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[personal profile] magdalyna
Title: My Prometheus Lover
Rating: R
Pairing: Derek/Stiles
Word Count: 1,574
Summary:Folie a Deux never tasted so good.
Warnings/Notes: Medical content, consensual cannibalism,creepiness, underage. For [profile] okubyo_kitsune A spiritual sequel to Insider and Blood & Grit in a series I'm calling Cannibal Glow



“It grew back, Derek,” Stiles looks … uncertain about this development. His heart is steady though. Derek lifts his shirt, slides his pant hemline down and there enough, along with a faint curved scar, is the swell of muscle he ate not a month ago.

He traces over the scar with a fingernail and takes a handful of hip to brace the skin. He starts rubbing at the scar. Stiles sucks in a breath.

“My saliva healed you,” Derek explains, eyes fixed on the scar tissue.

“But you took a chunk out of me! There was an indentation right here,” Stiles argues, arms waving in the general direction of his hip. Derek isn’t sure why that matters.

There isn’t one now.

His wolf is confused by these proceedings, so he thinks rutting and eating; thinks mate and prey and his wolf wants to howl in satisfaction.

“Shouldn’t you be happy? I ate you up like a steak and you can still walk. You’re still whole,” Derek points out. Sometimes humans can miss the obvious. He’s considering what he wants to eat of Stiles next. His wolf has always admired the long, lean lines of Stiles’ hamstrings when Derek grips them tight as they rut.

The skin around the scar flushes suddenly. Derek looks up, sees Stiles has realized how close they are, where exactly Derek’s hands still are on his body. The flush goes up to his cheekbones. It’s very attractive to his wolf and himself.

“Using logic is unfair,” Stiles gripes. Derek chuckles, his wolf huffs as his moves his hand from tracing the scar to holding Stiles’ face, other hand still firmly on the hip.

“I’m glad you told me though. This is good news,” Derek says, voice velvet soft.

He can hear Stiles’ heartbeat go rabbit quick at that, his eyes sparked, showing no fear. If not fear then it must be interest. His wolf is transfixed with this reaction.

Stiles closes his eyes and Derek leans in for a kiss, claiming his mouth. He bites and licks and Stiles answers him back fiercely, hands reaching up into his hair.

They break away after awhile, and Stiles opens his eyes, looks like he’s steadying himself. His lips are bruised red.

“If we keep doing this, this thing, I want… I want it to be a mutual thing,” Stiles says.

Derek blinks.

He honestly wasn’t expecting that. He’s not sure how to translate it for his wolf and there’s a confused whine at the back of his head.

“Really?” Derek has to check.

“Really,” Stiles nods, face serious.

Well then.

How could he refuse this of his mate? His mate who is willing to continue to let himself be fed upon?

“Of course,” Derek agrees.

Stiles smiles widely and it’s so beautiful it’s hard to look at straight on.

*&*

Derek smiles. Claws slide over freckled skin, peeling it apart as his teeth sink into the meat of Stiles’ shoulder, careful of the delicate bones.

Stiles is knotted on him, can only breath through it while Derek ruts him and eats him. He’s got a hand lazily covering Stiles’ hard cock while he works with his more dexterous one. The thin, broad muscles part easily on his tongue as he bites down on them, swallows them in pieces. He’s sure to slaver over the wound once he’s had his fill. He stitches Stiles up with both hands, making quick, meticulous sutures to close it shut. He licks a thin line with the pointed tip of his tongue along the stitches to make sure the healing mechanism takes.

Stiles hadn’t wanted drugs in his system this time, said he wanted to feel it, all of it. Derek accommodates his mate with this request as much as he wants to do otherwise.

They stay like that for another twenty minutes while Derek jerks Stiles off and nuzzles the back of his neck, just places the barest hint of pressure with his blunt human teeth on tender skin while Stiles comes in his hand before he finally spills inside of Stiles.

Derek eases off gently and lies down beside Stiles on the boy’s bed, watching the line of his back arch and descend as he pants for breath.

“So was it good for you?” Stiles jokes, voice light when he’s caught his breath.

“Yes,” Derek says with heat.

*&*

Stiles has the scalpel held firmly but gently in his hand as he slices through skin to open up Derek’s pectoral muscle, right over his heart, taking out a piece the size of a hockey puck. The pain helps Derek focus on not attacking the attacker. His wolf is still unsure about this, being belly up as someone carves him up.

Derek is lying down with Stiles kneeling on him, like they’re rutting. Stiles carefully pours from a jar some of Derek’s saliva into the wound and they watch as it closes up, almost around the scalpel before Stiles removes it.

“Amazing,” Stiles whispers to himself before placing the scalpel down carefully, on a waiting plate. The jar goes right next to it, with a screw on lid that Stiles seals tight.

“You’ll want to cook it soon, unless you like raw meat,” Derek reminds him.

Stiles nods, placing the meat on another plate before bending down for a kiss. It’s slow but Derek doesn’t mind. He likes slow sometimes, likes how it means Stiles wants to take his time with him.

Stiles eases up off him and Derek puts his shirt back on while Stiles tidies up and then they head to the kitchen with the meat on its plate.

Derek watches as Stiles cooks it, places the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, turning it on.

Derek watches as Stiles settles in to eat a part of him and he wonders how they got to this point. How it went from a physical need to eat Stiles to wanting Stiles to have a part of him, too. How it wasn’t just the wolf who knew hunger. Wonders how this will end, if Stiles will be beneath him, being rutted as Derek claws open his soft stomach to get to his tantalizing offal as the light goes out from his honey brown eyes.

Wonders if Stiles will ask to eat his heart next, because Derek would let him.

*&*

“Scott thinks you’re abusing me somehow, ‘cause he’s seen how marked up I’ve been getting,” Stiles says conversationally. Stiles is doing homework at his desk while Derek sits on his bed watching him.

Scott may have tunnel vision and be an idiot but sometimes, very rarely, he can pick up on things. That doesn’t mean Derek has to like when he picks up on things that don’t involve him.

“Well, aren’t I?” Derek grins, voice playful. He wants to know though.

Stiles stops working on his history paper and spins around.

“Dude, no. If I didn’t want this to be happening, then this wouldn’t be happening. Scott’s just a worrywart. Worrywolf,” Stiles scoffs.

It’s sweet how Stiles really believes what he’s saying.

Now that his wolf has tasted Stiles’ meat, it has no intention of stopping. It puts Derek at ease to hear this, but his wolf needs no such balm to soothe its guilt.

“Good,” Derek says.

“Now since you actually remember the Vietnam War, can you help me with this one part?” Stiles asks and Derek throws a pillow at him and it devolves from there to Derek humping against the firm line of Stiles’ leg on the ground as Stiles rises to meet him.

*&*

They’re on Stiles’ bed, Stiles braced on his knees and forearms, a pillowed propping up his chest. There’s a towel under his knees, so the sheets don’t get bloody.

The sweet swell of his ass is distracting Derek from the lines of his thighs, but he has work to do. He can rut and knot the boy later.

He traces a line of muscle his wolf has a particular fondness for before a claw sinks in, unzipping skin like butter. He bites gently to cut the muscle before he works at it with a pinching motion before biting it out. He puts it on a plate then stitches Stiles up, salvia coating the wound and sutures.

Stiles relaxes, slumping down as Derek takes time to enjoy the flavor of it, the savory taste, the slightly gamey feel of it in his mouth.

“Come on, would you fuck me already?” Stiles whines, wiggling his ass in offering.

Derek rolls his eyes. His wolf chuffs.

“It’ll hurt,” Derek points out.

“That’s the point, yeah,” Stiles snipes.

That actually isn’t the point, not for Derek. He never wants Stiles to be hurt. He wants to consume Stiles. They’re two different things.

But Derek has never been good with communicating.

He swallows the last of his meal before licking at stripe down Stiles’ entrance, nosing at his balls. Stiles shudders. He has more than enough invitation so he gradually sinks in, until they’re flush against each other, hip to hip. It’s tight and hot and perfect.

And it hurts. Derek isn’t sure what it’s hurting though.

His wolf is happy, Stiles is safe when they do this, Derek gets to stamp down that yawning hunger he’s always felt.

But it hurts. Somewhere in his heart.

Maybe he can get Stiles to cut it out for him, eat it all up so it’s safe.
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And that has made all the difference.

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