Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/479003.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Sheriff_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, Graphic_Fingering, Barebacking, Knotting, D/s_elements, Fluff,
      Romance, Possibility_for_future_MPreg, Humor, PWP
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-06 Words: 4260
****** As Long as It's Not Pancakes ******
by brisingrdraumar
Summary
     Stiles and Derek have a routine.
Notes
     Well. This has next to zero redeeming qualities. Actually Sheriff
     might be the only one. This is basically just gratuitous smut. But
     look, there's fluff! Awwww.
     Written for my brain-twin, Jadecorpsebride. So, blame her for all the
     dirty, filthy, porny stuff.
See the end of the work for more notes
It’s a muggy mid-summer night.  A storm is brewing, stirring up the clouds to
the west of the Stilinski household, making the air inside Stiles’ room thick
with moisture. The Sheriff had the graveyard shift. Ordinarily a sheriff
wouldn’t have to work such extreme hours, but the eldest Stilinski man refused
to assign shifts to others that he wouldn’t work himself.  He’s a great guy
like that: looking out for his employees, and his town; always watching and
making sure everyone was taken care of. There are a few things, however, that
escape Sheriff Stilinski’s notice; and one of them just crawled through his
only son’s window.
Derek didn’t make much noise as he crept toward Stiles’ bed, toeing off his
boots and socks, but the teenager was ready for him anyway. The boys had a
long-standing agreement: with every graveyard shift the Sheriff took, Derek
would take a shift with Stiles.  Stiles hummed lowly when he felt Derek
nuzzling the base of his neck, taking a moment to lie down and just snuffle
softly at the fine hairs there; breathing deep. 
“You gonna sniff me all night?” the words muffled into the pillow with
comfortable lassitude as Stiles shifts to the side, letting Derek nose deeper
into the crook of his neck.
“I can,” Derek said flatly, which would have annoying if Stiles couldn’t feel
the hot press of the werewolf’s cock against his thigh.
Stiles chuckled, “Oh, mm’kay. You sniff then, Lassie. I’ll do the rest myself,”
rolling so that his back was to Derek, he moves to drag a hand down to the
front of his oversized sleep pants, already tented with the few breathy inhales
from his bedmate.
Derek catches Stiles’ wandering hand with a growl before it would make contact
with his erection. He shoves the teen back onto his front, laying himself along
Stiles’ back and letting the boy bear his full weight, “Oh, you’re just begging
for it, aren’t you? Back-talking me, touching what’s mine.”
Stiles could barely get enough breath to answer, but he managed to draw out a
whine, “Yeah-yes. Yes, begging. No touching. Didn’t touch. Wasn’t gonna. Derek,
I didn’t- I wasn’t gonna,” the thin hips beneath his tremble and jerk with
Stiles’ hopelessly suppressed effort to gyrate up into him. Derek presses them
harder into the mattress, stilling the tiny aborted movements completely.
Lifting up a bit to nudge Stiles’ thighs apart with his knees, Derek spreads
him open, pushing his legs so far apart that his knees bent and his hips tilted
backward, toward the older man.  Derek settles himself against Stiles once
again, and starts a slow and dirty grind, pushing the teenager hard into the
mattress once again.
Stiles is falling deep into the sensations being wrung from him, and he
babbles, “Derek, Derek let me up. I gotta, let me take them off. C’mon, Derek.
Wanna feel you,” his hands scrabbled at the waistband of his sleep pants,
cursing himself for wearing them in the first place, when he knew Derek was
coming over tonight.  “Derek, please!”
The alpha pulls his hips away with a snarl, and Stiles surges up on his hand
and knees, wanting to get his pants off as quickly as possible. He stops when a
large hand plants itself in between his shoulder blades and forces him to bury
his face in the pillow again. He keens and fumbles with the drawstring anyway.
Derek’s growl reverberates through the small room and Stiles groans into his
pillow, hands falling limp at his sides, as he feels Derek rip his baggy
flannels at the seam between his cheeks, tearing through even the waistband,
bearing his naked skin to the warm air.
Derek takes a moment to grab and pull at the flesh suddenly available to him.
Spreading Stiles open and spanking his cheeks lightly, just enough to make them
blush a rosy pink. He tucks his knees a little under those thighs, and presses
his chest into Stiles’ back to whisper into his ear, “You be good, baby. You be
good, and I’m gonna take you apart. I’m gonna devouryou. You want that? You
want me to eat you all up?” He rolls his hips against Stiles’ ass, letting the
rough denim of his pants scratch at the tender skin there, “You gonna be good
so I can get my tongue up inside you? Eat you from the inside out. Slick you up
nice and good, baby? You want that?”
Sobs and groans leave his lips unchecked as Stiles clutches his hands in the
bed sheets, not daring to tug at his cock like he wants to, “Yes, yesyesyesyes,
Derek! YES! YES, I’LL BE GOOD. I want that, I want that so bad, Derek. Please,
please, Derek. Give it to me, I’m good, I’ll be good. Give it to me, I want
it!” His breath hitches and he undulates under Derek, making sure not to rub
his cock on the bed.
“You are, aren’t you?” Derek drags his hand down Stiles’ sides, “You’re a good
boy. Look at you being so good,” and he leaves nips and kisses along the
teenager’s shoulders, sucking marks just below where his shirts would ride.
Stiles tries to calm a little at the soothing motions of Derek’s hands on him,
“Yeah, yeah I’m a good boy,” he pants, looking over his left shoulder at Derek,
face flushed, eyes wide and moist, dazed and pleading.
Derek wraps his right hand around Stiles’ forehead from the side, pulling the
boy back and baring his throat, turning his face so Derek can feed at Stiles’
mouth. Biting and sucking kisses into those pink lips, grazing his teeth
against that pink tongue.
He pulls back, using both hands to remind Stiles to keep his shoulders pressed
firmly to the bed. He slides down, reaching to tilt the teenager’s hips and
spread him wide. He lays filthy kisses there, open presses of lips, mouth
dragging over Stiles’ hole, kissing it like he would a mouth. It quivers and
blooms like it’s kissing him back, tiny puckers moving in time with Stiles’
heartbeat, and Derek can’t help but push the flat of his tongue against that
rhythm and heat. Rubbing up and down and in small circles, he sucks hard once
at the rim and seals his mouth around the hole, spearing his tongue into boy
beneath him. Stiles jolts and whimpers, knuckles white and straining against
the sheets he has pulled tight. Derek pays no mind to the noises going on above
him on the bed, and opens his jaws wide, teeth making marks in the soft flesh,
and thrusts his tongue in as far as it will go, obscenely writhing and furling
inside his boy.
Stiles whimpers and mewls, his hips aching with the strain it takes to hold
them still, shoulders heaving with his breaths and his thighs trembling. Derek
can’t control himself; he’s completely lost in Stiles; in his taste and the
noises he makes. He pulls back with a groan, running his fingernails up Stiles’
spine and back down his sides.
The teenager cries out, his breath hitching as he begs, “No! Nonononono! No,
Derek, please. Please Derek!”
The older man reaches up, soothing Stiles with his hands in his hair, speaking
softly into his ear, “Shhhh, I’ve got you, baby. You’re so good. I’m gonna take
care of you,” Derek pulls at the hem of his shirt, dragging it up under his
arms so he can press his chest into Stiles’ back, skin to skin. He reaches to
the side of the bed, shoving his hand underneath the mattress to find the lube
and condoms they’ve got hidden there. Pulling back, he sets the lube down on
the bed and lays the foil package on Stiles’ lower back, tickling the skin
there with the edges.
Feeling the packet dragging over his skin, and knowing what it means Stiles
moans, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back and hips toward
Derek, “Shhh, soon. So soon. Gotta open you up, first. You’ve been so good.
Such a good boy. You should be rewarded. Do you want that?” Stiles is so gone
in his own body that he could only nod, and make breathy exhalations of assent,
“I’m gonna stretch you open, you go ahead and ride me. You tell me when you’re
ready. I’ll start as soon as you say you are.”
Derek slicks up his fingers, quickly pressing two into the boy’s hole. Stiles
thrusts back, dipping and twisting his hips to get Derek’s fingers to brush
against his prostate, but Derek avoids it, teasing the teenager into a frenzy.
“Need more! Derek, I need more, please, please more!” Derek just chuckles and
adds a third finger, still avoiding the bundle of nerves inside his boy.
“Are you ready now? You want me in you?” Derek twists his hand, eyes unable to
move from where his fingers are rapidly disappearing inside Stiles. He brings
his other hand up to where his nipples are showing from just underneath the
bottom of his rucked up shirt, flicking and pulling at one then the other,
raking his nails across his own chest.
Stiles answers, still rocking back as much as he can with his shoulders and
face still flat against the bed, “Mmmhmm, yeah. Yeah I’m ready. I need you,
Derek. Please, I need you!”
Derek hushes him, dropping a kiss at the top of his tailbone, biting one of his
cheeks, leaving a small welt. Withdrawing his fingers slowly, he drags the tips
around and over Stiles’ prostate. Stiles whines, half in protest, and Derek
smirks. He hooks his fingers against the ring of muscle and brings his thumb up
to grip the rim, tugging it sharply once, reveling in the startled cry and
choked sob. 
“YES! Yesyesyesyes, oh god, yes, that. More of that!”  Stiles comes up on his
hands then, using the new leverage to thrust back into Derek, body demanding.
Derek turns his hand; fingers still inside and thumb still resting on the outer
skin, facing his palm upward to repeat the tug on Stiles’ rim on the opposite
edge. Stiles keens, overwhelmed with the physical sensations, tears leaking and
dropping onto his pillow, “Please, please now. I can’t take it! I’m ready, I’m
ready!”
Derek growls, removing his fingers completely and snatching up the condom
packet, still stuck to Stiles’ lower back with sweat, “Hold yourself open for
me,” he orders as he moves one hand to tear at his button and zipper. The other
he brings to his mouth to rip open the foil packet. Shoving his jeans to mid-
thigh, he gives one last smack to the top of one of Stiles’ cheeks. He flips
the cap on the lube, opening it back up to smear a bit on his cock before
pinching the tip of the condom and rolling it on. Slicking the rubber, he grips
the base of his erection, tapping it a few times against Stiles’ swollen and
soft hole.  Teasing his boy just a little more.
Before he enters the pliant body beneath him, Derek reaches around to Stiles’
front to grip the ragtag remains of the boy’s sleep pants and shreds, splitting
it fully in two, exposing the boy’s cock. The rest of the tattered plaid
flannel slouches around his legs. Derek leans forward, chest resting against
Stiles’ back, and thrusts into his boy, not stopping until he can feel Stiles’
rim rest against the curls at the base of his cock, “Good, that’s so good. You
can let go now, baby. I’ve got you,” and he moves the teenager’s hands from
where they were holding his cheeks open for Derek down to the bed.
The older man rests his face next to Stiles’, bringing one hand to palm the
back of the boy’s head to turn him and bite at those puffy and abused lips. His
other hand tightly gripping one pale hip, Derek thrusts slow and hard, angling
to catch that spot deep inside.  They grind, Derek’s jeans around his thighs
and scratching at Stiles’ skin, their noises a symphony of moans, grunts, and
groans.
The slow and filthy foreplay has nearly robbed them of their control (and will)
to last, and both are now precariously close. Derek grabs at his dick, fingers
in a ring just above the base and against the boy’s skin moving through both
his fist and Stiles hole. Stiles, feeling his hand there, moans out a protest,
“Derek, give it to me. Give it, I want it! FUCK, give it to me Derek! Please!”
The alpha huffs, biting out a groan, “I am. So hard, baby.”
“NO! Nononono-NO! Knot me, Derek! Please!” Stiles is sobbing now, his hips
snapping back to meet Derek’s, with Derek’s hand still holding his head in
place he looks at the older man, “you promised!”
“Fuck! Fucking FUCK, Stiles, I did not promise to knot you!” Derek’s wolf is so
close to the surface, too close, and it wants this so bad, “Knotting’s for
breeding, you know that!”
“Yeah, yeah, breed me, Derek! C’mon, you said!” His head is thrashing side-to-
side, mouth smearing his words across his pillow, “Breed me, Derek! Knot me.
Please, you said!” voice breaking on the last word.
Hips stuttering to a halt, Derek grips the side of the bed for control, “I
never said, when did I say? I can’t Stiles, you’re just a kid!” He buries his
face between Stiles’ moist shoulder blades, “You’re just my baby, I can’t.”
“You can! You can, because you said! You said that I’m supposed to tell you
when I’m ready. I’m ready now! Take off the condom, please! Knot me, Derek! I’m
ready! I am!” he swiveled his hips, trying to force Derek out of him so he
could take the condom off himself, “Don’t knock me up yet, just knot me. Breed
me, but only with you. Okay? It’s all about intent right? I just want to feel
you; I want to feel you so bad. Oh god, Derek…”
Derek rumbles deep in his chest, the vibrations of it echoing through Stiles’
own, “It’s gonna be so much. If I knot you, I’m gonna breed you so full. I’ll
keep coming, and coming. Pulse after pulse, filling you up so much. Making you
so goddamn full, and with nowhere for it to go. I’ll be stuck in you. It’s
gonna be so much that you’ll be swollen with it,” he moves a hand around and
down, resting on the skin below Stiles’ navel, “You’re gonna be all round.
Pregnant with me. I’m not gonna knock you up, but it’s gonna feel like I did.
You’ll be so full it’ll feel like you’ve got a litter in there. You want that?
You want me that deep inside you?”
“Please, please!” Stiles’ whole body is quaking, “I want that, I want you,
please Derek. Please do it. Claim me. Mate me. Knot me! Breed me, breed me!”
A pained groan rips its way out of Derek’s chest as he forces himself off
Stiles just long enough to tear the condom off and shoves back inside the
teenager. His knot is already swelling when he pushes it past Stiles’ rim,
getting a harsh groan for his efforts, “Fuck! You ok, baby boy? Does it hurt?”
Even he has to strain to hear the breathy whimpers, “Yeah, yeah it hurts.
Little, fuck. Oh god, it’sgood! It’s so good, Derek, I can’t-I can’t…FUCK!”
Stiles comes, cock untouched by anything except the damp night air, the stretch
and burn of Derek’s knot too much for him to stop.
Derek just continues to grind into Stiles. Unable to move very far in either
direction, he twists his hips, digging his knot down into Stiles’ prostate.
Tugging on the boy’s softening cock; he coaxes him back to hardness, taking
advantage of Stiles’ intense hormones and his own lupine pheromones. He strokes
Stiles’ sensitive cock and rubs at his rim and comes, and comes…and comes.
Howling skyward, biting the back of Stiles’ neck and thrashing his head a bit.
He tastes blood as he marks his boy, claiming him, and it sets him off further.
He doesn’t notice when Stiles comes again, doesn’t notice when his hand is
pried from that sweet boyflesh when the sensations get to be too much for the
teenager. He doesn’t register anything but his own shaking limbs and heavy
cock, still shooting deep into Stiles. It seems endless, his first knotting
orgasm. He’s never given this to anyone before. Never given it to himself,
either, always stopping his knot with his hand when he comes. It’s too much,
and not enough. Too much sensation; his skin feels raw and open. But still not
enough of Stiles; he wants to shove in further, crawl inside him and stay there
forever.
“You can. I’d let you.” Stiles’ voice is sleepy and content and Derek didn’t
realize he was thinking aloud.
Derek brings an unsteady hand back to the soft skin beneath Stiles’ navel,
petting the crisp downy hairs there and feeling the rounded flesh. “You ok?”
“Mmm’yeah. S’good. M’good,” he reaches a hand back to thread through Derek’s
hair, just holding, “M’so full, Derek. Love it. Love you.”
Hearing this, with the steady beat of Stiles’ heart—no quickening, no
stuttering, just the continuous one-two rhythm screaming truth at him—Derek
sucks in a quick breath. He noses at Stiles’ sweaty temple, pressing a kiss to
the side of his face, “Yeah. Yeah, baby. Love you too.”
With Stiles’ pleased hum, Derek rolls them onto their sides, hand cradling the
boy’s tender, lightly swollen belly as they wait for his knot to subside. He
strokes all of the skin he can reach, using his feet to roll what’s left of
Stiles’ pajamas down his legs and onto the floor, lightly tickling at the boy’s
ribs with gentle touches, lacing their fingers together at the top of Stiles’
cock base, thumb brushing the taut belly skin.
When he feels his knot go down, Derek rolls them over onto their fronts again.
Stiles moans in discomfort, but lets him manipulate and position his body so
that he’s resting on his sore knees once again. Derek tries not to wince as he
pulls out and tugs his pants up, telling Stiles to stay still on his way out
the door to the bathroom. He comes back, resting a damp washcloth at his
bruised hole to catch the come dribbling out of Stiles, “Sit up a bit, baby.
Gotta get it all out. It will make you feel better.”
Stiles whimpers, but does what he’s told, raising himself up and pressing a
hand firmly into his belly, trying to ease the jumping and bunching muscles
there, “Got cramps, s’not too bad though.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know that would happen. Make you cramp up like that,”
Derek keeps rubbing at Stiles, cleaning him up, wiping another washcloth across
his belly and chest.
Stiles just turns his head to smile at him, face open and soft with emotion,
“Don’t be. It was worth it. Totally and completely worth every cramp. I could
get more cramps. I could get BALL cramps—and what could possibly be worse than
ball cramps—and it would still be so worth it. Ball cramps, Derek. I don’t even
know if those happen, but I’d willingly take all the ball cramps in balldom if
I could have more of that. And often. We should do it again. Not right now, I’m
too busy being mostly dead right now, but later. Tomorrow? Tomorrow sounds—,”
“Stiles.”
“I’m just saying. I’d do it again.”
Derek huffs out a breath, “Yeah?” Stiles nods with a soft affirmation and Derek
breathes softly, “So would I.”
Reaching at the corners of the bed, the older man strips the sheets from it,
pulling them out from under the prostrate teenager on top of them. He piles the
linens in a corner by the window and turns to look at the sleepy body lying on
the mattress.
“Will you stay? Just for a little bit? Maybe just until I fall asleep?” Stiles’
voice is thin and a bit reedy with uncertainty and exhaustion and Derek is
powerless against it.
He shimmies out of his pants and pulls off his shirt, scooting up behind Stiles
and tucking his knees into the crooks of the ones in front of him. He licks at
the claiming mark he left on the back of the boy’s neck, reaching to twine his
fingers with his bed-mate’s and pulls their arms to rest against Stiles’ chest
and just lies there and holds him.
***
When Stiles wakes up in the morning it’s to the sound of his alarm, “Noooooo,
you go to hell,” and he smacks at it until the shrill beeping stops, “Mmmm, way
better.” He settles back down in the warm cocoon of his bed. Sighing, he turns
over to bury his face in his pillow for a moment, avoiding the morning
sunlight. He wraps his arms around Derek, rubbing his nose against his chest
and sighed again, humming a bit this time.
“Well, if it wasn’t for the facts that you guys are buck assed naked and it
smells like the entire Olympic swim team rubbed one out on the walls, you boys
would be downright adorable.”
“FUUUUCK!” Stiles squeals as he tumbles off the side of the bed, popping up to
look at his dad, who is standing in the doorway.
“Looks like that was last night, son.”
“Oh my god, kill me now,”
Derek is in a sort of shock, mentally cursing himself for falling asleep. He
looks at the Sheriff, not even thinking to cover his morning erection, “Again
already?” Sheriff deadpans to him.
He looks down, “Uhh…It’s morning?” He winces at the unimpressed look on the
face of his mate’s father.
“Put some pants on, Mr. Hale. This is more than I ever wanted to see of you.”
“Yes, sir,” Derek wastes no time in picking up his discarded jeans and shoving
his legs into them, delicately zipping them over his naked and very quickly
deflating cock.
“Ok, Derek, well. I guess I will see you later, then. You have a nice day now.
I’m going to just curl up and die right here, so maybe that seeing you later
will have to be way later, as in never because I’ll be dead from humiliation
and possibly homicide going by the look on my wonderful,beautiful, lovely,
superb father’s face. So it was really nice knowing you-awesome knowing you,
actually—,”
“Shut up, Stiles.”
“Yes, dad.”
“Breakfast is on the table, boys.”
“Yes, dad.” “Yes, sir.”
“I’ll see you both in 5 minutes,” with that, Sheriff exits his son’s room.
“Well, this is horrendous,” murmers Derek as he’s pulling his shirt on.
“I know, right? He probably made bacon! Dad!” (“That’s seriously all you got
out of that, Stiles?”) “DAAAAAD!”
“What!?”
Stiles looks at his father’s face when it appears back in the doorway, “You
didn’t make bacon did you?”
The Sheriff’s face turns stony, “I sure did, son,” the look in his eyes daring
Stiles to comment.
And, Stiles was never very good at not commenting, “But you can’t have bacon!
It’s horrible for you! The trans fats! The sodium! The—,” he sees his dad
walking back out to the kitchen.
“I have—a gun,” the man calls out to his son.
“GUNS DON’T KILL PEOPLE, BACON KILLS PEOPLE!” Stiles yells to him, pulling on
clothes as fast as he could.
“Then don’t eat any!” Sheriff’s voice once again drifts through the open door.
Stiles mutters under his breath, “Well, let’s not be hasty…” he glances back at
Derek, smiling at the utterly bemused look on his face, “You coming?”
“I—yeah. Yeah, I’m coming…I don’t have that much of a choice, do I?”
“It’s ok, Derek. If he was really mad he would have made pancakes,” he says,
grabbing Derek’s hand and pulling him for a brief kiss.
Derek pulls away after a second, “Why do you say that?” Stiles is already
tugging him out of the room.
“Hmm? Oh, because they’re my favorite. Dad is a firm believer in the ‘last
meal’.”
“That…isn’t reassuring in the slightest.”
Stiles turns to face him in the hallway, just outside the kitchen door, “I
know. But…everything is going to be ok. It is.”
“And how can you be so sure?” Derek looks into Stiles’ honey brown eyes,
marveling a bit at the certainty he sees there, the conviction he smells on
him.
“Because it has to be. We’ll make it be. I love you, Derek. And you love me
too, right?”
Derek takes a shaky breath, and lets it back out, resting his forehead against
Stiles’, “You know I do.”
Sheriff smiles at the husky whisper. Derek may be too old and Stiles too young,
but all he has ever wanted was for his son to be happy. Happiness has been in
short supply with the Stilinski men since the passing of the only Stilinski
woman. If this Hale boy can make his Stiles smile, can be with him when he
himself is on duty, protect him when he can’t…then that’s all that really
matters, Sheriff smirks to himself, but they don’t really need to know that, do
they?
“Take a seat, boys. And grab some pancakes.”
“Oh god! Run, Derek! Run, and carry me with you!”
End Notes
     Hit me up on my_Tumblr if you so desire (I'm not gonna lie...it's
     mostly slash with the occasional cute animal and gay porn .gif).
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