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When Stiles wakes up on Saturday morning, he rushes downstairs to check the mail. The website said his order should arrive today, and he isn’t disappointed. Sitting on the coffee table in the living room is a large parcel with Stiles’ name printed on it. His dad must’ve taken it in while he was still asleep. Even though what’s inside could probably be explained away as something innocent—like a Halloween costume bought early because it was on sale—Stiles is grateful that his dad didn’t feel the need to open it himself.
It all started a couple weekends ago, with a comment made by Erica. The Hale Pack was in the preserve for one of their training sessions, and Stiles was observing from the outskirts of the clearing while the werewolves did their thing. He was dressed in his signature red hoodie because it was chilly, and he carried a plastic bag full of bottles of water to keep the ‘wolves hydrated. When Derek called a break, the betas all snatched some water for themselves and dispersed.
Erica stayed nearby with Boyd, and when Derek walked up to Stiles to get his own bottle, she spoke: “Better watch out, Little Red,” she’d taunted Stiles, “or the Big Bad Wolf might gobble you up!”
Stiles had opened his mouth to offer one of his famous witty retorts, but nothing came out. He just stood there with his mouth hanging open as a slideshow of images played through his mind on repeat, inspired by Erica’s mocking words. When he snapped himself out of it, he found that training had resumed and the bag in his hand was empty.
For days, the idea never left his head, and a week ago he finally gave in to it and blew a chunk of his savings on what he now carries up to his bedroom. He hasn’t spoken to Derek about this yet, hasn’t felt brave enough, but as he takes a pair of scissors and cuts through the tape keeping the package sealed, Stiles is sure Derek will be on board.
Stiles opens the cardboard flaps and picks up the item that’s on top. The plastic packaging crinkles as he searches for the opening, then he has in his hands the main part of a Little Red Riding Hood costume.
The cape is red, and the website said it was made of silk satin. Stiles rubs the fabric between his fingers and shivers. He’d purchased the largest size the website offered so he had the best chance of it being big enough to fit his broad shoulders. After double-checking that his bedroom door is closed, he puts on the cape to check.
With the strings tied across his collarbones and the hood up over his head, Stiles inspects his reflection in the mirror that’s on the back of his closet door.
How is he going to bring this up to Derek? Should they have a conversation first? Or should Stiles just go right over to Derek’s loft one evening, like Little Red Riding Hood went to her grandma’s house?
Decisions, decisions…
After further deliberation, Stiles goes with the latter option. It sounds much more fun. He giggles. The look that’ll be on Derek’s stupidly pretty face when he sees him… Oh boy.
Stiles removes the cape and checks the other pieces of the costume to ensure that everything else fits properly too. Even though it was all made for a woman’s curves, he’s thrilled when, for the most part, every single article somehow seems to mould itself to his body. He looks forward to getting the full effect whenever it comes time to put his plan into action.
Feeling tingly all over, Stiles puts the costume back in the box and stuffs the whole thing in his closet for later. He can wait.
He just prays he doesn’t have to wait too long.
* * *
The opportunity for Stiles to follow through presents itself just a few days later, on the night the pack usually gets together every week to hang out and keep their bonds with each other strong. Stiles doesn’t know the details, but in the middle of the afternoon, he receives a text informing him that this week’s get-together has been cancelled, meaning that Derek, ever the Sourwolf, will be all by himself.
Well, not for long.
Later on, when the sun has just set, he gets the package containing his costume back out of his closet and places it on his bed. His breathing is shaky from excitement as he strips out of his clothes and stands in the middle of his bedroom in his birthday suit. Arousal already burns hot in his gut, and the hairs all over his body stand on end. Stiles tries to keep a hold on it but it’s pointless, his dick hardening in no time at all. Ignoring it for now, he picks up the first part of the Red Riding Hood costume and pulls it on over his head.
The black-and-white dress is snug across his shoulders and loose over his chest, but it fits well otherwise. The bottom is puffy and lacy and stops halfway down his thighs. Giving it his seal of approval, Stiles moves on to the next piece of the costume and, with some trouble, wraps the black corset around his torso and laces it up. He yanks the laces tight, secures them with a messy bow just below his chest, puts on the signature red cape, then sits on the edge of his bed to put a pair of knee-high black boots on his feet. It’s a struggle, but he does it and rises again. It’s a good thing the heels aren’t that high; it means he has less of a chance of falling flat on his face and breaking his nose. Or his neck. Yikes.
Lastly, Stiles gets out the picnic basket he found in the attic a while ago, completing the ensemble.
Checking himself out in his mirror, Stiles isn’t ashamed to say he looks good. He hopes Derek is of the same opinion.
Before he can back out from nerves, Stiles ventures downstairs, knowing that his dad is currently working the night shift and won’t catch him. He opens the front door a crack to peek outside, and once he’s sure that none of his neighbours will see him, he exits the house and dashes to his Jeep.
* * *
Stiles parks on the edge of the preserve and composes a text to Derek, requesting that he come to the bridge that crosses the stream inside, a location that will be more appropriate for this particular sexual roleplay than the loft. He keeps the message vague enough that Derek will be curious and come. But, as Stiles has no desire for anyone but Derek to see him in his current getup, he also keeps it casual enough that Derek won’t fear something is terribly wrong, panic, and bring the betas with him on a rescue mission.
When he thinks he has it right, Stiles hits Send and gets out of his Jeep. It’s dark in the preserve because of the late hour, but he can still see well enough that he’s not concerned about tripping over anything or getting lost. Just to be safe, he uses his phone to light the way until he reaches the bridge, at which point he turns off the light. He puts the device on silent and stows it in his picnic basket, where it will be safe amongst the old blankets in there.
Then, he waits.
It doesn’t take long for Derek to appear in Stiles’ line of sight. Stiles reads apprehension and anxiety on his handsome features, which lets him know that he didn’t do as good a job of keeping his message light as he’d thought. He feels bad about inadvertently causing his mate to worry, but the emotions on Derek’s face soon change into confusion when he jogs closer and gets a better look at what Stiles is wearing. His eyes are wide when Stiles turns to face him properly, and his lips are parted. He’s stunned. It’s a good look on him, but it’s not what Stiles was after.
“Stiles…” Derek gapes. “What— What the hell are you wearing?”
Stiles takes a breath, his hands tightening on the handle of his picnic basket as he dives right into his role. “My, what big eyes you have,” he says, tilting his head down. He looks up at Derek through his lashes, coming across as coy as possible.
Derek’s mouth drops open even further. “W-what?”
“You’re supposed to say ‘all the better to see you with’, Der,” Stiles prompts.
Realisation blossoms on Derek’s face. His voice is a whisper: “Oh. Oh.”
“You finally caught up?”
“Uh, yeah, I think so,” Derek replies, assessing Stiles’ outfit again. “What brought this on?”
Stiles wags a finger at him. “Nope, sexy-times first, talking after. Now, let’s go again.” He returns his hand to the handle of his picnic basket and flutters his lashes at Derek, playing his role like he rehearsed an embarrassing number of times in his head. “My, what big eyes you have!”
“All the better to…see you with,” Derek murmurs. He sounds unsure of himself, so Stiles shoots him an encouraging grin before uttering his next line.
“What big hands you have,” he says, tilting his head to the side to expose his neck beneath the hood of the cape. Derek’s eyes zero in on the expanse of pale skin, and Stiles is satisfied when they flash red and his nostrils flare, the first hints of the hidden wolf that Stiles wants to coax out. It’s apparent that Derek is getting into the roleplay as well, and Stiles will get his money’s worth.
“All the better to grab you with,” Derek growls, baring his fangs. His hands clench into fists, but before they close completely, Stiles sees that Derek’s claws are already out.
“What big teeth you have…”
Derek stalks forward with his next line, every bit the predator Stiles knew he could be. “All the better to eat you with.”
Stiles takes a step back and drops his picnic basket purposefully right in the middle of the bridge, where it will be easy to retrieve whenever they finish this game. He contorts his face into something fearful, even though every cell of his body buzzes with excitement. Derek keeps moving toward him, and Stiles keeps moving back until he gives up the pretence of fear with a bright laugh, spins around, and runs as fast as he can.
“You’ll have to catch me first!” he yells over his shoulder.
His cape billowing out behind him, Stiles’ feet pound over the dirt as he leaves the bridge and dashes through the trees. He gets a decent head start, then he hears a howl behind him, a sign that Derek is about to give chase. He pumps his legs even harder, going faster so the game doesn’t end as soon as it’s commenced. He holds his arms out at his sides as he reaches the top of a hill and slides down it, just managing to keep his balance and not fall on his ass.
Stiles enters a clearing and skids to a halt to listen, his body held tense and ready to shoot off again in any direction. He can’t hear anything but his own laboured breathing, no sign that Derek is anywhere around him, until there comes a snapping of a twig. He spins to face the direction the sound emanated from and peers into the darkness between the tree trunks. Derek is somewhere in there, waiting for the most opportune time to strike…
Stiles doesn’t give him the chance, just takes off again in the opposite direction. He knows what this must be doing to his mate, how this game of cat and mouse will tap into Derek’s instincts to capture his prey and devour it. Devour him.
Stiles runs until his legs protest, switching directions every time he sees or hears a glimpse of Derek. After the third time, it dawns on him that he should’ve been caught already and that the roles aren’t quite what he’d thought they were. In this game, he’s the prey and Derek is the predator, that much was obvious from the get-go. But what Stiles had thought was him teasing his mate by evading him is really Derek playing with his food, so to speak.
This thought distracts Stiles, and the next thing he knows, he’s being tackled from behind. He braces himself for pain as he collides with the ground, but Derek twists them in such a way that Stiles lands on top of him and Derek takes the brunt of the impact instead. And, given that he’s a werewolf, Derek barely feels it, his arms constricting around Stiles and his chest rumbling with a constant low growl of pleasure because he finally has what’s his.
Stiles stares down at Derek’s shifted face and feels himself growing hard beneath the material of his skirt.
And, because they’re pressed together, Derek feels it too, a feral grin stretching his lips. “Gotcha.”
Stiles wouldn’t want to break free anyway, but he’s powerless to do anything as Derek gets to his feet and manhandles him over his shoulder, an arm around the backs of his knees and his ass sticking up in the air. Derek carries him through the woods at a brisk pace while Stiles fantasises that he’s being taken back to Derek’s lair. His heart pounds. He contents himself by staring at Derek’s ass as it moves in the tight confines of his jeans, firm, muscular globes that Stiles has made it a point in the past to get well-acquainted with.
It helps to pass the time, and suddenly he’s being dumped onto a mattress somewhere old and musty-smelling. Stiles’ vision blurs, then he discerns the burnt interior of the Hale House.
Derek looms in the dim light a few feet away, already naked, his cock flaccid but still impressive between his thighs. Derek must’ve been waiting for Stiles’ attention to be on him again, because as soon as it is, he approaches the mattress, his cock swinging less and less with every step as blood fills it. By the time Derek is right above Stiles, he’s fully hard and pre-come drips from his slit. It would form a puddle, Stiles is sure, but Derek keeps moving before it can, lowering himself to his hands and knees and crawling across the remaining distance to cover his prey with his body.
“Well, well, well… Did someone get lost on her way to Grandma’s house?”
He plants his hands on either side of Stiles’ head and looks down at him, letting the tension build until Stiles squirms impatiently beneath him. Stiles is about to speak, to beg Derek to hurry it up, but he doesn’t get the words out.
As soon as he opens his mouth, Derek moves too fast to see, then more of Stiles’ skin meets with cold air as fabric is ripped from his body. He spares a second to think about how expensive the dress and corset was, then Derek presses his face into his neck, beneath the tie of his red cape, and he loses the ability to think altogether. The coarse hairs on the sides of Derek’s face tickle as he takes in Stiles’ scent with a series of audible inhales. Sharp fangs nip at the pale flesh, a very real threat that has Stiles keeping as still as possible so they don’t accidentally nick him.
Eventually, Derek has his fill of that part of Stiles’ body but keeps his nose held against Stiles’ skin as he travels lower. He grabs Stiles’ arm and throws it up above his head so he can nose into his armpit, breathing him in there. Stiles holds back a laugh at the tickling sensation, then startles as Derek swipes his tongue over his pit, grooming the fine hairs. Derek does this several times before he has enough of that too and journeys even lower, heading where Stiles is aching and wants him most. His constant growling vibrates through Stiles’ skin, making him quiver with need.
Much to Stiles’ frustration, instead of stopping at his cock and taking him in his mouth, Derek bypasses it entirely, nuzzling at his balls and pushing his legs up and out of the way so he can get to his hole. Stiles ends up bent in half, only his upper back and head still touching the mattress. He asked for this, to be dominated and made to take whatever Derek sees fit to give him, but if he doesn’t get to come within the next minute, he might scream.
Stiles’ frustration only grows when Derek laps at his entrance, giving him tiny kitten-like licks he can barely feel. He groans and attempts to shove himself down onto Derek’s face, but it’s useless. Derek has such a strong grip on him that he can’t move his hips at all. All he can do is groan again, hoping the noise will be enough to spur Derek on.
Mercifully, it is. Derek presses harder at Stiles’ hole with each pass of his tongue, demanding to be let inside. Stiles relaxes himself as best he can and bites into his bottom lip when the slick muscle inches past his rim and licks at his inner walls.
He’s happy to finally have some stimulation, but his cock still aches where it lies on his stomach. He untangles one of his hands from where it’s caught in a torn piece of the mattress and reaches for himself, but a sharp noise of refusal from Derek has him freezing halfway there. The rimming stops abruptly and Derek drops Stiles’ legs, his wolfed-out face angry.
“Aww, c’mon! No fair!” Stiles cries.
“No touching what’s mine,” Derek hisses. He grabs his own T-shirt from the floor and tears a strip from the bottom, then flips Stiles over onto his front without warning, eliciting a high-pitched squeak from him.
At first, Stiles is glad because he can now rut against the mattress, getting some blessed friction, but he quickly finds out that Derek will do anything to stop him from coming when he feels a pressure at the small of his back. He can’t figure out what it is, but by craning his neck around, he sees that Derek, the bastard, is keeping him down with one of his knees. Stiles curses him out loud, even though it won’t achieve anything.
Derek doesn’t respond verbally, just flings the cape up and over Stiles’ head, manoeuvres his wrists behind his back and ties the torn strip of T-shirt just shy of too tight around his wrists, preventing him from pleasuring himself at all. That done, Derek grabs the cape again and returns it to drape down Stiles’ back, covering his bound arms.
Stiles squawks when Derek hauls him up to his knees from behind. The weight shifts on the mattress, then Derek comes around to stand in front of him, his cock right in Stiles’ face. Stiles regards it longingly.
“Gonna shut you up,” Derek promises. He fists a hand in Stiles’ hair and tugs him forward. “Gag you on me.”
Although he still wants to come, Stiles’ need is lessened as Derek forces his mouth open with his fingers. Then, after sharing a glance with him as if double-checking that this is really alright, he thrusts his cock past Stiles’ lips. He doesn’t stop until he’s deep in his throat and Stiles’ nose is buried in the dark, untamed hairs at the root of his sex. The scent embedded there is intoxicating. It’s musky, masculine and sweaty from their time spent chasing each other through the preserve, just the right side of unwashed to be indescribably hot. With the small part of his brain that’s still functioning, Stiles wonders if he has this effect on Derek too.
Derek keeps Stiles there just long enough for his eyes water, then withdraws so his prey can suck some new air into his lungs. “I’m gonna show you where your place is…” Derek growls, the hand not still in Stiles’ hair caressing the side of his jaw in a gesture that’s both affectionate and possessive.
Stiles blinks his tears away just in time for the process to repeat. Derek holds the sides of his head and thrusts in all the way again, only this time he doesn’t stay there. He snaps his hips forward over and over again, fucking Stiles’ throat with enough power to make his weighty balls smack against the underside of Stiles’ chin. With his hands tied behind his back and Derek keeping his head immobile, Stiles has to take it.
Derek fucks Stiles’ mouth for a long time, spit dribbling out of the corners of Stiles’ mouth and down his bare chest. Stiles’ jaw aches from being held open for so long, but he doesn’t object. He kneels there and allows himself to be used until his cheeks are wet from the tears streaming unbidden from his eyes and Derek’s thrusts become uncoordinated, a sure sign that he’s close to losing it.
Stiles is jealous.
“Almost! There!” Derek bites out.
Stiles anticipates Derek coming down his throat, but just before his orgasm hits, Derek pulls out completely and finishes himself off with his hand. The thick fingers of his other tangle once more in Stiles’ hair to keep him where he is, and Stiles has just enough wherewithal to shut his eyes before Derek yells and he’s painted with an unfathomable amount of hot, sticky seed. It splatters all over his face, starting with his forehead, some of it even getting up in his hair, before less powerful spurts hit his nose and drip down to his lips and chin.
By the time it’s over, Stiles is covered in it, an act of claiming that he doesn’t have a single problem with. He’s cautious as he opens his eyes, ready to snap them shut again if any of Derek’s come gets inside them. He looks up at Derek and waits patiently for him to come down from his orgasm.
It doesn’t take long. His breathing still heavier than usual, Derek releases his softening cock and smirks down at his mate, who must be quite the spectacle. He swipes a clawed finger through the come on Stiles’ cheek and holds it in front of his lips for him to lick off, which he obediently does. Stiles is careful not to cut his tongue on Derek’s sharp claw, then the bitter taste of Derek’s jizz bursts across his taste buds. He moans and spends a few moments savouring the glob of come before swallowing it, then Derek’s finger is back with more.
Derek cleans off random parts of Stiles’ face and makes him eat every drop. He doesn’t do that with all of it, though—when half of Derek’s load is sitting in Stiles’ belly, Derek switches tactics and smears the viscous fluid into his skin instead, going so far as to transfer some of it down to Stiles’ chest and rub it around his sensitive nipples. Stiles thrusts his chest out and his eyelids flutter when Derek rolls the pebbled nubs between his thumbs and index fingers. The painful pleasure shoots right down to his cock, and he’s reminded of his own need to come.
“Please…”
“Be patient, pet,” Derek tells him, giving Stiles’ nipples one last brutal twist that has him whimpering.
He pushes Stiles so he falls onto his back, his arms trapped beneath him. He kicks apart Stiles’ legs to make space for himself, then kneels between them.
When Derek gathers up all the come that hasn’t dried yet and uses it to slick the de-clawed fingers of one hand, Stiles knows what’s going to happen next. He gasps when those fingers disappear and he feels them prodding at his hole. Derek stuffs two in straight away, an intrusion that has Stiles crying out and throwing his head back. Even then, Derek doesn’t stop. He thrusts the thick digits in and out a couple times before roughly scissoring them apart, hurriedly stretching Stiles to take him.
“Your pussy’s so tight,” Derek says almost conversationally. “I must’ve caught myself a little virgin. This Big Bad Wolf’s the first one to get inside you, isn’t he?”
Even though this is far from their first time, Stiles gets sucked into the fantasy Derek is creating. He nods.
Derek adds a third finger. “I thought so. Just you wait… I’m gonna split you apart on my cock, make you into my little bitch to fuck whenever I want. I’m gonna ruin you for anyone else—not that they’ll ever have you. You’re mine now. Maybe I’ll even keep you chained up so you can’t go anywhere without my say so. You’ll always be here, ready for me.”
Every word Derek rasps goes straight to Stiles’ untouched dick, makes him leak over his own stomach. He buys into it all, the depravity and the sheer wrongness of it making him hornier than he ever remembers being. He pushes back onto Derek’s fingers, trying to suck them in deeper, but Derek’s fingers leave him entirely and he just feels empty. He nearly sobs with his need.
“Shh, bitch…” Derek soothes, laying himself over Stiles and licking a broad stripe up the side of his face, tasting his tears. “Gonna fuck you now.”
True to his word, Derek’s cock—which Stiles hadn’t known was hard again—presses at his hole. It’s dry but he still wants it. He wraps his legs around Derek’s body and pulls him in to get this across. Derek chuckles, a bit mean, then all nine thick inches of him are inside Stiles’ hole.
Stiles shouts and really does sob this time. Part of him is grateful because he’s finally getting what he’s wanted since he started this scene, but another part is taken by surprise by how painful it is. They’ve never gone dry like this before. It feels like their first time together, when Derek took his virginity, which makes it easier to play his character of the virginal Red Riding Hood.
The pain is slow to pass, but Derek doesn’t give Stiles time to get used to it. Also perfectly playing his role of the uncaring and predatory Big Bad Wolf, Derek moves straight away. He thrusts slowly for a few seconds, then gradually builds up the pace until he’s grunting with exertion and his balls slap against Stiles every time he buries himself to the hilt. Sweat drips off of him and onto Stiles, but Stiles isn’t aware. He’s too lost in the sensations Derek is making him feel.
That amazing, massive cock filling him to the brim over and over again.
The heat of him above, keeping him warm.
The musky scent of come still in the air.
He feels Derek inside of and all around him, overtaking him completely until it’s like there’s nothing of himself left, like all he is is Derek’s possession. Derek’s toy. It’s far hotter than it should be, but as it’s just the two of them and he trusts Derek with everything he is, Stiles has no problem with it.
“Good pet,” Derek grits out. “So tight. Mine. All mine!”
Stiles sobs.
“This pussy’s mine…and you like it being mine too. Just look at your little clit, bitch. Look at it!” Derek orders, grabbing Stiles’ hair and wrenching his head up to peer between their bodies, where he’s still hard, has been throughout all of this madness, will be until Derek finally allows him to come. He wishes he had his hands free so he could get himself off, but, luckily, he doesn’t need to. Not when he hears what Derek has to say next.
“Should I play with it?” the werewolf asks rhetorically, dropping Stiles’ head again. “Think you’ve been good enough for me? Y’know, I actually think you have. You did wander into my den and offer yourself up so sweetly for me to eat, didn’t you, pet? That deserves a reward.”
Keeping one hand on the mattress next to Stiles’ head, Derek wraps the other around Stiles’ cock. He strokes a couple times up the full length of it before focusing his ministrations on the tip, rubbing his thumb in maddening circles over the glans.
“It’s very pretty,” Derek says, his gaze on Stiles’ face to survey his every reaction, the furrow of his brow and the bitten-bloody state of his lips. “I’m shocked no one’s ever wanted to touch you here before, but then again, maybe they have and you turned them away. You were a good girl and saved yourself because you already knew you belonged to me. Was that it? I bet it was. That’s why you came here tonight, so I could lay claim to what was mine.”
“Yes! God, yes, please!” Stiles implores through his tears.
“You wanna come?”
Stiles hiccups out a, “Y-yes!” and whines when Derek instantly stops touching him.
“You can,” Derek says, “but you’ll do it on my cock like the good little cockslut you are. Can you do that for me?”
Stiles honestly isn’t sure. He’s never come untouched before—hasn’t even considered it as a possibility—but with how pent up he is, with how Derek feels inside of him, he believes he might just be able to do it.
He gives his assent and concentrates on the overwhelming pleasure spreading from his ass to the rest of his body. His shoulders and arms ache from so long spent trapped beneath his back, but it’s barely a blip on the radar at this point, largely thanks to Derek’s expert knowledge on how to play him like an instrument. Every one of the werewolf’s frantic thrusts is unerringly precise, all of them stimulating Stiles’ prostate. When that’s combined with Derek bending down over him and nipping and biting at his neck, a spot that never fails to get them both going, it doesn’t take Stiles long.
His vision whites out when his orgasm hits. He shoots between them, covering their torsos with come. His mouth is open wide in a soundless scream as it goes on and on and on, until it finally ends and he’s left boneless beneath Derek.
Derek levers himself up, grabs Stiles’ knees and appraises the mess between them. “Good girl!” he crows. “Now it’s my turn…”
With Stiles taken care of, Derek thrusts into him with abandon, no longer caring whether he strikes his prostate or not. As a result, whenever Derek does hit it, Stiles’ whole body jerks atop the mattress because he can never predict it. He’s strung out and overstimulated, but all he has the energy to do is make quiet little mewling sounds every time it happens. He looks blearily up at Derek as he keeps fucking him, marvelling at the fierce beauty of him.
Derek is still wolfed out, his fangs bared and his hairless brow drawn together so it seems even heavier. His eyes are shadowed by it, but the brightness of his red irises still shines prominently. Every inch of him is slick with sweat, his hairy chest glistening.
He brutally fucks Stiles for an unknowable amount of time, until finally his movements lose their control and he sinks all the way into Stiles’ ass one last time. He holds himself there and howls at the ceiling as he fills his mate with come, his chest heaving as the sound echoes throughout the barren house. All Stiles can feel is Derek twitching inside of him, but like always, he imagines that he can actually feel himself being pumped full.
When Derek’s orgasm ends, his beta form recedes and he pulls himself out of Stiles’ sore hole, which is so stretched and used that come leaks out right away, dribbling onto the mattress as his legs fall flat. All traces of the Big Bad Wolf apparently having vanished with his beta form, Derek is gentle as he helps Stiles sit up and cuts through the torn strip of fabric keeping his hands bound. When he’s free, Stiles rubs at his wrists, rolls his shoulders to ease the ache, then just wants to sleep.
“Is your dad expecting you?” Derek queries softly, letting him lie down again.
“Nuh-uh… Knew I wouldn’t wanna move after, so I got Scott to cover for me.”
“Smart.”
Stiles smiles tiredly. “That’s me.”
Derek throws an old blanket over Stiles and tucks him in. “Get some rest,” he says, brushing Stiles’ hair back from his forehead. “I’m gonna get your picnic basket. I’ll be back soon.”
Already half asleep, Stiles mumbles, “Sure.”
He drifts in and out for a while, never really going under entirely until the mattress dips beside him and a pair of strong arms wraps around him from behind. Now that he’s no longer missing Derek pressed up against his back, Stiles snuggles deeper into his welcome warmth and is out like a light.