Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/492431.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Rimming, Comeplay, Frottage, Sex_Toys, Dirty_Talk, Fingerfucking,
      Knotting, Underage_Character
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-08-21 Words: 2535
****** Not Quite Like This ******
by saltandbyrne
Summary
     Stiles needs to get ready for Derek's knot. Derek gets him a gift to
     help.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
If you had asked Stiles a year ago where he'd expect to find himself at 4:37 on
a Tuesday afternoon, he would have given you a long and snarky list of unlikely
possibilities.
 
Laid out on his twin-size bed while his underwear model slash werewolf kinda
sorta maybe boyfriend-ish person licked his asshole until Stiles almost had
tears in his eyes? That shit wouldn't even have made the top one million list
of possible Tuesday afternoons.
 
And yet here Stiles is, one hand hitched behind his knee to pull his leg up
closer to his chest, other hand fisted in his mouth to stifle the pathetic
whimpers he lets out every time Derek does that with his tongue. Obviously his
Dad isn't home, Stiles isn't that stupid, but at this point he's worried about
the people two blocks down hearing him.
 
Stiles' cock lies neglected against his belly, steady stream of precome making
a shiny little pool below his navel. Stiles groans as another drop gets added
to Lake Pre-jizz when Derek presses his thumbs down on either side of his hole
and spreads him open a little further, tongue dipping in to lap at the newly-
exposed flesh. The loud huff of breath Stiles lets out as Derek darts his
tongue around is the quietest he can manage.
 
“You ready?” Derek growls, seriously his default talk-setting, not that Stiles
is complaining. Derek starts to circle his thumb around Stiles' spit-slick
hole.
 
“Unh-hnnf,” is really an admirable attempt at coherent, affirmative speech as
far as Stiles is concerned. Especially when Derek gives him about 0.02 seconds
to respond before he's pressing his thumb right alongside his tongue, hot
pressure making Stiles yelp.
 
“Oh, fuck,” Stiles groans out, his hips circling up of their own volition as
Derek sinks his thumb all the way in to the webbing, tongue slip-sliding in
next to it until Stiles can't tell which one's in and which one's out. Not that
he really gives a fuck as long as some part of Derek is in his ass.
 
The thumb turns into two fingers, slippery and cold with what Stiles assumes is
lube. Derek likes to sneak into his window armed with lube and whatever other
surprise sex things he's got clipped to his utility belt like fucking gay-sex
Batman.
 
“Got you something.” Speak of the devil.
 
“For little old me?” Stiles manages to fire back, a little too shaky to have
any edge to it but for fuck's sake who says that and then licks a hot stripe up
a guy's balls?
 
Derek nods his head, eyes placid as he looks up at Stiles. This is obviously
also the perfect time for Derek to work a third finger inside him and curl them
holyfuckingfuckface.
 
Scott might joke that nothing on earth can shut Stiles up, but Stiles has a
secret list of things that can render him speechless. Derek's index, middle,
and ring fingers are definitely in the top five, especially when they press
forward with that steady, unyielding pressure on that spot. Jesus christ, it
had taken Derek about five seconds to find the “make Stiles' fucking head
explode” button that had apparently been hiding in his ass all these years.
Stiles would almost be mad at all the years of awesome jerking off he's
obviously missed if he could think about anything other than how it's gonna
feel when Derek actually fucks him.
 
Derek might be worried about that whole “I have a fucking gigantic freak
monster cock with a knot and extra fucking bells and whistles on it” thing, but
Stiles was just getting impatient about it. Derek kept saying he had to get him
ready for it and let his body get used to taking it and blah blah blah. Stiles
secretly suspected that Derek was just a sadistic bastard who got off on
watching Stiles writhe on his hand and moan for it like a bitch.
 
And Stiles was definitely not too good to bitch it right on up, spreading his
legs and arching his back to meet every thrust of Derek's clever, curling,
bastard fingers.
 
“Hoooooooly fuck I'm, yeah, fuck, I'm gonna -” Stiles feels his chest jerk in
surprise as Derek wraps a firm hand around the base of dick and squeezes, the
fucker.
 
“Uh-uh,” Derek shakes his head, little disapproving pout on his shiny-wet lips.
“Not yet.”
 
Stiles grits his teeth and rolls his eyes. Derek sinks his fingers in deeper,
slowly rocking them in and out. “Don't want you to come till you see what I got
you.” What's that word? A mewl, yes, that's it, that's the sound Stiles makes
when Derek pulls his fingers out and stands up.
 
The mewl sort of morphs into a desperate whine as Stiles watches Derek stand
up, naked as the day he was born (unless he really did come out as a puppy,
Stiles isn't 100% clear on that one). Werewolf or not, no one walks around with
that kind of swagger without packing some serious heat downstairs. Stiles feels
his mouth water as he watches Derek's spectacular, Platonic ideal of a werewolf
cock bob between his legs as he steps by the window to rummage through his
jacket.
 
Stiles thinks that if Derek isn't getting a condom out he's actually going to
die of not-getting-fucked-in-the-ass-itis. He should probably be a lot more
nervous than he is at the thought of getting stuffed full of that whole
situation, but thinking about it just makes Stiles' balls nestle up a little
closer as he recalcitrantly strokes his cock.
 
“Gotta get you ready,” Derek says, low and slow and deadly with his hands
behind his back, “to take a knot.” Derek smiles at him, knowing little smirk
because he knows that Stiles knows that he can hear his heartbeat, never mind
the comically-loud gulp of excitement that Stiles swallows down. Just hearing
Derek say “knot” is enough to get Stiles' heart galloping on forward into
desperate whore valley, trusty “I am not above bribing you to fuck me” cavalry
sword at his side.
 
“So I picked a little something up for you.” Derek settles back on the bed, up
on his knees between Stiles' helpfully-spread legs. He's still got one hand
behind his back, head tilted to the side as he reaches out to swat Stiles' hand
off his dick.
 
Derek licks his lips and spits into his hand, slowly stroking himself as he
just looks at Stiles, who's too busy looking at Derek's cock sliding back and
forth in his fist to really notice. Derek licks over his canines and works
himself faster. Stiles can only blame some Pavlovian conditioning for his
compulsive lip-licking as he watches Derek, watches how he speeds up and stops
again, watches how his hand starts to stop three inches above the base as his
knot starts to swell up.
 
Derek takes a deep breath and runs his hand over the back of his neck, body
arched forward perfectly to showcase his cock, that ridiculous V of his hips
drawing Stiles' eyes down like a fucking dick-arrow.
 
“Are you, um, gonna, you know, we could, I can totally -”
 
Derek cuts him off with a terse, “Shh.” Stiles feels sort of stupid thinking of
Derek's grin as wolfish, because, duh, but there's really no other way to
describe that predatory, self-satisfied smirk.
 
“You'll get it, don't worry. But first...” Derek raises his eyebrows
dramatically, slowly pulling his arm from behind his back.
 
Ladies and gentlemen, behind door number one we have …
 
“Oh. Is that … where did you...?” Stiles gapes at the big black rubber thing in
Derek's hand, which is shaped just like Derek's cock but on a smaller scale.
Derek sees him looking and helpfully lines it up to demonstrate.
 
“It's like a mini-me. Thought it'd be good practice.” Stiles isn't totally sure
that Derek knows he just made an Austin Powers reference. Dances with wolves
over here doesn't always get pop culture references, so Stiles ditches the quip
about whether it has lasers on its head in favor of just nodding frantically.
 
Derek bites his lip and scoots himself forward, setting the toy down by Stiles'
hip. He pours some more lube on his fingers and works them back into Stiles,
tongue caught between his lips as he concentrates. Stiles adds another moan to
the long list of shameless sounds he's made this afternoon, canting his hips up
to meet Derek halfway.
 
“The guy at the store said it's called 'David'.” Derek scrunches his nose up,
like it's just normal conversation time, like Stiles can have a good laugh that
someone named a rubber werewolf dick 'David'. “Isn't that funny?” Derek shakes
his head and smiles, curling his fingers up right the fuck there as Stiles'
attempted joke about whether 'David' is circumcised turns into a sort of
pathetic puppy whine.
 
“Yeah, you're ready,” Derek says more to himself than to Stiles, withdrawing
his fingers and smirking as Stiles' puppy whine dies off. Stiles balls his
fists in the sheets and pants, nervous and excited and turned on as fuck and a
million other things that make him feel like his guts are curled up into a
tight ball of static electricity.
 
Derek pours about half the bottle of lube on 'David', spreading it out with his
hand. The head of it feels strange against Stiles' hole, alien and colder than
anything he's used to feeling down there. “Just relax,” Derek murmurs, eyes
going dark as he presses the toy in. “Just like that.”
 
Stiles throws his head back against the sweat-damp pillow, mouth hanging open
as he breathes and feels himself open around the toy. It's intrusive and
filling and it burns but it's good, so good Stiles tries to rock himself up to
take a little more of it than Derek's giving him.
 
“Greedy,” Derek husks out, and clearly Stiles isn't the only one enjoying this.
Stiles looks up to see Derek's dick sweating precome out the tip like a whore
in church, throbbing red and shaking a little bit every time Derek draws the
toy out and thrusts it back in.
 
“This is what it'll be like.” Derek pulls the toy all the way out, leaving
Stiles empty and miserable and clawing at the bed to get it back inside now.
“Get you all wet for me,” Derek pauses to push Stiles' legs up, spitting down
right onto his hole and jesus fuck that's hot, “fuck you till I'm ready to
come.” Derek slides the toy back in, wet push of it to stop just above the
round knot at the base, teasing it back and forth until Stiles is squirming and
fucking himself back onto it.
 
“And then,” Derek says gruffly, abruptly stopping to press the toy all the way
in, “I'll knot you.” Stiles grits his teeth as he feels the blunt pressure
against him, muscles flexing to give way as Derek pushes forward. It's too
much, too much and too big and too fucking holy fuck yes yes yes.
 
Stiles is pretty sure he hears Derek say, “Knew it,” but all he can really
focus on is that curled up little ball in his gut cresting forward to race up
his spine and shoot sparks out of his fucking eyeballs, body arching up off the
bed as every inch of him tenses up and fires on all cylinders. His toes curl
into his sheets as Derek angles the toy just right and Stiles shoots all over
his belly, not a hand on his dick as he comes like it's getting ripped out of
him.
 
“Get on your belly.” Stiles couldn't move himself if he had a gun to his head,
and he apparently still has a fake cock in his ass as Derek rolls him over,
muscles rippling around it with the aftershocks of his orgasm as Derek lays
down on top of him.
 
“You're gonna come when I fuck you,” Derek growls against him, slotting his
dick up right behind Stiles' nuts. “Feel you squeeze it out of me.” Derek
starts to rut against him, every forward thrust of his hips jarring the toy
inside of Stiles. “Tie you off and fuck, fuck...”
 
Derek's words are coming out thicker, and Stiles is sure that if he turned
around he'd see Derek sporting a fang-boner to match the spectacular one he's
rubbing off between Stiles' legs. But all Stiles can do is drool into his
pillow as Derek bears down on him, hot breath on his neck as he speeds up.
 
“Tie you off and pump you full of pups, fuck, Stiles, god, fuck,” Derek chokes
off, hand clamping down on the back of Stiles' neck as Derek's rumbling growl
echoes through his chest. Stiles can feel the wet, hot flood of it between his
legs, and that whole fill you up thing is no joke. Derek doesn't leave a wet
spot so much as create a natural disaster.
 
Again, things that would never in a million years have made Stiles' list of
potential Tuesday afternoons? Chubbing up for round however the fuck many times
he's gotten off today while his underwear model werewolf maybe-boyfriend dumps
a Big Gulp full of jizz on his nuts and growls about knocking him up with ass-
puppies.
 
Not that Stiles is complaining.
 
“Clean yourself up, I gotta run.” Derek rolls off him some indeterminate amount
of time later, Stiles wasn't exactly watching the clock, picking Stiles' t-
shirt up off the floor for a perfunctory wipe of his junk before he gets
dressed. Derek breaks off Stiles' post-not-quite-fucking reverie as he slowly
pulls good old 'David' out.
 
“Really know how to make a guy feel special,” Stiles gripes from the bed,
unwilling to move from his buoy in Lake Derek-spunk.
 
Derek pauses as he pulls on his t-shirt, an expression as close to apologetic
as he's capable of pulling on his face. He crouches down by the bed and smirks,
rolling Stiles onto his back to kiss him.
 
“You know I'll be back.” Derek kisses him again. “And you're gonna fuck
yourself with this,” Derek smacks him playfully on the hip with the toy, “a
couple times a day until I think you're ready.”
 
Stiles' really excellent Van Halen joke about his homework never being quite
like this goes up in smoke as Derek leans down and licks a flat swipe of his
tongue over Stiles' belly, lapping up a tacky mouthful of Stiles' come.
 
Derek licks his lips and sighs out a contented, “Mmmm,” standing up to shrug on
his leather jacket.
 
“See you later, kid,” Derek says as Stiles waves sleepily at him. At least
Stiles is used to Derek's post-makeout defenestration routine by now, not
batting an eyelash as he just disappears out the window.
 
Stiles rolls over, seeking out a slightly-less-wet spot and failing. He picks
'David' up, chuckling at the ridiculous name and the fact that both of them
have homework to do together. Glancing down at his half-woody, Stiles figures
there's no time like the present.
 
While Stiles could easily have imagined a Tuesday afternoon slogging through
homework, he could never have imagined it being quite like this.
 
He's not complaining.
End Notes
     You can buy a David_of_your_very_own. NSFW times a thousand!
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