, but he found himself talking about his webcomic, about the adventures the characters were on. Turned out Derek was a big fan, had read it from the start.

“Don’t be mad,” he prefaced his confession. “Cora told me all about it back when you first started posting it. I liked it enough to keep coming back.”

Stiles smiled. He didn’t mind. He hadn’t sworn Cora to secrecy until after the comic had taken off and gained Internet fame. It was actually a relief that Derek had seen the comic and hadn’t made the connection that Malcolm was based on him.

Before he quite knew it, they’d been there for three hours, and Derek was dozing, head on his shoulder.

Stiles nudged him. “Should we go home?” he asked, thinking of the sign at the entrance of the preserve.

Derek yawned, snuggling closer. “Don’t wanna move,” he mumbled.

“We should though,” Stiles said. “I’m sure that even your parents don’t want you out here all night.”

Derek sighed before sitting up. “You’re right. Come on. We can crash at my parents if we’re too tired to drive home. They live just off the side of the preserve.”

Stiles wasn’t sure if he should take Derek up on that offer, but he had to admit that it was really nice to have Derek next to him as he fell asleep. And just like that the guilt was back.

“I should get back to my apartment. I have class tomorrow.”

“And you let me have a late date?” Derek asked, incredulous.

Stiles shrugged. “I really like hanging out with you. It’s not a big deal, and it’s not like I’d already be in bed anyway.”

“Still, I don’t want to get in the way of your schooling. Or your interests. You don’t have to go on dates with me. It’s not like Kate’s watching us that closely.”

Stiles grunted in agreement. Except, the minute they were back on the access road and had service again, both their phones dinged with incoming messages.

Stiles had several texts from an unknown number and two voicemails. Derek frowned down at his phone. Stiles punched in his voicemail.

Cora.

“Stiles, where the fuck are you? Don’t go back to your apartment. We got a call out. Fire was dispatched. Kate Argent—not proven of course—just burned your apartment down. Call me back now.”

Sent almost an hour ago.

Stiles turned to Derek, and he was ashen, his own phone to his ear. Faintly, Stiles could hear someone screaming over the speaker.

“Are you okay?”

Derek nodded, but he didn’t move even when the message either stopped or dropped to a volume Stiles could no longer hear.

Stiles dialed Cora’s number, putting her on speaker. “Stiles! Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m at the preserve,” he answered, “with Derek. We’re both okay.”

“Stay right there. The Sheriff is sending a deputy out to you.”

“What’s up with my apartment? Someone burned it down?”

Cora blew out a breath. “We won’t know until the arson investigator takes a look at it. We were able to save most of the building, but you’ll have to file reports with your insurance.”

“That’s just great.” Stiles sighed, running a hand over his head and tugging at his hair. “Thanks for doing that, Cora.”

“Don’t thank me yet. Just get in your car and lock the doors. The deputy should be where you are in less than half an hour. And keep Derek with you.”

Derek moved to lean over Stiles’ phone. “Why?”

Cora blew out a breath. “We’ve found some disturbing imagery at the scene,” she said. “You’re both not safe.”

“Cora, I got some messages from Kate, I think. It was a little hard to understand what she was saying. I’ll pass on the messages when the deputy gets here.”

Someone spoke to Cora, their words coming through the line like a heavy blur. Stiles thought he recognized his dad’s voice though.

“Okay, so the Sheriff wants you to go to the Sheriff’s Station. Someone will meet you there to take copies of the messages you’ve both received.”

“Both?” Stiles asked. He hadn’t mentioned the messages he’d gotten. How had she guessed?

“Both,” Cora repeated. “Look, if this is Kate, she’s escalating and quickly. Stiles, you had those messages from before. I would be surprised if you hadn’t gotten more. Now, get in your car and start driving. We have no idea where Kate is, and for all we know, she found out where you are. Get in your car, lock your doors, and start driving. Don’t stop until you’re at the Sheriff’s Station and a deputy can escort you in.”

“And I guess you want us to stay on the line?” Stiles took Derek’s hand, leading him to his Jeep.

“Preferably, yes,” Cora answered. “Are you in your vehicle yet?”

“Yep.” Doors were locked too. Derek buckled his seat belt, setting the basket down by his feet. Stiles buckled his own belt and turned the key in the ignition.

The headlights came on and Stiles swallowed back a yelp. Derek next to him wasn’t as lucky.

“What?!” Cora cried. “What’s going on?”

Kate Argent was standing in the headlights. How they hadn’t seen her, Stiles didn’t know. He threw the Jeep in reverse and punched the accelerator.

Kate lumbered after them, raising her hand to throw something after them.

Derek yelled again when glass shattered over the hood of the Jeep, fire spreading with it.

“We’re on fire!” Stiles yelled into his phone.

“What?!”

“She threw a fucking Molotov cocktail or some shit at us.”

“And now you’re on fire?!”

“Yes!” Stiles shifted to drive and stood on the accelerator. “Where is she?” he asked Derek.

“I don’t know. I didn’t see. I think she pulled off after she threw that thing. Are we okay to keep driving even though we’re on fire?”

“No!” Cora answered. Stiles ignored her, pressing the gas a little harder. “Stop driving! Get out and hide! We’re all coming to get you!”

“I’m not letting that bitch get her hands on us or my Jeep.”

Quietly, Cora asked, “Even if it ends up costing you both your lives?”

“Here she comes!” Derek shouted.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stiles saw headlights aiming right for them. He jerked the wheel, switching to the brake. The whole Jeep shuddered and the brakes squealed as he executed a sharp turn. The vehicle, looked like a two door car of some kind, missed them by inches.

“We’re heading west from the preserve, back to town. Kate’s still chasing us.”

“And are you still on fire?”

Derek unbuckled his seat belt and shrugged out of his jacket. Stiles bumped the Jeep up onto the pavement and slowed. Derek leaned out of his rolled-down window and beat at the flames with his jacket.

After a few tense moments where Kate came barreling out of the preserve and turned on to the road, tires screeching, the flames were out, and Derek was back inside, buckled up again.

“No,” Stiles said. “Not on fire anymore. But Kate’s chasing us, and I hate to say it, she’ll probably catch us. My Jeep is not the fastest thing on the road.”

“We’re coming to you. Do not deviate.”

Already, Stiles could see flashing lights up ahead. Behind them, Kate slowed and then turned off.

“She’s not with us anymore,” he announced.

“Good,” Cora said. “Keep driving. You’ll have a police escort to the Station. We’ll put your car in the evidence garage so it won’t be left unattended. Are you both okay?”

Stiles nodded, mentally checking himself over. Yeah. He was fine. He turned to ask Derek the same question and realized that Derek was not okay. He was hyperventilating, shaky and pale, soot smudged over his face, his jacket forgotten over his lap.

“Uh, negative. Think we’ve got a panic attack going on. Will need assistance ASAP.”

“You or Derek?”

“Derek.”

“Roger that. Just keep driving. Help is just a little farther.”

Stiles put the worry about what Kate was doing right now in the back of his mind and focused on reaching the deputies, parking and unbuckling Derek’s seatbelt so that the first deputy to reach them could just open the door and pull Derek out onto the pavement.

Stiles climbed out, grabbing onto another deputy, who was really the Sheriff.

“You’re okay,” Stiles’ dad said, leading him to a cruiser. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Stiles gestured at Derek, still surrounded by deputies. “We saw Kate. She found us when we got back to the Jeep. We were on the phone with Cora ‘cause my apartment got burned down?”

“Not fully down,” his dad said. “The fire department responded quickly enough that they were able to save the building, but your stuff is probably another matter.”

“Well, fire must be Kate’s choice of weapon for the night because she threw something at my Jeep and suddenly, we were on fire.” Stiles’ phone trilled sharply and he pulled it up to his ear. “Hello?”

“Did you reach the deputies?” Cora asked. “We got disconnected.”

“Yeah, my dad found us.” Stiles craned his neck, trying to see how Derek was doing. His view was blocked by at least three deputies. Another two were inspecting Stiles’ Jeep. “I don’t know how Derek’s doing. He was having a panic attack last I knew.”

“Was it Kate Argent?”

“Yes. She pulled off when she saw the lights. I don’t know if she’ll go home or if she’s lying in wait somewhere.”

“Well, for safety reasons, the Sheriff will probably have you stay somewhere with a guard.”

“Great. Well. Thanks for everything. I’ll talk to you tomorrow?”

“Sure.” Cora drew in a breath like she was going to say something else but then all she said was, “Bye.”

“We’ve got a hotel room for you,” Dad said, taking Stiles’ shoulder and leading him to where one of the deputies was sitting with his arm around Derek. “Isaac is going to stay with you to make sure that Kate Argent doesn’t attack you.” The deputy with his arm around Derek half-waved at Stiles.

“And how are we getting there?”

“I’m driving,” Isaac said. “We can’t risk Argent seeing either of your vehicles and attacking you again.”

“And what about my Jeep? Cora mentioned putting it in the evidence garage?”

“Absolutely. We have a few deputies going to retrieve Derek’s Camaro just in case Kate Argent attacked his things like she did yours.” Dad takes Stiles’ keys

Stiles and Derek were stashed in the back of a cruiser and whisked to the station.

A few hours later after their statements and a preliminary search for Kate, Isaac the deputy and Isaac’s partner, Boyd, drove Stiles and Derek to a motel in Hill Valley.

Before he left to patrol the area, Boyd handed Stiles a lump of something. “We think this may have been the trigger for Kate’s aggression tonight,” he said, cutting a quick glance to where Derek was huddled on one of the beds. “I’m so sorry for what she’s putting you through.”

Stiles just nodded and then threw the deadbolt as soon as the door shut.

He checked his phone and noticed that Kate hadn’t sent any more messages to him. Good.

The lump Boyd had handed him weighed heavier on his soul than his palm and he squeezed it tightly. It was Cora’s ring. Kate had attacked them because she thought Stiles was going to propose to Derek. Which he had been. That had been the plan.

He sighed and stuck it in his pocket. Derek’s phone buzzed, and Derek flinched but didn’t otherwise move to answer it.

“May I?” Stiles asked when it buzzed again. Derek shrugged, handing him it, swiping his thumb over the back to unlock it.

Stiles opened the messaging app. Eighty-five texts. Eighty of them from Kate. The phone buzzed again, three times in quick succession. Make that eighty-three texts from Kate. Stiles jumped to the texts from Cora.

Don’t come home

Got camaro to garage leaving keys with sheriff

Plz call asap

Tell me ur both okay

Derek?

The time stamp on Cora’s texts meant that they’d already touched base with her after she sent the texts, so Stiles moved on to Kate’s messages.

All of them threatening and graphic.

Apparently Kate really wanted to eviscerate Stiles, pull all his bowels out, and while he was suffering, she wanted to rape Derek next to his dying corpse. She even had attached a picture of herself fucking the bottle she’d thrown at his Jeep.

Stiles promptly called his father, asked for someone to collect Derek’s phone, and then spent the next fifteen minutes trying to offer what little comfort he could to Derek.

“She isn’t going to stop, is she?” Derek asked. He was ashen, still shaken from his panic attack.

There were no words to say that would assuage him. And after a deputy had taken Derek’s phone, which had received several more graphic and certainly disturbing texts from Kate, Stiles handed Derek one of the toothbrushes Deputy Isaac had left for them, and then lied on his bed and didn’t sleep.

~ * ~

Dad called bright and early, and Derek’s phone was returned shortly after. Bad news all around: Kate hadn’t been found and had been using a now-disconnected burner phone, so all they had were her texts to Derek, and that one graphic picture. Nothing else to go by.

Derek was shaking too hard after that call that Stiles had gone down to the corner store, using techniques his dad had taught him to slip a tail, used the ancient and only payphone in all of Beacon County to anonymously dial Derek’s workplace and let them know he had taken ill. He also took the opportunity to call his professors and ask for a week off to deal with the fact that his apartment had burned. He was trying not to think about all the things he’d lost, like his physical copies of his webcomic or the quilt his great-grandmother had made for his mother when she was a baby.

Then, Stiles went back to the motel, taking a long and meandering way again, and prayed that Kate hadn’t seen him.

Derek wasn’t any better after lunch, even though it was Cora’s shift with them, and she spent all of it huddled on the bed with him.

“Before we met,” Cora said suddenly, “Derek had a stalker. He was a friend of our sister Laura. About a year after they met, he took Derek. There’s this old root cellar in the preserve. Laura had shown him it so that they could have peace and quiet away from the brats, as she called us then. He took Derek out there.”

Derek shuddered, pressing against Cora’s side.

“We had therapy for years and years. In fact, I think Derek still goes.” He nodded when she patted his arm. “The cops never caught him.” A hard glint came to her eye. “He’s buried out there in the root cellar. Or he was. It’s blocked off now anyway. Our uncle Peter still has five years before he can seek parole.”

That explained why Derek was so shaken. Stiles would be too if an event like what had happened during his childhood had repeated itself.

It also explained his urgency in picking out Stiles and calling attention to the fact that he was with someone. It hadn’t worked to dissuade Kate, but Stiles would make damn sure that it would be her downfall.

“Hey,” he said, grabbing the ring off the night stand next to his bed, “what if we lay a trap for Kate? Make sure the deputies can find her?”

He opened the box. The ring was still intact even if Kate had burned the box itself. Derek looked at the ring. “A proposal?” he asked, weakly.

Stiles nodded. “It’s why she snapped.” Guiltily, he explained about their previous idea of catching Kate when Stiles would propose. Now, things had changed. Kate had escalated far faster than any of them could have predicted. “If we go somewhere public where we can hide a bunch of deputies in the crowd, then we can lure her out and she can be arrested,” Stiles said.

“That could work,” Cora agreed. “We already know that she’s got a bunch of burner phones because she keeps contacting Derek’s phone. We’re trying to run traces on them, but it’s not really working.”

“How would you lure her?” Derek asked. When neither Cora nor Stiles said anything, he huffed. “Is she still contacting Stiles too?”

Stiles checked his phone. He’s gotten a text from each of the burner phones, but he wasn’t paying attention to it, too worried about Derek to worry about himself. Or too arrogant. Trying to keep his mind off what’s already been done to him. “Yeah. I have texts from unknown numbers.”

Cora read a few of them. “She’s definitely threatening to kill you.”

“So, here’s how you lure her: you send a mass text to everyone in your contacts except me or me too, doesn’t matter. It’s not like she knows it. And you say that you’re planning on proposing but you want a flash mob of familiar faces for support.”

Stiles stared at Derek. “That’s brilliant. It just might work.”

“Kate will know that there will be other people there,” Cora butted in. “She might not fall for it.”

Stiles picked out a text and showed it to her. In the text, Kate had described how she was going to flay him open and set his insides on fire. “I don’t think she cares about a crowd. She’ll probably show up with a gun and try shooting.”

“Let me run this plan by the Sheriff. He’ll probably want to get state police involved.”

“Tell them to wear sneakers and no watches. No visible ear pieces,” Stiles said. “I’ve seen enough pictures of undercover cops to know that they’re easily spotted a mile away. They need to blend in. Lives, more than just ours, are at stake if Kate has a weapon.”

“Just hang tight,” Cora said, phone already up to her ear. Someone rapped at the door. “That’ll be Boyd. We’ll call you with details, but just hang tight. Love you, Derek. Like you, Stiles. Don’t worry about anything, and don’t do anything without backup.”

She let Boyd in and hurried away, barking at the Sheriff. Stiles knew his dad would appreciate the information, but probably not the plan. He hoped Cora told him it was Derek’s idea.

Boyd held out his hand, and Stiles surrendered his phone.

Then, because there was nothing else to do, he pushed Derek aside and lied next to him on the bed. Eventually, he managed to drop off to sleep, mostly because Derek turned on his side, put his head on his shoulder, and weighed him down.

It was dark when Stiles woke up, and Isaac was the deputy watching them.

“The Sheriff wanted you to know that the operation has been planned for tomorrow at 1300 hours. He also wants you to know that he loves you and that he and Deputy Hale will be your escorts during the operation.”

Next to Stiles, Derek yawned widely before snuggling back down.

“Can I send the text now?” Stiles asked.

Isaac shook his head. “A text has been sent for you.”

Great, more waiting. And Stiles didn’t even have his sketchpad so he couldn’t exactly distract himself. Something else lost in the fire.

“Thank you, Isaac,” Derek prompted.

Stiles rolled his eyes and dutifully repeated the words. Then, Isaac settled in the corner, staring at nothing in particular. Derek tugged at Stiles’ arm.

“Wanna try spooning,” was all he said when Stiles looked at him. Then, he flopped over, ass pressed against Stiles’ crotch, one of Stiles’ arms over his waist, curled right above his dick. It was surprisingly intimate, especially for someone who possibly was sex repulsed, like Derek, so Stiles worked at keeping his breathing even as he experimentally threw a leg over Derek.

He hummed a little, kicked it back over and then drew it between his own legs. “Better.”

Better for Derek maybe, better for an accidental boner for Stiles. Hopefully Derek wouldn’t mind the imminent erection.

Might as well enjoy the whole experience, Stiles thought a little desperately, dropping his head to nose at the back of Derek’s neck. Derek shivered from the contact but didn’t voice any complaints, so Stiles kept his face there.

He wished it were real, and maybe that was why he didn’t fall asleep again until Derek accidentally rolled out of his arms during the wee morning hours.

~ * ~

Stiles climbed out of his Jeep, his dad hopping out of the passenger seat. Cora was driving Derek’s Camaro with Derek riding shotgun.

Derek looked pale again, nervous. He’d woken up and refused any and all touches. He’d only waved a little when Cora collected him about thirty minutes before Stiles’ dad had shown up with the Jeep.

They’re at the mall, and while a lot of Stiles’ actual contacts had regretfully informed him that they had work or school and couldn’t attend, they wished him the best. The deputies and state police officers had taken Stiles’ advice and were near indistinguishable from the regular shoppers.

“What’s the timeframe again?” Stiles asked his dad, just for something to do.

“You go in, walk around for about ten minutes, and then get to the food court—it’s been shut down for ‘repairs.’ Get on one knee, say something pretty to Derek, and we’ll grab Kate if she’s around. We might get her before then too.”

Stiles had checked his phone in the morning and had a text from one of Kate’s burners: see u there :) so she was definitely aware and at least planning something.

Derek joined them at the entrance where Dad loudly announced his plans to visit that one store that looked like a hunter’s wet dream.

“Turner’s Outdoorsman,” Stiles muttered when he marched off. “It’s called Turner’s Outdoorsman.”

“Might as well be a hunter’s wet dream,” Cora remarked. She glanced around, a casual casing to see if they’d been spotted yet. “I have to get a present for Mom. See you at the meeting place.”

Derek grabbed onto Stiles’ hand as soon as she vanished into the crowd.

“I don’t like this,” he said under his breath.

“Neither do I, but I don’t see another option to getting Kate to stop unless you want to break out your uncle and let him do what he does.”

“There’s an idea.”

“I’m not serious.”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

They walked slowly, window shopping. Derek pointed out a few things that his sisters liked, and a telescope that he wanted. He was saving up for it, and though his job paid well, it sucked so much joy out of his life. “I don’t know that it’s even just Kate,” he told Stiles as they walked past a cluster of deputies, Boyd and Isaac the only ones Stiles can identify, enjoying hot pretzels.

“Those look good,” Stiles said. The deputies had been good about bringing them food, but at the motel, Stiles had been a little too nervous to eat much. Now he’s starving.

Derek wrinkled his nose at the cheese sauce, but he bought a pretzel for Stiles.

“It’s true love,” Stiles declared, dunking his pretzel and stuffing a third of it in his mouth at once.

“Twoo wuv,” Derek began quoting, and Stiles choked on his pretzel. And then, their ten minutes was up.

“Wanna check out the food court?” Stiles asked, false casualness.

Derek shrugged. “Sure, why not? Seeing you scarf that monstrosity actually made me a little peckish.”

They arrived at the food court, and Stiles pretended to be disappointed that it was closed. They could still walk through and sit at the tables, but there was caution tape littered everywhere.

It wasn’t a very romantic spot for proposals, but it was the most open and empty place in the mall right now, plus there were a few pillars that could provide emergency cover if they needed it.

Could also hide Kate, but the undercover officers swarmed the court from all angles. There was nowhere for Kate to hide now.

Derek pretended to be interested in picking up the tape while Stiles pulled out the ring, in a new box, and dropped to one knee. He waited for Derek to notice him, and when he didn’t, he cleared his throat.

Derek turned, and then, suddenly he didn’t seem to be acting anymore. His eyes filled with tears as he stared at Stiles, knelt down in the middle of an empty food court.

“Derek Hale, we’ve been dating for long enough. I know you, and I know you make me happy. I know I never want to see another day without your bright smile and charming wit in it.”

Stiles almost broke down there because he realized that he wasn’t pretending either. If he was really proposing to Derek, these were the words he’d use.

He rambled on a little bit about love and what Derek meant to him, and then he asked, “Will you marry me?”

Derek nodded, almost frantically, all but running to lift Stiles off the ground in a hug. Stiles barely noticed the commotion in the background because he and Derek were kissing. Derek’s wet face was pressed to his, their hands tangled together.

When they finally pulled apart, several of the deputies were hauling away a fighting and snarling Kate Argent. She’d dyed her honey-blonde hair dark brown and a pair of glasses were askew across her face, but it was definitely her.

“We’ll make sure her bail is too high to get out,” Dad promised them. He nodded to the ring. “Congratulations. You’re good for each other. Hope to have you over for dinner soon.”

Cora waved at them too. “I’ll text you later. Give me details, but not too many. I want to be your best man, Stiles.”

Stiles stared after them, a little shocked. “They do know that that was part of the plan, right?” he asked Derek.

Derek plucked out the ring. “Doesn’t matter if it was. It’s real now.” He slid the ring on his finger, admiring it. “You’re stuck with me now.”

Stiles barked out a startled laugh. “I think you’ll find that it is you who is stuck with me,” he countered. Soberly, he asked, “Do you want it to be real? Because Derek, I really do love you. I really would like to marry you. I’ve had too many tastes to say I can give you up. Besides, the agreement was only for a public dumping to get Kate away from you.” He pointed at the retreating group of deputies, Kate Argent in their midst, still fighting. “She’s going to be very far away from you now.”

“How about this answer?”

Stiles turned to Derek because that wasn’t an answer at all, and gets another kiss. A little drier this time until Derek pokes him with his tongue.

“Thought you didn’t kiss people you don’t know well,” Stiles joked.

Derek just grinned at him. “I spooned with you. I took you to my spot to star gaze,” he protested. “If that isn’t love, I don’t know what is.”

Stiles took Derek’s hand and led him out to the parking lot. And that ring looked damn fine sitting on Derek’s finger.

~ Three Months Later ~

They kept the engagement, did the rounds with the parents and celebrations. They even had a registry for their wedding. Just a few bottles of champagne to toast with. They were also moving in together at the end of the month.

And they had gone on several dates. Derek had even written a full length novel based on Stiles’ webcomic.

Currently, they were out in the preserve, lying on a blanket, Derek’s brand new telescope set up behind them while Derek pointed up at the stars, explaining the constellations again. To Stiles, they still looked like dots, pinpricks in the dark velvet of the night.

He raised himself up on one elbow. “Hey, so what happens when the stars do align? Is there some kind of cosmic energy?”

Derek shook his head. “They’re all dead or dying. They’re so far away, and we won’t know if maybe when they align, it’s because one is killing another, or they’re merging or something. Not for billions of years, anyway.”

“Well, I know what happens on Earth when the stars align.”

Derek glanced at him, raised an eyebrow. “What?” he asked. The little furrow of consternation was beautiful. Derek was beautiful.

Stiles leaned over him and slotted their mouths together. “This,” he whispered into the warmth of Derek’s lips.

For a long moment Derek didn’t move or respond. And then, just as Stiles went to pull away, he dragged him down so that now their legs were tangled. He’d become a lot more bold, more willing to test the waters, as it were.

“You asshole,” he said, smiling. “The stars didn’t align for that.”

“They could have,” Stiles retorted. He could argue his point all night, but he’d rather kiss Derek. And it seemed like Derek agreed with that plan.

On Derek’s finger, the ring glinted as brilliantly as the brightest star. Maybe the stars hadn’t aligned for this, but Stiles thanked them all the same as he managed to make Derek gasp his name to them.

~ End ~

#Teen Wolf Fanfiction #evanesdust #Stiles Stilinski #Derek Hale #Kate Argent Warning

1 note · View note

birdybytheshore · 7 years ago

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Title: Five Colors of Thread

Chapter: 6/??

Pairings: Alpha/Omega

Warnings: Knotting, prostitution, implied rape/non-con, dub-con (there is consent, but just how free of coercion is up for debate I suppose), implied abuse, a story within a story narrative (I’m just trying it out, so it’s a little rough around the edges)

Summary: Hirane is devoted to meeting any client’s needs, from those seeking an omega’s heat to those who enjoy dominating alphas. Kazuto, however, only ever requests the company of one omega on certain nights when the restless air calls for him.

About: Part of a larger project about demons, spirits, and supernatural going ons. I felt like writing smut so I wrote the chapters out of order. This one really has no plot, it just introduces a new location and character. It’s also a rough draft but whatever.

The omega strummed a few strings on the slim shamisen in his hands and closed his eyes to the haunting echo the instrument left in the air. The long sleeves of his kimono were artfully arranged around his small form with legs tucked beneath him. Every movement of his arms was mindful of the length of the vivid red cloth wrapped around him. Even the angle of his hands was soft and deliberate to conceal the sharp lines that marked him as a male omega.

His naturally sweet scent, too, was lost beneath the mild but pervading smell of incense. The powdery but sharp notes tickled Kazuto’s nose. Earlier, the omega in front of him had drawn a hand through the curls of smoke and laughed gently at the twist in his expression as he held back a sneeze. The longer he spent sitting in this small but cozy room filled with the golden red glow of the lanterns in the corners, the more he could feel the haze seep into his mind.

“Would you like to hear a story?” the omega asked. His voice was soft and low, almost as if he did not want to disturb the smoke wafting into the air. “A story of a certain omega who loved deeply, suffered terribly, and learned to find peace with himself.”

“I have heard this story before, Akiya,” Kazuto pointed out, to which the omega smiled with downturned eyes staring politely at Kazuto’s feet. His face was partially obscured by the waves of auburn hair that tumbled down from a previously tight bun atop his head. Kazuto only had to tug on the ends to release it when they entered the room, preferring it to the austere style demanded of the courtesans here.

“I know, but it pleased you to hear it once if I recall. A good story can never be told too many times.” Akiya’s lips were painted red with beni, and his cheeks had a light dusting of color from arousal. Kazuto disliked the scent of the mild aphrodisiac the Hirane gave its workers, but there was no helping it.

“Alright, then.” He relented when it seemed that Akiya was not about to offer an alternative. Any other courtesan might have suggested another form of entertainment immediately, but Kazuto knew Akiya and smiled behind his hand at the omega’s impish nature playfully rearing its head.

In truth, he had heard this story multiple times. Akiya rarely changed the wording and the events were exactly the same between each telling.

“This is the story of an omega who once lived in a bustling town on the Nakasendō connecting this land to the distant plains of Edo.”

Akiya began to play the haunting tune of the shamisen that echoed, lonely, in the room. Each strum emitted a ripple of power, but the care with which the employees here treated the instruments ensured they never grew into vengeful spirits.

Kazuto closed his eyes and listened. The warm thrum of arousal he felt upon smelling the hint of Akiya’s scent on the way to the room had mostly faded. There would be time for that later, he knew. As the night wore on, the aphrodisiac would begin to take effect and torment Akiya until he had no choice but to curl up on the bed and sweetly ask to be taken. Unlike the common prostitutes in a red-light district, Akiya would never beg or pressure the customer he was serving into taking him, no matter how much it ached.

He supposed there was something appealing about it if he was still coming here year after year.

“The omega was born into a family where he did not want for food, shelter, or pretty clothes and trinkets to adorn himself with. Because he was the youngest of five, he was charming but shy, especially in a crowd. If he had any faults, it was that he was naïve and sheltered, so assured that life would always favor him and that he was adored by all who knew him.”

Akiya related the story in a soft, but emotionless voice. It rose and fell when appropriate to indicate the highs and lows in the narrative – the moments when the listener should react with anticipation or sorrow for the protagonist. He never let a trace of his own thoughts into it, however, not even a little.

“Alas, as the poor omega played with his older sister on the temple grounds, his parents invited a woman into their home. Tea and snacks were set out, untouched, and boxes of gold and protective charms passed across the table between them. Unknown to the omega who finally trotted home with his sister in the evening, the finely dressed beta he saw in the entryway was not a friend of the family.”

The language Akiya used was simple and candid, touched only by a suggestion of pity. Kazuto could hear the whistle and echo of other instruments from the surrounding rooms join the shamisen Akiya continued to play. The harmony invoked a similar sense of pity and sadness.

“She reached out for the omega and held him by the arm. The boy’s parents began to weave a wonderful, fragile lie about schooling for proper young omegas, but the woman did not spare his feelings and told him the truth. ‘Your parents have sold your body for thirty ryō, and you will serve in the house of the Red Lily until you have repaid that debt.’ The boy did not believe the woman, and cursed her when she dragged him away, not realizing she had done far more for him than his parents who did not so much as weep when he left.”

Kazuto took a long sip of sake and set the cup down on the table. Akiya did not interrupt his story to pour more. He paused to play out a few notes on the shamisen and continued with a delicate tilt to his head, as if he was marveling at the instrument in his hands.

“The omega did not know what had happened, only that omegas who lived in such houses were considered the lowest of creatures. Loyal and devoted to no one, they pine for love they can never receive, and even twist the hearts of alphas and betas who seek their warmth for a night and no more. The omega despaired at his new role, and spent his nights wondering why his parents had given him up. Perhaps out of financial difficulties? But he was haunted by the look they gave him as he was leaving.”

Kazuto studied Akiya’s face and posture, but found nothing to suggest he was tired or feeling the effects of the aphrodisiac aside from his flushed cheeks. Not for the first time, he wondered how one could train the arousal of another to this extent. If he stared at those warm cheeks for too long, his own lust would return even as he tried to pay attention to the lull of the familiar story in his ears.

“By the time the omega was to service customers as he had been taught, he fully deluded himself into believing the family business had declined and his parents had no choice but to sell their youngest. He spun that tale to anyone who would listen and it grew to have a life of its own in his own heart.”

At this point in the story, Akiya finally lifted his gaze from the floor to stare at Kazuto’s chin, the most he was allowed to stare at a customer’s face without permission. A thin, barely noticeable smile interrupted the flow of his narrative to aim directly at Kazuto, who huffed quietly with laughter.

“At last, the omega met a customer who did not treat him cruelly nor as an object to wring pleasure out of, but as a fellow living being. He was treated so kindly that he thought it must be a dream. But when the customer asked about his life before the house, the omega thought nothing of the lie he had spun so many times it almost became the truth. Almost – because the customer knew of the omega’s family and knew they sold their youngest not for the pithy thirty ryō.”

Around here, Kazuto always expected Akiya to falter, but he never did. Not even a breath was out of place, nor a strand of hair or a blink of his long eyelashes. His eyes, a curious shade of golden brown, slid half closed as he continued.

“For the omega’s dowry when he was mated off would have been a far greater sum. The parents had four children previously and prayed fervently that none were omegas, but their luck ran out on the fifth. They felt terribly burdened with the thought of paying that great sum to marry their omega son off, and decided it might be best to avert it altogether. Any respectable alpha of their class would not take an omega that had been used by so many over the years, after all.”

This was certainly not the type of story one told in a house such as this one. The Hirane was a house of courtesans, not a common red-light district brothel. The soft slope of Akiya’s shoulders and the steady rhythm of his fingers strumming the shamisen told just how relaxed he was in this room despite the nature of the story.

“The customer had ruined the delusion the omega built for himself. The boy who had been lovingly nurtured and protected had, perhaps, been nothing more than a myth. The customer whispered words of encouragement for him, telling him that he had more worth than what his parents thought of him. He spun tales of the world he would one day see when he left this place behind. The omega adored those stories and fell in love, but with the stories or with the customer? No one could be certain.

“As love can bend the will of even the strongest gods, the omega had no hopes of winning against the feelings blooming in his heart. He longed for the world that alpha spun for him. There was no one to shield him from those tales or expose the cruelties of the world this time. For the first time in a long while, he remembered who he was and the person he might have become had his parents not sold him. ‘This is unfair!’ his heart cried out in earnest for the first time in his life.”

Akiya played another round of music, this one quick, impassioned even as the one who played it kept his face a perfect mask.

“He planned his escape with care, telling no one, not even the alpha that had put the idea into his heart. And he escaped, walked straight out of the house that had bound him to his delusions. But alas, it was not to last. His training gave away who he was, and he was quickly ferried back to the house like a lost dog.

“The still had a large debt to pay, and the house gave his punishment as thus: if he wanted so badly to leave that place, they would help him along. The omega was forced to entertain and serve for seven days and nights straight, with hardly time to sleep, eat, and drink. When he cried, everyone commented how pretty he was in tears, and he knew then that this was the place he now belonged. The outside world could never be his.

“He had served until he had no strength to even think of being angry. Those seven days later, he woke up with another sensation in his chest. He had no words for it. It felt like anger, but he went about his day without staring at anyone in resentment. It burned and festered like anger, but did not interfere with his interactions with the other courtesans or the customers he had afterwards. He harbored it close to his chest and let it grow. If this was to replace his anger, he would allow it.

“What he did not realize was that this emotion was hatred. He had grown too good at concealing himself from the world that he could not recognize his own self. Years passed, and he played the perfect role, never again thinking of escape. Eventually, he paid off his debt.”

Akiya paused for breath. This was longer than most of the tales he spun on other nights, longer than singing poetry and reading the classics.

“He was free, but freedom was not a word he knew. An omega did not live his life free except in death. The omega, now no longer a boy, returned to his childhood home. He knew there was nothing waiting for him there. His parents rejected him – saying no alpha would want to marry an omega such as him, who had callously terminated pregnancy after pregnancy. The omega was not angry. He had not felt anger in years. He did feel that other emotion – hatred.

“Hatred. It is a fearsome spirit that resides in the heart, feeds upon despair. The omega embraced it. Later, the neighbors would tell the tale of the family that lived in that house. Every family member had been killed, and their blood painted the walls in brilliant patterns that could only have been done by a spirit. The omega, as far as they knew, had never returned home.

“And indeed, the omega returned to the house like nothing had ever happened. He returned and signed another contract. For the first time since he came to this house, he felt a feeling he could only describe as ‘free’. Free of despair, of anger, and of hatred.”

When he was finished with the tale, Kazuto immediately got up and stepped behind him. He lowered himself to his knees and wrapped his arms around Akiya, engulfing him in a warm and firm embrace. Akiya uttered a soft omega croon and sank into the warmth of Kazuto’s chest, angling his head and neck to give him a tantalizing opening to lap at the sensitive skin on his scent glands. They were lightly bruised, the skin a sickly mixture of green and blue.

Kazuto exhaled a soft breath against the area and tightened his hold on Akiya when the omega shivered in pleasure. He didn’t bother to wait for Akiya to slide into a more inviting position; he could smell the faintly sweet scent of arousal just beneath the heavy incense. With a warm growl of arousal, Kazuto slid a hand up Akiya’s chest and slipped it beneath the folds of his clothing. The kimono parted easily to his touches, aided by the subtle tug of Akiya’s own hands while Kazuto was preoccupied running his fingers over his smooth skin.

Akiya inhaled a sharp breath when Kazuto brushed over his nipple and flicked at it with a fingertip. A rush of pleasure must have spread down his spine, but he showed no other signs of it other than the small gasp. Kazuto pushed the folds of the kimono off his slim shoulders marred slightly by finger-shaped bruises. He pressed his own against them and watched as Akiya squirmed a bit beneath the painful touch.

“Is there anywhere I should know about?” he asked vaguely. Akiya looked over his shoulder, his golden-brown eyes cloudy with pleasure and the haze this room brought upon him, and nodded after a moment of contemplation. Kazuto rubbed circles into the skin on his shoulder and gripped him tightly around the waist with the other arm. He huffed against Akiya’s neck. “Tell me.”

Akiya sighed softly, reluctant. He lifted the edge of his kimono and gripped it tightly between two fingers, attempting to keep the motion dainty. While he struggled to either show Kazuto or explain verbally, he sank back into his chest and breathed in the calm but strong scent of alpha. It gave him the renewed urge to purr in an attempt to elicit more of Kazuto’s attention. He returned a hand to Akiya’s chest and teased his soft nipples into hardness.

“I…” Akiya breathed deeply. “Nothing pains me, but I’m a little sore.”

“What did they do?” Kazuto asked. A warm coil of anticipation and arousal rested in his gut, much to his personal shame. He knew the sorts of things alphas liked to do to an omega like Akiya, but he couldn’t deny that the image appealed to him.

“Just…took me two at a time,” Akiya sighed sideways into his broad shoulder. He untied the wide sash around his waist and slipped out of Kazuto’s embrace to move to the bed where he arranged his limbs and loose clothing into an enticing form. His legs were tucked under him and he let the folds of his kimono fall just enough for Kazuto to see that he was already partially aroused.

“Show me,” Kazuto said.

Akiya didn’t flush like a younger courtesan might have. He smiled and ducked his head in mock shyness before rearranging himself, letting the clothes slip off his thighs as he turned his hips to the side and exposed himself. Kazuto grimaced at the sight of his reddened genitals, including the still raw and slightly puffy look of his tight hole. Whoever had Akiya last night had been particularly brutal if he was still displaying such marks.

Slowly, though he never knew Akiya to startle, he crawled over and pushed Akiya back onto the futon with a smile. He loved the way his auburn hair, like the leaves of autumn in the mountains, spilled over the sheets. He leaned down and lapped at the base of Akiya’s throat and ran his hands down his sides as Akiya bent his legs at the knees and pulled them up.

“I’ll take it easy,” Kazuto whispered. “Do you want to ride me or stay on your back?”

Akiya gazed up at him, clearly fighting the daze that the aphrodisiac induced. His lips parted revealing a cute red tongue. His breaths were coming much harsher now, and Kazuto felt around his crotch where he was quickly growing aroused.

“Anything you wish,” he said mechanically. Kazuto frowned.

Akiya’s eyes widened and he said more insistently, “I’m okay with either. I know you’ll be nice either way.”

It was true. Kazuto enjoyed an omega’s heat as much as the next alpha, but there was no reason to injure his partner outside of one. He ran one hand over Akiya’s head and enjoyed how he nuzzled into the touch. The other fondled Akiya’s genitals, rolling them around and stroking the rarely touched body parts. Akiya jolted as pleasure raced up his spine and spread his legs a bit, inviting him. He was quiet, but Kazuto didn’t mind having to work for the cute sounds he could make.

Kazuto sat back and started undressing. “You can prepare yourself for me,” he added. Akiya rolled onto his side with a smile and got on all fours. He spread his knees apart and lowered his chest to the futon until he was presenting. Both of his hands spread his cheeks apart and his right started teasing at his hole, which twitched. It took a bit of stimulation, and one good squeeze from Kazuto to get him producing a bit of slick. He could tell it was taking effect by Akiya’s squirming and how his toes curled.

Kazuto grabbed his own cock and stroked it as he watched Akiya press a finger against his reddened entrance. It parted easily, sinking into him up to the knuckle. Kazuto reached out to join him, smiling as Akiya jumped a bit at the thicker finger pressing into the narrow space, stretching him out. It was soft, warm, and tight inside.

Together, they thrust their fingers in and out, drawing slick from his dry passage. Akiya uttered a tiny gasp and moan when Kazuto pulled in the opposite direction, stretching him so that he gaped for a bit. After Kazuto had worked another finger inside and Akiya was trembling a bit from wanting something more, he withdrew and asked Akiya to roll onto his back.

“First time on your back, second on top of me sound good?” Akiya nodded enthusiastically and bent his legs, shyly closing them to hide himself. Kazuto gently pried them apart and moved forward, grabbing his cock and rubbing it against the loosened pucker of his anus. Akiya crooned and arched into his touch, ignoring his own arousal.

Kazuto slid one finger inside to rub as far in as he could get and smirked when Akiya rolled his hips with a sharp moan. He then removed the finger and replaced it with his cock. The head pushed forward against the pink rim, making Akiya moan. Kazuto eased it inside, watching as it parted the irritated flesh and as Akiya relaxed into the intrusion. He then stopped progress entirely and watched as Akiya whimpered.

“More, please,” he cried softly, hole clenching around Kazuto. Kazuto complied and sank into that warm, soft, wet heat and with a groan. He reached up to tease Akiya by the nipples and laughed as he jumped, forgetting about them. Akiya melted at his touch and sighed as he sank all the way in. When he bottomed out, Akiya was stretched wide and moaning, “So full, it feels so, so good, alpha.”

Kazuto lapped at his neck and began to thrust, retraining himself. “You don’t need to call me that,” he reminded Akiya, who whimpered as Kazuto brushed his prostrate on the way out. “Just be honest.”

Akiya wrapped his arms around Kazuto and pressed close against him with a contented sigh. “I know. I can’t help it. It feels good, though. You’re big, but not enough to hurt.”

“Thanks, I think,” Kazuto said dryly. He then withdrew, leaving only the head in, and laughed gently as Akiya whimpered and tried to thrust back, feeling empty and hollow. Kazuto thrust back in, enjoying how Akiya sucked him in and cried out as he did so. “You’re so tight.”

The omega part of him crooned and preened at the praise, but Akiya himself flushed in embarrassment as Kazuto started thrusting harder now that Akiya was filled with slick. Not as much as when he was in heat, which was why his hole was so pink and used, but enough. Kazuto stopped when he felt resistance and waited until Akiya’s insides fluttered around him a bit and oozed slick.

“You’re doing so well, Akiya,” he whispered. Akiya whined and rolled his hips. Kazuto buried himself to the hilt and sighed at the pleasure. “How do you want me to knot you?”

Akiya enjoyed being in presenting position, but knew Kazuto didn’t prefer it. “Um, ride you?”

Kazuto pulled out and enjoyed the lost whimper that followed. He sat back and Akiya slid gracefully into his lap, lining Kazuto up with his entrance and moaning as the muscle parted his insides. He sank himself on Kazuto’s cock slowly, lifting off a bit and trying to give him pleasure, not caring if it caught and tugged on his rim. Kazuto finally took him by the shoulders and guided him down until he was fully seated and moaning, spread wide over Kazuto’s lap and shaking with pleasure. Kazuto thrust up into him and held him close.

He felt the knot catching on Akiya’s rim and thrust up into him as much as he would go, even though the pleasuring burning in his gut ached for him to move and draw more cries from the omega in his lap. Akiya started moving up and down instead, not caring that was probably chafing at his insides. Kazuto didn’t have a clue what that felt like, but Akashi had told him it was an ache on the border of pleasure and pain.

Kazuto grabbed him and growled, “Sit. No moving.”

Akiya whined and listened. He settled, burying his face into the crook of Kazuto’s neck and breathing heavily. His thin chest rose and fell with exertion, and his hair spilled over Kazuto’s shoulder like a bundle of flames. Kazuto stroked his shoulder blades and grinned as he arched his back into the touch, ever mindful of the elegant curve of his spine and the small pleasured parting of his lips as he drew back enough to show Kazuto the effect his touch had on him. He pressed Akiya’s chest flush with his own and rested one hand on his hip to hold him steady.

Kazuto grunted as Akiya squeezed around him to draw him over the edge of the orgasm that was building. He didn’t have to move up and down to stimulate Kazuto, and that was slightly infuriating. Kazuto didn’t scold him, though. Akiya clenched around him even tighter and that wave of pleasure in his gut crested as the orgasm flooded out.

Akiya squirmed and cried out as the knot expanded until it was wide enough that Kazuto couldn’t pull out if he tried. The pressure was at once delicious and overwhelming as the knot locked the two of them together. Akiya moaned and moved around it, twisting his hips a bit and milking it as Kazuto started coming into him. It was unendingly warm inside.

The only thing missing was the sight of Akiya’s hole stretched around him, but he could imagine the pink ring of muscle straining around his cock just fine. The mere thought brought another wave of his orgasm rushing through him. He gripped Akiya’s hips tighter to control himself from trying to thrust further into that soft heat.

Pressing his nose against Akiya’s shoulder, he inhaled the sweet omega scent beneath the incense and perfume. It went straight to his head and he licked at his scent glands, the alpha in him annoyed at the sight of other alphas’ marks on him. Akiya panted against him and made a soft sound of contentment.

“I’m so full,” he whispered, each word as languid as his body draped against Kazuto’s steady form. “I can feel you filling me up, breeding me–”

“Shh,” Kazuto said, pressing a firm hand to the back of Akiya’s head. He immediately stilled and stopped trying to talk dirty, and Kazuto could hear the grateful hum in his throat and chest. Kazuto stroked up and down his sides, over his hips and ass, down to where they were connected. He teased the tender skin there and huffed in amusement as Akiya moaned. Feeling his lover for the night quiver beneath his touch was much better than hearing him beg and ramble.

After a while, Akiya began to breathe heavily, the stimulation of Kazuto’s cock pressing at his walls not enough to overcome the aphrodisiac surging in his system. He lifted his head from Kazuto’s shoulder and whined as he tried to thrust up and down to satisfy whatever ache rested deep inside him. Kazuto shushed him and held him still, then reached down to wrap a hand around his smaller, but erect, penis. Akiya jumped and caught his bottom lip between his teeth. All of it was an act, except the restless look in his eyes as Kazuto began to give him long, firm strokes.

He forced himself to look Kazuto in the eyes and gave him a small, grateful smile as he melted into the pleasure drowning out the need pooling in his abdomen. Kazuto resisted the urge to hit something. He hated those herb mixtures that unnaturally prolonged an omega’s arousal. They could be bleeding and knotted and still feel the insatiable need for more. Akiya, certainly, had seen it happen.

Jerking Akiya off would stave off the ache. It had taken a few visits for Kazuto to get the truth out of him, way back when.

“You’re so good,” he whispered into Akiya’s ear, mostly because he knew an omega like him adored praise without any added insults or humiliation. Akiya moaned and clenched tighter around him, drawing another gush of cum from him. Kazuto groaned.

They remained joined together for a while longer. When the knot was receding and Akiya was on the verge of his own orgasm, Kazuto finally released his grip on his hip and let him rock and bounce in his lap. The still present bump of his knot brushed against Akiya’s prostate, apparently, because he whimpered and clenched tightly when it did. Kazuto felt little waves of pleasure, but it was mostly winding down. He lay there and watched appreciatively as thin streams of cum started seeping out of Akiya’s entrance as he moved up and down. Soon it was squelching, making obscene sounds. Akiya colored at the cheeks, but gazed into Kazuto’s eyes and didn’t stop.

Finally, Akiya pushed down and took him in as far as he could go and came with a long, high-pitched moan. Even in the throes of pleasure he managed to control his voice, so nothing ugly escaped. Kazuto would have liked to hear something less beautiful, something piecemeal and frantic, but he also knew that it would be asking too much of an omega like Akiya.

Kazuto grunted as Akiya’s insides clenched and quivered around him. The scent of arousal and cum filled the air, drowning out the incense that muddled his head earlier. Kazuto wrapped his arms around Akiya’s back as he slumped against his chest, thoroughly exhausted.

They lay there for a time, Kazuto rubbing aimless circles against Akiya’s back and shoulders. He played with strands of his hair, twirled them between his fingers and tried not to concentrate on the warm heat surrounding his cock. It was slippery and if he shifted, their arousal would start up again. Finally, he nudged Akiya’s shoulders and curled his hands under his thighs.

“Time to get up,” he whispered. Akiya mumbled a protest as Kazuto lifted him and slid out of his loosened hole. He let out a long, omega whimper as they lost contact and cum gushed out of him. The struggling and bereft sensations were all instinct – Kazuto could see Akiya’s haze golden-brown eyes fighting it. He struggled between pushing the cum out and wanting to clench tight to retain it in the hopes of having some of that seed take root in him. The odds were too slim outside of a heat, though.

Kazuto settled Akiya on the bed next to him, using a cloth on the tray next to the futon to wipe up the spilled cum on Akiya’s flat belly and between his legs. He cleaned him the best he could and watched as Akiya’s expression relaxed. He had told Kazuto that he preferred to be clean, but many alphas liked to watch him lay there in their mess as some sort of possessive mark. They liked to see the shame color his cheeks and teased him for being a whore – which he was, technically, but it still made him duck his head in embarrassment.

When he was finished, he lay next to Akiya and draped the folds of his kimono over him to ward off the autumn chill in the air. Akiya snuggled against the fabric and wrapped himself in its folds, arranging it so that part of his thighs, hips, shoulders, and pink nipples peeked out.

“How many alphas have offered to buy you out of this life?” Kazuto asked, eyes wandering to the shadows painted across the walls. All around them, they could hear sounds of other courtesans and customers through the thin walls. The wails and laughter warmed the air, gave this place a sense of life all other buildings on the street lacked.

“Too many to count,” Akiya mumbled, closing his eyes. He licked his lips, no longer the deep red they were before. Kazuto ran a thumb over them and laughed when Akiya’s tongue darted out and brushed against it as if by accident.

“It can’t last forever,” Kazuto reminded him. Akiya laughed, quiet and soft like a songbird in the distant trees.

“What else is an omega like me supposed to do?” he asked, though not with any malice or hostility. Kazuto hummed. That, he couldn’t answer.

They laid like that for a while more until they heard a shriek outside the room. Kazuto’s eyes widened and he pushed himself into a sitting position, while Akiya was already climbing to his feet, dragging his clothes around him into something resembling privacy. Then, he seemed to remember where he was and looked down at Kazuto with slight panic in his eyes even as he sank down to his knees and bowed his head.

“My apologies,” he said, again with that perfectly polite and mechanical tone. Most alphas probably heard it and lifted their chins even more at the deferential tone, but Kazuto knew better. “May I–”

Kazuto immediately got up and reached for his clothes. Akiya pulled his own kimono on with practiced ease. It was a rush job, but he managed to make it look decent and tied the sash in a quick, more masculine style, before gathering up the extra cloth that he hadn’t had time to rearrange and going to the door. Kazuto was already there to push them open.

When they emerged into the hallway, what Kazuto saw immediately made him bristle. An alpha stood over one of the omega girls, a young one judging by the frightened look on her face and how she was scrambling away from him. She was shaking her head, but could no longer speak past her tears. Others were peeking their heads out of their rooms, but most of the house’s courtesans politely turned away with worried gazes and drew their clients back into their private rooms.

Kazuto saw just one rush down the hall. This one, judging by the taller stature and broader shoulders, was an alpha. He went down on his knees before the alpha customer and pleaded for him to forgive the girl, she was new, and if there had been a misunderstanding or the customers wished for a different sort of service, the house would be more than happy to accommodate.

The alpha laughed as more of his friends appeared in the doorway. They didn’t even bother to tuck themselves away and curled their lips in disgust seeing a fellow alpha shrink back and bow at their feet.

“Nah, we’re good,” the alpha sneered. “Just tell that bitch to get back inside and stop complaining. We came here for a good time, not more whining.”

“I apologize, sir, but this girl isn’t trained to handle multiple customers at once. If you would like, I can fetch someone who can see to your needs.” The alpha’s voice was trembling, but he held it steady. Akiya cursed under his breath and shuffled forward. Kazuto followed, treading carefully. Who knew what sort of creatures these customers were?

“I know how things work here,” the alpha snapped, suddenly whirling around and lurching forward. He came back up with a fistful of pale silvery curls and waves – the courtesan’s hair. He cried out at the rough treatment and brought his hands up to scratch at the alpha’s wrist, but held back. Apparently, he wasn’t a newbie. The customer shook him and smiled at his tiny whimpers. “Or are you that desperate to take her place? Maybe you are. Any alpha working here has to be a bit of a slut.”

“Shouldn’t you go find the oiran?” Kazuto asked Akiya, who was standing next to him with his fists clenched. For once, he wasn’t trying to appear elegant. Akiya shook his head and walked straight over to the commotion.

“Let him go.” Akiya had reached them by now. He stood behind the alpha, making him turn with the silver-haired courtesan still in his grasp. The customer had some sort of scales – he wasn’t strong enough to be a dragon, but he was some creature of the water.

“And why should I listen to you?” The man’s friends laughed.

Akiya marched up to him, and Kazuto winced as the man recoiled from whatever he had seen in Akiya’s eyes. Kazuto himself had never bore witness to them and low but insistent power thrumming beneath the surface of his skin.

“This is the service you requested at the front desk, is it not?” Akiya demanded. “This house is dedicated to serving a customer’s needs, but we can only do so if the customer is up-front and honest. Do you think this is a common brothel in the red-light district? We are performers, and the price you have paid for tonight is for service – not for you to indulge in your petty cruelties.”

Kazuto didn’t actually know Akiya’s species, come to think of it. He had thought he was similar to Akashi from the auburn hair, but it seemed that fire was not his element. Whatever it was, Kazuto felt nothing while the alphas seemed to be losing their composure. It wasn’t from Akiya’s intimidating posture – he was still far smaller and frailer than any of the three.

He watched as the men made their excuses and retreated down the hallway. As soon as they were out of sight, Akiya crouched by the two courtesans’ sides and gently patted them on the shoulders as he spoke calming words and smiled. Then they, too, got up, bowed, and were on their way.

Kazuto whistled as Akiya returned to his side.

“Remind me to never piss you off,” he commented. Akiya looked up at him with an expression of mock surprise.

“Why, I would never – what do you take me for, a brute?” Akiya smiled. But his smile was strained at the corners and as they stepped back into the room, Kazuto could see his steps were a bit uncoordinated. “All they needed was a bit of intimidation. I would never strike a customer.”

Somehow, he doubted that. Kazuto thought back to the story and scoffed.

“You hide your fear well. A single misstep and it could have ended badly for you.”

Akiya paused as he arranged his limbs to fit neatly on the futon again. He had picked up a little container of hard candies and held it between his fingers, offering Kazuto one. He had chosen that item because it would steady his hands, Kazuto realized. He declined the food, though, and Akiya bowed his head in acknowledgement, setting it aside.

“A courtesan is a work of art, trained in entertainment and pleasure,” he recited. “A courtesan must be an actor, a master of his emotions, as perfect as a painting inked by a master artist. You must always be dignified. To lose that illusion is to lose all the worth you have cultivated.”

It was a strange world that resided between these perfumed walls. Kazuto settled on the futon next to Akiya pulled him close, but did not tease or stroke him. They had the rest of the night to play. For now, he was satisfied with the pretty omega leaning against him, working out the residual anger and fear. Kazuto could smell it on him now, beneath the incense smoke curling into the air.

“Even the most beautiful painting will someday fade with age,” Kazuto murmured. Akiya rested his head against his shoulder. “For beings like us, that may take a while, but nothing lasts forever.”

“Of course not,” Akiya responded quietly. “How dull life would be if nothing ever changed. You cannot appreciate a flower’s beauty until long after it has fallen. Dreams don’t last forever.”

Was this a dream or a nightmare? Kazuto could not tell. He was reminded of Akiya’s retelling of that story, in a perfectly soft and unemotional voice.

‘The omega adored those stories and fell in love, but with the stories or with the customer? No one could be certain.’

#omegaverse #a/b/o dynamics #five colors of thread #pwp

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