Shadow

Stiles stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was the same as he'd seen it dozens and dozens of times. His hair was tousled from the shower and the encounter with Stiles's merciless hand, his face pale from lack of sleep and fatigue, the bruises beneath his eyes especially pronounced, shading the eyes with their meshes of burst capillaries, the moles dotting the clear skin, and the thick lashes making the weary look languid rather than tired. The thin bandage around his neck, recently replaced by a medical bandage, was out of place, but that wasn't what worried Stiles. He felt like there was something inside. It seemed to Stiles that he'd been free, empty, open for a long time. It felt like there was a lot of space in him that could be filled with something, and Stiles didn't know what, because he was looking for something that would fit such an essential part of himself. And now that space was unceremoniously and firmly occupied by something foreign, destructive and hungry. Stiles could feel it striving to consume him from the inside out, digging into his insides, pulling, wounding, and… filling. Filling in a strange way, hiding all the voids and gaps that stretched abundantly across his very being, letting in the unwanted and letting out the necessary. It was like a lost piece of his soul falling back into its long-forgotten place, a little mismatched at the edges, changed over the years, but still ready to accept. Stiles stared at himself intently, and it seemed to him that a warm golden spark flickered in the depths of his brown irises. A spark. Noshiko had spoken of Sparks. And Deaton, whom they'd contacted right after they'd given Stiles first aid and stopped the bleeding, had only looked at him nonchalantly, hiding his hands in the pockets of his white coat, and said: - Potential can sometimes be dangerous. Remember that, Stiles. Sometimes Stiles admired Deaton's ability to answer questions Kilgarrah-style, but this time his vagueness and unwillingness to speak bluntly even in such a dire situation only made him angrier. Deaton was enigmatic, and his enigma often looked like nonsense, but rarely was it actually. Stiles, however, had no desire to guess, waiting for the next end of the world. He wanted answers. But no one could give them to him. Peering into the dark irises, Stiles tried to see something unusual. Maybe the spark that flashed across the coffee grounds of his eyes wasn't just a figment of his imagination? What if the answer lay within himself, but he couldn't see its obvious manifestation? He saw nothing. Burying his hand, wrapped in a thin layer of bandages he hadn't really needed in a long time, in his hair, Stiles turned away from the mirror and bit his lip. The skin on his arms was habitually scarred, and his fingers occasionally twitched - the nerves of Noshiko's katana hadn't left him in the lurch and were still bothering him. He dropped mugs, pencils, and chalk, couldn't write or hold a spoon properly. Stiles swallowed hard, enduring the sparks of pain rising from the wound in his neck, struggling to clench his fists with weak hands and hated. Noshiko had left behind a mark that would not leave him for the rest of his life. But aside from the pain, the resentment, the scars preventing him from getting into a familiar rut, since the day he'd nearly died, when he'd nearly been killed, Stiles hadn't let go of the anxiety and the clammy feeling of someone else's presence. He wasn't an idiot, and he understood what those feelings could mean. Noshiko had claimed that Nogitsune would definitely want to see him, to talk to him, drawn by his so-called Spark, which Stiles had never managed to learn enough about. Waiting to see the dark spirit was unbearable and, needless to say, scary to the point of tickling his stomach. Stiles knew Nogitsune was near, certain of his presence without a shadow of a doubt. He felt it as he shook the goosebumps off his body and smoothed the hair at the nape of his neck, heard the rustling and scraping that sounded like claws on a wooden floor, felt the gliding touch of something warm and soft against his bare skin, and sometimes even saw a metal smile full of sharp teeth glinting in the shadows. But still he did not meet it, no matter how much Nogitsune beckoned for him to come out and end this slow torture. The fox stalked him, unobtrusive and vague, but even so it sent a nervous shiver through his body. Stiles dreaded to think of the time when Nogitsune would decide to do something more substantial. For the first time, there were always pack members by his side, watching over him around the clock. Noshiko had looked confident when she said Nogitsune would want to meet him, and Scott had taken her warning seriously. But a week passed, another, gradually growing into a month, and still no one showed up. The pack had calmed down, leaving nightly guards in place, but Stiles himself was getting more nervous every day. The sensation of someone else's presence oppressed him at night, haunted him during the day, and never let up. He followed him like a second shadow, distorting something in the reflection and filling the inner void, moving thoughts and feelings in a chaotic pattern, robbing Stiles of his long-established systematicity. He couldn't read, having forgotten how to do it, but on good days Stiles remembered, and then the letters would start dancing, rolling and twisting, robbing him of the last constant he'd always been sure of: his abilities and knowledge. Stiles lay awake, too frightened by the prospect of a nightmare, which made picturesque dark circles appear under his eyes. Every night that Stiles managed to close his eyes, he was awakened by a tugging feeling of desolation, as if his heart had been ripped out and his chest left hollow and broken, with shattered ribs and torn ends of blood vessels. The nightmares he so feared were not happening as such, but the vague images, voices and smells visiting him in his dreams were exhausting and left many questions he was unable to answer. He wanted it to stop. He wanted Nogitsune to show up and end this uncertainty. Stiles lay in bed, not really hoping for a restful and peaceful sleep. His body was sluggish and unresponsive, fatigue came in waves, each one capable of sweeping him off his feet, but sleep never came. Stiles exhaled slowly and squeezed his eyes shut. Goosebumps crawled over his body, warning him that his watcher hadn't gone anywhere. Staring intently again, but not trying to get any closer. Staring at him, making him shiver with fear. Stiles could almost see that intangible something. He was sure the shadow in the corner had eyes and a sly grin. Stiles pulled the blanket up to his chin in a childish attempt to shield himself from the burning gaze. A distinct chuckle came from the darkness (nightlight, Stiles, find a nightlight, turn on the fucking light, chase the monster away). Thoughts darting about, unable to focus on anything, Stiles looked around and spotted a nightlight in the dim moonlight, hidden behind a pile of books on his desk. Too far away. Stiles bit his lip and covered even his head with the blanket. The nasty feeling that he was being watched went nowhere, shattering his childhood faith in the down cocoon's reliable protection. Stiles exhaled convulsively and pushed his legs up, hugging his knees with his arms when he felt a cold, barely perceptible touch on his shin, felt even through the warm blanket. It didn't just look at him, it approached him. It touched him. And it was saying. - Don't be afraid, little fox. I'll never hurt you. I can help you. Just let me in. Stiles thought he would have done so if Nogitsune had picked a better time to ask the question. He wanted to let go of his fear, to see the face of the monster hiding in the shadows, to let in and let go of the tightening emptiness inside. He wanted to become whole, to merge with the fox and forget the terror, the thirst, and the desperate desire to disappear, to feel nothing. He wanted to get rid of the humming power that flowed through his veins, unleashed by Noshiko's katana and the power of simple faith based on the will to live. He wanted to understand. Noshiko's threats, the ancient texts on the decrepit pages of the bestiary, the friends and father that the fox could and surely wanted to hurt-it was sobering, a reminder of why one should fight. It pulled Stiles out of the sweet abyss that dragged him down slowly but inexorably, promising oblivion and peace. Fear made him human. But Stiles knew that his evasions and heavy-hearted refusals were only a reprieve. Knew that sooner or later Nogitsune would get to him, break and shroud his mind in shadows, subjugate his body with the face of a man close to many. Stiles knew he needed to tell the pack what was happening, to warn the cruel and annoying but also helpful in this case Noshiko, and to get rid of the dark spirit. But every time he wanted to go over and tell Scott everything, something clutched his throat, all words were forgotten, and the desire to share the fear of enslavement with someone else vanished. Stiles felt that the meeting with Nogitsune was inevitable, predetermined and prepared by the fox in every possible way. He knew that no one and nothing could prevent it, and Nogitsune eliminated all obstacles easily and uncomplicatedly, covering Stiles's mouth and confusing his thoughts. - I'm not afraid of you. A chuckle came from nearby, and Stiles shuddered, wrapping himself tighter in the blanket. As if the fabric, smelling of powder and home, could protect him from Nogitsune. - We are foxes. Foxes are much more convincing. - The hoarse whisper came closer and made him shiver. - But I'll teach you to lie brilliantly, fox. I'll teach you a lot. Stiles felt a stranger's hand weightlessly stroke over his head. Fingers tangled in his hair, massaging his skin, causing a crowd of goosebumps and sparks in his lower spine. But when Stiles dared to pull the blanket lower and lift his head to look, the touches disappeared along with the sensation of Nogitsune's presence. Stiles sighed, covering his face with his hands and rubbing his eyes burning with fatigue and sleep deprivation. Nogitsune didn't talk to him often. If he did, the fox liked to tell him that he was afraid of the dark, not of himself, because Nogitsune would never hurt Stiles. That they had a long way to go, that the fox would be happy to teach Stiles everything, and that everything would become clear as soon as you let me in, little fox. And that they would be together very soon and for a very long time. Sometimes it was frightening. And sometimes, thinking about his life, the pack, Scott, and the depressingly empty house, Nogitsune's words seemed tantalizing rather than frightening. Stiles was tired of being alone. Closing his eyes, he thought about how possession would feel. Stiles no longer doubted its inevitability.

***

Pain and fear haunted him always. Nogitsune really didn't remember anything but those two concepts for a very long time. Chaos, hatred, revenge, all of it was accompanied by fear and pain. Always. He had no physical embodiment of a soul, but living for millennia as a disembodied spirit, he felt the pressure in his nonexistent chest every second. He felt nausea, drowned out only by someone else's pain. Nogitsune felt the weight that had been weighing down on him since birth and would not go away. No matter what he did, a dull despair muffled by years of existence squeezed his temples, hopelessness cramping his lower jaw and paralyzing something inside. At times he wanted to die to make it all stop. He didn't know how to kill himself permanently, without resurrection, though he never stopped trying, and the occasional cheerfulness he took out of the chaos he usually caused was a bit of a reconciliation with reality. And now he had met him. A young man with a bright, amazing Spark. Still quite untrained, naive and so sweet. To be honest, looking at him, Nogitsune felt desire for the first time in centuries and centuries. A hunger distinguishable from the stale, sucking thirst for pain. He thought it would be nice to touch him, to hold him against him, to drown in him. Catch his hand, put the back of his hand to his mouth, pull him to him, nuzzle his neck, and forget himself in the sweet smell. Nogitsune wanted him. Wanted to see his smile, to stroke his soft cheek, to burrow into his hair, to lay his head on his shoulder and close his eyes, smiling into the soft fabric of his plaid shirt. Wanted to trace every mole with my tongue, trace his lips with my own lips, crush his sides with my hands, pull him to me by the waist and press him against my own body, never letting go. Wanted a lowland physical intimacy that was not peculiar to a creature like him. Also wanted to make him fall in love with me. To be together forever. To stay with him forever. For an infinitely long forever. Nogitsune was new to the human desire for flesh and something fluttering in his chest that mortals called love. Everything Stiles evoked was new, but how wonderful it was. Desire instead of pain, warmth instead of fear, tenderness instead of chaos. Nogitsune suddenly realized that this was probably how happy people felt. He had never been happy and couldn't say for sure, but the new, vivid and absolutely beautiful emotions that the young little fox had evoked in him were beautiful. They were so real and warm and right and deep that he wanted to howl at times. Stiles made him happy just by existing, by letting himself be loved. Nogitsune realized that before he met Stiles, he had never truly lived. He knew he couldn't exist without what Stiles evoked in him from now on. He couldn't reabsorb the emptiness, fear, and pain without feeling the soft sweetness of a mortal beside him. To feel the pressure, the numbness, the numbness. Alienated from human emotions not inherent in his nature. Having tasted happiness once, he wouldn't be able to let it go. Nogitsune decided that in case Stiles didn't want him, he would have to take him by force. Tie him up tight and secure, never let go, and know that someday he would be reciprocated. They had thousands of years ahead of them. Stiles owed it to him to say "yes" sooner or later. Nogitsune ran an intangible hand down the cheek of the man who had gotten him this far. There wasn't much left to do. One more small step, the final move, and they could connect, become one, make everything right. Sometimes the fox thought he'd found a piece of his soul, so smoothly and correctly Stiles had entered his lifeless existence. It was as if that was where he belonged, where he was always meant to be. Nogitsune's hand trembled with excitement. Stiles sighed sharply in his sleep, frowning, trying to fight, to get away from the spirit's intrusive attention. But his efforts, distancing their long-awaited meeting, finally ceased, the resistance collapsing with a deafening rumble, creaking and clattering, surrendering itself to the dark spirit's mercy. Nogitsune smiled, wide and mad, falling through another's consciousness, entering the person who was his. Stiles greeted him with incomprehension and panic. But most importantly, the fox was already in him, enveloping Stiles' mind in velvet darkness. And getting it out of the man he loved wouldn't have been possible even for Inari herself.

***

Stiles woke up, gasping for air and with his heart pounding furiously. He lay on his side, wrapping his arms around himself, trying to calm down. For the first time in months, he didn't feel the gaze of an invisible stare, but there was no comfort in that fact, because Stiles knew. Nogitsune had only gotten closer. The palms under the thin bandages began to sweat, and Stiles ripped them off fiercely. He hadn't needed them in a long time. They only hid the scars of his stitches, hid his insecurity and fear, his pain and loneliness and memories of abject despair. When the rolled, sweat-damp cloth fell to the bed, Stiles let out a surprised sound. His palms were pristine. Not even a hint of the ugly scars that made it hard to make a fist, made the already simple, human hands that weren't those of a werewolf even weaker. Slowly, as if in a trance, Stiles removed the bandage around his neck. The bandages that had become a part of him over the weeks clogged his nose with a nasty odor, but it was the smell that seemed familiar and comforting even in the midst of panic and misunderstanding. It makes him feel as if the bandages could protect him. Persistent associations drawn from his very subconscious give him a sense of calm. But now he is sickened by them and their stupidly familiar odor. Removing the bandage from his neck, Stiles slowly ran his hand over it. Smooth clean skin marked the absence of a scar here as well. Stiles suddenly made an unintelligible sound like a whimper and bit his lip to keep from sobbing. His hands trembled with fear. - Go away. Go away! - he wanted to scream, but only a whisper came out. Muffled and frightened. The ghostly touch on his shoulder seemed red-hot, and Stiles recoiled, realizing how futile his attempts at resistance were: he was helpless before Nogitsune, broken and open, letting the fox in at a moment of weakness. - You let me in, little fox. Now I'll never leave. - The stranger's breath scorched his ear, but Stiles couldn't find the strength to pull away again, too scared and exhausted by the constant, unnoticed struggle. If Noshiko is to be believed, Nogitsune only needs pain and chaos. He loves fun, destruction, confusion. He revels in agony and lives a lie. Pure anarchy, a proponent of vice, haunted by the doom of immortality, Satan himself in the local diocese, who loves to mislead and dish out misery, struggle, and disorder. Someone ancient, great and powerful. Capable of so much more than just "a lot". So why would he want Stiles in that case? Why does the fox keep saying, like a man possessed, that they'll be together forever? Why does he call Stiles his own? - What do you want? I'm not the best choice for your outfit. He feels like someone is pressing against him from behind, wrapping strong arms around his waist. Someone else's laughter and a needy, dependent mantra rings in his head, giving away all of Nogitsune's insanity: - My, my, my, mymymymy… Stiles almost chokes on the strength with which the spirit pressed him against him, the need sounding in his voice, the misplaced, wild desire to confirm, "Yes, yours." He tries to pull away, to see, to finally look, but only succeeds in having his legs braided by something warm and supple. It doesn't take long to realize it's Nogitsune's tails. Twisted, unexpectedly soft and constraining. Stiles freezes, realizing he's trapped in his own bed. The soft fur contrasts with the firm grip of hard hands. Nogitsune nuzzles his nose into his neck and sighs contentedly, not noticing his new master's panic. Stiles, on the other hand, lowers his head, pulls his legs up as far as his tails will allow, and tries to breathe slowly and evenly. His eyes are dry, but Stiles could swear he's ready to burst into tears at any second. - What do you want? - Stiles squeezes out when he calms down a little. Nogitsune traces patterns on his stomach with a cold finger, stroking his tense back with her other hand. It amuses him to be lying in bed with an angry dark spirit in a 'small and large spoon' pose, feeling almost relaxed. - You -, the spirit replies easily and shamelessly and finally lets him look at himself, laying Stiles on his back and hovering on top of him. - What does everyone have, but no one can lose it? Stiles gasps when he sees his own face with a crooked, satisfied and warm around the edges smile on his lips. That smile makes his insides cramp sweetly and his toes tighten, but his mind screams with terror and incomprehension. - How - he starts hoarsely, but Nogitsune's finger - Stiles's finger - presses against his lips, stopping him. The fox leans closer and stares with such undisguised tenderness that Stiles immediately averts his eyes, unable to bear the intensity of Nogitsune's emotions. Or his lies, designed to confuse and hurt. - You're mine, Stiles, and I'm yours. And I want you to be with me always,- he pressed his cheek against Stiles' cheek and exhaled, - and you will be with me always. Stiles lies still, trying not to even breathe, afraid to move and cause something to happen. Maybe his good old fashioned method of ignoring the problem will work and the problem will dissipate on its own. After a few long minutes of breathing together, skin to skin, frantic, frantic whispering, and futile attempts to free himself, the other man's weight disappears, leaving Stiles alone. He exhales in relief and vows to himself that he'll go to Scott or Derek or Deaton tomorrow and tell them, whatever it takes. - We're not going for help, foxy. We don't need help. Stiles freezes, waiting for it to continue, the threats, the taunts, the pain, but nothing happens. And then he wakes up, slowly opening his eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Stiles feels with his whole being that something has changed, that his body isn't just his anymore. His eyes begin to sting and tears flow without asking permission. When he falls asleep again, already at dawn, a cold hand slides over the dried, salty paths on his temples, wiping away the remaining moisture. And he dreams only of the velvet darkness that is now part of him.

***

- Why are you so opposed to our bond, foxy? It's what you want. - Nogitsune once again distracts Stiles from his homework, eliciting a desperate, tired, and almost resigned sigh from him. Stiles had given up a lot in his week of close proximity to the fox. The spirit hadn't left him for a second. It whispered sweet nothings in his ear that urged him to accept the spirit, whatever it meant; it pestered him with riddles, not leaving him alone until he could answer them; it touched him constantly, running invisible hands over his body, getting under his clothes and making him shiver; it seduced him, made promises, tempted him. He wouldn't let them tell his friends anything, confusing his thoughts and distracting him at the most crucial moment. Stiles sometimes thought he still hadn't woken up. Nogitsune didn't help him determine where was reality and where was a dream. The fox was always there. He made himself known, distracting him from his usual activities and obsessively repeating, "mine." He wanted Stiles to submit, to recognize that he belonged to the fox, to surrender. Give up everything he held dear, admit that Nogitsune needed him, which was a lie. Stiles had to keep telling himself that, because Nogitsune's words about Stiles' desires seemed true at times. - It's not what I want, - Stiles finally answered the question the fox had been repeating for the last hour in many different variations, and he wasn't even lying. It would have been easy to give up, but at the mere thought of it, the protest of his fondly cherished paranoia immediately built up in his chest. The peace and bliss that Nogitsune promised would not be his. It was an illusion that beckoned, but was false. He didn't want to live in a security artificially created for him personally while all his loved ones would be left to the tears of a wild fox. Nogitsune wouldn't have left them in the dust. He didn't care about anyone but himself. Himself and you, little fox, as the spirit liked to correct him. - You will be mine, one way or another. - Nogitsune, without ceremony, turned the chair Stiles was sitting in around, placing the teenager facing him. He had clearly lost his patience: his eyes became dark and impenetrable, and his lips compressed into a thin line. The fact that his body became visible in the daylight spoke volumes about the extent of his impatience or rage without further ado. - You'd better give your consent, foxy. I don't want to hurt you. Stiles could understand that. He was surprised at all that this madman had gone a whole week without snapping and showing himself to be exceptionally patient. A sigh escaped him as he looked up at the fox looming over him. Stiles had stubbornly avoided looking at the face that was an exact replica of his own all week, but now, being only a few inches away from the fox, he just couldn't look away. The dark circles under his eyes that Stiles hadn't seen the first time because of the darkness made his skin look paler, Nogitsune had no moles, the lines of his cheekbones and chin stood out sharply and clearly on his haggard face, and his lips were chapped and completely dry. He didn't look much like Stiles in his condition, but the most striking contrast was his eyes: almost black, deep and so empty that a shiver ran down his spine at the mere sight of them. Stiles swallowed as he realized that Nogitsune was genuinely annoyed, impatient, and even crushed. He placed his hands on either side of the teen, clutching the arms of the chair and immediately turning them into splinters. - I want this to be voluntary, Styles, but I can't take it anymore. - Nogitsune looked genuinely mad. He was almost shaking with restrained emotion. - Agree or I'll take by force. Stiles couldn't take his eyes off his doppelganger's face. It was mesmerizing, a fascination that seeped out, despite the paralyzing fear that seized him at the mere sight of his own distorted, caricatured, and, most elaborate of all, his own face. Without controlling himself, he slowly raised a shaking hand and, as if hypnotized, placed his palm on the spirit's head, running his fingers through the surprisingly soft hair. He'd wanted to do this for so long and hadn't even realized the desire existed. - Stiles? - Nogitsune moved forward, pressing his lips to the teen's neck. He sounded assertive, impatient. His low, sultry tone made the boy blush and his heart beat faster. - Nogitsune,- Stiles blurted out. He said it in a whisper, trying to convey in one word everything that was rattling around in his head. He didn't want to fight it, didn't want to resist it, but to give in to it would be wrong. He must not be tempted. It's all a clever trap, a convoluted elaborate plan. It's a lie. - N-no. And Nogitsune was on top of him the second the word was out of his mouth, pinning him to the chair he'd broken, looking like a junkie on the rebound. Stiles only had time to exhale when the fox spread his legs and put his knee between his thighs, positioning himself so unexpectedly perfect, so good, that for a second he forgot to breathe. The hard line of Nogitsune's body pressed against him with such force, such an onslaught, as if the spirit was seeking to merge with Stiles' body into one, and that pressure, the need behind it, caused Stiles to let out a quiet, involuntary moan. The fox froze for a moment when he heard it, and then with an animalistic growl he pressed his lips to his, not caring much for the clashing of teeth and scratchy lips. The important thing is that they finally merge in a kiss - a perfect kiss, despite its roughness and lack of any consistency or fluidity. Trying to find an anchor, something to hold on to reality, Stiles clutched at Nogitsune's shoulders, not wanting to take in what was happening with his momentarily clouded mind, not having the strength to understand why the protest was growing in his chest. Low, shrill sounds slipped through his lips, immediately swallowed by Nogitsune's demanding mouth, and Stiles didn't want to analyze what was happening, but the fear, dulled by the bold and unexpected kiss, was beginning to return, chasing away from his head the fog of lust and pure desire that had spilled over in a maddening surge. With one hand on the back of Stiles' head, Nogitsune slid his other hand down to the back of the teen's thigh, but the chair, surprisingly still unbroken under the pressure of the two bodies, prevented him from doing so. With an irritated growl, the fox pulled away and lifted the teenager, wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him closer. Stiles breathed heavily through his nose, holding back moans and nearly gasping as Nogitsune's aggressive kisses traveled down to his throat. Panic suddenly squeezed his chest with a sudden vise, incomprehension and fear sobering him like a bucket of cold water. Wrong, wrong. He didn't want this. Why did he feel so good then? What had Nogitsune done to him? Both hands slid lower and gripped his ass with such force that Stiles was sure it would leave bruises. He wriggled, either wanting more or in a weak attempt to pull away, his head falling against the back of the chair with a thud. - I... Nogitsune… - Stiles tried to blink the veil from his eyes and say something, maybe even stop it, but only incoherent babble came out of his lips. - Is that what you want, little fox? - The fox practically purred, his breath hot against Stiles's ear. - Do you want to be mine? Do you want me to fuck you? - Each word was punctuated by a bite, a kiss, a wide wet trail drawn across his neck with his tongue, and Stiles stopped counting them after a particularly painful hickey, too stupefied by the hot whisper. Stiles' heart skipped a beat as the meaning of the fox's words reached him, and he licked his bitten lips, trying to pull himself together and push Nogitsune away. Not to let things get where they were going. - No - Stiles belatedly replied, trying unsuccessfully to move away and resting his head against the back of the chair he now officially hated. His voice was so choked and barely audible. It sounded more like a whimper, which made paint spill over his face. He wouldn't make those sounds if he really didn't want to. Unable to resist, Stiles put one hand on the back of the fox's head, the other still holding onto his shoulder. His fingers burrowed into his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. Nogitsune growled low, his whole body pressing against Stiles. His hand wrapped slowly and carefully around the teen's throat. His fingers stroked the hickeys already filling the pale skin. - You shouldn't tease me like that, little fox, - the fox whispers hoarsely in his ear before running his nose along Stiles's neck, inhaling the sweet scent of arousal, fear, and desperate need. The words sound like a threat, and Stiles immediately pulls his hand away. Panic rises to his throat, makes his mind clearer, and the teen finally pulls himself together and pushes Nogitsune in the chest, causing him to take a few steps back in surprise. - I said: "No." No. Get out, - his trembling voice never got louder than a whisper. Stiles suddenly thought his father wouldn't be coming home tonight because of his shift at the station. His heart was beating in his throat, making it hard to breathe, his lips tingled from the aggressive kisses, and his neck was sore and probably bruised. But Stiles liked it-the tugging feeling in his stomach and the tightness of his jeans was proof of that. Stiles liked it, and it made him disgusted. You're pathetic and disgusting, Stiles Stilinski. - You're really trying my patience, - Nogitsune hissed this, stepping closer and squeezing his hands in her palm, robbing him of the ability to move them. His eyes narrow dangerously and his shoulders tense. Stiles swallowed fearfully. Nogitsune said: "take by force," which he'd decided to let pass his ears, irrationally certain that the fox wouldn't hurt him, but now it was like hitting him over the head with a shoe. He's about to be raped. Stripped of his virginity without his consent. And the worst part is, Stiles is sure he'll love it. - D-don't. - He wriggled and twitched to no avail. Tried to kick the fox, but he spread his legs again and locked them with his knee, preventing him from moving. - Please… - Oh, my sweet, little fox, - Nogitsune purrs mockingly, running the fingers of his free hand along Stiles' sides. He smiles ridiculously contentedly as Stiles flinches under his touch. - Didn't I promise to make you mine? You're going to love it whether you agree or not. Stiles can't help but sob, closing his eyes. He feels Nogitsune slowly lean in and kiss him. Once again kissing him so possessively and so casually, as if he's done it dozens of times, as if he's entitled to it. Like it's the order of the day. Stiles unlocks his lips, after a light bite on his lip, and feels so good, like he was made just for this, despite the inner protest, the fear, the panic, even the terror. He feels every inch of Nogitsune's hot body, throbbing and burning. The inexplicable bond that has formed between them sings and is saturated with heat and longing and pain so deep, so old, so all-encompassing, that Stiles can't help but moan into Nogitsune's lips. Tears run down the teenager's cheeks as he tries but cannot resist the pleasure coursing through his veins. The air in his bedroom becomes warm and heavy. Stiles can almost smell the desire that waves from Nogitsune. Stiles gasps again, suppressing a desperate groan of contradiction, pleasure and struggle as the fox reaches his sharp teeth and moist lips back to Stiles's neck, digging feverishly and mercilessly into his skin, making new hickeys in the place of the old ones, still fresh and tinged with dull pain. He barely restrains the ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, impulse to run his hands under Nogitsune's shirt, which was clearly borrowed from his own closet. Stiles whimpers, acutely aware of his helplessness. Pulls the fox by the hair, wanting to hurt, to reason, to get the mouth that causes disgust and unbearable desire away from his neck. Pushes without moving the spirit an inch, and wriggles until Nogitsune pulls away from his fascinating endeavor with an annoyed growl. The fox stares at him for a few seconds, clearly enjoying the sight of a panting, flushed Stiles with swollen lips and a hickeyed neck, before ripping off his shirt without ceremony. Before Stiles can blink, Nogitsune's hands slide down to the back of his thighs and lift him up as if he weighed no more than a feather. And it's so unexpectedly hot - the fact that the spirit has immense power, far more than Stiles ever has or ever will - that the teenager, without realizing it, does the ultimate foolish thing: wraps his legs around the fox's waist, only fueling his desire. He hides a pathetic sob as he nuzzles his nose into Nogitsune's cheek and snuggles as close to the spirit as he can without even realizing it. Stiles presses his hips against Nogitsune's hard belly, shuddering at the slightest friction. The fox chuckles quietly at this, kneading Stiles' ass with his hands and causing the latter to feel a sharp pang of self-disgust. He is disgusted by the fact that any sound that comes off Nogitsune's lips, any movement that belongs to the fox, elicits from him a vivid response, a vivid reaction, a new wave of crushing desire. Stiles doesn't even notice Nogitsune crossing the room, holding him tightly in his arms. He only feels the world tilt, and lands on the bed with an undignified squeal. Coming to his senses a little, Stiles looks up and swallows when he sees Nogitsune kneeling right between his legs. He rests his head back on the pillow, exposing his neck, and winces when the fox's hand is on his cock and warm lips on his chest. Trying to hold back his moans, Stiles tries to focus on something else, but the pressure on his aroused cock nullifies all attempts. Whimpering in frustration and pleasure, the teen wriggles out, feeling the careful, almost reverent touches of the spirit looming over him. He tenses as Nogitsune's lips and teeth close on his nipple, and his palm strokes his throbbing erection with more force through the already slightly damp fabric of his homemade pants. - I... Nogitsune, please, - Stiles groans, not knowing whether he's asking for more: to stop or to be more forceful. He breathes heavily, pushing himself into Nogitsune's skillful fingers and ignoring the satisfied chuckle. His mind is such a fog of lust and desire that Stiles can't even think coherently. He doesn't know why the fox is acting so hard on him, why he's even allowing something like this to happen, why he's not fighting back more actively. He just wishes the waiting would stop. For something to happen, for things to make more sense, for it to be over already. Nogitsune is clearly not impressed by his pleading. He bites down, ignoring the hand that's buried in his hair trying to pull him away, leaving two perfect crescents around Stiles' nipple. He grins when he hears the quiet, desperate, animalistic whimpering and runs a wide, wet trail of his tongue over the self-inflicted damage to the fragile human body, as if apologizing for the pain he's caused. Stiles's cock twitches, stars flaring behind his eyelids, and he thinks he's about to cum, and they're not even close to the most important part, but Nogitsune's hand slides down his pants and squeezes his cock at the base, eliciting an almost resentful sob. The fox removes his hand soon enough - once he's convinced Stiles isn't so close to the edge - and caresses his thigh with his palm in a comforting gesture that promises more. Lips cover the teen's heavily heaving chest in chaste kisses, and Stiles can feel the spirit's smirk against his skin. - You're very impatient, aren't you? - Nogitsune ponders contentedly, now running his open mouth over his chest, scraping his teeth and coating the skin with saliva. He kisses aggressively and almost fiercely, trying to leave physical proof of their bond, wanting the marks he left behind to be imprinted on the boy's skin forever. Fox rests his forehead against his bruised chest and breathes hoarsely, heavily, stroking his hands over the squirming Stiles' hips. - You want me so badly, you're willing to beg. Stiles opens his eyes, clenching his teeth and wriggling impatiently. He wants to. He wants to, but to give in would mean losing. And what will his victory even mean? Nogitsune will do it anyway, and Stiles will enjoy it despite his wishes, the fox has said so himself. It will happen in the next hour, and he has no power to stop it. Stiles tiredly drops the hand he's been clutching the fox's hair with onto the bed and closes his eyes again. - Just fuck me already. He cries out, partly in surprise, partly in pain, when Nogitsune bites into his engorged bruise next to his nipple in what feels like a warning. - Patience, Stiles, - he rebukes and moves up Stiles' body. His voice drops to a low, sinful purr. - You'll be mine, foxy, as many times as you want yourself. But we'll take our time now, now that you've had it for the first time, - Nogitsune growls, returning to his throat, and Stiles blushes so brightly he thinks he might just burn. Their cocks touch, and they both moan in unison, almost desperately, needing to continue. - Do you agree, foxy? - Yes, - he swallows, his eyes watering, his hips jerking upward, against Nogitsune's thighs, wanting more friction, - yes, okay. - He's even grateful that the fox has chosen to be so considerate and delicate, because he's still scared, despite the lust clouding his brain. - Come on, Nogitsune, please… - he doesn't even hear what's coming off his own lips anymore, too consumed with wanting what his body craves. Sharp, almost too sharp, teeth sink into his neck and Stiles lets out a low throaty moan, forgetting to bite his lip and hold back the obscene sound. Nogitsune rolls the skin between his teeth and pulls away, never really biting. The smirk on his lips is so satisfied that it even sobered the aroused teen a little. - So impatient, - the fox repeats, scorching Stiles's cheek with his hot breath. Stiles suddenly notices that Nogitsune smells of bandages, smoke, and wool. The smell is familiar and so familiar that it calms his frantically beating heart a little. Nogitsune lifts himself up and gets off of Stiles in one smooth motion, lazily sliding an appraising, approving gaze over the teen's body. His fingers follow his eyes. Unhurried and light as a feather, they glide over his skin, causing goosebumps to cling to the waistband of Stiles' pants. Nogitsune removes them, quickly and without fuss. His eyes are fixed on Stiles's now completely naked body; the gaze from beneath his half-closed eyelids seems wild and hungry. Stiles' breathing is cut short, caught somewhere in his throat as he struggles not to squirm under that intense, goosebump-inducing gaze. It feels uncomfortable, stupid, foreign, but also incredibly right. Stiles swallows the unpleasant lump in his throat, no longer trying to take control of his body, coming to terms with the fact that it has betrayed its master, but out of sheer stubbornness he tries to shut himself off from everything that is happening, to not feel. Even if it likes it a lot. Even if it feels so intoxicating. The way such a clear and strong desire is directed at him, at the awkward, in-no-world-and-time sexy Stiles. In fact, the fucking feeling is the best he's ever felt, and he's ashamed that, looking at Nogitsune, he can understand why there's such desire in the fox's eyes: if Stiles looks as stunning and unfairly attractive as Nogitsune does right now, then the attraction to him could be considered a pattern. They share the same face, the same body. If Nogitsune is handsome, which Stilinski can admit, does that mean Stiles is too? A teenager covers his eyes when he realizes he's going to lose his virginity to someone who looks just like him. Does that qualify as incest? They must have the same DNA, right? Or is it some sort of elaborate form of self-satisfaction? Maybe it could really be called masturbation, but whatever, it doesn't really matter much right now. Stiles shivers as he sees the spirit grin sharply, playfully and smugly, looking so sinful it's impossible to miss it. The tip of his tongue shows between his ajar lips and the teen freezes in anticipation, propping himself up on his elbows and sensing that this is about to begin in earnest. Not taking her gaze off of Stiles for a second, Nogitsune reaches into her tight jeans and slowly unbuttons the button. Stiles can't look away no matter how hard he tries. The fox undoes the zipper, then hooks his fingers around the waistband of his jeans and pulls them down his thighs at a damn leisurely and teasing pace. It looks so unfairly graceful and confident that Stiles bites his tongue to suppress a groan, but he doesn't look away, too absorbed in the action unfolding before him. The fox's grin is full of superiority and he clearly knows how hot he is and how much Stiles likes it. Stiles can't take his eyes off of Nogitsune's slowly exposed smooth skin and fully hard cock, nicely curved on his stomach. The head glistens with pre-ejaculate and a single drop runs down the impressive length. Stiles absent-mindedly thinks about whether it's healthy to desire his own body while he swallows, licking his lips and trying not to show his reaction too obviously. Tension and fear spreads under his skin along with arousal as the teen looks at the naked fox. Stiles never had any reason to be self-conscious in that particular department, but now he's intimidated by the length of a cock that is a replica of his own, and worse, quite a bit aroused. Nogitsune's body is indeed molded in Stiles' likeness, but it's only now that the teen notices that he doesn't have the scars, moles, and freckles that he has. The fox is much stronger than he is, broader in the shoulders and chest, more muscular, which seems natural now that Stiles thinks of all the times Nogitsune has shown his great strength. Stiles blushes when he catches Nogitsune's smug look, but doesn't avert his eyes out of sheer stubbornness. The fox bestows him with an omniscient, dirty smirk, as if he knows that everything about him makes Stiles wonder, want, and burn in a way he never has before. The teen thinks he can see Nogitsune's anticipation, so thick and honey-sweet it is. The fox's dark eyes blaze with heat as he slowly lies down on the bed, kneeling again between Stiles' spread thighs, capturing all of his attention with his body and unwavering, direct gaze. He can't bring himself to resist as Nogitsune leans down and presses her entire body against Stiles. They both moan, quiet and broken, and Nogitsune takes Stiles' mouth in hers. The kiss, sharp and possessive and wild, is interrupted when Stiles throws his head back on the pillow in a mute cry, feeling Nogitsune crash into him, giving him delicious friction, and moving between the teen's thighs as if it were truly his place. He slowly thrust his pelvis forward, skin to skin. There are no barriers or walls left between them that dare to separate them, and Stiles whimpers desperately at the thought, at this unfairly pleasurable fact. Stiles gasps for the umpteenth time in the last hour, fingers cramping into Nogitsune's thighs and lower back. The spirit's body pressing him against the bed is cool to the touch, and it's such an overwhelming sensation that the teen barely notices the fox reaching for something lying on a shelf suspended above the bed before he starts moving again. He no longer has the strength or desire to protest and argue with himself when Nogitsune spreads his thighs wide and runs the tip of his tongue along the long strip on the underside of Stiles' cock. Instead of another emotional tossing and contradicting himself, he moans loudly and wriggles out with a suppressed sigh. Nogitsune giggles - the sound echoing the vibration on Stiles' cock - and pulls the head into her mouth, closing her lips over it with force and creating pressure that makes the teenager shriek. It only lasts a second, but it still makes him stagger, release tears of despair and moans of pleasure, surrender finally. The spirit shifts slightly, bites him gently on his protruding hipbone, and helps Stiles up to tuck a pillow under his lower back. A shuddering breath rushes out of the teen's lungs. The realization of what he's being prepared for sinks into his gut, making his muscles twitch in painful anticipation. When cool fingers coated in something slippery circle his rim, slow and deliberate, just spreading the moisture around, Stiles flinches. Sharp teeth contrasted with soft lips continue to leave small bruises on his thighs and the skin of his pelvis as Nogitsune wraps his fingers around Stiles' throbbing cock, stroking at an irritatingly leisurely pace while his other hand presses the teenager rather roughly against the mattress. Heat twists and wriggles at the base of his spine, flaring up especially strong each time Nogitsune presses against his sphincter, almost pushing inward but really only teasing. - Everything okay, foxy? - The fox wheezes, looking at him slyly. The way he's nestled there, between Stiles' thighs, is an image of pure sin and sex. The teen's lips quiver as he hears the question. Stiles swallows through the lump in his throat, then, once again overpowering himself, nods, somewhere in the back of his mind remembering reading once that if you're being raped and there's nothing you can do, you should relax and try to enjoy it. So-so advice, if you think about it, but it gives Stiles an excuse to enjoy what's happening with less remorse. Nogitsune smirks, the curve of his lips perfectly dirty and incredibly satisfied. Stiles has only a second, in which he manages to rest his heels against the mattress and clench the sheets in his fists before he whimpers at the sensation of fingers finally pushing inside. One at first, slowly, agonizingly slow, relentless and relentless all the way to his knuckles. The pressure is unfamiliar but welcome, triply intensifying the spiral of tension, heat and pleasure in his belly. Then the finger pulls back, almost all the way in, leaving only the very tip inside. Nogitsune repeats the motion a second, third, fourth time, while the other hand still strokes his cock, lazily and leisurely. Stiles blinks, trying to banish the veil from his eyes and, unable to resist, sits on his finger with more force, stretching himself harder and faster. A drop of sweat trickled down his temple. Stiles arched up, pulling away from the bed in a gut-wrenching attempt to stay still: up, into the hand encircling his cock, or down, into those long fingers that had made him open up for the first time. He feels Nogitsune's sharp smile against his thigh and makes a sound that is born somewhere deep in his throat and grows into a scream the moment the spirit's fingers clench and press with more force, knocking the air from his lungs. Stiles' legs instinctively clench, trying to close and hold that delicious pressure inside, but Nogitsune continues to hold him wide open, seemingly not even noticing the attempt. A hot blush spreads from his chest to the roots of his hair as Stiles is suddenly embarrassed by the sounds he makes time and time again. Moans, screams, sobs, whimpers… The teenager had never heard anything more vulgar before and it makes his skin blaze with heat. He hastily, almost convulsively releases his hand from the sheet he's clutched in, looking for some anchor in this madness, and tries to cover his mouth. However, Nogitsune immediately grabs his hand, clicking his tongue in frustration. - Don't even think about it, - he orders, squinting his eyes and holding Stiles' hand in place while his fingers continue to push into him, making him squirm and sob, - you're going to make all those beautiful sounds for me. Will you be a good boy for me, Stiles? - He reaches up, circling Stiles' lower lip with his thumb, and the teen spends all of his remaining, flimsy stamina on not wrapping his lips around the fox's fingers. All of this just isn't enough. - Yeah, yeah, okay, just… please, - Stiles almost sobs, and even he himself doesn't know what he's asking for more: to stop or to act faster and more decisively, - God… - Not quite,- Nogitsune grins, sliding lower, returning to the space between Stiles' thighs, - but close enough. And then all coherent thought, which was already woefully lacking, is gone, because the fox's mouth is around his cock. It's so hot and wet, you can feel the hint of teeth as he takes the full length and sucks. Stiles says his name - or what he thinks is a name, because is 'Nogitsune' even a name? - and the sound is as close to a plea as it's even possible to make. The teen barely realizes that one of his hands has slipped into Nogitsune's hair, but the vibrating growl that follows along the length of his cock almost makes him cum in the same second. He's been on the edge for so long now. Feverish, moaning and silently begging. Please, please, he's so close, so close... One hand clutches at Nogitsune's hair, the other crumples the sheets, and Stiles is ready to really beg. His body tenses as a third finger presses against the rim, steadily sinking inside, kneading and stretching. Nogitsune slides her mouth lazily over the head of his cock, penetrating the slit with her tongue just as the fingers find that very spot, rubbing and pressing. Stiles cries out when he finally manages to cum. An orgasm hits him, wave after wave. His muscles throb and burn and contract in the most blissful, dizzying way. Nogitsune strokes his head and whispers something comforting and encouraging as the orgasm slowly subsides. Stiles lets out a weak, exhausted moan and closes his eyes, breathing heavily. He seems to lose consciousness for a while, because when he opens his eyes the next time he feels his cock once again painfully hard and pressing against his stomach. Stiles lowers his gaze and sees Nogitsune licking his lips with a satisfied grin. He blushes when he realizes he's cum in his mouth, but the embarrassment is quickly forgotten when the fingers still working tirelessly inside him hit that very spot again. Shivering spikes of deep pleasure rise up his spine. Stiles no longer hesitates as he pulls Nogitsune's hair. He tries to grab the demon's shoulder and get up to do something, to not just be a passive participant who obediently accepts everything. Nogitsune looks impatient as he nullifies all of Stiles' attempts and rolls him back onto his back, meeting him in a hard, assertive kiss that tastes of semen and something sour that prickles his tongue... It reminds the teenager of the taste in his mouth after being electrocuted when he played with a faulty Christmas light as a child. - Do you want to stop, foxy? - The question is mocking, but Stiles finds no desire to snap at it. He only, undeterred, whimpers protestingly when Nogitsune takes her fingers out and breaks the kiss. - So impatient, - he reflects in a low growling tone, nibbling at the sharp line of Stiles' jaw, - so needy. I knew you were made just for me from the moment I saw you. Stiles shivers involuntarily, caught by Nogitsune's gaze as the spirit wraps a hand around his jaw and lets his eyes roam over his body. The gaze is too hungry, too tender, too attentive and hot for the teen to handle. Nogitsune rests her elbow next to Stiles' head and runs her hand down his body in one long, sensual motion. Squeezing his throat, stroking his collarbones, circling the nipple next to where his bite is painted and finally reaching Stiles' hips. Nogitsune settles between the teen's legs again and wraps his arms around them, pressing his forearms against the back of his thighs, kneading his buttocks for a few seconds and leaning closer, tighter. He presses the head of his cock against Stiles' throbbing sphincter and pushes. Stiles' jaw drops back, and Nogitsune's growl fades against what he's feeling. The overpowering, slightly raw sensation of being fully exposed. The cock advances inward agonizingly slow and scalding, stretching until it borders on pain, which causes a surge of pleasure and forces a moan from his ajar lips. Nogitsune pushes mercilessly with jagged, short thrusts of her hips that wrench quiet sounds out of Stiles and bring stinging tears to his eyes. They both breathe heavily as the fox's hips finally press tightly against his buttocks. Nogitsune's body freezes with tension, his fingers digging into Stiles' thigh with such force that the teenager is sure it will leave bruises. It scares him a little to think that he wouldn't mind leaving them behind. He exhales convulsively and moves his hands to Nogitsune's back as the spirit pitches forward and begins to nibble on his jaw and throat while rocking his hips slightly. Quiet moans are heard from both sides. Stiles' eyes close and for a second he thinks only of what is happening in that moment, not distracted by doubts. Stiles is acutely aware of the warmth of Nogitsune's body above him and the hot, throbbing cock inside him, the clawing teeth and soft lips on his skin, the slight shivering of his spirit muscles, the invisible halo of power that surrounds the fox and the barely contained, insatiable hunger in the half-closed eyes. Stiles shudders as he takes it all in, inhales the heavy, heady scent of lust and sex, and then just lets it go. Relaxes, surrendering himself completely to Nogitsune. His whole body is soft and supple and ready: a leg slung over Nogitsune's hip, palms on the spirit's back, spine arching, pushing him upward, toward the fox, throat exposed, trusting and so naive. Nogitsune really growls, licking Stiles's already reddened lips and looking as if he can't help the desire flooding him to the brim. And Stiles responds willingly, with unexpected enthusiasm, because he can no longer resist the lust that is eating him up inside, can no longer fight the growing pleasure. Neither of them can get enough of each other, even as Stiles's lips become swollen, tender and erased. Stiles gets lost in the kisses and doesn't even notice at first as the pressure inside him begins to lessen, his cock sliding back almost all the way, almost slipping out and leaving only the head inside. He whimpers at the loss, to which Nogitsune smiles gently, almost lovingly, and thrusts her hips forward, sinking inside in one motion, and Stiles' world tilts on its axis. The pace the fox sets is rough and hard, and it shakes Stiles's bones in the craziest, most dizzying way possible, robbing him of his ability to think, to touch, to see. Nogitsune thrusts into him with firm purposefulness. Every twist and thrust of his hips is deliberate and marked by the slap of skin against skin. For the first few stunning moments, Stiles is only able to try to stay afloat. His cock slams into him, bypassing the feeble resistance of his stretched muscles. And it's sweet, it feels good, but it's not enough... Stiles pulls Nogitsune's head closer and presses his lips to his open lips with his own in a kind of kiss. He makes a faint, thin sound, unable to speak coherently, and the fox's answering growl vibrates against his lips, scorching hot. But Nogitsune seems to understand him, realizes it's not enough. He leisurely, carefully changes position, pulling one knee higher on the bed, closer to Stiles' thigh. And that changes the angle of penetration, giving Nogitsune more freedom and space: he thrusts into Stiles a little harder, a little faster. It all but makes Stiles lose the last bits of his fogged, already shattered mind. Another push from Nogitsune allows him to hook his shin on the fox's thigh, resting his heel more securely on the bed. And in that position, Stiles pushes himself up, impaling himself on Nogitsune's cock. Stiles cries out, sensations rushing through his entire body, and Nogitsune, for the first time not holding back, moans loudly. They freeze, just for a split second. Nogitsune giggles - a really fun giggle - and quickens his pace so much that Stiles can do nothing but cling to the fox and the bed. One hand clings to the pillow and the other digs into Nogitsune's back, leaving a few scratches that immediately heal without anyone noticing. Moans, sighs, and suppressed whimpers come out of the teenager's mouth. Nogitsune had been rough and frankly stiff before, but now he literally shoves Stiles into the mattress, smiling sharply and grimly. - You still want to tell me "no", foxy? - he cooed at one point, on the verge of mocking, hard thrusts tearing moan after moan from Stiles' parched throat. Stiles arches his back, trying desperately not to lose his balance and keep up with Nogitsune's rapid pace. He is simply unable to formulate a response. The slap of Nogitsune's hips against his ass is sharp and dirty, and it bounces off the walls, intoxicating and showing just how swaggering and vulgar it all is. Stiles would burn with embarrassment if he wasn't already burning with pleasure twisting in his lower abdomen. Nogitsune, as if in mockery, on the contrary, remains collected, maintains his frenzy-inducing angle: every thrust of his hips, every movement of his cock makes Stiles squirm and moan, turns him into a mess, hungry for just one thing... Stiles doesn't even notice his orgasm coming until Nogitsune runs her knuckles over his straining cock. And he almost cums, but Nogitsune stops him, squeezing him sharply at the base and making him gasp with sobs. Eyes wet with unshed tears, Stiles stings and shivers when Nogitsune suddenly slows down; every muscle in his body quivers with short, weak and unsatisfying thrusts. Nogitsune catches his lips, pulling him into a soft kiss, as if trying to apologize with this gentle gesture, and then removes her hand from his cock, running her tongue over his lips. - There's no need to rush, - he rebuked, continuing the slow, deliberate movements of his hips, the long, deep thrusts that seemed to reach to Stiles' core. His fingers encircled the teen's jaw, his thumb pressed against his parted lips, and Nogitsune forced Stiles to meet his gaze, forced him to see the fox shamelessly, without concealment or embarrassment, watching Stiles fall, watching him surrender. - You'll only cum when I let you. You'll cum when I come inside you. Do you understand? The spirit's dark eyes glow with a silver radiance deep within the iris, and Stiles nods brokenly, trying to blink away the fog obstructing his vision. Nogitsune's words refuse to make sense in the haze of pure desire, and Stiles is so close, but he can't cum, he's not allowed to. This is already becoming too all-encompassing. The pleasure wriggling in his lower belly is too delicious, too hot, but Stiles still can't get enough, wants more. He gasps, clawing at Nogitsune's back and somehow hoping to leave scratches that won't heal in the next minute. Nogitsune leans closer, runs his nose along the line of Stiles' neck. His hips move slowly, deeply and languidly - as if they have all the time in the world. Fox's hands move downward, from Stiles' buttocks to the back of his knees, and press, shifting him lower. Stiles' hips tilt, Nogitsune's thrusts shift, and suddenly hot pleasure surges through all of Stiles' muscles with renewed vigor, bringing another tear to his eye. The teen gulped air with his mouth, squirming. He was so disoriented, he couldn't figure out which direction he should go to thrust even harder, to catch the pace and double the already mind-blowing pleasure. - Do you like it, Styles? - Nogitsune's low voice rumbled in his ears, his eyes half-closed, watching intently and registering the slightest change in Stiles's face. - Do you like the fact that I'm fucking you, fully exposed on my cock? Nogitsune leans in to bite down on Stiles' lip, hard enough to make it bleed. The fox pulls her in, feeling an unprecedented oneness with another living being. His hot breath burns against Stiles' moist mouth as he presses their noses against each other, traveling his lips over his jaw, his cheek. His sharp gaze never leaves the teen's face as he moans and trembles, hungry for more. Nogitsune lets out a low growl and Stiles almost sobs, having been on the edge of orgasm for so long that his entire body shudders. Nogitsune licks his open lips. The kiss is messy and sloppy, a mixture of tongue, lip and teeth movements. - You want to cum, foxy, don't you? - Yes, yes, please,- his voice sounds so broken, so hoarse, and like he needs it more than anything in the world, but he doesn't care. Nogitsune growls again, deep and low and somehow possessive, thrusting into Stiles with such force that the teen's body shifts on the bed. He fucks him into the mattress with rough, deep, hard thrusts at such a damn good pace that Stiles's senses go into a frenzy, into uncontrollable chaos, but it's still not enough. He thrusts on his cock, moving toward Nogitsune, with only one goal in mind: to feel. To feel the hot, throbbing cock sliding against his walls and his hips hitting another man's thighs with a wet, slutty pop. The sensations are completely obscured. Stiles doesn't even notice the tears streaming down his cheeks. Hands claw at Nogitsune's back and shoulders, unbeknownst to the teen. He's so close it's becoming unbearable. Nogitsune kisses him, slowly, deeply, and so promisingly that everything else ceases to exist for that blissful moment. - You're mine, Stiles,- the fox whispers feverishly, promise pressing softly against Stiles' sluggish lips. The words are lost in their mingled breath. - Mine. - Yes. - he shivers, hugging Nogitsune tightly, snuggling against his hard, sweaty body. The fox growls softly through his teeth and Stiles instinctively arches up, exposing the long line of his neck. He flinches, swallowing hard when Nogitsune's sharp teeth scrape the curve between his throat and shoulder. - Yours. Nogitsune rumbles contentedly, moaning softly, and spreading Stiles' ass with his hands, pushes even deeper, even though it seemed impossible. Nogitsune cum inside with a low groan and the teen's entire body twitches, sobs sticking in his throat. Nogitsune's teeth sink into his neck and Stiles' vision goes white. It's ecstasy and agony. Pain, pleasure - such a pure, vivid, fervent and wild sensation. Stiles freezes, frozen with tension for a split second, listening to his senses before he falls back, sinking into the softness of the bed. His muscles quiver, throbbing and contracting every now and then. Something deep inside him, something that has been waiting for this moment for a long time, something that has been beating and writhing, finally shatters. Splits completely, leaving sharp shards digging into his gut, only to come back together again. But now it's stronger than before, it's something fierce and all-encompassing. Stiles doesn't fully come to his senses soon enough. He's still shaking, with tears on his slick lashes and his cum drying on his stomach. The teen shifts slightly and suddenly realizes clearly that Nogitsune is still inside. The fox pushes lazily into him, sucking on the skin on his neck, paying special attention to the mark he placed during his orgasm. Goosebumps crawl up Stiles' back as he realizes he's not disgusted, not feeling anything but bliss, exhaustion, and the desire to do it again sometime another time or two. Or an infinite number of times. The air is saturated with the distinctive smell of sex, causing Stiles to duck into his pillow with a quiet groan. He doesn't even know what to feel. He's been raped, and he liked it. - Back in the world of the living yet, foxy? - Giggles Nogitsune, nibbling at the skin on his scruff. - Go to the Devil, - Stiles muttered tiredly, shuddering at the slightest movement of his cock inside, grazing the sensitive walls. Deciding to ignore the fact that it didn't exactly start out consensual, Stiles turns his head and rests his nose against Nogitsune's neck, taking a deep breath and calming down. Nogitsune grins and slowly withdraws from him. His cock is half hard, but Nogitsune ignores it, turning Stiles around to face him completely. He presses him closer, tighter, resting his chin on his head and wrapping a strong arm around his shoulders. Stiles blushes as Nogitsune's cum begins to leak out of him in a thin trickle, and he hides his face against the fox's chest, wrapping his arms around his torso. He feels good for some reason, despite being fucked without his consent. The bond that formed between them that night as the scars on his arms and neck healed sings. It seems much stronger and deeper than before. Stiles lazily asks himself if it's even possible to break it now that it's filled with playful contentment, pleasure and satiation, but what's most shocking is happiness. A quiet, disbelieving and soft sound escapes Stiles' throat as he fully feels what their bond is filled with. Nogitsune is happy. It's not smugness or satisfaction at a job well done or gloating, no. It's pure, unadulterated happiness and a slight unease, a sense of hesitation. As if the fox isn't sure how Stiles will react when he fully comes to his senses. The teen covers his eyes, not knowing what he should do for the first second. He hadn't been asked, even forced, but in fact, he'd never really minded for real. He didn't want to admit that he wanted an evil (so evil?) spirit whose body looked a lot like Stiles', but he actually wanted it. And he liked it. He lifts his head and looks at Nogitsune's calm looking face for a second before pressing his lips to his. He shivers slightly as they ache and tingle from Nogitsune's many bites and kisses, but he resolutely deepens the kiss, feeling the fox freeze for a moment. That moment of stupor passes and the spirit presses his lips together demandingly, cupping his chin with one hand and placing the other on the back of his head, preventing him from pulling away before too long. They kiss for what seems like an eternity. Slow and unhurried, just enjoying the light pressure, the soft slip of skin, the moist heat, and just each other. When they part, Stiles' muscles feel like jelly and his eyes threaten to close at any second, but he manfully keeps them open. Nogitsune breaks the embrace to Stiles' great bewilderment - and regret - but comes back in a second, clutching his shirt in his hand that was lying on the floor. He leisurely wipes the cum off Stiles' stomach and chest, scrubbing it clean. His hand lightly strokes the relaxed muscles, and Stiles finally makes up his mind: - You won't force me anymore,- it sounds like a warning, like a threat, like a promise. Nogitsune freezes for a moment, his hand stopping. He scrutinizes Stiles' face with a serious expression and nods slowly. The teen relaxes, closing his eyes and snuggling closer to the fox. Nogitsune finishes wiping his chest and tosses his dirty shirt aside. He gently strokes Stiles' hair, kisses his forehead softly in what seems to be the most intimate of all the things they've done today, and whispers into the young man's already asleep ear, putting strength into the words, a promise he has no intention of breaking: - I won't.