Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2744996.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski, Scott_McCall_(Teen_Wolf), Lydia_Martin,
      Malia_Tate, Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      PTSD, Recovery, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Blame, Forgiveness, Getting_Together,
      Soul_Bond, Mates, Pack_Feels, Scott_McCall_is_a_Good_Alpha, Awkward
      Werewolf_Sex_Talk, informed_consent, sexual_healing, Scent_Marking,
      Rutting, Praise_Kink, Blowjobs, Rimming, Biting, Fisting, Body_Worship,
      Bondage, Sweetfucking, Knotting, Canon_Compliant_(except_Derek's_car),
      it's_not_that_I_especially_like_the_Camaro_I_just_hate_SUVs
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_Nogistune_Files
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-09 Completed: 2014-12-14 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 13829
****** Heart of the Pack ******
by Spitshine
Summary
     Doing something so intimate with someone who looked exactly like the
     object of his affections—not to mention that whole knotting
     disaster—is really fucking with Derek. Eventually (with just the
     slightest prodding from Scott) he can't keep it in and finds Stiles
     to admit what had happened. Stiles thinks he's having a post-
     possession guilt-induced hallucination.
Notes
     Chapter Two (painful guilt processing) up by the end of the week, to
     be followed in short order by Chapter Three (comic interlude in the
     form of awkward werewolf sex talks) and Chapter Four (sexysexy feels
     sex).
     A bajillion thanks to everyone who kudoed/commented on part one; it
     really encouraged me to get this up in a semi-timely fashion!
***** Chapter 1 *****
Chapter Notes
     Trigger warning at the end.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Scott knows Derek has been avoiding him, avoiding all of them, since they
managed to finally rid themselves of the nogitsune three weeks ago, but it
takes a while for him to pull himself out of his own grief and realize what's
really going on. He goes looking—the warehouse, the preserve, even the pool
where Stiles once kept Derek afloat for hours—before he realizes how stupid
he's being and checks the most obvious location.
He finds Derek perched on the roof of Stiles' house, in the same place—if the
staleness of his scent trail is anything to go by—he's been for hours.
“You should really talk to him.”
“No.”
“He deserves to know.”
“He'll hate me.”
Scott sucks in a deep breath and mentally prepares himself to use his new,
mostly untested, Voice of the Alpha powers but when he looks up, Derek is
already leaping to the next rooftop, running off into the night with powerful
springs of his bunching muscles.
                                       *
Three days later, Scott cuts last period (his math grade can't get much worse,
really) and heads to Derek's. He doesn't bother with any of the generally
accepted social niceties, like knocking or going through the door, because when
in Rome, right? Instead, he just bounds up the fire escape in hopes he can
corner Derek before the guy figures out what's happening and takes off.
He... well, he won't be doing that again.
Derek is flat on his back on the floor, cursing into the wadded up T-shirt
covering his face, fully dressed except where his dick is thrusting through the
fly of his jeans and into both of his hands and, shit, the guy is hung.
Except... “Are you seriously knotting your hand right now?”
Derek is up in an instant, crouching in a pose that can only be read as
“getting ready to flee” and this time, Scott breaks out the alpha voice in
time.
“You stay. We're talking this out. But... put that away, okay?”
Derek scowls, clearly trying to fight the command of his alpha but unable to.
“Can't,” he mutters sullenly. “Knot won't fit.” But he does pick the T-shirt up
from where it'd fallen and drape it over his crotch.
Scott can see the word “ADULTS” as well as a hand in the shape of scissors
peering up at him from the faded red cloth. “Is that—you know what, I really
don't want to know. And I don't want to be doing this, either, but I'm the
alpha and I want to be a good one. And whatever is going on with you, Derek, it
has to stop. It's tearing the pack apart. It's tearing Stiles apart and even if
I wasn't his alpha, I'd still be his best friend. So. What the hell, man?
What's going on with you?”
Derek just stares at the ceiling, muscles in his jaw working.
“I mean, I can have both halves of this conversation, but I don't think that
will work out quite as well. Look, I don't know exactly what went down when the
nogitsune visited you, seemed mostly concluded by the time we showed up, but
you're damn lucky that Mom and Stiles aren't werewolves because the smell in
here, holy crap-” Scott shuts himself up quick, because Derek has started
talking, but it's so quiet even werewolf ears can barely pick up on it.
“After the split, he—it—the nogitsune, he came here to—to rape me, I think. He
had been in Stiles' thoughts, all of his thoughts, knew that he wanted—and so
he came here, to hurt me, to hurt Stiles, to make Stiles feel guilty. He
said... he said that he wanted to take from me the only thing no one else had.
My consent. And it's true—Kate, and Jennifer, they used me and lied to me and
maybe my answer would have been different if I had known, but at the time I
wanted it. At the time I said yes.”
Scott can tell it's hard for Derek to talk, knows he should just let him keep
going, but he can't let that slide, he just can't let Derek think that that's
true. “You know that's not how consent works, right? It has to be informed. You
have to know what you're consenting to, and if you're being lied to, you can't
do that.”
“But I said 'yes.' I said I wanted it. I did want it.”
“You—okay, you know what, this is a whole different conversation that we will
be having. Soon. But first we're going to finish talking about what happened
that night.”
Derek looks disappointed, like he'd rather discuss his truly awful romantic
history than shed any light whatsoever on what happened between him and the
nogitsune, and Scott feels pretty crappy about this, but he knows that look
means this is exactly what they need to be talking about. Derek takes a couple
deep breaths, steadying himself, and continues, still in a whisper. “He said he
was going to take away my consent, and I couldn't let that happen. I knew
Stiles would never forgive himself, even though it wasn't him. I tried to fight
him off, but I couldn't bring myself to hurt someone who looked just like, who
smelled just like... I couldn't fight him off.
“And I—it was probably my only chance to be with Stiles, and I went for it.
Because I'm a horrible person. Because I deserve for Stiles to hate me. And I
know I should tell him, that I have it coming when he never wants to see or
talk to me again, but I'm a fucking coward.” He sags down into himself, hides
his face in his palms. “Have you ever had a knot?”
Scott's too thrown to talk for a second, just shakes his head no before
realizing Derek can't see him. “No. I thought it was an urban legend, or maybe
like a born wolf thing...”
“It's a pheromones thing. Your body recognizes the smell of your mate and—I
knew I liked Stiles, that I wanted him, but there just aren't enough pheromones
to trigger it until you're—I went down on him, Scott, and I got a knot, and I
can't just—if he hates me, that's it. I don't get a mate. I could find someone
else, maybe.” He laughs hollowly, not amused at all. “Could find someone else
to love, who loved me back, but the wolf—that part of me would never be
satisfied.”
“Shit, dude.”
Derek looks up and Scott kinda wishes he hadn't. His eyes are flat and dead;
his face is somehow utterly blank and consumed by despair at the same time.
“Yeah. Shit.”
“You still have to tell him. Even more, now. Well, the mates thing I guess is
up to you, but he deserves to know. If he hates you or not, that's his choice.
I know you, Derek, I know you're a good guy under the scowls and leather jacket
and everything, and I know you don't want to take that from him.”
There's no breath behind Derek's words at all, but from the motion of his lips,
Scott is pretty sure he says, “You're right.”
“For what it's worth, I don't think he'll hate you. I know him pretty well, so
there's a dozen years of best bro knowledge on your side, but also, the
nogitsune came here in the first place because of what he saw in Stiles' mind,
right? That has to mean something.”
“Like maybe that he's a teenage boy who is desperate to get laid? I know you
smell it on him, he'd probably fuck anything that looked twice at him.”
“Stiles isn't like that, okay? Yes, he's a teenage boy and yes, he's horny a
lot but—he wouldn't—he's not like that, he wants it to mean something. He
didn't have eyes for anyone but Lydia for almost ten years and the only reason
he was gonna do anything with Heather is that they had history, they'd played
together before they were even potty trained, so it might not have been true
love, but it still would have meant something! And, oh shit, he is gonna kill
me for saying this, but—he doesn't smell like that all the time, alright?”
“But whenever I see him-”
“Whenever you see him, he's around you. It's a little more information than a
friend needs sometimes, actually, but I can't not smell him.”
Derek is visibly taken aback. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh. Now go talk to him. I'm not leaving until you can come back and tell
me honestly you told him what went down.” He probably doesn't even need the
extra edge of growl in his voice then; Derek looks pretty convinced, but it's
there just in case.
“Uh. It doesn't—by itself—I mean, I still need to...” He glances meaningfully
down at the T-shirt still bunched in his lap.
“Yeah... yeah. I'll go. You do that. But if I don't hear from one of you by
tomorrow that you talked it all over, there will be hell to pay. And give him
back his shirt. He loves that shirt!” He turns to go—through the actual door
and down the actual stairs this time—but stops and looks over his shoulder when
he hears Derek call his name. “Yeah?”
“You're too much of a teddy bear to really pull off the 'big bad alpha' thing,
you know.”
Scott just flashes his eyes and keeps going. If he's fast, he can stop someone
from his math class on their way out and get their notes.
                                       *
Derek comes, quick but unsatisfying, whimpering into the T-shirt once again
crumpled over his face, and then lays there while he waits for the knot to go
down, quietly dreading the conversation he's about to have. He could have
squeezed his dick into his pants even before coming, could now if he really had
to, but it would hurt like hell and, okay, he's putting this for off as long as
possible.
He stays there, lying on the floor, not moving except to nuzzle Stiles' T-shirt
long after his knot has gone down and his cock softened, until he's certain
practice is over and Stiles has gone home—Scott definitely wouldn't let him do
anything that might make it hard for Derek to find him tonight. He sighs
heavily and gets up, shuffles over to the shower. He stands under the water
until it goes cold but doesn't even pretend to wash himself. After that, he
goes into autopilot, doesn't pay any attention to getting dressed or leaving
the loft—if he doesn't think, he doesn't have to think about what he's about to
do—and only comes back to himself when he's in Stiles' yard, staring up at the
light spilling through the open window.
And then he's staring up at Stiles' face, beautiful and confused and peering
down at him. “Derek? What are you doing down there? I thought-” and Derek
doesn't let him finish, instead leaps up to the grab the window sill and swing
himself into the room in one smooth motion, barely managing to catch Stiles
instead of knocking the boy onto his ass as he lands.
Chapter End Notes
     Scott and Derek discuss what happened between Derek and the nogitsune
     (the events of "Reap What You Sow") but no new non-consensual things
     go down.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Angstangstangst then cuuuuute.
Chapter Notes
     [1] Shoutout to Robin Hobb, from whose book I stole the title for
     this!
     [2] Trigger warning at the end.
     [3] It is occasionally embarrassing how easily I am conditioned, and
     I got, like, immediate comments and loves on chapter one, so I went
     and wrote chapter two right the fuck away and here it is, because
     y'all are great.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Derek looks down at his feet (bare, he'd apparently forgotten about shoes in
his nervousness) shuffling anxiously on the carpet. “We need to talk.”
“Yeah, um, Scott said something about—said you had something to tell me.”
“I do. It's—can you be patient with me here? I'm not good at talking.”
“Well, you know I fill all gaps in conversation instinctively, but I'll do what
I can to let you get a word in edgewise.”
“It's not really the time for joking.”
“Okay. I'll... I can try to be serious. Really. Uh. Do you wanna come in?”
Stiles looks as anxious as Derek feels, clearing his throat and fidgeting with
the blanket as they sit next to each other on the bed. “Scott just said it's
really important and it's about why you've been so, you know, gone, but he said
it 'wasn't his place' to tell me and he refused to even say what it's about,
so... I mean, can you give me a general idea before you get started? It'll
probably help me stay quiet.”
“It's about what happened after you and the nogitsune split.”
Stiles immediately pales, moles standing out sharply against his chalky face.
“Whatever I did—I'm so sorry, I never meant to-”
“Stiles. Stop. It's not about what you did. It's about what I did, and what it
means.” Derek stumbles into his story, awkwardly getting through the arrival of
the nogitsune and what happened. He chokes a little when he starts talking
about the knot, and he can feel his face burning—does Stiles even know that
wolves can have knots?
“Derek? What the fuck are you talking about? Is this—this isn't even fucking
real, is it, just another shitty hallucination playing tricks on my fragile
human mind.”
“No! Stiles, I-”
“There's no way, no motherfucking way, that the insanely hot werewolf of my
dreams has just appeared in my room after avoiding me for—for three. Damn.
Weeks.” Stiles is up, pacing back and forth in his cramped room, gesticulating
wildly. “To apologize, no less, for having sex with me. And, I think, for not
hurting me worse? Like I said, I'm obviously losing it. You can't really expect
me to make sense of this kind of situation in my current state of mind.”
“Of your... we can talk about that in a minute. Stiles, I'm real! I'm here!”
“Prove it. Say something I couldn't imagine you saying.”
“But you're the most imaginative person I know!”
“I could have imagined you saying that.” Stiles flops back onto the bed,
sounding resigned. “You're definitely fake. Figment of the Stiles'
imagination.”
Derek lets the extraneous use of the third person slide; no need to point out
to Stiles that he actually does sound a little crazy. “I'm really here, and I'm
not—this happened, okay? It's the whole reason I've been avoiding you! I feel
horrible about it, but Scott said I need to come clean, that you're the heart
of the pack and me being gone is tearing you apart, and he's right, you deserve
the truth. If you want to hate me for what I did, if you want me to leave and
never talk to you or the pack again, that's... that's your prerogative. It will
suck, but I'm the one who fucked up. You don't deserve to be punished for it.”
“Whatever, pretend Derek. Like I'm the heart of the pack—please, I'm not even a
wolf. Like you being gone from my life forever isn't punishment for me. Like
I'm not really to blame. I should be apologizing to you, but you're not even
here, so what's the point?”
Derek loses it then, puts his hands on Stiles like he used to in the good ol'
days, when they still mostly hated each other (or, at least, told themselves
they did) and Derek didn't feel so damn guilty for what the feel of Stiles in
his hands did to him. He shakes Stiles, just enough to get him to make eye
contact, and can't help but yell. “God damn it, Stiles, I'm serious! What can I
do to make you believe this is real?”
“Reading helps,” Stiles whispers, but his eyes are closed, like he can't be
bothered to prove himself right.
“You... want me to read to you?”
“I mean, yes, but that won't prove anything except that my fantasies have taken
a turn away from the explicit and towards the sickeningly domestic. When I was
possessed—which apparently I still am, that fucking sucks, Dad is gonna be so
bummed when he figures it out—anyway, you can't read in dreams. Or
hallucinations. The letters won't stay put. When the nogitsune was in me but we
hadn't figured it out yet, I couldn't read. Because it didn't let me see what
was really in front of me. At some level, everything that happened to me during
that entire time was just a dream. I couldn't tell it apart from reality. Not
like now. Now I've learned.” Stiles had collapsed onto himself, Derek's hands
the only thing holding him up, but suddenly every muscle is alive, taut and
arching back, twisting out of Derek's grip as he he screams, “This is fake!
Fake! Fake!”
Derek has no idea what to do, has never been great at comforting (always seems
to say exactly the wrong thing, no matter the situation, no matter how hard he
tries), but he's worried Stiles is going to hurt himself, and he has no idea
where the sheriff is, so he has to do something. He gently lowers Stiles to the
bed, tries rubbing his back in a soothing manner, but the scrawny human is
stronger than he looks and won't stay still. So Derek drapes himself over half
of Stiles' torso, effectively pinning the writhing body, and whispers... he's
honestly not sure what comes out of his mouth, but it appears to be soothing,
because Stiles eventually stops moving and meows a little, flexing up into the
hand slowly stroking his ribs and stomach. “That's better,” Derek murmurs. “Is
it okay if I get up for a second? I'm just going to get a book; I'll be right
back.”
“Not yet.” Stiles' breath is hot against Derek's neck. “I want to enjoy my
fantasy cuddles a little while longer before you melt into the ether.”
And fuck if Derek's heart doesn't crack at that, just a little. It's finally
starting to sink in that if he hadn't fucked everything up so epically, he
might actually have a chance with Stiles, but he did and he doesn't, so that's
neither here nor there. But he can absolutely get on board the “let's enjoy
this while we can” train, so he snuggles in closer, hating himself that much
more for doing so, because if whatever Scott was saying about informed consent
was true, well. Stiles definitely does not know what he's consenting to. That's
okay, though; he's supposed to be the bad guy here. He's the one who doesn't
deserve Stiles, not the other way around, and whatever he has to do to keep
that dynamic, to keep Stiles from blaming himself, is fine by him.
Eventually, though, he starts to get pins and needles in the arm trapped under
Stiles, and he really wants to get this over with before Stiles falls asleep.
“I'm going to get up now. But I really will be right back. Ssshh.” Derek gently
untangles himself before Stiles has a chance to do much more than whimper,
grabs the nearest book from the bookcase, and settles himself in the big spoon
position. “Here. You must like this book, the spine is all broken.”
“That was Scott!” Stiles protests. “I am so, so careful with books. But it is
good.”
Derek sneaks a look at the cover. Robin Hobb, Assassin's Apprentice. “But do
you like it?”
“Yeah... s'good. Robin Hobb... she's great.” Stiles sounds sleepy, but Derek
suspects he's just fighting anything that might bring him out of his so-called
dream.
“Can you read the cover?”
“That doesn't prove anything. I know the cover.”
“So read to me.” Derek flips open to a page a random, shoves the book into
Stiles' face. He can't see the face in question, doesn't know if those eyes are
even open and isn't certain the boy is reading at all, when suddenly Stiles is
shaking in his arms, trembling uncontrollably and struggling to suck in
shallow, raspy breaths.
“I can—it's real—the no—I—you—how?”
Derek doesn't know what to do in the face of a panic attack, not really, but he
can tell this is one and knows that Stiles needs to fucking breathe, so he
flips Stiles onto his back and pinches the boy's nose shut, leaning in close
before he has time to stop and think. Stiles' mouth is open and gasping,
working uselessly for air in front of him, and he sucks in one huge breath
before latching on, exhaling in a slow, strong whoosh that Stiles' lungs can't
help but accept. He does this again, and again, not bothering to take in new
air—Stiles needs to work his own diaphragm more than he needs oxygen—until it
seems Stiles is more whimpering helplessly into his mouth than struggling for
air and pulls himself away with more than a few regrets.
“It's true? What you said?”
Derek nods, tries to hold eye contact, to own his mistake, but fails after a
few seconds. He doesn't have the courage to look at Stiles, but he can't help
but smell, and he doesn't smell heady arousal any longer; he smells a sick,
sour smell, like embarrassment or worse. Like shame. Guilt. The apologies just
bubble out. “I'm so fucking sorry, I know, I know it was a horrible thing to
do—I know there's really no way to make it up to you. If you never forgive me,
I'll understand.”
“What the actual fuck, Derek? You can't just—can't just come in here and tell
me that you had sex with me and you fucked up and then give me the world's best
panic attack care! How the fuck do you expect me to feel about that? You're
what? Sorry I got possessed? Sorry I'm so fucking obsessed with you that even
after that, that thing split off from me, you were still the first thing I went
to?” Stiles is up again, pacing and furious, mouth wide and distorted as he
flails and screams. Derek doesn't want to look, doesn't want to face what he's
done, but he can't help it, gazes up at Stiles through his lashes to avoid
actual eye contact. “Sorry we had sex? Sorry you liked it? Sorry your wolf
likes me enough to do that knot thing, whatever that is? You know what, those
are shitty fucking things to be sorry for!” Stiles collapses against the
window, forehead pressed to the cool glass, and continues in a broken whisper.
“The only thing you did wrong was avoid me for a couple weeks and that's not
even that bad, it's not like—I mean, Allison is dead. And that's on me, this is
on me, everything is on me. Nothing that happened is your fault, okay, it's my
fault. All. My. Fault.”
“Those—Stiles, you were possessed, it wasn't you, it wasn't your fault. It was
the nogitsune's fault and it's still the nogitsune's fault. I—I am sorry, I am
so fucking sorry, but not for the reasons you said. I just, I had sex with your
body when you weren't in it to say yes or no. I raped you Stiles, there's
nothing I can ever do to make that right.”
“Really? 'Cause from where I'm sitting, you took a fucking bullet for me. You
said I went to your loft-”
“No, I said the nogitsune came to my loft,” Derek growls.
“Fine, whatever. That thing went to your loft, said it was going to rape you,
which you know damn well I would never forgive myself for, and you stopped it.
You saved me from hating myself for the rest of my life. Well, for that, at
least.”
“But—I could have, I mean, I could have done it another way, I didn't have to
rape you to do it, I could have tied him up or something, I could have fought
harder.”
Stiles crosses the room again, folds down on his knees between Derek's legs,
and looks up at him with unreadable emotion spilling from his eyes. “You want
me to forgive you? I forgive you. But there's nothing to forgive here, I should
be thanking you. You couldn't bring yourself to hurt me, so you found another
way to save me from myself, and I can't ever blame you for that.”
“But I... I liked it. I knew how wrong it was, and I still did it, and I still
liked it. It's like I'm... I feel like Kate,” Derek spat in disgust. “Maybe you
can forgive me, but I can't forgive myself. I don't deserve you.”
“Oh... Der, c'mon, don't be like that.” Stiles looks up at him, face open now,
shining and just a little pornographic, and Derek hates himself just a little
more, because this is so not the time. “I'll talk some sense into you later,
okay? For now, can we... will you hold me?”
“Sure.” He waits until they're settled on the bed, Stiles wrapped up securely
in his arms and the blanket tucked securely around them both, before speaking
again. “Stiles?”
“Hmm.”
“There's still—we didn't—I need to explain about the, about the knot.”
“Can it wait? I'm so sleepy.”
“Yeah, it can wait.”
                                       *
On his way home the next morning, Derek stops at the library to use their
computers. He orders himself a bunch of T-shirts with words on them. He doesn't
really care what they say, just goes for the smallest, most difficult to read
text he can find. Then, feeling optimistic, adds a couple pairs of pajama pants
(these completely covered in text) to his cart.
He hesitates a few seconds before buying the underwear that pops up in the “you
might also like” section. It's silly, and has cats on it, and he'll probably
never actually get a chance to wear it, but it also has a poem about kitties
repeating on it. Except for the cat right on the crotch, every square inch has
text.
Chapter End Notes
     Stiles and Derek argue about what happened in the prequel and if it
     was rape and if so, who is at fault, and it's not graphic or anything
     but they do you use the rape word a lot (much like this trigger
     warning but I just don't know how else to do it).
***** Comic Interlude *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Scott wakes everyone up Saturday morning with a flurry of texts.
Scott: 7:36 a.m.
Pack meeting today.
7:36 a.m.
MANDATORY
Lydia: 7:36 a.m
Where?
Scott: 7:38 a.m.
At Derek's house.
Lydia: 7:38 a.m.
I'll be there, but I'm bringing my math so you ingrates don't bore me.
Scott: 7:39 a.m.
Good. I don't care WHAT you have to tell your dad, Stiles, you will be there.
                                                              Stiles: 7:40 a.m.
                                Okay, dude, I get it, no need to tell everyone.
Isaac: 7:42 a.m.
Like we don't all know you're grounded-without-being-grounded.
Scott: 7:42 a.m.
Cool it, everyone! Noon sharp. At Derek's.
Derek: 7:45 a.m.
Thanks for consulting me.
Malia: 7:45 a.m.
Turning phone off, going back to sleep. But I'll be there.
Scott: 7:45 a.m.
Rank has its privileges. :)
7:46 a.m.
Plus you don't live with your parent.
7:46 a.m.
Or my parent.
Isaac: 7:47 a.m.
Dude! I'm right here, you can rub it in to my face.
Derek: 7:49 a.m.
Fine.
Stiles: 7:49 a.m.
My dad's working but I called him and said I don't feel like being alone today
so I can go to the pack meeting but probably also have to go to therapy. You're
fucking welcome.
No one replies to that, but Stiles tries not to dwell. Everyone knows that
Derek is way to old to text competently, Lydia has been surprisingly kind to
him since the nogitsune was defeated, Malia is most likely already asleep (wild
coyotes apparently sleep whenever they're not hunting, and girl has been
missing her powernaps), and Scott and Isaac have been acting super weird
lately.
It's not like he's going back to sleep, so. He shrugs and rolls over to power
up his computer, thinking he can at least get some research done while he's
waiting to go over to Derek's. Normally he'd just go over now and annoy the guy
until everyone else showed up, but after the last time they saw each other,
that just sounds awkward.
                                       *
Stiles rolls in around a quarter to (because honestly? he kinda doesn't want to
be alone) and spends a few minutes awkwardly scuffing his feet and failing at
avoiding making eye contact with Derek, who keeps staring at him with this
combination of hope/longing/guilt that just cuts Stiles to bone.
And then Lydia comes in at five of, beautiful, wonderful Lydia who immediately
settles herself at the table and pulls out a graduate-level math text that just
might outweigh her, and Stiles begins making relentless conversation—well, it's
more at her than with her, but still. It helps.
Malia arrives at 12:02, mutters “Motherfucker isn't even here,” and collapses
in a heap, fake snoring loudly until Scott and Isaac get there, looking
disheveled (Scott) and flushed (Isaac).
“You're late, alpha,” Stiles points out unhelpfully.
Isaac shouts, “Bike trouble!” at the same moment Scott says, “Had to bring
something to my mom,” and they look at each other guiltily.
“Not that you ever could lie to room full of weres,” Lydia points out primly,
“but if you're going to try, you should at least get your stories straight.”
“Right. Straight. We are.” Scott visibly shakes himself and adjusts his
posture. “Okay, so this isn't a pack meeting per se, but more of an educational
session. It has... come to my attention recently that pack knowledge is lacking
in... certain areas.”
“Research time!” Stiles' joyful attempt at a high five is met only by Lydia's
withering stare.
“Actually, we don't need any research about this. I know buddy, but I'm sure
you'll find another way to get sucked into a wikipedia binge. Today, uh, well,
first I'm going to give you all, um, just a little overview on good consent
models and how it works and how it is totally not a moment-killer. And then
Derek is going to tell us about the... aspects of sex that are... specific to
werewolves.”
“WHAT?” Derek might get worked up and aggressive from time to time, but he
hardly ever yells.
“Jesus, my ears,” Stiles moans.
“Yeah, I didn't want you to bail on us, so I didn't tell you before. But you're
obviously the expert here and everyone else in the pack either is a were or
does have sex with them or-”
“Is Stiles,” the non-were, non-sex-haver in question interjects morosely.
“-Or might have sex with them, I was going to say, so this is something we all
need to know and, according to Stiles, there's very little information
available on the internet.”
“Thanks for that, man, way to be a bro.” Stiles attempts to hide behind his
backpack. “But actually, what I said was that there's very little information
that looks accurate. There's a lot of information. Like, a lot a lot. A little
disturbing. Almost.”
“I so did not need to know that,” Isaac groans. “Please, just shut up and never
speak again.”
The silence lingers. “Right, so, consent!” Stiles is incredibly grateful that
Scott's unflappable cheer can win out in any situation, because this is already
kinda painful and it hasn't even started yet. “Consent is... very important.
And there's a lot more to it than just not saying no. You both—or all three, or
however many-”
“Did not need to know that about my alpha,” Malia says.
“Already knew that!” Lydia chirps with a pointed look at Scott and Isaac, who
blushes further.
“Moving on! The point is, everyone involved needs to say yes, and to know what
they're agreeing to, and be in a fit state of mind to consent. That means no
drinking, no drugs, no sleeping, no...”
“Possession, don't tiptoe around it on my account, dude.”
“No possession, probably best to stay away from situations where people are
really emotionally distraught and not feeling themselves. And I really can't
understate how important the 'informed' part of this is. If someone is lying to
you, about who they are or what kind of relationship they want, that's not
informed consent. If they say love you and they don't, that's not informed
consent. If they say they want a relationship and they only want a one night
stand, that's not informed consent. If they say they just want to make out and
you say yes and suddenly their hands are down your pants, that's not informed
consent. If they-”
“Okay, Scott, we get it.” Derek is even more scowly than usual. “No lies.”
“Are we done yet? I did not get out of bed before two on a Saturday to go to
sex ed. They already made me do that when I started high school.”
“Excuse me,” Lydia interjects in an imperious tone. “Scott is right. Consent is
very important. There's no hope of having a mutually fulfilling, enjoyable
sexual experience without it.” A smile spreads, slow and hungry, across her
face. “And I think we all know how important that is.”
“Not all of us, actually, thanks for that little reminder, Lyds.”
“Oh sweetie.” She pats his hand condescendingly. “You're still young. Give it
time.”
“I'm two months older than you!” He sounds mutinous.
“And I'm beautiful.”
“We are so off topic right now. I'm pretty sure you're supposed to listen your
alpha better than that, you know.” Scott is met with a sea of stares that say
only Make me. “The other thing, about informed consent, is that sex can mean
different things to different people. It's not all PIV, you know? So if you ask
someone if they want to have sex and they say yes, I mean, what if they're
expecting anal and you're expecting blowjobs? What if they say no because they
think you mean anal, but they totally would have said yes to blowjobs?”
“I thought we were bros!”
“What? Stiles, we are, I swear-”
“When were you planning on telling me you like the dick, huh? I told you, like,
years ago!”
Scott's mouth closes with a snap as his eyes spring wide-the-fuck-open. Lydia
hums to herself, a pleased, self-satisfied noise, and looks back and forth from
Scott to Isaac again. “I—it's—I mean. Well, it's new, okay? I didn't even
realize before and me and—the guy, we haven't really been, well, talking about
it-”
Malia saves him. “So this is, 'do as I say, not as I do'?”
“This is 'learn from my mistakes so you don't get rejected unnecessarily.' The
point is, be specific and direct because it can avoid a lot of confusion and
hurt feelings and it will really, really help you out in the long run.”
“So now we're done?”
“One more thing, and then it's Derek's turn, and then we'll be done, but I was
kinda thinking we could do something afterward? Pack bonding?”
“After this I just want to wash my brain out with lye.”
“Don't write it off too fast, Malia, it might come in handy someday.” Stiles
gives an exaggerated wink and tries not to let Derek's barely-audible growl get
to him. Specifically, to the boner parts of him.
“Are you kidding? I've been human for, like, ten minutes, my own body is weird
enough without having to figure out someone else's.”
“Your funeral.” Another wink, huge and obvious and accompanied by cheesy
trigger fingers. Everyone was pretty doped up at Eichen House, he's not even
sure if Malia remembers their awkward (and definitely uninformed) fumblings,
but if she does, she remembers that he called it off first—something about it
just didn't feel right—before she laughed and agreed, saying, “Yeah, human
bodies are weird.” The point is, he's trying to get Derek to growl again, which
totally works... except he really didn't think that one through, and now every
were in the room can smell how hard he is.
“Right. So, safewords! Are super handy, and very important if you're branching
out into more... adventurous sex, but they're not just for kink and BDSM and
things like that. I think it's reassuring to have one there all the time, just
in case. And, uh, particularly with our group—I think we've all got some
trauma, you know?”
Derek snorts.
“And you never know when something will come up, if you'll get triggered or if
you'll just start thinking about something that makes you not want to have sex
or be naked or whatever, it's really helpful to be able to let your partner
know right away that something's up, especially if you're having trouble
putting sentences together. I mean, except for Stiles, I think it's pretty
natural to stop talking when we get upset. For anyone, not just supernaturals.
And that's one more thing about consent—it can be withdrawn at any time. You
could be literally about to come in someone (or vice versa) and if they say
stop, you do it. People can want something and change their minds, or think
they want something and realize they were mistaken, and that has to be okay.
Listening to someone's 'yes' doesn't mean anything if you aren't also willing
to listen to their 'no.' Everyone got it? Good. Now, I'm assuming from all the
'I could not hate you more right now' looks I'm getting, no one has any
questions for me at the moment, but feel free to talk to me about this anytime.
Anytime at all. Derek?”
Derek curses under his breath and drags Scott over to the other side of the
room, but even Stiles-the-only-human-around can hear them arguing. “What the
hell am I supposed to tell them?”
“Just, you know, what you told me the other day. About the-”
“You want me to explain knotting? To a bunch of ignorant, hormonal teenagers
who are just going to think it's some freaky kink thing? Especially after your
little lecture on safe-”
“Yes, Derek. They need to know, okay? Because they're ignorant, hormonal
teenagers.” Isaac and Stiles trade offended looks, but know if they say
anything, the conversation will be moved out of earshot. “What if it happens to
one of them, or to someone they're with? You knew what it was and it still
freaked-”
“Shut up right this second and don't say anything the whole time I'm explaining
it and I'll do it. Just—don't tell anyone.”
“Okay. I mean, I won't say another word about that. But there is one more thing
I want you to talk to them about. Uh. Diseases? Transmission of?”
“Fine. But you are going to start being quiet right now and not stop until this
is all over.”
Scott nods and the two walk back to the rest of the group. Derek doesn't return
to his seat, but goes to stand by the window, resolutely not looking at the
ignorant teenagers in question while he talks. “So. Uh, probably this hasn't
happened to any of you, because I haven't heard any of you gossiping about it,
but it can happen. And I guess you should know, just in case. Werewolves—in
certain circumstances—probably werecoyotes, too, but my mom never covered
that—anyway, wolves can. Knot, okay? It swells up at the base and you get stuck
to whoever it is for probably half an hour, so-”
“Why?” Stiles could kick himself, really, because Derek glances at him for just
a second, but that's enough. That's plenty. He does not even want to start
deconstructing the emotion in that look.
“The short answer is pheromones.” Derek sighs, aware that Scott will step in if
he doesn't elaborate, and forces himself to give a sketchy outline of were
mating practices, trying to make it sound more like a dry chemical process than
a life-twisting soul bond. He hazards a glance up. Scott looks... vaguely
proud? Isaac is floored, like his whole world just opened up. Ignorant,
hormonal teen thinking about freaky kink things, every inch of him. Malia still
looks bored. Lydia has that thin smile that means she's just barely holding
herself together. He makes himself look at Stiles. He's so pale he looks like
he might go into shock, but meets Derek's eyes for a split-second before
bolting for the bathroom.
The movement seems to shake Lydia out of her trance, because she grabs her
phone and darts for the door, whispering, “I have to call Jackson,” as she
dials.
“She left her math book,” Scott observes wonderingly, then follows. “HEY LYDS.
DON'T TALK AND DRIVE. IT'S DANGEROUS.” They all hear the sound of her engine
turning over and driving away as the shout echoing down the stairwell fades
away.
“Since you're talking, that means this is over, right?”
“Nope! Sorry, but you still need to tell us about diseases.”
“You're kidding me.” Malia rolls her eyes. “I don't even want to talk to anyone
outside of the pack, and you're making sit through safe sex? You gonna break
out the zucchini, too? 'Cause they did that at the school, too.”
“No. There will be no vegetables. But Scott said I have to tell all of you even
though Deaton probably knows way more about this, so: humans and werewolves get
different diseases. Were/human interactions are probably safe from a disease
standpoint, but werewolves are very fertile. So if anyone might get pregnant,
condom. Were/were, condom. Human/human, obviously condom.”
“Or a dental dam!” Isaac pipes up.
“Shut up. If you want to get tested, go see Deaton. Were STDs are relatively
rare and haven't been in Beacon Hills for a couple generations, but you all are
in high school, so you never know. And that concludes this little after school
special. Now get out of my house!”
“Well, that was a resounding success and it doesn't seem like anyone is up for
putt-putt, so I'm out. Isaac, want a lift?”
“Well, you drove me here, so, yeah. Asshole.”
Malia rolls her eyes and shifts, running down the stairs ahead of the two boys
and streaking away.
Chapter End Notes
     I can't get over the look Derek is making (in my head) when Scott
     tells him he has to give the safe sex talk. Ahahaha!
***** Chapter 4 *****
Stiles waits until all of the noise on the other side of the door dies away,
washes his face, takes a few deep breaths, waits some more. He tells
himself—out loud, because some things don't change no matter how much time a
guy spends with werewolves—that he should just go for it, it's fine, it's not
like he can camp out in Derek's bathroom forever.
He's just reaching out towards the doorknob when he hears Derek's knock, loud
and earth shattering. Okay, maybe just self-confidence shattering, but still.
“Stiles? Everyone is gone. And I need to pee.”
“Right, right. Yeah, sure. Be right out.” He runs his fingers through his hair,
forgetting—again—that it's longer now, there's no smooth velvet scalp to settle
his nerves, and bursts through the door all at once, crashing right into Derek.
Who won't meet his eyes.
“You're, uh, I can't get in when you're in the doorway.”
“Of course! Absolutely!” Stiles edges sideways, because Derek certainly isn't
backing up, and tries to ignore the way the button of Derek's jeans drags
against his flesh, the way Derek's shirt catches and pulls on his own. “That's
a new shirt.”
Derek makes shifty eyes but doesn't argue the point.
“With really hard to read words on it.. Is that... it totally is, it's “The
Raven” in the shape of an actual raven. In tiny print. Wow, does anyone know
you're secretly old-school goth?”
“I thought-” Derek cuts himself off, ducks into the bathroom but turns around
before he finishes closing the door. “Stiles?”
“Yeah?”
“Don't leave yet?”
“Oh-okay. Sure thing, buddy.” Stiles briefly amuses himself by wondering if
he's being at all successful in imitating his normal self. Probably not. He
flops down onto the couch and covers his face. He pretends not to hear Derek
leaving the bathroom, but when he feels the cushion by his feet dip under the
other man's weight, he cracks one eye and looks up. “Derek?”
The eye contact is instantaneous and overwhelming. “Yes?”
“Your wolf—I—that's never happened to you before, right? We're mates?”
“Yes. Well, sort of. You're my mate. Every wolf gets one. It's not—they always
talk about how wolves mate for life and it's so fucking cute, but it's not
really like that. Sexual monogamy does not exist in the animal kingdom. It's an
emotional connection, really, it doesn't necessarily have to be romantic-”
“But it could be?”
“It usually is.”
“The knot is pretty much a sex thing, though, right?”
Derek shrugs. “You're my mate and that's that. I don't really get a decision.
The wolf knows. But if you want to be my mate—that's up to you. And I don't
want to, to—you're so young, Stiles. If you realize later on that you want a
normal life, a wife and kids-”
“Please, the 'Stiles having a normal life' boat sailed years ago. No
supernatural interference required.”
“I don't want you to miss out on things because of me. I don't want you to have
anything less than the best, anything other than a full life. If we, if we
decide to do this and you want to branch out, or you change your mind-”
“What would that mean for you?”
“If you just want to branch out and explore other things, other people, I can
be cool with that. If you change your mind about us entirely.... for human me?
It's another shitty breakup. For wolf me? That's it. That's—you don't get a
redo on mates.”
“That seems pretty harsh. What if you don't like the person your wolf chooses?
Or if they're freaked out by werewolves and take off?”
“They're almost always wolf/wolf pairings. The wolves choose each other. I've
never heard of a situation when a wolf was mated to another wolf, who was mated
to someone else. I've heard of wolf/human matebonds, but they're rare.”
“There were humans in your family, right?”
“Yeah, my... my dad, he never wanted the bite. And the twins, they were
identical except that one had little fangs. Luckily she wasn't the biter.”
Stiles has never heard Derek willingly offer information about his family
before, has never heard him mention a single dead family member—or any family
member, really—unless it was totally critical to solving their current crisis.
“Scientifically, that's fascinating and I'll probably have to pick your brains
about werewolf genetics later. But that's not what I want to talk about right
now.” He waits for Derek to ask the obvious question, then just answers it
himself when he realizes that isn't going to happen. “I want to talk about how
it suddenly makes so much sense that I've been obsessed with you since I met
you. Not even after the whole thing with Scott, before. Way before. Would you
happen to remember a scrawny awkward kid sitting in the sheriff's station when
my dad brought you and Laura in after the fire?”
“Yeah... you smelled fantastic and Laura yelled at me for my inappropriate
timing. She said Beacon Hills was tiny so I didn't have to worry about losing
track of you and I could at least wait until you hit puberty to, and I quote,
'lock that shit down'.”
“Well, I have certainly hit puberty, so...”
“There's more to it than just that, Stiles. You're still—this is really hard
for me to feel okay about. That's why I never said anything about it before.
You're a teenager, and I'm in my twenties. It's... it's like Kate all over
again.”
“NO. You don't get to think that, okay? Unless of course our entire
relationship until now has been a lie and you're planning to kill my whole
family in our sleep? Yeah, didn't think so. We're being honest with each other.
We care about each other. And if you wanna, Iunno, take this slow or whatever,
we can. I don't really want to, mind you, but I want you to feel safe more than
I want to get laid.”
“And the knot... it doesn't bother you?”
“Patience and lube, my friend, patience and lube. Dude, don't look so shocked,
I've been on the internet. And if you knew the size of some of my toys, you
would not even be worried right now.”
Derek's voice drops what must be several octaves when he says, “I would really
like to know all about those.”
“That is totally doable! Is there—you want to do this, right? I'm not
completely misreading the situation, you just want to make sure I really want
this?”
“So bad, Stiles. Want this. Want you.”
“Okay, great. Awesome, actually.” Stiles sits up, finally, scoots over to face
Derek. “Is there anything we could do to help you feel more comfortable about
the sex part of this? Because like I said, we can wait, but I don't want to.”
“I don't really want to either. I'm more worried that—that you'll change your
mind, that you won't want this in a couple months, or a couple years.”
“Look, that's just not how Stilinskis do things, okay? My mom and dad got
together in middle school, got married before college, my dad has never even
considered dating again. I don't do shit by halves, you know that. Trust me on
the commitment side of things, and I'll do whatever you need to feel safe on
the sex side of things.”
“I'm worried about hurting you. Toys, even big toys, aren't the same. I, uh...
I want you to see the knot before you agree to have it in you, and I want to
prep you really, really thoroughly, and I—would you tie me up?”
Stiles' eyes darken so fast he can feel the whoosh of his pupils expanding. He
gulps. “Yeah, I could do that. Definitely. Yes. Two things, though: tying you
up will complicate prep, no?”
“Prep first, then bondage.”
“Works for me. Second thing: your uncle. He's... look, if we get walked in on
by Zombie McCreepster, that could kill sex for me. Permanently.”
“He's out of the country. Took Cora somewhere. Shouldn't be back for months.”
“Shouldn't be back ever,” Stiles mutters to himself. He hopes that doesn't
offend Derek—it's not like he has a lot of family left to choose from, after
all—but he's pretty sure that smile, small and shy, means Derek's just as happy
about the promise of alone time as he is. “Third thing: can I stay over
tonight?”
“You—already? You don't think that's... fast?”
Stiles waves a hand at himself. “Seventeen.” Waves a hand at Derek. “Hot like
Mount Doom after Frodo threw the ring in.”
“No jokes about virgin sacrifices, okay?”
“Hey! Just because I'm tactless doesn't mean I'm tasteless! Besides, I have
been waiting for this for so long, you don't even know-”
“I think I do-”
“I would never risk ruining it with something so crass.”
“Sure you wouldn't.”
“Moving on! I'm gonna call my dad, ask him if I can stay over at Scott's. Then
I am going to kiss the living daylights out of you. Then I'm going to go back
to my house to grab some... things and you're going to follow me in your car,
unless you feel like piggybacking me back from Scott's house Edward Cullen
style.”
“No, I don't, and why are we going to Scott's?”
“Because my dad is definitely going to drive by there and check to see if I'm
lying.”
“Which you are.”
“Worth it!” he trills. “Look, if I thought I could be honest and still spend
the night getting nailed by the hottest werewolf ever, I'd tell him, but we
both know that's not going to happen, so...”
“Before you call him, one more thing.”
“Yeah?”
“When I went over to your house the other night... you said... you said that
I'm the werewolf of your dreams?”
“Oh yeah. And they're good dreams, too. A little uncomfortable waking up from
them sometimes, but so, so good.”
“Maybe later you can tell me about some of them?” Derek's face looks softer
than when he'd asked Stiles to show him about the sex toys, open and
vulnerable, but Stiles refuses to veer off-course. His focus is absolute.
“Holy shit, dude, I will show you just how much I approve of that idea. After.”
He moves off the couch, the better to keep himself from jumping Derek's bones,
and dials. “Heyyy, Dad. Just calling to tell you I'm gonna stay over at Scott's
tonight. His mom's working a double and he got a new video game, so I'm gonna
keep him company. See you tomorrow!” He barely hangs up before he's back on the
couch, straddling Derek. “So much easier to lie to a voicemail.” Suddenly he
hesitates, the momentum that carried him across the room halting. “This is
okay, right? I can be on top of you? I can... kiss you?”
Derek nods, more and more enthusiastically as Stiles keeps talking, as their
mouths draw closer and closer together.
Stiles' brash bravado has faded, and he brushes his lips lightly across Derek's
before pulling back with an assessing look. “Dude, what if Scott is right?”
“Do we really need to talk about him right now?”
“No, I just mean—do you think we should have a safeword? Like, I'm pretty
messed up about this whole possession thing, and I'm gonna go out on a limb
here and say you probably have some baggage from your dating psychos period?”
“Maybe a little.”
“I absolutely do not want to trigger you, but if I do, I wanna know about it,
like, right the fuck away. So I can stop whatever I was doing and say sweet
things and give you little kisses all over your face.” He watches smugly as
Derek's face turns steadily redder behind all the stubble. “You gettin' it now?
I am all in. So, what's your safeword, big guy?”
“Never had one before.”
“Let's see... something easy to remember, easy to say... something neither of
us will yell out by accident... How about... 'Finstock'?”
“Finstock?”
“Yeah. I mean, he was your coach too, right? Never gonna forget that name.”
“It would certainly stop me in my tracks.”
“Perfect! Unless you have a different idea?”
“No, that's fine.”
“Awesome. Now I'm gonna kiss you again.” He does exactly as promised, less
hesitant, but still slow, still careful. (It's possible he has a bit of a hang
up about not being a sloppy teenage kisser, especially when it comes to kissing
actual adults). Their closed lips press together, again and again, before he
opens his mouth just enough to lick at Derek's bottom lip.
It's like a dam bursts; the energy floods through both of them, overwhelming.
It's all Stiles can do to grip Derek's shoulders and hang on as Derek writhes
between his thighs, bucking up and moaning into the kiss that is no longer
careful or measured or polite. Their mouths come together with a clash of
tongues, pull apart just far enough for Stiles to catch Derek's lip between his
teeth, come back together.
It's exhilarating; Stiles feels a little bit drunk. “Fuck, yes,” he pants into
Derek's mouth. “You wanna hear about those dreams now?”
“Nnnngh,” is all the response he gets, but he chooses to interpret that as a
yes.
Stiles pulls away from Derek's mouth entirely, ignoring the pathetic little
whimper that causes, and starts kissing his way along Derek's jaw and biting
down his throat. “I would say this is one of them, but the reality is a million
times better,” he murmurs right into Derek's skin. “Also that particular one,
we were wearing less clothes and in your car. That might be more what you'd
call a fantasy and not an actual dream, but I think it counts.” Stiles rubs his
cheek against Derek's before dropping down to nuzzle into Derek's neck. “You
like this, don't you? Like having my scent on you? 'Cause that night you came
to talk to me and helped me with the panic attack and stayed to cuddle... I had
a dream about you while I was literally in your arms, don't know if you could
tell, but in the dream... Jesus, it was a good one. New one, too. You knotted
me and I came all over you, like, a bajillion times while we were stuck
together but even after your knot went away, you wouldn't let me clean it up.
You just rubbed it in. Said you wanted to smell like both of us.”
“I do. I... I would do that. But I would also eat you out after I came in you.”
“Fuck!” Stiles bites into Derek's shoulder, rutting his cock against the hard
line pressing insistently into him. “You can't just... you can't just say shit
like that and expect me to be functional. At least give me a chance to get my
pants off before you make me come from your words alone, jeez.”
Derek's hands disappear from his hips.
“What are you doing? Why'd you stop touching me?”
“So you can get your pants off. And, you know, the rest of your clothes.”
Stiles drops his own hands to Derek's waistband, toys with the belt buckle.
“I'd really much rather get your pants off. And, you know, the rest of your
clothes.”
“I'm not sure how that's going to stop you from coming in your pants.”
“It totally won't.” Stiles lets loose a huge, dramatic sigh as he stands up and
starts shucking layers of shirts. “But you better be naked by the time I'm done
over here.”
“Pretty sure you're wearing more shirts than all my clothes put together.”
“We can't all be little wolfy furna...” Stiles' voice trails off, because he's
pulled the last shirt over his head and can see again and is seeing, for the
first time, A Very Naked Derek. Who is lounging back across the couch, legs
splayed wide.
And touching himself. That is definite self-touching, languid and deliberate.
Derek has one hand spread across his thigh, tip of his thumb just grazing the
area where “leg” transitions beautifully to “ass.” The other hand is wrapped
around his hard dick, stroking up and down at a glacial pace as his thumb
teases the head peeking through the foreskin. “Are you ever gonna finish
getting naked, or just stand there and drool all day?”
Stiles snaps his jaw shut and rubs the back of one hand across his mouth, other
hand already pulling clumsily at his fly. “Wasn't even drooling,” he mutters,
yanking his pants down.
“You had to check.”
“Rude.”
“I could be a lot more rude.” Derek smirks and spreads his legs wider. “I don't
know if you're interested in this kind of thing, but I can be pretty...
versatile.” Stiles somehow manages to get the rest of his clothes off without
falling down, eyes glued to where Derek's fingers are trailing down to his
hole, slowly circling the pucker.
“Interested. Yep. Definitely interested.” He kicks off his pants, toes off the
one sock still clinging to his foot, and stumbles back over to the couch to
collapse on Derek's lap. “But knotting first. Well, furious humping and making
out first, you fucking the living daylight out of me second, me attempting not
to make a fool of myself by fucking you third.”
“I can show you what I like.”
That comment effectively shuts down Stiles' brain, rendering him non-verbal but
by no means silent. He moans into Derek's mouth, deepening the kiss into
something that sears like fire, a hot line from his mouth, tingling down his
spine and pooling in his pelvic floor. He grinds down harder onto Derek's lap,
squeezes a hand between their torsos only to find Derek's already there. They
wrap hands around their painfully hard cocks, interlacing fingers and fucking
up in tandem.
Stiles comes first, shooting up onto Derek's chest with the first few spurts
and spilling into their joined hands as his orgasm fades off. He doesn't get
too much softer, though, not when he can feel Derek's cock swelling even
further between their hands. “Fuck, man, is that your knot?”
Derek nods helplessly, head lolling against the back of the couch as he rolls
his hips in a quest for more contact.
“Look, there's no way I'll be able to fit it all the first time, but I really
want to try—can I go down on you?” Derek lets loose a long, uncontrolled moan
that most likely started its life as a “yes,” and Stiles drops to his knees.
“I've never done this before, so... tell me if I'm fucking it up, okay? I can
take some constructive criticism.”
Stiles is a little more nervous than he'd like to admit, and takes his time
working around to Derek's cock. It's no hardship, really; he thinks he might be
able to get off himself just from this, from kissing and nipping and petting
all that exposed skin. Derek is a masterpiece laid out just for him.
The thought fills him with impatience.
He feels Derek's come-spattered hands tighten in his hair as he wraps his own
hands around the knot—he's not even going to try to fit that this time, though
one day, it's totally gonna happen—and starts licking his own jizz from the
head. He's tasted it before and thought it was okay (certainly didn't see what
all the ewgross fuss he overheard in the halls was about) but suddenly, it is
so damn delicious.
He feels, oddly, a little shy, even as the implicit power of his position hits
him. He keeps waiting for Derek to tell him to stop or change it up, to do
something other than what he is doing, but that doesn't happen. What does
happen is that Derek starts in on a litany on everything that's amazing about
Stiles, everything that's, “so perfect, shit, Stiles, couldn't even imagine
anything like this, anything this good, so good, too good, you're so good for
me, Stiles.”
Stiles finishes licking Derek clean and bends further to take the head into his
mouth, sucking lightly and running the tip of his tongue under the edge of the
foreskin. He moans at how right it feels (not to mention Derek panting, “yes
god just like that,” above him) and sucks more in.
He reaches down to stroke Derek's sack only to find that his balls are drawing
up, full and tight. He pulls back far enough to whisper, “Do you want to come
on my face?” in a newly rough voice, looking up through his eyelashes for
Derek's answer and tonguing at the slit.
“Fuckyes,” Derek says. It sounds forced, like coherent thought is a challenge,
and Stiles tries—admittedly, not very hard—not to preen.
Stiles bobs down once, twice more, meeting his fingers with his lips, before
pulling back so the cockhead is just resting on his bottom lip before he starts
jacking Derek hard and fast.
It only takes a second, and then there is semen everywhere.
                                       *
Stiles had insisted on at least toweling his face off, though Derek had managed
to talk him out of actual washing with actual soap, but if he'd known the
upshot of having Derek's scent all over him would be, well... this, he probably
wouldn't have argued at all. He murmurs something to that effect, peering at
Derek's face despite the awkward angle of looking at someone occupied with (and
buried in) his neck, stubble sliding roughly back and forth.
The response is muffled, but audible. “Smell so good.”
“I know, I know. I'm great. But,” Stiles shoves himself free of Derek with a
mighty heave, “we came here to grab a few, ahem, supplies. And more
importantly, to leave before getting caught by my dad. So while I am beyond
flattered that me bending over means you can't control your wolfy instincts for
even the few seconds it takes me to grab my sex toys box from under the bed,
you really need to get off of me.”
“Get you off, you said?” Derek, the hopeless dork, asks, draping himself right
back over Stiles, snuffling a path across the nape of Stiles' neck.
“You are impossible!” Stiles tries to squirm free, but mostly just ends up
arching his neck up into Derek's bite and grinding against Derek's crotch,
which... okay. He only lets himself be distracted for a few seconds. “Just
hypothetically, no impact on our night or anything, if you had a choice between
having soulwrenching—not to mention kinky—matebond sex or getting hauled in by
the county sheriff for dry humping his son, which would you choose?”
Derek doesn't say anything, but does un-drape himself and scoot across the room
to lounge against the wall, legs spread and eyes half lidded. And then, because
he has a truly spectacular view of Stiles' ass as the boy roots around under
the bed, he palms himself lazily through his jeans.
The sight is almost enough to stop Stiles from talking when he turns around.
Almost. “Do we need lube? You got lube?” He dumps the box out on the floor.
“I'd like to bring this dildo—nicest shape—and this plug—biggest—but are there
any you want to use on me? Watch me use on me? Use on yourself? I know we don't
need condoms, but gloves are good if you wanna finger me beforehand, which I'm
guessing you do, keeps everything nice and tidy.”
“What if I wanna rim you beforehand?”
“What?! Yes, okay, okay, that's a... yes. Okay. I'm gonna insist on that
shower, you can always cover me in your spunk again after and, uh, I'd like to
be clean on the inside too.”
“I don't really-”
“It's not about where you do or do not want to put your filthy wolf mouth. I've
been to the dog park, I know how you kinky fucks say hello. It's really much
more about me being able to relax. And also wanting to kiss you after.”
Derek rolls his eyes. “Fine. But if you want me to knot you tonight, I will
fist you first. Bring whatever toys you want; I have the rope already and I
don't think I'm gonna get bored using just my mouth and hands on you for a
while yet.”
“Shit, dude, we've talked about this. No dirty talking me to an orgasm in my
jeans!”
Derek smirks and moves way up into Stiles' personal bubble, drops his voice to
a whisper that should not be allowed. “Someday I'm really going to do that, you
know. It's your fault, really, putting these ideas in my head. Just better hope
I don't do it in public.” He stands up, one smooth motion, and is already
walking down the stairs when he calls over his shoulder, “Now get that stuff
packed up and let's go before your dad walks in one me blowing you.”
“Siryessir,” Stiles mutters mutinously, but does as he's told anyhow.
                                       *
Stiles doesn't even wait for Derek turn the car off when the Camaro pulls in
next to the warehouse; he swings into the man's lap fast enough to surprise
him—werewolf powers by osmosis?— and yanks them into a brutal kiss, his teeth
catching Derek's tongue and pulling it into his mouth.
They're both groaning by the time either manages to talk, blood hot and hard in
the lines of their cocks, Derek's hands up the back of Stiles' shirt to grab
his neck, face buried in the boy's sternum.
“Der... inside... naked... please...” Stiles pants as Derek shoves his shirts
up to his armpits. Turns out he really likes the scrape of beard across his
nipples. And holy shit, dating someone with supernatural strength is literally
the best, because Derek doesn't even stop, just reaches over with one hand to
open the door and hauls them out as Stiles grabs for his backpack and wraps his
long legs around Derek's waist. “Ohmygodohmygodohmygod, this is insane. Why did
we put off doing this again?”
Derek kicks the door shut and strides toward the warehouse, wrapping his now-
free arm around Stiles' waist when they get inside.
Stiles feels his brain start to go into overload, but he is so, so okay with
that. The shower is too short and too long all at the same time; Derek's hands
are confident and strong and everywhere, washing him more thoroughly than he
has ever been washed before, and he already wants to beg Derek to just put it
in him already.
That all falls away when Derek sinks to his knees in front of him and sucks him
down to the root. Stiles' brain just shuts down and he collapses against the
cool tile, sagging down into the firm grip of Derek's hands pinning him to the
wall. He's lost in the pleasure, in the feel of hot trickling down his chest,
of cold pressing into his shoulders, of the incredible suction anchoring him
firmly in his cock. He thinks that screaming is probably him? There's really
nothing he can do so he just is, letting himself float out on the sensation.
He comes back to himself slowly, looks down to see Derek lapping at his now-
oversensitive dick with the same smug look Stiles suddenly realizes he's been
wearing the whole time. “You must be the only person in the world who can suck
cock while smirking.”
Derek flips the water off and dries Stiles with the same attention to detail
he'd given the washing, guiding him firmly over to the bed as he does so. He
arranges Stiles' limbs carefully, raising his ass and spreading his knees,
before asking, “Remember the safeword?”
“I don't want to say it 'cause I get the feeling that you're about to do
something really incredible, but, yeah, I remember. Just... do the thing
already!” Derek does, indeed, “do the thing” (the thing in this case being
rimming Stiles to the moon and back), so Stiles has to keep up the conversation
all by himself. He's pretty sure it's mostly swears, but also remembers how
cared for and safe he felt earlier, blowing Derek with all that praise floating
down onto him like a down blanket, so he tries to articulate at least some part
of the affection swelling his veins. “Shit, you're so... so wonderful, can't
even believe... Jesus, Derek!” He completely loses track of time, knows dimly
that Derek has a varying and delightful technique, but cannot begin to say what
it is. Reverse engineering is not one of his strengths at the moment.
He whines pathetically when Derek pulls back and rubs a wet chin across his ass
but cuts off sharply when Derek says, “So you gonna show me how you use that
dildo or what?”
“Shi... yeah, okay. Gimme a minute.” Stiles slumps forward onto the bed, face
buried in the rumpled blankets but his ass propped up on his knees. “Bring me
my backpack? I don't think my legs work.”
Derek mutters about lazy humans but does as requested, dumping the contents out
unceremoniously in front of Stiles and then returning with one of their towels,
still wet from earlier, and a pump bottle of lube.
“I brought lube!”
“Mine's better.”
Stiles heaves himself over and lays out on the towel spread across the bed.
Normally, he'd do this sitting up, using his thighs to bounce up and down on
the silicone cock, but he actually doesn't think his legs will work. He glances
up to see Derek's eyes fixed on him, on the lube-covered toy now nudging at his
hole, and grins.
“You don't... use fingers, first?” Derek's voice is low and harsh and perfect.
“Usually, yeah. I (shit) really like fingers (oh damn) but tonight (god) just
need you (oh fuck yes) so bad.” Half of the toy has disappeared by now, easily,
and Stiles slides his hand down to grab the flared base, pushes it further in.
It's a stretch, but he's pretty relaxed from the rimjob, and it's not like he
hasn't done this before. He's never done this and had it feel so good before,
but he can handle that kind of change.
Derek crawls over; one hand settles at Stiles' entrance, stroking gently at the
stretched-out rim as he uses his mouth and other hand to pet and kiss every
inch he can reach. They stay like this for a few minutes before Derek wraps his
own hand around Stiles', feeling the rhythm and angle of the toy before taking
over entirely. “You're riding me tonight, baby boy,” Derek whispers, “but I
still wanna know how you do it for when I'm on top of you.”
Stiles can't contain his moan at that, nor his begging. “Christ, Derek, you
can't just say that and not fuck me, okay? It's rude, c'mon, I need you in me.”
Derek doesn't respond at first, actually slowing his press of the toy into
Stiles, until Stiles makes a hilarious harrumphy face and rolls his eyes.
“Fine, okay, no need to twist my arm.” Derek slips a glove on and shifts his
weight so he's between Stiles' legs, kisses him thoroughly before sliding down,
pulling the dildo out with his left hand as he sinks in with two fingers on his
right.
“I can take more than that, stop teasing.” Derek scissors his fingers apart and
squirts some of the cold lube directly into Stiles and slips a third in, but
Stiles is having none of it. Three is no more of a stretch than the toy, and he
has a mission. “More, c'mon, you feel so good, I need you.”
“I want you to be ready. I'm not going to hurt you, Stiles.”
“You know, I heard that it's actually easier to fist someone if you go one,
two, four,” and his heartbeat doesn't stutter, so Derek figures he isn't purely
trying to manipulate Derek into just fucking knotting him already and relents.
Stiles vocalizes the entire time Derek pushes his four bunched fingers into
him, a long, wordless tone more like a song than a moan. The moan breaks up,
little staccato groans as Derek starts hand-fucking him, rocking against his
prostate every time he feels Derek's thumb thump against his taint.
“Fuck, Stiles, you look so good like this, so beautiful, so right taking my
hand, so open, love the way our bodies fit together, love the way-” and Derek
realizes what he's doing, blushes as he buries his face in Stiles' thigh,
sinking his teeth around a mouthful of flesh, sucking a swollen purple bruise
in there.
Stiles screams at the pain but fists one hand in Derek's hair, shoves him
harder into his leg as he grinds up into Derek's hand, greedily seeking more.
“Der, god, your thumb, please.”
Derek unclenches his jaw and looks up at Stiles with darkened eyes. “Look at
me.” He pulls his hand back until his fingers are only buried to the second
knuckle, eyes locked on Stiles', pushes the tip of his thumb into the center of
the clump of fingers, pushes his hand forward until Stiles' eyes start to
flutter shut involuntary. “Look at me,” he repeats, and waits for Stiles before
moving again. “Open to me.” The fat bulb of his knuckles is sucked in as Stiles
comes, eyes squeezing shut, ass clenching, cock waving wildly as it jerks and
spurts across Stiles' stomach.
Derek uses his unoccupied to hand to rub the come in as Stiles twitches his way
through the aftershocks. “I think I'm ready for you to tie me up now,” he says
as Stiles' eyes open dazedly. “You alright for me to pull out? Okay, just
relax.” Derek wipes half the lube off his hand onto the rather sizable butt
plug and slides that in—Stiles is so wet, so ready, fuck—before scrubbing the
rest off with the towel. He sniffs his hand and wrinkles his nose.
“What could possibly be wrong now, Sourwolf?”
“The lube makes my hand smell funny.”
Stiles sighs, long-suffering. “Oh come here, weirdo.” He grabs Derek's right
hand and drags it through what jizz is left on his belly before wrapping it
around Derek's cock, smirking. “Now you smell like both of us again. But
seriously? It's a good thing you're about to get yours, because that's starting
to look like a medical emergency. How do you wanna get tied up, puppy?”
Derek moves the towel to the center of the bed and lays down on it, wrists
crossed above his head and legs splayed. “Like this. The rope is in the top
drawer of my dresser.”
“Normally I'd say that's a little presumptive, but in your case—and I'm right.
Wolfsbane bullets in case you get shot, mountain ash in case Stiles has to put
up a circle real quick, wolfsbane rope. This is all stuff left from the alpha
scare, isn't?”
“Kinda, but now it's mostly for Zombie McCreepster.”
“Oh my god!” Stiles grabs the rope and slams the drawer shut. “That's what I
get for asking questions. You should probably just gag me in the future so I'm
not at risk of ruining the mood every time I open my mouth.”
Derek hums, considering, but only says, “Get over here. I'm tired of waiting.”
Stiles can fucking believe it, as long as they've been at this—that blowjob was
hours ago by now—and Derek's cock is starting to show red at the base, skin
stretched tight and angry looking. He scampers over happily, ties first one
ankle to the corner post, then the other. He straddles Derek's chest to tie his
wrists, and shrieks when he feels Derek's tongue snake out and lap at his dick,
almost falling over. “Careful, dude, I coulda put your eye out!”
“I'll heal,” Derek shrugs, testing the bonds. He hisses as the wolfsbane cuts
into his skin but smiles up at Stiles, wide and genuine. “I'm ready. I feel
safe. You're probably about as safe as anyone can make you be, so... get on my
cock already.”
Stiles makes the trigger fingers and winks for the second time that day,
because if you can't have fun during sex, you're most likely a horrible person
who doesn't deserve to get laid anyway. He lubes Derek up before settling with
his knees by Derek's head and his toes braced on either side of the man's
torso, balances with one hand against the wall as he reaches behind him with
the other to tug the plug out. “You like the view, big guy?”
Derek nods, mouth watering, and can't stop himself asking, “Why do you even
call me that?”
“You—outweigh me—by like two hundred pounds—of muscle,” Stiles retorts in
bursts as he lowers onto Derek's cock. “You have to tell me when it's gonna pop
so I can stop bouncing, okay? I don't want to get stuck with it on the outside,
that would be such a bummer.”
“Okay,” Derek pants, craning his neck to watch Stiles sink down in one slow,
unbroken stroke until he can't see a damn thing except Stiles' leaking cock
pointing straight at him. He has enough leverage in this position to roll his
hips even if he can't thrust properly, but he tries to stay still. He really
likes the sound of this bouncing thing.
...Though not as much as he likes the feel and sight of it. Stiles is flushed
and moaning above him, eyelashes dark crescents fluttering open and closed with
each contraction of wiry but powerful thighs. It's difficult to know if the
moments of searing eye contact or the sight of Stiles' eyes rolling back in
pleasure are hotter, but luckily for Derek, he doesn't have to choose. Stiles
is relaxed and receptive from all the prep, but nothing could take away from
that unmistakable clench and tightness. His fingers dig into Derek's pecs as he
holds on for leverage, and the slight sparks of pain are just enough to keep
Derek from coming right away.
If Stiles had had any idea of how good this could be, how unimaginably
different it felt with another person than with himself, he would have been
beating Derek's door down months ago. As it is, he just decides to make up for
lost time, riding Derek unselfconsciously and sighing the wolf's name every
time he feels coarse hair pressing into his ass.
“Shit, Stiles, it's now, I can feel it... oh fuck,” Derek groans.
Stiles can feel the swelling inside him, presses his weight down as he wiggles
his hips in slow figure eights. Derek's hips are rolling up to meet his own,
and he'd thought it would hurt more, be more uncomfortable, but even though he
can feel the stretch inside him, feel how incredibly full he is, it just...
“Feels so right, Der,” he breathes. “Feels like I was made for this.”
“You were.”
Stiles rocks faster and faster, sure that Derek must be as close to orgasm as
he is and wanting to make them come together. He likes this full pressure, this
completeness, a hell of a lot better than he likes a fast thrust in and out and
finds the perfect angle to rub against his prostate. “Fuck, Derek, I'm gonna
come, oh my god, come with me, fill me up, fuck fuck fuck fuck.”
Stiles gets his wish. He can feel the hot pulse of Derek's semen inside him
even as the knot swells even larger. The new sensation drives him over, adds to
the sticky mess already smeared between the two of them.
The constant stimulation doesn't let him come down though, and he orgasms one
more time, rocking his hips and thrusting into his hand, before he slumps
forward and asks limply if Derek would like to be untied now.
“Only if you want another hand job while we're still stuck.” Derek illustrates
his point by bucking up as sharply as he's able, smiling at the high-pitched
moan that produces.
Stiles so, so does.
                                       *
“I can... feel the pack bond,” Stiles murmurs some time later, idly thinking it
should probably bother him that the side of his face is slowly getting stuck to
Derek's chest with his own come, but really, just isn't. Derek shifts
uncomfortably underneath him. “Did you know this was going to happen?”
“No. It's just, you're about to reali-”
“Oh my god, Scott just felt me get devirginized!” Stiles is obviously trying
for his usual flail, but his muscles are wrecked, he's too fucked out and his
body just won't cooperate. He looks (and feels) a little like a fish flopping
around on shore. “Eh, whatever.” He sighs contentedly and snuggles even closer,
nose nudging into Derek's armpit. “Nothing to be ashamed of. No one has ever
had a more thorough, more spectacular deflowering than I just had.”
Derek frowns. “You haven't even fucked me yet.”
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