Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/612759.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Character:
      Derek_Hale, Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Human, Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Underage_-
      Freeform, Boypussy, Intercrural_Sex, Dirty_Talk, Frottage, First_Time, It
      looks_kinky_as_fuck_but_it's_really_not_its_just_a_dude_that_wanna_get
      funky_with_another_dude
  Series:
      Part 2 of The_one_with_boy_vaginas
  Stats:
      Published: 2012-12-29 Words: 4838
****** a hotter touch (a better fuck) ******
by colferstilinski
Summary
     Along with the picture Derek sent, was a little text message attached
     with it.
     ‘I used to have really bad bunnies before I got on braces. So, a
     secret for a secret, yeah? Sleep well, Stiles.’
Notes
     This is a somewhat continuation? A sequel from that first fic, it's
     not really necessary to read that first to read this but hey, it
     would help a lot on not being too overly confused.
     P/s: I don't have a beta and I don't understand how to use English
     properly \o/
     P/P/s: A reader informed me that not a lot of people in this fandom
     knows what boypussy is, so um. Here I come out from the hidden depths
     of the gkm and here goes a 4am explaination. Basically it strafes
     away from all transgendered topics. Stiles is /not/ biologically
     female and identifies himself as a male. He /is/ a dude who just so
     happens to have biological female parts. It's all fictitious, there's
     no such thing in real life. Boypussies also /do/ have sub-categories,
     having just the female genitalia is not the only boypussy. There's no
     right or wrong types of boypussy, if it's your kink, it's yours. No
     harm, no foul. Boypussies include: Male with both female/male
     genitalia. Male with both female/male genitalia and also has the
     prostate/g-spot. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a
     prostate. Male with both female/male genitalia but only has a g-spot.
     Or male with only female genitalia. Or male with female genitalia and
     prostate.
     Really, anything goes with boypussies. If it gets you all hot and
     bothered in your loins, then you've found your type of boypussy!
     You could read it up on here that explains more about how the tw kink
     meme looks at it, but really, I'm just an all around kinks lovers, so
     maybe they could have used more proper terms like 'intersex' because
     honestly, I can't even understand the simple grasp of English to
     explain anything really properly.
     Warning: Both characters are consexual underage participants, there
     might be a little dub-con moments, but trust me, it's definitely all
     very, /very/ consensual, it's just Stiles is a little slow on the
     uptake (heh).
See the end of the work for more notes
Stiles finds out that Derek turns out to be an ogre after ‘The Big V’ (yes,
that’s what he’s calling it, capitalization and all that jazz because it
deserves it’s monumental respect). Uh, not a literal ogre by the way, where
he’s like ten feet tall and bathes in his own nose gunk or something.
That shit needs Jesus.
Okay, fine, but say if Derek was one, Stiles would definitely try to be into
it. Hell, he definitely would go all the way with trying and even strategize
out sexual positions for them to try without turning him into mashed human
limbs mid thrust.
C’mon, the dude accepted his vagina! The least he can do is repay back the
acceptance for his hypothetical Shrek forsaken life.
Back to the point of Derek and his affiliation to being an ogre, with the
multi-layers and what’s not.
Turns out that the cool-o-meter lied and Derek really isn’t a whole hundred
percent bad boy and rocking 80’s suave in the now. He’s like a damn tootsie
roll, all soft and chewy in the center, a dork he truly is (layers man, it’s
the damn layers) and he hides all of it under folds of leather, painted on
skinnies and a whole wad load of hair wax.
Yeah, he may also need an intervention for that. The wax thing.
Derek just doesn’t understand that just a teeny pinch of it is enough for his
experimental greaser pompadour (damn summer and Netflix, curses) and dumps like
half of it into his hair until it becomes all stiff and flaky, like dried up
come that accidentally slashes onto Stiles’ hair when he decides to go for the
money shot.
Now do you see why he needs the intervention?
Regardless of come-like hair, Derek is a total sweetheart under all that fake
doom and gloom he struts around in.
See, after ‘The Big V’, Stiles receives a picture from Derek via text message
an hour after he left for home. He guesses it’s probably an old photo since the
corners of the photograph are looking a little frayed and Derek is sporting
serious baby fattened cheeks and itty bitty chest that makes him look so pine-
sized in comparison to the herculean one he’s been packing on.
Then there’s also the fact that Derek is smiling so wide, it looks like he
found a magical jackpot full of lollipops in a unicorn’s ass or something mid
snap of the picture.
One true dork. He’s going to pitch a show like that to MTV one day.
It also kind of makes Stiles’ inner-paternal ways coo at it, because, Derek was
disgustingly adorable as a kid. He even needed to take a minute to punch
himself hard in the crotch and make manly grunts at the mirror just in case he
loses his head and start making silly baby gurgling noises at his phone.
Yep, never going to make that mistake again.
What? It was an incident a few years back, okay! He was like, eh, ten or so.
Let it be known that there’s no such thing as good decision making at that age
when it comes down to a pre-pubescent kid, opening of Christmas presents and a
human sized teddy bear.
Nope, nada, zilch.
Also, because his dad is like all nasty dads in the world and wants to
simultaneously humiliate their child to no end but also have the insane need to
live up to their mug of ‘World’s Best Dad’, his shame now permanently resides
on Facebook where he’s having a break down over a gigantic plush toy that
demanded to be called Mr. Snuggly-boo.
Ye-ah… Stiles still have hangs up with social network sites to this day because
of it.
Anyway, along with the picture Derek sent, was a little text message attached
with it.
‘I used to have really bad bunnies before I got on braces. So, a secret for a
secret, yeah? Sleep well, Stiles.’
Derek is the best boyfriend to ever, ever.
-
It takes about two weeks after the whole vagina debacle before anything funky
goes down between them.
The good, rolling in between the sheets, having their ankles get awkwardly
locked on hips and knees, rumpity hump funk. Not the other kind where they end
up throwing toilet paper at each other and scream bloody murder into each
other’s eardrums.
No thank you, the other funk can hop back into nope-ville.
They’re watching Finding Nemo on Stiles’ laptop on his bed (oh, don’t be
pretentious you scrub, everyone pops in Disney once a while, you heartless
bastard) when Derek scoots in closer to him, popping that little bubble people
call personal space.
“Babe,” He murmurs roughly, little staccatos of hot breath blowing onto his
right ear. Stiles feels a shiver curling in from his toes and mild teenage
arousal piquing in interest at his groin area. What? He’s sixteen. He’s allowed
to get turned on by anything. “You ever, uh, touch yourself?”
Stiles at least has some decency to blush (oh look, blushing virgin, ha-ha-ha)
and feels the heat creeping up his nape, stretching to the bottom of his
hairline. He licks his lips, nods his head albeit shakily, “Um, yeah?
Sometimes? Yeah. Don’t really like it much though.”
They haven’t really talked about the whole vagina deal after ‘The Big V’, hence
why it’s called that. So, this is like another one of those moments, not overly
important, but still holds somewhat significant. He could call it ‘The Second
V’.
Okay, now that’s just trying way too hard.
“God,” Derek groans softly, appreciatively, at his answer. His head lolls
lazily onto Stiles’ shoulder, chin tucking in, before he’s quietly mumbling
out, “Why not?”
Stiles squirms, okay fine, he’s fidgeting.
It’s one thing to confess you have a pussy, that he can do, has done, but it’s
a whole other thing to share masturbatory stories. Okay, like dudes that swap
porn links with each other because they’re thatlevel of best buds but they
don’t extend that courtesy in actually watching porn together. Yeah, so this?
Kind of falls into the same category.
He stammers out, “I just—Uh, heh—Well, it, I, get really wet. Which I’m sure
you know because you take the same Health Ed class as I do, well, the whole
get-down is basically the same without me having flopping tits or something and
the whole, uh, where I’m a dude? Yeah. Okay, I just—I don’t like getting my
fingers all lubed up with my own special Stiles de vaginal lube! It’s… weird.”
Derek snickers and puts his hand on Stiles’ thigh. The soothing touch,ah, also
the guy really likes his circles. “Well, get a vibrator then. It gets the job
done, without the mess.”
“Eh,” Stiles laughs awkwardly, shrugging. “Tried it. Not my thing. I like the
build-up.”
“Oh, fuck—” Derek grunts and he tucks his face into Stiles’ neck, breathing
heavily.
Stiles knows that sound, has heard it more times in the past five months to
know that it’s a sure tale tell sign of—Yep, we have tenting, lift-off, or
whatever erection-like innuendos one can think of.
“Dude,” Stiles says pointedly, with fond in his tone and he’s flicking his gaze
back onto his laptop screen. “Are you getting horny off this, man? Me being
this total saucy minx whom have man-handled you a couple of times but am
actually is a total innocent self-lover or something?”
“Yes,” He replies easily, smoothly, like admitting getting turned on is not
even the slightest bit embarrassing. He even sounds like he’s enjoying talking
about it, christ, the dude has balls of steel. “I’ve also been jerking myself
raw the past two weeks thinking about you.”
Stiles’ breath hitches sharply at that and then he’s squabbling out an answer,
all breathless and flustered. “Y-yeah?”
Derek has a way with dirty talk, it’s like his thing. He was probably a really
famous sell out porn star in his previous life or something while Stiles, let’s
be honest. He reigns at being the worst dirty talker, considering the fact that
he talks so much during the day, it’s kind of pathetic.
There was one time he tried with Ethan, some senior from school that sports in
Basketball, he had a week long fling with him and his mouth slipped just that
one time. He got socked. Like a true, shove-in-his-mouth socking where one of
Ethan’s sweat stained gym socks was stuffed into his face.
Yeah, so that ends all hopes and endeavours in ever sustaining a phone sex
operator job if real life doesn’t work out the way it should after graduation.
Anyway, he make do with a few noises, groans out a few ‘mm, yeah, you like it
like this?’ before he shuts the hell up and hopes he hasn’t turned anyone off
to the point where there’s no happy ending.
He blames porn for everything, yeah.
“What did you think of?” Stiles asks hesitantly, see he’s playing it cool, the
build-up dirty talk he can do. The real filthy ones, hah, he’ll just hand it
over to bodacious Hale.
“Your fucking mouth, god, always your mouth.” Derek tells him and his fingers
start to inch a little from his thigh, just grazing smoothly on fingertips
against the creases of his fingers until it reaches the dip where thigh meets
hip. “Your body,” and then, oh, he’s rubbing circles onto that silver of skin
at his hipbones where his shirt has ridden up from lying down, all heat flushed
and anticipating. “Your cunt.”
Stiles groans loudly and struggles to muffle the sound into Derek’s hair but
only ends up getting guava smelling wax in his mouth. “Oh, shit—Derek.”
“Yeah,” Derek grunts, nips a little on the thin skin at his neck before he’s
saying, “You know, I’ve always thought that I’m into guys because of their
dicks, but that day after you told me— I couldn’t get you out of my head.”
“It’s the boyish charm, you can’t deny it. Everyone gets baited by it.” Stiles
quips proudly and he huffs up his chest a little.
Derek snorts, “No,” and his other hand moves to start palming himself through
his jeans like he needs soothe the ache from getting hard so quickly, and
Stiles feels the tiny flutter of eyelashes against his neck when he heaves out
a sigh of relief. “It’s a little more explicit.”
“About my—” Stiles starts but he gets cuts off.
“Yes,” Derek interrupts raspily. “Couldn’t get the picture of you all laid out
on this bed for me. Wet and hot in the center, your little virgin hole just
waiting for me. God, Stiles, I fucked my cock into my mattress until I was red
and raw, my sheets wet with come.”
“Derek,” Stiles whines and he should feel oddly embarrassed by how needy he
sounds but fuck that, he’s clawing at Derek until his lips are against his
teeth, all rough and brash with too much tongue, like a couple of teenagers
they really are.
Stiles gasps out from the kiss, panting, before he’s ducking back in for
seconds with hands flailing over ass, hips and too many layers of clothing
until Derek’s finally on top of him, straddling him somewhat, with a thigh
tucked nicely just in between his legs.
“Look at you,” Derek growls, lips all kissed swollen and heavy lidded lust shot
eyes when he pulls back. “You look like you’re in heat, fuck, so hot.”
“Shut up—oh my god, shut up.” Stiles snaps impatiently because there’s a time
and place for the reunion of his deep rooted cat heritage and this is totally
not the time for metaphors. He likes his hand down in Derek’s pants like five
minutes ago. “C’mon, go back to kissing me, don’t you dare deny me, Hale.”
Then he’s flattening his palms on Derek’s ass cheeks, grunts out a litany of
praises for it because, oh god, it’s fleshy and taut and all histo touch, and
fuck sanity, he’s grabbing it, urging Derek forward and before he knows it, a
loud moan rips out from him. A back arching, fingernails digging into flesh
kind of moan.
“Fuck—” Stiles pants out, “Your thigh.”
Derek smirks and swivels his hips just a little, teasing, thigh bumping against
Stiles’ crotch. “You can always ask me to stop if you want. I’ll stop.”
“Don’t!” Stiles grits out, dips his fingers under Derek’s shirt until he’s just
teasing along the skirts along his jeans where he feels sweat pooling there.
How does the feel of sweat turn him on, he will never know. “Feels good, yeah,
continue doing—that, yeah, oh shit.”
Derek is rutting against his hip, and he feels the thick line of his cock
pressing angrily against the zipper and branding it onto his skin. It’s so
fucking hot that Stiles is writhing, blunt nails digging into Derek’s back, and
he kind of thinks it shouldn’t be this hot--- the dry humping, butit is.
He’s wet, soaking in his little boy briefs, feels it with every slip and slide
of Derek’s jerky movement whenever he wedges his thigh just a little higher, a
little harder against his crotch, jolting a surprising wave of ecstasy through
his veins.
God, they’re hitting a new limit. Just a new tap and go into a whole other
sexual dimension they’ve never gone to. It’s heady, and exciting, and
apparently, he doesn’t have the urge or intention to say no this time.
“Your pants,” Stiles hisses after they spend a few more seconds fucking each
other dry on body parts before it starts feeling like his leg is about to burn
up with the devil’s heat with chafing. “Gotta go. Take ‘em off. Fucking strip,
you asshole!”
Derek grins at him, all dark and mischievous, and Stiles knows that grin. Has
seen it that one time after he stroked Derek to bliss and then his tongue poked
out in between those lips and started lapping up all the come balled up in
between Stiles’ fingers, even tonguing in between the v of it, and he moaned
like one of those come hungered sluts that haven’t been fed in years.
Fuck, he still uses that as fodder whenever he masturbates.
Derek starts pressing his thumb near the base of Stiles’ neck, just smoothing
out warm spit and sweat against what he assumes to be now a slowly bruising
hickey because it feels all tingly and numb to the touch.
“Only if yours come off too.”
Stiles gives him the dirtiest look he can. “If not?”
Derek’s still grinning, that sick bastard, all teeth and flushed cheeks. “Then
we’ll just hump each other until we come with our clothes on.”
Stiles doesn’t like that one bit because the thing he like about sexy times
with Derek is because he absolutely adores having all that inches of sun kissed
skin to touch, to explore, and to stick it in his mouth and lick away the soapy
taste against his skin until it reveals the pure essence of Derek. All dry wood
and flesh salts.
He pushes Derek off and fumbles with his own zipper with shaky hands, and Jesus
Christ, how does one even get the button to open on this thing? He may need to
hire a detective or some sort of crime scene investigator to figure this out,
or—maybe not, because Derek swats his hands away and does it with a simple
flick of his wrist and oh, there’s a tiny preview of his underwear on display.
Stiles wore his batman briefs today so he doesn’t feel any waves of
embarrassment thundering through.
Then Derek’s pushing the sides of his jeans down until they bunch at his knees
because his legs got really sweaty from all the cardio humping they did, and
there’s a long moment where it’s all push and pull between them until they
finally get off.
Okay, he spoke too fast, now he feels a little off foot with the awkwardness
and embarrassment because Derek’s just staring at him. Yeah, he’s not even
blinking, so Stiles do what he does, follows Derek’s line of sight.
He sees his own wiry muscles, a fairly thinned out happy trail that leads
to…well, happy places, and then oh—Derek can see the little damp spot on his
boxers.
Well, they’re blue in colour, for fuck’s sake, so it doesn’t really hide
anything.
“You’re wet,” Derek points out, like it’s a goddamn revelation because he
sounds so in awe, and he’s still gaping at circa crotch region like he has been
blessed by the Gods or something.
Stiles rolls his eyes and shifts a little. He hates being scrutinized, any
normal person does. “Uh, duh, were you like absent when a clone of yours was
rubbing up all against me?”
“Oh shut up.” Derek huffs, pinching his thigh lightly. “You know what I meant.”
“Mmm,” Stiles hums. “Be glad that I’m not dense.”
Derek laughs softly and finally tears his gaze away. He presses his cheek
against his bare stomach (god, his shirt is right about up to his armpits now)
and feels the slight burn of aftershave against his skin when he rubs his face
against his skin.
“Fuck, I’m so hard for you right now.”
“Yeah?” Stiles says airily. “Take off your pants then. We had a deal, Derek.”
“Fine, fine.” Derek grumbles and then he flops beside Stiles on the bed, does
that little twisty flick thing with his wrist and his jeans button goes pop,
god, he really needs to learn how to do that. He starts shoving his jeans off
effortlessly, and it’s devastating to watch because his jeans are blood
circulation tight while Stiles’ are baggy but yet it took them about two
minutes to take them off.
The world is unfair. His life is unfair.
“Done,” Derek tells him and mindlessly throws his jeans on to the floor where
his pants are probably also lying. It’s hard to say, there’s only so much
Stiles can focus at one time and when there’s a half-naked dude in front of
him, his priorities for attire just flies out the window.
“You’re picking those up later, man.” Stiles informs him plainly. “It’ll be
like you’re my own personal sex slave.”
Derek flicks his nose and rolls on of him, mumbles out a really sarcastic
“Yeah, yeah, Mister Stilinski,” and then swoops in to capture his lips into his
mouth again before he can make a smart comeback.
Stiles groans into it, he always does. There’s something about kissing Derek
that makes every nerve ending combust and it wretches out an immediate reaction
out of him. He can’t help it, magical ass powers are to be blamed.
All hecan do is arch into the kiss, fists his hands into Derek’s shirt and
slide his tongue into his mouth for more.
It’s not long before Derek nudges his thigh back in between, presses down
firmly every then and so and starts to thrust a little harder like he’s trying
to achieve something. Stiles has no problems with it, nope, none at all,
because it feels fucking amazing and all he can do is choke out a small
incoherent litany of ‘yes, Derek, oh my god, fuck’.
“Shit, you’re making a mess all over my thigh.”
Derek swears like a second later, frustrated and a little pained, and then he
pulls back abruptly, peeling off his shirt with such eloquent grace that Stiles
quickly decides to do the same. Although not as smoothly as Derek but whatever.
He’s long given up on having any sort of normal coordination with his limbs.
“You’re like a fucking twink,” Derek murmurs, voice utterly wrecked. He presses
little wet kisses from Stiles’ jawline until he reaches his chest, and then
swivels his tongue onto a pebbled nipple, sucks it into his mouth and mouths
out a moan.
Stiles whimpers, hands tightening their hold on Derek’s back and starts rutting
against Derek’s thigh.
“Wanna touch you.” Derek growls out, and Stiles pulls his nails against skin,
hopes it’s painful enough for Derek to understand that he needs to put his
mouth back and continue tongue fucking his nipple. “Fuck, say that I can touch
you, Stiles.”
He does, put his mouth back.
“You are—guh, you know, touching me.” Stiles gurgles out what he hopes is a
somewhat coherent answer because Derek is a kind bastard and actually pays
attention to both nipples, and he’s just writhing under him.
They’re really sensitively, okay? It varies with dudes, and Stiles just so
happen to be tipping on the off scales of having monumental life-changing
sensitive type of nipples that apparently loves Derek’s mouth.
“Wait—” Derek pulls back because he’s a fuckingsadistand Stiles fucking loses
it and whines. “I wanna touch you. There. And I don’t want to push you into
doing something you don’t want to.” He says slowly and he drags his hand until
they’re on Stiles’ hipbones, just a few inches away from his crotch, tapping at
the bone.
Stiles growls, yeah, he does, all teeth and petulance, and takes Derek’s hand
in his and shoves it against his crotch where it’s all damp and warm from musky
arousal.
He fists his other free hand into Derek’s hair, surprisingly all soft, he
guesses it’s because of all the sweat romping they’ve done themselves up that
washed away most of the stiffness that came with the wax, and lunges in for
another kiss.
Derek startles and goes into freeze mode, and Stiles, he’s just not having any
of that shit. So, he somewhat curls his fingers with Derek’s to the point
they’re cupping  his pubic mound and starts to slip their hands a little lower.
Down where he’s heady and sex hot, drenched in the stickiness of his own
lubrication.
“God, Derek, you better start touching me or I’m gonna—” Stiles get cuts off
with his own moan, high and breathy because Derek apparently loves to be
commanded in bed.
Derek jumps out of his little situation and kisses him back, heartily and with
too much clashing of teeth, lip biting and soft little grunts. Stiles pulls his
hand out when Derek seems to get the hang of it, sliding in between the folds
against the cloth where it’s slicked with his own juice and up again to rub
little teasing circles against his clit.
“You’re so wet I could probably just take you right here.” Derek grounds out,
his hips flexing and shoulders shuddering where he’s rubbing one out against
Stiles’ thigh. “Yeah, fuck, could slick my cock right into your little hole and
it’ll be so smooth.”
“Do it,” Stiles pants out, scrabbling for more skin to hold, to grab, to wrap
his thin long fingers into all that damn hair and fucking yank on it. “Fuck
me.”
“No,” Derek says plaintively, like woah, hold the fuck up. Wasn’t he the one
just talking about it like two seconds ago? “Next time. I promise. We’ll plan.
I don’t want your first time to be some dry humping escalation. You deserve
candles and all that shit.”
“You’re a fucking sap, aren’t you?” Stiles mocks and then lets out a guttural
cry when Derek presses a little firmer against that small nub, sending shock
waves of pleasure through his body. “Jesus, take your underwear off.”
Derek smirks, kisses him a little off tilt on the mouth. “So, naked dry
humping?”
“Shut up, you dork.”
They strip themselves in record time, seeing that they have their limbs all
entangled with one another. And they just stare at each other, because, hey,
this is the big moment, right?
Derek is all flushed skin and heaving chest, all hard wired with tensed muscles
and honey painted skin while Stiles contrasts heavily next to him. He’s pale
limbs and sharp shoulders, with the frequent splash of freckles and moles on
his gangly body.
Stiles feels like he should feel a little insecure, or something, since Derek’s
almost half a size bigger than he is and is kind of breath-takingly gorgeous
stark naked, with his cock erected, nestled dark in a thick thatch of hair and
hanging out like it’s doing its own thang, but he doesn’t.
It kind of feels like art, where two kinds of colours that you doubt would ever
mix well, but transforms into some earth-shattering kind of magic against
canvas under spotlight. That’s how he feels about him and Derek and okay, he’s
getting way too sentimental so he decides to make the first move.
He spreads his legs wide. Moment of truth, heh.
Stiles watches Derek track his movement from his side, lets him watch, stare at
it until it’s second nature for a dude to have smooth and folds in between
instead of thick and heavy. Stiles is proud of his vagina, he is.
He likes that he has neatly trimmed pubes that frames his vagina nicely and
draws down where his folds are swollen and blood hot with slick. He’s never
been ashamed of it, it’s just, and he knows it’s a taboo for dudes to have
female parts but for him, it feels…normal.
It’s a part of him, and he has never spent a day wishing that he has a dick
than all of this.
“Gorgeous, babe.” Derek tells him, and he kisses his knee. “You’re fucking
gorgeous.”
Stiles gives in and wiggles his toes, he deserves the right to after all the
hoo-ha, okay?
“C’mere,” Stiles says, making grabby hands at Derek and he follows, kneels all
the way until he’s situated in between him, cock bumping against his thigh and
hands cupping into his face before he’s pulled into a deep kiss.
They pull apart and Derek’s hand flies to his pussy, cupping it, and moulding
his fingers with inexperienced favour as he slicks his hand with his own spit,
rubbing it against the swollen nub. All blood engorged and tensed with the need
for release.
“Derek, oh—fuck.”
He watches with half lidded eyes as Derek holds the base of his cock and then
gathers a little of Stiles’ juice from his entrance where it’s soaked until
he’s dripping down his asscrack and grinds into him. Jerks his cockhead against
his clit until he finds a nice momentum where he can just thrust against until
they’re both panting and muffling whines into each other’s sweaty necks.
He watches the slide of Derek’s cock peeking through the front of his pubic
mound, where his cunt is swallowing with every out thrust and then draws down
until the rim of his blunt head is nearly about to be pushed inside before he’s
squelching up, one of the under veins of Derek’s cock digging into his clit.
“I’m close,” Stiles strangles out, biting onto Derek’s shoulder and clenching
his eyes shut.
Derek picks up his pace, let’s loose his inhibition with every jerky slip of a
thrust and then he’s mouthing into Stiles’ ear, growling out, “God, your cunt.
Wanna fuck you soon. Wanna push my cock inside you and shoot deep into your
stomach, plug all that shit inside you until I’m hard again.”
“Oh god, yes, yes, yes!” Stiles shouts out, digging nails into flesh and hopes
it draw blood.
Derek slips his cock all the way front, all hard pressed against that taut
little pleasure knob before he thrusts back and jerks in forth, accidentally
pressing the blunt head of his cock against his entrance a little too much and
Stiles loses it.
“Fuc- I’m coming, oh,Derek—”
Stiles feels his body snap into two, arching with pleasure waves throbbing from
his center to the tips of his fingers, the way his vagina clenches and
tightening until it releases all that tension when he cuts off his breathing
and then the warmness starts to spread through his body like wildfire.
The way Derek loses it at mid thrust and the first spurts of come is inside
Stiles before he’s pulling out and rutting against his hip until his stomach is
a mess of cock jizz.
“Oh fuck,” Stiles inhales sharply and then he’s pulling Derek by his hair for
another kiss until they’re both breathing shallowly into each other’s mouths.
They break apart after five minutes, when Derek’s come is drying into a thin
watery sheet on his abdomen and feels the sweat at the back of his knees, on
his forehead, fucking everywhere really.
Derek starts connecting with his inner-cat and Stiles leaves him to it,
stroking the dips of his back.
“Dude,” Stiles moans weakly, squinting, the exhaustion finally catching on.
“You okay?”
“Mmm,” Derek grumbles, nuzzling into his collar bone. “I just came my brains.”
“Hi five, man.” Stiles jokes tiredly. “So… about that ‘next time’ deal, how
about thirty minutes from now?”
Derek snorts and then pinches him at his waist. “We’ll see. Now, shut up,
you’re ruining the afterglow.”
End Notes
     Can you tell that I haven't written porn in a long time? :|
     Edit: Tried to remove some spelling errors but it's still too early
     for any good read through.
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