Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/568069.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Stiles_Stilinski, Derek_Hale
  Additional Tags:
      blind!Stiles, First_Time, Alternate_Universe, blowjob, Barebacking,
      Fingering, mention_of_knotting_(no_actual_knotting)
  Series:
      Part 4 of What_Big_Eyes_You_Have
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-11-20 Words: 3052
****** Until I Wrap Myself Inside Your Arms I Cannot Rest ******
by A_Lesbian_With_Pink_Hair
Summary
     Stiles is a little self-conscious and Derek shows him that he doesn't
     have to be.
Notes
     So this is the last already written installment of this 'verse. THERE
     WILL BE MORE. THIS IS NOT THE END OF THE 'VERSE.
     Future updates probably won't be in linear order. Please note that,
     as I am a college student and other parts of this are not yet
     written, updates will be less frequent.
     But yes, in case you've been waiting for it, have some sexytimes.
     Happy Thanksgiving, kids.
“What does Derek look like?” Stiles asks one day at lunch. He’s sitting with
the whole pack today. He’s been spending a lot more time with the other wolves
since Derek told him that they’re mates; the others seem happy enough to have
him around. (Minus Jackson, who is never truly happy to see anyone besides
possibly Lydia and sometimes Danny. Also, Scott and Stiles are still calling
him the Lizard King and he's not too fond of that nickname.)
Lydia tells him, “he’s extremely handsome. You could cut yourself on those
cheekbones.” Jackson makes a face at her and she flaps a hand at him.
“He has a beautiful smile,” Erica adds. “And he’s totally ripped. Big hands,
dark hair, stubble, hazel-green eyes.”
“But I think I’ve seen him smile like exactly one time ever,” Scott says. “He’s
always frowning.”
“That’s because you always piss him off,” Boyd points out. Stiles likes Boyd;
he’s calm and steady even when everyone else is not.
“Basically, you’re a pretty lucky guy, Stiles,” Isaac says with a mouth full of
BLT.
“Well I already knew that, ” Stiles says. What he doesn’t say is, ‘Derek
probably isn’t.’
—
Derek has been thinking about it for weeks, ever since he told Stiles that they
belong together. He’s thought about Stiles’ hands on his body, lips parted and
panting, what he’d look like when he came after being fucked.
It’s been hard to sleep; Derek dreams about it. His wolf wants to claim its
mate, but Derek would never forgive himself if he pushed Stiles for something
the he wasn’t ready for. So he waits, goes at Stiles’ pace.
They’ve kissed a lot, and they’ve made out, they’ve groped over clothes until
Stiles was gasping for air and they’ve rutted together and three times now
Derek has slid a hand into Stiles’ pants and stroked him until he came. And he
likes that, likes putting his hands on Stiles, is perfectly happy with mutual
handjobs.
They’ve never been naked together, though. Once Stiles was naked from the waist
down, and that was incredible, but Stiles is nervous for some reason, hesitant
to do more, and so Derek doesn’t push it.
But, oh, Derek can’t feel guilty when he thinks about all that pale skin
waiting to be marked, every sound Stiles might make, how it would feel to be
buried in that tight heat with Stiles shaking apart beneath him.
—
Sometimes Derek comes over and they watch movies together. Well, Stiles
listens. Derek usually ends up watching Stiles make faces at the bad life
choices of the characters. Stiles is in his pajamas; a pair of boxers and a
ratty old t-shirt. Derek has a hard time not looking at his pale legs.
Tonight they watch Captain America and when the movie finishes, Stiles closes
his laptop and puts it on the floor.
“So, I was thinking,” he says, twisting the hem of his shirt with nervous
hands. “I’ve never, you know, felt like I needed to see anything before. It was
never super important to me. I usually see stuff by touching it, then I can
sort of envision what it looks like, I guess.”
Derek waits for Stiles to continue.
“And, like, I know we’ve been going at a weird pace. Like, it's not like we
haven't been doing stuff but for the most part we've kept the clothes on and I
guess it’s like, everyone’s always telling me that you’re really gorgeous and I
have no idea what I look like but I know you’re bigger and stronger and much
better defined and I don’t think I look like that at all, I’m skinnier and
I’m—“
“Stiles,” Derek growls, cutting him off. “You’re…” he’s not good with words,
has never been good with words, but Stiles can’t see him blush and only has
those words so Derek has to try. “You look. To me, you look perfect. I love
your hands and your mouth and your legs and your neck and everything else that
I haven’t seen, too. Okay? Can you trust me on this? I think… I think you’re
beautiful.”
“I believe you. I know you wouldn't lie to me about this," the boy murmurs.
"Derek, what do I look like to you?"
"Like the best things. Your body fits mine just right. Your skin marks so
pretty, everyone always knows you're mine. Your face is so expressive. You're
so sweet." Derek's cheeks are burning; he hates talking so candidly, especially
when he's vulnerable like this. But it's Stiles. His mate. If he can do this
for anyone, he can do this for Stiles.
"Derek... I-I want to see you,” Stiles says quietly, and how can Derek say no
to his mate when he looks so determined? Derek pulls his shirt and jeans off,
leaving only his boxer-briefs, and lays back on Stiles’ bed. He takes Stiles’
hands and guides them to his own face and says nothing.
Stiles’ soft hands slide up into his hair, gripping once before gliding through
the thick dark strands. He feels around the shape of Derek’s ears, his
eyebrows, his nose, his cheekbones, smiling a little when he feels the rough
stubble on his cheeks and brushing his thumbs gently against Derek’s slightly
parted lips. Derek nips at his fingertips playfully and Stiles huffs out a
laugh.
Derek obligingly opens his mouth as Stiles strokes his tongue with his thumb,
feels along his teeth before dragging back out.
“My, what big teeth you have,” Stiles mutters, mostly to himself. Then he says,
“Is it okay if I—“
“Yes,” Derek says simply.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“If you want it then I want you to do it,” he answers, closing his eyes as
careful fingers touch just under them.
“…okay,” Stiles murmurs, moving to straddle Derek’s hips. “Okay.”
He moves his hands down Derek’s neck, feels it when Derek tilts his head back,
baring his throat.
“What kind of alpha werewolf bares his neck to someone like me?” he teases.
Derek growls and Stiles laughs a little, mapping out tendons and collarbones,
feeling every muscle in his shoulders that he can from the front. He slides his
palms down Derek’s strong arms, picks up one of his broad hands between his own
and brushes his fingertips against his knuckles, feels the lines in Derek’s
palm, the curve of his thumb, the thrum of his pulse at his wrist. Stiles
kisses the palm of Derek’s hand before putting it back on the bed and doing to
the same to the other.
Derek breathes deeply, ignores the desire to flip them over, to pin Stiles to
the bed and take him. He forces himself to remain calm, even as Stiles’ fingers
slide over his pecs, circle around his nipples and down his sides, crossing to
feel his well-defined abs and the perfect v-shape of his hips. He jerks his
hips up once, groans quietly, and Stiles shushes him, shuffling down to kneel
between his legs, feeling his strong thighs and calves, stroking the tops of
his feet.
“Well?” Derek asks shakily once Stiles’ exploration has stopped.
“You’re beautiful,” Stiles says simply. And just like that, Derek is lost.
“Stiles,” he gasps. “Would you. Can I. Your shirt.”
“Oh. Okay.” Stiles removes his shirt nervously and asks, “Well?”
Derek lunges, hands grasping at Stiles’ head and clashing their mouths
together, tongue plundering Stiles’ mouth as the blind boy’s hands find
purchase against Derek’s back. Derek maneuvers them so he can press Stiles
against the mattress and pulls back, pressing a kiss to the corner of Stiles’
mouth.
“Okay?” he asks, settling his weight over Stiles’. The boy nods and slides his
hands into Derek’s hair as Derek mouths at his neck, sucking a hickey into pale
skin, marking up his boy, wolf howling in his head.
“Stiles, I want,” Derek gasps against his skin, licking at the newly-formed
bruise.
“Mm?”
“Let me—please, I—“
“Use your words, big guy.”
Derek huffs against Stiles’ neck. “I want to taste you. Can I?”
“Oh,” Stiles gulps, bites his lip. “Well, I mean, I guess that’s… yeah, okay,
we can do that… but if I’m losing my shorts, you’re losing yours too.”
Derek very agreeably nearly tears his off before carefully sliding Stiles’
boxers down his narrow hips, down his legs, and tosses them to the floor to
join the rest of the clothes.
His mate is bare beneath him, a deep flush coloring his face and reaching all
the way down his heaving chest, and Derek’s wolf is howling mate, claim, take,
protect, mine, his eyes are flashing red and Derek buries his face in the crook
of Stiles’ neck, inhaling deeply the scent of home and family, a smell he’s
dearly missed these past six years.
He licks at the sweaty skin, gently scraping teeth over nipples and dipping his
tongue into subtle curves as he moves down Stiles’ chest to the boy’s straining
erection, curved up and leaking precome over his belly.
“Mine,” he says softly before sinking his mouth down over Stiles’ dick and
Stiles lets out a strangled gasp as his fingers clutch at the bedding beneath
him.
“Derek…” the teen whines, struggling to keep his hips from bucking. “I’m not…
I’ve never… this is… ‘m not gonna last long, please…”
Derek works his mouth over the length of hot flesh, swallowing hard around his
mate, moving hands to his thin hips to hold his boy still. He hollows his
cheeks around him, and then Stiles is coming with a stuttered cry, eyes blown
wide and unseeing as ever.
Stiles is panting as Derek prowls up the bed like a beast.
“I-I want—give me your hand,” Stiles murmurs. Derek slips a hand into one of
Stiles’ and Stiles squeezes it before running it up Derek’s arm to his face,
cupping his face and pulling him in for a kiss.
“Oh,” Stiles mutters.
“You taste that? You taste yourself on my mouth?” Derek growls against Stiles’
kissed-red lips.
“I—Derek.”
“I want to—fuck, Stiles, I’m the luckiest man in the world, you looked so
incredible, fucking hell, and no one else ever gets to see this, just me, only
me.”
“Derek.”
“Tell me.”
“Only you,” the teenager gasps. “I promise.”
“Tell me you’re mine.”
“I’m yours, Derek, jesus, I’m your mate, you’re mine, oh my god, Derek—“
“Tell me I can fuck you.”
Stiles licks his lips nervously and Derek hears his heart stutter in his chest.
“I mean,” Derek whispers quickly, not wanting to make Stiles do anything he
doesn’t want to. “If you want that. We don’t, fuck, we don’t have to do that
now if—“
“You can. I—I want you to.”
He’s still nervous, but he isn’t lying, which at this point is good enough for
Derek.
“Okay. I—okay. Do you have—“
“Top drawer.”
Derek fishes out an unopened tube of clear gel and smirks just a bit. No one
has touched Stiles like this, not even Stiles himself, he’s going to be the
first, and no one has touched what’s his, and now no one ever will. He tears
off the plastic seal with his teeth and warms some lube between his fingers.
“Derek?” Stiles sounds unsure, as if he’s worried Derek has changed his mind,
as if there’s the slightest possibility that could happen.
“Shh,” he soothes.
“Um,” Stiles fidgets, “should I roll onto my stomach? I read that was easier.”
“Did you?” the alpha murmurs, and the wolf growls, pleased. “Why, exactly, were
you researching that? Were you getting ready for this, for me?”
Stiles nods hesitantly.
“Good boy,” Derek breaths, “such a good boy. You’re perfect, always ready to
learn how to protect yourself and make me happy, you’re the best mate I could
have asked for, Stiles…”
Stiles bites his lip. People have called him a lot of things, felt bad for him,
felt sorry for him, pitied him, but none of that matters, none of them matter,
not when Derek Hale is here, naked in bed with him and telling him he’s
perfect.
“Derek, please, I want you to, please…”
“Shhhh,” the werewolf murmurs, lifting one of Stiles legs up to wrap around his
hip. “I’ve got you.”
Slick fingers trace Stiles’ entrance and the boy whimpers, forcing his body to
relax as Derek slides one finger inside him. Stiles lets out a shaky breath.
“Derek… move, c’mon, don’t tease me, I can’t…”
“I’m not gonna tease you. Not this time,” Derek says. “Just don’t want to hurt
you. Can’t ever hurt you, can’t hurt what’s mine, my pack, my boy, my mate,
mine…” The wolf is so close to the surface. Derek knows his eyes are bright,
supernaturally red, and he’s a little glad Stiles can’t see that. Stiles is
brave, the bravest person Derek knows, but he’d hate himself forever if Stiles
was ever afraid of him even for a minute.
“You’re not gonna hurt me, I’m not gonna break, Derek, come on!”
Derek thrusts his finger a few times before adding a second and eventually a
third. He’s doing his best to be thorough even with Stiles writhing and whining
underneath him.
When Stiles’ hole has been acceptably stretched, Derek forces himself to stop.
“Do you want me to use a condom?” he asks roughly. “I can’t get sick, can’t get
you sick, but it’s your body so tell me. I can use one if you want.”
“Um,” Stiles answers, “well I mean I guess it’ll contain the mess if we—“
“I’m not finishing inside you, not this time.”
“Why not?”
“Coming inside you would mean knotting you. I’m not gonna knot you, not
tonight, not for your first time.”
“What—“
Derek growls. “I know you know what a knot is, you’ve been researching enough
to understand. And I’m not going to knot you tonight.”
“Why not?”
Derek’s shaking now, needs to be in Stiles, but not before Stiles understands.
“Because,” he says through gritted teeth, “when you take my knot the first time
I’ll have been stretching you properly all night so you’re nice and loose for
me, and I’m gonna fuck you so slow and fill you up so good, and you’re going to
writhe and you’re going to come for me and it’s going to be so much. But not
tonight. So tell me, yes or no?”
“No, no, I don’t need it, just hurry up, Derek!”
Derek snatches up the tube again, slicks himself up, and starts sliding in,
pressing Stiles’ legs back against his chest.
Stiles is letting out short, stuttering breaths and Derek leans down to kiss
him, to distract him from the new and unfamiliar pressure.
“Okay?” Derek pants against Stiles’ mouth.
“Doesn’t hurt,” Stiles grunts. “Feels weird. Don’t stop.”
Finally Derek bottoms out, hips pressed against Stiles’ ass. He’s forcing
himself to take deep breaths, to focus on Stiles.
“Move, please,” the boy says, quiet, more timid than Derek’s ever heard him.
He’s kissing Stiles’ face, his neck, and Stiles tilts his head back and lets
the alpha do as he pleases.
Derek gives a shallow, experimental thrust into Stiles’ tight heat, and with
just a few more thrusts, managed to angle himself to rub against the teen’s
prostate. When he gets it right, Stiles’ hands slide up into his hair and grip
hard, and Derek snarls and thrusts harder.
“Feel so good,” Derek mumbles against Stiles’ open and gasping mouth. “Maybe
next time have you ride me, and I’ll just watch. Let you do all the work.”
“Yes,” Stiles gasps, not really listening to what he’s agreeing to. He doesn’t
know anything now but Derek’s scent and the sound of his own blood rushing
through his veins and pounding through his heart. “Anything, please, I need—“
“I know, baby,” Derek says, shifting his weight onto one hand and reaching
between them to jerk Stiles off, spreading the pearly white precome at the tip
and using it to make the slide better.
“Okay?” he pants, and Stiles nods, murmuring nonsense under his breath.
“’M good, ‘s good,” he groans. “c’mon, ‘m so close…”
“Yeah? Come on then. Come for me, let go, let me see you.”
Stiles does, arching off the bed and crying out as he comes between them. Derek
strokes him through it, still thrusting shallowly. When Stiles is finished,
Derek pulls out and jerks himself with quick, rough pulls and comes on Stiles’
stomach.
The wolf inside Derek practically croons at this; his mate is marked, and any
werewolf or supernatural creature of any kind that comes near Stiles will know
that the blind boy is not to be messed with, is not a safe target to hit, is
the Alpha’s mate and Derek will rend limb from limb anyone who tries to harm
him.
“I’ll be right back,” Derek says, and grabs a washcloth from the bathroom to
clean them both off. He’d like to clean Stiles up with his tongue but he thinks
there will be time for that another day. After he’s finished, he tosses the
cloth onto the pile of their clothing and settles himself beside his mate.
Stiles makes a soft, sweet noise almost like a whimper and brings a hand up to
Derek’s cheek, thumb brushing against the upturned corner of the werewolf’s
mouth.
“You’re smiling,” Stiles says. “Scott told me you never do that.”
Derek doesn’t know what to say about that.
“Erica said you have a beautiful smile. Perfect white teeth. It totally
figures.”
The werewolf lets out a huff and nuzzles into Stiles’ palm before kissing it
and then leaning over to kiss Stiles languidly.
“’m sleepy now,” the boy says. “Will you stay for a little while? My dad won’t
be home until late.”
“I’ll stay,” Derek says. “Until you fall asleep.”
Stiles smiles broadly and closes his eyes, and Derek pulls him so that Stiles’
back is pressed against his chest. He puts and arm over him and presses and
hand over his heart.
Derek hears it when Stiles is finally asleep but he can’t bring himself to
leave right away because he’s finally here and he buries his face in the back
of Stiles’ neck and lets himself rest.
For now, this is all there is, and it’s beautiful.
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