Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1068307.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage, Rape/Non-Con
  Category:
      M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale/
      Peter_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski, Sheriff_Stilinski/Stiles_Stilinski, Allison
      Argent/Chris_Argent/Scott_McCall
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Peter_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      Handcuffs, Dirty_Talk, Masturbation, Coming_In_Pants, Incubus_Stiles,
      Tumblr_Prompt, Felching, Snowballing, Clubbing, POV_Second_Person,
      Threesome_-_F/M/M, Public_Sex, Hand_Jobs, Humiliation, Voyeurism, Mildly
      Dubious_Consent, Sex_Toys, Butt_Plugs, bottom!Derek, Curly_Fries,
      Paralysis, Non-Consensual, Incest, Watersports, Blow_Jobs, Presents,
      Anniversary, Droit_du_Seigneur
  Series:
      Part 2 of Teen_Woof_Tumblr_Fics
  Collections:
      The_Antidiogenes_Club_Book
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-03 Updated: 2014-09-21 Chapters: 26/? Words: 28560
****** Dirty Mouth ******
by badwolfbadwolf
Summary
     Collection of tumblr ficlets. Latest is cheerleader!Stiles wears
     lingerie, and fluffy Sterek anniversary gifts.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Handcuffed Together *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles and Derek are handcuffed together.
Chapter Notes
     For ayrtonwilbury. My spirit animal.
Stiles tugs at the handcuff clasped tightly around his left wrist, the metal
cool and unrelenting. Just as it had been two seconds ago when he had tried the
exact same thing. The movement tugs at Derek’s arm, attached on the other end,
leather sleeve falling over the metal. Derek yanks his arm backwards and Stiles
lurches sideways with a grunt, throwing his hand outward to brace himself
against the cage of the squad car of which they are currently occupying the
back seat.
“Geez,” Stiles grunts as he flops backwards into the bench seat and pulls
against their linked arms. Derek remains angry and unmoving despite Stiles’
repeated tugs. Stiles turns partially to shoot Derek an annoyed look and
immediately withers beneath the fierce ire written all over the sharp features.
Even his hair looks angry, the normal spikes flattened due to their impromptu
tuck-and-roll maneuvering that had landed them in this mess. Stiles immediately
switches tactics, lips quirking up in a quick nervous smile.
“Look, I’m sorry Derek. I already said it was a dumb idea to break into the
grocery store while the clerk was still there. Even if you really needed all
that venison blood for that curse or whatever. Admittedly, hiding in the
freezer section was also a dumb idea.”
“You think?” Derek is staring straight forward now, mouth set in an angry line.
“And once this new guy gets ahold of my dad, he’ll totally get us out of here.
But then I’ll, you know, have to deal with him. But that will be better?”
Stiles lets his voice tip upward on the last word, making it into a question.
They stare at the criss-cross of the cage, Derek’s body wound tightly and
Stiles sprawling with one foot up. They tug back and forth on the handcuffs
until Derek finally jerks Stiles’ hand against his leg and twists to hold
Stiles’ wrist firmly against his thigh.
“Do you ever just shut up, Stiles?”
Stiles opens and closes his mouth, unsure how to answer. “Yes?” He wiggles his
fingers against Derek’s leg, causing the hand to tighten on his wrist.
“Stiles.”
“What?”
“Stop.”
Stiles stops the twitching and his fingers are heavy against Derek’s leg, the
backs of his knuckles instantly aware of Derek’s every movement. They sit
stiffly and listen to the dull chatter over the radio. Derek loosens his hold
on Stiles’ wrist as the skin becomes sweaty between them.
Abruptly the car door opens and Derek is yanked outward with a rough tug,
Stiles dragging across the seat along with him. They bounce against each other
and Stiles springs away like a rubber band, rubbing at his shoulder where it
has collided into the hard point of Derek’s elbow.
The officer looks them over like they are small children, and Stiles can’t
really argue with the assessment.
“You’re lucky your dad is the Sheriff, kid,” he says as he fishes through his
keychain for the handcuff keys.
Derek’s lip quirks up at the word kid and Stiles kind of wants to punch him.
The instant the cuffs are loosened they jerk their hands away, the metal
clattering down on the ground between them in their hurry.
“I’m still under orders to escort you home.”
Derek looks at the man incredulously, arms crossing over his chest in a
defensive posture. “I don’t think so.” Then he adds, “Him, though. He needs an
escort.”
Stiles mutters something angrily under his breath but doesn’t pipe up. The last
thing he wants is more of a lecture from his dad about his general mouthiness
that he can’t seem to help, particularly in regards to authority figures. And
particularly when he had just broken the law. Again.
“Both of you. Sheriff said so specifically.” Neither budge at all. “Don’t make
me get the cuffs out again.” The threat has both of them shuffling forward,
Stiles yanking open the door angrily and Derek giving him a quick shove to have
him falling on the seat face first with an awkward yelp.
They hunker down in the back with hands shoved in pockets the whole way home.
On the turn into the driveway Derek tilts his head sideways to stare at Stiles
with his measured green gaze. Stiles stares right back, fed up. This close he
can see the rough edges of the dark scruff that run messily along Derek’s
throat. Stiles narrows his eyes, irritated that he even noticed.
Derek’s voice is so quiet that Stiles thinks he imagined it. “Maybe the
handcuffs were a good idea. Just for you.”
Stiles continues to just stare, swallowing thickly, mind reeling. What? No,
really, what?
Derek’s features shift into something more predatory, a bit pleased to have
gotten the upper hand on Stiles for once. “I think you need them, Stiles. You
need something to pin you down.” His voice is a purr now, fingers curling onto
his thighs as if he’s thinking of reaching forward but is restraining himself.
“I think you need…” Stiles begins the retort of an eight-year-old but trails
off, feeling utterly ridiculous and bare in front of Derek’s stark words and
bright eyes. In the back of a fucking squad car. While Officer Whoever waits
for him to get out. And who will tell his dad all of this. He squirms against
the seat, scrambling for words. “I gotta… house. Bye.”
Stiles fumbles with the handle and pours himself out of the car, bumping
awkwardly into the door and shutting it with a surprising amount of force. He
holds onto the handle, staring in disbelief at Derek’s smug looking grin
through the window before remembering to finally let go. Mercifully the officer
doesn’t get out and just waves him to the door. Mercifully Stiles’ dad isn’t
home.
Stiles comes harder than he ever has in his life with his hand wrapped too
tight and pants barely tugged down, and thoughts of Derek’s voice hot and dirty
in his ear.
***** Coming in Pants *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek makes Stiles come in his jeans in public.
Chapter Notes
     For thatworldinverted's prompt.
Of course Derek pins him against the wall outside the diner. Of course he runs
his dark stubble over Stiles’ cheeks and nips at his neck firmly. Of course he
grinds his hips forward until Stiles moans from the pressure, losing their
little game of who would break first. Stiles always breaks first.
Derek draws away with a wicked grin, the shadows highlighting his sharp
features, the slant of his nose, the glint of his teeth. Stiles feels himself
turn to melted butter against the brick wall, only able to move when Derek
wraps a large hand completely around his bony wrist and tugs upward. The walk
to the door is uncomfortable and Stiles bites his lip with each step, knowing
what’s coming next.
The leather of the booth is sweaty along Stiles’ skin as he shifts against it,
body wound tightly. Derek looks at him predatorily, hand sliding beneath the
table and over Stiles’ dark jeans, feeling the little shakes of need as Stiles
sweats and presses backward into the cushion.
“What do you want, baby?” Derek says, voice low and quiet. “The others will be
here soon.”
Stiles turns to smile blandly at the waitress who suddenly appears, eyes
flicking down to Derek’s hand obviously in his lap. “We need a minute,” he
says, voice slightly higher than usual.
She leaves and Derek’s hand skims upward, over the buldge of his dick, pressing
as Stiles squirms against him.
“Can you come for me? Here?” Derek asks. He uses his other hand to stir the
straw in his water absently, surveying the empty diner. No one is watching.
Stiles nods and shudders. “Yes.”
***** Incubus Stiles *****
Chapter Summary
     Incubus!Stiles preys on Derek.
Chapter Notes
     For tardisandwings's prompt.
Derek watched with undisguised curiosity as Stiles jumped fluidly out from his
Jeep and onto the gravel with a soft crunch. The uncharacteristic grace was
unusual, and Derek tilted his head with the obvious unasked question.
Something was decidedly… different about Stiles. His plaid shirt fit him a
little more sleekly, his eyes a little deeper shade of chocolate, the movement
of his limbs a little smoother than their normal flutter as he walked closer.
And the way he grinned at Derek, confident and inviting. Well fuck, if that
wasn’t hot.
“What are you doing here, Stiles? It’s late,” Derek finally said as he leaned
against the door frame, arms crossed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to let the
kid in just yet.
Stiles didn’t answer, just quirked his brow upward and gave a small grin, his
features half-hidden in the soft shadows cast by the porch. But the glint in
his eyes was unmistakably mischievous. Derek swallowed and shifted, sensing
something was wrong. And then Stiles was so close, breathing against his neck,
hands hot along his biceps and slim hips fitted tight against his own.
The sense of wrongness increased, along with a slick heat that burned in
Derek’s gut as he felt Stiles’ pointed tongue lick against his jaw. The fine
stubble bristled with the long swipe and his toes curled as Stiles breathed
warm air against his ear.
“Want you.”
“Stiles,” Derek began, lifting his hands to push away the eager body but
instead grasping onto the sleeves of his t-shirt and holding tightly. The
muscles beneath his fingertips felt oddly heated, a faint quivering of energy
as Stiles dipped forward to lick at his earlobe.
“You want me, too.”
Derek closed his eyes but couldn’t deny the way his cock was now throbbing
against Stiles’ sharp hipbone. He breathed in deeply and that was the moment he
knew he was fucked. Stiles smelled like sex and sweat and warm cotton, the
bones of his body sharp, so sharp clutched in Derek’s tight fingers.
Their lips finally met and it was warm and wet, teeth and tongue, desperate and
harsh. A quick push and Derek was flat against the wall with Stiles’ hand up
his shirt, palming over the muscles of his abdomen and sliding backwards with
no pretense, straight into his waistband.
“Jesus, Stiles,” Derek grunted out, pulling back forcefully, feeling his body
rocking against the searching fingertips. There was a rich darkness in Stiles’
eyes as they were turned almost pure black and Derek blinked in surprise,
feeling his flight or fight instincts begin to kick in. Then it was gone, only
shadows on the youthful face and bright brown eyes staring up at him with a
mixture of hunger and painful innocence that nearly broke him.
“Let me, Derek,” Stiles said with simple need, more confident than Derek had
ever heard him. It still felt wrong, so wrong, but Derek’s skin was burning
every place Stiles touched with blunt nails and soft lips. The fingers delved
deeper, the hand tightly trapped in Derek’s jeans, brushing against his ass and
pushing inside dry, just with a fingertip. Stiles played with each tender nerve
ending until Derek was leaking wetly and grunting softly, letting himself be
pressed down to the floor with his pants shoved around his ankles. And Jesus,
wasn’t that surprising and mind-melting.
Fingers bit harshly into Derek’s hips and drew him to his knees, and when
Stiles licked against him with a wriggling tongue, Derek bit his lip to keep
from moaning out too loudly. This was definitely not how he’d thought the first
time would go. Not like he’d thought about that. Often. Alone in bed, eyes
closed and fist wrapped tight. When Stiles pushed inside it burned, thick and
unrelentless. There were wet gasps against his back as Stiles bent forward and
wrapped his arms around Derek’s muscles. He brought their bodies close
together, the thrusts becoming little ruts that were maddeningly insufficient.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” Stiles groaned into Derek’s nape, fingers sliding
everywhere underneath Derek’s prone underside. They pinched at his nipple and
scraped down his stomach before grasping onto his cock, fist pumping ardently.
“Stiles,” Derek said as he threw his head back at one particularly deep thrust
and stroke combination. “What’s gotten into you?”
“You like it?”
Derek swallowed as the hand twisted against him, his cock leaking profusely
now. Stiles was fucking him on the wood floor of his foyer, in the dark, pants
around his ankles. Now was not the time to be coy. “Yes,” he said.
Stiles manhandled him to the floor and the dust and sweat was thick in Derek’s
nose. He brought his arms forward to rest his forehead against them, body
stretched and pinned. Derek craned his neck backwards to look at Stiles, the
sight making him catch his breath. The dark hair was completely matted down,
eyes pressed tight, long neck arched and pink tongue pressed against the upper
lip. He looked so young, hard and soft at the same time, the strength and sex
rolling off of him. He seemed to sense Derek’s eyes and opened his own eyes
slowly, revealing the dark color Derek had glimpsed previously when out on the
porch. Now that he was closer he could see that it wasn’t just the light;
Stiles’ eyes were in fact the exact color of onyx, and just as brilliantly
glinting.
He felt his body go rigid, his initial fear returning, mixed with a dizzying
lust, claws beginning to unsheath as Stiles held him down with bruising
strength. A bite to the shoulder and Derek was coming hard into Stiles’ tight
grip, his brain narrowing down into animal thoughts of lust and love and skin
and Stiles and wrong. The hard thrusts continued and Derek remained
frighteningly boneless beneath the onslaught. Stiles grew harsher with his
movements, nails scraping against his shoulders and neck, fingers twisting into
the short hair at the Derek’s nape. He pulled hard and then was gasping and
spurting, murmuring expletives and mouthing at Derek’s neck as he fucked
through his orgasm.
When he was finished he drew out slowly and flopped next to the larger man with
a thunk. They listened to the sounds of the house settling and their skin
cooling, neither willing to say anything. Derek scrubbed a hand over his face
and finally rolled over, relieved to see the frozen concern over Stiles’ face
and the dark brown eyes staring up at the ceiling.
“Uhhh. Fuck, Derek. I’m sorry.”
Derek remained silent, lost in thought. “This was a mistake.” The look on
Stiles’ face instantly made him regret his words. Derek stared at him,
remembering the determined lust and blown-out pupils, completely at odds with
the kicked-puppy look Stiles was currently sporting. Derek pulled himself to
standing and yanked up his jeans, zipping them quickly and looking down at
Stiles. He was still laid out on the floor, clothes only partially removed,
face blushing red.
“Right. Yes. Absolutely,” Stiles said quickly, the flail back in his arms as he
attempted to sit up and instead caught his hand on the tail of his shirt. He
lay back and closed his eyes before popping upward. They blinked at each other
for a good minute before Stiles beat a hasty retreat, slamming the door behind
him without another word. Derek watched as the Jeep’s tires squealed in their
haste as Stiles haphazardly spun the wheel.
The night was quiet again and Derek sat on the porch once more, body aching
dully and skin singing. Those black eyes. The unnatural grace. Stiles’
ridiculously attractive confidence. Derek breathed out solidly and stood.
Something was wrong with Stiles. Very wrong. He’d need to keep a close eye on
him. And also, not let him fuck him again. At least not until he knew what the
hell was going on, anyway.
***** Snowballing *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek sucks the come out of Stiles.
Chapter Notes
     Welp, this is dirty.
Derek lies heavily on top of Stiles, forearms resting on the sheets and the
slick weight of stomach on rounded ass growing uncomfortably sticky. His breath
pants in harsh rasps against Stiles’ shoulder, gradually slowing to a soft
grunt. Stiles squirms beneath him, trapped, Derek’s breath tickling against
him.
Mmmmnnng, Stiles gets out into the pillow, eyes still shut and hair plastered
to his forehead. Derek pushes the cold tip of his nose forward against the jut
of Stiles’ shoulder-blades, delighting at the twitch of flushed skin and the
way his angular body tries to shake him off unsuccessfully. They stay that way
until Stiles’ huffing becomes more vocalized, mixed with an impatient roll of
his spine and a shuffling of limbs.
Derek growls from the back of his throat and presses down with his hips to pin
down the squirming body firmly against the sheets. “Stop moving, Stiles.”
Stiles stills beneath him, closes his eyes, counts to ten. When he reopens them
all he can see is Derek’s thick fingers resting on the bed and all he can feel
is Derek around him, on top of him, inside of him. The larger man eases his
weight off, pulling out slowly, letting Stiles adjust. He watches with keen
eyes in the semi-dark, looking at the tug of skin stretched around his cock
gorgeously. Stiles has his eyes pressed tight again, mouth open and damp, limbs
limp and sprawled. Derek takes his time, sliding through the sweat, watching as
the ridge of his cock eases out, a trail of white come seeping outward and into
the soft hair there.
“I love it when you’re so fucked out that you can’t speak.”
“I bet you do,” Stiles murmurs weakly, though apparently he still has enough
energy to arch one eyebrow up.
Derek slides backward, drawing up on his haunches, looking down at Stiles’
prone form. The moonlight highlights all the sharp angles, the cut of his
shoulder-blades, the knobs of his spine, the dimples in his back and the
wetness gleaming from between his legs. Derek leans forward on impulse and
draws his fingers through the come, curling along the base of Stiles’ balls and
pushing against the reddened hole that is soaking wet with come and lubricant.
Stiles draws in a shuddering breath and pushes his face into the pillow,
spreading his legs further and letting Derek take what he wants.
“You’re so good for me,” Derek praises against Stiles’ thighs, his beard
rubbing roughly against the tender skin, raising red marks.
Stiles mutters incoherently as Derek’s finger hooks inside, sliding through the
slippery mess and drawing it outward. He presses forward to lap at his finger,
drawing the mixture onto his tongue, rolling it languidly along the surface,
tasting it. Stiles makes a drawn out sob as Derek sucks, finger delving, the
sensation wild and electric and overwhelming. Then he’s drawing away and
sliding his palms down Stiles’ thighs, pulling him by the knees and turning him
over.
Stiles looks up at him, eyes glazed and heavy, limbs loose. Derek climbs up his
body, fitting his thigh between Stiles’ legs, rubbing against the come-soaked
skin, wrapping his arms tightly around the sharp shoulders. He leans forward
and presses his lips to Stiles’, opening them slowly, letting Stiles lick
against the corners of his mouth before getting a taste.
Derek can feel the exact moment when Stiles realizes. His body tenses slightly,
limbs drawn tight in Derek’s arms as Derek pushes his tongue forward slowly.
Stiles hesitates before opening to him, letting the warm mess slide between
them. Derek grips Stiles’ neck loosely, holding him still until Stiles rolls it
on his tongue before swallowing it all down. Derek pulls away and licks along
Stiles’ pink lips, chasing the taste.
“Jesus, you’re dirty,” Stiles pants against the rough stubble, hands still
trembling.
“Yeah,” Derek agrees easily, tugging Stiles down and tucking him against his
chest.
“Maybe next time I can be the one to…”
“No.”
Stiles pokes the soft part between the ribs, still a bit amazed that Derek lets
him close enough to do that. “Fine,” he says with false irritation and Stiles
can see the faintest trace of a smile on Derek’s lips. Stiles closes his eyes
and listens to the even breathing beneath him, swallowing and feeling Derek’s
taste linger on his lips.
***** You/Derek/Stiles in a club *****
Chapter Summary
     You/Derek/Stiles in a club, then threesome sexy times.
Chapter Notes
     File this under things I wish were real. Note: the "you" is a female
     reader.
The air is thick and hanging over your skin heavily, the bass of the music
reverberating deep in your chest. Your tank top is sticking to your back with
sweat and you pull on the edges, hitching it upward to flash a stripe of
slicked skin just above the waist of your low-slung jeans.
Hands reach from behind and curl around your hips, pulling you backwards. You
feel the grind of a slim body hot against you, the fingertips hooking into the
belt loops. Stiles.
Soft lips graze against your nape and you close your eyes briefly. The music
gets louder behind your eyelids and you can feel the buzz of the alcohol
intensify. The warmth spirals through you and you feel fucking fantastic and
heart-poundingly alive. You wind your hand upward and slide against Stiles’
neck, pulling him down so his breath is warm on your cheek and your lips are
close together.
He kisses you lazily, slowly, tongue just licking at the corner of your mouth.
The angle isn’t quite right but you tighten your fingers in his hair and let
him lick. His hips start moving in dirty little grinds against your ass and you
push back into him, feeling him half-hard already. The music is thrumming
through your bones and you let your body roll into his, feeling the press and
grind of lean muscle down the entire length of your back. Gyrating bodies sway
around you and you tilt your head backward to lean on Stiles’ shoulder, smiling
at his flushed face and sweat-damped hair that is plastered to his forehead. It
makes him look young, his face vibrant.
”Where’s Derek?” you ask and Stiles creases his brow and leans down right next
to your mouth so he can hear you. “Where’s Derek?” you repeat, louder. Even
though he’s an inch from your lips you have to yell to be heard over the din.
Stiles moves to your ear, his lips brushing wetly against the skin. “Watching.”
He lets his tongue glide along the shell before pulling back and tipping his
head to the left, indicating where Derek is seated on a stool looking gorgeous
and unapproachable at the same time. Derek takes a slow pull from his beer and
sets it back on the bar, eyes unmoving from your gyrations. His finger is
running idly up the glass neck of the bottle and you watch the way his arm
bends, the muscles flexing smoothly and the sleeve of his dark t-shirt
tightening with the movement.
You can feel Stiles smiling against your skin before his hands skate downward,
just over the tops of your thighs, fingers brushing along your jeans so lightly
they tickle you. Then he’s pulling away and dancing with a silly grin and
wiggle to his hips. How that boy can look both adorable and exceedingly sexy is
beyond you. You spend some time looking at the tip of his nose and then you
realize you’re staring, but it’s okay because Stiles is smiling at you and
waggling his eyebrows. You draw closer and grab him by the drawstrings of his
hoodie, making a fake show of wrapping them around your hands and tugging him
close. He lets you, lets you pull your bodies until you are flush, let’s you
feel his hard dick pressed into your stomach. He lets you yank on the strings
until you’re ridiculously close again, breathing in the hot damp air, lips
hovering in that blissful space right before the kiss.
This time his lips meet yours hard, tongue insistent, fingers spread wide and
pressing against you tightly. You whine slightly when one hand slides up
underneath your tank top and glides over the sweat to hold you close. He pushes
one leg in between yours and he grinds up against your hip in time with the
pounding beat. You can feel how hard he is with each flex of his hips, his kiss
dirty and wet, fingernails turning inward to scrape lightly along your spine.
He feels like sex beneath your fingers, fluid and hot and needy.
You break apart only when you feel a large hand sliding over your shoulder,
squeezing slightly. Derek is there, still in the sea of grinding bodies,
expression hungry. He’s not much of a dancer but Stiles slides over anyways,
wraps his arms around Derek’s neck and latches his teeth beneath Derek’s ear.
The lithe body grinds and sways and Derek submits without much pretense,
letting his hips be pushed with each of Stiles’ pulsing movements. You watch
Derek lean down to nip at Stiles, turned on beyond belief at the way the white
teeth bite into the plush lower lip. They look so good together, shadow and
light, stubble and smoothness, tempered lust and wild abandon.
You lean up along Stiles’ back, straining up on your tiptoes to kiss at his
neck. Your hands wind around the two bodies, finding a resting place on Derek’s
hips.
“Ready to leave?” you ask into Stiles’ shoulder blade. Though it’s loud,
Derek’s werewolf-sharp senses hear you and he nods, effectively breaking his
and Stiles’ kiss. He pries off Stiles’ clinging limbs, silencing his protests
with another tongue-filled kiss before grabbing you both by the hand and
tugging you towards the exit.
The ride home has you and Stiles in the backseat, his hand down the front of
your pants while Derek drives like a maniac. Stiles is in two fingers,
swallowing your whines as you push into his hand, your bodies jostling together
with each sharp turn. The alcohol and buzz of adrenaline make the trip quick,
and soon Derek is opening the car door and hauling Stiles off of you. You are
irritated until Derek has you pressed up against the side of the car, replacing
Stiles’ fingers with his own. He pushes up into you, grinding the base of his
palm into your clit hard. You groan and throw your head back against the car,
watching his wrist disappear into your jeans, watching his muscles flex and
bunch as he makes little thrusting movements.
He pulls out and you feel wetness sliding between your thighs and up your
stomach as he lets his fingers drag along your skin. He keeps his hips pushed
forward, pinning you to the car door, sliding one hand over to cup the back of
your neck and the other, wet and glistening, to rub along your lips. Stiles is
close suddenly, grabbing Derek’s fingers and sucking them inside his mouth,
tasting you. It’s hot, really fucking hot, watching those lips curve around
Derek’s skin, watching the way Stiles’ tongue flicks out against the fingertips
like he’s sucking Derek off. Derek stiffens against you, his whole body smooth
as silk along your skin.
When he speaks again, his voice is throaty, scratchy, needy. “Let’s go inside.”
You both don’t hesitate to follow.
 
The bed is soft beneath your hands and you slide backwards to pull your legs up
in front of you. You plant your feet and pick your hips up, shimmying out of
your jeans. Derek kneels above you and pushes your hands away, reaching to tug
the pants the rest of the way down. The lacy edge of your boyshorts catches on
his fingertips and they drag downward until they are low on your hips. He pulls
the pants off one leg at a time before settling down on his haunches and
looking at you with beautifully calm eyes. The green is soft in the dim light
of the loft, Derek’s face serious, the scruff darkening his features. He leans
down and mouths against your knee, sliding one large hand from upward your
ankle before pushing sideways firmly. Your legs spread open and you tilt your
hips upward, wanting to be touched. He bites along your skin, marking it with
red nips while the fingers of his right hand run idly down your thigh.
The bed dips and then Stiles is there, crowding his body next to you and
leaning down to kiss you hard. His eager tongue distracts you as Derek hooks
his fingers into your panties and tugs, sliding them off the rest of the way.
His rough hands trail down from the inside of your knee and all the way down
your inner thigh, making you shudder as he grows closer and closer inward. He
stops just short, teasing with his nails, breathing hot against your thigh as
your skin twitches and you mewl into Stiles’ mouth.
Stiles is pulling up on your shirt, quick hands reaching back to unclasp your
bra. He slides around your ribs and runs his fingers along the underside of
your breast before moving upward to pinch a nipple. The buck of your hips has
Derek’s lips brushing against you and you push your feet further into the bed
for more purchase. His tongue darts outward, rough against your clit, one
finger circling down lightly. He pushes in his finger, just to the first
knuckle, and lets you squirm on it, wanting so much more.
“What do you want?” Stiles says into your lips. He’s rolling your nipple in his
fingertips, and shifts to suck on your neck, biting down hard.
You push your hips down against the bed, unsure. Derek’s finger is still, his
lips unmoving on you. “More,” you whine, and Stiles’ lips are back on yours,
sucking your noises into his mouth, laving against your tongue.
“Do you want Derek to fuck you? Or me?”
The thought makes your brain short-circuit. Derek resumes his messy lapping and
your mind is blank. All you can feel is his finger inside of you, his tongue
warm and heavy, Stiles’ lips and words brushing over your skin.
“Yes,” you say, not sure which question you are answering.
“Yes, both?” Stiles’ eyebrow is high, his look devious.
“You first.”
“Good plan, babe.” He grins saucily, pulling your shirt off and over your head
before reattaching his lips to your neck.
Derek pulls his head up now, his lips shiny and pink. He looks ridiculously
gorgeous like that, all wet and flushed, eyes half-lidded. He glances over at
Stiles appraisingly, and his lips curve into a smirk.
“Too many clothes, Stiles,” Derek says, not even bothering to make a full
sentence. He leans over your knees to tug Stiles closer to his body.
You push yourself to sitting and start to undress Stiles from the top down
while Derek pulls off Stiles’ white socks before unzipping his fly. His hand
dips quickly into Stiles’ pants and boxers, grasping his cock and giving a
quick tug that has Stiles open-mouthed and panting. He pulls the pants down
just enough off Stiles’ hips to let his cock leap forward against the flat
stomach before bending down to lick along the shaft.
“Naked, naked is good,” Stiles chirps as he struggles with his jeans. “You
too.” He makes a vague gesture with his hands towards Derek before flopping
down to wrestle his octopus legs out of the pants. He’s naked as the day is
long, lean muscle and white skin, with a grinning face to match his
enthusiastic strip show. He helps Derek pull off his clothes quickly, running
fingers over the thick muscles with eager appreciation. Derek lets Stiles
stroke for a moment before shifting his attention over to your prone form.
“Roll over. On your knees,” Derek tells you, and your stomach tightens in
anticipation. Stiles gives you a cheeky grin before helping you roll onto your
belly and hitching his hands beneath your hips. He pulls you upward so your ass
is in the air, legs spread, chest against the sheets. The air is cool on you
and you leap as Stiles’ tongue is suddenly against you.
“You’re so wet,” Stiles says into your folds before wriggling his tongue
inward. You can feel his nose all the way against you, can feel Derek moving on
the bed behind you. You turn your head to try and get a good look, but the
angle is difficult and your neck is hurting from the position. You can see
Derek pressing up against Stiles, his jaw clamping down on the thin shoulder,
his hands coming to wrap possessively around the thin neck.
The two of them shift closer to you, so close that you can feel Stiles’ hard
cock brushing against your thigh and Derek’s right hand brushing against the
inside of your knee.
“How many fingers can you take, baby?” Derek is whispering into Stiles’ ear.
“How many to get you ready for my cock?”
One finger slides in, crooks. Stiles keens.
“Three,” Stiles answers, breathless. He shoves into you hard, propelled forward
by Derek’s fingers. It fills you up wonderfully and you spread your legs to
accommodate his hips. He begins to fuck into you slowly, an upward twist of his
hips as he bottoms out each time. With each pull outward you know he’s shoving
himself on Derek’s thick fingers, caught between the two of you. Derek’s
freehand travels up Stiles’ body, pinching a rosy pink nipple and traveling
backward along the curve of your hip. You feel Stiles stiffen above you and
inside you, and you know Derek must be adding another finger. You twist around
in his grip and Stiles lets you, helps your legs untangle as you roll around
until you’re on your back and Stiles is still thick inside of you.
Stiles leans down, fitting his body into yours, his forearms resting beside
your head. You wrap both your arms and legs around him, feeling the slip-slide
of skin as the sweat melts between you. He bends his head and his lips find
yours, soft and gentle before lapping at your mouth eagerly. He stills and
rests his forehead against yours, grinning breathlessly as Derek shifts behind
the two of you.
You feel a hand on your inner thigh, between Stiles’ spread legs, dipping
inward until Derek’s fingers are brushing against your ass. You tighten in
surprise, making Stiles gurgle. The fingers leave quickly though, just a tease,
and then you can feel Derek moving close, lining up, pushing forward and into
Stiles.
The two of you still as it happens and you watch Stiles’ face as it tenses and
his eyebrows wrinkle adorably. He huffs along your cheek and closes his eyes
and you take a finger and run a path along the constellation of moles on his
cheek and neck.
“You doing okay, baby?” Derek asks, and the concern on his face is so plain it
could be written in words. Stiles nods weakly. “Push back for me. Let me in.”
You feel Stiles shifting above you, and then there’s a push forward that moves
the three of you together and a breathy ‘oh’ that escapes from Stiles’ lips. He
tilts his hips backward, moving his cock out of you slightly, and then a thrust
from Derek has him sliding back inward with some force.
“Yeah, good,” Stiles grunts out, before reclaiming your lips. Derek finds a
rhythm quickly, and it’s lazy and hard at the same time, with Stiles pinballing
between the two of your bodies. Stiles’ hand slides between his stomach and
yours, searching for your clit and brushing it with fleeting touches. The angle
is difficult, the build-up maddeningly slow.
“Come on, Der. Give it to me.”
Derek grunts like an animal, as if speech capabilities have left him. You feel
him draw up on his knees more, grasp Stiles’ hips and begin to straight-out
pound. Stiles slides into you wetly each time, rocking your hips and making the
bed creak beneath the weight of the three of you. Derek’s hand comes down to
knock away Stiles and the pad of his thumb presses against you firmly, making
you moan out both of their names. Stiles licks at your lips, sucks the cries
out of you. Derek grasps your leg and bends it back, leaning forward and biting
down hard on Stiles’ shoulder. The angle is tight, so very tight, and Stiles
stutters above you. You feel him tensing up, trembling, pulsing and he floods
warmly into you as he fucks you through his orgasm.
Derek’s making clipped moans as well, more subdued than Stiles, though. His
hand has left your leg and is now wrapped around Stiles’ hips with a white-
knuckled grip. He yanks Stiles off of you, throws him down face first onto the
mattress and just pounds with no finesse. You shift away, watching his cock
disappear inside Stiles’ quivering body as you feel Stiles’ come dripping out
between your legs and onto the sheets.
It’s hot, fuck it’s really hot, and you watch every line of Derek shiver and
clench as he rockets through what looks like a painfully sharp orgasm while
Stiles wails beneath him. Derek’s claws have come out and he’s running them
along Stiles’ sides, careful to only let them scrape and not actually scratch.
Eventually he slows, sliding out and kissing Stiles tenderly on the side of the
mouth as the two of them tremble with exertion.
Derek rests only for a moment before drawing you forward by the legs and
burying his face between your thighs. His beard is so rough on your sensitive
skin, his tongue warm and strong and sloppy. Human fingernails run over you
everywhere and he thrusts two fingers inside while wrapping his tongue around
your clit. You feel hotness spreading over you, making your skin prickly and
hyper-aware. A pinch of your nipple from Stiles has you keening and coming,
Derek’s face still pressed into you. You arch into his tongue, and his fingers
draw your orgasm out so long, longer than you thought you could go. Each press
of his tongue and nip of your teeth sends another shudder through you and you
reach out, holding Stiles’ hand against your skin and fisting Derek’s hair to
keep him locked against you. When you’re finally limp and shaking, Derek pulls
his fingers out noses downward. He wriggles his tongue inside of you and curves
it, tasting Stiles’ come.
“Oh, Jesus,” you say as you shudder with another sharp wave of pleasure.
Derek pulls away and looks at you, lips and chin shiny with your wetness and
Stiles’ come, and it’s unbelievably ridiculous how good it looks on him.
“Good?” he asks you, his lips not quite in a smile. The way he looks at you
almost shyly nearly breaks your heart and you pull him up to you for a kiss,
tasting the three of you on him.
“Yes, good.”
He smiles then, falls to the side of you, cuddling up against your shoulder as
Stiles presses up behind him from the other side. The three of you listen to
your deep breathing and let your sweat cool, nothing left to say.
“Give me a minute,” Derek murmurs into your shoulder and he smiles at the
raised eyebrow and incredulous look you shoot at him.
Stiles laughs from the other side, flopping over so he’s in a starfish
formation and taking up well more than his one-third of the bed.
“It’s Der’s turn to fuck you next.”
Derek’s hand slides down your stomach and dips into the sticky pool between
your legs. You feel your body twitch and roll sideways, letting him slide in
further. Derek grins wolfishly and slides closer, already hard against your
leg.
***** sneaky train handjob *****
Chapter Summary
     Sneaky train handjob.
Chapter Notes
     For thatworldinverted. <3
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Stiles has his nose pressed to the glass window, smudging up the frost that has
accumulated with the coolness of the early morning. Trees glide by the window,
the pace gradually increasing until it makes Stiles dizzy. He closes his eyes
and leans back against the seat; he always gets motion sick easily.
After a moment he cracks an eyelid and sneaks a glance at Derek in a totally
non-obvious way. Derek looks up from his book with a raised eyebrow, smirking
slightly as Stiles slams his eyes shut again.
It’s still early and Stiles stifles a yawn and nonchalantly drapes his arm over
Derek’s shoulder. Derek continues to read, unaffected.
"It’s two hours to San Francisco," Stiles says, leaning his head against
Derek’s broad shoulder. His henley is soft against Stiles’ cheek and Stiles
nuzzles into it, purring like a sleepy kitten. Derek grunts non-commitally and
sips his coffee. He’s always half-asleep until his first cup, barely capable of
speech. Not like that is much different than his usual grumpy self.
Stiles rests his head there for a while, using Derek as a warm, hairy pillow.
The scent of coffee is strong, Derek solid and comforting beneath him. Stiles
closes his eyes, hoping to sleep but his mind wanders. He passes the time
looking at Derek’s fingers as they rest on the page, the way the book sits
lightly on his lap, the way Derek breathes in and out. The train is quiet, the
other patrons still sleepy and occupied with books and kindles and iPhones.
Stiles’ arm is beginning to cramp so he pulls it off of Derek’s shoulders and
tucks up against his arm.
"I’m bored," Stiles says petulantly into Derek’s shirtsleeve. Derek snorts,
turns to kiss Stiles on the nose before returning to his book. Derek obviously
doesn’t have the same problem.
Stiles furrows his brow and tries again. “Entertain me.”
Derek downs the rest of his coffee and makes a one-handed toss to throw it into
the trash can attached to the wall. His smile is delighted and he turns back to
Stiles, now resembling a man who is at least mostly awake.
"Do you want to talk about something?" Derek asks. Stiles smiles, secretly
pleased at how far Derek’s come since they started dating. He now indulges
Stiles’ need to just talk on occasion, just because he knows Stiles likes it.
It makes Stiles feel a little gooey inside, honestly.
"Well," Stiles purrs, voice lowering. "We could…talk." He lets his hand slip
suggestively down Derek’s bicep, tucking under the hem of the sleeve and
rubbing along his skin in lazy circles.
"You know I like your little mouth," Derek rumbles, voice still rough from
disuse. "But this is not really the place for that." He glances around at the
business people and students, and none are even looking in their direction.
"I’ll be quiet," Stiles promises seriously, twisting to press his whole chest
against Derek’s arm. Derek leans back in his seat and Stiles glances down,
grinning at the tightness in the front of Derek’s jeans. "You’re good at being
quiet."
Derek shifts again, glancing sideways. The train rocks slightly to the right
and Stiles lets it knock himself into Derek. He presses a quick kiss into the
scruff at the top of Derek’s neck before drawing back to pull off his hoodie.
"Here, you look cold, Der." Stiles wads up the fabric and shoves it into
Derek’s lap, grinning as Derek picks up his book and slides it into the front
pocket of the seat.
Stiles leans close, rests his head on Derek’s shoulder again, and lets his hand
search under the hoodie and over Derek’s jeans. He squeezes around Derek’s dick
and Derek jumps about a mile.
"You’re going to have to be more subtle than that," Stiles whispers as he goes
for Derek’s fly and unzips it slowly. Even he can hear the scrape of metal
teeth as it lowers. "Think about what it’s going to be like, coming here,
silent, your pants getting wet with your come. You’ll smell like it all day."
Derek stiffens in Stiles’ fingers, his body rigid against Stiles’ soft press.
Stiles’ hand slides inside the boxers, gripping him and pulling up
experimentally. Derek is so hard already, a little bit of a flush creeping over
the neck of his shirt, his lips falling open. Stiles begins a slow, tugging
rhythm, looking at the way Derek’s face slackens and how he tilts his head
backward against the rough fabric of the headrest.
The landscape slides by, a woman walks down the aisle, the train car clatters
and jerks. They listen, Stiles’ hand tight and warm, Derek fighting to keep his
hips still.
"You thinking about burying your cock in me?" Stiles whispers and Derek bites
his lip in response and huffs through his nose. "You can bend me over when we
get to the hotel. There’ll probably be a desk. You can spread me open, stuff me
full. Do you want to put your come inside me and watch it drip out? Or do you
want to pull out, give my ass a slap, stripe it with your come?"
"Yes," Derek grunts out and Stiles watches in fascination as the large body
gathers together in shuddering heaves. Derek is utterly silent as he comes,
save for the rasping intake of breath that he can’t quite keep quiet. He looks
absolutely beautiful with his eyes shut, completely unguarded. It makes Stiles
proud to know that he could do that to Derek. To know that he can make him come
undone. To know that the look Derek fixes him with afterward, one of soft
wonder, is something only he gets to see.
Stiles’ hand is sticky, Derek’s pants a mess. Stiles grins cheekily at Derek
and kisses him fully on the lips for just a moment before twisting his fingers
out of Derek’s pants. He wipes them off on the hoodie and makes a face even
though he’s not displeased at all.
"Guess I won’t be wearing this on the trip." Stiles shifts further back until
he’s all the way in his own seat, watching Derek carefully put himself
together.
"I’ll buy you another one," Derek says quietly. His face is still flushed, lips
curved into a loose smile, and Stiles thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s
ever seen.
Chapter End Notes
     Come say hello on tumblr. I sometimes take prompts and am always
     excited to talk about sex or Sterek or Teen Wolf, etc. :)
***** possessive!derek, slutty!stiles *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek is possessive and Stiles riles him up. Humiliation kink.
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Stiles can’t see it yet, but he can sense it.  The dangerous way Derek is wound
like a coil, lip curled up slightly, eyes flashing electric blue in the dim
light of the club.  Stiles opens his eyes slowly, lets his lips leave Peter’s
with a wet smack, grins as Peter’s hands grip at his waist roughly and pull
their hips flush as they shift on the chair.  Peter dips his head low, licks a
thick trail along Stiles’ jaw, tracing a pattern down until he’s sucking at the
bob of his adam’s apple.  The feeling is liquid and hot and just this side of
wrong, and it makes Stiles grunt appreciatively and stiffen in his pants.
 Stiles watches Derek slowly come apart, his blood heating beneath his skin in
a way that he knows both Peter and Derek can smell.
When Peter’s hand slips into Stiles’ t-shirt, Derek finally jerks forward.
 He’s across the room in a second, his claws against Peter’s throat, tipping
the man’s head backwards so it’s laying against Derek’s chest.
“It’s so nice of you to share your boy,” Peter says, nonplussed and arrogant.
 He grins as Stiles shifts on his lap and rubs against him before looking up at
Derek with wide, honey brown eyes.  There’s a moment of panic in Stiles,
absolute breathtaking fear when he worries that Derek is going to get tired of
his shit once and for all and just rip out Peter’s throat right here, in front
of a hundred other people.  The darkness hides his claws for now, and the slide
of his fangs gleam dimly, not quite hidden but not so obvious to give them all
away.
“Get the fuck away from Stiles.”  There’s menace in Derek’s voice, dripping off
like blood, his fingers itching to slash and maim.  His hand slips up to grab
Peter by the top of the throat in an iron grip, causing him to splutter with a
choked off gurgling noise.  Peter’s hands freeze on Stiles and the playful grin
wavers slightly.
“You’re such a spoil sport,” Peter rasps, before picking up his hands in a
surrendering gesture.  Stiles doesn’t move off but grinds forward slightly,
causing Peter to close his eyes at the contact of Stiles’ hard dick rubbing
against him eagerly.  “It’s not my fault, anyways.  He climbed on top of me the
second your back was turned.”
The seconds tick as the cogs in Derek’s mind grind, and then he’s dropping his
hold on Peter’s throat and gripping Stiles by the wrist to haul him off the
older man.  His fingers are tight on Stiles’ forearm, the bones squeezing
slightly as Derek’s anger flashes through him.
“Don’t touch what’s mine,” Derek snarls, snapping his jaw close to Peter’s
cheek before turning and dragging Stiles after him.
“Look, Derek,” Stiles begins as soon as they are out of the club and out onto
the sparsely occupied street.  Derek’s grip is still bruising, but his fangs
have retracted.  “It’s not what you…”  Stiles trails off as Derek rounds on him
and crowds him up against the brick of the wall, not caring who sees them.
“Oh, it’s not what I think it is?  How dumb do you think I am, Stiles?”
 Derek’s look is murderous, his hands clenching at Stiles’ shoulders before
sliding down and pinning both wrists forcibly to the brick.
Stiles wisely doesn’t answer.
“It is what I think it is.  It’s exactly what I think it is.  It’s you thinking
you can slut it up just to make me angry.  Just to make me tie you down and
make you hurt.  That’s what you want, isn’t it Stiles?  You want to hurt, don’t
you?”  Derek articulates each question with a twist of his wrists and a grind
of his hips.  It pushes Stiles against the brick roughly, scraping his tender
skin until blood pricks at the tips of his knuckles.  Stiles is rigid against
him, panting, mouth hung open and Peter’s spit still glistening on the swell of
his bottom lip.
Stiles swallows, unsure what to say.  Yes, of course that’s what he fucking
wanted.  He won’t admit it though.  Or risk not getting it.
“I’m gonna make you regret this.  I’m going to make you regret every single
fucking grind of your hips.  Every single sloppy kiss and press of your dick
against his stomach.  I’m going to whip your ass so hard that you’ll cry when I
touch you with just the tip of my claws.  And you’ll beg for me to stop and to
fuck you and to pound your little ass and own you.”
Stiles is grunting now, his head knocking back against the wall, his eyes half-
lidded, the point of his tongue touching the tip of his teeth.  “Please, Derek.
 Please.”  
Derek pushes forward so their bodies are pressed together from knees to chest,
and Stiles can feel every glorious muscle holding him down.  Derek’s breath is
warm in the slight chill of the evening, and it makes the hair on Stiles’ nape
stand on end as Derek leans in closer.  His lips brush against the shell of
Stiles’ ear and he breathes out, making Stiles shudder and grind up against
him.
“I’ll do all those things to you.  I promise.”
Stiles moans and slides his legs apart, letting Derek slot his thigh in between
his own.  “But I’m not going to fuck you.  I’m going to let you burn all night.
 I’m going to let you watch me take my cock and jerk it real slow.  And let you
tell me how much you want it inside of you, fucking your slutty little hole
open.  And then I’m going to come all over you, paint your face and neck, make
you lick it off.  And you’ll love it.  You’ll fucking love it.”
Stiles stiffens and comes quietly, his pulsing dick trapped between Derek’s
firm thigh and the hot flush of his own stomach. His body tightens in the
fierce grip, the rush of blood beneath his skin flaring white-hot as Derek
growls down at him.
“You’re such a slut,” Derek says, wet and growling as he bites at the soft
flesh of Stiles’ neck.  Stiles pants wordlessly and closes his eyes, feeling
one last splash of come soak through the cotton of his boxers at Derek’s words.
 Because Derek’s right.  He does love it.
Chapter End Notes
     Come say hi on tumblr!
***** Laundromat AU *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles meets Derek in a laundromat and makes a comment about how the
     dryer on an unbalanced load is better than his vibrator on both days,
     porn ensues.
Chapter Notes
     From an anonymous tumblr prompt!
 
The first time Derek saw him, the cute mystery guy, he’d been swearing loudly
at the dryer.  After a few solid kicks the thing had finally jerked to life and
he had given a wide, sheepish grin to the room in general.  Derek felt a quick
jolt to his gut at the way the guy’s lips had curled upward and how the point
of his nose flattened slightly, making him look both exceedingly young and
ridiculously attractive at the same time.  Plus there was the way his shoulders
filled out his baseball shirt, all lean muscle and long limbs.  And also the
way his dark hair was buzzed short, looking soft and fuzzy and just long enough
to tug. It was kind of hard to look away after that.
Every Tuesday at 5:30, just like clockwork he'd be there fiddling with the
change machine.  Today was no different.  Derek ducked his head so he wouldn’t
look like he was staring, and started sorting through his laundry basket that
was cocked on his hip.  Perhaps he’d started coming at the same time just to
see if the guy would show up again.  Perhaps he’d sprinted out of work today
and skipped his run just to make it there by 5:25.  Maybe he didn’t really need
to wash those worn jeans one more time.
The guy turned around from the change machine and began to walk his way, and
Derek resolutely looked down, embarrassed to find a pair of red boxers in his
hands.
“Hey, there,” the guy, boy, whoever, said.  He set his basket down on the floor
and kicked it forward, holding a large pile of quarters between his hand and
his stomach.
“Hey,” Derek said, tossing the wet boxers into the dryer quickly before making
the mistake of looking up into the guy’s eyes.  They were warm and bright and a
curious shade of honey-brown that Derek had never seen before.  And the way the
corners of his eyes crinkled up around them made him look like he was smiling
without really doing so.  It was a pleasant, relaxed demeanor that Derek knew
he could never manage, and it fascinated him.
Derek glanced down after a moment and went back to shoveling his clothes in the
dryer, flinging with a bit of unnecessary force.
“Didn’t I see you here last week?”
“What?  Oh, yes.  I, uh, live nearby.”  Derek pitched a sock forward and
watched it stick against the metal backing of the machine.
“Oh, cool.  Me too.”  The guy smiled, shifting quarters to his left hand so he
could start feeding them into the machine with his right.  “I’m Stiles.”
“Derek.”  Derek had finished loading the dryer and now stood awkwardly with
nothing in his hands while the guy- Stiles- fiddled with his change.  “Do you,
uh, need any help with that?”  Great.  Great opening line, idiot.
Stiles smirked slightly.  “I can handle it, thanks.”  As soon as the words were
out of his mouth, quarters began to spill down his shirt and onto the floor
with a loud clanging of metal on tile.  “Oh shit, sorry.”
Derek bent immediately and they both hunted around on the floor, gathering up
the rolling quarters.  It seemed like there were a million of them and they had
traveled at lightning speed under every single machine in sight.  Derek ended
up with his hand wedged under the dryer he was using, trying to pry out one
last quarter while Stiles looked down at him with what was distinctly a
suppressed giggle.
“Hey, thanks.  That’s really nice of you.”  When Derek didn’t get up, Stiles
arched an eyebrow at him.  “Are you… are you stuck?  Here, let me help you.”
 He squatted down and pushed himself flat against the dryer, feeling under for
the quarter while at the same time wrapping his fingers around Derek’s wrist
and tugging.  Derek looked up in surprise at the strong grip, suddenly
realizing how very close he was to Stiles’ face.  Stiles had a smattering of
moles covering his cheeks and down his long neck, and Derek could count every
single long eyelash.  He swallowed thickly, letting himself be tugged.  After a
few good pulls they both ended up sprawled on the floor on their asses,
laughter whooshing out of their lungs.
“Hey, thanks,” Derek said, flexing his reddened fingers and feeling like an
idiot.  Stiles held up the quarter and grinned.
“Ah, success!”  His easy joy was infectious and Derek found himself grinning in
a way that made his cheeks hurt. It wasn't something he was used to.
"These things are way too expensive," Derek said, wiping lint off of his pants
and standing up. Without thinking about it he turned and extended his hand to
Stiles. He took it easily, hauling himself up a bit awkwardly and turning to
smile at Derek once more.
“Yeah, seriously.  I won’t be able to eat for a week but I’ll have clean
underwear.”  Stiles' grin turned flirtatious as he fed the quarter into the
dryer and hit the large ‘on’ button with a flourish.  “And of course you took
all the good dryers.  Left me with this broken one.”
“Hey, you snooze you lose,” Derek said with a quick grin, bending down to pick
up his empty basket.  He tried not to let his eyes trail down Stiles’ chest and
stomach as he did, but knew he was being less than subtle.  The dryer kicked
into high gear and began to shake violently, each shudder knocking the machine
into the next and creating a hideous, banging rhythm.  
Stiles waggled his eyebrows, the corner of one side of his pink lips sliding
into a devilish smirk.  He pressed his body up against the machine and it
stilled every so slightly against his slim hips.  “Better than my vibrator,
though.”  
Derek must have gone completely red in the face because Stiles was suddenly
laughing jovially and turning his hips around so his back was pressed to the
machine.  “You should try it.”  His voice had dropped a little and had a
teasing edge to it.  Derek felt the punch to his gut once more and he grasped
at the edges of the basket with sweaty hands.
“Yeah?” Derek asked, breathing in deeply through his nose.  The smell of
detergent and dust was heavy in the air, mixed with a little bit of arousal
Derek knew was wafting off of Stiles.
“Yeah.”  Stiles licked his lips and Derek knew he was in trouble.  His dick and
brain warred for a moment before he was saved from the choice by a petite
elderly woman rounding the corner with a basket on wheels.  She drove the cart
right between the two of them, causing Derek to take a step backward and Stiles
to bite down on his bottom lip to repress a laugh.  The woman pulled up at the
end of the aisle, wedging her cart into the corner and beginning to unravel an
endless array of sheets and gray bras.
“I’ll have to try it,” Derek said quietly, feeling a little ridiculous at the
entire situation.
“Alright.  Next time.”  The way Stiles let the words roll off his tongue did
nothing to stop the spread of warmth through Derek’s belly.  His mind helpfully
supplied images of Stiles turned around, hips pressed into the vibrating dryer,
legs spread slightly, back arched.  Naked.  Derek shifted the basket sideways
to hide his bodies’ increasing interest.
“Next time,” Derek said, and the words felt like a promise.  He left the
laundromat an hour later with a raging hard-on and Stiles’ number programmed
into his phone.
 
***** droit du seigneur *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter exercises his alpha right to knot Stiles before Stiles and
     Derek can become mates officially.
Chapter Notes
     For zoeteniets.
     Warnings: voyeurism, knotting, angst, dub-con, droit du seigneur (is
     that a warning?).
Derek isn’t sure if he should sit or stand, cross his arms or keep them
hanging, clench his fists or wield his claws.  Peter.  Peter.  There he is,
smiling warmly with just a hint of malice hidden underneath.  Peter who never
ceases to use his alpha voice to make them cower, just for kicks.  Peter, who
is currently running his hand along Stiles’ forearm and whispering softly into
Stiles’ ear while Derek watches with his jaw set.
“It’s tradition,” Peter had said.  “It’s the custom.  Before your mating
ceremony, you know.  If he’s to be a part of the pack.”  Yes, Derek knew.
“It’s okay.  I love you.  This won’t change that,” Stiles had said, and the way
he had looked at Derek so earnestly with honey-brown eyes and pink pouting lips
had made Derek’s heart tremble and squeeze.  “Peter’s harmless,” Stiles had
insisted.  “Besides, it’s your tradition.”
Tradition.  To fuck with tradition.  And pack rules.  And alpha rights.  But
Stiles had pleaded and Peter had snarled, so Derek obeyed.  But he’d gone home
and smashed up every plate he owned.  Stiles had said nothing as he’d swept it
all up silently, hours later.
Peter had conceded to Derek’s one condition — that Derek could watch.  So now
he watches, unsure why he insisted so vehemently.  He watches Peter peel Stiles
out of his shirt and jeans, revealing gangly limbs and pale white skin that
only Derek’s seen before.  He watches as Stiles’ virginal blush turns into a
full-out flush as Peter pushes him back against his dark sheets and spreads his
legs open carefully.  He watches as Peter’s pointed tongue traces patterns
along the moles on Stiles’ stomach and down along the sharp curve of his
hipbone.  And he burns as Stiles sighs out under Peter’s soft touch, his body
arching upward beneath Peter’s clever fingers.  
But it’s Peter’s words that worm under his skin.  The way he whispers so softly
that Stiles has to strain his head upward to catch the litany of praise, though
Derek can hear it crystal clear.
“Lovely, wet lips, Stiles.  Listen to you moan.  Look how hard you are for me.
 How wet.  What an eager little cock.”
Derek feels the points of his claws digging into his biceps as he stands
rigidly.  Stiles’ crys float across the thick air of the room, the breathy
sound lodging deep in Derek’s gut.  And Jesus, he’s getting turned on by those
hurt-sounding whimpers that Peter is drawing from Stiles’ mouth as he sucks
gently on the tip of Stiles’ cock.  Derek feels sick to his stomach.
“Derek told you about knotting, didn’t he Stiles?” Peter whispers against
Stiles’ inner thigh as one finger circles lazily around Stiles’ pink cleft.  He
dips inside and Stiles mewls out, panting, parting his legs further.
“Yes,” comes Stiles’ breathy answer.  Derek frowns, the tone so familiar to his
ears.  He’d told Stiles.  And they’d both followed the rules for once.  They
hadn’t fucked.  They hadn’t knotted.  They wouldn’t until they were mated.
 They’d done a lot of other things, yes.  But not that.
Peter works his finger in all the way, the slick of lubricant easing the slide,
Stiles’ skin growing clammy as he wriggles on the digit.  “Did he tell you how
large it is?  How full you’ll feel?”
Stiles nods fervently, his hands fisting into the sheets as Peter pushes in a
second finger alongside the first.  He’s being gentle, so gentle, and Derek
sneers at the false sweetness in his Uncle’s movements.
“Did Derek get you ready for it?”
And here Derek burns inwardly because he had.  
He’d stretched Stiles with just his fingers, he’d tongued Stiles open, fucking
into him with the tip of the slippery muscle until he was wet and loose.  And
he’d parted him roughly and fed a plug up into him until Stiles was mewling and
spreading around the silicone knot at the base of the toy, both begging Derek
to push it in and simultaneously crying out that he couldn’t take it all.  And
Derek had burned then, too, because he knew he was doing it for Peter.
 Prepping Stiles’ virgin ass so Peter could knot him first, and make his claim
as alpha of the pack.
Stiles moans again as Peter finds a sweet spot inside, stroking along as he
sits up onto his knees.  He pushes one shoulder underneath Stiles’ leg, leaning
forward so the boy spreads open beneath him, Peter’s twisting fingers on
display, buried in Stiles’ ass.
“Enjoying this, Derek?” Peter says, turning his head sideways to give Derek a
musing grin.  
Derek narrows his eyes predatorily, his claws coming out full force but
remaining still and silent.  Peter pushes forward with his shoulder in
retaliation, nudging Stiles open further, drawing out a full-throated groan
from Stiles that makes Derek turn his head sideways to look away.  
Stiles looks like — sounds like — he’s enjoying himself, and Derek steels
himself against that bit of knowledge.  But what did he expect, really?  For
Stiles to laugh in Peter’s face and wink saucily at him while Derek smirked.
 Well, maybe.
Peter’s lined up now, the head of his cock just teasing against Stiles, one
hand holding him wide open, the other pressing Stiles’ knee backwards.
“Ready, Stiles?” Peter whispers.
“Yeah,” Stiles says with clenched eyes, and it’s like a knife to Derek’s heart.
 He watches as Stiles’ face scrunches up tightly as Peter nudges inward,
slowly, leisurely, carefully.  The slide is so measured that Derek can see the
red flesh part and stretch, so unhurried that he can remember each detail
forever.  So it can be seared on his brain how Peter had claimed what is his so
easily.  And how Stiles had submitted with a whimper and a sigh, his body soft
and pliant and willing.
Peter drops loving kisses against Stiles’ knee, each lick and press of hips
against Stiles’ waiting body like a dull slice of a blade through Derek’s soft
skin.
They are silent as Peter builds up a rhythm, Stiles’ breath pushed out forcibly
at each thrust, the rasping harsh in Derek’s ears.  The sounds of sex grow
louder — the creak of mattress springs, the slap of skin, the squelch of air
pushed from the space between their sweat-drenched bodies.  The slide of slick
as Peter’s dick draws out to the tip and Stiles stretches around it, mewling.  
And then there’s Stiles’ little noises that Derek’s so used to being hot
against his ear.  The little hurt yelps that turn into grunts that grow into
full-throated wailing that Stiles has to stifle with his own hand.  
And then Stiles starts to talk.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, that’s big.  Jesus.  Jesus, Peter.”
And Peter’s answer: “You can take it.  You can take it, Stiles.  Look at how
good you’re doing.  Look at how you spread for my knot.”
And Derek looks, he sees exactly how good Stiles is doing.  He sees his boy’s
flushed body, sees him clawing at Peter like there’s no tomorrow, sees him hold
Peter tight against him so he can’t leave.  
When it’s over, when Peter’s finally came and knotted and held Stiles tight and
sucked bruises into Stiles’ neck, Derek can’t be in the room any longer.  He
waits on Peter’s couch, body warring between livid hatred and numbness, until
Stiles comes out of the bedroom looking uncomfortable in his clothes and
flushed all over.
Stiles is quiet on the way home and Derek turns away when the boy gingerly
steps out of the car and down onto the pavement of the parking lot.  And that
evening, when Stiles tries to talk about it, when he puts his hands onto
Derek’s cheek and tries to tug his face over so they can look in the eyes for
the first time since— Derek rolls to the side.  He stares at the wall and the
backs of his hands until Stiles finally gives up and goes to sleep.
***** Derek plugs Stiles *****
Chapter Summary
     From twi's prompt: FILTHY. PLUG. PORN. Preferably something where
     Stiles has to walk around, all plugged up, and the entire pack knows
     it, can smell it, and Derek is smug and smirking and dropping dirty
     little comments to get Stiles even more worked up.
Chapter Notes
     For thatworldinverted.
     Warnings: Daddy kink, exhibitionism.
"Pass me the popcorn, Stiles," Derek says with a sweet smile that Stiles wants
to slap off his handsome, scruffy face.  He’s seated next to Stiles on the
couch with one leg tucked up beneath him, perfectly capable of grabbing his own
damn popcorn.
“Why don’t you get it yourself?” Stiles pouts, crossing his arms over his chest
and looking resolutely at the TV screen.  Scott had insisted on MST3K and the
giant Godzilla rumbling across the screen was funny until about two minutes
ago.  When Derek had started poking him in the side and whispering filthy
things in his ear.
“I don’t want to get up.  Isaac might steal my seat.”  Derek nudges forward
with his foot against Isaac’s leg, making the wolf grumble.  He’s sprawled out
in front of the couch, his blond curls resting on Allison’s back while Scott is
pressed up on the other side of her with a dopey grin on his face.  Isaac
doesn’t look likely to move at all.
Stiles frowns, debating his options.  Pull a hissy fit and have Derek make him.
 And probably punish him later.  Though really, rawr.  Or reach over the side
of the couch to grab the popcorn bowl resting on the floor.  It wouldn’t be a
problem at all if not for the thick plug seated in his ass, making him bite
back a groan with every small movement he makes.  He wriggles in his seat and
spreads his legs a little, feeling the plug move inside of him ever so
slightly.  It’s a bit slippery, Derek’s come leaking out the edges and pooling
wetly inside Stiles’ boxers.  It makes him feel dirty and used, and though he’s
just come hard an hour ago, spread out over Derek’s bed while Derek marked him
up with sucking bites, Stiles’ dick twitches in his pants.
Derek glances over at him again, looking entirely too pleased at Stiles’
predicament.  His hands rest casually on his thighs, lips drawn up into
something resembling an evil smirk with way too many canines on display.  Bad
wolf, Stiles thinks, letting his fingers drum on his pants as he stares Derek
down.
An arched eyebrow from Derek makes Stiles finally grit his teeth and bend over,
the plug rubbing against him intimately with the movement.  The pressure has
his mouth hanging open with a silent intake of breath, blood flowing straight
to his dick and making it swell against the seam of his boxers.  Two wolves
snap their heads sideways, Scott and Isaac shooting him a strange look that
makes Stiles flush hot all over.  Apparently not all of his blood went straight
to his dick.
He grabs at the bowl of popcorn quickly and rights himself, tugging it down so
it’s covering the tent in his pants but doing absolutely nothing to mask his
scent.  Scott turns away quickly in shared embarrassment, but Isaac gives a
little secret smirk before turning back to rest his chin on Allison’s shoulder.
 
Stiles doesn’t even know why he and Derek pretend anymore.  Everyone knows.
 They’ve known for a while.  Especially since that one embarrassing time when
Derek had made Stiles come in his pants in the bathroom and wouldn’t let him
change before parading him out in front of everyone.
Two deep breaths in and out and Stiles feels slightly more in control.  He
hands the bowl to Derek without looking at him, crossing his feet at the ankles
and keeping perfectly still so as to not rock the plug any further.  He already
feels like he might spontaneously combust, and Derek’s smirk and flick of his
tongue along his pink lips is not helping matters.
Stiles blinks and Derek’s suddenly right next to him, his thigh pressed against
Stiles’, his arm curling over the slope of Stiles’ shoulder.  His fingers fish
in the popcorn bowl, and Derek brings up one buttery kernel to Stiles’ lips and
slides it inside.  Stiles grabs it between his teeth, trying not to touch with
his tongue but flicking against the tip of Derek’s finger accidently.  
“You gonna be good for Daddy later?” Derek whispers right in Stiles’ ear.  It
shoots straight to his cock, making it throb hotly.  Stiles feels a bit of
precome squeeze out and make a wet pool on the tip, his boxers growing sticky
and tight.  
Isaac turns to smirk at them again while Scott shuffles his body sideways,
reaching to grab the remote and turn up the volume of the movie until it’s just
shy of deafening.  Allison gives him a questioning look but he just shrugs at
her and shares a confused eyebrow conversation with Isaac.
Stiles stiffens, knowing the two heard the exact filthy words Derek had
whispered.  And can smell how turned on he is at the moment.  Derek’s beard is
soft on Stiles’ cheek and ear, his tongue flicking out against the shell
gently.  It distracts Stiles enough so that he doesn’t notice the way Derek’s
hand is sneaking downward along his spine.  But when Derek pushes it underneath
Stiles’ ass and makes like he’s going to tap at the plug seated there, Stiles
rockets up from his seat.
“I’m gonna…” he says awkwardly, tugging down on his plaid overshirt and turning
his hips from sideways to dead on to try and hide his truly unfortunate and
throbbing boner.  “I’m gonna go to the bathroom.”
Stiles can’t hear what Derek and Isaac are saying, but his cheeks flame a beet-
red the entire way to the small room.  When he gets there he shoves his pants
down and immediately palms his cock, sighing out as quietly as possible.
“Derek, you bastard,” Stiles grunts, knowing Derek can hear him perfectly well.
 And Scott and Isaac, too.  He debates the merits of jerking off quickly versus
Derek making him suffer later and decides to tuck himself back in his pants.
 He comes out several minutes later after a failed attempt at Zen breathing and
this time sits in the armchair, far away from Derek and his light green eyes
and stupidly large biceps.  
The plug still shifts though, feeling massive and unyielding, and now Stiles is
wet from both the tip of his cock and the come leaking out from the edges of
the base.  He narrows his eyes and waits until the movie’s finished and the
other three leave, the remaining hour agonizing and ridiculously uncomfortable.
 And then it’s just Derek there, sitting on the couch with his legs spread, his
steady gaze examining Stiles’ flushed and agitated state.
“Come over here, baby boy,” he says softly, and Stiles hops up immediately,
sick of waiting.  The quick movement jostles the plug and he feels it in each
step that he takes.  Stiles falls to his knees in between the easy splay of
Derek’s knees, letting out a soft mewl as gravity shifts the toy inside of him.
 “Tell Daddy what you want.”
Stiles swallows, the words always difficult to get out the first time.  “I want
you to fuck me, Daddy.”
Derek raises a thick eyebrow and Stiles adds quickly, “Please.”
***** bottom!Derek, humiliation & spanking *****
Chapter Summary
     bottom!Derek, top!Stiles
Chapter Notes
     warnings: humiliation and spanking
Stiles’ first slap stings; the boy is much stronger than he looks.  All those
years of tripping down the lacrosse field and running suicides have given his
muscles a gorgeous edge of tone that hides behind the zippered hoodies and a
goofy grin.  Sometimes Stiles is playful, sometimes he’s loud and needy.  And
sometimes— sometimes he tells Derek right where he wants him and right the
fuck now please before I make you.  Derek will never admit it out loud, but he
likes those times.  A lot.
“Get that ass up higher,” Stiles barks out, bringing his palm down on the
already reddened skin.  Derek obeys immediately, pushing his knees together and
arching backwards into the touch.  He grunts deeply at each new stinging blow,
and lets his body be swayed forward with the force.  “I said face down against
the mattress.  Can’t you do anything right?”
The words burn more than the spank of Stiles’ palm, and Derek feels his cock
aching with pressure.  It hangs heavily between his legs, untouched, leaking,
Stiles’ slaps growing dangerously close to the underside of his balls.  He’s
shaking all over, begging wordlessly with his body for more or less or just
fucking anything Stiles will give him.  He just wants Stiles, he wants him to
push his tongue inside of him, his fingers, his dick, fuck him ‘til he’s blue
in the face and crying big fat tears of pleasure-pain.  And more than anything
else, he wants to hear how good he is, how good Stiles thinks he is.  That he’s
worth putting up with and kissing and being held down and fucked.
“Are you gonna beg for my cock?”  Stiles flattens his palm and swings with more
force, causing Derek to cry out as each blow hits its mark on the tender skin.
 “Because I don’t think you really deserve it.”
Derek shuts his eyes tightly and nods slightly in agreement.  No, no he doesn’t
deserve it.
“Tell me what you are.”  More slaps, followed by Stiles pinning Derek down to
the bed by the neck, draping his body over Derek’s large form.  He pushes
forward, rubbing his dick along Derek’s ass and Derek strains upward,
desperate, aching.
“Your slut,” Derek whispers, ducking his face into the pillow.  Stiles’ fingers
dig in deep against the tendons in Derek’s neck, the grip both sharp and
strong.  
“That’s right,” Stiles murmurs against the too-hot skin.  “Spread your legs for
me.”
Derek does, slides his knees apart, feels Stiles fit his body even tighter
against his back.  Stiles’ dick is brushing against him in teasing circles and
he darts out his tongue, licking a messy trail from Derek’s shoulder blades to
the curve of his spine.  He searches with his long fingers, probing against the
cheeks of Derek’s ass and pulling him apart roughly while Derek mewls beneath
him.  “Eager little slut, aren’t you?”
Derek nods fervently.  Yes.  Yes he is.  He’s Stiles’ slut.  Just Stiles.  Only
Stiles.
“Say please.”  Stiles is hovering now, not touching, but close enough that
Derek can hear every quick breath and can smell Stiles’ precome and sweat.
“Please.”  Derek’s voice is quiet, muffled by the pillow, his tone laced with
desperation.  The cool air brushes agonizingly over his heated thighs and ass
as he waits for Stiles’ reply.
“Good boy.”  
The words of praise make Derek hot all over, and he groans a guttural and
inhuman noise as Stiles pushes straight forward and buries just the head of his
cock inside.
***** The Hales court Stiles with curly fries *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter and Derek court Stiles with curly fries.
Chapter Notes
     For runemarks. I'm now taking_prompts on tumblr!
Stiles makes loud sucking noises with his straw, trying to siphon out the last
of the whipped cream at the bottom of his chocolate milkshake.  He licks his
lips and pulls up his hood, glancing around the grimy diner.  It’s nearly empty
at this time of night, but he can’t be too careful.  He drove all this way to
get away from Beacon Hills, and the last thing he wants to do is find a
familiar face.  His waitress comes by and snaps her gum, looking down at him
with ruby red lips and blue-lined eyelids.
“Anything else, hon?”
Stiles shakes his head no, hating that epithet, and she gives him a sticky-
sweet smile.
“Alright.  I’ll get your check.”
He swirls the straw through the dregs of chocolate, bringing it up to his mouth
to lick off the remains before nearly choking on them as he sees who walks
through the door.
Of course.  It’s the fucking Hales, looking smug and gorgeous, like they’d just
walked out of some catalogue for menswear.  Derek has his leather jacket pulled
up around his neck against the bite of winter, and Peter has on only a sweater.
 With a deep V, of course, showing off his ridiculously attractive neck and a
hint of muscle beneath.  They are dressed way too lightly for the weather;
stupid werewolves always run hot.  Stiles instinctively hunkers down behind his
hood though he knows there is absolutely zero chance that they are here by
coincidence.
Peter turns to look at him, stealing a plate of curly fries from the counter on
the way over and sliding into the booth seat across from Stiles with his normal
grace.  Derek trails behind, hanging awkwardly at the edge of the table while
they all stare at each other.  Peter gives Stiles a wide grin and opens his
mouth but Stiles cuts him off.
“What are you doing here?”  Stiles crosses his arms petulantly, feeling a bit
like a child being caught with his hand in the cookie jar.  Except that he
wasn’t the one who had done anything wrong.  These two psychos were trailing
after him like lost puppies that he just didn’t have the heart to kick.
“Looking for you,” Derek says, and Stiles rolls his eyes at the obviousness of
that statement.  Stupid Derek.  Always saying the wrong thing and then shutting
his mouth up with that beautiful frown.
“Look, I told you already…”  Stiles narrows his eyes as Peter takes a curly fry
and brings it up to his lips to take a bite.  “Did you just steal those?”
Peter shrugs, pushing the plate towards Stiles with his fingertips.  Stiles
eyes it warily, but hey, he’s kind of a glutton, who’s he kidding.  He grabs a
fry and shoves the curl in his mouth, the grease mingling with the chocolate of
the milkshake in that pleasant, yet disgustingly unhealthy sort of way.
“We came to say we’re sorry,” Peter says, and slides over so he can tug Derek
into the booth by the sleeve.
Stiles raises his eyebrow with suspicion.
“And we want you to give us another chance.”  Peter does look earnest, and
Stiles’ eyebrows climb even higher.
“We’re reasonable,” Derek says, and here Stiles has to stop to laugh
hysterically which causes him to drop his fry.  “Peter will tone it down.
 We’ll pick you up at the front door, after clearing it with your dad.  No
howling outside your window at midnight again.  And no more fighting.  We
promise.”
Stiles shoves another curly fry down, thinking.  They look so sad, Derek’s face
having that terrible, lost look on it like after that time Boyd…  Stiles cuts
that thought off immediately.  Peter looks a little more together, but concern
is written plainly across his face.
“Here’s the deal,” Stiles says, and he smirks inwardly as he sees the two
wolves perk up in their seats.  “No shenanigans.  No wolfy nonsense.  No fights
for dominance, no growling over who gets to share the covers and who gets the
‘good’ side of the bed.”
Derek and Peter nod enthusiastically, and Stiles lets his smile peek out
slightly.  
“But no sneaking around, either.  We tell my dad this time.  Okay?”
“Right,” Peter agrees.  “Last time was… It was bad.”
Stiles shudders with the memory and the fast-talking he had spun in order to
save his dad from a serious need for mental bleach.  Because he was so not
going there.  Having to explain why two naked werewolves were snarling at each
other in the front yard was something he could happily lived without, thank you
very much.  He’s not quite sure they fooled him but at least he wasn’t asking
Stiles ridiculous questions anymore about werewolf sexual practices or opening
his door to check on him at night after he thought Stiles was asleep.
“Right.  Bad.  So bad,” Stiles says, moving his foot forward so it’s rubbing
against both of their ankles.  “And.  You pay for those fries.”
Peter grins and shoves Derek out of the way to find the waitress, and Derek
hesitates and then moves over to scoot along the seat next to Stiles.  They are
squished together in the small seat, Derek warm against him, breathing quietly
as he looks at Stiles with soft eyes.
“I am sorry,” Derek says before leaning down to brush his lips gently against
Stiles’ own.  The kiss is sweet, much sweeter than Derek’s ever kissed him
before.  Usually he’s hard and firm, desperate and groping.  It’s nice.
Stiles returns the kiss, tasting Derek, letting the richness of his milkshake
and fries color the experience.  He pulls away and shoves at Derek playfully,
gripping at the front of his leather jacket so the wolf can’t get too far .  “I
can’t believe I caved so easily.”
“You can’t resist us,” Derek says with a rare smile, and Stiles laughs out,
feeling light once again.  Peter returns with three milkshakes and another
plate of fries, and Stiles eats it all happily even though it makes him sick to
his stomach.
***** Steter - paralyzed with duct tape *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter takes advantage of a duct taped, paralyzed Stiles. From the
     episode De-Void, 3x22.
Chapter Notes
     Established relationship, non-con/dub-con, paralysis, bondage.
     and uh, I'm taking smut prompts on tumblr if you'd like to leave me
     one. :)
Stiles looks so wrecked, eyes dark and sunken, hair a sweaty mess.  Not like
Stiles is ever that put together, really.  But despite the sleep-deprived
pallor there’s an air of haughty snideness that arches his brows and makes his
lips twist in a smirk even though his mouth is covered in silver duct tape.  He
looks exhausted yet satisfied and arrogant, even in his bonds.
“Just how I like you.  Bound and gagged for me,” Peter says, striding forward
like a predator.
Stiles, the trickster, raises his eyebrows.  And yes, it’s not the first time
this has happened.  How many times has Peter circled around him, trapped him,
held him down and just taken what he wanted?  How many times has Stiles let
him?  Peter watches as Stiles tries to twist in the bonds, but all he gets is a
frustrated growl for his troubles.  It makes the wolf smile, sinister, his
blood heating through his veins.  Stiles reeks of adrenaline and power, of lust
and rage.  And he can do nothing but look at Peter with the heat of his eyes
and tongue against the tape sealing his lips.
Peter paces closer, sinking down to sit on the coffee table in front of Stiles
with an easy spread of his legs.  The boy is seated rigidly on the couch, bound
at the wrists and ankles even though it is completely unnecessary due to the
paralytic poison running through his veins.  And not like the darkness in
Stiles couldn’t rip open a few little strands of duct tape once his power
returns.
“How many times have I had you before, just like this, Stiles?” Peter asks
quietly.  He watches as Stiles blinks back at him, his eyes narrowing down at
Peter.  The honey-brown color looks deeper in the darkness of the room, and
Stiles holds his head high proudly.  Peter always loves breaking his boy, loves
it when Stiles eggs him on until he has no choice but to punish him.  To make
him squirm and cry.
“I do like you quiet.  So helpless.  All you’ll do is be able to bounce on my
dick and moan behind that tape.  But then again…”  Peter trails off as he
slides his nails down along Stiles’ cheek before lacing his fingers behind
Stiles’ head.  He tilts Stiles backwards, presses a chaste kiss to the thin
lips, the tape dulling the sensation.
“Your mouth…”  Peter lets the claws on his right hand out, running them down
over Stiles’ eyelids, along his nose, tapping at the tip before drawing down in
a hot path over Stiles’ chest.  The boy is breathing deeply, his nostrils
flaring as all he can do is look at what Peter is doing to him.  Peter flicks a
claw casually over Stiles’ nipple, the bud tensing up visibly through Stiles’
tight t-shirt.  He grins at the response and the little moan that Stiles can’t
quite repress.  The poison has made it so Stiles can’t move, but not so that he
can’t feel.
“I think I’ve had enough play time,” Peter murmurs, his voice catching in his
throat.  It sounds a little rough even to his own ears, and he’s throbbing hard
in his pants just looking at Stiles wrapped up like a present.  He’s so close
and all he’s done is barely touched.  He pulls Stiles down roughly, manhandles
the thin body so it’s flipped over and Stiles is face first against the couch.
 Peter turns Stiles’ head so he can at least breathe, smirking down at the way
Stiles is staring at him from the corner of his eye with an unreadable
expression.  The position looks painful even to Peter, and he warms inwardly
and tugs quickly at Stiles’ jeans.  They drag over his slim hips, the boxers
along with them, and Peter has a brief flash of the Nogitsune playing roughly
with Stiles’ body.  Fucking himself on three fingers while Stiles jerks off
into his hand, fast and furious, and with a litany of curse words spilling from
those innocent looking lips.  Fuck, that’s hot.  He pulls hard on the pants to
tug them down until they are bunched around Stiles’ knees and his ass is on
full display. He shucks his own down as well, hurried and eager.
Peter kneels down, torn between pressing his mouth to Stiles’ sweet hole, or
just fucking the living daylights out of his little toy.  He brought lube, of
course he has lube, keeps it in his pocket just for times when he wants to
slick Stiles up and fuck him without any premeditation.  And Stiles lets him,
he always lets him.
The noise that is drawn from Stiles’ throat is a cross between a howl and a
muted gasp as Peter holds Stiles open with both hands and just pushes straight
inward.  It’s tight, so incredibly tight, Stiles’ ass squeezing around Peter’s
dick and he almost doesn’t know if he can get in all the way.  Peter grunts
with the pressure as he eases further inside, his brain blank except
for StilesStilesStiles, his body draping forward.  Stiles is motionless beneath
him, his smaller body rocking only slightly with each of Peter’s lazy grinds.
“Now, be a good boy and stay where I put you,” Peter says with a sadistic
chuckle as he pulls back and then angles forward with a vicious thrust.  Stiles
does nothing but moan beneath him.
***** Sterek plug with wolf tail *****
Chapter Summary
     Stiles wears a plug with a wolf tail attached for Derek.
Stiles bites his lip as he watches Derek’s eyes flick over the plug he’s
currently pulling out of his backpack. It had seemed like such a good idea at
the time. The internet is a wonderful— wonderful and terrible — place, and the
overnight shipping had only put a slight dent in his weekend funds. But there
he is, nervous, irrationally afraid of Derek’s reaction.
The plug feels heavy in his hands, the glass a solid weight, smooth and clear
and large. It hadn’t seemed so large in the picture. And the tail. The tail is
beautiful. Downy-soft and a plush thickness, gray with white flecks and a pure
white tip. The tail of a wolf. Stiles strokes it idly, feels his cheeks heat up
as Derek’s gaze trails over his long fingers before settling right at Stiles’
throat. It makes him swallow and tilt back slightly, his chin tipped upward to
bare his long neck without a conscious thought.
Derek’s cheek ticks and he licks his lips, the only small signs that he is
letting his iron grip of control slip. It thrills Stiles, makes him ungodly
nervous, makes his fingers sweat. He grasps the tail tightly, pulling it to his
chest, his whole body warm and flushed all over.
“Is this okay?” Stiles asks, the side of his lips quirking up into a quick grin
to mask his nerves.
When Derek smiles it is gorgeous and sweet and dirty and predatory all at once,
and that makes the ball of nerves in Stiles’ stomach tighten up into a thick
knot.
“Come here, pup,” Derek says in a no-nonsense tone, and Stiles scrambles to
obey. He shuffles onto his hands and knees, not quite sure what to do. But
Derek seems satisfied, is looking over him with something more like ownership,
and that settles right in Stiles’ belly like soft ice cream. Derek’s large
hands reach out, stroke along Stiles’ face, brush against his lips. Stiles nips
at him and Derek pushes a finger inside Stiles’ mouth, letting him gnaw at him
like a puppy. The laugh that comes out softly from Derek’s throat surprises
Stiles and he relaxes slightly under the loving pets.
Derek’s hands slide to Stiles’ waist and turn him around slowly, pushing down
between Stiles’ shoulder blades until he’s face first against the sheets. The
move has Stiles aching with quiet need as he feels blood begin to rush down to
his groin and pool there hotly. Derek’s fingers are soft, the creaks of the bed
quiet, Stiles’ breath coming in slow pants as his body waits with rigid
anticipation.
Derek says nothing as he dips his hands into Stiles’ waistband and tugs,
flicking open the button to drag the jeans down over bony hips. Stiles makes a
tiny noise in the back of his throat as the cool air hits his feverish skin.
His boxers catch on his ridiculously hard dick before being tugged downward,
and he grunts fully as it finally springs free and bounces upward to slap
against his stomach.
“Derek,” Stiles murmurs softly, both pleading and chiding.
“Shhhh,” Derek says as his hand smooths over the curve of Stiles’ back before
sweeping down to cup along his hip. “Little wolves don’t speak.”
Stiles clamps his jaw shuts and frowns. He hadn’t counted on that.
“And what do they do, then?” Of course he can’t keep his mouth shut for even a
second.
A firm slap against Stiles’ ass makes him yelp out in surprise.
“Quiet, pup. Before I make you be quiet.”
Stiles wants to ask how, but he doesn’t push it. Instead he strains backward
into Derek’s touch, relishing the feel of whisper-soft strokes over the
tingling skin. Derek’s fingers tickle before they press a little deeper, a
little harder, his hand sliding up over Stiles’ still-clothed back to wrap
around the base of Stiles’ neck and pin him down.
“I think my little wolf needs to learn how to respect his Alpha.”
Stiles groans at the words and spreads his legs. He looks upward at Derek’s
looming body, his bearded face hovering close by, eyes a dark, mossy green.
Stiles suddenly is desperate for the brilliant flash of red, for Derek’s claws,
for the wolf’s strength against him.
The hand tightens on Stiles’ neck, the rest of him cooling with the loss of
body heat as Derek shifts away. Stiles cranes his neck to try and see but
Derek’s low growl makes him freeze. His thighs are beginning to tremble from
being spread so wide, from the pent up nerves, from the excess energy Stiles
can never seem to shake off. Derek pets along his flanks, soothing him before
lining up the glass base of the plug.
Stiles whines and jolts forward, the feeling somehow unexpected even after all
of the build-up. His brain feels jumbled, confused, the desire to submit to
Derek’s claim slowly clawing its way deep inside, into the animal part where
all that exists is need and want and yes and now. As Derek pushes forward with
the plug, Stiles tries to breathe in deeply like Derek had taught him. Inhale.
Exhale. Relax. Release. The plug is big, the rounded edge pushing against his
rim, the pressure of the largest portion seeming almost too much to take. He
fights the urge to stiffen up, wanting to please Derek, wanting to hear the
pride in his voice as he whispers against his skin. He pushes backwards, the
plug suddenly popping through the muscle and filling him up heavily. The
sensation is always a surprise, always a stretch, always a burn. No matter how
many times Derek fills him, and no matter how many different things he fills
him with.
Derek gives him only a moment before pressing forward gently, pushing in the
plug further until the flared end is resting right against Stiles and he feels
impossibly full. The tail hangs down between his legs, the soft hair brushing
against his inner thighs and tickling him. He feels stuffed and heavy, the air
difficult to breathe as his mind shifts into the here and now, Derek’s fingers
and the plug, his stretched rim and the brimming fullness inside.
A tug on the tail makes Stiles seize up, his body clenching around the glass
neck of the toy, his mouth hanging open with a wet gasp. The tip of his tongue
touches the roof of his mouth and he stays it in time, pleased with himself.
Sweat beads on his brow, seeping into the edges of his hair, making him feel
sticky all over.
“Up,” Derek says with command, and Stiles pushes up on his arms until he’s on
all fours, peering back at Derek shyly. The plug settles inside him as he moves
and it presses down with gravity, the tail swishing back and forth. Stiles
hears whining noises, faintly registering that they are coming from his chest.
“On the floor.”
Stiles feels his cock swell further, a bit of pre-come leaking out, its smell
sharp and thick in the air. The flare of Derek’s nostrils excites him; he knows
the wolf is scenting him.
“Sit back. Spread your legs.”
Stiles obeys, has to clench tightly to prevent the plug from slipping down, its
weight heavy against his rim, the tail hanging down between his legs. He feels
flushed all over, his body on display to the rake of Derek’s gaze. He looks
dark and serious, his frown making his face more handsome, making Stiles more
desperate to please.
He pushes his head back again, needing to show his submission, wanting Derek to
touch him, to praise him, to fuck him, to do something. And Stiles bites his
tongue, unable to do anything but offer himself up.
“Such a good little wolf,” Derek finally says, nudging at Stiles’ cock with his
foot.
Stiles swells with the praise, his dick aching, his body tight, the plug thick
and full, reminding him to whom he belongs. Derek, always Derek. Always
stretched for him. Waiting for him.
Derek smiles and comes closer, sitting at the edge of the bed and spreading his
thighs. “Are you thirsty, pup?”
Stiles licks his lips and nods, only moving forward when Derek crooks his
finger to grant silent permission.
***** Sterek orgasm denial and overstimulation *****
Chapter Summary
     Sterek orgasm denial followed by Derek making Stiles come so much he
     cries.
Stiles always looks so pretty when he begs. The way he tosses his head back,
how he bucks his hips into the sheets and writhes against Derek. The tiny catch
in his throat as he breathes in sharply. And the way his voice slowly turns
from snarky boasting to needy pleas.
“Jesus, Derek. Please. Please. Need your cock. Need you now. Need to come.”
It’s been a half an hour and Stiles looks like he’s about to spontaneously
combust. His cock is flushed red, flat against his stomach, sticky fluid
squeezing out and making a mess across his belly.
Derek says nothing, guides Stiles’ hands up to the headboard and pushes them
against the rounded slats. Stiles whines fully as he grasps onto them, obeying
Derek’s silent command. Holding on is always harder than being bound, Derek
knows. Which is precisely why he does it. It means Stiles has the choice, and
he chooses the sweet torment. He chooses to trust Derek.
The sleek slide of muscles just beneath the skin is gorgeous, Stiles’ entire
body straining forward, the thick scent of his desperation filling the air. He
grows silent and looks up at Derek with large eyes, his lashes already wet with
tears. It makes Derek smile, the small heated one that makes Stiles’ heartbeat
trip because he knows exactly what’s coming.
“Don’t let go,” Derek says softly against the inner skin of Stiles’ flexing
bicep. He draws backwards to kneel between Stiles’ legs, taking his fill of the
trembling boy spread out before him. Slowly, he eases Stiles’ legs back,
folding the lanky body over and leaning forward with his weight so Stiles is
pressed down into the mattress. Derek smiles at the way Stiles fidgets beneath
him, struggling to bring as much of his body in contact with Derek’s as
possible. He thrusts his hips up and whines out when their cocks brush briefly.
“Have you been a good boy?” Derek asks, sitting back on his haunches but
keeping his hands underneath Stiles’ knees to hold him open. Stiles shudders,
his fingers still clenched around the headboard slats, his hips shaking against
the bed.
“Yes. I’m good. So good. Please.”
Derek smiles at the supplicating tone, at how Stiles has held on so tightly, at
how he’s waited so long, just because Derek asked. He slides his finger in a
light pattern along the back of Stiles’ thigh, making him twitch violently at
the touch. He trails lower, dipping between his legs, drawing the lightest of
touches over the base of Stiles’ balls and along the sensitive skin just
beneath.
“What do good boys get?” Derek asks as his fingertip glides lower, the blunt
nail lightly scraping. He turns his hand over and pushes his fingertip against
Stiles’ clenched hole, stroking there idly.
“Good boys get to come,” Stiles breathes out as he throws his head back. Derek
watches him visibly try to relax, his desperation having tightened his body up
everywhere. The air stirs warmly between them as Derek pushes forward with his
finger, sliding inward easily as Stiles mewls beneath him.
“Good boys come on my fingers,” Derek corrects. He pushes in further, feeling
the muscle fluttering around his knuckle, his own dick pulsing in his pants as
he watches it happen. “And then they spread their legs again and let me lick
and suck until they come on my tongue. And then they beg and beg until they
cry. And then, then they come on my dick.”
A full-throated groan spills from Stiles’ mouth and he tightens his grip on the
headboard. “Please, Der. Please.”
Derek tugs down with his finger, making room for a second to slip in with
difficulty. Stiles is so tight, so amazingly tight, clenched and furnace-hot
around him.
“Will you do that for me, Stiles? Will you be my good boy?” Derek glances from
between where his fingers are currently disappearing inside Stiles’ body up to
the boy’s blood-red lips, swollen from where he’s been biting down with force.
“Yes, yes, Derek, please. I’m your good boy. I’ll be your good boy. Please.”
Satisfied, Derek bends down to lick a stripe up the underside of Stiles’
slender cock, sucking the tip just inside his mouth. He twists his fingers
cruelly and Stiles shouts out, his entire body stretching and tightening, his
muscles going rigid. The orgasm creeps through his blood, flares out in a
stretch of fiery sparks through his limbs, his toes curling in the air. Derek
watches in fascination as Stiles’ body heaves, his dick pulsing and a thick
stream of come splashes up and paints his stomach and chest.
Stiles has barely stopped shuddering before Derek bends his legs back further,
leaning down to kiss along his thighs and lick at the base of his fingers still
pressed tight inside. Stiles’ dick twitches in a final spasm, his come a thick
pool sliding down the sides of his belly. The fingers are removed and replaced
by Derek’s tongue, wet and thick, his beard brushing and tickling. Derek’s
fingers are sticky against Stiles’ thighs and he lets out a wrecked noise as he
trembles under the onslaught.
It’s too much, it’s too soon, way too soon. Stiles shudders with whole-body
spasms as Derek works his tongue inside, licking sloppily, pinning him down
effortlessly with just his hands. Stiles loses his grip on the headboard, his
fingers slippery, and he throws his hands down on the bed to fist in the
sheets.
Derek pulls away, frowning, his eyes narrowing down at Stiles’ flushed and
quivering form. He pushes his fingers through the come, trailing his hand over
Stiles’ softening cock and making him wriggle and moan once more.
“I thought you were going to be good,” Derek says as he uses the come to slick
up Stiles’ cock, tightening his fingers into a circle around the base.
“I… I can’t,” Stiles gets out with a stuttering voice, but his hands reach back
up to grasp the headboard. Watching Stiles strung out and crying, lying in a
puddle of his own come, knuckles white with a stiff grip does something to
Derek’s animal brain. He bends down to tongue against Stiles’ slit, relishing
the way his boy cries out at the rush of sensation along his overly hot skin.
Big fat tears begin to slide down his cheeks and Derek smiles against the
sweaty skin.
“Yes, you can, Stiles,” he murmurs as Stiles begins to shake in his hands. He
continues to stroke Stiles in smooth tugs, not stopping until the tears are
streaking his face and Stiles is red-faced and sobbing, riding the agonizing
brink of orgasm once more.
***** Steter - Peter knots Stiles' mouth *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter knots Stiles' mouth.
Chapter Notes
     From a tumblr prompt from a-little-bit-of-ultra-violence. :)
Stiles never really developed good table manners. Maybe it was the product of
living in an all male household and too many times eating just Cheetos for
dinner, but he never learned to wipe his mouth. Or close it while chewing. Or
not to slurp soup off of the spoon or blow bubbles in his milkshake.
Peter’s taken note. In fact, he’s fascinated. He could watch Stiles’ mouth all
day, thrown open with an easy laugh, his grin impossibly wide. Or curved around
Peter’s dick like it is now, tongue sloppy and lips dark pink and shiny. He
laps at Peter like he’s an ice cream cone, swirling around the flared head and
flicking forward with pointed licks right at the tip. Stiles is so wet, so
sloppy as he slurps and sucks, his cheeks hollowing out and spit beginning to
collect at the corners of his mouth.
Though it pains him physically, Peter pulls away from the boy’s mouth just to
see the line of spit stretch from the tip of his soaked dick all the way to
Stiles’ plump lips. He rubs against them, smearing pre-come and painting a
shiny line right down his chin. Stiles hangs there in the air with his eyes
half-lidded and mouth slack, tongue darting down to taste Peter on his lips.
“You’re such a sloppy boy,” Peter says as he trails his fingers down across
Stiles’ cheek and presses the tips to Stiles’ lips. Stiles sucks on them
immediately, his teeth grazing along the knuckles while Peter closes his eyes
in pleasure. “So eager for your mouth to be filled up, aren’t you Stiles?”
Stiles grunts around the fingers and Peter pushes inward, sliding along the
wriggling tongue, his other hands reaching down to grasp Stiles firmly by the
chin. He watches Stiles’ throat work enthusiastically, his adam’s apple bobbing
as he swallows when Peter pushes in all the way to the webbing of his fingers.
Stiles is drooling a little bit now, the spit sliding wetly down his chin and
onto the top of Peter’s hand where he’s holding him still.
The slippery tongue wraps around Peter’s fingers and Peter’s dick throbs at the
sensation. He can feel the dull ache blossoming up from his gut, the base
already growing slightly thicker. Peter watches Stiles’ eyes, the way they turn
puppy dog sweet with a slight glaze as they focus on the first signs of Peter’s
knot. It makes Peter grin, feral and dirty, towering above Stiles as he kneels
on the cool tile of the floor. The boy’s dark hair is a mess, flattened from
where Peter has run his hands through it repeatedly. It’s long now, much longer
than when they’d first met, when he’d had that darling buzz cut that felt
fantastic but wasn’t long enough to grab. Peter pulls out his fingers and fists
into the hair, possession curling in a satisfying warmth through his chest.
“Open up,” Peter commands, tugging back roughly on Stiles’ hair. His grip is
strong on the chin, Stiles held tightly into position, lips falling open. Peter
absolutely thrills to see the way his cock looks against Stiles’ lips, the way
he tries to mouth around him but can’t because Peter has him held open. He
pushes the head inward and watches it disappear between the wet lips slowly.
Stiles’ mouth is so lovely, so wide, so pink, and the way he’s spread around
Peter and moaning makes Peter’s toes curl.
He shoves in slowly, his fingers tightening in Stiles’ hair, his hand slipping
from Stiles’ jaw to the back of his neck. He’s tilted back at an angle now,
making hurt little mewling noises as Peter drives all the way in, bumping at
the back of Stiles’ throat. Watching him take it all, watching Stiles’ eyes
water as his jaw opens wide, combined with the feel of the wriggling tongue
along the underside of his cock has Peter groaning and snapping his hips
forward. He begins to fuck Stiles’ mouth in earnest, enjoying the way Stiles
grunts and moans in his grasp, and how his chin is entirely sloppy and dripping
with spit and pre-come.
“You’re going to swallow it all down, Stiles,” Peter says, his annunciation
crisp even though he’s got his cock shoved down Stiles’ mouth and his hips are
shuddering against his face. “And you’re going to try so hard to take my knot.
But it will keep your mouth open, held wide for me. And it will all dribble out
onto your chin. I’m going to make such a mess of you.”
The humming noise of assent buzzes across Peter’s dick and he feels his knot
swelling quickly as he watches Stiles’ jaw slide down in a painful-looking
stretch. The thickness of his knot soon prevents him from thrusting and all he
can do is push against Stiles’ mouth with desperate quick jabs. Stiles’ throat
is fluttering around the head of his dick and when he swallows quickly Peter
curses loudly and feels his orgasm rolling upward in a soft, red-hot wave. He
clutches Stiles by the ears, his come spilling out in a rush, the knot pulsing,
Stiles’ tongue warm. The waves slide over his skin, his mouth slackened with
it, fingers tightening, digging into Stiles’ jaw forcefully.
“Your mouth, Stiles,” Peter groans as he heaves, hips stuttering, one final
spurt that slides down the back of Stiles’ throat. He breathes in soft pants,
his face relaxed with the laze of orgasm as he looks down at Stiles. Stiles
looks ridiculously debauched beneath him, mouth stretched obscenely, lashes
dark against his cheeks, and a flush riding high along his cheekbones. And
Peter’s come leaking out from the corner of his lips. The mixture of come and
spit dribbles downward, drips onto Stiles’ knees and Peter feels a twinge in
his knot as he stares at how he’s marked Stiles, claimed him. He smiles and
strokes a line along the moles on Stiles’ cheek, delighting in the way Stiles
is making muffled grunts and huffing through his nose in order to breathe.
“Beautiful,” Peter murmurs, pushing forward with his hips so Stiles has to
shift backwards onto his feet to accommodate Peter’s movements. And this is
Peter’s favorite part— watching Stiles helpless and flushed, bound to Peter and
completely at his mercy. Stuffed full and wriggling, desperate to come and just
reeking of need. But that will be later. Much later. For now there’s time to
pet and stroke as Peter basks in the after-glow of orgasm and the way his come
has painted his mate inside and out.
***** Stilinskicest Spanking *****
Chapter Summary
     First time Stilinskicest, the Sheriff spanks his boy.
Chapter Notes
     Warning: Incest, daddy!kink.
"Come here, son,” John says, voice smooth and laced with exhaustion. He fixes
Stiles with a glare that makes the boy jump three feet and tremble in his
shoes. Stiles fidgets with the lace on his hoodie, staring down at the floor,
unable to meet his dad’s eyes.
“Now,” John barks out, and the command makes Stiles jump forward and take
several halting steps towards the man. The Sheriff is sitting on the couch in
their living room, deathly still and tired features set into a frown. His hands
rest on his beige pants and as Stiles draws near he looks down at them, fearful
and wide-eyed. The hands look large, the fingers curling upward slightly, and
Stiles can almost feel the spanks that he knows are coming.
Stiles’ dad has always been fond of corporal punishment. When he was growing
up, Stiles was spanked for stealing from the cookie jar, and then again for
lying about stealing from the cookie jar. He was spanked for talking out of
turn and for not doing his chores. He was spanked for bad grades and for
breaking the refrigerator door. But it was only last year that the spankings
got a little more… difficult. Difficult for Stiles, anyways. The first time
he’d gotten hard while bent over his dad’s knee, Stiles had flushed with
absolute mortification. He’d wriggled around, trying to keep it from pressing
against his dad’s leg, hoping beyond hope that he wouldn’t notice. John had
said nothing though, just spanked him so soundly Stiles cried fat crocodile
tears at the pain burning across his skin and the throbbing in his dick. And
then John spanked him some more, firm and relentless. Stiles had zipped up his
pants in a daze and stumbled back to his room, painfully hard and his thoughts
a jumbled mess. He’d jerked off quickly, a haze of confusion and shame clouding
his mind when he came, hot and sticky across his belly. Afterward he wondered
how loud he’d been, and if his dad had heard. And the thought that he kind of
wanted him to hear caused another thick wave of shame to sweep through his gut.
“Why do you have to be so difficult sometimes, Stiles?” John intones, bringing
Stiles back to the present. It makes Stiles bite his lip. He doesn’t know, he
tells himself. Though really, there’s a secret part of him that knows he does
it just so he can ride his daddy’s knee and come thinking about his hands on
him later.
“Come on, pants down. Up over my lap.”
Stiles stares for a minute, his normal motor-mouth slowed down to absolutely
zero as the seconds tick by and his heart threatens to hop right out of his
chest.
“Come on, Stiles,” John says, irritation edging into his tone. Stiles shuffles
his feet and moves to unbutton his jeans, eyes down on the carpet. He tries to
focus on the piece of lint resting by his dad’s shoes. They’re his work shoes;
he hasn’t even changed since he got home.
“Look, Dad,” Stiles says as he reluctantly lowers the fly and pushes his pants
down slightly over his hips. “Don’t you think I’m getting a little old for…”
The words die on his lips as he sees his dad’s withering look. Stiles pushes
his pants down all the way, letting them fall into a jumble at his knees and
bends over quickly so he won’t have to see those eyes piercing into him. At
least he’s not hard yet, his dick just a little interested. Being settled over
his dad’s thighs doesn’t help matters at all, though.
John’s hand rests on Stiles’ back, making him jump. “Don’t you think your dad
knows what’s best for you?”
Stiles dips his head forward, trying to hide his embarrassed flush. The first
slap startles him and he lets out a surprised gasp, his hands flying up to grab
against his dad’s thigh.
“Answer me, son,” the Sheriff says evenly as a second spank lands, jerking
Stiles’ body forward.
“Yes,” Stiles breathes out, his breath leaving his lungs in a quick puff as
another firm spank hits him squarely on the ass. His skin stings, the sharp
pain making him pant, his dick fattening up in response to the stimuli.
“Yes, what?” John asks, his hand smoothing over Stiles’ ass while Stiles jumps
at the unexpected sensation.
“Yes, Dad,” Stiles grits out between clamped teeth, trying hard to keep a moan
tucked inside.
“Good boy.” There’s not much talking then, only the sound of the forceful slaps
and Stiles’ muffled grunting. He twists his feet, trying to arch his hips away
but each spank drives him forward, right against his dad’s leg.
The Sheriff is thorough, knowing exactly how to spank his kid, just how to make
him cry. The spanks come quicker now, rougher, lifting Stiles up with each
heavy blow. “That’s it, Stiles. Let it out. It’s okay. Your daddy’s got you.”
And Stiles just starts to sob at the words. He feels like he’s going to
explode, like all of the blood in his entire body has pooled in his dick, like
his skin might light on fire under his dad’s palm. The slaps grow lighter now
but it doesn’t even matter, he’s so oversensitive.
“Please,” Stiles finally whispers, and the spanking stops immediately. He
buries his face in his arms, his tears burning his eyes and dripping down. He
can taste them on his lips, taste the salt, feels the marks from his dad’s
hands all over him. The pain feels good, too good, his wet dick bobbing against
his dad’s work pants, and his shame now a gigantic puddle that he just wants to
just wallow and drown in.
John’s hands pull on Stiles’ hips gently and he takes the hint and eases off,
reaching down quickly to try and pull his pants up to hide how achingly hard
and dripping his cock is.
“You’ve been such a good boy,” John says, and Stiles feels his dick squeeze out
a tiny bit of pre-come at the praise. He knows his dad can’t mean what he
thinks he means. Stiles struggles to pull his pants up all the way, turning
sideways to hide himself from view.
He feels his dad behind him, close, so close he can feel the warm breath on his
ear. He pushes Stiles gently forward, slow steps until they reach the kitchen
table and Stiles has to put his hands out quickly to prevent a sudden fall
forward. Large hands search along Stiles’ stomach, running tentatively over the
quivering muscles while Stiles grinds back without any conscious thought.
“Please, Dad,” he mewls out, desire winning over the embarrassment. “Please.”
His dad is always so good to him, always takes care of him. Always gives him
exactly what he needs. The hands are hesitant at his waistband, but Stiles
reaches down and wraps his fingers around them, pushes until his pants are down
around his knees once more. His ass stings, the skin must be beet-red, and when
Stiles feels something wet against him— something wet and hard and oh god
that’s his dad’s dick— he stiffens his body completely.
“Dad, dad, daddy, pleasepleaseplease daddy,” Stiles begins to chant as his dad
starts to trail his fingers over Stiles’ clenching hole, slowly working one
finger inside. Stiles is absolutely dripping now, his pre-come making a mess
onto the table. The table where he does his homework. The table where he serves
his dad over-easy eggs and toast. The table where his dad is currently
fingering him after spanking his ass raw.
“Shhhh, I’ve got you son,” he whispers right into the base of Stiles’ neck, and
Stiles squeezes his eyes tight as he feels an orgasm rolling up from his belly
all too soon.
***** Sterek bite mark tattoo *****
Chapter Summary
     Derek discovers that Stiles has a tattoo out of their wolves’ teeth
     impressions around his hip. Post Season 3B feels.
The smell of Stiles is different when he enters the loft, and he doesn’t curl
his body around Derek like he used to do.  Instead he gingerly sits down on the
couch, plucking off his shoes and pulling out a textbook while Derek just
watches.
“What?” Stiles says, quirking an eyebrow at the wolf as he sits at the kitchen
table, soda in hand.  Derek returns the eyebrow raise; he can win that game.
 He invented that game.  Stiles shrugs without much fight and returns his eyes
back to the book, his hands skimming over the page. As Derek watches him he
wonders at how tired the teenager looks.  He probably hasn’t gotten a haircut
in months and the dark lines around his eyes still linger, the sunken look of
pain still etched in the fine lines of his lips.  He may have healed physically
from his near-death experience with the Nogitsune, but he still looks small,
lost, tired.
Derek lets him be, knowing that Stiles will talk when he wants to talk and only
then.  He used to be so chatty and animated and full of life, but now…  Now
they just sit in silence most of the time and Derek can’t say that he really
minds.  Stiles needs him and it feels good to be needed, even if it’s just to
be a calming presence.  Stiles has been his anchor so many times that Derek is
glad to play the part.  More than glad, really.
He settles down on the couch, smiling when Stiles shifts to put his feet onto
Derek’s lap.  He’s wearing mismatched socks and there’s a hole in one of them
which makes Derek warm a little inwardly.  He tickles his finger right against
Stiles’ toe and the quick yelp of laughter and swinging of legs brings the
scent of something different and wrong to the forefront once more.  Derek
immediately grasps Stiles’ ankle with his hand, pinning the boy down so he
can’t get away from his gaze.
Are you alright, Derek wants to ask, but he knows that’s the wrong question.
 So instead he says, “Something’s different.”
Stiles tugs his foot away, curling up into a ball and making a slight wincing
motion that has Derek clenching his fists with something akin to anger.  
“I’m fine,” Stiles says for the millionth time, and he moves his legs
underneath himself to get more comfortable.  “Stop worrying about me.”  There’s
some warmth in the tone though, and Derek lets his fingers relax by sheer force
of will.
“You smell like blood.”
Stiles freezes and Derek wonders why; clearly, he should know by now just how
keen a werewolf’s sense of smell is.  He shifts his book over his lap and
doesn’t meet Derek’s eyes— a bad sign that makes Derek’s heart sink into his
stomach like a gigantic rock.
“It’s nothing,” Stiles says as he casts his eyes to the floor.  “Don’t worry
about it.”
It’s my job to worry about you, Derek wants to say. If someone has hurt you I
will rip out their throat, he wants to roar.  Instead he leans forward and
pulls Stiles’ chin up, forcing him to meet his stare.  The amber-brown eyes
look slightly blood-shot and oh so tired, and Derek’s anger melts into a fierce
protectiveness.  He glances down to where Stiles is favoring his left side and
sees the peek of a white bandage above his jeans.  Derek lets his fingers glide
down, playing with the tape at the edge before peeling it down slightly.
Stiles winces with the movement but lifts his hips up so Derek can slide down
the jeans and pull off the remainder of the bandage.  When he sees what’s
beneath Derek has to pull away, flabbergasted.  Below is red, shiny flesh,
surrounding a half-circle of black ink that is clearly a set of teeth.  Derek
immediately recognizes the pointy incisors.  The tattoo looks fresh, the skin
angry, the black outlines dark and vivid.
“See, this is why I didn’t want to show you,” Stiles grumbles as he tries to
hike his jeans back up.  Derek prevents him easily, staring between the
likeness of his own bite mark imprinted on Stiles’ hip and the way Stiles is
looking embarrassed and afraid.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Derek asks, his thumb tracing along the edge of red
skin while Stiles twitches in near-pain.
“I— I didn’t know if I was ready to talk about it yet.  It’s a mark of my
survival.”
“The bite,” Derek nods, his tongue gliding along his teeth and feeling the
smooth points that have ripped into flesh too many times.
“Why not Scott’s bite?  He was the one who bit … you… after all.”  Derek looks
uncomfortable, never one to discuss his feelings.  And Stiles had been so
reticent lately that it hasn’t helped matters.
“You’re my wolf,” Stiles says, turning to grab Derek by the wrist and stop his
wandering fingers.  “If anyone is going to bite me, it’s you.”
“I bite you all the time,” Derek grumbles, and Stiles lets out a quick laugh
that is so like the old Stiles that it makes Derek light up with a small smile.
“And now I’m marked by you.”
Stiles pulls Derek into a full kiss, their lips parting softly, the slide of
their tongues so achingly familiar and foreign all at once.  They part and
Derek pulls Stiles onto his lap, careful not to touch the fresh tattoo but
running his fingers all around the wet outline.  He stares at it until Stiles
pulls him up by the chin to look him in the eyes, and there’s more conviction
there this time, more fire, more purpose.
“I’m alive, Derek.  We’re alive.”
The kiss turns heated, desperate, sloppy and Derek’s ears zero in to the
steadily rushing thump thump thump of Stiles’ heart.  The drumbeat is warm
against his chest, Stiles pliant in his arms, and yes, he thinks.  Yes, you’re
alive.
***** Halinskicest Watersports *****
Chapter Summary
     Halinskicest watersports, Peter and Derek marking Stiles as pack.
Chapter Notes
     I thought this was something I'd never write and now, here I am. :D
The dirt is cool against his cheek, and Stiles kind of can’t believe that he’s
let Peter bend him over and fuck him right on the ground while Derek watches
with glowing yellow eyes.  They’d taken him ‘out back’ as Peter liked to call
it, and Stiles had barely resisted when Derek had put two heavy hands on his
shoulders to force him down to his knees.  And he’d even purred when Derek’s
come spurted warmly onto his eyelids and nose, dripping down in thick droplets
to cover his face.
Derek’s come has dried now, Peter filling him up with more as his claws bite
down into the soft flesh of Stiles’ hips.  Stiles moans into the dried leaves,
his body pushed down with Peter’s heavy weight, the sensation of being filled
to the brim and marked burning along his tender insides.  Peter pulls out with
no finesse, just lets the come drip out as Stiles lies completely still save
for the heavy panting.  He feels like there’s so much of it, too much, like
he’s full all the way up to his stomach and yet it still slides outward, sticky
and wet and uncomfortable.
“Roll over,” Derek says, and his voice is deep and commanding, still that of an
Alpha.  Stiles obeys wordlessly, the shiny luster of the full moon illuminating
the red marks on his body and the dried flecks of Derek’s come on his hands and
chest.
Peter is standing now, cock slowly softening, a fine sweat covering his chest
and thighs.  The two wolves look down at him and Stiles feels his body twitch
and writhe, his ass clenching on nothing, the come slick at his puffy red hole,
his hands grasping at the ground for something, anything to hold on to.  His
body thrums, teetering right on the edge of painful as his cock throbs and his
balls ache, heavy, desperate to be emptied.
“Look at you, squirming on the ground, covered in our come,” Peter says in that
overly-pleased-with-himself tone.
“Do you want to be dirty, Stiles?”  Derek asks.  The pair look huge above him,
their faces obscured by the dark shadows, the light of the moon washing out
everything behind them.
Stiles nods fervently, his fingers digging into the soil, the spongy wetness
grinding into the space under his fingernails.
“Mark me,” Stiles whispers softly, his voice hitching.
He shudders as he feels the first splash warm on his stomach.  It’s so much
more slippery than come, the smell sweet even to his own human nose.  His body
grows rigid as the stream slides down to splash against his cock.  The
sensation is so liquid, so wrong, and he brings his hand up to jerk himself off
in a quick, punishing rhythm.  He lets his eyes flutter, his lashes clumped
with their come, his body covered in semen and dirt and piss.  It’s disgusting,
it’s the most disgusting thing he’s ever done, but he throws his head back and
just rolls in it, rolls in the filth.  
Derek finishes, the stream trickling off, and Stiles gives one exhausted grunt
before stiffening and spurting out onto his own stomach.  He feels wet, soaked,
dripping.  Owned.
“Mine,” Peter says succinctly, claws out and eyes bright.
“Pack,” Derek says, and the words sound the exact same to Stiles’ ears.
***** Halinskicest Tied up Bottom!Derek *****
Chapter Summary
     For the prompt: Halinskicest with body worship and Derek tied up and
     Stiles and Peter just taking their sweet time with him please and
     thanks
Chapter Notes
     Derek/Peter/Stiles - warnings: incest, breath play, bondage,
     bottom!derek. For Hale-Bate.
They watched as Derek shifted in his bonds, the muscles sliding right beneath
the skin, all power and strength barely held at bay.  It made Stiles feel
breathy and warm, watching Derek’s skin tighten beneath his fingertips.
 Watching the large body shuddering as Stiles applied his tongue at just the
right pressure.  He flicked and sucked, making one dusky nipple tighten,
sucking it in between his teeth and hearing Derek’s sounds slowly becoming less
like a complaint and more like an involuntary sigh.
And Peter.  Stiles could only guess what watching Derek tied up and at his
mercy did to the man.  He preferred to let Stiles do most of the work, let him
bend over Derek’s body and just worship him while Peter sat back on his
haunches and licked his fangs.  Sometimes he would give out succinct
directions.  “Harder.”  “Spread him wider.”  “Push with your hips.”  “Make it
hurt.”  Sometimes he would lean over Derek and whisper in his ear something
that Stiles wasn’t privy to, while Stiles kneeled down and let Derek fuck his
face.
But tonight was about patience and drawing out each flick of the tongue and
sharp nip until Derek welled with fat tears and flat out begged.  Stiles slid
his body lower, dragging his wet cock along Derek’s stomach, watching the way
his pre-come painted the wolf’s muscled abdomen with a clear, sticky trail.
 Stiles followed with his mouth, nipping with his teeth and wetting the dark
hair as he made his way downward.  He bypassed Derek’s cock entirely, loving
the way the powerful hips bucked upward while Peter pressed down lightly on
Derek’s shoulders, keeping him in place.
“Not yet,” Peter murmured, claws out.  He tapped them along Derek’s skin, taut
along his shoulder blades, and watched him throw his head back and suck in a
breath.  Peter dragged the tip of one claw up along Derek’s throat, skimming
over his bobbing adam’s apple and pushing upward into the soft chin, tilting
him up further.  Their eyes met, Derek’s flashing a vivid blue before being
squeezed shut as Stiles licked right against his inner-most skin, trying to
ease inside with difficulty.
Peter held Derek pinned with just the pressure of his claws, Derek’s entire
body tightening as Stiles wriggled his tongue inward.  He made sloppy licks and
hummed happily, his nose brushing against the base of Derek’s balls as Derek
pulled his legs back and planted his feet flat on the mattress.
“So gorgeous,” Peter said with a sticky sweet smile, shifting his grip so the
points dug anew into Derek’s tender flesh.  Derek’s body strained in confusion
between the opposing sensations, his cock heavy against his stomach, his whole
body wet and soaked with Stiles’ spit.  
“Please,” Derek whispered, lashes wet and lips parted and shiny.  He closed his
eyes as he felt the tip of Stiles’ cock push up bluntly against him while
Peter’s hand slipped further down his throat and simply squeezed.
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Summary
     Peter calls Stiles his bitch and tells him to present/ keep his ass
     up high.
Chapter Notes
     For zoeteniets. Warnings: Humiliation, spanking, (talk of) knotting.
A sharp slap to his ass has Stiles startling out of his half-sleep and
squinting, the room around him dark enough that he can’t quite make out
anything more than the vague shape hovering over him ominously.  He rubs at his
eyes and rolls over halfway, groaning at the knee that is suddenly painful in
his side.
“Jesus, Peter.  It’s a school night,” Stiles slurs, turning his head into his
pillow and hoping the man will just go away.  Fat chance he knows, but his head
is fuzzy from the lack of sleep and it is two in the morning after all.  Maybe
Peter will have mercy on his tired ass for once.  Stiles snorts into the sheets
knowing that will never be true, and then lets out a grunt as Peter digs his
knee in further.
“Since when do I care about that?” Peter says with perfectly articulated
consonants, the snarl just barely hidden behind his clenched teeth.  
Stiles can feel the slight rash of heat traveling down his spine already,
hating himself a little.  He knows Peter can smell it on him.  “I almost forgot
how much of an asshole you are.”  Stiles rolls over anyways, too tired to put
up much of a fight.
“I almost forgot how much of a cockslut you are,” Peter quips back.  He deftly
pulls down Stiles’ pajama pants, dragging them downward just enough to reveal
the smooth curve of his ass.  Stiles squirms a bit against the sheets, his
suddenly hard dick caught in his boxers and pushed heavily down into the
mattress with his weight.  It’s still too dark to see very much, but he glances
back at Peter with a scowl, the electric blue of the wolf’s eyes a stark
contrast to the blackness.
Stiles wriggles, tries to spread his legs, and huffs when he can’t.  He can
hear the quiet whisper of cloth, the teeth of a zipper being lowered, the
slight creak of his mattress as their weight shifts.  He feels a tiny bit of
pre-come squeeze out, the anticipation making him buzz.  Peter’s grin is
practically audible.
“Getting wet for me already?  Filthy little slut.  Just like a bitch in heat.
 Look at you humping the bed, gagging for it.  Won’t you beg for me, Stiles?
 I’ll only do it if you say pretty please.”
Stiles grits his teeth and slides his hands up near his head to grip into the
covers.  He’s not going to beg.  Not yet, anyways.  “Fuck you.”  But he pushes
his hips upward, the tide of desperation slowly rising through his blood.
A forceful slap sounds out loudly, the sting shooting across Stiles’ skin and
jolting straight to his cock.  His ass smarts and he feels himself bowing his
back, pushing backwards, seeking out more.
“See?  Naughty little slut.  Arching back for more.  Do you want more, Stiles?”
Stiles gives up speaking, just makes muffled grunts as Peter doesn’t wait and
just spanks him again and again.  His hand is huge, unforgiving, hot like a
brand, making him burn.
“Come on.  Put that ass up high.  Forehead to the bed.  Moan like you mean it,
boy.”
It’s not even a conscious thought— Stiles just does it.  He tries to spread his
legs again and lets out a whimper, his dick pulsing in his pants, shoulders
stretching as his back lengthens.
“Look at how sweet your tight little hole is, Stiles.  Opening up to me.  Just
desperate to get mounted, fucked, pounded.  Knotted.”  Peter reaches beneath
Stiles and for one fleeting moment he thinks he’s going to get sweet relief and
a fist wrapped around his cock.  But instead Peter’s hand skates up, flicks
against his nipple before squeezing it tight between blunt fingernails.  Stiles
bites his lip hard to keep from groaning out too loudly, and the sound that
escapes is more of a broken whimper than anything else.
There’s silence and then another hard spank, right across the fleshy part of
Stiles’ ass.  Then Stiles feels his cheeks being parted, and a shock of cool
air being blown right across the twitching hole.  It makes his whole body
shudder and jerk, and Peter laughs before sinking a fingertip right inside
without any warning.  It glides in, and Peter at least had the decency to be
generous with the lubricant.  He searches quickly, pushing down and rubbing in
a tight circle in just the right spot to have Stiles keening, his thighs
beginning to shake.
“Do you want to be mounted, little bitch in heat?”  
Stiles’ face burns with shame, but he nods anyways, eyes pressed tight.
“What’s the magic word?”
Peter’s fingers are merciless, knowing just how to play him, and Stiles feels
salty tears welling up.  “You fucking bastard.”
It just makes Peter laugh, though, and slide in a second finger.  “Tell me now.
 And ask nicely.  Before I tie up your little cock and make you ride my fingers
til you’re screaming.  Or maybe I’ll turn you loose, out in the woods.  Bind
your hands and feet and just let any wolf who smells your slutty wet hole come
and fuck you, knot you.  You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  Don’t you want to be
held down in the dirt by all their hands?  Don’t you want to be covered with
come, inside and out?”
The pressure is too much, his skin buzzing with it, and Stiles prays he doesn’t
come right then or Peter will throw a hissy fit and devise an even more
imaginative punishment.  “Please,” Stiles whispers, and the fingers are
withdrawn immediately to be replaced by the blunt head of Peter’s cock.
“Pretty please,” Peter prompts, pushing forward just enough so the rim of
Stiles’ muscles clench and flutter.
Stiles swallows thickly, his heart pounding like he’s just run a marathon.  The
words almost stick in his throat but he finally chokes out, “Pretty please,
Peter.”  And then Peter just shoves in and it burns, it fucking burns, and
Stiles growls out like he’s some kind of goddamn animal.  And he hates Peter
for it, for the way he wants it, needs it, craves it.  He pushes back until
they’re sealed tight.
“Filthy slut,” Peter coos as he inches in the last little bit, and the words
sound like a sweet endearment to Stiles’ ears.
***** Argentcest plus Scott *****
Chapter Summary
     Chris fucks Scott while Allison watches.
Chapter Notes
     Warnings: Incest.
Her daddy looked so gorgeous, skin flushed, chest rising and falling, the light
gray smattering of chest hair dampened slightly with sweat.  And his hands, so
skilled, so powerful, resting splayed over Scott’s trembling back as he kneeled
up behind him.  He fucked upwards with his hips, making Scott mewl and twitch,
and pulling a heavy exhale from Allison’s pink lips as she watched.
“Put your back into it.  He can take it.  Come on, Daddy,” Allison purred,
sliding up against her dad’s back.  His skin was warm, almost sticky, and she
dragged her naked breasts against him, relishing in the delicious friction.  He
rocked back into her and she inched closer, spreading her knees wide and
rolling her whole body forward.  Her hands traveled up his ribs, over his broad
shoulders, squeezing the flexing muscles of his bicep and resting there as she
felt him move beneath her hands.  Contract, release— an endless, wordless
rhythm as he grunted out and tilted his head sideways to rub against her cheek.
 His stubble was soft, tickling, and she nuzzled forward, loving it.  She’d
always enjoyed the bristly feeling when he used to tuck her in at night and
give her a brief kiss on the forehead.  And now she loved it scratching against
her lips, her tongue, her thighs.
She was wet and aching, not touching herself on purpose, just because she
wanted her daddy to wind her up first before sliding his fingers inside.  A
choked out sob made Allison remember to open her eyes, and she blinked down at
Scott spread out beneath her father.  His toned back was arched downward in a
lovely curve, chest pressed to the bed, head buried between his arms.  Allison
had seen him flushed and trembling so many times, but never quite like this,
ass up, taking her daddy’s cock without hardly any protest.  Chris grabbed at
his hips, pulling the boy upward and moving back into Allison at the same time,
making the three of them groan in tandem.
Chris cocked his head sideways again, eyes drooping down with pleasure, looking
at Allison’s soft lips as she licked at them.  “Are you my good little girl?”
Chris asked, slowing his hips and dipping his head forward to nose along
Allison’s jaw.  She shifted around him so he wouldn’t have to strain his neck
as much, rubbing into the stubbled cheek and pressing light kisses all the way
to his ear.
“Yes, Daddy.”
He smiled at her lightly, removing one hand from Scott’s hip to caress her
shoulder and skate down to pinch a tight little nipple.  It made Allison frown
and bite her lip, and she spread her legs wider, pushing her wet pussy right
against her daddy’s thigh.
“Do you like watching your daddy fuck your boyfriend?”
Allison guided his fingers down further, turning his hand so it lay flat
against her stomach.  He slid down the rest of the way on his own, fingering
against the light patch of hair before slipping down to flick against her
throbbing clit.
“Yes,” she breathed out, her voice sounding soft and strained at the same time.
Chris smiled, the lines of his face softening as he watched Allison carefully.
 He slid his hand down further, one finger running along the edges of Allison’s
swollen folds before pressing up inside.  He pushed his palm into her clit as
he drove his finger upward into her, making her buck her hips against him.
 “Because that doesn’t really sound like a thing good girl do.”  But his tone
was teasing and Allison laughed, a breathless light little thing.
“I’m so good for you, Daddy,” she promised, leaning forward to brush her lips
gently against his before pulling away and resting her forehead on his
shoulder.  He gripped Scott around the waist again, thrusting in slow, working
into a deep, easy rhythm.  Each snap of strong hips had Scott moaning out
Allison’s name in a confused voice and it was only minutes before Allison was
growing hot all over and coming hard, clenching down on the three fingers her
daddy had pushed inside of her and grinding into the heel of his palm.
***** Daddy!Derek with a broom *****
Chapter Summary
     Daddy!Derek fucks Stiles with a broom.
Chapter Notes
     Warnings: Daddy kink, object insertion, mention of spanking.
The counter creaks as Stiles pushes his weight forward onto his forearms,
bowing his head.  He spreads his legs further, cock warm and heavy between his
legs, the cool air of the kitchen licking against his naked skin.  It makes him
shiver, makes his arms raise up into goosebumps as he waits.
He can hear Derek breathing behind him, smooth and even, each exhale making
Stiles’ nerves buzz.  
“What were my instructions, baby boy?”
Stiles’ cock throbs at the words, his eyes squeezed shut, body tightening up.
 Sometimes Derek warms him up first, spanks him until he’s pink and crying.
 Sometimes he just pushes Stiles down by the neck and slides his cock forward,
forcing his way inside.  It’s the not knowing that makes Stiles shudder.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.”  
Stiles can feel his body straining into Derek’s touch, so close, the whisper of
air brushing against the small of his back.
“To finish my chores, Daddy.”
He can hear Derek purr deep in his chest, and Stiles curves his back in a deep
bow response.
“And did you finish?”
A bit of fear trickling into his stomach, and Stiles buries his head in his
forearms.  He shifts on his feet, the linoleum cold beneath his toes.  “No.”
Derek waits.
“No, Daddy.”
There’s a slight hum of disapproval and then something taps Stiles on the hip.
 It’s smooth and dense, and Stiles puzzles for a moment behind his eyelids, not
recognizing one of their usual toys.  The rounded edge slides over the curve of
his ass, gentle and slow.  Stiles arches into it, feeling the mewl catch on the
back of his teeth as Derek moves the object downward.
“No,” Derek says, closer now, breath warm on Stiles’ back.  “Instead I come
home to you licking a spoon like you wished it was a cock, lapping against it
with that wicked little tongue, your cock hard and naked between your legs.
 Were you hoping I would fuck you when I got home, baby boy?  Were you hoping I
would forget how naughty you were and just bury my cock in you?”  Derek moves
the polished wood downward, slipping in between the cheeks of Stiles’ ass and
dipping against his tightly clenched hole before sliding down to tap at his
smooth balls.  
The broom, Stiles realizes, cheeks heating up as Derek pushes the tip of it
along the length of Stiles’ leaking cock before it falls heavily to the side.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Stiles whispers, fingers digging into the countertop.
 Derek’s left just the apron on him, and Stiles can feel the strings slide
against his sides, making him feel even more naked.
“Have you been a naughty boy, Stiles?”  The broom’s tip moves upward, bumping
into the very center of Stiles and nudging inward while he lets out a tiny
groan.
“Yes, Daddy.  I’m sorry, Daddy.”
A disappointed sigh comes from Derek, and it makes Stiles’ stomach curl, the
desire to please tangible on his tongue.
“What do naughty boys get?”
The broom pushes in more, firm and thin, and Stiles flushes a burning red from
cheekbones to neck.
“Punished,” Stiles murmurs, and the answer is familiar on his lips.  
Derek feeds in the handle further, Stiles reaching up on his tiptoes as it just
goes on and on and on until he thinks he can’t take any more but still it goes.
 He can feel each muscle quiver as he waits, as he takes what Derek gives him,
as he keens for his Daddy.
“Please.”  It’s a soft whisper into his arms, and Stiles feels tight as a bow.
 Every fiber of his being is focused on the point of his body where Derek has
him speared on the broom, lifting him up, his lashes growing wet and soft.
 “Please, Daddy,” he repeats, and when Derek starts to ease the broom out and
then fucks forward lightly, Stiles lets out a breathy, relieved sigh.
“Thank you, Daddy.”
***** Stiles' birthday/Stripper!Derek *****
Chapter Summary
     It's Stiles' twenty-first birthday and either that's a super hot cop
     or his friend's hired him a stripper. (Hint: They hired him a
     stripper.)
Chapter Notes
     Written for the lovely thatworldinverted's birthday!
“We’ve received several calls about a noise disturbance in the area.”
Stiles’ jaw hung open at the hinges, eyes flicking over to Erica and then to
Scott and Isaac and then back to the absurdly hot cop standing in his apartment
doorway.  The hot cop with a scruffy beard and enough muscles to look like he
could rip the door right off the hinges or maybe hold Stiles up by just his
hips and give him a real thorough fucking.
“No.  Noooo.  You didn’t?  Did you.  No, you didn’t.”  Stiles laughed
maniacally for a moment, age at least giving him the presence of mind to not
just blurt out all of his inappropriate thoughts.  “But no, did you?”
Someone lowered the volume of the thumping music, the bass still deep enough to
thrum beneath their feet through the cheap laminate flooring.  The cop looked
at him with a raised eyebrow, and damn he really had that angry, get-you-to-
confess death-look down pat.  Stiles swallowed hard, Little Stiles calming down
slowly in his pants as he began to wonder if he was actually about to be fined
on his twenty-first birthday.  By a super hot cop.
“Um, I’m sorry, Officer?”  He kind of trailed off at the end of the sentence,
making it sound insincere though he was really just god-awful nervous.  And
Erica and Lydia’s giggles behind him were really not helping anything.
The man pushed his way through the door frame, and Stiles kind of thought Hey,
what about my civil liberties!which was quickly derailed by I’d like my civil
liberties to be violated, yes please, Officer Hot Stuff.  Which made him flush
red as a cherry and step backwards through the two feet of the foyer and into
the tiny living room.
“It’s Officer Hale,” the cop said gruffly, and Stiles kind of melted as the man
took one step closer, hand sliding down to his belt and unhooking a pair of
very real-looking handcuffs.  He raised them up to Stiles’ nose, the sudden
smirking grin making his face look ten times more attractive which Stiles
didn’t even think was humanly possible.
“Oh,” Stiles squeaked, forgetting everyone else in the room.  Cause that meant
stripper and not arrested, right?  He gulped, not really trusting himself given
the close proximity of the hottest man he’d ever seen and also that fourth beer
that had gone down just a little too easily.
“Have you been a naughty birthday boy?”
Stiles let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like a balloon deflating than
a mostly-adult male in full control of his mental faculties.
“Yes!  Yes he has!” Lydia called out, suddenly behind Stiles and wrapping well-
manicured nails around his shoulders.  She guided him to a chair that had been
pulled to the center of the room, plopping him down and giving him a little pat
on the head.  
Officer Hale grinned again, an evil, dark, gorgeous thing that showed his
white, white teeth like a predator.  He stalked forward, leaning into Stiles’
personal space and sliding his palms down Stiles’ arms to grasp his wrists with
huge, paw-like hands.  He held them loosely, pulling them back around the chair
and cuffing them efficiently while Stiles gaped and squirmed on his seat.
 There was enough slack that he wasn’t pulled too tight, but it drew his
shoulders back and made him instantly spread his legs in some type of
unconscious stimulus-response reaction.
“Oh god,” Stiles muttered under his breath as the man in front of him began
unbuttoning his shirt and revealed pale skin with dark chest hair curled
against it neatly.  There was a flash of a nipple, pink and peaked, and Stiles
shifted on the chair as blood funneled rapidly to his cock and flushed red-hot
across his cheeks.  
The music was back up, laughter and catcalls coming from behind as the
“Officer” slowly peeled off his shirt and swiveled his hips in a way that made
Stiles’ mouth go completely dry.
“Lydia, I’m going to kill you,” Stiles said in a strangled voice as the man
stepped wide so his thighs were bracketing Stiles’ on the chair, sinking down
lower and grinding a very hard cock right against Stiles.  Stiles moaned out in
complete embarrassment as his friends cheered them on, fingers itching to touch
and wrists twitching in the cuffs.
“You’re welcome, Stiles,” Lydia said sweetly, and Stiles didn’t really have it
in him to argue with her.
***** cheerleader!stiles wears lingerie *****
Chapter Summary
     Sterek - Stiles goes to college, joins the cheerleading squad, and
     wears a new_outfit.
It had been half a joke and half a dare, but Stiles was totally on the college
cheerleading squad now.  Apparently they were desperate for guys to be on the
team as he only had to do a half-hearted tryout and a few push-ups before they
were slapping him with a uniform and giving him tips on how to work out on the
Smith machine.  They’d also given him a list of cheerleading stunt terms and he
now had to practice five days a week, which was more than lacrosse practiced,
jesus, but it was all kind of worth it to hear Derek’s voice get gruff when he
called home to say he was on the cheerleading team.
A month into it and Stiles had some new biceps and some very nice female
friends, and being a cheerleader was awesome.  Stiles posted some pictures on
FaceBook, thinking he looked kind of good with his newly buzzed hair and his
arms crossed, plus one particularly hard stunt he was working on involving a
basket toss, and okay, maybe Stiles was actually kind of good at this.  Plus
Cora had told him Derek stared at the pictures on a daily basis, so that kind
of stroked his ego, too.
It was only two weeks later when Derek was actually at his door with some type
of flimsy excuse about visiting Scott on pack business which was a total
lie—Scott had gone to visit Allison for the weekend and Stiles had the room all
to himself.  And talk about serendipitous events.  
“I was just on my way to practice,” Stiles said, waving at his track pants and
tight t-shirt, both in the powder blue and gold school colors.  When Derek
looked disappointed, Stiles quickly added, “Do you want to come?”
They totally made out under the bleachers after practice, and Stiles felt like
a ridiculous high schooler, especially when they got caught with Derek’s hand
down his track pants by one of the groundskeepers.  Derek looked redder than
Stiles, and they giggled their way back to his dorm, Stiles unable to keep his
hands off Derek’s ass now that he had felt it once.
“I didn’t know you were so into cheerleaders,” Stiles breathed into Derek’s
neck after they had made it past the threshold and into his tiny room.  They
kissed against the back of the door, Derek peeling him out of his clothes as
quickly as possible before sinking to his knees and pressing his lips to the
outline of Stiles’ cock in his sweaty, white briefs.  He pulled the tip out and
and tongued at the slit, making Stiles roll his eyes back and bang his head
against the wall.
They made their way over to the bed, Stiles’ pants caught around his ankles and
Derek shoving him down face first so he could plaster his body against Stiles’
back and press his dry fingers to Stiles’ hole.
“It’s not a cheerleader thing,” he said as he pushed in, Stiles grunting at the
rough slide inside, clenching and then relaxing when Derek’s finger wriggled
and stretched.  “It’s a you thing.”
He said it so quietly that Stiles could barely hear him, but Derek Hale had
actually said it.
“You like me, don’t you,” Stiles said with a huge grin, gathering his hands
next to his face and pushing up onto his knees so he could present himself more
fully to Derek.
“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek said louder this time, reaching for the lube Stiles
kept on his bedside table—what, Scott was gone for the weekend—and squirting a
glob right inside.  Stiles stilled as the cool liquid filled him up and was
silent for once when Derek slid in, slow and smooth, and much bigger than
Stiles had ever thought of when he’d dared to imagine.
***
It didn’t take long to figure out that Derek had sort of a sports kink, and
liked it when Stiles sent him pictures of him in his jock strap, or with his
uniform shirt on, pulled up to his nipples and fucking himself on three
fingers.  It kind of sucked that Derek was two hours away, even with his manic
driving speed, but it worked for them.  They made it work.
So when Stiles was at the one sex shop in town looking for a new dildo and he
happened upon the costumes section, he decided to look just for funsies.  He
held up a few items, knowing most were meant for women, but his face flushed
when he saw the pink skirt and matching thigh highs.  It wasn’t exactly
a cheerleading outfit, but it was pretty close.  He was certain Derek wouldn’t
really mind.
He bought the outfit and some expensive flavored lube just for the occassion,
and by the time he was home he was already half-hard in his pants.  Scott had
sexiled himself because he knew Derek was coming to visit for the weekend, so
Stiles had the afternoon to stretch himself open and then pull on the outfit.
 He did the lace stockings first, pulling them up over his toes and long
calves, the stretch of them clinging to his thighs and making his knees look
less knobby and kind of sexy for once.  There were bright pink criss-crosses
laced up the back of them, and Stiles pushed up on his toes, watching the way
his calf-muscles were accentuated.
Next were the black lacy panties, tight and soft on his skin, pressing his cock
to his stomach, and not quite big enough to cover everything.  He was wet
already at the tip of his cock, and he swiped his thumb through the precome,
watching himself in the full length mirror on his closet door and then pulling
up the pink plaid skirt.  The whole ensemble made him look a little younger,
and he felt naughty and nervous, the lube slicking out between his cheeks and
making him sticky.
Hurry up, Stiles texted Derek, and it was only about ten more minutes before
Derek was barreling through the door and crowding Stiles up against his bed,
seeming to freeze when he felt lace beneath his finger rather than Stiles’
usual cotton underwear.  He pulled back and raised an eyebrow, and Stiles held
his breath, waiting for the reaction.
Derek seemed stiff all over, his face red and head tipped up slightly as he
swallowed.  He sat back on Stiles’ bed and held him an arms length away,
sweeping his hooded eyes down to the lace stockings and then back up and over
the skirt, Stiles’ lightly hairy stomach, and up to his pink, pert nipples.
“Show me everything,” Derek said, and his voice was about an octave lower than
Stiles had ever heard it.  Stiles lost a bit of his bravado as he stepped
backward, a shaking hand skating over his body, pinching a nipple before
sliding down and rubbing over his cock that was lifting up the skirt.  “Do you
have on pretty panties, too, baby?”
Stiles nodded mutely, letting his hand slide beneath the hem of the skirt and
picking it up slightly, rubbing his palm against his length and feeling a spurt
of precome ooze out at Derek’s hard gaze.
“Turn around.  Bend over.”
Stiles obeyed wordlessly, his breath caught in his throat as he heard Derek
shifting on the bed, dying for him to come over and touch, but he didn’t.
 Stiles leaned over his wooden chair, folding his hands up on the back of it
and resting his chin there, the skirt short enough that it put everything on
display for Derek.  He could hear Derek breathing hard, fabric rustling as he
was—hopefully—undressing, and then Derek was warm behind him, hands flipping up
the silk of the skirt, rubbing over his thighs, his knuckles just brushing
against the base of Stiles’ balls.  The panties weren’t quite enough to cover
him, and the little touches of skin to skin made Stiles jolt with electricity.
Derek turned his hand over and palmed Stiles roughly, his thumb rubbing against
Stiles’ hole through the black lace, making him mewl.  “Are your panties all
wet for me, baby?” he asked, pushing in a little bit before slipping the
panties to the side and pressing his thumb right in.  Stiles was so slick that
he just popped in, and he moaned as Derek rubbed downward, his other hand
sneaking under the skirt and pushing up at Stiles’ leaking cock.
“Got myself ready,” Stiles gasped out, whimpering when Derek withdrew his
thumb.  He let out a high-pitched squeal when Derek replaced his thumb with the
head of his cock, and Stiles was so loose and ready that he just slipped in,
just the tip stretching him out deliciously.
“Good boy,” Derek said as he fucked inward with slow strokes until he was fully
seated inside, balls pressed up tight to the lace of Stiles’ panties.  It
pulled the fabric tight over him, and Stiles danced slightly on his feet, the
stockings rubbing up against Derek’s hairy legs, his whole body on sensation
overload.
“Hold still for me, baby,” Derek murmured as he held Stiles firmly by the hips
and fucked into his body with tight, controlled strokes.  Stiles gripped the
chair hard, tilting up on his toes with each thrust, the angle so tight and
Derek so rough against him that it was a ridiculously short time later that he
was tensing up and coming, ruining the silk of the skirt, his come dripping
down the panties and onto his thighs.
Derek just grunted and pulled Stiles like a ragdoll onto his little twin bed.
 He flipped the skirt back up over his ass and plunged back inside, fucking
into Stiles’ over-sensitive body until Stiles was on the verge of tears and
clawing at his sheets.  Derek shuddered into an orgasm, pulling out at the last
moment and painting Stiles’ legs and panties with thick lines of come, warm on
his sweaty skin.  Stiles felt hot all over, the come covering him on both
sides, body buzzing and dirty and wonderfully used.
They spooned up, Stiles fighting to shimmy out of the ruined skirt, but Derek’s
heavy arms were trapping him down to the bed.
“I’m gross,” Stiles whined, grabbing Derek’s hand and pushing it down under the
skirt so he could feel his sticky skin and the sipping, clinging fabric.  Derek
curled his hand around Stiles’ mostly-soft cock, purring like a giant cat.
“Yeah.”
Stiles huffed a laugh, squirming in Derek’s grip and then wriggling back
against him.  “I hate you.”
“You love me.”
“I’m making you dress up like a football player next time.”
Derek laughed heartily, finally letting Stiles wiggle out of the soiled clothes
and flop down next to him.  “I might have my old basketball uniform somewhere.”
Stiles eyes lit up with glee and he leaned over to kiss Derek fully on the
lips, the first time that evening.  Derek closed his arms around him, their
bodies sticking together with sweat and drying come.
“Fuck yeah.  It’s a date.”  
***** Derek is hard to shop for *****
Chapter Summary
     Sterek - Stiles tries to find a suitable gift for their one year
     anniversary.
“Derek is like the worst person to shop for ever,” Stiles complains as he plops
onto Scott’s bed and falls back against his pillows. “What do you buy a guy who
owns one pair of jeans, one cup and one bowl? And threw out the last shirt I
bought him though he totally lied about it?”
Scott frowns and mostly ignores Stiles, until he gets hit in the face with a
pillow.
“Ow.” He throws his pencil at Stiles and narrowly misses his face.
“You’re so not being helpful, dude. And shut up, you’re not hurt.”
“I don’t know, he’s your boyfriend.”
Stiles bounces around on the mattress, because that word still makes him giddy
even after a whole year of it. “What did you get Allison for your one-year
anniversary?”
Scott gets a dreamy look in his eyes, leaning back in his desk chair as some
distant, gross memory resurfaces. “Kina Grannis tickets.”
Stiles bites back a laugh but not before Scott notices, and he puts his hands
up in a surrender gesture. “Sorry, sorry, bro. You guys are just sickeningly
cute.”
“Says the guy who got caught making out in the backseat of Derek’s car at the
drive-in.”
“Hey, we only got caught because there was an excessive amount of preteens
there for the R Patz. I told Derek to stop his stupid howling, but every time I
touched his—“
“Holy crap, do not finish that sentence.”
Stiles sits up, bouncing til the mattress squeaks and pulling out his phone.
“What do you think about some new undies? Or, ooh, how about whipped cream?”
“Stop, stop, please god stop before I kick you out of here.”
Stiles makes a face but gets up, because he’s got some ideas now and also is
kind of sporting a half-boner and he should probably call Derek up and see what
he’s doing.
“You’re such a prude,” Stiles says fondly, clapping Scott on the shoulder
before waltzing out the door.
Derek’s already texted him back and included one very sexy picture of his
bicep—he’s getting better at sexting, shut up—and Stiles makes a beeline for
the loft.
***
Two days later is the big date night. Stiles has an hour before they’re going
out for their anniversary dinner, and he starts getting ready early for once.
He sweats the choice between the blue tie or no tie, deciding on the blue
because Lydia had once said it looked nice with his eyes, and he has to call
his dad in to help him tie the knot.
“Don’t get all sappy now,” Stiles says, scrutinizing the way his dad’s getting
all misty eyed and quiet. “Remember how much you hated Derek when we first
started dating. Remember how mad you were when you caught him eating our
fudgsicles from the freezer at one in the morning in just his underwear. Good.
Remember that feeling.”
“Stiles…” His dad says, but it sounds more fond than irritated. He pulls him
into a hug and Stiles fights for a minute before giving in and hugging back,
because yeah, he remembers too. And he remembers how his dad had sat them down
for The Talk and Derek had promised he would never ever break Stiles’ heart.
Ever. And Stiles maybe had cried a little bit, later. In the privacy of his own
room.
“Okay, you can let me go now.” Stiles pushes at his dad’s shoulder and gives
him a quick grin before bounding away. “Still need to get ready.”
His dad leaves him alone and Stiles putters around on his computer for a few
minutes, no closer to having a gift than he was yesterday. Derek had said he
didn’t want anything, but he’d made reservations at a nice place and had told
Stiles to look dressed-up but to “try not to look like he was going to a high
school formal.”
Desperation makes him open a word document and begin typing in the first
ridiculous things that come to mind. His phone buzzes and he ignores it,
knowing that it’s Derek downstairs and he’s not ready quite yet. He hits print
and madly cuts the paper into little squares, stapling them and shoving them in
his pocket.
“Love you, dad,” he calls as he flies out the door, letting it slam behind him
and wincing at the noise as he trots over to the Camaro. He yanks open the door
to look at Derek’s shyly smiling face, unable to temper his ridiculous grin.
***
“You’re kind of like the worst person ever to buy gifts for,” Stiles says as he
grinds down into Derek’s lap, their takeout containers forgotten on the end
table next to them. Derek’s bent forward and nosing along his neck, his fingers
loosening the knot on Stiles’ tie but not removing it. He uses it to pull
Stiles closer and into a wet, dirty kiss that makes Stiles’ bones melt and his
dick chub up in his pants.
“I said I didn’t want anything,” Derek says into Stiles’ lips, and Stiles lets
him control the pace of their kisses for a minute before drawing back and
blinking like he’s just resurfaced from being underwater.
“Wait, I think you’ll like it though…” He fishes in his pocket, pulling out the
crumpled white squares and smoothing them out with his fingers before holding
the packet out for Derek to take.
Derek looks confused, his beautiful features drawn into a slight frown as he
takes it from Stiles. It’s still dark in the loft, the only light coming in
from the long, dirty windows at the far end of the room, everything quiet and
soft and still. Stiles feels self-conscious all of a sudden, like he’s just
handed Derek his heart and is waiting for the verdict of yea or nay.
The slide of the paper is soft when Derek pulls it apart, and he takes his time
reading each line, a small smile sliding across his face.
“There’s one for cooking, like I’ll totally make you a healthy meal. And one
for an evening where I’ll be completely quiet, or well, at least for an hour,
probably. And another for half an hour of rimming, because I totally want to do
that to you.” Stiles flushes bright red, and he’s glad it’s so dark in the room
so Derek can’t see his ridiculous cheeks and bashful smile.
It feels warmer between them, Derek shifting his knees so Stiles is thrown
closer, and he has to prop his hands on Derek’s chest to stay upright.
“You’re ridiculous,” Derek says softly, but his tone is affectionate and Stiles
tips forward to draw his lips along Derek’s neck.
“That’s why you love me,” he says with a laugh, starting to suck a bright red
mark right below his ear.
“Yeah.” And Derek sounds a little breathier now, his hands tighter on Stiles.
The words make Stiles’ breath catch like it does every time, and he draws Derek
closer, wanting to touch him with every single part of his body, wanting to
crawl inside and live there, in Derek’s scent and breath and heart.
“Hey, I got you something, too,” Derek says, prying Stiles’ octopus arms off of
him. He lets go with reluctance, pouting as he’s placed on the couch next to
him, wet lips cooling.
“You said no gifts, you jerk.”
Derek’s eyebrows waggle slightly which has Stiles bursting out into laughter
and shutting up when Derek reaches back from the end table with a small black
box with a bow on it.
“Whoa, is this like. Are things getting serious here?” Stiles never can seem to
shut up, especially when he’s nervous. He let’s himself get super jittery
before ripping the top off and staring down at a brass key on a plain keyring.
“I know you’re here like, every weekend anyways, but, you know.” Derek looks
like he’s almost red in the face, and it’s so adorable Stiles thinks he can’t
take it anymore and he might float off the couch. “You could stay the other
nights, too?”
Stiles grins so hard it hurts his face, and then he bounds back over the couch
cushions to straddle Derek again and kisses him like a maniac before trying to
wrestle his shirt over his head with no finesse at all.
“Alright, this calls for coupon number seven: Gratuitous use of my tongue on
your dick for a minimum of thirty minutes.”
“Does it actually say that?”
Stiles grabs the booklet and flips through, pointing to the print and waving it
in front of Derek’s nose. He rips it out, throwing it on the ground and slides
down so he’s on his knees between Derek’s spread legs. He works down the zipper
slowly, licking his lips as he pulls the fat head of Derek’s cock out and pulls
back on the foreskin so he can see the red tip, shiny in the low light.
“Yup. Followed by number ten: Manly bubble bath time, and then eleven: Sex in a
new location. Which can be the bathtub, so, perfect!”
Stiles gets to work sucking on the head of Derek’s cock, palming the rest of
his length and loving the way Derek tries so hard to keep his hips still but
can’t for long. Stiles is good at this, has lots of practice, loves sucking
Derek so much, loves pulling all kinds of fantastic moans and grunts from his
normally reticent boyfriend. He lets Derek’s length slide heavily along his
tongue, the taste of precome leaking down into his throat and then pops off,
giving his jaw a break as he lazily jerks Derek and looks up at his sprawled
form, parted, wet lips, and darkened eyes. He looks absolutely gorgeous, and
Stiles’ breath catches because really, he doesn’t know how he got so goddamn
lucky.
“Your gift was better,” Stiles says with an easy smile, and he moves to lick at
the base of Derek’s dick before strong fingers catch him and drag him upward,
and he finds himself pulled tight against Derek’s body.
They don’t end up using coupon number seven after all, but getting fucked over
the back of the couch is definitely just as good in Stiles’ book.
End Notes
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