Blood and Bond

The sterile muzziness of the hospital began to wear off as Stiles paced outside his father's room. The weight of the world settled heavily on his shoulders, each moment stretching like taffy. He could still feel the warmth of Damon's lips on his, the taste of the kiss lingering like smoke from a fire long extinguished. But that comfort was fleeting, crushed beneath the weight of an unbearable revelation: his father was in danger. 

The flicker of worry ignited into a blazing inferno when Stiles recalled the earlier phone call with Melissa—the frayed edges of her voice that echoed warnings he couldn't yet comprehend.

The phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him back into the swelling tide of reality. He fished it out, recognizing the number without a moment's hesitation: Klaus Mikaelson. The name itself dredged up a tempest of anxious fury. Stiles reluctantly answered.

"Stiles," Klaus's voice dripped with unsettling calmness, yet Stiles felt the animosity pulsing through the line. "I hear your father is… indisposed. A shame, really."

Stiles clenched his teeth, his knuckles white around the phone. "You sent someone after him, didn't you? You thought your little game wouldn't have consequences?"

Klaus's laughter resounded like thunder in the silence, each chuckle igniting a firestorm within Stiles. "Oh, please. Noah wasn't the target. You and your precious little pack paint a target on your backs daily. You should be thankful it was so… light-hearted."

"Light-hearted?" Stiles spat, rage boiling within him. "You put not only my dad's life at risk but Damon's too. You think I'm going to let that slide?"

The silence on the other end was palpable. Stiles took a breath, feeling the weight of his resolve crystallizing. "I know exactly where you are, Klaus. I have a little address in mind: 1214 Arboretum Lane. I'll find you, and I'll make sure you pay for every second of fear you've caused."

"Threatening me, Stiles? What would that achieve?" Klaus's tone shifted slightly, curiosity mingling with arrogance.

Stiles's pulse raced, a tumult of emotions bleeding into his words. "I'll torture you until you wish for death. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

But before Klaus could retaliate with his own brand of malice, the door creaked open behind Stiles, and Damon walked in, his expression unyielding. Stiles could feel his ghoul side clawing to the surface, the rage threatening to overwhelm him. 

"Stiles, hang up," Damon commanded, his presence grounding as he closed the distance between them. "We can't give him any more power."

"Damon, he—"

"Now," Damon said, sharper than the crack of lightning. Stiles felt a magnetic pull from him, steady and reassuring. He hung up with a trembling hand, the fire within him still raging as he turned to face his partner, whose unwavering gaze pierced through the clouds of anger surrounding Stiles.

"You really want to do this now?" Stiles said, his voice a low rumble as he tried to suppress the tempest inside.

"Not with your head spinning like this," Damon replied, stepping closer, his warmth igniting the air between them. "We can't let him win by losing control. Let's redirect some of that anger. Come with me."

With fierce determination, Damon guided Stiles away from the cold clinical atmosphere of the hospital, out into the enveloping darkness of the night. 

They drove in silence, the tension crackling between them as they arrived at the private woods—their battleground against Klaus's forces. Stiles felt a familiar fury bubbling inside, recalling the chaos they once faced here.

Once out of the car, the moon hung ominously overhead, illuminating the remnants of their battle: remnants of fallen witch and vampire alike, strewn across the forest floor like discarded puppets. Stiles's heart raced; he could almost taste the sweetness of vengeance on his tongue.

"Let it out, Stiles," Damon urged, his voice a velvet whisper. "You're stronger than him. You can control it. Just focus."

Fueled with a surge of supernatural energy, Stiles stepped into the clearing, determination coursing through him. 

He approached the scattered bodies of the fallen—the very witches and vampires Klaus had sent. As he knelt beside one, he could feel the ghoul's side surging ferociously. 

He gripped the vampire by the collar, rage morphing into execution as he tore through flesh and sinew, relishing the visceral transformation of his emotions into action. Blood dripped from his hands, sticky and hot, but his intent was clear. He wasn't merely hurting—they would suffer for their transgressions.

When he finished, he piled the remains together, a macabre testament to Klaus's recklessness. Each dismembered body part was a message, an ominous warning, as he stuffed the visceral remains into a box with deliberate accuracy—an offering for the merciless vampire.

"Stiles!" Damon's voice sliced through him like a knife. "It's enough! We have to find a way to turn this around, not get buried in it!"

Stiles turned, fury blazing in his chest. "Isn't that what he wanted? To see us fall apart?" He paused, breathing heavily. "I won't stand by while he hurts anyone else."

Understanding flashed across Damon's face. "I know what you're feeling. Let me help you release this tension."

Before Stiles could respond, Damon's lips captured his, fervent and undeterred. The kiss was a wildfire, igniting passions that smoldered beneath Stiles's rage. 

This wasn't just catharsis; it was solace found within the storm, a reminder of everything worth protecting.

Damon's hands roamed Stiles's body, igniting sparks along his skin where heat met cool air. Stiles melted into him, the weight of their burdens easing as they sought refuge in each other. 

He could feel the siren within him rising, urging him to entwine their souls even further, to drown out everything but the sweet music of their bodies colliding.

With deft precision, Damon led Stiles deeper into the woods until they were enveloped by the shadows, the remnants of the past behind them. Stiles lifted Damon's shirt, their breaths mingling as their bodies met with urgency, every caress igniting ripples of longing that coursed through them.

"Tell me you're okay," Damon whispered against Stiles's mouth, grounding him as they began to sway into the depths of intimacy. 

"I'm okay," Stiles breathed, pulling Damon even closer, their foreheads touching as they locked eyes.

"But I want this. I want you."

They stumbled backward until they reached the ground, a swirling tide of leaves cradling them. The nature of their urgency melded together, and time ceased as they lost themselves in one another, Stiles claiming Damon as fiercely as he had claimed the dead.

In the darkness, with no witness but the whispering trees, they became each other's sanctuary. Each kiss and caress felt like a new promise, a thread weaving them tighter against Klaus's threats.

Stiles could build up from the ashes, letting their passion consume him, sharing this intimacy like a weapon against the darkness creeping ever closer in their lives.

They stirred against one another, limbs entangled, pushing and pulling, becoming desire and need.

With every breath mingled, Stiles felt the pieces of the world shift, grounding him against the chaotic fears that had taken root.

As the night deepened around them, the world outside faded until it was nothing more than a distant murmur. Stiles and Damon lost themselves in the warm cocoon they had spun, the forest becoming their sanctuary where nothing else mattered but the fire burning between their bodies. 

With every breath, Stiles felt Damon draw him deeper into a realm of sensation. Cupping Damon's face in his hands, Stiles pulled him into a feverish kiss, their mouths colliding with a desperate hunger that threatened to consume them both. He explored Damon's mouth eagerly, mingling their hunger with soft sighs and shuddering breaths that echoed only within the embrace of the night.

Damon's hands slid down Stiles's sides, feeling the muscles tense beneath his fingers, igniting every nerve ending. Fingers tangled in dark hair, pulling Damon closer as Stiles pressed their bodies together, feeling the heat radiating off them like a furnace. 

Their chests heaved as they caught their breaths, chest to chest, heartbeats aligning in a wild rhythm.

"Stiles," Damon whispered between kisses, pushing his hips forward to grind against Stiles. The friction sent a spark of pleasure coursing through him, eliciting a shattered gasp. "I need you. I want you."

"Then take me," Stiles breathed, voice thick with desire as he tugged at Damon's shirt, yanking it off to expose the bare skin beneath. Stiles traced kisses down Damon's neck, savoring the taste of his skin, the slightest of moans escaping Damon's lips spurring him on. 

He ventured lower, sucking gently on the delicious dip of Damon's collarbone before continuing down to his chest, where he left a trail of kisses, relishing the way Damon's body reacted to every touch.

Damon groaned and threaded his fingers through Stiles's hair, guiding him lower. "You have no idea what you do to me."

The acknowledgment lit a fire in Stiles, and he loved the way his partner's body responded. He settled between Damon's legs, his hands exploring the taut muscles, fingers brushing up the sides of his thighs, eliciting tremors and soft gasps from Damon. 

Stiles felt himself grow hard with every sigh, every shudder, every little gasp that escaped Damon's lips—in a world of chaos, this was their dominion.

With a wicked glint in his eye, Stiles looked up at Damon, capturing his gaze with a seductive smirk. "Just let go." He planted a deep kiss on Damon's hip bone, teasing the edges of Damon's waistband, making Damon's breath hitch. 

"Stiles…" Damon warned, but there was a tremble beneath it. Stiles grinned wickedly, feeling daring and bold as he tugged the waistband down, exposing Damon's hard length. Stiles's mouth watered at the sight, and before he could talk himself out of it, he took Damon's cock into his mouth. 

The taste and texture flooded him with pleasure, as though he could feel Damon vibrating against his tongue.

"Fuck," Damon gasped, his body arching instinctively toward the heat enveloping him. Stiles took him deeper, swirling his tongue around the head, the thrill of Damon's pleasure spurring him on. 

He could barely contain the moans rumbling from his own throat as he indulged in this intimate act—Damon, his mate, completely at his mercy. 

As Stiles tasted every inch, Damon tangled his fingers harder in Stiles's hair, guiding him as he thrust forward slowly, sherbet-like pleasure exploding within Stiles, leaving him breathless.

"Stiles, you feel incredible," Damon moaned. "You're so damn perfect."

Stiles increased the pressure, sinking back down and hollowing his cheeks with the effort. He loved this, the way Damon responded to him—every twitch, every gasp fueled his need to give more. The soft wetness, the heat, and the frantic rhythm built until he could feel Damon nearing the edge, his breathing growing ragged and his body shaking beneath Stiles's ministrations.

"Stiles, I'm—" Damon warned, but Stiles only sped up, his determination fueled by Damon's cries of ecstasy. He loved the way Damon owned him as much as he owned Damon, reveling in this exchange of pleasure.

With a final thrust, Damon spilled into Stiles's mouth, his world igniting in an explosion of stars and euphoric bliss, contradicting perfectly against the darkened canvas of the woods. Stiles swallowed every drop, his own desire intensifying at the rawness of Damon's release. 

When Damon finally came down from his high, he pulled Stiles up to him, a glimmer in his eye that spoke of mischief and desire. "Your turn." The words were a guttural promise, filled with urgency as Damon kissed Stiles, tasting himself on those eager lips. 

Stiles felt lust surge anew, storms and shadows mixing endlessly. With swift movement, Stiles flipped their positions, pressing Damon back into the leaf litter, grinding against him to steady his aching need. 

"I want you," he panted, claiming Damon's lips once more, his hands exploring Damon's body, hovering tantalizingly over the places he ached to fill.

The dynamics of their consuming passion shifted, bodies melding and twisting as Damon thrust against him, their breaths mingling, filling the forest with the sound of fervor. 

With every thrust against Damon's hardness, every slow roll of their hips, Stiles felt the intensity build, coiling tightly within until he could barely breathe.

"Please," he gasped, losing himself in the warmth of their intimacy, the glorious unity that transcended their struggles. "I need you… now."

Damon gave a breathless chuckle, mirth shimmering within the raw desire, and with a flip of energy and philosophy, he completed the promise. "Then let's do this right," he murmured, capturing Stiles's hands above his head and kissing him deeply.

In that moonlit clearing, they orchestrated a world where everything fell away but the rhythm of their bodies, the overwhelming release of love and trust pouring into each touch as they guided each other into a euphoric climax. 

As they found their release—voices mingling in the wilderness—a chorus resonated deep within them, both realizing they would never have to face Klaus alone. 

They fell onto the cool earth in a tangled mess of limbs, breaths mingling as they relished the silence enveloping them, starlight protecting their newfound sanctuary, solidifying their resolve against the darkness closing in.