Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/698256.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Derek_Hale/Stiles_Stilinski
  Additional Tags:
      Girl!Stiles, Underage_Sex, Age_Difference, Alternate_Universe_-_Always_a
      Different_Sex, First_Time, Virginity, douchebaggery_is_a_valid_kink,
      Cunnilingus, Menstruation, Marking, Mating_Instinct, Adults_Seducing
      Minors
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-02-24 Words: 5469
****** untitled filthy porn (gonna call it like it is, for the moment) ******
by thatotherperv
Summary
     Basically, I felt like writing het, I felt like writing statutory, I
     felt like writing slight dubcon and full creepitude and sort-of-kind-
     of-fecundfic?
     So, title-less, summaryless, lazy, filthy, unbeta'd fic. Also,
     cunnilingus on her period. Because Werewolves. You've been warned.
Notes
     Dear God, this is really not what I expected to write next. But I
     guess it's a palate-cleanser? Lol. Basically, I felt like writing
     het, I felt like writing statutory, I felt like writing slight dubcon
     and full creepitude and sort-of-kind-of-fecundfic? And that couldn't
     be made to work for Suits. and I also felt like being lazy.
     So lazy, filthy, unbeta'd teen wolf fic. Also, cunnilingus on her
     period. Because Werewolves. You've been warned.
      
     consent is sort of dubious - I'd call it consensual, but there are
     coercive overtones, so ymmv. set when Derek is high on his new alpha
     status.
Derek is nearly fifteen the day he leaves Beacon Hills. Stiles is only ten, but
she's head over heels in love with him. He doesn't know she exists, probably,
but she follows him around like the world's most competent little stalker, and
tells Scott all about how she's going to marry him when she gets old enough
that it's not weird. She tells Scott all about Derek's eyes and hair and biceps
and smile, and the one time Derek talks to her, she doesn't shut up about it
for weeks.
So of course, when they run into Derek Hale in the woods, six years later,
Scott has only a vague recollection of who he is. This is what she gets for
sharing her future hopes and dreams with Scott, of all people, and worse yet,
over Mario Kart.
Of course he wasn't listening.
*
Childhood crushes are all well and good, but when it turns out the object of
your obsession affection is a serial-killing werewolf who ruined your best
friend's life and future, a girl has to let certain ideas go.
And while Stiles will never actually say something as idiotic as 'bros before
hoes,' and absolutely won't let Scott, either – least of all because nothing
about that phrase technically fits – the sentiment applies.
And, ok, it's not like the feelings go away, it's not like she looks at Derek
and is disgusted, it's not like she doesn't go all hot and shaky with something
not-quite-fear every time he creeps up on them – key word definitely 'creep.'
But she stands up to him and steers Scott away from him, and tries to get him
arrested, because seriously, hello, murderer, so that's got to count for more
than stupid hormones.
But when she lets herself think about it, she feels sorry that the fire
actually made him a monster – because the Derek Hale she stalked knew was happy
and kind, and a really good guy.
*
But then it turns out Derek isn't a killer, didn't bite Scott, really is on
their side, and was helping all along, so.
Oops.
She was only jumping to the natural conclusions, alright? No one can blame her
for that.
*
She's pretty sure he blames her for that. So...that's awkward.
Not as awkward as it could be, because she rarely sees him in person. She just
gets daily Creeper Updates a la Scott.
But then Derek gets shot and man-faints in front of her Jeep. And instead of
sticking with them like a normal friend would do, Scott ditches her for
Allison, and then turns off his phone.
She's gonna kill him, seriously, for making this her problem. Because now that
Derek is in her car? The theoretical awkwardness of having him arrested is
real. Very real, and very awkward. It doesn't help that he's taking up more
than the passenger seat, bumping her arm as he strips off his clothes.
Ok, just his jacket. That's nerve-wracking enough.
Stiles cannot cope with a bleeding man in her vehicle. And as with everything,
her response to her discomfort is to talk way too much and be generally
offensive – flippant about his health and threatening to leave him for dead.
She doesn't want him dead, particularly; she really just wants him out of her
car, preferably out of her life because things have gotten too exciting since
he came into it.
Case in point: the ugly, infected mess that is his forearm. It roils her
stomach.
He threatens to rip her throat out, which, seriously, fair enough; she started
it by telling him to get out while he's bleeding. She's more concerned by her
own reaction: being threatened by a werewolf should be terrifying. And it is.
But.
Well. He flashes his fangs in illustration of the throat-ripping, and she wets
her panties, in a non-terror-having way.
So, that's...something.
Derek narrows his eyes when she jump into action, because despite her personal
problem – made worse somehow by the look on his face, God – she is concerned
for her health. She pulls it together and finally starts the car.
Luckily, there's very little about the rest of that evening that ends up being
sexy. Mostly it's the stink of rotting flesh and Derek vomiting up black goo,
and visions of a spurting bloody stump where his arm used to be that will
probably haunt Stiles until the day she dies.
Not things that make her horny, thank God.
Except the bit of writhing on the floor, where, if she ignores the screams of
mind-numbing pain, is kind of, actually, intriguing.
Knowing this guy is seriously fucking up her head.
*
Once she's no longer needed as a potential arm-chopper, Derek goes back to
ignoring her completely. He won't even take her with him for the big reveal of
why Argents are evil – which, rude. She's standing right there.
Apparently, she needs more fur to be trusted with personal secrets.
The few times they do cross paths, you'd never guess that she saved his life
once. He spends all his time glaring at her with an intensity that conveys all
his fantasies about feasting on her entrails.
She spends all her time wanting to lick him, so she mocks him instead.
It's a thing. She's reasonably certain he won't kill her at that point, but his
act is pretty intimidating all the same. She's never been so consistently
turned on and terrified in her life, including that year she thought she might
be gay for Lydia.
*
Of course, then there's the time they think he's dead and posthumously make him
a serial killer, only to find out he's alive and kicking. But that was totally
Scott's fault.
Derek being peeved that Scott made him Beacon Hills Most Wanted is the only
reason Stiles can think of – at all – why he'd be hiding at her place instead
of at the McCalls'. Like, she gets home from school one day, and he's just
there, which doesn't even make sense. Because Scott is the werewolf with a mom
that's never home, and Stiles is just a girl, whose Dad happens to be sheriff.
And yet, he's there lurking, and glaring and slamming her into things. Which
probably does not have the effect that he's going for. Then later she ends up
making him do a strip show – purely as bait for gay teenage hackers, ok? Not at
all because holy hell is he ripped.
Later, after she's almost eaten by his non-comatose uncle, Stiles flees in her
Jeep, as fast as the old girl can take her. She leaves Derek there, which...not
her proudest moment. But in her defense, he was holding his own when she left.
It isn't til the next day that she finds out he got his ass handed to him, then
got alpha'd / family-guilt-tripped into helping Uncle Psycho assault her best
friend in the locker room.
Let the record show, she doesn't have that information when he climbs through
her freaking window at 1am.
"Has anyone ever told you that in some cultures, it's frowned upon for grown
men to lurk in girls' bedrooms after midnight?"
"I need a place to sleep."
"Seriously, though, my dad is the sheriff. He has a gun."
"Which is why I waited down the street til he was called away."
Stiles stares at him for a moment. "You really have no clue how that makes it
even creepier, do you?"
There is taciturn glaring on Derek's part. Shocker.
"Fine. You can sleep on the floor. Just...is that blood on your shirt? Again?
Really?"
More glaring. Stiles sighs and gets up to lock her bedroom door, just in case.
It's not to protect Derek so much as her own ass from being grounded.
When she turns around, a half-naked Greek god is standing where she left a
grumpy little puppy.
He's still grumpy. He's still looking at her like she's personally ruining his
life. He's just...all sculpted while he does does it.
That's when it occurs to her...Stiles has had boys sleep in her room before.
Hell, she and Scott were fourteen before Dad even realized that it might be a
problem. Not that it was, cuz. Ew, Scott.
But Derek's not a boy, he's a werewolf. He's a man. He's a were-man. Very
grown. And unlike Scott, she wants to climb him like a tree.
What she's saying is, they both lie down – separately, Derek being very much on
the floor – but Stiles knows he's there. She can hear him breathing. And. Being
manly. And it's very disruptive to her getting a good night's sleep.
About an hour in, Stiles realizes there's only one way she's gonna sleep. She
needs to just confront this problem head on. A squint in the dark in Derek's
direction reveals he's asleep...of course he is, why the hell wouldn't he be?
She just needs one teeny-tiny orgasm, to take the edge off the ache. Seriously.
Just a little one, and she'll probably pass right out.
As soon as her fingers find her clit, she has to bite her lip to keep from
moaning. She's so wet, so sensitive, it's ridiculous. And the fact that she's
doing this while Derek's on her floor is just. Jesus, that's wrong. She must be
insane.
She keeps her mouth firmly clamped, tries to breathe evenly through her nose.
Stiles pretty much lives in fear of her dad hearing her get herself off, so
she's quiet. She's a master of silent orgasms. She's a masturbation ninja -
"Stop."
Stiles does stop. She stops playing with her clit, she stops breathing, her
heart stops. The only thing she starts doing is praying that she's had an
auditory hallucination. A few seconds later, she hears Derek turning over on
the floor, and she wants to die a little. "Stop what?"
"Do you really want me to answer that right now?"
Oh God. Fuck Her Life.
"I wasn't doing anything," she lies.
"Stiles."
"What?"
"Werewolf. Sensitive hearing. And olfaction."
She bolts upright. "Oh God, you can smell me?"
There's an extended silence, before Derek says, with meaning, "Always."
Oh God, oh godohgod, FUCK HER LIFE.
"How. Why. Jesus, Derek, why am I just learning this now?"
"I understand in some cultures, it's considered unacceptable for grown men to
tell teenagers girls they can smell their arousal."
Derek's tone is dry as the Sahara. In spite of herself, Stiles has to grin.
"Touche. Um."
"Go to sleep, Stiles."
"Um."
There's just no way that's happening. Now that she knows that he knows. Oh,
Jesus. Her mortification should be a total turn-off. She should be shivering
from the proverbial bucket of cold water. But she's not. If anything, she's
more aroused, knowing he can literally smell it.
Suddenly Derek heaves a sigh, stands up, and grabs his shirt. Stiles' heart is
pounding as he comes towards the bed.
Then he climbs out the window and shuts it firmly behind him.
It's not until after the sleepless night it occurs to her: wait. If he knew she
had a thing for him...why would he come to her room, in the first place?
*
She doesn't see much of Derek at all until he kills his uncle. After his irises
bleed red and he announces he's Alpha, he turns and looks right at her.
And he smirks, okay, like, an actual expression, he smirks right at her, and
she realizes she's wet. Apparently as an alpha, Derek has no qualms mocking her
for it.
Then he's gone. Neither she nor Scott see him for weeks.
Well. She doesn't tell Scott this, but sometimes she swears she sees Derek out
of the corner of her eye. Just watching. Whenever she turns her head, he's
gone. And one night, she comes gasping out of a dead sleep with the uncanny
certainty he'd been in her room.
It's not like she thinks that she's imagining it, because – hello, totally
possible. Creepy stalker werewolf. But she doesn't particularly want Scott to
be Alpha Chow, and he'd totally go after the dude if he knew.
*
Stalking incidents aside, Derek doesn't pop back up on their radar until he
starts talking war. He's turning teenage outcasts. He's building an army a
pack.
He wants Scott in it.
Stiles strongly advises that her best friend steer clear of all that crazy, and
personally, she's planning on following her own advice. Except Derek's newest
puppy gets arrested on the full moon, and Stiles doesn't want to her father
eviscerated.
Course, she doubts her dad would be thrilled that she nearly ends up insides-
on-the-outside, but she doesn't. Because Derek steps in front of her with this
blood-curdling roar that reduces poor Isaac to a whimpering, quivering mess.
Stiles, unfortunately, completely feels his pain. Though, presumably, for him
it's actual fear.
*
Derek leaves her holding the bag on the escaped prisoner and the unconscious
hunter on the floor outside the holding cell, because he's that much of a
gentleman. Her father is less than amused, and half-certain it was all her
doing, somehow.
Such faith.
So it takes a while before she's allowed to go home. She probably shouldn't be
surprised, when she gets there, that Derek is sitting in the dark in her room.
Stiles flips on the light. "Great. Now you're worried about the consequences of
your actions. No sweat, alright? I covered for you. I mean, don't get me wrong,
Isaac's a fugitive, but my dad doesn't know you were involved. Threats not
necessary; thanks...would be appreciated, but aren't expected. So...go mama-
bear your cubs. My father's staging a man-hunt as we speak."
"Isaac is safe." Derek doesn't budge. Stiles would be fine with that, if he
were not-budging from anywhere but her bed when she wants in it. All the
nearly-dying takes it out of a girl.
"Great. How about the rest of us being safe from him?"
"He's learned his lesson."
That's it. No explanation. Frankly, she's not sure she wants one. She can
happily live her entire life without understanding how an alpha werewolf
teaches their beta 'a lesson.'
She waits for him to get up and leave without saying another word – that's been
his MO – but he doesn't. It irks her how at-home he looks. He's even got a
little smile on his face. It's bizarre. But he's been like this lately; being
drunk on power puts him in an awesome mood.
"...Can I help you?"
"You can," Derek says pleasantly, like he's glad that she asked. "By coming
closer."
"So I see what big teeth you have?"
Derek grins. An actual, honest-to-God toothy Colgate smile. Jesus. It's both
wholesome and dangerous, somehow. "No. I just wanted to make sure you don't
have any injuries."
She narrows her eyes. "That's...uncharacteristically considerate. But I can
tell you instead: I don't."
"I need to see." His eyes are phasing red and there's an edge to his voice, and
some deep-rooted instinct has Stiles taking a tiny step back. "Don't run. I
won't hurt you; just come here."
'Don't run' sounds ominous, and implies there would be chasing. She'd just as
soon not experience that, thanks. But she can't stand here forever, because
frankly, she has a feeling he can sit still a lot longer than she can.
"You're a lunatic. I'm fine."
He gives her a little smile and waits.
Motherfucker. "Fine. Let's get this over with, okay?"
The degree to which that amuses him is unseemly.
She stands where he points her – between the sprawl of his knees – he takes her
by the hips, and for a minute, doesn't do anything. She can feel his hands
through her shorts; they're hot. It's a werewolf thing and not her imagination
– Scott's mom thought her thermometer was broken when he tried to play sick.
It's nothing special, but it means she's hyper-conscious of Derek's grip on her
body while he sits there and stares into her eyes.
"What are you doing?"
His mouth is quirked. "Smelling for blood."
Stiles is suddenly, acutely aware of three things:
1. He's already aware that she has no injuries.
2. She's on her period. And he knows it.
3. She's been aroused since she came in and saw him, and he is, once again,
absolutely fucking with her.
"Great. So you know that I'm fine. Exam completed. Time for you to go."
His fingers stroke up under her shirt. "I know you're not cut anywhere. Could
be bruised though. I should check."
"Oh. my. God. Are you kidding me?" Stiles clings to the hem of her t-shirt to
combat his attempt to ruck it up and pull it off. Unfortunately, that leaves
his hands hot on her belly, thumbs stroking along the underwire. She can feel
her face flush.
The look he's giving her is completely shameless. He's not even pretending.
"Are you seriously...are you trying to play Doctor with me right now?"
His smile spreads. "I'm concerned for you. But are you telling me you'd mind,
if I were?"
She has no bluff, because she's turned on and they both know it. Her heart is
racing and she's actually shaking a little. But that seriously doesn't excuse
him for being a "Smug. Asshole. This isn't funny. You can't mess with people
this way."
He looks down at her hands, and slips his own out of her shirt, uncurling her
fingers and threading them through his own. It doesn't really feel like
affection. It feels more like restraint.
"You know why I'm not worried about Issac attacking you anymore?"
"Uh."
He draws the hem of her shirt up with their combined hands, and scrapes his
teeth over her belly. She's seriously not sure she cares if he's fucking with
her.
She swallows and gets back to the topic at hand. "Because you thumped him good
with your alpha mojo?"
"Exactly. I made sure that he knew you're off-limits. The way I did that was by
making it clear that you're mine."
She's seriously.... What does that even. How does that....
Her hands are free and there's a chill, before she can blink. He took her top
while she was distracted. The bastard. She actually starts laughing, and
there's more than a tinge of hysteria in it.
"Ok, no. What? I'm hallucinating or something. What the actual fuck is
happening right now?"
"I have a pack," Derek observes. His hands are all over her skin, and frankly,
his eyes have left her face and won't be returning. "I'm the alpha."
He doesn't seem to realize these are non sequiturs.
"Okay. Well, yes. I was talking less about current events and more about your
sudden interest - "
"It isn't sudden."
He pops the rivet on her jean shorts. While she's trying to hold them on –
hello, conversation – he flips her onto her back and climbs on top of her.
"It seems pretty sudden to me," she soldiers on. "I mean, until recently, you
couldn't stand me."
"Couldn't stand to be around you," he corrects, then his mouth's on her throat.
She goes liquid inside and makes room for his hips. Jesus, why is she talking?
Because, answers. And reasons. "Right, I don't - "
"I had bigger things on my mind."
"And now you don't?"
"I do. But I'm Alpha. I have a pack. And you smell good."
She believes him – he's practically huffing her like paint thinner. "Like,
how?"
"Amazing." The word vibrates against her ear, and her hips jerk. Okay. She's
done with questions now. "Like you're ripe."
Like she's.... Woah woah – what?
She shoves at him. "Oh my fucking God. Keep your ticking clock away from my
girlparts." He doesn't budge on top of her at all, and Stiles is supremely
annoyed that he seems amused. "Also, you do realize that I'm not in estrus,
right? I'm human. I'm just plain old bleeding. In no way advertising fertility
to horny werewolves."
"Thanks. I was actually confused for a second." Oh, he thinks he's funny.
Funny, funny werewolf. "So can I eat you out now, or do you need to freak out
first?"
"You...." She's speechless for once in her life. "Really?"
"I've been wanting to put my face between your legs ever since I first smelled
the blood on you this morning."
Stiles stares at him, because really, what the hell are you supposed to say to
something like that? It makes sense that he wouldn't be squeamish. He probably
eats raw bunnies to save on groceries.
Okay, not something she wants to think about. Ever.
He watches his fingertips stroke down her belly. It's casually possessive, and
it makes her stomach flip. "Longer than that. But today, you're especially
distracting."
"Well," she says faintly. "We wouldn't want...that. Your bundles of joy really
need your attention."
He nips at the soft skin below her belly button. God help her. "So I can. Eat
you out."
He's looking up at her, all coy and flirtatious and like he wants to eat her
alive, which. Heh. "Be my guest?"
His nostrils actually flare, which...is sexier than it sounds; he sits up and
slides her shorts and panties off together. When he tosses the bundle of fabric
beside the bed, she has time to think, okay, dirty pad on my floor – gross,
that's not –
Then his face is where no one's face has been before, and that's distracting
enough that she forgets all about hygiene. He pulls her legs over his
shoulders, leans in and breathes – she's so turned on that it gives her a
whole-body shudder, hips jerking towards his face.
She doesn't have it in her to be embarrassed by that, because frankly, he's
being a fucking tease. Every puff of air is a too-light touch, and she doesn't
hesitate to roll her hips when the urge comes, shoving towards his face.
His eyebrow twitches and that makes her flush, because he looks so smug, but
fuck it, okay? Everybody wants a mouth on their happy bits – she's a virgin,
not an idiot – and she stares down defiantly as she does it again, digging her
heels into his ribs.
This time he doesn't pull away when she arches up; he lets his mouth connect,
sealing his lips around her clit and sucking hard enough to make Stiles hiss in
surprise. She tries to pull away just a little – it's too much, too fast – but
he grabs her ass and holds her up, keeping her right where she is.
The suction eases off, though, replaced by the messy slide of his tongue, and
he moans, low and long and far too animal and holy shit. It's more like he's
licking her clean than anything she expected, which is weird and fucked up, but
also so hot she can't stay still, writhing against his face while he pushes his
tongue inside her.
She can't believe this is happening. Except she kinda can, because...her life.
It's just not...really not how she expected this day to go. Or any day in any
possible universe.
It's not really what she thought oral sex would feel like, from the way other
people talk about it, but she's so turned on that it's happening, and that it's
Derek Hale's face down there; it's almost too much. It's slightly odd that he's
pretty much just rooting around in her pussy at this point, but his nose keeps
grazing her clit and he's making these noises.
He opens his eyes (they closed the first time that he tasted her) and she feels
awkward all of a sudden in a way that she didn't before. She doesn't know where
to put her hands or how to...be sexy, and it makes her face grow hot. Self-
conscious, she squirms a little as he pulls away; he finally lets her hips fall
back to the mattress and manhandles her legs up and apart – off his shoulders
so that his hands are in play.
He spreads her with his thumbs, and looks at her, for just long enough that
Stiles starts feeling uncomfortable, long enough that she's feeling relieved,
more than anything else, when he finally leans in and licks her.
Relief gives way to something a lot more urgent, now that his attention is on
her clit. It doesn't exactly make her eyes roll back in her head, but it builds
to something close enough. Self-consciousness stops being an issue; Stiles
starts moving the way her body obviously wants to, and it feels right. Feels
sexy. Derek's eyes are devil-red, so apparently he agrees.
They're still fixed on her intently when he slides a finger in her cunt. She's
slippery-wet, so it goes in easy, even though it's almost as thick as two of
hers put together. He doesn't really move it, just letting the rocking of her
hips do the work for him; he's still lapping at her clit, and Stiles feels
distinctly out of control of her body in a way that normally only happens right
before she comes.
She feels good but she's nowhere close yet. It just feels like nothing she's
doing is deliberate – that jerk of her hips, the roll of her spine, and the way
her legs are straining apart to give him more room. It's all just happening,
and there's something incredible about it.
The only thing she's successfully controlling is the noise, and she almost
wishes she could just let it out – her father's not home, won't be for hours,
but it's habit to be silent while she gets off, and almost an instinct by now,
to dampen the moans into gasps and heavy breathing.
But when Derek pushes another finger inside and immediately starts thrusting
them both, she bites down on her forearm to silence herself. She's fingered
herself before, but always more carefully, never this hardfast rhythm that's
making her back bow. It's not clear, even to her, if she's trying to move into
it or get away.
She does jerk away from the sharp pain of Derek, nipping with wolf's teeth at
her thigh.
“What the fuck – ”
“Get your arm away from your mouth,” he says, preoccupied with cleaning up the
welling blood on her thigh because he fucking bit her, okay?
“You couldn't have just said that? Use your fucking words, you – ” She sucks in
a breath as he applies those teeth to her belly – not breaking the skin, not
leaving so much as a scratch, but it's the threat that shuts her up. And makes
her shudder and get wetter around his fingers.
He smirks at her. The fucker. Then he kisses the spot he just threatened to
tear open, and noses back down between her legs.
With his fingers inside and his tongue on her clit, it's easy to forgive a
little nip between friends. He growls when she goes to shove her knuckle in her
mouth, though, so she traps that hand behind her head. He doesn't protest when
the other one tangles in his hair, even though she knows that she's pulling.
The way he's fingering her is giving brand new meaning to the expression
“fingerbang.” She thinks it would hurt if it weren't driving her past that to
something else, and the first sound she actually makes is mostly protest, an
expression of discomfort. She doesn't kick him away, though, because there's
something she likes about it. The more vocal she is, the better it gets, until
Derek is having to hold her down with his free hand on her stomach.
For once, she can't put together words beyond 'shit' and 'fuck'; even those are
hard to come by. She thinks she sounds ridiculous, but it feels so fucking good
to let some of it out; the feeling's so intense.
And the louder she is, the more intense Derek gets, until he's growling at a
pitch she can feel more than hear. He chooses not to pin her down as she starts
to come, lets her fuck against his face and rides it out until she goes slack,
gasping.
She feels high and honestly amazing, but there's none of the post-orgasm
languor that she can usually give herself. Instead, she feels edgy, and achy,
like she needs to go again.
Derek pulls away and kneels up, face messy in a way that grosses her out a
little, so that helps. It's not like he's, you know, horror-movie bloody, but
the mess that she left on his chin is definitely tinged pink, and when he
crawls up her body, she thinks 'please, don't try to kiss me right now.'
He doesn't. Which is both a relief and disappointment and oh holy fuck, they
haven't even kissed yet. He ate her out, but he never kissed her.
He brushes his lips against her pulse before she can point out his bad manners,
and her knees draw themselves up, practically, to wrap around his waist. And
she watched him take his clothes off, but for the first time she can really
feel it, her bare skin against his – his bare chest against her belly, the
curve of his rib cage between her thighs – and it gets her achier, wetter,
winding herself around him to get more of it.
He slides up just enough that they slot into place, her legs notching into his
waist. And the unmistakeable prod of his cock between her legs – he sinks blunt
teeth into her throat and groans, arching and rubbing it against her; it's hard
to say whether that makes her more aroused, or nervous. It's hard to say what
she wants next – she literally...can't say, can't decide, can't entirely move
past the internal scream of 'this is happening right now,' and Derek just stays
where he is, panting-sucking-biting-moaning against her neck and hair and ear
while he rolls their hips together.
She doesn't even know what to call it. There's a frisson of filthy wrongness
that he's...fucking her but not, just sliding against her pussy and
occasionally poking which always makes his breath catch almost violently in her
ear. And she's moving too, helping, even though she's not so sure what –
seriously, what is this, dry humping? It can't be, because it's not very dry at
all. It's very wet. There might need to be a different name for the...wet
humping that they're very much doing all over, right now.
And it doesn't...Derek doesn't stop and pull away, or push for more, and Stiles
doesn't either because she's not sure what she wants, but everything slowly
escalates, just...this thing just gets more and more intense until Stiles is
actually throbbing from the noises that Derek is making and it's kind of
ridiculous, like, if they're going to do this, they should just do it.
So the next time the head of his dick finds her entrance, she arches up to keep
him from sliding away from it like he has been, and tells him, "You can – if
you want, you can - "
"No," is the last thing she expects to hear, in all seriousness, and she's
really fucking mortified when he tears himself away from her. She'd probably
roll away and bolt as soon as Derek is kneeling, except he pins her to the
mattress with a hand on her chest and starts jacking himself off furiously with
the other.
He goes half-wolf as he comes (all over her stomach), a little too hairy and
his eyes bright red, claws pricking her chest where he's holding her down. When
the restraining hand slides down to her belly and rubs his jizz around, Stiles
is legitimately terrified for a second – razor-sharp nails leave red welts in
his wake wherever he touches her, and she's keenly aware that if he curled his
fingers a little, he'd eviscerate her. She wasn't truly scared at his earlier
threat, because he wouldn't, he wouldn't do that, not consciously, but right
now he's not in control.
She's shaking when he pulls it back, when his claws recede back into nailbeds
and his teeth go less pointy. His eyes go blank and strangely colorless, and
there's a beat where he looks as shocked and overwhelmed as she feels.
Another moment later he gets out of bed, reaching for his pants and jerking
them on while ignoring her, yanking his shirt back over his head and shoving
his boots on his feet. He's halfway out the window, posture aggressive when he
turns half-towards her and orders, "Don't do that with anybody else."
Then he jumps.
Stiles lays there for a moment, literally listening to the crickets.
"Right," she says to her ceiling. If he hasn't run away like a little scaredy-
wolf, then she's kind of addressing him too, she supposes. "Because I even know
what that was, Jesus Christ."
She doesn't sleep that night.
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