Who: Derek and Stiles Where: Derek's house When: February 15th, evening Warning: As always, noncon
For five days now, Stiles had eaten the food Derek made, drank the water he gave him, and came out every afternoon to take care of the pup. All without a single word. Derek could see the positives in this: at least Stiles wasn't physically stagnating. The pup was getting bigger every day and starting to move more, which meant Stiles had to chase her more. She was interacting more with the other wolf dogs, which meant Stiles had to move more and think more about his own safety, had to be careful.
Derek was always there to watch and had stepped in once or twice when the dogs were getting to rough with the pup and Stiles. Still, Stiles never said a word. And Derek's displeasure was growing. He still wanted Stiles. Yet Stiles had done nothing wrong since the escape.
Like a lightbulb, Derek was cleaning up from their dinner when it popped into his head: punishments were designed for when Stiles misbehaved, but Stiles was still Derek's slave. Derek could whatever he wanted with Stiles.
And for nearly two weeks now, Derek had watched Stiles take care of the puppy, watched him eat, and most awful of all, had watched Stiles take the brief, five minute showers Derek allowed every few days. Enough was enough.
Even though they'd only finished dinner a half hour earlier, he strode in Stiles' room with no warning. "Get up," he said in an even voice. "And follow me."