You are far more than tenacious. [ There's always been a line that Derek has been hesitant to even come close to, over the past year or so. This is that line. For as tactile as he can be with Stiles, it's never been to this degree, and he's never allowed himself to really consider it in the past. Because this is his lord, and though he was born into nobility he fell far from it for a very, very long time. Half of Stiles' life, even. So he's never saw fit to embrace that warmth.
The idea that Stiles has been swept up into something like this, something greater that could get him hurt, or worse, has him realizing that maybe he should consider it. If only for a moment.
He thumbs his cheek as he tucks it against his palm, the faintest smile curling across his expression. ] Fortuna has not favored me but once.
My father prefers the term "stubborn as a mule." I've heard "obnoxious" as well. [ His smile goes mischievous and he laughs quietly, tilting his gaze to the ceiling as if he's considering the two terms before he returns it to Derek again. There's something warm and thick in his chest that's coming from more than just the warmth of the water, and it all starts at the places where Derek's skin is brushing against his cheek, at the weight in his gaze.
What he says makes his cheeks take on a light flush, just a pale pink near the cheekbones--maybe it's the path of his thumb, soft and tender and so much it's a lot to handle. ] I suppose we'll have to change that in the future.
[ He knows what he means, what he's implying, and the weight of it sits straight in his bones. ] Fortuna has already smiled upon me once, in a gladiator ring where my token flew first. This has been the start of a pattern, as father says.
Once is a coincidence. Twice is a happenstance. And thrice... [ Stiles tilts his head a little more, and curls the fingers of his other hand near his chest, letting his hand slide down to find his arm instead, resting familiar on his bicep. ] A pattern, son of Romulus. It's how I knew something was strange about you, as well...in more ways than one.
"Irritating" is also applicable. [ Stated primly, Derek lets his smile twist into the slightest grin, and it's obvious there's no heat behind it. They may butt heads frequently enough, but it doesn't change the way he feels in the slightest bit. A warmth has been weaving its way through his ribs for months now, and he's been trying to ignore it. Unfortunately-- or not, he doesn't know-- it's hard to ignore when something rekindles a burnt out space in your chest.
The expression stays on his face as he feels the flush just as much as he sees it, though it definitely softens around the edges. But he just inclines his head, blatantly wolfish, as he watches him, listens.
His hand trailing to his arm doesn't bother him in the least, despite the touch that lingers behind it across his skin. Stiles has this way of just setting something alight in him, with that bright spark that follows him everywhere. Blue bleeds into his eyes at what he calls him, but stays this time, letting Stiles watch the process and see it in far more human eyes than before. ]
And distrust in the Fates has bid me keep the token Fortuna delivered in the gladiator ring. [ It's not superstitious so much as it's a hope that it'll bring him good luck. So far? It seems to be. Bringing his free hand up, he curls his finger gently around the back of his upper arm, watching him close. ] What does four make?
[ Stiles rolls his eyes, but it's affectionate at least, and it ends in a flat stare that's mostly tempered by the fact that his mouth twitches upwards at the corners, like he can't resist the urge to smile. He's used to the insults, joking as they are--Stiles has grown to like that about Derek, that he doesn't really put up with the same level of his shit as most of the estate guards did.
He can remember the token, sees it under Derek's armor and in his casual wear too, and it burns something in the heart of him, the warmth of the hearth instead of the heat of the flame. Derek is a part of the family as much as Stiles is, as much as Scott is, and despite how strange it would be, how uncouth--he would make him a part, permanently, if he had the choice, and not in the way one might think.
No, it's in the way that his eyes drift down to his mouth, the way seeing him makes his stomach explode into butterflies. It's Derek's intelligence, his bravery, his prophecy--the son of Romulus who will change our world, and yours--that makes him murmur softly, ] Four is worthy of action.
[ And that's when he leans forward, just enough to close the distance between them and press a soft kiss to his mouth. This wasn't how Stiles imagined his first kiss with Derek to go--he imagined deflowering, imagined passion instead of love. ]
[ There's no mistaking the soft, amused affection that curls across his expression, downturning his smile but widening it a little more as Stiles tries to give him a flat look. Derek knows better than to behave the way they do in private while they're amongst others, narrowing it down to a select few people-- what was once a highborn wasn't in that standing anymore, and he's in no position to treat him the way that he does. But they've got a camaraderie, something more, and there's no denying it.
There was no denying it from the day that Derek accepted the token, wore it around his neck. He doesn't wear it now, has it tucked into the folds of his armor for safe keeping after letting the shift overtake him, because he could never dream of losing it. While he has some semblance of his pack back, his sisters and Erica, he also has a new one founded in the Stilinskis. In Stiles. And it truly is his good luck charm, or so he hopes. It's the closest he's ever let himself be to Stiles, the idea of something more.
It doesn't stop him from wanting, though. Doesn't stop him from noticing the changes that follow Stiles when they're together, the shift in sent and the upswing of his heartbeat. How they aren't synchronized, but his own will fill the spaces. A steady, continuous rhythm. He has the unfair advantage of his senses, but he's never stepped forward-- even if Stiles' sharp wit, clever eyes, and soft heart draw him in.
But now, Stiles is the one that steps forward, and part of him knows he should nudge him back, break away from the kiss.
Instead, his hand slides slowly underneath Stiles' and across his cheek, fingers cradling the back of his skull gently as he tips forward. Derek keeps the kiss soft, sharing with him that warmth that's been blooming in his chest for months now. ]
[ Highborn sons are often allowed courtesans and encouraged to explore their promiscuity, as for when they were supposed to get married, they were expected to please their wives. But Stiles wasn't planning on getting married, frankly--he had everything he ever needed right here.
At first, he'd made jokes about "deflowering", or whatever came of it. But the way Derek had recoiled, even as the joke, had made it blatantly obvious that it was never going to mentioned again, and he was okay with that. Stiles wasn't the type to force things down people's throats (literally or not), unlike some of his colleagues, and instead, he spoke to his warrior as an equal. He had since day one, honestly, because Derek had done nothing but prove himself as such.
When Derek reciprocates the kiss, it's--a little expected, but still shivers right down in his bones at the same time, tingles in his toes. There's nothing better than that, there can be no possible better feeling than that, and he doesn't deepen the kiss, either, just slowly dropping his hand from where it's cupping Derek's to rest on his chest, instead. Stiles pulls back slow, just an inch or so, and flutters brown eyes to look at him, murmuring just enough for him to hear in the quiet space between them. ] You are my champion, you know that? In an immeasurable number of ways.
[ Truth be told, for the most part Derek disregards the difference in their statuses when they're in private together. And it's easy to, given the way that Stiles treats him as an equal. Though what's really behind the reason he's kept himself separate, never acting on obvious and mutual seeming attraction, what's had him recoil from the jokes of "deflowering" that Stiles used to mention is a combination of two things:
One, Derek Hale is a broken man, has been for a solid eight years. He is tarnished and damaged, and regardless of whether anything between them would last he's believed for a long time now that Stiles deserves far better for his permanent. Two, he is a man haunted by his past. Honey and wolfsbane, mistletoe and oak.
But Stiles shined a light in that darkness. It's not completely left him, but the claws its sunk into his skin have loosened, and the wounds they've left behind are starting to heal over again.
Something in his shoulders relaxes as Stiles' hand settles against his chest, such a mundane thing by itself but something more with this kiss, and he doesn't resist when Stiles pulls back the scant space. His eyes open again, still a soft flash of cobalt as he scans his face, looks back at him as he catches what he says as if they're being shouted. ] And I am only yours.
[ derek's blue eyes are--to put it kind of ironically, electrifying. it's something he's caught in the barest of glimpses so far, just the occasional bright blue when he's angry that had left stiles questioning every resource he had as to why a man's eyes might change color. he'd questioned derek being a demigod, a hero of the pantheon, and it was something that had made anticipation and fear and excitement twist up in his chest because heroes--heroes always had a weakness. heroes never lived to their golden years. and stiles wanted derek to live to his golden years, wanted him to stay beside him until he was too old and babbling to do anything and derek would still sit shoulder to shoulder with him until the day he passed away.
but a son of romulus meant similar things, just--with a little more favor. stiles could only hope their prophecy had been right.
his fingers curl gently against his chest, into a loose fist over his heart. this is important to stiles. it's important that it keeps beating, that it keeps his favor close, so he may never lose it.
and he meets his gaze, feels that twist in his chest again, an ache of affection so fierce that you can read it on his face, before he mumbles-- ] I would be lucky to have it always be so.
[ before his brown eyes scan over his face again, once, twice, eyebrows knitted together, and he leans in to kiss him again. ]
[ Even after a year of Stiles trying to build him back up, Derek doesn't think himself a hero. Not after everything that's happened, and not after all the things he's done in the name of surviving. Not living, simply... surviving, from day to day, despite the fact he could simply give up in the ring. He could've given up at any time in the ring, let the lions take him, the other fighters vying for his blood and their own lives who would have the honor of saying they took down the wolf of the coliseum.
But he never did. And he'd spilled a lot of innocent blood to ensure his own life would continue, and he found himself stained in it. He wasn't a hero.
And yet, much like one, he had a weakness. He had Stiles. In the past year since Stiles bought him, he's been able to live again. So he'll do all that he can to ensure that he does, too. So he can take his father's seat, explore the rest of the world around him, see old age. Live.
His hand slides down Stiles' arm, following it so that he can meet his hand, fingers curling and overlapping his. Watching him, brilliant blue on amber, it feels almost like his heart seizes in his chest at the look that crosses his expression. Something wraps around it in a vice grip, and refuses to let go. ] If that is what you wish.
[ For as long as Stiles would have him. His thumb traces along the line of his jaw as he looks at him, following a trio of stars pressed into his skin before he's tilting into the kiss to meet him. ]
[ the young lord pauses for a second in the kiss--it's soft and warm and addicting, the kind of thing that drips warmth down to his very toes, and it takes a lot of effort to stop, but it's important. his eyes light up with mischief and he taps his hand against derek's cheek once, playfully. ] I command it.
[ it's not like he often does so--stiles' "commands" are typically along the lines of "fetch me some water" or "pay attention to me" over battle commands. derek has been his adviser as much as stiles has been his lord, and the two of them worked together on most things, from politics to research to having someone to bounce his ideas off of when he was stalking up and down his room with his hands in tunic.
stiles got a lot more than he bargained for when he purchased derek hale from the coliseum, and it was better in ways that he thought. his head tilts into the thumb on his jaw, just a little, and he offers him a small, pleased smile. ]
You are in my service until the day you die. [ eyebrow wiggle. ] Whatever that may entail, do you understand me?
[ Within a second, Derek can pinpoint that mischief. He's seen it enough times by now that he knows better, can tell when he should roll his eyes or advise that Stiles get whatever thought he has out of his mind, and fast. (Not that he listens to him.) But right now, he's under the impression that he'd do anything Stiles proposed when he got that look in his eyes, and this?
This is a command he can follow. Not like the ones he'd been given before, with a woman who'd held power over him in a different way than Stiles does now. Even with such mundane commands on the regular, he follows them-- with fond amusement, or an exasperated "yes, lordling" just to watch him puff up-- and listens to him when he needs somewhere to go. Idle chatter, politics, research. Derek will always act as Stiles' ear, so long as he lives here.
A faint chuff leaves him, but so does the electric blue that fills his irises. It bleeds away, leaving only his humanity, almost colorless in the fade. Drawing his hand up, he takes Stiles', drawing long fingers down across the bristle of his beard until he can set his palm securely over the pulse point of his throat. It's a vulnerable place, even for a champion of the ring, especially for a wolf of Rome.
But he just looks back at Stiles, like he was the one that hung the moon in the sky. ]
[ the gesture is certainly not lost on stiles--he is literally holding derek's life in his hands. and for a warrior with his back story (the things stiles looked into when derek was away, training with the younger guards; how he'd been commanded by the argents and then another woman who, it seemed, treated him more like a person of the brothels than the warrior he was born to be. it'd taken his original ideas, of deflowering and manhood, derek's looks and skills, and thrown them as far away as possible.) to give your life is a big deal.
long fingers curl against his pulse, one by one, until he brushes his thumb against it, nothing but tenderness in the barest trace of his fingerprints. this is something he will protect with everything in his power, in the same way it's protected him. because derek has become so much more than his warrior by his side.
no, that's not big enough to describe it. his tone softens, the twinkle in his eyes disappearing just a little as he leans forward a little, and lets than hand on his pulse drift to his chin, to pull it down gently so they're eye to eye. ]
You are my survivor, do you know that? [ my survivor, my hero, my friend. and so many more words than that, but it seems like a good place to start. ]
[ Despite everything that's happened to him-- the time the Argents had spent trying to tame him like he was some wild dog in their air, the time he'd spent in and out of awareness with a woman that'd been full of tainted power, and all of his years as a fighter of the coliseum-- where one would think he'd refuse to put his life in someone else's hands, Derek doesn't hesitate to do it now. His heart remains study, an easy thrum in his chest and against Stiles' hand as he meets a brown gaze with green.
As his fingers settle, calloused more from books than a weapon and tender against his skin, he draws his own down. Despite his ability to heal, they're worn and rough, but no less soft, overlapping his fingers and following the line his boney knuckles create, until he can settle at his wrist. There, he loosely presses against his wrist, feels that jackrabbit quick heart thrumming and alive against the pale, soft skin inside his wrist. And he will do everything to ensure that it stays that way. ]
I have had no choice but to survive. [ There were always alternative, always surrender or defeat. But he meets his eye, bowing forward so there's the softest brush of their noses before the slightest touch of lips. It leads to a quiet truth, something that'd he'd realized during his stay here. Stiles holds more than just his heart in his hands-- although he does that in more ways than one. ]
It was here that I could live. [ There's a sort of wonder behind his words, breathed into the small space between them. ] You have let me live. Given me reason to again.
[ that--that means a lot, combined with the gesture, the kiss. he knows this has to be a big deal for derek, knows the hell he's been through. it's a big deal for stiles too, for his own sundry reasons--he's tried to do everything he could for derek, for erica. for cora and laura, too. they had become part of the family, people he cared for fiercely and would protect with his life, no matter what was attacking them.
stiles didn't do well with having people he loved taken from him, he never had. he'd just resolved never to let it happen again.
touched, and obviously so, his eyes flutter before he glances up at him again, searching his face. ] For someone whose blood is that of Lupa herself, you are more human than anyone I've ever met.
[ the wonder in derek's voice reflects back in stiles', a little softer, but just as true. ] If I am such a reason than I hope I never die. [ he crooks a small smile at him, leans into kiss him again, soft and slow, until he can break away to speak against his lips, the barest drag. ] You deserve a life well lived, my survivor.
[ Thumb running along the tender skin of his wrist, an absent gesture up and down, Derek tries not to wilt under the soft look that Stiles gives him. It may be a mirror of his own, but he hasn't been looked at that with sincerity in a very, very long time now. Over the past year, his lord has done more for him than anyone has in the past ten combined, since tragedy struck and started to drag him deeper and deeper into the dark. But now he's here, like he's stepped into twilight, like someone's finally shone a light on him.
Like the clouds have cleared, and the moon has returned.
So he tries to repay him, do what Stiles has done for him in return. It's partially out of gratitude, partially because Stiles had become pack in an incredibly short amount of time. Became something more, as they grew to know one another, grew closer. He hesitates to even think the word, let alone breathe it, because of the losses that he's suffered. He could not face losing Stiles, not with everything that's already happened to him. ]
She would be proud to know the anchor that keeps me tethered to my humanity. [ For a long time, it was his anger that kept him grounded. And for a long time, it had suited him well; he spent much of his time fighting, trying to stay alive, and anger was the best fuel for it. But now he has something to protect, someone.
Someone he loves. And maybe he presses that into the kiss, barely pulling away from that drag of lips to reply. ] Only so long as you are in it. [ Maybe the gods will do him that one favor. If not, he will fight to earn it. And should he still breathe when Stiles someday passes, he will not be long after him. ]
[ it feels almost like he's too far away--stiles shifts up in the water, just a little, and fidgets so he's perched on derek's bent knees. it's probably the closest they've been. (aside from a very dear moment to stiles' heart where derek had fallen asleep with his head in his lap while stiles had been going over papers; it'd taken him half the day with his head in the scrolls to realize he'd been scratching at derek's hair every few minutes until he'd fallen asleep.) but there's nothing unnatural about it, as he breaks the contact between them only to start it anew, long arms coming up to wrap tight around his shoulders, tucking his face into the crook of his neck.
it's strange to put a word to it, though, that he knows, now. knows he loves derek, knows that it's more than just a master and his servant--although it's always been that. he tucks his cheek there and sits for a second, relishing in the contact, remembering the blood, that he had, actually, had a chance of losing him. and it makes something burn deep in his gut that someone tried. he mutters against his skin, business for a second. ] I'll need a list of all of your weaknesses, something to memorize and then burn. I don't want to be surprised.
[ guards on the perimeters, perhaps a spy in the argent household--scott. he nods to himself, like he's trying to mentally map out what he can do to keep derek as safe as possible, then presses his mouth to his shoulder, just a brief flutter of a thing, and maybe there's a smile there, small. ] I had originally wanted...well, what most masters wanted, do you know that? But I stopped from the moment we spoke of it, because I have always, I think, seen you as my equal.
[ his smile goes crooked, and he has to bury it in his neck. ] Whether you saw the same of me or not. Your brilliance and wit says far more about you than your supposed background, and while you are a capable warrior--more than capable, I should say--you are far more than meets the eye.
[ Rather than shy away from Stiles coming closer, Derek shifts where he's seated to make it a little easier. His wounds are still healing, and he can feel a flinch in his flesh as he adjusts to give Stiles room to settle, but he doesn't pay it much mind. His muscles will be sore for days, he's sure, but it's worth it if it means that Stiles is here with him now. And it's strange to realize that this is a new thing, that they've only ever been so close once before, when it feels so natural. He'd gone from restlessness around others to feeling safe enough around Stiles that he could find a dreamless sleep. Now, he tilts his head to allow him room at his neck, rather than bristling up wit the contact.
Slowly, he drifts his hands down Stiles' sides, until he can slip his arms around his middle and hold him. The thought that it wouldn't take much to break him comes to mind, but he just settles here, tucking his nose against his shoulder and breathing him in. There's a sharp trace of anxiety there, something a little like fear mixing with it, the air before rain, and he's learned from birth that it tends to mean worry. Which leads to him being less than surprised as he speaks again, mouth warm against his skin. ]
Our bodies reject most poisons, and will heal from even the most grievous of injuries inflicted by men. [ He speaks just as softly against the meat of his shoulder, mouth forming the words against his skin as he refuses to move from where he's found himself, listening closely to the thrum of his heart. ] But wolfsbane and mistletoe can kill, even in the smallest of doses-- those that knew of what I was in the coliseum would coat their weapons in diluted wolfsbane. Wounds brought on by alpha wolves take far longer to heal.
[ It's a short list, and he has more that he could add-- decapitation, being cut in twain, the length it takes to heal from fire, rowan-- but for now he keeps it to what is the most relevant. Given the attack today, and the attempts on their lives in the past that Derek has kept guarded, between himself and Erica, his sisters. These are the things Stiles needs to know now, when he doesn't have his scrolls in front of him, a way to make plans and scrawl them out before they get too jumbled in his head.
A smile of his own pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he rubs his thumb up and down the line of his spine, head tilting against his where he's hidden himself in his neck. ] Few see past the warrior and accusations left to my name, back to when the Hales were of noble standing. But you did, and you did not try to quell that.
We are equals, and the fact that you see and allow this of me is something I will cherish for a long, long time.
Alphas... [ he's thinking, now, mind racing with the possibilities that come with derek's state of being, with people trying to kill him, and stiles bites his lip, bright eyes practically searching the air as he thinks it over. ] Deucalion. And your sister as well, yes? The eyes.
[ he's not supposed to have seen their eyes; it's supposed to be a secret. but laura's burned red once, and stiles had spoken about it with scott afterwards. it made sense, that red would be the highest rank--red like blood. everything else he adds is good, important information to have, and he nods. ] I suppose I should be checking your wine for poison, if that's the case.
[ it's a joke, although he doubts the thought will sit well with derek, and he absolutely would if that would keep him safe. it might be a touch counterproductive though, so. ] Very well. I'll see if Scott cannot pick up information for me while he's visiting with Allison. He's taken a fancy to her anyway.
[ that makes him smile a little, the fond memory of scott's totally silly smile at the name "allison argent", and he chuckles and rolls his cheek to rest on his shoulder so he can watch him, instead--but at the same time, it opens up the expanse of his throat a little more. like he's letting him in there, like he knows. ]
You have never been a slave to me. [ and it's as simple as that. one hand comes up to thread into his hair, slick and wet and familiar, and he offers him a lopsided smile from his position against his shoulder. ] Although I would see that perhaps you should sleep in my quarters tonight. It is not a command, as it were, but I think your sisters have long since had an eye on the quarters you have called your own.
Deucalion. Laura. Kali. [ A slow pause, and then; ] My mother. An alpha's eyes burn red. Betas, gold. Sometimes blue.
[ But he does not explain why, and Derek keeps his eyes forward over his shoulder as he says it. Because part of him hopes that Stiles won't ask, because it won't be an order that compels him to tell him why-- it'll simply be because it's Stiles that asks. But even a decade later, the love he'd lost by his own hands is still something that drives a sharp pain into his ribs and leaves it there. ] Some are born as wolves. Others, turned through a bite, but only an alpha can change man to wolf.
[ And, of course, Stiles gives him reason to bite at him. An annoyed sound leaves him, caught in the back of his throat, at the joke that his young lord makes. Without hesitating, he nips at pale skin, teeth human-blunt but still (playfully) reprimanding. It's obvious he doesn't like the idea, and will call him on it for being counterproductive quickly if he must. ] If you believe Scott will be able to focus beyond Allison.
[ He doesn't trust her, still, but Allison is a farcry from the rest of her family thus far. He'll see if that trend continues. But she quickly leaves his mind, as he watches Stiles tilt his head, opening up his throat. It makes Derek bristle the slightest bit, but it's not aggression that causes it. Quiet, he nuzzles his nose in, finding his pulse in seconds to brush his lips against the line of it. ]
They've been fighting over it. [ Murmured as it is from where he's tucked against his neck, there's a faint humor there. ] I have not wanted to give it up, if only to be an irritant, but if you wish me to join you perhaps I can part with it.
[ Stiles is quiet for a second, thinking about Derek's blue eyes. It could mean almost anything, and he can practically hear the ache in his voice when he mentions the color--the young lord shifts forward again and cups his cheeks in his hands. He'll resettle in a moment--this is important. ] I would ask you to tell me why, but I would not force you. [ A thumb traces across his cheekbones for just a second, and he could swear he could still see the reflection of that electric blue in Derek's near colorless eyes. ] Perhaps I will do some research into the general concept--for now, allow me to just believe it is because you are special.
[ His mouth tilts up a little again as he lets go, and even lets Derek nip at him, because he was pretty much expecting that, and Stiles threads his long fingers through his wet hair, holding him comfortably in that spot. Teasing bite or not, it was still kind of a lot to handle. ] I do. Or--at least, I hope he will. I have full faith.
[ And the thought of Derek in his bed tonight is kind of a pleasing one; Stiles snorts, and not quietly either, and turns his gaze to the ceiling, shaking his head a little. He'll never understand siblings--benefits of being an only child. ] I have changed my mind, I command it, if only to keep you three from killing each other under my roof.
[ Something wrenches its way into Derek's chest as he looks back at Stiles, listens to his words. There's nothing special about him, at least not in the way that Stiles thinks. His hands are stained in blood, and would be even if he had never entered the ring. No, this is not something that he'll look at with admiration. But he still has the gall to lean into his human lord's touch, trying to smother the pain that tries to surface in his gaze.
Being able to look away from him for a moment, to distract if only briefly, he stays where he's held. It's not quite obedient, so much as it is simply willing to be there. His nose brushes across soft skin, and he listens to his voice, to his steady breathing and the jackrabbit rhythm that thrums in his ribs and through his veins. All things that he could recognize in but an instant.
His arms slide further around Stiles, though he feels he has no right to hold him there in the hopes to keep him from leaving his life like so many before him have. So distracted with this thought, this concern, he barely makes more than a sound of agreement-- first at the teasing of Scott, and then again when discussing he and his sisters. ]
[ That lights up concern in his chest, and Stiles almost immediately frowns, brown eyes shifting just a little to look at Derek out of his peripherals. The way his arms draw a little tighter has him worried, now, and Stiles curls over him for a second, long arms coming up and around until he can pull his head to his chest, tucking his chin in the wet strands of his hair. It's not much, it's not comforting words or anything because Stiles has never been good at those, but it's the gesture, the fact that he holds onto Derek like he's his anchor in a storm, quiet for a few seconds until he can work up the exact response he wants. ]
I would always. [ He doesn't close his eyes, but mumbles into his hair, instead, enough that hopefully Derek can hear the reverberations of it in his chest. ] I know not why your enthusiasm has dissipated, but I can assure you, having you by my side, be it on the field or in my bedside, is something that I always--always--desire.
[ After he seconds, he adds: ] Whether you think you deserve it, or not.
[ As Stiles practically encloses him, Derek doesn't feel the need to free himself or push him away. Part of him, the so deeply self-depreciating part of him, thinks that he doesn't deserve this. But something in him still settles a little, his nose tucking against the dip of Stiles' collar as he sits there with him. His eyes focus in the quiet space, tracking the line of his clavicle and finding the spots that make up constellations across his body from so close up, and he simply sits and listens.
It's almost soothing, though it doesn't absolve him of his guilt nor of his loss. One broad hand fans out against his spine, slipping up between his shoulders as his other arm secures itself more comfortably around his hips. ]
Our eyes. [ The words are a simple murmur at first, but he doesn't hesitate as he says them. ] Those wolves with blue eyes once had gold-- the change comes when they have taken an innocent life, leaving a stain on part of their soul.
[ That makes sense. Stiles' brow furrows a little and he rests his cheek on Derek's head, pondering about it and making connections. He had never seen another--what had Derek called them, betas?--so he had assumed the blue eyes were just standard. ]
Is it from the ring? [ Although those lives--they were most likely not innocent. The gladiator's ring is a cruel place, and it's more often than not that innocent people are thrown to the lions...or perhaps in this case, the wolves.
His thumb finds the triskele tattoo burned into his back, and Stiles starts tracing it with his thumb, just barely following the spirals as he speaks. ]
No. [ The answer is immediate, honest. Stiles is smart, of course he'd think of the fights that Derek had been forced into in his "prestigious" history. Some of them had been innocent, thrown in much like Erica had, but they were few and far between. Good, innocent people rarely survived the ring, and if they did? That innocence was quickly ripped free of them.
While tension still remains in his shoulders, both from his healing and from the topic, some of it eases away with the touch against his tattoo. If he could just stay there with Stiles, he would be all the more grateful for it. ]
Sometimes, when an alpha gives the bite, it does not take. No matter how healthy the human is, how strong their fight, their body will begin to reject the bite. Reject itself. It is a greater mercy to end their suffering than let them die from it.
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The idea that Stiles has been swept up into something like this, something greater that could get him hurt, or worse, has him realizing that maybe he should consider it. If only for a moment.
He thumbs his cheek as he tucks it against his palm, the faintest smile curling across his expression. ] Fortuna has not favored me but once.
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What he says makes his cheeks take on a light flush, just a pale pink near the cheekbones--maybe it's the path of his thumb, soft and tender and so much it's a lot to handle. ] I suppose we'll have to change that in the future.
[ He knows what he means, what he's implying, and the weight of it sits straight in his bones. ] Fortuna has already smiled upon me once, in a gladiator ring where my token flew first. This has been the start of a pattern, as father says.
Once is a coincidence. Twice is a happenstance. And thrice... [ Stiles tilts his head a little more, and curls the fingers of his other hand near his chest, letting his hand slide down to find his arm instead, resting familiar on his bicep. ] A pattern, son of Romulus. It's how I knew something was strange about you, as well...in more ways than one.
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The expression stays on his face as he feels the flush just as much as he sees it, though it definitely softens around the edges. But he just inclines his head, blatantly wolfish, as he watches him, listens.
His hand trailing to his arm doesn't bother him in the least, despite the touch that lingers behind it across his skin. Stiles has this way of just setting something alight in him, with that bright spark that follows him everywhere. Blue bleeds into his eyes at what he calls him, but stays this time, letting Stiles watch the process and see it in far more human eyes than before. ]
And distrust in the Fates has bid me keep the token Fortuna delivered in the gladiator ring. [ It's not superstitious so much as it's a hope that it'll bring him good luck. So far? It seems to be. Bringing his free hand up, he curls his finger gently around the back of his upper arm, watching him close. ] What does four make?
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He can remember the token, sees it under Derek's armor and in his casual wear too, and it burns something in the heart of him, the warmth of the hearth instead of the heat of the flame. Derek is a part of the family as much as Stiles is, as much as Scott is, and despite how strange it would be, how uncouth--he would make him a part, permanently, if he had the choice, and not in the way one might think.
No, it's in the way that his eyes drift down to his mouth, the way seeing him makes his stomach explode into butterflies. It's Derek's intelligence, his bravery, his prophecy--the son of Romulus who will change our world, and yours--that makes him murmur softly, ] Four is worthy of action.
[ And that's when he leans forward, just enough to close the distance between them and press a soft kiss to his mouth. This wasn't how Stiles imagined his first kiss with Derek to go--he imagined deflowering, imagined passion instead of love. ]
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There was no denying it from the day that Derek accepted the token, wore it around his neck. He doesn't wear it now, has it tucked into the folds of his armor for safe keeping after letting the shift overtake him, because he could never dream of losing it. While he has some semblance of his pack back, his sisters and Erica, he also has a new one founded in the Stilinskis. In Stiles. And it truly is his good luck charm, or so he hopes. It's the closest he's ever let himself be to Stiles, the idea of something more.
It doesn't stop him from wanting, though. Doesn't stop him from noticing the changes that follow Stiles when they're together, the shift in sent and the upswing of his heartbeat. How they aren't synchronized, but his own will fill the spaces. A steady, continuous rhythm. He has the unfair advantage of his senses, but he's never stepped forward-- even if Stiles' sharp wit, clever eyes, and soft heart draw him in.
But now, Stiles is the one that steps forward, and part of him knows he should nudge him back, break away from the kiss.
Instead, his hand slides slowly underneath Stiles' and across his cheek, fingers cradling the back of his skull gently as he tips forward. Derek keeps the kiss soft, sharing with him that warmth that's been blooming in his chest for months now. ]
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At first, he'd made jokes about "deflowering", or whatever came of it. But the way Derek had recoiled, even as the joke, had made it blatantly obvious that it was never going to mentioned again, and he was okay with that. Stiles wasn't the type to force things down people's throats (literally or not), unlike some of his colleagues, and instead, he spoke to his warrior as an equal. He had since day one, honestly, because Derek had done nothing but prove himself as such.
When Derek reciprocates the kiss, it's--a little expected, but still shivers right down in his bones at the same time, tingles in his toes. There's nothing better than that, there can be no possible better feeling than that, and he doesn't deepen the kiss, either, just slowly dropping his hand from where it's cupping Derek's to rest on his chest, instead. Stiles pulls back slow, just an inch or so, and flutters brown eyes to look at him, murmuring just enough for him to hear in the quiet space between them. ] You are my champion, you know that? In an immeasurable number of ways.
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One, Derek Hale is a broken man, has been for a solid eight years. He is tarnished and damaged, and regardless of whether anything between them would last he's believed for a long time now that Stiles deserves far better for his permanent. Two, he is a man haunted by his past. Honey and wolfsbane, mistletoe and oak.
But Stiles shined a light in that darkness. It's not completely left him, but the claws its sunk into his skin have loosened, and the wounds they've left behind are starting to heal over again.
Something in his shoulders relaxes as Stiles' hand settles against his chest, such a mundane thing by itself but something more with this kiss, and he doesn't resist when Stiles pulls back the scant space. His eyes open again, still a soft flash of cobalt as he scans his face, looks back at him as he catches what he says as if they're being shouted. ] And I am only yours.
[ In an immeasurable number of ways. ]
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but a son of romulus meant similar things, just--with a little more favor. stiles could only hope their prophecy had been right.
his fingers curl gently against his chest, into a loose fist over his heart. this is important to stiles. it's important that it keeps beating, that it keeps his favor close, so he may never lose it.
and he meets his gaze, feels that twist in his chest again, an ache of affection so fierce that you can read it on his face, before he mumbles-- ] I would be lucky to have it always be so.
[ before his brown eyes scan over his face again, once, twice, eyebrows knitted together, and he leans in to kiss him again. ]
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But he never did. And he'd spilled a lot of innocent blood to ensure his own life would continue, and he found himself stained in it. He wasn't a hero.
And yet, much like one, he had a weakness. He had Stiles. In the past year since Stiles bought him, he's been able to live again. So he'll do all that he can to ensure that he does, too. So he can take his father's seat, explore the rest of the world around him, see old age. Live.
His hand slides down Stiles' arm, following it so that he can meet his hand, fingers curling and overlapping his. Watching him, brilliant blue on amber, it feels almost like his heart seizes in his chest at the look that crosses his expression. Something wraps around it in a vice grip, and refuses to let go. ] If that is what you wish.
[ For as long as Stiles would have him. His thumb traces along the line of his jaw as he looks at him, following a trio of stars pressed into his skin before he's tilting into the kiss to meet him. ]
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[ it's not like he often does so--stiles' "commands" are typically along the lines of "fetch me some water" or "pay attention to me" over battle commands. derek has been his adviser as much as stiles has been his lord, and the two of them worked together on most things, from politics to research to having someone to bounce his ideas off of when he was stalking up and down his room with his hands in tunic.
stiles got a lot more than he bargained for when he purchased derek hale from the coliseum, and it was better in ways that he thought. his head tilts into the thumb on his jaw, just a little, and he offers him a small, pleased smile. ]
You are in my service until the day you die. [ eyebrow wiggle. ] Whatever that may entail, do you understand me?
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This is a command he can follow. Not like the ones he'd been given before, with a woman who'd held power over him in a different way than Stiles does now. Even with such mundane commands on the regular, he follows them-- with fond amusement, or an exasperated "yes, lordling" just to watch him puff up-- and listens to him when he needs somewhere to go. Idle chatter, politics, research. Derek will always act as Stiles' ear, so long as he lives here.
A faint chuff leaves him, but so does the electric blue that fills his irises. It bleeds away, leaving only his humanity, almost colorless in the fade. Drawing his hand up, he takes Stiles', drawing long fingers down across the bristle of his beard until he can set his palm securely over the pulse point of his throat. It's a vulnerable place, even for a champion of the ring, especially for a wolf of Rome.
But he just looks back at Stiles, like he was the one that hung the moon in the sky. ]
As you command, so it will be.
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long fingers curl against his pulse, one by one, until he brushes his thumb against it, nothing but tenderness in the barest trace of his fingerprints. this is something he will protect with everything in his power, in the same way it's protected him. because derek has become so much more than his warrior by his side.
no, that's not big enough to describe it. his tone softens, the twinkle in his eyes disappearing just a little as he leans forward a little, and lets than hand on his pulse drift to his chin, to pull it down gently so they're eye to eye. ]
You are my survivor, do you know that? [ my survivor, my hero, my friend. and so many more words than that, but it seems like a good place to start. ]
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As his fingers settle, calloused more from books than a weapon and tender against his skin, he draws his own down. Despite his ability to heal, they're worn and rough, but no less soft, overlapping his fingers and following the line his boney knuckles create, until he can settle at his wrist. There, he loosely presses against his wrist, feels that jackrabbit quick heart thrumming and alive against the pale, soft skin inside his wrist. And he will do everything to ensure that it stays that way. ]
I have had no choice but to survive. [ There were always alternative, always surrender or defeat. But he meets his eye, bowing forward so there's the softest brush of their noses before the slightest touch of lips. It leads to a quiet truth, something that'd he'd realized during his stay here. Stiles holds more than just his heart in his hands-- although he does that in more ways than one. ]
It was here that I could live. [ There's a sort of wonder behind his words, breathed into the small space between them. ] You have let me live. Given me reason to again.
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stiles didn't do well with having people he loved taken from him, he never had. he'd just resolved never to let it happen again.
touched, and obviously so, his eyes flutter before he glances up at him again, searching his face. ] For someone whose blood is that of Lupa herself, you are more human than anyone I've ever met.
[ the wonder in derek's voice reflects back in stiles', a little softer, but just as true. ] If I am such a reason than I hope I never die. [ he crooks a small smile at him, leans into kiss him again, soft and slow, until he can break away to speak against his lips, the barest drag. ] You deserve a life well lived, my survivor.
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Like the clouds have cleared, and the moon has returned.
So he tries to repay him, do what Stiles has done for him in return. It's partially out of gratitude, partially because Stiles had become pack in an incredibly short amount of time. Became something more, as they grew to know one another, grew closer. He hesitates to even think the word, let alone breathe it, because of the losses that he's suffered. He could not face losing Stiles, not with everything that's already happened to him. ]
She would be proud to know the anchor that keeps me tethered to my humanity. [ For a long time, it was his anger that kept him grounded. And for a long time, it had suited him well; he spent much of his time fighting, trying to stay alive, and anger was the best fuel for it. But now he has something to protect, someone.
Someone he loves. And maybe he presses that into the kiss, barely pulling away from that drag of lips to reply. ] Only so long as you are in it. [ Maybe the gods will do him that one favor. If not, he will fight to earn it. And should he still breathe when Stiles someday passes, he will not be long after him. ]
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it's strange to put a word to it, though, that he knows, now. knows he loves derek, knows that it's more than just a master and his servant--although it's always been that. he tucks his cheek there and sits for a second, relishing in the contact, remembering the blood, that he had, actually, had a chance of losing him. and it makes something burn deep in his gut that someone tried. he mutters against his skin, business for a second. ] I'll need a list of all of your weaknesses, something to memorize and then burn. I don't want to be surprised.
[ guards on the perimeters, perhaps a spy in the argent household--scott. he nods to himself, like he's trying to mentally map out what he can do to keep derek as safe as possible, then presses his mouth to his shoulder, just a brief flutter of a thing, and maybe there's a smile there, small. ] I had originally wanted...well, what most masters wanted, do you know that? But I stopped from the moment we spoke of it, because I have always, I think, seen you as my equal.
[ his smile goes crooked, and he has to bury it in his neck. ] Whether you saw the same of me or not. Your brilliance and wit says far more about you than your supposed background, and while you are a capable warrior--more than capable, I should say--you are far more than meets the eye.
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Slowly, he drifts his hands down Stiles' sides, until he can slip his arms around his middle and hold him. The thought that it wouldn't take much to break him comes to mind, but he just settles here, tucking his nose against his shoulder and breathing him in. There's a sharp trace of anxiety there, something a little like fear mixing with it, the air before rain, and he's learned from birth that it tends to mean worry. Which leads to him being less than surprised as he speaks again, mouth warm against his skin. ]
Our bodies reject most poisons, and will heal from even the most grievous of injuries inflicted by men. [ He speaks just as softly against the meat of his shoulder, mouth forming the words against his skin as he refuses to move from where he's found himself, listening closely to the thrum of his heart. ] But wolfsbane and mistletoe can kill, even in the smallest of doses-- those that knew of what I was in the coliseum would coat their weapons in diluted wolfsbane. Wounds brought on by alpha wolves take far longer to heal.
[ It's a short list, and he has more that he could add-- decapitation, being cut in twain, the length it takes to heal from fire, rowan-- but for now he keeps it to what is the most relevant. Given the attack today, and the attempts on their lives in the past that Derek has kept guarded, between himself and Erica, his sisters. These are the things Stiles needs to know now, when he doesn't have his scrolls in front of him, a way to make plans and scrawl them out before they get too jumbled in his head.
A smile of his own pulls at the corner of his mouth, and he rubs his thumb up and down the line of his spine, head tilting against his where he's hidden himself in his neck. ] Few see past the warrior and accusations left to my name, back to when the Hales were of noble standing. But you did, and you did not try to quell that.
We are equals, and the fact that you see and allow this of me is something I will cherish for a long, long time.
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[ he's not supposed to have seen their eyes; it's supposed to be a secret. but laura's burned red once, and stiles had spoken about it with scott afterwards. it made sense, that red would be the highest rank--red like blood. everything else he adds is good, important information to have, and he nods. ] I suppose I should be checking your wine for poison, if that's the case.
[ it's a joke, although he doubts the thought will sit well with derek, and he absolutely would if that would keep him safe. it might be a touch counterproductive though, so. ] Very well. I'll see if Scott cannot pick up information for me while he's visiting with Allison. He's taken a fancy to her anyway.
[ that makes him smile a little, the fond memory of scott's totally silly smile at the name "allison argent", and he chuckles and rolls his cheek to rest on his shoulder so he can watch him, instead--but at the same time, it opens up the expanse of his throat a little more. like he's letting him in there, like he knows. ]
You have never been a slave to me. [ and it's as simple as that. one hand comes up to thread into his hair, slick and wet and familiar, and he offers him a lopsided smile from his position against his shoulder. ] Although I would see that perhaps you should sleep in my quarters tonight. It is not a command, as it were, but I think your sisters have long since had an eye on the quarters you have called your own.
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[ But he does not explain why, and Derek keeps his eyes forward over his shoulder as he says it. Because part of him hopes that Stiles won't ask, because it won't be an order that compels him to tell him why-- it'll simply be because it's Stiles that asks. But even a decade later, the love he'd lost by his own hands is still something that drives a sharp pain into his ribs and leaves it there. ] Some are born as wolves. Others, turned through a bite, but only an alpha can change man to wolf.
[ And, of course, Stiles gives him reason to bite at him. An annoyed sound leaves him, caught in the back of his throat, at the joke that his young lord makes. Without hesitating, he nips at pale skin, teeth human-blunt but still (playfully) reprimanding. It's obvious he doesn't like the idea, and will call him on it for being counterproductive quickly if he must. ] If you believe Scott will be able to focus beyond Allison.
[ He doesn't trust her, still, but Allison is a farcry from the rest of her family thus far. He'll see if that trend continues. But she quickly leaves his mind, as he watches Stiles tilt his head, opening up his throat. It makes Derek bristle the slightest bit, but it's not aggression that causes it. Quiet, he nuzzles his nose in, finding his pulse in seconds to brush his lips against the line of it. ]
They've been fighting over it. [ Murmured as it is from where he's tucked against his neck, there's a faint humor there. ] I have not wanted to give it up, if only to be an irritant, but if you wish me to join you perhaps I can part with it.
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[ His mouth tilts up a little again as he lets go, and even lets Derek nip at him, because he was pretty much expecting that, and Stiles threads his long fingers through his wet hair, holding him comfortably in that spot. Teasing bite or not, it was still kind of a lot to handle. ] I do. Or--at least, I hope he will. I have full faith.
[ And the thought of Derek in his bed tonight is kind of a pleasing one; Stiles snorts, and not quietly either, and turns his gaze to the ceiling, shaking his head a little. He'll never understand siblings--benefits of being an only child. ] I have changed my mind, I command it, if only to keep you three from killing each other under my roof.
[ Also a joke, but. ]
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Being able to look away from him for a moment, to distract if only briefly, he stays where he's held. It's not quite obedient, so much as it is simply willing to be there. His nose brushes across soft skin, and he listens to his voice, to his steady breathing and the jackrabbit rhythm that thrums in his ribs and through his veins. All things that he could recognize in but an instant.
His arms slide further around Stiles, though he feels he has no right to hold him there in the hopes to keep him from leaving his life like so many before him have. So distracted with this thought, this concern, he barely makes more than a sound of agreement-- first at the teasing of Scott, and then again when discussing he and his sisters. ]
If you would still have me there.
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I would always. [ He doesn't close his eyes, but mumbles into his hair, instead, enough that hopefully Derek can hear the reverberations of it in his chest. ] I know not why your enthusiasm has dissipated, but I can assure you, having you by my side, be it on the field or in my bedside, is something that I always--always--desire.
[ After he seconds, he adds: ] Whether you think you deserve it, or not.
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It's almost soothing, though it doesn't absolve him of his guilt nor of his loss. One broad hand fans out against his spine, slipping up between his shoulders as his other arm secures itself more comfortably around his hips. ]
Our eyes. [ The words are a simple murmur at first, but he doesn't hesitate as he says them. ] Those wolves with blue eyes once had gold-- the change comes when they have taken an innocent life, leaving a stain on part of their soul.
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Is it from the ring? [ Although those lives--they were most likely not innocent. The gladiator's ring is a cruel place, and it's more often than not that innocent people are thrown to the lions...or perhaps in this case, the wolves.
His thumb finds the triskele tattoo burned into his back, and Stiles starts tracing it with his thumb, just barely following the spirals as he speaks. ]
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While tension still remains in his shoulders, both from his healing and from the topic, some of it eases away with the touch against his tattoo. If he could just stay there with Stiles, he would be all the more grateful for it. ]
Sometimes, when an alpha gives the bite, it does not take. No matter how healthy the human is, how strong their fight, their body will begin to reject the bite. Reject itself. It is a greater mercy to end their suffering than let them die from it.
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Flaws came on while I was writing this tag and now I'm sad.
nnnnoooooooo.
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my dad is watching gladiator |D
ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAAAAAAAINED.
it's not late enough for the all nighter porn tag show so this happens instead
I'm not complaining.
uwu
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